the way Homelander acts like a reprimanded little kid around Sage and Soldier Boy makes me insane. he’s having a constant mental breakdown and is tearing up in every scene and I want to wipe away his tears and kiss it better
3) depression sex in order to feel something good for once - Sagelander (post-Godolkin)
You know what I want to see 😏😏😏😏
Another anon wanted the very same thing, and I am so glad to deliver it. This was cathartic to write, especially after the past few days. My main inspiration here was that scene in Hannibal, where Alana tells Hannibal that funerals make you want to have sex, because you feel the need to celebrate life after something terrible happens. And I agree, it seems, because I've had a damn good time writing this. Thanks for the request to both you, Liz, and the lovely anon here.
"You've been ignoring my calls."
He tries hard to sound threatening, but the tone is that of a petulant boy, and the hands on his hips don't help him look more dangerous. Sage briefly considers whether she'd feel the lasers hit her before they fry her brains out for good. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad way to go.
The latest lobotomy still has some lingering after-effects, leaves her thoughts feeling sluggish and difficult to grasp. There's no sharpness to her surroundings, everything blurry, except the usual sweetness of numbing her mind now seems closer to the overripe mushiness of a rotten fruit. Everything good, overgrown with mold. She is beginning to suspect that maybe this isn't even the latest lobotomy anymore. She needs to catalogue the beginnings of depression inside herself, but even that feels like a monumental task - which likely means there's something to her suspicions.
Homelander's calls aren't the only thing she ignores. She walks past him unceremoniously. He's still standing there, all 6'0'' of him in boots, 5'10'' without, trying to exude disappointment and anger. Who knows, it might have worked any other day. She can imagine herself giving in and humoring him, if only to see the way his eyes soften when he gets his way, again. But she isn't in the business for it. "Not in the mood," she grumbles.
That at least startles him into giving up the idiotic pose. His hands fall to his sides, and Sage breathes a quiet sigh of relief that he isn't in for a real argument. "I had important things to discuss," he says, softer now. "You can't just ignore me, I-" He cuts himself off before the truth slips out: I depend on you. You can't just leave me on read.
"I was busy, too," she tries to explain, and it's only now that she quietly wonders if Thomas is still alive at all, or if he was killed off by a bunch of teenagers, all that brilliance sniffed out like a candle someone sneezed onto. He wasn't worth it, she tries to tell herself. He wasn't worth it at all, and so he isn't worth the tears she wants to spill. "It was good for our plan," she reassures him. He won't ever find out about that, but if she hadn't intervened, Homelander might eventually have ended up as a puppet - more than he is now.
Sage lets herself fall into her chair, but sitting alone feels like an effort, so she slumps forward, pillows her head on her crossed hands, stares at the Gutenberg Bible. She can't even be happy about the discount.
Homelander shifts his weight from one firefighter boot to the other. Huffs. "Well, that's all well and good, but we-"
"Can you shut up for a second?" She didn't intend for it to come out as loud as it does, but at the very least it has an effect. Homelander is quiet for a few seconds. Not nearly long enough.
"What the fuck is up with you?" he asks, and she can see him squint as he peers into her skull. "There's no hole anywhere in your head, is there?" he asks, like he isn't perfectly capable of checking for himself.
"Mh-mh." She shakes her head, pillows it back onto her hands. "Having a bad day, boo. You know what that's like, don't you?"
Homelander's brows furrow. He looks pretty in a state of confusion. He always looks pretty, really, just not when he's trying to be sexy. Sage wonders briefly if she wants all the feelings of sadness to start pooling in-between her legs, let them turn into sticky satisfaction. Short-lived pleasure to drown out the noise. It's not a lobotomy, but she's had too many of those today anyway. Not one helped. But this might.
"Can you help me?" she asks him.
Now, it's not just his eyebrows that curl up in distaste. His entire face turns into a grimace. It's clear he doesn't like seeing her this way. She's a source of stability for him. He needs those, needs people he can cling to in times of trouble. He doesn't do well alone. She knew this when she accepted his offer of world domination. It would even bother her any other day, but not today. Not now. No, he is perfect for what she wants to do now.
