#part 1 of this fic is done!

[sapphira-mydnyte]

The Rogue Cursebreaker

Warning: Death, murder, illness, revenge.

Characters: Sebastian Sallow, Anne Sallow, Ominis Gaunt

♦Sebastian Sallow isn't the man he used to be... not after over a decade in Azkaban, or is he?♦

Sebastian had fallen from grace, retreating into himself for what he had done. No longer the extroverted show-off, he had instead gone silent & moved with the shadows. He regretted murdering his uncle, but nobody seemed to understand his reason why. Even worse? He had broken out of Azkaban & escaped unscathed, but not without leaving a trail of dead goblins & dead dark mages in his wake.

He returned to Scotland more powerful than ever, stealing books by the moonlight & returning them by the next nightfall to keep increasing his strength. He had learned to break curses, even Imperio & Crucio, by the books & training his ass off in the Forbidden Forest. Spiders, trolls, it didn't matter the foe he faced as long as he broke the curse he had inflicted upon them. The poachers & what remained of Rookwood's ashwinders were killed on sight for what had happened to his sister. He'd even found a few remaining loyalists of Rankrok's still roaming around his home of Feldcroft & killed them too.

Sebastian's heart had gone cold, no longer caring who saw his trail of blood in the fallen goblins, mages, trolls, dubogs & spiders. But word did get around that somebody was taking out countless foes with curses, although they didn't know who. Most suspected the Gaunts, but not Ominis, not since he took over the Auror department. None of them suspected that it was Sebastian Sallow... the boy who killed his own uncle. However, it wouldn't be long before someone found him.

"Go fucking figure! It would be you, Ominis! Why? Is it my life you want?" The blond felt the rage simmering off of his old friend, ready to take him out if he made a wrong move. "No, Sebastian, although I should rightfully throw your arse back in Azkaban for the bloody trail you've left & escaping. But what good will that do? You've broken out once already & I know you'll find a way to do it again. You were too smart to stay locked up for long at Hogwarts when we got into trouble as well." Sebastian looked on at Ominis, wondering what his fate would be. "I know you won't use a curse on me either, so how do you plan to end me? Snakes? I can see you doing that." Ominis shook his head & smiled. "Why take your life when you're worth more Galleons than my entire team? I have a better idea. I'll make you a cursebreaker & let you be the executioner to the darkest wizards & witches... especially my family." Sebastian had a dark smirk crawling across his face. "Ohh! I get to save innocents & throw down as I see fit when called to end the lives of the damned? Count me in."

Ominis gave a sly smirk, knowing how his old friend loved the thrill of the fight & breaking all the rules to get things done. “Yes, but, I know how much you use the curses by instinct, so, in exchange for taking out every idiot on my list as you see fit & cure the victims, I’ll cover your tracks. I’ll make sure you stay hidden until the list is cleared of the worst mages. Should you be ready to come out to the public, none but me can reveal you. You’re my rogue cursebreaker Sebastian & I intend for your comeback to be glorious.” Redemption for Sebastian wouldn’t be easy, but Ominis was willing to pull strings as hard as he could for this. He knew Sebastian had acted out of rage back then, but he had been patient & Sebastian had grown since then.

Sebastian was smiling darkly, but the happiness within him burned bright. He ached for battle, ached for freedom, but even more so, to redeem himself for his sister & make sure she was avenged. “Fine with me. Whatever darkness is kicking your ass, I’ll end it, whoever needs the curses broken, I’m more than up for. Anne deserves to be avenged this way anyway. I’m not alright in my mind, not sane enough to face her…yet.” He couldn’t fathom facing his sister now, not for all he had done, but he hoped that working with Ominis would work off the years of sadness, rage & pain he felt. If he never saw Anne again, he’d at least come to terms in knowing that he’d fight in her honor by helping those who suffered like she did.

Ominis hung his head low when Anne was mentioned, for he was the only one who knew what had happened to her. “Speaking of Anne, your sister is in critical condition. The sickness has forced her into near full paralysis & she’s now in hospice care. She’s nearly out of time Sebastian, so I’m afraid that if you don’t see her soon, she’ll die. Cruciform was cast upon her with so much hatred that her body has broke down from the years of pain, but…if you think you can do it…you just might be able to save her.” Tears fell from his blue eyes just thinking about Anne dying, knowing Sebastian would truly be broken forever from it & lose what sanity he had left. The sadness tore at him, until Sebastian hugged him.

“Oh shit! No…” His heart was breaking, his mind racing, every instinct now screaming to be with her. Tears fell from his dark eyes for the first time since he was jailed, the shock locking his heart down into survival mode once more. “She has one chance left Ominis & I intend for you to be there with us when I do it. I’ll free her if you have the healing power in some way. I want to break her curse first & I’ll do anything for it.” He couldn't take the pain knowing what Anne's fate was, nor could he ignore the instinct that now howled in him. {SAVE HER!} He didn't care what the price was, as long as Anne got her freedom. "If it means being locked away for the rest of my life again, then so be it, I'll give my freedom for her. I don't fucking care!" Tears fell from Sebastian's dark brown eyes, his voice broke into a full scream as the pain of Anne's suffering hit him inside once more. His sister was his undoing, because nothing mattered more than her.

Ominis had never heard Sebastian break down like this, not since he killed his Uncle Soloman. No, Sebastian was more broken over Anne than the murder he had committed in the past. He still put his own sister over himself, so willing to help her that he'd give up everything if it meant she lived. "I honestly hope it doesn't come to that Sebastian. I don't want you to be locked up for your murder if you save Anne. That should be redemption & it is as far as I'm concerned." His bright blue eyes landed on Sebastian, even though he couldn't see without his wand, they still showed the emotion in them. "I'll do what I can to convince the Ministry to let you remain free if you save her & stay in as our rogue cursebreaker. I will do everything to keep you out of Azkaban, but I'll kick somebody's ass myself if Anne not only is cured, but makes a full recovery too because of you! Matter of fact, why don't we do like we used to? Let's go sneak off to her room tonight & see what we can do while she sleeps."

Sebastian's eyes lit up, his heart aching, his blood burning, but the adrenaline was higher than it had ever been for him. "I can't believe this, I can't believe that you're willing to break every rule for me & her." Ominis smirked. "You & her are the ONLY family I ever truly had, so, I owe both of you everything." The proud blond wasn't one to waste time, not when Anne was at the end of her rope with her sickness. He grabbed Sebastian's hand & pulled him up into his arms. "I can be mad at you for a lot of things, but you're desire to save Anne is one that I can't be mad about."

Ominis managed to open a portal straight to the hallway where Anne's room was, not daring to wake her. The boys made it to her room without any delay & Ominis opened the door as quietly as he could. He & Sebastian walked in, but upon seeing Anne's face, tears fell from Sebastian's dark eyes as he went to her side. Anne turned towards him, opening her eyes... not believing what she saw. "No... no way..." She started crying as soon as she met his eyes, breaking down entirely. "Sebastian!! Ohh! Brother!" She jumped up with what strength she had, hugging him as she cried.

Ominis, knew that this is what they needed, but time was of the essence. "What do you say Sebastian? You have very little time to save her & your freedom is on the line." The twins turned to him, fighting down their emotions. "I'll do it... you know damn well I will." Sebastian's eyes had a wildfire burning in them & although she broke down crying, Anne knew the truth of her own brother. He'd give his life for hers to eliminate her illness, no matter the price. "Show them no mercy brother, not for what was done to me." She pulled her wand out from her pocket & stuck it in his as she kissed his cheek. "Rogue you will be to many, a hero to others, but you're my brother & nobody shall take you from me with my wand in your hands alongside your own. Now go... go Sebastian. Go find what is needed to save me."

~End of part 1~

Sebastian Sallow by Pasta As Avatar

[ibahibut]

💀: Fewer wounds, more kisses from me.

🐦‍⬛: Contract's accepted, mi amor.

Music inspiration: A Little Death by The Neighbourhood

[themeraldee]

The Lucky Winner - Part 4

[Masterlist] | [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] | [AO3]

18+ Only | 6.8k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Insecurity. Jealousy. Implied shower sex. Phone sex. Mild voice kink. Homelander is being a sex pest again. Or just a pest.

Summary: Homelander insists on taking your relationship to the next level.

Author’s Note: I don't know why I decided that Part 4 is when I should include somewhat of a plot but it happened so the voice kink fic continues😂 Major shoutout to @anotherhomelanderblog for all the editing help and keeping me sane throughout the process 💗

“And you live like this?” Homelander asks incredulously, drying himself off. He hands you the damp towel and you promptly hang it up to dry, wrapped in a fluffy towel yourself.

“Most people live like this! Also most people are smart enough to not waste all their hot water on making out,” you say with a laugh and a playful eye roll.

“Ohoho, that was a lot more than making out.” Homelander’s brazenly parading around naked and you can’t help but follow the line of his slender body. It always feels special to see him without the suit. Although he still clearly prefers to keep it on, he’s not feeling particularly worried about swapping his superhero suit for the birthday one around you. 

“Well still—it’s no wonder we ran out.” 

Your lazy morning rolling around in bed quickly turned into messing around under the spray of the hot shower water. And while Homelander’s right and it was more than making out, you didn’t get to experience more than a few thrusts before the water turned cold, rudely interrupting you both.

