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plutoswritingplanet · 3 months

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Vicarious (Homelander x Female!Reader) pt.2

a/n: at my young, spry age, writing a twitter thread felt like "how do you do fellow kids", y'all better appreciate the sacrifice, Cross-Posted on AO3

Warnings: General Creepy Behavior, Plus Sized Reader, my inability to write a press conference yeehaw

Summary: First time in front of the cameras, you try to embrace your new persona... For better or worse

Pt.1 Pt.3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5

This isn't you. You're not here.

The face staring back at you from the mirror might have some resemblance, but the heavy, over the top makeup distorts your features in a way, that makes you almost unrecognizable. The moment you've signed that contract, someone took your soul straight out of your body, containing it in a box, far from your reach. Sometimes you can almost feel it, the real you, like a ghost passing through a room. The Smirnoff you've carefully crafted over the years. She's in the way you walk, shoulders hunched, like you're carrying the weight of the world on them. In the heavy feeling of cigarette smoke, settling into your lungs after a rough day.

In the shower, you can almost hear her as well. Your voice is off-key, low, and doesn't seem to remember half the words, but it's much more genuine than the chirpy, lobotomized tone they commanded you to talk in. Media training was pure hell. It only lasted an hour, as your schedule appeared to be pretty tight, but the way Ashley spoke to you, with an air of patronizing authority, made you grit your teeth at the mere memory.

This body, soft and pliable, stuffed crudely into a corset that dug itself into your skin, like it was trying to force you to fit a mold. Those exposed, fishnet clad legs, were not yours as well. They were surely someone else's. Yours were hidden under all those flowery long skirts you've gathered over the years, so proud of your thrifted collection, which is now gathering dust back home. That's where you left the box with your soul, stacked it away under flowy linens and music sheets from your lessons.

You ponder over this feeling. This complete separation from your body. Perhaps this was your true superpower. And then your phone alarm goes off, and everything is shoved down, as your platform boots... No... Fireball's platform boots, carry you out of your room and down the corridor.

Homelander is already waiting for you, his stature imposing, looming over a crowd of backstage workers, as they clean off any imperfections before the press conference. His eyes snap towards you, the moment you step into the room, and you swallow thickly, remembering your last, admittedly, very fucking weird interaction. Ashley flashes past you, giving you a quick once over, seemingly satisfied with your look. It's hard to tell really, she always seems to find some flaw that needs to be corrected.

- Did you read the talking points? - she asks, her eyes flickering between you, and her tablet.

- Mhm... - too low, you think, adjusting the tone of your voice slightly.

There's a lot of people, more than what you're used to. Moving past the red-head, you sneak a peak behind the heavy curtain, separating you from the reporters chattering outside. What you see, does nothing to calm your nerves, as your eyes scan over a crowd of smart dressed people, the microphones, the cameras.

Perhaps, just perhaps, you've bitten off more than you can chew.

- Nervous? - a familiar voice says to your side, and you pull back, like you've been caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

Homelander looks almost exactly how you remember, when you saw him the first time. When he tried to convince you, he's every bit the perfect person from his movies. There's a charming smile plastered on his face, and he holds himself with an air of heroic otherworldliness, not a trace of the creepy, leering supe you've come to know. Your eyebrows furrow, but you decide to play along. You're not alone here, there's constant buzzing of surveilence around you, after all.

- Very much, yeah - you admit, sincerely, throwing a cautious look towards the podium.

He laughs in a weirdly boyish manner. You imagine, this is how a Ken doll would laugh, if it was alive. His hand reaches up, grabbing your shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze. His touch feels like needles on your skin, but you smile nonetheless. Cameras, remember the cameras. There are people all around you, and as such, someone is surely watching.

- Don't worry, you'll do great - he announces, then leans forward, until his face stops mere inches from your ear, making your body freeze up at the proximity - Don't even think about embarrassing me out there. No outbursts, no remarks, just keep on smiling and be the fucking mascot they hired you to be.

Okay, ouch. He leans back, his expression never changing from that same, bright smile. You blink up at him a couple of times. It's honestly impressing, how he keeps up the appearance of a perfect, selfless hero.

- Fucking hell, okay...

This time, the squeeze is anything but comforting, and you can feel all of his fingers dig into the meat of your shoulder.

- Language - he scolds you with a pointed finger, and to anyone standing on the outside, the gesture might seem endearing.

You know the truth however, and it takes a lot of strength out of you, not to flip him off. It seems he's taking the role of a mentor a bit too seriously. Or perhaps, he's just a patronizing asshole. As you watch his plastic smile, you're more and more inclined to believe the second option.

