#Earving x reader

[a-small-safe-place]

Soft!Yandere Black Noir w/ Spouse!Reader

You and Earving had shared your lives for many years, forging a bond that had withstood even the disfigurement caused by Soldier Boy. Your love had persisted through the darkest of times. Before Black Noir’s transformation, you two had been inseparable, and even as his appearance changed, your commitment to each other remained unwavering.

When the scars from Soldier Boy’s cruel act marred Black Noir’s once-handsome face, he feared that you might abandon him. He went to great lengths to conceal the disfigurement, even in the intimate moments you shared. However, his sudden withdrawal and the cessation of communication did not escape your notice. With concern etched across your face, you gently implored, “Please, Earving, tell me what’s wrong. Why won’t you speak to me or remove your mask?”

Black Noir shook his head, refusing to divulge his inner turmoil. He adored you deeply, and the thought of losing you was unbearable. He was willing to resort to any means to prevent your departure, even if it meant resorting to physical measures. You were his world, his anchor in a world filled with chaos and uncertainty.

After persistent persuasion, you finally persuaded him to unveil his masked face. The sight of the burnt half of his visage and his milky eye bulging from its socket was almost too much for you to bear. He noticed your distress and hastily replaced his mask, shaking his head as if to say, “No, no, it’s still me. I’m not frightening. Please don’t abandon me.”

Tears streamed down your face as you asked, “Soldier Boy did this?” In response, he nodded, clutching your arms tightly, ensuring you couldn’t escape his grip even if you attempted to flee. You bestowed upon him a tender, loving smile and inquired, “Were you afraid to tell me?” Black Noir nodded slowly. His fear of losing you, regardless of the extent of his disfigurement, was overwhelming.

In a surprising move, you gently lifted his mask and planted a soft kiss on the burnt part of his mouth. This gesture sent Black Noir’s heart into a flutter, and his knees nearly gave way under the weight of his emotions. He yearned to express his love at that moment but couldn’t. Instead, he fashioned his hands into the shape of a heart, conveying his feelings. You understood his unspoken message and reciprocated, your actions concealed beneath his mask, causing him to blush.

Now, the two of you are united in marriage. Black Noir has provided you with a home specially designed for your comfort and privacy, a sanctuary away from those who might covet you, such as The Deep or Homelander. Black Noir relishes the moments spent at home with you, where he can remove his mask and relish in your reassuring words that you love him. In the safety of your private haven, you belong entirely to him, and he has the privilege of taking care of you.

[am-3-thyst]

someone… please… feed me more black noir x reader content 💔 i’ve read it all

[hanasnx]

Just found your Noir content. Glad someone is writing for him. Noir and breeding kink? Been thinking about Noir fucking me in a mating press ever since he attacked Starlight in season 2. He can hold me down and choke me out like that any day.

MINORS DNI 18+ NOTES: babe that fuckin mating press goes hard doesn’t it? goddamnnnnn. noir putting you in a mating press <333that whole thing with starlight was fuckin crazy i was clawing the walls

Rough grunts expel from BLACK NOIR’s nose with each sharp thrust, plowing into you from the angle the position provides. Folded up over yourself with no regard to your comfort, he’s got you bunched up in a way that pleases him. Heavy body leans over you, harsh hands on the backs of your thighs keeping you good and spread from him. You’ve certainly gotten more flexible since you’ve started fucking him. The edges of his armor dig into you, but you can’t even register it over the overwhelming sensation of being filled. Fat cock drives into you at a reckless pace, forcing air from your lungs as if its piston defines your diaphragm’s every move. You can barely breathe from being crushed.

There’s something different about his angle, not only is it mind-bending, tremors wracking through your body as your eyes roll so far back in your head they ache, but it’s the way he handles it. Grabbing you like he owns you, redirecting your body in any way he desires, muscling you into submitting underneath him so he can fuck your hole in peace when you squirm too much. Your cervix gets kissed by his tip occasionally, but he wants you to be still and take it. For his dick? You’ll do anything.

You let him mate with you. The way he’s fucking you reminds you of an animal. Pinning you down as if you’ll escape at your first chance, growls escaping him, possessively filling up your cunt with the wet sounds of a cock finding its home. Usually, you’re the dirty talker in the bedroom, but he’s effectively silenced you, yanking you into his bucks with his firm hold on your thighs.

It used to be difficult to tell what he’s thinking, but he can’t be more clear now. The stutter in his hips is a dead giveaway to his impending load, and usually this would be the point in which he’d pull out and fist his cock to cum on you. Stomach, face, ass, he loved to paint you. Instead, he’s keeping it in, not only that but he’s still moving. Like he wants to fuck a baby in you.

“Noir— Noir!” you scold, but he continues. Swollen cock bullying your insides as it twitches with need to cum. “Don’t you— don’t you dare—“ you’re able to get the words out, concentrating hard on forming a sentence when your brain is so empty. The idea of him cumming in you is appealing, but you don’t know how Supes work. You’ve never had that conversation with him. What if he’s not sterile?

Lips slot against your ear, and if you weren’t mistaken, you could’ve sworn they form and mouth the word “baby.”

[apocalypse-shuffle]

BLACK NOIR | EARVING (the boys)

—

“Promotion” (Black Noir x Fem!Reader)

| Being Black Noir’s new handler and him becoming obsessed with you since Mr. Edgar himself assigned you to him.

| SFW, vought employee!reader, (TW: Noir is kind of stalking the Reader, who’s uncomfortable but adapting mostly)

| 1k+ words

“You want me to…what?”

“Be Noir’s new personal handler.” He fans his hands out on the table with a shrug and gives you a disarming smile. “You’ll be expected to parlay direct mission instructions from me, accompany him to said missions and stay with the deployment team. I expect you to give written reports on his performance at the end of every day, active mission or not…”

Your eyes continue to widen as his barrage keeps going. This job would require you to be present for everything short of Noir wiping his ass and even then you’ll be outside the restroom.

Mr. Edgar finishes, gives you an expectant look, and you clear your throat.

“And, what if I don’t want the new position?”

“I don’t see why not.” He shrugs, “I mean unless you don’t think you’re good enough for the promotion. Then I suppose I’ll just have to tell Ashley her recommendation was for naught.”

You laugh.

“No no, that’s fine. There’s no need to tell her anything…” you gulp, watching the man just look back at you before taking a second more to inhale, “…ex-cept that her recommendation payed off.”

He tilts his head and it feels like his eyes are boring through your own, boiling your brain to mush. Your voice is small as you push the rest of your words out in one exhale.

“And that I’ll be starting my new position tomorrow. Sir.”

You stretch a smile across your face and hiss out a sigh of relief as that finally gets the man to respond.

He instantly reanimates, reaching atop his desk to hand you a secure black portfolio made from hard plastic.

“That’s great. I’m glad you decided to take on this new journey, Ms. L/n. May it serve you well. Have a good day.”

You don’t dare drop your smile as you take the offered portfolio and shove it under your arm.

“Right.” You take a moment to mourn the loss of your old job before nodding, “Thank you for the opportunity, Sir. You have a good day as well.”

The older man nods back at you, attention immediately gone back to his computer monitor afterward. You blow out air from your nose and then turn on your heels.

It’s not until you’ve left the board room that it hits you.

“Shit.”

The man had just played you. Goddamn Edgar and his resoluteness. Once he’d decided to “ask” you about the upgrade in position he never intended for it to be an actual request.

You rub your temple and head to the restroom. At least you had the rest of the hours in the day before tackling your new job.

You hunker down in the stall after peeing to look over the papers Mr. Edgar gave you. As you're skimming through a whole lot of shit marked “classified” or “redacted” you have the stray thought to be glad that Translucent’s creep ass wasn’t here to ogle you and be all in your business anymore.

Thank the higher power for small mercies, you suppose.

All the snippets of information you're gathering are kind of baffling. Legal name: Earving (of all things), biological male, six foot two, African-American (that’s fun; may be the reason he took such a liking to you too, not many black people made it to the top floors of Vought after all). You dog-ear a packet about some sort of imaginary animals he sees in his mind before looking over a page about a severe peanut allergy. Hmm.

By the end of the day you’ve nearly gotten all the way through Noir’s portfolio, and you’ve also worked up an itch to get out of your skin that means you’re not working overtime worth a goddamn.

At six o’clock on the dot all of your crap is already quite thoroughly packed, your former workspace - barren thing that it already was due to regulations - was cleaned out and ready for the next poor soul, and you’re in the elevator heading for the sub-level garage.

Dead stare locked onto the floor numbers you become acutely aware of the bags weighing your eyes down.

“Fuck,” you sigh.

Black Noir's Personal Handler.

Despite Mr. Edgar’s clear efforts it was more than a little known open secret that personal handlers rarely got to retire. Madelyn Stillwell’s death might’ve been something none of you dared discuss for fear of either Edgar or - heaven forbid - Homelander catching wind and putting you back in your place, but it was a pattern of the job that you all were well aware of.

