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sehtoast · 19 days ago

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Tender Threads Chapter 12 (Homelander x OC)

chapter twelve: a pot of love (18+)

chapter directory | slow burn, hurt/comfort, fluff, spidersona as original character, original trans male character, smut, sublander

summary: heavy is the heart that has known love, little spider.

Spiders seemingly always find themselves in a predicament. Whether legitimate arachnids or the more superhuman variety, it seemed there was always something to keep the little buggers on their tippy-toes. For some, it’s the threat of bug spray. A broom sweeping down their web. Others may find their greatest woe to be disguising unsightly developments of their powers or perhaps putting their nose to the grindstone to find ways to make themselves marketable. Ben’s plight, though, was far more ordinary than he quite knew what to do with.

Is he– no. There’s no way Mister America himself is anything but as straight as it gets.

But his heart lurches at the thought. What even was last night? So much touching, so many deep, longing gazes into each other's eyes, and fuck… When Benjamin woke the next day, laying back on the reclining couch all cozied up with a big fuzzy blanket, it was Homelander’s head resting atop his thighs that greeted him.

That had to be something more… right? The way they smiled and giggled at one another, the way Homelander didn’t scowl or swat away the bug’s hand when it found its home smoothing over blonde locks, the way he nuzzled closer…

It makes him blush furiously to remember. The breeze does nothing to help, but at least he’s too high up for anyone to see how he kicks his feet and tries to quell the warmth of his cheeks with his gloved hands. The thought of those pretty blues blinking open slowly and gazing up at him steals the breath right out of his chest. It was then, that exact moment, that he realized this had become more than just a simple appreciation of companionship, of friendship– at least on his end.

Fuck, when was the last time this happened? Benjamin can hardly remember the last time he’s come down with such a malady. Years at least. He’s always been too busy to get caught up in another person like this, and now? Twenty-six years old and sporting a big ol’ crush on The Homelander himself. He’s practically no better than the masses that preen for him, all those fangirls he used to find so silly that’d squeal and shout for a chance with the superhero.

The thought makes his gut churn. Not because of those fans, but… What if that’s all that stands a chance? Not specifically fans, of course, but girls. It’s not like it’s anyone’s fault, but Benjamin’s got a running record of always falling for straight men who’d want nothing to do with him. Granted Homelander’s at least a friend, but that doesn’t mean the star-spangled supe would be into him.

He considers what he knows. Except for Maeve, Homelander’s partnerships have never been public. But, still… There was no evidence that Homie would swing his direction, but there was plenty that he wouldn’t. Doesn’t help that his public persona is basically every conservative’s wet dream. He’s baseball and God, the American Dream and tradition. And with tradition…

There’s no room for someone like me in tradition…

He’s played this game so many times. Felt the waves of angsty heartache lap right over that tender spot in his chest that fights and fights to remain hopeful only to be dashed seemingly every time. Benjamin wonders, sometimes, had he never changed, never became himself… would it be easier? Would the lump in his throat still exist if he were more… palatable? And if all of his little suspicions held even a flame’s chance in a downpour, would Homelander have already made a move if he were still… her?

Yeah… he hates this part.

With a heavy sigh, he rises to stand atop the bridge tower he’d chosen as his perch. Things to do… places to be. Anything else was better than stewing in it. He checks that his webs are still working before leaping off.

“Where have you been going at night?”

Not a question Homelander was expecting when he sauntered into Madelyn’s office for his script. Perhaps something in relation to her bandaged fingers would’ve made more sense. A classic why, a look of disappointment to cut right into his heart, the paper booklet slapped on the table before him– anything else, really.

“Cabin,” he lies smoothly. Or he tries, at least, but she doesn’t look the slightest bit convinced. Madelyn crosses her arms and leans her weight onto one leg.

“Really? Since when has your cabin been relocated to ninety-nine?” Stillwell’s eyes bore into him, completely and utterly knowing. “Last time I checked,” she says, moving to turn her laptop around, “suite seven wasn’t the same as the woods outside of Rochester.”

Homelander gulps. She’s got him red fucking handed, on screen, heading into Benjamin’s apartment with the bottle of wine they’d shared.

Should’ve gone in through the window…

“Is this why you bit me..?” Her words come out small, but they grab his very being in a tight fist.

He hurt her. Disappointed her.

Madelyn walks out slowly from behind the desk, bandaged fingers trailing the edge of it before falling to her side. “Am I not enough for you anymore?”

Homelander scoffs. It’s all he can do. Play it off. “No, I just–” His breath catches. “We’re friends.”

Stillwell gives him that look again. Like she knows better, like she sees right through it all. “Do men usually bring their friends a liter of red wine and stay the night? What went on in there, hm?”

His mouth goes dry and panic sets in, but why? “I– we just…” He shuffles uncomfortably under her gaze, eyes falling to his boots like a child caught breaking the rules. “We watched… Animal Planet.”

“And?”

“...and we ordered Vought-A-Burger…”

“Where did you sleep?” She asks, approaching until the tips of her shoes just barely touch his. Madelyn caresses his cheek, thumb stroking slowly across the curve of it.

“O-On the… the couch.” Not technically a lie.

“And where did he sleep?”

Homelander shudders under her touch. The guilt from before swirls like bile, building higher and higher until it burns in his throat. Warmth presses to his other cheek and he nearly falls forward. His right hand twitches, skin recalling the tender touch with which Benjamin held him. Of the way the bug gripped his wrist when he’d settled his palm at the side of his neck…

“His room…” It barely comes as a whisper, but it’s enough. He has to protect his little spider…

“Good,” Madelyn hums, smiling sweetly. “I can’t imagine what a scandal like that would do to your image.”

His blood runs cold, like a whole gallon of the Arctic had been injected into every inch of his body in one clean shot.

