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moopiter · 6 days ago

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The Right of the First Night - Part 4 (Homelander x Reader)

Your husband gets called away on a business trip. The Homelander is happy to help out.

I’ve retconned my own series; in this part, the reader is not pregnant. Warnings for smut, unhealthy relationships and bad boundaries, and it’s the Homelander.

New to this strange series of mine? Review the shenanigans below:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3 (pregnancy deviation)

You’re leaning against the bedroom doorway and watching your husband pack. It’s a chaotic process. He can’t decide between seven different dress shirts, and he refuses to bring them all; the Vought conference is only a week long, as he has reminded you more than once. Another debacle was choosing between the blue suitcase he’s had since before you started dating or the massive red suitcase you both used for your honeymoon. He finally chooses the blue. Normally, you would help him pack, or at the very least make a neater pile of his socks. Unfortunately, he had forgotten to tell you about this trip until the night before.

It isn’t entirely his fault. Vought has been working him to the bone this summer; you’re lucky if you see him while the sun is out. Summer for Vought means one superhero movie premiere after another, and it puts the Seven in an even bigger spotlight. It’s your husband’s job to make sure their numbers don’t tank under a load of public controversies while they’re walking down red carpets. The Deep seems particularly intent on giving your husband an aneurysm between his affairs and his abduction of manatees outside of Orlando. Your brain understands that your husband is under a great deal of stress and something was bound to slip through the cracks. The rest of you is hurt that said something was you.

“I don’t have to go.”

You blink at the sound of your husband’s voice, shocked out of your thoughts to find him staring at you. Your frustration must be more obvious on your face than you thought. You shake your head and plaster on a small smile. “Yes, you do. Your team is a mess without you.”

“You’re my priority.” Your husband stands up from where he’s fighting with his suitcase, approaching you slowly - as if a test to see how annoyed you really are. “If you don’t want me to go, I don’t go.”

You sigh, but welcome him with slowly opening arms. He wraps his arms around your waist, his face resting against your neck. His warm breath makes your skin prickle, and you can’t help but hug him back around his shoulders. You sigh, “I’m just going to miss you. I barely see you as it is.”

He hums against your neck and slowly rubs your lower back. “I know…After I come back, things should slow down.” He promises, and you don’t doubt him. The last movie of the season, “A-Train Hits the Road,” premieres next week. The slow of movies means the slow of publicity. With any luck, you can kidnap your husband away to a well-deserved vacation.

You smile and hug him a bit tighter. “I’ll still be lonely.”

He huffs a laugh against your neck. “Well, you can always call your hero if you get too lonely.”

It’s a joke. You know this. It still makes you gently pull away from your husband, your eyes averted to the ground. He realizes his mistake immediately and stutters out your name. “I…sorry. That wasn’t fair.”

“No, it’s…it’s fine,” You murmur, though you’re not sure if it is. At the start of your “affair” with Homelander, the horror of it all was twisted with a perverse excitement that kept you both coming back for more. Lately, you’ve felt that excitement slip into confusion - and worry. Homelander was becoming increasingly obsessed with spending time with you. You were a bit surprised he wasn’t hiding in one of the suitcases sprawled across your bedroom. You felt as though your husband would get some more time off when he was “letting” Homelander fuck his wife. Unfortunately, as much as Homelander genuinely enjoyed your husband’s company, he did nothing to slow down the work. If anything, he got a kick out of watching your husband work himself to an early grave. The captain of the Seven’s name was becoming a bit of a curse in your home - as if even saying it out loud could summon him like a more chiseled Beetlejuice.

Your husband tentatively rests a hand on your bare arm. Bless him, he’s well aware and considerate of how much his stress and your heroic admirer has put on your shoulders. “Honey…” He speaks softly. “If he’s too much, we could always…”

He trails off, and you can’t help but laugh. “We could…what? Change identities and move to the Maldives?”

Joking is the only way to ponder what even the thought of leaving the Homelander could mean for you both. His face flickers a moment, and you don’t dare to decipher the emotion. Instead, he shrugs. “I was thinking Prague, but sure.”

You huff a laugh and hug him again. His shoulders immediately relax. “I’ll be fine,” You assure him. “Just…hurry home, okay?”

He turns to kiss your cheek. “Of course, love.”