Though you’d take Mr. Edgar’s culling over whatever Homelander could possibly come up with.

Something about his blonde, blue-eyed, ass didn’t sit right with your spirit.

Far as PR and wrangling went though, short of maybe Starlight, any wrinkles Black Noir managed to make would be the easiest to smooth out.

Plus, even with you and Noir having some form of a pre-established relationship it was in no way dependent or built upon you being Noir’s emotional epicenter like Madelyn and Homelander’s weird…dynamic was.

You had seen and heard far too much in your years working for Vought to think for a second that there wasn’t something dark and twisted going on with The Seven, but Noir still seemed mellow in comparison to the rest and their constant ego trips and dick measuring.

You had zero clue how letting the fully covered man teach you a few notes to a song at the Christmas party when everyone was drunk off eggnog and watered down booze and sitting with him when he was crying on the floor once led you to this.

Sure the silent man and you had somewhat hit it off - so far as you were one of the few non-supers he didn’t intimidate or just flat out ignore - but to be made so intimately in charge of him seemed like a bit much.

Noir had seemed endlessly patient with you as he played for you and then eventually decided he’d teach you how to play the piano yourself, the sides of your bodies’ shifting incrementally until you were pressed flush to one another in both of yous concentration, so you could really only hope he kept that same levelness with you as his handler.

You bank the corner, work bag and portfolio on the same arm, and fish out your keys so you can unlock your trunk and shove your shit inside.

Hope truly was the name of the game here unfortunately. You could only hope Noir kept up his “good” streak, and that that streak wasn’t just a farce that you were now in charge of covering up. Hope that he didn’t end up getting angry or reckless and making you one of those *redacted* cases with a ‘cause of death, unknown’ attached to your name, because you could do nothing to stop him if he wanted to kill you.

Shiver racking up your spine and turning your blood to static, you snap your trunk closed, turning to leave when—

“—Fucking Christ!”

Eyes gone wide and spit having nearly choked you from your sharp inhalation before your exclamation, you do your best to appear composed as Black Noir himself steps out from a conclave of shadows to stand in front of you.

The Devil, you find yourself thinking. Had he been following you this whole time?

For his part Noir doesn’t move aside from cocking his head to the side.

Steadily, you force calmness onto yourself. Ignoring that your voice is too high when you call his name.

“Black Noir,” you say, trying to seep the professionalism back into your tone while smoothing down the creases in your pantsuit, “surprised to see you here. What can I do for you?”

The smile you offer him feels wonky even as you command the muscles up, but it’s the best you can do with your heart hammering against your chest as if it wants to run off and leave you behind.

For a couple more beats the man doesn’t do more than size you up presumably before finally - as you were weighing the pros and cons of just getting in your car despite his presence - raising a hand to point at your trunk.

You catch on to his meaning fairly quickly, your smile dropping to something more natural whilst you huff a tiny laugh.

“Oh yeah, guess Mr. Edgar must’ve told you. I’m your new handler - you know, if you had one before that is. I don’t…actually know…” you trail off, shifting on your heels when Noir only continues to keep his stillness.

“Mhm,” you mutter, rocking backwards, just staring until finally Noir shifts and there’s suddenly a pad and pen in his hand.

He flips casually to a clear page before starting to write and you’re fairly sure this is the first time he’s ever actually ‘talked’ to you.

Huh.

Not long after does the pad get flipped over and brandished to you. You click your teeth together.

‘Edgar says you’ll do good,’ he scribbles, writing absolute chicken scratch and letters far too large on the medium sized pages, before flipping the pad back to himself and writing some more.

‘Believe in you!’ and a whole bunch of smiley faces is what meets you once he lets you see.

You blink. Noir puts the pad back wherever he had it initially to give you two thumbs up.

You muster a slightly bigger half smile for his efforts.

“Thanks Noir,” you say, words more sincere than you’d been expecting.

A nod and an eternity more of silence and staring is what he gives you in response.

You’re getting ready to shift, to awkwardly relay that you’d like to be getting home soon, when Noir stiffens suddenly - and isn’t that startling, a man so tall and so strapped with sharp explosive deadly things going so alert like that - head tilting like he’s listening for something.

A few seconds go by like that where he doesn’t do anything else and you fight to keep yourself still, smile gone and part of your lip caught firmly between your teeth.

Then Noir’s giving you a nod and leaving just as silently and unseenly as he had come.

You wait another two-three beats before scrambling into your car. The sound of your lock engaging sounds like salvation and the steering wheel feels like a lifeline as you grip it with stiff nearly foreign fingers.

God.

You force a deep breath into your lungs, make sure it comes out more steadily than it came in.

At least Mr. Edgar didn’t dump you onto Homelander’s lap. Something in you shrivels up and dies at the mere prospect. You nod, your hands flexing on the steering wheel.

This was definitely better.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!

This is a semi companion story to “Pandora’s Melody” if you’d like to check that one out as well.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

[tonixe]

♱ — dolor — ♱

A/N: Hey guys, I'm back with a new fic, yes I was gone for like 5 months or 3 or smth. This idea was inspired by @sinclairdoll, and his idea, here! I#bringbacktheoldnoir

WARNING: angst, sad, tw!new noir.

PAIRING: Black Noir x reader

WORD COUNTER: 865

Life was never normal after he died, you really didn't get it. Tears filled up your lashline, as you started sniffling to yourself. Your eyes staring at the photo in your hand, I mean you two were supposed to be together forever, that is what he wrote to you. Giving you sticky notes with his cute cartoony character drawn on the bottom.

You tried to hide your smile from him and ultimately failed, as your lips spread into a grin. You loved it when he drew you pictures, especially of those old Vought cartoons, you always collected every single note or picture, displaying and saving them away. But it was never the same, on the fateful day, it wasn't like it was raining, or something bad╼or maybe there was.

You would always share your feelings and opinions with Noir, voice out your deepest secrets or what was bothering you. You would have thought you did the same for him, well you tried. He was always quiet around you, I mean I guessed he couldn't help it with everything that happened to him. You thought you would live your life with him, but I guess faith had other things in mind.

There weren't any cards or a funeral for him. It was all under the wraps, just how Vought liked it. I mean being a Vought employee yourself, you would understand, no?

You saw it yourself, no secondhand point of view to see it with you. You watched with horrified, shock maybe in disbelief, watching him die. You weren't supposed to be there, nobody was supposed to be there. But you saw everything, Homelander just viciously ripping out his intestine, it was a nightmare, you wanted it to end, maybe stop him. If you did you would just be another part of the collateral damage, but you kind of wished you did do something, maybe it wouldn't be so bad if you were able to be with Noir.

When he died, it felt like something you died with him, maybe your morale, your laughter, your hope...gone, it was all gone.

Time passed by you, days turning into weeks, piecing your life together but all grief consumed you whole, you were in a spiral that you didn't want to come out of, a deep depression, that all you could of though of was your past, what you could do to stop him, maybe if you stopped him from leaving you, leaving your apartment, he would have been here with you.

You looked at the ceiling with a blank stare,

But soon or later you were able to leave that dark place you were in, though the pain was still in your heart and panged. You couldn't wish for him back, it was too painful to even think about him without breaking down.

Walking down the halls of the unforsaken building you worked at, you hated, you didn't really know why you were still here. You grumbled to yourself as you walked, fixing the hems on your shirt cuffs until your eyes set themselves on a familiar person.

You were surprised by the revelation.

You wanted to cry, maybe yell, or just jump. You looked in disbelief as the very man you loved walked by you, no hug, no talking, no..nothing. Your heart yearned for anything from him, you were still shocked at how he was still alive.

You watched Black Noir, Earving die in front of your eyes, maybe it was some time of miracle. You felt your throat getting dry, your eyes watering up, and your mind was torn. By the time you knew it, you were already walking toward him, not running toward him.

"Black Noir" You called, you watched as Noir turned towards you. You felt your tears dripping down your cheeks, and you stopped in front of him. "Do I know you?" Your eyebrows furrowed, as you listened to his voice, no way..he talked. I mean he never talked in front of you or around you, maybe he was healed in some way to start talking again,

But your heart panged at the unfamiliar words he used to greet you, "You..talk?" You stammered, "You know whatever, do you remember me, Y/N" You cracked a smile in the joy that it was really happening, tears welling up in your eyes again.

You heard the man you thought was Noir curse under his breath, which confused you a bit, "Sorry, ma'am I don't think I know you" He stammered, you were able to grab his hand before he was able to walk away from you, "Please, just try to remember" You whispered, your voice breaking, you were already a mess, tears escaping you.

He quickly shook his head and took your hands off his arm, before he walked away from you, leaving you a mess on the floor.

It was cruel, a cruel twist of fate, you felt like the ground was ripped out from beneath you, it wasn't fair. You struggled to process everything that led you to this point in life, it was complete utter torment to your mind and your heart.

Your tears dribbled down from your cheek onto the floor, you didn't even process the fact you were crying.

