#Homelander

[pippinoftheshire]

The way his voice pitches cracks me up every time lol

THE BOYS (2019– )

[olliveolly]

In my mind, he is a cat person 🐈‍⬛

[hom3landr]

Sated

18 +

Homelander x Reader

After an exhausting romp in bed, you decide to ask Homelander about his enthusiasm towards eating you out.

You flop your head back down on the damp pillow, body heaving and glistening with sweat. You can feel every labored breath viscerally and your whole body pulses like a drumbeat. Your hair is matted and stuck to your forehead. You look a mess. You feel a mess. And it takes a significant effort to muster up the effort to try to push away the man still licking at your twitching and overstimulated cunt.

“Why…” You’re embarrassed that it is more of a wheeze than an actual word. “Why do you like that so much?”

The head between your thighs lifts, chin literally dripping with you. A long time ago, you’d been on a trip to Yellowstone with your family and had encountered a grizzly in the field near the trail. It was fat and sleepy, a bloody carcass cradled between its paws as it lazily ate its fill. The ranger insisted that no one needed to panic despite the relative proximity to the bear. After all, us tourists posed no threat and with a full belly and no cubs to watch, we were safe to remain near this dreadful creature. 

Homelander reminds you of that bear but with slick instead of blood. A rather graphic comparison to make but all of your fantasies about Homelander end up tinged with gore eventually. You can pet the bear and play with the bear. Watch as the bear feasts and rages and roars. You keep him well fed and as long as you do so, you can remain on the trail unharmed.

He licks his lips with a smack and a smirk.

“Are you complaining?” He purrs as he crawls up your body. He kisses the protest from your mouth before you even realize that you’ve opened your mouth to make it. His tongue is insistent, intentionally filling your mouth with the taste of your own pleasure. You wrap your arms around him weakly and cradle him as he indulges. Eventually he separates to let you breathe and you attempt to justify your question.

“It’s just most guys I’ve…” You respond before you’re cut off by another forceful kiss. Homelander does not like when you bring up other men while in his bed, even if your opinions of them are less than complimentary. 

“I thought you’d given up on comparing me to other men a long time ago.” He teases gruffly as he presses hungry kisses against your pulse.

He’s being deliberately obtuse and you wish he’d just answer your question. You know you’d offend him deeply if he ever knew this, but you hadn’t expected him to be a great lover when you first fell into bed with him. You figured he’d feel nice enough but a quick selfish fuck was all you expected. Imagine your surprise at the way he relishes taking you apart. He is selfish in bed but only because he leaves you so fucked out after that any further plans you could have for the day are cancelled.

“Ok on a societal level, it’s not always seen as a manly thing to do. Women give blowjobs but men suffer eating pussy. That kind of thing.” You try to explain in a way that doesn’t remind him that he’s not the only one to have explored your body. You don’t want to sour his good mood. It’s a bit hypocritical on his part, considering he still brings up Maeve. You wonder if this is why she managed to endure him as long as she did.

Homelander hums and pulls away with a heated kiss to the bolt of your jaw. He looks at you quizzically.

“And…? I don’t see what that has to do with me eating you out. You like it. I like it. You don’t have to make it complicated” He responds. His brows are furrowed and he’s quickly losing patience with your questioning when he just wants to enjoy the afterglow.

You huff and prepare to drop it when he speaks again.

“I’ve never really thought about why. You taste delicious and I love the way I can feel you twitch under my tongue when you come. You’re so vulnerable, even more than regular sex. I like that. I like how easy it is to make you feel good. I like the way you act around me when you feel good. You get all soft.” He answers and your body pulses with a new wave of arousal at the way he describes giving you pleasure.

“I’m always soft around you.” You reach up and fluff his hair lightheartedly but his gaze remains piercing. His hand wraps loosely around your throat. He doesn’t squeeze but the weight of him reminds you what he’s capable of. But you’re too lazy to think too hard about it. You don’t think he’s going to try anything now. The bear has been fed.

“No, you’re not, even if you think you are. I can tell when you’re drawing away from me. You get scared.” He squeezes just tight enough to restrict your breath, eyes never leaving yours, before releasing and removing his hand from your neck. “You’re not scared now.” 

He lays down beside you and you tuck yourself tightly against his side. He sighs heavily and wraps an arm around your shoulders as he kisses your forehead. The two of you lay in a peaceful but contemplative silence. Despite his admission, the confession hasn’t seemed to raise any of his defenses. You run your fingers over his whorls of chest hair and he nuzzles against your temple. You do really try not to be scared. You know him well enough that no matter how he might bluster, unless you betray him in some way, you’re likely to remain unscathed. It’s not your fault that it doesn’t stop your lizard brain from kicking in whenever his eyes glow red or his words turn sharp and accusatory. 

