#homelander x madelyn
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underthetulsansun · 1 year ago
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so


those homelander and madelyn scenes 👀
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hom3landr · 20 days ago
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Heavy Dirty Soul
Chapter One
Homewell x fem!reader
18+
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When you first get a job as Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, you merely see it as a stepping stone for corporate advancement. But when your feelings for her begin to toe the line between admiration and desire, you allow her to mold you into whatever she wants regardless of professional boundaries. This evolution places you square in the middle of the very strange dynamic between her and Homelander. It doesn’t take long before you willingly become entangled in a web of lust and manipulation.
Competence, that’s what starts all this. You’re a perfectionist, constantly at war with your best, and desperate to prove what you're capable of. When you are hired as Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, you practically shake with your need to show off. If you can impress her then you’ll be set. If you can impress her then maybe she’ll pull you up the ladder along with her. You’re ambitious and hungry. You can practically taste your future when she calls you into her office for the first time.
She’s not an easy boss but she’s fair. She walks the halls and people scatter. You imitate her gait as you follow behind her, typing away on your phone and completing tasks that she hasn’t even asked you about yet. But you know she will, you know her. You crave that look of respect she gives you every time you reveal that you’re already ahead of her. It makes you feel fuzzy, like your veins are filled with champagne. Her approval is good for your career but your craving for it has become far deeper than a bit of professional interest. When you’re tailing her, your gaze perhaps watches her a little too closely. At first you thought it was because you wanted to be her, but you’re not so sure that’s it anymore.
The first time she asks you to watch Teddy while she meets with Edgar, you flush crimson. She doesn’t comment as she hands him over to you, but there is a certain quirk in her smile that indicates that she notices. Your shoulders square with pride as you bounce a giggly Teddy on your hip. He instantly takes a shine to you and this fact hasn't escaped her either. You can tell because her look of respect has turned calculating in a way that makes your knees a little wobbly. You’ve never considered yourself good with children so despite his inability to understand, you thank Teddy for doing you a solid and behaving for you.
Teddy is only the beginning. Stillwell begins asking you more personal favors, ones that push the boundaries of what is strictly professional. Her gaze remains pleasant but hawk-like, as though she’s testing how far you’ll really go. When she begins requesting you wear button-ups to work, you instantly fill your closet with them. When she asks you to wear your hair a certain way, you make a playlist of hair tutorials that night. You aren’t stupid, you know she is pushing inappropriate boundaries. You also know that following her orders without question is no longer a matter of pure ambition. You crave the way she looks at you with quiet satisfaction. And when she starts insisting you wear your shirts unbuttoned, you are more than willing to show off, despite the passing looks you get for revealing more of your chest than is appropriate for a corporate job. But everyone knows better than to say anything, especially with Stillwell’s umbrella of protection.
You are hungry for her attention. You thrive in her office, by her desk, waiting to fulfill whatever task she asks of you.
So when you start to notice your meetings with her end up involving Homelander more often than not, you can’t help your disappointment. It’s clearly a disappointment he seems to share. He always stares at you when she calls you in, disgruntled at having his time with her interrupted despite plastering on his best winning smile. You’ve never seen it reach his eyes. His stares drift down and linger impolitely on the days you wear your shirts buttoned low. You exchange small talk with him and he pretends to be pleasant under her watchful gaze. It doesn’t escape you that he looks at her the same way you know you do. 
You’re not jealous of him or the way she is with him. On the contrary, as much as you would prefer her undivided attention, there is something magnetic about how effortlessly she moves him around like a piece on a chess board. You’ve heard whispers about their interesting dynamic but no one dared to say anything concrete. Now you have a front row seat. It’s subtle enough that it could easily be waved away as an overactive imagination. But not to you, your keen focus is what makes you so good at your job. Nothing escapes you. Especially not the subtle way she brushes his thigh as he huffs, pinky grazing the obscene jut of his cup. Her eyes meet yours as he melts and she gives you the silent command to watch, as though she is asking you to sit in on a meeting with her
as though she’s trying to teach you something.
                           ———————
You’ve heard things that would have the country in a horrified uproar if they knew. The Supes aren’t heavenly bodies in human form. They’re created. You’ve seen it. The bright blue of the compound V practically glows. You find it beautiful. It looks like victory. You never once dream of whistleblowing. You don’t want to lose this strange intimacy that comes from sharing a terrible truth with someone else. She’s tugging you up the ladder with her and you eagerly climb. You leave your soul at the bottom. It’s dead weight anyway.
You touch yourself the night you learn the truth and fail to notice that a couple of stars in the sky glow an ominous red.
                       ————————-
This is new, leaving you alone with him. You’re happily cuddling with Teddy, him giggling on your shoulder while you rub his back. She’s pleased with you today and your stomach flips twice over when she rests a gentle hand on your arm while she runs through the day with you. She has back to back meetings today so you’re on Teddy duty. You are more than willing to play with the baby. It turns out you do like children after all.
But Homelander has business with Madelyn. He’s flustered and when he comes into the office only to find you on your own, his displeasure is palpable. Teddy is gurgling and a muscle twitches in his cheek as he stares at the two of you with disdain. 
Only
something interesting happens. His eyes rake over your body. Your shirt is buttoned low as usual and with Madelyn’s guidance, your tight pencil skirts have only gotten shorter. You remember the day you realized that she’s been dressing you up as some pornographic version of her. Homelander seems to finally be coming to the same conclusion. You’re not her twin by any means but that doesn’t seem to deter Homelander’s roving eyes. Your arms around Teddy seem to have sealed the deal as he watches you care for him so easily. He licks his lips and your eyes follow the movement.
“Where’s Madelyn? I have something urgent to discuss with her.” His hands rest on his hips and you can’t help but truly look at him for the first time. You’ve always been too distracted by Stillwell’s overwhelming presence. Acknowledging his attractiveness has always been a matter of cognitive recognition. But something about him has your body catching up to what your mind has always known.
“She has an emergency meeting with Mr. Edgar. I can help you with whatever you need.” You reply sweetly. Teddy reaches up for your attention and his little hand tugs at your shirt. A flash of your lace bra appears.
Homelander’s mouth opens wordlessly, eyes drawn to your exposed chest. You see a flash of tongue press against his teeth. He clears his throat as another insistent tug reveals more of your fancy lingerie, another purchase requested from Stillwell. 
“I
I have some notes about these stupid talking points. I would not say this bland corporate shit. It’s ridiculous.” He fumes, lips pursed. He doesn’t look unlike Teddy at this moment when the baby starts to get petulant and hungry. He effortlessly sweeps his cape out of the way as he flops onto the couch with a huff. With the change of angle, he lets his eyes follow the line of your stockinged leg. His gaze seems to intensify as it reaches the hem of your skirt and travels upward. He hums low in his throat, a filthy heady noise. You swallow thickly, pretty damn sure he's using his abilities for reasons that are incredibly inappropriate in a workplace environment.
You walk over to place a babbling Teddy in his high chair before walking over to join Homelander on the couch. He scoots a touch closer and his thigh is blazingly hot against yours. You push down the nerves bubbling in your stomach at the intense way he looks at you. It’s different from the borderline reverent way he looks at Stillwell. 
“Why don’t you tell me about it? That way you can gather your thoughts before she comes back.” You reply. He doesn’t answer at first so you gather your courage and reach out to lightly rest your hand on his thigh. He tenses for a moment but he doesn’t stop you and eventually his leg relaxes under your touch. He leans toward you conspiratorially.
“If you ask me, I think we’re going in the completely wrong direction when it comes to getting this bill passed. I mean, spitting out these bland speeches doesn’t do anything to really show what supes are capable of.” He casually rests his arm on the couch behind you. He smells good, clean but with the tiniest hint of cologne, something with vetiver you think. Your lids feel heavy as he leans closer until his forehead is almost touching yours. You try to ignore the painful thump of your heart in your chest, as though pretending it isn’t happening will block him from hearing it.
Your mouth is dry when you open your mouth to reply to him. You try your best to think of what Stillwell would say but your mind is blank. Luckily, you don’t have to think much harder because the door opens to reveal her. She seems completely unphased by the borderline inappropriate distance between Homelander and yourself. She even seems pleased by it, her eyes meeting yours with that look of approval you crave so much. Homelander instantly moves away and the loss of his heat is a shock to your system. He stands and launches into a laundry list of complaints but he seems easier to mollify today as his eyes continue to flick over  to you. You return to pick up a whining Teddy, bouncing him on your hip as you watch them. Your heart is still pounding and you become aware of a dull throb between your thighs. 
You wake up to a small bonus and a text from Stillwell.
Thank you for handling him.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what she means.
                      ——————————
It’s the Believe Expo and Homelander is being a snot. It’s been a learning curve trying to manage him but you’re starting to get the hang of it. Now it’s your fingers teasing him just enough. Stillwell is still the one he really wants but he’s come to settle for you in a pinch. You don’t allow it to go too far but you’ve been known to allow a subtle grope of your chest or a hand brushing your backside. You don’t hold quite the same status of Stillwell yet so there are some things you must allow to keep his attention on you. You’re a little ashamed to admit to yourself that you don’t really mind.
Today however, he isn’t so easy to tame. He fumes in his tent as you gently explain that Stillwell is taking Teddy to the pediatrician. Usually allowing him to vent to you and distracting him with your body is enough to soothe his annoyance. But even your best efforts aren’t working. Your ire is up in a way he hasn’t been able to inspire in you before. Stillwell impressed upon you strongly the importance of this event. If he fucks up then you fuck up, and you feel ill at the thought of letting her down in this way. You dig your nails into your palm to calm yourself down.
“The pediatrician? Really? She should be here! Does she really expect me to be content with you?” He looks down at you with bold faced disdain. “She can’t use her slutty little puppet to get out of all her responsibilities!” 
You slap him.  
He stares.
A horrified silence sweeps through the tent like a dark cloud as you breath heavily and meet his glare right back. Your heart is pounding. You know you’ve fucked up. You know it. 
He wasn’t wrong about your role in regards to Stillwell. You know what you are and the real reason she keeps you around. All the competence in the world doesn’t make up for the fact that you have nice tits and a willingness to debase yourself for corporate advancement and just a sliver of her attention. So far you’ve been more than ok with that. You don’t care why you’re useful as long as you are. But hearing it from him made you feel so cheap. Your hand moved before you could make yourself stop and think things through. 
He smiles coldly but you don’t miss the way his hips twitch the way they always do when his hard cock becomes uncomfortable in his cup. You’ve watched Stillwell work him enough to know. 
He liked that you fought back.
He walks closer with purpose and each footfall echoes in the quiet. You can see Ashley clutching her tablet with a death grip, knuckles white with the strain. A look of sheer primal horror is frozen on her features. But she’s more than willing to let you face the consequences of your own actions. 
He’s close enough now that your noses are almost touching. His hand reaches around to rest heavy on the small of your back. Your skin prickles under the heat of his palm. Wordlessly, he maneuvers you to the exit and you let him guide you without resistance. You’re the only one who knows his dirty little secret and you pray it’s enough to give you leverage as long as you keep your cool and play your cards right. Perhaps this is your first real test.
“Ashley,” He purrs dangerously. “I’m going to miss the upcoming panel. I need to teach some manners. But believe me, I am fully prepared to make my big speech”
Your stomach drops.
You don’t care what he does to you. But if you disappoint her
you’re not sure you’ll be able to handle it.
Normally Ashley would try to stutter out some protest about his last minute cancellation but she prioritizes self-preservation at this moment. Instead, she shoots you a poisonous glare, because in her mind this is your fault. You know she doesn’t give a shit if you are being punished. After all, you’re just the office whore. The way she sees it, if you sleep your way to the top, you don’t get to throw a tantrum when someone actually calls it out. Especially when it’s someone as powerful and terrifying as Homelander.
You didn’t sleep your way to the top. But you look like you did and apparently that’s all it takes.
He leads you through the expo, waving and smiling and “politely” turning down requests for selfies. Eventually he makes it through the worst of the crowd, past the stench of the porta-potties and the humming generators providing power to the whole ordeal. He leads you behind the stages and the massive trucks ready to be stuffed with equipment again once the event is over. You reach a place on the edge of where the parking lot begins, a singular lone tent being used to store some instruments for an upcoming Christian rock performance. It’s isolated but not private. You expect that’s the point.
He doesn’t speak to you once and you’re not sure if it’s a relief or merely a signal of your upcoming doom. He never removes his hand from you and his gloved fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hip hard enough to bruise. He lifts the tent flap and all but shoves you in. He crowds you up against a speaker, looming over you with his gaze cold and snakelike. It’s far more terrifying than any overt display of rage could ever be.
“Y’know I could have you blacklisted not only from Vought but the entire corporate world for that. You could spread your legs for everyone in upper management and it wouldn’t make a bit of difference.” He leans forwards and whispers poisonously. He reaches out to trace the edge of your shirt, gently pulling the flimsy fabric back just enough to reveal the lace of your bra. You grab his wrist. He pauses, not because he has any intention of stopping. He’s just curious to see what you plan to do. 
“I got this far because I am good at my job.” You hiss at him and he snorts.
“You got this far because your ass looks good in a tight skirt and Madelyn knows it. You think I don’t know what she’s doing
 I’m not an idiot.” He growls and your stomach turns over. 
“Maybe if she didn’t have to fuss at you to behave, she wouldn’t need to distract you so she can do her real job” You growl and you swear his eyes flash red for a split second. “If you want her attention so badly then why not be a good boy and let her do what she needs to do so she actually has the time.” 
He reels back when you call him a good boy. His hips don’t twitch, they jerk. A light bulb flashes in your brain. You ignore the way his expression twists with fury as you reach out and caress his thigh, brushing the cup the way you know he likes. Your expression is cool despite the frustration and fear you feel. Rage simmers in his expression but it fights with the sudden rush of arousal from your words and actions. You know his secret. It’s time to exploit it if you want to make it out of this. Maybe you are nothing but a pretty object. But you’re a pretty object with teeth.
You sensually unbutton your blouse, exposing your fancy lingerie fully. The cups are sheer lace and leave nothing to the imagination. His lips curl with disdain but his gaze doesn’t move from your tits and there is a rapt hunger in his expression. 
“There’s no need for you to fight with me. I’m here to help you both. Why don’t you get all of your big feelings out with me? I know you must be aching. We don’t have to be enemies, you and I.” You purr and once more you watch his tongue flick behind his teeth.
“You’re proving my point. You’re nothing but a slut.” He huffs, but his hand reaches out to cup your breast with an unexpected tenderness. You rest your hand on top of his, encouraging him to squeeze harder.
“You keep using that word to hurt my feelings. But you’re a little slutty too, aren’t you? My good boy.” You purr and he grips a little tighter as a faint blush crosses his cheeks. His thumb rubs over where the color of your nipple peeks through the white lace and you give a sweet moan as your nipple hardens. He exhales sharply.
“I don’t need anyone’s attention.” He complains but you both know it’s a lie. He pinches your nipples and you squeal and shift against him, letting your thigh slot between his legs to nudge up against where his hard cock must be aching in his cup. He bucks into it and the flush on his cheeks deepens as his brows knit together.
“It’s alright if you do. It’s alright if you need to soothe your nerves before your big performance. Just behave and let me help you. I’m good at what I do. It’s not because I’m a slut. It’s because you know as well as I do, you sometimes need to get a little dirty in this business if you want to get anywhere.” You nudge him again and he gives a sweet little whine. “Sometimes
you have to leave your soul at the door and give the damn speech”
He snarls and lurches forward to clash his mouth against yours. The force of it splits your lip and Homelander gathers it on his tongue and messily kisses it back into your mouth. Your blood is warm on your tongue and the sharp tang of iron masks the taste of him. The hand that isn’t massaging your breast plunges between your legs and cups you roughly. He grinds his palm against your aching clit until you whine and buck in his arms. 
“Slut” He hisses against your lips as his hand tugs your bra down roughly to pinch the swell of your breast punishingly. The pain feels good even as the skin purples beneath his fingers. He can feel the way your panties become plastered against your wet cunt at his rough play. You smell like sin. You smell like you’re winning.
“Whore.” You hiss right back as your hand rubs against his cup. He whimpers and bucks into your hand rudely, demanding more and more and more. His cock is sensitive and the precum provides a delicious slip as he grinds against your palm. His eyes roll back as the pleasure blazes all the way up his spine until his brain goes hazy.
