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z3nitsusgf · 6 months

Text

paper bag

roman roy | reader

tw: fem!reader, toxic relations, manipulation, l*gan roy, romann is sick in the head, Roman says a slur (unsurprising), dog motif, teasing, dirty talk, ooc roman bc he's scared of pussy irl, this shit long af I’m sorry, backwards storytelling bc I’m inconsistent

The room is sticky. Sweltering in a post-august heat. The box fan churns and spits out whatever puffs of air it can muster, but the both of you still sweat on the linens of the motel bed.

The walls are stained from years of misuse and neglect, tinged a dirty yellow. You can’t tell if it’s oil or something more debauched that clings to the plaster, probably the latter.

It’s late into the night, too late for anything to be open and too early for it to be acceptable to up and leave. So the two of you are rooted here, stuck till daybreak.

The sounds of people arguing, a car horn blaring, and the buzz of fluorescent whir through your head. There’s a small box TV, it fizzles and pops every time you try to change the channel. Gurgling in a pre-2000s war cry. You could almost laugh at the circumstances.

You wonder how the fuck you’ve managed to snag New York’s brattiest billionaire, even more at how you’ve convinced him to fuck you in a shitty motel just outside of Hell’s Kitchen. Or to even fuck you at all, you only know rumors of his… strange bedroom endeavors.

You stifle an un-humored chuckle, Roman is lying like a royal Persian cat across the bed, shirt long gone and covered only in his boxers. A brand you've never heard of laces his hips, something expensive and out of reach. Just like most of him.

“What?” He asks, head resting on a closed fist. He draws shapes on your leg, neat nails dragging along the soft skin. He likes the smell of your lotion, something girlish and fresh like linen. Almost like something Shiv would wear, or a nanny from his memory. All he knows is that he likes it.

“Nothin’, just thinking.”

He likes your accent. It reveals your upbringing, obviously not the stupidly refined wealth that Roman inhabits but something humbler. It’s a little rough around the edges but not crass. Your words are straightforward and clear, unlike his family's. The bubbling words they offer to air up a conversation, you cut straight through that.

“Thinking about what?”

You give a smile, taking a long drag of your American Spirit and tipping your head back to blow it up to the stained ceiling. The smoke curls and swirls around before dissipating into nothing. He's not used to the smell, it gives the air a hint of pine-tinged outdoorsy aroma. Warm, comforting, familiar, and terrible all at once. Like something Logan would smell like when he came home, on the rare occurrence Roman was around him long enough to get a whiff.

“How I just bagged the Roman Roy, and how it’s gonna look in the papers.”

You joke, obviously. You’d never tell your endeavors to the pressing public or the sneaky little journalists that gripe for your small breadcrumbs about the family. Even if it is technically your job.

Roman hums, “Waystar son indulges in debauched acts with local journalist slut.”

He makes a gesture with his hands, eyes lighting up and going wide. A dopey grin rested on the plane of his cheeks, a row of sparkling whites glimmering under the citrusy glow of the lamp.

“Fuck you.”

You kick him haphazardly in the chest, his laugh rings around the room like a bell. Roman grabs your ankle, curling his fingers around the bone and yanking you down towards him. He’s uncaring of how you slip down the headrest, watching how you squeak and mumble small profanities.

“Prick could’ve dropped the ashes on me.” You mumble, not serious in the slightest.

“What would your father say?”

You snip, reaching down and dragging a hand through his hair, tussling the already licked-up sweaty strands. He practically melts into your touch, eyes closing and lips parting at the contact. He memorizes how your nails feel on his scalp, visualizing the soft pink of your polish running through the strands.

It feels good to have you touch him so effortlessly. As if he was nice to hold and caress, something soft to be sentimental with. Not a bad dog locked in a kennel for once but allowed to curl up on the bed.

But that's exactly what he is, isn't he? He is the dog that sleeps on the floor at the edge of the bed. Curled in on himself, happy to just be close. Nosing at the sheets, contempt with the presence of its owner. Even if he's cold, shivering from the floorboards - you just being there is enough to keep him warm. The few pats on the head allow him to sleep through the night. He is the dog that never leaves your side, sitting off to the right of you and waiting.

He lets out a bitter giggle, a small grimace twitching his lips. It hides the shimmer of despair that is pooled in his head.

“He’d probably be glad I got some pussy for once. Maybe he’ll stop calling me a fag.”

He laughs when he says it, even though a part of you knows he’s dead serious. You've come to learn he always is when it comes to his father.

The sadness cuts through the raunchiness of his words and you fight off the frown that wants to stitch itself across your face. A part of you wants to reach out and mend together the brokenness, another wants to pull out your journal and backlog it for later. A rotten, benign part of you wants to take this man apart and study it to smithereens.

Roman doesn’t say much, surprisingly. He’s reserved in his intimacy, holding back all the love and care that he wants to pour out. He's been starving for decades, yearning for a love that won't come. He's resigned to the fact he is broken. Besides, he’s not here to cuddle up to you for anything more than to get you to not publish your story on the Roy’s. You're both fighting for the same thing, just on different sides.

You respond the only way you knew how, “Fuck, that’s really fucking depressing.”

Roman admires your brutal style, honesty is a rarity that he treasures when it comes. It's why he noticed you in the first place, your articles about the wealthy family in the tabloids caught his eye. Especially the ones about him -it sounds different when you say it, not like you're vying for an undercut but like you're genuine.

He laughs.

You both laugh. Tipping your heads back and howling with laughter. He's got tears in his eyes, and you can't breathe.

///

“Not really your cup of tea, huh?”

You teased, flinging off your shoes and laying on the questionable sheets.

He gives you a snarky grimace and raises a brow, “Careful, you might get scabies or a fucking STD just from breathing in the air.”

It’s not the sort of place you’d expect to see Roman Roy occupy. You can hardly even wrap your head around the fact he’s here now. You imagine the Roy in lavishness, draped in silken white and cashmere. Sipping champagne from a crystal glass brought by room service. Watching the glittering of New York from a floor-to-ceiling window on the billionth floor of a hotel that costs your entire paycheck for just one night.

No, you can’t even pretend that Roman doesn’t look completely out of place here. With his no-tie, popped collar, Tom Ford wannabe pretentious ass. He’s comically out of place. It makes you want to giggle to hell at the way he looks so uncomfortable.

A pretty little rich boy who’s never had to worry about being in anything other than a 5-star. Who now stands in a seedy motel that looks more like a crack house than the Arlo in Midtown. And in place of the champagne, he chugs your shitty beer and water bottle vodka. Cracking open a six-pack of michelob’s and cringing at the taste. It’s painfully cheap, but alcohol is alcohol.

“Come on, don’t act so high and mighty. Relax.”

You pat the empty space next to you, scooting over so he can tentatively sit. You have your thick black journal resting beside you, inside containing all the juicy details and bits about the Roys that would burn down empires and topple over conglomerates.

You’ve hidden most of it well, you’ve had to, or else you get a hit put out on you from the man himself, Logan Roy. Using different names when publishing your work, making interviews anonymous - hell, you feel like Batman with the way you work in the shadows.

Roman inches onto the mattress, eyeing the notebook at your side. He knows, vaguely, what it contains. The secrets, the stories, untamed facts about the company and his family. Usually, he wouldn't give a rat's ass about what a snoopy little journalist had to say about him and his family.

He’ll admit your stuff is good, great even but it's all fluff, a buffer that fills up the sides of newspapers so they have more meat to them. And most of the time it's always the same thing; how horrible his father is, the treatment of Waystar employees, how disconnected the children of the billionaire were. But you- you dug deeper than that.

He never had a reason to look into you until now.

Your stories were revelations for the public. The lies, the coverups, the shady business that their media team works day and night to conceal. You spill it all. And now that you're gaining more traction, more popularity, they're losing revenue quickly. Business deals are turning to dust, stocks are dropping, and employees are quitting on the spot. It's making Waystar crumble from the inside out. And Logan refuses to lose from a puny little journalist, let alone a woman.

When Gerri and Karolina uncovered who was behind the articles, they wilted. If they had told Logan who you were - what you were - he would've squashed you like a bug. Completely ruined your life till you had nothing.

So they took a different approach, a softer more merciful route. They sent Roman after you, and like the loyal dog he is, he went. Mingling with over-eager, latte-sipping, pretentious journalists to get your contact info.

It wasn't as easy as he thought, more work than he wanted to put in. But regardless, he eventually a friend of a friend of a friend gave you up. Not soon after you got a very informal email from the COO, asking to meet up for an "interview" on the pretense of discussing your stories. Or your "allegations" as he liked to call it.

To say you were surprised was an understatement, you nearly passed out in disbelief. It started with meeting him on neutral ground, a coffee shop. Somewhere public and clean, nothing seedy or easily misconstrued.

And when Roman strutted into the small shop, you were very aware of how real this was all becoming. The starkness of his wealth is evident in comparison to the rest of the shop.

"Ah, if it isn't the little paper-pusher I've heard so much about."

Those were his first words to you.

“Mr. Roy, a pleasure to meet you.”

He sat in front of you, pulling off his jacket and haphazardly throwing it over the back of the chair. You're 100% sure it costs more than your yearly salary. At your words, he gives an obnoxious giggle.

“Please, don’t call me that. Makes me think we’re in some sick porno.”

You raise a brow at his crassness, “Ok.. pleasure to meet you, Roman.”

He stifles another giggle but reaches a hand across the table, shaking yours.

Once he’s pulled back he claps his hands together, “Alright, what do you get from this shithole. And don’t tell me you’re one of those hipster-loving morons who gets like matcha or some shit.”

Your eyes widen at how loud he’s being, uncaring that staff or other customers might hear his openness. You know what kind of person he is, you’re just not used to the oozing brattiness in person.

You can only gawk, “Well, um, usually I get a macchiato or just a regular cup of coffee.”

He nods, “Hmm, I see. Ok. I’ll get whatever you get. Throw in a Danish too, I’ll pay.”

You blink vigorously, “Oh no, it’s alright Mr. Roy-”

“Roman.” He corrects, giving a cheeky grin.

“And don’t worry about it, you’re not gonna break the bank with some cheap-ass coffee.”

You wonder if this was a good idea at all, but you quickly come back to reality. You’re here for business, you can’t treat this like a nightmare date from hell. Even if that’s what it feels like. So you do as he says, ordering the coffees and two danishes, even getting an extra muffin to-go.

Time quickly flew by, as much as you hated to admit it. You managed to tug the man back into the conversation you came for - Waystar. Though Roman was more elusive than anything.

Tapping on the table, leaning his chair back, and distracting you with other topics that most certainly were not work-appropriate. Like if you were just making all this fuss because you just wanted to get finger-blasted by the COO. That one made you flush and snap at him like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

But he was so charismatic, in his own twisted way. Like a car crash, you couldn’t look away from, the smoldering flames and heated looks were more than you thought he was capable of.

After hours of talking he drew out your more playful side, the snarky little wit you don’t usually use with the people you’re working with. It was inevitable. And soon, it was late into the evening. With the coffee shop getting ready to close for the night.

“Looks like it’s time to wrap it up for the day.”

You moved to stand, dusting off crumbs from your lap. And Roman is quick to jump up, “Aw, you sure? I mean it’s not that late, wanna maybe head out somewhere?”

He’s vague with his words, you give him a smirk.

“Are you trying to get me alone with you, Roman?”

He chuckles and puts on his jacket, “Of course, I mean, how else am I gonna murder you?”

You both laugh, “Murder me? Sweet little me? What for?”

The two of you walk onto the sidewalk, the crisp night air breezing through your hair.

“We both know you’re not sweet.”

You smile, tucking a lip between your teeth. He’s magnetic, in a venomous and dark way. You know it’s wrong to do this, to get close like this. But sometimes you have to do things in order to get what you want.

“I know somewhere we can go.”

///

That’s how you got here, at least how you remember it. It’s all blurred from the copious amount of alcohol you’ve drank.

Now you have a very not sober Roman Roy on top of you.

He’s flushed, there’s pink smattering across his heated cheeks and he’s got blown pupils the size of the moon. He leers over you, his hand cupping your throat. He’s close, too close.

You can feel the curve of his lip on your cupid's bow, the prickle of his stubble. He smells like Costa Azzurra, citrusy and woodsy. It clouds your drunken brain, making you want to pant and sink your teeth into his neck.

Roman is mumbling, you can’t quite make it out but you feel the warmth of his breath across your cheek. It feels dizzying, like a waking dream.

“I’m gonna kill you. Not gonna let you leave, you’re stuck with me.”

He huffs against the warm apple swell of your cheek. You giggle at that; he feels the warmth of your laugh. The scent of lime and lone star on your breath. There’s a certain giddiness that flutters in your tummy at the words, a sick satisfaction.

One that a dark part of you craves. A feral depravity lies in between your teeth. One that aches to chew on his marrow and swallow him whole. When they trust you to completion, it makes you want to crush them completely.

“Oh yeah?”

You’re hazy. Starry-eyed with droopy lids, face hot from the alcohol and closeness. There are bruises in the shape of his teeth. Ringed purple marks that fade into shimmery blue and greens. Speckled aches across your thighs and neck - all from him. Like rabid animals fighting the very nature of their beings, you claw and tear at one another like beasts deprived.

He buries his face in your chest, trying to hide himself within it - claw his way in and sit inside your heart. Plunging his hands into your back and holding you to him like you were the only ones on earth. He kisses your skin, brushing his lips along your collarbone, down to the center. Straight in your solar plexus, like he could see through it.

