#the boys amazon

[olliveolly]

In my mind, he is a cat person 🐈‍⬛

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Epilogue: I Don't Want To Lose Your Lovelight

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV

Summary:  When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you never expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team. 

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy, Protective Ben/Soldier Boy

Word Count: 10.8K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), Illusions to past sex, Swearing, Mentions of Sex, Sexual Innuendo, Teasing, Fluff, LOVE, Talks of Pregnancy/thinking about pregnancy, little bit of self-deprecating thought. Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Listen While You Read🪴: Lovelight by ABBA

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A/N: Well here we are... The people have spoken and I will be leaving the happy version as is! Enjoy!

One Year Later

“I don’t understand why we need to have a realtor to look at apartments. Why can’t we just camp out in front of a nice apartment building and wait for an ambulance to wheel someone out like everyone else?” You huff looking down at the apartment listing on your phone that Ben was taking you to. “Or better yet, we could use Apartments.com. I trust Jeff Goldblum with my life.”

Who doesn't? The man is a national treasure.

"The guy from the movie about the dinosaurs?" Ben asks easing his car into traffic before taking a right.

Sunlight filtered through the windshield and down onto your lap illuminating the embroidered patches of flowers on your favorite blue jeans, the same jeans that were getting just a little tight at the top and the ones you wouldn't be able to wear for the next 6 months or so. You smile to yourself at the thought, and drop your left hand to your stomach that was just starting to swell beneath your botanical printed t-shirt, brushing a thumb over the soft fabric.

This year had been full of surprises, some good, some bad, but you didn’t care. Through the good and the bad, Ben had been there for you just as you had been there for him.

If someone had asked you what you thought your life was going to look like, it wouldn't have been this, but you were so blindingly happy that you didn't care. Ben might not have been the person that you imagined yourself with, but that was the funny thing about love, it could come with whispered breaths, soft caresses, and gentle promises or sneak up behind you and hit you over the back of the head with a frying pan.

There was no in between and your ears were still ringing from when it smacked you.

Ben quit his job at Vought over the phone the morning after the two of you finally realized what you should have known the moment you let Ben stay in your apartment the first time. It had been surreal waking up with him in your bed, his body hard and unyielding, curved around yours as if he wished to protect you while he was asleep. It was the same way you remembered from the morning you woke up with him on the couch when Darren was crashing in your room.

That night had seemed so far away then, an unpleasant flicker of emotion swelling when you thought of your brother, but then dissipated the longer you stared at Ben.

In the sweet relief of sleep he looked younger. His dark hair fell forward into his face, his bearded cheek laid gently on the pillow, and his usual frown pulled down into a neutral expression, but he looked just as handsome as he always did. Ben hadn't woken up until you raised his hand to your mouth and kissed the inside of his palm gently. And the smile he gave you when he did made you wish to exist in that moment with him forever. The look on his face then was so unlike the man you'd seen in the heat of battle the first time you met and everything like the man you'd fallen in love with.

Stan Edgar had been furious, said that Ben was purposely trying to make him look bad, but Ben didn't give a fuck what Stan thought of him, the only thing he cared about was curled against his chest, and was holding his hand to her lips.

Jake opened up the new plant shop re-named "Please Don't Die The Revenge," a title Jake and you had thought up after drinking way too many brightly colored margaritas at happy hour while Ben sulked and wished he was anywhere else.

However, Ben thought it was adorable how much of a light weight you were, and lead you home while you made jokes, giggled, and whispered things into his ear that only tested his restraint. Your boyfriend might be a lot of things, but he didn't want to take advantage of you when you were like that, especially not when you couldn't remember that you had feet and wouldn't stop crying until he took your shoes off and showed you that you still had them.

When Jake re-opened the shop, he insisted that you were going to be a partner, not an employee, and when he'd told you, you'd burst into tears while Ben grumbled under his breath something not worth repeating. Ben still didn't like Jake, and despite your numerous insistences for Ben to be nice, Ben was just as sullen around him as he had been since the first day they met. However, now Jake was used to it so you no longer felt the need to apologize.

You'd also decided to retire from working with Butcher, something that Ben wholeheartedly agreed with, especially now that you were pregnant. Sometimes you'd help out with something on the computer, but never in taking down a supe. It made you happier to work in the plant shop anyway, but didn't make you worry any less about Ben or everyone else.

The shop was doing well, and on weekends the store partnered with other businesses to host a block wide farmer's market, where you sold fruit, vegetables, dried herbs, hand crocheted goods, and jars of jam while Jake took the weekend off to visit his new girlfriend that he'd met when he went home for Christmas.

Ben may or may not have encouraged Jake to call her and you were sure it was so that Jake didn't get any ideas about how much time the two of you were spending together. You had an inkling that Ben still believed that you liked Jake no matter how many times that you proved to Ben you didn't.  You didn’t think that there was any competition between Ben and Jake, not when being with Ben made you feel alive in the best way and being with Jake was like being with an overactive golden doodle.

However, despite how many times you told Ben that he didn't need to come with you on his days off, he would sit beside you frowning, but following your movements with his eyes while you helped customers. Every so often you'd see a half-smile twitch on the end of his lips, happy that you were happy- but not happy to be there. It was a theme with your boyfriend, but you knew it stemmed from how much he loved you. Being in the plant shop and seeing Jake reminded you of that, because Ben had made sure that the shop re-opened for you and he had saved Jake's life for you. Ben had done more for you in the time that you'd been together than anyone else that you'd allowed into your life and into your bed.

