#Subland

[psychadollics]

LET ME FUCK HIM

If he had been pegged to tears in S1 we wouldn’t be here rn

[s4mwinchest3r]

I have a love-hate relationship with Homelander I wanna get him pregnant but at the same time I wanna just BEAT HIM UP yk what I'm sayin??

[mommy-mortis]

I don't know who told him his mouth was made for anything other than eating pussy and shutting the fuck up but they lied to him

[daughterslaughterer]

(NSFW ! Minors DNI)

Okay, so we all love a little Sublander, right? Except I don’t like it in the “sweet mommy dom” way— I wanna see more desperate, uncontrollably rough Sublander.

Fucking you with everything he’s got, holding you so tight it hurts because he’s scared you’re going to leave. Whimpering and begging for approval, begging for praise, begging to come inside of you. Burying his face in your neck and taking in your scent, damn near snapping the headboard in half from the death grip he’s got on it.

He’d try to be gentle, he’d try to be good, but he can’t help it. Even during his little bursts of submissiveness, he’s still Homelander. He’s still rough and impatient and needy.

He wouldn’t stop after coming inside of you, though. He wouldn’t dare stop until he knew you were satisfied, until you told him how good of a job he’d done. He thrives off of praise, off of being loved and adored— especially by you. For a raging narcissist, he’s so eager to please if it means getting just an inkling of praise.

He’d apologize when he was done, too. Apologize for being rough, for not being a good boy and being gentle when you asked. Can you blame him, though? Controlling all that super strength is difficult enough, and you make it ten times harder.

Anyways, moral of the story is that I love rough, needy subs and Homelander fits the bill perfectly. 🫶🏻

[blindmagdalena]

Complete Me

Summary: 18+ 2.5k homelander x reader, sub homelander, bottom homelander, mommy kink, pegging, large toy, lite belly bulge, restraints, praise kink, comeplay, schmoopy aftercare.

It's not always easy keeping the most powerful man in the world satisfied, but as far as he's concerned, you were made for the job. art by @krazyyy & used with permission!

There is a void in Homelander that he is unsure he will ever be able to fill.

But fuck if you don’t try your damnedest.

If he’s being honest, he never thought that sex with a human could compare to sex with another supe, but you’ve found tricks that curl his toes better than the clench of any Compound V charged hole could. You put his wrists in cuffs that he could snap with a thought, and whisper Don’t break those, baby. Or mommy won’t fuck you tonight.

He huffs and twists against them, but never breaks them. He listens to you. He’s obedient. He’s your good, good boy, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. The electric thrill of being bound by nothing but your will empowering these flimsy cuffs has him panting. He wants more from you, as he always does, and like the wicked, wonderful enabler you are, you give it to him.

When he first sees the toy you intend to use tonight, long, thick and barely contained by the harness you wear, he thinks you’re joking. “Christ, are you going to fuck me, or bludgeon me to death?” He asks, adjusting against his headboard. It doesn’t stop his cock from throbbing, steadily drooling precome onto his belly while his stomach churns in anticipation. “Don’t be a brat,” you reply, eyes glinting. He watches you spread a generous amount of lube along the girthy chunk of phallus-shaped silicone, his own neglected cock aching at the sight of it. “You said you wanted something big.” “Didn’t expect you to take it so literally,” he says wryly, mouth feeling dry as the bed dips with your weight. “Expected something, y’know, grand. Impressive. Bombastic.”

“My, my. Look at you and all your synonyms,” you purr, smiling. He jerks slightly when you put your hands on his ankles, drawing them slowly up his legs, spreading them out. He’s malleable under your hands, always is, legs falling open in a wanton splay.

“I’m a walking thesaurus,” he gives back sardonically, but his breath hitches with the way you squeeze his inner thighs before adjusting his legs on either side of you.

“I don’t think you’ll be walking anywhere after this,” you say, voice and expression both downright devilish.

He laughs breathlessly. He knows you won’t be able to hurt him, but the notion still sends a thrill trilling up and down his spine like a xylophone. He sucks a breath in through his teeth at the first warm, wet press of your fingers to his rim, circling it in slow, firm glides. Homelander nods. “Yeah, yeah, yes. M’ready.”

“Yes, what?” You push. He smiles. He loves that you push him like this, push him to say the things he wants to, but holds back from out of shame or embarrassment or both. He loves that you don’t let him hide from or deny himself the things that he wants. He loves you.

“Yes, mommy,” he exhales, despite his tongue feeling leaden in his mouth.

The smile you return is worth it. “Good. Take a deep breath, and lie down.”

He complies, sliding down the headboard until his arms are stretched above his head. You adjust yourself between his legs, gripping his ass in your palms to spread it wide, and as he breathes out, the obscenely large head of the toy presses against his slick rim.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he grouses, eyes widening.

“Breathe,” you encourage him, patiently massaging his rump. “Humans can stretch seven inches before anything tears. You’ll be fine. Trust me.” He scoffs, but he does trust you. He knows you won’t break him, wouldn’t if you could. He relaxes his head against the headboard and closes his eyes. It’s not that it hurts, but the pressure that builds as you spread his rim open around the fat head of the toy is intense and alien, more so than anything he’s used to. He twists the chains of the handcuffs, which groan precariously. You reach out to touch his wrist, hushing him. “Breathe, darling,” you remind him again, gentle and soothing. He screws his eyes shut, focusing on the feel of your fingers on his wrist, your other hand under his thigh, and breathes in deeply. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he keens, endlessly shifting and adjusting himself, though never pulling away from the girth of the toy slowly splitting him open.He shakes his head, faith wavering. “What the fuck, that’s not–it’s not going to fit,” he pants, trying to spread his legs further, but no matter how he angles himself, there’s no escaping the slow, aching pressure of the oversized silicone cock sliding into him.

“Shhhh,” you hush, holding the base of the cock in one hand while you use the other to stroke his thigh. “It’ll fit. You’re just poorly prepared,” you say. He can hear the smile in your voice. His cock gives a dripping throb at the pleasure in your voice, knowing that he’s impressing you, even as he complains.

“And whose fault is that?” He asks breathlessly, arching his back.

“Yours,” you answer, giving his ass a sharp little smack. He had asked for this, after all. He didn’t want you to wet or stretch him out too thoroughly. He wanted to feel it.

And feel it he does.

“Halfway there,” you murmur, close enough to kiss him now. He leans into it eagerly, savoring the gentle, plush press of your lips, gripping the chains of his cuffs, wishing he could touch you, even as he relishes this hold you have over him. He keens against your lips, opens up easily for the wet slide of your tongue only to suck at it, greedy for more, more, more. Your hips are almost flush with his. You’re so close, and he’s so full. The sheer size of it inside him doesn’t leave space for anything else, no thoughts or feelings about anything other than what’s happening, other than your touch and your warmth.  He’s panting now, giving sharp little bucks of his hips, though you remain stubbornly still. “It’s too big,” he moans, overwhelmed by this inescapable, full feeling. You soothe him with gentle sweeps of your hands up his thighs, his hips, his sides.

