#Homelander being Homelander

[amostimprobabledream]

Colour in my dark side (Homelander x Goth!Reader)

Blame @blindmagdalena for this, ages ago we were discussing Homelander becoming attracted to a goth!Reader who is indifferent to him and this is what spawned. Enjoy!

It’s hellish hot.

The Con is swarming with people, and your all-black outfit isn’t helping at all. This is not your idea of a good time – it’s loud, bright, every fifth person stinks of B.O, and there’s always some kid shrieking somewhere and you’re hungry. Posters and clips of the Seven are playing everywhere – you’re sure if you did a three-hundred sixty degree spin, you’d be able to see a whole movie play out across the whole venue. Honestly, it’s too much. You’ve never really cared all that much about Supes, to be honest. Sure, saving people’s lives is admirable and they deserved every bit of credit and however much money one paid Supes for doing that. That all made sense.

But all this? The tacky clothing lines and toys and comics? The endless ad campaigns and shitty movies and TV shows? It was all just so much. You had no idea how any sane person could bear it, but then, you were pretty biased in that respect. And every one of the Seven except maybe Black Noir were so not your aesthetic – the cheesy grins and spangly suits made your eyes hurt.

So why are you here?

Because your friend Jen practically begged you to come with her. She’d had tickets for SupeCon for months. Apparently, her sister was originally going to come with her, but somewhere along the way, plans changed, things got confused and she couldn’t make it. Jen promised she didn’t expect you to pay for her sister’s ticket and that she’d treat you to lunch, just as long as she didn’t have to go alone. You’d dragged her to some weird events in your time, so you agreed, if slightly reluctantly.

But now you’re here, it’s exactly as bad as you thought it was going to be. And it’s about to get worse.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe the Seven are finally here!” Jen squeals and bounces up and down next to you, while you stand there watching her in befuddlement. No doubt you make an odd pair to anybody watching – she fits right in and you look like a crow amongst a flock of sparrows.

“I mean, yeah, they are scheduled to be.” You reply, in the most deadpan voice you can muster. Jen usually catches onto your sarcasm very quickly, you’ve perfected the art of saying it subtly, but today she’s too excited and it goes right over your head.

The Seven enter with screams of applause that makes you wince, wanting to clap your hands over your ears. Homelander is in the lead, of course, waving to the crowd and even giving a cheesy thumbs-up. Queen Maeve, A-Train, Black Noir and Starlight follow him, not as bombastic but each of them seem to have their fair share of fans too. You don’t know where The Deep is and it looks like they haven’t gotten around to replacing Translucent yet.

Jen is busy snapping pictures of them as they walk to their booths. Apparently there’s going to be a short Q&A later about whatever movie it is they’re supposed to be plugging at the moment. Apparently this one is a big deal because it’s the first one with Starlight in it, but Jen promised she wouldn’t make you stay for that, thank god.

“God, most people don’t look as good when you see them in person, but they’re all so good-looking!” Jen gushes, bouncing on her heels.

“I guess.” You offer neutrally, trying not to sound too critical because she’s here to have fun.

They look a little uncomfortable to you. Well, it’s hard to get any vibes from Black Noir, to be honest, but Maeve has a just-swallowed-a-lemon face and Starlight’s smile has a nervous edge to it. You read somewhere she used to be in beauty pageants as a kid and it shows when she’s in front of a crowd. A-Train and Homelander seem to be soaking in the attention, though, which doesn’t surprise you at all.

“Omg, hey, look this way!” Jen says, suddenly turning her phone the other way and leaning her head towards yours. “Picture!”

“Ugh, do we have to?” you ask, but you dutifully pose anyway, but you don’t smile. The flash stings your eyes and you blink, hard.

You blink several times, eyes watering a bit, but you manage to prevent them from leaking, which is good because you don’t want to fuck up your eyeliner. Now Jen is staring at the rapidly-forming queue, chewing her lip as she deliberates and you fish your phone out of your pocket and start scrolling through it, absent-mindedly.

“Fuck it, I’m going in.” she says, turning to you hopefully. “You wanna come? I know you don’t really like the Seven, but you could at least meet Black Noir yourself?”

