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plasticfangtastic · 2 years ago

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American Royalty. Ch. 1

A Homelander X F!Reader fanfic

A/N: I am writing this alongside another fic so sorry for the publishing schedule altho I got 2 chapters done, this is my dadlander fic and hyperfixation explorations

Sypnosis: Homelander never wanted to remember you again, but after welcoming Ryan into his life, he thought of you, and the lie that tore you two apart, but now... thinking back, thinking of your betrayal-- was he perhaps wrong about who the father of your unborn child was? Did you perhaps told the truth all those years ago? That it was his.

Tags: mild gore, angst, slow burn, fluff, OC characthers, child neglect, dadlander, romance.

Chapter One

Blue

It had been by pure chance, whether it had been a combination of forced reminiscing and exhaustion that Homelander had thought of you after all these years; These meetings had been proven wasteful of his time, nothing the PR and Digital Marketing departments could come up that was good enough, and somehow he had gone from irritated to just defeated.

He sulked in his chair listening to their meandering voices brainstorming potential ideas as to how Ryan’s new origin story had to be developed and handled, whether it was too squeaky clean or absurd, how much could they risk offending the child, how much of his mother should be kept from the public (not that they were very aware of the fine details, as Homelander had been more than just vague about it, he had simply no intent to divulge about his son’s conception, upbringing or his mother’s fate) Homelander would never allowed the public to look with pity or fear at his son, he would not allow them to brand him as a murdered over an accident– he could still hear his son weeping and shaking in his sleep, waking up in a fright, seeing invisible blood in his hands.

Homelander had grown overprotective of the boy, he was made indestructible but his mind and heart were glass, still pure and uncorrupted by the awful world they inhabited, he would never allow anything else to taint it and bring him nightmares– so this had to be perfect.

To make it worse, the kid was growing impatient and depressed, forced to stay in the tower until this story was concocted, he couldn’t attend school or interact with other children until he was trained and learned his lines, making his father increasingly more paranoid that his son was slowly growing resentful.

“Mister Homelander… what if we base Ryan’s mom off one of your other ex-girlfriends?” A rather tired intern had muttered– preferably somebody dead…”

The room shot daggers at the nameless intern but Homelander simply sat in silence and gave it a thought, he had plenty of unsuited mates disposed and handled in the past, the amount of NDA issued made for a small but noticeable stack alone, he looked at the table and the box of cannolis that the group had been munching on, looking at the small printed italian flag on the box’s side.

That he thought of you for the first time in years.

You had been his new personal chef, your interactions minimal as you brought him his meals, he hadn’t known at first how heartbroken you’d look as he returned half touched dishes over and over, it had become a competition against yourself to make him eat, every leftover morself a cause of grief, as if your honor and ego had been beaten mercilessly with every dirty plate.

One evening, Homelander sat on his couch watching a documentary by Orson Wells, he hadn’t noticed you there as you brought him dinner, the way you looked at him with spite waiting to throw the most likely untouched plate of pasta back at his face, it would get you fired and possibly killed but you couldn’t take it anymore. You were a chef, a professional, you had turned down a dream job and left the restaurant you loved for the honor of being Homelander’s personal chef, the job that would open you a thousand doors but it was without reward now it felt like your biggest mistake, no matter what you made he fucking hate it but offered no feedback, you had no clue what he wanted, what he disliked and liked, what he craved, or how he liked his meals– he simply left your food untouched.

Diverting his gaze from the film, he noted your food and that you were still there with a block of pecorino and a grater in your hands.

He stood up with a groan, lifting the silver cover to reveal boring pasta and bolognese sauce, it wasn’t styled exceptionally, it didn’t even look too appetizing, it was just some fresh linguine covered in meat sauce, he stared at you as if this was some sort of joke but your dead eyed expression was off-putting.

“Would you like some fresh cheese, sir?” Your voice might as well have been automated.

Frankly he didn’t want any cheese but pasta had to be eaten with cheese, he gestured for you to grate watching an off-white pile form on top of his pasta with no intention of stopping.

“That’s enough” he said sharply, he took the plate looking at the mound and then back at you who was still in the room, he wrapped his fork with the pasta doing his best not to stain his suit.

You just wanted to save the time with coming back to pick up the insults, but there he took the first bite of this homely dish heis eyes opened up, there hadn’t been anything special, you simply had taken some left over pasta and brought a jar of your grandma’s sauce, a recipe she had guarded fiercely ever since she stole it from some italian friend’s mom many many years ago, you adored this recipe, it had been the reason why you fell in love with food, you loved visiting your grandmother when it was time to jar the sauce, and when she served you a humbled serving of bolognese– he gave it a second bite letting the tangy and fresh sauce wash over him.

And that’s when he finally noticed you for real, how closely you watched him eat, smiling as he took another mouthful and mixed more of the fresh pecorino, there had been something warm about this meal, it lack pretense, it was something that no high end 5-star restaurant would serve but it tasted… warm.

From that point on, he looked forward to his meals, wanting to see what the fuck had you done to make food taste worthy of his body, noting you would personally deliver the meals after he failed to clean the plate on the previous one, he hadn’t even known your name but he noticed you.

You were cute, your voice had gained some warmth since that awkward first impression, he could tell it was these homemade meals that tasted the best, as if you put everything you had to make them taste delicious, there were no frills with these, just good homemade fair, made with love, he had began asking for things he had been curious but never served as if they were above his status like meatloaf, carbonara, shepherd's pie, etcetera. These were the kinds of meals the families he’d seen growing up behind the screen would eat, he had been the first to strike a conversation.

You listened, you talked, and before he knew it, he had found himself asking for your company at the dinner table. You were hesitant at first but he was handsome and charming, but above all he was the Homelander! While apprehensive you still took to his offer just to smugly enjoy seeing him enjoy your food, proud that you had triumph in this battle where so many had been defeated, you’d cracked the code and god it felt good.

It became part of your weekly schedule, having dinner at his penthouse and chatting about anything, he loved talking and eventually it became apparent that it wasn’t because he was in loved with his voice but simply… he hadn’t got anybody who enjoyed listening to him, you were attentive, you responded well and even if you weren’t sure about something you weren’t going to let him feel as if you weren’t approachable anymore, you were more than happy to hear him explain to you a topic because his eyes gleam like those of a small kid telling you about something new they learned at school– in truth you loved how happy he became when he could rambled about things, as if nobody in the world had ever given five seconds of their time to let him talk about strange events from history and his theories, tonite he wanted to talk about the Dyatlov Pass incident and star formations that he was sad that he couldn’t see from New York, wishing you could see how the sky looked like from his cabin.

You’d spend more and more time in his home as the conversations grew more frequent, as he wanted to hear more about your interests and hobbies.

Thinking of how cute you looked while baking, how cute your laugh was, of the way you always held him after long days, that first real date, that first time you held hands, the first shy kiss after dinner.

As he took a long whiff to catch some of that gentle sweetness, he thought of the last day you were together.

That sound.

The thing that’s the size of a bean.

The anger, his heart shattered, all the colors of the world had dissipated when he saw that tumor growing in your stomach, he wanted to hurt you as much as you did, to shut you up as you threw excuses, begging him to believe you.

But that thing wasn’t his.

It couldn’t be his.

You said it was his, that the baby you didn’t even know was inside you was his, but he couldn’t be the father.

His eyes widened, he stood up and left the room, his mind focused on your name. They had tried getting his attention but could only give up as nobody would dare to chase after him, Homelander found himself entering the analytics offices towards the first chump he spotted.

“Can you find me information on a former employee?” He said firmly, the junior staff jumped at his seat nodding frantically– their name was Y/N L/N.” he said quietly.

The staffer didn’t have to do much work, you were easy to find, your name attached to Brooklyn’s most loved pizzeria for the last couple years, your face on their socials, and even a video from some food channel following what it was like working in Brooklyn’s hottest pizzeria had you in it, your shop had been listed as the best two years in a row, Homelander couldn’t bare looking at your face, but he asked for an address.

That night after spending time with Ryan who seemed to be sulking more and more, as he watched him eat his dinner, he thought of you, the kid was meandering whatever was on his plate didn’t feel appetizing, his meal was no different from what it was served in a high-end restaurant and the kid had no desire to eat it, he wanted Ryan to have the finest things when all he wanted was to have his mom’s tacos– his son opted to head for bed early skipping dinner all together, it was almost 10 pm, a heavy feeling had been boiling in his stomach since that meeting.

Taking flight all the way to some red brick Brooklyn projects, hovering about until he encountered you.

Time had been kind to you but you looked tired, the glow in your skin now dulled, your appearance unkempt, your clothes worn and old, your shoes the nicest thing you worn but they still creased and dirty, you looked beyond exhausted, your eyes half closed and your arms dangling on your sides as you carried a couple grocery bags, he looked around at the constructions and rubbish, at the hooligans and wannabe gangbangers, and the rancid smell. Hundred buildings all the same, he wanted to get closer as he watched you walk alone in those sticky white painted brick walls, you stopped suddenly by one of the brown doors, there were only four other doors in that floor, waiting patiently, an old lady opens the door, you two exchanging pleasantries as you handed the lady two of your grocery bags, a small dog came to say hello and then… there she was.

She was small for her age, she didn’t jump with excitement or say much to you, just a slight bow to the old lady and she walked in front of you as you said goodbye, only stopping two doors down.

Your apartment was small, two small bedrooms, small kitchen and barely sparsely decorated, but it was clean and tidy, your daughter dropped her school bag, and headed for the bedroom while you moved to the kitchen, never really talking to each other, he found himself flying closer just to get a perfect vision of that child.

She was a mini-you, taken so much from you, whoever the father was it didn’t seem to have mattered in the end for the kid got nothing from him, she changed to her pajamas as you sat on the couch after throwing away your uniform to the floor.

You two talked briefly, you didn’t read her any stories before bed or kissed her good night, you simply stared at each other and talked while you stretched your feet.

The little girl entered her room, a tidy space, books piled up on the floor in sharp stacks against the wall, a desk containing some electronics and a couple stuffed animals.

She was a cute thing, just like you had been once, her hair short and her straight bangs covering most of her face, too long for it too be safe, she had your complexion and jet black hair, she sat on her desk turning the desk lamp and picked her Kindle up, looking at her clock then back at her Kindle, she sat there for a couple minutes digesting some pages until it was almost midnight, before heading to the living room– you’d passed out on the couch, she took your phone and put it to charge fidgeting with something before leaving it, turning the TV off, and finally turning around to slip a quilt on top of her mother.

Homelander almost felt sorry for the kid, after all you had done to him only to neglect your child, you were just as much of a scumbag as he had imagined, he had had enough wanting to fly away until he saw the little girl staring back at him.

The lights were off on the home, and it was dark with the streets below shaded piss yellow, he looked around wondering if there was something nearby that caught your daughter’s attention but she was staring straight at Homelander, she forced the window open peeking her small frame slightly out the window, in the dark starless night while strangers made a ruckus a couple streets from here, a bright twinkling of pale blue illuminated your home.

He got closer, something caught in his throat as he came only a meter away from your daughter.

She looked so much like you but her eyes even as they lost their unnatural light were so blue, as if the entire ocean lived in her eyes.

The curtains slid shut, his chin flicked in surprise as he caught the small figure plainly ignoring him, he was loved by all, especially children! Even those whose favorites were Noir, A-Train or Maeve loved him! Yet this little girl had just shrugged him off and ignored him, simply returning to her bedroom to shut the second set of blinds and jump straight to bed.

Homelander was left dumbfounded, not once had he seen such disinterest and callousness from a member of his safest demographic, so he stood in mid-air pondering about killing both of you briefly, just as the heat from his cheeks cooled down, he stared at the now sleeping brat, wondering about that inhuman blue light that glossed her big round eyes.

#homelander #homelander x reader #the boys oc characther #homelander fanfiction #american royalty #my fic tag #personal #dadlander #I been possessed #not proofreaded sorry #homelander x f!reader #homelander x you

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 2 years ago

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All I Ever Wanted, All I Ever Needed

Pairing: Homelander x Supe!Reader

Warnings: siblingxsibling implications, Homelander being such a narcissist that he falls in "love" with his own sibling, Homelander being a stalker, innocent reader, naive reader, Homelander being a basic menace, first time writing for this fandom, also experimenting a new writing style

Words: 5688

Summary: Along with the existence of Ryan, there was another secret being kept from Homelander that he manages to rip out of Vogelbaum's throat: he has a sister.

Part 2 Part 3

The house was quaint, way too fucking perfect in Homelander's opinion. Just like all the other mansions on the block. When he went back to Vogelbaum to find out the REAL truth about Becca, he'd forced Jonah to tell him anymore lies that were being kept from him. He hadn't anticipated there being a second secret: Homlander has a sister. Rare to be caught speechless, he leaves Vogelbaum's massive mansion. What else was Vought hiding from him? Not just Vought, but Madelyn as well. She'd lied to Homelander before. Now he'd take things into his own control.

From the slip of information Vogelbaum wheezed out , Homelander remembers the address. Stares at the numbers in front of the house that matches what Johan said. Architecture reeks of wealth. He didn't have to peek into the large bay windows to know that each corner dripped with elegance as was appropriate for a big time Vought executive. You were granted an entirely different life than what Homelander suffered from. Raised with loving parents who encouraged you to cultivate your powers in a positive way. Dinner was a sit down affair where everyone discussed highlights of the day. An authentic family unit. After discovering the truth of both you and Becca, he raided the archives for more information about her. Birth records, school reports, personal notes of progress from the adopted parents. Doted on. If only he had knowledge of you sooner. Homelander missed out on having a genuine bond to someone. A person he could truly call his own.

Superhuman eyes detect multiple people in the house. No worries. Once he presents himself, they won't deny him anything. Unless they want to end up like Stillwell and many others.

Insurmountable confidence has his gloved hand wrapping knuckles against the wood of the front door. He clasps his hands behind his back and waits. Scattering voices whisper amongst the other before feet lumber down several steps of stairs. A moment passes before the locks on the doors click open to reveal the stereotypcial dowdy housemaid. What a cliche.

Her eyes damn near pop out of her head, her mouth pulling into an ecstatic smile. Good, didn't look like there'd be much resistance. He didn't even get a chance to open his mouth before the maid pulls him in. "Oh she'll be SO delighted to see you Homlander! Please- wait here while I get her!" She frantically calls up the stairs, using the name he knew belonged to you, his sister. A sudden pang of warmth pleasantly grips him at the knowledge that you were already a fan of him. Maybe even admired Homelander. That makes him stand a bit taller.

At the top of the stairs, there you stood. You didn't believe in Diane when she told you the Homelander was at the front door. Even as you stare at him with your own striking cornflower blue eyes, your mind melts and you still don't believe what you see before you; that he's there in the flesh until his grin broadens. A brush stroke of awestruck sweeps across his expression.

Homelander found you absolutely perfect. And the smile that broke out on your own face took his breath away. An authentic smile of his own graces his facial muscles. You were a vision before him. Utter helplessness renders speech useless as he simply stares right into you. There must be a blush on your face, how could there not be one when he's staring so intently at you. He was bigger and better in real life. A wider range of emotions more available on his face opposed to the mask you saw him wear sometimes on screen. Stiff and uncomfortable. This one was even more appealing. His smile made his blue eyes crinkle with delight.

"Wow." You breathe out and feel Diane eagerly bounce behind you. "It's really you!" As fast as your mouth could go, you introduce yourself and Diane despite Homelander already knowing your name, birthdate and social security number. Whatever information he could get on you. Not even in his imagination could he truly conjure you up though.

Bringing him to the drawing room with a small tug on his gloved hands, you beam at him and say that your mom would be so excited to meet him. The light of your face makes his heart melt, something he long believed he didn't possess.

Seated already on a cream colored couch was your mom. She drops her cup and saucer, letting it shatter against the ground. Eyes incredulously wide but not with enthusiasm like you assume they'd be. Your grin drops a bit when you realize she's scared. Of what? Certainly not Homelander. Couldn't be. She'd been perfectly fine when you passed by the sitting room a few moments before heading upstairs.

Immediately the maid scrambles to clean up the mess, chirping apologies as she gathers the pieces up in her apron before scuttling away to dispose of the broken porcelain pieces.

"Homelander," your mom's voice came out as a squeak. "What a surprise to see you." She blinks out of nervousness.

"Thought I would treat Vought's wonderful executive crew with a surprise visit!" Businessman smile activated, Homelander goes on with some well rehearsed corporate bull crap spiel about how Vought appreciated all of their wonderful workers. He could practically lap at the fear emanating from your mom as she sat tightlipped against frilly decorative throw pillows. That could only mean she was in on the secret too and knew who you really were. Most importantly why he was there. She must have known that when he eventually found out, he would come.

Your mom's smile is frigid as her hand is clamped down on your forearm. "What an honor, thank you Homelander." You could tell she wanted him gone. With your own incredible olfactory receptors, you could smell her sweat too.

Hands behind his back in his usual resting stance, Homelander admits "I do have another reason for coming here too." Boots squeak as he takes just one simple step closer that has your mom's nails digging into you. It didn't hurt you but from her white knuckles she was definitely using all her strength. "A little bird told me you're special, like me."

Admittedly you beam with pride when he spoke of you being special like him. When your powers start to grow you were thrilled to find out that you had the exact powers that Homelander, the greatest superhero in the world!

Coyly and not wanting to come off as arrogant, you flutter your gaze down to your lap. "Well, I'm still nowhere near your league." Just to show off a little, you make your eyes sizzle red with heat vision that Homelander also possessed. His smile widens at your display of superability.

"How would you like to train at Vought with the Seven? You'll have the best of the best as your teachers."

He'd said it so easily you didn't take him seriously the first time. Blinking at him until it dawned on you. "R-Really?"

"Honey, this is all very sudden. Lets wait for your father to come home." She attempts to placate you but now all you can think about is the possibility of training alongside the rest of the Seven. Immediately you want to remind her that you were an adult and could take up this offer with or without your father's permission.

You don't have to because Homelander smoothly lies to her face. "Oh, no need to worry about that. Your husband already gave the go ahead!"

Her brows scrunch in a disbelieving frown. "He did?" She couldn't out right accuse the Homelander of lying.

"Of course! He was ecstatic at the opportunity his little girl would have." His tone is syrupy sweet. He couldn't show how annoyed he was with your mom. If he had informed the patriarch of your family, he doubts the man would have objected. Not to Homelander at least. They could go crying to Stand Edger for all he cared. Vought's CEO was just as powerless in stopping him once he has his mind set on something. Try as they might. Madelyn Stillwell came close to being able to manipulate him, but he'd melted her face off days prior so there was no use in Edger wielding her as a weapon.

Now you're the one clawing at your mom's arm. "Did you hear that! He said I could go! I gotta pack!" Hopping to your feet, in the blink of an eye you're dashing out of the living room and up the stairs before your mom could stutter out another word. It was just her and Homelander now with the occasional house help peeking into the living room to catch a glimpse of the glorious leader of the Seven. Visibly she swallows thickly, her eyes stare at Homelander with unrelenting fear.

"What? Did you really expect me not to find out?" Cheery smile not leaving his face, his voice reveals the sneer that he so wished to deliver to her. As it was he was keeping his voice down in case you had superhearing like he did.

The rims of her eyes glisten with unshed tears. She had to be the same age Madelyn was before he killed her. "I-I thought we had more time. Please don't take her. Please. You can come see her as much as you want. You have that right as her b-brother. But please- leave her with us." Practically gasping as she keeps her panic in control. Lines around her lips tremble. Homelander takes in her pathetic form.

"Tell me, do you love her?"

That makes her tears roll freely down her face. "I do. We do. She's a good girl. S-She wants to be a superhero, wants to protect people and use her powers for good. Please don't take her!"

Homelander snaps. "Quit your fucking blubbering."

Her mouth instantly zips shut, knowing what he did to Stillwell. Her husband had warned her early on about the real Homelander. He wasn't the perfect hero that the media painted him as. Even if you were upstairs, he wouldn't hesitate to come back and kill her. He's paused for a moment, listening to the pitter patter of your feet above. Happy that you were still busy and not paying attention to what was going on downstairs.

False saccharine face goes back up. "There's no reason for tears. You've done your job. Said so yourself that she's a good girl. She's a young adult though and doesn't need her mommy and daddy poking around in her business. Not to mention the big secret you and your husband are keeping from her."

Leaning over her, he sinisterly utters under his breath "She's coming with me. Now put a smile on your face and fucking wipe your goddamn eyes. You look disgusting. She's coming down the stairs."

Easily toting a giant backpack and two overstuffed duffle bags, you stride back into the living room. To Homelander's surprise, another duffle bag was floating behind you. Apparently you had telekinesis too. Your smile is so big that it was starting to hurt your face. This was the chance of a lifetime. You'd been getting bored stuck at home as of late.

Eagerly clenching the straps of your two duffle bags in your hands, you beam expectantly at your mom. "Sorry about dad not being here to see me off, but I'll see him around at Vought!" You go in to hug your stunned mom and promise to call her when you arrive at the tower.

Homelander is tickled pink by your enthusiasm and haul your bags out to the front porch. "Can you fly?"

You grin deviously and give your mom one last wave goodbye. Homelander takes the duffles out of your hands even though you were fully capable of carrying possibly even more luggage. What a gentleman. Something guys your age weren't.

He takes off first into the sky with you following, hot on his tail.

Never had you experienced this level of elation. You have someone to fly with! The feeling was the same for Homelander. He'd boost his speed and you caught up with him in seconds. Laughing the entire time. It makes him giddy and laughs along with you.

Twin flames.

Finally, Homelander was getting what he's wanted since he was a young boy.

You were a streak of gold as you zoom past him cheekily. For a moment he forgets that you're his sister. He's overwhelmed by the sudden warming in his chest that bleeds to his face as he watches you zip in the open air with your arms wide open to embrace the wind itself. To him you were beautiful in every single way. A perfect specimen. An outright desirous scream in his head confounds him. He didn't have a regular up bringing, but Homelander knew that this was not a common reaction to have with blood kin.

Expertly he tucks that thought away. He'd examine it later. Right now, he needed to focus on catching up with you.

He had to take the lead anyway since he was the only one who could find Vought Tower so high up in the sky and miles away. Below you, the city looks like a toy replica by how small it was as you follow Homelander's lead in the sky. You'd never seen anything quite like it. Where you'd lived was a quiet suburb. You didn't go to a public or private school but taught at home by the best instructors your parents could buy. They tend to keep you away from big cities, claiming your buddening powers as a liability if something bad were to happen. When they brought up things like that, it made you scared to even try using them. But watching Homelander's Vought produced movies gave you the courage to start playing with your abilities and push your limits; even if it meant that you subsequently knocked down the large tree in your backyard and landing it on the side of the house. That was the first time your dad had ever yelled at you.

From seeing it on the news many times, you notice the tall, silver column as Vought Tower. Homelander slows down as you had been too busy with sight seeing, but he didn't mind. He thought you were adorable, basically a little kid at Voughtland. So easily excited about everything new. That just reaffirms his suspicion that your parents had locked you up in an oppressive cage. Just like Becca did with Ryan. Really, Homelander was doing you a favor by setting you free and into his secure and guiding hands.

Both of you easily land on the roof of the tower, a door at the ready for them to enter the structure itself. You gaze out from the roof, enjoying the noise of the city and the pure energy that buzzed through it. That morning seemed so long ago. A basic start to your day, just like any other morning for the boring, safe life your parents smothered you with.

Your excitement makes your features glow, even blinding Homelander who couldn't keep his eyes off of you. You were utterly intriguing to him. An entirely different species. Both of you were so much alike yet due to your upbringing near solar opposites at the same time. Finally when you turn away from observing gaze and look to Homelander, he opens the door for you. In more ways than one. He takes you from the rooftop and into the thrum of the tower. You can't help staring at everything you walk by. All the while he goes on to promise you a room as soon as he could find-

"Ashley! There you are!" He calls out to a jumpy red head who looks both relieved and incredibly stressed out once she spots you next to him. Her lips smack against one another, flailing for useful words, her eyes round and staring at you. "We need to get a room set up for our new friend here." Homelander introduces you and you hold out a hand for Ashley to shake. Fumbling with her tablet, a sweaty hand weakly reaches out for a fast shake.

"Nice to meet you. Homelander, can I have a word with you?" Ashley hesitantly asks, forcing a fake smile and much like your mom had Ashley reeked of fear.

Homelander quickly catches your dampening smile and puts a hand on your shoulder to steer you past her. "Not now, Ashley. I have to show her around the rest of the tower. Especially the Seven's very own conference room." That brings the enthusiasm back onto your lips. While he can still hear Ashley's frantic voice trying to get him to come back he could care less. Besides, you didn't appear too affected by bumping into her, the prospect of seeing the Seven's personal conference room had you instantly forgetting the nervous red head.

A large window that spans from wall to wall has the perfect picture of the metropolis skyline in its massive frame. This felt like a perspective only the elite were privlidged enough to gaze from.

Focal point of the room though was the massive circular table, meticulously crafted with dark marble and metal. A symbol of the Seven's authority. It gleams liquid night. At the head of the table was one lone chair, away from the others. Homelander's chair. This is where he got to work every day with the greatest superheroes the country has to offer.

Watching you glide to his chair, Homelander smirks to himself. You catch it when you glance up at him with brilliant moon eyes. The brightness from the world outside casts a brilliant light around you. "I can't believe I'm in Homelander's seat!"