“You’re doing perfectly,” you tell him. He can hear your excitement, smell it in the air. He cracks his eyes open to gaze up at you, and flourishes under the open adoration he finds in your stare. The praise warms him. He adjusts himself again, but there’s no way to make this feel anything less than. He cannot minimize it, cannot escape it. His cock throbs, the leaking head bouncing against his stomach of its own accord. You give one last push, and he moans with your body finally slotting snugly against his, buried as deep as you’ll go. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” Homelander nods fervently, swallowing back the lump in his throat. “Good, good, s’good, mmm…”

He leans into it when you touch his cheek, nuzzles your palm before pressing a wet kiss into it. You have a way of touching him that renders him senseless, used, but treasured. He knows that even when you’re done with him, when you have finished playing and this intensity is gone, he will not be left empty or alone. 

You’ll be there. “I’m going to fuck you now, baby,” you whisper. His breath hitches with excitement, the chains above his head clanking lightly against one another. He nods, bites down slowly on his tongue to hold back the little noise that threatens to slip from him when you pull almost halfway out, only to drive firmly back in. You don’t have to move very fast, the sheer size of the toy does most of the work for you, unraveling him with every movement. “Oh f-fuck, ffffuck, nnngh,” he groans, pulling on his bindings. The steel loop they’re hooked to groans precariously. His eyes snap open when you wrap your hands around his throat, slowly leaning your weight down on him. “Look at me,” you tell him, your own eyes clouded with arousal, pupils blown wide. His eyes flicker constantly to the wet part of your lips, aching to kiss them. You squeeze. You may not be strong enough to crush his windpipe, but it’s more than enough to restrict his airflow, to make him keenly aware of every breath he takes. You brace yourself that way, make him feel it as you settle into a steady rhythm, rocking in and out of him, the size of the toy making every push and pull twice as intense.

“There, that’s it. You’re taking me so well. Knew you would, baby. Always so good for me. You’re gonna make a mess for me, aren’t you? Come so hard, I bet you’ll mess up that pretty face,” you coo, the words going straight to his cock. The toy is too big, too unwieldy for you to fuck him fast, but the intensity of being carved in and out of by something so large is just as good.

“Y-yes,” he chokes out. “Yeah, yes, fuck, I’m fffucking–” He can’t think long enough to string a coherent sentence together. He chokes on his own breath when you move a hand from his throat to his belly, pushing down on it as you slide all the way back into him. “Look,” you tell him. He obeys, tipping his head down to see where your hand is, bleary-eyed and feeling as though he’s slipping outside of his own body. Where your hand is, he can see his own skin slightly distended around the sheer girth of the toy. Seeing this extension of you inside him, is dizzying, but the way you press your hand down on it nearly makes him come right then and there, a shiver running through his whole body.

He almost throws his head back, but you stop him, catching him by his hair. “No, no. Keep watching. Keep watching,” you tell him, your own voice thin, growing desperate. Your grip in his hair tightens and he moans for you. “Just like that. Good boy. Good boy.”

Keeping one hand in his hair, you move the other from his belly to his cock, taking it in a firm hold that sets his teeth on edge, biting back a high keening noise. His eyes snap wide open when you start to mercilessly pump it, no preamble or extra lube, just sudden and intense friction and pressure. He chokes on his own fumbling words, no longer holding himself back, openly gasping and making startled, desperate little noises. You look fucking thrilled. You give his hair another sharp tug, keeping it down, keeping his gaze on your hand stripping over his dick, and the barely visible swell of your cock grinding back and forth deep, deep inside him. “That’s it, baby,” you say breathlessly, sweat prickling on your skin, voice thin with exertion. “Show me how you come. Show me how you come on mommy’s cock.” Beyond the capacity for words, all he can do is let go a ragged sound halfway between a sob and a moan, screwing his eyes shut tight as the catastrophic crash of his orgasm overtakes him, his body locking up tight while his cock unloads a ribboning torrent of come so intense, it paints across his whole face, wetting his lips, his cheek, hanging heavily on his eyelashes, spraying all the way up to his hair. You thoroughly milk him of the experience, squeezing out every last drop with gradually slowing strokes, emptying him of the very last drop that spills out onto his stomach. Homelander feels fully outside of himself, transcendent from his physical form, free floating on an upward current of pure sensation. Not even the weight of the toy inside him can keep him tethered to reality, his eyes rolling back into his skull as he sinks down onto the bed, his arms dangling loosely from his bindings. Gradually, however, reality does slip back in. It’s a slow trickle of grounded touches: your fingers tapping on his thighs, his sides, his chest. You drag your nails carefully along his skin, eliciting goosebumps. You lure him back to his body not with demands, but with soothing, purposeful touches. With love.

The toy slides out slowly, and he lets go a tired breath with it. The warmth of you is gone, but only briefly. You’re quick to slide right back between his legs, minus the toy. One at a time, you free his hands, holding each one and lowering it to the bed. Every single moment of putting him back together is full of the same practice and care that you took him apart with.

You trail kisses up his body, the occasional hot slip of your tongue like a static shock. You lap at every drop of the mess he’s made of himself. Your lips feel like worship, your hands like reverence. He doesn’t feel used like something dirty or disposable, he feels like something that has been used and cherished.

His eyes flutter open as you cup his face. His lips spread in a lazy smile while you kiss him, cleaning away the salty mess of his come from his lips, his cheek. He rumbles contentedly when you bring your lips back to his and he can taste himself on them, his own movements languid and weak. He doesn’t bother trying to lift his hands. He’s too busy enjoying the way you tend to him, taking it upon yourself to set his limbs into comfortable positions before you lay down atop him, fingers in his hair, lips on his throat where you had previously been squeezing.

“How do you feel?” You ask eventually. “I’m fucking great,” is what he thinks he says, but to you, it comes out more like, “M’f’k’n’gr’t…”

You laugh softly, your love and affection so palpable in the sound, he wants to bury himself in it. “You were wonderful,” you say, your words settling over him more warmly than any blanket, warmer than the sun itself. He could bask beneath them forever. “So, so very good for me. You always are,” you say, punctuating your words with delicate butterfly kisses. “I love making you feel good. I love you.”

The first time you cared for him this way, he had fallen to pieces in your hands. Even now, there is the threat of it in how his eyes burn, prickling with tears, but he does not fall apart this time. Instead, he relaxes into your every touch, and lets himself feel freedom in this sense of deconstruction, knowing without a doubt that you will not leave him to pick up the shards alone.

“Love y’too,” he gives back slightly more coherently. “Why’d’ey m’ke ‘em th’big?”

“They make them bigger,” you answer, effortlessly understanding his slurred question.

The look he gives you makes you laugh again, a sharper bark of amusement. “Relax,” you tell him, stroking his hair. “I think we’re good. For now.”

“Fiend,” he accuses you affectionately, putting in the herculean effort to lift a hand to your cheek, stroking it with his thumb before he kisses you, melting into the warm, sweet aftermath of the session. He likes that you always tease him with more. It’s a clever way of assuring him that there will always be more to look forward to.

