#Homelander is living his best life
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thanks @deliciouskeys for the translation
#the boys#homelander#billy butcher#william butcher#butchlander#ryan butcher#ryan#Homelander is living his best life#Billy's glass is always half empty
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GRASSLAND ROMANCE
SUMMARY the strongest tribal chieftain sets the stage to claim his most priceless reward
WARNINGS prisoner of war!reader, slave!reader, tribal chief!sylus, first time, fight-to-death-trope, concubine!reader, oral sex, breeding, mentions of lactating, size kink, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of misogyny, bartering, winning her favor trope, loosely based on the new sylus myth card, mdni, 18+
DAWN SAYS it's daddy sylus's time hehehe second one down, 2 more to go !! sylus is my ult bias and I definitely wanted to go for more of a khal drogo x daenaerys vibe when I started this out, so keep an eye out for bit of dark content discussed here... that being said, will be cross-posting this to a03 soon so stay tuned! <3
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ─── ZAYNE ⊱ XAVIER ⊱ RAFAYEL
The grasslands were not kind to those unfamiliar with its ways.
As a little girl, your grandmother would tell you stories of the fearless warriors traversing these bare lands in search of resources to plunder, steal and conquer. It instilled a sense of fear in you; a knowing instinct to never step out of line less you wanted to suffer the consequences of losing everything you loved.
The day you met Sylus was the day your short life came to its meaningless end.
Taken from your homelands to his tribe, you were relegated to cleaning tasks and cooking; trying to keep your head down and eyes off of you less you wanted to suffer fatal repercussions.
Your days living in sweet bliss were over; your childhood and girlhood gone in one fell swoop.
And yet, despite your best efforts to go undetected, you wound up catching the eye of the fearsome chieftain. His calls for you to his yurt could not be ignored.
You fully expected him to take advantage of your vulnerable state, using his position to conquer what remained of your dignity and hope.
But, Sylus proved to be a different man behind his ruthless reputation.
A fan of music and wildland games, he often asked you to keep him company for the day, and when the nights got too cold, you were ushered into his private space, allowed to warm yourself with his brazier.
The scent of moist rose and grapevine trimmings filled the air as you lounged right in Sylus’s arms, enjoying the warmth of his presence and the fire glowing brightly while snow and sleet raged outside of his yurt.
The fearless tribal chieftain was a relaxed man tonight, savoring the presence of his favorite concubine right in his lap. His large hands stroked your hair, fingers running through your locks. The robes he dressed you in were heavy yet comfortable, providing you shelter from the cold; a stark difference from the slave rags you were forced to wear during your earlier encampment.
“What is on your mind, beloved?”
Beloved. Despite what everyone said or thought about you, Sylus saw you in a different light. A tender and cherished one.
You turned your head to gaze at him, a softness you reserved solely for him shining from your eyes.
“I was lost in my thoughts; thinking back to the time when I first got here.”
A dark look flitted across his face, and he fixed you with a prodding look.
“I know what happened was not ideal for you, beloved. But, you are safe now. I will not let anyone in this camp harm you.”
His promise was as good as gold in this world. Sylus was not someone who would mince words or give you false hope. Despite his stature as one of the most fearsome conquerors of this land, he was a man of integrity and word.
And yet… you couldn’t help the sadness eclipsing your features.
The ceremonial choosing of his bride was coming up soon, and from the lines of women prepared for him, you paled in comparison. These women were trained from birth to please him, cook for him, and be the bearer of his children. They were thought in the grassland ways, something you were not familiar with.
The women chosen for him did not stick out like a sore thumb, nor were they foreigners of this land.
Each of them were meticulously handpicked to appeal to his tastes and desires; where you fit in, you had no clue.
It wasn’t as if you were his tribe’s de facto pick. You were sure you weren’t on any of the elder’s lists, your fate relegated to being his concubine for life.
As if he could read your mind, Sylus tilted your face up to look him in the eyes.
“Beloved, you are the only one for me. There is no one else in these lands I would rather spend my days with.”
You wanted to ask him why; what could possess a man like him to love a lowly woman like you?
But, you enjoyed his caresses on your cheeks and jaw; snuggled closer to him as the wind tore through the night, safe and secure right in his arms.
The next morning, you were pulled aside by one of the village elders, Enkh, as he looked you up and down.
“My son needs a new wife after his old one died in childbirth,” scrutinizing you from head to toe, he fixed his beady gaze on you like a dishwasher studying a piece of vermin on a brass plate. “And you will do.”
The idea of being married to Enkh’s son, known as the most ruthless and cruel man in the entire tribe, filled you with unadulterated fear. You had no say in your fate, and spent the entire day wondering how to tell Sylus—the chieftain himself—of your dilemma.
But, you didn’t have to open your mouth and divulge the truth.
Sylus already knew.
He called you out to his tent, where some men who were sparring upped and left the second you arrived. In your hands, you held a pouch, given to you by Enkh’s wife before you left their yurt.
A symbol of choice for a woman about to be married, you were given explicit instructions to hand it to his son after his sparring win tomorrow. It was tradition for the winner to receive a wife as compensation, and from the thunderous look on Sylus’s face, you could tell he was not at all pleased about this latest development.
“They claimed you, just like that? Without my agreement?”
Despite not being his official concubine, everyone in the tribe knew of your position with the chieftain. You were virtually untouchable, and only higher up families like Enkh’s, could make the play for one of his concubine’s hands.
This displeased your lover, who took it as an affront to his rule.
But, he didn’t react the way you expected him to, with violence and malice as the forefront of his actions.
Sylus led you to the heart of his yurt, where thick layers of felt and wool provided insulation from the chill. Dressed in traditional Bökh gear, he was preparing for the ceremonial sparring to begin when he heard word of your impending nuptials to Enkh’s son. He dragged you down to his side, letting you rest on the rugs and pillows surrounding the area before he shared what was on his mind.
“Do you want to marry into that family, Y/N?”
Instinctively, you shook your head. “No, Sylus.”
He nodded, pleased at your swift rebuke. “I am going to be honest with you—the only way we can circumvent both of our fates to marry different people is for me to participate in the fights myself.”
You gasped, wide-eyed at the revelation. “But, it’s unheard of. You are the chieftain!”
Rough fingers touched your face, caressing your cheek with a softness he only showed to you.
“I know, my beloved. But, think about the alternative. I do not want to lose you.”
A grin stole across his handsome features, and he shot back: “If I lost, I’d be stuck here forever—in this limbo of never having you… but then again, could I really lose?”
Unperturbed by his musings, you raised the stakes by straddling his lap, glaring down at him. In this position, he had to hear you out; he had to allow logic to take hold of his wilful mind.
“Sylus, the rules of the game means that you have to steal the gem from your other opponent and then you can stake your claim. Are you sure you want to do this? You cannot back out once the games have started.”
The Grassland Festival, or the most important festivity for Sylus’s tribe that was happening in a few hours, was in tandem with the fighting ring for men to win the hands of their future wives.
His red eyes, which shone like a grassland sunset, appraised your form astride his lap; soft and sure.
“My love, you severely underestimate my devotion to you.”
Turning your fates around, he flipped you back onto the soft pillows and rugs, a look of fond playfulness in those jewel-toned eyes.
“All I have to do is fight, yes? And I have never lost a fight.”
His soft touch tucks a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “You are the prize I must win, my love. I will do everything I can to make sure we stay together.”
Filled with happiness and the surety of his tone, you put your faith in what came next.
Long and nimble fingers snuck to your waist pockets, where he retrieved the pouch given to you by Enkh’s family.
“Hey—!”
You tried to reach back for it, but he held it from you, a smirk playing on his defined lips.
“Is this what you are going to give the boy?”
Warmth splashed across your cheeks as you tried to glare him down.
“Despite what you may think, you do not own every aspect of me, Sylus. I reserve the need to keep some secrets to myself.”
He hummed, clearly not believing you. “And yet, you spoke of the sincerity of our feelings. Isn’t this me being honest, little dove?”
You sputtered, tripping over your refutes, and he rolled his eyes.
“Alright, love. Let me make it simple—”
He lifted you closer to him, letting you fall over his lap. The sudden proximity filled your senses purely with him; igniting sparks of heat across your entire body.
“If someone were to hand the champion a pouch, should he take it?”
He was teasing you, and it was clear he wasn’t planning to let up anytime soon.
You huffed, trying to swipe it again. But, he was nimbler than you, yanking the pouch away from your outstretched hand.
Sighing, you tried to pull him up, grumbling when you barely made him move an inch.
“Have you been training more?” You grumbled, eyeing his broad shoulders; the muscles stretching across his tanned skin.
“Perhaps. Although as much as I have been honing my skills, I do still need someone to look out for me.”
His smirk threatened to affect your entire composure, and you darted your eyes away, flushed and embarrassed at how easily he could get to you.
The faith you had in him to win was astounding; there was a reason why he was known as one of the best warriors in the grasslands.
“You’re the champion,” you grumbled under your breath. “Do you need me to watch your back?”
In response, Sylus’s smile softened around the edges, his red eyes taking on a tender quality.
“Let me paint you a scene, love: I win the challenge, and then I get to be yours. How does that sound?”
Tugging a stray lock of hair which fell loose from your braid, Sylus waited for your answer patiently.
It was useless to try and dispute him. Whatever the strongest wanted, he would get—and he clearly wanted you.
“Alright,” you responded softly, conceding with a smile. “If you win tomorrow, I will hand you my pouch. There is nothing you cannot do.”
Responding to your confidence, he chuckled softly, teasing you more by dragging you closer to him, enjoying your weight pressing onto his body.
“Or, we could do it together.”
He hummed, touching the hollow of your throat with his cool lips. Your eyes fluttered shut, trying to staunch your reckless sounds.
“The second I get that gem, you run up to me, crowning me as your chosen one and I respond back.”
Struggling to control your raging thoughts, you murmured: “Will it work—such boldness?”
To answer your question, he smirked, finding your flustered expression and slight doubt adorable.
“My, my, love. Are you doubting me?”
The world flipped around, and suddenly you were thrown over his shoulder. You gasped, confusion mingling with surprised delight as Sylus manhandled you with practiced ease. He stepped past the plush pillows and rugs, opening the flap of his yurt to bring you out into the mellow morning.
“Wh-what are you doing?” Your sharp inhale spurred on his laugh, his low and rich chuckle making you flush warmly.
“Didn’t you tell me this before, love? Actions speak louder than words.” To your mortification, he was heading right to the middle of the courtyard, where spectators were already gathering to witness the fight.
“Sylus—!”
You smacked his broad shoulders, but he wouldn’t let you down. Sylus already had a plan in mind and you were helpless to stop him.
“Oh, love, relax,” he teased, taking long, purposeful strides towards the other villagers. “I need to show them I already have a lover. And since she won’t let me take her away…” you could plainly picture his cocky smirk. “... I’ll just have to take her myself.”
The rest of the villagers stopped in their tracks when they noticed their chieftain walking towards them, a smaller woman in his arms. Elders dropped what they were doing to whisper under their breaths, their judgemental eyes trained on Sylus’s smug face and the look of mortification on yours.
“Sylus—”
He set you down in the front stand, tossing you a wink for good measure.
Whispers rushed around the arena like wildfire, catching aflame from the look of pure devotion in his eyes; a look reserved just for you.
Enkh’s son, a hulking brute by the name of Altan, shot him a glare—insulted by Sylus’s blatant claim on you.
Motivated by his wrath, the tribal chief turned to the other man, raising a brow.
“Altan, son of Enkh!”
His voice boomed across the field, shocking you out of your mortified stupor.
“You dare claim one of my concubines as your wife? Do you know what that entails?”
The atmosphere in the arena tilted towards a frenzy, the people inadvertently roped in to witness the showdown of the year.
Since ceremonial rites were read and sacrifices were made, the last agenda for today would be the warrior fights. Sylus took his spot in the ring, unafraid. The head monk, a calm man by the name of Bataar, whispered something to Enkh, who glared at you as if this entire ordeal was your fault.
You shrank back in your seat, attempting to hide your scorching cheeks behind your palms.
The fight began, and it was clear from the onset that it would be an unfair one. Sylus, whose expertise and years on the field, easily overpowered Altan, pinning him to the ground. A horn blared, and the winner was declared.
A stirring eagerness and relief moved you from your seat, and you didn’t care for customs or etiquette when you ran across the ring, jumping right into his open arms. Sylus lifted you off your feet with ease, spinning you around, his laughter mingling with yours.
In his palm, he held the priceless gem he stole from Altan’s belt— a symbol of his opponent’s virility. Its capture meant that he had won the other man’s intended bride fair and square. He handed it to you, and right in front of his entire people, you proudly proclaimed your acceptance of his proposal—slipping the jewel right inside of your pouch and handing it to him.
Triumphant, Sylus took your offered gift, tucking it in the lapels of his leather harness with a contented grin.
The tribe elders were helpless to stop their strongest from claiming you, as was the custom of these rituals.
Sylus had no hesitation when he slung you over his shoulder again, a conqueror who had rightfully won his beloved.
He didn’t care if whispers of your status or his incredible defiance towards the elders would reach his ears; all Sylus could think about now was savoring this priceless reward he fought hard to obtain.
Bringing you back to his yurt, Sylus let the flap fall close behind him, a clear signal to the rest of the tribe that he intended to enjoy his winnings in peace.
Your back met the soft pillows and rugs, his broad build blocking out the rafters letting in warm morning sunlight; lost in the depths of his jewel-tone eyes.
They shone like precious rubies, far more valuable to you than any material item in this world.
The feel of your palm stroking his cheek, your fingers playing in his hair, suddenly made his stomach twist into hard knots. They were impossible to unravel, a bowline loop which went on for eternity.
His breathing turned ragged, gaze going soft as he looked at you—really took you in.
The sight of his beloved—his bride—right here in his home, about to be taken and claimed by him, set his nerves ablaze more than any war cry ever could.
Sylus moaned unabashedly when you tangled your fingers in his hair, bold enough away from the prying eyes of others to fall prey to the undeniable attraction you’ve felt for him since the first time you saw each other.
He lets you bring him in for a kiss, your lips sweeter than wildberry dew.
“Sylus…”
The possessive need to claim you flared in him when you called out his name.
Smoldering attraction turned into a wild, untameable blaze, threatening to consume him whole.
Due to his rugged nature, he never had a woman this close to him, her touch a balm to his rough edges.
In your arms, Sylus was more than the fearsome tribal chieftain whose name could strike fear in any man’s heart.
He was wont to your desires, an instrument of your love.
“Please,” you licked your lips, and his eyes followed the gesture with a blatant look of desire. “Kiss me.”
You didn’t have to ask him twice. Sylus captured your lips in a deep and passionate kiss, swallowing your moans whole.
Your tinier fingers in his hair tightened, bringing his body closer onto yours. He fought back a shiver from the force of his desires as his body covered yours completely, trapping you beneath him under his weight.
“My love, you are playing a dangerous game,” he growled, adoring how fragile and small you felt under his hulking mass.
Dragging your hands down the slope of his shoulders, you felt his muscles rippling under your touch; his broad frame and the layers of sinew forming his brawny build leaving you lightheaded.
“Oh, my love. The sight of you underneath me, looking so vulnerable and lovely,” his voice dipped lower, a hoarse edge taking over it. “... it’s driving me wild.”
Shying away from such a bold declaration, you bit your lower lip. “Sylus, will it hurt?”
Sensing you were speaking about the act of copulating, he took your hand, rubbing circles on your palm.
“A little, but it is nothing you cannot handle. Besides, I will be with you through it all—I will not hurt you, my love.”
The idea of a ruthless tribal leader like him, promising some young slave girl that he would be gentle with her, was so far-fetched from your idea of what a conqueror was that you began to relax in his presence.
You trusted Sylus because he has proven time and time again how your comfort and safety were his priorities.
Especially when he was this close to claiming you.
Steady yet hasty hands slowly unraveled the lapels of your thick coat, his breaths tumbling out in silent huffs. Sylus’s large palms were warm—far too warm on your chilly body.
The great chieftain was a silent, nervous wreck when he glanced down at his beloved, watching her with soft eyes and reaching out to her with an even softer touch.
“Sylus… please.”
The cadence of his name on your tongue will never not be the sweetest thing he's heard in his life.
You returned the gesture, removing his leather gauntlets, slowly stripping him off his warrior bravado to reveal the sweet and gentle man underneath.
“Please, what?” He whispered against your throat. Outside, the cool breeze rattled the rafters, but inside his yurt and in his arms, you were warmer than a butterfly in spring.
You seized, back arching when he kissed a tender path from your neck to your bare chest.
The sight of your hardened nipples and smooth curves whipped through him like a frenzy, and Sylus grew impossibly hard at the image of your sweet body, swollen with child.
His child.
The fantasies of your breasts filling up with milk, the slope of your belly gently curving with the promise of his heir…
His thin patience was hanging by a thread.
Sylus shrugged off his sheepskin pants, tossing it to the side of the yurt as he quickly worked on the lapels and hooks of your clothing.
Once your smooth body was bare to him, Sylus’s gaze softened, his tone almost reverent when he said:
“You look beautiful, my beloved.”
You had not imagined your wedding night (or, in this case, morning) to be a tender affair.
Where every brutish belief you once held towards his people melted away with every tender touch of this gentle chieftain.
Sylus propped a pillow under your hips, careful to lean his full weight onto you. Your eyes fluttered shut, a moan seeping past your swollen lips when you felt his tongue glide across your breasts, taking his time to play with and suck on your nipples.
His mouth moved down your body, teasing you with whispery kisses.
Parting your thighs wide, you realized a second too late what he was doing until he slotted himself in between; mouth pressed to your pelvis.
“Sy—”
The protests fizzled out the second you felt his tongue parting through your folds, tasting the effect he had on you.
Low whimpers slipped past your mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair.
Sylus… mhmm… s-stop—
But, he didn't relent. He glanced up at your flushed face, shaking his head.
You can take it, beloved. Can't you? For me?
It wasn't the reluctance that set you back but the shame of such an intimate experience.
You had never experienced a man this close to your sensitive parts; the idea of him in this position itself was too much to bear. You should be worshiping him, not the other way around.
But, Sylus refused to listen to your pleas and moans—hellbent on pleasuring you.
His tongue traced patterns on your clit, drawing out more of your high-pitched whines. There was little doubt whoever passed by the yurts could hear your pleasured sighs.
Sylus couldn't care less.
He wanted the whole tribe to know you were his; that he had chosen you and you had chosen him.
His tongue delved deeper into your core, tasting your excitement. Some of it stained onto his face, his chin drenched with your juices.
Your hips rocked to the rhythm his tongue set, your moans reaching fever pitch.
Good girl. That's it. Show me how much you want it.
Sylus murmured, working you through your cresting pleasure.
It came like a rising high within you, soaring higher than any eagle could as you crashed to the ground, screaming his name.
Sylus tightened his grip on your thighs, doubling down on his efforts. Your mess stained his cheeks, his chin, driving his desire to a burning point.
He worked his way up your body, leaving kisses on every inch of skin his mouth could reach.
Finally reaching your lips, Sylus poured every bit of his devotion for you into this heated kiss, swallowing your moans and letting you taste him on his tongue. Strings of saliva connected your lower lip to his, hanging by a tenuous thread.
The heat of your cheeks would have burned you alive, the tension between your bodies rising to a feverish pitch.
Tenderly, he nudged your thighs to wrap around his defined waist, opening you to be taken by him.
The first stretch was accompanied by his lips on yours, coaxing you to relax and open up to him.
That is it… good girl… taking me so well…
The deeper he sank in, the more loud he was with his praise.
I adore you… you sinful, sweet girl… take me… take me good…
Sylus!
Your cries reverberated across the sheepskin walls. It felt like drowning, your body sinking deeper into the plush woolen pillows.
Oh, oh… oh, right there…
He licked into the heat of your mouth, tracing the ridges of your teeth.
There? Does it hurt? Do I make you ache?
Yes, you responded deliriously. Yes, yes and yes.
It was the kind of pain you could never forget, yet you desired it all the same. A masochistic plea of your body to be devoured and conquered.
Sylus raised himself up on his forearms, the bulging, rock hard muscles rippling with every exertion; his thrusts almost knocking you backwards if it weren't for his tight grip on your hips.
Every collision of his cock against a spot deep inside of you made your toes curl; leading you closer towards your desperate end.
Sylus—can't… close…
It felt like a ball of tension growing bigger and tighter, growing uncontrollably hotter with every thrust, every heated whisper of his praise against your ear.
Sylus nipped your jaw, tracing his tongue against the curve of your lower lip.
His gentle insistence, coupled with his brutal thrusts made your body run hot and cold.
Goosebumps erupted across your skin. You were growing dizzier and hotter.
You gasp—fuck, fuck, this is too much—and he tells you just take it, darling.
Take it for me.
He nipped Your earlobe, pushing deeper against your body.
Does it feel good? Are you close?
Squeezing your eyes closed, you nodded.
Yes, Sylus… almost…
Good, he traced his tongue across the heated Seam of your mouth.
Give it to me, darling. Let go for me.
One request. You gave into him.
“Yes, yes,” you shuddered, digging your heels into his lower back.
Sylus groaned, expressions contorting into painful bliss when your walls contracted around him.
He worked you through them, letting you stab your nails into his broad back.
That's it, darling. Give it to me. Come undone for your husband.
Husband.
Husband.
The word sent an unrestrained quake straight through your soul.
Yet, the reality was far sweeter.
Sylus slumped on top of you, spent after releasing ropes of warmth deep inside your quivering cunt.
Languidly, he rolled you onto his chest, skin pressed to warm skin. You were spent, soaked and still wrapped around him.
The act of consummation was over. You finally belonged to him.
And for the test of his days, Sylus would make sure to show you how much you mean to him; going above and beyond to declare his love.
“I love you,” he slurred into the heat of your throat. “Always have. And from the very beginning.”
You nestled closer into his side, feeling safe in the warmth of his arms, finally allowing yourself to embrace the reality of this powerful man’s infatuation with you.
Amidst the vast and intimidating grasslands, you had ensured your survival as the feared chieftain's wife, with Sylus unwaveringly by your side.
© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost on other websites and claim as your own. do not feed my content to AI.
#🦢 writes#love and deepspace sylus#sylus love and deepspace#sylus x you#sylus x reader#sylus qin#lnds sylus#love and deep space#love and deepspace#lads#mini series: wander in wonder
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Of course I'm upset. I'm sick to death of Christians trying to take our shit and make it theirs, while giving us shit for not abandoning our shit for yours.
It's a Jewish movie, based on a Jewish story. Judaism exists just fine without Christianity, while Christianity can't exist without Judaism.
If you find meaning and fulfillment in a Jewish story it because Judaism preludes your Christianity: good for you. But stop trying to take our shit and make it yours.
Get your own shit.
Need this site to understand that "The Prince of Egypt" is BOTH a Jewish and Christian movie. Let no one rob it from the Jews, but us christians literally owe our faith to the same God who saw to and led the Exodus. The Ten Commandments are still in effect, Jesus did not abolish the law but fulfilled it, and to get to Jesus we needed Moses.
#cultural appreciation#chrisitan appropriation of judaism#jesus fulfilled ZERO jewish prophecies of the messiah anyway#and in the long run he and his followers fucked us over worse than king herod ever did#he was just one of many messianic claimants who didn't live up to the hype#and you and your lot fell for it#and moved the goalposts to say 'it still applies to him' even though it doesn't apply to him in any way#according to you--he ALREADY came back to life once and STILL didn't do any of the things the jewish messiah is supposed to do#“Oh Jesus is God and God is Perfect” except it takes Jesus three attempts to do something the Jewish messiah could do right the first time#Even by New Testament standards jesus didn't fit any of the criteria YOU SET for his messianic claim#“oh he was a direct descendant of king david”#a) you literally can't prove that since there are no geneological records and it was 2 thousand years ago#b) it was HIS STEPDAD Joseph who was supposedly the direct descendant of david--not Mary herself#Christian dogma makes very clear “Jesus was the son of God NOT JOSEPH” so jesus isn't even a direct descendant of king david#The New Testament also starts with the prophecy “your son will become king of the jews” -- except he NEVER BECAME King of the Jews!!#NOT in a legal sense--and not even in a spiritual sense since he failed to win over all of judea during his life and even after death#He was a literal cult leader whose followers grossed out other jews cuz they didn't believe in washing their hands before they ate#he didn't unite all the peoples of the world into one nation#he didn't bring a thousand years of peace following his death#he didn't drive out the romans and restore judea for the jews#Hell--jesus lived 40 years before jews were even driven into diaspora by the romans to begin with#So he didn't even fulfill the most BASIC Jewish messianic function of “restoring jews to the land of israel”#That thing that ancient jews created the 'messiah' concept for to honor the persian emperor cyrus the great#who restored ancient jews to their homeland after we were conquered and exiled by ancient babylonians#cyrus the great showed up#conquered the babylonians#and said to the jews “sure you can go home and worship your own god and run your own shit--just pay your taxes”#literally cyrus the great of ancient persia was more of a messiah to the jews than jesus ever was#y'all just moved the goalposts and changed the criteria of what a messiah is to make it apply to jesus after the fact#because history revisionism and wilful cherry-picking is what christians do best
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Dark! Homelander x Young Single Mother Reader
(Warning: huge Age gap, but Reader is an adult, and very creepy behavior)
You liked to post about your life with your baby daily on the social media until your followers reached three million.
