⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Being Ashley Barrett’s personal assistant may have bought you killer networking opportunities in Vought but it's also made you the fixation of the most dangerous man in the nation. Homelander receives you with stars in his eyes but you would never know it. You live in a constant state of minimal terror with the supe strutting around your workplace.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He's developed a pavlovian response to the scent of your perfume and pauses during meetings to inhale its remnants after you've left the room. He's left with a near orgasmic expression on his face every time. Once, while you were taking meeting minutes, Homelander stared at you blankly. You were certain he was contemplating snapping your neck but he was just mesmerized by the pulse of aroma fluttering at the base of your throat.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ You've never held a real conversation with him but he's stricken by the idea of you. He uses his super hearing to eavesdrop on your private conversations and gets irrationally jealous of anybody you mention with affection.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Homelander finds your fear of him both intoxicating and frustrating. He wants you to love him but he only inspires terror when he steps into your personal space.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He interprets your avoidance as a game. He doesn't realize you're simply trying to survive corporate day-to-day. He's only focused on his own agony and figuring out how to possess you without breaking you in the process.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Homelander finds himself on the roof most evenings to watch your car leave the parking garage. He tracks the sound of your heartbeat until you're miles away and he hates that he needs you. He also hates that you fear him. Most of all, he hates that he's never felt more alive than when he's scaring the hell out of you.
synopsis: Homelander shows up at your window covered in the blood of his latest massacre. Somehow, you don't scream. You just tell him to get in the tub. You’re the only person who treats him like a disaster instead of a god, and tonight, he’s desperate to be handled, degraded, and put in his place.
content warnings: 18+, smut, bottom male reader, sub!Homelander (subtop), power imbalance, psychological instability, blood and gore (non-sexual), degradation/praise, hair pulling, rough sex, bathtub sex, wet and messy (water/spit), ripping clothes, crying during sex, creampie.
word count: 1.5k words
The city felt dead that night, a heavy, airless sort of quiet that usually meant something had already happened. You noticed it halfway up the stairs to your apartment when your own boots sounded way too sharp against the concrete, echoing in the narrow stairwell like the building itself was holding its breath. You paused outside your door, keys gripped tight, listening to the absolute lack of noise from behind the neighbors' doors. Somehow, there were no noisy televisions or muffled arguments tonight, just a localized vacuum of sound. You pushed through it anyway because routine is a powerful sedative, even when your gut is telling you to run.
Inside, the kitchen light flickered with a dull hum, and that was when you saw the shadow. Unfortunately for you, it wasn't a trick of the streetlamps; it was a solid, unmoving blotch of darkness cutting across the linoleum. When you looked toward the window, your heart didn't jump so much as it just went cold.
Homelander was hovering just beyond the glass.
Up close, he looked like a wreck. There was no cinematic polish, no camera-ready smile, just a man suspended in the air by something unnatural. He was covered in gore—thick, dark smears soaked into the seams of his suit and dried in jagged streaks along his jaw. He looked like he’d just finished painting a room with the people inside it. You slowly walked over and unlatched the lock, the metallic click sounding like a gunshot. As the glass slid back, the smell hit you first; the heavy, copper sting of fresh blood mixed with the ozone of the night air. He didn't move or offer an explanation. He just stayed suspended there, searching your face for the scream or the worship he usually pulled from people like debt. You hadn't seen him since that one-off night a year ago, a brief mistake in a hotel bar that you’d spent months trying to bury.
“Are you coming in,” you said, your voice flat and sounding a lot steadier than you felt, “or are you planning to stay out there and attract a crowd?”
That seemed to be what finally grounded him. He drifted forward and landed on your floorboards with a dull thud, his boots leaving dark, wet prints on the wood. He didn't say a word, just stood there looking at his own hands like he’d never seen them before. You didn't wait. You just turned and walked toward the bathroom. “In here,” you called over your shoulder. “Before you ruin the rug.”
The bathroom was cramped and the light was dim, stripping away the hero image until he was just a man in a ruined suit. You turned the taps on and watched the water drum against the porcelain tub, waiting until he was standing in the doorway.
"Get out of it," you told him, nodding at the suit.
He didn't argue. He stripped with a clumsy haste, the heavy gold-and-blue fabric hitting the tile with a wet thud. When he stepped into the tub, his eyes fixed on you with a terrifying focus. He sank into the water, and it turned a murky, rusted pink almost immediately.