As if he could see that beating organ as if he could reach in and take it.

“Yeah. Wanna keep you, like a pet or a girlfriend. What’s the difference?”

You squirm at his hot breath on your neck, the humid air making you needy. You grab his face in your hands, lifting his face up to you and pressing your mouths together in a sloppy kiss. He groans, he doesn’t even wait before he slips his tongue in. Sliding across your lips and flicking on the roof of your mouth. You make a choked sound, the feeling of his tongue invading your mouth.

You can feel the hard bulge of his cock pressing against your stomach, it makes you ache with need.

“Roman,” you pant, “I wanna fuck you.”

He hums, “Wanna fuck you too, wanna fuck your pussy.”

You moan, you want to tear him apart at the seams and eat him whole. Crack that soft apricot heart and bite down into his tissue. You bet he tastes just like it too, sweet and sugary like jam. You want to rip him to shreds, consume each sliver, and savor him like he’s raw slices of strawberries on your plate.

///

He spreads your thighs, gripping your ass in rough hands, practically moaning at the sight of your fucked out pussy. There are silvery webs of slickness that glisten along your cunt. You’re panting into the sheets, fisting them as you shiver from the cold AC.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re so wet.”

His thumbs graze along your swollen lips, and you twitch - whining like a puppy that wants a kiss. Hips jerking into the mattress when he grips the fat of your ass and swipes your folds.

“Look at you, so fucked out. And you still want more?”

You nod, humming breathy whimpers each time he gets close to your clit. You let out a sharp yelp when he slaps a hand across your ass, hands flailing and thighs instinctively trying to shut.

He keeps you spread, knee coming up to prevent you from ruining his fun.

“Gotta say it, babe. Can’t read your mind.”

You’re trembling, lips swollen and drooling as you try to push out the words.

“Yes, I want more.” You mumble, face buried halfway into the sheets.

He’s mean with it, pressing the pad of his thumb onto your pulsing clit. Rubbing till he hears the sloppy sound and you’re jerking away with a scampery yip.

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you.”

You could cry, wet tears pooling on your lash line. Your cunt throbs, empty and flushed and fucking aching.

“Please, please I want more. Want your cock-“

He’s groaning, yanking you back till your ass is in the air. Spine arching and you feel the brush of his cock on your folds.

“Yeah? Want my cock?” You can hear the smile in his voice, hips shaking in his hold.

His tip is kissing along your entrance, and he watches with hearts in his eyes at the way you coat him in slick. Rutting the length between your folds, dipping in to watch you clench on nothing. Wetness clinging to your inner thighs and painting your pussy a shimmery diamond-esque.

“Mmhm, want it. Want you to fuck me, want it so bad.” You moan, half brain-dead with how stupid you sound.

He giggles, high a girlishy. Slipping in fast and quick, hips jerking till he’s flushed with your ass. His pace is like a rabbit, practically humping you into the mattress. You yelp at the feeling, cock splitting you in two.

“Roman-!”

“What was that?”

You can hear the smile in his voice. It makes you whine, gripping the edge of the bed as he slams harder.

“I couldn’t hear you over the sound of you getting fucking pounded.”

You let out a moan when he hits deep. Slotting all the way, flushed against your ass. His tip is kissing something untouched inside you, sticky head brushing along the cushiony pucker of your cervix.

“Fuck you-“

You choke on your words when he bucks his hips. Slamming impossibly farther.

“Huh? Speak up, baby. Can’t hear you, your wet pussy is too loud.”

You bury your face into your arm. Biting at your lip to keep the drool from spilling over your mouth.

“How’s it feel? Feelin’ good? My little paper-pusher like how I fuck her?”

He makes you insane.

You fist at the sheets, nails digging into the soft gray linen. He’s pushing you into a pretty arch, thumbs keeping your ass spread so he can watch himself fuck your cunt.

“God, your pussy is insane.” His hips are smacking against the backs of your thighs. You’re on the verge of tears from how good it feels, you can feel the veins of his cock pulsing in you. Mouth parted and spilling sticky moans.

“Fuck, how are you so wet?” He murmurs, shivering at the feeling of your tight walls gripping along his length. At this point, his thrusts are sloppy and uneven, but the tip of his cock is still able to hit that special spot deep inside of you.

“Oh fuck, Roman, m’gonna cum-”

You absolutely lose your mind when he rolls his hips against you, scratching the sheets.

“Yeah? Gonna cum all over my cock?”

You nod, waiting for the pit in your tummy to explode. But it doesn’t come, Roman pulling out in one even jerk.

You cry out, “What the fuck?”

“If you wanna cum you gotta promise not to publish that little article of yours, babe”

You’re hazy and desperate, in the back of your mind you know what he’s doing. And it clips your chest. But the pulsing of your cunt overrides all sanity. And you’re too fucked out to even care at this point, you just want to cum.

“What’ll be, huh? Wanna get pounded till you gush over my cock, or do you want to post a dumb story about me?”

You whimper, you’re dangling on your own leash of longing. He’s pressed against your back whispering all the fucked up things he promises to do to you if you just give in. Just let go, he murmurs.

Temptation licking the back of your heels like hellfire. It doesn’t help that he’s pawing at your tits, squeezing your tender flesh like clay. Cock slipping and sliding against your sodden cunt, slick with want and need. Dripping a honey-thick desire so brutal you’d think he was a demon sent from the inferno.

“Ok! Ok, won’t post it, just fuck me! Please, Rome.”

He groans, a hearty whiny thing that makes you clench around nothing.

“Good girl, good girl.”

It’s immediate, the way he slams back in and drives home. Your sticky skin slapping against his, thighs shaking with burning effort, stretched cunt a dripping mess against his cock. You’re babbling, hands reaching back to grip his thighs, nails digging into his flesh.

It’s not long before you’re gushing, clamping down, and seeing stars in your blacked-out vision. Hearing Roman moan and whine before he’s pulling out to cum over your back. The warmth spreads over your spine. He’s shivering, thighs twitching, and abdomen clenching. It’s never felt that good before.

You both pant and heave, body relaxing into the sheets. You’re exhausted, eyes lidding and drifting, faintly feeling the sensation of a towel wiping across your skin.

“Holy fuck-”

You smile softly, eyes closed. Roman plops down next to you in bed, watching as you roll over and sit against the headboard. He’s sweaty and so very good-looking. You smile in a chagrin manner, brushing a finger against his cheekbone.

“How’s that for an interview?”

You laugh, swatting his arm.

“You’re crazy.”

He smiles at you, strangely content. A pinprick of emotions swells in his chest, and you feel that influx of rot starts to crawl its way up your chest. He’s so beautiful, that you’d hate to see him crumble when he finds out you already sent your paper to your editor to post.

But for now, you enjoy the small moment of peace between you two. You laugh and joke and keep this sweet until morning until he realizes what you’ve done.

#he’s so dog motif #yes this os about Fiona apple #this man makes me wanna roll into traffic #first time writing something in like… eons #please be gentle I’ve not written since the dark ages #roman roy x you #roman roy x reader #val.writes ❦#succession smut #succession x reader #roman roy smut

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z3nitsusgf · 2 years

Text

proserpina

homelander x reader

CW: dark!soulmate au, possesive/obsessive behavior, stalking, yandere tenancies, fem reader, angst(?), homelander needs his own warning bruh

“You’ve seen his cynical mind, the possessive soul he bears, you know his cruelty knows no bounds. But at this moment, he is simply a broken man who craves your affection so desperately it’s almost pathetic.”

Proserpina (Roman mythology): Proserpina, daughter of Jupiter and Ceres, goddess of fertility, was kidnapped by Pluto, king of the underworld, who fell in love with her after seeing her picking flowers.

—

You remember the first time anyone, other than your parents, ever saw your soulmate mark.

You were 16, still hanging out with friends at the park like a normal kid. The new tattooed ink on your wrist was a mystifying wonder to everyone your age. The way it appears overnight, rising to the surface of your skin like a beautiful art piece. Everyone wanted to see each other’s marks and foolishly hope one of the other kids was theirs to call home.

Your parents told you not to show anyone, that it was… too much for them to handle.

“Let us see yours,” they said, crooked teeth and flushed dirty faces crowded your vision, you were all so young still. And of course, you smiled and showed them your arm, letting them crowd around and stare at your binding mark.

You remember the sliver of proudness that beamed in your chest at their awed silence. The way they gaped at the motherland eagle, the ridges of its wings, and the sharpness of its beak.

Anyone would recognize the symbol, even at your age, it was something that you could identify. Even though he was a newly formed hero, still on the brink of coming out from Vought, you all knew what it represented. Even though he was a bit older than you, even though he was a powerful fucking supe - you were proud in that moment.

You don’t exactly remember when, but sometime after that people started to look at you differently.

You weren’t you anymore, you were Homelander’s soulmate. A way to get in with their favorite superheroes, a way to get cash, a way to get attention.

Of course, you’ve seen him, everyone has seen him. He’s like Santa or Jesus, an integral part of America. It only got worse as you grew up. Especially once he became number one, it was like a flashbang - you were bombarded with this new wave of emotions and feelings every time you looked at his face on a screen. It wasn’t a welling of love or adoration, but something more acrid.

People always asked you what it was like being Homelander’s soulmate despite the fact you’d never actually met the guy. They were always in your face, blabbering about how lucky you were. Prodding with their questions as if they were a part of it all.

“That must be so exciting!” Or “You must be so happy to have Homelander as your soulmate!”

It was nauseating.

You grew up with his patriotic ass plastered on every billboard and poster in New York, his movies, his comics, his interviews - always on screen. You could recount his fucking life story and you’d never even met him. You were 110% sure no one asked Homelander what he thought about his soulmate.

Not to mention your parents, god, they couldn’t get enough of it. They were so fucking happy, so fucking ecstatic that you were Homelander’s soulmate. How much rep you’d get, how much screen time, the privileges they said. His name left everyone’s mouths like he was their god.

So why didn’t you feel the rush of excitement? Why did you feel dread and damnation creeping up your spine every time you turned on the TV and he was there?

Probably because you’ve seen the horror stories. The awful dailies on the news where a supe “accidentally” killed their soulmate. Gruesome scenes of split spines, shattered bones, piles of ash and guts. Of course, people always said you had nothing to worry about. It was Homelander, he’d never do anything like that. But you always felt the fear linger when he did public speeches.

Unfortunately for the world, Vought had made it their mission to find every supe’s soulmate and “unite” them as one.

It’s a bunch of corporate media bullshit.

But people want to see their favorite heroes in a humble light, settled down, and cozied up with their “one true love”. Of course, Vought wouldn’t miss an opportunity to milk it, snagging supe’s soulmates left and right like they’re just stray dogs on the street.

It was only a matter of time before they found you. To be honest, you’re surprised they haven’t gotten to you sooner, that they left you alone to lead a “normal” life. After all, you’re The Homelander’s soulmate - that means a lot more than you thought it ever could.

Though you suppose you didn’t make it easy for them. You never posted about it online, you refrained from telling new people that you met, and you tried to cover it up all the time.

But all it really takes is some nosey neighbor or ex-friend from high school to rat you out.

And suddenly you’re being dragged to the the Seven tower, hounded by Vought employees and a perky assistant who won’t shut the fuck up.

Alice? Amanda? No wait- Ashley, blabbers away to you about how fortunate they are that they found you. She’s chipper as a chipmunk, asking you all kinds of questions that make your skin crawl, tapping away at her screen like you’re just another product ready to be shipped out. Are you single? Do you have any kids? What’s your medical history? Religious preference? Who should we contact in case of an emergency?

“He’s going to be so happy! I know it’s gonna be great.” She practically squeals in excitement, gripping the tablet between her fingers as you two ride the elevator up to the 99th floor, a sinking feeling pooling in your stomach.

She turns to you with a wide gummy smile, “Just make sure not to say anything bad or to upset him, ya know?”

You nod slowly lips pursing, “Like what?”

“Oh you know, asking for pictures or calling him anything other than Homelander or sir.”

You stare at her blankly, “Why would he be upset by that?”

She blanches just a bit, you see her look away. Probably thinking about every little thing that could go wrong. Huffing out a laugh she says, “Nothing, nevermind. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

The elevator doors open and you’re ushered into a hallway, making your way in front of a big iron door. Their conference room.

The assistant turns to give you one last forced smile before the iron is sliding open, inside is all of the seven, Homelander at the end of the table. It’s all more imposing than you thought it would be. The sunlight streams in through the big glass windows, reflecting against the mirrored V-shape table.

You see everyone in their full glory. A-train, Queen Maeve, and Starlight is to the right. To the left Black Noir, The Deep, and a pair of floating glasses - Translucent. Most of them don’t even pay you any mind, hardly even looking up at you and focusing their attention elsewhere. You feel as though you’ve interrupted something.

“Hi, good morning sir! I’ve brought her.” Ashley is flashing a bright smile, her hand pushing your lower back so you move closer to the supe.

Homelander gives a slow nod, rounding the edge of the table, his hands behind his back as his cape sways with each step. He’s much taller in real life, looming over you. You decide to just take the plunge, sticking out your slightly trembling hand,

“Hi Homelander, sir, I’m-”

He snatches your wrist, it scares you more than you’d like to admit and you have to force the shriek from your throat down. Eyes going wide as he holds your wrist between his forefingers. His gloved thumb brushes over you skin, pushing up the sleeve of your sweater to reveal your his mark, staring down at it with bright clear eyes. You feel the leather of his glove brushing over your skin, it makes a dark feeling punch your gut.