He closes his eyes. You know he’s imagining you’re her. That he’s “punishing” her for leaving him alone. That’s fine with you. Whatever gets him to do his job so you don’t have to tell her you failed. He whimpers sweetly and he nuzzles against you to bite and suck at your neck. You think he whispers her name against your skin but then his fingers slip under your silky panties to shove two thick gloved fingers into where you’re wet and open.
You gasp at the stretch but he cuts it off with another messy kiss. 
He curls his fingers to pummel that spot inside you that feels like heaven and you croon and clench around him. His thumb circles your clit desperately, the sheer slickness dripping from you making it hard for him to establish a rhythm as his caresses can’t help but slip off their mark. It’s a cruel tease that he doesn’t intend and he growls lowly in frustration as he concentrates on rubbing you off. 
“Good boy” you moan and you make sure to match her cadence of speaking.
He moans like a slut as he spills in his cup.
Good boy
Good boy
Good boy
You come hard around his fingers as your legs shiver and collapse. He simply presses you harder against the speaker with his body as he milks as much as he can from you. The lewd profane squelching of your juices filling the tent as your cunt flutters and melts around leather. He’s mean but not cruel as he continues to tease that spot even as your body twitches with overstimulation that is quickly edging into pain. When you rest your palms against his chest to weakly push him away, he removes his fingers with a flourish, droplets of your come darkening the dirt beneath your feet.
You’re both panting as you stare at each other. You both reek of sex and desperation. You both look debauched and used. You see each other and you understand. 
“Feel better with that out of your system?” You ask breathlessly but the tone of your voice is as in control as ever. You did what you needed to do. You turned the situation in your favor exactly as you planned. You pull your bra back into place and button your shirt back up with a brisk professionalism despite your shaky hands. 
He narrows his eyes as he analyzes you. He’s panting and the slimy mess he’s made of his cup is cooling and quickly becoming uncomfortable. You can see the wheels turning as he figures out where to go from here and whether or not this has changed or further solidified his opinion of you. He seems to make a decision although his expression gives nothing away.
He takes the two gloved fingers he had shoved up inside you and sticks them in his mouth. He keeps steady eye contact as he sucks before opening his mouth so you can see the way his tongue cleans  your arousal from every inch of his fingers. He pulls them out with an obscene slurp and there is a faint shimmer of your slick on the corners of his mouth. He doesn’t lick it away.
“Peachy” He replies with a sleazy grin, before leaving the tent with a final flourish of his cape.
You lean against the speaker as you take a moment to wipe the sweat from your brow and to adjust your uncomfortably wet underwear back into place. Duty calls and so does the speech that has had you both so worked up. You are confident that things will work out just fine and as you make your way to the main stage you feel a deep sense of satisfaction that you’ll make Madelyn proud after all. He’ll behave just fine
surely.
You are wrong.
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ladyantiheroine · 8 months ago
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Has anyone done this yet.
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tashtush · 26 days ago
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We Ask for Your Discretion (Chapter 1)
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18+ Homelander/queer female reader, Madelyn/reader, Homelander/Madelyn. Pre-s1. Stalking, noncon, dubcon, mommy kink, praise kink, rough sex, voyeurism, threesome, corporate nonsense, manipulation, homophobia, trauma, sexual coercion, cunnilungus, vaginal sex (smut in future chapters)
AO3 | gif
Homelander has a new fixation. Madelyn does damage control.
Chapter 2
“I don’t think ‘The Deep’s Liquid Dreams’ is going to fly as a concept.”
You had been helping develop Vought’s new meditation and sleep app, VoughtMind, its conception a prompt response to the Flight 37 tragedy. After facilitating several distraught focus groups, it was determined that the answer to the nation’s unrest would be guided meditations performed by a roster of lesser-known supes. From calming tracks such as Moonshadow’s Nervous System Reset to Being Seen with Invisi-Lass, there would be a soothing balm for your existential dread.
“What do you mean?” Lisa asked with faux exasperation, barely containing her grin. “It would be a guided track, narrated by his truly. It’d be relaxing. We could even play marimba sounds in the background.”
Lisa was your long-time friend and coworker, and you were both on the same team: The “Shut-eye Squad” (a mandated nickname you chose to never utter outside of the office). You were responsible for the development of VoughtMind’s sleep feature.
“I don’t know, I think it’d be better suited for V-Rotic,” you laughed wearily, scribbling down the idea in your notebook. On some exceptionally dull, meeting-heavy days, you wished you could work for that team. While some might shy away from the task of developing super sex toys and erotic audio stories, you weren’t one of them.
You had been working as a UX designer for Vought for a year, honored by the opportunity to be a small cog in the massive, omnipresent, and culturally influential institution. You storyboarded features, sketched countless wireframes, and did your best to ensure seamless user interaction.
And to optimize all the ways a user could upgrade to VoughtLife Plus, of course.
While you had experience working in tech, nothing about your old offices compared to the grandeur that was Vought Tower. It was a force of nature, casting its shadow over the city like an unyielding, steel sentinel. Every day, you felt a small swell of pride and trepidation when you approached its entrance, gripping your laptop bag in an attempt to ground yourself.
What excited you most, however, was the fact that it was home to the Seven. Just knowing that they all slept on the 99th floor gave you a little thrill every time it crossed your mind. But despite your technical proximity, they might as well have been living on a different planet.
You knew that there were plenty of private corridors that separated them from the Vought commonfolk. While they dodged being pestered for selfies, you simply contented yourself with the knowledge that you were employed by the company that helped them save lives—or, if you were being honest with yourself, the company that released those stupid movies you loved to hate.
It was seven in the evening when you and Lisa finally finished preparing for a particularly stressful presentation. You tried to avoid working late at all costs, but you underestimated how challenging it would be to market a Deep-themed mental health experience. Lisa stood and stretched, her daily signal that she was done for the day, until her gaze landed on her desk.
“Shit,” she muttered, lifting her mug to grab the coffee-stained folder beneath it.
“What’s that? Someone’s birthday card you forgot to sign?” you asked, craning your neck curiously.
“No, I was supposed to deliver these documents to floor 79 today,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. She stayed in that position for a moment too long, then turned her attention back towards you.
“Could you do me a huge favor?” she asked, pressing the folder between her hands in a plea. “Could you run up and drop this off at the front desk? I’m already late for a dinner reservation and I won’t be here to do it tomorrow morning.”
“79? I’d be happy to, but I don’t have access,” you said. Lower-level employees were generally barred from visiting higher floors, but some, like Lisa, had special privileges when needing to relay confidential information.
“Here, take my key card,” she said, pulling it from her pocket. “You’ll have access now.”
“Oh, sure then,” you replied, plucking the card from her hand. You examined it, noticing that it looked nearly identical to yours, save for the smooth finish and gold-embossed “V”. Crisp. Corporate.
“Thanks, you’re the best,” she said with a winning smile, hoisting her backpack over her shoulders.
She made her exit, and you were left alone in the dark office, folder and key card in hand. You started toward the elevators in the lobby, listening to the low, steady hum of idle printers. It was kind of eerie, but in an oddly soothing way. Like standing on a beach at night, when it was usually so bright and bustling with activity.
When you arrived at the elevator doors, curiosity bubbled up inside you. How different would the higher floors be? You heard a myriad of rumors floating around the water cooler, and you realized that this could be your chance to corroborate them. Were there spa facilities amidst the large conference rooms, offering around-the-clock massages and steam room sessions? Would you be able to find one of the alleged corporate cocktail bars and make yourself a company-funded cosmo? You once even heard that they got John Legend to perform in a break room for some VP’s birthday, while the biggest surprise you ever got was a box of assorted bagels. But again, you weren’t complaining. You loved bagels.
The elevator doors opened and you stepped in, surveying the sleek grid of blue, glowing buttons. You’d never been this high up before. You’d never had a reason to be, and it almost felt like you were committing a crime when you held the card against the adjacent scanner. It only just occurred to you that there was definitely a camera pointed at you—that you could get into real trouble, and anxiety twanged in your chest when you heard the telltale beep of confirmation. You pressed “7” and “9”, doing your best to assuage your fears. It was late. No one would notice you–and if they did, they’d be too exhausted after a long day of meetings and trying to care about anyone but themselves. Security would probably be too preoccupied with trying to keep people out of the tower, rather than deal with one errant employee.
You weren’t about to miss the opportunity to find that spa.
The elevator began to ascend, and it wasn’t long before it came to a smooth halt. The doors opened, and an employee you’d never seen before quietly shuffled in to stand in front of you. She was dressed sharply, had a clearly intentional hairstyle, and was generally just more put-together than you. You stood uneasily, feeling self-conscious in your jeans and what now felt like a much-too-whimsical sweater. Before you could stew in discomfort for too long, however, the elevator stopped just moments later, and she filed out as quickly as she entered. You breathed a small sigh of relief. After a few more seconds of imperceptible ascension, you idly wondered at what floor the slacks ended and the three-piece-suits began. With a bright ding, the doors slid open once again.
You froze. He was wearing a different kind of suit.
“Hiya,” you heard him say, his voice clear, masculine, and practiced. The voice you had heard on-repeat for years, that lived in every household, movie theater, and classroom across the country. It could command a stadium, stop any criminal dead in their tracks, and apparently cause your heart to drum violently against your chest.
It was Homelander.
With his strong jaw, coiffed blonde hair, and startling blue eyes, he was even more handsome in person. That, in combination with his impeccably clean suit and perfect posture, made him emanate an aura of otherworldliness.  
He strode into the elevator, entering “99” into the console with a gloved finger. He then stood casually beside you, behaving as if this wasn’t one of the most surreal moments of your life. He wasn’t especially tall, but he might as well have been 6’5” with the sheer weight of his presence.
Should you say something? You shifted awkwardly in place, fingers gripping the folder like a lifeline. You had to say something, right? You shot him a sidelong glance, daring yourself to break the silence and not squander this once-in-a-lifetime encounter.
“Um, I’ve never pictured you taking an elevator,” you said a little too quickly, a little too quietly. What? You immediately regretted opening your mouth. You figured that this is what people meant when they said they were starstruck.
You saw the corner of his lips quirk up slightly before he turned his head toward you, his strangely unnerving eyes making contact with yours. The elevator suddenly felt very small, and the sensation of his proximity to you amplified considerably. He paused for a moment, then leaned toward you, raising his dark eyebrows in a question.
“Well
 how do you usually picture me?” he asked slowly, a tinge of unmistakable amusement in his voice. His eyes flickered downward for just a fraction of a second, so quickly that you might have imagined it. You felt your heart continue to pound as he awaited your answer, painfully aware that your ability to banter was compromised.
“Flying head-first through windows?” you said, shrugging your shoulders sheepishly. “Though, I-I guess that isn’t very economical.” Your voice trailed off into an awkward silence.
He let out a huff of a chuckle, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a charming smile. The elevator came to another halt.
A few more executives filed in, and you turned away from him, trying to salvage any of your humility by playing it cool. After the elevator continued, the console’s digital display finally settled on floor 79. Relief flooded you, and you shot him a smile before hastily stepping past the open doors. You only saw his face for about a second, but it was all the time you needed to notice that his grin had fallen, his eyes staring at you as the door slid shut.
You felt like you could breathe again, as if you had suddenly emerged from being underwater for minutes. You wandered to the front desk in a haze, realizing that it would probably benefit you to listen to Mister Marathon’s latest collaboration with VoughtMind: Outrunning Panic.
—
The next day, you couldn’t keep Homelander out of your mind. Was he teasing you? Could he have actually been flirting? You replayed the encounter over and over in your head for approximately
 all day, so much so that the presentation you were dreading all week was demoted to an inconvenient afterthought. What felt monumental to you was likely just a mundane second of his (larger-than) life, so you tried your best not to dwell on that possibility.
He was charming. That was his thing. It was one of the qualities that made him so damn lovable whenever you watched him speak heroic to the public. He was often very flirtatious with the female talk show hosts who effortlessly coaxed answers out of him, even the most seasoned of professionals failing to suppress their girlish giggles. You were just another inconsequential pull of his magnetism.
When you arrived in the office that morning, you immediately had to tell someone about it. Anyone. You beelined toward Ami, a copywriter on your team, and quickly recounted the night’s events. She stopped in her tracks, swiveling her desk chair to slowly land in your direction. Her jaw literally dropped.
“That’s crazy that you say that,” she said, “I actually saw him this morning while I was grabbing coffee in the cafe.”
That was strange. A whole year working here, and you hadn’t even heard of him being anywhere near your floor.
“Really? Did you talk to him?” you asked in a hushed voice, not even trying to hide your excitement. Meeting Homelander was a big deal, even for a Vought employee.
“I didn’t. He was giving extreme ‘don’t even try to talk to me’ vibes. He ignored me. Honestly, it was kind of unsettling,” she said, grimacing slightly. “It didn’t surprise me, though. I’m sure people are usually begging for his attention. It looked like he was talking to a manager or something, but I have no idea why,” she shrugged.
“He looks older in person,” she added off-handedly. “Still hot, though.”
“Hmm,” you responded absent-mindedly, fingering the key card that was still nestled in your pocket. You wondered what the odds were that Homelander would meet you in an elevator and then immediately visit your office the next morning. It was almost certainly a coincidence. He was known to dip his boots in all kinds of products, from star-spangled defense weapons to top-brand cereal boxes. You remembered seeing a meditation concept scribbled onto a whiteboard called Sounds of America, complete with a single bullet point that read “eagle sounds”. Maybe getting Homelander to do voice work was the execs’ chosen hook for getting the app off the ground. Everyone was scrambling to release an MVP in response to Flight 37, so getting him to record guided patriotism was guaranteed to draw attention.
You weren’t able to get any more answers from your circle, not even from Lisa, who blew up your texts with a full-on interrogation. You both delved into every minute detail of the encounter, analyzing everything from his body language to the tone of his voice. It was thrillingly juvenile, but you quickly ran out of material to wring from your memory.
Lisa: What did he smell like?
Me: I don’t know. Nothing?
Lisa: boring
Lisa: you know, he could probably smell you
Me: Stop. ✋
It was then that you knew it was time to put the phone down.
You had no other choice but to simply continue your workday, the annoying need to earn money competing with your racing thoughts.
—
The following Friday, you were leaving a conference room after an exhausting, four-hour workshop. Ever since the allegations about the Deep had surfaced, it was mandated that the entire company go through extensive sexual harassment training.
You woefully chewed on a granola bar as you walked down the hall, fueling yourself for another two hours of fighting the urge to fall asleep. You turned a corner, and to your bewilderment, you caught another glimpse of that damn, iconic flag cape. You promptly turned back again, and you had never felt more like a cartoon.
It was him. Again. But this time, he wasn’t alone—he was talking to a woman, and the sounds of their hushed voices carried down the hall. You felt absurd hiding behind the corner, but with your current track record, you didn’t trust yourself to remain calm. You peeked over just slightly, trying to make out who she was; maybe it was the manager that Ami had seen him talking to in the cafe. You squinted, and her features finally came into focus.
Madelyn Stillwell?
Yet another celebrity you thought you’d never meet. Again, why was the Vice President of Supe Management anywhere near you? She was much shorter than you imagined, even with heels, but she still projected refined, intimidating professionalism. They were deep in discussion, and to your horror, you realized that you needed to pass them to get to your next meeting. You took a deep breath to ground yourself, reminding yourself that you were an adult, before emerging from behind the corner. As you walked toward them with as much nonchalance as you could muster, you started to pick up a snippet of their conversation.
“–Listen, just–just don’t worry about it,” he said impatiently, waving his hand.
“We’ve discussed this,” she said firmly.
“Okay, okay. Jesus.”
They were taking up most of the walkway, so you angled your body to quickly sidle past them. You saw him glance at you for the briefest of moments in your peripheral vision, but you made it to the door before you could catch anything else.
You had never heard him speak so crassly before, which was saying a lot, considering it wasn’t all that crass. You weren’t one for piety,  but it still surprised you to hear him take the “Lord’s name in vain”. He was involved with Capes for Christ, after all. You’d only ever seen his squeaky-clean media appearances, so you shouldn’t be surprised that he had his rough, unedited moments like everyone else.
