#this has been sitting in my drafts for a while....

[joelsgreys]

flutter

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Pregnant! Female Reader

snapshots masterlist

summary: When you finally start to show, Joel has a tough time with it as the reality sinks in—he’s going to be a father again.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. JACKSON ERA. (TW) PREGNANCY. established relationship. no mention of reader’s age, however in other works for this universe, it is implied she is younger than Joel, her specific age will never be stated so do with that what you will. brief descriptions of a pregnant woman’s changing body, brief mention of morning sickness, mention of breastfeeding (it only comes up in a conversation very briefly) these subjects can possibly be triggering, especially mentions of a changing body, so while i try to handle everything with the utmost care, i still ask that you proceed with caution. domesticity, reader enjoys taking care of her family, ellie is a little shit, grumpy joel, he’s sort of a dick at first? but only because he’s working through some feelings so let’s forgive him, okay?

word count: 3.5k

a/n: this is part of the snapshots universe, but it could absolutely be read as a standalone too. minimal editing, this has been sitting in my drafts and i did a quick edit during my lunch hour, so please excuse any mistakes.

“Shit.”

You almost can’t believe your own two eyes. Staring at your reflection in the large, oval shaped mirror hanging over the porcelain bathroom sink, your gaze widens in complete surprise. “Jesus Christ,” you mutter, turning to the side. It takes your brain about a good minute or two to process, really process, the way that your belly strains against the thin, white cotton of your camisole. It had seemingly swollen overnight—because it hadn’t been this prominent the day before, had it?

Over the last few months, there’d been changes.

Some subtle and some not so subtle.

“Ellie! Stop fucking staring at them,” you’d scolded the teenager late one evening during yours and hers weekly game night. For as hard as you tried focusing on what move you should make next, it was hard to concentrate on the chessboard in front of you when you could feel the way her eyes were fixed on your breasts. “I mean it! Quit staring at my boobs, you little shit.”

She held up her hands, her mouth full of popcorn.

“Hey, in my defense, they’re just fucking there, man. If anything, they’re fucking staring at me, okay?”

During your chess rematch the following week, you had accidentally knocked one of your pawn pieces off of the table. When you’d stood up and bent over to pick it up, she had made the observation that your butt seemed to have gotten a little bigger too.

“Bet Joel’s liking these changes,” Ellie had smirked. “It sure as hell explains why the headboard’s been banging against the wall more than usual lately.”

You threw the pawn at her, smiling in satisfaction when it bounced off her forehead and landed into her glass of lemonade.

One part of your body, however, hadn’t changed.

Not until now.

“Hon, trust me, you have nothing to be worried about,” Maria had assured you with confidence when you had brought up your concerns about your stomach. “Every woman, and every pregnancy, is different. I didn’t start showing until I was around six months, remember?”

“I guess you’re right.” You’d been around four months, then. “Doesn’t help that I haven’t felt the baby move.”

“You will,” Maria had promised. “Just be patient”

Biting your lip, you place a hand on your belly.

It’s always been one of the softer parts of you, but now, it’s firmed into a perfect, round bump.

“Maybe soon I’ll feel you move,” you murmur, giving it a gentle pat. You tug the lace hem of your camisole down as far as it can go and then pull at the elastic waistband of your blue, terry cloth shorts.

Shutting off the lights in the bathroom, you slip out into the bedroom where you find that Joel’s still tangled up in the sheets, fast asleep. He had been assigned to the afternoon patrol route today—normally an early riser, if he was still snoozing, it meant that he really needed the rest. Deciding it was best to let him keep sleeping for a little while longer, you quietly tiptoe out of your shared bedroom and head downstairs into the kitchen.

After making yourself a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice, and one for the kid as well, you prepare the coffee maker for Joel. You spoon dark roast grounds into the filter and set the timer for the coffee to start brewing in thirty minutes.

He should be up by then, you think, pulling a basket of eggs out of the refrigerator.

You’re starting to get used to this. Domesticity.

Despite your protests, Maria had made the decision to pull you off patrol that same afternoon you had shared the news of your pregnancy. “I’m putting you on leave,” she’d told you. “Effective immediately. I don’t want to see you outside of these walls. Got it?”

“That’s not fair, Maria. You were out on patrol until—”

One stern glare from her had shut you right up.

“Fine.”

Sure, you missed it and looked forward to the day when you’d be able to get back into the saddle with your rifle in hand, but this way of life had grown on you. Certainly a lot more than you thought it would.

You enjoyed taking care of the house. Packing Ellie her lunch for school and checking her homework. Having a nice a meal on the table for the three of you to enjoy in the comfort of your own home instead of having to go down to the crowded mess hall for supper because you and Joel were both always much, much too tired after a long day out on patrol to bother with cooking.

With the baby due to arrive in the winter, looking after your little family had become your purpose, and you did not mind it one bit.

As strips of bacon sizzle in one pan on the gas powered stove, you crack a couple of eggs into another, knowing the kid is already on her way downstairs. You can hear the sound of her old, tattered low top sneakers that you have been trying to throw away for almost a year now squeaking on the kitchen tiles just as you finish plating her breakfast.

“Morning!” Ellie pipes, the loud plop of her backpack into a chair prompting you to turn around. “What’s for brea—whoa! Holy shit!” Her brown eyes widen in shock when she sees you and her jaw drops. “Dude.”

“Ellie,” you say her name warningly as you walk over to the table. “Don’t.”

“You’re bigger!”

With a playful glare, you set her plate down, along with her glass of orange juice. “Thanks a lot, you little jerk.” You feign offense. “You’re making your own eggs from now on.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Ellie’s cheeks flush a shade of red and she squirms, sputtering apologetically, “I swear, I don’t mean it like that at all. It’s just, your stomach, it didn’t—you didn’t look like this last night, you know?”

She’s fucking lucky that your raging hormones decided to take the morning off duty.

“You look different. I mean, you look great—”

“Ellie?”

“Yeah?”

“Just shut up and eat.”

“Deal.”

She shoots you a sheepish grin and sits down, scarfing down her food in her usual manner. 

“You get your fractions homework done?”

“Yeah.” Ellie huffs, rolling her eyes. “Took me forever. I was up until fucking midnight.”

Amused, you offer, “Want me to check your work?”

“Sure.”

As Ellie inhales the rest of her breakfast, you pull out a green, single subject notebook from her backpack and look over her homework for miscalculations.

“So, uh, how are you feeling?” she asks after a minute.

“I’m feeling alright. I think the morning sickness finally stopped, so can’t complain.” Shrugging, you close the notebook and stick it into her backpack. “You did good, kid. Only got two problems wrong.”

“Man, I really wish we knew whether it’s a boy or girl,” Ellie mumbles through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “What do you want to have, anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter to me, Ellie,” you answer, honestly. Clocking the skepticism on her face, you laugh and say, “It’s true. As long as the baby’s healthy, that’s all I care about.” And you mean it. As an expectant mother in the post outbreak world where medicine is scarce, supplies are limited, and the closest thing you have to a hospital is the town’s old clinic, the only thing you can hope for is the smooth, safe delivery of a healthy child.

Before she can say anything, you both catch the sound of Joel’s heavy boots as he descends the staircase.

She quirks an eyebrow. “Uh, has Joel seen you yet?”

Grimacing, you shake your head. “No.”

“Well, I don’t wanna be here for all that awkward,” Ellie says, chugging the rest of her orange juice. She stands up and snatches up her backpack, along with her lunch bag, which you’d packed for her earlier that morning. Just as she’s about to whirl around on the heel of her sneaker and make a run for the front door, she pauses, watching as you make your way back over to the stove to light another flame. “Unless you want me to be?”

“I’ll be fine, Ellie,” you assure her. “Go on, get to school. Maybe you’ll be on time to class for once.”

“If you say so.” She wishes you luck and then bolts out of the kitchen, throwing a quick goodbye at Joel on the way out. “See ya later, old man!”

Nervously, you turn around and start cracking another two eggs into the pan. There’s no telling how he’s going to react.

Joel’s been fairly supportive since you’d found out you were pregnant, considering how unplanned it was. But you know him like the back of your own hand, and you know, despite the numerous times he’s denied it, that it has been weighing heavily on him. Each time you’d try to sit down to talk to him about it, he would brush you off and insist he was fine. But he wasn’t fine.

And you wish he would spit it out and tell you why.

