This is a side blog for my interests, you know, all close and personal. No clear theme, just vibes. In my 20s #yungho, she/her
I also draw occasionally!
಄ Feel free to use my art as banner, header, intro, divider and so on and on...
಄ Don't edit my art, but feel free to crop if you need!
಄ Please credit this blog or my Twitter page!
಄ Art masterlist (wips not included)
wordcount: 979
summary: Fresh out of the lab and into his new superhero persona, Homelander needed more than a little help getting his social queues in line. (This is chapter 3, other chapters are up on my masterlist)
warnings: fluff/crack, fem!reader, young homelander, (might be ooc for him because i love a goofy young homelander instead of the batshit version of him) he's a bit oblivious to social queues, slightly autistic coded homie, implied eventual homelander x reader, basically training him like a dog– think that’s it !!!
Three months into the job, you had learned many things about Homelander. You had learned that he hated scripted jokes, he could memorize an entire interview brief after reading it once, he liked compliments but pretended not to, he listened significantly better when you called him John... And apparently? He was impossible to find when people actually needed him.
You checked the conference room? Nothing. The training room? Nothing. The observation deck? Nothing.
Which was concerning, because Homelander wasn't exactly easy to misplace. The guy was a walking poster, painted in red white and blue– kind of hard to miss.
You rubbed your temples, already feeling an incoming migraine. "Where the hell did he–"
Then you spotted a closed door of a smaller meeting room. Suspicious– very suspicious. Slowly, you pushed the door open. "John, they're waiting for–" The words died instantly.
Homelander froze. He was across the room, sitting at the head of the conference table. Looking… guilty? Or was it embarrassed? Maybe it was just caught. Which was perhaps the most alarming thing you'd witnessed all week.
For a long moment neither of you spoke– then you finally spoke up: "What are you doing?" Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not a single word. You narrowed your eyes. "John"
"I'm busy"
"With what?"
A pause. "...Things"
"You are physically incapable of looking or sounding more suspicious"
"I'm not suspicious"
"You hid something as soon as you heard the door"
"No I didn't" Sometimes it felt like dealing with a superpowered toddler.
"John" You doubled down, hip jutted outwards and arms crossed over your chest in full on mom-mode. (It worked best when he got stubborn)
Another pause.
"...Maybe" You stared, to which he just stared back. You sighed– then walked around the table before he could stop you. "Don't"
That made you stop– Homelander almost never sounded nervous. You blinked, taken aback, but still looked down. And froze. "Oh"
The entire table was covered in stickers. Rows and rows of stickers– gold stars, silver stars, smiley faces, even the little Superman one you'd given him after surviving an entire charity fundraiser without insulting a single politician. Every single reward sticker you'd handed out over the past few months. All carefully arranged, accompanied by a little post-it note by the side. You picked one up. March 14th– Successful Interview. Another. April 2nd– No Threats During Press Conference. A third. May 11th– Excellent Civilian Interaction. You slowly looked up. Then back down– then up again. "...John"
"I can explain"
"Can you?"
"No"
The honesty nearly killed you– he sounded so small like this. So human compared to the version of him everybody in Vought painted of him. "You kept all of them?"
Homelander frowned slightly. "Of course" He seemed genuinely offended by your doubt.
"Most people throw stickers away"
His expression immediately became confused. "Why?" You opened your mouth. Then closed it, because somehow? You genuinely didn't have an answer. Not a logical one at least. Finally he shrugged, cutting the silence. "They were rewards"
"Yes…?"
"You said they meant I was improving" The room suddenly felt much quieter. You looked down at the stars again– at the little notes written beside some of them, at the effort, the organization, the fact he'd clearly spent time doing this. "So why would I throw them away?"
Your chest tightened in that annoying way it occasionally did around him. The way you tried very hard not to think about too much. "You're unbelievable"
"You've said that before"
"Frequently" You admit, shaking your head in fond disbelief. His mouth twitched at that– a small victory smile The kind he only seemed to use around you. You would hate how much it worked if it weren’t for how it always managed to make you smile too. A comfortable silence settled between you.
Then your eyes caught another note: June 3rd– Used Appropriate Small Talk. Gold Star. Underneath it, in suspiciously neat handwriting: "Asked her if she was having a good day. She smiled." You blinked. Slowly, very slowly. "John"
His posture immediately straightened. "What?"
"Why is there commentary?"
"There isn't" Is he really trying to gaslight you right now?
"There is literally commentary"
"It provides context"
You stared. He stared back– completely serious. Like this was a perfectly reasonable thing for an adult man to say. God.
The intercom crackled from where you had it hooked onto your waistband. "Homelander to Stage B. Homelander to Stage B."
