#read my fanfiction boy

[snifekinner]

The Body Politic (2474 words) by snifekin Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Hetalia (Anime & Manga) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Russia (Hetalia) Summary: A new aide takes over the care of the National Body of the Russian Federation. Alexei learns what his job involves - being the close assistant of Ivan Braginsky is less about keeping him secured, far more about keeping him functioning.

[90stvqueen]

galinda holds elphaba the same way she holds a mirror. with careful hands, overly conscious of shards and shattering.

gelphie, mature, 2450 words

[dovand]

House narrows his eyes, leaning in to inspect his friend’s body language.

“You’re gay,” House says again, just to see what he does.

[OR: House and Wilson have a very normal conversation.]

[waters-turn]

[Summary: Unown have the ability to warp reality, with the proper wish to fuel them.

Emmet wants nothing to more than to see his brother again.]

[Summary: Even divided by time and space, Ingo and Emmet still share the same pain. It’s a relief, it’s a horror. What are you meant to do when your only reassurance comes from spilled blood?]

[the-l-spacer]

Chapter 2

Stardust doesn't remember when exactly he first learns of loneliness.

As far as he knows, his life, spent drifting through the dizzying emptiness of space, has remained the same from the moment he first awoke, bathed in the soft glow of the Sugar Swan Nebula. He simply is, is a comet shooting through the night sky, a single point of light amidst dark matter and the distant gleam of neighbouring galaxies.

This makes him unsure of how long he has been wandering before he begins hearing – what he thinks must be – the voices of the stars, who speak to him in fragmented whispers, in murmurs and fractured voices from far away. But he does know that the very first word he learns is 'wish'.

"I wish that mom would buy me the pink stuffed jelly horse!"

"I wish that more cookies would notice me at school."

"I wish my sister would come home more."

Time passes, marked by the orbit of planets, the movement of asteroid belts, the stars in faraway constellations turning from red to white to all-consuming black. Stardust learns that it is not the stars speaking to him, that they are simply echoing words uttered by beings – conscious, like him – who confess their dreams and wishes to the ceiling of glinting lights that hang above them in hope that they would come true.

With the echoes as his only companions, he picks up, slowly but surely, the way of existence for these beings. A horse is a creature who roams on four legs (just as the Aquarius and Pegasus constellations if viewed just right), a school is a place of education, where one learns of the world (he doubts the beings are ever taught what he knows, of the birth of galaxies, the colours of dying stars).

He learns that these beings are called cookies. That he, too, is one of them. 

Sisters, brothers, mothers, fathers, are all cookies cut from the same dough, referred to as family. A home is place and cookies and objects and emotion and time combined (and something in him aches at that, at the mere absence of a place to call home).

He learns that younger cookies desire toys, outings, attention, not too dissimilar from the older entities who request fame, fortune, the recognition of others. He learns that these cookies instinctively gather together, forming couples, groups, families, communities. That it is anathema for any one to be without one.

And he learns that unlike the cookies whose wishes are unknowingly conveyed to him, he is utterly alone.

Something, or someone, had created him. Taken him from his birthplace and cast him out into the void, cutting him off from warmth, from the mere presence of others. Condemning him to an existence alone alone ALONE.

He rages and curses and weeps, when he realises what has been done to him. The crush of emotions after an eternity of numbness warps him inside and out, into a shape he himself does not recognise.

For a period, he does nothing but scream, scream for someone, anyone to answer him, to tell him he exists, that he is wanted, needed, loved, only for his voice to be swallowed up by the blackness.

Then, he makes his choice. He burns through space with a renewed intensity, seeking the stars who had been, like him, discarded. He reaches within himself to find the internal compass guiding him 'home', and follows that invisible thread to Earthbread, to the City of Wizards, where those who created him look on from their ivory towers, casting down anything they deem less than perfect.

The cosmic wind whips his hair and cloak, he feels the heat building up around him and inside him as he makes his descent.

He will make the Wizards, he will make everything know his despair, his anguish and sorrow and maybe then, he would not be alone anymore.

And then, he hears it. A voice, not a distant echo, but clear, despite issuing from miles below.

"Did you come in search of the Wizards? What is your name?

-

Stardust nearly veers off-course at the entirely alien sensation of being, for once, spoken to.

He has an instant to answer, before the rest of the voices catch up in the first one’s wake. Demands as to who he is, pleas to stop his current course, cries of fear, forming a wall of noise that overwhelms him after nothing but a lifetime of directionless whispers, leaving him unable to do anything more than grit his teeth and force himself onwards.

The time that follows after is a horrible blur.

The ‘imperfect’ stars follow his destructive trajectory, raining down hellfire on the city below. Stardust Cookie lets gravity do the rest of the work for him, lets his form smash past clockwork constructions and ancient buildings, slamming into the ground in an explosion that sends a shockwave rippling through the Wizard’s Plaza. 

Stone gives way below him, shattered glass flies in every direction but his, and Stardust is grounded. 

Weightless for so long, he struggles against Earthbread’s downward pull, but he forces himself upright in the face of ones who were ignorant to his misery, or worse, who had known but done nothing about it.

He casts his eyes about for the Wizards, but they are nowhere to be seen, having abandoned the City just as they had done to him.

He looks at the children scattered around him, making panicked efforts to talk him down, even as his feelings of animosity do nothing but grow and grow.