In your periphery, you notice the stained glass butterfly he had hung in front of the window above the sink, the ornament catching and refracting the sunlight. Flecks of color dance across the walls in captivating patterns, brightening the space. You think of the sweet little girl he’d hung it for, the little girl he rarely talks about, that he keeps tucked away safely in his memory.

You bite back a small sigh.

By now, you’ve learned not to push him. Especially not about what he was feeling. He would tell you when he was ready.

“Who the hell lit a fire under her ass this mornin’?” Joel asks gruffly as he walks into the kitchen. “She ain’t ever this fuckin’ eager to go to school.”

“Not sure,” you reply in the most nonchalant tone you can muster as you use a spatula to scramble the eggs. Transferring them onto a plate, you add three strips of bacon, and then pour his coffee. “I have your breakfast ready, Joel. Have a seat.”

You hear a chair scrape against the tile.

“I keep tellin’ you I can make my own breakfast, darlin’.”

“And I keep telling you I don’t mind making it for you,” you quip, and you hear him grumble something under his breath.

Inhaling a deep, calming breath through your nose, you take the plate of eggs and bacon in one hand, and his cup of coffee in the other. Your fingers grasp the handle of his ceramic, owl mug in a near death grip. You exhale slowly, and then turn around to face him.

He sees your swollen middle and stiffens in his chair. 

The tension is instantaneous. Palpable.

Uncomfortable.

Awkwardly, you shift from one foot to the other.

“Your belly,” Joel murmurs, a visible tick in his jaw as his gaze drags over your midsection. “S’bigger.”

“Yeah. It is. Guess I’m going to have to start trading for maternity clothes soon,” you remark, shuffling over to the table. Setting down the plate and mug of coffee in front of him, you take a seat across the table. Your eyes try desperately to meet his, but they refuse. There’s no way for you to decipher what he’s thinking. You let out a small, nervous laugh. “Can you please say something?” 

He lightly clears his throat. “I’ll take you to Main Street on Saturday,” he tells you, picking up his mug. “I’ve got the day off from patrol. I’ll, uh, pick through some of my own things and see what I don’t need so we can make a trade for some clothes.” He pauses, then offers quietly, “In the meantime, you can wear my shirts. They might be more comfortable for you.”

You flash him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Joel.”

Sipping his coffee, he continues to avoid your gaze.

“Mhm,” is all he says.

Your smile falters.

It’s the middle of August.

The afternoon heat is sweltering. Unforgiving.

“Jesus, it’s a fuckin’ scorcher,” Tommy sighs, glancing over towards the lake where his mare, Maxine, is taking a drink beside his brother’s stallion, Phoenix. His raven curls are damp with sweat, plastered to his forehead. “Hotter than the devil’s fuckin’ balls out here, ain’t it?”

He’s met with silence.

Looking over his shoulder, he sees Joel leaning against a tree, his rifle in hand as he stares at the Grand Tetons in the distance almost like he’s in a trance. “Joel?”

Blinking furiously, Joel shakes his head. “Sorry, you say somethin’ to me just now?” He asks in a daze, pushing away from the lodgepole pine. “We headin’ out?”

“You’ve been actin’ real strange all afternoon,” Tommy observes, walking towards him with his own gun slung over his shoulder. “Either the heat is startin’ to get to you, or you’ve got somethin’ on your mind, big brother.”

Joel hesitates. His dark eyes flit to the other side of the lake where the other members of their afternoon patrol group are refilling their canteens with water.

“S’alright,” his younger brother says. “Don’t worry ‘bout them. Can’t hear us.”

Joel’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “She popped.”

“Huh?”

“Her belly finally popped. She’s showin’ now.”

Amused, Tommy lightly shakes his head. “Y’shouldn’t be so surprised, Joel. Was ‘bout time,” he remarks with a shrug. “What is she—like six months along now?”

“She’ll be six months in a couple weeks.” Joel wipes the perspiration off his brow with the back of his hand and sighs once more. “Look, I ain’t stupid, Tommy. I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, but it still caught me by surprise. When I saw her, it became real for me. She’s got my kid in there. I’m gonna be a dad again.”

“You’re scared.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“Shitless,” Joel confesses, feeling his chest tighten. 

“What are you afraid of?”

Joel almost laughs.

He doesn’t know where to start.

He’s afraid of everything.

“All of it, Tommy. I’m afraid for her, havin’ to give birth with no medicine,” he tells him, his voice breaking. “I’m afraid I won’t remember what to do with a newborn or that I won’t know how to help her durin’ those first few months—”

“This ain’t your first rodeo,” Tommy reminds him. “You did it once, and you did just fine, Joel.”

“That was over three fuckin’ decades ago. And it was a different world. If Sarah—” He stops, taking a second to catch his breath. The image of his daughter’s little face flashing in his mind feels like a violent punch to the gut. Even after all this time, it still knocks all of the wind out of his lungs. “When her mom had trouble breastfeedin’ her, I could head to the grocery store and buy her baby formula. If she got a real bad fever, I could load her up in the truck and drive her to the emergency room.” He glances down at his broken watch. “Besides, I was a lot younger, then. And I wasn’t half fuckin’ deaf like I am now. When Sarah would wake up cryin’ in the middle of the night because she needed a diaper change, I’d hear her. What if I can’t hear my own kid cryin’?”

“Joel—”

“I’m in my fifties. What if I can’t keep up because I’m too fuckin’ old?”

Tommy reaches out, clapping a hand onto his shoulder.

“Brother, I need you to take a fuckin’ breath,” he says, chuckling softly. “You’re puttin’ the weight of the world of your shoulders right now—you need to put some of it down. Look, we might not have everythin’ we used to before the world ended, but we make do with what we do have. Considerin’ just how many growin’ families we have and how many little ones we’ve got runnin’ around our town, I’d say it’s workin’ out pretty fuckin well.” He gives his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “And as far as your ability to be a good dad, you’ve still got it, Joel. You know what to do, and so does she. I’ve seen her in action with my little boy, and it seems like she’s already got those maternal instincts, y’know?”

“Yeah, she does,” Joels agrees quietly, thinking of how you had stepped up to help him care for Ellie.

“Trust me, between the two of you, it’ll be alright.”

He peers at him. “You really believe I still got it in me?”

“I do.” Tommy smiles. “You never stopped knowin’ how to be a father, Joel. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Their patrol shift extends into the evening, turning into a double, and it’s late when he gets home. 

“What the hell are you still doin’ up?” Joel asks when he finds Ellie sitting at the kitchen table, cursing to herself as she flips through the stale, yellowing pages of an old life science text book.

“What does it fucking look like, man?”

“Shouldn’t have waited until the last minute, kiddo—”

Ellie holds up a hand and cuts him off.

“Save the lecture for another time, dude. I’m busy.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Finish up and get to bed. S’late.”

Without waiting for some smartass response, he turns on the heel of his boot and then heads upstairs to your shared bedroom. He flips on the lights only to find that you’re already in bed, fast asleep, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties. He toes off his boots and leaves them by the door, being as quiet as he possibly can as he rummages through his top drawer for some clean boxers to sleep in.

He slips into the bathroom where he takes a quick, hot shower, scrubbing off that day’s sweat, dirt, and grime. After he’s dressed and his sopping wet, salt and pepper curls are haphazardly towel dried, Joel walks back out into the bedroom where he switches off the lights and climbs into bed next to you.

He lays on his side and he’s just about to close his eyes when he feels a light shift beside him. You roll over and curl into him, your belly pressing up against his curve of his spine.

He stiffens, freezing as if someone had just placed the barrel of their pistol against his back, their finger over the trigger.

Christ, get a damn grip, he thinks silently to himself.

Joel thinks about that morning in the kitchen.

He knows his reaction had hurt you. Or rather, his lack of a reaction. His shitty ways of coping aren’t your fault, and his struggle to come to terms with your pregnancy sure as hell isn’t your fault, either. He owed it to you to try harder to be the man you needed.

The man you both needed.

Joel’s train of thought comes to a screeching halt when he feels a soft flutter against his middle of his back, the spot right where your tummy is nestled—did the baby just move?

He lies still, waiting to see if he feels it again, and when he doesn’t, he rolls over to face you, causing you to stir.

“Joel?” you mumble his name, sleepily. “What time—?”

“Shh,” Joel soothes, pulling you into his bare chest. He kisses your temple. “S’okay, baby. Go back to sleep.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice.

Within seconds, you’re asleep again, snuggled into him and snoring softly.

Lifting a hand, he hesitates, then rests it on your belly.