He chuckles and slowly trails over to you. His gloved fingers trail along the tops of the other chairs in a near gentle caress. "It suits you."

You avert your gaze from those fingers, suddenly feeling a flush crawl up your neck. "Is this really happening?" You incredulously peer at him. Your own hands glide along the table's surface. "This morning I was eating breakfast in our dining room, now I'm here with the greatest hero of all time." Brows scrunch together. Besides having powers, your life had been mundane. You'd never even been to Vought Tower where your dad had worked for a good thirty years. Things like this don't happen in a span of four hours. Insane. And it was all thanks to Homelander who saw potential in you.

"You'll get used to it. It's a lot at first." He acknowledged. Homelander wonders if Ashely has procured a room for you yet and has half the mind to call her until the conference room doors open. You throw yourself out of his chair, afraid how it would be perceived by his colleagues. Gasping when you find out it's Starlight and Queen Maeve. They appeared to be in a deep conversation. But once they register you and Homelander, whatever they'd been discussing becomes secondary. How could it not when you had similar characteristics with the man standing next to you. You weren't anyone they've met before. Nor were you a sponsoring celebrity or executive. So what were you doing there all of places?

"Impeccable timing!" He merely claps his hands together. "The two most perfect heroes to welcome you to the Tower." Starlight can't resist lookng at you with concern, wondering if you were in distress despite the smile plastered on your face. When there's no obvious sign of you being uncomfortable, Starlight strains to conjure the semblance of an easy going smile. Homelander told them that you were their new hero-in-training. Neither Queen Maeve or Starlight have ever heard of this position, it hadn't existed but once it leaves their leader's mouth, it might as well have been law. Maeve knew to tread carefully with her words.

Her own mask was honed after years of dealing with his psychopathy and Maeve dawned it on herself with ease. "Wonderful news." She turns to you, statuesque and beautiful. "Welcome. If Homelander speaks so highly of you, then I'm sure you'll find your footing around here."

"I'm excited to learn from both of you and I'll make sure not to get in the way." You promise which cracks a sympathetic smile from Starlight. From your appearance, Starlight deduces that you had to be a year or two younger than her and understood how it felt to abruptly be thrust into the life of the Seven.

Homelander clears his throat and offers you his arm. "Lets go see if Ashley's got that room ready for you. I'm sure you want to settle down."

Before leaving, Homelander sends both women a pointed glare over his shoulder as the doors close behind his red, white and blue cape.

Stunned, Starlight turns to Maeve knowing nothing good would come of this new installment of Vought. Neither had seen nor heard of you. You seemed relatively innocent and ignorant of the danger you were in so close to Homelander.

Maeve shrugs, indifference cloaking how she really felt. "Not our problem."

Starlight's eyes round in disbelief. "Sounds like its going to be a problem sooner or later. Something's up. He doesn't just show interest in random strangers. Even if they're supes too."

Chewing on the inside of her mouth, Maeve is aware of the terrible possibility that this could all end badly for you. Having Homelander's attention did more harm than good. If they wanted any chance of intervening, they'd have to be extremely careful. Homelander may be an egotistical man, but he wasn't a dumb man. He'd catch on immediately if either Starlight or Maeve slip in their investigation toward who you are.

"All we can do is keep an eye out for her and guide her." Maeve murmurs, worried that Homelander may still be listening. Such was the paranoia that she'd developed from all the years they worked together. It was upsetting that her relationship with HOmelander outlasts any other, even Elena. They'd known one another for years. The manner that Homelander hovered around you though was disconcerting. If intervention were needed, there was no way Homelander would let anyone near you.

Starlight grits down on her back molars as she moves around Maeve and out of the conference room. But she couldn't just keep an eye on you. Her feet take her to Ashley's office although her brain was reminding her that the VP of Hero Management would most likely not be there.

After finally hounding down Ashley, you're shown your new room in Vought with a promise from Homelander that you could redecorate it all if you like. All the while it's impossible to ignore the heavy smell of fear from her.

Homelander couldn't pretend not to notice either as his mouth, still holding onto a smile, becomes tight with force. "Thank you Ashley, that will be all."

For not being a supe, she gave A-Train a run for his money as Ashley booked it out of there in the blink of an eye.

"I'll make sure everything else is taken care of and given to you as soon as possible. For now though, relax. I'll put together a team dinner tonight so you can meet everyone else." The face he'd had with Ashley was washed away now replaced with genuine plesantaness.

You examine what was more than a simple room, this was a penthouse apartment. Bigger than the room you had back home with actual marble columns that stand proudly from floor to ceiling. A similar expansive window like that of the conference room greets the city outside with a glittery afternoon effect. Gold and amber filter the sky. Lost in the gleam of it all, you float around; eyes big in wonder. You lived in luxury before, but now your surroundings were damn near extravagant. This was an entire level up from your usual lifestyle.

Barely managing to breathe out an 'okay', you hear the front door open then close.

Still reeling, you place your backpack along with your other luggage at the foyer and let yourself wander. The call to your mom could wait. This moment was for you. You felt seen.

You would be a hero like Homelander. Maybe never as great as him, but some day you could achieve his caliber. This was really happening.

Homelander never imagined his day would have turned into something like this either. His miles hasn't left since leaving your room as he strolls through the halls to make sure your paperwork was properly handled. He felt like he was flying his entire way to the elevators yet his feet were firmly planted on the ground. There were so many things he wanted to do with you. So much he wanted to talk about.

But. . .

He couldn't let you know about the tie you had to him. More than you sharing powers. Blood connected the both of you. The only person (besides Ryan) who could boast that. It was something sacred to him. Of course nothing could remain pure when it came to Homelander. Because you were his sister that meant you were just as perfect as he was. Even more so since you had the added skill of telekinesis. The only person alive truly worthy of being with him. Thinking about his future had butterflies flapping their paper thin wings along the inside of his stomach. To take you the way he desired, Homelander had to make sure no one knew of your biological relationship. Public opinion would demonize him were the fact to get out. Initially he thought of keeping you locked up, but that was an unlikely scenario which would lead to you fighting against him. He wants you to be pliant and willing. That required trust to be developed along with Homelander worming his way into your brain and heart.

Hopefully the look he shot Starlight and Maeve on his way out was enough to prevent either of them in snooping around for information about you. This was his business that they should not meddle in. Particularly Starlight's intentions bothered him. She was a snake in the grass, proven it by aligning herself with Hughie and the rest of the Boys. He saw her being a problem in the future. That concerned look she'd had when her eyes fell upon you spelled trouble brewing.

The pep in his step dwindles thinking of it, jaw tightening. If Starlight found out you were siblings, it would put a wrench in the plans he was formulating. His long desired family unit was within reach. He could practically hear Ryan's laughter, see you chasing after the young boy as if he were your very own. How pretty you would look in summer clothes, waiting for Homelander to come home. The life of his dreams. The life Vought fabricated for his backstory could so easily become reality. He'd just been missing two important pieces. They were essential to this new life Homelander wished for.

There were no qualms over the idea of killing Starlight. Problems would be for Vought trying to cover it up. Not to mention the situation that would inevitably arise with Billy Butcher, especially now that he knew his wife was alive and raising the supe's son. Another encounter with him lay in wait. A headache he wasn't looking forward to dealing with. He just wanted to focus on you and Ryan.

Arriving at the gold plated elevator doors, he presses down on the button that would take him to floor 82, Mr. Edgar's floor. That was Mr. Edgar's kingdom which he ruled with an iron fist and ruthless attitude. When the two doors slide open, Ashley jumps back clearly startled by yet again running into him.

"I-I trust the room is to her liking?" Ashley's mouth twitches and morphs into what she must have thought passed off as a smile.

He stalks into the elevator forcing Ashley to seek refuge in the further most corner. Darkling tutting, Homelander waits for the doors to close before addressing the vice president who was charged with dealing with these self entitled heroes. "You're going to have to try a lot harder at pretending you're not scared. You stink of fear and if I can smell it, so could she."

Paling, her head rapidly nods in complete understanding all the while trying to relax her facial muscles into neutrality as well as taking a few deep breaths. If she didn't fix herself immediately. . . it brought back memories of Blindspot.

For a few seconds he watches her, specifically listening to her erratic heartbeat. At least she listened and didn't need to be told twice. Through her own sheer will, Ashley manages to calm herself enough to lower her pulse, not the easiest thing when her number one stressor was stuck in an elevator with her.

She reaches a hand up to her red hair and anxiously curls a lock of it around her finger instead, her only outlet that she'd be allowed.

"Good. You'll be coming with me to see Mr. Edgar." Homelander turns his blue eyes back up to the lit up floor numbers that were beginning to descend. With his attention away from her, Ashley stealthily rips out a few strands of her hair. The pain was soothing, aiding in faking her calm.

The air was suffocating with just the two of them. She thinks back to the phone call she'd received an hour before you and Homelander had arrived at the Tower. Stan Edgar personally warned her of what Homelander was doing. That he'd discovered not only a son but a sister too. Edgar, in the most polite way possible, instructed her not to get involved and just do whatever he told her to do. And absolutely no asking questions about you. Homelander was already pissed about so much being kept from him, best not to antagonize him further. Keeping him happy was top priority.

Unaware of the shit show that was unraveling, worker bees greet them with a smile once they arrive on the 82nd floor. A few even wave at Ashley.

Stan Edgar saw them coming the moment they stepped out of the elevator. Already he was on his feet and moving around his desk to greet them as his office door is opened. Homelander's hand poised at the back of Ashley's neck, he nudges her inside. Homelander motions for both of them to sit down as if it were his own office. His gaze doesn't waver, staring down an equally defiant Edgar. A normal human but he never squirmed in front of Homelander's penetrating stare. He'd commend the older man for his bravery. If only Ashley would take notes. She needed a better poker face if she's to make it in Vought Industries.

"You know why I'm here."

"Your sister and Ryan." Verifies Edgar. He'd prefer to stand but inch by inch sank himself down onto the cushion of his desk chair.

"Now, while Ryan may be under Becca's care, my sister is an adult and wishes to stay here. Train to be an elite hero. Like me. However," neither like the way he breathed out that single word "no one can know that we're related. People will scream nepotism and claim she's getting special treatment."

His reasoning was plausible but. . .

From a promotional point of view, a sibling duo would be a hit like the TNT Twins. The public would eat it up and show even more support for Vought in the polls.

"Oh, and her parents need to sign one of those NDA things. Can't have them flapping their mouth either." Tacking on as an after thought. You'd forget them soon enough. He'd just have to keep them away from you for the time being. They hovered over her too much for his liking. From the corner of his eye, he caught a quiver in Ashley's mask.

About to reprimand her, Edgar clears his throat and leans forward to allow his elbows to rest on the desk's surface." I understand. It will be done. But you do realize how difficult it would be to keep it under wraps considering the outstanding similarities. The powers, your eyes. People will start to ask questions."

"Let them ask away. As long as Vought says she's not my sister, then she's not my sister."

Why was he so intent on covering this one particular fact? Nepotism surely could explain it. Homelander's insistence of it concerns Edgar and Ashley who felt like he was planning something more nefarious for you. He was capable of any horrendous acts they could conjure. They were just as helpless when it came to him. Unable to defy his orders unless they desired him to burn holes into their faces as he did to Madelyn.

All of his whims taken care of, Homelander leaves them to start working on the welcome dinner with you and the rest of the Seven. He wants to show you off. He'd make sure you never wanted to leave him. Ensure that you continue to see him as all powerful and benevolent. The looks of admiration you'd shot him went straight to his head as well as other regions that were out of his control. Clear that you idolized America's favorite hero. Your parents raised you to believe that Vought was a company that cared about helping the public and that their heroes were there to protect and serve the general masses. No doubt in your mind that they were the good guys and the stuff on the media was simply baseless slander. What child would want to discover that their daddy was actually a bad guy working for the power hungry company and that supes were not in fact a gift from god. They were manmade. That knowledge would ruin your world.

Homelander would not allow that. You were his to protect now. His to blind and deafen to the world around them.

#reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #theboysxreader #the boys x reader #theboyshomelanderxreader #the boys homelander x reader #the boys #the boys x you #theboysxyou #theboystv #the boys fanfiction #the boys fanfic #x you #fics #homelander x reader #homelander f #homelander fic #please don't let this bomb lol #if it does well might consider making another part since i kinda left it open ended

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plutoswritingplanet · 7 months ago

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Vicarious (Homelander x Female!Reader) pt. 7

a/n: shout out to my wonderful partner, who had to listen to me rant and rave about this fic.

Warnings: Explicit Smexual Content (we did it guys), Dubious Consent (whoops), Mention of Scars, Smoking, Good Old Fingerblasting, Reader is Still Plus Sized. Cross-Posted on AO3

Summary: And as such, the board is set, and the pawns are in place.

Vicarious Masterlist

The Instagram feed of your private account seems to taunt him, the orange ring around your profile picture almost begging him to tap it. He doesn't particularly care about the Vaught-curated, fake one, that posts smiling pictures of Fireball doing superhero training. He doesn't care about the hairspray commercial, or the short videos of you posing in the recording studio, where they make you sing some pop-rock swivel. He does enjoy the one short clip from an interview, where you praise him like there's no tomorrow, but it's a small flicker of interest in the sea of insignificant blabber.

No. What grabs his attention, what is the only notification he ever gets on his phone, is the private and intimate life of Smirnoff. Hidden under already ten times broken website coding, followed by a rather small group of your friends from different points of your existence. And oh, what an existence it is.

Another day off, once every week, and you've fled the Tower in the early hours of the morning. He can't exactly follow you out, despite wanting to do so, to an almost alarming degree. Homelander doesn't get days off. He doesn't have the luxury of normalcy, because by all means, he's not normal. His eyes follow you like a hawk, from the surveillance point of his penthouse, where he sees your retreating form greet the doorman.

It is quite disconcerting to him, as he takes in the way you interact with insignificant Vaught employees, after a month. The smiles, the borderline servile pleasantries, so unfitting to your role as a superhero, as his god-damned Sidekick. Once, he saw you pick up a note, which flew out of some worm's pile of documents, hand it to them with a bright expression. Like it's the most normal of occurrences, like you should be bending over for anyone other than himself.

He would've intervened. In that small moment, he would've crossed the floors of the Tower, grabbed you by that soft underarm and showed you, exactly, who you should reserve your politeness for. But, he wouldn't interrupt Madelyn's speech, no matter how much he wanted to, he was tied at the moment, and as the day went on, the incident slipped his mind.

Which he sorely regrets, as he peeks out his window, sensing through floors upon floors of noise-filled concrete and metal, that you're back.

He seeks out your newest story with ease, his fingers flying over the touch screen. Your account pops up, like it's done for the past month, the colorful ring around your profile picture calling to him like a siren from mythology he's never bothered to read.

The lights of New York never dim, and as he stands by the window, overlooking the nightlife of the city, he pauses, just for a moment. He wonders if you hate this place too. Not in the same way he does, that's for sure, but he's seen your house, your neighborhood. He's seen the way you flinch, whenever a particularly loud sound from the outside wriggles its way into the Tower. The way your nose scrunches at the fumes in the air, the way your eyebrows jump to your hairline, whenever you see a price tag on the water bottles stuck inside a vending machine. Even if you can afford them, even if you'll be able to afford them long after your contract is terminated.

Honestly, you should be on your knees, thanking him for dragging you into the real world. For taking you away from the insignificant, lazy life of the suburbs. He's also aware, that precisely because you should be grateful, you hate this situation. You're too damned proud, even if you try to conceal it. He's getting good at reading you.

First picture.

You're back at that disgusting, dirty food joint right outside the Tower. He can practically taste the unbearable amounts of sugar in your latte, and he frowns slightly at the whipped cream almost spilling over the sides of the glass. His tongue smacks against his pallet, imagining himself licking the artificial taste out of your mouth, letting the carbonation fizzle on his taste buds, until it turns into liquid, flowing from your lips into his throat.

In a staggering display of self-restraint, he swipes to the next photo.

"What the fuck is that" the black text says, accompanied by a horrified emoji, and he frowns, because honestly, he has no idea. He's looking at a very zoomed in photo of a bug, or... Some other alien creature. He grunts low in his throat and swipes.

There's a three hours gap between the insect photo, and the next one, and he brings the screen closer to his face.

It's a video. A short clip of you, splayed on the floor. Someone else is holding the camera, and despite his best efforts, he can feel a small pang of jealousy crawling up his spine.

Your cheeks are warm with exertion, your chest rising and falling in deep breaths, and he absentmindedly notices a very beaten up dog toy in your hand, traces of saliva still on it, as well as your fingers. A black, wet nose enters the picture, as the person filming zooms in on your face. You sputter, as the dog starts to lick your cheek, and the sound of your laughter fills his penthouse.

That same, rough noise you use around your friends. The loud cackling, that sounds simultaneously like nails on a chalkboard, and the greatest of symphonies. He wonders what he'll have to do, for you to laugh like that around him. He's funny, he knows he can be funny, he's the god-damned Homelander.

He's everything.

Homelander zeroes in on the way your chest shakes under a simple tank top, as your body convulses in bounds of laughter. And then suddenly, he freezes, all the heated, dangerous thoughts slipping out of his brain, as he notices something. He replays the video, once, twice, three times. Zooms in, tilts his head, tries to conjure up a clearer image from the amassing of pixels.

- Oh show me the way to the next whiskey bar - your voice carries through the metal-enforced walls of the tower, cutting through concrete and worming itself right into his ear.

He's standing outside the door to your rooms, his eyes following your form as you glide through the kitchen area, hips swaying under a flowy skirt. It's the same outfit you've worn in the story, and despite himself, Homelander starts to salivate, the muscles of his stomach tightening ever so slightly.

Your singing is, well, to be quite honest, not good. Which could've been anticipated, considering the amounts of auto tune they layered over your voice, in that horrendous song. It was clear you were not a singer, which you've mentioned, extensively, to Stillwell. She ignored it, of course. The small note in your files about taking part in a student rendition of a play twice in your life, and a teeny tiny mention of some band activity, was enough to set her unshakable resolve on truly milking the "rockstar" persona.

Still, it doesn't stop you from belting out the refrain like you're part of the band, your body swaying, as you hug the pillar of your kitchen area in a dramatic display.

- Oh moon of Alabama, we now must say goodbye...

He watches like a hawk, through concrete and metal, his eyes burning at the corners, as he tries so hard to catch that elusive thing. That small flicker he's sure he's seen on his screen, just minutes ago, but to no avail. And he has to know. Why, he's not sure himself, but the need to make sure, to uncover another layer of your being is too strong to ignore, and with a huff of frustrated air, he finally makes up his mind.

The hard, demanding knock on your door startles you from your impromptu, private performance. Bare feet pad on the carpet, as you rush to the stereo system, turning the music down, before skipping towards the entrance to your room, curiosity and just a flicker of anxiety mixing within your gut.

By all means, today is the one day you shouldn't be disturbed, so whoever this was, must have a pretty important reason to stop by your anything but humble abode.

- Yeah? - that's the only word that you manage to say, as you open the door, before a flash of blue enters your vision.

You barely have the time to realize, who exactly is standing in front of you, before a gloved hand darts out in your direction, fingers gripping the cleavage of your top tightly. A strangled sound of surprise and outrage escapes your throat, as blonde mass of hair invades your vision.

Homelander kicks the door closed, as his hands tug mercilessly on the fabric of your shirt. Your arms flail in the air, before you have half the mind to grab his wrists, sputtering wildly, as you try (and fail) to free yourself from his hold.

- What the fuck are you doing? - your voice comes just a bit more on the panicked side, and you mentally scold yourself.

He doesn't seem to notice this slip-up, too occupied with whatever he's hoping to find in your bra. Your face burns red against your better judgement, as his free hand wrenches itself in between your breasts, all but scooping your flesh to the sides, until your sternum is more visible.

Finally, he blinks, freezing in his place, blue eyes staring at your skin so intensely, you're convinced he's going to burn another hole through you.

- What is that? - he asks, voice low and more dangerous, than you've ever heard up until this point.

You frown, confusion written clearly on your face, and in response, he jabs his gloved, red finger right at the center of your chest, your body swaying slightly from the impact.

- This. What the fuck is this? - he repeats, a note of impatience sneaking into his tone, and you tug your chin as far down as it can go, struggling to see, what exactly he's pointing at.

And then, like a flicker of genius, your mind catches up. With a huff of frustration, you finally take a sharp step back, letting the material of your top tear, a scrap of sad fabric dangling from his hand, as you throw him a look, that borders on annoyance.

- It's a scar - you try to keep your voice indifferent, try to deny him the satisfaction of your reaction, but goddamn, this is your day off, and he's acting insane.

He looks utterly out of place inside your room, although you can't imagine anyone, except maybe Ozzy Osbourne in his prime, fitting into this strange jumble of rock paraphernalia. You barely fit in here yourself, with your sweaters, and tops, and flowy skirts that flutter around your ankles. Still, seeing him here, in your space, fills you with a sense of discomfort. This is supposed to be your safe house, your one hiding spot in the hell site that is the Vaught Tower. A naive way of thinking, considering the man you wanted to hide from the most, could see and hear through walls, but still, you'll take an illusion if you can't have the real thing.

Homelander blinks a couple of times, you can see the muscles of his jaw moving under his skin in a way, you've come to recognize. He's thinking. It's never good when he's thinking. Your first month as his glorified sidekick is coming to an end, and you already know, nothing good, nothing kind, will ever come out of that brain of his.

- You... - his eyes flicker over your entire figure, from head to toe - Scar?

The note of incredulity in his voice makes you sigh, and you tug the torn fabric of your top upwards, just to try and shield yourself from his gaze. Slowly, he notices the scrap from your shirt still in his hand, and as he looks down at it, his fingers run absentmindedly over the fabric, the frayed ends sticking out. Your eyebrow twitches, when he pockets the material, but you decide not to comment. Not while you're still uncertain of his, well, everything at the moment.

- Of course I scar - you say slowly, trying to keep your voice calm - You burned a hole through me, remember?

Finally, that seems to snap him from whatever daze he's been in, and he regards you fully with a sharp jerk of his head.

- You said you heal faster - he points out, and you can see, the way his legs twitch, as if he's undecided whether he wants to close the distance between the both of you.

- Scars are a part of the healing process - you tell him, words sounding a bit rehearsed, a bit too much like a doctor reciting the same phrase to every patient.

The Doors continue to play, quietly cutting through the air, mixing with the sound of your quickened breathing. Somehow the once comforting music starts to feel more and more like a soundtrack from a horror movie.

You can't stand in place anymore, a nervous sort of buzzing entering your system like a tsunami wave, and against your every instinct, you turn your back to the predator inside your safehouse. Feet padding over the carpet, you find yourself at the window, cracking it open, and letting the cool, fumes-filled air of New York into the room. He's not even trying to be stealthy, as he comes closer, and when you turn to face him, you're met with a myriad of conflicting emotions running through his expression.

A childish sort of giddiness, at the prospect of marking your skin, of carving himself into the very essence of your flesh. And a deep disdain for such ordinary show of weakness, of humanity. You don't like either of the options, and your hands reach for the half-smoked pack of cigarettes at the nearby table.

- So you knew, you'll scar - he starts, his eyebrows raising - And you didn't think to mention it?

It wouldn't change a thing, and the both of you know it. You fish out a lighter out of your pocket.

- And you shot yourself in the fucking stomach - he continues, his tone growing lighter, like he doesn't believe the very real events, that transpired between the two of you - You can't be that stupid, I've seen a college mention somewhere in your files.

That makes you huff, as you take out one of the cigarettes with practiced ease, placing it between your lips, while looking at him utterly unamused.

- For English literature, not... - your hand flails in the air - Whatever... Borderline abusive, work interactions.

He scoffs at the statement, like it's a joke. Like you're not forced to second guess every little action around him. The lighter flicks to light, and suddenly his mouth splits into a smirk. Sharpened canines flash at you, a small shiver coils itself at the base of your spine.

- You know what they say about nerdy girls, right? - he quips, voice lowering into a strange sort of rumble, that would perhaps sound seductive, if it weren't him.

- I can guarantee you, I've heard every version of this...

- They don't know how to smoke - he cuts you off, jutting his chin out slightly in your direction, making you finally look down at what you're actually doing.

The cigarette is on fire. Literally.

You've lit the wrong end, and your nostrils fill with a biting scent of burning plastic, as the filter melts in the heat.

You sputter, free hand waving in the air in quickness, and the small, burning stick flies out of your mouth, and shoots across the room, until it hits the sink in your small kitchen area. Homelander's eyes crinkle at the sides, as he takes in that small display of your power. You run after it to the sound of Homelander's rumbling laughter, too mocking to laugh with him. Fortunately, you manage to drown the burning end in water, before the smoke detector goes off, and for a moment, you allow yourself to stand there, leaning heavily on the counter, watching the cigarette swim.

He slides into your kitchen like it's his playpen, towering over you with a smug expression, and you have to bite your lip, because fuck. That was, perhaps, actually funny.

And in the warm light, he looks less like your nightmare, and more like an all-american boy, you could've met at a college party. A shuddering breath leaves you, much too close to a laugh, and his lips pull back even more, into a boyish sort of a smile, that just barely makes your stomach flutter.

- Yeah... Okay - you concede, giving up ever so slightly in this strange situation, and you try to suppress another shiver, as his blue eyes suddenly seem much too sharp.

