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just binged the whole media training series i’m actually addicted, i don’t even want to know what will happen if they don’t give him his gf back— they are actually cooked if they don’t

u are so very right, anon..... sorry for the late update, hope this s enough of an apology... enjoy !!!

(COME BACK) MEDIA TRAINING

wordcount: 2051 summary: Fresh out the lab and into his new superhero persona, Homelander needed more than a little help getting his social queues in line. (This is chapter 9, previous chapters 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, homie yearning his work wife, professional suspension, john is a petty asshole who acts difficult on purpose to try and force vought to bring you back, reader moping @ home cause she misses her quirky lil guy, finally a REUNION– think that’s it for now !!!

Your apartment felt wrong. Not wrong-quiet– if it were quiet you could handle it. Instead, it was the kind of silence that settled after something had been removed from it. Kind of like a painting missing from the wall that leaves behind a lighter rectangle where it used to hang.

You'd slept in until almost ten, which was weird given during work days, you had to get up at ass crack of dawn to get ready. But today you didn’t sleep in because you were tired, but because there wasn't a reason not to. There was no phone vibrating at seven in the morning, no emergency meetings piling up, no texts sent exactly three minutes before interviews… Just utter nothingness.

It wasn’t on purpose, but you’d been staring at your tea for the past twenty minutes– anything to avoid looking at the cardboard box on the table. Same box that held all of your Vought-issued belongings, same box that had been sitting untouched for over a week. With a sigh, you dragged it closer. (At some point you’d have to get it over with… might as well be now) The first thing you pulled out was your employee badge, some crappy plastified picture of yourself you had to carry everywhere. You tossed it onto the table, far from sight. Next thing you took out was the mug that always sat at your desk (cliché), a month’s worth of paperwork, three bottles of aspirin– "...Figures" You huff to yourself with bittersweet amusement.

The last thing was a colorful sheet of stickers– most of them were red, white and blue like everything else that usually surrounded Homelander. Gold stars, silver stars, smiley faces… You turned it over between your fingers, with the kind of reverence people usually save for family pictures. Huh. Half the sheet was still full.

For a long moment, you simply stared at it. "...God" Slowly, you laughed to yourself. Months ago you'd bought them as a joke– a stupid idea. Positive reinforcement, as they liked to call it back in psychology and public relations school. Make the world's most powerful man associate good behavior with ridiculous little gold stars. Objectively? It shouldn't have worked, it should’ve maybe even made Vought hate your guts for suggesting it.

So why did it work? You leaned back against the couch, looking toward the ceiling as if it could answer your internal crisis. Maybe… Maybe HR was right when they called you in for that damned meeting.

Not about the whole treating him like a person part– you'd never regret that. But maybe somewhere between the interviews, the coffee breaks, the stickers, the car… (God the car) Maybe you'd stopped seeing him as just another ‘coworker’ under Vought’s label.

The realization settled heavy in your chest.

Across the city, back at the company tower, Paul was having the worst week of his professional career yet again. "Let's just do one interview question"

Homelander didn't even bother looking up from the conference room window– too busy doing his melancholic pose, gaze lost on the city below, back straight like a soldier’s and hands locked behind his back. "No"

Paul blinked. "...No?"

"No"

"Could you elaborate, please?"

"I don't want to" God he sounded like a stubborn child. (If that child could very much level cities at his whims desire, of course) The silence that followed would almost be impressive if it hadn’t become a staple of their interactions nowadays.

Your replacement glanced toward the producer standing behind the camera, the producer looked toward the executives, the executives collectively looked like they wanted to resign– it was like a game of hot-potato on ‘who calls out the superhero’. "Homelander" One of them finally gathers the courage to speak up.

"What?" He hums simply, still staring out the window with his back towards the rest of the room.

"We've talked about cooperation…"

"I cooperated"

"What about this do you consider cooperation?" The man asks, trying his very best to remain polite and controlled despite very clearly wanting to rip his own hair out.

Homelander slowly turns around, hands still clasped behind his back and an utterly unimpressed look on his face. "I’m here" Technically, for a man like him… That was cooperation, at least as much cooperation as they were gonna get.

Back home, you found yourself opening one of your old notebooks, reminiscing like some cheap teenager movie. The pages were packed with observations you’d made over the past months: Prefers direct instructions. Gets frustrated when people imply things instead of saying them directly. Doesn't react well to criticism. Wants someone to notice when he gets things right. You smiled despite yourself, no matter how difficult to work/deal with him he was– John was still the best part of your job.

The next page read: Interview Successes– ✓ Didn't interrupt. ✓ Maintained eye contact. ✓ Appropriate handshake. In the margin, written in purple pen (the one you saved for special occasions only) Smiled naturally today.

You frowned– you didn't even remember writing that. Even so, your thumb brushed over the letters, smoothing out the page. "You were getting better…" The words slipped out before you could stop them, soft and quiet in the empty apartment. You snapped the notebook shut in a weak attempt to snap yourself out of it. "Jesus, stop it" This wasn't healthy, this wasn’t gonna help you get over the whole ‘suspension’ thing, this wasn’t doing you any good– he wasn't your responsibility anymore, Vought had made that plenty clear.

Meanwhile, back at the building: "Alrighty, question number three" Paul cleared his throat awkwardly. "What would you say to a child who says they want to grow up to be just like you?"