How dare they presume to reason with me, to appeal to me after what I had been through? 

And then he looks into the eyes of Moonlight, a cookie cut from the same dough as he – ‘family,’ the stars whisper –  who regards him with something akin to pity and horror at what he has become, all while attempting to do the same.

How dare she pretend to care for me, when fear and hatred are written across her face?

How dare she defend this city, her creators, who had left the both of us behind?

He feels himself growing, shifting, his thoughts engulfed in the tumult of wrath and sorrow, until he is nothing more than a fiery star, ready to bring everything and everyone around him to ruin, once and for all. 

But this does not come to pass. 

The cookies are stronger than he thinks, and he does not realise they have overpowered him until he attempts to beat his wings once more, and finds that the gust too weak against the ever-oppressive pull of gravity, the force sending him crashing back down to the ground.

This time, he makes no attempt to rise. He just lays down, his cheek pressed against the scorched stone. Every breath is an effort, and even as he reaches within himself for strength, he finds nothing, his anger having nowhere left to go.

The loneliness of a star is destructive. All its life, it begs the other stars and life forms and matter around it for companionship, a futile plea issued to an indifferent universe. 

He hears the words tumble from his lips, reaching the horrified cookies around him. 

Eventually, it collapses in on itself, into an all-consuming void that sucks in everything around it, a twisted answer to its wish for the emptiness at its core to be filled.

It is a fitting end for him, he thinks distantly, lost in his mind while chaos begins to swirl around him, his body decaying into the dark vortex he had witnessed countless times before. After all, what is he but a force of destruction, cursed to roam the vast galaxies moorless and alone, while only being able to ruin everything he touches?

Maybe now, he’ll know something akin to peace. Something other than the eternal stretches of ennui, or the aching isolation and anger that rots his being.

He closes his eyes, and surrenders to the darkness at the edge of his vision.

But he does not die.

Instead, he falls into a dream. A book is pressed into his hands by a bespectacled librarian, and in its pages, he learns something new.

The wizard who created him had known him to be a mistake. And yet, he acknowledged the potential in him to be more.

The delicate glass flower he finds in his hand tells him something too. In its reflections, he sees a cookie like him. Abandoned, yet wanted, even if it had taken years and years for it become so.

Could there be hope for me, too? 

When he stirs into wakefulness, he is surrounded by cookies. Not watching in terror, but out of simple concern for him.

For him.

Moonlight Cookie is there too, descended from her post above the clock tower. Her hands hover over him, uncertain.

And at last, he sees her. The lone custodian of an empty city, imperfect, just like him. She had refused to see the imperfections of her creators, the darkness of the night sky until it was too late. Yet, she had apologised, had saved him despite all that he’d done to harm her and the place that she so loved. 

And she is beautiful despite her flaws, beautiful as the rejected stars around him. 

And if beauty can be seen in Moonlight, in the stars, can the same potential not also be found within him?

Finally, calm washes over him. He knows what he has to do, and his next words come ready to his lips. "Will you ever forgive me for the destruction of this city?" 

He glances away, unable to meet Moonlight's gaze, but he hears her next words loud and clear. "I forgive you, Stardust Cookie, for I am also so, so sorry that you had to spend an eternity alone."

Her words are soft and sincere, and they pierce Stardust like an iron spike through his chest.

An apology seems trite, incomparable to years of sorrow. Yet, hearing it from Moonlight makes him step back, his eyes prickling and his throat closing up, leaving him unable to respond. 

Moonlight reaches out a hand, and Stardust flinches. Her eyes soften, and she asks, “Can I give you a hug?”

“A.. a hug,” he echoes. 

“If you’d like.”

“Yes,” he murmurs. He has heard of the concept, two cookies holding each other, just to feel the others' presence. “But I’m sorry, I’ve never…”

He trails off in shame, but Moonlight only smiles. “It’s alright, you don’t have to do a thing, just hold still.”

He does, not even daring to breathe in when he feels an arm, warm and soft, wind its way around his back, the other carefully lacing over his shoulders.

And he sinks into it, letting his head drop on her shoulders. His next inhale catches on a sob, and before he knows it the tears are running down his face, the years of solitude bearing down on his shoulders. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-” he’s shaking, trying to pull away, but Moonlight’s embrace only tightens in response.

In a moment of instinct, he brings his arms upward and around Moonlight, returning the embrace, his fingers tangling in her long hair. He pulls her close, making up for the years of distance between them, clinging to her as though any moment, his sister would be ripped away from him. 

His sister. He has a sister, and from the moisture he feels on the cloak around his shoulders, she too is no stranger to suffering in the many years since their creation. 

He has a sister, and he will not let her know pain ever again.

“Thank you.” He hears her whisper into his shoulder, and knows she feels the same way.

Even as a light begins to emanate from them, growing brighter and travelling outward in a wave that erases the destruction he had wrought, restoring the City of Wizards, neither of them let go.

[includedisco]

Importance of writing the self-indulgent story that you do want to write in exactly the way you want to write it

You won't find anything weird about being your own story's biggest fan. You wrote it in a way that's exactly what you envision the characters being. So you'll click on that thing without reservation or shame, enjoy the hell out of it and pat yourself on the back each time.

