#im v rusty with fanfic

[mrsmiseryxo]

Behind Closed Doors

homelander x assistant! reader

🎧 Behind Closed Doors- Lana Del Rey

Disclaimer: This is finally done after two months, i first started this when the season came out. I don't know anything about the corporate world. I made up things as I went along :3 im sorry :( Also my first time writing fanfic and first time creative writing in a while, so I am a bit rusty be nice please :3 I wrote this as a challenge to myself , so i hope its not too bad. Constructive criticism welcome :)

around 3-4k words i lost count

this is so secretary ( 2002) coded

Tags: dom!Homelander Fem! Girly! Reader. praise kink, body worship, p in v, fingering, cmnf, homelander is soft for reader. creampie, breeding kink, daddy nickname used. homelander and reader are horny weirdos. I'm bad at tagging hopefully i'll be better :(

Set between seasons 3-4 but i didn't watch gen v oops

You transcribe the meetings for Vought, and you feel like you don’t get the recognition that you deserve. That is until Homelander calls for a private meeting. 

You were quiet and meek, like a little mouse. He viewed you exactly like that. A rodent to be exterminated. Squashed. He’ll have a word with whoever was in charge of hiring you. Even more of a word if it was Ashley. In your eyes, he could never hide the utter disdain on his face whenever he got a waft of your sweet, vanilla rose scent as you . He thought you represented everything wrong with humans. Your head was always hung low, you always stared at your shoes as you brought Ashley the notes for this week’s meeting. How dare you not look in his eyes? How can someone as stupid as you ever be trusted with confidential information about the company?

He absolutely hated everything about you. Your prissy nature, the way you only drank matcha lattes with soy milk. He turned his nose at that poor excuse of a milk option. He smelled that bullshit from a mile away. He hated the gloss on your lips. He hated the sparkle in your eyes, like you still had a lot of life to look forward to. He hated that hopeful mentality you held, following the philosophy that life was going to get better. He simultaneously hated and loved the way you cowered in his presence, the way your hands get sweaty and clutch at your skirt. He loved and hated the fact that you couldn’t hold eye contact with him. On top of all that, Homelander hated the way you made his dick twitch.

Even as you stumble around with a slight hunchback, he couldn’t keep thoughts of peeling off your tights and bending you over the table where meetings were held. How breathless and cute your pathetic moans would be. How he would make you speak up and ask for what you truly want. He wondered what your lip gloss would taste like. How soft your plush ass would feel as he caresses it. Even considering your horrible posture, something as small as your scent is enough to turn him on.

When homelander would retire to his apartment, he would drink a pint of milk and jerk off. That was his nightly routine for the last couple of years. He would think about Madelyn Stillwell, Stormfront, and if he was feeling especially normal, he would think about Queen Maeve. After a week of you working at Vought, his jerk off material had changed. He began thinking about you. A lot. You had dominated his brain, and this irritated the hell out of Homelander. He had never given this much thought to another person before. Mundane and ordinary things had popped into his brain. What did you eat for breakfast? What side of the bed do you sleep on? As much as he tried thoughts of you out of his head, they always came back with a vengeance. Just your entire existence bugged Homelander, but he got used to seeing you in the conference room, even looked forward to the weekly meetings if it meant he got to see you. He’d notice that his presence would have an embarrassing effect on you. Of course, he would have a certain effect on just about everyone that he encountered, but he relished in the fact that you would get so flustered when in the same vicinity of each other. He would then think of ways to get you worked out, he wanted to tease you just enough to coax you. He’d knew the type of girl you were, you thrived under words of praise. Homelander also knew that you’d be obedient enough to never say anything. He’d make you fear him, more than you already do. He wanted to make the desire to please stronger.

After the first month of your newfound employment at Vought, you wondered why anyone would put up with Homelander and the Seven’s antics. You pride yourself on your obedience and dedication. Why could nobody acknowledge the sea of tears shed over copious hours of overtime, and the perfection you put into shooting out emails everyday, keeping people on track. You even schedule the time the emails are to be put out. You know deep down you will never say anything, or even hint at the maltreatment and neglect that you recieve. You want to remain hopeful that this is just a rough patch, and as you get more acclimated to the company you won’t feel this way, they won’t treat you this way.

You wake up at 5:30 to face the day. 30 minute shower, a five step skin routine, and light makeup routine. You were told to always look your best when first hired. Vought has an image to maintain, and their employees should reflect that ( which only really applies to female employees).