Appearantly, the video where you teach other mothers how to breast feed their babies, showed on Homelander's feed suggestion.
Of course, Homelander being the creep he is saved the video to watch later.
He watched all of your videos in one night to find out more about you.
You are a single beautiful young mother who got married after high-school.
Your husband left when he discovered that you are pregnant, and you decided to raise your baby alone.
This gave the supe an idea, he wants a mother figure for Ryan.
While you want a father figure for your baby... or at least that is what he believes.
But when he approaches you, trying to seduce you with kind manners.
You turn him down poliety.
"Homelander, sir, I think our relationship wouldn't be proper-"
Homelander doesn't give you the chance to continue before he takes you and your daughter with him to his home.
"Ryan, come meet your mother and sister"
John put the rules out for you on how to be the prefect 'housewife'
You obey him, your daughter lives, you disobey him, you could say goodbye to her.
Even when you pleaded with him, but he didn't care because he is a cold hearted monster.
You tried your best for the sake of your daughter yet the situation is hard for you.
Especially when Homelander requested a drink from your breast milk in a glass.
At the moment you come to the conclusion that you are dealing with a man-child.
It disgusted you, and above it, a creepy realization hit you when you were helping Ryan with his homework.
You are closer to Ryan's age then you are to his father's own age.
Things continued to be horrible until Billy Butcher appeared with the offer to save you.
#tw: toxic relationships#reader insert#Yandere the boys#the boys#yandere homelander#homelander x reader#readerinsert
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let me see you stripped down to the bone…
- stripped by depeche mode
congratulations! you’ve been hired as homelander’s entire glam squad! what an opportunity! now let’s try real hard not to let the fumes get to you, okay?
pairing : homelander/afab reader
word count : 5.6k
warnings : homelander in and of himself, toxic workplace environment, something akin to stockholm syndrome, fingering, smut. 18+, mdni
special thanks to @blindmagdalena @sehtoast @homeb0ys and @clockworkzeppelin for letting me scream at you about this!
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Homelander is an asshole.
That doesn’t bother you much. You’ve dealt with plenty in this field, which means you’ve learned how to make life easier for all parties. That particular learning curve includes when to stand out and blend in, at times concurrently depending on what variety of asshole they happen to be.
As a whole, the makeup artists and hairstylists at Vought take care of The Seven and go where they’re needed. And as a cosmetologist, you were hired to provide both services for Homelander and Homelander only, which you consider to be one of the most prestigious stamps one could add to their professional passport.
Before you became official, you were colorfully threatened by a Ms. Ashley Barrett, who, after the fact, had no qualms throwing you into the lion’s den to figure your own shit out.
In no uncertain terms were you told that if you fucked any part of this up, your sparkling resume would look best as something to sit her smooth, bare ass on while getting fucked on top of her desk. No lube or protection. It would then be tossed exactly like her salad.
Not an image you could have ever predicted crossing your mind. Honestly, you should have stopped her right there and walked your happy little ass out of her office toward pastures that might have not been greener (you were being handsomely compensated), but certainly not as toxic. While the red flags were a color you couldn’t quite ignore, you were also curious about why they stood out so much more than they did regarding previous employers.
None of this is to say you live under a rock. Anyone who has access to the internet is ambushed daily by these Supes’ personal lives. Homelander’s track record as far as choice in partners went hadn’t been ideal, so you understand that made him less popular at the time. That of course has nothing to do with you or your capabilities.
You opt to wear gray-colored glasses, seeing everything with a neutral blend of black and white. As much as possible anyway.
Nevertheless, curiosity killed the cat. But hopefully not your career.
The first day was awkward to say the least. Immediately, you knew you weren’t going to like your coworkers.
Glints of sympathy changed how they perceived you. A target, whether they intended for this to happen or not, was nailed to your forehead, and it made them buzz around you like avid, greedy wasps keen on seeing how rapidly the honeybee will be brutalized. You didn’t much care for going cross-eyed while staring at that target whenever you crossed paths. They didn’t know you, yet because of who you were working under, deemed you helpless. They didn’t give you a chance to establish yourself before branding you a victim.
Why should you respect them?
Small talk wasn’t entertained either, as their judgment tarnished any future encounters. They ostracized you once you showed no interest in engaging with them. That didn’t disappoint you. You weren’t here to make friends.
You do wonder how those before you fared: if they were jaded when they arrived or if they couldn’t help but succumb to the pressures of being at the top rung of a very unstable albeit sought after ladder.
Ms. Barrett quickly introduced you to Homelander, her parting gift before leaving the two of you alone.
You weren’t completely nervous in his presence. He wasn’t any different to you than the other celebrities you’d worked on, except he could rip you in half like a piece of paper if he was so inclined. But he’s the hero of this country’s story, so really, you should have nothing to worry about.
His demeanor, you noted, suggested arrogance, annoyance, and boredom. All things you’re used to. So you offered your hand to shake, which he eyed with a slightly upturned nose before grabbing, told him it was a pleasure to meet him and got straight to business.
Looking back, he was clearly expecting more out of you. Maybe not a display as excessive as getting on your knees and professing your undying love, but close enough. Somewhere in the middle, perhaps.
Part of you believes he might have also counted on fear. To you, he’s not anything or anyone unknown. Another big name in a fancy suit with impossible demands.
You were given a routine to follow and products to use. You did as you were instructed and found the process to be simple and, as Homelander’s expression revealed, uninspiring.
While you were utilizing a face brush to apply powder, he must have decided he was done enduring your lack of enthusiasm, because he suddenly asked, “What are you wearing?”
You stopped for a split second, no longer than, and continued. “The name of my clothing designer, you mean?”
He scoffed, waving his gloved hand at you, almost knocking the applicator you held to the ground. “No, your perfume. What are the top notes?”
You laughed and that seemed to confuse him. “Why, you want a bottle?”
“I don’t like it.” He sniffed sharply and cleared his throat. “Smells like you should be on the corner selling your used body parts.”
Ding ding ding. Alarm bells and red flags galore. You enjoy a challenge, however, and are a bit of a masochist, so you persevere.
“Well, what doesn’t smell like a cheap hooker to you? I’ll start wearing that instead.”
He cocked a brow, studying you. Trying to figure out if you were being serious or mocking him.
“It’s your first day.” A warning. “Are you on your best behavior, or can you do better?” He leaned forward in his chair, forcing you backward. “You should be working harder to prove yourself. Prove your worth.” He sat back again and shrugged. “Or maybe you really are worth as much as that dumpster juice you doused yourself in.”
At this point, he more than likely envisioned your happy little ass getting offended and storming out of the room. Breaking down, sobbing. Questioning why he was being so rude. One of those or, better yet, a nifty combination.
You’ve heard worse, unfortunately for him. Not always directed at you, but that doesn’t matter. You can handle it.
“You’re absolutely right,” you stated calmly, folding your arms across your chest. He looked at you with pretentious, petulant intrigue. “It is my first day, and I want to make a good impression. Which is why I’m asking you what you would like me to wear so I can continue to keep that good impression intact and, as our professional relationship develops, stay on top of it.”
Homelander’s mouth twitched. He sighed deeply and slouched in his seat, staring at the wall to the left of him. Then he deigned to cast his gaze back at you, resting his cheek on his index and middle finger. He tapped the arm rest with his other hand.
“Ugh, fine. Whatever.” A pause followed that lasted longer than necessary. Were you meant to guess? “Just wear something, I dunno, less. If you would have done your homework like a good little peon, you’d know I have super senses. Highly developed. Can you even imagine what that entails?”
Finally, he freed the canvas you were nearly finished with, and you flicked the soft bristles across the bridge of his nose. You smiled, more to yourself than him.
Felt rather on the nose, as the saying goes.
He didn’t comment on your grin. You didn’t give him time to. But he did huff like you were being obtuse on purpose.
“I can try. And my imagination is giving me some less-than-ideal scenarios,” you replied. Another pause. At least he was letting you do your job again.
You don’t know what compelled you to keep going, but something about his lack of a real answer made you carry on. “Do you have a favorite flower or baked good? Maybe a spice?”
Homelander almost glared up at you. You say almost because, for whatever reason, it didn’t seem like he was directing that harshness at you, though former words and actions proved otherwise. Something inside, perhaps. Or outside of this enclosed space.
“I already told you what to wear. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
You took the hint and remained quiet the rest of your session. Soon, you were done.
As you were packing and tidying up your station, he took it upon himself to stand behind you. He lingered over your shoulder, watching the scene play out like he was director and star and you were barely an ant on the sidewalk he acknowledged before squashing.
The heat radiating off of him was impossible to dismiss, a wall of it barricading your backside. He clasped his fingers underneath his cape and inched closer. You thought he was as close to you as he could get without touching you. He was that warm.
When you glanced up, he was staring at you through the mirror. As absurd as it was, you managed to get chills. Goosebumps broke the surface of your skin.
“Fresh chocolate chip cookies. Straight out of the oven. Like mom used to make.” He flashed an unnerving smile before turning to exit.
From there on out, even after you bent to his will and found a gourmand scent that matched what he described, Homelander tested you. Your work ethic, clothing choice, eating habits, and most of all, patience.
Your parents would ask how you were liking your job, how it was working alongside the Supes- not to mention the most famous of all- and you’d lie through your teeth. You felt you had no choice, Ashley’s threat ringing in your ears.
Resume, bare ass, tossed salad...
Oh yeah, it’s going great! They’re all super flexible. I couldn’t be happier!
At least that pun made you feel a little better about hiding the shame of what you’ve allowed yourself to take on.
This was all in the first few weeks. It started to get a little easier after that, which is surprising considering more was added to your to-do list.
You should have moved on before starting. But, for whatever asinine reason, you didn’t.
Every time you go back to your apartment and assess your appearance in the bathroom mirror, you wonder who’s making who up here. He’s changing your looks more than you are his. You’re like his human doll.
You’ve put up with a lot over the years, but this takes the cake and shoves it in your face. As fucked as it is, the flavor is growing on you. Like a fungus. Growing, nonetheless.
You can’t stop thinking about him.
It’s innocent enough, you try convincing yourself. Making sure you have the right outfit laid out the night before, the right lunch (no onions or fish or anything “freaky”!), etc. He is your superior, after all. You shouldn’t be viewing him in any other light.
He’s the most frustrating aspect of your existence these days, but he’s also the one you’re around the most. His penchant for workplace gossip and how unintentionally funny he is tends to make him palatable, which has regrettably become an understatement.
Months go by. You’ve witnessed how alone he truly is. How he has nothing outside of performing his tricks on Vought’s all-encompassing stage. And when he begins asking for your input, starts doing things for you that are so blatant it’s perplexing, you find your stress and vexation melting into cumbersome fascination.
It’s embarrassing. You don’t have the courtesy of enough time to dwell on your feelings toward the situation either, from beginning to whatever end you might be met with. You suppose that could be beneficial in the long run.
It also hits you when you least expect it; when you really don’t want it to.
Your body doesn’t wait until you finally have a moment alone. It decides, while you’re helping Homelander with his skincare routine that he insisted upon because you know more than these vacuous corporate douche-bags, to heat up without warning and slither from your head to your heart until it grasps you unfairly between your legs.
You try not to step into momentary paralysis. You understand to what extent his powers reach. It’s not like he doesn’t go on and on about them. About himself.
Whatever he notices, it’s not right away. A palpable tension fills the air between the two of you eventually. But it takes a more significant amount of time than you would have anticipated to permeate the natural flow of things.
Fuck, you can’t even be safe inside here, where your thoughts, whatever they may be, are yours. You can’t even have yourself. He has every part of you, and you are willingly relinquishing that control.
Your evening, once you can have it, consists of combing over every decision you’ve made leading up to this strange, disorienting space you find yourself occupying. All it does is leave you exasperated in a much different way than before and with an unsettling observation (or hallucination):
Was that the tail end of the American flag outside your window?
You are unacceptably late.
Rushing around, you throw on the first top and bottoms you see from your closet and spritz some perfume on your neck and wrists. You don’t check your phone. You’re afraid of what will pop up on your screen. And, frankly, you don’t have the time.
Your only option for transportation is the subway, as you’re sure the special vehicle from Vought is long gone. Why would they wait for someone like you, even if you’re practically Homelander’s personal assistant? One of his only friends. You doubt he has more than Black Noir, and that isn’t as perfect as it appears to the casual viewer.
You dread what kind of explosion you’re without a doubt walking into once you show your miserable ass up. You’re going to smell like everyone on this train. He’s going to go ballistic.
The question remains: why are you continuing to put yourself through this? It’s not your circus, yet somehow, the monkeys have become your liability.
You know, deep down, what keeps you going back. It’s simply too ridiculous to admit aloud.
Making your way past security, hurriedly presenting your badge, you realize you forgot to brush your teeth, or at the very least, gargle some mouthwash. You thank your lucky stars when you open your purse to a pack of gum tucked away in one of the compartments.
It will have to do.
When you open the door to Homelander’s dressing room, you see a couple of employees standing near the counter where the bag of supplies has been opened and rifled through, looking like they might soil themselves, a frantic Ashley, and an extremely pissed off Homelander in the middle of it all.
Reflexively, you cringe. You attempt to wipe any trace from your features, but it’s too late. Ashley is glaring daggers at you and Homelander can hardly bring himself to look in your direction. The others don’t matter to you. They never did.
“I’m so sorry I’m late. I know there’s no excuse-”
“You’re goddamned right, there’s no excuse! I don’t give a shit if god and his whole fucking choir of angels came down from heaven and divinely called you to give them a makeover! What were you thinking?!”
You’re about to answer, though you comprehend her query is more or less rhetorical. She interrupts your slightly open mouth while gesturing wildly, proving your point.
“Oh, that’s right! You weren’t thinking at all, were you?! But I do believe you’ve thought long and hard about what’s at stake here. And you know damn well we at Vought don’t tolerate this kind of sloppy behavior. Not to mention the way you’re dressed! It’s adding insult to injury!” Her hand swipes at the air, the length of your outfit, and you glance down, recognizing how comically mismatched you are. Her correct observation affects you more than it would have months prior, stinging your ego- one of the many things that’s been shelved in order to accommodate the person who won’t even grace you with a glance.
A dramatic groan cuts short any further commentary from the redhead, perpetually stretched thin between her absurd duties.
“Jesus Christ, Ashley, why are your big fucking horse gums still flapping?” Homelander’s booming voice slices through your mind like a jarring, dense migraine. He pinches his brow between middle finger and thumb, eyes closed. “I want you and Tweedledee and Tweedledum t’get the fuck out. Now.”
Ashley is plainly dumbfounded, struggling to see where she went wrong (a pattern when it comes to dealing with the volatile leader of The Seven), mouth agape. She shakes her head. “But sir, are you-?”
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about or doing. Clearly.”
Ms. Barrett turns a shade paler, staring at Homelander and blinking owlishly before snapping herself out of her stupor. She hurries her lackeys out of the room, shooing them along like a pair of misbehaving toddlers. She doesn’t give a final look, no further warning. She merely shuts the door behind her.
You also hear it lock.
What the hell does she think is going to happen?
You should have stopped this while you had the chance. You should have never taken this job. You should have stood up for yourself and walked out. You should have you should have you should-
“Who the fuck do you think you are?”
His caustic tone sends shivers down your spine. It’s unlike anything you’ve heard come out of him. And you’ve heard enough.
Again, you open your mouth. It fills with blood, thick and metallic and more potent than the mint from your gum. You’re silenced by it.
He stalks toward you and grabs you hastily by the shoulders, swiveling you around so you’re face-to-face with the choices you’ve made. Your mirrored image is reflected back at you, exhausted and searching for any last shred of who you might be beneath his heavy palms.
“Look at yourself! Do you even recognize who’s staring back at you?” No.
“What kind of game are you playing, hmmm? Is this… humiliating spectacle you’re putting on for the money? Your pathetic career? Like it’s goddamned rocket science to pick up a can of hairspray and use it. Monkeys have hands.” He makes a noise that’s akin to a snorting horse, exhaling forcefully past his nostrils. “I mean, did you really think you could pull a fast one on me?” He clutches your jaw, squeezing it between middle and thumb. Every muscle in your body tenses, your heart picking up rhythm.
“Spit that fucking gum out. Don’t think I can’t hear you grinding it between your molars like a dumb animal. You aren’t a mama bird, are you? Y’don’t have cute little baby birds t’force-feed your regurgitated leftovers, do you? Eugh, gross.”
You take a deep breath and exhale through your nose. It presents you with a false sense of security. You do as you’re told, and it lands on the floor in front of your shoe, saliva dangling on a thread as withered as your sanity.
Suddenly fresh breath seems like the most insignificant issue, when Homelander himself once made it out to be something earth-shattering.
You’re such a fool.
He leans in and sniffs your throat. Your fingers lengthen and bend.
You’re so many things at once. Confused, angry, nervous, scared. And, to your dismay, warm. God you’re so fucking warm. He’s heating you up from the inside out. You clench your jaw, still held in place by a firm bind.
“Get rid of those ugly clothes. I don’t care what you have to do. I can’t stand the sight or smell of them.”
You shut your eyes. When you open them, all you see is red. The other emotions are smothered in favor of that brand of heat. What happens next is a blur. You temporarily leave yourself.
“Fine. Have it your way, Homelander. You always do.”
Breaking free of his fluctuating hold, you start tearing at what you’re wearing, tossing everything- including your bra and underwear- to the ground. Your shirt winds up with the gum sticking to its loose fabric. You even take your shoes and socks off, not paying any heed to where your belongings go. Just that they’re gone.
You don’t process the glaring fact that you made yourself naked in front of your boss. In front of the most powerful man this country, and possibly world, has known. You don’t care that things have escalated this far. That they shouldn’t have. They shouldn’t have. But guess what? They did. And these are the consequences you both have to deal with.
“You wanna know what game I’m playing?” You turn around, forcing him backward. “It’s funny, I thought you’d be able to answer that for me, considering all the hoops I’ve had to jump through to not only save my ass, but make sure you had someone to talk to at the end of the day! Who on your team can you say goes above and beyond like that for you?!” He blinks at you now, eyes wide. Features fall to the floor where your clothes reside. You have his full and undivided attention.
An impressively dangerous thing to have.
“What more do you want from me, Homelander? I practically live with you without any of the benefits that usually includes! You’re really going to stand here and berate me like I haven’t given you fucking everything you’ve ever asked me for? Because I made one mistake? I gave up my entire world, which I know doesn’t mean shit to you. But it does to me.”
You fold your arms over your chest. Nothing covers it. You have to know before you lose all dignity. So you ask once more, hoping it won’t get lost in this bizarre mess.
“What do you want from me?”
Nothing. He can’t stop staring at you. You aren’t aware enough to be ashamed, but you are aware enough to be upset.
His infuriating silence compels you to bend down and gather what was a barrier between the two of you. You are no longer needed if he can’t do what he does best, which is spout off, leaking bottled words everywhere like a broken faucet. It’s a pretty simple question, you think.
That’s when the glass behind you shatters.
You flinch, pause what you’re doing and slowly stand. Cautious in whatever your next approach will be.
Surveying the aftermath, you’re relieved to find that you’re far enough away from the mirror so no injuries were inflicted.
When you finally lock eyes with the source, you see red. The atmosphere surrounding you heaves like the distended belly of a rotting corpse; hisses like an overflowing tea kettle; pierces you like lightning.
Homelander’s expression is rigid. His jaw quivers. Irises are a bright, shining scarlet. If you try anything rash, you might be next. But, having been around him for so long, you’re more inclined to believe he’s having trouble processing his own emotions. And that might have been one of the only ways to release them.
You drop the top and pants you managed to reclaim. Your brain hasn’t fully recovered from the constant devastating hit it’s taken, so you don’t want to put a name to what’s pushing you forward. You don’t stop until you’re directly in his line of vision.
Swallowing, you carefully extend your hand. The ruby color begins to crumble and give way to the vast ocean you might have drowned in one too many times. You lost track, blocking what you could out. Too real and intimate to accept for a realm that thrives off of inauthenticity and misfortune.
Homelander inhales harshly and you retreat, pupils hooking themselves to his. Searching for any sign you shouldn’t be right where you are.
Of course there are several; unfortunately, you are currently blind to them. Blind to everything but him.
That’s how it’s been for awhile, hasn’t it?
He has a habit of not granting you the luxury of time.
Quickly, he snatches your wrist and brings your palm flat against his cheek. He exhales, eyelids fluttering, nuzzling into you.
It’s so simple, yet it disarms you in ways you aren’t accustomed to.
Homelander basks in this chaste display of affection, and so do you, in awe of how enraptured he appears. Soaking you inside of his pores.
In turn, your cognizance reappears. You nearly topple over, realization infiltrating every part of you.
You’re not wearing a stitch.
A knock at the door startles you both. You glance over in that general direction and hear from the other side, “You’re on in fifteen, Homelander, sir!”
Gazing back up at him, you witness that same fire expand at a rapid rate. You use your other hand to bring him back down to reality, to ground him. It rests against his chest, delving into and cracking his ribs, flaying him open.
What strikes you is how vigorously his heart is beating. How you can feel it through his uniform.
This is how much you affect him. (Can you fathom that you’re only privy to a fraction?) Having evidence of the tiniest reciprocation drains you of any unwanted discomfort.
His fury subsides. You breathe out. He does, too.
“Go sit in your chair. I came here to do my job, after all.” The tenderness with which you speak seems to ease him further, his shoulders deflating with each word.
That aside, you’re playing with a lit match. You’re unsure who’s going to set who ablaze, but you’re willing to go down with this entire building to find out.
He does as he’s told, watching you the whole way like a mutilated mixture of a snarling cornered animal and a man fervently in love. He almost trips into his seat, not an ounce of grace in his gait.
Sacrificing his entire image just to get a glimpse of you.
Whipping his cape to the side, he sinks into the cushion. You get things ready as you typically do, your movements a bit jittery from the adrenaline sending haphazard jolts to your limbs. Despite this, you’re focused. You are more focused than you remember ever being.
You work efficiently, keeping in mind the limit that’s been put on your time.
Homelander bores holes through you. He doesn’t need lasers for that. You’re exposed and vulnerable and he pries what he fostered apart until it’s distinguishable by no one else but him.
You relearn his perfectly manufactured features. Different lights shape shadows you either haven’t seen before or feigned ignorance of. You commit to memory how he looks, smells, feels, the side of your hand grazing his cheek and hanging on.
He’s invigorating, your excitement building to a crescendo you can’t neglect. The heat in your core disperses, most of it congregating low in your belly and behind your expanding rib cage. His pupils drink you in, urgently and violently.
Your arousal is heady. He licks his lips. A hint of a whine caresses your ears and it makes you dizzy.
How could you have ever denied yourself?
You decide to take further control, testing the waters to a greater extent.
It’s your turn to watch him the whole way down. You straddle him, easing yourself atop his taut thighs.
After a few moments of humoring yourself, of pretending to concentrate on your work, dusting his nose with powder, you straighten. Eye contact has not been severed.
You motion toward his hands, balled into tense, repressed fists at his sides.
“Take off your gloves.”
Initially, it feels like maybe you said the wrong thing, or said it the wrong way. He doesn’t budge. You’re patient, however, so you wait like you’ve always done, the warmth from your cunt mingling with the hardness beneath you. Your mouth waters.