Your own story will be your absolute favorite in the world because it'll be perfect for YOU.

Why wait impatiently and frustratedly for a different author to write your fantasy for you? And no DON'T you dare say it's because that other writer is better than you.

No writer is perfect. We can all learn, improve and get better. If you have an idea in your mind, go learn how to bring it to life. Ask other authors, read other books/fanfics, watch videos on writing tips etc.

But stay away from AI. That shit is unforgivable.

Loving one's own work as a writer is tough but once you do get there, I believe that's the true meaning of self love for a writer.

[hinderr]

He's here!

:] he's on his way!

[oxymoronicdumbass]

second stage of fandom is wanting to make a reference to your show, but not being able to because the reference is to a fanfic, and it is almost guaranteed that even among fellow members of the fandom, nobody will understand what you are talking about

[spheresr4cubes]

Rereading again for peak brother interactions: Brother's Blood, by @alicewritingstories

[snifekinner]

talking w spence about russia and austria being the worst frenemies in the world and fighting constantly, and got inspired to write something silly.

meetcutes over bad parking? its more likely than you think.

Ivan was pleased with himself. He'd got some important jobs done that he'd been putting off, in favour of lying on the sofa re-reading the entire Rougon-Macquart cycle and drinking endless cups of tea, like ordering a new fridge to replace the one which was currently leaking black mould, and taking his passport for renewal, and posting a letter to the TV Licensing company to tell them to stop charging him because he hadn't watched his television in months, ever since it ended up with a large hole in the screen due to a complicated chain of events which started with a saucepan he'd left on the hob. 

These things just seemed to happen to him, Ivan reflected, as he finished up by shopping for some essentials - firelights, zip ties, a new pair of pliers, a few balls of wool, and a pack of buttons. The shop didn't have the buttons he usually bought, so some of his shirts would be mismatched but that, for once, was the only thing which had really gone wrong that day.

Then he left the shop and saw a figure standing next to his car - arms folded, visibly tutting - tutting with his whole body, which was something Ivan hadn't seen since his high school headteacher.

Just once, Ivan thought as he trudged to the car, I would like to have a day where nobody picks a fight with me. Not the TV Licensing company, or his manager, or people who tut with their whole bodies.

The figure looked up when the car lights flashed. Then he drew himself up to his full height, although Ivan saw, as he often did, that the man had to make a concerted effort to stay standing straight as Ivan approached and his full bulk could be appreciated.

Ivan switched his shopping bag to his right hand and foraged in one pocket for his keys. The stranger coughed in a way which was obviously meant to garner attention. Ivan opened the car door and made to get in.

"Excuse me?"

He turned, and stood back up, heaving a deep internal sigh. "Yes?"

"I've been waiting for you for fifteen minutes. I can't get in my car because of the way you parked."

"Oh," Ivan said. He glanced at the other car, a beaten up Citroen in faded blue, probably a good twenty years old - it was a nice car, Ivan thought, a classic shape. "Well, I am going to move my car now, so you will be able to get in."

He made to get in the car again. 

"That's not good enough! Do you realise how much time your poor parking has wasted for me? I've had to cancel a lesson, which is money out of my pocket - aren't you even going to apologise? It's thoughtlessness, that's what it is."

Ivan waited patiently until the stranger seemed to be done speaking. He looked between the two cars again, judging the space.

"I think you could have got in."

"Are you blind? I could barely get my foot into that gap!"

"You must have very big feet."

"I don't - you really must be blind! What's wrong with you? Or are you being deliberately obtuse?"

Ivan put his bag into the car and locked the door again. It seemed the stranger was determined to have an argument, and waste more of his own time, and Ivan's. He was tempted just to drive off, but there was always the chance that the stranger would get in the way of his car - he seemed a little unstable, physically and mentally - and then he'd get hurt, and that would be an even bigger waste of time.

Arguments can always be solved using common sense, he reminded himself. His sister was always saying that, and Ivan considered her the world's expert on just about everything.

The stranger seemed to think Ivan's pause meant he didn't understand something. "Obtuse means -"

"Impolite! You blocked in my car for half an hour and I'm the one being impolite?"

"I know what it means, thank you," Ivan said frostily. He hated when people assumed he wasn't fluent in English, especially when it was coming from someone with an articulated and grating Austrian accent that sounded like its owner was being strangled. "There is no need to be impolite."

"You said it was fifteen minutes," Ivan pointed out. The stranger looked ready to combust.

"It doesn't matter how long it was, the point is you blocked me in and now you're acting like an oaf about it!"

Ivan stepped around the battered Citroen. To the other side of the car was a low brick wall. The Citroen was parked a good five inches from the wall. Ivan pointed. 

"You could have parked closer to the wall. I do not think this is my fault."

"You are taking up too much space!" He stressed the last three words, as if Ivan would agree with him if he just said it louder and slower. Did that ever work? "Your car is - see? - on the line!"

"It is not over the line," Ivan said. Why was the stranger accusing him of not being able to see properly? Both of his tyres were squarely within the white lines which designated the parking space.

"It is on the line."

"But it is not over it."

"You're meant to be behind the line, Good Lord! How people like you manage to get a driving licence, I'll never know - they teach you all of this when you learn, you know." A note of spiteful condescension entered the stranger's voice, and Ivan, who did not respond well to being talked down to, immediately bristled.

