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tashtush · 17 days ago

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We Ask for Your Discretion (Chapter 2)

18+ Homelander/queer female reader, Madelyn/reader, Homelander/Madelyn. Pre-s1. Stalking, noncon, dubcon, mommy kink, praise kink, rough sex, voyeurism, threesome, corporate nonsense, manipulation, homophobia, trauma, sexual coercion, cunnilungus, vaginal sex

AO3 | gif

Homelander has a new fixation. Madelyn does damage control.

Chapter 1

You stepped out of your Uber driver’s Kia Soul, which was clumsily parked between two sleek, black town cars. You believed that this would set the tone for your evening.

You had just arrived at the Vought Palace Ballroom, one of the lovelier set pieces that you admired from afar during your commute. It was a tribute to classical architecture, with tall, Corinthian columns and intricate stone carvings featuring The Seven and Sevens past. Your chest tightened as you began to ascend its steps, a slim, red carpet lining the path for you and the other guests that were arriving alongside you. You followed it to the large, double doors, and you inhaled deeply before pulling a handle.

You stepped into the sizable lobby, admiring the elegant oil paintings and archways that framed the space. It was a vision of marble opulence, and it only heightened how anxious you felt. It wasn’t long before you were greeted by a smiling attendant, who smoothly took your trench coat before handing you a ticket. With your entire ensemble now on display, you covertly smoothed down the fabric of your dress in preparation.

You had spent all day pruning and primping yourself for the occasion, fussing over every minute blemish and detail. You even shelled out good money to have a professional touch up your hair (which was suffering from the Voughtality products you had swiped from the office). You hemmed and hawed over several outfits for at least a week, but finally settled on a black, designer, off-the-shoulder dress that tastefully hugged your silhouette. It was originally five hundred dollars, but you rented it for sixty. Obviously.

When you passed by a mirrored wall leading to the main ballroom, you paused to inspect yourself. Surrounded by delicate wallpaper and the soft glow of sconces, you had to admit to yourself that you looked good. And that’s exactly what you were going for—if you couldn’t act the part, you could do your very best to look it.

You arrived at the entrance of the ballroom, and you gripped the chain of your purse to center yourself. It was simply an upscale spin to your usual grounding technique, and it reminded you that this was just another work event. You stepped through the door, and you swallowed a gasp, immediately taken by the sight.

A gorgeous, high ceiling with intricate moldings and glittering chandeliers framed the already spacious room. And, when you looked down at the ballroom below, you saw that it was bustling with some of the most intimidating people you’ve ever seen. There were tuxes and gowns as far as the eye could see, and as you scanned the floor, you felt a small jolt of excitement when you clearly made out costumes amid the more standard finery.

Looming over everything was a stage with an enormous screen, surrounded by enough expensive equipment to satisfy even the biggest of acts. In front of it was an expanse of tables, each a different color of the rainbow, their matching settings complete with crystal glassware that you thought only existed on Pinterest boards. You also admired an accent wall that was covered in lavender floral arrangements, a stunning backdrop to smiling couples posing for a professional photographer. It was the least tacky version of this event you could imagine, and you were a little bit in awe.

You held the banister as you descended the staircase, imagining that you were in one of those movies where the formerly frumpy woman makes her sexy debut into society. You enjoyed the little feeling of cinematic confidence, until you reached the bottom step. You deposited yourself into a sea of affluent strangers you had nothing in common with, and you knew you were out of your depth.

You knew where you were supposed to be sitting—Table 9. Surely that’s where the other SSA members would be seated, but dinner was not yet served and you had no way of knowing who was who as guests milled about around you. You were correct in assuming that you wouldn’t know anyone, and you suddenly didn’t know what to do with your hands.

Not long after you started looking like a lost puppy, a server swooped in and presented you with a tray of champagne. You gratefully grabbed a flute, relieved to have something to nurse while you contemplated your next move.

You decided that a glamorous reconnaissance mission was in order. You wandered the floor, observing the scenes around you to get a sense of the social dynamics at play. You admired the wealth of fashionable dresses up close, some of which you suspected were couture, and you were properly intimidated by how put-together all of the women looked. You also heard all kinds of conversations around you—from politics, to juicy gossip, to overhearing two elderly men discussing the banning of supes from the military:

“Bring back Don’t Ask Don’t Tell?”

“That’s for homosexuals.”

“What about homosexual supes?”

It wasn’t long before you saw some of the aforementioned supes up close. First, you walked by Hyperion, who was so stunningly beautiful that you had to look away, lest you accidentally make eye contact (you suspected that one of her powers was inflicting gay panic). You also saw a drag queen performing on the dance floor, who you didn’t assume was a supe at first, until she did a death drop from sixteen feet in the air. You heard at least two awkward exclamations of “yas queen!”, complete with finger snapping that felt more patronizing than celebratory.

While these sightings were thrillingly novel, they didn’t even begin to compare to who you saw next. After emerging from the most posh bathroom you had ever set foot in, you saw her—Starlight—smiling politely and holding a canape while deep in conversation. You couldn’t believe that you’ve now shared a space with two of the Seven, but you quickly decided that there was no way you would approach her. Thanks to your performance during your “meet-cute” with Homelander, you experienced enough residual embarrassment to know better. That aside, even just spotting her from twenty feet away was enough to make your night a memorable one.

If she were here, then maybe he was, too.

The excitement that you had buried suddenly clawed its way back to the surface, and you had to remind yourself to temper your expectations. If he made an appearance, you would have known by now. People tended to flock around him.

As you continued to soak in the energy of the room, you gradually realized that all of the laughter and niceties were simply thinly-veiled schmoozing. The schmooze was palpable—a sycophantic smorgasbord of rattling off CVs and professional peacocking. And the more you eavesdropped on conversations, the less confident you felt about inserting yourself into them.

Perhaps, with more liquid courage, you could attempt this “networking” thing you’ve heard so much about.

You fulfilled your own prophecy by finding yourself at the bar, ordering another drink, and taking a moment to check your phone. This gave you comfort. Purpose. And maybe the impression that you had more important things to do.

“Hello there,” you heard a woman say. Your eyes snapped up from your word search, and you physically startled.

With a friendly smile and a glass of champagne in hand, Madelyn Stillwell was standing in front of you

Her blonde hair fell in graceful, frizzless curls onto her shoulders, which were made bare by a long, sleeveless white dress. She looked mature and elegant, the kind of elegant that you imagined required years of cachet and media training. And while her appearance seemed painstakingly curated, she owned it in a way that felt confident rather than tryhard. Despite seeing her dozens of times on the news and in internal presentations, it had never occurred to you until now that she was rather beautiful.

“Oh—oh! Hello, Miss Stillwell,” you said quickly, your voice failing to hide your surprise. “It’s an incredible honor to meet you.” You introduced yourself and offered your hand, wondering what possible reason she had to approach you.

She was one of the last people you expected to speak with tonight. You were inclined to think that you didn’t have much in common, as you both occupied wildly different tax brackets. She summered in the Hamptons and played tennis, while you binged television and sweated your ass off in your tiny apartment. Anxiety fluttered in your chest.

