Have A Bad Day Everyone

What binds us // 2

John 'Soap' MacTavish / fem!Reader

Summary:   Returning home as soon as he is able, Soap can‘t help but hope that his wife will reconsider their divorce. 

Content:   civilian wife, lots of hurt/angst and some comfort, divorce (?), swearing, coming-home-from-deployment

Word Count:   2.6k

Part:   1/2/3 <- previous chapter next chapter ->

Notes: I finally got around to finishing the second chapter! Had to write this one in my phone notes, so please forgive any mistakes you might find. I felt so bad for him halfway through, but tried to stay strong. 💔 They also own a cat, everybody say hi to Salome - 🐈

True to his word, Price had arranged a flight home within 72 hours of his first message, and Soap didn‘t even bat an eye at the eye-watering extra fees for his checked luggage and business class upgrade. 

He‘d been all wired up since his wife had called him. He snapped and shouted at everyone except Lieutenant Ghost (he wasn‘t suicidal enough for that - yet) that came too close, asked stupid questions or even dared to simply breathe too loudly in his proximity. Soap felt himself unravel at the edges, one carefully placed stitch at a time.

Only the extensive therapy he‘d been dragged to over the years gave him enough of an outside perspective on the turmoil inside of himself to realize that all that molten hot anger was not directed at the useless driver, or the informant who didn‘t seem to be able shut the fuck up for a moment.

No. Soap knew that all the irritation and itch to hurt was directed at himself. That he‘d messed up badly this time, that it had been going on for months and he‘d been too focused on other things to see it. Or maybe he‘d just suppressed the sadness in his wife‘s voice, the silences and half-assed answers when he asked her about her day and immediately accepted her fine‘s and the usual‘s.

He had been such a colossal prick looking back, it was kind of astonishing that she‘d held out and waited for him as long as she had. Soap had scrolled back through their conversations, had listened to some of her older voice messages, read his own excuses for cancelling again and again.

And even though she‘d assured him that his training and the missions and his career was more important, he should have been better than that. Should have watched out for her, cared more - not lost himself in the work that ate away at his soul and mind when the cure for all his aches was waiting at home.

Soap rubbed over his eyes angrily as he stared out the plane window, long legs stretched far away from himself. The seat to his left was blissfully empty thanks to his second reservation under her name. The stewardess had given up on offering food, but steadily poured him another glass of Scotch when he pressed the little button on the menu screen.

His eyes felt dry and raw, and Soap wasn‘t ashamed to admit to himself that he‘d been on the verge of tears for three days now. His wife had tried calling him twice more since he‘d hung up, then texted him that he shouldn’t do anything stupid. 

Don‘t come home for this, John. I will always be here for you regardless. 

He brushed his thumb over the message, and was silently thankful for the forced airplane mode. The drinks in his system made his thoughts run even wilder, insecurities and fears that most army men carried in their hearts rising up in his throat.

Is there someone else? He wanted to type back. Is that why you don‘t want me to fix it?

But Soap knew she‘d never hurt him in such a way, that she truly thought they‘d be better off on their own. He would just have to prove her wrong.

Soap barely registered the landing, the extensive security screenings and double checking of his gun licenses, then military clearance. It was all standard procedure, he was able to answer their questions in his sleep. 

The only difference was that his wife wasn‘t there to greet him, wasn‘t standing ready with one of those airport luggage trolleys that always seemed to have at least one jammed wheel. The knowledge didn’t stop him from looking for her, traitorous heart beating fast and then dropping into his stomach at her absence. 

Glasgow wasn‘t very busy at this time of night, on a Tuesday no less, and the taxi driver was content to let the meter run when Soap asked him to wait outside the 24 hours supermarket. He picked up the disgusting stuffed olives she loved so much, briefly contemplating flowers before abandoning the thought. They‘d never been that kind of couple, and he didn‘t want to start putting on a mask when what he really needed to do was strip himself.

For the first time since they‘d bought their small house he was glad that she hadn‘t listened to him about completely replacing all the street facing windows with milk glass. Soap was able to see her clearly, sitting at the low sofa table with her legs tucked underneath herself and their fat ginger cat on her lap as she typed away at something. 

Her hair was pulled up into a messy ponytail, face bare and pale in the glow of the laptop, and he oddly felt like he was intruding on a scene not meant for his eyes.

It took him a couple more moments to unglue his feet from the sidewalk, to push open the rusty door of the little path lined with colored pebbles that ended in their front door. He‘d been meaning to replace it, along with their postbox - when had that been? Two years ago now?

He fiddled with his keys, anxious. What did it say about him that he felt like a stranger standing outside his own home?

Shaking his head and dropping his heavy bags, he rung the doorbell instead.

There was a beat of silence, and Soap could just picture his wife raising her head away from the screen, how Salome had probably squeezed herself under the armchair, hissing. Neither one of the women in his life liked it when unannounced visitors came around.

Then the faint glow from the livingroom became brighter, he could see it through the colorful glass shards of the entrance door - how the dark shape of her moved closer. She hesitated on the other side. He wondered if he could take the blow of her not answering the door, or if his heart would shatter right here on their doorstep with the faint drizzle of rain dampening his curls.

But then she cracked the door open, her big eyes peering up at him for a moment. They stared at each other, and then she exhaled shakily, resting her forehead on the chipped wood. 

"You came," his wife whispered, and Soap ducked his head down to her level, shoulder against the frame as he fought hard not to beg her to open the door further and let him in.

"f'course I did," he rasped, shocked at the raw need in his voice. "Said I would, didn’t I?"

She blinked her eyes back open, and it seemed like she was holding back words heavy on her tongue. That was okay, he knew what she was thinking anyway: wouldn‘t have been the first time you said one thing and did another.

"But you were out on a mission."

There was no question, but he nodded anyway.

"I was."

"And then you left early."

"Yes, ma‘am." 

She snorted, then pulled open the door more firmly and stepped aside. Soap stumbled inside, immediately assaulted by warmth and the smell of her that permeated their home. It was dizzying and intoxicating and it made him want to curl up in a ball and weep.

"Are you hungry?" She asked, apparently unbothered that it was two in the morning and that he was dripping all over her nice new carpet in the entryway. 

"Starving," he breathed, then followed her like a lost puppy as she disappeared into the kitchen. 