During the following weekend, you became cognizant of just how inundated you were by his face. When you went on your customary shopping run, you saw it on billboards, posters, bus benches, and on at least ten percent of the products you found in the grocery store’s aisles. You were even haunted by a statue of him while enjoying a picnic in the park, his large, stone likeness looming just feet away from your blanket.
When Monday evening came, you were walking home to your apartment when you swore you saw something—someone—flying through the sky.
It had to be the Frequency Illusion. Because Homelander was all you could think about, your mind tricked you into believing that you were seeing him everywhere.
Sometimes, you even thought that you could feel him.
It was like you were experiencing a sense memory, your body reacting the exact same way it did when he stood next to you in that elevator. It was incredibly odd, but you easily brushed the phenomenon aside. You were having too many late nights worrying about the fate of your project, and you were prone to letting your imagination run wild when you were sleep deprived.
As the days turned to weeks, however, your obsession gradually died down. Homelander once again receded into the backdrop of your life, joining the ranks of other set dressing such as street signs or Taco Bell. Life finally resumed its typical, relatively boring thrum.
You salvaged your work, got drinks with your team, and routinely melted into a puddle on your couch. Work, fun, sleep, repeat. Your run-in with Homelander was reduced to a fond memory, an escape to the time he maybe flirted with you. It was a story to be told at many parties to come, a fantasy that would keep you warm on lonely nights.
—
You came into the office early one Monday morning, wanting some uninterrupted time to catch up on the work you blew off Friday. You had an unusual pep in your step, iced coffee in hand, as you approached your desk in the empty room. As you began to water your plants, you noticed a sleek, black envelope placed directly beside your keyboard. You looked around at the surrounding desks, realizing that no one else had received one.
You slid your finger to break the seal and pulled out a piece of paper, its texture expensive under your thumb. Vought’s logo was engraved in the upper right corner, signifying that this was an official correspondence. Curiosity consumed you, so you scanned the page’s contents as quickly as you could.
Please join us for our 5th annual
Gala for Crimefighting Bigotry
Saturday June 27, at seven in the evening
The Vought Palace Ballroom, 871 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY
Black tie attire
You stared at the elegant typeface, still not understanding why you were the only one invited. You flipped the paper over in the hopes of finding an answer.
As a member of the Super Spectrum Alliance, you are cordially invited to Vought’s fundraising Gala for Crimefighting Bigotry. We’ve selected you as part of an initiative to celebrate the richness of our company’s commitment to diversity.
We stand for truth, justice, and the importance of sexual identity to both our heroes and employees.
Join us for an evening of food, drinks, raffles, and a special performance by Melissa Etheridge. All proceeds will be donated to The Born This Super Foundation, which provides resources for at-risk LGBTQIA+ youth.
You looked up from the invitation and stared blankly ahead, trying to process what you had just read.
The Super Spectrum Alliance was essentially Vought’s pride club, founded by some well-meaning queer employees a few years back. You attended an SSA meeting once, but quickly abandoned it when you learned it was usurped by a suspiciously straight member of the People team. It was apparently an attempt to ensure all club activities and discussions fell in line with company values. Regardless, your name must have been included on the member roster.
The invitation read like code for “you’re one of our resident queers and we need you to look good for the cameras.” You weren’t upset, though—quite the opposite. In fact, you felt a jolt of excitement as the implications finally hit you. These things were exclusive. 
Incredibly wealthy people attended these. Supes attended these. You had seen footage of similar Vought events on the news and gossip forums alike, knowing full well that this was a deeply coveted position you were in.
As far as you knew, you were the only openly queer employee in your corner of the office, so you were certain you wouldn’t have a familiar face to cling to. That considered, you weren’t about to not go. This was an insane opportunity; if not for your career, then for the chance to enjoy an evening of the finer things (like winning something stupidly expensive in a raffle.)
What would it be like? Would you manage to mingle with the elite, camouflaging yourself with shop talk and unearned confidence? Or would you sit at the bar the entire time, scrolling through your phone to distract from your inevitable social breakdown? Probably the latter.
You spent the first half of your morning browsing photos from past galas, needing to emotionally prepare yourself by knowing what to expect. You scanned image after image of philanthropists in glamorous suits and dresses, clutching their champagne flutes with an ease that only came with money. You would also occasionally spot a supe socializing within the sea of bigwigs. You saw Queen Maeve smiling with politicians, Translucent wearing a bow tie (and nothing else), and many more heroes of varying levels of notoriety. You stopped scrolling when a photo of Homelander filled your screen. He was enchantingly mid-laugh while presenting an award to someone, and you were once again struck by how attractive he was.
You thought about him for the first time in over a week, his intense expression between the closing elevator doors flashing in your mind. Would he be there?
Also, more importantly, what the fuck were you going to wear?
74 notes · View notes
nonbarbari · 3 months ago
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MM: Yesterday, I overheard Hughie saying "Are you sure this is a good idea?" and Butcher replying "Trust me," and I have never moved from one room to another so quickly in my life.
or
Madelyn Stillwell: Yesterday, I overheard Deep saying "Are you sure this is a good idea?" and Homelander replying "Trust me," and I have never moved from one room to another so quickly in my life.
63 notes · View notes
deliciouskeys · 2 years ago
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Based on this brilliant ships dynamics post
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nztsume · 10 months ago
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‱ waiting for the big twenty-five ‱
homelander x you
{“Only one more year till the big 25. Aren’t you excited?”
This piqued at his curiosity. “What’s the big 25?”
“It’s when your brain finishes developing.”, you replied, remembering the information from back in the day, when you were still trying to get your Psychology’s degree. “Your frontal cortex- the one in charge of your personality and all- it stops growing at around 25 years old.}
Even if you’re just kind of a glorified baby-sitter, you just want to see him happy - instead, you accidentally make him worse.
read on ao3
------
Hi yall!!! The voices won and I finally ended up starting to write the young homelander fic of my dreams where we find out how he ended up being the deranged insecure insane man we know and love!!
In this one, you're Madelyn Stilwell's niece who works at Vought- and have striken an unexpected soft spot for the company’s latest investment- this insecure, shy but sweet young hero called Homelander.
Enjoy!
‱ 1 ‱
July, 2005
Every single day, at exactly 5.30 a.m., Homelander was to be awoken by the smell of coffee on his kitchen table. The coffee had to be fresh, beans grinded that same morning, no sugar, no milk, no exceptions. To accompany it, he was to have his pills: two of creatin– for muscle growth, three of protein- to feed them, a weight gainer– so he would stop being so lanky, and an extra dose of vitamin D, to fight those pesky pimples guys his age still got sometimes. All of them should be in a small container, so he could swallow them at once with his first gulp.
Next to his coffee and his pills, he was to have a folder with any relevant document for the day- interviewer’s questions and the answers he was to give, profiles of important people he would meet, scripts for any ad he was to film. All of that, including his schedule for the day- except that was to be read to him by you. This is how Maddie had told you it had to be done, and how you’d done it since day one.
You looked at your wrist watch, holding his coffee on your hand- piping hot, just how you knew he liked it-  and you yawned, watching the thinnest clock hand go round it, as the last minute before you could walk into his apartment went by. 
Finally, it was 5.25, and you could already walk in- so you did. 
You weren’t exactly his maid- he had several of those, but none of them were to do anything to his apartment whenever he was around. He wasn’t to have much contact with the normal civilians, the normies- as Maddie called them. You preferred to reserve your opinions at that- your aunt had changed a lot since she had started working here. 
What you were was Maddie’s secretary- and Maddie was Mr. Edgar’s secretary- or something. There was a fancier title for that, but you couldn’t recall it. All you knew was that she was aiming for vice-CEO or something, as it was the only thing she talked about whenever she dragged you to a bar after office hours, and insisted on drinking glass after glass of whisky.
As you finished setting things up, you appreciated the result- his cup of coffee, his pills, his documents and ah, a special surprise. One big, obscene chocolate cupcake, the kind where the chocolate topping is so rich that it spills and drips all over, with one beautiful strawberry on top, and next to it, one single candle. You weren’t sure if chocolate was his favorite, but you knew he had a bit of a sweet tooth- so he’d appreciate it, at least some. 
Finally, you took out your red lighter and lit the candle- and less than twenty seconds later, you looked up- and there he was. 
"Good morning, John.”, you put the lighter back on your blazer’s pocket, smiling at him. 
He blinked- eyes still not fully alert, as he scratched them. They were boring holes into the chocolate cupcake, and you couldn’t help to smirk a little- you knew he’d be interested in it. 
“Is that for me?”, he asked, surprised, almost like a child- and you laughed. Ever since you’d met him, about five or six months ago now, you’d felt like he was younger than his actual age- there was something about the way he stood in the middle of his own massive penthouse, like a kid lost in a big, elegant furniture showroom. Alone, quiet and shy, even when wearing his own super suit. It didn’t help that it was actually way too big for one person, with its tall, tall roofs, marble everything and sleek furniture- much less for an overworked twenty-something with no time for a social life.  
“Of course.”, you assured him. “It’s your birthday after all, right? Happy 24th!”
He pressed his lips awkwardly, trying to contain a smile- but that didn’t work, as he let out a laugh, and finally came to the kitchen island, almost a skip on his step. You couldn’t help to be glad- finally this kid was getting some happiness in him.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome.”, you said, sarcastically, as he went to town on the cupcake, taking big bites out of it. He stopped for a second mid-bite, mouth full of chocolate, to look at you with a smile- and there was a gleeful glint in his eyes. Actually, that was enough of a thank for you. Anything that made that perpetual sadness that he always seemed to hold go away, even for just a few minutes, was worth it. You laughed at him. “Okay- just go for it. But don’t forget your pills!” 
“I can’t believe it- this tastes so good!”, he finally said, after taking another bite- in less than thirty seconds he had eaten half of it. Unbelievable! “Best birthday gift ever!”
“Oh- shush.”, you crossed your arms, leaning back against the counter, watching him take a big gulp of coffee. “Just wait until you see what Maddie has gotten you- it’ll blow your mind.”
“I don’t think it’ll be better than having chocolate as breakfast.”- he set the last bite of the cupcake aside, finally taking the pill container, and eyeing them with disgust. You sighed- perhaps if they let the kid eat his breakfast he wouldn’t need those nasty pills- it wasn’t like he wasn’t going to burn it off in the training center literally thirty minutes later. You didn’t know much about supe genetics, but they couldn’t be too different from normal people’s, right?
You yawned again, this time covering your mouth to the side, as you let him have the rest of the cupcake and his coffee. You liked to give him some minutes of silence so he could enjoy it properly- you knew that that’s how you liked it when you had yours.
This morning in particular, you just wished you had gotten to drink your coffee alone- but your fiance was just arriving from a shift at the E.R., and you had to deal with his graphic description of a dick that had been cut in half by a broken wine glass. You were still trying to forget about it. At least you lived close enough to Vought- just a ten minute subway trip away - so you didn’t have to wake up much earlier than that. It was just lucky you knew how to do your make-up on the move, another time-saving skill you’d learnt in your college years. 
You heard him drinking the last of his coffee- doing that big slurp noise he always did, and you finally decided to take the document with his schedule- ready to tell him about his day. 
He was tired -he always was, but today he seemed particularly so, even behind the hint of a smile the cupcake had left him with. You could tell by his posture under those cheesy button up burgundy silk pajamas, shoulders too slumped, hips rested against the counter. You weren’t surprised- according to Maddie, ever since they’d debuted him close to two years ago to the public, he’d been worked non-stop. It was only time until he broke, you thought- but you could never say it to her. Your aunt had always been too good at pushing people further than they could reach, and too good at seeing only ahead of her; John was just another one of her subjects. 
“Alright”, you finally said, seeing the subtle move of his shoulders straightening at your voice, “Ready to hear about your day, birthday boy?”
He groaned in response, the hint of his smile completely being wiped away, “I guess
”
You pressed a smile for him, but mentally frowned reading over his schedule- he was packed, of course. “What’s that? Not excited about being 24?”, they’d even put an interview right after his birthday celebration- his 1 hour long birthday celebration. They as in Maddie and Mr. Edgar. “Only one more year till the big 25. Aren’t you excited?”
This piqued at his curiosity. “What’s the big 25?”
“Itïżœïżœs when your brain finishes developing.”, you replied, remembering the information from back in the day, when you were still trying to get your Psychology’s degree. “Your frontal cortex- the one in charge of your personality and all- it stops growing at around 25 years old. So you get only one more year of acting like a dumbass without people holding it against you.”, you added that last one joke to make him laugh- it worked. He wasn’t used to people throwing curse words around him. “Congrats!” 
“Just one more year, huh?”, he said, more seriously than you expected. “That’s kind of sad.”
“No way- it’s great.” you shook your head, “After 25
 it’s like your brain rewires. You’re not embarrassed anymore, you get some self-esteem back from when you were a kid.”, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, remembering how stupidly shy you were back when you were his age. It wasn’t that long ago, really, just four years- but it felt like another lifetime, somehow. “10 out of 10, if you ask me. Anyway–”, you gave one more sigh, before turning your attention back to him, “Let me tell you about your day. So- it officially starts at 9.10 where you- oh. I didn’t know this. You’re getting a new suit!”
His eyebrows rose, “I thought that wasn’t until September.” 
“Hmm, maybe they wanted to launch it at today’s park inauguration for your birthday- which is at around 11.30, by the way. So you get your suit fitted and all, then it’s an one hour drive, and then the inauguration. After that, lunch, and after
”, she frowned. “You have to have tea with- with Margaret Pataki and her friends ...?” , no way they were making the kid spend his birthday with a bunch of rich old ladies that wanted to get in his pants. You couldn’t believe Maddie. What in the world could have they offered your aunt to get the privilege of The Homelander’ s time on his birthday? Unbelievable.  You huffed. “Well
 too bad you have your weekly marketing meeting. You’ll have to miss it.”
“I thought that wasn’t until Thursday.”, he frowned, but there was a hint of relief behind his confusion. 
“It’s not-”, you shot a look at him, “But you should get to rest for a couple hours on your birthday, don’t ya?”, you winked at him- and then moved on, before he could protest any further. Better not to think about it too much, or you’d get extremely mad at your aunt. “And then
 your birthday celebration!”
“You’re coming, right?”
You looked up from the paper, surprised at his sudden intensity as he cut you off. You found those crystal blue eyes boring at you- like you were another cupcake, expectating of your reply.
“ ‘Course.”, you simply smiled- surprisingly secretly pleased. You liked him- he was a nice guy, behind all the pizzazz that Vought put him through in front of the cameras. Perhaps too nice, in your opinion- there was some trauma somewhere in there, you could tell. But you didn’t weren’t close enough to him to recommend therapy or something, although you had suggested it to Maddie
 who obviously shrieked at the thought of their golden child going to the shrink. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Johnny.” 
“Thank god-”, he sighed, rolling his eyes in sass, “If I have to deal with Stan or Madelyn or any of the other old farts there by myself, I’ll laser my own foot.” 
This made you laugh. It always surprised you whenever he showed a bit of bite, as it seemed like whenever he was with Maddie or Edgar, he seemed like the best behaved pupil in the boarding school- and whenever he was in front of the public, he was an absolute boy-scout. “Oh- come on. I’m sure Noir’s gonna be there too. I’m not your only friend here, you know?” She hoped so, at least. John seemed to like Black Noir, although his presence in the Vought building was far and apart, since they hadn’t officially re-debuted him under the company’s name yet.
He shot you one last skeptical look before taking the folder with the rest of the documents- this was your dismissal, and you took it. It was ten to six, and he had to be in the training center soon. 
“Anyway- I’ll take my leave. Maddie’s probably sent me my tasks for the day already.”, you heard a low distracted hum coming from him, already walking to the door. Before you left, you peeked at him one last time, before saying: “Happy birthday.”
He looked up just as you waved, and there was a hint of a smile in his face- good. You smiled back, and finally, slammed the door closed.
 
-
 
When you worked at Vought- more specifically, in their superhero division, every single day felt like standing in the middle of the sea during a storm- wave after wave of issues and tasks coming at you, suffocating you at times. Truth be told, you weren’t supposed to be working there- you were far too unqualified, both emotionally and academically. 