~-~

It’s not the first time your husband has left for a conference, but it’s the first time he’s gone since you started fucking the most important symbol of his company. The house feels empty after his early morning ride to the airport, leaving you and the cat to your own devices. You spend most of the day cleaning for a distraction, but there’s only so much house for you to spray and sweep. Your cat is in a perfectly round ball on your lap as you settle for some well-deserved brooding. There is a fresh cup of tea next to you, “Pride and Prejudice” is on, and a candle blows soft lavender around the room.

Then, your phone lights up with a familiar name. You make the mistake of not answering immediately, and receive a follow-up text a moment later. With a sigh, you put your angst on pause to reply.

You hear a whisk on your upstairs balcony - why bother locking it at this point? - and a whoosh of air down the stairs. Then, standing next to the couch with his hands folded behind his back, is Homelander.

“Hey there, grumpy,” He coos as he moves to sit beside you. Your cat emits a quiet hiss. Homelander pauses and arches a brow down at the creature. Your cat has never been fond of the hero, and you’re positive your evident love for the creature is the only thing keeping them alive. Still, Homelander frowns as if once again debating a felicide. “Why do you keep this thing?”

To protect your furry child, you gently place them down on the floor. “Because I love them,” You explain dully as they pitter away to the kitchen.

Homelander scoffs. “All it does is take your food and shit in your house.”

“Everybody shits, Homelander.”

He elects not to answer that. Instead, he surveys your surroundings. He takes in the movie, the tea, the candle, and snorts derisively. “He’s been gone half a day. Less than that. Is all of this necessary?”

Homelander’s incomprehension of love has grown less shocking over time. You shake your head and reach for the blanket behind you. “Just been a long week,” You murmur as you settle the fabric over yourself. Homelander hums in acknowledgement and slowly sits beside you. He keeps his back perfectly straight, his gloved hands sitting too formally in his lap. These moments make you wonder if he is trying to learn from you what it’s like to be fragile. He doesn’t seem to enjoy whatever conclusion he mentally comes to, a crease forming between those perfectly groomed brows.

“Why?” He asks about your troubled week.

You reach for your tea mug to have something to do with your hands. “I’ve barely seen my husband.”

His upper lip twitches. “Feeling pent up, huh?”

You sigh. If Homelander were an ordinary man, you might have rolled your eyes. “Not like that.”

“It’s okay to admit that you have needs.” There’s a familiar gleam in his eyes as he leans closer, his hand finding your knee. The rich leather of his gloves creaks as he squeezes your skin. “And if he still isn’t meeting them, I’m happy to help…”

You barely think about it as you take his hand and plop it back firmly in his lap. “I’m not in the mood.”

A silence descends, and it’s long enough to give you time to process what just happened. You denied Homelander. That has never happened before. Your grumpy mood and perhaps your growing accustomed to his presence gave you courage. He doesn’t immediately respond, and you begin to panic internally. Did you just “not now, honey” a man who can laser an airplane in half? You know Homelander can smell the fear blazing through your body, but he says nothing. He blinks a few times as if recalibrating, but the rest of him is unreadable. He slowly turns to face your television, where Elizabeth Bennet is strolling through the meadows. He watches, or stares at it, for a moment. Finally, he speaks. “What’re we watching?”

It’s your turn to recalibrate. Homelander turns to look at you, and you clear your throat. “Pride…Pride and Prejudice.”

Homelander hums in thought as he looks back at the screen. “Never seen it.”

Your hands unconsciously tighten on your mug. “I don’t think you’ll like it very much.”

“It’s fine,” He says as he grabs your mug from your hand. You startle as he uses his lasers on the liquid, bringing it back up to a warm temperature, and hands it back to you without looking away from the movie. “That’s Keira Knightley.”

You take the mug back as you watch him in growing puzzlement. “Yes?”

He nods. “Hot. Too skinny, though.”

“Jesus Christ, Homelander…”

~-~

Homelander stays. To your surprise, but, shockingly, not to your disappointment, he stays and watches movies with you. He’s very annoying at first, scoffing at the dialogue and tapping his foot impatiently at the music, but you can tell he gets invested. You don’t dare to call him out on it, but he shifts from rolling his eyes at Mr. Darcy to yelling at the screen for him and Elizabeth just to tell each other already.