“Getting caught sleeping with a man would ruin you.”

That piercing ringing returns, reducing her stern assertion to little more than garbled nonsense that, miraculously, finds a way to process anyway.

“All I want is to protect you. You’ll let me take care of you, won’t you?”

He’s like a ghost watching his every movement play out beyond his own control. The weak nodding of his head, the way he follows her lead to the couch, rests his head on her lap… So easy and malleable, like putty in her hands.

“That’s my good boy…”

“You’re hopeless, dude. Homelander!?” Jason looks at Benjamin as if the bug were out of his mind entirely– and perhaps he is.

Ben had spent the better part of the day swinging through Manhattan. The city that never sleeps was unfortunately taking a nap when he needed some action the most. He’d been lucky enough to get one good siren for a complex fire before his options were limited to helping a man replace a flat tire and retrieving a child’s runaway balloon. Riveting stuff, but not enough to distract him from the tidal wave he’d just unloaded on Jase.

“Conductor, we have a fucking problem,” he announced as soon as Jason opened the door. He hardly let the guy get a word in before just spilling. “Dude, I caught feelings for Homelander!”

“Yeah,” Ben gripes, palms over his eyes, head leaned back against the couch.

“You’re doomed,” Jase sighs. “Christ, can’t it ever be a nice also-gay guy? Even just once?” There’s an air of humor to the question, but Ben’s so deep in his own chaotic mind that it fails to tickle away his problem.

“It’s been so many mixed signals, man. Like, you have no clue– I think we– last night was–” Benjamin’s tongue twists with every attempt to tell the tale of burgers and fries and deep, longing gazes

“Whaa...?”

With a deep breath, the bug prepares himself to spill the bulk of the previous night. After tripping over himself to drop every detail, save for the bit about Homie’s admissions of his upbringing, he unleashes the biggest of bombs. “Dude, we’ve even fucking slept in the same bed! Like, we snuggled!!” And yeah, the night that happened had more to do with the nightmare, but it didn’t change the fact Benjamin ran his fingers through those blonde locks while Homelander’s head rested upon his chest.

Jason just blinks. “Oh, you’re fucked.”

“That’s the problem!” Ben exhales. “I’m very clearly not fucked.” This earns him a snorted laugh. “God,” he whines, hands coming up to rest over his burning cheeks, “why me?”

“So, like… does he know about your lil’ crush?”

Oh fuck, does he?

“I don’t know. Maybe?” Ben practically cringes at his next words. “I mean, he can hear people’s pulses and like, literally smell when they’re lying, y’know, so what– oh god, man, he might…”

Jason just snorts and snickers. “You’re a hot mess,” he says between poorly suppressed laughs. “I fuckin’ knew it. The second you got on that whole enjoying-flying-with-him thing, I fucking caaaaalled it.”

His nails etch into the wall of the shower. With his other hand, he strokes so furiously that it practically hurts. The lukewarm stream cascades down his body, serving as just barely enough lubricant for this woeful tug that will surely amount to little more than disappointment.

But he needs this. There’s too much going on, too many conflicting feelings– fear, desperation, desire, anger… and that tight, cramped feeling that corkscrews in his chest every fucking time he thinks of the bug. There’s too much bad mixed in with the good, so he has to wring out just a little more good to further dilute the unwanted.

And yet, with every glide of his fist, he can fucking hear Madelyn harping in his ear about how Benjamin would unmake him. The bug would drain the sea of adoration to little more than a trickle, if that. God help him if anyone ever finds out.

“The bulk of your base would drop you in a second.” She’d said so calmly. As if she wasn’t delivering an earthquake. “You don’t want that, do you?”

Homelander bares his teeth, hissing in anger as his length begins to soften. Over and over again, he’s had to get himself worked right back up. Every time he thinks he’s got a good enough fantasy going, her words creep back in to spoil everything. Used to be Madelyn was the motivator behind his little shower wanks, but now?

“B-Ben…” He gasps, incisors digging into his lower lip. A jolt runs straight to his groin as he reimagines the night prior. What he should’ve done… how he should’ve done it…

Fuck, wouldn’t it have been better for everyone if he’d just grown a pair and lurched forward last night? He should’ve seized those pretty lips with his own and skipped the pleasantries. Homelander imagines what Benjamin would’ve said afterwards. What he would’ve done…

“Johnny?” He’d pant softly, cheeks all flushed, eyes dazed as he takes in the fact The Homelander himself kissed him silly. What an honor that must be…

Homelander would waste no time, diving right back in for more, pressing the bug back until he’d rest upon the couch. There would be no question of how badly Benjamin wants him. Ben would be so wet that he’d be able to smell his pussy right then and there. He’d be soaked, fucking drenched with need and they’d have barely even started.

The bug wouldn’t mind if Homelander ripped the clothes right off of him, especially not when he’d swipe his tongue through the lips of his cunt and finally, fucking finally have a proper taste of his little spider. Oh, how Benjamin would mewl for him. He’d quiver and tremble in all the right ways. The second those thighs clamped around his head, Homelander would give an extra hard suck to that swollen clit of his and chuckle with it still in his mouth at every weak cry it’d wring from the bug.

“Oh, god!” Ben would weep, calling out to none other than Homelander himself– the only god Benjamin would ever truly need. A most giving god indeed, for he would make sure the bug had more than his fill of bliss before finally burying himself in that wet heat and–

It all fades away in a blink. Instead, he's beside Benjamin, brown eyes staring straight into his. Warmth surrounds him, encasing him so perfectly, like a cocoon of… something he can't quite name. They’re in Benjamin’s bed. Sunlight filters through the curtains.

Suddenly there's a hand upon his cheek– Ben's, of course.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” Asks his little spider, eyes twinkling with nothing less than pure adoration. He inches closer, just enough to brush the tips of their noses together. “Let me hold you?”