Homelander has never been one for giving up. He held you in place, keeping you nice and warm as he thrusted into you. All the way to the finish line. Needless to say, the morning couldn’t have started better.

It could have been warmer though.

He finally finds his underwear somewhere in between the pile of his thick suit. You mentally wince at him reusing the same underwear he had on before he slept over last night. He may neither exert himself nor sweat, but it still catches you off guard. Many times you’ve offered him the space to store his spare clothes, but he denies the offer every time, saying it’s just as easy for him to fly back. 

This behaviour is equally as perplexing as him never changing into something you’d deem more comfortable. It’s always been the full suit or fully naked. You don’t think there has ever been a third option. The cartoonish nature of his persona comes through vividly in moments like these. While you haven’t rummaged through his portion of the wardrobe back in his place, you wouldn’t be surprised to see multiple versions of the same superhero suit. 

And yet, along with the rehearsed lines he can’t always help but avoid, this makes him seem larger than life. Unfamiliar. Untouchable. Unattainable.

Thoughts like these frequent your mind each time you see yet another headline speculating about his love life come across your newsfeed. Whenever someone mentions the dreaded topic out loud, your gut clenches, your heart drops and you get shaken by the idea that you’ve somehow stolen America's golden boy.

Homelander, on the other hand, has been nothing but eager to celebrate your relationship. You haven’t shared your concerns with him yet. You don’t think he would quite understand your worry about stealing him from his devoted fans. He’s been constantly coaxing you into uprooting your life and moving in with him, officially being with him. His little nudges like today are just the tip of the iceberg.

The idea of being offered to the media vultures as their new chew toy fills you with dread just thinking about it.

You turn away from watching Homelander redress. You unwrap the towel you’ve tucked in around your chest, bunching it up in your hands and bending over to wipe leftover water droplets off your legs. 

You don’t get very far before you hear a whistle. “Don't you look good enough to eat? Well, again.”

You automatically straighten up, covering what you can with your towel. Pointless, really. Homelander can easily see through whatever he wishes. Still one of his stranger powers, if you do say so yourself. You can never quite tell whether he’s staring at your tits or your heart—both options feeling equally voyeuristic.

You shake your head at his silly flirting. While he can be obnoxious and overly cheesy, there’s something to be said about being so blatantly flirted with. Knowing you’re desired so… carnally—as cliche as that feels to say in your head—feels reaffirming. Confidence boosting, even. 

This alone allows you to think that maybe having a public relationship wouldn’t change anything between the two of you.

You hear the familiar creak of leather as he puts his gloves on, stretching his fingers and squeezing his fists to get them comfortable.

“In fact, if you moved in with me—like I keep telling you to—we wouldn’t be having this problem at all.” 

Or not. The slightly pushy tone brings the recurring anxiety back up.

During the storm of your internal thoughts, you dig out a fresh pair of underwear. You’ve gotten into the habit of actively wearing the pretty pieces Homelander can’t seem to stop himself from sending to your home address—amongst the other obscenely expensive gifts. Ever since you’ve once dressed up for him, he made it his mission to dress you in lingerie of all the colours of the rainbow and more. Feigning scientific interest in seeing what colour matches your skin tone the best—though he still favours the Homelander panties that started it all. 

However, knowing how perverse he can be with his penetrative vision, helps with not feeling underdressed at any given time.

Homelander takes no note of your internal struggle, instead focusing on his fantasy of what life is meant to look like for the two of you while you start getting dressed.

“Then I could fuck you in the shower for as many hours as my lady wishes, hm?” He gives you a cheeky smile as he passes by, walking out of the bedroom and into the living room.

You laugh heartily at his comment while you pick out your clothes. Normally, you’d keep it cosy and comfortable enough. At least, before Homelander. Now you pick something a little more put together, knowing you’ll be stopping by the Vought tower as part of his plan for the day. 

“Hours seems a bit much. I don’t know if looking like a wet prune is a good look on me.” While you put your clothes on, you look up to see what he’s up to through the open bedroom door. While any other person would entertain themselves by turning the TV on or scrolling on their phone, Homelander just walks around. As if he hasn’t seen this space a thousand times over.

At your response, he turns to you. A bewildered look crosses his face before he lets out a sarcastic chuckle. “Funny.” He readjusts a photo on the wall, making sure it’s perfectly straight. It’s a selfie you took of the two of you on the couch. Not the best quality, but Homelander insisted you make it the centerpiece of the photo wall. “Don’t know about the prune part but wet is easily the best look on you.” He waggles his eyebrows at you. 

“It’s a little silly of you to think otherwise, don’t you think? I know you’re smarter than that.” While some might get easily offended at his words, you’re used to his crass words.

You watch as he points his gloved finger at you while he steps further backwards. 

Finally dressed, you come out of the bedroom, not bothering to shut the door. Homelander walks to the kitchen with you following.

“I just thought you liked it here.” You lean against the small breakfast bar as you watch him open the fridge and take out the jug of whole milk you keep stocked at all times for his sake only. 

He doesn’t bother pouring it out into a glass and neither does he close the fridge while he takes a big gulp, closing his eyes in the moment. Putting the jug down, he licks his lips clean as he opens his eyes. It’s bizarre how strangely erotic he manages to make the whole ritual seem.

“I do,” he says once his eyes are less glazed over and focused back on you. Properly snapping to attention, he acts offended. “Of course I do.” As if you suggested something so horrifying it insulted his very being. “But it would make things a lot easier.”

He takes another indulgent big gulp before closing the jug and putting it back in the fridge, shutting the door with a nudge of his elbow as he walks past.

He makes his way around while you’re still leaning against the breakfast bar. His lips trace the shell of your ear as he settles himself riiight behind you. “Imagine all the fun we’d have, huh?” He tilts his head to place a little kiss on your cheek, very close to your ear.

The timbre of his voice vibrating through your ear just warms you to your core. He still knows how to disarm you so thoroughly. If anything, he happily abuses this little quirk of yours.

“We wouldn’t have to settle for a fucking quickie in the morning.” His arms settle on your hips as he, excruciatingly slowly, drags his hips against your ass. “You know, I very much enjoy a good old breakfast in bed. What do you say? As soon as you move in, I’ll be waking you up with my tongue between your thighs. Now try saying no to that.”

“Nice try. You’ve done that here before.” You try to remain calm and collected but your voice betrays you, coming out in a stutter. While his voice—the sexy, slow tone he abuses anytime he wants to get his way—along with the visuals, is already wetting your fresh panties through and through.

“Hm, but there I wouldn’t have to think about flying back just to make it to a stupid meeting. I’d get plenty more time with you. Think about it. Every break in my schedule I could come back for a kiss and a cuddle. Maybe a little romp with my best girl.”

“Oh so suddenly we’re happy with quickies?” You chuckle breathlessly.

“Well y’know, I’m a busy guy. Gotta work with what I’ve got.”

“Speaking of—shouldn’t you be heading out? You’ve got a busy schedule ahead of you.”

“Alright, okay. I got the message. Think about it though, babe, will you?” Homelander finally allows you to gather yourself as he steps back, not so discreetly adjusting his dick after all that teasing. You constantly wonder where he gets this sky-high sex drive from.

“Sure. I’ll think about it.” You take the moment to walk around the breakfast bar, reaching for a coffee pod to pop into your machine for a quick pick-me-up. With a twist of your wrist you notice the time. “Oh, you should head out now if you don’t want to be late.” 

He slots behind you again, unable to stay away for even a moment. “Let me take you with me?” His arms wrap around your stomach, squeezing softly as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of you in between little kisses.

The coffee machine finishes whirring, and with the smell of fresh coffee it breaks you out of the daze.

“Mhmm, then you’ll definitely be late. And I want my coffee. And some breakfast. You go have your meeting, I’ll be there in time for your interview.” 

“Promise?”

“Promise. Kiss goodbye?” You ask for it before he does. Immediately, he turns you around in his arms, trapping you in his hold so he can deliver what he deems an acceptable goodbye kiss. It’s long and deep and were you in public you’d be blushing to the tips of your ears. So much for the little goodbye peck you imagined.

Once Homelander leaves, you take the time to have a quick breakfast before preparing your overnight bag. While Homelander can’t take you to the set of the talk show he’s getting interviewed about his new movie at, he insists you come to his place to watch it live. Afterwards, he’ll be eager to fly back home to spend more time with you, listening to everything you’ve got to say about his appearance.

Entering the Vought tower always leaves you with a level of anxiety in your gut. This isn’t your territory, you don’t feel safe here. Each camera feels like the watchful eye of every stakeholder, observing you walk around freely as if you’ve not been greedily devaluing their best asset. 

You feel like the mistress everyone but the wife knows about. The overseeing eye of Vought management is already unhappy with you as is—Homelander said so himself, unaware or uncaring of the effect that information would have on you. It’s why you’ve started dressing better, trying to appear smart and classy. Worthy. Defending your position by his side.

You like to pretend like you belong. But everyone knows you’d be lost without him in tow.

This isn’t your world.

And it never will be.

Arriving at the penthouse allows you to release the breath you didn’t know you were holding. While Homelander’s space is odd at best and downright unliveable at worst, it’s part of you now. With its impersonal portraits of historical figures or perfect marble statues that make you feel self-conscious each time you undress, the decor leaves a bad taste in your mouth. Who is Vought to not ever allow him peace and quiet from this persona they’ve built for him? It really feels like he only gets to be himself when he’s around you. At home with you.