"Yeah, I don't think so." you reply without looking up from your phone. "Standing in line for hours just so some Vought barbie doll can bare their teeth at me and give me an overpriced piece of junk with their name scrawled on it is not my idea of a good time."

Okay, maybe that was a bit mean - the heat and hunger is making you snippy, but fortunately for you Jen doesn't mind when you're grouchy so she simply laughs at you.

"Say what you want, Morticia, but I'm going to catch 'em all!" she grins at you. "I can't wait to talk to Starlight, she's the only one of the Seven I don't have any hand-signed merch of yet!"

You glance over at where the girl in question is sitting. Homelander gets the end table, obviously, since they're saving the best for last and if there's an emergency, he needs to be able to get out quickly (he's been known to crash through roofs before, apparently, so he's right next to the emergency exit door), but Starlight's on the table next to his. Between all the other members of the Seven there's something fragile-looking about her, with her dainty white costume and the hair in soft blonde waves. You know that's not true; she has to be tough to have been let into the Seven at all.

But...for some reason you find yourself feeling sorry for her.

"She looks so young." is what you end up saying.

“Yeah, I guess? I just wish she’d ditch that hairband; I had one just like it in middle school,” Jen says, shrugging. “Still love her, though! I’m gonna go get in line now!”

You nod, not really paying attention anymore and glance around, wondering if you should bother buying a hotdog or something – can you last another couple of hours before Jen gets you lunch?

“Okay, I’m getting a slushie. Do you want one?”

She smiles and shakes her head, hitching the strap of her bag further up her shoulder.

“Nah, it’ll have melted by the time I’m finished getting autographs. Go on and listen to The Cure or something.”

“Fuck you,” you reply with a smirk and Jen laughs and trots off towards the back of the line, her hair swishing. You’re glad she drove here because she’s going to struggle walking anywhere with all the shit she’s buying.

The line is so long it’s snaking around the room, but the Seven are used to events like this so hopefully she should only be an hour or so. You sigh and dodge a family that nearly steamroll right over you, a mother and father arguing loudly while their kids whine and shriek behind them, the youngest one squeezing an A-Train toy that is already missing an eye. You make a disgusted face as you dodge them – you don’t want their gross sticky hands getting on your clothes.

After buying yourself a slushie that’s so big it’s slightly too large for you to hold one-handed, you dodge endless streams of people until you get to a wall and lean against it. You can’t see any chairs anywhere, which is a shame because your feet are really starting to hurt.

“Fuckin’ hell,” you mutter to yourself, stabbing your straw through the slushie and taking a long, refreshing gulp. A soft sigh leaves you; “Ah.” At least it’s quieter over here. While you nurse your drink and distantly wish you’d brought a flask so you could put some alcohol in this (you feel like alcohol would make time go by quicker), you get this prickling feeling and glance up, wondering if Jen decided she was too tired to wait.

But no. It’s not her. Instead, Homelander is staring straight at you. At first you don’t register that he is, merely that he happened to glance up in your direction, but after a couple of seconds of his unwavering gaze, it occurs to you that he might actually be looking at you. You glance over your shoulder just in case and relax – there’s an enormous poster blown up to the size of a billboard on the wall a foot or so above your head. He must be staring at that.

Right?

A moment later some guy steps in front of him to get his comic book signed and you can’t see Homelander anymore. Realising you’re nearly finished with your drink, you jolt a bit in surprise – did you drink that really fast or did you just lose track of time for a bit?

Something else occurs to you as you slip away from your quiet spot by the wall and toss your drink.

You really, really want to smoke.

That sounds like a great idea, actually. It’ll get you out of this hellhole for a bit, give you a fix you need and there might be a wall or something to perch on and rest your aching feet. True, you’ll be out in the blazing hot sunshine in all black, but sacrifices must be made.

You send a quick text to Jen and disappear out of there – the venue is strictly no smoking but you’re pretty sure if you nip around the back, there won’t be a problem. You can guarantee some of the stall owners find somewhere to get a nicotine fix, running a stand in a crowded, noisy hellhole like this for nine hours straight.

What you don’t notice is eyes tracking you across the room, and you’ve already rounded the corner of the venue when Homelander stands up and claps his hands, announcing the Seven are taking a quick break and they’ll be right back to finish off the signing, folks!