You were alone...

heartbroken,

—and crying on the floor to yourself.

[blublock404]

im still truly in denial that hes dead, i just think hes in the vought tower.. healing... and... alive...... I NEED HIM BACK 😭😭😭😭 EARVINGGGGG BRO I CRIED SO HARD WHAT THE FUCKKKKKKKKK I CAN'T, my other thoughts is just him living in the mountains and his cabin house with his animated friends and a farm ... living ... happily... without... pain

[egotisticaleverything]

NOOOOOOIIRRRR COME BAAAAACK I CANT DEAL W THIS IMPOSTER EARVINGGGGG PLEASE UR TOO SWEET FOR THE SEVEN PLZ TELL ME THEY HID YOU IN VOUGHT TOWER SOMEWHERE I NEED YOU BACK MY POOR BABY

He’s NEVER done anything wrong EVERRRRRR

[ignocubo]

was brainstorming fanfiction ideas and good god the concept of homelander having an assistant who possesses a power that was ALMOST good enough to save earving is ruining me.

i'm just imagining oc entering The Scene and seeing earving on the floor, freaking out and rushing to help him. homelander watches with a tearful yet disdainful gaze— not stopping oc but not actively trying to help either (not that he has the capacity to do anything at this point anyway but yk)— as oc's power fails once, then twice, then for the last time.

then homelander leaves to go lie/coldly confess to his higher ups about what happened and oc's just sitting there with earving's corpse in front of them and his still-warm blood on their hands. and on top of the existing knowledge that their weak power isn't good for anything useful, they're now scarred by the guilt of 'killing' their best friend/favorite member of the seven (cause, you know, they're in a state of panic and so their brain completely glazes over the fact that none of this would have happened if it weren't for homelander).

SOMEONE TAKE AWAY MY PLOTTING RIGHTS NOW!!!

[paradlselost]

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄

black noir x female reader

⎨ 𝐀𝐍 ⎬ this is set in SEASON FOUR so obvious spoilers ahead . this is just a drabble , i will post more about black noir in the future but i really needed to get a smut out for my own sanity 🙏 i need both earving and noir II . also that’s me under the table with him (:<

⎨ 𝐂𝐖 ⎬ second person point of view , mentions of mourning , straight up smut : p in v , unprotected sex , semi - public sex , zero pullout game .

How could he explain it to anyone who would happen to walk in? That it was a mistake? A heat-of-the-moment interaction? It certainly didn’t feel like an accident; the way you gripped his dick like it was a lifeline. Maybe in this moment it was, truthfully, it felt like the only thing keeping you grounded to this earth.

The once cool glass table below you rocked back and forth as if uncertain on the legs that held it up. At some point you would be worried it would break below your combined weight; but the mushroom-like head of his cock slamming back into a certain bundle of nerves drained every thought from your mind.

Visitation was extremely limited thanks to everything Homelander and Sage were doing, but a special exception had been made for you. Earvings closest friend, his unrequited love come to gather some semblance of closure from the new person under the mask. Wearing his suit as if years of unrelenting loyalty to Vought was dumbed down to him being a character any actor could play.

Maybe it was stupid to think otherwise, to hope there would be any kind of memorial for the man you had loved so dearly; how could everyone move on so fast from someone who had been there for so long? It wasn’t fair; but maybe his memory was better off out of your mind - out of pain and suffering and with his friends for eternity. Whatever eternity looked like.

New Noir may be a bit clueless when it comes to his role, but he’s not stupid. He could pick up on the way you avoided looking at his mask at first or how you apologized under your breath every time your hand brushed his armor. You were the best lead he had to figure out how to play this character he was thrown into. Not for a second did he believe his predecessor was only a brain dead maniac.

And he could be wrong, but he had a feeling his hunch of Earving loving you back was true. How could he not? You were gorgeous, head tilted back and jaw slack, knuckles turning white from your grip on the other side of the table. He didn’t remove his mask, only the cup that covered his crotch was off. He had to be acquainted with that area of the suit as boners against the covering hurt most of the time, and taking off the suit to get off in a bathroom stall was far too difficult.

Closure, what a funny word for what was happening. Maybe you could imagine it was Earving behind you, pounding against your cunt and creating those sweet wet sounds that vibrated through the room; but at this point nothing but the rhythm of his cock slipping in and out of you at such a pace could stay on your mind.

The cameras watched you two, no doubt, it was the meeting room after all. Your warm breath and the sweat that trickled down your form had created a slight fog against the once cool desk, a surface slippery enough to make him grab your hips to keep you in position. Hard, like he didn’t know his own strength, but you wouldn’t mind the bruises in the shape of his gloves, would you?

Cock-drunk, fucked stupid but still smart enough to feel the stutter of his hips and the throb of his dick inside of you. Fantasies of Earving often ended in him fucking his cum that leaked out of you back in, but you were suddenly acutely aware that this wasn’t him. You didn’t know if he was sterile; an important question you had accidentally skipped right over.

“Wait wait-“

Too little too late. Just as you had suppressed your eyes from rolling back into your head for the millionth time; he let out a groan. Grabbing your hips to stay impossibly close to you and pushing inside as far as possible, letting himself paint the walls of your cunt with his cum.

Panting, a gloved hand traveled from your hips to the very front of your thighs. His body pressed against you; keeping you on the table as he caught his breath - mindlessly playing with your clit, as if it was second nature. After a moment or two he seemed to realize what he did; you could hear him hiss softly from behind you, embarrassed.

“Oooh fuck - I’m sorry.”

[luckytiggertalia]

Named, but Nameless

1.2k homelander x reader, sfw, fluff, headcanons about his birth name, a canon conversation between my oc and homelander written in an x reader format, she/her reader

Gaining such a strong connection with another human, after Madelyn, was something Homelander was convinced would never happen again nor would he ever try again. The fragility of human life and the strength of a supe never mixed well. Like water and oil, so close and yet always separate. Life and love didn't care about that, though. Life and love were the reciprocating shakers, vibrating and agitating the oil and water until they were as incorporated as possible. 

His couch was the shaker, and his knee was doing the shaking, bouncing up and down in rhythmic thumps. The foreign feeling of tightness in his chest overwhelmed him. He was a God. Why the hell was he feeling all these human emotions? What reason did he have to be so anxious? Beside him was nothing more than his mortal. He was stronger than her. He was braver than her. He could do anything and everything she couldn't. So why couldn't he respond to one simple question?

"Answer me.. please. Are you okay?" she said after concluding that he would stay silent. Her voice was laced with worry, with her brows knitted together. "Homelander?"

His supe name rolled off her tongue so deliciously, despite the name being admittedly bulky. Her voice carried that name through his every vein and artery, but the tightness in his chest remained. That was his name. He was Homelander. And yet, after gaining such a connection to her, the name felt… wrong. Perhaps it was the cliché of superheroes to have secret identities. Starlight had one, "Annie" they called her. Black Noir did, too, "Earving". Was his name worthy of being a secret identity?

"Homelander?" she repeated, speaking more sternly. She reached out to him, placing her hand over his bouncing knee, knowing all too well that she couldn't still it.

"John.." he said, his voice hushed.

"John?" she repeated.

Homelander grimaced, hearing her say it. This was a mistake. He said it too impulsively, and now it was too late to take it back. 

"J.. John. It's my birth name. Use it. If you want, I mean." The uncertainty in his voice made him sick. He sounded so pathetic, so unsure, so human. 

She didn't speak, instead just trying to read his expression. The silence sickened him. Was she judging him for his name? Was the name too simple or boring for her? He had never exactly told a partner his real name. They always seemed to just find out, whether by accident or by snooping. He had hoped being the one to tell this lover his name would feel liberating. Oh, how wrong he was. This felt suffocating. This felt like his identity was being forced upon him. This felt like that damned cage he was kept in as a child. John. John Doe. Named, but nameless. A science experiment with no sense of self. Only pain. Torment. Abuse. 

"Do you want me to call you that?" her voice rang out, presumably noticing how uncomfortably he stirred from her silence. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again. Her knowing and using his assigned name was supposed to be the next step, and yet he wanted to say "no". Needed to say "no". 

"It's okay if you don't want me to, baby. I'm okay with just calling you Homelander."

His brow furrowed as he groaned, slamming his hands on the couch and forcing himself to his feet.

"No! No, you aren't… you aren't fucking getting it!" Homelander paced, his hand up near his mouth as he chewed on the leather of his crimson glove. "It isn't enough. 'Homelander' isn't enough! Everyone calls me that… Everyone uses that name. It's not special!" He hardly knew if he was making any sense to her. He wasn't even making any sense to himself. He knew he had no reason to get upset or frustrated because of something as trivial as a name, and yet he couldn't help it. He felt like a child. 

"Sweetheart, hey. It's alright. Let me try and understand, okay? Come here," she beckoned, arms opened and inviting. 

His teeth sunk harshly into the leather, his pacing slowing down as he glanced toward her. He stood still before going to reclaim his spot beside her, leaning into her warmth with his nose pressing into her neck. 