When your aunt Maddie had found out about your mother’s disease, she, of course, had refused to help her. She had always been resentful at how resentful your mom had been of her, at how she had chosen a professional life path while your mom chose to have you at just seventeen, dropping out of school to form a family. Just your average sisters’ feud, splashed with just a bit of new wave feminism and abandonment issues. However, knowing you had dropped out of college, Maddie was kind enough to offer you a job in her workplace- none other than Vought Enterprises. Big shot shit. 
She had told you that she wouldn’t make any promises, she wouldn’t work with you, and she wouldn’t slide you in with the big supes, where she worked. She had hustled her ass off to be where she was- she wouldn’t let your wormy little self run on the path she had so laboriously paved. You were okay with that- any corporation job would pay more than what you were doing in the dingy bar downtown where you’d been working since you dropped off college. Besides, you knew your aunt had never been all there- the love-hate she always showed you wasn’t personal, it was just a thing she did.
It didn’t help that you weren’t even more than seven years younger than her, so a lot of your childhood memories involved playing with her teen self. She was more a cousin than an aunt, to be fair. So there were a lot of things you could easily let slide- her insane mood swings was one of them. You knew she meant well- behind all of her power plays and degradation.
Either way, that didn’t end up happening- you working for a less important division, like pharmacy. As soon as she suggested Mr. Edgar to give you a job he was into the idea- he liked to keep things between family. And in hindsight, it was understandable. The things that happened behind the scenes for supes weren’t half as glamorous or exciting as they seemed to be on camera.
This morning had been particularly busy, the waves of work slowly turning into a tsunami, as Homelander’s birthday was a top priority for the entire department. He was the star, after all- had been for almost three years now. He was Vought’s face and voice, their personality. The bright eyed, all-american, charming, strongest to ever exist superhero. America turned into the shape of a man. Everything they’d ever dreamed, they were training into this twenty-something-year-old. Any excuse to celebrate him was good enough for them- because it was as if they were celebrating Vought itself.
That’s why you’d been running all over New York the entire morning. The tailor had managed to mismeasure John’s shoulders, somehow, and they needed two more of the handmade eagle feather golden shapes that went
 well, you didn’t know where they went. You had only gotten the gist of it, along with a brown envelope to take to the goldsmith- any goldsmith that would get them done before 11.30 a.m., when Homelander was supposed to debut his new suit to the world, to mark a new era or something.
Luckily, it was 11 sharp as you ran through Vought’s main hall’s doors, and 11.04 as you knocked the costume division’s door on the 45th floor. You were breathless, knowing that he had to be on the other side of the city, to Fort Lee in less than half an hour- although seeing how tight they were, he was probably going to fly to the inauguration. The city council had granted him his very own children’s park after he’d saved a school bus from sinking into the Hudson a month ago, and they had chosen to inaugurate it the very day of his birthday. As if he had nothing else to do on that day.
Maddie opened the door, blonde waves all over the place, breath ragged. You knew the signs, she had been yelling at someone- and you were lucky it wasn’t you. You saw a flash of dark blue somewhere in the background and you knew it was John- and your curiosity was piqued. Would the new suit be too different? At least it seemed they’d keep his colors. 
“Where are they?”, your aunt demanded.
Wordlessly, you took out a fancy necklace case out of the bag you were holding, “I had to find a different place- our goldsmith was taking too long to decide whether he could do them or in time or not.”, you explained, as she snatched it off your hands and opened to inspect them. While she did that, you subtly went on your tippy-toes, trying to catch the new suit without her knowing. “I think they look just like the mold-so
” 
“Perfect.”, she concluded, slamming it closed, and she took one look at you, with those severe eyes of hers. “Go to the 72th. They need help with the party.” 
After that, she slammed the door on your face. Oh well- you’d see it later, hopefully. 
 
—
 
The 72th was a mess- as it always was, since it was the floor where most Vought only parties were held, the ones no outsiders should know about. Before, you would have thought that that meant something sexual- perhaps some sort of massive over the top superhero and congressmen orgy, the kind conspiracy theorists would talk about- but soon you found out it was not the case. Rather- it was the kind of party where millionaires would get drunk and discuss whether bombing another South Asian country would make them profits or not. You didn’t know which of the two types of parties were worse.
This time, though, at least the purpose of the preparations was much more innocent- just a small party for every person in Homelander’s life to celebrate him and his birthday. It was kind of impressive so many people showed up, in your opinion. It was the 4th of July, after all- most everyone would choose to celebrate it with their families at the park- or even just watch the fireworks from their TV at home. Instead, about twenty or more people were there, running around with you- decorating, inflating balloons, making every cookie in the dish look beautiful and photogenic. All for him- everyone wanted him to be pleased. You were sure that as long as he was allowed to eat enough of them, he’d be just as happy. 
One thing you ended up noticing about the attendees was the variety, or more like, the lack of thereof. Most people there were some of Vought’s scientists, the ones you only knew of by their pictures on the Vought’s Best wall. You wondered what they had to do with Homelander, or if they were there just for protocol. Maybe these were the kind of people Edgar wanted him to surround himself with. Important people- people who did good for humanity. 
And no, no Black Noir to be found.
Interestingly enough, even they were helping with the organization. Perhaps they were close, you wouldn’t know. You didn’t know much about John’s past aside from what you’d figured out by yourself- and what the public knew. 
Either way, he was about to arrive, and you were to get Maddie’s gift ready for him. The box was a bit too big for it- but it needed the space, you guessed. You just wondered if the box was necessary at all. 
Somebody heard the elevator sound starting to ding up- and began shushing everyone, as they started crowding around the room, hiding the big table with the cake and different foods that they had set up in the middle of the room behind them. You, of course, didn’t want to steal any spotlight from someone who could actually be important to him, so you placed yourself to the side, excited for him to arrive. You knew he was going to love this; he loved attention- even affection, as much as he tried to hide it.
The elevator finally dinged on their floor, and the doors opened, and-...
“Happy birthday!”, everyone shouted- only for Maddie to come out, her heels clicking as she saw on her that particular face she made when she scolded someone- her words drowned by their scream. Everyone made a confused noise- wasn’t it supposed to be
?
Then- a massive spot of blue walked in- a young man with wide shoulders, an unhesitant stroll and perfectly coiffed blonde hair- clad in an imposing red and blue suit. Homelander.
You began singing Happy Birthday- loudly, completely drowning everyone’s confusion and whatever Maddie was nagging the young supe about- and everyone was super quick to join. And you had the pleasure to see John’s face go from a slight frown to a bright expression- as everyone sang for him- claps and even stomps to go with it. 
But
 there was something off in his smile as he started recognizing the faces around him. You saw his eyes go through every person in the room with a strange restraint- like he was holding back something. Then- they fell on you, and they stayed there, somehow, it seemed that it made that off feeling fade off. You clapped and sang more excitedly.
“Happy birthday, dear
 John-Homelan-Johnny !”, everyone laughed, as nobody quite knew how to address him, “Happy birthday to you!” 
You saw him laugh- eyes looking around in surprise at the decorations. Everything was red, white and blue- with lots of golden details, that had been your touch. They were the expensive kind, but anyone could tell they weren’t set by professionals. You thought it added a homey touch that he’d enjoy- and he did, as he quite didn’t know what to do with himself, with his hands, as everyone clapped and whistled for him. 
“Oh-!”, he finally said, “Thank you- thank you, guys!”, he was trying to play it cool, calming them awkwardly. 
After that, the short event officially started. The attendees started mingling amongst each other, coming up in groups at times to talk to John, who seemed more interested on whatever was going on on the food table. You had caught him eyeing it from time to time whenever he was left alone for a second or two, as if he was deciding whether he could have a treat or not .
Meanwhile, you were busy guarding Maddie’s gift- which was secretly the only reason you were here at all. Not by your own volition, of course- you’d obviously come to John’s party if it was up to you. But
 somehow, you felt that without your aunt’s express invitation it would have created problems for you. Sometimes it felt like Maddie got insanely possessive of the kid- as if anyone could come and snatch him away from under her management and steal her progress doing that. You didn’t quite know- all you really knew is that whenever you made a small observation, offered a small detail you’d noticed about him, she responded incredibly bad.
It wasn’t too bad, though. At least you were saving yourself from awkward conversations with strangers- plus, sometimes John caught your eyes and smiled at you. He had even tried to make his way to you a couple times, always interrupted by a new group of people who called for his attention.
He looked good in his new suit, you had to admit. A far cry from the leotardish one-piece he had before- that only worked to accentuate his still teensy physique, still too skinny and lanky for what he was supposed to be Edgar’s final vision of him- this new suit was magnificent. It looked like it was a two piece, for once- which he was probably thankful for- held by a strong golden (gold?) belt, and a high collar, covering just enough of his neck to draw attention to the slight v line it formed. He had some padding, she knew that- but it was just enough, not to transform his actual size, but to accentuate it. He looked more mature, more secure in his skin, and it showed - even if just a little bit.
Either way, you could hear her gift getting more and more agitated by the minute- so it was a relief when you heard her voice loud, commanding everyone’s attention.
“Let’s open your gifts, John.” Maddie said, coming up from behind and slapping a hand on his shoulder, making him jump a little. 
The party moved to the gifts table, where a small pile laid. You dutifully took the box you’d been guarding on the corner of the room and started walking it by it with a bit of difficulty, mostly because it kept moving all over the surface- but also because it was making your nose itch.
By the time you had gotten there, John had already started opening some of his gifts. Someone got him an insanely expensive wine you knew he wasn’t even going to try, and someone else a piece of pottery. It was hard to make someone like him a gift- what could you even get someone who could have anything? Not that John ever asked for anything, though. But he could- and everyone was aware of that. Vought made sure they were.
As soon as Maddie saw you with the box, she took it from your hands and walked up to him- and the second he turned to it, his face illuminated. 
“A dog?!”, he took it from her almost immediately, sitting on the floor with it on his lap- hands fighting to open the wrapping as soon as he was settled. 
“Oh John!”, Maddie scoffed, annoyed, “You spoiled it for everyone else!”
He didn’t seem to hear her though- entranced on the unwrapping, and you couldn’t help to hold your hands together on your chest, excited with anticipation. You were sure he was going to love it.
And as soon as the little guy jumped from inside the box- you know he did.
“Oh, lord!”, he exclaimed, as the small dog started barking and twisting in his grasp- as excited to see him as he was, its tiny tail wagging so hard it was moving its entire little body with it. “Oh, my god!”
The dog, a small Jack Russel with a big, brown spot over one of his eyes, barked excitedly, and you were sure you could see John’s eyes shining with tears, sat on the floor while everyone else aww’d at them. You could tell that- for once- he had forgotten about the people around him, as he let the puppy jump on his legs, on his chest, licking his face, sat back on his hands, as if he was stopping himself from squeezing the little thing. He was happy, so happy , and the dog was too.
“I can’t believe it!”, he gasped, again, as he finally decided he needed to pet it, getting rid of the thick gloves that his new suit had, grabbing it with both hands. The puppy barked at him, tongue out, and a laugh escaped from his mouth. “You’re the cutest thing I’ve seen in my life !”
The puppy wriggled its way out of his grasp, and jumped at his face again, licking him- and everyone aww’d once again and clapped. You finally unglued your eyes from the adorable scene to your aunt- and she looked incredibly pleased with herself. You would be too, this was probably the first time you’ve seen him actively elated.
Suddenly, she was startled by something- and you saw her hand going to her blazer’s pocket, picking her cellphone in a second. As she walked away with it, you took a step closer to him- and he turned to you.
“Did you know about this!?”, he asked, incredulous, fighting against the dog’s excited licks, “I can’t believe it!”
You couldn’t help the smile on your lips as you saw him. “Obviously. I went to pick him with her!” you crossed your arms over your chest- still remembering the horrors of the testing lab you’d gone get the poor dog from. It had been a month ago, and the dog had stayed with Maddie until now, “He was not the youngest puppy in the uh- adoption center but
”
“Shush, he’s perfect.”, he interrupted you, holding it to his chest, and turning to you, “What’s his name?”
“I’m not sure actually-”, you turned towards where your aunt had left- and you saw her smiling into the phone, a small skip on her step- and you knew that body language. She was sucking up to someone on the other end of the line. “We could ask Maddie if she named him when she comes back.”
But as you said that, Maddie actually came back- almost running in the short steps her heels allowed.
“Let's get this over with”, she whispered to you, as she walked by you taking over the center of the small round that Had formed around him, “Hey, everyone! Let's cut the cake!”
Everyone agreed happily- but you frowned, running to follow her as she went to the food table, already starting to make space for it. You knew that this was supposed to come at the end of the party, but not even half an hour had gone by yet- what was she doing?
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw John's eyes shoot from you to her to Edgar, as he as well tried to figure out what was going on.
“Maddie-”
“Seems like his birthday interview got delayed a couple hours”, she whispered to you excitedly, almost like a secret, “Guess who'll get to make up for his fatal mistake of not seeing Mrs. Pataki and her friends!”
A sense of disgust immediately took over your stomach, as you realized why she was so happy. She was making John spend time with those women after all- she was going to get him to butter them up for Vought On his own fucking birthday. 
“Go help with the cake.”
You felt sick.
Behind you, you heard John approach and Madelyn’s arm immediately shoot to get a hold of his forearm and guide him to the center of the table, the dog still in his arms.
Suddenly, a lot of things started happening simultaneously. Edgar was on the scene now, - a cameraman that you’d seen wandering about the event next to him - finally caring about this party at all, as he seemed to be giving him directions about how to encapsulate the happy event. 
Maddie, on the other hand, stood next to Homelander- whose eyes seemed far, as he heard whatever she was telling him, his lips pressing in some sort of emotion you didn’t have time to figure out, eyes looking far away from the scene unfolding. You got closer, as you started fixing the cake decorations, and got to hear some of it.
“And you'll show off your fucking new suit and tell her ‘ You like it, Margie?’ like she's the woman of your dreams, okay? She needs to go home and tell Pataki that Vought's doing great things while she considers divorcing his ass. You need to make up for the time you made her lose, John.” she was instructing right next to his ear, and he seemed more out of it by the second, “You'll be so fucking sorry to her she won't doubt for a second that you made a honest mistake with your schedule.” 
People started gathering as well- their loud chatter surrounding them like a massive beehive, buzzing so close to the table it was even starting to make you dizzy and desperate, as you fought to make one of the star decorations stay up. One of the scientists came up to you with a lighter, offering to turn the single candle on and you nodded, mindlessly as your focus kept shifting to him, and the way his gaze dissociated more and more- and you were actually worried now. You’d never seen him like this, not this badly. 
“Homelander!”, Edgar called, his serious nasal voice adding a new layer to the buzz, just like the scientist's lighter he couldn't get lit on. “Move one step to the left and turn a little, the lighting's bad there!”
“Seriously - apologize like a fucking dog, you hear?”
“Fuck”, you cursed under your breath- snatching the lighter yourself and trying- getting to turn on.
The camera started snapping- and it added another layer. A group laughed loudly in the background. Edgar kept giving needless instruction. The dog started wriggling, running out of his grasp. Madelyn kept barking into his ear.
“You'll lick her feet- and
”
And you could almost hear it before it happened. 
“Madelyn, I fucking GET it !”
The loud high sound- the sound his lasers made.
The crowd gasped, shocked- but more importantly, the dog started fucking screaming in pain.
“Oh- no!”
Someone screamed- and all hell broke loose. John ran from the table to the side- where his laser had left a dark, charred line that ended with
 with the poor puppy laying on the floor, bleeding and crying. You ran after him.
“Oh no- no, no, no, no
”, he was on his knees, and you fell next to him as he whispered the words to himself, holding the poor thing as it wriggled, its loud shrieks vibrating in your ears. His hands were starting to get covered in blood, and its fur was so bloody- flesh so mangled you couldn't make sense of any of it. “No- please !”
You were speechless, shocked, and the blood was draining from your face by the second. “It was an accident!”, you were immediate to comfort him, but his eyes were glued to the animal- unable to think, to do anything, “It was an accident, John, and-and
”
You looked around- but nobody thought like you- nobody else was stepping up to comfort him. Instead, everyone stared in
 fright , taking fearful steps away from the scene like he was a monster- and that made you so insanely mad.
