#my voice kink has been activated i am in desperate need of devoted voice kink fic now omg

[blindmagdalena]

i been listening to too much lana del rey, and You Can Be The Boss drives me so insane like it fits homelander so well in my mind GRAHHH. imagine being some employee for vought, not too low but not too high up. youre at a vought hosted party, supes and all that but you never really cared for that; after all, you only took this job because it paid well. the company party was mandatory but to be honest you were just looking for a chance to escape and go home. the dress you had on was too tight, the smell of alcohol and all the fake laughter overwhelmed your senses when you didnt even drink much. stumbling in the crowd of well dressed business men and gorgeous women, you walk straight into him, the homelander. he doesnt know why you really caught his attention, maybe he could tell you didnt belong among the crowd of money hungry business people and drunk out of their mind supes, or maybe the tight dress just complimented your figure a bit too well for him to brush you off. he doesnt make it obvious at first, he just laughs and assures you that you didnt cause him trouble by walking into him, "woah, you better watch your step dear... you alright?" he puts his hand on your waist although he knows you dont need help balancing yourself anymore. he really just wants your scent to last longer on him. like a bloodhound, later through the night he'll try to find you through the crowd of people, tracking the smell of that cheap perfume you wore. he finds you by some desk makeshifted into a well made table for the night, drink in hand he approaches you. "ah, you! youre the uh, the girl who walked into me earlier, right?" he asks even though he damn well knows the answer.

"oh, god, im so sorry about that, sir... i wasnt paying attention and-"

"oh, please... dont be sorry! hell, i should be thanking you for saving me from those black ties... ah, i never caught your name..."

although youre completely starstruck you manage to make some small talk, mentioning somewhere along the way that he was your favorite hero. he practically shows his smirk at this point.

"oh, please... what, you young people are still into classic supes like me?" he fucking knows the answer but he needs his ego stroked.

as you answer he leans over, grabbing a cocktail napkin (also using this as a sneaky opportunity to look over at your tits, just to see if hes really gonna do this.) and pulling out a pen, he carries one around everywhere just in case a fan comes up to him.

"c'mon... ill give you an autograph... ah, after this i have to go and y'know... give the big toast..." he practically sighs it out.

youre completely flattered... and, yeah, a little weirded out but hey, free autograph.

he hands back the now folded napkin, walking back into the crowd, cape flowing behind him as you lose sight of the red white and blue.

unfolding the napkin, you see written clearly his perfect signature.... under it, a phone number.

[AHHHH IVE NEVER WRITTEN ANYTHING BEFORE AND I GOT CARRIED AWAY IM SORRY] i also didnt proof read so sorry if anything is misspelled!!

You hold on to that number for a couple of days, looking at it every so often. There's a new undertone of anxiety at work; suddenly you're nervous about running into him, even though it's never happened before. You don't work anywhere near the 99th floor, and yet there's a constant prickle at the back of your neck, the presence of the napkin in your pocket a constant reminder.

The feeling follows you home. You can't shake it, you can't stop thinking about it. About him. You pull out the napkin just to stare at it sometimes, to remind yourself that really happened. Why the hell would The Homelander give a nobody like you his number?

On the evening of the third day, thoroughly plagued by this accursed napkin burning a hole in your pocket, you finally call the number elegantly scrawled across it. It rings once, twice, thrice. Your heart is pounding so hard you can barely hear the ringing. There's a click, and your heart stops. You hear an amused huff of breath on the other end of the line in place of a greeting. "I was beginning to think you were blowing me off," Homelander says, but you think you can hear the smile in his voice. Your mouth feels dry, full of cotton. "No, no, I wasn't, uhm... Sorry, I would have called sooner, I was just—" "Nervous?" Homelander cuts in. His voice is low, and feels unbelievably intimate in your ear. You bite your tongue, feeling a flush crawl up your chest. "Don't be nervous, sweetheart. I'm glad you called."

You try to laugh it off, try to regain an ounce of calm. This guy really is larger than life, even over the phone. "Yeah? Why's that?" "Because I have not been able to get you off my mind," he purrs. You can't see the absent way he's flipping a pen, the same one he used to sign that napkin, between his fingers. Just like you couldn't see the way he has been watching you through the floors and walls of Vought tower, or in your own home, how his lips would twitch every time you pulled out that napkin to stare at his signature, and his phone number. Fuck, the fact you carried around that napkin everywhere haunted him. The way you would take it out just to stare or run your fingers along the writing was damn near reverent. The look of worship in your clueless eyes, totally unaware your god was watching you in your moment of prayer, was almost too much for him. Still, he remained patient, and now it's finally paying off. As all worthwhile hunts do. Caught off guard, you stammer, mouth opening and closing. "I, uhm, I've been thinking about you, too," you say. Your tongue feels clumsy, like a brick of lead in your mouth. "I really enjoyed meeting you that night."

"Well, I would hope so. You did tell me that I'm your favorite," he goes on. God, is he flirting with you, or trying to humiliate you? You're not sure which is worse. Your whole body feels hot, and your brain simply refuses to work correctly. "I'd just love to hear more about you." "So, like... Coffee?" You offer. Your hand is starting to tingle from how tightly you're gripping your phone. Is this really happening? You just asked The Homelander for a coffee date. "Not really a coffee kind of guy," Homelander replies. "How about dinner? My apartment in Vought Tower, tomorrow night. You like steak?" "Oh, okay, I— yes, I do," you fumble slightly, clearing your throat. "That'd be nice," you say, cleaning up your tone, attempting to gain any semblance of composure in this conversation. "Perrrrrfect," he rumbles. The near growl of his voice right in your ear makes you feel a touch faint. Jesus Christ. He must know exactly what he's doing. "It's a date." "It's a date," you echo, as if to confirm for yourself that's really true. "Okay, I will... see you soon." "You have a good night. Be seein' you." The line disconnects, and you're left in the too-loud silence of your apartment, staring at your phone in disbelief Holy shit.