While in the shower, you contemplate your life. You’re proud of yourself and what you have accomplished so far, but sticking to the Vought job is insane. It’s insane because you have a crush on your boss. Arguably the most famous and powerful man in America, or even the entire world. You know he's not a good person, but you wouldn’t mind being at his beck and call. God, it was pathetic how you imagine him grunting in your ear for you to take it. You try to move past these thoughts for the betterment of your life.

You are the first to arrive to the meeting room. You set up your space, placing your laptop, a notebook with strawberry pattern on it, and your matcha latte with soymilk.

As the supes settle in, you get ready to write. This week’s meeting was about searching for another member of the seven, or to speak truthfully, find a new black noir. You are clueless to how The Seven found itself without a Black Noir, but you know it is in your best interest to never ask questions. Of course, like the queen of England, Homelander is the last to arrive. Homelander strides in greeting everyone.

“ Mmm can’t wait for the bullshit we talk about today,” He rolls his eyes. You notice his tone even more irritated today. Homelander walks over to the front of the table and sits. Everyone waits for him to speak, for him to start the meeting. As you write the date on the top of your paper, you hear him clear his throat.

As you look up, he says your name. How does he even know your name? He couldn’t give less of a shit at anyone at this table, especially you.

“Can I speak to you at the end of the meeting? Alone of course. We wouldn’t want any of these morons listening in”

“ Oh. Yeah, of course!” You stutter a bit. You give him a small smile. He gives you his signature fake smile back. You know that look all too well. You recognize that that look is basically the middle finger. That highly calculated smile hides the disgust he feels for everyone around him at any given time. All the while, you are caught off guard by his words. Being alone in a room with any man would make you anxious, but being the only woman in the room with Homelander makes you nauseous. To say you are absolutely mortified would be an understatement.

Everyone in the room gives you a side eye. Ashley looks like she might pull out a gun and shoot you. She knows she’ll never hear the end of it. After all, she did hire you.

The rest of the meeting goes as smoothly as it could. Some dumb remarks were made by The Deep, but it could have been worse. You didn’t pay much attention during this meeting, as you were in your head about what this private session with Homelander would entail. Homelander senses your heartrate going up. He can practically hear the blood rushing through your veins. His hand quietly goes to grab and rub his bulge. He thinks of you on your knees, him grabbing your hair as you rub your face against his crotch with your hands on his thighs, looking up at him with adoration in your eyes. He brings his hands up and bangs the table.

“ Ok, I think we’re all done here,’’ He gives instructions to the Deep and Ashley to scout for the new Black Noir while A-Train shoots his movie. You write the details of the meeting in your notebook.

Everyone gets out of their chair and leaves, Ashley gives you a death stare. You feel faint, and your legs try to gather courage to walk toward Homelander.

“ Shut the door behind you, will you buddy” Deep closes the door, and you two are left alone at last.

Homelander slowly strides toward you with his hands behind his back. Like a deer in headlights , you were paraylzed with fear, you could not move. He softly grabs your chin. He sees the fear in your eyes.

“ Hey, you’re not in trouble. I can see the hairs on your arm standing up. It’s fine. You’re not in trouble.” He reassures you, eliminating the worst case scenario your brain. You breath a breathe of relief. You look at Homelander’s boots, still afraid to look him in the eye.

He gives a slight chuckle. “ I’m not going to laser you, ya know. Um, actually I asked you to stay because I realized something.” He places his hands on your shoulders, you finally look up. He is towering over you. You can see the absence of his pores on his face. He truly is perfect, which makes his presence even more intoxicating. Your head feels dizzy from both the fear and his course fingertips on your shoulders.

“ You’ve been here for a good while. I know that you think that you’ve gone unnoticed. But trust that that could not be further from the case.” He sighed. “ To be quite honest with you sweetheart, you’ve been too much of a distraction around here. Your short little skirts are killing me.” Homelander laughs. He imagined his hands hiking up your skirt all of the time. He toys with your hair as you cannot believe that this is happening. His hands travel to your neck as you can smell the mintiness of his breath. He places soft sweet kisses on the tip of your ear as you let out a whimper.

“ I know you wanted me like this.  Ya think I don’t know why you try so hard? You want to get my attention. Think of this as a reward, yeah?” Your knees buck. The pit of desire in your stomach is getting bigger, and you're aching for more of his touch.