Homelander doesn't have to be asked twice. He practically throws himself onto Benjamin, pleased as can be when a thigh slots between his and presses right where he needs his little spider's assistance.

Their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. Perfectly made for one another.

“Are you comfortable?” Ben asks, always so considerate. His hands trail all over Homelander's back. Stroking, kneading, feeling…

“Mhm,” He hums, nuzzling closer as if they could merge into one. Homelander's hips rock just slightly. Just enough to show. Just enough that words aren't necessary.

“Go ahead, baby. Don't be scared. Take whatever you need.” Benjamin coos, breaths ghosting the shell of his ear, erupting Homelander's flesh with tingling goosebumps. One hand falls to his hip, encouraging each little movement while the other dances up to scritch at his nape.

“I-I can't–” he gasps, hot breaths fanning into the crook of the bug's neck.

“Show me how much you love me?” Croons his sweet Benjamin. “Please?”

“O-Oh, fuck!” He cries, eyes rolling back when the force of an orgasm hits him seemingly out of nowhere. “Oh, g-god– Ben! Fuck...” The bug’s name falls from his lips over and over, sobbed brokenly with every throbbing spurt from his cock. He stands there for a time, lost in the haze of it all, eyes leaking until he simply sinks to his knees and lets himself collapse onto his rear like some pathetic ragdoll.

The water is too cold… All he wants is that warmth again. The way he felt pressed to Benjamin. There should be arms wrapped around him and kisses pressed to his forehead, hands stroking up and down the length of his back, words whispered in his ear– I love you, they should say. But all he has, all he ever has is… this. An empty bed, a cold space behind him, the only thing willing to caress him swirling down the drain.

Homelander hugs his knees, burying his face in them. He used to curl up like this when he was little, back when the loneliness was really… when it was worse. But sometimes he wonders if it isn’t worse now.

They used to drill that old saying into his head. The loneliest place is at the top… That’s why there was no one there for him back then. It feels like that now.

He couldn’t have Maeve.

Madelyn gives an inch only to snatch it all away the second he isn’t perfect.

And Benjamin? He…

He can’t have Benjamin. Not without losing everything else.

…right?

“What the– what the fuck do you mean you’re using V-Mo as a checking account!?”

If the mask wasn’t protecting it, Benjamin would be tearing his hair out right about now. Maybe he was just getting old, but this? This was by far the dumbest thing the kid has done in ages.

“It’s no big deal,” squeaks the boy on the other end of the call. “It works fine.”

“That’s not– does your dad know you’re using that?” Ben asks in pure exasperation. He tries to keep his voice at a normal volume, but, all things considered…

“No…”

“Aiden, V-Mo isn’t insured! If they fuck up with your money, you’re shit outta luck!” Ben’s head falls back, lenses dimming to filter his view of the late afternoon sky. “Don’t make me drive down. You know I will.”

“Ben–”

“I’ll tell your grandmother.”

“God, fine!” The teen sighs dramatically. “I’ll go down to First B–”

“You’ll go to a nice credit union.”

“I’ll go to a nice credit union.” Aiden parrots. “Jeez, dude. You’re worse than my dad sometimes.”

“Mm, I wouldn’t know.” Ben chuckles, stepping closer to the ledge of his perch. “Look, I gotta bounce, but uh… seriously, fix that.”

“I will, I will…”

“Behave and remember to do your homework, too.”

“Ben–”

With a satisfied grin, Benjamin taps the end call button and lets loose another big sigh. That kid is gonna be the death of him, but he figures that’s probably one of the better ways to get taken out. He’d just left Jason’s house when the call came in and he jumped at the chance to talk. It’s not often Benjamin ever hears from the boy, but he is, despite the title of nephew, the closest thing he’s got to a real brother. Nowadays he only calls if he needs help, but that’s better than nothing… right?

He likes to think so anyway. Better than the arguments with Matt, his older brother, or the read receipt from three years ago from Adam, the oldest. Or the way his mom tries to play devil’s advocate and his dad just tunes it all out. Benjamin tries not to dwell on it as he lands on a roof adjacent to the little market he frequents where he keeps a nice weatherproof duffel bag of clothes. He’s quick about his trip, more than a little eager to get home. Which is why the overly long elevator ride is such a drag. Not to mention Spider-Man holding two big paper bags of groceries wound up being a spectacle for every suit and tie that steps on. A supe who does his own shopping. Who’d’ve thought?

Getting in is easy enough. Kick the door shut, plop the bags on the counter, pull the mask off, flick the light on, and–

“Jesus!”

It’s not often Benjamin is startled given his whole spider-sense deal, but it seems someone has a way to make it happen all the same.

Homelander comes a step closer, face a little more crestfallen than the bug would prefer to see. His eyes scan the bags, clearly investigating. “Noireos? Really?”

“Hey, don’t judge me.” Ben hums as a big dopey grin starts to settle in despite his best efforts. He plops his bags on the kitchen counter.

“Could’ve gotten my stuff.” Homelander huffs. “Would’ve tasted better.”

“Y’know, I still wanna know what person in marketing did you dirty like that.” He giggles, flicking his eyebrows playfully to let Homie know exactly what he was talking about. “Though I guess I, too, enjoy a nice helping of Home-O’s in the morning!”

Though purely a joke, it doesn’t seem to land whatsoever. In fact, Homelander simply looks more dejected.

“Hey… what’s going on?” Ben rounds the counter, coaxing Homelander to sit at one of the stools. “I’m gonna put these away, but talk while I do, yeah?”

It takes a minute for Homelander to say anything, and Ben eyes him the whole time. When he does, it’s barely a mumble, but it is something.