"Alright… So no 'John', and 'Homelander' isn't special enough. We could go with a nickname? I've used 'Homie' in the past. How about that one?"

The vibrations of her throat and the sound of her calmly beating heart soothed his unease. Always a problem solver, this one. The world would be damned if she ever couldn't find a solution to something.

"No… I like 'Homie', but it's still not special enough. I… I guess I want something more private. Just for us."

"Ah, I see." 

Silence again, but this time he knew she was just thinking. He didn't speak either, curious to see what his partner would come up with. She often surprised him with her ideas and suggestions and he hoped she would surprise him here, too. 

She broke the silence, "How about… Johnny? It is close to ‘John’, but far enough away to be special, and private, of course.”

The corner of his lip quirked in surprise. "Johnny?" he repeated, lifting his head off her shoulder. He had to fight back the smile forcing its way onto his lips. 

"Yeah! Johnny. I think it's cute, personally."

Homelander bit the inside of his cheek, averting his eyes all while turning his head away from her. That smile won and sat plastered across his lips. Hearing her say it again made a warmth blossom from his chest and spread to his every extremity. He could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. It wasn't any spectacular nickname at all, rather common really, and yet it sat with him. The tightness and anxiety he had felt was quickly forgotten. 

"I mean, we can try it," he said with an attempt at sounding indifferent. He leaned back against the couch, head still turned away from her.

His response earned a small laugh from her, "We'll try it, then." He heard her leaning closer and saw her hand coming around out of his peripheral. Soft and tender, her hands held his face as if he were a fragile, porcelain doll. She turned his head to look at her, her eyes filled with nothing but affection and love for him. They stared deep into the blues of his own. Instinctively, his head leaned deeper into her hold, lips centimeters away from her palm.

"I love you, Johnny…" 

That…

It rolled off her tongue, her lips… It glided through the air like a feather. His eyes grew wider and softer, lips parting as he took it all in. Her voice echoed throughout his psyche. He latched onto the soundwaves, never wanting to forget how beautiful her words sounded. His mind felt numb and he felt a high he’d never experienced before. He felt lightheaded in the best way possible. All that combined with the softness and love in her eyes made him feel as if he would faint right in her arms. He leaned deeper into her touch, reaching a hand up to press hers harder into his cheek. He kissed her palm, lips smiling against her skin. 

I love you, Johnny…

"I love you too, my darling…"

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+

BLACK NOIR wants you overstimulated and fucked out. When you’re as mute as he is, he calls it a win. Any choked, quiet sounds that emit from your mouth is a fucking symphony to his ears because he knows you’re too stupid to think of anything else to say.

When you’re clutching onto the sheets, drooling all over the covers from your gaping mouth suspended in mind-numbing pleasure while he rails you from behind; when you bury your little face into the mattress to scream, louder with each thrust, as he steadies you with a glove on your tailbone: He knows he’s got you. You’re his.

He picks up his foot to settle it on the edge of the bed, standing behind you tucked between your legs, plowing into you from an angle a few degrees difference and you’re fucking writhing. The sensational friction is all too much to bear, the wet chorus of your pussy nearly as loud as your mewling. He presses down on the dimples of your backside, yanking you back onto his cock, only to bounce your ass on his hips with the force of his push. He’s fucking juggling you on him, and all you can do is bang your fist against the mattress to release some of that energy.

You wish you could tell him that it’s so much, almost too much. Your eyes are rolling into the back of your head while your cunt’s being bullied into submission. Fat cock drives into your insides with reckless abandon and it hurts in such a good way. A warning hand reaches behind you, signaling him to slow down.

But he knows if you really wanted him to slow down, you wouldn’t be laying down taking it like the slut you are.

[apocalypse-shuffle]

BLACK NOIR | EARVING (the boys)

—

“Just a Trim” (Black Noir x Gn!Reader)

| In a spur of the moment move you offer to do Earving’s hair in order to spend more time with him. To your shock, he takes you up on the offer.

| SFW, Noir being briefly insecure about his disfigurement, hair care, good vibes, stand-alone fic.

| 1k+ words

Tomorrow was going to be a marked day. One of those dates that you held close to your heart and pulled out anytime you were even peripherally pressed about the event.

In passing Black Noir had mentioned his regularly scheduled grooming appointment. The hair that did still grow on his head would need a trim so he’d be offsite at a smaller Vought facility for a few hours.

You’d taken in his words, a mix between excitement that he felt it necessary to share his whereabouts at all warring with upset at how long he’d be gone (basically your whole workday) on the final day of the week you’d be able to see him until you were allowed back onto the upper floors in another four days.

It’s that heavy swirl of emotions that spurred your mouth into action and had, “I could trim it if you want,” falling past your lips unbidden.

He’d turned on deft feet at your words to stare you down from behind the mask, back ramrod straight and body still.

Finally, after maybe a minute of you waiting him out (the type of contemplative minute between you two that you cherished), Noir gave a slow nod of his head and pointed to two numbers on one of the recruitment posters on the wall next to you before marching off.

He’d indicated the numbers ‘two’ and ‘thirty’, and you’d never admit to anyone but him that you’d had a little bit of a bounce to your step after you’d registered what that meant.

So what if the thought of him allowing you into his hair had sent butterflies dashing through your bloodstream? It didn’t matter that he’d typically had what were no doubt unfeeling trims from Vought hired barbers either, because he had to know that you weren’t going to treat his hair with such clinical detachment.

You were going to be sharing some level of intimacy - he was going to let you be that intimate with him, period! - and you planned on treating this undoubtedly maskless milestone in your relationship with the appropriate amount of significance.

This was huge!

Holy hell you needed to gather your supplies.

─────

The top of his head is not devoid of similar scars as the ones that mar his face. A patch of gnarled scar tissue takes up a third of his scalp, scars running in their steep wiggling pattern and stopping any hair from growing.

The marks from the explosion still being so prominent even after all these years makes your heart squeeze painfully in your chest.

His interesting hair growth pattern is the first thing that drew you gaze when you’d entered. After your greeting he’d stared at you for a while, the note paper in his hand boldly proclaiming: ‘tell me if you want me to put it back on’, before he tossed the paper aside and ripped off his mask. For a moment all you’d been able to do was blink uncomprehendingly before realization dawned and you threw him a smile, or tried to since he’d kind of stopped looking at you entirely and has just been deathly still for the last minute or so.

After that you’ve forgotten yourself too much to not let your eyes wander, the white of his blind eye snagging your attention next and then the scars that crawled up the entirety of one side of his face and sprawled into his hair stole all of your remaining attention once more.

The scars are steep and plentiful and even the reports on his injury from back when he was originally caught by the explosive didn’t do even the sight of the scars left behind justice.

Finally, his expression registers and you cringe back and tear your gaze away from him entirely at the edges of the grimace you can see on his downturned face.

Way to go, you’ve gone and made the man uncomfortable.

“I’m ready when you are,” you say quickly, voice soft as you move further into his sparse personal space in the tower.

With a tentative two person shift and shuffle routine eventually you both end up settling down, you sitting towards the edge of the only lounge chair in his sitting room - bare feet planted flat on the unbelievably soft carpet - and Earving on the ground between your spread legs.

You don’t really talk much after that, preoccupied with getting his hair saturated with water so that it’s ready for you to detangle and stretch. The last thing you want to do is take length off of Earving’s hair that he didn’t want and skew his trust like that.

Up close his scarring is easier for you to map out as you brush your fingers over his wet curls with the finger of one hand, nothing but the edge of your pinkie on your other hand daring to press into his hairline in order to brace his head and keep it still.

Unthinkingly you stray from running over his curls to trace the border of the patch of skin between the scars on his head and the growth of his hair with your nail. The blunt point shifts fine hairs and barely applies any pressure as it goes but Earving shivers anyway.

The speed you snatch your hand back with jostles the both of you.

“Sorry!” Your voice comes out mostly squeak as you pull away even more, doing everything but straight up sailing across the room as your face heats up something fierce - though your cheeks show nothing for it - and your hands raise placatingly. “I’m so sorry. That’s on me. I wasn’t thinking—”

Your word vomit stops dead when Earving begins shaking his head and fully pivots his head up to look at you. From between your legs where he’s sitting down, stretched out legs crossed at the ankle in front of him and face on full display for you, he looks so damn unreal your words peter off like a dying engine.

Christ almighty if Earving didn’t look painful, but he was perfect all the same.

Watching the way he so readily faces you now with both his good and bad eye without obstruction and the tentative quirk of his lips, you shiver. So fucking perfect.

He shakes his head again, his functioning eye still meeting one of your similarly brown ones, and then leans forward to press a lingering kiss to the bend of your knee.

At no point does he stop holding your gaze.

A tiny noise falls from your lips and you watch, entranced, as a full lopsided smile takes over the bottom half of his face before he nuzzles into the brown skin on the inside of your thigh with another branding press of his lips.

“Earving,” you breathe, too close to choked up to regulate your voice anymore than that.