So why he constantly insists on the idea of you moving into this hellscape permanently confuses you to no end. Sure, your home isn’t luxurious by any means. It’s small and cluttered—less so now you’ve gotten rid of some of the Homelander memorabilia—but it’s comforting, warm, and inviting.

You’ve already gone through the effort of adding some warmth and home to this… space. Blankets and throws, pillows and trinkets that made you think of him. Anything that takes away from the sterile museum-like feel of the place.

Today you have brought a little picture frame. It’s the same photo you saw Homelander adjusting just an hour or so earlier. The print isn’t of great quality and neither is the photo, but he seems particularly fond of it, so you’ve gone ahead to frame this one for him too.

Dropping off your bag on the living room couch, you walk over to the bedroom, swapping out an existing impersonal historical portrait of Abraham Lincoln for the silly selfie of the two of you. You fret around with the positioning until it feels right, running your hand over the frame with an absent smile. The photo lets you forget about the madness of your life; it lets you instead think of the love you share with each other. However fragile it may feel at times.

Your phone rings in your pocket. You fumble around, like you’ve been caught doing something vulnerable and intimate. 

You swipe without looking at the screen properly, pressing the screen to your ear.

“There she is.” 

Something about the way he purrs into the phone melts your anxieties of the day into nothing. While grounding is what you need, his voice goes beyond that. You’re not grounded. Not with him. It feels like you’re flying instead. Lightheaded and full of excited nerves, you can’t escape the heartfelt bright smile lighting up your face.

“Hey baby. Ready for your interview?” 

“Am I ever not? You’ll be watching, right?” He knows you will. The question is rhetorical at best.

“Are you kidding? Of course I am.” You chuckle breathlessly into the phone. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

You make your way to the couch, sprawling across the leather, your phone still against your ear. Something about this makes you so giddy. Here you are in Homelander’s apartment, sitting on his couch with his voice in your ear. It feels like a fairytale.

It doesn’t feel real.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Ever since Homelander’s discovered your little quirk—which admittedly was clear to him from day one—he’s been more than happy to ramble on and on and on. No matter what it’s about. He likes to have you listen.

“Is she already there?” You change the topic, not wanting to dwell on your inner discomfort for too long.

“Who? My co-star?” he asks with an innocent enough tone.

“Yeah. Her.” You bite your tongue to stop yourself from saying more.

“Careful there, you’re sounding a liiittle jealous.”

This talk show interview centres around Homelander’s new movie, Homelander: Hero’s Heart. The first one in his range that gave him a tangible love interest. His previous movies focused on action, patriotism and Homelander ultimately being the hero that saves the day. Vought are still on a mission to boost numbers in certain demographics—your demographic—so saving the damsel in distress was the logical next step for them.

It wasn’t too obnoxious. Just one on-screen kiss by the end of the movie. But you can’t shake the enormous pit of insecurity at the bottom of your gut anytime you think about them going through all those scenes together. Just how many takes was it really?

Okay, maybe you are a little jealous.

“I’m not. I’m just curious.”

No. You’re being unreasonable. Throughout all of the shooting Homelander came home to you, seeking solace. Seeking familiar and comforting touch. Complaining to you endlessly about the other actors’ poor skills.

Homelander clocked your jealousy early on. With a cheeky grin he prodded and poked, making you lash out and admit to your unsavoury feelings. The verbal conversation usually ended there. Instead, you got your frustration out physically. Night after night, he fucked you into the mattress, proving just where you stand. Until you couldn’t even stand anymore. 

Those nights, he’d sit you in his lap, pushing his thick cock inside you as he held you close. Face to face, chest to chest, he’d grunt and mewl in between kisses. Homelander would revel in your possessiveness of him, getting you to repeat ‘you’re mine’ over and over again. You’d rarely do any of the moving. Homelander liked taking it in his own hands in these moments. He’d wrap his hands around your hips, squeezing where he could reach, bouncing you with deliberate movements down onto his lap.

Logically, you know Homelander wouldn’t cheat on you with a random actress. But it’s hard not to compare yourself to her. She’s another gorgeous face amongst the constant stream of supes, actresses, models or celebrities he has instant access to. And you’re… well, you. The fact that he chose you out of the mix should leave you with some sense of relief, but it doesn’t. 

“Mhm, sure you are. As luck would have it, she couldn’t make it. Real shame, huh?” Homelander can be surprisingly sweet sometimes. To his credit, it was never his actions that made you jealous. Your own insecurity latched onto rotten ideas, spreading like mold across your healthy mind. 

Homelander plays into your possessiveness of him, more than eager to hear how much you love and want him. Only him. 

It makes you wonder if he had something to do with his co-star’s absence. 

“You know women are gonna go crazy over you after this. I’m sure they’re all waiting for you to spill some crazy stories about being a romantic on and off set.”

“Are they now? You know, I really don’t fucking care what they want to hear. I don’t care about them. I care about you.” 

There's a desperation to his response that catches you off guard. It's impossible to deny him the adoration he wordlessly requests.

“Oh. That’s—Ahah—I care about you too. You know I always love to watch you.”

“Good. Good. I want you to watch. I want you to listen... You’ll do that right? You’ll listen—”

“—to every word. To every single word.” The breathless quality to your tone shocks you.

It makes Homelander moan.

When did you both get so worked up over this?

“Good—fuck. Always such a good girl, aren't you? My biggest fan.”

“Not just a fan.” You huff out. You’re not offended per se, but after seeing what other so-called-fans say about him online or how little love they share with him, it would be an insult to label you as one of them.

“Pfft—of course you're not.” He scoffs in disbelief. Even he doesn’t believe his own words. “You are everything. You're everything to me.” 

Your eyes widen. Your heart pounds against your ribcage. The unashamed proclamation said so clearly by the strongest man in the world makes you pulse and clench.

You're not worthy of being his all.

It leaves you speechless. Over the past few weeks your mind has started waging war with your heart. Oddly, today feels like the final battle of which will win.

Your body is nearly shaking. The palm holding your phone feels clammy. You try to get comfortable, but you’d only achieve that by clawing out of your own skin. Something feels different—wrong—about today.

“Helloooo, don't go quiet on me now.” There's a new, dangerous tilt to his already deliciously rumbling voice that makes you soak your underwear. 

“Sorry… I just—you’re so—I just… I love you so much.” You trip over your words. Something you’ve said so many times feels oddly loaded.

“D’aww, how cute. That’s better.” With an audible swallow, you slide your hand down your body. Pressing into your flesh through your clothes as you go, trying to pretend it isn't your hand exploring your own body.

You imagine it’s his. Following the route it has done so many times before.

You ache with the need to be touched and filled and worshipped. Your cunt throbs painfully under your layers, soaked and weeping. Even the slight press of your fingers feels electric. Too little and too much at the same time.

You swallow the saliva that’s gathered on your tongue. You scrunch your eyebrows when you roll your hips into your hand, a gasp coming out involuntarily.

“I can hear you. Do it.”

“Y-you can?!”

This brings you back to the first phone call that kick started this whole relationship. Back then, you had some courtesy to not touch yourself to the sound of his voice. You’ve lost all that courtesy by now, but the reveal that he could hear you all along makes you embarrassed for your past self.

You undo the fastening on your bottoms with a shaky hand. Your hand immediately slides under your layers, into your panties, with your fingers already forming a familiar shape. Your eyes roll back when your fingers glide along your inner lips, gathering slick and bumping your clit where your fingers meet. You repeat this motion a few times, thoroughly wetting your pussy, letting your head hit the armrest like a deadweight, your phone still loosely tucked against your ear.

“Jesus Christ, listen to yourself. Might have to move into the bathtub before you flood my couch, you know.” 

“Not like you actually care.” You huff out half a laugh, barely coherent with your slurred speech. 

“No you’re right, I don’t. Now spread your legs for me, gorgeous, I want you to put your fingers in.” 

You nod as if he could see you—though for all you know, maybe he can.

You push your bottoms down far enough that they won’t be in the way. Adjusting yourself on the couch, you curl your fingertips inside yourself with a little wiggle, letting out a sigh. Like this, you’re definitely gonna make the couch wet.

“Feel good?” While he purrs low, you hear the sharp grin in his tone.

You hum softly as you focus on moving your fingers in and out. “Not as good as when you do it. Actually, hah, it doesn’t compare at all.” You’re not even trying to butter up his ego before his live appearance. He’s just that good to you.

“That’s the sp—fuck—spirit.” 

Having been with your lover many times, the familiarity of that stifled whimper leaves you gasping. You don’t need super hearing to know that Homelander’s wrapped his own hand around his cock. You’ve come to memorise and categorise all the pretty little sounds he makes.

You don’t even remember hearing him unclasp his belt, too lost in your own pleasure. 

“Are you…?” 

Through the phone comes a clipped exhale. “—Yes.” The rough, rhythmic stroking now becomes audible to even your human ears. Your cheeks feel hot. The sensation climbs up all the way to the tips of your ears.

“Oh. That’s really sexy.” You whimper, melting into the sofa as you spread your legs as far as the garment you pushed down allows. “Aren’t—aren’t you worried about someone walking in?” You alternate between rubbing your clit and fingering yourself as a way to make your body tingle all over.

