A/N: The photo I used is NOT mine! I just needed something in place until I can do some editing. This is part one of a multi-chapter series. I plan on posting at least once a week. As always, let me know of any errors. I am only human 😫
Word Count: 1,363
Warnings: Reader specified as having a vagina and breasts. explicit sexual content; depowered Homelander; emotional dependency themes; possessive Homelander; obsessive attachment; breeding kink; unprotected sex; rough intimacy; identity loss themes; canon-typical violence references; blood mention; angst-heavy tone with comfort framing
Pairing: Depowered!Homelander x Female!Reader, John Gillman x Female!Reader
Song Recommendation: Y’all know me, I love listening to my tunes while I write. Here’s the inspo for this chapter.
The screen flickered with chaos. Smoke, debris, and the shattered remnants of the White House lawn were being broadcast live to millions. She sat frozen on her couch, hands pressed against her mouth as the camera shakily captured the impossible: Homelander on his knees, blood streaming from his nose, while his son Ryan stood over him with fists still clenched. Billy Butcher's voice crackled through damaged audio equipment, triumphant and cruel.
"Not so fucking super now, are you?"
The feed cut, switching to a stunned news anchor. First came speculation, then panic. She’d seen enough.
Her phone was now buzzing with notifications. The world was losing its mind, Vought's stock was plummeting, and emergency broadcasts were everywhere. She ignored all of it. Her hands were already moving, grabbing her keys and her jacket. She knew exactly where he'd go. He'd told her of a place once, years ago during a rare moment of vulnerability. He had a cabin upstate. It was a place no one knew about. He had bought it under a shell corporation when he still believed he might need a refuge.
He'd never needed it before.
Now he had nowhere else.
The drive took four hours through winding mountain roads that grew progressively darker as civilization fell away behind her. Her mind raced, replaying every moment of their relationship since that day he'd saved her from a collapsing building. Since he'd looked at her with those steel blue eyes and decided she would be his. She’d loved him through the murders, through Stormfront, through every terrible thing he'd done. She’d loved him because beneath the god complex and the cruelty, she saw a broken boy who just wanted someone to stay.
And now, finally, he was just a man.
The relief that flooded through her felt so intense it bordered on guilt. She would never wish for his downfall, never wanted him humiliated or destroyed. But this? This stripping away of the power that had twisted him into something monstrous? It felt like salvation.
The cabin began to materialize through the trees as she pulled into the secluded driveway. It was tucked deep in the woods where no cameras could find him. She used the key he'd given her months ago, a gesture that had felt like a marriage proposal, especially coming from someone who trusted no one. The metal was cold against her palm as she turned the lock.
Inside, the air hung still and silent. No hum of super-hearing tracking her heartbeat from miles away. No casual floating or careless strength. Just emptiness pressing against her eardrums.
After quietly wandering through the cabin for a few minutes, she found him in the bedroom.
He sat hunched on the edge of the mattress, staring at his hands. His bare hands. No gloves. His suit was torn, stained with blood that had dried to rust. His own blood, she realized with a jolt. He'd never bled before. Not like this.
"John," she whispered, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.
He didn't look up. His jaw clenched, muscles twitching beneath skin that suddenly looked so fragile. Mortal.
"You shouldn't be here." His voice was rough, stripped of its usual commanding resonance. It sounded almost human.
"Where else would I be?"
She crossed the room slowly, carefully, the way one might approach a wounded animal. When she reached him, she knelt between his spread knees, her hands coming to rest on his thighs. He was solid and warm. He was real in a way he'd never been before.
He flinched away from her touch. "Don't." The word came out strangled. "Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm..." He couldn't finish. His hands curled into fists, knuckles white with tension. "I can't hear your heartbeat. I can't sense if you're scared or lying or about to run. I'm nothing now. Just... nothing."
Something fierce and protective surged through her chest. "John." She reached up, cupping his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her eyes. "Look at me."
He did, and the devastation in those blue eyes nearly destroyed her. Eyes that had once burned through steel now held only fear and shame, along with something that looked dangerously close to despair.
"I'm glad," she whispered.
He went absolutely still.
"What?"
