Howdy! I'm Walker and I like to spend my time writing, playing rugby, or reading too deeply into TV show screenshots. I am significantly lacking in likeminded folks in the real world so don't hesitate to reach out! :D
About Me: she/her, American (sorry), 30, rugby player, reader, bisexual and happily married to a dude, mother to a silly rescue pittie, educator in the outside world.
Current Hyperfixation: The Boys, alternating my thirst between Homelander, Soldier Boy, and Starlight
Past Hyperfixations: Supernatural, Dragon Age, Far Cry 5, Coral Island, Avatar: The Last Airbender
Writing Masterlist
If you're more of an AO3 reader (same), my link is here. Otherwise, please look below!
~ The Space Between the Lines (Homelander x Reader Series) ~
Homelander and Ryan's history teacher don't know how to act. NSFW. Still in progress!
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4
Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8
Chapter 9 | Chapter 10
~ The Right of the First Night (Homelander x Reader Series) ~
Homelander interrupts a couple's marriage. NSFW. Might continue, might not.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2
~ It's a Silly Name (Homelander x Reader Oneshot) ~
Homelander is a little sensitive about being compared to the Deep. NSFW.
~ Sympathy from the Devil (Homelander x Reader Oneshot) ~
Homelander helps you through a panic attack. SFW.
~ Physical Therapy (Soldier Boy x Reader Oneshot) ~
Soldier Boy helps you with an injury. NSFW.
~ Mind and Might (Soldier Boy x Reader Oneshot) ~
Soldier Boy accidentally falls for a telepath. NSFW.
~ I Always Lost to Ghosts (Original Poetry/Ramble) ~
12) fucking, but one is still trying to keep all of their attention on the game they are playing
But when his s/o still trying to focus on the game until homie
[Masterlist]
18+ Only | 2.3k | Want to send your own request? | Prompt Queue | Homelander x female!Reader | Homelander being a pest (what's new). Penetrative sex. I don't think anything else happens lol I don't remember.
Don't question the pic, I'm using my endless library of unrealted Homelander screenshots lol.
It’s fucking ridiculous.
When you said that you’ve been home alone ever since Ryan went on a little day trip out with Zoe to Coney Island, he was expecting a lot more adult alone time and less… this.
You’re paying attention to the stupid game. He finds it cute enough when you play with Ryan—as long as you involve him. He doesn’t like feeling left out. You tend to pick him as a playable character at least, usually immediately followed by Ryan’s pitiful whine of ‘that’s not fair—dad always wins!’
Still, you have the real—much better—thing right here.
“Sorry hon, just this last fight—we’re trying to get to the top of the league.”
He never expected he’d have to compete for your attention with a computer version of himself. Well, better a computer version of him than any other subpar superhero.
He’s sitting next to you while you’re clutching the controller for dear life, biting your lip in concentration.
“A fucking somersault mid-air? I fly for fuck’s sakes. I’m gonna need a word with whoever made this garbage.”
“Noo, it’s a great move! With your flight it moves you across the field faster. And look—ha! there goes half his health. See, it won’t take long.”
It’s already taken long enough. He’s not a patient man at the best of days. And today his free alone time with you is running out minute by minute. He really needs to work hard for anything he wants. Homelander takes great pleasure in the way you squeal, holding onto your controller while he pulls you into his lap.
“Oh my god! Impatient much?” Were you anyone else, they wouldn’t be more than a pile of flesh after taking such a tone with him but he lets you get away with a lot—he tends to like you a little bitey. Keeps things interesting.
You flail around before you find your footing, finally sitting down with your knees spread around his legs, still facing the TV wall. The flailing cost you a couple of health points, but you recover.
“Just wanting entertainment of my own. So play your game alllll you want, missy.”
He places his already gloveless hands on your hips, sliding them up and down your sides, enjoying the willing, breathing presence you bring into his life. You don’t subconsciously flinch away from him—you lean in.
He used to feel like he had to fall on his knees begging to receive even the smallest crumbs of attention from people—you give him the whole pie instead. You love him freely—him and his son. You tell him you miss him anytime he’s gone. You don’t use your affection as a bargaining chip. Instead you love to have him touch you. You’re constantly seeking it out. At night you always pull his arm over your waist if he doesn’t beat you to it. During the day you hold his hand, kiss his cheek or hug him before he leaves.
He’s gotten to know your body’s song. It’s always been his favourite lullaby.
But it’s not always sweet and soothing. Sometimes, it’s electric—like now.
You’re buzzing underneath his hands.
“You gotta stop that—ah! You know I’m ticklish.”
“Do I?” He drums his fingertips against your skin in a soft, barely-there pattern that has you swaying from side to side—still impressively focused on the screen.
“Please!” Your embarrassing desperate little squeak makes him pause, his hands instead grip your waist tight and pull you flush to his chest.
He wraps his arms around your waist, nuzzling his head into your back. You feel like a soft teddy bear he never had. He squeezes you like one—or, well, as much as he knows you can handle. He doesn’t want to break his toy. He’s quite attached to you.
Even if you’re still ignoring him for the stupid game. Even with his eyes closed, head still resting on your back, he hears the game sounds and the snappy lines he has a vague memory of recording once.
“Sorry honey, I’m neaarly done, I promise! This guy is just a slippery bastard. Can’t land any hits on him.”
He hums, not concerned with your game. He’s playing his own.
His hand slides down your stomach, down in between your spread legs. You’re wearing jeans, unfortunately. He much prefers when you wear a thinner material. That way he can tease your pussy through the fabric until you soak through both layers. You always look so pretty and bashful when he points out how much of a mess you’ve made for him.
He can’t help but grin against your back when he firmly presses your clit through the jeans.
“Homelander!” You yelp in surprise, trying to sit up on your knees to escape the shocking touch, but the steel-grip arm around your waist doesn’t let you. He grins wider.
“Jesus, you caught me off guard,” your chuckle is sweet and embarrassed. “Fine, I hear you. Loud and clear—”
“Nope. You play your game and stay exactly where you are.” He holds you firmer to stop you trying to wiggle away from his fingers. He just might leave a little bruise or two.
“But—”
“Come on now, can’t let me lose after all the ruckus about needing to win.”
“B-but I can’t focus like this.”
“Yes, you can. You’ll figure it out. I won’t make you come if you lose.”
“That’s not fair! You’ve started this.”
“Mhm, not true.”
He can smell your cunt getting wet, but he can’t feel it. And that’s no fun.
“Ass up,” he prompts, easing up his grip on you so you can actually move. Effortlessly, he pinches the fabric of your jeans from each side and rips it like tissue paper. The fabric disconnects down the middle until you’re left with a crappy jean imitation of leg warmers.
You don’t even shriek this time. Maybe he’s getting too predictable because all you end up doing is complaining.
“I liked these jeans.”
“So did I—they made your ass look great.”
“Does it normally not look great?”
“Somebody’s fishing for compliments, again.” He chuckles to himself, not actually answering you as he pats your ass. “Sit down again.”
Back on his thighs again he sighs happily into your back. It’s always good to have you close. His hand goes back to rubbing your clit. He hums to himself when he can finally feel the wetness soaking into the fabric of your cotton panties.
“That’s more like it.” He muffles into your back.
He was going to drag this out. Rub you slowly and gently until you’re begging to make you come but he’s already had enough of his time wasted today. As a father, he no longer has the luxury of fooling around whenever and however long he wants.
He slips his fingers underneath the scalloped edge of your cotton underwear, two of his fingers brush up and down your slit, smoothly gliding across the surface with the occasional little squelch.
The sound of your body eager to be around him makes his cock throb. It’s only been a day at most but fuck he needs to be inside you again. His cock feels heavy in his hand when he pulls it out of his pants, pushing your ass up just a little bit so he has the room to move the tip right against your cunt.
He makes a quick work of your underwear, ripping the fabric down the middle. If you’re gonna be a brat about making this harder for him, he’ll treat you like one.
He’s still holding you up with one hand, the other holding the base of his cock as he dips himself into your wetness. He’d play around with you had you given him the time. You would have been treated like royalty—he would have taken his time with you on bed, eating you out till you begged to be fucked. But you robbed yourself of this. Instead he doesn’t even get to stretch you. His cock parts your lips fully and slowly pushes into you.
Homelander licks his lips when you gasp. You’re a big girl, you can handle a little bit of a stretch.
He might not though, your cunt’s as tight as ever. His dick is nearly getting strangled, each throb in his shaft feels so visceral when you squeeze around him.
He seats you fully in his lap, giving your ass a little rub when you wiggle from side to side to really settle down.
He only wanted to tease you a bit, let you play the stupid fucking game while you feel him inside you, feel how much you’re missing out on. The real treat comes when you take the initiative.
In a motion that steals his breath, you slide up and down, using your knees as a leverage for smoothly gliding his entire length in and out of you.
It doesn’t take long until you’re multi-tasking; riding his lap and playing a game. If he didn’t have to curl his toes and squeeze his fists to stop himself from coming inside you so fast he’d find it nearly impressive.
“Christ, I forget how much of a slut you can be.” He’s barely coherent enough, speaking low and breathy, like each word takes concerted effort to get out.
“That’s not—ahh, mhm fuck—very nice.”