Soap felt wrong-footed, clumsy and awkward as he wrung his hands and watched her reheat a plate of spaghetti.

His wife hugged herself around the middle, staring at the rotating dish in the microwave.

He wanted to tell her to be careful as she took it out with her bare hands instead of using the cute oven mitts she‘d gotten from her sister, but all he managed was a weak thanks as she put it down next to him on the kitchen island. 

They stood there, and she didn‘t meet his eyes anymore as Soap stared down at the crown of her head. They were close and yet there seemed to be a chasm, an ocean impossible to cross right between them. He might as well have been back in Afghanistan.

"Baby," he whispered, clutching the countertop so tightly that his knuckles turned white. She shook her head, then leaned away from him with yet another shaky exhale and pinched the bridge of her nose. 

"Mo ghràidh," Soap tried again, undeterred. "Can I hug you?"

"I-" she started, voice thick. "I don‘t know if I want that."

"Okay," he agreed, heart stinging. "Will you keep standing with me just like this then?"

She nodded slowly, leaning against the counter next to him and staring at the floor. 

When he didn‘t move, too busy drinking her in, she nudged him softly in the side. 

"It‘ll go cold."

"I‘m not actually hungry."

"Oh." It was a faint sound, somewhere between exasperated and amused. "I see."

They stood like that for some time, the rain heavier now as it hit the windows in a steady rhythm. Soap almost jumped out of his skin when something warm and furry circled around his legs, purring.

"Fuckin‘ cat is lucky I‘m not carrying," he swore, nudging Salome with his boot in greeting. She purred even louder, rubbing her chin along his shins. 

His wife giggled, then scooped the gingery monster into her arms. The one green eye that wasn‘t blind yet sparkled in the half-dark, and their cat meowed loudly at Soap.

"She just missed you," she smiled, kissing the scarred ears for a moment.

And did you? He wanted to ask, but swallowed the words down. It seemed like he‘d reached his limit of things he was able to leave unsaid for the night though, because the next question slipped out before he could stop himself.

"Did you call the lawyer again?" 

She stiffened a little, then glanced up at him from behind long eyelashes.

"Yeah," his wife said slowly, thinking hard. "She wasn‘t very happy that I called you. Thinks you‘ll talk me out of it." 

Damn right I am.

"What," he scoffed, arms crossed in defense of what might follow next. "She wanted you to just… send the finished papers?"

"Something like that."

Soap ground his teeth hard, trying not to panic again. 

"Well, I‘m glad you didn‘t listen."

"I wanted to," she confessed, and now it was him who couldn’t meet her eyes anymore. "I wanted it so badly, John. I‘ve been miserable and alone, and our whole life just seems to suffocate me recently."

"I‘m sorry," he said, and meant it with his whole heart. "I know I fucked up, that I should have been better for you-"

"No," she interrupted him, and reached out a hand, resting it on his bicep. Her small fingers were cold but it made him feel warm regardless. "I didn’t need you to be better, I just wanted you to be there."

His throat closed up, and Soap let his head drop far enough to rest his chin on his chest, trying to keep the tears at bay. Their cat meowed between them, as he rested one hand on hers without glancing up.

"I lost sight of what was most important t’me," he whispered. "‘s not an excuse but… bein’ out there, it just fucks up your perspective. Days bleed into one big messed up pile of monotonous tasks, violence, and death. I‘m not a good man, never pretended to be. You knew that when you married me, and never blamed me for it. And… I love you so fucking much, it hurts to even just think-"

He had to pause, drag one hand over his face roughly. 

His wife sighed softly, then rested her cheek on his arm where their hands were joined. 

"I know I hurt you, badly. And I know that you said you‘d stay in my life as a friend, but you‘re not. You never have been. You‘re my soulmate, my wife, and I-" Soap swallowed, torn between wanting to get it all out and crawl deeper into himself. "I want us to try again. Price offered three weeks of leave, but if I have to find a doctor that can testify how fucked in the head I am so I can stay longer, I will." 

"John!" She gasped, grabbing his chin to force him into facing her again. "You know that a bad psych eval might mean the end of your entire career!" 

Thinking about that hurt, but not as much as her phone call had. 

"I‘d do it for you," he whispered back. "I‘ll say that-"

"Shut up," she hissed, then dropped Salome on the countertop and shoved the cold spaghetti towards him. "Eat this, and then you‘ll go sleep on the sofa. I don‘t want to hear any of this nonsense."

"But-"

"No."

Chastened, Soap carried his plate into the dim living room and tried very hard not to take a peek at the still open website on his wife‘s laptop. There was a strange sense of relief when he noticed that all their wedding and travel pictures were still up on the walls, and he fiddled with his ring as he slumped heavily on the sofa.

The food was good as always, and he didn’t try to protest when she dragged in two pillows and a blanket, carefully putting it down next to him. 

She stood there for a moment, looking down at him with soft, sad eyes. Soap balanced his plate on a cushion nearby, then gently pulled her closer by the hips until she stood between his legs and he was able to bury his face in her stomach.

His wife didn’t move for a few long heartbeats, then stroked through his mohawk and all the way down to the top of his spine. Soap exhaled sharply, and hugged her, unable to speak as she comforted him when it really should have been the reverse. 

And much, much later, when the lack of sleep and constant worry finally caught up with him, she didn’t comment on the tear-stained blotches on her shirt, or the way his head hit the pillow way too hard. She draped the feathery soft blanket all around him, and the perfume of her skin and laundry detergent was the most heavenly thing he‘d smelt in months.

Just as he closed his swollen and dry eyes, his wife bent down - Soap held his breath as she kissed his forehead and cheekbone.

"We can talk again in the morning, my love," she whispered, and all he managed to do was squeeze her hand one last time before she packed up her things and left.

Tiny, clawed footsteps - then the sudden heavy weight of their cat on his hip startled him from a restless slumber, and Soap groggily patted the gnarled ears as he instinctively listened out for danger nearby. 

"You think we still got a chance, old girl?" He asked, and Salome meowed back. 

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Hellooo how about a Minho x she/her reader where Minho has been hit by the lightning and hs the scars and one day Reader walks on Minho being half naked and she traces his scars and theres tension building up ;) THANK YOU

I love lightning scars Minho so absolutely.

