myhappylittlesideblog

[myhappylittlesideblog]

do it for me?

Soldier Boy (Ben) x handler!Reader | Payback Era

NOTES: very much inspired by @easytiger-xo‘s AMAZING handler!reader story (absolutely give it a read)!! This is loosely based on how stilwell was with homelander but not quite the same at all. Enjoy <3

TW: handler!reader, power imbalance, emotional control, weaponized softness and femininity, soft dominance, definitely leans toward sub!ben, weaponized tenderness, strategic caretaking, manipulation, aftercare (sorta), Ben in denial, subtle mind games, praise as means to manipulate, Ben w/ a praise kink to the max

“I said I’m not fuckin’ goin’.”

Ben doesn’t look at you when he says it. He’s sunk into the couch, shirtless—like always—and stone-heavy, legs spread wide like he owns the air between them. A half-burnt joint dangles from his fingers. The waistband of his sweats is loose, slouching low over his hips, exposing the soft trail of hair that disappears beneath the waistband.

He looks like a man who’s made up his mind—and drugged himself into a state where no one can change it.

The TV is on. Loud. Something violent flickering across the screen. A bottle of whiskey sweats beside him on the table, next to a prescription bottle with no label. Just your handwriting, in Sharpie: PM ONLY. The cap’s off. You don’t ask how many he took. He’d probably lie anyway.

You watch him for a long moment. Quiet. Then you walk in.

Your heels whisper against the rug before you toe them off—soft and slow, the kind of movement you know he notices even when he pretends not to. You set the branded folder on the marble with a little click. Not loud. Not accusing. Just final.

He doesn’t move.

So you sink to your knees in between his widespread feet.

You do it delicately—like it’s second nature to fold down in front of him this way. Your skirt pools around your thighs, and your hands find his legs—warm, solid, stretched beneath old cotton that’s been worn soft. He still doesn’t look at you.

So you rest your cheek gently against the inside of his thigh.

That gets him.

Ben glances down, frowning like he’s just now realizing you’re there.

“What the hell’re you doin’?” he mumbles, voice raspy and tinged with smoke. “Tryin’ to guilt me now?”

You blink up at him slowly. Your lashes flutter. Your lips part like you’ve been holding your breath.

“No,” you say softly. “I’m just so tired.”

His eyes narrow. His jaw ticks. Not because he doesn’t believe you—but because he does.

“I fixed everything, just like you asked,” you murmur, your voice light, like it might float away if you speak too loud. “No press. New talking points. No Edgar. No Countess. You don’t even have to entertain, I made sure of it. You’ll be in and out in under an hour. I picked the scotch you like. Had the steak pre-ordered just how you like it so you wouldn’t have to wait.”

Ben exhales, slow and irritable. “Yeah? Still don’t care. Still not goin’.”

Your hand glides up his thigh. Just a little. Innocent.

“You said you liked my red dress,” you whisper—you sound pitiful and you know it. It’s exactly what you want. “So I picked that one. Did my hair the way you like it, too. Thought maybe, just this once, you’d come because I asked.”

He groans, throwing his head back against the cushions. The joint smolders out between his fingers. The remote clatters to the floor when he tosses it aside. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

You flinch. It’s small—subtle—but he sees it. Feels it. And then his hands are on your face.

“Hey. Hey.” His fingers cup your cheeks like he’s afraid you might shatter. “Don’t—fuck, don’t do that.”

You sniff. Just once. “I know it’s stupid,” you whisper. “It’s just—I try so hard, Ben. And you always push back. Even when I’m just—”

Your voice breaks. You press your lips together. Blink fast.

He curses under his breath and drags you up into his lap like you’re something soft and breakable and his.

You curl over him, legs folding on either side of his hips, your hands sliding around his neck as you tuck your face into his bare shoulder.

His skin is warm. Smells like sweat, weed, expensive leather. His hands press up under your skirt automatically—smoothing over your thighs, stroking along the backs of them like he’s trying to ground you.

“You’re not seriously crying over a steakhouse, are you,” he mutters, more annoyed with himself than you.

You don’t answer. You just sniff again, quietly. A little pout in your voice. “I thought maybe you’d want to be there,” you whisper. “For me.”

Ben’s groan is practically a growl. He presses his forehead into your shoulder like he’s trying to block out the world. His hands squeeze your waist. Hard.

“You say shit like that and I swear to God, I—” He pulls back and grabs your chin, makes you look at him. His thumb strokes along your jaw, his pupils blown wide. “You flash those fuckin’ eyes at me again, I’ll follow you to the moon. You make it hard for a man to say no, sweetheart.”

You blink at him, all wide-eyed and trembling. “Pretty please?” you murmur. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

His mouth drops open like he wants to argue. Yell. Tell you that you’re full of shit—even if he knows you’re not. Even if he knows you’re one of the very few people in this fucked up company who always follows through when you say something.

But his hands don’t let go. His hips are already pressing up beneath you. His breath is hot and a little labored and fucked.

“I’ll go,” he relents. “But if one of those uptight motherfuckers even look at me wrong, I’m putting ‘em through the table. And you stay by me the whole time or I walk.”

You smile against his mouth as you lean in to kiss him—soft and grateful and sweet. Like you hadn’t known he’d give into you from the moment your assistant told you he was refusing to go. It just took a little special attention to get him there.

“Deal. I knew you’d come through for me,” you whisper, brushing your nose against his.

He groans again, dragging his hand down your spine, cupping the back of your head like he can’t believe what he’s doing.

“Goddamn you, sweetheart,” he mutters into your skin.

You linger in his lap just a breath longer—arms looped around his neck, forehead tucked against his, like you have to soak up the moment. Like it’s something sacred.

But then, so softly he almost misses it: “We’ll need to leave by seven.”

Ben blinks.

You pull back just enough to kiss his cheek. “Which means you’ve got thirty minutes to shower and get dressed.”

He frowns, caught off guard by the shift. “Shower?”

You nod, lips still curved sweetly, fingers stroking his jaw. “Mhm. Your hair’s all flattened from the couch, baby. And you smell like weed and whiskey and… well, you.”

“I smell good,” he grunts, half-defensive, half-amused.

“You do,” you coo, giving him a little squeeze. “So good. But not like a man who’s about to charm a room full of billionaires.” You smooth your hands down his chest, then tug lightly at the waistband of his sweats. “And you’re obviously not wearing these.”

He groans—loud and dramatic, head tipping back like you just asked him to go back to war.

“You promised,” you sing-song gently, trailing your fingers under his chin. “You said you’d go.”

“Didn’t say I’d play dress-up.”

You gasp like he’s wounded you. “Benjamin.”

He groans again, dragging a hand down his face. “Christ on a cross, you are needy today.”

“Ten minutes in the shower,” you murmur, brushing your nose against his. “I’ll lay everything out for you. I had wardrobe clean up the suit for you, it was looking dingy. And I bought more of your favorite cologne so I don’t want to hear any complaints about putting it on.”

Ben blinks at you, torn between suspicion and arousal. “You tryin’ to get me laid at this dinner?”

You laugh, soft and honey-warm. “No. I’m trying to get you photographed. Looking strong. Powerful. Like America’s sexiest war machine.”

He narrows his eyes. “That’s not a compliment.”

“It’s totally a compliment,” you whisper, already easing off his lap with a quick kiss to the crown of his head. “Now up. Clock’s a’tickin, you’ve got exactly eight minutes left.”

Ben mutters something under his breath—probably about how he survived decades in warzones and now has to be manhandled into brushing his hair by his tiny PR handler—but he’s already pushing to his feet.

You brush a hand down his back as he passes, and murmur— “Thank you, baby. You’re gonna be amazing tonight.”

And just like that, he’s putty again.

Because he is going. And he’ll wear what you lay out. And he’ll smile when the cameras flash, not because he wants to—but because you asked.

And he always says yes to you eventually.

The second the penthouse door shuts behind you that night, Ben growls out a breath like he’s been holding it for hours.

“Never again,” he mutters, already tugging at the knot in his tie. “I mean it this time. You can drug me, shoot me, fuckin’ bribe me—I am not sittin’ through another two-hour circle jerk over beef tartare.”

You slip past him quietly, heels in hand, dress swishing just above your ankles as you move through the soft lighting of the living room. No arguments. No sarcasm. Just the gentle click of your shoes being placed neatly by the door.

“I know,” you murmur. “It was a lot.”

Ben tosses his tie on the couch. “Guy next to me spent ten straight minutes tellin’ me how he grew his own herbs. Fuckin’ herbs, sweetheart. I’ve fought wars for this country. More than once. The fuck do I care about herbs?”

He’s flushed and fuming, stinking of expensive cologne, even more expensive scotch and barely-restrained violence, but you don’t flinch. Don’t even blink.

You just glance up from the crystal tray you’re arranging—two fingers of bourbon already poured for him.

You don’t try to stop him.

You let him pace.

Let him wear himself out.

That’s the key.

Not control—never control.

Ben bristles at leashes.

But need?

He melts for need.

When he’s worked himself into a proper tantrum—shirt untucked, pacing barefoot on the Persian rug, ranting about assholes and photographers and whatever else pissed him off—you finally step into his space.

Quiet. Careful. Sweet.

Your touch lands light on his shoulder. “I was so proud of you tonight.”

Ben eyes you warily, like he’s waiting for the catch. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” You reach for his collar, brushing it smooth. “I know how much you hate those dinners.”

“You mean I hate everyone at those dinners.”

“I know, baby.”

He grunts. “Only went ‘cause you asked.”

“I know that, too.” You smooth the front of his shirt, your fingers dragging low, just barely skimming over the trail of skin above his waistband. His hands catch your hips, rough and warm.

“Sit down,” you murmur, brushing a lock of hair off his brow. “You ran hot tonight, you need to cool down.”

He looks like he’s about to argue, but then his eyes catch the drink waiting for him on the end table. And the way you’re watching him—chin tilted, gaze soft, one hand smoothing up his chest like it’s muscle memory.

He sinks onto the couch without another word.

You ease into his lap a second later.

Just like always.

Your knees tuck on either side of his thighs, arms loop gently around his neck. His hands instinctively find your waist, and you press a soft kiss below his ear.

He growls into your shoulder. “Fuck. You keep lookin’ at me like that and I’m gonna think you like me.”

“Don't be silly.” You laugh—quiet and sweet, forehead tipping against his. “You know I do.”

He squeezes your waist, voice low and a little rough. “You gonna show me how much?”

You nod. Innocent. Eager. “I always do when you’re good.”

That makes him twitch beneath you. You feel it. His hands are already sliding down your back, under your thighs, like he can’t decide whether to manhandle you or hold you there.

But you just lean in, cupping his face in your hands. “You let them take their pictures with you,” you murmur, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“A few.”

“You didn’t threaten anyone.”

“Out loud.”

“You smiled.”

Ben snorts at that one. “I smiled because you were wearin’ that dress.”

Your own smile widens as you reach up, smoothing his collar like you’ve done it a thousand times. “That’s why I wore it.”

He blinks, caught off guard. The storm in his chest quiets just a little. “Yeah?”

You nod, tilting your head just slightly, fingers dragging down his chest. “I like looking for my favorite guy.”

You bit your lip—he loves when you do that. Playing coy, like you hadn’t been planning this since the beginning of dinner. “Especially because you did tonight for me.”

His jaw flexes. His eyes flick up to yours—hot and narrow and falling fast. “Yeah, I fuckin’ did,” he mutters.

You smile, slow and soft, brushing your nose against his. “I’m so lucky.”

Ben’s breath stutters. His hands tighten on you. And there it is—that tug in his chest.

That animal part of him that needs to feel big. Wanted. Relied on.

“You looked good,” he mutters, almost sheepish. “Real good. Kept forgettin’ what I was supposed to say.”

“You didn’t have to say anything,” you whisper. “Just sit there and look like the hero you are.”

He groans under his breath. “Fuck,” he says, voice thick. “You say shit like that and I forget why I’m pissed.”

You tilt your head and coo, fingers threading into his hair. “You made me so proud tonight.”

You kiss him then—soft, slow, syrupy—and pull back just enough to whisper: “So now you get what you want.”

Ben groans, kneading your ass with both hands. “And what’s that, sweetheart?”

You’re warm in his lap, lips still close, lashes lowered just enough to be devastating. And when you whisper it—

“Me.”

—his whole body twitches like you hit a nerve.

He groans, low and guttural, letting his head fall back against the couch, eyes squeezing shut like he’s in pain. “Fuck.”

You hum softly and kiss his throat. Once. Twice. Then drag your mouth up toward his ear.

“However you want,” you breathe, just barely grazing the shell of it. “You were perfect.”

His hands are everywhere at once—gripping your hips, stroking down your back, sliding under your thighs like he needs to feel all of you at once. There’s a beat of heavy silence where he just looks at you, blinking like he doesn’t believe you said it. “You mean that?”

You nod. Soft and sure. “Mhm, have I ever not?”

Ben’s voice drops into something rough and dangerous. “Say it again.”

You press your forehead to his, lips brushing his. “You did exactly what I asked you to do,” you whisper, slow and honey-sweet. “So you can fuck me any way you want, baby.”

He growls like it hits something feral in his chest. “Fuckin’ Christ on a goddamn cross.”

And then his mouth is on yours, hot and possessive, kissing you like he’s trying to make up for the hours he spent behaving. His hands grip you tighter, pulling you flush against him as he shifts under you, hard and hungry and already getting impatient.

You kiss him slow. Let him take. Let him think he’s taking. Let him feel like he’s in charge while your fingers sneak up into his hair, grounding him, guiding him, praising him between breaths.

“There you go,” you murmur when he bites at your lower lip. “Just like that. Take what you need, baby.”

He groans into your mouth like he’s never been given such glorious permission before.

Because that’s the trick, really.

You give him you—soft and warm and pliant—but on your terms. You give him everything, and he never even realizes that he’s the one being handled.

“You were so handsome at that dinner tonight,” you say, cupping his face in both hands. “My best guy. My hero.”

His breath shudders. “Yeah?” he mutters, hands tightening on your waist like he can’t help it. “That right?”

You nod, slow, sweet, letting your hips rock forward just enough to tease him. “You’re the reason I can walk into any room and keep my head up. They can talk all they want, but I know I’ve got the strongest man in the world in my corner.”

He groans, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. “Fuck, sweetheart—don’t say shit like that if you’re not ready to get railed into the goddamn couch.”

You just giggle softly, tracing your thumbs over his cheekbones. “I’m always ready for you.”

He’s panting now—eyes dark and hungry, cock straining hard against you. But he’s still not moving. Not yet.

So you lean in, press your lips to his ear. “You’ve been on your best behavior lately,” you murmur. “Haven’t scared anyone off. Haven’t put anyone through a wall. You’ve done everything I asked. You deserve a real reward.”

Ben swears under his breath, already fumbling to get himself free, to push your panties aside. You tilt your hips to help, fingers brushing his cheek the whole time, so loving. So grateful.

“You want me?” you whisper. “You want your girl right here, baby? Right now?”

“Fuckin’—always,” he rasps. “Don’t make me beg.”

You smile, guiding him to your entrance with soft fingers, already soaked for him.

“I like when you beg, you know that,” you whisper, sinking down slow.

Ben’s mouth falls open. His hands fly to your hips like it’s instinct, dragging you flush against him, groaning like it physically hurts to be inside you.

Your hand cradles the back of his head. Your voice stays soft. Always soft. “You fill me up so good,” you murmur against his ear. “No one makes me feel like this but you.”

“Jesus Christ,” he chokes.

You moan sweetly, rocking your hips in a slow, wet grind.

“You make me feel so full, Ben. So safe. You always take care of me.”

He growls—full-chested, feral.

You let him take over then—let him snap his hips up into you, wild and rough, mouth on your throat like he needs to claim you.

But you still murmur through every thrust.

“That’s it, my hero. My man. So big—so deep inside me. Feel so perfect for me, baby.”

He snarls against your neck. “You keep talkin’ like that and I’m gonna fill you so fuckin’ full they’ll know you’re mine for a week.”

You gasp, clinging tighter. “I am yours. My whole world revolves around you.”

He’s close. You can feel it. So you coo in his ear one more time—quiet, breathless, wicked: “Come for me, baby. My strong, brave hero. You’ve been so good—give it to me. Please, Ben. For me?”

He loses it.

His grip bruises. His hips slam up hard and desperate. He groans like he’s been set on fire and buries himself deep inside you, cock twitching, spilling hot and thick and endless.

You hold him through it. Stroke his hair. Kiss his temple. Praise him through every shudder. “That’s it. That’s my man. You did so good, baby.”

He’s almost trembling, head buried against your chest.

And you just rock gently, purring into his ear like a lullaby.

“You’ll do the ribbon cutting next week, won’t you?” you whisper, soft as velvet. “Just for me?”

Ben groans—but you feel his head nod, slow and reluctant.

You smile.

You always get what you want.

You stay curled in his lap for a long time after.

Ben’s breath is still ragged against your neck, his chest hot and sticky beneath your palms. His arms stay locked around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear the second he loosens his grip.

And maybe he should be.

But for now—you let him have you.

You keep rocking him with soft touches, your fingers smoothing through his damp hair, your lips brushing his temple. You hum something under your breath—not a lullaby, not quite—but warm and familiar. Something only for him.

You stay curled over him just long enough for his heartbeat to settle.

He’s still warm and solid beneath you, one hand resting heavy on your hip, the other curled at the nape of your neck like he might not let you go.

He always says he doesn’t need it.

That he doesn’t need you—not like this.

But his body tells the truth.

And so does his silence.

That’s the part that makes your stomach flutter—not because it’s sweet, but because it’s true.

No one else can handle him. No one else wants to. But you?

You’ve made a career out of it.

You press a soft kiss to the hinge of his jaw, then shift, easing off of him slowly, adjusting your panties, smoothing your skirt back into place.

Ben makes a low noise of protest. Not a word—just a sound. Like something you’ve taken from him.

You don’t look at him just yet.

You keep moving.

You grab his pills, the ones you know he likes to take before bed. No questions asked. You drop them into his lap and you move across the room to adjust the thermostat lower. You settle in front of him, pull his boots off one at a time, placing them neatly by the door. You move into the bedroom through the large, opened sliding doors that separate the space.

Every movement gentle. Familiar. Doting.

You’re not staying. You never do.

But you take care of him all the same.

“You don’t have to do all that,” he mumbles, voice gone rough.

You finally glance over.

His hair’s a mess. His chest still rising like he’s chasing you through a dream.

You smile, soft and warm. “I know.”

You come back to the couch, sit beside him. Run a hand over his chest, slow and absent like you’re memorizing the shape of him.

“I just want you comfortable. And I think you sleep better when I do this for you.”

He huffs a breath through his nose, eyes heavy on yours.

“You could stay,” he says, voice rough with something heavier than tiredness. “Just for tonight.”

You smile sadly, smoothing his hair back. “You need to shower again and go to bed. You’ve got your meeting with Edgar first thing. If I stay, you’ll be late.”

“I don’t care.”

“I care.” You lean down and kiss him slow—sweet and lingering, fingers brushing the side of his jaw. “You’ll see me tomorrow, after the meeting.”

He makes a frustrated noise in his chest, but he doesn’t argue.

Instead, he catches your wrist and presses a kiss to the inside of it.

“Don’t let anyone talk shit about me,” he murmurs.

You smile, lean into the touch just enough, “I never do.”

You straighten, adjust your dress in the mirror one last time, and head for the door. But just before you leave, you glance back. You smile softly. “Goodnight, Ben.”

The door clicks shut behind you.

You left him satisfied and pliant but wanting more—just how you like him.

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[myhappylittlesideblog]

The Lucky Winner

[Masterlist]

18+ Only | 8.5k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Pre-season 1. Voice kink. Oral sex. Unprotected sex.

Summary: You're a huge fan of Homelander but you always feel too awkward to ever meet your hero at a meet & greet or similar events. Your friends enter you into a Vought competition, where you've got a chance to win a phone call from Homelander himself.  

Author’s Note: My first Homelander fic! Also, this is the first time I’m publishing my work. Obligatory English isn’t my first language so apologies if there are any strange turns of phrase but I happily take on criticism so feel free to correct me. I want to get better! I’m also not very good with sticking to the right tense. This is very self-indulgent so read with caution. 

You can’t decide whether to hug or strangle your friends. They’re trying to be nice, you get that. But this goes against everything you’d ever do! Lovely as they are, they’ve entered you into a competition to meet your hero. To meet Homelander. The thought alone makes your head spin, your heart pound and stomach twist on itself.

‘It was just 20 bucks, what’s the worst that can happen? You win?’ Reads your friend’s message. You roll your eyes, hearing the teasing tone in your head. They know about your not-so-hidden obsession and at the end of the day they just wanted to brighten their friends day.

And sure, you are a fan. Okay, fine. You’re a big fan. Obsessed even. Every-wall-of-your-bedroom adorned-with-posters-and-promotional-materials obsessed. But you don’t want to appear like that. Last thing you’d want to come across as to your idol, you hero, is an annoying screeching fan begging for his attention.

