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sehtoast · 4 months

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Aphrodisiac (Homelander x OC)

18+ | 5k, marathon sex, mild degradation, face fucking, aphrodisiac use, aggressive sex, ruined orgasm, orgasm denial, ceiling sex, floor sex, couch sex, bed sex, window sex, every flat surface sex basically, semi-public sex, elevator groping, multiple orgasms, overstim, dry humping, thigh humping, Homelander being Homelander, spidersona oc, porn without plot | Fic Directory

Inspired by the spider lotion debacle

There was never a day where the incessant bitching didn't grate on his nerves. Every fucking minute around Ashley seemed to consist of listening to her grind an entire department to dust over product error or oversights that even the world's least talented dipshit could notice.

On one hand, he enjoyed watching her get worse. Seeing each and every little strand of hair fall out, piece by piece, literally pulling it out over her role as manager. On the other, it was fucking annoying.

Until now.

“And it's attracting horny fucking spiders!” Ashley shrieks into the receiver. “I don't care if you have to stay here all night– fix it now! If I see another wolf spider running around R&D to go fuck a bottle of lotion, you can forget giving your kids a Christmas this year.”

The words went in one ear and right out the other, but he did catch one phrase in particular that was oh so relevant to his needs and wants.

Horny fucking spiders!

Not in the literal sense, of course. The last thing he needed was those eight legged pests vying for a piece of him, but he did have one spider in particular that he was more than happy to attract.

One spidery man named Benjamin, that is.

“What was that?” He asks with a lilt of amusement and true curiosity. Only one of those wasn't fake.

“Oh, sorry, sir!” She shrimps away slightly. “Those idiots in research and development were making a new lotion for Spider-Man's upcoming cosmetic line, but, for whatever reason, it's attracting a bunch of spiders– I hope you're not arachnophobic!” She gives a nervous laugh. “Look up some time, there's cobwebs everywhere!”

He hums and purses his lips, shaking his head with a roll of his eyes.

“Ashley,” he says lowly. “Do apex predators need to look up?”

There's that spark of fear, that helplessness that he fucking loves. She squeaks a negative noise.

“No, sir.”

“Then why the fuck would I care about cobwebs?” He snaps. “Or bugs for that matter?”

As he turns on his heel to go do his own research, he can't help the devious grin on his face.

Horny spiders? What kind of cocktail of mistakes attracts such unpleasant pests– and, better yet, what are the odds that it would work on his spider?

The nerds in the lab give him some long winded explanation about chemicals. Something about compounds mimicking pheromones in sexually responsive female spiders, but his smile grew like the cat that got the cream.

He plucked a jar of it from a staging table, giving in a deep, savoring whiff.

It didn't smell half bad. Citrus scented, like Benjamin prefers his products. Lime and a hint of something… herbal– basil, perhaps. But, overall, very soft. Gentle even on his bloodhound nose.

“Not bad,” he shrugs. “Mind if I keep this? I don't really give a fuck about the spiders.”

The lab rat had little to say in the way of protest. Really, though. Who the fuck was going to tell him no?

Homelander decides to grab a second jar on his way out.

Back in his penthouse, he strips down in front of a mirror. Stares for but a moment to take in the sight of himself.

The contradiction between his suit and his real body always did disappoint him, but he’s a little less harsh on himself these days. Benjamin’s influence, he supposes.

With a sigh, he dips his fingers into a jar and pulls out a healthy glob of lotion. He slathers it on his neck, where he knows his skin will remain exposed. Homelander applies slightly less on his upper body, and barely bothers with his legs at all. He does, however, apply it heavily to his core, painting his inner thighs, his cock, his sack, even his hole and cheeks with the gentle scent. He can already sniff out the unique bond it creates with his natural smell and he hopes with every fiber of his being that his plan will work.

For good measure, he rolls his slicked body around in their bed a little. Maybe the lingering scent will help him get lucky again when they lay down to sleep at the end of the day.

He doesn’t have to wait long at all to test his plan. Tuesday was generally considered a boring day, full of meetings and stupid shit that none of them ever liked to bother with. However, it couldn’t possibly stoke more excitement in Homelander at the realization he’d be standing before his little spider discussing boring old numbers. It was the perfect opportunity to see if it works.