"Sit," you commanded, grabbing a washcloth.
You started at his shoulder. Pressed the cloth down, dragged it slowly across his skin, watching the blood smear and then lift. He just sat there– watching you work.
“You’re quiet,” he said after a minute.
You’re not exactly here for the conversation, John,” you replied, wringing the cloth out and moving to the other side of his neck. "Show up at my window like a stray after turning a facility into a butcher shop? You look pathetic like this."
He let out a low growl, a sound that would have paralyzed anyone else, but to you it just sounded like a whimper. He reached up, wet fingers curling around your wrist with an iron grip that felt like it was going to leave a mark. He didn't pull you away; he just held you there, anchored. "Say it again," he choked out, his voice cracking with an almost psychotic need. "Tell me I'm nothing."
"You're a disaster," you whispered, reaching up to grab a handful of his blonde hair with your free hand. You pulled his head back so he had to look at you, his blue eyes blown wide and dark. "You're a goddamn wreck hiding in a bathroom because you can't stand yourself."
He let out a sound that was half-growl, half-sob, and before you could move, he reached out and hauled you over the edge of the tub. You hit the water fully clothed, the shock of the heat and the weight of him pressing you back against the porcelain making your head swim. He didn't care about the logistics. He grabbed the waistband of your jeans, the fabric groaning before he simply ripped them down, his strength barely restrained as he stripped the wet denim away from your legs.
He was frantic, his hands fumbling with your shirt while his mouth searched for yours with a sort of desperate clumsiness. He tasted like salt and iron, his tongue pushing into your mouth with an uncoordinated need that felt like he was trying to find something inside you he could keep.
"Make me stop," he gasped against your skin, his hands shaking as he pressed you into the tile. "Tell me I'm yours. Tell me I'm a good boy."
"Get on your knees," you breathed, the words probably coming out sharper than you originally intended.
The Great American Hero didn't hesitate. He shifted in the cramped space, the water splashing over the sides as he lowered himself, his hands gripping your thighs so hard it was going to leave bruises. He looked up at you from the other end of the tub, his face clean of blood but his expression utterly wrecked, a mix of need and worship that made the room feel like it was quickly running out of oxygen.
His head dropped between your legs, his tongue working with a desperate, slobbering intensity that had him moaning onto your cock. He was looking for friction, his hips rutting against the porcelain of the tub as he devoured you, his fingers digging into the backs of your knees. You grabbed a handful of his wet blonde hair, yanking his head back so he had to look at you while he worked. His blue eyes were practically black with arousal, fixed on your face with a terrifying adoration.
"Please," he slurred against your thigh, the water turning frothy as he moved. "Please, can I? Can I fuck you? I've been so good. I'm a good boy, right?"
"You're a mess," you whispered, guiding him up. "But yeah. Get in here."
He wasted no time, sliding his cock into you with a slow, agonizing glide that had him gasping for air. He stayed still for a moment, his forehead pressed against yours, his body trembling as he waited for you to adjust to the stretch. Then the rhythm broke. The slow roll of his hips turned into a rough, pounding desperation, his skin slapping against yours in a wet, rhythmic cadence that filled the small room. He was practically begging, his body responding to every sharp command you leveled at him.
He babbled into your ear, promises of belonging and desperate "I love you"s that sounded more like threats than endearments. "You're so full, baby. I'm filling you up just like I promised. Tell me you're mine. Tell me I'm yours."
The water was splashing everywhere, the tub groaning under the weight of his movements. He sped up, his hips slamming into yours with a rough, uncoordinated force that threatened to break the tile. The sound of wet skin hitting skin echoed off the bathroom walls, a frantic, messy soundtrack to the way he was losing his mind inside of you. He reached down, his fingers clumsily looking for yours so he could pin your hands back, needing the physical reminder that you were trapped under his weight, even as he was the one serving you. He was rutting into you now, his heavy cock bottoming out with every desperate thrust, his eyes never leaving yours.
When he finally dumped his load into you, his balls constricting as rope after rope hit your insides, he let out a long, quiet chant of "Thank you" and "I love you" until the tension finally left his body. He collapsed against your chest, his softening cock still twitching inside you, the water in the tub still swirling around your waists as his heart hammered like a trapped bird against his ribs.