Still, there is something grounding in the way he holds you close, his hand steering you towards the curtain, and as it leaves your shoulder, you find yourself feeling conflicted. Especially now, since the announcer is saying your name to the sound of moderate applause, which intensifies as soon as the curtain moves to the side, exposing you, and Homelander to the hungry eyes of the reporters.

You knees start to wobble, as you're suddenly confronted with the reality of the flashing cameras, the lights, the voices. Your heart beats out of your chest, anxiety slowly but surely overtaking your body, and not knowing any other alternative, your hand reaches out in a gesture bordering on desperation.

Homelander flinches, when your fingers grab onto the material of his glove. His eyes flicker towards you for just a moment, taking in the rapidity of your pulse, thrumming through your veins. The shortness of breath, as your nails bite into the custom made leather. Your eyes are locked onto the reporters, and your body seems to be stuck in an awkward pose, in-between steps. Out of all the things, that could frighten you in your, frankly, hopeless situation, crowds were an unexpected turn of events.

So much for the strong, independent whatever. Homelander lets your hand linger for just a moment, if only to amuse himself further, before he steps forward to the podium, adjusting the microphone to his height. Your fingers curl around air, and you force your back to straighten.

- Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you all for coming - his voice booms through the conference room, and he takes a small pause, letting the applause subside - As you've probably been informed, I'm here to announce a very special, new member of The Seven. She'll be joining the team on a temporary basis, as a replacement for Lamplighter.

Shit. You swallow thickly, and Homelander's smirk grows into something sharper at the sound, hidden from everyone else but himself.

- I give you, Fireball!

He turns to you with a flourish, inviting you to step towards the podium. Your eyes flicker towards his, and he gives you a pointed look, that makes your heart sink to the floor. Here you are, presented to the wolves by a much worse monster. Deep breaths, remember that fated hour of media training. There's a role to play, after all.

This isn't you. You're not here.

A bright, practiced smile floats onto your features, and finally you take a step forward, your hands curling into tight fists at your sides. You can feel the texture of your matte lipstic pull at your lips, the high-end eyeliner sticking the corners of your eyes together. The reporters clap politely, and you try to focus on a point above their heads, like they taught you in high school. The last time you've been in front of such a crowd, was when your friend roped you into taking part in a student reedition of Heathers. A fucking miserable affair.

You're a little bit too quiet, for a little bit too long, and Homelander bristles out of the corner of your eye. You can see his chest expand, as he inhales deeply. Then, he moves in front of you, standing closer to the microphone, and intentionally or not, saving you from all the curious looks. You take a moment to gather your bearings, closing your eyes for just a second.

- Now, we have limited time for questions, so let's keep it simple - he announces, scanning the crowd of raised hands. - Gentleman in the back?

- Hi, John Douglas VNN. A question for Fireball?

Homelander turns to you with that same, plastic smile, and you nod, trying to convince yourself, more than him, that you're ready to speak. He moves aside, just enough to make a sliver of space for you in front of the microphone, and you step up with a sigh.

- Hey, what's up? - there's a tremble to your voice, which you try to swallow down.

- I think we're all surprised by you joining The Seven - the man comments with a smirk - Can you tell us some more about the recruitment process?

You take a deep breath, imagine your friend in front of you, and lean against the podium with a lazy smile. You're not here, after all. This isn't you.

- Well, a video of me, helping out during a house fire went viral, and soon enough Vaught has offered me a temporary partnership. - there's a playful tilt to your words, and you can already see all the comments pouring in - Besides, y'all have seen the contract.

There's a murmur of sheepish laughter rolling over the conference room, and you swallow thickly, trying to fight off the dryness in your throat.

- Here, at the front? - Homelander cuts in, leaning closer as he speaks to the microphone.

Absent-mindedly, you note he smells very, almost obscenely expensive, and your nose crinkles slightly as you take a breath.

- Mileena Johnson, News Nation - a woman in a tasteful costume stands up - Given this sudden interest from Vaught, is it safe to assume you're not used to all this?

She looks around the room, then back to you and mirrors your smile, flashing her perfectly white teeth. With a sardonic expression, you lean towards the microphone again, some unknown, mischievous note entering your voice.

- Oh, yeah! - you confirm - I'm a media virgin, through and through.

There's a strangled sound of multiple people laughing, some reporters clearly thrilled by the joke, others shaking their head disapprovingly. There's a large portion just staring at you, and you fight off the urge to cringe at your own words. Then, there's a small noise, somewhere next to you, and pushed by curiosity, you look over at Homelander. He looks conflicted between keeping up the smile, and stepping in, eventually opting to lean back, his eyes shifting between you and the reporters with a hint of curiosity hidden behind them.

