#soldier boy coming tomorrow probs bc i dont leave my house

[walkingnearfoxes]

It's a Silly Name (Homelander x Reader Oneshot)

1.8k words. NSFW. Questionable established relationship dynamics with mildly dubious consent and dirty smut.

Who the hell came up with the name Gillman?

You are sitting on the couch in the Homelander's den, a blanket tossed over your legs to compensate for the freezing thermostat temperature your lover prefers. It’s unclear to you if he genuinely finds the coldness preferable to the heat, or if he’s using it as an excuse so you cuddle him for warmth. Presently, you don’t have to worry about that; the Homelander finally agreed to buy you blankets and he has his head nestled in your lap. 

The Homelander is furiously watching the news as you look through the paperwork for his next publicity stunt. Ashley attempted to hand the packet of paper to him a few hours ago, but his venomous glare had her turn to you instead. Unfortunately for all people involved, Stan Edgar had made it clear that this plan was not a negotiation. There's been some social media backfire recently for the Homelander being...well, himself, but more blatantly to the public eye. His numbers have “suffered,” dropping him far too close to not being America's favorite supe. The plan is to make a documentary about his childhood life to remind the public about his all-American values. The whole fiasco has turned the Homelander into a massive grump and lucky you, you get to deal with him the most often. 

The television is playing Victoria Neuman’s most recent takedown of him at a rally in DC. You don’t know why he insists on watching every bit of media that talks about him for good or bad, but he’s obsessed. Even when Neuman is doing everything in her power to turn the people against him, he can’t look away; you are the only one capable of turning his attention away from it. 

"I don't get how that's supposed to fix anything," Homelander mutters, referring to the planned movie scope in your hands. "Just rip it up."

"It's not...terrible," You say, ignoring his sneer. It is nowhere near in your job description to review PR for him, but anyone at Vought with a brain cell knows you’re the only way to negotiate him into things. You try, anyhow. "I mean, I get it. They're trying to remind the public of your humble origins."

"By humble, you mean a no-name asshole from Bumfuck, Midwest," He mutters. Only you can hear the hurt behind his snark. He loathes his fake story. Vought took the torture that was his real childhood and twisted it until the white lab walls were white picket fences. He still didn't tell you everything about that lab, about the “bad room” he mumbles about in his sleep, but every tiny glimpse he gives provides more of a window as to why he is the Homelander.

You reach down and slowly card your fingers through his hair. A few months ago, he would have flinched. Now, even while feeling grouchy, he hums under his breath and leans into your touch. You told him once he was like an overgrown house cat. The glare he had shot you only proved your point.

"I'm sorry," You speak softly as you pet his head. "They really should get your opinion on more of these things." 

"I know!" He whines, and you bite back a chuckle. "God, the baseball bullshit? Like I'd give a fuck about that game.”

You nod as you look back at the papers. The first page dictates the basics of the Homelander’s fake upbringing, assumedly for whatever poor soul will direct this mistake of a documentary. "The name they gave you is pretty ridiculous, too."

He laughs, bumping his head into your hand to get more of your scratches. "As generic as they could make it."

"John is fine, but Gillman?" You say, scoffing at the surname. "That should've gone to the Deep."

The Homelander pauses. You momentarily think he's silently returned to his hatewatch of the news. But then he speaks, his voice a bit lower. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, it doesn't fit you," You explain, not yet noticing how he has stilled under your touch. "Gillman sounds like the Deep with him and...his...gills..."

You trail off as the Homelander slowly sits off of your lap. His body turns so he sits beside you, arms on his knees, his red boots flat on the floor. Like a bird of prey locking onto its victim, his head slowly turns to look at you. His smile is long and thin. "Are you comparing me to the Deep, sweetheart?"

Danger. Your heart rate spikes, and it makes his smile twitch up. It doesn’t matter that you know he can smell, see, and hear every part of you; your reactions are instinctive and will never go away. Truthfully, he barely needs his super senses. He knows you, and you made the mistake of forgetting him. 

You should have known better than to bring up any other supes in his sensitive state - especially supes that have tried to flirt with you in front of him. 

"No, of course not," You say quickly with a nervous laugh. "I was just saying the name was-"

"Stupid. Yeah, I heard you." He still isn't moving, far too rigid and dangerous in his spot beside you. 

"I didn't say it was-"

He shushes you and slowly brings a hand up to cup your cheek. "Relax, honey," He purrs. His gloved hand slowly moves down the length of your neck and settles comfortably around the hollow of your throat. "I'm not mad. I just think I gotta remind you who I am."

~-~

One of the Homelander’s favorite parts of sex with you is the vulnerability. He loves to have you fully naked while he is still fully clothed. It's a blatant power play, but it goes deeper than that. He sees every inch of your skin as a work of art and can spend hours mapping you until you're trembling with need. With the news still quietly playing in the background, he has done just that.

He hasn't moved from his spot on the couch, but you are in a very different pose. He has you naked in his lap with your back to him. His hands are under your thighs to keep them up against your chest, your feet flat on the tops of his legs. He uses his hold on your hips to keep you situated with his cock buried deep in your ass. You can squirm and fidget as much as you want; nothing is breaking his grip.

"Now, remind me, sweetie," He murmurs into your ear as he lifts your hips up and entirely off of him, only to slam them back down on his cock. He ignores your loud gasp. "Who's fucking your ass right now, hm? Me? Or the Deep?"

"Y-you!" You cry out breathlessly. Your entire body is shaking and while he certainly notices, he says nothing about it. He had been very thorough in preparing you for this. After leaving your clothes in tatters on the floor, he ate your pussy and fingered your hole to the exact stretch he wanted. He didn't mind that you had already come twice; that wasn't the point of this.

"Such a little slut," He growls tugging your earlobe between his teeth. "You just wanna be filled up, don't you? Will you take any dick?"

"N-No!" You gasp as he once again bounces you down on his cock. "J-just you. Only you."

"Hm..." He easily holds you steady with one hand while the other slowly traces between your legs. The tips of his fingers swirl tight circles around your clit, and he chuckles darkly at the way your body spasms. "Aww, feeling sensitive? That's ‘cause this little pussy is mine."

He bucks up again, and then starts a steady rhythm while he keeps on talking. The Homelander thrusts into you so you're never wholly without his dick, and even as you feel him begin to swell inside of you, he doesn't pause for breathe. He doesn't break a sweat. His sinful voice breathes into your ear. "This tight little ass is mine. Understand me?"

It's hard for you to reply with how he's rutting up into you, and he rewards the delay with a pinch to your clit. You squeal. "Yes! I'm yours, Homelander. I'm yours."

He flips you with practiced ease so your stomach lands on the couch. You're not given time to reorient yourself before his cock is inside of you again, this time in your pussy. His hands, somehow removed from their gloves during the flip, both fall to your hips as he fucks you. The sound of him pounding into you is obscene - repeated, needy, and wet. He's done talking; he has a goal now, and that's making it so the only damned thing you can think of is him.

"H-Homelander..." Your voice is wheezy and desperate to your ears. "I'm gonna..."

"Oh, I know." He at least sounds breathless now, eager for a release only you can give to him. He moves a hand to your head. He curls his fingers into your hair and pushes the side of your face down onto the cushion. The strength flattens your body so he slides impossibly deeper into you. "Come. Now."

And you do. You come soundlessly, your eyes rolling back. You may even black out for a second, only vaguely aware of him pulling out to finish on your exposed back with a moan of your name that is near reverent. You are a mess of sweat and his seed, and he knows he’s done his job. Once again, you are thoroughly and exhaustedly and completely his.

He just looks at you for a long moment, and you’re too exhausted to comment. You eventually feel him shift off of the couch. His gloveless fingers stroke delicately through your hair, and you turn your head to see him kneeling beside you. His smile is now gentle. "And? How are we doing?"

You grumble and nuzzle the side of your face against the couch. "My legs are numb."

The Homelander chuckles and leans in to kiss your forehead, his lips lingering on your skin. "I didn't hear a safeword..."

"Didn't need one, Mr. Gillman."

The sharp slap to your ass isn't a surprise. "You're lucky you're cute." He murmurs as he stands back up. "Alright, c’mon.”

He lifts you into a bridal carry like you weigh nothing. There’s an undeniable fondness in those blue eyes that reminds you as much as you belong to him, he’s yours right back. He smiles down at you.  "Let's get you all cleaned up, huh?"

You lazily lean your head against his chest. "Can you get milkshakes after?"

The Homelander chuckles and gives your naked thighs an affectionate squeeze. "Yes. I can get milkshakes after.”