[ ky | 28 | they/she ] welcome to my blog where i write and reblog stuff of my hyperfixations. this blog is a safe space. you're never too old to write what you love. thanks for stopping by! ♡
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆:
18+ only as this blog will contain mature content such as: smut, kinks, horror, death, etc. no minors, ageless, and blank blogs!
for the self-conscious beginner: No one makes great things until the world intimately knows their mediocrity. Don’t think of your writing as terrible; think of it as preparing to contribute something great.
for the self-conscious late bloomer: Look at old writing as how far you’ve come. You can’t get to where you are today without covering all that past ground. For that, be proud.
for the perfectionist: Think about how much you complain about things you love—the mistakes and retcons in all your favorite series—and how you still love them anyway. Give yourself that same space.
for the realist: There will be people who hate your story even if it’s considered a classic. But there will be people who love your story, even if it is strange and unpopular.
for the fanfic writer: Your work isn’t lesser for not following canon. When you write, you’ve created a new work on its own. It can be, but does not have to be, limited by the source material. Canon is not the end-all, be-all.
for the writer’s blocked: It doesn’t need to be perfect. Sometimes you have to move on and commit a few writing sins if it means you can create better things out of it.
for the lost: You started writing for a reason; remember that reason. It’s ok to move on. You are more than your writing. It will be here if you want to come back.
You're unusually quiet as you climb into the backseat of the car.
Oz notes your silence, but refrains from saying anything right away.
Maybe you're tired.
Maybe you've had a bad day.
Maybe you're just not in a talkative mood right now.
"Where to?" He asks. "Home?"
You hum your response.
The corner of his mouth tugs into a frown.
You're never like this with him. Usually, you're all sweet and bubbly, chattin' his fuckin' ear off.
So, what, then? You gonna start treatin' him like the rest of 'em, too? Just your lousy, good-for-nothin' driver?
He shakes his head lightly, sticks the keys in the ignition, then freezes when he hears a zipper being undone.
His brows furrow and he sits up the least bit straighter, so as to glance and in the rearview, and when he does, he slams his head off the fuckin' roof.
You're taking your goddamn dress off.
His eyes flit away, back to the windshield. "Hon, what're you—"
You toss your shoes into the floorboard of the front passenger seat, then your dress into the seat itself.
His eyes widen as he stares at the garment.
You quickly unclasp your bra, then drape it over his shoulder and he jerks in surprise, then takes it in his fist for only a moment before settling it into the seat next to him with a slightly trembling hand.
"Sweetheart—"
You spread your legs and slide your hand between them and moan his name.
"Oz," you sigh.
Jesus fuckin' Christ, have you been drinkin' tonight, or somethin'? Thank fuckin' God the windows are tinted.
He turns the engine over and the car roars to life.
He glances in the rearview again, only to see that you're already watching him with flushed cheeks, hooded lids, and glossy, parted lips.
"I can't stop thinking about you all the time. Couldn't stop thinking about finally trying this."
You drag your fingers through your wet folds before easing them inside of yourself.
"Doll, you... You need to put your dress back on. This ain't—"
You pause for a moment and pretend to pout. "Why? Don't you think I'm pretty, Ozzy?"
You know what you're doin' by callin' him that. You're the only one he lets do it.
You know you've got him wrapped right around that dainty lil' finger, don't you?
He sighs, adjusting his erection over his pants. "Course I do, baby. You know that. It's just—"
You lean back and smile warmly.
"Mm. Feels so good," you whimper.
You begin to slowly finger yourself and you're so wet that he can hear the squelching of your pussy.
You slide your calves along the console between the two front seats and spread your thighs widely, teasing yourself.
"Wish it were you touching me," you say quietly.
"Or inside of me," you add.
His heart is beatin' out of his fuckin' chest and you've got him sweatin' now. Do you want him to keel over in front seat with his cock strainin' between his legs?
"What's gotten into you tonight?" He asks quietly, with a tone of disbelief.
"Not you," you say with a pout to your voice.
He rolls his eyes, but is unable to fight back a grin at your flirtatious lil' answer.
You pick up speed then, pumping your fingers quickly away inside of yourself, your wetness slipping down your ass and onto the leather seat.
"God, Ozzy," you moan, and your eyes flutter closed.