And then he moves, shifting ever so slightly behind you, his hand finding purchase on the lower part of your back, his fingertips drumming lightly against the zipper. Your back straightens like a guitar string, a shiver of something running up your spine. With his free hand, he points towards another reporter, who stands up and introduces himself politely.

It's hard for you to focus.

- How, in your opinion, an addition of such a young Hero will affect the team?

Homelander's hand climbs higher, towards the edge of your corset. You can feel his gloved fingertips dance across the stitching.

- I'll do everything in my power to help the Seven fight for peace - you answer, voice slightly choked up, but your expression remains impassive.

- That's right! - Homelander chimes in, suddenly much more animated - Such a young, fresh, addition will surely motivate us to push ourselves even harder.

Another reporter raises her hand, and you're starting to scream internally, as Homelander's gloved hand abandons your corset in favor of running up your bare skin. Your smile falters for just a second, as he grabs onto the back of your neck, squeezing a few times, before letting his hand rest under your hair.

- Something for the tabloids? - the reporter announces - I have to say, the both of you look great together, and since Homelander's recent breakup with Queen Meave, we're wondering, what exactly is the relationship between the two of you?

Fuck, fuckitty fuck fuck fuck, your brain scrambles for a proper response. That was not included in the talking points. Although eventual shipping was expected, you were aware of the culture, you though it would take some time for the thing to sail away. Unfortunately, the reporter blinks expectantly, and the longer you stay silent, the worse the rumors will undoubtedly get. Out of the corner of your eye, you can already see Homelander lean towards the mic, and knowing deep in your bones, that whatever he says, will be humiliating, you lurch forwards.

- We're coworkers. He's my mentor, I'm his student. Do with that, what y'all want.

- Right, is there a chance that a romance may bloom? - the reporter pushes further, adjusting her glasses on her nose.

- I met him yesterday, y'all - you comment with an exasperated sigh, and force yourself to ignore the way Homelander's finger tangles itself into the hair growing at the base of your skull.

The reporter laughs and sits down, and this time you can't stop the sigh of relief from escaping your lips. Another hand shoots up in the back of the room, and Homelander points to it over your shoulder. A man in his thirties stands up, and even blinded by the reflectors, you can see the cocky smirk on his face.

- I've seen the video - he starts, a flippant tone entering his voice - And I couldn't help but wonder, how did Vaught even let someone so inexperienced into the Tower?

It's quiet, dozens of eyes flicker nervously between you and Homelander, and his hand stills at your back. You're not here. This isn't you. And so, lips pulled back into a mean bastardization of a bright smile, you lean heavily on the podium, letting it all, proverbially, hang out.

- I flashed the doorman.

You don't have to have a degree in media analysis to notice the sudden uptake in flashing lights. Homelander's hand falls from your back in a languid motion, the leather of his glove dragging itself down your spine, before he moves, and takes up the entirety of space in front of the podium.

- And on that - he pauses, and pretends to look back at you, too lazy to actually commit to the bit - thrilling note, I'm afraid that's all the time we have for today. Thank you all for coming. God bless you all!

You wave a half assed goodbye to all the gathered people, and before anyone can say anything else, you turn on your heel and walk back towards a very pissed-off-looking Ashley. The white light of her tablet is illuminating her scowl, and involuntarily, you groan.

- What the fuck was that? - she asks, before you get one word out - Freezing up like an idiot? Making stupid fucking jokes?

Homelander enters soon after you, his expression unreadable. He stands in the back, arms crossed in front of his chest, observing your interaction with Ashley. Seemingly pondering over something. His inaction, somehow, makes flames of irritation rise inside your gut, and you direct your anger towards the red-headed woman.

- Stillwell is going to have my fucking head - Ashley lamments, eyes locked onto her tablet - This will be horrible for your ratings, not to mention Homelander's.

With a roll of your eyes, you step closer, grabbing the hardware and consequently, forcing her to look up at you.

- Oh yeah? - there's a note of bravery entering your voice, and Homelander's eyebrow shoots upwards - Check fucking Twitter.

For just a second, Ashley hesitates, blinking at you owlishly. Then, she taps away at the tablet, her features illuminated with blue. Homelander's hashtag is trending, as expected, but you can see your given Hero name right under it. The third hashtag makes you smirk. Ashley starts reading out loud.

"Have y'all seen that interaction between #Homelander and #Fireball?"

There's a video, couple seconds long, where you can see yourself, frozen with nerves backstage, Homelander leaning over your form. From afar, it looks comforting, cute even. You smirk. It cuts to the moment his hand sneaked up your back. Even to you, the gesture looks like a show of support, although you're sure some groups of people will run with the romance storyline.