The response you get is a barely restrained moan straight in your ear. His voice trails off into a sweet rumbly groan that has your fingers rubbing faster.

“Don’t care. You make me feel fucking crazy.” 

How is it that you have such an effect on him? From morning till night, he never seems to have enough. Before Homelander you were racking up two—three at most, really—self-love sessions a week. These days you’re lucky if you only end up with two a day. The resolve in his proclamation brings back some of the confidence today has been slowly chipping away at.

Plus, his absurd words make you snicker.

“I make you feel crazy?” Your voice is all breathy. With each moan in your ear, your own touch feels electric. Your fingers stick to rubbing your clit: circles that started slow, teasing and loose are now tight and fast, nearing on too strong a stimulation. 

“Uh-huh.” He’s barely responding at this point, but you don’t mind. 

“Mhm, really? You’re so good to me, you know that?” Knowing Homelander is there in his guest dressing room of the host’s set, fisting his sensitive cock raw because of you, makes your head spin. The gratification that fills you with is intoxicating. Drunk on the power you have in your hands, you change up the pace, rubbing your clit more languidly, taking your time to instead sweet talk your boyfriend into blowing his load into his underwear right before his interview.

“They don't deserve you.”

“You do so much for the world.”

“They never appreciate how much of an honour it is to have you serve them.”

“You’re so perfect.”

The combination of Homelander’s signature stuttered groan and the rustling of fabrics tells you your words are all it’s taken for him to finish. 

“Wow, what a show, superstar on and off the stage,” you tease him a little. You hear the familiar click of a belt come through the phone.

“Smartass. Speaking of, I gotta be on set in a few. But what kind of boyfriend would I be if I left you hanging like that. Need to hear my best girl cum her brains out on the other side.” 

“Don’t be silly, you’ve got to go live in a few.”

“Then you better hurry up.” He laughs airily. The orgasmic high makes him exude even more of this strange energy. “Don’t think I haven’t heard you going pretty crazy over there. Doubt it’s gonna take you long anyway. Never does when I’m talking to you, hm?”

“Oh my god.” You exhale, your hand back at full speed. You dig your feet into the couch, pushing against it as you stroke your clit faster, your hips meeting your hand firmly, accelerating your climb to ecstasy.

“Mhm, that’s right. That what I am to you, honey? Your god?”

“Y-yes… yes, you are.” Your lips are shut tight when you’re not talking, breathing heavily through your nose as you feel the warmth spread throughout your body. From your core, to your chest, to your limbs. You start to feel the tips of your toes tingle with the electric sensation.

Somehow, he always manages to make your body feel sensitive all over. Even indirectly.

“Gonna listen to me live like it’s gospel, aren’t you? Listen to eeevery word I say. Wouldn’t be surprised if you used to constantly fuck your brains out while watching me. What’s that, got nothing to say?”

You really have nothing to say. While he clearly knows it, it's embarrassing to admit to something you may have occasionally indulged in before he became a tangible part of your life.

It doesn’t stop you from whimpering as you feel the tethers loosen. 

“Come on baby, time’s ticking. You better come for me now—” 

You hear barely audible knocking at his door. The line picks up a foreign muted tone, but you’re not really processing it. Your orgasm takes over and you stutter out a choked gasp, heels pushing into the couch before they fully relax into the leather, the tingling waves of your orgasm spreading to all your limbs.

“Mhm, I’ll be a minute.” His voice sounds further away, like he’s covered the phone and moved it away from his ear while he talks back.

In retrospect, the shame of orgasming on the phone to him while he’s talking to someone else should’ve stopped you from getting there, but it’s him you’re talking about. It’s hard to restrain yourself.

“See, I knew you could do it. Now go put yourself together, missy. I want you to pay attention.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, I will… Just—hah—gotta catch my breath a little bit. I will, I’m excited to see you.”

“Good girl. I love you, alright? I’ll see you soon.”

“I love you too.” You smile fondly.

Homelander ends the phone call and you take a moment to gather yourself. You breathe in deeply. The first big exhale lets you release some of the muscle tension you’ve gained as you hurriedly brought yourself to orgasm.

As you pull your now uncomfortably soaked underwear and bottoms back on, the next inhale brings the tension back in a different way. 

All your nagging thoughts return like a flood, crashing through you. Your gut churns, the anxious feeling of it all souring your post-orgasmic high. Is there even more you bring to this “relationship” besides sex?

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you get up off the couch to clean up and make yourself presentable in the bathroom. While nobody is here to see you, you feel dirty sitting in your wet and cooled underwear. You swap it for a fresh pair from your overnight bag, tossing the old ones in the laundry hamper.

Sitting comfortably on the couch in your den of pillows and blankets is a familiar enough routine. Due to your secretive relationship status, Homelander can’t take you with him. You watch from the safety of yours or his home, watching your favourite hero live on TV.

You click the remote to the channel Homelander’s talk show appearance will be broadcasted on and wait until the time they’re live with some pointless scrolling on your phone. You can’t help but gravitate towards the Homelander-centric gossip pages, Instagram fan accounts or Reddit forums. Each time relieved that there’s still no information on you. Nobody is none the wiser.

The TV speakers burst with the audience’s roar of applause, tearing your eyes up and away from your phone. You smile at the support he gets. Though it turns ugly and cracks very quickly. Some possessive part of you wishes you were there backstage cheering him on as he walks on set in front of all these people.

Homelander oozes confidence with every sure step. This is his element. Big bright smiles and a quick broad wave to the audience you don’t see. He looks handsome. Hair parted slightly, loose and charming, just like his smile. He’s calm and collected. Definitely not like someone who was just getting his rocks off a few minutes ago.

He brings the smile back all the way to your eyes. All sour thoughts dissipate when you see him like this. It’s not fair to feel awful when it’s time for him to have his moment. You know better than that.

While there’s hardly a need for it, he’s introduced to the audience. 

“Homelander, welcome, thank you for joining us.” 

“Always good to be here, thank you for having me.”

Homelander’s seated and the interview begins. So unlike any of the other usual guests he takes up the majority of the space with his larger-than-life quality. So much more suited for something better than this.

“I’m sure all the ladies are very excited for the movie’s opening weekend.” 

“Great start.” You roll your eyes as the audience cheers  and whistles again. Nothing like objectifying him the moment he walks into the room.

“It’s what I’m—well, what we’re all hoping for, it’s a wild ride. I can promise you that much.” While your lover is a little snarkier behind the scenes, he’s a class act in front of the cameras. You’re always proud to see him do so well.

“Well that’s a glowing review if I’ve ever heard one! We all enjoy a love story. Let’s not be modest here, you’ve been voted The superhero heartthrob. It’s no wonder this movie is already pulling record sales at the box office.” The interviewer speaks into the side of her palm, acting secretive as if each word wasn’t clearly picked up by the lav mic.

“Oh stop it, that silly thing.” He brushes the compliment off, shrugging his shoulders boyishly. 

“No seriously, I think this is exactly what the audience wanted. We all love a superhero flick, don’t we, folks? But the little touch of spice and romance? Instant crowd pleaser. Tickets are selling like hotcakes!” 

“Insipid cow.” You can’t help yourself but comment on the over the top vapid glazing happening right before your eyes. Muttering obscenities to yourself you miss Homelander’s response and only vaguely take in the following mindless chatter in its entirety.

They treat him like a circus animal. 

“Who’s your favourite cast member to do scenes with?”

“What is it like to juggle acting with protecting the city?”

“What’s your guilty pleasure when you’re off duty?”

One mundane—pointless—question after another makes you wonder how he puts up with the pomp and phoniness of it all. You know you couldn’t. You even imagine yourself sitting next to him. You see the difference. You see how differently the world would see you.

As soon as you started thinking of the labels the world would describe you with, you couldn’t help yourself but compare the two. Him; popular, handsome, loveable, patriotic. A true ray of sunshine. You on the other hand? You already envision the headlines. Nobody. Golddigger. Leech. Attention seeker. Maybe even a thief?

You’ve stolen America’s perfect poster boy and the penalty for said crime is the heaviest guilty conscience. 

There he is talking about his latest save of the week. His movie premiere and his day to day crime fighting activities. You can’t help but compare yourself to the woman interviewing him. She looks well presented, put together, classy. You never feel that way. Do thieves and criminals even get to feel classy?

It’s clear to you now that you don’t belong. It’s clear to everyone. Is it not? He must see it too. It’s only a matter of time until he realises that he’s trying to force you into a mold you were simply not born to fit into.

You often wonder how long until Homelander decides to move on.

The next line of questioning that catches you out of your doom spiral.

“Let’s circle back to the start. It’s a shame your co-star couldn’t make it today. What was it like to work with her as your love interest?”

Your ears perk up. Until now Homelander has never squashed the rumours of their supposed fling. You’re not entirely sure if it was due to Vought’s ruling or his own sick enjoyment derived from your jealousy.

“Oh well, she’s lovely. Things were kept very professional. She’s a very talented young woman, it was a pleasure to work alongside her. She got on well with everyone on the team, a real star. The main cast is usually made up of our superhero line-up, so she exceeded my expectations. Especially since I was a little wary myself of the change.” 

You can’t sit still, fidgeting in your spot, you run your tongue in between your teeth when you’re not nervously biting the inside of your cheek.

“Sooo all the rumours we’ve heard about a little behind the scenes romance are not true?” 