[amazingmaeve]

INFATUATION (2/?)

homelander x fem!reader

series summary — homelander meets Ashley's sister and he's already feeling infatuated with you and he just can't help it, even though ashely is fucking annoying he can't help but think you were the exact opposite.

summary — you have a very interesting second encounter with Homelander afar your first day at work.

warnings — homelander being himself, stalking, mutual masterbation (not known to reader), angst, fluff, toxicity from homelander, unwanted groping (mentioned and not by homelander) breastfeeding, homelander being jealous of a baby

word count — 2205

authors note — hopefully you guys like this chapter im kinda proud of it so enjoy your reading.

homelander masterlist | the boys mastelrist

ITS been a week since you moved and since you’ve been in the Vought tower. You had a week before work started at a company, where you’d be working as a secretary, so you just did normal day activities, getting groceries, taking care of Ellie, and unpacking all of your stuff which was a lot harder than you think it would be.

Ashely weirdly hasn’t contacted you since, which made you worried, had you upset her or was she just a stressed worker. You were leaning towards her being stressed because that made more sense. Usually if your sister had any problems with you, she would outright tell you and hopefully resolve the problems. Less could be said for you, you usually avoided confrontation, you hated arguing and maybe that’s why you hadn’t been to the Vought tower since, because you didn’t want to argue with your sister.

But the night before your first day at work, you had texted her and asked if she could watch Ellie, since you hadn’t gotten a nanny yet and you really didn’t trust a random person to watch over your daughter. At least alone. So you had crossed your fingers hoping Ashely would agree and then you could ask for her help to find a nanny or a daycare that was trustworthy.

Luckily she had agreed, excitedly, and you let out a sigh of relief at that. You don’t know what you would’ve done if she had declined and you had a good night's rest.

The next morning as you got everything ready for work and for Ashley, you were starting to get nervous, not only because of the job, but you were anxious to run into Homelander again. You tried to remind yourself that he was America's golden boy. He wouldn’t do anything to you. But something in the back of your mind thought the exact opposite. Maybe it was the look in his eyes as he talked to you, or maybe it was because of the anger he had when he first entered the room.

But you shook those thoughts out of your head.

Once you got to Vought you were lucky that Homelander wasn’t there, so you dropped off Ellie and all the stuff she needed (milk, diapers, clothes etc) to Ashley who seemed happy to see you. At least you hadn’t angered her.

Then you went off for your first day at your job.

Unbeknownst to you, Homelander was watching you and justified it by him taking a liking to you. He wasn’t doing anything wrong as he watched you in your tiny apartment. E wasn’t doing anything wrong as he watched you breastfeed Ellie and then he got hard, which led to him jerking off. But he was surprised he hadn’t seen you at all since that day.

You seemed close to Ashley.

But he was surprised to find the baby was with Ashley as he got back from a mission, probably just missing you. He cursed himself but didn’t put himself down too much as he knew you’d be coming back for the baby.

To be honest, Homelander has been craving a meeting with you, yeah it felt better watching you but he needs to hear your voice. He needed to hear you talking to him. And only him. He needs to get his shit together and talk to you. He wasn’t a pussy, he just needed to man the fuck up and talk to you.

It couldn’t be that hard. You seemed like a shy and demure kind of woman and would probably giggle at everything he had said. Like those women who are too shy to make the first move, but aren’t that shy sexually. He prayed for that. He was the Homelander, and he could fuck any woman he wanted but he wanted you to want him. He wanted you to be so turned on that you had to make the first move, he hadn’t witnessed you touching yourself since he’s been watching you. Probably due to the guy who fucked a baby into you and left. The other reason could be due to the baby itself, he noticed it cried. Like a lot. So if you were to have a few moments to yourself, to let yourself pleasure yourself, the baby probably would’ve interrupted it.

Needless to say Homelander spent the rest of the day thinking of you trying to hide his raging hard on.

When you had returned to get Ellie, he had noticed you seemed upset so he decided to eavesdrop on the conversation with Ashley.

“What’s wrong Y/N you seem upset,” Ashley asked worried, it seemed she noticed it as well.

“Nothing it was just his guy at work, he kinda groped my ass when we were in the elevator,” You murmured picking up Ellie as you gave her a smile.

Homelanders' eyes narrowed once he heard that, it wasn’t the groping that made him angry, but it was the fact that someone touched someone that he already deemed as his. She was going to be his and he was going to laser the fuck out of anyone who touched her.

“Did you tell your boss,” Ashley asked concerned, although you didn't, which confused both him and Ashley.

“No,” You mumbled.

“Why the fuck not, assholes like that deserve to be at least fired,” Ashely snapped. “Why don’t you seem mad at this?”

“Because Ashley this happens a lot of the time, not just at work so I’ve just gotten used to it, and I need this job, it pays well and I can’t afford getting fired or quitting because assholes like Steve can’t keep his hands to himself,” You said with a hard tone in your voice.

Perhaps he should visit this stupid fuck who did this.

“Fine but if he does anything else please do something about it,” Ashley pleaded. She didn’t like to see you like this, just so casual about it.

“Okay I will,” You promised although Homelander knew you were lying by the skip in your heartbeat. “I have to get going Ash, I need to get Ellie to bed,” You said, grabbing your stuff and bidding Ashley a goodbye.

Homelander sprung into action, not knowing if he would get another chance like this and made his way towards the elevator he knew you’d use. And as expected you made your way towards the elevator and greeted him with a smile as you pressed the down button. He hid the smirk as he heard heart speed up a little.

“Haven’t seen you here in a while,” He spoke as he put his hands behind his back.

“Oh I’ve just had kinda a tough week,” You said in a tiny voice and he knew you were lying. He was watching you all week lounging about your apartment. But he didn’t say anything, not wanting to rat himself out.

The elevator opened and the both of you stepped in the elevator.

“I get it, tough weeks are kinda my thing all though comes with the work,” He said flashing her a smile which made her let out a little laugh.

“I’m pretty sure your week was way tougher than mine,” You say with a smile. And now it’s time for his heart to start racing more and he’s lucky you can't hear his heart beat because he might have to kill you if you had heard.

“Don’t put yourself down, it must be heard being a mom, a single one nonetheless,” Homelander praised you, wondering what you would respond with.

“Thanks it’s a lot,” You mumbled looking at the floor, feeling your body get covered in goosebumps. Although you wondered how he knew you were a single mom, you shook that idea out of your head.

“Speaking of mom hows the baby,” He pushed the words out, trying to make it seem like he cared about the little human, even though deep down he couldn’t give a fly fuck.

“Oh she’s amazing, but she’s a bit of a crier so it gets kinda hard at times, but she’s worth it,” You gush looking down at Ellie with a warm smile.

Homelander bit his lip, not wanting to say something he doesn’t mean, something grew in the pit of his stomach, not a new feeling. Jealousy. He wants you to talk to him like that or at least about him like that, he wants you to give him that smile and dote on him. He deserved it.

But he shoved the green envy down, coming up with a new idea that could help him. He noticed they were about to the first floor and he turned to you.

“Hey you should come by more often,” Homelander stated in his softest tone he could manage and lifted his gloved to rest it on your arm. He immediately noticed the goosebumps rising there and he felt that sense of pride again. He had an effect on you as well.

“Oh if-if that’s what you want,” You stuttered as you felt your heart race.

And if it couldn't get any worse he grabbed your hand and brought it to his mouth and pressed his lips to your knuckles giving it a kiss. He noticed you biting your lip and when the elevator doors opened he retracted his hand quickly.