Ben was it for you, and you were going to prove it every day for the rest of your life to him if that was what it took.

Days at the farmer’s market were fun. You would close down for an hour so Ben and you could wander to different booths to see what everyone else was selling.

Those days always felt normal. It reminded you of the farmer's market that your hometown had each Saturday and the same ones you dragged Annie to at the crack of dawn to get the first sample of freshly churned honey butter or the first sample of strawberry ice cream. When Ben and you walked hand in hand through the crowded marketplace stopping along the way to sample fruit, cheese, honey, and whatever else you could find with the warm sun on you back, it was the happiest you'd ever felt.

It was what you'd always wanted, the kind of relationship you’d longed to have for so long, the same one you’d seen growing up with your parents and grandparents, and the one you'd thought you'd never have.

You could see yourself marrying Ben. Odd given the first time you met, you'd thought he was just a big grumpy brute of a man with the attitude of a caveman and the impatience of a toddler. But now things were different, Ben was your caveman with an impatience of a toddler, and you'd never felt this way about anyone else.

You'd never wanted anyone like you wanted Ben and couldn't see a future without him in it. Even in the earlier months the two of you were dating, you could see your life unfolding before your eyes. It felt crazy because you’d never been one to rush into anything, but with Ben the things that used to hold you back from jumping into the great unknown disappeared.

These days the unknown seemed to grow larger and larger by the minute, but instead of feeling uncomfortable about not knowing, you felt free.

Of course, the pregnancy was holding the gold medal for biggest source of the unknown.

It had been a surprise to find out that you were pregnant two and a half months ago. Not completely, given how enthusiastic, insatiable, and eager your boyfriend was when it came to sex or really how you were when it came to him.

In all honesty, you couldn't blame it all on Ben.

You were just as responsible for this as him given how much you seemed to want him all the time. Surprising, because you were never like this with your high school boyfriend or in any of the other sporadic relationships you'd had in the past, but you supposed that it was just Ben, that there was something about him that made you lose all sense of self-control. You also figured that you let the self-control drive long enough when you refused to admit how much you cared about him and now you owed it to yourself to throw it all out the window and lose yourself in everything he was.  

That being said, you were terrified the moment you found out you were pregnant. Ben had been away on a mission and you'd had to wait a week for him to get back while you sat with your grandmother on your couch for days. You hadn't wanted to tell Ben yet and especially not over the phone.

It didn't seem like something you said over the phone anyway.

Your grandmother had shown up a few hours after you took the seventh test, because you hoped that there was some kind of mistake with the first six. She'd seen the future before you had a chance to pick up the phone and give her a call, but you were grateful that she was there.

You needed her.

Annie would have come too, but she was out of town on the same mission that Ben was. And you were afraid to call for fear that Ben would hear you say it over the phone with his supe hearing. Texting her that you were pregnant meant that it would be in print somewhere with evidence and you didn't want the possibility of Ben seeing it on Annie's phone.

That last part seemed a little far fetched, because you didn't know why Ben would have Annie's phone, but you were allowing yourself to have a mini-freak out, you were pregnant.

But no matter how many scenarios you discussed with your grandmother, it always came back to one thing, you loved Ben and you wanted to have a baby with him. You just weren't sure of the timing.

The two of you had only been together for ten months then, and although you couldn't imagine yourself with anyone else, you were hesitant.

Ben was still adjusting to everything in the future and introducing a kid into his life could be chaotic and messy. You also weren't sure if it was a good idea given how insane Ben's life had been for the past forty years and how hard you were trying to give him a sense of normalcy in the time you'd been together.

But then you'd thought about it more.

The shop was doing well, you loved Ben, he loved you, you did want kids, and you were so happy that it made you believe that it was the right time.

Ben had been excited when you told him, but then you both realized the bigger dilemma, your apartment. It was already small with the two of you, Rex, and Bean. Ben didn't fit in the shower or in your bed and he barely fit in your kitchen when the two of you were standing in it, which meant that adding a kid to the mix would only make the apartment smaller.

You'd looked at an apartment five months ago, only because you saw how excited he was about something so mundane and it made your heart warm to see that he wanted to build a life with you, but you had hated the apartment. It reminded you of the terrible one he'd had at Vought.

And the one Ben was taking you to see today wasn't much better. This was number seventeen and you didn't have high hopes.

Ben takes a left turn, going over a speed bump that you somehow can't feel inside the cab.  His car was fancier than what you were used to and brand new. Ben had proudly told you that they weren't selling them in the United States yet, which begged the question: how in the hell had he gotten it? It had enough switches inside to make you fear about the probability of an ejector seat.

The first time he’d picked you up in it, you were grateful he’d opened the door for you when you tried to get out because you were sure that it would have taken you twenty minutes to figure that out on your own. You’d thought that Ben would have at least sprung for a car that was more low tech or something that reminded him of the life he had in the past, but no.

And now he was talking about getting another car for you that was higher off the ground to make sure that the baby would be safe. He kept saying how he didn't like you walking around when he wasn't there to go with you and a car would be safer, despite your protests that you liked walking and didn't need a car.

You never thought that Ben would be this overprotective, you should have, given how he acted like a helicopter parent after everything with Elijah, but he was.