This is a relatively new request, but I'm trying to get some of the easier ones done since I'm currently away.

And I just liked this idea.

□ Sparks □

MASTERLIST | MINHO MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: See above. After TDC in the Safe Haven. You're a Right Arm member because I just like the idea.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, spice, typical dumb horny teenage bullshit. That's it, really.

You're a member of the Right Arm.

You're not high-ranking or necessarily special. You just ended up tagging along after Vince came through the refugee camp you were staying at.

But that doesn't mean you don't do anything. You're bold and forward, and you went through life-risking measures to help WICKED's Subjects escape.

Because, well, everyone did.

That doesn't matter now, though. They're safe, you're safe - everyone is safe and everything is okay.

Well, kind of.

Trauma doesn't just vanish. But, people are getting on with their lives.

And so are you.

You've ended up befriending some of the Gladers. Originally, you were friends with Harriet and Sonya since they'd been around a while - and they introduced you to the boys. So, you've got your own little friendship group now.

You're particularly close to Frypan and have some friendly competition with Gally. But you like them all the same.

Well...

Almost.

You don't know what it is about Minho that has you in such a chokehold. Sure, maybe if you were some innocent girl from a Maze who didn't know how to act around boys, it would make sense. But you're not.

You've survived the Scorch and the land outside of the remainder of society. It's not like Minho is the first person you've ever been attracted to either. So, why does he make you feel like this?

Apart from the fact he is undeniably attractive.

You figure it's just dumb surface level physical attraction. And with nothing else better to do, you decide to test the waters a bit.

Glancing at him across the table as the bonfire dances and his friends chat, often meeting each other's gaze. He holds it longer than he should. He always does.

Always standing or sitting next to him; your arms or your knees brushing as neither of you make any effort to grow the distance between you.

Playful inside jokes that often have subtle suggestive undertones. Normally, in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it style that the other Gladers brush off or don't notice. This results in Minho smirking into his chosen beverage, drinking up your figure out of the corner of his eye.

It goes on like this for a while; just being in the same friend group with some subtle flirtations going on. It's actually kind of fun and a much needed way to relax.

But it doesn't actually go much further than that. And you're fine with that.

For a while.

The jokes start becoming more explicit. The eye contact becoming less subtle. The closeness becoming drunken dancing instead of just standing together.

People are starting to notice.

The dumb attraction is starting to become actual feelings. He's brave and strong and funny and everything you want - and it's just making the sexual tension thicker.

God - it's getting bad. Anyone and everyone in a room with you two would be able to feel it.

The Gladers often tease Minho about it, talking about how he's one wrong move away from ripping your clothes off and cracking where he stands.

It's taking a lot of resilience from the both of you. Especially since you're both stubborn - it's become a silent game of who will crumble first.

"Hey, (Y/N)!" You're currently sorting out bedding and hauling different types of sleeping arrangements around camp. With Gally being put in charge of the Builders now, the huts are being thrown up like there's no tomorrow.

The Gladers and other Maze Subjects got the first available buildings, along with high up Right Arm members. You don't really mind, to be fair, you enjoy the hammocks and are happy to help the Gladers.

But as Thomas shouts you, you groan, turning around, blankets threatening to spill out of your hold. "Hey, Thomas. You good?"

"Yeah," something seems off about him as he fiddles with the hem of his shirt, "I know you're already busy, but could you check on Minho for me?"

"Huh?" You tilt your head, concern immediately setting in. "Why? Is something wrong?"

"Uh," Thomas did not think this far ahead of his dumb plan. "Well, we just haven't seen him all day - seems kinda down. Figured you'd be the best person to speak to him."

This perplexes you. "Why me? You guys are closer."

And you could've sworn you'd seen Gally and Minho shoving each other about earlier today. Though, maybe you're just mixing up your days.

"Yeah, but he likes you, so..." You pause, farrowing your brows. He likes you? In what context? Like you know that he likes you. But... like, more than just the dumb flirting?

You shake it off. "Alright, gimme a second."

You dump the bedding off where it needs to be and make a beeline for Minho's hut.

Little do you know that Minho has just gotten out of the shower - and is completely fine. Thomas and Frypan decided they'd had enough of enduring the tension between you and this is the result that.

Reaching the door, it's slightly ajar, and in your concerned state, you, for some reason, decide not to knock.

"Hey, Minho, are you-?" You push open the door and immediately freeze.

Well, shit.

Minho stands with his back to you, loose sweatpants hanging off of his hips and he's without a shirt. He rubs his hair with a towel, freezing at your voice and turning slightly to look at you.

Which would be less awkward if you weren't in some kind of trance.

Minho is tall and muscular, and he doesn't have to be half naked for you to be aware of that. But, that's not what's stands out.

All over his upper body, mainly populating his back, are pinkish lines. They travel down his spine and split like webs across his back, some whisps creeping across his sides and grazing his front.

"You just gonna stare or ask me about it?" Minho says after a good few seconds pass.

What do you even ask?

"Uh, what... why..?" You trail off and Minho raises his eyebrow before scoffing.

"I got hit by lightning." He states matter-of-factly. "Ended up giving me some scars."

"When did that happen?"

"Out in the Scorch, just before we met Brenda and Jorge."

"And you never mentioned this?"

"Well, it didn't seem like a big deal," he smirks. "And I'm kinda enjoying the look on your face."

This kind of snaps you back into reality. You're here for a reason.

You clear you throat, closing the door behind you for more privacy just in case the ex-Runner is on the verge of a meltdown. "Are you... alright?"

"Uh, yeah, why wouldn't I be?" Minho is growing more concerned by the second. What is happening here?

"Well, Thomas said that something was wrong and asked me to talk to you."

Minho scoffs, putting the dots together and slowly nodding his head before rubbing his face with his hands. "Did he, now? Shuckin' slinthead. I knew they were up to something."

"Huh?"

"They're messing with you - us, even."

"Huh? Why would- oh! Oh."

Ah. That makes more sense. And is mildly mortifying.

"Yeah." Minho shakes his head, turning away from you again as he mumbles to himself. "Sorry, my friends are dicks."

"It's uh, fine. It's fine."

Your gaze falls back on Minho's chiselled form. He's practically mouth-watering.

