#lena writes

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Sooo 27 and almost 19 is okay right? 🎀🎀🎀

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Hunter Insert

Dean Winchester x Reader

Synopsis: You really didn’t mean to, but somehow you’d stumbled upon something called Tumblr - and in turn fanfiction. You may or may not get addicted to reader inserts featuring your favorite teammate. You may or may not get caught.

Warnings: Smut, second-hand embarrassment, adorable Dean, fanfiction cliches, fanfiction cliches turned on their heads, fluffy smut.  It’s ok (and quite adorable, honestly) to laugh during sexytimes.

A/N: This is just a reworking of one of my most popular Bucky x reader fics!  Tweaked for the Supernatural world and storyline. No Beta, so be kind!

You’d had a thing for Dean Winchester for longer than you could remember.

It probably all started when you met Sam Winchester at school.  The tall goober took to you immediately.  Your calming presence and warm smile lured him in and you became fast friends, giving Sam a bond he hadn’t felt in a long time.  You were the only one he trusted enough to tell the truth about his family and their business.  He spoke of his older brother with bucket loads of admiration, though he would never admit it to the man in question.  When he told stories of their shenanigans back in the day, his eyes would light up but then his smile would fall just as quickly when he also recalled his father.  You fell in love with the idea of a man glorious enough to make even displaced, ‘unwanted’ (his words, not yours), and jaded Sam smile like the kid he never got to be.

They say reality never lives up to the stories, but lord almighty were they wrong.

You first met Dean when the business of his dad’s disappearance was in full swing.  A regular weekly movie night at Sam and Jessica’s place having turned tense when an unknown figure had broken in.  You remember your eyes had wandered to his dark figure, speaking to Sam in hushed tones, head reeling as you realized this was the man who haunted your dreams. The infamous older brother and monster hunter, Dean Winchester.

You hadn’t believed in love at first sight, but the way his impossibly hazel eyes made your heart clench… Well, there was no denying this is exactly what was happening.  

After Jessica had died you sat out the first leg of their search for their father, wanting to let them catch up.  It wasn’t until after their father was long dead, and the apocalypse was well on its way that you joined back in - or rather, were dragged back in.  Being the only woman currently in Sam’s life - though platonically, of course - the universe seemed to have it out for you and after having to save you from demons at least twice, the brothers claimed teaching you how to defend yourself and dragging you along with them would be safer than leaving you to whatever fate there was to be had.  You even became an incredibly capable hunter.  Though this was all after Sam had effectively ended the world with a demon lover who screwed him over, Dean died then came back thanks to the help of an angel - Castiel - who joined in your asinine little game, and the apocalypse really started.  Because life with the Winchesters was never simple.

And through all your years together, there was always the looming reality - or rather, fantasy - of the Supernatural books by Chuck Shurley.

At first, the fans were harmless.  There was the convention incident where reality and fantasy got a little too close, but Chuck assured you he was going to stop writing the books.  

He lied, obviously.

Still, the fandom was mostly benign - and rather small, actually, with only some fanatics here and there. Although perhaps your favorite attention to come from the ‘fame’ was from Tumblr.

Folks from all over the world posted about the boys - or rather their ‘fictional’ counterparts. Artists’ work would pop up from time to time, usually of the boys, but yours were there - even if they were pretty scarce. 

The art was amazing.  Some funny comics, some lewd drawings, some gorgeous renders - all talent.  But somehow, from Chuck’s descriptions of you and the boys, these artists rendered the most flattering, wonderful, and accurate works.  It was incredibly humbling and awe-inspiring all at once.  It even got you to start reading the books!

And you couldn’t blame them for the way the brothers were almost always shirtless or naked. They were like Greek statues, for God sake!

Your character was pretty popular, up until Chuck’s latest book where he started hinting at your little crush on the older brother.  Thank God the boys never read them, or you’d be in deep shit.

Some users sided with you “she’s only human! And he is just so…well, look at him!” Lewd pictures were attached to that post.  Others condemned you. “Seriously? How could he ever notice someone like her? #DeanDeservesBetter” “What’s Chuck thinking?”, “Worst.  Ship. EVER!��

Those stung, you’d admit. But if growing up in the 21st century taught you anything, it’s that fans were only jealous and no one was safe. You could ignore the hate though.

What you couldn’t ignore was the fanfiction.

Oh goodness, the fanfiction.

What seemed to be most popular were the reader inserts with your gorgeous teammate, and you didn’t mind indulging in them one little bit. Some were sweet and cute, others left you dashing for a cold shower after. It stunned you that these writers were able to capture Dean’s mannerisms and personality so well! And these works were just so addicting!

It became a daily thing, finding a new fic, and reading it in the safety of your room where no one could see or judge. You read reader inserts, stories with original characters, and may or may not have found a guilty pleasure in a teensy bit of Destiel (who could deny the two perfect specimens would be hot as hell together?? But you would never tell them).  You steered clear of the Dean x Lisa fics, though, like your life depended on it.

That was one torture you just couldn’t expose yourself to.

Then you stumbled over the one that changed everything. A new fic by one of your favorite authors that featured Dean (of course) and…you. It was a prompt you hadn’t read before, one where the two of you had to share a motel room with only one bed and things got hot and heavy. Your heart raced as you indulged in this fantasy, thinking of all the times you had to share a room with your teammates, though there was always more than one bed. You had never shared with Dean, as he usually bunked on the couch while you and Sam each bunked alone, but a girl can dream can’t she?

And dream you did.  Especially with Dean’s constant flirting and sexual innuendos.

The story became a constant thought in the back of your mind and when Sam hangs back at the bunker and leaves you and Dean to take on a duet hunt together, you felt your heart stop. At the motel when checking in, you were given one room and your mind ran ramped.  Had he read your phone’s history? Did he find your Tumblr? What if he had read the sinful story you’d found and wanted to live out the fantasy with you (another of your favorite prompts). The thoughts had you following silently behind your partner, heart racing as he smiled at you while his deft fingers unlocked the door. Steeling yourself as you walked inside behind him, you dropped your bags and spun around to find… 2 beds.

Oh.

Well, you supposed your dirty fantasies were just that; Fantasies.

----------

The night crawled on with no notable incidents -unfortunately-, and when it was finally time to call it a night, you both fell into your own beds.

Sleep evaded you for hours. The thought of that perfect body lying just feet away from you swam in the back of your mind. You could easily get up, crawl into bed with him, and make all your dreams come true. The fantasies that filled your head made you anything but tired.

Well, that, and the fact that Dean was snoring like a mother fucking buzz saw.

Your wide, dry eyes stared up at the ceiling as the loud rumbles filled the room. Dean had come a long way - with your help - and no longer had nightly episodes or memories of hell. Of course, they still happened on occasion, but they were a rare occurrence now.  The hunter often found himself sleeping soundly through most nights, including this one.

He was the only one who would, it seemed, as you tossed and turned, doing your best to tune out the irritating sound. You put earplugs in, then headphones playing music, then even tracks of white noise.  A forest, a stream, the ocean each one louder than the last.  They all usually knocked you right out on a hunt.

But Dean snored over all of them.

You did your best to ignore it, you really did, but when he rolled over onto his back and started with a newfound volume, you’d decided you’d had enough.

“Dee.”  You say lowly, hoping that he’ll sleep through the disturbance, but that his subconscious will hear his name and disturb his sleep just enough that he’ll shut the hell up.

The resounding snort proves that theory wrong.

“Dee!”  You snap, louder now.  Nothing.  “Dean!”

A few moments pass…

Nothing…

Maybe it worked!  Maybe-

Yeah, no,  there he goes again.

Groaning loudly, you sit up and reach for your phone.  Fine, if his hard-sleeping-ass can sleep through all that, then he could sleep with the light from your phone filling the room as well.

You open your favorite app, the blue screen greeting your tired eyes.  Switching over from the homepage feed, you type ‘Dean x reader’ into the app’s search bar and your screen is immediately flooded with fic after fic.  Pursing your lips, you decide to narrow your search.  It doesn’t seem like you’ll be falling asleep any time soon, so what would the harm be?  You let your thumbs fly over the screen’s keyboard.

Dean x reader smut.

Happy with your amendment, you hit ‘search’ once more and decide to take a walk on the wild side.

Immediately, your screen is flooded with sin and you bite back a smile.  With your screen’s light as low as it’ll go, you click on the first story and settle into a comfortable position, facing away from Dean and the window as you immerse yourself in the fic.

You’ve probably been reading for about an hour or so when your bladder decides it’s time for you to get up.  Sighing quietly, you leave your phone on your pillow, creeping through the silent room.  As soon as you’ve taken care of business and washed up, you tiptoe back to bed.  As you all but fall into the sheets, feeling like you can finally sleep, you realize your phone is not where you left it.

Hell, it’s not even in the bed.

Sitting up in fright, your eyes dart across the room and the sleeping man in the bed opposite yours.  When you see the dimly glowing screen on the bedside table, you sigh in relief, telling yourself that your sleep-deprived brain probably just didn’t register you putting it away.  Locking the screen with sleepy eyes, you drift off to sleep with visions of Dean trailing kisses down your neck flitting behind your eyes.

----------

The morning comes much too quickly for your taste, but you push yourself out of bed to face the day ahead.

You grab your bag quickly, packing up all your belongings as you and Dean prepare for your hunt.  He’s uncharacteristically quiet this morning, barely meeting your eyes as you two embark from the motel room.  Shrugging it off, you follow behind him and before you know it, the two of you are standing before the doors to a known haunted office building.  It’s far too early for anyone to be there, so breaking in is easier than you’d expected and the two of you don’t run into any trouble as you make your way to the top floor.

Once there, you put your plan into motion, Dean taking a defensive position as you sneak into the manager’s office.  You find the haunted artifact like you’ve done a million times before, and you note the sudden shift in the air once you touch it.  It’s almost too quiet as you do your work, but by the way Dean hasn’t even flinched in his spot is a good indicator that things are - miraculously - still going as planned.

Finally, your work is done - the artifact turned to ash and the ghost successfully placated.

----------

You don’t allow yourself to breathe until you and Dean walk into yet another motel, this one only a few towns over from your rendezvous point with Sam.  You’d spend the night here before making the remainder of the journey in the morning.  Exhaustion hits you like a freight train as you trudge to the room, and you find yourself hoping against hope once more that your favorite fics may come to life.  But when your eyes fall on two beds once more those hopes are dashed.

“You can take the king,”  Dean says, and you suddenly realize those are the first words he’s spoken to you all day aside from the business of the break-in earlier.  There hadn’t even been one famous Dean innuendo all day.  “I’ll take the queen.”

You raise your eyebrow at that but don’t argue, even though you know damn well that the man who is almost twice your size probably needs the larger bed more than you do.

No more words are passed between the two of you as you prepare for bed, each taking their turn in the bathroom and shower before turning the lights out and settling down to sleep.  It doesn’t take long for sleep to tickle at your eyelids, but it’s chased away almost instantly when Dean’s buzz saw snores kick to life again.

Groaning quietly, you toss a pillow at the human-grizzly bear before rolling over to grab your phone and headphones from the bedside table.  He continues, of course, and you go to your favorite app once more.  Using your phone this late at night and right before you sleep is bad, you know, but how the hell are you supposed to sleep with that man rumbling only several feet from you.

You open a new fanfic, this one’s warnings staring you down as you read “smut, language, NSFW gifs” and you can’t fight back the smirk that plays on your lips.  Again, you roll onto your side, back towards Dean, as you get to reading.

You know your breathing has picked up pace as you get past the fic’s casual banter between friends and the sexual tension sets in.  Your legs squeeze together of their own accord, your chest warming in arousal as you envision Dean speaking to you the way he’s speaking to Y/N in this fic.

Within a few minutes - and a few lines - the sexual tension explodes into a full-on kiss, the smut slowly building as a result.  You scroll quickly, devouring every detail before your fingers slow as the top of a gif comes into view.  It’s sinful, to say the least.  You watch the way the man’s hips swivel into his lover’s, her head thrown back as he buries his head against her throat and himself deep into her.

Your lip is back between your teeth and you can’t bring yourself to scroll on just yet.  Instead, you let yourself take every detail in as the image loops, again and again, your arousal growing with every second.  Oh, what you wouldn’t give to have Dean moving against you that way.  His heavy breath fanning over your collarbone as he grinds against your most sensitive skin.  You have to bite your tongue so as to not moan into the silent room.

