Price Sketches

When I Get My Hands On You. (Soldier Boy Fic).

Soldier Boy/Ben x F!Reader 18+

Summary: Slight AU + 'Still Awake'. After everything, Vault decides it's better to keep Soldier Boy out of the way instead of putting him back under. Out of the way is a McMansion out of the city, a plot of land, a mountain and all the time in the world. He's got everything he needs, and yet there's still something missing. He figures out what it is very quickly when you show up. What a lucky man he is.

Song This Fic is Based On: Superbad Mantra - JAWNY, Christian Blue.

A/n: I'm so excited to post this fic, it was so much fun to write, and my first time writing for SB. I wrote, and rewrote this fic a couple of times, and this plot + ending just feels right. Let me know what you think. -Kash

Word Count: 3.5k

Tags & Warnings: 18+ Only, Cursing, Ben wanting you BAD, smut, drinking.

+

Never in a million fucking years would Ben admit to being tired of it all. The fighting, the anger, the planning, the business of it. But he is. Ben’s tired of fighting. He never wanted to be mixed in with Vault's new affairs. So he’s almost ecstatic when they decide to just keep him hidden in the woods instead of putting him under again. He’s their Golden God, (well he used to be) so their version of hiding him is a red brick Mcmansion 40 minutes outside the city. When he sees it for the first time he gets a wave of –I don't know– peace? Ecstasy maybe at the sight of it. 

Let me paint the picture of Ben’s newfound paradise. It’s on about 15 acres of land, surrounded by woods with a little creek tucked inside. When you come down the driveway there are rows of pine trees shading the pathway. To the east there’s a mountain, about a 40 minute hike to get to the base of it and an hour to get to the top. To the west there’s a river, a quarter mile wide and too long for Ben to guess. Big enough for him to fuck off on it for hours and still not see anyone. He gets a dock, a pontoon, plus a couple of trails all to himself. 

 All on the promise that he stays hidden, & out of the fray. 

If we’re being honest right now, even with all of this, Ben told them to fuck off. He isn’t a pet to lock away when he’s not needed, he has–had a life. He deserves a life. 

“We can’t guarantee you a life outside of what we’re offering you now, Ben,” Jeremy, Vault's coordinating agent for Soldier Boy says. He’s a weasley looking man, short with neatly parted black hair & wire-framed glasses. They’re standing on the back deck of the house, looking out to the river as the sun starts to set. His suit’s a little too tight, and not at all fitting for the summer heat. He keeps pulling at his tie, and dabbing his forehead with his pocket hankie. “All we’re asking is that you remain here for now, and once we’re able to settle our affairs and guarantee you a position without ..” He trails off. 

Ben already knows. “Yeah,” He’s annoyed. “ Once you can get my sperm mutant under control, I get it.” He nods, and mulls over the thought for a moment, taking a good look at the property. It’s honestly, truly, not a bad deal. He’s just pissy because—“I’m not stayin’ here without getting high, Johnny.” he says matter of factly. 

Jeremy doesn’t even miss a beat, he’s nodding immediately. “Understood, Vault is very aware of your extracurricular activities and we’ve already supplied you with a month’s worth of—” 

“I’m gonna need more.”  Jesus let him finish.

“Yes, sir,” Jeremy wipes the sweat from the back of his neck, and pulls a phone out of his pocket. “We have a delivery guy coming once a week with groceries, as well as anything else you may need. Just text this number with your list and we’ll send him over asap.” He hands Ben the phone and motions out to the water. “This is a great offer, Ben. No other Superhero is getting a set up like this, unlimited food, wifi, a boat—” 

“It’s a pontoon.” 

He ignores him. “And enough weed, coke, and whateverthehell else to kill all of Manhattan if you want it.” He locks eyes with Ben, smiles, & It’s quite frankly almost eerie. “Just stay here and let us handle the rest.” 

He sits on it for about 10 seconds, before nodding and turning the phone over in his hands. 

“How long?”

And that’s just the least of it. 

+

About a month into it, Ben starts to get a little….restless. Yeah, sure, that’s the word for it. He’s content with the land, and the food, and the drugs, and has even started a little garden. It’s not huge, but he’s already gotten a few sprouts from his potatoes, so that’s something. 

However, he’s still Ben. Still Soldier Boy. Still a man of needs, and cravings like he’s always been. Only now it’s panged with something like loneliness. Maybe that’s all it is. Maybe it’s the memories of his old life, and how everyone he loved turned against him. He was a son of a bitch, so maybe he deserved it. Whatever, anyways—

It’s a tuesday night when he finally hits fuck it territory. He’s been watching porn for three hours, and is–honest to God–tired of his hand & a screen. He swipes out of PornHub, and looks up the nearest Gentleman's club outside of the city. Because that’s what he is, a gentleman. 

He gets dressed and walks two hours into a small town and makes a beeline for ‘Synn’. It’s a ‘not too shabby’, but shabby, looking gentlemans club on the east side of town, right off the highway. It’s a one story concrete building with tinted windows, & nondescript except for the giant neon purple sign outside. ‘Synn Gentlemen's Club’ it reads, with the silhouette of a woman next to it. The inside does it a little more justice. It’s got dark purple walls, and an honestly very well stocked bar all on a landing, plus a few tables and chairs. The floor is scattered with stains, and the walls have a faint smell of cigarettes. The rest of the club is almost like one giant conversation pit, with stairs leading down to the main floor, & two main stages right in the middle of the room. Both stages have mirrors at the back of them, so wherever you are in the club you can get a view. God does he love the view. 

Ben loves women. I don’t know if you know that, actually I know you don’t know that, but he does. The way women talk, the way they walk, move their hips, their lips, their touch, their smell, their taste. Fuck, he loves the taste. He’s a bit more partial to older women, but lately he’s bent his own rules. Twenty-four is the youngest he’ll go, and even then it’s…iffy. Maturity is a big thing for him. 

Here he’s happy to bend his rule to accommodate. He sits in a darker corner, his hat pulled low, and just enjoys the show. An hour, and nine beers in, & He’s gained just enough confidence to catch eyes with one of the girls in the club. She’s pretty, not exactly his type, but pretty. Long blonde hair, and a tiny sparkly pink one piece that barely hides anything. 

Believe it or not he’s shy. Tonight Ben’s shy. Only because he’s sure he’s toeing the line right now being here, but he's feeling more hands on, so when she asks if he wants a dance, he immediately says yes. It lasts all of two minutes. He wants more, but not with her, and he can’t even put his finger on why he stops her from asking if he wants to go to the VIP room, but he does. He pays her and immediately leaves. 

Back to his hand. Back to missing….something.

+

A week later, right as he’s snorting enough coke to down two bull elephants off of his coffee table, the doorbell rings. He quick sniffs, and wipes whatever’s left on his nose onto his gums before standing up. “Shit,” he half groans as he wobbles. Everythings a little too turnt at the moment, so he immediately sits back down and puts his head in his hands. “Oooooh, shit.”

He’s about 40 seconds deep into an almost meditative state when the doorbell rings again plus five knocks. This time he hears a “Hellooo?” And a softer, “Fuck, it’s hot please hurry up.” from the other side of the door. He knows you don’t mean for him to hear it, he can’t help it. He wishes he didn’t. Everything is too bright, and too loud, and his jaw is starting to grind from all the coke so no, hearing you or seeing you for that matter is not on his list. 