"I'm glad your powers are gone." The words tumbled out, dangerous and true and impossible to take back. "I'm glad you're not a god anymore. I'm glad you can't kill someone by accident, can't hear everything, can't fly away from me. I'm glad you're just... you. Just John. Just mine."
For a moment, he didn't move. Didn't breathe. The silence stretched between them like a wire pulled taut.
Then something shifted in his expression. Something dark and desperate and hungry.
"You're glad?" His voice dropped to something dangerous and predatory, despite his powerlessness. "You're glad I'm weak?”
"You're not weak. You're..."
"I'm fucking human." He spat the word like a curse, like the worst insult imaginable. His hands shot out, gripping her arms hard enough to bruise. Hard enough that before, he would have shattered her bones without meaning to. "Is that what you wanted? For me to be pathetic? Powerless? Safe?"
"I wanted you to be mine without worrying you'd accidentally kill me. I wanted..."
He kissed her.
It wasn't gentle. His mouth crashed against hers with bruising force, teeth catching her bottom lip, tongue demanding entry like he was trying to devour her whole. His hands tangled in her hair, gripping tight, and for the first time in their relationship, he didn't hold back. He didn’t have to carefully modulate his strength. He kissed her like a man drowning, like she was oxygen itself after he'd been suffocating for years.
When he pulled back, they were both panting.
"Mine," he growled against her mouth. "You said I'm yours, but you're mine. Say it."
"I'm yours."
"Again."
"I'm yours, John. I've always been..."
He stood abruptly, hauling her up with him, and then she was falling backward onto the mattress with his full weight coming down on top of her. The breath was punched out of her lungs. He was heavy. Solid muscle, bone, and heat, pressing her deep into the mattress in a way he'd never been able to before without risking her life.
"Fuck," he breathed, and there was wonder in his voice beneath the desperation. "I can actually... I won't break you."
His hips ground against hers, and she felt him hard and thick through his torn suit. His hands were everywhere, pulling at her clothes with shaking fingers, tearing fabric in his haste. Her shirt ripped and the bra underneath snapped. He made a sound low in his throat when her breasts spilled free, immediately ducking his head to capture one nipple between his teeth.
"John... oh..."
"Tell me you love me." He sucked hard, possessive, leaving marks that would bloom purple by morning. "Tell me I'm enough like this. Tell me..." His voice fractured. "Tell me you won't leave."
"I love you." She arched into him, fingers digging into his shoulders through the torn fabric of his suit. "I'm not leaving. I'm never..."
He bit down, and she cried out. Not quite pain. Not quite pleasure. Something desperate in between that made her core clench with need.
"I'm going to fuck you," he said against her skin, his hands already working at her jeans, yanking them down her legs along with her underwear in one violent motion. "I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll feel me for days. You'll know exactly who you belong to."
"Yes..." she gasped out.
"I'm going to put a baby in you." His pupils were blown wide, face flushed with arousal and something that looked like mania. He looked feral. Unhinged. Beautiful in his desperation. "Right here, right now. I'm going to fill you up until it takes. You'll be mine. Completely mine. No one else will ever..."
"John." She cupped his face, forcing him to focus through the haze of need. "I'm already yours."
Something broke in his expression. His forehead dropped to hers, and his breath came in ragged gasps that bordered on panic.
"Am I still good enough?" The question came out small. Broken. Childlike. "Without the powers, without... am I still..."
"You're everything."
He made a choked sound, and then he was kissing her again, softer this time but no less desperate. His hands trembled as they mapped her body, learning her all over again, without the filter of super-senses. He pressed his ear to her chest, listening to her heartbeat the only way he could now. Close, intimate, human.
"It's racing," he murmured, something like awe coloring his voice.
"Because of you."
His hand slid between her thighs, fingers finding her wet and ready. He groaned like he'd been struck.
"Fuck, Y/N. You're soaked." He circled her clit with his thumb, and her hips bucked involuntarily. "Is this for me? Even like this? Even when I'm just..."
"Especially like this."
He worked her with his fingers, watching her face with an intensity that made her feel stripped bare in ways that had nothing to do with her nakedness. He was learning her, cataloging every gasp and moan, every place that made her arch and whimper. Without super-hearing, he had to pay attention. Had to be present with her in a way he'd never needed to before.