“I just don’t feel good…”

“What, like, you’re sick?” Ben asks. “I can go with you to the med floor if you’re– oh…” As soon as he turns, he sees it. Red rimmed eyes averting their gaze, fidgeting fingers. “Ohhh.” He leans forward against the countertop, head tilted while his heart clenches in his chest. “D’you wanna talk about it?”

Homelander looks at him for a moment, eyes big and blue, but ultimately shakes his head, though there appears to be a level of uncertainty to it.

Ben decides not to pry. Instead, he reaches across and gives one of those fidgeting, gloved hands a pat before looting through one of the bags to produce a couple veggies, ground beef, bouillon, and canned tomato sauces. “Hm… tell you what. Help me out with dinner? I was gonna make this really good soup my great-grandma and gran used to make for me when I was little and I could use an extra set of hands.”

“I’m not a cook.” Homelander rasps, clearing his throat to disguise that he’d clearly been a little choked up earlier.

“I don’t need you to be.” Ben turns for a moment to snag a knife and cutting board. “I just want you to do your best.”

“What if I mess it up?”

For a second, Ben wants to tease him. Mess up soup? But there’s something about the way Homelander asks that question. He’s like a child afraid to even dare try something new for fear of failure, letting his eyes fall to his hands and away from the person he may disappoint.

“Johnny,” Benjamin smiles. He loves the effect that name has. The way it makes Homelander’s eyes light up is just… something else. His cheeks warm a little at the sight. “Don’t think so hard about it. Trust me. Now, gloves off and wash those hands.”

They begin with a pot of water and a pan of searing beef.

“So you’re gonna wanna–”

“Sprinkle that on there, but not too much now.” Nan takes his hand gently, guiding him to shake a generous amount of seasoning over the beef. “About… that much’ll do.”

“Atta’girl!” Chirps his Gran, smiling down at him. “Now get the veggies and dump them in.”

Ben hops down from the chair he’d been standing on and eagerly grabs the big bowl from atop the kitchen table, disturbing a few Mighty Beans he’d left standing to guard their good work. He blinks uncomfortably at the stink of onions, but gets right back onto his pedestal to do as instructed. Within moments, the smell becomes much more pleasant. As he stirs the mixture, his great grandmother begins the pasta in a pot separate from the big one.

“Now watch,” says his grandma. “We’ll do two cans of tomato sauce in the big pot–”

“And let that cook for a bit,” Benjamin instructs, idly pushing chunks of browning beef around in the sizzling pan. Homelander pours each can carefully, as if one wrong move would throw a wrench into everything. “Go ahead and strain the plum tomatoes–”

“And we’ll cut them while they’re still in the can.” Nan plunges a paring knife into the container a couple times, giving it a good shake to reveal any stragglers that may not have gotten properly chopped. “It’s easier this way.”

“Won’t they look weird?” Ben asks, peering into the can curiously.

“Do you mind how they look when you eat it?” Asks his grandmother, giving her mom a look as she watches Ben connect the dots.

“Nope!”

“Exactly.” She says.

“How much of this?” Homelander asks, giving the small container of white pepper a wag.

“Mm, about…” Ben takes him by the hand, directing him to shake it gently until the saucy mixture has a nice coating. “There. Now do the same with some onion powder.”

Ben watches Gran empty the beef and veggies into the pot, eyes sparkling as each piece of the puzzle further assembles his favorite food.

“Now for this.” Nan says, handing him a little jar of beef bullion. “It’s a big pot, so go ahead and scoop all of that in there. We want it to have more of a beef taste.”

He does as he’s told, scooping big globs of the thick paste out and submerging the spoon until they release. Ben sniffs the last one, grimacing a little at the odd scent. He wonders how something so icky could taste good.

“And that’s all there is to it.” Nan hums. She turns to the cabinet, retrieving a bowl with shaking hands. “Go sit down, baby. I’ll bring it over for you.”

Ben practically darts to the kitchen table, bouncing eagerly in his seat as the bowl is set before him. With a few big breaths, he blows cool the first bite.

“Blow it; it’ll be hot.” He instructs, holding the spoon out for Homelander to try. His heart flips in his chest as he watches John lean in, eyes shut as he has his first taste.

Homelander seems to go through a few stages of thought as he chews, but the best of all was the smile that settled onto his face once he swallowed. “Huh.” He hums. “That’s… actually really good.”

The bug smiles big and wide, warmth spreading in his chest. He dips the spoon back in the pot and gets a taste for himself. Good was an understatement. He savors the flavor, holding it in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. Suddenly that warmth becomes tighter, almost like being strangled by nothing.

“Fuck, is it that bad?” Homelander blurts. “Did I–”

“No,” Ben sniffles, looking away to wipe his eyes on his shirt. “Nah, just… I miss ‘em a lot.” A quick glance shows that Homelander has no idea what he means. Of course he wouldn’t. “My Gran and Nan,” he elaborates. “It’s their recipe. They made it for me a lot when I was little.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, just… tastes like better times, y’know?” The bug rubs at his eyes some more. “Grab a chair, I’ll bring you a bowl.”

At first it seems that Homelander was turning to do exactly that, but he halts abruptly and tugs Benjamin by the arm, pulling him into an embrace.

This would have been awkward, once upon a time. But Ben melts, nuzzling his face into Homelander’s collar. Neither says a word for a time, simply standing there holding one another. As much as Ben’s heart races at the proximity, he finds a sense of security unlike any he’s ever felt before. It soothes even the grief that had been building in his heart. He’d stay there forever if he could. He’d let those strong arms keep him safe from the cloud of woe that had settled above him. He’s content to stay right there until–

Grrrrk!

Homelander chuckles. “Sounds like a rumbly in your tummy. C’mon, let’s eat.”

Embarrassed though he may be, Benjamin couldn’t wipe the smile off his face even if he tried.

AO3 LINK

#next day bump

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sehtoast · 19 days ago

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Chocolate Hearts

Bakerverse

18+

Baker has an unpleasant surprise. Homelander has an uncomfortable realization.