You don’t want to be part of the crowds pawing at him, inching as close as they can just to graze his uniform with their fingertips. You don’t want to look like a feral fan. You have manners. You don’t want to be just another face, just another adoring fan begging for him to look your way. It’s hard to admit to yourself that you’ll never be more than a fan. So you don’t go to meet & greets. You don’t go to premieres. You don’t pay exorbitant fees just to meet your hero.

You’re a romantic at heart. You always imagine the first meeting to be one for the books. Maybe he saves you from a burning building flying you down, his stars and stripes billowing in the wind as he looks at you with concern etched into his handsome face, his piercing blue eyes scanning you for injuries as he talks to you with a soothing rumbling tone that sends shivers down your spine. You can clearly imagine him going, Are you okay miss?, as he descends to the ground. Or you just happen to bump into each other but he catches you with his strong arms and fast reflexes and just like that it’s love at first sight. Scenarios after scenarios. All varieties of ‘meet-cute’s play in your head on a daily basis. You spend your time getting lost in your head, dreaming of the day when it will be your turn to be the protagonist of the story. When will you be the damsel in distress? But you sigh and move on with life, because this isn’t a romance novel.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself (and others) when people ask you why you haven't tried to meet your hero. 

Oh I just don’t want to be a weird obsessive fan. Plus it’s expensive!

Meeting heroes is technically easy. Vought gives people many opportunities to see their heroes for a pretty penny. They parade their heroes around like exotic animals in a zoo on a daily basis. 

For you the reality is that you simply can’t handle seeing your hero up close and personal, let alone talk to him. How are you not meant to get flustered in front of what you considered to be perfection? How are you meant to find your words or even come up with words worthy of being uttered in his presence? You’re meant to look into his eyes, tell him how much of a fan you are and not fluster and burst into tears from the anxiety coiling in your gut as you wait your turn? 

You don’t want that. You don’t want to be just another babbling fan. You want to stand out. You want him to remember you. You want him to think about you.  But you’re also a realist and you know that at most he’ll think you just another annoying fangirl if he even grants you a passing thought. So you spare yourself those hurt feelings and you avoid meet & greets, you avoid all the fan-targeted conventions, events, promotional campaigns or competitions. 

Or you always have. Until now it seems. You again scroll up in the group chat where your friends surprised you with an entry to the newest competition Vought advertised. It was presented as a fundraiser. All proceeds are planned to be donated to Samaritan’s Embrace. A simple $20 entry that would grant you a chance to be one of five lucky winners to get a personal phone call from Homelander. 

A fat chance of that, you thought when you first saw the competition announced on both Vought’s and Homelander’s twitter accounts. With a competition that invites Homelander's country-wide fanbase, there really is no chance of you winning. You half-comfort yourself with that thought. You don’t know where you’d even start should you win. Part of you thinks that maybe ‘meeting’ him over the phone could be bearable as he wouldn’t be able to witness just how badly you’re holding it together.

But then you think back to all the videos you’ve watched. The reels and the tiktoks you’ve saved. The podcasts and interviews that at this point you play almost religiously. He's perfect in every way but you're particularly fond of his voice just rumbling in your ear when it gets nice and low as he talks in lengths about the upcoming movie or his most recent save. A while back you bought yourself a decent set of noise-cancelling headphones with great audio quality and suddenly it felt like he was right behind you just purring into your ears. Very few interviews record with good enough microphones to capture how mesmerising his voice is but those that do get saved and played on repeat sending shivers down your spine, following you to bed and invading your dreams. So no, maybe a phone call wouldn’t make the experience any easier on your poor heart. 

You calm down after the initial panic reaffirming yourself with the reality where there’s no chance that you’ll get picked anyway. You text your friends again, kindly thanking them for thinking of you as you shook your head with an amused smile. That’s that done and forgotten about.

Or so you think. Few weeks down the line the mental discourse has long left your mind. The conversation moves on and your friends don’t mention anything since. That’s why it’s no surprise when you pick up the unknown call after the third ring with ease, casually answering with, “Hello, Y/N speaking.” 

Homelander looks through the list of winners Ashley brought to his desk with a scowl on his face. He’s grumpy, having to jump through everyone’s hoops is grating on him, slowly chipping away at his showmanship armour. This is just another nail in the coffin. Now he has to make private phone calls?

He wants to be revered, loved. With people bending over backwards just to get his attention. Sure, that’s right up his alley. Get the crowds to scream his name, be grateful for his divine presence. What he isn’t a fan of is making others think they’re special. He’s the special one. Where does Vought get off thinking that he’s got the time to call and visit his fans one-on-one.

He rolls his eyes looking through the unimpressive line-up that Vought carefully curated. One of each demographic, trying to hit all the targets Vought wants him to improve his numbers with.

Each candidate has a sheet of talking points assigned to them, things to highlight, mention or even promote to each one of the fans. Normally Homelander would throw Vought’s carefully crafted response straight back to their faces but right now he’s not in the slightest interested in being clever or the fans' idea of ‘authentic’ so he’d rather rattle off a few lines from a curated list of party lines. At the end of the day he doesn’t care for this. Talking to five individual fans doesn’t help him in the grand scheme of things. This isn’t happening in public, there’s no one here to witness his generosity. Nobody to witness a god, looking down and gracing his followers with his benevolence.

Vought believes the individual approach will be worth it in the long run. That apparently fans will come running to any future events and competitions seeing as real people they might know have won in the past. All Homelander sees is at most five twitter mentions from a few nobodys.

He’s got about an hour in the calendar to get through all of these. Though he's banking on this taking a lot less time. There are many more important things he could be doing instead. 

He flips through the files again, each profile is filled out with a name, number and a photo, deciding on the least painful order. A young boy, an elderly woman, a middle aged comic enthusiast, some punk teenager and you. Homelander looks at your profile with mild interest. You’re the only one who Vought didn’t manage to find a good quality recent photo of. Clearly you don’t do social media. Yet the quality doesn’t take away from the intrigue your profile inspired. You’re easily the most interesting in the list but that’s not that hard to do. Still, Homelander puts yours at the end of the list. Saving the best for last.

“Hellooo and congratulations! This is Homelander and you’re one of the few lucky cookies who get to have a little chit chat with me.” All air gets sucked out of your lungs and the ease with which you picked up the phone is gone. Your eyes widen, breath caught in your throat only coming out in confused little stutters. This isn’t real. It can’t be!

Whether it’s a particularly vivid dream or your world is actually turning upside down you’re glad this happened at home. Your knees buckle, your ass landing straight on your bed, your legs trembling with nervous energy as you sit down.

“W-what?” You manage to blurt out, more breathy than not. Your heart is pounding like never before. You wouldn’t be surprised if he can hear it over the phone, it feels loud to your ears.

“The competition? You entered, right?” His voice. His fucking voice was right in your ear and you felt like melting into a puddle of goo. Anything to spare you the embarrassing words that are surely about to come out of your mouth one way or another.

“Oh… um…” You are blowing it. There’s no other word for it. Totally embarrassing yourself. Not able to say a word, still trying to calm your heart down.

“Are you not a fan? Have I got the wrong number–?”

“N-no no! No…I mean yes. I mean sorry…fuck.” You are totally losing it. The hand holding your phone is shaking with nervous energy. 

“Hey hey hey…. Come on now. Take it easy. Now take a deep breath aaand relax.” His voice is rich and sweet like honey, just like you’ve heard on TV but here it feels intimate. Just for you. He’s not talking to anybody else. As he hears your stuttered intake of breath and a mildly calmed exhale he coos again. “That’s it. Breathe with me. Now in.” If only he knew that this is making things so much worse for you. “And out.” 

“I’m so sorry. I meant to say, I am a fan but I don’t do this.” Your voice still trembles with each word but you’re a little more composed. 

“What? Call people?” You can hear the smirk in his voice, he's clearly pleased with his little joke. 

“No.” You can’t help yourself but chuckle, your lips spreading in a wide grin. Your heart is still pounding but it’s more excitement than embarrassment. You’re actually talking to Homelander. And you have already embarrassed yourself beyond belief but he’s still here! He’s still talking to you. He doesn’t even sound upset. “I mean I don’t meet you guys. Heroes. I don’t really know how to do this. I mean I pretty much live on your doorstep and I’ve never met either one of you.” Now that he calmed you down, getting you talking, you can’t stop talking. 

“Really? Some fan you are.” Were you of a sound mind you’d hear the joke but now all you could think is that you’ve upset him. And you can’t have him think that. Sure you’ve always wanted to stand out but not in a negative way! You take it to heart and you apologize.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to offend. At all! Really! It’s just, you don’t need another person begging for an autograph that they can brag with to their friends or sell online for a quick buck.” 

He exhales a little breathy laugh that has your whole body flush hot. “Oh, aren’t you adorable.” The panic that was inflating in you like a hot air balloon finally fizzled out. Instead it’s replaced by a throbbing heat in between your legs and you place your free hand over your heart, almost trying to will your body into behaving normally. “You know if you want I can send you some, would be a shame for such a sweet fan to not have anything personalised. I’ll sign it with your name.” He offers, a nice gesture, really, but you are currently having a whole body meltdown to even appreciate it for what it was.

“O-oh,that isn’t—You don’t have to—” 

He continues nonetheless. 

“Y/N, is it? Beautiful name.” Your name rolls off his tongue perfectly, all soothing and sweet. And there you go, melting into a puddle just for him. 

“You don’t have to be nervous. I don’t bite. At least, not over the phone.” You let your hand trail down your body. He’s just talking. He’s just making jokes. He’s just trying to strike up a conversation to make such a freaked out fan of his a little calmer and there you are getting your rocks off on this. 

“Sorry. It’s hard not to be. I’ve been a fan of yours for a long while. I didn’t expect I’d ever get to talk to you. It’s kind of you to do things like this for us fans. I’m sure you’re busy. Thank you for taking the time.” You distract yourself from the throbbing that’s just calling for your hand to settle heavily in between your shaking thighs. 

“Oh no problem. Wouldn’t be where I am if it wasn’t for all my loyal fans, right?” You should really stop moving your hand down your body. But you can’t help the effect he has on you, you’re not acting normal! 

“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s the fame that makes you special. It’s you.” You breathe you all dreamy before realising this isn’t just one of your fantasies. No. You really are talking to Homelander. You cough a little, pretending like you had something stuck in your throat. 

“It is?”

“I think so. Change into civilian clothing and I’m sure you’ll still be turning heads.” You speak normally now but you bite your lip at the end, your hand now just above your pubic bone. 

“Sounds like you’ve thought about this plenty.” Oh, of course you have. Your body is screaming at you to take the plunge, to slip your hand down your panties, and make yourself feel like this is more than just a friendly fan call. But your mind is, correctly, telling you that this is beyond inappropriate. 

“Ah no! I just mean that you’re perfect at what you do. There’s nobody like you. Noone could take your spot. So it’s more than just fans.” You’re surprised you’re still carrying on. You feel like your brain is turning into mush with each word he’s saying. 

“What can I say? I take my job very seriously.” He goes on to talk about being a leader of the Seven, you guess he’s just trying to fill space seeing as you’re such a blubbering mess. Even with all his efforts at making this normal, your brain turns all the innocent words into the filthiest dirty talk.

“Look, I’d love to talk to you some more but I’m afraid I’ll have to end it there. I’m late for a talk show interview.” You retract your hand as if it got burnt and instead you grab onto the comforter you’re sitting on, stopping yourself from doing anything impulsive. 

“O-of course.” Your heart rate is elevated again, something about the thought of him leaving and you never getting the chance to speak to him again makes you want to scream. 

“Tell you what, I don’t want to be unfair to you. You hardly got your prize. I’ll call you later. You free in the evening?” 

“Y-yes.”

“Perfect.” 

Perfect. You’re fucking perfect. Homelander can’t stop the way his lips stretch into a predatory grin. You are exactly what a fan should be like. Swooning over him. Grateful that he’s even bothering to grace you with his presence. You were practically kneeling, bent over before him on the floor, kissing his feet as he gave you a taste of his divine presence. He has half a mind to take care of the uncomfortable hard-on pressing into his rigid suit. He couldn’t help himself when you were being such a sweet little thing. He feels no remorse at having rubbed himself through his suit as you were there on the other side of the phone, undeniably shaking in excitement, all flustered and tense and most certainly aroused. But no, he wants to wait his turn. He needs the real thing. He’s not planning on letting you go that easy.

Originally he was pissed that most of his time on the phone was taken up by the elderly woman who was talking his ear off. Now he’s thinking about sending her a gift basket. He has a real excuse to see you. 

When Homelander wants something he’s like a hunter, doing everything he can to lure his prey into his trap. In this case he abuses his powers to get the Crime Analytics team to dig up your address and in the meanwhile he sits through a mind-numbingly boring interview at a low-tier talk show he really shouldn’t need to waste his time on. 

The only thing that keeps him going is the thought that you might be watching. You seem like a big fan. You surely wouldn’t dare miss out on his live appearances. The thought alone gives him enough drive to not laser through the talk show host everytime she asks a stupid question and instead he imagines he’s speaking straight to you.

When the show is over he takes off before his team can steer him towards another boring chore. No, he has more pressing matters to attend to. Like any good predator he observes. He waits until it’s the right time to strike. That’s why he’s perched at the top of the building that’s opposite yours. He’s got a clear line of sight to your apartment but he’s careful in making sure you can’t see him. 

He watches, his grin reappearing every damn time he sees you reach your phone, checking if your ringer is on for the tenth time. You are an easy target, he can swoop in anytime and sweep you off your feet but he wants it to be perfect. With sick fascination he keeps watching you, your behaviours and patterns as you pace around your room trying to preoccupy your mind with mindless thoughts. He knows that nothing you do can now fill the void that he left behind. What else can replace the purr of his voice in your ear, soothing and exciting you at the same time. Nothing. There’s nobody like him. You said it yourself.

An hour of self-indulgent watching later he decides to end your misery. You just look so upset and disappointed and he knows you’ll just melt in his presence. He needs to be close to you. He got a little sprinkle of what you're like over the phone and now he’s got a craving for the real thing. He needs to feel you, smell you, hear your poor heart trying to keep up with the excitement right in his ear.

So with a quick drop he descends.

The day has gone by torturously slow for you. You spend every minute checking your phone in case your ringer randomly fails you and you won’t catch the second call from Homelander. Just thinking that makes your thighs quiver. The thought of having him purr into your ear any longer wets your panties all over again. But over the coming hours your enthusiasm deflates. It’s getting late and your chances of ever getting a call back are low. 

You emerge from the bathroom, fresh and clean, in your pyjamas ready to sleep today’s rollercoaster of emotions away. Or you would be if it wasn’t for a knock at your balcony door interrupting your thoughts and making you flinch in surprise. The flash of red and blue still so vibrant and colourful against the midnight sky has your breath catching in your throat. What the fuck?!

You open the balcony door in shock, and if you had the strength to do so you would have ripped it off its hinges with pure eagerness. There he is in all his patriotic glory. Homelander. A wide grin on his face, posture ramrod straight as he clasps his gloved hands behind his back, puffing his chest out.

“H-Homelander?!” Your voice quivers at the proximity, your heart picks up speed again and you feel your entire body flush both in embarrassment and excitement. Your first thought goes to how you currently look rather than questioning his motives or how he even found where you live in the first place. 

Trying to regain your composure you shake your head, blinking as if he was just a figment of your imagination. Maybe your devout obsession with him is finally damaging your mental state, making you hallucinate.

“Good evening, Y/N.” God, how does he do that! The way your name slips off his tongue so easily, with such familiarity makes you clench and part your lips with a gasp. Any sort of composure you’ve regained crumbling to dust. Now you are just awkwardly gawking, in awe at the unreal figure in front of you, in the flesh. Homelander doesn’t wait to be invited in, strutting into your modest apartment like it belongs to him, the confident strides of his red boots loud and heavy against the creaky floor of your apartment. He takes up the living space confidently, somehow making you feel like you don't belong in your own space. His presence took priority, anything else secondary—you included. 

“How did you—” Your question of how he found where you live doesn’t even get fully asked, let alone answered. He cuts in, not actually caring about your justified worry over having your address handed out willy-nilly. 

“Our call was a bit too short to my liking. You don’t mind a little late-night visit, do you?” You feel disarmed. His voice turns gravelly, lowering with each word. His tone teasing as if he was telling you a secret, so unlike his television persona where he’s all American apple pie values and open arms with clear intentions. Here, he grinned widely—all teeth with his sharp canines bared to you like the predator he is. Like you’re his next meal. “Ohohoo, would you look at this. Maybe you are my biggest fan, huh?” 

You are distracted by his voice, his presence, just him that you fail to notice his eyes wandering around your apartment. Your face flushes red in embarrassment as you see him assessing your safe space, or what felt like your safe space before this ambush, all with an amused grin on his face. 

“These are all limited edition. Must have cost you a small fortune.” Holding a breath you watch him take his gloves off one by one, placing the leather on your table with a soft thwack. It feels forbidden, not meant for your eyes. The public doesn’t get to see Homelander as anything other than perfect. His image manicured, perfected to the tiniest details. Seeing his surprisingly elegant bare hands, this up close feels intimate yet threatening like he’s unsheathed his sword, revealing one of the many hidden weapons he can use against you. 

You watch as he brushes his fingers against limited edition action figurines, box sets, posters and trinkets featuring his likeness or the logo emblem Vought associates with him. If it was anyone else you’d tell them to keep their paws away from your most prized possessions but it's Homelander. Who else gets the right to touch special limited edition merchandise of his own likeness? 

You watch as he paces the room with an unreadable expression. The embarrassment you feel transforms into an apology, heavy on your tongue as you force your mouth open, letting your shame out into the world. It’s hard not to feel overwhelmed in his presence.

“I-I’m sorry.” 

“You’re sorry?” He turns his head over his shoulder with a curious expression. A swoop of his blonde hair handsomely falling into his face. He puts down one of the figurines he picked up earlier as he scouted the area. 

“All this stuff.” You wave your hand around, the grand display of what can only be described as the Church of Homelander, a shrine dedicated to his divine existence. You see how it looks, how it makes you look like a rabid fan. Though you’re anything but. “I know it’s a little strange. I don’t want to make you feel like a museum piece. Or-or-or a circus animal! I just admire you. A lot.”

“You do?” 

“I do.” Your breath catches in your throat as he turns around fully, facing you head on, one slow step inching towards you at a time. You gulp, feeling like you’re left in the dark regarding his intentions as you hopelessly struggle to read him. On the opposite spectrum you’re there, an open book, your heart on your sleeve, your every thought written so clearly on your face you may as well give him your diary to flip through. “More than anything.” Breathlessly you add, meeting his eyes as a challenge. You’re devout, as loyal as it gets. You’d do anything for him if he asked.

Homelander rises to your mental challenge with a grin so sharp you feel the metaphorical bite coming before he even opens his mouth as he steps closer. He’s so close now. Any ordinary man could feel the thud of your heartbeat, but to his keen senses it’s a war drum and he’s marching to a battle he’s already won. His bare, elegant hands make their way to your jaw caressing it with a surprising gentleness. You flinch. Even though you watched it happen with wide eyes, you didn’t expect his hands to leave you unmarred. You almost expect your skin to sizzle, unworthy of his divine touch.  

Homelander’s grin disappears, his tongue gliding along his teeth as if he’s cleaning them before he devours his next meal. All that leaves you is a little whimper before he pulls you in, his hands thrumming with incomprehensible strength as he kisses you. He kisses the air out of your lungs as if you could survive without it like he can. As if you could meet him in the middle. But dammit you do your best to. He’s a passionate kisser, incapable of sticking to soft kisses. No, he devours. He licks your lips open, his tongue gliding along yours. You brace your hands against his chest, already feeling weak in the knees. The heat of his breath and the wetness of his tongue in your mouth is nothing compared to how hot and wet you feel in your panties.

It doesn’t help that he’s vocal. You kiss him harder anytime he growls or moans into your lips, his voice vibrating against your lips just possessing you more. And soon it turns into a game of who can dish it out harder. Each devoted kiss makes him hum and purr which in turn melts you into a pile of goo, making you kiss him harder. Your lips feel hot, swollen from the ferocious kissing. You’re nearing the limit of what your lungs can manage without resurfacing for air.

Homelander pulls away but he doesn’t give you any time to recover. As if you could. How do you recover from that? Instead he’s adamant about making your heartbeat hit record heights. His hands glide down your body, featherlight touches that make your skin break out into goosebumps as he settles on your hips, trailing the waistband of your pants. His pink wet lips spread into another predatory smile and before you know it he leans closer to your ear, practically purring, “Tell me, if I take these off will I find you wearing Homelander panties too?” 