It didn’t take long at all for the team to trickle in. Benjamin, with his mask on, greeted him with a hidden wink and a wave before taking his seat beside Noir. The stragglers trickled in and he began.

“Now, you guys,” he started. “I’m not one to lecture, but can any one of you tell me what the fuck is going on that we all collectively dropped a percent?”

The Deep raised his hand– because of course he did.

He hardly listened to anything that fish fucking moron had to say, instead focusing on the sound of something so very beautiful. Something that was picking up in intensity bit by bit, damn near unnoticeable at first.

Thump thump.

Homelander’s almost kicking himself by the time he realizes.

Thumpthump. Thumpthump. Thumpthump. Thumpthump.

When the deepened breaths kick in, he knows.

While A-Train and The Deep begin to bicker over whose most recent stunt was at fault for tanking their numbers, Homelander instead takes a minute to peer over at Benjamin. He lets only the faintest smile crack his all-business expression.

Even those cute little emotive lenses were wide.

Benjamin’s heart rate had gone up quite a bit– blood pressure, too. Underneath that red mask were a pair of cheeks flushed damn near the same color. Dilated eyes.

He can practically hear the bug gulp.

The web-head was more than well aware of his innate ability to clock his arousal at any given time. God knows Homelander abuses the power on the regular, but it plays a special role today.

It makes him far more excited to see how this goes.

Homelander meaders innocently around the V shaped table for a time as he takes over the conversation once more, making his way to stand behind his little spider.

“Tell you what, though.” Homelander smirks. “Bug boy here has been doing a great job with his assignments.” He drops his hands on top of Ben’s shoulders, giving light squeezes that surely felt much more powerful to the receiver. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scent of Benjamin’s arousal. “Does everything I say, never misses details. Doesn’t launch fucking dolphins out of windshields.”

Across the room, The Deep averts his gaze to the ground.

“He’s a good boy.”

Benjamin begins to sweat at the mere fucking contact. Something was different, something was very fucking different, and he wanted to jump Homelander’s bones like never before. Whatever it was, he couldn’t name it. At first, maybe he thought it was something about his appearance. He did look extra handsome, but nothing seemed… different? Same undercut, same suit, same handsome smile.

He still dominated the room just as he always did. Still toyed with each of the members in his own cruel ways– well, playful ways with him, cruel only to the others.

Ben simply couldn’t figure it out.

Until he said that.

The way he moved when he said it. Homelander had leaned down to say it right next to his ear and he’d caught a whiff of something.

He had no idea what it was, no clue at all, but the intensified smell made his entire body go rigid and his cunt clench. Ben tried to be subtle about his building arousal, but he knew that extra deep inhale didn’t go unnoticed.

Not with the way Homelander winked at him as he took his place at the head of the table once more.

Worse yet, now that Ben had caught that scent, he couldn’t stop smelling it. It seemed to permeate the room. It was everywhere. Like it had embedded itself into his olfactory bulbs and it was all he could fucking smell. Not even the complimentary Vought brand coffee with its typically overpowering odor could dominate his senses.

He squirmed through the whole meeting. Crossed his legs, clenched them tight. Heard his heartbeat in his ears for the whole duration. By the end, he knew he’d soaked a small patch right into his suit, and thank fuck the fabric was dark enough that it wouldn’t be visible or he’d be truly mortified.

Benjamin remained in his seat as the others left the room. Used to be they’d give him sympathetic looks every time Homelander directed him to stay afterward, but it had become the norm over the past year. Once they’d all left, he pulled his mask off.

“Did you hear a word I said?” Homelander teased, pressing a button on the table to lock the conference room doors. “Or were you too busy leaving a snail trail on your seat to notice?”

“I did, I–” Ben stopped as soon as his voice quivered.

“Really?” Homelander inquired, stalking over to stand behind him. “On your feet. Tell me what today was about.” He was thrilled to the point of bursting to know it was working. Oh the fun he was going to have with this…

Ben rose from his seat, head light and clouded with lust. The wet fabric of his underwear grazed his hardened clit and he all but stumbled. Before he could even speak, Homelander’s hands were upon him and that scent was fogging his senses tenfold.

