Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
happy pride to everyone in the community!! happy pride to those who are out, those who are not, those who arenât sure of their identity yet, those who donât use labels, those who donât feel seen, etc, etc. stay safe and donât be ashamed to be yourself.
Thank you, Black people in fandom spaces. Thank you, Black creators and Black lurkers. Thank you Black artists, Black writers. Thank you, Black bloggers, Black influencers. Shoutout to those Black characters, both canon and original. Thank you, Black people, both queer and cishet.
Your perspectives matter. Your representation matters. You are not bothersome for demanding equal treatment in fandom. It is not your responsibility to make fandom more welcoming and inclusive to you. It is not your sole responsibility to create all of the Black-centered content. You are not "ruining" anyone's fun for demanding better for yourself, and anyone who says otherwise can go fuck themselves. Any fandom worth being a part of should have no room for racism in it.
Black people in fandom, you are wanted. You are needed. You are loved and appreciated. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
And since they don't get told it near enough, thank you, Black women especially!!!
You are not "ruining" anyone's fun for demanding better for yourself, and anyone who says otherwise can go fuck themselves. Any fandom worth being a part of should have no room for racism in it.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Fanfiction is supposed to be cringy. You're allowed to write bad. You're allowed to be cringe. Fanfiction is supposed to be self indulgent. You're allowed to be cringe. Let yourself be cringe. Fanfiction is supposed to be fun. Stop putting arbitrary rules on yourself and be free.
If I had a nickel for each time Shawn Hatosy has played a ruggedly handsome charming widower, I'd have at least two nickels which is not many nickels but still odd that there's two of em.
Chapter 2 - The Father of God (Reader x Soldier Boy)
The response to Chapter 1 was DELIGHTFUL, and, like Homelander, you can pretty much get me to do whatever with enough praise, so here you go, darlings. This was such a pleasure to write, thank you for all your kindness <3Â Â
Relationship: Soldier Boy x Reader, Homelander in love with Reader.Â
Word count: 5273
_______________
The Father of God - Chapter 2
It carried on long enough that it became a routine.
Homelander came back from events glowing, and you praised him until he stood taller. You learned exactly how to tilt your head when you said, âYou were so good today,â exactly how to soften your voice when you said, âThey saw your strength as holy,â exactly how to make him feel not merely admired but understood. He would puff his chest out like a boy pretending to be a king, and behind your warm little smile, you would keep one eye on his pulse, his jaw, his pupils, his hands.
Always the hands, because now, those hands had started reaching for you.Â
You let them.
Sometimes he touched the back of your hand during briefings. Sometimes he brushed your shoulder when he walked past you in the hall. Once, after a particularly successful press conference where he redirected a question about mass civilian casualties into a speech about national courage, he hugged you in an empty corridor.
It was stiff, like even he was unsure of what he was doing.Â
âI did what you said,â he murmured near your hair.
âYou did,â you replied, letting your hands rest lightly against his sides. âI was proud.â
His breath shook.
God.
He loved being told that.
He loved it so much it almost made you pity him.
Almost.
The Deep, meanwhile, got worse. He hovered around your office like a dog that had learned the treat jar lived on the top shelf.
âDid you see my segment?â he asked one afternoon, leaning against your doorframe with his attempt at casual masculinity. âThe aquarium thing? Huge numbers with coastal moms.â
âI saw,â you said without looking up from your tablet.
âAnd?â
âAnd what?â
He shifted.
âAnd⌠howâd I do?â
You looked up then.
He was pathetic enough that it should not have irritated you, but it did. Maybe because you had run out of room inside yourself for men needing to be fed by your mouth in different ways.
âYou stayed on message,â you said. âYou didnât over-explain the ocean acidification line, which was good because coastal moms already know the problem and donât need it explained to them. And your male demographic prefers to think they know everything. Good instincts there, Deep.â
His face lit up.
âYeah?â
âYes.â
He practically floated away after that.
Soldier Boy watched the whole exchange from your couch, boots on your coffee table, beer in hand, looking deeply offended by the existence of everyone.
âThat guy wants you to scratch him behind the ear.â
You closed your office door and walked back to your desk.Â
âHeâs harmless.â
âHeâs got gills.â
âWhatâs that got to do with anything?âÂ
âNothing, itâs just disgusting.â
You looked at him over your tablet. âYou have the emotional range of a shovel.â
âYeah?â he asked, eyes dropping lazily over your legs. âDidnât seem to bother you an hour ago.â
Your face heated despite yourself.
He grinned.
That grin had become a problem. The whole man had become a problem.
Sage, mercifully, grew occupied with other things, specifically acquiring that virus to stop Homelander because she had stopped trusting The Boys to go through with it without getting distracted.Â
She still checked in, of course. She always did.
âHow is Soldier Boyâs integration?â she asked one morning.
âResistant, but stable.â
âDefine stable.â
âNot violent without provocation.â
âThat is not stable. That is dormant.â
âYou asked for manageable.â
âAnd is he?â
You looked at her and thought of Soldier Boy in your apartment the night before, shirt unbuttoned, standing in your kitchen, drinking your beer, and arguing that microwave popcorn tasted like chemicals. You thought of him falling asleep on your couch with one arm thrown behind his head, looking absurdly large in your quiet little home. You thought of waking him gently because you had reports to finish, and the way he had opened one eye and said, âCome here first.â
You cleared your throat.
âHe is predictable in specific contexts.â
Sage stared at you.
âInteresting wording.â
âYou enjoy my wording. Itâs why you keep me employed.â
âNo. I keep you employed because Homelander hasnât killed anyone important in weeks.â
âThen youâre welcome.â
She watched you a moment longer.