“It’s lovely to meet you, too. And call me Madelyn,” she said, leaning against the bar. “Are you having a good time?”

“Oh, yes, it’s absolutely beautiful here,” you said, gesturing toward the ballroom floor. “Though, if I’m being completely honest with you, I feel like a fish out of water. I’ve never attended anything nearly as nice as this.” You giggled uncomfortably, and you instantly regretted it. There was nothing like admitting you didn’t know what you were doing when trying to blend in. She smiled warmly.

“Well, you certainly wear it well. That’s a beautiful dress,” she said, her eyes dropping down to admire your look. You knew the rental was a good idea.

“Oh, thank you, yours is too. You look lovely,” you replied in kind, flattered beyond belief. She had easily humanized herself, and you felt like you could relax a bit. As your anxiety waned, curiosity took its place.

“You know, I’m responsible for inviting the SSA this year,” she said, taking a seat on the stool beside you. “It’s silly that we’ve thrown this fundraiser for five years now and never invited the employees we’re supporting. I looked into the group and learned a bit about you.” She took a measured sip of her drink. “You’re impressive.”

“Oh, wow, thank you so much,” you said, a hint of disbelief coloring your voice. “That means a lot coming from you.” It was true. You didn’t consider yourself particularly exceptional at your job, but you would be doing yourself a disservice if you didn’t recognize some of your accomplishments. And to hear that from the Vice President of Supe Management? Your night went from great to phenomenal in the span of three minutes.

“I especially admire your work with VoughtLife. I see that you’re behind one of our most popular sleep features—is that right? What was it...” She snapped her fingers, grasping for the memory.

“Sleepy Sidekicks,” you said, a bit embarrassed to say the name out loud.

“Yes, that’s it,” she laughed. “I actually play the lullabies for my son. Knocks him out in minutes.”

You couldn’t suppress your grin. “I love that. I’m so glad I could be of service.”

Thrilled by how successful this interaction was going, you felt more and more confident in your presence at the gala. It was easy for you to become disillusioned with your work, to not see it as anything more than a means to a paycheck. Direct, positive feedback from one of the most powerful executives in the company? Helping develop the product that lulled her extremely privileged baby to sleep? That was enough to nip your Sunday Scaries in the bud for at least a month.

There was a beat of silence then, and the expression on her face told you that she was gearing up for the real reason she approached you.

“Would you be interested in having a quick drink with me?” she asked, leaning forward in her seat. “I’d love to discuss more about how being queer affects your experience with Vought. I know we’re far from perfect, but voices like yours could be really valuable as we serve our LGBTQIA market. I also just like getting to know our employees—between you and me, heroes can be exhausting, and it’d be a nice change of pace.” She winked, and you could hardly believe your luck.

“I’d love that,” you said. Of course you would. You tried to allay your excitement, wanting to appear grateful but not too over-the-moon. You needed to regain your aura of professional mystique. Or gain any of it at all.

This was an insane opportunity—you were dubious about how useful your opinions would be, but you knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“There’s also someone I’d like you to meet,” she said. “I think you two will have a lot to talk about.“ She flagged down the bartender. “A bottle of Moët and Chandon, please.”

You didn’t think your night could get any better. Who would she introduce you to? Maybe a cool, queer supe that was more stylish than the usual, spandex-clad fare. Or maybe another, more seasoned UX designer who would take you under their wing. Possibilities rushed through your head, and you began to wonder if this could have real consequences for your career.

“There’s a VIP lounge nearby,” she said, gesturing toward a hallway near the stage. “It’s a bit quieter. I hope you don’t mind me taking you away from the action.”

“No, not at all,” you said, growing more excited by the second. She could interview you behind a dumpster out back, for all you cared.

“Great,” she said, taking the opened bottle from the bartender. “Shall we?”

She stood up then, and you followed her as she made her way toward the hallway. You entered together, chatting a bit more about the party and other pleasantly mundane things. You were surprised by how easy it was to talk to her, and you weren’t sure if it was due to her social skills or the effects of the champagne. Probably a combination of both.

She finally stopped in front of a closed door, then turned to regard you with a knowing look.

“You’ve already made quite the impression on him,” she said, before pulling the door’s handle to hold it open for you. She was speaking as if you would recognize this person, and you entered before her, curious.

The room was modest in size, with soft lighting, a self-service bar, a few comfortable-looking arm chairs, and a plush, red sofa.

And, sitting on that sofa, was Homelander.

And this time, he was leaning back, arms draped over the cushions and legs spread leisurely as he made eye contact with you, his signature smile spreading on his face. He stood then, and you suddenly felt small and ambushed as you approached him. You had no idea what was going on.

“Hi again,” he said. Despite the kind, unassuming tone of his voice, his eyes looked like they did when you saw the elevator doors closing around him. Something unreadable below the surface. Something that made you uneasy. You noticed the sharpness of his canines in his grin, and you were stunned when he took your hands between his red gloves.

Madelyn laughed softly at your surprise, clearly aware that you had met before. She had the knowing smile of someone who was pleased to see a plan come into fruition. She shut the door behind her, and you thought you heard a faint click.

“Oh-oh! Wow, um. Hi!” you said, failing to suppress your shock. “It’s nice to meet you again.” Why were they together? What on earth did they want with you? Nerves flooded your body when it dawned on you that maybe, just maybe, your previous encounters had not been coincidences.

“Well, don’t you look beautiful tonight,” he said, releasing your hands to take in the sight of you. You watched his eyes drag up and down your body, slow enough to be undeniable, and you felt your cheeks burn.

“Thank you,” you said, more quietly now. You looked away, finding it nearly impossible to maintain eye contact. He was, in fact, flirting with you. And you didn’t know what to do with this information.

Madelyn sat down on an armchair to the right of the sofa, and he followed her lead and sat back down. Madelyn patted the empty spot next to Homelander. “Why don’t you take a seat?” she asked.

“Um, sure,” you said, abandoning all hope of eloquence in this unprecedented situation. You sat down next to him, and you felt that same, heavy weight of his presence again. For the first time that night, you were acutely aware of how form-fitting your dress was. You tried to maintain your composure by not looking at him, and you did your best to mask your discomfort by resisting a defensive posture. You could handle this. Whatever this was. You weren’t totally convinced that this wasn’t a very vivid stress dream.

“Homelander here also has an interest in how our teams are doing, and wants to make sure he can do everything he needs to make you feel comfortable and supported,” Madelyn said, looking between the two of you.

“That’s right,” he said, turning to face you. “I’d love to hear what it’s like to be you. We value our LGBTQ employees, and we want to do everything we can to make sure they’re… comfortable.” He dropped his hand to his side, and you were aware his fingers were only centimeters away from yours.

“Well, I don’t know,” you said, heat quickly rising to your cheeks. You chose not to move your hand. “I feel pretty comfortable here. My sexuality has never really come up in the office, so I haven’t really thought about it too deeply. I mean… maybe we need more openly queer heroes?” you offered. “I know it means a lot to me and other queer people to see one of us fight the bad guys.”