“You can’t tell me, can you?” John smirked, pressing himself against the web-head’s rear. He discards his gloves and reaches around to swipe his fingers over Ben’s clothed cunt, chuckling darkly at how wet he was already. The other hand trails up to lodge his thumb in the bug’s mouth and he feels Ben’s entire body react to the taste. “Feels like you were too busy making a mess of yourself to care. You’re fucking drenched.”

Ben’s hips rock back against him, head tipping to make room for the lips beginning to peck at his neck. The taste of Homelander’s skin is sweeter than he normally tastes. Sweeter than anything he’s ever had in his life.

He moans around the digit.

“Pretty little thing with my finger in your mouth.” Homelander purrs in his ear, fingers rubbing at his soaked core. “Bet you wish it was my cock instead, right?” He presses down against Ben’s tongue. “Answer me, pretty boy.”

The bug nods furiously, hips pushing forward to seek more pressure from the hand between his thighs. He bites against Homelander’s knuckle, drawing forth a deep, dark laugh from the man behind him.

Within seconds, he’s forced onto his knees and Homelander’s cock is lodged firmly between his lips, pounding the back of his throat without any buildup. He gags twice, but ultimately takes little time at all to adjust to the girth filling him, moaning with every opportunity for breaths, hand dragging Homelander’s pants down enough to toy with his balls.

The taste from before is infinitely stronger and Benjamin feels his slick pool even more through his drenched underwear. But he wants this, wants this so fucking bad he can hardly stand it. He wants to get used, wants to be fucked in every way imaginable. Something more powerful than his own mind demands it.

“That’s right, fuckin’ choke on it,” John grits as he rams in hard, holding himself there. “Fucking slut, all wet for me in a meeting of all things.” He reaches down and lovingly taps against Ben’s cheek. “Bet you’re so horny you’d have let me fuck you in front of them! Claim you, take you apart with an audience.” He draws out and drags his shaft across Ben’s flushed face. “You were made for me– made for my cock.”

Ben nods, mouth open and tongue wagging out to catch his length once more.

Homelander begins to jerk himself off, tip pressed firmly to that needly little tongue that was just begging for his load.

“That’s it,” he growls between slick strokes. “S-Swallow every drop and show me! Show me how good you take it– ah!”

He moans freely through his orgasm, eyes fighting to stay open so he can watch every spurt that paints his lovely little Benjamin’s mouth and face. He watches it pool along Ben’s tongue, shoot onto his upper lip, a little on the flare of his nostril. With a hand in his hair, he tips Benjamin’s head back.

“Swallow,” he orders, pleased as can be when his little spider does so without any objection and shows him an empty mouth.

With a pleased pat to Ben’s cheek, Homelander pulls his pants up, smirking wickedly at the desperate, whining complaint from his love bug.

“Oh, you didn’t think I was gonna fuck you after this, did you?” He muses playfully. “I know I said you’re a good boy, but you’re too good. Y’see, you ranked higher than me this month and that, babe, just hurts my feelings.”

“Wh– I didn’t mean to!” Ben says desperately, crawling toward him on his hands and knees. “Please, Johnny! I need–”

“Mmm, nah.” He sighs theatrically. “I don’t think I can right now. Besides, the board of directors are gonna be using this room soon. They’re probably already outside the door, so you should probably get cleaned up…”

With a whine bordering on truly pathetic, Benjamin wipes his face clean of come and saliva and rises to his feet.

“What a shame… I’d have liked to, though. You just had to be such a good boy and outdo me. Oh well,” Homelander lilts, unlocking the door and making his way out. “Maybe next time.”

Next time comes fairly quickly, as does he. Roughly an hour later, Benjamin cornered him in a hallway and dragged him into some random broom closet. Webbed the door shut, jerked him stiff– not that it was difficult to do– and begged to get fucked.

So Homelander did exactly that. Fucked him hard and fast against the wall, pace brutal and unrelenting, catering only to himself. He spilled a thick load and slipped out, watching with satisfaction as it leaked from Ben’s sopping core and splattered onto the ground.

His little spider begged him for more, of course. Begged for anything– fingers, his mouth, anything at all, to no avail. Homelander left him there, desperate and nearly unhinged, to bring himself to an unsatisfying climax.

Even then, it wasn’t nearly enough.

Homelander went about his daily bullshit duties for a time, relaxed and in such a great mood from having gotten off twice in one morning. His little scheme had been more than rewarding and anything that came after was simply a bonus.