And it's not like this is weird. You've been pushing each other's boundaries since day one. This could be another opportunity to see how far you can take things. I mean, he would if this were the other way around. So, with a sudden peak in confidence, you walk over.

Minho chucks his towel on his bed. "So, are you-?"

Minho doesn't even get the chance to finish his question as electricity sparks through him. Again. This time, not because he's nearly dying, but because your fingers graze his back.

His entire body stills, his mind immediately becoming foggy, and the hair on his arms stands on end.

"Do they still hurt?" You ask, your gaze focused on his skin and your voice low.

You're gentle in your moments, letting your fingertips barely tickle his flesh. But with the immediate and tense reaction, you're reminded that Minho is about as touch-straved as someone can get.

He's just good at hiding it.

"Uh, no, not really. They kinda feel weird sometimes, and I was really buggin' out about them when I first noticed them. But I guess I had bigger klunk on my plate." He tries to maintain his composure, but his voice wavers at several points.

You bring your hand higher, dancing across his spine and between his shoulder blades.

"Why were you buggin' out?" You've grown somewhat used to the Glader way of speaking.

He hesitates for a second, physically jumping when your other hand joins in, using your thumb to rub circles and pull at the scars threating to escape to his middrift.

"Well, I uh- shit," he mumbles the cuss word, stepping back more and into your touch, letting his head fall back. "I just... they just look weird, yanno?"

"I think they look hot."

Okay, you're becoming very bold.

"Hm? You think I look hot?" He asks, half-looking over his shoulder at you, not wanting to fully turn around and lose the feeling.

"That's not what I said."

"That's what I'm askin'."

You blink at him, watching his lopsided smile creep across his face.

In a game of confidence - Minho will always win.

Which means trying to play it cool.

"I just think scars are interesting, they tell a story."

"Do you go around touching everyone's scars, then?" He cracks a wicked grin you can't see as he turns his head away again. "That might get you in a bit of trouble around here."

"Yeah, but not with you." It actually is genuinely fun tracing the patterns in his skin. You have one hand following one path and the other following a different one.

"Oh, yeah? How do you know that?"

"Because you like it."

He peers at you again, his face suddenly serious and his tone lower than before. "You're really starting to push it, yanno that?"

"Push what?" You tilt your head, pretending to play innocent.

"You know what."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"So, you're just feeling me up because you think my scars are hot?" He scoffs. "That's what's happening here?"

You think for a second. Fuck it. "Yep."

"Well, there's more scars if you wanna touch them?"

Your eyes flicker to his face, letting your arms fall from his skin. He turns around, holding his hands behind his back, he rocks on his heels.

From his back, travelling to his front are smaller webs of the scarring. At first glance, you thought they only reached around his sides, but now you're realising there's thinner, less noticeable branches trailing across his abs.

He presses his lips into a thin line, almost like he's calling your bluff. Because this is the game you've been playing. Pushing each other. And you've pushed him so he's pushing you.

Though, this very well might end up being the breaking point.

Too stubborn to back down, your hand connects with his stomach area. He flinches, but very quickly relaxes again. You gently run your fingers across the lines and the curves of not only the remains of the electricity, but of just his body.

Your eyes flicker to his face as you expect him to make some cocky comment about how that's not a scar. But he doesn't. His eyes are fixated on your hand.

It's a feeling he's never really experienced before - watching someone enjoy him. Someone touch him with such care. With such want. Someone touching him like this at all is new.

And it's you.

You're the one touching him.

You.

And that's making it so much worse.

He doesn't make any effort to hide or stop the tightening sensation in his pants or the way his chest is rising and falling. His mind is falling into complete fog; he feels like he's taken something he probably shouldn't have.

You notice it, too.

"Minho-?"

"Shut up," he says almost immediately, eyes finally meeting yours. His pupils are wide and his eyelids heavy. "This... this isn't fair. You can't..."

He seems a strange mix of stressed and turned on.

"Okay, I'll stop," you pull your hand away, but he immediately grabs it, laying it flat against his middrift. "Minho?"

"Don't," he mumbles. "Don't stop." He can't look at you properly.

God, what's happening to him?

"Look," he continues, trying to gain some sort of clarity for a second. "If you're just messing around, that's fine, but leave now, okay? 'Cause this is getting cruel."

His words and the way he's acting is sending heat straight to your core. You step towards him, your faces inches apart.

"Are you caving, Minho?" Your voice is sultry as your hand slides further down his front.

"Are you?" He responds, leaning in further, your noses brush and you can feel his breath on your face.

"We can't keep doing this, yanno? One of us has to break eventually." You mumble, practically into his lips.

His eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips.

"Shuck it," his hands come to your waist, yanking you closer as he finally kisses you. You squeak from the force behind it as you throw you arms around his neck, clawing into his back to try and steady yourself.

It takes a matter of seconds for Minho to spin you around, pushing you onto the bed, both of you tangling together. Desperation sets in fairly quickly.

Minho's hands under your shirt as you try to pull it over your head. His lips on your neck and chest as he slips a hand under you, trying to yank your jeans down. You leave stains on his skin from your nails.

It's a blur of emotion and hormones.

Then Minho hesitates as he sits back. At first, you think he's just admiring you as you lay in your underwear, but there's something else.

"You good?" You ask, becoming concerned.

"You know we're not gonna be friends anymore if we do this, right? Like the flirting and klunk is fun, but this is different. We can't take this back. A-and I've never done this before. I don't wanna shuck up our friendship or make things weird."

You blink at him before sitting up. He watches you as you move onto your knees and kiss him again.

"I don't wanna be your damn friend, Minho. Take the hint."

It's like there's a light behind his eyes, a smile creeping across his face, but unlike his usual cocky smirk, it's soft and warm and genuine.

He pecks your lips. It's sweet and unusual for him. "You wanna be more than friends, then?"

"Yeah," you chuckle, "but I'm sure we can worry about that later. We're a bit busy right now." You wrap your arms around his neck again, lightly touching the scars on his back. He grins at you, connecting your lips again as he pushes you down.

He pulls away, his teeth brushing your ear lobe as he lets out a low chuckle.

"Sounds like a good plan."

Here ya go, another spicey Minho piece for y'all.

I hope you enjoyed :))

12:01 a.m. on november 1st

I wish you would write a fic where….