“Hopefully I’ll see you soon,” Homelander said as the both of you walked out and you gave a wary nod.

He watched you walk out the building and kept his eye on you until you were in your car and he immediately went outside and shot up in the air, not caring if people looked at him weird or fascinated.

He landed on top of the same building across from your apartment and just waited for you to get home. He didn’t have anything else to do. He didn’t need sleep, even though he does at some times but he’d much rather be watching you.

It was about 15-20 minutes when you got home and he noticed how tense you were, you seemed to be very stressed and he couldn’t wait to fuck that out of you. To make sure you weren’t stressed anymore.

He let out a tiny groan as he saw you sit on the couch and take off your shirt (as you thought no one could see you) and start to feed Ellie. Homelander bit his lip watching, as he moved his hand to his covered cock and began to slowly rub himself.

And as soon as the session started it was over and you were taking her to her crib, setting her down as you saw that she was asleep. Walking around shirtless in the apartment with milk dripping onto your stomach as you got a towel to clean yourself. He moaned as he began to rub harder.

Homelander watched as you entered your room and took everything off and his mouth waters at the sight of it. But you pulled a bigger night shirt over your body before laying down in the bed. Without any panties. It was like you knew he was watching you.

He watched as you turned off the light but didn’t go straight to sleep and he wondered why. You seemed tired so why weren’t going into a deep slumber. Sometimes you turned on the tv and watched some television before you fell asleep but you were just staring at the ceiling.

But he was certainly surprised when your hand made its way under your covers and under your shirt. He must have made a very good impression as you were about to touch yourself.

With a groan he finally released his cock from his pants and began to stroke himself as your fingers made contact with your pussy for the first time. You bit your lip as you slipped your middle finger through your folds and made its way to your clit. Homelander groaned as he moved his hand faster as you began to pant heavily as you circled the nub.

Before he even knew it, you slipped two fingers into your wet pussy and he tried not to close his eyes and moan but the sounds you and your pussy made him fuck his hand even harder. He couldn’t wait to get a taste of it.

As your fingers moved faster your other hand went to attend your clit and he knew you were close, he was close to. Sp when you squeezed your eyes shut and let out a tiny moan as you clenched around your fingers and released your orgasm. Homelander let out a louder moan as he released himself on the ground of the top of the building.

Homelander so badly wanted to suck the juices off your fingers but he restrained himself as he shot into the air and made his way to his penthouse as he continued to think about you and he knew you’d be back next time. Especially due to your sexual feelings for him at the least.

Meanwhile you went to the bathroom and washed your hands and peed before you laid down on your bed and nuzzled into the pillow and fell into a deep sleep.

[xdfyhjkdiana]

hiii kittylander

sorry this is so silly

[writing-for-the-gays]

Homelander x Fat! transmasc reader

Ao3 link

I love you like an alcoholic

go ahead read it you know you wanna

[reveluving]

homelander thot—LET'S GO:

reader's the manager of the seven (& homelander's lil fwb) where a fancam of her goes viral to the point where the fans demand to see more of her or make an appearance on vought international and it takes homelander his entire soul not to track down and obliterate the comments he's seen that ranges from 'she's so fucking pretty wtf' to ''I'm sorry for using your name in vain but DEAR LORD 😩' to 'MOTHER'????

like, oh you thought he's been pissy because you're getting more fame than him these past few weeks? no!

he's losing his mind because of the wild comments and even edits of you, even though they're just a 30-second footage of you wishing america a happy new year on vought news network???

like, yeah look extra hot in that suit and your bright, million-dollar smile but if anyone's gonna do the staring to the point of undressing you with their eyes (though he won't ever admit it), it's him; the fucking homelander—

(but he also saves the photos and edits tho, for 'research purposes' cuz yall already know)

[sehtoast]

A Slip of the Tongue (Homelander x Reader)

18+

3.8k - The sleepier Homelander gets, the needier he becomes.

Warnings: Pegging, anal fingering, anal sex, daddy kink, vaginal fingering, cum eating, spit, sublander.

!please note, Y/n is written as a pre-bottom surgery trans man. otherwise, the vast majority of Y/n's physical descriptors (eye color, hair color, etc) are kept to a minimum for the sake of reader inclusivity- and also lmao i basically stole spiderman for Y/n's supe identity, so there are some references to that

They’d spent the better part of the day curled up on the couch, watching some documentary VNN was airing about the history of Vought, stuffed full of lies and anything else that may make the company look good.  Homelander had picked it, giving some excuse along the lines of there being nothing better to watch.

Y/n knew that it was actually one of John’s duties to stay up to date with Vought’s self-published bullshit so that he could perform better on their behalf.  If Vought pushed a new narrative, Homelander pushed it too.  John carried that burden like the curse it was: constantly rewriting what was hammered into him for his entire life to better sell the image of the conglomerate.

The web-slinger gazed lovingly at the blonde head resting in his lap as he stroked his fingers through the soft tresses.  Homelander was in rare form that day.  His hair was soft and fluffy, unstyled after a shared shower.  He wore only one of Y/n’s t-shirts and his signature red briefs.  Y/n found it terribly endearing when John dressed down.  It always seemed like a silent statement that Homelander felt safe and secure with him, that he knew it was okay to drop his image and opt for something that didn’t scream strong, domineering, and perfect.

Within the walls of Y/n’s home, or maybe even as simple as the web-head’s presence, Homelander was allowed to just be.

Not only was the sight endearing, it was also… arousing.  Seeing him like that, so open, so exposed, so vulnerable– it sparked something within Y/n.  

The shirt framed John nicely, running just a smidge too small due to the differences in their respective statures.  It hugged his shoulders tightly, and tended to ride up when Homelander leaned either way, exposing his lower belly or back– sometimes both, if Y/n was lucky.  The lines of his hips dipped below the band of his underwear, and worked much like a neon sign to direct Y/n to where he wanted to be.  The hair trailing down his abdomen worked well to mark the path Y/n needed only to follow to get there.

Homelander had shifted around a few times, initially laying on his left side with his legs curled up.  Now, he laid on his back, his head tilted to the side to keep his sight on the TV screen.  Y/n’s eyes never quite strayed from the exposed skin of John’s abdomen, except only when he got distracted by the curve of his dick in those cute little briefs.

Y/n licked his lips absentmindedly, recalling that his favorite method of removing Homelander’s underwear was with his teeth.

The web-head trailed his fingertips along John’s hairline, sneaking up into the longer section of his undercut from time to time to scratch and massage his scalp.  He could tell Homelander was getting sleepy– he was far too comfortable to avoid the inevitable.  He watched John adjust again, moving back onto his side.

Y/n trailed his fingers from the line of John’s hair to the corner of his lips, trailing his index finger softly over the rosy pink flesh.

Despite his tiredness, John reacted instinctively, drawing Y/n’s finger into his mouth with a soft sigh.  He sucked the digit in, all the way to the knuckle, curling his tongue to play with it lazily.  He rolled onto his back, his head pressing into Y/n’s stomach, nuzzling into it for comfort.

Y/n slipped his middle finger into the mix, pulling another soft moan from Homelander– who looked utterly on the verge of dozing off.  His eyes hazed under his heavy lids.