"I know how to park. I have been parking for many years. You perhaps should take lessons because your parking is not very good."

"You park behind the line! Behind it! Not on it!" The stranger was almost shouting now, and his dark hair was standing out around his head. His glasses steamed up a little.

"I am going to get in my car and leave now," Ivan said. "I have had a nice day and I do not feel like shouting. You may stay here and shout some more if you like but I am going to leave." 

He turned and walked around to his driving seat, turning his back very firmly on the deranged stranger. He could feel the muscles in his hands and jaw beginning to twitch. He shut the car door harder than usual and without looking at the stranger, pulled directly out of the car park, his hands tight on the steering wheel, not even stopping to light a cigarette.

He heard the stranger shout something after him, which he deliberately didn't hear, and when he stopped at the first set of traffic lights he immediately fished for his cigarettes in the glove compartment, which he didn't find because a second later something hit his back bumper.

Ivan slammed the glove compartment closed, resisting the urge to rip the door off to batter whoever he was about to come across, and threw open his car door. Behind him was the crumpled and gently steaming front of a faded blue Citroen, now more beaten up than ever - probably beyond repair, which was sad, because it was really a lovely car. The stranger driving it was still flaming red in the face, and probably still an awful person unless the near-death experience had effected a sudden and miraculous change.

Ivan walked up to the car. The stranger tried to roll the window down, found that he couldn't, tried the door and found that he couldn't, and mimed this to Ivan through the window.

"It looks like you are having some trouble getting out of your car," Ivan said.

[flea-palace]

soooo

it's pharoga season i fear 🗣🗣🗣

[perksofbeingpoet]

and how lucky is todd, how lucky to have found a home in other people's hearts.

knox comes in without knocking, two t-shirts thrown over one of his arms like a waiter in a posh restaurant, the seams soft and worn. "you said you like this colour", he smiles, sitting down on todd's bed because it's no big deal, because he's comfortable enough, "and i think we have the same size."

they're sitting over a trig assignment, the tips of their hair brushing as they lean in close over the paper. meeks is frowning, exhaustion and frustration pulling at his eyebrows. "maybe it's- it-", todd starts, but the words clump in his throat and he's not that good at maths anyway. meeks smiles, a reassuring warmth in his eyes like dawn fog in summer. "no, go on."

charlie is laughing, laughing in a very big way because that's the only sort of laughter he's capable of - clutching his sides and doubling over, blindly grabbing at a street lamp for support. "you know", he says finally, wiping his eyes, his words slurred from drunken laughter, "you're way funnier than you give yourself credit for."

cameron drags his shirt over his head, already running, and todd is trying to catch up. warm, peagreen grass tickles his feet as he races down the short stretch of hill, throwing his shirt on top of cameron's which is already crumpled up by the peer. cameron yells "first!" and sputters lake water when todd jumps in after him, laughing, wet-haired.

"c'mon, one more sip." todd shuts his eyes and shakes his head, his exasperated chuckle doing nothing to hide the heat in his cheeks. "this is silly, you don't have to do this." pitts rolls his eyes and waves the spoon like a weapon until todd nods and lets pitts feed him another sip. "if this is the only way we'll get some food into you when you're sick, i'm ready to commit. now come on, there's still half a bowl of soup left."

[themeraldee]

Mark Me Yours

[Masterlist]

18+ Only | 4.6k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Biting. Established Relationship. Mild Pain Play. Cunnilingus. Fingering (with gloves on).

Written for cozy corner kinktober prompt #16: Biting

Amongst the buzz of some vague Halloween music and constant chatter, Homelander is impatiently looking around the room. As an annual treat, Vought organizes a Halloween-themed party for their shareholders, ambassadors and any and all influential people that get easily swayed by expensive champagne and an impressive catering spread. 

The one person not impressed is Homelander himself. 

He’s had his fill of schmoozing and brown-nosing at Madelyn’s behest. By now he’s just looking for an excuse to leave. He’s not one to indulge in partying like the rest of the Seven. Looking at the state of them leaves him with a bitter feeling. There they are being more rambunctious than ever while he’s the only one who’s trustworthy enough to actually get the job of upselling and marketing done right.

While it’s dressed as a fun party, Vought doesn’t do things for fun. It’s a thinly veiled attempt at getting all the powerful people in the room to spend more money and sign onto more superhero-led campaigns in their fields. Really, to Homelander it’s a waste of fucking time. There are so many better things he could be doing. But no. He’s stuck having to sweet talk every C-suite level person in the room.

And while part of him wishes he could just relax and kick back like the rest of them he just as much scoffs at the childish Halloween costumes the rest of his team came in. Before the party even broke out, Deep thought it would be funny to come dressed in one of those terribly cheap polyester Homelander costumes all the pathetic lowlifes wear on this day of the year.

Pfft. As if they could ever understand the burden that comes with wearing the suit. Neither, really, could Deep. That’s why one look was enough to get through even his thick and algae-infested skull that if he doesn’t change out of the suit there won’t be a body to dress up for the party. 

With an exasperated shake of his head he looks for you. He comes into these parties with decent energy, soaking up the applause and the adoring words but very quickly the praise turns sour when he feels just how empty and vapid each executive he talks to comes across as. They don’t actually care for his attention. They just want to wring him dry for more cash and fame. You’re the only one who’s managed to keep his usually soured high going. Your look doesn’t turn vacant, instead there’s a real person behind those eyes. One that’s his. One that adores him and is his to adore. 