Sinclair bros. gang bang tbh

Alright Nonnie, here we are. I've been wanting to write something like this for a while but the maximum number of people I've ever had sex with at the same time is one (1) so it was kind of daunting to tackle three at once (heh). It got away from me a little bit on the buildup but I hope you like it! Happy to write more like this in the future so if you want me to give it another shot, lmk.

The Sundress

Poly!Sinclairs x Hinge!AFAB!Reader

Smut, group sex, oral, voyeurism, praise kink/dirty talk, no pronouns used but reader wears a sundress, gets called "doll" and "pretty"

This morning you decided to wear a very particular sundress.

You found it at a thrift store on a solo venture into town. It was cute, had a tiny floral print and ruffles on the straps. It wasn’t completely your style, but there was just something about it. It fit your frame perfectly and at the same time, it was both scandalously short and devastatingly low-cut. You wondered if it was too much as you gave the skirt a little twirl in the dressing room mirror. There was a time when you wouldn’t dare wear something like that out of the house for fear of the attention it would attract.

Now, however, the only attention that existed in Ambrose was much more than welcome.

You went ahead and bought it. The thought of each of your boys’ reactions made you giddy and a little smug. You hung it in your closet and waited for the right day to come along to bring it out:  a day when you felt especially sexy and particularly devious. A day when things had finally calmed down after a long and busy week in which you all barely saw each other and most definitely had not spent any quality time together.

That morning, you took a few extra minutes getting ready. The stars had aligned for your little plan. Your hair was gorgeous. Your skin was glowing. You looked like a snack and felt like one too. You practically pranced down the stairs despite admonishing yourself to play it cool.

Bo and Vince were at the breakfast table, enjoying a leisurely morning after the hectic week. Bo had his nose deep in a Clive Barker novel, absently sipping his coffee. Vincent was chewing on toast and sketching.

“Good morning,” you say cheerfully, pulling open the fridge and leaning forward just a little to see if there was any orange juice left.

You hear Vincent stop chewing. Casting a glance over your shoulder, you watch him hit Bo in the arm, his eye glued to you.

“What the hell d’you – oh my.” Bo’s eyebrows shoot up and he immediately places his book facedown on the table. “Well good mornin’ to you, doll.”

You flash them a sugary smile as you pour yourself the dregs of the juice. Vinny’s eye is wide as a saucer. Bo is actually licking his lips. “Did you guys sleep well?”

“Sure did,” Bo says. “What d’you have planned for today?  Anything…in particular?”

You perch on the edge of the table, skirt sliding up beneath your ass just a little bit. “It’s supposed to be real hot today, so I figured I’d go through and water all the flowers one more time.”

Vincent is scribbling absently back and forth over his half-finished sketch. “Good plan,” he signs. “Need any help?”

“Nah, I think I’ll be alright. I can manage a hose, you know.”

“Yeah I bet you can,” Bo murmurs.

You smile at him. “What do you have on the list today?”

Bo talks and Vinny signs at the same time.

“Nothin’ much – ”

“Basically nothing – ”

“ – just gonna clean up around the station a little – ”

“ – probably going to do some inventory of art supplies, super boring – ”

“ – definitely gonna be, y’know, a little bit lonely….”

“ – could use some company for sure….”

A giggle almost escapes your lips. “Well, maybe I’ll catch up with you later.” You hop off the table, adjust your skirt, flounce to the doorway and then turn around. All eyes flick back up to your face. “Hey, when does Lester get back?”

“Lester?” Bo says flatly.

“Late, I think, very late,” Vincent signs.

“Oh, okay. Good to know. Bye guys.” You give them a little wave.

The morning passes with a shocking number of chance encounters. Something is broken in almost every building you visit, and Bo simply must fix it today. Similarly, Vincent informs you he needs to do a spot check of wax figures to make sure they’re holding up alright, and wouldn’t you know it, there are flowerbeds nearby every single one.

Watering flowers is hard work, and you can’t possibly be blamed for the sheen of sweat that glistens on your face and arms, nor the number of times you are required to bend over a planter box, nor the fact that you filled the watering can too full and splashed a little water on your bodice and Bo missed his aim with a hammer and smashed his thumb.

When the heat of the day rolls around in the mid-afternoon, you decide to break for lunch and head back up to the house. The twins are nowhere to be found. You are halfway up Main Street when the rattle of a familiar truck engine reaches your ears.

You turn around and beam at Lester, who is quite literally hanging out the driver’s side window. “Hey stranger!”

“Hey yourself,” he says, parking the truck in the middle of the road. “You look – well, now – that is a mighty fine dress.” He blushes.

“Thank you!” You give him a twirl.

His mouth is actually hanging open. He quickly closes it and swallows hard. “Y’know, I would…I’d offer you a ride, but…how ‘bout I just walk you home instead?”

“I would love that.”

Lester climbs out of the truck and wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. He is remarkably clean, nothing but a few bloodstains below his knees. He offers you his arm, which you gladly take.

“Don’t you need to move the truck out of the road?”

“Nah, it’ll be fine. Nobody comes here anyway. What have you been up to?”

“Oh, just watering flowers. It’s hot today.” You toss your head, fan yourself.

“You’re damn right. Been workin’ up a sweat, huh?”

“Absolutely.”

“Geez.” He cannot take his eyes off you. “Where’re Bo and Vincent?”

“I’m not sure. They’ve been hanging around all day, but I haven’t seen them for a minute.”

“Yeah I’ll bet they have. You’re prettier than a field o’ phlox, honey.”

You squeeze his arm. “Thank you, Les.”

He stops at the edge of the yard. “Hey listen. Lemme go change outta these clothes, then why don’t you and I sneak over to that lil meadow on the east side o’ town?  Do a little catchin’ up.”

“That sounds lovely.” You start towards the house.

“Ah-ah, why don’t you wait here?  I’ll just be a minute.”

You frown innocently. “But Lester, it’s hot.”

“Well I’ll grab you a drink and bring it back out with me. I jus’ don’t want you gettin’ sidetracked is all.”

“Okay I guess.” You shrug your bare shoulders.

“Be right back, sweet pea.” Lester kisses your cheek, immediately turns bright red, and practically leaps up the front steps and into the house.