Wait…

Silent.

You realize at that moment that the violent snores from the other side of the room have died completely, silence overtaking their absence.  A silence that has you tentatively glancing over your shoulder and only to immediately regret it.

Even in the dark, your eyes find the hazel ones that are only inches away.  Hazel eyes that are damn near swallowed with lust.

Oh.  

Oh, Jesus.

“Whatcha lookin’ at, Kiddo?”  His deep voice rumbles in the quiet room, sending your heart galloping as you jump up to sitting, desperately burying your phone against your breast in an effort to hide its contents from him.

“Nothing.”  You say, your voice scarcely above a whisper.  You don’t miss the smirk on his face and frantically reevaluate the past several minutes in your brain.  When had he woken up?  When had he snuck up behind you?  How much had he read over your shoulder?

“Doesn’t look like nothing to me.”  He says, teeth dragging over his lower lip and it seems for a moment that he’s debating on whether or not he wants to take this any further.  When he speaks again though, he makes his choice very clear.  “Looks like you’re being a very bad girl.”

The room is so fucking quiet that the lump that you gulp down is painfully audible.

He didn’t just say that…did he?  You chuckle humorlessly, trying desperately to break the obvious tension and play off of the joke he is so obviously playing on you.  Dean makes comments like that all the time.  That’s just how he is with you!  Any moment now he’ll chuckle like he always does.

But then he doesn’t laugh with you.  Just stares as he scoots closer on his knees until his frame is right against the bed, pulling you by your thighs until he’s encasing you - palms on either side of your legs that are now thrown over the side of the bed.

You’reDreamingYou’reDreamingYou’reDreaming…

“That…that was too far, wasn’t it?”  He suddenly asks, rocking his weight back on his heels.  Bless him, he looks so uncharacteristically shy and you must look completely dumbfounded.  He waits with bated breath as you open and close your mouth uselessly, desperately searching for words.

Finally, you spit out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Did you just quote the fanfiction I read last night?”  OH MY GOD, you mentally scream.  Why the fuck would you expose yourself like that?? What if he just thought of that himself??

But then what if he didn’t?  Because that line had definitely stuck out to you when reading the night before…and suddenly, you remember why it had.  That was the last line before you left your phone to go to the bathroom.  The last line you’d read with tired eyes before you set your phone down, unlocked, on your pillow and - ohmygod!

“You read that!?”  You screech, gripping your phone tighter.  You gasp so hard you damn near swallow your tongue.  “You put my phone on the bedside table! Dean, you totally snooped while I was peeing!”  Alright, you could’ve kept that bit to yourself.

He’s biting that damn lip again, and you know he can tell that’s exactly where your eyes are zeroed in on.

“Maybe?”  He says, voice small as he admits his secret to you.  “I didn’t mean to!  I just…I woke up when you shut the bathroom door, and the screen was shining right in my face - I just-I got up to lock it so it wouldn’t bother me, but then I saw what you were looking at and…”  He clears his throat.  “Y/N, I…were you reading porn…about me?”

Your face is no doubt a thousand degrees of embarrassment.

“It’s not porn!! It’s fanfiction, and-”

“It literally talks about me fucking you.”  He deadpans, eyebrows raised.  “In explicit detail.  It’s porn.”

You’re silent for a few moments, staring him down as you wait for him to back down.

Of course, he doesn’t.

“Ok, fine!  It’s porn, are you happy?”  You huff, crossing your arms and finally ditching your phone to the pillow beside you.  A sudden terrifying thought causes you to freeze. “So…are you going to tell Sam?”

“Why the fuck would I tell him?!”

“I don’t know!”

“Do you honestly think I’d tell him something so personal?!”

“I don’t know!”  You repeat, floundering as you toss your hands up before crossing them again in a pout.  “It’s embarrassing.  You know I tend to jump to the worst-case scenarios…”

“Y/N, I would never out you like that.”  You would have to be blind to miss the way his eyes drag over you in your nightclothes, and you are suddenly very aware of your lack of bra and just how cold it is in the room.

He seems to notice too, his eyes zeroing in on your breasts and the way your nipples are pressing against the soft fabric encasing them.

“Do you…do you want me like that?”  He asks, his voice dropping back into the husky tone it had been before his awkward detour.

“No, Dee, I was just reading porn of you for the fuck of it.”  He chuckles at that, his palms coming to rest on your thighs as the embarrassment between you two eases - making way for a choking tension.

“Really?  Ah, well, then I guess I can just go back to bed, then.”

“Don’tyoudare!”  The words are out before you can stop them, but at this point, you don’t much care.

“Oh?  Then what should I do?”  His hazel eyes are dark, gazing at you from below thick lashes as his hands creep higher up your thighs, pushing your oversized t-shirt up to expose the soft cotton covering you from his gaze.  “Should I do this?”

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening as he leans forward, lips pressing against the soft skin on the inside of your thigh.

“Oh, please.”  You beg, arms falling at your sides to support you as his mouth grows closer to where you really want him.  Only he doesn’t quite reach, his eyes twinkling playfully at you.

“Words, Y/N.”  He grumbles lowly, splayed hands pushing your legs wider to give himself better access to your heat.

“Dean, please-”  A squeal escapes you when his teeth drag across your hip bone.  “Put your mouth on me.”

Nothing you’ve ever read could’ve prepared you for the way Dean touches you.

He moves slowly, his palms running from your inner thighs to behind your knees to pull your legs over his shoulders.  The movement has your stomach flipping, eyes never leaving his as he drags his tongue up the material hiding your core from him.

He chuckles at your moan, eyes batting as he presses the point of his tongue against your clit beneath your panties.  To be honest, you’re not sure which one of you is enjoying this more what with the way his fingers tighten against your legs, his eyes closing in concentration as he laps at you.

In your wildest dreams, you never thought Dean would be touching you like this - at least not outside of the fiction you were reading.  But, oh, is he touching you - playing you, more like it, plucking your strings until you’re practically singing for him.

You could cum just like this, light pets of his tongue teasing your sensitive skin, but then he’s tugging the panties from your form, diving right back into your bare skin and you’re keening at the contact, your fingers knotting in his long hair.  He groans in response to your moans, forearm flung lazily across your hips to keep you still as he wreaks havoc on you.

You open your mouth, ready to chastise him but the words instantly make way for cries as he finally swipes his tongue through your folds - fucking you with his mouth as he watches your form writhe.

“God, you taste amazing.”  He moans, and you have to hold back a giggle.  “What’s so funny?”  Do you admit that you’d read him saying those very words far too many times to keep count?

But then he’s pulling away, leaving you whimpering at the precipice of release and the sight of his strong torso being revealed to your ends any thoughts you may have had.  Especially when he reaches down and rids you of your own shirt, kissing across your collar bones once they’re exposed.

“You got any protection?”  He asks suddenly, teeth scraping at your throat and you are suddenly aware of the fact that this is real life, not a fic, and wow you’d lost count of how many bareback smuts you’d read.

Not that the thought of Dean cumming inside you wasn’t the hottest thing ever, but the idea of pregnancy was something you didn’t even want to entertain at the moment.

So, begrudgingly, you pushed him off gently, bending down to rifle through your bag - hey, it never hurts to be prepared.  You roll your eyes at his chuckle as you bend over, shaking your exposed backside at him - where he has taken your seat on the mattress - before rising to hand him the small, metallic square.

He toys with it for a few seconds, watching as you stand with a lip tugged gently between your teeth and your eyes flicker to the semi-hard shaft against his thighs. Long fingers enter your line of sight, coming to cup himself, stroking a few times as you watch him.

“See something you like, baby?”  He asks, free hand coming up to run his thumb against your lips.  You nod slowly, shivering at the new pet name, eyes never tearing from where he teases his cock.  You flick your tongue out to wet your lips, Dean’s thumb accidentally catching where it had been against your lips and then he’s growling and pulling you to him.

Your lips crash together, a flash of pain as your teeth clack momentarily, but you’re far too lost in Dean’s intoxicating proximity to care.  He seems to share the sentiment as your hands weave through his hair, pulling him closer as he moans and strokes himself faster before you straddle his strong thighs.

You consider grinding down against the taut muscle momentarily, but then Dean’s rolling the condom down his shaft, his knuckles brushing your folds as he does and all you want is for him to fill you up to the brim.

The desperation is clear on your face, wrapped in hooded eyes and a deep flush as you inhale deeply every time Dean’s knuckles brush you.

“Oh, my god!”  You huff, getting ever so impatient.  He chuckles at your tone, tugging you higher on his lap so that - finally - you’re aligned.  A brief moment passes as you two eye each other hesitantly, your nerves on fire as you consider what it is you’re about to do.  

You’re about to fuck one of your partners, one of your best friends…the man you’ve been fantasizing about for years.

“Ready?”  He asks softly, testing the waters as he runs the head of his cock through your lips.  Any hesitation you may have had melts with the shiver that travels your spine, and then some when Dean growls as you bare your nails into his shoulder blades.

“Dean, I swear to god, if you don’t fu-ck me!”  You squeal the tail end of your sentence, Dean’s own groan disappearing into the skin of your shoulder as he slides home.  Pain and pleasure flood your senses and suddenly you are highly aware of just how long it’s been.

“Shiiit,” Dean sighs at the tight fit, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips and holding you still as he struggles to hold himself off.

It’s been a while for him, too.

“Jesus, you’re tight.”  He hisses between his teeth, his brow as scrunched as yours no doubt is at the moment.

“And you’re huge.”  He laughs then, the movement of his abs against your sensitive skin enough to have you sighing.  “I, uh, think you’re good to move.”  You say quietly, testing this theory with a slight brush forward of your hips.  When delicious friction reaches your clit at the action you moan lowly.  “Oh, yeah.  Very good to move.”

And move he does, giving you a few moments as he slowly builds up the pace before falling back and letting you take the reigns.  Your hands find his strong pecs as you fall forward at the sudden shift, and a shit-eating grin crosses your face.  Dean misses this, however, as his eyes are screwed shut with pleasure.

“Fuck!”  He groans when you begin to rut against him, dragging your clit against his adonis belt as his cock head catches against your insides perfectly.  He doesn’t seem to mind this change, panting openly and quite vocally.  Well, that is until his hands find your thighs and hold on tight.  “Shit, slow down, baby…I don’t know how long I can last if you keep that up.”

You’re about to apologize, a flush very evident on your skin before Dean is manhandling you onto your back, your legs cast wide in his grasp.

“Let’s slow things down a little.”  He teases, kissing your nose as you giggle and let him set the pace.

When he does, it’s dizzyingly slow, his teeth dragging against your skin as do his fingertips and after a few minutes of sinfully slow rocks of his hips, he is very quickly stringing you towards the edge.

“Dean,”  You whimper, your walls beginning to flutter around him.  The groan that milks from his chest is nothing short of sexy and you return one of your own.  His name becomes a chant on your lips as pleasure rushes through your bloodstream, your nails digging into his taut back and after a few more thrusts of his own, he’s emptying inside the condom.

The high fades slowly, your skin buzzing in sated pleasure as a lazy smile takes place on your face.  Dean is quiet, almost shy as he retreats to the restroom to clean himself and dispose of the condom.  You snicker quietly to yourself at the thought that this detail is often left out of the fics you read, but the pleasant ache between your legs certainly isn’t.

“Well,”  He says as he returns, slipping under the covers with you.  As you shift, something digs into your side and when you bring the offending object above the covers do you realize that your phone had remained in the sheets that whole time.  You hand it off to him as he tugs you closer, waving him to put it on the bedside table.  “Aren’t you glad I decided to snoop?”  He teases as he takes the contraption from you.

“Yeah, Yeah, Dee.  But not as glad as I am that we can save on rooms by just booking us one bed from now on!”

You both chuckle at the jest, your giggles soon dying into labored breathing as your energy drains quickly against the warmth of Dean’s body wrapped around yours.  Your eyes drift shut of their own accord, not noticing how Dean hesitates at placing your phone on the charger…again.

“Hey, baby?”  He asks hesitantly, his eyes widening as he scrolls through your Tumblr feed and exposed to all sorts of sin.