Regardless, when you start knocking again he’s up. In three seconds he’s around the couch, and swinging open the front door. The heat hits him immediately and so does the sight of you. Oh God she's gorgeous. He’s gotta lean on the doorframe a bit to keep steady, and get a good look at you. 

You’re standing in the doorway with two arms full of groceries. He’d completely forgotten about …Matt? Max? The guy Vault hired to buy him groceries, toiletries, and drugs. The other day he let himself in when Ben didn’t answer the door fast enough. Ben was shitting, and didn’t hear the doorbell. Or the door open for that matter. He scared Ben when he walked into the kitchen, & Ben threw a chair at him. He–thankfully–only shattered his collarbone. Needless to say the poor bastard quit while being loaded in the ambulance. The important part of that story is you. Standing here now instead of Mr. Irrelevant. 

Ben smiles at you and silently thanks God for the summer heat. Your gray T-shirt is just tight enough around your chest that he can see the outline of your nipples. I promise he’s trying not to stare, so he’s gotta work a little harder not to let his eyes drag down body. 

“Excuse me,” He’s not doing a good job.You’re just so pretty, baby. Even when you frown like that. “I’m y/n,” You say it slowly and a little sarcastically. You caught him staring, he knows he deserves it. He honestly likes it. “Jeremy sent me to drop off your groceries since Jackson–” That’s his name! “–quit. I’d shake your hand, but,” You hold up the bags, & Ben immediately reaches to grab them out of your hands. You look too good to work at Vault. Long lashes, pretty lips, and the way your hips curve in those shorts. He’s gotta ignore how much he wants to-

“Let me help with those,” He cuts his own thoughts off. “Are there any more in the car?” 

You nod. “Yeah there’s a lot more, let me help you at least.” You turn to walk back down the pathway. 

He takes a few steps out, and too eagerly says “No, Ma’am. Let me get em’.” Ma’am.

You don’t even stop walking. You just wave him off and say “It’s alright, I want to help. Honestly if you want to relax I can get these unloa–” He’s not listening. He’s coked out & kind of dazed, but he’s still a gentleman. Sort of. He can’t help but to watch your ass as you walk away. Your shorts look perfect on you, and everytime you step your ass jiggles a little. 

He just met you and he can tell you don’t like him. He stares too hard, his hair is a mess, he’s wearing stained sweatpants and a stained tank top to match (Had he realized you were coming he would’ve gotten dressed), and boy does he like you. He already knows he’d devour you if you give him the chance. Give em’ the chance. 

It takes about six minutes to unload everything out of your truck, Vault’s truck as you tell him. They gave you something big enough to haul all of his things in. A shitload of food, clothes, toiletries, fishing equipment, new hiking boots, and a black duffle bag you weren’t allowed to look in. Ben helps as much as he can which helps speed the process along. Now, however, he’s just sitting at the kitchen island bouncing between small talk, and admiring you put his groceries away.

“So,” He puts his forearms on the countertop and leans in. “Are you from here or..” Ladies and gentlemen, Soldier Boy! Jeez, try a little harder.

“No actually,” You say, pulling a couple of cases of strawberries out of bags, before putting them in the fridge. “I moved to the city about a year ago when I got hired at Vaught.” 

“And is this all you do?” You’re doing amazing, Ben. He cringes a little at himself for saying it like that. ‘All you do’ , it’s a little condescending. 

You don’t even let it phase you. “No, actually, I’m Jeremy’s assistant and team lead.” You say before dropping down to a squat to load a few cases of beer onto the bottom shelf of the fridge. “I’m just here because I haven’t had time to hire a new personal shopper for you. I’ll have one for you by next week though, I promise.” 

Oh, please don’t promise that.

He tries so hard not to watch you, but Jesus he can’t help it. He’s got his eyes locked on you. The muscles in your back move every time you pick another case up, & your ass is sitting so prettily as you sit on your haunches to balance yourself. You stand back up, languid and smooth and your legs are so fucking-

“Okay,” You say, turning back around. He’s looking straight at you, and praying you didn’t catch him staring again. Part of him hopes you did. “That’s about everything, I don’t think you need help putting your personal items away, do you?” 

He fights the urge to say yes. “No, I-I’m good, but are you busy?” What is he doing? 

You pause and your eyebrows raise. “Uh, well today’s my day off, but-” 

“Stay for a bit,” It’s a statement he says more like a half-question.  “If you’d like. I have a-uh pontoon, and I’ve wanted to take someone out on the river since I got here. It’s my thanks for you using your day off to come here.” He smiles, and tries not to be too obvious about how much he wants you to say yes. 

“That’s kind of you,” You say smiling back before walking around the island towards your keys on the table. “but I have to go, I have a few errands to run.”

He’s good at hiding disappointment. He shrugs a bit, and keeps a warm smile. He can’t help but like the sound of your voice, even when it’s letting him down easily. “Okay, well can I ask you for a favor?” 

You put your hands on your hips and look up at him. “Sure, what can I do for you?” 

Sweetheart, so much. What he actually says is, “If you have time, would you mind coming again next week instead of someone else?” Oh he’s bold about it. “I just-” He shrugs. “I like our conversation. More than mine & Jacobs.” 

You laugh, and it makes him wanna be good to you. “His name is Jackson, and I’ll see.” You look him up and down, and Ben swears you bite your lip a bit. “Let me see your phone, I’ll give you my number so you can let me know if you need anything else.” You hold your hand out, and he’s immediately passing his phone to you. 

Oh he needs a lot. “Oh I need a lot.” He says before he even realizes it. Fuck. 

You just chuckle and keep putting your number in. You’re cool, you’re so fucking cool, you know that? When you finish you hand it back to him, and his hand grazes yours. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t really like that.

“So if I text you tonight and say I need something, you comin’?” He says, saving your number.

“Nope,” You say matter of factly, walking to the front door. “But give me a week, if I can’t find someone for you, you’ll see me here again.” 

He follows right behind you, eyes burning a hole into the back of your head. He does a little jog to grab the door before you do, and opens it for you. “Don’t look too hard then, that pontoon is just waiting for a chance at you.” And so am I. You give him a look at that statement, but say nothing.

He leans against the door as you walk out, and follows you all the way to the truck. “Can I only text you for things I need?” He says before reaching to open your car door too. Again, Ben is a gentleman through and through. 

You sit in the driver's seat and ask. “Is there another reason to text me?” 

He’s standing between you and the door now, and if we’re being real honest, he likes looking at you like this. The SUV is high enough that you’re eye to eye now, and he’s got a helluva’ view. He steps in a little & you’re even prettier up close. Nice cheekbones, pretty lashes, full lips. He puts one hand on the truck and keeps the other on the door, and leans into you a bit. His heart, Jesus, jumps a little when you don’t lean away from him. His breath deepens when you start looking him up and down too. Fuck, this is a moment. 

Sweetheart, you’re givin’ him all sorts of ideas to hold on to, you know that? 

“Absolutely, I needa’ get to know you a little better. Seeing as you know where I live and all.” He’s all eyes on you. His voice is kind of low now, and he can’t even help licking his lips. “You sure you don’t wanna stay a little bit longer? Let me cook you somethin’, show you how much I appreciate you, Y/n.” He’s practically drooling it out. 

