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walkingnearfoxes · 3 days ago

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The Space Between the Lines (Homelander x Reader) - Chapter 2

2.5k words. Teacher Reader. Homelander in an undefined part of the canon timeline. 18+ due to the devil’s lettuce and “that’s what she said” humor.

There are a dozen teachers who would kill for this job. You’re just not sure that you’re one of them.

"His son?"

Vought had been very particular about who you could talk to about your job. If you told anyone outside your immediate family about who you were teaching, you could consider your career with Vought - and your career outside of Vought - terminated. Then, if there was even the slightest chance that anyone in your immediate family would talk to the media about it, you were extra terminated. Luckily, you did not have the slightest urge to speak to any living family member about this. They would have questions, worry, and manipulate; it wasn't worth the headache. As far as anyone you were blood-related to knew, you were tutoring vulnerable students Vought had adopted as their own. At first, you didn't think you would have a problem keeping everything a secret - but then you officially met the Homelander.

Addie, your roommate, stares at you from the living room windows. She is cross-legged on a purple bean bag, a bong delicately perched in her hands. She barely said a word over the last hour as you explained the details of your first school day.

You nod from where you're leaning against the kitchen counter. "Ryan Butcher."

"His last name is Butcher?" Addie sputters. "Is that his full name? Homelander Butcher?"

"...I don't think he has a last name."

Addie shakes her head as she lights the bong. "Dude, you're gonna die."

You groan and press your forehead to the kitchen counter. A mug of tea sits delicately between your hands, warming you in this frigid apartment. “Not helping.”

“Is there still time to quit?” She asks, and you hear her blow out a puff. “Or will he pop your head off like a grape if you do?”

You lift your head to answer her. “He wasn’t…that bad.”

Addie’s dry gaze meets yours across the room. Over the years, many have mistaken the two of you for siblings - even twins - based on your physical similarities. It didn’t help that many of your expressions morphed into one another’s over the years. She sighs your name as she places the bong down. “You’re not drinking the Kool-Aid, are you? The guy’s nuts.”

You drum your fingers anxiously against your mug. Until recently, the Homelander had a squeaky-clean reputation. His breakup with Queen Maeve - Addie’s favorite since childhood - had begun your friend’s suspicion that there was a darker side to America’s hero. You kept the benefit of the doubt until Stormfront and the public fallout from that fiasco. As more and more of your distant relatives on Facebook cheered for the Homelander, the more you grew weary of the strongest man on the planet.

“I’m…trying to remain optimistic here,” You murmur, though you aren’t sure if you believe your words. “Anyone who does this much to educate their son has a good bone in him somewhere.”

“Thinking about his bones, huh?”

You pick up the tissue box on the counter and toss it at her head. She dodges it with ease and laughs, standing up with her bong. “I knew it. You deviant.”

“Open the windows in here. It smells like shit,” You toss back, laughing with her as you head for your room. “Good night.”

You hear her say goodbye before you shut the door to your room. After a quick change into pajamas, you curl in bed with the full intent of reading a book - but instead, you find yourself wasting the better part of an hour reading articles about the Homelander on your phone.

It’s information whiplash. One website will lead you through a sea of gratitude for the man, detailing heroic saves across the decades. The next is a rabbit hole of conspiracy theories. Did he do something to Flight 37? Was he responsible for the massive turnover in the Seven lately? Did he follow the Stormfront’s abhorrent rhetoric?

By the end of your search, your stomach hurts. You switch to a guided relaxation video - surely this random deep voice on the Internet will calm you down - and flip over on your side to try to sleep. You’re facing the window, and your eyes naturally drift towards the Brooklyn skyline.

Odd.

You lift your head slightly. It looked as if there was a spark of light on the roof across from your building. Your vision was weakening after years of reading screens, but you could have sworn you saw a small pair of red spheres.

Red eyes.

Your stomach lurches again. You flip to face the wall and scoff a laugh at your reaction. As a child, you were always seeing things in the dark. You drove your family crazy with the number of nightmares you concocted out of dark closets and shadowy corners. You tighten the blankets and shake your head. “Can’t go crazy yet…we have a job to do tomorrow.”

The slow, deep voice of the mindfulness video eventually drifts you off to sleep. You have forgotten about the red eyes by the time you wake up.

~-~

Vought Tower is a nightmare of a commute for you. It involves a 20-minute walk, a subway ride, a bus, and yet another 20-minute walk. You and Addie thought about getting a car more than once, but your combined salaries sometimes made it difficult for you even to afford the apartment. Tagging on a vehicle to that wasn’t in the cards - though it might be if you survived this job.

You smile politely at the guards in the front lobby, scanning your badge so no one questions your walk to the elevators. As you begin the slow ascent to the penthouse, alone in the privacy of the mirrored walls, you review the “checklist” Vought provided you. You are wearing a modest outfit. No heels. You aren’t wearing any perfume. The shampoos and conditioners you used were not scented. Your soap had a light vanilla fragrance, and you had only used it briefly before quickly switching to the unscented body wash you purchased a few days prior.

If you had learned anything from this job already, the Homelander was very particular.

The nerves don’t find you until the elevator opens and you approach the penthouse door. The hallway was barren, a prolonged detachment from reality. Could you really do this? Teach the son of a man who could rip a building in half? Every part of your body is tense except for the shoulder he had corrected. There, the muscle was relaxed. Soft. It felt good; you couldn’t remember the last time your shoulder felt that good. But was that a blessing in disguise?

You are so lost in thought that you don’t realize you’re standing in front of the door until it opens.