He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Until the minutes turn into hours.

Until dawn’s light filters in through the lace curtains. 

Until he finally feels that little flutter again.

He feels it against the palm of his hand. Faint, nothing more than a brief whisper against his skin, but there is no mistaking it.

He’d just felt the baby’s movement.

There’s a sudden shift.

Tense muscles that had been painfully wound up since the moment you’d mentioned to him your period was a week late back in the spring loosen slightly—the breath he had been holding since he’d picked up that positive pregnancy test from the bathroom counter finally falls from his lips, fanning over yours.

His fears, his worries, his uncertainties about what lies ahead, they’re all still there, of course, but he finds they are now accompanied by a glimmer of hope, a sliver of optimism that maybe, just maybe, Joel doesn’t have to be as afraid as he is.

Joel’s eyes glaze over your face, warmth radiating in his chest when you breathe a little a sigh of content in your sleep as he gently rubs your stomach through his shirt.

With his hand still splayed over your belly, he closes his eyes and begins to drift off, falling into the most decent sleep he’s had in the last few months.

Maybe his brother’s right.

Maybe he will be just fine.

divider credit to @saradika 🤍

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Reminder; Don't Forget

(Scrap)

❥Park Seonghwa x fem reader

➯a/n: i want park seonghwa to be mean to me while wearing a tank top, that is all ➯a/n: i'm going to start posting drafts that haven't been touched in over a month so they don't just collect dust, enjoy ya filthy animals

✃ "You need a reminder of who's good girl you are."

✫彡wordcount: 2.7k

(>ᴗ•)♡´･ᴗ･`♡genre: YANDERE SMUT (hinted mafia/crime au)

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: THIS IS A DARK FICTION. EMPHASIS ON DARK FICTION. i do no condone pretty much anything seonghwa does in this fanfic. this is very dark, the darkest i've gone so if you are uncomfortable with that check out something else. we have here: dark/yandere/savior complex hwa, degrading, unsafe physical restraint, choking, destruction of personal property, shaming, dubcon, extremely possessive behavior, some ddlg themes, slapping, praise, yelling, captivity, crying, knifes thrown at reader as a punishment(none hit!!), threats of violence, manipulation, mind break, hair pulling, mention of edging, face humping, throat fucking, messy bj, not proof read

MATURE UNDER CUT MDNI

"Did you forget your place, hm? It certainly seems like it, acting like a slut when you're mine!" His grip on your neck tightens, a chuckle leaving his furled lips as you grab at his tank top desperately trying to force out apologies through the pressure he puts on your wind pipes. "What, you can't even say that you're sorry? Another's man's number in your phone and you can't tell me you're sorry?"

Oh he's evil, he loves to see you squirm. And squirm you do: pushing against his heavy weight on your hips and clawing at his arm as your lungs beg for air.

He lets go, arms crossing his chest as he leans back nonchalantly, every bit of his weight in your lap as you heave. "Hwa-seong...Hwa, I'm s-sorry! I thought, thought, it'd be okay hes just a f-friend-"

   "You thought," he laughs cruelly, "are you even capable of that? Dumb little girl," he slaps your jaw, lightly, but it still makes you face the wall with a look of defeat.

"I think for you, is that clear?" You nod, tear stained cheeks gleaming in the light.

"Hey, am I clear?" he shouts this time, making you jump.

    "Yes! Yes, Hwa, clear..."

   "There's my good girl—" He brushes back your hair, cooing as you lean away, "you're the prettiest girl I ever laid my eyes on, and you think men don't see that? You think they're blind? Or are you really just that naiive, pretty baby?" His cool finger tips trail down to the blooming bruise on your neck, pressing softly to make you whine. "Give me your phone."

   He's up and off your body in a second flat, letting you catch your breath as you slowly manage to pull yourself to your knees. He doesn't press you to hurry or yell, he doesn't do anything but sit back in the bean bag chair he gifted you for previously good behavior and watch you like a hawk. His legs spread and hands on his knees, resisting the urge to snatch you up. When you turn and see him on the other side of the room, you simply outstretch your arm with the old prepaid phone he provided you with a few weeks ago. "Bring it here," he commands lowly, eyes tracking your every move as you slowly move towards him on your knees- having no energy to stand.

He spreads his legs further, a silent instruction. You slot yourself between them and hold the phone to him tentative, shoulders relaxing as he takes it. "Thank you, beautiful. See, isn't it easy when you listen to me?" He unlocked the phone quickly, eyes flicking to you darkly when you go to take it back. "Got something to hide?" You shake your head, looking down as he takes your hands and places them on each of his thighs. "Don't move."

So you don't, simply breathing deeply to replenish your abused lungs while he combs through your phone with a fine toothed comb. You know you haven't done anything truly wrong, but it seems like he has different definitions to you.

"Good girl..." He whispers to himself as he sees the message of you shooting down the idea your friend tried to corrupt you with, to go out without him. "Stupid, but good..." He continues as he reads through every message with the phone number of the man. He monitors everything you do, it was only a matter of time before he got around to checking all of the numbers in your phone and their owners.

"Aw, you really are just naiive, huh? My poor little angel. Cant even tell when someone's trying to take you away from me-" He tuts his tongue, setting the phone down on the floor. When you go to pick it up, he kicks your hand away. "Sorry, Baby, you can't be trusted with big girl stuff yet. Gotta learn first." He smashes the device beneath his booted heel, a squeal passing through your lips at the loud metallic crunch.

"Hwa!" A pouty whine comes before you can stop it, tears welling up in your eyes all over again. When he cocks his eyebrow up, you cower between his legs, stuttering quietly. "Sorry, m'sorry..." He swipes the destroyed phone to the side with his boot before tapping your hip with it. You shuffle quickly, untying his shoes with a shaky breath.

"I know you get bored baby, but I can't have others corrupting your mind. I'll get you some new books, maybe even a TV for in here if you're extra good." You whisper a soft thank you, and a promise you will be as you set his shoes off to the side neatly.

"Look up at me, Doll. C'mon don't be angry," you look up at him as softly as you can, a groan of affection bubbling past his throat, "there's my pretty little thing." You rub your fingers on his jean-clad legs in an attempt to ground yourself as he looks down at you like a predator that's spotted it's next meal.

"Aren't you so happy you have me to take care of you? Who knows what others would do to that pretty face of yours— not to mention that pretty cunt."

A heat immediately finds it way to your face, and he laughs deeply. "Oh, please, don't be coy. You know as well as I do that if I didn't take you out of there that that little hole would be ruined in an hour. I saved you."

You hide your face in his lap, mind racing. It's true that he's more gently than other people you've had the dis-pleasure of encountering in his line of work. But that doesn't make him any less over bearing and obsessive. His possessiveness bordering on ownership. Sometimes you're truly thankful he scooped you up before anyone else could touch you- other times you curse him for it.

He rubs the back of your head gently, leaning up in the slouching chair, like he can sense your thoughts. "You aren't going anywhere, Baby. You're mine- until the day you die and even after that. Even God himself couldn't pry you away from me. You are mine. Do you understand that?" You nod into his lap, a quiet 'yes,hwa' muffled by his jeans. "Such a sweet thing," he whispers before gripping your hair and pulling you up, earning a gasp.

That glint in his eyes- "Hwa, wait, wait—" he did no such thing, standing up with his clothed crotch in your face, pulling your hands up to his belt.

"You need a reminder of who's good girl you are-"

"No-"

"No?!" He laughed in disbelief, nails digging into your scalp as he makes you look up at him, the stretch of your neck uncomfortable as he cranes it up. There's a sharp hunger in his eyes, "you're so cute -so, so, so, cute when you're defiant... but I'm not in the fucking mood. Get your ass up," he tugs you up by your hair, ignoring the sharp yelps that tremble past your lips.

     "Ple-ase don't take me downstairs! I'll be good, I'll be good!"

    "It's okay baby, we aren't going downstairs," he positions you back to the wall and backs up, pushing you back when you try to follow and apologize. "I'm too tired." The glimmer of hope is stomped out as he unlocked his side of the nightstand. "You can take your punishment here."

   "Hwa... I'm real sor-" A skinny throwing knife that thuds into the wall next to your head shuts you up quick, a squeal replacing your pleas.

   "Been looking after you so much, I'm rusty-" He throws another with a groan, hiding his smirk as you jump, "stay still baby, I'm out of practice." You can't help but duck as it thunks into the wall just above your head.