The pregnancy only made it worse.

He never let you walk in your neighborhood or to work without him, claiming that it "wasn't safe" as if you weren't a supe and couldn't handle yourself. Whenever you went to the grocery store Ben tagged along frowning at whoever walked by with a shopping cart as if they were a threat. When somebody dropped a glass pickle jar two aisles over a few days ago and Ben had grabbed you and put you behind him so fast it made you dizzy.

Now whenever you tried to leave the apartment, Ben insisted that he could do whatever errand it was that you were going to do faster, and he was always reluctant to leave you at the plant shop, stating that you "shouldn't be lifting things." You'd even caught him reading one of your pregnancy books when he thought you were in the shower and he'd lied and said that it fell on the floor and he was 'just picking it up.' That didn't explain how he knew exactly what you should be eating and what vitamins you needed to take.

But instead of teasing Ben about it, you kept your mouth shut because you thought it was cute how much Ben cared about you and how excited he was about the baby.  You knew that he'd been waiting for this for much longer than you.

You'd woken up a few days ago with Ben's head on your stomach listening to the baby's heart-beat while he thought you were asleep murmuring things under his breath that you couldn’t hear.

It was those moments that made any anxiety you had about being a parent fade, because you knew that you weren't alone in this, that Ben was with you and he wasn't going anywhere.

“He’s an amazing actor and he’s definitely going on the list of people I’m allowed to cheat on you with.” You snort mind flitting to images of Jeff Goldblum lounging on a table clad in black, looking much too sexy for someone who was attacked by a t-rex.

“You realize that no matter how long that list gets you’re still not allowed to do that right?”  Ben glances over at you with a frown.

Ben looked good today. His dark hair was a little longer than usual- he kept saying that he needed to get a haircut but never did-, he was wearing a pair of sunglasses that made him look dangerous and sexy, and the blue jeans he was wearing were some of your favorites. They were worn in just right and each time Ben wore them it made it difficult for you to form a single sentence. Of course, the thing that made you want to jump his bones even more was the fact that Ben was wearing the dark green sweater you made him for Christmas.

You had been so scared to give it to him, but since that day, Ben wore it whenever he could, and whenever the two of you were out and he would get a compliment, because he always did, Ben would say proudly "my girlfriend made it for me."

“Sure. Just like I’m sure that no matter how long that list gets for you, if you ever cheat on me I’ll castrate you.” You reply, scrolling to a different listing on your phone. This one had a nice view of Central Park, but the living room looked big enough to park four SUV's in. It was too much, too big, and too cold.

No matter how many different apartments you looked at in person or online, you never seemed to find one that felt like home. In each one you'd found something that you didn't agree with, whether it be the bathroom, the lack of a washer/dryer, the neighborhood, or the layout, nothing felt right and you were starting to worry. At this rate you were sure that your child would be old enough to move out before the two of you found somewhere to live. You wanted a place that reminded you of your home back in Illinois with your grandmother, someplace that felt warm, someplace that you could see yourself raising a family, and something that felt permanent.

Your fingers go to the locket around your neck, rubbing your thumb over the cool metal surface, tracing the grooves and pattern on the front to ease your anxiety. It had been Ben's mother's, one of the only things that he had left of her, but it was something that he wanted you to have. It was the most important gift that you'd ever gotten in your entire life, because you knew what it represented. Your boyfriend might not be good with his words or expressing his emotions, but this locket said everything he couldn't.

Ben's eyes trace over where you sit. "What's wrong Petals?"

"Nothing-"

Ben sighs "You've got that scrunch between your eyebrows sweetheart. We both know you can't lie to me."

You hesitate. "I don't like that we haven't found a place yet."

"That why you can't sleep?"

You bite the inside of your cheek and look down at your lap. You didn't know that Ben had noticed how you weren't sleeping well and it had nothing to do with not being able to find an apartment.

At first you thought that it was the pregnancy, as if the almost constant morning sickness wasn't enough, making you have worse dreams than normal was the icing on top of the cake. You'd had nightmares in the past about your parents, but these dreams were different. They were all about your brother Darren and each time he stood in front of you his skin and flesh melted away leaving nothing more than a flickering outline that buzzed and popped like a hot stove before it fizzled up and disappeared.

You had no idea what it meant, but you didn’t want to bring it up to Ben, not when he was so happy. So you choose not to answer his question.

"We're going to find a place, this just takes time." He continues.

"Not for me. Not usually. I chose my last apartment within a weekend-"

"And look at how shitty it is!" Ben huffs. "I can't believe that you lived there as long as you did without getting mugged."

"I am able to handle myself. And if you recall you have seen me fight off muggers."

Ben's frown deepens. "Don't remind me." You watch his eyes flick down to where your hand rests gently on your abdomen. "Look Petals, I know you like our apartment, but it's not just us anymore."

"I know."

"I don't want to raise our kid in that building with Mike blowing out my fucking eardrums every morning. And I could do without his mother trying to hump my leg like a bitch in heat every time I take out the trash."

Your eyes water just a little when Ben says the word ‘our.’ It solidified the thought that you weren’t alone in this, that Ben wasn’t going to leave you. You didn't really believe that he would, but it was nice to be reminded once in a while.

"Aww she's your biggest fan. And I seem to remember you being into older women before we were together-"

"And I seem to remember you saying that you would castrate me if I cheated on you."