You paused for a moment, wondering if you should fess up to something.

“You know, I actually only attended one SSA meeting,” you said, shooting a shy look to Madelyn. She was easier to address. “Maybe I shouldn’t admit that since I accepted this invitation, but I couldn’t pass up this opportunity. I am queer, though, I promise,” you added quickly, raising your hands in playful defensiveness.

Homelander chuckled.

“Oh, we definitely don’t mind,” he said. He turned toward you slightly, just enough that his leg was now brushing against yours. You tensed.

“So, you say ‘queer’. Are you a… lesbian?” he asked, and eyed you so intensely that you thought he was trying to look through you. It was an oddly blunt question, and you hesitated, slightly taken aback. Madelyn interrupted.

“You don’t have to answer that,” she said. She gave Homelander a look, but her smile didn’t falter.

“No, uh, it’s okay,” you said, finally moving your hand away to play with your fingers. “I mean, I like women. I do. But I’m… fluid.” You meant to say that you were also interested in men, but the way he was looking at you made you increasingly nervous.

“Ah,” he simply said. His smile twitched, and he looked as if he were personally pleased with this information.

“You know, I meant it when I said you made an impression on him,” Madelyn said slowly, her expression unreadable. You felt as if she were watching you now. Testing.

There was an inexplicable tension in the air, and you instinctively crossed your arms in front of your chest.

“Oh, um, really?” you asked, genuinely baffled. “Wow, thank you… but… why?”

You had spent all of two minutes in an elevator together. You made a bad joke, and he was polite about it. It was unclear to you how this exchange warranted a surprise meeting in the middle of a gala. You felt heat rise to your cheeks when you heard Homelander laugh softly beside you.

“Do you like him, honey?” Madelyn asked abruptly.

You didn’t understand.

“Do I like him?” you repeated.

“That’s right,” she said, her smile as pleasant and unassuming as always. She looked at you as though she were fully aware of how loaded of a question that was. Like she was waiting to see what you’d do.

You looked shyly at Homelander over your shoulder, and something in his expression had changed. He was watching you, his lips slightly parted, with an intensity in his eyes that took you by surprise. You suddenly felt warm as the feeling in the air shifted.

You knew now that this was more than a conversation.

“I mean… doesn’t everyone?” you asked, giggling more nervously than you intended. You felt an unease tug inside of you, along with another sensation that you tried to ignore.

Of course you liked him. He was America’s sweetheart. Everyone’s favorite hero. He was him. And when you gathered the nerve to examine his face more closely, you were reminded of why you were so obsessed with him to begin with. You were drawn to his classic masculinity–his electric blue eyes, high cheekbones, and even the graceful slope of his nose. Which is why, when you saw him lick the inside of his lips as he stared at you, you felt yourself shrink.

Homelander chuckled, and he leaned forward, ducking his head to murmur softly into your ear. “True, but not everyone’s little heart beats as fast as yours… and you’re just sitting next to me.”

You inhaled a whimpering breath despite trying to stifle your reaction, but you knew he heard it. He heard everything. It was all but confirmed when his eyelids became heavy with something that made you press your thighs together without thinking.

Madelyn turned toward him then, and she had a look in her eyes that you didn’t understand.

“Why don’t you kiss her?

You took in another sharp intake of breath. This time, you knew that both of them could hear you.

Before you could even begin to process the question, Homelander reached a gloved hand to gently cradle your cheek. He softly pressed his lips against yours, and he kissed you so slowly, so sensually, that your lips couldn’t help but respond of their own accord. He slipped his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss, and it wasn’t long before you heard a moan rumble against you.

What was happening? Your stress dream was quickly taking an unexpected turn, and the longer it continued, the less you were convinced it was real.

He broke the kiss, and he rubbed his thumb affectionately against the corner of your lips. You looked up at him, wide-eyed and at a complete loss. His expression was now markedly more hungry, and heat curled between your thighs.

Madelyn chuckled softly and leaned forward, tenderly caressing Homelander’s arm.

“I’ve been so hard on you lately,” she whispered, brushing a loose strand of hair away from his forehead. She stroked his cheek in her palm, and he closed his eyes as if he were luxuriating in the sensation. “Are you happy now? Is this what you needed all this time?”

You held your breath. What did that mean?

Were you a gift?

He bit his lip as he raked his gaze from your eyes, to your breasts, to the thigh that was now fully pressed against his. He looked like he wanted to devour you, and you felt yourself become wet as your heart began to race in earnest. You knew he could hear it. You realized that you didn’t know the full reach of his powers, and you wondered if he could detect all the other little, normally-imperceptible ways that betrayed how completely turned on you were.

“Kiss her again,” Madelyn said, more authority in her voice this time. “Unless—” she began, her expression softening when she turned toward you. She placed a hand on your thigh, and it almost felt maternal until you remembered the words she had just said.

“—Unless you’re uncomfortable. I wouldn’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do.” Her voice was kind, and her features took on an incredible facsimile of concern. But there was an unsettling undercurrent to all of it. Like it was more of a formality than a sincerity, a show of empty words.

It was the weight of them in the room, the way Homelander looked at you. The way that you had never spoken to people so powerful before. The way that you were now certain that the door had been locked.

“No, no… I want to,” you whispered. You felt something swell inside of you, your confusion now blending with a heat so intense that you could no longer pretend it wasn’t there.

“Attagirl,” Homelander said.

He grabbed a handful of your hair and yanked your head back, causing you to gasp sharply before he claimed you with a deep, ravenous kiss. You whimpered against his lips, and he slid his tongue against yours, as if he wanted to thoroughly taste every inch of your mouth. He took your lower lip between his teeth, and it all felt so overwhelming, so good, that you pressed your palms against his chest to steady yourself. You were momentarily surprised by the amount of padding on his suit, until he dragged his hands down to your hips and pulled you roughly onto his lap. You felt him through the fabric, a solid, hot pressure that made you throb.

He moved you like you weighed nothing. You were harshly reminded of his otherworldly strength, and for the first time, after years of idolizing him, it scared you.

He moved his mouth down to your neck, biting the skin just below your jaw, hard enough to make you cry out and wrap your arms around his shoulders. He soothed the pain with a slow, heady stroke of his tongue as he reached for his belt.

“No,” Madelyn said suddenly, firmly. His hands froze over the buckle, and you were relieved to be given a moment to process everything you had just felt.

“Make her feel good first,” she said, her voice gentle, yet commanding.

You were aching now. You needed to know what she had in mind.

Homelander removed his hands from his belt, and you watched annoyance transform into renewed fervor across his handsome features. He gently lifted you off of his lap, the stark contrast with his previous touches causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand. He then deposited you back onto the sofa, before turning to sink to his knees on the floor. You watched incredulously as he shifted to situate himself between your legs, all the while looking up at you with his unnerving, blue eyes. Was he doing what you thought he was doing? You nervously gripped the fabric of your dress as you turned to Madelyn in confusion. She just smiled and sipped her champagne, watching your reaction intently.