"I need..." He withdrew his fingers, and she whined at the loss. "I need to be inside you. I need..."
"Yes. Please, John, please..."
He fumbled with his suit, finally managing to free himself. His cock was flushed and leaking, and when he lined himself up at her entrance, his hands were shaking so badly he could barely hold himself steady.
"I won't last," he admitted, his voice rough with shame and need. "I can't... it's been so long since I felt anything this intense, and I..."
"I don't care." She wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him closer. "I just need you."
He pushed inside in one brutal thrust, and they both cried out. He was thick and hard and real, stretching her almost to the point of pain. He didn't give her time to adjust, didn't ease in carefully. He just took, claimed, possessed.
"Mine," he growled, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. "Mine, mine, mine..."
The bed frame creaked under the force of his thrusts. He fucked her like he was trying to crawl inside her skin, like he could somehow merge their bodies into one if he just went deep enough, hard enough. His full weight pressed her into the mattress with each thrust, and she could feel the sweat building between their bodies, could smell the salt and musk of pure human exertion.
"You feel... fuck... you feel so good." His voice broke on the words. "So tight. So perfect. Tell me... tell me I'm your good boy. Tell me I'm..."
"You're perfect," she gasped out, nails raking down his back hard enough to leave marks. "You're my good boy, John. You're so good, so... oh god..."
He adjusted his angle, and suddenly he was hitting that spot inside her that made stars explode behind her eyelids. Her walls clenched around him, and he made a sound that was almost a whimper.
"I'm not going to last," he panted against her neck, his breath hot and ragged. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I can't..."
"Don't apologize." She tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him into a kiss that was more teeth than tenderness. "Come inside me. Fill me up. Give me everything."
"Fuck..." His rhythm faltered, becoming erratic. "I'm going to... I'm going to get you pregnant. Right now. I'm going to pump you so full of my cum that... that..."
"Please," she begged him.
"You'll never leave me then." His voice turned desperate, almost manic. "You'll be stuck with me. Trapped. Mine forever. You'll have my baby and you'll... you'll..."
"I'm already yours forever," she promised, and she meant it with every fiber of her being.
That was all it took for her to break him.
He buried himself as deep as he could go and came with a broken cry, his whole body shuddering. She felt him pulse inside her, felt the warmth of his release flooding her, and the intimacy of it, the pure human vulnerability, pushed her over the edge. Her orgasm rolled through her in waves, her inner walls clenching around him, milking him for every drop.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. He stayed buried inside her, his face pressed against her neck, his breath hot and ragged against her skin. She could feel his heart hammering against her chest, just as fast and frantic as her own.
"Don't leave," he whispered finally, and he sounded so small. So scared. So unlike the god he'd been just hours ago. "Please don't leave me now that I'm... now that I'm nothing."
"You're not nothing." She held him tighter, one hand stroking through his sweat-dampened hair. "You're everything. You're mine. And I'm never leaving."
He made a sound that might have been relief, and his arms wrapped around her with crushing force. Not enough to hurt. He was still being careful, even now. But enough that she knew he meant it. Enough that she felt the depth of his need, his fear, his desperate love.
"I love you," he breathed against her skin. "I love you so fucking much it terrifies me."
"I love you too."
He finally lifted his head, and his eyes were red-rimmed, vulnerable in a way she’d never seen before. He looked young. Human. Real.
"I'm going to keep you here," he said, and there was an edge of possessiveness creeping back into his voice. "In this cabin. Away from everyone. Where no one can look at you or touch you or..."
"John..."
"I know, I know." He pressed his forehead to hers. "I'm being crazy. I just... I need time. To figure out how to be... this. How to be human with you."
"We'll figure it out together."
He kissed her again, softer this time. Tender in a way that made her chest ache. And when he finally pulled out of her, he immediately pressed his hand between her thighs, keeping his cum inside her like he could somehow make his fantasy real through sheer force of will.
"Stay like this," he murmured. "Just for a little while. Let me... let me pretend."
She didn't argue. She just held him as he curled around her, possessive and vulnerable and entirely, completely human.