He slips into the elevator, deep in thought, but is pleasantly surprised to find his little love bug in there as well. A glimpse through the mask lets him see just how feral the look in Ben’s eyes had become.

The elevator shuts.

“Lovely weather we’re ha–” He tries to jest, but Benjamin pounces on him in an instant, forcing him back. Homelander grins gleefully at the way Ben clings to the wall, effectively caging him.

“We’re going to your place,” Ben all but pants. “And you’re going to make me come as many fucking times as it takes.”

What a delicious offer.

“Am I now?” Homelander teases. Ben lifts his mask just enough to expose his mouth before diving in on his neck. Teeth sink into his flesh and the sensation tingles right down to his groin. Never enough force to puncture, but just enough to make him fucking feel it. “What’s got you thinking you can make me?”

The elevator was rising and anyone could come in at any moment. They’d be caught red handed, but neither seemed bothered.

Those teeth bite even harder– probably as hard as his little spider possibly can– and he chuckles darkly.

“Oooh, a bug bite,” he muses. “Maybe they should call you Mosquito-Man inste– oh!” He bites off a gritty moan. In the midst of his tease, Ben reached down, pressed his fingers back to his taint, and pushed hard. “Oh ff–”

The elevator dings and the doors open to the floor of his penthouse. Benjamin, smirking, drags him down the hall. As soon as they cross the threshold, the bug throws him against a wall.

“Do you,” Ben purrs with a trembling voice, “have any fucking clue how horny I am?” He buries his nose in Homelander’s neck and takes a deep, long sniff. “You smell like fucking sex! That doesn’t even make sense, but–” He licks a thick stripe from jugular to jaw. “You fucking do.”

With a dark chuckle, Homelander rips the mask off Benjamin’s head and takes a handful of his mussed hair. He forces Ben to back up and throws him onto the leather couch, admiring the view of his spread legs and the darkened patch of slick soaking between them.

He leans forward until he’s crawling up the length of Ben’s body like a predator stalks its prey, fangs bared and eyes dark with the thrill of the hunt.

“I can still smell my come in you.”

The statement alone is enough to make Ben’s cunt flutter with excitement. In a flash, his suit and underwear are torn from his body and his dripping pussy is exposed to the voracious man before him.

Homelander’s tongue swipes between his folds before he even has time to beg for it. Ben’s head falls back with a cry of bliss, relief and excitement swirling in his head all at once. His thighs are pinned to his chest and John makes the loudest fucking slurping sounds with every pass.

“F-Fuck!” He mewls, trying desperately to rut against the tongue washing over his bud– but Homelander holds him in place. When that warm, wet muscle delves into his hole, he keens and thrashes his head back and forth. Ben’s hands grab desperately for anything, anything at all. “Johnny, please! I– No!” He cries when it all halts abruptly.

Homelander comes back up with a slick soaked chin to kiss him, slotting right between his legs. He swallows Benjamin’s complaint with a messy kiss, licking his taste inside. Homelander was not a giving man by any means, but he wanted his little spider to indulge in the delicacy of himself.

He rocks his hips forward, mind hazing at the grind of the cup in his suit against his cock. He mimes the act of flat out fucking Benjamin, grinding and humping against him with an otherworldly force. If the bug were anyone else, his pelvis probably would’ve shattered by now.

Ben tangles his hands in Homelander’s hair and tugs harshly. His hips rise and fall to meet each thrust and every brush of John’s suit against his clit makes him see stars. He moans freely, unabashedly with each stroke and, oh, it feels so fucking good!

He changes direction to start prying that stupid fucking suit off of Homelander. All but shreds the cape, peels the top layer off and that scent hits him full force again. With his legs around Homelander’s hips, Ben rolls them onto the floor with a heavy thud.

“Oooh,” John lilts. He puts up no fight when his boots and pants are tugged free, and especially doesn’t complain when Ben suckles the tip of his cock through his briefs before ripping them clean off. In seemingly a flash, the tip of his cock is breaching Benjamins’ cunt and that heat transcends his body and floods his mind.

With a needy little moan, he grips Ben’s hips and impales him in one sharp thrust. His ego swells at the noises his little spider makes at the adjustment. Ben is so wet he practically slid right in. It’s always good, but now? Seeing him so desperate, seeing such an unhinged look in his little spider’s eye– god, it made it even fucking better.