Flustered squeak escapes you as he laughs wholeheartedly at your embarrassment. You know he knows. He’s teasing you for a reason. “They’re comfortable.” You eventually grumble, pouting like a child getting caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“I bet they are.” He sinks down to one knee, his hands taking the waistband of your pants with him as he pulls them down over your thighs, letting the fabric pool by your ankles. He pats your ankle, prompting you to step out of them. You comply, kicking the fabric away earning a little word of praise from him. “Attagirl.” You’re visibly trembling as he kneels in front of you, his eyes locked on the sight of your blue panties with his emblem and name right across the middle in gold, all accentuated by a red trim. It would be far from sexy in any other circumstance but he purrs at the sight. All pleased like the cat that got the cream. “Got my name across your pussy all day long?” 

Before you could react like any other person would, he hooked one of your legs over his shoulder. You yelp, losing your balance trying to grab onto his head or shoulders for support but he puts his arm on your back, sliding it right under your top keeping you straight and secure whether you want it or not. You’re not leaving until he says so. “Might as well fucking taste it seeing as it’s already mine, don’t you think?” He gives you a hungry look licking his lips before hoisting your other leg over his shoulder, standing up with ease. He walks you back against a wall as he eagerly inhales the scent of you, his head perfectly in between your warm thighs. 

“Woah!” You stabilise yourself, finally having more surface to lean against. The fabric of your top glides along the surface of the glossy posters he has you pressed against. Making you the centerpiece, surrounding you with his likeness. You finally process what the fuck is happening as you feel his nose pressing into the soaked fabric of your panties. “Homelander! Y-you….ohh…” You whimper, your hands automatically finding comfort and safety in between his golden locks. 

“Fuck you smell good.” Homelander growls, his hands now on your ass, holding you in place as he sticks his tongue out, pressing it wetly over your soaked panties. The taste of you already coating all his taste buds.

“O-oh fffuuck. OH god…yes…yes please.” You don’t stop yourself from moaning freely, the time for embarrassment long gone as Homelander lifts one hand from your ass, impatiently pulling the fabric of your Homelander panties to the side, his tongue already slipping in for a taste before his hand even makes it back to squeeze your ass. “Taste just as fucking good.” His voice strained, uttering filth in between your thighs.

His thick tongue pushes through the slit of your weeping pussy, lapping up what you’ve so graciously prepared just for him. And as you watch a mop of blonde hair greedily slurp at your wetness like he’s parched, you think back to the fantasies that drove you to orgasm after orgasm as the imaginary Homelander ate your pussy. 

Well, for one the real thing is a lot more enthusiastic than you ever imagined him to be. He is sucking on your clit in rhythm that has you throb harder, making your toes curl. “Ohhh, Homelander!” You reward him with a loud moan of his name, like a prayer on your lips. And you repeat it with each masterful lick around your clit that has you squirming in his hold, legs quivering around his head, fingers tugging at his hair.

The second thing you never considered was how much his powers would come into play. Here he is with a deathly strong iron grip around your ass, easily holding you up on his shoulders against the wall while pushing you as close into his face as he can. The thought of not being able to escape his grip exhilarates you as much as it terrifies you. His lack of need for air makes him a perfect devout lover. Because this is pure devotion except it seems he forgot who was meant to worship who.

You’d be embarrassed by the obscene sounds you two are making if it didn’t feel so good. You moan for him prettily as he licks up all the wetness he’s coaxing out of you. You breath hitches as you feel your orgasm building. He's consistent, giving you just the right pressure. Homelander looks up at you, eyes glassy and blown back with lust before he swiftly repositions you, needing just one arm to make you feel weightless yet secure in his hold as he takes his free hand plunging two fingers into you revelling in the feeling of your cunt clenching around him.

“Oh there there there! Ahhh!” You guide him, his fingers pumping into you and with his tongue still working magic on your clit you whimper out, “oh fuck, I’m gonna, I’m gonna–.” You fall apart in his arms, cumming on Homelander’s tongue like you’ve imagined many times over. With you thrashing around you rip the poster right behind you unaware of the mess you’re leaving behind. He licks you through the waves crashing through you. He’s smug, you can feel the smirk against your pussy as he gives it one more kiss before easily slipping you off his shoulders, preening with satisfaction. “Mhmm you did so good.” His voice purred and even in your post-orgasm haze you flush with fresh heat at the praise.

He gives you time to compose yourself but you don’t want it. You want him. You need him. Your legs feel like jelly so you immediately sink to your knees, nuzzling your face into his crotch. Too eager to wait. Homelander cooed at your enthusiasm, “Look at that. Didn’t even have to tell you.” He chuckles, voice thick with lust, his lips and chin still glistening from the way he feasted on you.

Wobbly and out of your mind, you reach for his belt, unable to figure out how to unclasp it, your dexterity not quite there either to be able to wiggle the hem of his pants underneath it and pull them down.

You look up at him with the face of a kitten that’s not getting what it wants. Pouting and pleading for help. 

“Christ, let me help you with that.” Homelander unclasps his belt, letting it hit the floor with a loud and heavy clang and the thought of it denting the cheap flooring doesn’t even graze your mind. He unzips his pants and the hiss alone makes your mouth water. He pushes his pants a little lower and you stare wide eyed at where his thematically red briefs are tented, his cock throbbing and leaking pre-cum into the thin fabric.

Okay, this you can do. Your hands slide up his thighs, getting a little feel of the bare skin of his thighs. Unmarred, smooth and hot. Your hand briefly squeezes around his cock through his briefs, forcing Homelander to hiss through his teeth. You pull down his briefs, bunching them down with the thick fabric of his suit. 

You try not to stare and drool but you’ve imagined his cock in your dreams and fantasies so many times that seeing it in real life just kind of blows your fucking mind. It’s perfect. A bit longer than average but especially nice and thick. You lick your lips in anticipation. His hand rests on the back of your head, giving your hair a tug.

“You gonna keep staring or will you put those pretty lips to work?” His gruff tone tears you from the haze. 

You blush, being caught staring. Wanting to please your hero you apologize, “sorry, it’s just so perfect. You’re perfect.” You breathe out in pure adoration. 

“Come on then, be a good girl and open up for your hero. I want my cock wet before I slide it into that needy pussy.” He looks down at you with a sharp smile, his other hand rests on your jaw before moving up squeezing the hollow of your cheeks, forcing your mouth open. Not that he has to, you’re more than willing to deliver. You open wider, making his hand withdraw as you take matter into your own hands. Literally. You grip the base of his cock, feeling how hefty and hot it feels. It hits you in that moment that you’re holding Homelander’s cock. Fuck. You’re gonna be dreaming of this moment for years to come.

You look up, giving him one more doe-eyed look before you stick your tongue out easing the swollen red head in between your lips. The salty, musky taste of his pre-cum on your tongue makes you whimper, your eyebrows furrow with concentration as you focus on banking the memory of his taste in your head. Eagerly you get right into it. Down and dirty. You focus on him, coating him with an ungodly amount of saliva until anytime you pop off him you’re followed by strings of it connecting you two. His grunts and heavy breaths just urge you to do better. So you take him deeper, slurping around the saliva you've made for him, bobbing your head up and down.

You nearly lose your rhythm when he lets out such a needy wanton moan, making your pussy throb.

“Thaaat’s it, come on—fuck!—deeper, yeah yeaahh you got it sweetheart. God fuck that’s fucking it.” He’s nearly whimpering, so lost in the sensation. And you're eating it up. Each whimper and word goes straight to your pussy and at this point you wouldn't be surprised if you were making a puddle on the floor.

His hand forces your head down deeper and you gag, choking around him as for a second your nose bumps the neat thatch of hair above his cock. He's not easily dissuaded and he pushes again, a little softer this time. You almost feel the tremble of his hands, he's so close to unravelling. Just for you. The swell of pride pushes you forward and you take him deeper. He takes the chance to push both hands into your hair as he starts fucking your face.

“Take it. Take it.” He grunts, his voice more and more broken with every thrust. You're just about to push his thighs back, attempting to fight against his unyielding force but his hips stutter and he groans, letting out broken moans as he spills on your tongue.

As if on command you swallow and he pulls out, wiping the residual dribbles of cum on your lips. Now that he’s done you realise just how fucking badly your jaw aches. You whimper at the ache of your jaw and the ache between your legs. 

You’re still kneeling on the floor, a picture of pure devotion, with your mouth messy and lips swollen. He grumbles at the picture in front of him. He pulls you up by your hair, kissing the taste of himself out of your lips. You can still taste your pussy on his lips and tongue as he shoves it into your mouth. “Bed?” He's somehow more than ready to continue and mentally you add his extraordinary refractory period to the list of his many talents. 

You nod a broken, “y-yeah, this way,” the taste of him still heavy on your tongue as you lead him to your bedroom.

He lets out a little chuckle at the state of your bedroom, just as decorated with his brand as was the rest of your apartment. “Fuck me, you really are my biggest fan.” 

You’re about to apologize, again, and he can read you like an open book already shushing you. “Shh, don’t say it. C’mere, take this off instead. Want to see you.” He tugs at your top, wanting you to take it off. Like unwrapping a present. You let out a few breathless ‘okay’s and pull the top over your head baring your entire body to him, save for the panties that were still uncomfortably pushed to the side. He clearly wants you to keep them on and you’re not sure whether that’s his narcissism or possessiveness talking. You don’t dare comment on the fact that he’s still fully dressed. You’re not gonna start demanding things from the Homelander now are you? 

With a step closer he purrs, pushing you to the bed intensely watching as your tits bounce when your back hits the comforter. He follows as he lays over the top of you but he doesn't look at you. He picks up the grimacing Homelander plushie he sees on your pillow— the one that's predominantly advertised to kids. He holds it up for you to see with a raised eyebrow, the look almost condescending. “What? They make no other official plushies!” You defend yourself. 

“Is there anything you don't have?” 

You don't know what possessed you to answer, “yeah, you,” but Homelander eats it right up as he grins at you.

“Cheeky slut. Well you're about to. On your side.” He says sliding off you to rest on his side looking you up and down hungrily. You’re clearly surprised at his choice of position and he grumbles with annoyance as you take forever to move the way he wants you to. His impatience gets the best of him and he effortlessly manipulates you to your side, slotting right behind you. Homelander grips your inner thigh lifting your leg a little higher, as he nestles his cock right against your wet cunt.

You sigh with partial relief, feeling him solid against you feels good. Feeling him inside you would feel even better. “Jesus, you're still so fucking wet.” 

“It's all your fault.” You whimper trying to wiggle in his unyielding hold. He just tuts at you gripping you tighter, cusping on pain.

He pulls you close, his cock sliding in between your slit, immediately getting the top of his cock wet. His lips trail up your jaw until he reaches your ear. He growls, low and sexy, nipping at the sensitive skin of your ear. Your heart skips a beat, your pussy throbs as the sound of him just ripples through you. 

“Maybe it is. You know, I've been thinking. You're such a nervous little thing.” He grinds his hips into you, dragging his cock back and forth, teasing you. His voice got quiet, dropping a register lower. All slow and drawled out he continues rumbling in your ear clearly aware of what it's doing to you. “You were beside yourself when I called you. So there I am thinking nobody gets that nervous, not unless they’re trying to hide how fucking turned on they are.” He keeps fucking talking and talking, making you shiver to the point where you feel goosebumps rise all over you. Your breath ragged, your eyes fluttering shut.

You're starting to understand why he was particular about this position. After all, he could read you like a book from the get go.

“At first I thought it was just me because you're such a big fan.” He coos in a condescending tone. He licks the outer edge of your ear and you shriek, thrashing in his uncompromising hold. “But no no nooo. It's not that. Because everytime I spoke, your heartbeat sped up. You know, I was worried about you there for a minute. Then there was your pussy. You get so wet the air is thick with it. I can't even fucking breathe without tasting your sweet cunt.” You let out a broken sound, close to a sob, you pussy throbbing so hard he must feel it even without being inside you. You didn't even consider that his senses can easily sniff your secret out.

He’s still rubbing his cock in between your folds, sliding the whole length of it up and down. It’s slick and loud and so good and holy shit your clit is burning from the way his head catches on it with every thrust. You're so close and your body is on fire. You so desperately want to cum with something inside you but he’s cruel. He's not gonna give it to you just yet. “And look at that, you're still getting wetter. They do say it's always the unassuming ones.” He chuckles into your ear, low and vibrating against you.

“Is that it? Do you get off to the sound of my voice? Do you watch videos of me, listening to interviews while you finger your little pussy?” He's going harder, the wet sound of your pussy slicking his way in between your slit is deafening, embarrassingly loud. “Tell me.” The little command growls in your ear and you force your lips open.

“Y-yes! Yes….I-I find your voice sexy.” You admit to your little shameful secret. You admit that one of the reasons you never met him was because you didn't want to get sopping wet in a crowd full of screaming fans. “Don't stop, please.” You moan out, quiet and broken, your embarrassment making way to pure pleasure. Now that it's out in the open, what is there to hide?

“Do you even care what I say? Huh? I could be reading out the fucking phone book and your pussy would still get wet. Greedy little thing. What’s it gonna be? You gonna cum to my voice or are you gonna be difficult?” You're burning hot, your body so so tense, the leg he's hitched up a little trembling against his strong grip. His cock is still hitting your clit in the perfect fucking way and you're so so so close. 

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop! Oh fuck, Homelander—don’t—ahhh!” The dam bursts, a wave of pleasure sweeping over you as you scream. Homelander pulls back and with one deft stroke he slides his cock inside you. He doesn't move. He growls at the feeling of your cunt just pulsing against him. He's so thick inside you, stretching you wide, filling every crevice. 

He whimpers and you feel how tense he is holding off the orgasm threatening to burst inside him.

Just as you think this must be the end of it, your mind just a buzzing noise, he pulls out moving back and he pushes you on your back. 

You never expected him to be so active in bed but he's already in between your legs, his hands clamping down on the clammy flesh of the back of your thighs and he spreads you open. He's on his knees, his hands slide and curl from the back of your thighs to the top as he pulls you in, slowly sliding his cock into you in one push. 

He doesn't wait for anything. He just fucks you. Hard and fast, really getting himself off more than you. Surrounded by posters and merch all carrying his likeness while he plunges into you again and again. Your hair is plastered to your forehead as you watch your hero utterly ruin you. You're sweaty, absolutely spent and tired while he's pushing into you without breaking a sweat. 

This round isn't for you yet it's gonna be a memory you'll frequent the most. The look on his face, pure lust and torture as he's fucking you with as much strength as he allows himself. 

With how he's got your hips propped up he's managing to hit all your best spots as your overstimulated nerves light up, giving him one last finish, your pussy’s quivers pushing him over the edge as well. 

Then there's a little hot spurt of him inside you but you're surprised when he pulls out shooting most of his load with a few strokes of his fist all over your panties and stomach. 

“Ahh fuck. Look at that, finally got your first autograph.” He snorts, amused, admiring the sight in front of him. His cum has already soaked into your panties, the ‘Homelander’ text changing into a darker colour as both his cum and your slick from the previous round drench the fabric. 

You flush hot red and you shake your head, amused by his antics. “That's disgusting.” But strangely, you're charmed. 

“I should take a picture. You look great like this.” 

He notes as he slides off your bed pulling his briefs over his finally softening cock, tucking himself back into his suit.

“Stay?” You say softly, offering him the space for his benefit more than yours. Even though you'd like him to stay for a cuddle you know you'll be out of it in a minute.

“Can't do I'm afraid, duty calls.” 

You nod, understanding. “Thank you, I really feel like a winner.” You snorted, thinking back to how the day even started.

He looks at you almost fondly, but your orgasm-hazy brain might just not be working anymore. 

“Until next time.” He says as a goodbye and you end up tucking yourself into bed. The last thing you hear is the click of his belt he picked up from the living room, the creak of the leather gloves he slides back on and the sonic boom of him flying away.

And you know that when you wake up if it wasn't for your ruined panties, your throbbing cunt or even the ripped poster in the living room you wouldn't believe any of it was real.

You sure hope there will be a next time.

[Part 2]

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[myhappylittlesideblog]

The Lucky Winner - Part 2

[Masterlist] [Part 1]

18+ Only | 7.3k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Early Season 1. Voice kink (mild). Roleplay. Established Relationship. Masturbation. Dirty Talk. Unprotected sex. 

Summary: After much deliberation you finally decide to meet your hero at a meet & greet.  

Author’s Note: Sorry if the ending of this feels a little confusing. I did have an idea for a retrospective Part 3 of this that would cover the events in between Part 1 & 2, clearing up the confusion a little bit, let me know if you'd be interested!

The metal detector beeps, finally letting you through after the hassle of emptying your entire bag and getting a full body scan. You quickly collect your scanned belongings and you scuttle along, almost sprinting across the now-empty hallway. You’re breathing heavily, holding onto the bag over your shoulder as you reach the right door. Panicked and out of breath you show your pass to the man working the door and he just about lets you in grumbling something about it being way past the time slot and how you’re the last one in. You ignore all of it, instead you focus on your breathing and move along. You inhale sharply through your nose, trying to mask just how winded that rush got you. 

You take your place as the last one in the line. Turning around just in time you see the door guy close off the room, not letting anybody else in. Phew. You just about made it. You smooth out your summer dress, adjusting the bag you had over your shoulder as you look around the hall. God, you’ll be waiting forever!

You knew it would be busy but having usually avoided convention centres it still hits you hard with how overwhelmingly packed the hall is. The ventilation and air conditioning could be state-of-the-art and it would still feel stuffy. Looking around you feel like one of the few people who didn’t bother dressing up like their favourite heroes. You see about thirty Queen Maeves at a quick glance, another twenty Black Noirs, a few of the Seven’s new member Starlight but the most prevalent one is easily a sea of Homelander knock-offs. The sea of cheap red, blue and white assaults your vision, making it actually pretty overwhelming to look around.

For once Homelander is actually drowned out in a sea of look-alikes where normally he stands out like a sore thumb in all his primary-coloured glory. Homelander. Just the thought of seeing him here makes you pick at your nails and bite your lips with anxiety. Sure, you’ve met him before. You’ve talked. You even had sex, really good sex, goddammit. You have history. But still, you’ve never done this. Not the in-public meet & greets that you decided to put yourself through today. But still, you’re doing this for him. 

The longer you’re standing at the end of the line the longer being surrounded by fans dressed in Spirit Halloween versions of the Seven’s costumes is becoming less comical and more uncanny valley. You only wonder what it feels like to them.

You slowly move through the line. Sighing impatiently, your nerves are slowly being replaced by irritation as you watch the interactions play out in front of you. You’re now close enough to see and overhear. Thankfully with each step you take forward the people in front of  you get what they came here for and they leave, making the hall a little more breathable. 

You’re now watching Homelander as he tends to each fan, all puffed up and high energy to replicate the vision they all have of him but you see how much he wishes to be anywhere but here. Most of the Seven do. Vought plucks them from what most expected to be their duties, like saving the world, and instead they drop them in front of cameras and paying fans. You watch as Homelander signs each piece of merchandise his fans bring him, one after another with a smile on his face.

Having seen part of his real self, or the extension of himself he doesn’t show the media you see the smile for what it is. Placating, empty, downright forced. Were you none the wiser you wouldn’t have thought to look past the showmanship but now you knew better. It was easy to notice his tells, his jaw ticks anytime he’s irritated, his eye twitches anytime he has to hold a smile for too long or anytime he’s forced to compliment someone. You overhear his booming stage-voice going, ‘you look great buddy, wear it better than I do!’ for about the twentieth time. The crowd eats it up, again, and somehow they’re blind to his tortured expression. Sure, he hides it very well but if any of them cared to look underneath the surface it would be glaringly obvious. Instead they look at him like the hero they want him to be. Flawless, perfect, serving their needs. The more you’re privy to this viewpoint the more it grates on you. He’s so much more than that! And you don’t understand how they don’t see it. More than that, you're angry that they willfully don’t want to see it. Why would they ruin the image of a perfect hero they look up to when they don’t care to know the person behind the suit in the first place. 

You shake your thoughts away, focusing on keeping up with the queue. Thankfully the hall has now almost emptied, few residual fans loiter around taking pictures of themselves in their costumes with the Seven members right behind them. As it’s almost your turn, and with that the end of the event, you clumsily pull out a postcard out of your bag clutching it in your hands getting it ready to be signed.

With each step you hear him clearer and clearer. Your heartbeat picks up and by the time the Homelander female cosplayer in front of you gets her very own, ‘you might as well take my spot, you pull it off better than me’, your heart is pounding so hard that you think it must grate on Homelander’s nerves. You rub the glossy paper of the postcard in between your fingers trying to distract yourself from the impending doom that’s bound to be caused by whatever comes out of your mouth. Even after all that’s happened between you two, all that history, you cannot stop yourself from feeling flustered in a situation like this.

You’re so stuck in your head that you don’t realise that the lady in front of you already left and all who’s left is…well, you.

You’re broken out of your trance by a familiar voice.

“Looky, looky, who's here? I can't believe you actually showed up at one of these.” There he goes, grinning like a Cheshire cat as he quickly looks you up and down. Already his eyes are glittering with excitement. Your heart skips a beat at his smile. It's more genuine. You see the annoyance seep out of him, his posture a little more relaxed. 