For the first time since she’d met him, Homelander was just John.
hiii do you have a prompt list for requests or do we just pick from the specific character list with a topic?
hi!
unfortunately, i do not have a prompt list yet. i will work on getting one posted later today sometime. if you have any of your own ideas until then, let me know!
sorry about the late response as well. i am in texas, so running on central time and just woke up 😴
Pairings: Depowered!Homelander x GN!Reader, John Gillman x GN!Reader
Warnings: OOC!Soft!Homelander, emotional trauma / identity loss themes; depowered character distress; anxiety around loss of control; illness depiction (cold/fever); references to past abuse/violence (canon-related, not graphic at all); emotional dependency themes; angst-heavy tone with soft/comfort framing
Word Count: 2,054
Summary: A depowered Homelander is learning what it means to be human in a quiet cabin far away from everything he used to be. He gets sick for the first time, struggling with the strange, uncomfortable reality of having a body that can fail him. He slowly starts to understand what it feels like to be cared for without conditions. But underneath it all is the weight of someone who is terrified he could lose everything again.
A/N: Hi, everyone! It’s been a long time since I have posted anything, especially this lengthy. I hope you all enjoy it. I have been hyper-fixated on The Boys and especially Homelander recently. I typed this on my phone, so please let me know if any grammar / spelling issues. Wishing you all well!
I highly recommend listening to this while you read! I listened to this song specifically when I wrote this. For some reason, it reminds me of a depowered!Homelander, lol. It’s one of my faves. Anyways, enjoy!
Rain cascaded from the roof of the cabin in shimmering sheets, collecting in puddles beneath the porch. The surrounding forest turned into a hazy blur of charcoal-gray tree trunks and deep green pine needles. It had been overcast since morning, the clouds hanging low over the mountains like a heavy blanket. Every so often, a distant rumble of thunder rolled through the valley, soft and sleepy rather than violent.
However, inside the cabin everything felt warm.
A wood stove crackled steadily in the kitchen, filling the cabin with a comforting heat that chased away the damp chill pressing against the windows. Golden light from a nearby lamp pooled across the hardwood floors, and the scent of simmering chicken soup drifted from the kitchen. The warm scent mingled with cedar smoke, while the smell of rain-soaked earth clung to the air whenever the wind found a crack in the old cabin.
There was a black cat sprawled shamelessly across the center of the couch. Since you and John had made this cabin your home, the cat kept showing up on your doorstep. Until one day, he never left.
Its glossy fur rose and fell with every contented breath as it slept, completely unconcerned with the weather or the fact that it had taken over half the available space.
John didn’t seem interested in arguing with it, though. He was curled beneath a thick blanket, one arm draped protectively around the cat’s middle while the other rested across his stomach. His blond hair was tousled from sleep, falling messily across his forehead. His cheeks carried the faint flush of fever, and there were dark shadows beneath his eyes from a restless night.
For someone who had once stood above the entire world, he looked remarkably fragile.
You paused in the kitchen doorway for a moment just to watch him. Two years ago, the sight would’ve been unimaginable. Homelander had always seemed larger than life. Untouchable.
Now he was simply John. A man with a cold, who hadn’t slept properly, and who had spent most of the morning wrapped in blankets, wallowing over his sore throat but insisted he wasn’t complaining.
Since losing his powers a few months ago, John’s body had been playing catch-up with the rest of the world. For most of his life, he’d never had to worry about things like getting enough sleep, building endurance, or catching whatever bug happened to be going around. His body had simply existed above it all.
Now it seemed like every week brought some new discomfort or inconvenience. A pulled muscle from chopping firewood. Sore feet after a long hike into town. A headache from staying up too late. And now, his very first cold. Leaving the United States and hiding away in a remote corner of the world hadn’t exactly helped the transition either. He was constantly surrounded by unfamiliar foods, unfamiliar environments, and countless little things his body had never been exposed to before.
Sometimes, watching him navigate it all felt strangely similar to watching someone discover life for the first time. He was frustrated, stubborn, occasionally overwhelmed, and quietly fascinated by things most people took for granted.
And somehow, you loved him more now than you ever thought possible.
As if sensing your gaze, his eyes slowly opened and the moment he saw you standing there, something softened in his expression. It happened every time.
The tension he usually carried seemed to ease the second he looked at you.
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he spoke, “There you are.”
