cw: yandere, toxic behaviour, power imbalance, brief mentions of violence, slight nsfw, slight dubcon
a/n: inspired to do some more 'light hearted' hcs while i'm in the middle of finishing pt 2 to my homelander fic......lowkey might have to do some yandere!seven and yandere!annie hcs soon...........wait yandere!sage would go crazy woah…
homelander’s ego is through the roof so once he’s met you it isn’t a question of if you’ll date him but more so when you’ll date
unfortunately homelander is incapable of being a normal human being so while he could theoretically meet someone out in the wild he's probably going to get attached to someone who works for vought in some capacity
i love love love all of the 'homelander falling for a non-supe/ intern/assistant trope'
the power imbalance is very yummy
he isn't the kind of yandere who will bide their time and wait for the right moment
he's The Homelander™ for god's sake!
doesn't matter which division you work for, he will introduce himself the moment he's interested in you (he will definitely neg you at least 3 times in the first conversation), and then turn you into his personal assistant all within a week
he hates how weak and juvenile having a crush on you feels but don't worry! it gets much deeper than a crush in no time
he's absolutely willing to try and get into a relationship with you the normal way (or at least as normal as dating homelander can be) but the second there's one minor inconvenience or you don't seem as receptive as he likes, it's gonna go south quickly -- even for his standards
homelander flies above you on your journey home without you realising since he can't stand the idea of you getting hurt all because he wasn't giving you adequate attention
so really it's only fair he gets to hover by your bedroom and peek through your windows using his x-ray vision once he's made sure you got home in one piece
he's a perv
homelander is obviously going to break into your house but he doesn't see it as breaking in
he's simply spending time in his future partner's home, you just don't know you belong to him yet
likes to move things around and watch the panicked look on your face from where he stalks hides from outside your window
he thinks everything about your helplessness against him is soooo cute :)
speaking of him being a perv, i like to imagine tha he was bored one day and stole all your bras (if you wear them)
#hesniffingthem
when you got to work he was not so subtly staring at your chest the entire time
yes he got a boner, no you’re not gonna do anything about it because he’s homelander
the image of your shocked face when you looked down to his lower half is burned into his mind
he only does stuff like this when the two of you are alone
he’s got a reputation to uphold after all
he monopolises ALL of your time -- you no longer have a home life because everything centres around homelander now
tells you what to wear at work and might even surprise you with a whole new office wardrobe
says it’s a new incentive for the employees and yet somehow you’re the only one getting stuff hmmm
he will trap you in some random copy room and talk your ear off about the most asinine things ever just to be around you
he hates that he can smell your fear and hear your heart pounding whenever he's near but he will fix that soon
he's definitely gonna ask if you notice anything new about him in these conversations and will visibly deflate if you don't notice he's used a new cologne because he overheard you talking from 10 floors away about how you like guys who use it
spiritually a loser c'mon
he never bothers trying to impress other people as it's usually the other way around, especially for mud people with no powers like you, so your disinterest absolutely kills him inside
he will be taking out his rage on some poor intern later since he really doesn't want to hurt you too much just yet
you probably did notice but felt too scared to just speak normally with him
he’s gonna invite you to his penthouse all the time and if you dare decline he’s going to make your life at work hell
soon you learn never to say no to his invitations
it’s lowkey awkward because he’s incapable of just talking like a regular person
he doesn’t see it that way though he thinks every little ‘date’ you two have is a success
speaking of rage, he will kill any of your coworkers that seem a little bit too comfortable with you
at first he hides it from you but the deeper his obsession gets the more of his insanity he's going to show
he knows you're a kind person, it's one of the reasons he can't get enough of you, so if you know that you will be responsible for any future deaths then maybe you'll obey his orders more often
if this is what he needs to do to ensure you stay with him he will do it
OH he doesn’t even ask you to date him if it’s gone on long enough, he just calls you his girlfriend in a meeting with the seven and that’s that
all of this is to say you will never have a normal life again once he stakes his claim on you
You stood near the floor to ceiling windows overlooking Midtown, watching the city move forty stories below, and tried to remember how to breathe.
Stan Edgar had called it a meeting. The kind of word that didn't prepare you for standing in Homelander's living room with your hands folded in front of you like a schoolgirl waiting outside the principal's office.
You had known for a year.
Three hundred and sixty-two days of knowing, and you still hadn't found the right moment, and the right version of yourself brave enough to knock on his door.
Apparently Stan Edgar had decided to knock for you.
He entered without announcing himself, they never did, did they? men who owned every room they walked into.
You turned, and there he was.
You had seen him on television a thousand times.
The jaw, the cape, the smile engineered for magazine covers. But television didn't prepare you for the weight of him in person, the way his eyes moved over you with something between suspicion and hunger, trying to place you in a category he already understood.
"You're her," he said. Not a question.
"Yes, I'm your biological mother." Your voice came out steadier than you had expected.
"Edgar told me." He crossed the room slowly, hands clasped behind his back, chin lifted. "Said you donated the egg, and that you're a supe." His gaze dropped to your face, studying it with an intensity that made your skin feel transparent. "You don't look old enough to be anyone's mother."
"Compound V," you said simply. "I was twenty-six when the donation happened. Physically, I haven't moved far from that."
"Donation." He let the word sit in the air between you, turning it over like something he'd found on the bottom of his shoe. "Is that what we're calling it."
You felt the shift in the room before he moved. Supes learned to read the air differently, the pressure change, the micro-current of heat when someone was preparing to use their abilities. You stayed very still.
"You left me."
The smile was gone. Underneath it was something so raw and so unguarded that it physically hurt to look at.
"You gave me away like I was, like I was nothing, and then you spent more then forty years not once, not one single time—"
"It wasn't a donation." you admit
You held his gaze, remember how you rehearsed this meeting before meeting him, the part you had wept through at three in the morning lying next to your husband, finding the words, losing them, finding them again.
"I was twenty-six and I was frightened and Vought took the egg from me without my knowledge or my consent. It was attached to a routine medical examination, and signed forms I didn't fully understand because I was young and I trusted the doctors in the room." You paused for a moment then continued.
"I didn't know you existed. I didn't know any of it until one year ago, when someone left a file on my doorstep and I spent three days barely getting off the bathroom floor."
Silence.
The city hummed forty stories below.
"You didn't know," he repeated.
"No."
You watched him process it the way a man processes information that requires him to rewrite the story he has been telling himself since childhood.
"You still didn't come." His voice broke on the last word.
"I was afraid," you said softly.
"Afraid." He laughed, short and humorless. "Of me?"
"Not of you." You took one careful step toward him.
"I was afraid of making you uncomfortable, you're not a child, you're a grown man with an entire life and an entire identity built without me in it. I thought arriving on your doorstep after many years would feel like an intrusion. As if I was trying to claim something I hadn't earned the right to claim."
The truth of the next part sat heavy in your throat. "And I thought, when you looked at me, that it might be strange. That I look like this. That I look young. I didn't want you to look at me and feel —"
"Stop."
He was directly in front of you now. You hadn't tracked him closing the distance. He was looking at your face with an expression that made your chest ache in a way you didn't have a name for something between grief and recognition, like a man who has been searching for a landmark for so long that when he finally sees it, he isn't sure he's allowed to believe it's real.
"You look like me," he said quietly. "Around the eyes."
You hadn't expected that. Your throat tightened.
"I noticed that too," you admitted. "When I saw the file."
The sound he made wasn't quite a word. It wasn't quite anything. It was the sound of something enormous and structural giving way, and then before you had fully understood what was happening he was against you.
His head dropped to your chest, his full weight staggering into you, and your arms came up around him without a conscious decision because something older than thought told you to.
He was shaking, the most powerful man on earth was shaking in your arms like a child woken from a nightmare, and the sounds coming from him were quiet and broken and utterly without performance.
"I used to think about you," he said against your shoulder, his voice muffled and unrecognizable. "I used to lay in the dark and think about what you were like. Whether you were looking for me." A breath that shuddered all the way through him.
"Whether you even wanted to."
"I want to," you assure him. Your hand moved to the back of his head without thinking. "I'm here now. I'm so sorry it took me this long."
He wept in a way you doubted he had ever permitted himself to do in front of another living person. You held him and said nothing more because there was nothing more useful than presence, and presence you could give.
You didn't know how long you stood there.
Eventually the shaking slowed. His breathing evened. He didn't pull away, only shifted slightly, enough to speak clearly.
"You're staying." It wasn't a question. His arms tightened around you, confirming it for himself.
"Now that I've found you. I won't let you just leave."
"Hey." You pulled back gently, just enough to see his face. You brought one hand to his jaw the way you imagined you might have done if you had ever been given the right to do so. "I'm not going anywhere, and I'm not disappearing. I promise you that."
Something in his expression settled. Then immediately tightened again.
"Move in here." The rawness was folding back under something more like command, more like the version of him he was used to presenting.
"I have the space. We can arrange your new room together."
"I can't do that."
"Why?"
You sighed, before speaking "Because I have a life, a home, and a husband."
His expression shuttered.
"A husband." The word came out like something bitten off. "So there's room for him but not for me."
"That's not what I said—"
"You spent forty years not finding me." His voice had gone cold, that particular cold that was performative and hurting in equal measure.
"And now you want to set visiting hours. Like I'm a–" He stepped back, jaw tight. "Like I'm something you fit in between the rest of your real life."
"John —"
"Homelander." It cracked out of him, then his tone quietened down
"My name is Homelander."
You absorbed that information after realising how it disgusted him.
"Homelander." You kept your voice steady. "I am not rejecting you. I am standing in your living room, which is the bravest thing I have done in years, and I am telling you I want to be in your life, those are not the words of someone who is leaving."
He looked away. The muscle in his jaw worked.
"You had forty-four years without me," he exclaimed. "I had forty-four years without you. You don't get to decide the terms just because they're more comfortable for your schedule."
"I'm not deciding terms. I'm asking for time to do this right."
"You think you get to walk away from this?" he snarled, his fingers clamping around your upper arm with a force that made you gasp. "I just found you. You don't get to have a life without me in it. You don't get to have a husband." His voice dropped to a venomous whisper. "You belong here with me."
The pent door swung open with a bang that made you both flinch. A man stood silhouetted against the hallway light, shield on his back, cigar clamped between his teeth.
Immediately you recognize him, the same man who made your life at Vought a living nightmare in the 70's.
Soldier Boy's eyes narrowed as they took in Homelander's grip on your arm, then drifted to your face. Recognition dawned slowly, then all at once. His jaw went slack. The cigar nearly fell from his mouth.
"Well, I'll be damned," he breathed out, a smirk slowly appearing on his face, as his eyes moved up and down your figure.
"Look what the cat dragged in."
You feel like a cat indeed, a cat that is trapped between two dangerous predators.
This is my second time writing headcannons so It might not be prefect. if you liked it please comment or dm me some more ideas!! credit to: @lacedbells for some of the ideas! (_ _)。゜zｚＺ
Homelander is a tits man 100%. He definitely loves to suck your tits and spends most of his time with you, with his face smushed between your tits and cooing like a baby.
Homelander would have an app on his phone secretly to track your period just to know when you are ovulating so he can fuck you at the best moment possible. If you had cramps he would probably cuddle you the whole time and whisper (whine) that he could easily get you pregnant and make all the pain go away.
Homelander would definitely beg you to have a baby with him just so he can drink your milk. If you did end up having a baby he would be very jealous of it because got all of your attention (spends most of his time pouting about how the baby is "drinking all your milk".)
Homelander would use his Xray vision to stare at you through walls and doors as you masturbate and jerk off at the same time. This man is a horny bastard and he knows it.
Warning: Contains Smut, Mommy kink, and cream pie.
After a day of long hours hunched over a screen and having to listen to idiots bumble about the latest game or their plans for the weekend. All you wanted to do was get home and take a nice bubble bath. The kind that just melts away all tension and stress.
Sadly that was likely not going to happen as you made it to your small town home. Waiting at your door step was a man clad in red, white, and blue. The Homelander was pacing in a small circle as you came up to the house on foot. Work was not too far from your house, so walking was something you did even when exhausted.
"You're home, I have been waiting for you. You usually get home sooner." He mentioned, his expression was like a puppy left waiting for his owner.
"I had a long day. Was kept after work for some items needing to be done."
Your voice is exhausted and worn out. Your body was tight and there was a tension grinding on your nerves. Homelander could see without using his X-ray vision. He knew he needed to take care of you instead of the other way around.
Every time he visits you, normally you would baby him. Kisses, home cooked meal, cuddles on the couch, and then a few rounds rolling around in bed. Both getting some kind of satisfaction and never being left with discomfort. Your relationship with Homelander had been steady, but not yet gone public. His visits only at night to avoid attention, but it suited your work schedule.
You pulled your keys out from your bag. You unlock the front door and head in with him following after you. You dropped your bag on the floor and felt. Something growing inside. Almost the tension in your body wanting to be released quickly. A bath was not going to cut it. Maybe a massage?
As you were trying to figure it out, Homelander had closed the door and walked up to you from behind. He loosely wraps her arms around your waist before resting his face in the crook of your neck. His lips brush your skin, the tension burning in a good way from his touch. It was clear what needed to happen and you took the opportunity.
You turn around in his arms making his head lift only to be captured and pulled into a passionate kiss. The passion dying quickly and being replaced by a deep yarning to consume his lips. He did not pull away, if anything he melted into your lips letting you take the lead like normal. You back him up to the door where his back hits hard enough to make the door creak. Your hands drop to his collar to lead your hands to open up his suit. His skin exposed and the chest hair riddling his chest, something you did enjoy feeling when being passionate. Though this time you rub your hand through his chest hair before pulling on strands to give him twinkles of pain. He groans against your lips, the sound lustful and sweet to your ears. You press your hips against his and feel him just crumbling from the pleasure.