“ I need you to look at me” He says in his stern voice. “ And I need you to respond when I’m talking to you, kay? Sit on the table for me.”

You nod your head. A light tap of his hand kisses your left cheek.

“ Use your words, doll.” Homelander whispers and looks at you tentatively.

“oh okay” you stutter and stammer.

He impatiently unbuttons your shirt, practically tearing it open, and quickly undoing the claps of your pretty pink bra ( which you wore everyday, holding onto hope he would one day see it) clumsily breaking a clasp in the process.

“ I’ll get you a new one, its fine” Your mouth opens in a slight gasp.

His tender, soft, touch full of need finds the softness of your breasts, as he bends down to delicately pinch your nipples, hard, from the building's chill and the unfamiliar feel of his leather gloves. He bites his lips, resisting the urge to come right then and there. He lightly sets you on your back, legs dangling off the table. He looms over your view. The blonde man begins to suckle on your breast, massaging the other. His lips leave soft marks all over your tits as he rotates his hands and his lips.

“ Oh god, you feel so fucking good, sweetheart, your tits feel amazing” You let out a mewl as your pussy clenches. Filthy sounds of Homelander lapping at your tits and soft cries escaping your mouth fill the room. He lightly nibbles your nipple. In a fleeting moment of bravery, you give Homelander a request.

"Mmm want you inside"

“Not yet honey. Needa prep you first, know you can’t handle it right now. ” He unzips your skirt and throws it across the room. Your tights were thigh high, so he didn’t have to take them off like he would have liked. He looks almost animalistic as he crouches down to level with your cunt. He rubs his gloved hands up and down your bare thighs, as he inhaled the scent of your clothed pussy. You run your hands through his soft, blonde hair, thinking about how how heaven feels.

He murmurs into your pussy, “ you’re fucking soaked and i barely touched you”

His nose brushes with your clit. Catching wind of your squirming and quiet mumbles, Homelander purposely moves his nose in a circle while he maintains eye contact with you. A strong hold of his hands is on your hips, trying to contain the buildup of your pleasure. His rhythmic movement works your way toward an orgasm, and as you get higher and higher, almost reaching your peak, he moves away, toward your mouth, embracing your tongue, biting your lip softly, as your lips sloppily crashed into each other. He sat you back up as his arms moved up and down your back. Anger quickly left your body as quickly it came, you couldn’t be mad at his denial when you inhaled his fresh linen and sandalwood scent.

He breaks away from your lips .“I want you to cum on my cock, so im just gonna make you nice and wet for now, sound good?” You look into his of course that sounded good, but something felt off.

“ mmkay homelander” you mumble, feeling a bit odd and disconnected suddenly. You don’t want to call him that, his nose was in your pussy, his tongue all over your chest, it felt wrong to call him homelander. Sensing this, he does the unthinkable.

“ call me john” he mutters under his breath, almost inaudible. you grin at him.

“ mmkay john!” God. your squeal and positive attitude made his cock even harder, which he didn’t think possible. You relax a bit more, as this was a sign of him opening up.

He slowly wiggles you out of your panties, as you giggle. Leaving you fully naked, Homelander basks in the sight of you, ready and pliant for him. 

“ Yeah, what’s so funny” Homelander smiles at you. 

“ hmm. Dunno. You’re just so…” you trail off at the end of your sentence.

As you’re responding to his question, Homelander slips a finger inside you. You let out a cry, slightly rolling your head back.

“ Im so what sweetheart, finish your sentence” He grabs you by your neck, demanding a deep sloppy kiss, whilst adding another finger in your pussy, plunging deep in and out of your slick folds. He curls two fingers up,

‘So..mmph..good, feels good, john” 

“ Mmm yeah I know honey, I know ”  He coos, mockingly in between kisses. He worked his fingers until your breaths became ragged, squirming and quivering under his touch. 

“ You’re so fucking wet, baby” He grunts while you moan as John scissors his fingers in and out of your slick pussy. He moves his fingers, moving them into circles on your clit.

“Im gonna cum, please!” You plea for him to keep going, faster.

“ Ah ah ah, no i don’t think so. going do it on my dick remember?” He pulls his fingers out of your wet warmth, drags his tongue up and down his fingers.

He moans as he sucks on his own fingers, you look up at john with utter adoration.