His words were simple and ordinary, but they carried a warmth that immediately settled in your chest.
You crossed the room to sit beside him on the couch, and the cushions shifted beneath your weight. Without hesitation, he immediately leaned closer until his shoulder pressed against yours.
The movement was so natural now that neither of you commented on it.
A few years ago, John never would’ve sought out affection like this. Physical touch had always been something complicated for him. Something tangled up in power, expectation, or performance. People touched Homelander because they wanted something from him, because they were afraid of him, or because they worshipped him.
Genuine affection had been so rare that he hardly knew what to do with it when it appeared. It was easier to keep people at arm’s length. Better to convince himself he didn’t need comfort, didn’t need closeness, didn’t need anyone.
But somewhere between quiet mornings, shared meals, sleepless nights, and the countless ordinary moments that made up a life together, something had changed. The walls he’d spent decades building had begun to crumble.
Now, he reached for you without even thinking. Like his hand finding yours across the couch, or his arm snaking around your waist while you cooked. Or your head leaning on his shoulder during a long afternoon by the fire. It was all of the little things that mattered so much. It was the kind of affection most people took for granted. For anyone else, it would have seemed insignificant. To him, it was trust in its purest form.
If it were months before he might have acted embarrassed or pretended it wasn’t intentional.
Now he accepted the comfort and he accepted you.
You interrupted his thoughts when you brushed a hand through his hair. The reaction was immediate and his eyes closed. The rest of his body seemed to relax beneath your touch. As you looked his body up and own once more, it dawned on you all at once. The sight of him like this never failed to affect you. There was something heartbreakingly vulnerable about it.
This man had once terrified entire cities, and here he was, practically melting as you played with his hair.
“How are you feeling?” you asked quietly.
John groaned in response. A dramatic, exhausted sound. “Terrible.”
“Still?”
“I think it’s worse.” He sniffled pathetically.
“You said that three hours ago, baby.”
“Because it keeps getting worse.” He opened one eye and looked up at you. “I swear my skin hurts.”
A laugh escaped before you could stop it. You knew he wasn’t trying to be funny, but you couldn’t help it. His expression immediately brightened despite himself.
That happened often too. He liked making you laugh, more than he’d ever admit.
“You think that’s funny?” He said with a playfully offended look on his face.
“A little.” You said, leaning forward and giving him a soft kiss on the cheek. Even that was enough to give John butterflies.
“You are cruel.”
“Hey, I’m taking good care of you.” You defended yourself.
“Exactly. You’re luring me into a false sense of security.” You shook your head at him. Before you could argue back, the cat chose that moment to stretch and climb fully into John’s lap.
Without even thinking about it, his hand immediately found its back. His long fingers moved slowly through soft black fur, and the cat began purring so loudly you could hear it over the rain.
He glanced down. “See? He’s manipulating me too.” You rolled your eyes, smiling at him, “You’re the one that feeds him. Just admit that you adore him.”
“I feed him because he’ll scream outside the bedroom door all night if I don’t.” John said. “I tolerate him.”
The cat responded by nudging its head into his stomach. You raised an eyebrow at him, and John looked away.
“…Maybe I adore him a little.”
The smile that spread across your face was impossible to stop. He caught it immediately, and his cheeks somehow managed to turn slightly pinker.
Though that might’ve been the fever.
Or maybe not.
The room fell back into a comfortable silence. Outside, rain continued to tap gently against the windows while you both watched. The fire crackled softly while the cat purred against John.
His hand eventually found yours where it rested on the couch, and he threaded your fingers together absentmindedly.
Not even looking. Just reaching for you.
Seeking you out.
You squeezed his hand gently and he squeezed back. There was a long moment after this neither of you spoke. You just enjoyed the presence of one another. You were lucky he was even here with you, despite the number Butcher did on him. He was safe with you now.
Suddenly his thumb brushed across your knuckles, slowly. You noticed his gaze hadn’t drifted from the window.
Toward the endless rain beyond the glass.
His expression had changed now, and he’d gone quieter. He had a distant look in his face, like he was somewhere else.
You knew that look. “What are you thinking about?”
John didn’t answer immediately. The silence stretched for a few moments. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded softer than before.
