#not that it matters much now anyways whats done was done and there's no going back

[m-ayo-o]

call me !

ft. 21+ bf Toge Inumaki

Thinking of 21+ Toge Inumaki who calls you up at work just to make you...

"come"

Not here, no no no no--

Your body struggles to resist his power, but after a few seconds you're squirming in your office chair.

Bringing your hand to cover your flushed face, you start telling him that it's not funny and that his lunch break check ups were really sweet..

Until this started.

It's not as if you two can talk much anyway, it's just nice to hear him on the other side of the phone; even his breath, or his laugh.

But when he gets into this mischievous mood you know he won't stop.

"Toge, I'm hanging up I have to--"

"stay on the phone"

"Ah- Toge--!!!" You scream, alerting your co-workers who start looking over their desks.

"Toge.." you shout whisper, cupping the phone to your face, "you can't keep me on the phone all day- I have to work!!"

You hear him giggling from the other side, making you wonder what the hell he's planning next.

"go to the bathroom"

For fuck's sake.

You groan and your body gets up by itself, taking you to a private bathroom stall where your arm rises and opens the door.

Having your body move like this was very unusual the first few times, but you're getting used to the feeling of being completely controlled, and realistically you do trust him.

"lock the door"

You can't help but think he's wasting his power, messing with you like this.

"touch yourself"

"Toge..."

Your face heats up immediately as your free hand starts roaming around your body, undoing your blouse, feeling under your bra.

It's like he's actually here, touching you himself.

"touch your clit"

"ah.. Toge.."

He wants you to feel it.

Making you come on command is fun and all, but it's over so quickly and he really loves to build you up.

He wishes he could tell you so many things.

But right now he would love to tell you what a good girl you are and that he's imagining how pretty you look.

And with your skirt pushed up and your blouse undone, looking all hot and bothered.. he isn't wrong.

"take a picture of yourself"

"Oh~ Toge.. really?" You're moaning and complaining about the matter but you've already opened the camera on your phone.

Your finger presses the screen and a series of cute, filthy pictures are taken. Between your hand down your panties, rubbing yourself, and your boobs spilling out of your top, you do make a very pretty picture.

He doesn't have to tell you the next part.

You send them to him immediately and hear him moan from the other side.

"Ohh.." fuck, he wishes he could thank you for those.

But instead he just pushes his hands down his shorts and starts stroking himself.

You can hear him starting to breathe heavier and you know exactly what he's doing.

"Toge.. I.. have to.. get back t--"

"Uuhh.." another moan comes through the phone and you know you're staying on the line till you're both done.

You know what he wants.

"Toge.. will you help me come?"

You can hear his breathy panting from the other side but not a word in a reply.

But he's focusing on your voice, the way you're whimpering his name, the shortness of your breath. The precum is just dripping out of him at the sight of your pictures and he needs to hear you a little more.

"Toge.. I wanna come.. now.." your finger is circling around your wet clit, just like you would do if you were alone. But you haven't been alone in so long, having such an attentive partner as Toge. He would never let you do this by yourself normally. And now you're here, locked in the bathroom at work, fingering yourself weakly, you're having trouble.

"Toge.. I need.. help.."

You admit, you sound pathetic.

But it's getting him harder.

"Ugh.." you hear him grunt and he's biting his lip on the other side, gripping his phone to his ear so he can hear your every breath.

He needs more, though.

"beg"

Your thighs start trembling now, your head rushes with the feeling of his power, once again, and your mouth opens automatically-

"Please.. please let me, let me come, Toge?" you plead down the phone, afraid that any second the bathroom door could open and one of your hapless colleagues could walk into you whimpering to yourself.

"Toge.. I'm begging, please, please tell me to come..."

The embarrassment overwhelms you with the words spilling out of your mouth, but he has got exactly what he wanted.

Oh, how he wishes he could stroke your hair and give you a kiss for begging him so nicely.

But instead he will reward you with pleasure.

"come"

"I-- ahh-- Toge.. th- thank you.."

Your relieved and happy moans take him over the edge, as he gets his own release, sighing down the phone as he finishes with a grin on his face.

A few seconds pass as you both catch your breath and regain your senses.

"Toge, you're a menace," you roll your eyes, buttoning up your shirt and pulling your skirt back into place.

You laugh together over the phone and you hang up, getting a text shortly after-

see you later for round two ^^

toge

[jd-loves-fiction]

Hello hello :3

I'm not sure if you take platonic requests so if you get to mine and you don't, pls lmk <3

Anyway. I would like to request platonic Boothill, Sampo, Mydei (if you can't write him yet then it's okay) and the Astral Express crew (you can leave out characters if it's too much) with a reader who is a former slave like Aventurine but they escaped by force and now respond to certain gestures with violence. Think about it like a wounded animal you're trying to approach. They lash out, bite, scratch, attack, anything.

🌑hello dear welcome!! I do take platonic requests 🫡and you can request as many characters as you want just know the more there are the longer I'll take😅 also I love love this idea 👀👀

✦ 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 ✦

Ooh he gets it

You can't exactly hurt him, given the metal body, but even if you try he won't hold it against you

The circumstances might not be the same but he undoubtedly became a different, not violent, man after what the IPC did to his planet

Plus being a galaxy ranger is a lonely existence by design

He respects your need to distance yourself from people

But I feel there's a nurturing side to Boothill he doesn't get to tap into very often

So there's a part of him that will try to comfort you? Relate to you? He doesn't know what he's doing himself but something in his heart breaks for you and pulls him towards you

One stubborn fella about helping you but quite sturdy, let's say he's the guy letting the dog bite him to get its anger out and know that he can be trusted 🥺

✦ 𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐨 ✦

Menace I love him

Sampo is a con-man salesman - he wants to know everyone's secrets so that he can exploit them for his benefit

But there's some lines even he won't cross

He's got a soft heart somewhere in there (deep in there) so you can expect that he'll go easy on you when he comes to his scheming

Plus he knows how to calculate risk, so if messing with you is highly likely to get him fucked up, he won't try you... Too much

Another man whose life wasn't exactly easy (which is why he's the way he is) and with a soft spot for people with a similarly difficult past