“You get soft too.” You admit. “… I don’t mean to get scared of you. It just happens but you don’t have to worry about me. I promise.” 

Things go silent for a while but it’s comfortable. He hasn’t gone all tense the way he normally does when he’s convinced you’re lying to him somehow. You’re glad he trusts you. You wonder if the post-coital glow is dulling some of his paranoia.  One glance up at the mirrored ceiling and your blood fills with warmth with how natural it looks for the two of you to be slotted together like puzzle pieces. Naked on top of the covers, not an inch of skin is hidden from your gaze. 

“You don’t need to worry about me either. I’ll…try to be softer with you.” He replies, words taking an uncertain dip at the end.

You believe him. He’ll try to be soft just like you’ll try not to get scared. But you both know that as much as the two of you try. You can’t fight against nature.

You can only keep feeding the bear.

[homelanderbutbig]

A collection of Homelander GIFs where he does that rapid blinking thing whenever he gets confused or flustered. Genuinely one of my favourite little eccentricities of his, I wonder if he's even aware that he does it. >w>

[snmenji]

femlander says YOU'RE THE REAL HEROES 🦅💫

[axnqel]

ⓘ ULTRAVIOLENCE .ᐟ I will do anything for you, babe.

─ pairing .ᐟ homelander x fem!psychiatrist!reader

─ synopsis & word count .ᐟ being hired by Vought as the psychiatrist for the seven wasn't exactly what you'd envisioned for your career. and captain patria falling in love with you? yeah, that definitely wasn't on the bingo card either. you liked him—God, you liked him more than you'd ever admit—but loving him? loving him felt impossible. it was like trying to hold onto a storm; no matter how hard you tried, it always slipped through your fingers, leaving nothing but chaos in its wake. | 4.0k words.

─ content warning .ᐟ slight ooc homelander, talks of narcissism, obsessive behaviors, homelander tweaking out, lwk stalking...., reader being quite literally the complete opposite of homelander, slight arguing but tbh it's lwk one-sided, angst, hurt/not really comfort, ending can be interpreted differently tbh, takes place somewhere in season one i guess.

─ c speaks .ᐟ tiktoks gone and i had over 100 homelander edits and i was only able to save 21. this is what happens when no one turns on their saves. in mourning fr. (edit: i deleted the app when it got banned. yes i know, biggest mistake because now its back??? like omigod), also try to spot the lana songs i referenced by name !!

Vought Tower was intimidating on your first day, though you’d never admit it out loud. The glass walls, the sterile halls, the feeling that the entire building is watching you—it all felt like stepping inside a gilded cage. You weren’t naive; you knew this job wasn’t going to be easy. You’d read the reports, seen the news, and done your research. The Seven were powerful, untouchable, and deeply dysfunctional.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t done anything similar to this before. You’d worked as a trauma counselor for too long and needed something new. But although this wasn’t that different from your previous job, the paycheck Vought offered you was obscene, and the idea of helping anyone navigate that kind of mess was almost too good a challenge to resist.

Still, the reality of it was a little more… intense.

“Try not to take anything personally,” Ashley Barrett chirped, with her tangy-pitched voice and her heels clicking too quickly down the hallway as you struggled to keep pace. “They can be… uh, strong personalities.”

Well, that’s lovely. You raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond, clutching your notebook tighter. Strong personalities. Sure. That sounded like Vought’s PR-approved way of saying absolute trainwrecks and fucking maniacs.

The first meeting was set in the briefing room, a sleek conference space with a long table that was seemingly just for show. Fortunately for you, this was just an introductory meeting, and you had extra time to prepare for the sessions you would have with the supes later.

You weren’t expecting them to show up all at once—if they even showed up at all. But as you stood near the head of the table, straightening the folder in your hands for what felt like the thousandth time. the door swung open.

And there he was.

Homelander didn't just walk into a room; he commanded it. It was the first thing you truly noticed about him. Perfect posture, perfect suit, perfect smile that somehow felt more threatening than polite. His presence swallowed everything else, leaving no room for anyone else to breathe. And when his sharp blue eyes landed on you, it felt as though the world was closing in on you.

"You're the shrink?" he asked, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Psychiatrist," you corrected, keeping your voice steady.

He chuckled, low and quiet, like he'd already decided this was going to be fun—for him, anyway.

"Welcome." He said, his eyebrows raising as he walked over to the chair at the head of the table.

You stepped a few steps over, but that clearly did nothing as he subtly scooted closer to you.

My, did you need so much strength for this job.

