Cozy thoughts with Homelanderrrrr omggg lets talk about his [redacted] in the series finale being a nightmare that R wakes up to and needs reassurance from Homelander!! <333 your stuff is sooo incredible. Your ability to fully adopt his personality into your writing is just delicious
You wake with a jolt.
Gasping, choking, hand to your forehead–blood?! The moonlight spilling in from the windows makes the sweat on your fingertips glisten. No blood, but it wouldn’t be yours.
It had all been his.
“Homelander,” you rasp. He’s awake by your first ragged breath, and upright by the time his name leaves your lips. His palms are warm even to your feverish cheeks, his thumbs brushing away the rush of tears spilling down them.
“Whoa, whoa,” he says, voice rough with sleep and confusion. “Hey, whoa, breathe. What? What?”
You died is what you try to say, but the words grow too large. No matter how you try to push them out, they catch in your throat and choke you until all you can do is cry. Loud, ugly sobs that turn to sharp pain in your chest. It was so real, you want to tell him. Your brain was all over the floor.
You’d scream if you could stop sobbing long enough to gather the air. He’s scared now. His arms are too tight around you, but you’d claw your way back in if he tried to let you go. Your nails rake his bare back, pressing against impenetrable skin, desperate for something to cling to. No blood. He doesn’t even wince. You press harder, trying to hurt him. You can’t. It wasn’t real.
A noise of anguished relief leaves you. You don’t recognize the sound of it. You’ve never heard something so animal come from your own throat.
He doesn’t know what to say, or how to soothe you, so he squeezes you to his chest. Your heart hammers against his, your tears wet his neck. At some point he starts to rock. The motion isn’t smooth nor practiced. How could it be? It’s jerky; the uncertain movements of a child that has never been rocked to sleep, but knows the principle of it as an adult.
Still, it works. His even breaths give you a baseline to gradually match your fitful gasps to. His heart, beating just as strong and loud as yours, reminds you with every pulse that this is real, and what you saw was…
“Just a dream,” he whispers in your ear. There's a weight of understanding in those words. You’ve said the same to him when he’s needed it. When it was his head cradled in your arms, his tears wet on your skin. The nightmares are usually his. “Can’t hurt you. M’here.”
Sniffling, you run your fingers through his hair, thumb smoothing over his forehead. Even now, your touch makes him shudder. Despite the visceral realness of your nightmare, his skin is unmarred beneath your touch. You map every familiar line and slope of him, a part of you still terrified to find some hidden place where he is broken, but he is blessedly whole.
You close your eyes, sagging in relief. The exhaustion that follows the gradual release of your every clenched muscle is almost enough to knock you right back into unconsciousness. He presses his forehead to yours, his breath warm and still faintly minty on your lips.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” you whisper back. The sound of it is hoarse and small.
“Thought you’d lost it,” he says quietly. “Was it Barney again?”
That gets a huff of laughter out of you. You have one weird dream about a purple dinosaur forcing you to eat mattresses, and apparently you’ll never live it down.
“No. It was…”
You died. It was so real. Your brains were all over the floor.
Your eyes burn. The words are still too big.
“You.”
“Me? I made you eat mattresses?”
“No, stop,” you groan, thudding your fist halfheartedly on his shoulder. It feels good to do. It reminds you of how solid he is. “You weren’t Barney. You were… You were hurt. Bad. It was… It was so bad,” you say, the humor in your voice fading, more sobs threatening the frayed edges of it.
For a moment, you think he might laugh at you. Remind you he’s invincible. For all of his insecurities, modesty is not a condition that Homelander suffers. Any implication of his own vulnerability, of weakness, has always made him bristle. Instead, his playful expression sobers. He doesn’t know what to say. He presses his lips to your forehead, your temple, your cheek.
You close your eyes, sinking gratefully into his impossible strength. His hands roam your body without intent, ghosting the same path your own had traversed upon him. He nuzzles your throat, conveying in touch what he doesn’t have the words to say.
Each kiss feels like a promise.
I’m here.
I’m not going anywhere.
Feel me.
I’m real.
I’m yours.
He lays you down on the bed, settling his head upon your chest. You exhale a shaky breath, tangling your fingers in his hair. His arms slip around your waist, somehow both protective and vulnerable. He turns his head to press one last kiss to the spot just above your soundly beating heart.
“People don’t usually… worry about me. Getting hurt,” he says, glancing up at you. You stroke his cheek, admiring the crystal clear blue of his eyes. “Unless it's because they want to hurt me.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I know.”
“Ever.”
He smiles.
“I know.”
You cup his cheek. He leans into your palm, closing his eyes.
“I love you so much. I don’t know what I’d do if…”
You trail off. The words aren’t too big, they’re just too terrible to give life to.
He kisses your palm.
“I love you, too.”
You close your eyes, finally letting yourself be soothed back to sleep by the gentle, persistent press of his lips.
oh don't be so gross, it's not like I would jerk off to anything written by my sister! I only read your blog to keep an eye on my pervert sister, that's all! Ugh I just wish you would stop posting those pics, the image of you in the bath is burned into my brain and it's totally your fault. Bad enough that everytime I take my socks off I have to wonder if you're around to see it. Why do I still take them off around you? Obviously I'm not gonna let my weirdo sister control what I do, if you wanna jerk off to your sisters sweaty feet then it's your gross choice.