âDonât get arrogant.â
You smiled.
âNever.â
You were arrogant, of course.
Not loudly or stupidly, because you knew better than that. You knew where your bread and butter and first-class tickets came from. But you had become arrogant, as some people do when they constantly flirt with danger and escape unscathed.Â
You started altering Soldier Boyâs reports in the second week.
Small things at first.
His anger spikes were softened into irritation markers. His refusal to comply with camera tests became âimage fatigue due to historical disorientation.â His repeated threats to punch members of marketing were reclassified as âdirect resistance to overstructured brand assimilation.â His wandering off-site for hours became âindependent acclimation to modern civilian environments.â
You showed him the first doctored report at your apartment.
He sat on your bed, shirt half-buttoned, watching you scroll through the file with absolute boredom until you said, âYou need to know what Iâve written, otherwise youâll contradict me.â
That got his attention.
âYouâre lying in my reports?â
âIâm adjusting them.â
âThatâs lying.â
âItâs corporate lying.â
He looked amused. âWhy?â
âBecause if Sage thinks youâre uncontrollable, sheâll push for stronger containment. If Homelander thinks youâre a threat to him, heâll provoke you until one of you does something stupid. But⌠if Vought thinks youâre useful and only a little difficult, you get breathing room.â
Soldier Boy stared at you for a second. Then he leaned back against your pillows, that infuriating smirk creeping onto his face.
âYou like taking care of me.â
You did not look up from the tablet.
âI like preventing nuclear fallout.â
âYou like taking care of me.â
âI like not dying.â
âYou like taking care of me.â
You finally looked at him. âDo you want me to stop?â
His smirk faded. You saw the answer before he said it.
âNo,â he said.
He sounded almost irritated by the truth. Something in your chest moved strangely. You went back to the report.
âThen memorize what I wrote.â
***
Meanwhile, Homelander grew brighter and more dangerous in equal measure.
Your false graphs became prettier, the lies came smoother, and so his devotion became easier to steer as long as you never let him feel deprived.
âYou see?â you told him one afternoon, turning your tablet so he could see the manipulated response data. âThe numbers are shifting. The country is slowly opening to the idea.â
He leaned over your shoulder, eyes scanning the comment sections of his fan page.
God chose you.
America needs divine leadership.
Homelander is more than a hero.
Maybe gods still walk among us.
His breath caught. You felt it.
âThese are real?â he asked.
You smiled gently.
âThey are.â
He looked at you then, and the expression on his face made your skin prickle.
Awe.
âYou did this?â
âYou did this,â you said.Â
His smile spread slowly.
âYou always knew. You always believed in me.â
You looked at him, heart beating with the cold, steady rhythm of a liar standing too close to fire.
âI knew they would believe, too. They just needed time to prepare for the ascension.â
He turned fully toward you.
âWhat happens then?â he asked.
âWhat?â you asked.Â
âWhen America worships me as a god.â
The room seemed to tilt. You kept your face soft.
âWhat about it?â
His eyes moved over your face with an intimacy that felt invasive in its innocence.
âHow will you feel?â
Your throat went tight.
âWhat do you mean?â
âWhen they all love me the way you do,â he said softly. âWhen they understand me. When they worship me. Will you be jealous?â
There were questions that were traps because the person asking knew they were traps. And then there were questions like this.
You looked at him. And once again, you became the woman Sage had hired. The woman who understood love as a lever, a wound, a hunger, a weapon.
You let your face fall slowly.
Not dramatically, because Homelander could spot an obvious performance from cities away. You just let the loss move across your expression like a shadow passing over water.
His eyes widened, equal parts touched and thrilled by your sorrow.Â
You looked down. âI thinkâŚâ You paused, as if the words hurt. âI think part of me will grieve it.â
He was silent.
You continued carefully. âRight now, I get to see something others donât. I get to feelâŚâ You gave a small, self-conscious laugh. âSpecial. Maybe thatâs selfish.â
âNo,â he said instantly.
You looked up at him.
âItâs not selfish,â he said.
You smiled sadly. âBut if the whole country sees it too, then I lose the secret version of you.â
His lips parted. That hit exactly where you intended.
God forgive you.
âBut,â you added, voice steadying, âI would be proud. Devastated, maybe. But proud. Because the world deserves to know what I know.â
He looked like you had handed him your heart. Worse, he looked like he wanted to keep it in a glass box. He reached for your hand, bare fingers closing over yours.
âYouâll always be the first,â he said. âThe first believer.âÂ
Your stomach turned. You squeezed his hand.
âI know.â
You didnât. You knew nothing except that every lie worked until the day it didnât.
Then, at night, you went home.
Sometimes you arrived before Soldier Boy. Sometimes he was already there. That should have frightened you more than it did.
One time, you found him sitting on your couch in the dark, and you nearly threw your bag at his head.
âAre you serious?â
He turned on the lamp beside him.
âYour locks were ass, so I replaced them, youâre welcome.âÂ
âClearlyâŚâ you said, trying to even out your breathing after the shock.Â
You stared at him for a long second.
Then started laughing.
You were so tired that it came out almost hysterical.
He watched you, amused but quiet, until the laughter thinned into something dangerously close to tears. Then he stood, crossed the room, and took your bag from your hand.
âSit down,â he said.
âIâm not a dog.â
âThen stop looking like one somebody kicked.â
You glared.
He pointed at the couch.
âBen.â
âSit.â
You sat.
Mostly because your knees were not as committed to the argument as your pride.
He brought you a beer without asking. Opened it. Handed it to you. Then sat beside you, close enough that his thigh pressed against yours.
For a while, neither of you spoke.
The silence should have been uncomfortable.
It wasnât.