“Nice doesn’t get your pussy this wet now, does it?”
He sounds pathetic even to his ears, his tone lacking all bark and bite. He might as well be sobbing.
“I’m nearly there, baby.” He doesn’t know if you’re talking about the game or your own orgasm but the victory music playing in the background nearly makes him weep from joy.
He turns you around, face down into the couch, his own body slotting right over your back as he pumps into you properly. He really doesn’t think he’s going to make it. It takes every gasp and breath, every grind of his teeth to hold back from succumbing to the tight pull in his groin, the pressure climbing and climbing until it feels unbearable.
But he promised you an orgasm, so he angles his cock in a way that he’s learned works wonders, his hand wraps around you, rubbing your clit from the underside.
Just as he thinks he won’t be able to hold back you moan pretty for him, whimpering out his name, almost in time with his last few victory thrusts before he allows himself to come. He doesn’t stop immediately, fucking both of you through your respective orgasms, wanting the burn of the high to feel endless. Until the fire eventually burns out, your bodies comfortably warm and melting into one another.
He ends up slipping out of you, too tired to put himself back together.
“We gotta get up and clean this place.” You speak up after a while.
“Mhm.” He’d rather fall asleep and enjoy a little cuddle.
“Come on, at least slide off—or-or levitate off. I can’t have Ryan come back to this.”
“He’s seen worse.” He mumbles into the leather of the sofa once you manage to push him off, sliding from underneath him, your bare feet padding across the cold floors.
“What?!” He hears you from the other room, pulling a drawer out and rummaging inside—probably to swap your tattered pants out.
“He’s got my senses babe, hard to hide anything from him.” He’s not really sure you can hear him. He’s barely aware of what he’s saying. He manages to finally tuck himself back into his pants, zipping them back up.
“That's—no. No, I can’t listen to this. No more sex at night. At least when he’s home. What if he’s awake and able to hear.”
“It’s normal. He understands.” He finally sits back up on the sofa right as you come back with some paper towels and cleaning spray, acting as if you’ve both left behind a crime scene.
“Absolutely not. I don’t want to traumatize the poor boy!” You wipe up any residue that he may have sloppily left behind, covering it in so much disinfectant that it immediately burns his nostrils.
“Oh, come ooon, you’re just being dramatic.” He rolls his eyes. You scrub the leather harder than you need to. If anything, you need to take a shower. The smell of sex is stuck to your every pore, his too.
“I mean it, listening to your parents have sex is just not good for a growing boy’s mind.”
His heart skips a beat.
“Parents?”
You stop your cleaning.
“I meant his father and… his father’s girlfriend, I guess. That felt like a mouthful.” You sit down next to him. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to overstep. I know I can’t just be that for Ryan. I just care for the boy.” Your little smile has him pulling you closer, kissing your temple as he wraps his arm around you.
“I like it. Parents. Ryan needs a mom.” His heart pangs at the framed image of a happy family. Mother. Father. And their son.
“Doesn’t mean I can just force that on him, it has to be his choice.” You shatter the family picture in his head. He wants to shake his head, push the pieces back together.
“My boy knows how to make the right choices, don’t worry.”
“Well, let’s not rush anything, okay? I don’t want to get my ideas in his head so he feels like he has to accept them. He’s a sweet and polite boy. I’d hate for him to not feel comfortable at home.” Homelander is stuck in his own head. He vaguely hears you talk about taking a shower when you pat his thigh and stand up, already walking towards the bathroom.
He daydreams about the visions of a happy family and a white picket fence. A real one this time, not the one Ryan grew up in. Maybe a sibling or two on the way—Ryan needs more friends. The perfect family.
He doesn’t understand how it took him this long to find you. Maeve never could’ve been the mother he needed her to be. You… are perfect. His job now is just to make sure that nothing stands in the way of his family dream.
Whatever it takes.
Taglist (you can add(or remove) yourself to be tagged when I publish a new fic):
Keep This Ship Afloat (Homelander x Reader x Starlight)
Homelight is solved with a sandwich. The sandwich is you.
This can be considered a sequel to this or its own standalone filth—definitely NSFW due to threesomes and Homelander being a little confused about consent.
The Homelander’s sheets are a silky embrace across your bare skin. His hand is on your hip, his forehead between your shoulder blades. Starlight sleeps on her back in front of you. Her hair showers over the blue pillows in a blonde cascade of temptation; it has your half-awake fingers twitching lightly at your side, resisting the instinct to touch. Neither of you likes to give Homelander any credit, but his insistence on all three of you sleeping naked while in his penthouse wasn’t the worst idea – not when it gives you a view like this. Annie is beautiful at rest, but has never been a sleep cuddler. She’s delighted to hold you any other hour, but she needs room for sleep. You think it has something to do with her powers, which keep her body heat slightly elevated. Homelander, on the opposite side of the spectrum, can’t sleep without touching you. His preferred position is to spoon - he’s a switch for whether he prefers the big or little spot - but he isn’t picky so long as you are under his fingertips. He nuzzles your hair, he traces his fingers along your stomach, he purrs into your shoulder. One night, you dared to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. You opened the bathroom door to find the co-captain of the Seven pouting, then lifting you over his shoulder to bring you back to bed. Annie gave him hell for that one.
This morning is a slow one. You vaguely remember that your two supes have an interview with Seven on 7, but there’s no rush around the most powerful man on the planet. There hasn’t been an early meeting since this arrangement among the three of you began. It was the silent kindness Homelander offered when he noticed Starlight hated mornings; it was the same kindness that elevated his bed to a size that put Alaskan kings to shame.
You shift slightly. Homelander notices immediately. He groans against you, his forehead bumping your back. “No.”
You snort and ignore your chest fluttering when his hand on your hip tightens. “No, what?”
“No, you’re not getting up.”
“Who said I was?”
Homelander grunts and eases his grip so his bare fingers can trace along your waist. He says nothing for a long while, simply amuses himself by brushing his hand back and forth on your sensitive skin. He finally lifts his head to kiss the back of her neck. “What woke you?”
“Nothing.” You tell him as he continues dotting lazy pecks along your skin.
“No?” He mumbles with a nibble to your collarbone. “Sleeping Beauty didn’t try anything?”
You look up at Sleeping Starlight with a smirk. It wouldn’t be the first, fifth, or tenth time he woke up to the two of you fooling around - or at least attempting to. With his sharp senses, it never lasts very long before he’s butting in and complaining the entire time about being left out. The last time it happened, you nearly passed out due to his attempts to “make up for lost time.”
There’s movement. It takes your sleepy brain a moment to understand that Homelander has angled himself to rut between your legs. The warm, hard press of him pokes slowly between your thighs, already lubed with precum. When you try to move, his hold on your grip tightens - a band of iron around you with just his thumb. He groans against your neck as he ruts harder, and you bite back a moan. “Homelander…”
“She won’t wake up.” Homelander murmurs before his tongue licks a long strip up the side of your neck. “Little firefly could sleep through an earthquake.”
That wasn’t exactly your concern, but you understand that the comment is more for him. Any moment he can steal you away from his co-captain, any time he can prove that he is the superior lover in this trio, is a win. He shifts then, keeping one of your hips anchored to the bed while the other slides over your waist. He’s humming to himself when the pad of his middle finger rubs tiny, slow circles into your clit. If your body twitches, if you try to buck into his touch, his strength prevents you. You’ll take what he gives you - nothing more, nothing less. Annie hasn’t moved an inch.
“So wet already.” He chuckles meanly when you whine, still refusing to go any faster. “Good dreams, hm?”
You part your lips to reply, and he chooses that time to push two long fingers into you in a slow, soaked slide. You moan, but he moans louder. “Fuck. Fucking perfect.”
The slide of his fingers is just as slow as his playing with your clit. He knows exactly how to get you off, but he’s not trying to be quick. He pulls them all the way out, all the way back in with a hard thrust that steals the breath from your lungs. He curls just so, and you’d be embarrassed by the choked moan you let out if you weren’t so turned on. Annie shifts, and you quickly cover your mouth.
“No, no,” Homelander squeezes your hip and gives a harder thrust of those damned talented fingers. “I want to hear all of those.”
“We…we’re gonna wake her up…”
“Good. She loves seeing you like this.” He purrs into your ear. His fingers leave you with a sopping tug. Your pussy quivers, nearly pulling them back in, and he coos, smug enough to give your soaked lips a little pat. “Don’t worry. I’ll be right back.”
Homelander hooks his wet fingers under your thigh and tugs it back over his hip. The angle gives him enough room to slowly, ever so slowly, slide his thick cock into you. Your head falls back on his shoulder with a whine that’s pure music to him, and he bites down on your neck like a rutting dog. His devious fingers prepped you plenty, leaving no resistance for him to fuck you as he pleases. You can tell he got himself worked up fingering you; he’s faster, needy in his huffs against your skin and his thrusts.
“The fuck?”
You hadn’t realized how loud you were moaning, or how Starlight had started to stir. Her chocolate eyes are sleepy but open, looking more annoyed than surprised - and a bit aroused, judging by how she bites her lip at the sight of Homelander’s cock buried in you.
“Starlight! Good morning,” Homelander greets as he continues fucking you. He gives a rougher thrust that makes you choke on a moan. Annie looks up at Homelander sharply. “Oh, don’t give me that look. You’ll get your turn.”