By the time the water had gone cold, the room felt heavier than it had when he was covered in blood. You leaned back against the tile, your breathing finally starting to level out while he sat there, tracing uncoordinated patterns on your leg with a wet finger.
“Did I do a good job?” he asked, his voice small and innocent, as if he hadn't just rearranged your guts in a bathtub.
“You were super, John," you muttered, the exhaustion finally pulling you under. "Good boy.”
hi! could you write something for homelander where reader (with whom he's in a relationship) is very affectionate, like he doesn't even need to manipulate or threaten her into loving him because she already does even though she's knows he's not the perfect hero he pretends to be?
Absolutely I love Homelander! Antony Starr just portrays him so well, there’s not enough fics of him to get my fill :) thank you for the request! I really appreciate it and I hope this was what you expected I actually struggled a bit with trying to write affection with Homelander that didn’t sound too OOC. LMK whatchya think if I didn’t meet the mark feel free to request again! :D
Warnings: nothing too graphic, non-sexual bath sharing, blood mentions, takes place after Homelander kills the scientist who raised him, cursing and immoral reader. Mention breifly of Homelander smelling arousal it’s a one off thing, use of homelanders real name; John.
word count: 1,112
Homelander, despite his sociopathy, craved affection, genuine adoration and genuine love. Of course he felt it was never really real. From Madeline Stillwell, to Queen Maeve to Stormfront. Everyone was fake.
None of them really gave a fuck about him, and they were scared of him, which he did like, but only when he wanted them to be scared, not as some consistent underlying feeling.
Anyone who got to know Homelander personally, fucking hated him, or was scared of him. He knew it, of course he did. He felt it in the air, he heard their racing hearts and the blood rushing through their veins. They couldn’t hide it if they tried.
Then there was you. To Homelander, you were more of a gimmick supe. nothing worth The Seven, but Sister sage insisted you were part of the plan, along with Firecracker, so Homelander bent his knee.
When you were first introduced, he didn’t expect much, and that expectation (or lack thereof) continued until they day they caught the suspected mole. Some spider freak Homelander couldn’t care to remember the name of.
That day you stood alongside him as he ripped the supe clean in half, watching as blood exploded across Homelander and the floor. Any other person, he would’ve heard the racing heart beat, or the gulping noise of nervousness. But you? You just grimaced at the sight, a soft ‘yuck’ coming from you shortly after.
From then on he’d noticed you more, and it seemed you noticed him too, always flirting with him, touching his arm, bringing him snacks, and milk. It was obvious to everyone, your not so subtle blooming affection toward him.
When he was angry, you weren’t fearful or cowering, you let him get angry, let him rant and rave. He felt idiotic for the amount of times he found himself in your room just to lay his head on your lap and complain.
He took notice of how you never tried to kiss his ass out of fear, only fussing over him out of genuine care. He couldn’t fully believe it, and his doubt caused him to have mood swings where he would be cruel to you. Like he was sick of anticipating when you’d finally hate him and so he tried to force it with his behaviour.
It didn’t ever come though, you were patient, and you frustratingly gave him his time to brood and be angry. It wasn’t until he saw some security guard flirting with you that he realized he needed you all to himself, that no other person would care for him the way you did. With the security guy dead, he finally asked you to be his partner, and made you official to the public as fast as possible, wanting to stake his claim for you to everyone.
Once Homelander started to realize that he heard your heart flutter around him, that he could see the dilation in your eyes when you looked at him, or smell the arousal when you were worked up over him, he knew that there wasn’t any questioning whether or not your feelings were true.
John had just killed every scientist who’d tortured him growing up, his body still shaking with adrenaline, anger, and self hatred. The realization that he’d been raised like a dog to be obedient, made him so angry, he could barely contain it.
He touched down on the Vought towers covered in blood he dragged his feet into your shared bedroom, where you were already up making your way to the door when you heard it open.
“Are you okay?” You whispered upon seeing him, opening your arms to him despite his body being covered in bloody. Homelander slumped into you without hesitation, his gloved fingers digging into your flesh. “I’m nothing but a product.” He whispered with a wavering tone, though clear anger cracked through his pain. “What happened baby?” You cooed brows pinched together as your fingers threaded through his crunchy blood soaked hair.
