Could you do sex pollen with reader? Something about him BEGGING to have relief 🤤 maybe a mission gone wrong? Trapped in a bank safe? Can you tell I’ve thought of this before?
[Masterlist]
18+ Only | 3.5k | Want to send your own request? | Homelander x female!supe!Reader | Sex pollen. Marathon sex. Dacryphilia? OR well tears are involved. Love confessions.
I am on a fucking roll! Follow-up to this. (spoiler alert: this mission deffo doesn't go like the cover picture)
The site was deemed too dangerous for the Vought camera crew to tag along. It’s rare to go on a planned mission without multiple cameras catching every angle of your ass in the stupidly contoured spandex suit. It's nice.
Even with your mind powers, Vought still wanted to pimp out your body. No asset left unused and unabused.
What isn't rare is going on yet another team-up with Homelander. You’re certain he’s been pulling strings—matching you both up together over and over again to create a media buzz. You’ve seen all the paparazzi photos from your missions. People couldn’t get enough of you. You knew this because Homelander made sure you saw each post—texting you daily yet another gossip magazine post about a brewing secret affair.
The message sounded similar. Always some variant of ‘we should give them something real to write about ;)’
He took great pleasure in flying you over slowly. Your body’s durability doesn’t come even close to your teammates in the Seven. Your brain has always been your selling point. While you will stop a bullet, you won’t survive Homelander’s speeds. It means, however, that he gets to keep you in the air for longer, talking your ear off about the plans he has for your relationship.
A relationship that isn’t there, mind you. Yes, you fuck on the side. Yes, you could admit to yourself that you care about him. But actually committing to a relationship? You’re not sure you can do that.
Homelander quietly lands you both on top of a shipping container in the quiet part of the New York harbour. It’s just past midnight, this place is eerily empty compared to how busy New York usually feels.
You’re on a mission to apprehend a rogue supe that Vought can’t sink their claws into. You have very little information on her besides that she has an amateurish understanding of chemistry and makes unstable concoctions and gases. This definitely feels like a Black Noir job but Homelander insisted you two take the case. You had no choice but to smile and nod at the team when it came to your agreement.
“Couldn’t you have landed us on the ground?”
“Mh no, I can see better from here.” You shake your head and roll your eyes to yourself as you properly stand up, brushing your hands down your sides to get rid of the bunched up wrinkles in the suit Homelander’s hands pinched into it during the flight.
You go to the edge of the container, jumping off as smoothly as you can but the thick heeled boots still make you stumble.
“Baby deer.” You hear a sneer from above you where Homelander has adopted his stupid little pose, condescendingly looking down at you.
“Suck my dick.” You throw him a finger and find your footing. “And be quiet. We’re meant to be discreet. You should have let Noir take this.”
“And miss my best kitty’s claws? Fat chance of that.”
You lose interest very quickly. You’re really not sure what you’re meant to do here. Your mind powers only work to a certain range. You can’t just seek out minds in the surrounding areas and affect them with the same ailments. Unlike Homelander, you’re not a fan of collateral damage.
You walk around aimlessly, taking care to not make much sound as you look through shipping containers or around corners but it all feels pointless.
Homelander is still standing where you left him, scanning the surroundings with his super-powered vision.
“Nice underwear.” He snorts behind you once he finally sets his feet down on the ground.
“You jackass, you’re meant to be scanning the area.”
“Well you kind of are in the area, babe.” He gives you a mean little smile when he tucks his hands behind his back, puffing his chest out in front of you. You don’t know why he bothers to taunt you all day long.
You walk away to create distance more than to secure more of the area. But you’re here to do a job after all. The city pays a hefty bill to have the Seven focus its efforts on supporting the forces ensuring the city’s safety.
Not much left for you to do now besides check the shipping containers. Surely Homelander hasn’t scanned them all. Some of these must be zinc-lined. Twenty minutes go by and you’re ready to call it quits so you can send the actual professionals suited for this mission in.
Opening the last container you patrol, you get hit with a pungent, eye-watering gas. You gasp and stumble, choking on red fumes that burn their way through your nostrils.
Homelander gets to you before you even have a chance to call for him. He pushes you back and away, confidently stepping into the metal crate before your wispy little “no” becomes audible.
God your head is spinning. Your heart feels like it’s gonna beat out of your fucking chest. Supporting yourself on the cold metal walls you wobble as much as your legs take you—which isn’t far.