You pull or rip from his lips just to look into his eyes with demands. "Such a good boy, letting Mommy have her way with you." It was like you held a leash to his collar. His breath ragged and already a boner struggling against his suit. "Oh look who joined us."
Your lips curled into a wicked smile as you reached a hand down to cup the tent. You can feel some bit of protection in his suit. It makes your smile drop as you pulled away and glared at him.
"Didn't I tell you before to remove that cup. I want to feel your cock against your suit when you come around here." Your tone was harsh, but then turned soft. "How is Mommy supposed to reward my sweet boy for good behavior."
God how your words gave him such euphoria. "I'm sorry Mommy, it won't happen again. Please let me make it up to you."
Without even saying another word he picks you up by the waist and wraps your legs around him. He carries you to the couch while kissing from your jaw to neck. He nips at your neck, but does not dare to leave marks unless you allow him. Though the work of his teeth relieved the tension that had been crippling your body. His hands release you along the couch as he angles you so your left leg hung off the couch. He still kisses your neck, but stops to remove your button up work attire. He doesn't rip it knowing you wanted him to go slow, but funny enough you pull your shirt open ripping the buttons off. He was startled for a moment, but you gave him a look that said to get to work.
Homelander continues where he left off, his kisses going from your neck, your collar bone, to your chest. He stopped to unclasp your bra with his teeth as the bra had a front clasp. His crystal blue eyes looking up at you as you watched him. Like an obedient dog he is, Homelander began to kiss and even nip gently at your breasts. His actions obviously avoid your nipples. The bites and kisses slowly unwind your stiff body. His hands were busy undressing himself, you didn't notice as your eyes fell shut to enjoy his meticulous lips dancing on your chest.
You have yet to really moan, but your breath was shallowing out. The pleasure is beginning to warm up your body, starting from the pit of your stomach to your chest. The heat between your legs only faint as he was working on building you up to satisfaction.
His lips parted from your skin to speak. His lips graze and his hot breath tickles your skin. "Am I doing good Mommy..?"
Before you could respond he finally wrapped his lips around one nipple while his hand went to the other. He finally was stripped down of his suit. His gloves even thrown off the couch with the rest of his suit. Soon your clothes will be there, but patience. Which he was testing as his tongue rolls over your hardening nipple. Both perked up as he focused his attention on them. Your breath slowly becomes ragged like his was at the door. He always had a creative mouth.
"Just like that, such a good boy." You finally got out as he bites down a little harder than before making you jump with a faint whimper.
His eyes lit up as he enjoyed finally getting a sound out of you. His eager eyes now trained on your body. His hand leaving your other nipple so then his mouth could kiss over and latch on. His hand sliding down to u bottom your pants and unzip them. His hand sneaking under your lace panties that he bought you a year ago. His fingers parting to slide along your folds. He teased the edge of your lips to only grow your excitement. He could smell the hormones and then something else. A faint chemical reaction that would only be picked up by a sharp sense. It was like vanilla, creamy, light, and sweet. His lips parting from your nipple to groan as he was already extremely excited. His hard length just grazing your thigh as he removed his hand from your panties. You were left needing, but not begging.
"Did I tell you to stop?" Your words coming out frustrated.
He was surprised by the tone, but knew you had a rough day. Your normal warmth has an edge to it whenever you are tensed or sexually frustrated.
"Sorry Mommy, I will get right to it." He had a small smirk as he pulled your pants down and panties with them.
Homelander lifted your legs to remove those restraining garments. Once done he didn't release your legs. He only rested them on his shoulders as he lined the tip of his cock to your entrance. He would normally rub his legs along your lips, but today there was something about you both that couldn't hold back anymore. He didn't give any warning as he thrusts into your warm slicken cunt. His head impacting with your cervix instantly. Your head flings back from the intense pleasure as his hips moved quickly. He always thrusts like a dog in heat, but this time he wasn't rapid in an lustful way. He was rapid in grinding along your lower walls, hitting not only the cervix but that certain spot that lets you see the stars.
Immediately the pleasure strikes your body as though crashing waves against the seashore. Your legs shaking along his shoulders. His arms lock you in as one hand rubs your thigh and the other reaches for your breast. His hand cups before squeezing gently against your plush breast. Your inner walls clamping tighten around him in a desperate need to have him deep within you. This time was so focused on you that you lost your edge and the need to take care of him. He was taking you to cloud nine and making sure his eyes stayed on you. Seeking, pleasing, and yarning for your approval.
There was moans rolling off your tongue as he ripples through you with each thrust. The knots twisting and snapping within you were leaving you a mess under him. His own groans and whimpers fueling his thrust to not stop. The pace was perfect, the angle perfect. Your slick keeps the friction quick and easy. But there was one giant knot waiting for the pure release. He could tell as he was getting close. He always seems to be easy to get off, but you can tell his thrusts were deliberate to get you off first.
You call his name with praise for his thrusts and telling him how good he felt. The words only thrilling him and making his thrusts faulting briefly as he aims solely for your cervix making you almost coo with pleasure.
"Can I cum inside Mommy, please~" Homelander whimpers out as he looks down at you with those doe like eyes that beg for you.
Wanting that sweet release you agree to him cumming inside of you. His thrust growing with an eager pace that started to make the room spin and your mouth hang open with relentless moans, groans, and cries. He finally buries himself deep within your pussy, shooting a few strings of cum as he calls you with needy whines. You join him in calling his name as you cum with him. The beauty in mixing both climaxes was gratifying.
Homelander only pumps himself into you to make sure every drop stays inside. He lets your legs fall around him before he lays down on top of you. His face goes straight for your neck to inhale your scent and bury his face against your skin. His arms sliding under you and your own wrapping around his head. Stroking his hair and rubbing his upper back. You both a panting mess as he rubs his nose against your neck. Your eyes are closed and regaining its steadiness.
"I love you." He says exasperated from such a finish.
"I love you too." You responded with a sweet mothering tone.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ You had only attended the Vought donor gala because the senior legal partner caught pneumonia two days earlier. Suddenly, you were representing your firm in front of Vought’s biggest investors. That's when you met Homelander.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He found you near the champagne tower. He didn't expect you to speak to him. Even the hotshot CEOs were afraid to actively engage him in conversation, but you made a joke and it had made him laugh. “You’re not afraid of me?” he asked pleasantly. You shrugged. “It'll be a sad day when we come to fear our national heroes." The conversation lasted twelve minutes before you thanked him and stepped away to join a colleague. That was the only time you had ever spoken to him, and you never gave it a second thought.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Twelve months later and Homelander is still stuck on you. You're his fixation and you don't even know it. He knows where you live, who your inner circle is, and the exact cadence of your laugh through your apartment walls.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He enters your apartment when you're not home and rakes through your things. The fantasy grows in his head over time, and he hates how badly he wants you.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ One night, you come home drunk after a brutal week at work. Your friend walks you upstairs, laughing when you stumble over your heels near the door. She helps you undress, and you mumble something incoherent into your pillow when she tucks the blanket over you.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Homelander, who had been hovering silently outside your balcony for nearly forty minutes, watches her leave. He enters your bedroom through the balcony and watches you breathe slow, heavy breaths on the mattress.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Then he sits on the edge of the bed. You shift slightly in your sleep, rolling closer to him unconsciously. The illusion of trust completes his fantasy. He lies down beside you.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ You don't wake when his weight makes the bed stutter. He settles comfortably on his side, facing you, and his hand hovers over your waist for several seconds before settling. His face presses briefly into the crook of your neck as he inhales shakily, eyes falling shut. His tongue traces a line over your jaw, and he can taste the sharp remnants of your perfume.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He falls onto his back and pulls you carefully onto his chest, feeling his heart race. He stares blankly at the ceiling and closes his eyes, pretending it's real. He bites off his left glove and, with a bare hand, caresses your cheek. His right palm strokes hard into his slacks.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ The next morning, you wake alone but a draft alerts you to the unlocked balcony door. You're groggy and hungover, but some part of you still recognizes the smell of somebody else's cologne on your pillow.
Warning| 18+, Mutual Toxic Relationship, Masochist Reader, Sadist Homelander, Simi Sexual Themes
Summary| A new supe is winning the hearts of everyone and Homelander is not at all fond of it.
Word Count| 2,219
Why do humans support such non-superior beings compared to the obviously stronger and elite version? They were supposed to love him, praise his existence, not whatever you were. None of it made sense, he was principle of a perfect hero but no they prefer a weaker idol to stand as their savior. Who cares how many people you save without the assistance of fake scenarios like him? It didn’t matter cause he knew that in every way he was better than you even if it was all a lie, after all he was the one genetically born to be an ideal god.
Regardless of all of that they continue to be ungrateful to him. Every single one of them worthless to his eyes. He shouldn’t care about their appraisal but the idea of those imbeciles worshipping you more than him put him in rage. How can imperfections like you persist to exist? You had no name, no worth, you were absolutely nothing. So how come is he being forced to see your face on every billboard across the city and merchandise of you everywhere? He couldn’t escape you and any attempt to get rid of you failed, you were too observant. That in sense was special about you immediately vanishing out of existence but never truly gone. Your skill set is proving to annoy him more. Homelander despises you and he would never admit it but he envy you.
Perhaps it wouldn’t have gone this far if you had accepted joining the seven way back when Vought offered you the chances. He could’ve had control of you, molded you to his liking. You would fear him and follow all his commands. No longer would you be the eye of the public only he would remain in the hearts of all. Yet you declined it and also humiliated him live on TV. You ran your mouth tearing at him while ruining his reputation. He remembers quite well what you said as Ashley put you on display as she paced around trying to find solutions to handle the situation.
“So we heard you were invited to join the seven and rumors say you declined. Can you tell us why you decided to miss such a big opportunity?” The interviewer curiously asked you. “Well it was simple, my beliefs didn’t align with them. Honestly, when was the last time they ever helped someone without the intent of profiting or prompting some bullshit stuff? They don’t care about doing good, most of them mostly get more people killed than save specially Homelander. He doesn’t know how to fucking do shit, I don’t even know why he's even a hero in the first place when he's just pathetic asshole.”
Then you continue to berate him like he was nothing. He desperately wanted to obliterate you at that moment but he kept his cool for now. Homelander known if he killed you it would bring uproar on him. He needed to keep his appearance clean if he wanted them to continue to love him. For now, he needed to think smart to put you in your place. It isn't long before he finally gets you, no longer can you avoid his wrath.
From above he observes as you stand in front of a stage preaching to your dedicated audience. Yells of real admiration surround through out, it sickens him how pure nonsense could continue to prosper. Homelander had enough of this blasphemy as he slowly descended beside you. You weren’t even surprised when he appeared, He even noticed a small smile on your face.
“Welcome Homelander, it's great to have you join us! I guess you got bored with just listening.” You kept your eyes forward not sparing a single glance at his presence. He hated how you called him out like that. Homelander desperately wanted to murder you right there for treating him like he was some lesser being. However, He didn’t need those news outlets reporting that he was some supe killer. Guaranteed the public wouldn’t enjoy that. For now, he had to play civil until he could get what he wanted.
“Not quite, just checking that no trouble is being caused here. Don’t want a rowdy crowd disrupting their fellow citizens.” You hum not believing his obvious lie.
“Is that so? Well, you could clearly tell that not the case here. How about you do something useful or perhaps fuck off in your tower!” Parts of the crowd roar in agreement with you. A frown on him followed before disappearing quickly. He had enough of your disrespect and distaste of him. If you wanted to keep acting like you had higher authority than him then he would use that for his advantage.
“Aren’t you feisty. I only wanted to assure the safety of everyone including you.” He loudly proclaims to make it seem like he cares. Unexpectedly to everyone, he wrapped his arm around your waist bringing you closer to him. “I don’t always agree with you but that doesn’t mean I can’t take care of my fellow heroes.” His other unattended hand strikes upon his chest while a smirk appears with it. Like always the crowd simply got wooed by his effortless charm.
“Oh, that's so sweet that the Homelander finally learned sympathy for others. What do I deserve for such graces?” You respond sarcastically. “How should I ever thank you?”
Homelander could basically taste the condescension in your response. He knew if he kept at this it would eventually keep going back and forth. You weren’t the type to back down and neither was he. Both of you were similar that way. Nevertheless, he knew one weakness about you that he didn’t share at the slightest.
“If you keep at this I’ll slaughter everyone here and frame it on you. Who do you think they’re going to believe? You or America's greatest hero?” He tightened his grasp on you while leaning forward so only you could hear.
“My goodness, if you wanted my attention you could’ve just asked, no need to resort to violence towards innocent civilians. How about we just fight it out or something? I know you would enjoy seeing me all tried out and defenseless.” You utter under your breath at him.
Homelander was thrown off by your almost seductive applied comment. It almost sounded like you were flirting with him. At that point, he couldn’t control the uninvited images flashing through his head of you. He felt the bottom of his suit getting uncomfortable. No you were messing with him again to embarrass him in front of the public.
“Stop fucking with me, I don't enjoy playing this game with you. I will crush your weak body in half until I see that pained expression on your face.” 
“Aw, how cute giving threats like an angsty fourteen-year-old. Does that make you feel like you have authority?” You tease him with a gentle chuckle. Of course, you found this amusing, not even a bit frightened by him. You don’t even wince in pain when his grip on you becomes unbearable. “Come on, I'll make it easier for you this time. I know you've been having trouble trying to find me.” You tilt closer to him so that it would make it seem you were going to lean in to kiss him. Considering how near you've been with him the audience is probably misinterpreting your relationship with him.