So where the hell were you anyway? Your presence is what makes him tolerate the insipid crowds these days. Besides the fact that he gets to be with you and show you off to the world, he happily uses your name as an excuse to get out of conversations that just about manage to reach levels of stupidity and numbness that even his media-trained smiles and nods can’t keep him looking interested.

Fucking Halloween. What a stupid holiday, he thinks. Homelander slides his tongue over the fake plastic vampire fangs you insisted he wears throughout the night. As if he’s a child that has to partake in the “festivities”. As if it wasn’t enough that he’s gracing everyone here with his effervescent presence. Surrounded by cameras he has no choice but to keep up his flawless smile, now tainted with the silly prop.

And really at this point he’s getting less annoyed and more worried. You promised you’d show up. And while the party is in full effect you’re still nowhere to be seen. Homelander steps a little to the side, removing himself from as much of the chatter and music as he can, instead listening carefully, honing in on the familiar pitter patter of your heart. Only outpaced by the clicking of your heels as you rush across the stone flooring.

Tsk, late as always. 

Not even a minute later you make your way through the open door, immediately looking around for him. Homelander watches you try to calm down your rush as you finally settle your eyes on him. You’re smoothing down your dress and calming your breath. He leans against the wall, raising an eyebrow and with a lifted gloved finger he motions for you to come close.

Thank god you’re finally here. Just the sight of you is enough to release the tension in his shoulders. Relieved that there’s finally someone who he doesn’t have to pretend in front of. 

And what a sight you are. Dressed to the nines, a gorgeous classy black evening dress that fits your body perfectly.

He would know, it’s one of the many he handpicked for you. 

Looking at you now he can’t deny that he’s got impeccable taste. His keen eye is good when it comes to picking clothing that dresses your figure in a flattering way. Not just any dress would do, it always has to be perfect.

Until he actually notices the little band of cat ears across your head that has him recall the very long-winded argument—or an exchange of opinions as you liked to call it—about the importance of dressing up appropriately during any festivities you come to be a part of.

“Look who finally showed up. I was beginning to think you stood me up.” He flashes you a grin, letting the fangs exaggerate the sharpness of his smile. 

You stutter through your answer, caught off guard, and instead of defending your tardiness you change the conversation. Homelander watches as your eyes widen in surprise, locking on the way he slides his tongue over the pointy ends. The shiver that runs through you doesn’t escape him either. Well… isn’t that interesting. 

“Oh my god—I didn’t think— you’re actually wearing them!” Almost comically you put your hand over your mouth in shock and he takes the time to properly look you up and down. In your initial shock you let him in on not one, not two but three secrets. 

From the gasped breath and the excited shiver running down your body he deduces that your earlier adamant begging to have him dress up was for an entirely different indulgence. 

His second surprise upon checking you up and down was the lack of any undergarments. Not that he wouldn’t be able to look through the flimsy bits of fabric as well but the lack of them certainly inspires a mood. 

And the third secret your body lets him in on is just how much you enjoy the sight of his fanged grin. Your thighs rub together but with no fabric to soak into, your slick just squelches in between your legs. A sweet little symphony for his ears only. Maybe tonight won’t be so boring after all. 

If this was the kind of trick or treating he knew he’d be getting he’d have been onboard with the holiday a lot sooner. 

His mouth tugs into a smile but he stops himself, instead tutting and shaking his head.

“Unlike someone, I’m keeping my word.” He rolls his eyes. “After all that hounding you come out in this? So much for dressing up, Mrs Halloween spirit.” He makes a mocking gesture with his hands, waving dramatically over your Halloween costume, if one could call it that.  

“And sweetheart, although you look stunning, your little cat ears definitely don’t count as a costume.” Homelander relishes in the way you swoon under his compliments and attention.

At least someone here understands how valuable it is to have his attention. 

Homelander waves over a waiter, plucking a flute glass off the tray, passing it to you. This breaks you out of your trance and you finally get your words straight.

“Sorry, that’s why I’m late. I had a costume, I swear! Then Ashley needed help with something and then on my way here someone spilled red wine all over my costume, so I had to change. I know it’s not impressive but this was last minute!” 

“Oh, it’s very impressive. Just not very festive of you.” He quotes what you said earlier that evening about his reluctance to wear the stupid Dracula costume you prepared for him.

“If you wanted to come as Catwoman you could’ve worn some swanky latex at least.” 

“Oh no thank you. You’d be peeling me out of that at the end of the night.” And you look cute when you shake your head with that displeased look on your face.

“Who said I won’t be peeling you out of this?” He places his hand on your waist, his glove sliding across the silk of the dress.

“I’m hoping that’s gonna look a little more elegant than the latex suit would.” You lean in, whispering this little secret as if it was just the two of you in the room. You do always make him feel like he’s the only one in the room. Finally, he’s getting the respect he deserves.

“One way to find out.” He graces you with a show of his sharp fangs as he whips out another wide grin. 

It almost wins you over.

But you’re not that easily swayed. And you came here to celebrate Halloween with him. Clearly, he’s not gonna be able to use you as an excuse to leave just yet.