“Hmm?”  You hum, sleep tickling at your mind.   That is until your eyes fly open wide at his following question.

“What’s Destiel?”

FIN

[ishomieokay]

Idolatry (Chapter 1)

18+ 7.k homelander x hispanic oc, age difference, strenght kink, loss of virginity, religion kink, slow dancing, light dom/sub, rough sex, nebulously takes place post s03e03. part 1/?. AO3 link, part 2.

Homelander's fooling around with a perky Latina almost twenty years his junior. She's looking for a daddy. He just wants a good fuck, and maybe to mess with Maeve's head. It's not going to end well.

Aura María realized that the party had reached a point of no return when the Junior Manager of Crime Analytics climbed onto a table and started singing a Luis Miguel song at the top of his lungs. His name was Ethan, and he neither knew the lyrics nor spoke a word of Spanish. 

She observed the dance floor from her seat at the bar, cringing at the increasingly deteriorating dancing skills of the guests. Ashley Barret, the Head of Superhero Affairs at Vought, clearly had too much to drink. Like an octopus, she had possessively wrapped her limbs around Cameron Coleman, a news anchor she was rumored to be dating. If their roaming hands and slow, inebriated motions were anything to go by, they had long forgotten that they were at a corporate party and not in a dimly lit club downtown.

Earlier, a well-known Paramount producer had approached Aura María about her latest documentary. She attempted to do some networking, but it didn’t take long for her to deem it a failed enterprise. “I heard The Invisible Boy was a great success at Cannes this year. Congratulations! Your take on Translucent’s untimely demise was so moving,” he said, and although initially, she was flattered, soon it became apparent that it was not her he was seeking to engage in conversation with, but rather her companion for the evening.

Goddam leeches, she thought bitterly, even the ones on top gather around if the smell of blood’s tempting enough. 

Aura María shook herself, unwilling to let the nuisances of the industry dampen her good mood. “What ya say, champ? Wanna head to the dance floor?” she asked, poking fun at her date’s intermittent Southern accent. The Homelander blinked at her as if perplexed by the invitation. After a beat, he smiled widely, revealing a row of bright and unusually sharp teeth. 

“Oh, no. I don’t dance,” he replied, in a tone that broke no argument. “Like, at all. Especially not… this.”

Aura María didn’t miss the contempt in the slight arch of Homelander’s eyebrow or the dismissive wave of his hand. She pursed her lips, trying not to feel affronted. 

To a certain extent, she knew where she stood with him. Although neither Homelander nor Vought had an open political agenda, Aura María had a vague idea of the type of man he was and the beliefs he held. His anti-immigration stance was not a secret to the public. Still, a part of her had hoped it was only a matter of appealing to his fanbase. These days, the Seven’s golden boy was more popular with the older generations, and primarily with people of white descent. 

Surely he wouldn’t have asked her out if he actually had an issue with Hispanics, though? Were that the case, she couldn’t fathom why he would invite her to a Latino-themed party for a first date, especially if he found the mere notion of dancing to a Caribbean beat so distasteful. 

“Do you even know what this is?” Aura María asked, crossing her arms. 

“I dunno. Some traditional Cuban dance? It kinda looks like that scene from Dirty Dancing just… dirtier.” Homelander wrinkled his nose but thankfully refrained from commenting further. 

Aura María wanted to be annoyed, but she also knew better than to take his old-fashioned prudishness upfront. As frighteningly good as he was at maintaining his squeaky clean Boy Scout image, she had been working in the entertainment industry long enough to recognize it for what it was. She wondered if he would allow her to see the real thing if she stuck around long enough.

“It’s called Bachata and it’s actually Dominican.” Aura María tilted her head to the side, a teasing smile spreading across her face. “You get points for not assuming it’s Mexican, though. I think we’re making progress.”

Homelander frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nuthin’,” she replied, standing up. “Come on, don’t be such a spoilsport. If you wanted to spend the entire gala sitting around watching other people dance, you shouldn’t have brought me as your date.”

“Right, my bad,” Homelander deadpanned. “It won’t happen again.”

“Uh, uh,” Aura María tutted, shaking her head. “You ain’t getting out of this one so easily, mister.” 

She extended her hand towards him, wriggling her fingers. Homelander stared at her for a long moment, as if weighing his options. For a moment, Aura María thought that she would be refused again, but then he sighed and relented, taking her hand. “Fine, let’s get it over with,” he said, allowing her to lead him to the dance floor.

They were right on time. A Romeo Santos song had just started playing. If she was going to give America’s Dad some dancing lessons, she better start off with the good stuff. Homelander stood awkwardly before her, seeming unsure of what to do. Taking pity on him, Aura María grasped his hands. “You don’t have to look so worried,” she said with a smile, “I’ll lead you.”

Homelander’s mouth curled downwards. “I thought the man’s supposed to lead?” 

“We’ll get there. I just gotta show you the steps first,” Aura María replied, amused despite herself. She then proceeded to make a quick demonstration. “See? It’s real easy. Just one, two, three, four, again and again.”

“O-okey-dokey.” Although Homelander smiled, there was something decidedly strained about the gesture.

It was a rare sight - a man built like a wall and almost twice her size, gracelessly fumbling around and searching her face for guidance. Aura María felt a bit bad. Homelander went through the motions, and although it looked stiff and awkward, it wasn't the worst she'd witnessed as far as first tries went. 

“Okay, you’re getting it. You’re just too still. Try to shift your weight while you move.”

She put a hand over his waist, trying to guide him through it, but Homelander refused to move an inch. She arched an eyebrow at him, and he huffed out a breath. Then he rolled his hips in a strange, floundering motion, shifting his weight from one side to the other. He looked like a fish on land, desperately squirming around in an attempt to jump back into the water. Aura María tried and failed to stifle her laugh. 

“My god, you’re such a fucking white boy.”

Homelander glared down at her. “Don’t know how to tell you this, missy, but María or not, you too are white as bread.”

“Never said I wasn’t,” Aura María replied. “But I’m also Venezuelan, so I’m still the better dancer. You’re at a genetic disadvantage.”

“Uh." Homelander arched an eyebrow. "Can’t say anyone’s ever told me that before.”

He put a hand on her waist then, pressing her against his chest. Aura María was somewhat startled by his demeanor, not at all like the carefree, downright corny persona she knew from TV interviews and brief workplace interactions. Although he’d been known to venture into politics here and there, Homelander’s brand content had always remained vanilla and family-friendly. His character was designed to be wholesome, goofy, and almost comically artificial, at least to the discerning eye. 

The man currently flashing bedroom eyes at her was someone else. Someone real. It was like a breath of fresh hair. Aura María knew what a rarity it was to witness even a touch of authenticity from anyone so far up the ladder, especially when it came to a man whose entire life seemed to be a convoluted PR stunt. She felt like leaning forward and kissing him. There were eyes on them, though, and that was enough to make her hold back, at least for the time being.

Aura María turned her attention to the side of the room and took notice of Queen Maeve staring in their direction. At that distance, she found it hard to make out her expression. Maeve didn’t seem happy, though, and it made her stomach twist with unease. Homelander and her had ended things amicably, as far as the public was aware, but Aura Maria wasn’t naive enough to take that at face value. 

She wasn’t into gossip as a general rule and preferred to avoid drama whenever it was possible. No matter how rich or devilishly handsome he was, she wasn’t thrilled by the idea of fighting with anyone over a man, especially with a supe who could easily crush her like a bug. Aura María shook herself, looking away. They were broken up and had been for some time. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. 

“You know, for a white boy who’s never danced before, you’re doing really good,” she said, allowing the gentle sway of the music to carry her through the crowded room. She kept a tight grip on Homelander’s hip and forearm, taking him along for the ride. He visibly struggled not to preen. How strange. The strongest man in the whole wide world, and a few words of acknowledgment were enough to make him flush. Or was he just playing coy?

“No need to appease my ego, María. I know I suck,” Homelander said, but she could tell that it was a pretense. Just another line out of his well-rehearsed repertoire. Aura María felt her lips tilting downwards. It was disappointing to see the mask slipping back on, and after catching only a few fleeting glimpses.

“Not at all,” she replied, just to be nice. “I’m having fun, either way.”

When they left the gala, there was a crowd full of reporters and paparazzi waiting outside. Homelander effortlessly dodged their questions. His hand stayed on the small of her back as he guided Aura María forward, almost hunching over her, as if sheltering her from the camera flashes.

It seemed news anchors were in for a field day. Aura María was always amazed by how easily Vought’s flimsy attempts at playing the inclusivity card worked in their favor. Putting some salsa on and serving piña colada at a party during Latino Heritage Month was really all it took these days. 

Aura María wished she could play along with her date - smile and wave at the ravenous beast of the American press, the way she’d seen public figures and talent do countless times over the years. It didn’t come naturally to her, though. She had always felt more comfortable standing in the corner. 

Homelander opened the door of the cab, leading her inside, but Aura María was too irritated to appreciate the gesture. She tried not to think too hard about what the tabloids were going to say about them tomorrow morning. Homelander spotted leaving party with mystery woman was a real possibility. On the other hand, it could be something along the lines of Rising Director María Dávila reportedly dating Homelander, 17 years her senior. Both were offensive and off-putting in their own way. 

She gave Homelander a glance over. He appeared unbothered, leaning against the back of the seat with his eyes closed. She allowed herself to stare while his guard was down. He was a beautiful man. It was the reason she agreed to go out with him despite their age difference, which wasn’t small. So much so that Homelander had already been quite a celebrity when she was still in elementary school. 

He looked remarkably well for his age, although he had some wrinkles across his forehead, as well as prominent laughter lines. Aura María had always assumed that he was a natural blonde, but the darker, brown roots of his hair were now noticeable to her, even in the dim light. She found it odd to realize that a man who was often advertised as the pinnacle of masculinity actually wore makeup and dyed his hair. 

“Do you ever get tired of it?” Aura María asked. Homelander turned to look at her and blinked as if he’d forgotten he had company.

“What’s that?”

“The cameras? The crowds following you around? Seems exhausting.”

“Nah, I’m used to it. Sides, what’s wrong with giving the people what they want?” Homelander said with a self-satisfied smile. 

Aura María arched an eyebrow, bemused. “Man, you’re insufferable.”

“And still you agreed to go out with me, so what does that say about you?” Homelander’s expression didn’t change, but a trace of laughter shone in his clear blue eyes. He was teasing her. 

Aura Maria felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, and she turned towards the window to hide it. “Nothing good, I can tell you that.”

“Here we are. Home sweet home,” Homelander said, and although his voice was full of warmth, something about it sounded artificial to her ears. It was the same tone she used when giving an interview at NBC, or congratulating the crew after a long day at set. Something to pick at later.

“I can’t believe you actually live here,” Aura María said, stepping out of the cab to look up at Vought Tower.

“Nice, isn't it?” 

“Nice isn’t the word I’d use.” Aura María wrinkled her nose. “Looks like something out of a bad 90s movie set in the distant future of 2001.”

Homelander laughed, taken aback. “Well, that’s one way to describe it.”

He took her by the waist, guiding her through the main entrance and into the lobby. It was around three in the morning, and there was no one about but some security guards and the unlucky receptionist who got the Friday night shift. Although she looked tired, she still smiled brightly at them when they approached her desk. She had Aura María sign a visitor form before letting her through, which wasn’t terribly inconvenient as far as safety protocols went. 

“Thanks, doll. Always great seeing you!” Homelander said, playfully pointing at the receptionist. She blushed, struggling and failing to hide a toothy grin. Aura María noticed that he didn’t address her by name, though. She wondered if he was always so recklessly extroverted, or if he was putting up a facade for her benefit. 

“So, waiting for the elevator is a drag,” she said after fifteen minutes had passed, “I should have figured.”

“I usually just fly in.” Homelander was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He looked just mildly irritated by the inconvenience. “Didn’t think you would appreciate that, though.”

Aura María blinked. 

“You flying me into your bedroom in the middle of the night? The one that’s like, on the 99th floor?” She tried to picture it and actually felt a shiver run down her spine. “You’re right, I wouldn’t. I’d probably have a panic attack halfway there.”

“Come on, I’ve never let anyone fall.” Homelander grinned, but then seemed to reconsider his words. “Not accidentally, anyway.”

Aura María stared, unsure if he was joking. “Right.”