“Get them nice and wet for me, baby.  I have a surprise to help you sleep…”

Homelander nodded, and Y/n swore he could feel a fresh gush of saliva flood against his digits.

When the drool started seeping from the corner of Homelander’s mouth, Y/n instructed him to shift, to get on his side once more and angle his hips– to give Y/n clear access to his hole.

Homelander groaned as a wet fingertip slipped past the band of his briefs, trailing down to probe him.  Y/n’s finger rimmed around his hole with a gentle firmness– just the way he liked it.  Homelander was extra receptive these days to being played with like this.  The night Y/n first fucked him, John was convinced that he’d had the most intense orgasm he’d ever to date.  Since then, he became more than comfortable with Y/n’s appreciation for fingering him, of pounding him into the bed, and of the occasional rimjob.  

He especially loved that those three tended to be a package deal.

“Mmm, Y/n…” he moaned, pushing back against the fingers that pierced him, yearning for more even through his tiredness.  An extra set of fingers found their way into his mouth, and John sucked greedily upon them.

“Attaboy,” Y/n praised, scissoring his fingers gently to stretch John’s hole.  The tight muscle gave way to the familiarity, and Y/n did his best to focus on John’s prostate despite the odd angle.  He leaned down to whisper into Homelander’s ear.

“So soft, my love.”  He pressed a kiss to the tip of John’s ear.  “So warm, so good…”

Y/n slipped his finger out– grinning at the soft groan of protest John produced– and brought his palm to his mouth.  He spit into it, then reached back down, cupping Homelander’s sack and gently massaging it.  He rolled the tender flesh in his wet hand, feeling John’s balls tense up inside with every wave of pleasure jolting through him.  Y/n trailed back to Homelander’s taint, where he rubbed gently for a moment, causing his love to cease satisfying his oral fixation to pant heavy breaths.

His fingers sank back into Homelander’s ass, causing the strongest man in the world to whine and buck his hips.

“Y-Y/n,” Homelander moaned sweetly, the wetness of his mouth dripping down Y/n’s knuckles.

“Yes, Johnny?”

“Please…”

“Mmm, not yet.  I still have more for you, babe…”

Homelander released Y/n’s fingers from his mouth and leaned back.  He reached up, bringing his lover down by the neck for a kiss, wet and sloppy from the drool that streaked across his chin.  John’s tongue rolled free between kisses, and Y/n took the liberty of sucking it into his mouth each time they reconnected.

Y/n made sure to fuck into Homelander extra sweetly during their kiss.  He simply loved the feeling of John’s moans reverberating against his lips.

When Homelander finally had a clear chance to look down, to see the mess that he’d become, he was met first with the sight of his cock tented in his briefs.  A large dark spot framed the tip of his shaft, wet with the unrelenting drool of precum.  He lifted his leg into the air for a better view, and Y/n seized the opportunity to give an extra deep thrust of his fingers, burying them to the knuckle.

Homelander’s face was flushed a bright red as he watched the scene unfold.

“Touch yourself,” Y/n whispered, watching John’s eyes go wide at the gentle command.  He loved that, despite the fact he never explicitly told John not to touch himself, he waited for permission anyway.

Such a soft, sweet, submissive boy…

Homelander moved the front of his underwear to the side and gripped himself immediately, mewling at the double stimulation as he fucked up into his hand.  He pumped his shaft slowly for a moment– just like he knew Y/n liked to see, and suddenly he felt the fingers in his hole leave to cup his sack again.

Y/n snaked his free hand inside the collar of John’s shirt, running through the dark hair on his chest before taking handfuls of his pectoral muscle, milking obscene noises from him in the process.  He could never quite get over the way John would fucking sing if he had his tits played with.  

“Make sure,” Y/n whispered into John’s ear as he gently worked his balls, “that when you cum… you catch it for me.”

Homelander’s eyes went wide before clenching shut, the feeling of heat building behind his eyelids prompting him to close them before he lost control.  He turned his face away from Y/n.

“Ah, ah,” Y/n tutted, his hand leaving Homelander’s sack to redirect his gaze.  “Look me in the eye when you cum.”

“I-I don’t– what if–”

“You won’t, Y/n replied earnestly, leaning in to press a sweet kiss to John’s lips.  “I trust you.  I always do.”

A pang of something struck Homelander’s heart, but he couldn’t focus on it for too long when Y/n’s hand crept back down and the other took his nipple in a pinch to roll it teasingly.

“H-hah!” John shouted, stroking his cock with an inhuman speed as he held eye contact with Y/n.  “Fuck!  I’m– I- I’m gonna–”

“Cum for me, baby.” Y/n cooed.  “Make sure you catch it.”

By Y/n’s word, Homelander came undone, shooting ribbons of cum into the curve of his palm as wanton moans shook free from his throat.  He forced his eyes to stay open, hot and red, ready to blow at any moment.  He kept the lid on the fire as he stared straight into Y/n’s eyes– those eyes that looked at him like he was the only man in the world.

“Ffffuck,” he exhaled, a soft sizzle betraying an unshed tear.

Y/n’s hand remained on John’s sack, gently playing with it while his balls tightened with each spurt.  When Homelander finally settled down, his eyes fading to blue once more, Y/n stilled his attentions.

“Still holding it?” he asked.

John nodded and shifted in Y/n’s lap to straddle him.  He brought his hand to his mouth, allowing the ejaculate to flow onto his tongue, making sure to lick up every drop of it.  He looked at Y/n, his eyes soft and his jaw cocked as he held his seed for a moment, allowing it to dilute with his saliva.

Homelander brought a shaky hand to Y/n’s hair, and the other to his jaw, forcing it open– despite Y/n’s willingness– and tilting his little spider’s head back. He leaned over Y/n and tensed his lips, allowing the thick mixture of cum and spit to spill from his mouth into Y/n’s– who was happily meeting the creamy liquid with an eager tongue and a sound caught somewhere between a giggle and a moan.

When the spit broke away from his lips, dropping the last ounce of it into Y/n’s mouth, John leaned down and took Y/n in a heated kiss, forcing his tongue through his lover’s lips to share in the taste of his fluids, each of them savoring it.

Homelander ground against Y/n through the kiss, rolling his hips to press himself into a pleasing friction.

“Another round already?” Y/n gasped through the kiss.  That certainly wasn’t the plan, but he wasn’t complaining.

“God– fuck, yes!” John panted, his eyes half lidded and glazed over.  “I need you to fuck me…”

Y/n leaned his head back and exhaled in anticipation, and John followed him, nibbling at his neck.

“I need you to fuck me so hard, so good,” he mewled between scrapes of his teeth against Y/n’s throat.  He pulled back and took hold of Y/n’s hand, bringing it to his neck, positioning his little spider’s fingers to wrap around it.  “Use me,” he continued.  “Use me hard!”

Y/n’s eyes were wide as he listened to Homelander plead like he’d never heard him before.  

“Fill me up,” John accentuated with a roll of his hips, his cockhead pushing against Y/n’s lower abdomen.  “I– I’ll be good.”

Y/n used his grip on John’s neck to pull him close enough to touch their foreheads together.