I think he'd find his own way of showing companionship, implying that you can talk to him about stuff if you want (tho he won't blame you for thinking he's just trying to get to your secrets) and stuff like that. He'll just be very subtle about how honest he's being

Let's say he's the guy slowly leaving treats for the dog and pretending like he doesn't care if it likes him or not (he really does, he's incredibly intrigued)

✦ 𝐌𝐲𝐝𝐞𝐢 ✦

New character so bear with me

I feel like you're very similar in this way

He's got a heart of gold under all that aggression, specially when it comes to his people

He's just bad at expressing it in a gentle way😅

His childhood was... Traumatic to say the least, violence is all he knows

Another sturdy guy, he's literally immortal and seems to enjoy a good fight so hitting him in any way might just start a sparring session💀

If he doesn't know you, he wouldn't engage, he's got better things to worry about

But if he does, you might get to see a gentleness from him no one thought him capable of

He's a patient man but he genuinely wants to see you learn to live with your trauma like him

I don't think he's done healing, mind you, but you might be able to learn something from each other about living with your demons

✦ 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐭 ✦

So much father energy LORD

The way he just immediately takes Sunday under his wing? Guiding him gently and patiently? That's a dad right there

He's deeply altruistic so he will try to help you please don't fight it😭

He's canonically one of the strongest characters so don't worry about hurting him. The fact that you even had to live through what you did, hurts him much more

Gentle but insistent, is how I'd describe him

He will not give up on you no matter what and that is a promise

When and if you decide to open up, he's a great listener

But even if you don't, he'll be there always🫡 because he genuinely just wants to see you be happy

✦ 𝐇𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐤𝐨 ✦

A fearless woman if I ever saw one

On the express she mostly keeps to herself, y'know navigating

But she undoubtedly cares deeply about the team so if you're part of it (let's say you are) you're included in that sentiment

She's not exactly... Motherly, per say, but she does care. She's just a bit... Awkward about it?

The type to do things like invite you to have coffee with her (don't drink it), or offer to teach you about navigating and stuff like that, just try to make you feel included

Not the type to outright ask about what happened but will listen if you tell her and will not judge - she doesn't see anything wrong with the way you handled things (Sunday train flashbacks)

Knows you're capable of protecting yourself, but will become somewhat protective of you

Tries to avoid setting you off as much as possible, she can hold her own no problem but she'd feel terrible if she hurt you in some way

✦ 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝟕𝐭𝐡 ✦

Sunshine incarnate

Might come off as overly friendly upon first meeting so if that sets you off well... she'll learn her lesson... maybe

Doesn't remember her past so if you don't wanna talk about yours it's all good with her

But if you do, she's a surprisingly good listener

Tho if you decide to be rude or aggressive to push her away, she'll definitely take it to heart, at first

She'll mope about it for a bit before her determination takes over

She wants to be your friend damnit 😡

She'll call you out for being rude but stick around regardless

She's got thicker skin than expected and she's hard to shake off (like a puppy...) if she decides she wants to be your friend, that's what she's gonna do

Plus after that first time, being rude to push her away won't work, she'll just talk right over you

In the end, she might just win you over through sheer determination 😭

✦ 𝐃𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐧𝐠 ✦

Oh he cares so much bless him

Dan Heng is extremely protective of those he's close to

If you're in the express, you're immediately included in that

Quiet comfort is his thing

Like sitting together quietly because you just need some company while he reads or even offering a game of chess as a distraction

Doesn't blame you for how you react, but if you become physically dangerous to be around he will be the first to restrain you

Just because he gets it doesn't mean he likes seeing the people around him get hurt

I feel like he's got some words of wisdom regarding how to make peace with your past

But beyond that he's good to have around because he doesn't push for answers at all

Nobody knew about his past when he came onto the express so he'd be kind of a hypocrite if he cared

It's inevitable that he becomes attached and when he does he becomes just as protective with you as with any other member of the express, regardless of your past

[genderkoolaid]

i'm venting, so feel free to ignore this- idk how to explain what i mean all that well so forgive me if this is a Mess. I'm really tired of people telling me to just keep living out of spite. Or that I have to keep living because me 'living' is a act of resistance. It just makes me feel so tired. and Mad. I lack the words to really explain it but i just. Why do I have to keep going on spite? Why does my existence have to be a act of resistance or be politicized? I don't want to keep Living out of spite or because people say i have to. I think its mostly because I'm just exhausted and I think I'm burned out and Tired of being told i need to survive off of spite, or being told i just need to keep going because i have to. sorry for dumping this in ur ask. stuff is just hard n idk if you or anyone else gets what i mean.

This is a very understandable way to feel! I'm also not super into "living out of spite" myself. I'm glad it works for many people (being alive is good!), but it can get tiring when that is the dominant advice you are receiving and you know it's not gonna work for you. Idk if this is part of your experience but I know as a chronically suicidal person, it can also get exhausting constantly being reminded (sometimes in ways that feel condescending) that you are expected to want to live and if you don't want to live, that's Bad and you must Correct Yourself.

If you want an alternative perspective to chew on, here's my personal outlook:

Having the chance to be alive is good. Being alive is a complex experience, but one that enriches the universe, and that matters a lot to me spiritually. There is only one you, with your unique body and experiences and thoughts and choices. Death is inevitable, so when possible we should try to spend as much time as we can living our lives, adding to the cosmos, trying our bests to have a good time.

Its a fucked up time ahead, and it's fucked up time now. Life was never going to be free of suffering, and it's a pointless tragedy that people cause all this extra suffering on top it.

But the time will pass anyways. We have the chance to be alive right now, and all we can do is keep going. It's not an act of resistance, it's just accepting the presence of your right to existence, and making us of it.

Gonna once again reference Alexandre Baril's concept of suicidism (the oppression of suicidal people) and mention that while I think it's very respectable to try and give people reasons not to die– it's the last decision you can ever make, and it shouldn't be done lightly– oftentimes people end up reinforcing the idea of people who died by their own choice as, in some way, failures. I don't think this is fair. I'm not going to begrudge anyone the choice of when they want to stop living. I don't think anyone is obligated to live until they are forced to stop. I don't think any oppressed person who had died by suicide has "let their oppressors win."