And then, he crosses his arms in front of his chest, the padding on his suit making his chest look almost ridiculously puffy, as he takes a deep breath, looking away from you in a manner that might be mistaken as, god forbid, shy.

- So - he starts, immediately putting you on high alert, even if there's a flicker of curiosity brewing inside your gut - How was your day off?

You blink up at him confused, before realizing, that he doesn't really care. His shoulders sag slightly, already bored with the conversation he started himself. And you want him out of here, so you mirror his stance, crossing your arms, and take a long breath.

- Good. - you attempt, and fail, to sound casual - I've been to....

The rest of the sentence is cut off by your strangled gasp, as your chin suddenly gets pushed up by a gloved hand. And then it's tongue, teeth and a whisper of lips, all but attacking you, poking, probing, demanding entry. Your arms flail once again, your nails dragging over the marble countertop, over the geometric patterns of his suit.

Homelander all but crushes your body against the kitchen counter, one of his hands coming up, roughly palming at your breast, fingers sinking into the soft material of the bra cup, into the even softer flesh. He drags the material down, until you spill out into his palm.

Is this the Maybe you've been thinking about? It doesn't feel like a Maybe.

Your mind races between all the possible exits from this situation, every single one falling short, when he finally grows tired of the barrier of your teeth. His other hand grabs your jaw tightly, pressing on the tissue until your mouth falls open on instinct. Like a fucking dog, that's being tricked into swallowing a tablet, his tongue slides into your mouth.

He groans, deep within his chest, as if this is some moment of immense relief, and you're stuck in limbo, undecided between gagging and reciprocating the kiss. Both options seem as likely, and that thought terrifies you to no end.

The decision is made for you, once again, as his knee slides between your shaky legs, brushing ever so slightly against the heat, that's been steadily growing, and god help you, it feels good.

A low, keening sound rips through your chest, your throat, and he swallows it like it's the only air he'll ever need, responding with a grunt of his own, his fingers tightening over your breast. His other hand slides down, over your ribs, your waist, until it settles on your hip, grabbing the flesh there with all his might, and pulling.

Pushing, and pulling, until your hips stutter into a steady grind against his knee.

You're convinced your blood has turned into living lava, undescribable warmth flooding your abdomen with every move, spilling into your cheeks, the tips of your fingers.

Finally, he detaches himself from your mouth, and as you gasp for air, your senses return to you in a cold wave. Despite the heat, the tingling, overtaking sensation building in your core, the tantalizing way he plays with your breast, your mind cools itself. Finding your voice comes easier than you would've anticipated, and you vow to explore this unexpected level-headedness at a later time.

Your hand finds his chin, nails biting into his impenetrable skin, forcing him to lock eyes with you. The dangerous, almost animalistic darkness within them, would've scared you, at any other time, but right now, all you feel is calmness. The sort of silence you'd experience in the very eye of the hurricane.

- Go to your room.

You almost don't recognize your voice, the low commanding tone that comes somewhere deep within, from some undiscovered part of yourself that seems to come out in his presence only. You're still undecided whether it's Fireball, Smirnoff, or this strange third thing. Perhaps it's all of them combined. Doesn't matter now, what matters is, he stops.

Everything comes to a screeching halt. The knee, the hands, even the song playing quietly on the stereo system. You're convinced he's turned into a statue in front of you, until he blinks. A feverish series, another tell of his running thoughts. His mouth falls open, traces of you cooling against his bottom lip. And then his jaw sets, along with his decision.

- No - your stomach drops - Give me something.

Confidence slips through your fingers like air, as the realization of just how much unprepared for this balance you really are. How you've bitten off so much more than you can chew, and there's no other way forward for you, than to choke on it.

- I... - your voice lodges itself firmly in your throat - I don't...

- You want to play this game? - his voice is low, hot breath fanning against the column of your throat - Play it right. Give me something.

You swallow hard, his eyes drifting to the movement, the pulse running rampant in your artery. This must be that elusive Maybe your friend talked about, but as you stare at him, eyes wide and uncertain, you suddenly feel like the weight of the world has been dropped on your shoulders, which were not meant to carry this burden. Still, in this eye of the hurricane, you make a decision, because there's nothing else to do, nowhere to turn, not really.

Your head nods on its own accord, spine stiff and cracking, and you can see a flicker of victory pass his features. Not in a way that would suggest relief. No. He knew from the start, there's no other way for this interaction to end.

And as such, his hands leave you, as he unclasps the velcro at the wrist of his right glove, the sound jarring in the thick tension between the two of you. Then, the loosened leather presses itself into your lips, resting at the border of your teeth.

- Bite - he says, low in his throat, and the hinges of your jaw creak as you sink your teeth into the hard material.

His hand slides out, elegant fingers, veins climbing the expanse of skin, and your breath hitches ever so slightly. Homelander doesn't waste time. The moment he's free of that one article of clothing, he reaches down, gathering your skirt up. You can feel the flowy material slide up your calves, your thighs, until it bunches up around his forearm. The pads of his fingers brush over the well worn cotton of your underwear, and your eyes flutter, a sign of betrayal from your own body.

He drinks in every reaction, every change, as he slowly, tugs your panties to the side. You can see those sharp canines flash in a borderline giddy smile, as he finally makes contact with your flesh.

- Would you look at that... - he quips, and you know very well, just how drenched you really are, just how tight the muscles of your stomach had been. - Aren't you just the perfect little Sidekick.

There's no time to answer him, as suddenly your walls flutter around his fingers, his thumb finding it's goal with an almost unbelievable ease. Your hips stutter, torn between pushing him closer, deeper, and pulling away. He hums in your ear, his mouth finding purchase behind your ear, where he sucks and bites, until you shiver. Your hands fly up, grabbing at the bronze eagles on his shoulders, nails scraping against the metal, as your mouth falls open. His other hand, which is currently not occupied with absolutely wrecking your nether regions, pushes into your mouth, thumb pressing against your tongue, leather running over your bottom teeth.

He tilts your head up, forces you to look at him, those once baby blue eyes are almost completely eaten by his dark irises, which are lapping at every twist of your eyebrows, every flutter of your eyelashes. Your breath hitches in your throat, as he pushes his fingers as far as they'll go, pressing up into you, the sounds becoming downright obscene. The pressure builds with an almost alarming speed, your thighs starting to shake from the exertion.

His head dips down, tongue sneakig from between his teeth, and he licks a long stripe between your breasts, mouth closing over the small, light scar. There, he sucks, until your back arches, until the skin becomes pink, then red.

And despite the fact, that situation is messed up beyond belief. Despite the fact, that hate burns low in your stomach, it's fire rising with every motion of his fingers, every press of his thumb...

You let go.

Your hand grabs at the back of his head, fingers digging into his skin, pushing him down to meet your open mouth. And you kiss him. Truly kiss him, pouring every hidden or otherwise emotion into the swirling of your tongue. You swallow the loud groan coming from deep within him, and let the pressure in your stomach snap like a rubber band. You've always been quiet, and today is not any different, as your body arches against him, hips moving in an uncoordinated stutter, riding his hand like your life depended on it.

You revel in the way his eyes widen in surprise almost more than your orgasm. The realization, that you've caught him off guard, setting your nerve endings on fire.

He recovers quickly, pulling away from the kiss, his mouth hanging open. Then, his hand rips itself out of you, before you have the time to stop spasming, coming up to his mouth, where he cleans his fingers, shoving them into his mouth. The noise he makes, when he tastes you for the first time, borders on pornographic, and with a freezing shiver running down your spine, you think he looks almost beautiful like this. If he was anyone else, he would be perfect.

Alas, he's himself, and you are what your life has made of you, so you force your breathing to level, until you're sure you're ready to speak.

- Go to your room - you repeat, a note of hoarseness sneaking into your tone, but his eyes flash nonetheless. - Now.

There's just a second of hesitation. An excruciating moment, where your heart nearly stops in your chest. And then, your skirt falls back into place, fluttering around your ankles, as the heat of his body leaves you. That hellish American flag billows after him, and now you're sure the stars and stripes are mocking you.

But he's gone.

The door slams after him, and finally you're left alone, moisture cooling on the insides of your thighs in a way that makes your stomach twist. You can't think about it. You try to shove this entire situation into another box, hide it from sight, stomp on it like an annoying cockroach. Knees buckle under you, and the coolness of the kitchen floor is a jarring contrast to your burning skin.

On instinct, pushed by some invisible force, you reach up, fingers closing over the cigarette pack and the lighter, and this time, you light it correctly. It takes three puffs, until the smoke detector catches on, the water system coming to life, spraying the entirety of your room with cold water.

And you continue sitting there, on the floor, holding your wet cigarette between your teeth, letting the water cover everything, you included. It's okay. You can afford it.

You're a rock star.

#my writing #homelander #homelander x reader #homelander fanfiction #the boys amazon #homelander x you #gonna be a real f fest from here on

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ryuzakemo128 · 2 years ago

Text

The Boys Headcanons Part 1

Masterlist // Other Stuff I have written

Dividers Used: Link

Trigger Warning: NSFW Headcanons included. Read at own risk. Slight angst.

Author's Note: If you want more of these headcanons for either the female reader or female reader with a character let me know.

Lineage Headcanons~

Her parents, Katarina and Ivan were also known as "The Russian Titans" known for their superhuman strength, superhuman durability, and their ability to manipulate and control the elements. Katarina had the power to summon and control lightning, while Ivan possessed the ability to manipulate and shape earth and stone.

Her older brother, Mikhail was born in 1950, born with Superhuman strength, superhuman durability and agility. Mikhail was the golden child who couldn't do wrong.

Much like their second eldest, Aleksandr which was born in 1955, much like his predecessors had Superhuman strength, superhuman durability and agility. He also had the ability to manipulate and control water.

Katarina and Ivan had twin daughters, Yelena and Octavia, born in 1958. Yelena inherited her mother's ability to manipulate and control electricity. She had precise control over lightning, which she could use to devastating effect. Yelena could disable electronics, create electrical barriers, and even use lightning as a weapon.

Octavia inherited her father Ivan's power to manipulate and shape earth and stone. This allowed her to move mountains, create seismic tremors, and shape the ground at will. Her abilities allowed her to create powerful barriers, control the terrain during battles, and unleash destructive earthquakes when needed.

Back Story Based Headcanons

Marianna was born in 1966, youngest member of the Volkova family, she got the Superhuman Strength, agility, speed and durability due to a unique combination of her bloodline being carefully selective and enhanced through advanced genetic engineering techniques. However her aging is so slow, appearing to be frozen in time when Vought Corporation discovered her when she was in an exchange student program in 1981 in New York, she was in high school still at the time and she said she'd consider it further once she graduated.

She trained in Sambo, Systema and Krav Maga even after her teen years passed by.

She got into cage fighting because her brothers introduced her to it to hope it would be enough to direct her hyperactivity somewhere else or in their words. "To ensure she would not burn the house down."

Despite her formidable physical abilities, Marianna had always felt like an outsider within her own family. While her siblings possessed unique elemental powers, she only had her enhanced physicality to rely on. This led her to develop a relentless drive to prove herself and find her place in the world.

Up until a fight with her brother, she only knew she had superhuman strength, agility, speed, and durability. But during that fight, something unexpected happened. She mimicked her older brother's Mikhail's powers. Which left her afraid, even after her older brother tried to comfort her. She was terrified when it happened the first time which led to her hiding for three days in her bedroom, refusing to come out.

During those three days, her older brother Mikhail told their parents what happened, and they decided to seek the help of Dr. Jonah Vogelbaum, a renowned scientist and expert in superhuman abilities. Dr. Vogelbaum conducted extensive tests on Marianna and discovered that she possessed the unique ability to mimic and absorb the powers of other superhumans. This ability had never been seen before and was a result of the advanced genetic engineering techniques used on her bloodline.

Driven by curiosity and the desire to understand her newfound abilities, Marianna agreed to undergo further experimentation under Dr. Vogelbaum's guidance. Over the next few years, she trained rigorously to control and harness her mimicry powers. She learned to selectively absorb the powers of other superhumans, allowing her to access their abilities temporarily.

Homelander and Marianna met the first time in 1991, when she was 25 and he was 10, they met the first time during a Vought-sponsored event where Marianna was demonstrating her powers to a select audience.

Between those events she got into wrestling, UFC, and other combat sports, using her enhanced physical abilities and newly acquired mimicry powers to dominate her opponents. She quickly gained fame and became a celebrated figure in the world of competitive fighting.

She became known as "The Silver Devil" in 1994, she was also given another title by butcher as "The Chameleon Warrior.", Frenchie called her "The Shapeshifter Queen,", Kimiko referred to her as "Sister."

Homelander's second encounter with her was in 2005, he was 24 years old and she was 39 years old. During an event which showed off her progress in terms of her mimicry, which was far more advanced than the last time she showed it off. Marianna's mimicry powers had evolved to a level where she could seamlessly absorb and utilize the powers of multiple superhumans at once. This impressive demonstration caught Homelander's attention, and he couldn't help but be intrigued by her abilities.

Marianna agreed to more testing and she was working on a Forensics Pathologist PhD at the same time, which allowed her to contribute to the scientific understanding of superhuman abilities. She became a valuable asset to Vought Corporation, assisting in the analysis of superhuman DNA and helping to develop new methods for enhancing and controlling powers.

Soldier Boy and Marianna met after he woke up in 2022, her statement of, "Welcome back to the land of the living old man." was a playful greeting as she approached Soldier Boy, who had just woken up from a long slumber. Marianna, still in her prime at 56 years old, had become a respected and influential figure within Vought Corporation. Her extensive knowledge of superhuman abilities, combined with her own unique mimicry powers, made her an invaluable asset in their pursuit of enhancing and controlling powers. She also stated, "A lot of things changed since you went to sleep in 84',"

NSFW Headcanons

Marianna plays heavy metal whenever she fucks, she specifically plays songs from either Black Sabbath, Iron Maiden, Metallica or Pantera.

She's a switch when it comes to being a dom or sub.

She has no problem using the safe word "red" if things get too intense.

She watches porn and she isn't ashamed to admit it either.

She has no problem with dirty talk. As long as she is not called a slut.

She is very open minded sexually.

Marianna is rather open with her bisexuality.

She had at least three previous partner's in her life time.

She's not ashamed of what she likes or how she likes it.

She doesn't have any problems with age differences.

She does not have any hangups about size differences.

She knows her limits and she will tell you about them.

She loves to tease men and women.

She loves to be blindfolded during sex.

She is also into hentai just much as porn.

She has a praise kink.

Homelander x Marianna Headcanons

Met again during Vought Sponsor event which featured Marianna as "The Silver Devil." For a Vought sponsored event, Marianna and Homelander are on the same team. They must work together to complete a series of challenges during the event. As they work together, they begin to respect and appreciate each other's abilities.

Likes to call him "Blondie" in reference to his blonde hair. Not to make fun of him, it was just the nickname that she felt was appropriate given the lack of information she had about him.

Marianna is the only person who can truly see Homelander as he is, good and bad. She's not judgmental and doesn't tolerate his nonsense.

Homelander and Marianna have a complicated relationship. They are both incredibly powerful Supes. However, they have very different approaches to using their powers. While Marianna is more playful and mischievous, Homelander is often ruthless and power-hungry.

Marianna has a great deal of fun teasing Homelander and poking fun at his ego. She knows that he is sensitive about his public image, yet she also understands that he secretly enjoys the attention she draws to him.

Homelander likes the way she expresses her disappointment in others, the way she raises an eyebrow and looks the human or supe up and down. She would also cross her arms if it was a supe or facepalm if it was a human. The sarcastic comments of "Sure, Let's go with that one, what's the harm in that?" or "I know you're making a mistake, but I'm not going to stop you." or "No, here I thought it would be good idea for your 'brilliant' plan. Go on lets hear it then."

If it happened to be a supe who had drawn her ire, Marianna would also cross her arms, a gesture that exuded authority and dominance. It was a physical manifestation of her disapproval, a non-verbal message that said, "You're not impressing anyone with that display."

7. However there have been moments were she was also rather dark, intimidating and relentless. These moments were rare like the moon's eclipse or a supermoon. In these moments she was well and truly angry. As its more of silent and brooding type of anger that simmers inside of her. Compared to his overt displays of aggression. The louder 'angry' parts were not her actually angry. It was just her pretending to be angry.

An Example of this was the aftermath of a rather bloody fight, Homelander walked in on the aftermath of it rather than the other way around with her seeing it. Her suit was covered in blood, despite the fact that it was black and the blood wasn't obvious due the two shades being rather dark. She wasn't wearing her mask, so her face was covered by it. She would just stand there for a solid fifteen minutes, staring at the bodies around her. "It's a shame it came to this, but at least it is done." she stated after fifteen minutes taking her glaive from one of them.

8. At a party at the home of a Vought executive, Homelander and Marianna are both invited. At the party, they meet a group of Supes who are all in the process of making an impression on each other. Homelander dislikes their superficiality and arrogance, but Marianna enjoys their antics.

Marianna's Behaviour Headcanons

To a human who is being cruel to another human, she might raise an eyebrow and give them a once-over, as if to say:

"Really? You're going to pick on someone weaker than you? That's pathetic."

"You're so insecure that you have to put others down to make yourself feel better?"

"You're so pathetic, I'm not even going to waste my time on you."

"You're so brave, picking on someone who can't defend themselves. Why don't you go find someone your own size?"

"You're so pathetic, I'm actually starting to pity you."

"Is everything alright at home? Maybe you should take a step back and look at your own life before you judge someone else's."

"Congratulations! You've just won the award for the biggest jerk on the planet."

"Go home, both of you, before you hurt yourselves."

To a Supe who is using their powers for evil, she might give them a cold stare and say:

"You're supposed to be a hero. What the hell are you doing?"

"Please, don't hurt yourself with that ego of yours."

"Oh, you're so powerful and invincible. I'm sure nothing could ever go wrong."

"Oh, look at you, Mr. High and Mighty Supe. You think you're so much better than humans, but you're nothing more than a bully."

"I hope you enjoy being a monster, because that's what you're becoming."

"You're supposed to be a protector, not a bully. How pathetic."

"Why don't you go find someone your own size? Oh, wait, you can't, because you're all cowards."

"Oh, that's perfectly normal. After all, you're a superhero. You can do whatever you want, right?"

"You're abusing your power. You should be ashamed of yourself."

"You're making all of us look bad. Stop it."

"You're a disgrace to all Supes."

"Maybe you should go back to where you came from."

To a supe picking on another Supe:

"What's the matter, kitten? Did someone steal your boyfriend?"

"Are you trying to prove something?"

"Is this your idea of a good time?"

"You're not very good at this, are you?"

"Why don't you just give up now?"

"I'm not sure what's more pathetic: the fact that you're picking on someone your own size, or the fact that you're doing it in front of an audience."

"Are you trying to impress your mommy and daddy?"

"Are you trying to make yourself feel better by putting someone else down?"

"Maybe you should stop wasting everyone's time and go back to whatever hole you crawled out of."

"Act your age not your damn shoe size."

To a Supe who is using their powers for evil and is about to kill Marianna:

"Do you really think you're getting away with this? There are people who care about me. They'll find you and make you pay."

"You're going to hell for this."

"I'm not afraid of you."

"You're not going to win."

"I forgive you."

"You're a disgrace to the Vought name."

"You're not a hero. You're a villain."

"You're no better than the criminals you're supposed to be fighting."

Bedroom Headcanons

Marianna has rubber ducks of different colours in a row on a display shelf. She owns at least 13 small rubber ducks so far.

She also has a poster of a giant duck with the word pathetic on it. On the door outside of her bedroom. [Reference]

She has a three monitor computer set-up office across from her bedroom. Which was consider an extension of her bedroom as there was only a curtain separating the two.

She has a draw full of precious gemstones that she likes the most.

The following were inside of the draw: Black Opal, Fire Opal, Crystal Opal, White Opal, Opalite, Sodalite, Azurite, Larimar, Malachite, Bloodstone, Moss Agate and a few others that are quite rare.

5. She has at least four polar bear faux blankets for winter stuffed into the drawers underneath her king sized bed. Just in case the thinner blankets she usually has on her bed wasn't enough.

6. She has a walk in wardrobe of mostly black clothes, the only clothes that are of other colours used to belong to her older brother Mikhail or Aleksandr.

7. She loves getting men's shirts with graphic prints on them to wear to bed and she has a large collection of them inside her wardrobe.

8. The two lamps on either side of her bed on the end tables are in the shape of one of her favourite flowers called, "Lily of the Valley." [Reference Picture].

9. She prefers to have either silk or satin bed sheets in either the colour burgundy red or black.

10. Most of the paintings in her bedroom are painted by her mother.

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saltyprincessblog · 10 months ago

Text

Realest shit I seen all week.

dating homelander headcanons

(homelander x gn!reader)

he kills you

#homelander x reader #he can laser my ass to death anytime he wants #what? who the f said that??

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dollerinna · 11 months ago

Text

I WANT TO F**K YOU LIKE AN ANIMAL .

( black noir x fem supe!reader )

summary: the not-so-innocent things that go on in noir’s head abt you during The Seven meetings (wc: 1.8k)

warnings: MDNI, dub-con, rough p in v, doggy style, primal play themes, size kink, gagging, sobbing, corruption kink, Homelander being a weirdo at the end… just a lil’

first fic on this blog and I lowkey hate it- ughhh sorry if it’s all over the place!

The morning sun cast its golden glow upon the Manhattan skyline as The Seven assembled in their meeting room.

Homelander paced before them, detailing some new initiative he had conceived, but his words rang as emptily as the void behind his eyes. The Deep hung on his every syllable, eager as ever to prove his ass-kissing self with poorly-timed quips. This earned him nothing but a withering side-eye.

A-Train and Maeve listened with feigned interest, checking out of the conversation all but in body. Noir sat apart, idly fidgeting with a pen as his mind wandered. But his attention was drawn not to the usual faces, for there was a new supe among them—you, the latest fresh-faced recruit to their team.

On the surface, you appeared the absolute picture of attention—eyes forward, laser focused on Homelander as he tiresomely outlined the team's objectives.

It was cute, really, how focused the newbies always strived to be. Yet beneath the facade, you were actually anything but so, not when you felt an unseen gaze assessing you, weighing you.

Flicking your eyes discreetly aside, you confirmed a suspicion you could smell from miles away: Noir watching from across the table, his expression shrouded as ever behind the visor of his helmet.

Ugh, talk about creepy.

A subtle flutter of your eyelids shifted your line of sight, choosing to trust that his thousand-yard stare just so casually happen to drift your way and not an attempt to burn his gaze into your very soul.

Besides, what else could the guy possibly think about? Training, orders from Vought, simple pastimes—usually, such painfully mundane, run-of-the-mill thoughts occupied him.

But little did you know in this moment, as he studied your presence from afar, his mental reflections took a turn less… innocent.

─────────────────

“N-Noir… mmph-… please…”

It wasn’t his doing, he didn’t ask to be plagued with this sickly obsession; but every time he heard your voice, it was as if sweet, smooth-spun sugar had come alive.

An alien lust scorched Noir’s consciousness, catapulting his fevered mind into unfamiliar territory. Try as he might, he couldn’t shake the sinful thoughts that stubbornly stuck to him like glue. Just the mere notion of ever being responsible for those pretty little sounds was enough for arousal to creep through his veins like a nasty virus, sapping what was left of his crumbling self-control.

Your every whine, your every moan, would be a siren's call that beckoned him to claim you, to strip away your composure until you were utterly, helplessly his. All he craved was to watch the light in your eyes dwindle, to witness your breaths dampening into shallow puffs of air that blanketed your gaze in a veil of fog, gradually muffling you into a stillness even quieter than he was.

And truthfully, it wasn’t a matter of whether you liked it or not.

Noir would ensure his touch left no room for refusal, his grasp iron-hard as he positioned your trembling, naked body on the floor to his liking—face pinned down, ass arched up, just as it should be. Yet even as he held you fast with a palm braced against your sweat-slicked spine, his other hand moved with a surprising tenderness, gently teasing loose and brushing apart the knotted strands of hair clung to your ruddied features.

He imagined the merest of touches would set your blood aflame, rumbling up a ripe groan from your core. “…Oh m-my god… fuck…” words fled your mouth on airless breaths, nearly inaudible but still enough for him to catch. In response, he’d slowly lift a finger to your glistening lips, accompanied by a soundless ‘shh’—a signal for you to behave.

After all, good girls should never cuss.

Large, strong hands would then greedily paw at the lush fat of your ass cheeks, the scratchy textured fabric of his gloves leaving blooms of red across your flesh. Spreading you open, he’d admire the way your juicy, moist folds parted slightly, the aching emptiness within your entrance eliciting an involuntary clenching—your muted moans, trapped in your throat, acting as a wordless plea for more of his touch, more of him.

He liked to think you’d be mere putty in his hands, before he was even close to fucking you.

Noir would take his sweet time exploring you, his curiosity of the human form eclipsing the immediate need to quell a white-hot carnal desire every red-blooded man gets. He was good at rearranging people’s insides, literally, but what if he flipped the script in a much different way?

Experimentally, he’d run the very tip of his gloved finger along the weeping slit of your sex, ghosting ever so lightly over your swollen, hypersensitive clit to collect your slick arousal. Then, without warning, he’d dip an entire digit into your quivering depths, reveling in the way your spongy muscles squeezed and welcomed him in.