And he knows he really fuckin' shouldn't, but goddammit he needs to touch you right now.
He slides a hand along your shin and your body jerks at the sudden contact.
"Please," you whine.
He turns slightly, moving his hand higher—as high as he can get it.
He stops at the middle of your thigh and you bite your lip while staring into his dark eyes as you fuck yourself silly while he watches.
"Don't you want to?" You ask breathlessly.
You glance down to his lap, then back to him. "It'll make you feel better. It'll make me feel better."
He's silent for a moment—contemplative.
And then he gives into it, because he ain't thinkin' with the right fuckin' head right now.
Being near you always makes that difficult to do, anyway.
"You want me to, doll? Huh?"
You nod while smiling lustfully. "I do. I do. I do."
He releases you, then unzips his pants and tugs his throbbing cock out and he begins to stroke it while continuing to watch you in the rearview.
He reaches up, quickly adjusts the glass so it's focused directly between those supple fuckin' thighs and he gets to work on himself.
Soon enough, those tinted windows become fogged-up from heated condensation, and the cabin fills with the sound of the both of you moaning and calling each other's names and the wet noises the two of you are making, all from each other's causing.
There's a pounding pulse settled between your legs now and you're so slick with yourself that your hand slips clumsily between your legs, but God you can't stop. You won't. You want him to see. Want him to hear the sounds you make when you orgasm because of him.
He strokes away furiously at his cock, staring into the mirror, glancing to those perfect fuckin' breasts you got, then back to your cunt, and he watches as you lick your lips.
"So...close," you pant.
"Come on, angel. Come for me, baby," he encourages.
"I wanna fuckin' see it. Show me that pretty little pussy. Mine, ain't it?" He asks boldly. "Tell me it's all fuckin' mine."
"Yours," you assure him.
"All yours!" You cry as you reach your peak. "Oz! Ozzy!"
He follows along a moment later, cumming all over his hand, the steering wheel, his fuckin' pants.
You've made a mess of 'im.
As the two of you begin to calm, you giggle quietly and slink down so you can meet his eyes in the mirror.
"Next time I want it to be you," you tell him shyly.
As if now is the time to be fuckin' shy, he thinks with a grin.
"Don't have to ask me twice," he tells you, cleaning himself up before pulling out of the empty parking lot to take you home.
1,209 words || Fluff, Spoilers for Season 4 Episode 4, Hurt/Comfort, GN Reader, Doctor Reader, Happy Ending, Childhood Trauma ||
Inspired by the idea that at least one doctor would have formed an attachment.
Thank you to @bisexualhomelander for being my beta
They're nearly all dead, there's just one loose end that Homelander needs to tie up.
So he stands outside the unassuming house, ready to cross the final name off his list, which he found in an old abandoned file documenting his ‘development’.
It was a stroke of luck that he found you - it seemed as if Vogelbaum scrubbed you from all official records.
Determined to finish what he's started, he knocks on your door and waits impatiently, ready to strike you down where you stand.
“I’m coming!”
He freezes, his entire body tensing up as your voice unlocks memories from his time in the lab, ones buried deep somewhere at the back of his mind.
A frightened and hurt little boy being held, being comforted after the incinerator and the other horrible forms of torture he was subjected to.
“Shhh, it's okay, you're okay. I'm here. Shall we read another story?”
The door slowly opens and there you are.
Now that he's seen your face, the memories are more vivid. There’s still that kindness in your eyes, the one he saw every night before he went to sleep.
At least, for a few months before you disappeared.
“Hello, John.” Your smile is still as warm as he remembers. “My, how you’ve grown. Come in, come in!”
With trepidation, he slowly enters, unsure of what he’ll find. It’s homely, filled with curiosities and everything he’s ever associated with a true American home. As he follows you into your living room, he notices some of the pictures on the wall with you and your former colleagues at Vought, some of whom he’s already killed.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“A glass of milk would be nice,” he replies, trying his best to smile while conflicting thoughts swirl in his mind.
He was so convinced that you were like the others that had you not spoken, he would have killed you the moment you opened the door.
“Well take a seat, I’ll be right back.”
He takes a seat on your couch, hands in his lap, looking around the room again. That’s when he notices the mantelpiece, covered in photos and newspaper clippings, all in ornate frames.