Give yourself space to feel however you need to about your life. It's alright to feel tired of living; that's entirely understandable. Your relationship with your life is your own and it does not need to be justified to anyone.

[axnqel]

ⓘ ULTRAVIOLENCE .ᐟ I will do anything for you, babe.

─ pairing .ᐟ homelander x fem!psychiatrist!reader

─ synopsis & word count .ᐟ being hired by Vought as the psychiatrist for the seven wasn't exactly what you'd envisioned for your career. and captain patria falling in love with you? yeah, that definitely wasn't on the bingo card either. you liked him—God, you liked him more than you'd ever admit—but loving him? loving him felt impossible. it was like trying to hold onto a storm; no matter how hard you tried, it always slipped through your fingers, leaving nothing but chaos in its wake. | 4.0k words.

─ content warning .ᐟ slight ooc homelander, talks of narcissism, obsessive behaviors, homelander tweaking out, lwk stalking...., reader being quite literally the complete opposite of homelander, slight arguing but tbh it's lwk one-sided, angst, hurt/not really comfort, ending can be interpreted differently tbh, takes place somewhere in season one i guess.

─ c speaks .ᐟ tiktoks gone and i had over 100 homelander edits and i was only able to save 21. this is what happens when no one turns on their saves. in mourning fr. (edit: i deleted the app when it got banned. yes i know, biggest mistake because now its back??? like omigod), also try to spot the lana songs i referenced by name !!

Vought Tower was intimidating on your first day, though you’d never admit it out loud. The glass walls, the sterile halls, the feeling that the entire building is watching you—it all felt like stepping inside a gilded cage. You weren’t naive; you knew this job wasn’t going to be easy. You’d read the reports, seen the news, and done your research. The Seven were powerful, untouchable, and deeply dysfunctional.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t done anything similar to this before. You’d worked as a trauma counselor for too long and needed something new. But although this wasn’t that different from your previous job, the paycheck Vought offered you was obscene, and the idea of helping anyone navigate that kind of mess was almost too good a challenge to resist.

Still, the reality of it was a little more… intense.

“Try not to take anything personally,” Ashley Barrett chirped, with her tangy-pitched voice and her heels clicking too quickly down the hallway as you struggled to keep pace. “They can be… uh, strong personalities.”

Well, that’s lovely. You raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond, clutching your notebook tighter. Strong personalities. Sure. That sounded like Vought’s PR-approved way of saying absolute trainwrecks and fucking maniacs.

The first meeting was set in the briefing room, a sleek conference space with a long table that was seemingly just for show. Fortunately for you, this was just an introductory meeting, and you had extra time to prepare for the sessions you would have with the supes later.

You weren’t expecting them to show up all at once—if they even showed up at all. But as you stood near the head of the table, straightening the folder in your hands for what felt like the thousandth time. the door swung open.

And there he was.

Homelander didn't just walk into a room; he commanded it. It was the first thing you truly noticed about him. Perfect posture, perfect suit, perfect smile that somehow felt more threatening than polite. His presence swallowed everything else, leaving no room for anyone else to breathe. And when his sharp blue eyes landed on you, it felt as though the world was closing in on you.

"You're the shrink?" he asked, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Psychiatrist," you corrected, keeping your voice steady.

He chuckled, low and quiet, like he'd already decided this was going to be fun—for him, anyway.

"Welcome." He said, his eyebrows raising as he walked over to the chair at the head of the table.

You stepped a few steps over, but that clearly did nothing as he subtly scooted closer to you.

My, did you need so much strength for this job.

The job was not easy. In case that wasn't already clear. Getting the supes to cooperate was like talking to a wall. You didn't want to coerce them into spilling out every detail of their life, but you weren't expecting them to be so grounded. Maybe your judgement was just clouded from what the media showed you about them.

Luckily, your office was a calm contrast from the chaos exhibited in Vought tower. The decor was intentionally neutral-earthy tones, soft lighting, and a simple desk with your tablet, folder, and notebook resting on top. A pair of comfortable chairs sat across from each other, meant to foster openness. Yet, the calm facade of the room was tested by the personalities that walked through the door.

Maeve was... okay. She was sweet, closed off, and knew exactly when to stop talking. PR training had clearly blinded her.

Black Noir was quiet—obviously but did exchange a couple words through his notepad.

A-Train was clouded and very insecure. However, that didn't change your resentment for his attitude towards you. Goodness.

The Deep pissed. you. off. But you kept a professional demeanor. His misguided attempt to flirt with you and the exaggerated confidence almost made you want to punch a hole in the wall. Ha.

Starlight might've just been your favorite yet. She was sweet and willing to talk, and her soft voice made you feel safe.

However, when the clock struck 6:00, and Homelander walked into your office on the dot, lord, you might as well have fainted.

It wasn't that you liked him or idolized him. You barely knew of him. Of course, you'd heard the name here and there, but to be frank, you never kept up and your family didn't give two shits. But the way he carried himself and spoke to you, it made your heart clench.

He was surprisingly so open to speaking, but the more he opened his mouth, the more narcissistic he seemed. If you could diagnose him with a God complex, you would. He acted like some million-dollar man, though he truly was. It just seemed he wanted to be in charge wherever he went.

"Thank you for taking the time to meet with me. I want to hear about how you're doing and how I can... support you." You kept your expression neutral, though your pulse quickened.

Homelander's smile widened, but there was an edge to it. "Support me? That's cute, but I'm fine. Really. The question is, how are you holding up? First day on the job and all." His tone was so friendly and polite, it confused her.

And it went on like this every session. He would come at 6 P.M. on the dot every Friday and the atmosphere in the room would become so charged. His presence was so magnetic, and his smile was disarming, yet the more he talked, and the more you listened, you started to feel some kind of way. Not anything you could explain, as ironic as that seemed.

And there was no kidding he felt something too. But your feelings were nothing compared to his.

He felt a burning desire for you the minute he walked into that conference room and looked you straight in the eye. He was willing to give himself up for you, and it felt so weird for him. Never in his many years of living did he ever feel this way.

Plus, you were just some ordinary woman. There was nothing special about you to the ordinary eye. You weren't a superhero or an entrepreneur. At the end of the day, you were just a psychiatrist, trying to make it through the day. If that was the case, then why was he so drawn to you?