     "Stand up straight!" His booming voice shakes you to your core, and you stand as straight as you can manage with the knot forming in your gut. You grip the wall with your finger tips, looking down at your feet so you don't see the sharp objects coming. You've found that it's less fearful that way.

Knife after knife is thrown, each dull thump making you twitch as they're buried into the drywall in the outline of your body.

When they finally stall, his sock clad feet come into view, his curved knuckle lifting your chin. The flame in his eyes has faded to a simmer, an almost fond one. "Are you done being a brat? Or should I let my hand slip next time I need target practice?"

   "I'm done..." you speak with a gulp, body still frozen against the wall lest you move and graze against the blades.

He seems to sense your thoughts once again, cooing softly as he notices your tense shoulders. "C'mon, sweet girl," he carefully pulls you straight out from the wall and twirls you around.

He wraps his arms around under yours and grips your shoulders, holding you close to his chest and resting his chin on your head. "Your life in my hands... Such a delicate thing you are." You eyes trail over the outline of your body, traced with throwing daggers. "If you just behaved, I wouldn't have to scare you. It's the best way for you to learn, my love. That fear you feel when we go downstairs, when I have you pinned up- that's the fear you would feel every waking moment without me. Just be a good girl, and let me protect you..."

"...Okay, I'm sorry, Hwa... I don't know why I act out," You don't know if you're telling the truth anymore. It is even acting out? You sometimes think you have a right to.

Maybe— "Maybe you like it when I'm mean to you."

You don't know what you would have thought, but that wasn't it. You think he likes being mean to you. He always finds a reason to punish you: whether it be with bone chilling fear or being pushed to your sexual edge and then repeatedly denied.

    Some days, he's softer with the sexual aspect of his obsession with you.

He turns you back around and shoves you to his knees, right back into his clothed bulge where you started. "I want to claim you, I'm going to claim you. Every part. Take it off now before I decide to skull fuck you." Your breath hitches in your throat, lip trembling at his threat, knowing full well he will follow through.

Today is not one of those days, you realize.

You hands quickly find their way to his belt, unbuckling the golden buckle and letting it dangle, the button undone next and the zipper followed. He didn't bother to kick his jeans off, or even pull them down. Only his cock out, twitching to life infront of you inpatiently. "You belong to me, I'm gonna get that through your thick skull" -he flicks your head- "even if I have to use my cock."

He rubs against your cheek, sighing out in pleasure at the feeling of your hot embarrassed face. "Say my name," he whispers deeply, eyes swirling with an unreadable mix of emotions.

"Seonghwa," you pant out shyly, eyes closed as you feel him rutting against your face, his pre cum smearing on your cheek bone. His grip is continually becoming softer, loving as he lewdly humps your head. Your hands find purchase on his sock clad feet, helping you lift up your body into him. "Seonghwa," it comes out as a moan, and a thick groan comes from him in response.

He steps back just an inch, looking down at your tear stained face, his fresh pre-cum glimmering on the side of your face.

His full lips curve into a smile, his previously angry facade fading as quick as it came when he busted in the door earlier, while he lifts you to the bed and lets your head hang.

He's even beautiful when viewed upside down-

    "You make it hard to ever leave your side, pretty girl. I could spend the rest of my life buried in any of your gorgeous holes, I love you so much."

"I love you, Hwa. I-" Your breath catches in your throat as the words tear through your throat. "I do want you to claim me, I want to know I'm yours." One of your hands seems to sprout a mind of its own, wrapping around the base of his thick and smooth girth. "Let me take care of you, and you take care of me."

A groan dies on his lips, shuddering as you slowly stroke him, the words you speak shooting through his heart and down to his balls. "Let me be your good girl. Please, I know I can!"

The fear he instilled in you just moments ago festered into a need to please, to solidify your place by his side so he would never leave. He never would dream of it- leaving you. You are his heart and soul personified. You hold his entire being in your hands, and you have no idea.

"Yeah? Gonna be my good girl again? Make it up to me?" His heart flutters as you nod enthusiastically, your mouth opening wide for him and tongue lolling out."Fuck, that's a good girl," he spreads his legs around your dangling head, slim fingers gathering yours to your chest and holding them ever so softly as he slips right down your throat.

The hot, velvety skin encasing him makes him moan loudly, squeezing your hands to ground himself and keep himself from fucking your skull like his life depends on it. But, oh, how he wants to—

"Good fucking girl, that's it, just like I taught you," you gulp around his overwhelming length, eyes closing as you focus on breathing through your nose, the smell of his body wash somehow soothing to your fried nervous system.

   He holds himself back as long as he can, thrusting in your throat slowly and basking in the warmth of it. But as your saliva builds, nowhere to go, and the wet and lewd squelch of your throat grows louder, he can no longer do that. He intertwines his fingers with yours and lets you squeeze tightly, a soft growl letting you know his arousal is at a peak before he loses all control-

   His hips draw back and slam into you, the head of his cock poking at the very depth of your throat and making you gag, and the noise just stirs him on, going again and again and again to hear that sweet sound of you choking around him. Sticky saliva tainted with the white of his pre-cum drips from the corners of your stretched mouth, dripping up your face. It seems like the onslaught will never end, but he has bigger plans for his building release.

     The moment your throat is free of his cock, you draw in a large gasp, all of the wetness in your mouth dripping like a waterfall, letting you heave as he watches with dark eyes. Not that you can see the lust driven look on his face, if you were to open your eyes you'd be blinded by spit and cum.

  He discards his pants and top as he lets you catch your breath, cooing all the while about how good you just did for him. He uses the softness of his tank top to wipe away most of the filth on your face, and you finally peek your eyes open as you feel him lift you.

   You swear there's hearts swirling in the darkness of his eyes as he scans your messy face, a permanent smirk plastered on his features. "Pretty girl, you're such a mess for me," you can only pant in response, leaning into the palm he places on your cheek as he lays you down right-side-up, letting your head collide with the soft pillows.

The moment he put a pillow under your back, you knew you were in for a long ride.

And by the end of it, you wouldn't forget who you belong to.

[sehtoast]

Caught (Homelander x OC Smut)

18+ | 4k words | masturbation, underwear sniffing, getting caught, mirrorlander, mirrorlander vs homelander, slight dubcon, dirty talk, fingering, pussy eating, p in v sex, premature ejaculation, spidersona oc | Fic Directory

He takes a deep breath, holds it, savors it, then releases it slowly.  

Delicious.

He’s been snooping again.  Well, it’s not like he ever stopped and, really, it’s not like he could even if he wanted to– which he doesn’t.  Benjamin’s room is rife with all sorts of little odds and ends that help satiate that desire to know more about the web-head.  Papers, books, trinkets, hobbies, clothes…

Especially the clothes.

He’s been in here before with Benjamin. Had to act like he didn’t already know the layout so intimately.  Like he hasn’t been breaking in regularly and browsing to his heart’s content.  Like he hasn’t been doing this.

He takes another deep breath.

Like he hasn��t been huffing Benjamin’s dirty laundry.

He holds it tight, letting his eyes flutter shut.

But not just any dirty laundry.  Clenched in his bare fist is a pair of black boxer briefs, wrinkled from sitting in the hamper.  He presses the crotch of them to his nose and inhales over and over again, memorizing the scent, the taste of his little spider.

He’s leaned back, half sat on the foot of the bed as he indulges with a hand around his weeping cock. He strokes himself slow, taking his time.  He imagines what he’d do with his face buried in Ben’s cunt, imagines the taste, the scent, the heat.  His tongue laves over the fabric and he moans brokenly.

Oh, he’s wanted this for some time now… Watching the bug, following him around. Basking in their shared moments. He imagines how easy it would be, too.  Just one kiss, hot and needy, would convey all he needs. What would it be like to have Ben’s hand in place of his own?  Those soft digits wrapped around his cock, pumping slowly and working him into deep breaths and needy moans– how would they feel?  Ben would whisper in his ear, sing his praises, tell him how good he is.  He fucking knows it.  Johnny, he’d say, why don’t you let go for me?

Oh, and he would.  He’d spill so quickly it’d be downright humiliating.

His mind clouds with so many fantasies that he can hardly pick one to be his undoing.  Ben’s lips around his cock, his pussy stretched deep, fucked within an inch of his life.  All the while, Homelander moans unabashedly into the fabric.

It’s so good, so fucking good–

“Johnny…”

That’s right, say my name! C’’mon, say it!  Say my fucking name!