"I have an anxiety disorder, and #Fireball is showing clear signs of an anxiety attack"

"No media training seen in the room #iconic"

"Aww, look at #Homelander comforting her, they're so cute together"

"Did we collectively forget what he said during that graduation speech?"

"Let's normalize people learning and growing"

"It's honestly heartwarming, seeing someone with mental health problems in The Seven, I finally feel represented"

"And can we talk about how #Homelander handled the situation? Truly, #AmericasGreatestHero"

"#MentalHealthKing"

It's quiet on set for a long moment, as both Ashley and Homelander seem to take in this one Twitter thread, among many similar ones. You, holding in laughter to the best of your abilities, wait patiently, until Ashley finally looks up at you.

- I know, why I'm here - you tell her, and something passes across her features.

She clears her throat, swiping on her tablet.

- You have training with Black Noir in an hour - she informs you, her voice back to that professional, emotionless tone - We'll get some footage of it out to the public, so try to behave.

- Yes Ma'am - you smile, and once again, she gives you a strange look, before turning on her heels, and walking away, a satisfied lightness to her steps.

It's only you and Homelander left backstage, and as you turn to face him, he's already looking at you with an appraising gaze. Despite yourself, despite his borderline creepy behavior, and the threats, and the touches, you can't help, but smile. It starts off slow, a small smirk pulling at the corners of your mouth, but soon after that, all your teeth are on display. Because fuck it, you're proud of yourself, and for the first time since you've met him, Homelander doesn't look at you like you're a cut of meat on a bucther's rack.

- That went so much better, than I expected - you breathe out, and he nods.

- It sure was something - he says, leaning on a nearby pillar.

You bark a short laugh at his admission, the adrenaline from your first real encounter with the press, keeping you on a high you were not expecting. There's buzzing at the end of your fingertips, and you shake your hands, trying to dispell some of the energy.

- Oh, I was ready to shit myself - you huff, shaking your head.

Homelander sucks on his teeth, his eyebrow shooting up.

- Language. - he reminds you, and you put up your hands in mock surrender.

It's easy, riding the wave of your newly found success. As such, you ignore the way his eyes glide all over your body, stopping rather obscenely at your chest. You pretend not to notice, the way his hands twitch at his sides, and you definitely don't see the tightness in his lower area. No, all of it doesn't matter, because you've proven your worth, not as much to Homelander, but to the company, and fuck, if it didn't feel good.

Your enthusiasm turns to ashes in your mouth, as Homelander leans forward, invading your personal space like it wasn't yours to begin with. There's a glint of barely masked anger in his eyes, the blue of his irises getting swallowed by a dangerous, red sheen. Not enough to hurt anyone, but enough to let you know, you're on thin ice. Which confuses you beyond belief, because up until this point, you thought everything went peachy.

A gloved hand sneaks up, towards you chin, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough, you can imagine them chipping the bones underneath.

- Next time - he seethes through gritted teeth - Keep your fucking mouth in check, or I'll find a better use for it.

Oh, that's new. Your soul leaves your body once again, the box locking it away with a click, that sounds like thunder in your ears. Homelander frowns, as if he can see the change happen right before his eyes. And perhaps, even through the fog of anger, he's perceptive enough. His posture falters slightly, as you take a step in his direction, or, more likely, Fireball does.

- Why wait, I'm standing right here - the challenging note in your voice surprises both of you.

He blinks. You blink. And then, his face changes completely. The authoritarian expression of anger melts away into something you'd never expect. An almost childish sort of giddiness enters his eyes, and if you were yourself, not Fireball, you would've found the sparkling blue of his eyes enchanting. Terrifying, but impossible to look away. You should be thankful for this separation, it is surely saving your sanity.

Before he can act out whatever his twisted, blonde mind conjured up, you slip past him like smoke out the window, your platform boots clicking against the floor. It doesn't matter, none of it matters. This isn't you after all. You're not here.

It's long past her working hours, when Stillwelll finally has the time to sit down and unwind. Her phone screen reflects in the lenses of her reading glasses, a recognizable, Twitter-blue illuminating her features. Her eyes scan the site for a moment, and then, suddenly, her hand comes up to cover her mouth.

There it is. A picture of her best project to date. You're standing awkwardly, shoulders tense, a sheen of sweat on your forehead mingling with a foundation, that's worth more than your entire wardrobe back home. Homelander's hand is holding you securely, fingers splayed at the skin of your back. And above the picture... "#MentalHealthKing"

Stillwell laughs, quietly but sincerely. Who would've thought.

#my writing #homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander fanfiction #homelander #the boys fanfiction #the boys amazon #the boys x reader #plus size reader #thank you charli xcx i listened to 365 and guess in a loop while writing this #till the windows crack ill be bumpin that

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