You’d think after all this time he’d be happy, that his signature bright shining smile would spread across his face, maybe he’d tell you how happy he was or how excited. Instead, his brows furrow and his jaw clenches.

“Are you a supe?” He mumbles, eyes roaming over your body with a piqued interest that borders on perturbed fascination. You shake your head,

“N-no, sir.” He makes a sound, deep in his chest and you wince at the tightening in your hand. You try to pull back but he doesn’t let go. Panic starts to ebb up your chest, settling into your blood. You feel trapped. He’s nothing like the charismatic friendly man you’ve seen in interviews.

Thick gloved fingers curl around the flesh of your wrist, pressing the carpal bone. He could snap your entire arm and shatter each bone with just a squeeze. Hell, he could leave you paralyzed just for fun. You feel your pulse starting to pick up, you’re entirely sure he can feel the rush of adrenaline and dopamine in your system.

You’ve seen what he’s capable of. When you had this fascination with him and you wanted to know more, you’ve seen the liveleak videos of him slaughtering people, melting them with his eyes till they were nothing but a pile of flesh and guts. You’ve read the reddit posts and forums about interactions people have had with him, his pretentious and snarky comments that made even government officials weep. It made you fucking sick.

So when he doesn’t let up, when he just stares like he wants to burn a hole though your head, you feel yourself ready to crumple and accept your fate. Maybe this was Vought’s plan all along, to bring you here to be disposed of. You let out a tiny whimper, you feel the bones starting to shift uneasily inside your wrist.

“Homelander.“ Queen Maeve warns, the rest of the seven watching in tempt silence, more amused than anything. There’s a beat of rigid silence and you’re positive he’s going to just snap it then and there. But the supe rolls his eyes and drops your wrist like hot garbage, practically throwing it back at your chest.

You cradle your hand, massaging the soft bruising tissue as you stare wide-eyed at him. He glared down at you, the disgust prominent in his baby blues but there’s also a hint of something else, you can’t place your finger on it but it makes you want to hide away in the earth.

“Fucking pathetic.” Homelander sneers, turning on his heel and walking to the large window that overlooks the city. You gape, pushing back the tears that threaten to overflow on your waterline, head spinning as you feel everyone stare at you. In pity? In disgust? You don’t really care anymore.

Homelander is your soulmate and he’s nothing like you imagined. He’s a loaded gun in your face, waiting for the trigger to be pulled at any second and blow your brains against the concrete.

“Well, that was lovely but,” Ashley is ushering you out the sliding iron doors with a peppy smile, “The seven are extremely busy, we should let them get back to work!”

The last thing you see is the group of supe’s sitting in their seats and Homelander has his back to them all.

Ashley walks with you down the long hallway, blabbering about how, “He was just in a bad mood, he’s actually really nice.”

But you can’t help but clench your jaw, your heart pounds in your chest and you feel as though you’ll sink into the ground at any second. The way he stared, the way he gripped your wrist, he didn’t feel like how you thought he would. There were no sparks or honey-sweet emotions, shit you at least thought he’d give you a smile.

The entire elevator ride down the peppy assistant is telling you how things will be from now on. It makes you wanna claw at your face.

“Oh, it’ll be so cute! Everyone is going to love you, I’m sure of it!” She’s so damn loud and snippy you want to smash your head on the mirrored edge of the elevator. She won’t shut up about PR, and how they’re going to manage your socials, and put you on the red carpet - right next to your soulmate.

You get this horrible vision of you standing next to him, getting bombarded by paparazzi and having to cuddle up with him for life. You almost throw up in the elevator.

“Can I go home?” You cut her off, not giving a damn if it’s rude or awkward.

She balks, gaping at you with wide eyes. She grips her tablet between chippy-painted fingers, you think for a moment she’ll tell you no and that you’re not allowed to leave. But she calms herself, biting the inside of your cheek and says, “Of course! A driver will take you home.”

“Nah, it’s alright,” The doors open and you’re already making your way out to the front entrance, “I’ll walk home.”

You live all the way in Brooklyn, but you don’t give a rats ass. You don’t give Ashley the chance to debate it, speed-walking out of Vought and onto the Manhattan sidewalk. A buzzing fills your ears, like flies droning in a bottle. You heave, clenching your fists so hard the nails dig into your palms. You have this horrible feeling you’re still being watched.

By the time you make it to your apartment it’s nighttime and you’re exhausted. You’ve ignored every call from your parents and friends, especially the unknown ID that you know is Vought. You try not the cry in the shower, gripping the edge of the bath and willing yourself to breathe evenly. Nothing happened yet, so why are you so upset?

The days don’t get any easier. You have this constant feeling that you’re watched, as if you’re under a microscope. You’re surprised Vought hasn’t kicked down your door yet. You still ignore their calls, trying to return to normalcy.

But you’re a fool to think you could ever rid yourself of him.

You swear you catch glimpses of him, wispy mirages of him in the corner of your eye. The flash of his cape or a glowing reflection in your window, it makes you like feel like the lining of your stomach is being lifted, pulled up and apart from your skin and peeled away from your body inside of you. It makes for something brutal - violent, punch through and shred at your gut.

You start noticing that all your friends are suddenly pulling away. Leaving you in the wind as they look at you with sad pitiful eyes, jumping away when you get too close. Some of them go missing entirely, you can’t outright accuse Homelander of anything - but you know he’s responsible.

He follows you everywhere like a shadow. A slinking ghost, that’s imbedded so deeply within your soul you can never rid yourself of him. Manifesting into this world, through pure unadulterated rage. Born from the deep bone marrow sorrow that exists within everyone. Gliding through this plane like a dreadful curse, seeping into your skin, hollowing out what little is left of you. Clinging like a leeched bastard, rows of teeth digging into faithful necks, marred from years of trusting.

Maybe the world is cruel. Giving you such a dangerous soulmate.

You rummage around your kitchen, hair still dripping down your nape from your shower and onto your soft PJ’s. People chatter and scuttle about outside, faint car horns and the buzz of tipped streetlights are your only source of comfort. You reach for a mug in your cabinet, you swear you hear a whooshing sound behind you, but when you turn to look nothing is there. You’re too jumpy, too nerve-wrecked and scared over nothing-

“Nice place.”

You let out a scream, the mug in your hands sliding out onto the tiled floor. It shatters around your bare feet and you spin around to see who’s inside your apartment. There stands the number one superhero in all of his glory, the suit a vivid contrast to your beige-colored walls. He’s here, just meandering through your apartment like it’s a walk in the park.

He gives a muted laugh at your reaction, his hands tucked behind his back and covered by the flag. The outline of him in the fluorescent kitchen light makes him look much more demeaning, more intimidating.

Homelander can hear your heartbeat, the heavy pumping against its fleshy walls as you tremble. You can’t walk backwards without stepping on glass, so you wait with a bated breath to see what he has to say. He cocks his head to the side, narrowing his eyes and looking you up and down like you’re just a slab of meat on the deli counter, and to him you probably are. Nothing but a sack of flesh and bones, not even a supe capable enough to keep with him.

“Homelander- sir,” Always so respectful, even to a fault.

“I- what are you doing here.” You wish you could say you weren’t absolutely terrified of him. He’s the world’s greatest hero, your soulmate after all. Aren’t you supposed to feel the most connection with him? The safest?

You don’t. There’s something not right about the way he stares, like he can’t tell if he wants to crush your head between his palms or just crumple onto your couch like he owns the place.

“Dropped your cup there,” He completely ignores your question, stepping closer to you. You can hear the crunch of porcelain under his boots.

“Spooked ya did I?” You gulp, staring at the blue and red super suit, he’s got that signature smirk on his jaw that he projects onto the public. The fake grin he plasters on when he wants to appear friendly and charming.

How did he get into your apartment? Why is he in your apartment?

You gape at him, breath hitching as you stare at him under the glow of your shitty kitchen light. The shimmer of blonde starlight strands, his eyes nearly glowing like crystal.

“How did you-“

He steps forward, breaching your personal space and his hands unfurl from their position behind his back.

“Ya know, I think you and I got off on the wrong arm.” He says it jokingly like he didn’t subtly threaten to snap your wrist in front of the seven simply because you existed. That he didn't call you fucking pathetic when you first met.

He’s too close, almost chest to chest with you. You can smell his cologne, a woody musky scent, masculine through and through. You’re sure it’s some stupidly expensive type that the public can’t even get their hands on. The shattered shards of porcelain lay at your feet, and there’s no debate in your mind - you could never outrun him even if you tried.

“What do you want?”

His smile falters just a smidge, you could only tell if you stared hard enough at his mouth to see the edges twitch downward. He’s getting impatient with your apprehension, your refusal to see him.

"Ashley told me you refused to have a driver take you home and that you’ve been ignoring our calls.” He plasters on the fake grin like it’s nothing, like it’s an accessory. It’s meant to be disarming, but there’s a certain feral gleam to his features that makes you tense in uncertainty.

Fucking Ashley, of course she told him.

You swallow hard, you don’t know how to read him, you don’t know what will work with him yet. He’s untouchable and you’re a weak human.

“Yes, I did.”

“Why’s that?” He hums, hands coming out to glide up your biceps. It makes an unruly shiver spark up your spine. He revels in it, this power trip - it makes him want to flutter his eyes closed and inhale the scent of fear like a fucking dog. You’re not what he was expecting, you’re better.

“I just, just thought that-” You sputter and choke on your words, how are you supposed to tell him you don’t want any of this? That all you’re life you’ve felt like this was all some big joke, a cruel prank from the universe?

Your heart pounds in your chest, so hard it makes it ache and you think you’ll pass out from the tenseness around you.

His gloved palm comes up to cup around your jaw, thumb sweeping across your cheek. It’s meant to be comforting, sweet. But all you can think is how easy it would be for him to snap your neck.

“I can’t have my girl being unsafe, I just won’t allow that.”

You look up at him with wide glassy eyes, he can tell you’re petrified of him and he loves it.

“No more of this ‘I can do it myself’ shit, yeah? You’re gonna let me take care of you.” He says it so softly you’d almost blow past his demeaning comment, the small lifting smile on his face setting it in stone.

You nod, lip quivering as you realize the full scope of your situation. He knows you now, knows where you live, where you work - you’re never going to get away from him. He knows all of your family and friends, god.

You choke on a sob, trying so hard to bury it before he sees. Homelander shushes you, his hand giving you a warning squeeze. There’s barely any strength, any effort, put into it. You know what it means though. He inhales deeply, a sigh escaping his parted mouth and he looks down at you. Blown pupils engulfed in swirling, sparkling azure, so magnificent as it ebbs and flows with his amusement.

“You and I, we’re going to be something special.”

There’s something wrong with your soulmate.

You’d thought that because it was America’s greatest superhero, he’d be all the glorious bullshit you’d seen throughout your life, but he’s not. Homelander, John, whatever he is - isn’t normal. And you don’t mean in the “Wow he’s a supe he’s stronger than me!” kinda way, but he’s wrong, your connection is wrong, it doesn’t feel right.

It’s not like how your parents described it to you, with bursts of passionate color and emotions, blooming with this fire of love you can’t snuff out. No, it feels off, like you’ve been dropped in a pit of vipers waiting to strike, waiting for them to ball around your neck and ankles till you suffocate. An unease runs through you, slithering up your spine when he’s around.

He doesn’t try to appeal to you, he doesn’t try to hide it or cover it up. Why should he? You’re his soulmate.

Of course, he knows what it means. He has his own mark, annoyingly enough. The etched black ink on his wrist made him curl his lip in disgust, why did he need a soulmate? He was the fucking Homelander.

But he can’t help the flurry in his heart at the thought of this binding mark. Soulmates are more than just lovers, they’re your entire being, the people that know you to your core and still love you. Or at least, that was what Vought taught him growing up.

Even if you don’t love him now, you will soon enough. You will because he doesn’t know how to handle it if you don’t.

Homelander looks past the fact you’re not a supe, that can be changed. He’s enamored by you and your menial life, what did you even do before him? He wants to flood your entire existence until all you know is him.

Your life is steadily taken over, flipped, and ripped apart by your soulmate as he invades every inch of your small little being.

You don’t have an apartment anyone, you share one with him in the tower. You don’t eat alone, dress alone, sleep alone. You’re never by yourself anymore, he’s always hovering, even when he’s not around you’re guarded in the tower like a captured princess.

Homelander comes home to you everyday, sometimes he just talks and talks and talks. Making up for years of being apart. He asks you all types of questions, “What was your childhood like?” and “Did you ever fall in love before me?” All the while he mooches off you like some needy cat, you never thought he’d be the physical type, but you guess now it makes sense.

He comes home in a mood, unsurprisingly. Ranting and raving about government officials and his “stupid teammates”, throwing his gloves onto the couch as he slips his way onto your lap.

You’ve done nothing but ponder while he’s been away. Pushing around stupid little decorations in his apartment, arranging and rearranging them till you got sick. You try to make conversation with the others but they keep their distance.

Homelander doesn’t even ask before he’s laying his head on your lap, kicking his legs up and just muttering about his day. You’ve learned to just coddle him, knowing it’s better than him taking his stress out on you in other ways.

So you do what he craves, slipping your fingers through his hair and scratching lightly at his scalp, humming at his words and pretending you’re sympathetic to his worries.

“I’m sorry, you don’t deserve any of it.” You mumble, so numb to the feeling in your chest you think you almost believe it.