"I will castrate you, but Mike's mother doesn't count. She's your hall pass, just like Jeff Goldblum is mine."

"No, he's not."

"Debatable."

"Petals." Ben growls, throwing you a dark look from over the console that sends a shiver down your spine.

Before Ben you never thought that jealousy was attractive, didn't think that it was cute when your high school boyfriend Newton got jealous when someone else talked to you, but Ben could make even the most annoying things look sexy.

"You should keep your eyes on the road Gramps, wouldn't want to get in an accident."

"I don't fucking care. Keep talking like that sweetheart and I'm going to pull the car over and make sure that my name is the only one on those perfect lips."

You arch an eyebrow in a silent challenge. "Promise?"

"And you say it's me that always gets us into trouble." Ben chuckles with a dark look.

The car comes to a stop and you turn away from Ben's hypnotic gaze to stare out the window, expecting to see the beautiful all glass front of the apartment that was way out of your price range, but instead the car is sitting outside a house in quiet neighborhood overhung with large trees that weave together in a canopy over the street.

The house is three stories, made of red brick, the small yard in front is fenced with black wrought iron with a garden box lying beyond the metal spikes where someone has tried to grow plants, but was not having any success. There's a dark painted archway over the black door that boldly has the number of the home written in gold, and a large round window dominates the space to the left of the door cut into the red brick, that is partially obscured by a mass of tangled vines which cling to the outside of the house.

"So we're going to have sex in your car outside of this house? Feels like the homeowner's association will have a field day." You watch a couple walk past with matching dalmatians and cashmere sweaters. "Or we'd get arrested for public indecency when fido and fido's girlfriend call 911."

"Maybe later."

"Well then why did you stop? Did you get lost?" You turn to look at him. "It's okay if you did, I won't make fun of you-" You pause. "Never mind, I can't promise that."

Ben rolls his eyes. "No, I didn't get lost. I wanted you to see this place."

"Ben this is a house." You emphasize the word, your eyes widening. "Remember when we had the conversation about trying to get an apartment so I could at least help you with the rent."

It had been an awkward conversation, you felt bad about making him try to reign in something that made him so excited.

Now that you were part owner of the plant shop you were getting a little more money and didn't need to rely so heavily on Ben, but you still didn't like taking his money. Your grandmother had always instilled in you the importance of being independent and you'd never relied on someone the way you relied on Ben.

You'd always felt the need to prepare yourself for the worst, for having a back up plan if things didn't work out, and you were realizing just how much weight you put on your shoulders each day. Ben wanted to lighten the load, you knew that, but you were trying your best to put more trust in him, inching out from beneath the piano on your shoulders by letting him do more and more for you.

It was still hard.

"Petals." Ben touches your cheek, eyes softening and making your next words dry up. He didn't often do things like that in public, but each time he did it made you feel like warm butter on a hot stove.

When Ben had started calling you that a year ago it annoyed you to no end, but now he said it affectionately, with love and hope in his eyes, and it stirred something deep down.

"Let’s just look at this one. And if you don't like it, I promise I'll drive to whatever apartment you want me to okay?"

"But it's a-" You protest, but you lean into his touch.

"I know it's a house."

"Are you sure? They say that the eyes are the first thing to go, especially with someone your age Gramps."

He huffs out a breath in annoyance. "I don't know why I put up with this shit."

"Because you loooveee me." You coo poking his cheek.

The look in Ben's eyes softens again, slowly tracing down your form to your belly again, before coming back up to your face. "Only because you annoy me so much."

"Exactly." You reach for what you believe is the door handle and Ben's smile drops into a frown.

You retract your hand. “It’s not the door handle is it?”

“Not in case you want to crawl out the window.”

“I do like to make an entrance.”

“You always do baby. Even when you’re not trying.” Ben winks and gets out of the car, walking around the back to open the door for you.

“Thank you.” You say taking his hand without hesitation.

The house looks even bigger when you gaze up at it from the sidewalk, but you can't help but admit that the house is beautiful in it's own way. It has more character than the other ones on the street that look like carbon copies of one another. It wore it's weirdness like a badge of honor, just like you always had.

And even with the small garden out front filled with dead plants that rot in the wooden garden box and the tangled vines that cover the circular front window, you can see the potential it has.

"I like the trees." You say, gesturing with the hand that's not holding on to Ben's at the canopy of large oak trees over the road that block the brilliant sunlight and leave the imprint of their outstretched branches on the pavement.

"I thought you would." Ben squeezes your hand.

"So where's our realtor?" You glance around the empty road for the sleek black Mercedes that "Tina," aka the most nosy woman in the world and your realtor, drove, but you don't see it.

"She said that she wanted to give us some space." He tugs you forward, opening the gate as he does.

"Thank God. If she tried to touch my stomach one more time or eye fuck you when she thought I wasn't looking, I was going to perform open heart surgery on her with her stilettos."

"Would have loved to see that Petals. Maybe I should have let her come today."

"Do you remember how strong Homelander was? Because I'm about to show you that he was nothing compared to a pregnant woman scorned." You warn, but Ben only laughs at you.

Your gaze falls to the attempted garden. Rosebushes, lavender, tulips, and many other flowers lie in states of decay choked with weeds, while other plants that you can't identify lie shriveled up and brown on the darkened soil. It tugs at your heart to see them that way, unloved and uncared for, left to curl up and die.

You feel your eyes shift to green calling forth the flowers, bringing them to the light, drawing them upwards to unfurl in the light of the sun and absorb the healing rays. The plants brighten and explode with pops of color that fuse the front of the house with new life and jasmine flowers bloom along the ivy that crawls up the side of the house sending the comforting smell over you as it takes on a more controlled woven tapestry rather than the chaotic snarl it was moments ago. Bougainvillea stretches up to weave itself above the front door, the dark red blooms contrasting with the black door. The circular window winks at you, and through the glass you can just barely see a hint of lightly painted walls beyond.

Your gaze falls to the small area in front of the house.

You could see yourself out here wearing your gardening hat with Bean and Rex sunning themselves in the sunlight while you weed with sweat sticking your shirt to your back and while dirt stains your fingers. Your eyes flick to the empty front steps, imagining Ben and you sitting there with cups of coffee steaming beside the two of you, with your head against his shoulder reading the paper he has open in front of him.

No, not thinking that. This is a house. Ben and I are looking for an apartment.

"Couldn't help yourself could you Petals?" Ben murmurs, dragging your attention back to him.

"No. Though I might want a commission from helping the seller with the curb appeal."

Ben rolls his eyes, but pulls you up the cheerful concrete steps to the black door before he takes a key from his pocket.

You eye it suspiciously.

"Tina gave it to me." He says with a shrug.

"That better be the only thing she gave you." Your eyes narrow, thinking of all the things that Tina could have done to your boyfriend when you weren't around.

"Jealous?" Ben's smile slips into a smirk. "Need I remind you of all the things you said you were going to let Jeff Goldblum do to you?"

"Need I remind you about the threat of castration?"

Ben leans down towards you, his breath warm against your ear, so close that you could smell his cologne. "We both know that you like what I do to you too much to cut it off Petals, especially now."

A pleasurable shiver traces your spine with his words and as much as you hated to admit it, Ben was right. As insatiable as you'd been for Ben before you were pregnant, now it had only multiplied ten fold.

In the first few weeks of your pregnancy you couldn’t have imagined wanting to have sex with Ben, the near constant morning sickness, swollen breasts, and nausea left little to be desired, but as you slowly began to inch into your second trimester you felt a change. It was like a switch had flipped. Yes the morning sickness came in waves, but your hormones bumped around inside from sick, to sad, to angry, to loving, to aroused so fast it didn’t matter for long and you were both reaping the benefits. Ben was eager to help you in any way he could and due to his supe enhancements he was able to keep up and keep you more than happy.

You fist your hand in the front of his shirt to pull his face down to yours, lips inches apart, your eyes narrowed, but pupils blown with lust. "Don't tease me right now Gramps."

"Wouldn't dream of it doll." Ben purrs, his eyes darkening.

Fuck.

You didn’t want to give in, but whenever Ben looked at you like that it made your skin heat and your heartbeat feel like thunder, vibrating through your entire body.

Ben leans towards you, but just before your lips touch his, he scoops you up into his arms and crosses the threshold.

“Ben what the hell are you doing?” You laugh, pushing at his chest.

“What? Was I not supposed to carry you across?” He pretends to be surprised.

“That’s only if we’re married dummy and this isn’t our house.”

“Oh well then it’s good practice.” Ben smirks and finally kisses you, drawing you tighter against his chest for a few precious seconds. It wasn't the kiss you expected a moment ago, this kiss was hungry, but not rushed, passionate, but not aggressive, and yet it was all consuming.

You sigh into his mouth, holding the front of his shirt tightly. You’d never gotten used to how it felt to kiss him, how everything else melted away except for him and you. Even when you’d hated him, Ben still knew exactly how to kiss you to take away all your inhibitions.

You could easily see yourself spending the rest of your life with him. And given the revelation that you potentially could live forever, it meant even more. You know that it made Ben feel good too. That he was relieved that he wouldn’t have to be alone ever again, that he could love someone the way he loved you and be unafraid of losing you.

Ben pulls back a wide smirk on his face. "I'm sorry wasn't that what you wanted? For me to bring you inside?" The look in his eyes shifts to amusement with his taunt. "Or were you thinking about me fucking you against the front door for fido and his girlfriend to see?"

"Shut up." Your cheeks heat in embarrassment that your boyfriend could read you that well.

"Because I didn’t think you were into that kind of thing Petals, but if you want we can go back outside and-"

You force his face down to yours, shutting him up the only way you know how. Ben groans into your mouth as your hands work their way up into his hair to hold him in place, your lips fervently moving against his as the warmth of arousal begins to thrum through your veins and pool in the pit of your stomach.

You pull back out of breath, fingers still tangled in Ben's long hair, your gaze locking on his. Ben's eyes are dark, lips curved up into a knowing smirk that, if Ben wasn't holding you in his arms, would make your legs give out. One of his arms is underneath your knees, but the other is around your chest, and you can feel Ben's hand fitting comfortably over the bump hidden beneath your t-shirt, absorbing the steady thud of your child's heartbeat against the palm of his hand. Something lurked behind the familiar green in his eyes, something that you could feel bubbling up in your own chest the longer you stared at him.

"Come on I want you to see the house." Ben mutters pressing one more kiss against your lips before he gently places you on the hardwood floor.

"I know. Stop distracting me." You say as you flip your hair over your shoulder.

