#the boys

[cyrusthedragon]

Your Honour, he's just going through a phase--

source of fourth photo

[soldierboys]

THE BOYS 3.06 Herogasm

[homelandergf]

ANTONY STARR as HOMELANDER THE BOYS | SO2E06 “The Bloody Doors Off”

[devilander]

in teaching you will learn (chapter 1)

18+ 3k. homelander x tutor f!reader. employer and employee sexual tension. abuse of power. fingering. AO3 link.

You accepted a job proposal to work as a History tutor to Homelander's son. It suddenly turns out to be more than you had bargained for.

prompt sent by @plasticfangtastic, thank you so much! beta'ed by @flaggermuser, love you!

Ryan was a very smart child. Powerful and smart, naturally, as any of Homelander’s offspring would be. So, to sate his endless curiosity, tutors—from the best universities, Homelander would settle for nothing else—of all subjects were hired to teach whatever was needed, whatever Ryan liked.

You had never imagined yourself in this position, History tutor to the Homelander’s son. But when you received Vought’s call, and they told you the paycheck that’d come with it, you immediately agreed. A non-supe, you wondered what it’d be like to deal with such a special kid, if Homelander would disapprove of your ways and send you packing on the first day. 

Insecurities were never your thing—you had received a M.A in History and Literature, for god’s sake! This was your turf. 

But… teaching a child? Whenever you would envision your future, you always imagined yourself as a professor, strict and serious, dealing solely with adults or, at most, young adults. 

You'd rise up, though, you knew it—even if you needed to spend all of your nights, from dusk ‘till dawn, watching videos on gentle parenting, endless courses on “childhood education” and teaching young learners. You would do it, and you would do it perfectly.

On your first day, you had a whole speech prepared, something about how much of an honor it was, how excited you were, how many ideas you already had; your stomach fluttered as you looked at his clear blue eyes, beautiful nose—

Homelander barely let you start. 

“Now.” He raised his hands, effectively shutting you up. “Enough with the yada yada, ‘kay? Let's get some things straight—all of your ideas gatta be approved by me first. And Ryan.”

“I'm sure, sir, I only meant—”

“And you'll not be berating him, for whatever fucking reason. You're not the boss here. I am. And, well, if he complains about anything, anything really, you’ll be… dismissed. That understood?” He had a congenial smile on his face, though you swore his eyes shined red, if only for a second. “Take care of my son, huh?”

He patted you on the shoulder and left. You just stood there, fuming and exasperated. If there's one thing you hated with a passion was condescending men; interrupting and disregarding your words as inane silliness. 

High and mighty as he was, Homelander was cut from the same cloth as them, it seemed. If it weren’t for your student debt piling up, you’d turn around and leave. As it were, you gritted your teeth and stayed. 

After that, though, you hardly ever saw him, and when you did, he only gave you an indiscernible look and a nod. 

Fine by me, you thought bitterly, mad at yourself that he'd surely noticed your flushed cheeks and quickened breath at your first real sight of him.

Ryan was sweet though. Sharp and eager to learn whatever you presented him with, such that you moved on quickly from fifth, sixth, to a seventh-grade curriculum. 

You found a happy medium—keeping it fun and educational. And you knew, you knew, whenever you were there, Homelander was watching you. 

And he was. Of course he was. He’d had his fair share of tutors Vogelbaum would present him with. Condescending little assholes, always thinking they knew better, reporting every minor thing he did, lecturing and punishing at their pleasure. 

As if he'd let his kid suffer the same fate. 

Education was, however, important, so he hired simpering tutors—a school would not do, no place was fit for Ryan—and those who didn't know their place were quickly taken care of. 

Yet you, the third History teacher hired (the first one was such a fucking mess—snapping his neck as soon as he left Vought was not enough for having the gall to rudely reprimand his son) were doing well so far. 

Oh, he had seen how you blushed and stuttered when you two met, and he had seen how you gradually steeled your eyes at his words. 

He had also noticed the sway of your hips, your pink, heart shaped mouth, the addictive sound of your voice—your scrunched up nose as you looked at him in poorly disguised anger.

So, yes, of course, of course he was watching, for more reasons than one. 