He stays after the movie. You go up to bed, and he follows. He asks you about your plans for tomorrow and dips under the covers with you, wishing you a good night as he big spoons your puzzled form. You can tell he doesn’t fall asleep. He watches you, and you wonder if he’s waiting for you to question this. You don’t. The stress of the day has worn you out. You text your husband good night, ignoring how Homelander’s arm tightens around your waist, and you fall asleep surprisingly quickly. You don’t know if he follows you to slumber. You do know that his natural warmth and his clean scent should not be nearly as calming to you as they are.

The next few days become a game of house. Homelander leaves sporadically, never bothering to explain when or why; he flies out of your balcony window and returns within a few hours at most. From social media, you know he’s going to various events - many of them including the same conference where your husband is held prisoner. Homelander makes sure to always be there when you wake up and when you fall asleep; that seems to be his favorite part of this whole thing, sharing a bed with you and nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as you slumber.

You haven’t told your husband about Homelander’s presence. You’re not sure why. It’s not as if your husband would be surprised; over the last few months, it’s more of a surprise when Homelander isn’t hovering over your shoulder. Something about this visit, as much as you hate to acknowledge it, is different. Homelander hasn’t suggested or attempted to initiate sex since your initial rejection. He seems perfectly content to follow you around the house and either attempt to help with chores or, more commonly, complain about whatever latest Vought conflict has his cape in a twist. The domesticity is more perverse than any intimacy.

Four days into your cohabitation with the strongest supe alive, you wake to your phone lighting up on your nightstand. Homelander has his chin resting on top of your head, his arms tight around your stomach, one leg settled between yours. He groans at the phone and tightens his grip. “It’s early.” He mutters, though his voice isn’t at all impacted by sleep.

You blearily creak your eyes open and turn your phone screen towards you. Your husband is calling you. You smile and attempt to sit up, but Homelander doesn’t budge. Rather than worry about that battle, you put your phone in speaker mode. “Hey!”

“Hey, honey.” Your husband greets you, but you immediately notice a strain in his voice. “You doing okay?”

“What’s wrong?” You ask gently, and you hear your husband emit a chuckle on the other end; he couldn’t fool you for even a moment. Homelander’s grip on your waist loosens so he can instead brush his fingers up and down along your stomach.

“Vought wants me here for another week,” Your husband explains as Homelander’s fingers dip down your inner thigh. “They barely even gave me a reason.”

You don’t have to think too long about what - or rather, who - is the reason. That reason is dipping his hand dangerously close to between your legs. You shake your head as you grip the phone tighter. “That isn’t fair. Do you…Do you have to stay?”

Your stutter comes from the tips of Homelander’s fingers finding your clit. He presses soundless kisses along the side of your neck as he works you in lazy, almost tired circles. Still, you can feel his smile against your skin, no doubt feeling the way your body heats and your pulse throbs.

“I don’t think I have much of a choice.” Your husband’s voice is slower now, more careful. Does he know? Can he hear the way your line of thinking has gotten distracted by the man nibbling at your collarbone? “I’m really sorry, honey.”

“Oh, come on. It’s not your fault,” You reply, your thighs tightening as Homelander’s fingers have begun to quicken. “It means more time to enjoy the California weather, right? It’s been gloomy all week here.”

“I’d still rather be there with you.”

Homelander suddenly presses two long fingers into you in one slow, wet slide. You can’t help the gasp that leaves your lips. He hums against your neck and leaves a long lick along your goosebumps. You try to recover, but he fingers you slowly and deeply. “I…it’s okay, babe. Another week is nothing.”

“You’re right, we’ll survive,” Your husband says with a sigh torn between playful and too earnest. “I need to go to another meeting, but we’ll talk soon, okay? I love you.”

“I love you too,” You reply as your pussy clenches on Homelander’s fingers, right on the brink of orgasm. “Don’t forget to call later.”

“I won’t,” Your husband replies. “Say hi to Homelander for me.”

“Oh, you’re getting cheeky,” Homelander replies with a laugh, still fingering you as he talks to your husband over the speaker. “Don’t worry, buddy. I’ll keep her pussy nice and warm for you.”

Your husband hangs up right before you orgasm around Homelander’s skilled hand. You whimper, your fingers holding the phone in a death grip. Homelander uses his free hand to put it back on your nightstand before rolling on top of you, fingers still buried in your welcoming cunt. “He missed hearing you come…I’ll need to give him the details later,” He grins down at you maniacally. “But I’ve got something more important to do first.”