CW: sexual harassment

A/N: HUGE shout out to @themeraldee who beta'd this chapter for me.

You stare pensively at your pantry as you take mental stock of all the ingredients. It all looks accounted for but you can’t shake the feeling that something has been missed. It’s an anxious little tickle in your gut that makes it hard to relax the way you wish you could. Not even baking is a balm to your nerves. You have yourself tied up in knots.

It’s all because of the loathsome bitch Stormfront. After she humiliated you in the conference room, things have been different between you and Homelander. He’s distant. He brushes you off when you ask him about plans. He’s cryptic and he barely even comes to visit anymore. Your schedules kept you apart often but you’ve never felt so abandoned by him before. Loneliness sinks into your bones like mold on damp wood, turning you soft and rotten.

You don’t understand. Things were going so well! You thought that… It doesn’t matter what you thought. You chastise yourself. You’ve always existed on borrowed time with him. Stormfront just sped up the process.

Maybe you’ll get lucky and he’ll sweep in through the fire escape in the slightly bewildered way that he always does, like it’s some fun novelty that he’s surprised to realize actually exists in real life. As though he’s a child taking in the city for the first time when his only previous exposure had been picture books. It’s a ridiculous notion considering he’s lived in New York longer than you have. But you suppose that’s what happens when you live so high up above everyone else. The world becomes cold, nothing but a plastic toybox to look down upon.

You shiver despite the radiator running hot.

There’s also the less savory reason Homelander has become distant and that reason has little to do with Stormfront at all. It has everything to do with you and your stupid crush.

You rub your eyes and groan before walking away from the pantry and your mental turmoil. You flop on the couch and immediately pull up one of your favorite podcasts on Spotify as you try to block out your turning thoughts. Unfortunately nothing is helping you forget your actions that morning.

You’d pounced on him. Idiot.

You’re such an idiot.

He’s given you every impression that he wants to take things slow. He’s been nothing but a gentleman towards you. His kisses have been so sweet that you’re surprised you don’t have cavities. He likes you, that much you can tell. But you had to push it too far. You were too sleepy and warm. He was smiling so softly in a way that you’d never seen before. You didn’t think.

Now, on top of everything else, Greg is in town. His supe name is Tiger Stripe which you find incredibly stupid but you won’t even give him the dignity of referring to him that way. It wouldn’t be the first time Greg has screwed up your life. His power is similar to The Deep’s; except he can only converse with animals of the feline variety. The creep is the star of a wildlife learning show for children which seems incredibly fucked up to you considering everything you know.

Greg has been the cause of many fruitless HR reports on your end, and you’re sure from other women as well. Any time he’s at the tower you have to hide. His lewd remarks and not so subtle groping makes you sick to your stomach. Yet nothing has ever been done. You don’t feel good about calling out. Especially with the weird way Homelander has been acting towards you. But you can’t do it. You can’t face Greg. He hasn’t had to visit the tower in months. Why did it have to be today?

You feel dirty, like just thinking about him is enough to cover you with his filth. The lump in your throat won’t go away. He always tries to seek you out in the tower but you worry that he’ll find you here too. He’ll trap you like he tried to do in the elevator, his office, the bathroom once even. You won’t have anywhere to escape. Your stomach turns and you get up for what’s probably the tenth time to check the locks on everything. You ignore the voice in your head reminding you that he could probably break the locks if he really wanted.

The chiming of your phone startles you and your heart drops when you recognize it as the one you set for Homelander. Any other time you would be overjoyed to hear it. But your interactions with him lately haven’t exactly been warm and fuzzy. Against your better judgement you take the call.

“Where are you? I was going to stop by on your lunch with a little surprise but whoopsie you don’t seem to be here. You’ve made me feel a little foolish, sweetheart.” His voice doesn’t come across as lighthearted as his comment might suggest.

“I don’t feel good today.” You reply softly. There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. You have the overwhelming urge to cry. Any other day your heart would flutter at his admission. Shouldn’t a surprise ease your anxiety about his recent behavior? Perhaps it would have, if your brain hadn’t already made up its mind. You fucked things up again. You’re always fucking things up.

“Really? You don’t sound sick. You don’t look sick.” He purrs, you startle a little and run to the window as the implications of the comment hit you. The thought of him seeing you like this fills you with horror. But he’s nowhere to be found. He continues despite your alarm. His voice dips low. “You’re not usually the type to lie to me.”

You really are going to cry now.

“I’m sorry. I’m not sick. I just need a break. That’s all.” You fight back tears as you try to plead your case. It’s really been the worst day.

“From me?” He asks, and if you thought his voice couldn’t get any more icy than you were wrong. You’re suddenly reminded of that infamous stormy night.

“No! Never from you. Just work in general I guess. I’ll be back soon and then you can surprise me. I promise.” You wish you could give him a date but you don’t know when Greg’s business will be done and he’ll finally head back to LA. You can’t return until he’s gone. You just can’t. You’re not strong enough.

“Soon? That’s awfully vague. Are you sure you have the PTO for that? You don’t want to get in trou-ble.” He sing-songs that last sentence as though chastising a child. You’ve never felt the urge to tell him to shut up before and you don’t want to. But a migraine is slowly building behind your eyes and you just want to turn the lights off and sleep this awful feeling away.

“Yes, I have the PTO because I never take off. God forbid I have a bad day every once in a while. I’ll be back and you can surprise me then. Please!” You snap in your exhaustion, bitter towards both yourself and him. You instantly wish you could retract your frustrated words when the call abruptly ends.