“Yeah…about that. I thought I couldn't really call myself a fan otherwise right?” You rattle off some lines and your anxious mess of a gut is slowly unravelling to make room for the coil of excitement replacing it. Sure, you’re nervous. How couldn't you be. But the place is nearly empty and there isn't much he could say that would get you as flustered as he did the first time.

“Here for an autograph? The one I gave you before wasn't good enough?” Right. Scratch that. You blush a bright red as the images flood back into your mind. And he's grinning so widely, clearly pleased with how he can so easily make you into a blubbering mess. Even if someone overheard, there’s technically nothing dirty about his words but the shiver they send down your spine along with the vivid imagery is enough to make you feel indecent in a public space.

“No—no! It was, um, great. I just—uh—wanted something a little more permanent.” You quickly look around seeing if anyone caught that interaction as if they could read your mind. Well, you are in a room full of superheroes, who knows what they can or can’t do. Thankfully, it doesn’t appear like anyone is interested in Homelander signing a photo for yet another fan. The rest of the Seven is slowly filtering out of the room, finally relieved of their duty.

“Alrighty-doo, let me sign that for you.” He takes his hand out prompting you to put the postcard in his palm. You do so, giving him a little timid smile. Your hands shake a little as you retreat them back by your sides. Catching the way his eyes linger on the movement you cover your shakiness by clasping your hands together in front of you.

“Is this all you want me to sign? Did you really wait the entire line for that?” He says his eyes squinting incredulously as he waves the postcard with his likeness in front of you. Without waiting for your answers he still places it in front of him reaching for his marker pen.

“What was I meant to bring?” You scrunch your eyebrows with confusion. Sure, you weren’t used to going to these events but you still brought something he could sign, that’s good enough, is it not?

“For starters, something that my signature won’t cover entirely.” 

“It’s fine if it covers it.” You brush off his concerns. Really you didn’t care about the signature as much as you cared about seeing him. So placement be damned.

You look as he uncaps the pen, turning the card around. It’s a photo of him in his hero pose standing against a very patriotic background. Originally it came in a pack of seven postcards, one for each member of the Seven. You don’t want to admit that you were so anxious over deciding whether you would even turn up or not that when it came to the day you forgot to bring an item to sign. Hence the pack of generic postcards you bought on the way when you realised that you forgot just about the most important item. This also turned out to be the reason for your tardiness, you spent way too long in the shop just angsting over the small selection of items you could even pick from. 

“You know it's a real shame you of all people didn't come dressed up. I'd like to see you as Mrs Homelander.” He says all cheeky and amused at the image in his head, while he’s fiddling with his marker pen, trying to start his signature for the third time but the ink has run out.  

“Oh no no no, I couldn't. I don't think it would be a good look on me. I mean nobody can rock the uniform like you do!” The idea of dressing up as him was ridiculous, you couldn’t just take that away from him. He’s more than a circus animal to you.

“You think I rock it?” He gives you a look, clearly fishing for compliments while he lets his voice rumble. He might not be in your ear but you still feel a shiver dance down your spine. You don’t think you’ll ever get over the effect his voice has on you. He just knows how to pull your strings. And what’s a puppet to do if not follow.

“It looks very good on you. The colour brings out your eyes.” You make an awkward gesture, pointing at your dress and then your eyes, as if it wasn’t obvious that those two had the same colour on him. You cringe internally but he always seems endeared by your awkwardness. You think it probably feeds his ego. You’re always such a mess in front of him and he slurps it up.

“Wowie, heavy on the flattery today are we?” He’s fiddling with his marker pen, trying to start his signature for the third time but the ink has run out.  “Oh for fucks sakes.” He tries another two times, the leather of his glove creaking with pressure around the pen. You expect him to snap it in half at this point but he just sighs and recaps the used marker, placing it down. He looks around, his jaw ticking as he mumbles, “where the fuck is Ashley…” He rolls his eyes, muttering something about being surrounded by incompetent idiots as he stands up. 

“Just, come with me, I think there are some spares in my dressing room.” He waves his hand, still holding the postcard in the other one.

“Are you sure? It’s really no big deal!” You feel guilty at the way his suggestion sends a shiver up your spine. You’re not entitled to it but the fantasy of him fucking you in his dressing room still plays out in your mind. 

“Nope, you waited your turn. You know I’m not one to leave my biggest fans empty handed.” He winks at you before he beckons you to follow him. You give a short nod and you scurry behind him like a little duckling, mesmerized by the sway of his cape swishing with each purposeful step. You feel your heart rate rise with every step, just being in his presence is overwhelming and the closer you get to his dressing room the more vivid your fantasy gets.

“Righty-ho,” Homelander says as he opens the door to his dressing room, fiddling around to pick up a spare marker. He presses the postcard against the wall signing it for you with a silver sharpie. You stand in the half open door a little awkwardly. Rather than focusing on him, you’re looking around making sure nobody sees you standing in Homelander’s dressing room. He tears you away from your paranoid thoughts as he hands the card back to you with a sing-songy, “there you go!” 

Your eyes widen and you gingerly take the postcard with a “oh, thank you,” and you gently put it back into your bag, not wanting to smear the ink. Part of you was disappointed that he genuinely took you here for innocent reasons. 

Like the open book you’ve always been to him he reads your facial expressions for what they are barking a laugh at the dumb-struck look you were sporting. “What? Did you think I brought you here to fuck you?” He leans against the doorframe, his tone a little condescending and mean. 

You really do your best to recover but your embarrassed blush and the spike in your heart-rate is such a blatant giveaway of your true thoughts. “N-no! I wouldn’t, of course not.” It doesn’t matter what you say in the moment, it’s not wiping the all-knowing smirk off his face.

“Jesus, you’re so easy, you know that?” His gaze is predatory as he looks you up and down again, this time slowly, reaaally taking you in. Before you know what’s happening he yanks you into the room, closing the door behind you. For all his strength he controls it well as you don’t end up with a dislocated shoulder after a move like that.

He cages you in against the door, leaning close to your ear so he can get his voice nice and low and he whispers, “For that kind of slutty behaviour I definitely need to fuck you.” You can hear the smirk in his voice. You love how easily he reads you, there’s nothing you can hide from and you know that these days, you’re his favourite book. In a way it’s liberating, it removes the thoughts behind actions, it removes the second-guessing. You know that he knows what you want. So you don’t have to make propositions and embarrass yourself further, he’s either gonna take you as he pleases or tell you to get lost. So far it’s always been the former. 

His gloved hand grabs the side of your jaw as he leans back and the woodsy, natural scent of leather whiffs past your nose. His other hand is less stationary, he brazenly glides his hand down your dress, generously palming your tits before he slides down further down your waist and back, settling on your ass. “Gotta teach you a lesson that you shouldn't be spreading your legs for men you don't really know that well.” He growls out tilting your head so he’s directly staring into your eyes with his impossibly piercing blues.

“You’re not just a man.” 

“Mhm you got that right.” He purrs all pleased at the obvious stroke to his ego. You’re all flustered, breathy and eager for him and he loves it. The pure adoration and love you give him so easily just flows through him, feeding that black hole starved for affection inside him.

He didn’t wait a second longer to kiss you, one gloved hand still on your jaw, the other quickly moving up to the back of your head pressing you into him. With a moan he kisses you, already acting like you’ve been starving him this entire time. His kisses are feverish, already hot hot hot as his lips ply yours open. You feel his shaky breath hot against your lips while the plush pillows of his lips are pressing against yours in a frenzy.

You wrap your hands around his neck for support more than anything. You know how he gets. Your heart rate has skyrocketed by now, beating hard and loud in his ears as he presses his tongue in between your lips, already wanting to be in you one way or another.

You part your lips for him just like you’d part your legs and you let him kiss you, heavy, hot and wet as he holds you with almost shaky hands trying to get as much as he can out of you.

His ravenous kisses don’t relax you, they make your body feel tight, wound up, always expecting and wanting more. At this moment you need him as much as he needs you. You grind your body against him with each more pressing and needy kiss. You know he can feel you through his suit, even though it’s handily hiding his hard-on. He still moans when you rub against him, clearly just as wound up as you are.

He pulls away, his eyes no longer that bright piercing blue but now his pupils are blown, his gaze lustful and heavy. His breathing is rough and stuttered. Even though he can’t get winded or tired his body is so strained that he pants for you like a thirsty dog.

Homelander takes his time to calm down, wanting to take control of the situation, he wants you to look up at him with those unsuspecting sweet wide doe eyes while he defiles you. And you do, you look up at him, panting out of actual lack of breath and you stare in reverence. 

There he goes, grinning like a shark again and you’re already waiting for the foul words that he’s undoubtedly going to thoroughly wet your panties with.

“Tell me,” he purrs out, seducing you with his dulcet tones. “How many times did you make yourself cum to my voice, huh?” He’s now leaning into your ear again, knowing this is where the occasional brush of his lips makes your body burn bright and hot. “Or to the memory of my cock inside you?” 

You expect him to be filthy and talk with no filter, it’s his specialty behind closed doors, but it still catches you off-guard. It especially does anytime you’re reminded of the time he utterly ruined you for any other man in your home, in your safe space, in your bed.

“I don’t know—many times. I, um, I lost count.” You don’t know exactly what answer he wants from you but you know that he will turn each and every one against you. His hair tickles the side of your face as he nuzzles into you with a small whimper before continuing. 

“Yeah? Maybe you should show me, do it for me. A little performance as a reward for all that I've done for you.” You hear the restraint in his voice. You know he wants nothing more than to just fuck you, have you fall apart on him. For him. But you also know Homelander loves to play. And he doesn’t want the game to be over yet. “You can do that for me, can’t you?” He goads you with that. Homelander knows just as much as he swallows up all your love and affection; you thrive on being reminded of how much you adore and worship him. How much you’d do anything for him. Anything. 

Homelander pulls back from you, his hands now firmly on your waist as if you were a flight risk.

“What do you mean?” You regain some sense of self after he gives your hot and flushed body a little break. 

“I mean you’re gonna sit your pretty ass in that chair, make yourself cum for me, while I watch.” He guides your body towards the further end of the dressing room where he points at a chair in front of a lit vanity table that’s still littered with make-up and brushes from when his team got him ready for today’s event.

Your body is buzzing with excitement but part of you is still a little embarrassed by such a blatantly open display. He wants you to sit in that chair, spread your legs and give him a perfectly lit view of the way you get yourself off? Yeah, that’s not the easiest thing you’ve ever done. But again, for him, you’ll do anything. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” He pulls the chair out a bit tilting his head towards it. He looks at you, blatantly undressing you with his eyes. Literally, undressing. You may not physically feel his x-ray vision but the look in his eyes and the way he stops at your tits with a leery smile on his face is very telling. He doesn’t bother to hide how much he ogles, he knows how much it turns you on anyway. “Come on, panties off and hop on.” He clicks his tongue impatiently.

You sneak your hands under your dress and pull the hem of your panties down. You slide them down your legs until they pool at your ankles where you step out of them with your shoes still on.

Homelander chuckles to himself as he picks up the undergarment inspecting the damage. “You’re like a faucet, always fucking dripping wet.” He brings them closer to his face, inspecting the pair of Homelander-themed panties. He inhales the scent of your pussy now that it’s long seeped into the fabric. “I didn’t think these would be salvageable after last time.” He speaks as if he was talking about the weather and not pure debauchery while he indulges in the scent of your cunt.

“I got more pairs.” You said with a shrug as you got into the chair. You had to jump up a little as it was set on the highest setting for Homelander’s viewing pleasure.

You watch as he tosses the panties on the vanity table in front of you. “You’re gonna have to spread those legs some more.” He tuts with his tongue. You spread your legs as wide as you can in the chair and he shakes his head. “No, nope that won’t do either. Legs up on the arm rests.” He commands and as much as you want to comply, even you have your limits.

“I’m not that flexible!” You yelp out in amusement. “Wait!” You exclaim again except this time he easily manoeuvres you around in that chair with his stupid strength and you feel like a pretzel as you’re being pushed into the right position.

He ends up hooking just one of your legs over the armrest letting you rest it against the vanity table and giving you a comfortable enough position but more importantly, giving him a great view. “See, there you go. Flexible enough.” He pulls off his gloves one by one, throwing them on the table, out of view. “Come on, show off for me,” He coos in your ear, his bare hands, hot and smooth, sliding up your legs picking up the hem of your dress on the way as he pulls it up.

You gasp at the view in front of yourself. In the lit mirror in front of you you see yourself spread wide, your pussy easily visible and glistening in the bright light. This might as well be a porn shoot with how well lit and visible all your parts are. As you instinctively start closing your legs Homelander presses your thighs down, barely putting any power into it yet you feel the unyielding strength thrumming through his fingertips.

“Don’t be shy, you know I’ve seen it all.” He tucks the skirt of your dress above your waist and behind your back. Your hand slowly slinks down to rest on the bunched up fabric of your dress.

He straightens up properly standing behind you, his hands land on your shoulders, close to your neck, squeezing softly. He watches you in the mirror. He extends his pointer finger pushing your jaw up so you look up and meet his gaze. “Keep going, spread that pretty pussy for me.” He growls in your ear as his eyes are locked on the way your fingers slide down your slit, your pointer and middle finger spreading your pussy open for him to see. “Just as I said, like a fucking faucet.” He chuckles at the sight of you drenched and dripping.

You blush at the way he’s staring so intently at your reflection. Your fingers tentatively run up and down, gathering the wetness on your fingers, bringing it up to your clit where you rub small, shy circles around it. You’re taut as a bow and struggling to relax.

“Stop thinking and start feeling.” Homelander purrs in your ear. “I know you can do this for me, can’t you?” His voice sends a hot flush down your body, and you feel your clit throb under your fingers.

“Yeah… I can.” You breathe you, closing your eyes for a second to take a deep breath. The tension slowly leaves your body as Homelander presses soft kisses down the side of your face as he leans over to your other side. You let your hand go on auto-pilot trusting it to know what to do. You suck in a sharp breath as he sucks on your jaw, giving it a little nip while you still circle your clit with a soft squelch of your slick.

“There’s my girl.” He watches as you breathe deeply, your eyes finally opening to watch as he descends more kisses down your neck. You shiver at the sensation, pressing in your fingers a little harder, at the right pressure in the right spot. You’re just about to dip lower, push a finger inside your wet, needy hole but Homelander speaks up. “Uh uh, nothing but my cock is going inside that pussy today so keep your fingers on your clit.” Your entire body prickles with heat all over at his words. He’s so brazen and upfront and no matter how many times you hear it it always makes your head spin and pussy throb. 

You nod a simple ‘okay’ and only ever slide your fingers down to collect more of your own slick. Homelander is whimpering with you as if just the sight of your pussy was enough to get him off. For him, it’s intoxicating. His senses enhance the way your slick squelches loud to his ears and the scent of your pussy just makes him want to stop this little game and rail you already. Yet, he’s a patient man when he wants to be. And more so, indulging in his own desperate urge isn’t as fun as watching you submit to him first.

“Eyes open.” Homelander interrupts the thoughts and visuals in your head. Your eyes snap open and you meet his sharp gaze in the mirror. You didn’t even realise you had them closed. “What were you thinking about?” He asks, almost testing you. As if saying, you better not be straying too far from the path he wants you on.

“‘M thinking about you fucking me.” You say meekly, your fingers rubbing at a particular rhythm now that you know will get you off. Your clit is already throbbing, aching under your fingers.

“Getting a bit ahead of yourself missy, first you’ll have to cum for me.” He says nonchalantly while he pushes the strap of your dress and bra down your free arm. As much as you’ve gotten more used to functioning around him, his voice still makes you dizzy, especially when he’s a master at saying the most depraved shit. 

You pause to help him get out of the other set of straps and when your arm goes up to slip out of the strap he gives your slicked fingers a little suck, tasting you with a pleased grin making you flush hot.

While you go back to rubbing your clit Homelander unclasps your bra from behind your back dropping it on the floor and he pushes your dress down, already groaning at the sight of your tits free for his eyes to feast on. He presses his hands against your tits from either side, groaning at the sensation of the plush pillows underneath his hands.

“That's a good girl, keep rubbing that clit.” He growls out an order, yet somehow he looks more frazzled than you while he's not even the one performing. “Open up,” he whispers, his voice frayed at the edges as he presses two fingers against your lips. Obediently, you open up giving them a suck and laving them with your saliva while you keep eye contact with his reflection. He moans at the raunchy display, his eyes glazing over as he pulls his fingers out. With both his hands back on your tits he pinches your nipples, overwhelming you with the different sensation of one being rubbed wet and the other dry. You whine at the sensation, your pussy throbbing with each hot breath you feel against your neck as he tucks his head against it.

He listens to your heart beat like a drum in his ear, while he gives your nipples all his love and attention. He whispers and moans sweet nothings into your ear whilst watching you rub harder and faster finding the perfect rhythm that has cascading heat climb up your spine. “Thaaat’s it, come on—fuuck—come on, you can cum for me. I know you can.” Homelander watches as your muscles tense, seeing your body just ready to snap. What really does you in is the way he’s whimpering like he’s the one getting off. It’s like he’s sharing all the pleasure you're feeling with you.  

You cum with Homelander’s lips whispering against your ear as you hold your breath, your body tense until it finally gives in and you feel the wave of heat and tingling pleasure wash over you from your core to your limbs. “Ohhh god.” You finally release your breath, your chest heaving with the release.

Homelander is less impressed. Clicking his tongue again against the roof of his mouth.

“Mhm that won’t do, you can do better than that. I’ve seen you cum better than that.” 

You barely have the strength to counteract his claim. This was easily one of your strongest orgasms and he’s trying to say that it was weak? Oh please. You shake your head. You know he’s just playing his little game of ‘I can do whatever the fuck I want’ so you let him.

“Come on, up you go,” He says as he pulls you up on your feet all wobbly and numb from the way you were sitting on the chair. He pushes the chair out of the way with enough force that it topples over with a bang. He bends you over the vanity table where you’re up close and personal with the mirror, watching Homelander’s reflection as he hurriedly unzips his pants pushing them halfway down his thighs. 

You can’t see his cock from this angle but you’re sure it’s rock fucking hard and leaking precum with the way he’s panting like a dog in heat. He’s not even in you and he looks about three strokes away from finishing.

“God, fffuck!” He grits out through his teeth before parting his lips letting a long groan out as the tip of his cock parts your folds, immediately finding your soaked hole and pushing inside with one long slide. He huffs and puffs, his head tilted back as he keeps his eyes shut with restraint. His cock is hot and hard inside you, giving your pussy something to quiver around. 

You’re overstimulated, your nerves totally fried and your body has still nowhere recovered from your performance of a lifetime but you still take him in. You push your ass towards him, whimpering yourself as you feel his hands land on your hips, holding you there. “Look at how your pussy just opens up for me. Taking me riiiight in.” Homelander’s voice is strangled and raspy as he hisses air through his teeth.

You whimper at the way his words leave you buzzing and mindless with pleasure. You prop your elbows against the table as he starts fucking you, dragging his cock agonisingly slowly at first as if he was so sensitive he was about to bust. 

Thankfully that gives you some time to recover and your pussy is no longer screaming at you that it’s too much. He gives you more and more with each thrust, letting out a breathy soft moan each time he hits home. Tip to hilt on every slide. 

His boots kick your legs together giving him a tighter, more pronounced feel. That’s where he really starts to pick up speed. He moves his hands up, gripping where the fabric of your dress is still bunched up as he wholeheartedly fucks into you, minding his strength of course, he gives you what you can take and not a drop more.

You’re so deliciously taken in by him that you barely remember where you are and that you reaaally shouldn’t be screaming and moaning at the top of your lungs. Against all odds, your body is still so wired up and wound up that you feel the climbing sensation prickle at your nerves, your legs quivering with each stroke.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Homelander pulls out of you unceremoniously and you whine.

“I was so close!” You pull a displeased face in the mirror, looking at his reflection.

“I know. And so does everyone on the other side of that door.” He mumbles as he picks up the panties he tossed earlier on the table except this time he balls them up stuffing them in your mouth. You protest around them, your eyes widening in shock and your body flushing with indecent heat when you get a remnant of your taste from the soaked fabric.

“I don’t need people barging in to see who’s screaming bloody fucking murder.”

He turns you around, swiftly picking you up and plopping you on top of the vanity table where you’re nicely lit from behind. “Now behave, the door’s not locked. I’d rather not have anyone see you like this. Capiche?” You nod fervently, at this point just doing anything to get him back in you. 

“Good girl.” He coos as he pulls your legs up wrapping his forearms underneath your thighs, his hands gripping the sides for easy control. And just like that he slides back into you. You give muffled little sighs into the fabric of your panties as he fucks you hard against the table, making it rattle on its legs. The littered makeup and brushes were now rolling off and in some cases breaking on impact.