One day, when you and Ryan were talking animatedly about the creation of the American Constitution, Homelander decided to barge in, almost knocking the door off of its hinges.

You nearly fell off your seat in surprise, for a second scared and worried, until you saw his face. He looked as happy as a kid. Well, happier than Ryan. 

“Wowza,” he said. “What party do you two have goin’ on here? I could hear you from the hallway.” 

He could hear no matter how loud you were, but you got the gist. Smiling, though miffed at the interruption, you crossed the room, and he met you halfway.

“I was showing Ryan this book. Look.” He leaned down, his face touching yours. Oh God, oh God, wrong move. “It contains all of Thomas Paine's pamphlets published during the war in its original format. We were discussing how Paine's thoughts impacted on the Constitution’s writing.”

“Very nice,” he said, still so close to you the pure heat his body radiated engulfed your senses. And your body kept betraying, and betraying, and fucking betraying you.

“Oh, I love this part.” You thanked the heavens your voice didn't quiver, and started to read out loud. “Tyranny, like hell—”

“Is not easily conquered.” Homelander completed, and you looked up, only to find him already looking at you.

His hand then rested on your arm, lingering for a few seconds too long, his eyes locking you in place. You gulped, heart thumping in your chest—

“Dad,” Ryan bemoaned. Homelander dropped his hand instantly. “This is my class. You're interrupting us!”

Homelander frowned, then almost pouted. 

“Geez, buddy, what a way to treat your old man.” He crossed his arms; you contained a giggle. His eyes glinted mischievously as he turned to you. “Can I be your student for the day? I promise to behave.” 

“I don't see why n—”

“No,” Ryan exclaimed, interrupting you. “No, no and no!” 

Though he tried, there was no convincing Ryan. He wouldn't share the time he had with you. Inwardly, you smiled at the kid’s innocent jealousy; and thanked the heavens for the save, you certainly needed it. 

Huffing and stomping his feet, Homelander left the room, but not without giving his son an annoyed glare and you a look you couldn't—wouldn't—name yet. Maybe ever. 

Weeks passed, classes going smoothly despite your warring thoughts. You were attracted to Homelander, because of course you were; lucky you. Your boss, supe, leader of the Seven. The man who had so far threatened you, talked with you, touched you… 

Fear tinged with desire, confusion with curiosity. He was equal parts charming and infuriating. Would you dare to willingly put your hand in the mouth of the tiger? 

It became routine for Homelander to participate—or interrupt—your lessons to share his own opinions, much to Ryan's chagrin. And you… you were endeared. 

“Think you could've done a better job than Theodore Roosevelt? Really?” Your disbelieving tone didn't seem to put him off, just the opposite.

“I'm certain I could.”

His playful smile and arrogant tone annoyed you. Enchanted you. 

“Well, you should try for president, then,” you joked, catching yourself turning fully towards him. “You'll beat the records of votes and rule this grand nation!”

He hummed, winking at you. “Yeah, no. Not really in my… interests right now.”

“Would you make a Shermanesque statement on that?”

Homelander laughed, shaking his head. 

“Nah, maybe I’ll change my mind.” His eyes roamed over your body. “Couldn’t have that.” 

“What’s Sherman—Shermesque,” Ryan piped in, furrowing his brows as he stumbled over the word. “What are you talking about?”

“If nominated, I will not run; If elected, I will not serve,” you spoke at the same time and giggled, giggled!, together. Stop giggling like a schoolgirl, you chastised yourself, but you couldn't help it. There was such a thrill about flirting with danger in the flesh. 

Turning to Ryan, you explained. “It’s something William Sherman said. He was a popular general during the Civil War and was being considered as the Republican candidate during presidential elections. He, however, refused!” When excited, your arms had a mind of their own, and you found yourself gesturing wildly, enthusiastically. “His words became really popular from then on, such that it's now called a Shermanesque statement, and sometimes used by politicians and the like.”

Homelander couldn’t help but stare while you talked, entranced by your passionate speech, flushed cheeks and shining eyes. You were so fucking cute, deliciously captivating—even in your pitiful stubborn act, or all the more enticing because of it. He wanted to savor each and every moment you walked about the room; wanted to catalog your breath changes, the rises of your voice, your moving lips. 