He shook his head pulling back a bit. “They’re dead.. no sense in talking about it.” He huffed looking into your eyes, his expression tired or rather, drained. “You’re the only one who sees me like this..” He muttered making you smile, his gloved hand raising to run his thumb across the apples of your cheek.
“Wanna bathe?” You offered in an affectionate tone, making his face twitch with differing emotions. One of those feeling was cringe; unused to being so genuinely cared for, and the others being exhaustion and gratitude. “Yes.” Homelander grumbled, allowing you to guide him to the bathroom like he was just some lil’ guy and not a murderous superhuman.
“You look so handsome covered in blood.” You hummed sliding off his cape from the clasps, before staring to undo the back of his suit. Homelander scoffed stood obediently in front of you as you undressed him. Sometimes it was hard to believe you meant what you said, on days like these all he wanted was to believe you.
“You can talk to me you know... I won’t ever judge you for what happened.” You assured softly, undressing your own body as you watched him slump into the warm water. Once you’d settled into his lap, his arms around your waist, bodies resting in the warm luxury’s tub, he finally spoke again.
“I was raised in a lab, tortured.” Homelander spoke, his voice low, your eyes briefly meeting his as you got a rag, gently washing the blood from his face. “I killed them, it doesn’t feel satisfying enough…” He trailed soaking in the loving look you had in your eyes as you washed him up. “I’m glad you killed them.”
Homelanders face twitched his expression showing confusion for a split second. “You’re… glad?” Homelander murmured as your lips met his nose. “Yeah, fuck those asshole, supe or not you were a little boy being abused and treated like a lab rat.” You hummed out setting aside the wash rag to cup his face, he looked sad, like a kicked puppy. “You’re just… okay with how I kill?” Homelander scoffed, his hands on your hips tugging you closer as he leaned back.
You nodded, clinging to him. “I love you John,” You shrugged, moving your hands up to attempt to get some of the crusty blood off. “There’s nothing you can do that will stop that, even if I get angry, grossed out or off put for a bit, that won’t outweigh how I love ya.”
Homelander felt for the first time that maybe he’d finally found someone who did love him. Originally Stormfront felt like she was Homelanders match, but sadly, all she cared about was her Nazi bullshit. “I love you too.” He grumbled lowly his fingers coming up to pinch your cheeks.
“And if you leave me, I will kill you.” His voice was sharp and low like a whisper, and despite that you smiled. “Yeah yeah, if I left you I’d kill me too.” Then your lips met his, tasting him eagerly before pulling back with a wide grin. No matter what he tried you were always so genuinely in love with him, and never afraid.
I'm missing homie rn.. What 'bout some relationship hc's / fic pre-batshit homelander? Pretty pls with sprinkles on top 🫡🫡
this might be a bit shit cause it's a bit rushed but i hope u still like it🫡
Dating Pre-Batshit Homelander Headcanons
★ Despite what the public might think, Homelander isn't naturally affectionate– he's affectionate because he's starving for it. The first time you casually reach for his hand, his whole body locks up in fight or flight, because nobody ever touches him without wanting something.
★ John absolutely memorizes everything about you– your coffee order, the rhythm of your heartbeat, your favorite movie, the exact blanket you like for each situation… Shit, he even knows your social security number for God’s sake.
★ Homelander loves hearing praise from you more than he'll ever admit. Compliments from fans feel good, sure– but compliments from his partner? Now that’s a whole nother level of satisfaction.
★ If he's had a particularly bad day at Vought, he doesn't want advice– he just wants to lay his head on your lap, letting you run your fingers through his hair. These silent, shared moments are a hundred times better for him than you trying to give him solutions to his problems.
★ He is constantly seeking reassurance in subtle ways, he won’t outright ask you to voice these things. (Mainly because that would come off as vulnerability and weakness) Instead, he’ll let little hints drop like: "Did you miss me?" … "Will you wait for me?" … "Do you want me to be there?" … “What did you think of my last movie?”
★ He's clingier than anyone would expect– not in public, obviously. But in private? He's always touching you somehow. Whether it’s a hand on your waist, your leg pressed against his under the table, his arms around your back…
★ Homelander acts confident, but he gets jealous ridiculously easily. He trusts you– he just doesn't trust everyone else around y’all. After all, who wouldn’t want to have the only thing America’s golden boy genuinely loves and guards with his life?