“No. Definitely not. Sorry. We all got on very well, but not that well if you catch my drift.” The mic catches the sound of the audience’s synchronized ‘ooh’ and you clench your fists.

He’s yours. You hate how they all think of him.

“Well you can’t blame the rumours. People are eager to see their favourite hero in love. It’s the first time Vought has released a love interest-themed movie. Why the change?”

“Well you tend to see us saving your homes and neighbourhoods. I think Vought wanted to show everyone that at the end of the day we go home and hang up the capes. We’re people too.”

You remember the evening he was whining to you about his premiere talking points. This one sounds awfully familiar.

“Do you? Hang up the cape?” The interviewer has a twinkle in her eyes like she hasn’t before. She clearly thinks that she’s getting the scoop of the year.

“Sometimes, when the time’s right. The city’s protection comes as the utmost priority but I have some downtime.”

He does. 

With you. 

Something that’s always felt exhilarating about this was the secrecy to it all. Knowing Homelander comes home to you. You’re the one you know he’s making hints to. You’re the one who’s going to praise him for a job well done once he’s back.

That has always felt good. Right?

So when did this excitement turn to dread?

“Could you share what you do in your spare time?”

“Well then you’d know where to look for me. Some things are better kept quiet.”

“Ooh a secret! Don’t we love a mysterious man, ladies?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, shut up already.” You groan hitting the couch cushion with the back of your head in frustration. This crowd flirting is getting old real fast.

“You make it sound a whole lot more exciting than it is. I just like to find my peace.” 

“That begs the next question. It’s been a few years since your last relationship. So after this movie everyone’s asking, are you looking to find your peace with a certain lucky someone? And what can the ladies do to get your attention?”

You straighten up from your lazy lounging. Feet on the ground with your elbows on your knees you intertwine your fingers and lean forward. You don’t remember him preparing for this conversation.

“First of all I’d like to say thank you to all the lovely ladies who have reached out to me or those who have written me a very sweet letter—I have read them all, don’t worry.” Homelander sends the camera a cheeky wink. Even in your tension you can’t help but chuckle at the blatant lie.

“But unfortunately for them, I am already in love. There’s a scoop for you.” He tilts his head towards the interviewer with a knowing smirk. There’s a mix of ‘ooh’ and gasps in the audience followed by applause.

Your eyes widen, jaw dropping and you barely get a gasp out. What the fuck is going on?

“Oh? Well isn’t that exciting! Who’s the lucky lady?” Scoop indeed. The interviewer is grinning ear to ear, knowing her live viewership is skyrocketing. Like it’s all a game. Like this isn’t your fucking life.

“I can’t say yet. But I know deep in my heart that she’s the one.”

“The one! Well well ladies, it’s time to pack your bags. Sounds like we’ll be seeing a massive rise in the sales of the vanilla Homelander-approved ice cream to soothe all the heartbreak you’ve just caused.” 

You can’t focus on anything they’re saying. Your heart is racing. The panic is quickly trying to take over. But you take a deep breath. Maybe he’s messing around. Maybe it’s some Vought initiative. Maybe it’s another fake PR relationship he hasn’t told you about? However much that would hurt. 

“So tell us everything you can. How long have you known each other? How did you meet?”

“We met a little under a year ago. One crazy encounter sprinkled with pure luck brought us together. But some details I will keep for myself. We’ve been keeping out of the public eye. My sweet love bunny is a little camera shy. And I get it, I’m a famous guy. Our love wouldn’t have had the privacy and time to bloom if we were public from the get go.”

No. Nonono. This can’t be happening.

“I think I just heard the entire country go ‘aww’. How romantic! Will you be coming public now?”

“Yes. It’s about time I shared her with the world. I’ve been selfishly keeping her to myself. But I really can’t wait for you all to meet her.” 

Homelander winks at the camera and you know damn well it’s not meant for the audience.

“Fuck.”

Taglist (you can add yourself to be tagged when I post a new Homelander fic)

@ker0senebunny @itsvaleriesucka @thychuvaluswife

@nervoussystemss @littlegaaby @natliecole @sing1art

@infinetlyforgotten @rafecamsgirlll @hom3landr @mrsdesade

@nommingonfood @jokesonyoupup @chaimshelii @gingeraleluke

[bacchuschucklefuck]

gukgak specifically from my typing (man w/ three jobs & a creeping sense of dread)

[cinderduck]

Prev / -

-------------

Finally got around to posting the first chapter of the fic 👍

[shoot-i-messed-up]

Was always worried about the angst of unrequited love, had never realized the sheer amount of comedic potential that it has.

Imagine one-sided Superbat where Clark is fully aware that Bruce has a crush on him but is being his repressed self about it, and Clark is just like, “I’m not gonna touch that :) you’re going to figure that out for yourself, buddy, and in the meantime, I’m just going to have a good time and be best friends with you as you inevitably pull yourself together enough to either fall out of love or to confess :) and I’ll just let you down gently because I care about you :)” but he absolutely 100% is using it to his advantage in the meantime. His puppy dog eyes had never been so effective before. He’s gotten out of Monitor Duty three times in the past month.

[hyakunana]

POV: you just called him a bull and he got a gun

[toastytrusty]

i really hate the idea that hickey is perfectly at peace with himself and his environment and has no qualms about any of the things he does because he's just so nonchalant about it all. that boy is not nonchalant. he is fighting DEMONS. he is not only constantly lying to everyone around him (and even then it's not like he's Allergic to Not Lying) but he's also lying to Himself. because he is sensitive and effected and hates how bothered he is by it all. he finds ways to justify his actions to himself out of desperation, because he Needs to believe it's okay. he needs to convince Himself it's okay. but it's not okay and he is not okay!!! he is afraid!!! which is why i think his relationship with goodsir is one of the most interesting he has, because through goodsir we see all his little weaknesses and insecurities. goodsir tells him to mind his lashing wounds, because they Are still bothering him, and hickey acts like he's unaffected but he isn't. goodsir doesn't answer hickey's questions and just asks him if his manipulation ever works, because it's all an act and it Doesn't always work and he's scrambling because he has nothing else. goodsir refuses to cut up billy because he knows hickey Does know how, he just doesn't want to, and goodsir doesn't let him hide inside that. he drags out all of hickey's fears and weaknesses and lays them out for both the audience and hickey himself. we see hickey playing his role around guys like tozer or gibson or hodgson but around goodsir he is laid bare and you can Seeee how frantic he really is and how little control he really feels like he has

[butmakeitgayblog]

Teach Me

Ch. 7

Test days

///////////////

God, she hated test days.

The mind-numbing minutiae of it.

The waste of time that could be better spent actually learning. 

The way she had to show up to do… absolutely nothing. 

Pacing an ambling line from one end of the lecture platform to the other, her eyes swept the darkened room before checking her watch again.

“You have thirty seconds left to finish your thoughts for this piece, and then we're moving on to the final slide,” Lexa called out, remembering to soften her tone so as to not make the more consumed writers of the class jump nearly a foot out of their desks.

Again.

The screen overhead flipped from �� The Column of Trajan’ to ‘ The Arch of Constantine’, and the clock on the wall ticked on.

A few more minutes passed in relatively dull silence as Lexa mentally flowed through the lesson plans she had presented thus far, combing the downturned sea of faces and mentally shouting what she hoped the students had taken from them. 

Because she wanted them to do well.

Because she measured her own success as an educator by her student's every success.

Because if she had to read one more essay this semester that contained the words “lit” or “potato quality” in reference to ancient carvings, she just might tear her own hair out.

She really hated test days. 

Mind buzzing with thoughts of stylistic contrasts between High Empire versus Late, and wondering who among her pupils would draw the correct conclusions for why each piece represented on the test was chosen, Lexa felt her pocket vibrate as she settled down on the edge of the table at the head of the room.

Fishing her phone out, she glanced down and froze at the preview that flashed bright across the screen.

“That is a very tight vest you have on Professor”

Schooling her face despite the heat that bloomed bright hot in her cheeks, Lexa checked the timer she had set and barely hesitated before opening the message.

“Shouldn't you be focusing on your test?”

“Just finished a minute ago. Now I'm wasting time until class is over.”

“Shouldn't you want to leave then?” she thumbed out. As if on cue, she pressed her phone to her chest and nodded as a student traipsed up to the front and deposited their test booklet on the table before slipping out of the lecture hall without a sound. “It's a beautiful day. Go enjoy it instead of pretending to look busy.”

“But the view's so good right here…”

Straightening up from her slouched position, it felt like a herculean task to keep her eyes from beelining to the front row and exactly two seats to the left. 

Instead she made another lazy loop around the dais, scanning the crowd for moving pencils (and any obvious signs of someone having fallen asleep.) 

The dull squeak of graphite on paper had her winding back around to stand behind the safety of her podium.

“That's highly inappropriate. Remind me why I let you sit in the front row?” she typed back the second her hands were out of sight. 

She snuck another glance out into the dimmed lecture hall and waited.

“Because I'm your very favoritest student Professor Woods,” she read when another message popped up right below it. “And because when I wear this outfit you can almost see up my dress.”

/////////////

Read on AO3

[midnight-mourning]

DCA Promptober Day 11: Naptime

Y'all had your fun, now it's back to business. This goes from 0 to 100 real fast so please pay attention to the content warning, also adding a read more just in case.

