#homelander

[soldiergrimes]

The Boys season 5:

[needa-hyperfix]

@moopiter your dream is real, I read “rest easy” like every weekend

my dream as a fanfic writer is for one day, one of my fics to be someones comfort fic. like the fic that they reread when they don't feel good and want to be happy. i want my words to comfort someone one day

[ultimatesue]

[panicroomsammy]

Homelander + Powers of Horror by Julia Kristeva

[artoftu]

"Think, Homelander, think."

[area-fiftyone]

IM CRYING XD

(Flashing light warning but its not terrible)

Made it for insta which is why it’s a vertically video :)

[mommy-mortis]

[nonbarbari]

Heh🙂

[alphaproximacentauri]

Gorgeous!

Hello people 👋

we are finally at the finish line, because we are exactly a week away from Christmas 🎄

To feel the holiday spirit i prepared a couple of arts in advance with my favorite pairings 😉

We starting this week with Homelander x Hughie 💞

Happy Holidays everyone 🎄✨

[snekysonjr]

the Kids!

[homelanderbutbig]

How You See Me (G/T Homelander x Reader)

1189 words. Pure fluff. Homelander is 8 feet tall. Reader is non-descriptive. Established relationship.

You doodle something stupid, but it has a lot more meaning than you anticipated. Inspired by a post from @themeraldee.

It's a tranquil afternoon in Homelander's penthouse. You have the day off work, allowing you a rare opportunity to get lost in your own world. Curled up on his couch with your sketchbook on your knees and a box of crayons by your side, you're amusing yourself as you silently fill the pages with your doodles.

Suddenly, your quiet time is interrupted by a pair of oversized boots walking towards you, belonging to your giant boyfriend in the blue supersuit. To be honest you're surprised it took him this long to come up and bother you, considering how he would shackle you both together if you'd let him.  

"There's my little angel", he smirks, showing off those pearly white fangs. He sits down beside you on the couch, his weight so heavy that you can't stop yourself from sliding into his thigh. "What are you doing?"

"It's nothing," you answer almost immediately, pressing your sketchbook up to your chest to hide it from his prying eyes. Your cheeks turn a slight shade of red as you feel shy over him seeing your amateurish squiggles.

"Ah, I see. The paper and crayons really add to the air of mystery, huh," he laughs, ruffling your hair with his big hand. His fingers are so long that they reach over your eyes, but even without seeing him you know he's giving you the most obnoxiously smug look.

"Fine… I'm just drawing," you sigh loudly through your nose, swatting at his fingers so he'll remove his hand. "You don't have to tease me about it."

"Hey, I'm not trying to be mean… it's just that I thought adults gave up the crayons when they stopped being children," he taunts you, chuckling when you shoot him daggers despite your embarrassment.

"Sooooo… are you going to show me what you're drawing?" he ponders, leaning closer to you so you don't have to crane your neck up to see his devious eyes.

"It's just something stupid… nothing you'd wanna see," you mumble, a futile attempt to keep your art to yourself. You're amazed that his laundry list of superpowers doesn't include being able to see through paper just so you can end this charade already.

"Nahhhh, come one! I want to see what you're capable of," he reassures you, now more intrigued than anything, especially with how hard you're trying to keep this a secret. You glance up at him as he raises his hand palm-up to you, wiggling his eyebrows still with that cocky grin.

Groaning and rolling your eyes and Homelander's never-ending bravado, you relent to his fiendish demands and lift up the sketchbook for him to take, open to your most recent drawing.

However, his playful smile finally fades away as he realizes what you've been trying to hide from him. At first you're a tad concerned of what he's thinking, with the abrupt silence and the change in his body language. And after what feels like an eternity of dead air, he eventually says something.

"Y-you… you drew… me?" he asks, not turning his gaze away from the paper for even a second.

"Well, I'm with you all the time, so I wanted to see how well I could draw you from memory," you explain, fiddling with your fingers while you ramble like you're trying to justify something horrible. "I know it's not the best, I-"

"Is… Is this how you see me?" he asks faintly, cutting you off. His eyes are becoming glassy as he blinks away the wetness overtaking his vision. A couple of tears fall onto the paper, staining it with an appreciation he could never put into words.

"Yes. It is," you reply in a hushed tone, vulnerable but now with an unwavering resolution. You're still a little insecure about him seeing your doodle, especially when paired up against all of his other immaculate art pieces, but you're beginning to comprehend this personal gift affects him more deeply than you ever imagined.

It's not the most spectacular drawing of him he's been gifted in his life, considering Vought has spent hundreds of thousands of dollars to commission the most revered artists in the country to paint his portraits and model his sculptures that adorn the halls of the Tower. Yet this is the first time he's ever received one that meant more to him than just its monetary value. The way your drawing captures the aspects of him nobody else cares to see, his compassion and desire for love that the world is too afraid to accept and also wishes to deny him of ever having. How out of every single person on this entire damned planet, regardless of everything he's ever heard growing up in the lab… that he's nothing more than a monster and can only ever destroy those he gets close to… there is in fact someone out there that proves them all wrong. There is someone out there that loves him.

A smile slowly spreads across his face, one filled with more genuine warmth than he's experienced in a long time. There are occasions when he's alone with his thoughts where he's wondered if you feel the same way about him as he does with you. If as a human, you can trust a supe as gigantic and dangerous as him. And now at last he knows for sure… despite it all you were always meant for him.

While holding the paper in one hand, he uses his free hand to pull you up onto his lap for a proper hug. His one arm is big enough to envelop your entire body as he leans in for a kiss, his lips overtaking yours by a large margin. But he's so gentle with you, so careful and purposeful with his movements in a way that's indescribable for a man his size. You're his entire reason for being.