He’s–okay–he’s not even trying to hold back how much he wants you. His voice is too low, he’s too close, and looking you up and down too much for it not to be obvious. You clock it, immediately, and–against your better judgment–lean into him. So close that your noses almost touch, and you reach your hand behind him. 

“I appreciate the offer but,” You say, grabbing the door. “I’m a little busy tonight.” 

He wants you so bad it hurts, and he just met you. He can’t help it, he’s leaning into you, eyes closing, and–

“Ah,” You almost whisper, smiling and pulling back. This is so funny to you. “I’m not the one for that, but I appreciate the thought. Excuse me.” you look behind him to the door and he doesn't move at first. 

Instead he just eyes you. He’s never had a woman play with him like that, and he’s torn between wanting more and none of it at all. You are the one for that, you’re just not there yet. You will be. He steps back, and you close the door, starting the car before rolling the window down. 

“You have my number, Ben,” The way you say his name makes him want to howl. “Call me if you need me.” 

“I promise I will, Y/n.” He says as you back up, turn, and pull down the driveway. He doesn’t go inside until your suv is out of his sight. 

+

“Fuck, Y/n,” He moans, sitting back in his bed & jerking himself off to the thought of you. “Yes, baby, keep ridin’ it.” 

He’s panting, eyes closed, imagining you on top of him. Fucking him like your life depends on it. He’s never heard you moan, but he's imagining something sweet, and addicting coming out of you. He starts bucking up into his hand, and imagines you whining at how deep he’s going. 

‘Be-e-en,’ You’d moan, mouth open and drooling from how good he’s hitting it. You would grip his hair and bounce on him the way you know he likes it. ‘Ben, please baby, harder!’

He starts fucking himself harder at your imaginary requests. He’d do any–and everything you told him to, and quickly at that. “Fu-uck, y/n, you know I like that. You know I like that, baby.” He moans to no one, but the thought of you. 

He imagines you swirling your hips on him, looking him in his eyes while you say, ‘Fuck baby I’m gonna cum. Ben, please,’ & he can’t hold it anymore. You are, even in his imagination, just too much. He cums all over his hand and stomach, and moans your name a couple of times for good measure. 

And for a while he just lays there. Panting, eyes closed, mind full of you. Fuck ‘Synn Gentlemens Club’, you’re what he’s been missing. That thought really wakes him up. He just met you, and compared to the hundred other women he’s slept with in his lifetime, you knock him back a little. The way you talk, the way you walk, how you laugh, and even how you tell him no. You’re not taken aback by him, you don’t fear him, you toy with him a little bit and what’s worst of all is he likes it. He really likes it.  He likes it so much that he wipes his hand off on his stomach and grabs his phone. Immediately finding your name and texting you a simple ‘Hello’.

+

A/n: Thank you for reading <3 If you want to be tagged in the next chapter you can DM me or reply to this post!

A Dark and Winding Road || Travis Hackett x f!reader || NSFW [minors DNI]

---

Summary: A late night on a long, dark road in the middle of nowhere. An exhausted, small-town cop itching to give you a speeding ticket. Surely a little flirting would go a long way to get you out of trouble, wouldn't it?

CW: dubcon, vaginal fingering, blowjobs, f!reader, use of "ma'am" to refer to reader

Word Count: 4.6k

AO3 Link ---

You took one hand off the steering wheel and shook your arm, trying to loosen your tightly-wound muscles, feeling your fingers locked into a semi-permanent grip. You couldn’t remember how long you’d been driving anymore--had it been hours? Perhaps weeks? It was all hyperbole of course, but that’s where your mind went after being stuck in your car for so long, all in the name of trying to make it to your cousin’s wedding that you weren’t even sure you wanted to attend. You glanced down at the clock—just a little before midnight.

“Ugh. Eight hours in this fuckin’ car,” you mumbled aloud to no one in particular. “I’m gonna pass out if I don’t stop soon.”

It had been since a little after sundown since you’d been able to find a rest stop where you could get out and stretch your aching legs, with no apparent relief in sight; your phone had lost signal long ago, and the crisp paper map you’d picked up before leaving town was no help in finding any local landmarks. Even if you’d a gas station along this godforsaken long and winding road that felt like it stretched on forever, you got the impression that this wasn’t the best place to stop—you were in the middle of fucking nowhere, and even stepping a foot outside the car felt like it could be the last thing you did. What if there were feral vampires? Or a murderous family who’d chase you through the woods and skin you alive? Or worse yet—what if there was a kind-hearted but lonely local who hadn’t seen a soul for hours and wanted to engage in small talk about the weather when all you wanted to do was buy some chips and borrow the bathroom key?

“Okay, okay,” you whispered to yourself, exhaling slowly, “this isn’t a horror movie. Get it together.”

You inhaled deeply, promising yourself you could make it a while longer—you weren’t tired or sore at all, you clearly just needed a little fresh, woodsy air to revive you. You rolled down your window and let the cool night air rush against your face, hoping it would keep you awake along enough to reach civilization, or at least somewhere that had cell phone towers. You blinked hard to clear your vision, but the road seemed to grow longer and longer as you rounded every curve, the forest closing in on you from both sides, encroaching on the road and nipping at the edges of your fragile sanity. Between the loud rush of wind whipping through the car and your laser-like focus on the highway, you hadn’t even noticed the fact that your foot had slowly pressed further and further down onto the accelerator—you were too busy squinting at the darkened, narrowing road ahead of you to pay much attention to your speed.

Unfortunately for you, however, the cop car that suddenly appeared behind you had definitely been paying attention to how fast you’d been going, as blue and red lights began cycling and lighting up the inside of your car.

“Shit, shit, shit!” you exclaimed through gritted teeth as you slowed to a crawl and pulled off to the side of the road. You shut the engine off, your headlights still shining off into the black void in front of you, and let your hands rest on the steering wheel. This was the last thing you needed—a dark and winding road in the middle of nowhere, no signal on your phone, and now some backwoods cop who was probably wanting to play big and tough to scare the out-of-towner. Your heart raced in your chest, panic settling in, as you peered into your side mirror to watch the cop slowly get out of his car, lingering for a moment as he looked around before he started towards you.

As he got closer, you caught a glance at him—he had dark hair, and seemed a bit older than you expected. He looked tired, but in a charming sort of way, the way people look when their internal tuning fork has been struck just a few too many times and they’re on the verge of a breakdown. Something about him was unsettling but attractive, and as you tried to slow your breathing, you supposed, in a sick way, that there were worse-looking people to be pulled over by if you had to be pulled over at all. He approached your car, looking as though he were already exhausted of your interaction, and knocked on your window; you hurriedly rolled it down, fingers shaking.

“Evening, officer,” you croaked, a saccharine smile plastered across your weary, anxious face. “How can I help you?”

He glared at you a moment, his dark eyes intense and unnerving, before abruptly asking, “Do you know how fast you were going?”

You cringed, expecting perhaps a little bit of polite, small-town small-talk before getting right into the matter at hand. “Um, well, I dunno, I wanna say maybe… 60? 65?”

“Try 72,” he condescended. “Do you know what the speed limit is around here?”

“Ah well, I’m not too sure, it’s pretty dark and I didn’t see any signs.”

He chuckled derisively. “Probably because you blew right past the sign. And for the record, it’s 55.”