Today has been quite the success so far, you think as you kick at the edge of the lawn with a sneakered foot. You’ve been in Ambrose and involved with the Sinclairs for a good while now; it’s nice to know you can still fluster them when you feel like it.

You wait around for a fair few minutes before the front door opens and Vincent steps out, beckons you. “Hey angel, why don’t you come inside?  I’m almost done with lunch.”

“Aw Vinny, that’s so sweet of you. But I told Lester I’d wait for him to finish changing.”

“C’mon, you know he’ll be a while. He’s got no concept of time.”

“You’re right about that. I am pretty hungry.”

You climb the stairs, step inside. Vincent shuts the door. Your eyes fall on Lester, who hasn’t even changed yet, standing next to Bo, who has his arms crossed over his chest. Vincent comes up behind you, weaves his strong arms around your waist, holds you against him. You furrow your brow in mock bewilderment. “What’s going on, guys?”

“You’ve been a regular little cocktease all day, that’s what,” Bo says.

“Me?”

“Yeah you.”

“It ain’t fair,” Lester pipes up.

“Prancin’ around all day lookin’ like that.”

You can’t help but smirk and shrug. “Sorry.”

Vincent drops his hands to your hips, pulls you a little closer. You feel a half-established erection pressing against your ass.

“Well, lucky for you, we’ve all come together and decided on a solution,” Bo announces, moving leisurely toward you. “You wanna put on a show, darlin’?  We’ll let you put on a show.”

A thrill shoots through you. “Well I suppose that’s only fair.”

“More’n fair, I think,” Bo says as he squares up in front of you.

The first press of Vinny’s lips to your neck sends chills down your back. Bo takes your chin in his hand and bends to capture your mouth. You feel Vincent suck at the thin skin behind your ear, relishing the salt of your sweat.

Already your brain begins to fray with the input of so many sensations at once. You put one hand over Vincent’s, grip Bo’s shirt in the other, and have almost forgotten there are three Sinclair brothers when you feel a gentle brush of fingers on your left thigh, then your right, and then Lester’s hands are beneath your skirt and sliding your panties down. You wonder where he can possibly fit in this arrangement for only a second before you feel his tongue on your sex.

A hopeless moan escapes your throat and Bo breaks your kiss. You open your eyes and note with satisfaction that his face is flushed beneath that smug expression.

“I sure do love seein’ you flustered, darlin’.”

“Right back atcha, sugar,” you say.

Oh, but he does love a spitfire. He seizes your lip with his teeth, running his thumb over your collarbones. Vincent slips the straps off your shoulders and continues his adoration of your skin. Lester, ever the dark horse, already has you unsteady on your feet with long, slow licks. You weave your fingers through his hair and arch your back as Vinny’s deft hands slip beneath the fabric of your dress to cup your breasts.

When you cannot possibly hold yourself up any longer thanks to Les’s ministrations, they disentangle themselves for a brief, heartbreaking moment so you can weave to the couch. You ease yourself back against Bo’s chest, let him hold your wrists in place around his neck, all but trembling with anticipation as Vincent positions himself at your entrance.

“Now darlin’,” Bo murmurs in your ear, “I don’t want poor Les feelin’ all left out here. So why don’t you keep your eyes on him while Vin makes you feel real good, alright?” You nod desperately, lock eyes with Lester, who winks at you. Bo cups your jaw, thumbs your lip. “An’ I’ll be right here, makin’ sure you know what a good job you’re doin’, what pretty sounds you’re makin’. Does that sound okay, doll?”

You open your mouth to respond and Vincent, ever the opportunist, picks that moment to ease himself into you, all the way, an inch at a time. The whine this elicits from you is positively wicked and you hear Bo chuckle against your temple.

“Goddamn, baby, you’re so much fun.”

As Vincent picks up the pace, hands running over your legs, you do your best to keep your gaze fixed on Lester, whose hungry expression leaves you feeling a whole new level of naked. All the while Bo pours a steady stream of praise and filthy commentary into your ear, rutting against your backside as his twin draws a series of sinful sounds from your lips.

Eventually Vincent trades Bo and Bo trades Lester, and you have the unique and genuine pleasure of experiencing the techniques of each one of them in quick succession. Somewhere along the way you are lost in oblivion, your body electric, lavished in kisses and caresses and admiration from all sides.

When at last you are spent and so are they, Bo brings you a glass of water, Lester plants a tender kiss on your brow, and Vincent carries you up to bed.

And that sundress sits in a heap on the floor, forgotten for now, until the next time you decide to capture your lovers’ attention.

↳ ageless/blank blogs dni

18+ content, vaginal sex, slight 🤏🏽 breeding kink

dick grayson who knows he’s not supposed to cum inside you, and he won’t, but the way your cunt squeezes and spasms around his cock after every thrust has both of you seeing stars. you’re both tipsy and horny as fuck, panties lazily pulled to the side while he pistons into you atop the marble countertop.

“fuckkk,” he draws out, tugging your head towards him by your sore and bruised up neck while another hand forces a more intense arch into your back. “you looked so good- so fucking good tonight-“ dick groans into the glistening skin of your shoulder, “goddamn, you’ll be the death of me.” you’re mewling into his neck, biting into his flesh to litter patterns along his skin and the way he buries himself inside you, forcing you to take every inch, only has your teeth digging deeper. he’s been pussy whipped for all of ten minutes, and it only gets better worse from here.

“‘m gonna cum- shit,” he warns in an almost whiny tone, finger tips practically lodged into the fat of your thigh and ripping the elastic of your tights. if you weren’t so hazed, so fucked up from the way his cock stretches you out, then you might care. you need him so bad though, need him impossibly closer to you, deeper inside you- you’re so out of it all you can do is keen at him, baby blue acrylics dragging scarlet red down his back. “tryna make me blow my load,” he’d groan into your ear with a breathless laugh, moving to slip out of your cunt.

“give it to me,” you gasp, gripping at his bicep and shoulder hard enough to stop him from leaving. “inside. please.” there’s an almost crazed look about him now, panting like a dog with blown out eyes, almost pleading you.