He sighs contently, “I know, it’s just- so hard. Everyone puts this weight on my shoulders and I can’t handle it.”

You frown, smoothing your palms over his cheek. There’s a bittersweetness on your tongue, words you know you shouldn’t say.

John preens under your hands, leaning into your hesitant touch with so much depraved neediness you nearly feel bad. You’ve never seen him look so… submissive. He's fragile-looking, with pursed lips and downcast eyes that refuse to look up at you. He rests there, head in your lap like a little boy. You card your fingers through the blonde strands, they’re soft for the most part but you can still feel the hair gel that coats them.

You’ve seen his cynical mind, the possessive soul he bears, you know his cruelty knows no bounds. But at this moment, he is simply a broken man who craves your affection so desperately it’s almost pathetic.

You’ve come to realize that he can’t take care of himself.

He’s vulnerable in a way. Homelander has no capacity to help himself, he’s been taken care of his entire life. By PR, damage control, the doctors in the lab, hell even Madelyn Stilwell. They’ve all written out what he should be and say, they’ve manufactured him since the day he was born. You guess you can't fault him for not knowing how the world really works.

You’re bound to John in a way no one else on earth is, chained to his heart and mind whether you want to be or not.

#val.writes ❦#the boys.✮#homelander x reader #the boys x reader #homelander x you #the boys x you #the boys #homelander #tw. yandere

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z3nitsusgf · 2 years

Note

I feel like homelander would be the type of yandere to make his soulmate/darling bathe with him.

“Isn’t this nice?” He sighed and you wished that you could have been anywhere but there, sitting in between homelander’s legs.

He would :// and he’d be so annoying abt it too

cw: soulmate au, nudity, implied nsfw, homelander’s vile mouth, he’s so needy bro, mention of fem.reader

It’s the only peace you get. Bath time is quiet, serene even. The only place in this fucking tower he couldn’t reach you.

When you clicked that lock into place, it meant safety. Tranquility. A moment of rest where he wasn’t pestering you about random bullshit or chewing you out for not folding his suits right.

The hot water feels so good and you won’t lie, Vought makes sure all the supe’s have the best products. The bath bombs and salts smell like heaven, and they work wonders. The bathroom is fogged with steam, smelling of citrus and starflower.

It’s easy to relax, to shut your eyes and fall asleep in.

Maybe it is your fault for thinking any place on earth would be safe from him.

You’d like to think Homelander’s not as cruel as he says, that he does what he does out of misguided love. He is your soulmate after all.

He just needs control.

That’s why you don’t say anything when he simply twists the handle of the door and breaks it. That’s why you let him shed his suit and climb into the tub behind you.

This was your one escape from everything in this fucking tower. Even that’s overtaken.

Your music plays on his speakers, this was the only time you could enjoy it without him complaining you’ve got shit taste. But that’s kind of shot now.

You draw shapes into the side of the tub, fingers leaving droplets on the porcelain. You would sink lower into the water if he wasn’t holding you against his chest. He’s kind of a poser, he’s not actually as muscular and huff as his suit makes him seem. Though you don’t underestimate the brutal power that flows through his veins.

He’s got his legs pressed against the sides of yours, his chin rests on your head. You try to ignore his stabbing length that rubs against your lower back. Trying not to shift in the tub, the water already close to spilling out, thanks to him.

You tilt your head back to look at him, the sharp jut of his jaw and his lashes fluttering over his cheekbones. He looks weirdly cute this way. Human for once.

“Whatcha pouting for?” He asks, hands smoothing across your waist, skirting dangerously close to your inner thighs.

“M’not pouting.” You mumble, furrowing your brows.

“Uh huh, you are.” He squeezes your cheeks in his hand, chuckling at the way your lips pucker into that stupid fishy face. You drop your chin, refusing to look at him anymore.

“You’re pouting because I came in here and started botherin’ you while you were soaping up your tits.” He makes a move to flick the underside of your breast, smirking when you try to jerk away.

He’s so crude and annoying, you hate him more when he’s in a good mood.

“I wasn’t-“ He raises his eyebrow mockingly, you huff at him. He’s roping you into his stupid little games.

You huff, you’d rather he left you alone. But you’ll take advantage of his good nature if it means giving you a few more hours of peace.

“Lighten up, buttercup. S’supposed to be relaxing.”

Relaxing your ass, he’s probably never taken a bath with anyone in his life. You’d roll your eyes if you knew he wasn’t gonna catch you. You opt for staring at the faucet that drips steadily into the soapy water.

“Hey,” he maneuvers you so you face him, and you try not to kneel him in the dick while he spreads your legs across his hips. Missing the flash of a smile on his lips when he trails his eyes over your body.

“Don’t get all pissy, babe. I only wanted to spend some quality time with my soulmate.”

Of course, he’s pulling that card.

You purse your lips, looking at him from underneath your lashes. The air is cold around your waist, you can feel the droplets of warm water slide down your back. Homelander gently pushes your arms, gesturing you to wrap them around his neck, and you do.

You’ve long since grown accustomed to his neediness. In some ways, you’re glad it exists. Because it shows you he’s still got some sensitivity left in that decayed rotten heart of his.

“I know,” you pull out all the stops for him, “I like spending time with you.” He makes a satisfied sound in his chest.

You wish you could say you were lying, but a sick depraved part of you is so used to him - that you get lonely when he’s gone.

You card your fingers through his bleach blonde hair, the wet strands sticking to the nape of his neck. He practically purrs under your hands, gripping your waist as he closes his eyes. You’re still annoyed that he’s ruined your personal space, but you’re just happy he’s feeling soft. You’re still aching from last night.

This is what you were meant for. Moments like these are what he’s always wanted, and now he has them. Homelander feels the flurry in his chest when you even peck his jawline, narrowly missing his lips.

He’s never taking a bath alone again.

#the boys.✮#val.writes ❦#homelander soulmate au #the boys x reader #homelander x reader #homelander x you #the boys x you

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z3nitsusgf · 2 years

Text

still thinking abt the bath scenario with homelander :(

cw: nudity, implied nsfw, making out, he’s so annoying and s*ft here I think I’m gonna jump out a window

He can hear the soft thump of your heartbeat, the surprisingly relaxed nature of your breathing. You’re chest to chest, if he had any energy he’d probably he harassing you for a few minutes between your legs, but he settles for an ass grab here and there.

Homelander would stay here forever if he could. In the warmth of the bath, your forehead pressed against his while your shitty jazz music plays. What did you call it? Lo-fi? He doesn’t care.

He can see the droplets of water that kiss along your shoulder, your legs still hugging at his hips. He’s got both his hands holding your waist, he can see that his fingers are starting to prune from how long you’ve both been in here. You look like you’re falling asleep.

He nudges you with the tip of his nose, “Hey,” he hears you hum and he waits for your eyes to open before he’s saying, “gimme a kiss."

You twitch in his hold, chewing on your tongue. It’s strange, being this close to him. Face to face, where you can see the fine lines of his cheeks and the golden tan of his skin. The dark-tattooed mark visible on his wrist, usually hidden by his suit. He doesn’t have any scars, it’s impossible for him.

“Go on, I’m not getting any younger.” You resist the urge to curl your lips at him and comply, leaning towards his face and pecking his cheek, narrowly missing his lips.

Homelander scoffs at that, dragging you closer on his lap. Palming at your lower back, he’s feeling around a bit before pinching the top of your ass with lithe fingers, reveling in how you squirm with a startled yelp. Tsking at you with mock disappointment.

"Fuck was that, a kiss for your granny?" You narrow your eyes at him and he looks at you with mocking shock, his brow raised.

"Don't give me that look, kiss me right."

You sigh through your nose, tilting your face and pressing your mouth on his with a softness he's still not used to. Homelander hums contently, molding his lips with yours in a desperate way. Your fingers still splayed through his hair and tugging at them lightly.

He waits for you to part your mouth for air so he can sweep his tongue in. That garners a muffled sound from you, your nails scraping along the back of his neck while he sucks lightly on the tip of your tongue. He can smell your soap, the floral scent flooding his brain. Your mouth tastes like faint chocolate from his PR promotion, sweet and rich. And he’s turning his head so he can glide the slippery pink along the inside of your palate, over the ridges of your teeth and across the flat of your drooling tongue.

You'd think someone like Homelander wouldn't be so sloppy, that he wouldn't like how you swap the taste of each other's mouths - but he loves it. He loves it when he can see how flushed you get, body temperature rising and dopamine flooding through your veins. You're all hot and bothered by a little kiss, it's so cute. When he pulls away there are silvery webs of saliva that connect his tongue to yours, your lips kiss-swollen and he's got lidded eyes.

You whisper his name softly, puffing against his cheekbone.

"See, now that's a real kiss."

He says breathily, squeezing the plush of your naked waist and smirking at how you look away from him, shying away as you plant your palms on his pecs and push yourself back. You’d smack him if you knew it would do anything. You try not to squirm at the feeling of his dick pressed against your tummy, still a little dazed and foggy in the head. Homelander loves that look on you, maybe more then when you’re crying. The glassy eyes and parted damp lips, your cupids bow glistening.

Fuck the seven and Vought, he’s staying here for the rest of the damn week.

#slamming my fist on the table #the boys.✮#val.writes ❦#homelander x reader #homelander x you #the boys x reader #the boys x you

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z3nitsusgf · 2 years

Text

Homelander definitely skull fucks :/

cw: throat fucking, choking, throat bulge, homlander being a jackass, drool

a/n: everyone look away I’m going through a phase

Cups your face between his palms and guides you to his cock, acts like it isn’t a big deal or anything. He’s looking down at you like he’s bored, but he’s anything but. He’s got the top of his suit unbuttoned and gloves off.

Tilts your head back and slaps the heavyweight of it on your face. Smears the sticky tip across your cheek like it’s funny. You look so sweet, so nice, and pliant. His thighs cage you underneath him, still covered by his suit.

Feeds you his cock like you’re stupid, gripping it and smoothing the head on your drooling tongue while he mocks you from above.

“Look at you, pretty little cocksucker.” His mouth is vile, snarky drool-worthy comments dripping from his mouth.

Doesn’t even warn you when he’s shoving the entire length down your throat. Your hands fly to his thighs, nails digging into the fabric as your eyes water and you squirm. He’s on cloud fucking nine, sighing at the tight wetness of your mouth.

“Better watch your teeth, don’t want me to accidentally blow a hole through you.” He chuckles at the way your eyes go wide and your heart slams in your chest. He knows better though, you’re fucking dripping in your pants. You strain your jaw so your teeth don’t scrap his skin, even though you know it probably wouldn’t hurt him.

Homelander laughs when you choke and gag on his cock, sharp fangs flashing as he rolls his head back at the sensation. He’s petting your head, smoothing his fingers through the strands until he settles them on the back of your skull.

“You can take more than that.” He scoffs, pushing your head to the base, nose pressed right up against his navel. He loves how you just let him too, just adores how you go cross-eyed and teary when he slips it all the way down into the back of your tight throat.

He’s groaning and biting at his cheek while he feels the way you squirm underneath him, wiggling when the smooth tip is brushing the back of your esophagus. He full-on moans at the clenching on the tip of his cock, he knows you can feel the pulsing vein on the underside.

You do your absolute best for him, relaxing your tongue so he can slip in farther. And he takes it all.

God, he almost cums early when he can see the bulge in your throat. He stuffs you full and he’s running his fingers over it while you drool around his length. There are silvery strings of saliva that drip from your stuffed mouth and onto his pretty blue carpet.

It’s so sudden, but he just can’t help himself when he slips both hands on your tiny little skull and thrusts into your throat like you’re nothing more than a fleshlight, a dumb little toy for him to play with until you’re broken. Cause let’s be honest, he never really took care of his toys.

You choke around him, making muffled noises and gags when he pounds your throat so hard you’re sure it’s gonna bruise later. Wet clicking of sticky pre and spit drip down your chin, your eyes lidded as he uses your throat.

“Take it- fuck, take it.” He’s thrusting harder with each word, the tip punching the back of your throat. You’re getting woozy and light-headed, there’s a fluttery feeling in your tummy that makes you clench your thighs together.

“S-so good for me, sucking my cock like a fucking pro,” he shudders and feels ready to spill in your mouth. Homelander cums with a clenched whine, grabbing your face and pulling you to the base so he can cum down your throat.

“Don’t waste any of it.” He pants, watching how you swallow it all, face nuzzled against his navel.

You’ve got smeared tears down your cheeks, your mouth puffed with his cock, and you’re so wet he can practically hear it. This is his favorite look on you <3

#I HATE HIM #the boys.✮#val.writes ❦#the boys smut #homelander smut #the boys x reader #the boys x you #homelander x reader #homelander x you

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z3nitsusgf · 2 years

Note

I CANNOT stop thinking about reverse cowgirl with butcher and him smoking while doing it I- he’d say shit like “when ya gonna let me in ‘ere little love” while rubbing your asshole with his thumb and just laughs when you squeal

or if you’re not bouncing fast enough he’d grunt, and speak out of the corner of his mouth with his cig balancing and give you a nasty mean spank “get a fuckin move on love I ain’t got all day”

I’m sorry I’m just so obsessed

I’m scratching my walls, I kept this in my inbox for so long bc I didn’t wanna let it go ( @luvbladez bc ily)

cw: NSFW, fem reader, riding, overstim, smoking, bit of anal bc yeah, butcher is embarrassing, not proofread

You can’t say you regret riding him like this, but if you’d known he was gonna be this crude-

He dips his thumb down, gripping the fat of your ass and spreading you open. Butcher wolf whistles at the sight, thick honey slick clinging to your inner thighs and coating his cock with each buck of his hips.