Your tone is incredibly transparent, but you can’t even be mad about it when he’s gazing up at you with such a sharp glimmer in his eye.

In response he wraps a tender hand around your ankle and taps lightly at your skin for you to continue before stretching his neck back until his damp hair is pressed to your stomach again.

Painfully aware of your closeness - and where his head is, good lord - you heed his request with far steadier fingers than before.

Y’all were good. He’s pretty clearly just shown you that, now you just had to let yourself believe it.

This time when you press against his head to shift him around as you work you’re not so tentative.

When you brush your free hand down his face to ease him into a better angle for you to pick out his hair he leans into your hold and strengthens it, his breath rushing over your fingers like a proclamation as you run the pad of your middle finger over the bow of his lip and the raised lines of his scars brand a claim into your palm.

When the teeth of the pick snag on a tight congregation of coils and you murmur a soft apology his thumb rubs circles into the ball of your foot and sends shivers up your dark skin.

When you’ve finally combed out his shrinkage and pulled out the well loved hair grade shears he responds to the shaky breath you take while lifting the blades to his head with a firm grip on your ankle and a strong squeeze to ground you.

The both of you move like this for the rest of the hour and by the end you’re trimming with steady hands and intermittently tipping Earving’s head up to blow away stray hair trimmings and press little kisses along his hairline just to draw out his telltale huff of laughter.

Sure, after this you’ll both go back to just being two people working in the same unfeeling company and Earving will go back to being Black Noir, one of the ever merciless gods that you were all little more than ants in the eyes of, but for now he pulls you up and you tug him down and y’all are able to come together like wayward nephilim to experience the finer things in life somewhere in the middle of all that hierarchical bullshit.

Just for an hour or two; trapped in your own little pocket of the world.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed! Please mind any typos, I am but one lowly creature and my eyes can only catch so much.

I don’t know why this character is so amazing at being my impromptu spur of the moment muse, but he really is so good for it.

Also, lowkey I kind of feel like Noir would wear his mask all the time even if he’s wearing civilian clothes like Wade/Deadpool tends to do (and there might’ve been a Vought commercial of him wearing civilian clothing over his suit once so there’s also that option). I don’t know, the image just came to me.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

[cheynovak]

Echoes and Shadows - Part 5  

Soldier Boy x F/Reader Y/N           

Warnings:  Fights, Dead, mentioning miscarriage, blood, hurt, fluff ... 

Side note: English isn’t my first language    

Words:  3000 

*Does not follow the boys storyline * 

--     

In the 1950, Soldier Boy had to train a train a young girl supe named Y/N, she had a "nice girl next door" persona. Soldier Boy hated it at first, until they started to work together, he seemed to start to like this kid.   

Years passed and Y/N didn’t seem to age a lot either. To her it seemed that Ben started to respect her. The two of them worked together just fine until his team Payback was assembled.   

His relationship with Crimson made her feel alone, and her bond with Noir made him jealous. It goes without saying her and Crimson Countess where never best friends.   

-- 

Y/N's mind swam with the flood of memories, the painful flashback receding as the present came back into focus. Annie sat across from her, a mix of shock and concern on her face, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.  

The kitchen was filled with a tense silence, broken only by the sound of the front door opening. Ben stepped in, his face a mix of surprise and worry as he saw both Y/N and Annie in tears. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice filled with concern as he quickly crossed the room to them.  

Y/N, her hands trembling, pushed the stack of medical files to his chest. Ben took the papers, his eyes scanning the contents. Y/N swallowed hard, steeling herself for what he had to say.  

Annie, sensing the need for privacy, quietly excused herself, leaving Y/N and Ben alone in the dimly lit kitchen. 

“Is that what you wanted to keep from me, Ben?" Ben's expression shifted, the memories clearly resurfacing for him as well. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself before speaking.  

"Y/N, it was... you were never the same," he began, his voice gentle but firm. "You were depressed, sad, angry." Ben hesitated, then continued. "You had a lot of pain, and there was nothing I could do." He paused, taking her hands in his.  

She pulled back “You could have stayed.” Ben looked confused. ”What?” Y/N’s lip trembled, “You could have stayed the morning after... You could have stayed with me when I lost...” Y/N could see she was working on his nerves.

"You said I needed to leave!”  

She got closer to him, fingers pointing to his chest. “Because you accused Noir! It was you who fucked me Ben, it was you who said all the right words to get me to sleep with you. It was you who I told that I needed, no wanted a steady relationship. It was you who left before the morning and acted like nothing ever happened. It was you who used me! It was YOU who was the FUCKING father!”  

Both Ben and Y/N’s eyes started to tear. “I know” Ben said his lip trembling “I know... I know that."

The weight of the moment pressed heavily on both of them, the revelations and emotions swirling around them like a storm. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, tears welling up in her eyes again.  

"Why didn't you say anything?"

Ben took a deep breath, his gaze never leaving hers. "Because you didn't remember," he explained, his voice pained, "I didn't want to put you through it all over again."  

Y/N's brow furrowed in confusion. "But you knew it wasn't Earving's right? How did you find out, did I told you it was yours?" Ben hesitated, the memory clearly painful for him. "There was a moment, after you got home from the hospital," he began, his voice low.

"I was angry, confused. I thought... I thought you had been with someone else. I accused you of sleeping with Noir of cheating on me." Y/N's eyes widened in shock.  

“So I... I asked Vogelbaum for the test results they did after you refused to answer who’s it was. I wanted to confront you...” He continued. “He eh, also said you asked to eh... make sure that could never happen again.”  

Y/N nods remembering the conversation.” He said he’d do it if he could use my DNA for tests.” Ben took a step closer, “In ‘80 he asked me to get tested too. Probably to make sure something like that never happens again.”  

She got up “Probably.” and moved to the bedrooms.” Hey” Ben said, Y/N turned around.” I never meant to hurt you. I’m not a bad guy... you know that.” Y/N sniffed “I don’t know what to believe anymore Ben.” before she left for her room. 

Ben lay on his back, staring at the dark ceiling of his bedroom. The familiar shapes of the furniture took on ghostly forms in the dim light filtering through the curtains. His mind was a labyrinth of tangled thoughts and regrets.  

He turned onto his side, trying to escape the memories that flooded his consciousness, but it was useless. The soft, heart-wrenching sobs from the next room pierced the silence, each cry a dagger in his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to ignore the sound, but Y/N's grief was impossible to ignore.  

It was a Deja vu from 1979, the year everything changed, the year he lost her thanks to his own fucking stupid mistakes. The memory came rushing back with a clarity that was almost painful. "The baby was yours." Vogelbaum had said, Ben had been numb at first, unable to process the enormity of the loss.  

But Y/N had been devastated, her sorrow a palpable force that hung over them like a dark cloud. He had been such a fool. He remembered the way suspicion had gnawed at him, how he had convinced himself that the child couldn't be his.  

The guilt gnawed at him now, years later, as he lay in the dark. He had betrayed her trust, accused her of infidelity, while he himself was entangled in a multiple affairs. The irony was bitter on his tongue.  

The fights with Crimson Countess had become more frequent and more violent after Y/N lost the baby. Ben knew, deep down, that she had always known the truth. The baby had been his, a cruel twist of fate that he couldn't accept at the time. He had projected his own guilt and shame onto Y/N, using anger to mask his fear. 

The sobs from the next room intensified, a crescendo of anguish that echoed through the walls. Ben's heart ached with the knowledge that he was the cause of her pain. He had never truly understood how deeply she had been wounded until it was too late.  

Crimson Countess had been a reckless attempt to escape the reality of his own failures. But the more he fought with her, the more he saw the truth reflected in her eyes. She had known all along that he wanted Y/N but was too scared, and she had used that knowledge to manipulate him, to keep him under her control.  

The doubt and anger had twisted him into someone he no longer recognized. Ben sat up in bed, the weight of his remorse pressing down on him. He couldn't change the past, but he could try to make amends.  

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, the floorboards creaking beneath his feet. He hesitated for a moment, then walked to the door and quietly opened it. The hallway was dark, the only light coming from the sliver under Y/N's door.  

He moved silently, each step a reminder of the countless times he had walked this path before. He paused outside her room, listening to the sound of her sobs, his heart breaking anew.  

Ben knocked softly, the sound barely audible. There was a moment of silence, then the door opened a crack. Y/N's tear-streaked face appeared, her eyes red and swollen from crying. "What?" she whispered, her voice hoarse.  

"I'm... sorry, Y/N," he said, his voice trembling but honest. She looked at him for a long moment, the pain in her eyes a mirror of his own. Then, slowly, she opened the door wider, allowing him to step inside.

Ben gently lifted Y/N off the ground, feeling her small frame tremble against him. He carried her to the bed, settling her gently against his chest. The years of distance and unspoken pain melted away as he held her close, his hand moving soothingly over her back.  

He pressed his lips to her hair, whispering words of comfort that he hoped could bridge the chasm between them. "It's okay, let it all out" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. Not anymore."  