Your breath would hitch at the intrusion, skin prickling with a visceral need as you eagerly shoved your rear back against his palm, craving more. However, just as swiftly, he would withdraw his hand, bringing it close to his face to observe it covered in your juices, inspecting how the slimy, milky-white essence connected a trail between his fingers.

Who knew light fondling and agonizing silence was all the foreplay you needed? (or at least, in Noir’s fanciful pornographic depictions of you)

Once done playing with his food, he’d drag his knees closer to your body, his hips flush against your ass, leaving your peripheral vision filled with nothing but his imposing, darkly-clad figure dwarfing your own. Without hesitation, he’d reach down to remove the codpiece off him, freeing his hefty cock which sprang forth in the air, where it stood rock-hard, veiny, and impossibly large.

Wrapping a hand around himself, the thickly-roped, buzzing veins were betrayed by each gritty pull of his glove, drawing a guttural grunt from behind his balaclava. He’d guide his erection between your warm folds, the engorged ridge of his tip prodding against your bundle of nerves, sending electric jolts of pleasure to crackle through your core, before he began to sheathe himself inside you with a push that drove him home.

With a grip possessive and firm around your waist, Noir quickly fell into a steady, almost robotic rhythm of sturdy pushes and pulls. Each punishing collision of your bodies was answered by the lewd, rapid sounds of skin-on-skin, making damn sure you felt every single inch of him as he rutted into you like a man possessed.

He’d only hope to see you struggle taking him all in, envisioning how the sheer scale of his size forced the very air out from your gasping lungs.

“P-Please Noir!… ngh-… my body can’t handle this much,” your once-lovely voice now ragged and frail, scraping sobs grinding your vocal cords near silence as you churned and coiled like a fawn caught in the clutches of a big, bad wolf. “Be gentle, I’m begging you!—-” You choked out weakly, bordering on a soft, pitiful whine.

Expectantly, a weighted silence followed suit from Noir. In his typical, unsparing fashion, he slipped a glove from his hand, jamming it into your mouth and effectively gagging you into silence, as if to say—pipe down, be a good girl, and take my cock like you’re supposed to.

Even without a single word uttered by him, it worked like absolute fucking magic.

Your torso would practically collapse under the onslaught, wobbly limbs giving way as you let Noir use your arched up, offering form like a personal fleshlight. His hips would retract further back in an excruciating slowness, simply marveling at your wetness coating the base of his member like a second skin, only to slam back into you with raw vigor.

Your tight, gummy walls would be offered absolutely no time to adjust to the relentless invasion of his girth, the sheer thickness of his cock forcefully stretching out your cunt to shape him, to the point it felt like he was trying to split you into two.

He’d yank your flexing thighs back to meet his brutal series of thrusts, burying himself into you to the very tilt as the fleshy head of his cock kissed your cervix, igniting a searing white bolt of static to lance through your vision, momentarily fracturing it.

The all-consuming, dizzying sensation hit you like a ton of bricks, toppling your senses and wrenching a strangled sob out from your slack jaw once more. This earned you another biting touch from Noir’s thumbs pressed into your sides, as if seeking to wring every gasp out of your chest, to hear your moans rattle through your ribcage.

However even your rawest cries were swiftly muffled, swallowed by the balled-up glove shoved roughly between your teeth, which reduced you to nothing more than a gagging, pleasure-drunk whore for him to claim.

─────────────────

Meanwhile…

“Welp, that about covers it for today,” Homelander announced with a thunderous clap, loud enough for it to ring through Noir’s ears and bring him back to the present.

Slowly, Noir spun his head back towards Homelander, who had just finished addressing the team while his own thoughts drifted to places where even the pearly gates of heaven wouldn't give him the time of day.

“Now shoo- and no more sloppy behavior. I’ll be keeping an eye on each and every one of you.” Homelander dismissed them with a casual wave and a chuckle laced with another one of his thinly veiled threats.

As everyone, including little-miss-oblivious-you, got up to leave the meeting room, Homelander sauntered over to Noir, heartily slapping a heavy hand onto his back. “Earth to Noir! I know that look—thoughts a million miles away behind that sphinx-like mask of yours,” giving a sly little shrug, he slanted a meaningful look towards Noir’s codpiece. “But methinks, someone here isn’t as impenetrable as I thought…” A thin wry smile played his lips, a subtle hint at his x-ray vision allowing him to see a particular something-something of Noir’s that was currently just as hard as his body armor.

“It might do you good to line that suit with zinc. Wouldn't want any unwanted eyes peeking where they shouldn’t, do we?" An amused exhale, part sigh part snicker, slipped out of Homelander as his gaze swept over Noir once more.

True to form, all he received in turn was Noir’s standard muteness, as soundless as a grave.

Homelander eased the quiet with a huffed laugh, rocking back on his heels as he tilted his head in playful study of Noir. "But don't worry," he added with a knowing smirk, "it happens to the best of us. But do try to keep your head in the game! And not with your other one, ‘kay buddy?” Homelander jested in mock-reproach as he landed one last waggish, firm slap between Noir's shoulders, flashing his gleaming white yet eerily pointed grin.

Noir remained statue still, no hint of feeling betrayed by his rigid posture despite the toe-curling awkwardness of the encounter, or perhaps he'd yet to fully realize Homelander had peered within and seen his aching, raging hard-on behind the suit's facade.

Noir silently watched Homelander shoot two playful finger guns, his cape swirled shut behind him before leaving the room.

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Pssst- Likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated in this household and keep me motivated! <3

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Apologies if there are any grammatical errors here, cuz I’m alr so done with this fic 😭😭😭

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blindmagdalena · 11 months ago

Text

You Let Me Complicate You

18+ 4k homelander x f!reader. bickering, post-breakup sex, dubcon/coercion, angst, jealousy, emotional manipulation, implied murder, stalking, boundary smashing, breaking and entering, cunnilingus, penetrative sex. read on AO3. written as a follow-up to the breakup, but can be read as a standalone. gif credit.

Breaking up with Homelander is... complicated. After all, it is a god that loves you.

"What do I taste like?" You asked him once, drunk on pleasure and those early honeymoon days of loving him. He’d been slow to answer, thinking it over. "Love," he said at last. "Like you love me." You wonder if that holds true. If he can still taste love in you. If that’s why he’s so eager to devour you, or if the absence of it has made him even hungrier.

Homelander is an aberration.

Stronger than a hundred men, faster than a bullet and sharp as a tack all paired with a teaspoon’s depth of emotional maturity. He’s volatile, twisted, broken in ways no amount of therapy could ever hope to duct tape back together. He’s no better off than a dog that bites to kill. No matter how he got to this point, the best thing for him–for the world–would be to put him down by any means necessary.

Too bad you can’t seem to stop fucking him.

It’s late when you hear the front door open with a distinct crack. You’re sprawled out on the couch in the living room, one leg draped lazily over the armrest. What comes next is no surprise to you–a shock of primary colors filling the narrow doorway, a handsome face made ghoulish by the haunting light of the television in an otherwise dark room.

“You nailed the door shut,” Homelander says, the inflection of his voice somewhere between a question and a statement.

“Because you broke it,” you throw back, a stale Twizzler balanced between your lips. It had tasted good enough when you started eating it, but now–in his presence–the sweetness of it has turned sour.

“You changed the locks,” he says with a light shrug, cape swaying as he meanders towards you. “My key didn’t work.”

“Your key? Stealing a key to my house does not make it your key,” you say tersely, lifting your foot to press it firmly to his thigh, stopping him in his tracks.

He glances down, a mirthless smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before he catches your ankle in his gloved hand, yanking you down the couch so suddenly you lose your Twizzler to the floor with a gasp. It’s one thing to know that Homelander has strength enough to throw cars like frisbees. It’s another to feel it. It sends a rush of adrenaline through you like a jolt, followed swiftly by something hotter low in your naval.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking,” he begins, dropping your ankle. He lifts his knee and slots it between your legs, his opposite boot on the floor, his hand braced on the back of the couch, pinning you in place.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” you cut in dryly, moving to shift up the couch, away from him. He snatches your shoulder, halting you with ease. His thumb strokes your skin idly, goosebumps erupting beneath his touch.

“And I’ve realized that this whole… thing between you and I, this ‘will they, won’t they,’ ” he says, bobbing his head side to side. “It’s getting stale. Don’t you think it’s about time we progressed the plot?” He asks, leaning in close.

You brace your hand against his chest, holding him in place as ineffectually as you did earlier. You both know it’s all a game. It’s all pretense. There had been fondness between you once–love, even–but you’re done with that now. You have to be done with it, or Homelander will swallow you whole. He’s a black pit, a murderer, and his need knows no end. He’ll destroy you and everything you know and love if he thinks it’ll satiate that need.

You’ve lost enough. You can’t afford to lose any more of yourself to him.

“Jesus Christ, you even think in TV script,” you say, pushing on his chest. He leans back, but not by much. It sends a terrible little chill down your spine. “I’m starting to think the only thing that might actually kill you is an original thought.”

His eyes narrow and his bright white teeth flash predatorily in the darkness. “You’re lucky I haven’t broken your neck,” he says, hand slipping from your shoulder to your throat. The sharp press of his thumb into your windpipe steals your breath, makes your thighs tighten on either side of his leg snug between yours. His lips split into an unkind grin. “Or maybe not. You’d probably like that.”

“You’re disgusting,” you spit, gripping his wrist with your other hand. Your pulse is starting to throb against the leather of his glove. He moves his thumb from your windpipe to your jaw and turns your head away, leaning in with a deep, pointed inhale along your neck.

“Is that why your hormones are going haywire? Because I disgust you?” He asks, grinding his thigh between your legs in a way that makes you gasp. “Y’know, given how full of it you are, I was sure I’d smell the bullshit on you. But all I smell… is how fucking wet you are.”

He grabs your hip and the memories come to you like muscle memory. How good it feels to be gripped and fucked and loved by someone beyond your comprehension. To feel as if you’ve stopped the world turning and called the sun itself to shine on you alone.

You twist your chin out of his grip and level him with a heated stare. “I hate you,” you hiss, grasping for the knife you know will twist the deepest.

It works for a second, his smug expression faltering, but only for an instant. His jaw sets, and his lips curl into that same unkind smile. “C’mon, babe,” he coos, the intimate familiarity woven into that pet name making your skin crawl. “We both know that I can always tell when you’re lying.”

He kisses you like he always has. Like you belong to him. In a way, you suppose you always will. There’s nothing you can do to pry your throat from Homelander’s jaws. Nowhere you can run that he won’t eventually find you. Like quicksand, the more you fight, the tighter he clamps down. Truth be told, though, that isn’t the worst of it. The worst of it is that the tighter he grips you, the less you want to fight him.

His tongue slithers into your mouth like a serpent into the garden and you bite down hard. While pliant between your teeth, the flesh doesn’t yield. It never will. He never will. Instead he moans a little chuckle that fades into a rumble against your lips.

“That how it’s gonna be?” He asks, the words rasped into your mouth. “Y’wanna bite and claw? Play hard to get?” He laughs, the sound of it reedy and light, like it’s all a silly little game of make-believe. “I can do that.”

He reeks of his own desperation for what he says to be true. More than anything, he wants to dress up his desires as yours. He wants to believe he’s giving you what you want. That way, he can trick himself into believing you need him.

He bites the middle tip of his glove and tugs it off with his teeth, tossing it aside. His bare thumb brushes your lip, smearing his spit and yours. “I saw you with that fucking loser,” he says, the airiness suddenly gone from his voice.

Your stomach drops. Two days ago you’d been with a man. You’d been so desperate to forget him that night that anyone would have done the job. You stumbled out with some nobody from the bar who’d been good enough for a sloppy makeout session in the back of his truck, but not good enough to bring home. It hadn’t ended well.

How close of an eye is Homelander keeping on you?

“I’d be angry if it hadn’t been so fuckin’ pathetic,” he says through his teeth.

“Liar,” you say tightly. You feel his fury in the tension of his body. He’s pissed that you’d seek this out anywhere else. As if he still has a claim over your body. Your pleasure.

His eyes flash up to yours. He sneers, pushing his thumb between your lips. “I watched you bite his lip until he bled. I watched him slap you,” he says, dragging the pad of his thumb along the ridges of your bottom teeth. The memories come to you as he speaks them, every moment of it made bleary by alcohol. “You wanted it rough, but he couldn’t handle you, could he? Because you’re used to something better. You’re used to a god.”

You sneer right back at him, yanking your head to the side, his thumb slipping from between your lips. “Could you be any more in love with yourself? Go fuck yours-”

“I still had to kill him, of course,” he continues nonchalantly, grinding your thoughts to a screeching halt. He laughs humorlessly. “For kissing you. And, well–for everything else, obviously. Slapping you,” he says, brushing his knuckles down your cheek. The same one the man had struck. “Humping your leg like a fucking dog.”

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, throat tight. Bile burns at the back of it. All you wanted was to get away from this. The blood, the horror of it. Yet no matter what you do to dissuade him, he brings death to your doorstep. “You have everything. You could have anyone. Why are you–”

“Because I want you,” he hisses, words so sharp his sharp teeth snap together. “Because I love you, and that’s what you do when you love someone,” he says. You can feel the accusation building in his words. “You don’t give up on them. And if that means cleaning up every dirty little mistake you make,” he says softly, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “So be it.”

A cold shiver rolls down your spine. You stare woundedly at him, lips parted, brows pinched together, the misery of it all etched into every line of your face. He stares at you in turn, and after a beat, his own hard expression softens.

“Hey, hey,” he says, the heat of his breath a ghostly kiss on your lips. “It’s okay,” he says, brushing the tip of your nose with his. “I forgive you.”

He kisses you again, more tender now. Your eyes prickle with tears. His gentleness hurts so much more than his violence. It disarms you, carries you to a time when things were simpler between you. Sweeter and warmer.

Homelander makes the world feel wonderful and dangerous, like standing in the middle of an electric storm. Being loved by him is the feeling of having your ribs cracked open, your heart cradled in his bare hands, possessive and bloody. What had been thrilling grew stifling, a feeling you realize now never truly went away.

He’s inescapable, literally and figuratively. Even when he isn’t inviting himself into your home or lurking in the periphery of your vision, Vought’s hero is plastered on every billboard and screen in the city. You haven't been able to breathe without inhaling the thick miasma of him.

Tears roll down to your temples as you kiss him back, both hands fisted in his soft hair, tugging. He makes a pleased little sound against your lips, teeth grazing your bottom lip. He’s always kissed like a man possessed–like every brush of your lips is a drop of salvation–but the hunger he’s developed since you tried to leave him is unparalleled. He kisses you like he means to devour you whole.

You bite back a sob, but the hiccuped noise of it catches his attention nonetheless. He breaks from you, looking down at you with a feverish mix of yearning, impatience and something that almost resembles pity, which might be the closest thing he knows to sympathy.

“Hey,” he coos, dusting your jaw with feather light kisses. “Don’t cry.”

“It’s awful,” you choke out.

“What is?”

“Your love.”

“I know,” he says after a prolonged pause. “It’s all I know.”

You look at him, the image of him bleary through your tears. There’s a morose resignation in his ocean-storm eyes, a distance that makes him seem far, far away from you, even as you taste the heat of his breath on your lips.

Focus returns to his gaze, and suddenly he’s present again. “It’s all I know,” he says again, his tone made of wood, stiff and splintering.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you lift your palm to his cheek, hovering just shy of touching. He’s pulled to it like a magnet, nuzzling into your palm, eyes closing. His hand slides down the familiar slopes of your body, settling at your hip, where his fingertips sink in like claws, the pressure of them shy. For as vicious as things have gotten between you, he’s never hurt you. A fact he lords over you as if he should be applauded for it.

I love you more than anything. You know that, right? That I would never do anything to hurt you? He’d asked you during that first fight. When everything went wrong.

You’d only been able to nod then, trapped with a man you didn’t recognize wearing the face of the man you loved.

That’s right. Of course you do. Because if I wanted to hurt you, I would have. It would have been easy, huh?

Despite how desperately you’ve tried to fortify yourself against him, it’s still so easy.

Homelander is an aberration, but so too is he a man, and there was a time when the man was all that you saw. When the monster at the core of him reared its head, bloody and unrepentant, that became all you could see in him. Now, the two are so irrevocably tangled in the sinew of the other, you’re never sure which you’re looking at.

“I miss you,” you confess to the man in him, voice so soft only his ears possibly could have discerned the words. As if you can hide the words from the monster lurking behind if you speak them quietly enough.

He looks as confused as your own aching heart. “I’m here,” he says, everything in his tone willing you to believe it. He doesn’t understand that you miss who he was before you knew what he was.

A mournful noise swells in your chest, but he kisses you before it can escape. “I’m here,” he says again, the hand at your hip turning into a fist in the fabric of your clothes, tearing them at the seams. “I’ll make you feel better,” he says between presses of his lips, hungry and rushing, like he can outspeed your miserable grief. “Let me make you feel good.”

Sex has always been an avenue of redemption for Homelander. Whether he’s frustrated, anxious, wounded or a combination of them all, he’s sought to remedy it through a good orgasm. He treats you as though the notion should hold true for you: the fight doesn’t count so long as he makes you come.

Yet again, you’re left stricken by him. As you have a dozen times before, all you can do is nod. Deep in your core, you know he’s right. He can make you forget this horrible ache in yourself, the grief and the fear. He can take you away to the dream you’d lived before you met the beast in his shadow.

Coherent thought turns to water slipping between the cracks of your mind as Homelander’s bare fingers brush your inner thigh. You suck in a sharp breath that leaves you as a shudder and you clutch at his collar, twisting the fabric, unsure if you mean to push him away or pull him closer.

Homelander makes the choice for you, closing the distance and kissing you too gently, too sweetly. You spur him with your teeth, needing it faster, harder. Needing it to hurt just enough to not feel entirely right. He ignores your prompt, focused wholly on tasting you, on sliding his fingers up into the waiting warmth between your thighs. He presses the pad of his middle finger to your clit, deft and familiar.

You sigh, closing your eyes, ready to lose yourself to the feel of something good. He slides serpentine down your body, kissing you through your shirt, nipping at your skin through the fabric for the way it makes you jump. His lips trail down until they pass the hem of your shirt, finding where he’s stripped you. His mouth is unbearably warm, breath hot huffs on your bare skin, goosebumps erupting everywhere.

He mouths at your hip, sucks the skin dark before trailing further down, leaving a constellation with his lips. The scorching wet heat of his tongue feels like a brand on your clit, replacing his hand with his mouth.

You thread your fingers into his hair, widening the spread of your legs to allow for the way he shoulders under and between them, lifting your lower half. He nuzzles into the nectary sweetness of you, moaning unabashedly for your familiar taste.

What do I taste like? You asked him once, drunk on pleasure and those early honeymoon days of loving him. Everything about him fascinated you; did his super smell lend itself to super taste? Could he pick out each note of you, dissect your profile into sections?

He’d been slow to answer, thinking it over.

Love, he said at last. Like you love me.

You wonder if that holds true. If he can still taste love in you, if that’s why he’s so eager to devour you, or if the absence of it has made him even hungrier. If he plunges his tongue to the core of you in the hopes he might discover lingering shreds of what the two of you once had.

A moan escapes you. His fingers bite into your thighs, tongue coaxing more. Restraint dissipating, you tighten your grip on his hair and tug, grinding hard against his mouth. He knows the stepping stones of your pleasure as well as you know yourself, knowing just when to suck, when to lick. He’s more relentless than any other man could hope to be, never needing to stop for breath, never succumbing to aching muscles. He maintains a pace that sends you careening so viciously towards release, you give a choking gasp when it hits you, your head thrown back against the couch as euphoric relief rolls through you in waves.

Homelander shrugs out from under your trembling thighs, his mouth slick and shining, eyes predator wide. You’re both panting, silently gauging the other. You’re first to break the standoff, his hunger infectious. You climb onto your knees and grab his shoulders, pushing his back to the couch, straddling him. He keens when you kiss him, an addictive sound that gives you a deceptive sense of power.

He murmurs your name in fervent repetition, dragging his mouth along your skin, inhaling you like a drug. You unbuckle his belt with the ease of experience, unzip his pants and slip your hand inside. Curling your fingers around his cock, you find it already hard and dripping in anticipation.

“Anything you want,” he breathes, the words coming between the prayer-like recitation of your name. “Money, diamonds, anything, I’ll make you a queen,” he says, eyelids fluttering at your touch. He pledges these things like an act of devotion, but you recognize this Faustian bargain for what it is. It will cost you your heart and soul.

“I’ll make you a god,” he moans at a particularly deft twist of your wrist.

Making you come will have to be enough for now.

“Fuck me,” you tell him breathlessly. “The way I like it.”

Like flipping a switch, the dazed pleasure in his eyes sharpens. The corners of his mouth tug, his upper lip twitches, eager tension slipping into his touch as his hands slide up your thighs, grasping your hips. His fingers sink in tight enough to bruise, despite the gentleness of his touch. The immeasurable power lurking within his unassuming frame is a novelty that never wears off, a thrill that shocks you to your core no matter how many times you experience it.

Like a vicious storm, he’s beautiful and terrible in equal measure. Caught in the eye of his maelstrom, the only thing left for you to do is weather him.

He guides you down onto his cock in one slow, agonizing pull. Even with his spit and your orgasm easing the way, it’s too much all at once. Relishing the aching burn of being split apart by him, you make a noise that gives him pause. You don’t let him stop. You brace your hands on his shoulders and lift off of him almost entirely before sinking back down deeper than you had before, wringing a moan from him in turn.

Homelander’s fingers dig securely into your back as your bodies slot together and find an old, familiar rhythm. By now he knows exactly the angle to take to best pleasure you. You let out a shaky sigh at the warmth that spreads through you, the pressure of your climax building, his heat sinking into you like the light of the sun itself.

You’re used to a god.

You cup his face and kiss him. You bite his lip until you should taste blood. You dig your nails into his skin so hard your knuckles ache. If he notices it, he’s only pleased by it.

“I’d move heaven and hell for you,” he swears between kisses, ripping the shirt from your body. The cool air hits your damp, hot skin like a shock.

“I don’t want them,” you say, voice catching on one of his sharp and sudden thrusts. He’s close. You can feel it in the tightness of his muscles, in the erratic, merciless way he drives into you.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, voice reedy, tight. He kisses down your chest, scrapes his teeth over the swell of your breasts. “They’re yours. It’s all yours. I’m yours.”

Those words should hit you like a prison sentence, but they don’t.

They make you come.

Homelander holds you tightly as he, too, breaks into pieces, filling you with light and heat. He chokes more promises against your skin, kisses the salt from your skin and licks it greedily from his lips. You spin in place in his arms, dizzy on your own orgasm, riding out the aftershocks with his cock throbbing against the quiver of your cunt.

For a long while there’s nothing but the sound of your breaths and the distant din of the television. The tremors wracking your body gradually fade, and the chill of the open air begins to set in.

Homelander holds you tight as the sweat on your skin cools. He kisses a trail from your neck to your shoulder, nuzzling there before he rests his head down, face tucked into the crook of your neck. You feel wrung dry, eyelids heavy. You card your fingers absently through his hair, body boneless against his. Your eyes ache from crying, but you don’t mind it. Strung out like this, the aches left in the wake of pain and pleasure both feel equally good.

“It’s late,” he says warmly, a smile in his tone. He sounds lovesick, the way you both did once upon a time. Back then, you thought you knew every dark corner of his insatiable heart. “We should sleep.”

“Okay,” you agree, voice frayed. He lifts you gingerly from his lap, adjusting to cradle your naked body to his chest. Despite how Homelander unspools himself before you, you’re always the one left reduced. Bare and vulnerable both physically and emotionally. You slip your arms around his neck as he stands, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I could take you to the tower,” he whispers, sending a chill down your spine. “My bed’s bigger.”

“No,” you say, remembering a door you cannot reach, no matter how many times you grasp for it, and the god’s hands that sent you spinning. He’s already so capable of turning your home into a prison. You’re not sure you’d ever escape his penthouse. “I want mine.”

Perhaps the most terrible fact of all is that Homelander is neither a god nor a monster.

He is simply a man without limitation.

“Sure,” he says, kissing your cheek. The touch lingers, dripping with his adoration. “Anything you want.”

So long as it includes him.

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander fanfiction #x reader #my writing #yandere x reader #dark fic

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teastainedprose · 1 year ago

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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.

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joelsdagger · 2 months ago

Text

homeland || one shot

joel miller x reader

special thanks to the lovely @5oh5 for providing me with plant resources many many many moons ago and to @phoeberidgers for lending me her eyes. ily both sm <33

pairing: jackson!joel x f!reader summary: joel gets you ready for a day of horseback riding. warnings: jackson era, joel being his typical acts of service type of man, pet names, implied age gap, established relationship, angst, glimpses of domesticity, sliver of reader having anxiety [see: angst], horses [i feel like they need their own warning yk?]. joel is a big ol’ teddy bear, brief mentions of grief, referenced character death, reader is described of having hair long enough to braid, smidgen of a size kink. no smut – only fluff, rated E for everyone! **should also be noted this takes place years into their shared life together and they’re very much in love. SUE. ME. word count: 2.3k

masterlist || ao3 || follow @joelsdaggerupdates for notifs!!

“You doin’ your walk of shame, cowboy?” You half-shout from the porch when his tall form materializes down the street, the sun still rising on the horizon behind him. You know he’d headed out to the stables before first light, but you can’t deny you get a kick out of pulling his leg.