Soldier Boy understood silence because he did not rush to fill it. He could sit in it like weather. Heavy, present, unbothered. He did not need to be reassured every time your face went blank. He did not ask what you were thinking every three seconds. He did not demand access to every private thought just because he had touched your body.
Sometimes, you told yourself it was simply because he didnât give a shit. Heâs Soldier Boy⌠why would he care about your day anyway? And this thing is just lust, isnât it? And he is only here, at your apartment, all the time because he hates the glass and chrome monstrosity Vought gave him to call a home.Â
There was nothing else here, you told yourself.Â
But sometimes⌠he would do things like this. Changing your locks, handing you a beer, frowning when your cabinet doors creaked, and asking you how long it had been that wayâŚÂ
No.Â
Stop.Â
The television played some old movie he claimed was âthe last decade America made real shit,â though he had said that about four different decades by now.
You leaned back, eyes half-closed.
At some point, his hand settled on your thigh.
Your body, traitorous thing, softened.
âYou alright?â he asked after a while.
You opened one eye. âIs that concern?â
âDonât make it weird.â
You smiled faintly.
âIâm alright.â
He grunted, like he did not fully believe you, but was willing to allow the lie.
Later, his mouth would be between your thighs, or his body would be next to yours in bed, one heavy arm slung over your waist like he had decided sleep required anchoring. Sometimes you woke in the middle of the night, too warm and trapped and strangely unwilling to move. Sometimes he snored.Â
And slowly, despite his crude mouth and his 1940s smugness and his offensive opinions about oat milk, something grew where you had sworn nothing would.
You forced yourself to think about work.Â
***
Weeks passed in preparation for Homelanderâs ascension, and Sage was no closer to finding that virus.Â
âThe alternative is to get Soldier Boy to fry the V out of him,â Sage told you, pacing in your office. âBut if we make him feel like itâs our idea, heâs going to hate it. He needs to hate Homelander enough to do it himself.âÂ
You nodded, distracted. She clocked that.Â
âIâm sorry, am I interrupting your thinking time?â she asked flatly.Â
You sighed. âSorry, Iâm just worried about this ascension thing. Itâs tomorrow, and heâs so on edge.âÂ
âAre you complaining about doing your job?â she asked.Â
You frowned. âFirst, Iâm not complaining. Second, my job was to analyze and predict, not babysit, and Iâve been babysitting ever since I got here.âÂ
âSo what, you want a raise?â she asked.Â
You knew she was frustrated, but god damn it, you were frustrated too. Not that anyone in the Tower would care.Â
âI hear you,â you said finally. âI will find an angle with Soldier Boy for Homelander while you work on getting the virus.âÂ
She looked at you, contemplating whether she should let a shred of humanity through. Then she thought the better of it and left.Â
You turned your head to the ceiling and tried to orient yourself.Â
Tensions had been building unbearably for the past week. It would all come to a head tomorrow, during the unveiling of the Church of America, of which Homelander had declared himself head.Â
God.Â
Fuck.Â
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Preparing talking points for Firecracker for her show, controlling the nonsense Deep wanted to say on his podcast on ascension day, and generally keeping Homelander docile.Â
You got home that evening, tired to the bone, and found Soldier Boy asleep on your couch with one hand tucked under his head and your chipped mug on the table beside him.
The television was playing some black-and-white movie he pretended not to care about. His boots were off, and your blanket was over him.
He woke when you set your bag down.
âLong day?â he asked, voice rough with sleep.
You stood there in the warm, quiet room and felt something inside you fracture.
âYeah,â you said.
He lifted the blanket without a word.
You went to him.
***
You hadnât expected to fall asleep as quickly as you did. That was the problem with getting used to a person⌠how your nervous system instantly relaxed and practically knocked you unconscious in his arms.Â
So when your doorbell rang, it was startling.Â
The ring was followed by a series of knocks, insistent.Â
Then your phone pinged.Â
Homelander.
Itâs me
Fuck.Â
You scrambled off the couch and quietly tried to shove Soldier Boy into the bedroom. You were aware Homelander could see through walls, but prayed that he fancied himself to be enough of a gentleman not to.Â
Then you took one breath.
Another.
You smoothed your hair. Checked your shirt. Wiped your mouth with your thumb because, God, you did not know if any evidence of Soldier Boy still lived on your face. Your apartment smelled faintly of beer, takeout, and him. You grabbed the nearest sandalwood spray from the side table and gave the air one desperate mist.
Ridiculous.
Completely ridiculous.
You opened the door.
Homelander stood there smiling, a bouquet of roses in his hand. He looked⌠happy.
He wore civilian clothes, or what he considered civilian clothes: expensive dark pants, a pale blue shirt, no cape, no gloves. The absence of the suit should have made him look less threatening. It didnât. It made him look like a predator attempting domesticity.
âHi,â he said.
Your face softened instantly.
The transformation was so practiced it almost frightened you. The fear disappeared beneath warmth. The panic became surprise. Your mouth curved into the small, tender smile that always worked on him.
âHomelander,â you said. âWhat are you doing here?â
His smile widened at your tone.
âI know itâs late,â he said quickly, like he had rehearsed this in the elevator. âI know. I just⌠tomorrow is important, and I wanted to see you before.â
Your fingers tightened around the edge of the door, hidden from view. Behind you, your apartment was too quiet.
âOf course,â you said. âCome on in.â
Homelander stepped inside, looking around with open curiosity.Â
âYouâve been with us seven months, and this is the first time Iâve seen where you live,â he said.Â
âYeah, IâI donât entertain much,â you laughed.Â
âItâs a nice place,â he said. âItâs⌠peaceful.âÂ
You didnât doubt that Homelander was seeing the exact thing Soldier Boy was seeing in your home. You didnât let that thought go further⌠you took the flowers from him to occupy your hands with something.Â
âThese are beautiful.â
He lit up.