“you taste so good mmph” Your tongues intertwine, lapping filthy at one another. He bits your earlobes while his hands lazily fidget with your nipples.

He then brings the bottom of his suit to his knees, cock swinging out. It’s egregiously thick. His length swollen and aching, leaking out precum from his pretty tip.

“ I’m going put my cock in now, ok sweetheart?” He seems to take it easy on you, as he doesn’t mention your mouth salivating at the sight of his dick.

“need it bad, been waiting for it”

“ Oh I know, i’ve seen the way you look at me” he laughs sinisterly.

He uses one of his arms to spread your thighs wider apart as his other hands supports you up, grasping the whole of your back. You smile up at him

He positions himself nearer to you, his cock at your entrance.

“ it’s gonna be a big stretch ok, need you to breath, if you need support, hold onto my shoulder.” he senses your lack of experience, or at least your naivety. you had never experienced anything like this, and you never would again, he would make sure of it.

you nod your head and look up. You’re already cock drunk, you trust him with your life. He reassures you with a kiss to your forehead.

Homelander bullies his length through your warm walls, gently and slowly. you let out a cry, both of pleasure and pain. you feel so good full, He groans into your mouth, as you moan into his.

“ ok honey, it’s going in”

“mmmphh John, so big..”

“does it hurt?” he stops in his tracks.

“a little, but not a lot” you say almost in a whisper.

“ok, ill keep going really slow, sweetheart”

He thrusts real slow, as he caresses your face. you lose feeling in your legs as he pounds softly into you. He finds him rhythm quickly as he maintains his pace. You hold onto his back as he moves his hands all over you.

“ God, your tight pussy clenching my cock feels so good sweet girl”

You smile and giggle.

“ My dick needs to be in your sweet cunt forever, sweet cunt, sweet girl” He growls into your ear.

“mm Keep going daddy!” you squeal, not knowing the damage you have done but uttering those words. Homelander feels like could come right then and there. A primal switch flipped in his brain.

Tears begin to swell in your eyes. “ I’m so so so sorry i didn’t mean to say that” Homelander sees your eyebrows furrow and your eyes widen.

His thrusts begin to pick up the pace, the perfect rhythm becomes sloppy, as your juices spill out of your thigh. His fat cock ever so slightly touches your cervix as you let out a soft sob.

“you don’t know what you do to me don’t you? Jesus, this pussy was molded for my cock” He grabs you by your knees and throws your legs over his shoulders. His dick twitches inside of you, signaling he’s about to cum, and you’re about to follow him.

“Say it again. Call me what you just called me” He annunciatesin a low voice.

“ Fuck, daddy feels good, want your cum” You feel free of all embarrassment and shame in that moment as you bask in euphoria.

“ That’s a good girl. Good girls get to cum. Good girls get filled up with daddy’s cum” Homelander never knew that this nickname did it for him. Hell, he was more of a mommy kind of guy, but he would do anything for you. Any word that came out of your mouth would make him hard, because it was you. But submitting yourself to him in this way, it did more than getting his dick up. He was disgusted by this feeling. What was it? Why did it feel so weird?

“ Oh god I’m gonna cum, gonna cum in you, give you babies oh god” He sloppily kisses your face, as fat blobs of sticky cum drip out of your cunt. He keeps his cock in your pussy, as he holds you with your face pressed to his chest.

“i need to come daddy” you stutter and shake under him.

He allows you to come and you swear you see stars. John smears his cum across your pussy, then he bends down to kiss in between your lips highs.

He helps you into your skirt and what’s left of the rest of your clothes. You smile at him, and he smiles back. A genuine smile.

that got a little more emotional then i thought it was? idk should i make more of homelander x reader in mind? if you want to give feedback feel free to :) i’m doing this to be a better writer !

divider creds: @cafekitsune @bunnysrph @anitalenia

[leonardoeatscarrots]

So i don't really know much about your fandoms or interests so... idk, would you mind giving me the rundown maybe? Like a little description about the games you like, or some info about your different comics? I want to chat more with you but I'm not sure where to start since I'm not familiar with your fandoms

Haha, that makes sense, my Fandoms can be considered a little niche.

First off, I'm super glad to finally meet you, lol. I've sorta been watching you and Pringles from afar, and you two seem like good friends.