At last, Homelander nods and removes his gloves, tugging on the index of each. He places them on the armrests and transfixes himself to you once more.
“Do you want to touch me?” you ask, voice and body staying impossibly still in spite of your nerves.
Immediately, he shakes his head, “Yes,” the first time he’s spoken since your outburst, and without hesitation, reaches for your chest. You close your eyes, falling into his snooping lifts and tugs and squeezes, giving yourself permission to become possessed by the inhibited imaginations of how selfish, how rapacious his touches might be. How smooth his bare hands are, how ardent each digit is.
Leaning into you, he sucks one nipple into his mouth and palms the other, moaning and vibrating against your flesh. He digs his fingers into the pliant softness of your hip, steadying you with disciplined pressure. You squirm, attuned to every minuscule shift.
The lit match is tilted toward you now, swift and stunning. Your fingers release the brush you’ve been holding. It aligns with the slit of the cushion, forgotten and purposeless.
You wrap your digits around the hand on your curves and guide him toward your throbbing center. He doesn’t fight you. Doesn’t stop your movements. Doesn’t scold or challenge you. Instead, he curls his fingers in a way that makes you unabashedly moan, cupping your folds and pinning his thumb to your clit, adapting to your anatomy.
Your wants.
It seems like breaking away from you is a daunting task, but he does for a moment, brow furrowed, more engrossed and invested than you’ve ever witnessed.
“Fuck.” The curse sounds downright edible, your new favorite flavor. Your name tumbles from his lips like he’s been practicing, a sweet, rich icing on top. You gasp, his tongue adhering to you again, swirling around your peak before lightly biting it.
Rocking your hips back and forth, side-to-side, you grind hard into his palm. He strokes you like he’s studied what pace you prefer, how much friction you crave. You’re so wet, even you’re thrown off by it.
Once he’s finished with your chest, he’s back against the seat, unable to peel his gaze from you. Your full, swollen, glistening breasts.
His mouth hangs open, obscene, desperate whimpers slipping from it. Pupils are like whirlpools that drive you under. Drive you mad.
Homelander adeptly slips two, three digits inside your sopping cunt, unrelenting in his intentions to make up for lost time. The voracity of his actions propels you forward, balancing against his chest. He grasps and pulls at your other hip, groaning loudly in your ear, confirming his approval of how close you are to him.
It’s still not enough.
Pulling you even tighter to his blinding sun of a body, he encloses his free arm around you and desperately bucks his waist. “I want… I want… I want…” he chants. Your nails drag up his neck and along his scalp, overwhelmed by his warmth, his scent, him. Your lips ghost the sliver of skin above his collar, making him growl.
You anticipate and dread and yearn for what’s been building for so long. You clench and release, clench and release, clench and release, body chanting with him.
You’re intuitively thankful for the chair’s sturdiness; however, if it would have collapsed, you’re honestly not sure you would have noticed. Or cared.
You hear him come first. Feel the temperature rise temporarily. It’s so sudden and all-consuming that you naturally follow, his name an instinct you can’t help but divulge. You haven’t come down from the turbulent emotions rushing through you earlier, and that combination catapults you over the edge.
Your orgasm draws more deliberate, vehement grunts and sighs of satisfaction from him, as if your pleasure is inexplicably the same or worth more than his.
You can’t crumple into a boneless heap like you want to. You just can’t. You have to look at him. Look at his bliss; the glazed, barren-yet-so-full-of-you expression, of what these months of working in close quarters have done to him.
What you uncover is not what you were picturing. There’s a mixture of that haze with something almost apologetic below the teeming surface. Clouds of red to skies of blue. Destructive in and of themselves.
Sliding his fingers from your wetness, he wraps his lips around each one that was inside of you and spreads them apart. Your slick sticks to his glossy skin and stretches between digits, a generous amount. You whimper at the loss- the emptying, hollow feeling- and watch, mesmerized and delirious as he savors you.
Swallowing you whole, Homelander sweeps his knuckles across the apple of your cheek and presses his lips hard against yours. He wastes no time inhaling your gasps and moans, licking your mouth and the faint taste of mint, stealing it from you. You ingest what you can of him as well, exploring what was open to you longer than you realized.
He then seizes your wrists. It’s a rough gesture that evaporates into gentle circles along your pulse points. Still, you know you’re going to bruise where he turned the key and locked you into place: wherever he is.
A visible sheen coats his lips.
“I want you to tell me I’m good. Great. The best.”
His breathing is labored. So is yours.
He kisses the inside of the wrist smeared with perfume, your fluids, his saliva; ends with your hand and rests his cheek against the slope of it.
“I want you to be mine. All mine. Mine alone.”
You’re shaking. He moves forward and pets your hair, twirls it; grabs your nape and holds his thumb to the front of your throat. Securing you. Keeping you there.
“You have to stay. Be mine and stay.”
You thrum with an ache he forced upon you. He’ll claim you were starving and he was the only one who could satiate.
You nod. You were never going to leave to begin with.
Homelander made you his. And you thanked him for it.
#homelander#homelander x reader#the boys#antony starr#my writing#let me see you stripped down to the bone#oneshot#god it feels so good getting this out#i’ve been going through a painful writer’s block so 🥹#thank you everyone who helped and anyone who reads#this is my first full-fledged homelander fic so i’m a bit nervous but! very excited 🖤#love you all 🥰
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Homelander x SupeTeen!Reader
Idk ya'll Homie has really been getting on my nerves recently. I wasn't exactly sure where I was going with this one at first, but I LOVE the way it turned out. It was a doozy but it was SO FUN to write! This isn’t proof read just yet so please don’t yell at me💀
Summary: You meet your biological father for the first time at Vought Tower after your adoptive mother's unexpected passing...he's not exactly what you expected.
Word Count: 1.8k
Warnings: Homelander (Obviously), death of a parental figure, mentions of death, manipulation tactics, awkward parental conversations???
Being a Supe had never been easy for you, though, luckily you had never been forced to live in a lab. Soon after you were born, one of the Vought scientists had taken you in as her own, -due to the fact that your biological mother had died during childbirth- directly going against Vought's policies. She was found out eventually, to no one's surprise...but this breach in policy gave headway to a new experiment. So, she was allowed to keep you and raise you as her own. You were raised as any other child would be, but you were treated with extra caution...and being the only Supe in school wasn't exactly a cake walk. But the worst thing you had experienced was a little bullying, but your doting, caring, adoptive mother put an end to that rather quickly by talking with the school board. The first 15 years of your life were...tolerable, if not ideal. It was supposed to stay that way...until your mother was found dead at her place of work.
It had only been two weeks since your mother died. In those two weeks, you had been relocated and told, verbatim, that your father was one of the most iconic Supes in the world...Homelander. Now? You were sitting in The Seven's meeting room at Vought Tower, anxiously toying with the handle of the swivel chair you were sitting in. Part of you was still just...numb. Everything you had ever known had been ripped away from you seemingly overnight. Any other child would be over the moon...but you? You were just...detached. You were pulled out of the endless depths of your own thoughts when a voice echoed off the walls of the room.
"Hey there, kiddo!"
You looked up from your anxious fiddling, and were met with the blindingly white smile of your biological father. You did your best to give a convincing smile back, sitting up a bit straighter in your seat. His presence wasn't exactly the most comforting. He tilted his head to the side a bit when you didn't respond.
"You're Y/N...Right? Hopefully we didn't get the wrong kid...that would be awkward, wouldn't it?" Homelander asked with a laugh. He sort of stopped in the center of the room, looking you up and down, like he was trying to evaluate you...to decide your worth. You nod sheepishly.
"Yeah...yeah. That's me." It honestly didn't help that you were the age that you were...it made it more awkward somehow. Homelander didn't say anything for a moment, almost like he was waiting for you to say something else. When you didn't, he sort of chuckled.
"You're not very talkative, are you?" He asked. You had opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off. "I guess that's understandable. Meeting your old man for the first time is no small feat..." He paused for a moment as he evaluated your expression. "I'm sorry to hear about your mom...tough stuff there, kiddo." You took a breath when he mentioned your mother. It was all so fresh...and there were so many things you had recently learned that she had never told you. You didn't even know she wasn't your biological mother until after she died.
"Mmm...Don't be sorry...not your fault."
Oh, the unknown irony of that statement.
Homelander let out a small scoff and frowned. Admittedly, the frown looked incredibly fake...almost like he was mocking you.
"Still...I can't imagine what you must be feeling. I mean, to find out that she was keeping so much from you...after she died...? That must pack an even worse punch." You sort of stiffened in your seat. You weren't exactly stupid...you could read his tone. He was hiding his insults towards your mother with a cruel, mock sympathy.
"She only did it to protect me...I know she did. She wasn't a bad mom, she was amazing, actually." You respond, almost matter-of-factly, your eyes glowing red ever so slightly. "I know raising a Supe couldn't have been easy for her...she had her reasons." It was incredibly hard to talk about your mother in any way, considering she had only died two weeks ago. Homelander sensed your tone, and put his hands up as he noticed the flicker of light in your eyes. It suddenly became clear to him that you couldn't control your powers, which almost made him smirk.
"Hey now, of course she was...Absolutely no hard feelings towards your mom...But I know I would have never kept things from you like that. And registering you at a public school, knowing you're a Supe? That's just...cruel." You were going to continue defending your mother...until he mentioned school. That was something you couldn't exactly convince yourself was a great move on your mom's part.
"School was...a different story. It was rough." You said, pulling your legs up onto the swivel chair so you could hold your knees to your chest. Homelander nodded as he took a few steps closer to you, his hands now at rest behind his back.
"So I've heard...I spoke to your therapist." That comment turned your stomach a bit. Wasn't everything you spoke about with your therapist supposed to be confidential? Homelander noticed the slight change in your expression. "Don't worry, Y/N...I didn't dig into any of the gritty teenager things..." He chuckled, "I was just curious to learn about your school situation. You're a sophomore now, right?"
"Yeah...I will be. In the fall." You said quietly. Homelander smiled, where he now stood beside your chair at the point of the uniquely shaped table.
"Well that's fun, isn't it?" He asked as he pulled out one of the other swivel chairs and pulled it towards him. "One more year and then you're one of the big dogs." You nodded, watching his movements as he sat down, facing you. Everything about him just seemed so...strange. Even the way he moved. It looked almost calculated...and was mildly unsettling.
"I guess..." You said quietly. You sighed as you rested your chin on your knees, grabbing onto the table to reluctantly turn your chair to face his...it was only polite.
"You don't seem too thrilled..." He started, his blue eyes meeting the identical set that you possessed, "Was school really that bad?" That was more of a rhetorical question on his part, he knew everything about you.
"The teasing sucks...They call me 'Laser Eyes'..." Homelander stifled a laugh when you said that, to which you narrowed your eyes.
"I'm sorry...I'm sorry!" He said with a chuckle, "That is the stupidest insult I've ever heard!" Homelander took a moment to stop laughing before he looked back to you. "Look. I'm not laughing at you, kiddo. I would never. But Laser Eyes...? Really? They couldn't come up with anything more original? I mean...Even I'd be hesitant to insult you considering you could just laser them in half." He said. His smile was almost manic looking.
"What?" You asked, almost dumbfounded. "I would never...I could never." You said. You pulled your chin off your knees, your eyes still narrowed.
"Why couldn't you? You're a Supe...aren't you? I mean...mommy swooping in and bribing administration to take disciplinary action against those little shit stains isn't exactly making you out to be the strongest person..." You almost immediately sat up correctly in your chair.
"She bribed the administration...?" You ask softly. Homelander gave a mock frown as he noticed your eyes become glossy.
"You didn't know? Gosh...How much was she keeping from you?" You swallowed as he spoke and tried your best not to cry. The last person you wanted to look pathetic in front of was Homelander...Especially considering his earlier comment about it not being a good look that your mom always had to swoop in and save you. "Awe..." He started, scooting his chair closer to yours. "Don't cry kiddo...It's not your fault that you're so lost...It's hers." Your eyes met his once again, a tear slipping down your cheek, which you quickly reached up to wipe away.
"Lost?" You ask. Homelander nodded.
"Well, most Supes your age, with your abilities usually already have a professional presence...Or at least know how to use their powers correctly." He said, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly. "I mean, had I raised you? Had you not been wrongfully stolen from me after you were born? You'd already have a place in the Supe community, followers...maybe even a contract with Vought. You wouldn't just be floating in your own little bubble...You'd have a group. A family." Something in you broke when he spoke. Your mother had stolen you from your biological father? And had he raised you, you wouldn't be so...you? So lonely and misplaced? You couldn't help the tears that slid down your cheeks. It was as if your entire life had been flipped upsidedown.
"She...S-she really kept all that from me?" You asked. Homelander tutted softly, almost pitying you. He stood up and held out his arms.
"Come here, kiddo..." He said softly, with a tone of empty sympathy. You almost immediately stood up and buried your head in his chest. At this point....What else did you have? Who else did you have? He chuckled softly as he wrapped his arms around you, his hug firm, considering he was so much larger than you...yet comforting, despite the strange material of his suit.
'It's alright, Y/N...You're right where you need to be. We'll get you up and running with those powers of yours in no time..." He said softly, resting his chin on top of your blonde hair. He caught the reflection of the two of you in the large window that lit the room and his grip tightened, almost possessively. "You're not alone anymore...got it? You've got your dad to keep you company..." You nodded against his chest, sniffling.
"Got it." You responded softly, hugging him a bit tighter. Maybe this wasn't so bad. Maybe Homelander, no, your father was what was best for you. How could you have been living in the dark for so long without realizing it...? You were truly lost. But everything was okay now. You were finally safe, in your fathers embrace.
Homelander smiled wickedly at his own reflection in the window before he rested his cheek on your head. Finally...he had you. His own child that he had been trying to get his bloody hands on for years...Losing another Vought scientist was a necessary sacrifice in the bigger picture of his perfect narrative...and it all started right here. With you. His child. He smiled as he pulled away from the hug, his hands gently squeezing your shoulders.
"How does a milkshake sound, huh? I know Planet Vought has a double chocolate one that's yummers." You smiled and nodded as he moved his thumb to wipe the tears from your cheeks.
"I love chocolate." You said with a small laugh. Homelander chuckled as he turned you towards the door of the meeting room and started walking, his firm hand on your shoulder urging you forward.
"I know."
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I hope ya’ll enjoyed! I left it open for more parts so totally let me know if you’d be interested in reading more. Writing for Homes is always a questionable adventure 💀 Until next time, Adieu!
#homelander x reader#homelander#the boys#the boys fanfic#the boys fanfiction#billy butcher#vought#the boys season 4#the boys fandom#homelander x male reader#homelander x fem!reader#writer
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The Boys Preference: Lashing Out And Regretting It
Requested: heyya! love how you write the boys characters you got them so well just like how they are on the show. if its okay and if its a good idea, may i request an imagine with the boys and homelander and their reaction after they and reader got into an argument, getting to the point where they told reader some hurtful things and told reader to leave because they dont need reader or reader is nothing to them/is useless. they just say this because they’re angry but reader takes their word to heart and did just as they said. now they cant find reader or finding it hard to locate reader. could be platonic or familial. thank you! - anon
A/N: Screaming I love this!!! I live for the angst!!! I'm so sorry I've been so slow with requests my loves! I hope you can understand! Feedback is always appreciated! 💜💜💜
Requests are open! 🔮
Butcher embarrassed you in front of everyone. Yelling and screaming, calling you useless, all because Samer got away. You were a little too occupied with Kimiko and Frenchie to realize, opting to save your friend than chase after him. Both Kimiko and Frenchie were eager to come to your aid, but he shut them down. He got in your face and he humiliated you, said the team was better off without you. You left without a word, ignoring your friends who begged you to stay. You left your phone behind, knowing they'd call and text, apologizing for him. You were good at your job, the best even. You and Butcher have worked together a long time. This was your first mistake in a long time and he couldn't let it go. You were done. You packed a bag and disappeared. When they realized they couldn't reach you, they split up, looking at your apartment and usual hang outs. No one had seen you. Suddenly Butcher can feel his heart in his stomach. Regret spread through his chest. Everyone was pissed at him, but no one was angrier at him. He never should have done what he did. Now you were gone. Who knows when you'd show up again?
Hughie regrets it immediately. He said what he said because he was angry, and stupid, and awful. You left the night of the Tek Knight party. You were a Supe, a powerful one, but for whatever reasons, your abilities weren't what they used to be. You argued with him, saying he shouldn't go in alone. It came out before he realized, before he could take it back. Right now, he was more powerful than you were. What right did you have telling him what to do when you couldn't do your single job? The look on your face, the horror and hurt, it made him sick to his stomach. He tried to apologize, to explain, but you were done. You threw your hands up, wishing Hughie and the rest a safe mission, but you were done. M.M. assured him it was better to go through with it than run after you, so he did, but the whole time he's thinking about you. He doesn't find you at the office or apartment. You disappeared. They tried to track you, find you, but they hit wall after wall. You'd show up again, they all told him, you just needed time. He'd never felt so guilty in his life.
Annie didn't think you were trying hard enough. It didn't seem like you cared anymore. Not about the team, or taking down Homelander. You seemed like you were just going through the motions. She meant to just talk with you, but things escalated pretty quickly. As soon as she said the words, she knew she was in the wrong. You were becoming a liability to everyone involved. If you were done, burned out, then just say that. Leave. But if you wanted to be a part of this team, if you really cared, you'd stop being so useless. Truth was, you were tired. You were tired of everything. There was no name calling or fighting back. You didn't have it in you. You got up and you walked out, pushing past Butcher and the rest who were just walking in. Annie goes to follow you, but you just pick up your pace. She calls and texts, but you never answer. Everyone says to give you your space, but she can't let it go. She shows up at your place which is completely empty. It fills her with so much shame. She apologizes profusely, asking you to come back, but she never gets a response.
M.M. is reactive and angry and he knows what he's done is wrong immediately after. He's been in charge of this team and so far all you've been is negative. You've lost your faith in the team. He understands, he gets it, but for the sake of everyone involved, he needs you to look on the bright side. If there isn't one, he needs you to make one. He ends up blowing up at you while you're waiting for Hughie as Webweaver. You tell him, Annie, and Kimiko that you have a bad feeling about this, a terrible feeling, but it was too late to do anything. Hughie was already inside. He knows now is not the time nor place, but he loses it. If you can't have faith in the mission, in your teammates, then you shouldn't be here at all. Your attitude problems only hurt morality and it was worse than useless, it was dangerous. Annie and Kimiko try to de-escalate the situation, but you've made up your mind: you're done. You leave without a second thought, wishing them a safe mission. Because they're all occupied, no one can really do anything about it. After his panic attack, Marvin sees just how right you were, but when he calls it goes right to voicemail. When it seems like you disappeared, he does everything he can to track you down. You don't want to be found, though.
Frenchie fights with you after Samer gets away. It was the three of you that were in charge of him and you let him get away. You didn't have any fight left in you. It was your fault. He must've been working on the cuffs for weeks. You trusted him and you let Kimiko get hurt. You know that's the reason he's so upset: because he had to cut off her leg to save her. She could have died. You know what she means to him. And yet, he goes a little overboard. Everyone thinks so, yelling at him to stop when he's gone too far. You were useless. You let Samer get away, you let Kimiko get hurt, you failed at every single job you were given. He can see the look of hurt on your face and finally stops, the room left in a heavy silence. You grab your coat and you leave. There was no use in fighting with him, he was right. Annie and Hughie called after you, pleading with you to stay, but you waved them off, storming out. When they don't hear from you, they all start to worry. You sent a single text to Frenchie before turning off your phone. Tell Kimiko I'm sorry. Feeling guilty, he goes to your place. You're not there though, and neither are your immediate belongings: wallet, keys, phone, some clothes. He has to do something to fix this, to make things okay.
Kimiko is really hurt you turned yourself in alongside Frenchie. The guilt was eating you alive, all the things you've ever done. It was horrible. It was unforgivable. When you come back alongside Butcher, who insists you and Frenchie can replicate the virus, you can't stand to look at her. She wants to talk with you, to ask you why, and eventually, when you get a little alone time, she does. Of course she would understand, your upbringings were cruel, brutal, and it lead you down this road, but you couldn't move on. You couldn't forgive yourself. Kimiko was pissed. Did you really think it was that easy? Did you really think you were the only one eaten alive by guilt and shame and self-hatred? She was signing at you furiously, as close to yelling as she could get. You were so smart, so intelligent, and yet you were wasting your talents wanting to rot away in prison! If you were going to throw your talents away and hurt the team and hurt her and become a useless nobody, then what was stopping you? Certainly not her, not any of your friends. You don't have it in you to fight back. You don't have anything left in you, not anymore. She tries to get your attention when you leave, but you don't look back. When none of them hear from you, Kimiko begs The Boys to do everything they can to find you. Please, she has to make things right.
Bonus! Homelander cuts people out of life left and right. Still, you never thought he would turn on you. And yet, when you don't know who the snitch is, when you're not closer to pinpointing the culprit, he loses it. His eyes even heat up, though he catches himself, calming himself down. Firecracker interrupts his yelling, foolishly, but in the end it saves you from hearing anymore about how pathetic, useless, stupid you are. That you don't deserve to be a part of The Seven, you don't deserve to be a Supe at all. He goes off with her, believing it was Webweaver all along. You don't know how much time you have, but you know, in order to avoid his wrath, you have to leave right away. Get some space between you so that he can cool off, if he ever does. You took it as a pretty clear way of saying that you were out, you lost his trust. You weren't a friend anymore, you weren't anything anymore. Firecracker had saved the day. Again. When he comes back, covered in blood and no closer to finding the narc than he was before, he goes looking for you. He searches the entire city, but you've disappeared completely. Vanished.
#preference#headcanon#billy butcher#billy butcher x reader#hughie campbell#hughie campbell x reader#annie january#annie january x reader#mm#mm x reader#marvin milk#marvin milk x reader#frenchie#frenchie x reader#kimiko miyashiro#kimiko miyashiro x reader#homelander#homelander x reader#the boys#the boys x reader
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Our wedding
Y/N and Lando probably went a little too overboard when planning their wedding. She finally looses it when his friend suggests a product placement bucket hat.
A dream wedding.
Distant palazzo, with acres of private lands to roam around at night. Lavish dress, designed to fit perfectly and re-done three times. Coordinators, who made sure everyone who needed to be invited actually was. And also took care about almost anything one can imagine.
A perfect wedding, that's what they both wanted. Go big or go home. Combining romance, with generously giving everyone they loved, or deemed important, the time of their life. To say that this event was supposed to be extra would be an understatement.
Lando said yes to all of Y/N's wished regarding flower arrangements, menu items and rooming lists. She said yes to all of this ideas about the music, sound systems set up in each part of the venue (because heaven would turn upside down if there had been one quiet spot with no music, according to Lando) and drinks choices. They could not agree on the photographer - so Lando just booked his, and hers option as well. Saving money was not on the table. He knew that the amount of good PR and brand deals the Quadrant team managed to get together was going to pay out in the long run. Everyone loves a wedding.
That's where the first issues started - the amount of people invited grew into higher hundreds. She voiced her point few times, but Lando quickly shut those off with a promise to book a private charter for all friends and family who were coming from her homeland. She caved in and agreed to just few more CEO's she'd never met, as long as they did not share their table.
It was the final two months before the wedding and things could not be more hectic. They had to plan the wedding around Lando's race schedule, so summer break between races it was. Y/N had to juggle her job with all of this planning, so she attended less races than she usually would. Most of the calls she shared with Lando were wedding related and it seemed like his best friend Max took it upon himself to speak on behalf of Lando - so sometimes it felt like she was marrying Max rather than her fiancé. After a total break down she had few days ago, which resulted in her crying on the phone to Lando at 4 am his local time, they agreed she absolutely had to come over to the next race so that they could find some down time.
//
Having to endure a tiring overnight flight, she finally stepped into the hotel where Lando was staying at. Exhausted, jet-lagged and generally in a bad mood were the main ingredients in the perfect cocktail of "you should just avoid me" Y/N. She finally opened the door to his room and let out a groan. Traveling to see him used to be her favorite thing. A bombastic cherry on top was that she immediately recognized Max's voice coming from the living room. Was this guy staying in the same room as them now?
"Y/N, is that you?" she heard, desperately hoping he hadn't heard her enter in. She felt like a bitch for wishing that, but he was the last person she wanted to see at that point. Her hopes of jumping in the bed and cuddling Lando the first thing coming here dissolved like cotton candy, leaving tooth aches behind.