A few tears manage to slip out before a harsh knocking against the fire escape makes you jolt. It’s him. It has to be. He’s come to end it in person. You huff in disbelief at your rotten luck and wipe at them roughly before running over to unhook the latch. Well, you were hoping he’d stop by but there’s no bewildered joy. His smile is brittle and doesn’t reach his eyes. You recognize this look from the storm. You remember the fight. Your despair keeps you from remembering the conclusion. You’ve forgotten that you can fix things. He climbs in quickly so he can loom over you.

You’re not sure what you’re expecting as he looks you up and down but you’re not expecting the facade to crack when he notices your red eyes and smells the salt left lingering on your cheeks. His face twitches as he mentally flips through several different emotions at once until he settles on what he’s pretty sure is the correct one.

“You’ve been crying.” He states. The anger has been replaced with a concerned curiosity. He shuffles his feet a bit as he crosses his arms behind his back, portraying a confidence that he doesn’t feel. He’s seen you cry before. He’s comforted you when you’ve cried before. But he still seems to cling to some unknown slight. So he keeps his distance. You don’t blame him.

“I told you. I don’t feel good. I can’t go to the tower today. I can’t.” Your voice cracks and Homelander’s brow furrows. He steps forward and he reaches out to grab you and tug you with him before his arm drops back to his side limply. His fingers twitch. His gaze is conflicted.

“You can’t just call in because you’re sad. Imagine if I did that every time I felt a little down in the dumps. Just…let me escort you back. I’ll talk to Ashley and you can shadow me all day. I’ll take it easy on you.” He says gently, as if speaking to a spooked horse. His expression falls further when your shoulders stay slumped. His fingers twitch again with frustration.

You’re waiting for the penny to drop.

You can tell he’s trying to be patient. You can sense his own feelings are hurt, whether by you or some other daily offense. He needs something you can’t give him right now. There’s a canyon between you and neither of you have the skills to bridge the gap. Maybe another day you could have or maybe you never really had the skills at all. Maybe you’re all sugar and no substance.

You know you should just tell him about Greg, but you’re too humiliated to admit what’s been going on. A part of you thinks he’d understand but you can’t take the risk. You’re worried Homelander might think you’re dirty too. What if he thinks that you’ve been inviting attention? Everyone else you’ve told seems to think so. He’s already put off from your past behavior, what would he think of you if he knew this?

You’re already losing him. You can’t push him further.

“You’re going back.” He snaps, unnerved by your silence. “Just nap in my office for all I care but you are not staying here.” He growls and you snap, throat tight with sorrow as you begin to weep. Homelander stands awkwardly in your kitchen as he clenches and unclenches his fists with uncertainty. You’ve really done it now. You can’t believe you’re embarrassing yourself like this. Your ugly cracks are going to be the final nail in the coffin of his affection.

You’re startled when he reaches out to pat you on the shoulder. He knocks you slightly off balance as he tries to figure out the right pressure to comfort you instead of intimidate. Eventually, he switches to long slow strokes down your arm. His touch is tender, delicate, with a gentleness you don’t deserve. You can’t meet his eyes. You miss that he’s as lost as you.

“Hey. I’m so…” His jaw clicks shut and he takes a pause to swallow. “Maybe Ashley has been working you too hard. I’ll give you one day’s rest but I expect you to be on time and ready to go tomorrow.” He pokes your chest before gently lifting your chin so he can look at you properly. You feel slightly comforted by the mischievous twinkle in his eye. He’s rationalized his disappointment and has decided to give in to your “misbehaving.” You push down the tightness in your throat. Maybe things aren’t quite as dire as you thought. You can’t go in tomorrow if Greg is still there. But maybe confessing your anxiety won’t hurt.

“I can’t go in tomorrow either. There’s someone I need to avoid. His business should be done by the end of the week and then I’ll make it up to you I promise” You lay your hand over where his hand rests on your arm but he quickly jerks back with a furrowed brow. Clearly that’s not what he wanted to hear. He straightens his shoulders and he gives an annoyed scoff.

“The end of the WEEK? It’s Wednesday?! You were expecting to be gone for three days and you weren’t going to TELL ME?! Who the fuck could possibly be so important that you have to take off work?” He gestures vaguely in the air as he processes this information. All previous mischief at helping you be naughty and skip work is gone. Your heart sinks.

“It’s this supe Greg…or Tigerfucker. Tiger Stripe. I don’t give a shit what he’s called. He creeps me out.” You spit out, tongue curling with venom around his name. Homelander pauses at your cursing, eyes wide and incredulous, as though he just saw a dog stand on its hind legs and order a coffee.

“You were planning on missing practically a whole week of work without telling me because some jackoff is creeping you out?” His voice is low and dangerous. If you didn’t have your own wounds to lick, you’d realize that his anger isn’t directed at you, at least not completely. You flinch at his tone and the corner of his mouth twitches downward. He takes half a step back, shoulders tense and eyes wary. You suddenly regret saying anything at all. You should have known it would end like this. No one has ever taken Greg seriously when it comes to you. Not HR, not Stillwell, not Ashley, and now even Homelander is brushing off your fear. Your stomach drops but you’ve come too far to back out now.

“He…says things, disgusting things. He tries to touch me and get me alone. I’ve tried to do things the right way but Vought is hardly the place to work if you want any kind of justice. I mean, Starlight had to drop a public bomb for the company to take her seriously and she’s one of the Seven! And Stillwell before she died…she didn’t even try to make her sanctimonious speech sound less memorized. It’s just better to avoid him. It’s easier.” You wrap your arms around yourself as the room falls quiet. You feel the urge to reach under the cabinet to grab the bottle you know is there. You regret not baking to distract you from the siren call. You thought your bad habits had been left in the past. It figures that Greg would be what takes you down.

There’s a looooooooooooooooong pause

Damn

Long

“Why haven’t you told me?” His voice is flat, an emotion you don’t recognize splashed across his features. He almost looks sick.