“Oh, I see.” You lowered your eyes, trying to consider your next move. “I can’t even believe I did that, officer. Look, I am so sorry. It won’t happen again.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re sorry?”

You offered him a grin as you placed your hands on the window frame—time to turn on your patented charm and hope for the best. “Yeah, I’m really sorry I even bothered you, officer—” you squinted at the nameplate on his chest pocket “—Officer Hackett. It’s just so late, and I’m really tired. I’m just trying to get upstate for a wedding, and it’s so dark—I was focused on the road, and clearly I wasn’t paying attention.”

“That’s an understatement,” he snipped. “You could have killed someone going that fast.”

“I mean, there’s not exactly anyone out here except for you and me, is there?” you asked suggestively.

He shifted, seeming a little surprised by your forwardness. “Well… there can be folks out here sometimes. Animals too.”

“I’ve had to avoid a few squirrels in my day, I think I’d probably survive.”

“These ain’t exactly squirrels,” he scoffed.

You looked up at him, wide-eyed. “What, are there bears?”

He looked off into the dark of the road ahead of you, seemingly distracted. “Yeah. Bears.”

“Sounds dangerous. Good thing you’re out here to protect drivers like me, officer,” you flirted. You saw a flush start to creep across his face, and his eyes darted around; it seemed like your charms were having an effect on him after all. “So… can I go?”

“W-what? No, of course not, you were speeding.”

“Aw, come on, officer. It’s late, I’ve got that wedding to get to tomorrow evening, and I’m sure you have a wife to get home to?”

“No, ma’am, I do not,” he huffed, seeming a little rattled.

You rested your chin in your hand as you looked up at him, blinking softly. “Oh. Then a girlfriend, perhaps?”

“No, I—look, what is your point?” he said, refusing to allow his eyes to meet yours for more than a moment.

“I’m just saying, I have somewhere else to be, and I’m just assuming a handsome gentleman like you must too, so I’ll agree to be more careful and we can call it good. What do you say, officer? Do a good citizen a favor and let me keep passing through the middle of… well, where are we exactly?”

“You’re in North Kill, ma’am.”

“North Kill? That’s certainly ominous, isn’t it?” you chuckled.

He sighed, finally returning his gaze to you, his dark eyes boring a hole right through you. He placed his wide hands on the window frame on either side of yours and leaned in, his voice low. “You think you’re being real cute, don’t you?”

“Maybe? You tell me officer,” you smirked, as you titled your head towards him.

“Okay, that’s enough,” he said, sounding rattled, as he took a few hasty steps backwards away from you. “Step out of the car, ma’am.” Your mouth hung open. “What? But I didn’t—” “I said step out of the car.” He was more forceful this time, a sternness in his tone that both frightened you and—strangely, secretly—excited you.

“Fine, fine, I’ll get out of the car.” You threw up your hands and flung the car door open. Your legs felt like columns of jelly as you planted them on the concrete; you told yourself it must be from the extended hours you’d been stuck in the driver’s seat and the adrenaline rush of being pulled over, but you knew, deep in the recesses of your mind, that it was the situation—the isolated setting, the way you seem to have flustered the handsome cop with your charms, the fact that he seemed to be reaching his breaking point with you and had suddenly turned from annoyed to authoritarian—that had an unexpected heat building between your trembling legs.

Officer Hackett looked you up and down as you stood next to your car. “Have you been drinking tonight?”

“What?” You shook your head. “No, of course not.”

He folded his arms across his chest, his stance widening as he looked at you like prey. “Then walk a straight line for me. Heel to toe.”

You composed yourself, took a breath, preparing to turn the charm back on; you were the one who had initiated flirtation, you weren’t going to allow him to have the upper hand. You smiled demurely, and gave a wink. “Why? You wanna watch me walk away, officer?”

He stared at you with half-lidded eyes. “Ma’am, just do as I say.”

“Yes, sir,” you said with a lilt. As you walked slowly in front of your car, the headlights illuminating you, you made a show of swinging your hips with each step, your thin cotton shorts (the ones that were perfect for sitting comfortably in your car but not much else) crept up your thighs, exposing more and more of your legs as you walked heel-to-toe as instructed.

“O-okay, I think that’s enough,” he choked, after you’d completed a few paces.

“Well?” you asked, hands on your hips, an eyebrow raised questioningly as you strutted back to your car. “Am I drunk or not?”

He looked you up and down and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Finally he sputtered, “You think you’re hot stuff, don’t you?”

“I’ll let you be the judge of that, Officer Hackett.”

He smirked, running his tongue across his lower lip. “You know, I gotta say, for such a lovely thing, you’ve got a real smart mouth on you.”

“Do you say that to everyone you pull over or am I just special?”

The look on his face, the way his dark eyes seemed to turn coal-black, told you that you had finally pushed him as far as you possibly could. “You know what? Just… alright. You’re gonna be like that? Put your hands on the hood of the car and spread your legs.”

“A little forward, don’t you think?” you said mockingly, mouth agape, as you strolled towards the front of your car.

“Don’t make me tell you twice.” He walked behind you and placed a hand on your upper back; you gasped as he pushed you forward, forcing your open palms onto the still-warm steel of the hood of the car.

You stood there, utterly still, your heart drumming away in your ribcage, as you stared ahead into your empty SUV. You heard him pacing slowly behind you; it sounded like he was a few steps away. You expected him to say something, anything, but moments passed without him uttering a word. What was he doing? Was he just trying to unnerve you, get back at you for toying with him? Was he going to do something to you? You felt heat rising in your face, your ears beginning to burn, as you took one shaky breath after another while you waited.

And waited.

And waited.

The world grew noiseless around you, the sounds of your own pulse and the occasional rustle of leaves in the distance the only things you could hear; the night was deathly still and you felt like you were the only two people in the world left alive. If he was trying to frighten you, it was working.

Suddenly, you heard him approach you, his shoes grinding into the gravel, and you could feel the heat of his body bearing down on you. He stood next to you as he slid one hand—warm, firm, trembling just the slightest bit—up your bare arm, onto your shoulder, and onto the back of your neck. He gripped you slightly as he grew closer, his face hovering next to you yours, his lips nearly brushing your ear as he whispered, “Now what am I going to do with you?”

You inhaled sharply and stammered, tripping on your words as you tried to come up with an answer, your brain suddenly filled with a haze of arousal as your mind started to wander. He had you trapped here, alone and vulnerable, without another soul for miles it seemed—what could he do to you? “I—I don’t know, officer… w-what are you going to do with me?”

“This.” He loosened his grip on the back of your neck and let his hand glide down your spine as he positioned himself behind you. He wrapped one arm around your waist, pulling you firmly against him, as he placed his other hand on your hip and slowly, painstakingly, slid it around to the front of you, pausing as his palm landed at the apex of your thighs, his fingertips lightly brushing against your warmth, barely clothed in your thin shorts and panties. He pressed his fingers down, rubbing firm circles over your sensitive clit; you let out a groan as you felt a rush of heat between your thighs and a painful ache begin to build.

“Is this, um—is this standard procedure, officer?” you choked out as your whole body shivered at his touch.

“It is if I say it is.” He slid his hand down the front of your shorts and let his fingers snake their way into your panties. He ran two fingers along your slit, taking his time to explore every bit of your slick, swollen lips. “Goddamn it, you’re so wet. You wanted this, didn’t you?”