He didn't understand—no—he couldn't understand.

And as time went on, this desire only grew stronger. Mutually.

Homelander began to fixate on you, quite unhealthily for that matter. It started innocently enough: more frequent eye contact in your sessions, lingering in the doorway of your office, showing up early for your sessions, or even walking you out of the tower at the end of your shift.

Being around you was like a balm for the constant chaos in his mind.

To him, you're unlike anyone he's ever met: calm, kind, and so completely human it fascinates and unnerves him. You were the complete opposite of him, and he never thought he could be attracted to that.

He's always managed to be in a relationship that was, while short-lived, with someone who elicited every ounce of his personality. Someone who was just like him. And maybe that was a good thing, who knows? But it only confused him more.

At first, he tries to justify it. You're his psychiatrist. His shrink. Nothing less, nothing more. You're meant to listen to him, to care about his feelings; he tells himself it's just your job.

However, as time goes on, he starts wanting needing more. He's tired of the patient-doctor dynamic. He begins asking personal questions, sometimes invasive, using his enhanced hearing to eavesdrop on your conversations with others, and justifying it all with the idea that he's "protecting" you. Problem is, he doesn't really know what he's doing. He's just trying to convince himself that his actions are worth being justified.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't notice the shift in his behavior and try to keep the professional boundaries. You remind him, gently but firmly, that the relationship is strictly therapeutic. But it felt like you were telling yourself that rather than the captain himself.

"What's your favorite flavor of ice cream?" Homelander brings up after a moment of comfortable silence between the two of you.

You shifted in the cream-colored plush chair, your eyebrows raised with confusion. "I'm sorry?" You spoke questioningly. The two of you were just speaking about his narcissistic tendencies and now he's asking what your favorite ice cream flavor is? How bad was his attention span?

Homelander smiled, but it had that edge to it. So much so, you couldn't even tell if it was genuine. "What is your favorite ice cream flavor? Come on, you've gotta have one." He tilted his head as he continued to stare at you, his gaze never averting.

The question was simple. Innocuous, even. What's your favorite ice cream flavor?

But somehow, it felt like the world had slowed down the moment he asked it. What?

You blinked, the words tumbling through your heads as if he'd said something infinitely profound. It was the question itself—it was the way he asked it. The casual tilt of his head, the way his lips curved in that perfect, effortless smile, like he wasn't aware of the absolute devastation he left in his wake. His eyes—bluer than any sky or ocean you'd ever seen—were locked on you, so unrelenting it felt like he could see straight through your skin. He could.

Your throat tightened, a mix of awe and panic, as if he'd plucked every coherent though from your mind and left you with nothing but the ridiculous, overwhelming knowledge that this man was impossibly beautiful. Lord.

It was embarrassing! Really. You weren't some love-struck teenager, swooning at the mere sight of him. But God help you, that's exactly what it felt like.

"Uh..." you stammered, your brain working overtime to catch up to the question. You barely managed to form words; your voice softer than you intended. "Mint chocolate chip. I guess."

His smile deepened, and for a split second, you thought he might laugh. Not in a cruel way, no, but in that teasing, playful way that made your chest tighten even more.

"I love mint chocolate chip." He said, and you swore the warmth in his tone was just for you.

And just like that, you were lost.

You walked into your office the next day to find a tiny red cooler on top of your desk, with 4 jars of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

Homelander starts requesting more one-on-one sessions than originally planned. At first, he frames it as a necessity. "You know, it's stressful being me," he says with a tight-lipped smile during one session, leaning back in the chair like he owns the room. "I think I deserve a little extra... support."

You can't exactly argue. After all, this is your job, right? If he wanted extra support, he would get it. Simple as that. But even in those early days, there’s something about the way he watches you that makes your skin prickle—not with fear, not yet, but with the awareness of something unspoken hanging in the air.

It’s manageable, at first. He talks vaguely about the pressure of being perfect, about always having to put a show for the cameras, the crowd, and his fellow teammates. He doesn’t give you much, but to be fair, he doesn’t have to. You’ve worked with people similar to him before, people who hide their vulnerability behind bravado.

What surprises you, though, is how much he seems to want you to understand him.

And he clearly won’t stop until you do. Or until he makes you feel the same way he does.

It’s late—too late for anyone to still be in the building. You’ve been working late, reviewing session notes and preparing for tomorrow’s meeting with The Seven. The fluorescent lights hummed faintly, and the silence of Vought Tower felt heavier than usual.

You were so engrossed in your work that you didn’t notice him at first, not until his reflection suddenly became clear in the glass of your office window.

“Burning the midnight oil?” His voice was smooth, casual, but it startled you all the same.

You turned, clutching your chest. “Homelander—God, you scared me.

He stepped inside, uninvited, and you immediately noticed the difference in his appearance. His cape is slightly askew, his hair less perfect with strands falling into his face, and there’s a tension in his posture that you can’t seem to place.

“I was in the area,” he says, brushing off your concern with a shrug. “Thought I’d check in. See how you’re doing.”

The statement threw you off. “I’m… fine,” you said carefully, unsure of where this was going. “You didn’t need to come all the way up here for that.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s not trouble. You know, I think you’re the only person in this whole damn building who’s honest with me.”

There’s a rawness to his words that takes you off guard, but before you can respond, he’s already moving closer, standing just a little too close. His gaze felt heavier than usual, like he’s searching for something in you—validation, comfort, maybe both.

"You really care about people, don't you?" he asked softly, almost as if he's testing the waters.

You nodded, choosing your words carefully. "I do. It's why I got into this field. I want to help."

He tilts his head, his smile sharpening into something darker, more knowing. "Even people like me?"

The way he said it sent a shiver down your spine. You meet his eyes, trying to keep your voice steady. "Especially people like you, Homelander."

"John." He corrected.

You furrowed your brows. "Sorry?"

"Call me John."

The first kiss didn't come softly—it was a collision.

It happened after one of your most intense and deep sessions. Homelander's mask slipped completely; his usual smirk replaced with a vulnerability so raw it made your chest ache. He's sat across from you, his hands gripping the edge of the chair as if he's afraid he might fall apart.