His head drops, a slight shake at the pavement, and when he meets your eye again, a soft smile sprouts on his lips. “Needed to check on Callus, make sure he’s good to go,” he says, striding up the porch stairs.

You turn to meet him, railing pressed to your stomach, coffee mug in one hand, the other reaches for his chest, and you press your lips to his warm cheek. “Let me grab my boots and I’ll be right out,” you say mindlessly as he settles himself on the rickety chair.

You crack open the front door, place the mug of coffee you’d been nursing all morning on the entry table, pick up your cowboy boots and Joel’s guitar leaning against the wall, and shut the door behind you. When you turn to face him, Joel pats his thigh, beckoning you over. You set aside the instrument and place yourself on his lap.

As you shuck off your slippers, his large hand comes up to brush your hair away from the nape of your neck, he lays a featherlight kiss there. “You got one of them hair ties on you, sweetheart?”

You giggle at the warmth of his breath fanning across your neck, “I do.” You drop your boots down beside your feet and reach into the pocket of your jeans, pulling out a finicky black elastic.

He gathers your hair into his hands, dividing it into three large sections. After a few light pulls of each section, you realize he’s braiding your hair. Warmth blooms in your chest at the feel of his thick fingers meticulously braiding one section over another with practiced ease. Like he’s done it a million times.

“Last time it was flappin’ around in your face. You can’t see where you’re headed like that,” he murmurs. You close your eyes and hum, lose yourself to the therapeutic pull of his fingers through your hair.

“Did you do her hair? Sarah’s?” you ask somewhat absentmindedly.

You don’t hesitate to bring her up in conversation. Joel has talked about her, shared pieces of his life with you, bit by bit. The first mention of her seemingly on accident, only a fleeting moment, but after the second time, you deduced he fully intended on letting you in, on his life before.

“Used to braid her hair for her games. Horse riding too,” he says faintly, tone seeped in affection.

You smile softly, prideful. It took him years to get here, but Joel slowly realized his grief was the unexpressed love he’d always have for his little girl — love that had nowhere else to go. He found that in the missing, he’d grown closer to her. He’s since filled an emptiness he once knew with little moments that honor her life.

Lost in the slow rhythmic movement of Joel’s fingers in your hair, in the comfort his touch instantly provides, your mind wanders; imagine Joel — many years younger, frantically getting his little girl ready. Threading that golden hair into an elastic, vibrantly colored and a charm dangling from the band, perfectly on trend for young girls in that era. You even picture little Sarah putting hair ties in her dad’s hair, if he ever grew it out as much as he does now. You smile to yourself, an ache in your chest flares; it’s not hard to picture, but it’s not easy to think about what could have been.

The deep bass of Joel’s voice pulls you from your reverie. “Took a few times, but Tommy n’ I figured it out,” he says simply, his words slipping into a light chuckle.

He holds out his hand, palm up, and you drop the hair tie in his hand. The elastic snaps as he ties off the braid. And when he’s finished, he presses a palm to your lower back, and mutters a low, turn around.

You oblige and twist to face him; the corners of his eyes crinkle as they dance across your face, and his fingers tug gently at the curved bowl of your ear. “Beautiful,” he marvels, his lips connecting with your forehead, laying a long kiss there as he inhales the berry scent of your hair.

“Almost forgot,” he mumbles and leans back in the porch chair as he reaches into the pocket of his jacket. Pinched between his fingers is a small flower, one with dazzling bubblegum pink petals and a splash of gold at the center — an aster flower.

You bite back a grin. “Where’d you get that?” you ask him pointedly.

He avoids your gaze, slips one finger through a loop of the hair tie, threads the dark green stem through with gentle care. “Uh,” Joel clears his throat, “plucked it on the way from Mrs. Doyle’s yard.”

Your mouth pops open, feigning surprise. He’s quick to defend himself, already sensing your disapproval. “What she don’t know, won’t kill her,” the right corner of his mouth twitches up in a smirk, and he releases your braid.

You mirror his smirk, and you scoot up his thighs. Firm hands find your hips, anchoring you in his lap, and you interlock your fingers behind the nape of his neck as you lean closer. “You know, Mrs. Doyle told me once that all plants have meanings,” you say against his mouth.

He hums. “She tell you what they mean?”

You peck just beneath the plush of his bottom lip, and his hands squeeze your waist, his eyes crease. “Mmm. Perhaps.” Your mouth drifts to the corner of his, the silver hairs on his mustache tickling your lips.

“What’s this one mean, sweet baby?” he asks softly, his fingers coming up to toy with the loose strands at the end of your braid, glowing adoration in his gaze as he looks up at you from beneath his lashes.

You know what it means. Mrs. Doyle, who ran an apothecary before the outbreak, practically gave you a rundown of what she likes to call A Beginner’s Guide to Floriography. She never fails to jabber your ear off every time she supplies you with herbs. In the beginning, for your period cramps, and then some odd years later, when you and Joel started messing around, in which she was the first to catch on, she supplied you periodically with plants for an herbal tea to avoid any unwelcome surprises.

You’re silently thankful for her. You know exactly what it means, and you certainly know that Joel knows what it means. The observant man that he is, his every move is intentional; he wouldn’t just pick a flower amongst the many simply for its beauty.

But that doesn’t mean you can’t mess with him a little. “If you had been patient instead of sneaking off while she wasn’t looking, maybe she would’ve told you,” you goad.

“Oh, I reckon she would, after she’d tell me her whole life story.”

“That’s cruel, baby.”

He tuts. “I’m cruel? I ain’t the one withholdin’ information.” With a light yank to the end of your braid, a smirk quirks his lips.

You shrug, feigning seriousness, “It’s gotta be one of those poisonous flowers used in witchcraft and hexes.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that right?”

You nod. “Something about calling upon evil spirits. Wishing ill upon me and everyone I’ve ever loved. That sorta thing.”

He snorts and shakes his head, murmurs something under his breath that you can’t quite make out; you think it’s something about giving him more grays.

You smirk and unhook your arms, twisting your body around in his lap to pull your boots on. And Joel runs the palm of his hand down your back, stopping at the base of your spine; his other hand reaches down and tugs the top of your cowboy boot, assessing the fit of them. “These the ones I brought back?” he asks, peering over your shoulder.

“Mhm. Finally get to break them in,” you start and pat your hands on your denim-clad thighs before standing up. “Alright, ready?”

He nods, groaning as he stands to grab his guitar, looping it over his shoulder, and walks in tandem beside you down the porch and onto the street, arm over your shoulder the whole way.

—

There’s a cool breeze in the air as you and Joel reach the stables. You stand idly at the gate while Joel steps in and walks Callus out of his stable, both of your backpacks already saddled on either side of him.

You turn, give two of the men manning the wall a firm nod, and they open the gate. You step out of the settlement and make your way down the trail; the east gate groans as the men on guard promptly close the barrier between the living and the dead.

Minutes pass, and you reach the clearing. Joel releases the reins and beckons you towards him with a flick of his head.

Joel strokes over Callus’ mane. “Figured you should be up front this time, get you used to it,” he says.

Panic settles in your stomach, Joel sees it threaten to spill across your face. He steps forward, squeezes your hand in his. “S’okay, you can do it, baby,” he says softly.

You hesitate, feel Callus nudge his muzzle into your palm, your eyes flitting between him and Joel. “Joel. I’ve never–”

“Hey,” he starts, taking your face in his calloused hands, his head dipping to meet your eye line, “you can. We all start somewhere.” You glance into his eyes, the flecks of amber swimming in his hazel irises, and somehow it brings you at ease. Slightly.

He pecks your lips twice in quick succession. “Better?” he asks. You nod numbly, tossing him a weak smile.

Joel bends, puts one hand over the other, and you place a wobbly foot up into his hands. With one hand gripping the horn of the saddle and the other on the seat, you throw your other leg over Callus. Joel grunts a low, there you go, as he boosts you up.

“Attagirl,” he praises, patting the small of your back before swiftly hoisting himself up behind you.

Your back is flush to his chest; he loops a hand around your front to settle on your stomach. You sense he can feel your uneasiness, your muscles tensing beneath his hand. “Remember what I said last time? He can sense your fear. Have faith in the fella.”

His words fall on deaf ears, and you let go of the reins, the leather already hot and damp in your sweaty palms. You wipe your hands on your denim-clad thighs, cursing yourself under your breath, knowing you’re burning daylight.

Your shoulders tense at the realization, expecting to hear a low huff of contempt or a quiet sigh of frustration from behind you.

But nothing comes of it.

Joel moves his hand up your stomach, follows the slats of your ribs, and whispers softly against the shell of your ear, “Close your eyes f’me.”

You obey, eyes fluttering shut. “Now deep breath in…hold it...” His hand steady as your diaphragm expands, your lungs filling with air. “Now breathe out. Slow. Slow.”

And you do, matching your breathing to his gentle instructions, feeling the anxiety wring itself out from within.

Until Callus moves slightly beneath you, strong hooves that thump in place. Your eyes tear open, a freakish whimper slips past your lips, your feet lock in the stirrups.

“Easy. Easy. I gotcha, baby. You’re alright, darlin. C’mon, one more time for me.”

His other hand squeezes your hip, a gentle command. “Stay with me. In and out, you got it, honey.”

Your stomach settles, and Joel tucks a loose lock of hair behind your ear, careful fingers running down your braid. “Helps me sometimes,” he says simply.

You frown, suddenly embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” you mumble.

Joel stiffens behind you. “You don’t gotta do that.”

“I feel stupid. I’m sorry it’s taking me so long…to get used to it.”

You can feel Joel shaking his head. “Look at me,” he urges, his voice low and firm.

You peer behind you, meet the hues of concern in his eyes, the twists of his brows. “None of that, we’ve got time. I’ve got time.”

Your eyes flit to the collar of his shirt, suddenly interested in the faded neckline. He senses you’re not convinced. “Listen here, you say the word ‘n we quit. We head back ‘n forget it. S’your call, baby.”

Something pulls at you. Maybe it’s his unwavering patience and attentiveness. Maybe it’s the moment from earlier that loops back in your head. Joel’s expert fingers threading through your hair while talking about his daughter. The reminder of his and her shared love of horses. Maybe it’s the reminder that this moment, with you here, keeps her memory alive. Maybe it’s an urge to further crack his stony walls. That urge to know her and him through this. And you think it’s why he’s so adamant to see this through. You see it in the real joy it brings him every time he takes you beyond Jackson’s walls. See it when the sun sinks behind the hills, cotton candy weaving through the sky. My Sarah would’a loved this, he’d say fondly, with an adoring smile so big his eyes gleam. Teaching you not only lets you know this part of him, but it also allows him to strengthen his connection to her, to reach out to her, twenty years later.

It all melds together and it nudges you on. You manage to mutter a feeble, thank you.

He kisses the nape of your neck and readjusts your braid down the line of your back. “You got it, baby.”

Your head turns to face the horizon, the burst of persimmon that spills across the sky. You hesitate to click your tongue. And Joel’s hand retakes its place over your stomach. “S’okay. M’right here, darlin’. I ain’t gonna let nothin’ happen to you.”

#in my fluff era who am i rn #this is my version of a big warm hug from me to you <33 #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller one shot #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff #jackson!joel #the last of us #the last of us fanfic #tlou fic #noelle’s wokshop

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captainamericasmotercycle · 10 months ago

Note

Cregan Stark x reader where it’s very hot in her homeland and the two are visiting for a wedding and Cregan is having a hard time adjusting to the heat while also getting horny because of readers outfit that’s a bit more revealing to relive her from the hot weather.

You don't even understand how much I love this request <3

warnings: p in v sex, cregan is so horny he starts ignoring her, oral (f receiving), wife reader, appearances are not specified

wc: 1.1k

Since you had married Lord Cregan Stark, you had spent most of your time in the cold and snow, forgetting what it was like in The Reach. You became more accustomed to the Northern climate.

When your sister had sent a raven to the North, declaring her marriage to the sitting lord of House Oakheart, you insisted to Cregan that the two of you were to attend.

Over two months after you left Winterfell, you had arrived in your homeland.

“Returning from the North, Lord and Lady Stark!” The guards called out to everyone at your arrival.

Your sister rushed to you and your husband, pulling you away, she looked you up and down, shaking her head.

“Sister, these gowns will not do! It is far too warm for your furs, we must get you changed!”

She motioned for more maids to tend to your lord husband as she pulled you to her chambers.

Gathering much more appropriate gowns, she helped to dress you. The gown was much more low cut, showing off the cleavage you had, the sleeves were shorter, the material was thinner, and it felt so much lighter on your skin.

“There you go. So much better! Now, lets meet our lord husbands in the Hall.”

She wrapped her arm in yours, walking within the long castle hallways. Most of her guests had already arrived at Highgarden, greeting the two of you as you passed.

Walking in, your husband’s soft gaze turned to a more hardened one. You approached him, brows furrowed, “Everything alright?”

He swallowed sharply, kissing the temple of your head, “Great!”

You weren’t convinced, but you dropped it, it was time to celebrate your sister and her soon-to-be husband.

The morning of the wedding was intimate, waking with your husband at your side, then leaving the chambers early to help your sister prepare.

All throughout the wedding, your husband would barely look at you, provoking insecure thoughts. Had he found another lady in The Reach that he liked better? Had he taken a whore to bed? Did he no longer find you attractive?

Your usually doting and loving husband would barely look at you, and let alone touch you, but today wasn’t about you, and you needed to let it go, but you couldn’t.

During the after-ceremony celebration, you distanced yourself from Cregan, since that’s what he seemly wanted. You hadn’t spoken or talked to him, until he had pulled you outside of the feasting room by the arm.

You pouted at him, “What is it, husband?”

“Husband? You never call me that!”

You’re up against the wall, your arms crossed over your chest, facing him. He looked so different in lighter clothing.

“Well, you never ignore me.”

He sighs, running his hand over his face, “Forgive me. I am having trouble adjusting to the weather…it is making me quite irritable… and you are not making it any easier.”

“I?”

“You and these gowns,” you started to piece together what he was saying to you.

You smirked at him, “Do you not like them? I think they are rather pretty.”

He nearly growls at you, pulling you into him by the waist. His lips go directly to your neck, sucking gently.

“Do I like them? I can’t even fucking look at you without getting hard.”

You reach your hand down to grope at his crotch, easily feeling his length in the thin linen pants he was wearing. He grunts at you, “See what you are doing to me.”

He looks down at your cleavage, rushing to kiss lower down your chest, but you scold him, lightly pushing him away, “Cregan! Not here… the celebration…”

“Then find me somewhere that I can have you.”

You pull him with you to your chambers, shutting and barricading the door. He grabs the fabric on each breast, ripping the fabric straight down the middle.

“Cregan!”

“I’ll get you a new one. But this one… this one is mine.”

He animalistically pulled your dress off, leaving you in your small clothes, looking you up and down, he licked his lips, his eyes darkening.

Grabbing your small clothes and ripping them off, your husband turned you around, bending you over the small couch in your room, your back to his front.

He kicked your legs open, dropping to his knees and immediately attaching his lips to your sweet spot.

He licked and sucked at you like a man starved. His tongue lapping up and down your womanhood. You writhed in pleasure, finding it hard to stay still.

He added his large fingers to his craft, thrusting and curling them in and out of your cunt. Almost immediatly after adding a third finger inside of you, a wave of pleasure hit, you whole body shaking.

He came up to your lips and kissed you, “Your cunt has never tasted sweeter, my love.”

He picked you up, walking to the bed and throwing you down. You crawled to the edge of the bed where Cregan angrily fumbled with the ties on his pants, getting on your hands and knees and shaking your cunt in his face.

Finally getting his pants down, he snatched you by the waist, shoving his hard cock into you. You screamed out at the contact, but he quickly put a hand over your mouth, “You don’t want the guards to come interupt us now, do you?”

You shook your head and swore to be quieter.

He fucked you hard, thrusting at a pace that he’s never reached before. The pent up anger he had with himself for not taking you sooner came out.

Lewd sounds filled the room. The sound of your and Cregan’s moans, and the sound of him pounding into the back of you only made you wetter.

He grasped your neck, pulling your body up to flush your back to his front. He nipped at your ear as you felt your second orgasm approach. His thrusts got sloppier, you knew he was close too.

A string of profanities came out of his mouth as your cunt tightened and squeezed his cock. He filled you with his seed and pulled out.

Flopping down on the bed, you were breathless; Cregan fell next to you, kissing you softly.

“I shall never restrain myself for so long ever again,” he laughed.

You giggled at his words, “You shall never ignore me for so long ever again.”

He smiled, kissing you one more time before getting up to pick up all of your garbs. You sighed, staring at the ceiling, knowing you had to return to your sister’s celebration.

Though, at your return with a new dress, flushed cheeks, and messy hair, the rest of Westeros will surely see how much the Lord and Lady of the North truly love each other.

#cregan x reader #cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #cregan x you #cregan fanfiction #hotd cregan #house of the dragon #cregan x y/n #lord cregan stark

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plasticfangtastic · 2 years ago

Text

American Royalty. Ch. 4

A Homelander X F! Reader and Dadlander fanfic.

A/N: if ya like to be taglisted plz leave a comment to be notified on the next release. got the writers block and too many wips so here is an early chapter. hope y'all like it. plz check my pin post for prev. chapters.

Tags: mild gore, angst, lots of angst, slow burn, fluff, oc characther, child neglect, dadlander, romance.

Chapter Four

Seeing Stars

You had him agree to you working three days as his personal chef, and he couldn’t have you Sundays no matter how much he asked.

Within the week you had gotten a letter from your bank telling you that the pending investigation on your account had been closed and now you could access it, it had even accrue significant interest after being untouched for seven years it was better than an early christmas miracle as you sobbed in your bedroom with the letter in hand, you cried in the kitchen after calling a realtor to see an apartment, by the time you seen a couple of apartments you had come home to find an enveloped taped to your door. Inside paperwork and some keys– seeing red for a moment, but as Helena tugged at your shirt, your anger tucked itself away, you held her crying into her shoulder as you finished reading the letter.

Before the month ended, you had moved into a large, renovated and well located 2 bedroom, 1 office, 2 bathrooms apartment in the ground floor of a duplex, it had to be at least eighteen to twenty thousand dollars in rent but he had simply purchase it– writing in his letter that he wouldn’t allow you to continue raising his daughter in the projects or some refurbished new york closet, he had even collected information on local schools in your new neighborhood for you consider, informing you that he would take care of tuition cost.

As you settled in a space so big you had nothing to fill it with, as you watched your daughter actually behave like a seven year old for once, you laid on the floor by the open concept kitchen, feeling the rich wood underneath your skin, staring at the black granite benches and hardwood cabinetry– the floor was even heated! You heard a landing in one of the two thin yards, you knew your daughter was exploring the bathroom, so it felt safe to do this now.

“I’ll have my interior designer come by this week to help you select furniture and stuff.” He said upon entering, distubed by how barren it was, all your belonings in a a dozen boxes total, tucked in a corner of the living room.

“You are a bastard making me indebted to you.” You grumbled.

“I can’t have her live in a broom closet infested with rats. Kids need yards and space.” He looked at the cherry wood panels lining the outdoors, the vines and trees growing in a decent sized yard, extra big by New York standards– you could get her a puppy, a kitten or…?”

“She likes fish.”

“I could have a pond installed.” he said with a smirk crainign his back as he tried to look less imposing as you refused to lift your head from the heated hardwoods– you should be okay with utility bills, I left them on credit for your convenience. Have you had a chance to look at schools?”

“What are you actually planning, John.” You sat back up, switching names had taken him off-guard wondering what angle you were going at him from– haven’t even started work with you and now you are showering me with presents? This is beyond just wanting to see your kid is not like you actually seen her.”

“You said to take things slow.” He didn’t try hiding that devious grin– Ryan… needs a story.”

“Jesus Christ you are sick.” you now had to stand up for real– you want me to play mom to your kid? I don’t even look like him.”

“Genetics are weird. Helena looks like you and Ryan looks like me, like those dogs from ‘Beauty and the Tramp’."He touched your cheek with a bare hand– Can’t wait to see you next Thursday, mom.”

“Oh god…” You chuckle, losing your mind as his hand hurts without a scratch– How are you going to tell this to Helena?”

“Is in early development but the team will take care of it. I need Ryan to attend the same school as Helena so please hurry up.”

He left not before telling you to take Helena to MOMA this saturday at 2 pm, it wasn’t a suggestion or invitation, it was an order

You did as you were told that evening, one of the best schools in the city was under a half hour walk from this cell, knowing Helena had to be enrolled soon didn’t help, and your commute to Lucci had increased but now you could pay for gas and not cry. Sending him a texts about schools to the number he had given you in his many many notes seemed anticlimactic but that was it.

Helana had grown suspicious, but she played dumb and you knew it too, so you both played stupid when you headed to MOMA that weekend.

You just casually came the same day and the same time as Homelander and Ryan were about to have the whole museum closed off as they received a private tour, but he asked you to join them not giving any real explanation for why but nobody questioned, neither kid spoke to each other much if any, Helena simply enjoying the silence, she looked at you as she asked about the pieces but it was Homelander who had the most to say about the works, leaving you left out but happy, you knew that face of his so well, to see it on your daughter’s face made your day.

He had taken the opportunity to discuss your employment not your relationship, giving you list of things Ryan should eat, would not eat, wanted to try and things he wanted to try himself, then your hours and some odd request about handling Ryan’s school lunches being instagram worthy, handing you socials to research for such task.

You started work that following week, the Vought kitchens were top of the line, your job was to meet all of his requirements, some of the chefs that recognized you looked at you with relief and curiosity, wanting to know what had happened to you but you were unwilling to share. That first breakfast was returned with clean plates, even the waiter was shocked when he saw empty plates come out of his penthouse.

It had been so long since you could play with such new equipment, this was it, this was the place you belong in, him or not involved this was your happy place now.

Two weeks had passed.

As you headed for the staff elevator you met Homelander, who had honestly just been waiting for you.

“I got the paperwork sorted… you just have to sign and fill stuff. Nice school! Great stem program not that Helena will find it hard.” he said politely, his posture extra stiff.

“Did you do a background check on her?” you looked around for witnesses.

“Hard not to. Our kid is the captain of the math club… her school team has won most of the math competitions in the last four years. Not to mention the piano recitals, and science competitions” He looked so proud– her grades are perfect. She might be the smartest little girl in the city.”

“She’s the smartest little girl in the world.”

“And her new school would let the whole world know just that.” He said matching your smug.

You watched him carefully waiting for him to spit out what he wanted to say, either about her schooling or something else.

Helena was allowed to continue attending her old school until you were ready for transfer, he had only briefly talked to you for school discussions, and with great disinterest on what made each school good or not, if anything you found yourself doing this for his son as well, thinking of what this school would do for his well being, and if it was the best choice for a homeschooled kid, and how would this new school commute affect Helena’s after school routine.

On the days you didn’t work in Vought’s towers she was still babysat or stayed at Lucci’s, she was too young to be left at home, even if you knew she was perfectly safe, but no matter what she was still little.

During the days you worked in the tower she was kept in the company daycare in the 20th floor, most of the kids there were normal but there was at least one other super-abled child her age, it made you happy to see her interact with a similar kid even if said kid abilities involved phasing thru objects all willy-nilly and make objects phase thru other objects, making you worry of what would happen if he lost focus and Helena got caught inside a wall.

“By the way our kid escaped the daycare.” He held the elevator open for you as he entered, before you could panic he shot you a charming smile– is okay she’s at the gym…”

Your eyes had welled up regardless, you jumped into the metal box pressing the bottom frantically.

“She’s perfectly safe… A-Train is there and so it's that… Noir… her and the only little Supe kid decided to do some mischief, but I kept my ears on her all day.”

Forcing yourself to take deep breaths as the elevator smoothly traveled to the lower floors.

“Is it not her that I am worried for.” you said firmly.

You followed him as he guided you through an unfamiliar floor, inside the large colosseum gym that had been fitted to test somebody’s athletic skills you found your daughter floating in her wavy bubble, but all you saw was your kid swaying in the air.

“Helena get down here immediately!!!” You ran after her reaching for the kid as her bored expression was replaced with embarrassment as she descended into your arms– you cannot run away from daycare!”

“I don’t want to be surrounded by babies.”

“Helena you are a baby!” you squeezed her against yourself, just glad she was still in one piece, you noticed the other small kid in the room– jesus…”

Carrying your kid you reached for the other one, taking his hand.

“Hey sweetie… let me take you back to daycare before your mommy or daddy gets worried.

“Am I in trouble?” he asked meekly.

“No, but Helena is so grounded.”

“Mom!”

“Don’t mom me! You have any idea how dangerous that was!”

“Oh don’t get mad at the kid, she was just acting like a kid. Don’t be such a buzzkill” he mocked you.

“I don’t want or need your opinion– now you got two seconds to explain yourself!”

You began to gently drag yourself and your kid’s victim out of the gym, A-Train absolutely shocked to see anybody talk to Homelander like that.

“Look I had A-Train and Noir come check them out, they were safe!” He chased after you.

“Oh that was your doing.” Helena said– "I really wanted to meet A-Train” she waved innocently at the Supe, who returned the gesture as a true professional– and... Mom… I wanted to see the building, that’s all… sorry I used Elmo to escape… but his powers were just too useful”

“You cannot use people like that.” you said in shock.