He starts to fuck carelessly into his grip, fist pressing the fabric harder against his face.

Oh fuck, fuck yeah– little whore, mine, all mine…

And it feels so good, he can’t–

“Johnny?”

A raspy hum rattles from his chest, pinching off in a tight little moan as he spills his load, fucking his fist with languid rolls of his hips.

“Mm, fuck, Ben… God…”  He groans against the fabric.  He stands there in perfect bliss, eyes shut, warm and relaxed as he comes down from his high.  When he does finally open them again, he navigates the process of wiping his hand on his pants and getting himself zipped up.  He’s still dazed but, when he glances back up, he’s shocked clear into coherency and halts putting himself back together entirely. 

Wide eyes meet in stunned silence.

In the doorway stands Benjamin, jaw practically on the floor, gaze flitting from Homelander’s face to the underwear gripped tight in his left hand, then down to his cock.  The bug’s face burns a deep crimson as he connects the dots, but his eyes continue darting up and down. 

Homelander doesn’t know what to say, doesn't know what to do. He should’ve never let his guard down to indulge like this; he should’ve kept his eyes and ears open for Benjamin.  He fucked up.  He fucked up bad.  He’s probably single handedly ruined his relationship with not only the best friend he’s ever had, but with the man he’s developed more than just simple lust for.

“I–”  He tries, but his voice comes out strained.  “Uhm…”  He looks down, shame burning deep in his gut under Ben’s shocked gaze. 

“Wow…” Is all Benjamin says in response.  It scares Homelander to bits, not being able to read his tone.

And he just stands there, guilty as ever with those boxer briefs clutched in his grip, cock still hanging between his zipper.

“So, uh…” Ben starts again, shifting in place.  “How long you been doing this?”

Homelander doesn’t know how the fuck he’s supposed to answer.  How does he salvage this, how does he fix it?  He can’t just say this is the first time, that’d be too obvious–

“I–”

Fuck.  Fuck.  Now he has to say something, and quick.

Let me. Sings that devious voice in his head, all too eager to take the reins.  Homelander, all too relieved to let go and escape the shame, relents immediately.  The change happens in a flash.

“Benjamin,” he tuts with a cock of his head.  “What kind of question is that, hm?”

The bug bristles at the change in his demeanor– probably that sixth sense of his tattling on the shift.  From within the safe confines of his mind, Homelander practically begs:  Please, please be gentle with him.  He’s good to us, remember?

“Come here,” he demands, a finger pointed to his boot as if he meant to beckon a dog.  He watches with a sick, satisfied grin as Ben comes forward timidly, lips parted, hand all but outstretched to show no ill intent. 

The web-head has met this alter ego before. He knows exactly what this is.

He grips Benjamin by the wrist, tugging him damn near chest-to-chest.

“Attaboy,” he breathes directly into Ben’s ear.  The way he squirms sends a delicious shiver right to his cock.  “If you must know… I do it every… single… day.”

He can hear Ben gulp in response.  He feels the heat of the bug’s body, feels how rigid he is.  One overdramatic sniff of the air and he smirks down at the web-head.

“Smells like you’re cookin’ up my next pair, aren’t you?  Getting ‘em good and wet for me…”  His lips spread into the most devious smile possible, parting only to lick a stripe over Benjamin’s cheekbone.  He doesn’t know what he loves more: the fact he doesn’t resist, or that Ben fucking reached out to grip his arm when he did it.  That he needed to steady himself was a delicious thought.

John watches from behind his own eyes, mystified, but also saddened. It should be him in control, it should be him teasing his Benjamin like this.

“Answer me, bug boy.”

“I–” Ben starts, but his voice breaks from nervousness.

“I knew it.”  Homelander teases, leaning in close to murmur in his ear.  “Y’know, I’d love a fresh taste… And you’d love to give it to me, wouldn’t you?”

Ben gulps audibly, squeezing tighter around Homelander’s arm which, of course, makes that smile grow all the more devilish.

“Tell me right now you don’t want to lay back and let me eat your pussy until all you can possibly do is scream my name.”  He murmurs, a hand coming up and tugging Ben’s head back to reveal his neck.  Homelander peppers a kiss or two before scraping his teeth along the side he’s always imagined would be most sensitive.

His satisfaction at Benjamin’s weak gasp is unmeasurable.  His cock twitches and he presses it against the bug’s hip. He could take this boy apart so easily…

“Imagine it… my tongue running between your pretty little pussy lips.  You, writhing and moaning like a little whore for me.  Creaming around my fingers because you just can’t help yourself…”  Homelander chuckles darkly, rubbing his cock against Ben more brazenly now.  “You taste sooo sweet on your clothes. C’mon, Benny… Give us a taste.”

He reaches down to grab himself and tucks his cock between Ben’s thighs.  With slow, calculated thrusts, Homelander mimes the act of fucking him.

“When I’m done, I’ll give you what you want.”

The panting breaths from the wall-crawler are so enticing he can hardly help himself when he swallows those soft little noises with a kiss, tongue delving between Ben’s lips without hesitation.  “You want this…” He purrs between unreciprocated kisses.  “You want me.”

“I–” Ben starts, pausing when a finger hooks under the waistband of his pants.  

“Mm, say it.”  Homelander orders in a whisper.  He starts to snake his hand inside.  “Say how much you want me, how badly you want me to taste you– fuck you…”

Benjamin goes to speak once more, but sucks a sharp breath instead when a finger swipes between his soaked folds.  It drags back and forth, pressing against his hole, dipping inside just the slightest bit before trailing to his clit.

“Drenched,”  Homelander all but moans.  “Fucking knew you would be…”  He draws his hand free and brings it to his lips, tracing slick over them before slipping inside.  “Delicious… I knew you fucking wanted me.”

“Johnny…” Ben murmurs.  

Homelander practically doesn’t even hear it.

“I want Johnny.” He repeats, this time a little more brave despite how much anxiety dances in his words. This was volatility personified. 

Homelander looks at him with a flicker of ire, as though he’s ready to discipline him.  Throw him over his knee for a good spanking, fuck him senseless– something or the other.  Whichever one scratches the itch and accomplishes the task all at once.

“And why the fuck would you want him instead of me?”  He asks, bitterness lacing his words.  He spins them and traps Benjamin against the bed.

This is how it went last time.  Though last time was incredibly different, significantly more violent, and a lot less sexually charged, Benjamin needed only to ask and, somehow, John would find himself with enough strength to come back to the surface.  He can practically feel the resistance brewing.

Let me out.

Absolutely not.

Let me the fuck out!

“I want Johnny.” Ben repeats again, firm with every word.  In all fairness, Ben would absolutely have a round with this version of Homelander.  Just… not right now.  Not before John.  A snarl precedes that hand diving back into his pants, fingers delving deep into his cunt.  Benjamin can hardly stop the gasping moan that comes out.  It’s hard to resist it, hard to pretend he doesn’t actually want this.

But this isn’t who he wants it with.  Johnny would come first, always.

“Sing for me, little birdie.” Homelander commands, fucking his digits in and out, fingers curled perfectly.  His face twists as if he’s struggling to keep control. “You’re soaked for me. You’re like this because of me!  Not him!”

Ben’s whines are music to his ears even as he fights to keep from losing his hold.

I’m in control here!  Me!  You let me out right fucking now! He wants me!

Suddenly Homelander is shaking his head violently, expression pinched, teeth bared and grinding– and then he’s not.  His fingers still, his expression softens, eyes widen like a deer in headlights.

Still knuckle deep, Homelander freezes.

“Johnny..?”  Ben asks, though he’s already confident the switch had happened.  Despite the intrusion between his legs, the moment is significantly less tense than with the previous presence.  “I–”

“You want… me?”  

His voice is nearly a whisper, a touch of timidness in his tone.

“Yeah,” Ben nods, eyes shutting.  He leans in to press their foreheads together.  “I didn’t think it’d happen like this, y’know, but… yeah.”

Homelander lurches forward in an embarrassingly desperate manner, taking Ben in a kiss that he certainly didn’t mean to moan into.  Just like he doesn’t mean to melt when he feels reciprocation, he just does.

He can hardly wrap his mind around any of it. Ben’s lips, so soft and sweet against his.  The sweet boy’s cunt fluttering all hot and wet around his middle and ring fingers.  He could come undone just from what he’d been dropped into.  He sighs and starts moving his fingers, slow at first, soft.  