Benjamin starts riding him desperately. There is no coordination to his movements, no sense of dignity or pride to be upheld with the frenzied way he fucks against him. His eyes roll back, his head lolls around, and he moves like his life depends on it. When Homelander tries to sit up, he shoves him back.

Ben digs his fingers into the tufts of hair on his love’s chest and lets the setae in his digits embed. A dizziness rises from his cunt all the way to his head and the room fucking spins. His breaths leave in frantic, heaving gasps. He’s close, he’s close– he’s so fucking close!

Hands come down hard against his ass and grip with a punishing force to direct his movements. He tries to fight it, tries to keep his own pace that was going to be enough, but Homelander would always win in a game of strength.

His whimpering complaint becomes a pathetic moan as the cock filling him begins fucking him at a pace far more brutal that what he could accomplish himself. Homelander fucks deep, fucks hard and furiously, strikes his cervix damn near every time and it hurts so good. Ben falls against his chest, mind drifting away until he’s being rammed against a cold surface.

He peers from under heavy eyelids and the whole fucking room is upside down. He’s pressed to the ceiling, whining and keening as he’s fucked raw.

“Think you’re gonna overpower me!?”

He doesn’t have it in him to even shake his head.

“Think I can’t take control from you in a fucking second?” John grits between snaps of his hips. Ben’s helpless sounds are like a fucking melody in his ear. He reaches down and presses against Ben’s clit and gives the slightest rub that sends him over the edge. His melody is a symphony screamed for him, only for him. He doesn’t stop rutting, doesn’t stop fucking into him hard and fast even as Ben’s cunt flutters and clenches over and over again. By all means he should fucking let off and make Benjamin suffer the rest of the day for shoving him back like that.

“Think I can't take whatever I want!?”

But he doesn’t.

Homelander drops down to the floor, keeping Benjamin impaled on his throbbing cock with ease. He walks them to the window and slips out just long enough to spin him.

“Bet those fucks in the building across the street can see you,” he snarls. He rams his cock into Ben so hard the glass creaks in protest. Each thrust is pointed, accentuated by his words. “Little. Fucking. Slut! Show the world how good you take me. Let ‘em all see what a little whore you are!”

The cold from outside seeps through the fogging glass, penetrating Ben’s skin with an icy chill that contrasts the fire burning inside him. He wonders if anyone can really see him like this. Oh, if they only knew that their beloved Spider-Man was getting railed by The Homelander himself.

Homelander leans back to take two bruising handfuls of Benjamin’s hips to push and pull him back and forth on his cock. In turn, the web-head shoves his hands against the glass to push himself back into it.

“God, it’s fucking pathetic how bad you want me,” Homelander grits through clenched teeth. “Dripping onto the fucking floor!”

Ben squeezes his eyes shut and shoves back with all of his might, audibly cracking the glass and sending them both stumbling backward. John catches him by the waist but doesn’t interrupt the motion. They collide with the statue of Atlas, sending it and all of its beauty to the floor to shatter.

Homelander slips out of Ben and lifts him with one arm to the bedroom, shoving him onto the edge of the bed and yanking him just right to ram back inside with a throaty groan. He reaches down and grasps a handful of those unruly brown locks and makes Ben stare into the mirror on the wall.

“Watch yourself get fucked.” He commands with an exceptionally sharp snap of his hips. “Look how fucking helpless you are! I can do whatever I want to you, and you fuckin’ love it!”

Ben stares through lidded eyes. He’s drooling, he’s got tear tracks down his face and handprint shaped bruises already forming at his hips. And Homelander?

He looks like a fucking animal. His eyes glimmer with specks of gathering crimson. His fangs are bared, his brow is knit, and every muscle in his body flexes with restraint.

“Look at me!” He demands. As soon as Ben’s eyes meet his in the reflection, he slams into him hard once, twice, and a final third time before blowing his load deep inside. His jaw tenses hard and his eyes screw shut. A tense, rattling moan emerges from within his chest and he presses tight against Ben’s rear. “That’s it– oh, fuck yeah!”

In Homelander’s blissful stupor, Ben seizes the opportunity to shove back and escape his grip. There is always, always a point when John comes in which he is totally at ease– and the flicker of red behind his eyelids gives it away all too well. Ben splays him out onto his back, right along the edge, and bends his legs toward his chest juuust enough to–

“O-oh, fuck–” Homelander keens.