The job was not easy. In case that wasn't already clear. Getting the supes to cooperate was like talking to a wall. You didn't want to coerce them into spilling out every detail of their life, but you weren't expecting them to be so grounded. Maybe your judgement was just clouded from what the media showed you about them.

Luckily, your office was a calm contrast from the chaos exhibited in Vought tower. The decor was intentionally neutral-earthy tones, soft lighting, and a simple desk with your tablet, folder, and notebook resting on top. A pair of comfortable chairs sat across from each other, meant to foster openness. Yet, the calm facade of the room was tested by the personalities that walked through the door.

Maeve was... okay. She was sweet, closed off, and knew exactly when to stop talking. PR training had clearly blinded her.

Black Noir was quiet—obviously but did exchange a couple words through his notepad.

A-Train was clouded and very insecure. However, that didn't change your resentment for his attitude towards you. Goodness.

The Deep pissed. you. off. But you kept a professional demeanor. His misguided attempt to flirt with you and the exaggerated confidence almost made you want to punch a hole in the wall. Ha.

Starlight might've just been your favorite yet. She was sweet and willing to talk, and her soft voice made you feel safe.

However, when the clock struck 6:00, and Homelander walked into your office on the dot, lord, you might as well have fainted.

It wasn't that you liked him or idolized him. You barely knew of him. Of course, you'd heard the name here and there, but to be frank, you never kept up and your family didn't give two shits. But the way he carried himself and spoke to you, it made your heart clench.

He was surprisingly so open to speaking, but the more he opened his mouth, the more narcissistic he seemed. If you could diagnose him with a God complex, you would. He acted like some million-dollar man, though he truly was. It just seemed he wanted to be in charge wherever he went.

"Thank you for taking the time to meet with me. I want to hear about how you're doing and how I can... support you." You kept your expression neutral, though your pulse quickened.

Homelander's smile widened, but there was an edge to it. "Support me? That's cute, but I'm fine. Really. The question is, how are you holding up? First day on the job and all." His tone was so friendly and polite, it confused her.

And it went on like this every session. He would come at 6 P.M. on the dot every Friday and the atmosphere in the room would become so charged. His presence was so magnetic, and his smile was disarming, yet the more he talked, and the more you listened, you started to feel some kind of way. Not anything you could explain, as ironic as that seemed.

And there was no kidding he felt something too. But your feelings were nothing compared to his.

He felt a burning desire for you the minute he walked into that conference room and looked you straight in the eye. He was willing to give himself up for you, and it felt so weird for him. Never in his many years of living did he ever feel this way.

Plus, you were just some ordinary woman. There was nothing special about you to the ordinary eye. You weren't a superhero or an entrepreneur. At the end of the day, you were just a psychiatrist, trying to make it through the day. If that was the case, then why was he so drawn to you?

He didn't understand—no—he couldn't understand.

And as time went on, this desire only grew stronger. Mutually.

Homelander began to fixate on you, quite unhealthily for that matter. It started innocently enough: more frequent eye contact in your sessions, lingering in the doorway of your office, showing up early for your sessions, or even walking you out of the tower at the end of your shift.

Being around you was like a balm for the constant chaos in his mind.

To him, you're unlike anyone he's ever met: calm, kind, and so completely human it fascinates and unnerves him. You were the complete opposite of him, and he never thought he could be attracted to that.

He's always managed to be in a relationship that was, while short-lived, with someone who elicited every ounce of his personality. Someone who was just like him. And maybe that was a good thing, who knows? But it only confused him more.

At first, he tries to justify it. You're his psychiatrist. His shrink. Nothing less, nothing more. You're meant to listen to him, to care about his feelings; he tells himself it's just your job.

However, as time goes on, he starts wanting needing more. He's tired of the patient-doctor dynamic. He begins asking personal questions, sometimes invasive, using his enhanced hearing to eavesdrop on your conversations with others, and justifying it all with the idea that he's "protecting" you. Problem is, he doesn't really know what he's doing. He's just trying to convince himself that his actions are worth being justified.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't notice the shift in his behavior and try to keep the professional boundaries. You remind him, gently but firmly, that the relationship is strictly therapeutic. But it felt like you were telling yourself that rather than the captain himself.

"What's your favorite flavor of ice cream?" Homelander brings up after a moment of comfortable silence between the two of you.

You shifted in the cream-colored plush chair, your eyebrows raised with confusion. "I'm sorry?" You spoke questioningly. The two of you were just speaking about his narcissistic tendencies and now he's asking what your favorite ice cream flavor is? How bad was his attention span?

Homelander smiled, but it had that edge to it. So much so, you couldn't even tell if it was genuine. "What is your favorite ice cream flavor? Come on, you've gotta have one." He tilted his head as he continued to stare at you, his gaze never averting.