Her sobs gradually slowed, turning into shaky breaths. Each exhale was a fragile testament to the weight of her sorrow. Ben continued to stroke her back, the rhythmic motion intended to calm the storm of emotions within her. He could feel her heartbeat against his chest, a rapid, fragile flutter that gradually steadied.  

Y/N nestled closer against Ben, drawing strength from his embrace. But the question that had lingered in her mind for years surfaced, raw and demanding answers. "Ben, why didn't you ever choose me? Was I not good enough?"

Her voice was a whisper, tinged with a pain that had never fully healed. Ben's breath caught in his throat. He had known this question would come someday, but facing it now, with her fragile and vulnerable in his arms, made it all the more excruciating.  

He tightened his hold on her, as if by doing so he could shield her from the painful truth. "I..." He hesitated, searching for the right words. "I never thought I was good enough for you, Y/N. You were always this incredible, kind, and beautiful person, and I... I was flawed, broken.” 

He took a deep breath. “Once I got to know you, I felt like I didn't deserve you, like I would only drag you down... and I did." She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for sincerity. "But you were everything to me, Ben. I loved you. I needed you. I sticked with you since the first day we were introduced."   

"I know," he said, his voice breaking. "And I failed you. It was easier to push you away, to hide. It was cowardly, and it was wrong." Y/N's fingers tightened on his shirt, her knuckles whitening.  

"I would have never asked you to choose me, but when you said you wanted to be the man I wanted, I believed you." Ben closed his eyes, the memory of that terrible time slicing through him like a knife. “I meant it, I just... freaked out in the morning.”  

“Why?” He looked in her eyes, the honesty reflecting in his green pearls. “I saw everything I dreamt of. You, me a life together somewhere in the country, sitting on a porch watching our grandkids...”  

He could see the tears in her eyes shine, but also a soft smile on her lips. “And then I thought about what my father said, and I... just... ran. Afraid of losing what we had. Afraid to fuck everything up, which, I know I did by treating you that way. But still, you would have the opportunity to find a man who isn’t a disappointment, like fucking Noir.”   

He looked at his hand that was still caressing her back. Y/N’s hand moved over his cheek, his beard feeling rough against her skin. “You are not a disappointment, Ben.” She lifted herself and softly placed her lips on his. “An idiot, yes, disappointment never.” He smirked.  

-- 

As the first light of dawn crept into the room, Ben and Y/N still entwined in each other's arms, the comfort of their closeness a balm to years of pain. They had fallen asleep at some point during the night, their bodies and hearts finally finding a moment of peace.  

But that peace was shattered by the loud, insistent pounding on the door. "Oi! Wakey, wakey!" Butcher's voice bellowed through the wood. "Get yer arses up! We got work to do." Ben stirred, blinking groggily as he sat up, his arm still wrapped protectively around Y/N.  

She awoke with a start, her eyes wide and disoriented. The brief moment of tranquillity was gone, replaced by the urgency of Butcher's call. "What's going on?" Y/N asked, her voice still husky from sleep. Ben frowned, his mind racing to catch up. "Sounds like Butcher found something."  

They dressed quickly, the previous night's intimacy giving way to the practical need for action. When they emerged from the room, Butcher was waiting in the hallway, his expression a mix of impatience and grim determination.  

"We found Mindstorm," Butcher said without preamble. "He's holed up in a compound not far from here. We need to move fast." Y/N's heart quickened at the mention of Mindstorm. She had her own reasons for wanting to find him, reasons she hadn't yet shared with Ben.  

"I'm coming with you," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. Butcher raised an eyebrow. "This ain't a sightseeing tour, love. It's gonna be dangerous." 

"I know," Y/N replied firmly." Ben looked at her, concern etched on his face. "Y/N, are you sure? This is just about getting revenge. You know that right?" She met his gaze, her eyes steady. "I'm sure, Ben." Butcher glanced at Ben, then back at Y/N.  

After a long moment, he nodded reluctantly. "Alright. But you stay close, and if things go south, you follow my lead. Got it?" - "Got it," Y/N agreed, relief flooding through her. They set out together, the tension of the upcoming confrontation hanging heavy in the air.  

As they neared Mindstorm's compound, Y/N's resolve only strengthened. She knew this was her chance to reclaim the pieces of herself that had been lost. She acted like she changed her mind. Staying behind with the car. Ben and Butcher looked with suspicion but moved on. 

But before Butcher or Ben could make a move, Hughie appeared beside Mindstorm in a blink, grabbing his arm. "Now!" Y/N shouted, and in an instant, they were gone, teleported. She knew this was her chance, and she was determined to uncover the truth about her past, no matter what it took.  

Mindstorm looked frightened, his eyes darting around as if expecting Soldier Boy or Butcher to appear at any moment. Hughie stood beside him, ready to teleport them away at the first sign of trouble.  

"Y/N," Hughie said, relief evident in his voice as she approached. "We don't have much time." She with her eyes still closed said. "I need to talk to him. Alone." Hughie hesitated, then gave a quick “ok”   

With that, he stepped out of earshot, leaving Y/N alone with Mindstorm. She took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest. She took a deep breath steadying herself. "Mindstorm, I need your help."  

"Help?" he echoed, his voice shaking. "Why would I help you? You know what they’ll do to me if they find me." She opened her eyes, her expression resolute. "Because I can get you out of here. Hughie will take you anywhere you want to go, away from Soldier Boy, away from Vought. But I need you to give me back my memories first."  

Mindstorm swallowed hard, his fear evident. "I... I can't. If they find out..." "They won't," Y/N interrupted, her voice firm. "This is your chance to disappear. To start over. But I need to know the truth. I need to know what happened to me."  

He hesitated, his eyes searching hers for any sign of deceit. Finally, he sighed, his shoulders slumping. Y/N stepped closer, her eyes never leaving his. "I know Vought had you do it. There's no way I would forget such a significant part of my past just from a fight. You erased my memories, didn't you?"  

Mindstorm nodded, guilt and fear warring in his expression. "Yes. Vought ordered it. They wanted to protect their secrets. They didn't care about what it would do to you." "Give them back," Y/N demanded, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger and desperation. "I need to know everything." and in a second he did. 

She felt a strange sensation, like a gentle tugging at the edges of her consciousness. Images and feelings began to flood back, overwhelming her senses. She saw herself with Ben, their happy moments before the tragedy of losing their unborn child.  

She felt the crushing grief, the accusations, the betrayal. She remembered the day Vought had taken her, to a room where Mindstorm had erased her memories. Tears streamed down her face as the memories continued to pour in, each one a sharp reminder of the life she had lost.  

Mindstorm looked at her, his expression a mixture of pity and relief. "It's done. You have them all back." Y/N wiped her tears, her resolve hardening. "Thank you," she said, her voice steady. "Now, go with Hughie. He'll take you somewhere safe." 

Before Mindstorm could react, Ben hurled a knife with lethal precision. The blade buried itself in Mindstorm's eye, eliciting a bloodcurdling scream. He fell to his knees, clutching his face as blood streamed down. Ben didn't hesitate. He grabbed Mindstorm by the hair, dragging him to the ground.  

"You think you can mess with her mind and get away with it?" Ben snarled, slamming Mindstorm's head against the floor. "You think you can ruin our lives and walk free?" Mindstorm's voice was barely a whisper, choked with pain and fear. "Please... I was following orders. Vought... Vought made me do it." Ben hesitated, his grip loosening slightly. 

Y/N and Hughie heard Ben yell.

"What are you talking about?!" Mindstorm coughed, blood trickling from his mouth. "They needed you gone. Both of you. Vought... had a plan, they made a baby. Born in 1981. A replacement for you. They couldn't have you around, too much of a liability. And they couldn't risk Y/N remembering."  

Y/N's eyes widened when seeing Ben’s anger flare “WHAT! That’s impossible!” he yelled, her breath catching in her throat. "Ben stop! STOP!" With a brutal motion, Ben slammed his shield into Mindstorm's head, over and over.  

The supes' body went limp. a heavy silence fell upon them, broken only by the ragged breathing of Ben. "What did he say?" she asked when he walked past them. "Ben?"

But he ignored her and walked on.  

------

Please like, share or comment when you liked the story. If you liked this, please check out my masterlist for other stories.

Tag list:-> If you want to be added let me know what you like to read! If anyone feels like you're tagged too much, also let me know please. :)

@suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @globetrotter28 @jackles010378 @hobby27

@cevansbaby-dove @n-o-p-e-never

@call-me-mrs-winchester @muhahaha303 @deangirl96 @bitchykittenconnoisseur @loving4ngel

[afro-hispwriter]

The Diamond Queen: Homelander

Homelander/John x reader(platonic), Soldier Boy/Ben x reader(mentioned, romantic), Reader x other female characters

Summary- You have a history with Homelander

Warnings- baby John, mentions of drug use, mentions of soldier boy's "death", herogasam, strap on sex, drug use, snorting of bodies, gxgxg, slight temperature play, more on readers' past

A/n- this is a prequel to Parts 1 and 2

Taglist for this series- @the-house-of-auditore-frye

-

Earving got placed in a medically induced coma after you returned from Nicaragua. They were worried he wouldn't pull through but his powers helped keep him alive. But Ben had destroyed him far beyond repair. You sat by his bed every day, crying.