Just enough to milk the most beautiful noise he’s ever heard from his Benjamin.  It’s enough to make him whine and press his stiff cock right against Ben’s thigh– but only for a moment.  Long enough for his desperation and revived confidence to grow into a hunger unlike anything he’s ever known.  Suddenly he’s lifting Ben to lay flat on the bed, legs hanging off the edge, and he’s got the bug’s pants torn free and–

The first lick to his core isn’t even full contact.  He suckles the wet spot of Ben’s underwear, lips wrapped tight to get every last bit.  He mewls for it, face pressing between his little spider’s thighs to tease that first truly fresh taste of his greatest longing– like he means to drown in it.  The hands in his hair satisfy every dream he’s ever had of such a moment, tugging and gripping like Benjamin would die if he didn’t.

“Oh god…” The bug whimpers, hips bucking.  It’s all the motivation Homelander needs to deny himself just long enough to yank those boxer briefs away and reveal his meal.  He dives in completely undignified, moans muffling as he presses the whole of his open mouth to Ben’s cunt, tongue delving as deep into his hole as physically possible.  He’d trade his powers for a longer tongue right fucking now if it meant he could reach further inside– if he could collect more of that sweet nectar on his tongue and feed the starving beast inside of him that demanded so much more.

He suckles and flicks Ben’s clit, practically hypnotized at his size and thickness.  It’s so easy to get it into his mouth– so easy to suck and hold and–

The bed creaks with a particularly sharp unconscious thrust of his hips at the realization.  It’s like having a cock in his mouth.

He keeps Ben’s legs spread high and wide.  The quakes of them in his iron grip shoot straight to his ego and cock, making his eyes roll and heat all at once.

“Johnny– Oh, fuck, fuck, please–”

That’s right!  Say it!  Say my fucking name!

As if reading his mind, Benjamin does.  He howls and shivers and shakes through an orgasm that leaves him gushing slick against Homelander’s eager tongue. Homelander’s head is pressed down hard by the hands in his hair– silent pleas for more and more.

He’s so thrilled with himself that he couldn’t possibly prevent the moan that reverberates against Benjamin’s throbbing clit.  It practically jerks in his mouth.

“Oh god!”

I am your god.

And he just can’t bring himself to stop.  Can’t help but act out every single scenario he’s ever dreamed up while pressing stolen clothing to his nose and fucking his hand.  It’s going to pale in comparison when he finally slips into Ben’s cunt– he fucking knows it.  He’ll never be able to go back to something so dull when he’s tasted heaven and touched the stars.

He’s damn near ready to dive in for more when the hands in his hair yank good and hard, pulling him up.  He’s still clothed except for his cock free between his zipper, now harder than he's ever been in his life.  He has half a mind to just shove it in and fuck Ben before the boy could strip him down, but that option is long gone when a kiss distracts him long enough for zippers and clasps to get undone.

Pussy. 

Shut the fuck up! 

He neglects his alter ego’s taunts in favor of reveling in touches to his bare chest.  It’s enough to leave goosebumps and make him shiver.  He hardly knows what to do when Ben strips him the rest of the way, much less when a hand finally wraps around his cock.  The gasp that left him was less than pathetic, but it doesn’t deter the touches and soft kisses pressed to his neck.

“You’re amazing,” Ben murmurs against his flesh, breath fanning wet spots and making him twitch like some sort of virgin.  His eyes flutter open and catch a smile so genuine it melts his heart.  Each stroke along his length makes his chest heave with deep, unsteady breaths– every swipe of Ben's thumb to his soaked tip drives him near insanity.   He’s so pent up, even after getting off earlier.  He could blow at any second– god, what if it’s disappointing?  What if he ruins it because he’s too fucking weak to hold back?  

He’s thought of this so many fucking times that he practically has no control whatsoever.  But he never thought it’d feel so– 

So–

Something overtakes him, desperate beyond measure, utterly starved, and he rolls them.  Much as he’d love to drag it out, he’s on the brink and he’s not going to come until–

“O-ooh fffuuuck!” 

No sooner than his tip breeches Benjamin’s cunt is he blowing his load and–

Pathetic.

“Mm– oh, fuck– I’m sorry–”

At least I’d have actually gotten to fuck him.

“Oh god, I'm sorry, I'm sorry–” 

One pump chump, huh? 

He buries his face against Ben's neck to hide as pleasure and shame mix like oil and water in his gut. His body is locked tight, hips jerking despite having slipped out in the midst of an exceptionally pathetic, desperate thrust. 

You ruin everything you touch. 

It’s only when he’s nudged out of his hiding spot that he realizes he’s still whispering apologies.

“Hey, what’s– are you okay?”  Ben asks, concern replacing the bliss once etched so beautifully on his face.

Your fault. 

“I…” Homelander starts, shaking his head when the words get stuck in his throat.  “I didn’t mean to… finish so early…”

Ben’s hands cup his cheeks and cradle him, thumbs rubbing at his cheeks.  “I don’t mind.”  He says.  “We can stop if you’re–”

“No!” He interrupts.  “No, we– I can be ready again, I just–”

His face is burning red; he knows it.

“Shh, Johnny.  Don’t stress.  Just…”  Ben pulls him down into a kiss, soft and slow.  “Just kiss me for a bit, okay?”

Despite his racing heart and his mental roommate jabbing at his pride, he goes along.  It starts easy, simple pecks and gentle glides of lips.  A pace perfect to diminish his anxiety, an act sweet enough to dispel the shame.  Simple touches meant to soothe, others meant to ground.

He pulls back and looks at Benjamin for a moment, appreciating his kiss-swollen lips and hazy eyes before going right back in with more fervor.  Legs wrap around his waist and pull him into a grinding motion, milking a breathy moan directly into the kiss.

“That’s it…” Ben purrs between kisses.  

His tongue joins the fray, eyes rolling back as the taste and sensations hit his mind all at once.

He’s hard again in no time, especially with those little words of praise in between.  He stills when a hand slips between their bodies and grasps his cock, directing his tip to swipe between come-slicked folds still drenched for him.

Benjamin lines him up perfectly and he sinks in without thought.  A strangled moan catches in his throat as he’s practically sucked in by that tight heat.  Ben’s noises drive him insane– little gasps and whines as he adjusts, comments about how thick he is and oh– 

His arms wrap under Ben’s back to pull him impossibly closer.  He starts slow, steady and gentle just like Ben had been with him.  

Good.  Now ruin him.

He fights to keep his controlled pace, fights to be a perfect gentleman and not shatter this sweet boy.

“Johnny~”

And it’s so fucking hard not to.

His face is buried in Benjamin’s neck again and he picks up the pace, settling into a sloppy rut like an animal in heat– but god that’s exactly what he is.  Desperate and instinctive, he drives himself into Ben over and over again, chasing that high, knowing each deep stroke is what pulls those sweet little whimpers from his precious Benjamin and by god he’ll do it again and again–

“Harder!”  Gasps his little spider, and he’s all too happy to oblige.  His back arches, arms brace, and he cuts loose. His mind snaps– all there is anymore is this.  A lifetime of them and nothing else.  It couldn’t possibly be anything else.

Breathy exclamations turn to noisy moans, all of them sung into the air for him in tandem with squelches and wet slaps of skin.

Hear how he sings for you?  That’s it, keep going.  Hand under his lower back– good.  Help him arch into it.  Attaboy.

Homelander nods in the crook of Ben’s neck, tongue falling free to lick a stripe into which he fully intends to leave his mark.

Feel how he quakes under you?  Bite him.  Claim him.

His teeth sink in, just enough not to break the skin but he will mark this sweet boy as his.

He’s yours now, tiger.

“G-Gonna come! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”  Ben exclaims under him, nails biting into Homelander’s back as he holds on for dear life.  “Oh god– oh fuck!”

Make sure he never wants anyone else.  Thumb on his clit, right now– rub hard.

Homelander does exactly that and with only one flick, he sends Benjamin mewling into an orgasm so strong his entire body convulses– perfectly milking another load from his cock.

They cling to each other for dear life, both hurtling through climaxes so intense they can do nothing more than gasp and whine and pray the other won’t let go.

It takes a few minutes for either to speak, but fingers run through Homelander’s hair and a hand smooths up and down his back until they do.  Comforting, caring– 

“Do you wanna stay?”

Not the question he was expecting. Not at all– and not something he’s ever been asked before by anyone.  He hates knowing his eyes are watering when he looks up, but they do and he can’t make them stop.  “D’you want me to?”  

Stupid.  Stupid voice crack, stupid– 

Shut up and listen.