“I still expect to wake up sometimes.” He said quietly, “And have all of this be gone.”
You frowned slightly, but kept quiet and listened to him speak. His eyes remained fixed on the storm outside.
“The cabin.” His thumb continued tracing absent circles across your hand. “You, the cat, everything.”
Your chest tightened. When he went still like this, staring at nothing for a little too long, you didn’t try to fix it. You just stayed close, offering the only thing you could: something steady enough to hold onto when everything else felt uncertain.
John swallowed. “I know that probably sounds stupid.” A humorless laugh escaped him, tears forming in his tired, blue eyes.
“It doesn’t.” You said back, still holding his hand tightly.
“Sometimes I think about who I was.” He continued. The words seemed difficult for him to say. Like they sat heavy, somewhere deep in his chest. “I spent my entire life chasing things I thought would make me happy. I wanted everyone’s approval so bad.” His gaze dropped. Another pause.
“I craved power and being loved. Looking back, I realize I never actually had any of it.”
This was the kind of truth that only surfaced on quiet days. The days when rain softened the edges of everything.
You shifted closer until your leg rested against his. He immediately leaned into you, almost unconsciously. His head eventually settled against your shoulder.
You rested your cheek against his hair. Neither of you spoke for a while.
As the storm carried on outside, the cabin remained warm. You were both safe, in a world of your own.
Finally, John broke the silence. “You know what’s funny?” His voice was almost a whisper.
“What?” You looked at him, studying every detail of his face like you might forget who he is.
“I thought losing my powers and everything would destroy me.” You listened quietly. “But I think losing this would.”
John stared down at your intertwined hands. At the simple gold band around your finger. Then he looked at the cat asleep in his lap.
He was amazed at the life the two of you had somehow built from the wreckage of everything that came before.
When he looked back up at you, there was no arrogance left. There was no cape or performance to put on. It was just love, and it was deep, honest and frightening in its sincerity.
His hand lifted to your face, fingertips brushing gently along your cheek. “You know I love you, right?”
Your breath caught and a small smile formed across his lips. The smile that only belonged to you.
“You’re my favorite thing that’s ever happened to me, baby.” He said.
“I love you too.”
The words settled softly between you. Then you leaned forward and kissed him slowly. John sighed into it, a sound that carried months and years of trust, healing, and finally allowing himself to be loved.
When you pulled away, he didn’t move an inch. Instead, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer until there was hardly any space left between you.
The cat grumbled at being disturbed, moving to the end of the couch where it could lay peacefully again.
As the rain continued to fall outside, John rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes. You both were tucked beneath blankets in front of the fire.
For the first time all day, he looked completely at peace.
humans are so lucky and privileged to be able to have creativity and create art. a shame more and more people are choosing to let ai/robot rob them the joy of creating
may i humbly request our lovely steddie with a carsick reader on a roadtrip. i imagine it’s eddies poor driving that sparks it and i could so picture steve and eddie bickering about it but still being very sweet to reader until she feels better
ily feel free to change what you want or not write it at all! thank you either way <3
Thanks for requesting <3
cw: nausea
poly!Steddie x fem!reader ♡ 771 words
Steve is on to you. Glancing at you at first in his visor mirror and then by turning around in his seat, an uneasy set to his brows. You try to focus on the A/C blowing on your knees via the small plastic vent.
Eddie swerves into the next lane, and your throat tightens.
“Hey,” Steve says to him, agitated, “take it easy.”
“What?”
“You’re driving like you’re trying to kill us.”
“If I was trying to kill you, I’d have done it back in Iowa.” Eddie gives Steve’s leg a jostle, firm but fond. “And if you’re gonna be a backseat driver, I’ll put you in the backseat.”
You aren’t looking, but he must be too distracted to notice the car in front of you slowing until it’s close. Your body rocks forward as he puts on the brakes.
“I’m gonna open my window,” you say weakly. The windows in the front seat of Eddie’s van have hand cranks, but yours in the back only has a latching mechanism that allows it to open barely an inch. It’s enough for a concentrated stream of wind to hit your face if you lean your head against the glass.
“Baby, on the highway?” Eddie asks over the whistling of air.
“You’re making her sick,” Steve accuses.
“I am not.” Eddie glances back at you. “Am I making you sick?”