“I-I killed him!”, he exclaimed in horror. “Oh, God, I fucking killed him!”
“ No, you didn't! ”, your hands went to his shoulders, shaking him a little as his eyes filled up with tears- and your heart was going a mile a minute, “He's crying ! He's still alive!”
“N-no, no, I-”
“John!”, Maddie’s voice shouted- and you looked up to see her walking to you, angry, as she got out of her shock, “What the hell was that?! Are you insane?! Are you retarded ?!”
He turned slightly to her, eyes full of tears and remorse and pain- and you couldn't take it anymore.
You stood up like a spring and took a step between them.
“Madelyn!”, you looked at her in the eyes, heart still drumming, “ Are you fucking serious?!”
You saw her eyes widen and her mouth fall open.
She started sputtering your name, visibly shaken. You'd never ever had spoken like this to her. She was always the one that was right, the one whose decisions just weren't questioned.
“Y-you stay out of this!”, she finally managed, and tried to push you to the side- but you slapped her hand away.
“No, I won't! Not this fucking time, Aunt Maddie.” you stood your ground, stomping a foot.
There was a rage in you burning- and you instantly realized this wasn't just about this, right now. This was a rage that had been slowly burning- building up these last six months as you'd witnessed how they treated this kid, how they exploited every single second of his time. How tight his leash was. How simply sad and alone he looked all the time.
It had been burning since your mother had been diagnosed with that heart condition- and how ironically heartless her sister had been to her. How she'd offered you the job the same way someone offers leftovers to a starving stray dog, and how you had to swallow your dignity and take them.
It had been burning, you'd even say, after the first day Maddie had started this fucking job, and how she blew you off when you went to her apartment with a cake you'd made her to celebrate it- saying she had coworkers over and she couldn't deal with a child like you here, too, as if they were too important for you to even see them.
She growled your name one last time, “You're about to lose your job.”
“Then fucking do it, Maddie.”, you hissed back, feeling venom in your voice, “Fire me. Fire me! Who wants to work in a company that depends on how much they can exploit some twenty-year-old, anyway? Oh, but the second he makes one mistake you all look at him like he's a monster, right?!”
You couldn't help to turn around, including everyone in your rant now- every single person that was important in John’s life, who was looking at him like he was going to laser them next. Him, who was still holding onto the crying puppy, hands drenched in his blood.
“Don't look at him like that! God- look at him ! He didn't do it on purpose! You all pushed him to do it!”
You felt frustration building in you- as your eyes started to burn as well, angry. No, you couldn't let yourself cry, you needed to speak up!
You saw Maddie about to say something else when someone took a step forward- Mr. Edgar.
“Okay, okay everyone
” he had his hands raised up, voice infuriatingly calming and imposing. “Let’s calm down. You-”, he pointed at a random woman, who jumped at his calling, “Take the dog to the fifteenth, there must be a vet somewhere there.”
The woman quickly stepped forward- a middle aged with a messy bun hanging off of her head- arms in front of her, ready to take the still wailing dog from John while putting the most distance from him she could. Your eyes followed the movement as he extended the creature to her- his hands still shaking. For some reason, as this happened, you felt absolutely insane- like you were some schizoid character In a movie, and everyone else was just watching your crazy rants unfold. 
“And you- miss
 Stilwell?”, he continued, turning to you- and as you shook your head (you didn't share your aunt’s last name, thank you ), he held a hand up, like he didn't actually care about that, “Why don't you take Homelander here home? He's still a bit shaken.”
And you're the only one here not afraid of his lasers, seemed to be the tacit rest of his request. 
At that, you stood straighter, facing him as a bitter bile pooled in your throat - desperate to keep jawing off about all you've been keeping, seeing these last months, about every single thing that they'd knowingly been doing to him- but you held back for him. Edgar was right, he needed to get away from this,  he needed some peace- and perhaps not to have to spend his birthday with some old lady who would be pawing at him all night. 
You swallowed it and nodded at him, chest still out and shoulders squared, like you were a shield and shot one last look at Maddie.
She was boring holes into you- mouth in a thin line, dark blue eyes unblinking in anger, hands fisted to her sides. You knew that look, your mother had been the end of it one too many times. But unlike her, you did not relent- and Maddie should better get used to it.
Then, you simply turned, falling to a kneel once again, as you grabbed his shoulder. His eyes were on you as well, those clear blue eyes, still watery, still shaking. His hands were drenched in blood, as was the rest of his new suit- he looked so small in that moment, so scared.
“John?”, you let your voice fall into a soft tone. At your call, his eyes tuned into an emotion you couldn't quite decipher- aside from intense gratefulness, “Let’s go home.”
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sehtoast · 11 months ago
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Tender Threads CH4 (Homelander x OC)
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chapter four: the new you
chapter directory | slow burn, hurt/comfort, fluff, spidersona as original character, original trans male character, smut, sublander
summary: time to look the part, little spider. out with the old, in with the new.
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With every job comes the good and the bad.  Up until now, it had been mostly
 fine?  Not awful by any stretch, but Benjamin hasn’t had much to complain about.  Again, until now.
He’s been in this office for hours.  Fucking hours.  One would think Stillwell would’ve at least warned him that the two men prattling off marketing and merchandising concepts never took a breath between their eight trillion sentences, but no.  
Not even a smidge.
Good ol’ Seth and Evan
  
Benjamin finally snaps back to attention when the topic shifts for the umpteenth time, though not by the grace of a whiteboard eraser wiping away sloppy diagrams and stick figures.  This time the two jump halfway across the room to a sheeted mannequin that has been begging to be unveiled the entire time.
“And so, obviously, we were thinking that it was time for a fresh image!  Something flashy, something
 you.”  Seth– or was it Evan– says with a child-like giddiness. 
“The pros in the design department worked overtime for this one.  You’ll love it!”  Evan– or
 Seth, perhaps, chips in, just as eager as his hive-mind counterpart.
“What’s wrong with my suit now?”  Ben asks, voice scratchy from how long he’s sat in silence.  And why the fuck do you guys alternate sentences like that
 eesh. 
But there was no reason not to anticipate this.  In fact, the bug could practically smack himself upside the head for not even entertaining the idea.  He was a product now
 and he had to remember that.  They’ll change everything about him to better fit their image.  Well, everything he hadn’t been able to protect under his contract.
“Spider-Man,” rings that mother-knows-best voice the bug has come to know all too well.  “There’s nothing wrong with your current,” she pauses for a moment, pursing her lips as if thinking of a way to call him shabby without being too backhanded.  “Homemade suit.”
Yeah
 still backhanded.
“We just think you’re deserving of something a little more
 special.  After all, you’re in The Seven now.  You deserve to look the part.  Have all the toys, and so on.  Who doesn’t like an upgrade?”
“And just wait til you see what we’ve got for you!” Says one of the duo. The pair take their spot on either side of the mannequin and grab a handful of the cover.
Please don’t suck.  Please, please don’t suck.
Ben’s mind runs to the worst ideas possible.  What if they changed his colors?  What if they pull some bullshit with the mask and it’ll only conceal his face partially?  That’s in the contract– they fucking know better– what if–
The sheet is ripped away faster than he can process it.
This suit of his
 It’s always been Benjamin’s second skin.  His armor against the world.  Silly as it was, his suit was a part of him.  An identity, perhaps.
And now a new one stares back at him almost as if it yearns to be chosen. This new skin, this new him.  
Ben rises slowly from the couch to circle it, inspecting every little detail.  The subtle things.  The not so subtle things

The spider emblem had been enlarged, nearly as long as the whole torso.  The legs cut off where red once met blue– now black– on the sides.  An interesting color choice, and one probably meant to ensure his scheme wasn’t too similar to Homelander’s.  Gray accent lines run through the blackened sections in intricate patterns, weaving a hexagonal texture.
Ben reaches out to touch it despite his own gloves shielding him from sensation.
The new suit’s webbing textures are raised slightly from the body, and the sections are larger too.  It’s less
 cluttered this way.  Undeniably easier on the eyes.  His hand slides up to the shoulders where the signature Vought V logo is stamped in a white, leather-like material.  Sure to never fade and certainly never go unnoticed.
Down the arms, paper thin lines of dark red dance sporadically, damn near indistinguishable from the black of the suit.  An oddity catches the bug’s attention.
The same V shape on the shoulders is at the wrists, right where his webs emerge, almost as if to function as funnels.  Something to spare him the design flaw of the unsightly holes in his current suit.
Rounded, friendlier looking lenses stare into his very soul.
He can hear the sound of those two yammering on about
 something, but he doesn’t process a word of it.
This is him now.  It’s like an energy emanates from it, begging for a symbiotic relationship.  Benjamin feeds the image and, in return, the image feeds him security.
Whether or not he’ll feel
 whole like this remains to be seen, but
 it could’ve been so much worse.
“Well,”  Stillwell says abruptly.  “It won’t put itself on.  Bathroom’s right there.” 
Ben steps back as Seth and Evan strip the suit away from the mannequin, all but force it into his hands, and shuffle him into the bathroom.  Hell, they even shut the door behind him as a courtesy.
The process of stripping is still its old painful self.  Indentations of seams on skin, elastic marks, and especially that flattened mask-hair Ben always dreads.  And what a wreck he is in the mirror.  Dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, uneven scruff on his jaw that he definitely needed to shave at least two days ago, anxiety-bitten lips

Christ, man.  Look at you

But it’s not like he could blame himself.  Between the daily antics of settling in at Vought and being the same ol’ hero at night– which had been strongly discouraged, by the way– Benjamin hasn’t had any time to take care of himself, nor sleep more than the odd half hour here or there.
Is that a fucking pimple??  Eughh
. Wash your as soon as you’re home.  Hell, do it now.
He lets the tap warm up a bit before scrubbing frantically at his face, only half tempted to use whatever antibacterial gunk Stillwell kept in her private bathroom.  At least the water wakes him up a little.
The new suit comes with its own challenges, but is somehow easier to put on.  The material quality is leagues better and it allows for stretching much more willingly.  In fact, it’s damn near completely comfortable
 breathable, even.  
The back zipper though
 That one would be Benjamin’s enemy until the day he either died or hung up the spandex.  
The mask takes him by surprise when he lifts it.  It has an odd weight to it, not necessarily heavy but definitely not what a mask should weigh.  He flips it inside out and the culprit is a solution to all of his woes.  
Gone are the days of a face shell to make him look a little less ridiculous and keep dental work off his list of injury expenses, now replaced by– judging by pressing his thumbs– thin padding liners full of some variety of what he assumed to be oobleck.  Solid when force was applied, soft when left to settle.  They hit all the sweet spots, too.  Jaw, cheekbones, temples

One last look in the mirror, and he slips it on.
“What the fu–”
Ben stumbles backward a bit as load screens and transparent windows stack upon one another in his field of view.  Welcome messages, tutorial pop ups– the whole nine yards.  His eyes rake frantically through everything, trying to peer past the overload.  He swats his arms as if to smack the windows away, but they go nowhere.
He shuts his eyes tight, sighing with deep frustration.  One more fucking headache

That seems to have disappeared the second he reopens them.
Huh

And then he does a double take.  Just as his brows were, his lenses were arched.  The bug leans over the vanity and gets damn near nose to nose with himself, wiggling his eyebrows, widening and squinting his eyes, watching with fascination and disdain at his now emotive lenses.
He groans.
No more making bitchy faces behind the mask, huh?
Gone were the days where he could roll his eyes and hide his flippant reactions behind the mask. That’s probably exactly why Vought would spend god only knows how much money developing tech like this. Marketing likely decided he needed to be personable, not just another blank face like Noir.
When he finally gets the gumption to exit the bathroom, the two are all but biting at his ankles.  “How is it?” They ask in their nearly creepy unison.
“It’s uh
” Ben starts, wondering exactly what the decorum rules were for conveying a complaint.  “About halfway up my ass.”  Not a lie.  “Can we adjust that later or–”
“Absolutely not!” Chirps one of the two.  “Polls show the ladies love a man in tights, and you’re sure to see an uptick in approval if you flaunt what you’ve got!”
Christ
  
Ben decides not to dignify that with a response.
Stillwell lets loose a brief, pleased chuckle.  “Well gentlemen, a job well done as always.”  She praises, ushering them to the door.  Ben arches a brow at their audible hoots and hollers of celebration as they make their way down the hall.  “Now, Spider-Man, how are you finding things at Vought so far?”
If false sincerity had a smell, she’d be stinking up the room.
“I’m uh
 I’m good.”  Ben shuffles, tilting his head from side to side to convey the so-so-ness of his state.  Not that it’s been bad, but it hasn’t necessarily been good.  And how could it be, really?  His whole life was uprooted by the American Jesus himself.  A smooth transition was helpful, but the start was still awful.
“Just good?”  Suddenly a concerned look not unlike a mother tending to her tearful child flickers over her features.  “Has anyone been giving you trouble?”
“No, no– it’s just a lot, y’know?”  
“I understand.  You should know how glad we all are that you came around to the offer.”
Coerced, but sure

“You were our top pick, after all.” She says with a tilt of the head and a soft smile.
If the vibe wasn’t so damn off-putting, she might actually be kind of sweet.  Benjamin might just buy into that mother dearest tone if it wasn't for that unsettling, opportunistic corporate zombie look in her eyes.
“Now I know you’re already acquainted with Homelander, but it’s certainly about time you met the rest of the team.  Follow me
”
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blindmagdalena · 1 year ago
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Madam,
I have just read a tag where you described HL as a “desperate lil service top” and let me tell you- I *screamed*.
Would love to hear more of your thoughts on this, otherwise keep doing your amazing work and have a good one.
thank you so much! 😂 what can i say, he's pathetic and needy and he's desperate to please.
he's going to sniff out what his partner's into and he's gonna latch onto it like a dog with a bone. is he always correct about what his love interest wants? no... but he's going to try anyways. and if he's told what to do??? even better. laser your tits? be rough? be gentle? he'll adapt. he's forever chasing the high of getting it right. of being wanted as intensely as he wants.
definitely an acts of service type guy in every facet of his life. it's what he was made for, after all.
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deadgirlwalked · 10 months ago
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was it casual when we met for the first time and you couldn't help but notice how blue my eyes were?
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mydisenchantedeulogy · 1 year ago
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Emery: Did your friends like the ice cream--
Sees Homelander walks in covered in blood.
Emery: I'll um...go run you a bath.
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digitalbath1988 · 2 years ago
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Happy Birthday @blindmagdalena! My fellow Virgo ❀ I wrote this quickly for you.
You deserve so much more for all the wonderful posts and just being a lovely person. Hope you get to relax today. 🎂 đŸ„› â€ïžđŸ€đŸ’™
Homelander looked down at your pussy, already puffy and dripping in anticipation. You’d been somewhat surprised when he opened the door to Madelyn, while you were mid-foreplay. But the elegant older woman had always interested you. Also, he was The Homelander, and things generally went his way.
“Don’t be shy, sweet boy,” Madelyn said, reassuring hand now sliding over his nude glute. “Why don’t you show your little girlfriend here just how much you’ve learned?”
You bit your lip and looked up at him, knowing he was actually overeager but attempting to control himself. “Yeah, show me,” you say, words like honey, opening your legs further.
He pursed his lips slightly, you could have sworn there was some sort of perverse pleasure in being lightly bossed around, as long as he was rewarded at the end. After far too long he knelt down, focusing his tongue in long, broad, slow strokes that had you wriggling.
Madelyn watched over you both, expression carefully neutral. She always reserved praise (or distaste) for him sparingly and didn’t express without much thought, and this time was no different. As he focused far too much at teasing your labia, you heard “now, what did we talk about?”
He leaned his head up, with a small whine of disappointment from you. Is he bowing his head?
“I ummm, I’m supposed to give more attention to the clit.”
“Good boy, that’s right.” She worked her hand through his hair. “Why don’t you make mommy proud?”
From the look in his eyes when she said it, you suspected he was already attempting to subtly hump the mattress, glute muscles twitching, probably coating himself in pre-cum as she spoke. Madelyn was getting that sight all to herself now, but you took a mental note to file away for later.
Luckily, you’d never been the jealous type. This experience was just exciting, even more so than the times you’d fucked on various rooftops.