“You are good, John…” Y/n pressed a kiss to the bridge of his nose.  “And you deserve to feel good.”  He hooked his arms under Homelander’s legs and stood, holding the most powerful supe in the world as he carried him back to the bedroom.  

Once he laid John on the bed, leaving him with a gentle kiss to both his lips and the tip of his dick as a tease, Y/n prepped to make good on his love’s requests.  He put on his pack-and-play setup and slotted the dildo in place after a brief setup hidden by the drawer.  

This one was new, and had a special feature that Y/n just knew John would love. The web-head hid the small remote in the palm of his hand until he could conceal it properly under the pillow. 

“Warm it,” he instructed John, holding the bottle of lube just a few inches from his face. 

Low intensity beams shot from Homelander’s eyes, heating the liquid perfectly.  When wet fingers grazed his already stretched hole, John spread his legs wider, welcoming the warm intrusion with an eager smile.

“Look how much you like this, you little slut.”  Y/n teased, grinning down at Homelander.  

“I’m your slut... ” John keened,  “Your good boy!”

“You are,” Y/n agreed while he scissored John’s hole once more, ensuring he was properly stretched.  “You’re my good, sweet boy.”

John’s eyes flared again, keeping a dim glow.

“Are you ready for me?”  Y/n asked, positioning himself at Homelander’s hole.

“Y-yes,” he gasped, looking down in excitement.

Y/n’s lips curved into a smirk.

“Then ride me,” he said, rolling over onto his back next to Homelander.

It took no less than a split second for Homelander to have his leg thrown over Y/n’s waist and the wet head of the dildo pressed against his hole.  He sank down on it in one go, throwing his head back blissfully as he was filled to the brim.

“F-fuck!” John moaned, his head lulling around while his cum-drunk mind tried to catch up.  “So good, so fucking good!”  Homelander began to rut against him.

Y/n slid his hands along John’s inner thighs, ghosting past his bouncing cock.  Homelander’s shaft slapped against Y/n’s belly every time the former sank down hard and came up fast, clearly using his flight powers to assist in fucking himself.  Little threads of precum clung to Y/n’s skin, following the bounce of John’s cock.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Y/n moaned, the friction of the toy pressing against him with each motion, finally tending to the flames of his own arousal.  “I wish I could suck you while you fuck yourself on me.  I wanna have you cum down my throat– have you clenching on my dick at the same time– fuck! You're so pretty fucking yourself on me…” He began to meet Homelander’s motions, thrusting upward when John came down, driving into him with all of his might.

“Nngh– f-fuck!”  John whimpered, he fell forward, nuzzling into Y/n’s neck while his little spider fucked up into him, slamming his insides fiercely.  “I’m your slut, daddy…”

Y/n stilled for a moment, his eyes going as wide as his gaping mouth.  It was quiet, and if he hadn’t been so in tune to the low rumble of John’s voice, he’d have missed it.

John moved away to look at him, worrying he’d done something wrong.

In a motion as fast as lightning, Y/n rolled them both and leaned down to take Homelander in a searing kiss, wrapping a hand around his neck.  He squeezed against the sides, restricting the blood flow just enough to have Homelander feeling lightheaded.  Y/n snapped his hips forward, thrusting into Homelander harshly. 

“Say it again,” Y/n demanded, the pace of his hips slowing to a shallow, circular motion.  “I’m your slut…” John breathed, gulping hard against the hand squeezing his neck.

“The whole thing, Johnny!” Y/n gave a sharp thrust, clenching his throat harder.  “Say it!”

“I’m your slut, daddy!” John keened, his eyes flashing bright before he clenched them shut.  “I’m your fucking slut!”

Y/n felt his cunt fucking throb at the way John had addressed him.  Oh, he was going to enjoy this.  

Every fucking second of it.

“And what does my little slut want from daddy, hm?”  Y/n rolled his hips once more, rocking into Homelander’s ass in shallow movements.  He leaned down and took John in a soft kiss, releasing the tension around his neck to instead run through his undercut.  

“W-Want daddy to f-fuck me…” Homelander gasped, his voice breathy and shaky.  “T-To Take care of me.”

“Mmm,” Y/n hummed, a devious grin working onto his face, “and just how do you need me to take care of you?”  The web-head reached down, taking John’s wrists and moving his hands up over his head.  Y/n secured them– well, as best as one could against a man like Homelander– and tilted his head as he looked down at John.  His love looked so gorgeous in that moment.  A drool trail spilling off the curve of his lip, red eyes radiating heat between them both, his chest heaving in eager breaths, hair mussed into a frenzy...  

He looked good enough to fucking eat.

Y/n reached down and stroked at John’s cock, rolling his thumb over the drooling head of it to coax cute moans from him.

“L-Like that!”  John whimpered, thrusting weakly into Y/n’s grip.

“What else?” Y/n pushed, giving a long, drawn out stroke to John’s shaft.

“I need to cum…” John gasped, peering through heavy eyelids at Y/n.  “Let me cum, daddy, please!”

“You can say it nicer than that, Johnny… Ask again.”

“Please, please, please, daddy!” Homelander shouted, throwing his head back.  “Please let me cum– I’ll be good!” John thrust his hips against Y/n’s cock.  “I’ll be your good boy!”

Y/n’s smile turned from devious to wicked, and he snapped his hips into Homelander, settling into a brutal pace that left the bed quaking beneath them.  John’s cries were muffled as he turned his head to his arm, but Y/n gripped his jaw and forced him back.

“Be loud for daddy,” he ordered, giving a particularly harsh thrust that left Homelander fucking singing.

Homelander’s noises increased tenfold, and he babbled through the rough pounding– some of his words entirely incoherent as Y/n built him up to the peak of pleasure, heat building and coiling in his core until he thought he might fucking die if he didn’t cum soon.  He practically screamed when Y/n slammed into him the whole way, grinding hot and wet against his hole, milking his euphoria for all it was worth.

When Y/n was satisfied with just how far he’d unraveled John, he leaned down to coo in his ear.

“Cum for daddy…”  He spoke sweetly, giving Homelander’s cock firm pumps as he continued to buck into him, stroking deep. He sought the remote and gave a press to the button as soon as John cried out his climax, shooting a load of artificial cum straight into him. 

John’s breath caught in his throat, and he gave a strangled scream as the heat exploded, burning through his entire body and tingling into his limbs. A beam of red burst from his eyes at the shock of being creamed, adding to the ever growing collection of scorch marks on Y/n's ceiling. He thrust against Y/n’s onslaught, his body moving on its own to seek more.

“That’s it,” Y/n breathed, watching his partner lose control, “Let go for me, Johnny.”  He fucked John through the waves of his orgasm, angling his hips the way he knew he loved the most– striking his prostate more often than not.  Ropes of cum painted John’s abdomen, and Y/n’s mouth watered at the sight– but he’d wait.  He’d wait for John to be coherent enough to enjoy the sight of having his own release licked clean from his skin.

Y/n let Homelander have plenty of time to come back down, and he spent his time peppering soft kisses everywhere he could reach, whispering praise between each press of his lips.  He stroked along the curve of John’s jaw, watching his love’s lips spread into a lazy smile.

“How do you feel?”  Y/n inquired, nuzzling against John’s neck.  His own need still screamed for attention, but nothing was going to stop him from checking in on his Johnny first.