★ Being loved is completely foreign to him. Affection that goes beyond the cameras, PR stunts, public ratings or crowd’s cheering? That’s a wild concept to him– just you choosing him every day? Him, as in John, not Homelander. He’ll spend every second of his life compensating for that privilege (your love) he’s convinced he hasn’t earned yet.
The first time it happened, everyone thought they imagined it.
You were standing in the middle of the meeting room at Vought, flipping through a file while the Seven sat around the table in varying states of boredom. Homelander had been in a mood all morning—cold smile, narrowed eyes, the kind that made assistants suddenly remember appointments elsewhere.
Even Ashley was speaking in that nervous, shaky voice.
And then Homelander started rambling about ratings and public perception and team unity.
You looked up.
“…You’re doing the face again.”
Silence.
Complete silence.
Black Noir slowly turned his head.
The Deep blinked.
Ashley looked like her soul had left her body.
Homelander stared at you.
“…What face?”
You pointed at him casually.
“That one. The weird intense one.” You squinted dramatically. “‘I’m trying to look mysterious but I’m mostly just glaring at people’ face.”
Someone dropped a pen.
A-Train physically looked toward the exit.
Because no one—no one—talked to Homelander like that.
No one if they valued breathing.
For a moment nobody moved.
Homelander stared.
Stared.
Long enough that Ashley looked seconds away from crying.
Then—
He smiled.
Not the TV smile.
Not the polished one.
An actual smile.
And he leaned back in his chair.
“…Do I make that face?”
You nodded.
“Constantly.”
Another pause.
Then Homelander actually laughed.
Laughed.
Ashley looked ready to faint.
—
After that, things somehow got worse.
Or weirder.
Depending who you asked.
Because you apparently operated under completely different laws of reality.
Like when Homelander landed after some interview looking irritated enough to vaporize a city block.
Everyone had immediately scattered.
Except you.
Because you walked right up to him holding a coffee.
“Bad day?”
He looked down at you.
“…No.”
“You’ve got grumpy eyebrows.”
“I don’t have grumpy eyebrows.”
“You absolutely have grumpy eyebrows.”
The entire hallway went dead quiet.
A-Train later swore he saw his life flash before his eyes.
But Homelander just stared at you.
Then his expression softened instantly.
“…You brought me coffee?”
You held it out.
“Yeah.”
And somehow—
Somehow—
The terrifying, god-complex, laser-eyed nightmare looked absurdly pleased.
“…Thanks.”
Thanks.
Ashley nearly choked.
—
The Seven started noticing things.
Tiny things.
Like Homelander always standing just a little closer to you.
Or somehow hearing whenever you said his name from three rooms away.
Or the way he’d immediately look for you after missions.
Like a giant, terrifying golden retriever.
One day Maeve cornered you.
“I need you to explain something.”
You blinked.
“What?”
Maeve gestured wildly.
“Him.”
You stared.
“…Homelander?”
“Yes, Homelander.”
You shrugged.
“What about him?”
Maeve looked at you like she’d lost faith in humanity.
“You flicked his forehead yesterday.”
“…Yeah?”
“You flicked. His. Forehead.”
You frowned.
“He was being dramatic.”
Maeve stared.
Long silence.
“…You know I watched him threaten a room full of executives over almond milk once.”
You paused.
“…Oh.”
“…OH?”
—
The real breaking point came during a press shoot.
Homelander had been standing under hot lights for nearly an hour while photographers adjusted everything down to individual strands of hair.
Which meant his patience was gone.
Entirely gone.
The crew looked terrified.
Ashley looked one inconvenience away from a breakdown.
And Homelander had that expression again.
The expression.
You looked up from your phone.
Saw him.
Paused.
Then walked directly over.
Everyone watched in horror.
You reached up—
Grabbed his cheeks—
And squished his face.
“Stop making grumpy eyebrows.”
Absolute silence.
No breathing.
No movement.
No sound.
Ashley made a tiny noise.
The photographer looked ready to pass away.
Homelander stared at you.
His eyes widened slightly.
And for one terrible second everyone thought:
This is it.
Then—
He leaned down.
Just a little.
Enough that only you heard:
“…You know you can ask nicely.”