"I don't know how to stop," he admits, his voice low and trembling. "This... this thing inside of me. It's like... it's eating me alive."

You're not sure what to say. For all your training, for all your professionalism, you're still just a person. A person who feels too much.

"You're not broken, H... John," you whispered, even though you're not sure you believe it.

His eyes snap to yours, and for a moment, there's silence. Then he's standing, closing the distance between you in a single heartbeat.

"Don't say that," he says, his voice sharp but desperate. "Don't lie to me. You don't really understand—no one understands. But you... you're different."

Before you can stop him, his lips crash into yours. It's not gentle—it's needy, almost frantic, like he's trying to our everything he can't say into you. You feel the weight of his emotions in every movement, every shiver of his breath against your skin.

And for a moment, you let him. You kiss him back, your fingers curling into his suit as you let yourself drown in the intensity of it all.

But then reality hits, sharp and cold. You pull away, your breath hitching.

"This... we can't," you stammer, stepping back. "Homelander, this isn't right."

He doesn't respond immediately. His gaze is locked on you, his chest heaving. Then, slowly, a smile curls across his lips—a soft, unsettling thing.

"You felt it too," he says quietly, and there's a glimmer of triumph in his tone.

You shake your head, and the pounding of your heart is like music to his ears. "This can't happen again," you whisper, but even as you say the words, you're not sure you believe them.

You tell yourself it was a mistake. That it was a moment of weakness, nothing more. But it doesn't feel like a mistake. Not when you catch Homelander looking at you during your sessions, his gaze heavy and unrelenting.

"I scare you, don't I?" he asks one day, his tone casual but his eyes anything but.

"You don't scare me," you reply, though your voice wavers.

He leans forward, his expression softening. "I should." He says, almost gently.

There's a part of you that wonders if he's right. If you're being reckless, selfish, delusional. But then there's another part of you—a darker, quieter part—that craves him. That loves him. Even though you know you shouldn't.

And that's the part that keeps you up at night.

You notice it the next morning—the way your mail seems disturbed, the faint smell of his cologne lingering in your hallway. It's subtle at first, easy to dismiss. But it only gets worse.

You find flowers on your doorstep. Your favorite, in fact. There's no note, but you know exactly who they're from.

When you confront him during your next session, he doesn't even try to deny it.

"You don't have to thank me," he says, smiling like it's the most normal thing in the world.

"John, this isn't... appropriate," you say, your voice firm but uncertain.

"Appropriate?" He echoes, his smile fading. "After everything I've done for this country, for this cruel world... you're worried about what's appropriate?"

You don't know how to respond, so you don't. But his words stick with you, planting seeds of guilt and confusion that take root in your mind.

You're sitting in your apartment, nursing a glass of red wine and trying to shake the feeling that you're being watched. The soft hum of the radio fills the space and before you know it, he's there, standing on your balcony like he belongs there.

"You left the curtains open," he says, his tone teasing but his expression serious.

"John," you say, standing quickly. "What are you doing here?"

He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he steps inside, his gaze locking onto yours.

"I can't stop thinking about you," he says, his voice low and raw. "You're all I think about. Every second of every day. And it's driving me insane." He's practically fed up. He could kill you, get it over with and maybe then everything will go away. But somewhere deep inside, he knows that's not the case.

You should tell him to leave. But instead, you let him close the distance between you again.

When he kisses you this time, it's softer, slower, but no less intense. And once again, you let yourself get lost in it.

The kiss ends too soon, leaving you breathless and unsteady on your feet. Homelander—or rather, John, as he’s insisted you call him—steps back just enough to study your face. His expression is unreadable, a mixture of triumph, longing, and something darker, something that makes your pulse race for all the wrong reasons.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he murmurs, his voice almost tender. “I’d never let anything happen to you. No one will ever hurt you while I’m around.”

You can’t stop the chill that runs down your spine at his words. There’s sincerity in them, but also a quiet promise, one that doesn’t leave room for argument. It’s like he’s already decided what your life will look like, as if the idea of you existing without him is unfathomable.

“I’m not afraid,” you lie, stepping back, trying to regain your composure. “But this… this isn’t right, John. You know it isn’t.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, the mask slips. The vulnerability you’ve seen in your sessions flickers, but it’s quickly replaced by something colder, more calculating.

He doesn’t like being told no. You can see it in the way his shoulders tense, in the flicker of irritation that passes through his piercing blue eyes.

“But it feels right,” he counters, taking a step closer. “Doesn’t it? You can’t tell me you don’t feel it too. I know you do.”

You want to argue, to deny it, but the words catch in your throat. Because the truth is, he’s right. You do feel it. That pull, that connection, that overwhelming magnetism that makes it impossible to think straight when he’s around. It’s intoxicating and terrifying all at once, like standing on the edge of a cliff and daring yourself not to look down.

“This isn’t about what feels right,” you say finally, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to keep it steady. “It’s about boundaries, John. About professionalism. And this—whatever this is—it crosses every line.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his expression unreadable. Then he smiles, slow and deliberate, like he knows something you don’t.

“You’re scared,” he says softly, almost sympathetically. “Not of me. Of how you feel about me.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. Because he’s not wrong, and he knows it.

“I think you should leave,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. “This… this isn’t going to happen, John. It can’t.”

His smile falters, and for a split second, you see something raw and dangerous flash across his face. But he doesn’t argue. Instead, he nods, his expression hardening into something more familiar, more controlled.

“Alright,” he says, his voice tight. “I’ll go. But this isn’t over. You know that, don’t you?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. All you can do is watch as he steps back out onto the balcony, his cape billowing behind him like a shadow. He pauses for a moment, turning to look at you one last time.

“Goodnight,” he says, his voice soft but laced with something unspoken. And then he’s gone, disappearing into the night like he was never there.

You collapse onto the couch, your heart pounding in your chest. The room feels impossibly quiet without him, the weight of his presence lingering even after he’s left. You tell yourself it’s over, that he’ll leave you alone, that you can go back to your life and pretend none of this ever happened.

But deep down, you know better.

The following days pass in a blur. You throw yourself into your work, trying to ignore the way your skin prickles every time you pass a reflective surface, the way you can’t shake the feeling that you’re being watched.