âYeah?â
âYes. Really thoughtful.â
There it was. The first offering accepted. His shoulders lowered slightly.
âI wasnât sure if you liked roses.â
âI do.â
âYou do?â
âWhite roses are lovely.â You moved toward the kitchen, keeping your body between him and the hallway that led to your bedroom. âIâm gonna put them in water.â
He followed you.
You could feel the bedroom door behind you in the shape of your own spine. Soldier Boy behind it. Silent, hopefully. Angry, definitely.
Homelander watched you fill a vase with water.
âI thought about what you said,â he told you.
You kept your hands steady. âWhat did I say?â
âAbout tomorrow. About America being ready if theyâre shown properly.â
You smiled down at the flowers. âI think weâve done a good job so far.âÂ
He stood a little taller.
âWe have.â
You trimmed the stems with kitchen scissors because doing something with your hands kept you from visibly unraveling. âYouâve been patient. Strategic. And youâll see the fruits of your labor tomorrow.â
âIâve been listening to you,â he said softly.
âI know.â
âI always listen to you.â
You arranged the roses slowly, giving him the tenderness he had come to collect. âWeâre a team,â you said. âWe see different parts of a situation, and together, we make a whole picture.âÂ
He came closer.
Too close.
âYou really think theyâll accept me?â he asked.
âItâll take time,â you said. âBut yes. You have to understand, people are afraid of things they donât understand. A benevolent god is patient, even when itâs really fucking hard to be patient.âÂ
His eyes fixed on yours. You lowered your voice.
âBut you wonât have to be patient for long. You are already the hero. The protector. The defender. Now thereâs just a more appropriate word for all that.â
âGod,â he said, but it almost sounded like a question.Â
âGod,â you said, approvingly.Â
His face changed.
Fuck, you were good. You hated that you were good.
His mouth parted slightly. His eyes softened. The flowers sat between you, ridiculous and fragrant.
Then he reached out and touched your cheek.
You let him.
Every muscle in your body wanted to flinch. Soldier Boy was behind a door less than twenty feet away, and you could feel, with hideous certainty, how much he hated this. Your cooing. Your softness. The whole gentle, devotional version of you.
You could feel something behind that bedroom door now. A pressure.Â
Homelanderâs thumb brushed your cheek.
âI donât know what Iâd do without you,â he whispered.
The sentence landed like a threat wearing a prayer shawl.
You smiled.
âYouâd still be you.â
âYes.â His eyes searched yours. âBut not like this.â
Your throat tightened. For a second, you thought he might kiss you. If he tried, you had no idea what you would do. Worse, you had no idea what Soldier Boy would do.
So you stepped back before the moment could decide for you and lifted the vase again. âThese need to go somewhere nice.â
Homelander looked slightly disappointed, but not wounded.Â
You carried the flowers to the small table near the window, deliberately pulling him toward the opposite side of the apartment from the bedroom. He followed, eyes on you, pleased again by the domesticity of it. You could almost see the fantasy forming in his mind. You arranging flowers he had brought you. Him visiting you after saving the nation. You welcoming him into warmth and softness and quiet.
It made you feel sick.
It made you feel cruel.
âYouâll watch tomorrow?â he asked.
âOf course I will.â
âFrom the tower?â
âYes.â
âNot with Soldier Boy?â
There it was. You turned slowly.
He tried to make it sound so casual, but like always, he failed miserably.Â
Your smile softened with practiced sadness. âTomorrow is for you.â
His eyes searched your face.
âNot his?â
âNot his.â
âMine?â
You took one step toward him.
âYours.â
The single word was enough to make his face brighten again. God, it was obscene how well it worked.
He breathed out a small laugh, almost embarrassed by his own relief. âRight.â
You nodded.
âYou know you donât need to compete with him.â
His smile faltered.
âIâm not competing.â
âNo,â you said softly. âYouâre not.â
That pleased him more than agreement would have. You could see the difference. To tell Homelander he was not competing because he had already won was to soothe the child and crown the king in the same breath.
He came closer again.
This time, when he touched you, it was just your hand. He lifted it in both of his and looked at your fingers like they were proof of something.
âAfter tomorrow,â he said, âthings will be different.â
âYeah?âÂ
âYeah.âÂ
He ran his thumb gently over your knuckles.Â
âEverything is so loud all the time,â he continued. âAll the time. Their voices, their heartbeats, Vought. But youâŚâ His hand lifted slowly, his bare fingers settling against your flushed cheek. âYou make it quiet.â
Your throat tightened.
You knew what quiet meant to him. He wanted a place to put his hunger. A place to own for himself rather than simply occupy beside you.Â
âMaybe after America has accepted me as their God,â he said, âwe can be together properly.â
Your body went cold. He barely noticed.
âThe people will love it,â he continued, warming to the thought with terrifying sincerity. âTheyâd want it, actually. God having a wife. Thatâs⌠thatâs stabilizing, right? Good old American values.â
You could not speak. His eyes were still on yours, but his thoughts had traveled miles.Â
âOur child would be the son of God.â
The derangement had peaked. You felt it like a drop in air pressure before a storm.
He believed it. Not as branding or political theater. He believed every single word with his whole ruined heart.
You made yourself breathe.
âWouldnât having a wife make youâŚâ You chose the words carefully. âToo human? Too relatable?â
He frowned.
Not offended, but thinking. Actually thinking about the optics like they mattered to his mythology.Â
You pressed gently. âBeing God comes with its own chains.â
His face changed. That struck something.
âIâm tired of chains,â he said.