You blinked.
“…Are you pouting?”
“…No.”
“You are.”
“…Am not.”
The smile he gave you after was ridiculous.
Soft.
Completely unfair.
And every person in the room looked like reality itself had cracked.
Because somehow—
Somehow—
Homelander looked at you like you hung the stars.
Like you could say anything, do anything, and he’d let you.
And later, when Ashley shakily asked how on earth you survived any of this—
You looked genuinely confused.
“What do you mean?”
Across the room Homelander looked over immediately.
The second he heard your voice.
And his entire face softened.
Ashley stared.
Then at you.
Then him.
Then back at you.
“…Oh my God.”
Because suddenly it made sense.
Homelander wasn’t letting you get away with things.
Homelander was completely, hopelessly gone for you.
And everyone else?
Everyone else was just witnessing it in real time.
Description: Homelander discovers Y/N, his hidden daughter, who has been subjected to experiments like his own, only to realise she isn't afraid of him - and may be the first person to reflect his power back without fear or worship.
He didn't hear a heartbeat at first.
That was what unsettled him.
The lab was supposed to be empty - Vought had assured him of that. Another abandoned wing, another quiet graveyard of bad ideas they didn't want the public to know about. Homelander had come down here out of boredom more than suspicion, capre dragging lazily behind him, red eyes scanning through concrete and steel.
Nothing living.
Nothing worth-
Then, faintly.
A heartbeat.
Small. Steady. Hidden.
He tilted his head, listening harder. Not behind a wall. Not below the floor.
Inside the reinforced observation room.
Homelander smiled, slow and curious. "Well," he murmured, stepping forward, "that's new."
The door didn't open with a code. It didn't open at all - until he decided it would. Metal screamed as he peeled it back like foil.
Inside, the lights flickered on automatically.
And there you were.
Curled up in the corner of a sterile white room, barefoot, dressed in hospital grey. You didn't flinch at the noise. Didn't scream. You just looked up at him.
Calm.
That was the second thing that unsettled him.
Most people cried when they saw him like this - looming, glowing faintly with restrained violence.
You just... watched.
Homelander stepped inside slowly, eyes narrowing as he looked you over. No obvious restraints. No guards. No fear.
"What are you supposed to be?" he asked, voice softer than expected.
You tilted your head slightly, studying him in return. "You're him."
Not fear. Recognition.
His smile sharped. "Yeah. I am."
A pause.
Then you said, simply, "They said you'd come eventually."
Something in his chest tightened - quick, unfamiliar, gone just as fast.
"They say a lot of things," he replied, circling you. "Doesn't mean any of it's true."
You turned to keep him in view, movements controlled, precise. Not like a normal child. Not even close.
"How old are you?" he asked.
You hesitated. "I don't know."
Of course you didn't.
His gaze flicked briefly to the observation glass - dark now, but he knew someone had been watching, once. Studying. Recording.
Testing.
On you.
He looked back at you, slower this time.
"What did they do to you?"
You didn't answer right away. Instead, you raised your hand - hesitant - and pressed your palm flat against the wall.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then the surface beneath your hand cracked.
Not shattered - controlled. Fractures spiderwebbed outward, precise, deliberate, stopping just short of collapse.
Homelander froze.
Not because of the damage.
Because of how carefully you'd done it.
You lowered your hand. "They said I had to learn control," you said quietly. "Or I'd hurt people."
That tightness in his chest returned. Stronger now.
Control.
He let out a soft, humourless chuckle. "Yeah," he muttered. "They love that word."
You watched him again, searching his face. "Did they do it to you too?"
The question landed harder than anything else in the room.
For a moment, he didn't answer.
Didn't move.
Then he smiled - but it wasn't the one the cameras loved.
"Worse," he said.
Silence stretched between you.
Then, carefully, you asked, "Are you here to take me back?"
Back.
The word echoed wrong.
His jaw tightened. He glanced at the door, then back at you.
"No," he said.
The answer came faster than he expected.
Your shoulders relaxed - just a fraction.
"Good," you whispered.
Another pause.
Then, quieter: "They said you wouldn't care."
Homelander blinked.
Something sharp flickered in his eyes.
"Oh?" he said softly. "And what do you think?"
You hesitated again - longer this time.
Then you said, "I think... they were wrong."