Finally, they stepped into the elevator. They waited for the doors to close, and it was only then that Homelander leaned forward to kiss her. Aura María got on her heels, putting her hands over his shoulders to keep herself upright. She was suddenly very aware of their stark difference in height. He put his hands around her waist, pushing her against the wall, and it was enough for her to feel how strong he truly was. It was a bit dizzying. 

Not too long ago, if someone had asked Aura María if she was into the big, muscly type she would have replied with a quick no and a side-eye. Usually, she wasn’t even into white men, especially not blondes. She’d only ever gone out with other Latinos, and more often than not they’d been of a darker complexion. Dating outside of her culture was an issue for her, and she even found no sabo kids were a bit of a turn-off.

There was something different about Homelander, though. Something she couldn’t quite express in words. Aura María put a hand around his jaw, angling his face slightly upwards to bite into his bottom lip. Although he could have fought off her grip more than easily, he allowed her to and it made heat build in her lower belly. Homelander’s hands were trailing down her sides. Although a part of her wanted to feel his bare hands over her skin, she couldn’t deny that the feel of the soft leather of his gloves was also thrilling.

Suddenly, the elevator was grinding to a stop, but a quick glance at the button panel confirmed that they hadn’t reached their floor yet. Auria María struggled not to let the annoyance show on her face. Reluctantly, they pulled apart. The doors slid open revealing a petite blonde girl standing in the hall. She was dressed in pajamas and by the startled look on her face, it was clear she hadn’t expected to bump into anyone at such late hours. 

“Homelander,” she said, slightly bowing her head. 

“Starlight,” he replied, smiling down at her. Something about the expression looked weird and much too tight. Aura María recognized the name and immediately understood why.

Great, she thought, another ex-girlfriend. 

Although she'd heard a lot about her, Aura María had never worked with the infamous Annie January on set. Largely because of how unwilling Vought’s new rising star had been to participate in Super in America or any other documentary regarding her personal life. By the time she finally relented, Aura María had moved on to new projects. Her days of waiting at someone’s beck and call were over, even if they were a member of the Seven. 

After a few minutes of awkward silence, the elevator stopped and the three of them stepped out. As she walked away, following Homelander down the hall, Aura María got the distinctive feeling that she was being watched. Looking back, she noticed Starlight staring after them, a deep frown on her face. If she hadn’t known any better, Aura María would have thought that she looked worried.

“You don’t really get along with any of your exes, do you?” She asked once they made it to the end of the corridor. 

Homelander stopped before the door of his penthouse, then offered her a smile a bit too wide. “Come on, now. Why would you say that?”

Aura María stared at him, unimpressed.

“That girl looked like she was walking into the elevator at gunpoint.”

“Oh, well, Starlight is…” Homelander trailed off, making a face. “She’s a sweetheart, don’t get me wrong. She just didn’t take the breakup very well.”

Aura María hummed, seeming skeptical.

“That’s a major red flag, you know? When all your relationships end badly.”

Homelander huffed a breath through his nose, and she realized, perhaps a bit too late, that she should back off. He was starting to look genuinely irritated. When flirting with overly confident men, Aura María often came across as a smartass. A lot of them were weirdly into it, and it was always fun to take them down a notch. She wasn’t looking to overstep and ruin the night with her antics, though.

“You get along with all of your exes, then?” Homelander asked, narrowing his eyes at her. Aura María made a face and he noticed. “What?”

“Nuthin.” She swayed back and forth on her heels, flashing him a teasing little smile. “Are you gonna invite me in?”

“Do you want me to?” Homelander was staring intently at her. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards, just barely.

“I don’t know,” Aura María replied, shrugging. “Maybe I came all the way up here just for a goodnight kiss.”

Homelander laughed, shaking his head. Aura María got on her heels, leaned forward, and just like that they were kissing again. He made a pleased sound at the back of his throat, and something inside her unraveled. This was a point of no return. Aura María was mildly surprised by her lack of fear. Shivering, she put her arms around Homelander’s neck, deepening the kiss. This wasn’t like her at all, and she’d been certain that she would end up backing down at the very last second.

That was certainly out of the question now. 

“I don’t think you did,” Homelander said in a rough voice, pinning her down with those sharp blue eyes of his. Aura María laughed, a little breathless.

He opened the door of his penthouse and bowed, gesturing for her to go first. It was such a goofy, chivalrous thing to do that she found herself stepping inside, biting back all the teasing remarks at the tip of her tongue. Homelander hummed, looking terribly pleased with himself, and followed her inside.

“You know, this place looks exactly how I pictured it,” Aura María said, tilting her head to the side as she stared into the cold marble eyes of a George Washington bust. She took a sip of her drink - Bourbon with coke and a dash of lemon. Turns out the Homelander was good at making cocktails. Quite the feat for someone who didn’t drink himself. 

She could feel her host standing behind her, eyes burning at the back of her head. Although she was itching to do just that, she refused to turn around. 

“Really?” Homelander said, breath ghosting by the shell of her ear. She wondered if he was getting tired of it. This quiet game of cat and mouse.

“Yeah, the only thing that’s missing is a confederate flag and a closet full of shotguns,” Aura María deadpanned. 

“That’s not fair,” Homelander replied, but she could hear the amusement lining his words. “You make it sound like I’m some kinda redneck.”

“Nah, you’re worse than that. Rednecks actually believe the garbage they spew.” She turned around, arching her eyebrows in a way that she’d been told many times was infuriating. “You’re just in it for the money.” 

“Not just the money, chica,” Homelander said, winking at her. He then gestured at the room, at the American flag hanging from the wall, at the statues and paintings of the founding fathers. “It’s the glory, the power, the fame - all the pillars of this great nation. Anyone tells you they made it this far up looking for anythin’ else, you can bet your ass they’re lying.”

Aura María blinked rapidly, caught off guard. With a start, she realized that this was probably the most transparent he’d been with her all night, yet the meaning of his every word was diluted by banter and unfashionable flirting. She wasn’t sure how to feel about it. In lieu of a better response, she laughed.

“Man, you’re such a goddamn cynic, it almost makes you sound deep,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. If Homelander was offended by her reaction, he didn’t let it show. He raised a gloved hand, then caressed the line of her jaw with his index finger. There was a twinkle in his eye. 

“Flattery will get you nowhere with me, missy,” he said, and they were standing so close now, their noses were practically touching. 

“No? I rather think it will,” Aura María replied. 

“Mmn, you’ve got me all figured out, don’t ya?”

“Not my fault you’re so damn predictable.” Homelander’s hands trailed up her sides, then stopped just below her breasts, caressing her with fingers clad in red leather. Aura María shivered, biting into her lower lip. “Do you keep a bible on your nightstand, too?”

“Maybe I do,” Homelander said, and something in his voice, in the forced levelness of it, made her look up. The waiting game was over. She could see it in the arch of his eyebrow, the unusual intent of his gaze. “Wanna check?”

Aura María hesitated, then. There was no turning back, once she followed him into the bedroom. Although her stomach was fluttering with excitement, there was also a hint of fear. Homelander was stronger than her. There was not a single living creature on earth who could stand up to him, as a matter of fact, and she’d never been anything of a fighter. If she wanted to stop or slow down, she would be at his mercy. The thought made her unexpectedly anxious. 

Backing away wasn’t yet out of the question. She could make up some excuse, hail a cab, and call it a night. He probably wouldn’t stop her. Instead, Aura María put her hands on Homelander’s chest, offering him a knowing little smile. Her throat felt very dry. “Let’s see it, then,” she said.

Aura María approached the nightstand and indeed found a bible resting on top of it, small, black, and wrapped in leather. She opened it to the bookmarked page and read the first verses out loud: “The dragon stood on the shore of the sea. And I saw a beast coming out of the sea. It had ten horns and seven heads, with ten crowns on its horns, and on each head a blasphemous name.” 

Aura María saw Homelander and the other members of the Seven in her mind’s eye, walking into the set wearing their garish, custom-made suits. Easygoing, chirpy, and deceitfully polite when the cameras were rolling, but just as quick to make snide comments and lash out at the crew when the smallest thing didn’t go their way. Superpowers or not, they were still talent. Pretty faces with fragile egos and low emotional intelligence, usually from troubled backgrounds, charismatic yet easy to manipulate. Add Compound V and it makes for a dangerous combination. 

For a whole second, Aura María considered asking Homelander if he had similar thoughts whenever he read those verses. They probably meant something to him, if he cared to bookmark the page. Then she realized what a terrible idea that was, and whistled appreciatively instead. “That sure makes for a nice bedtime reading,” she said, very aware of Homelander’s breath at the shell of her ear. 

“It does, actually,” he replied, pressing soft lips to her neck. “Keep going.”

Aura María shivered, hanging tightly onto the book’s leather cover. Homelander bit her earlobe playfully, sinking sharp canines into the soft flesh. There was a stark contrast between the man standing behind her, caressing her sides and leaving a trail of hickeys down her neck, and the supe who always walked into her set wearing a disarming smile, telling corny dad jokes and waving at the crew. This felt real. Without giving it a thought, she kept on reading.

“The beast I saw resembled a leopard but had feet like those of a bear and a mouth like that of a lion. The dragon gave the beast his power and his throne and great authority.” Aura María could see Homelander through the mirror hanging from the wall. He’d hidden his face on the curve of her shoulder, pressing wet kisses to the exposed skin there. Slowly but skillfully, he undid the buttons of her shirt. Once it was open all the way, he pulled down Aura María’s bra, exposing her breasts.

The cold of the room hit her, and she trembled. A part of her felt like she ought to complain or cover herself again. No man had ever seen her as she was now. She stared at Homelander’s reflection as he fondled her breasts with gloved hands, pinching her nipples experimentally. A long sigh escaped her. Aura María had been waiting for a long time to experience something like this, and now that it was happening it almost didn’t seem real. It felt so right, for him to be the first.

“One of the heads of the beast seemed to have had a fatal wound, but the fatal wound had been healed. The whole world was filled with wonder and followed the beast,” she read, breath hitching in her throat as she felt Homelander pulling her skirt down. 

Her underwear followed quickly after, and just like that he completely exposed her, without going through the trouble of actually undressing her. She felt hot all over. Homelander took off his gloves then, placing them on the nightstand. He trailed his hands down her chest and then her stomach, stopping just inches away from her pussy. Aura María spread her legs slightly wider. 

“People worshipped the dragon because he had given authority to the beast, and they also worshipped the beast and asked ‘who is like the beast?’, ‘who can wage war against it?’” She said, licking her dry lips as she passed the page. Homelander tapped her clit a few times with his middle finger, then slowly rubbed a circle around it. Aura María made a pleased sound in the low of her throat, tilting her head back. Then he was going deeper, slowly rubbing his fingers back and forth between the folds of her pussy. 

“The beast was given a mouth to utter proud words and blasphemies and to exercise its authority for forty four months.” Finally, Homelander pushed a finger inside and then another. Aura María could feel herself clamping around them. She moaned, pushing her lower body against him. “Mmn, that’s real nice.”

“None of that.” Homelander spanked her then, just once. It stung. Aura María thought that she ought to be offended, but for some reason, she wasn’t. She pushed her hips backward, looking for friction, but Homelander’s hand pressing against her back was enough to halt her attempts. “Be a good girl, keep reading for me.”

“It was given power to wage war against God’s holy people and to conquer them. And it was given authority over every tribe, people, language and nation.” Aura María trembled, forcing herself to stand straight again. 

She heard Homelander undoing his belt, and then lowering the multiple zippers of his suit. Anticipation was building in her lower stomach. He reached for the first drawer of the nightstand and pulled a condom out of a little plastic box. For a few moments nothing happened. Then Aura María felt the head of Homelander’s cock brushing against her opening.

“All inhabitants of the earth will worship the beast - all whose names have not been written in the Lamb’s book of life, the Lamb who was slain from the creation of the world,” Aura María said, words stumbling out of her mouth in husky breaths. Homelander was pushing inside slowly, and he felt big and almost unbearably warm. She was trembling all over. Panicking, she reached backward and put a hand on his hip, stilling him. Without her explaining, he understood and waited.

It took her a few moments to fully relax. Once she did, Aura María pressed her back to Homelander’s chest, guiding him forward. She felt full in a way she never had before. When he started thrusting, she made a pleased sound, pushing back against him. “Whoever has ears, let them hear,” she said, much too conscious of the soft sounds of their bodies coming together, her quiet moans, and Homelander breathing raggedly against her ear. 