You don’t even let him answer as you announce your departure with the forgotten crowd leaving them with him. Not wasting time he immediately chased after you. True to your words you would expose yourself randomly just for him. He wanted to hate that he needed assistance to catch up with you but if this was the quickest way to get rid of you then he let it slide. You start taking him more into secluded areas, baiting him to try to use his power without needing casualties. After a while, he beamed you down. Whether it was done by his own skill or you purposely letting him, it didn't matter as he pinned you down where you fell in an abandoned alleyway.
You moan as Homelander presses down on your back against the ground applying aching pressure on the part he lasered on. He prepared to finish you off as his eyes heated up but not long after before he could follow a joyful laugh from you.
“Do that again!” Your excitement confusing him.
“What?”
“Your lesser eyes, lesser me again I know you can change the intensity of them, fire it up more!”
He stares at you maybe with judgment or amusement. Did you really desire him to hurt you? Homelander felt mixed feelings about this discovery of you. It wasn’t because he minded doing it, he would actually do it until it literally killed you. More on the fact that it seem you been excited at the thought of it. 
“Come on, pathetic narcissistic freak! Do it, I know you want me dead!” You try to taunt him into doing it.
“Don’t tell me what to do, you’re the pathetic one begging me. I can do whatever I want!” His anger toward you once again came as if it ever went away, diffusing his confusion.
“Yeah, we all know you do whatever you want. You’re like an unrestricted child who doesn’t know how to restrain themselves. Real heroes like me end up cleaning up your mess.” You would have continued your rant about him, but he was tired of your bullshit.
“I don’t think you get it. You act as like your beyond me, immune to your actions that tarnish my reputation. You’re just nobody, a small filth that doesn’t belong in my revolution. I’m the real hero, I’m god it self!”
“Supremacist much? Is that it that you wanted to get off your chest? If you are a hero that you say you are how about you defend the enemy right in front of you? That's the way you see me, right? I'm the enemy.” You wrap your hand on the back of his neck bringing his face to your level. He felt your fingertips comb the back of his hair. Homelander didn’t understand why you kept messing with him like this? First, you insult him then you flirt with him like you just didn’t degrade him. It confused him making him second-guess if he should be mad or feel aroused by it.
Surprisingly you lock your lips on his interrupting his thoughts. You didn't even wait as you took action before he could. He should’ve retained himself and gotten rid of you for taking advantage of him but his self preserves told him otherwise. Screw it, he told himself as he kissed you back roughly. It's been too long since he got his dick wet, who cares that he hated your guts he will deal with it later.
Homelander felt you bite on his lips, and he bit harder as blood drew from you. He slid his tongue in your mouth tasting the iron taste from your lips. His finger choked around your neck while he took your breath. He enjoys feeling you suffocate under him, making him have that control he always wanted over you.
Then he face planted below where you were as you disappeared. He quickly repositioned, feeling piss off from the sudden change. Of course, you would take this chance to embarrass him in such vulnerable positions. However, it wasn’t long until you appeared on top of him putting your lips back on his again. Still upset from earlier he digs his fingers deep into the wound he gave you on your back. He smirked to himself as you moan from it. As the kiss deepened, he kept fingering your wound staining his gloves with your blood. He never knew cooperating with such acts would be so pleasurable, Him inflicting pain on another as it got viewed as exhilarating. Who could ever do this with him beside you? You saw his use of powers as desirable even as you hated him. Homelander felt pride that he was the only one who could ever satisfy your dirty desires. This kept going on, further along as he found himself groaning feeling you grinding yourself against his crotch.
“Oh, fuck.” He pulls away from the kiss almost losing himself as he silences his continuous groans with your neck. His canines bite down feeling tight as you continue rubbing on him.
“Harder, fucker!” He glances up to you as you do the motion of biting down after licking the blood off your lips. Usually, he would bark back but he enjoys imagining what you could be licking instead. He let his canines pierce deeper into your neck leaving you out of breath. “Yeah, just like that.”
Before long Homelander had your whole upper body full of deep bites bleeding over your chest. Eventually, things got rougher along with flinging each other around and the misuse of heated vision. If anyone stumbled upon this they would have been terrified by the horror they saw. Who would know you both share very odd revelations about each other that would overpower the dislike of each other. Perhaps there is a way that both of you could get along.
Hollow, completely devoid of any humanity—that's what Homelander felt the moment he saw his father in a body bag. His only kin who stood beside him was gone in the blink of an eye because of a virus. Chemical warfare: how dirty, he thought. Homelander was next, and it was only a matter of time.
The Deep didn't understand Homelander's attachment to his father. Soldier boy wanted nothing to do with Homelander; that much was true. Ryan was off, making a fool of himself and tainting the bloodline by trusting Butcher, and Homelander was alone.
Outside the Kix Crib, men in hazmat suits dotted the snow-covered paths, sealing doors and windows. Homelander couldn't bring himself to care that he could be infected. All he focused on was the way Soldier Boy's skin bubbled and peeled. Shuddering, he promptly turned away and let his head fall, his hands instinctively reaching for his hair to self-soothe.
But despite the growing pain in his chest, he thought of you, sitting peacefully at the Vought tower. You had nothing to worry about besides looking pretty for him upon his return. Part of that infuriated him, but at least he always had your lap to rest his head upon.
The moment The Deep was out of sight, Homelander sifted through his pocket and found his phone. There were missed text messages from you, simply checking up on him. At least he always knew where your loyalty lied. Deciding that responding to a text would be too complicated, he tapped the call button beside your name and carefully brought the receiver to his ear.
It didn't take long for you to respond, and the moment you did, he asked, his tone broken, "Do you love me, baby?"
"Of course I do," you said. "Talk to me. What's going on over there?"
After deeply inhaling and letting his eyes trail to the cloudy sky, he whispered, "My father is dead." When you didn't immediately speak, he added, "He left me... just like Ryan, just like Madelyn, just like... everyone else who has ever mattered to me—except you."
"I would never leave you, because who would that make me? I wouldn't be any different than them, but I am because I truly love you."
"You love me..." he murmured, really testing the words. "You are the only one who loves me." Putting distance between himself and the vicious crime scene, he carefully ascended, remaining a few feet above the street lights. "Would you still love me if I burned down the whole world just to see you smile? I want to kill people for you, my queen. I want to build a kingdom over their ashes because you do not deserve to walk among them. I do not deserve it. We're gods compared to them. They're just common pests."
"Homelander—"
"You are more deserving of life than they are, and I am the only one who can help you reach your full potential. I'm the only one who can save you, my love. If you leave me... I will have no one, and I will have to kill you." That declaration betrayed the emotion in his voice; killing you was an inconceivable fiction that could never become reality because he loved you too much.
"And you won't have to kill me," you reasoned. "I will always be at home, waiting for you with a warm glass of milk, open arms, and a comforting movie to watch."
Homelander groaned, "That's perfect, baby, so perfect."
"When will you be home so I can make it a reality?"
"Not anytime soon. I have... unfinished business." He paused momentarily, considering your offer. "I need to reward you for being such a good girl. No matter what I do, you're always here for me, and I think you would like it if I gave you some attention."
"Like what?" you wondered.
"I have been thinking, and I realized that you would probably really like it if I let you sit on my lap. You'd like that, wouldn't you? You'd like it if you could sit on The Homelander's lap and forget about the world, hmm? It's only fitting for my right-hand-woman, don't you think? But I think you would just love it if I kissed your neck and whispered to you what a brave girl you've been for Homelander. Or if I let you lie your head on my lap so I could scratch your scalp and trail my fingers from your face to your neck... to your chest... to your sensitive stomach..."
His words already had you getting worked up, but you controlled yourself so he couldn't quite hear the shift in your breath over the phone.
"Or maybe my girl would like it if I bathed her and cleaned her up nicely, then dried her off and tucked her away in her fluffy blankets. I think I'd prefer kissing you all over until all you think about is me. But we'll just have to see, won't we?"
"I would really like that," you admitted.
"Then keep being a good girl for your daddy. I'll be home soon, and I will smother you until you forget your name." Before hanging up, he said, "I love you. I will love you for the rest of my life, and I will love you when humanity collapses at our feet. Never stop being my girl."
SUMMARY any normal person would have run for the hills during homelander's descent into madness, not you, though. CWS smut, unsafe sex, creampie, bathtub sex, milk-play (????), childhood abuse (both of you), murder, death, brief scene of graphic violence, evil reader, codependency WC 5.1k
i'm not going to lie i wanted to do a longer fic about this but i would be soooo remiss if i ended up never posting anything about homelander before the last episode that comes out in... fifteen minutes. so.... you know... maybe some day if anyone wants to read it i'll write the multi-chapter fic that fleshes stuff out more. anyway, i've been a homelander ride or die for six years, i'll never forget getting cancelled for editing him in 2020. sigh. also i've met antony :)
anything in italic is a flashback.
The first day that you met him, everyone warned you that you needed to be nervous around him. He was volatile, cruel, and not to be trusted.
Maybe for a moment you had been nervous, but it didn’t last. Not when you got into a room with him, anyway. You weren’t like one of the other picks for The Seven; Homelander had picked you personally because he believed that your good image would be good for the team. There had been some behind the scenes controversies, some people claiming that there was too much violence being propagated by the movies. There wasn’t really a hero that was clear-cut as being a good guy, besides, in their eyes, maybe Homelander and Queen Maeve.
You, on the other hand, were a kid’s television show star.
Ultraviolet, named for the rainbow colors that the flames that came from your hands could make. Your powers weren’t all too similar to Lamplighter’s, and as opposed to his more gritty persona, you came off as bright and colorful.
In reality, your hands didn’t shoot the colors of rainbows; they were only edited to look like that on television. There was a hue that would surround your hands and your feet when the flames came out, a natural protection from the heat, but the colors came out different every time. The most common was bright blue, like the flame from an oven once it was on high. But they could also come out red, or yellow, or any other color that would be associated with the rainbow. Sometimes it was two or more colors, but often it was just one. More lackluster in person, but the persona that Vought had created for you made up for it.
You wore a one-piece bodysuit with a blue background and a rainbow across the stomach, with a cape that was supposed to emulate a cloud. The shoes of choice for the show were a pair of roller skates that were often edited to look like there was something coming from your feet - typically a rainbow trailing behind you. You weren’t the most powerful Supe, to be sure. Your powers weren’t necessarily weak, but they weren’t all that special, sparing the color that set them apart from most other people with powers to do with fire.
But your image was squeaky clean. So Homelander recommended you personally, and when Vought pushed back a bit, saying that your image was a bit too different from some of the others and that your color-scheme was too similar to A-Train’s, he insisted. So you weren’t nervous when you met him, because you were fully aware that he was the one who wanted you in the first place.
It was such a small thing, really. Not being afraid of someone you were only just meeting was something that… most people could say in most situations. But that tiny thing for you made all the difference for him. You were the first person, in a long line of people, who wasn’t afraid of him. Your heartbeat didn’t skyrocket any more than it would when anyone would when they met someone for the first time. You didn’t disrespect him, but you weren’t walking on eggshells around him, either. You treated him normally, and that was odd for him.
Something small for you was how you ended up being so close.
Irritatingly close, for some.
When there was an issue, he went to you with it. To handle it, to vent about it, to complain about something that other people would judge him for. When he did something bad, he was candid about it. He told you when something went wrong, he told you about the flight, he told you about everything that had happened between him and Maeve and everything that had led Starlight to hate being on the team so much that he knew of. And it was mainly current things that he complained about until it wasn’t.
There was one particular night that he had come to you, clearly upset. He told you a lot about his upbringing, how he had been made in a lab without anyone who really cared about him. Without anything to bring him any real comfort. He had been made for one purpose, and one purpose only. You’d gotten a lot closer that night, but it was also the night that you realized that you felt more about him than what a friend should feel.
Maybe you shouldn’t have been petting his hair and letting him rest against you. And you definitely shouldn’t have had sex with him before he left, because you were certain that wasn’t what normal friends were supposed to do. But you weren’t normal friends, and no matter how much you knew not to think about that, you couldn’t help it. It made it a whole lot more irritating when Stormfront came into the picture, though you didn’t let it show. You never really let any emotions show unless it was a smile on your face. That was how you’d been raised, that was all you really knew.
But everything kept changing. More people died, you hooked up with Homelander again at Herogasm, and despite everything you knew that he did you remained close to him. Unafraid of him. It was almost cathartic to have someone who was comfortable with it. With the violence, with the pain. With the way that sometimes, every so often, he expected you to hurt people, too. And you did. Most times without question. The lack of fear you had around him didn’t change, but you did change.
There was one particular day that made that incredibly clear.
He’d gone to visit the people who ‘raised’ him, and that was something that you knew was incredibly personal to him. You’d expected that he would have gone alone, but he didn’t.
Your fingers - now covered by a white glove that went up to your elbow as opposed to your original costume that didn’t have any gloves - were intertwined with yours as you walked down the hallway that he had surely walked out of years ago, thinking that it was the last time that he would ever see it. But this was different. You knew that everyone here was going to die this time, that they couldn’t hurt him like they used to. Most people might go to therapy, but even if Homelander were most people, something like that was never going to work on him.
For most of the visit, you’d been sitting there. Letting him do what he needed to do, watching while he tormented the people who he hated for tormenting him in the first place. You were quiet, but not nervous. You didn’t feel bad for the men who were dying in front of you, and maybe the version of you that had first been recruited into The Seven would have. There was a part of you that was wholly aware that you had changed in a way that was entirely unrecognizable to some.