But yeah, I'll happily give you a rundown, thanks for asking ^^

Pathologic/Мор: Утопия is a Russian videogame developed by Icepick Lodge. You play as one of three healers in a bo-hum steppe town, and your goal is to try and save the population from the outbreaking plague. The game has a lot of heavy theatrical influences and is well known for being extremely difficult and cruel. Which means the writing is perfectly catered to my tragedy-loving gay-theater-kid ass.

Karamora/Карамора is a show I got into a while ago. Basically, it's a fictional retelling of the Russian revolution (one of my special interests, lmao), except all the nobles are vampires. It's dumb but it's unironically so well made. Plus it has that twinky ginger guy, Evgeny Schwartz, in it. This show is also what got me on the Russian media pipeline to begin with XD

Lost Splendor was a memoir written by Felix Yusupov (aka the guy who killed rasputin, aka an important figure in the Russian revolution), and it's just incredibly funny for no reason. Man killed Rasputin, but all he could think to write about was how gay and ADHD he was.

Comics. I'm just very normal about them. I have a collection of around 80 different comics, single issues and graphic novels included. My favorites are queer and indie graphic novels, but im also a huge sucker for some of the classics like V for Vendetta. I have yet to purchase The Sandman comics, but they're on my list.

As for webcomics, I'm addicted to those too. I'm probably the biggest fan 5-ever of The Peculiar Compendium of Victor Van Wolfe on webtoons, and I've written a few fanfics and made fanart aplenty, as well as made custom stuffies of the characters. But I have a wide list of recommendations across a lot if genres XD

As for comics that IVE written, I currently have two open to the public on webtoons and tapas.

The first is Spaceships and Vodka, which is my primary comic. It's an anachronistic sci-fi surrounding a band of space pirates. It's a monster of the week style story with a lot of extra narrative told through backstories. It's currently still in the exposition stage and on hiatus.

The other is Gentle Hands, which is technically an AU of S&V. It's a gay romance following a disabled WWI soldier in a shellshock home and one of the nurses he has a crush on. This one is, alas, also still in the exposition stage, but is currently updating one page every other week.

As for like individual OCs, I mostly obsess over my comic characters. I don't typically make Fandom OCs.

My absolute pride and joy is Craig. He's also the fan favorite thus far.

I don't even know where to begin with him.

I have a bio for him and some other OCs I think, but I have yet to actually fill out any more >>_>> executive dysfunction my beloathed.

The full main cast list includes

Craig

Mirium

Derick

Terric

Carl

As well as Erasmus, Rusty, Cipher, Jadyn, and Jesper as some other extras.

So long as I'm here I may as well finish all the bios and make a master post lol...

[hopebliss]

RED ROOK: red riding hood au, gender!neutral deputy & jacob seed-centric, wc: 2k

now on AO3, albeit with a tense change and some edits.

Once upon a time, in the slanting, pine-covered hills of the Whitetail Mountains, a little Rook packed a basket of fresh goods and treats. They packed everything that they would need for a walk: sturdy boots for the loose earth, tinder and flint, a thick red cloak that had been given to them by their family (made by the family, blessed by the family and when the little Rook wore it, they thought they felt blessed too.)

To be blessed is to be protected and the little Rook set off on their journey with their red cloak and their boots and their basket. They walked in time to the beating heart of the forest, to the wayward lapping of the streams. They walk under the sun, they dodge the rain under thick branches, they spread their tinder and their flint on the floor of a cave and watched the fire as it blossomed.

The night fell, rather than crept in. Colour bled from the sky. The little Rook pulled their cloak around them tighter, fingers catching themselves fumbling for a moment, indecisive of whether to bundle underneath thick red or to press against the flames.

In that moment, the wolves outside began to howl.

_____________________

It was a wolf -- singular, not plural -- that found them on the second day.

He was a monolith walking. The little Rook watched, limbs rooted still as they glimpsed sunset fur through the maze of twigs and thick trunks. The wolf circled three times before approaching, its sheer width parting the coiling nests of sticks and clumped muds of the wilderness. The wolf approached with bright blue eyes; the little Rook thought of ice that could cut, dagger-sharp.

“What is your purpose here?” The wolf asked with neither a kind or unkind expression.

“I am going to visit someone.” Said the little Rook.

A snout pressed against their basket. “You are taking something to them?”

“Yes.” The little Rook peered down at the carefully wrapped treats, “I’m bringing them gifts.”

A huff from the great sunset wolf, an amused breath against the little Rook’s tightening knuckles.