“If anyone is to go into captivity, into captivity they will go. If any, ugh-” Aura María gulped her words as she felt a hand wrapping around her throat. It squeezed just hard enough to make a statement, but not to cut off her breathing. Her hands were shaking and still she held onto the Bible, barely managing not to sink her nails into the leather. She wasn’t even religious. Not anymore. Still, she felt compelled to play along - to indulge in this little game the Homelander seemed to enjoy so much. 

Aura María could feel her breasts jiggling with the force of his thrusts. Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see the reflection of their bodies moving together, just shadows and lights swaying on the surface of the mirror. She closed her eyes tightly, too unused to the idea of sharing her body with someone else - too embarrassed to witness herself surrendering, so freely, to his touch. Tears threatened to spill, but Aura María quickly blinked them away. She had really been waiting for a long time. 

“If anyone is to be killed with the sword, with the sword they will be killed,” she whispered, then let go of the book, too shaky to keep holding it up. It landed on the carpet, barely making a sound. 

Homelander lifted her from the ground, slamming her onto his cock in a few quick successions before coming. The pressure around Aura María’s neck increased to an almost alarming degree. It slacked off after a few seconds, and only then could she feel her climax washing over her. It was a strange, overwhelming feeling. Nothing like the orgasms she had coaxed out of herself in the past. 

For a while they stood in silence, catching their breaths. Then Homelander pulled out and backed away. Suddenly, the chill of the room hit her and Aura María felt very self-conscious about the state she was in. Although she didn’t really mind her nakedness, she felt a bit silly - being essentially dressed but showing all her intimate parts. In a daze, she started buttoning her shirt back up. Just as she was about to pull up her underwear, though, she was stopped by a hand circling her wrist.

“Aw, shucks,” Homelander said. “I messed up, didn’t I?”

Unsure what he meant, Aura María turned around. She gave herself a moment to take in his features - the strong jawline and hooded blue eyes, the slicked-back blonde hair that didn’t match his brown eyebrows, the long eyelashes and thin lips. He truly was beautiful. Aura María put her hands on Homelander’s chest, caressing him with the pads of her fingers. Unlike hard, compact muscle, what she touched was leathery and unusually soft. She wondered if it was padding. 

“Not at all, I had fun,” she said, smiling. “I mean, I wasn’t expecting the Homelander to have a blasphemy kink, to be honest, but maybe I should have.”

He looked skeptical, for some reason. “So, you’re not in pain?”

“No.” Aura María frowned. “Why?”

“You’re bleeding.”

Aura María followed Homelander’s gaze and was startled to see a bit of blood running down her thighs. She’d gotten so into it, the pain hadn’t even registered. Heat rose to her cheeks. “Oh, don’t worry. It’s normal, ya know? The first time?” Aura María said, leaning down and pulling the rest of her clothes back up.

Homelander frowned, blinking at the choice of words. She could clearly see the moment understanding dawned on him. He shifted where he stood, hands firmly clasped in front of him as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them. He opened his mouth, closed it, then cleared his throat. “You, ah… you didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, but ya know. It’s whatever.” Aura María shrugged, feigning a nonchalance she didn’t actually feel. “Virginity’s a construct.”

Homelander laughed, taken aback. “Oh, wow. Right.”

“What?” 

“Nothin’, it’s just - young people these days,” Homelander said, putting his hands on his hips and shaking his head. “I swear I can’t keep up!”

He smiled broadly at her, showing a perfect row of white, pointy teeth. Aura María felt a pang in her chest and did everything she could to shake off the feeling of betrayal. There it was again - the persona, and not the man underneath. Homelander headed to the bathroom with the condom in hand, presumably to dispose of it. Aura María felt her legs starting to shake, so she laid down on the bed to get some rest. She could hear water running, and then the sound of a blow-dryer. 

After a few minutes, Homelander came back. It was clear from his refreshed appearance that he’d taken a quick shower. He was wearing a new suit and had the old one hanging from his forearm, neatly folded. Aura Maria made a very conscious effort not to comment on how weird that was. His hair looked softer and fluffier, free of whatever products he used to slick it back. She should have suspected that America’s Number One Hero used a blow-dryer. His undercut always looked much too perfect. She wondered if he had a skincare routine too.

“You don’t mind if I lay down for a bit, do you? I’m beat,” she said, unsure of what to expect. If he would let her stay the night, or at least pay for a cab to come pick her up. There was a knot at the pit of her stomach. 

Homelander was staring at her strangely, as if there was something he wanted to say, but couldn’t bring himself to. Instead, he went to the mini fridge and pulled out two water bottles. Handing her one, he settled on the bed beside her. Aura Maria gulped down more than half of her bottle, only then realizing how thirsty she’d become. For a while, they lay there in silence. 

“You really should have said something.” 

Although she'd been expecting them, Aura Maria still felt her hackles rising at the words. “Why?” 

“I wouldn’t have…,” Homelander trailed off, and she found it so strange to see him hesitate. He cleared his throat and tried again. “If I’d known, I would have gone about it… differently.” 

Aura Maria’s lips twisted downwards. She kept her eyes fixated on the ceiling. “I told you, man. You didn’t hurt me.”

“It isn’t about that.”

“What is it, then?” Aura Maria replied, growing frustrated. She shouldn’t have said anything. “You had a good time, so did I. That’s what we both wanted. What difference does it make if I’d never done it before?”

Homelander blinked at her. “Because… women remember their first.”

“Oh? Only women?” A contentious smile unfolded across Aura Maria’s face. She couldn't help it. At times like these, it felt like the only way she knew how to communicate with others was through confrontation. “So you don’t remember yours, then?”

“We are not talking about me,” Homelander replied, slowly and without a hint of inflection. 

“Yeah, sure.”

Despite her biting words, there was a deep coldness spreading through Aura Maria’s body. It felt like she may start shaking any second now. She wasn’t going to let him see how much his questioning was affecting her, though, or how much it mirrored her own inner voice. 

“Come on, spit it out. What’s actually bothering you?” She snapped. “Is it how kinky the whole thing was? Because I was into it. What, you think it would have been better if we had done the missionary by candle lights, covered the bed with some goddam rose petals?”

“Yes, I do,” Homelander replied without missing a beat. She would have thought that he was joking, if it weren’t for the serious look on his face. It gave her pause. For once, Aura Maria couldn't tell whether he was being authentic or if this was yet another performance. She reached out, caressing the line of Homelander’s jaw with the tip of her fingers. 

“Come on, look at it from my perspective. I got wined and dined, danced at a nice party, and now I’m in a lavish penthouse, laying in bed with the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid my eyes on,” she said, and that was enough for Homelander to blush again. Talent was never immune to flattery. “I mean, most of the first-time stories I’ve heard are cringey as hell, either way. Even if shit doesn't work out, at least I got a nice memory out of it, ya know?”

Homelander stared at her for a long moment, seeming to consider her words. “Okay,” he said eventually, “you do make a good case for yourself.”

“I sure do,” Aura Maria replied, relaxing. She wasn’t sure who exactly she had been trying to appease - him or herself. 

“How old are you, again?” Homelander asked, frowning.

“Twenty-six,” she replied, reluctantly.

“So… you waited.” Homelander looked uncomfortable now. “A bit longer than most. Why now?” 

Aura María hesitated. She herself wasn’t sure why she had chosen to have her first time one random Friday night, in what was essentially a casual hook-up with a co-worker. Even now it made little sense to her, especially after waiting so long. 

“Maybe I just like you that much,” she said with a smile, but the words tasted like ashes in her mouth. 

She knew that’s what he wanted to hear - that he was man enough to charm it out of her, to make her give up what she hadn't allowed anyone else to take. All night she had been scrutinizing his every word and action, salivating at the sight of even the smallest hint of humanity in him, but now she was the one hiding behind a mask. 

“We barely know each other,” Homelander replied, unmoved, as if he could see right through it. In an impulse, Aura Maria leaned forward to kiss him, treading her fingers through his soft blonde hair. There was a troubled look in his eyes when they parted. 

“Don’t worry your pretty little head,” Aura Maria said with a soft smile. “I’m not asking you to marry me or anything. I’ve been waiting for the right guy and the right time for a while now, and it just… never happened. I got fed up with it. Then you asked me out and I couldn't think of a reason not to.”

“So, you're saying if you had come as, I dunno, the Deep’s plus one, the outcome would have been the same? Good to know.”

“Now, you're just twisting my words.”

“Right,” Homelander said, puffed out, but there was a teasing edge to his voice. “I hope I didn't disappoint, though?”

“So far you haven't.”

Once Aura Maria had worn her capacity for restraint like a badge of honor, probably an aftereffect of being raised in a radical Christian home. Although she considered herself an atheist now, she was very aware of the consequences her upbringing had on her love life. She was tired of feeling like a nun willing her life away at a convent, though. When Homelander unbuttoned her shirt again, circling her nipple with the tip of a curious tongue, she didn’t stop him. 

It was as good a time as any to break the habit.

[portraitoftheoddity]

“I have a lead on Vash.”

It’s the first thing Meryl says as she slides into the booth at the back of the small diner where she arranged for them to meet by radiogram, not bothering with any of the niceties of small talk or helloes after over a year of not seeing each other. Wolfwood can appreciate that about her -- she knows he knows perfectly well that she wouldn’t call him here just to shoot the shit. They have one topic of shared business, and she’s getting right down to it instead of wasting his time.

“Where?” he asks, schooling his expression and keeping his voice flat. He’s trying not to get his hopes up, but feels his chest tighten nonetheless. 

“Small town about ten iles north-by-northeast of Lost July,” she answers, pulling off the reflective sunglasses she’s taken to wearing and folding them on the table. “One of my sources was talking with a freight hauler who does deliveries there, and he mentioned a blond man with one arm, so I put out feelers--”

“Lotta amputees in the world,” Wolfwood mutters, that flicker of hope sputtering with the growing sense that this is likely to be yet another wild thomas chase. “Doesn’t mean it’s him.”

“So I put out feelers,” Meryl repeats, a touch louder, purposely ignoring him, “and it turns out the guy in question goes by Eriks, and he turned up looking beat to hell just a few weeks after the July incident and got taken in by a local family.” She meets his eyes, and he can tell she’s almost buzzing with excitement. “All the physical details line up, the location lines up, and so does the timeline.”

Wolfwood exhales raggedly, reaching into his suit pocket for his cigarettes. “So, what--  you want me to go check it out? See if it’s really him?” Deal with the disappointment if it isn’t? He doesn’t say, as he pulls a smoke from the pack. The idea that Vash would just sit on his ass in a small town for two years instead of traveling Noman’s Land in search of self-flagellation following what happened in July just doesn’t track with what he knows of the guy. And despite how little time they spent together in the grand scheme of things, Wolfwood thinks he had a pretty good read on Vash the Stampede.

“I think we should both go,” Meryl declares, then presses her lips together into a line in the way Wolfwood’s learned she does when she isn’t being fully honest.

His eyes narrow, the cigarette hanging, unlit, from his lips. “What aren’t you telling me?”

She squirms slightly in her seat, and for a moment Wolfwood is looking at the fresh-faced rookie that hit him with her truck once more instead of the self-possessed reporter he’s watched Meryl grow into. But then she takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders, and the rookie is gone. “Word is that ‘Eriks’ is an amnesiac with no memory of his life prior to two years ago. Could be a cover, to escape his past, or he might have had head trauma from July and genuinely not remember, which would explain why he hasn’t turned up--”

The whining drone of the diner’s overhead fan is suddenly impossibly loud in Wolfwood’s ears. His hands ball into fists at his sides, nails digging deeply into his palms as he struggles to focus on what Meryl is saying. But he’s only half listening, mind iles away over half a sand ocean--

“--So I think if both of us go, we have a better shot of helping him remember,” she concludes, looking determined. “If we leave now and take the truck, we can make it in just under--”

“No.”

He cuts her off, unlit cigarette falling from his mouth and rolling across the tabletop. Meryl stops and blinks a few times. 

“Oookaaay, I know you’re not a fan of the truck,” she begins, but he cuts her off once more before she can continue: “We’re not going.” He pulls his sunglasses down so he can look her dead in the eyes and impress on her that he’s not fucking around. 