Your forehead is so hot—are you getting a fever? You press yourself to the cold metal, grateful for the chilly air of the night. You slide down, settling down on the hard concrete ground. You can’t calm down, no matter how much you focus on your breathing to slow down your heart rate, it’s not happening. You feel wrong. Holding out your hands in front of you, you see how shaky your limbs have gotten. Your skin itches all over. It’s like the fumes have reached underneath your suit—underneath your skin—and infected every part of you.
This is not how you wanted to go. You can’t even say you’ve gone out protecting anybody. And the last thing you would’ve done would be calling Homelander a jackass.
Homelander. The thought of him alone makes your forehead break out into a sweat, veins burning with strange tingling heat from head to toe. You can’t breathe in without the fumes messing with your senses. It’s like all you can smell is the unfortunately all too familiar scent of clean musk, ozone and vanilla. Your mouth waters.
The hissing zap of lasers just about registers to your ears. Same with slamming of metal doors and creaking of metal sliding across sheets of equally heavy metal. It would’ve been grating to your ears if the thought of Homelander’s lasers didn’t make your head spin.
Now that you think about it, they’re really sexy. Ruby red eyes shining with the power nobody can hide from. Reality doesn’t feel the same anymore, you’re hazy. Has the world always looked this dreamy?
The quietest, “what the fuck,” reaches you. Homelander’s heavier, rougher groan follows right after. Has his voice always sounded this good? You tilt your head towards the empty shipping container where it all went down. You can’t see him, but the sound of his voice playing on repeat in your head has you trembling. A shiver runs all the way down your spine to the strong and sensitive nerves of your pussy.
What the fuck?!
It’s your turn to be shocked when the shameful wave of heat rolls through you again. Homelander groans again in the background and you barely manage to cover your mouth to hide the obscene moan that your body lets out. This wasn’t you doing it. You don’t act like this for him. You want to avoid playing the role of a needy slut who has to perform—regardless of how much he enjoys the thought of that.
That thought brings you back to two nights ago when you answered a booty call. Anytime Homelander has you over you refuse to fuck on his bed—it’s too intimate—so you sat on his lap, riding him through a couple orgasms.
Oh, how you want that. How you want to feel his thick cock inside you, his strength wrapping its arms around you, holding you down until he has his fill of your warm wet walls.
Your pussy aches. It throbs so painfully you push your palm against it, as if to quiet it down. Not that it fucking works. You wipe your forehead. You don’t really understand what’s going on. You feel so… wild—it’s so unlike you.
Shaking your head just makes you so dizzy so you lean ahead, bare palms biting into concrete when you catch yourself from falling onto the ground completely.
The metal creaks again and you look up just in time to see Homelander exit the now half-melted crate—thankfuckinggod he’s alive. He seems even worse off. As soon as he catches your eye he whimpers and groans, stumbling his way to you.
Oh god, he’s coming closer to you. Your heart is racing impossibly fast, your vision swims with past memories, vivid feelings and replays confusing your brain's concept of reality. You’re almost losing the control of your powers. You can’t even tell if you’re doing the same to Homelander.
“Oh fucking Christ.” Homelander finally reaches you, falling heavy onto his knees in front of you, leaning his entire weight against you when he sobs with the relief of feeling you close to him. You would do the same if you didn’t think that your sobbing wouldn’t stop right after you started.
“What the fuck is going on?” You’re barely coherent but he’s not listening. He pushes you closer to the metal wall behind your back, limbs thrown over each other as he dirtily licks into your mouth. Sucking your lips open so he can do what you can only describe as eat you alive.
“I need—” his whimper is cut short with an actual sob. His breath hitches, chest and hands shaking with each breath.
In a desperate attempt to pull his gloves off he ends up ripping them apart, the leather pulling apart as easily as he shreds metal. Once his hands—his beautiful hands, fuck, you want them on you so bad—are free he cradles your jaw with a need you haven’t seen before.
It’s sloppy kissing at best and messy rubbing of your lips at worst. Neither of you are very capable kissers at this moment. You don’t want to pull away, you don’t want him to ever pull away. So your kisses are just a messy exchange of saliva, tongues deep and wet in each other’s mouths with heavy hot breaths warming your already hot faces.