“You’re always so fucking worked up. Just need someone to fuck you don’t you. Poor little fangirl, so obsessed with me she doesn’t even have time to date anyone else.” He gives you a sharp grin, his canines sharp like a predator’s would be. You body flushes with embarrassment at the almost degrading comment and with the way you’re gagged and fucked you feel like Homelander’s personal toy. 

He fucks you until your legs tremble in his hold and your eyes flutter shut with each press of his cock deep inside you.

He slows down with the literally mind-melting grinds of his pelvis against yours and instead he looks you straight in the eyes getting your attention. “Did you learn? Will you be good?” You nod. He takes the panties out of your mouth, leaving the now even more damp fabric back on the table. 

You keep your promise and you keep mainly quiet, biting your lips shut and only letting the occasional whimper out as he strokes a particularly good spot inside you. Instead you let your body do the screaming for you. You shake and tremble around him, all tense and hot and Homelander doesn’t need to hear you scream to know that you’re close.

With your lips free again he captures them, as if he’s been starved this entire time without them. He kisses you deep and wet while he bucks into you, slowly losing his impeccable rhythm as he’s so strung out for an orgasm it’s bound to happen any second.

“Ah—I’m, uh, close…” You nearly whisper out, all strangled and needy. Homelander nods, clearly just as far gone. He lets one of your legs go, instead letting you wrap it around his waist as he places his fingers on your clit, giving you the extra push to the finish line.

He doesn’t wait for you as he cums in the next, one, two, three, strokes. But he pushes through still fucking into you while his cock pumps you full of his load. You cum immediately after, it’s more the thought than the faint feeling of him finishing inside you that just pushes you over the edge. A burst of buzzing fireworks sparks behind your eyelids as you close your eyes shut through the euphoria sinking into your bones. 

You’re panting, catching your breath, moaning your residual finish in small whimpers. “Wow, that was—”

There’s a sharp knock on the door.

“Sir, you’re needed on stage in 10 minutes.” Ashley’s panicked shrill can be heard on the other side of the door and your heart stops for a second before realising it’s her. Ashley knows better than to barge into any rooms ever since Homelander’s shown interest in you. 

“Oh well, there goes the afterglow.” You mumble with a tired laugh. Homelander nods quietly as he tucks himself back in, finally spent and satisfied—for the time being at least.

Homelander looks at you with fond hunger, leaning in for a soft kiss. “Yeah. Sorry I have to cut it short.” He grumbles, displeased, as he nuzzles his face in the junction of your neck.

He pulls away, reaching for your bra and passing it to you so you could make yourself presentable again.

“Tell me, did you actually leave the door unlocked?” You ask. 

“No! I don’t want anyone else seeing you like this. Well. I want you out there with me, just not when you’re freshly fucked. That’s all for me.” He gives you a wide grin, unable to stop himself from peppering you with kisses, capturing your lips again hungry for them as if you’re constantly denying him air. 

“Thank you for today.” He breathes hotly against your lips. “You know how to indulge me, I really didn’t think you’d turn up.” He smiles against you, caving in for another kiss.

“What wouldn’t I do for you?” You say with an amused roll to your eyes, but it’s all light-hearted. He knows you really would do anything for him. 

“I haven’t found that out yet.” He rumbles all pleased as he helps you make sense of the mess he made of your dress.

“And you never will,” You beam at him, your heart pounding again but this time it’s just from that overwhelming love you have for him, the butterflies that don’t seem to ever calm down in his presence. Even though you’ve been secretly together for a couple of months ever since the fated phone call, the excitement hasn’t even begun waning yet. 

“Hey, you know, you’re a really great actress. Had me sold quite a few times. Maybe I should get Vought to cast you in a movie alongside me, huh?” He grins as he picks up his gloves, pulling them over his hands again. 

You have to laugh. Sure, you’ve enjoyed role-playing as the obsessed fan that you were a few months ago but it wasn’t all acting. 

“I wasn’t acting! Well, obviously I did with the ‘I don’t know what’s gonna happen’ part but beyond that I was really nervous to be with you like that in a public place. You know how I get. It’s not that I don’t want to be with you publically, it’s just a huge adjustment. So… baby steps.” You finally adjust your dress though you still very much look like you just got railed. 

“Come ooon, let me make you mine officially. Fuck this sneaking around. The people who need to know, know. The rest is not important.” He presents you with his sweet honeyed voice, and he’s cheating really, he knows how much it affects you.

In a way, he’s right. The people who matter at Vought know about you seeing as you’re up at his place every other day but there was something terrifying about announcing to the entire world that you were Homelander’s girlfriend. That’s nothing easy to get used to. He’s not just a celebrity. He is the celebrity. You will have to say bye-bye to the comforts of a private life. But maybe that’s all worth it for him. 

“Okay. How about you go do your job and I go do mine and when you see me for dinner we can talk about it again. Sounds good?” You said as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in for another sweet kiss.

“Sounds good." He repeats before continuing with a fond, "I love you,” which always comes out a little strained. He’s never been able to say it without letting himself drown in the endless pool of emotions that are just swirling around inside him. 

“I love you too. Now go before Ashley has a heart attack. You’re already late.” You kiss him sweetly, adjusting his hair, making it look more purposefully-tousled, less ‘sex-hair’. You let him go, smoothing your hand down his suit. 

“Oh please, I’m the Homelander. Does the party really even start without me there?” He blows a raspberry into the air with a scoff.

“Sure doesn’t, babe.” You shake your head, amused as you watch him wave you off and shut the door behind himself.

You took the time to make yourself look more presentable but you couldn’t leave the room in the state you both left it in. So you collected the things that fell, you wiped the surfaces clean and you trashed whatever broke on the way. It’s the least you could do.

You looked into the mirror, almost not recognising the woman you’ve become over the past few months. Being someone who feeds off your endless adoration has done wonders for your confidence. You no longer feel crazy and obsessive. You’ve finally found someone who’s never gonna have enough of you. Someone who inhales your love like the oxygen he needs to breathe.

You revere Homelander less as an icon and more as a person, as a partner, these days. You know so much more of who he is now and strangely, while he scares others, you’ve never felt safer in his presence. Something about you two just clicks. It’s no wonder he wants to show you to the rest of the world. He wants to lock you in, have people forever associate with him.

And soon enough, there will be no way out.

[Part 3]

Taglist (you can add yourself to be notified anytime I publish a new Homelander story): @morishitoshi

[myhappylittlesideblog]

SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL ♡

pairing: homelander x fem!reader

summary: homelander has taken an interest in you, vought's new intern. no matter how you look at it, as a good or bad thing, it ends the same way: him getting what he wants.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, dubcon, p in v, oral (m receiving), body worship, sir kink, obsessive behavior, manipulation/coercion, age gap (reader in early 20s)

wc: 7.7k (oops lol)

a/n: hehe. never thought i would write for this man but it was pretty fun :) comm for my sweet beloved @gor3-hound love you so very much mwah mwah <33

At the junction of the V-shaped table, Homelander sat. With his back to the skyline and his gloved hands folded in front of him, he held the posture of a statue. Ashley had been rambling on and on and fucking on for the past five minutes about shit he couldn't care less about. Her nasally voice bounced off the tile floors and painted ceiling, ricocheting around him like a rogue bullet. Only his impregnable skin didn't protect him from the discomfort of this situation.

It was moments like these that really made him regret killing Stillwell.

That woman knew how to handle things. As manipulative as she could be, at least she wasn't absolutely insufferable. How could Stan let Ashley replace her? She was a poor excuse of just about everything. Absolutely spineless, unintelligent, reactionary, and opportunistic. He really couldn't picture any person on this Earth genuinely liking her.

However in the midst of his mental complaints, he realized that the annoying sound of her speaking was directed at him. All the other stares in the room were zeroed in on him too. A-Train observed in cautious silence. Noir's goggles reflected Homelander's own image right back at him. Maeve judged with a sideways glance. And Starlight prepared for the worst.

He tore his own bright blue eyes from the door opposite the table and refocused them on Ashley. They scanned over her thinning ginger locks down to her gaudy outfit - a piss poor attempt at imitating power.

"What?" he asked, his voice cutting through the air with a force similar to one of Maeve's swords.

Ashley blinked in return. Fear swirled in her wide eyes. She tried to maintain that empowered appearance she so desperately wished was real, but he could see the innate urge to cower bubbling within her.

"Was that lineup for the funeral ok with you, Homelander? A-Train and Noir open, Starlight sings, and then you close?" she repeated.

Now it was his turn to blink. Like he could actually give a shit about the order of segments for Translucent's funeral. He swallowed hard. While she projected a mirage of power, he had to do the same with level-headedness.

"That's fine, Ashley. Have those two go first, and Starlight can follow up with Amazing Grace or whatever shitty hymns they teach in that hick town she's from, and then I can finish us out," he responded.

He could see how her knuckles were going white around the edge of her clipboard. She gripped it for comfort, as if that could save her from his potential wrath. It only irritated him more. If he wanted her dead, he would turn her to ashes where she stood. How hard she braced herself in advance wouldn't matter in the slightest. But people could be so foolish in moments of terror.

"Well speaking of that," she said before clearing her throat, an attempt at a natural transition, "We were trying to decide what song she would sing. Maybe one of our originals? Or do you think it would be more tasteful to go with something from an outside source?"

Gritting his teeth, he buried the urge to unleash the bright beams of red from his sockets. His hands slid off one another and pressed down onto the cool table.

"Do you really need me to decide what song is going to send Translucent to the grave?" he replied, "I don't care what you play, and no one else attending will either. They'll be focused on working up some tears for the useless dipshit they never had the displeasure of knowing. Instead of trying to gain their approval, we should be working on finding the next member of the Seven who can replace him. There's no use dwelling on the past. We need to be preparing for the future."

He paused to let his words permeate the room, giving everyone a chance to absorb the sentiment and adapt accordingly. With his pupils still trained on Ashley, he planned on continuing his tirade, but his train of thought came to an abrupt halt.

Soft pitter-patters of footsteps clacked down the hall outside this room. They sounded in a delicate rhythm, only audible to him. As they grew louder, he caught the scent of the source too. Airy and light. A stark contrast to the brash perfume Ashley doused herself in.

The doors at the front of the room slid apart to reveal you.

You stood there for a moment. The realization that you'd interrupted something was visible in your eyes. The small spheres cast down as you wobbled in like a fawn that sensed wolves watching from nearby.

Ashley turned to face you, a glower already set on her features. The resentment she held for everyone else in this building awoke from its usual dormant slumber because there was finally someone weaker she could take it out on.

Once you reached her, your hand rose and gave her a thin stack of papers. 

"I'm sorry for interrupting. It's a memo from 82. They made it sound urgent," you explained, everything about your temperament meek and timid.

After a brief pause to let you marinate in the few moments before your inevitable humiliation, she snatched the papers from you. Her eyes roamed over the page with disinterest. Even if the information conveyed by the small black letters was important, he doubted she would give it any reaction. She wanted to lash out, and she was going to, whether it was justified or not.

"They couldn't have emailed me this?" she snapped, as if that was something you could control.

"I don't know. I'm sorry. I'll check next time," you offered.

"You better or you'll run out of next times," she threatened, "Incompetence like this won't fly here. You're in the big leagues now, so act like it. Think before you do something instead of taking commands like a lap dog."

"I'm sorry," you replied, ducking your head again.

"Don't be sorry, just do better," she commanded.

"I will," you agreed.

"Good. Just get out of here now. Go pick up my lunch," she told you.

His lips curled into a scowl as he watched the scene play out. It was pathetic - not you, but Ashley. He hated seeing the fucking smirk on her face as you walked away. She had nothing to be smug about. She was nothing more than a feral coyote going after the scraps the other predators didn't take.

To make matters worse, when she returned her attention to the group at the table, she saw the look on his face. She saw the disdain, but instead of striking regret into her, it only deepened her sense of self-satisfaction.

She thought the look was for you. That he was disgusted with your mistake. Annoyed with your intrusion.

He couldn't have that. Not when that assumption was the farthest thing from the truth. Honestly, he didn't know if he was even capable of feeling such ire towards you. Not his precious little fawn.

Rising from his seat, his glare remained on Ashley. She did show a little fear then.

"You know, I don't have all day, Ashley. I'll open Translucent's funeral, Starlight will follow up with a song, and that will be it. A-Train and Noir can have the day off, because let's be honest, nobody will give shit either way," he mocked.

"But, sir-" she said, clearly confused by his sudden impending departure.

"I have more important things to deal with. If you need anything else, I'm sure one of the others can help you," he dismissed.

With that, he stepped back from the table and began heading to the doors. He hoped if he was fast enough he could still catch you. Even in a building as sleek and modern as this one, the elevators could be quite slow.

Walking out into the hall, his head swiveled in the direction you would have gone. For once, his own portrait didn't catch his eye. He didn't even think about stopping by Stillwell's office to reminisce. Instead, he just headed down towards the elevator. His red boots thudded across smooth tile in rapid succession, covering the path you'd just taken.

Finally, after a few feet, he spotted you. Bottom lip pulled between your teeth. Eyes glossy with embarrassment. Tip of your polished shoe tapping against the ground. You startled when his voice boomed across the space, calling out your name. So cute.

You looked at him with fear in your eyes, but disgust didn't fester in the pit of his stomach like it did when others gave him that anxious stare. Another feeling bloomed inside him, one he couldn't really place. It was just that the nervous gleam over your pupils didn't make him hate himself and all the circumstances of his life that put him in his position.

Instead, your wide eyes and pouty lips made him feel strong. You made him feel like a hero. A real one, not the artificial caricature that Vought projected to the world. With you nearby, he felt like the kind of guy who deserved the American flag blowing off his back with a pretty girl cradled in his arms and a dead enemy at his feet. When you gazed up at him, he could only imagine that the pride rushing through his chest and confidence pooling between his hips was the feeling his creators intended for him.

"Did you need something from me, sir?" you asked, reminding him that he actually had to provide a reason to talk to you. Just wanting to stare at you like a psychopath would not suffice unfortunately.

"Oh no," he waved off, "The meeting just finished up. I was heading out too. I saw you, and I realized I haven't really taken the time to get to know you yet, which is unfortunate because I usually like to be familiar with the newer people we have working with us."

A complete lie. Before you, he didn't remember ever giving any of the interns a second glance. They were true nuisances. They were Ashleys.

"Oh... well I'm around whenever you wanna talk. Ashley keeps me busy, but I'm sure I could make an exception for you," you replied.

"You absolutely can make an exception for me," he chuckled, "If Ashley gives you any trouble, just let me know, and I'll make sure she remembers who's really in charge around here."

It wasn't until he heard your heart rate increase that he realized those words probably came off as threatening. Well, they were threatening, but you weren't supposed to see him that way.

"I'm kidding," he forced out with a laugh, "Just joking around like I do... I just don't want you to worry about getting in some kind of trouble for me sniffing around you."

You huffed out an awkward laugh of your own and nodded.  "I'll be sure to make some time for you in the future then and let Ashley know it was at your direction."

"Great," he said with probably too much enthusiasm. 

His jaw clenched into one of his usual tight smiles. He averted his eyes from you and looked towards the numbers on the elevator. Fuck, it was reaching the bottom. He didn't want to let you go, but it wasn't like he could just stroll down the street with you to go get Ashley's lunch. His mind scrambled to come up with a solution.

But like your earlier intrusion into the meeting, your gentle voice cuts through the hurricane forming in his head.

"Are you alright, sir?" you ask, anxious concern written all over your features.

He refocused on you and nodded. His arm extended out behind you, his palm landing against the elevator wall. As he leaned in, he could smell your adrenaline spiking. He could hear the shift of your shoe against the ground. If only he possessed a sixth sense for the mind, so he could know what little thoughts about him were flitting through your head.

"I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me," he answered. He smiled down at you, observing the slight nod you gave him in return.

"Of course not. It probably seems silly coming from me," you said.

His brows raised in amusement. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

He saw the flash of regret in your eyes. The one people always gave him when he asked a question in that tone. The one that came from the panic of realizing they may have said something that offended Homelander.

You suppressed it pretty well though and brought out a smile that gave the impression that you hoped he was messing with you instead.

"Well you know... because you're you," you said and tilted your head in an innocent way that made his chest ache.

He chuckled that charming, prepackaged laugh that had been trained into him. "Even I can appreciate someone taking an interest in checking on me," he replied.

It was maddening, how bad he wanted you. He wasn't even sure when this craving had sprouted inside him. He had been so preoccupied with his affinity for Stillwell that his fixation with you struck him like a glass window in front of a flying bird. But no matter the timeframe in which it blossomed, it had taken root by now and wasn't going to go away on its own.

When he looked at you like this - staring up at him with earnest fascination - his mind drifted to darker places all on its own. He couldn't stop it if he wanted to (and really, he didn't want to). It's just how was he not supposed to be aware of the fact that it would be all too easy to take you back to his room? How could he not think about what it would feel like to have your fragile body beneath his own in private? How could he not wonder what you'd sound like crying out in a sinful mix of pleasure and pain?

Hell, how was he supposed to pretend like he couldn't just bend you over and fuck you dumb right here in the middle of this elevator if he wanted to? No one would be able to stop him. There wouldn't be a thing they could do other than watch. They could stare in horror as he used you like he deserved, as he pounded into your warm, soft, dripping hole like he needed...

Unfortunately, painting that picture in his head had his blood rushing South. He felt the subtle simmer of desire in his pelvis, and he knew in no time his length would be filling out. This suit gave him no way of hiding it either. Clearly, whoever made it hadn't anticipated the Homelander popping a boner on the job.

But luckily for him, the elevator chimed with its arrival at the bottom floor. He straightened out as you looked ahead in preparation of your departure. But before you could go, he grabbed your arm. His touch was tender, holding the same force he'd use when cradling a baby at a photo-op.

"Maybe later tonight you'd like to take me up on one of those talks? After you're done for the day, you could stop by my place. The sooner the better, right?" he asked.

Your eyes widened ever so slightly, but you still nodded. "Um... sure thing. I'll head up once I've finished all my work. It should be around six if that's ok?" you offered.

"Yeah, that works for me. I'll be waiting," he said in an attempt to be playful.

You smiled once more and then headed out of the elevator. His fingertips dragged down your arm to your wrist as you walked away before you finally slipped from his grasp. He could hear your heart pounding faster than your footsteps as you headed towards the exit of the building.

At six o'clock sharp, a knock sounded through his penthouse. And it only took him a few seconds to swing the door open and greet you.

"There she is," he beamed with exaggerated politeness.

You smiled modestly in return, shrugging and smoothing out a crease in your blouse. "I couldn't let the leader of the seven down," you joked.

He scoffed but opened the door wider, beckoning you into his place. You took the invitation and crossed the threshold. Your eyes glanced around the place, taking note of all the things in the apartment that housed the most powerful man on Earth.

The American flag taking up an entire wall almost stopped you in your tracks. It would've been funny if it was someone else, but because it belonged to him, it stood there like a warning. You tried not to show how daunting you found it. Average people could be touchy about that famous piece of cloth. You didn't want to find out if the strongest supe felt the same through means of offending him. 

In place of letting that bother you, you shifted your attention over to all the historical pictures hanging on the walls and the sleek surfaces and drawers filled with things you couldn't begin to imagine. Your eyes casted over the statues accenting the space as well. It was all so very polished. It looked like what you'd expect the Homelander entry in an Ikea catalog to be.

"So what do you think?" he asked. He knew his words came off as stiff. Probably a little stilted sounding. He just couldn't help it. For the first time, he couldn't get a read on how you felt through physical signs alone. And right now, he really really wanted you to like him.

"It's... impressive," you answered.

But he could hear the hesitation in your voice. In each word, there was the same wavering quality to it that you get when Ashley grilled you in front of an audience. It wasn't the precious reverence that he saw in the elevator. The nervous kind of admiration you held for someone above your standing. This was just plain anxiety, and that served no purpose to him. 

Despite your trepidation however, you walked forward to the window at the back of the place. You looked out over the city in awe.

"I would love to live somewhere high up like this," you said.

He came up from behind to stand next to you in front of the glass panes. His eyes landed on your face. You stared out the window, wonder twinkling in your eyes. Your voice sounded almost breathless. It was adorable.

"No fear of heights?" he asked.

"Not when it comes to being inside. Maybe I'd be nervous if we were on a balcony or something," you replied.

"Oh come on. You'd have nothing to worry about if you were with me. I'd never let you fall," he said, dropping his voice a few octaves.

You made that cute little face again when those words hit your ears. Your eyes widened before they fell to look at your shoes. So modest, the way you shied away. He wondered if you were always so timid or if it was only when a god amongst men like himself flirted with you.

He chuckled and reached out, tilting your chin back up to look at him. "You don't need to be nervous," he soothed, "There's no safer place to be than with the Homelander, right?"

You nodded right along. His words left no room for objection.

"Good girl," he smirked and dragged a gloved thumb over your cheek. He pulled his hand back and stepped in the direction of the brown leather sectional that sat in the middle of the room.