Word count: 956

Content warning: mentions of blood, injury, child death, reader descresion is advised

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

It's naptime, and you're not asleep.

Oh, how you would be if you could. How you so desperately wish that you could. You stand no chance at reaching the light switch. No chance at saving the day. The only thing you can do is sit crowded in a hidden corner of the play structure with the few kids you could grab. Like a coward. Arms tightly around them to try and shield them as best you can from the danger lurking outside. 

You think, hope, pray, that some of them are actually asleep out there. That they didn't get woken up by the screams of the children who happened to wake up. The others though, god the others, you can't, you won't-these kids need you. Need you to be brave, need you to protect them. You don't think you can.

One of them makes a small whimper, you near silently shush her, pulling her more into your chest so if she sobs, it'll be muffled. She clings to you tightly, and you suppress a wince. The wound across your chest thankfully isn't deep, but it hurt, and you had no way to stop the bleeding currently. 

You had felt your entire world shut down at that moment. Witness everything come plummeting down so suddenly. Instead of not being able to look away from a car crash, you were experiencing the crash. And it hurt.

You blame yourself, even if someone else would argue it's not your fault. You didn't know. Hell, you don't think even Sun knew. Is he even okay? Is he gone too? Not until it happened. Not until you turned off the lights. 

"Alright," You turn, watching as Moon appears, "Everybody's down for the count, they're pretty exhausted from freeze tag so we should have an easy go of it. In the meantime, I found my copy of The Princess Bride, I say we find a good vantage point and get a couple chapters in. What do you say to that?"

No response. He just stares at you. 

This has been happening sometimes lately, you think it may just be a delay in the switch. You know he's been self-conscious about it, so you try to make light of it. 

You make a radio noise with your mouth, "Cht. Earth to Moon-man. This is mission control, requesting cuddles and story-time while on the job. Do you copy?"

Something clicks. 

"Ye-yes, yes, let's... do that," He shakes his head, seeming, groggy. 

You giggle quietly, "Are you sure you don't need a nap, sleepy head?"

It takes another second, you swear you see his optics flash another color before he shakes his head again, chuckling. 

"Not at all," He offers his hand to you, "Shall we?"

You grin to yourself, doing your best to contain your excitement. You've been waiting for ages to get into this book with him. Not to mention spending unrestricted one-on-one time.

You take it, feeling a rush once the two of you start flying through the air. 

From there, things are good. Great even. You and Moon are able to get through the prologue and first chapter or so. The problem arises when suddenly, the power goes out to the rest of the Plex. 

You look up, instinctively putting a hand on the arm Moon has around you, "What's going on?"

"I'm, not sure."

The sudden lack of noise rouses one of the kids, he sits up, rubbing at his eyes with a yawn. 

"Ah, shoot, Morgan's up. Here, help me down and I'll-" You're suddenly cold as Moon abruptly stands up, jumping down from the play structure without a word.

Confused, you follow after him, taking a nearby slide.

You walk over to where he towers over the boy-not his usual routine for these things that should have been your first clue-and get there in time to overhear;

"It's past your bedtime."

That's, not his usual voice. Well, it is. But there's something off about it.

Morgan notices too, he looks a bit frightened by the gravely sound. 

Moon's faceplate tilts to the side, "Naughty children must be punished."

It's then that you think to look down to his hand where, when did he get claws. Why would Moon ever need claws, that kind of upgrade is only for Monty or Freddy-

He's raising his hand, Morgan is cowering. You need to move.

Without thinking, you dash in between the two, arms out wide to shield the child behind you. 

Moon hesitates, stuttering, glitching, but his hands slices across your chest all the same. 

Morgan screams, you hiss at the pain. Moon suddenly disappears into the dark above the Daycare. And kids start to wake up.

Everything from there is a blur. You remembering panicking, trying to calm down crying kids. your chest being on fire, and then everything suddenly getting ten times worse.

You still don't know what's going on out there. Out in the rest of the Plex. You don't know why no one has come to check on you all, come to save you, nobody's going to save you, just done something. But you have no way of reaching out. No way of getting out of here either. For now, you have to survive. You have to. You have to try.

You become aware of someone looking at you before you actually see the light crawl across the floor before landing on you and the backs of the kids.

Your grip becomes firmer, face more determined, as the sound of bells gets closer and closer. You take a deep breath, and steel your gaze to look at him. 

Red eyes face yours on the other side of the plastic cage.

It's naptime. And you're not asleep.

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

Wow man, I was uh, yeah I don't know where this came from. Oof. Angst AND horror. My b guys. ANYWHO Three promptobers in a day, my writing brain is BACK baby (it has been gone for several weeks bc of sinusitis, but I'll talk about that more in the CS ch. 35 update) The other promptobers I've done are here if you haven't seen them already. The previous ones haven’t been as intense horror-wise as this so if you're looking for something a little chiller I would suggest giving them a try. Thanks for reading!

[mechazushi]

Insane Dad Lore (Part One) [ A Kn8 Short Story]

[Head's Up!] So this is going to hopefully be a part of a series. The plan is that I'm going to make several "Short" stories {length to be determined} That are all about this pervasive idea I have centered around the idea that Kafka went on a soul-searching journey through Germany after a series of unfortunate events. Some of this (down the road) will not line up with established canon (mainly parts pertaining to his family) and I'd just thought I would let ya'll know. I have more personal details after the fic.

♩♪♩♬ ♬♩♪♩

It's safe to say that having the ability to turn into a Kaiju is enough to make anyone interesting. But when that's the only thing you know about a guy, suddenly discovering anything unrelated seems to make him a lot more fascinating than before. Even more so when you've only known him for three weeks and you're starting a new job together. The first and most subtle discovery Reno and Iharu found about Kafka was during their third day as Defense Force officers. They had just finished a long day of training and had hit the bathhouse showers before bed

Reno had undressed the fastest and booked it for the shower counters so he could wash the spilled energy drink out of his hair. Between that and the sweaty sheen he had developed, he just felt all around uncomfortable. Kafka and Iharu had wrapped towels around their waists and casually trailed in some time shortly, engaged in quiet conversation. The two of them tossed their shower supplies onto the counter and pulled up their own squat plastic chair with Kafka sitting in between the two juniors. Kafka had to took twice as he saw just how hard Reno was scrubbing away at his hair.

"Hey, are you alright?" He asked.

"He's fine. Someone dropped their energy drink out of a second floor window and it hit him in the head." Iharu answered for Reno as he dug out a bottle of shampoo.

"Damn, sounds like that sucked." Kafka offered some simple platitude and he dug out an old plastic gum container filled with q-tips instead.

"I... have smelled nothing... but grape powder... all day!" Reno growled in between bouts of vigorous scrubbing.

"What, you gotta problem with grape flavor?" Kafka chuffed as he wet the tips of the q-tip.

"Have you seen my hair? I don't know if it's ever..." Reno wanted to continue his tirade about what the cursed drink did to his snow blond locks, but was cut short by the sight of Kafka bringing the q-tip to his nose.

"What are you...?" Reno began to question, only to suddenly choke down a sickening retch as he watched Kafka practically thread the q-tip through the septum in his nose.

"What was tha-AAH! WITCH DOCTOR!" Iharu shouted as he turned and was confronted with the same sight.

"What has gotten into the two of you?" Kafka interrogated as he swiveled to look at them, leaving the q-tip suspended in his nose.

"Y-y-y-your n-nose!" Reno stuttered, pointed finger quaking at the sight.

"Oh, this?" Kafka pointed to the unusual sight, "Old nose ring piercing." He didn't expand upon as he went back to sliding the cotton tipped instrument back and forth through the hole.

"YOU HAVE A NOSE RING?" Iharu shouted once he recovered from the shock.

"Had being the better term here. I had to drop the look if I was to land my job with the Monster Sweepers. They considered it a possible safety hazard." Kafka explained as he pulled the stick out and fiercely rubbed at his nose.

"Do you still have the ring?" Reno asked, morbid curiosity getting the better of him.

"Unfortunately, no." Kafka said with a heartbroken sigh, "Lost it down a mall bathroom sink."

"Then how do you still have the hole?" Iharu questioned, joining in on the perverse inquiries.

"From what I've heard, once it's fully healed you don't tend to lose 'em. Still gotta make sure there isn't anything stuck in there though." Kafka continued to answer as he started to look through the rest of his shower supplies.

"Do you have any others?" Reno quickly fired back.

"God, ya'll are just full of questions tonight." Kafka used to answer, hoping it would encourage them to find something else to talk about.

A short period of time passed before Iharu spoke back up as he noticed Kafka didn't answer the question, "Well... do you?"

Kafka sighed heavily before he answered, "I had almost twenty by the time I had to give them all up. Outside of my nose ring, I'm pretty sure most of the holes are completely closed up."

"TWENTY?" Now it was Reno's turn to shout incredulously.

"Wow, I hadn't pegged you as the metal head type." Iharu voiced openly.

"Are you kidding? I was more than a Metal Head." Kafka chuckled cryptically, "I was a Heavy Metal Head." He giggled eerily as he turned to Iharu and wiggled his fingers creepily, making him laugh.

"I'm sure you had a Heavy Head at least with all those piercings, Sir." Reno teased under his breath.

He wasn't nearly as quiet as he should have been with it since Kafka very clearly still heard him. Before Kafka could return fire, Iharu popped another question.

"So what type of piercings did you have?"