Benjamin presses forward, taking his cock to the hilt in a position miming missionary with a special twist. A reversal of sorts.

Maybe he’d let the switch up slide for a minute. He always did like this position.

The web-head ruts forward and fucks John’s cock into himself with practiced ease. Homelander’s legs wrap around his waist and the strokes deepen.

He can feel slick drooling down his balls and Ben looks like a glorious, fucked-out mess above him. The bug’s clit grazes the base of his groin with each shallow thrust and he swears he sees something nearly rabid dance in those sweet, chocolate eyes

“Good boy!” Ben gasps. “Lettin’ me fuck you– lettin’ me take what I want! Knew you would, knew you’d let me have fun too– mmm, fuck!”

He wants to roll his eyes, but Benjamin feels so fucking good at this angle that he doesn’t know what to even do or say.

“S-So good, baby,” he coos. “So fucking hot!”

He relaxes a leg and shimmies a hand between to stroke his little spider’s nub and the stutter of his hips satisfies him to no end.

“That’s– ah– that’s good…” Ben mewls. “Oh, fuck, rub my cock, baby!”

His fingers dance through the threads of come and slick between their bodies as he brings Benjamin higher and higher. He watches his little love bug begin to hold his breath and thrust faster, harder, more and more until–

He all but screams, hips stuttering and legs quaking while his body practically fucking convulsed from his orgasm. Ben heaves a sharp breath and his mind all but completely shuts down when that scent somehow floods his senses tenfold. He collapses forward, engulfed entirely in the aroma. His limbs twitch, his lower lip quivers, and his cunt doesn’t stop pulsing. “Wh– what– I…” he tries, but no other words come out. His vision starts to fade and the sheets hit his back.

He feels Homelander moving inside him again and he can’t even think. He’s lost in the haze, lost in John, lost in whatever that fucking scent was. Whatever it was– all of it– he just knew he fucking needed more and more. Even when his vision whites out from his next climax, he needs more.

When he’s fucked with his head hanging off the bed, blood rushing to his skull, he needs fucking more.

Even when his cunt is overflowing and come soaks the mattress, when Homelander nearly lasers his fucking head off, when the walls are charred, when he’s confident he won’t be able to stand, when he’s fucked and eaten so raw he can’t even feel between his legs, he still needs more.

“Wh– What the fuck…” John pants weakly in his ear. He’d finally collapsed, finally gone limp. Even his legs were beginning to tremble. “It was just fucking lotion, how are you–”

“Wha..?”

Lotion?

“The f-fucking– you know! The cosmetic line. Your stuff.”

Ben peered up at him halfheartedly, barely coherent but just enough

“S'fucking, I dunno. Hold on…” Homelander slung his arm over to the nightstand and palmed around for the jar. When he found it, his fingers dipped into the opening. He forgot to close it.

Ben's eyes shot open the second the jar came near.

“It's… Those dipshits in the lab fucked up. It's a horny spider magnet.” He explained with a weak grin. As if unconscious of his actions, Ben began to grind weakly against his leg. “I didn't think it'd work, but fuck… It worked.”

Ben looked at him in disbelief, but the way his body reacts to the simple change in proximity tells him it’s true. How fucking funny, too, that the jar would sport his V-bodied spider crest. Almost like it was designed specifically to reduce him to a begging wreck.

“You m-mean you– John!” Ben whines and buries his face into Homelander’s neck. The scent lingers strong there, making the throbbing between his legs begin once more.

“Not my fault you’re so fucking insatiable, babe. That’s on you.” He snorts a laugh. Homelander trails his hand to Benjamin’s lower back and rubs soft, soothing circles. “And no, I don’t know how long it lasts. I just snagged it from the labs and uhh… slathered it all over myself… And rolled it onto the covers.”

“I’m gonna kick your ass– but later,” the bug promises playfully. He slides his slicked core against Homelander’s thigh with languid rolls of his hips. “Just… Lemme–” If Homelander was somehow tired, then he’d just have to help himself. “Fuck... Thigh for now, dick later, okay?”

With a yawn, Homelander nods in agreement. “Deal.”

It was going to be a long night.