“You’ll be lost in the forest, at this rate.” There was something odd about the wolf’s speech, words rolling in that maw that rumbled like rocks, that plumed like smoke. Lingering in a state of permanent dissatisfaction. “There are three roads to cross. I will take you there. The forest eats the weak.”

The wolf began to walk. A long stride, but quiet. He was far enough away to nearly lose sight of him before the little Rook could gather the splinters of their voice.

“Am I weak?”

Ice that cut. The wolf’s ears flattened.

“You are slow.”

The little Rook fell into line with his march. One, two, three.

_____________________

The first road was, in fact, a river.

As broad and as wild as the wolf, seeping with the same kind of menace, with imminent danger, the little Rook thought, cupping their hands around their eyes to see if they could see the end of its stretch.

“There are no bridges.” They said, and the wolf snorts, testing his paw in the raging waters.

“There are no bridges.” He confirmed, “Because the strong must swim.”

To the little Rook’s surprise -- and the surprise is, in itself, a surprise, because the little Rook did not believe themselves to be well-acquainted enough with this beast to be wrong in their assumptions -- the wolf did not swim first. He waited and watched them with those blue eyes, before his teeth were bared in grim amusement.

“To be strong,” The growl courses across their skin, unearths their very bones, “Would be to go first.”

The little Rook swallows, and they nod, because they want to be strong, and they want to please this wolf. It’s an innate feeling, burrowing and consuming. They lift the basket over their head and wade into the surge.

Immediately the river grabs them, whips its grasp around their legs with an incessant need to pull them down. Pressure almost folds their spine backwards, mouth gasping for dregs of air before the inevitable grip drags them under. Noise turns to crushing, to a swelling, too-full echo --

And then there are teeth digging into their collar.

The little Rook is tugged upwards. They heaved as the wolf dragged them through the current, arms aching as they still held the basket upright (and they allow themselves that commendation. No, big wolf, they did not drop their gifts.) The wolf swam easily, wrenched them upwards onto the muddy bank.

Winded, the little Rook twists onto their side, ribs expanding to the point where they seem to want to strain free of their very chest. A hand reaches out towards the dampened fur of the wolf.

A paw crashed down on their wrist before they could even blink.

The wolf watched.

The little Rook smiled. Their head still span around and around and around.

“What big eyes you have.”

A sharp laugh from the great wolf, unkind and as cold as the river water.

“All the better to see you with.”

_____________________

The second road was a cliff outstretched towards the heavens. A colossal thing, marred with hand holds and sharp cracks in the rock, hewn out by countless climbers over time.

The wolf had breathed out a story to the little Rook on their way here, a story about families and generations, about people who had arrived in the mountains without a purpose, without anyone to visit. They simply drifted until the trees and the stone spoke to them, until the wolves chased them until their bones turned to steel and their blood to iron.

The little Rook shivered and gripped their red cloak.

“Did the wolves ever catch them?”

“Yes.” The beast hums. “The ones that were weak.”

The wolf rounds their body and nudges them with a snout to their back.

“Go on. Climb.”

The little Rook slung their basket over one of their shoulders and reached up, finding the first place where the rock gave away and began to climb. The stone stretched them until their arms screamed and their shoulders burned with slipstream fire. Fingers clawed at loose edges, nails blunting.

It hurt. It hurt. And, almost as if dispensing mercy, the cliff let them go.

The world upended. Stomach lurching, and the little Rook could only see the ground - but they did not fall. Breath bloomed across their neck and they realised the wolf had caught them again. With a snappish turn of his neck, they were thrown upwards and onto the flat of the clifftop.

Not a particularly graceful landing, but the little Rook was glad to be at the top, glad that the wolf and his sun-blighted fur crawled up beside them with little trouble. They reached out again for him, and again his paw pressed down against their wrist. Heavy, and it hurt, and the little Rook breathed out their protest, fingers curling upwards to touch the back of his leg.

This close, they realised there were patches missing. Great scars unfolded across the length of the wolf’s body.

The wolf snarled in their ear.

“What big hands you have.”

And perhaps it was the pain, perhaps it was placating, because the great wolf was strong, and the little Rook wheezed out a sob.

“A-all the better to touch you with.”

_____________________

The third, and last road, was fire.

It arrived, suddenly, in the first line of trees they came across after the cliff. An inferno to shake your bones, crumbling wood into ash. The flames moved quickly, with fervour, devouring and rife with gluttony.