“Fuckin’ look atcha’, dripping down my balls.” You whine at that, tucking a lip between your teeth, little tears prickling the corner of your eyes. You can’t see how he grins, the cigarette held between his canines, no doubt biting the ends until he could taste the bitter tobacco. You’re shaking, body quivering and hot.

“How’s it feel?” He asks, eyes sparkling under the orangey lamp. You don’t answer, only mewling and gripping the thick muscle of his thighs. He puffs a cloud of bitter smoke across your shoulder, feeling how you squeeze his cock in your walls.

“You alright, doll? Or are you too cock drunk to even speak?” He already knows, but he wants you to at least try and say it.

He’s got one hand squeezing and groping the globe of your backside, using it to watch how you take him all. How you sink down on his cock over and over, the curve of your back so pretty under his lamplight, sparkling dots of sweat bead over your skin.

You mumble something, tongue so sticky and thick in your mouth you can hardly speak to him. He’s deep, too deep. It makes you feel foggy and stupid and his tip is smashing against something unintelligible inside you that makes you go brain dead.

You’re always gone at this point, reduced to nothing but a babbling little mess, he always loves how you’re so much more sensitive than normal, it gets him going.

Butcher smoothes one hand up your back, holding onto your waist. The other unexpectedly cracking over your cheeks, the force of it rippling the fat and making you yelp and lean forward.

“I asked you how it feels, it’s best ya answer me the first time, sweetheart.” You whine, thighs trembling over his hips. He doesn’t even slow down for a second. Swirling his hips that are flushed against you, the underside of your thighs sticky with humidity and precum.

Your mouth parts, drool practically pouring from your lips, “Feels s-so good, Billy. You’re filling me up.”

He smoothes his hand over the stinging mark on your ass, lightly massaging it, laughing at how fucked out you sound. The droopy lilt of your voice, the slight tremor of it making him throb.

“Yeah, I bet I am.” He chuckles, eyes glued to your cunt swallowing him, and the other winking hole above it. You jolt with a squeal when he brushes his thumb over it, using the wet slick that drips from your sloppy cunt to dip into your ass.

“Billy-“

“You gonna let me fill both your holes, lovie?” He asks it under his breath, voice baritone and in that gravely tone that makes you quiver and clench around him.

You nod, digging your nails into his thighs as you try to keep bouncing on his cock. Your hips starting to ache.

“Yeah, that’s a good girl. Lettin’ me get you all opened up f’me.”

You moan at that, and Butcher has a hard time not just busting then and there. You’re slicking his fucking thighs and pelvis with how drenched you are, and he feels when you pulse around him when he dips it into your other hole. Uses your creamy slick that pools down your thighs to work circles over the tight rim.

You let out the prettiest moan when he pushes his thumb in all the way, down to the base of his knuckle. His cock splitting you open, thumb in your ass. Sloppy wet slapping echoes each time you slam down on his lap, thighs connecting as you drip down his balls.

He feels you tightening, gushing around him as you rabbit your hips on his lap. His cheeks flushed and a little sweaty as he bites his lip from how soaked you are.

“Gonna cum,” you pant, trying to lift yourself up and down his cock while that lightning hot feeling flashes through your stomach. Butcher smirks, lifting this cig with the other hand to stub it out on the counter. He pulls you down on his length, over and over till you’re coming with a cry. Wobbly hands trying to stable yourself on his lap.

Butcher is making a muffled groan, bucking up into you even though you’re squirming. Panting with an open mouth while he spills into you, not caring if it’s messy or sloppy.

When you’ve stopped trembling, Butcher leans up to kiss your shoulder, grinning into your skin. He’s pushing you forward, onto your hands and knees, chuckling at the confused sound you give.

“Oh sweetheart, did you think I was down with ya?” He tsks, pushing you into an arch so your ass is in the air.

“I’m not stoppin’ till I get my cock in your tight ass.”

#val.writes ❦#the boys.✮#billy butcher smut #billy butcher x you #billy butcher x reader #the boys smut #the boys x you #the boys x reader #anon 💌

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z3nitsusgf · 2 years

Text

like a leopards tongue in the mouth of a snake

roman roy | reader - 3.2k

cw: NSFW, fem.reader, bribery???, scummy roman, fingering, oral (f. receiving), slight power dynamics, office sex

a/n: blah blah intimacy issues, blah blah canon roman is scared of pussy I KNOW but let me have my fun

Outside, tipped street lamps have buzzed awake and shine cones of orange light onto the roads. It’s past hours, the other workers long gone by now. The office is empty, save for the skeleton crew that cleans up when no one else is around, but they're on the lower levels.

The sky is yawning into night, the dusty blue darkening with each passing minute. You can’t hear the bustle of New York from how high up you are in the tower, the shimmering golden lights of other skyscrapers mimic the stars.

You’d like to go home, like to just go to sleep so you don’t have to deal with these corporate douchebags any longer. But your boss is still here, still drinking in here his personal office like the rest of you don’t have lives. To him, you probably don’t.

He’s said it before, “What? Do you have more important things to do than me?”

Like most people at Waystar, you steer clear of having to interact with Roman incessantly, despite the fact you’re his assistant. It’s already hard enough, being his glorified babysitter. It’s even worse when he’s in a teasing mood, which is all the time.

He’s like his family, the classic “I’m too important to interact with anyone out of my pay grade” type. Only really indulging in you because you’re the type to just shoulder his weird comments without taking them seriously. Brushing off his crude, absolutely shit, remarks. And you have a great ass too, or so he says.

He calls you his “little paper pusher”, an oversimplified pet name for what you actually do. You’re so important to his well-being, if you left now you’re sure he’d dissolve into nothing. But you let him think all you’re good for is being an emotional dumpster for his whiny rants. He’s more clingy than he realizes, always calling you late at night for menial bullshit and practically nipping at your heels when you try to work.

You do your best to slip under the radar; typing away at your desk, bringing coffee when asked, shuffling, and shredding papers in the file room. Occasionally, you’ll be asked to accompany Roman to his home (where he’ll ask if you want to suck his dick or get finger-banged over his couch). But most of the time, you make sure he’s not getting into a lawsuit for making lewd comments at the interns. Which is hard when that’s his whole farce.

He’s not bad all the time. Sometimes, he buys you lunch, really expensive lunch. He’ll even sit with you while you eat, pointing out you have horrible taste and he should really help you with expanding it. Plus you get bonuses on top of your stellar pay, Christmas gifts, and your very own lovesick slime puppy who can’t help but be obsessed with you. The last part wasn’t in the contract, but you guess it’s not so bad.

Another perk of being an assistant to the Roys is that you can’t leave until they tell you to leave.

So you’re stuck in the Waystar building, watching your boss sip on Lagavulin Offerman malt, observing how he sits weirdly on his loveseat and makes crude comments to you about his brother or Tom or the fucking weather. Lavishing in the space, relishing in the fact he’s made another person listen to his bullshit.

You mostly drown him out, looking over invoices and discrepancies while he sips his whiskey, sitting in the corner while you contemplate what you’ll have for dinner. You don’t even look at the time, only knowing it’ll make you itch to go home more.

You hear him say your name, drawing you from the excel sheet of numbers on your screen. He’s lazily draped on the cushions, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, and the first few buttons on his shirt are opened.

He beckons you over with the flick of his fingers. You assume he wants more alcohol, or maybe he wants you to fetch his driver. You don’t expect him to-

“Hey,” he drawls, lips curved into that cheeky bastardized smile, “I’ll give you a million dollars if you take off your shirt.”

You’re dumbfounded, standing in the office of the boss’s son, holding your little Waystar table like it’ll save you. For a minute you think he’s joking.

“Huh? What-“

“Yeah, come on. I’ll give you a million, in cash or check or PayPal- whatever, if you take off your shirt.”

Roman Roy has always had an absurd amount of wealth, you know that. Everyone from fucking New York to Timbuktu knows that.

He can make million-dollar bets like it’s nothing, throwing away pocket money that could very well pay off your student loans, that could make sure you’d never go hungry or have to worry about keeping the fucking lights on. It’s shouldn’t surprise you that he’d make stupid little bets with you. Especially, when he’s bored and slightly buzzed.

Your eyebrows draw up at his words, mouth dropping open in a mix of shock and incredulous.

“I- um, I don’t think that’s a good idea, sir.”

Not only would you get in trouble for having that much money, but you’re also not going to just strip because he asked you to, no matter how much you think he’s attractive.

Roman gives a mocking scoff, lips parting as he takes a sip of his stupidly expensive whiskey that you’re sure tastes like shit. Your confusion and disdain must show because he’s raising an eyebrow at you, looking up at you with clear moss-green eyes.

“Oh, don’t be such a prude. It’s only your shirt.” He says it so casually - like you’re the one being unreasonable, swirling the glass in his hand as he crosses his legs. He’s dressed with a casual cocktail of his usual confidence and mockery.

“Besides I can see your tits through your blouse anyways,” your eyes widen and you feel yourself get fever-hot in embarrassment, and Roman is still grinning, “not like I’m gonna see anything I haven’t already.”

He laughs at how you fluster, you can see his pearly white teeth in his mouth. His eyes crinkling to the point you can see the lines on his face. Mouth quirking as he watches your eyes get misty, it’s always been a strange hobby of his.

There’s something fundamentally wrong with him. He’s always known that. He pretends not to be the slithering black snake that creeps from the underbrush, but he can’t help it. It’s just what he is naturally.

“Mr. Roy-“

He waves his hand, your eye catching the vacheron constantin watch on his wrist as he uncrosses his legs so he can lean forward towards you.

“Oh come on, how about 2 million?” He’s dead serious, his stare piercing through you as you gape at him. You hate that you’re actually considering it. Two fucking million-

“Don’t tell me you don’t need the money.” He’s got that confident ‘you’ll do what I want’ look, and you chew the inside of your cheeks till you feel it sting. Even if you didn’t, two million dollars could last you for a long time.

“Just my shirt?” You ask quietly, despite the office being completely empty. Roman takes another sip, the large ball of ice clinking against the crystal.

“Sure, unless you wanna take it all off, just let me see what’s underneath this fucking thing.” He makes a point to flick your skirt, grazing his fingers across the top of your thigh. You twitch at the feeling, there’s an icy hot shiver that runs up your spine, a dark whisper in the back of your mind that tells you it’s worth it in the end.

You inhale before reaching up to unbutton your blouse, standing right between his knees. Slowly pulling apart each opal-colored button, watching how Roman is practically purring at how you strip. He’s set his glass down on the side table, uncaring that it’s not on a coaster and will leave ringed marks on the wood.

It’s a weird rush, the feeling in your tummy fluttering and your throat tightening. You peel off the cotton, dropping it to the carpeted floor and standing only in your pencil skirt and heels. Roman can see how the swell of your breasts move with each exhale, the subtle curve of your waist down to the pretty way you shift in your black heels.

It’s erotic in a debauched way. Borderline gross and repulsive, but arousing all in the same fashion.

You’re standing, waiting for… waiting for you don’t know what. Roman is well, Roman. He’s entitled, immature, and such a prick you’d feel more guilty about doing this if he wasn’t the coddled baby of a multi-billion dollar company.

He's spontaneously compassionate and flips on a dime. He's so used to being mean, being cut-throat and crass - it's like second nature to him. Like most people, you can't stand Roman on a good day, even less on a bad. But there's something about him, maybe it's that air of frail egocentric bullshit, the sopping sweet stench of someone so high-strung on power and his own entitlement that shows you just how pathetic he really is.

You’ve always liked men who were a bit fucked in the head. Roman is no exception.

“Got a nice pair, prettier than a fucking pornstar.” You’re resisting the urge to cover up your chest, but for some reason, you don’t. Letting his eyes roam over the dips and curves of your body, staring ahead at the glass windows that gleam in the skyline of Manhattan.

Roman swipes his tongue across the plump of his lower lip, reaching forward to hold your skirt-clad waist, thumbs digging into your hipbones. Dragging the pad of his fingers over the band, where skin meets fabric. You’re sensitive, knees practically buckling from the feeling alone.

It’s not the first time he’s touched you, he usually makes his quirky gestures at random times. It’s usually a pat on the head or a pinch on the shoulder. A peck when he’s truly drunk. Never like this, never so intimately. But you bite your tongue to keep from whining out that you want more.

His hands are soft, never having to do a hard day's work in his life. He trails the tips over your exposed stomach, fiddling with the zipper of your skirt. He smirks, leaning forward to brush his nose across your belly, up to your ribcage, his hair tickles the underside of your breasts, the licked-up strands wild.

He, thankfully, doesn’t comment on your peaked nipples, your skin flushed in goosebumps from his touch. Instead, he murmurs into your skin, “I’ll give you another million to take off the rest.”

A pitched whine catches in your throat, the vibration of his voice against your ribs is making you squirm, and you look down at Roman to see his blown pupils and rose-bud colored cheeks. The slicked-back gel in his hair starting to come undone, strands falling across his forehead. You resist the urge to run your fingers through them, biting your lip.

“Whaddya say, my little paper pusher, gonna take off your skirt for me?” He already knows you will, he’s just prodding you for more. Nipping at the exposed skin of your abdomen, dragging the tip of his tongue across it, wetting the flesh. He’s dipping his fingers inside the band, trying to weasel his way into your panties, which are fucking sopping.