"Yes, Max, it's me," she said, not even bothering adjusting her tone to something more socially appropriate.
"Great, just on time. Can you come in here? We have some decisions that are becoming pressing matters," he said dryly and added his own frustrated comment quietly "...since someone does not feel like answering emails." She heard that, bit her lip and swallowed all her comments, otherwise she would explode.
"What's up?" she asked, entering the living space. There were dozens of baseball caps and buckets hats laid down on the coffee table with Max and some random young guy towering over them.
"We need you to pick out one of these which you'll be wearing after the reception. I have a great brand deal on the table which I need to close today. So, go ahead - pick one." She could not believe the words coming out of Max's mouth. Was he for real?
"May I ask when did I agree to wearing a baseball cap with my dress right after my wedding?"
Max glanced at her and then rolled his eyes. "Can you just pick one? Lando is on board with this, he'll be wearing this green one," he pointed to objectively very nice stylish item of clothing - but still, it was a bucket hat. Rage levels shot up in Y/N blood steam.
"Max, I'm suppose to be wearing my wedding dress until the evening, that's also in some deal you guys made," she proclaimed, hoping this would finally make him get some sense. "The dress is very classical, I don't think this would fit the vibe."
"Oh, come, we agreed to sticking to the Quadrant Athletes color palette and all of these check that. We want to break the classical vibe up with this."
"I'm sorry, who exactly is we in this scenario? And who the fuck are you?!" she pointed at the guy standing next to Max.
"I'm...I'm the product placement controller," he said in a shy voice.
Her eyes just went wide at that point.
"Y/N, no need to freak out again, you need to create a viral moment to make the brand grow," Max said, as if he was talking about a new merch launch.
And that was the final straw. "I'm getting sick of you guys making my wedding into a Quadrant PR stunt. You need to realize this is my wedding, not yours! The whole event is already dripping with brand deals and promotions, is there nothing out of line to you? Will my mom also have to wear one of these hats? Will force the officiant to wear sneakers? Where will you stop?"
Max stared at her, his own cup finally also full. But unlike her, he spoke calmly - again, giving strong business vibes. "Oh, I'm sorry - I'm sorry I am pulling heaven and Earth to make sure your wedding does not ruin your future husband! I apologize that I seem to be more stressed about this wedding than you are. Sorry for caring and trying to uphold some standard."
"Max, this is all too much! I feel like I'm suffocating," she tried to reason with him once more.
He just had enough at that point. So many little moments of mutual disagreement finally grew on him.
"Yeah, well maybe you're just not suited for this world."
Before she could even take a breath to respond, a familiar voice cut them both off.
"Guys, that's enough I'd say," Lando said as he slowly stepped out the same corridor Y/N had entered moments ago. Both Max and Y/N turned around, knowing they'd have spoken way differently had they known he was there as well.
Max gulped, knowing he stepped over a line and immediately started to apologize. "Mate, I'm sorry, we just sort of lost it. I'm sorry."
Lando glanced at him, his face suddenly hard to read for both his friend and his fiancée. He quickly flashed Y/N a look, seeing the obvious distress finally on his own, in a way the camera on a phone just does not capture. It pained him to see them two fighting, but it pained him more to see her on the verge of crying.
She couldn't find words to apologize to Max. In fact she could barely even see him, as Lando took all of her attention.
"Can you guys leave us for now? I think we need to talk alone," Lando said in a tone so serious that Max hardly remembered last time he'd heard it.
"Yeah, mate. Of course," he said shyly, gesturing to his companion to quickly exit with him.
Once the door finally clicked, Y/N felt like she could get out of her frozen state.
"My god. Lando, I knew it would be a challenge these few months, but I did not expect to grow so far away from you," she said, as the words flew out of her mouth without her being able to control it.
He was more careful with his words, but brave nevertheless. "It's true. I don't think we've even been so distant."
Him acknowledging it just made it real and hurt more.
"Right. At least we have that in common."
There was an awkward silence, something these two hadn't experienced in months.
"Why is Max involved so much?" she asked, hoping that she would not hear anything that would make her biggest fear come true - Lando's lack of desire to marry her.
He took a moment to get his point in the right order. "He's my best friend. This is our wedding. I can't stop focusing on racing, but I want it to be perfect. I'd say not giving him any credit sometimes."
Of course, he was defending him. She wondered if he defended her in front of Max sometimes.
All card on the table. She gulped before uttering the next sentence. "I'm scared that I don't want to go to my own wedding anymore. I feel like an unwanted guest."
They shared a look full of hidden pain. It was impossible to tell, but Lando was scared as never before. "What are you saying...Do you want to call it of??"
She looked back at him, praying that he would understand. "God no, that's the last thing I want to do," she sighed and put her head in her hands. How did it got to a place where he could even assume that? "Marrying you, the love of my life, is my dream. In fact, I'd just like to jump to the moment where I can finally say yes to you."
The air still felt really heavy. "Then let's do just that."
"What do you mean?"
Lando took few steps closer to her, missing her close proximity for the past few weeks. He desperately needed to fix them. "Let's book a wedding for next week in Monaco, just you me and any other people required by the law."
The idea of that seemed silly at first. But the more she thought about it, the more she craved that idea. "So, you want to call the actual wedding off?"
Lando chuckled at the image of them cancelling that at last minute and all the hustle that would bring. "No, silly, not unless you really want to. But who says we can't have a fake ceremony there, celebrate with everyone, while already being married at that point? We don't need to tell anyone, keep the magic for them. We can have two weddings."
It was her time to laugh now. "So because we find organizing one wedding hard, we're going to be doing two now?"
"We are anything but conventional. And if this is news for you then, well...That would mean I'm marrying the queen of delulu. Twice."
The weight of the past weeks was lifted.
"Does this mean I can say "No." at the big wedding?" she teased him, closing the distance between them and holding his hand.
"Not if I'll say "No." first," he winked and quickly gave her a kiss on the cheek.
"I'm not wearing a bucket hat. Just stating that now."
"Oh come, at least one of our weddings," he said as he ruffled her hair. "Wow, I think you need a post airport shower, my love."
"Do not try and change the topic - no bucket hats!" she mumbles as she tried to fix her hair.
"Fine, I'll just get you drunk. You'll wear a bucket hat at one of our weddings one way or another."
It felt so good to just banter with him, like they always did before they got caught up in all the stress. A shot of guilt went through her system, as she flashed back at the whole process so far.
"I should probably apologize to Max," she uttered, avoiding his eye contact once again.
He finally hugged her. "Yeah probably. But...let him rot in his feelings for a moment. I hate when someone makes you upset. Apart from me, of course."
"What makes me upset right now is the alarming amount clothes you're wearing."
"That's my girl!"
//
They got legally married the following weekend, Lando bribing anyone he could in order for them to skip few spots that were unavailable. The first wedding was secret and full of inappropriate, but honest kisses. The second one was fake, but they slayed it together, as newly married couple. Without the stress of actually getting married, they really enjoyed their wedding. The little secret stayed with them - and Max of course, because he just had to get involved with everything.
#lando norris#lando norris x reader#lando norris x you#lando norris fanfic#ln4 imagine#formula 1#formula one x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#fluff#lando norris fluff#formula 1 fluff#formula 1 fanfic#ln4 x reader#ln4 x y/n#lando norris x y/n#formula 1 one shot#f1 one shot
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Playing Pretend (Homelander x Reader)
Summary: Homelander’s secret identity is an ill-fated experiment in normalcy for a man who had grown up with anything but. He manages to keep his story straight until he runs into you in the hallway of your building one night, assuming the blood on his face and clothes are his and not the low-level criminals he’d just taken care of. While you’re playing nurse, Homelander’s playing John, but he’s not sure how much longer he can keep up the facade around you.
Note: Gender-neutral reader, and no descriptors are used. So Casual!Lander got me thinking about secret identity!Homelander again. Do not interact if you're under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.
Word count: 1.2k
Warnings: Hurt/comfort. Some emotional manipulation, but this is on the fluffier side of things I've written.
Homelander hadn’t expected the blood on his civilian clothes to be much of a problem. It was late, he reported the incident to Vought and would be up a few points when the story hit the news in the morning. Typically, he returned to the Tower when something like this happened, but instead, he was drawn to the apartment he’d been set up with as part of his undercover identity.
A secret identity was exciting at first, a brand new challenge for him. Except he didn’t entirely get it. Wasn’t the point of everything he’d been through so that he could be Homelander? The best of the best, America’s savior? Not some guy named John living in a crappy apartment downtown. But Edgar wanted it, and so it was done.
The apartment itself didn’t feel like home. The pictures on the wall, knick-knacks on the bookshelves, they weren’t his. But the man he was pretending to be had a dizzying backstory that he found difficult to keep track of at first, and then irrationally jealous of once he got the hang of spitting out anecdotes about family barbecues and youth basketball leagues. Stuff everyone else got except for him, apparently, because they were always met with mind-numbingly boring stories of other people’s mirrored experiences that he had to “Oh?” and “Wow!” through like he actually cared.
“John!” You called out from down the hall as he approached, laundry basket in your arms.
He smiled. A real one. At least in all of this, he met you.
“Hey neighbor!” he greeted cheerfully, as if it were bright and early and not nearly midnight.
“What are you—” Your face twisted as he approached. Your heart thumped almost deafeningly. “Oh my god, what happened?”
“What?”
“John, you’re bleeding. Let me take you to the emergency room.”
“That’s not necessary. I–I don’t like doctors,” he said, the statement not feeling as much like a lie as he thought. “Most of it isn’t even mine.”
“I have a first aid kit in my bathroom. At least let me clean you up a little?”
“Alright,” he reluctantly agreed.
You practically kicked open the door to your place, throwing your laundry basket aside and making a beeline for the bathroom like his life depended on it. If he were anyone else, it probably would have. He caught his warped reflection in your stainless steel refrigerator and cringed a bit. It did look pretty bad.
He inexplicably tensed upon seeing you return with the first aid kit, your brows knit together in worry.
“Sit, please,” you urged as you laid out the contents of the kit on your kitchen table. “Oh John, what happened?”
“You know me, I always gotta get the story,” he said, his cover as a crime reporter not having failed him yet.
Your eyes watered as you looked at him. “One of these days you’re gonna get yourself killed.”
“What I’m doing helps people. It saves lives. That’s worth it to me.”
You picked up a cotton ball soaked in peroxide. “Let me know if it hurts, okay?”
He hesitated. That kind of thing had never been up to him. It either hurt or it didn’t, and if it didn’t hurt, they’d find out how to make it so it did.
“Okay,” he said, tense as your hand approached his face.
Even thinking about the doctors he grew up with made an ugly pit settle heavy in his stomach. But you weren’t a doctor. You were you, and it was cute how you played nurse. Tended to his wounds like they were real, like the blood was his. Did you notice how quickly they disappeared beneath your cotton-padded touch, leaving no trace of cut or bruise behind?
“It looks a lot worse than it is, don’t worry,” you assured him.
“That’s good.”
He had plenty of practice sitting patiently while being poked and prodded, but never with the unnecessary care you used.
He wanted to tell you. But then it’d defeat the purpose of a secret identity. Besides, just outright telling you wouldn’t be the grand, romantic gesture he pictured.
Late at night. You. Alone in the city for god knows what reason even though you know better. He’s told you enough that you should know better. It wouldn’t matter. Because he’d be there. The Homelander swooping in to save you from some thug on the street. It’d be then that you’d see him for who he really was, who he was made to be instead of the pitiful facade you were presently tending to. So taken by the act, by him, your hero, you’d melt in his arms and let him take you away from the hovel of an apartment building you two shared and into bliss.
A shiver ran down his spine at the thought.
“I’m sorry,” you cooed, dabbing just above his eyebrow with a cotton ball. “I’m almost done.”
Sorry? Oh. You thought you hurt him. “I told you, I can take it.”
“I still feel bad,” you said. “Did you go to the police?”
“No, you know I usually don’t bother with that. Interferes with my own investigations,” he said.
You pursed your lips. You didn’t quite believe him, or were at least frustrated with his lack of personal safety. Worrying you wasn’t something he wanted to be in the habit of, but you poured out attention and care for him in such a way he could feel himself itching for more. It’d been like that since he first met you, the only kind and welcoming person in the damn building. Perhaps that was why he kept up with his secret identity for so much longer than he wanted to, his attachment to you, to this fake life he led with you in it.
But he could just as easily make a new one, a better one for the both of you once you knew the truth.
“You made out alright, John,” you said, glancing over his face. “Really well, actually. It doesn’t even look like anything happened.”
“I’m tougher than I look,” he joked, hoping to dissipate some of your suspicion.
He heard you swallow roughly.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
You reached out, caressing his cheek. “I just worry about you, that’s all.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I can’t help it.”
Silence fell between the two of you for a few moments, and you began to pull your hand away from his face until he caught your wrist and spoke your name softly.
“I have something to tell you.”
“What is it?” you asked.
He hesitated a moment. I’m The Homelander. Instead, he pulled you closer, his gaze falling to your lips before kissing you.
You kissed him back softly, with an otherwise foreign tenderness that made him especially conscious of how he held you. His physical control was better, almost perfect. No more accidental bone breaking or spine snapping. He wouldn’t be The Homelander if he couldn’t control himself.
But it was hard, with how deeply he felt for you, how much his emotions threatened to overtake years of practice and conditioning to manage his sheer strength. The Homelander didn’t have any weaknesses—save for seeing through zinc—but he was certain none of the scientists who poked and prodded him for years on end would have ever bet on you.
#homelander x reader#the boys x reader#homelander#homelander the boys#the boys#the boys amazon#the boys tv#homelander imagine
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Chapter 2: What A Great Freakin’ Way To Start The Day
Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV
Summary: When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you never expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you’re around him the more you hate him, but you can’t help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team. (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)
Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Protective Ben/ Soldier Boy,
Word Count: 5.2K
Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), swearing, mentions of sex, sexual innuendo, sexual tension. Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.
Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!
Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.
Series Masterlist
Main Masterlist
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The morning begins the same way it always does, with your neighbor Mike blasting "I Will Always Love You" in his apartment at exactly 8 am just as he had each day since you met two years ago. It was the only constant in your life, but at least you didn't have to use an alarm clock anymore. The sound of Mike belting out the lyrics at the top of his lungs was enough to wake everyone in the whole building, including the people on the eighth floor, five stories above him.
But because Mike bought the super’s probably illegally made cologne and because the super was dating Mike’s mother, something that made you regret supe hearing very much, it never stopped despite the numerous complaints.
Then again it was Annie's favorite thing about sleeping over, she liked to scream the lyrics back at the wall and jump on your bed like a crazy banshee. Honestly you hoped that it would stop after Ben had pretended to be your boyfriend, that Mike would finally figure it out and give up.
Guess not.
You sit up in your bed, stretching your hands over your head while humming the chorus under your breath, but you were more of an ABBA fan. If Mike had decided to serenade you with "Take A Chance On Me" or even Aretha Franklin's "You're All I Need to Get By," you might have looked at him differently.
The memory of the dream of his mullet smothering you in your sleep momentarily passes over your mind, causing a shudder to travel down your spine. Or maybe not.
Your bedroom was similar to your living room, covered in plants. Trailing jasmine and bougainvillea blanketed the wall behind your bed in deep red and white, budding lavender, lilac, and honeysuckle sat in pots along the top of your dresser, and a blush colored rose bush, that never went out of bloom, stood proudly in the corner. The only difference was that there were two large piles of books almost as tall as your ceiling, some old some new, braced beside the rose bush like Roman columns. You kept trying to remember to buy a bookshelf, but each time you thought about going to pick one up, Butcher usually called and asked you to help out. Both piles were covered almost completely in pothos and more hung from the brick walls above your only window, that opened the floor length pale yellow curtains with a flick of your hand.
An annoyed purring sound greets your ears as the honeyed light from the now open window wisps over your covers. Bean, your cat, stalks up from the end of the bed, his yellowed eyes narrowed with annoyance at being woken up so early while his charcoal gray coat turns lighter in the brilliant sunlight. Last night he had been in your bedroom when you got home, which meant that he hadn't been around Ben when he came in.
A good thing, because Bean hated just about everyone except Butcher, which you thought was weird. But whenever Butcher dropped by to talk to you Bean always came over to look for rubs, while hissing at anyone who tried to interrupt them. Hughie was actually afraid of Bean, and because Bean was a cat he immediately picked up on this and purposely would jump on the couch next to Annie so Hughie couldn't sit there, Bean also followed after Hughie to the bathroom and waited outside the door to swipe at his ankles whenever he would come out.
But you didn't love him any less.
He puts his paw on your thigh lightly extending his claws to get your attention.
"Oh are you talking to me now?" You smile, rubbing him behind the ears. "I thought you were angry because I woke you up?"
He purrs and pushes his chunky gray head against your hand, but startles when the song switches to "My Heart Will Go On" which causes Mike's mother to join in to his karaoke session.
I'd move if my apartment wasn't so damn cheap.
"Maybe they should take the show on the road. Huh buddy?"
Bean purrs his response while pushing his head further into your hand.
His mom wasn't that bad of a singer, in fact, you thought that you remembered eavesdropping on a conversation between her and the super when she talked about a career as a cabaret singer a while ago.
"Come on, let's see if Gramps killed any of my plants." You smile down at your cat. "If he did I'm going to turn him into a tree."
Bean purrs in agreement.
You get out of bed, adjusting your shirt back down over your shorts before walking to the door with Bean following behind you. You step out into the cool hallway, with more enthusiasm than usual as you try to escape the butchering of the Titanic's soundtrack and collide into something warm and wet.
It takes you exactly seven seconds to realize that the warm, wet, thing that your face is currently stuck to, is in-fact Ben's chest, his shirtless chest. Why he's standing in the hallway outside your door, soaking wet and wearing a towel you have no idea. All you know is that your face is physically laying against the warm flesh of his pectoral muscles.
"Why are you NAKED?" You scream as you peel yourself off of him and turn your gaze away. Your face felt so warm that it was like you'd been standing in front of a volcano for too long and you were sure that you had blushed to the roots of your hair.
You'd only seen him without his shirt on once, when the door to his bedroom was cracked at the apartment he shared with the rest of the group. But it was from the back and you had been walking by to go to the bathroom, and you hadn't looked…
Well, you may have stopped for a second to admire the powerful muscles on his muscular back and maybe thought about waiting for him to turn around so you could see if the front was as good as the back… but you hadn't.
And he certainly hadn't been soaking wet then, and it made you hate him more now, because no one should look as good as he does soaking wet. You personally knew that you looked like a drowned poodle whenever you stepped out of the shower, but him? Soldier Boy looks like he just finished filming a shampoo commercial.
You could see it in your head, him standing under a crystal blue waterfall with the water splashing against weathered rocks before running through his soft brown hair, curving around his broad shoulders, down his toned stomach straight down to his-
NO. Not gonna go there. You could feel your skin heating in embarrassment, almost as if you thought he could read your mind.
"I'm not naked doll, I mean I could be if you wanted me to." He smirks as he hears your heartbeat begin to pick up and reaches for the end of his towel. The towel that was almost too small to wrap around his waist and left very little to the imagination.
"NO!" You shout holding up a hand to stop him, but again brush the front of his chest.
Fuck, you could zest a lemon on those abs.
"Are you sure?" Ben smiles wider, taking a step forward. He's so close that you can smell your grapefruit mint shampoo on him and feel the humidity and warmth of his body as he stands there. For some reason the fact that he used your shampoo, and smelled like your soap, made you feel warm and tingly. It was almost hypnotic. You hated how much you liked it. "Because you're turning that cute little red color you always do whenever I'm around, and your heartbeat is kinda fast."
"No. I don't." You grit your teeth together. "Why are you standing outside of my door naked?"
"Maybe I was waiting for you to come out." His hand presses against the doorway next to your head. "You know, I already took a shower, but if you wanted I'd be happy to get back in with you."
"No thanks. I don't need a shower and I wouldn't shower with you if it was the last shower on earth and I hadn't bathed in forty years." You purse your lips. "Oh right, that happened to you."
Ben frowns at your mention of his time in Russia. You didn't often tease him about being trapped in a lab, you knew that it was a sore spot for him. Plus you'd seen the footage of exactly what those doctors did to him and it was enough to make you want to book a one way ticket to Russia and personally show them what happened when a tree got shoved up your ass.
You open your mouth to apologize.
"I was going to ask if you have any other clothes here. Mine are still wet from last night." He raises an eyebrow, but the humor is gone from his eyes.
"Oh. Um. I can take a look." You turn and walk into your bedroom, trying not to feel awkward about bringing up the lab.
He was a jerk, but he didn't deserve a reminder of how shitty the last forty years have been.
Truthfully, you weren't sure if you had anything that would fit him. Ben was a lot bigger than you, taller and broader. You usually did wear things that were a little big for you, but you didn't think that Ben would fit in any of them.
Maybe I have something from when my brother was here last time.
Darren often dropped by when he was in the city visiting his friends or had a new "business" venture. The ones that never seemed to last and the friends that always seemed happy to spend the moan you "loaned" him for his "best idea yet" as he always phrased it. But he hadn't been by in at least a year.
"It's really green in here too." You hear Ben say under his breath.
You didn't think that he was going to follow you into your room, you thought he was going to stay in the hallway, but no, he had followed you. And he made the room feel even smaller than it was with his broad shoulders and over six foot stature.
The sunlight from the window glinted off his still wet chest and it made your throat uncomfortably tight. For the love of chocolate pudding, WHY does he look so good all the time?
"You can wait in the hall-"
"Wanted to see your bedroom." He smirks. "Though I think that you wanted to show it to me last night-"
You ignore him and turn back to your chest of drawers while Mike and his mother switch to "What Makes You Beautiful" by One Direction. You wince as they begin.
"Do they always do that?" Ben asks.
"Yep. Since I moved in." You sigh, shuffling through your t-shirts.
"He's really got it bad Sweetheart. Maybe you should throw him a bone. Kinda seems like the poor guy needs to get some ass-"
"If it's any of your business- which it's not- I do not like him that way."
"Well they're a little loud." You feel Ben take a step closer to you. "But I bet you and I could give them a run for their money. We are in your bedroom after all, might as well make the most of it."
"I didn't know that you liked Karaoke. I'll keep that in mind for you 105th birthday party."
"What? No I meant-"
Bean purrs loudly from his position on your bed and you wait for the telltale sound of Ben shooing him away when Bean tries to puncture Ben's impenetrable skin with his claws, but it doesn't come.
You glance over your shoulder. Are you kidding me?
Bean is sitting on your white plush comforter, rubbing up against Ben's hand, purring while Ben scratches him behind the ears.
Traitor.
"Didn't know you had a cat." Ben says continuing to stroke his hand down Bean's spine, who stands up and turns so Ben can have a better angle.
"I didn't peg you for a cat person. Kinda ruins the whole all-American Man image you have going on."
He shrugs. "I like dogs more, but I don't hate cats. Usually they don't like me very much."
"I wonder why that is." You grumble watching Bean lean into Ben's hand again. "His name is Bean."
"Bean? Why?"
"Because when I got him I was trying to grow green beans in the linen closet and he would sit outside the door and screech until I gave him a green bean to play with."
"You were trying to grow green beans in the linen closet?"
"Yeah. Seemed like a good idea, but they like the bathroom more-" You finally find the oversized Led Zeppelin shirt your brother left the last time he crashed at your apartment and a pair of jeans. "A lot of my plants like the bathroom more actually."
"I was going to ask you why the bathroom floor and wall was squishy."
"It's moss. It thrives in humid environments." You hold out the clothes for him.
"Uh-huh." He frowns at the clothes for a minute. "So you're saying you wouldn't want a guy to serenade you like that?" Ben nods his head towards your bedroom wall, just as Mike and his mother begin to belt out the chorus. "Thought girls liked sappy shit."
"I'm not a fan of One Direction."
"Right. You like ABBA more." Ben turns towards your door to go back to the bathroom to change.
Shock momentarily spikes in your chest. "How did you know that?"
He freezes as if you caught him doing something bad, turning slightly towards you. "Um- well, you hum their songs a lot."
"When?" You cross your arms over your chest.
"Whenever you're on stake outs. Sometimes when you're reading those files or waiting for Annie at the apartment." He shrugs. “When you were walking last night you were humming ‘Fernando.’"