The room felt smaller suddenly.
He stared at you - really stared now. They way you held yourself. The way you didn't beg, didn't fear, didn't worship.
You just... believed something better.
Something about him.
Dangerous.
He should have crushed that immediately.
He should have laughed. Walked away. Proved them right.
Instead, he crouched down in front of you, bringing himself to your level.
Close enough now to hear your heartbeat clearly.
Steady.
Strong.
Familiar.
"...Who told you about me?" he asked.
"They all did," you said. "They said you were the strongest. That you survived everything."
A beat.
"They said I was like you."
His expression shifted - subtle, but real.
"Yeah?" he murmured.
You nodded.
Another pause.
Then, very quietly, you asked, "Am I?"
Homelander stared at you.
At the cracks in the wall.
At the absence of fear.
At the way you were waiting - not for approval, but for truth.
And for once, he didn't deflect.
"...Yeah," he said.
The word came out rougher than expected.
"You are."
Your lips curved - small, tentative, but real.
And something in him - something buried under years of conditioning, cameras, and control - shifted.
Not softened.
Not healed.
But... recognised.
He stood, offering his hand without thinking.
"Come on," he said.
You looked at his hand, then back at his face. "Where are we going?"
His smile returned - but quieter now. Less performance. More promise.
"Anywhere but here."
You reached out.
Took his hand.
Your grip was stronger than it should've been.
He didn't pull away.
As he led you out of the broken room, alarms finally begin to blare - too late, as usual.
fluff, age gap, daddy issues, dominant Homelander/father figure
Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4
⋆—⋆—⋆—⋆—⋆—⋆—⋆—⋆—⋆
You were the youngest member of the seven to replace Lamplighter, and Homelander immediately took a liking to you. You were obedient, quiet, always followed your orders, and most of all, you sought a father figure. Luckily for you, the head of The Seven was the perfect male role model. You truly liked him, and it's precisely why you sat in the meeting room, off in your own world.
"Miss y/n?" Homelander asked, his signature smirk plastered across his face.
You perked up and turned to him, allowing him to see your pretty eyes. "Yes?" you asked in that polite tone he adored.
"Is everything alright? You seem distant." He stepped forward and held his hands behind his back. "You do know that your objectives have been updated, do you not?"
"Hmm?"
Homelander scoffed, shook his head, and glanced away. "You'll be with The Deep this time around. Got it?"
"Yes," you said, giving him a little nod.
"All of you," he began. "Every single one of you... You don't listen. You don't listen to a thing I say. What..." He let out an exasperated sigh and placed his hands on his hips. "What will it take to get you to stop being a bunch of useless fucking cocksuckers?"
Nobody said a word, so The Deep spoke up. "Well—"
"What was that?" Homelander wondered, glaring straight through him.
The man didn't continue, so you stepped in and added, "We will do better, sir. Things have been tense ever since Transluscent went missing, but that's still not an excuse to be so unreliable."
Homelander turned back and crossed his arms again, giving you a look of approval. He just nodded and hummed thoughtfully before saying, "Get the fuck out; all of you. Except you, y/n."
Your eyes followed the other heroes as they hurried out of the room, and before long, the two of you were alone. It seemed that you'd been having more and more time alone with him, but you tried not to let it get to you.
Homelander stalked over to you once the door closed, and he slid his hands to your shoulders, giving them a little rub and a firm squeeze. "Hmm... You're always so obedient. Such a good girl. It makes me wonder, though. How come you always ignore everyone else and only talk to me? Is it because you like me?"
It took you a while to respond, but once you formulated a response, you explained. "Well, I... I think you're very important to the team. You're strong and... powerful."
"Powerful? You like that I'm powerful? Well, you haven't seen half of it, sweetie," he cooed. "You know, I feel like I would like to get to know you even better. Would you like to accompany me to my penthouse?"
You couldn't bear to decline his offer, so you nodded eagerly. Homelander offered you his hand, helped you up, and guided you to the door. He didn't once let go of your hand, and you could feel how warm and big his were. Something about it made you feel fuzzy inside, and you knew Homelander was aware of it. He could sense your heart rate, and the closer he was to you, the more it increased. In a way, it was like a game to him to see just how flustered he could make you.
Once the two of you exited the room and stepped into the vast hallway, he asked, “So, why did you choose to stand up for the others?”