“Duh,” Ben says, hands coming up to pinch at his cheeks.  “I always want you to stay.”

“You’re not… mad at me?”

This isn’t what he was expecting at all.

“Why would I be?”  Ben asks.

He’s about to explain the obvious, but–

“I mean I wish we could’ve skipped the whole fiending-for-my-underwear thing and gotten straight into this, but I’m not mad.  And I’m not mad about your brain bestie making an appearance either.” Ben smooths a hand through Homelander’s hair, scritching softly at the base of his neck.  “It’s all good.”

I've got dibs on the next time. 

“Mm, thank god.” John yawns.  It’s all he knows to say, except– “So are we uh… a thing now?”

You sound like a fucking teenager.

What, you have a better idea of how to ask him?

“D’you wanna be?” Ben asks, a beaming smile spreading across his face.  It must be contagious, because Homelander ends up with the same look.

“Yeah…” He breaths, chewing his lower lip to keep from looking any more dopey than he already does.  “Yeah, let’s– I want that.”

“Good,” Ben says, hooking a leg around him.  “So, uh… Boyfriend perks include unlimited underwear access.”  His cheeks tinge a deep red as he says it, but that just makes Homelander’s lips curl into a devious smirk.  “Among other things, y’know?”

“I can’t wait to find out,” John says.  All this time as just friends has been nothing short of  euphoric… 

Whatever is next for them must be bliss itself.

[dutifullylazybread]

just found you, i see a lot of pre and post family with the teefs. what about during? and directly after? how do they care for their partner during pregnancy? especially if its a diffcult one? and afterward when their partners body has changed and maybe they're less confident about the extra weight, softer body, the extra rolls and teh stretch marks that wont go away? how does each bachelor help or make it better ir suddenly realize that is even wrong to begin with? what if they accidentally something bring out that newly found weakness in their partners confidence? ( sorry if youre busy i know you got stuff to do- i just figured youre the person who could slam dunk these thoughts i had)

Have I... GOTTEN TO THE POINT WHERE I CAN JOIN THE TIEFLING HEAD CANON SQUAD???????

ADDED 4/26/24: This might be a rough list, but I hope you all enjoy!! ❤️

OKAY. I GOTTA ADD CAL. I'M ADDING CAL. THIS SWEET MAN IS A TIEFLING BACHELOR AND DOES NOT HAVE ENOUGH FAN CONTENT... YET.

And thank you for bearing with me--I know that this ask was sent in a hot minute ago! I'm hoping I answered all of your questions; I got to a point of this sitting in my drafts where I just felt bad about how long it had been there, so I tried to be thorough but I wanted to get this out sooner rather than later. I mostly worked on this when I had a few spare moments between chapters, and then I said "screw it. This is getting done. TODAY."

So, for Cal, Rolan, Zevlor, and Dammon--let's go!

DISCLAIMER - I do not have children myself, nor have I ever been pregnant. So I shall do my best!

JUST IN CASE - A CONTENT WARNING: While writing these head canons, I did refer to the tiefling's partner as "you." If reading about being pregnant makes you uncomfortable for any reason, please be aware and be kind to yourself. I have zero doubt in my mind that I will be creating another head canon list, so if you need to pass or wait on this one, that's absolutely okay. Your mental health is important.

Cal

While Cal's partner is pregnant, he will do absolutely anything and everything to make sure they are comfortable. To say that he is doting is putting things very mildly.

He will make your favorite meals, will go out and get whatever you are craving (late night runs--not a problem), will rub your swollen ankles.

Too hot? He's asking Rolan for a cantrip scroll to fix it. Too cold? He's already piling you with blankets.

Are you feeling sick and nauseous? He's already prepping something for you to eat/drink that doesn't have an offensive smell.

And if it's a hard pregnancy? I don't see him leaving your side. If he does, he has Rolan create a sending stone set for the two of you so that you can reach out to him for anything and everything.

Honestly, he doesn't get far enough for him to even use the sending stones. He is looking for anything and everything to make the pregnancy easier on you. If he wasn't a light sleeper before, he is now because he doesn't want you to lay there in pain.

There may be points where he feels helpless because while he can do things to try and alleviate any physical discomfort, there are just times when he might just grasp at straws.

And, in situations where he can't alleviate your physical discomfort, he will do what he can to distract you.

He keeps his stress managed well enough, but that doesn't mean he won't snap at Lia or Rolan if he is too anxious. If he does get openly frustrated with them, it takes both off guard.

I also think he just holds you. A lot. Part of that is to comfort you, and the other part is to assure himself that everything will be okay.

If his partner is dealing with body image issues after giving birth, I see him being confused. You? The most enchanting person he has ever known?

Cut to him kissing you and holding you whenever possible. He'll ask Lia and Rolan to watch the baby whilst the two of you go on outings when your health permits. If it helps you to hear it, he'll remind you how lovely you are. Frequently. Hourly. Every five minutes? Not quite, but close enough.

Personally, I don't think his doting goes away after the pregnancy. And, if it is too much, it might make you feel like he views you as helpless.

If you give voice to this, he goes into immediate mediation mode. He will be extremely apologetic. He loves you and never wants you to think he perceives you as anything other than the phenomenal person you are.

Rolan

Ugh. My beloved.

He might be more stressed about having a child than you are.

He never anticipated being a father, and that might be for 15+ reasons, but he feels drastically unprepared (even if the pregnancy was planned).

He reads every. Single. Book. On pregnancy. He is the parent who gives himself nightmares when he reads about birthing complications.

Every sign of discomfort that you show is a catastrophe on the horizon.

And if it's a difficult pregnancy? Yeah. Dial that up by five notches.

He is preparing for all worst-case scenarios.

If it weren't for Cal and Lia keeping him in check, he would be safety-proofing everything in the tower.

He crafts sending stones so you can call for him if you need anything. ANYTHING.

But also, he starts shadowing midwives and asking lots of questions. If the worst were to happen and you couldn't reach a professional, he wants to be there to help you.

After giving birth, I see him splitting his anxiety between your health/recovery and the baby's overall well-being.

"The baby sneezed. That might indicate five different lethal illnesses. I'm fetching the cleric."

This is another situation where you, Cal, and Lia might have to remind him that, yes, babies do sometimes sneeze, and not everything that lands in the diaper spells doom.

Rolan might not initially understand why you're feeling self-conscious about any weight gain. Of course you're lovely. Also, isn't that what happens with pregnancies? (His words--not mine).

He assures you that you're lovely, but words might not be enough here. He might shove his foot in his mouth while trying to make the situation better.

But the best thing for him to do is remind you, repeatedly, that you are lovely. And that might not have been something he was accustomed to even saying to you prior to you conceiving. He would assume you knew that he was attracted to you.

It honestly might be the strangest (and most endearing) thing to have him say "You look very lovely today. Yes, even with the baby's spit up on your shirt."

Zevlor

*nervously staring at the tiefling I am the most unsure about writing.*

*cracks my knuckles and cries because it hurt like hell*

Zevlor has been through some of the most heinous things that can be thrown at someone. He is a seasoned soldier. A Hellrider. Surely he can help his partner through pregnancy. After all, there were plenty of soldiers in the barracks who has pregnant spouses. He's heard enough stories that he feels prepared.

He survived the Elturel's Descent. It's possible that he helped safeguard someone who was in the middle of giving birth or guided expecting parents to safety. Maybe he had to fight off the devil's skulking the streets if they caught wind/heard that person enduring birthing pains?

So maybe, he thinks, he has already seen some of the worst births ever. Maybe, he thinks, in this time of relative peace, in this home that he and his love have created, it'll be easier?

My personal headcanon for Zevlor is that he put EVERYTHING into being a Hellrider/paladin. It was his life. It was his every breathing moment. And when he became an oathbreaker, it destroyed him. His life was devoted to protecting others, and he feels that he failed in the worst of ways possible.

He certainly had friends and very possibly family that he would see on occasion, but I think that, if you didn't fight alongside him/live in the barracks too, you very likely didn't see much of him.

So maybe he has heard a great deal about pregnancies. And maybe he knows about the complicated ones--just a bit. But he himself is at a loss for when his partner tells him that they are pregnant.

Is he excited? Absolutely. Is he terrified. Oh yeah.

Regardless of how complicated the pregnancy is, he is nervous. He is worried that he will slip up in all the ways that matter, and he is terrified of letting you down.

He's a soldier though, and he prepares for everything.