It wasn't until Vogelbaum called for you. It took a bit of convincing but soon you were standing in front of his institute. It wasn't the first time you were there, you would be called occasionally when an out-of-control supe needed to be controlled or calmed down in their words. 

"I'm so glad you were able to come we know you're going through a lot with Noir and Soldier Boy. God Soldier Boy, hard to believe-." Vogelbaum started, 

"Just show me the supe." You cut off Vogelbaum and he frowned. You looked so drained of life, but who wouldn't? 

"Follow me." He led you through the facility and into the pediatric ward. It made you uneasy, controlling a child pained you. 

"A child?" 

"I know how much you hate it, I'm sorry." Another scientist was standing right in front of the door, making faces through the window. When he saw you approach he backed off and they let you look through the small window.

"Oh." A tiny baby, who could barely be a year old sat there all alone smiling and laughing as he held his blue blanket. "He's laughing, seems fine to me." You say not taking your eyes off of the baby. 

"That's why we called you, we think we have something here, but we need him to display his powers." 

"You want me to force a baby to use its power?"

"We'll pay you, double what you usually get." 

Money is money you thought and opened the door. You walked in and the giggling baby looked up at you with a big gummy smile.

"What's his name?" You asked Vogelbaum.

"John." 

"Hey, John." You say and sat down, crossing your legs. John crawled to you with his blanket in his hand, he grabbed your knees and used them to push himself onto your lap. "Oh hey." You grabbed him under his arms and held him tightly. As your hands touched his bare arms you felt a sudden electric shock between the two of you. Your eyes softened and you brushed his hair to the side. "Why do they have you locked up here? Hmm?"

He squealed and grabbed onto the hem of your shirt. His bright blue eyes stared right at you, instantly melting away any stress you had.

-

Since the day you met John, you visited him every day. You created a bond with the child. 

Vogelbaum watched the interactions every day as well. It fascinated him, the connection between you and your former fiancé's child was extraordinary. You didn't seem to know John was Ben's, and he'd like to keep it that way.

"Happy Birthday John, I got you some cake." In a singing voice as you carried a gift and a whole cake into the now 8-year-old's room.

"Thank you Y/n." John came up to you and instantly hugged you tightly. It was a very tight hug, any normal human would have been crushed. Ever since John started to display his powers you were there more. You calmed him down most of the time. As he did burn straight through one of the workers just the previous week. 

"Guess what flavor it is?" You say and set the cake down on the table.

"Vanilla!" 

"You got it!" You handed him the bag with his present and he sat on his head and instantly started ripping it open. 

"Cool! These are limited edition Payback figures!" 

"I know, luckily I know a few people." 

"You're the best." He hugged you again and out of the corner of his eyes a lit-up cake. It floated in front of him and he backed up. 

"Make a wish." John's eyes flicked up to you and back down to the cake. He thought for a moment and you made sure not to let your mind wander. He blew out the candle and you clapped your hands.

"Y/n?" 

"Hmm." 

"Can you watch the first Soldier Boy movie with me?" You knew you should've said no but John was giving you puppy dog eyes.

"Okay, sure."  

The two of you settled on his tiny bed eating cake. The entire movie John pointed stuff out, you tried to listen but every time Ben's face appeared you shut off. It wasn't until John shoved you hard that brought you back.

"Y/n? Are you okay?" 

"Y-Yeah sorry." Your voice broke a bit.

"I was asking if you ever met Soldier Boy. Since you know, Noir. Your brother worked with him." 

"Oh yeah, i-i met him a few times. He was everything the movies and the media made him out to be." 

"That's cool, do you think there will ever be another Soldier Boy?" You looked down at him and swallowed.

"I hope so, the world needs its superhero." 

You knew deep down that was Vought's plan. John has shown exceptional, dangerous power. Something that interested them heavily. 

"I wish I had your abilities, I hate mine. I hurt people." He says and his nose twitches. You set your plate down and wrapped an arm around him.

"I hate mine too, they aren't as fun as everyone thinks they are." John smiled at that.

"Just another thing we have in common."

-

It was the tenth anniversary of Ben's death(or disappearance). The world was celebrating their lost hero, mourning. 

Herogasm was mourning differently. You had never seen so many people fucking in one place. You have gone to herogasm quite a bit with Ben, but it was never this packed. 

Your nose burned as you snorted the white substance off the girl with fire abilities pretty pussy. While the girl with ice powers shoved her ice dick far up inside of you. You were high as a kite and loved it. The difference in temperature and the drug made your orgasm 10 times more intense than usual. 

"Fuck." You moaned out and lifted your head but got your face instantly shoved into the girl in front of you. She rocked herself harshly, moaning loudly as her clit ground against your nose. You opened your mouth as she came harshly, jerking her hips. 

"Thank you." She breathes out and the girl behind you pulled out making you whimper. 

"Want to have some more fun?" She kisses you should and you smile hazily.

"Another day." You say out of breath and flip yourself around. Both women stand up but before leaving they leaned down and pressed a long kiss to your lips before pulling away and turning to each other, pushing their lips together and you watch steam pour out from between them. 

"See you Y/n." You watched them leave to join whatever other group there was. You stood up and started searching for your clothes amongst the heap of them. 

You walked out of the house fully clothed, denying any advances or invitations on your way out. You even stole a bottle of tequila.

Fireworks popped in the distance. All for Soldier Boy.  They all acted like they fucking knew him. They knew Soldier Boy. You knew Ben. 

You sat on the wet ground, drowning the bottle of alcohol. You hadn't touched a bottle in years. Both alcohol and drugs.

When you first received the V and discovered what your abilities were. The voices were so loud. You couldn't control it, you couldn't shut them out or just focus on one mind. You were at a party and on the verge of tears of how sensitive you were when someone offered you a little bag of powder. It was your medicine until you finally learned to control it. Ben helped you control it, and he didn't even understand it. 

Ben was the one thing on your mind. It made you think of what your life could have been like if he were still alive. Would the world finally know who their beloved hero's love is? Would your relationship be accepted? Would you have had your wedding? Kids? Would he have retired? 

So many questions and no answers. But they made you think of John. You've known the boy for almost 10 years. He felt like your son. You watched him grow. You practically raised him. He could be your son. 

-

That's how you ended up in front of the institution. Eyes bloodshot. Could barely keep up. 

You opened the doors and walked right past the front nurse. She called you for saying visiting hours weren't until the next day but she got cut off by her neck snapping. You forced the security doors open and alarms started blaring around the building. 

Workers noticed you and immediately got out of your way. 

"Where's Vogelbaum?" You slurred at one and they shakily looked around, stammering over their words. 

"I'm right here." You whipped around and almost stumbled but caught yourself. "Seems like you're having a night, why don't we talk in my office." He points back behind him. 

"Don't bullshit me." You cocked your head to the aide and you were in his mind. He was nervous, everyone was. But Vogelbaums's mind was screaming something about a collar. "What collar?" 

"Y/n, don't. It's been a day for you, with Ben and his-." 

"I'm taking John with me, he-he deserves a good life."  You say and the scientist sighs.

"We can't let you do that." That made you laugh.

"Did you forget who I am? What I can do?" you simply closed your eyes and everyone in that hallway was under your control. "Bring me John." 3 people walked away like robots, while everyone else was frozen at attention. It wasn't long before John screamed your name down the hall.

"Y/n!" You turned around and immediately opened your arms. When he got closer he stopped. "Are you okay?" You probably looked terrible, horrifying to a child. 

"John is okay, I'm here to take you home. We can be a family." At the sound of family, John immediately perked up. 

"Really?"

"Yeah." He smiled brightly and ran into your arms.

"Can we leave now?" He whispered into your neck and you nodded.

"Right now." As you pulled apart Johns's eyes widened in shock.

"Watch out!" You turned around but it was too late. Someone in all black stood there holding a silver collar. Before you could react it got slammed on your neck and it locked. Your hands grabbed at it, trying to rip it off but to no avail. Suddenly John blasted the person with his heat vision, instantly killing them. 

Your control over everyone fell. You tried to activate your diamond form but nothing worked. 

"Fuck." You say and John kneels down next to you. "This shit won't let me use my powers. FUCK!" 

"We have to go." John cries.

"I know, I know." You say and feel your body slowly start to weaken. "What is- what is this doing to me?" You asked yourself and your eyes started to flutter close. 

"Gas them." Someone said and a can clatter next to you. You started coughing harshly and John dropped to his knees, coughing hard as well. You collapsed face first into the ground, slowly falling unconscious. 

-

Your eyes fluttered open and the blinding light was unbearable. 