He pushed up the long, black fabric, forcing it to bunch around your hips. His hands trailed up your bare shins to rest on your knees, then slowly coaxed your legs apart. He patted your inner thigh as if to reward you for your obedience, and you shakily exhaled.

The cool air of the room hit your bare skin, and you felt small and vulnerable as he shamelessly stared down at you. He slowly plucked off his gloves, and you watched, transfixed, as he trailed a finger down the center of the delicate lace. His mouth was open in quiet lust as he toyed with your pussy, stroking you experimentally as you squirmed above him.

“Oh, I knew you were wet,” he breathed, “but this…” he lifted his fingers and spread them to show how obscenely sticky you were. “You’re fucking soaked. Leaked through your little panties and everything.”

You couldn’t stop yourself. You let out a desperate whimper. He laughed before sucking you from his fingers.

You saw Madelyn rise from the armchair out of your peripheral vision then, and you felt the cushion beneath you shift as she sat right beside you on the sofa. You were trapped between them, and when you felt her eyes fix on the space between your thighs, the humiliation only strengthened your ache.

“Take them off,” she said. Without a word, Homelander gripped your panties and slid them down your legs, and you obediently lifted your feet to help him remove them.

“Good boy,” Madelyn said. You watched, fascinated, as he looked from you to her, as if waiting for permission. They had a thing. And as far as things go, it was the last thing you expected.

“Go ahead,” she said. “Lick her.”

You gasped softly.

Homelander looked up at you then, and you yelped as he grabbed your hips to yank your ass to the edge of your seat. He dipped his head down and slowly dragged his tongue between your lips, spreading your sensitive skin as he locked his eyes on yours. You had to look away, and his lips quirked into a crooked grin before he moved his tongue in wide, teasing circles around your clit. You shut your eyes, whimpering softly as he played with you.

He took your skin into his mouth, sucking gently before sliding his tongue over your clit in earnest. He tested you—starting with slow, teasing flicks, to broad, flat pressure. He clearly observed which techniques elicited the most needy reaction out of you, because it wasn’t long before he learned you. What you needed. You were panting steadily now, and the wet, gliding sounds of his tongue in tandem with Madelyn’s watchful gaze made you burn.

“Oh, my good boy…” Madelyn said sweetly, caressing Homelander’s blonde hair as he savored each lick, suck, and kiss of your sensitive skin. His moan vibrated against your pussy, the pressure of his tongue swirling wetly against your clit causing you to throw your head back against the cushion behind you. You looked down again to watch as his eyebrows contorted his face into an almost pained expression of lust, his normally perfect hair now in a state of complete disarray.

“You’re doing such a good job making her so wet for you. So ready for you.” She gently ran her hand up and down your trembling thigh.

You couldn’t help yourself—you whimpered in response, and she hummed a small, sultry chuckle from beside you.

Madelyn was staring at you now, head propped up in her hand. You followed her line of sight to Homelander, his head buried between your legs, lapping at your clit with tireless effort. You looked back at her, and she squeezed your thigh supportively. Something in her eyes sent a deep, electric pulse of arousal through you.

Your soft, airy moans grew louder as he began to truly eat you out, responding to you with encouraging hums as the vulgar, wet sounds of his mouth filled the small room. With a sobering jolt, you remembered that there were hundreds of guests just feet away. You had genuinely forgotten where you were, and it only emphasized how surreal and detached from reality this all felt.

“That’s it…” Madelyn purred, gazing down at Homelander with an almost possessive affection. “She’s so close.”

It was like she had flicked a switch inside of you. You felt the heat between your thighs begin to mount, and when you locked in on the sight and feeling of the frenetic, wet movements of his tongue, you felt overwhelmed by how someone so powerful could be so undone. He was on a mission, his eyes screwed shut, arms wrapped around your thighs to keep your pussy firmly connected to his mouth. Your breathy moans rose in a crescendo, and when he responded in kind with low, indulgent groans, you felt a massive swell of pleasure push against a barrier that was just on the precipice of breaking.

“Make her come for me.”

The moment you heard her words, you instantly fell apart.

You practically wailed as the pressure burst into all-consuming pleasure, flooding your vision with an onslaught of hot, aching sensation. Madelyn immediately covered your mouth with her hand as you rode out the remainder of your orgasm, crying out into her soft skin as you ground yourself against Homelander’s mouth. When you became too sensitive, you lowered your hips, finally uncoupling yourself from his tongue. The lower half of his face was glistening with you, and he gazed at you as if he were completely entranced. He ran his fingers through the folds of your pussy before licking the mixture of saliva and cum off of them.

You breathed heavily as you tried to recover, but the way he was looking at you was not helping your efforts.

“Oh, look at the mess you’ve made,” he growled, ducking his head to plant wet, affectionate kisses on your inner thighs. And it was true—between your legs was a considerable wet spot, and you weren’t particularly looking forward to cleaning it up.

You looked at him, at a loss, and he must have liked something about the expression on your face, because he pulled you down into another dizzying kiss. His tongue pushed your own slick into your mouth, and you hummed wantonly as he made you taste yourself. He broke the kiss and raised himself to sit on the sofa again, using the back of his hand to wipe you off of his mouth. He leaned back then, watching you as he palmed his cock through the cup of his suit.

You sighed when you felt Madelyn’s fingers delicately stroke the hair at your temple, her touch slow and comforting.

“Are you ready for him, sweetheart?” she asked. The kindness in her voice paired with what she was asking of you was almost too much for you to process.

You could only nod, effectively rendered speechless.

With a hand on your shoulder, she moved to sit in an armchair again as she guided you to lay back onto the sofa, positioning you so that your head was resting on a throw pillow. Her ginger handling sent a shiver down your spine.

“Go ahead,” she said softly to Homelander. He sprung into action and climbed on top of you, the telltale sound of a belt unbuckling filling your ears. You moaned despite yourself as he gently wrapped his hand around your neck, feeling his legs spread your thighs before he shoved his pants down his hips. You braced yourself for impact, until Madelyn interrupted.

“Wait,” she said. You turned your head to see her reach for her purse, rummaging through its contents with purpose. She pulled out a condom wrapper, holding it with two fingers as she extended it toward Homelander.

She planned this. They had planned this. And for how long? And why? Why you? This was the most bizarre situation you could possibly imagine, and you have never felt more conflicting emotions in your life. And you didn’t know how to feel about that.

He scoffed, lifting his head to give her a look while he still had a handful of your breast.

“Madelyn, you know I don’t need that,” he said, irritated.

What did that mean? You were so caught up in the chaos that you failed to notice that he was about to fuck you without protection. Despite how completely insane the entire situation was shaping up to be, you could at least take comfort in a small sense of precaution.

“Do it for me. Just in case,” she said, her voice taking on an almost pleading edge.

“Oh, fine.”