“Hmmm,” John hummed, his eyes a normal blue now as he fought against his heavy eyelids.  “S’good… Sleepy.” 

Y/n moved to pull out, but a leg slung over his hip pushed him back inside.

“Stay in.” John whispered, groaning slightly at the push against his raw hole.  “I’ll…” Homelander trailed off, pulling Y/n down to nuzzle into his neck, and pushing his hand under the waistband of his pack-and-play underwear.  He was so sleepy, but he’d see it through for Y/n.

The web-head keened as John’s fingers slid through his soaked folds, immediately seeking out his clit.  There was no sense in dragging it out– he was on the fucking brink and it wouldn’t take much for Homelander to have him seeing stars.  So, he humped against John’s hand, seeking friction for his tender bud, moaning softly against his love's neck.

Y/n dragged his hand between their bodies, swiping up the cum resting on John’s abdomen, bringing it up to his lips to lick clean.  A deep groan reverberated in Y/n’s chest, and he continued grinding against Homelander’s lazy fingers, chasing his climax, coming closer, closer…

John sank his fingers into Y/n’s cunt at the last second, just in time to feel the full force of his little spider’s orgasm pulsing through him, causing his pussy to quiver and clench.  He loved nothing more than to feel it– to feel everything he could when it came to Y/n.

The pair laid there, basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking, neither one caring to fight off sleep for a moment longer.  

They may have been too exhausted to talk about it, but Y/n would definitely never forget John’s new term of endearment for him. 

[hom3landr]

plz I need “show me how much you missed me”

Homecoming

18+

You always know just how to welcome him back

Having him back in your arms again is more potent than any drug. You feel secure, loved, taken care of by someone who would let no harm come to you. The loneliness that festers inside you like a rot, eating you from the inside out, is blissfully washed away by the sheer overwhelm of his presence. Anyone else would be terrified by the force with which Homelander loves. You’d be wounded if he loved you any less, burned by a lifetime of lukewarm affection that inevitably turned into cruel indifference. No one ever bothered enough to care before. So even though blood still mats his hair and his embrace has stained you with red, you cling to him desperately.

He tastes like iron, his tongue pressing desperately against yours. His grip flexes on your hips as he fights to contain the strength of his passion. You’re the lucky one because you have no limit to how tightly you can clutch him to you. You can feed that neediness inside you without worrying that your too eager hands might rend flesh from bone. There is a freedom in your weakness that you do not hesitate to take advantage of. Your hand buries itself in his hair and tugs, the strands sticky under your fingers. He follows your lead as he reluctantly pulls away to meet your gaze. Something hungry inside you wakes up.

His eyes are hazy, intoxicated and open in a way you haven’t seen before. There is a subtle unspoken shift in the air as you realize that somewhere along the line, the question of who holds the power no longer has a definite answer. You gently push on his chest, guiding him back until his legs hit the bed. His gaze is fixed on yours, eager and curious. If he wasn’t undone by lust, he’d be almost amused as he watches you stretch unused muscles for the first time. As it stands, his muddled brain clings to your guidance.

You surprise him when you move around him to climb onto the bed yourself. You settle yourself on top of the pillows as you spread your legs, slowly revealing that you are bare under your silky nightdress. Something delicious brews in your gut as he swallows thickly, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip.

“Show me how much you missed me.” You purr.

His eyelashes flutter for half a second before a wicked grin makes its way across his face. His eyes are dark and hungry as he climbs onto the bed. It doesn’t take him long to decide exactly how he wants to show you, his mouth already watering. He crawls to you like an animal who’s ready to feast on its prey. It would be easy to melt into the pillows and let him have his way. He knows exactly how to make you feel good. But tonight feels different and you aren’t ready to give away this opportunity just yet. So when he places a warm hand on your thigh, ready to spread you to his liking, you bat it away with your knee. Surprisingly he retreats, his eyes sharp and wary he waits for your next move.

“No hands.”

His expression falters, not negatively, but as a result of his brain recalibrating this new dynamic. You’ve been firm with him before but never bossy and the almost painful throb of his cock makes his head spin. Without breaking eye contact, he shakily moves both hands behind his back. You feel borderline drunk as you realize how much his current position reflects a pose normally meant to instill a sense of authority. Which is something that he is now handing silently over to you. You don’t say a word except to drape your legs over his shoulders, making your intentions perfectly clear. The blood still soaking his costume leaves crimson smears on your thighs as he leans forward to bury his face between your legs.

He doesn’t warm you up like he normally does. He’s eager from the start, after starving for days. It’s almost overwhelming as he sucks on your clit like it’s the only thing tethering him to this world. Without having his hands to hold him up, every shift and movement creates delicious friction as his aching cock has no choice but to grind against the bed. He whines desperately as he licks you with determination.

Your hand returns to his hair, using it for leverage as you grind against his face. Without him holding you down, you can truly use him the way you want to. He’s at the mercy of your movements, constantly adjusting for the best angle. You tug roughly at his hair when he pulls away briefly to give a sharp nip to your thigh. He grunts and looks up at you with a fierce glare but the effect is dampened by the fact that his mouth is still sealed to your aching clit. You’d pull him off to teach him a lesson if you had any self-control. So you use a different tactic instead.

“Be a good boy for me. Can you do that?” You coo and his brow furrows like you’ve wounded him. He pants into your soaking cunt as your heels dig into his back. He nods and the brush of his nose against your clit causes your vision to white out for half a second. It’s so fucking good.

He’s a blood-soaked god and you have him on his knees and moaning into you like it’s the only reason he was put on this earth.

He must have really missed you.

It isn’t long before the sheer overstimulation causes Homelander to freeze and shake. He keens as he rests his damp forehead against your bloody thigh, grinding against the sheets through the tight spandex of his pants. You pet his hair gently, putting your own pleasure on the backburner as you guide him through his. You whisper gentle praises and affirmations as he shudders. You wonder if you need to give him a moment to collect himself but before the thought can fully form he’s back. Before, he was feasting, trying to soak up as much of you as possible with no real strategy. His orgasm has not dampened his desire but it has sharpened it, giving him a clarity that he now uses to undo you the same way you did him.

He’s completely wicked as he takes you apart with each calculated stroke of his tongue. It doesn’t take long before you’re reduced to a fragile moaning mess. He still follows your lead but it’s with the languidness of a well-fed predator. So it’s no surprise that you come with his tongue deep inside you, making sure not to leave one bit of you untouched by him. After all, he’s a good boy and good boys always make sure their plate is clean.

It takes a while for you to come down, legs trembling from where they continue to rest on his broad shoulders. Your stomach clenches as you realize that his hands are still dutifully folded behind his back, despite adjusting his position slightly so he can rest his head on your stomach. He’s waiting for you to release him. You release your grip on his hair, fingers aching from the tight hold you had on him. You gently cup his cheek in one hand. He nuzzles into you instantly. It breaks your heart how desperate he is for affection. He looks up at you shyly.

“Did you miss me too?” He asks quietly. You expected him to be cheeky with you, the way he normally is after making you come that hard. This vulnerability isn’t new exactly, but hardly expected. So you smile and gently caress his cheekbone with your thumb.