You sighed. "C’mon you've got a charity appearance in ten minutes" Reluctantly, Homelander began gathering his stuff. Before he could close the journal, you reached into your bag. His eyes immediately tracked the movement, like a puppy watching his owner reach for the treat bag. You paused. "...Seriously?"
"What?"
"You know exactly what"
"I don't" He hums nonchalantly.
Liar.
Suppressing a smile, you peeled a fresh gold star from the sheet. "You remembered all your talking points" His eyes lit up instantly. Subtle but there. "And you showed up on time today"
"I was three minutes early"
"Which is horrifying" You interrupt with an amused huff. He held out his hand expectantly– you laughed. Actually laughed. Not a half laugh or a polite smile– an actual, warm sound bubbling from inside your chest. Then pressed the star onto the front of his suit.
Right over his heart.
For a second he looked down at it. Then back at you– looking far too pleased with himself.
"Y’know" You said, grabbing your folder back up from the table. "Most grown men aren't this invested in stickers"
John followed beside you toward the door. "Most grown men aren't Homelander"
"...That might be the most reasonable thing you've ever said"
"I know" The confidence in his voice was immediate. Automatic. You groaned– he just grinned. Somehow, you were pretty sure he'd be adding today's star to the collection before the day was over.
ahhhhhh the obsession has got to me ahhhhhh. so i'm writing now i guess. just a meet-cute to get me back into the groove. hopefully this is good bc i didn't check for grammar or edit. really throwing shit to the wall and seeing what sticks. anyways. enjoy.
☆┇Working as the tailor for the Seven was not how you pictured your future, but since your suit designs for B-list supes gained enough traction that Vought Enterprises slid into your e-mail, you would have been stupid to turn the offer down.
☆┇You first meet Homelander after he returns from what he called "taking care of some external affairs" when Ashley asks him where he had been. The only problem was that this vague business left his suit torn, and he had a press conference in ten minutes. And so, Ashley called you out of the basement of Vought Tower. You arrived with a spool and needle in hand two minutes later.
☆┇Stepping out of the elevator, the first thing you notice is Homelander's gaze, sizing you up. You look at him as well. He's handsome, admirable in the same way as a marble statue. Meant to be ogled at. When he's done assessing, a new, dangerous gleam is in his eyes. A smile — one that doesn't reach his eyes — comes across his face, like he has to consciously remember to be cordial to someone he's never met. "Thank you," he says "For coming on such short notice." "It's my pleasure, Homelander, sir." You reply, your voice soft.
☆┇You get right to business, stitching away at a tear by his upper bicep. One hand holds up the fabric and rests on his arm; the other hand deftly moves to patch up the tear. In the silence of the room, you can't help but hear his breathing. It's quick, erratic, and seems to hitch every time you adjust your hands. It conjures up the image of a dog in a kennel being pet for the first time; something regarded as dangerous met by someone unafraid.
☆┇You can feel his eyes on you, but you don't dare to make eye contact until you've finished. You wrap up the last stitch. With a look of satisfaction, you lift your head. Your eyes lock with Homelander's, and you find yourself frozen. Being mere inches away from the face of the most powerful company in the world has finally hit you. Your eyes dart all over his face, trying to absorb the details, knowing you're one of the few people in the world that get this privilege. They find a place to land when you notice something peculiar above his eyebrow. "You're bleeding, sir," you note, motioning to where his skin has been marked red. His face contorts in confusion, but when he brings his gloved hand to his face to wipe it off, he gives you a reassuring smile. "Ah. Don't worry. It's not mine."
☆┇Ashley rushes to his side, muttering under her breath about how Homelander's interview is supposed to start in 30 seconds. Right. Your time with him is finite. She motions for Homelander to come walk with her, but not before looking over her shoulder and saying "Let's pick up the pace next time. He has places to be." This takes you by surprise, as you had done your job as quickly as possible. You watch Homelander's head snap to Ashley, and notice how he's stiffened after her comment. "Fucking Christ, Ashley. God forbid some people actually put consideration into their work." His voice is almost a growl, intended to be hushed but his anger betrays him. He looks over his shoulder to give you one last smile — one that seems different, more genuine. "Thanks again."
☆┇A rush of adrenaline fills your body as they walk away. Did you just witness the Homelander stand up for you? Did he just smile at you? As you walked away, you felt... strangely attached to him. Like you wanted to see him again. You looked back once, then twice, until he and Ashley were gone. You entered the elevator and took a deep breath to yourself as you realized that... shit. You might have a tiny crush on a man that could laser your head off. Oh well. That was a problem for another time. Back to the basement you went.