Not of your family - of him. They’re all of him.
Taking pride of place in the middle of the mantelpiece is a picture from several years ago.
“Don't worry John, it's just a camera. All I'm going to do is take a picture of just the two of us. I promise it won't hurt.”
He's sat on your lap, your arms around him, holding him tightly, protectively, a smile on your face.
He’s smiling too. He’s happy. He’s with you.
They took you from me.
“Here we go,” your return snaps him back to reality, his eyes softening as he notices the glass of milk in your hand and a plate of cookies in your other, settling it down on the coffee table in front of him.
It’s such a sweet gesture.
You take a seat in a nearby armchair, “It’s so wonderful to see you again.”
After all these years, you’re still this beacon of absolute kindness.
“Do I call you John or Homelander?”
“John.”
How did I forget how lovingly you said my name? How did I forget you?
“I’m so proud of you, you’ve done so well. And look at you, you’re The Homelander! Leader of the Seven!”
His lower lip quivers, trying to keep himself together but it’s proving harder. Your praise comes from a place of pure love, something he’s never experienced or at least, he can’t remember experiencing.
“I see you’ve noticed the mantel. I know I must seem mad but I’ve been following your progress.”
You cared about me, you care about me, it’s all genuine.
“You were so young when I last saw you, with that lovely little smile.”
You reach out to take his hand but he pulls away, only so he can take off his glove. It looks so small in his, he knows if he squeezes just a little, all your bones would be crushed to dust.
But he won't.
“The things we did. Oh John, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry that I didn’t do anything to save you. I should've stood up to Vogelbaum, I should've protected you."
Saved him, protected him - the regret is written all over your face.
They regretted their actions too, only after he reminded them. Then they apologised but it was too late for them, maybe it’s still too late for you.
He squeezes your hand, trying to comfort you.
“You know, I think about you every day. I wanted to reach out but I figured Vogelbaum would have any attempt at contact blocked, especially from me. All because I chose to be human.”
Human. They were human too and they tortured me.
It’s clear that is a sore subject for you, nowhere near as painful for him but the fact it makes you sad somehow makes him feel better. It shows that you cared.
“They fired me for ‘interfering with the experiment’ but how could I not?! You were scared, you were crying and they left you all alone in that horrid room.”
The bad room.
“I couldn’t just leave you there to cry yourself to sleep. So I volunteered to take the night shift. Do you remember… remember the first time?”
His jaw tightens, desperately searching his mind for even the tiniest hint of a recollection yet all of the torment he was subjected to has buried everything deeper.
“You were terrified that I was going to hurt you, your eyes glowed red and you trembled. I knew you didn’t want to hurt me but you would if you had to.”
You understood.
“It took you a few minutes to realise I wouldn’t hurt you - I think it was the books under my arm that convinced you I wasn’t a threat.”
A single flash - “Would you like me to read you a story?”
“I sat down on your bed, you sat on my lap and we read story, after story, after story. Until you didn’t want me to read anymore, you just wanted me to hold you. So I did exactly that.”
He desperately wants to remember, he needs to remember.
“Then Vogelbaum found out, I must have forgotten to turn the cameras off and I was removed from the project. I should’ve fought for you, I should’ve marched right back in there and demanded to take you. But I didn’t.”
But you’re here now. They’re all dead but you’re still here.
“I forgive you,” it slips out of his mouth, however, this time it’s heartfelt. He means this without malice.
You’re the parent he’d always wanted, living in a house he always dreamed of, serving him milk and cookies like he’s still that young boy you cared about.
Maybe it wasn’t too late, maybe there could be something here, born from the ashes of your past sin and his trauma.
Sniffling, you wipe away your tears, tightening your grip on his hand. When the smile returns, it’s affectionate and all for him.
“I want you to know, John. I need you to know, that you’ll always have a place here and in my heart."
Your F/O absolutely would fucking do that. You may think it's out-of-character, but it's not. Your F/O is completely yours to fuck with and manipulate however you want because they WILL buy you flowers. They WILL be clingy as all hell. and they DO love you so so so much.
i absolutely agree that xreader can be so healing and promote self love and acceptance in unique and powerful ways but also it lets you fuck nasty with your faves and i think that is just so beautiful
