Hiii, Amy, how are you? Like really, how are you? I hope you're well.
I saw you reblogged this post and a fic about Homelander literally eating a supe!reader who has fast healing would be awesome! Imagine, she's not bulletproof, she can't fly, her thing is just really fast healing, like Wolverine. One night, she offers Homelander her fresh because she loves him so much that she wants him to literally consume her, would he accept, would he say no, what would he do?
girl. i cannot believe you inspired me to write straight up erotic cannibalism. (yes i can.)
dead dove! do not eat! smut and literal eroticized cannibalism under the cut. lite blasphemy? 18+.
It all begins with a bite.
Your hand in his hair, moaning in his ear. "Harder," you gasp, his teeth at your throat, teasing the delicate flesh there. He thinks you mean for him to fuck you harder, and he snaps his hips hard enough to rattle your teeth, but you shake your head.
"No, darling–bite me harder," you urge, legs locked tightly around his waist.
He obeys without a thought, sinking his teeth into the junction between your neck and shoulder. It doesn't matter how rough he is with you, it doesn't matter if he shatters you, your body mends by the time he draws back for the next thrust.
He likes the way the pain makes you moan, and he loves the way it makes your pussy clamp down on his cock. He's not convinced you even feel pain, not with how wet it makes you.
"Harder," you say again, yanking his hair roughly. "I want you to taste my blood."
Homelander is delirious with his own pleasure, so near to the cusp of release, he doesn't question it. His sharp teeth slide through your skin like butter, and the copper tang of your blood fills his mouth in an instant.
It makes you scream. He fucks you hard and fast through your orgasm, lapping up the blood from where you've already healed. If not for the familiar sweet taste of you, it would be like it was never yours.
You take him by the face and kiss him with more fervency than he's ever felt, licking your own blood from his teeth.
"Take more of me," you plead against his lips. "I love you. I love you so much. I want to give you everything."
He doesn't understand what you mean. He has you. More than he's ever had anyone before you, more than he ever will.
So he thought.
“Bite me harder,” you keen, digging your nails into his back. You’re frail by superhuman standards, only a little stronger than a human, but your regenerative healing makes you practically indestructible. “I want you to fucking eat me.”
He moans outright when you drag your nails along his scalp.
Because you demand it, he does it again. He bites down, and both your hands cup the base of his skull as if you're nursing him against your body.
His lids flutter.
You feel incredible. You taste even better. Your touch has always made him salivate. His love for you has not been an end to his loneliness, it has become an extension of it.
When you're gone, it's as though the sun loses warmth. Color loses saturation. Food loses flavor. Where he once thought love, ever present in his heart, would reinvigorate the world, he has found this is only true when your hand is in his, when he is inside you, when the taste of you is raw on his tongue.
He must always keep you near. Without you, the world feels too much like a sterile white box beneath fluorescent lights.
"Eat," you whisper, quivering in his hold. "Feel me inside you."
Yes, he thinks. Stay with me.
Your body gives beneath the press of his teeth like it was made to. Blood carries bite-sized portions of you down his throat like the tide brings driftwood to the shore.
"That's it, baby," you moan, voice breathy. You sound as you do on the precipice of release, a swelling of need and incomprehensible pleasure. "I love you."
He believes you.
He tastes it in the spill of you down his throat, and in the white-hot clench of your body. The wet of your cunt, your blood, the saliva you swallow back.
You're hungry, too. You're left drooling as he feasts.
He thrusts faster, lips pressed deep in your sinew.
To love is to devour.
To give.
He will give unto you as you have given unto him.
From the moment he met you, he was animal-like in his craving of you.
Perhaps this was always his natural trajectory. He has never known a love he did not choke down, swallow, tear apart at the seams.
You are the first capable of enduring him.
Every bite he takes of you replenishes itself in seconds. He can drag his tongue along his own teeth marks and feel your flesh push back against it, mending itself, born anew to be swallowed again.
This. This is what he has always needed. Too long have love and affection been a finite resource dangled at the end of the very stick they used to beat him. He bore this gnawing emptiness for so long, it grew teeth.
How did you know how to feed it?
He screws his eyes shut, keening into the bloodied crook of your neck.