He groaned as she guided his head back towards you gently, and started over, not making the mistake of going directly for the clit after a minute of zero stimulation. He started with those broad tongue strokes again, then sucked on your clit as he fingered you. The result was an avalanche. It was all you could do to grasp at the fitted sheet for dear life as you died a little, shuddering and cumming. The fact that she was there watching this made it even hotter, her calculating stare taking you in as you screamed out animalistically.
Finally, after a minute to let you recover, she fluffed his hair again. “Such a good boy. Next time you can take care of both of us.” You were too out of it to register much more than the click clack of her stilettos and the door shutting behind her.
He seemed to regain some sort of confidence, catching your chin on his hand and forcing you to focus on his bright blue eyes. “That’s just the first one, sweetheart.” He said with a grin.
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hom3landr · 4 days ago
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I’ve been thinking about my Homewell x Reader and while I love what I’ve written, the reader in the fic has taken on a life of her own in my brain. I’ve been considering altering it to be an OC fic instead. I’d still keep the first chapter up as X Reader but I’d post an alternate OC version and then future chapters would be written with an OC. I’m not 100% sure yet if that’s what I want to do. I’m so used to writing x reader now that switching my style feels intimidating.
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ladyantiheroine · 2 months ago
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tashtush · 26 days ago
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We Ask for Your Discretion (Chapter 2)
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18+ Homelander/queer female reader, Madelyn/reader, Homelander/Madelyn. Pre-s1. Stalking, noncon, dubcon, mommy kink, praise kink, rough sex, voyeurism, threesome, corporate nonsense, manipulation, homophobia, trauma, sexual coercion, cunnilungus, vaginal sex
AO3 | gif
Homelander has a new fixation. Madelyn does damage control.
Chapter 1
You stepped out of your Uber driver’s Kia Soul, which was clumsily parked between two sleek, black town cars. You believed that this would set the tone for your evening.
You had just arrived at the Vought Palace Ballroom, one of the lovelier set pieces that you admired from afar during your commute. It was a tribute to classical architecture, with tall, Corinthian columns and intricate stone carvings featuring The Seven and Sevens past. Your chest tightened as you began to ascend its steps, a slim, red carpet lining the path for you and the other guests that were arriving alongside you. You followed it to the large, double doors, and you inhaled deeply before pulling a handle.
You stepped into the sizable lobby, admiring the elegant oil paintings and archways that framed the space. It was a vision of marble opulence, and it only heightened how anxious you felt. It wasn’t long before you were greeted by a smiling attendant, who smoothly took your trench coat before handing you a ticket. With your entire ensemble now on display, you covertly smoothed down the fabric of your dress in preparation.
You had spent all day pruning and primping yourself for the occasion, fussing over every minute blemish and detail. You even shelled out good money to have a professional touch up your hair (which was suffering from the Voughtality products you had swiped from the office). You hemmed and hawed over several outfits for at least a week, but finally settled on a black, designer, off-the-shoulder dress that tastefully hugged your silhouette. It was originally five hundred dollars, but you rented it for sixty. Obviously.
When you passed by a mirrored wall leading to the main ballroom, you paused to inspect yourself. Surrounded by delicate wallpaper and the soft glow of sconces, you had to admit to yourself that you looked good. And that’s exactly what you were going for—if you couldn’t act the part, you could do your very best to look it.
You arrived at the entrance of the ballroom, and you gripped the chain of your purse to center yourself. It was simply an upscale spin to your usual grounding technique, and it reminded you that this was just another work event. You stepped through the door, and you swallowed a gasp, immediately taken by the sight.
A gorgeous, high ceiling with intricate moldings and glittering chandeliers framed the already spacious room. And, when you looked down at the ballroom below, you saw that it was bustling with some of the most intimidating people you’ve ever seen. There were tuxes and gowns as far as the eye could see, and as you scanned the floor, you felt a small jolt of excitement when you clearly made out costumes amid the more standard finery.  
Looming over everything was a stage with an enormous screen, surrounded by enough expensive equipment to satisfy even the biggest of acts. In front of it was an expanse of tables, each a different color of the rainbow, their matching settings complete with crystal glassware that you thought only existed on Pinterest boards. You also admired an accent wall that was covered in lavender floral arrangements, a stunning backdrop to smiling couples posing for a professional photographer. It was the least tacky version of this event you could imagine, and you were a little bit in awe.
You held the banister as you descended the staircase, imagining that you were in one of those movies where the formerly frumpy woman makes her sexy debut into society. You enjoyed the little feeling of cinematic confidence, until you reached the bottom step. You deposited yourself into a sea of affluent strangers you had nothing in common with, and you knew you were out of your depth.
You knew where you were supposed to be sitting—Table 9. Surely that’s where the other SSA members would be seated, but dinner was not yet served and you had no way of knowing who was who as guests milled about around you. You were correct in assuming that you wouldn’t know anyone, and you suddenly didn’t know what to do with your hands.
Not long after you started looking like a lost puppy, a server swooped in and presented you with a tray of champagne. You gratefully grabbed a flute, relieved to have something to nurse while you contemplated your next move.
You decided that a glamorous reconnaissance mission was in order. You wandered the floor, observing the scenes around you to get a sense of the social dynamics at play. You admired the wealth of fashionable dresses up close, some of which you suspected were couture, and you were properly intimidated by how put-together all of the women looked. You also heard all kinds of conversations around you—from politics, to juicy gossip, to overhearing two elderly men discussing the banning of supes from the military:
“Bring back Don’t Ask Don’t Tell?”
“That’s for homosexuals.”
“What about homosexual supes?”
It wasn’t long before you saw some of the aforementioned supes up close. First, you walked by Hyperion, who was so stunningly beautiful that you had to look away, lest you accidentally make eye contact (you suspected that one of her powers was inflicting gay panic). You also saw a drag queen performing on the dance floor, who you didn’t assume was a supe at first, until she did a death drop from sixteen feet in the air. You heard at least two awkward exclamations of “yas queen!”, complete with finger snapping that felt more patronizing than celebratory.
While these sightings were thrillingly novel, they didn’t even begin to compare to who you saw next. After emerging from the most posh bathroom you had ever set foot in, you saw her—Starlight—smiling politely and holding a canape while deep in conversation. You couldn’t believe that you’ve now shared a space with two of the Seven, but you quickly decided that there was no way you would approach her. Thanks to your performance during your “meet-cute” with Homelander, you experienced enough residual embarrassment to know better. That aside, even just spotting her from twenty feet away was enough to make your night a memorable one.
If she were here, then maybe he was, too.
The excitement that you had buried suddenly clawed its way back to the surface, and you had to remind yourself to temper your expectations. If he made an appearance, you would have known by now. People tended to flock around him.
As you continued to soak in the energy of the room, you gradually realized that all of the laughter and niceties were simply thinly-veiled schmoozing. The schmooze was palpable—a sycophantic smorgasbord of rattling off CVs and professional peacocking. And the more you eavesdropped on conversations, the less confident you felt about inserting yourself into them.
Perhaps, with more liquid courage, you could attempt this “networking” thing you’ve heard so much about.
You fulfilled your own prophecy by finding yourself at the bar, ordering another drink, and taking a moment to check your phone. This gave you comfort. Purpose. And maybe the impression that you had more important things to do.
“Hello there,” you heard a woman say. Your eyes snapped up from your word search, and you physically startled.
With a friendly smile and a glass of champagne in hand, Madelyn Stillwell was standing in front of you
Her blonde hair fell in graceful, frizzless curls onto her shoulders, which were made bare by a long, sleeveless white dress. She looked mature and elegant, the kind of elegant that you imagined required years of cachet and media training. And while her appearance seemed painstakingly curated, she owned it in a way that felt confident rather than tryhard. Despite seeing her dozens of times on the news and in internal presentations, it had never occurred to you until now that she was rather beautiful.
“Oh—oh! Hello, Miss Stillwell,” you said quickly, your voice failing to hide your surprise. “It’s an incredible honor to meet you.” You introduced yourself and offered your hand, wondering what possible reason she had to approach you.
She was one of the last people you expected to speak with tonight. You were inclined to think that you didn’t have much in common, as you both occupied wildly different tax brackets. She summered in the Hamptons and played tennis, while you binged television and sweated your ass off in your tiny apartment. Anxiety fluttered in your chest.
“It’s lovely to meet you, too. And call me Madelyn,” she said, leaning against the bar. “Are you having a good time?”
“Oh, yes, it’s absolutely beautiful here,” you said, gesturing toward the ballroom floor. “Though, if I’m being completely honest with you, I feel like a fish out of water. I’ve never attended anything nearly as nice as this.” You giggled uncomfortably, and you instantly regretted it. There was nothing like admitting you didn’t know what you were doing when trying to blend in. She smiled warmly.
“Well, you certainly wear it well. That’s a beautiful dress,” she said, her eyes dropping down to admire your look. You knew the rental was a good idea.
“Oh, thank you, yours is too. You look lovely,” you replied in kind, flattered beyond belief. She had easily humanized herself, and you felt like you could relax a bit. As your anxiety waned, curiosity took its place.
“You know, I’m responsible for inviting the SSA this year,” she said, taking a seat on the stool beside you. “It’s silly that we’ve thrown this fundraiser for five years now and never invited the employees we’re supporting. I looked into the group and learned a bit about you.” She took a measured sip of her drink. “You’re impressive.”
“Oh, wow, thank you so much,” you said, a hint of disbelief coloring your voice. “That means a lot coming from you.” It was true. You didn’t consider yourself particularly exceptional at your job, but you would be doing yourself a disservice if you didn’t recognize some of your accomplishments. And to hear that from the Vice President of Supe Management? Your night went from great to phenomenal in the span of three minutes.
“I especially admire your work with VoughtLife. I see that you’re behind one of our most popular sleep features—is that right? What was it...” She snapped her fingers, grasping for the memory.
“Sleepy Sidekicks,” you said, a bit embarrassed to say the name out loud.
“Yes, that’s it,” she laughed. “I actually play the lullabies for my son. Knocks him out in minutes.”
You couldn’t suppress your grin. “I love that. I’m so glad I could be of service.”
Thrilled by how successful this interaction was going, you felt more and more confident in your presence at the gala. It was easy for you to become disillusioned with your work, to not see it as anything more than a means to a paycheck. Direct, positive feedback from one of the most powerful executives in the company? Helping develop the product that lulled her extremely privileged baby to sleep? That was enough to nip your Sunday Scaries in the bud for at least a month.
There was a beat of silence then, and the expression on her face told you that she was gearing up for the real reason she approached you.
“Would you be interested in having a quick drink with me?” she asked, leaning forward in her seat. “I’d love to discuss more about how being queer affects your experience with Vought. I know we’re far from perfect, but voices like yours could be really valuable as we serve our LGBTQIA market. I also just like getting to know our employees—between you and me, heroes can be exhausting, and it’d be a nice change of pace.” She winked, and you could hardly believe your luck.
“I’d love that,” you said. Of course you would. You tried to allay your excitement, wanting to appear grateful but not too over-the-moon. You needed to regain your aura of professional mystique. Or gain any of it at all.
This was an insane opportunity—you were dubious about how useful your opinions would be, but you knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“There’s also someone I’d like you to meet,” she said. “I think you two will have a lot to talk about.“ She flagged down the bartender. “A bottle of MoĂ«t and Chandon, please.”
You didn’t think your night could get any better. Who would she introduce you to? Maybe a cool, queer supe that was more stylish than the usual, spandex-clad fare. Or maybe another, more seasoned UX designer who would take you under their wing. Possibilities rushed through your head, and you began to wonder if this could have real consequences for your career.
“There’s a VIP lounge nearby,” she said, gesturing toward a hallway near the stage. “It’s a bit quieter. I hope you don’t mind me taking you away from the action.”
“No, not at all,” you said, growing more excited by the second. She could interview you behind a dumpster out back, for all you cared.
“Great,” she said, taking the opened bottle from the bartender. “Shall we?”
She stood up then, and you followed her as she made her way toward the hallway. You entered together, chatting a bit more about the party and other pleasantly mundane things. You were surprised by how easy it was to talk to her, and you weren’t sure if it was due to her social skills or the effects of the champagne. Probably a combination of both.
She finally stopped in front of a closed door, then turned to regard you with a knowing look.
“You’ve already made quite the impression on him,” she said, before pulling the door’s handle to hold it open for you. She was speaking as if you would recognize this person, and you entered before her, curious.
The room was modest in size, with soft lighting, a self-service bar, a few comfortable-looking arm chairs, and a plush, red sofa.
And, sitting on that sofa, was Homelander.
And this time, he was leaning back, arms draped over the cushions and legs spread leisurely as he made eye contact with you, his signature smile spreading on his face. He stood then, and you suddenly felt small and ambushed as you approached him. You had no idea what was going on.
“Hi again,” he said. Despite the kind, unassuming tone of his voice, his eyes looked like they did when you saw the elevator doors closing around him. Something unreadable below the surface. Something that made you uneasy. You noticed the sharpness of his canines in his grin, and you were stunned when he took your hands between his red gloves.
Madelyn laughed softly at your surprise, clearly aware that you had met before. She had the knowing smile of someone who was pleased to see a plan come into fruition. She shut the door behind her, and you thought you heard a faint click. 
“Oh-oh! Wow, um. Hi!” you said, failing to suppress your shock. “It’s nice to meet you again.” Why were they together? What on earth did they want with you? Nerves flooded your body when it dawned on you that maybe, just maybe, your previous encounters had not been coincidences.
“Well, don’t you look beautiful tonight,” he said, releasing your hands to take in the sight of you. You watched his eyes drag up and down your body, slow enough to be undeniable, and you felt your cheeks burn.
“Thank you,” you said, more quietly now. You looked away, finding it nearly impossible to maintain eye contact. He was, in fact, flirting with you. And you didn’t know what to do with this information.
Madelyn sat down on an armchair to the right of the sofa, and he followed her lead and sat back down. Madelyn patted the empty spot next to Homelander. “Why don’t you take a seat?” she asked.
“Um, sure,” you said, abandoning all hope of eloquence in this unprecedented situation. You sat down next to him, and you felt that same, heavy weight of his presence again. For the first time that night, you were acutely aware of how form-fitting your dress was. You tried to maintain your composure by not looking at him, and you did your best to mask your discomfort by resisting a defensive posture. You could handle this. Whatever this was. You weren’t totally convinced that this wasn’t a very vivid stress dream.
“Homelander here also has an interest in how our teams are doing, and wants to make sure he can do everything he needs to make you feel comfortable and supported,” Madelyn said, looking between the two of you.
“That’s right,” he said, turning to face you. “I’d love to hear what it’s like to be you. We value our LGBTQ employees, and we want to do everything we can to make sure they’re
 comfortable.” He dropped his hand to his side, and you were aware his fingers were only centimeters away from yours.
“Well, I don’t know,” you said, heat quickly rising to your cheeks. You chose not to move your hand.  “I feel pretty comfortable here. My sexuality has never really come up in the office, so I haven’t really thought about it too deeply. I mean
 maybe we need more openly queer heroes?” you offered. “I know it means a lot to me and other queer people to see one of us fight the bad guys.”
You paused for a moment, wondering if you should fess up to something.
“You know, I actually only attended one SSA meeting,” you said, shooting a shy look to Madelyn. She was easier to address. “Maybe I shouldn’t admit that since I accepted this invitation, but I couldn’t pass up this opportunity. I am queer, though, I promise,” you added quickly, raising your hands in playful defensiveness.
Homelander chuckled.
“Oh, we definitely don’t mind,” he said. He turned toward you slightly, just enough that his leg was now brushing against yours. You tensed.
“So, you say ‘queer’. Are you a
 lesbian?” he asked, and eyed you so intensely that you thought he was trying to look through you. It was an oddly blunt question, and you hesitated, slightly taken aback. Madelyn interrupted.
“You don’t have to answer that,” she said. She gave Homelander a look, but her smile didn’t falter.
“No, uh, it’s okay,” you said, finally moving your hand away to play with your fingers. “I mean, I like women. I do. But I’m
 fluid.” You meant to say that you were also interested in men, but the way he was looking at you made you increasingly nervous.
“Ah,” he simply said. His smile twitched, and he looked as if he were personally pleased with this information.
“You know, I meant it when I said you made an impression on him,” Madelyn said slowly, her expression unreadable. You felt as if she were watching you now. Testing.
There was an inexplicable tension in the air, and you instinctively crossed your arms in front of your chest.
“Oh, um, really?” you asked, genuinely baffled. “Wow, thank you
 but
 why?”
You had spent all of two minutes in an elevator together. You made a bad joke, and he was polite about it. It was unclear to you how this exchange warranted a surprise meeting in the middle of a gala. You felt heat rise to your cheeks when you heard Homelander laugh softly beside you.
“Do you like him, honey?” Madelyn asked abruptly.
You didn’t understand.
“Do I like him?” you repeated.
“That’s right,” she said, her smile as pleasant and unassuming as always. She looked at you as though she were fully aware of how loaded of a question that was. Like she was waiting to see what you’d do.
You looked shyly at Homelander over your shoulder, and something in his expression had changed. He was watching you, his lips slightly parted, with an intensity in his eyes that took you by surprise. You suddenly felt warm as the feeling in the air shifted.
You knew now that this was more than a conversation.
“I mean
 doesn’t everyone?” you asked, giggling more nervously than you intended. You felt an unease tug inside of you, along with another sensation that you tried to ignore.
Of course you liked him. He was America’s sweetheart. Everyone’s favorite hero. He was him. And when you gathered the nerve to examine his face more closely, you were reminded of why you were so obsessed with him to begin with. You were drawn to his classic masculinity–his electric blue eyes, high cheekbones, and even the graceful slope of his nose. Which is why, when you saw him lick the inside of his lips as he stared at you, you felt yourself shrink.
Homelander chuckled, and he leaned forward, ducking his head to murmur softly into your ear. “True, but not everyone’s little heart beats as fast as yours
 and you’re just sitting next to me.”
You inhaled a whimpering breath despite trying to stifle your reaction, but you knew he heard it. He heard everything. It was all but confirmed when his eyelids became heavy with something that made you press your thighs together without thinking.
Madelyn turned toward him then, and she had a look in her eyes that you didn’t understand.
“Why don’t you kiss her?
You took in another sharp intake of breath. This time, you knew that both of them could hear you.
Before you could even begin to process the question, Homelander reached a gloved hand to gently cradle your cheek. He softly pressed his lips against yours, and he kissed you so slowly, so sensually, that your lips couldn’t help but respond of their own accord. He slipped his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss, and it wasn’t long before you heard a moan rumble against you.
What was happening? Your stress dream was quickly taking an unexpected turn, and the longer it continued, the less you were convinced it was real.
He broke the kiss, and he rubbed his thumb affectionately against the corner of your lips. You looked up at him, wide-eyed and at a complete loss. His expression was now markedly more hungry, and heat curled between your thighs.
Madelyn chuckled softly and leaned forward, tenderly caressing Homelander’s arm.
“I’ve been so hard on you lately,” she whispered, brushing a loose strand of hair away from his forehead. She stroked his cheek in her palm, and he closed his eyes as if he were luxuriating in the sensation. “Are you happy now? Is this what you needed all this time?”
You held your breath. What did that mean?
Were you a gift?
He bit his lip as he raked his gaze from your eyes, to your breasts, to the thigh that was now fully pressed against his. He looked like he wanted to devour you, and you felt yourself become wet as your heart began to race in earnest. You knew he could hear it. You realized that you didn’t know the full reach of his powers, and you wondered if he could detect all the other little, normally-imperceptible ways that betrayed how completely turned on you were.
“Kiss her again,” Madelyn said, more authority in her voice this time. “Unless—” she began, her expression softening when she turned toward you. She placed a hand on your thigh, and it almost felt maternal until you remembered the words she had just said.
“—Unless you’re uncomfortable. I wouldn’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do.” Her voice was kind, and her features took on an incredible facsimile of concern. But there was an unsettling undercurrent to all of it. Like it was more of a formality than a sincerity, a show of empty words.
It was the weight of them in the room, the way Homelander looked at you. The way that you had never spoken to people so powerful before. The way that you were now certain that the door had been locked.
“No, no
 I want to,” you whispered. You felt something swell inside of you, your confusion now blending with a heat so intense that you could no longer pretend it wasn’t there.
“Attagirl,” Homelander said.
He grabbed a handful of your hair and yanked your head back, causing you to gasp sharply before he claimed you with a deep, ravenous kiss. You whimpered against his lips, and he slid his tongue against yours, as if he wanted to thoroughly taste every inch of your mouth. He took your lower lip between his teeth, and it all felt so overwhelming, so good, that you pressed your palms against his chest to steady yourself. You were momentarily surprised by the amount of padding on his suit, until he dragged his hands down to your hips and pulled you roughly onto his lap. You felt him through the fabric, a solid, hot pressure that made you throb.
He moved you like you weighed nothing. You were harshly reminded of his otherworldly strength, and for the first time, after years of idolizing him, it scared you.
He moved his mouth down to your neck, biting the skin just below your jaw, hard enough to make you cry out and wrap your arms around his shoulders. He soothed the pain with a slow, heady stroke of his tongue as he reached for his belt.
“No,” Madelyn said suddenly, firmly. His hands froze over the buckle, and you were relieved to be given a moment to process everything you had just felt.
“Make her feel good first,” she said, her voice gentle, yet commanding.
You were aching now. You needed to know what she had in mind.
Homelander removed his hands from his belt, and you watched annoyance transform into renewed fervor across his handsome features. He gently lifted you off of his lap, the stark contrast with his previous touches causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand. He then deposited you back onto the sofa, before turning to sink to his knees on the floor. You watched incredulously as he shifted to situate himself between your legs, all the while looking up at you with his unnerving, blue eyes. Was he doing what you thought he was doing? You nervously gripped the fabric of your dress as you turned to Madelyn in confusion. She just smiled and sipped her champagne, watching your reaction intently.
He pushed up the long, black fabric, forcing it to bunch around your hips. His hands trailed up your bare shins to rest on your knees, then slowly coaxed your legs apart. He patted your inner thigh as if to reward you for your obedience, and you shakily exhaled.
The cool air of the room hit your bare skin, and you felt small and vulnerable as he shamelessly stared down at you. He slowly plucked off his gloves, and you watched, transfixed, as he trailed a finger down the center of the delicate lace. His mouth was open in quiet lust as he toyed with your pussy, stroking you experimentally as you squirmed above him.
“Oh, I knew you were wet,” he breathed, “but this
” he lifted his fingers and spread them to show how obscenely sticky you were. “You’re fucking soaked. Leaked through your little panties and everything.”
You couldn’t stop yourself. You let out a desperate whimper. He laughed before sucking you from his fingers.
You saw Madelyn rise from the armchair out of your peripheral vision then, and you felt the cushion beneath you shift as she sat right beside you on the sofa. You were trapped between them, and when you felt her eyes fix on the space between your thighs, the humiliation only strengthened your ache.
“Take them off,” she said. Without a word, Homelander gripped your panties and slid them down your legs, and you obediently lifted your feet to help him remove them.
“Good boy,” Madelyn said. You watched, fascinated, as he looked from you to her, as if waiting for permission. They had a thing. And as far as things go, it was the last thing you expected.
“Go ahead,” she said. “Lick her.”
You gasped softly.
Homelander looked up at you then, and you yelped as he grabbed your hips to yank your ass to the edge of your seat. He dipped his head down and slowly dragged his tongue between your lips, spreading your sensitive skin as he locked his eyes on yours. You had to look away, and his lips quirked into a crooked grin before he moved his tongue in wide, teasing circles around your clit. You shut your eyes, whimpering softly as he played with you.
He took your skin into his mouth, sucking gently before sliding his tongue over your clit in earnest. He tested you—starting with slow, teasing flicks, to broad, flat pressure. He clearly observed which techniques elicited the most needy reaction out of you, because it wasn’t long before he learned you. What you needed. You were panting steadily now, and the wet, gliding sounds of his tongue in tandem with Madelyn’s watchful gaze made you burn.
“Oh, my good boy
” Madelyn said sweetly, caressing Homelander’s blonde hair as he savored each lick, suck, and kiss of your sensitive skin. His moan vibrated against your pussy, the pressure of his tongue swirling wetly against your clit causing you to throw your head back against the cushion behind you. You looked down again to watch as his eyebrows contorted his face into an almost pained expression of lust, his normally perfect hair now in a state of complete disarray.
“You’re doing such a good job making her so wet for you. So ready for you.” She gently ran her hand up and down your trembling thigh.
You couldn’t help yourself—you whimpered in response, and she hummed a small, sultry chuckle from beside you.
Madelyn was staring at you now, head propped up in her hand. You followed her line of sight to Homelander, his head buried between your legs, lapping at your clit with tireless effort. You looked back at her, and she squeezed your thigh supportively. Something in her eyes sent a deep, electric pulse of arousal through you.
Your soft, airy moans grew louder as he began to truly eat you out, responding to you with encouraging hums as the vulgar, wet sounds of his mouth filled the small room. With a sobering jolt, you remembered that there were hundreds of guests just feet away. You had genuinely forgotten where you were, and it only emphasized how surreal and detached from reality this all felt.
“That’s it
” Madelyn purred, gazing down at Homelander with an almost possessive affection. “She’s so close.”
It was like she had flicked a switch inside of you. You felt the heat between your thighs begin to mount, and when you locked in on the sight and feeling of the frenetic, wet movements of his tongue, you felt overwhelmed by how someone so powerful could be so undone. He was on a mission, his eyes screwed shut, arms wrapped around your thighs to keep your pussy firmly connected to his mouth. Your breathy moans rose in a crescendo, and when he responded in kind with low, indulgent groans, you felt a massive swell of pleasure push against a barrier that was just on the precipice of breaking.
“Make her come for me.”
The moment you heard her words, you instantly fell apart.
You practically wailed as the pressure burst into all-consuming pleasure, flooding your vision with an onslaught of hot, aching sensation. Madelyn immediately covered your mouth with her hand as you rode out the remainder of your orgasm, crying out into her soft skin as you ground yourself against Homelander’s mouth. When you became too sensitive, you lowered your hips, finally uncoupling yourself from his tongue. The lower half of his face was glistening with you, and he gazed at you as if he were completely entranced. He ran his fingers through the folds of your pussy before licking the mixture of saliva and cum off of them.
You breathed heavily as you tried to recover, but the way he was looking at you was not helping your efforts.
“Oh, look at the mess you’ve made,” he growled, ducking his head to plant wet, affectionate kisses on your inner thighs. And it was true—between your legs was a considerable wet spot, and you weren’t particularly looking forward to cleaning it up.
You looked at him, at a loss, and he must have liked something about the expression on your face, because he pulled you down into another dizzying kiss. His tongue pushed your own slick into your mouth, and you hummed wantonly as he made you taste yourself. He broke the kiss and raised himself to sit on the sofa again, using the back of his hand to wipe you off of his mouth. He leaned back then, watching you as he palmed his cock through the cup of his suit.
You sighed when you felt Madelyn’s fingers delicately stroke the hair at your temple, her touch slow and comforting.
“Are you ready for him, sweetheart?” she asked. The kindness in her voice paired with what she was asking of you was almost too much for you to process.
You could only nod, effectively rendered speechless.
With a hand on your shoulder, she moved to sit in an armchair again as she guided you to lay back onto the sofa, positioning you so that your head was resting on a throw pillow. Her ginger handling sent a shiver down your spine.
“Go ahead,” she said softly to Homelander. He sprung into action and climbed on top of you, the telltale sound of a belt unbuckling filling your ears. You moaned despite yourself as he gently wrapped his hand around your neck, feeling his legs spread your thighs before he shoved his pants down his hips. You braced yourself for impact, until Madelyn interrupted.
“Wait,” she said. You turned your head to see her reach for her purse, rummaging through its contents with purpose. She pulled out a condom wrapper, holding it with two fingers as she extended it toward Homelander.
She planned this. They had planned this. And for how long? And why? Why you? This was the most bizarre situation you could possibly imagine, and you have never felt more conflicting emotions in your life. And you didn’t know how to feel about that.
He scoffed, lifting his head to give her a look while he still had a handful of your breast.
“Madelyn, you know I don’t need that,” he said, irritated.
What did that mean? You were so caught up in the chaos that you failed to notice that he was about to fuck you without protection. Despite how completely insane the entire situation was shaping up to be, you could at least take comfort in a small sense of precaution.
“Do it for me. Just in case,” she said, her voice taking on an almost pleading edge.
“Oh, fine.”
He leaned back on the sofa, impatiently ripping the foil with his fingers. It was then that you were able to get a generous view of his cock, which was hard, curved, and thick enough to simultaneously make you nervous and ache with need. You watched, captivated, as he deftly pinched the condom’s tip and rolled the latex down his taut skin. He leaned forward to encase you again, claiming you with another deep kiss.
You braced yourself by holding onto his shoulders as he rubbed the head of his cock against your clit, massaging your still-sensitive nerves before sliding it down to prod against your entrance. He pressed just enough to tease the tip of himself in, slowly easing you open with your own wetness.
Which is why it surprised you when, without warning, he slid the entirety of himself inside you in one long, firm thrust. He ripped a desperate, high-pitched moan from your open mouth, and he grunted raggedly when you engulfed him completely. You felt so full, so full of him, that you involuntarily clenched around his cock as you adjusted to his size. His fingers twitched around your hips, tightly grasping the soft flesh of your thighs as if he were trying to restrain himself.
“Oh—oh, fuck,” he groaned as he began to steadily rock his hips against you. It was when you whimpered pathetically beneath him that he grasped your ass to pull you in deeper, and he thrusted in a hard, oppressive rhythm. You gasped, clinging onto him for support.
“Gentle,” Madelyn warned. “Go slow.” She leaned forward to rub Homelander’s shoulder, and he groaned in a mixture of pleasure and frustration. You were grateful for her intervention—he was going to knock the breath out of you, and you panted heavily below him.
He opened his eyes then, making pronounced contact with yours as he slowed the movement of his hips. The sensation of him fucking you was deep, consuming, and agonizing, and with every languid thrust of his cock, you felt a hot bloom of pleasure grow and spread inside of you.
You knew that he was strong. You’ve seen him stop a truck that was spinning out with just a single hand. Punch through steel like drywall.
He could break you in a second.
But knowing that he was reigning himself in, pressing into you with just enough measured force, made you feel completely undone. Afraid. You exhaled a breathy moan each time he pushed you deep into the cushions, balling your hands in the fabric of his cape as you angled your hips to meet his.
“You’re doing so well,” Madelyn cooed to him, still soothing his back with her hand. “Fucking her so slow and hard for me
 my good, special boy.”
He groaned in response, a surprisingly needy, vulnerable sound that took you by surprise. You wrapped your arms and legs around him, pulling him closer, whining against his chest with each punctuated thrust of his cock. You held onto him tightly, squeezing around him to encourage him to finish.
He let out a strangled, animalistic grunt as he rocked his hips two, three more times, painfully digging his fingers into the flesh of your ass. He came, his body jerking above you in strong, tense bursts, the feeling of his skin locked against yours making you feel claimed as he growled into the crook of your neck.
After his hips twitched through the aftershocks of his orgasm, he collapsed on top of you. Heavy, unsteady breaths tumbled from his lips, and Madelyn chuckled warmly, caressing his cheek with the palm of her hand.
“Did you like that, baby? Did her pussy feel so good?”
His eyes were glazed over with distilled pleasure when he nodded, and she eased two, probing fingers into his mouth. He groaned headily as he sucked them, and you were intoxicated by the sight.
Homelander turned back to you and kissed you, almost affectionately, before sitting up again. He pulled off the condom and tossed it in the nearest waste bin, then stood to pull up his pants and secure his belt in place.
“Fuck, you
 you are something else,” he said, still catching his breath. He leaned down to tug your dress down your body, then picked up your discarded panties off of the floor. He smiled at you while he tucked them beneath the flap on his suit, and you didn’t dare ask for them back. He pulled you up into a possessive kiss, and were it not for his arms that were currently wrapped around you, you might have collapsed back down onto the sofa.
Madelyn stood before both of you then, folding her hands in front of her as she regarded you.
“Well, that was certainly fun,” she said, smiling warmly. “Thank you for that little chat. It was very valuable.” It chilled you how easily she could transition to a facade of professionalism.