He noticed that?
"How long exactly were you following me?"
"Long enough." He raises an eyebrow. "Are you trying to keep me talking because you want me to change in here? Because I would be more than happy to drop this towel and show you what a real man looks like Sweetheart."
"Don't flatter yourself Gramps. If you drop that towel the only thing that'll happen is Bean will think you brought him a green bean to play with." You roll your eyes. "Now get out of my room. I have to change."
Ben begins to say something, but the vines hanging above the door push him out into the hall and shut the door behind him.
That felt good.
After you put on a white t-shirt, your favorite pair of jean overalls and your dark green converse, you make your way out into the living room. Ben is there, lounging on your couch like he owns it. He’s wearing the jeans and t-shirt you gave him, but you can't help but notice how the clothes are just a little too small for him. The way his muscles pull at the t-shirt, the way the jeans hug his thighs and butt-
He's getting way too comfortable here. You think to yourself to avoid the thought of how good he looks on your couch. How it almost feels natural that he's sitting here in your living room, inhabiting your space.
"So what's for breakfast doll face?" He leans his head back to gaze at you with a mischievous smile that makes a warm tingle travel down the length of your spine.
"Well, I'm going to have oatmeal and you're going to have whatever you want I guess?"
His eyes darken. "Whatever I want?"
"Calm down Gramps I meant that there's cereal in the cabinet." You roll your eyes to avoid thinking about the kiss last night and then thinking about how it felt for your body to be pressed against his in the hallway when you ran into him. Which inevitably leads back to the waterfall fantasy and-
No. No. Not going to do that. Not with him. He's just good at getting women into bed, he doesn't care about you. You think about how he remembered that you liked ABBA. That doesn't mean anything. He doesn't see me as anything more than a conquest and he probably remembered that because he's changing tactics and trying not to act like a creep.
“You’re not going to pour me a bowl?” His smirk pulls down in an attractive pout.
“I think it’s simple enough for your little brain to do.” You don’t turn around from the kitchen cabinets, grabbing a raspberry from the refrigerator and popping it in your mouth. For some reason you noticed that whatever you grew tasted better than anything you bought at the grocery store. You hoped that it didn’t mean that your powers supercharged whatever you grew and that it was actually radioactive or something.
Because that’s exactly what I need, to turn bright green.
“There’s nothing little about me doll.”
“Can’t you ever have a conversation with someone without it revolving around sex?” You grumble banging around in your cabinets to find your instant oatmeal.
It was a valid point and you were tired of getting whiplash every time Ben acted caring and then flipping back to horny manchild.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Ben laughs. He stands from the couch and makes his way into your kitchen.
It was hard not to notice how small each room in your apartment looked with him in it. His head was only a foot below the ceiling, not to mention the kitchen was only composed of six cabinets, a small sink, a microwave shoved into a corner, a stove top, and a refrigerator that only came up to Ben’s shoulders. Your bathroom was worse, sometimes the shower was small even for you and you didn’t know how Ben fit in there.
He probably had to duck down to stand under the shower head.
And then as you thought that, the image of Ben standing under a waterfall comes creeping back, making the strawberry plant on top of the fridge, the raspberry vines, and the blackberry vines covering your refridgerator burst into bloom.
Thankfully Ben didn’t notice, because he was rooting through the white top cabinet in the corner for one of the cereal boxes.
I’d never hear the end of it if he saw that happen.
You glare at the plants in question, eyes shifting to a deep green as the flowers develop into fresh fruit to cover your slip.
Ben pulls out a box of Lucky Charms, but frowns at Lucky on the front cover, who is throwing a handful of marshmallow charms into the air around him.
Guess he's not a fan.
“If I’d known you were going to sleep on my couch I would have gotten Bran flakes and prunes for you.” You smirk as you pour water over the oats in the bowl before placing it in the microwave to cook. “I know people your age need that kind of thing sometimes. Gets the bowel moving.”
“Make fun of my age all you want.” Ben steps around you to grab the almost empty bottle of milk from your refrigerator. “One day you’ll be happy to find out just how experienced I am.”
“Keep dreaming.”
His dark eyes meet yours. “You’re all I dream about baby.”
You can feel his breath on the side of your neck from how close he is to you, the kitchen seems smaller than it ever has, and he leans forward, sensing your hesitation. One of his hands goes on the kitchen counter to your right, the other places the milk down and then braces on the counter to your left caging you against him.
“Do any of your lines actually work?” You say, throat tight.
“You’d be surprised.” He smirks wider, green eyes sliding up and down your body.
The air in the kitchen electrifies, something passing through the air between the two of you that makes you feel like your heart is going to burst out of your chest. His eyes are softer green now, reminding you of the color of fresh leaves on an oak tree in spring, bright, strong, and full of life. His body is pressed gently against yours, the strong muscles of his abdomen laying on your hips, muscular arms making sure that you don't walk away.
You try not to think again about how good he looks in your apartment, how calm and relaxed he seems when he’s away from Butcher and not wearing his uniform.
Standing here in your apartment, he looked normal, human. Sometimes it was hard to remember that you were, when you could do what you did, when you saw him get hit with a car and shove it away with one hand.
He was still ridiculously attractive, the kind of attractive that you’d read in romance novels and in classic Roman literature, the kind of beautiful that people wrote poetry about, the kind of ruggedly handsome that made smart girls stupid.
You were really feeling that last one. Because you were desperately trying to hold on to your dream of being with someone that understood every part of you, but Ben was making it hard.
It wasn’t that the idea of sleeping with him was terrible. It wasn’t. It was far from terrible it was the idea of having sex without feelings that you didn’t like. You didn’t want to sleep with him because you knew that he only saw you as something to be possessed not as an equal or someone he cared about. Soldier Boy only cared about himself, that was apparent.
He’s only interested in you because you haven’t given in. You think to yourself. It's all about the thrill of the chase, nothing else. I'm worth more than that. I'm worth more than one night.
“In fact, I think it’s working on you doll.” Ben leans down towards you so close you can feel his words in the air between your faces, his eyes searching yours as if waiting for you to say no.
That made you pause. Ben didn’t seem to be the type of man who was patient. You’d walked in on him making out with numerous women on the couch back at the apartment he shared with the rest of the team, saw how he took control, saw how he didn’t seem to wait for them to say no or really say anything at all. Not to mention one time when you walked into the shared apartment and could hear Ben with one of his "dates" in his bedroom. Nothing about that seemed patient at all.
But this Ben standing in your kitchen was different. He was almost smiling, dark hair still damp from the shower curling on his forehead, the t-shirt damp around the collar, jeans a dark blue, and the smell of your shampoo fills your senses again all over again. It made you wish for this person all the time. The one that you could see yourself falling in love with, not the racist, sexist, and inappropriate jerk that seemed to dominate his persona at all other parts of the day.
Funny, the only time you’d ever seen Ben like this, was when the two of you were alone- well sometimes- other times he annoyed you without end and made you want to jump out a window.
But why? Why only around me?
The feeling in your chest grows. It jumps from synapse to synapse, pulses along your skin, buzzes in your blood, tangles through your hair, and radiates through the air like a sound wave. Your eyes drift down to his lips remembering exactly what it was like to kiss him last night. How he seemed to consume you whole, how everything else fell away, how Ben curled himself around you, how he-
Your cell phone rings, breaking through the moment, and making you remember exactly why you didn’t want to give in to Ben and remember the kind of person he was.
You push him away and pull your cellphone out of your pocket. Butcher's photo and name appear on the screen.
Shit.
"Hey Butch, what's up?" You look away from Ben, forcing yourself to calm your racing heart.
Ben perks up at the mention of Butcher’s name.
“Do you have any idea where Soldier Boy is?”
“Soldier Boy?”
“Seems like our blunt smoking man out of time has vanished. Been trying to text him all bloody morning.”
At least he doesn’t know that Ben is here. That’s good. I’d never hear the end of it if-
Ben snatches the phone from your hand and holds it up to his ear. “What the fuck do you want?”
The softness was gone, his eyes had hardened again, and the spell was broken. Ben was no longer relaxed, his shoulders were tensed and guarded, jaw set.
It didn’t take a genius to know that Ben didn’t like Butcher. Sometimes you wondered why Ben decided to stay.
Probably because the alternative was being frozen like Han Solo next to his son.
When Ben had knocked Homelander out, you hadn’t believed it, and despite Ben’s arguing Butcher wanted to keep Homelander a supe, and just put him on ice. You had no idea why, especially since Butcher had been gunning for him forever, but had the sneakiest suspicion that it was because of Ryan.
But you didn't blame Butcher for that, watching your father get killed in front of you seemed traumatic, not to mention Ryan was still reeling from watching his mother die.
You turn back to your microwave to pull out your bowl of oatmeal with a groan.
Now Butcher’s going to mock me endlessly about going home with Soldier Boy. We didn’t do anything! Well…
Your mind flits back to the searing kiss you shared and to five seconds ago when whatever the hell just happened.
“You want me to meet you in fucking Jersey?” Ben laughs.
You choose not to eavesdrop on the conversation, instead you busy yourself with sprinkling brown sugar onto your breakfast and plucking a few more raspberries from the vines.
“Fine.” Ben almost growls before holding out the phone to you. “He wants to talk to you.”
Of course he does. Maybe I can pretend to lose the signal with a piece of paper or a candy wrapper.
“Hello-“
“You crazy wanker.” Butcher chuckles into the phone. “Guess your night was a little more exciting than mine eh? Oi Hughie, you owe me a tener!” He shouts to Hughie who you can guess is sitting nearby.
“What? He’s with y/n! No way!” You hear Hughie shout back, muffled but there.
Damn it he’s gonna tell Annie. She's going to start sending me pictures of babies photoshopped in supe suits.
“You guys were betting that he was here?!” You shout making eye contact with Ben who only smirks before he busies himself with getting a bowl for his cereal.
“He left about two minutes after you did. Said some bullshit about a smoke break.” Butcher is smiling and you know it. “How was he? Was he as good as all the girls say?" Butcher coos on the other side of the line.
“Nothing happened-“
“Sure it didn’t Cherie!” You hear Frenchie crow. “Hopefully you got to relieve some of that tension no?”
“I hate all of you.” You grumble, and before Butcher can say anything else you hang up the phone and glare at Ben. “This is your fault.”
“What do you mean sweetheart?”
“You just had to follow me home!”
“You shouldn’t have been walking out there alone.”
“I do it all the time!”
“Not anymore.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I’m not going to let you walk around alone in the middle of the night.”
"Like hell. I don't need a babysitter!"
"I think you do-"
"No I don't. In fact why are you still here? Why haven't you left?" You shout, snatching your bowl of oatmeal before moving to the wobbly kitchen table that you smooshed up against a window that looks out onto your fire escape.
"Because I tend to like morning sex. It's a great way to start the day. Thought you'd be interested." Ben winks as he sits across from you, barely fitting in the wooden chair.
Your phone buzzes where it sits on the table beside your bowl. When you flip it over, you see the text from Annie.
Annie: YOU SLEPT WITH SOLDIER BOY?!!!!
You: I'm not going to dignify that with a response.
Annie: That's a yes. TELL ME EVERYTHING!!!
You sigh and shovel a spoonful of oatmeal into your mouth, eyes drifting up to the top of your phone screen focusing on the time.
"SHIT! I'm late for work!" You shout before shoving as much oatmeal as you can into your mouth.
"Work?" Ben looks up from his bowl of cereal confused as you begin to run around the room.
The half-eaten bowl of oatmeal falls into the sink with a resounding crash, Bean's cat food lands haphazardly in his bright green food dish, and you practically run to your tote bag that hangs on a peg by your front door.
"I told you. I work at a plant shop." You glance back at your barren coffee maker mournfully. The thought of trying to get through the day without coffee seemed impossible, not to mention you didn’t have time to grab one on the way to work from your favorite shop just around the corner.
"I thought you were joking."
"No. Some of us have to work for a living." You run your fingers through your hair quickly pulling it back in a loose ponytail.
"You should leave your hair down." Ben says from the table watching you.
"What?"
"It's prettier when it's down."
"I don't have time for your misogynistic comments. Come on let's go."
"What?"
"I'm not going to leave you here in my apartment alone. You don't have a key."
"You could give me yours-"
"HA. No that's not going to happen. Come on." You tug on his muscular arm, trying to get him up out of the chair, but he barely moves.
“You know you could call out of work and we could spend the day in bed.” He smiles, eyes tracing your figure. “I mean you look good baby, but I think you'd look even better naked. Plus, Butcher and the rest of those fuckers already think we slept together so we might as well-“
“Not a chance Gramps. Either get up out of the chair and leave through the door or leave through the window. It’s your choice and I have no qualms with throwing you down to the street. But please don't make me do that because I can't afford a new window."
Ben rolls his eyes, but finally gets up to follow you. He actually tries to open the door for you, but you place your hand on his chest.
“Nah uh uh. Bowl in the sink. I’m not going to clean up after you.”
Ben sighs and mumbles something under his breath that’s lost in Mike’s inhuman screech of “Love on Top.”
Yeah. What a great fucking way to start the day.
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Vicarious (Homelander x Female!Reader) pt.1
a/n: guys... you can't tell me y'all weren't expecting this. Title from the song "Vicarious" by Tool. Really wanted this to be a one shot, but as usual, I have shit to say. Will be Cross-Posted on AO3 as soon as they open the site back up.
Warnings: Nothing Explicit YET, some sexist remarks and creepy behavior from the man of the hour, Questionable Corporate Ethics, Set Before The Events Of The Show, Reader is written to be Plus Size.
Summary: Sidekick projects have been scraped completely after numerous accidents, but as a viral video of your hero work makes rounds through the public, you're forced to take part in a six moths program, that will forever change your life, as well as Homelander's
PT.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5
It all started with a video. An insignificant, minute-long nothing posted to TikTok by an account, that up until then, made short edits specifically of A-Train and some B-list no-name hero. Quickly, it gained traction, making rounds throughout the app, bleeding over to other services, all the way to national television. First, an independent local station, soon picked up by a Vaught-affiliated one. Normally, that's where it would've stayed. Stillwell would extend an offer of a chance at an interview, alongside one of the Seven. But for some unknown reason, that small piece of nothing climbed all the way up to the floor eighty-two of Vaught Tower.
Well, to be quite honest, Stillwell knew exactly why she was in this situation. After a very messy graduation speech at a small college, Homelander lost almost twenty points with a young adult demographic. It would've been an easy fix, if not for the delicate nature of the breached subject, and Madelyn knew, this sudden interest in a nobody from nowhere, who, coincidentally, fit the demographic perfectly, was anything but a happy accident. It was a test, both for Homelander, and for her.
Which is why, Madelyn Stillwell and Homelander, the Homelander, the most American supe to ever exist, are cooped up in your living room, glancing about the modest decor, as you pour iced tea into three glasses with tacky fruit print all over them.
You've refused every single invitation, every single Vaught representative that knocked on your door. Your inbox was flooded with emails, your phone number was blowing up two, three times a day. And yet, your answer remained the same. You were not interested in a collaboration, thank you for the opportunity, please leave me alone.
That wouldn't fly, not with Madelyn, who, pushed by the constant nagging from the upper levels of the Tower, decided a more direct approach was the right one. So, she dragged herself into this… Well, to be quite honest, bum-fuck-nowhere, and brought her star pupil with her. No one would refuse working with Homelander himself, after all. At least that's what they both thought.
-I appreciate the effort - there's a practiced, borderline bored intonation in your voice, and Homelander's hands flex on his thighs - But I've already talked with, um, Jerry? From HR? The answer is still no.
Your house is small, but cozy, with sunshine pouring through the windows, reflecting onto the beaded curtain hanging in the doorway to your kitchen. An artist's home, through and through. Homelander hates it, hates the ordinariness of it all. He was so much above all this, sitting on your worn down couch physically hurt him. And the smell. The smell was the worst part. Reheated lasagna, mixing with a lingering aftertaste of cigarette smoke, and an undercurrent of weed, that almost made him retch. If it weren't for that damned video, you would be nothing more, than another brainless ant under his boot.
-Well, we - Madelyn offers her best, brilliant smile, gesturing to herself and Homelander - are very passionate about discovering new talent.
Your mouth twitches into a knowing smile, and for just a second Homelander feels flames of intrigue rising in his chest. Not for long, though, because you recline back into an armchair, taking a sip of the iced tea, and his eyes flash to the way your throat moves as you swallow. You could be hot, he concludes. Young, and with a truly spectacular rack. But there was something off about you, like you were constantly on the verge of dying from boredom, some invisible weight always on your shoulders. No amount of fake smiles and high-end makeup could cover that up.
He'd fuck you. If you'd beg him.
-We want to offer you a new, revised contract - Stillwell extends her hand with a rather thick binder of papers, and you hesitate for a moment, before reaching over. - Hopefully, it will make you reconsider.
You don't even show them the decency of looking through it, placing it on the table instead, and Homelander feels an itch form itself in the corners of his eyes. Stillwell looks taken aback as well, her brilliant smile faltering for just a second. You on the other hand, take another sip of your drink, before placing it right in the middle of the contract, the moisture from the ice creating a wet circle in the paper.
Your heartbeat is even, it doesn't pick up even a smidgen, when you look between Stillwell and America's Greatest Hero, who is slowly but surely growing annoyed by your persistent indifference.
-Thank you, but I already said no - you repeat, and this time, Homelander shifts on the couch.
-And why not? - he asks, tension entering his voice in a way, that makes Madelyn squirm - Countless supes, with much more impressing powers than you, I might add, would kill to be in your place.
"To work with me" goes unsaid, but he can see in your eyes, you read it from thin air of superiority engulfing him. Annoyingly perceptive. You nod your head slowly, before turning away from them, looking out of the window of your living room. There's a small patch of grass, and a second house, so similar to yours, but at the same time, completely different. Your chin sticks out in its direction, and Homelander follows with his eyes.
There are paper butterflies stuck to the windows, cut out clumsily, most likely by children's hands.
-My neighbour, Missus Johnson - you explain - She lives there, with her three kids. Her husband died in a fire caused by your friend, Lamp Lighter.
Madelyn stills, Homelander raises an eyebrow.
-I can afford this house, only because my mother signed an NDA, after The Deep sank my father's fishing boat. - again, your heart stays completely unaffected - Accidentally, of course.
-I was not aware… - Madelyn starts, and it's hard to decipher whether she's talking to you, or Homelander.
Someone at the research department is going to have a very unpleasant evening.
-That's alright - you interrupt her with a raised hand and a small smile - This whole neighborhood is filled with similar cases. And I'm very, very attached to this place.
Why, Homelander couldn't tell. For all he knew, this was some shit hole, right in the suburbs outside New York. Not even the half decent ones. A forgotten by everyone, dying piece of land, that housed insignificant humans, who would never amount to anything, you included. He lived in a lavish apartment, inside a miracle of modern architecture. Who wouldn't want the same?
-And - there's something new entering your tone of voice - If I'm going to betray everything I stand for, I need to give something back to those people. Does your contract reflect that?
Madelyn bites the inside of her cheek, her scrutinizing gaze making your skin itch. Still, she sighs after a moment, excusing herself with that same, practiced expression she uses on every shareholder. Homelander follows her out, nodding his goodbye to you, but before he can leave this dump, Madelyn stops him with a hand pressed against his chest. She gives him one look, makes him aware that his job isn't over, and he can feel the muscles of his face twitch.
So, obediently, he lingers in your doorway, taking a few calming breaths, before facing you once more.
You've changed positions, your armchair abandoned in favor of sitting by the window, one leg bent in a way, that shows quite a nice view of your calf, your long skirt pooling around you. Homelander's eyes trail up with mild interest, and he indulges in his X-ray vision. He's just being curious, nothing more.
Your underwear is, well, for the lack of a better word, plain. The bra seems to be slightly ill fitted, digging into the sides of your breasts, making them almost spill from under your pits, and Homelander swallows thickly at the sight. There are little, pink hearts on your panties. The colors are dull and washed out from frequent use, and the once frilly lace is starting to fray at the edges.
Apparently Vaught's compensation was not sufficient for you to buy some decent undergarments.
-Do you want something to eat? Drink? - you ask from your place by the window, and Homelander is snatched back to reality - Do you even need food?
The bluntness of the question startles him, makes him feel defensive, but Madelyn wanted results, so he puts on a mask of his trained smile, and crosses the room. Back straight like an arrow, he looks wildly out of place between all the linens and cushions. He doesn't look at you, trapping your smaller form in the confinement of the window, as he watches over the neighboring house.
-I'm not hungry - he shoots down your offer with a wave of his hand - I've already eaten.
A lie, but he'd never stoop low enough to take any leftovers, especially from you. Still, the offer seems nice. He does like being pampered, even if it's with lackluster things. Your eyes linger on his boyish smile, another practiced thing, and Homelander shifts focus to your heartbeat once again.
-Alright then - your voice sounds indifferent as ever - Well, if you don't mind, I'm going to make some dinner for myself.
He offers a small nod, and watches you from his position by the window, as you slip past him. It does require quite a lot of manoeuvering, but you manage to stand without touching him. He has to admit, watching you balance, as you try to avoid him, was amusing. Still, your heart beats calmly, and, not wanting to be left on his own, Homelander follows you to your kitchen. The beads of the courtain drum delicately over the bronze eagles on his shoulders.
The fridge is buzzing something awful. He can see just how run down the inside mechanism is, the hinges squeaking unbearably, as you reach for a box of reheatable spaghetti. There's cheep beer inside, a moldy lemon, a carton of milk pretty close to expiring, and a half-used bottle of spicy ketchup. Homelander doesn't even recognize these brands, they're not sponsored by Vaught, that's for sure.
Cheap, tasteless, basically offering no nutritional value.
-Would you step back for a second? - he asks, already wrenching himself between you and that pathetic excuse of a meal.
Again, your body sways to avoid touching him, and for some unknown reason, he finds it very amusing.
Then, you watch with a raised eyebrow, as he turns towards your spaghetti, a red sheen overtaking his eyes. An unbearably hot beam shoots out, making the insides of the plastic packaging sizzle. Finally, that gets him a reaction, as you gasp and reel back, colliding with the barely functional fridge. Your heart does a flip inside your chest, and Homelander soaks up your shock like a man starved.
Only when the red fizzles out of his gaze do you dare to move, approaching him slowly, your eyes bearing into him in a way that is frankly uncomfortable.
He turns to you with another one of his charming smiles, trying to handle this sudden scrutiny in as flippant a way as possible.
-I had no idea you can control the intensity of your lazer - you admit, voice slightly breathless.
-Pretty neat, huh? - perhaps he's fishing for more attention, but he doesn't care, because your eyes light up for just a moment in sheer wonder.
-Super cool, actually.
Yeah. Yeah, that's fucking right, he is super cool. And your heart is beating so much faster, and finally you're looking at him as if he's more than just some guy, some living advertisement you're determined to ignore.
And then your eyes shift, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly, as you zero in on his shoulder. Something akin to a wave of amusement flickers across your expression, and to his general surprise, Homelander wants to know what's the cause of this shift. Your lips pull back into a smile, teeth peaking at him in all their glory. He can almost imagine them running down his skin, before he pushes the thought back all together, as the lower portion of his suit becomes slightly too tight for comfort.
-Well, thank you for saving the spaghetti - your eyes hold a spark of amusement - My hero.
Okay, alright, he's hard. There's no point denying it. However annoying and insignificant you were moments before, your quip goes straight to his loins, burning enough, for him to consider just how mad Stillwell would be, if he'd have a taste of this newly discovered talent.
If he stands any closer to you, he might find out, because this special little moment you two have shared, is crudely interrupted by Madelyn clearing her throat. Homelander nearly jumps back, you however barely turn your head, reaching for your spaghetti and arming yourself with a fork.
-I've spoken to my supervisor - Stillwell announces, clearly peeved by the way you start chewing on the noodles - A new version of the contract will be emailed to you as soon as possible. Hopefully it will be satisfactory.
-Thank you, Miss Stillwell - you answer with an inclination of your head.
With that, Madelyn nods her goodbye at you, refusing to shake your hand, which does amuse you, you're not going to lie. Homelander however, goes all out, capturing your fork-weilding arm, his fingers sneaking around your wrist like a bracelet. Or a shackle. Then, you watch with a confused arch to your eyebrows, as he brings you closer, until his lips press onto the protruding knuckles. Now that, admittedly, gets your heart going. You were not an easily embarrassed person, not by a long shot, but you could feel blood rushing towards your face all the same.