“I guess so,” you mumbled as your eyes fluttered shut.

“You guess so? Come on now. Shaking your ass at me while you walked, asking me if I had a wife, the way you cooed and blinked those pretty eyes at me… that feels like a little more than ‘I guess so.’” He parted your lips and pressed two fingers against your entrance, teasing your quivering hole as you whined, desperate for him to enter you. He finally obliged, sliding two thick fingers into your waiting cunt, dipping them in and out slowly.

“Fuck,” you hissed as you felt yourself clench around him, any resolve or sense of dignity you had in you quickly unraveling, as you leaned into the pleasure washing over you.

“Mmm, not just trying to get out of a ticket, then?” he teased as he twisted his hand and pressed his thumb on your swollen clit.

“N-no,” you whimpered as you started to grind your ass against him, rocking your hips in the same motions as his fingers.

“That’s right. You were working too hard to get me riled up just for that, huh?” He continued sliding his fingers in and out of you, pushing them in as far as he could, his hand quickly becoming drenched in your wetness. “I think you wanted me to take you like this,” he growled in your ear before he dragged his tongue up your neck, tasting the saltiness of your skin.

You couldn’t respond, your mind rendered empty as you felt your legs start to tense and your pussy quiver and quake around him. It was too much—you could only let out a string of sharp cries and moans as his fingers caressed your most tender spots, his thumb still dancing over your clit.

“Mm, finally got you speechless, huh? Too distracted to run that pretty little mouth.”

You had nothing left you could say except for a few exclamations of “Fuck!” as your legs started to wobble under you; he gripped you more firmly around your waist to hold you steady as he began making frantic motions over your clit and pushed his fingers as deep into you as he could, his knuckles pressing against your tender flesh. With a few last thrusts, you felt yourself clamp down around him as your whole body tensed and air was forced out of your lungs; you came with such a sudden jolt that you knew you would have crumbled to the ground if it weren’t for his arm wrapped around you. It was deliciously overwhelming, the feeling of him pressed against you as you cried out into the still air of the night, his fingers still deep within you as you spasmed and convulsed; you had never felt as defenseless and exposed as you did at this moment, your body quaking uncontrollably as you were detained by the side of the road, your bodies wreathed in the ambient light from your headlights and the sliver of moon hanging in the inky sky.

He slowly removed his hand from your shorts, his fingers deliberately dragging over your wet slit, the overstimulation causing a last few shocks to rocket through your body. Your mind was a mess of flurried thoughts—you wanted to ask him why, wanted to run, wanted to collapse, wanted to cry for more, wanted to lay down in the backseat of his squad car and beg him to fuck you in the cool stillness of the night. You opened your mouth but couldn’t sort through enough of your jumbled thoughts to come up with anything other than a garbled “Thank you” that hitched in your throat.  

“My pleasure, ma’am,” he rasped. He walked around to the side of you, leaning against the car hood and diligently wiping off his hand before tucking his handkerchief back into his pocket. “Think you can walk okay?”

“Uh-huh,” you replied as you gained your footing, dragging your feet closer together, leaning your weight on your palms.

“Then c’mere.” Before you could protest, he grabbed you by the wrist and yanked you around to the side of your car that faced away from the road; you stumbled as you trailed behind, your legs still unsteady and practically useless. He pulled you towards him as he leaned back against your car door, gripping your arm tighter and pulling your hand down to the front of his slacks; you could feel his erection straining against the stiff fabric.

“Feel what you did to me with all that teasing?” he groaned as he pressed himself into your palm. “I’d like you to do a little something for me now. Get on your knees.”

You wordlessly complied, dropping onto the ground below, the gravel and dirt immediately grinding into the tender flesh of your bare knees.

He breathed heavily as he reached down and stroked the top of your head, his fingers drifting down to stroke your cheek. “You’re so pretty like this,” he murmured as he unbuckled his belt, unzipped and unbuttoned his pants. “Now why don’t you put that smart mouth of yours to good use, hm?”

He slid himself out of the fly of his boxers, and you took a moment to admire his cock; it was thick, with a light upward curve, the head swollen and pink, waiting for your touch. You gripped him with one hand, teasing the tip with your tongue, causing him to quietly gasp. You traced your eager tongue down his length, winding it around the shaft, before taking him in your lips. He let out a sharp hiss as your warm mouth enveloped him, and his hands grasped at your hair to anchor himself. He swelled and pulsed as you slowly drew him in and out of your warm, wet mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you reached the tip; with every pull, his breaths grew quicker and more ragged, his groans deeper and longer. As you reached up and placed your palms on his thighs to steady yourself, it was clear that your teasing had stirred something deep within him—just the same as he had had done to you—and the shallow thrusts of his hips as you greedily took him deeper in your mouth told you it wouldn’t be long before his frenzy would reach a fever pitch.

He slid one hand down to the back of your head and held you in place as he pushed himself down your throat, forcing rivulets of spit to dribble out of your mouth and drip onto the dirt under you. He fucked your willing mouth in ragged, uneven strokes, as his moans grew even louder and his movements frantic. Before long, you felt his hips begin to shudder and the muscles of his thighs tense under your palms; he slowed down and gave a shivering inhale, and hot ropes of salty cum shot down your throat. You held him still in the warmth of your mouth, slowly lapping him with your tongue, pulling every last spasm you could out of him, taking every last drop of him that you could, before slowly, torturously, pulling away, releasing the head of his cock with a wet pop. He stood for a moment, panting, his breath harsh and ragged, as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against your car.

You stayed still on your knees in front of him, suddenly reminded of the gravel and dirt pressing into your flesh now that you were without distraction, and winced a little.

“That was… that was something,” he finally uttered between unsteady breaths.

“I aim to please, officer,” you grinned as he shakily reassembled himself, sloppily tucking his shirt back into his pants and fumbling a bit with the buckle.

He retrieved his handkerchief from his pocket and leaned down to you, wiping the errant drool from your chin and the corner of your mouth before extending a hand to you to help you up from the ground. Your aching legs crumbled as you put weight on them, pitching you forward into him; you shared an awkward moment of unintended intimacy as your hands gripped his chest and your face came close to his, your lips almost touching, before you quickly gained your footing again and took a few hasty steps backwards. You felt a deep heat rising in your cheeks as you looked away from him; would it have been that awful to kiss him? you thought to yourself, before deeming yourself silly for even entertaining the thought at all.

You glanced down at your knees, covered in dirt, small pebbles ground into your inflamed flesh, pinpricks of blood starting to drip in spots. You saw the officer glancing down at them as well—he leaned down and brushed them off with his wide hands. You mustered an unsteady smile. “Good thing I’m wearing a long dress to the wedding. People might get ideas about what I’ve been up to recently.”

“Would they be wrong?” he asked, his voice still heavy with lust.

“I suppose not,” you shrugged. You crossed your arms, hugging yourself a little as the night air started to chill you to your car, goosebumps forming on your exposed limbs. You dug the toe of your sneaker into the dirt. “So, does this mean I’m free to go, officer?”

He chuckled softly. “I think I can let things slide, just this once. But don’t let me catch you speeding like that again around here.”

“Or what?” you taunted.

He walked back over to where you stood, and gripped your chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head up to meet his gaze, his face hovering close, his lips nearly brushing yours as he spoke. “You don’t want to know.”