“Now, you understand that we ask for your discretion,” she said, turning her head to look at Homelander. He looked at her, then back down at you, and he nodded smugly.
“Yeah, that’s right,” he said, adjusting the lopsided bodice of your dress back into place. “Wouldn’t want anyone to get jealous, would we?”
“O-of course,” you said, in a daze. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”
Like anyone would believe you.
“Good,” Madelyn said softly, approaching you while you were still in Homelander’s arms. “Good girl.” She stroked your hair and moved her fingers down to hold your chin, swiping a thumb over your bottom lip.
“There’s a bathroom over there,” she said, pointing toward a door in the corner of the room. “Take all the time you need to freshen up before heading back out. We hope to see you at dinner,” she said cordially.
Homelander smirked at you. “Yeah,” he murmured, pulling his gloves back onto his hands. “We have to honor all the other good little queers, don’t we?”
You felt something heavy drop in the pit of your stomach.
“Yeah,” you said with a weak smile, trying to smooth down the bird’s nest that was your hair. “Yeah, I-I’ll see you out there.”
He shot you a final, possessive look, before they both left the room. You walked toward the bathroom as if you were in a dream, and you looked at yourself in the mirror for the second time that night.
You were a mess.
Lipstick was smeared on your face. Your hair in shambles. You examined a small bruise on your neck, running your fingers over it as if to confirm it were really there.
You had lost yourself in all of it. They didn’t even give you a real moment to think, and with a queasy, creeping feeling in your gut, you realized that it was likely by design. And when the high that permeated your body began to subside, you were finally able to have that moment. If felt so, so good.
Then why did you feel so used?
The confusion of it all made you feel out of control, and not in the good way.
You methodically cleaned yourself up, grateful that you had brought your concealer with you as you blotted it against the bruise. You did your best to put yourself back together before facing the reality that waited for you outside the door.
You wandered back into the ballroom, feeling like you were floating.
You eventually found your table and sat down, now surrounded by ten other members of the SSA. You were quickly engaged in conversation, and you chatted, half there, now completely unburdened of your social anxiety. You barely heard the words that were coming out of your mouth, but you received good-natured laughter in response, so you figured it was going well. You mechanically ate your chicken and scalloped potatoes.
It was when the light of the room dimmed and the sounds of silverware started to slow that you came into your body again. You turned your attention toward the stage, and you were seized by an abrupt tangle of discomfort in your chest.
You saw him walk onto the stage. The crowd around you went absolutely wild, and your fellow SSA members applauded raucously in excitement. You felt hot, your throat constricting as you watched him stand in the center of the stage, raising his arms as he joyously soaked in the display of love and devotion. You gripped your fork tightly.
“Welcome to the Fundraiser for Crimefighting Bigotry!” he exclaimed, pacing across the stage with a charismatic pump of his fist. The room burst into another swell of applause, and the cacophony almost drowned the sound of your thudding heart. He reveled in it, his rehearsed grin stretched wide as he waited for the fervor to die down.
“Okay, okay,” he said, laughing charmingly as he made his way to the podium situated off to the side of the stage. He paused, panning his gaze across the ballroom for effect before speaking.
“You know, some of you may be wondering why I’m here. I know, I know,” he raised his hands, nodding his head in a show of humble acknowledgement, “I’m involved with some Christian groups, and I know that they haven’t always been the best to your community.”
The audience murmured quietly, until he continued.
“That being said, while I may be a man of God, there is nothing more godly than love. And love is love. Am I right, everyone? Huh?”
The crowd erupted into applause again, and you looked around at everyone’s smiling faces. You felt deeply out of place again, but in a different way. A way that made you feel a bit sick.
“And who better to celebrate than the LGBTQIA+ heroes and employees that work for Vought day in and day out? We’ve got some legendary gay supes in the house—I see you, Flamer!” he shouted teasingly, pointing out into the audience. “And let’s not forget our very own pride club, the Supe Spectrum Alliance. Come on up here, guys! Come on!” he exclaimed jovially, clapping his hands and gesturing toward your table.
You weren’t expecting this. You felt your cheeks burn as you climbed the steps to the stage with the rest of the SSA, and you stood there awkwardly, doing your best to keep a safe distance from him. You now noticed that there was a teleprompter in front of him, and you supposed you shouldn’t have been surprised.
“They’ve done such a good job representing the kind of good work that Vought is all about—from raising money for charity, to making sure we all include pronouns in our email signatures. Like I ever read emails,” he said cheekily through the side of his hand.
The audience laughed, and his once endearing mannerisms now rang hollow to you.
“Let’s give it up for the SSA!” he yelled, firmly clapping his hands together. He successfully roused the audience into thunderous applause, and you shifted uncomfortably. You felt hundreds of eyes on you, and you wondered if you had truly washed away what had just happened.
“Because of their very important work, I will be personally donating fifty thousand dollars to their club budget and one hundred thousand to the Born This Super Foundation.” Your fellow SSA members turned and gasped excitedly. You followed their gaze to see Starlight emerging from backstage, holding a giant check. The audience went nuts. The you from an hour ago would have been ecstatic.
A photographer approached the stage, raising a camera up to his face. Homelander promptly spotted him.
“Get in here,” he said, ushering the SSA to gather around him. You took only a few steps closer, taking refuge in the back of the group.  
Homelander handed the check to an elated member in the front row, and you felt your heart jump as he pulled you to stand next to him while the other members posed, elated, shielding your bodies from view. You felt his hand trail down to the small of your back.
“Say pride!” Homelander said happily, sticking out his visible hand in a thumbs up. You glanced at him quickly, seeing his big, charming smile. It sent a chill down your spine.
You felt his hand move even further down, before he tightly squeezed your ass.
Forget Melissa Etheridge.
After you were dismissed from the stage, you simply walked straight through the ballroom, down the hall, out the double doors, and into a new Uber. When you arrived at your apartment, you kicked off your heels and shed your dress on the living room floor on your path to the bathroom. You sat on the shower floor for forty minutes, contemplating the ache that refused to go away.
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tonixe · 11 months ago
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hii i love ur writing and the k you for the noir fic!! there’s not enough content for the boys and i appreciate it so much!! can i request jealous homelander x reader? tyia!
♱ — rapacious — ♱
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A/N: I was itching, with no craving to make a homelander fic, and ideas just ran through me, but thank you anon for requesting this, and letting my devious idea run free. P.S. Im not sure bout that black noir fic, this was asked in July, but yk thank you for still requesting <3. Btw H/N is hero name.
WARNING: oral sex, p in the v, no condom we fuck raw, creampies, non-con, tw: homelander, gagging, cursing, non-con, threats, forced breeding and nudity.
PAIRING: jealous! homelander x reader
WORD COUNTER: 2.1k
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Life with Homelander was great, something so great that it makes you go insane, crazy...good crazy may be bad for some, but you could take it, right?
Vought, was another thing, watching over your shoulder and making sure everything went well, I mean with you there were a lot fewer casualties than usual. Soon things got less complicated with Edgar and Madelyn being gone from Vought, basically Homelander leading the company with Ashley as a puppet.
It was chaotic per se, where Homelander's watching eye was everywhere in the building. His leadership didn't make anything better but worse. With the seven keeping on being replaced and disappearing mysteriously, surprisingly you were still there with the same everything, no new rebrand, no nothing just staying in place.
You didn't mind it at all, I mean you still had a job and were still getting paid. Even with the weird shift of Black noir, instead of his quiet demeanor, he was talkative which was a change. It was evident it wasn't noir and everyone in the seven knew it, but nobody questioned it. You didn't mind but preferred the change, and even started talking to him.
He was a little better than old noir, not in combat but in being amusing, even spending time with outside meetings and regular superhero activities.
"So how the fuck did you manage to even fly like that?" You asked while you walked with him down the hallway,
"I have no idea, it just happened?" Black Noir II shrugged, you nodded at his words as you took a sip of the peanut butter frappuccino from Vought's cafe, it was a plus that he wasn't allergic to peanuts like the old noir. It wasn't a glow-up from the old noir but a plus. You two chatted as you got into the elevator, it was abruptly stopped by a red, white, and blue cape fluttering into wedging between you both, making you step back, it was Homelander.
The atmosphere immediately got tense than it was once a carefree mood, it was quiet.
"Good morning Homelander," you said, it was met with a nod from him, "Morning Sir," Black Noir said to him, only for him to glare at him, "Don't fucking talk" Homelander ordered, clearly annoyed that he was talking.
It was suffocating being in the elevator, you just took a sip of your frappuccino, praying for the elevator to open up quickly.
Guess your answers were answered rather quickly, as the doors of the huge elevator opened to the meeting room, the giant seven table in front of you.
The Deep, Sage, Firecracker, and A-train were already in their seats. "Good morning sir" The deep stood up, saluting him which made you laugh a little. You immediately took your seat next to Firecracker, and the meeting started. It was a blur to you, something like finding the leak in Vought, which you had many questions about.
The whole meeting was led by a different Sage, your eyes flicked towards Homelander, he was staring at Black Noir. You averted your eyes away,
God, you have to pay attention more often.
You couldn't help but take a sip of peanut butter frappuccino, "Would you fucking stop" Homelander's voice interrupted Sage's presentation, all attention was at him and he was staring directly at you.
"Um...Sorry" You hesitating looked back at him, and you felt eyes on you. You couldn't help but your heart to beat faster,
You watched Homelander rubbed his head in annoyance, closing his eyes before staring to you, "Could you slurp any louder?" He said, his voice dripping with annoyance and sarcasm.
"Sorry" You muttered, putting it back where it was,
"No..nope" Homelander repeated, he pointed at you again, "Be a good girl and put it in the garbage" He snapped. You looked around, with everyone staring at you, "Okay" you responded, slowly getting up from your chair, taking the cup in your hand, and throwing it in the garbage before sitting down.
"Good"
With that statement, the meeting continued on, with your face heating up in embarrassment, as you sank further into the chair.
Sage's voice engulfing your thoughts,
You got interrupted by a note being thrown at you, it was obvious it was from Noir that somehow got to you without Homelander looking, you grinned a little bit, secretly opening up the crumbled piece of paper.
[I'll buy you a new drink after the meeting] - Noir
You read the note, before turning your attention to him and smiling, quickly putting the note in the pocket of your suit before Homelander can see it. Combing your hair back and leaning back into your chair.
Soon the meeting ended, getting up from your seat, and everyone else was doing the same, yours scanned and the room soon landing on Firecracker still in her seat. But you didn't care much to ask why, but more excited to hang out with Noir after this awkward meeting.
"Everyone can go expect H/N" You heard Homelander's voice mentioning your name made you freeze. You stopped where you were, "You can go Firecracker" Homelander turned to her,
"But..um Homelander sir—"
"You can go," Homelander said again but in a more threatening tone, "Now" After he said she scrambled out of the meeting room.
Soon it was only you two left in the room, you watched hesitantly as Homelander turned to you. "Y/N, we need to talk," Homelander states, you could hear his voice straining, with concealed anger.
You looked up at him confused, "About..what?" You asked.
You watched as he walked around you, his pace was slow, you listened to his footsteps echoing around the empty meeting room, before he stopped suddenly, " Do you think I'm just stupid?" Homelander said, his tone catching you off guard.
It wasn't confusing that Homelander was speaking to you in anger, you rarely got him angry knowing you both were together and your relationship wasn't publicized due to his status.
"No, definitely not John," You replied, using his name instead of his hero alias, made him freeze before he stared at you.
Jealously was gnawing inside of him when he looked at you, "Tell me...are you fucking him" Homelander snapped at you, your brows knitted together in confusion at his words. "No, we're just hanging out—why would you ever think that?" You stuttered over your words, as Homelander walked closer to you.
He reached out for your face, harshly grabbing your chin with his hand, tilting your face to meet his eyes. You felt his glove hand digging into your face, his eyes closely turning red, you just felt fear, you were terrified. You knew he could smell your fear, and hear your rising heartbeat. "John...I would never cheat on you, I'm yours" You entreated, trembling under his grip.
Finally, his grip got looser and then he dropped your face, making you stumble a bit.
"Then show me," Homelander said,
You were confused about his words, "What?"
"If you love me..show me" Homelander sat down in the seat in front of you. It took you some time to process his words, confused at what he was saying, "Come on, strip for me" signaling towards your chest.
Your brows furrowing, "Come on, if you don't do it" Homelander leaned in his seat, "You won't like it if I do it" He finished,
"Now strip" He repeated, his tone more irritated.
You took a breath in and started undressing. Unzipping your suit, feeling the cool air on your bare skin. Your suit falling on the marble floor echoed through the room, leaving you in your bra and panties.
"Bra and panties too" Homelander eyed your chest.
You comply, putting your hand behind you and clipping your bra off, discarding it on the floor, and stepping out of your panties, leaving you fully naked in front of him.
"Come here" He patted his lap, "Crawl" he pointed at you. You sank down to your knees and crawled towards him and stopped in front of him. "Come on, you know what to do" You felt his hand on your cheek, stroking it.
You looked down at his growing member in his pants. Hesitatingly looking up at him through your lashes, as you started to undo the bottom of his suit revealing his cock, you looked up at him, "Use your mouth" You leaned in and inched his cock into your mouth, before taking him whole. Homelander moans out feeling your warm mouth enveloping his cock, feeling his hand gripping your hair making you wince.
You slowly bob your head down on his length, his grip on you getting tighter. Your ears perched up at his straining voice barely containing his whimpers as he watched you intently, taking him whole. "Fuck, your good at this" Homelander groaned, jerking you away, taking his cock out from your mouth. Staring at your disheveling appearance, spit dribbling on your chin.
His hand still fisting your hair, "Your pretty when your like this" Homelander chuckled, before forcing you down his cock, making you gagged. Tears prick on your waterline, saliva staining your chin, his grip never loosening as he abused your throat,  thrusting into your mouth, the sound of slick, the sounds of wet suction filling up the room.
His pace turning frantic, fucking your mouth.
Homelander threw his head back as waves of ecstasy washed over him. His hips buckled uncontrollably as he lets out a guttural groan, filling your mouth with his cum. "Fuck, ..." He pants, chest heaving, before he gripped your face, "Be a good girl and swallow it" He threatens, feeling the hot liquid going down your throat, swallowing it.
His grip loosening and releasing you. You panted for air, feeling his gloved-hand stroking your cheek. "Now, stand and lean over at table" Homelander ordered, as you got up from the floor and obeyed his order, propping yourself on the table, and bending yourself over the glass. You couldn't help but to feel excited for the pain, the slick dripping down your legs. You waited in anticipation,
Before feeling his cock stretching you out, biting down at your lip at the simmering pain, arching your back. His hands on back of your waist, "Fuck" you mumbled, gripping the end of the glass. Before he thrusting into you, "You think Noir would please you like I do" Homelander growled into your ear, his breath warm on your skin "N...no" you mumbled, feeling his cock tearing you open, feeling himself stretching your cervix.
His ministration was more painful next than the next, feeling his cock stabbing you over and over again. The sounds of flesh slapping filled the room, letting out a gasp, your voice wavering in pain. His thrust driving deeper into you, clenching down on his cock, feeling his grip digging into your skin.
You hated how you were slowly enjoying this, feeling yourself coming close to your climax. Your body tensing up as you feel your skin warming up,
His hips stuttering against yours, "Fuck, I'm close" You felt his hands stroking your hips, "What if I just cummed inside you, breed you myself, have my kids, and have a family...then ill have you to myself" He whispered,
You felt your heart in your throat, "Pull out" You tried to get away from stone grip, "Homelander, please" You begged, only for your face to be shove down on the glass table. Scrambling underneath his grip, just to get him off you. "please" you cried.
His pace getting frantic until he thrust into you for the last time, feeling on cue your body shuddering as he came into you. Feeling himself spilling inside you, making you freeze on the spot.
Feeling him finally pulling out of you, leaving you there stunned. He kissed your shoulder, the kiss feeling lingering on you.
You heard the sound of him putting his pants back on. He stared at you before walking towards you, before sighing, you turned your head to him, "I forgive you, you know" He said, his hand behind his back watching your pitiful form,
"Just don't do it again" he pats your head,
"Now get dressed, we have a date" He smiles, listening to his footsteps descending from you.
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