“baby- sweetheart,” he huffs, prying his eyes from the lewd view of your cunt threatening to pull him back in. “don’t do this to me.” without a second thought your legs interlock around his waist, mindless babbles of how badly you need him filling his ears and damn near putting him in a trance as his forehead bumps into your own. it doesn’t take much convincing before dick grayson’s filling you up with his cock and cum, deeper and deeper inside you until he’s moaning at the sight of himself leaking around his dick and your pussy lips. a few more staggered thrusts and he pauses, leaves frantic open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, and huffs in awe. god, the scene is shameful; and neither of you even have the sensibility to care.

still, the way you roll your hips- the way he’s enthralled by the view of it all… it’s no surprise that all he had the right mind to do was slide you off the countertop and flip you around, not even bothering to slip out of your cunt before his pace continues. the soft clap of your ass against his pelvis and your drawn out keens has him spiraling, and in turn has you writhing beneath him. it’s like time itself had stopped, come to find out that by the time you’ve relocated your affairs at least twice- it’s near sunrise. the fatigue hits both of you—though it’s heavier on your body—dozing off on his shoulder as he carries you to the tub. ❧

❛ 0X81=JUST OURS ˖ 𖥔  ָ࣪ ❜

PAIRING: WOLFSTAR X FEM!READER

WORD COUNT: 2.2k

GENRE: ANGST & FLUFF

Sirius and Remus never really denied being possessive of you. You were theirs, just as they were yours. It was as simple as that. On most occasions, they couldn’t stand pairs of eyes ogling their girlfriend. The eyes that looked at you with lust and longing, and while that did aggravate your two boyfriends, they relished in the glints of envy held in the eyes of others.

They claimed you were only theirs—to look at, to touch, to love. They made it clear on every occasion, especially Sirius. Sirius was something of an exhibitionist; he enjoyed behaving extravagantly around every boy who even dared to spare a glance at his girl. He proudly stole you away, pressing a firm kiss on your lips, quite unlike Remus, who simply wrapped his arm around your waist, staring them down.

You had told them a day ago that Derek Edwards, funnily enough, a very intelligent Ravenclaw boy, asked you to help him on his potions essay. While you were skilled in potions, Derek was too, stirring up suspicion between Remus and Sirius.

Of course, it’s not as if they didn’t trust you, but Derek had a reputation amongst the students of Hogwarts. Incredibly funny, smart, not to mention, handsome. It was no surprise to them if he went after you, equally, if not more beautiful than him. Absolutely perfect in everyone’s eyes.

Of course, it’s not as if they didn’t trust you, but Derek had a reputation amongst the students of Hogwarts. Incredibly funny, smart, not to mention, handsome. It was no surprise to them if he went after you, equally, if not more beautiful than him. Absolutely perfect in everyone’s eyes.

And their suspicions were right. While you were doing your best to help Derek, his gaze remained on you, fixating on your lips and chest, mindlessly nodding to whatever you’d say.

Sirius scoffed bitterly, bouncing his knee almost frantically, staring at the Ravenclaw’s utter desire for you. “Fuckin’ look at him, Moony.” He spits bitterly. “Look at the way he fuckin’ looks at her.”

Remus inhales sharply, breaking his glare from Derek to you. His eyes softened as he scanned your face, looking for any particular fondness or affection. His lips pursed as he watched you laugh shyly, probably at a compliment given to you by the light-haired boy.

“C’mon love, you can’t deny it! You’re the smartest girl in our year, not to mention the prettiest.” Derek purred, resting his hand on your knee.

You shook your head, laughing as he continued his attempts to fluster you. “You’re too kind, Derek.” You smiled at him genuinely. The possibility of another good friend warmed your chest, and Derek’s essay was long gone. You discovered you and him had similar interests, liking most of the same books and the occasional muggle TV Shows.

Of course, what you didn’t know was that Derek was nodding carelessly to everything you mentioned, flickering his eyes from your lips to the frame of your body, and finally, the hand of his stroking your knee.

Remus felt his stomach churn at the sight of your smile; towards a boy that wasn’t him or Sirius. He gripped his quill tightly, swallowing hard as he tried his best to take his eyes off you. The full moon was approaching and he couldn’t risk doing something rash, especially when it concerns topics as sensitive as you.

Sirius on the other hand was practically losing his mind, eyes bulging from his sockets as he noticed Derek’s hand on your knee. He slowly felt the demon inside consume every inch of his body, burning away the remaining logic and reason within his heart. All that was left was resentment and hatred towards the boy sitting beside you.

“Fuck—Moony—I can’t fucking do this—look at the gits fuckin’ hand!” He whispered harshly, glaring at Remus who found the scars on his hands particularly interesting.

Remus tried to resist, but his ears pricked up at your sudden giggle. He stiffened, snapping his neck up to where Sirius was pointing, and—fuck—he was right.

Remus’ heart sped up at the sight of his hand, but what broke his heart, even more, was that you haven't peeled it off. He willed his hands to stop shaking as he fixed his eyes on your frame.

Internally, he knew how oblivious you were. It was harder than any potions exam he’s ever taken, attempting to prove his interest in you. Though, with the full moon being three days away, every irrational thought he’s ever had plagued his mind. His heart almost ached, the thought of Derek being smarter, perhaps even more handsome was too much to bear.

Remus’ thoughts were interrupted by the sharp scrape of Sirius’ chair against the hardwood floor of the Hogwarts library. Fully prepared to show Derek Edwards who you belonged to, he took one step before he was harshly pulled back by Remus.

Sirius’ eyes hardened and narrowed into slits as he looked up at the lanky boy. “The fuck, Remus?” Remus kept a firm grip on Sirius’ wrist, one that was almost painful. His eyes never left the back of your head as he spoke quietly to Sirius. “Don’t, Pads.”

Sirius’ lip quivered as he searched Remus’ eyes. “Godric, Moony—have you forgotten who Y/N fuckin’ belongs to? Have you forgotten she’s ours? The way that—thing—is looking at our girl?” He spat.

Remus’ voice was calm and collected, quite the contrary to the furious beating of his heart. “You’ll do something you’ll regret. You know she gets attention. I’m sure we have nothing to worry about.” He tried.

Sirius looked at his boyfriend, absolutely appalled. He huffed, looking at you once more before tugging his hand away from Remus’ tight grip. “Fine. But I wanna get out of here. I’ll lose my shit if I look at Edwards ugly face again.” Remus rolled his eyes, and couldn’t help but wish he agreed.