“If you say so,” you uttered, sucking in a sharp breath.

He ran his hands down your arms, giving your wrists a squeeze, before he started to walk away. He paused as he reached the rear of your car. “You know,” he said, placing one hand on the back of his neck, “there’s a motel not too far from here. Harbinger Motel. Just keep driving for about fifteen minutes and take the first road you see on the right. Follow it for a little while, and the motel will be on the left. Can’t miss it. Probably be better off staying the night there and getting back on the road in the morning.”

You leaned against the side of your car, one hand on your hip, head tilted to one side. “You know, I gotta say, it’s more than just a little creepy out here; I’d feel a lot safer if I had a member of law enforcement with me this evening. Care to escort me?”

A sudden redness spread across his face as he offered you a bashful grin before turning away. “Have a good night, ma’am. Stay safe.”

“You too, officer.”

You climbed back into your car and turned the key, the familiar purr of the engine and the vibration under your feet grounding you, returning you back to reality. You looked in your rearview mirror, half-expecting to see nothing but darkness, wondering in your haze if everything had just been some fever dream and you were really just pulled off into a ditch, passed out from the hours of driving. Instead, the weakened legs, the wetness between your thighs, and sore jaw were confirmed as real when you saw the patrol vehicle still parked behind you, its lights dimmed, Officer Hackett standing by his open car door. You offered a wave out your window as you carefully drove off back into the night, still struggling to make out the road ahead and hoping you wouldn’t miss your turn.

You continued on the road as instructed, keeping your eyes as wide as you could, making sure you didn’t overlook the hotel; you were exhausted, your head empty, your only thoughts being how much you couldn’t wait to wash the dirt off your sore knees and collapse into bed. As you focused your eyes on the cracked grey pavement before you, you wondered if you’d ever be able to tell anyone about the night’s events, if anyone would ever believe something as cliché as the corrupt cop taking advantage of the willing out-of-towner on the side of a desolate road in the middle of nowhere; if it weren’t for the fact you could almost still feel his wide fingers inside you, still taste his cock on your tongue, still hear his low, quiet groans echoing in your ears, you wouldn’t even believe it yourself.

You sighed with relief as you finally saw the Harbinger Motel up ahead, its looming, glowing red sign hard to miss even in the foggy night. As you approached, you glanced up into your rearview mirror, and just for a moment, you could’ve sworn you saw the glint of a car following behind you in the blackness.

At First Sight (Homelander Drabble)

(aka: Knock em' off his feet) Homelander x F!Reader (18+)

+ His first time seeing you. Actually, he's seen you in his peripheral a handful of times. This? This is when he gets a good, long, look at you. He's a little stuck to say the least.

Words: 657 (Short & sweet, I just couldn't help making a point.)

A/N: Oh how I LOVE down bad man. You can't watch the show and not know that whoever has his affection HAS him. This is my first fic on this blog, I've written a lot before, deleted my blog, and came back, Maybe this will bring me back in, who knows. (Ask box open).

Warnings: Cursing, Homelander craving you, a little too wanting.

+ + +

Homelander likes you. No, listen, Homelander likes you. These days he’s so brazen with it, and you can hardly walk into the same room as him without buzzing under his stare. However, I wanna start it off a little slow at least. He started it off slow at least. Kind of. 

It’s your third week in when he takes a good look at you. A rushed mission brief is called and Ashley, idiot, decides now is the time to try out a new presentation method. Handouts. She’s so fucking proud of herself when she steps to the front of the room and says, “I want to ensure everyone has a thorough analysis of the plan, as well as some facts about the landscape that I think—“

Oh please, he’s so close to asking her if she was shaken as an infant when he notices you. Supe by supe you walk around, placing a sheet of paper in front of everyone, & God the sight of you. You know how hard it is for someone to catch him off guard? You do it instantly, unknowingly, unabashedly. Honestly, it’s your eyes – wait – your lips. He can’t stop looking at your lips. Then you smile at The Deep and he has to sit back in his seat a little bit, scooch down, and lean over, chin in hand just to get a good look at you. You’re just about to reach Noir when Ashley musters up the gumption to ask, “Homelander, how would you feel about starlight leading this mission while you stay as backup?” 

He’s almost too slow to take his eyes off you, but he does & laughs incredulously at Ashley. “Why would I do that?”

She actually quick steps towards him, hand extended holding a sheet of paper, & places it in front of him before you can make it. “We’re working to establish your image with our female audience, ages 25 through 45, as a softer protector.” She says softer with a wince, like she can hear how fucked it sounds. He’s annoyed, and has to deep breathe his way out of showing it. What the fuck is he reading? It's a mess of statistics and a – quite honestly –l ameass excuse for a game plan that he’s happy to pass on to StarLight. Ashley finishes with “Currently you’re doing amazing with our male audience, but we’d like to shift towards a team player, lover of women image.”  

He’s a lover. Through and through, and sometimes hard to find. It’s there though, eventually you’ll get it. 

You walk behind him, and reach beside him to place a sheet down in front of Queen Mauve. You smell good. He tilts his head just enough to catch a sight of you without being too honest about it. You’re a sight. You know that? It’s enough to make his eyes drag down your body, stopping at your ass and then making a slow track down your legs. He’s a dog about it, and internally says fuck it, because then his eyes are back up and locked on yours. 

He hears your heart jump a little, but you’re a pro, because you just smile it off —fuck, you’re beautiful — and say “Good morning.” Before walking away. 

Fuck off, ‘Good morning’ , he’s salivating. 

“Good morning” he says kindly. 

He hasn’t been this turned on, this quickly in a long time. For a human at that? You’re a new feeling, one he can’t even tell if he’s comfortable with. So he’s gotta lock his eyes back on Ashley and pretend like he isn’t gonna think about you later. “Yeah, absolutely –” He waves his hand, & smiles, “– let’s show some girl power, huh?” 

One last glance at you, and you’re looking right at him. He doesn’t even hide his stares this time. His dick jumps a little at the fact that you don’t look away, and he makes a mental note to get your name after this. 

+++

A/N: *Screams in wanting him*

Hey! I'm back from the dead!

I was struggling with art block recently, but this meme thingy helped me to get back into drawing. At least for a while..

I already did this trend with Steve and Eddie, and I couldn't help to draw Sinclair twins like that too 😊

Gaz, phone recording, entering Soap's room while he's sleeping: WAKE UP SLEEPYHEAD!

Soap: ugh, what's going on?

Y/n, sitting up behind him: what the fuck man

Ghost, appearing from under the bedsheets: fuck, what time is it?

Gaz:

The Fall

2.8k mostly sfw homelander x reader. christmas adjacent. depowered homelander.

Summary: After being struck by an unidentified projectile that renders him powerless, Homelander crash lands in your backyard, wholly at your mercy.

this is a rework of this original prompt. inspired by the fable of the mouse that aids the lion whose paw has been stuck by a thorn.  ♡

Homelander is over a hundred feet in the air when he hears something whistling through the sky behind him. Some kind of projectile. A small missile, maybe. It's nothing he hasn't handled before: It could blow up in his face and he would be fine. He’s more curious about what exactly it is, who’s stupid enough to fire it at him, and where it’s coming from. 

With that in mind–in that split second he has to react–he decides to forgo dodging it and instead attempt to catch it.  However, as the mystery projectile gets nearer, his vision begins to tunnel. 