Your family, your friends. Many of them were worried. Publicly, you were very close to Homelander. You were always with him, always speaking entirely positively of him. And that was something that worried a lot of people. Too many people, really.
But maybe they had no right to be worried.
“Could you help me with this last one?”
His voice was quiet as he spoke. He was going to enter the room again, the one that you knew he had been locked in when he was younger. He was speaking lowly so he didn’t entirely reveal his plans to the others, but you were certain that they had to know.
“Yeah, sure.”
Help with ‘this last one’ was an understatement, you’d realized. You hadn’t fully realized it until you’d already killed two different people. People who you were certain were uninvolved with him, in particular, but they knew about it, didn’t they? They knew about it, so should you really feel bad when you had their blood on the wall and a hole burned through one of their eye sockets?
Maybe you should. Maybe not all of these people knew about it. You didn’t speak much when you had your hand pushed through someone’s stomach, when you could feel their organs in your hands. There was a certain power in it, even knowing that Ashley would be irritated when she found that she needed to replace your costume again because it had been stained.
But when it was over, you were sitting back against the wall. There was blood on it, blood smeared all over your cape and your legs; it would be a sensory nightmare if you weren’t wearing thick tights. Your hand was over your cheek, feeling your skin. You were pretty sure you had been trying to clean the blood from your face, but you’d forgotten what action you were doing entirely by the end of it. You were in a bit of a daze until you noticed a hand in front of you.
“We should go.”
“Mhm…” You took his hand, but trailed off as you thought back to your own childhood. “You know, I wasn’t treated like you were. Not like… in a room like this, not made to be the most powerful but-the most-fucking-obident. My dad resented me for a bit because my powers didn’t develop immediately; he figured that the V was a scam. But my mom was smart; she knew that they’d come. And she knew I needed to be just fucking perfect when they did.”
There was a bit of an eerie, dazed laugh that came from you when you recalled it. “Fucking perfect. That’s what they made me. And when I wasn’t, she hit me, or she screamed at me, and one day my powers did come because of her. Because she was screaming, because I knew she was going to backhand me or sack my dad on me. And then my powers came out, and-I guess she didn’t hit me anymore after that.”
Homelander, for once, didn’t actually respond immediately. But you did take his hand. You did meet him in the middle, standing up. Your eyes were still glossy, but there was a smile on your face that best displayed the slight confusion that came from that much gore. “They deserved it, all of them.”
“They did.” He almost seemed to be contemplating something before he stopped. His free hand was on your chin, the blood smearing from his glove onto your already stained cheek. You didn’t stop him when he kissed you, and he didn’t stop you when your fingers were in his hair, pulling him closer. It was supposed to happen like this, you reasoned. When you were both a little bit fucked up, talking about how everyone in life loved screwing you over. It was supposed to be just like this. But he pulled back, and you almost fought him on it before you remembered where you were. “Home. We need to go home.”
“Yeah, home.”
It wasn’t much of a home, anyway.
Things continued to shift and change. Members of The Seven came and went, and you got over your irritation about Firecracker trying to take Homelander’s attention away from you when you figured that he didn’t really like her very much. But things got worse, too. With him, with his mental health.
He felt entirely too low and alone, no matter what happened. Even when Soldier Boy came back, it was clear that he was just fighting for the attention of a man who was never going to want to play the role of a father figure in his life. He wasn’t really his father, anyway. Biologically, sure, but the man had come out of a test tube. He was an experiment, not really much of a child to anyone. And deep down, you were sure that he knew that. Which was why things got worse, and why you got clingier. Maybe it would help, you figured. It certainly wasn’t hurting.
You’d been close with him in public, incredibly so. Just about any time you were out together, you were holding hands, but there was no real way to define your relationship. It was… codependent. You both relied on each other, but you relied on each other in the same way that you clung to each other. Hooking up had become more normal, making out had become more normal, but it wasn’t really something you spoke about. It just kind of happened, and then you brushed past it.
Until it wasn’t, apparently.
Your afternoon had been normal, mainly. Soldier Boy had been woken up about a day ago, but that was something that you’d already moved past. You had a habit of moving past just about everything strange that happened in your life. So what if there was a hundred year old man who you used to have a poster of on your wall on the team now? That wasn’t something that you ever really fretted about before, so you figured that there was no purpose in starting now.
Homelander’s penthouse had become the place that you were in more often than any other place in the building after being on the team for a bit. You spent most of your time with him, so it was only natural that you would also spend most of your time on his floor. There wasn’t really anywhere else that you wanted to be, anyway.
He’d been sitting with you pressed into him, your cheek pressed into his shoulder, while he watched people speaking about him on the news. You weren’t sure why he did it. You knew that he hated watching people talk about him, but it had become worse lately. He was miserable and sad, even with Soldier Boy being woken up. He’d sent him off to deal with something, but Soldier Boy had nearly died, and Homelander had been a bit distraught, even though he’d come back alive.
“Vi?” A shortened version of your Supe name, Homelander didn’t really believe in using human names because he didn’t really believe in humans. The only person who was now a Supe you’d heard him refer to with their human name was Ashley, but that was a bit different. Still, you were used to it by now.
“Hmm?”
“Everyone knows that we’re close, and my image has taken a hit with the Starlighters.”
“Yeah.”
“We should get married.”
“M-Homelander, people don’t even-are-wait, are we dating?”
“Such a human concept.” He brushed that off, but you figured that was answer enough. You were together all the time, and he let you cling to him. He let you be just as codependent as he was because nothing he ever did freaked you out, and that was something that he knew was rare. But he also did like you; he clearly cared about you enough to make sure that you weren’t in harm’s way. He didn’t like people who didn’t like you, and you knew that. “I guess in a technical sense, yes.”
“Mm.” You hummed, thinking about what he was saying. You knew that he probably (maybe) wouldn’t make you if you said no, but did you even really want to say no? You’d kind of tied yourself to him already in every way that counts. There wasn’t a chance that you were going to leave, no matter what, so did it really make all that much of a difference if you were married, besides there being a title to your relationship? Maybe it did. Maybe it did in the sense that you wanted that. “Yeah, okay. Let’s get married.”
“Perfect.”
“It’ll help your image, though?” You asked him, your voice quiet as you moved your head so your chin would rest on his shoulder. Your eyes traced over his face, taking in the familiar features that had become so normal for you to see. You were so used to him that there wasn’t really a way around it. But you felt that you were used to him in a good way. You liked him more than you were supposed to ever have liked him, but it was like second nature now. You couldn’t really imagine your life without him. “I mean, people already know we’re close, so-hmph-”
Your words were cut off when he kissed you. One of your hands was around his shoulder, your fingers tightening in the padding of his suit. You had never seen him without the suit on, and you found that you wanted to. You wondered what he looked like without the suit on, and maybe he would show you if you were married. Maybe, now that you knew what this was, you could actually see him. Physically, anyway. You knew pretty much all there was to know about him otherwise.
His kisses got deeper, though. His tongue brushes against yours, your back pressing into the couch as your body adjusts to fit below his. He was so close to you now, his body hovering over yours. Your fingers found one of the clasps on his suit, but he stopped you before you could take it off, despite the pout on your lips.
“Not just for my image… entirely.”
Oh.
Well, that kind of made sense, anyway. There weren’t very many people who stuck with him. In fact, there would be none if it weren’t for you and, you suppose, The Deep. But he didn’t really care about The Deep. He was a member of the team, but he didn’t respect him, though. He didn’t have any reason to kill him or doubt his loyalty, but he didn’t think very highly of the man, either.
“Can you take the suit off?”
“I’ll consider it.” His eyes broke contact with yours, his lips trailing against your throat. Your back arched closer to him when you felt him suck a bit of skin in between his lips, a sigh leaving your mouth as you clung to him just a bit. “When we’re married.”
“Ugh. Tease.”
The smile against your skin was entirely, entirely worth it.
The entire ordeal had been quick. Oh-Father and Ashley put together a ceremony quickly, and you ended up married in front of the general public. Though the people there were specifically chosen because they had a favorable view of Homelander. That didn’t really change anything, but things still changed in a pretty big way. Mainly, that Homelander had also gone insane.
When Soldier Boy came back, he was pretty irritated with Homelander for sending him somewhere without a proper warning that he might die. Soldier Boy almost died, really. But he didn’t because his blood had something different in it. The V that the rest of you had been given was more diluted than what the originals were given, and Soldier Boy couldn’t die from the virus that had been created to be a cure-all for getting rid of Supes. He was immune, but no one knew that going in.
He’d insulted Homelander, and Homelander had a breakdown. But then he went a bit insane.
He claimed, the very next moment that you saw him, that he had seen an angel. The angel had told him everything that he needed to know, and that the reason why everything was so hard for him was that he was the one true God. It was one of the most insane things that you had ever heard come out of his mouth. And while you weren’t scared of him, you were concerned. Concerned because this wasn’t a remotely normal thing to be thinking, because you were quite sure that he was going to get himself in trouble if he kept this up.
There was really only one way that this was going to end, and you knew it. If someone else didn’t kill him, he was going to get burnt out. You really didn’t want him to die or get hurt, but you weren’t sure that there was really any possible way to protect him. Most people wouldn’t remain by his side, but you would. You always did, and you always would. Maybe you could protect him, then. It was better than leaving him to his own devices, anyway.
But now you were just with him, standing there, wondering how to proceed while you were barely comprehending that he was bringing you into the bathroom with him until you were standing directly in front of a tub if…
“Is that milk?”
“Breast milk.”
“Oh.”
“Get in.”
Clearing your throat, you turned back to look at him. You weren’t sure that you wanted to get in, but you wondered if you could get something out of it if you did.
“Can I see you without the suit on? Fully?”
“Yes, if you promise to get in.”
“Okay, perfect.”
You didn’t really need much more prompting. You started with your cape, undoing the claps and letting the cloud-like fabric fall to the floor. Your hands moved down to remove your boots, followed by taking the suit itself off. You were left in just your socks and gloves, which quickly joined the pile of clothing on the floor. But you were stopped before you could get in.
“You wanna see me so bad?”
“Really, really bad.”
“Then you can take it off. I trust you.”
Your eyes moved up to meet his, but you let your hands do the work. Removing his gloves first, knowing that you’d seen and felt his bare hands more than once. Next was the cape, then the boots. But you were careful when you got to the claps on the suit, your eyes not leaving his. Searching, clarifying. But he nodded, knowing that you were making sure that he wanted you to do it. So you did.
Seeing his skin for the first time was an odd experience, but not a bad sort of odd. It was odd in the sense that you rather liked seeing him. You’d felt him inside of you before, you’d seen part of his legs, and you’d seen his butt. But you hadn’t seen anything else, so actually getting him fully undressed was interesting in a way that you hadn’t known it to be when you’d seen anyone else undressed before. Yet, all you could really do was kiss him. On the mouth, on the cheek, on the neck. He let you kiss his chest, let you feel the hair on his chest, and the fact that his stomach wasn’t as toned and muscular as the padding on his suit. He was rather slim, which was a contradiction to the bulky padding.
“Bath.”
“Right.”
You were with him in the bath rather quickly, and thankfully so.
Soldier Boy was in the room on about a moment’s notice. The milk in the tub wasn’t clear, so he couldn’t see anything below the water. But you listened while he talked to Homelander, you moved off of him while he seemingly asserted his dominance by standing up entirely nude. You resisted reaching up to touch him in any way, letting them have their conversation even though it was a conversation that Homelander clearly didn’t enjoy very much.
But the moment he was back down again, you were in his lap, and he was being… odd. Still. You watched as he dipped his fingers in the milk, watched as he sucked the milk into his mouth. His eyes didn’t really leave yours, though his free hand had moved to rest against one of your thighs.
This was a weird situation, you knew that. It was weird to be sitting here in the tub with him because the tub was filled with women’s breast milk that he had taken from a hospital, apparently. You were bathing in breast milk, actively, and that was a strange thing. He was being incredibly odd because he believed that he was God now, and everything was all sorts of messed up. And yet he was looking at you like he wanted to fuck you, and, for reasons that you’d unpack when you weren’t on top of him, you were getting a bit turned on.
“Can a God still get fucked?” You asked him, turning back so you were facing him. His answer seemed pretty succinct when he leaned forward to press his tongue against one of your nipples, licking the bud before wrapping his lips around it. “I suppose that means yes, then.”
You could feel him hard against your thigh, now. You could feel his hand moving his erect cock in between you both until it was settled directly at the entrance to your pussy. Your eyes had yet to leave his, but he also had yet to speak. He didn’t really need to. Not when he was pressing inside of you. Not when your lips parted around a moan that fell through them as you adjusted to the feeling of him being inside of you. It wasn’t new. You’d been with him before. But you enjoyed it just as much each time.
“Do you like this?” His tone changed, almost like he felt human again, as he grabbed your hand to show you the two rings on your finger. There was a wedding band, one that matched his. But there was also a diamond engagement ring. It was pretty, it was exactly the sort of thing that you would have wanted, and he knew it. It was a shame that it had to be worn underneath gloves, but you figured that he hadn’t suggested the change because it was personal.
“I love it, it’s perfect.”
Whatever honesty he was looking for in your eyes, he found.
His hips moved against yours, finally giving you permission to ride him. But you were mainly focused on the way he reacted when you did. Homelander was always a bit noisy in bed, but there seemed to be a bit of increased arousal by being in the milk while he was inside of you. His hands were tight around your hips as you rode him, taking your time.
“I really like that you’re my husband now.” You stated that your voice is a bit breathy now.
“I like that I’m your husband now, too.”
Human. Entirely human. Wanting to be married to someone was a human trait, and one that he seemed to have. But it was something that you weren’t surprised by. As much as Homelander wanted to claim that he was above being a person, you knew that he wasn’t. He was just as much a person as anyone else was, if not more so. But that wasn’t something that you felt the need to say to him. You wouldn’t.
“Fuck-”
The way his head fell back when he moaned, the way he whimpered when you squeezed him just right, did things to you that you weren’t sure how to process. You felt one of his hands caress your hip before moving to collect some of the milk, smearing it over your breasts, before his head tilted back up so his lips and tongue could attack the flesh.
None of this should be a turn on, but it was. It felt good. It was demented and strange, but you found that you liked it. Like him. There was nothing normal about him, nothing that you should really like, but there was never a moment in which he wasn’t your favorite person in the room. Your movements got faster, your moans more erratic. He didn’t seem far behind, either.
And it was your favorite type of sex because you came at the same time, or at least so close that you weren’t sure who finished first. Your fingers tug into his shoulder as you come with a cry of his name, his face still pressed against your chest.
It wasn’t until about an hour later that you were dried off and back in his bed, covered by nothing more than a fluffy blanket. You couldn’t get over the way that it felt to curl up with him, to feel his skin entirely against yours while you were in bed. It was different this way; you liked it far more.
“I really like your body.”
“Yeah?”
Your fingers trailed from his chest to his stomach, resting there for only a moment before moving back up to be placed right above his heart. You liked to feel the beat of it, to know that he was a person even if he didn’t want to be one. But you couldn’t really blame him, could you? He was raised to believe that he was being made to be the best. He was raised in the same way that cattle or a prize pony would be raised. Not to see himself as a person with feelings, not to see inherent value in himself, but to be the best. To be the prodigal son.
Years ago, when you first joined The Seven, maybe that wasn’t how you would have seen things. You were normal back then, despite your past. As normal as you could be, anyway. But you weren’t someone with blood on your hands on purpose. You’d killed a parent by accident, and that was an almost common occurrence in new Supes - if it wasn’t a parent, it was a sibling or a friend. But it was often discovered through tragedy.
Yet, you weren’t the one to kill people just because you could. You avoided it; you didn’t like violence. But now you were comfortable with it, apologetic about it. And maybe you weren’t just as bad as him in every sense, but the inherent codependency that had formed had made you practically inseparable. His crimes felt like they were your crimes, and maybe they were to some, since you looked past them. But it didn’t scare you; nothing about him really did. Not from the moment you first met him or now, with your hand leaving his chest so you could rest your face there instead.
“I think you’re one of the only people who’s never disliked me.” He spoke like he was whispering, but no one was here to hear it, anyway.
“I love you, you know. That’s why.”
“I know.”
You didn’t need him to say anything back; he wasn’t the type, you figured. But he didn’t fight it, so you went to sleep rather soundly; he’d always been in awe of the fact that you slept in his arms without a worry in the world.
been thinking a lot about yandere Lex Luthor x Reader soulmate shit where, to be cordial and respectful, he allows you to continue living your life independently from him as he tries to woo you, but he slowly starts losing it as he sees just how severely the entire system is rigged against you as a member of the working class
Lex who initially has no problem with letting you work until he sees how hard and how many hours you have to work just to pay simple bills, quite literally not being able to afford spending much time with him and still not being able to afford certain little luxuries and treats for yourself
Billionaire-going-on-trillionaire Lex Luthor slowly going insane as he has to wait for you to get home from your menial tedious bitchwork job only to receive a text that you're being forced to work a double because someone else called out and if you're not a team player you'll lose your job and wont be able to pay rent
Luthor slowly formulating some sort of plan to help you as he watches you wear your body down because, ope! You don't have any sick days at this job :) as someone who obsessively adores you, it's inconceivable, bordering on a crime against humanity in his eyes if you ever have to go to work after throwing up or anything like that. Meanwhile he's like paying mercenaries to do some shit like strip-mine a village in Africa using slave labor and couldn't give less of a fuck if a tunnel collapses on some kids sent into the dark to harvest mica
He accompanies you to an urgent care visit because you have some injury or illness and he's all but turning beet red watching the doctor tell you you have something menial like anxiety and afterwards he's looking over the bill for the visit while you cry (because they didn't even help and now you're even more fucking broke)
Having this genius man literally sit down and go over all your budgeting and expenses and realizing you are genuinely doing everything you can and then some and it's STILL not enough. Sitting there with all his intellect and running the numbers and he KNOWS you're basically trapped so deep in poverty you'll never make it out
and ALSO maybe it's directly his doing through lobbying and dark money that some of this shit is happening to you and he's hit with a sort of guilt because like. It is at least partially his fault your life is an absolute fucking nightmare. But. Also. Obviously this means he should marry you and bring you into his tax bracket and his luxurious lifestyle as soon as possible. He'll have to make sure to keep you a safe distance away from his 1% baby-eating private torture island-owning cohorts but otherwise he has absolutely no qualms about uhhhhhhh basically giving you anything you want. And I do mean anything. Hey sweetheart? You know how your work comp for that bad fall got denied because they hired a doctor who was misogynistic as fuck to you and he single handedly got your claim denied? Yeah so we decided to use him as a test dummy for the government's Targeted Individual Program and he bashed his own head into the wall to stop hearing the voices. Anything for you, pookie ❤️
PART I: WE WILL NOT BE LOVERS — PART II: I’D HATE ME TOO
Charlene says: Part III of We Will Not Be Lovers! 1,839 words. Written in third person. She/her pronouns used. Mentions of murder/death (descripitive & explicit!), alcohol & smoking. Dark themes; mental crisis/breakdown, depression-ish, grief & guilt. — This was a WILD ride. Ouch. Special thanks to my friend Harley, who’s currently majoring in journalism, for helping me write a realistic tabloid article. Reblogs & feedback appreciated! 💌
She woke up to her phone exploding with texts. She thought it was John at first. She wanted it to be John. Sleepily picking up the phone, her breath hitched when the screen lit up. The company group chat.
Her fingers rapidly typed the passcode, sitting up and entering the chat. Everyone was sharing the link to the same headline.
Malcolm Hudson Found Dead in Apparent Murder-Suicide with Boyfriend
She felt like her heart stopped beating for a second. That motherfucker had framed Malcolm’s boyfriend and made him kill himself after. She hesitantly clicked on the link.
Shockwaves are rippling through the media world after tabloid editor-in-chief Malcolm Hudson was found dead alongside his boyfriend in what police are calling a “domestic nightmare gone fatally wrong.” Police rushed to the Manhattan apartment after multiple 911 calls reporting gunshots from the building late at night. Inside, officers were met with a horrific scene: a semi-destroyed flat, both men deceased, each suffering a single gunshot wound to the head. Investigators say a firearm recovered at the scene contained only the boyfriend’s fingerprints. But the most disturbing detail remains the lack of warning. Neighbors reported no shouting, no argument, no disturbance of any kind. Only silence… followed by gunshots. One resident told reporters: “We only heard things breaking… then the shots.” Authorities continue to investigate the circumstances surrounding what is currently being treated as a domestic murder-suicide.
She felt her stomach turn and she ran to the bathroom, throwing her phone somewhere in the hallway and falling to her knees, throwing up as she started crying.
She sat on the cold floor as she cried, wiping her mouth and burying her face in her hands. Malcolm was gone. His boyfriend was gone. And it was all because she wanted to play with the ‘soft side’ of a dangerous, merciless man. Everything was because of her. She didn’t know how she would ever live this down.
She went back to the bedroom, picking up her phone on the way and sitting on her bed again. Everyone was talking about how ‘they saw this coming’ and ‘they never liked Malcolm’s boyfriend from the start’. She felt a particular type of anger bubble up inside her as her thumbs worked on the keyboard.
+ Two people died and you’re making this about yourselves. Have some fucking compassion.
The group chat died down after that, no one having the heart to text back anything else. She left her phone on her bed and went to the kitchen, destroying the drawers trying to find the packs of cigarettes she keeps there for her friends that smoke. She finally found one and lit it from the stove, coughing violently after a deep hit. She hadn’t smoked since college. But she knew she needed this right now. She laid on the ground, eyes on the ceiling and mind on Malcolm and his boyfriend. She laid like that and cried with raw, almost animalistic sounds erupting from her throat. She put the first cigarette off on her thigh.
An hour later; her crying had stopped, she was lying in the same place and there were only three cigarettes left in the pack. She groaned and lazily got up when her phone started ringing. She picked it up when she saw it was her sister. “Baby? Are you okay? I saw the news just now,” her sister said, the panic and disbelief audible despite the distorted sound. “As okay as I can be,” she said, numbness undeniably there. Her sister didn’t speak for a few seconds. “Do you want me to come over?” She declined the offer too fast, as if she would find out she’s somehow connected to this with no evidence whatsoever if she saw her.
“Okay… Um… I’m always here if you need me. Call me, come over if you want to, tell me to come over… I don’t know. I love you, baby. I’m sorry for your loss.”
She hung up without saying anything back, rubbing her eyes and heading to the bathroom to take a shower. A long, cold one.
When she got out, her screen lit up again. Two notifications popped up at the same time.
A text from Malcolm’s brother, probably sent to everyone, informing that his funeral will be held on the 12th.
An e-mail from the board of directors, requesting a meeting on the 15th regarding her potentially taking Malcolm’s place.
She stared at the notifications in disbelief, not quite knowing how to feel for the first time this morning. She changed into comfortable clothes and got out, walking to the nearest liquor store with a cigarette in hand.
—
She didn’t really live the next four days, she merely survived them, drunk out of her mind and lungs feeling like they’re on the brink of collapse. She wrote a shitty speech and showed up tipsy to the funeral with sunglasses bigger than her head. She saw her sister and her husband in front of the church when she got out of the cab.
“What are you two doing here?” she questioned, voice disturbingly coarse from the wine, beers and cigarettes. “Malcolm was a good man. We wanted to say farewell. And be with you,” her sister replied and looked at her husband with a painful half-smile. “We’re here,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder and leading her inside.
The funeral was horrifying. He’d touched the hearts of so many people and all of them were crying in disbelief; the sound echoing, bouncing off the stained glass and wooden walls. She was the last to make a speech. She stumbled her way to the altar, almost falling at the last stair. Thank God it wasn’t an open-casket funeral. Thank God.
She carefully looked at everyone behind the pitch-black glasses before speaking. Everyone looked at her like they knew she wasn’t sober. She wanted the ground to split open and suck her in.
“Malcolm was… the closest I ever had to a brother. He was a caring man who was always there whenever you needed him. He loved life and spent every day like it would be his last. He was ambitious about his work and he was a good leader. A great leader. I don’t think he has any regrets or what-ifs and I’m… glad… to know that. I hope he’s looking down at us happily, seeing that we all cherish him deeper than he ever could have imagined.” She turned around and walked to the casket, a hand on it. “I love you, Malcolm,” she said. Then, she leaned down and got so close to it her lips almost pressed on the wood. “I’m sorry,” she whispered carefully before walking down and quickly leaving the church as tears started streaming down violently.
Her sister and brother-in-law ran after her as she sat down on the sidewalk and folded. Her sister held her tightly, her eyes welling up too upon witnessing her little sister be in so much agony. She took off her sunglasses and looked at her. “I… I need a drink,” she said between sniffles, her sister’s face softening immediately upon seeing the dark circles around her eyes. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, baby,” her sister replied, which was followed by her snatching herself away from her touch. “You don’t get to tell me what’s a good idea right now.” She sounded eerily calm. Her brother-in-law protectively wrapped his arms around her sister. “Let’s go back to ours, okay?” he offered, not wanting to escalate things further in a moment like this. “Yeah, yeah, that’s a good idea,” her sister said, eyes soft. She nodded, walking to their car and curling up on the backseat.
–
The rest of the evening was spent with her getting drunk and smoking too many cigarettes, her sister and brother-in-law begging her to eat something and failing and her crying in the bathroom once every thirty minutes.
She came back from yet another crying break and seated herself at the dining table, opening another beer. “It’s all my fault, you know.” It slipped so naturally no one reacted the way they were supposed to for a second. Then her brother-in-law’s head snapped up, looking at her sister. Her sister looked at him and then at her, the realisation dawning suddenly. She realised what she had just said only after that, when she saw the horror on two’s faces. Her sister leaned forward carefully. “What do you mean, baby?” She cursed at herself mentally. Did everything in her power to seem normal and like she meant to say that. “Malcolm… called me… the night it happened. I was passed out… drunk on the couch. I didn’t hear the… phone ringing. And then I… woke up to the company group chat exploding,” she lied through her teeth, trying to make the pauses as she made up the lie seem like trying to remember the details grief had packed away.
Relief washed across her sister and brother-in-law’s faces, the horror turning into sympathy and pity. “That doesn’t mean it was your fault. You couldn’t have known. Don’t try to blame yourself, baby. It’s not gonna make things easier.” She nodded numbly, downing the beer, the fizz burning her throat. “I gotta go,” she said and got on her feet with comical hardship. Her sister was on her feet in an instant. “Why don’t you stay? You can stay,” she said, almost begging. She shook her head. “I wanna be alone.” Her brother-in-law stood up at that. “Let me drive you home, then?” he asked and she nodded, looking down at her feet. The three walked to the door quietly. Her sister hugged her so tight it suffocated her. “Be safe,” she yelled as they got into the elevator.