“We’re nearing the end.” Said the wolf beside them, blue eyes reflecting gold and amber, raging red and and black. “You must go through it.”

Through it. Through the churning, wrathful red. Through the roar of cracking and kindling devastation. Be strong, little Rook.

“Remember your purpose.”

“Yes.” The little Rook said, and ran forward.

Time only allowed them a few seconds before their clothes started to singe, before smoke curled into into their nostrils and their legs -- tired and aching after the river and the cliff -- had to react on instinct to the branches falling from the sky. Leaves smashed with them against the ground, disappearing in the flurry of an instant.

And the little Rook kept running.

And the wolf ran beside them. In the split seconds of clarity  as the world crumbled down on them both, the little Rook could not help noticing that he seemed pleased.

They reached out a hand, fingers coiling into the thicker layers of fur at his neck. They choked on the fumes and they ran, still, in time with his great strides. And when they broke through to the clearing on the other side, where the fire stopped shortly, as if paused by divine intervention, a God the little Rook could not understand, and they staggered down onto their knees.

The little Rook coughed and the great wolf rounded on them. They blinked, and all they could see was blue. That blue that could slice, could sever the very-making of them.

His snout pressed against their ashen-forehead, sniffing out at the wayward embers in their hair, across the shoulders of their red cape. A tongue, rough, large, swept up the side of their cheek.

“Excellent.” Hummed the great wolf, and the little Rook was shaken, could feel a burn against their mouth, and their hands reached up to the great beast’s neck.

“My,” they whispered in the clearing, “what a big mouth you have.”

And the wolf simply smiled. His teeth reflected the coiling inferno behind them. 

Without pause, he ate the little Rook whole.

_____________________

Once upon a time, there was a cabin.

“Are you leaving now?” The little Rook asked the great wolf as they readied themselves to enter, red cloak pulled tight, basket swinging languidly from their grasp. At the edge of their gaze, they could swear the world seemed to be burning, still; locked in tumbling, churning fire.

“That depends if you come out.”

“If I-?” The little Rook blinked, stared down into the basket, “I have to go give these to someone.”

“Someone.”

“A friend.” The little Rook confirmed, “Do you want to come with me?”

The great wolf snorted, “No.”

And then he said. “You must go in alone.”

And then he said: “Only you.”

And the little Rook turned and strode forward. They entered the cabin with their basket in their hands and smiled at their waiting friend, listened to his relief and a dry joke of greeting. Something about the forest, something the unhinging jaws of wolves, judges of men and little Rooks alike.

And the little Rook laughed and reached into the basket for their gift and gave it gladly to Eli Palmer.

His skull split into two.

“What.” Said the little Rook.

“What.” They said again, as their cloak became heavier, as it mottled against their shoulders and back.

 “What.” They said again amongst the screams and shouts, the gun pressed to the square of their chest, the echo of protests and curses. What have you done?!

It was when the despair heightened, reached its peak that the little Rook ran out of the cabin, their cloak dripping behind them, their basket discarded and their breaths harshly stalled in their throat, awaiting the order to inhale, exhale. They cry out for the great wolf, for the cutting blue eyes, for the edges of his teeth. They cry out and they feel the answer, teeth in between their shoulders, colliding with the dark.

_____________________

Once upon a time, there was a cage and a music box just beyond the bars. Split-second instinct dictated that Rook scrambled for it, hand outstretched, barely reaching and grazing before a boot collides with their wrist, embedding it into unforgiving ground.

Once upon a time, not a wolf, but a man grabs them by the collar and lifts them to unsteady feet. Not a wolf, but a man, with steady blue eyes that cut and cut and cut.

Not a wolf, but a man, a man with scar-pocketed skin, a man with sunset hair that hums his amusement, rolling against their skin like thunder, a mirth to command the echelons.

Me.

“Only me?” The little Rook says.

“Only you.”