What the fuck? 

His reflexes slow, and before he knows it, the projectile strikes him hard in his left side rib, exploding in fumes that fill his lungs and coat his skin. In an instant, he feels pain like he's been turned inside out, a sensation worse than anything he’s felt since childhood. Instantly he's plummeting towards the ground, crashing directly into your backyard in an eruption of snow and yard furniture.

With his vision going black, the last thing he hears is the sound of the world turning deafeningly quiet.

When Homelander comes to, he's being shaken. No–compressed, hands over his chest, pushing again and again in a steady rhythm. Warm lips press against his, and a rush of air fills his lungs. His eyes snap open, and out of pure reflex, he drives his fist into your unfamiliar form, sitting up with a frenzied look in his eyes.

You should have flown back thirty feet with a hit like that. Instead, you only fell back onto your ass, coughing. Homelander's hands are shaking as he looks at them, and he can feel blood dripping from his ears, taste it in his mouth. He's disoriented, his whole body heavy. He's having trouble breathing, every ragged inhale a struggle, and his heart is pounding.

"Someone tried to kill me," he rasps in disbelief. Not surprised that someone tried, but that someone very nearly succeeded. "Someone... Someone tried to fucking kill me," he says again, growing more hysteric the more the pain sets in. His own brain is hammering against the confines of his skull, beating at the backs of his eyes.

He’s certain that he’s halfway to cardiac arrest, but no matter how he tries to focus, he can’t calm himself. His strength is gone. It’s gone. He looks at you, you, who should have a hole punched through your chest. Instead, you’re staggering to your feet, totally unharmed. 

"Homelander!" You address sharply, audibly trying to rein in your own bubbling panic. He can see his own fear reflected in your eyes. You’re just as confused as he is. Just a stupid little mouse that crawled out of your hole and found him like this. "I can help you, okay? Let me help you."

There’s something about the sharp authority in your voice mixed with an undeniable quiver of compassion that catches his attention. It could be the degree of his vulnerability sinking in, but after a second of dumbfounded staring, Homelander nods.

It must be pure adrenaline that gives you the strength to help him into your house. You don’t look like you should be able to carry him. He's practically dead weight in your arms, barely keeping himself on his feet as you both stumble into your living room. The height difference does neither of you any favors.

You get him down onto the couch before fetching a wet rag, a bottle of water, pills, and a first aid kit. He watches you fumble with it, hands shaking. He assumes it’s adrenaline, though you lack the acidic stench of it. No, you probably don’t. He just can’t smell it anymore. He can’t smell anything except the faint tinge of blood, and whatever nauseating scented candle you use to stink up your home. Though, even that’s distant compared to what he’s used to. However, he finds he doesn’t have it in him to panic. Is this what shock feels like?

He takes the water you offer him, but denies the pills. “No, no. I have no idea what that shit will do to me right now.” You nod, setting the bottle aside. You then lean over him, inspecting the level of damage. His ears are ringing, and his whole body is throbbing with sharp, painful aches. Maybe the pills would help, but he’s never had to take painkillers before. He’d rather swallow tacks than lean on something so pedestrian.

As you work, he notices a mottled mark blossoming darkly across the center of your chest, just under your collarbone, approximately the size of his fist. Without thinking, he reaches up to touch it, remembering the blow he’d dealt you.

You startle, looking down where he touches with a wince. The skin looks as tender as he feels. It must sting. Is he bruised like this beneath his suit? The thought of these same ugly dark marks mirrored on his own body brings him visceral disgust. 

"Don't worry about me," you tell him, as comforting as your voice can muster. You grasp his wrist and gently lay it back down at his side.

I'm not worried about you, he thinks derisively. "That should have caved in your chest."

"Guess it's my lucky day, then," you say absently, more focused on using a wet cloth to wipe away the blood from his temple, up into his hairline, seeking the injury. You're meticulous but gentle in the way you handle him, cupping the side of his face to turn him one way, then another.

If not for how clumsy your movements feel, he’d think you’ve done this before. There is care and determination in the way you tend to him, but no obvious medical expertise. Even the kit you pull from looks out of date and sparse. You probably picked it up from a gas station on a whim because you needed safety pins. "I think these need stitches," you say as you carefully apply bandages, brows furrowed. Homelander's gaze lingers on your lips as you speak. What kind of person sees someone fall out of the fucking sky, blowing a crater in their yard in the process, and then thinks to give them CPR?

"I'm calling an ambulance," you say, moving to stand. That breaks him out of his stupor. He catches you by the wrist, stopping you in your tracks, despite how pitifully weak his own grasp feels. "No, no, not... Don't do that," he says, screwing his eyes shut briefly. No one else can know that this happened. Besides, if those psychopaths are still out there, it will draw them right to him. "Too much attention, I just... give me a fucking minute," he says, flexing his hands. They still feel weak, tingling like they've fallen asleep, but the bizarre sensation is gradually beginning to abate.

Whatever was done to him, it doesn't seem to be permanent. 

He hopes to fuck that it isn’t. "Okay," you say tentatively. Instead of leaving, however, you reposition to continue wiping the blood from his face, gently rubbing from his temples down his jaw. He watches you like a hawk, rolling his fingers in and out of fists, gradually feeling his strength return to him.

He's unaccustomed to the way you're handling him. One hand cupping his jaw, ginger in the way you move his head only when you absolutely need to. The concern wrinkled between your brows is so palpable, so sincere, that for a moment he almost forgets you're strangers to each other.

"What're you doing?" He asks eventually, voice low. You pause, looking down to meet his eye. "Oh, I just... There's still blood, and I didn't want to leave you alone."

Your response tightens something in his chest, like a steel coil wrung too tight, leaving him uncomfortable. He feels small, vulnerable, and the tenderness of your touch is doing nothing for it. "I don't need you," he snaps defensively. "I'm fine."

"Okay," you respond, aggravatingly calm. Still soothing. "What do you need?" Homelander opens his mouth, but hesitates. Your earnestness is infuriating, waiting on bated breath for what you can do for him. He closes his mouth, jaw tight. His gaze flickers back down to the bruise on your chest. It's darker now, varying shades of purple and yellow fading into one another.

Looking back up at you, he schools his expression into calm focus. "Close the blinds," he says, gesturing with his head to the window, where you have twinkling white Christmas lights strung up. 

"I need to lay low awhile." He can feel his powers steadily returning. Once he gets back to Vought, he'll find out who it was, and rip out their fucking spine.

You've already gotten up to do as he asked, drawing the blinds down, and then closing the curtains over them. Afterwards, you turn to leave.

"Hey," Homelander calls, frowning. You stop in the doorway. "Where are you going?"

"The kitchen," you answer, hand on the doorframe. "You can call if you need something."

"Stay here," he says, ignoring the bit of petulance he can hear in his own voice. He doesn't care if you're confused. He doesn't care that he doesn't entirely understand himself. He just wants you to stay.

He watches you take a seat at the end of the couch, near his feet. He exhales, closing his eyes. It isn't as though you could do anything if proficient killers did appear, but for whatever reason, no matter how useless you would ultimately be, he feels better for having you near.

Even a curtain is better than no door at all.