You say just that.

“You can’t leave yet!” You cover your flustered cheeks with a laugh.

Homelander doesn’t give up without a fight, but more importantly there’s nothing he loves more than having an upper hand. “Then why aren’t you wearing any underwear?”

He’s close to leaning you against the wall and boxing you in so you don’t have a chance to get away but he does have appearances to uphold. 

“I—um, I thought I’d keep you motivated to keep your energy up throughout the night.” You’re no stranger to keeping things exciting. Flirting with him is a must and comes naturally. Unless it’s outside the comfort of your home. Then you get all flustered and embarrassed. It’s cute, really. 

“You’re motivating me to leave.” He grumbles and dips his eyes back down your body, making it terribly obvious that he’s not just admiring your dress. 

On the other hand, he’s a better flirt in a crowd. He knows the power that comes with being surrounded by people that adore him and while it’s the comfort in between the two of you that allows that, he takes advantage of being the one who’s seemingly in control. 

“I've barely just arrived!” 

“That's your problem not mine, be punctual next time.”

 “Come on, just another hour. You can manage.”

He rolls his eyes, already beyond fed up with the party. However, he still has a job to do and you take the chance to make your way around the room to make your presence known to other attendees. 

As the time goes on, Homelander catches you looking around for him like a sixth sense tickling the back of his neck and everytime he meets your wandering eyes, giving you a dazzling smile showing off those fake fangs he still puts up with just for you. And each time you look away flustered and move out of his line of sight.

While everyone else is here to kick back, he’s still on duty, actively greasing deals, soft-launching Madelyn’s messaging and repeating the corporate-glazed talking points just to plant the seeds of Vought’s future plans in unsuspecting and mildly inebriated victims. 

The promised excruciating hour later he finally makes his way around the room back to you, pulling you out of the conversation with his media smile aimed at the group. “Sorry folks, you’ll need to excuse my date.” With a hand settling on your lower back, he takes you away into a quieter corner, plucking the empty glass out of your fingers, placing it at a nearby catering table.

“You have been avoiding me.”

“I have not! I just know how busy you are.”

“Right.” He spreads his lips into a wicked smile and he watches as your eyes quickly dart from his eyes to his teeth, not quickly enough for him to miss it. Neither does he miss the way your heart skips a beat.

It’s then he puts his hands on his hips shaking his head with a laugh. “I knew it, you’re into this.” He lifts one hand to wave a gloved finger in your face as if you’ve done something naughty.

“I’m not!” You’re a terrible liar. Homelander just places his hand on your chin as he uses it to tilt your head to one side.

While ignoring your protest he continues. “Is this some sort of Twilight fantasy you’ve got? Want me to bite you here?” 

“What—no!”

He raises his eyebrows, parting his lips as he glides his gloved fingers down your neck with his other hand. As if you were in a secluded bubble he has his eyes firmly set on you, focusing on the hurried beat of your heart. 

Unlike him you fluster. Unable to tune out the sound of the party and the presence of a crowd.

“Stop, you’re embarrassing me!” You squeak out like a little mouse, though your hushed voice makes no difference to Homelander’s keen ears.

While he doesn’t let the topic go, he does let go of your chin, allowing you to straighten up. 

“While I love you very much, I’m not covering myself with glitter.” He chuckles to himself, terribly amused at having found one of your guilty pleasures. “But I can be your super strong and fast vampire if you’d like that.” It’s his turn to turn all hushed and whispered. He talks in a way that he usually indulges in between the sheets yet he can’t resist to see your reaction.

Homelander doesn’t miss the way you shudder at his proposition. He almost melts away your stubborn exterior, but you snap out of the dazed vision and blink your fantasies away. This is not the place.

“Wait, how do you know so much about it? And no, no, it’s not a Twilight fantasy. It doesn’t matter. Does it really need an explanation?” Still continuing with the hushed outrage you pull him with you, backing out of the party hall.

Homelander grins at you widely, purposefully flashing the fangs while you drag him away from the party. You probably think you’re being subtle, trying to blend your bodies in between the incoming crowds. However, his cape alone is as dead giveaway as any. If anyone cared to get his attention at the party they were now keenly aware that he’s left. 

“Nope, not really. I just want to know what’s going on in that fucked up little head of yours.” The lightheartedness that comes with you two prodding one another is not only refreshing; it’s needed. To have someone he can feel like a lovesick teenager with is more important than he expected it to be. 

You act as if you were sneaking away from your parents’ house rather than seeking the quiet comfort of your home.

You secretly make your way down hallways, guiding Homelander behind you.

Even with his hand in yours you reluctantly turn around. The Eurydice to your Orpheus where one look would make him disappear forever. 

He understands the love shared between the two of you. Sometimes it’s so overwhelming it feels like its own living thing. Ever growing. Spreading like mold. Taking over everything that you both are. Be it good or bad. 

When he shuts the door behind the two of you it’s like the rest of the world goes quiet. He can’t stop himself from smiling widely at the sound of your pretty laugh when he spins you in place, clumsily dancing with you across the hardwood floor of his penthouse. 

He didn’t get the luxury of dancing with you during the party so he enjoys the feel of you carefree and against him in the comfort of his personal enclosure.

Neither of you need music to feel the intimate rhythm of your bodies. And really, the party has only just started. Each wrong step results in a giggle and another twirl with which Homelander brings you closer.