For a moment, she looks gobsmacked. Then, her brow furrows in anger. “What the hell do you mean we’re not going?” she hisses, “it’s Vash! And if he doesn’t remember anything--”

“If he doesn’t remember anything, there’s a damn good reason,” he argues. 

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, a traumatic brain injury! Which makes sense given what he survived, but--”

Wolfwood slams a hand down on the table, hard enough that several other patrons glance disapprovingly their way. Meryl jolts in her seat, finally shocked into silence. “Shortstack,” he growls, “you told me how messed up Spikey was after Jeneora Rock. About how long he wasn’t eating before we crossed paths, all because he blamed himself for what wasn’t even his fault, when he saved a lot of those ungrateful shits, right?” 

“...yes?” she responds, cautiously now.

“And how exactly do you think Needle-noggin’s gonna react when he finds out that his crash landing wiped an entire city and its population off the map?” he hisses, keeping his voice low, but no less full of venom. “That his shithead brother probably got vaporized in the process? You think he’s gonna thank us for that knowledge? You think he’s gonna be happy we filled in that blank and told him the entire planet wants his head on a damn platter?”

Meryl is frowning still, though it’s more thoughtful than angry. “He deserves to know who he is,” she insists quietly. 

“He deserves better,” Wolfwood snarls. “After all the shit this world’s put that spikey-headed idiot through, he deserves better than to be reminded of who he is in the worst damn way, and I’m not gonna be the one to tell him just so I can watch him blow his damn brains out to escape the truth that he got made into a weapon, into a monster--”

His voice cracks, throat closing painfully. He doesn’t even realize he’s shaking until Meryl takes his trembling hands in hers, eyes wide. “Nicholas,” she says, “breathe.” 

He struggles to inhale through a windpipe that’s suddenly narrow as a straw, equal parts mortified and feeling like he’s going to be sick. “I’m not gonna... be the one to tell him,” he mumbles wheezily as Meryl shifts her chair over, resting a small hand on his back. “Not again.”

“Okay,” Meryl agrees quietly, rubbing circles on his back like he’s a damn little kid again (he can’t find the breath to tell her to stop). “You don’t have to. I promise.”

He does his best to get a hold of himself, squeezing his eyes shut and banishing the image of Vash’s eyes widening like Livio’s had, right before--

He draws in a shuddering breath. “You’re still going to, though,” he says, shoulders slumping in resignation. 

Meryl makes an uncertain sound. “I... maybe. You do make a point, that it would be a lot to handle.” 

Her hands slip back into her lap, and she chews her lip thoughtfully while Wolfwood recovers his abandoned cigarette and fumbles for his lighter, hoping the nicotine will help settle him. 

“Maybe we can just... observe,” she offers after a few long moments where he’s finally succeeded in lighting up and pulling familiarly acrid air into his lungs. “Check and see if it’s him, if he really doesn’t remember, and... if he’s okay.” She looks down. “If he’s happy.”

“If he’s happy,” Wolfwood repeats gruffly, exhaling smoke, wondering what that would even look like -- Vash with a smile that wasn’t forced or tinted with sadness. 

“And if we decide we’d do more harm than good by telling him,” she continues, “we can walk away. Deal?” 

He considers it. It wouldn’t be the first deal he’s entered into involving the Humanoid Typhoon; but it might be the one whose outcome he’ll be able to live with.

He shakes on it, and tries to bury his dread.

[helena-thessaloniki]

Oh fuck. 300 bookmarks??

Thank you to everyone who's here because of Something Left to Save. Everything about this journey has surprised me. How warmly I was welcomed into the fandom despite being so late to the party. The encouragement and excitement for my take on the Blank Period. How not a single person has ever once complained about my inconsistent update schedule, but instead thanks me every time I do update. How patient everyone is with the slow burn; that people are seemingly genuinely happy to see the team dynamics and minor characters too.

I'm especially thankful for the heartfelt solidarity on how I've explored overlooked, underdeveloped characters. We [the 'girls, gays and theys'] deserved so much better. It's been joyful and it's been healing for me to see so many people relating to and/or appreciating Sakura in this story.

Thank you so so much🖤

[rueyam]

lena khalaf tuffaha, ‚running orders‘

[thatonebirdwrites]

When the news came, Lena was in a meeting with Sam and the L-Corp's board. She'd long ago set all alerts for Supergirl to come through to her phone, but ones where Supergirl was injured had been set to ignore all other settings.

The ring caused Sam to jump, but Lena kept her cool. She glanced down at her phone, and felt her veins turn to ice. A brief message that Supergirl had fallen from the sky.

Shit.

Lena grabbed her phone and bag. "I regret that I must take this call. An emergency has come up."

Sam looked at her, her brow furrowed in worry. "I can handle this, Lena. Go."

With a tight smile to her friend and CFO, Lena hurried from the room. She swapped out her shoes, and took off in a sprint. The alert had given her an intersection, but she needed to know if Alex knew about this yet.

Lena: Alex, I'm incoming.

Alex: wait, what?

Lena: Kara, she's fallen.

Alex: The hell? She's supposed to be eating lunch! Was in a meeting. Where?

Lena forwarded the alert's text, baffled that Alex had no idea.

Alex: How close are you? It's gonna take me fifteen minutes. J'onn unavailable.

Lena: Be there in five.

The doors of the elevator opened. Why drive when she could take the helicopter? When her pilot reached the intersection, Lena stared in horror. Someone had what looked like a missile launcher over their shoulder, and Kara laid in a cracked hole in the street in front of Noonan's. So Alex had been correct, Kara had been getting lunch, as drinks and food was spilled across the curb. People clustered in the doorways of the cafe and storefronts, and Kara's supersuit had a burn mark across its front.

Fuck.

"Hold us steady," Lena ordered the pilot. She grabbed a bag from behind her seat. In case of an attack -- considering she had quarterly assassination attempts all the time -- she had some specific weapons in here. One of them was a shotgun with some unusual shells. She flicked through her supplies and decided on a particularly useful set. She popped in the shells, cocked the gun, and threw open the door. The person started to look up, but Lena wasn't giving them a chance to react. She fired. The shots slammed into the person's back and immediately ice formed. She fired again. This time the person fell to the ground as a block of ice. Cryo shells had their use. She reloaded and gestured to her pilot.

He brought the helicopter closer to the ground. "Watch my back," she said, mostly out of habit, though she doubted the pilot could do anything. "And stay in the air. We'll need a quick exit." "Right, Ms. Luthor." He kept his gaze on the controls, his voice coming through her headset.

She jumped to the ground, her shotgun cocked. As she scanned the area, she realized, to her dismay, that another person stood in the shadows of the storefront across from Noonan's, armed with some sort of long rifle. Why the person hadn't fired yet confused her.

Lena aimed but didn't fire yet. She didn't have confidence that her shot would hit before the other took her out. "Step away from Supergirl."

The person wasn't that much taller than herself. Curly blonde hair leaked out of the black beanie, and blue eyes regarded her from under a black mask, their clothes definitely assassin-like. "Stay out of this, Luthor." A high-pitched voice. Possibly a woman?

"This is my business." Lena stalked closer. "Don't think I won't take you out like your friend there." She nodded at the other person dressed in black with a black mask over their face, their eyes closed. Ice was still encased around their lower body.

Lena wished she'd seen the person earlier. Otherwise she'd have fired on them too. Now they were in a stand-off exactly when Kara needed her the most.

"I don't want to do this," the woman in black said. "You're not on our list."

"Then step away now. Don't think I won't fire."

The woman stared at her for a long moment as if sizing her up. Her voice timbre changed to a hint of coy and frustrated. "Why do you care, Lena Luthor? Doesn't your family hate Kryptonians?"

Lena rolled her eyes. "I'm not them." She needed to distract her somehow. At least until Alex got here or Lena could fire the shot without getting hit in turn. "Now, how about you put down your weapon, I'll put down mine, and we'll talk like civilized people?"

The woman hesitated, her rifle moved just an inch down.

That was when the shot came from above. The bullet hit the woman's shoulder, she staggered backward, and Lena took the shot. Two blasts later, the woman was encased in ice like her friend.

Lena slung the shotgun over her shoulder and raced to Kara's side. "Supergirl!" She dropped next to her and felt for Kara's pulse. It was faint, far too faint. "Dammit." She didn't have time to check for injuries. Kara needed extracted immediately. "Riordan, drop the stretcher," she said into her headset.

The helicopter hovered closer, and a side door slid open. The stretcher shot out, swung, and slowed to a stop above her head. She reached up, snagged its side, and pulled on its rope until she had it next to Kara. It took two tries to lift the Kryptonian -- damn, Kara was heavy -- until she had Kara on and belted in securely. Flicking the switch on the bottom of the stretcher, a set of footrests dropped into place.

After she clamped her shoes onto the footrests, she noticed several people had started to come out of the stores with their phones in their hands, likely recording her rescue.

Whatever. All Lena cared about was Kara. "Go," she ordered her pilot, and held on tightly as the helicopter lifted toward the sky.

TO BE CONTiNUED...

[rosepompadour]

If there were no girls like her in the world, there would be no poetry.

Willa Cather, My Antonia (1918)

[welcomingdisaster]

couples activities you can do WITHOUT getting elf married

holding hands chastely under the stars

singing and songwriting

intense eye contact

the crossing of swords (literal)

the crossing of swords (metaphorical, in this case to referring to a meeting of wits -- a flirtation so intense and all-consuming there is something to it of a battle)

mutual daydreaming

unrequited daydreaming

blowjobs (drunk)

the exchanging of flowers

the exchanging of jewels

the exchanging of finely-cut swords

the exchanging of words about flowers, or jewels, or swords, which after a certain point cease to concern the aforementioned jewels, or flowers, or swords and which indeed dip by implication but never direct mention into obscenity

uncertain and possibly disastrous alliances for the good of the people

nonsexual bondage

fingering and heavy petting

chess

invoking the name of eru while fully clothed in different corners of the room

embarking on a quest (with all hopes of good fortune)

embarking on a quest (certainly doomed)

dressmaking; beyond that, even embroidery and perhaps crochet

regicide

whatever it is lesbians do

debates re: the philosophical nature of love and marriage

debates re: the fates of elves and men, paths destined forevermore to part

most instances of blood donation

intercrural sex, so long as all due caution is employed

eye contact, brief, wavering

impotent and entirely futile declarations of everlasting love

holding hands, no longer so chaste -- feeling as though every sensation in your body is reduced to the single point where your hands brush together, that your soul is anchored to the core of the earth only by your interwoven fingers

the crossing of swords (the swords are dicks)

farewells, with earnest promises to meet again

farewells, without

[mycatismyeditor]

Supercorp idea #222

Lena had some thoughts she just wanted to express to someone. Some very gay thoughts. Some very gay thoughts about Supergirl.

So she did what any rational public figure would do. She made an anonymous social media account on a burner phone and vented all her feelings there. Feelings that were apparently appreciated and echoed by approximately 20 thousand other people on a regular basis.

She did not anticipate ever having to explain those posts as herself. She in fact went to great lengths to make sure no one would ever connect her to it.

But even with all her efforts to remain anonymous after three years with the account, posting multiple times a day, she was bound to slip up once. And what a slip up it was.

Now she was sitting in a DEO conference room getting a briefing on her own post about Supergirl and the various ways that highly sensitive information could have gotten leaked.

Which left her with a choice. She could either confess she was behind it, or she could keep her mouth shut and let 46 government agents be interrogated about their social media history and possible interest in being railed by Supergirl over their desks.

She glanced to her left and saw the shocked face of Supergirl as she read more of her posts.

Lena kept her mouth shut.

[dollkisses05]

I need to escape

[lenavonschweetz]

Grace For Sale

Sam Winchester x Reader

Synopsis: Your town could definitely handle themselves, but a little help isn’t something you’d willingly turn down.  When the Winchesters show up - do things get better, or worse?

Warnings: language, anti-religious sentiments, slight religious inner conflict, angst? If you squint?, smut, Under 18 keep faaaar away.