To your shock, it wasn’t the Homelander’s piercing gaze that greeted you. Instead, it was the ocean-blue eyes of a child. You would guess he’s around ten, the same age as the student group you had last taught. He’s dressed in jeans and a flannel, and his hair is a light brown. All in all, he looks like an ordinary kid. It brings you more comfort than you anticipated.

Brought back to the present moment, you smile. “Ryan, I presume?”

He smiles shyly and nods. “Yeah, that’s me. Are you my new social studies teacher?”

You nod with a widening smile. “That’s me.”

“It’s nice to meet you…uh, what should I call you?” He asks with a little shuffle of his feet.

You give him your preferred name. No need for formalities here; you have enough of those on the rest of your contract.

“So, give me the honest truth,” You say, biting back a coo at how his eyebrows fuddle in intrigue. “Do you like social studies? Or do I have to persuade you to like social studies?”

His face brightens, and you can’t help but note how different he looks from his father. “I love history,” Ryan admits in a soft voice. “My…um. I used to read about it all the time.”

Something made him hesitant to tell the whole story there, but you store that away. You adjust your bag hanging on your tight shoulder. “Well, the hard part’s over, then. Now we just get to be history nerds together.”

To your relief, that gives you a wider smile from the kid. “My dad says we’re gonna work at the kitchen table.”

He waits for you to walk in and then guides you to the dining room, a navy-paneled wall off to the side of the den. All the books you brought yesterday are there, along with a laptop for you and a notebook with about a dozen pencils and pens for Ryan. He certainly doesn’t want for supplies. You place your bag down and then sit at the laptop chair. You notice how your chair is to the right while Ryan sits at the head of the table. You don’t mind, but it’s an interesting setup.

“I just realized how rude I am,” You say, and Ryan looks up at you with too much concern. “I didn’t ask you what I should call you.”

He blinks. “What do you mean?”

You give him a playful glance. “Should I call you Ryan? Mr. Ryan? Super Ryan?”

His confusion melts into a sheepish laugh. “Oh. Um, just Ryan is fine. Thank you.”

“Oh, I don’t know! I think Super Ryan has a nice ring to it.”

You have a sharp intake of breath, but no muscles tightening this time. You knew he would be here. Still, the Homelander sauntering into the room is surreal. He’s still in full uniform - does he ever take it off? - and he’s beaming with pride at the sight before him.

Ryan turns to look at him, and you notice a tweak to his smile. It’s hard to tell if it’s a son being embarrassed by his father or a boy being scared of the Homelander. “Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, kiddo,” The Homelander ruffles Ryan’s hair, and then he looks at you. His lip twitches, and there’s a long pause before he looks back at Ryan. “Manners, buddy. Did you ask if our guest wants something to drink?”

You sit up straighter. “Oh, I’m totally fine-”

“Grab a tea for her and whatever you want for you,” He taps Ryan’s shoulder twice, smiling down at him. The affection does seem genuine.

Ryan nods and shuffles out of his seat, giving you a shy glance before exiting the room. You watch him leave, and when you turn to look at Homelander, you see that he’s already looking at you.

“Anything else you need?” He asks. He’s speaking in that same pleasant voice you heard yesterday, as if he’s ready for an interview at any moment.

You manage a smile. “No, this setup is perfect. Thank you.”

His grin shows teeth. “Oh, my pleasure. One quick note though…”

He takes Ryan’s seat and folds his hands in front of him. His arms are extended onto the table, mere inches away from where your hands were resting. You briefly stare at his red gloves before slowly looking back at his face. There is a new edge to his smile that nearly makes you wilt.

“While you’re teaching my son, I’d prefer it if you weren’t near any…” He waves a hand in the air as he searches for the right word. “...mind-altering substances.”

It takes you a moment to understand what he’s talking about, but then you remember. Addie’s bong. He can still smell it. You suddenly feel as if your skin is on fire. “Oh my God. Sir, I am so sorry. I didn’t use any. My roommate-”

“I told you to call me Homelander,” He reminds you slowly. “I know you didn’t partake, but you shouldn’t be near them. Can’t risk a contact high, can we?”

You stutter over your words momentarily, giving him time to rest a hand on your shoulder - the same one he fixed. He chuckles and gives you a pat that’s just a little too hard. “But Ryan likes you, so I’m gonna...remain optimistic here. One more chance.”

He stands up and circles behind your chair, leaning down to speak into your ear. “Love the vanilla, by the way…subtle, but just perfect.”

Your hands are clenched into tight fists as he swaggers to the end of the table and takes a seat. You know he’s looking at you, but you’re looking at the table. You only look up when you hear Ryan’s footsteps. He sets a plain black mug with steaming tea in front of you and sits down with water for himself. He looks at his father, and when he looks back at you, there’s a worried crinkle on his brow. “Is everything okay?”

“Just lost in thought,” You reassure him with the same warm smile you gave him earlier. “Did you know the British ruled the colonies for over 150 years, but the Revolution lasted only 7?”

Ryan’s eyes widen in interest. “150 years?”

You nod. “Yup. Shows you how tired the colonists probably were by then, huh?”

The Homelander huffs a quiet laugh, and you glance at him from the corner of your eye. He’s sitting back in the chair, his hands settled on his lap. There is nothing in front of him. He’s just…watching.

You have been a teacher for years, you remind yourself. You have dealt with crazy parents before. None of them could fly, but that didn’t matter. You were a teacher, you had a student, and you had a job to do.

“Alright, Ryan,” You sit forward and angle your laptop towards Ryan so Homelander’s gaze is just out of your view. “How much do you know about taxes?”

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander #the boys #my writing #ryan butcher #why did the super bowl inspire me to finish this

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