"Fuck." You mumbled and slowly started to sit up. 

"Y/n, lay back down." A deep voice made its way to your ears.

"Mmm." You flopped on the bed and blinked rapidly to get used to your surroundings. You looked around and your eyes settled on the scientist you wished you could keep calling your friend. 

“You really fucked up.” You rolled your eyes.

“I'm leaving. With John, and you’re not going to stop me.” You say and in an attempt to control his, a shock triggered makes you scream. “What the fuck?” It made him chuckle. 

“You know Vought is so terrified of you that they had me create a contingency plan just for you. At first, it was Soldier Boy himself but then the two of you started getting involved so we had to turn to something different. Hell, I didn’t even think it was going to work. But here we are.” That’s when you felt the metal on your neck, you reached up and grabbed it but a tiny shock made you let it go. 

“What is this?”

“This is the device that won’t let you use your abilities, it weakens you, and if you try to use the. It seems powerful shocks, enough of them and we fry your brain. You’ll become a mindless zombie.” He stood from his chair and got close to your face. “Just like everyone you control.” You gave him a hard glare before looking away and swallowing.

“What do you want from me?”

“I need you to leave. Never come back. And don’t come looking for John. America. The world needs a hero again, and it's going to be John.” 

“He’s just a kid.”

“He won't be in a few years. I'm going to propose a deal.” He says and you stay quiet. “You’re going to leave and never come back and in return. We take this collar off.”  He grabbed it with his hands and he tugged it. “It will stay locked away and nobody will be able to replicate it. Vought will also make sure you live comfortably, funded for the rest of your life. Does that sound good?” 

Your jaw tensed and you took in a deep breath.

“What about John, he’s going to ask.” You say and feel your eyes water.

“We’ll worry about that. Now, do we have a deal?” He holds out his hand with a raised eyebrow. You looked at it and back up at him. With a deep breath, you grabbed his hand. 

-

A/n- not proud of this one tbh. Let me know what you guys think though. Going to start working on part 3 ASAP:)

[malware-180]

This is so embarrassing but can i request a Johan Liebert x Female reader that's stressed out from like their job or college stuff idkidk but take ur time!!

This is in spanish & english cuz yep! 👀

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Tu trabajo como profesora era algo que amabas pero que te estresaba en ocasiones. Los adolescentes de octavo grado eran un combustible de estrés para ti; tan caótico lidiar con un hervidero de chicos rebeldes, irresponsables y desconsiderados contigo y tus colegas.

Tal vez los llevarías de excursión a las calles de Detroit para que contemplen a los drogadictos y vagabundos del lugar. Dirás algo como "si no hacen sus tareas van a terminar peor que estas personas, muchachos".

Sí, eres algo cruel cuando te lo propones.

Al igual que Johan.

Tu novio con gusto escuchó tu letanía acerca de cómo la impresora del colegio se había atrofiado por falta de mantenimiento. Mientras preparaba un té de naranja con hierbabuena para ambos.

Después, le contaste sobre como Earving (marsupial del instituto) se escapó de su jaula y orinó los chícharos de la cafetería. Estás pensando en adoptar a ese travieso animal.

Liebert se rió ante tu anécdota. No es tan fan de los animales, pero no se opuso a la idea.

Trazó un masaje sobre tus hombros con el propósito de que estuvieras relajada. Tu novio siempre daba en el centro de la diana cuando se trataba de hacerte sentir mejor.

Hoy, no fue la excepción a la regla. Mira, incluso fue a comprarte tu pastel favorito.

Tal vez convenga estresarte más seguido. ¿No?

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

English version

Your job as a teacher was something you loved but was stressful at times. Eighth grade teenagers were stress fuel for you; so chaotic dealing with a swarm of unruly, irresponsible and inconsiderate kids with you and your colleagues.

Maybe you'd take them on a hike on the streets of Detroit to see the local drug addicts and homeless people. You'll say something like "if you don't do your homework you're going to end up worse than these people, guys."

Yes, you are somewhat cruel when you put your mind to it.

Like Johan.

Your boyfriend was happy to listen to your complaint about how the school printer had atrophied from lack of maintenance. While preparing an orange tea with mint for you to.

Later, you told him about how Earving (high school marsupial) broke out of his cage and urinated on the peas in the cafeteria. You are thinking of adopting that mischievous animal.

Liebert laughed at your anecdote. He's not that big of an animal fan, but he wasn't opposed to the idea.

He traced a massage on your shoulders with the purpose that you were relaxed. Your boyfriend always hit the bull's-eye when it came to making you feel better.

Today was no exception to the rule. Look, he even went to buy you your favorite cake.

It may be worth stressing out more often. No?

_______________________

I hope you like it!

[annaberunoyume]

J'ai publié 1 172 fois en 2022

C'est 1 041 billets de plus qu'en 2021 !

199 billets créés (17%)

973 billets reblogués (83%)

Les blogs que j'ai le plus reblogués :

@unwelcome-ozian

@monsterbride99

@feltycartoons

@benjimatorarts

@the-clumsywitch

J'ai étiqueté 1 123 billets en 2022

Seulement 4% de mes billets ne comportaient pas de tag

#astrology - 153 billets

#spideypool - 64 billets

#art - 42 billets

#mob psycho 100 - 42 billets

#wlw - 40 billets

#lesbian - 38 billets

#youtube - 34 billets

#fanart - 33 billets

#wade wilson - 32 billets

#lgbtq - 31 billets

Tag le plus long : 110 caractères

#love the way u drew spidey n how we can definitely tell he isnt going to be looking away anytime soon ahahahah

Mes billets vedette en 2022 :

n°5

Ain't Nothing a little Emerald Dust won't cure! (Black Noir x Genderneutral!Reader)

Black Noir finds himself lost in thoughts and cannot fall asleep. You, as Emerald Dust, a supe that can make people fall asleep with fairy-like dust, helps him out.

****

Black Noir: (Fidjetting on his tatami.)

Y/N: (Sitting next to him.) Earving, you're okay?

Black Noir: (He writes something on his notebook.) I CAN'T STOP WORRYING ABOUT YOU

Y/N: Oh, dear. Why?

Black Noir: YOU ARE NOT AS STRONG AS THE OTHERS

Y/N: I know. But you taught me so well in fighting skills. And without me, the Seven would kill more. Seriously, what is it with Maeve and killing? A little dust of mine would usually do the trick. Also, I am slightly rising in points with the public. I guess you can call selling sleeping pills and herbal teas a good start. Hehe.

Black Noir: (He seems to silently laugh under his mask, then lowers his head.)

Y/N: …Earving? they touch his shoulder

Earving: (He turns around and looks at them…Then…He slowly removes his mask, revealing a pleading right eye. He scribbles a note.) PLEASE USE YOUR POWER ON ME

Y/N: Huh? You want me…to make you fall asleep?

Earving: (Nods more frantically. Then he sheds a tear and hugs them, nesting his face into their belly.)

Y/N: Alright. (stroking his hair and helping him lie down on their lap You're so beautiful. They smile with emotion, then slowly raises their hand above his face. A gentle, slow rain of turquoise dust slowly falls like a mist of rain on his eyes. Y/N takes special care in using their powers at a snail's pace to utterly soothe their sweet raven prince. They begin to sing.)

Go to sleep, the twilight's softly falling

Rest ye well

Beneath the evening star

Troubled hearts, find repose

'Neath the drowsy spell of night

Cares of day, drift away

As the sun sinks out of sight

Go to sleep…

Rest ye well…

Go to sleep…

Go to sleep…

Earving: (As they sing and hum to him, he finds himself slowly turning turquoise in colour, his little cartoon friends nestling in the nook of his arms. He sighs, smiling more and more drunkenly and looking up adoringly at Y/N. He yawns and nuzzles Y/N's belly.)

Y/N: (They smile lovingly and stroke his head, nuzzling his forehead and kissing it, smiling up to their eyes as he completely becomes darkly turquoise. Earving yawns again and smacks his lips together before snuggling his head into their belly more and drifting into a sweet, deep slumber. Rest ye well…) Go to sleep…

(Y/N kisses his head one last time, before shifting so that they are lying down, Earving's head on their stomach and Y/N's arm over his chest and Buster Beaver on top of it.)

THE END

Voir l'intégralité du billet

54 notes - publié le 23 septembre 2022

n°4

Charlie and Nick being too cute for their own good. Thank you, Alice Oseman, for bringing forth such a lovely, wholesome story!

59 notes - publié le 25 avril 2022

n°3

When your shadow self is glitching...

Gif found here: https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/511510470186651700/

77 notes - publié le 9 mars 2022

n°2

Lookin' at you, Juce, Spideypool and Symbrock. ;-)

Original video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-D50bjRjwHc

86 notes - publié le 17 mars 2022

Mon billet n°1 en 2022

Found this image on Pinterest. I kinda wish Venom would hold little insomniac me, right now. Just like this. Original art by Crowrelli.

363 notes - publié le 8 mars 2022

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