It’s like Roman always says, there’s no point of having a babysitter if he can’t fuck ‘em.

You’re so hazy, head foggy and clouded over - you’d think you were the one that drank. You puff out what he thinks is a quiet okay. Giving him a soft nod, hands shakily going to unzip the tight fabric. He hums, already ahead of you and hooking his thumbs into the band and tugging down.

With it, comes your skirt. You squeak at the sudden rush, stabling yourself on his shoulders as he rolls it down your thighs, letting it pool around your ankles. He makes a muffled aw at your panties, a pretty lacy thing that makes him giggle.

He snaps the band with a finger, teeth flashing at how you squirm and yip like a puppy. “Wear this just for me? You’re so sweet.”

It’s patronizing, like he knew all along you were weak-willed and soft for him.

Roman nudges your legs apart with his knee, making you stand out in the open like his just for him. He presses two fingers against the drenched spot on your panties and gives a little circle.

“Jesus, you’re fucking soaked,” He throws his head back and laughs. Observing how you tremble around the pressure on your clit. Sliding them to the side so he can run his fingers over your slick folds, dipping them between the seam and feeling the honey-thick arousal that’s smeared against your cunt.

He pulls his fingers back and Roman looks at his fingers quizzically, spreading them to see the clear slimy strings that web along his knuckles from your slick. It makes a fluttery feeling settle in his tummy, one he hasn’t experienced. He ignores the raging hard-on in his pants.

“Get this wet because I’d pay you to take off your clothes? That’s kinda fucked, you’re kinda like my personal whore then.” Even now he doesn’t shut up, but his words make you clench around nothing.

He’s different like this, the air around him is electric and heavy and makes you want to just sink into the floor. He watches how your knees wobble, the way you grab his shoulders to keep from falling into him - he’s got you right where he wants you.

“Yeah, you’re a fucking slut.” He swipes his fingers through your folds again, hardly even caring if he brushes your clit or not.

Roman curves a hand around your back, brushing along your spine and settling on your tailbone. He pushes you backward by leaning forward, allowing your back to meet the cushions. Your legs coming up to drape over his hips. You glance down at the bulge that’s poking at your inner thighs, the faint damp spot on them has you itching to reach down and touch.

You wonder, faintly, how your relationship will change after this. If it’ll chance at all. You know Roman isn’t… the best, when it comes feelings. Maybe this is a one-and-done kinda deal, even so - it’ll still be worth it.

You get drawn out of your head when he’s playing with your pussy, fingers swiping up and down slowly, making you messier and sticky with your slick. You inhale, the tip of your tongue ready to beg for more when he pushes two fingers in your cunt, eyes wide and watching how you gasp and grab his wrist.

“Please-“ The way you say it, so breathily and desperate, it’s making him get hazy in the head.

He pushes in, down to the base of his knuckles, immediately going to hook them up and rub that sweet spot inside. It’s effective because your knees jerk and you’re half an inch from kneeing him in the chin.

The way you moan is so fucking hot, it has him twitching in his pants. You grab at his button-up, twisting the fabric as you hump his hand, it’s cute.

“I bet this is your wet-dream, huh? Getting your boss to finger-fuck your pussy.”

“So easy too, little corporate slut who’s been waiting for me to fuck her.” He says it with a pinch to your inner thigh, giggling when you flinch and try to snap them shut.

He’s taunting you, scissoring his fingers open and shivering at the sound of wet clicking that reverberates in the office. You’re tight, gripping his fingers and gushing down his wrist. He’s never wanted to see someone cum so bad before.

“That right?” He asks, his other hand coming up to grope and squeeze your tits. You shake your head, not even able to answer him with how he’s punching the tips of his fingers into your spot, the gooey sweet one that has you drooling and starry-eyed.

He slides the hand that’s pinching your nipples down to your hip, trying to settle the writhing and bucking of your pelvis.

“Making a fucking mess,” he mumbles, his other hand is occupied by pinning your hips to his sticky couch, which you’re sure is drenched with your cum. Trimmed nails dig into the flesh of your hipbone. The feeling of wetness clings to your inner thighs liberally, soaking down to the curve of your ass. You whine, hips squirming in his tight grip.

He pulls away suddenly, it makes you want to cry. You look at him with glassy eyes, the lashes wet and you’ve got bitten lips that quiver when he doesn’t hurry.

“Rome, I need-“

He’s scooting down, scooping your thighs up. His face is right in front of your heat, and he leans forward, flicking his tongue against your cunt, it makes sparks shoot through your lower half. Your hand shooting out the card through his hair, nails raking over his scalp.

You wouldn’t expect him to eat pussy so good, but god- he does. He sucks a fold into his mouth, he nips the other. You’re panting, practically grinding down against his face. His tongue lapping at you with such fervor you’re almost embarrassed. It’s sloppy and wet, and his chin is covered and shiny.

“So good, so good, it feels so fucking good.” Roman shivers, he’s not used to hearing praise. But he likes it a lot more than he realizes.

The light stubble drags across your skin, pricks the inside of your thighs from how hard you squeeze around his head. It’s like lightning, the build-up. It gets impossibly hotter when he’s pressing back his fingers and sucking your clit into his mouth. Your tummy clenching and spasming.

“O-oh fuck, Rome, I’m gonna-“ He hums, doubling his efforts, suckling harder while curling his fingers. It pays off when you gush and clamp down on him, moaning and mewling with leaking tears down your face. You tug on his hair when he licks a stripe up the seam of your cunt, jerking from the sensitivity.

Roman pulls away with a dopey grin, mouth shiny and god- he looks lovesick. Dark lashes fluttering at he crawls over you, palms resting on either side of your head. He’s so different like he suddenly doesn’t know what to do anymore. Retreating as if he hadn’t had his face in your pussy.

He presses a light kiss against your mouth. He smells of Dior Homme, the powdery iris and lavender that bleeds into vetiver, it’s intoxicating. He tastes like whisky and your cunt.

“You taste so much better than I thought you would.” Your hands flirt with the buttons of his ruffled shirt, untucking it from his waistband.

“Fuck, I’m so hard I think my dick is gonna fall off.” You giggle at his admission, leaning up to press kisses along the column of his neck.

“Well, let me return the favor, Mr. Roy.”

#val.writes ❦#succession.✥°#roman roy x reader #roman roy smut #succession x reader #succession smut #roman roy x you

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z3nitsusgf · 2 years

Note

what abt... pervy gorou?

cw: humping, panty stealing/sniffing, drool, degradation, masturbation (f. & m.), afab reader

• perv gorou really acts like a fucking dog, pins your hips to the edge of whatever surface he can find just so he can sniff and lap at your clothed cunt. doesn’t matter if you call it gross or embarrassing, he’s nosing your damp panties and flicking his tongue on your weepy clit.

• he loves humping you in any place that he can, pulling down your clothes so he can rut his cock between your thighs like he’s in heat. you two could be in public or just at home, but he’s always slipping his leaky cock in your thighs and whining when you drip over him. hugging you to him as he humps you.

• perv gorou loves making you messy, lapping your neck till you’re slathered in his saliva, nipping at it till you have ringed teeth marks up and down your skin. he likes how you squirm and yelp when he brushes his canines over your sensitive skin. not to mention cumming on your pussy, he loves spreading your folds with his fingers while he pumps his cock above you, spilling onto your folds. tells you, “oh you look so pretty with my cum.”

• can’t get enough of your scent, the true panty stealer! he’ll swipe your panties, your bras, your fucking skirts - everything he can get his grubby little paws on. he keeps them and sniffs them while he jerks off. moans and drools all over them, one pair pressed to his nose while the other is wrapped around his cock. he’ll cum in your panties just to get back to you and make you wear them again.

• gets riled up when you pull on his tail, you’d think it’d hurt him or make him angry - but gorou actually loves it (a little too much). purposely makes you irritated so you’ll tug on his tail, wrapping your fingers around the bushy fur and tug it till he arches up and practically barks with excitement. he’ll leak pre and hump the air if you pull hard on it, with enough tugs he’ll cum. “Please please do it again, I’m so close” he’ll beg you.

• perv gorou loves watching you fuck yourself. something about getting to see you push your fingers into your sloppy cunt and pant into his sheets makes him so feral. he’ll encourage you to use toys or to push yourself to your limit, cumming over and over. he adores how fucked out you get before he even gets his hands on you.

• absolutely loves when say mean things to him. call him gross and a bad boy for stealing your panties. sure, he’ll flush and go teary-eyed -but that’s all for show. gorou is getting hard in his fucking pants as the way you harp on him, biting his lip and resisting the urge to ask you to call him your slut. you do it anyways <3

#val.writes ❦#genshin impact smut #genshin x reader smut #gorou smut #gorou x reader smut #genshin impact･ﾟ✧

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z3nitsusgf · 2 years

Note

hi val! i just had a thought about the homelander and i absolutely need to share it with you because im going to explode

dont you think homelander is the type of guy to just put the tip in?? he wants to make you work for it. he likes seeing the way the tip is spearing you open.

he loves seeing the way you whimper when he enters and he just grins devilishly. he loves the way squirm beneath him and with the way hes holding you down, youre not moving much. he wants to hear you beg for it!!! he wants to see you all needy and he wants to know that only he can satisfy your needs.

and if youre on top, he'll just hold you up as just the tip of his cock is inside you and you cant sink down further? he sees you tear up in frustration and he coos at you in such a mocking way.

'need my cock that badly? is that it?' -🦋

cw: nsfw, teasing, doing it raw <3, dumbification… yeah, homelander is his own warning

You don’t know how long he’s been toying with you. All you know is he’s being mean about it. Snarky and condescending with the way he teases you.

“I dunno, I just don’t think you can take it.” Homelander trails, holding your wrists to the mattress while he pretends to contemplate it.

“I can, promise I can.”

The tip of his cock opens you up, he doesn’t go any farther. Homelander adores how you cry, loves it. When you’re desperate and pliant, begging him. You can’t do much but hump your hips up into him, whining when he laughs in your face.

“Aww, you’re so fucking desperate I almost feel bad.” He smiles at the way you frown, he hears your sniffles and the way you wiggle your hips. You’re so wet it coats the inside of your thighs and soaks down to his sheets, he hasn’t even done anything yet.

Homelander let’s the underside of his length smear across your folds, the leaking cherry-red tip catching your clit. He’s not letting you squirm away. Your thighs twitch in his palms and you can feel the way the veins running along the length of his cock pulse.

“Please, John-“ you say his name so breathily, so prettily - practically sobbing. He can’t help but groan, head rolling as he listens to you bleat like a sheep. You’re just so gorgeous, with wet lashes looking up at him with teary eyes that shine under the glow of his bedroom lamps, laid across the silk bedsheets. Sweaty and damp with your own slick.

You open your legs up more, hooking your calves around his waist, heels digging into his lower back. Trying to get him to push in. He doesn’t go any farther, just letting the fat tip part your folds, dipping in an inch and then pulling out. He grins at the way you go crazy for absolutely nothing. Mouth parting as he runs the head along your slit and pulls out to rut against you.

“Come on, you can do better than that. Really beg for it.” He’s mocking, clear-blue eyes almost black with how much his pupils have dilated. Just an icy ring of fire that looks down at you from above. His smirk is killer, absolutely lethal. He’s daring you to try and get it yourself, without his help.

“I mean you say you need it that bad. But I don’t believe you.” He’s fake-pouting, bottom lip pushed out as he frowns at you. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

You scrape your hands along his mattress, pleading with him.

“I do, need you really bad. Need your cock, John please. Please-“

You’re falling apart at your seams, you’re embarrassed to admit how much you need him. How much you want him. He’s all sun-blood charisma, lean and poignant. Looming over you like dark sandstorm clouds. You’re turned inside out by the ache, the hunger.

When Homelander catches the crack in your voice, the way it lumps from your drooling mouth - he knows you’ve had enough. You beg like something broken and it makes him think you’re the most perfect thing on this planet.

“Okay, okay.” He laughs, reaching a bare hand down to swipe your glossy bottom lip, something tender-like. Sparing a glance at the sticky mess that coats his cock, he hasn’t even fucked you yet.

“Christ, you’re a fucking mess.”

He’s in awe with how soaked you are, flattered by it really. Homelander slides his arms down the curve of your waist, stopping to squeeze your tits. Coming down to hook your legs up and over his shoulders, sliding the nook of his elbows around your knees.

“You sure you can take it? I mean, you always bitch about how it’s too much.” He turns his head to kiss at your ankle, nipping the skin. His canines dig into your flesh, just a bit too sharp. He’s still rutting the length of his cock against your cunt, ignoring the tremor in your legs and the way you try to squeeze your thighs to get more pressure on it. You flounder, near insanity with his small affections.

“Yes, can take it. I will, I’ll take it all for you.” You promise, swearing up and down that you won’t complain.

Homelander smiles, flashing you those pearly-whites with pure cunning tact. He’s got you right where he needs you; hook, line, and sinker. He doesn’t even warn you, or give you time to process the change before he’s pulling his hips back and spearing you open. Letting himself bottom-out in one quick pump.

“Oh, look at you.”

Eyes half-mooned as he watches your lips part into that pretty O shape, tummy clenching as your eyes rolling back. He presses deep, hips flushed against the back of your thighs. You feel so good, so tight and wet and fuck- he needs to do this more often. Making you wait gets you needy, and you get impossibly tighter, fucking gripping him like a vice.