“More than anything.” You respond, gently tugging him till his head rests on your chest and you’re wrapped tightly in his arms. You’re both sticky. The room smells like blood and sex. Yet neither of you have the energy to break the comfortable silence.

You hope he never leaves again, but you’ll always be here to greet him when he returns.

[psychadollics]

I promised sublander hcs...... :3 NSFW!!

------------------------------------------------------

FLUFF-

Behind closed doors he is the BIGGEST cuddle bug, he'd never ask for them though

The smallest amounts of praise will absolutely make his day

When cuddling he has to have some part of his body being rubbed, favorite spots include, back, hair and chest

He gets clingy while cuddling, leading to him apologizing a lot for squeezing a bit too much

Whiny bitch, but he’s a cute one

Constantly asks shit like “You love me right?” And compliment fishes enough to the point it could classify as a second job, and no matter what his partner can’t help but give into it

Because he is still Homelander, he does lose his shit sometimes (but in this case doesn’t get violent), however after he “calms down” the only words you’ll hear from him for the rest of the night are gentle sobs and “I’m sorry”

NSFW-

(Idfk if this is even a hc) This freak has one hell of a lactation kink

He’d never admit it, but being edged is one of his top 10 favorite activities

He can cum from praise alone

Whatever his partner wants from him, he will do it without question. When he isn’t out being a piece of shit superhero, he is just a small obedient bitch

One of his favorite forms of foreplay is having his dick teased through his suit (his second favorite is through a pair of tight panties)

Sucker for being called a good boy (who can blame him)

He loves when his partners are rough with him, the night won’t be over until he can’t even beg anymore

Likes to get sassy especially in situations where he doesn’t hold power simply because he enjoys the consequences that follow

Big biter

He loves when his partner makes him say degrading (or uplifting) things about himself, yes homelander you are an attention whore (and I love you for it)

Oki im writing this all at 1 am and im eepy but there’s more to come, maybe.

[deliciouskeys]

@cozycornerkinktober prompt #5: Blindfold

Love Me Blind (Butchlander)

Warnings: Just the usual E rating. Short. Why did it take me this long to post a butchlander Kinktober fill lol. I feel like I have to fill this prompt. This is set in ZMverse, post-fic timeline. No AO3 link because I may or may not slide this into the next ZnMoO4 installment.

TL;DR of ZM: HL spent a few months in captivity/bondage, including a zinc plate over his eyes, he and Billy Butcher got physically and eventually emotionally intimate to the point that when HL got free, rather than killing his captor, he remained attached to Butcher, eventually convincing him to take Compound V.

“Come on, close your eyes,” Billy whispers in his ear.

Homelander tries, but he simply can’t. He’s barely managed to force himself to close his eyes to go to sleep, but he can’t bring himself to close them here, not with Billy in front of him. Not just in front of him, around him, inside him, everywhere at once, his hips snapping forward, his rough broad hands firmly gripping his legs near the insides of his knees and pressing them down into his chest, his beard scratching against Homelander’s collarbones and neck as those places are getting marked up with hickeys. Homelander loves it. Billy on V is truly a gift— well worth the days of taking care of him during the illness the slow dosing causes. He’s strong and durable, maybe too strong. Homelander’s not sure he could throw him off the bed right now, if he wanted to. But he doesn’t want to. He wants them both to be right here, to be pressed down, to feel achingly full, to have his skin sucked on with bruising strength. He wants to feel uninhibited, no longer having to take care and keep his own motions contained, no longer afraid to accidentally snag Billy’s body. But he doesn’t want one thing.

Billy’s orgasm somehow rocks through his body too, muscle tremors, rapid heartbeat and all, so that Homelander almost questions if they had somehow become physiologically connected. But no, his stomach is dry, cock still begging for release.

Billy unclamps his grip from his legs but doesn’t slump down on top of him, doesn’t pull out.

“Come on. Close ‘em for me,” Billy repeats, his voice husky, still breathing heavily, and runs a finger along Homelander’s jawline, tapping him under his chin.

“Why.” It would be so cruel of Billy to take advantage of him now, after having his life spared and even being gifted the V. But Homelander can’t help being wary.

“Want to see you trust me.”

Homelander sighs and closes them. Even though he can see through any material, when he closes his eyes— really, honestly closes them— they seem to automatically shut off, roll up, refuse to relay visual cues. He can’t peek through his lids. He’s plunged into the darkness again, sickeningly familiar, and suddenly he can’t bear it for a single second longer, and opens his eyes frantically. He hates to admit it, but he’s terrified.

Billy’s watching him, eyes full of something sorrowful, maybe tinged with curiosity and pity.

“I’ve gotcha,” he says, lowering his body down until his weight rests on Homelander’s body, caressing his face before kissing him. Homelander feels himself relaxing and letting Billy sink lower between his spread thighs, his erection getting pressed between their abs. It’s not exactly comfortable, but it’s comforting. Homelander feels his heart rate and breathing returning to normal when he’s feeling compressed. Feeling that Billy might be able to hold him down against his will is a weird thrill, a turn-on, but also a paradoxically calming feeling.

“Close them. For just a bit,” Billy coaxes him, even as one his hands approaches his eyes and gently covers them.

Homelander arches almost reflexively, despite the weight on him, and lets out a panicked breath that might count as whimper because there was some voice put behind it, but he doesn’t toss his head or do anything to throw the hand off his face.

The darkness is here again. But so is Billy. Close to him. Touching him in so many places. Weighing him down into the mattress. They lie in silence for what must be seconds, but to Homelander it feels like hours.

“You have to promise,” Homelander says, his voice hoarse and small. He’s afraid to finish his demand aloud.

“What’s that?” Billy nudges his nose under his chin and kisses it. He’s stayed inside Homelander’s body the whole time, and Homelander can feel him becoming ready for round two, growing, swelling, feeling less comfortable but in a way Homelander wants.

“You have to promise you won’t … you know. Keep me against my will.”

Billy stays silent and Homelander’s breathing speeds up when he doesn’t hear an affirmation. Somewhere in the back of his mind he’s imagining that Billy has stashed piles and piles of ZM coated wire under the bed, ready to secure him there, just waiting for the right opportunity. He so badly wants to push the hand off his face and see for himself.

“Okay,” Billy breaks the silence. “I promise you.”

Maybe it’s because he took so long to consider it, but Homelander actually finds those few words believable, relaxing his spinal muscles and sinking into the bed. “You want to fuck me with my eyes closed?”

“No,” Billy says. “But I want you to trust me.”

Homelander smiles wanly. “Who else am I going to trust?”

“That’s sad, mate.”

Homelander shrugs.

Billy removes his hand and Homelander blinks in the light before wrapping his arms around his partner’s shoulders, wrapping his legs around his waist, squeezing him closer, further inside, pressing up together so they almost feel like one body again.

Yes I cheated, there was no blindfold. I wrote blindfold for like 40k words as backdrop that’s relevant. It’s not a kink, it’s a way of life 😎

[mommy-mortis]

I need to put a collar on this soggy little wet bitch like yesterday.

[bi-hans]

why did homelander say it like that👀

[plutoswritingplanet]

Perchance... 😏

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

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.