The car ride back to her place was silent. Her brother-in-law had turned on the radio when he had first started driving, but she turned it off almost immediately. She struggled to keep her eyes open throughout the ride, head falling and being brought back up repeatedly for the entirety of fifteen minutes. When the car came to a halt in front of her building, she rose back up and got out in a flash. “Thank you for the ride,” she said, smiling shamefaced. “No problem. Just take care of yourself, all right?” he said and drove off only after she got inside.
The elevator ride was particularly dreadful. Having to stare at her heavy, bloodshot eyes through the mirror made her feel even more sorry for herself–she didn’t even think that was possible at this point. When she stepped out and turned towards the direction of her front door, it was like her whole body randomly became paralyzed.
Because Homelander–not John–was there, casually leaning on the wall next to her door with a smile so sincere it scared her. She swallowed and took a small step back. He winked once, opening his arms and giving the illusion of a warm welcome home.
“Well, you look like shit.”
*
“He could be cool or cruel to you and me, knew we'd put up with anything. I want to hurt him, I want to give him pain. I'm a roman candle, my head is full of flames.”
Charlene says: 3,310 words. Written in third person. She/her pronouns used. Explicit sexual dialogue. Suggestive. Mentions of cheating (brief) & alcohol. — I worked real hard on this piece and I think this is seriously my best work yet. Hope you guys like it as much as I did. Reblogs & feedback appreciated! 💌
When she heard the door of the apartment open quietly, she closed her diary and walked out of the bedroom. John stood at the other end of the hallway; covered in blood, eyes heavy. He collapsed the moment she appeared out of the dark, his back sliding down the door until he crumpled on the floor. Walking to him with quick yet calm steps, she crouched beside him. Wrapping her arms around him, she ran her thumb over his split lip. His head tipped into her touch without meaning to. “Let me clean you up,” she said softly. He nodded once, exhausted. Almost childlike.
She helped him up, leading him to the bathroom. He studied her face as she gently wiped the blood off and dabbed ointment over the cuts, as though he expected disgust to appear eventually. But all he could see were focused eyes and an almost-there smile.
“You aren’t scared of me?” he asked, barely above a whisper. Her hands paused over his eyebrow. “If I finally tell you that I am, will you stop asking that every two weeks?” she asked back and giggled sweetly, hands going back to work again. “You should be,” he said, voice normal now. “Okay, John,” was all she said before turning on the bathtub faucet.
“Is the rest of your body fine?”
“Just my face.”
She nodded, setting a bathrobe next to him and opening the bathroom door. “Holler if you need anything,” she said and left, walking back to her bedroom to put her diary somewhere he wouldn’t find.
As John took off his suit and stepped into the bathtub with a huff, she sat down outside the bathroom door.
When he called out her name quicker than she thought he would, she waited for a few seconds before getting up and walking inside again.
“Stay with me.”
And she did as he asked, sitting on the cold tiles and lightly smoothing his hair. John started mindlessly splashing water around. “Are you… seeing anyone?” he asked, earning a chuckle from her. “No. I don’t want anyone in my life. Not romantically… not like that,” she said, reaching for John’s designated blue loofah. “Not even me?” he asked this time as she scrubbed his body as gently as she could. “No, John. I’m sorry.”
He stilled. Even the water got quieter. She paused too, and he took the loofah from her hand. She slowly got up after that.
“Do you want me to leave?”
“Yes.”
She got out and closed the door behind her. Halfway down the hallway, she decided to turn back and sit by the door again.
On the other side of the wall, John wasn’t even doing anything. He’d taken the loofah for nothing at all, it just laid in his hands as he plainly stared at it.
Sure enough, he called out her name again. She quietly got up, walked all the way to the living room and then back to the bathroom door before going in once more. She didn’t want him to know she’d stayed.
“I decided I don’t want you to leave.”
She nodded and flashed a warm smile, sitting down on the same spot. He handed the loofah back and she resumed cleaning him up as if it hadn’t been interrupted the first time.
When John finally stepped out and got into the bathrobe, she hurried to the bedroom as casually as she could manage. He didn’t know where she kept his boxers and she could not risk him opening the drawer she hid her diary in.
He slowly walked inside, looking around with an impressed expression. “Spending your whole weekend painting the walls was worth it. The burgundy really does fit the room better,” he said as he took the boxers from her hands. “Yeah, I’m happy with it. It’s cute,” she replied and turned around as John untied the robe. After he slipped in, she sat on the edge of the bed and looked at John through his reflection in the mirror.
He crawled onto the bed and seated himself behind her, his head on her shoulder and hand running up and down her bare arm. His eyes found hers in the mirror.
“Sometimes I think I hate you,” he said. Confusion consumed her face. His hand wrapped around her wrist and squeezed. She didn’t even budge. “But the moment I come here—poof. You treat me so nice,” his voice became unsteady, “and I get so fucking mad when you act like this is nothing to you. Like these past five months have been just another Tuesday for you.”
She blinked a few times. “It’s not ‘nothing’ to me. It’s… just not the same thing it is to you.” His grip around her wrist loosened. “I need– I need it to be the same thing,” he replied. She slid her wrist away from between his fingers.
“You might think the whole world revolves around you, John, but mine doesn’t. You’re the one who keeps coming here. I never once invited you.”
John got up upon hearing that. She stayed seated, but turned around to face him. “This is unbelievable,” he spat out. “You should be the one asking me to let you in, not the other way around.” She shrugged. “You’re not my hostage, John.”
He squinted, stepping closer. “Are you telling me to leave?” She dropped herself onto her back on the bed. “I’m saying that no one is forcing you to stay here if I don’t… how should I say it… fulfill your ego?” John’s blood boiled at how sweet her voice sounded all throughout that disgusting sentence.
“You’re skating on thin ice,” he said lowly, her head dropping to the side to look at him. “You gonna Tonya Harding me?” His brows furrowed and his mouth slightly opened, cocky confusion on his face. She chuckled at his reaction, getting up to take his suit from the bathroom floor and take it to the balcony so it would air out until the morning, John trailing after her from room to room. “What are you doing? You’re, like, putting that out for everyone to see.” She looked down at the street and then at the suit, then back at him. Her hands lingered on the suit before she pushed him back inside with her palm on his chest. “No one’s gonna spy on the 25th floor, John. We’ll be fine,”
She got into bed and he sat down next to her. “Already sleeping?” he asked, tone playful. “It’s literally 2 AM,” she replied, groaning and turning her back to him. He almost touched her shoulder, pulling away right before his fingertips brushed her skin. He waited for her to fall asleep while he stared holes into her mirror.
—
She was drinking her morning coffee while scanning the newest headlines as John slept.
“You’re never in bed when I wake up,” he said, apparently he had materialised out of thin air in the living room. Leaning against the doorframe, he pouted sarcastically. “You come here all worn out and tired, of course you’re not gonna wake up before me.” He rolled his eyes. “You can at least lay in bed until I do.” She shot a look—unreadable with a hint of that indestructible warmness. She opened her mouth and then closed it, shutting her laptop and getting up.
“I’m leaving.”
The sarcastic pout came back to John’s face. “It’s too early.”
“I’m working pretty overtime nowadays,” she replied and paused for a second. “I cleaned your suit up as much as I could. Made an extra sandwich for you, it’s in the fridge if you’re hungry. Fresh coffee in the pot. Don’t stay too long,” she added while putting her coat on.
He smirked. “Extra sandwich? You never eat breakfast,” he teased. “You made it just for me! I knew I would make you fold,” he continued melodically. “No one’s ‘folding’ here except you, John. I’m just trying to be decent,” she replied and left the apartment speedily. Even though she held it back inside, she smiled widely as she stepped into the elevator.
In the office, she basically threw her coat and bag at her table and walked to the editor-in-chief Malcolm’s room. She smiled at him as she closed the door and sat down.
“Good morning! How are you?”
“Good morning, Mal. Pretty good. You?”
“I’m fine,” Malcolm replied, his lips curling into a smirk that looked almost evil. “How’s HL?” he asked, smirk turning into a full-on smile. She laughed. “He’s surprisingly… needy? He’s getting more and more comfortable around me. Last night he came again and literally dropped to the ground when he saw me.”
He giggled, amused. “Have you decided on a title yet?” She nodded. “I’m thinking, ‘Homelander v. John: The Unseen Side of a God’. Is it too corny?” The editor-in-chief shook his head. “No, I think it’s great. Keep it unless you come up with something better… How long left?” She thought for a second. “I think I can crack him further, honestly. One more month, maybe one and a half.”
The man nodded slowly, smiling again. “This single article is gonna save us from bankruptcy. Please, please, please don’t fuck it up or fall in love–or get yourself laser-sliced.” She laughed. “I won’t. But you gotta raise my pay when things go back to normal. I’m basically risking my life for this, Mal.” He frowned. “Raise your pay? Honey, I’m gonna make you the managing editor after things go back to normal.”
She narrowed her eyes at that, satisfaction already building up. “Thank you, Malcolm. Let me get to work,” she said and got up, heading towards the door.
“Okay. You wanna go down to that new sushi place for lunch?”
“Yes! Looks so good. See you.”
When she sat down, she took out her laptop and diary; transferring the stuff in her diary to her document.
November 4. Homelander is back, injured again. He collapsed immediately upon seeing me; his face telling me, “I surrender.” He was John again as I cleaned his wounds and bathed him like a mother. He said I mean something to him. I know that unsettles him. But he still came back.
When lunchtime came, she got up from her chair for the first time since she sat down 4 hours ago, taking her laptop and diary in her hands and heading back to Malcolm’s office. She knocked on the door but didn’t wait for him to answer, getting in and putting her laptop and diary away in the cabinet he keeps important stuff. The one everyone knows not to even consider taking a quick look at.
At the sushi place, they talked more about Homelander v. John. Obviously.
“I kinda think you should fuck him,” Malcolm says casually, making her almost choke on a piece of pickled ginger. “For the article or..?” He laughs. “Of course. But also to see for yourself. Aren’t you curious? Y’all have been sleeping in the same bed for almost half a year and you haven’t let him kiss you once.”
She thought. If he was bad in bed, that would be great material. If he was good, it would be nice for her and the article. It was a win either way. Plus, it might make her closer to reaching her goal of ‘cracking him further’. “You’re right, Mal, and I hate it.” He scoffed sassily and flipped her off. “And I hate how your left eye flickers like a possessed doll when you’re deep in thought. You never hear me saying anything about that.”
Back at the office, she saw that she’d transferred everything in her diary for now and worked on her other articles. Continued the one about her interview with a fantasy author, published the one about her predictions for next year’s fashion trends.
As she was gathering her stuff and preparing to leave, her phone buzzed. John.
+ Can I stay tonight?
She smirked, already walking toward Malcolm’s office before she registered it.
- Since when are you asking for permission?
+ Since right now
- You can stay.
She shoved her phone in his face. “I think I’m gonna take your advice sooner than planned.” Malcolm laughed hysterically, the employees behind the glass wall glancing toward his office.
“Don’t come in tomorrow morning unless America’s favourite superhero’s been on top o’ ya,” he said, the laughter lingering in his voice. “On top of me? Cowgirl exists,” she joked. Malcolm scoffed sympathetically. “So cute of you to think he’d let you take control, honey.”
After she returned home; she took a long shower, did her hair up real nice, drowned herself in the best perfume she had and wore the nightgown she hadn’t in years. Only once she started cooking did she realise what she’d spent the last two hours doing. The realisation shocked her, that she unconsciously got dolled up for him. She shook her head once, then twice, to get her mind refocused on dinner.
It was around 9 PM when the door bell rang. John was surprising her today. The moment she opened the door, “What happened to you today?” she questioned—genuine. “I wanted to live life through a civilian’s eyes,” he replied and walked in, pulling her into a hug.
A hug?
She wrapped her arms around him. Against her shoulder, he mumbled, “You’ve never used this perfume before. Only for special occasions?” She pulled away as he winked. “Something like that,” she said while making her way back to the kitchen, John only a step behind. “Wow, you cooked, too?” She only smiled, plating the dish and pouring a glass of wine only for herself.
He sat down as she set the plates down, his hands reaching for the fork and knife when she told him to wait and gestured for him to get up.
He followed her into the bedroom. She rummaged through her dresser, finding a shirt and pair of sweatpants. “Take the suit off. I don’t want Homelander tonight. John time, come on,” she said as she laid them on the bed. He reluctantly popped off the buttons on top of his suit. “Are these your ex-fiancé’s?” he asked, offended. She made a disgusted face. “No. I donated those to a homeless shelter. These are my dad’s. He flies over to stay for a week or two once a year.”
She went back to the kitchen as he changed, chugging the wine and pouring another glass while waiting for him to come back.
When he did, they finally started eating, his eyes widening. “Didn’t take you for a chef,” he said. She smiled. “I was a waitress at this fancy restaurant back in college. I’d spend my breaks in the kitchen and watch everything,” she said, eyes trailing off as she reminisced. Good old days.
John paused for a long while, catching her attention.
“Who was that guy today? The one you had lunch with.”
She frowned. “Am I being surveilled, John?” He coughed once, performed. “I was… passing by and I saw you,” he replied and immediately looked somewhere else.
She playfully raised an eyebrow.
“My boss, Malcolm.”
“Seemed like a pretty fun and friendly boss-employee dynamic.”
“And you said you were just passing by?
“Why are you having a one-on-one lunch with your boss?”
“He’s gay, John.”
That concluded his little interrogation. He tapped his fingers on the table a few times. “Oh. Ew,” he said before continuing his meal. She rolled her eyes as she did the same. Soon after, it was her turn to pause. “That’s why you wanted to stay tonight? ‘Cause you were jealous?” He answered a beat too late. “I wasn’t jealous.”
“Really?”