You tremble, shaking slightly as he leans forward, the pull of your muscles burn as he plants his hands on the sides of your head. The stretch is so good, aches and makes you pant with how much he makes room in your cunt. You place your palms on his hips, nails futilely trying to dig into his skin.

“Don’t tell me you’re giving out already, we haven’t even started.”

He tsks, loving how you get misty eyed against him. You’re pulsing around him, walls trying to fucking suck him in for all he’s worth. You shake your head, all too worried he’ll pull out and toy with you for the rest of the night - he’s done it before. But you’re getting a little dumb with how good it feels, feeling your walls shape around his cock.

He’s smiling, big and wide. Homelander gives you kiss to your jaw before he’s drawing his hips back and snapping forward. He mocks the face you make, practically giggling at the way you hold onto his biceps and just moan.

“Man, you’re really, fuck you’re tight, desperate tonight.” He huffs over your mouth, swallowing each mewl and whine that spills from you. Kissing you till your mouth is swollen and drooly, licking stripes up your neck. Nipping at the skin.

Each time he pushes back in, lewd squelches from your pussy fill the air. You coat him, making his cock shiny with your slick and his pre. He doesn’t waver or slow, rapidly bringing you up and up and up. Hitting so far, so deep in your cunt. That soft gooey patch that you can never reach by yourself, that he knows about and angles his hips more to get you to truly yelp.

“John, I’m gonna, gonna-“ you can’t even speak with how cemented your tongue, damp with sweat and sticky down to the sheets. The wetness makes it easier for him to slide in, to pound down and have you seeing stars.

“Go ahead, m’not stopping you.” He breathes against your ear, lifting his head so he can witness how you cum. Legs practically boneless over his shoulders, your cunt clamps around him like something vicious. You dig your nails into his skin as best you can, tummy clenching as you spasm and gush. Homelander groans, hips stuttering and fists clenching into the mattress.

“Fuck, fuck- holy fuck.” You can feel how he presses as deep as he can, letting himself empty inside you. It somehow gets impossibly wetter when he cums, sticky white coating the length of him when he pulls out. Finally letting your legs drop as he lowers his head to watch the way you drip with him.

You’re aching, pelvis sore and you’re swollen. You’re so sensitive that when he brushes his fingers along the length of you, you jolt. Knocking your knees together and wiggling up the bed to keep him from weaseling his way into your overworked pussy.

“Christ, you’re good.” He breathes out a hearty laugh. Smacking the outside of your thigh, adoring how you’re just quivering like live-wire. Your heart is starting to slow, the room smells of sex and sweat. You can hardly feel below your legs, eyelids drooping from how tired you are.

You’re more pliant after he’s made you cum, sweeter. Especially, when you’re so exhausted you don’t care that he nuzzles up next to you afterwards. Hooking himself over you, legs tangled and arms wrapped around your waist as he buries his face into your neck. Giving small wet kisses to your shoulder as you drift to sleep.

Homelander has never been happier.

#me writing in a TJ Maxx bathroom #val.writes ❦#the boys.✮#homelander x reader #homelander smut #homelander x you #the boys x you #the boys smut #the boys x reader

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z3nitsusgf · 2 years

Text

cw: fingering, afab reader, she/her pronouns (used once), womb tattoo, teasing

a/n: the lack of good black butler fics makes me sad, why can’t I have freaky hot sex with Sebastian or Claude or the Undertaker??

Making a pact with Sebastian, only later realizing that the place to chooses to display his mark is above your womb. A pretty glowing purple at makes you tremble and burn, it’s like you’re a cat in heat. Sweating and clawing at the pillows, mewling out when he doesn’t help you.

“Sebastian please,” you sob, hips twisting in the sheets as the feel the inside of your walls pulse and drip. It’s like a red-hot throbbing that makes your eyes go white and you absolutely wail when he presses his palm down on it. The skin on skin is so good, so hot, so- natural.

“My, look at you. So debauched.” He actually laughs at how you nearly cum from it. His palm smoothing over the burning hot mark over your navel, he traces it with painted nails. Watching how you quiver under him, chest heaving as you look at him with wide expecting eyes.

“You’re acting very depraved, darling.” He mocks, flashing you a pretty smile to make you flounder. And it works.

Sebastian knows it’s improper to play with his food but he can’t help it, there’s a certain air to you - he needs to see how far he can push before you tip over the edge for him. His hunger is inevitable, inescapable, rapturous.

He leers over you, looking over your trembling body. Your cunt drips and flutters around nothing, knees knocking inwards to try and relieve the pressure on your clit. His other hand grips your ankle, keeping you from squirming away. Though it’s not like you’d be able to escape him anyway.

“Please Seb-“ the words are plucked from your throat as the demon presses down on your navel again. You sob, legs kicking the bedsheets, twisting out only to be stopped by his grip on your ankle. He hasn’t even fucked you yet and it feels like too much. The mark making your insides feel lit aflame, the nerves so sensitive you think you’re going crazy.

“Ah, there we go,” he chuckles at your reaction, patting your hip as you pant and leak streams of slick onto the sheets. Oh, his eyes sparkle in profound amusement. The way you so vividly react to his hands makes him all the more ravenous.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself.” Sebastian doesn’t slow down for a second, pushing your thighs apart. Marveling how sticky and glossy your pussy is, clit shiny and pulsing in the air. It makes him flash his fangs. He’s going to have to much fun ruining you.

He pins your legs with ease it makes you remember how strong he actually is. He could snap you apart with the flick of his wrist. You shiver under his hold.

Sebastian drags a finger up the wet slick, keeping a firm hand at your hip to keep you from bucking away. You moan, the nerves twitchy. He watches you through dark strands, circling your puffy clit with the pads of his fingers.

You choke on your saliva, hands gripping the lacy pillows above you to ground yourself. The burning above your abdomen doesn’t cease, growing and flaring with each of his small movements.

“Need more, ah,” You grind your hips onto the tips of his digits, trying to get him to push them into your cunt. He simply watches as you struggle, too amused with your torture. He waits for you to whimper, for you to grow desperate and slick under the tips of his digits.

“Of course you do,” he says, his hair falling over his ivory skin, sharp fangs poking from his lips.

“Always have been such a greedy little thing, haven’t you?” He coos, pushing three of his fingers knuckle deep into your sloppy cunt, hooking them up towards that gooey ribbed spot. You’re mortified by his gaze, pinned down by some unforeseen force.

He prods that it with precision, fingers rubbing back and forth over your velvet walls till you clamp your thighs around his wrist. Greedy walls clamp over lithe fingers, sucking them in. Drool slips from your lips, thick moans leaching from your mouth.

“You’re so sensitive.” He mutters, his thumb brushing over your puffy clit. Your thighs jump, stomach dropping in want as you feel the mark flare in need and you sob. Tears leak over the sides over your flushed face and Sebastian has half a mind not to lean over and lick them off your cheeks.

He works harder, curling his fingers up to punch the pads into your g-spot while his thumb rubs tight circles on your swollen nub.

“Sebastian, feels so good.” You feel like you’ve drank too much wine, head clouded and muddled. Your body is on fire and your muscles ache. Another slick palm climbs up your belly, resting on the curled purple mark above your womb. Your eyes widen, lashes smeared in dripping tears. You shake your head, “Wait-“

You catch the curved smile on his jaw before it’s curtained by the raven strands of hair. He doesn’t let you relax when he presses down on your navel, perfectly catching the pressure of his fingers prodding your gooey spot. You absolutely loose it, knees knocking together as you gush down his wrist.

You’re wailing, trying to kick the demon back from you as he fingers your sensitive pussy while pressing down onto your womb, but all he does is laugh and press down harder.

“There we go, there she is. Give it all to me.” It’s messy and slick with your cum, and you shake in the aftershocks. When Sebastian pulls his hand away his fingers are coated in a glossy coating of your slick, and he makes a show of pulling his fingers apart to parade the sticky webs of cum.

You pant, remnants of tears drying on your cheeks as you watch the butler take his slick fingers into his mouth. When he finishes he makes sure pull you down the bed by your thighs, leaning over with a too bright smile and saying, “Darling, did you think we were finished?”

#val.writes ❦#black butler.★#black butler smut #black butler x reader smut #Sebastian michaelis smut #Sebastian michaelis x reader #kuroshitsuji smut #kuroshitsuji x reader

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z3nitsusgf · 2 years

Note

what about… what about shoving your panties into pervy albedos mouth while you ride him 🤭🤭🫶

literally in love with your blog my brain is rotting ilysm 🤍🤍🤍

cw: panties in mouf, riding, afab reader, sloppy sex, mention of RA! Diluc, not proofread

He’s so loud, but he can’t help it.

“Fuck me, you’re so tight-“ Albedo swears up and down that your pussy is a miracle, it’s a thing created by angels. Tight, wet, soft- he’s so blissed out with you bouncing on his lap that he already has moans slipping from his throat in an octave that’s just a little too loud.

It’s not that you don’t enjoy his moans and whines while you buck your hips on his cock, but the dorm walls are paper-thin, and if you get another complaint from the RA then you’re out. And to be honest you don’t want to deal with Diluc and his bitchy attitude right now. All you want to do is fuck yourself stupid on your silly boyfriend’s cock, and it seems to be working- but he’s just getting so worked up.

Sloppy wet sounds echo each time you slam down on his lap, thighs connecting as you drip down his balls. Albedo grips your waist in a futile attempt to keep up the pace but all he’s doing is digging his fingers in and humming out breathy, “uh-huh’s” and “fuckfuckfuck” while his eyes roll back. You don’t want it to end so you slow your hips to a slow grind, moving over to swipe your discarded panties off his sheets.

“Here,” you pant with a smile, “keep yourself busy.”

Albedo makes a surprised noise when you shove the lace into his mouth but he keeps it between his lips. He doesn’t complain, he can’t really, not when you pick up the pace and work yourself over his on his cock. Your walls dripping and clamping over his length in a velvety soft vice that makes him lose his mind.

He moans into the fabric, flattening his tongue over it as he drools thick rivulets into your panties. Albedo can taste your slick, can smell your pussy, you’re everywhere all at once and he’s loving it. Biting down on the underwear between his teeth as he feels you gush around his length, sticky slick making your thighs connect.

“Y-you’re fucking gross Bedo,” you laugh into his neck while you bounce on his lap, digging your fingers into the blonde strands behind his nape. “You like my panties in your mouth that much?”

He gives you a muffled whine, bucking up into you. You choke, burying your nose into his sweater-clad shoulder. His tip bullying your sweet spot in your cunt, so deep you have to cling on to him while you ride him. The bottom of your thighs are sweaty with humidity, damp in pre-cum, and slick.

His hands grip the plush of your waist, palming the skin as he pulls and pushes you up and down his cock. When you clamp down on him, walls sucking around the base Albedo shivers, bucking up till he’s bottomed out and flushed against your cunt. He empties into you with a stifled moan, pumping his cum into you.

You pant and huff, sweat beading down your neck as you go to move off him. But Albedo doesn’t let you up, he moves a hand to draw circles over your sticky clit. A yelp leaves your throat as he rubs your sensitive nub and sits in your pussy. The sides leaking milky white and making everything damp.

“Ha- Albedo fuck,” he’s grinning between bitten teeth, the panties still stuffed in his mouth. He paws at your clit, rubbing the slippery bud. You feel your tummy clench, white-hot lightning shooting through your abdomen as you cream on his cock. He makes whiny mewls at the way you clamp around his sensitive length.

When you come down, you pluck your drool-soaked panties from his mouth. Moving forward to press your lips on his shiny swollen ones, thighs trembling over his lap as you card fingers through his damp hair.

“Do you think he heard us?” He asks, pulling away from your lips to rest his forehead on yours. You smile, “No, I don’t think-“

“You two are fucking disgusting.” Your RA’s voice comes through your door, steeling both you and Albedo in your places as you cease your breathing. You try to stifle your giggles but it’s hard, and you lean into your boyfriend’s shoulder to muffle the laughter as Diluc rants behind your door.

Albedo is both mortified and amused, biting his cheek to not make a sound.

“I think he’s mad.” He whispers in your ear and you nod, smiling madly, “yeah, but it was totally worth it though.”

#pervy nerd albedo <3 #val.writes ❦#genshin impact･ﾟ✧#genshin impact smut #genshin x reader smut #albedo smut #albedo x reader smut #- anon 💌

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z3nitsusgf · 2 years

Text

I feel like prey, I feel like prayin’

homelander | reader

cw: yandere homelander, dark soulmate au, dangerous situations (heights), possessive/obsessive behavior, manipulation, girl you have trauma LMFAO, homelander is insane and delusional

wc: 1.6k

If you knew talking to the others would cause him to get so… riled up. You would never have done it.

You’re so high up the people below look like tiny flecks of life. Past the glittering skyscrapers, past the birds, past safety. The clouds pillow around your waist, the air cooled and so fresh it burns your nostrils to inhale.

You grip Homelander, hands clinging to his broad shoulders. His arm is wrapped around your waist, firm. The only thing keeping you up is him. You’re trembling so hard you struggle to hold onto the back of his neck, lip quivering and teeth chattering. You know that feeling when something bad is going to happen. It floods your body.

“You know, we’re 14,000 feet in the air.” Homelander’s voice is calm, the good-natured tone present. But his words make you panic, the subtle brush of his cape against your calve isn’t comforting in the slightest. You refuse to look down, fearing you’ll vomit all over him.

“John-“

“This is the height most people go skydiving in.” He’s smiling, the crinkle of his eyes is meant to be comforting. It’s anything but.

“Why are we up here, John?” Your voice shakes, the pitch too high.

He sighs in deeply, looking at you with piercing eyes, “Remember when I said not to act out.” He says it brightly, eyes gazing at the horizon. The sun is starting to set over the west, a rusted orange painting over the sky, the sun a burning vermillion semi-circle.

“You really fucked up, babe.”

Your eyes widen at his words but he’s smiling. The soft grin on his mouth that he usually gives you, the small glimpse of his canines pokes from his top lip. Your mouth parts to speak but he beats you to it.

“Well, that little stunt you pulled with Noir,” he clicks his tongue and looks at you like a disappointed parent, “it really hurt my feelings.”

The way he shakes his head makes your gut churn.

“I- I didn’t mean anything by it, you know that.” You scramble to resolve his bruised ego even though you haven’t done anything.

“I just wanted to talk to someone-“

He raises an eyebrow, “Why not me?”

Your chin trembles, he won’t understand even if you try to explain. Homelander sighs, adjusting himself in midair. You try not to dig your nails into his neck but it’s getting harder and harder not to freak out.

“M’sorry, John. M’so sorry, I won’t do it again, promise.” It’s pathetic, how quickly you crumble and just let him win. But when he holds your life in his hands like it’s nothing more than a tiny marble, you won’t take any chances.

“I know you won’t.” He coos, shushing you like you’re a child, “You know, you can always talk to me. I’ll always be there for you.”

He uses his other hand to cup the side of your face, smoothing a gloved thumb across the apple of your cheek, it’s so soft you hardly even realize this isn’t him accepting your apology.

“But you have to realize,” he’s gripping both of your arms suddenly, his hold tight around your biceps, your legs dangle in the open expanse,

“I’m the only person you’ll ever need.”

He lets go.

Slightly shoving you with the flat of his palm on your chest so you tip onto your back. You’re grappling at him uselessly, trying to hold onto his shoulders or cape, feeling yourself fall into the endless sky.

“Wait- John, please!”

You’re falling, slipping from his hold and accelerating towards the ground.

In freefall, you notice it's just pure fresh air. You hear the loud rush of wind. It's similar to static from blowing into a microphone, or the loud sound in your head the moment you splash into the water. You’re screaming, or at least you think you, you can’t tell with how tight your chest is. The sinking feeling in your gut spreads throughout your spine. It’s chilling and gut-wrenching and you hope this is just a fucking nightmare and you’ll wake up any second.

You flail your arms, kicking at the sky as if that’ll save you. It surges through you like a live wire. Electric, feeling like metal and burnt coal. Slick steel and bronze melted together in a cohesive small bullet. You can’t breathe.

This is worse than when he broke your arm, this is worse than when he burnt you.

You hate to say it, but your life is flashing before your eyes. Small little snippets of memories reel like a tape in your head. Your parents, your childhood, even Homelander is there. It’s all wasted, every moment played out. You wish he never met you, you wish he wasn't your soulmate.

You watch as Homelander gets smaller and smaller in the middle of the sky. The red and blue of his suit bending in the light, blurring as your eyes water from the air. You won’t call out to him, you refuse to give him that satisfaction. You close your eyes, fighting every natural instinct to let your body relax. This isn’t how you want to go, but at least it’ll be quick. And you think of that inky black nothingness from before you were born.

You can’t see how Homelander clicks his tongue, rolling his eyes at how dramatic you are. He’s already calculated how long it would take before you need to be saved, the wind resistance slowing you down tremendously. You’re only falling at about 120 miles per hour, he’ll catch up in the blink of an eye.

He gives it a few more minutes until you’re a few hundred feet from turning into a pancake, and he’s flying down and scooping you up.

You’re pressed up against his chest, safe, but you don’t really care. All you can feel is the rush of wind that punches you in the lungs from how fast he scoops you up and blasts away to the top of a building. You hardly have the strength to hold onto him, letting him grip your waist till he’s on top of the seven tower.

“Really had you going there, didn’t I.” He jokes, his hand cupping the back of your head to keep your nose tucked into his shoulder.

You think you go deaf from how loud the ringing in your ears is, the static buzzing and tingling your head. Your ears hurt from the pressure, aching and popping as you get used to the ground again. When he sets your feet on the concrete you sink to the floor, scraping it with your palms as you let out a sob. You practically worship the ground, never happier to feel the rough rock against your skin. Hot tears coming in waves down your face, and you’re hyperventilating and choking on your cries.

Homelander stands over you, looking down at how you crumple in on yourself with an amused smile. You’re shaking like a leaf, reminds him of those stupid fucks he’d save from jumping off a building, suddenly so fearful of death once they stare it right in the face.

“Did you really think I’d let you die?” He scoffs, “Can’t have fucking roadkill for a soulmate.”

He laughs, reaching a hand down to pet your head. You flinch away, jerking so hard you nearly smack your chin on the concrete rooftop. He can smell your fear, the sickly sweet scent so pungent he bunches his nose.

“You- you fucking let me go!” You try not to scream at him, but the adrenaline is rushing through your veins and making you feel crazed. You can feel the bile creep up your esophagus.

“You let me fall, I would’ve died-“ He frowns at that, kneeling down and snatching your chin so you look at him. His gaze is so unnerving you have trouble looking into them. An empty wasps nest. Blanched and left barren, he’s insane.

“But you didn’t, you didn’t because I won’t let you. I saved you.” There’s a clear message here, the words he uses aren’t metaphorical, you know that from watching him talk to the rest of his team. He really won’t let you die. It’s ingrained in the frontal lobe of your mind, tattooed on as a permanent reminder. Salacious and infuriating, it’s so humiliating because you know you can’t blame anyone but yourself. Grinding your teeth down and biting your flesh raw.

He’s still deathly calm, gripping your jaw in his hand. Any harder and he’ll shatter the bone, it’s just another reminder of his power over you.

“Do you get it now? Do you understand your place?” It makes you cry harder and he loves how you look, so pathetically hopeless. Even more so when you nod, the defeated look in your eye is so beautiful. This is why you’re meant to be, you’re perfect for him.

“Good, always so good f’me.” Homelander pecks your parted mouth, peppering chaste kisses across your face. It makes you nauseated, but you let him, closing your eyes, and accept that this is him.

With wobbling lips and glossy lids, the tears that coat your lashes and smear over your puffy cheeks, it feels tacky and cold under the cool air. Your eyelashes cling to your skin and it makes blinking hard. Jaw clenched forward and biting down on the plump of your lip in a stupid way to contain those sobbing thoughts you keep kicked away in the narrows of your brain.

You are tethered. Mirrored versions of one another reflect off the dark stuccoed ceiling of each other’s souls.

“Come on, let’s go home. Heard that they’re making your favorite back at Vought.” He’s standing, outstretching his palm to you. He brushes this whole ordeal off like it’s nothing, just like most things.

It hurts, it makes you want to just scream at the top of your lungs, but you won’t fight him. So you take his hand, and you subdue every raging nerve in your body and allow him to think he’s won again.

Because where else can you go but with your soulmate?

#the boys.✮#val.writes ❦#homelander soulmate au #homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander angst #the boys x reader #the boys x you #the boys angst

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z3nitsusgf · 2 years

Note

My fav boys 💔 subby pervy nerd albedo and subby mod xiao melt into putty the moment you lay a warm hand on their napes and guide them to your nipples

Just your two soft boys lazily sucking and gazing up at you with glossy hooded eyes and making soft noises 💕

also not my brain coming up with the picture of these two boys with their heads on your chest and mouths full of tits and kaeya being like one step from jumping in front of a moving truck bc he realised that he literally lost to a fucking nerd and a greasy hentai addict discord mod 💔💀

lmfao what if I just posted haha… unless?

cw: reader has bewbs, sub!xiao & sub!albedo, dom!reader ig, tit sucking (oh yeahhh), drooling, mention of xiaobedo bc yeah, 2 losers suck your tits what more do you want from me

“Fucking move,” Xiao spits, smacking the back of the other boy's head so hard he jerks forward and Albedo makes a choked yelp at the impact.

The two of them are crowded over your topless body wrestling on who gets to mouth your chest first. They’ve already backed you into the headboard, kneeling on either side of you in the rather small dorm bed.

They look like feral cats, baring their teeth and swatting at each other. Xiao nearly growled at the blonde before you kicked him lightly with your foot.

Albedo murmurs a soft dragged out, “Ow” and cradles the spot where the other boy hit him. Looking up at you with glassy wide eyes and a jutting a plush bottom lip. He splays his hands over your thighs and leans his face closer to your shoulder.

“He’s being mean again.” Albedo pouts, playing up your sympathy for him and Xiao rolls his eyes up into the ceiling, thick liner smeared across his under eyes, getting ready to shove the other boy off you, palms near the blonde’s waist. “Shut up, wanna see mean? I’ll show you—“

You click your tongue over your teeth, reaching up and curling a finger around Xiao’s jaw, lifting his head as you say his name quietly. He jerks just a bit, but his eyes soften, the words dying on his lips. He looks up at you from where he’s kneeling near you and you hum,

“Hey now, be nice to bedo, or I’ll have to punish the both of you.” You murmur, tone soft but entirely firm. You don’t hide how amused you are, the way your eyebrow arches and you look, seemingly, down at him from above. He knows you’re completely serious too, that you’ll shove them both off and punish them together. He hates the way it makes him leak in his boxers.

Xiao flushes, a carmine flush rising on his cheeks as he gives you a stiff nod, your punishments are… not kind and right now all he wants is to wrap his mouth around your tit. He mutters a small okay and side-eyes his counterpart, he’ll be complacent if it means getting to tongue your chest like a fucking dog and getting to feel how you squirm beneath him.

You smile, leaning forward and kissing the tip of his nose. You hear Albedo whine, a choked pitchy noise escaping the back of his throat and you turn to look at him. His glazed teal eyes are watery, almost overflowing and wetting the lower lashes, you use your other hand to cup his cheek, thumbing softly at the skin as he nuzzles his face into your palm. He’s always been overly sensitive.

“Now, are you two gonna be good boys for me?” You ask, hands-on both of their faces, gripping slightly at their cheeks and puffing their lips. They inhale shakily, squirming over you, cocks straining in their boxers and pressed against their thighs, “Or do I have to make you two get along again?”

They both shiver at the memory, twitching in your hold at the thought of when you had each of them fuck each other silly, till they couldn’t cum anymore and their cocks were aching and raw and milked dry. And they side-eye each other, nodding,

“We’ll be good for you, p-promise.” Albedo heaves it out and you smile at him, brushing your thumb over his wet bottom lip and moving your hand to card through the silvery tresses on the nape of his neck.

He knows how desperate he looks and maybe if it were someone else, like Kaeya or Scara, he’d be embarrassed to be seen so weak - but Albedo knows Xiao is just as desperate to wrap his lips around your nipple. He can see it, with the way he’s been staring at your chest like it’s a fucking delicacy.

You pull Albedo towards your chest, a sign that he knows all too well and immediately wraps his lips around the peaked bud, a soft hum leaving him as he sucks and laps at the skin making your lids flutter and thighs press together. He kisses at the stiff bud, marks it up and drools over it. Hands playing with your waist as you bite back mewls. Albedo makes whiny moans into your chest while he sucks, eyes hazy and too sweet.

And Xiao tightens his fists, digging his nails into his palms while he watches the loser suck your tit like it’s a fucking popsicle, and he’s never been more jealous in his life. Biting back the mean comments on his tongue, until you permit him.

You turn your gaze back to the other boy, his mouth parted and drooling and you chuckle, he doesn’t realize how sweet he looks, you tap your fingers against his cheek.

“Well?” You murmur and Xiao shifts on his knees, looking between you and the other boy sucking at your tit as if his life depends on it. Watching how you shiver when Albedo runs his tongue over the side, licking a stripe up your breast and panting over your chest, and Xiao nods. His pride be damned.

“I-I’ll be good for you too,” he whispers softly, face beet red and burning hot, his lip tucked between his teeth to keep from panting. Your lips curve into a soft smile, your palm smoothing into his dark duo-colored locks as you bring his face closer to your other tit.

Xiao absolutely dives for it once you give him the go ahead, head turning and mouth parting to wrap his lips around your stiff nipples. His fingers dig into your ribcage, splaying upwards to cup the underside of your breast so he can mold it to the shape of his hand. Nipping the puffy sensitive flesh.

You’re squirming, chewing your lips to keep the breathy moans from spilling from your throat. Your fingers tug each of their heads, one silvery blonde and the other dark green. You can feel the drool slipping onto your chest, the wetness from their hot mouths making you writhe. “Slow- fuck- down,” the back of your head knocks lightly against the headboard. You think you feel them smile but you’re not paying attention.

Soon, the two of them find a subtle slow pace. Suckling at your puffy nipples, laving their tongues over them and making small mewling noises. It’s nice, hot and warm. The two of them can’t help the lidding of their eyes and how they rest themselves on top of you. Not minding how close they are to one another.

You smooth your palms over the backs of their heads, enjoying the way they lazily suck your nipples and still look at you like you’re the one who hung every star in the sky <3

#pervy nerd albedo <3 #discord mod xiao <3 #genshin impact･ﾟ✧#val.writes ❦#genshin x reader smut #genshin impact smut #xiao smut #albedo smut

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