“No,” you mumble.
“Stop driving like a lunatic.” The range between the glare Steve pins Eddie with and the soft look he gives you is impressive. “Hey, try to look out the front window if you can, okay? Do you wanna switch seats?”
“That’s okay.” You breathe in, focussing on the fresh air hitting your face. “I’m good.”
“Is it the heat? Are you hot?”
“She’s always hot,” says Eddie, earning him a shove. “Hey! No attacking the driver.”
Steve frowns at you. “Do you want to stop? We can pull over for a while.”
You shake your head, stopping when your nausea worsens. “It’ll pass.”
“Okay. Look out the front window, honey.”
You do. Eddie’s eyes continually dart to you in the rear view mirror. You meet them once, and he pouts.
“You want some of my coke?” he offers. “It’s, uh, kind of warm, but…”
“I’m okay.” You offer a wan smile. “Thanks.”
Steve turns around again. “Are you sure you don’t want to pull over? We could use a stop anyway.”
You lean into the wind blasting through your window, breathing deeply. “I’m fine.”
Five minutes later finds you sitting on the curb of a gas station with your head to your knees.
Eddie lifts your hair. The sun beating down on your neck is worth it for the cooling power of the breeze. He’s asked how you’re feeling about every ten seconds since you exited the highway. You’ve stopped answering in anything but hums and grunts.
The crisp sound of a soda can opening is about the best thing you’ve heard all day.
“Here.” Steve sits on your other side. “See if this helps.”
Beads of condensation roll off the can of ginger ale, wetting both Steve’s palm and yours when you take it. You tilt your chin up to take a sharp, fizzy sip.
Eddie grins when you exhale.
“Good stuff, huh?” he asks hopefully.
“It helps,” you agree.
“I think we should wait a while before getting back on the road,” says Steve. “But when we do, I’m driving.”
“Uh.” Eddie’s eyebrows raise. “No, you are not.”
Steve gives him an unamused look. He mimics Eddie’s intonation. “Yeah, I am.”
“No! It’s Eddie’s Van Halen. Eddie drives.”
“Oh, grow up. We were going to have to switch out at some point between here and California.”
“I don’t know what you were thinking, but I have a twelve-pack of Jolts in the back. I can go all night.”
“Perfect, that sounds super safe. It was your driving that got her carsick in the first place.”
Something dangerously close to contrition flashes across Eddie’s expression as he looks to you.
You give him a sorry smile. “I’m feeling a lot better now.”
His mouth tilts. “Yeah? Glad to hear it, beautiful. Hey, maybe when we hit the road again we can try something new. Obviously you’re a better candidate for the passenger seat than Stevie here, so you can play DJ.” He waggles his eyebrows. “We have an array of music in Eddie’s Van Halen, with vocal accompaniment by yours truly.”
Steve huffs, an eye roll in audible form.
Before they can start bickering again, you say, “Yeah, sure. A distraction might help.”
i’m sorry i’ve been slacking on requests and writing. it isn’t that i’ve lost my passion, i just have a lot going on. i’m trying to do well in school, as well as move on from this recent breakup and bettering myself (working out, sleeping better, eating better, etc.) i’m going to try and get more stuff posted once i’m feeling a bit more inspired. but for now, don’t worry, i will fulfill any request you’ve sent. i’m just taking some time to myself to get things figured out again.
of course, thank you to everyone who’s always supporting me. your patience and love for my blog / writing is what keeps me going every day!!
i think the idea of na’vi miles cuddling with a human reader is so cute. like, he’s so massive sleeping next to her, trying to curl around her and make himself “smaller.” AHMEHKWHAHS should i write this 😭 (maybe with some smut too bc i’m a whore)
yesterday i made a really difficult decision and i ended my 2.5 year relationship with my boyfriend. for the past year and a half, the relationship was very on and off. he had some personal issues and unresolved trauma to sort out. i also believe him and i had grown apart, as much as i still love him, because i couldn’t trust him not to leave again and again.
ANYWAY. it’s going to be very hard for me going forward, because this is someone that i wanted to be with forever.
the good part about this sad situation for me is that it gives me more inspiration to write. so send me lots of requests! lol. i write for the following characters:
