A world of my own

My name is Lili. A Eastern European living in England ✨ Currently obsessed with Halfdan the Black, Billy Butcher and Homelander 🥰(Gotta love a mentally unstable man)🤔❤️

[thelirofnorthlands]

A little appreciation post for these divine men … In my humble opinion-Gods gift to humanity 🫠🫠🫠

These two can call me in the middle of the night asking me to hide a body … and dear god I’ll dig the hole myself… naked 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

With season 4 around the corner let us all brave women and men brace ourselves for some Fanny flutters from these two fine not so gentlemen.

Further more .. a lil fun for the masses

(I do not own any of the photos or gifs) Credit to original creators ❤️❤️❤️🫡

[thelirofnorthlands]

Something special for all Kripke creations 🤩From “The Boys” to “Jacked” Eric Kripke is my ultimate fave man 🫶🏻#Kripkeverse

ps the dedication is real..🤭✨

[thelirofnorthlands]

A little appreciation post for these divine men … In my humble opinion-Gods gift to humanity 🫠🫠🫠

These two can call me in the middle of the night asking me to hide a body … and dear god I’ll dig the hole myself… naked 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

With season 4 around the corner let us all brave women and men brace ourselves for some Fanny flutters from these two fine not so gentlemen.

Further more .. a lil fun for the masses

(I do not own any of the photos or gifs) Credit to original creators ❤️❤️❤️🫡

[cevansbaby-dove-deactivated2025]

I need them more then I need air!!!!!

[themeraldee]

Sweet As Honey

[Masterlist] [AO3]

18+ Only | 7.6k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Set in Season 4. Lactation kink. Breastfeeding. Self-induced lactation (there might be inaccuracies). Established relationship. Shower sex. (And more importantly) Awkward shower sex. Some dirty talk. Cockwarming.

Written for cozy corner kinktober prompt #21: Breastfeeding

Huge kudos to @witchyclipse for beta-reading and keeping me sane 💚

Ever since Homelander has taken up the role as the head of Vought, things have changed. He’s always had to carry the burden of being the company’s poster boy, but it’s a whole different league to be involved with the business side of things.

This change has put a mild strain on your relationship. With the increasingly irritable moods he comes home with, you have tried coming up with more and more ways to make him feel better and release the increasing tension. You’ve even tried your hand at massages. And even though Homelander sighs happily anytime your oiled hands glide down his back, you know it’s more of a soft caress than a massage. And while there’s nothing wrong with a soft touch, the tickle of your hands doesn’t ease any of the deep ache lingering in the fibers of his steel woven muscles.

The closest you ever got him to release even a sliver of tension has been with sex. No matter what the situation outside your little bubble of content and intimacy ends up being, he’s never taken away from either of your pleasures. He’s entirely in the moment. He can be an incredibly attentive lover, thinking of you and only you. Whether it’s about your pleasure or his own, his mind doesn’t wander to outer conflicts. It’s why you push for long sessions whenever you can. The longer you can keep him in the subspace the better.

So it’s not that any of the things you do don’t help. They do. Very well in fact. Daily you have Homelander purring in your lap while you stroke his hair or moaning in your ear while you stroke his cock. He happily guzzles up all the love, care, and attention you pour down his throat. 

However, his highs don’t last long. As soon as he’s forced to break out of the dreamlike state that only you and him inhabit, his mind is quickly plagued with the overwhelming thoughts of plans going wrong and positive public perception dropping in waves.

This is most prevalent after nightfall. The dark of the night brings out his inner demons. The tension snaps back into his spine like a spring that you’ve been doing your best to keep bent the entire evening.

Falling asleep is a tough ordeal. Once that hurdle is over, sleeping soundly is an even harder challenge. His nightmares frequent his sleep more often these days. 

So you do your best to soothe him through this transition. Some nights you talk his worries away. Filling his mind with an enticing vision of escaping the media and the corporate driven life he’s surrounded himself with. You place him in the imaginary scenario of a warm family home. There he comes home to soft music, warmth and comfort. In his mind you’re preparing a home-cooked meal for him and Ryan, calling everyone down to the dinner table when you’re ready. Family pictures on the walls, Ryan’s achievements tacked to the fridge with magnets; nothing about this image screams control or misery. His perfect imaginary family. 

The wistful smile he gives the vision you describe always tugs at your heartstrings. You both know it’s a fantasy and in a way is no better than the Vought-curated story of his upbringing. While the idea is fun to roleplay, at the end the vision always falls apart like a house of cards. 

The hurt he carries pains you to see. So you relish in knowing that you’re the reason behind his relieved sigh anytime he comes home. Just like the soft hum that resembles a purr anytime you’ve got him soft and malleable in your lap. It warms your heart on a daily basis that you still affect him so.

But you know you can do more. 

While other people would be upset at their partner having less time for them, for you it couldn’t have come at a better time. Before this whole Vought takeover really happened you couldn’t free yourself from Homelander’s presence for even a good ten minutes. Whether it’d be him making sure he’s always by your side, because you never know what might happen, or him keeping an eye on you through the walls of the Vought tower; you knew he was constantly there.

Planning any sort of surprise was impossible. He’d always come home, greeting you with a smile and a not at all subtle, what did you get up to today, planning anything? Like a child, too impatient to wait till Christmas morning, he’s scanning every room looking for whatever present or surprise you have prepared for him. And while it’s been annoying to not be able to surprise him, you can’t really fault him too much. He’s never had any of this. After he divulged the details of his upbringing, you started seeing how with you around, he was chasing the moments he missed out. So if looking for secret presents or having you read your book out loud as he dozes off next to you heals any part of his inner child, you can’t really complain.

During these tense days you see how much he craves the simplicity of what should have been. A childhood, and normal upbringing that would have never gotten him into this mess. Something that would ground him and soothe his soul. 

This is where your plan comes into play. It didn’t take long into your relationship for you to figure out just how much Homelander was fixated on your breasts. It’s where his hands immediately slip down to when your kissing got hot and heavy. It’s where he presses his lips anytime he’s inside you and in reach. And it’s most definitely where you most frequently catch him staring when you’re not looking.

The most recent development started off with Homelander falling asleep on your chest. Something about your heartbeat loud in his ears soothing him and putting him to sleep. This gradually turned into Homelander absentmindedly, or so he says, playing with your breasts. Which very quickly turned into him suckling on your nipples as he fell asleep. You never found it bothersome, quite the opposite.  

And seeing him nuzzle into your chest so peacefully, suckling on your breast with such a content face just gave you an idea. Another thing that he’s never had. Something you’re more than happy to provide.

You prove yourself to be resourceful. While Homelander is out of the penthouse juggling crime fighting, press conferences, public appearances and meetings, you’re at home researching home remedies, housewife tales and experiences of wet nurses.

Upon finding out that it’s possible for you to induce lactation without being pregnant or undergoing hormonal treatments, you cheer. While keeping this little secret to yourself would be easy enough with how occupied Homelander was these days, keeping up with a hormonal regiment would be a lot harder to explain.

So started your journey. It took a few months of constant massages. You introduced herbal medicine in the form of teas into your diet. Easily dismissed to Homelander as your new routine towards better health. From fenugreek to fennel seeds, you’ve tried everything to beat the odds. Your determination and hordes of free time left you able to fully commit. 

Knowing you were doing this for him was enough motivation to keep going. Anytime he’d come home upset, irritable and grumpy you made yourself another cup of tea and gave your breasts an extended massage in the shower.

Even in all your secrecy, Homelander still noticed something being off. Across the time together he’s gotten to know your body to a tee, identifying your cycles is as easy as knowing the day of the week. So it’s not surprising that he comments on changes to your body that are out of the typical window.

He nearly caught wind of your secret few months into your little experiment, when he kissed his way down your neck and your chest. Too eager to get his lips around your hardened nipples to take his time cherishing each inch of your skin like he normally would. 

He gives your nipple a kiss, parting his lips to suckle on it like usual but he stops himself right before, making an intrigued hum. 

“Your nipples are more swollen than usual.” He gives it a little lick, as if to check if everything is okay with you. 

“Oh it’s just this new bra I got. It’s a little irritating.” You easily lie. You’ve prepared yourself for this confrontation many times in your mind, coming up with plausible scenarios. And while you’re aware of Homelander’s disdain for liars, you know he’ll forgive this once your plan comes to fruition. 

“Well, fuck, buy some new ones. Have a shopping spree. Or whatever.” He sighs in between your breasts as he presses wet kisses into the soft skin. 

You chuckle at the suggestion. Of course, he’s always there to meet your every wish and demand. Should you voice it or not. “There’s no need, I’ve got plenty. Really.”

“Oop, nope, you’re not getting out of this one. Haven’t had you give me a show in a little while now.” He gives you a cheeky look but really his attention is equally split in between your conversation and your breasts and you know he’s soon going to forget this little detail.

“Sure. If it’ll make you happy. Though I’m not sure a new bra will help. Starting to think you’re the culprit.” Your tone is tinted with your smile as you run your hands through his hair making him hum around your nipple.

“Guilty.” He popped his lips off wetly for a second before turning back to lick and kiss his way around your breasts to continue his nighttime ritual.

And for all of Homelander’s pride in his enhanced senses, he’s not noticed anything different since then. Except for commenting on the obvious enlargement of your breasts, which you end up blaming on your cycle or—when that excuse falls through—weight gain. A fact he very happily hummed at before continuing his playtime.

Lucky for you, you got to conduct your little experiment at your pace. For once really getting to surprise him.

Except all you end up doing is surprising yourself. 

Although your breasts feel more swollen and tender these days you blame it on the constant massaging and Homelander’s very own take on stimulation of the tissue. And yet, you’ve still not gotten any tangible results. The defeatist part of you was ready to wave your plans goodbye as a result. Until now. 

You’re indulging in your nighttime routine before Homelander comes back home. The tenderness you feel as you massage your breasts with the help of a vanilla and almond milk body wash is nothing new. What’s new is the milky droplet you notice when you wash off the soapy residue off your breasts. 

What happens next is a rollercoaster only you’re privy to.

Your heart races, the joy nearly making you scream in celebration as a months-long process is finally bearing fruits. The overwhelming glee you feel at finally being able to gift Homelander this homemade treat is quickly soured when you just about hear the door slam.

No. no. no! Not like this.

You had a setup in mind. Following your nighttime ritual, you’d be easing his mind with the sweet rivulets coating his tongue. You imagined the palpable relief you’d feel coming off him with each suckle of his lips. You don’t want him to find out like this. 

You can only hope that he’s annoyed and distracted enough that blaming the scented soap would be enough of an explanation to the underlying sweet scent of your milk. Your own milk. The thought alone was enough to make you giddy again. The man has been entertaining your every wish and whim throughout your entire relationship. Not only has he been terribly difficult to surprise, the appropriate gift has been just as hard to find. Who knew that you’d find the perfect one within yourself. The thought of finally revealing your secret to Homelander leaves a visceral throb of warmth in between your thighs..

Your body goes through sharp turns each second. From joy to dread to arousal, you feel the anticipation of what’s to come when the bathroom door opens and in walks an already naked Homelander.

“Fuck, you're a sight for sore eyes. Missed you.” Homelander quickly makes his way into the glass walled shower sliding right behind you, his arms automatically wrapping around your waist.

“I missed you too. I'm glad you're home.” You mumbled weakly, tilting your head to the side to allow him to press a kiss to your cheek first, neck second. Even amidst the spray of hot water his lips are hot against your skin, leaving warm tingles along their path.

“You have no clue how happy I am to see you.” He talks into the juncture of your neck, barely audible to you. But you catch the fatigued tone nonetheless. Maybe today really is a perfect day for the reveal.

“What happened?” 

“You don't have to worry your pretty head about that right now. I can tell you later.” One of Homelander's arms dips lower. He exhales in a way that feels like releasing the entire day's worth of weight off his shoulders.

“Now… I want you. Because fuck, I don't know what you've used today but you smell really fucking good.” He inhales sharply letting the soft vanilla and almond sweet smell of you take over his senses. Whether or not his senses picked up on the lingering milky undertone is something you don't want to press on. Instead you distract him.

You spread your legs a little allowing his hand to slither in between your legs. While water is not a lubricant your pooled arousal is. Already you’re slick enough to let his fingers glide along the velvety softness of your cunt. 

“Look at you... You know—hah—I could hear your heart rate go a teeny tiny bit insane when I arrived. Getting up to no good, were you?” You clearly see the mischievous grin in your mind without having to turn around.

“I wanted to be ready for you.” You exhale softly. You slump in his hold. It's nice to be able to relax and feel his deft fingers softly rolling your clit in a way that leaves your nerves buzzing and craving more. “I was hoping you'd get home soon.” You trail off, your voice turning a little high pitched as he massages you precisely enough to get your thighs quivering. He's learned how to rub your clit in a way that feels like bursts of fire sparking underneath the surface while not overstimulating you. It feels like heaven. Your eyes roll back and you grip hold onto the arm that he still has wrapped around your middle.

And while your arousal came from the excitement regarding the progress of your long-winded journey it’s not difficult to lose sight of that when Homelander is coaxing sweet moans out of you with well placed strokes around your clit. The victory is all forgotten by the time you feel his hard cock grinding against your ass, just begging to be taken care of.

Homelander has always been a needy lover. Even when his day to day is filled with bullshit he seems to be losing more and more of his sanity over, he still takes care of you as thoroughly as you deserve. Of course, knowing he’s getting just as thorough of a treatment from you. 

“Feel that?” He grunts in your ear. Taking the opportunity to nip your ear with a playful chuckle.

“So fuckin’ slutty of you, barely touched you and you’re already dripping.” Your legs feel like jelly with the way he treats you. He holds you tight, unyielding against his frame. Manipulating you to his heart's content. You’re almost off the ground. You can still reach with your tip toes but it’s far enough that it forces you to sag all your weight onto his frame. The sense of weightlessness and the confusing physicality at play gets you lightheaded. With how effortlessly he supports your weight, his fingers find it easier to glide with precision.

Normally you’d love to return the dialogue. Praise his efforts, his body, his mind. Just him. You know that’s what he wants. But the euphoria from the excitement and the constant burning pressure on your clit is enough to have your mind spinning. Barely focused on what he’s saying, let alone capable of coming up with your own sexy one-liners. 

“I love that about you, you know that? You’re so responsive. You never disappoint. Needy. Eager. All for me.” His voice gets frazzled towards the end. The quiver in the way his voice breaks could make anyone think he’s the one close to the finish line. And really, if you weren’t still getting sprayed by hot water you’d be able to feel the precum his cock has leaked all over you, grinding into your body with the slip it provided. Even though you’ve given him no extra attention, you simply craving him is more than enough to get him riled up.

It’s okay, he’ll get his turn. He’ll get his reward.

"Nobody can make you feel this good, baby. Nobody." He trails off with a hiss; the smell of you intoxicating enough amongst the soft sweet scents of almond and vanilla.

What makes Homelander a truly great lover is his unfaltering pace. He’s not pausing because he has to readjust his grip on you, neither is his hand tired from the endless and torturously consistent strokes around your clit that make your nerves light up all the way to your toes. 

“Gonna be a good girl and cum for me? I know you’re close. I can almost fucking taste it.” Homelander sounds wrecked. 

As if he could feel every single sensation your body is going through. Maybe part of him can. He’s so attuned to your body’s reactions. The smell, the sound of your heartbeat, the feel of your straining muscle, the tremble of your limbs. It’s no wonder he’s just as affected. 

He’s proud of being able to make you feel this way. Being the only one to make you feel this way. He has said so many times before and he continues to do so. He revels in being able to bring you the heavens themself with each spectacular orgasm. “M’gonna need you to hurry up sweetheart. I still want to fuck you.” He says this with a chuckle as if you were simply a little late to a meeting and not on the brink of a mind-altering orgasm. “And with how good you smell, hah well, I’m not gonna fucking last long.” 

With a few more finishing strokes you’re locking up in his hold. This orgasm had a long build up. The consistency of his strokes slowly stoked the fire to a bright flame until you felt the sensation spread to every nerve ending across your body. From your toes to your scalp, your body endlessly tingling. You slump in his arms, the pleasure pulsating through you like waves crashing across the beachfront one after another. 

“Mhmm that’s it, spread your legs a little more.” Homelander grunts out. He isn’t patient enough to give you a second to collect yourself. So you lean forward a little, bracing against the wall while you part your legs. A shiver runs through you when he grinds his cock in between your legs. The head of it catching on your abused clit.

While you’re excited to feel him in you, the need for each other isn’t enough to overcome the awkwardness that tends to come with shower sex. It’s slippery, wet and the verticality ups the difficulty. 

Homelander struggles pushing inside you from the odd angle your bodies are at. You’d be giggling at the clumsy slide of it all if it wasn’t for your own frustrated impatience. You whimper and whine, almost in protest at not yet getting what he promised. Homelander, in equal fashion, grunts in annoyance. Each effort to stuff you full gets derailed by slipperiness of your folds. And while the thickness of him rubbing between your slit feels grand, it’s not enough to quench his hunger for your tight squeezing warmth.

“Please… I need—” You whimper when the tip of him hits your clit again. Your clit feels so overstimulated that at this point it resembles the fuzzy shocked feeling of hitting your funny bone. 

“—I'm fucking trying alright, stop moving so much.” Homelander interrupts you, even more frustrated than you.

“Your cunt is just too fucking slippery. God fuck—” It’s when the tip of him finally makes it in, yet manages to slip out right as he’s eager to push in all the way is when he’s really had enough. 

Homelander effortlessly lifts you up, forcing your knees to bend, pressing against your chest as his hands grasp the flesh of the back of your thighs. 

You yelp at the sudden feeling of weightlessness. It’s the one thing that never ceases to amaze you. With your previous partners the sex positions didn’t move past the classics. All perfectly fine positions that you still thoroughly enjoy with Homelander on a daily basis. But nothing thrills you as much as being able to feel his wholly inhuman strength. Easily tossing you around and molding you to his body. You become less of an active participant and more of a warm and perfectly wet toy for him to fuck into.

Now is no different. Homelander finally manages to sink his cock into your throbbing and just as eager pussy. Your little content sigh of relief at finally being filled doesn’t last long. Instead he steals your breath away with the hurried press of his hips into yours. Your weight in his arms does nothing to deter his pace, effortlessly ruining you both with the slide of his cock. You brace yourself against his arms, looking for a shred of stability but that never comes.

The stretch of his cock from this position makes your clit ache. Already desperate for more direct attention. Opposite to the long drawl of your orgasm, Homelander is rutting into you as if he’s competing with himself on how many more thrusts he can fit in before he’s unloading into you.

It’s not many. He was clearly as worked up as he sounded. Losing himself in your pliant and warm body was already mind-blowing any given day. Being able to manhandle you fully, not giving you any leverage was an entirely different beast. While still minding his strength he lets himself unravel into the welcoming squeeze of your walls, pumping spurt after spurt of hot cum deep inside you.

While the quick fuck managed to reignite your flame, you don’t find it in you to beg for another finish. You feel rattled, legs resembling jelly and you haven’t even been put down. You’re all too aware of the way the thickness of his cock slowly slides out, and with it your pussy squeezes out a dribble of cum, sliding down in between your ass cheeks. 

You whimper at loss almost instinctively at this point. Some would find it surprising to see just how carefully Homelander sets you down but to him it’s a no-brainer. You’re precious cargo. And even then, standing on your own legs doesn’t feel right after what you’ve been through.

You hang onto his frame. Your quivering limbs make you hazy. Your pussy trembles with the remnants of your previous orgasm and the one that could have been. “Thank you.” Mindlessly you lul your head against his chest, breathing out the words.

Homelander laughs. Rarely do you thank him for sex but it’s a good indicator of how thoroughly he melted your brain. He always enjoys the extra stroke of his ego. Even if things are precarious or falling apart you will always be here, ready to sing his praises in all the genres.

“Mhm, you’re very welcome.” He pinches your chin and brings you closer for a big kiss. He indulges in the lazy press of your lips to his and he keeps you there for long enough to really imprint the feel and taste of your lips into his own.

You gain some clarity back when you pull away.

“Come on, let’s get to bed.” He greedily squeezes your ass with a wicked look. How he still holds the same excitement for more amazes you. In comparison you feel like you’ve run a marathon. 

Plus there’s the whole thing with your breast milk coming in that you’ve yet to mention.

“I’ll meet you there in a minute. Just want to clean myself up.” You say offhandedly. Really you wanna wash the scent of sex off your body so nothing detracts from the sweetness of your milk. You want your surprise to be perfect.

“Don’t take too long.” You can just about hear him over the shower as he leaves the bathroom after drying himself off. 

As the time for your big reveal nears you feel the anxiety brew in your gut. You’ve been working on this for months. The last thing you need right now is for your body to fail you. Just the idea of this plan failing or worse—him hating it—leaves you your gut in knots.

No. No, you can’t stress yourself out. Your body needs peace, quiet and excitement. Positive thoughts and feelings. You will yourself instead to think of the reward, the payoff of seeing Homelander grateful, happy and relieved.

You massage your body and breasts with some unscented soap you keep around for times when Homelander is feeling particularly overstimulated with senses. You do your best to wash off both Homelander’s cum and your arousal. You want a clean slate.

Resetting your mind back to your nighttime ritual, your body untangles the knots of anxiety. You leave the shower calm and at peace. You take your time drying yourself off, blow-drying your hair to not make the sheets wet and finishing off with brushing your teeth. You’re taking an awful long time but there’s not been a moment when he’s not waited for the warmth of your body lulling him to sleep.

He can wait a little longer. 

You hang up both yours and Homelander’s towel—one he left on the counter—and you wrap yourself up in your favourite combo of particularly fluffy robe and slippers. Both are of great quality, courtesy of Homelander. The robe feels soft and warm against your bare skin and part of you dreads the short moment when you’re gonna need to take it off before sliding into bed. It’s one of the few things you’ve cared to enjoy the luxury of. The comfort is unmatched.

Same goes for bedsheets. You’ve told him before that albeit the satin sheets look fancy and expensive, they don’t provide the soft comfort of a loving home you’ve been trying to introduce him to. It’s a constant battle trying to warm up the cold museum-like quality of his living quarters. But alas, one swap at a time.

The path from the main bathroom to bedroom isn’t long but you’re still grateful for your fuzzy slippers. No need to get your feet cold if you can help it.

You finally make it to the bedroom, well, if you could even call it a room. It took a little while to get used to the sprawling open space of his penthouse. Nothing really felt enclosed and the idea of some Vought employees having full access to not just his penthouse but the very exposed sleeping quarters made you queasy.

“Took you long enough.” He’s already in bed, covered with a blanket from the waist down. He props himself up on his elbows, unashamedly looking you up and down. He raises his eyebrows, expectantly nodding at you to proceed. 

You untie your fluffy robe, sliding it off your shoulders. Immediately shivering as the cool air hits your skin. Vought could really heat this place better. You catch the thick fabric of your robe before it falls to the ground, draping it over the ottoman in front of the bed.

Homelander whistles and his lips stretch into a wide grin.

“You’re ridiculous.” You shake your head, smile tugging at your lips. 

“And you’re gorgeous.”

He’s different today. Something about the way he looks at you that brings back the boyish charm he had when he swept you off your feet for the first time. These days you see worry lines and furrowed brows adorning his features more often than not. Rarely does he come home happy. 

But now? He’s looking at you, bare to the world, with that twinkle in his eye, finding comfort and excitement in your presence.

“You’re gonna tease me any longer? Come on, come here already.” His tone makes you feel giddy, it’s exciting—especially knowing you’ve a little surprise of your own. It’s lucky he caught you in the shower today.

Usually he comes home late when you’re already in bed reading a book, waiting for him to seek out some much needed comfort. You cherish those moments too, but today’s excitement feels particularly rare. It gives you a preview into what life could be like if things were different. 

But just like the fantasy of peaceful family life you often feed him, this also feels like a temporary illusion, just waiting to give way for the gruesome reality you find yourself to be a bystander to. 

Still, you take it for what it is and throw yourself into bed, straight under the covers he lifts for you. You’re used to sleeping naked because of him. Homelander says the sound of mismatched fabrics rubbing up against one another is downright infuriating. But really, you see it for what is. Though you can’t deny that the occasional midnight romp or a morning quickie heats up a lot faster with no clothes in between. 

Homelander quickly pulls you in, already greedy for a kiss. Barely apart for a moment and he’s already ravenous. It makes you wonder how he manages without you the entire day. 

Your hands glide from his stomach, over his hairy chest and up and behind his neck. He kisses you in his signature possessive way. 

There’s barely any build up. He goes from a decent, soft press of his lips to eagerly licking yours open. His moans are needy, impressing themselves into your lips as he takes over your lips with deep, open-mouthed kisses. Chasing after you each time you move any other direction that’s not towards him.

The sudden change from a gentle kiss to a downright sloppy makeout session shocks you enough to lose your bearings. Not that you had many to begin with. Effortlessly, Homelander pushes your back flat to the mattress. The power you feel from such a simple push shocks a giggle out of you, sending a tingle down your spine in excitement.

He leans over you, propped up by his elbows and knees. While you thought he had plenty of excitement in the shower he seems to be just as riled up by this charged up energy surrounding you both tonight. You feel his cock, already half hard, pressed in between your bellies.

He kisses you with raw hunger, his deep kisses pulling sighs and moans out of you. Apart from his inexperience when it comes to innocent affection and love, he’s mastered the art of making you feel like he’s pulling you apart bit by bit with every kiss. 

He kisses the rest of your body with his hand. Sliding from your shoulder to your arm then to your hip and thigh, pulling on your leg to wrap it around his waist. Without a break in the kiss he swaps hands and treats your other leg in the same way. He settles himself firmly in between your legs, still too focused on your lips to move things further along. Though you’re very aware of the weight of his hefty cock.

Just when he’s letting your lips off the hook, finding his next victim in the soft skin of your neck, you glide your hand up the back of his head, pulling on his hair. You pull hard enough to earn both a moan and an inquisitive look in his eyes. This is not the energy he was expecting from you today.

“Slow down baby… I just… I need you to take it a little easy on me.” You mumble. The showertime shenanigans left you feeling a little sore and tender. Albeit good in the moment, your soft pussy easily aches and needs some gentle treatment from time to time.

He looks at you with this innocent puppy look and you feel a little bad for breaking his flow and making him feel like he did something wrong. He just hums and gives you a little nod. His ravenous kisses turn soft and sweet when your fingers scratch through his hair, giving him a glorious scalp massage.

“Could you keep me warm? Please?” He asks softly, an uncharacteristic trait that very few have gotten to see over the years. Without waiting for an answer he’s squeezing his cock at the base, little more than half hard now and steadily filling out as he gently guides the soft tip through your slit gathering the wetness on his cock.

“Mhm, of course. Be gentle, okay?” He almost whimpers at the approval as he presses the soft head of his cock into your pussy, guiding inch by inch into you. He’s not fully hard and that makes it easier on your tender tissue. The heft of him sits comfortably inside you, right in the space he has long carved out for himself. 

Your pussy softly pulses around him, not out of your own doing but just the pure instinct of having him inside you. It’s comforting. Intimate. Something you didn’t expect to become a favourite part of your nighttime routine.

Homelander keens as he settles into you, every instinct screaming at him to fuck you again. But the hand at the back of his head scratching at his hair makes him melt. The soft and warm touch almost matches the equally soothing warmth of your pussy and he happily lets you guide his head to your chest.

Homelander descends kisses upon the soft skin in between your breasts. It's instinctual at this point. His palm softly cups your left breast from the outer side. His lips ghost over the delicate skin of your breast, hot breath mapping his way across.

You feel your heart rate spike as his lips inch closer and closer to your nipple. The excitement coiling in your gut and partially souring into anxiety. The thoughts coming back to you again. What if he doesn't like it? 

He's desperate for the familiar comfort, his parted lips releasing a soft stuttered moan as he moves up to the peak. His cock twitches inside you as soon as his lips brush upon your nipple.

You watch with bated breath as Homelander finally wraps his lips around the hard bud. Your heartbeat is picking up speed as you watch him intently, hoping—no, praying—that your body won't disappoint you.

It happens quickly. He pulls away in shock, uttering a panicked, what the fuck, as he flattens both palms on either side of your body, pushing himself upright. 

“Ah! Oh fuck…a-ah…” You yelp out in shock followed by a pained stuttered moan as his hips push forward in shock. His cock goes fully hard in the moment, burying itself as deep as your pussy allows in a sharp and uncontrolled thrust.

His eyes turn from wild, panicked and confused to worried. “Fuck, sorry, sorry,” he whimpers, his body buzzing, vibrating with unspent energy. You watch as his tongue darts out, collecting a droplet from his lips as well as licking the entire surface area just in case he missed any.

As the immediate reminder hits his tongue his eyes flicker in between the droplet of milk beading on your nipple, and you. 

“W-what? How?” He scrunches his eyebrows before dipping his sight lower. For a second you think he’s looking at how deep his cock was in you.

“You're not pregnant. H-h-how?” He stutters, shaking his head in short bursts, squinting at you in confusion.

“Did you just look in my uterus?!”

“Stop avoiding the question.” 

His expectant gaze and the way it flickers in between your leaking nipple and your eyes has your gut twisting with anxiety. Was it too much after all? Did he not want this? 

“I…I just. Um, I just read up on some stuff. You don’t need to be pregnant for…well, for this to happen.” Your ears burn with embarrassment at being examined at such a deep level. You don’t want to upset him. The whole point of this was to make him feel good. Make him happy. Did you overthink this? Looked too much into it? “Stimulation, massages, all the stuff we do. It helps it happen.”

“Babe, I’ve been sucking on your tits for a while now. It hasn’t happened before.”

“I’ve been massaging them a lot throughout the days. It took a few months.”

“I didn’t notice you doing that.”

“You’ve been busy. Look if this is weird—” You can’t stand the awkwardness brewing in you like a storm, a feeling similar to sour burning bile making its way up your throat.

“—I should’ve noticed this…” Homelander interrupts you, his gaze now firmly with your leaking nipple. Absent-mindedly he licks his lips again, as if looking for any milky residue. ”You—umh, hah, you did this? You really did this just for… just for me?” His voice goes from level to wrecked in the span of a sentence.

His expression looks tortured, brows furrowed, lips parted. A little strangled gasp leaves him as he watches you tap your finger against your wet nipple. You bring the tip of your finger to his parted lips. With an anguished whine he purses his lips around the digit. Eyes fluttering shut as he wraps his lips around the tip properly and runs his tongue around it. 

His eyes snap open and meet yours when he pulls the finger out.

With another rushed movement his cock sharply thrusts into you again, forcing a pained little whimper out of you just as Homelander captures your lips. Your aching walls flutter around him with the rush his needy kiss brings. The heat of it blooms in your core. The anxiety dissipating and your gut untangling. 

“Sorry.” He mumbles into the kiss half-heartedly but he’s too preoccupied with pouring his love for you into the press of his lips against yours.

“I fucking love you.” He spat out in between kisses. Harsh and desperate. Rushing through the motion of the kiss and the words. Worried about the moment escaping him. He imprints the words ‘I love you’ in each kiss. The syllables are barely distinguishable with how closely he’s pressed your mouths together but you feel it. You feel it with each breath, sigh and whimper. 

You pull him away with a simple tug on his hair. He looks high and drunk on the feeling of it all. It’s been a while since you’ve seen him give into you this much. These days he was all about keeping a semblance of control and appearances. Some of that ended up translating into the bedroom and your relationship. While he still had his vulnerable moments with you it was easier to feel bulletproof when he kept up the same act all day and all night.

You nudge his head down, nodding down towards the breast he abandoned earlier. He’s careful with his movements this time. As he moves lower and settles himself on your sternum his cock moves inside you, but the gentle wet glide just pulls a sigh of content out of you this time around.

“It’s okay. Go on, you can have more. It’s for you.” You’re breathless, the anticipation is unreal. After the long prep, being able to see and feel Homelander nursing on your breasts feels like a dream come true.

He brings your breast in a little closer to his lips, already parted and gasping. He leads with his tongue, licking up the little rivulet that dripped out earlier. Carefully he flattens his tongue, dragging it up the tender skin. When he gets to your swollen and leaking bud his tongue gently slides back behind his lips and he wraps them around your nipple.

The feeling of your milk flowing into his mouth is surprisingly more intense than you expected to. You throw your head back on the pillow, exhaling with relief. His tongue presses against your nipple with each suck, lapping up the milk you produce for him and guiding it down his parched throat.

Homelander isn’t doing much better, his brows are furrowed and he’s almost whimpering with each suck. With each glorious, delicious drop he loses more and more composure. His thick eyelashes flutter and you can see the way his tenderness seeps out. Tears bead at his waterline, clumping his eyelashes together into a few thick strands.

Your pussy quivers around him with every press of his tongue and instinctively he softly grinds into you, following each throb of you, matching the rhythm of his sucks as his left hand clutches the side of your ribs while the other still supports your breast.

He’s breathing rapidly through his nose and you feel when with one, two, three strokes he unloads inside you. It happens in the matter of seconds. You knew just how intrinsically emotions played a role in his arousal and it was no surprise that he came with such little stimulation.

As if riding out the pulses and twitches of his cock he sucks harder. 

“Gentler honey…” You guided him, your nails gently scratching down his scalp. He hums affirmatively and he does soften the suction of his lips around your nipple.

You feel his cock soften inside you and you settle yourself a little more comfortably. Relaxing into the mattress, you continuously glide your hands through his hair even when you move him to the other breast.

It’s moments like these that get you appreciating the usually gaudy mirrors surrounding the bed from all angles. You tilt your head to the side and watch the side profile of Homelander indulging with little whimpers and mewls. 

You coo soft words, still comforting him with your fingers in his hair. And really, he’s as relaxed as he’s been in a while. And that makes it all worth it. You smile as you turn your head back and look up this time. The birds-eye view of the two of you feels like a painting. The blanket has been pushed down and bunched up around your bodies while Homelander keeps himself as close to you as possible. You watch the bob of his head as he suckles on your other nipple. You don’t even mind that he’s laying all of his weight on you.

You smile at yourself in the mirror, seeing your goal accomplished. You reach down to pull up the covers a little, keeping both of you cosy and warm. Leaning to the side to pluck the discarded blanket from the side of the bed you move your breast and Homelander’s head with you as if you were supporting a newborn baby’s head. 

Even though the blanket covers him halfway up his back, the mirror gives you a good view of the way he softly grinds his hips into you. It’s less to seek friction and more to just actively feel you around him. The wet glide of your pussy is heavenly and even if he’s not fucking into you with the intention of making either one of you finish, the feeling is still worthy of being indulged in. Like a good dessert.

You turn to humming. Nothing in particular. Songs that are stuck in your head. Or just a random melody of repeating tones. You enjoy the sight of Homelander looking peaceful. Choosing to live in the moment and be grateful for what you were able to achieve today.

You did that.

Homelander takes you out of your dreamy and happy, heart-soaring thoughts with a displeased whimper. He pulls away from your nipple with a kicked-puppy look that nearly has you chuckling. Just like a kitten his lips are covered with the milk residue, beading a droplet in the corner of his lips from when he was getting messy, mouthing at the nipple and your breast rather than just sucking peacefully.

“Sorry. I guess there’s not that much yet.”

“Don’t you fucking dare be sorry. You… you’re perfect.” He places a kiss in between your breasts and nuzzles his head in between the softness of them. “Thank you.” He sighs out quietly. He settles his head comfortably on your chest, his eyes falling shut with heaviness that comes after an exhausting day. 

You readjust your position a little so that he’s only partially lying on your chest, no longer suffocating you with his full weight. You hold his head close to you, enveloping him in a warm embrace as he swiftly dozes off.

You realize he never actually said what angered him today but at the end of the day it doesn’t matter. As long as you can keep him sated and happy, nothing else will ever matter. 

Taglist (you can add(or remove) yourself to be tagged when I publish a new fic):

@infinetlyforgotten | @rafecamsgirlll | @nervoussystemss | @hom3landr

@mrsdesade | @nommingonfood | @littlegaaby | @jokesonyoupup

@natliecole | @misatxox

[themeraldee]

First Time for Everything

[Masterlist]

18+ Only | 2.1k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Cunnilingus. Fingering. Overstimulation. Squirting. Literally just PWP.

Written for anon 💚

Homelander’s got you with your back flush to the bed, panting and twitching. He’s just finished a damn good job of licking and sucking your cunt through an orgasm, as always delivered without a hitch. You’re there thrashing around like a fish out of water but he’s got your hips pinned down and there’s not a chance in hell you could ever get out of his titanium hold.

With his head still buried in between your thighs he flattens his tongue over your quivering pussy, feeling every throb, pulse and twitch. Fuck, you feel good against his tongue. While most people he encounters quiver with fear, you quiver with mindless pleasure, the muscles in your thighs shaking around his head. The smell of you has him hungry for more as he laps over your weeping cunt a few more times, catching your clit at every swipe of his tongue. And you taste fucking divine. It was only appropriate for a god like him to be served the most exquisite pussy.

He moves his hand up, pressing down on your pubic area to hold you while his other, now free, hand squeezes his shaft through the soft padding of his pants. It’s not really enough, not enough at all. Especially compared to the delicious squeeze of your cunt he recently got so used to. He pulls back to watch as it uselessly squeezes around nothing, begging for his cock and his cock only. 

All in due time. If he stuffed you full now, the fresh tight, orgasm-powered squeeze of your slick walls would have him spilling in no time. You truly were lucky to have him. Nobody else could be so attuned to your needy body’s reactions. Nobody else could see your inner walls pulsate and throb, still coated in your delicious sticky sap.

Just as your orgasm eases off, you lift yourself up slowly to your elbows, then to an almost sitting position, supported by your hands. But Homelander isn’t ready to give up the control he has over your convulsing body. So instead he stops squeezing his cock and he pushes you down on your back again.

“Nope, you stay down. I’m not done with you yet.” His tone was innocently cheerful but his grin didn’t hide the depravity of his thoughts. Oh the thoughts running through his head on just how many ways he can ruin you. Just how many orgasms can he give you before you pass out? Have you ever come without getting your now poor and overstimulated clit played with? He should find out. Fucking into your cunt at every angle imaginable, from either side, front and back, upside down; he could do it all—effortlessly. And when your pussy is raw and aching? Well then he’ll have a little play around with your cute ass. Have you ever had your asshole fingered? Of course not, you were too sweet for that. 

Now that you’re his he’s gonna have to work hard to screw that sweetness out of you until he’s left with an unabashedly begging mess that he knows is hiding in you. His cock throbs at the idea. The idea of corrupting you to your filthy core is a tempting one.

He wants—no, needs—you to know that there’s never gonna be anyone that can make you feel like this.

Now that you’re on your back again without much protesting, he peels his gloves off. He thought about stretching your cunt around the soft leather of his glove but the temptation to feel your throbbing flesh around his bare digits was too strong to overcome. 

He places his left palm flat on your pubic area, pressing down a little. Looking up he meets your eyes and with another shark-like dazzling grin he asks. “Comfortable?”

You give a cutesy little nod, biting your lip. How dare you look so cute. Other vermin usually tremble in fear anytime he’s close to getting his hands on them whether it be with good intentions or not, yet there you are with his palm pressing down on you and all it does is send a thrill up your spine. The same palm that is capable of very easily crushing the bones in your pelvis is currently splayed out tapping each finger in succession against your skin.

You give your hips a wiggle just to show him how comfortable you are with barely being able to move.

“Good.” He smiles at you, his heart skipping a beat at the joy and excitement that is pouring out of you. You really fucking love him. Feeling overwhelmed by that ballooning emotion he looks down instead focusing his thoughts on your pussy. She’s eagerly waiting for him, so really it’d be rude of him to take any longer.

His pointer and middle finger slide from the top of your slit all the way down. Immediately coated in the sticky goodness your cunt can’t seem to stop producing around him. His slicked fingers go up to your clit, spread in a V shape, now catching your clit where they meet. You give him a few little squeaks each time he gives your clit another teasing bump. How you appear so apple pie sweet even when he’s got his fingers and lips soaked in your juices never ceases to amaze him.

His fingers finally make it down to your hole. It’s pulsating right in front of his fingers, opening up and just trying to slurp him in. It’s a miracle he hasn’t shoved his cock in there yet today. He licks his lips, the taste of you a reminder of good times while the tips of his fingers slide in.

He parts his lips, eyebrows furrowed as he watches your flesh eagerly slick his way through. He lets out a short cut-off gasp as he turns his fingers upside down with his palm now facing up while still inside you. And god is it fucking tight in there. He hasn’t had a chance to stretch you out yet. His cock throbs constantly now, his balls feel heavy, aching to unload inside you. Just feeling your cunt choke his fingers out makes him gasp. The memory of what it’s like to have you squeeze his hard shaft is indescribable, yet he feels it vividly around his fingers knowing you’d be pulling load after load from him. No chance he’s pulling out with a grip like that, fuck.

He’s way too close to messing up his pants with how vivid his memory feels so instead he focuses on you. He needs to ruin you as much as you ruin him. There you are happily on your back not even knowing how hard you’re making this on him. He needs you just as ruined. Just as hazy with the lust he feels anytime he smells your cunt get wet.

He pumps his fingers in and out a few times, getting the digits thoroughly soaked. He presses you down a little harder. You need to be kept in place. He crooks his fingers up, pressing against the soft spongy spot with his fingertips. 

He’s only two knuckles deep when he pumps his fingers inside you. He starts slowly. His strong fingers massage you, forcing gentle sighs out of you. Yeah, that won’t do. Going a little harder, he fucks his fingers in and out of you in a curved motion, hitting those upper walls with each stroke. His approach is loose and relaxed, giving you a little warm-up. 

“Homelander…” Like music to his ears you moan his name. Your upper body arches. Your hands squeeze the sheets, your own tits, anything. Not being able to move your hips leaves you defenseless. He speeds up. He keeps up the same rhythm, unfaltering in the motion. The squelch of you alone has him salivating. Whether it’s because he’s hungry to eat your pussy again or just desperate to bury himself balls-deep he doesn’t know, but he wants it either way.

“Oh god, wait, it’s too much..” One of your hands grips his forearm, trying to pull his hand away from holding you down but you stand no chance. Good luck pushing against his godly frame. The only way you’d get him off would be if he took mercy on you. And he’s definitely not planning on that.

Your responsive cunt quivers around his digits. He feels your rushed breath and raised heart rate through the press of his hand. It’s delicious. Giving up any control you ever had over yourself and letting him take the wheel. Even though his pace is harsh, his rhythm is even. He fucks you silly as you cry out, eyes welling up with tears when he doesn’t let up.

“Wait, wait, wait, slow down! Please, fuck—oh fuck—please slow down, Homelander!” You sound shrill, panicked as an unfamiliar feeling rises in your core when Homelander’s fingers plunge into you over and over again, rubbing your wet cunt raw and sensitive. 

He doesn’t stop. Not yet. He wants another pretty big finish. He wants a display equivalent to the fanfare of the 4th of July fireworks. He wants you to celebrate him. Your body needs to appreciate how much he’s giving you.

Each wet throb of your pussy has his cock leaking into his underwear and if he were any ordinary man he’d be losing all self-control, rutting into the sheets or just you, chasing his own spectacular finish. But this is about you proving how much you love him. How much are you willing to endure?

 “Please, it’s too much, too much, toomuch.” You’re gasping for breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly. Your cheeks are streaked with tears as your pathetic attempts at getting him to stop fail. He’s unyielding. A marble statue. Perfect in every way.

Your cunt is vividly locking up around his fingers and while he expected a show-stopping orgasm he didn’t expect this. A gush of clear liquid spurts out of you, followed by wail coming from your lips. Fuck. You’re a squirter. He pulls his fingers out with a squelch as you gush a few more times, soaking his hand, the sheets beneath you and his sleeve. Looking at his soaked sleeve now he thinks he doesn’t even want to get it washed out, carrying the scent of your pussy around like a trophy. 

It’s uncontrollable. Your muscles quiver in a way he’s never seen before. He plunges his fingers into you again, greedy to see if there’s any more in you. Come on, you can do better for him. He deserves the fucking best.

He fucks his fingers into your weeping cunt rapidly, less rhythm this time as he realizes that the heavy breathing he hears is coming from him. You’re wetter than you’ve ever been, slick and squirt coating your thighs, running down in between your ass cheeks adding to the embarrassing bodily squelch of being just a bit too messy. 

It’s alright, he can be messy too. He’ll forgive you for this.

You throb hot and heavy around his fingers and he pulls them out again as he watches you gush two more respectable spurts out of your exhausted pussy. He finally lifts his palm off your pubic area and already you’re squirming, pulling back from him and letting your muscles quiver freely.

“Wow, someone didn’t share all their talents with me!” He looks at you. Wow. He wishes he had a camera on him. You’re panting, your eyes are wet and hazy, your lips are swollen from the way you’ve been biting them and you’ve broken out into sweat. “Made a nasty mess, sweetheart.” He gives your pussy a wet pat with his hand while it’s still in reach. 

“I didn’t—I didn’t know I could…” You sound wrecked. Jesus, he’s done a number on you. But that’s good, you do a number on him each time too. It was only fair you got to know what it's like to feel so uncontrollably good. “Umh, huh, I’m—I’m sorry. For the mess, I mean.” Aren’t you cute? He forced you to squirt and yet your good nature made you feel like apologizing. The only person you should apologize to should be the Vought employee that’s gonna be responsible for changing the sheets after he’s fully done with you. And even then they don’t fucking deserve your apology.

By now he’s had enough of you pulling away, trying to keep him away from this beautiful performance. My god, you were a natural at this. And he’s so fucking close to making you unravel fully.

“Shh, shh, none of that. No apologies. Instead…” He trails off, flashing you another sharp grin. He grabs you by your thighs pulling you right against where he's rock hard and aching. 

“Think you can do that on my cock too?”

Taglist (you can add(or remove) yourself to be tagged when I publish a new fic):

@infinetlyforgotten | @rafecamsgirlll | @nervoussystemss | @hom3landr

@mrsdesade | @nommingonfood | @littlegaaby | @jokesonyoupup

@natliecole | @misatxox

[zanephillips]

ANTONY STARR Banshee 1.03 "Meet the New Boss"

[karlurbanism]

Karl Urban + 🌊

@enchantedflameandflower 😉 💙

[agedgaps]

daddy’s a tease - soldier boy

warnings - daddy kink, age gap, age play/age regression, innuendos, ben being ben, perv ben, brat!reader, brat-tamer!ben, softcore!reader, ben tries his hardest to be the best CG. consent is key!

words - 760 !

you looked up at him as you sucked on the lollipop in your mouth. “huh?”

soldier boy’s smirk only grows wider at the sight of your lollipop, his gaze darkening slightly. he steps closer, his arms folded as he sizes you up, still smoking his blunt.

"oh, so you are paying attention," he teases, his eyes raking over your frame. "I was starting to think that lollipop had your undivided focus."

he leans in, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly murmur.

"care to share, dollface?"

you giggle as you rolled over, the skirt sliding up slightly.

“nope, all good!”

ben smirked as his gaze went straight down to your breasts.

“why don’t you come here you pretty little thing.”

you squealed as the lollipop came out of your mouth with a pop sound.

“bennnn, stop calling me that! im not little.”

“well to me, you are. inside and out.”

the innuendo in the middle had ben smirking as he spoke.

“yuck! you’re so gross”

you stomped off towards butcher and frenchie

ben watched your hips as you walked off, his hand rubbing across his crotch

“jesus christ.”

—————————

ben was laying across the couch as you picked out a movie.

your back was slightly bent as you searched for a horror movie, due to ben being ben, his eyes wandered straight to your ass, the skirt lifting up.

ben smirked, his hands moving across crotch.

“bennnn! i can’t find it?”

“it’s somewhere in there sweetheart, maybe go in some more.”

you groan before looking back at him.

“you just want to see my ass!”

“that’s true.” ben smirked as his hand rubbed on him.

“perv.”

—————

(BEN IS A PERVERT WE ALL KNOW THIS but!!! he’s not a pervert without consent!!)

—————

ben’s hands scrubbed your body as you huffed.

“ben, just because im injured doesn’t mean, you can touch me all over, like i can shower myself”

“nope, you’re just a beautiful little thing, let me take care of you.”

“um, you know what. im pretty tired so, have fun.”

ben’s hand squeezed on your thighs, his hands gently washing in between your legs, but not brushing up against your middle.

ben washed your hair as he scrubbed across the cut on your back gently.

“ow!”

-

“oh come on, it was an accident!”

-

“shut up ben!”

ben and you fought like an old married couple, but ben was a lot older than you due to him being born in the 1900s and you’re like born in the 2000s.

frenchie and MM made so much fun of you guys, but thanks to you!! you made sure ben never got too mad.

the group loved you, they definitely loved ben, sometimes?

——————

ben’s lips travelled down your neck as you giggle, ben’s hands gently grip your hips.

“heeeheee! bennnn stopppp!”

“you’re moving so much, calm down pretty, acting like im biting you.”

“sorrryyy, tickles!”

ben smirks up at you as his head dips between your thighs as you let out a little gasp

“daddyyy! don’t teaseeee!”

ben laughed as he kissed her inner thigh before going back to work.

—————

ben would be called a ‘brat tamer’ by butcher all the time.

—————

ben smirked as he watched you stomp and yell at him.

“i hate you so much! you’re acting like it’s the end of the world! i feel fine!”

ben smirked

“i know pretty girl, but if you don’t take it, you’ll feel like absolute shit or just nothing at all, i love you a lot so im making sure you take it, it’s for your mental well-being.”

you stomp as you groan

“im not having it ben! make me.”

ben smirks before standing up and looking down at you

“be a good girl and take it.”

you huff

“no!”

ben brushes your hair back as he strokes your cheek.

“please?”

you rolled your eyes before stomping off to the kitchen.

“fineeee!”

ben shakes his head as he smirks

“damn brat.”

—————

“you’re pulling my hair daddy!”

ben was a little bit annoyed but he knew you couldn’t help it, while in a subspace you got more sensitive

“baby, im sorry, you know i am, i don’t mean to be so mean to a pretty little thing like you.”

you huff but stayed still while ben brushed your wet hair, slightly whining at the roughness.

“daddyyyy?”

“yes?”

“im hungryyyyy”

“okay pretty, let me brush your knots out, and then we can eat, whatever you want.”

“okay daddyyyyy!”

you giggle, knowing he’s wrapped around your little finger.

—————

if this makes you uncomfortable, simply don’t read my stuff! no need to be mean.

[thelirofnorthlands]

Something special for all Kripke creations 🤩From “The Boys” to “Jacked” Eric Kripke is my ultimate fave man 🫶🏻#Kripkeverse

ps the dedication is real..🤭✨

[thelirofnorthlands]

A little appreciation post for these divine men … In my humble opinion-Gods gift to humanity 🫠🫠🫠

These two can call me in the middle of the night asking me to hide a body … and dear god I’ll dig the hole myself… naked 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

With season 4 around the corner let us all brave women and men brace ourselves for some Fanny flutters from these two fine not so gentlemen.

Further more .. a lil fun for the masses

(I do not own any of the photos or gifs) Credit to original creators ❤️❤️❤️🫡

[thelirofnorthlands]

Something special for all Kripke creations 🤩From “The Boys” to “Jacked” Eric Kripke is my ultimate fave man 🫶🏻#Kripkeverse

ps the dedication is real..🤭✨

[thelirofnorthlands]

Something special for all Kripke creations 🤩From “The Boys” to “Jacked” Eric Kripke is my ultimate fave man 🫶🏻#Kripkeverse

ps the dedication is real..🤭✨

[thelirofnorthlands]

Something special for all Kripke creations 🤩From “The Boys” to “Jacked” Eric Kripke is my ultimate fave man 🫶🏻#Kripkeverse

ps the dedication is real..🤭✨

[lila-lou]

✨Attention✨

Summary: Ben is always distant in public—you’ve come to expect it. But at Annie’s birthday party, his detachment stings more than ever. With a little push from Frenchie, though, Ben makes it clear that there’s no one he wants more than you.

-Requested-

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language

Word Count: 8079

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

It was Annie’s birthday, and she had planned a huge party to celebrate. Standing in your apartment, you felt Ben’s hands gently adjust the straps of your dress as he helped you get ready. He playfully nipped at your shoulder, sending a laugh escaping your lips.

"Ben", you whined softly, feeling the warmth of his hands as they lingered at your hips. His touch was slow, deliberate, and you couldn't help but watch him through the mirror in front of you. He had that familiar, mischievous glint in his eye, the one that always promised he was in no hurry to let you go.

"Stop", you giggled, your voice half-hearted. He knew just as well as you did that you didn't mean it. The smile on his face grew as he kept his focus on your skin, pressing a kiss along the curve of your shoulder. His stubble brushed against you, a little rough but somehow comforting.

You could feel him against your lower back, his hold tightening slightly, pulling you closer. Ben let out a low chuckle, his face still nestled against you. "You know, fucking Starlight's going to have to wait a little longer if you keep looking at me like that", he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

The party was calling, but with Ben so close, his arms around you, it was getting harder to remember why you needed to leave.

"Look at you like what?”, you whispered, voice barely above a breath, teasing him even as your heart raced.

But instead of answering, Ben only smirked, pulling you even tighter against his chest. One of his hands slipped beneath the fabric of your dress, his fingers tracing a slow path up your thigh. The gentle pressure of his touch sent a shiver through you, your breath catching as you leaned back into him.

“Like you don’t really want to go to this party”, he murmured against your ear, his voice low and rough, each word a brush of warmth that made your skin prickle. His hand on your thigh was firm yet gentle, a reminder of the familiar pull between the two of you, that quiet intensity that he could turn on with just a look.

You bit your lip, glancing at him through the mirror, meeting his gaze as he watched you with that unshakable confidence that always left you a little unsteady.

"Ben”, you whispered, barely able to keep your voice steady as his touch sent waves of warmth through you.

He pressed a kiss just below your ear, his voice a low murmur against your skin. “I’m rock hard right now”, he muttered, his words heavy with suggestion, “What are you planning on doing about it?”.

Your cheeks flushed, a mix of surprise and excitement, but you kept your gaze locked with his in the mirror.

You smiled, catching his eye in the mirror as you slowly, gracefully slipped out of his hold, stepping just out of reach. Ben’s hands lingered in the air for a moment before dropping to his sides, his head falling forward as he let out a deep, frustrated groan.

“Oh, come on”, he muttered, a hint of a laugh in his voice, though his frustration was clear. His eyes met yours, narrowed and intense, as he took a step closer, refusing to let you slip away so easily.

“Nah-uh”, you said, raising a finger in playful defiance as Ben took another step forward. “My makeup is looking perfect right now, and there is no way you’re going to smudge it”. You tilted your chin up, daring him to test you, a smile dancing at the corners of your lips. “Besides”, you added, voice softening just a bit, “you need to promise me you’ll behave tonight”.

Ben paused, crossing his arms as he looked at you with a smirk that made it clear he was more than ready to challenge your little rule. “Behave?”, he repeated, eyebrows raising. “And where’s the fun in that?”.

You gave him a pointed look, keeping your expression steady even as you felt a flutter of excitement beneath his gaze. “Promise”, you insisted, keeping your tone firm, though you knew just as well as he did that any “promise” was likely to be broken by the end of the night.

He stepped closer until he was just inches from you, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. “Fine”, he muttered, the word laced with reluctance. “But only because you asked so nicely”. He leaned down, brushing his lips close to yours without touching, letting his breath fan across your skin. “Just know”, he added in a low, teasing murmur, “the second we’re alone, all bets are off”.

You laughed softly, giving him a playful push back before heading toward the door. “I’ll hold you to that”, you replied, throwing him a wink as you reached for your purse.

The moment you and Ben stepped into Annie’s bustling apartment, he was gone in an instant, slipping through the crowd with laser focus. You watched as he made a direct line for the table loaded with alcohol, bypassing everyone—including Annie, who was still standing by the door with you, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Well, good to see he’s enjoying himself already”, she said with a laugh, nudging you lightly. Her smile was bright, her usual warmth shining through as she glanced over at Ben, now engaged in an enthusiastic pour of what looked like a very generous whiskey.

You sighed, shaking your head slightly as you mumbled, “I’m sorry, Annie. I’m honestly just glad he’s here. He usually hates parties… well, the kind where everyone… is fully dressed, anyway”.

Annie’s eyes widened slightly, a mixture of surprise and amusement flashing across her face as she caught your meaning. “Oh, that kind of party”, she murmured with a grin, leaning in conspiratorially. “Let me guess… he tried to drag you to Herogasm?”.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “Yep. He kept hinting at it for weeks, talking about how ‘it would be a good experience’ and how ‘he’d love to see me with… well, you know”, you said, feeling a blush creep into your cheeks as you trailed off.

Annie chuckled, giving you a sympathetic but amused look. “I can only imagine. Knowing Ben, he probably tried to make it sound like it was all for your benefit”.

You nodded, feeling the exasperation melt into humor as you shared the moment with her. “Exactly! He played it off like he’d be doing me this huge favor by ‘expanding my fucking horizons’ or something”. You shook your head, a mix of fondness and exasperation for Ben settling over you. “Honestly, it’s always one thing or another with him”.

Annie laughed, looping her arm through yours again as she led you further into the room. “Well, no Herogasm tonight”, she said with a grin. “Just good friends, a lot of drinks, and no weird superhero… extracurriculars”.

“Thanks”, you muttered, smiling as you let Annie pull you into a circle of familiar faces, leaving Ben to his whiskey-fueled mischief for now.

After a few minutes, you spotted Ben slouched on the couch, scrolling through his phone with the whiskey bottle now firmly in his grip. He looked completely in his own world, a slight smirk playing on his lips as if the party around him barely registered. You felt a pang, that familiar ache in your chest as you watched him from across the room.

You took a deep breath and turned back to Annie and your friends, determined to enjoy the night regardless. You’d known Ben long enough to understand that this was just how he was—aloof and detached, when you were around other people. He had this way of acting like you were just something casual, like the connection between you was just… convenient. No feelings, no strings, nothing that might imply he was anything other than the lone soldier he saw himself as.

But despite knowing that, it still stung a little every time he drifted off, leaving you to navigate the night as if you were strangers. You laughed along with Annie’s stories, made small talk with friends, and took a few sips of your drink, hoping it would dull that ache.

Every so often, you’d glance over, wondering if he’d notice you, if he’d even care enough to look up from his phone or his bottle. But he never did. He stayed in his corner, perfectly content to leave you wondering what was going on in his head, why he always seemed to pull away the moment there was a crowd.

"Hey, you okay?", Annie asked softly, noticing the way your gaze kept drifting.

You forced a smile, nodding as you turned back to her. “Yeah, I’m good”, you replied, the words tasting hollow. But you didn’t want to let his behavior pull you down. Not tonight. Annie deserved a night of laughter, not your doubts.

“Good”, she said, squeezing your arm reassuringly. “Then let’s get you another drink, yeah?”.

You nodded, letting her lead you away, leaving Ben to his phone and whiskey, hoping that maybe tonight, you could manage to ignore the tug he always seemed to have on your heart.

Eventually, as the evening wore on, you spotted Ben across the room again. This time, he was seated on the couch, a new bottle in hand, with a woman from the finance department perched on his lap. She was leaning in close, laughing at something he’d said, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder as she tossed her hair back in a way that was all too intentional. Ben had that familiar smirk on his face, his arm casually draped around her waist as he looked down at her, clearly enjoying the attention.

A mix of emotions hit you at once—hurt, frustration, and a tinge of anger. You’d told yourself a thousand times not to expect anything from Ben in these settings, that this was just who he was, that he wasn’t one for commitment or public displays. But seeing him so openly engaged with someone else right in front of you felt like a deliberate choice, as if he wanted to remind you that he could, that he didn’t need you in the way you wished he did.

You took a deep, steadying breath, the mixture of emotions boiling over until you couldn’t just sit back and watch anymore. Without giving yourself a chance to second-guess, you crossed the room, slipping up behind Ben as he lounged on the couch, oblivious to your presence.

Leaning in close, you brought your lips near his ear and hissed, “Are you fucking kidding me?”.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t even look up in surprise. Instead, that smirk of his grew, as if he’d been expecting you all along. It was infuriating, the way he sat there with that infuriating look, calm and unbothered.

You shot a look at the woman on his lap, her surprised gaze flicking up to you, a mixture of confusion and embarrassment quickly filling her face. “Get your cheap ass off him”, you hissed, voice low and laced with venom.

The woman’s mouth fell open slightly, and she looked from you to Ben, clearly caught off guard. She quickly scrambled to her feet, muttering an awkward apology as she disappeared back into the crowd, clearly wanting no part of the tension she’d unknowingly walked into.

Ben watched her go, and when she’d disappeared from sight, he finally turned his gaze up to meet yours, his expression somewhere between amused and challenging. “Jealous, are we?”, he asked, his voice maddeningly calm, as if this were all some kind of game to him.

You clenched your jaw, refusing to let him brush this off so easily. “You think this is funny?”, you shot back, barely keeping your voice from shaking.

Ben leaned back, his eyes glinting with that infuriating smugness that seemed permanently etched into his features. He shrugged, that lazy, almost bored shrug that he used whenever he wanted to dismiss something as unimportant. “Relax”, he drawled, his voice dripping with condescension. “Not like I fucked her or anything. Just a little harmless fun”.

"You’re for real right now?”, you asked, crossing your arms and glaring down at him, the frustration and anger bubbling over. He just rolled his eyes, looking away briefly as if the whole thing was nothing more than an inconvenience.

“Don’t make a fucking scene right now, sweetheart”, he muttered, voice low and laced with irritation. He looked back at you, his eyes narrowing slightly, that smugness never fully leaving his expression. “You know you’re the only one that gets my dick”.

You didn’t feel hurt, exactly—it wasn’t like you hadn’t been through this before with Ben. Instead, a wave of irritation settled over you, the kind that came from the sheer lack of acknowledgment he seemed to show whenever there was a crowd around. It was the public nonchalance, the casual disregard, like he didn’t want anyone else to see that there might be something real between you.

You let out a quiet sigh, crossing your arms more tightly. “You know”, you said, voice calm but with an edge, “I don’t need some big declaration. But would it really kill you to act like I matter a little when other people are around?”.

Ben’s smirk faltered just slightly, his gaze shifting away from you to some indistinct point in the room. “I don’t do that pussy shit, you know that”, he muttered, as if that was reason enough to brush everything under the rug.

“I’m not asking you to make a scene”, you replied, voice steady. “Just don’t act like I’m invisible the second we’re not alone. It’s not that complicated”.

He finally looked back at you, something more serious glinting in his eyes, but it was fleeting, gone almost as soon as it appeared. “You know how I am”, he said, repeating his earlier excuse, but this time his tone sounded almost defensive, as if even he knew it was wearing thin.

“Yeah”, you said, exhaling slowly, letting the frustration ebb as you held his gaze. “And maybe that’s what bothers me most”.

Ben looked up at you, his brows knitting together as a hint of irritation colored his expression. “You’re on your period again?”, he asked, his voice laced with impatience, as if he were tallying up the days in his head, searching for some reason to explain why you were “acting up”.

You felt a surge of disbelief at his words, the way he brushed off everything you’d just said, reducing it all to some fleeting inconvenience. You took a deep breath, fighting to keep your calm as you looked down at him.

“Wow”, you replied, crossing your arms tighter, feeling your jaw clench. “Is that really the best you can do?”.

He shrugged, his gaze shifting back down to his phone, as if dismissing you entirely. “Just asking”, he muttered. “You’re not usually this… fucking dramatic”.

“Oh, fuck you, Ben”, you muttered, voice strained as you fought to keep the disappointment from overtaking the anger. “Sleep at your own place tonight”.

Without waiting for his reaction, you turned on your heel, walking briskly away before he could see the tears already pricking at your eyes. You pushed through the crowded living room, heading toward the kitchen, hoping to find a quiet corner where you could pull yourself together. The last thing you wanted was for anyone to see you like this, especially him.

Annie, who had clearly overheard the exchange, stepped up to Ben as you disappeared into the kitchen. She crossed her arms, her expression stern as she looked down at him. “Don’t you want to go after her?”, she asked, her voice laced with frustration and disappointment.

Ben scoffed, rolling his eyes as he looked back at her, the same smug indifference he always wore firmly in place. “What, so I can play into her little meltdown?”, he muttered, dismissively. “It’s just hormones. She’ll get over it”.

Annie’s face hardened, her mouth pressing into a thin line. “You know, sometimes I wonder if you even care about her at all”, she said quietly, her tone sharp. “She deserves better than this. Better than you acting like she’s just some inconvenience every time she wants even a shred of respect”.

Ben shrugged, taking a casual sip of his drink. “She knew what she was signing up for”.

Annie shook her head, exasperation clear on her face. “Maybe she did. But she’s worth more than you tossing her aside whenever it’s convenient”. She turned away, throwing one last pointed look over her shoulder. “Maybe one day, you’ll realize that”.

As Annie walked away, Ben’s smirk faltered, his gaze dropping to his drink as her words lingered in the air. But true to form, he pushed it down, brushing it off, unwilling—or unable—to admit that maybe, just maybe, he was losing something that he didn’t even know how to hold on to.

As you entered the kitchen, hoping for a quiet moment to gather yourself, you were greeted by the sight of Kimiko and Frenchie wrapped up in each other, lost in their own little world. They were tucked into a corner, Kimiko’s arms around Frenchie’s neck, his hands resting on her waist as they shared a soft, unhurried kiss. The tenderness between them was palpable, a rare moment of peace in a world where both of them had seen so much darkness.

For a moment, you froze, caught between the urge to quietly slip away and the surprising comfort of witnessing something so real and genuine. There was something soothing about their closeness, the way they seemed to find safety in each other. It reminded you of what you wanted—of the kind of connection you’d been hoping to build with Ben, only to be met with his constant resistance and careless remarks.

Kimiko noticed you first, pulling away slightly and giving you a small, gentle smile. Frenchie followed her gaze, and his expression softened as he looked over at you, sensing something was off.

“You okay, mon ami?”, Frenchie asked softly, his tone laced with genuine concern. He stepped away from Kimiko, but she kept one hand on his arm, her eyes fixed on you with quiet empathy.

You forced a smile, hoping to brush it off. “Just… needed some air”, you murmured, your voice not quite convincing.

Kimiko tilted her head, studying you with that perceptiveness she always seemed to have, even without words. She gave you a sympathetic look, as if she understood more than you’d said. Without needing to ask, she extended a hand, inviting you over.

Relieved, you stepped closer, and before you knew it, you found yourself enveloped in a gentle, comforting hug from Kimiko. She didn’t need words to express what she meant—it was all there in the warmth of her embrace, the way she held you as if to remind you that you weren’t alone, even if it felt that way.

As you pulled back from Kimiko’s embrace, feeling a little lighter, Frenchie gave you a reassuring smile and then, with a determined look, muttered, “Let’s see if I can find Soldier Boy and knock some sense into him, eh?”.

You chuckled, grateful for his loyalty, even if the thought of Frenchie confronting Ben was both heartwarming and slightly worrying. “I appreciate it, Frenchie, but you know how he is”, you replied, shaking your head. “I don’t think a few words would make much difference”.

Frenchie shrugged, his eyes flashing with his characteristic defiance. “Maybe not, but he could use a reminder that he’s not the only one who’s willing to fight for you”. He gave Kimiko a quick glance, and she nodded, sharing an unspoken understanding with him that made you feel, for the first time that night, like you were exactly where you were meant to be—with people who saw you, who cared about you in a way that Ben never seemed capable of. Frenchie gave you a wink, stepping away with a mock-serious expression.

With that, Frenchie made his way back into the crowded living room. You watched him disappear around the corner, nervous, knowing full well that whatever he had in mind wasn’t likely to end quietly.

Frenchie found Ben lounging on the couch, still scrolling through his phone, a slight scowl on his face, clearly having shrugged off the earlier confrontation with you. Frenchie approached with his usual ease, casually sitting down next to him, leaning back as if he belonged there.

Ben looked up, giving him a quick, uninterested glance before going back to his phone. Frenchie smirked, undeterred, and after a beat, leaned in, keeping his tone light and conversational. “So… you and (Y/N). How serious are we talking, mon frère?”.

Ben frowned, finally looking up with an annoyed expression. “What’s it to you?”, he muttered, his voice edged with irritation.

Frenchie shrugged, his expression innocent, though the glint in his eyes suggested otherwise. “Well, if you’re not serious”, he continued, his voice laced with a hint of challenge, “I thought maybe I’d make a move. She’s quite something, you know. Sweet, smart, has her heart in the right place”. He let his words hang in the air, watching as Ben’s expression shifted, that easygoing mask faltering.

Ben’s jaw tightened, his gaze sharpening as he sized Frenchie up. “She’s not yours to make a move on”, he replied, voice low, barely masking the possessiveness underlying his words.

Frenchie raised an eyebrow, thoroughly enjoying the reaction he was pulling from Ben. He leaned back casually, crossing his arms with a playful grin. “Oh? So you’re saying she’s yours, then?”, he asked, voice teasing, his tone just innocent enough to get under Ben’s skin.

Ben’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing, but he kept his voice steady. “I’m saying don’t even fucking think about it”, he muttered, clearly irritated by Frenchie’s persistent needling.

Frenchie just chuckled, giving a little shrug. “Ah, but you see, Soldier Boy, it’s hard not to think about it”, he replied smoothly. “You know”, he began, his voice smooth, light with a hint of mock seriousness, “if she were mine, I think I’d know how to treat her right. Tend to her properly, you know? Make sure she felt appreciated. None of this casual, detached business you’ve got going on”.

Frenchie leaned in. “I’d make sure she felt valued… every single day, every single night.” He paused, watching Ben’s jaw tighten even more.

“She’s a woman who deserves attention”, Frenchie added, his voice softer, yet laced with a suggestive undertone. “Someone who knows exactly how to take care of her, who could appreciate every little thing about her. I’d have no problem showing her… just how much she means”.

Ben’s eyes darkened, his jaw clenched so tightly you could almost hear the grinding of his teeth. With a low, menacing growl, he closed the distance between himself and Frenchie, his entire demeanor shifting from casual irritation to barely contained fury. He grabbed Frenchie by the collar, yanking him close, his face a mere inch from Frenchie’s.

“Keep talking like that, and you’ll be eating through a fucking tube”, he spat, his voice a dangerous, guttural whisper. His grip tightened, his fingers digging into Frenchie’s shirt as he held him in place. “Say one more thing and I swear, I’ll make sure you won’t be able to talk at all”.

Frenchie met his gaze with calm defiance, unbothered by Ben’s threats. “Touchy, aren’t we?”, he replied, his tone still teasing, though he didn’t try to break free from Ben’s grip. “If she means nothing to you, why get so worked up, huh?”.

Ben’s face twisted, the fury in his eyes burning hotter. He shoved Frenchie back roughly, releasing him but not stepping away, standing over him with a look that promised retribution. “Stay away from her, or I’ll rip off your fucking face”.

With a final glare at Frenchie, Ben turned on his heel, marching straight toward the kitchen, where you sat with Kimiko. You were lost in thought, absently tracing patterns on the table with your fingers, trying to keep yourself grounded after the difficult moments of the evening. Kimiko sat beside you, her presence quiet and supportive, a comforting anchor in the storm of your emotions.

Before you even registered his approach, Ben’s hand gripped your upper arm firmly, pulling you up from your seat with a roughness that surprised you. “We’re going”, he snapped, his voice a low growl, brooking no argument.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his demeanor, as you glanced back at Kimiko, who looked on with concern. “Ben—what are you—”, you began, trying to process what was happening, but he cut you off, his grip unyielding as he steered you toward the door.

“We’re done here”, he muttered through clenched teeth, not sparing a glance back at anyone else in the room. His possessive energy was intense, his expression dark, as if he were daring anyone to challenge him or get in his way.

“Ben, you can’t just—”, you protested, tugging against his grip, frustration bubbling up inside you. But he only tightened his hold, guiding you firmly toward the front door, his gaze fixed ahead, ignoring the murmurs and glances of others as you passed.

Once you were outside, he finally released his grip, turning to look at you, his face a mixture of frustration and something you couldn’t quite place. “Let’s go”, he said, his voice softer but still carrying that intense edge.

You pulled your arm back, crossing it over your chest as you looked at him with a mixture of defiance and confusion. “What is this about, Ben?”, you demanded.

But Ben didn’t hesitate for a second. Before you could protest or make sense of what was happening, he gripped you firmly by the hips, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. You barely had time to gasp before he threw you over his shoulder, his stride purposeful as he marched toward his car.

“Ben! Put me down!”, you protested, voice laced with a mix of frustration and disbelief. But he only tightened his hold, ignoring your protests as he made his way through the parking lot, his determination unyielding.

“You want attention? You want to know you’re the only one I want?”, he hissed, his tone raw, laced with an intensity that left no room for argument. “Fine. You get this”.