He leaned back on the sofa, impatiently ripping the foil with his fingers. It was then that you were able to get a generous view of his cock, which was hard, curved, and thick enough to simultaneously make you nervous and ache with need. You watched, captivated, as he deftly pinched the condom’s tip and rolled the latex down his taut skin. He leaned forward to encase you again, claiming you with another deep kiss.

You braced yourself by holding onto his shoulders as he rubbed the head of his cock against your clit, massaging your still-sensitive nerves before sliding it down to prod against your entrance. He pressed just enough to tease the tip of himself in, slowly easing you open with your own wetness.

Which is why it surprised you when, without warning, he slid the entirety of himself inside you in one long, firm thrust. He ripped a desperate, high-pitched moan from your open mouth, and he grunted raggedly when you engulfed him completely. You felt so full, so full of him, that you involuntarily clenched around his cock as you adjusted to his size. His fingers twitched around your hips, tightly grasping the soft flesh of your thighs as if he were trying to restrain himself.

“Oh—oh, fuck,” he groaned as he began to steadily rock his hips against you. It was when you whimpered pathetically beneath him that he grasped your ass to pull you in deeper, and he thrusted in a hard, oppressive rhythm. You gasped, clinging onto him for support.

“Gentle,” Madelyn warned. “Go slow.” She leaned forward to rub Homelander’s shoulder, and he groaned in a mixture of pleasure and frustration. You were grateful for her intervention—he was going to knock the breath out of you, and you panted heavily below him.

He opened his eyes then, making pronounced contact with yours as he slowed the movement of his hips. The sensation of him fucking you was deep, consuming, and agonizing, and with every languid thrust of his cock, you felt a hot bloom of pleasure grow and spread inside of you.

You knew that he was strong. You’ve seen him stop a truck that was spinning out with just a single hand. Punch through steel like drywall.

He could break you in a second.

But knowing that he was reigning himself in, pressing into you with just enough measured force, made you feel completely undone. Afraid. You exhaled a breathy moan each time he pushed you deep into the cushions, balling your hands in the fabric of his cape as you angled your hips to meet his.

“You’re doing so well,” Madelyn cooed to him, still soothing his back with her hand. “Fucking her so slow and hard for me… my good, special boy.”

He groaned in response, a surprisingly needy, vulnerable sound that took you by surprise. You wrapped your arms and legs around him, pulling him closer, whining against his chest with each punctuated thrust of his cock. You held onto him tightly, squeezing around him to encourage him to finish.

He let out a strangled, animalistic grunt as he rocked his hips two, three more times, painfully digging his fingers into the flesh of your ass. He came, his body jerking above you in strong, tense bursts, the feeling of his skin locked against yours making you feel claimed as he growled into the crook of your neck.

After his hips twitched through the aftershocks of his orgasm, he collapsed on top of you. Heavy, unsteady breaths tumbled from his lips, and Madelyn chuckled warmly, caressing his cheek with the palm of her hand.

“Did you like that, baby? Did her pussy feel so good?”

His eyes were glazed over with distilled pleasure when he nodded, and she eased two, probing fingers into his mouth. He groaned headily as he sucked them, and you were intoxicated by the sight.

Homelander turned back to you and kissed you, almost affectionately, before sitting up again. He pulled off the condom and tossed it in the nearest waste bin, then stood to pull up his pants and secure his belt in place.

“Fuck, you… you are something else,” he said, still catching his breath. He leaned down to tug your dress down your body, then picked up your discarded panties off of the floor. He smiled at you while he tucked them beneath the flap on his suit, and you didn’t dare ask for them back. He pulled you up into a possessive kiss, and were it not for his arms that were currently wrapped around you, you might have collapsed back down onto the sofa.

Madelyn stood before both of you then, folding her hands in front of her as she regarded you.

“Well, that was certainly fun,” she said, smiling warmly. “Thank you for that little chat. It was very valuable.” It chilled you how easily she could transition to a facade of professionalism.

“Now, you understand that we ask for your discretion,” she said, turning her head to look at Homelander. He looked at her, then back down at you, and he nodded smugly.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he said, adjusting the lopsided bodice of your dress back into place. “Wouldn’t want anyone to get jealous, would we?”

“O-of course,” you said, in a daze. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

Like anyone would believe you.

“Good,” Madelyn said softly, approaching you while you were still in Homelander’s arms. “Good girl.” She stroked your hair and moved her fingers down to hold your chin, swiping a thumb over your bottom lip.

“There’s a bathroom over there,” she said, pointing toward a door in the corner of the room. “Take all the time you need to freshen up before heading back out. We hope to see you at dinner,” she said cordially.

Homelander smirked at you. “Yeah,” he murmured, pulling his gloves back onto his hands. “We have to honor all the other good little queers, don’t we?”

You felt something heavy drop in the pit of your stomach.

“Yeah,” you said with a weak smile, trying to smooth down the bird’s nest that was your hair. “Yeah, I-I’ll see you out there.”

He shot you a final, possessive look, before they both left the room. You walked toward the bathroom as if you were in a dream, and you looked at yourself in the mirror for the second time that night.

You were a mess.

Lipstick was smeared on your face. Your hair in shambles. You examined a small bruise on your neck, running your fingers over it as if to confirm it were really there.

You had lost yourself in all of it. They didn’t even give you a real moment to think, and with a queasy, creeping feeling in your gut, you realized that it was likely by design. And when the high that permeated your body began to subside, you were finally able to have that moment. If felt so, so good.

Then why did you feel so used?

The confusion of it all made you feel out of control, and not in the good way.

You methodically cleaned yourself up, grateful that you had brought your concealer with you as you blotted it against the bruise. You did your best to put yourself back together before facing the reality that waited for you outside the door.

You wandered back into the ballroom, feeling like you were floating.

You eventually found your table and sat down, now surrounded by ten other members of the SSA. You were quickly engaged in conversation, and you chatted, half there, now completely unburdened of your social anxiety. You barely heard the words that were coming out of your mouth, but you received good-natured laughter in response, so you figured it was going well. You mechanically ate your chicken and scalloped potatoes.

It was when the light of the room dimmed and the sounds of silverware started to slow that you came into your body again. You turned your attention toward the stage, and you were seized by an abrupt tangle of discomfort in your chest.

You saw him walk onto the stage. The crowd around you went absolutely wild, and your fellow SSA members applauded raucously in excitement. You felt hot, your throat constricting as you watched him stand in the center of the stage, raising his arms as he joyously soaked in the display of love and devotion. You gripped your fork tightly.

“Welcome to the Fundraiser for Crimefighting Bigotry!” he exclaimed, pacing across the stage with a charismatic pump of his fist. The room burst into another swell of applause, and the cacophony almost drowned the sound of your thudding heart. He reveled in it, his rehearsed grin stretched wide as he waited for the fervor to die down.

“Okay, okay,” he said, laughing charmingly as he made his way to the podium situated off to the side of the stage. He paused, panning his gaze across the ballroom for effect before speaking.