~-~

To Homelander, it’s business as usual after that call and the following fuck. You are both playing house until your husband gets home. The only noticeable change is that Homelander’s schedule becomes more regulated. He’s snuggling you when you wake up each morning. He makes sure you’ve had breakfast - the fridge has become remarkably full of milk and cereals since he showed up - before flying off for a few hours. Without fail, he’s back before 5 PM. You’re surprised he hasn’t tried to give you a “honey, I’m home” and leave a hat by the front door. After your husband’s call, Homelander openly discusses the conference. He catches you up on all the hard work your husband is doing while you watch television and eat dinner together. You get the impression that Homelander hasn’t needed to be at the conference for the last few days, but he still goes. He still reports on your husband with a grin too devious to be welcomed.

But Friday still comes, the day your husband is meant to come home. You’re folding laundry in your bedroom while Homelander relaxes back in bed, watching the news. He gives the occasional comment about a stupid politician or an anecdote about how he could have solved a problem better than the other “heroes” did, but for the most part, he just watches you. He has his hands folded on his chest, thumbs slowly twiddling as he observes you - once again, as if you are his best glimpse into normalcy.

Your phone buzzes, and you drop the socks you’ve been folding to look at it. Sure enough, it’s your husband texting you. You grin and speak aloud. “He’s out of the airport.”

Homelander’s thumb fiddling stops, the smile on his lips thinning. “Oh. Goody.”

You notice he makes little effort to move, but you’re too excited to care. You plop the laundry near your pillow. “Okay, I think I’m gonna put the cake on the counter for him.”

“The cake?”

“I ordered it this afternoon,” You explain as you take a few peppy steps towards the bedroom door. “I just gotta-”

In a blur of red, white, and blue, the door slams shut. A gloved hand lies flat against it, and you slowly follow the arm up to look at Homelander. His head is lowered, those brilliant blue eyes staring down at the carpeted floor. He taps his hand once, twice, and then speaks barely above a whisper. “Leave him.”

The words settle like a stone in your stomach. “What?”

Homelander scoffs and then clenches his eyes shut. “I said leave him.”

There is a part of you that knew this would come eventually. Somehow, though you and your husband never dared to speak about it, you both knew. Homelander did not share. At first, this was a game for him. You and your husband were pawns he could manipulate for his pleasure and needs. Somewhere along the line, he grew attached to the pawns. You offered him a glimpse into being conventional, into being wanted - and whether he’d ever admit to the truth of it, he wanted more. He needed more.

You spend a moment thinking of how to put your words, but you know it doesn’t matter much. You swallow and speak, but your voice is a squeaky imitation of your normal tone. “Homelander…I’m not going to do that.”

His eyes stay shut, but his voice is icy. “Why not?”

You resist the urge to flinch back. “Because I love him.”

He’s silent for a moment, then lets out a dark chuckle that sends a long shiver down your spine. “Because you love him,” He mocks. “Don’t do that.”

You frown. “Don’t do what-”

“Don’t…” He holds up one finger, shaking it once at you, before his gaze finally locks on yours. “Don’t act like you love him and you don’t love me.”

Do you love him? You roll the thought over in your nerves and don’t come up with a proper answer. There is something there buried under expectations, under a complicated situation, under threats. It’s not opposite to how you feel about your husband, but there are differences. Right now, you’re too confused to be able to label them. Homelander interrupts your contemplations by sliding his hand off the door and placing it on the side of your neck. “I see it in you. I smell it on you. You can act like the lovesick wife waiting for hubby to return from the war all you want, but I know you.” His hand slowly works its way to gently wrap around your throat. He applies no pressure; he just holds you. “He doesn’t know you like I do.”

You want to deny him. You want to tell him that he knows nothing about you - but his hand is around your throat, and the gentle throb you feel between your legs is undeniable. His nose twitches in detection, and a smirk curls onto his lips. He squeezes your throat ever so gently and leans in. “Oh, yeah. There it is. He doesn’t make you come like I do.”