He reached his car, opened the passenger door with one hand, and set you down in the seat, not roughly but with a firmness that left no doubt about his resolve. The door closed, and before you could process the whirlwind of his actions, he was already rounding the front of the car, sliding into the driver’s seat beside you.

At your apartment, Ben didn’t miss a beat. The moment you unlocked the door, he swept you off your feet again, ignoring your protests as he carried you through the doorway with the same relentless determination he’d shown back at the party.

"Ben, I swear! Let me down!", you protested, trying to twist out of his hold, but he only tightened his grip.

Once he reached your bedroom, he finally set you down, but with a firm push that left you lying on your bed, breathless and stunned. Before you could gather your thoughts or form another protest, he was already shrugging off his jacket, his shirt soon following, revealing the familiar strength in his frame as he moved with an intensity that held you in place, silencing any words you’d planned to throw his way.

He leaned down, his face hovering inches above yours, his voice low and filled with a newfound sincerity. “You wanted proof, right?”, he murmured, his eyes boring into yours. “Wanted to know where I stand?”.

You felt the weight of his gaze, the raw honesty that seemed to have broken through his usual walls. This wasn’t just about a fight or proving a point—it was him, finally choosing to show you exactly where you stood in his life.

Ben’s hands gripped your shoulders, flipping you onto your stomach with a commanding ease. His fingers found the zipper at the back of your dress, yanking it down with a rough determination, letting the fabric slip down your sides, exposing your skin to the cool air of the room.

Without a word, he wrapped his hands around your hips, pulling you back toward him, his intensity palpable, his actions filled with an urgency that seemed to reflect everything unspoken between you two. His grip was firm, steady, as though he was grounding himself in the moment, his focus entirely on you.

Ben’s hands tightened on your hips, his body pressing close as he pushed down his boxers, the intensity in his gaze never wavering. He positioned himself at your entrance, hovering there, fighting against his natural impulse to take you with a roughness that matched his possessive energy. But something in him held back, a glimmer of restraint, and instead, he shifted his hips, letting the tip of him brush along your entrance, coaxing your body to respond, to be ready for him.

His voice was a low, almost dangerous murmur as he leaned down, his lips close to your ear. “Tell me”, he muttered, his tone rough and edged with an undeniable jealousy, “am I enough for you? Or do you need that French fuck between your legs too?”.

A giggle slipped out before you could stop yourself, the absurdity of Ben’s jealousy catching you off guard. The idea of anyone but him trying to take control like this, especially Frenchie, was laughable, and for a split second, the tension broke as you tried to stifle your amusement.

But Ben noticed. His grip on your hips tightened, and you could feel the intensity of his gaze burning into you, his frustration clearly flaring as his fingers dug into your skin. He leaned down, his breath hot and angry against your ear. “Something funny?”, he growled, his tone dark and edged with possessiveness. “Because I don’t see anything worth fucking laughing about”.

You felt the weight of his jealousy in his words, his fierce need to remind you that he wanted you—and only he would be the one to prove it. His hands slid up your sides, pulling you back against him with a roughness that made his claim on you clear. He wasn’t about to let anyone else so much as think they had a chance.

He paused, his voice low and unyielding. “Tell me”, he demanded, his tone laced with that raw, possessive edge, “who’s got you?”.

The question hung in the air, charged and heavy, and you felt the pull to answer, to give him the reassurance he craved. “You”, you murmured, letting your voice carry the truth he needed to hear. “Only you”.

The intensity in Ben’s gaze, that fierce possessiveness and unrestrained jealousy, stirred something deep within you—a thrill you hadn’t expected. This side of him, raw and unapologetically claiming, brought an undeniable heat between you. You couldn’t deny how much it affected you, how his unfiltered need, this deeper, vulnerable edge to his usual confidence, heightened every sensation, making you ache for him even more.

He seemed to notice the shift in your body, the way you responded to his words and his touch. A slow, self-satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as his hands explored your hips and thighs, possessively, deliberately. He leaned down again, his voice a low, dangerous murmur against your skin. “Good”, he whispered, a hint of satisfaction and hunger in his tone. “Because you’re about to know exactly what it means to be mine”.

With a firm push, Ben maneuvered you forward, your palms and knees bracing against the softness of the bed. There was a brief moment, a pulse of anticipation that tightened the air between breaths. Then, he positioned himself. In one deep, unyielding thrust, he filled you completely, making you gasp—a loud moan escaping your lips from the sheer intensity. He had never taken you with such forceful precision, and it electrified every nerve ending, sending waves of pleasure mixed with a fierce possessiveness through your body.

“You’re mine”, Ben groaned behind you, his voice thick with pleasure. Each word vibrated against your skin, his breath hot and heavy. The declaration resonated deeper than the words spoken in a moment of passion; they were an assertion, a claim laid bare and raw.

He held himself deep within you for a heartbeat, letting you both feel the completeness, the absolute union before starting a rhythm. His movements were deliberate, powerful, each thrust designed to remind you of his words, to etch them into the core of your being. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you back against him, his control undeniable, his need palpable.

"Ben”, you breathed out, barely able to get his name past your lips before he thrust into you again, harder this time, sending a shiver through your entire body. The force of it pressed your face gently against the mattress, but despite the intensity, you couldn’t stop the small, satisfied smirk that tugged at the corner of your mouth.

He noticed, and his grip on your hips tightened in response, as if the sight of your smile only spurred him on. “You think this is funny?”, he growled, his voice low and rough, a hint of challenge in his tone.

Instead of answering, you arched back into him, meeting his rhythm, urging him on. The silent dare wasn’t lost on him. He leaned down, his chest brushing against your back, his lips hovering near your ear. “Keep smiling, and I’ll give you even more to grin about”, he murmured, the intensity in his voice making your pulse race.

And he did. His hand came down in a swift slap against your buttcheek, the sting of it making you wince and moan at the same time, the sharpness mingling with the pleasure in a way that sent a shiver through your entire body. It was a side of Ben you hadn’t fully seen before—possessive, assertive, pushing boundaries yet still holding back enough to stay grounded in the intensity of the moment.

“Say it”, he demanded, his voice a low growl that reverberated through you. There was an insistence in his tone, a need to hear it, to have you speak the words that would affirm his place in your life and the hold he had over you.

You swallowed, your pulse racing, feeling the way he held you in that moment, entirely attuned to the way your body responded. You knew exactly what he wanted to hear.

“I’m yours”, you whispered, breathless, giving him the words he craved. “Only yours”.

Ben’s response to your words was immediate and intense. His thrusts grew even harder, pushing you deeper into the mattress, each movement designed to remind you of his claim. The room filled with the sound of his heavy breathing and the faint noise of the bed creaking under the force of his movements.

“You’re mine”, he reiterated, each word punctuated by another deep, deliberate thrust. His voice was thick with desire, husky with the effort of maintaining control over the pace he set. “Say it again”, he commanded, his tone both demanding and incredibly arousing.

“I’m yours, Ben, only yours”, you repeated, your voice a mixture of pleasure and surrender. The intensity of his actions, the way he made you feel utterly possessed, only heightened the depth of your response.

“Who makes you feel like this?”, Ben growled, leaning over you, his body covering yours, his breath hot against the back of your neck.

“No one else”, you gasped out, the pleasure building inside you making it difficult to focus on words. “Only you, Ben”.

“That’s right”, he said, his voice satisfied but still edged with an undeniable possessiveness. His hands gripped you tighter, his movements becoming even more focused, as if he could drive the truth of your words deeper with every thrust. “Remember that, every single time. You belong to me”.

As he spoke, his rhythm began to change, becoming more erratic as his own climax approached. The raw intimacy of his words, combined with the relentless motion of his body, pushed you closer to the edge, your entire being focused on the sensations overwhelming you.

“Ben!”, you cried out, the intensity becoming almost too much, your voice breaking with the strain of holding back the wave of pleasure threatening to break over you.

With a swift motion, Ben's arm wrapped around your chest, pulling you back against him, pressing your bodies even closer together. The heat of his skin against yours, the firmness of his hold, and the way he grounded you left you breathless, suspended in the overwhelming sensation. His teeth grazed your shoulder, adding a sharp edge to the overwhelming pleasure as he held you in place, marking his claim yet again.

“Don’t you dare come now”, he murmured into your ear, his voice a rough, low growl that sent shivers down your spine. The command in his tone was impossible to ignore, and you felt yourself straining against the pleasure, caught in the tension between wanting to obey him and feeling yourself pushed to your limits.

“Hold on”, he groaned, his own breathing heavy and erratic, his grip on you tightening as he struggled to maintain control. You could sense he was as close as you were, his body taut with effort, the urgency of his own need mingling with his resolve to keep you on the brink.

"Ben… please", you managed to gasp, your voice barely a whisper as you struggled to catch your breath. Your thighs trembled, the intensity of him bottoming out so deeply sending a mixture of sharp ache and overwhelming pleasure through you. The sensation was almost too much, the fullness both stretching and grounding you, blurring the lines between pain and pleasure.

He didn’t move, holding himself still, pressing against you with a weight and intensity that left you feeling completely enveloped. You could feel his pulse inside you, each subtle throb sending a wave of sensation through your body, as if he was deliberately making you feel every inch of him, savoring the way your body responded.

"Feel that?", he murmured, his voice low, rough, each word vibrating against your skin. His arms tightened around you, anchoring you to him, as if he wanted you to stay in this moment, to know without a doubt that he was there, fully present. “That’s all for you”.

With a measured precision, Ben’s hand slid between your legs, his fingers finding the sensitive spot he knew would drive you over the edge. He began to rub your clit in slow, deliberate circles, the pressure firm yet teasing, pushing you closer to that edge you’d been clinging to. Just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, he shifted, easing himself even deeper, filling you in a way that was almost overwhelming.

A gasp escaped your lips, your body tensing as the pleasure built steadily, his fingers coaxing you toward release with each gentle but insistent touch. Every sensation felt heightened, his touch a steady, grounding force that left you completely at his mercy.

"That’s enough attention?”, he groaned into your ear, his voice strained, thick with the effort of holding himself back. The question was laced with a teasing edge, but beneath it, you could hear the raw need, the challenge in his tone daring you to ask for more, even as he pushed you to the very limits of what you could handle.

You managed a shaky breath, barely able to respond as he continued, his fingers relentless, drawing you closer and closer to the brink. Your body felt like it was on fire.

“Ben”, you whispered, your voice barely audible, a mixture of pleading and surrender.

He took that as an invitation, his movements growing bolder as he pressed himself even deeper, his fingers working you in tandem, guiding you past the edge and into an all-consuming release that left you breathless.

“Come for me”.

The authority in his voice sent a final shudder through you, and your body responded immediately, clenching hard around him as your climax rippled through you, leaving you gasping. Every nerve felt alive, hypersensitive to his presence, and yet he held himself still, not moving an inch, his restraint palpable as he fought to keep himself in check, even as your body tightened and pulsed around him.

The moment Ben released his grip, your body, weak and trembling from the intensity of your release, gave way, and you fell forward onto the bed, barely catching yourself on your forearms. But before you had a chance to even out your breathing or gather your thoughts, he was already moving, his presence a commanding force as he maneuvered you onto your back, positioning you just where he wanted.

You blinked up at him, still reeling, but his gaze held a steady, fierce intensity as he hovered above you. In one smooth motion, he spread your legs, his hands firm but gentle, his touch possessive yet filled with purpose. His eyes roamed over you, taking in the flush of your skin, the breathlessness that lingered, the effect he’d left on you.

“Look at you”, he murmured, almost to himself, his voice a mix of satisfaction and admiration. He settled himself between your legs, his hands finding your hips, steadying you as he leaned down, pressing a kiss to the hollow of your throat, trailing down to your collarbone, leaving a path of warmth in his wake.

“You’re not done yet”, he said, his tone soft but laced with a promise that made your pulse quicken. The anticipation built as he positioned himself, his body aligning with yours, filling the space between you. As he eased into you again, slower this time, his movements deliberate and controlled, the tension between you grew, layering the connection with a tenderness you hadn’t expected. This time, it was more than possession—it was something deeper, a steady rhythm that spoke of both intensity and care, each movement grounding you in the moment, letting you know that he was completely, undeniably present.

"Ben”, you breathed shakily, barely able to manage his name as his slow, sensual rhythm overtook every part of you. Your hands found their way to his back, your nails digging into his skin with a force that surprised even you.

He hissed softly at the sting, but instead of pulling away, he leaned into it, as though your touch, even when rough, was something he craved. His gaze bore into yours, the heat in his eyes never wavering, and his thrusts remained unhurried but deliberate, each one deeper than the last, his pace a steady, all-consuming rhythm that left you utterly at his mercy.

The gentleness in his movements, coupled with the fierce intensity that lingered in his gaze, created a contrast that overwhelmed you. He was in no rush, as if savoring every second, and with each slow thrust, he seemed to pull you further under, grounding you both in a connection that went beyond words.

“Look at me”, he whispered, his voice hoarse, raw with emotion. You met his eyes, your breaths mingling, and in that gaze, you saw a vulnerability he rarely revealed, something deeper than just possession or need—a silent acknowledgment that this moment was more than either of you had anticipated.

"Come for me”, he urged, his voice low and filled with a mixture of need and encouragement. His gaze held yours, intense and unwavering, a command and a plea wrapped into one. You felt the wave building within you again, but your body was spent, every nerve overstimulated, your breaths coming out in broken gasps.

“I can’t”, you whined softly, your voice barely above a whisper, a mix of desperation and surrender. You felt completely undone, as though you’d already given him everything, and yet here he was, urging you for more.

“Yes, you can”, he murmured, his tone filled with determination, a steady insistence that you couldn’t ignore. His hands tightened on your hips, steadying, as he maintained that slow, powerful rhythm, each thrust perfectly controlled, designed to coax one last release from you. “Just one more”, he coaxed, his voice rough but gentle. “For me”.

His words sent a renewed shiver through you, his voice somehow reaching into that last reserve of strength you hadn’t known was there. With his gaze locked on yours, his movements never faltering, the tension within you built again, slow and all-encompassing, until you felt yourself tip over the edge.

“There we go”, he groaned, his voice thick with satisfaction as he felt your body respond, your walls clenching around him in that final wave of release. The sensation drove him to his own peak, his head falling against your throat, his breath hot against your skin as he gave one last, deep thrust, spilling himself inside you, the warmth of him filling you completely.

His grip on you tightened as he held you close, neither of you moving, both caught in the intensity of the moment as the last shudders ran through you. His breaths came in ragged, uneven gasps against your neck, grounding you both in the shared aftermath.

He stayed like that for a long moment, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his hands tracing gentle, soothing patterns along your sides, a rare softness overtaking him as he recovered alongside you.

Your chest rose and fell in ragged breaths, each one shallow as you lay there beneath him, feeling the weight of his body pressed against yours. The intensity of everything you’d just shared left you almost dazed, barely able to process the moment. But then, his voice, barely above a whisper, reached you, a softness to his words that broke through the haze.

"You know you do matter, right?", he murmured against your skin, his voice so low it was almost a breath, as if he were sharing a secret with you, a truth he rarely allowed himself to admit. He didn’t look up, his face still pressed against your shoulder, his vulnerability palpable.

The words lingered in the space between you, carrying a depth that was both comforting and grounding. It was as if he was letting down every wall, offering you a glimpse of the man behind all the bravado and guarded strength. In that quiet confession, you felt a connection to him that went beyond anything physical—a fragile honesty that made your heart ache in a way you hadn’t expected.

You brought a hand up, gently running your fingers through his hair, grounding him just as he had grounded you. "I know", you whispered back, the words filled with a reassurance you hoped he could feel.

For a while, you both stayed like that, tangled together. The silence between you was filled with a warmth and intimacy that transcended everything that had come before, a silent acknowledgment of something real, something that would last beyond this night.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

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Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373

[dollfacefantasy]

SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL ♡

pairing: homelander x fem!reader

summary: homelander has taken an interest in you, vought's new intern. no matter how you look at it, as a good or bad thing, it ends the same way: him getting what he wants.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, dubcon, p in v, oral (m receiving), body worship, sir kink, obsessive behavior, manipulation/coercion, age gap (reader in early 20s)

wc: 7.7k (oops lol)

a/n: hehe. never thought i would write for this man but it was pretty fun :) comm for my sweet beloved @gor3-hound love you so very much mwah mwah <33

At the junction of the V-shaped table, Homelander sat. With his back to the skyline and his gloved hands folded in front of him, he held the posture of a statue. Ashley had been rambling on and on and fucking on for the past five minutes about shit he couldn't care less about. Her nasally voice bounced off the tile floors and painted ceiling, ricocheting around him like a rogue bullet. Only his impregnable skin didn't protect him from the discomfort of this situation.

It was moments like these that really made him regret killing Stillwell.

That woman knew how to handle things. As manipulative as she could be, at least she wasn't absolutely insufferable. How could Stan let Ashley replace her? She was a poor excuse of just about everything. Absolutely spineless, unintelligent, reactionary, and opportunistic. He really couldn't picture any person on this Earth genuinely liking her.

However in the midst of his mental complaints, he realized that the annoying sound of her speaking was directed at him. All the other stares in the room were zeroed in on him too. A-Train observed in cautious silence. Noir's goggles reflected Homelander's own image right back at him. Maeve judged with a sideways glance. And Starlight prepared for the worst.

He tore his own bright blue eyes from the door opposite the table and refocused them on Ashley. They scanned over her thinning ginger locks down to her gaudy outfit - a piss poor attempt at imitating power.

"What?" he asked, his voice cutting through the air with a force similar to one of Maeve's swords.

Ashley blinked in return. Fear swirled in her wide eyes. She tried to maintain that empowered appearance she so desperately wished was real, but he could see the innate urge to cower bubbling within her.

"Was that lineup for the funeral ok with you, Homelander? A-Train and Noir open, Starlight sings, and then you close?" she repeated.

Now it was his turn to blink. Like he could actually give a shit about the order of segments for Translucent's funeral. He swallowed hard. While she projected a mirage of power, he had to do the same with level-headedness.

"That's fine, Ashley. Have those two go first, and Starlight can follow up with Amazing Grace or whatever shitty hymns they teach in that hick town she's from, and then I can finish us out," he responded.

He could see how her knuckles were going white around the edge of her clipboard. She gripped it for comfort, as if that could save her from his potential wrath. It only irritated him more. If he wanted her dead, he would turn her to ashes where she stood. How hard she braced herself in advance wouldn't matter in the slightest. But people could be so foolish in moments of terror.

"Well speaking of that," she said before clearing her throat, an attempt at a natural transition, "We were trying to decide what song she would sing. Maybe one of our originals? Or do you think it would be more tasteful to go with something from an outside source?"

Gritting his teeth, he buried the urge to unleash the bright beams of red from his sockets. His hands slid off one another and pressed down onto the cool table.

"Do you really need me to decide what song is going to send Translucent to the grave?" he replied, "I don't care what you play, and no one else attending will either. They'll be focused on working up some tears for the useless dipshit they never had the displeasure of knowing. Instead of trying to gain their approval, we should be working on finding the next member of the Seven who can replace him. There's no use dwelling on the past. We need to be preparing for the future."

He paused to let his words permeate the room, giving everyone a chance to absorb the sentiment and adapt accordingly. With his pupils still trained on Ashley, he planned on continuing his tirade, but his train of thought came to an abrupt halt.

Soft pitter-patters of footsteps clacked down the hall outside this room. They sounded in a delicate rhythm, only audible to him. As they grew louder, he caught the scent of the source too. Airy and light. A stark contrast to the brash perfume Ashley doused herself in.

The doors at the front of the room slid apart to reveal you.

You stood there for a moment. The realization that you'd interrupted something was visible in your eyes. The small spheres cast down as you wobbled in like a fawn that sensed wolves watching from nearby.

Ashley turned to face you, a glower already set on her features. The resentment she held for everyone else in this building awoke from its usual dormant slumber because there was finally someone weaker she could take it out on.

Once you reached her, your hand rose and gave her a thin stack of papers. 

"I'm sorry for interrupting. It's a memo from 82. They made it sound urgent," you explained, everything about your temperament meek and timid.

After a brief pause to let you marinate in the few moments before your inevitable humiliation, she snatched the papers from you. Her eyes roamed over the page with disinterest. Even if the information conveyed by the small black letters was important, he doubted she would give it any reaction. She wanted to lash out, and she was going to, whether it was justified or not.

"They couldn't have emailed me this?" she snapped, as if that was something you could control.

"I don't know. I'm sorry. I'll check next time," you offered.

"You better or you'll run out of next times," she threatened, "Incompetence like this won't fly here. You're in the big leagues now, so act like it. Think before you do something instead of taking commands like a lap dog."

"I'm sorry," you replied, ducking your head again.

"Don't be sorry, just do better," she commanded.

"I will," you agreed.

"Good. Just get out of here now. Go pick up my lunch," she told you.

His lips curled into a scowl as he watched the scene play out. It was pathetic - not you, but Ashley. He hated seeing the fucking smirk on her face as you walked away. She had nothing to be smug about. She was nothing more than a feral coyote going after the scraps the other predators didn't take.

To make matters worse, when she returned her attention to the group at the table, she saw the look on his face. She saw the disdain, but instead of striking regret into her, it only deepened her sense of self-satisfaction.

She thought the look was for you. That he was disgusted with your mistake. Annoyed with your intrusion.

He couldn't have that. Not when that assumption was the farthest thing from the truth. Honestly, he didn't know if he was even capable of feeling such ire towards you. Not his precious little fawn.

Rising from his seat, his glare remained on Ashley. She did show a little fear then.

"You know, I don't have all day, Ashley. I'll open Translucent's funeral, Starlight will follow up with a song, and that will be it. A-Train and Noir can have the day off, because let's be honest, nobody will give shit either way," he mocked.

"But, sir-" she said, clearly confused by his sudden impending departure.

"I have more important things to deal with. If you need anything else, I'm sure one of the others can help you," he dismissed.

With that, he stepped back from the table and began heading to the doors. He hoped if he was fast enough he could still catch you. Even in a building as sleek and modern as this one, the elevators could be quite slow.

Walking out into the hall, his head swiveled in the direction you would have gone. For once, his own portrait didn't catch his eye. He didn't even think about stopping by Stillwell's office to reminisce. Instead, he just headed down towards the elevator. His red boots thudded across smooth tile in rapid succession, covering the path you'd just taken.

Finally, after a few feet, he spotted you. Bottom lip pulled between your teeth. Eyes glossy with embarrassment. Tip of your polished shoe tapping against the ground. You startled when his voice boomed across the space, calling out your name. So cute.

You looked at him with fear in your eyes, but disgust didn't fester in the pit of his stomach like it did when others gave him that anxious stare. Another feeling bloomed inside him, one he couldn't really place. It was just that the nervous gleam over your pupils didn't make him hate himself and all the circumstances of his life that put him in his position.

Instead, your wide eyes and pouty lips made him feel strong. You made him feel like a hero. A real one, not the artificial caricature that Vought projected to the world. With you nearby, he felt like the kind of guy who deserved the American flag blowing off his back with a pretty girl cradled in his arms and a dead enemy at his feet. When you gazed up at him, he could only imagine that the pride rushing through his chest and confidence pooling between his hips was the feeling his creators intended for him.

"Did you need something from me, sir?" you asked, reminding him that he actually had to provide a reason to talk to you. Just wanting to stare at you like a psychopath would not suffice unfortunately.

"Oh no," he waved off, "The meeting just finished up. I was heading out too. I saw you, and I realized I haven't really taken the time to get to know you yet, which is unfortunate because I usually like to be familiar with the newer people we have working with us."

A complete lie. Before you, he didn't remember ever giving any of the interns a second glance. They were true nuisances. They were Ashleys.

"Oh... well I'm around whenever you wanna talk. Ashley keeps me busy, but I'm sure I could make an exception for you," you replied.

"You absolutely can make an exception for me," he chuckled, "If Ashley gives you any trouble, just let me know, and I'll make sure she remembers who's really in charge around here."

It wasn't until he heard your heart rate increase that he realized those words probably came off as threatening. Well, they were threatening, but you weren't supposed to see him that way.

"I'm kidding," he forced out with a laugh, "Just joking around like I do... I just don't want you to worry about getting in some kind of trouble for me sniffing around you."

You huffed out an awkward laugh of your own and nodded.  "I'll be sure to make some time for you in the future then and let Ashley know it was at your direction."

"Great," he said with probably too much enthusiasm. 

His jaw clenched into one of his usual tight smiles. He averted his eyes from you and looked towards the numbers on the elevator. Fuck, it was reaching the bottom. He didn't want to let you go, but it wasn't like he could just stroll down the street with you to go get Ashley's lunch. His mind scrambled to come up with a solution.

But like your earlier intrusion into the meeting, your gentle voice cuts through the hurricane forming in his head.

"Are you alright, sir?" you ask, anxious concern written all over your features.

He refocused on you and nodded. His arm extended out behind you, his palm landing against the elevator wall. As he leaned in, he could smell your adrenaline spiking. He could hear the shift of your shoe against the ground. If only he possessed a sixth sense for the mind, so he could know what little thoughts about him were flitting through your head.

"I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me," he answered. He smiled down at you, observing the slight nod you gave him in return.

"Of course not. It probably seems silly coming from me," you said.

His brows raised in amusement. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

He saw the flash of regret in your eyes. The one people always gave him when he asked a question in that tone. The one that came from the panic of realizing they may have said something that offended Homelander.

You suppressed it pretty well though and brought out a smile that gave the impression that you hoped he was messing with you instead.

"Well you know... because you're you," you said and tilted your head in an innocent way that made his chest ache.

He chuckled that charming, prepackaged laugh that had been trained into him. "Even I can appreciate someone taking an interest in checking on me," he replied.

It was maddening, how bad he wanted you. He wasn't even sure when this craving had sprouted inside him. He had been so preoccupied with his affinity for Stillwell that his fixation with you struck him like a glass window in front of a flying bird. But no matter the timeframe in which it blossomed, it had taken root by now and wasn't going to go away on its own.

When he looked at you like this - staring up at him with earnest fascination - his mind drifted to darker places all on its own. He couldn't stop it if he wanted to (and really, he didn't want to). It's just how was he not supposed to be aware of the fact that it would be all too easy to take you back to his room? How could he not think about what it would feel like to have your fragile body beneath his own in private? How could he not wonder what you'd sound like crying out in a sinful mix of pleasure and pain?

Hell, how was he supposed to pretend like he couldn't just bend you over and fuck you dumb right here in the middle of this elevator if he wanted to? No one would be able to stop him. There wouldn't be a thing they could do other than watch. They could stare in horror as he used you like he deserved, as he pounded into your warm, soft, dripping hole like he needed...

Unfortunately, painting that picture in his head had his blood rushing South. He felt the subtle simmer of desire in his pelvis, and he knew in no time his length would be filling out. This suit gave him no way of hiding it either. Clearly, whoever made it hadn't anticipated the Homelander popping a boner on the job.

But luckily for him, the elevator chimed with its arrival at the bottom floor. He straightened out as you looked ahead in preparation of your departure. But before you could go, he grabbed your arm. His touch was tender, holding the same force he'd use when cradling a baby at a photo-op.

"Maybe later tonight you'd like to take me up on one of those talks? After you're done for the day, you could stop by my place. The sooner the better, right?" he asked.

Your eyes widened ever so slightly, but you still nodded. "Um... sure thing. I'll head up once I've finished all my work. It should be around six if that's ok?" you offered.

"Yeah, that works for me. I'll be waiting," he said in an attempt to be playful.

You smiled once more and then headed out of the elevator. His fingertips dragged down your arm to your wrist as you walked away before you finally slipped from his grasp. He could hear your heart pounding faster than your footsteps as you headed towards the exit of the building.

At six o'clock sharp, a knock sounded through his penthouse. And it only took him a few seconds to swing the door open and greet you.

"There she is," he beamed with exaggerated politeness.

You smiled modestly in return, shrugging and smoothing out a crease in your blouse. "I couldn't let the leader of the seven down," you joked.

He scoffed but opened the door wider, beckoning you into his place. You took the invitation and crossed the threshold. Your eyes glanced around the place, taking note of all the things in the apartment that housed the most powerful man on Earth.

The American flag taking up an entire wall almost stopped you in your tracks. It would've been funny if it was someone else, but because it belonged to him, it stood there like a warning. You tried not to show how daunting you found it. Average people could be touchy about that famous piece of cloth. You didn't want to find out if the strongest supe felt the same through means of offending him. 

In place of letting that bother you, you shifted your attention over to all the historical pictures hanging on the walls and the sleek surfaces and drawers filled with things you couldn't begin to imagine. Your eyes casted over the statues accenting the space as well. It was all so very polished. It looked like what you'd expect the Homelander entry in an Ikea catalog to be.

"So what do you think?" he asked. He knew his words came off as stiff. Probably a little stilted sounding. He just couldn't help it. For the first time, he couldn't get a read on how you felt through physical signs alone. And right now, he really really wanted you to like him.

"It's... impressive," you answered.

But he could hear the hesitation in your voice. In each word, there was the same wavering quality to it that you get when Ashley grilled you in front of an audience. It wasn't the precious reverence that he saw in the elevator. The nervous kind of admiration you held for someone above your standing. This was just plain anxiety, and that served no purpose to him. 

Despite your trepidation however, you walked forward to the window at the back of the place. You looked out over the city in awe.

"I would love to live somewhere high up like this," you said.

He came up from behind to stand next to you in front of the glass panes. His eyes landed on your face. You stared out the window, wonder twinkling in your eyes. Your voice sounded almost breathless. It was adorable.

"No fear of heights?" he asked.

"Not when it comes to being inside. Maybe I'd be nervous if we were on a balcony or something," you replied.

"Oh come on. You'd have nothing to worry about if you were with me. I'd never let you fall," he said, dropping his voice a few octaves.

You made that cute little face again when those words hit your ears. Your eyes widened before they fell to look at your shoes. So modest, the way you shied away. He wondered if you were always so timid or if it was only when a god amongst men like himself flirted with you.

He chuckled and reached out, tilting your chin back up to look at him. "You don't need to be nervous," he soothed, "There's no safer place to be than with the Homelander, right?"

You nodded right along. His words left no room for objection.

"Good girl," he smirked and dragged a gloved thumb over your cheek. He pulled his hand back and stepped in the direction of the brown leather sectional that sat in the middle of the room.

"Come over here and sit down. We can talk," he directed.

Following him to the large couch, you took your seat near the corner. You assumed he'd sit at the other end or at least towards the middle of the perpendicular cushions, but no. He sat down in the corner with you. His body was at most a foot away.

He continued to smile at you though he didn't speak. It felt odd, sitting there in silence across from him. He wasn't doing anything overtly threatening, yet you still felt at his mercy.

"So, do you like it here so far? Do you feel like you're fitting into the Vought family?" he asked with a bit of an edge to that second word.

You nodded again. A relieved breath seeped from your lungs as the tense void in conversation came to an end. "Yeah, it's nice here. I feel like I'm learning a lot."

He chuckled and leaned back against the stiff backing of the sofa. His muscular arm draped along the top. Though it wasn't his intention to draw your focus there, he caught the way your eyes dragged over his bicep.

"That's good," he said, "It can be a lot when you're new. I wouldn't want you feeling overwhelmed."

"That's nice of you. I appreciate it, but I'm used to a busy schedule," you replied.

"You're freshly graduated, aren't you?" he checked.

"Yeah," you said, your lips quirking upwards at his guess.

"I thought so. You have that cute, wide-eyed, optimistic thing going for you."

A small laugh leaves your lips. "I know. Ashley said I'll grow out of it by the end of this quarter."

His face dropped, and he almost abandoned the prince charming act he was attempting to pull off for you. The mere mention of Ashley was enough to irk him, but the thought that she was trying to change you? Not only change you but jade you. To strip away the soft and sweet qualities that hooked him on you in the first place. It was criminal. He couldn't hide his disdain.

"You shouldn't listen to her," he said. He wasn't angry, but his cadence held intensity. "Ashley's problem is Ashley. To be honest, I don't even know why they gave her an intern. It's not like she'd be good at teaching anything when she still doesn't understand most things about our business herself."

Your fingers dug into the edge of your seat. It wouldn't have been significant in a normal conversation, but when speaking with a man who could hear a pin drop forty stories down, he noticed.

"You're still nervous," he observed.

In an instant, your hands flew to your lap, like you knew what gave your anxiety away. You fidgeted with the hem of your skirt and shrugged.

"A little," you admitted.

"Are you scared of me?" he asked.

You shook your head without even thinking about the question.

"No, it's not that. I swear," you reassured, "It's just that this is a big deal for me. I'm really honored you want to get to know me, and I just want to make a good impression."

"You don't need to worry about that. I wouldn't have invited you here if I didn't have a good impression of you," he said.

You sighed slightly, letting out a bit of tension, but he could still smell that boosted cortisol running through your blood.

"Come here," he ordered, his voice soft but undeniably firm.

"What?" you asked.

A puff of amused air blew from his nostrils. "Come here," he repeated, "Sit closer."

As if you needed the guidance, he patted the space directly beside his hip. He could see the uncertainty in your eyes even after the gesture. The lack of understanding toward his reasoning persisted. Regardless of your skepticism however, you scooted in his direction and ended up where he wanted you.

"That's better," he said.

With careful fingers, he slipped the glove off his right hand. Your eyes locked on it in subtle awe. You'd seen this man on billboards and commercials for years. His face dominated newscasts. His voice broadcast over the radio on a weekly basis. Still, you had never seen such a human part of him. Five fingers and a palm reaching for your own.

They clasped around your hand. His skin was smooth. The gloves preserved them from any marks of experience.

"Did Ashley warn you about me?" he asked, drawing your eyes back to his own.

Your heart thundered, but you couldn't lie. Never had Vought bragged about Homelander being a human lie detector, but in this moment, you felt like that was the case.

"Yes," you responded.

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. "You didn't believe her, did you?" he asked.

You could tell he already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear it.

"Yes," you whispered again.

"What did she tell you?"

It was hard to remember that conversation you'd had a few weeks ago with Ashley. Feeling like you were two seconds away from having lasers beamed through your skull made minute details fuzzy and distant, but you manage to choke a few out anyways.

"She said that you have a very specific vision for the Seven, and that you'll do anything to make your dreams reality. She was just saying you're ambitious. That you care about the greater good," you summarized.

"I have a feeling you're saying it a lot nicer than she did," he teased. He could feel the fear rolling off of you in waves, and in a moment, he would rectify that. But for right now, he didn't mind letting his precious little fawn tremble in terror for a few moments more.

"Yeah, she can be kind of blunt," you said with a shaky laugh.

"That's one word for it," he said.

"She's not gonna get in trouble because of what I said, is she?" you asked.

He couldn't help laughing at that. The sound came out low and throaty. You were just so fucking pure. Worried about protecting someone who wouldn't hesitate for a second to sell you out if it meant she could climb up another rung on the corporate ladder.

His exposed thumb rubbed back and forth over your knuckles. "No. Of course not. We're just talking," he said.

He leaned in closer to you, positioning his mouth in close proximity to your ear. His free hand came up to cup your jaw.

"I appreciate your honesty though. Ashley probably couldn't tell you this, but I appreciate a loyal girl like you," he murmured.

On both your hand and through his glove in contact with your chin, he could feel your skin heat up.

"Oh... thank you, sir," you said.

He chuckled. His fingers squished into the flesh of your cheeks, making your lips puff out as though they were seeking a kiss.

"So polite, but I like that. We need more people here who understand their place," he said.

At this point, the gravity of your circumstances began to settle on you. Your fear had worn off a bit, and you realized what a compromising position he had you in. With one tight squeeze, he could crush every bone in your face.

Out of instinct, you tried pulling back a little. You didn't make it obvious, only attempting to gain a few inches of space.

That was a few inches too many though. He tightened his grip and kept you where he wanted you.

"Ah ah," he tutted, "How many times do I have to tell you that you don't need to be scared? I'm not going to hurt you."

You dropped the resistance right then and there. It wasn't worth pursuing. If he didn't want you getting away, you weren't getting away.

He took a few more seconds to study your face, taking in every minutiae of your expressions. Then, his hands dropped to your waist, and he pulled you into his lap. His thighs were firm against your ass, both rigid in how he carried himself and defined from the pure muscle that made them up.

His hands smoothed up and down your sides, coasting over each crease in your blouse. He massaged your soft tissue with gentle squeezes from the beginning of your bra down to the swell of your hips.

"God, you're beautiful," he muttered, "You fit here like you were made for me."

You vibrated in his grasp. He could feel the way you quivered with the urge to pull away.

"Thank you, s-sir," you stammered, "I really appreciate it but-"

"But nothing," he cut you off.