“You know, some of you may be wondering why I’m here. I know, I know,” he raised his hands, nodding his head in a show of humble acknowledgement, “I’m involved with some Christian groups, and I know that they haven’t always been the best to your community.”

The audience murmured quietly, until he continued.

“That being said, while I may be a man of God, there is nothing more godly than love. And love is love. Am I right, everyone? Huh?”

The crowd erupted into applause again, and you looked around at everyone’s smiling faces. You felt deeply out of place again, but in a different way. A way that made you feel a bit sick.

“And who better to celebrate than the LGBTQIA+ heroes and employees that work for Vought day in and day out? We’ve got some legendary gay supes in the house—I see you, Flamer!” he shouted teasingly, pointing out into the audience. “And let’s not forget our very own pride club, the Supe Spectrum Alliance. Come on up here, guys! Come on!” he exclaimed jovially, clapping his hands and gesturing toward your table.

You weren’t expecting this. You felt your cheeks burn as you climbed the steps to the stage with the rest of the SSA, and you stood there awkwardly, doing your best to keep a safe distance from him. You now noticed that there was a teleprompter in front of him, and you supposed you shouldn’t have been surprised.

“They’ve done such a good job representing the kind of good work that Vought is all about—from raising money for charity, to making sure we all include pronouns in our email signatures. Like I ever read emails,” he said cheekily through the side of his hand.

The audience laughed, and his once endearing mannerisms now rang hollow to you.

“Let’s give it up for the SSA!” he yelled, firmly clapping his hands together. He successfully roused the audience into thunderous applause, and you shifted uncomfortably. You felt hundreds of eyes on you, and you wondered if you had truly washed away what had just happened.

“Because of their very important work, I will be personally donating fifty thousand dollars to their club budget and one hundred thousand to the Born This Super Foundation.” Your fellow SSA members turned and gasped excitedly. You followed their gaze to see Starlight emerging from backstage, holding a giant check. The audience went nuts. The you from an hour ago would have been ecstatic.

A photographer approached the stage, raising a camera up to his face. Homelander promptly spotted him.

“Get in here,” he said, ushering the SSA to gather around him. You took only a few steps closer, taking refuge in the back of the group.

Homelander handed the check to an elated member in the front row, and you felt your heart jump as he pulled you to stand next to him while the other members posed, elated, shielding your bodies from view. You felt his hand trail down to the small of your back.

“Say pride!” Homelander said happily, sticking out his visible hand in a thumbs up. You glanced at him quickly, seeing his big, charming smile. It sent a chill down your spine.

You felt his hand move even further down, before he tightly squeezed your ass.

Forget Melissa Etheridge.

After you were dismissed from the stage, you simply walked straight through the ballroom, down the hall, out the double doors, and into a new Uber. When you arrived at your apartment, you kicked off your heels and shed your dress on the living room floor on your path to the bathroom. You sat on the shower floor for forty minutes, contemplating the ache that refused to go away.

#homelander #homelander fanfiction #homelander x you #homelander x queer reader #madelyn stillwell #the boys

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tashtush · 17 days ago

Text

We Ask for Your Discretion (Chapter 1)

AO3 | gif

Homelander has a new fixation. Madelyn does damage control.

Chapter 2

“I don’t think ‘The Deep’s Liquid Dreams’ is going to fly as a concept.”

You had been helping develop Vought’s new meditation and sleep app, VoughtMind, its conception a prompt response to the Flight 37 tragedy. After facilitating several distraught focus groups, it was determined that the answer to the nation’s unrest would be guided meditations performed by a roster of lesser-known supes. From calming tracks such as Moonshadow’s Nervous System Reset to Being Seen with Invisi-Lass, there would be a soothing balm for your existential dread.

“What do you mean?” Lisa asked with faux exasperation, barely containing her grin. “It would be a guided track, narrated by his truly. It’d be relaxing. We could even play marimba sounds in the background.”

Lisa was your long-time friend and coworker, and you were both on the same team: The “Shut-eye Squad” (a mandated nickname you chose to never utter outside of the office). You were responsible for the development of VoughtMind’s sleep feature.

“I don’t know, I think it’d be better suited for V-Rotic,” you laughed wearily, scribbling down the idea in your notebook. On some exceptionally dull, meeting-heavy days, you wished you could work for that team. While some might shy away from the task of developing super sex toys and erotic audio stories, you weren’t one of them.

You had been working as a UX designer for Vought for a year, honored by the opportunity to be a small cog in the massive, omnipresent, and culturally influential institution. You storyboarded features, sketched countless wireframes, and did your best to ensure seamless user interaction.

And to optimize all the ways a user could upgrade to VoughtLife Plus, of course.

While you had experience working in tech, nothing about your old offices compared to the grandeur that was Vought Tower. It was a force of nature, casting its shadow over the city like an unyielding, steel sentinel. Every day, you felt a small swell of pride and trepidation when you approached its entrance, gripping your laptop bag in an attempt to ground yourself.

What excited you most, however, was the fact that it was home to the Seven. Just knowing that they all slept on the 99th floor gave you a little thrill every time it crossed your mind. But despite your technical proximity, they might as well have been living on a different planet.

You knew that there were plenty of private corridors that separated them from the Vought commonfolk. While they dodged being pestered for selfies, you simply contented yourself with the knowledge that you were employed by the company that helped them save lives—or, if you were being honest with yourself, the company that released those stupid movies you loved to hate.

It was seven in the evening when you and Lisa finally finished preparing for a particularly stressful presentation. You tried to avoid working late at all costs, but you underestimated how challenging it would be to market a Deep-themed mental health experience. Lisa stood and stretched, her daily signal that she was done for the day, until her gaze landed on her desk.

“Shit,” she muttered, lifting her mug to grab the coffee-stained folder beneath it.

“What’s that? Someone’s birthday card you forgot to sign?” you asked, craning your neck curiously.

“No, I was supposed to deliver these documents to floor 79 today,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. She stayed in that position for a moment too long, then turned her attention back towards you.

“Could you do me a huge favor?” she asked, pressing the folder between her hands in a plea. “Could you run up and drop this off at the front desk? I’m already late for a dinner reservation and I won’t be here to do it tomorrow morning.”

“79? I’d be happy to, but I don’t have access,” you said. Lower-level employees were generally barred from visiting higher floors, but some, like Lisa, had special privileges when needing to relay confidential information.

“Here, take my key card,” she said, pulling it from her pocket. “You’ll have access now.”

“Oh, sure then,” you replied, plucking the card from her hand. You examined it, noticing that it looked nearly identical to yours, save for the smooth finish and gold-embossed “V”. Crisp. Corporate.

“Thanks, you’re the best,” she said with a winning smile, hoisting her backpack over her shoulders.

She made her exit, and you were left alone in the dark office, folder and key card in hand. You started toward the elevators in the lobby, listening to the low, steady hum of idle printers. It was kind of eerie, but in an oddly soothing way. Like standing on a beach at night, when it was usually so bright and bustling with activity.