Homelander answered immediately, simple and blunt as ever. "I'd tell them to choose someone else"

Every person in the room froze, clearly that wasn’t part of their approved script. "...Why?"

He shrugs those strong, spandex-clad shoulders. "They will never be me, that type of comparison would only sadden them and crush their expectations"

Paul slowly lowered the cue cards, mentally questioning every life choice that’d led him to this moment. "...That's not an approved answer" The supe just shrugs once more, unbothered. "Then why did you say it?"

Homelander finally looked directly at him. "You asked what I'd say" He pauses, tilting his head for emphasis. "I answered"

Later that afternoon, you caught yourself reaching for your phone. There were no new notifications, no missed calls, nothing… To be fair, Vought was probably interfering with y'all's calls again– a poor attempt at keeping the peace despite how little it actually did to help. Your thumb hovered over Homelander's contact: THE HOMELANDER God, you couldn’t help but chuckle softly to yourself whenever you read that contact name.

You almost pressed it. Instead, you locked your phone and tossed it as far from you on the couch as you could. "Don't" You reprimand yourself, talking to him now would only make things worse, wouldn't it?

Back at Vought your replacement, had officially given up for the day. He dropped the interview cards onto the table with a defeated sigh, rubbing his hands over the stubble of his face in exasperation. "I genuinely don't know what you want from us… Correction, from me, anymore"

Homelander looked at him– not angry, not smug, just… honest and blunt like everything about him was. "You aren't listening" There was a twinge of barely restrained frustration to his voice.

Paul frowned. "We've been listening all the time"

"No" His answer came instantly, a bit sharper than he intended it too– yet again, emotional restraint was never his strong point per se. "You hear me" A beat, he clenches his jaw tightly in a poor attempt at self-regulation. "You don't listen"

Silence settled over the room. Uncomfortable and tight, because everyone there knew exactly where he'd learned that sentence. You, that sentence was all you. It was the same thing you'd told him, months ago after he'd interrupted an interview for the third time in a row: "There's a difference between hearing someone and actually listening to them, John"

At the time, he'd frowned for almost five full minutes– the gears in his head grinding to understand what the Hell that could mean. Finally he’d nodded, small and to himself? Yes, but he nodded nonetheless. Apparently… he'd remembered your advice.

Back at your apartment, everything felt unbearably quiet again. With a sigh, you slid the notebook into the cardboard box once more before closing it back up. "He'll be alright" You murmur softly, mostly to try and convince yourself it was true.

A knock interrupted the thought. You frowned– nobody ever came over, you were always too busy with work or too tired to deal with people. Another knock. Setting your mug aside, you shuffled toward the door, not having enough cares in the world for your very much… unusual clothing– if the person at the door didn’t like the little ducks on your pajama pants, they could fuck off. You unlocked the door, pulled it open and– "John?" Homelander stood in the hallway of your apartment building, sticking out like a sore thumb in the otherwise bland environment– cape slightly crooked, hair a little messed up like he'd flown here in a hurry and hadn't bothered fixing himself afterward. For a second, neither of you spoke, too busy just staring at each other. (Apparently his eye contact hadn't improved in the weeks you were gone…) "You found my apartment"

"Yes"

"...How?"

"I tracked your car"

You blinked, both reluctantly amused and slightly concerned at the same time. "The one you got for me?"

"Yes" He repeats, firmly nodding.

There's a couple seconds of long, familiar silence. "That is deeply concerning" Though your words lacked any real heat or upset, just a bit endeared at his quirky antics. God, you’d missed those freakishly unusual antics of his.

"They wouldn’t tell me where you were" The supe replies as if that explained everything– and to be honest, if you’d been there to see how many times he’d asked ‘where is she?’ it would be enough explanation for you to understand his reasoning. "So I came here" That was it. No dramatic speech, no grand explanation… just simple honesty. Your chest tightened, and without really thinking– you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. The force of it made him rock back half a step. (Which was impressive given his enhanced abilities and strength– yet again he never really was on guard around you, he never saw you as a possible threat) He went completely rigid in that characteristic, awkward Homelander way of his.

After a couple seconds of silent hugging, you finally speak up against his chest– the same spot where you always stuck the stickers to. "...John?"

"Yes?"

"You can hug me back"

"Oh… right" Another pause. Slowly, almost painfully awkward– his arms came up to wrap around you. Careful. Like he was afraid squeezing even a little too hard might accidentally break every bone in your body. "Like this?"

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. "Yeah"

"Good" He hums to himself.

Neither of you moved until Homelander spoke again, his voice muffled into your shoulder. "...I don't like your replacement"

You laughed harder this time, a fond, disbelieving chuckle. "Yeah, I got that much"

"He asks ridiculous questions"

"I know"

"I don't let him call me John" He pauses long enough for you to almost feel the childish pout to his words. "He doesn't understand the stickers"

"...John" You cut him off with a soft, amused breath.

"What?"

"You flew halfway across the city to complain about your coworker to me?"

A beat. "...Yes"

You pulled back just enough to look up at him. He looked... relieved? Not happy or excited, just relieved– like he'd finally stopped holding his breath after weeks of torture. (Torture being another companion that wasn’t you) Your expression softened at the look in those icy blue eyes staring down at you. "Come inside"

His entire face lit up, a bright, boyish grin spreading on his face. "Really?"

"Already know where I live" You hum simply, shrugging.

"That is true" He nodded to himself.

You couldn't help smiling as you stepped aside, holding the door open wider for him. "C'mon"