The question was simple. Innocuous, even. What's your favorite ice cream flavor?

But somehow, it felt like the world had slowed down the moment he asked it. What?

You blinked, the words tumbling through your heads as if he'd said something infinitely profound. It was the question itself—it was the way he asked it. The casual tilt of his head, the way his lips curved in that perfect, effortless smile, like he wasn't aware of the absolute devastation he left in his wake. His eyes—bluer than any sky or ocean you'd ever seen—were locked on you, so unrelenting it felt like he could see straight through your skin. He could.

Your throat tightened, a mix of awe and panic, as if he'd plucked every coherent though from your mind and left you with nothing but the ridiculous, overwhelming knowledge that this man was impossibly beautiful. Lord.

It was embarrassing! Really. You weren't some love-struck teenager, swooning at the mere sight of him. But God help you, that's exactly what it felt like.

"Uh..." you stammered, your brain working overtime to catch up to the question. You barely managed to form words; your voice softer than you intended. "Mint chocolate chip. I guess."

His smile deepened, and for a split second, you thought he might laugh. Not in a cruel way, no, but in that teasing, playful way that made your chest tighten even more.

"I love mint chocolate chip." He said, and you swore the warmth in his tone was just for you.

And just like that, you were lost.

You walked into your office the next day to find a tiny red cooler on top of your desk, with 4 jars of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

Homelander starts requesting more one-on-one sessions than originally planned. At first, he frames it as a necessity. "You know, it's stressful being me," he says with a tight-lipped smile during one session, leaning back in the chair like he owns the room. "I think I deserve a little extra... support."

You can't exactly argue. After all, this is your job, right? If he wanted extra support, he would get it. Simple as that. But even in those early days, there’s something about the way he watches you that makes your skin prickle—not with fear, not yet, but with the awareness of something unspoken hanging in the air.

It’s manageable, at first. He talks vaguely about the pressure of being perfect, about always having to put a show for the cameras, the crowd, and his fellow teammates. He doesn’t give you much, but to be fair, he doesn’t have to. You’ve worked with people similar to him before, people who hide their vulnerability behind bravado.

What surprises you, though, is how much he seems to want you to understand him.

And he clearly won’t stop until you do. Or until he makes you feel the same way he does.

It’s late—too late for anyone to still be in the building. You’ve been working late, reviewing session notes and preparing for tomorrow’s meeting with The Seven. The fluorescent lights hummed faintly, and the silence of Vought Tower felt heavier than usual.

You were so engrossed in your work that you didn’t notice him at first, not until his reflection suddenly became clear in the glass of your office window.

“Burning the midnight oil?” His voice was smooth, casual, but it startled you all the same.

You turned, clutching your chest. “Homelander—God, you scared me.

He stepped inside, uninvited, and you immediately noticed the difference in his appearance. His cape is slightly askew, his hair less perfect with strands falling into his face, and there’s a tension in his posture that you can’t seem to place.

“I was in the area,” he says, brushing off your concern with a shrug. “Thought I’d check in. See how you’re doing.”

The statement threw you off. “I’m… fine,” you said carefully, unsure of where this was going. “You didn’t need to come all the way up here for that.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s not trouble. You know, I think you’re the only person in this whole damn building who’s honest with me.”

There’s a rawness to his words that takes you off guard, but before you can respond, he’s already moving closer, standing just a little too close. His gaze felt heavier than usual, like he’s searching for something in you—validation, comfort, maybe both.

"You really care about people, don't you?" he asked softly, almost as if he's testing the waters.

You nodded, choosing your words carefully. "I do. It's why I got into this field. I want to help."

He tilts his head, his smile sharpening into something darker, more knowing. "Even people like me?"

The way he said it sent a shiver down your spine. You meet his eyes, trying to keep your voice steady. "Especially people like you, Homelander."

"John." He corrected.

You furrowed your brows. "Sorry?"

"Call me John."

The first kiss didn't come softly—it was a collision.

It happened after one of your most intense and deep sessions. Homelander's mask slipped completely; his usual smirk replaced with a vulnerability so raw it made your chest ache. He's sat across from you, his hands gripping the edge of the chair as if he's afraid he might fall apart.

"I don't know how to stop," he admits, his voice low and trembling. "This... this thing inside of me. It's like... it's eating me alive."

You're not sure what to say. For all your training, for all your professionalism, you're still just a person. A person who feels too much.

"You're not broken, H... John," you whispered, even though you're not sure you believe it.

His eyes snap to yours, and for a moment, there's silence. Then he's standing, closing the distance between you in a single heartbeat.

"Don't say that," he says, his voice sharp but desperate. "Don't lie to me. You don't really understand—no one understands. But you... you're different."