"Come over here and sit down. We can talk," he directed.

Following him to the large couch, you took your seat near the corner. You assumed he'd sit at the other end or at least towards the middle of the perpendicular cushions, but no. He sat down in the corner with you. His body was at most a foot away.

He continued to smile at you though he didn't speak. It felt odd, sitting there in silence across from him. He wasn't doing anything overtly threatening, yet you still felt at his mercy.

"So, do you like it here so far? Do you feel like you're fitting into the Vought family?" he asked with a bit of an edge to that second word.

You nodded again. A relieved breath seeped from your lungs as the tense void in conversation came to an end. "Yeah, it's nice here. I feel like I'm learning a lot."

He chuckled and leaned back against the stiff backing of the sofa. His muscular arm draped along the top. Though it wasn't his intention to draw your focus there, he caught the way your eyes dragged over his bicep.

"That's good," he said, "It can be a lot when you're new. I wouldn't want you feeling overwhelmed."

"That's nice of you. I appreciate it, but I'm used to a busy schedule," you replied.

"You're freshly graduated, aren't you?" he checked.

"Yeah," you said, your lips quirking upwards at his guess.

"I thought so. You have that cute, wide-eyed, optimistic thing going for you."

A small laugh leaves your lips. "I know. Ashley said I'll grow out of it by the end of this quarter."

His face dropped, and he almost abandoned the prince charming act he was attempting to pull off for you. The mere mention of Ashley was enough to irk him, but the thought that she was trying to change you? Not only change you but jade you. To strip away the soft and sweet qualities that hooked him on you in the first place. It was criminal. He couldn't hide his disdain.

"You shouldn't listen to her," he said. He wasn't angry, but his cadence held intensity. "Ashley's problem is Ashley. To be honest, I don't even know why they gave her an intern. It's not like she'd be good at teaching anything when she still doesn't understand most things about our business herself."

Your fingers dug into the edge of your seat. It wouldn't have been significant in a normal conversation, but when speaking with a man who could hear a pin drop forty stories down, he noticed.

"You're still nervous," he observed.

In an instant, your hands flew to your lap, like you knew what gave your anxiety away. You fidgeted with the hem of your skirt and shrugged.

"A little," you admitted.

"Are you scared of me?" he asked.

You shook your head without even thinking about the question.

"No, it's not that. I swear," you reassured, "It's just that this is a big deal for me. I'm really honored you want to get to know me, and I just want to make a good impression."

"You don't need to worry about that. I wouldn't have invited you here if I didn't have a good impression of you," he said.

You sighed slightly, letting out a bit of tension, but he could still smell that boosted cortisol running through your blood.

"Come here," he ordered, his voice soft but undeniably firm.

"What?" you asked.

A puff of amused air blew from his nostrils. "Come here," he repeated, "Sit closer."

As if you needed the guidance, he patted the space directly beside his hip. He could see the uncertainty in your eyes even after the gesture. The lack of understanding toward his reasoning persisted. Regardless of your skepticism however, you scooted in his direction and ended up where he wanted you.

"That's better," he said.

With careful fingers, he slipped the glove off his right hand. Your eyes locked on it in subtle awe. You'd seen this man on billboards and commercials for years. His face dominated newscasts. His voice broadcast over the radio on a weekly basis. Still, you had never seen such a human part of him. Five fingers and a palm reaching for your own.

They clasped around your hand. His skin was smooth. The gloves preserved them from any marks of experience.

"Did Ashley warn you about me?" he asked, drawing your eyes back to his own.

Your heart thundered, but you couldn't lie. Never had Vought bragged about Homelander being a human lie detector, but in this moment, you felt like that was the case.

"Yes," you responded.

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. "You didn't believe her, did you?" he asked.

You could tell he already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear it.

"Yes," you whispered again.

"What did she tell you?"

It was hard to remember that conversation you'd had a few weeks ago with Ashley. Feeling like you were two seconds away from having lasers beamed through your skull made minute details fuzzy and distant, but you manage to choke a few out anyways.

"She said that you have a very specific vision for the Seven, and that you'll do anything to make your dreams reality. She was just saying you're ambitious. That you care about the greater good," you summarized.

"I have a feeling you're saying it a lot nicer than she did," he teased. He could feel the fear rolling off of you in waves, and in a moment, he would rectify that. But for right now, he didn't mind letting his precious little fawn tremble in terror for a few moments more.

"Yeah, she can be kind of blunt," you said with a shaky laugh.

"That's one word for it," he said.

"She's not gonna get in trouble because of what I said, is she?" you asked.

He couldn't help laughing at that. The sound came out low and throaty. You were just so fucking pure. Worried about protecting someone who wouldn't hesitate for a second to sell you out if it meant she could climb up another rung on the corporate ladder.

His exposed thumb rubbed back and forth over your knuckles. "No. Of course not. We're just talking," he said.

He leaned in closer to you, positioning his mouth in close proximity to your ear. His free hand came up to cup your jaw.

"I appreciate your honesty though. Ashley probably couldn't tell you this, but I appreciate a loyal girl like you," he murmured.

On both your hand and through his glove in contact with your chin, he could feel your skin heat up.

"Oh... thank you, sir," you said.

He chuckled. His fingers squished into the flesh of your cheeks, making your lips puff out as though they were seeking a kiss.

"So polite, but I like that. We need more people here who understand their place," he said.

At this point, the gravity of your circumstances began to settle on you. Your fear had worn off a bit, and you realized what a compromising position he had you in. With one tight squeeze, he could crush every bone in your face.

Out of instinct, you tried pulling back a little. You didn't make it obvious, only attempting to gain a few inches of space.

That was a few inches too many though. He tightened his grip and kept you where he wanted you.

"Ah ah," he tutted, "How many times do I have to tell you that you don't need to be scared? I'm not going to hurt you."

You dropped the resistance right then and there. It wasn't worth pursuing. If he didn't want you getting away, you weren't getting away.

He took a few more seconds to study your face, taking in every minutiae of your expressions. Then, his hands dropped to your waist, and he pulled you into his lap. His thighs were firm against your ass, both rigid in how he carried himself and defined from the pure muscle that made them up.

His hands smoothed up and down your sides, coasting over each crease in your blouse. He massaged your soft tissue with gentle squeezes from the beginning of your bra down to the swell of your hips.

"God, you're beautiful," he muttered, "You fit here like you were made for me."

You vibrated in his grasp. He could feel the way you quivered with the urge to pull away.

"Thank you, s-sir," you stammered, "I really appreciate it but-"

"But nothing," he cut you off.

"But I don't think we should be... doing this," you tried to continue anyway.

"Why not?" he asked. Though his tone made it obvious that no matter what reason you provided, it wouldn't change his mind.

"Because you're like my boss, y'know? And I worked really hard to get my spot here, and I don't want people thinking I slept my way to where I am," you explained, "You're really nice, and I admire you a lot, but it wouldn't be right."

He didn't respond immediately. He paused and let your words hang in the air for a few moments.

"You know," he finally spoke, "I don't think you understand how things work around here. It doesn't matter what anyone else in this building thinks. Only me."

You blinked at him, unsure of how to respond to such an assertion. It didn't matter though. He continued without your input.

"What I do with you, how I feel about you - no one else will know about it unless you tell them. But even if you do and even if they care, there isn't a thing they'll do about it. There's not a thing they can do about it," he continued.

"I still don't think it's a good idea," you maintained.

"Good thing this isn't for you to think about then," he mocked, "You're a fast learner. You'll figure it out soon enough. I am God in this tower. And a god doesn't listen to his subjects. He guides them. He knows best."

One of his hands slid up your tummy and over your chest onto your throat. He cupped your jaw and swiped his thumb back and forth across your bottom lip.

"What did Ashley tell you about me?" he asked.

"That no one gets in your way."

"Good. And she was right. No one gets in my way. Nothing stops me from getting what I want. And I've wanted you for too fucking long not to try you out."

That set of fingers on your chin pulled your face towards his and brought you into a kiss. You froze against his lips. It felt as though all of time stopped. This high up, you couldn't hear the sounds of the city outside the penthouse. No one existed in this moment but you and him.

Unlike you, he melted into the exchange. He sighed against your skin and pulled you flush against his toned body. After a second to let you come to terms with what was happening, he kissed you again. His lips sucked on yours gently, attempting to coax you into returning the affection.

The most he got is you puckering them up ever so slightly.

He pulled away with frustration in his eyes and grabbed your face, jerking you a little to look at him.

"Don't act like you don't want this. I know you do," he said, "You're scared, but you don't need to be. Relax and let yourself enjoy this. It's not everyday that the most powerful man on earth wants to fuck you."

Your eyes blew up like little saucers, but before you could really process the directness of what he'd said, he was kissing you again. This time it wasn't as nerve wracking. You softened up a little and kissed back.

You didn't put much effort into it. Your lips responded like this was a juvenile first date. But he didn't let up. He didn't let you give him anything less than your best. His hands roamed across your body. They groped and fondled your breasts and then migrated South to feel up your ass through your pencil skirt.

Your muscles started to loosen up after a minute or so. You told yourself this wasn't so bad. He was being gentle so far, and for someone with his abilities, you wanted it to stay that way. You brought your hand up to his face and cupped his cheek. With that as leverage, you deepened the kiss.

He groaned as soon as you started to give in. His hands fell to your hips and tugged you so that you were straddling him. He smacked your ass, the sound echoing around his apartment. You could tell he held back. A real spank from Homelander could shatter your hip, but this one barely even stung. Maybe he did like you.

His fingers came up and with a sharp tug, he popped the front of your top loose. The column of buttons sprung free. The strips of cloth fell away to each of your sides, exposing a sliver of your skin. He furthered it by pulling off the garment entirely. His eyes trailed along your bare shoulders to your collar bone before finally landing on your breasts. He gave them a firm squeeze, kneading them through the barrier of your bra.

Meanwhile you rolled your hips down on his lap. Immediately, you felt his bulge that had risen to attention between your thighs. You did it again and then again. Each time you ground yourself against him with more pressure.

He grunted, and his eyes fluttered. His hands returned to your waist and gripped you hard, guiding your movements. He seemed transfixed for a few moments, as if he couldn't decide his next move.

After a few seconds though, he got his momentum back. He yanked you off his lap and flipped over so that you were seated on the couch again.

He rose to his feet before you. There your eyes scanned over his body from his tousled blond hair and his kiss-swollen red lips to his sculpted abdomen and his swelling erection. You reached out to touch him, but he stopped your hand mid-air.

Once your arm was limp on the couch again, he removed his other glove. He dropped it to the floor before bringing his right boot to the spot on the sofa next to you. He unzipped the red shoe and then discarded it like he had with the other item. The other boot followed the same routine.

"I don't let just anyone see me like this," he told you as his fingers began to undo his collar, "You should feel lucky."

Lucky wasn't the word you would use to describe your feelings in this situation. Maybe special. Or distinct. Individual. Either way, you continued to watch. Your eyes glided over his figure as he pulled away the tight blue costume that seemed like a second-skin for how much he wore it.

His defined chest came into view. Your reluctance hadn't vanished all together just yet, but at this point, it was fading fast. Pale hair dusted the muscular expanse and trailed down his stomach to the waistband of the bottoms. The waistband he soon hooked his fingers over and peeled down.

He dropped the scaled navy fabric to the ground before kicking it away, leaving himself in just a small pair of boxers. His hand came down and rubbed the swollen tent at the front while his eyes lingered on you.

"Do you want to touch?" he asked.

You nodded. It wasn't a hard decision. This was still a bad idea. You hadn't changed your mind on that. But at this point, what else was there to do? Defying Homelander wasn't an option for anyone on this planet ever. You were no different.

"Ask," he commanded.

"Please can I touch you?" you said.

"Please what?"

"Please, sir. Can I touch you?"

"Good girl," he praised before nodding, "Go for it."

You reached out, this time successfully. Your palm landed flat on his stomach. You held it there for a moment, just feeling his skin. In a way, it was unreal. To feel that someone propped up on the world's pedestal was flesh and blood like you.

Rubbing up and down, you continued getting a feel for his body. He smirked at your wonder before guiding you up by the elbow.

"Stand up and do it right," he said.

"Sorry."

The word came from your mouth automatically. You brought your other hand up to his chest and felt the muscles in his chest. Everything was so built. You expected that, but it was still odd to feel beneath your fingertips. He felt like a living ken doll. You almost didn't believe if he dropped his boxers there would be a real cock there.

Your hands traced up to his shoulders with precision. They explored down his biceps and forearms. And then finally, you brought your lips into his chest. He sighed and tilted his head back, relishing the feeling.

You kissed all over, swirling your tongue and tracing shapes onto his skin. It was almost entrancing, to be so focused on someone like this. You barely noticed as he turned the two of you and sat himself down on the couch, lowering you to your knees.

You worked your mouth down his abs, licking and kissing the twitching muscles. Your fingernails scraped up his sides and then down onto his thighs. When your lips reached the waistband of his boxers, your eyes glanced up at him.

"Can I take them off, sir?" you asked.

He smirked at the title. Only one word of correction and he'd trained that phrase into you.

"Yes," he answered. It was a simple answer. All that was required for someone so naturally obedient.

You took it in stride, tucking your fingers over the elastic and tearing them down. His hard cock popped up and slapped against his pelvis. You couldn't have been happier about your earlier ken doll theory being proven wrong. The sight of his dick was enough to make you drool. It was better than any work of art out there.

It rested against his body at the perfect length, the perfect girth. The tip flushed beautiful red and pearly white beads of precum smeared at the top. Your fingers wrapped around it and gave it a few strokes, testing the waters.

His hand came down and petted your head. He watched as you studied the appendage, as you experimented with your own touch. It was so fucking cute he thought he might cum right then and there. Fuck, he thought you were sweet every moment he had eyes on you, but right now, you were darling. You were doing as he said. Accepting your place at the feet of a superior being.

"Put it in your mouth," he said from above, "I want you to taste it."

There was no hesitation on your end this time around.

"Yes sir," you responded before leaning forward and wrapping your lips around his cock.

He groaned and let his chest hollow out with a harsh exhale. Your mouth was so warm and wet, nice and snug around his length. He rocked his hips up, pushing it further into your throat. He expected a small gag or sputter, but instead you moaned. You shut your eyes and flattened your tongue against his shaft before beginning to bob your head.

"Fuck," he hissed. His legs tensed up, and he pressed down on your head. That did get a tiny gag out of you. You gripped his hips to stabilize yourself though and stayed in place. Your nose nestled against the darker curls of hair that sat at the base of his cock.

Spit leaked from your mouth and dribbled onto his skin below. He took a few moments to just enjoy the feeling of his dick down your throat. The sight of his sweet, innocent girl choking on his cock. Then he let you pull off and catch your breath. 

You took a few deep puffs, letting the spots clear from your vision before you dove back in for more. Your hand stroked the lower part of him your mouth didn't cover in its shallow sucks while your other set of fingers caressed his balls tenderly.

He'd never experienced devotion. As much as it pained him to ever acknowledge, his sexual experiences had been lackluster up until now. There were the times with Maeve, but they always left something to be desired for him. Then there was the time with Stillwell that ended before it really started. In either case, no one had ever put all of themselves into pleasuring him like you were doing right now. It drove him wild. He could feel his sac tightening up, and he knew he had to get you off.

Planting one hand on each side of your head, he tugged you back. You looked up at him with glossy, cock-drunk eyes and saliva-coated lips. He swiped some of the mess away before addressing you.

"You're doing so good for me, but I think you're ready for more, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," you agreed.

"My perfect pet," he crooned and pulled you up onto the couch.

He laid you flat on your back and ripped your skirt and panties off in one go. His eyes drank in the sight of your nude lower half, but he didn't spend much time savoring it. He spread you out, slotting himself against your center.

With a few rocks of his hips, he dragged his length through your wetness. He let the sticky fluid coat his shaft, and then he sunk in. His tip bullied its way into your entrance and the rest of him followed. You whined at the stretch. Your walls clamped around him, eager to accept the intrusion.

"Atta girl," he grunted as he worked himself all the way in.

His hips connected with your ass, but he still bucked them, trying to get more. You yelped at the force. He was already buried inside you. Anymore and his tip would be nudging the entrance to your womb.

Fortunately for you, he pulled his hips back, giving you a short break from feeling so full. It was short lived though. Seconds later he snapped back in. That began the quick rhythm he set into. It was desperate and needy, emotions he'd tried to hide until this point.

You whimpered as your body bobbed with the momentum. His thrusts bounced you back and forth. The sounds of his body smacking against yours filled the room. His fingers dug into your waist hard enough to bruise. You didn't complain about the minor pain though because you could tell he was holding back in every other regard. If a few marks on your side kept you from being pulverized by a super cock, then that was a burden you were willing to carry.

Above you, he starts to pant. His breaths leave him raggedly huffing, sucking down what oxygen he can get in the midst of rutting into you. He tilts his head down at you and gazes at your blissed out face with lidded eyes.

"I could have anyone. Any person on this Earth would be mine if I wanted them to be. But the only one I want is you. Doesn't that feel good?" he breathed.

"Yes!" you cried out. Your back arched up off the couch. "Feels so fucking good, sir."

He leaned into you more, squishing your body into the surface below. Your thighs pressed against your tummy as he bent you.

"Yeah, it does," he grunted, "It's all there is. It's all you need to think about. How you're all mine."

"Mhm," you whined with a lazy nod. You were getting closer to cumming and responding to his words was taking a lower priority in your mind.

"And to think you tried to deny yourself of it," he mocked. He clenched his jaw and slammed into you harder.

You shrieked and clutched his shoulders. In the back of your mind, you hoped his penthouse was sound proofed or at least enough distance from the nearest one. Otherwise you wouldn't have to tell anyone about this incident for it to spread throughout the tower.

"I knew better, didn't I? I knew this is what you needed," he said.

Again, you nodded. You felt the heat in your belly reaching the boiling point.

"Say it," he huffed.

You tried to force it out, but your own hiccuped sob of pleasure cut you off. He didn't give you a break though. He stared down at you with expectation, so you continued.

"You know best- uh, fuck- you know best, sir," you whined.

"Good fucking girl," he growled on top of you.

He was already close from the blowjob you'd given him. Only a few strokes more, and he was ready to explode. He swiveled his hips, angling them upwards to pound into that special spot that would make you see stars and stripes.

You mewled when you came. Your body trembled harder than it did when you were scared. Arousal gushed out of you and coated his skin. He huffed and buried his face in your neck before letting go.

Everything faded into the background as you laid underneath him in the haze that came after the absolute high of pleasure. Now you could feel his heartbeat too. The organ thundered against his chest over and over as he came down.

Minutes later he pulled back. His knuckles caressed down your jawline before he climbed off of you entirely. He sat back on the couch and let out a deep breath. You weren't sure whether you were supposed to pick up your stuff and leave or follow along with him and stay close to his side. There was no real indication of what he wanted in this moment, but he turned to smile at you and huffed out a laugh.

"I think I'll keep you with me more often now. Really show you the ropes of fitting in around here."

You sat up and nodded awkwardly. He leaned toward you, cupping your cheek.

"I'll be a much better teacher than Ashley ever was," he said. His arm snaked around you and pulled you to his chest again. "No more errands or coffee runs. I'll show you things you need. Things that you'll enjoy."

He ran his fingers over your face and kissed your temple. The touches were tender against your skin. They would have been romantic if your mind wasn't racing with what this all meant in terms of your job and the grand scheme of your future.

Looking at him though, he wasn't worried at all. He smiled down at you before whispering once more.

"My sweet little pet. All mine now."

[myhappylittlesideblog]

✎ᝰ┆stalker!homelander..

stalker!homelander, who first notices you during a company meeting. all you are is ashley’s assistant, constantly being demeaned and yelled at, until he’s had enough— he’s the one who finally tells ashley to give you “a fucking break”. there’s something about you, he realises, that makes you look so small compared to these gods. as he watches you blush, he decides then and there that you need some better protection, for fear that vought will destroy your innocence.

stalker!homelander, who realises that, even though you’ve been at vought for some time now, you’re still nervous around him. you remind him of a lamb, so docile and pure, something that shouldn't be ruined. he's starting to devote too much time towards finding a way to preserve this quality of yours.

stalker!homelander, who will go out of his way to make sure you're comfortable at work. he begins to pay attention to your coffee order, how long it takes you to get to and from work, and even going as far to finding out where you live-- this only happened because you were sick one day, and he wanted to make sure you were alright. nothing sinister, right?

stalker!homelander, who starts following you everywhere. you don't know that he's even doing it, so high up in the sky that you could never even see him, just a blue and red blur. it's all for your safety, obviously, in case somebody tries to kidnap and murder you or something. he's doing you a favour.

stalker!homelander, who watches you from the safety of a rooftop as your boyfriend fucks you. as soon as you’re alone, having kicked him out, your boyfriend is hunted down, by who else other than the supe himself? it’s a fun night for homelander. tear off a few limbs, lasers some holes in him. get rid of the competition. it doesn't matter much anyway-- the fucker was cheating on you anyway. luckily, homelander is there to comfort you whilst you cry.

stalker!homelander, who gets a tracker implanted in you-- it's an easy lie to sell to you, tell you that you need some vaccine. as usual, you fall for it, hook, line and sinker. whilst he could've just had someone tap your phone, it wouldn't have been the same. he feels even closer to you now.

stalker!homelander, who spends as much as time as possible with you, because he's suddenly been informed that you're leaving the company. why? you feel unsafe. watched. and everything comes crashing down; like his organs are being torn apart and his throat is about to explode. he's running out of time.

stalker!homelander, who suddenly gets you better pay, better security, better everything. hell, he even offers his apartment to you. anything to keep you at vought, within his grasp.

stalker!homelander, who will do anything to have you. unbeknown to you, he's running your life now, making every minute decision, ranging from what you wear to where you live. just because he needs you. you're a part of his life that he cannot afford to lose.