He has to hold his breath, as he kisses your hand in that charming, gentleman way he's seen in old movies. The smell of pasteurized tomato sauce blows in his direction, like a direct assault on his senses. Still, he needed something that would make you swoon. If everything failed, he knew how to be intimidating, but for now, perhaps he wanted to try something different. Something that would yield much more pleasant results, for the both of you. Mostly for him, let's be honest.
Madelyn asks him to stay back, spy on you throughout the night, and he begrudgingly agrees, if only to mask the fact, that he would do so of his own volition, had she not brought it up. And as such, he floats into the rapidly cooling air, disappearing into the darkening sky, where you wouldn't be able to see him even if you tried. He could see you however, and hear you, and he was about to make the most of the situation.
He spends the whole evening just watching you exist within your space. Normally, it would piss him off beyond belief. You weren't doing anything scandalous, anything that could warrant his attention. And yet, as he floats on, in time lowering himself just slightly, to get a better view, he just can't seem to look away. The spaghetti is gone in approximately fifteen minutes, as you inhale the supermarket food, walking around the living room, the kitchen, getting a few bites on the porch even. You seem so utterly unfazed by the events of the past hour, like you haven't just had America's Greatest Superhero try to convince you to work with him. It's honestly insulting, this lack of reaction.
Then, finally, he can hear a distinct ping of a new email come from your laptop, and you sit down on the couch with a small huff. Your eyes move, your lips twitch, and then he hears your heart stop in your chest. As if working on autopilot, your hand travels up, covers your mouth in shock, and you lean back against the worn-down sofa, eyes glued to the screen illuminating your face in a blue-ish light.
-...fuck… - you whisper, and despite himself Homelander floats even closer to your window.
Finally, he has the chance to peak over the curtain. To sneak into the backstage of the award winning production of your defenses, and see what goes on in those bored eyes of yours, when they're not guarded. And what he sees makes his suit feel much too tight, his body too warm. Quite an unusual thing to get so worked up about, but he's the goddamned Homelander, he can get hard whenever he fucking wants. And so, as saliva gathers on his tongue, he presses himself against the tiles on your roof, all the warmth of the day soaking into his skin through the thick material of his suit.
With a shaky hand you reach over towards your phone, putting in a number and pressing the call button, before standing straight from the couch, almost knocking the laptop over.
-Hey, what's up? - someone says on the other end of the line, and Homelander tries to focus more on the words flowing from the receiver.
-Oh, you gotta sit down for that one - you warn with an anxious chuckle, taking the familiar place by the window.
With your free hand you reach up to open the window all the way. Then, Homelander sees your fingers slip between the pillows and pull out a rather beaten up pack of cigarettes.
Naughty, naughty, he thinks, watching you produce a lighter from that same hiding place.
-Alright, I'm sat like never before.
The voice sounds vaguely female, although the shitty quality of your phone makes it hard to decipher. Your lips pull back into a toothy grin, and you blow out the smoke through the window. It curls upwards and dissipates into the air, right above the roof, where Homelander swallows thickly around a coughing fit.
-You will not believe who visited me today…
-The ICE - the voice deadpans, and you snort around another huff of smoke.
-Pretty fucking close, let me tell you - he doesn't appreciate the joke, not at all - Fucking Homelander.
The line goes completely quiet for a moment, and with every second your grin seems to be growing.
-Deadass?
-Yup - your lips purse, and Homelander zeroes in on the expression - Flew in all Star's Spangled Glory with some Vaught big fish. They tried to convince me to join the Seven.
-And obviously you said yes, because what the fuck else do you do in that situation?
Your grin slowly fades away, and you lean your forehead on the window frame.
-You didn't?
-I didn't.
Again, it's quiet.
Homelander shifts a bit in his position, adjusting against the warmed up tiles of the roof, his X-ray vision bearing into you. Out of curiosity, he looks deeper, eyes floating over your insides. You're relatively healthy. Some vitamin deficiencies, but nothing too serious. And despite that nasty habit lodged between your fingers, your lungs are clear, at least for now. There's a softness to your body, your muscles barely visible, as if you're just another gray human. Oh, and there's a bit of an eyesight problem forming, not enough to warrant glasses, but that shouldn't take long, considering your lifestyle.
-The contract they gave me was really good, you know - you muse to the phone, your leg dangling from the windowsill - Six months of working under Homelander, a Sidekick kinda situation.
-I thought they scraped the Sidekick program - the person on the other side wonders - Too many casualties or something.
-Yeah, well I guess they want to bring it back.
-Why did you say no then? I'm sure they pay is gigantic.
Again, you smile. This one much more reserved, bordering on sad. There's that strange kind of exhaustion settling into your bones again, same one Homelander noticed when he first saw you. Your shoulders slump forward, and you curl into yourself between the cushions.
-It was, it was… - you mutter - But I needed something more, for the neighborhood, ya know?
Your caller hums softly in understanding, and Homelander feels like something is passing him by. Some unspoken fact, that you and your friend find obvious.
-And - you hesitate, eyes flickering towards the laptop, your heart beat picking up ever so slightly - They sent me a revised contract. And it's fucking good. Really fucking good. It could help this entire place get back on its feet.
-But you still don't want to - the voice says for you, without judgement.
-No - you sigh - I really, really don't.
-Say no then - your friend supplies, and once again Homelander feels a flame of annoyance start to burn within him - No one else knows about the contract, there will be no expectations.
Slowly, you nod your head, clearly relieved by the way your friend reacted to the news. Homelander however, caught you right where he needed you. That's your lever. Not seduction, not intimidation, just plain, stupidly human guilt.
-Thank you - you whisper into your phone, finally smiling again - Oh, wanna know one more thing?
-Obviously.
-Homelander's wearing a padded suit.
Something's stuck in his throat, as he reels back from his position. Before he can stop himself, his eyes begin to glow red, because how the fuck did you know?
-Okay, that's bullshit.
-Unless his shoulder dislocated in the middle of talking, then no, it's definitely not bullshit.
Your friend gives out a choked laugh, one which you mirror with your own. If Homelander wasn't so utterly flabbergasted by your (correct) observation, he would've stopped to appreciate the sound. As it stands, however, he pushes himself off your roof, a couple of broken pieces falling off of the tiles. And then he's up in the air, cutting through the winds, headed straight for the Tower, leaving you in the comfort of your insignificant, smelly home.
The contract is leaked before the sun is up.
You're awoken to thousands of news articles flooding your timeline, all listing the truly wonderful and selfless points in the fated email. With a white face, you read them all, the speculations, the theories, the angry comments about you being chosen without an actual casting, while all those up and coming supes are busting their asses in auditions.
Soon enough, you're visited by every neighbour possible, congratulating, thanking you. A barbecue is set in the street, as a way of celebration, and you want to throw your phone, and subsequently yourself into the nearest river.
Madelyn Stillwell sends you an email, scheduling a meeting at the Vaught Tower. No need for pleasantries at this point, you stare at the bare bones invitation. "We eagerly await the start of our partnership" looks back at you, mocking your resolve. And thus, the end of your life as you know it begins.
"Project Delinquent"
The words are printed in an ugly, corporate font, and they stare back at you, outlining the mold you're supposed to fit in, in such a perfect way, it actually, almost makes you retch. True, during high school you were quite the little rebel, but people grown and learn, and seeing your character be watered down to that simple word, does send a wave of nausea through your insides. Even if this is hell of your own making, even if you're ready to swallow it all down with a smile, there's a pang of humiliation stinging your heart.
The armchair in Stillwell's office is uncomfortably narrow. It barely has enough room to accommodate your hips, and you wonder if this design is intentional. There is a growing ache in your calves, as you sit so close to the edge, you can't fully relax into your position, balancing on your feet instead. The armrests dig into your sides, and the way the sun is shining through the gigantic windows of the office, is shaping this charade of a meeting into an overstimulating nightmare. Still, you endure. For all the wonderful benefits enclosed in your contract, the charity work Vaught is going to supply.
Or at least, that's what you keep telling yourself, stuck between the marketing department representatives and a literal Devil of a woman.
Madelyn Stillwell doesn't know what to make out of you. Your files were filled with all sorts of questionable activity, especially around the college area. It's honestly a miracle you've managed to get your degree, and attend all those silly little demonstrations at the same time. Your criminal record has been wiped clean, weeks before you even agreed to sign the contract, just in case any leaks would find their way into the media. Leaks that were not orchestrated by Madelyn, of course.
High school rebellion was almost too easily marketable, Madelyn decided to focus on that part of your life as much as possible, her vision slowly coming to fruition. All she needed, really, was cooperation. And while you seemed to be mostly receptive to her ideas, she needed to make sure Homelander was on his best behavior. Which, well… Could go sideways in the worst way imaginable, but Stillwell tried to have some faith in her best superhero.
The idea of releasing details of your contract to the public, was a stroke of genius, she did not expect from Homelander, and she made sure he was thoroughly rewarded. With him, it was always better to choose the hands-on approach, unfortunately. With you, however, ideals were the key. Whatever feeling of solidarity you harbored towards your neighborhood, provided a leverage relatively easy to control. Still, as Stillwell looked you over, crammed into her office in your, frankly, lousy attire, she couldn't help but be just a tad worried about your compliance.
-…And then - the marketer continues with a dramatic gasp - Homelander comes in. America's Greatest Hero, offers you a mentorship. And you…
You look up at the representative with a rather sour expression. They have to work on that too. Media training was crucial. You won't be able to sell anything, if you keep grimacing like that all the damned day.
-… Are starstruck - your mouth twitches - You strike up a deal, selfless. A rebel with a heart of gold. Finally, you can make some real change happen, so you push aside your anti-corporate values, to discover, that Vaught is so much more, than you could possibly imagine.
It's hard not to laugh, and you swallow thickly, biting your lip, as a middle-aged woman you don't recognize gets up from the couch, and makes her way to the wall opposite of your torture chair. There, tucked in a corner and hidden under a black cloth, stands a mannequin, roughly your size. With a flourish you find utterly out of place, the woman tugs at the cape, and as it falls to the floor, so does your stomach. You can't hold it in any longer. A rough snort of laughter rips out of your nose, and you cover your mouth instantly.
-That better be a laugh of delight - Ashley, a ginger menace, mutters under her breath, and Stillwell turns to you with a tight expression on her face.
-Something the matter?
-I mean - you take a deep, grounding breath, tying your amusement in the back of your throat - I knew it's going to be skimpy, but this is…
You look around the room, seeing various stages of corporate outrage, and then you lock eyes with Homelander. Stillwell insisted on his participation in the meeting, as the both of you are supposed to work closely together, and throughout the whole ordeal, he looked borderline ready to die of boredom. Now, however, his eyebrows lift in a curious manner, as he takes in the, to be completely honest, horrendous costume, and your full figure. Something dangerously close to disgust twists your features, as he shamelessly drags his eyes all over your body.
Who would've thought America's Sweetheart was a fucking creep?
Rolling your eyes, you get up from the cursed armchair, your knees cracking loudly. Crossing the room, you take a closer look at the clothing, or rather, lack there of. Torn fishnets, plaid tennis skirt, and a corset top, made out of some leather-like material. Truly, a fetishists wet dream. Your fingers sample the fabric of the skirt. Surprisingly stiff, it seems to beg for a wardrobe malfunction. With a frown pulling down your lips, you lift the material up, and as expected, find no safety shorts underneath.
Homelander watches you intently, as you inspect the costume. Just the thought of your soft body in this skimpy, corporate bastardization of a rock star, makes heat rise in the lower part of his stomach. With every disapproving pull of your, and don't quote him on that, perfect lips, he's more and more convinced this whole charade is just an early birthday present. He'll have to thank Stillwell. Or better not, because as soon as he throws her a sidelong glance, he discovers, she's already looking at him. With a rather tense expression at that.
He feigns innocence, almost raises his hands in mock defeat, but decides against it at the last second. You're still watching him, torn between inspecting the costume, and shooting disgruntled looks in his direction.
Then, as if pulled by some invisible force, your hand sneaks to the front of the corset, fingers closing over the full cup, where your breast will soon reside. You give the mock leather two squeezes, and a high-pitched laugh wheezes out of your lips. Homelander's head nearly snaps with how fast he turns to look at Stillwell, confusion clear on his face.
She's looking at you cautiously. He knows that expression all too well, he's seen it multiple times during their partnership. She's calculating, with bated breath, just how much of a problem you'll inevitably become. How to turn it around in the company's favor, how to steer you in the right direction, should the need arise.
But then, you clap your hands, still giggling quietly, and turn to the designer, who's been watching your reaction with a growing distaste.
-That's one hell of a push-up bra - you comment with a raised eyebrow - My tits will fly straight out of this, if I even think about moving my arms.
Now, that's something Homelander would love to see, and you note his leering face with an uncomfortable shift in your posture.
-Your physique has to be god-like. There's no shame in a little padding - the designer answers simply, and your eyes glimmer with amusement.
-Oh, I bet - your eyes float for just a second in Homelander's direction, and he wonders if lasering you down right now would be too harsh of a reaction.
The image had to be kept up, however, and he deflects your blatant provocation with a bright smile. Or rather, it would've been a bright smile, if his cheek didn't twitch in a way, that portrayed exactly how forced his pleasantries are.
-There will be a press conference, seven PM sharp, where you'll be introduced to the public - Ashley informs you, her eyes glued to her tablet - Homelander will give a welcoming speech, explain that you're a temporary member of The Seven. Then, you'll need to say a couple of words. We'll send you the talking points ASAP.
-Right… - you mutter, not particularly thrilled by the idea of public speaking.
Stillwell looks over her shoulder towards Homelander, giving him an expectant, raised eyebrow. Slowly, he moves from his spot by the window, hand extended in a greeting, teeth flashing in a smile. Your eyes involuntarily shift towards his rather sharp canines, and for the first time, since you've signed the contract, you truly feel uneasy. His eyes are almost unnaturally blue, a perfect, American shade, that glimmers just a tad too dangerously. There's no need for super senses, he can feel your nerves in the very air you breathe.
-Welcome to The Seven - his voice is smoother than you've ever heard before - Fireball.
Wait a god-damned minute.
Confusion covers all previous feelings, and to Homelander's growing annoyance, you leave him with his hand extended, in favor of turning towards Stillwell.
-That's not my name - you point out, and Madelyn nods her head in a practiced expression of understanding.
-Due to some copyright intricacies, we can't let you use Smirnoff - she explains.
You suck in a deep breath through your teeth, looking back towards the costume. A moment's hesitation, you close your eyes as you breathe out, and once again Homelander feels as if he's able to peak under a carnival mask you carefully placed upon yourself. He lifts it just enough, sees the way muscles on your neck twitch. Your jaw sets in a way, that is slowly becoming intoxicating, and then you turn back to him.
-I'm honored - your voice is hollow, locked far away in the column of your throat, and you don't have enough strength to even attempt a smile.
That's alright, he has enough charm for the both of you, his imposing stature pushing towards you, as his arm sneaks around your shoulders.
Fuck, you're warm. He can feel the heat of your skin seeping into his costume. There's a vaguely familiar smell clinging to your form, mixing with the scent of cigarette smoke. Jasmine flowers, he concludes, and absent-mindedly remembers a rather large bush growing in your backyard. He wonders, if you'd let him fuck you, if he showed up with a bouquet at your door. Women seemed to like those, and although you didn't strike him as the most romantic person, he's positive he could charm his way into your pants.
-I'll show you to your room, sweetheart - perhaps he's laying it on a bit heavy with the nickname.
He can hear Stillwell's heart jump, and he immediately knows, he's going to have to sit through a stern talk later today. You, on the other hand, wrench your head to the side, disgruntled with this new form of familiarity. Your entire body goes tense, and you try to wriggle yourself further away from him. On instinct, his fingers dig into your shoulder, a mockery of a friendly expression, and with just a small fragment of his true strength, he pushes you forward, out of Stillwell's office.
He can do whatever he wants, and Madelyn is getting awfully pushy with guarding you from him. You're just a temporary toy to satisfy the higher-ups. A six months worth of an experiment, that he's forced to be a part of. After your contract is up, Vaught won't care whether you live or die, and you bet your rather ample ass, he's going to exploit that to the fullest. Not only is it borderline insulting, to deny him life's simple pleasures, it's pathetic.
-Nervous about the press? - he asks in a light tone, his jaw clicking softly, when your slide out of his grasp as soon as the doors close.
The casualness of this question throws you in a bit of a loop, but with a couple of rapid blinks, you're back to normal, letting him lead you towards the elevator.
-Public speaking isn't my best asset - you mumble.
Homelander presses the call button of the elevator, then leans against the wall, watching you with a strange twinkle in his eye.
-Sounds like someone's not a people person - he notes, wiggling his finger at you in a manner that is confusingly playful.
-I am a people person - you defend yourself, albeit a bit awkwardly - Just… Not when there's a lot of people.
He laughs at that, a practiced, almost theatrical bark that's as fake as his hairdo. All you have the strength to do, is flash him half of a smile. Thankfully the elevator pings before any more small-talk is required, and you slip into the confined space, standing in the corner. His eyes roam freely all over your body, a shameless act that makes your guts twist, makes the already small space of the elevator even more stuffy. And then, he enters after you, pressing a button to the right floor, and taking a spot much too close to you, than what's necessary.
You suppose it's one of the things you'll have to get used to. This constant invasion of your personal space. Perhaps, if it were someone else, someone that wasn't as empty as you, those actions would've been more intimidating than annoying. Alas, as you watch his chest rise and fall in steady rythm, out of the corner of your eye, his actions remind you of a petulant, spoiled child, rather than America's Greatest Hero. "I can't play with this toy? And what if I do this?" For just a second you entertain the idea of gentle parenting Homelander, and the thought makes the corner of your mouth twitch.
-Something the matter? - he asks, tension sneaking into his friendly tone.
-Just happy to be here, sir - you answer, and he knows it's a blatant lie, another one of your snarky provocations.
Doesn't matter for now, there will be a time to teach you some manners.
The elevator arrives at the right floor, and you bolt out of your place as soon as the doors slip open. Homelander follows closely behind, before closing the distance in a couple of long steps. Then, he's in front of you, and you nearly collide with his form, as he suddenly comes to a stop, in front of a pair of large doors. "Fireball" is etched into a small plack, and you throw the offending piece of metal a withering glance.
-That's your stop, sweetheart - he comments, and once again, you grimace at the nickname - Take a look inside, I'm sure it will blow your socks right off.
Why is he talking to you like you're a fucking child all of a sudden, you'll never understand. The door clicks softly, as you open it, revealing your living space for the next six months. The sight chokes a laugh out of you, because truly, the ammount of "punk" memorabilia is staggering.
-Does cocaine addiction come with the package, or…?
He doesn't even react to your joke, and you don't blame him. For all his creepiness and fake interest, he doesn't strike you as the funniest person on earth. There are guitars hanging over a rather large bed, there's a pristine stop sign next to them, which you suppose is meant to look rebellious. The usage of leopard print is tacky at best, and you truly start to wonder if they even consulted someone out of the corporation to design the space. Most likely no, wouldn't want to waste resources on such a small project.
-Fireball - Homelander's voice is barely above a whisper, but it makes your heart jump all the same.
He's standing so closely behind you, you can feel the warmth of his breath at the back of your neck, but for some unnknown reason, you can't force yourself to move. Instead, you feel him take a deep breath trough his nose, his chest brushing against your back. Your eyes stay glued to a drum set, pushed against a gigantic window. Light reflects off of the cymbals, in your mind you're already playing it, far away from this nightmare of a superhero.
-I'll see you at the press conference - Homelander's hand clasps itself over your shoulder, squeezing a couple of times, as if testing the softness of your body - Don't even think about being late, young lady.
You don't know when he dissapears, as you stand there, frozen. One foot over the threshold of your room, breathing shallow and borderline panicked. It could've been seconds, could've been hours, until your head finally snaps to the side. He's not there anymore, you're alone in the corridor, and as you slam the door closed behind you, something you've only suspected before becomes abundantly clear.
There is something deeply wrong with Homelander.
#my writing#homelander x reader#homelander x you#plus size reader#the boys amazon#the boys x reader#homelander#the boys fanfiction#homelander fanfiction#do we have to have a talk about how liking a character doesn't equal endorsing their actions or are we good?#it'll get much darker later down the line but for now have this blurb of barely conscious writing
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Monster (Homelander)
Description: Y/N and Homelander are soulmates
Warning: Smut
Word Count: 3,540k
They made eye contact for the first time and the colors started appearing for them both. Homelander waited his entire life for this moment and he couldn’t believe that his soulmate was his enemy. Y/N stared at him with a look of horror as she realized that the worst guy on the planet was her soulmate.
The others weren’t around luckily just them. They weren’t even in a fight she was spying on him at a rally that he was part of for Victoria. Y/N looked around at all the different colors of the universe that she could see and though she was amazed she was scared of who caused her to see these things. Homelander didn’t stop staring at her as he saw her look around. His stare wasn’t an evil one anymore. It was a curious one and a look of shock. Y/N saw that his eyes hadn't left her so she left.
She couldn’t tell a single soul about what she discovered. Not even her best friends who hated Homelander. The Boys was a group that was basically created to kill the man. And Y/N was all for it but she couldn’t believe that the guy she was supposed to kill was her soulmate. Y/N was in shock but hid it really well from the group. “So what did you see?” MM asked her as they ate lunch. Colors she thought but couldn’t say that.
“He was just there at the rally. They must be working together.” She left before she could get the real information but if MM knew then she was sure he would understand but she couldn’t tell anyone. Starlight came in moments later and smiled at Y/N. Starlight was going through it and Y/N felt for her a lot. But right now Y/N had her own issue to worry about.
Y/N had her own place but she wasn’t sure if she was comfortable sleeping there right now. Homelander would certainly find her especially after that. But maybe he would hate her as she hates him and not. She should have trusted her judgment because he did in fact find out where she lived. “What the fuck are you doing here?” She asked with hatred. “You know why I’m here.” He says and looks around. “Yeah well maybe we should let it go.” He chuckled.
Ugh why did his chuckle make her feel funny. “Yeah right. That’s not gonna happen.” He said. She stared at him and shook her head, “It needs to.” She was right. They needed to ignore the fact that they were soulmates but that wasn’t easy. “I get it. You’re with Billy and you want me dead but doesn’t this change that?” Why did he want that to change? He should still hate her no matter what. “No.” She said and went to shut the door in his face but his foot stopped it. She groaned and opened the door. “What they don’t know can't hurt them.” he said.
She hated herself so much for the past few weeks. She was fucking the enemy and not just fucking him but falling in love with him. He was a monster and yet she still managed to see the good in him. Nobody knew what they were doing as he dressed in casual clothes to see her. When he was out and about in his uniform he was a different person. But in her home as he held her as she cuddled into his chest he was her soulmate and a damn good one too. “Ryan he uh he hates me.” He told her as they cuddled. Yeah I wonder why she thought but fought against saying that. “Why?” She asked, looking up at him. “I give him everything but yet he still cares for Butcher.” Hearing his name caused Y/N to mentally freak out. Billy would kill her if he knew what was going on.
“Billy cares about him.” She said. “Yeah but he’s about to die.” Y/N rolled her eyes at his words. That was shitty but she wasn’t surprised. She knew what Billy wanted and she was going to try to keep that promise she made to him. “Ryan’s a sweet kid.” She says and sits up. “Yeah but he needs to realize that we are stronger than humans and we matter and that Billy is just a dying vessel.” She looked at him with a glare. “Is that how you view me?” She asked.
Homelander would never spend the night at her place as it was too risky in case someone shows up at her house. That barely happened but the last thing Y/N wants is for the world to know that she was with him. They haven’t labeled anything yet and Y/N didn’t want to. She was ashamed and embarrassed so she never wanted to put a name to anything. Y/N watched on her computer screen as FireCracker talked about how bad of a person Starlight was. It made her very mad because Annie was not a bad person unlike the Seven.
This new bitch was also obsessed with Homelander which Y/N hated but would never admit it. Homelander told her all about it and how he finds it weird. Y/N agreed with him but for different reasons. How could someone be obsessed with him? He was terrible. Y/N was with Annie when she decided to almost kill FireCracker. Though she couldn’t blame her. The difference is Y/N would have killed her. But Y/N didn’t have powers so she was useless. That night Homelander came to her house in his suit covered in blood. She gasped at the sight and let him in making sure nobody saw.