“You said I always come here ‘all worn out and tired’. I wanted to change things up a bit.” He stared at her, then rolled his eyes. “Ugh, you don’t deserve anything. Whatever.”
She shook her head, giggling. She knew he didn’t mean it and she liked it more than she should’ve.
John went to the living room as she loaded the dishwasher and when she sat next to him, she had poured yet another glass. “What are you, an alcoholic?” She scrunched her nose. “Thought I needed to get at least tipsy to make it through tonight.” He pouted—the same sarcastic one from this morning. “Am I that hard to be around?” She shook her head. “It’s not about you. Just work… stuff. I told you I’ve been working overtime.” John’s face remained blank but his eyes lit up. “You should come work at Vought.” She chuckled dryly. “And work under worse conditions? I’m good.” He smirked. “You would see me every day, though.”
“I’m gonna get promoted to managing editor when I finish this one article. Between a man and my career, I’ll choose the latter.”
“I’m not a man, though, I’m a god.”
“Whatever that means.”
The rest of the evening went on as she talked about the West Hollywood teenage experience, the gap year she spent in Vienna, why she decided to move to New York and her early times as an amateur journalist. John surprised himself when he realised how intently he was listening. He was genuinely listening. But all throughout, there was this question at the back of his head making him crazy. When the room got quiet at one point, he blurted it out.
“Why did you break up with your fiancé?”
She sighed loudly, setting the wine glass on the floor. “He kept cheating on me and swore he’d change every time I caught him. He never did. So I left quietly one night.”
John frowned. “He never came looking for you?” She chuckled at that. “He would’ve actually stopped if he cared that much,” she replied and picked the wine glass up from the floor. His frown grew deeper by the second. “He– He didn’t know what he had,” he said, hands slowly creeping up to her thighs to softly caress them. They both looked at his hands; both silent, both content. She set the wine glass down again and slowly inched closer to him on the sofa, John’s eyes flashing back up. She cupped his cheek, thumb over his cheekbone as she kissed him oh-so softly. John froze, not being able to physically respond. She held her lips on top of his, waiting for him to come back to his senses. And when he finally did, kissing her hungrily as he effortlessly picked her up and made his way to the bedroom holding her; she regretted it. This felt too good. But it wasn’t supposed to. At all.
He laid her onto the bed—she thought he would throw her—and got on top of her, brushing hair out of her face before kissing her again. She pushed her palms against his shoulders and tried flipping him over. “No, no, no,” John whispered. “That’s not how we’re gonna do this.” I guess Malcolm was right after all, she thought.
She reached down to the hem of her nightgown as they kissed, pulling it further up to take it off. John held her hands in place rougher than he had intended to. “Keep it on. It’s pretty.” She nodded, breathing heavily and already sweating. It was embarrassing. She’s supposed to evaluate this moment, not fully live it. Yet here she was, pathetically looking up at him with eyes that begged him to stay right where he is.
After she took his shirt off and he took off the sweatpants, she wrapped her legs around his waist to pull him flush against herself. When his clothed length pressed against her heat, he whimpered. A whimper, from the mighty Homelander.
“Was that John?” she whispered.
“It’s always been John inside this apartment,” he replied as he hooked his fingers under the waistband of her panties.
*
“Planets collide, collide, collide at the smack of your kiss but you can kiss your brother. Because we will not be lovers.”
I tagged everyone who liked the post where I announced I was writing this piece just in case y'all wanted to read it, please feel free to message me if you want me to remove you from here and I'm so sorry in advance if you didn't want to be tagged! @lilsnatch @vivicky @littlelovewhateveristhematter @valen0726 @viabledonor @serratedsoldierjustice @abyssalinfiltratornecromancer @mxgh0stbee @creamfacedloon @yayolullaby7 @eutz @obsessive-clown @katherine-ann1
PART I: WE WILL NOT BE LOVERS — PART III: ROMAN CANDLE
Charlene says: Part II of We Will Not Be Lovers! 2,980 words. Written in third person. She/her pronouns used. Mentions of betrayal, murder & alcohol. Brief suggestive remarks, nothing too crazy though. — Things took a turn I guess Reblogs & feedback appreciated! 💌
When she woke up in the morning, John was staring at her with an arm draped over her. “Rise and shine,” he said with a smirk. “Good morning,” she said with furrowed brows, shuffling under the sheets uncomfortably. His smirk dropped gradually. “What’s wrong?”
“My body feels like it’s gonna fold into itself and disappear.”
His face softened. Concern looked so unnatural on him. “You should have told me if I was hurting you,” he muttered, propping his head on his hand. “Oh, believe me, I would have. It’s not that. Your stamina… I didn’t think about the consequences of it.”
The cocky smile that came after that said everything he didn’t put into words and he lightly poked her waist with his pinky. She jolted, immediately sighing and burying her face in the pillow. “You have a tick?” She groaned. “No,” she said, voice muffled. “So you wouldn’t mind if I…” he poked once more, making her jolt again. “Stop it.” He laughed. “What did you say? I can’t hear you ‘cause of the pillow.”
He continued poking and she tried to push his hand away to no avail. Twisting and turning in the bed, she felt that his pokes started turning into tickles. “John. John, no. Stop. John!” His laughter got louder as she started laughing along. But her face dropped midway when she caught a glimpse of his wide smile. He stopped, towering over her. “What?” She swallowed. “Nothing.”
She slid from under him, eyes unfocused as she dizzily made her way to the kitchen to brew some coffee. John sneaked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her shoulder. “What’s going on with you?” he questioned, the unnatural concern transferring to his voice. She didn’t answer and continued putting coffee inside the pot. Then, gradually, she started to shake. He spun her around. “Are you crying?” She hid her face in her hands as if that would help. “Why are you crying?” he asked, pulling her hands away and replacing them with his. “Work is… so… stressful. The company’s nearing bankruptcy and everyone’s depending on my ‘big article’ to save the day. But now I…” She shut herself up, knowing she was swimming in dangerous waters. “Now you what?” he questioned. God, he always had to keep digging.
She stayed still and silent, causing him to repeat the question. Nothing. He slowly pulled his hands off her and walked back to the bedroom, putting his suit back on quickly and crossing the hallway with frustrated steps. “I’ll talk to you later,” he said and got out.
She took a few deep breaths, in and out steadily, before hitting her head once with her palm. “Stupid. Fucking stupid. You’re stupid,” she repeated over and over again before getting ready for work.
At the office, Malcolm was already sitting on her desk and chatting with the other employees. “Woman of the day!” he yelled cheerfully upon seeing her enter, leading her to his office. Once the door closed, they sat down. “You don’t look good. Everything okay? Is it HL? He that bad?” Malcolm questioned, lips tightening. “He wasn’t. He just doesn’t get tired. I didn’t think about that,” she replied, shutting her eyes for a few seconds. Malcolm looked at her, eyebrow raised and lip pursed. “Hey,” he said. She looked up. “Don’t fall in love. I will literally gouge your eyes out.” They had the shortest staring contest in the world before Malcolm burst into a laughter. “I’m kidding! Cheer up a little, girl.” She nodded. “Yeah, Mal. Okay.”
She went back to her desk, opening her laptop to resume the interview article. She hadn’t brought her diary today. Maybe because she forgot—or maybe because she didn’t want to.
Before she knew it, the day was over. Malcolm had come to her desk at lunch and she’d told him she wasn’t hungry, sitting at her desk the whole day.
Being someone who normally walks home, she took a cab that day. It was like all life had been sucked out of her.
She went straight to the bathroom after entering her apartment, taking the second shower of the day as if the boiling hot water would snatch all worries off her mind and push them down the drain.
She changed and started making her way to the kitchen. When she passed the living room on her way, though, she saw John from the corner of her eye. Seated on the sofa, one leg thrown over the other with a book in his hand.
A book.
Right.
A book?
Shit.
No.
Her diary.
Of course. The one day she leaves it home, John shows up and finds it. Of course.
She put on a mask of fake calmness and walked inside. “Look who’s finally showed up!” he said with a smile, the diary opened on his lap; date showing September 18. He was already 3 months in.
She snatched the diary away from his hands. “Do you have no sense of privacy?” she said as she did, voice louder than usual for the very first time. “Scared I’ll find out you care about me more than you say you do?”
She squinted as she threw the diary onto the coffee table. “I care about you immensely, John. I said I won’t love you. Not like that. That’s different.”
He chuckled, dark and frighteningly calm. “Why have you been documenting everything? Everything I’ve said is written down verbatim down there. The short glances, the flick of my fingers. What is this, seriously?” he asked, slowly stepping closer. “I don’t want to forget you,” she replied, stepping back a bit. But he just kept closing the distance.
“Tell me the truth. You’re not gonna like it if I do.”
“It is the truth.”
“Stop.”
Her back was pressed against the wall now, John staring into her soul and piercing it. “One more chance,” he said, voice low. “I told you the truth, John,” she replied, voice cracking slightly. He smirked angrily and took a deep breath, his head moving closer to her. “It’s about me, isn’t it? Your company-saving article.”
She just stared at him before collapsing under him and starting to cry again. John got on one knee in front of her and held her jaw, turning her face to himself. “You were gonna show the world how vulnerable I am, how hungry for affection and how stupid… stupid for believing you would ever do all the things you did if there wasn’t anything in it for you… I liked you. I fucking liked you!” His eyes glowed red and she flinched, pulling her knees up. He stared at her like that for a few seconds, then his eyes turned back to normal when her crying got worse. He breathed in and out heavily. “I liked you and you turned me into a lab rat.”
“I wasn’t gonna publish it, John. I changed my mind this morning. That’s why I didn’t take the diary today. That’s why I didn’t write about last night or—or this morning. I wasn’t gonna do it, I swear.” He pushed her head back once, the back of her head hitting the wall hard. “You say it like it matters! Why should it matter when everything you’ve done, you did to be able to continue your little experiment?” he yelled. She looked down, then back up. “Nothing I did was insincere. I didn’t clean you up or take you into my bed for article material,” she said, body somehow limp while trembling. “But you made them into material later on,” he said, calmer on the surface now but still full of rage inside.
He let go of her face so suddenly she almost fell forward. Walking towards the coffee table, he picked the diary up again and started flipping through the pages.
July 22. It’s been a week since he broke into my apartment and demanded I let him take a shower. I realised today he was using my loofah every time he came here. I bought a separate one for him on my way home today and his eyes lit up when he saw it.
August 13. I was at Rockaway Beach with my sister today. I don’t know how he found me, but he flew over the beach and waved at me.
September 8. He asked me to bathe him tonight. His eyes welled up when I agreed to it. He almost cried as I shampooed his hair.
October 25. He fell asleep halfway through a sentence tonight. I don’t think anyone’s ever let him rest before.
November 1. He looked proud when I laughed at his joke, like a little boy showing someone the drawing he did at school.
He read all of them out loud, voice cracking here and there. “You’re disgusting,” he said and threw the diary towards her, the hardcover hitting her knee and making her yelp. “I wasn’t gonna do this. Malcolm… he talked me into it. Turning this—you into an article didn’t even cross my mind until he said it, John.”
“Fucking Malcolm. You’re so independent when it comes to me but suddenly don’t have a will of your own when Malcolm opens his mouth?”
“I was gonna lose my job, John. The company’s been crumbling.”
“I’ve been telling you to come work with us for the past two months!”
She got quiet, pushing herself off the floor and walking towards him. She raised her hand towards his cheek and he held her wrist quickly. “Don’t you dare,” he said, voice breaking. Her face softened into something he hadn’t seen before. Regret. “Please don’t leave.” He swallowed hard. “You don’t get to ask me to stay,” he said, eyes getting glossy. He blinked a few times to stop the tears from forming. Her eyes welled up again, dropping herself onto the sofa. “Are you… gonna kill me?” she asked, eyes like that of a lost puppy and voice fragile. He looked at her. “I would’ve done it already if I could,” he said, defeated. Guard down again. “But Malcolm’s gotta go.” Her head snapped up. “What? John. Come on. He was thinking in numbers. He was trying to save me and all the others at the company.” He chuckled. “So you can be naïve sometimes, huh? He wasn’t trying to save jackshit. I could have killed you. Not even now; before. Way before. He put your life on the line for his gain. You can’t be that stupid.”
He sat down next to her, hand on her knee. Not intimate. A threat.
“You’re gonna give me Malcolm’s address and you’re never gonna speak a word of it to anyone.”
“John…”
“Don’t ‘John’ me. Address. Now.”
She gave it and started crying again halfway, words turning into mumbles. John got up.
“Here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna… You’re gonna go in tomorrow and you’re gonna quit. Then you’re gonna act surprised when Malcolm’s found dead mysteriously. Understood?”
She thought for a second.
“They’ll get suspicious of me then, though, if I resign and he gets murdered after.”
John raised an eyebrow and smirked, clearly impressed. “Oh, you are a sick little thing. We would’ve been good if you didn’t fuck it up, you know?” She sighed, slouching down on the couch. “Just get it over with, John.”
He took one last look at her before going out to the balcony and flying away.
—
The next day felt like a fever dream. She tried her best to be kind to Malcolm due to his tragic death approaching, her eyes on whatever clock she could get a glimpse of all throughout the day. Between his questions about Homelander and John and his back-handed compliments to the other employees, every single sentence of his kept turning into “Homelander’s gonna kill me tonight, by the way,” in her head.
She hugged Malcolm before leaving the office.
“Ew? What’s happening?” he said, laughing as he hugged her back. “See you tomorrow, Malcolm,” she said and hugged him a bit tighter than she meant to, as if her body was trying to protect him from what her mind knew was coming, before letting him go. As she started walking towards the exit, Malcolm ran up and stopped her, a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you for the hug. I needed it.” She smiled weakly and nodded, turning around and finally walking out as she wiped away the tears that were threatening to form.