[myhappylittlesideblog]

I laughed so hard

[myhappylittlesideblog]

Want to learn something new in 2022??

Absolute beginner adult ballet series (fabulous beginning teacher)

40 piano lessons for beginners (some of the best explanations for piano I’ve ever seen)

Excellent basic crochet video series

Basic knitting (probably the best how to knit video out there)

Pre-Free Figure Skate Levels A-D guides and practice activities (each video builds up with exercises to the actual moves!)

How to draw character faces video (very funny, surprisingly instructive?)

Another drawing character faces video

Literally my favorite art pose hack

Tutorial of how to make a whole ass Stardew Valley esque farming game in Gamemaker Studios 2??

Introduction to flying small aircrafts

French/Dutch/Fishtail braiding

Playing the guitar for beginners (well paced and excellent instructor)

Playing the violin for beginners (really good practical tips mixed in)

Color theory in digital art (not of the children’s hospital variety)

Retake classes you hated but now there’s zero stakes:

Calculus 1 (full semester class)

Learn basic statistics (free textbook)

Introduction to college physics (free textbook)

Introduction to accounting (free textbook)

Learn a language:

Ancient Greek

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[myhappylittlesideblog]

Mums 🌼

[myhappylittlesideblog]

satiated desire ・ DEAN WINCHESTER. ៸៸៸ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ! ♡ pinned library

eighteen plus. minors do NOT interact.

SYNOPSIS. you finally help dean find relief after the intense hunt.

WARNING(S). smut | dirty talk | fem!reader | use of pet names | oral sex (f!receiving) | exhibitionism | public sex | strong language | praise kink.

KARI NOTES. as promised, here's a part two! i like this one a lot actually! so i hope you do too :) i'm missing supernatural like crazy right now, which is why i'm rewatching — but to also mend my broken heart. thanks to whatever the hell season 15 was. anyway, enjoy! cause i know i did. <3

little help goes a long way

the moment the hunt was over, dean was all over you, his strong hands grabbing your waist and pulling you close. you could feel the urgency in his touch, the barely contained desperation radiating off of him in waves.

"sweetheart," he breathed, his voice was rough with barely restrained desire. "i need you, now."

you felt a shiver of anticipation run down your spine at the intensity in his tone. wordlessly, you nodded, your own hands gripping the front of his shirt as he began to steer you toward the nearest private space he could find.

it didn't take long before you found yourself pressed up against the wall of an abandoned warehouse, dean's body flush against yours, his lips crashing hungrily against your own. the kiss was searing, filled with a primal need that left you breathless and aching for more.

dean's hands roamed your body, mapping every curve and dip with a reverence that had your head spinning. you arched into his touch, your own fingers tangling in his hair as you eagerly reciprocated the kiss.

when you finally broke apart, both of you panting heavily, dean's eyes were dark with desire. "shit, baby," he growled, his hips grinding against yours in a slow, sensual rhythm. "you have no idea how long i've been waiting for this."

you let out a soft whimper, your nails dragging lightly down the strong planes of his back. "then what are you waiting for, dean?" you cajole, as you gaze up at him through your lashes. "i'm waiting..."

that was apparently all the encouragement dean needed. in one swift motion, he swept you up into his arms, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carried you deeper into the warehouse, finally depositing you onto a sturdy table.

your back hit the cold, hard surface with a dull thud, but you barely registered the discomfort, your entire focus solely on the man hovering above you. dean's hands were everywhere, tugging at your clothes, caressing your skin as if he simply couldn't get enough of you.

you arched up into his touch, your fingers working to rid him of his shirt, desperate to feel the heat of his skin against yours. dean helped you, shrugging out of the garment with practiced ease before diving back in, his lips trailing a scorching path down your neck.

you let out a breathy moan, your head falling back to grant him better access. dean seemed to take that as an invitation, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, eliciting a sharp gasp from your lips.

"dean," you pant, as he sucks vigorously on your exposed neck. "please, i need you."

he responded with a low, guttural growl, his hips grinding against yours in a way that had you rolling your eyes to the back of your head. "soon, baby," he grunts, his breath hot against your skin. "i'm gonna take care of you."

true to his word, dean's hands made quick work of the rest of your clothes, stripping you bare before his hungry gaze. you felt a flush of self-consciousness creep up your cheeks, but the pure, unadulterated desire in his eyes quickly had it melting away.

"you're so fucking beautiful, sweetheart," dean rasped, his fingers tracing the curves of your body with a reverence that left you breathless. "i can't wait to taste you."

before you could even process his words, his lips were on you, hot kisses trailing down your body. you let out a sharp gasp as he reached your most sensitive place, his tongue darting out to tease and caress in a way that had your toes curling in pleasure.

dean seemed to revel in your reactions, his ministrations growing more intense, more relentless, as he worked you closer and closer to the edge. you writhed beneath him, your fingers tangling in his hair, urging him on.

"dean, oh god, fuck," you pant again, letting out a high-pitched moan. "i'm so close, please, don't stop."

he growled in response, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. with a final, well-placed flick of his tongue, you unraveled, your body trembling as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over you.

dean worked you through it, his hands holding your hips in a vice-like grip as he lapped up every last drop of your release. when you finally began to come down, he pressed a soft, tender kiss to your inner thigh, his eyes shining with a mix of pride and unbridled lust.

"fuck, baby," he groans. "you taste even better than i imagined."

you let out a breathless chuckle, your fingers tracing over the sharp lines of his jaw. "well, don't keep me in suspense, winchester," you purred, your tone dripping with invitation. "show me what else you've got."

dean's eyes darkened, a predatory grin spreading across his face. "oh, baby, you have no idea," he growled, surging forward to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

you melted into him, your bodies tangling together as the kiss deepened. you could taste yourself on his tongue, and the knowledge only served to stoke the flames of your desire higher.

when you finally broke apart, both of you panting heavily, dean wasted no time in shucking off the rest of his clothes. you drank in the sight of him, the firm, sculpted planes of his body making your mouth water with anticipation.

"dean," you breathed, your fingers trailing down his chest. "i need you, so bad."

he let out a guttural groan, his hips bucking against your touch. "you already have me, baby," he chuckles, giving your hips a light squeeze. "i'm all yours."

with that, he positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes locked with yours as he slowly, but agonizingly, pushed inside. the sensation of him filling you up, stretching you to the point of delicious fullness, had you crying out in pure, unadulterated bliss.

dean paused for a moment, allowing you both to savor the feeling, before beginning to move. his thrusts were deep and powerful, each one hitting that sweet spot inside you that had you seeing stars.

you clung to him, your nails digging into the firm muscles of his lower back as you met him thrust for thrust, your bodies moving in perfect harmony. the warehouse was filled with the lewd sounds of your mingled cries of pleasure and skin slapping, echoing off the bare walls.

as the familiar coil of tension began to build inside you once more, dean leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. "that's it, sweetheart," he growled, filthy encouraging you. "come for me, baby. let me feel you fall apart."

with a strangled cry, you did just that, your body trembling as the waves of your release washed over you. dean followed closely behind, his hips stuttering as he spilled himself inside you, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

for a long moment, the two of you stay entwined together, your heartbeats slowly returning to normal. dean pressed soft kisses to your face, murmuring words of adoration and praise.

"you were amazing, sweetheart," he whispered, his fingers tracing the curves of your body. "absolutely fucking perfect."

you smiled, your own hands caressing the strong lines of his shoulders. "so were you, dean," you responded, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "i'm glad we finally got to... take care of that problem of yours."

dean chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eye. "oh, trust me, baby," he spoke in that sexy gravelly deep voice of his, hips rolling against yours in a way that had you biting back a moan. "we're just getting started."

[myhappylittlesideblog]

My happy little sideblog

List of fandoms on this blog - See Masterlist for various writings

- Supernatural - this hyper fixation grew too large and now has its own blog @caswinchass

- The Walking Dead - Daryl Dixon

- Beauty and the Beast

- BBC Merlin

- Tom Hiddleston - Crimson Peak - for Loki and Marvel, see @sebbymylove16 (mostly Bucky)

- Riverdale - Jughead

[myhappylittlesideblog]

the boys ; nsfw alphabet!

requested by anon! afab, feminine reader. includes the deep. warning for nsfw. fandom masterlist found here. 🖍️ . . . author notes: sorry this took so long to roll out! my mental health’s been so up & down <\3 but i think i’m back on track!

the deep

— a = aftercare — doesn’t know the world aftercare. he does know generally to hold you for a few minutes afterwards. but i’ll be honest his street name with women is probably “get off and go”… the ridiculous way he fucks and ducks would be funny if it wasn’t so annoying. just coax him ( or demand of him ) to stay. you’ll have to train him a little like a pavlov dog but he’ll get there.

— b = body part — not sure about your favorite body part of his but his favorite part of you is likely your tits. i think kevin’s a total boob guy, they’re just so aesthetically pleasing to him. doesn’t matter if they’re big enough for him to rest his head on or small enough to fit fully in his palm; he loves tits.. first thing he does when a girl undresses is sucks on her nipples. he’s actually really good at palming, kissing, sucking, and occasionally nipping at your breasts.

— c = cum — a tinge salty. usually a warm off-white color. thick, also. the deep’s favorite place to cum is of course on your tits, but he also enjoys seeing your thighs all sticky and shaky too.

— d = dirty secret — is not an anal virgin! i just know he’s taken it up the ass at least once, though he refuses to say whether it was from pegging or from a man. one day you bring pegging into the picture and moskowitz’s a little too casual about letting you slide that strap of yours into his eager hole. it’s a lot less tight than you imagined, too.. that’s when you realize he’s not new to the concept.

— e = experience — he’s fairly experienced especially in the realm of vanilla sex. he’s not new to toys or to taking it up the ass but he doesn’t exactly say that he’s experienced with those things.. so you’re introducing them and thinking he’s never done it before and then you’re like “wow he’s taking this really well… wait.” i feel like he goes on freaky side quests so he’s got knowledge on some more taboo things but he’s slightly ashamed of it in a way? he’s ashamed of getting off to things like being pegged or being in positions where his partner’s in power. fragile masculinity and such.

— f = favorite position — he would probably tell his friends something stupid like “whichever one where she’s bent over and i’m fucking her from behind”. but secretly? kevin’s favorite positions involve you standing up or sitting in a chair and him on his knees or somehow lower than you. when he gets to kiss up your legs or eat you out from under — sometimes you make him ride your boot and ( despite his hesitation each time ) he likes it a lot more than he cares to admit. he likes being put in his place. loves when you ride him like he’s nothing, too. he’s fucking you but you’re still in charge.

— g = goofy — he’s usually pretty goofy, making jokes until you tell him or force him to shut up. on the bright side, things will never be awkward! he’s relaxed enough to let a lot of mistakes slide if you’re inexperienced. he’ll laugh it off, though he might bring it up to tease you later. i think the only time he’s not so goofy is when you’ve got him needy and restless, pleading with you for something. when he’s all desperate, his only focus is behaving for you. no jokes, just pleas and whimpers and those darling eyes of his tearing up as he begs.

— h = hair — shaves when you ask. doesn’t shave unless you ask him to or unless he gets bored and wants to clean himself up.

— i = intimacy — the deep is definitely not the most romantic in the book but he tries during foreplay. he’ll press his forehead to yours and maybe make a corny ocean related love pun. you’ll laugh and he really likes that, your laugh, and he’ll kiss your neck and then.. he’ll see your chest rise and fall and.. fuck, he’s getting hard. and then it’s all out the window — sex, now. please. he’ll be romantic again afterwards if you’ve schooled him on aftercare but — babe, when you look so good and you’re already so close to him? sex, sex, sex.

— j = jack off — sometimes calls you in the middle of the work day just to jerk off. he finds it so hot when you talk him through it from wherever you are.. also, moskowitz has definitely jerked off in the seven meeting room when no one else is around 😭 don’t flash any uv lights around his spot at that fucking table. if you tell him not to masturbate, he’ll try his best not to. but, i do think he is a victim of supe libido ( though not as much as a-train.. ).

— k = kink — being dominated easy. this is a man born to be a sub, forced to be a dom. doesn’t mean he doesn’t love pounding into your cunt every so often and making you scream his name despite yourself. but he is just as, if not more interested in being your little boy toy to use and abuse and all those things. and then tell him he’s a big strong man afterwards, that’s the cherry on top. he just took your strap like a champ — only real, tough men can do that!

— l = location — if you’re down, he’s down, especially when he’s horny. any location will do, though preferably somewhere with a little bit of privacy so he doesn’t have others seeing your body.

— m = motivation — the deep’s not extremely easily motivated but, c’mon. it’s you. if he’s in love with you he’s going to be aroused by whatever you happen to do in relation to him. you compliment his work? hard. you laugh at one of his stupid jokes? hard. you slap him? ouch.. hard. and probably needy too.

— n = no — don’t touch his gills ever or he will freak out. it honestly takes a bit of time for him to even be comfortable taking off his shirt around you. i think this is something you could try to work on but even as he grows more confident in himself and his body, kevin doesn’t want you touching his gills. you can kiss around them, however, once he’s close with you.

— o = oral — oral king. loves to eat, loves to be sucked. absolute adores oral, it’s easy and it’s fun and it makes his toes curl, giving or receiving. genuinely, i think he’d be a big fan of it.

— p = pace — depends on his mood, your mood, and what you’re both wanting in that moment. he’s usually not very sloppy until the very end unless he’s been edged for a while. every now and then he wants it fast and reckless but most of the time he’s fine with going at a medium sort of speed.

— q = quickie — if it’s oral then yes to quickies! but a strong no outside of that. moskowitz doesn’t want to fuck you for ten minutes, no, he wants it to stretch. to be fair, head is like perfect for quickies anyways. especially if you’re giving and he’s been pent up that day.

— r = risk — generally, if you’re down, he’s down. just talk to him about it while you’re kissing on each other, don’t spring it on him. you might have to walk him through the concepts you’re bringing up, maybe have a video handy.

— s = stamina — supe stamina is nothing to play with. he stops when you tell him to but if you don’t speak up he knows to stop when you’re all fucked out and babbling or out of breath. especially if he’s sub, he stops when he thinks you can’t take anymore because he’s a good boy who can take care of you. the deep doesn’t want to fuck you to death, silly.

— t = toys — not inexperienced with them but not a full fledged toy master. he’s open to using whatever you have if it looks interesting or sounds promising.

— u = unfair — every time he tries to play unfair, you quickly put him in his place and he loves that. just a little bit of a brat sometimes. he’ll tell you to beg for his dick and all you have to do is pull his hair a little — he’s rolling his eyes all playful and pretending like he’s not harder from that. “okay, okay, miss impatient…” as kevin lines himself at your entrance.

— v = volume — not loud, not quiet. kind of just average or normal? he doesn’t like it when you’re quiet though, makes him feel like he’s fucking a dead fish. react, respond, insult him, anything. just don’t be quiet, don’t seem bored.

— w = wild card — i think you guys should try using vibrators on each other throughout the day. i think he’d enjoy that. you both come home all shaky and aching and desperate for each other, barely making it to the bedroom because you’re undressing each other in the hall. 🫶

— x = x-ray — again, not good at describing penises. i don’t think his is the prettiest but it’s definitely big. homelander’s is the prettiest in my mind.

— y = yearning — medium to high range supe libido. jokes about fucking you all the time but he’s really not as sex obsessed as you’d think.

— z = zzz — he likes sleeping with you after sex a lot.. it’s something that surprises even him, as usually he does the good ol’ fuck and duck. he loves when you cuddle into him or when he’s able to cuddle into you, holding onto you by the waist and finally relaxing. he’s so content with the sound of your breathing or snoring. like constant ocean waves.. so comforting. you’re like home to him, in moments like these.

[myhappylittlesideblog]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ siren; the deep⋆.°

summary; deep hears someone--something call for him from the depths of the atlantic ocean. word count; 1,479 pairing; the deep x siren!reader my first smut piece, pls be nice <3 (tbh im proud of this one lol i got carried away) warnings; the deep/kevin, penetration, p in v, deepthroating, sub!deep x dom!reader NOT SFW!! MINORS DNI!!

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

Living in the deep blue can be isolating at times.

You’ve had your fair share of encounters with horrid, desperate men, luring them into the open whilst they’re vulnerable, taking what’s rightly yours.

They should know better.

You feel the ripple of the water wrap around your body as you flow through the sea, searching for something—anything—to pass the time. Until something catches your eye.

Or someone.

An emerald green and gold figure flows past you, causing the water to ripple and move you gently. The figure stops in its place, a face staring right toward you. He’s far enough away that you hum a melody, your vocal chords vibrating against your stomach as if you’re guiding him by echolocation. A hypnotic chorus leaves your mouth, entrancing him.

He swims toward you, his eyes locked onto you.

You’re nothing he’s ever seen before. An ethereal being floats before him, scales shimmering against the reflections of the moonlight, your hair floating gracefully; each strand has its own movement.

As he approaches you, his hands tenderly touch your waist, fingers tracing over your gills and the top of your scales that meet your hips. Deep’s eyes meet yours with pure wonder and excitement. “I thought your species was a myth…” He begins. You blink slowly at him, an ominous smirk grows upon your face. He’s too… ambitious.

You throw him back with force, a grunt slipping from his throat as he gapes at you with hurt and confusion. “What’re you doing?” He huffs, moving closer toward you again. You gaze upon him, humming.

“You’re eager.” You whisper, your voice practically moving through him. It’s almost like he can feel your voice, as if it’s in his head. But you’re right there, your mouth moving. How is this happening?

You swim toward him, the tip of your tail grazing his shin lightly, your hand travelling toward his lower torso. “Did you think I’d make it that easy?” You tease, your lips close to his ear. You can sense the goosebumps running down his body, a breath hitching in his throat.

He’s paralyzed. Whether it’s with fear or because of you, something pangs in your chest, a feeling of satisfaction and thrill. The Deep shakes his head.

“You want me, don’t you?” you purr, your fingers leading from his torso up to his jawline, making his head move to the side, guiding as you circle around him. He nods, his pupils enlarged with need, his hand moving toward you once more. His fingers trace over the ridges where your scales meet your smooth skin, his breathing haltering despite being submerged. You hum, the sound vibrating through the water.

The Deep groans. He’s desperate. You laugh at him, circling around him once more. “Patience,” you murmur, and you glide your fingernails across his torso, down toward his member. You decide to close the distance between you both, feeling him hard against your skin.

“Please. F-fuck, please.” He begs. You tut. “Poor thing,” you keep your voice low and syrupy. “Do you want me to make you feel good?” You taunt him, and he nods with frenzy. The corners of your lips curl into a smile, pulling him in so your lips are barely touching.

“I have something to show you.” You move away for a slight second, revealing a slick, neat slit below your belly button. His gaze darts down to it, the scales shimmering as they part slightly. His expression darkens as deep as his fantasies are; a wicked smirk latches onto his face. Something wild and enthralling flickers behind his eyes, his lips part as if in a silent worship.

His fingers trail along the slit, fingertips edging themselves in, gasping as you feel the light pressure. He removes his fingers before removing his pants, exposing himself before you. Something about this makes your heart skip a beat—something different from the norm. You blink helplessly at his throbbing dick, the tip a deep pink. You blush, seeing how hard he’s getting for you, the slightest move and you’re afraid he’ll combust right there.

Tracing your fingers from the base of his cock to the tip, you rub your thumb over his slit, causing his head to toss back and let out a strangled moan.

“All of this? For me?” You drawl, and he sighs in agreement. You align yourself with him, his tip gingerly touching your entrance. Placing both hands on either side of his face, your palms rest under his jaw. He rests his forearm under the small of your back, inching himself into you.

It feels as if he’s completely stretched you out, but yet there’s more. Each movement of his releases a moan inside of you that you didn’t know was there. He’s watching you with real carnality. Lust.

He thrusts in, causing you to latch onto the nape of his neck, digging your fingernails in. He gasps in shock, but doesn’t pull away. In fact, he thrusts harder with predation. The Deeps cock slips in and out of you, filling you and emptying you with each movement. The thickness of him comes as a surprise; the rocking of his hips moves faster and faster. You press your lips to his, sloppy and needy. The Deep pulls away.