“What the hell happened?” She asked as she turned on her shower. He told her all about it and some tears were shed. She had never seen this man cry before and it broke her heart. His childhood was terrible and it made sense why he was the way he was. “Well for once I think you did the right thing.” She told him as she washed the blood off him. She agreed that they deserved to die. “You think I did the right thing?” He asked. She nodded. That made him smile a little but she saw. “That’s the only right thing I think you’ve done.” She said and his smile fell. He almost forgot that they were on two different sides. “Do you agree with what Billy does?” He asked her. “Some of it.” She said. Billy had a right but she did think that there were times that he went too far. “Why did you join him?” He asked her.
She set down the rag and sighed, “Men like you are the reason. I understand Billy.” She said. He raised his eyebrows. The woman certainly wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. “Why?” “You raped his wife and caused him hell. If you don’t see why he does what he does then you need to open your eyes.” She said. “Well you certainly love to speak your mind.” He groaned. “Yup and if you don’t like it then leave.” “Can we not talk about what I've done? I have my reason too.” She rolled her eyes and left him in her bathroom. He got up to follow her. “Why are you walking away from me?” “You aren’t a victim to Billy. What you did was wrong and Billy has a right to kill you.” She said.
“Do you want him to kill me?” He asked and she turned towards him. “You don’t want my honest answer.” He felt his heart break of course she didn’t care if he died or not. “Well he’s never going to.” He growled. She ignored him and opened the door for him. “I’m sorry those people did terrible things to you but that doesn’t excuse what you did and are doing.” She said and motioned for him to leave her home.
FireCracker was annoyed that Homelander wasn’t interested in her. She did everything for him and he just rolled his eyes anytime she was near him. She wanted to get to the bottom of it so she decided to stalk him. She knew he didn’t have a girlfriend or at least she didn’t think. But when she followed him to some random girl’s house she was met with a shocking truth. The girl looked familiar but she couldn’t figure out where from. She wasn’t a supe which was surprising because no ordinary woman deserved him.
She groaned as she saw the smile on his face as the woman let him in her house. The house was nice and she waited for them to go inside before investigating. Y/N sat on Homelander’s lap as she made out with him. His hands were placed on her hips and her hands placed on his chest. She’d never say this outloud but he was an amazing kisser. She pushed all her hateful thoughts towards him in the back of her mind. Her window was open but she nor Homelander heard FireCracker see them as they made out.
Homelander removed her shirt and threw it somewhere in the living room. FireCracker felt jealousy and she took a few pictures of them. She was going to find out who this was. Y/N pulled on his shirt signaling him to take it off. He did and she stared at his chest. She hated how hot he was. He smirked and pulled down her panties causing her to gasp as the cool air hit her wet pussy. “If you hate me so much how come you’re all wet for me?” He teased as he ran his fingers up her lips. She gasped at the feeling and he chuckled. “You’re so pretty.” He said and pulled her to her feet. She looked down at him as she was standing on her couch. He smirked and pulled her so her dripping pussy was in front of his face. He sniffed her and she nearly moaned at the sight. He pulled closer and licked her clit causing her to moan and grab his hair. He loved when she did that. Her other hand was placed on the couch to balance her as he ate her out.
His tongue felt like heaven and she enjoyed every second of him doing this to her. His hands were on her hips as he licked and sucked on her. Her moans were loud and pornographic. His name fell from her lips multiple times. Not Homelander but John. He hummed against her causing her to whine. Her high was close and he could feel it. “Cum all over my face love.” He said. She whined as she did. Her juices coating his face as her hips humped his face, riding out the pleasure. It was these moments that she couldn’t bring herself to care about who he was. He let her ride out her climax and ate up all her slick. She pulled away from sensitivity and looked down at him. His face was covered in her orgasm making her moan. She sat down on his lap with shaky legs. She cupped his face and kissed him tasting her juices on his lips and tongue. She licked the rest off his mouth. “I love you.” He whispered causing her eyes to widen.
The pictures of them were posted to the internet the day after causing it to trend that Homelander had a girlfriend. Y/N was unaware of the pics as she walked in to where The Boys met up and was faced with disapproving looks. She gave them a confused look and Kumiko pointed to the TV. She looked at gasped at the pictures. They were of her and Homelander at her place. She looked at the others who didn’t look pleased. “Get the fuck out.” MM growled. “Can I explain?” She asked. “What’s there to explain you fucking the enemy?” He asked. She looked down at the ground.
“It’s not what you think.” She whispered. “Whatever it is I don’t care get the fuck out.” He said. Without a word she left the building with tears in her eyes. She knew she should have told them then and there what it was but she couldn’t. She was so mad that it got exposed and wanted to know how but instead she drove to the Vought building. Tears streaming down her face she got out of the car and made it into the building. Weird looks were given to her but she didn’t care. She was mad and she had a feeling Homelander set her up. She entered the elevator and hit a number hoping that she hit the right one. Luckily she did and walked out of the elevator The Deep saw her and smirked.
“What’s a hot thing like you doing here?” He flirted. Ugh she wanted to puke. “Where’s Homelander?” She asked ignoring him. “You’re the girl he’s seeing… he’s in there.” He pointed to the meeting room and she stormed in there. Homelander turned around at the noise and almost smiled at the sight of her until she slapped him. “You dickhead!” She yelled. “Ow what was that for?” He asked, rubbing his face. “You really thought that I wouldn’t find out?” “Find out what?” “That you leaked those pictures!” “What pictures?” He asked. She laughed. “You are such a piece of shit! I can’t believe I was almost in love with you!” She yelled at him. His face softened at her words, “You love me?” He asked. “No, why would I? You’re an awful human being. I hate that you’re my soulmate and I wish Billy would kill you!” She yelled. His face dropped at her words.
“Now the world knows about us all because you and your fucking ego!” She yelled. “I didn’t leak any pictures of us you bitch!” He growled and grabbed her by her throat. He left her up like she was nothing and she began choking. “I have done nothing but be nice to you and this is how you treat me?” He asked, watching her struggle. She couldn’t say anything and he chuckled. He threw her to the ground and watched as she gasped for air. “You really think I'm happy that my soulmate is a pathetic, no good human like you?” He asked. She stared up at him with hatred in her eyes. “You are nothing to me. You are below me and not worthy of me.” He screamed at her. Her face didn’t change and she stood up. “You’re a monster.” She said and left. He watched her leave and pulled out his phone.
What pictures is she talking about? His name was trending but when was it not? Though the same pictures of him and her were trending and he didn’t understand how and why did she think he was behind this? The pictures were of them kissing and it showed both of their faces pretty well. There was no doubt that The Boys knew about it and probably kicked her out. He tried to find the source of the pictures but it was posted anonymously. He needed to find out who did this.
Y/N laid in her bed and cried for hours. She knew that it was a big mistake and she shouldn’t have let him into her home at all. He was a monster that she almost fell for. She hated herself and knew that her life was over and nothing good was to come. She had to get up and go get her things from MM. She wiped her eyes that were now sore from crying. She tried to make herself look like she wasn’t a hot mess and left her house. She pulled up to the building and sighed. She wasn’t sure she could do this but she had to.
She walked into the place with her head down. “I thought I told you to get the fuck out.” MM said to her. “I need to grab my things.” She said without looking at any of them. She packed up her things and felt eyes on her. She looked up and everyone was looking at her. “Why?” Frenchie asked. “Why do that?” She felt tears in her eyes again and she stopped packing. “The day of the rally that I went to and had to spy on him. We made eye contact and it was the first time I've ever made eye contact with him.
The world was no longer black and white for me.” She said. Annie covered her mouth and Hughie’s jaw dropped. “He’s your soulmate?” Annie asked and Y/N nodded now sobbing. Kumiko walked up and hugged her. She hugged her back and sobbed even harder. MM looked at her and sighed, “Why didn’t you tell us this?” “I couldn’t. I couldn’t let you guys hate me because of this.” “We don’t hate you.” Hughie said and Annie nodded. “He’s a monster and I hate myself for it everyday. He leaked those pictures. It’s like he planned this.” “He didn’t leak those pictures.” Hughie said.
She looked at him, “FireCracker did.” Her jaw dropped. “How do you know this?” She asked. “Well we wanted to know who leaked them and we traced the IP address and FireCracker did it.” Frenchie said. She couldn’t believe that she actually thought Homelander did that. She picked up her box of things and started walking to the door, “Thank you guys for everything. I’m sorry that all this happened and for what it’s worth. I want him to die.” She said. “Wait.” MM said. “I don’t really want you to leave.” She looked at him confused. “You’re family Y/N and this whole soulmate thing could help us.” She raised her eyebrow at his words.
Homelander glared daggers at FireCracker. He wasn’t a dumbass, he knew she did it and he wanted to laser her from where she stood. He hated what he said to Y/N and hated that she thought of him as a monster. Though a part of him knew it was true he still didn’t like the thought. He truly loved her and he knew she felt the same way about him but she tried to deny it. He had to fix things between them and if she truly wanted nothing to do with him. He would let her go.
She sat on her couch as the memory of what they said to each other played in her head. She knew that she shouldn’t feel this way about him and that it was wrong but there’s a reason that he’s her soulmate. She was in love with him, she was in love with a monster and the more she tried to deny it the worse things got. A knock on her door ripped her from the memory and she got up. She opened the door and there he stood in the pouring rain. Her eyes widened and she expected him to laser her head off after what she said but he didn’t. “I didn’t release those pictures. It was FireCracker. I know you hate me and never want me to be in your life but I love you Y/N. I truly love you and I want more with you. You’re my soulmate for crying out loud. We are bound to be together. But if you truly hate me and think those things about me then tell me now and I will fly away from her and you won’t see me again. I’m willing to let you go if it means that you can be happy again.” She stared up at him as he told her that.
He looked like he meant every word. The rain poured on them as they stared at each other. He went to open his mouth again but she kissed him. It was like a scene from a movie. Her lips were on his and both of them felt complete. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer. They didn’t care about the rain. The kiss lasted a long time before they pulled away. “I love you John.” She said and he smiled. For once in his life he smiled and it wasn’t fake. He picked her up causing her to let out a sound of shockness. She laughed as she carried her in her house out of the rain. He cupped her face and looked down at her lips. “My beautiful soulmate, the other half of me. The good half of me.” She smiled and cupped his face. “The bad half of me.” They both laughed. They kissed again but this time it led to something more and like the rest it was amazing but this time there was love in it.
After it was over the both laid in her bed fully naked and cuddled up together. The silence was nice and peaceful. She felt happy about this and went to kiss him again but her phone went off. She saw a message from Billy that said, “Sorry luv I don’t care that he’s your soulmate. He needs to die and I will kill you too if you get in the way.”
#the boys#the boys imagine#the boys amazon#the boys season 4#homelander#homelander x reader#homelander imagine#homelander smut#homelander x you#antony starr
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you and me, we go way back.
18+ notes: fem reader, takes place vaguely during season 2. summary: Homelander sneakily makes his way back into your life, though you make no room to stop it. warnings : mature content, domlander. word count: 1.4k
After saving a mass of civilians from a terrorist attack, going to interview after interview, and socializing with fans, Homelander was exhausted. Well, as exhausted as he could be—tiredness was a concept foreign to him. Landing on the roof of the conglomerate he called home, Homelander decided to visit you. You, with your sweet words, comforting presence, and sinful smile.
The flight to the door of your balcony lasted a quick two minutes, the location of it still etched into his brain. The lights were turned off, and he didn't hear any noise that suggested you were home, so imagine his surprise when your balcony door was unlocked. You wanted him to come, he figured.
The living room looked the same as always, though there was an orange cat sleeping on your grey couch. You did love cats with all your heart. He was more of a dog person, though. It was no problem, however; he knew as soon as you moved in with him, your family was bound to grow anyway. With the exception of your companion, everything else had stayed the same.
Your bedroom was the same as always, your bed had the same wooden frame, and plants were still littered everywhere. Your bookshelf now had the complete collection of his movies, including a little poster that was all rolled up, marked with his signature and a sweet message written in the corner: "To the best p.a at Vought, let me take you out to dinner sometime. -Homelander."
In comparison, the bathroom seemed bigger and a new shower had been built, with black tile and glass doors. What attracted his attention the most, though, was an article of clothing thrown over the hamper. It was a Homelander-themed t-shirt, and it looked used. That made him chuckle. He wondered, did you touch yourself late at night wearing this shirt while thinking of him? He hoped you did.
After taking a tour through the apartment, Homelander heard the familiar jingle of your keys and prepared to see you again.
You were just coming home from a disastrous date. Your hopes were actually high, and you even put in more effort: your burgundy dress hugged your curves nicely, your Van Cleef perfume was drool-worthy, and your red-bottomed Louboutins completed the look.
So imagine your disappointment when Mike—or at least that's what he called himself—was rude-mannered and even asked if you would pay him back for covering your food, making clear the other options he viewed as payment, which completely flabbergasted you. As soon as he was done eating, you bid him farewell and basically teleported to your car.
Fiddling with your keys, you were completely prepared to change into a night slip, pour a glass of wine, and accept the fact that maybe, remaining single wasn't as bad as you thought.
Opening the door and leaving your purse and keys on the counter, you first took your heels off and poured yourself a glass of your favourite red. Quickly turning to enter the living room, you almost dropped it of shock.
"John. What? How… how are you here?"
"Sweetheart," he said with a smirk, "I missed you."
"You can't just show up like this," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "You're a superhero, for God's sake, the leader of The Seven, might I add."
"I know," he replied, his smirk widening. "But I wanted to surprise you."
"Well, you succeeded," you muttered, unsure how to feel about his sudden appearance.
"Come on," he said, stepping closer. "Aren't you happy to see me?"
You hesitated, then sighed. "Maybe. But next time, try giving me a heads-up."
"Noted," he said with a wink. "Now, how about we catch up?"
You took a deep breath, trying to process everything. Despite your attempts to stay composed, seeing him again stirred up old feelings. Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you and gently placed his hands on your waist.
"I've missed this," he murmured, his breath warm against your cheek.
You closed your eyes, feeling his touch sending shivers down your spine. "John…"
He tilted your chin up with his finger, locking eyes with you. "I've thought about you every day."
"I…" Words failed you as he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours in a kiss that was both familiar and electrifying. Years melted away in that moment as his kiss deepened, the taste of wine and the scent of him engulfing your senses.
You wrapped your arms around him instinctively, pulling him closer. His hands roamed your back, holding you even nearer as the kiss grew more intense. It was as if the world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you in that moment of undeniable chemistry and longing.
When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. John's eyes searched yours, filled with a mixture of longing and affection.
"I never stopped loving you," he confessed quietly, his voice raw with emotion.
Tears pricked at your eyes as you cupped his face in your hands. "I missed you too, John."
"You know," you whispered, your voice husky with desire as you traced your fingers lightly along his jawline, "you always knew how to make an entrance."
He chuckled softly, his breath mingling with yours. "I couldn't stay away any longer."
Leaning in closer, you murmured, "Well, now that you're here, what do you plan to do about it?"
His eyes darkened with desire as he pulled you even closer, his lips brushing against yours. "Everything I should have done a long time ago."
With that, he kissed you deeply, his hands finding their way through your hair, and you knew that this time, there would be no more goodbyes, only the passionate reunion you had both been craving.
Homelander knew how much you had wanted this, your arousal already pooling between your legs, the smell of it hitting him hard and heading straight to his cock. How did he stay away from you for so long? How did he resist fucking you senseless and instead entered a relationship with a fucking nazi?
Breaking out of his stupor, he found you already kissing his neck, your hands unbuckling his belt and peeling off his suit.
“Missed me that much, hm, sweetheart? Finally realized no one can fuck you like I do. You’re even wearing my face to sleep.” Homelander whispered, getting on top of you and roughly sliding his cock in, filling you to the brim with his length.
“Please John, fuck. You know no one can fuck me like you do, you're everything I've ever wanted, needed, and craved. I love, love, love you so fucking much, you're so good to me." You cried, tugging at his hair.
Now for that, you were getting rewarded. As he finally decided to start moving, hand sliding up your shirt and pulling your nipple, teasing you, you found yourself sobbing, his cock sliding deeper into you and making your flimsy bed shake.
Quickly deciding he had enough of missionary, Homelander pulled you into his lap, thrusting into you harsher than before and grabbing your other nipple with his mouth, sucking and biting, your moans drowning out the sound of your bed frame banging against your wall.
“You’re so fucking good. So, so good. I’m so fucking close, John, God.” You sobbed, tugging at his hair and scratching his back with your nails.
After a few rough thrusts into you, you finally came, vision going white and sobs coming out of you. The sensation of you tightening around him, the noises, and the smell of sex were all too much for Homelander as he came crashing, white load spilling inside you.
The intensity of it made your legs shake, overstimulation finally taking hold of all your senses.
However, now, as you settled down on his chest, head tucked away into his neck, you realized that maybe that sucky date was all worth it. John was back; he was in bed next to you right now, tracing little shapes into your skin and kissing your forehead.
Oh, how much you had missed this. His softer side, the love he offered you, the sweet gestures, and kind words—it made your head dizzy and your heart melt in your chest.
"Finally realized you're all mine, sweetheart. We'd better start packing; you're moving into the penthouse first thing in the morning. Can't risk letting you slip away from me again."
Those were the last words you heard as your breathing slowed, your eyes finally closed, your head resting on his chest. The promise of a new beginning with him filled you with a warmth and peace you hadn't felt in a long time.
#homelander x reader#homelander imagine#the boys x reader#the boys imagine#the boys#homelander fic#— lena writes 🔖
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What interactive fiction would you recommend (besides this one)?
oh anon i follow over 150 if blogs let me get you some of my favorites😊 This is very long so all of them are under the cut🫶
some of these you'll probably already have heard of bc of how popular they are, but trust me, they're popular for a reason, lmao
these ones all have demos (if i messed up and some dont uh ignore that)
@infamous-if - "You're going to be a superstar, no matter what it takes." genuinely one of my favorites ifs (seven lawless my beloved please come back home the kids are asking whats taking so long)
@coeluvr - "You play as the only remaining member of the royal family of Vesphire; living in the home of the man who took away everything from you." another ive been obsessed with recently. i will forever love revenge stories (and my pookie helios)
@merrycrisis-if - "As a late 20-something year-old fresh from a recent break-up and struggling to pay rent in New York, life throws up more questions than answers."
@ramonag-if - "When your village is razed to the ground, you're left fleeing with an exiled prince. You can trust no one but each other. Your father's dying wish was to protect the prince, but can you really trust a man who was exiled from his kingdom?"
@nyehilismwriting / Project Hadea - "Set in a distant future, you play the role of an elite operative of Scytha Industries, a private contracting firm. ‘Contracting’, in this case, refers to anything from political assassinations, to private security, to bodyguard services."
@vapolis - "You’re a mercenary, gun for hire, assassin, information extractor, delivery person – call it what you want, because the people that hire you for your services don’t give much of a shit what you call yourself as long as you actually get them what they want."
@godsandvillains-if - "As the only metahuman with the ability to wield the powerful Chaos Magic, your very blood holds the answers to unlocking the secrets behind the control of time and space, but it has the drawback of being almost completely volatile."
@hvllowheart - "LAMB TO THE SLAUGHTER is a spy game where you take on the role of an agent under the codename Wraith, who up until two years ago was one of the best agents TERRA has ever made. now the agency returns into your life and pulls you back into the field as agents go missing by the dozens."
@eyesofshan-if - "Years ago, you were uprooted from the only home you had ever known and captured to be sold as a slave. Now, war is at your doorstep once more while you are left in a delicate position — as a commander of the country that invaded your homeland. While investigating a case of illegal human trafficking, you come across a plot that threatens to rip this tentative peace apart."
@apt502-if - "Moving from your small home to New York City was supposed to be a dream. You were supposed to start your new life with your long-distance partner and dive headfirst into full-on adulthood. Everything was supposed to be perfect. How can you not love being in your mid-twenties in the Big Apple?That is until your put-together, white collar partner dumps you the same day you arrive. Fun."
@acourtofserpents - "As the only human in the Kingdom of Faerie, you're no stranger to shining eyes that hold looks filled with hatred, lips painted in the color of forest fruits whispering your name, heads with pointed ears turning at your every step. Though you long for their approval, for a place amongst the wicked immortals, they remind you with every breath you take that as you came from dirt, to dirt you will return."
@softlyopulent-if - "All of King Adder’s children are a mystery to the common folk, but you—you are nothing but a ghost. A ghost, that spends eighteen years locked away in the deepest part of the palace, so that no eyes may lay upon you.And those that do—they do not treat you kindly.And when you are finally of age, at last, you are betrothed to the child of the King of a far away kingdom, to secure an alliance that your father has been seeking for years.And you are swept away to a place even more foreign than your own land, to be wed to a stranger that looks at you with contempt. To live in a kingdom of citizens that despise you. And perhaps, just perhaps, fight a war."
@heromaker-if - "Stories of heroes, legends and chosen ones are commonplace. But you'd never thought it was your child who would have to save the world from the Demon Lord's clutches."
@theabyssal - "In The Abyssal, you assume the control of a powerful deity that was betrayed by their fellow gods. Imprisoned against your will for all eternity, you had a long time to plan your revenge."
@milaswriting - "By birth, and association, you are one of the most famous people in the big city of Lehsa. Your father's the mayor, and you're from a bright, vibrant, bustling city... and yet, until recently, you didn't realise all the secrets yourself and the city held."
@zico-if - "You were supposed to be a sacrifice in order to bring an eldritch god to your realm, a sacrifice that was never supposed to live. Instead of dying and summoning the god intended, you find yourself face to face with an ancient being that was chained and locked away for the horrors they once committed."
@collegetennisoriginstory - "Experience the ups-and-downs of life as a freshman on the Cargill University varsity tennis team amongst a colorful cast of characters."
@disenchantedif - "You used to be a beacon of hope. Now they only know you as the failure, the Unchosen. Will you rise above them? Will you become better or far worse than they could ever imagine?"
@bouncyballcitadel - "Play as a first-year surgery intern at Citadel Health. Will you become the star intern and curry the favor of the chief? Or will you uncover Citadel Health’s secrets and break a story or two? This will be the best and worst year of your life. Don’t forget to save lives and break some hearts along the way."
@leoneliterary - "You play as a thief pressed into the employ of a mysterious nobleman. With the your life, the fate of your guild, and your honor on the line, you'll have to navigate the perils of the royal court and combat a more mystical threat. The story is set in Cusmo, the naturally fortified, desert capital of Hashind, and will showcase the much praised Upper Cusmo, the crime ridden Lower Cusmo, and much more."
@doriana-gray-games - "Play as your version of Sherlock Holmes in this romance detective game!"
@fallenlightsif - "You are the half-sibling of High General Ezrah Rhys and have lived the past twelve years of your life in Kesdon, the capital of Ebia. You've spent most of your time training and honing your skills for the future that awaits you. A future that is entirely your own."
@shai-manahan - "They call you Ripper. It’s a horrendous name to give to a detective like you, and definitely not one you chose for yourself, but you suppose it’s to be expected given your reputation for putting powerful people behind bars. Businesses feared you. The other cops hated you. Local gangs despised your entire existence. Yet, despite all of that, you remained untouched. Until that day, when all the lies and the deception and the foolish mistakes turned your life upside down."
@larkingame - "someone is after you. for over a decade and a half now, you’ve traveled up, down and across the country--running schemes and hunting fiends with your mentor, con-man-by-day, vampire-hunter-by-night, Wyatt Abrams--the prolific vampire slayer and the living descendant of Gregory Abrams, founder and prophet of the Abrams Family, the nomadic vampire-hunting cult that raised you--and was wiped out years ago. carrying the abrams name means also means carrying on it's enemies--but that isn't to say you haven't forged a couple of your own along the way. now, it seems someone is trying to make good on old threats and promises. they've placed a bounty on your head. so you and wyatt do what you do best: you run away. to some little town, out nevada ways, where the title of town preacher is unexpectedly thrust upon you--bringing back years of trauma you thought long tucked away."