Would you be just as responsive in another, more interesting scenario?, he wondered. Maybe you would want to take charge, bossy little thing you are. Maybe he’d have to bend you just shy of breaking you only to see you beg—beg him to fuck you, to let you come on his fingers, mouth and cock. 

His filthy thoughts raged on, only interrupted when you announced your time was up. Ryan groans in disappointment and Homelander has a hard time not doing the same. He hungers for more moments with you. Alone.   

“C’mon, kiddo,” he says, noticing Ryan stalling to tidy up his books and supplies as he liked to do. “You gotta get ready for your shooting today.”

Ryan grumbles under his breath. “I hate these commercials.”

Before he can answer, you approach, tousling Ryan’s hair and leaning down to look him in the eyes. 

“Hey, sweetheart, it will be okay. Just play pretend like we talked,” you said. “And if it gets too much, I'm sure your dad will take care of it. I'll bring you a treat tomorrow, how about that?”

He should probably put you in your place for daring to presume you know shit about him and his son—as if your puny mind could understand the greater beings they were. And yet, and yet… Ryan was smiling, rushing to embrace you though his quick heartbeat betrayed how nervous he was. You hugged him back, and looked at Homelander with such sweet grin that he—fuck, he felt fucking breathless.

He wanted to kiss you. 

When Ryan left the room, you snatched your purse, seemingly wanting to leave as quickly as possible. But Homelander stood in front of the door, unmoving, his jewel-toned eyes intensely fixated on you. 

A sudden heat spread through your body, and you let out a breathy sigh. And he noticed; eyes tracking over your face and chest, like undressing you with his mind. 

Perhaps he was. He certainly could. The thought made you desperate, you needed to run. Your apartament wouldn't be enough, maybe you should catch a bus to Jersey. Or a fucking plane to—Russia, or farther—

“Want me to give you a ride?” You were so distracted you barely heard his words, much less the double entendre. 

“What?” 

He snickered. “I said—”

“No! I mean yes. I mean no!” You shook your head, dizzy. “No, sir, I wouldn't want to trouble you.”

“Ah but there's no trouble at all, it'll take a minute. I know where you live.”

“You do?” A shudder ran through you.

“Of course, you silly goose. It's in your resume.” He tapped your nose, a gesture so off-putting you snorted, suddenly aware he'd closed the distance without you noticing. “Let's go, little miss mouthy. Don't make me insist,” he declared, voice still cheerful, but you caught the edge of it, leaving no room for argument. 

“Okay, okay… But only this time!” 

Homelander simply laughed. 

Reaching the balcony, you looked down and froze. Too high, too high!, your brain screamed at you. 

“Hehe, on second thought…” You looked at him pleadingly, a weird laugh bubbling out in sheer nervousness. You gripped the banister as if your very life depended on it. 

“Ah, ah. No takesies backsies.” He wiggled his finger in your face, and, for a single moment, two, three seconds?, caressed your cheek softly. 

Before you could react, he grabbed you by the waist and took off. Panic stricken, you hid your face in his neck, dangling legs instinctively circling his hips; much like a koala, you held on to him in all ways you could—even your fingers found locks of his hair to grip mercilessly.

Through the rush of the wind, you felt, more than heard, his laugh. 

It took some seconds to catch on to the overwhelming closeness between you two—how every inch of your body was adhering to his, how you could feel the impressive strength emanating from him, how his warm breath was hitting your neck, leaving shivers in its wake. 

You could feel it all. No matter the padded suit, you felt the tension in his muscles, the upheaval in his chest as he drew you even closer and fuck you couldn't fucking help clenching your cunt and exhaling right next to his year—

In a second, Homelander had you on the roof of your building.

You didn't want to look up, fearing what he'd throw at you, anger and indifference or lust and temptation. Both shook you to your core. 

“Wakie, wakie,” he said, breathless, a certain roughness to his tone. His hands squeezed your back with surprising care. Each second was too long, and yet not enough. 

And then you felt it, as you started to disentangle yourself from his body, his cock, hard and throbbing, poking your stomach, dangerously close to where you ached for it the most. 

You looked up. 

There was no smirk, no mocking eyes—only a stare so intense your heart skipped a beat. 

“Thank you, Homelander, for the—for the ride. I appreciate it, despite you almost giving me a heart attack at first.” You giggled, trying to dispel the mood.