Cheers and groans swell up in equal measure, but before anybody has any time to protest (though none of the Seven seem to mind this announcement), he’s already vanished through the emergency exit.

~

Blissfully, you stretch your legs out as you have another suck on your vape. Your instincts were right on the money – you didn’t find a handy wall, but there’s a staff-only door with a couple of stairs that you’ve sat down on. If anybody comes outside, it’ll probably be people working for SupeCon and god knows they probably need a cigarette break more than you do.

Anyway, it’s not like there are any signs back here that say “No Smoking”. An implication is not a concrete rule.

"Smoking's bad for your health, you know."

You jolt and look around, even though you already know who that voice belongs to. What the fuck?

They say famous people always look smaller up close, but in Homelander's case it's the exact opposite. He looks bigger if anything, perhaps it's the way his cape sways importantly behind him or the eagle epaulettes give his silhouette a severe, angular look, but while a few minutes ago you were alone, now it's like you're in a crowded room all over again. You lower your vape.

What the hell is he doing back here? Somehow you don’t think Homelander wanted to get away for a quick nicotine fix before he returns to his adoring public. You stand up, not wanting to be stuck crouching on the steps while he looms over you.

"They do say that, yeah." you deadpan, rubbing your lips together where there's still a lingering taste of your flavoured smoke.

He's looking at you strangely - though Homelander is smiling, there's something flat about it, like it's just something he does while on standby. There's no genuine feeling behind it at all - it doesn't match the look in his eyes, and somehow despite the warm sunshine bearing down on you, suddenly you feel a little chilly. Perhaps he doesn’t appreciate jokes.

"So." Homelander says, popping his lips. "Not to sound too forward, but I couldn't help but notice you earlier. You, ah, stick out a bit in there, even brooding over there by the wall."

His eyes pointedly run down your outfit, and you glance down reflexively too - you're not the only person wearing black in there, but most of the people who are are the ones dripping in Black Noir merch. You're the only person you've seen who isn't wearing any colour or even a hint of Supe gear. Plus you were standing directly in Homelander's line of vision, even if you figured the hundreds of people inbetween you and him would be more than sufficient to hide you. And he'd been so busy dramatically signing every Homelander-related item shoved under his nose that the notion he'd bother noticing a single person in such a big crowd was honestly baffling to you.

Is he coming onto me?

Yeah, right. Homelander, the most baseball games and apple pie person in existence, the All-American boy himself, hitting on a random goth chick?

"Oh?" you reply, wondering where he was going with this.

He tilts his head, looking down at you and you're reminded of a bird of prey staring down a mouse. It makes you straighten your back - you're free to do what you want, and if you don't want to drink the Vought Kool-Aid everybody else here seems to have, what difference does it make to him? It's almost like he's offended there isn't one person here desperate to bask in his presence. It's not as if you've ever disliked Homelander (though he isn't helping his case presently), it's just none of this is you.

"Not a fan of Supes?" he asks lightly, but there's a mocking note in his voice that surprises you. Normally he sounds as rehearsed as those action figures of his. "Does saving lives bore you? Hm? Is that why you came here, to show us all how different and unique you are? Tickets aren't cheap - seems a lot of money for a normal person to spend on not caring."

"My friend asked me to come." you reply, a little defensively, which is ridiculous. Why should you feel the need to explain yourself to Homelander? It's none of his fucking business. "Look, it’s not that I didn’t get in line because I don’t think saving lives matters or anything, I just-“

“You just don’t want to talk to…what was it? Oh, right, a ‘Vought Barbie-doll bearing their teeth at you’?” Homelander says, and shame prickles your skin to have your own words thrown back at you. He steps a little closer and you can smell him – some fancy cologne that probably costs more than your entire outfit put together, plus a sort of woodsy smell like pine trees. You can’t even detect a hint of sweat – apparently sweating is below such beings.

You make a sound, a sort of scoff of disbelief. This can’t really be happening, can it?

“Look, I’m not…I never said I don’t think what you actually do is important. But this?” you wave a hand in the general direction of the Con. “All the pomp and circumstance? Yeah, not my scene.”

“Too bright for your dark tastes, huh?” Homelander says, and is it you or is his voice pitched a little lower than before? It sounds rougher for sure, like stone scraping against stone.