Before you can stop him, his lips crash into yours. It's not gentle—it's needy, almost frantic, like he's trying to our everything he can't say into you. You feel the weight of his emotions in every movement, every shiver of his breath against your skin.

And for a moment, you let him. You kiss him back, your fingers curling into his suit as you let yourself drown in the intensity of it all.

But then reality hits, sharp and cold. You pull away, your breath hitching.

"This... we can't," you stammer, stepping back. "Homelander, this isn't right."

He doesn't respond immediately. His gaze is locked on you, his chest heaving. Then, slowly, a smile curls across his lips—a soft, unsettling thing.

"You felt it too," he says quietly, and there's a glimmer of triumph in his tone.

You shake your head, and the pounding of your heart is like music to his ears. "This can't happen again," you whisper, but even as you say the words, you're not sure you believe them.

You tell yourself it was a mistake. That it was a moment of weakness, nothing more. But it doesn't feel like a mistake. Not when you catch Homelander looking at you during your sessions, his gaze heavy and unrelenting.

"I scare you, don't I?" he asks one day, his tone casual but his eyes anything but.

"You don't scare me," you reply, though your voice wavers.

He leans forward, his expression softening. "I should." He says, almost gently.

There's a part of you that wonders if he's right. If you're being reckless, selfish, delusional. But then there's another part of you—a darker, quieter part—that craves him. That loves him. Even though you know you shouldn't.

And that's the part that keeps you up at night.

You notice it the next morning—the way your mail seems disturbed, the faint smell of his cologne lingering in your hallway. It's subtle at first, easy to dismiss. But it only gets worse.

You find flowers on your doorstep. Your favorite, in fact. There's no note, but you know exactly who they're from.

When you confront him during your next session, he doesn't even try to deny it.

"You don't have to thank me," he says, smiling like it's the most normal thing in the world.

"John, this isn't... appropriate," you say, your voice firm but uncertain.

"Appropriate?" He echoes, his smile fading. "After everything I've done for this country, for this cruel world... you're worried about what's appropriate?"

You don't know how to respond, so you don't. But his words stick with you, planting seeds of guilt and confusion that take root in your mind.

You're sitting in your apartment, nursing a glass of red wine and trying to shake the feeling that you're being watched. The soft hum of the radio fills the space and before you know it, he's there, standing on your balcony like he belongs there.

"You left the curtains open," he says, his tone teasing but his expression serious.

"John," you say, standing quickly. "What are you doing here?"

He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he steps inside, his gaze locking onto yours.

"I can't stop thinking about you," he says, his voice low and raw. "You're all I think about. Every second of every day. And it's driving me insane." He's practically fed up. He could kill you, get it over with and maybe then everything will go away. But somewhere deep inside, he knows that's not the case.

You should tell him to leave. But instead, you let him close the distance between you again.

When he kisses you this time, it's softer, slower, but no less intense. And once again, you let yourself get lost in it.

The kiss ends too soon, leaving you breathless and unsteady on your feet. Homelander—or rather, John, as he’s insisted you call him—steps back just enough to study your face. His expression is unreadable, a mixture of triumph, longing, and something darker, something that makes your pulse race for all the wrong reasons.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he murmurs, his voice almost tender. “I’d never let anything happen to you. No one will ever hurt you while I’m around.”

You can’t stop the chill that runs down your spine at his words. There’s sincerity in them, but also a quiet promise, one that doesn’t leave room for argument. It’s like he’s already decided what your life will look like, as if the idea of you existing without him is unfathomable.

“I’m not afraid,” you lie, stepping back, trying to regain your composure. “But this… this isn’t right, John. You know it isn’t.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, the mask slips. The vulnerability you’ve seen in your sessions flickers, but it’s quickly replaced by something colder, more calculating.

He doesn’t like being told no. You can see it in the way his shoulders tense, in the flicker of irritation that passes through his piercing blue eyes.

“But it feels right,” he counters, taking a step closer. “Doesn’t it? You can’t tell me you don’t feel it too. I know you do.”

You want to argue, to deny it, but the words catch in your throat. Because the truth is, he’s right. You do feel it. That pull, that connection, that overwhelming magnetism that makes it impossible to think straight when he’s around. It’s intoxicating and terrifying all at once, like standing on the edge of a cliff and daring yourself not to look down.

“This isn’t about what feels right,” you say finally, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to keep it steady. “It’s about boundaries, John. About professionalism. And this—whatever this is—it crosses every line.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his expression unreadable. Then he smiles, slow and deliberate, like he knows something you don’t.

“You’re scared,” he says softly, almost sympathetically. “Not of me. Of how you feel about me.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. Because he’s not wrong, and he knows it.