Homelander’s hand goes down your body, greedily squeezing a handful of your tits, prodding and poking at every part of your body just to feel close to you. You’re shaking with energy you don’t understand. Every nerve ending on high-alert, buzzing for the next touch.
Just as his fingers press into your clit, rubbing up and down the through pool of wetness in your suit you shriek into his mouth—biting his lip in the process. Any ordinary man would’ve bled from that.
“No! Fuck! You’re-you’re making it worse!” The desperate throbbing of your cunt is only made worse by the tease of his slender gorgeous fingers rubbing the fabric of your suit. Looking at him now you notice that his lasers are still subtly on. The flecks in his irises highlight his face in red.
Have you ever noticed how gorgeous he is? Sure, you’ve always been aware that Homelander is an objectively handsome man but have you really looked?
His eyes twitch and squeeze, desperate heavy breaths making their way out of him. His hands are equally shaky, if not more than yours.
He nods repeatedly. “Yea-yeah, okay.” He sniffles, angrily wiping a frustrated tear off his cheek. Just seeing him like this makes your cunt squeeze, oozing slick into the already drenched fabric of your underwear. He sniffles again, this time he inhales deeply. Like a predator he zeroes in on the target.
Your pants and underwear get ripped off you in one go, and before you get a chance to think about it you’re getting hoisted up. Your thighs get thrown over his shoulders, back pressed into the metal wall as he pins you against it with speed and need you’ve never seen.
“Homelander what—”
Homelander’s hot tongue immediately latches onto your pussy, groaning into the feeling of your hot flesh against his tongue. He gulps you down, noisily drinking down your pussy as if it was an ice cold water on a hot summer day.
“Do the thing,” he’s muffled by your pussy but you figure out exactly what he means.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I don’t think—I don’t know if I can control it.” It’s your voice’s turn to break. He’s holding his tongue against you in a firm position more than he’s licking you. Just like his fingers, it’s simply not enough. You try to wiggle against his tongue further to feel what your body so inexplicably craves but you can’t. His arms are holding you firmly in place.
Homelander tilts his head back. His subtle lasers illuminate his wet lashes. “Puh–please… I need—fuck—I need to come so fucking bad. I need you to help me. Please, pleaseplease help me through it.” He’s so choked up you almost feel awful for how hot that makes you feel.
You nod, unsure if he can see you particularly well through the mix of similarly hazy vision, laser distorted sight and the wet lines on his waterline.
Your powers still feel hazy, like you can’t quite grasp them in your mind. Like sand between your fingers they’re slipping through and you don’t have the fine control you usually possess. This means you don’t actually know what’s happening to Homelander’s brain when you meld your minds’ sensations together. You don’t know if it’s enough—what if it’s too much?
You’ve never experimented with what too much does to someone else’s brain.
You might be on your way to finding out because Homelander moans so obscenely as soon as he licks up your cunt you shamefully squeeze your thighs around his head. Not one to be deterred, his thick wet tongue gathers all your juices—swallowing down as much of you as he can.
Pretty blonde—now messy—hair sticks out in between your thighs as he laps at your cunt, licking up to your clit in fast bursts. He’s panting—scalding hot breath meets your already pulsating warm flesh. It’s almost too much, you’d feel like writhing away from him in any other circumstance but the fume-heavy cloud in your head urges you to push closer, urges you to dig your fingers into his hair and ride his tongue as hard as you can.
It’s no surprise that your orgasm comes quickly and explosively.
You’re not thinking about him but Homelander must come with you with the way he sobs into your cunt, sucking onto your clit in the rhythm of your orgasmic waves. He must feel every single throb of you in his own cock. You wonder how much he’s filled his cup.
He leaves your pussy red and raw, licking you furiously into two more consecutive orgasms, neither of which dull the sharp fume-enhanced nerves.
Staying in the fumes longer than you have must have dealt larger damage. The belt clicks loudly, falling on the concrete floor. He’s pulling his cock out, giving himself a couple strokes—but like his fingers on you, it’s not enough. He pulls your shaky quivering thighs off his shoulders and he sits you down on his cock.
“Don’t stop—I wanna feel you. I need to feel how you feel. Please let me feel it.” You didn’t even realise you’ve stopped broadcasting your pleasure to him, utterly focused on the stretch of his cock pushing into your orgasm-relaxed cunt.