[aro-aizawa]

whumptober 2022!

okay im gonna try and get a headstart on writing for whumptober this year because i am determined to get further than filling 5 prompts bc if i can pass that goal then i’ll be in a better shape to keep the momentum going and do even better next year. THAT BEING SAID i v much would love to continue in the same manner and take requests. so! here are the fandom’s i’ll be writing for this year, and the characters i gravitate towards:

batfam (i have almost zero canon info outside of all the movies and whatever i read in fanfics but i love the family dynamics sm, and this is my current hyperfixation so prompts are v much more likely to be filled): - tim drake

miraculous ladybug - marinette dupain-cheng

danny phantom - danny fenton

avatar the last airbender - zuko

fullmetal alchemist - edward elric

my hero academia (maybe - my mha fixation is like the furthest orbit rn so no clue if it’ll come around before the end of october but if the prompt is good who knows - midoriya izuku

you’re allowed to request as many times as you like! however, sometimes i just won’t have any inspo from the request so it might not make the cut, sorry! i’m also pre-emptively replacing some prompts and blacking others out so i don’t have to write anything that makes me feel icky or just isn’t my jam, or so i can write prompts that are v much my jam. so here’s the prompt list!

1. a little out of the ordinary - stabbed / marinette ✔  [ao3]

adverse effects | alt: stabbed | "this wasn't supposed to happen”

2. nowhere to run - caged / izuku ✔  [ao3]

cornered | caged | confrontation

3. hair’s breadth from death - gun to temple / edward ✔

gun to temple | “say goodbye” | impaled

4. dead on your feet - hidden injury / marinette || can’t pass out / marinette

hidden injury | waking up disorientated | can’t pass out

5. every whumpee’s needs - hyperthermia / tim

blood loss | running out of air | hyperthermia

6. proof of life

ransom video | “i’ve got a pulse” | screams from across the hall

7. the way you shake and shiver

shaking hands | seizures | silent panic attack

8. everything hurts and i’m dying - stomach pain / tim

stomach pain | head trauma | back from the dead

9. the very noisy night

sleeping in shifts | tossing and turning | caught in a storm

10. poor unfortunate souls - waterboarding / zuko

taser | whipping | waterboarding

11. “911, what’s your emergency?”

sloppy bandages | self-done first aid | makeshift splint

12. what could go wrong?

alt: ambushed | cave in | rusty nail

13. can’t make an omlette without breaking a few legs

fracture | dislocation | “are you here to break me out?”

14. die a hero or live long enough to become a villain

desperate measures | failed escape | “i’ll be right behind you”

15. emotional damage

lies | new scars | alt: touch starved

16. no way out

mind control | paralytic drugs | “no one’s coming”

17. hanging by a threat

breaking point | stress positions | reluctant caretaker

18. let’s break the ice

“just get it over with” | treading water | “take my coat”

19. enough is enough - knees buckling or repeatedly passing out / danny

knees buckling | repeatedly passing out | head lolling

20. it’s been a long day

going into shock | fetal position | prisoner trade

21. famous last words

coughing up blood | “you’re safe now” | take me instead”

22. pick your poison

toxic | withdrawal | allergic reaction

23. at the end of their rope

forced to kneel | tied to a table | “hold them down”

24. fight, flight or freeze - blood covered hands / marinette

blood covered hands | “i don’t want to do this anymore” | catatonic

25. silence is golden

lost voice | duct tape | “you better start talking”

26. no one left behind

separated | rope burns | “why did you save me?”

27. pushed to the limit

muffled screams | stumbling | magical exhaustion

28. it’s just the tip of the iceberg - sensory overload / edward

alt: sensory overload | punching the wall | headache

29. what doesn’t kill me...

sleep deprivation | defiance | “better me than you”

30. note to self: don’t get kidnapped

manhandled | hair grabbing | “please don’t touch me”

31. a light at the end of the tunnel

comfort | beside vigil | “you can rest now”

[dadzawa-adopt-dabi]

J,v,z for rhe fanfic author asks

J. smut or fluff?

these two almost always go together for me!

V. post the last sentence you wrote. (seperate fic than plagues ask)

Hawks crept into the hospital room and gave a reasurring smile at her as Rei latched onto her hand and she tugged him down to whisper in his ear.

Z. how to you feel about your wip compared to other works of yours?

I feel like im constantly improving! i think my writting is a lot better than a year ago or so when i was dusting off my very rusty skillset

[eggplantxtomatovore]

Im a bit rusty Since i havent drawn in a while ^^;; **my vore is non fatal and willing ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 🍅🍆 Yuya sakaki and Yuto belong to yugioh arc v Forced fusion! Au, and art Belong to me! [Forced fusion is a counterpartshipping (yuya x yuto) fanfic that depicts Yuya and yuto with demon features, and it can be read here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/114034...../Forced-fusion ] there was also a vore oneshot it can be read here: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/28142576/