"But I don't think we should be... doing this," you tried to continue anyway.

"Why not?" he asked. Though his tone made it obvious that no matter what reason you provided, it wouldn't change his mind.

"Because you're like my boss, y'know? And I worked really hard to get my spot here, and I don't want people thinking I slept my way to where I am," you explained, "You're really nice, and I admire you a lot, but it wouldn't be right."

He didn't respond immediately. He paused and let your words hang in the air for a few moments.

"You know," he finally spoke, "I don't think you understand how things work around here. It doesn't matter what anyone else in this building thinks. Only me."

You blinked at him, unsure of how to respond to such an assertion. It didn't matter though. He continued without your input.

"What I do with you, how I feel about you - no one else will know about it unless you tell them. But even if you do and even if they care, there isn't a thing they'll do about it. There's not a thing they can do about it," he continued.

"I still don't think it's a good idea," you maintained.

"Good thing this isn't for you to think about then," he mocked, "You're a fast learner. You'll figure it out soon enough. I am God in this tower. And a god doesn't listen to his subjects. He guides them. He knows best."

One of his hands slid up your tummy and over your chest onto your throat. He cupped your jaw and swiped his thumb back and forth across your bottom lip.

"What did Ashley tell you about me?" he asked.

"That no one gets in your way."

"Good. And she was right. No one gets in my way. Nothing stops me from getting what I want. And I've wanted you for too fucking long not to try you out."

That set of fingers on your chin pulled your face towards his and brought you into a kiss. You froze against his lips. It felt as though all of time stopped. This high up, you couldn't hear the sounds of the city outside the penthouse. No one existed in this moment but you and him.

Unlike you, he melted into the exchange. He sighed against your skin and pulled you flush against his toned body. After a second to let you come to terms with what was happening, he kissed you again. His lips sucked on yours gently, attempting to coax you into returning the affection.

The most he got is you puckering them up ever so slightly.

He pulled away with frustration in his eyes and grabbed your face, jerking you a little to look at him.

"Don't act like you don't want this. I know you do," he said, "You're scared, but you don't need to be. Relax and let yourself enjoy this. It's not everyday that the most powerful man on earth wants to fuck you."

Your eyes blew up like little saucers, but before you could really process the directness of what he'd said, he was kissing you again. This time it wasn't as nerve wracking. You softened up a little and kissed back.

You didn't put much effort into it. Your lips responded like this was a juvenile first date. But he didn't let up. He didn't let you give him anything less than your best. His hands roamed across your body. They groped and fondled your breasts and then migrated South to feel up your ass through your pencil skirt.

Your muscles started to loosen up after a minute or so. You told yourself this wasn't so bad. He was being gentle so far, and for someone with his abilities, you wanted it to stay that way. You brought your hand up to his face and cupped his cheek. With that as leverage, you deepened the kiss.

He groaned as soon as you started to give in. His hands fell to your hips and tugged you so that you were straddling him. He smacked your ass, the sound echoing around his apartment. You could tell he held back. A real spank from Homelander could shatter your hip, but this one barely even stung. Maybe he did like you.

His fingers came up and with a sharp tug, he popped the front of your top loose. The column of buttons sprung free. The strips of cloth fell away to each of your sides, exposing a sliver of your skin. He furthered it by pulling off the garment entirely. His eyes trailed along your bare shoulders to your collar bone before finally landing on your breasts. He gave them a firm squeeze, kneading them through the barrier of your bra.

Meanwhile you rolled your hips down on his lap. Immediately, you felt his bulge that had risen to attention between your thighs. You did it again and then again. Each time you ground yourself against him with more pressure.

He grunted, and his eyes fluttered. His hands returned to your waist and gripped you hard, guiding your movements. He seemed transfixed for a few moments, as if he couldn't decide his next move.

After a few seconds though, he got his momentum back. He yanked you off his lap and flipped over so that you were seated on the couch again.

He rose to his feet before you. There your eyes scanned over his body from his tousled blond hair and his kiss-swollen red lips to his sculpted abdomen and his swelling erection. You reached out to touch him, but he stopped your hand mid-air.

Once your arm was limp on the couch again, he removed his other glove. He dropped it to the floor before bringing his right boot to the spot on the sofa next to you. He unzipped the red shoe and then discarded it like he had with the other item. The other boot followed the same routine.

"I don't let just anyone see me like this," he told you as his fingers began to undo his collar, "You should feel lucky."

Lucky wasn't the word you would use to describe your feelings in this situation. Maybe special. Or distinct. Individual. Either way, you continued to watch. Your eyes glided over his figure as he pulled away the tight blue costume that seemed like a second-skin for how much he wore it.

His defined chest came into view. Your reluctance hadn't vanished all together just yet, but at this point, it was fading fast. Pale hair dusted the muscular expanse and trailed down his stomach to the waistband of the bottoms. The waistband he soon hooked his fingers over and peeled down.

He dropped the scaled navy fabric to the ground before kicking it away, leaving himself in just a small pair of boxers. His hand came down and rubbed the swollen tent at the front while his eyes lingered on you.

"Do you want to touch?" he asked.

You nodded. It wasn't a hard decision. This was still a bad idea. You hadn't changed your mind on that. But at this point, what else was there to do? Defying Homelander wasn't an option for anyone on this planet ever. You were no different.

"Ask," he commanded.

"Please can I touch you?" you said.

"Please what?"

"Please, sir. Can I touch you?"

"Good girl," he praised before nodding, "Go for it."

You reached out, this time successfully. Your palm landed flat on his stomach. You held it there for a moment, just feeling his skin. In a way, it was unreal. To feel that someone propped up on the world's pedestal was flesh and blood like you.

Rubbing up and down, you continued getting a feel for his body. He smirked at your wonder before guiding you up by the elbow.

"Stand up and do it right," he said.

"Sorry."

The word came from your mouth automatically. You brought your other hand up to his chest and felt the muscles in his chest. Everything was so built. You expected that, but it was still odd to feel beneath your fingertips. He felt like a living ken doll. You almost didn't believe if he dropped his boxers there would be a real cock there.

Your hands traced up to his shoulders with precision. They explored down his biceps and forearms. And then finally, you brought your lips into his chest. He sighed and tilted his head back, relishing the feeling.

You kissed all over, swirling your tongue and tracing shapes onto his skin. It was almost entrancing, to be so focused on someone like this. You barely noticed as he turned the two of you and sat himself down on the couch, lowering you to your knees.

You worked your mouth down his abs, licking and kissing the twitching muscles. Your fingernails scraped up his sides and then down onto his thighs. When your lips reached the waistband of his boxers, your eyes glanced up at him.

"Can I take them off, sir?" you asked.

He smirked at the title. Only one word of correction and he'd trained that phrase into you.

"Yes," he answered. It was a simple answer. All that was required for someone so naturally obedient.

You took it in stride, tucking your fingers over the elastic and tearing them down. His hard cock popped up and slapped against his pelvis. You couldn't have been happier about your earlier ken doll theory being proven wrong. The sight of his dick was enough to make you drool. It was better than any work of art out there.

It rested against his body at the perfect length, the perfect girth. The tip flushed beautiful red and pearly white beads of precum smeared at the top. Your fingers wrapped around it and gave it a few strokes, testing the waters.

His hand came down and petted your head. He watched as you studied the appendage, as you experimented with your own touch. It was so fucking cute he thought he might cum right then and there. Fuck, he thought you were sweet every moment he had eyes on you, but right now, you were darling. You were doing as he said. Accepting your place at the feet of a superior being.

"Put it in your mouth," he said from above, "I want you to taste it."

There was no hesitation on your end this time around.

"Yes sir," you responded before leaning forward and wrapping your lips around his cock.

He groaned and let his chest hollow out with a harsh exhale. Your mouth was so warm and wet, nice and snug around his length. He rocked his hips up, pushing it further into your throat. He expected a small gag or sputter, but instead you moaned. You shut your eyes and flattened your tongue against his shaft before beginning to bob your head.

"Fuck," he hissed. His legs tensed up, and he pressed down on your head. That did get a tiny gag out of you. You gripped his hips to stabilize yourself though and stayed in place. Your nose nestled against the darker curls of hair that sat at the base of his cock.

Spit leaked from your mouth and dribbled onto his skin below. He took a few moments to just enjoy the feeling of his dick down your throat. The sight of his sweet, innocent girl choking on his cock. Then he let you pull off and catch your breath. 

You took a few deep puffs, letting the spots clear from your vision before you dove back in for more. Your hand stroked the lower part of him your mouth didn't cover in its shallow sucks while your other set of fingers caressed his balls tenderly.

He'd never experienced devotion. As much as it pained him to ever acknowledge, his sexual experiences had been lackluster up until now. There were the times with Maeve, but they always left something to be desired for him. Then there was the time with Stillwell that ended before it really started. In either case, no one had ever put all of themselves into pleasuring him like you were doing right now. It drove him wild. He could feel his sac tightening up, and he knew he had to get you off.

Planting one hand on each side of your head, he tugged you back. You looked up at him with glossy, cock-drunk eyes and saliva-coated lips. He swiped some of the mess away before addressing you.

"You're doing so good for me, but I think you're ready for more, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," you agreed.

"My perfect pet," he crooned and pulled you up onto the couch.

He laid you flat on your back and ripped your skirt and panties off in one go. His eyes drank in the sight of your nude lower half, but he didn't spend much time savoring it. He spread you out, slotting himself against your center.

With a few rocks of his hips, he dragged his length through your wetness. He let the sticky fluid coat his shaft, and then he sunk in. His tip bullied its way into your entrance and the rest of him followed. You whined at the stretch. Your walls clamped around him, eager to accept the intrusion.

"Atta girl," he grunted as he worked himself all the way in.

His hips connected with your ass, but he still bucked them, trying to get more. You yelped at the force. He was already buried inside you. Anymore and his tip would be nudging the entrance to your womb.

Fortunately for you, he pulled his hips back, giving you a short break from feeling so full. It was short lived though. Seconds later he snapped back in. That began the quick rhythm he set into. It was desperate and needy, emotions he'd tried to hide until this point.

You whimpered as your body bobbed with the momentum. His thrusts bounced you back and forth. The sounds of his body smacking against yours filled the room. His fingers dug into your waist hard enough to bruise. You didn't complain about the minor pain though because you could tell he was holding back in every other regard. If a few marks on your side kept you from being pulverized by a super cock, then that was a burden you were willing to carry.

Above you, he starts to pant. His breaths leave him raggedly huffing, sucking down what oxygen he can get in the midst of rutting into you. He tilts his head down at you and gazes at your blissed out face with lidded eyes.

"I could have anyone. Any person on this Earth would be mine if I wanted them to be. But the only one I want is you. Doesn't that feel good?" he breathed.

"Yes!" you cried out. Your back arched up off the couch. "Feels so fucking good, sir."

He leaned into you more, squishing your body into the surface below. Your thighs pressed against your tummy as he bent you.

"Yeah, it does," he grunted, "It's all there is. It's all you need to think about. How you're all mine."

"Mhm," you whined with a lazy nod. You were getting closer to cumming and responding to his words was taking a lower priority in your mind.

"And to think you tried to deny yourself of it," he mocked. He clenched his jaw and slammed into you harder.

You shrieked and clutched his shoulders. In the back of your mind, you hoped his penthouse was sound proofed or at least enough distance from the nearest one. Otherwise you wouldn't have to tell anyone about this incident for it to spread throughout the tower.

"I knew better, didn't I? I knew this is what you needed," he said.

Again, you nodded. You felt the heat in your belly reaching the boiling point.

"Say it," he huffed.

You tried to force it out, but your own hiccuped sob of pleasure cut you off. He didn't give you a break though. He stared down at you with expectation, so you continued.

"You know best- uh, fuck- you know best, sir," you whined.

"Good fucking girl," he growled on top of you.

He was already close from the blowjob you'd given him. Only a few strokes more, and he was ready to explode. He swiveled his hips, angling them upwards to pound into that special spot that would make you see stars and stripes.

You mewled when you came. Your body trembled harder than it did when you were scared. Arousal gushed out of you and coated his skin. He huffed and buried his face in your neck before letting go.

Everything faded into the background as you laid underneath him in the haze that came after the absolute high of pleasure. Now you could feel his heartbeat too. The organ thundered against his chest over and over as he came down.

Minutes later he pulled back. His knuckles caressed down your jawline before he climbed off of you entirely. He sat back on the couch and let out a deep breath. You weren't sure whether you were supposed to pick up your stuff and leave or follow along with him and stay close to his side. There was no real indication of what he wanted in this moment, but he turned to smile at you and huffed out a laugh.

"I think I'll keep you with me more often now. Really show you the ropes of fitting in around here."

You sat up and nodded awkwardly. He leaned toward you, cupping your cheek.

"I'll be a much better teacher than Ashley ever was," he said. His arm snaked around you and pulled you to his chest again. "No more errands or coffee runs. I'll show you things you need. Things that you'll enjoy."

He ran his fingers over your face and kissed your temple. The touches were tender against your skin. They would have been romantic if your mind wasn't racing with what this all meant in terms of your job and the grand scheme of your future.

Looking at him though, he wasn't worried at all. He smiled down at you before whispering once more.

"My sweet little pet. All mine now."

[themeraldee]

Okay hear me out: to get Homelander really into the Vought Christmas spirit, you teasingly promise that you’ll always kiss him under the mistletoe no matter when or where. Of course, you’re picturing around his apartment or perhaps in an empty hallway. But no. Our boy loves a good promise and decides to carry a piece of mistletoe on him at all times, waving it above him whenever he decides he wants a kiss: in the middle of a meeting with the Seven? Sits back in his chair and waves it around like a bell. In the middle of a crowded elevator? Oh yeah, he pulls it out and clears his throat to get your attention and waits for his smooch. He’s such a dick about but you can’t bring yourself to give a fuck and will happily kiss him whenever he wants 😌

| 600 | Homelander x gn!Reader | Established Relationship. Fluff. Suggestive themes but nothing happens. Mistletoe kisses.

“Here, really?” You were giddy when you left the penthouse this morning, already high with the feeling of a hundred kisses descended upon your lips. Homelander shook the mistletoe right over the two of you right as you left for work. Knowing you had many more to come left you excited.

Now that you’re standing in the elevator, not so much. You quickly look around to note how many people are looking your way.

“You promised~” He says in a sing-songy tone, already way too drunk on this power you’ve presented on a silver platter. Taught to have zero shame, he’s not-so-patiently waiting for you to do your part.

You lean in for a short and quick peck and like the asshole he is, he asks for more. “Oh come on, that’s not very jolly of you.” You kiss him again, enough to temporarily tame his hunger for you and he relents with a pleased hum.

This whole setup puts Homelander in a great mood. A rare occurrence for the Vought tower employees. There’s a pep in his step with you on his arm, he’s whistling and boisterously exclaiming ‘Merry Christmas’ to any passerby. Of course, it’s less about spreading the Christmas cheer and a whole lot more about bragging.

But after the kind of Christmases he’s had, both corporate-washed and soulless, you can’t fault him for it. So you let him have it. However annoying he manages to be. 

In the middle of a meeting with the Seven, he whistles you over with a significant little shake to the wrapped bundle. Although it’s pretty embarrassing to kiss the head of the table while other people are talking he doesn’t relent and you still smooch his kiss-red lips for over a hundredth time today. 

You’d think you’d get annoyed by the shit-eating grin he throws you each time with a side of suggestive eyebrows yet you love him too much to care about how obnoxious the two of you are being. It’s starting to take the PDA levels to ones you’ve never seen from him before.

Nowhere is safe. Homelander doesn’t shy away from sneaking into a meeting you’re presenting in. Disrupting your speech and leaving you flustered and distracted for the rest of the hour. He kisses you in the halfway, by the printer, in the break room and by the coffee machine.

With the lead up to Christmas you’re really gonna need to invest in some heavy supply of chapstick.

When you finally find some peace and quiet in your office, you still smile when you see the door opening. Although the public kisses are fun, you much rather prefer indulging in private where nobody is there to watch the two of you get utterly lost in each other.

“Still haven’t had enough?” You crack a smile and lean back in your office chair.

“Of you? Nah, never.” Homelander walks toward you, you see the little bunch of mistletoe that at this point has really been through it. You start to get up at the sight of it but instead he wiggles his gloved finger in front of you.

You watch as he places the mistletoe right above his belt and you burst out laughing. “Leave it to you to make a cute Christmas tradition perverse.”

“Hey, it was your idea. I’m just playing by your rules. Kiss under the mistletoe, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

And well, who are you to take this newfound joy of Christmas away from him.

[blindmagdalena]

Center Stage in a Gilded Cage (chapter six)

18+ 4.6k. homelander x f!reader. stalking, kidnapping, imprisonment, abuse, forced relationship, slow burn, eventual smut. gif credit | fic directory | AO3.

“You must never run from anything immortal. It attracts their attention. Walk slowly, and pretend to be thinking of something else. Sing a song, say a poem, do your tricks, but walk slowly.” ― The Last Unicorn

When he first moved into it, Homelander loved everything about his penthouse. He’d given extensive feedback to the interior design team, even going so far as to offer crude sketches of what he wanted.

He’d always had a specific vision for his home: spacious and open, but not vacant. Rich colors that wouldn’t strain his eyes. Windows and mirrors that gave and reflected as much light and space as possible. 

No white walls. 

Not a single blank space. 

He wanted art on the walls, but not just any art. He wanted historic portraits and moments of history. A face on every wall, the same way that the people on TV had pictures of people on their walls.

Pictures of their family.

He doesn’t have a family, so familiar figures from his studies would have to do instead.

His favorite place was his bedroom. The mirrors give not only the illusion of space, but company.

To this day the bed is as plush as it was then. It’s stacked with fluffy pillows, and the sheets are made of soft cotton. They’re always vibrant, always colorful. The staff washes them in gentle detergent instead of bleach.

He spent his first night in that bed with his face buried in the pillow just smelling it.

It smelled like home.

However, the longer he’s lived in his penthouse, the more the spaciousness of it began to feel like absence. The distinct lack of something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on right away.

It eased on the odd occasion that he had company, but as soon as they were gone, it was as though their presence had carved out holes in his home that he couldn’t fill.

He added statues. More portraits. He left the television running because the silence of his own isolation had become deafening. He started spending more time away. His home had gradually morphed from a place of freedom into a finely decorated version of the same horrible fluorescent box he spent his childhood in.