She opens her mouth, but you cut in, “If you both start arguing with a dick inside me, I’m blue balling both of you.”
Homelander mockingly gasps and replies by slamming into you. Your eyes roll back as he slaps your ass. “You heard the lady,” He purrs to Starlight. “Play nice.”
Annie is too turned on to argue further. She kisses you hungrily, her soft tongue petting yours. Her hands roam your body, fondling your breasts with a knowing pressure. She heats her hands against your nipples, and you whine against her lips. “Cheating.”
“Sorry.” She smirks and moves one hand just over the outline of Homelander’s cock in you. His breathing is ragged as she syncs her swirls on your clit with his dick. You’re stuck between the Seven’s captains, at their mercy, so it’s no surprise when your orgasm leaves you boneless. Homelander is still inside of you; you know well enough by now that that means he’s holding back his own climax. He distracts himself by sucking at your neck.
“Don’t leave any hickeys,” Starlight murmurs as she pulls her hand gently from your clit. “We have the interview at 9.”
Homelander growls against your skin; you are still blissed out between them. “Don’t talk to me about work right now,” He mutters.
Starlight sighs, her fingers trailing lazily over your thigh and up your arm. “The last time we woke up like this, you made us late. We need to make sure-”
“For fuck’s sake.” In a flurry of movement too fast for your human eyes to process, Homelander lifts you and lies down on his back. He seats you so his cock never leaves your cunt, still hard, then grabs Starlight. “If you wanted my attention that badly, just say so.”
Starlight makes a small yelp of protest, but then he seats her pussy right over his face. She’s facing you, so you can see the exact moment his tongue starts working its magic. Any argument she had left dies – and if you could have that look on her face framed, you absolutely would. Her eyes flutter, her sweet lips part, her hips rock slowly over his face. Homelander groans in approval and gropes her ass to spread her wider onto his mouth. You bite your lip and grind down onto his swollen cock. Homelander eats pussy like he has something to prove – and he almost always does when it comes to Annie. Eating her out has become his go-to for solving any sort of argument, and with his mouth’s skill, it tends to work.
You lean your front half over to mouth at her breasts, sucking a mark over her nipple. She curls her hands through your hair, tugging lightly to send a shiver down your spine. “You’re perfect.” She whispers.
“Thanks, honey,” Homelander murmurs from between her legs.
“Fuck you.”
He just chuckles and goes right back to work - though this time with more gusto, judging by Annie’s louder cries. She silences them by tugging you up by the hair to kiss you. You happily oblige as Homelander ruts into your cunt. There’s a louder slurp as he sucks hard at her clit, and you know she’s close. You pull away from her kiss just in time to see it – her eyes shifting to that golden yellow, her back arching as she comes. It’s a long one, and the beauty of it triggers another orgasm for you. Homelander ceases moving, still determined to keep himself from climaxing. He pulls away from Starlight’s pussy with a long inhale of breath he doesn’t need, then smacks her ass. “No broken lights this time…good job.”
“Ignore him,” You tell Annie, brushing a hand through her hair as she comes down from the high. “He hasn’t come yet.”
“Oooooh, zesty this morning.” Homelander chuckles.
“Too much talking.” Annie murmurs. She pulls on your arm, Homelander allows it, and you both fall to the sheets on your stomachs. She leans over to kiss you lazily, cupping the side of your face to hold you to her. There’s no doubt of her adoration; it’s in every breath of her lips and swipe of her tongue.
There’s another shift. Homelander grows tired of watching the pretty sight of you two and shifts behind you, lifting your hips so you’re on your knees. You moan against Starlight’s mouth as he pushes into you again, his hands spreading your ass cheeks wide. He fills you perfectly, but your body is still tingling and sensitive after two consecutive orgasms. You whimper, “I need…a minute…”
“You’re fine,” He replies, then starts fucking you in earnest. His hands on your ass are the only thing keeping you from being bounced up the bed, and damn if it doesn’t blank your brain of any complaints. Your fingers clench into the sheets as Annie looks over her shoulder in lazy warning. “Homelander, she said she needs-”
He rolls his eyes as she speaks and frees a hand from you to push two fingers into her pussy. She gasps, the nearby television screen cracks, and he chuckles darkly. “Always so desperate for me, sweetheart. You’ll always get your turn.” Homelander fingers her in time with how he fucks you. You’d be impressed if you weren’t completely cock drunk. He leans over your back, never once stopping in his movements, and the new angle breaks you. The orgasm comes soundlessly this time, but Homelander more than makes up for it. He finally comes in a roar, his forehead finding your shoulder and his hand leaving a bruise on your ass. You hear Annie’s soft moan beside you and the wanton squelch of Homelander’s fingers working her over the edge again. He’s come inside of you again, but you’ve given up telling him to stop that. Starlight keeps a careful eye on your birth control.
You can’t be sure if Homelander uses his super speed again or you simply black out - it wouldn’t be the first time - but the next thing you know, Homelander is spooning you again. It’s the same position you woke up in. He’s brushing kisses over your cheek and jaw as Annie sits up, lovingly carding her fingers through your hair. “You good, babe?”
You nod lazily. “Yep. Can’t feel my legs, though.”
Annie grins and leans down to kiss the side of your head. “Good,” She purrs, then shakily sits herself out of bed.
“Where on Earth are you going, Starlight?” Homelander asks with a pout.
She sighs and starts walking around the massive bed to collect her scattered clothing. “The interview? Remember? It’s in an hour.”
He whines and buries his face against your neck. “Cancel it.”
You sigh, already sensing the impending drama. “Homelander-”
“Don’t Homelander me. I do whatever the fuck I want. And right now, I want to fuck the two of you until you don’t remember any fucking interviews.”
Starlight pauses where she’s holding her cape. Her eyes drift to where his hands have already begun to fondle your breasts, brushing wicked thumbs over your nipples. “Edgar requested the interview himself…”
You arch your hips into Homelander’s hands with a lazy groan. “We’re screwed, Annie…literally and figuratively.”
Starlight sighs deeply and drops her cape, one knee already back on the bed. Her eyes lock sharply on Homelander. “You’re dealing with Edgar.”
You feel Homelander’s grin as his canines sink into your neck. “Deal.”
Could you do sex pollen with reader? Something about him BEGGING to have relief 🤤 maybe a mission gone wrong? Trapped in a bank safe? Can you tell I’ve thought of this before?
[Masterlist]
18+ Only | 3.5k | Want to send your own request? | Homelander x female!supe!Reader | Sex pollen. Marathon sex. Dacryphilia? OR well tears are involved. Love confessions.
I am on a fucking roll! Follow-up to this. (spoiler alert: this mission deffo doesn't go like the cover picture)
The site was deemed too dangerous for the Vought camera crew to tag along. It’s rare to go on a planned mission without multiple cameras catching every angle of your ass in the stupidly contoured spandex suit. It's nice.
Even with your mind powers, Vought still wanted to pimp out your body. No asset left unused and unabused.
What isn't rare is going on yet another team-up with Homelander. You’re certain he’s been pulling strings—matching you both up together over and over again to create a media buzz. You’ve seen all the paparazzi photos from your missions. People couldn’t get enough of you. You knew this because Homelander made sure you saw each post—texting you daily yet another gossip magazine post about a brewing secret affair.
The message sounded similar. Always some variant of ‘we should give them something real to write about ;)’
He took great pleasure in flying you over slowly. Your body’s durability doesn’t come even close to your teammates in the Seven. Your brain has always been your selling point. While you will stop a bullet, you won’t survive Homelander’s speeds. It means, however, that he gets to keep you in the air for longer, talking your ear off about the plans he has for your relationship.
A relationship that isn’t there, mind you. Yes, you fuck on the side. Yes, you could admit to yourself that you care about him. But actually committing to a relationship? You’re not sure you can do that.
Homelander quietly lands you both on top of a shipping container in the quiet part of the New York harbour. It’s just past midnight, this place is eerily empty compared to how busy New York usually feels.
You’re on a mission to apprehend a rogue supe that Vought can’t sink their claws into. You have very little information on her besides that she has an amateurish understanding of chemistry and makes unstable concoctions and gases. This definitely feels like a Black Noir job but Homelander insisted you two take the case. You had no choice but to smile and nod at the team when it came to your agreement.
“Couldn’t you have landed us on the ground?”
“Mh no, I can see better from here.” You shake your head and roll your eyes to yourself as you properly stand up, brushing your hands down your sides to get rid of the bunched up wrinkles in the suit Homelander’s hands pinched into it during the flight.
You go to the edge of the container, jumping off as smoothly as you can but the thick heeled boots still make you stumble.
“Baby deer.” You hear a sneer from above you where Homelander has adopted his stupid little pose, condescendingly looking down at you.
“Suck my dick.” You throw him a finger and find your footing. “And be quiet. We’re meant to be discreet. You should have let Noir take this.”
“And miss my best kitty’s claws? Fat chance of that.”
You lose interest very quickly. You’re really not sure what you’re meant to do here. Your mind powers only work to a certain range. You can’t just seek out minds in the surrounding areas and affect them with the same ailments. Unlike Homelander, you’re not a fan of collateral damage.
You walk around aimlessly, taking care to not make much sound as you look through shipping containers or around corners but it all feels pointless.
Homelander is still standing where you left him, scanning the surroundings with his super-powered vision.
“Nice underwear.” He snorts behind you once he finally sets his feet down on the ground.
“You jackass, you’re meant to be scanning the area.”
“Well you kind of are in the area, babe.” He gives you a mean little smile when he tucks his hands behind his back, puffing his chest out in front of you. You don’t know why he bothers to taunt you all day long.
You walk away to create distance more than to secure more of the area. But you’re here to do a job after all. The city pays a hefty bill to have the Seven focus its efforts on supporting the forces ensuring the city’s safety.
Not much left for you to do now besides check the shipping containers. Surely Homelander hasn’t scanned them all. Some of these must be zinc-lined. Twenty minutes go by and you’re ready to call it quits so you can send the actual professionals suited for this mission in.
Opening the last container you patrol, you get hit with a pungent, eye-watering gas. You gasp and stumble, choking on red fumes that burn their way through your nostrils.
Homelander gets to you before you even have a chance to call for him. He pushes you back and away, confidently stepping into the metal crate before your wispy little “no” becomes audible.
God your head is spinning. Your heart feels like it’s gonna beat out of your fucking chest. Supporting yourself on the cold metal walls you wobble as much as your legs take you—which isn’t far.
Your forehead is so hot—are you getting a fever? You press yourself to the cold metal, grateful for the chilly air of the night. You slide down, settling down on the hard concrete ground. You can’t calm down, no matter how much you focus on your breathing to slow down your heart rate, it’s not happening. You feel wrong. Holding out your hands in front of you, you see how shaky your limbs have gotten. Your skin itches all over. It’s like the fumes have reached underneath your suit—underneath your skin—and infected every part of you.
This is not how you wanted to go. You can’t even say you’ve gone out protecting anybody. And the last thing you would’ve done would be calling Homelander a jackass.
Homelander. The thought of him alone makes your forehead break out into a sweat, veins burning with strange tingling heat from head to toe. You can’t breathe in without the fumes messing with your senses. It’s like all you can smell is the unfortunately all too familiar scent of clean musk, ozone and vanilla. Your mouth waters.
The hissing zap of lasers just about registers to your ears. Same with slamming of metal doors and creaking of metal sliding across sheets of equally heavy metal. It would’ve been grating to your ears if the thought of Homelander’s lasers didn’t make your head spin.
Now that you think about it, they’re really sexy. Ruby red eyes shining with the power nobody can hide from. Reality doesn’t feel the same anymore, you’re hazy. Has the world always looked this dreamy?
The quietest, “what the fuck,” reaches you. Homelander’s heavier, rougher groan follows right after. Has his voice always sounded this good? You tilt your head towards the empty shipping container where it all went down. You can’t see him, but the sound of his voice playing on repeat in your head has you trembling. A shiver runs all the way down your spine to the strong and sensitive nerves of your pussy.
What the fuck?!
It’s your turn to be shocked when the shameful wave of heat rolls through you again. Homelander groans again in the background and you barely manage to cover your mouth to hide the obscene moan that your body lets out. This wasn’t you doing it. You don’t act like this for him. You want to avoid playing the role of a needy slut who has to perform—regardless of how much he enjoys the thought of that.
That thought brings you back to two nights ago when you answered a booty call. Anytime Homelander has you over you refuse to fuck on his bed—it’s too intimate—so you sat on his lap, riding him through a couple orgasms.
Oh, how you want that. How you want to feel his thick cock inside you, his strength wrapping its arms around you, holding you down until he has his fill of your warm wet walls.
Your pussy aches. It throbs so painfully you push your palm against it, as if to quiet it down. Not that it fucking works. You wipe your forehead. You don’t really understand what’s going on. You feel so… wild—it’s so unlike you.
Shaking your head just makes you so dizzy so you lean ahead, bare palms biting into concrete when you catch yourself from falling onto the ground completely.
The metal creaks again and you look up just in time to see Homelander exit the now half-melted crate—thankfuckinggod he’s alive. He seems even worse off. As soon as he catches your eye he whimpers and groans, stumbling his way to you.
Oh god, he’s coming closer to you. Your heart is racing impossibly fast, your vision swims with past memories, vivid feelings and replays confusing your brain's concept of reality. You’re almost losing the control of your powers. You can’t even tell if you’re doing the same to Homelander.
“Oh fucking Christ.” Homelander finally reaches you, falling heavy onto his knees in front of you, leaning his entire weight against you when he sobs with the relief of feeling you close to him. You would do the same if you didn’t think that your sobbing wouldn’t stop right after you started.
“What the fuck is going on?” You’re barely coherent but he’s not listening. He pushes you closer to the metal wall behind your back, limbs thrown over each other as he dirtily licks into your mouth. Sucking your lips open so he can do what you can only describe as eat you alive.
“I need—” his whimper is cut short with an actual sob. His breath hitches, chest and hands shaking with each breath.
In a desperate attempt to pull his gloves off he ends up ripping them apart, the leather pulling apart as easily as he shreds metal. Once his hands—his beautiful hands, fuck, you want them on you so bad—are free he cradles your jaw with a need you haven’t seen before.
It’s sloppy kissing at best and messy rubbing of your lips at worst. Neither of you are very capable kissers at this moment. You don’t want to pull away, you don’t want him to ever pull away. So your kisses are just a messy exchange of saliva, tongues deep and wet in each other’s mouths with heavy hot breaths warming your already hot faces.
Homelander’s hand goes down your body, greedily squeezing a handful of your tits, prodding and poking at every part of your body just to feel close to you. You’re shaking with energy you don’t understand. Every nerve ending on high-alert, buzzing for the next touch.
Just as his fingers press into your clit, rubbing up and down the through pool of wetness in your suit you shriek into his mouth—biting his lip in the process. Any ordinary man would’ve bled from that.
“No! Fuck! You’re-you’re making it worse!” The desperate throbbing of your cunt is only made worse by the tease of his slender gorgeous fingers rubbing the fabric of your suit. Looking at him now you notice that his lasers are still subtly on. The flecks in his irises highlight his face in red.
Have you ever noticed how gorgeous he is? Sure, you’ve always been aware that Homelander is an objectively handsome man but have you really looked?
His eyes twitch and squeeze, desperate heavy breaths making their way out of him. His hands are equally shaky, if not more than yours.
He nods repeatedly. “Yea-yeah, okay.” He sniffles, angrily wiping a frustrated tear off his cheek. Just seeing him like this makes your cunt squeeze, oozing slick into the already drenched fabric of your underwear. He sniffles again, this time he inhales deeply. Like a predator he zeroes in on the target.
Your pants and underwear get ripped off you in one go, and before you get a chance to think about it you’re getting hoisted up. Your thighs get thrown over his shoulders, back pressed into the metal wall as he pins you against it with speed and need you’ve never seen.
“Homelander what—”
Homelander’s hot tongue immediately latches onto your pussy, groaning into the feeling of your hot flesh against his tongue. He gulps you down, noisily drinking down your pussy as if it was an ice cold water on a hot summer day.
“Do the thing,” he’s muffled by your pussy but you figure out exactly what he means.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I don’t think—I don’t know if I can control it.” It’s your voice’s turn to break. He’s holding his tongue against you in a firm position more than he’s licking you. Just like his fingers, it’s simply not enough. You try to wiggle against his tongue further to feel what your body so inexplicably craves but you can’t. His arms are holding you firmly in place.
Homelander tilts his head back. His subtle lasers illuminate his wet lashes. “Puh–please… I need—fuck—I need to come so fucking bad. I need you to help me. Please, pleaseplease help me through it.” He’s so choked up you almost feel awful for how hot that makes you feel.
You nod, unsure if he can see you particularly well through the mix of similarly hazy vision, laser distorted sight and the wet lines on his waterline.
Your powers still feel hazy, like you can’t quite grasp them in your mind. Like sand between your fingers they’re slipping through and you don’t have the fine control you usually possess. This means you don’t actually know what’s happening to Homelander’s brain when you meld your minds’ sensations together. You don’t know if it’s enough—what if it’s too much?
You’ve never experimented with what too much does to someone else’s brain.
You might be on your way to finding out because Homelander moans so obscenely as soon as he licks up your cunt you shamefully squeeze your thighs around his head. Not one to be deterred, his thick wet tongue gathers all your juices—swallowing down as much of you as he can.
Pretty blonde—now messy—hair sticks out in between your thighs as he laps at your cunt, licking up to your clit in fast bursts. He’s panting—scalding hot breath meets your already pulsating warm flesh. It’s almost too much, you’d feel like writhing away from him in any other circumstance but the fume-heavy cloud in your head urges you to push closer, urges you to dig your fingers into his hair and ride his tongue as hard as you can.
It’s no surprise that your orgasm comes quickly and explosively.
You’re not thinking about him but Homelander must come with you with the way he sobs into your cunt, sucking onto your clit in the rhythm of your orgasmic waves. He must feel every single throb of you in his own cock. You wonder how much he’s filled his cup.
He leaves your pussy red and raw, licking you furiously into two more consecutive orgasms, neither of which dull the sharp fume-enhanced nerves.
Staying in the fumes longer than you have must have dealt larger damage. The belt clicks loudly, falling on the concrete floor. He’s pulling his cock out, giving himself a couple strokes—but like his fingers on you, it’s not enough. He pulls your shaky quivering thighs off his shoulders and he sits you down on his cock.
“Don’t stop—I wanna feel you. I need to feel how you feel. Please let me feel it.” You didn’t even realise you’ve stopped broadcasting your pleasure to him, utterly focused on the stretch of his cock pushing into your orgasm-relaxed cunt.
You have no strength in you left to move, let alone perform, so you fall with your head against his shoulder and you let him fuck you—all while broadcasting each stroke of his cock inside you straight to his overstimulated brain.
He’s always been an intense lover but this is to a level you don’t think you could ever survive in normal circumstances. Though you’re not sure he could either.
He buries his head into your neck as he pushes his hips up, sharp shaky moves rattle up your spine, nerve endings slowly lighting up down your limbs as the next orgasm doesn’t afford you its usual waiting time. These orgasms have stopped feeling like a wave of pleasure after a stressful day and more like a temporary relief stopping you from losing yourself to the madness of your clouded mind.
“I love you, you know that?” He muffles into your neck. He gently nips at the flushed skin of your neck. You can’t stand it. It’s too much. It’s all too much. Your eyes prickle with tears and you shake with a sob.
“I love you so fucking much.” He breathes against you again with a heavy sob. Your neck feels wet. “You’re the only one—the only fucking one—who doesn’t-doesn’t fucking cower in fear, who doesn’t cry when I say one mean fucking word. Fffuck. I—fuck—I love you so much.”
You don’t know what to say. You’ve barely allowed yourself to come to terms with your care for him. You can’t just—
“I think I love you too.” Your own heavy tears surprise you. Your words surprise you even more. Do you? Is this honestly you speaking or is it the fumes messing with your head. Can you trust yourself now? How will you two walk away from this? How will you see this tomorrow?
None of those questions need answering now.
So you let him rock you harder, gasping into your neck as he spills his come deep inside you, warming you from the inside out.
It doesn’t end there. You both fuck your way through the whole night. He has you on all fours, pushing himself—still thick and hard—inside you from behind, leaning his chest across your back as he barely has any leverage to pull out before he stuffs you fuller.
It feels like nothing will ever be enough. You suck his cock three times, get fucked in the air twice and against the wall once. It ends with a missionary position, however uncomfortable on the hard concrete floor. Your bodies are as close as you can handle and that’s all that matters.
When the dawn breaks you both finally see things clearer. The haze is now a dull throb at the back of your mind, no longer taking over all of your senses. You’re exhausted. You need a couple of showers and a two-day-long sleep.
“Hm, get off me.” You murmur when his heavy hot body still lies on top of you after your last shared orgasm. You’re stuffed to the brim, hot, red, and overstimulated to the point that even if you had pants to put on, they’d hurt.
What was it with him and making it his mission to ruin all of your suits?
“Not what you were saying earlier.” He grumbles back but there’s no real bite to it, he’s equally exhausted. Hair messy and sticking out all over the place.
“I said many things.”
“Yeah. Yeah, you did.” He looks at you knowingly but you don’t want to get into it now.
Not that he’d ever allow that. “Did you mean it?” He does slowly pull off you and out of you, tucking his soft and equally spent cock back into his pants, belt clicking back into place.
His gloves are ripped and useless, though he still takes the scraps and tucks the fabric behind his belt so as to not leave any evidence.
“Do we have to do this now?”
“Yes.” His eyes meet yours. You avoid them.
“I guess, maybe? Yes? I don’t know. My head isn’t very clear right now.”
“Make it clear then, that’s your whole shtick.”
“Jesus, can I catch a breather please? I thought I was going to die today.”
“Fine. I just—I wasn’t kidding. I wouldn’t. Not about something like that.” You give him a sad smile. You know he’s speaking the truth. You don’t need to probe his head for it either. You just don’t know if you’re able to give him what he needs.
You don’t know if the extent of your love will ever be enough to feed the bottomless beast that resides inside him. You’ve seen glimpses of it at times. You’re scared to get formally introduced.
“I know.” You lean in to kiss his forehead. “Can we get out of here first? I don’t want anyone to find us like this.”
“Yeah, yeah we can.”
He can be a gentleman when he chooses to be. He takes his cape off and wraps it around your bottom—though it’s the least he can do after he ripped your pants into pieces a couple hours ago.
“Hey, what happened to the supe?”
“Ran away.”
“At least one of us is lucky then.”
“You’re lucky you’re cute.” And with that he sets off, taking you both home.
You’re not sure where this is going to take you. You’re not sure you’re ready for it or if you even want to be there for the ride. But after tonight you know, you won’t be able to hide from him for the rest of your life.
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18+ Only | 2.7k | Want to send your own request? | Homelander x female!Reader | Corruption kink? Idk what it's actually called but he very much enables her and teaches her to be nasty for him. Blowjob - but like a stupidly detailed one.
Follow-up to this (which I'm now labelling in my head as virginverse lol) but I give enough context that you don't need to read it to get this. (not that there's plot to get)
You were friends before this whole thing started. You didn’t think too much about the consequences when you had asked Homelander to teach you how to kiss. You didn’t expect him to latch onto you as fast as he did. Your friendship was left at the door right when you entered his home, asking for a lesson.
It didn’t end in kissing.
Though kissing took up a lot of time ever since the first lesson. Homelander wanted to make sure you were aware of every kind of kissing. Grading your performance until you hit all As.
You dare say you’ve become an expert, finally confident in initiating kisses yourself. You found yourself in a strange dynamic. It wasn’t an official relationship—or he didn’t label it as one—but Homelander thoroughly enjoyed flustering you and brushing his hands across your back each time he walked past you in the Vought tower. Having to act composed in front of your colleagues has become a daily battle.
He’s insisted that you both spend more time together, to get to know each other in a more intimate way. Your friendly texts turned flirty. Your movie nights devolved into make-out sessions on the regular. Even the lunch hours he decided to spend with you had a couple of stolen kisses when people weren’t looking. Sleepovers still stayed in the realm of cuddling but Homelander has not shied away from copping a good feel or two. But in between all of it, you still managed to categorise him in your head as a friend you just so happen to kiss occasionally. Well, more than occasionally. But relationships are weird! This is just your own version of being friends with benefits.
But now that your knees are pressed tightly together on the little pillow you’ve been given to rest on, shoulders wedged in between Homelander’s legs as he casually sits on the edge of the bed, you’re starting to think that calling him just a friend might personally offend him. You know he doesn’t sleep around, brazen that he is he used to tell you all about his past relationships. In detail. Surprisingly there weren’t many one-night-stands for him to cover.
Your hands shake a bit, you can’t help but swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth when you’re face to face with his crotch. You look up to meet his gaze. His eyes are sharp, his smile even more so. You have a good reason to worry he’s going to eat you alive.
The tips of your ears feel intensely hot when you think of how small you feel in this position. Tucked into the small space he allows for you, molding your body into the contours of his.
“Ever touched a cock, sweetheart?”
His words have your eyebrows shooting up and eyes widening. You quickly look down when his gloved hand rests on his crotch. He barely gives himself a squeeze but your heartbeat very quickly makes itself known in your underwear. You’ve masturbated. You’ve watched porn before. You understand the concept of the mechanics. Yet you’ve never felt particularly aroused. It’s why you’ve not seeked partners before—it didn’t feel like a need at the time.
The wetness leaking out of you now says otherwise.
You shake your head at his question. Eyes locked onto the way he lazily rubs his bulge up and down. You don’t know how much of the suit is in the way. Regardless, it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.
You don’t know if it’s the fact that it’s happening for the first time in your life or if it’s specifically him, but it makes you wish you had jumped on this opportunity ages ago.
“Use your words—while you can.” Your eyes snap back to his, shame filling your body at how much you already miss watching him.
“N-no. No, I haven’t.”
“And do you want to?” His tone is inquisitive yet ravenous—he already knows the answer.
“Uh-huh.” Your eyes slip down to his hand again. It’s magnetic. You let out an embarrassing little gasp when your breath hitches on the way in right as he squeezes his cock through the thick material. You can see the fucking outline of it.
Homelander doesn’t hold back from letting out a condescending little laugh at your reaction. “You can do better than that. I want to hear it.”
“Yes. Yeah. I really, really want to.” You feel brave in the moment, hands landing on his thighs in the urge to ground yourself. Jesus, you’ve never felt this worked up before. Even all the hot and heavy make-out sessions couldn’t match the intense—near painful—throbbing you’re suffering through now.
Homelander lets out his own little gasp at the way you’re holding onto him. It both soothes your nerves and amps up your excitement to see him similarly disarmed. Maybe you’re both learning something today. “Good. Whew, alright, it’s time to get your hand dirty, missy.”
You barely manage to stop yourself from whining in protest when he lifts his hand off his bulge—you were enjoying the view. But you’re quickly appeased by the click of the belt and the mouth-watering hiss of his zipper.
“Wanna do the honours?”
You nod your head a couple of times, pulling his blue pants low enough that you see his underwear but not far enough that they would get in your way. It would probably be easier to take his pants off entirely but you’re not particularly interested in moving from your spot.
Your jaw drops at the sight of his cock straining against his red boxers. Licking your lips you feel like you’re pulling an expression one would find in a cheap porno—though you’re anything but faking your excitement. He’s thick. Just the pretty outline of his cock has you feeling stupid for not jumping at him from day one.
“I bet you’ve fantasized about this before.” It’s cocky—normally that would put you off if he wasn’t right. You have fantasized about Homelander—the hero—before but ever since becoming friends you got to put a real face to the persona. You felt dirty for even thinking of your fantasies. What if he could somehow read your mind? Very soon after that you managed to remove his likeness from your mind.
“Did you imagine yourself like this? On your knees for me, sucking my cock?” God, you flush with a fresh wave of indecent heat.
“Just touching it.” You manage to admit, eyes still fixated on the way his cock twitches in his underwear, little wet spot forming at the tip. Your mouth suddenly feels so empty. All of you feels so empty.
“Ah, was a blowjob too advanced for an inexperienced bunny like you? Well, lucky for youu young lady, you have an excellent teacher.”
After all you do is stare at it breathlessly—hands both itching to reach out yet lead-heavy on his thighs—Homelander interrupts your thoughts again. “No need to be shy. How about you wrap your hand around it?”
You don’t need it, yet you jump at the permission to go further. Your hand immediately lands on the outline of his cock. Fuck, he’s so hard. You feel the throbbing and twitching vividly now that you run your hand up and down his length—and while his underwear is nice and soft you do kind of want it gone forever.
Your hand curls around him through the fabric and your moan surprises even you. Your fantasies had nothing on reality. He’s so aroused. So warm. So alive. The fantasy version of him never managed to conjure up this much life, this much intensity. You’re glad that reality goes above and beyond in this case.
You squeeze him all over. You give all the inches of the shaft a good squeeze as your hand goes up and down. The soft spongy tip gets its own treatment when you brush against it, pressing your thumb against the soft flesh.
“Can I take these off?” You’re not sure why you feel so timid—besides the obvious. He brought you here with the all-too-obvious intent to teach you how to suck his cock, yet you feel like you’re asking for a lot by asking to see him in all his glory.
“Well, you can’t suck it with them on.” His shark grin is back, thoroughly enjoying having the upper hand. And you can’t say that you hate that.
With your face flush with embarrassment, you pull his underwear down when he lifts his hips up for you.
And wow. This is what your dreams are gonna be full of starting today. His dick is pretty. You can’t say you’ve ever thought that about any of the male performers in porn. You immediately focus on the reddish, flushed head. It’s a little shiny from all the pre-cum he’s been leaking into his underwear. Such blatant arousal makes you bite your lip. He’s this aroused around you—because of you.
The shaft is thick and veiny—you’re not really sure how you’re gonna deal with that—leading down into his neatly trimmed pubic hair. God, he’s so beautiful you could swoon. This time you don’t wait for permission or the next words. You touch him. His skin is as velvety soft as it looks. Like this you get to feel the individual veins pulse with rushing blood. He throbs so strongly in your hand. It’s an exhilarating feeling.
Homelander’s thighs tremble around you as you give him a meek little stroke. Getting familiar with how it feels to wrap your hand around him. How it feels to squeeze him.
“You know what I’m gonna ask you to do next?” You take pleasure in how reedy thin his voice sounds. You already feel a lot better about your skills here than you did while kissing. While you certainly don’t have the upper hand, he’s easily affected.
“Lick it?”
“That’s my clever girl. Make it nice and wet.” His breathy tone sounds so erotic you might as well melt into a puddle right between his legs.
Finally you’ve reached the destination. Your hand slides down to the base of his cock, your hand stopped by the padding of his pubic hairs. Tentatively you stick your tongue out. Your mouth has been watering this whole time that when you do, a drop of saliva nearly lands onto his tip. Your tongue presses flat against the width of his soft tip.
You two become a loop of feedback as you unintentionally moan at the taste of him gracing your taste buds, while he bucks up and groans as soon as your hot, wet tongue meets his sensitive head.
This will be a lot of fun for both of you.
You lick him again. This time a proper lick of his tip. Your tongue gets caught on the edge of his head before it gets dragged over, catching a sliver of his pre-cum. It’s on the salty side but not unpleasant. He tastes clean and pleasantly musky.
You could get addicted to it if you let yourself.
You continue making him wet like he’s instructed you to. You lick from the base of his shaft to the tip, repeating the process until he’s shiny and glittery from the reflected lights in the bedroom.
“Mhmm you might just be a natural, well done.” He’s taking in stuttered breaths, his eyes have lost their sharp edge—now hazy and dreamy as he looks down at you again. “Let’s take it further. Wrap your pretty lips around it for me, princess.”
His lips part as he watches you, not wanting to miss a single second.
You do as requested. Licking your lips for good measure, you press a kiss against the tip—making Homelander giggle—before you part your lips around the head and with plenty of saliva you slide your lips over the width of it.
Your tongue naturally tickles the underside, sliding over the edge of the head repeatedly. You move intuitively here, slipping the head in and out of your mouth, wetting it thoroughly on each pass.
“Ffffuck!” Just as you stop he quickly continues, “don’t stop, holy shit.” You return to wetting his tip, licking around the circumference while he rests his hand on your hair. He’s not pushing you to go down, he just rubs little encouraging motions into your scalp.
And well, you’re here to suck his dick, so you suck around the head whenever it’s fully in between your lips. You don’t expect your mouth to suddenly be so full of cock when his hips accidentally buck up into you and your gag reflex forces you off, coughing through the shock.
“Fuck, sorry. That’s my fault. Didn’t expect your virgin little mouth to be this fucking good.” He lets out a breathless little laugh.
“I’ll be gentle this time. Think you can take more of me in?”
You give a little nod now that you put yourself together. Your eyes still feel a little wet at the shock of the intrusion but it’s nothing you can’t shake off. If you’re being honest with yourself, you want him to do it again.
You sink past his tip this time. Your mouth is plenty wet so the first inch of him slides in fine. The feeling of him heavy on your tongue is a pussy-wetting one—not that you need more of it.
The next inch is harder. He’s thicker as you go down. Each incoming inch feels a lot harder to get past your lips comfortably. You don’t think you even got a half in but practice makes perfect.
Homelander hisses through his teeth, his fingers anchoring themselves to your head a little tighter. He’s not pulling or pushing but you feel the tremble of his fingers intimately.
You imitate what you’ve seen porn actresses do many times before. You bob your head up and down, doing your best to suck his tip on the way out. You’re so focused on the task of trying to take as much of his thick length in as possible that you totally miss Homelander’s whines.
“Fucking Christ! Keep going, j-just like that.” He’s panting through his words. His hand leaves your head, gripping his own thigh instead so as to not squeeze you tighter than you can handle.
However, you’re definitely squeezing him tighter than he can handle. “Fffuck, fuck, fuck you’re gonna make me come. ‘M sorry, you gotta—fuck—you gotta take it.”
He’s shaking underneath you, the one hand you have on his other thigh feels each tremor and quiver of his muscle even through the suit.
“I’m gonna have to come in your mouth. You get that, right?” He sounds more like he’s begging you than telling you to. Each suck and bob of your head pushes a whinier moan past his lips. “Might as well—ah hah, fuck—learn to swallow. While you’re at it.” His voice is clipped. Barely getting the words past his lips in short intervals while you hum around his cock.
Your jaw is getting sore but it’s okay because as soon as you take in a tiny bit more to push him closer he spills all over your tongue. Your eyes widen as the hot liquid spurts of his come lewdly coat your tongue before you swallow around him.
It’s salty—a little bitter—but pretty neutral all things considered. You wouldn’t mind repeating this again.
Once his cock stops pulsing so violently on your tongue you pull off him, wiping the stray drop of come that’s made it out of your mouth.
“Come here,” he purrs. Homelander’s voice is still a little rattled—and so are the hands that urge you to come up to him—but he’s eager to reward your performance. Pulling you onto his lap, his lips are straight on you. Deep, involved, passionate kissing that has his tongue in your mouth, eagerly licking up traces of his come off yours.
His moans and needy indulgent kisses send another throb through your clit. The poor thing is overstimulated without having been touched once.
Homelander doesn’t miss this.
“We should probably do something about this, hm?” His gloved hand slithers in between your thighs and he pats your clothed pussy twice. “You’ve been so good and patient, I think you deserve a reward.”
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Hello dearie ❤️ I'm gonna be a very predictable person and go for:
4) slow sex while one or both are injured (bonus points if it’s after a battle or after they’ve patched up each other’s wounds)
We HAVE gotten an awful lot of whumpy Homelander situations in S5, after all...
~ @anotherhomelanderblog
*In Homelander's voice* You want her you got her!
18+ Only | Want to send your own request?
After all this time together you had thought you’d seen it all. Being honestly and completely devoted to Homelander meant that you had expert knowledge of what the inside of a human body looked like. Blood, viscera, and entrails were a regular occurrence enough that you’ve stopped seeing them for what it is and took it as yet another part of your insane life with him.
Blood shouldn’t scare you. Wounds mean nothing. Yet when Homelander comes home from his trip to Fort Harmony you can’t help but gasp and drop the full mug you’ve carried over from the kitchen. With a high-pitched screech the sharp pieces of porcelain dance and settle around you as you stare at Homelander.
The room is quiet.
He’s standing there motionless. You’re barely thinking as you stumble in your haste to get to him.
“Homelander! Oh my god are you okay? Wha-what happened?” You look him over up and down, padding your hands over his suit to feel for wounds or blood.
He looks at you with vacant eyes. You’re not really sure if he’s looking at you or through you.
“I’m fine.”
You don’t argue with him. Your two fingers pick a spot on his chin that isn’t covered in red raw and inflamed skin and you move his head around, seeing the extent of the damage. It’s not pretty. You don’t want to admit how scared it makes you feel to see him like this.
Strangely, you feel like you need to stay strong for him.
Your eye focuses on the raw open wound on the side of his cheek. You hiss through your teeth.
“It looks ugly, I know.” He mistakes your scared grimace for disgust. He sounds more sad than you’ve ever heard him. You wonder what really happened in Fort Harmony. You won’t ask now. He looks shaken enough. “It won’t take long to heal.”
“No honey, that’s not—let me take care of this, okay?”
You just about catch his lip quiver when he nods.
In the bathroom, you sit him on the closed toilet seat while you rummage through the sink vanity unit. You know you put a first aid kit somewhere in there—for your needs more than his. You find it, putting it to the side to wet a fresh face towel. His eyes still don’t carry his usual spark but at least he’s looking at you, following your every move.
“I’m sorry if this hurts, I just need to get some of this blood off.” With gentle taps you loosen the congealed blood, lifting it off his irritated skin. Homelander isn’t bothered in the slightest. In any other circumstance you wouldn’t think twice about it. He tends to say that nothing can hurt him, but he usually doesn’t come home covered in sores and raw wounds.
You turn your torso to wring the towel out and swap it with some fresh water. In that moment Homelander leans forward, his head meeting your body, resting against it with a sigh.
“Oh baby, it’s okay.” You gently pat down his hair when you turn back. He instantly leans into your loving touch, as if afraid that he wasn’t going to have it anymore. “You’re okay now.” You let him have this for a bit. This moment of tranquility where all he has is you. Just the smell and feel of you right next to him.
You continue this little routine for a little while. Wiping the blood off his face. Cleaning his wounds. Letting him soak in your love and attention.
Once most of the blood is off and all that remains is his irritated skin you let him rest against you. You slowly run your wet fingers through his hair, breaking the styling product apart. They’re still stuck in thick strands but you focus on pulling them apart while Homelander tilts his head up a bit to feel your soft breasts against his face.
He’s left many bloody spots and smears across your top while doing this but you can’t bring yourself to mind one bit.
“Do you want to get out of the suit and shower? I don’t want you to hurt too much but this can’t be comfortable.” The thought of peeling the suit off his weeping raw wounds makes you shiver but leaving him in it feels even worse.
“Yeah.” His voice is croaky still, both from his silence and from whatever has happened to him. You just want to hold him tight and let him get better with your warmth surrounding him.
As a force of habit you go to kiss him, but he stops you.
“Oh, of course. I’m sorry.” You say immediately, embarrassed that you acted on such impulse.
“It’s not that. I was sick, I just need to…” He doesn’t finish what he’s saying but he gets his toothbrush, squeezes some toothpaste on it and brushes his teeth. You smile softly through the mirror and work on taking off your clothes and turning the shower on.
He rinses his mouth and goes to look at you, mouth parting, tongue poking out, almost tasting the air.
You do your best at helping him take the suit off—you at least take the cape off and fold it as neatly as the stiff fabric allows—but it’s always been easier for him to do it himself. He knows it best.
His body isn’t covered in weeping wounds like his face. Instead the skin is irritated in places, red and covered with the same map-like marks his face suffers with. You’re surprised by how well he’s taking all of this.
Even through your protest for Homelander’s wellbeing, your shower together is spent kissing and touching. Well, Homelander is doing most of the touching, eager to get his hands on you for a taste of normalcy. You’re more hesitant to cause him more pain.
“I don’t want you to hurt more.” Your voice is breathy, stolen by his long insistent kisses.
“Then make me feel good.” His eyes are slightly glazed over when he kisses you again. Unlike yours, his hands aren’t shy when he cradles your jaw, brushing his thumbs against your cheeks in between the presses of his lips.
You flush with indecent heat when visions of making him feel good fill your head. In your time together, you’ve learned that there’s no secret of yours that Homelander isn’t privy to. And yet you jolt when his long slender fingers slide in between your thighs.
He presses you against the shower tile. He takes time to gently work your wetness up to your clit, rubbing you softly and wringing little whines out of you in between kisses. It’d be easy to forget yourself. Let the warmth and the pleasurable shivers run through you until he makes you come. But you're here to make him feel good after all.
With a breathy little, “let me,” you grab his wrist and pull him away. Intense blue eyes follow your every move. You kiss him and turn him around, gently pressing his back against the tiles, mirroring your position.
A couple of kisses trailing down the portions of his body that have not been hurt mark your descent until you settle on your knees. The rainfall shower is just out of reach enough to not get in the way but close enough to feel the water’s comforting warmth.
Your hands eat up the slight quivers of his muscles as they slide up the sides of his thighs. Pointedly ignoring his flushed throbbing cock you lean on each side to place a kiss on his hips. The closer your lips get to the treasure the louder he whines your name.
Once his tone turns from needy to downright whiny you take pity on the poor man. In any other circumstance you would have enjoyed the tasty mix of unpredictability and adrenaline that comes with having you lead your love sessions but he’s been through a lot today.
You hold the base of his cock, kissing the pretty flushed tip of it. Thanks to the many practice sessions you’ve had, taking his thick cock in isn’t as daunting as it used to be. Your eyes flutter shut when the taste of him fills your mouth. He tastes good. The heavy feel on your tongue mixed with Homelander’s little whimpers sends sparks of pleasure down to your clit. You’d slip a hand in between your legs if you hadn’t been so focused on taking in as much of him as you could, bobbing your head up and down his length.
He’s been suspiciously quiet today. Usually he enjoys showering you with a litany of prayers, praise, and encouragement. Today he’s been reduced to little whimpers and mewls.
Just as you get into a rhythm, noisily slurping down the saliva while you gently massage his balls in one hand, Homelander tangles his fingers into your hair pulling you in deeper than you’re used to, spilling so deep in your throat you don’t even taste him.
You pull off in haste to fight off your gag reflex and catch your breath.
“‘m sorry,” he sounds winded. Taking in big gulps of breath just like you are.
“Don’t be.” You stand up on wobbly knees, relishing in the supporting arm that automatically wraps around your waist. You kiss him sweet and precious, eternally grateful for the gem you’ve found in him. You look him over, amongst cherishing the dazed little smile he gives you, you notice some of his burns have already started fading.
Things slow down even more once you move into your shared bed. Your mind feels hazy, focus on reality slipping with each long slow kiss. Warm arms hold you impossibly close, the heat of the moment melting each worry and thought from your brain. You toss and turn in bed, joined in all the meanings of the word, bodies close and hot, his cock warm and heavy inside you. It feels like an elaborate hug, the intimacy of being so close to your lover that you feel all the parts of them against you. It’s not about sex. It’s not about chasing the next high. You just want to—need to—be near. You can’t bear to be without him.
With the increasingly worrisome states he comes back home in you fear life without him more than ever.
I'd DIE for ❛do what you want, but you'd better make it good or i'll kill you.❜ from the prompt list
(pretty pretty please 🫶)
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE ASK!
This takes place in the same verse as Heavy Dirty Soul
This isn’t how you’d originally wanted your evening to go. You were supposed to be having a business dinner with Madelyn, an event you’d been looking forward to all week. You’d bought a whole new dress just for the occasion. It was going to be romantic, an evening at a steakhouse you’d never be able to afford on your own. Strictly professional of course, on the record. That didn’t dull your shine one bit. Getting to spend some alone time with her was all that mattered. But no, Teddy got the flu and the evening was subsequently cancelled with no notice of rescheduling. Apparently the poor thing puked all over Madelyn’s rug, and not in the usual baby spit up way. You really don’t want to be angry at an infant for being sick…but you are. Homelander must be rubbing off on you.
But as consolation, you’re rubbing off on Homelander.
He’s lounging on the couch beneath you, hands gripping your hips as you grind against the foam crotch of his suit. He gives every impression that your efforts have him bored out of his mind, but the intense look in his eyes gives away that he’s not as unaffected as he seems. The good thing about his strength, as genuinely terrifying as it can be, is that you can really take your anger out on him. He even seems to like it, at least a lot more than you’d originally have assumed given his prickly ego. And tonight you had a lot of pent up anger after your date night was cancelled. So when he walked in on you sullenly drowning your sorrows in a bottle of wine in your office, you were all too willing to pounce.
“Look at you, such a big strong man, getting pushed around by someone like me.” You slap him and he grunts, gloved fingers leaving bruises where your button up has become untucked from your skirt. He thrusts up against you and bares his teeth. Only you know that he secretly loves it. For all his posturing, it gets him off that you’re so willing to show him a little tough love. You’ve learned over the course of your little indiscretions, just how far you can push before things get dicey. Turns out you can push more than you’d expect.