“People like being used.” Her words were just cold as she wriggled herself out of your arms, falling without touching the ground, she took Elmo’s hand taking the small kid towards the exit– some people are born serfs.” She mumbled to herself.

Homelander's heart beat violently– oh his daughter was a brat and had a questionable attitude, he hadn’t even interacted much with her, but he was proud. His whole body went light and his smile couldn’t be contained as he saw the small girl with true love in his eyes, this was the moment he saw her as truly his own.

Ryan was still reluctant to accept his father’s philosophy, but this little one understood that she was born better from the start on her own.

She turned around to face you again, little Elmo sucked on his thumb as her eyes glowed pale blue.

“Is it alright if I come to the training gym if I ask permission first?”

“I…”

“Of course all Supe’s should know to keep their powers top notch. You are more than welcome to use the facilities.” Homelander had cut you off, petting the little girl’s head as he approached the duo– Just ask your mother so she doesn’t have a heart attack. Then again this is one of the safest places in all of New York and little Helena over here is perfectly safe, after all I am here.” He said while staring at you.

His voice was sweet, you were defeated as Helena tried to contain that cheshire grin of hers while staring at you– he was your boss , and the Homelander so could you really go against him so publicly?

“You had a terrorist attack in this building… but I guess…” She ignored him again then looked straight at you– I learned something new today.”

A-Train and Noir exchanged concerned looks taking a few step backs, Homelander seemed intrigued to watch your reaction, you gave way, unable to speak, just frustrated as your ex looked just as smug as his kid.

Little Elmo scoot behind her– in the round gymnasium a cement boulder hanged in chains, her eyes glowed the brightest you’ve ever seen, lifting her hand with one quick swipe the boulder broke in half, the dust showing the invisible blade bending light, it gain a blue color as it was touched before fading, she looked so proud of herself, you stared at Homelander and now you understood why nobody had informed you that your daughter was missing. It didn’t sit well with you.

“you’re still grounded for a whole week.”

“But Mom!!”

You had walked into a trap, one you did so willingly, jailed in a nice house, any hope of Homelander being driven away or losing interest in her was gone as he looked at her with pure adoration in his eyes.

You got used to it… this prison was lovely, it was nice to come back to a spacious cell. Homelander had indeed brought his decorator to your house but you didn’t want designer furniture and high end stuff, you kept it simple and cheap, most of your stuff second hand and from Ikea, only relenting to agree with the poor designer over the kitchen, his budget was absurd for the task, only taking advantage to purchase all the appliances of your dreams, you indeed needed a air fryer that matched your splashback.

Helena was happy to have a room that felt like a bedroom, large bookcases that could be filled with her own books, a small courtyard facing her doors, where she now could sit down and read with the breeze in her hair. She seemed happy, euphoric when she began her new school, making you forget what was happening in the background at times.

Homelander would come from time to time to speak to you about mundane stuff and work, his patience saintly as he allowed you to get used to his company once more, just so you could be okay with him entering her life, but then again he was your jailer.

He himself had begun forcing himself into her life when you weren’t around, it was all a matter of timing and perception.

Homelander watched the daycare center, from afar, a much needed service, it occupied a whole floor, the tower employed thousands of people in its 99th floor so there had to be help for those mothers and fathers who needed to work but had children with no babysitters, it was one of the many appealing things about being employed by Vought, and the center offered a variety of activities for all age groups.

Helena saw it as a jungle, all these children just a bunch of savages, keeping Elmo around not because she liked his company but because he was the only other Supe child in her age group, he was a sweet kid, afraid of bugs and that liked to talk about cartoons, frankly it was a challenge to figure out what to do with him. Homelander watched as she taught the kid to play chess, taking hours to explain the basics as the seven year old had very little clue what was happening, but in its own way it was nice to talk to another kid like himself.

Homelander even bothered to do a background check on the child– both of his dad’s both worked at Vought one in hero management and the other in marketing, both very busy bees it seems… he had done the same with all of Ryan’s new classmates, he knew their entire families before his kid even stepped foot and said hello to any of them, all done before he started school the same week as Helena– there was the big issue of her being on the 10th grade while her older brother just began the 6th grade, so he couldn’t enjoy seeing the both of them interacting, it was hard to witness for he wanted both kids to become closer so desperately.

Hence why he was standing on the foyer of the daycare center, a young lady that looked too cheerful for her own good, welcomed Homelander.

“Hi! How can I help you today, Homelander? Are you looking to enroll little Ryan?” She swayed side to side trying to see if the kid was behind him by any chance.

“Actually… am here to speak to one of the kids… hmm… Helena L/N.” He said with a firm tone– I believe her mother left a message.”

Homelander texted you an hour before cominf down, not even asking you that he was going to take her for training, you were stuck in the kitchen helping with some work function taking place tonite, a thousand canapes had to be made and you were stuck with the pistachio and lemon layer cakes.

You had no time to argue, taking your precious break time to make phone calls and try not to use your knife on the nearest asshole who pissed you off afterwards.

She hopped on the desk seeking for any notes, and he was indeed correct.

Now he had her all for himself, you prayed he wasn’t going to drop the news on her, but you couldn’t leave and abandoned your team, she was safe, you had to believe she was safe, she was smart, she was so smart and she could escape him, you just had to trust her.

“Can I bring Elmo?” Helena looked up at Homelander, a slight ache building on her neck as she looked up at the man– he might get lonely.”

“He’s not a dog.” He didn’t even try putting on a soft babied voice with her– and I wanted to talk to you.”

“But he’s always ‘The Dog’ when we play house.” She faked the most innocent voice she could muster, turning around to look at the glass doors dividing the friends– … He will probably sneak out to the gym if he gets lonely, they got his favorite snacks today… he told me liked five times and I think they’re playing Bluey on the tv.”

“Oh! and you play mommy?” He grimaces so hard his eyebrows touch.

“No, the robber.”

He led the way and she was more than happy to explore the building as they headed downstairs.

“What do you think of them?”

“Elaborate.”

“Those without powers.” she wished she could see his expression– and be honest. None of this ‘Wednesday Addams’ crap.”

He looked around at the sea of smart casual fits and stress on the floors above, the world moving so fast paced, nothing but monkeys hurling shiny rocks while playing dress-up.

“They can be useful, if they are not… then they don’t matter to me.”

He smiled, his heart fluttering and his stomach filled with butterflies as he heard her speak– why did Ryan struggle so much to understand this? He thought.

“When you are born with such gifts–

“I might be a kid but I am very familiar with your Compound V, I already had this talk with my mother. Fascinating stuff… I am still trying to understand the whole dosage thing… How does your company decide which kid to give more versus others? Did they just look at who could provide the best backstory before deciding between 10 mils versus the whole vial.”

She stared at the glass walls where the kids were housed, the tone of her voice still flat.

“Why you say that?”

“I’m a poor kid from the projects, with a single mom, formerly homeless and now with enough powers to make Athena envious. Not to mention how 92% of supes are white but the percentage below middle class to poor is almost the same as with the 6% blacks, while the percentage of upper class white supes is closer to the same percentage of 2% asians and latino supes… if anything a good chunk of latino and asian supes are upper class… something-something model minority yadah-yadah.” she pressed the elevator door– I’d make a good story. Shame that I can’t be a Supe.”

Homelander stared at her, placing his hand on the back of her head.

“You can be anything you want, Helena. You have been blessed beyond belief with powers… if you want to be Supe then you are ready for major leagues.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Only the 1% of superheroes ever make it to the major leagues, most supes never achieve anything beside D-list status and everybody is fighting for the crumbs left behind by your posse of clowns– is not a fiscally responsible decision. A career that can only exist on extreme gambling is not one that can make money. Not to mention am not cute or tall." She took the first step into the elevator– I never want my mother to worry about money. I want to buy her a mansion on top of a cliff staring at the ocean, have a dozen maids care for the house and she can just spend the rest of her life in luxury”

She turns to see him crossing her arms with a serious look on her tiny face.

“My goal is to take your job.”

“The Seven?” He grinned.

“Vought.”

“I can wait to see you try.” he grinned.

“It won’t be that hard… At least when I am in charge security will be tighter.”

Bottles of V dropped from above Homelander’s head, he caught most of them but a few were lost, those were hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of drops staining his pants and shoes, Helena caught one bottle, sliding it between nimble fingers back and forth.

“Don’t look so surprised, it seems this is a common occurence… Here's an unwanted tip: use biometrics and only allow lab techs to enter the 67th floor, not just rely on good will, clown.” sections of her body and clothes flicked back and forth between visible and invisible, taunting him about how easy it had been to steal them using her superpowers.

As his eyes took an extra tinge of red, he saw a brief flash of pale blue encasing her, he followed her to the entrance of the Gym, where she expected to be left alone with Homelander not to find another kid.

“The prodigal son.” she mumbles.

Ryan sat on top of some raised stepping stones in the recently established obstacle course, Helena imagined she needed to know parkour in lieu of flying abilities, which seemed redundant for the kid who could fly.

“Thought you two could practice together.” He shouted while placing the V on the nearest bench.

“Guess there are ways to successfully murder a child and get away with it.” She raised an eyebrow– and here I thought you wouldn’t be irked by the words of a little girl… like I said you’re a maladjusted person.”

“I don’t hurt children. I have no idea…” he said calmly while a little bit angry, as he returned to her side.

“I dunno– it would look really bad if the press found out that you’re a deadbeat.”

His expression dropped as the little girl's eyes glowed.

“Smartest little girl in the world… or...?” She said dryly, as she headed towards Ryan to save him the walk– my bubble refracts light, easy to spot if you notice images are wavering without the heat.”

The little boy ran cheerfully after his father, who for the first time ignored him, his eyes transfixed on the little girl, who had been playing stupid all along.

taglist-- @fromforeigntofamiliarity , @demodemo909 and @immyowndefender

here's the house:

#homelander #homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander x f!reader #the boys oc #homelander fanfiction #personal #my fic tag #my writers block is criminal but thx god i had this chapter and 2 more ready #new york city rentals are fucking insane y'all paying too much-- had to look at them for reference for this fic so am more than glad to pos #a link to the 18K a month house that homelander bought for you dear reader #btw am living in australia so i might not know how yall pay utilities over there #took inspo from the diabolical first ep where they ahd an adoption centre as one of the floors of the tower to make the daycare #american royalty

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soldiersgirl · 3 months ago

Text

NOT IN THE SAME WAY .ᐟ

summary ⭑ you couldn't work out if you loved him or hated him, but all you knew is that you needed each other, no matter the cost. (based on this request). cw ⭑ fem!reader x soldier boy. 18+ smut/angst (mdni). mutual pining. flirting. mentions of cheating. reader has a bf. break-up mentions. guilt tripping. mentions of reader's past trauma. swearing. kissing. unprotected p in v (wrap it up). oral (f receiving.) fingering. masturbating (f). spit play. spanking. slapping. squirting. dirty talk. begging. sir kink. degradation. overstimulation. pet names (slut, whore, doll, good girl). word count ⭑ 4,493 words.

life used to be simple, nice, easy. you had your friends, your hobbies, your supporting boyfriend. you couldn't have asked for a better life, yet you always felt that something was missing. it was all too simple, too nice and too easy. you searched and craved for new, different. and no matter how much it scared and worried those around you, you never felt more alive than when you, alongside your childhood best friend hughie campbell, joined the boys and their suicide mission of taking down homelander, and more importantly vought.

like many others, you had had your unfortunate run-ins with vought and their supes with their catastrophic attempts to "save lives" and "bring justice". you had watched your best friend get crushed under a toppled sky scraper right in front of your own feet, thanks to homelander and some supposed bank robbers. no matter how many pr specialists vought hired, you knew the real truth. it was just typical homelander recklessness. you had spent weeks trying to get the bloodstains out of your favourite white sneakers. now they just stood abandoned in the back of your closet alongside your discarded vought merch, most notably your once-beloved soldier boy action figure.

standing toe-to-toe with soldier boy was something you had never expected. his presence as commanding and domineering as the rumours had stated, his gaze harsh and his lips always in a default sneer as he lazily trudged around the boys hq.

"not impressed, eh?" butcher laughed as ben's fingers traced along the edge of your desk, momentarily catching your eyes and giving you his signature smirk.

"what a fuckin' shithole. should've stayed with the commies, if this is what you're fuckin' offerin'." ben grumbles as he turns his back on you and leans against your desk, messing up your organised papers and staring directly at butcher who only chuckled in response.

"keep your flippin' knickers on. you'll get your own apartment tonight, a'right? she will show you where it is la'er." you shoot up from your desk and shake your head in defiance. your dislike and distrust for supes grew inch by inch with each passing day and you weren't willing to serve them hand and foot, like butcher expected you to. like he said with that cheshire cat smile; "happy supe, happy life."

"nuh huh! i have date night with my boyfriend! i told you this." you almost whine. you had cancelled twice in a row due to your duties and he was growing increasingly impatient with you. you knew you didn't have many chances left and you couldn't risk losing the one constant you had in your life.

"too. fuckin'. bad. we need you for this. hughie, m.m and i got some old friends to visit. annie's gotta stay under the radar. kimiko and frenchie are at the bleedin' hospital. that leaves you." butcher juts his finger at you as soldier boy slowly turns and silently analyses you. in retaliation, you strike up your middle finger at butcher and reluctantly stealing a glance at the psycho that sat before you. a cold dread settled in your bones as you both stared into, what felt like, each other's souls and all you saw was trouble. and you couldn't make yourself look away, no matter how much your mind willed it.

BRRRRR! BRRRRR! - hello? - hi babe... it's me. - let me fucking guess, you're cancelling again? - i.. no, yes. please, don't be mad! i had no choice, literally butch- - stop with the fucking excuses. i can't hear it anymore. i'm sleeping at my brothers place tonight. i'll call you when i'm ready to talk again. - babe, please! i'm so sorry, i love y– CLICK.

you pushed your phone deep into your jeans and ignored the smirking soldier boy next to you as you walked together in silence towards his apartment. you could feel he was dying to say something, anything, but your furrowed brows and the roll of a singular tear down your face deterred him, your mascara leaving a small stain on the apple of your cheeks. the silence continued as you unlocked his front door, slipped inside and handed him the keys as you gazed around the barren room that only had the essentials and lacked any form of welcome.

"so, yeah. this is it. your own place, soldier boy." the rusted kitchen chair creaked as you slowly eased down onto it, watching him as he glanced around and ran his fingers over the worn sofa, playing with a loose thread before his eyes finally settled on you.

"ben." he coughs before charging into the bedroom and checking out the bathroom. how could america's #1 live in a place like this?, he thought to himself. what a fucking disgrace, this is.

"ben." you repeat under your breath, not enjoying the taste it left on your tongue. it was bitter and unwelcoming, much like his attitude. he swaggered back into the living room and leaned up against the back of the sofa, crossing his strong arms over one another and resting his gaze on you once more. you physically squirmed each time his eyes fell on you, like he could hear your thoughts of discontent and mistrust. "well." you clap your thighs, preparing to leave. you didn't want to spend more time with him than you needed to. he made you feel vulnerable, weak, in danger; just like all the other supes do.

"sorry 'bout your little boyfriend." he offhandedly states, his trademark smirk nowhere to be found as your eyes meet his in surprise. you stand frozen in your spot, your head tilting as you consider his words.

"oh.. thanks. no need." you mutter. "ben." you instinctively add, testing out his name again. the taste was sweeter this time; less bitter and more pleasant, somehow.

"been together long?" he continues, surprising you.

"uh, 6 years." you nod, not wanting to reveal more than you have to, to him.

"hm, does he hate supes as much as you? or is that your own hobby?" he darkly chuckles.

"i don't hate supes, i–"

"don't lie to me, sweetheart. hughie told me everything. he's like a teenage girl at a sleepover, won't stop fuckin' gossiping and spilling every little secret." you accept your fate and just slowly nod. thank you hughie for pissing off one of the world's strongest supers, ever, it was just what you needed on top of everything else.

"i'm not going to apologise for my feelings." you stand your ground, copying his crossed arms and, almost, macabre seriousness.

"i'm sorry about your friend." he almost cuts you off, interrupting your annoyance.

"i don't need your apologies." you sigh. "i just need to do to your fucking job and help us." kicking the chair as you hurry to leave his apartment, his words melting into your bones, making you feel heavy as your mind reels about the accident. as you rush past him, he roughly grabs you by the forearm before, just as quickly, letting go.

"i'll help you. you can trust me." his voice, uncharacteristically soft, makes your heart beat flutter. you want to believe him, but the alarm bells are going off in your head. you flinch away from him, grabbing the arm of your jacket to comfort yourself.

"it's not what you think." and with that, you flee out into the cold new york air, away from the venus fly-trap that is soldier boy.

two things are certain. no matter how hard you try, you can't make it up to your boyfriend. and no matter how hard you try, you can't avoid ben. the more your boyfriend was giving you the cold shoulder, deservedly so, the more you sought out any welcome distraction and ben wasn't going to deny himself the pleasure of you.

long nights in the flatiron building with meetings, brainstorms and debriefs meant less time with your boyfriend and more time with be–, no sorry. the boys, you meant the boys. it was just easier to be at the hq than at home, where nothing but slamming doors and passive aggressiveness thrived. you tried to fix it all; making promises that only end up broken, dates that go unattended and messages left unread and forgotten. somebody else was always at hq, so you never got the moment to sink into despair and lose yourself in guilt. you longed to feel anything other than shame and ben's attention breathed life into you.

his longing glances at you as you pranced around the office, checking up on the boys and double-checking details of plans. the way his hands would accidentally brush against yours as you walked past one another or when his hands lingered too long on your waist when squeezing past you. if he made himself a coffee, he would pour you a cup as well, seeing as "he was already doing it" and let his hands linger on yours for a second too long before pulling back and showing off that devilish smile. he'd always greet you, ask you how you're doing. harmless flirting never hurt anybody, because that's all it was. harmless flirting that was never going to lead anywhere, because you loved your boyfriend. you were sure you did, he certainly loved you. and ben was just... fun, lighthearted fun.

as time went on, you couldn't quite work out ben's angle but you could feel that you lost yourself more and more with each small touch, glance, word that he directed towards just you. you couldn't help but reciprocate each look and fluttering touch. you were like a feather in a hurricane named ben, completely at his mercy. he was filling a void that was emptying out quicker than you could handle.

but then he would shift, like the changing tides of a raging storm. his smiles transforming into scowls, his fleeting touches becoming few and far-between, his soft words of encouragement devolved into yelled, harsh remarks. you would get into feverish arguments, calling him a psycho before storming out of the hq and finding yourself crying in the toilets. you'd recklessly threaten with pouring his pills down the sink, telling butcher that allowing ben to join the boys was his worst idea yet as ben stood and muttered obscenities behind you.

you know what you were playing with, you knew you were tempting trouble. but when everything you knew was falling apart around you, you grabbed onto what was closest and it just happened to be ben.

god help you, it made you feel sick. you grappled with your feelings for weeks. sometimes you could justify it with "you deserve happiness, no matter how it looks, you've been having a hard time. it's all harmless, right? flirting isn't a crime", but it always turned into your best friend's voice repeating the same mean sentiment, over and over. "you're fucking sick. wanting someone who destroyed the life that you knew. who killed me. he is one of them. you should be the one in the grave, not me. i wouldn't do this to you." and when you would turn to your boyfriend for those rare moments of comfort in grief, when you weren't shouting at each other, his hands and words didn't feel right. didn't ignite your skin the way his did. not in the same way.

"he broke it off last night." you shake and shiver in ben's grimy hallway, not knowing where else to turn. you could've gone anywhere, called your parents, but your weary bones carried you right to his door. he silently stepped aside, welcoming you in as you shed your soaked jacket and pushed away your drenched hair from your tear-stained face. a beat passes before he closes the door, another before he turns and gazes those emerald eyes deep into yours.

like a deer caught in his headlights, you stiffen. another pause. he brushes past you, as if everything's normal and takes his usual seat on the sofa to continue watching his show. unsure of what to do with yourself, watch the back of his head as the bile slowly climbs your throat and you struggle to swallow it.

what were you doing? why did you come here? he's the last person you should–

"sit down." his voice disrupts your silent tirade and he claps the cushion next to him.

"i'm soaking." this elicits a snort and a chuckle from the supe before he gets up with a sigh, disappears into his bedroom and walks out with a change of clothes for you. he shoves them into your hands, avoiding your doleful eyes altogether and settling back down in front of the tv. your chest burned and your eyes stung with the tears that threatened to spill over, no matter how much you prayed they wouldn't. after peeling off your clothes and pulling his oversized t-shirt and sweatpants that loosely hung from your limbs, you carefully climbed onto his sofa and sat with baited breath.

you were almost serving yourself on a silver platter to him, but he wasn't biting. every inch of you was burning, waiting for the torment to end, for anything to happen.

"why did you come here?" he asks, his eyes not leaving the tv for a second as he nurses his beer. you stutter and splutter for a second.

"i'm not really sure." you answer truthfully, kind of. he lets out another rough chuckle, running his hands through his chestnut locks and all you can focus on is his arms. the veins that curl around it, the scars that litter it from battles fought long ago.

"i never took you for a liar." he shrugs.

"i'm not." he sucks his teeth and shakes his head at your response.

"if you can't even admit, why you're fuckin' here, then you gotta get the fuck out." his tone grows rougher with each word.

"i'm not." you repeat, just a bit louder. "leaving." you whisper. "please, don't make me go, ben."

"i don't have time for your shittin' mind games." he pushes himself off the sofa and gets himself another beer. you turn and twist in your seat and watch his every move. open the beer, down it, pause. open another. "i got my own issues, can't help you with that fuck-nut you call a boyfriend."

"ex-boyfriend." you whisper and ben sighs.

"point is, you gotta fuckin' leave if you're gonna lie. why did you come here?"

"i came here, because i thought we were friends." you admit. and it was true, to a certain degree. you didn't know what you and ben were and you were fine with never finding out, up until this moment.

"friends? me and you? you think we're just pals?" he laughs to himself, planting seeds of doubt into your already anxious mind. "sweetheart. we're far from friends. i haven't had a fuckin' friend since nicaragua and you think i'd pick you?" he points the bottom of his beer bottle at you. "nah. we're not friends. because what i want to do to you, a friend wouldn't do to a friend." he says too nonchalantly, as if it's a fact shared between the two of you.

"what.." you swallow your rising anxiety. "what do you want to do to me?" you pull your knees to your chest, centering yourself as your heart threatens to beat out of your chest.

"i think we both know that, don't we?" he hums, raising an eyebrow. "you're a smart girl, i see how hard you work for that cock-sucker butcher. don't be actin' all brain-dead now." he leaves his half-drunk beer bottle behind and slowly paces over to you. he reaches out and runs a rough finger down your cheek and under your jaw before dropping his hand. silence ensues as neither wants to be the first to break, to take that first step.

"what are we... if we're aren't friends?" you ask. curiosity killed the cat.

"whatever you want me to be." he mutters. but satisfaction brought it back. his touch was uncharacteristically soft as he brushed your damp hair away from your face and rested his hand on the back of your neck. he sucks his teeth before sighing deeply and cocking his head, watching you intensely. his long eyelashes fluttered as his eyes glanced over each of your features, taking the time to fully appreciate your beauty. "i can't say no to you." he quietly admits.

"why?" his eyes dramatically roll into the back of his head. what a dumb fucking question.

"we're good at this game, aren't we?" he retracts his hand and you almost whine at the loss of his strong hand on you. "but i don't wanna play this game no more. do you?" your innocent eyes could have killed ben right there and then. your pupils blown and filled with... fear? desire? he could never fully read you, the way he could everyone else.

he always wanted to dig into your skull and figure out how your brain worked, wanting to know the intricacies of you. exactly what you wished to do to him.

he dragged a thumb over your tear-stained cheeks and tugged on them, ever so slightly, reminding him of your youth and naivety, both he had lost at an early age. he battled with himself as the silence hung over you. the calm before the storm. he had tried to push you away but he always found himself drawn to you, like a soldier called to war. it was inevitable and undeniable. "why are you really here?" he asks for the third and final time, your last chance to be honest with him.

"y-you know why i'm here." your chest heaves and constricts as you finally admit the hidden truth between the two of you. that's all ben needed as he threaded his fingers through the hair on the nape of your neck, tugging you up to him against his toned chest before connecting your longing lips with his. the feeling of his soft lips finally against yours is the closest to heaven, you were sure you'd ever get to. he tugged on your hair, earning him a small whimper from you which only fuelled his desire more. that was a sound he would never get tired of. your tongues danced, finding the perfect rhythm before his glides across your teeth and swallows your high-pitched moans while his free hand, instinctively, palms your ass through his borrowed sweatpants. he breaks off the kiss only to forcefully grab you, hoist you over the sofa into his strong arms as you wrap your legs around his waist and let him carry you to the bedroom and throw you onto his bed. you expect him to be on you like a bee with honey, but instead he watches you as his herculean hands glide over his unignorable bulge.