#homelander #homelander x oc #homelander smut #homelander fanfiction #antony starr #the boys #the boys fanfiction #spidersona oc #the boys smut #the boys homelander #the boys fanfic #the boys oc

115 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 8 months

Note

If you ever feel like writing a Drabble where Misha is on a date and gets broken up with please tag me, cause I’d love it 😈

CW: Whumper POV, sadistic whumper, Misha thinks a lot of violent things about basically everyone

A muscle in Misha's jaw twitches as his teeth meet, grinding together with the effort it takes to just... listen. He's wildly aware of the steak knife lying next to his right hand, convenient as can be, but probably nearly as dull as a bread knife.

"It's just... I kind of feel like you don't actually care," Michelle says, and looks at him with big, imploring eyes. He thinks about gouging them out and putting coins there, something Tyoma read to him once about paying for the ride to Hell. "Not, like, about me, but... well, yes, it feels like you don't care about anything, me included."

He nods, breathing carefully. "I don't think that's true," He says, and his voice stays mild, but the rage burns him up from the inside. It's the only thing he ever feels with any level of strength - every other emotion feels sort of faded by comparison, but anger... anger is bright and sharp and hot and good.

She raises her eyebrows, disbelieving, and then lets out a little laugh, picking up her fork to pick at her salad. "Okay, fine. Name one thing you even remotely care about more than yourself."

That's easy. Misha doesn't even hesitate. "My brother."

Her hand stills, a bit of lettuce dripping ranch dressing pierced right through, as if the vegetable bleeds white with green flecks. Misha's eyes flicker down to it, wondering if he could get a pitchfork all the way through a torso and try to recreate the image. When he looks back up at her face, the expression on her face is a strange one.

"... Yeah, okay," She says, speaking slowly. "But... like. You and your brother aren't... normal about each other."

"What does that mean?"

If she insults his Tyoma, he will slice her face to ribbons, even if the trail leads right to him. It'd be worth it, to show her ruined body to Tyoma and say, look, she said bad things about you, look how much I love you that I have ensured she can't say them again.

"I... I don't know, Mikhail." She says it almost like Michael in her stupid American accent, and he swallows down a correction. It isn't worth it. "I just mean... look, my brother's a couple years older than me. I know tons of people with brothers, and none of them spend as much time together as you guys do. And, like, he looks at me like I'm intruding on you two."

"Tyoma only wants to protect me," Misha lies, smooth like oil.

Tyoma wants to protect you from me.

"Right. But. Still, like, it's weird, right?"

Misha exhales, slowly. Tyoma always tells him to breathe away the anger before it takes over when he's in a place where people will see it. He tries, he really does try.

"I do not think so," He says, placing each word into the air, picturing them as stones he drops to weigh her down, drag her under the surface of the water. "We come from Russia when we are little, we have only each other for long time." His accent is thickening, he's dropping the unnecessary English words that used to drive him up the wall.

The other kids laughed because he forgot the 'a' or the 'the' in so many sentences, and sometimes he scratched them up or bit them, and then Tyoma taught him how to stop himself, how to breathe first.

"No, I get that-"

"Do you?"

She swallows, and she sees something in his face. He knows she does, because she sits up suddenly, her spine straightening. She's tense, now. He thinks about when she explained to him that she keeps her keys between her knuckles when she walks late at night out of her job at the mall, how she never wears her hair in a ponytail because that would make it easier to grab. All the little rules she lives by to keep herself safe. He hadn't been paying much attention, it had seemed like so many pointless little games.

"Yeah," She says, and her voice is a little husky, now. "Yeah, I do. You were all by yourselves when you moved here, I understand that. But, like... that was more than ten years ago. And dating you still feels like I'm dating you both, except that I kind of get the feeling that your brother isn't into the idea."

Misha hasn't ever considered it that way. He looks to the side, out into the eternal rain. Why his parents moved to this part of the country, where a drizzle is good weather and sun is a rarity, will never make sense to him. "I can see why you think this," He says, finally, and his voice is softer now. He can see Michelle relax.

It's her own fault, not realizing that predators are often quietest just before they strike.

"I like seeing you," He continues, and looks down at his own steak, half-eaten, so raw it might as well be bleeding on the plate. "I am sorry you do not want to see me any longer, but we can stay friends?"