You press your lips together, because can’t think of anything to say to that. It’s pretty obvious he’s not going to be mollified and you’re not apologising to him – if he can’t let go of a little comment made by a total stranger, that’s his burden to bear. You just want to go home. So, you stuff your vape back into your pocket and turn to leave, blowing tutti-frutti flavoured smoke out of the corner of your mouth. You’re tired and hungry and you just want to get out of here and go to lunch.

Unfortunately for you, Homelander seems to have other ideas.

His hand suddenly shoots out and grabs your wrist, tugging your arm out straight, making you stumble forwards – he damn near yanks you right off your feet. He does it so fast you don't have time to react at first, then your eyes narrow in bewilderment.

"Hey-!" you protest, and try to squirm free, but his fingers lock around your wrist. It's like trying to pull your arm out of a steel door and the most insulting thing of all is that Homelander isn't really trying - it's like somebody effortlessly pinching the neck of a kitten to make them go limp. He looks calmer now that he’s caught you off guard, shooting you an amused little smirk. You go still.

"Looks like you're a fan of ink," Homelander says, his eyes tracing up and down the tattoos on your body. Distantly you remember that he has X-ray vision and heat surges to your cheeks - is he-?

But his next words make you go still.

"Since you didn’t have anything for me to sign…I suppose I can make do.”

Easily holding you still just by one arm, he tugs out a Sharpie that was apparently nestling against his hip, held there by his belt, and whips it out, tugging the cap off with his teeth. You catch a glimpse of the side of the pen - it's permanent ink.

"What the fuck-?!"

He ignores your protests, no doubt your squirms are so ineffectual to him you might as well be trying to break down a door with a feather, and he begins writing on you. He's careful not to accidentally tear your fragile skin with the force of the pen, but a shiver goes shooting down your arm as the chilly tip of the pen glides across your forearm, breaking out in goosebumps. You feel like you’re watching this happen from far away, somehow, disengaged from the situation now that you know you can’t run away.

It doesn't take long, only a few seconds, but for you those moments stretch on, elastic as a rubber band being pulled tight before someone releases it. When he's finished, he lets go and you jerk your arm back like it's been burned.

Homelander's autograph is still wet with ink, but already you can see the darker spots being absorbed into your skin - it takes up the entirety of your forearm, written in huge, looping scrawl. You can only stare at it in disbelief - how long is this going to take to wash off? Probably weeks, even if you do scrub it every day with soap or a body scrub or whatever the fuck else you might have to use to get rid of it. You look back up at Homelander, who has already put the pen away. He's grinning at you broadly now, but his fangs are bared and you want to step back from him. You only don't because there's a wall right behind you and you have the perverse thought that looking like you want to run away might excite him.

"You know, I always thought tattoos looked a little…trashy." Homelander confides with a smirk, and his eyes travel up and down the length of your body in a way that would be indecent even without knowing he can see straight through your clothes if he so pleases. "Especially on pretty girls like you, even if you hide it under all that. But I guess it's all about finding ones that suit you best, isn't it? Maybe you can get that made into a real one."

Your jaw drops at the absolute fucking gall. If it were anyone else you probably would have thrown hands with him right now, because who the fuck does he think he is?

But you already know that. He's The Homelander. The best-case scenario is you'd break your hand on him. Worst case?

You don't want to think about what the worst-case scenario might be. You might like dark things, but this is different.

“Well?” Homelander nudges and you continue to stare at him, bewildered. “Aren’t you going to say thank you?”

The air seems to shiver with tension and you nervously lick your lips, uncaring that you’re still wearing lipstick. You’re stalling and he knows it.

“Homelander!”

Before you can even begin to formulate some kind of reply that fulfills the requirements without actually having to say the words, a woman in an absolutely hideous pantsuit comes running up to him and he rolls his eyes, turning to her.

“For fuck’s sake, Ashley, what is it now?” he says, and if he hadn’t just forcefully scribbled all over your skin and demanded you thank him for it ten seconds ago.

You recognise an opportunity when you see one and take that moment to beat it, trying not to run, but in the end you can’t help it, holding your arm to your body like you’ve broken it. You know Homelander is watching you – you can feel his eyes on your back, but you don’t turn around.

As you hurry back entrance hall, you spot Jen, who is now laden down with bags of stuff.