"Uhh, let's see..." Kafka said as he scratched his chin, " I had three rings in the right ear, three studs in the left, the nose ring, nose bridge cuff, a snake bite set, an eyebrow stud, dimple studs- got rid of those pretty quickly, a belly button..." Kafka trailed off, almost lost in thought before his eyes snapped open in shock.

"Uhh, yeah, I think that's the list. The whole list, nothing else." Kafka finished as a miniscule bead of sweat trailed down his temple.

Iharu's eyes flickered around in thought before they landed back on Kafka with confusion, "That's fourteen piercings."

"So? Fourteen is close to twenty." Kafka countered, still looking somewhat nervous.

"Then why not say fifteen? That's a lot more reasonable than saying close to twenty" Reno argued as he shrugged.

"Yeah. Saying Twenty to mean fourteen is a little misleading. There's a lot more numbers between fourteen and twenty than fifteen." Iharu supported his friend's argument as he drew out the problem on the mirror in front of them with a bar of soap.

"Are you sure you're not forgetting some?" Reno questioned as he squinted at his older friend suspiciously.

"So I miscalculated! You don't have to drag me over a bed of coals about it.'" Kafka threw his hands up on either side of his head as he got up from his seat to make it clear that was the end of it. The two of them watched as he walked out toward the hot bath in the other room and turned the corner.

"He doesn't miscalculate. I've seen that man do accurate inventory reports without even stepping into the storage room." Reno murmured as his eyes flickered back to Iharu.

"You don't think he had some... embarrassing ones, do you?" Iharu sneered scandalously right back.

"What piercing could be embarrassing?" Reno asked as he rinsed the shampoo from his hair.

"Nipple rings for starters." Iharu quietly chuckled out.

Hearing this, Reno visibly shivered, "You know, that's a good point. I feel better not knowing now."

"I don't." Iharu replied, "He's definitely got more than he's letting on and I wanna know the full extent." He rushed to catch up with Reno in scrubbing himself down before they could join the others in the on-site onsen. Finishing and getting up from their spots, they walked over to the other room to join the others in the massive bath.

"I'm serious, you can tell a lot about a person by what they would willingly get pierced. Like, who knows what Kafka was like in his twenties? What do you think would be the line he wouldn't draw back then?" Iharu continued to comment on the idea as he followed Reno out of the room.

"I get your point, but knowing him as he is now, I sincerely think he wouldn't have gotten anything below the belt." Reno challenged as his attention was focused on his friend.

"You'd be surprised-" Iharu replied before his head snapped forward to see the awkward spectacle before them.

On the way to the bath, it appeared that Kafka had been sidelined with an interaction with their Vice Captain. It wouldn't have been an unusual sight had it not been for the fact that for One) It had looked like Kafka's towel had fallen off of his waist and was now desperately clutching it in front of his privates, and Two) Soshiro Hoshina was caught in the compromising position that was kneeling right in front of where Kafka was death-gripping the towel. Aoi and Haruichi were standing off to the side witnessing the event. Aoi was as stone faced as ever, but Haruichi was clearly holding back the urge to burst into laughter.

"Whoa, whOA, WHOA! WHAT THE HELL?" Iharu shouted as he intruded onto the situation.

"This isn't what it looks like!" A very red-faced Kafka called out from his place against a side wall.

He had braced a hand against the painted brick wall to support himself from falling over. If anyone other than Reno had any previous knowledge as to what Kafka was hiding inside himself, they would have noticed the spidery cracks spreading out from his hand-print on the wall. A distracted Hoshina whipped his head around to view the intruders behind him.

"Oi! Reno, Iharu, did you know Comedy Relief here has a tattoo?" Hoshina declared as he jabbed his thumb at it, pivoting to the side a little to show it off better.

"I wasn't ready to talk about it just yet!" Kafka squeakily snarled through gritted teeth, not trusting himself to move.

"I don't see why not? It's a beautiful piece." Hoshina countered as he turned back to look at it some more.

"He's not going to get kicked out for that, is he?" Reno asked as he quickly moved over to where everyone was standing.

Getting closer, the two of them got a better look at what their Vice Captain was looking at. What initially looked to be an ornately decorated Oni Mask tattoo became more and more interesting the longer they looked at it. The first notable thing was the horns. Instead of being curved, they pointed straight out and had stair-stepped protruding lines running from their points all the way down. The eyes looked like complicated stained glass windows and its mouth had a wooden door and crumbling pillars acting as its tusks and teeth. Its ears had church bells for earrings and arch-buttresses protruding out over its rounded cheeks, decorated with tiny gargoyles.

"Oh, please. A large portion of the JAKDF is powered by rebels. We would be alienating over half of our strongest members if we didn't allow a little self expression." Hoshina assured as he tiled his head side to side, still staring at the art on Kafka's upper thigh, "Did you ever say where you got this done? I'd love to meet the artist."

"I, uh, got it while on a backpacking trip through Germany. I chatted up this girl I met at a rock concert and managed to sweet talk myself into a discounted piece." Kafka answered as he pursed his lips.

"Huh." Hoshina mused, "Out of the question to ask you to remember her name, I take it?"

"Definitely. She made me delete her number after she caught me flirting with her brother." Kafka answered as his eyes flickered briefly of shame from the memory.

While they talked, Iharu had saddled up to Aoi and Haruichi to inquire what was going on.

"What the hell happened?" Iharu started as he crossed his arms casually.

"So I saw Kafka walk out from the showers, yeah?" Haruichi whispered as he fought back a bout of giggles, "And I thought, "Hey, lets haze the Creepy Shinomiya Fanboy a little." I just wanted to steal his towel and snap it at him! I genuinely didn't know that the Vice Captain would walk in at the same time!" He shoulders continued to shake as the look in his eyes went a little crazed.

"And I don't think anyone would have expected the old guy to have a tattoo, nor the fact that Hoshina seems very interested in body art." Aoi noted in an even tone.

"Such a shame. I've felt inspired lately and I like the work done here." Hoshina smirked as a hand came up to the cheeks of the oni mask design and pinched them together a few times, "It's quite the expressive work."

Kafka's body immediately tensed at the sensation and caused more subtle cracks to appear on the wall. His entire face and chest flushed to an even deeper shade of red. Reno felt his heart sunk into his stomach out of surprise at the sight. Iharu's jaw dropped and Haruichi had to turn away before he completely lost control of his face.

"Well, make sure to be safe out there then." Hoshina sighed as he rose up from his knees, "I'd hate to see such a wonderful work of art get ruined." He turned on his heels and walked back out of the bathhouse automated doors.

"Take care." He concluded as he walked away, lazily waving goodbye.

Kafka had to take several deep breaths before the atmosphere returned to the room. Haruichi finally let out the roaring laughter he had been holding in the entire time, falling to his knees and flopping onto his side while holding his ribs. Aoi just shook his head.

"She caught you flirting with her brother?" Haruchi practically screeched as he tried to suck in some air into his abused lungs.

"Cut me some slack! He worked at a completely different tattoo shop!" Kafka shouted back as he tried to regain some semblance of control over himself.

"Why were you at another tattoo shop?" Aoi questioned with a cynical look.

"Probably getting another piercing." Iharu answered for him, "So, which one was it? The nose ring, the half dozen ear piercings, or the nipple studs?" He sarcastically prodded which added on another year to Haruichi's laughing fit.

"It... was actually... the tongue piercing." Kafka gritted out as he pulled the towel back around his waist.

Iharu and Reno immediately looked each other in the eye, pointed at the other and shouted "Fifteen!"

"Excuse me?" Aoi inquired bewilderedly.

"We'll explain later." Reno offered to tide him over.

"And with that ordeal over with, I'm just going to skip the bath and just take a very long, very cold shower." Kafka groaned as he walked away from everyone.

As Iharu and Reno moved over to help Haruichi regain the concept of a regular breathing cycle, the two of them wondered if that was going to be the last they were ever going to hear about this trip through Germany. Nothing could have prepared the Third Division for how much another man's adventure through loss, heartbreak, and consequences would envelop their lives.

♩♪♩♬ ♬♩♪♩

OH! Before I forget: I drew this a long time ago for this particular fic actually. Just pretend that it has hyper-realistic shading like what you would find on grayscale tattoos and a shit-ton more details. (German churches are fucking insane looking) And yeah, Surprise! It's based on German Church Architecture.

♩♪♩♬ ♬♩♪♩

Okay, not to ruin the fun vibes I tried to set up here, but I've gotta talk about a few things. Mainly my future as a writer. (God, I'm already making this sound worse than it is) Less important stuff out of the way first.

Anything involving this Story Line will not be posted to Ao3, yet. I am going to wait until I feel like I have written enough about this and come up with a satisfying conclusion before I shove all this into a multi-chaptered one-off fic over on xXMechanicalDuchessXx at Ao3. That way, it can all be read at one time. I get its part of the culture on Ao3 that you're supposed to be patient and wait for your faves to upload their newest chapter when they feel like it, but that ain't me. So much so, that it'a become a problem for something else.

The other problem is that I've had a few things on my mind. Recently, I posted a smut fic here and onto Ao3 that... well, I wouldn't say it didn't do well, but I'm used to a much warmer reception to when I post my writing. To be fair, it was a smut fic and I recognize that to some it isn't their cup of tea, not to mention that it was about a less recognized pairing. (Which makes no fucking sense to me, it was fucking IhaReno, their shit should be treated way more popular.) But for a few days, it didn't gain any traction on either platform... like, at all. And for a moment I was kind of upset. Like, considered never posting smut here ever again upset. Which, looking back now, might have been an overreaction.