She put her headphones on and walked home, sighing in deep relief when she finally got inside. Changing her clothes and pouring a glass of wine, she saw that the diary remained where John had thrown it yesterday evening. She picked it up, going out to the balcony and sitting by the outdoor fireplace, trying to light it. When she finally got it to flame up, she took a last look at the diary; flipping through the pages like she was trying to memorize every word before they stopped existing. Then she threw it inside furiously, not blinking until the first page curled up. She got up, going inside to rummage through her bag. When she finally found the USB stick that contained only Homelander v. John, she got out and threw it inside the fireplace too. She took a deep breath before going inside, putting on a Sinatra record and returning to the wine glass, her eyes almost lifeless.
—
She realised she’d passed out, wine glass broken and ivory carpet stained, when she woke up to the doorbell ringing. She looked at the time.
23:57
John had to have done it by now.
Was it the cops at the door? Malcolm’s boyfriend? His brother, maybe? She spiraled on her way to the door, walking as slowly as possible to prolong the arrival of whatever it was she was about to face.
Her hand held the doorknob tightly and she slowly pushed it down, peeking her head through the gap instead of opening it fully.
John?
She opened the door wider and held his arm, pulling him inside. He looked worn out and satisfied at the same time. She didn’t know that was possible. “I was gonna go in through the balcony but then I saw you were asleep so I wanted you to panic at the ring.” He said it like it was funny. Like nothing had happened.
“Did you do it?” she asked, face full of terror. “Yeah. He cried like a baby. Embarrassing.” Her throat tightened, but nothing came out. She wanted at least a single tear to prove to herself this was hurting her. But the knot disappeared when John started heading to the living room, and she followed suit. “You know that’s not gonna change anything,” he said and pointed to the fireplace outside with his head. Her lips trembled. “I did it for my own peace of mind.” He scoffed. Opened his mouth. Then he rolled his eyes and started pacing around the room.
She crouched and started cleaning up the shattered glass as he walked in circles. “I don’t know why I came here. But this will be the last time.” She nodded without looking up. “I figured.” He frowned, getting closer to her. “You don’t care?” She finally looked up. “Why would it matter if I do? Are you gonna stay?” He took a deep breath before turning his back on her again. “No. I just wish I could make you hate me too.” She frowned. “You hate me?” she asked, voice getting lower with each word. “Of course I do. Are you crazy?” he said in front of the window without looking back, eyes observing the lively streets of Manhattan. She didn’t say anything at that, continuing to pick up the glass. His hatred was valid. She’d used him and had regretted it only when it was too late—only when the consequences came crashing down.
When she winced and whispered an inaudible profanity, John’s head snapped back almost reflexively. Her hand was bleeding and it was almost impossible for such a small piece to draw that much blood. He crossed the room in two steps, crouching beside her and holding her hand in his. “I’m fine,” she said and tried pulling her hand away but John’s grip was strong. “Are you even seeing the amount of blood that’s spilling from your palm?” he said, helping her up and walking her to the bathroom. The lights there were brighter and he held her hand under cold water for a bit before taking a close look at it in case there were any shards inside the cut.
He’d memorised where each supply was after all these months and he took out some cotton, bandages and batticon; cleaning up the wound and covering it up neatly as she complained about being able to do all that herself. “You said you hated me literally five minutes ago,” she said as he secured the bandage in place. He looked at her, held her head in his hands and kissed her forehead. “Old habits die hard, I guess,” he said before leaving the bathroom and getting out of the apartment.
Standing in the same spot, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked exactly as she did the night she left her fiancé. She pitied herself for a few more seconds and shook her head, walking back to the living room. She vacuumed the remaining glass and tried her best to wipe the dried wine off the carpet as much as she could with one hand. The burgundy hue just stubbornly stayed there no matter how much she rubbed.
She gave up after a few minutes, going back to her bedroom and burying herself in the sheets.
She fell asleep faster than she ever had before.
*
“Broke my own limb and blamed you for the limp. And like a spoiled only child, I thought l'd be forgiven. I lied through my canines and I pulled at your hair. I wanted you to hate me so you'd know l was still there.”
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ You're a member of the Seven and currently headlining a massive Vought blockbuster alongside Homelander. After a grueling twelve hour shoot, the director finally yells cut and releases the cast for the evening. Caked in heavy makeup and with your skin slick under your tactical suit you duck into Homelander’s private trailer. He's only steps behind you. Not a word is said before the door shuts and he crowds you against the marble vanity.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He thrives on the secrecy of your arrangement and craves your durability of his sadistic sexual desires. You can withstand him and that makes him hot. He tears your suit off and pulls you hard against the cold plating of his suit. "Do you have any idea what they would do if they walked in right now?" He murmurs. "They would watch. They would have to because I would make them."
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Homelander is a loud lover but ironically the sounds he makes are desperate and small. He looks right through you while using your body to satiate himself and he keeps his full suit on, rutting frantically against you.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He loves to remind you of his lethality while he's buried deep inside you. The power dynamic is his ultimate aphrodisiac. He'll whisper terrifyingly sweet things into your ear while his hands tighten around your throat just enough to let you feel a thin sense of fear.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ There's a pathetic feeling of worship when he handles you after reaching orgasm. He'll bury his face in your neck and trace his tongue up your jaw. He views your pleasure as a testament to his own greatness. "Look at me," he gasps. "I want you to tell me that no one else has ever made you feel this way. Say my name. Say it."
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ When a knock on the trailer door interrupts you, Homelander pulls back with a final grunt and straightens his pauldrons. "Fix yourself," he orders only slightly out of breath. "You look like you just stepped out of a red room."
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He offers a dismissive nod before stepping out into the sunlight to greet the crew. The transition leaves your head spinning. Every time you walk back onto set you have to look him in the eye while the cameras roll and pretend you don't know the exact sound he makes when he loses control.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Sometimes you catch him staring at you from across the studio with a hunger that suggests he might just bypass the trailer next time and take what he wants right there on set. Wouldn't that make for a fine film?
hi! could you write something for homelander where reader (with whom he's in a relationship) is very affectionate, like he doesn't even need to manipulate or threaten her into loving him because she already does even though she's knows he's not the perfect hero he pretends to be?
Absolutely I love Homelander! Antony Starr just portrays him so well, there’s not enough fics of him to get my fill :) thank you for the request! I really appreciate it and I hope this was what you expected I actually struggled a bit with trying to write affection with Homelander that didn’t sound too OOC. LMK whatchya think if I didn’t meet the mark feel free to request again! :D
Warnings: nothing too graphic, non-sexual bath sharing, blood mentions, takes place after Homelander kills the scientist who raised him, cursing and immoral reader. Mention breifly of Homelander smelling arousal it’s a one off thing, use of homelanders real name; John.
word count: 1,112
Homelander, despite his sociopathy, craved affection, genuine adoration and genuine love. Of course he felt it was never really real. From Madeline Stillwell, to Queen Maeve to Stormfront. Everyone was fake.
None of them really gave a fuck about him, and they were scared of him, which he did like, but only when he wanted them to be scared, not as some consistent underlying feeling.
Anyone who got to know Homelander personally, fucking hated him, or was scared of him. He knew it, of course he did. He felt it in the air, he heard their racing hearts and the blood rushing through their veins. They couldn’t hide it if they tried.
Then there was you. To Homelander, you were more of a gimmick supe. nothing worth The Seven, but Sister sage insisted you were part of the plan, along with Firecracker, so Homelander bent his knee.
When you were first introduced, he didn’t expect much, and that expectation (or lack thereof) continued until they day they caught the suspected mole. Some spider freak Homelander couldn’t care to remember the name of.
That day you stood alongside him as he ripped the supe clean in half, watching as blood exploded across Homelander and the floor. Any other person, he would’ve heard the racing heart beat, or the gulping noise of nervousness. But you? You just grimaced at the sight, a soft ‘yuck’ coming from you shortly after.
From then on he’d noticed you more, and it seemed you noticed him too, always flirting with him, touching his arm, bringing him snacks, and milk. It was obvious to everyone, your not so subtle blooming affection toward him.
When he was angry, you weren’t fearful or cowering, you let him get angry, let him rant and rave. He felt idiotic for the amount of times he found himself in your room just to lay his head on your lap and complain.
He took notice of how you never tried to kiss his ass out of fear, only fussing over him out of genuine care. He couldn’t fully believe it, and his doubt caused him to have mood swings where he would be cruel to you. Like he was sick of anticipating when you’d finally hate him and so he tried to force it with his behaviour.
It didn’t ever come though, you were patient, and you frustratingly gave him his time to brood and be angry. It wasn’t until he saw some security guard flirting with you that he realized he needed you all to himself, that no other person would care for him the way you did. With the security guy dead, he finally asked you to be his partner, and made you official to the public as fast as possible, wanting to stake his claim for you to everyone.
Once Homelander started to realize that he heard your heart flutter around him, that he could see the dilation in your eyes when you looked at him, or smell the arousal when you were worked up over him, he knew that there wasn’t any questioning whether or not your feelings were true.
John had just killed every scientist who’d tortured him growing up, his body still shaking with adrenaline, anger, and self hatred. The realization that he’d been raised like a dog to be obedient, made him so angry, he could barely contain it.
He touched down on the Vought towers covered in blood he dragged his feet into your shared bedroom, where you were already up making your way to the door when you heard it open.
“Are you okay?” You whispered upon seeing him, opening your arms to him despite his body being covered in bloody. Homelander slumped into you without hesitation, his gloved fingers digging into your flesh. “I’m nothing but a product.” He whispered with a wavering tone, though clear anger cracked through his pain. “What happened baby?” You cooed brows pinched together as your fingers threaded through his crunchy blood soaked hair.
He shook his head pulling back a bit. “They’re dead.. no sense in talking about it.” He huffed looking into your eyes, his expression tired or rather, drained. “You’re the only one who sees me like this..” He muttered making you smile, his gloved hand raising to run his thumb across the apples of your cheek.
“Wanna bathe?” You offered in an affectionate tone, making his face twitch with differing emotions. One of those feeling was cringe; unused to being so genuinely cared for, and the others being exhaustion and gratitude. “Yes.” Homelander grumbled, allowing you to guide him to the bathroom like he was just some lil’ guy and not a murderous superhuman.
“You look so handsome covered in blood.” You hummed sliding off his cape from the clasps, before staring to undo the back of his suit. Homelander scoffed stood obediently in front of you as you undressed him. Sometimes it was hard to believe you meant what you said, on days like these all he wanted was to believe you.
“You can talk to me you know... I won’t ever judge you for what happened.” You assured softly, undressing your own body as you watched him slump into the warm water. Once you’d settled into his lap, his arms around your waist, bodies resting in the warm luxury’s tub, he finally spoke again.
“I was raised in a lab, tortured.” Homelander spoke, his voice low, your eyes briefly meeting his as you got a rag, gently washing the blood from his face. “I killed them, it doesn’t feel satisfying enough…” He trailed soaking in the loving look you had in your eyes as you washed him up. “I’m glad you killed them.”
Homelanders face twitched his expression showing confusion for a split second. “You’re… glad?” Homelander murmured as your lips met his nose. “Yeah, fuck those asshole, supe or not you were a little boy being abused and treated like a lab rat.” You hummed out setting aside the wash rag to cup his face, he looked sad, like a kicked puppy. “You’re just… okay with how I kill?” Homelander scoffed, his hands on your hips tugging you closer as he leaned back.
You nodded, clinging to him. “I love you John,” You shrugged, moving your hands up to attempt to get some of the crusty blood off. “There’s nothing you can do that will stop that, even if I get angry, grossed out or off put for a bit, that won’t outweigh how I love ya.”
Homelander felt for the first time that maybe he’d finally found someone who did love him. Originally Stormfront felt like she was Homelanders match, but sadly, all she cared about was her Nazi bullshit. “I love you too.” He grumbled lowly his fingers coming up to pinch your cheeks.
“And if you leave me, I will kill you.” His voice was sharp and low like a whisper, and despite that you smiled. “Yeah yeah, if I left you I’d kill me too.” Then your lips met his, tasting him eagerly before pulling back with a wide grin. No matter what he tried you were always so genuinely in love with him, and never afraid.
Hey, could you do Yandere Mark Grayson with Reader who was his childhood friend?
Yessss I can~ Thank you for sending this to me <3
Yandere Mark Grayson
^ Mark after falling for you so hard it created a small earthquake.
You and Mark were neighbors and because of this, you knew each other since you were children.
You became good friends almost immediately and spent a lot of time together.
Mark fell for you for the first time at that time but he was too shy to say anything.
Instead, he spends as much time with you as possible and creates really good memories.
Mark was always a little overprotective, but you didn't think much of it.
You and Mark grow up together and you would definitely hear when he gets his powers.
Mark would be so excited~
You are happy and supportive of him and genuinely excited about his powers.
This would be the moment when Mark would fall for you a second time and much harder.
This time he mustered up the courage to confess his feelings...
Luckily you agreed.
The relationship starts off really well, but Mark would quickly but imperceptibly become overprotective.
Mark has known you long enough to be able to explain changes in his behavior in ways that you accept.
Little by little he starts to limit your life until it is "safer"
You couldn't even be mad at him because he "just wants to take care of you the best way he can" or "he doesn't want the person he grew up with to get hurt because of his superhero work."
Mark is good at this...
If/when you realize something is wrong it would be too late.
Luckily, life with your "beloved" childhood friend wouldn't be so bad.