When you arrived at the elevator doors, curiosity bubbled up inside you. How different would the higher floors be? You heard a myriad of rumors floating around the water cooler, and you realized that this could be your chance to corroborate them. Were there spa facilities amidst the large conference rooms, offering around-the-clock massages and steam room sessions? Would you be able to find one of the alleged corporate cocktail bars and make yourself a company-funded cosmo? You once even heard that they got John Legend to perform in a break room for some VP’s birthday, while the biggest surprise you ever got was a box of assorted bagels. But again, you weren’t complaining. You loved bagels.

The elevator doors opened and you stepped in, surveying the sleek grid of blue, glowing buttons. You’d never been this high up before. You’d never had a reason to be, and it almost felt like you were committing a crime when you held the card against the adjacent scanner. It only just occurred to you that there was definitely a camera pointed at you—that you could get into real trouble, and anxiety twanged in your chest when you heard the telltale beep of confirmation. You pressed “7” and “9”, doing your best to assuage your fears. It was late. No one would notice you–and if they did, they’d be too exhausted after a long day of meetings and trying to care about anyone but themselves. Security would probably be too preoccupied with trying to keep people out of the tower, rather than deal with one errant employee.

You weren’t about to miss the opportunity to find that spa.

The elevator began to ascend, and it wasn’t long before it came to a smooth halt. The doors opened, and an employee you’d never seen before quietly shuffled in to stand in front of you. She was dressed sharply, had a clearly intentional hairstyle, and was generally just more put-together than you. You stood uneasily, feeling self-conscious in your jeans and what now felt like a much-too-whimsical sweater. Before you could stew in discomfort for too long, however, the elevator stopped just moments later, and she filed out as quickly as she entered. You breathed a small sigh of relief. After a few more seconds of imperceptible ascension, you idly wondered at what floor the slacks ended and the three-piece-suits began. With a bright ding, the doors slid open once again.

You froze. He was wearing a different kind of suit.

“Hiya,” you heard him say, his voice clear, masculine, and practiced. The voice you had heard on-repeat for years, that lived in every household, movie theater, and classroom across the country. It could command a stadium, stop any criminal dead in their tracks, and apparently cause your heart to drum violently against your chest.

It was Homelander.

With his strong jaw, coiffed blonde hair, and startling blue eyes, he was even more handsome in person. That, in combination with his impeccably clean suit and perfect posture, made him emanate an aura of otherworldliness.

He strode into the elevator, entering “99” into the console with a gloved finger. He then stood casually beside you, behaving as if this wasn’t one of the most surreal moments of your life. He wasn’t especially tall, but he might as well have been 6’5” with the sheer weight of his presence.

Should you say something? You shifted awkwardly in place, fingers gripping the folder like a lifeline. You had to say something, right? You shot him a sidelong glance, daring yourself to break the silence and not squander this once-in-a-lifetime encounter.

“Um, I’ve never pictured you taking an elevator,” you said a little too quickly, a little too quietly. What? You immediately regretted opening your mouth. You figured that this is what people meant when they said they were starstruck.

You saw the corner of his lips quirk up slightly before he turned his head toward you, his strangely unnerving eyes making contact with yours. The elevator suddenly felt very small, and the sensation of his proximity to you amplified considerably. He paused for a moment, then leaned toward you, raising his dark eyebrows in a question.

“Well… how do you usually picture me?” he asked slowly, a tinge of unmistakable amusement in his voice. His eyes flickered downward for just a fraction of a second, so quickly that you might have imagined it. You felt your heart continue to pound as he awaited your answer, painfully aware that your ability to banter was compromised.

“Flying head-first through windows?” you said, shrugging your shoulders sheepishly. “Though, I-I guess that isn’t very economical.” Your voice trailed off into an awkward silence.

He let out a huff of a chuckle, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a charming smile. The elevator came to another halt.

A few more executives filed in, and you turned away from him, trying to salvage any of your humility by playing it cool. After the elevator continued, the console’s digital display finally settled on floor 79. Relief flooded you, and you shot him a smile before hastily stepping past the open doors. You only saw his face for about a second, but it was all the time you needed to notice that his grin had fallen, his eyes staring at you as the door slid shut.

You felt like you could breathe again, as if you had suddenly emerged from being underwater for minutes. You wandered to the front desk in a haze, realizing that it would probably benefit you to listen to Mister Marathon’s latest collaboration with VoughtMind: Outrunning Panic.

—

The next day, you couldn’t keep Homelander out of your mind. Was he teasing you? Could he have actually been flirting? You replayed the encounter over and over in your head for approximately… all day, so much so that the presentation you were dreading all week was demoted to an inconvenient afterthought. What felt monumental to you was likely just a mundane second of his (larger-than) life, so you tried your best not to dwell on that possibility.

He was charming. That was his thing. It was one of the qualities that made him so damn lovable whenever you watched him speak heroic to the public. He was often very flirtatious with the female talk show hosts who effortlessly coaxed answers out of him, even the most seasoned of professionals failing to suppress their girlish giggles. You were just another inconsequential pull of his magnetism.

When you arrived in the office that morning, you immediately had to tell someone about it. Anyone. You beelined toward Ami, a copywriter on your team, and quickly recounted the night’s events. She stopped in her tracks, swiveling her desk chair to slowly land in your direction. Her jaw literally dropped.

“That’s crazy that you say that,” she said, “I actually saw him this morning while I was grabbing coffee in the cafe.”

That was strange. A whole year working here, and you hadn’t even heard of him being anywhere near your floor.

“Really? Did you talk to him?” you asked in a hushed voice, not even trying to hide your excitement. Meeting Homelander was a big deal, even for a Vought employee.

“I didn’t. He was giving extreme ‘don’t even try to talk to me’ vibes. He ignored me. Honestly, it was kind of unsettling,” she said, grimacing slightly. “It didn’t surprise me, though. I’m sure people are usually begging for his attention. It looked like he was talking to a manager or something, but I have no idea why,” she shrugged.

“He looks older in person,” she added off-handedly. “Still hot, though.”

“Hmm,” you responded absent-mindedly, fingering the key card that was still nestled in your pocket. You wondered what the odds were that Homelander would meet you in an elevator and then immediately visit your office the next morning. It was almost certainly a coincidence. He was known to dip his boots in all kinds of products, from star-spangled defense weapons to top-brand cereal boxes. You remembered seeing a meditation concept scribbled onto a whiteboard called Sounds of America, complete with a single bullet point that read “eagle sounds”. Maybe getting Homelander to do voice work was the execs’ chosen hook for getting the app off the ground. Everyone was scrambling to release an MVP in response to Flight 37, so getting him to record guided patriotism was guaranteed to draw attention.

You weren’t able to get any more answers from your circle, not even from Lisa, who blew up your texts with a full-on interrogation. You both delved into every minute detail of the encounter, analyzing everything from his body language to the tone of his voice. It was thrillingly juvenile, but you quickly ran out of material to wring from your memory.

Lisa: What did he smell like?

Me: I don’t know. Nothing?

Lisa: boring

Lisa: you know, he could probably smell you

Me: Stop. ✋

It was then that you knew it was time to put the phone down.