"Let go," you whisper. "Let's fill each other." Your fingers are delicate in his hair. Your tenderness is relentless, worming deep into the rotted thing that drums in his breast.
You dare his heart to beat for you, and suddenly he can't remember a time when it didn't.
"Come for me, baby."
Climax hits him so hard, he forgets how to breathe. He thinks he feels you shatter beneath him, but he can't be sure. You're whole again in seconds, your arms around his neck, your lips against his, your hearts beating against one another like caged birds as he pours himself into you in load after load after load after load.
You're both left panting. Sweat, blood, come and tears all salty and wet between your bodies.
He has taken your blood and your body into himself, and given you all he can in return.
Is this what they meant by holy communion?
He's convinced that it is.
This is the closest he has ever felt to heaven.
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Trager, Eddie and Val DBD pages (+ some headcanons)
The DBD Killer page maker disappeared off of the face of the Earth, so I had to work with what I could find, unfortunately. Credit to PierceLeVeil on Reddit for the templates! (I added the Mori sections)
Just a lil note: I like to think that the Entity spoils the killers and leaves the survivors to rot. In this you're a survivor because I had more opportunities <3
Trager is definitely a hit-and-run killer like Wraith, but he'd benefit from losing the chase, and immediately finding the same survivor so his ability can stack.
He'd be a douchebag lol. He'd tunnel and camp you if you angered him.
If he has a challenge to do, I honestly think he'd let you farm. Maybe hit you a couple of times. Some challenges are just too stupid to try and do normally. Also gives you both a break.
He would 100% befriend Doctor. That's what I wanted to call him till I remembered that Carter existed. They'd exchange torture methods or something.
He scares Lisa Garland. She hates going against him.
If he moris you, he'll take your fingers. That's it.
He also likes it when he hears your pained groans. Iron Will is his enemy.
If you use Dead Hard against him, he'd get pissed.
"Are you fucking kidding me? How did I not see that?"
If he camps you while you're on the hook, he'll taunt you.
"How's it hanging, buddy?" "Get. fucked."
He hates Trickster. It's the hair.
At first he hits people on hook, because he thinks it gets them sacrificed faster.
Him and Entity probably drink martinis together.
He likely stole the Hooked on You cosmetic set from Dwight. He wanted clothes for the beach, baby.
Drags you to the Killer side after every trial so he can patch you up.
"Those med kit things you use are shit. Come to me instead. I still have my license...I think."
Gets a little pissed off if other killers rough you up. That's HIS privilege, not theirs. Even then, he's tamer with you.
He doesn't sleep. He sees no reason to. He will, however, allow you to sleep in his cabin. The survivor tents are uncomfortable, anyway. You always wake up to a bug in your face.
If any of your teammates are rude to you, or they're purposely throwing, he becomes annoyed.
Fascinated by Blight.
Eddie's playstyle is 100% like Michael's. He'd stalk after one survivor and let the others do their thing. However if you constantly swap the Obsession, I think it'd be fun.
You are always the Obsession. How lovely.
He chases after you, and only you. But he doesn't like killing you off. :(
If you're hiding in a locker to heal or to use Head On, he will stand outside of it and smile. Waiting for you to come out.
He eagerly shouts "darling!" when he pulls you out.
He is the type to mori someone beside you as you're doing a gen.
If someone runs by you as they're being chased, Eddie will just smile at you and happily ask you to just ignore him.
Becomes devastated if you're harmed by other killers.
He, also, doesn't sleep. He'll cuddle you to sleep, though.
Not the type to camp unless you're the one being hooked. He isn't doing it to be a dick, he does it so he can stare at your face.
Becomes merciless if your teammates become rude to you. Refusing to heal you, not letting you work on gens with them. Just sit back, relax, and let him handle your teammates.
He keeps to himself.
Doesn't like the survivor side, and will bring you to his abode whenever a trial ends.
Becomes anxious if you're in a trial for longer than normal.
Dances with you outside of trails.
If you're the last one standing, he will refrain from giving you the hatch. You're both alone, you can bask in each other's presence for as long as the Entity will allow it.
He loves outdoor maps. Lerys makes him angry. Just like everyone else lol
Would match cosmetics with you.