“I was scared. I was scared that you’d think I wanted it.”

Another pause, deafening with the silence of it.

Homelander’s eyes are wide, gobsmaked just like the time you’d lost yourself and slapped him. He blinks. He swallows hard. He opens his mouth as if to speak…

And then like that Homelander is gone out of the fire escape with nothing but the rush of wind to signal he was ever there at all.

You crumple to the floor.

You really should have made those cookies.

——————————————————-

Homelander didn’t go far. His mind swirls with so many conflicting thoughts that he can barely trust himself to fly straight. His chest aches and burns. He stands on the rooftop of your building, pacing like an animal as he processes what you had confessed to him.

Today was supposed to be the day. He put together a surprise; roses and chocolates, the whole shebang. Once he’d had his private moment with you, he was going to sweep you off your feet and fly you to the press conference he’d organized. He was going to tell the entire world. Fuck Edgar. Fuck Vought. Fuck Stormfront. You were going to be his. You were finally going to be his.

Now the roses are wilting and the chocolates have no doubt melted. The waiting press must be looking around confused as they wait for an announcement that will never come. Weeks of planning slip through his fingers and evaporate in the air like smoke.

Tiger Stripe

Homelander knows the name. He’s a d-list supe that reeks of cigarette smoke, alcohol, and the caustic burn of cat urine. The stink of him permeates whatever floor he’s on. He should have been off the air years ago but Homelander supposes that jingling cat shaped keys for the drooling masses made Vought enough money to keep him around.

I was scared you’d think I wanted it

Homelander grits his teeth as your words echo around in his head. He feels itchy under his suit. His stomach turns. A strange emotion he can’t identify burns through his veins like acid.

He remembers seeing you outside Stillwell’s office. It was a while ago, back when you were still nothing but walking furniture to him. He’d heard the speech. He’d scoffed. He’d rolled his eyes and waited exasperated for you to take the hint and leave. When you did, eyes low and shoulders slumped, he’d shoulder checked you on his way in. Just because he could.

Do you still remember that?

I was scared you think I wanted it

He knows the speech all too well. He practically has it memorized although he rarely has reason to bother recalling it. It was routine and he’d admired the no-nonsense way she went about things. Not that it matters much now.

I was scared you’d think I wanted it

Of course he knows you wouldn’t?! Do you really think so lowly of him? How can you still not trust him when he’s been so patient and good for you? How dare you doubt him! How dare you see him as the type of guy to…

A face flashes through his mind. A pretty face with blue eyes and a bright smile. She’d been sweet too once.

Now she can’t stand to look at him. She can’t bear for him to touch her.

Something coils tight and poisonous in his stomach.

I was scared you’d think I wanted it

#giggles n kicks my feet at the name Greg even tho major Greg difference #bakerverse

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sehtoast · 19 days ago

Text

Tender Threads Chapter 12 (Homelander x OC)

chapter twelve: a pot of love (18+)

chapter directory | slow burn, hurt/comfort, fluff, spidersona as original character, original trans male character, smut, sublander

summary: heavy is the heart that has known love, little spider.

Is he– no. There’s no way Mister America himself is anything but as straight as it gets.

There’s no room for someone like me in tradition…

Yeah… he hates this part.

“Where have you been going at night?”

“Cabin,” he lies smoothly. Or he tries, at least, but she doesn’t look the slightest bit convinced. Madelyn crosses her arms and leans her weight onto one leg.

Homelander gulps. She’s got him red fucking handed, on screen, heading into Benjamin’s apartment with the bottle of wine they’d shared.

Should’ve gone in through the window…

“Is this why you bit me..?” Her words come out small, but they grab his very being in a tight fist.

He hurt her. Disappointed her.

Madelyn walks out slowly from behind the desk, bandaged fingers trailing the edge of it before falling to her side. “Am I not enough for you anymore?”

Homelander scoffs. It’s all he can do. Play it off. “No, I just–” His breath catches. “We’re friends.”

“And?”

“...and we ordered Vought-A-Burger…”

“Where did you sleep?” She asks, approaching until the tips of her shoes just barely touch his. Madelyn caresses his cheek, thumb stroking slowly across the curve of it.

“O-On the… the couch.” Not technically a lie.

“And where did he sleep?”

“His room…” It barely comes as a whisper, but it’s enough. He has to protect his little spider…

“Good,” Madelyn hums, smiling sweetly. “I can’t imagine what a scandal like that would do to your image.”

His blood runs cold, like a whole gallon of the Arctic had been injected into every inch of his body in one clean shot.

“Getting caught sleeping with a man would ruin you.”

That piercing ringing returns, reducing her stern assertion to little more than garbled nonsense that, miraculously, finds a way to process anyway.

“All I want is to protect you. You’ll let me take care of you, won’t you?”

“That’s my good boy…”

“You’re hopeless, dude. Homelander!?” Jason looks at Benjamin as if the bug were out of his mind entirely– and perhaps he is.

“Conductor, we have a fucking problem,” he announced as soon as Jason opened the door. He hardly let the guy get a word in before just spilling. “Dude, I caught feelings for Homelander!”

“Yeah,” Ben gripes, palms over his eyes, head leaned back against the couch.

“Whaa...?”

Jason just blinks. “Oh, you’re fucked.”

“That’s the problem!” Ben exhales. “I’m very clearly not fucked.” This earns him a snorted laugh. “God,” he whines, hands coming up to rest over his burning cheeks, “why me?”

“So, like… does he know about your lil’ crush?”

Oh fuck, does he?

“The bulk of your base would drop you in a second.” She’d said so calmly. As if she wasn’t delivering an earthquake. “You don’t want that, do you?”