You had no other choice but to simply continue your workday, the annoying need to earn money competing with your racing thoughts.

—

The following Friday, you were leaving a conference room after an exhausting, four-hour workshop. Ever since the allegations about the Deep had surfaced, it was mandated that the entire company go through extensive sexual harassment training.

You woefully chewed on a granola bar as you walked down the hall, fueling yourself for another two hours of fighting the urge to fall asleep. You turned a corner, and to your bewilderment, you caught another glimpse of that damn, iconic flag cape. You promptly turned back again, and you had never felt more like a cartoon.

It was him. Again. But this time, he wasn’t alone—he was talking to a woman, and the sounds of their hushed voices carried down the hall. You felt absurd hiding behind the corner, but with your current track record, you didn’t trust yourself to remain calm. You peeked over just slightly, trying to make out who she was; maybe it was the manager that Ami had seen him talking to in the cafe. You squinted, and her features finally came into focus.

Madelyn Stillwell?

Yet another celebrity you thought you’d never meet. Again, why was the Vice President of Supe Management anywhere near you? She was much shorter than you imagined, even with heels, but she still projected refined, intimidating professionalism. They were deep in discussion, and to your horror, you realized that you needed to pass them to get to your next meeting. You took a deep breath to ground yourself, reminding yourself that you were an adult, before emerging from behind the corner. As you walked toward them with as much nonchalance as you could muster, you started to pick up a snippet of their conversation.

“–Listen, just–just don’t worry about it,” he said impatiently, waving his hand.

“We’ve discussed this,” she said firmly.

“Okay, okay. Jesus.”

They were taking up most of the walkway, so you angled your body to quickly sidle past them. You saw him glance at you for the briefest of moments in your peripheral vision, but you made it to the door before you could catch anything else.

You had never heard him speak so crassly before, which was saying a lot, considering it wasn’t all that crass. You weren’t one for piety, but it still surprised you to hear him take the “Lord’s name in vain”. He was involved with Capes for Christ, after all. You’d only ever seen his squeaky-clean media appearances, so you shouldn’t be surprised that he had his rough, unedited moments like everyone else.

During the following weekend, you became cognizant of just how inundated you were by his face. When you went on your customary shopping run, you saw it on billboards, posters, bus benches, and on at least ten percent of the products you found in the grocery store’s aisles. You were even haunted by a statue of him while enjoying a picnic in the park, his large, stone likeness looming just feet away from your blanket.

When Monday evening came, you were walking home to your apartment when you swore you saw something—someone—flying through the sky.

It had to be the Frequency Illusion. Because Homelander was all you could think about, your mind tricked you into believing that you were seeing him everywhere.

Sometimes, you even thought that you could feel him.

It was like you were experiencing a sense memory, your body reacting the exact same way it did when he stood next to you in that elevator. It was incredibly odd, but you easily brushed the phenomenon aside. You were having too many late nights worrying about the fate of your project, and you were prone to letting your imagination run wild when you were sleep deprived.

As the days turned to weeks, however, your obsession gradually died down. Homelander once again receded into the backdrop of your life, joining the ranks of other set dressing such as street signs or Taco Bell. Life finally resumed its typical, relatively boring thrum.

You salvaged your work, got drinks with your team, and routinely melted into a puddle on your couch. Work, fun, sleep, repeat. Your run-in with Homelander was reduced to a fond memory, an escape to the time he maybe flirted with you. It was a story to be told at many parties to come, a fantasy that would keep you warm on lonely nights.

—

You came into the office early one Monday morning, wanting some uninterrupted time to catch up on the work you blew off Friday. You had an unusual pep in your step, iced coffee in hand, as you approached your desk in the empty room. As you began to water your plants, you noticed a sleek, black envelope placed directly beside your keyboard. You looked around at the surrounding desks, realizing that no one else had received one.

You slid your finger to break the seal and pulled out a piece of paper, its texture expensive under your thumb. Vought’s logo was engraved in the upper right corner, signifying that this was an official correspondence. Curiosity consumed you, so you scanned the page’s contents as quickly as you could.

Please join us for our 5th annual

Gala for Crimefighting Bigotry

Saturday June 27, at seven in the evening

The Vought Palace Ballroom, 871 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY

Black tie attire

You stared at the elegant typeface, still not understanding why you were the only one invited. You flipped the paper over in the hopes of finding an answer.

As a member of the Super Spectrum Alliance, you are cordially invited to Vought’s fundraising Gala for Crimefighting Bigotry. We’ve selected you as part of an initiative to celebrate the richness of our company’s commitment to diversity.

We stand for truth, justice, and the importance of sexual identity to both our heroes and employees.

Join us for an evening of food, drinks, raffles, and a special performance by Melissa Etheridge. All proceeds will be donated to The Born This Super Foundation, which provides resources for at-risk LGBTQIA+ youth.

You looked up from the invitation and stared blankly ahead, trying to process what you had just read.

The Super Spectrum Alliance was essentially Vought’s pride club, founded by some well-meaning queer employees a few years back. You attended an SSA meeting once, but quickly abandoned it when you learned it was usurped by a suspiciously straight member of the People team. It was apparently an attempt to ensure all club activities and discussions fell in line with company values. Regardless, your name must have been included on the member roster.

The invitation read like code for “you’re one of our resident queers and we need you to look good for the cameras.” You weren’t upset, though—quite the opposite. In fact, you felt a jolt of excitement as the implications finally hit you. These things were exclusive.

Incredibly wealthy people attended these. Supes attended these. You had seen footage of similar Vought events on the news and gossip forums alike, knowing full well that this was a deeply coveted position you were in.

As far as you knew, you were the only openly queer employee in your corner of the office, so you were certain you wouldn’t have a familiar face to cling to. That considered, you weren’t about to not go. This was an insane opportunity; if not for your career, then for the chance to enjoy an evening of the finer things (like winning something stupidly expensive in a raffle.)

What would it be like? Would you manage to mingle with the elite, camouflaging yourself with shop talk and unearned confidence? Or would you sit at the bar the entire time, scrolling through your phone to distract from your inevitable social breakdown? Probably the latter.

You spent the first half of your morning browsing photos from past galas, needing to emotionally prepare yourself by knowing what to expect. You scanned image after image of philanthropists in glamorous suits and dresses, clutching their champagne flutes with an ease that only came with money. You would also occasionally spot a supe socializing within the sea of bigwigs. You saw Queen Maeve smiling with politicians, Translucent wearing a bow tie (and nothing else), and many more heroes of varying levels of notoriety. You stopped scrolling when a photo of Homelander filled your screen. He was enchantingly mid-laugh while presenting an award to someone, and you were once again struck by how attractive he was.

You thought about him for the first time in over a week, his intense expression between the closing elevator doors flashing in your mind. Would he be there?

Also, more importantly, what the fuck were you going to wear?

#homelander x reader #madelyn x reader #homelander #madelyn stillwell #homelander fanfiction #homelander x you #the boys

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