Val's playstyle would be similar to Nemesis, I find. Addons would make the Heretics unstoppable.
Very fond of outdoor maps, especially Mother's Dwelling. They like the rain.
Affectionate inside and outside of trials.
Every killer and survivor knows not to bother the both of you. Heretics will no doubt guard their abode.
Will wear their robes in trials that you're not a part of.
Scolds killers who rip you to shreds.
I think they'd like Plague. Plague can't understand Val, and vice versa, but they'd enjoy each other.
Hag, too.
You'll meet up with the survivors before a trial, and they will see saliva all over your face. Val thinks licking you will bring you good luck.
Worships the Entity like you wouldn't believe. Because of this, I think the Entity will allow your safety as long as they're merciless with everyone else. [Also...come on. Multiple armed being? Feeds on suffering? This was meant to be.]
If they're chasing someone, a random Heretic will find you and watch you. Maybe even lead you to a generator or a chest. They are intrigued by flashlights. Especially the event ones.
Laughs at whoever tries to blind them if they're coated in mud. Built-in Lightborne, baby.
Trickster would likely try to pick them up. They're both freaks and it'd end up in an orgy between you, Val, Trickster and some Heretics.
Will sneer at survivors if they do something rude to you. All Heretics immediately go for whoever tried to sandbag you or tried to sabotage your chase.
Finds you attractive in any cosmetic. It could be hideous and they wouldn't care. All the more reasons to take it off of you.
They wish Knoth could be here. So they could torture him for eternity.
They LOVE hearing your pained grunts. Not only do they enjoy pain, but they love those noises.
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All For One & One For All
Gallery II Taglist Application II Symbol Guide
Summary: In trying to tear them apart, Captain Sobel just accidentally brought them closer.
A/N: Just a lil friendship flashback blurb thing that came to me while I was working on Chapter 11 & I figured I'd put it out there lol bc platonic friendships are important!!
Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs @wwhatev3r @mccall-muffin
6 Months Earlier: March 18th, 1944. Aldbourne, England.
“I’m gonna kill myself,” Don muttered, hauling what felt like the millionth pile of dirt over his shoulder.
“I’m gonna kill him myself,” Alix replied out of the corner of her mouth, digging her shovel violently into the Earth with renewed vigor, as though spearing Sobel straight through the heart.
“Not if I do it first,” Skip mumbled back to her with a roll of his eyes. “Can you believe this is our fucking Saturday?"
“I don’t remember giving you three permission to speak!” Sobel bellowed from the outside of the ditch, pacing from one end to the other like a caged animal.
“Sir,” Skip half-panted, in a tone of forced diplomacy. “We’ve been at this since dawn and it’s almost ten now. When can-”
“You will be digging these damn ditches until I tell you to stop, Sergeant Muck!” Sobel interrupted, nostrils flaring.
"Your times from yesterday morning's run were so pathetic that you should be grateful I didn't make you run beforehand!”
Well what did you fucking expect, Alix wanted to retort.
Don was sick as a dog, and both she and Skip were nursing hangovers on zero sleep, having spent most of Thursday night taking care of Malarkey after they returned from the pub.
What the hell did Sobel expect them to be after all that, Olympic fucking medalists?
Digging pointless ditches only to fill them back in was one of Sobel's favorite punishments and the three of them seemed to always be first on his shit-list: Alix for insubordination and her smart mouth, Skip for lateness, and Don seemingly just for existing.
Don stopped digging to let out another hacking cough into his elbow and Sobel’s nose crinkled disdainfully.
Keeping his head tilted down, Skip still managed to exchange worried glances with Alix.
Don's flu had only been getting worse under the constant training in the English rain, and his best friends both wondered silently how long Don could remain working before he collapsed.
Finally, the agent resolved to say something.
She couldn't let this asshole Sobel endanger her friend, even if it meant taking on more punishments herself.
“Sir, Mal can barely stand!" Alix protested, pausing from her work momentarily to wipe away the sweat trickling down her forehead.
She was trying her best to remain civil but it was a Herculean effort.
"Punish me and Skip all you'd like but Don is too fucking sick to be here. He needs rest and a doctor before he gets any worse!"
Sobel glared down at her for a moment and Alix could see the cogs turning in his mind before he spoke.