"take it off." he grunts. he could barely contain himself as you rolled off his sweatpants, revealing the cutest pair of pink panties he had ever laid eyes on. your hands tremble ever so slightly as you go to take off his t-shirt revealing your bare chest to him. goosebumps rippled across your skin as his eyes fell to your perked nipples that were begging for his attention. ben was convinced that this was his personal heaven, his gift for being the loyal soldier he always had been. his bites and nibbles on his lips as you roll your shoulders back and lean back on your forearms and look up at him those eyes, exposing yourself to him. giving yourself over to him completely. "fuuuck..." ben sighs as he falls to his knees at the edge of the bed, grabbing your feet and tugging you closer so his stubble brushes up against the inside of your velvet thighs. you try your best to clench your thighs together and knock your knees against each other to hide the growing damp spot in your pink panties. "don't be a fuckin' tease now." ben grunts as he pushes your knees down and thighs apart, a grin spreading across his aged face. his finger prods your needy clit with a low chuckle before delicately running it up and down your clothed slit whilst pressing soft, teasing kisses to your trembling thighs.

"ben..." you whine, your hands fisting the sheets and turning white in anticipation. he hums as he rests his head on your thigh, admiring the scattered rising and falling of your chest as he continues to play with you. he had barely even laid a hand on you and you were already quivering underneath him.

"look at you. so fuckin' desperate, hm?" a soft kiss pressed against your clothed cunt followed by his tongue dragging over the same spot. torture. "'m sure that sack of shit, you call your ex, never made you feel like this, huh? one night with me and you're already so fuckin' pathetic." he hooks his fingers into your panties, roughly tugs them off and marvels at the sight of your weeping cunt as you keep your legs spread wide open for him. "sucha good girl." he mutters against your folds before hungrily diving his trained tongue between them and savouring the sweet taste of you. your hands automatically fly down and tug on his wavy, chestnut locks as he loses himself in the sensation of your inviting folds. sucking, nipping, licking at every bit of you that he could get his starving mouth on. he reluctantly pulls back, a string of saliva connecting his swollen lips to your slick cunt, admiring his work. a gentle slap to your pussy jolts you out of your ecstasy before three more come crashing down. your hips involuntarily buck with each clap of his hand as your body craves his touch, his attention. "bet your little ex doesn't know how much of a closeted whore you are." a dark chuckle rumbles in his chest at your lewd reactions before stuffing two fingers into you, deliciously curling and hitting your g-spot immediately.

"ngh, ben! fuck, fuck, fuck." you can't help but roll your hips and ride his fingers, the pad of his palm bumping into your clit. he watched in awe as your cunt clenched and took his fingers with ease, like it was made for him. "i'm gonna cu–!" your words and climax cut off by ben roughly flipping you over and propping you up until all fours. he couldn't wait any longer, couldn't deny himself the pleasure of sinking himself into you. he hurriedly sheds his clothes, spits into his hand and spreads it from the tip of his girthy cock to the base as your hole clenches around the absence of him. he towers behind you, pushing your head deep into the mattress as you relinquish all control to him.

"who is my good girl?" he purrs as he pumps himself as he drinks in the the curve of your ass and hushed whimpers into the bedsheets, painfully craning your neck to just get a sight of him. your lack of immediate response earned a harsh slap to your ass from him and a yelp from you. he sloppily kisses the reddened skin, his tongue gliding over the imprint of his hand.

"i'm–." you hiccup. "i'm your good girl."

"sir." he mumbles against your ass.

"sir." you repeat. "i'm your good girl, sir." the bedsheets muffling your whines, but ben heard you loud enough and he straightens up with a shit-eating grin.

"yeah, you fuckin' are." a glob of spit falls from his lips and rolls down from your tight hole and down, settling into your folds. he gives himself one last pump before guiding his tip and pushing himself, almost lazily, into your desperate cunt. you feel each vein, each bump of his cock before he finally nestles himself into you, at a depth you didn't know possible. your breath coming out in short, shallow gasps as he sighs with content and pushes your face further into the mattress with the other hand grabbing tightly onto your hip for support. he drags himself out and audibly groans at the sight of your slick covering him before effortlessly slamming back into you, his hips snapping against yours. "your pussy was made for me, baby. taking me so well." he gasps as he throws his head back in pure exhilaration, your tight pussy welcoming and accommodating his cock with ease.

he was sure that in his over 100 years of existence, that he had never felt a pussy as tight as yours, that took him better than anyone else. the hypnotising sound of his skin against yours, his hands gliding over and grabbing at your smooth skin, pulling you closer to him. you couldn't concentrate on anything else; your senses were overwhelmed with ben and you never wanted it to end. you snake your hand between your sweaty thighs and rub messy circles your oversensitive clit as you, again, near your climax. your eyes and pussy flutter in unison as ben swats away your hand and replaces it with his own.

"god, if i knew you were this fuckin' filthy, i would've fucked you weeks ago. got me waitin' like a pussy-whipped bitch for you." he pats your clit, laughing as you flinch with each touch. "bet no one's ever fucked you, like you deserve. like the slut you are, huh?" he leans forward and creates a make-shift ponytail, wrenching your head and neck back to look into his blown pupils as he continues his rough pace. "good girls answer when i fuckin' talk to 'em." he pushes his sweaty forehead against yours, demanding all of your attention and no matter how hard you try, your mind is completely elsewhere. he was right, no one had ever fucked you like this and no one else ever could. he had ruined other men for you.

"you're the best, sir. best cock i've ever had, t–thank you." you stutter as he expertly hits your g-spot, making your speech falter and eyes look skyward. he reaches up and lightly taps you on your cheeks before grabbing your jaw as his momentum wanes.

"look at you." he coos. "fucking you stupid, ain't i?" he gives your cheek another tap, harsher this time. all you can do is nod in return, your brain foggy. "fuck. cock so good, it got you speechless." he sighs through gritted teeth as you whimper pathetically, completely at under his control.

"c-close, so. close." you mewl. "please, sir. please, let me cum on your cock." and with that ben yanks your head back even further, yanking on your hair and contorting your back so his mouth was next to your ear, nibbling and nipping as you cried out in pleasure. he pushes you back down again, keeping one hand pressing down against your face whilst the other furiously worked your clit; rubbing tight, calculated circles.

"c'mon, you can do it. cum on this cock, you're taking me so fuckin' well, doll." like a man addicted, he's completely transfixed with watching his cock thrust into your inviting cunt. "gonna fuck'n cum in you. you'd like that, wouldn't you? filled with my cum. tell me you want it." he accentuates his last words with sharp thrusts and you whine loudly in agreement. strained whimpers, shaking legs. finally, it hits you like a bullet. your body arches upon instinct and you cry out ben's name, repeating it like a mantra. your spongy walls clench furiously around ben, encouraging him to spur on as your cries pleasure turn into pleas.

"t-too much, too mu–"

"i know you can do it. my good girl." it was a sensation like you've never felt before, pure bliss. a primal groan rumbles in ben's chest and his arm tenses as he continuously rubs your engorged bundle of nerves. "wanna see you fuckin' squirt." your body convulses as you reach your final tipping point and squirt all over ben's hand and bed covers, fireworks exploding behind your eyes before you fall limp in his tight grasp. ben follows quickly behind and paints your walls with his cum, grunting loudly as he rutts into you. he pulls out and falls down next to you, a content smirk plastered across his face. he wipes his sweaty brow and pushes his hair back before reaching out and repeating the action on you. for a while, you just lay and look into each other eyes and although no words were spoken, a silent understanding bloomed between the two of you. he placed a soft, chaste kiss to your lips before rolling out of the bed, making his way to the bathroom as he loudly yawned and scratched the back of his head.

as you laid there in his disheveled bed and your own mess, you knew that no matter what he would never want you. not in the same way you wanted him; all to yourself. you knew in the morning you'd be waking up to your mistake and you'd never be the same, again.

a/n: this took way too long to write, but here we finally are. to the anon that requested this, pls accept my humblest apologies, you've been so patient with me omg <3 i hope it's exactly how u wanted it to be. this fic was based on yet another song (try to act surprised) and this time it's 5sos, one of my faves bands ever! please support your writers by LIKING, COMMENTING & REBLOGGING if you loved this!

-`♡´- tag list: @bluemerakis @legalmente-loca @faiszt @vmiina @emeraldcrs @briiverse @figthoughts @sl33pylilbunny @jasvtsc @silverwoodlynx @kayleighwinchester @bejeweledinterludes @yooyieu @nperoconelcositoarriba @lanasgirlfr @velvetdandeli0n @iluvdeanwinchester @cowboysandcigarettes @daylighted @valjy @littlesoulshine @mostlymarvelgirl @syrma-sensei @rositaslabyrinth @blossomingorchids @deansbbyx @mads-ackles @lunaleah @diawinchester217 @sunnyteume @drakulana (comment or inbox me to be added)

(p.s thank you SO MUCH for 500 followers, never thought this would happen!! appreciate all your continuous love and support for my silly stories and dumb ass posts, i love you all 💗)

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devilander · 1 year ago

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a mirror in half-light

18+ 1.5k. homelander x supe f!reader. blood, dirty talking, cunnilingus, use of telepathic powers, acts of violence mentioned (not between reader and HL)

From someone so concerned with shielding his mind, Homelander quickly comes to appreciate your telephatic powers and how useful they can be. Especially during a boring Seven meeting.

prompt sent by @infinetlyforgotten, thank you so much 🤍

When you were first introduced to the Seven, many, including your new colleagues, compared you to Mindstorm. Sure, there were some similarities—the ability to see a person’s thoughts or to project specific images. But that’s where it ended.

The ace up to your sleeve, which distinguishes you and earned your supe name as Quickstep, is both your telepathic precognition, giving you leverage in hand to hand combat, and your crown and glory—possession. Supe or non-supes, all could have their minds hijacked by you; an ability Vought decided not to publicize.

Your fellow partners in fighting crime knew, though; and from day one you could feel Homelander watching you with suspicion, a stare so filled with distaste your knees almost buckled.

Seeing you in a corridor, Homelander signaled for you to approach.

“Quickstep,” he sneered, invading your personal space until he towered over you and your neck ached from looking so high up. “If I catch you using your little powers on me, be sure I’ll crack your spine. It’ll be easier than stomping on an ant. Got it?” His sudden artificial smile did nothing to lessen the weight of his words.

Homelander was your hero, always, since childhood. Not only that, ever since you saw him for the first time, the shining blue eyes, the softness of his blonde hair, that commanding voice... You were a goner. And he most certainly knew. The disappointment almost, almost broke your heart.

Little by little, however, with the unspoken promise you wouldn’t pry on his mind, you’d grown close. Partners in fighting crime, yeah, of course, but you had his back, no matter what.

In one of your missions together, Homelander smeared in an innocent’s blood from head to toe, your first instinct was to help him—clean the mess. And you couldn’t lie, him in his violence and brutality did something to you.

“Hey, you,” you murmured. “Let me help you, okay? Let me take care of it. Let me protect you.”

Surprisingly, he acquiesced. It took no more than minutes to possess the mind of some poor bystanders, having them fight and commit atrocious acts; they wouldn’t know what came over them and Vought would be too happy not to disclose. In quick action, the narrative changed; from rabid supe, to terrorist crowd.

Later, you found yourself in his penthouse, in his bathtub, naked and cleaning the gore as he squeezed your waist. When you sealed your relationship with a bloodied kiss, you knew there was no turning back—and you loved it. Loved his quirks, his humor, his beautiful nose and soft hair, loved his flaws and all that came with it. Loved the tie that bound you forever.

“I love you. I love you so much,” you whispered in his ear as you lay in his bed, a few hours before your meeting with the rest of the Seven. “I ache for you all the time. It overflows, sometimes.” You giggled, remembering when your desire burned you so passionately, so intensely, your mind had one focal point: Homelander and what he could do to your body. Without realizing, all your wants and needs were suddenly projected on his mind.

In the first time, you were fearful he’d throw a fit, but he simply grinned devilish at you.

“Wow,” he laughed. “If I’d known more about your dirty little mind I would have put it to use a long time ago, babe.”

After that, it became a fixture, in bed, in daily moments where voicing your thoughts wasn’t an option, or in missions when silent communication was useful. And bit by bit, he delighted in it, veritable proof of your devotion and love.

As it were, in this stolen moment, cuddled in his bed, he answered. “And I love you, my darling, My own mirror.” He nuzzled your neck. “No need to scream in my mind, I’m gonna eat your pretty pussy until you beg me to stop.”

“I’d never,” you said breathily.

Slowly kissing from your collarbone, to your stomach and thighs, mischievously looking you in the eye as he bit and kissed and licked everywhere around your cunt. His strength was enough to keep you in the exact place he wanted. Such a delicious torture.

Finally he turned his attention to your clit, dragging his tongue over it in elaborate patterns—he was relentless, and you both moaned at the contact. You were loud, thrashing and screaming at the slightest touch, but only for him. He played your body perfectly.

Your hands found his hair, soft to the touch, and yanked, wanting him closer and he groaned—the vibrations going straight to your core. Soon he started tongue-fucking, just as you liked it, going deep and slow, alternating to trace your slit from your asshole to your clit; not one part of you ignored.

“Fuck, you taste so good. You’re fucking made for me, your pussy is mine, mine, understand that?”

“It’s yours! It’s all yours. Please, Homelander, please—”

“Please what?”

“Let me come, let me come in your mouth, I want to feel you.” It was all too much, the mess his tongue made, the wetness running down your pussy and dripping in the mattress.

Moaning, he plunged two fingers deep inside you, as he squeezed your ass, bringing you even closer. You cried from the pleasure he woke in you, and even in this madness you caressed his hair, closing your legs until he was in the position you liked most: with a perfect view of his face, his soft locks, his bright eyes.

He smirked, squeezing you tighter, until you no longer touched the bed, and he slapped your ass so hard your whole body trembled.

“Like that, princess? Like when I do whatever the fuck I want with your sweet body? Now show me. Show me what you want.”

You complied instantly.

You imagined him feasting on your pussy, licking it all until his spit and your slick became one and the same. His fingers marking your ass, your thighs; biting so deeply even your invulnerable skin would cleave to his superior strength. You wanted his tongue deep inside you, for yours on end, fucking your pussy so good your legs would spasm and you would scream for all the Tower to hear, pussy clenching just the way he liked. You wanted it all—Homelander slurping on your clit and swirling his tongue, making you squirt and swallowing it all, leaving his chin a beautiful fucking mess.

In the aftermath, body boneless and exhausted, you wanted his fingers, for him to drag it all over your juices and make you swallow and gag on it. Then, in a little tenderness, he'd give you a breathtaking kiss, further proof of your intimate lovemaking.

As you projected all of this on his mind, his smile grew bigger, more wicked. And you knew he'd deliver it, or even more.

“You really are such a slut.” You giggled; it was all in the game.

Later on, as all the Seven were debating their latest terrorist attack, and what plan they'd need to put in action, all you could think was Homelander. His hands on you, his tongue lapping at your clit and his disheveled hair—which, you noticed, he didn't fix for the meeting. It wasn't fair, he was too mean at taunting you.

You couldn't keep your eyes off of him and he knew. Flashes of your morning together ran through your mind. No matter how satisfied you'd been, you wanted more, again, all the time. You wanted his kisses and devastation, his head between your legs and his mouth both teasing and giving you the most world-shattering pleasure.

You wanted to caress his hair, your newfound obsession, while he fucked you, hiting that sweet spot and filling you up with his come.

In your daydreams, you tuned out from the conversation, and like being burned you found Homelander staring straight at you, an expression oh so familiar. Unintentionally he'd become the spectator of your fantasies.

Rising from his chair so quickly you barely caught it, Homelander said, “That's enough for today. I have other things to take care of. Quickstep, you stay.”

Whispers of complaint were quickly shut down, as Homelander glared at them until each and everyone left the room.

“Well, well, seems like someone is still wantin' for more.”

He laid his hands on your chair, then turned it so you were face to face.

“I couldn't help it,” you smirked. “I can't get enough.”

“But that's not fair, don't you think?" He clucked his tongue. "It's your turn to please me.” He pulled you from the chair, and manhandled you until you fell to your knees with a thud. “Now, princess, get to work.”

#homelander #homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander fanfiction #the boys #the boys amazon #the boys x you #the boys x reader #requests #my writing #smut #infinetlyforgotten

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themeraldee · 5 months ago

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Sweet As Honey

[Masterlist] [AO3]

18+ Only | 7.6k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Set in Season 4. Lactation kink. Breastfeeding. Self-induced lactation (there might be inaccuracies). Established relationship. Shower sex. (And more importantly) Awkward shower sex. Some dirty talk. Cockwarming.

Written for cozy corner kinktober prompt #21: Breastfeeding

Huge kudos to @witchyclipse for beta-reading and keeping me sane 💚

Ever since Homelander has taken up the role as the head of Vought, things have changed. He’s always had to carry the burden of being the company’s poster boy, but it’s a whole different league to be involved with the business side of things.

This change has put a mild strain on your relationship. With the increasingly irritable moods he comes home with, you have tried coming up with more and more ways to make him feel better and release the increasing tension. You’ve even tried your hand at massages. And even though Homelander sighs happily anytime your oiled hands glide down his back, you know it’s more of a soft caress than a massage. And while there’s nothing wrong with a soft touch, the tickle of your hands doesn’t ease any of the deep ache lingering in the fibers of his steel woven muscles.

The closest you ever got him to release even a sliver of tension has been with sex. No matter what the situation outside your little bubble of content and intimacy ends up being, he’s never taken away from either of your pleasures. He’s entirely in the moment. He can be an incredibly attentive lover, thinking of you and only you. Whether it’s about your pleasure or his own, his mind doesn’t wander to outer conflicts. It’s why you push for long sessions whenever you can. The longer you can keep him in the subspace the better.

So it’s not that any of the things you do don’t help. They do. Very well in fact. Daily you have Homelander purring in your lap while you stroke his hair or moaning in your ear while you stroke his cock. He happily guzzles up all the love, care, and attention you pour down his throat.

However, his highs don’t last long. As soon as he’s forced to break out of the dreamlike state that only you and him inhabit, his mind is quickly plagued with the overwhelming thoughts of plans going wrong and positive public perception dropping in waves.

This is most prevalent after nightfall. The dark of the night brings out his inner demons. The tension snaps back into his spine like a spring that you’ve been doing your best to keep bent the entire evening.

Falling asleep is a tough ordeal. Once that hurdle is over, sleeping soundly is an even harder challenge. His nightmares frequent his sleep more often these days.

So you do your best to soothe him through this transition. Some nights you talk his worries away. Filling his mind with an enticing vision of escaping the media and the corporate driven life he’s surrounded himself with. You place him in the imaginary scenario of a warm family home. There he comes home to soft music, warmth and comfort. In his mind you’re preparing a home-cooked meal for him and Ryan, calling everyone down to the dinner table when you’re ready. Family pictures on the walls, Ryan’s achievements tacked to the fridge with magnets; nothing about this image screams control or misery. His perfect imaginary family.

The wistful smile he gives the vision you describe always tugs at your heartstrings. You both know it’s a fantasy and in a way is no better than the Vought-curated story of his upbringing. While the idea is fun to roleplay, at the end the vision always falls apart like a house of cards.

The hurt he carries pains you to see. So you relish in knowing that you’re the reason behind his relieved sigh anytime he comes home. Just like the soft hum that resembles a purr anytime you’ve got him soft and malleable in your lap. It warms your heart on a daily basis that you still affect him so.

But you know you can do more.

While other people would be upset at their partner having less time for them, for you it couldn’t have come at a better time. Before this whole Vought takeover really happened you couldn’t free yourself from Homelander’s presence for even a good ten minutes. Whether it’d be him making sure he’s always by your side, because you never know what might happen, or him keeping an eye on you through the walls of the Vought tower; you knew he was constantly there.

Planning any sort of surprise was impossible. He’d always come home, greeting you with a smile and a not at all subtle, what did you get up to today, planning anything? Like a child, too impatient to wait till Christmas morning, he’s scanning every room looking for whatever present or surprise you have prepared for him. And while it’s been annoying to not be able to surprise him, you can’t really fault him too much. He’s never had any of this. After he divulged the details of his upbringing, you started seeing how with you around, he was chasing the moments he missed out. So if looking for secret presents or having you read your book out loud as he dozes off next to you heals any part of his inner child, you can’t really complain.

During these tense days you see how much he craves the simplicity of what should have been. A childhood, and normal upbringing that would have never gotten him into this mess. Something that would ground him and soothe his soul.

This is where your plan comes into play. It didn’t take long into your relationship for you to figure out just how much Homelander was fixated on your breasts. It’s where his hands immediately slip down to when your kissing got hot and heavy. It’s where he presses his lips anytime he’s inside you and in reach. And it’s most definitely where you most frequently catch him staring when you’re not looking.

The most recent development started off with Homelander falling asleep on your chest. Something about your heartbeat loud in his ears soothing him and putting him to sleep. This gradually turned into Homelander absentmindedly, or so he says, playing with your breasts. Which very quickly turned into him suckling on your nipples as he fell asleep. You never found it bothersome, quite the opposite.

And seeing him nuzzle into your chest so peacefully, suckling on your breast with such a content face just gave you an idea. Another thing that he’s never had. Something you’re more than happy to provide.

You prove yourself to be resourceful. While Homelander is out of the penthouse juggling crime fighting, press conferences, public appearances and meetings, you’re at home researching home remedies, housewife tales and experiences of wet nurses.

Upon finding out that it’s possible for you to induce lactation without being pregnant or undergoing hormonal treatments, you cheer. While keeping this little secret to yourself would be easy enough with how occupied Homelander was these days, keeping up with a hormonal regiment would be a lot harder to explain.

So started your journey. It took a few months of constant massages. You introduced herbal medicine in the form of teas into your diet. Easily dismissed to Homelander as your new routine towards better health. From fenugreek to fennel seeds, you’ve tried everything to beat the odds. Your determination and hordes of free time left you able to fully commit.

Knowing you were doing this for him was enough motivation to keep going. Anytime he’d come home upset, irritable and grumpy you made yourself another cup of tea and gave your breasts an extended massage in the shower.

Even in all your secrecy, Homelander still noticed something being off. Across the time together he’s gotten to know your body to a tee, identifying your cycles is as easy as knowing the day of the week. So it’s not surprising that he comments on changes to your body that are out of the typical window.

He nearly caught wind of your secret few months into your little experiment, when he kissed his way down your neck and your chest. Too eager to get his lips around your hardened nipples to take his time cherishing each inch of your skin like he normally would.

He gives your nipple a kiss, parting his lips to suckle on it like usual but he stops himself right before, making an intrigued hum.

“Your nipples are more swollen than usual.” He gives it a little lick, as if to check if everything is okay with you.

“Oh it’s just this new bra I got. It’s a little irritating.” You easily lie. You’ve prepared yourself for this confrontation many times in your mind, coming up with plausible scenarios. And while you’re aware of Homelander’s disdain for liars, you know he’ll forgive this once your plan comes to fruition.

“Well, fuck, buy some new ones. Have a shopping spree. Or whatever.” He sighs in between your breasts as he presses wet kisses into the soft skin.

You chuckle at the suggestion. Of course, he’s always there to meet your every wish and demand. Should you voice it or not. “There’s no need, I’ve got plenty. Really.”

“Oop, nope, you’re not getting out of this one. Haven’t had you give me a show in a little while now.” He gives you a cheeky look but really his attention is equally split in between your conversation and your breasts and you know he’s soon going to forget this little detail.

“Sure. If it’ll make you happy. Though I’m not sure a new bra will help. Starting to think you’re the culprit.” Your tone is tinted with your smile as you run your hands through his hair making him hum around your nipple.

“Guilty.” He popped his lips off wetly for a second before turning back to lick and kiss his way around your breasts to continue his nighttime ritual.

And for all of Homelander’s pride in his enhanced senses, he’s not noticed anything different since then. Except for commenting on the obvious enlargement of your breasts, which you end up blaming on your cycle or—when that excuse falls through—weight gain. A fact he very happily hummed at before continuing his playtime.

Lucky for you, you got to conduct your little experiment at your pace. For once really getting to surprise him.

Except all you end up doing is surprising yourself.

Although your breasts feel more swollen and tender these days you blame it on the constant massaging and Homelander’s very own take on stimulation of the tissue. And yet, you’ve still not gotten any tangible results. The defeatist part of you was ready to wave your plans goodbye as a result. Until now.

You’re indulging in your nighttime routine before Homelander comes back home. The tenderness you feel as you massage your breasts with the help of a vanilla and almond milk body wash is nothing new. What’s new is the milky droplet you notice when you wash off the soapy residue off your breasts.

What happens next is a rollercoaster only you’re privy to.

Your heart races, the joy nearly making you scream in celebration as a months-long process is finally bearing fruits. The overwhelming glee you feel at finally being able to gift Homelander this homemade treat is quickly soured when you just about hear the door slam.

No. no. no! Not like this.

You had a setup in mind. Following your nighttime ritual, you’d be easing his mind with the sweet rivulets coating his tongue. You imagined the palpable relief you’d feel coming off him with each suckle of his lips. You don’t want him to find out like this.

You can only hope that he’s annoyed and distracted enough that blaming the scented soap would be enough of an explanation to the underlying sweet scent of your milk. Your own milk. The thought alone was enough to make you giddy again. The man has been entertaining your every wish and whim throughout your entire relationship. Not only has he been terribly difficult to surprise, the appropriate gift has been just as hard to find. Who knew that you’d find the perfect one within yourself. The thought of finally revealing your secret to Homelander leaves a visceral throb of warmth in between your thighs..

Your body goes through sharp turns each second. From joy to dread to arousal, you feel the anticipation of what’s to come when the bathroom door opens and in walks an already naked Homelander.