"Thank you," he whispers softly when he finally pulls away, moving to cradle his massive head into the crook of your neck. You can feel the remnants of his tears on your shirt as he lightly nuzzles himself into your shoulder, sinking into you like you hold all the power in the world. When you return his embrace with your arms around his shoulders, he melts even further into your tiny stature, whimpering as you brush your fingers through his hair in a way nobody else understands. In a way that permanently fills that hole carved out of his chest, letting him be whole.

The following day, you decide to take the elevator up to the penthouse to visit Homelander before your shift starts. Disappointingly you discover that he's already left the Tower, presumably for another one of his early morning television interviews.

However, before walking out you notice one of the paintings in his bedroom has been left on the floor. And in its place, perfectly framed amongst the several historical paintings of such important figures like George Washington and Abraham Lincoln, is your simple and imperfect crayon doodle.

A monument for him to wake up to every morning from then on.

How you truly see him.

[ultimatesue]

daydream

[devi-the-devil-pinterest0g]

Noticed yall like Homelander, so here you go!

[sxletters]

🆗

[mrsdesade]

The glow beneath

I missed writing Homelander x female!supe (Ophera) stuff so here's a little self indulgent scene I wrote last night bc the concept of Homelander's eyes, glowing red when he experiences intense emotions, fascinates me more and more every day

tw: soft nsfw, teasing, kinda fluff 825 words

The city stretches beneath them like a mechanical sea — blinking, buzzing, breathing. Manhattan’s night sky offers no stars, only the artificial glow of corporate dominance. Inside the penthouse, time feels suspended.

The room is dim, lit by the soft crimson of a standing lamp in the corner, throwing long shadows across the polished floor. The quiet is thick, disrupted only by the soft friction of skin and breath. Ophera straddles him on the velvet couch, her figure draped in pieces of her stage costume, only half undone — deliberately unfinished, as if she had no intention of being completely bare for anyone, except maybe him.

Homelander's hands rest on her hips, fingers twitching slightly as though he's holding himself back — from what, she’s not entirely sure. Destruction, maybe. Or worship.

Her fingers brush along his jaw. Not with fear, but fascination.

“You're...” she murmurs, voice low and textured like silk dragged over gravel. “...unusually quiet.”

His blue eyes flick to hers — unreadable, full of too many things at once. He exhales, a laugh barely audible, like the air itself could betray him.

“I’m just— enjoying myself.” he replies, and there’s a tension in his voice — not hesitation, but something much stranger. Vulnerability wrapped in pride.

And then — it happens.

A flicker.

A sudden, radiant red bleeds into the whites of his eyes, glowing from somewhere deep within. It’s not rage. It’s not defense. It’s instinct — raw, electric, unguarded.

She freezes — but not out of fear. And she stares, utterly enthralled.

His breath catches. Noticing her pause, misreads it. His hands tense slightly on her skin.

“Fuck, don't get scared — I'm sorry — ” he says quietly.

Her gaze doesn’t waver. Instead, she leans in. Closer. Her face is inches from his now, the heat from his barely-contained power brushing against her cheek like the warmth of a sun too close.

“No.” she whispers, her thumb brushing beneath his eye, where the glow is strongest. “I’m watching.”

“Watching?”

“I’ve seen these eyes rip people apart...” her voice is steady, a low hum of temptation and danger.

“I didn’t mean to—” He swallows. “It just... happens, when it feels... too much.”

“Good.” she says, her fingers threading into his golden hair. “Let it happen.”

He looks genuinely stunned. It takes him a moment to find his words — rare for someone who’s spent his life commanding cameras and killing silence.

His eyes search hers, flickering with something desperate and unspoken — a need not just for touch, but to be seen. And she’s seeing him now in a way no one else dares.

She kisses the edge of his mouth — not a tease, not a performance, but something strange and sincere. Her voice brushes his ear.

“I don’t fear your power. I find it beautiful.”

He exhales sharply, a shiver running down his back. His hands find the small of her back, pulling her closer, skin to skin. The red in his eyes surges again, brighter, and she gasps quietly at the sensation — the heat, the thrill, the utter madness of it.

“You — ” he murmurs against her throat, voice ragged, almost reverent. “You want me to be the bad guy?”

She laughs, soft and low. “Maybe, who knows.”

He pulls back just enough to look at her, really look at her — as though seeing something he never thought possible. Trust. Challenge. And something dangerously close to admiration. “If you keep looking at me like that, I might lose control.”

Her fingers glide down his chest, nails grazing the insignia stitched into the suit’s remaining fabric.

“Lose it.” she dares. “Show me what everyone else fears.”

For a beat, the room pulses with stillness. And then —

He moves.

Not with violence, but urgency. His mouth crashes into hers, the kiss desperate and claiming, his grip tightening, yet never cruel. Their bodies move like metal to magnet, pulled together by a force neither of them fully understands, but both are addicted to.

She moans softly against his lips as he shifts her beneath him, and she welcomes the weight, the pressure, the presence that once tried to kill her and now clings to her like salvation. The heat of his gaze, still tinged in red, never leaves her.

“You could destroy me.” she whispers, breathless.

He brushes his nose along her cheek, voice raw. “I don’t want to destroy you. I want to keep you safe, in my arms.”

She bites his lip gently, smirking against his skin. “That’s even more dangerous.”

He laughs this time — dark and soft, a sound she only ever hears when they’re alone like this. When the god tries to be human.

“Then stay dangerous with me.”

The rest of the night stretches out like a fever dream — tangled limbs, whispered threats that sound like love, and the quiet glow of red eyes never looking away from her.