“I think you should leave,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. “This… this isn’t going to happen, John. It can’t.”

His smile falters, and for a split second, you see something raw and dangerous flash across his face. But he doesn’t argue. Instead, he nods, his expression hardening into something more familiar, more controlled.

“Alright,” he says, his voice tight. “I’ll go. But this isn’t over. You know that, don’t you?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. All you can do is watch as he steps back out onto the balcony, his cape billowing behind him like a shadow. He pauses for a moment, turning to look at you one last time.

“Goodnight,” he says, his voice soft but laced with something unspoken. And then he’s gone, disappearing into the night like he was never there.

You collapse onto the couch, your heart pounding in your chest. The room feels impossibly quiet without him, the weight of his presence lingering even after he’s left. You tell yourself it’s over, that he’ll leave you alone, that you can go back to your life and pretend none of this ever happened.

But deep down, you know better.

The following days pass in a blur. You throw yourself into your work, trying to ignore the way your skin prickles every time you pass a reflective surface, the way you can’t shake the feeling that you’re being watched.

The flowers keep arriving, always your favorite, always without a note. And every time you see them, you’re reminded of his words, his touch, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

And then, one night, you find a letter slipped under your door. It’s written in his handwriting, neat and precise, and your hands tremble as you read it.

I’ll wait as long as it takes. You know where to find me.

You fold the letter carefully, placing it in the drawer of your desk. You tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything, that you don’t care, that you’re not waiting for him to come back.

But as you sit there in the quiet of your apartment, staring at the faint glow of the city lights outside your window, you can’t help but wonder what it would mean if you did.

Would it be so wrong to want him? To give in, just once, and see what it feels like to be completely consumed by someone like him? Or would it be the beginning of the end, the moment you lose yourself to something you can never take back?

You don’t have the answers. Maybe you never will. But you can’t deny the tiny, treacherous part of you that whispers: what if? What if it was easier? What if loving him didn't have to be so hard? Would you still do it?

And somewhere out there, in the shadows of the city, he’s waiting.

© axnqel ─ all rights reserved. our work is not to be reposted, translated or plagiarized anywhere.

[bisexualhomelander]

Homelander + environmental storytelling

I really like these shots a lot, and as far as I am aware, he is the only character who gets them. I know I talk a lot about the commodification of this man. But even the show treats him like something non-human. And not like a supe. But like a toy.

He is a toy under glass, kept under the influence of his handlers. Madelyn is trying to distract him from having independent thoughts through carnal means. She tries the same when he figures out that Becca Butcher's husband is on the warpath, trying to distract him by proposing a date night, dangling sex in front of him like a promise.

He is a mentally broken man whose personality is fractured like mirror shards. He is constantly being pulled in so many directions, all his wants and needs at war with each other. He wants to be a father, but being a good father means beating his insecurity and not pushing his son into the hero role he so desperately wants for him. He wants to be a god, but being a god means not having human attachments, and that would mean losing Ryan - and the love of the people, who will only fear him forever after.

He is a wounded god. Larger than life in all his portraits, immortal and perfect. He tried to rip his heart out/had his heart ripped out, but still he bleeds not ichor, but blood. Why does he hurt like a human?

[inna-pooh]

Just a quick kiss before I get swamped with work... again

[snekysonjr]

[mori-ohs]

[tired--fangirl]

I can't wait to see homelander banning an app that criticizes him in the next season

[themeraldee]

you know how antony starr has that sorta dip in the middle of his forehead? homie's s/o kissing him there and telling him it was "made for me to kiss". since he was literally manufactured in a lab to fit a certain "perfect" ideal, i'm a bit obsessed with an s/o making a positive fuss of his physical "imperfections" (not that i really like that phrase but you know what i mean).

this is such an incredible idea!!!!!!!!! I'm obsessed with it. You know what, I'm stealing it and including it in my WIP about body worship. sorry not sorry 😂 (as a payment it'll be dedicated to you)

I am also obsessed with the idea of his manufactured self having "imperfections" (through the corporate media lens at least) that he's struggling to accept. Why does he wear the suit all the time kinda thing you know? Sure it's his identity and it's all he sees himself as but if his body matched exactly what everyone expects him to be he wouldn't be hiding it behind the costume all the time. You know he'd be doing shirtless photoshoot for Men's Health or whatever. (Instead in the show he's fully clothed for their version, Men's Recreation)

I'd also have self-esteem issues if I was paraded around in a padded suit, printed on a cover next to the words "rock hard abs".