“There you are!” she says. “God, my legs are aching from standing around, but I’m all done! I’m thinking Applebee’s…are you okay? You look a bit clammy.”

“Yeah,” you say, dropping your arm and pressing it to your side. The signature is big, but it’s on the inside of your arm. If you take care to keep it hidden under a booth or against your side, hopefully Jen won’t see it. You don’t feel like explaining how you got it. “Just hungry.”

“Same here. Come on, I think I parked in Bay C…”

You follow Jen out, silently sending up a thanks to whoever might be listening that she’s happy to leave now, that she doesn’t think to ask you any further questions. She’s in her little Supe bubble and you’re not going to pop it. Especially not if you know Homelander can hear you.

At least it’s quieter over here. While you nurse your drink and distantly wish you’d brought a flask so you could put some alcohol in this (you feel like alcohol would make time go by quicker), you get this prickling feeling and glance up, wondering if Jen decided she was too tired to wait.

Especially if you know he might still be watching you.

~

“Fuckin’ assholes.”

He popped the top off a carton of milk he had awaiting him in his apartment, not even bothering with a glass as he chugged the stuff down, cool and sweet and delicious against his parched throat. As he drank, the one spot of entertainment of the day floated to the surface of his mind.

Namely, the face of that little goth girl when he’d grabbed her arm, the way she immediately stilled when he started writing his name on her skin. For all the weary sighing and under-her-breath snark, there would be nothing she could do about his name branded across her skin like that. It would fade in time, of course, but he got a distinct fission of satisfaction knowing she’d be thinking of him, whether she wanted to or not, every time she looked down at it.

Even if she covered it with black clothes, they’d both know it was there. Like a little secret.

That was Homelander’s assessment of the day. Oh, he’d smiled for pictures, he’d signed the mass-produced bullshit people pushed at him and he’d answered questions about a silly movie he barely remembered making. Such trivialities that Vought deemed worthy of his time. But anything for the fans, right?

Lazily, almost absently, he started undoing the front of his suit, one-handed, fishing out his already hardening cock. Setting the milk aside, he braced himself against the wall as he started to jerk it in some frantic pumps of his hand, overcome with the memory of her, the whiff of her Vape and the hitching of breath when he touched her. Homelander moaned throatily and threw his head back, imagining how it might feel to put his name on the girl permanently, to ink himself on someone who thought they were o very removed from the world he inhabited – no, not inhabited – ruled. She was just as much something to amuse him as everyone else.

As few more frantic jerks made him come, a hot, pleasing flush after a long, boring day of pageantry and ennui.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, with a smile, lashes casting shadows across his cheeks with his eyes closed in bliss.

Perhaps there was something to be said about tattoos after all.

~

The water hisses as you scrub and scrub and scrub, foamy white bubbles dribbling down your arm and splashing back into the sink.

Nothing. The Homelander signature is still there, gleaming starkly in the dim lighting of your bathroom. You’ve been working away at it for hours now, but whatever pen he used is apparently an excellent quality one. You're just thankful Jen was too hyper from meeting her idols to notice you were suddenly doing everything one-handed.

But an idea comes to you as you stare resentfully at your reflection, gingerly patting your arm (which is sore now from hours of scrubbing and soaking it) – if you can’t get it off you and you’ll have to live with it for a couple of weeks, the best thing to do seems obvious.

Namely, improve it.

So you hurry into your room and start fishing through your desk drawers until you find it – another Sharpie, one you have ironically brought to gigs with you before for bands to sign if you can get them alone for a minute. But it will serve another purpose tonight.

Tugging the cap off with your teeth, you lie your arm flat on your desk and hover the pen over Homelander’s name.

Very carefully you make your adjustment, grinning around the cap as you do.

A second later and it’s done. The word Homelander is still there – except that the ‘m’ is blocked out with a black star, so now it actually reads “Ho★elander.”

“How’s that one for trashy, asshole?” you mutter to yourself, a surge of petty glee rising up in you like sap oozing forth from a tree, savagely pleased with your handiwork.

As you flop onto your bed, a line pops into your head, and despite what a long, bizarre day it’s been, you laugh and say out loud;

“I went to SupeCon, and all I got was this lousy autograph.”

[arealtrashact]

Newest additions to the pack

[wangxianbaybee]

"Your flowers."