The flowers keep arriving, always your favorite, always without a note. And every time you see them, you’re reminded of his words, his touch, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

And then, one night, you find a letter slipped under your door. It’s written in his handwriting, neat and precise, and your hands tremble as you read it.

I’ll wait as long as it takes. You know where to find me.

You fold the letter carefully, placing it in the drawer of your desk. You tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything, that you don’t care, that you’re not waiting for him to come back.

But as you sit there in the quiet of your apartment, staring at the faint glow of the city lights outside your window, you can’t help but wonder what it would mean if you did.

Would it be so wrong to want him? To give in, just once, and see what it feels like to be completely consumed by someone like him? Or would it be the beginning of the end, the moment you lose yourself to something you can never take back?

You don’t have the answers. Maybe you never will. But you can’t deny the tiny, treacherous part of you that whispers: what if? What if it was easier? What if loving him didn't have to be so hard? Would you still do it?

And somewhere out there, in the shadows of the city, he’s waiting.

© axnqel ─ all rights reserved. our work is not to be reposted, translated or plagiarized anywhere.

[teriri-sayes]

Reactions to The Worst's Chapter 394

Brief summary: Cale talks to GoD. Cale receives his rewards for completing the subquest. Cale feels ominous at what Clopeh had done.

==========

I couldn't help but laugh at and feel sorry for GoD at the same time. 😂😂😂

Cale: Are you busy? GoD: Very busy. Cale: How's the GoC these days? GoD: …What did you do? Cale: Haven't you heard from CJS? GoD: They don't tell me anything anymore. Shameless bastards. Don't they even know that they're living so freely because of me? Cale: Okay, I'll send those two to Earth 3 while we're in the game. Also, I'll briefly explained what happened, so listen carefully. GoD: Oh yes! I'm looking forward to it! Cale: Ha. It's not something that will have a big impact on your side of the god realm. But I thought it would be good for you to know. It's nothing much, but just know. Cale: *tells the chaos he did* Alberu and Rosalyn: (Nothing much?) *looks in disbelief* Cale: …And that's what happened. GoD's mirror: *vibrates intensely* GoD: T-T-This crazy bastard! Y-You are really the best! Hahahahaha! I was a genius for choosing you! Hahahahaha! Cale: Are you crazy? *contemplates on breaking the mirror* GoD: Ahem. Cale: Anyway, since I've set up the board, the gods should fight each other according to that. GoD: Ah. Even without that, there's currently a standoff without any progress. There are gods who are increasingly siding with GoC. Because of that, GoB is going crazy and running wild. Also, there is also talk of her stepping down from the position of representative because GoB is not doing her job properly. In addition, since the title of ancient god is not very useful, there's talk of creating a system by appointing new leader-level gods other than the ancient gods throughout the god realm. Btw, I'm one of them- Cale: Stop. The affairs of the god realm are none of my business. I only care about the hunters and the absolute gods. The rest is up to you, the god and demon realms. GoD: You really think so? Cale: What? GoD: Heh. Cale: *feels annoyed and turns off the screen* GoD: Sorry, I won't tease you! Tell me more!

GoD seems to know that every time Cale denies involvement with the gods, he continues to set up flags in becoming involved with them. 😂😂😂

That lore drop about ancient gods though. I thought "ancient god" was just some adjective to call the old gods, but it was actually a title and had some significance. The appointment of new leader-level gods was also a surprise, and the fact that our GoD was included as a candidate... 🤣🤣🤣

After a few months, CJS and Sui were mentioned again. Cale planned to leave the Earth 3 matters to them while he plays the game. And King Zed was mentioned too!

Apparently, when a person was nearing their death, their name would appear on GoD's Death List six months before their death. Included were also details related to their death, such as the time and location of death.

However, Zed's place of death kept changing, so GoD couldn't tell much to Cale. There was also restrictions around it, so GoD said he would have to prepare for it before he could tell Cale the info.

Moving on, Cale got to talk to the System AI upon completing the subquest. He achieved his quest so splendidly that the system rated it as SSS+. He got a potion that he needed to pour on Count Lupe's forehead to restore Lupe's memories.

The System AI was so happy that Cale hit the Transparent Bloods, the Demon Realm, and the God of Chaos all at the same time. So the extra reward Cale got for achieving SSS+ in his quest was just too OP!

Red Hand (Rank: God) -When using the skill, you can make a "judgement" through a "trial with the System" and activate "Red Hand" when you are "permitted". -If you understand that the absolute god of the New World already exists, it will be easier to receive "permission" in the "judgement".

Red Hand was the game's response to game errors, and if you recall, it once tried to kill Cale when he first entered the game. But now, Cale had it as a skill? Since the "absolute god" of New World was the System AI, and it was that very System AI who gave the Red Hand skill to Cale, it meant that Cale could freely get "permission" in using the skill. Cale is becoming god-like even inside the game! 😂😂😂

As Cale smiled, another quest window popped into view. And he froze. [Recovery Rate 99.31% (Time remaining: 23:19)] [Nativity Progress 159%] [Reward Tier Undetermined] “Huh?” Why is the nativity progress over 100%? How is that possible? “Damn.” Clopeh Sekka, what the hell did you do? Cale's heart raced. It was the moment he realized something was coming that he couldn't handle.

It's here! Cale's reaction to Clopeh Sekka's actions! 🤣🤣🤣 Yeah, what the heck did Clopeh do that the birth/nativity progress surpassed 100%? 😂😂😂

Ending Remarks So much happened today. Next chapter would be our poor Cale learning what Clopeh had done (and learning about Sheritt's "betrayal"). 😂 We would probably hear about what happened to Count Lupe too once he wakes up. So Eden's birth should be next week?

[doghartzy]

today's insane concept to keep my mind off of other matters: will smith hockey getting a gay little earring.

i think it could go something like: mack's just fucking rambling again, of course, always going on about something, and will tunes in just in time to hear, 'would look good on you, smitty, like hot i think. girls love that pretty shit.' and will has to do a little mental reset before he can laugh awkwardly and go, 'mack. what.'

mack's like, 'i'm telling you dude, you've got the face for it i swear.'