The warmth and love Homelander can feel from your laugh is so visceral he needs to taste it. He captures your lips. Simply pressing his against yours. Feeling the vibrations of your giggles against his pursed lips.

Just as he’s parting his lips to deepen the kiss you stop him, placing a hand on his chest. You don’t put any effort into pushing him off, it would be fruitless should you try anyway. 

“Take them out, they’ll get in the way.” You refer to the fangs you’ve been downright drooling over the whole night. Finally. Homelander takes out the prop fangs and tosses them to the side.

With no barriers in the way he devours your lips like he’s been starved for the taste of you all night. He’s drunk on the ease with which you let him take what he wants from you. 

He’s pulling out his best moves tonight. He’s always eager to impress, but tonight especially so. It’s not everyday he finds out about yet another depraved fantasy you’ve been keeping away from him. That alone is a reason to celebrate and pull out all the stops. So if a little innocent vampire roleplay is what you want, a vampire roleplay is what you’ll get. 

Nipping at your lips earns him a moan. His hands gliding up your body cause a shudder. He continues teasing you little by little until your body is begging him to take it further. Your tongue licks over the naturally pointy ends of his canines. His grin stretches wide, dissolving the haze of lust and instead reminding him of what he’s here to do.

He walks you back to the sofa, all the way until your calves hit the upholstering and your knees give in. With a gleeful giggle you fall onto the cushioning. Homelander follows after you, sprawling across your body, still kissing you.

"I can hear your pulse racing..." Homelander breathes out when he pulls away. His eyebrows pinched tight together, acting as if any second away from you causes him pain. 

It doesn’t. But being away from you might as well feel like he’s drowning.

“All that blood rushing…” In a breathy tone he continues. His hands push the straps of your dress over your shoulders. His hands tremble. Wanting to grip and squeeze and push and pull. But the power he’s capable of is always kept tightly locked up. But the desire and the pool of need inside him just begs for him to be inside you, feeling your supple warmth all around him.

But he wants to fulfill your fantasy. He wants to be good for you.

With a moan he drags his tongue starting from your collarbone up the line of your neck. Hungry for the faint taste of you he licks at the tender skin, sucking marks where you won’t be able to conceal them.

He laps his tongue over the junction of your neck and shoulder with the same eagerness he usually devours your cunt with. Now he’s preparing the soft delicate skin of your neck, akin to a surgeon before a procedure. Equally diligent in prepping your skin ready for the incision. Except Homelander wants you to feel the sharpness and warmth of his canines and incisors rather than the cold steel of a surgical scalpel. Your blood rushes to the surface where he’s sucked hickies all over your skin. The temptation to break skin and feel the warmth of your blood is tempting. But alas, he wants you lightheaded with pleasure, not blood loss.

He’s too sucked into his own world. Your blood is rushing loudly in his ears. He doesn’t even manage to slip out another zinger before sinking his teeth into your neck with a needy moan.

Should someone stumble upon you two, it wouldn’t be clear who asked for this roleplay in the first place. 

Homelander’s careful with the pressure he puts into the bite. Even without his super strength he could easily break through your fragile skin. Instead he’s leaving indents and bite marks over your neck that have you whimpering right into each lap of his tongue over the wounded skin.

Attuned to your body’s responses he can feel the way you’re getting off on the contrast of the sharp bites and the dull ache of his languid tongue.

When he’s done with your neck, Homelander pulls away. Eyes hazy with lust. Hands trembling. His heartbeat is so loud it overpowers yours. He slides his tongue over his teeth as if he was licking off your blood. He looks up to meet your eyes and if the sight of you isn’t something out of a dream.

Just as hazed with the thick lust in the air. The smattering of bites is exquisite on a canvas as perfect as you. Your body rises and collapses with each shuddered breath and Homelander wants nothing more than to finish painting your body with his love.

And he does. Tearing and sliding the silk fabric off your body he leaves you bare in front of him. Your choice to omit your underwear gets you rewarded faster. He’s already sucking and biting all over your chest. Swapping for soft kisses anytime you yelp out of painful sensitivity.

Homelander bites wherever his teeth allow to sink into your flesh. Giving them the same soothing treatment with his tongue like he’s done on your neck.

The bites he descends upon your sides make you burst into giggles, temporarily breaking the bubble of the heated tension. With a smile he nuzzles his head into your belly, kissing you with affection all over the exposed skin. While the love he exudes is just as intoxicating, you push his head further down.

“Greedy.” He teases, but he happily slides off the couch, kneeling on the ground right in front of your gloriously spread legs. “Want me to bite you here too?” He easily slides back into his breathy tone as his mouth waters at the smell of your arousal.

After all this time he’s spent getting you worked up with bites and kisses you’re leaking over the couch.

He doesn’t wait for your answer, if you were coherent enough to give it anyway, and instead he licks up your inner thigh. Narrowly avoiding your sopping wet cunt. And while the hypnotizing rhythm of your throbbing clit nearly sucks him in, there’s still plenty of supple flesh he’s yet to sink his teeth into.

Homelander treats your inner thighs with the same respect he’s given your neck. Even though you wiggle underneath his tongue he holds you down. His arm easily pinning your middle down, while his shoulders keep your legs open enough for him to continue.