"I'm a wonderful distraction. Wouldn't mind distracting you a little longer." His arm comes up to wrap tight around your waist, pulling your back into his chest. Ben’s lips trail down to your neck, nipping at the smooth flesh of your throat.

“Ben.” You half moan, leaning back into him. "Please."

"I know baby." He hums. "But lets look at the house first. After I'll give you what you need."

"Tease." You mutter under your breath earning a chuckle from Ben.

The two of you are standing in a foyer with a large staircase in front of you that leads to the second and third story of the house. A lightly painted hallway stretches beyond it, and a living room lies to the left through a wide doorway. The interior of the house is a mix of old and new, vintage and modern, with warm colored hardwood floors running throughout, lightly painted walls, and with dark colored wooden baseboards and door frames.

It reminded you of your grandmother's house back in Illinois and even without furniture the inside of this house felt like home. It wasn't drafty, too white, too new, too old, or too cold- it existed in the perfect harmony that Ben and you had been looking for since you started looking for an apartment.

No. This is a house. This is the complete opposite of what Ben and I are looking for.

You remind yourself as you walk into the small room to the left of the front door. There's a giant fireplace on the opposite wall with neatly placed built ins on either side. Natural sunlight came through the large circular window on the front of the house, giving you a view of the garden you'd reinvigorated with new life and the quiet street overhung with trees outside.

You could see yourself reading quietly on a plush armchair in the corner while Bean and Rex sunned themselves on the wooden floors or sitting on a couch and cuddling with Ben under a blanket in front of the fireplace when it got too cold outside, nestling into his warmth to keep the chill at bay.

You drift through the other doorway across from the circular window that leads into a dining room area. It has the same wonderfully natural colored hardwood floor so soft you were sure that it would feel like butter beneath your bare feet. You run a finger tip over the wooden doorway, feeling the smooth, strong wood beneath your hand. You could still see notches in the boards from where another family had measured how tall their children were growing with every passing year and it made you smile to yourself.

This house had character, had a history. It wasn't built in haste to house a population of people who probably would spend more time out than in, it was built with love and care, and had charm. It was what the apartments that Ben and you had seen wasn't.

Ben hovers behind you silently, watching you move through the space with curiosity. He drinking in your expressions and trying to see what you thought. You had no idea how he found this place, not when the two of you had been looking at huge modern apartments in buildings that weren't more than a year old.

The kitchen is even more impressive.

It's modern, with stainless steel appliances, light granite countertops, and a dark green backsplash, but somehow still holds some of the vintage charm that merges seamlessly together with the new appliances.

You could see yourself making jams for the farmer's market at the stove, making dinner for your family or sitting with Annie at the counter with glasses of wine lamenting over everything Hughie and Ben did to annoy the two of you while secretly loving them all the more for it. You could see yourself dancing with Ben to ABBA while the lights were low and he got home from work, just as you had seen your parents do years ago and imagined a vase filled with flowers on the counter that Ben brought home just because he felt like it, not because it was a special occasion. Ben did that for you every week, brought home flowers because he knew how much they made you smile.

"This kitchen is huge!" You exclaim, spreading your arms out to twirl in a circle. "Annie and Hughie could fit in here too!"

Ben frowns at your mention of Hughie.

"What?" You lean over the counter to stare at Ben. "You know that if we get a bigger place they're going to come over for dinner more often right? I'm thinking Friday nights they could come over for dinner and a movie-"

It was a tradition that your parents had started, that Annie and you carried on when they died, and now Ben picked up the slack. Spending Friday nights on the couch under a blanket eating greasy pizza out of the box had seemed like a foreign concept for Ben, but now it was him that always made sure that he was home on Friday nights to make it to movie night so you could cuddle up against him under the warm blankets.

"I think we see them enough." Ben leans on his side of the counter across from you with a frown. "Plus, I thought that you would like a kitchen a little bit bigger to make me dinner."

“Or maybe," You tap your chin as if deep in thought, eyes narrowing. "The kitchen is big enough for you to start pulling your weight. Doing the dishes, cleaning up, trying to make dinner for your pregnant girlfriend-“ You count off on your fingers.

“How long are you going to use that excuse?”

“For the next 7ish months or so."

Ben huffs out a laugh and rolls his eyes at you, while you continue to move through the kitchen.

There's a giant living area just beyond that you can imagine Ben and you sitting on the couch in front of a TV watching another one of his ridiculous films or see you and your child sitting on the couch reading a book together while Ben sits beside you with his arm around your shoulders. You didn't know the sex of the baby, wanted to wait a little longer to see how things progressed before you found out.

But each day it became more real.

You could hear the pitter patter of feet across the floor and the squeals of an imaginary child racing through with Ben hot on their heels trying to catch them, could see a child with a smaller Rex wrapped around the back of their shoulders feeding him bits of strawberries, and could see a child in a highchair while Ben and you tried to feed them spaghetti. Your left hand drops to your belly again as you think of what the future could look like and the longer that you stand inside this house the more you can see yourself living here with Ben, having a life here together.

You hadn't seen that anywhere else that the two of you had gone to see in the past few months. It made all of this even more real.

I'm going to be a mom.

The thought lodged in the back of your throat. You were excited, but you were also a little worried. You didn't know the first thing about being a mom and no matter how many books you read or how many blogs you found, you felt underprepared.