Besides, if I *did* get turned on by anything you wrote it would still be your fault not mine and I can't help if I get hard easily when seeing your pics I mean you're obviously hot, you know, like if we weren't sisters or something and you write so well but that doesn't mean I'm a sick weirdo like you who can't stop thinking about my sister or what her mouth would feel like on mine so just get over here already and help me out of these clothes before I change my mind, ok?
😵💫😵💫😵💫
godddddd bitchy big sister looking at my blog and getting so horny but she’s gotta still be mean to me about it has me 😵💫 you’ve killed me it’s too early to be turning me onnnnnnn
hi ! can I req a fic of sylus x a spoiled pref fem reader :33 where shes bratty n spoiled kinda like ur dangerous intention fic. maybe hcs of how they were before they got together n how their like fter !
hi anon! i tried to do something like that and this is what came of it. It's not quite like my bodyguard!au fic but I hope it's similar enough to scratch that itch a little. I am working on a part two for Dangerous Intentions though so I hope this snack is filling enough until I finish the second part. Thank you for the request and hope you enjoy (sorry its not as long as I had hoped. after i wrote it, it just didn't feel right to try to make it longer). ♥
Sylus spoils you endlessly, but little do you know that he’s been keeping a tab on how much he’s yielded to every whim and greedy desire you’ve demanded today. He might even make you work for it, your reward a kiss and the thing you wanted. Sylus gladly does it all with a saccharine smile and the occasional teasing remark, urging you to dip your fingers into his seemingly bottomless pockets. He didn’t care, money was the least valuable thing in this world, after all. The most valuable thing was right in front of him, and his expression softens when he sees the way yours lights up at the kittens displayed just inside the pet store. He knew your hectic life as a hunter could never allow for a kitten and he considered whether or not he should buy the whole store so you could come visit them every day, whenever you wanted.
Sylus is generous, doting, loving. You’ll find out how much once you get home and he pays you back for every indulgence during your date.
“What?” he purrs, holding you fast when you try to run away. “You should’ve expected this, kitten.”
When you whine and try to squirm away, that only makes him more excited, eagerly holding you fast. This was the part of the game he loved most. If he really thought you wanted to escape him, he’d gladly let you go, but he could tell from the way your cheeks flushed and your breath hitched with every touch of his lips on yours that you wanted him too.
What a dishonest lover you were.
“You didn’t really think I’d let you go so easily, did you?”
When you push the heel of your hand under his chin to stop him from kissing a trail down your throat, protesting that you have work tomorrow, it only makes him want to mark you up more; letting everyone at the Hunter’s Association know that you belong to him. His thoughts dip into dangerous territory but he holds himself in check, instead savoring the way you feel pinned underneath him on the couch.
“What about my reward? Don’t I deserve one for being such a good boyfriend?” He’s teasing you and he delights in the conflict he can see on your face. It wasn’t often Sylus would treat your outings as something transactional or even a deal of sorts, but sometimes you were so cold to him that he couldn’t help himself from responding in kind.
“Fine, but only a little–hey!” He hardly waited the moment the words left your lips, voracious in his desire. It was the only time he allowed himself to be a little greedy with you. Allowed the barest trace of vulnerability to seep into his eyes as he leaned down to capture your lips in a hot kiss.
He hoped one day you’d give yourself to him just as freely, too.
It's clear that you're feeling rough, of course; it's to be expected. A lesser partner might get frustrated, angry, disappointed that you can't seem to stop being in pain. They think you should get over it, they're bored of hearing about it. Gale, though? Gale would never, ever do that. He knows what it's like to endure an ongoing pain that will not ease or go away. He understands the frustration of your body betraying you.
There's no easy fix, and even if there was, he's not a cleric. But there are things he can do. Sometimes just sitting quietly, warm body next to yours, reading or marking. Company without requirements. He provides a simple gesture to make sure the water bottle is always hot; when you can tolerate it, he'll curl his form to yours, cradle you as gently as if you are the most valuable thing in the world, against his body. Well, it's easy enough - you are.
He can't make you better, and that's an endless frustration to him, but he would never reveal that to you. He wants to make everything better for you. He'll have to settle for just being there for you. Maybe reading the funniest things his students write to make you chuckle, murmuring boring magic books to help you sleep, giving you space when you need it but always, always reminding you that he loves you, no matter what.
This is so sweet and lovely, anon. Oh my God. 😭
Thank you so much. 🥹🫂 This brightened my entire week.
Entertain me for a moment: how did you feel when there was the Bedivere reveal? Because none of it was planned originally, it just kinda happened and it is honestly one of my favourite thing of the demo.
Let me walk you through my irl reaction.
Seeing them in the yard: *dramatic gasp* HOLY FUCKING SHIT 😨
In the hallway right after that: oh fuck, oh shit 😰