Sirius frantically packed up his bag before slinging it over his shoulder, tugging Remus along, storming away right in front of you.

As you and Derek laughed amongst yourselves, your eyes lightened up at the familiar giants walking past you. “Remus! Sirius! Hey!” You called happily.

Remus froze, looking at Sirius who turned around to meet your eyes. Remus reluctantly did the same, softening at the sight of your smile and hand, eagerly waving at them.

He broke his gaze from you as Sirius tugged his hand, muttering a quiet, “Let’s go, Moony.” Remus nodded hesitantly, looking blankly at you once more before following the shorter boy, not acknowledging your presence besides a mere glance.

Derek narrowed his eyes at them before beaming down at you, seemingly happy by their lack of response. You on the other hand were purely confused. The boys usually wouldn’t waste a second before greeting you with a hug and kiss.

You furrowed your eyebrows, watching them walk away from the library. They probably went to the great hall, you thought, frowning to yourself.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of Derek’s hand squeezing your thigh. You jumped, staring at his hand in bewilderment. When did that happen? You glanced at the boy beside you and shifted away from him, suddenly feeling a flood of dread overcome you by the foreign hand on your thigh.

“Oh, uh, Derek.” You cleared your throat as he hummed, smiling slyly down at you. “Dinner’s approaching, let’s finish off things here, alright?” You watched his smile drop before reluctantly nodding. “Oh! Of course.” He grinned.

You nodded slightly before standing up to back your things quickly. You were in a rush to see your boys, they acted so strange minutes ago. Besides, you missed them quite a lot.

Now that the tutoring session was over, you were practically free for the next week. Perhaps a couple of trips to Hogsmeade, you thought, now excited as ever to propose the idea to your boyfriends.

Without sparing a glance or even saying goodbye to Derek, you took off, rushing through the corridors of the school to make it to the great hall, where you presumed Remus and Sirius would be.

Alas, you were right. There they sat, eating quietly, occasionally nodding at James as he howled in laughter. Your eyes lit up as you skipped over to where they were, taking a seat on the wooden bench beside Sirius.

“Sirius!” You cheered, setting your bag down. You smiled at Remus, who only spared you one glance before gesturing to Sirius, who nodded back.

Together, they both stood up and sat on the other side of James, quite far from you. Your heart sank at their actions, watching as they refused to acknowledge you, which was quite strange, as you hadn't done anything wrong, at least, not that you could recall.

Perhaps leaving them alone was the best thing, and the full moon was approaching soon too, so maybe they just wanted to protect you and keep you away, you thought.

A sudden voice in your head erupts. Those are just excuses, it whispers, they’re sick of you. They’ve come to their senses.

Your eyes sting with tears, though you blink them away, shakily exhaling before standing up and walking out of the hall, ignoring the questioning looks from Lily and Marlene.

What you fail to notice is the sinking of Remus’ heart, who droops his shoulders and hangs his head low, feeling a burst of guilt overpowering his fuming jealousy. If he had any appetite in him before, he certainly didn’t now. He was overcome by complete nausea.

He peered up at Sirius shamefully whose eyes were fixed on the entrance of the room, where you once walked out of.

Sirius too, still overcome by anger, felt a sense of longing and anguish. Perhaps it was the best idea to ignore you for now. To cope with the intense feelings inside his heart, to keep him from lashing out at others.

However, after looking at your deflated face, he wants nothing more than to just hold you and ask for reassurance. To hear it from your mouth, you’re all I want, Sirius.

He looked back at Remus, gazing at him pleadingly. Remus nods and together, they both leave their food, friends, and anger, and are set out to look for only you.

As they make their way up the stairs to your dorm, their hearts disposed of all the previous envy they once held. And as they both stood before the door of your dorm, neither could muster up the courage to open it. That fear intensified as they heard your soft sobs and hiccups.

Startled and without thinking, Sirius mutters Alohomora, before twisting the doorknob to reveal your small frame.

Their hearts broke as they looked at you, head lowered in embarrassment as you attempted to wipe your tears frantically. Sirius looked up at Remus to await further instruction, but his heart sank even more as Remus looked at you in utter dread, eyes glossed over.

His stare breaks away from Remus to you as he hears your hoarse voice. “M’sorry…for whatever I-I did. I really am.” You sniffled. “W-What did I even do?” You whimpered, looking up at their tall forms.

Remus shook his head before walking up, hand hesitantly reaching out for you.

“N-Nothing, my love…nothing. It’s just—fuck—it’s just us.” He whispers sorrowfully, stroking your cheek, attempting to wipe your tears away from your face. His other hand reached up to pet your hair soothingly, calming you down.

A sudden gasp could be heard from the corner of the room. Both you and Remus looked up to see Sirius with a look of complete horror on his face. “Y-You…you didn’t know, did you?” He breathed out.

You scrunch your nose in confusion. “Know what?” You urged him to continue, previous sadness now replaced with annoyance as you sat confused as to what caused all this to occur.

“Edwards,” Sirius mutters. “That Edwards was flirting with you.” You shook your head in confusion before your eyes widened in realization. “Jealous,” you began. “You two were jealous?”

Remus shamefully looked down, knowing that you disliked it when they reacted irrationally to their jealousy. “We hadn't seen you in so long, poppet. To see you, with—him,” Remus grunts. “It was horrible.”

“Godric, pup. You should’ve seen the way he looked at you! This whole time! Our darling girl never noticed a thing.” Sirius laughed bitterly, more so to himself for hurting you.

You smiled shyly, before nodding in agreement. “I didn’t. Only until afterward did I notice his hand was on my thigh, but that was it.”

Both their eyes snapped up as they looked at each other furiously, before turning to you with a look of worry. “Your thigh? Last time we saw, his hand was on your knee!” Sirius gritted out before walking towards you, embracing you tightly, peppering quick pecks on your neck. You laughed in amusement as you squirmed away from his touch.

You suddenly looked up at Remus, narrowing your eyes. “Out of all people, I’d think you’d know a thing or two about communication in a relationship.” You pointed out, playfully.

Remus simply rolled his eyes before grinning wolfishly. “We get quite rash when people touch what’s ours, I’d have to admit.”

DO NOT REPOST OR TRANSLATE ON OTHER SITES — 0x81 ON TUMBLR

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 😊

Please add credit if you repost outside of tumblr!