“How about you thank me by inviting me in? Y’know what they say, actions speak louder than words.” 

“No, I…” you hesitated, trying to think of an excuse but your mind went blank. “No.”

Homelander cocked his head, dazzling smile turning a little unnerving. “No? Is that right?”

“How about another day? I can—”

“I didn't fucking ask for a bullshit, out-of-pity mock invite, did I? What is it, hiding some terrorists in your shithole apartment? Or mommy’s dead body?”

If it weren't for his looming over you, you'd crack a laugh—his mind certainly went places. 

“Listen—” You started again, only to be pushed until your back hit the roof's door, knocking the air out of you. 

“You listen,” he ground out, eyes a kaleidoscope of red and blue. It was painfully exhilarating. “Don’t try lying to me. I can sense you, I can fucking smell you, your pussy is soaked.” To prove his point, he removed one glove and opened up your pants; your panties were shoved aside as he squeezed two fingers inside you. You whimpered at the burn of his intrusion, but you were so wet the squelch was loud even to your ears. “You either invite me in or I'll rip your clothes off and fuck you right here. Your choice, sweetheart.”

Homelander was being nice in giving you a choice, despite the fact you were a rude tease, and a liar to boot. His fingers kept pumping in and out of you, and he found it so fucking hard not to go all the way, not to have you against this door while you moaned so, so sweetly. 

He needed you—to feel you clenching on his cock as you did now on his fingers. And you wanted him. Fuck, you were whining and opening your legs so he could finger you better, clinging onto his waist as your head rested on his shoulder. Still, you dazedly shook your head. What was the matter with you?

“Oh, please, please,” you half begged, half moaned, raspy voice driving him crazy. “We can't, I can't…”

“Give me one good fucking reason why not, huh. One.”

Instead of answering, you kissed him. He seemed surprised at first, but reciprocated in an instant. And it was all you expected it'd be, messy and passionate and hot; he consumed you, drinking in every part of you, all you had to give, and what you wouldn’t give, he would take. 

You gathered his face in your hands, wanting a little bit of tenderness in the violent chaos of you, a little bit of love—if you could.

His hand kept working on you, thumb rubbing your clit in circles and, before you ran completely out of breath, you came so hard your legs gave out. 

Perfect for Homelander to catch, hold you onto his body as you rode the waves of your pleasure—so beautiful he was enraptured. 

After a few moments, you whispered. “I can't let you in. If I do, I won't think straight, I'll just let you do anything you want to me.” 

“Is that a bad thing, sweetheart?”

“I'm… not used to this, I don't… I haven't done much of this. You never even asked me out!” You laughed. The good humor vanished as you continued. “I can't lose this job. I need it, I like it. If we do… What will even happen to me?” You cursed your own inability to talk about this, all your eloquence going to the drain when you needed to speak of something other than History. In those moments, you always felt like mimicking some speech taught to you long ago, as if talking about your own feelings was an unattainable device. 

Yet Homelander found it amusing. Apparently he'd gotten you all wrong, or at least parts of it. For all your bravado in speaking to him, in challenging him—in your fearlessness and spunk—you were inexperienced. Innocent. Shy. Wasn't that his fucking lucky day. 

“So the baby wants me to take her on a date first, that it?”

“I didn't say that.” You raised a brow, crossing your arms. “And don’t call me baby.”

“Also I boy-scout promise not to fire you if you are a bad lay, but I doubt that, baby.”

“Oh, shut up,” you said, though there was no bite to it, only a timid smile on your face. “Okay, alright. This weekend?” 

“Friday. I’ll send someone to pick you up. Wear something nice for me.”

Before leaving, he kissed you deeply, hands nearly shaking with yearning. He wanted to take it all back and drag you to his bed, absconding with you for a day or two. But he’d waited this long and he could wait a bit longer—he’d savor every second and make it worth it.

As you walked down the stairs to your apartment you sighed, drunk in the haze of disbelief; there was no way you could run now. It’s clear you have a problem. What you should wish for isn’t what you want.

[editfandom]

Billy Butcher, Season 3

[maevelander]

boy what the hell boy

[burntsaltsblog]

is this seat taken

[homelanderbutbig]

As Long As We're Together (G/T Homelander x Reader)

2538 words. Hurt/comfort and fluff. Homelander is 8 feet tall. Reader is non-descriptive. Established relationship.

Your anniversary gift exchange doesn't go exactly as planned.

Made as part of the Cozy Corner Domaystic event put together by @cozycornerevents, using prompt #11 "unexpected gifts" and prompt #29 "peace offering".

It's officially been a month since you and Homelander started dating. Your relationship is still under wraps from the spying eyes at Vought, so the two of you can't celebrate your anniversary publicly. But that won't stop you both from having a special day.

As his personal assistant, you're trailing behind him on the set for 'Dawn of The Seven', making sure he has his lines ready. It's been a pretty busy shoot, and the two of you have not had much time to yourselves.

Eventually, there's a lull in between filming. You're following him as usual, flipping through the script to keep a strict tab on the upcoming scenes, but you are confused when he suddenly halts right in front of his trailer. Looking up at him, you can see a sly grin accompanying a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Come inside for a second," he smirks, bending down at the waist to whisper into your ear. "I have a surprise for you."

"I can't honey," you mention, pulling your phone out of your pocket and tapping the screen to bring up the current time. "I need to head back to the Tower in 15 minutes, I have a meeting with your marketing team."

Leaning back up to his full height, Homelander stares down at you in disbelief. You so nonchalantly took the ground right out from under him; he wasn't expecting any resistance, especially not on your anniversary. The day he confessed his love for you.

"N-no… no. No. Blow them off, come on," he stutters with a shaky smile, doing his best to regain his composure. "Come."

"I really can't stay," you divulge. "It'll take me at least 10 minutes to make it to the Tower and to the meeting room. Can this wait until I get back?"

Your words cut through him like a knife. All he wanted to do was to prove his devotion to you, and you're refusing him this chance. Your schedules have both been so chaotic today and he doesn't want to wait any longer for his surprise, definitely not until the evening when you're both off work.

"P-please," he mumbles quietly, his voice barely sounding audible. He can't let you leave, not yet.

Despite Homelander standing a menacing eight feet tall and you only reaching his abs, he could not seem any more small to you right now. All you see is a dejected puppy with big glassy eyes, so desperate for a scrap of your undivided attention. With a sigh, you walk up to him and reach for one of his large hands, squeezing your palm around the leather of his glove.

"This won't take longer than 5 minutes?" you ask.

"Of course not," he exclaims with a toothy grin. Your simple question is enough to wash away his fears and recapture his giddy childlike energy from moments ago. "Trust me, you'll love this."

Leading you to the trailer, he opens the door to let you in first so he can watch you spot his gift on the table. Your gasp fills him elation, ravishing in the way your body chemistry changes with delight. Carefully, you climb onto one of the oversized chairs in the dining area to get a closer look at what he got for you.

In the middle of the table is a perfectly designed bouquet, composed of a red rose heart nestled in a cloud of baby's breath. Tucked in between the flowers is a note card, wishing you a happy anniversary. Homelander even signed it himself, with a little heart doodle for you alongside his name.

"Oh hun," you exhale, bringing the flower vase closer to examine them. "These are so beautiful."

As he studies your reaction, he is perplexed as to why you appear to be blinking away tears. Are you upset at his gift? He thought this was a proper anniversary present; in every romantic movie he's ever seen the gentleman always brings his special someone a bouquet of flowers.

"Is something wrong?" he ponders, kneeling down so he can be at your eye-level. You can't help but smile at his face right next to yours, and the dread in his expression over making you cry.

"No, no…" you sniffle as you dry your eyes. "I'm just… I'm just happy. Nobody's ever gotten me flowers before."

"Thank you Homelander," you state, cupping his cheeks right before kissing him. Nearly instantly, he closes his eyes and exhales deeply through his nose as he melts into your affection. He leans more into your lips, softly keening as he chases after the genuine love that he's been searching for his entire life. Your palms petting his face have him entirely enraptured, and the noises of the movie set are long gone from his ears. Right now he feels like he's in heaven with the gentleness of your fingers running along his skin. His massive frame has practically encompassed yours with how close he's getting, but you don't mind. It's something you cherish, letting him forget his size around you.