“F—fuck,” he stutters, his movement slowing. The muscles in his biceps define as he grips onto your hips, shaking the feeling away. “You don’t get to slow down.” You threaten, and he looks at you vulnerably. His breathing has faltered and his chest rises and falls.

He plunges into you once more, his tip grinding against your wall, the base of his cock buried so deep inside of you, you wish there was more of him to receive. You push yourself down on him, your slit throbbing with ache and pleasure. “I-I’m close…” He pleads, his eyebrows furrowing in concentration. “Not yet.” You whisper, clenching around him just to hear him whimper more. And he does.

“Beg for it.”

“Please, oh my God, please. I’m so close.” He cries, his bottom lip wobbles ever so slightly, and you pull yourself off of him. He glares at you with consternation. Even under water, you can tell his dick is sopping with cum.

He doesn’t say a word. You readjust so you’re facing his pelvis, sticking your tongue out, the tip of it meeting his slit. Your tongue is long enough to reach the base of his cock, taking all of him as he reaches the back of your throat.

Being a siren, you have little to no gag reflex. Your autonomy isn’t exactly the same as a human, but more like a spirit residing in an empty vessel. You have needs, of course, which explains the autonomy waist down. Other than that, you’re just a fucktoy with a brain and a mouth. An ungodly one at that.

You tighten your lips around his cock, pressing the back of your tongue tight against the top of his dick that lays inside your mouth. The ridges from the roof of your mouth cause him to shudder under your control. His hands find your hair, gripping relentlessly as you suck him off. The Deeps whimpers and cries are what send you over the edge.

Opening your slit again, you push yourself onto him, a loud groan escapes his throat. You moan, the hum vibrates against your chest. He’s losing himself in you, as if you didn’t just stop him from releasing himself. His breathing is ragged, every thrust and slick grind pushes him closer and closer. “Fuck,” his voice is strained and needy. Desperate.

And that’s when you take exactly what’s yours.

“I-I’m gonna—” He breathes, spilling inside of you. A deep, shuddering force draws from the center of his chest, his power—his very being—rushes into you like a crashing wave. A tsunami. It makes your body hum with a newfound strength. Your skin glows an electric blue, a glimmer of ethereal energy flashes before him, coursing through your veins.

His tasteful moans turn into something full of anguish and hurt. His grip on you weakens as he floats away from you.

“W-What have you done…? I—”

The Deep pauses. A sense of panic fills him as he suddenly can’t breathe under water anymore. His eyes dagger into you. You swim toward him, hand reaching for his cheek. You stroke him, shushing him as he tilts his head at you. “You gave yourself to me, didn’t you?”

He blinds slowly, trying to move, to think. But he can’t. His movement is helpless. His connection to the ocean—the very thing that made him exactly who he was—is gone.

Watching him is amusing, seeing him scurry away toward the shore. He’ll probably make it back.

You slip away, into the depths of the Atlantic ocean, your body beating with stolen power as you anticipate your next victim.

[myhappylittlesideblog]

Gif by: @iheartcrawford

Kevin Moskowitz x female!reader smut

Hate sex with The Deep

Tw: Smut, p in v, insults, blowjob and Kevin being the dumbass he is.

(Also this is my first smut and english isn't my first language so please don't be too harsh on me😭.)

Inspired by: @vaporwavebeach-writes, this fanfiction (By the way I love their writings so go check their profile!)

You hated him, you hated his dumb smile and his dumb laugh. He was so fucking annoying. So when you heard about the dolphin incident you were more than furious. How could this dumbass do something like that?! He was part of The seven for god's sake. You decided to have a talk with him. Like any normal person... a talk right?

He was there sitting in The seven's room eating chocolate and watching the news. Once he heard the door open he looked behind him and saw you. "I think you're the last person I wanna see" he said. "Because you think I'm happy?" You said as you sat on the table and turned off the TV. "Common I was watching-" you cut him off. "Seriously. A fucking dolphin!?", he looked down. "I can't deal with you anymore! Why are you so fucking stupid all the time?!" You shout. "Because I wanted to save the dol-", "What in your tinny little brain can't you understand when Ms Stillwell tells you no?!" He sighed, "I was thinking-", "you didn't think at all, all you do is bring me and The Vought company problems."

He gets up from the chair. "Hey, I'm the reason you have a job! you should be grateful and keep your mouth shut!" You push him back in the chair. "And what?! Let you continue your fucking bullshits!", you looked at him angry. "I-it's not bullshit." He turned red for a second.

"And what is it?" you scoled. "It's uh-it's..." His breath got caught in his troath. Why was he so red, why was he sweating why did he like it? You were screaming at him about how dumb he was and all he could think about is how he'd like you to scream his name instead. "-vin kevin! Hey I'm talking to you! Do you hear me!?" Kevin looked at you confused. He was so flustered that he didn't hear a word you said. "I'm sorry..." You looked at him, "you're so fucking pathetic!", you stepped closer to him and blocked him in the chair with your arms placed at his sides. He was so red and before he couldn't even say something he felt something going down under. His pants tightened as your chest was right at his eyes level.

You cutt him off "are you fucking eyeing me! I'm fucking scolding you and that's all you do? You're disgusting!", disgusting? He would've found that insulting moments ago but right now, this word made him feel so hot and bothered. "Are you having a fucking boner!?"

All he could do was look at you wih his big annoying puppy eyes and his red cheeks.

You get off of the table and open a drawer as he looks at you confused. You turn around a condom in you hand. "If you can't understand words maybe I can fuck some sense into you!" His mouth drop as he looked at you in pure shock getting even redder (if it's physically possible). He stared at you while you dropped on your knees and started opening his belt completely at loss for words.

You pushed his underwear away and looked at his cock. No wonder why the man had an ego this huge. He did have something in his pants. You took it in your hands and just with a stroke he started moaning like a bitch in heat, you chuckled. "For a superhero you don't look that strong right now."

"Shut u-aaaah!"

He moaned as you licked the tip. You start to push the tip in your mouth before taking him all slowly meanwhile he was screaming your name and clenching at his sides. You started going up and down on him, and saying he was moaning would be a lie. He was literally screaming. He rolled his eyes back as he felt your mouth around him. Just a few more pressure of your tongue are enough to make him cum in your mouth. White sticky liquid all over your tongue and lips as he was whimpering and breathing rapidly. You grab the condom and open it with your teeth before putting it around his cock. He whimpers your name again and again like a brocken record as you slowly take off your bottom and your underwear tossing them aside.

"You better make it quick you asshole." You say as he nods and gulp. You place your legs on either side of him and start going down on his dick while he is moaning. "Ohh please -please-yes!" You wrap your arms around him to catch yourself and start riding him.

He felt like he was in heaven, he never wanted this to end, sure he had sex before, but he had never felt this... Great. While you were talking dirty oh so dirty to him. "You fucking douchebag. All you do is-ah fail your work. You're so fucking dum-aah-ahh-umb you can't do anything right! You're just a little baby! With no intelligence! Aahh!" You started to trust your hips faster and harder his tip kissing your cervix at every trust and a hot feeling getting in your head until you were both a pile of sweat and two body stuck to each other both breathing heavily and moaning.

"Aah-I'm gonna cum! I'm gonna cum! Please please!-", he said his voice breaking. "Just cum you dumb bitch. Fucking cum the same time as me." You both started screaming finally hitting your climax, Kevin filled up the condom as all your juice wetted the table. He didn't have the time to touch you that you were already off of him cleaning yourself.

He tried to catch his breath as you looked back at him fixing your bra. "You should clean the table, wouldn't like anyone to know. Oh and by the way. Don't mention this. ever again."

He nodded as you leaved. And when he was finally alone he muttered 'damn, I'm in love with her...'.

Might make a part two

(By the way you can repost to help the post gain more views! Some people don't know that but it helps a lot of other writers or artists on this app! 😊)

[myhappylittlesideblog]

Kinktober Day 3 (Hate Sex)

Kevin Moskowitz (The Deep) x Reader (NSFW)

(900 words)

Summary: You hate fuck The Deep

Warnings/Tags: 18+, gender neutral reader, rough sex, a little bit of biting, hair pulling, degradation, penetrative sex, hate sex (duh)

Notes: I hate him so he was the perfect choice for this one LMAO anyway I think I kinda slayed with this one, I’m proud of it. Enjoy the fic!!!

-

“Jesus, you are so fucking stupid,” you scoff, pushing Kevin onto the chair. He flinches as he hits the back of it, truly a pathetic sight. “A dolphin? The fuck is wrong with you, you fucking idiot?”

After Stillwell held a meeting this morning about covering up The Deep’s dolphin-train track fiasco, you knew this was the final straw with your shitty job at Vought, especially with The Deep. Not only was he a grade-A douchebag, but also completely moronic, which often caused you two to butt heads on numerous occasions regarding his behavior behind the scenes. This afternoon when you dragged him into an empty office, you took your chance to reprimand him- personally.

“Fuck you, I was doing the right thing!” He rubs the back of his neck, “I’m part of The Seven, it’s my job to save people AND my ocean friends, without me, you wouldn’t even have a fucking job, so don’t you dare tell me what to do you stuck up, little-”

Trying to get himself back to his feet, you push him down again, this time straddling him to keep him down. You can feel the heat of his erection pressing into you. You feel it, and he absolutely can feel it too.

You look down at him with disbelief, “You’ve gotta be joking.”

His dropped jaw momentarily comes back up. He snaps his eyes up to you. “Okay, but you’re the one straddling me here.”

For as stupid as The Deep was, he actually had a point here. Of course, you couldn’t let him know that. Without thinking, you plant a rough kiss on his lips and making sure to bite his lip when you pulled away. Letting out a pained yelp, he comes back to his senses. The Deep grips your hips tightly, painfully almost, keeping you pinned to his lap as your mouth moves down to ravage his neck.

“Y-yeah, nothing to say now, do you? You fucking sl-“

“Finish that sentence and I swear I’ll make what happened to your little dolphin friend look like a fucking joke,” you grit out, your hand flies up to take his chin between your fingers. Not wanting Kevin to get the upper hand on you, you start grinding against his erection. This seems to shut him up perfectly. Seeing him like this was driving you wild. Sure, you hate his fucking guts, but God, if it isn’t hot seeing him under you like this. Your arousal continues to spike. Not wanting to waste any more time, you ease off of him, undoing his belt quickly and pulling out his hardened cock.

Now you understand why The Deep was so incredibly arrogant when he had no reason to be. His cock was huge, it would inflate anyone’s ego.

“Like what you see?” Kevin says loftily.

“Well,” you sigh, “at least you’re good for one thing.” Pulling out a condom from a nearby drawer, you tear off the wrapper, rolling the rubber onto his cock. “Wouldn’t want to leave any traces, or else it’s both our jobs on the line.”

Rolling his eyes, Kevin grips your thighs as he slips into you roughly. You wince at his intrusion, so you decide to retaliate by yanking a fistful if his hair. Kevin lets out a loud and completely shameless whine. Barking out a cruel chuckle, your pace against him is fast and hard, wanting to get yourself off as soon as possible.

“G-God you’re pathetic,” you huff. “You think… you’re h-hot shit?” You ask, continuing to slam yourself down on his massive cock. “No, y-you just whine, and beg, and c-cry like a girl, wanting me… to fuck you.”

Letting a harsh moan escape from your lips as you spout your degradation, Kevin’s hand winds up in your hair, taking revenge from earlier. You hold in a grunt, refusing to give him any satisfaction of the fact that what he’s doing to you is making you extremely turned on.

“F-fuck off, I know… you like this,” he groans, “…just as much as I do.” Kevin bucks into you harder, making your knees shake ever so slightly. You can feel yourself getting close. The chair below you two seems to wobble a little.

Not wanting to be around him any longer, your eyes slam shut as you ride him out furiously, chasing after your release.

Kevin grips the arm of the chair and your hip, attempting to steady himself at your quickened pace. “There you g-go…” he chides breathlessly, “Fucking yourself on me like… like the w-whore you are-”

“S-shut…” you grab the back of his chair. “The fuck…” your hand wraps around Kevin’s throat, you pump yourself onto him as much as you can. Your grit out the last word with a harsh, ragged gasp and you feel your orgasm tear through you. “Up.”

With the ferocity of your climax, Kevin nears his peak as well. But, by the time he comes, you are already off of him, straightening out your clothes and hair. He looks over to you, who is now already walking out the door.

“Don’t forget to clean yourself up,” you toss a small box of tissues over to where he’s sitting which he pathetically tries, and fails to catch. Before leaving, you glare at him icily. “You speak a word of what happened here, and your funeral will be next after Translucent’s.”

[myhappylittlesideblog]

hiiii there!!! i was wondering if you could write something smutty for the deep 😍😍 maybe him w a non supe!? you’re the best🥹🫶

Itch to scratch

Summary: it’s ovulation week and 🎶 you need a hero🎶 sorry himbo, you need a himbo.

Warnings: unprotected p in v, blowjob, he’s a himbo, titty suckin

ch3rrybbie says: can u tell it’s ovulation week? I’ve decided I shall use writing smut as a tool for the word of ovulation hormones🙂‍↔️ also sorry it took so long anon 😖👉🏽👈🏽 YOU are the best🩷🩷🩷

———

“Deep drink, the only drink for the deepest of thinkers” the deep smirks into the camera doing his stupid smolder.

His stupid smolder that was suddenly disgustingly hot.

Fuck.

You squeeze you thighs together in the shadow of the set and imagine what it’d be like to fuck him, you’d ride him bouncing and panting letting your slick pussy clench him further squeezing his pulsing cock.

“CUT!” Some asshole director yells and you snap back to reality.

NO, Jesus anyone but him PLEASE.

Zoning put thinking who to call to scratch this growing pulsing itch, the deep or Kevin as some are allowed to call him, is suddenly in front of your face smouldering.

“Hey sweetheart, this coffee mine?” He bobs his head smouldering and flicking his preened hair, was he flirting?

Or did your thoughts get sucked in by him I mean he is a supe and you’re just some intern he could…

No you knew what he was like he’d fuck anything, I mean if the rumours were true.

In an attempt to regain your dignity you hand him the coffee wordlessly shocking him with your seeming lack of interest.

“Oh thanks a million honey!” he attempts to sexily drink to coffee but once again you zone out.

His suit was horribly tight, his muscles twitched in reaction to the hot coffee and he might’ve said a whiny ouch but all you could see was his taught body beneath the spandex.

His dick bulge strains to be free, it would feel so good to lick the angry red tip. To let your wet eager tounge tease the slit of his pulsing cock.

STOP IT.

You zone back in and look at his face, he’s caught you.

“Like what you see baby?” the suaveness comes like dropped silk to him now he knows you’re practically drooling over his cock.

FUCK IT. FORTUNE FAVOURS THE BOLD.

“Look I’m ovulating and I’m so horny it hurts” it’s his turn to stare with jaw dropping lust.

“That must be really hard for you, I’m a feminist myself so I think that-“he being to ramble

You roll your eyes, “do you want to have sex” you throw back punctually.

“YES!” he shouts at you.

The set goes quiet everyone turning to see why he was shouting at an intern and you stifle giggles as everyone shrugs and gets back to work.

He goes to lean on a stage light and fails as it wobbles and he has to rebalance it, “I mean, sure” he attempts to shrug.

“Okay let’s go then sets done for the day, where can we…”

“MINE! I mean we can go to mine, you know because I live here in this tower Vought tower so my-“

You cut him off, strutting ahead ache already growing between your thighs.

———

He pracitcally barrels into his apartment tossing the keycard on the floor.

“So what do you wanna do, oh do you need a drink because I have a great-“

“Sit dow” you demand.

He moans at the lusty look you give him as you kneel before him.

“ I want to suck your cock,yeah?” You question

“Yes, ugh fuck please please suck my cock” he writhes excitedly tugging spandex down to give you his weeping red cum seeping cock. “Wait I need to be naked!” He exclaims giving you pause. Taking in the seriousness of his face you attempt to withhold the gust of laughter threatening to burst out.

The laugh is dampened as he reclines with his hand behind his head pushing his hips to your face. You waste no time, grabbing his long yet weighted cock you lick a fat stripe up from his balls relishing in the moan he gives you. Sucking on the tip as hard as you can he writhed beneath you before fucking his hips into your face forcing you to make ngh noises as spit and cum coat your lower face. You suddenly push his hips down as you feel like you could come from just sucking his needy cock so you release him with a pop uncaring of the saliva connecting your swollen mouth to him. Rising you straddle him and push his chest down so he’s laid on the couch, sliding your panties to the side you don’t need to touch your aching pussy to know it is slick with anticipation.

Guiding his cock into your pussy you push out a lengthened and pathetically whiny moan at the pleasurable pressure and set a mind blowing pace that even he whines at. He grabs your hips and ass in an attempt to help. He starts to push his hips up to meet yours and suddenly your tits are out and being sucked and licked his saliva coating them in a light sheen, he smirks up at you watching your eyes roll back as a burning coil begins to tighten in your stomach. Pushing him back you fuck him harder the room filled with a persisting thwack thwack thwack, tits bouncing you push your hips harder forward and craziedly rub at your engorged clit as he watches in awe. You cum hard and hot, pussy gushing over him and tugging his twitching cock further nudging your cervix.

He comes as if he’s surprised, panting and shocked gripping onto your hips.

Slowing down you are sated and ready to catch the train home and sleep, you jump off him gathering scattered clothes and your bag before turning back round to give him an awkward kiss on the cheek and a thank you before gently unlocking and closing the door.

He sits there stunned for 10 minutes before heading for a shower.

He’s confused but he knows one thing for sure that had to happen again.

[myhappylittlesideblog]

Hi 💕

I know everybody hates him but... Can I request some fluff for The Deep?

Something where supe fem!reader comforts him about Timoty or just some mean comment made by Homelander? 👉🏼👈🏼

Okay full transparency I have never written for the Deep and also lowkey hate him but you’re sweet, we all deserve some comfort, and Chase Crawford is a good looking man.

You expected to find the conference room empty, but there’s one person inside. The Deep is staring at the glossy table with his arms crossed over his chest. At first glance, he seems very deep in thought. It only takes another step or two closer to notice from the push of his bottom lip that this isn’t the case. The Deep, a longtime member of the Seven, is pouting.

He hasn’t seemed to notice your presence. You take another step forward and clear your throat. “Uh…Deep?”

The Deep jumps, his hands crashing onto the table before him. “Shit!” He looks around frantically until his gaze lands on you and instantly relaxes. “Oh. It’s just you.”

You tilt your head. “Just me?”

“No! Fuck, I meant…” he groans. His chin dips, and his head falls forward. You’re just about to apologize for interrupting whatever this is when he murmurs your name softly. “...am I a guppy?”

You clearly weren't getting your intended work done today. You walk down the small steps to the conference room to stand beside the saddened supe. “Can you elaborate on that?”

The Deep sighs deeply and slowly stands up. “It’s… Homelander said…” He halts and lowers his voice; even now, when you’re pretty sure your team captain is across the country on a press tour, the Deep is afraid of him overhearing. “I asked him if I should go to California with him, and he replied that he doesn’t need a damn guppy sucking up to him.”

He shakes his head in obvious distress. “And it does suck, you know? I’ve been working my ass off to make things right with him, and… don’t get me wrong, guppies are beautiful fish. Really sweet. But I’m strong, you know? Really strong! I’m still a member of the fucking Seven-”

“Hey, Deep?” you said softly, cutting in. To your surprise, he stops immediately, staring at you with wide eyes as if you’re the line reeling him back to safety. “Look… you know Homelander can get tense before his press meetings. I’m sure he didn’t mean that.”

Were you stretching the truth a bit there? Probably. But you couldn’t handle those puppy eyes.

The Deep puts his hands on his hips, his feet shuffling timidly on the floor. “I know, but…”

“And your numbers have been going up and up this month, right?” You offer a smile. “I mean, you beat Noir last month. That’s pretty huge.”

You nearly giggle at how he starts to slowly swell up with pride. He even cracks a smile. “You noticed that?”

“Of course I did,” You say gently. “So don’t worry about that, okay? You’re not a guppy. You’re a…well, you’re the Deep.”

That gets a broad smile from him. “Yeah…yeah, I am. Thanks.”

You nod, turning to find another workplace when he calls out your name. You look back, and he’s once again scuffling his feet. “Can I, uh…can I hug you?”

Your eyes widen a bit in surprise, but then you smile. “Yeah. Sure.”

He comes forward with wide arms and pulls you into a tight hug, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. He smells like the beach on a calm day. Before you even realize it, you’re hugging him back.

(Hope you enjoyed, and sorry if I don’t understand his character at all <3 )

[myhappylittlesideblog]

Y/N, pointing to two Commonwealth troopers: Distract them.

Daryl: On it.

Y/N, five minutes later, sighing: I said distract them, not knock them out.

Daryl: Ain’t no pleasin’ ya, I swear.