Not to mention you could still remember all the videos that you'd had to watch in middle school about childbirth that were made to scare students into being celibate and it only made your anxiety worse.

"What are you thinking about Petals?" Ben asks, coming around the counter and turning you in his arms. His face is twisted into a concerned frown.

Tears were building behind your eyes now, your emotions getting the best of you. It was easy for you to cry about nothing at all, but this was different. Your future was slipping through your fingers, unfolding in front of you in this house. It reminded you of how you'd felt for the past few years when all you wanted was to fall in love and be loved by someone. The lovesick feeling that followed you around as you tried your best to find a man who would make you happy the way that Hughie made Annie happy, but never seemed to find the right one before you met Ben.

"This place it's perfect, but-"

"But what?" Ben's thumb brushes the tears away, eyes focused on you. Whenever Ben looked at you like that you thought that he could see through you to the pieces that no one else ever cared to uncover.

"It's a house." You breathe leaning into his touch.

"And you don't like it?"

"No, I love it." You whisper, but you feel a little frustrated. "I can see us here. See a ridiculously big Christmas tree in that corner," You point to the living room. "See breakfasts on this counter," you gently slide your hand along the marble countertop. "See us watching movies in the living room on our couch and see our kids running around outside in that back yard." You gesture to the all glass back wall of the house where there's a finished patio and a surprisingly large lawn outside, but stranger is the giant greenhouse that sits just beyond.

"So what's the problem?"

"I mean… it's not what we talked about. Can we even afford this?"

You knew that Ben could afford it, you just weren't sure about you. 

Ben is quiet for a minute, before he takes your hand and tugs you in the direction of the backyard. "I want you to see something."

"Something? The house isn't-"

"There's one more thing." He squeezes your hand and takes you outside.

There is a canopy of trees that shields the patio from the sun overhead that has begun to descend behind the houses on the street, the clouds turning a burnished gold in the light as it says goodbye. 

The two of you follow the path of stones neatly laid in the lush grass, leading to the greenhouse that looks much bigger than it did from inside. It easily reaches to the second story of the house and has a black iron skeleton that holds together the pieces of glass artfully placed in different shapes and sizes.

Ben turns to look at you. "Close your eyes."

"What?"

"Do you trust me Petals?" He looks at you, his green eyes catching yours, wide and open. You knew that he knew the answer to that question, but you also knew that Ben never believed that someone like you could or should trust him.

You promised yourself when the two of you started dating that you would make Ben feel special each day the same way he made you feel special and made Ben understand that you loved him and you weren't going anywhere.

The things that Countess did to him still weighed on his heart, but you were happy to see that after one year with you, Ben was different. He was more open to telling you what he was feeling, (one word answers), he was more open to sharing memories with you, (only a sentence usually), and Ben was getting comfortable using the word "love." It had taken him a solid three months to say it, but Ben didn't need to say it, you knew it was true long before he uttered it aloud.

"Of course I do." You lean into him, your free hand coming to rest on his chest. There was a slight chill on the edge of the wind, a promise of winter, but the warmth of Ben's body shields you from the breeze.

"Then close your eyes." He repeats.

There's something dancing in his expression that you can't place, but your gaze travels down to his shoulders and you realize that Ben is nervous. You'd never seen your boyfriend nervous in a while, the last time was when he gave you the locket that hung between your collar bones.

But you do as he says and he brings you inside. "Okay, open."

When you do, your heart stutters to a stop in shock.

The greenhouse isn't empty. There are rows of citrus trees with lemons, oranges, and tangerines, apple trees with bright red fruit, potted blueberry plants, vegetables, and herb plants sitting on low tables, woven vines of raspberry and blackberry plants on trellises that cover the walls, and a collection of potted strawberry plants one of which is in a pot that looks a lot like the one that Darren broke when he came through the window of your apartment one year ago.

There's a circular staircase to the left of the door that would take you up to a second story where there are even more plants, but also a sitting area that feels warm and bright, and has a fan hanging over to make sure that it stayed just a little cool in the warm month. It would be the perfect place to read and relax, more so than the room inside you noticed when you walked into the house.

On the bottom floor there is a potting bench surrounded by flowering plants pushed against the right wall where new tools hang and colorful pots are placed. There's also an obscene amount of bagged potting soil stacked up higher than you are tall just to the left of it.

You gently lay your hand on the wood of the bench to feel how soft it is. The wood has been sanded down to be smooth as silk and you look to the right to see that next to it, is a identical bench but smaller with tools made of plastic for a child and a small apron that matched the one hanging from a hook fastened to the greenhouse wall.

Is that for-

The thought stutters to a halt. You didn't understand why this was here. A greenhouse in New York City wasn't odd, but the fact that there was one almost two stories tall and contained everything you might need to expand the farmer's market you had grown to love so much at the back of this house was odd.

There's a potted gardenia sitting on top of the bench and the bright smell brings the gentle comfort of home as the delicate flowers bend towards you.

Being in here is the same way you feel whenever you're in the plant shop. You could feel the new life curling beneath the soul, feel the thrum of energy from the plants that turned towards you expectantly, and feel the way your powers reached out to them to offer a healing hand.

"Ben, why is this here?" You ask confused.

 Ben clears his throat. "You know I hate that fucker, but he works fast."

"Who?" You turn to him.

"Jake." Ben says simply. He's leaning against the doorway watching you with an unreadable expression.