'no,' says will, 'what the fuck are you talking about.'

mack rolls his eyes. 'you're such a shitty listener. you should get your ears pierced, dude.' frowns. 'or ear. less --' waves his hand around as if to indicate the broad, nebulous idea of homo that he doesn't like to actually put into words. will appreciates that about him.

'hmm,' says will. 'i don't know.' but mack starts up right where he left off -- it'd be so hot, smitty, and what's your problem anyway, no way you're afraid of needles, lmao (pronounced luh-maow). and will's like prepared to just forget this entire conversation happened, and mack forgets about it pretty much as soon as he gets on the subject of their boston game, which is coming up, and he's got ideas for how they should be on the same line for it. but will catches himself in the mirror a couple days later and thinks, mack said it'd be hot. and, he reasons, he can always just take it out if he doesn't like it. duh.

cue will showing up to practice with a diamond stud because he thought it was like, showy but not too feminine. it's like, a classic. diamonds are always classic. and mack's like HOLY SHIT DUDE. I TOLD YOU. will has to stop him from poking at it, because now that he's got it he's at least gonna make sure it heals properly, and mack's hands are all grimy like a toddler's. but when the rest of the team starts filtering in it's this weird mix of guys who think it's neat, guys who don't bring it up at all, and maybe one or two guys going 'what the hell's this all about, dude?' which is, you know. will's not insecure or anything, that's a girl thing, but he doesn't love that reaction.

so will revisits himself in the mirror later and thinks aw shit, maybe a hoop would've been better. maybe the diamond IS gay. maybe it's too sparkly and i fucked this up and i should just take it out and be done with it and, oh shit, what happens if i get hit in the fucking head and my ear starts bleeding and everyone on the ice knows that i went out and got a PIERCING on PURPOSE which is just SUCH a gayass thing to do, oh my god. and will's like convinced himself fully to take it out, it was a stupid idea anyway, but there's a very, very small part of him that's thinking about mack reaching for him in the room that morning, mouth open in this fascinated little o, going, 'did it hurt? can i -- it looks so good, bud, wow, just like i thought. sick, dude, i --' like he's trying to figure out how to ask for something he doesn't even know he wants. so will leaves the earring in.

[ilikekidsshows]

Different Anon from Abuser AU ask. But I need to vent somewhere.

I hate the fact that even if u excluded Adrien and Alya bashing u still could see fic where writer demonized them for something they didn't do/something they did do but blow out proportion by Marinette standom.

Like I found many fics that tagged Adrien/Alya redemption (I didn't see the tag at first, only that it doesn't have bashing tag and from summary it Lila exposed fic). Redemption from what exactly? For not letting her killing her social life because she low-key look albeist from outsiders perspective and advice her to take the high road? For not believing her accusations to new girl in town because Marinette have no proof and have history being nasty to love rival?

How those fics literally have Marinette beat them down to compliance, have a reason why your wrong speech, and give them no choice but to follow her every whim and practically reek of,

See, she's not racist or victim blaming abuse victim or anything. It doesn't matter if they were treated worse second to Lila only she gave them a chance! They should be grateful!

Anyway I excluded those tags too now and ml fanfiction got better.

Until season 5 final happened and now too many fanfiction focus about how Marinette felt bad gaslighting her boyfriend and how Adrien feeling being sidelined on those fic. Ugh.

---

That’s what happens when certain attitudes get normalized. Like, long ago, while I still loved the show, the normalization of Alya and Adrien salt was something that got discussed. How people who weren’t even writing saltfics or redemption fics would still include some kind of mention of Adrien, Alya and the classmates apologising for the common saltfic talking points even when the fic wasn’t about that because that’s how normalized the thought that they’d done something wrong had become. People thought they had to address it, even as a throwaway line. While that doesn’t make the fic itself salt, facing a sudden salt trope in a non-salt fic really took me out of it.

I’m saying that, like, even with the typical saltfic tags excluded from searches, looking up Miraculous fanfics can be a game of Russian Roulette on whether or not an innocuous-looking fic will actually include salt or just salt reminders. And now, as you said, we have the canon abuse apologia to contend with. Because, like, how would the fic authors even tag that, when they’re literally just writing the same stuff that’s going on in canon?. Maybe, if we’re lucky, the fandom might mature enough in the future that we’ll get a “canon-typical abuse apologia” tag. I wouldn’t put too much faith into that, though.

Miraculous fanfiction has a pretty big problem with this kind of thing, which is why fanfic recommendation lists are pretty popular in the fandom, at least from what I’ve seen. I suggest looking up “Miraculous fanfic recommendations” or “Miraculous fanfic recs”, because those recommendations usually list out what the appeal of any given fic is, so you can screen out any “Marinette is so sad about gaslighting Adrien, let’s feel sorry for her for the next ten thousand words” fics.

[impinged]

You would snort if you didn't have a certain image to upload, not that you really care about that in the present moment. "Fair enough," you relent, "Can't be Isabeau without some beau-ty sleep, right?" Okay, you snorted anyway. A victim to your own joke!!

And your reward? No, no reward for you... Just a tomato thrown at you. A fluffy white tomato that strikes at your poor, innocent arm. Ohhh, the humanity!

How could you expect such reper-cushions?! Your arm didn't stand a chance!! You weakly raise it, shakily grasping at air until you flop down on the bed and let it dangle off the side as if you've lost all feeling in it. Nooo, you quietly protest. My good arm, Isa... You got my good arm... You'd root around in your pockets for a handkerchief to mimic the blood that would spur from such a wound, but that would be excessive. So instead you bring your other hand, and with a small pshew noise, flick your fingers around where the contact was made. It's still a weird thing to commit to. It doesn't strike you as all that funny now that you've done it, really. In your opinion at least. You're not going to think about Isabeaus, this one or otherwise, who might agree with you on that.

Jokes aside. Your lackluster performance's curtain call. You lift your head to get a better look at him. Was it too much after all? You can't tell, and he's rambling, and he says you're keeping him up, that he should leave.

"I want you to stay." Eugh. That sounds needy. You don't correct yourself. You just don’t like how that was your takeaway, out of all the muttering he was doing, that was what you had to call attention to.