@evertidings - "you are a bounty hunter. responsible for taking in rogue supernaturals, you work for IAOS—the international agency of supernaturals—where, alongside your best friend and partner, you two have quickly become the best hunting duo of the branch. after a particularly tricky hunt, you brief your boss, Caine Atheron, and come back to work the next day to find that he has mysteriously disappeared overnight, the company is now in the hands of his best friend, Sebastian Mai. and though no one else seems to question it, something tells you that there's more to the story."
@rotten-games - Regrets Of The Traitor: "You are the Ruler of Hadaria after killing the previous Queens and betraying all who once trusted you. Sat upon the throne with all the power available to you, one would be forgiven for believing you finished with your quest. With a strange figure in your dreams speaking vague prophecies of magical artifacts, a mysterious cult moving into the city, and a group intent on unseating you from your place, perhaps you’re way in over your head for a farmer’s kid. City of Immortals: "You follow a pair of siblings worlds apart as they get accustomed to their new realities in two very different worlds. One trapped in an unnatural desert wasteland where every resource has a scarcity, not knowing if they’ll be the only one left when everything turns to dust, the other working as a private investigator in a sprawling underground metropolis of the undying. Each not knowing the other is alive, will they unravel the mysteries that somehow connect their two new homes?"
@shepherds-of-haven - "Shepherds of Haven is a dark fantasy interactive fiction game. In it, you play as a Mage living in a world where magic is outlawed and your people—those possessing supernatural powers—are oppressed and reviled. The world is ruled by humans who believe in science, technology, and industry: at best, you and your kind are nothing more than a fairytale, and at worst you are the state’s greatest threat."
@someoneverypretty-world - "As a child, growing up in the slums of Hvinir without any guardians, you believed you would not live to see 30. Until Haven, a thief guild, took you in and taught you how to survive. Facing hardships, the guild leader tasks you to sneak into the castle with the mission to take."
@northern-passage - "The Northern Passage is an 18+ horror fantasy CYOA, where you play as a hunter sent up north to investigate a series of missing people along the border of your home country and in the port cities of the Blackwater. Working with your handler, Lea, you will travel north and discover that things are far worse than you ever could have imagined, and that there is something powerful lurking out in the deep, dark sea…"
@thedecoy-if - "♔ The Decoy is a dark fantasy that follows you, a 21st century normal human, kidnapped to an alternate magical universe to play the part of the missing heir to a powerful throne...who also happens to be your doppelgänger. ♔"
@ripperplague - "You are a doctor, a prodigy in hiding. Deep in the underbelly of Valeris, you hide among the shadows. You work hard to wring the blood stains off your palms, your face...your soul. Redemption and revenge are parallel goals, the flames of rage and disgust mingling. How could anyone ever love you?"
These ones dont have a demo yet, but im still absolutely obsessed
@pavedinashes-if - "You're only 20 when suddenly your life goes bam! Throwing you into a whole new city, a different country even. Wasn't part of the plan, but you know how life loves to mess with plans. People happened, stuff happened, and suddenly you're on the move. The new chapter ahead? Buckle up, 'cause it's not gonna be all sunshine and rainbows. And guess what? Your step-mom? Yeah, she's right there in the same city. She's always had this knack for trying to steer your ship, like every decision's a GPS checkpoint. But hey, there's this one thing that's never let you down—your skateboard. It's like the buddy that's been with you through thick and thin, the one that never bails. Among all this craziness it's like your anchor. So, the big question is—can you break out of the loop you got in? Find your place in the world and restart or lose yourself in temptation? Time to find out."
@riptide-if - "Your dad has always said you swim as if your were born to be in the water; the rest of your family has always said that he is the whole reason you turned out like that. So, it's not really a surprise when you had used all the money you got for your 7th birthday to buy a surfboard. And even less of a surprise when you started joining small surf competitions by the time you were 10, later followed by bigger competitions. It seems you are the only one surprised when it turns out you're able to compete in the World Surfer's League's Ultimate Tournament Tour*. Thrown into a mix of fellow surfing prodigies, rookies, and pros, do you really have what it takes to win?"
@weepinwriter - "You are inmate No. 1441, incarcerated in Tartarus, the most notorious prison on the continent. You find yourself imprisoned for a crime that you do not remember committing, leaving you in a state of uncertainty about your own identity and purpose. The first memory you have is awakening to the sensation of a gun being shoved into your mouth."
@whatawaitsus - "Despite being one of the most expensive schools in the nation, nothing particularly interesting has happened at the school in the nine years you've been here— aside from the occasional accidental possession caused by a ghost or the common room getting flooded after a nixie gets too frustrated over their homework. That is until students start to go missing."
@evermount - "Blue-suited guards stand in every corner, but they're no threat—you're under threat. And this is how you keep safe. It's necessary; the council said so themselves. Under no circumstances shall Evermount be left, ever. So, no one has, and no one intends to. Why would you? It's peaceful—you're at peace. You have your spouse, and you have your house; everyone's happy. This is all you've ever known."
@forsakensword-if - "When the Deathless, an Ancient Evil that hasn’t been seen in over two million years, returns to Earth, it threatens the extremely precarious peace that has settled between the warring factions of Heaven and Hell. God, in an effort to protect Humanity from the consequences of a war between the Angels and Demons, sends Heaven’s best warriors to banish the Deathless once more. When that ultimately fails, it is declared that God’s Sworn Sword and Heaven’s Chief Angel will be charged with finding a way to destroy the Deathless once and for all. That Angel is you. The Archangel Michael."
@velena-if - "You wake up in a dark, cold place with no memories of yourself, save for one: the memory of your death. It becomes clear soon enough that you are in the Nav, the domain of the goddess of death, Morana, and the sanctuary of all the evil spirits and monsters. For you, Nav will be the place where your life changes forever."
@countdown-if - "Three months ago, life took a sharp turn. Your mother found herself entangled in a situation so bad, she couldn't dig her way out of it, like usual. This time, the hole was way too deep. She needed help, and the only people capable of aiding her were the same ones she had vowed never to allow back into her life, let alone introduce to you and your younger sibling. Who were they? Your grandparents—a powerful and well-established duo. In short, they did manage to help your mother back on her feet, but not without strings attached—never without strings. Now, you're facing a senior year in a private school, fully funded by none other than grandma and grandpa, dearest. The only task at hand: do what your mother couldn't—graduate."
@dropout-if - "This is your first summer home since you began studying in Stanford. That is what everyone thinks. This is your first summer home since you dropped out of college, thus becoming the biggest disappointment in your neighborhood. That is what only you know. "
@stonewall-if - "Stonewall Military Academy: the most brutal, merciless, and unforgiving boarding school in the country. Most recruits either desert or die by the end of their first year. It is where the fiercest and deadliest killers are trained and molded to be the military's steel fist. And it is not for the faint of heart."
@viperdove-if - "You are the Dove, the heir to one of the most powerful crime families in your country. The grip your family--your father--has on their side of the land is tight, and now that you've reached adulthood it's time for you to be fully absorbed into the machinations of gang warfare. That means opium, mercenaries, assassinations. In this ancient world, blood moves people just as much as money does."
@fallen-if - "You are an individual that has been known by many aliases over the years. Child of the dawn, the original sinner, star of the morning. But no matter the name, your identity remains the same. You are the one that defied the heavens, the one that cast aside the shackles of tradition and broke free from the constraints of the divine. You are Lucifer Morningstar - The Fallen Angel. "
@maboroshi-if - "Maboroshi is an Interactive Fiction Game based in the world of Naruto, however, all events within the story span during the end of the First Shinobi War and the beginning of the Second Shinobi War."
@greatprotector-if - "Forced out of your family's farm against your will, you are now an ocean away from home, and you have somehow been chosen to be the main protector of the heir to some kingdom you’ve hardly even heard of. The spot's only open because the former protector died of old age, so that's probably a good indicator that it won't be as strenuous as it sounds. But despite that, you pour yourself into your work. You can't help it. You feel safer decked out in armour, and you like having something you're trusted to look after. Protect some royalty, cover all your blind spots, and try not to worry about all you've left behind."
@retribution-if - "Retribution, He Cries is a revenge story set in the Dark Ages of the fictional world of [REDACTED] and other realms."
@thescarsilivewith-if - "You were a kind monarch once. After your mother’s brutal reign, you thought your people needed respite. Evidently, they didn’t think the same since their bloodthirst only increased. Three years after your coronation, your mother’s favourite consort dethroned you with the army and the clergy’s support. As you fled from the palace together with your spouse, from an arranged marriage celebrated only three months earlier, you were found by slavers. You managed to save your spouse but not yourself. Four years later, your spouse finds you, though you’re not the same person they knew. You are not changed in spirit alone, however, for your magic grew in your captivity and now you’re unbound. When the crown chose you as its owner, you wanted peace for your kingdom. Now the only thing you crave is revenge."
#thanks anon!#this took me way too long lmao#i was gonna add more but u can only @ 50 blogs in one post🙁#anyways! enjoy🫶#rec list#other ifs.
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If I can’t have you.
Pairing: Homelander x fem!reader (who's a member of The Boys)
Summary: he’s obsessed with something he can’t have. And you just so happen to show up at a little Vought party.
Warnings: Homelander himself is a warning, language/profanities, mentions of violence, psycho behavior, a bit of stalking?, bits of obsessive behavior, use of y/n
Author's note: After weeks of hiding under a rock, I have returned with this little fic. Just a random thought, Homelander may be ooc, I don't know, I tried my best, I've only seen a few episodes of the show. Anyways, enjoy. English isn't my first language, there should be mistakes, apologies beforehand :)
Word count: 789
———————————————————————————
You weren't supposed to be there. Not at a Vought party, not at this swanky corporate party with its champagne flutes, fancy lighting from the chandeliers, and a thousand faces that were too smug for their own good. But there you were, playing the role of a nobody, trying to blend in with the crowd. The plan from Butcher was easy — get in, get out, no problems.
But then he noticed you.
Homelander.
The Golden Boy. America's fucking sweetheart. The poster child of Vought International's entire empire. He was everything you despised, everything you were working with The Boys to bring down. You knew what he was behind the flashing lights and the cameras, the bodies he had left behind without so much as a second thought. He was a ticking time bomb, dressed up in red, white, and blue. But you didn't expect him to even look your way.
It started with a file. A damn file. Some low-level paper pusher at Vought had flagged you as a person of interest — seeing your connection with The Boys. Homelander caught wind of it somehow, maybe during one of his scans to sniff out a threat, or maybe he was just bored enough to pry where he shouldn't have. And then, there it was — your face, plastered on the screen. Something about you caught his eye. You didn't look scared. You looked defiant.
That pissed him off. But it also intrigued him. So, he started watching.
At first, it was just a curiosity, a passing interest. But then it grew, and festered. He started to check in on you more and more, looking through cameras, or, fuck, his x-ray vision, flying over the city to catch sight of you. It became a sick little game for him — seeing how close he could get without you noticing, and you didn't. He'd watch you walk down the street, watch you with Butcher and his merry band of assholes, watch you when you were alone. It was thrilling for him, intoxicating, even, to know that someone like you, someone who should be terrified, was living their life so... boldly.
And that's when it became an obsession. You were something he couldn't control, something he couldn't have. And that made him want you even more.
Which is why, when you crashed Vought's little party, you felt a pair of eyes on you the moment you stepped foot into the building. You knew something was wrong, you felt it. It made your stomach churn, as if it was a warning that told you to run. But you couldn't. You had a job to do, information to gather. And you knew that Homelander wouldn't dare to make a scene at a party that was hosted for him. Not here, not now.
But then you bumped into him.
Literally.
One second you were standing beside a door, trying to catch a few whispered words between the executives, acting casual. And the next, you were backing up right into the problem itself, quickly turning around and meeting the eyes that could burn holes through your skull or melt you into a literal puddle.
"Whoops," Homelander said, with that infuriating, perfectly rehearsed smile plastered across his face, as if he wasn't the most dangerous thing in the room. "Well, what do we have here? A little spy, sneaking around my party?" he hummed, his voice low, just for you.
"Oh, no. Just someone who’s enjoying the party like everyone else is, nothing special." you said, your voice steady, although you were absolutely fucking lost inside.
"Standing close to that door won't do you any good. Why don't you come with me?" his hand reached out, brushing a lock of your hair behind your ear, and you fought the urge to flinch.
His eyes were piercing, searching your face like he was trying to peel back your skin and see what made you tick.
Nope. You were leaving.
He couldn't have seen through you, could he? You've never even met face to face before; how could he recognize you? Did he know that you were with Butcher?
Fuck him. Fuck Butcher. Fuck this.
"I should go. This party's been delightful." you said, giving him a smile that seemed too forced, a sour look on your face.
You turned around and quickly paced your steps to the exit, as if your lifeline was just ahead. It was. But before you could reach it—
Homelander blocked in front of you, blocked your path. The smile no longer on his face, instead, it was replaced by a dangerous glint in his eyes. He moved forward, one step... two steps, backing you further and further away from the exit.
"Leaving so soon... y/n?"
#homelander#homelander x reader#homelander x you#homelander x y/n#homelander x fem!reader#homelander the boys#homelander imagine#the boys#the boys x reader#the boys x you#the boys x y/n#the boys homelander#the boys fanfic#the boys fandom#homelander fanfiction
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⸻ tell me i'm your national anthem. part three. ⸻
· pairing: homelander x collegestudent!reader · type: part of a series · summary: you tell john about your childhood & the things you still want despite it, & he tells you about his, knowing once & for all that you’re meant to belong to him & him alone. · word count: 2,409
You’re just beginning to drift off when you hear a soft knock against the glass.
You groan into your pillow and could swear you hear a deep chuckle from the other side of the door in response.
You slowly rise—head spinning from exhaustion—and pad over to the door, silently flipping the lock before throwing yourself back down face-first into the mattress, pulling a thin blanket over your bare legs.
John enters the room, staring down at you, arms folded behind his back. “What? No dinner for your man tonight?”
You mentally roll your eyes at him calling himself that yet again, but don’t reply to that particular comment. “I already ate. I’m going to sleep.”
He huffs, glancing around your small apartment, then back to you. “Guess I’ll just climb in there with y—”
“Not with your suit still on you aren’t,” you mumble into your pillow.
He raises a brow in interest, smirking, surprised you’re not trying to argue otherwise. Maybe that’s the key to getting his way, then, until you start caving all on your own: take advantage when you have no energy to fight back. When you’re soft and tired and at his will to do with as he pleases.
“See you’re finally starting to see things my way,” he states smugly.
You roll over then, looking at him. “You’re not wearing your outside clothes in my bed. It’s not a come-on.”
He toes off his boots, then settles his hands on his hips, as if he’s debating something internally.
It doesn’t take much effort for you to understand what.
His suit is his metaphorical armor. You still have yet to understand why he’s so insecure, though—why his ego is so fragile. That’s the one thing about him that should be ‘untouchable’, so to speak. Then again, being physically bulletproof doesn’t have any bearing on what’s inside.
And what’s inside seems, still, like a little boy living in a man’s body, to you.
He needs to feel wanted. He’d seemed pleased last night when you’d talked about seeing him again—like you were finally giving him what he’s been desiring since that day he first set eyes upon you in your university’s auditorium: your willing attention.
Your eyes flutter closed, throwing a bone his way. “I’m cold.”
And that’s all it takes for him to remove his suit—leaving him clad only in a pair of dark-blue briefs. And it makes him want to crawl out of his fucking skin.
But you’re all but finally asking for him. You want him. You’ve finally come around.
He knew you would. No woman can resist. Not even you. Young and pretty you may be, but you’re still not educated enough to know what’s in your best interest, clearly. Best interest being him. That’s the problem with all these liberal ‘schools’. They don’t teach what they used to: love of ones country. Instead, they’d tried to turn you against him.
But he can still pull you back. It seems like he already has as you lie there, waiting for him.
So, he climbs into bed next to you, pulling the covers over himself, and then he pulls you into his arms, holding you against his chest.
He smiles softly when you gently press your palms to his pecks.
“I like you better like this,” you say, cuddling closer, wondering how he’ll react to it.
He tightens his arms around you then and you squeak.
“John, you’re crushing me.”
He loosens his hold, feeling the least bit pathetic.
He’s done this before—held a woman so tightly that it resulted in her life being cut short he was that fucking desperate for affection.
He lets you go entirely then, rolling onto his back, hating himself.
He doesn’t need anyone. Why can’t he get that through his goddamn head? Why the fuck should he care what a weak, useless, lonely little human like you thinks about him—a god? He should just kill you instead. He does that, and you’re no longer all he’s able to fucking think about all day—to a disturbingly obsessive degree. It’d be as simple as—
You scoot closer, sliding a warm, dainty hand up his chest until it’s resting gently against his cheek and his mind immediately goes blank—his face twitching as he fights back tears.
Maybe your superpower is just…comforting maternal gestures, then.
At least with you he won’t have to compete with another to receive them. Unlike Madelyn…and Teddy. The little shit. Taking what should’ve been—had been—his.
But you? There is no competition. He assumes, at least.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” He asks quietly.
You pop an eye open, staring at him as he stares up at the ceiling, his face entirely void of emotion.
Lying would be useless, you’re sure. He works for Vought—or with—you’re sure they could have a comprehensive background check done on you in a handful of minutes…if he hasn’t already done as much. You have half-a-mind to ask, but you’re not sure you want the answer to such a question.
“No.”
His lip twitches, turning upwards into a smile, which leaves you feeling uneasy.
“So you’re all mine, then.”
You open both eyes, blinking at him, heartrate beginning to climb. “I—”
He shakes his head slightly. “No. Wasn’t a question.”
He turns back onto his side then, sliding a heavy hand over your hip, holding you possessively in his grip. “You said you’d tell me about ‘her’ tonight.”
You brush your thumb against his cheek, eyes drifting down to his chest, not wishing to meet his own now.
You want to go back to his comment—one he’s made more than once now, just in varying ways—about…ownership. He surely doesn’t mean it.
But every time you’ve tried to assure yourself of anything concerning him: that he won’t come back, that he won’t really hurt you—you’ve been wrong.
Maybe you’re not as good at reading people as you like to think you are. Most of all him.
You just still don’t understand why you’re a subject of fascination for him yet. Like you’d told yourself the other day…what’re you compared to any of the other women in his life? But maybe that’s it, then. Just like him, they’re forced to put on a mask, not letting anyone in deeper than surface-level, lest the plastic cracks.
It seems like he just…wants to connect.
No wonder you’ve been so tired the last couple of days—constantly wracking your mind, trying to understand him. As if it’s even possible. He’s been an actor all his life.
You sigh.
“I’m sure you won’t…be able to relate. I’m envious of you in that: your perfect childhood, and life. I wish I’d had that…”
You trail off for a moment.
“My mother,” you say quietly. “I haven’t seen her since I was eighteen and left for college. Half the reason I even went was to get away from her. I didn’t care about student loans and living in debt if it got me out of that house. For the first couple of years I lived in a dorm room…and it was the first time I’d ever known peace. No more walking on eggshells, no more fighting, or being called horrible names, or having to cautiously measure what mood I think she’s in each day—or hour—lest I provoke her.”
You slide your hand down to his neck, softly curling your fingertips inward. “I can’t…”
You pause, tears stinging your eyes.
He pulls you closer to him, silently encouraging you to continue.
“Yet I still feel like I can’t get away from her. Not even here. Not even hundreds of miles from home—if you can even call it that. Because she’s always with me. In my head. Beating me down, making me feel worthless—like…all my self-worth still needs to hinge upon her and how she feels. If she’s happy. When did it become my job to look after her, and not the other way around? And even when I did…she still abused me for it. Nothing I ever did was right.”
You bite your lip trying to fight back tears.
“When I was young, I wanted what we’re all supposed to once we grow up: a husband, a home, babies. And then I got older, and because of her I tried to convince myself otherwise. Tried to pound into my head that I didn’t want kids. That what I really wanted was a hysterectomy. That way, I’d never have to risk turning into her: becoming the monster of a mother that she was.”
You ignore the tears running down your cheeks now. “But it’s how I’m different from her that matters most. She’s taken enough away from me. Stolen enough of my life. I want children. I deserve to be a mother. To have a family. To make my own. She doesn’t get to have that, too. She doesn’t.”
Your chin wobbles and you let out a small sob. “I’m sorry.”
He only holds you closer, unsure what to even say. He’s never known how to comfort others. He’s always expected it to be provided to him instead. But only from women. And only in secret. Because he can’t be seen as some fucking weakling.
Because he’s not. He’s not.
He is the strongest man in all the world. The most superior. The master of his race.
You continue to softly cry, and it’s then that he makes a decision, knowing that if it ends terribly—with you emasculating him, or betraying his trust—well, it will take no effort from him to rectify the situation. But he’s sure that you won’t, because, little-by-little, you’ve shown your true colors: how maternal you truly are.
You just said it yourself. And it’d sounded like the most beautiful fucking music to his ears to hear: how desperate you are for a child.
You want someone to look after? Well, here he is. He needs your love. He can admit it now. To himself, at least. Even if it tastes like rancid vinegar to do so.
“I didn’t have it: a perfect childhood. It’s all fucking bullshit. You want to know how I was really raised?”
You grow quiet then, only occasionally sniffling as you slip your fingers into his hair, gently stroking his soft, blond strands.
“I grew up in a lab like a rat. These…doctors kept me locked in a sterile white room with nothing but a blanket for comfort. Not even a bed. Not a pillow. No toys. No TV. Nothing. All while they performed test after fucking test after—”
He clenches his teeth. “Watching me every second of every day. No privacy. Treating me like some…sideshow attraction. Burning me and laughing at me and just—watching.”
Your chin wobbles.
“I never knew my parents because I was designed in a test tube. I was created to be this. The greatest superhero the world has ever known. They tried to make me perfect. And I am,” he tacks on.
He’s unsure whether he’s trying to convince himself of that, or you.
“But I’m just—”
“Lonely,” you say, interrupting him with tears slipping down your cheeks—your heart shattering, for him.
You wrap your arms around his neck then, finally understanding him. Finally seeing a shred of humanity behind his ‘tough-man’ facade.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” you say between sobs. “I am so sorry for what they did to you.”
All you can picture in your mind’s eye is a sweet, blond little boy sitting in a room all alone, waiting for someone to come for him. To care. To hold, or love him. For them to stop hurting him, all while he was left to wonder what he did wrong to deserve such horrible treatment.
How…how could anyone do that? To a baby? To a little boy?
You shouldn’t care. Not after what he did to you just two nights ago, but you can’t help it. Because in this moment you just see a broken man that has nowhere else to turn.
He slides impossibly closer, burying his face between your breasts, quietly crying.
You shoosh him, running your fingers through his soft hair.
Here lies the most powerful—invincible—man in all the world in your arms—a man who has always seemed a larger than life titan…somehow he feels so small now. You’d been right to see him as just a scared little boy looking for someone to comfort him. And it serves only to break your heart all the more.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” you say.
And it reminds him of a loving mother consoling her child. Something he’s never had the gift of having.
He mouths it against your breast then, just…wanting to try it—to know how it feels: ‘mommy’.
And it comes to him naturally. Like…this is meant to be.
And he knows in that moment with absolute certainty that you’re the one. You’re supposed to be his. Meant to belong to him alone. You were born to.
He’ll kill anyone who even attempts at coming between the two of you. He’ll rip him in fucking half with his bare hands just to keep you. Just to show you this newfound devotion.
And he’s sure you’d be thankful for it.
Your mother expected you to do everything for her? He can show you the opposite: so long as you love him, he can give you the same.
He’ll take care of you. He’ll make sure you don’t go without anymore. He has more than enough money for the two of you. Is willing to expend the effort to keep you as his sole property.
It’s all he’s ever wanted: to be loved. And now here you are in his arms with an open, maternal heart meant to love him.
Besides…how could you ever dream of doing better than the most singular and superior man in all the world? No other pathetic human specimen could ever compete.
You’ll be thanking him one day for having come into your life. For saving you. But that’s what he does: he saves people. And it seems you—his new purpose—need him most of all.
Before long, you’ll see just how much.
Before long…you won’t have any idea how to live without him. Already he feels the reverse: no idea how to live without you.
Not that he’ll have to, because you’re not going anywhere.
If you tried, he’d simply follow, because there’s nowhere you could hide that he wouldn’t find you.
You’re his.
All his.
His girl.
His woman.
Mommy.
#fic: the boys (homelander x reader)#homelander x you#homelander x y/n#homelander x oc#homelander x reader#the boys x reader#the boys x y/n
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