When you pull away from your kiss, you can see how pleased he is just by the serene sparkles in his blue eyes. He has one hand placed on the back of your chair while the other is resting on your lap, taking up the length of your both your thighs.

"I have to get going now," you remark while you look up at the Vought-branded clock on the trailer wall. Sadly, your five minutes are up. "But I'll be back in an hour."

"Promise you'll come back as soon as you're done?" he asks, furrowing his brows slightly. He's so proud of himself for his gift, and he hates that he has to cut his time with you short now that he's received your gratitude.

"I promise," you respond, giving him one last quick kiss before stepping out of the trailer. You wave him goodbye as you head off, unaware that he is standing solemnly at the window as he continues to watch you with his X-Ray vision even after you've left the movie set.

~~~

You end up running a bit longer than you expected, and are confounded to find that when you finally return to the movie set, Homelander is not there. Ashley tells you that he flew off from the set an hour ago without a word. But you know there's only a few places he'd run off too, and take a taxi back to Vought Tower. As you thought, you find him in his penthouse living room, staring out the window with his arms crossed behind his back. You find it a bit odd when he doesn't acknowledge you, but you enter the room anyway.

"Hey sweetie, there you are! I couldn't find you on the set," you call out cheerily, carrying a small package in your arms. "Why'd you leave?"

"You lied to me," he answers in a blunt tone.

"…What?" you utter, confused to his change in mood.

"You. Lied," he retorts sharply, cutting you off before you can infuriate him any further. He slowly turns around to advance towards you, until you are forced to crane your head straight up to see his scowling face.

"I went by the Tower, to see how your meeting went," he clarifies as he looms his expansive stature over you. "No one had seen you. You were never there."

" Well, I-" you start to say.

"You promised," he snarls, baring his teeth. "You promised me you were different. You promised that you loved me. But you don't. You don't love me. You lied, just like everyone else."

His eyes are wild with fire, not from his lasers but from the torrent of antagonism swarming his mind. He sat alone in his trailer, expecting your return. He waited and waited, until the ticking of the clock and the ringing of his ears became too much for him to handle. He sought solace in his secret companion, his reflection, who was swift to manipulate his anxieties in order to turn him against you.

Throughout your relationship, you've come to understand that Homelander values honesty above anything else. He detests when people lie to him, even moreso when they lie to save themselves from his wrath. You have never lied to him before… until today.

On your anniversary.

Why should he have expected anything less from a human, his reflection goads him. You left him alone, with the present he so thoughtfully picked out for you, going who knows where and doing who knows what. Your kind can't be relied on, not after everything humans have done to him.

You broke his trust, and now he is out for your blood. He is a god that demands sacrifice.

Regardless of his rage, you know he really isn't going to hurt you. Gazing into his furious eyes, you can still discern the lonely little boy buried deep within his psyche. His face is twitching because he's overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. He's mad at you because you made him worry. He's upset because you disappeared; he's scared because he thought he was going to lose you. And you know you that the only way to quell his ire is with the truth.

"Homelander, just… just listen please," you breathe, cautiously planning out your next words as he stares daggers straight through your being. But he does not interrupt, and waits for you to continue.

"Today is our anniversary. This is a momentous event for the both of us," you explain, fiddling with the package tucked into your arm. "I was trying to think of the perfect gift for you, especially when you already have everything. I just… I wanted to get you something special. From the heart… Here."

You lift the box up for him, which he rips from your hands with a scoff. He can't see how a stupid present would somehow make up for what he perceives to be the ultimate betrayal of his trust. However, his irritation at your gesture evaporates the second he lifts the flaps up.

Inside is a small teddy bear, with scruffy and well loved brown fur that smells so intoxicating. It smells like you.

Totally and wholly you.

The box falls unceremoniously from his hands so he can hold onto the plush toy, running his fingers along its pelt. It's so miniscule in his grasp, practically engulfed by his fingers, and yet it feels so much larger. At this moment, it feels like the only thing in the world that matters.

"That was my bear when I was a kid," you detail to him. "I slept with it every night, it meant the world to me. I had to call in some favours to have it taken out of my hometown storage and shipped so fast."