His voice was quiet.
Small.
For one awful moment, you almost felt sorry for him again.Â
You were so tired.
So very, very tired.
You brought your hand to his wrist and squeezed gently, trying to bring him back down to earth.Â
âHomelanderâŚâ you said softly.Â
âYeah?â
âYou need to rest before tomorrow. Itâs a big day.âÂ
He nodded slowly.
âYouâre right.â
âI usually am,â you said, attempting to lighten to mood.Â
That made him laugh. It was fond. The sound of it crawled under your skin. But what followed was worseâŚÂ
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to your forehead. You forced yourself to relax and warm to him rather than give in to your instincts to go stiff. It was brief, almost chaste. Homelander clearly wanted you to view him as a gentleman, the picture of restraint and respect for your honor.Â
That honor was behind your bedroom door, currently listening in on the performance.Â
When he pulled back, he looked happy. Giddy beneath all the godhood. Like the whole world was finally beginning to arrange itself around his longing.
âGoodnight,â he said.
âGoodnight, Homelander.â
He left with one final look back at you, at the flowers, at the apartment he had now touched with his fantasy.
You waited until the elevator at the end of the hallway dinged.
You waited longer.
Homelander could hear too much.
You stood there in your apartment, breathing quietly, face still soft, hands folded loosely in front of you, as if you had not just survived a siege disguised as romance.
Only when you were certain he was gone did your shoulders drop.
You turned toward the bedroom.
The door opened before you reached it.
Soldier Boy stepped out, his face unreadable in a way that made your stomach tighten.
âWhat the fuck was that?â he asked.Â
âIt keeps him calm.â
âThat wasnât the question.â
You exhaled through your nose. He stepped farther into the room.Â
âWould you have let him kiss you?â he asked.Â
âWhat would be my alternative, slapping him?âÂ
Soldier Boyâs jaw tightened.
âYou know how fucked that sounds?â
âDo you think I donât?â
Your words came out sharper than intended. Soldier Boy saw the switch. You saw him see it. Your softness vanished the moment Homelander did, and what remained was the mouthy, crude version Soldier Boy had managed to coax out of you.Â
Normally, it pleased him. Tonight, it seemed to hurt.
He looked at the flowers again.
âThose are ugly.â
âTheyâre roses.â
âTheyâre funeral flowers.â
âYouâre jealous of flowers?â
âIâm jealous of the fact that he gets that voice.â
Soldier Boy looked almost angry at himself for saying it.
You stared at him. âWhat?â
His eyes returned to yours, hard and bright. âYou heard me.â
âYouâre jealous of the voice I use to stop Homelander from leveling city blocks?â
âYeah,â he snapped. âStupid, right?â
âYes.â
âDidnât say it wasnât.â
You took a step toward him, disbelief rising through your exhaustion. âThat version of me isnât real.â
âBullshit.â
âItâs a tactic.â
âYou think because itâs a tactic, itâs fake?â
He laughed once, bitter and rough.
âThatâs what pisses me off. It ainât fake. Not all of it. You are soft. Youâre just goddamn careful with it. And he gets all the softness.â
Your throat tightened.
âYou donât want soft.â
âYou donât know what I want.â
âYou want me rude. You want me angry. You like when I snap at you.â
âYeah,â he said. âI do.â
âThen why are you complaining?â
âBecause I want the rest of it too.â
The apartment went silent. Your heart gave one painful beat. Then another.
Soldier Boy looked away first, which frightened you more than anything else he could have done. He dragged a hand over his beard, irritated, restless, like the feeling had crawled under his skin and he wanted to tear it out.
âThis is ridiculous,â he muttered.
âYouâre the one who started it.â
âNo, sweetheart, you started it.â
He pointed at you, then at the room, then at the flowers like all of it was evidence in a trial nobody was winning.
âThis. This place. The fucking cups and the quiet and the stupid blanket on the couch. The way you come home, and suddenly the tower feels like it never existed. You started that.â
Your chest hurt. You tried to reach for annoyance because annoyance was safer.
âYouâre blaming me for decorating my house?â
âIâm blaming you for making me give a shit.â
The words hit the floor between you. You stared at him. For once, Soldier Boy did not look smug after landing a blow. He looked furious.
âYou want to know how stupid this is?â he continued, voice rougher now. âI spent twenty minutes in your bedroom listening to you talk him down like heâs some rabid dog in a flag cape, and all I could think was, why the fuck are we still here?â
Your mouth went dry.
âWhat?â
âWhy are we still here?â
âBecause this is my apartment.â
âYou know what I mean.â
âNo,â you said, though you did.
He came closer, no swagger in his step, just pure agitation.
âWe should leave,â he said.
You stared at him.
âLeave?â
âYeah.â
âYou mean⌠leave Vought?â
âI mean, leave all of it. Did you hear that asshole call your future kid the son of god? Is everyone fucking crazy here?âÂ
You laughed once because there was no other sane response.Â
âDonât do that.â
âDo what?â
âAct like Iâm too dumb to know what Iâm saying.â
That shut you up.Â
He moved closer, eyes fixed on yours.
âI know what he is. I know what that tower is. I know what theyâll do when they figure out youâve been lying in my reports and feeding him god fantasies.â His voice dropped. âI know we donât win this by staying.â
Your pulse climbed.
âWe?â you asked, and he looked at you like you were the stupidest person alive.Â
âWe,â he said, like he was confirming it.Â
âYou do understand Homelander could find us.â
âLet him try.â
âBen.â
âWhat?âÂ
âYouâre talking like running is freedom,â you said. âItâs not. Itâs being hunted.â
âIâve been hunted before.â
âI havenât.â
âYouâre hunted every day, you just get paid a good salary for it, doll.âÂ
Your mouth closed. The words would have made you feel dirty had you not known the real intention behind them.Â
He was frustrated.Â
He hated how small you made yourself, and he couldnât care about the optics or the strategy of it. And it was killing him to watch you willingly put yourself further and further into this trap.Â
âBen,â you whispered.