Weakness disgusts him because it unsettles him. Seeing it in others, seeing it in other supes makes him fearful. For himself, mostly. He lacks the instinct for empathy most people have, that little nagging feeling that makes them come to you, hold you close, tell you it'll be alright when they see you cry. Maybe there's some people he feels it for. Sage supposes his son might be the exception to the rule. But she isn't. That's precisely why she wants him so much right now. This won't be a pity fuck.
And he's easy. He's sex-motivated. Seduced without much pomp and circumstance. All it takes is: "I want you to fuck me so hard I end up dumb again by the end of it."
He makes a noise in the back of his throat.
"Hard enough to destroy a few pieces of furniture in here. Not the busts. Not the books. But the rest is fair game. My pussy can take a pounding."
"I-"
"Am I ever asking you for anything? I've given you the fucking world, so go on. Pay up. Make my day."
He looks towards her office door. "I- Maybe- Um, we should go to my-"
"No, not your room. I hate your choices of interior design." His face falls for a second, takes on that emptiness it usually gets when someone insults him in a way that he doesn't take particularly personally. It may be hard to tell, but Sage is fairly sure there's still some additional tightness behind the foam cup in his crotch. He's hard despite being insulted. Good sign. "We'll stay right here."
Homelander, dutifully, walks over to her desk, even though he's still a bit skittish. Hesitant. His pupils are blown, though. His cheeks a tad rosier than usual. She already has him, she just has to seal the deal.
It takes a gargantuan amount of strength to get up, but her brain has long since switched off in favor of the throbbing she feels in her core, anticipation and hormones stabbing through the fog of her depression like the metal rod she uses to numb her brain. "Sit down," she orders. "Wanna ride you in my chair."
He still sweeps the cape to the side.
The belt clicks open, falls aside. His pants look weird this way, like leggins with a foam penis outline. Which is exactly what they are, she supposes, but it's an interesting thing to be revealed at a time like this. Her own costume is uncomfortable. She wonders if his is, too. Or if it's like a second skin. Does he feel strange when it isn't constricting him? Sage usually sighs in pleasure when she gets to take off her bra in her apartment. Does he do the same? She doubts it, but she has definitely found him naked in his penthouse. He never looked relieved, though. Always just... vulnerable.
To make him feel less left out, she removes only her pants, leaves the ridiculous top of her costume. She wants him to focus on fucking her. Revealing her breasts will distract him, no doubt. He's fixated that way.
His eyes are wet (he's always three seconds away from crying, it seems), and his mouth is a little slack already, tip of his tongue visible. It's a childlike reflex that somehow endured over decades. Sage's brain has it catalogued away as something babies do when they expect milk. It's a juvenile sign of hunger.
His hands are gripping her hips, but instead of bruising her the way she'd want to right now (make me feel, make me feel, make me feel), he's kneading her like a cat making biscuits, and she briefly lays out several ways to complain without offending his ego before simply bursting out: "Get out of your fucking head and get your cock inside me!" Says it and pulls him forward by the ridiculously gelled hair, mussing it in the process.
Homelander briefly startles, then his face falls, becomes fully blank, his hands grip that little bit harder, make Sage see stars from the pain, and their bodies slot together. All it takes is the smallest bit of adjusting the angle, and he's inside of her.
He's big enough that the stretch burns, even though she's wet without any additional lube. Her body isn't betraying her in this regard, at least. The pain is an exquisite spike, and it leaves tingling excitement in its wake as she shifts, gets used to his angle. Didn't even take two minutes from not a single kiss to homerun. It might be a new record, but she dimly remembers got Deep easier than that, though lobotomized.
Of course Homelander will destroy the mood by talking. Just when she's about to lose herself in his still-timid upward movements (how fascinating and, frankly, useful that he can generate momentum out of, literally, thin air), he opens his mouth, and Sage clamps a hand over it to keep him from speaking. It doesn't work. He's babbling against her palm, eyes looking up at her pleadingly, and it annoys her more that she doesn't know what he wants from her, so she pulls her hand off his mouth. "What?"