That being said...

YA'LL NEED TO FUCKIN' THANK MY BESTIE @iceclew FOR THE SHIT SHE DOES FOR ME. IF IT WASN'T FOR THE FACT THAT I SPECIFICALLY WAITED FOR HER REVIEW TO COME OUT BEFORE I TALKED ABOUT THIS SHIT, WE WOULD BE HAVING AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT DISCUSSION RIGHT NOW.

(it also helped that I just now saw Ao3 Offical's post here talking about some sort of updating error that was posted around Valentine's day, which was the day I posted... that healed me a little as well.)

Needless to say, I feel like I should update everyone on the status of some WIP's that I've been wanting to work on, and thanks to some soul searching during those days I was patiently awaiting the review, I can now fully explain.

To start with, There were three fics on my mind. This one, another IhaReno fic with a twist, and a KafHoshi fic that has been in an indefinite working hiatus since probably last year. With the somewhat lackluster reception of my latest fic, I had briefly considered that I might have lost my touch with how I write characters. I have been complimented on it and have continued to pride myself with accurate retelling of their characterizations.

My Achille's heel when it comes to doing this, is Reno. Every time I put pen to paper about this man, (Or, I guess I should say fingers-to-keyboard) I can never tell if I'm doing him justice. I find it incredibly hard to strike a good balance of being a cool, collected, and calm-natured soldier with the occasional outbursts of explosive emotions he's prone too when he's in situations he's not sure of himself in. This current fic you have undoubtedly read will be exploring a take I have on Kafka I'm not sure many people would agree with. Not only that, most of it will be featuring this take through the third person perspective of either Iharu, Reno, or both. Needless to say, my faith in myself was briefly shaken. Thank you again Ice for restoring that.

TL:DR, I will be continuing this fic, I shall just give no fucks about it.

The IhaReno fic follows a similar problem. It's A fic written entirely from Reno's point of view, meaning I have to write that story from the standpoint of his internal monologue. Which, as I have just stated, I still don't have the best grasp of the man. The First Person POV I have no problem with, I've worked with it before. Still, that particular fic is probably not going to see daylight for a while yet, but thats where you lot come into play. I would greatly appreciate any helpful commentary on THIS line of fics specifically surrounding how I could write Reno better. This isn't a ploy for compliments, I GENUINELY feel like I can't write him well enough.

This fic will also be doing double duty as well when it comes to the final and biggest matter at hand, the KafHoshi fic. I had gone into that fic thinking it would just take me a couple months, not suddenly devolving into requiring almost Eight full chapters, which is something I had no previous experience with. I have since learned that I do have the capacity to write that much, I just haven't gotten there yet. That is something I have to work for, an entirely alien feeling for me. ( Not in the sense that I've never had to work for something, but that this is the first time I've ever had the desire to.)

It didn't help that I've been wanting to post all "Eight" (HOPEFULLY it stays to eight) chapters all at once, so as to avoid the possible emotional guilt that would haunt all my days should I have became burnt out on the story and not update it for years at a time. However, to accomplish this task, I was restraining myself from posting every other paragraph because I was desperate for the energy I could gain from all the possible praise and comments I could get from doing so. As an alternative, I hope that from working on this fic and posting the chapters piecemeal, I could built the mental fortitude necessary to bring myself to continue what I'm is sure to be My Personal Odyssey.

I'm sure most of you are going to skip this part, but screw you I feel better now.

[the-irken-pony]

[maybeiwasjustjade]

Tell me how I went from outlining a long-fic for Little Sprout, and ended up with multiple one-shots instead 😂

What started as a prologue for the verse ended up taking up a whole ass document. Though High Lord meetings are fun to write ngl, even if it was originally meant to be a little tease before jumping back into the past.

Oh well, at least Tamlin and Asterin are cute together.

Little Sprout verse aka the Tamlin healing journey is set approximately eleven years after the events of HOFAS (bare knowledge needed of the book—I used Sparksnote), and mostly follows Tamlin and the rebuilding of Spring in the years after Koschei’s War.

There will be a few one-shots, I think, set in the decade leading up to and during the war that may focus on the journeys of other characters, but most will be about Tamlin. Because I’ve made it my mission to give Tamlin more friends. And a chance for petty revenge against the Night Court. And a pretty wife that isn’t a literal teenager, because we’re not doing that here. He can have a High Lady as a treat. And a Lucien, too.

*Full disclaimer though: none of the fics I write will ever be Rhysand, Mor, Cassian, Amren, or Nessian-friendly, so if that’s not up your alley please move along. Feyre is a toss-up ngl, because she’s so damn young but also the arrogance of youth and all that. So it depends on what mood I’m in when I write my Nesta fics. But all my works are pro Tamlin, Lucien, Nesta, Eris, and kinda Azriel, so make that what you will.

[relevant-url-incoming]

Regulations (a snippet)

Or, five times Ven and Nalyan surprised the people around them with an affection for rules and orders, and one time someone knew exactly where that habit came from.

Before the captain left the ship, Corso in tow as always, he'd slapped a datapad into Risha's hands.

"You're on this ship, you pull your weight. Here's the rules. Start with the assigned duties - roster Besh."

Risha had raised a cool, unimpressed eyebrow at him.

"My ship," he'd said. "My rules. Or find somebody else for your treasure hunt."

"Somebody else to get back at Skavak?" Risha had prodded.

"I can live without revenge. Can you handle living without whatever it is you really want?"

That had startled her enough to let him go, but not enough for her to start on the chores he'd given her. As though she didn't do enough for him. He'd obviously done just fine on his own, since by the sound of it Corso had only signed on a few months before her. He could handle the disappointment.

Then he and Corso had come tearing back onto the ship, panting, blaster fire scoring the sides of the ship as the captain frantically closed the hatch. Risha drifted after them as they charged toward the cockpit as much out of bored curiosity as anything - though some of the sounds from outside were starting to give her pause.

"Did you clean the bunks?" the captain panted as Corso started up the pre-flight tasks.

"Is this the time?" Risha said, affronted. "I'm not your maid!"

"Did you - fuck!" No sooner had clearance been transmitted did the captain send them shooting up out of the spaceport, twirling wildly to avoid something Risha was glad she couldn't see from this angle.

"Who did you two piss off?" she demanded. Now it was starting to be more than curiosity. Now they were putting her life and the job she'd given them on the line.

"Future reference, Rish," the captain said as they breached the atmosphere and levelled out. He twisted to look at her, ignoring the way she bristled at the nickname. "We don't fly until the ship's good."

"We were under attack," Risha said testily.

"Yeah," the captain said. "So next time do your duties before I decide to give you to the angry guys with blasters."

(Read the rest on AO3, featuring Arcann with paperwork, Lana Beniko NOT cleaning a ship, and time travelling clones for whom time travel is the least of their worries)

[my-scribblers-heart]

SPOILERS!!!

my favorite The File quotes, pt. 1 [A Demigod's Interlude]

[Kym asking if the reason why Percy isn't allowed at Poseidon's new palace is because he's mortal]

Percy: No. Triton was talking shit and I beat his ass.

I'm sorry this is what you had to become, my son.

Her name was Annabeth, right? You don't deserve to say her name.

"The spear snapped in half, clean down the middle. (Back at Camp, Clarisse narrowed her eyes)."

Zeus: what did you just say to me?

Percy: *points to Apollo* God of healing. *gestures at the gaping hole in his body* Swiss cheese body.

"I'd really like to stop feeling the warm summer breeze through my large intestine, thanks."

Zeus, to Jason: Unwise. In front of my council, you would call me unwise.

Percy, in the back: You are kinda a dumbass, dude.

"She would not know wisdom if she married it." (Athena, about Hera)

[Percy arriving at Half-Blood Hill before the campers for the first time since his kidnapping, rallying them for battle, telling them about Annabeth, all from Reyna's pov]

Clarisse, about what Annabeth would do if she were here: You know what she would tell you idiots? She'd tell us to beat their [the monster army's] asses!

"Percy Jackson, seventeen years old and fresh out of Hell, standing atop the hill, Thalia's pine to his side. The sun's orangey glow behind him illuminates his figure; the shaggy hair and bloodstained armor, the pen in his pocket and long stripes of war paint stretching down his face. He holds a trident, almost as tall as he is, feet planted."

Nico, defending Will to a Roman camper: Hey, asshole. Not everyone gets gifted some magic land to build a city on from mommy and daddy, alright? Watch your tone.

SPOILER!!! "Annabeth loved reading," he began softly. "Sometimes, when neither of us could sleep, she would find her favorite passages and read them out loud. She..." He swallowed. "W.S. Gilbert was never one of her favorites, but she did like one bit from him. It's love that makes the world go 'round. And if that's true, it spins a little slower now."

"The last thing I saw was her."

""As long as we're together," she'd promised. And they were. He stayed with her until she stopped breathing."

"They don't know he's already been a murderer for a long time."

Go read it!!!!! You won't regret it I swear!!!!!!

[adhdtsukasa]

(tl by takoyaritsu on twt) another adhdtsukasa moment has hit the me tower.......