At least in the box he’d known there were people watching him. With him.

How he’d hated it back then. He hated how he could always hear the camera lenses adjusting as they monitored him from somewhere else.

It makes him sick to have missed it even a bit.

Thanks to you, he no longer has to.

There’s an inherent thrill to coming home that had been lost before you. Excitement starts to prickle up his spine as soon as he steps into the elevator and hits his floor. He can’t remember the last time he’s been so excited to go home.

Every day this week you’ve cooked for him, sat with him, laid in his arms, lived with him. In the last three days you’ve come a long way from the timid thing you started as, no longer jumping at his every move. You still tense at his touch, but he’s willing to bet a few more of those massages will remedy that.

Your presence can be felt even when he’s at work. He recently connected the hidden security camera on his balcony to his phone, ensuring he gets pinged any time you open that door. He isn’t worried about you going off unattended that way, given that it’s a hundred story drop.

It makes him smile to see you getting braver, occasionally stepping out onto the concrete to stare out across the cityscape. Soon he’s going to have to take you for that flight he promised. 

While he’s spent these evenings with you blessedly free of obligations, tonight will be different. He has to leave, and he won’t be able to bring you with him. At least not yet. You aren’t ready for that kind of exposure, nor what being revealed as his beloved would entail.

The media would eat you alive. He won’t subject you to them without proper preparation.

He isn’t cruel.

Vought’s hosting a gala that will serve as the early foundation of their campaign to move supes into the military, and as such, the U.S. Secretary of Defense will be in attendance, and it’s Homelander’s job to convince the man of the innumerable benefits of the operation. 

Ridiculous. He might as well try and argue the benefits of a smartphone to a fish.

If these people can’t understand why having honest to god superheroes in their military is a good idea, he doubts anything shy of a hand delivered miracle from God would sway the morons.

It’s just common sense, for fuck’s sake. War has only ever been a matter of who could bring the biggest gun. They will never find a greater weapon than him, much less a weapon that chooses to protect them.

However undeserving of it they may be.

He lets out a rough breath and shakes his head to knock loose the talking points that have been bashed into his skull over the course of the week, determined to leave work at the door. 

“I’m hoooome,” he sings as he steps in through the doorway, the mechanism locking behind him with a soft beep.

It feels good to know you’re safe here. While he doesn’t have enemies, per se, there’s no telling what some lunatic could be driven to do if they knew about you.

“Living room,” you call.

The familiarity of it makes him smile.

This is what coming home was always supposed to feel like.

He hums a little tune to himself as he walks, a slight bounce to his steps.

“Something smells good,” he says as he rounds the corner, finding you curled up on the couch under a blanket.

Cute.

On the table across from you is a neat little stack of glass containers full of food. He cocks his head, pausing to pick one up for inspection. “You meal planning out here or something?”

You slip out from under the throw and stand. Something is… off. He hears you picking your nails before he even looks at you, and when he does meet your gaze, there’s a subtle apprehension you’re clearly trying to mask with a cordial smile.

“It’s just leftovers from lunch,” you say, eyes flickering from the container of food back to him. “How was work?”

“The usual,” he says a little curtly. Due to your unusual demeanor, he’s forgotten the laundry list of complaints he’d saved up at work with the intention of sharing with you. 

In his experience, it’s rarely a good thing when people suddenly start behaving differently.

Especially when they try to hide it.

“Something wrong?” He asks, giving the penthouse a cursory sweep. Everything looks to be in order.

Your eyes widen a fraction, but you catch yourself from looking overly surprised at being caught.

Got’cha, he thinks. He’s spent his entire life reading the subtleties in people’s body language, seeking out ways to understand the things they say when they’re not speaking. The things they won’t say. Particularly to him.

“No, no, nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to… I want to ask you for something,” you say, hands falling to your sides, your spine straightening.

His brows lift, his curiosity piqued. “Sure. Fire away.”

You’ve been here for days, but you haven’t made any requests of him despite his numerous offers. There isn’t a thing in this world he couldn’t obtain for you. Hell, he doesn’t even care if it’s legal. It’s about time you took him up on a little self-indulgence.

“Do you remember my friend John?”

His head gives a sharp little tic of a turn, his brows furrowing.

John.

He hates the effect hearing you say that name continues to have on him. It isn’t as though he has a meltdown every time he hears the name John. That would be pathetic. It’s the most common name in America, for fucks sake. 

However, there’s something particularly vile about hearing you say it with such gentleness.

“What about him?” He asks flatly, hackles rising. He was hoping you’d ask for something fun.

“I’m worried about him,” you say, clearly fighting to keep your tone even. Your fingers curl into the fabric of your pants. 

He doesn’t understand why you’re so nervous. It makes him suspicious.  “And I don’t want him to worry about me. We’ve had a routine for months. So I thought–”

“Oh,” Homelander interrupts, setting the container of food back down as understanding dawns. 

They’re scraps for your stray pet. 

“No problem, I’ll have someone take this to him,” he says, gesturing encompassingly towards the food. 

“No,” you say, the firmness in your voice catching him off guard. “I want you to take me, and I want to give it to him myself.”

He bristles, needles of suspicion creeping further up his spine. “Why?”

Though you’re quick to swallow it back, he doesn’t miss the flash of frustration in your eyes.

“You said you’d take me anywhere I wanted to go. Were you lying?”

He lifts his hand sharply enough to make you flinch, his index finger pointing only inches from your face.

“Don’t you ever call me a liar,” he says slowly, fist curled so tightly that the leather of his gloves groans in protest. “I didn’t say no, I asked you why.”

Your eyes are wide, your heart drumming loudly in his ears. He hates that look of fear, the look that tells him you’re waiting for him to hurt you when he’s never done anything of the sort.

You have no right to look at him like that.

“Because I want to. I want to see him, and make sure he’s okay, and because… because I want–” You stop mid sentence and break eye contact, pressing the back of your hand to your opposite cheek. You take in a slow breath to compose yourself. 

With a start, he realizes your eyes are welling with tears.

“I want to say goodbye.”

At a loss, Homelander stares for a long moment. For the life of him, he cannot fathom how this little charity schtick could possibly be so important to you. Isn’t he enough for you?

You’ve been spending your days carefree in domestic bliss, yet here you are crying because you aren’t taking a box of food to some bum. It’s baffling enough to give him a migraine.

On the other hand, it was that persistent nurturing that drew his eye to you. If not for your diligent care, he may not have seen the same potential in you. He likes that you care. He just wants you to care for him.

He lets out a long-suffering sigh.

“Don’t cry,” he says, voice full of his exasperated bewilderment. He lifts both hands in a placating show of surrender. “Fine, fine, I’ll take you, and you can do whatever it is you need to do.”

“Thank you,” you practically sigh. Your hand drops from your face and you look at him with palpable relief, your lips spreading into a faint smile. He likes your smiles. He likes being the reason for your smiles. That, at least, comes as a slight boon.

He clicks his tongue, observing you for a moment before he blows out a raspberry. He cups either side of your face, stepping in close to you.

“I hate it when you make me take a tone with you, you know,” he says, brushing the tip of your nose with his. Your breath catches. “You should know by now that I can’t say no to you.”

His thumb strokes your cheek. He’s been gentlemanly in your time here, accepting of your hand in his, your lips on his cheek. When he wakes up hard as a rock with your body pressed to his, he’s taken care of himself in the bathroom. Frankly he’s been more than a gentleman; he’s been a fucking saint.

“I’m downright pussy whipped, and I haven’t even gotten any yet,” he huffs through a little laugh, almost close enough to taste your lips. 

He hasn’t felt your lips on his since that night in your apartment. He wants them exactly as they had been. Pliant and without tension or fear, yet still you tense as he holds you close. You place your hands on his chest and though you don’t push him away, they’re braced to prevent him moving closer.

There’s a faint tremble running through you.

“Don’t tell me you’re still scared of me,” he says, offering you the sharp edge of a smile. He means for the words to sound playful, but even he can’t deny that there’s an underlying ache. Insecurity and impatience in equal measure.

Can’t you see how good he’s been for you? He’s had enough of having to beg for and pry every scrap of affection in his life from reluctant hands. All he wants is–for once in his life–to be freely offered tenderness.

“Your strength scares me,” you eventually admit, palms flat against his chest, stare focused on the backs of your hands.

He tips your head back, coaxing your downcast gaze up to meet his. The closeness of you makes your eyes look large and deer-like: a prey animal that recognizes its hunter. 

“It’s unreal, I feel like I’m not…I feel like I’m made of glass when you touch me.”

As a boy he snapped bones as easily as other children snapped twigs. He cradles your skull knowing exactly how much force it would take to crack it. 

You’re right to feel the extent of your own fragility in his hands.

“I won’t break you,” he says, the words little more than a breath.

“Do you promise?” you ask, your own voice barely a whisper.

“I promise.”  

All those that have come before you have taught him his limitations. And yours.

With that, the tension in your arms softens a fraction. He takes a mile from the inch you give, moving to encircle you in his arms. You slide your hands up his chest in turn, moving over his shoulders, around his neck. The way your fingertips settle on the nape of his neck feels like heaven.

Pressing his forehead to yours, he closes his eyes. He listens to the tempo of your heart gradually slow, settling like the wings of a bird finally accepting the safety and kindness of its cage.

Just then, ever so slightly, you tilt your head and lightly press your petal-soft lips to his. The shock of it knocks the wind from his lungs. Joy hits swiftly afterwards, sweeping through his body from his head to his toes. He kisses you in kind, his lips spread in a smile against yours. 

This–more than any kill or record breaking profit for Vought–feels like a victory.

He cups the back of your head as he savors you, branding the memory of your yielding lips against his into his mind. You move to pull back, but his yearning is a beast he cannot tame, and it’s the beast in him that holds you still, intent to relish the kiss just a second more, which becomes just a moment more.

Trapped, you slide your fingers up into his hairline, combing through his sheared undercut into the longer blonde locks. You send a jolt through him when your fingers tighten suddenly, pulling his hair taut between them. 

The sensation shoots through him like a bolt of lightning. His stomach flips, suddenly aflutter with butterflies. He makes a noise against your mouth, which regrettably makes you stop, your fingers going slack in his hair.

It doesn’t hurt–you don’t have the strength necessary to hurt him–but he can still feel it, and it feeds a gnawing hunger in him to be made to feel anything at all. 

“Do that again,” he says between fervent presses of his lips. “Feels good.”

To his delight you slip both hands into his hair and grip it, eliciting a low moan.

Fuck.

He could get lost in this. In you.

Your pulse has kicked back up, but so has his. Your heartbeats dance with one another as you kiss, drowning out the rest of the world. He moves from your lips to your jaw, your throat, peppering hungry kisses down your neck, ignoring the tension he can feel building back up in you.

He could make your whole body sing if you’d just let him.

Your hands move from his hair, pressing once more to his chest. With how weak you are, it takes him a beat to realize you’re actually pushing against him.

An impatient little growl escapes him. He holds you in place, too deep into it to let you go now.

You suck in a shuddering breath, pushing harder. “Homelander–”

His teeth graze your pulse point, and his tongue presses in to taste the rapid flutter of it. The taste of you is intoxicating, your skin salty-sweet.

Do you know his taste yet? Do you crave it the way he craves yours?

There’s fear in you but there’s desire there, too. He can feel it in the way your skin warms under his touch, hear it in the quiver of your breath, and smell it in the heat between your legs. 

“Wait, wait, just–would you just wait–” 

He exhales roughly and pulls sharply back, leveling you with a harsh stare.

“What? What! You kissed me, remember? So which is it; do you want me, or do you just want to be a fucking tease?”

He feels his desire like a longstanding hunger he’s only just become aware of. A painful, gnawing thing that demands he sink in his claws and rip, devour, relish. He’s been so good in all of this that one little taste was all it took for the feel of it to come crashing down on him.

For as badly as he wants you, he wants so fucking badly for you to want him, too.

The look of you is one for the history books. Flushed and wide-eyed, you’ve taken his words with a shock like you’ve been slapped. Your hair is mussed from his hand pushing against it, into it. Your lips are kiss bitten and shiny, plump with all that blood rushing to the surface.

It makes him want to bite them, bruise them, claim them. 

Those same lips open and close as you struggle to form a response before eventually settling on one.

“I’m sorry.”

He recoils from that, features twisting up in displeasure. 

No, no, no.

“I’m sorry, I just–”

“Shut up,” he snaps, letting go of you. He screws his eyes shut, not understanding how he got from where he was a moment ago to where he is now. 

All that sweet delicious heat is fading away, leaving him feeling emptier by the second, his skin prickling uncomfortably under his suit. 

He would be clawing at it if he could.

“I don’t want you to be sorry,” he says, hitting the word like a hiss. “I want you to–I want you–”

I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you.I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you.

He pushes his hands into his hair, gripping the short strands tight enough to ache, digging for pain so that it might bring him clarity and stop the terrible repetition his mind has latched onto. He can imagine so clearly how things should be, what you should be saying, feeling, and I’m sorry is nowhere in that vision.

He hates that word. It echoes in his psyche like a curse, dragging him back by the throat to the only stretch of time in his life he ever felt weak enough to say it.

Back then, in his days in the lab, Vought was always testing the boundaries of how human he really was. At one point, when he was still a boy–maybe eleven or twelve–they began to reduce his sleep by an hour every few nights.

Each day they would repeat the same grueling tests to see at what point the lack began to affect not only his cognitive abilities, but his powers. Given the sheer amount of Compound V in his system, there were some who wondered if he really needed to sleep at all.

It would have been miraculous if he didn’t. It would be one more aspect of his perfect design that they could pat themselves on the back for. 

Unfortunately for both him and them, it was not so.

When they realized the deprivation did affect him, they wanted to understand how badly. They continued to deprive him until they had reduced his sleep to nothing at all, keeping him awake by any means necessary for days. He begged for sleep. 

It’s a marathon, John, Vogelbaum told him. Eleven days. That’s the record for a human. You can beat that, can’t’cha, tiger?

Tiger. It always made him feel stronger when Jonah called him that.

Ultimately it was less about his perseverance and more about his endurance. He didn’t have much choice in the matter of whether or not he would fall asleep. 

Every time he started to doze off, an alarm would blare in his room, startling him back awake. 

I’m sorry, he would sob, riddled with guilt for the failure.

There was never any answer.

When it was over and neither he nor the scientists had anything to show for it–nothing but misery and a newfound insomnia–he decided he would never be sorry for anything ever again.

His temples are throbbing, his skull aching from the pressure of his own strength. 

Though his eyes are tightly shut, he can feel the searing heat of his laser vision pressing against his eyelids. 

It makes him want to scream, to run, to fly, to break apart everything around him, but he can’t. He’s too powerful to ever allow himself a physical outlet.

When the average man throws a punch to blow off steam, at worst they’ll put a hole in the wall.

Homelander could punch through to the core of the planet. 

Maybe he could split the whole damn thing in half. He’s never been allowed to find out.

Instead, he focuses it all inward. He swallows the feelings like bile and fights not to choke on it, on the tension of his own impossible power straining his muscles. He can’t hear your heartbeat anymore, it’s drowned out by his own blood rushing in his ears.

Or it’s not there at all.

You’ve fled, he realizes. His stomach churns, and still his mind is on a punishing loop of all the things he has ever wanted that he cannot accept he’ll never have. 

I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want.

Anger surges through him and the heat of it is painful, twisting all his already tautly wrung innards and flushing them with fiery rage.

She’s not sorry. She has no idea the fucking meaning of it. If she wants to know what it’s like to be sorry, then we’ll–

Arms slip around his neck, and suddenly his mind hits a deafening quiet.

What?

The feeling is so alien to him that it takes several seconds to understand that it’s you. That you’re here. That you’re… holding him.

Faintly he feels the tug of your meager strength, and he leans into it, his cheek coming to rest on your chest, head tucked under your chin.

He opens his eyes, the world still awash in the crimson glow of his lasers, and he feels you flinch at the sheer heat of them. He works to blink the light away, his hands resting on your hips, gripping at the fabric of your pants.

“You’re still here,” he says, voice frayed with confusion and steadily ebbing tension. 

“Yes.”

“I thought I was alone.”

“You’re not.”

Gently, you comb your fingers through his hair. He doesn’t need his super senses to know your heart is pounding. He can feel the hammering pulse of it against his cheek.

Your fear is so tangible he can practically taste it, but he wouldn’t know it existed at all if he went only on the way you’re holding him.

How is it you can be so afraid and yet feel so firm against him?

“It’s okay,” you whisper, a faint tremble in your otherwise firm voice. “You’re not alone.”

Tears sting his eyes. He moves his grip from your hip to the fabric at your back, your shoulder, his hands climbing your clothes with a clawing desperation to ensure every bit of you is real and within his reach. He envelops you in his arms and nuzzles you, exhaling another breath of the terrible miasma that had built up like sulfur in his lungs.

You move your other hand in soothing patterns between his shoulder blades–just as you had before–and with every repetition of the pattern he feels the rage, the pain, the fear, the misery of it all drip away, like a wet cloth being wrung dry.

The two of you stand like that for a long while, focused only on the sound and feel of the other. The burn in the back of his throat and in his eyes fades. By the end of it, he feels heavy with the exhaustion of holding back the weight of his own might.

Slowly, he lifts his head to meet your gaze. You’re somehow even more beautiful than you had been. Your edges are frayed, and though there is lingering fear, it doesn’t repulse him to see it.

Because you stayed.

Your fingers slip from his hair, moving to his face. It isn’t until your thumb moves through the wetness on his cheek that he realizes a tear had escaped the burn of his lasers and streaked down his face.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” you tell him, and to his own pleasure, he believes you.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. I know you didn’t,” he says, cupping your face in turn. He brings you forward and presses a firm lingering kiss to your forehead. 

He’s in control again, and he speaks as if that were always true.

“Just like I know you’ll make it up to me.”

He draws away with a crooked smile, the episode fading to a distant corner of his mind as he puts the fractured pieces of himself back into something cohesive. He strokes your cheek, admiring your features. Your eyes.

In hindsight, it’s strange to think that he’s always thought of you as the sweet, doting little rabbit to his wolf. 

Staring at you now, he’s sure he’s looking into the eyes of a fox. 

“C’mon,” he says, siding his hands down your shoulders so that he can take hold of your wrists, guiding you towards the balcony. “It’s about time I take you for that flight I promised.”

Wouldn’t want to keep John waiting for his meal any longer.

( chapter seven )