"Yeah," She says, and he wonders if she's lying. Misha lies all the time, about everything, constantly. But he can never tell if other people are lying - mostly, he doesn't care. "Yeah, friends. Listen, I'm gonna-... if you're okay, I'm gonna go. Do you mind grabbing the check?"

She's leaving, he thinks, and making sure she's gone before he can follow her out.

It doesn't matter.

He knows where she lives, works, who her friends are...

Tyoma would tell him this would be too close, people would look at him. Likely suspect, unlike the strangers in bars he's never seen before. Unlike the women walking the streets with no one to report them missing. Tyoma is right, he's right, and so Misha pushes it down. Instead, he looks over Michelle's face, memorizing it as best he can.

"No problem," He replies, and pushes his chair out, standing up to offer her a hug. She looks unsettled, but unwilling to make a scene - she steps into the hug, and he reminds himself not to hold her tight enough to hurt. He breathes in her perfume.

"I will see you around," He says, voice kind and soft, unworried. Unbothered.

"Yeah," She mumbles as she breaks away from him. She grabs her purse and he watches her go. She has her phone in her hand and then to her ear before she disappears from the window, and he thinks about how she's probably calling someone so she'll be on the phone all the way to her car, in case he runs after her.

In case he gives chase.

Misha, though, just sits quietly back down and cuts another bite of his steak.

He will forget her in a week, or two or three, and find some other girl. He has no doubts he'll find someone new, there's always someone new. It's not like he cares about them, he just hates when they leave him.

But Tyoma will still be there.

He finishes every single bite of his own dinner and about a third of Michelle's remaining salad before he pays and leaves, walking out into the nighttime rain without even batting his eyes against the droplets that land on his lashes.

Even the anger is fading, now. No feeling stays in him for long, he flits from one to the next. Only the itch is permanent. Michelle can go - he doesn't need her, or even care about her very much. He just hates being refused.

He sits in the driver's seat and dials the only number he knows by heart.

"Allo," Tyoma says, sounding like he's been woken up out of a dead sleep. Misha grins, knowing he'll be all mussed up, hair in his eyes. "Mishka? Vse khorosho?"

"Yeah, is fine," He answers in English. "Michelle breaks up with me tonight."

"Oh." Tyoma hesitates, then asks, gently, "Are you okay?"

Misha's smile widens. If he can't feel enough for things to matter, Tyoma at least feels enough for both of them. It's cute, that he thinks Misha might be heartbroken. "Da. Is fine. I want to go out tonight, though, find someone."

Tyoma's silence is so long that Misha breaks it with laughter, shaking his head where he sits in his car.

"Not like that! Uspokoit'sya, Artyoshka. Just to meet girls. Do you have work?"

"Mmmf, no. My night off. I can go. I can... what time s'it?"

"Eight-thirty."

"Mishka..." Tyoma groans. Misha can see him collapsing back into bed, head against the pillow. "I sleep for only four hours!"

"I know. Mne zhal', Artyoshka," He isn't, he isn't sorry at all, "But I want to go out. You will come with? Yes? If I come home, you will go with me out tonight?"

If Tyoma says yes, he won't kill anyone tonight. If he says no, Misha will find someone who looks like Tyoma and kill them instead, take pictures, and show Tyoma what he's done by caring about a little sleep more than his own brother.

He's picturing, with delight, what it would be like to see Tyoma's eyes go so wide and scared of him, like the others do before they die. How handsome Tyoma would be bleeding. But all his big brother does is sigh heavily. "Da. I need to shower and dress. Come home?"

"I will." Misha sighs, feeling so much better already. Even just thinking about fixing the itch helps, a little. Even if he would never ever hurt his brother, sometimes thinking about it is just... fun. "Tyoma?"

"Da?"

"Thank you. You are a very good brother."

He hangs up before he hears if Tyoma says anything back. Tonight will be just for drinking, dancing, and maybe seeing if any girls will go into the filthy bar bathrooms with him, and he won't hurt anyone. He won't hurt anyone at all.

He can save that for later.

Especially if any of those girls like Tyoma more.

#whump #serial killer whumper #sadistic whumper #young whumper #antoni sings lullabies #Misha is Fucked Up (TM)#OC backstory #original writing #original story #creepy whumper #reluctant whumper

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