After half an hour, his senses begin to sharpen again. It begins as a dull, irritating buzz at first. It has him rubbing at his ears, screwing his eyes shut. It rolls in and out of focus, making it difficult to adjust to. “Are you okay?” You ask from the other end of the couch, where you’ve been sitting with remarkable patience. Maybe you’re afraid of him. He hates not being able to tell by the rate of your heart.

“Peachy keen,” he replies flatly. “Hearing’s coming back.”

“That’s good,” you say, though the inflection you end with makes it sound more like a question.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s good, it’s just… Loud,” he says, grinding the heel of his palm into his temple. His skull is still pounding. “Everything’s all… Coming back in a jumble. Giving me a fucking headache,” he says, though as he speaks, he realizes he’s able to focus fairly well on the conversation, drowning out the more intrusive ambient sounds. “Keep talking.”

You look surprised by his demand, but after a beat, you oblige. After maybe an hour of idle conversation, he learns your name, that you work from home, you like decorating for Christmas even when you spend it alone, and that you've lived a thoroughly dull, ordinary little life until this very moment.

That’s just what you’ve told him.

From his personal observations, he's learned that you’re a perpetual fidgeter, that you touch your face when you're nervous, and that you would rather laugh than take any of his disparaging remarks about your mundane life to heart.

"I think it's lucky for you that I’m so boring. I might not have been here otherwise," you counter. Your smile is so inexplicably charming–nose wrinkled like you’ve somehow pulled a fast one on him–that Homelander forgets to refute your point. Instead, much to your alarm, he sits up.

"Oh, steady! Are you sure you're okay?" You ask, standing as he does, hands out as if to catch him. He stretches his hands out in front of him, and then curls his arms back in. Exhaling, his eyes flare crimson. He likes the way it makes your heart jump when he looks at you through the red glow.

His lips quirk, lasers fading out. "Good as new," he says confidently, though the aches of his fall still linger in his joints. Not quite new. He takes a few long strides across your living room, pausing in the doorway to your kitchen, where he can see through to your yard, and the absolute crater he left in it. "Vought will... take care of that," he says, gesturing vaguely to the destruction.

You can't help but laugh, crossing your arms loosely to survey the damage with him. "I appreciate it, but really, I'm just glad you're alright," you say honestly, staring out into the wreckage of your yard.

Homelander purses his lips slightly, glancing at you from his peripheral. Above him, he feels something brush the top of his head. When he glances up, what he sees hanging in the doorway makes him smile deviously.

Without warning, he puts his hands on your waist and spins you to him, lips landing warm and firm on yours. He absolutely devours the surprised little noise you make against him, halfway tempted to see what other sounds he can wring from you.

Your heart quickens to a race in his ears, and much to his delight, you kiss him back. You even surprise him by grabbing the back of his head with both hands, deepening the kiss of your own volition.

Not one to be out done, he adjusts his hold on you, one arm wrapping properly around your waist while the other slides up to cup the back of your neck, gloved fingers gently squeezing your bare skin.

To his delight, you retaliate with your tongue, slipping it between his lips and coaxing his forth.

Just full of surprises, little mouse.

Maybe you aren't so boring after all.

He meets you eagerly, exhaling a rough, excited little huff through his nose, dropping the hand at your waist to grab a cheeky squeeze full of your ass, wringing a soft moan from you that sends a bolt of heat straight to his cock.

When Homelander pulls back, you're flushed warmly all over. You smell of antiseptic wipes and peppermint, like Christmas in a hospital. It’s bizarrely appealing.

"What was that?" You ask, dazed.

"Mistletoe," he purrs, tipping his head back without taking his eyes off you, settling his hands back on your waist.

You look up slowly–taking a solid few seconds to process–and huff a gentle little laugh, nodding at the aforementioned ornament dangling above you. 

"Is this your way of saying thank you?" You manage to ask after swallowing back the lump in your throat, your shoulders relaxing, though your heart continues to gallop in your chest. "I hope you're still going to pay for my yard."

It's Homelander's turn to laugh. "Oh, no. I haven't even begun to say thank you yet," he assures you, hands lingering on your hips. 

The kiss had been pure unrestricted impulse, nothing he intended to follow through on. However, now that you're toying with the hair at the nape of his neck, your skin warm against his, your eyes half lidded, he’s not sure that he wants to let you go. Your lips shine where you’ve licked the taste of his from them. 

“I think for your good deeds, you’re owed a very merry Christmas,” he says, waggling his brows. 

You give a flustered, incredulous bark of laughter, covering your mouth as you look away from him, that flush of yours intensifying, making your whole body thrum warmly. You wouldn’t need to worry about keeping warm on these cold winter nights if he had his way with you.

“Okay, well, uhm, thank you for… for that thought,” you say, tripping over your words in a way you haven’t this entire encounter. “You hit your head pretty hard, though so maybe before you make any promises, we make sure you get checked out by an actual doctor,” you say, pushing lightly against his chest.

He maintains his hold for just a second longer, utterly immovable. It feels good to be himself again. He runs his tongue along his teeth, downright predatory in the way he stares down at you, but he does relinquish his hold.

“You should come with me to the tower. You know, now that you’re… Compromised,” he says, folding his hands behind his back. “Someone might come looking for me here. Interrogate you on my condition.”

Real fear flashes in your eyes at that. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he gives back gravely.

“Uh… Okay. Uhm, let me… I’ll pack a bag,” you say nervously, stepping away from him to do just that.

“Okie-dokie,” he gives back simply, glancing around your home while he waits. He picks up an odd little gnome with a big red hat that covers everything but a little button nose, and a long white beard. Maybe he’ll convince you to bring along some of your festive decorations.

Merry Christmas to me, he thinks, already daydreaming about twisting the head off of whoever hit him with some kind of neutralizing agent.

He might thank them for the impromptu date while he’s at it.

The moment his tongue slid across your folds, shivers ran down your spine, leaving you utterly pliant and completely at his mercy. His earlier hesitation was gone, replaced by a primal hunger as he eagerly explored every inch of your glistening slit.

The taste of you was intoxicating and he drank you in, his tongue moving greedily, savouring your arousal. In that moment, if you had asked for the stars, he would have plucked them from the sky just to please you.

He tightened his grip on your thighs, dragging you down against his face. His hot, wet tongue lavished your clit, gently sucking and nipping at your most sensitive spot, coating his face with your juices. The rhythm of his licks and the vibrations of his moans left you gasping and writhing, every stroke pushing you closer to the edge.

As you neared climax, you pulled away and straddled his chest, panting heavily,

“I want to finish with you inside-” You breathed out, leaving him disoriented and bewildered as he stared up at you, his face drenched in your essence in the most obscene, beautiful way.

Who were you thinking about while reading this?

LEAVE YOUR BOYFRIEND

character/s: eren jaeger x afab!reader

SYNOPSIS: eren isn’t very happy to sit back and watch his best friend, who he is very much in love with, date another man. everyone has there breaking point, you were his. (4.2k)

WARNINGS: 18+/mdni, cheating (not on reader or eren), slight angst, praise kink, fingering, penetrative sex, no condom (remember to wrap it up y’all), heavy cursing, a little bit of soft eren mixed with simp eren, some mean eren sprinkled in there, a dash of pining, mocking, technical exhibitionism, some degradation, i hope i don’t miss anything

A/N: i seriously don’t remember sitting down to write this, also eren finds literally any and every way to insult your boyfriend

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