So to finally have someone be happy with the way he looks, cherishing it and worshipping it? Well that must just seem like a cruel fantasy right? Because at most he could imagine someone going "oh it's okay that you're not as muscular, nobody is!" but to have an SO who goes "I love you because of the way you are, not in spite of it." would blow his mind.

So yeah all his "imperfections" are getting extra kisses and love.

[orngejunkie]

first drawing in the cmyk book 🙂‍↕️

[viisforvalentine]

Absolutely love the hughlander posts/fics where Homelander is absolutely Losing His Shit with jealousy over something hughie is doing/did, but then when Hughie is like "omg are you okay whats up??" completely clueless Homies just "huh :]"

Vought tower going into a code red due to Homelander smashing things and killing people left and right because he was doing his Routine Checkups (aka stalking) on hughie and saw hughie hearted one of butchers texts. In the middle of crushing some dudes skull like an orange he gets a call from hughie just wondering how his day went and hes just standing in the middle of a bunch of gore and viscera like:

[homelanderbutbig]

Hear me out.

So it's this but reader is on the leash instead.

This is when someone insults Homelander and he has to keep the reader on a leash. A tiny ball of rage who must defend the world's strongest supe. 😂

[thequeenofcurses]

His Weakness

summary: they said he had no weaknesses -- until he met you. homelander x fem!reader fluff wk: 1.7k

They said he had no weaknesses. He is impossibly fast and strong. He can fly, has super-hearing, along with x-ray vision. He is a tall, charming, ocean-eyed, blonde and has the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen. His laugh could change your whole mood, and seeing him stare back into your eyes made your heart melt.

Your relationship was far from conventional. For one, the bitch Stillwell would never approve of you two being publicly out together. Plus, you have this teeny aching feeling in your chest that she may have the hots for him. Secondly, he was right, and you two going public as a couple might indeed put you in danger. Homelander has a lot of enemies, and he doesn’t doubt any of them would try to hurt you to get to him. As he always says, “your safety comes first.”

“But you did it with Maeve!” you would protest.

“No offense, honey, but Maeve is a supe,” he would say. “Besides, our relationship wasn’t real. It was just something Madelyn wanted us to do. It was good press for a while,” he’d chuckle.

You would pout your sadness, but agree that he was right. Queen Maeve was also bulletproof and could snap a man’s neck with one hand. What could you do? Cower in fear or run away, screaming for help? You were only human.

You remember when you first met, never thinking you two would end up where you are now.

The black smoke was clouding the room so fast you could hardly see. Your eyes were burning as you tried to navigate the small area of your bedroom.

The fire was burning everywhere, all around you, with no real escape insight. Screams could barely be heard, as the fire was drowning most sounds out. You prayed internally that the fire department or someone would come to save you guys, but as the seconds went by and the flames grew more abundant, that thought was becoming a fantasy.

You lived on the fifth floor, so crawling out the window wasn’t an option. The flames were beginning to rise even higher. You were starting to run out of options and time. There was no way you couldn’t take the ‘easy way out.’ Especially knowing your sister and her baby still sound like they’re trapped down the hall.

You may not be a supe, but you don’t necessarily need powers to save anyone. You turn toward your bed and wrap your full body in blankets, then face the door.

CRASH!

Suddenly, your window is broken, and all the fire starts to lean towards it as if it also wants freedom.

You were squinting and coughing, trying to breathe through the smoke. You could make out red boots and what seemed to be a red and white cape.

“H-homelander?” you coughed.

“Ma’am. This place is about to blow. I’m going to have to get you to safety.”

“No!” you coughed back at him. “I won’t leave my family.” You gathered your blankets and sprinted towards the door and into the hallway.

Homelander stood agape, amazed a powerless human would reject his help. Quickly regaining control of the situation, Homelander followed you.

You dropped to your knees, crawling, trying to navigate the halls, with only your blanket and your memory of the house to navigate you.

“‘aam, let, ‘elp,” you thought you heard from behind you. Focused, you kept pushing forward. You weren’t leaving here without your family. If they died, then you might as well be dead too.

“Somebody help, please!!!” you could hear your sister crying. “Please, help!! I have a baby with me!” You crawled faster toward the voices, ignoring the burning smoke in your eyes.

You finally arrived at their door. It should be soft enough for me to kick or ram it down, you thought to yourself. You flipped over to your back, making sure your body was still covered and began to kick. “Amy, Sarah, I’m right here! Hold on!” you shouted. “C’mon, come on, come on!” You kicked with all your might. Crack! The door finally gave in. Your sister called out to you, and you got up and carefully crawled to the corner they were in, avoiding the burning pieces of the wooden floor.

“Thank God, you two are okay.” you cried. “Here, take my blanket!” You wrapped them up as best you could.