"You're welcome, I gave them to you."

[themeraldee]

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.

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

[teastainedprose]

Homelander x fem!reader

First time Homelander cums by dry humping with clothes on

It's you. It's you, it's you. It'syou, itsyouitsyouitsyou. He finally has you in his arms, your mouth against his own and he can taste you and your scent is overloading his senses and the sounds you're making and and-

And it's all Homelander can do to keep from devouring you. He's been so good, waiting for what feels like years even if Homelander has only known you for a month at max. It's been torture, behaving and keeping his hands off as to not spook you. You're so skittish, always on high alert around him but now?

Something finally snapped within you. You'd pounced him. He's over the moon because of that. Now you're all his and Homelander refuses to let you out of his hold.

This close, your scent fills his nostrils as he inhales deeply. It's euphoric, your smell paired with how yielding and willing you are in his arms. The needy noises he coaxes from you makes his cock twitch, craving the sensation of being buried in you. In the warm, wetness that he knows will undo him. Even the thought of that sets him aflame.

Homelander moans against your mouth, the kiss becoming sloppy as he's intent on tasting every crevice within your mouth. He can't get enough, will never get enough and Homelander knows he's lost. Lost into the sensation of you grinding down on his lap, just as desperate as he is.

A whine escapes Homelander as you work yourself off atop him, the friction just enough to send jolts of pleasure through him. He knows pre-cum is smearing the cup within his suit, staining the red briefs and making a mess of everything. It's a mess that should be smeared on your inner thigh as you continue to ride him.

It's delicious and a little embarrassing, the two of you pawing at each other like teenagers as you continue to kiss. Your hands are raking through his hair, clawing at the front of his suit while he keeps a vice grip on your thighs, kneading the supple flesh there as he encourages the rock of your hips against him. Homelander can't even bring himself to try and strip you because the desperate pleasure of it's too much and he can feel himself racing closer to that edge.

-and he should stop, stop you and relish in this moment with you because you two have all the time in the world and you're something that should be savored. Yet Homelander can't stop himself nor the building pleasure and it happens before he even realizes himself.

Homelander groans, hips twitching under you as he spends himself in his pants. Now that mess is far worse because you grind yourself down on his still hard cock as it twitches.

He opens his eyes, heat vision burning there as he stares up at you because you have to know what just happened.

"M'sorry, I-" he starts as you tap your finger against his lips to silence him.

You're as smug as can be, hips rolling as you grin down at him. That pulls another groan out of Homelander, his eyes almost fluttering shut.

You don't look the least bit sorry as you dip your head down to catch his lips again.

[theboyskisser]

AU where Homelander gets to raise Ryan to adulthood so he's even more traumatized

[buddietommys]

"Do you think you'll kill for me one day?"

"Yes, of course I will my darling."

[hom3landr]

Blow Me (One Last Kiss)

18+

Homelander teaches you an important lesson at one of his rallies

CW: Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Dubious Consent, Slight spoilers for S4

You’ve long grown accustomed to the roar of a crowd. It comes free with admission as Homelander’s lover. Sometimes it’s as if the noise itself follows you even into the dark peaceful nights spent dozing in his arms. Your ears still ring with cheers. You don’t mind too much even if you can tell the constant mindless applause has started to grate Homelander’s increasingly sensitive nerves. You know the alternative would be much worse.

You’re especially thankful for the noise as you kneel under the podium with his cock down your throat. Well, you call it a podium but it might as well be a pulpit with the way he preaches to the masses. Your precarious situation is the result of you correcting him in public. His firm grip on the back of your head ensures that your nose remains fully nestled in the nest of hair at the base of his cock as he begins to hush the crowd so he can begin his speech. You’ve heard him practice so many times by this point that it’s almost become gibberish to your ears but you’d never dare tell him that. He takes a moment to look down at you before he starts, a wicked smirk as he takes your wide teary eyes and the way your mouth puffs around his cock.

His fingers nestle in your hair and pull you off him, a line of spit connecting you to the tip. He gives a wink before shoving you back onto him. Despite how many times you’ve done this, you still gag a bit and you flush crimson when the mic manages to pick up the sound in the lull between words. Homelander chuckles.