“Fuck, you're a sight for sore eyes. Missed you.” Homelander quickly makes his way into the glass walled shower sliding right behind you, his arms automatically wrapping around your waist.

“I missed you too. I'm glad you're home.” You mumbled weakly, tilting your head to the side to allow him to press a kiss to your cheek first, neck second. Even amidst the spray of hot water his lips are hot against your skin, leaving warm tingles along their path.

“You have no clue how happy I am to see you.” He talks into the juncture of your neck, barely audible to you. But you catch the fatigued tone nonetheless. Maybe today really is a perfect day for the reveal.

“What happened?”

“You don't have to worry your pretty head about that right now. I can tell you later.” One of Homelander's arms dips lower. He exhales in a way that feels like releasing the entire day's worth of weight off his shoulders.

“Now… I want you. Because fuck, I don't know what you've used today but you smell really fucking good.” He inhales sharply letting the soft vanilla and almond sweet smell of you take over his senses. Whether or not his senses picked up on the lingering milky undertone is something you don't want to press on. Instead you distract him.

You spread your legs a little allowing his hand to slither in between your legs. While water is not a lubricant your pooled arousal is. Already you’re slick enough to let his fingers glide along the velvety softness of your cunt.

“Look at you... You know—hah—I could hear your heart rate go a teeny tiny bit insane when I arrived. Getting up to no good, were you?” You clearly see the mischievous grin in your mind without having to turn around.

“I wanted to be ready for you.” You exhale softly. You slump in his hold. It's nice to be able to relax and feel his deft fingers softly rolling your clit in a way that leaves your nerves buzzing and craving more. “I was hoping you'd get home soon.” You trail off, your voice turning a little high pitched as he massages you precisely enough to get your thighs quivering. He's learned how to rub your clit in a way that feels like bursts of fire sparking underneath the surface while not overstimulating you. It feels like heaven. Your eyes roll back and you grip hold onto the arm that he still has wrapped around your middle.

And while your arousal came from the excitement regarding the progress of your long-winded journey it’s not difficult to lose sight of that when Homelander is coaxing sweet moans out of you with well placed strokes around your clit. The victory is all forgotten by the time you feel his hard cock grinding against your ass, just begging to be taken care of.

Homelander has always been a needy lover. Even when his day to day is filled with bullshit he seems to be losing more and more of his sanity over, he still takes care of you as thoroughly as you deserve. Of course, knowing he’s getting just as thorough of a treatment from you.

“Feel that?” He grunts in your ear. Taking the opportunity to nip your ear with a playful chuckle.

“So fuckin’ slutty of you, barely touched you and you’re already dripping.” Your legs feel like jelly with the way he treats you. He holds you tight, unyielding against his frame. Manipulating you to his heart's content. You’re almost off the ground. You can still reach with your tip toes but it’s far enough that it forces you to sag all your weight onto his frame. The sense of weightlessness and the confusing physicality at play gets you lightheaded. With how effortlessly he supports your weight, his fingers find it easier to glide with precision.

Normally you’d love to return the dialogue. Praise his efforts, his body, his mind. Just him. You know that’s what he wants. But the euphoria from the excitement and the constant burning pressure on your clit is enough to have your mind spinning. Barely focused on what he’s saying, let alone capable of coming up with your own sexy one-liners.

“I love that about you, you know that? You’re so responsive. You never disappoint. Needy. Eager. All for me.” His voice gets frazzled towards the end. The quiver in the way his voice breaks could make anyone think he’s the one close to the finish line. And really, if you weren’t still getting sprayed by hot water you’d be able to feel the precum his cock has leaked all over you, grinding into your body with the slip it provided. Even though you’ve given him no extra attention, you simply craving him is more than enough to get him riled up.

It’s okay, he’ll get his turn. He’ll get his reward.

"Nobody can make you feel this good, baby. Nobody." He trails off with a hiss; the smell of you intoxicating enough amongst the soft sweet scents of almond and vanilla.

What makes Homelander a truly great lover is his unfaltering pace. He’s not pausing because he has to readjust his grip on you, neither is his hand tired from the endless and torturously consistent strokes around your clit that make your nerves light up all the way to your toes.

“Gonna be a good girl and cum for me? I know you’re close. I can almost fucking taste it.” Homelander sounds wrecked.

As if he could feel every single sensation your body is going through. Maybe part of him can. He’s so attuned to your body’s reactions. The smell, the sound of your heartbeat, the feel of your straining muscle, the tremble of your limbs. It’s no wonder he’s just as affected.

He’s proud of being able to make you feel this way. Being the only one to make you feel this way. He has said so many times before and he continues to do so. He revels in being able to bring you the heavens themself with each spectacular orgasm. “M’gonna need you to hurry up sweetheart. I still want to fuck you.” He says this with a chuckle as if you were simply a little late to a meeting and not on the brink of a mind-altering orgasm. “And with how good you smell, hah well, I’m not gonna fucking last long.”

With a few more finishing strokes you’re locking up in his hold. This orgasm had a long build up. The consistency of his strokes slowly stoked the fire to a bright flame until you felt the sensation spread to every nerve ending across your body. From your toes to your scalp, your body endlessly tingling. You slump in his arms, the pleasure pulsating through you like waves crashing across the beachfront one after another.

“Mhmm that’s it, spread your legs a little more.” Homelander grunts out. He isn’t patient enough to give you a second to collect yourself. So you lean forward a little, bracing against the wall while you part your legs. A shiver runs through you when he grinds his cock in between your legs. The head of it catching on your abused clit.

While you’re excited to feel him in you, the need for each other isn’t enough to overcome the awkwardness that tends to come with shower sex. It’s slippery, wet and the verticality ups the difficulty.

Homelander struggles pushing inside you from the odd angle your bodies are at. You’d be giggling at the clumsy slide of it all if it wasn’t for your own frustrated impatience. You whimper and whine, almost in protest at not yet getting what he promised. Homelander, in equal fashion, grunts in annoyance. Each effort to stuff you full gets derailed by slipperiness of your folds. And while the thickness of him rubbing between your slit feels grand, it’s not enough to quench his hunger for your tight squeezing warmth.

“Please… I need—” You whimper when the tip of him hits your clit again. Your clit feels so overstimulated that at this point it resembles the fuzzy shocked feeling of hitting your funny bone.

“—I'm fucking trying alright, stop moving so much.” Homelander interrupts you, even more frustrated than you.

“Your cunt is just too fucking slippery. God fuck—” It’s when the tip of him finally makes it in, yet manages to slip out right as he’s eager to push in all the way is when he’s really had enough.

Homelander effortlessly lifts you up, forcing your knees to bend, pressing against your chest as his hands grasp the flesh of the back of your thighs.

You yelp at the sudden feeling of weightlessness. It’s the one thing that never ceases to amaze you. With your previous partners the sex positions didn’t move past the classics. All perfectly fine positions that you still thoroughly enjoy with Homelander on a daily basis. But nothing thrills you as much as being able to feel his wholly inhuman strength. Easily tossing you around and molding you to his body. You become less of an active participant and more of a warm and perfectly wet toy for him to fuck into.

Now is no different. Homelander finally manages to sink his cock into your throbbing and just as eager pussy. Your little content sigh of relief at finally being filled doesn’t last long. Instead he steals your breath away with the hurried press of his hips into yours. Your weight in his arms does nothing to deter his pace, effortlessly ruining you both with the slide of his cock. You brace yourself against his arms, looking for a shred of stability but that never comes.

The stretch of his cock from this position makes your clit ache. Already desperate for more direct attention. Opposite to the long drawl of your orgasm, Homelander is rutting into you as if he’s competing with himself on how many more thrusts he can fit in before he’s unloading into you.

It’s not many. He was clearly as worked up as he sounded. Losing himself in your pliant and warm body was already mind-blowing any given day. Being able to manhandle you fully, not giving you any leverage was an entirely different beast. While still minding his strength he lets himself unravel into the welcoming squeeze of your walls, pumping spurt after spurt of hot cum deep inside you.

While the quick fuck managed to reignite your flame, you don’t find it in you to beg for another finish. You feel rattled, legs resembling jelly and you haven’t even been put down. You’re all too aware of the way the thickness of his cock slowly slides out, and with it your pussy squeezes out a dribble of cum, sliding down in between your ass cheeks.

You whimper at loss almost instinctively at this point. Some would find it surprising to see just how carefully Homelander sets you down but to him it’s a no-brainer. You’re precious cargo. And even then, standing on your own legs doesn’t feel right after what you’ve been through.

You hang onto his frame. Your quivering limbs make you hazy. Your pussy trembles with the remnants of your previous orgasm and the one that could have been. “Thank you.” Mindlessly you lul your head against his chest, breathing out the words.

Homelander laughs. Rarely do you thank him for sex but it’s a good indicator of how thoroughly he melted your brain. He always enjoys the extra stroke of his ego. Even if things are precarious or falling apart you will always be here, ready to sing his praises in all the genres.

“Mhm, you’re very welcome.” He pinches your chin and brings you closer for a big kiss. He indulges in the lazy press of your lips to his and he keeps you there for long enough to really imprint the feel and taste of your lips into his own.

You gain some clarity back when you pull away.

“Come on, let’s get to bed.” He greedily squeezes your ass with a wicked look. How he still holds the same excitement for more amazes you. In comparison you feel like you’ve run a marathon.

Plus there’s the whole thing with your breast milk coming in that you’ve yet to mention.

“I’ll meet you there in a minute. Just want to clean myself up.” You say offhandedly. Really you wanna wash the scent of sex off your body so nothing detracts from the sweetness of your milk. You want your surprise to be perfect.

“Don’t take too long.” You can just about hear him over the shower as he leaves the bathroom after drying himself off.

As the time for your big reveal nears you feel the anxiety brew in your gut. You’ve been working on this for months. The last thing you need right now is for your body to fail you. Just the idea of this plan failing or worse—him hating it—leaves you your gut in knots.

No. No, you can’t stress yourself out. Your body needs peace, quiet and excitement. Positive thoughts and feelings. You will yourself instead to think of the reward, the payoff of seeing Homelander grateful, happy and relieved.

You massage your body and breasts with some unscented soap you keep around for times when Homelander is feeling particularly overstimulated with senses. You do your best to wash off both Homelander’s cum and your arousal. You want a clean slate.

Resetting your mind back to your nighttime ritual, your body untangles the knots of anxiety. You leave the shower calm and at peace. You take your time drying yourself off, blow-drying your hair to not make the sheets wet and finishing off with brushing your teeth. You’re taking an awful long time but there’s not been a moment when he’s not waited for the warmth of your body lulling him to sleep.

He can wait a little longer.

You hang up both yours and Homelander’s towel—one he left on the counter—and you wrap yourself up in your favourite combo of particularly fluffy robe and slippers. Both are of great quality, courtesy of Homelander. The robe feels soft and warm against your bare skin and part of you dreads the short moment when you’re gonna need to take it off before sliding into bed. It’s one of the few things you’ve cared to enjoy the luxury of. The comfort is unmatched.

Same goes for bedsheets. You’ve told him before that albeit the satin sheets look fancy and expensive, they don’t provide the soft comfort of a loving home you’ve been trying to introduce him to. It’s a constant battle trying to warm up the cold museum-like quality of his living quarters. But alas, one swap at a time.

The path from the main bathroom to bedroom isn’t long but you’re still grateful for your fuzzy slippers. No need to get your feet cold if you can help it.

You finally make it to the bedroom, well, if you could even call it a room. It took a little while to get used to the sprawling open space of his penthouse. Nothing really felt enclosed and the idea of some Vought employees having full access to not just his penthouse but the very exposed sleeping quarters made you queasy.

“Took you long enough.” He’s already in bed, covered with a blanket from the waist down. He props himself up on his elbows, unashamedly looking you up and down. He raises his eyebrows, expectantly nodding at you to proceed.

You untie your fluffy robe, sliding it off your shoulders. Immediately shivering as the cool air hits your skin. Vought could really heat this place better. You catch the thick fabric of your robe before it falls to the ground, draping it over the ottoman in front of the bed.

Homelander whistles and his lips stretch into a wide grin.

“You’re ridiculous.” You shake your head, smile tugging at your lips.

“And you’re gorgeous.”

He’s different today. Something about the way he looks at you that brings back the boyish charm he had when he swept you off your feet for the first time. These days you see worry lines and furrowed brows adorning his features more often than not. Rarely does he come home happy.

But now? He’s looking at you, bare to the world, with that twinkle in his eye, finding comfort and excitement in your presence.

“You’re gonna tease me any longer? Come on, come here already.” His tone makes you feel giddy, it’s exciting—especially knowing you’ve a little surprise of your own. It’s lucky he caught you in the shower today.

Usually he comes home late when you’re already in bed reading a book, waiting for him to seek out some much needed comfort. You cherish those moments too, but today’s excitement feels particularly rare. It gives you a preview into what life could be like if things were different.

But just like the fantasy of peaceful family life you often feed him, this also feels like a temporary illusion, just waiting to give way for the gruesome reality you find yourself to be a bystander to.

Still, you take it for what it is and throw yourself into bed, straight under the covers he lifts for you. You’re used to sleeping naked because of him. Homelander says the sound of mismatched fabrics rubbing up against one another is downright infuriating. But really, you see it for what is. Though you can’t deny that the occasional midnight romp or a morning quickie heats up a lot faster with no clothes in between.

Homelander quickly pulls you in, already greedy for a kiss. Barely apart for a moment and he’s already ravenous. It makes you wonder how he manages without you the entire day.

Your hands glide from his stomach, over his hairy chest and up and behind his neck. He kisses you in his signature possessive way.

There’s barely any build up. He goes from a decent, soft press of his lips to eagerly licking yours open. His moans are needy, impressing themselves into your lips as he takes over your lips with deep, open-mouthed kisses. Chasing after you each time you move any other direction that’s not towards him.

The sudden change from a gentle kiss to a downright sloppy makeout session shocks you enough to lose your bearings. Not that you had many to begin with. Effortlessly, Homelander pushes your back flat to the mattress. The power you feel from such a simple push shocks a giggle out of you, sending a tingle down your spine in excitement.

He leans over you, propped up by his elbows and knees. While you thought he had plenty of excitement in the shower he seems to be just as riled up by this charged up energy surrounding you both tonight. You feel his cock, already half hard, pressed in between your bellies.

He kisses you with raw hunger, his deep kisses pulling sighs and moans out of you. Apart from his inexperience when it comes to innocent affection and love, he’s mastered the art of making you feel like he’s pulling you apart bit by bit with every kiss.

He kisses the rest of your body with his hand. Sliding from your shoulder to your arm then to your hip and thigh, pulling on your leg to wrap it around his waist. Without a break in the kiss he swaps hands and treats your other leg in the same way. He settles himself firmly in between your legs, still too focused on your lips to move things further along. Though you’re very aware of the weight of his hefty cock.

Just when he’s letting your lips off the hook, finding his next victim in the soft skin of your neck, you glide your hand up the back of his head, pulling on his hair. You pull hard enough to earn both a moan and an inquisitive look in his eyes. This is not the energy he was expecting from you today.

“Slow down baby… I just… I need you to take it a little easy on me.” You mumble. The showertime shenanigans left you feeling a little sore and tender. Albeit good in the moment, your soft pussy easily aches and needs some gentle treatment from time to time.

He looks at you with this innocent puppy look and you feel a little bad for breaking his flow and making him feel like he did something wrong. He just hums and gives you a little nod. His ravenous kisses turn soft and sweet when your fingers scratch through his hair, giving him a glorious scalp massage.

“Could you keep me warm? Please?” He asks softly, an uncharacteristic trait that very few have gotten to see over the years. Without waiting for an answer he’s squeezing his cock at the base, little more than half hard now and steadily filling out as he gently guides the soft tip through your slit gathering the wetness on his cock.

“Mhm, of course. Be gentle, okay?” He almost whimpers at the approval as he presses the soft head of his cock into your pussy, guiding inch by inch into you. He’s not fully hard and that makes it easier on your tender tissue. The heft of him sits comfortably inside you, right in the space he has long carved out for himself.

Your pussy softly pulses around him, not out of your own doing but just the pure instinct of having him inside you. It’s comforting. Intimate. Something you didn’t expect to become a favourite part of your nighttime routine.

Homelander keens as he settles into you, every instinct screaming at him to fuck you again. But the hand at the back of his head scratching at his hair makes him melt. The soft and warm touch almost matches the equally soothing warmth of your pussy and he happily lets you guide his head to your chest.

Homelander descends kisses upon the soft skin in between your breasts. It's instinctual at this point. His palm softly cups your left breast from the outer side. His lips ghost over the delicate skin of your breast, hot breath mapping his way across.

You feel your heart rate spike as his lips inch closer and closer to your nipple. The excitement coiling in your gut and partially souring into anxiety. The thoughts coming back to you again. What if he doesn't like it?

He's desperate for the familiar comfort, his parted lips releasing a soft stuttered moan as he moves up to the peak. His cock twitches inside you as soon as his lips brush upon your nipple.

You watch with bated breath as Homelander finally wraps his lips around the hard bud. Your heartbeat is picking up speed as you watch him intently, hoping—no, praying—that your body won't disappoint you.

It happens quickly. He pulls away in shock, uttering a panicked, what the fuck, as he flattens both palms on either side of your body, pushing himself upright.

“Ah! Oh fuck…a-ah…” You yelp out in shock followed by a pained stuttered moan as his hips push forward in shock. His cock goes fully hard in the moment, burying itself as deep as your pussy allows in a sharp and uncontrolled thrust.

His eyes turn from wild, panicked and confused to worried. “Fuck, sorry, sorry,” he whimpers, his body buzzing, vibrating with unspent energy. You watch as his tongue darts out, collecting a droplet from his lips as well as licking the entire surface area just in case he missed any.

As the immediate reminder hits his tongue his eyes flicker in between the droplet of milk beading on your nipple, and you.

“W-what? How?” He scrunches his eyebrows before dipping his sight lower. For a second you think he’s looking at how deep his cock was in you.

“You're not pregnant. H-h-how?” He stutters, shaking his head in short bursts, squinting at you in confusion.

“Did you just look in my uterus?!”

“Stop avoiding the question.”

His expectant gaze and the way it flickers in between your leaking nipple and your eyes has your gut twisting with anxiety. Was it too much after all? Did he not want this?

“I…I just. Um, I just read up on some stuff. You don’t need to be pregnant for…well, for this to happen.” Your ears burn with embarrassment at being examined at such a deep level. You don’t want to upset him. The whole point of this was to make him feel good. Make him happy. Did you overthink this? Looked too much into it? “Stimulation, massages, all the stuff we do. It helps it happen.”

“Babe, I’ve been sucking on your tits for a while now. It hasn’t happened before.”

“I’ve been massaging them a lot throughout the days. It took a few months.”

“I didn’t notice you doing that.”

“You’ve been busy. Look if this is weird—” You can’t stand the awkwardness brewing in you like a storm, a feeling similar to sour burning bile making its way up your throat.

“—I should’ve noticed this…” Homelander interrupts you, his gaze now firmly with your leaking nipple. Absent-mindedly he licks his lips again, as if looking for any milky residue. ”You—umh, hah, you did this? You really did this just for… just for me?” His voice goes from level to wrecked in the span of a sentence.

His expression looks tortured, brows furrowed, lips parted. A little strangled gasp leaves him as he watches you tap your finger against your wet nipple. You bring the tip of your finger to his parted lips. With an anguished whine he purses his lips around the digit. Eyes fluttering shut as he wraps his lips around the tip properly and runs his tongue around it.

His eyes snap open and meet yours when he pulls the finger out.

With another rushed movement his cock sharply thrusts into you again, forcing a pained little whimper out of you just as Homelander captures your lips. Your aching walls flutter around him with the rush his needy kiss brings. The heat of it blooms in your core. The anxiety dissipating and your gut untangling.

“Sorry.” He mumbles into the kiss half-heartedly but he’s too preoccupied with pouring his love for you into the press of his lips against yours.

“I fucking love you.” He spat out in between kisses. Harsh and desperate. Rushing through the motion of the kiss and the words. Worried about the moment escaping him. He imprints the words ‘I love you’ in each kiss. The syllables are barely distinguishable with how closely he’s pressed your mouths together but you feel it. You feel it with each breath, sigh and whimper.

You pull him away with a simple tug on his hair. He looks high and drunk on the feeling of it all. It’s been a while since you’ve seen him give into you this much. These days he was all about keeping a semblance of control and appearances. Some of that ended up translating into the bedroom and your relationship. While he still had his vulnerable moments with you it was easier to feel bulletproof when he kept up the same act all day and all night.

You nudge his head down, nodding down towards the breast he abandoned earlier. He’s careful with his movements this time. As he moves lower and settles himself on your sternum his cock moves inside you, but the gentle wet glide just pulls a sigh of content out of you this time around.

“It’s okay. Go on, you can have more. It’s for you.” You’re breathless, the anticipation is unreal. After the long prep, being able to see and feel Homelander nursing on your breasts feels like a dream come true.

He brings your breast in a little closer to his lips, already parted and gasping. He leads with his tongue, licking up the little rivulet that dripped out earlier. Carefully he flattens his tongue, dragging it up the tender skin. When he gets to your swollen and leaking bud his tongue gently slides back behind his lips and he wraps them around your nipple.

The feeling of your milk flowing into his mouth is surprisingly more intense than you expected to. You throw your head back on the pillow, exhaling with relief. His tongue presses against your nipple with each suck, lapping up the milk you produce for him and guiding it down his parched throat.

Homelander isn’t doing much better, his brows are furrowed and he’s almost whimpering with each suck. With each glorious, delicious drop he loses more and more composure. His thick eyelashes flutter and you can see the way his tenderness seeps out. Tears bead at his waterline, clumping his eyelashes together into a few thick strands.

Your pussy quivers around him with every press of his tongue and instinctively he softly grinds into you, following each throb of you, matching the rhythm of his sucks as his left hand clutches the side of your ribs while the other still supports your breast.

He’s breathing rapidly through his nose and you feel when with one, two, three strokes he unloads inside you. It happens in the matter of seconds. You knew just how intrinsically emotions played a role in his arousal and it was no surprise that he came with such little stimulation.

As if riding out the pulses and twitches of his cock he sucks harder.

“Gentler honey…” You guided him, your nails gently scratching down his scalp. He hums affirmatively and he does soften the suction of his lips around your nipple.

You feel his cock soften inside you and you settle yourself a little more comfortably. Relaxing into the mattress, you continuously glide your hands through his hair even when you move him to the other breast.

It’s moments like these that get you appreciating the usually gaudy mirrors surrounding the bed from all angles. You tilt your head to the side and watch the side profile of Homelander indulging with little whimpers and mewls.

You coo soft words, still comforting him with your fingers in his hair. And really, he’s as relaxed as he’s been in a while. And that makes it all worth it. You smile as you turn your head back and look up this time. The birds-eye view of the two of you feels like a painting. The blanket has been pushed down and bunched up around your bodies while Homelander keeps himself as close to you as possible. You watch the bob of his head as he suckles on your other nipple. You don’t even mind that he’s laying all of his weight on you.

You smile at yourself in the mirror, seeing your goal accomplished. You reach down to pull up the covers a little, keeping both of you cosy and warm. Leaning to the side to pluck the discarded blanket from the side of the bed you move your breast and Homelander’s head with you as if you were supporting a newborn baby’s head.

Even though the blanket covers him halfway up his back, the mirror gives you a good view of the way he softly grinds his hips into you. It’s less to seek friction and more to just actively feel you around him. The wet glide of your pussy is heavenly and even if he’s not fucking into you with the intention of making either one of you finish, the feeling is still worthy of being indulged in. Like a good dessert.

You turn to humming. Nothing in particular. Songs that are stuck in your head. Or just a random melody of repeating tones. You enjoy the sight of Homelander looking peaceful. Choosing to live in the moment and be grateful for what you were able to achieve today.

You did that.

Homelander takes you out of your dreamy and happy, heart-soaring thoughts with a displeased whimper. He pulls away from your nipple with a kicked-puppy look that nearly has you chuckling. Just like a kitten his lips are covered with the milk residue, beading a droplet in the corner of his lips from when he was getting messy, mouthing at the nipple and your breast rather than just sucking peacefully.

“Sorry. I guess there’s not that much yet.”

“Don’t you fucking dare be sorry. You… you’re perfect.” He places a kiss in between your breasts and nuzzles his head in between the softness of them. “Thank you.” He sighs out quietly. He settles his head comfortably on your chest, his eyes falling shut with heaviness that comes after an exhausting day.

You readjust your position a little so that he’s only partially lying on your chest, no longer suffocating you with his full weight. You hold his head close to you, enveloping him in a warm embrace as he swiftly dozes off.

You realize he never actually said what angered him today but at the end of the day it doesn’t matter. As long as you can keep him sated and happy, nothing else will ever matter.

Taglist (you can add(or remove) yourself to be tagged when I publish a new fic):

@infinetlyforgotten | @rafecamsgirlll | @nervoussystemss | @hom3landr

@mrsdesade | @nommingonfood | @littlegaaby | @jokesonyoupup

@natliecole | @misatxox

#this one took a whiiiiiile #idk why i didn't have my head in the game #but after all the frustration I'm quite pleased with the result so I hope you enjoy!#technically #cozy corner kinktober 2024 #although i know it's late so just tagging for organization purposes #homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander #homelander fanfiction #my writing #the boys fanfiction #homelander smut

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