Before you could react, you are pulled up to your feet. “Look, lady, this place is gonna crash, you need to get–” you shrugged the deviant’s hand away. Homelander's.

“No!” you yelled. You pointed to your right with a cough. “Them first.”

He glanced at them with an ever so slight look of disgust. A woman and a small infant. He quickly smiled at them and said: “alright, everything’s going to be okay.” Homelander made sure the duo was securely in the blanket, then picked them up and began to fly back the way he came.

Homelander was fast but fast enough to save you too? You weren’t so sure.

Crash.

The doorframe from the door you kicked down just fell, blocking your exit and trapping you.

Crackle, crackle.

The ceiling was starting to give in.

“At least they’re safe,” you whispered to yourself. You leaned against the corner they once were in, slid down the wall, and closed your eyes, beginning to accept your fate. Your tears immediately evaporated from the heat of the searing flames.

“Ma’am, you’re stubborn, you know that?” you heard a hard laugh from above.

You looked up to see Homelander flying a few feet above you with his hand reaching out only inches from you. He was acting so calm as if your building wasn’t about to come plummeting down.

You hesitated. Was this not your fate? Your life was boring, and you were just an aspiring book author with no children or significant other. You saved your sister. The pretty one, so she could raise her daughter.

No! Fuck that. You’re a fighter — a survivor. You have millions of stories to tell, this being one of them, and you’re damned sure you won’t be taken out this way.

You reach up and grab his hand. Before you could blink, you were outside safely on the ground near the other survivors.

“Sorry, if you’re a little discombobulated or nauseous,” Homelander apologized. “I had to move extremely fast to get you out of there.”

You shook your head no, searching the area for your sister and niece. He noticed.

“It’s okay; everyone is fine,” he tried to reassure you. Pointing to the medical area, he said: “they’re riiiight over there.”

You coughed and coughed as you ran toward them, not stopping until you embraced them in a hug.

“I’m so glad you two are safe,” you cried.

You made sure the medics had finished treating Amy and Sarah before tending to you. Surprisingly enough, besides a mild case of bronchitis, you were totally fine.

The residents of your building started to head to the nearby shelter. You stayed behind, looking at your once but now blackened home.

You assumed after everyone was safe, The Seven would’ve returned to Vought. You were wrong.

“Y’know, stubbornness can be a big personality flaw.” You didn’t have to turn around to know that voice. Homelander.

You turned to face your savior. “Lucky for me,” you said matter-of-factly. "I don’t care.”

“What you did was stupid,” his tone was more serious now. “You could’ve died back there.”

“They’re the only family I have,” you said. “I had to make sure they were safe.” You shrugged off the fact that you were once again talking back to the tremendous almighty Homelander.

He smirked. “How can a human be so reckless?”

It was rhetorical, but you couldn’t help responding, “when you love someone, you’re willing to do anything for them.''

He made a quizzical face as he was trying to process everything you just said. “Huh, is that so?”

You only nodded. You decided that it was the end of the conversation and turned to leave. You met back up with your sister at the shelter. Women took most of the beds with children. You happily accepted a mat on the floor right by your sister’s bed. Before you drifted off to sleep, you thought that you’d never forget the man who saved your life. Of course, he saves probably hundreds of lives every day, but for some reason, you felt like you two had a moment together. It felt like time had slowed down when he saved you.

Your new apartment had two large white window doors leading to your balcony. You never wanted to lock the window in case he showed up. Besides, if you ever had an intruder, he’d be there within an instant anyways.

Some nights when you didn’t have to work, you would wait on the balcony for him to fly down and kiss you. Sometimes he’d pick you up and take you on nightly flights across the city. You’d occasionally have to remind him he’s going too fast, and he’ll apologize and say he was too caught up in the moment with you.

You still wish you two didn’t have to sneak around at night to be together. One day, you’d say to yourself.

“You know what, fuck it?” he once said at the end of one of your nightly flights.

“Hmmm?” you responded as he made you two land on your balcony.

“Fuck the press, fuck Stillwell, fuck all of it.” You looked at him, confused as to what he was talking about. “I want to take you out on a real date. And not at some abandoned empty place. I want everyone to see you. See us .”

You were speechless. You always wanted this but never imagined it would ever happen. “B-But Stillwell won’t be happy,” you stuttered out.

“I don’t care about her happiness or Vought’s, only yours,” he said.

Once again, you weren’t sure of what to say. You only managed to get out a “Why?”

“Because,” he started. “When you love someone, you’re willing to do anything for them.'' He kissed you with as much passion as the first time.

You were still baffled that this was happening but smiled through it. “The annual Vought party is tomorrow night,” he said. With a kiss and another and another, he told you his goodbye. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”