Here the sensation makes you both whimper from the stinging bites and giggle from the tickling motions of his tongue. Your body continues to serve as a canvas as he litters marks in between your thighs. He lets a few bruises join the mix as he grips your thighs with too much enthusiasm when he dips his head lower to bite another mark higher up the sensitive skin. 

You don’t shy away from the pain either. The contrasting shades of pain he paints across your skin just make your breath stutter, your heart race and your core ache for more.

Homelander is just as strung out. His cock is heavy and aching uncomfortably in the tight confines of his pants but he’s not about to relieve himself. Not when you’re served in front of him like a meal. 

Finally he buries his head into your lap. He licks up a line from your weeping hole to your clit, slurping up as much slick as his tongue can gather. He goes through expressions of content, where he’s eagerly sucking on your clit, and need, where he pinches his eyebrows together, whimpering into your cunt at the feeling of you quivering around his tongue.

And really, he could spend hours in between your legs. Getting handfuls of your ass he pulls you even closer, his tongue now closely and precisely rolling around your clit in a rhythm that has your toes curling and heart pounding. He’s come to know your body as intimately as it gets. The changes in pace are part of his plan. The slow teasing to a fast build-up, letting the feeling of your encroaching orgasm climb up and up your spine until he slows down, dropping the meter down again, wanting to prolong your pleasure.

With the occasional pull to the side where he nips more bites into your inner thighs he has you strung tight, and he’s playing you like a violin. When your moans turn into near sobs at the constant edge he keeps you balanced on, Homelander takes pity on you.

Gathering the slick and saliva, he pushes two thick gloved fingers into you. The drag of the leather glove is not familiar enough to you and you whine at the contact, clenching down on his fingers. Tight enough to nearly stop the glide.

With soft kisses he descends upon your clit, he lets you relax. When your cunt is no longer squeezing his fingers for dear life he drags them in and out while amping up the pressure. The obscene display of you bare to the world and him still dressed in his uniform has you both vocal and shameless.

While he’s already done a fantastic job of licking you open and needy, making you into an even bigger mess than you were before; he’s now fucking you wide open, preparing you for what’s inevitably going to be his cock in a round or two filling out all the space his fingers can’t reach. 

“C’mon, keep fucking me. Harder. Harder. Ye-yes. Yes!” You groan out, your voice all cracked and strained from moaning for so long. 

You grind yourself down on his fingers as much as the space allows. Your fingers pull at his hair while you ride both his face and his fingers to completion. It’s a hard finish, with downright growled words of praise as you chase the high he’s providing you with.

“That’s it, that’s it, that’s it. Fffuuck. Such a good boy, letting me ride your face like that.” You pant in between words, just as eager to give out praise as he is to receive it. 

With an obscene squelch, Homelander pulls his fingers out of you, sucking the leather clean, adding to the already rich taste of you on his tongue. You slide down the couch and lean down to kiss him, and he indulges you in letting you taste yourself on his lips.

Pulling away, you only allow the minimum space apart in between each other. Just like him, you act as if being apart caused you harm. 

“Take me to bed. I want to ride your cock next. Aaand maybe bite you myself.” With a giggle you wrap your hands around his neck. 

“You know you can’t bite me.” With a tilt of his head he kisses the bite marks he’s left behind. Each kiss brings back a little spark of pain making you twitch. 

“I love a challenge.”

“Well I’d certainly love to see you try.” He effortlessly lifts you up from the couch, already carrying you over to the bedroom.

After all the treating he’s done, he’s definitely excited to see some tricks.

So maybe the Halloween celebrations are not so stupid after all.

Taglist (you can add yourself to be tagged anytime I publish a new Homelander fic):

@rafecamsgirlll @hom3landr @mrsdesade @littlegaaby @jokesonyoupup

@nommingonfood @infinetlyforgotten @nervoussystemss

[not-the-living-ghost]

gotta love when your teacher asks you what types of books you like to read, and you have to say "fantasy" and "historical fiction" because "fanfiction about ghost boys kissing" is not a socially acceptable answer to that question

[haza1ll]

TNV Fanart

so i think i said i was gonna make fanart for this (again).. probably uhhhhh early september late august?? i don’t remember. but. erm. It took FOREVER. school kicked my butt and i had no free time. (buddies this took me 6hr 30min total) BUT i think it came out good. so yippie! also, side bar, im trying to get used to digital art again so the lighting looks mega weird. pls help. OTHERWISE YAYAYAY ITS DONE @sugarpasteltmnt SORRY IT TOOK A COUPLE MONTHS. this could possible be classified as a remake (spot the old one: impossible mode). ill put both down~ (TUMBLR ATE THE QUALITY LITERALLY WHERE DID IT GO.)

[ms-all-sunday]

i did a good job with this. i had a suspicion that i had done a good job characterization wise but it seems like the usopp/luffy work ive been doing has really paid off

okay with the skypeia fic i ended up knocking a lot of things off my "i want to write this" list with one fic (which is great) zoro and sanji being dommed by nami mainly was a big one but i could never think of a way to fully incorporate that into an east blue polyfic. but now i have, and i think the dymanics really ended up flowing well together. if this fic is bad, i wrote this in one night. if this fic is good, i also wrote it in one night.

this fic is E and in skypeia (its usopp centred)