You squeezed his hand a bit tighter and shrugged. “I just didn’t want you to be upset.”
“Oh? Really, now? Are you scared of my mean side?” he teased, giving you a little smirk.
“Well, maybe. But I also know how hard you work to lead us, and I just wanted to make things a little easier for you.”
“So, you’re my little goody-two-shoes? Well, I suppose I can’t complain about that. It’s cute, really.”
⋆—⋆—⋆—⋆
Homelander's penthouse was extravagant, to put it simply. It certainly did represent his character, though. If you had designed the place, you would have included fewer American flags.
"Please, make yourself at home. There's no need to feel uncomfortable. After all..." He smirked. "It's just us."
You stepped further into his home and nearly grimaced at how clean and perfect everything was. Just like Homelander's personality, it was all an act.
Before you registered where the older man was, you heard him say, "Come here." He patted his lap invitingly, extending his arms. "Let's get comfortable, shall we?"
The sight of him sitting there on the brown leather couch was nearly enough to bring you to your knees, but you stayed strong and neared him. He never once took his eyes off of you, and for the first time in your life, you felt… safe and cared for. So, without wasting another second, you approached him and set your legs on either side of his lap to straddle him. As soon as you sat down, he pulled you to his chest in a big hug.
“Ohh, there we are. See? It’s nice, isn’t it?” he asked, rubbing his large hands all over your back.
You nodded and pressed your face into the crook of his neck, also wrapping your arms around him.
“Tell me, you little… thing. Do you enjoy being coddled and held like the vulnerable and helpless little girl you are?”
Unable to ignore his question, you replied, “Yes, I… I do.”
“I knew it,” he hummed, rocking you from side to side and pulling you a little closer. “You need a strong man in your life, don’t you?”
You nodded, clutching the material of his suit.
“A daddy? Do you need a daddy, precious?”
You shyly nodded, still hiding your face against his neck.
“Who’s your daddy, huh? Who’s your daddy, baby girl?”
“I…” You hesitated, unsure if you should say what he wanted you to. “I… I don’t have a daddy, but… I want you to be my daddy.”
“Ohh, there it is. I knew it. That’s a good little girl, hmm? You’re daddy’s little girl; Homelander’s precious girl.” He pressed an obnoxiously loud and wet kiss to your cheek.
You curled into his protective embrace and whispered, “I feel safe with you.”
“Yeah?” Then, he asked the question that had been on his mind for far too long, “Did you not have any family growing up?”
Feeling ashamed, you loosened your grip around him and relaxed, wishing you could disappear. “I grew up in a lab,” you said.
Once you said that, it felt like his heart had been stabbed. How could such a sweet girl like you have grown up in a lab? He knew firsthand how painful and degrading it was to be treated so subhuman as a child. Imagining you in his place was enough to soften his entire demeanor.
“Oh, baby,” he whispered, sliding his hand to your hair and lightly scratching your scalp. “I grew up in a lab as well. I know what it’s like to desire a parent. I know how much it hurts. But I’m here for you, okay? When we’re together, I’m your daddy, your rock, your safe space, and you’re just my little girl.”
“I would really like that,” you said, pulling back to meet his gaze.
Homelander smirked and pecked your forehead, once, then twice, and his hand moved to the back of your neck. “I would, too, sweet cheeks. Now, give daddy a big hug. He needs one after such a stressful day… and so do you.”
Without further hesitation, you threw your arms around his neck and smothered him with affection, just so happy to finally have a father.
🖇 "my era has finished, but
yours is just getting started!
i know you don't like the cameras,
but do it for me..?"
VS "i love you so so so much, honey, i don't know what I did to deserve you, I don't even know how I raised you this right-"
❝ 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗲𝗽'𝘀 𝗱𝗮𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁𝗲𝗿 ! reader
❨ the deep m.list◝ 7teen. hero trainee. brunette mermaid ﹫au
🖇 "I am YOUR FATHER, and
you will listen TO ME!
If you EVER pull one of
those 'Im more morally
correct than you' stunts again
I'm throwing you into the sea
WITH CEMENT SHOES!"
VS "sweetheart- sweetie- you know I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it. I will kill myself if you leave me, I swear I will. Try me. You'll have to live with that for the rest of your life."