He has additional blankets and pillows next to the bed.

Hot and cold compresses are ready to go.

He makes sure that he accounts for your cravings whenever shopping.

He has medicine for when the pain is severe. And when the medicine doesn't cut it, he tries his best to distract you--his mileage varies.

And this man adores you. So after the pregnancy, if you are feeling self-conscious, he will worship your body.

Dammon

I could see Cal and Dammon both being very doting, but Dammon would be juggling the forge and helping you.

If you spent a lot of time in the forge with him prior to pregnancy but find that being in there now makes you feel ill, he will absolutely feel lonelier. He is definitely the sort of person who gets very absorbed in his work, and I think this makes him feel guilty. Especially if he feels like him being there could have made things easier for you.

He becomes a meal prep king. Will cook several comfort meals for you to eat while he is working.

Massages swollen ankles and feet and anything else.

While he might have worked later hours in the forge before, he makes a point to wrap things up sooner to spend evenings with you.

That doesn't mean he isn't nervous--you're about to have a child, and he does worry if there will be enough money.

He worries that if he does slow down, commissions will dry up, and then where will that leave the three of you?

If the pregnancy is difficult, he feels guilty for leaving you alone and looks for hundreds of ways to make things easier.

Eventually, he creates a small sitting space for you near the doorway to the shop itself. It's not so close to the forge that you'll be uncomfortably hot or so close that the smell will make you sick, and he sets up a small tarp to create some shade.

If you helped Dammon in the forge before the pregnancy, he is likely hesitant to have you come back and immediately help. Especially if the birth was difficult.

But what you need, more than anything from him, is time

And Dammon wants to be a parent who is present in your life and the baby's, so he does everything to be there.

But money is still a stressor. And he might worry about you being in the forge again. So he's stressed on all fronts.

And while I don't see him commenting or changing how he treats his partner because of weight change, I do see him being VERY reluctant to have you work in the forge with him.

And this may lead to an argument. You know he is stressed about commissions and being there for you and the baby, but you still want to help.

So Dammon dials it back several notches and agrees that you know your body best. So long as you feel comfortable working in the forge, and so long as you listen to your body, the two of you can start it from there.

And it gets easier to balance the forge and child rearing. While the baby isn't allowed close to the open heat/flame until they fully understand why they must be careful (and until their lungs are developed), you and Dammon create a small swing/play area nearby.

[blorbosinmyheadcentral]

You have my whole (digital) heart

[swordmaid]

It was more a picture than a proper coat of arms, and the sight of it took her back through the long years, to the cool dark of her father’s armory. She remembered how she’d run her fingertips across the cracked and fading paint, over the green leaves of the tree, and along the path of the falling star. - AFFC Brienne II.

[piglinmyfeet]

Etho is Joel's work wife, Joel's Etho's manic pixie dream girl, and Joel is Iskalls mysterious stranger, I fucking guess, idk

[calmbigdipper]

Zipper

[daily-odile]

peak physical condition

[upperranktwo]

Yoo-Hoo! Are you alright?

[pencildragons]

me starting ofmd: oh gay kiwi pirates ahaha

me finishing ofmd: what the fuck. what the fuck. what the fuck.

[lightninginapuddle]

[viperwhispered]

Rest

Guess what? I've got more Jamil x reader for y'all. You can also find this on ao3. No warnings, just 866 words of kinda fluffy(?) caretaking stuff with gender-neutral reader.

At this point, you know Jamil’s schedule almost as well as he does. So, when you have the chance, you head to Scarabia’s kitchen, hoping to spend some time with Jamil while he and the other students prepare dinner. 

However, when you enter, it takes you but a moment to notice Jamil’s uncharacteristic fumbling and the tired look in his eyes. The way Jamil’s chopping the vegetables has you worried about him cutting himself with that knife he’s usually so adept with, and it seems it’s only force of habit that’s keeping him on track.

You frown, and when your eyes meet Jamil’s, you can already see him put his guard up.

So he knows what state he is in, huh? And still, here he is.

It seems Jamil is reading your thoughts, all of him telling you drop it before any words are even said.

At least he still lets you lean in and give a quick kiss to his cheek in greeting.

“Hello love. Do you still have a lot on your agenda for today?” you ask, keeping your tone low for at least some semblance of privacy in the busy kitchen.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” is the response you get.

Of course.

It takes a little more pestering before Jamil actually answers your question. Your lips purse. That list is far too long to your liking.

You take a moment to think, juggling your own plans and to-do list against the urgency of the things Jamil mentioned.

“Will Kalim be eating from that?” you ask, pointing at the food Jamil is preparing.

“Yes.”

“Alright, I won’t be touching that one, then. I’ve gotta do a few things but I’ll be back when you’re done here.”

“Don’t,” Jamil says with a glare, clearly aware of what you’re thinking.

Yet even his disapproving look doesn’t have the usual weight behind it.

“Yes. I will,” you say firmly, even as your heart curls inwards with another bout of concern.

Really, when did he get so tired?

And how did you not notice it earlier?

You leave the kitchen before Jamil can protest further, hurrying through the dorm corridors to find Kalim.

Soon you have an enthusiastic – and concerned – supporter for your plans. You have Kalim point out a few reliable Scarabia students to help with a few of the most urgent matters Jamil mentioned – cleaning up the common areas, delivering some paperwork to Crowley, preparing some dorm-wide notices – while you see to Kalim getting his school supplies in order for the following day. You even recruit a couple of third years to help Kalim with his homework.

You’ll see to the rest tomorrow – after all, you do also have a boyfriend to look after.

Your conversation over dinner can hardly be called anything else than an argument – despite Kalim’s best attempts at acting as a moderating force between you two. It is very tempting to ask Kalim to tell Jamil to take the rest of the day off – it’s not like Jamil would be willing to openly disobey a direct order. Still, you really don’t need to remind Jamil of his position on top of everything else that you’re already doing more or less against his wishes.

Eventually, however, Jamil’s had a square meal, the most urgent things on his to-do list are being taken care of, and you’ve managed to drag him to his bed.

“I really wish you wouldn’t push yourself so hard,” you murmur, your arms wrapped tightly around Jamil. You’re telling yourself you really do just want to cuddle, to offer some respite to Jamil. Still, there might also be a part of you worried that if you were to let go, he’d just jump up and get back to working himself to the bone.

Yet, for all his protestations, just the fact that you’ve gotten Jamil to lay down with you speaks volumes of his current exhaustion.

“I can’t just leave my duties, albi. You know this.”

“Making yourself too indispensable, is what you’re doing,” you protest.

Oh, you know it’s not so simple. Not with his background, not with all the expectations and assumptions.

But sometimes you really wish it would be.

Jamil merely scoffs in response to your words.

Still, it is undeniable that he is slowly beginning to relax in your arms, slowly bringing his head closer to yours. His eyes are starting to flutter, too.

“I will still need to help Kalim with his homework, at the very least.”

You wonder who he is trying to convince more, you or himself.

“Amin and Khalil are helping him. They’re basically top of their classes, aren’t they? I’m sure they’ve got it.”

Still, Jamil frowns.

You sigh. He really is not letting go, is he?

“Do you want me to go supervise?” you ask.

And leave you, unsaid yet hanging there right after your words.

“Don’t,” Jamil eventually says, the word barely more than a breath.

It seems he has accepted his fate.

You softly caress Jamil’s hair, listening to his softening breathing.

And when you wake up, wholly unaware of having been lulled to sleep in the first place, it’s to the lightest of touches from Jamil’s fingers.

Tagging @diodellet @twstgo @crystallizsch @jamilvapologist @jamilsimpno69 as per request If you'd like to be tagged for any future works, let me know!

[themarsbar]

*through gritted teeth* god i love this kiss.....

the way wille was freaking out just moments earlier but he welcomes the kiss readily and calmly, grounded by simon's encouraging words, mesmerized by his closeness (simon just soothes wille's anxiety, doesn't he?).

the way simon is painstakingly gentle yet steady, and he pushes against wille's lips a bit before breaking the kiss.

the way neither of them dared to voice just how out of their hands the situation truly was, desperately wanting to believe that their reassurances to each other were enough, but then pouring all that was left unsaid into the kiss. all the worry and all the care, right there unfiltered.

the way simon showed his love to wille way before he told him. (and the tragedy of wille denying involvement in any emotional relationship being the very first thing simon heard of him after this).

[blorbosinmyheadcentral]

take this silly thing while I struggle with animation