"I don't wanna kill you," he says, voice weak from having his dick squeezed inside of her, and it makes her laugh, the way he says it, like he's scared of ruining the experience with murder.
She takes his face into her hands, cradles it, and he leans forward, into it, relishing the affection. "Look at me," she tells him, gets jostled for the intense eye contact, his hips jerking up. "I want to die today. And I want you to make me feel like I don't. But you can hurt me. Show me what you got."
Whatever misgivings about his own strength he had, they're cured shockingly quickly. One moment, Sage is shyly getting fucked in a desk chair, the next they're up against the wall, faster than she was able to process the movement. He heeds her words, pushes her against the wooden panels instead of the bookcase.
"Why are you saying all that?" he asks, breathless, but not from exertion, tone almost helpless.
"Sex is a distraction, boo," Sage gasps. "Time immemorial- people have fucked to forget. When humans were nothing more than clothed apes in caves and hollows- they fucked- to forget the sabertooth tigers are coming for them- and the hunger- and the cold."
He moans with abandon, loud and uninhibited. His eyes look lost for a second before they roll back, lids fluttering closed, and he forcefully nuzzles his head into her shoulder. She isn't entirely sure, but she thinks his slurred, muffled mumbles amount to: "'s a good distraction."
They don't talk after that. Sage claws at his costume, her hands clenching into fists. What starts out as gripping him, alternately pushing him away and pulling him in, turns into mindlessly beating at his back, his shoulders, anything she can reach. If the sobs get too close to the surface, she kisses him, bites his lips. If he feels any of it, he never complains. All he does is pump into her, both heeding her wishes and taking his own pleasure. She knows he wouldn't stop now, if she wanted him to. She doesn't want him to.
The wood behind her back is starting to creak and crack, her hips are beginning to protest, but her core feels warm and filled and soul-achingly good. She didn't think orgasm was anywhere within reach at all, but the thing shooting up her spine is no longer pain, and the muscles of her thighs, wrapped around him as they are, no longer tremble only from exertion.
Homelander practically wails as her pussy clamps up around him. He follows her over the precipice, eager and on her heels by no more than a few seconds, the last thrusts of his hard and unnaturally warm length inside of her made all the more slippery with his own cum.
Sage looks up at the ceiling. She does her best to get her breathing under control, but it's hard with the way a giggle starts bubbling up inside of her every time she tries to focus. It's not a lobotomy, but it's close enough, the rush of hormones flooding her body. Her eyes are brimming with tears, catharsis within reach. She wouldn't have allowed herself to cry if it wasn't for an earth-shattering orgasm giving her the excuse. She knows Homelander's eyes must be as wet as hers (they always are), but she doesn't meet his gaze to check.
She lets him nose along her jawbone until he's content, lets him help her down onto her feet again. Duty calls.
People like them never have time to spare. Not with the plan unfinished. The despair setting in would only cause undue delays. And if they both get too close to that edge, well, they now have a damn good remedy at hand.
"That really does make you hard. I can feel you pulsing inside me." This. And Sagelander. That sounds like a deliciously nasty combo.
As always, no pressure at all, I'm just throwing it out there. <33
Here you go!
One Sagelander coming right up
18+
“You know I can break this any time I want to” Homelander huffs as he looks down at Sage tying his wrist to the chair with a complicated looking knot. His other limbs are already firmly secure. He tries to test the give of the rope but Sage gives him a stern look and he stops. He rolls his eyes but she doesn’t admonish him for that. She gives one final tug before seeming satisfied and standing back up. With him seated, she looms over him and it’s not a perspective he’s used to. He won’t admit to himself that he kinda likes feeling small.
“I know you won’t. You’re too curious for that.” She gives him a sappy sweet sly smile before shimmying her underwear off from under her oversized t-shirt and crawling onto his lap. His natural instinct is to reach for her hips to steady her but all he does is rattle the chair as the ropes creak but hold. He can feel the heat of her soft pussy radiating even through the thick material of his suit. He gives an eager thrust up…and once again the ropes creak but hold.