âNo.â His jaw flexed. âDonât use the tone you use with him to calm him down, I donât want to calm down.âÂ
âIâm not asking you to calm down. I want to know why this matters to you.âÂ
He looked at you. âYou donât know what you want.âÂ
âI really do. I want to know.âÂ
The apartment was so quiet you could hear the refrigerator hum, the distant traffic below, your own pulse like thunder in your ears.
His voice dropped.
âIt matters because I love you.â
The world simply lost sound. You stared at him.
Soldier Boy looked back at you with all the arrogance gone from his face, and somehow that was the most devastating thing you had ever seen. He looked angry. Like the words had been dragged out of him by force, and he hated that they existed where you could see them.
But he did not take them back.
âI love you,â he said again, rougher this time, like repeating it would make it mean less. âThat clear enough for you?â
Your mouth parted.
Nothing came out.
For once, you didnât have the safety of a script. All you could do was stand in your quiet apartment, with Homelanderâs flowers on your table and Soldier Boyâs heart in your hands.
------------------------------
Aaaand thatâs a wrap on chapter 2. This was DELICIOUS to write. Chapter 3 will be out soon <3
As promised, tagging all the commenters on chapter 1: @1inacerulean @sammysweetheart @witch-of-letters @monkievonkie @spnfamily-j2 @mornixgstar18 @glowingtoenails @kathypellar @spookybitchdreams @chxrrybomb22 @calyyypsooo @audreybea @ladykitana90
If you want to be tagged on chapter 3, comment below!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
warnings: readerâs wrist is accidentally sprained from being grabbed too hard
You could hear scuttling from somewhere else in the garden, an estate more than sizable enough than the game afoot.
You were under the distinct impression though that the bats and birds are playing with you similar to how they would a child. Slower, weaker, and less experienced than the big kids. You weren't complaining though. Because, frankly, it was stressful. They tend to operate more like theyâre in a warzone than a game, you felt like you were about to be sniped out at any second.
Rightfully so, apparently, seeing how silently Stephanie had crept up on you.
âHey,â Stephanie hissed, ignoring the way you jumped. âWeâre doing alright for ourselves,â she said smugly.Â
âYeah,â youâd nodded, like you agreed with her more than you probably did.Â
âOkay listen, I think the flagââ what flag? ââis by the fountain so, I think because thereâs three of us and two of them, we should bait-and-switch.â
âWeâre on teams?â you asked, no longer completely sure you know what youâre playing.Â
âWe are now!â she smiled, starting to run. âIâll bait!â
She stopped briefly in her tracks and turned back to you hissing, âDonât trust Cass,â before scurrying away.
Rather than sit around and wait there forâŚsomething?...to happen, you jumped up darting in the opposite direction with little to no indication whether this is a good move.
What you didnât see is Cass rapidly approaching from your rear.Â
What you also didnât see was Dick crouched down in a row of shrubbery, which gave him the perfect opportunity to snatch your arm up and yank you down with him. Youâd mewled a bit as your wrist made contact harshly with the grass, immediately buckling under you.
Cass was keen to your pain immediately, slowing her sprint to a stroll as she observed you.
âAre you okay?â she signs.
âYeah, yeah, Iâm good.âÂ
The response was instinctual and you didnât actually have time to register whether or not you were okay by the time you gave it.Â
You pushed up on your elbows, trying to figure out whether Dick is even on your team, but the way the others approached had you halting consideration. Theyâre savvy to the situation at a speed in which you can only attribute to their vigilantism, looking at you with concern.Â
âYou good?â Tim asked, approaching languidly.
âThat looked like it hurt,â Cass commented, crouching down next to you to see your wrist better.
Dick shook his head, âNo, sheâs okay.â He turned to you, prodding, âYouâre okay.â
âYeah, Iâm, umâŚâ you winced, looking at your wrist. âIt hurts a little.â
Cass examined it closely, tilting it gently to the side. âIt might be sprained.â
Dick paled.Â
âNo.â
Tim pointed a thumb back towards the manor, âWe can get it wrapped upstairs.â
âNo.â
You were only then able to clock the barely contained grin on Stephanieâs face, begging to break. Â
âOoooh. Heâs gonna kill you.â
Cass had then kindly offered to take you inside and wrap it up for you, which you accepted, unexpecting of the plus-one of Dick trailing behind you like a guilty puppy all the while.
âYou know I didnât mean to grab you that hard right? IââÂ
Cass laughs quietly as she wraps the bandage around your wrist, amused by Dickâs now-third explanation/apology for the incident.Â
âI know, Dick,â you say, trying to appease him.Â
âIâm sorry,â he tells you genuinely, but you can tell thereâs more there that he isnât verbalizing.
You nod, âI know, Dick. Itâs okay. It was just an accident.â
Cass pins the wrapping in place securely and with a smile, signs to you that sheâs all done.Â
You rotate your arm a bit, testing your movement under the wrap. As Cass leaves with the first aid kit, Dick remains sat at your side, leg thumping up and down.
He takes a deep breath, âWhat ifâŚwhat if you avoid him until it heals?â
âDick.â
He takes your uninjured hand in his with urgency in his eyes.
He looks down at your jointed hands before loosening his already mild grip significantly.
âAre you going to tell him?â he asks, looking like heâs bracing for bad news.