“Such big talk from someone who I can snap in half before your silly little brain could even process it.” He reaches up to grab the neckline of your shirt so he can rip it open, scattering buttons everywhere. He leans in to nip at your cleavage so hard that you’re sure he breaks skin. The pain makes your moan as you ride him even harder, the ridiculous crotch of his suit hitting you just right. Your eyes roll back at the filthy mixture of pleasure and pain.
“C’mon, you know you love what I do.” You tease, panting as you lean forward to catch his earlobe in your teeth and tug. Immediately you feel an iron hand wrap around your throat. He isn’t squeezing yet. He’s just letting you feel it. You can’t help but chuckle wildly at finally breaking his composure. This is when it really gets fun.
“Do what you want, but you'd better make it good or I'll kill you.” He growls, and this time he finally squeezes. You grab his wrist. Not for the fruitless task of trying to pull him off, but because you like feeling his grip on you, because you know he won’t really do it. Or maybe he finally will this time? It’s the thrill of danger that makes this fun.
He leaves you enough air to manage a wheeze.
“I don’t think Mommy would be very happy with us if you did that.” You manage to rasp out. Your hand that isn’t on his wrist unclicks his belt and stuffs itself down his pants. It’s not an easy feat one handed, but by this point you’re practiced. He pulses angrily in your hand as you mock him and the generous amount of precum already coating his cock makes for an easy glide. You know just how he likes it, firm but slow, with a clever twist at the head that always makes his breath hitch.
You know he won’t kill you. Your handjobs are just too good.
His hand loosens a tad when you begin to get lightheaded, not wanting you to pass out before he gets his. He thrusts up into your grip as his noises go from angry huffs to the borderline pained whines he emits when he’s close. You feel something warm drip down your chest and you know he did break the skin when he bit you earlier. His loss for losing control. You’re going to have to wear your tops buttoned up now. He might rethink his bad behavior when your neckline is higher than a nun’s. Of course, with his x-ray vision, you suppose it’s a bit of a moot point.
You lean forward to kiss his bloody mouth and he reciprocates instantly, filling your mouth with the taste of iron. You let go of his arm and briefly cease your stroking so you can wiggle his pants further down his thighs, causing him to flinch when the chilly air of the office comes in contact with his hot throbbing cock. It’s flushed bright red. You find it cute. He grunts impatiently as you begin stroking him again, free hand reaching down to cup his balls. He lets out a moan like he just got gut punched.
“Is this good enough for you hmmm? Good enough to make you behave yourself” You moan. He opens his mouth like he’s going to reply but his eyes roll back instead.
“Good enough that mommy won’t have to punish you when she gets back?” You deal the finishing blow. He groans loudly, loud enough the whole floor must be able to hear it. Luckily, the other office workers have gone home and you doubt anyone else on The Seven will say anything if they value their well-being. He shoots ropes of cum all over your knuckles and the chest of his suit. His face is lost in agonized bliss as he sloppily thrusts up into your messy palm. You coo at him as you gently milk the rest of his orgasm out of him, making it last as long as possible till the well is dry and he whines with overstimulation.
The room is calm and quiet except for the sound of Homelander’s heavy panting as he regains his composure. As you wait for him to recover, you shrug out of your ruined shirt. You dab lightly at the blood on your chest, already tacky and starting to dry, before shuffling it around and using another clean bit to wipe the cum off of your hand and Homelander’s suit. He idly watches you, blankly at first and then arrogantly as his mind returns to him.
He sneers at you.
“I don’t know what kind of sick degeneracy you’re into but if you ever pull that mommy shit again I will kill you.” He huffs, but the blush on his cheeks says otherwise. He releases his hold on your throat and you smile and pat his cheek.
“Don’t worry Baby, I’ll be a good, good girl from now on.”
He scoffs.
“Liar.”
You are, but for once, he doesn’t seem to mind it.
He slowly opens his eyes, only to immediately shut them with a groan. The fluorescent lights above him are blinding. It only exacerbates the feeling of his head splitting in two. The only comfort to him is the coolness of the metal under his naked skin.
Where is he?
The incredulity of the moment finally forces his eyes open. He’s in pain - so much pain. His arms and legs quiver with the shock of it. His agony echoes with memories. His skin is burned, frozen, poked at. White coats calling him “John” while he cries out for a mother he was never given. But he’s not a child anymore, is he? He was never a child. He’s the Homelander, and what is he doing back on the slab?
Homelander sucks all the air he can into his lungs as he sits up, and he nearly falls off the table. One hand grabs for the side, the other reaches for his aching skull. He jolts as his fingers press over something new – a scar, raw and fresh, cutting his head in half. He feels stitches pricking the pads of his fingertips. He gulps in another frightened breath.
“Good morning, John.”
Homelander gasps and shoots his gaze up, but the movement is too quick for his eyes. His legs compensate, sliding him off the table, and he collapses to the floor. His ass hits the tile hard, and his head bonks the slab’s pole. The humanity of it would be humbling were it not so horrifying. He has little choice but to watch as patent leather dress shoes step into his field of vision with all the confidence of a god.
“I was beginning to think you would never wake up.”
He would know that voice anywhere. It does little to convince Homelander this isn’t a nightmare. He slowly looks up at Stan Edgar. Edgar stares back and tilts his head as if examining a rare insect. “How are you feeling?”
It takes Homelander a moment to remember how to speak. He opens his mouth, closes it, tests his tongue, then answers in a hoarse register. “What happened?”
Edgar’s eyes narrow inquisitively. “How much do you remember?”
He doesn’t know how to answer that, so he elects for another question. “Where am I?”
Edgar tilts his head to examine the room that’s far too white for Homelander’s liking. “The Tower, of course. Granted, I doubt you’ve ever been on this particular floor.”
The CEO is even more irritating when accompanied by physical anguish. “What floor might that be?” Homelander grits out, if only because he knows Stan is waiting for the question.
Edgar smiles thinly. “The morgue.”
The word creeps along Homelander’s skin skin but strengthens his voice. “What…the fuck…happened?”
“You died. I’m among the lucky few who know you’re not,” He walks out of Homelander’s frame of vision. He doesn’t look up to watch as Edgar continues to monologue. “Our best scientists believed it was a lost cause, but I thought with your DNA, there was a chance it could be done. Sadly, your powers didn’t return. Another failed experiment.”
Homelander’s memory was spotty. He remembered the White House; he remembered Ryan. William, perhaps? A bright, blinding light, and then nothing. It wouldn’t be the first time his mind protected him with blank spaces, but never one this thorough. Slowly, in incremental movements, he picks himself off the floor. He rests both hands on the cool table for support. “Where are they?”
Edgar laughs, the sound curt and cold in the white room. “That’s your first question?”
Homelander raises shaky blue eyes to level Edgar as best he can. “Where are they?” He repeats.
Edgar’s feigned smile fades. “Safe. Living with a more than reasonable stipend on Long Island. Near a beach, if I remember correctly.”
Homelander knows him well enough to know he is withholding information. In another world, in the right world, his eyes would burn red. “Tell me where.”
“You no longer have any ability to give me orders, John.” Edgar cruelly reminds. When Homelander’s loathsome stare does not change, Edgar hums. “But you provide no use to the company anymore…I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”
~-~
The Long Island Sound is calmer than usual today. The waves brush the shore tentatively. You’ve grown accustomed to their quiet rhythm in the morning. At the very least, it is a welcome change from the pace of Vought.
Vought paid you handsomely. It was a clear demand to live quietly, to pretend all that had happened never happened. The sum was almost insulting in its surplus, but you no longer had the energy to fight this corporation. The “boys” clearly didn’t, either.
You watch the waves a moment longer before walking back inside. You don’t need a job with Vought’s stipend, but it’s still nice to have a routine. You’re ready to start it when there’s a knock at the door.
You’re not expecting anyone, nor are you anticipating any deliveries. Before you can even consider ignoring it, there’s another, louder knock. More urgent. You slowly go to the door and look through the peephole - and your heart jumps to your throat. You throw the door open and find Homelander clinging to the frame. At least, it certainly looks like Homelander. He’s wearing a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt too big for him, his muscles weak and thin through the fabric. His hair is shaved down to near nothing. The shade of brown is only slightly less shocking than the raw scar that parts his head. But you would know those blue eyes anywhere, and the way he looks at you like you’re the last tether holding him down.
You’re struck dumb. He, as usual, is not. He looks you up and down slowly, head nearly shaking from the effort. “You’re…alright?”
You step forward, arms instinctively moving out. “Homelander…how…”
“Help,” is Homelander’s only reply before he stumbles forward into his arms. You catch him, holding up his frame that’s far too thin, far too weak. You glance up and down your street, but he is very clearly alone. Without another word, you carry the semi-conscious hero into your home.
i think what kills me the most is he didn't want to die?
like granted he wasn't alive long enough to come to many conclusions, but he begged. he begged to live even with all his powers gone. he didn't beg for someone to put him out of his misery, he didn't scoff at the idea of being human when he finally became one. no flying, no laser eyes, no strength, and he still wanted to live.
i'll be over here crying in the corner if anyone needs a snack.