His lips against yours save you from having to answer. It’s a consuming kiss, different from the usual gentle ones he uses to arouse you. This is a kiss that intends to take you completely. The strength of it makes you stumble backwards. Rather than catch you, he uses the opportunity to push you back onto the bed. You land on it sideways, and you’re still bouncing on the mattress when he’s over you. One hand slides under your shirt to feel up your chest. You weren’t wearing a bra, and he growls as your bare tits meet him. He wastes little time in curling his hand around to take the shirt and rip it in half. His bright eyes dazzle with hunger, and he licks his lower lip. “God, I love your tits,” He growls and dives in, locking his fingers in your hair to hold you right where he wants you. He licks and mouths at each of your breasts with a chaotic hunger that leaves you with little option but to hold on for dear life. Your fingers lock through his hair and hold on with a tightness that would make any other man cry out in pain. He just growls in approval and sucks eagerly at your nipple. You may never know if you love him, but your body certainly does. You’re so distracted by his mouth on your chest that you almost miss his free hand dipping into your shorts. There’s no subtlety in his movements; he immediately dives down to rub the heel of his palm at your clit and let his fingers tease at your entrance. You jolt, but he doesn’t give you what you want. Instead, he pulls off your breast, a line of drool between his eager mouth and your nipple. “Soaked like a fucking slut.”

You push up to try to meet his fingers, but he still doesn’t budge. “Cruel words, Homelander,” You groan, and you hate how playful your words come out.

You feel his grin against your skin as he leaves sloppy kisses along your collarbone. “John,” He whispers, a quiet desperation in the syllable. “Call me John.”

In your haze, you vaguely remember seeing Dawn of the Seven with your husband and some friends at the local theater. Homelander’s origin story was a small part of the film, but they referred to him as John twice. After meeting the Homelander, after this whole affair started, you never bothered to ask him about it. He was Homelander. You knew him as nothing else. Now, he peels to reveal a layer you had never been sure was there. Your hands soften in his hair, and you whisper words that take even you by surprise. “Fuck me, John.”

Your shorts join your shirt in tatters next to your bed. Homelander sinks two fingers into you, stretching you as he clumsily reaches for his pants. It takes him a moment to undo his belt without looking, and he lets out a growl of annoyance. You reach to help, but he bats your hands away with an “I’ve got it” so childish you can’t help but laugh. He silences the giggling with a kiss, but you swear you can feel a smile against his mouth. He’s still kissing you as his cock slides into your welcoming cunt. He groans like he’s been starving for it. To your surprise, he fucks you slowly. The lazy thrusts, fully out and back into you again, still make your body pound. Your hands clench onto the blankets beneath you, but he grunts against your mouth. “No. Touch me.”

You oblige. You cup Homelander’s face, and he pulls away to meet your eyes. Something in your gaze makes him move faster, fucking you with a clear goal in mind - to make you his. You don’t know when you’ve started to moan, but it’s hard to tell when he’s always been just as - if not more - vocal than you. The pleasure simmers on a low heat as if he has no rush at all, drawing things out when he would typically take as quickly as he could.

The front door opens downstairs.

You don’t have time to react before Homelander covers your mouth, stifling the gasp you instinctively make. Downstairs, there’s a thump of a suitcase and your husband’s voice. “Babe? You home?”

Homelander’s hand tightens on your mouth, and his cock swells in your pussy. “Don’t you dare,” He hisses. “You’re mine right now. He can fucking wait.”

Waiting doesn’t seem to really be on his mind, not with the way he’s suddenly fucking you hard enough you’d shoot up the bed if not for his hold on your mouth. He angles his hips up, hitting a spot so deep in you that your eyes roll back. You mumble a warning against his mouth, feeling heat pile on so suddenly you don’t know when you’ll come - but it’s soon. He hears you, and he doesn’t care. He keeps up at that same pace, and you’re barely able to get out a whimper as you come. You squeeze his cock, and his jaw drops open. He stares down at you in damn near awe, fingers still over your mouth as he carries on with that tormenting, brilliant pace. “There we go,” He praises you. “That’s my girl.”

Footsteps come up the stairs, and your husband’s voice calls. “Honey? You didn’t answer my text…”

“What does he give you, huh?” Homelander whispers as he kisses you again, his voice a mumble against your open mouth. “Wasting away at work while you wait for him? You’d never have that with me. I’d give you fucking everything.”

The door opens just as Homelander comes inside you. You’re shaking, staring up at the ceiling in a daze of emotion and pleasure. Your husband stands in the doorway, looking between you and Homelander. Homelander, pants still down and cock still hard inside you, turns and looks up at your husband with a grin. “Hey, buddy. Welcome home.”

#ehehehhe #listen i know i don't really do nsfw- i usually skim those bits in stories but i love this series. written like a masterpeice #homelander x reader #homelander

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