A/N: Takes place during s5:e17 - 99 Problems.  So funny story, I actually AM a preacher’s kid so this episode kinda made me laugh then gave me the idea for this.  Title comes from The Devil’s Carnival.  Also, this has been sitting in my drafts for literal years, guess it’s about time I post it. As always, I don’t have a beta so please excuse any typos. I’ll fix any that are pointed out to me.

Enjoy!

Sam and Dean aren’t exactly sure what to make of your little town.

The welcome wagon was a little more off the wall than they were used to - what with a firetruck full of holy water, a portable exorcism, and a group of civilians that actually knew about the things that go bump in the night.  Still, it wasn’t…the strangest introduction they’d encountered.

“So, are we gonna talk about that?”  Sam asks as Dean steers impala into town - right on the tail of the Sacrament Lutheran Militia’s truck.  What kind of a name was that anyway?

A church looms overhead, answering Sam’s unspoken question, and he wishes he hadn’t even asked.

It’s definitely the apocalypse, what with the devil’s trap brandishing the walkway up to the church door.

Sam’s eyes are heavy - spending the wee hours of the night fighting hellspawn will do that to you.  Especially when you’re bleeding out.  At least the militia had some quick fix first aid handy.

The first thing the brothers notice upon entering the sacred building is the couples standing at the alter, all facing the priest who prattles on about finding something special amidst the impending doom.  The second thing they notice is all of the townsfolk holding shotguns.

Sam scoffs.

“A wedding?  Seriously?”  How in God’s name - no, y’know what, scratch that - how in the Hell were they hosting a wedding at a time like this?

“Yup.  We’ve had 8 so far this week.”  The man to his right, Paul, says and it’s obvious Sam isn’t the only one who’s less than impressed.  At least they’re in good company.

It’s definitely the first time the brothers can be completely transparent in their introductions.  Sure, sometimes they’re found out, or sometimes they’re among other hunters.  But to tell an entire town - and a priest, no less - that they are demon hunters?  Yeah, that may take a little getting used to.

So is the priest toting a gun and the children packing salt rounds in the basement of the church.  Dean makes a quip about running scared or sticking around and making a home out of the place and Sam thinks he’d be leaning toward the later if the end of the world wasn’t resting on their shoulders.

But none of that explained how a whole town had taken up hunting.

Well, until the mystery prophet is introduced in the form of the “Packing Preacher’s” daughter - Leah.

Well…he’d been through stranger.

Dean makes a pass at her - right in front of her father.  The father.  Sam just rolls his eyes, gaze landing on the corner where another figure lurks.

Oh.

This one…he thinks…this one is much more his speed.

“Ah, my other daughter.”  Pastor Gideon says, holding a hand out to beckon you forward.  Sam watches as you push off the wall and approach the group.  There’s little family resemblance, he notes, but definitely isn’t complaining.  While your sister is clad in muted colors, baggy sweater, and tennis shoes - you opt for something a little form-fitting under your dark leather jacket with the combat boots to match.  You scream ‘hunter’, ‘capable’, and ‘danger’ more than anyone else in this town and he has trouble tearing his eyes off of you.  Now, you’re not complaining.  In fact, your eyes linger on Sam just as much as he does on you.  And when he realizes this, the mountain of a man becomes a flustered mess.   It brings a smirk to your face and a blush to his.  “Y/N, this is Dean and Sam Winchester.”

“So I’ve heard.”  You chuckle, arms crossing in front of the very cleavage Sam’s staring at beneath your open flannel.  You cock a brow, baiting him, though he seems too nervous with your father present to answer the challenge.  “Shame Leah never mentioned you.  Though,”  you cast an appreciative glance over their strong frames and Sam very nearly shivers.  Beside him, Dean practically preens.  “I can see why.  If I knew fine specimens such as yourself were going to be crashing in our little town, I’d keep it to myself too.”

The Father is none too amused when you wink at your sister and the two of you share a giggle.  Again, Sam notes the distinct lack of resemblance but brushes it off.

“Y/N,”  Your father says in warning, which you completely ignore and grant the taller Winchester another ravenous once over before turning on your heel.  If anyone asked, you would deny that you were overemphasizing the swing of your hips.

“If you need me,”  you tell him without so much as a glance, calling over your shoulder as you saunter up the basement stairs.  “I’ll be at Paul’s!”

—————

The next time you see the brothers, it’s at the house Leah’s vision lead you to.  Well, actually, that’s a lie.  You saw them the night before at Paul’s bar, but they seemed to be wrapped up in a very important conversation - if the concentration on their brows had anything to say about it. 

Still, that hadn’t stopped you from ordering the brothers a couple of beers.  To his credit, Paul doesn’t judge you - which is a lot more than you can say for your family as of late - and even brought the boys their drinks so that you could do the ever so clique cheers across the bar.

Sam merely nodded in his head in thanks, raised his own beer with a silent ‘cheers’, then went back over to his brother.

So you couldn’t get a better read on them that night.  That’s ok.  It gave you the perfect opportunity to ogle to your heart’s content.

They were some fine specimens, that’s for sure.  The perfect hunters.  Sharp eyes, strong statures.  Hell, Sam looked like he could take out multiple demons all on his own - I mean, come on.  Those arms!

God, you had gotten such a perfect look at them while they brooded and planned what with the way Sam’s sleeves had been rolled and pushed up to his elbows.  Had you ever found forearms as attractive as you did at that moment?  Probably not.

And that jawline?  Christ, you could cut glass on that thing.

The sideburns may have been a little much, but hell, if that was all you could pin as off, you’d take it! 

Your ogling session had been cut short by the bell tolling - another of your sister’s visions - and after arguing with your father in front of the whole church that ‘yes, I am going with them’ - your hunting group was on the doorstep of the abandoned home.  Most of the townspeople are toting guns full of salt or sprayers of holy water, all armed with the ridiculous incantation your sister had told you to use to exorcise them.

But not Sam.  No, Sam was only wielding a knife, and God did he make it look easy.  If you weren’t too busy kicking ass and getting your ass kicked, you’d be drooling over that too.

Only when the dust settles do you take the opportunity to approach the brothers.

“You really are the hunters my sister made you out to be.”  Sam’s perfect eyebrow arches at that, gaze flickering to the way your chest rises and falls with your heavy panting.

“You didn’t think we would be?”  You mirror his smirk and shrug, ignoring the way Dean is eyeing the two of you like he knows exactly what’s going on in your head.  Honestly, he probably did.  Dude seemed about as horny as you did.

 “So,” Sam pants, following the group out of the house.  You miss the way he’s eyeing your ass as you’re just steps ahead of him.  “That’s what it’s like.”  There’s no shortage of sexual innuendo in his voice and you decide to poke the bear a little more.  Whether your father was in earshot or not.

“What what’s like?”  You’re turned to him now, handing in your pockets and treading carefully backward.  He meets your hungry look with one of his own and shivers absolutely rattle your body.  Again he smirks, making sure the coast is clear of your father before saddling up right next to you.

“Having back up.”  He all but whispers in your ear, large hand grazing just inches above your bottom and god, how did he make such an innocent statement sound so filthy.  There’s no way he misses the way you tremble and sigh, not with the way he smirks at you while walking away.

You’re not sure what’s going to kill you first.  The Demons or your insatiable need for Sam fucking Winchester.

—————

Neither.

Neither of those things is gonna kill you first.

Because it’ll be your father that kills you.

Because you’re going to fucking murder your sister.

After the Winchesters brought back a murdered Dylan…well, things were tense. People started to resent them and the warm welcome they had initially received turned cold. Only you and Paul would speak to them without adding to the guilt you knew they already felt.

You knew it wasn’t their fault.  Hell, half of you had been through it before - coming off a hunt all together too cocky and not aware of the demon that still lurked around until it was too late.  Dylan was a good hunter.  Dean and Sam were good hunters.  It had happened to the best of you.  And so you do what you always did - you held a funeral and vowed to be more vigilant next time.

But that wasn’t enough for the townspeople.

Or for your sister.

No, she had to go and suck the fun out of everything.

No drinking, no gambling, no pre-marital sex.

All per the angels’ command, of course.

“What a crock of shit.”  The empty glass thunks against the wood of the bar - as hollow as you feel right about now.  Paul only echoes your sentiments and pours you another glass.  The only thing that pulls you from your ire is the bell signifying a newcomer.  For the first time since Leah’s proclamation, your scowl softens as the person you wanted to see most walks right through that door.

“So, what happened to, uh,” he makes a grand gesture to the empty bar - earning a snort from the two of you,  “’the apocalypse is good for business’?”

“Yeah, right up until Leah’s angel pals banned the good stuff.”  Paul says, earning a groan from you as you pinch the bridge of your nose at your damn sister’s name.  “Y/N’s here helping me kill some inventory.”  Sam chuckles at the glass you raise, tipping it toward him and saying ‘I’m only doing the good work.’  “Want to help?”

With a drink in hand, Paul pours a shot for each of you.  He doesn’t hold back on his opinion of the ‘holy rollers’ nor their hypocrisy, to which Sam calls him out for his noticeable lack of faith.  Paul shrugs it off, defending his honorable lack of prayer.

“Look, there’s sure as hell demons.  and maybe there is a god, I don’t know.  Fine.  But I’m not a hypocrite.  I never prayed before and I ain’t starting now.  If I go to Hell, I’m going honest.  Besides,”  Paul nods to you just as you put your shot glass - empty again - back on the bar.  “I figure if this one can get away with it, so can I.”  Sam’s eyebrows raise at that, eyes finding you.

“You either?”

“I grew up in the church,” you explain.  “I’ve seen how the…holiest of us all can be far worse than the ‘hooligans’ of the world.”  You wink at Paul, air quotes bouncing as you mimic your father’s ‘preacher’ voice.  The two of you share a laugh and you miss how Sam’s fingers tighten around his glass along with his jaw at the intimacy you two seem to share.  “Yeah, I believe in some kind of higher power.”  You continue, focus shifting to the Adonis beside you.  He doesn’t miss the bitter tone your voice takes on. “But I don’t believe in the church.  The organized religion crap.  Never been too big on it.  But then, neither had Leah.  And now, out of nowhere, she’s some chosen prophet?”  You scoff.  “I dunno.  I just can’t trust it.  And like Paul said, I’m no hypocrite.  I know I’m messed up.  Won’t pretend otherwise.”

This time when you regard Paul, patting his hand as one would a brother, Sam’s shoulders relax.

“Yeah, I, uh…I know what you mean.”  A moment of heavy, thick silence passes between the two of you before you’re pressing him for his thoughts with nothing more than a look.  “I believe.”  But he doesn’t sound so sure.  More convincing himself than he is you, maybe, so you stay quiet and let him work through his thoughts.  “Yeah, I do.”  He says, more assured this time.  “I’m just pretty sure God stopped caring a long time ago.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”  A big sigh breaks from your chest, one of those sighs that comes when you feel like you’ve forgotten how to breathe, and suddenly this conversation is too heavy for how drunk you are not and for how drunk you want to be.

After a few moments, a morbid, hindsight joke blooms in your head and you can’t help but laugh, noting the questioning look on your drinking buddies’ faces.

“Guess those newlyweds knew something we didn’t.”  You chuckle, taking a pull of your drink.  “Tied the knot before Leah could restrict ‘em.  Betcha they’re bangin’ like rabbits right about now.”  The liquor burns, smothering your humorless chuckle as you knock it back.  “Lucky bastards.”  

Behind the bar Paul chuckles, noting the tension in the air, the sudden shift of mood, and takes his exit - mumbling something about grabbing more from the back. Neither you or Sam really hear him, though - too wrapped up in the other’s stare you share at what you’re implying.  

Helluva wingman, that Paul.

Once the two of you are alone, Sam swivels in his chair until his long legs drape open and you have to force yourself not to look down.  A bushy, perfectly masculine brow arches.  Then he speaks - voice low and sweet and pure sin.

“Really?  You, uh, don’t seem to have much issue with breaking the no-drinking rule.”  And it isn’t a question.  He flicks the back of his fingers against your glass, warm eyes staring right at you as the faint tinkling tickles your ears.  Your heart shutters in time with the tinkling of skin on glass and you don’t realize you’re chewing on your bottom lip until his eyes flicker to it.  “You gonna draw the line at pre-marital sex?”

“Now, Sam Winchester...who said I would do that?”  The look you fix him with has him adjusting his suddenly too-tight pants.

“Not afraid of being damned?  Of not being one of the ‘chosen’?”