"Besides, I..." You...? It doesn't click right away, what you're caught up on. And then it does, and you instantly regret implying it. "I said we could talk here, didn't I?" And you hated that you did that. Hate that you're doing it again.

Feeling returns to your arm. If you were still joking around, you'd hum a little fanfare and proclaim I'm cured! But you're not, in both senses, so you just grab the pillow you smacked him with and lay back down. Curl into it. Hide yourself just enough to feel not so exposed despite your offer making that impossible. So then. In an effort of, uh, good will? A treaty for peace between the feather-down weapons you wield? You want to make good on what you offered.

You glance away. It's hard. You still do not want to talk, and it's getting increasingly obvious that you yourself are, well, obvious about that. But you dug this hole, this comfy, cushion-y hole, and now you must lie in it, adorned with blankets and your head atop a pillow... eventually. Right. Well...

"I... I'll answer one question. For now. Is that okay?" More like, is that enough? You promise you'll answer it even if you don't want to, and you can practically guarantee you won't want to. But the rest can come later. Has to come later. After some sleep, maybe over breakfast. Okay, maybe not that soon. Definitely not that soon. A different breakfast maybe. Or anything. Sometime later. That's all that matters.

"y-yeah? i mean, yeah! it... it is! nice."

it really is. he'd been running on pure adrenaline since he was kidnapped (barely got any rest at the clocktower, either), so to just... lie down? with the person he'd been begging the change god to find? 'nice' doesn't cover it! in the silence that follows, his eyelids only grow heavier--

drooping... drifting... "MMPH!?" pillow attack??? siffrin betrayal!?!?

isabeau draws out a whine, "whaaaat. did our nights together mean nothing, sif? so mean! so cruel..." a fake tear wiped from his cheek; pout pathetic, "takes lots of energy to be a big, strong man, you know! i need my nappies..."

their teasing, giddy as it instinctively makes him, brings a shred of doubt along with it. it should be exciting! usually is! but he can't make heads or tails of it, and it's taking a serious amount of self-control to keep his cheery face from falling.

it just-- it's probably forced, isn't it? like a picture-perfect, playful mask they're maintaining. the harsh reality of it snags, if only because he wishes he could be someone they'd confide in, now that he knows. they don't have to pretend anymore!

sif isn't okay. he hasn't slept in his bed in who-knows-how long. he doesn't want to talk about it. and isabeau? he's a coward who gives up at the first sign of distress.

it doesn't deter him, though! he's hesitant to back off, and not for the want of staying close (that's a reason, not the reason). they looked so peaceful earlier-- if nothing else, could he bring them there again? it's not much, but what else can he do...?

"on second thought, if anyone should fill out a napplication, it's you. i mean, could you even withstand... my countera-thwack!?" he yoinks the other pillow -- stiff and cold from disuse -- and smacks it against their arm! (smacks, pats, same difference).

whew, alright. ask, isabeau! don't be presumptuous.

"...um. jokes aside," he sits up to clear some of the fog, hugging the feathery cushion to his stomach, "would you approve? i'll try extra hard to stay up, of course! i still wanna hang! but i won't lie, i miiight pass out eventually. or-- or not! who knows! i could just leave, if that's easier?" stop! rambling! "sorry... got too swept up in the reunion feelies to notice how sleepy i've been."

[annasofthe11thdimension]

Truly the worst Vaugardian plays are the ones where nothing happens, as the characters spend the whole 2 hours sitting about as they talk at each other, all while the audience hasn't the slightest doubt they can be nowhere but hell.

But while hell is definitely other people...in your experience, a hell you're suck in alone, left the only wise one surrounded by fools, is not a better hell. Not better at all.

---------

Loop's wish has different wording, and this makes a few things a little different. Mostly it means the Researcher of the group is now looping, while Stardust remains blissfully ignorant. This is certainly the main difference noticed by Loop, who looks at the evidence before then before assuming they're to play stagehand to the Researcher solving of the mystery in record time.

But roles are tricky. Very nearly tricky as wishes.

Sponsor, stagehand, lead actor, audience, critic, fool, traveler, ex-scissor wizard turned star - how absurd for a human to contort themselves to fit a single 'role'! How cruel to for a person to find that no role left they can Change themselves enough to fit!

Ah, but there's no time to wallowing, not when you've one more wish to make - one more desperate GRAB at hope for the play ending, now the greatest ever cosmic joke has been replaced by a smarter actor then you could become even after a million loops.

One, two, THREE - breath in…and out, take a bow to the audience and ready yourself.

The show has once again begun ~ !

[puppppppppy]

its so hard to watch time pass when things like careers and assignments exist. what do you mean im supposed to take that seriously

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

Just once, I would like to be able to have a conversation about my feelings with someone where they don't, at some point, start trying to explain to me why something happened such that they are either implying or outright stating I should stop having noticeable feelings at them about a thing and/or telling me that I'm wrong about how I feel and actually if I just understood this thing I would see that I'm being unreasonable to say I feel the way I do.

Just once, for someone's response to be "it sounds like you're feeling [insert thing, e.g hurt, sad, scared, tired, angry, etc], I'm sad that you are dealing with that." Not to take responsibility for my feelings! But for them to acknowledge that they're happening and might matter to me before they move on to whatever the fuck next thing they have to say is

[undergoing-mitosis]

i am keeping both freminet and chongyun on my team and using them both as dps i do not care that they are both cryo claymore characters (so less capability for elemental reactions) cause they are my silly little autism children and i love them and i will protect them with my life and nothing that anyone says can stop me

oh yeah also i pulled the bell for the first time today and yes apparently it is by far not the best weapon for chongyun but it FITS HIM SO WELL so i simply do not care

like look at my boy 🥹 it matches his belt 🥹

[cheriafreya]

Penacony's 2.0-2.2 patches: genuinely HSR's peak, full of unforgettable moments. I still get chills watching the cutscenes and some of them still make me cry like the first day.

Penacony's 2.3, 2.6 and 2.7 patches:

[ratatatastic]

do you write fic on ao3?

unfortunately for everyone involved i do!

[seventh-district]

sighs and collapses and disintegrates into the wind

[seaofreverie]

Anyway how is everyone doing