You shake your head sympathetically, âNo. I canât guarantee you that he wonât find out, but I wonât tell him.â
Dick takes a deep breath, looking at the ground with intense focus. âOkay. Okay.â He stands, âI need to go.â
You watch in amused bewilderment as he staggers out the door, looking around frantically.Â
Within the next few minutes, he creates and enacts his plan A. He walks into the living room, sitting down next to a very disinterested Tim, eyes forward and serious.
âIâll give you two grand right now if you tell him it was you.â
Tim barks out, âAbsolutely not.â He looks at his brother, still laughing. âNo fucking way.â
Dick breaks the serious facade immediately, looking at him. âFive.â
A deadpan from Tim.Â
âYou donât have five thousand dollars.â
Dick throws his head back, back thudding against the couch. âDude, please! Heâll kill me!â
Tim scoffs, âHeâd kill me!â
Dick huffs, âNo, itâs different for me! Do you have any idea how many times he told me not to do that?âÂ
âWell then it sounds like you fucked up,â Tim sneers.
âOh my God.â
He takes off again, combing through different rooms in the house with hope of finding a quick but effective hiding place for, say, the next twenty years?
He bursts through the study, unwittingly interrupting Bruce and Alfred having a discussion over tea.
The latter sits up with a tense brow, âMaster Dick?â
The former turns around in his seat, âWhatâs the matter?â
Dick struggles for a second before confessing, âI accidentally sprained someone's wrist.âÂ
Bruce scans his face slowly, nodding. âAlrightâŚyouâll have to take responsibility for their patrol dutiesââ
Dick cuts him off with a sharp breath, âSaid person doesnât have any patrol duties to be affected...â
Bruce processes for a moment before shaking his head.
âI canât help you.â
Dickâs panic takes over again, prompting him to continue his scurry through the room, towards the other door.
Alfred interrupts his process with a very logical argument, âYou donât think running away will make this worse, Master Dick?â
âIâI donât know!â Dick whines, stopping in his tracks. âI donât know what to do!â
Bruce purses his lips, gesturing, âDick, when you make a mistakeâŚyou have to submit to the consequences, you know that.â
Dick gapes, âThis is not a normal consequence!â
Meanwhile, youâve busied yourself with fiddling with the knick knacks and mementos lining the shelves of Jasonâs childhood bedroom.Â
Youâre admiring a picture of him and Alfred from when he was young as the door creaks open behind you.Â
âSweetheart?â Your boyfriend calls out, head barely poked in through the crack.
âHey, Jay,â you smile, setting the picture frame back on the shelf.
He enters fully, covered in motor oil and grease, and smiles his sweet, easy smile when he sees you.Â
Moving onto the next trinket on the shelf, you pick up a stuffed animal placed intentionally at the front. Your gaze finds the mirror, watching his reflection as he pulls the stained shirt off his back.Â
You smile to yourself, noticing the way his back muscles flex as he adjusts. âHowâs the bike?â
âBetter than it was this morning,â he sighs. âWhereâve you been?â
He turns around to look at you, taking easy steps towards you.Â
You return the toy elephant to its place, moving to face him. âUh, we were outside, playingâŚat least three separate games at once.â
The second youâre in proximity, your hands join like itâs second nature.Â
He nods, all too familiar with the familyâs unique methods of gamefair.
âDid thââ He looks down at your intertwined hands, brow furrowing as soon as he spots the bandage wrapped around your wrist. âWhat happened?â
You glance down, shrugging. âOverexerted myself playing tag.â
He looks at you skeptically, but says nothing about it.
He turns your hand over gently, asking, âIs it sprained?â
You nod, relaxed. âYeah. Cass said itâs mild.â
âDoes it still hurt?â
âNo,â you say, sweeping his hair back with your other hand. âBarely hurt then.â
He nods, but he doesnât look satisfied with the conversation.
Regardless, he turns away again, shuffling through a drawer for a clean shirt.Â
âYou, uh, you wanna stay for dinner tonight?â he asks, pulling his arms through, his head following.Â
âYeah,â you say gaily. âAlfred said heâs making his âspecial spaghettiâ, apparently itâs a household favorite?â
He wavers, halfway to between decisions. âYeahâŚâ
He huffs quietly, turning back to face you fully. âCan I see it?â
You nod, happy to ease his mind.Â
You start to unwrap the bandaging, him doing half the work for you. The work is done silently until your wrist is exposed, revealing your bruised skin.
You both see it at the same timeâthe hand-shaped bruise wrapped around your wrist.
Youâre both quiet for a secondâhim putting pieces together and you waiting for the shoe to drop.
He takes off suddenly, clearly having come to a likely very accurate conclusion about what had happened.
âFucking idiotââ
You try for his hand but heâs out of reach before you can grab it.
âIâll be right back,â he grumbles behind him.
âJasonââ you sigh, âAt least help me wrap it back up first.â
He hesitates, halfway to the door, ultimately returning to you in defeat. He takes your forearm gently, scanning it over again before beginning to wrap it.
You watch his face closely, noting the clear vexation. âIt was just an accident,â you tell him.Â
He scoffs, âIt better have been.â
You drop your shoulders and lull your head to the side. âJason. Iâm not made of glass, you canât expect other people to act like it.â
âI donât. I expect him to mind his own strength, and if he canât do that, he needs to keep his fucking hands to himself.â
You sigh, âJust donât do anything harsh. Please. I think heâs worried youâre gonna punch him.â
âHe should be,â he says shortly. He finishes off the wrapping, pinning it in place firmly.Â
You grab onto his forearm before he can pull away, âYouâre not going to. Right?â
He doesnât answer so you try to make his gaze meet yours, âRight?â
His eyes roll, âYeah, fine.â
You smile, holding his face. âI love you.â
He huffs as though heâs inconvenienced, but confesses the obvious truth nonetheless. âI love you.â
He looks you in the eye, face serious. âYou promise me it doesnât hurt?â
âI promise,â you nod, brushing your fingers against his palm.