"It's Martinelli, isn't it?" he asked finally, eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her. "Our Sparrow-in-Training."
You have my file; you know damn well who I am, Alix wanted to snap, but she managed a "Yes sir" from between gritted teeth.
“Well Martinelli," he spat as though her name was a curse word.
"You don't give the orders around here. I do. And since you three had the worst times yesterday, you will be digging ditches until I tell you otherwise. Is that clear?"
"Then let me dig Don's section," Alix pushed. "So he doesn't have to."
"I can help!" Skip volunteered but Sobel ignored them, continuing on his tirade.
"Director Donovan and the OSS might see something special in you, Martinelli, but d’you want to know what I see?”
Not particularly but I know you're going to tell me, Alix thought dryly but outwardly she held her tongue, glaring down at her shovel as she dug up another round of soil and threw it over her shoulder.
He was deliberately trying to rankle her by ignoring her concerns about Don's health, framing it as though she were trying to give orders above her station.
What a piece of shit.
“I see a spoiled brat who thinks she’s too good to be here because Daddy paid her way into the OSS."
Alix set her jaw but Sobel was just getting started.
"You may be Donovan's little princess back at HQ," he sneered. "But as long as you are positioned with Easy for your cover, you are under my command and I will not be allowing this type of insubordination to go unpunished. Get out of the ditch."
Alix's brows knit.
"Sir?"
"Get. Out. Of. The. Ditch." he repeated, overenunciating his words as though she were a child.
Once she'd climbed out, Sobel, who towered over her at 6 foot 1, regarded her as though she were an ant beneath his boots.
"Count yourself fortunate that I can't kick you out, Martinelli," he all but snarled at her.
"Because I wouldn't hesitate. You're not cut out for the Airborne."
"Good thing I didn't sign up for it then, sir."
Shit.
Alix's mouth moved faster than her brain sometimes.
Most times, she thought ruefully.
A snicker escaped Skip's mouth before he could stop it and Sobel's head whipped around, descending on him like a hawk.
"Do you think insubordination is funny, Sergeant?"
"N-No sir," Skip choked out, trying to disguise his laughter as coughs. "Not funny at all, sir."
Sobel was wearing a sanguine smirk, pacing in front of Skip and Alix's section of the ditch as though he were deciding what method of torture would be most appropriate for each of them.
The sadistic bastard was enjoying this.
"Agent Martinelli," he announced, turning back to lock eyes with Alix. She could see a vein pulsing in his forehead but she kept her eyes focused, squinting in the morning sun.
She would not be the first to blink.
"Since you seem to enjoy assuming a leadership role when it has not been assigned to you, you will be running the officers' course: 5 miles at full-speed and you will be timed. Your handler ran it in 35 minutes. Since you seem to think you rank even higher, let's see if you can run it in 25."
Alix drew her bottom lip between her teeth to keep from yelling, biting down so hard that she tasted blood.
He's insane, she thought to herself. He's officially fucking lost it.
Another impossible task, and all because she had been a little tired during the morning run.
She could've screamed, especially when she saw the gloating look on Sobel's face.
"I may not be able to kick you out, Martinelli, but by the end of today, you will wish that I had."
"We'll see, sir."
"Muck, Malarkey" Sobel barked, turning his attention to her other friends. "Get out of the ditch."
Skip exhaled sharply through his nose, as though he was releasing any hope of having a good day, but he too clambered out of the ditch before reaching down to help Don as well.
"Since I would hate to break up the Three fucking Musketeers--"
Sobel's voice was dripping with so much sarcasm that it left Alix seriously considered how much it would cost her to accidentally poison the man's coffee some fine morning.
"You two will be accompanying Agent Martinelli on the Officers' Course. But this is not a playdate, you three. You will be competing. The one with the slowest time will be filling in this unfinished ditch all by themself."
Alix cocked an eyebrow.
She knew the game he was playing. It was the same game that the headmistress played at St. Mary's: trying to pit friends against each other.
Sobel got a real kick out of being divisive and Alix suspected that whatever else was going on in his life, he wanted everyone else to suffer for it too.
Well, tough shit.
She might've actually felt sorry for him if he wasn't such a jackass.