"And now I want you to have it," you smile, walking up to him to place your hand on his thigh. "I know you didn't get to have much of a childhood, so I thought you could share mine."

Whatever anger Homelander was holding onto has completely drained from his body, filling the void with intense sadness. He can't believe he so easily let his reflection turn him against you, when you didn't even do anything. This resentment he felt was for nothing, you were never plotting some nefarious human scheme against him. Instead, you were just at the post office, retrieving your teddy bear for him.

Ever since he's known you, you have always put him first. Nobody has ever treated him with as much care and love as you have.

And now he's blown it.

The tears begin to flow freely down his cheeks as he grapples with his guilt. The constriction in his chest twists a spike deeper into his heart, fearful of what is coming next. You're going to break up with him, he just knows it. You're going to realize he isn't the big tough superhero he claims to be; you'll see him for the insecure child that he really is. Any minute now, the words are coming out of your mouth. It's over, I'm leaving, I hate you, I-

"Hey, hey. It's okay, baby boy, " you say, watching as he spirals deeper into panic. Luckily, your hands pressing into his padded suit are enough to refocus his attention. When his distressed eyes turn down to your face, you spread your arms wide to signal your intentions. "Can you pick me up please?"

With a tense swallow Homelander lifts you up with one arm, holding you close to his chest. Although he does his best to not address you, he can't fight nuzzling into your hands when you start caressing his cheeks. You touch him like he's made of bone china, so delicately, that he can't help pursuing after your affection no matter how upset he feels.

"I am so, so sorry that I lied to you," you console him, wiping away his tears with your thumbs. "I never meant to hurt you. I just wanted this to be a nice surprise, like the flowers you got me."

"S-sorry… s-s-sorry," he whispers timidly as he buries his face into your shoulder in an attempt to hide from his growing shame. However, you don't let him wallow in his irrational worries.

"Sweetpea, you don't have to apologize," you reassure him. "You're entitled to your feelings too, you shouldn't beat yourself up about that."

He doesn't know how to respond to that. During his youth he was never been given any level of autonomy over himself; he was created to serve Vought, so his emotions came second. They always came second, a trivial afterthought to the importance of what he represented to the company. And yet, here you are reminding him of his humanity, of what he had taken from him. You give him encouragement that he is more than just 'The Homelander, leader of The Seven'. Deep down, your words help the isolated little boy see the light shining through his abusive upbringing. He does matter.

"Happy anniversary Homelander," you declare, hugging his big head still snuggled heavily on your shoulder. You comb your fingers through his undercut as you feel him sink further into you. "I know this one might not have gone as well as we hoped, but I know our two month anniversary will be perfect."

"P-promise?" he mutters in a hushed tone, almost as if he's trying to hide his faith in you from his reflection, whom he is concerned might be listening.

"I promise," you assert, giving him a kiss on the top of his head. "From the bottom of my heart, you and I will get through anything as long as we're together."

"T-together…" you hear him mouth weakly to himself. It's a word he's never really thought about before, but hearing it out loud brings a whole new meaning to his life. He's not alone anymore, like he was growing up in the lab. He doesn't have to face his demons all on his own. Now he has you.

And no matter what the world brings, the two of you will always be facing it side by side… together.

[totallycorrectsupes]

Butcher: I forget, but I do NOT forgive. I'm wandering around hating people and not remembering why

[ml080504]

i cannot fix him

i can fuck him tho

[fortheb0ys]

I wanna put cigarettes out on Butcher's thigh as he rides me. Watch burn sizzle red and angry. Muscles flex under burned skin. Numerous burn are slightly hidden by thick black hair.

Watching a man like him taking cock so well was a sight to see. Seeing his cock bouce heavy and hard between his legs, precum dripping from the angry red tip was breathtaking. Low grunts sound from his chest as you put out another cigarette and nail his prostate at the same time.

Part of your wants to bend him over, fuck him till he cries all while decorating the back of his thigh with more burns. You knew he'd never show such a side. He's too prideful to beg like a cunt as he'd put it.

Butcher would complain how his knees ache but that doesn't stop him. He loves the pain. The next morning he wakes up with a new creak in his joints, burns that bleed into the sheets, and his brain feeling like mush.

[gun-lay-tree]

https://denise-390.wznng.icu/p/rumAR3a

[maritamorgado]