“Curious about what? The case of blue balls you’re giving me right now?” His voice cracks slightly at the end when she unfastens his belt and slowly shimmies his pants down his hips. His cock pops out, eager and glowing red. He groans as it hits the chilly air of Sage’s penthouse. He has to close his eyes so he doesn’t nut early when Sage lifts the hem of her shirt just enough for him to see her glistening pussy. It doesn’t help when she doesn’t waste any time guiding his cock between her legs and sitting on it. He grunts, clenching his fist as he tries to hold back. He tries to focus on the heavy scent of all the old books filling her space.
“Hgngn” He makes an incredibly undignified noise when she doesn’t move but instead clenches down on him hard, sending a lightning bolt of pleasure up and down his spine. He thrusts again but the ropes stay in place. He screws his eyes shut even harder when another firm squeeze has heat beginning to build up behind his eyelids. He doesn’t know what the fuck she’s doing and why she won’t fucking move.
"That really does make you hard. I can feel you pulsing inside me." She says, with that smug tone that he both hates and adores. Especially right now, when she has him riding a razors edge before they’ve even fucked just by sitting on his lap. She’s pulsing now, first in even intervals, and then once he thinks he has a sense of rhythm she switches it up again. It’s fucking ridiculous how worked up he is. He wants to grab her hips and move her but he can’t. Not unless he snaps the ropes. Sage would immediately stop things and he would really be left with the biggest pair of blue balls in existence.
“Can you please fuck me already.” He murmurs through gritted teeth. He still doesn’t dare trust himself to look at her. Especially when he knows he’ll see those big brown eyes and sly sweet smile, temples already beading with sweat despite her lack of movement. He’s big, and squeezing his cock in her tight pussy is certainly a workout in itself.
“I am fucking you.” She purrs teasingly, reaching back to cup his balls in one of her soft hands, gently toying with them before once again continuing with her exercises. He’s convinced she’s slowly milking the cum from him bit by bit despite him not even having orgasmed yet. He tests his restraints again and very nearly breaks them so he can really pound into her. He knows what exactly will get them both off and record time.
But he doesn’t want to disappoint Sage. So he switches his focus to taking deep breaths, just like she taught him. In. Out. In. Out. Release. Release. Relea…
He can’t take it anymore. Not even two full minutes since she first sat on him and began her cruel trick, he loses control. He emits a loud ecstatic moan that he’s too blissed out to even realize comes from his own mouth. His eyes spark and flare beneath his eyelids. His toes curl and his hands clench, and with a loud snapping noise, the bonds break off of one arm as he loses control of his strength. Sage watches for a moment and simply enjoys the view before promptly reaching down to rub her clit till she finishes on her own. The feeling of her tightening around him again sends him into a frenzy and he’s starting to think he’ll die soon if the overwhelming pleasure keeps going. He reaches out for Sage blindly and finally grabs her hip just to feel her. She allows it.
After a few moments of this, Sage takes pity on him and lets him ride the rest of the wave in peace. She amuses herself by watching his expression change as he finally manages to catch his breath. She’s extremely smug that she actually managed to make him sweat a little. That’s the first time she’s managed that. She’s going to have to try this again. That way she can really see how far she can take him.
“I’m sorry.” He pants, as he removes his grip on her and sheepishly looks at the shredded ropes hanging limply from the arm of the chair. He really had tried to stay in place. He gives her a cocky grin and the glint in his eyes suggests that he isn’t that sorry. “But, I did warn you I could break out whenever I wanted.”
“I don’t need your apologies. I just need your assurances that you’ll let me run the rest of this ad campaign without complaint like you promised you would.” She gives him a stern look and he rolls his eyes. Ah yes…that. He’d forgotten that’s what all this was about in the first place. It was a game designed to entrap him into giving her what she wanted. A game he didn’t think he would lose.
“Fine.” He huffs, petulant as ever but feeling an excess of good nature due to the lingering orgasm. “Make your plans. But next time won’t be so easy.”
“Sure it won’t.” She replies, with the sly grin he knows so well. As she slips off him and proceeds with untying the rest of the ropes, her mind is already racing towards plans far into the future.