But Sobel was the sort of man who would probably kick puppies for fun.
He was clearly banking on the fact that if they were busy fighting with each other, they'd be less effective against him so he was trying his damnedest to sow some discord between them.
But he didn't know Warren Muck, not like they did.
Skip was the glue that held everything together, the ever-patient mediator.
Don and Alix may have been quick to anger but never him.
Infinitely good-natured, the Skipper wasn't one to hold a grudge and he as well as anyone knew what Sobel's modus operandi was. It would take more than a stupid punishment from Sobel to make him truly angry at either her or Don.
"What are you waiting for?" Sobel shouted, seemingly morbidly overjoyed to watch them struggle through the course. "Get a move on! You're wasting daylight."
"Yes sir," Alix spit with as much venom as she had in her as the three headed off.
∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━���∆━━━∆∆
"That man is the Devil in jump boots, I swear," Skip remarked from her right side at his usual bounding pace "I'd stake my life on it."
"You're not wrong, Skipper," Don wheezed through another loud cough, his speed starting to lag. "I'm pretty sure he's tryna kill me."
"Sure seems like it," Alix panted in reply, slowing down to match Don's pace. "Sorry I got you guys smoked too though. I would've rather it've just been me."
"No sweat," Skip chirped cheerfully, still practically skipping, true to his name. "Beats digging more stupid ditches!"
Don managed a small grin.
The bounce in Skip's step never seemed to fade, no matter how dark the day.
"And besides," Skip continued. "At least we're all getting smoked together, right? Builds character."
"Well by the time we're done in Aldbourne, we'll probably have the most fucking character of anyone in the damn whole company," Don joked.
"You're welcome," Alix snarked, the heavy footfalls of her boots sending clouds of dirt up like a small stampede.
"Guys, did he really call us the Three fucking Musketeers as an insult," Don laughed, which quickly turned into a sneeze.
"Or was that just a product of my flu-addled imagination?"
"No, it was real," Alix commented with a grin. "Not a bad book either, Les Trois Mousquetaires. I read it at St. Mary's."
"Hey, no kidding!" Skip's face lit up from beside her. "I read it in school too!"
"Weren't they also called--" Don broke off due to another coughing fit and Skip finished for him.
"The Three Inseparables, yep!"
"'We are never seen one without the others...Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, the Three Inseparables.'" Alix recited from memory.
"And D'Artagnan, the extra," Don added. "But he doesn't really count, does he?"
"I know Sobel meant it as an insult but is it terrible that I actually kinda like it?" Skip asked. "'S pretty fitting, I think."
Alix shook her head.
"It's definitely fitting," she piped up in agreement. "Plus, anything that Sobel hates is pretty much automatically my new favorite thing."
"Agreed," Don replied. "But now we need to figure out what're we gonna do about this stupid fucking competition. We'll be at the end soon."
Malarkey was right, Alix mused, trying to ignore the ever-increasing burning of her muscles as they ran.
They were nearing the end of the course and Sobel would soon be expecting two winners and a loser.
Since Malarkey was sick, most likely, Sobel was betting on him finishing last so that he could be forced to fill in the ditch, but neither Skip nor Alix were going to let that happen.
"Well, the answer's right there, isn't it?" Alix commented and both Skip and Don cocked their heads.
"Care to elaborate?" Skip asked at the same time Don managed to choke out "Share" in between a string of thunderous sneezes.
"'Tous pour un, un pour tous!'"
Skip shook his head.
"Sorry, no dice. Translation please?"
"'All for one and one for all,'" Alix answered brightly.
"We finish the race at the same time, together, that way Sobel can't make any one of us fill the ditch in alone. The work'll go much faster between the three of us!"
"'All for one and one for all,'" Skip repeated, a grin spreading across his face. "I love it. You in, Mal?"
"Of course I'm in!" Malarkey piped up. "Man, I can't wait to see the pissed off look on his face when he realizes we won't play his stupid fucking games!"
And Malarkey was right.
The sense of pure triumph and satisfaction that Alix felt watching Sobel's face turn red with fury as the three of them crossed the finish line arm-in-arm was enough to get her sore muscles through even the most strenuous parts of refilling the ditch afterwards.
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