“I’m no ‘chosen’.”  You scoff, bouncing air quotes once more.  “That’s my sister.  Me?  I’m just the poor little preacher’s kid who lost her faith a long time ago.”   It isn’t seductive talk - in fact, it’s dark as hell.  But he asked, and like you’d said before - you were no liar, and you were no hypocrite.  You turn to your companion, renewed .  “But you know…there is a curfew.”

The tonal shift isn’t subtle, but that doesn’t keep the space between you from growing ever smaller, Sam’s large hand sliding up your thigh and again you must fight off the urge to shiver.  Especially when he lowers his voice once more, those big hazel eyes glancing at you from under his full, coal black lashes.

“Is that so?”  A squeeze to your thigh, and you jolt just the tiniest bit, to Sam’s great amusement.

“My place is right around the corner.”  You explain with a shrug, that damn lip caught between your teeth again. And suddenly in the dark, empty bar, you don’t care if you are damning yourself to hell.  As long as it’s at the hands of Sam Winchester, you’ll go willingly.

—————

The wall of your entryway meets your back sharply, a hiss of pain escaping you momentarily before it’s silenced by Sam’s eager lips.

Hurried hands rid you of your clothes, his own falling like breadcrumbs alongside yours until the two of you are falling on to the bed.  Fingers skilled at far more than knife-wielding ghost up your thighs, featherlight touches leaving a fire under your skin.  He’s slow in his undoing of you.  Reverent even.  Watches the way you keen beneath him, begging for his fingers.  Holds your eyes as he drags those fingers through his lips before trailing the wet tips down your front. When he finally gives them to you, one long digit sliding right up to the knuckle, your teeth break the skin of your lip just enough to hurt and you’re gasping - begging for more - which he gives to you, gladly. Working you until you’re ready for him and at the precipice of falling over the edge.

He had looked good in his clothes, sure, but god damn he’s ten times more beautiful out of them.  Infinite smooth, golden skin lays beneath your greedy fingers, a dusting of fine hair contouring the plane of his chest and down below his waistband.  Your mouth waters and you tug impatiently at his jeans.

“Someone’s eager.”  He chuckles, low and husky, standing to drop both pants and boxers.  Oh.  Good God.

“Oh, you have no idea.”  You only break your eyes away to grab a condom before you shove him on his back and straddle those strong thighs.  "I've been wanting to get your clothes off since the second I laid eyes on you."

"Trust me," he breathes - no, borderline growls - and you shutter, walls fluttering at how fucking empty you are and just how fucking bad you need him inside of you right now.  "The feeling's mutual."

He’s big all over, just like you expected, and even rolling the latex over his thick shaft has you shivering in anticipation.  The action doesn’t go unnoticed by the gigantic man beneath you and before you can react, he’s rolling his hips with a moan that takes your breath away.  It takes immense focus to speak through your gasp.

“Don’t finish this before it’s even started, Winchester.”  He laughs at your warning, fingers digging into your thighs and ass.  Oh, this man is going to wreck you, you just know it.

“You have so little faith in me?”  A quip lies on your tongue, something about having no faith at all, but that melts into a strangled moan the second his fat head presses past your opening.  “Oh, Christ.”  He hisses, teeth clenched and head thrown back in unadulterated pleasure at the feel of you, your hips rolling slowly as you try your best to take the overwhelming size of him.  Your fingers digging into supple pecs does nothing to ebb the overwhelming feeling of Sam spearing you open.

“Leave him outta this.”  You quip, sinking down the rest of the way - finally.  You both shiver at the feeling of him fully seated in you before you start rocking against him.

Not much else is said - not much else needed to be said - as the two of you chase relief and distraction in each other.

The stretch burns in the best way and you realize you're going to be feeling this for days.  Every step, every shift is going to take you right back here - your hands splayed out on sculpted pecs, Sam's angelic and angular face contorted in ecstasy as he does his best to keep his eyes open and watch you ride him for everything he's worth.  Those big hazel eyes blink up at you, fluttering and rolling at a particularly deep stroke before they're suddenly open - fiery and determined.  There's no time to even tease or question before he's pistoning up into you, his marble body rubbing yours in such a way that has you gasping for air, his massive hands splayed over your ass to keep you exactly where he wants you. Sloppy thrusts turn to rocking hips and the new angle has your toes curling.

His cock grazes just the right spot with every rock of his hips, both of you whispering moans and groans of the other’s name.  You do your best to keep up, rolling your tired hips when you can, nails biting into his skin when you have to focus solely on not imploding right where you are.

Your orgasm crests, and you beg him to go faster - to take control - and he does, practically throwing you onto your back to angle you the exact way he wants to.  The height difference is dizzying - even with you on your back and him on his haunches - all you can see while he hammers into you is the brand on his chest.  You itch to bite into the ink, to make him mewl against your skin once more but all rational thought flies out the window when his thumb reaches between your splayed legs, presses in tight, dizzying circles, and sends you spiraling into oblivion as aftershock after aftershock rocks your nerves.

In the aftermath of it all - after you’ve seen white from the intense pleasure he milked out of you - you lie in a daze.  Memorizing the way his hands feel as he wipes some of his spend off your chest.  Jesus, the sounds that man had made when he came...you have half a mind to tie him down and never let him leave - your sister's 'orders' be damned.

“It’s past curfew, y'know?”  You remind him, fingers tracing the divots and curves of his abdomen.  God, he’s perfect.  You could spend hours memorizing every inch of skin.   Pity said skin disappears behind thick flannel once more.  You bite back a disappointed groan, casting your eyes over his massive stature.  You don't think you'll ever get over just how small he makes you feel - in the best possible way, of course.  Especially when he flashes that perfect fucking smile at you, dimples and all.

“Yeah?  What about it?”  He urges, a shit-eating grin playing at his lips as he dares you to ask him to stay.  You sit up on your knees then, leveling yourself with his chest and drag your fingers down once more.  "Something you want to say, Y/N?"  If possible, his grin grows wider when you crook an eyebrow at him, beckoning him to your level with a come hither finger to match.

“If you’re waiting for me to ask you to stay, Sam Winchester,"  you whisper, lips ghosting over his own and you take great pride in the way his sinfully long lashes flutter against the tops of his sharp cheeks.   "You can keep waiting.”  The low groan that escapes his throat when you cup him once more makes you ache in the absolute best way.  You're seconds away from throwing your pride to the wind and pulling him back into bed with you.  But this is the end of the world after all.  No doubt he has other pressing matters to attend to.

“Yeah, well, as much as I would love to…I should get back before Dean gets worried.”  Disappointment laces his words, but you’re both too grown-up for any fairytale crap.  Your life felt like more a horror lately than a fantasy, anyway.  So, with incredibly gentle fingers, he pulls your hand toward his lips, grazing them over your knuckles as his eyes bore into yours.  Hmm, he plays dirty.

“Yeah…my dad’s probably expecting me at the church.”  You offer lamely, though there's probably some truth to it.  Not one night goes by without a demon attack or a vision from the chosen sister.  You're surprised you haven't been interrupted by a frantic call from your father already, as a matter a fact.  He smiles at you again, your heart running rampant as he's tossing the towel down to wrap his arms around your waist once more.  The look in his eyes and the hardness pressing into your belly are tempting enough, but you manage to grit out a warning "Sam..."

“And here you are, sinning with the outsider.”  He rumbles, smirking as his eyes drink in your face for - most likely - the last time.  You return his smile, reeling him in for one last kiss...or twelve.

“Yeah, well, if I’m going to hell anyway, may as well make the road there fun.”

If only you knew the literal hell that awaited you in the next few hours…

FIN

[ishomieokay]

DANCE OF THE SEVEN VEILS || coming soon ||

──── a homelander x hispanic oc story.

✰ summary — Salomé was Stan Edgar's wife. He was thirty years older than her, boring and unaffectionate. They shared nothing in common, and only exchanged small pleasantries while in the office. She was a decoration and a sign of status to him. To her, he was financial security and an easy way to get a green-card. It was clear to anyone with common sense that quid pro quo was the basis of their marriage.

Homelander found it infuriating. Leaving such a rare flower to whiter on the hands of that old geezer should be a capital crime. So he allowed himself a sniff or two while no one was watching. Sometimes, not even her.

✰ warnings - +18, stalking, obsessive behavior, mental instability, infidelity, breaking and entering, watching someone sleep, mutual pining, dead dove, yandere!homelander.

[portraitoftheoddity]

After Aoyama is revealed as the traitor and removed from the hero course, pending legal judgement and a lengthy review, Shinsou is given his seat in the hero course.

In 1-A.

The tightest, most trauma-bonded group of students in the school.

Shinsou knows to temper his expectations as he arrives on his first day. His classmates are likely to either be angry at the betrayal, grieving the loss of one of their own, or bitter with Hitoshi for replacing their friend. He expects to be about as welcome as a thumb in an open wound.

It's fine, he tells himself. He's taken worse. He's not here to make friends anyway, and Shinsou is good at putting his head down, disappearing, and getting through.

When things are better than he let himself hope for, he's suspicious and waiting for the other shoe to drop. Everyone is... friendly enough. There's a few glances toward him through the day, and a lot of curiosity during heroics training. But no one seems to hold his presence against him.

It's... nice.

Except. Shinsou wonders.

No one seems to really miss Aoyama. He couldn't tell you, from looking around the groups settled at lunch, the social currents of the class, where he'd fit in. There is no particularly hushed clique, no deep sense of absence.

(Was Aoyama also good at disappearing and getting through? How lonely had he been?)

Shinsou stares at the glitter that lingers in his dorm room carpet, unable to be removed despite multiple deep cleanings, and wonders about the boy who left it, whose quirk was both a blessing and a curse, and who seemed to be much like smoke and mirrors -- glamour and flash, but ghostly and illusory beneath it. Alone in a crowd.

(Maybe they could have been friends.)

[helena-thessaloniki]

Hey, sorry for being so impatient.But can I please know when are you going to update Silent Night on AO3? I've been desperately waiting to read next chapter and know what really is going to happen next. If you're busy,I understand. No pressure, here. I just wanted to know, when can you update or do you have any schedule?

Thank you so much for asking kindly 🖤

My plan is every other Thursday for the next few chapters. Chapter Three should be posted on Jan 11, EST. I’ve never have had an update schedule in the past, but since I wrote most of Silent Night during NaNoWriMo, I’m in a pretty good position to stay on track. I might take a little longer on the final chapters though since I’m giving myself permission to change the ending as it’s planned in my outline.

I’m grateful to know there’s someone who’s reading and looking forward to more. Hope you have a great week 😊

[jazzfordshire]

i want something just like this (COMPLETE)

After a year and a half and WAY more words than I thought it would be, Dancing with the Stars AU is...done?

IT'S FINALE WEEK, BABES

“You do have a tendency to dance without a shirt on. Now I’m thinking it was intentional.”

“You’re one to talk! The tight leggings?” Kara says. Her hands moving down to Lena’s thighs – clad in said leggings, currently - and squeeze with intent. “They haunt my dreams.”

“Then I suppose we’re about to have a very distracted week,” Lena says, the last few words murmured against Kara’s lips as she’s swept into another kiss. This one is playful, Kara tracing patterns over her thighs and nipping at her lower lip, and Lena is fully prepared to lose the rest of the afternoon to it when Kara pauses and pulls away, her gaze caught over Lena’s shoulder.

“Hey, Winn!” Kara says, her grin relaxing a little but still friendly as it switches towards the door behind Lena’s back. “What’s up?”

Lena turns quickly to see Winn standing in the doorway, pointing at them with his mouth agape.

“You're kissing! In private!” he says, his voice high and accusatory.

Lena can’t help it. Whether it’s social conditioning or the good old-fashioned shame that Lillian embedded in her bones, she jumps. She slides off the table, moving away from Kara like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t before her brain catches up and remembers that they’ve been supposedly dating for weeks now.

She should be kissing Kara. Winn’s shock is actually less reasonable than his catching them making out mid-rehearsal.

“Damn it,” Winn grumbles, pulling out his phone and furiously typing something. “I owe Mike 60 bucks.”

-

If you're going to dive in for the first time I truly hope that you enjoy the full story, and if you've been along for the ride thank you for keeping me going through this very long writing process.

Read it here!!