âDick!â
The angry voice bellows through the tall halls of the manor, heavy footsteps thudding.
He stomps into the living room, Tim, Cass, and Stephanie watching the entryway with wide eyes.Â
âWhere is he?â
Unwitting shoulders shrug and heads shake. Truthfully, at that. Dick, smartly, did not tell anyone where he was hiding.Â
Jason scans the trios faces, looking for any sign of apprehension.
He clocks the grin shamelessly plastered across his sister's face quickly. âStephanie?â
âI donât know,â she says honestly. âBut let me know when you find him, I wanna seeââ
But Jasonâs moving onto the next room before she can get the last words out.
He enters the dining room, looking right to left before finding his target, halfway to stuffing himself behind the fine china cabinet in the corner.
Thereâs a brief, tense moment in between where the pair realize what theyâre seeing and when Dick sets off in a sprint towards the kitchen, Jason quick on his tail.Â
âReally? Really?â Jason shouts.Â
âIt was an accident! It was a fuckingââÂ
He narrowly dodges a swipe from Jason, then ducking before a ladle could make contact with his head.
âAre you stupid? Are you the dumbest motherfââ
Dick rounds the kitchen island as fast as possible, Jason testing him on the other side.
Dick takes a breath, âDude, itâs fine now, itâs not that big of aââ
Jason recoils, ââItâs not a big dealâ? Come here. Let me sprain your wrist, asshole!â
He circles the counter quicker than the elder boy can think to move away and lunges at him.Â
Dick throws his hands up in front of him, âWait, wait, wait! Truce! Truce! Truce?â
Jason drops his shoulders, leveling his older brother with a look. âYou canât call a truce if youâre the only one who did anything wrong.â
âIâŚâ It doesnât take him long to piece together that his defense makes no sense, so he resorts to his last option.Â
âPlease?â Dick asks, nothing short of imploring.Â
Jason relentsâslightlyâupon hearing his brother's tone, but still finds it in him to shove him, though not nearly as hard as heâd been planning to.Â
âI told you a hundred fucking times not to grab her so hardââÂ
Dick nods heavily, waving a hand. âI know, I knowââ
âClearly you fucking donât!â Jason shouts. He huffs, running a hand over his face. âYou sprained her wrist. Youâve been doing this vigilante shit for fifteen years, how do you still not fucking know how to control your own strength?â
Dick grimaces, âI do! I do, I just screwed up, Iâm sorry!â
âDonâtââ Jason narrowly holds back a scowl, âDid you apologize to her?â
 âYeah, of course I did!â
For a split second, Jason looks ready to keep arguing before purposefully dropping the anger from his body.Â
The resulting relief almost drowns Dick.
It only lasts a moment though, before Jason looks at him again, sneering, âIdiot,â before pushing him once more.Â
âJason.â
Your voice has Jason dropping all turbulence in an instant. He and Dick both whip their heads towards the door, equally unexpecting of the interruption.Â
You tilt your head at your boyfriend with a knowing but disappointed stare.
He looks back at you like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, lips parted.
âI didnât hit him.â
âď¸ your options are: (1) reblog fics or (2) be a little bitch âď¸
synopsis: the wasteland is a lawless, lonely place. who can blame a girl when a chance encounter leaves you chasing after a man who dreams of more than just scraping by in a shitty settlement? although there might be something more dangerous than deathclaws roaming around out there...
pairings: vault dweller!Geto x settler!Reader x raider!Sukuna
content: mdni, heavy angst, smut and occasional fluff, fallout au, apocalypse, falling in love, heavy (mutual) pining, MATURE THEMES!!, violence (of all kinds really it IS a fallout au lol), multiple povs, Geto falling apart and reader trying to put him back together, Sukuna's pretty evil in this ngl, but he's also an obsessive yearner so we should forgive him, tags will be in each chapter
playing on a radio station near you...
one: atom bomb baby
two: the wanderer
three: orange colored sky
four: it's a man
five: crawl out through the fallout
six: we'll meet again
seven: a demon, a devil, a doll
eight: rocket 69
nine: it's all over
ten: set the world on fire
eleven: anything goes
twelve: right behind you baby
thirteen: end of the world
playlist for fic here
comment to be tagged <3
a/n: divider by @/crylynnluv ! this will be my next long fic since we are getting towards the point where nopa is about to split into separate endings! for my other angels who love fallout you should also check out this new fic by @karvokr
Tell me Robby wouldnât get off on the idea of someone NEEDING him.
Like. She plays into it and he lets her. She needs his help with stuff around her house, she needs help with her bills, she needs help opening jars, she needs help reaching the top shelf.
All she needs to say is âRobby I needâŚâ and heâs wagging his tail and panting like a puppy
While they fuck heâs all âI fucking love how much you need meâ
âUgh I need gas and I just hate pumping it myselfâ
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
So let me get this straight, Omni man and other Viltrumites get to commit genocide on civilians, A**SA is deemed "attractive" and appreciated for keeping Mark's child, which she RAPED HIM FOR, but Eve is currently getting villianized because she had an abortion? đ
And guess which part of the fandom is slandering her? Dudebros. So, don't be surprised that these chuds have an open mouth to shame women.
But wow, we finally get to care more about a woman aborting a FETUS but are open arms to let a rapist and killing machines inside the fandom!!! Yay!!..
(Also, these creatures are fat shaming Eve. I guess gaining weight is a problem within the fandom đ¤Ś)