“B-Ben…” He gasps, incisors digging into his lower lip. A jolt runs straight to his groin as he reimagines the night prior. What he should’ve done… how he should’ve done it…

“Johnny?” He’d pant softly, cheeks all flushed, eyes dazed as he takes in the fact The Homelander himself kissed him silly. What an honor that must be…

Suddenly there's a hand upon his cheek– Ben's, of course.

Their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. Perfectly made for one another.

“Are you comfortable?” Ben asks, always so considerate. His hands trail all over Homelander's back. Stroking, kneading, feeling…

“Mhm,” He hums, nuzzling closer as if they could merge into one. Homelander's hips rock just slightly. Just enough to show. Just enough that words aren't necessary.

“I-I can't–” he gasps, hot breaths fanning into the crook of the bug's neck.

“Show me how much you love me?” Croons his sweet Benjamin. “Please?”

They used to drill that old saying into his head. The loneliest place is at the top… That’s why there was no one there for him back then. It feels like that now.

He couldn’t have Maeve.

Madelyn gives an inch only to snatch it all away the second he isn’t perfect.

And Benjamin? He…

He can’t have Benjamin. Not without losing everything else.

…right?

“What the– what the fuck do you mean you’re using V-Mo as a checking account!?”

If the mask wasn’t protecting it, Benjamin would be tearing his hair out right about now. Maybe he was just getting old, but this? This was by far the dumbest thing the kid has done in ages.

“It’s no big deal,” squeaks the boy on the other end of the call. “It works fine.”

“That’s not– does your dad know you’re using that?” Ben asks in pure exasperation. He tries to keep his voice at a normal volume, but, all things considered…

“No…”

“Ben–”

“I’ll tell your grandmother.”

“God, fine!” The teen sighs dramatically. “I’ll go down to First B–”

“You’ll go to a nice credit union.”

“I’ll go to a nice credit union.” Aiden parrots. “Jeez, dude. You’re worse than my dad sometimes.”

“Mm, I wouldn’t know.” Ben chuckles, stepping closer to the ledge of his perch. “Look, I gotta bounce, but uh… seriously, fix that.”

“I will, I will…”

“Behave and remember to do your homework, too.”

“Ben–”

Getting in is easy enough. Kick the door shut, plop the bags on the counter, pull the mask off, flick the light on, and–

“Jesus!”

It’s not often Benjamin is startled given his whole spider-sense deal, but it seems someone has a way to make it happen all the same.

Homelander comes a step closer, face a little more crestfallen than the bug would prefer to see. His eyes scan the bags, clearly investigating. “Noireos? Really?”

“Hey, don’t judge me.” Ben hums as a big dopey grin starts to settle in despite his best efforts. He plops his bags on the kitchen counter.

“Could’ve gotten my stuff.” Homelander huffs. “Would’ve tasted better.”

Though purely a joke, it doesn’t seem to land whatsoever. In fact, Homelander simply looks more dejected.

“Hey… what’s going on?” Ben rounds the counter, coaxing Homelander to sit at one of the stools. “I’m gonna put these away, but talk while I do, yeah?”

It takes a minute for Homelander to say anything, and Ben eyes him the whole time. When he does, it’s barely a mumble, but it is something.

“I just don’t feel good…”

Homelander looks at him for a moment, eyes big and blue, but ultimately shakes his head, though there appears to be a level of uncertainty to it.

“I’m not a cook.” Homelander rasps, clearing his throat to disguise that he’d clearly been a little choked up earlier.

“I don’t need you to be.” Ben turns for a moment to snag a knife and cutting board. “I just want you to do your best.”

“What if I mess it up?”

They begin with a pot of water and a pan of searing beef.

“So you’re gonna wanna–”

“Sprinkle that on there, but not too much now.” Nan takes his hand gently, guiding him to shake a generous amount of seasoning over the beef. “About… that much’ll do.”

“Atta’girl!” Chirps his Gran, smiling down at him. “Now get the veggies and dump them in.”

“Now watch,” says his grandma. “We’ll do two cans of tomato sauce in the big pot–”

“Won’t they look weird?” Ben asks, peering into the can curiously.

“Do you mind how they look when you eat it?” Asks his grandmother, giving her mom a look as she watches Ben connect the dots.

“Nope!”

“Exactly.” She says.

“How much of this?” Homelander asks, giving the small container of white pepper a wag.

“Mm, about…” Ben takes him by the hand, directing him to shake it gently until the saucy mixture has a nice coating. “There. Now do the same with some onion powder.”

Ben watches Gran empty the beef and veggies into the pot, eyes sparkling as each piece of the puzzle further assembles his favorite food.

“Now for this.” Nan says, handing him a little jar of beef bullion. “It’s a big pot, so go ahead and scoop all of that in there. We want it to have more of a beef taste.”

“And that’s all there is to it.” Nan hums. She turns to the cabinet, retrieving a bowl with shaking hands. “Go sit down, baby. I’ll bring it over for you.”

Ben practically darts to the kitchen table, bouncing eagerly in his seat as the bowl is set before him. With a few big breaths, he blows cool the first bite.

“Blow it; it’ll be hot.” He instructs, holding the spoon out for Homelander to try. His heart flips in his chest as he watches John lean in, eyes shut as he has his first taste.

“Fuck, is it that bad?” Homelander blurts. “Did I–”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, just… tastes like better times, y’know?” The bug rubs at his eyes some more. “Grab a chair, I’ll bring you a bowl.”

At first it seems that Homelander was turning to do exactly that, but he halts abruptly and tugs Benjamin by the arm, pulling him into an embrace.

Grrrrk!

Homelander chuckles. “Sounds like a rumbly in your tummy. C’mon, let’s eat.”

Embarrassed though he may be, Benjamin couldn’t wipe the smile off his face even if he tried.

AO3 LINK

#homelander #homelander x oc #the boys #the boys fanfiction #homelander smut #homelander x reader #antony starr #the benlander agenda #the boys oc

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