You have no strength in you left to move, let alone perform, so you fall with your head against his shoulder and you let him fuck you—all while broadcasting each stroke of his cock inside you straight to his overstimulated brain.
He’s always been an intense lover but this is to a level you don’t think you could ever survive in normal circumstances. Though you’re not sure he could either.
He buries his head into your neck as he pushes his hips up, sharp shaky moves rattle up your spine, nerve endings slowly lighting up down your limbs as the next orgasm doesn’t afford you its usual waiting time. These orgasms have stopped feeling like a wave of pleasure after a stressful day and more like a temporary relief stopping you from losing yourself to the madness of your clouded mind.
“I love you, you know that?” He muffles into your neck. He gently nips at the flushed skin of your neck. You can’t stand it. It’s too much. It’s all too much. Your eyes prickle with tears and you shake with a sob.
“I love you so fucking much.” He breathes against you again with a heavy sob. Your neck feels wet. “You’re the only one—the only fucking one—who doesn’t-doesn’t fucking cower in fear, who doesn’t cry when I say one mean fucking word. Fffuck. I—fuck—I love you so much.”
You don’t know what to say. You’ve barely allowed yourself to come to terms with your care for him. You can’t just—
“I think I love you too.” Your own heavy tears surprise you. Your words surprise you even more. Do you? Is this honestly you speaking or is it the fumes messing with your head. Can you trust yourself now? How will you two walk away from this? How will you see this tomorrow?
None of those questions need answering now.
So you let him rock you harder, gasping into your neck as he spills his come deep inside you, warming you from the inside out.
It doesn’t end there. You both fuck your way through the whole night. He has you on all fours, pushing himself—still thick and hard—inside you from behind, leaning his chest across your back as he barely has any leverage to pull out before he stuffs you fuller.
It feels like nothing will ever be enough. You suck his cock three times, get fucked in the air twice and against the wall once. It ends with a missionary position, however uncomfortable on the hard concrete floor. Your bodies are as close as you can handle and that’s all that matters.
When the dawn breaks you both finally see things clearer. The haze is now a dull throb at the back of your mind, no longer taking over all of your senses. You’re exhausted. You need a couple of showers and a two-day-long sleep.
“Hm, get off me.” You murmur when his heavy hot body still lies on top of you after your last shared orgasm. You’re stuffed to the brim, hot, red, and overstimulated to the point that even if you had pants to put on, they’d hurt.
What was it with him and making it his mission to ruin all of your suits?
“Not what you were saying earlier.” He grumbles back but there’s no real bite to it, he’s equally exhausted. Hair messy and sticking out all over the place.
“I said many things.”
“Yeah. Yeah, you did.” He looks at you knowingly but you don’t want to get into it now.
Not that he’d ever allow that. “Did you mean it?” He does slowly pull off you and out of you, tucking his soft and equally spent cock back into his pants, belt clicking back into place.
His gloves are ripped and useless, though he still takes the scraps and tucks the fabric behind his belt so as to not leave any evidence.
“Do we have to do this now?”
“Yes.” His eyes meet yours. You avoid them.
“I guess, maybe? Yes? I don’t know. My head isn’t very clear right now.”
“Make it clear then, that’s your whole shtick.”
“Jesus, can I catch a breather please? I thought I was going to die today.”
“Fine. I just—I wasn’t kidding. I wouldn’t. Not about something like that.” You give him a sad smile. You know he’s speaking the truth. You don’t need to probe his head for it either. You just don’t know if you’re able to give him what he needs.
You don’t know if the extent of your love will ever be enough to feed the bottomless beast that resides inside him. You’ve seen glimpses of it at times. You’re scared to get formally introduced.
“I know.” You lean in to kiss his forehead. “Can we get out of here first? I don’t want anyone to find us like this.”
“Yeah, yeah we can.”
He can be a gentleman when he chooses to be. He takes his cape off and wraps it around your bottom—though it’s the least he can do after he ripped your pants into pieces a couple hours ago.
“Hey, what happened to the supe?”
“Ran away.”
“At least one of us is lucky then.”
“You’re lucky you’re cute.” And with that he sets off, taking you both home.
You’re not sure where this is going to take you. You’re not sure you’re ready for it or if you even want to be there for the ride. But after tonight you know, you won’t be able to hide from him for the rest of your life.
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