“Sorry everybody, it looks like we have a little mic feedback.” He laughs good naturedly as the crowd echoes with mild laughter of their own. Your hands fly up to grip his hips as he slowly starts to fuck deep into your throat. His voice is able to mask the wet sloppy sounds of you sucking him off but if someone listened close enough, they’d be able to hear what he’s doing to you.

You’re embarrassed but the depravity has you moaning quietly around his cock as heat pools between your legs. You know he can smell your arousal because even from your awkward angle you can see his cheek twitch smugly. Drool drips down your chin and onto the stage below. You’re grateful that the sides of the podium shield you from the curious looks of the stage crew. They know what’s happening but they have no idea what it looks like when Homelander fucks your face. He loves showing you off like a trophy but there are things that are for him only. (At least if the viewer is meant to stay alive after. You can’t forget when he showed off your skills in front of Todd and his pals before ordering his teammates to beat their brains out to advance his plans.)

He speeds up right as he hits a lull in his speech and you can’t help but whimper as obscene noises fill the arena for a moment.

“There’s that feedback again. I might need to get a new mic here.” His voice is lighthearted but smug. He knew that didn’t sound anything like mic feedback but who’s going to question him. His hand gently scratches at your scalp mockingly. You tease at the throbbing vein on the underside of his cock with your tongue until he can’t help but whine for a moment. That earns you a sharp tug but your satisfaction masks the sting.

He’s careful not to finish until he’s done with his speech and when he does and the tech crew comes out to check the equipment in between sets, he tugs you off him to fix you with a stern look.

“Have you learned your lesson?” He asks you mockingly, his thumb swiping a drop of his come off your bottom lip.

“It depends, are you going to stop being so petty?” You reply in turn, cocking your head cheekily. The effect is slightly dampened by how fucked out you look but Homelander’s eye twitches in annoyance even so.

“Guess not.” He says before tugging you down on his still hard cock once more. After all, he still has so much he needs to say to his adoring public.

It’s alright though. He doesn’t need to know that you don’t really mind.

[tojigasm]

Rewatched this scene last night and was kinda in awe. Sorry

[deliciouskeys]

Noooooooooo!

[tectoniccyborg]

Another person asked for baby Homelander so here he is in all his glory :)

I know I normally do baby Homelander as a baby in his suit but I just felt like doing the real little man since I feel like we’re getting more backstory on him this coming season

Also the B on his top is because I still headcanon that there’s a second Homelander baby (at least) so it’s more like the comics and that one goes out and does heinous things for shits and giggles

[themeraldee]

The Boys | 1.01 The Name of the Game

[teastainedprose]

Homelander picking flowers with fem!reader

"You do know I could have purchased double what you've collected, right?" Homelander stands a step off to your left as you pluck another yellow bloom free. You straighten at the waist, twirling the stem between your fingers as you look over to him. "Yes, but that defeats the whole purpose." "The purpose! What purpose?" Homelander huffs, expression settling on one better suited to a petulant child than the most powerful supe in the world. He crosses his arms over his chest, features settling into a pout as you step closer. "Quality time with me," you point out, holding the flower up to his face. "No cameras either." His lips twitch up in annoyance, but as you nudge the bloom closer Homelander relents. He sniffs then shrugs, posture going lax as he slides an arm about your waist to tug you close. "I suppose you have a point," He murmurers. Dipping his head down to catch your lips in a brief kiss, his expression softening. You smile back, twisting enough to set the plucked bloom down with the others in the basket you still hold. "Now start helping." "Helping? You can pick your own damn flowers. I'll watch." "How about- For every flower you pick, I'll give you a kiss?" Your smile grows into a cheeky grin, "-and if it's a really pretty one? I'll reward you with more." "More, huh?" Homelander tightens his hold about your waist, tugging you against his frame. "What sort of reward do I get?" He leans in again, words ending in a growl as his lips ghost your neck. "Guess you'll have to pick something pretty to find out."

[ylohnu]

personally coming back on this forgotten account to say WE NEED BILLY BUTCHER SMUT!!! i want mean!dom, soft!dom, perv!butch, you NAME IT. we NEED IT.

[peach-coke]

➤ The Boys || 4.01 - Department of Dirty Tricks June 13, 2024

[ex0rin]

The Boys S01E05: Good for the Soul