"Jake did this?" You gesture to the greenhouse full of plants, enough plants that you would be able to supply the farmer's market each week without batting an eye. Now, you used the plants in your apartment, but there never seemed to be enough to keep up with the demand, but here-

Wait a minute this is crazy. This isn't our house. What the hell is going on?

“I thought you needed a little more product and he told me he’d take care of it.”

"But why was Jake-"

"I figured it out Petals, why none of those other places felt right." He interrupts. "I didn't get it before, why you didn't like the apartments we went to see, why you kept finding something wrong with them. Fuck, I made fun of you for saying shit like 'the ceiling is too high,' but as soon as I found this place I knew it was right."

"What are you talking about?" You still didn't understand why any of this was here.

Why would Ben want Jake to bring all these plants here if we're just looking at this house.

“I lied." Ben crosses his arms over his chest and rolls his shoulders as if it makes him uncomfortable to admit it.

“About what?” You frown.

Ben didn't like lying to you, you knew that, and you liked how brutally honest Ben was about everything.  Trust was a two way street between the two of you, and just as Ben didn't lie to you, you didn't lie to him- well… Ben always seemed to know when you were lying, but that didn't change the fact that you didn't like lying to him.

“I didn’t tell Tina not to come today and we were never going to see that apartment. I told you that to get you to come with me.”

“Why?” You draw out the word still confused.

“Because I already bought this house.” Ben smiles tightly.

“You WHAT?!” You screech eyes widening. “Why?!”

“For the same reason you said Petals, it’s perfect.”

“But- But-" You don't know how to respond to what he's admitted. "You said we were just looking! That this place is-"

Ben shakes his head with a sigh as he takes a step closer to where you stand. "It's funny that I lived this long and still somehow happened to fall in love with someone a little more old-fashioned, but I fucking love that about you, that you're not like anyone else." He reaches across the space to take your hand in his, the warm calloused palm fitting perfectly over yours.

"What does that have to do with the house?”

"Apartments don't feel permanent, not to you, they feel temporary, but a house… it makes this real." Ben swallows. "And I want this to be real."

You blink in confusion, worried about him. "Ben, what are you talking about?" You squeeze his hand trying to comfort him. "This is real." Your free hand comes up to cup his bearded cheek, that prickles against your skin. "I love you. Nothing is going to change that. Not the baby or where we live or-"

"I know that." He laughs. "I mean this." Ben gestures with his free hand to the greenhouse and then back at the home behind the two of you. "There's room for our kid and for as many as you'll let me give you. There's room for Diana, and even though I know she'd rather die in that house in Illinois than move here,  I'm going to try my damndest to get her here so she can be with you. I know how much you miss her. And as much as I hate the idea, there's even room for Annie and fucking Hughie if they want to stay the night." He grumbles with a sigh. "It's a good neighborhood, so I won't have to worry about you getting mugged or some shit when I'm stuck with that British fuck somewhere else, and it's close to schools that my old man would have probably liked, but I want our kids to be safe and have a good education."

“But-“

“I know it’s a house.” Ben breathes. “But just listen for a minute.”

You swallow the lump in the back of your throat, more tears building in your eyes. It was hard to be angry with him over something that you wanted as much as he did. And the truth was, you weren't angry with him for buying the house. It again represented the one thing that you'd told Ben that night at Vought, that you liked gifts that meant something, and standing here in the greenhouse that Ben had made sure was filled with enough plants to support your dream in the backyard of the house Ben bought not only for you but for your children, made you want to melt into a puddle.

Because Ben was ensuring the two of you had a future, that your children had a future, and you didn't think that you could love him any more than you already did.

“When I took you to Vought I didn't know any better. I was comparing you to the women I used to fuck around with and what they would have wanted, what they would have thought was special." Ben's jaw tightens and you wonder if he's thinking about Countess. "But I wanted to give you that life because I thought it's what you would want and because I wanted to take care of you, but I was wrong." Ben gestures with his free hand back to the house again and then looks at you, the sunlight catching the flecks of gold in his eyes like stars. "This is what you want Petals. This life. A house on a quiet street away from it all where you can garden and read and exist in a world that isn't fucked up with supes and compound V."

You’re speechless now, tears trailing down your cheeks.

“I’ve lived in a lot of different places and I forgot what it was like to have a home and for the longest time I didn’t understand what I was missing. I had money, I had fame, I had women willing to do whatever I wanted, and I had people worshipping me, but I was missing something.” He trails his thumb over your cheek again with a soft smile. “Turns out it was you. You’re fucking annoying, you get under my skin, you make me feel like a complete asshole when I make you cry, you somehow find some little thing to complain about when I do something for you-“

“Again why do you always sound like you’re insulting me whenever you try to confess how you feel?” You laugh, but it comes out more of a sob.

“Shut up.” Ben rolls his eyes with a sigh, but there’s not bite to his words. “You always interrupt me.”

“Because you always insult me!” You rub at your eyes with the back of your hand.

“I have told you on numerous fucking occasions that I’m not good with words!”

“But-“

“Shh.” He puts his hands on your cheeks. “You're so different than anyone I've ever met. You drive me fucking crazy. Any other man would have jumped off a building by now, but-“ He shakes his head with a wide smile. “I fucking love it and I'm so fucking lucky that you decided to love me."

"You didn't give me much choice. It was you that insisted on living in my shitty apartment." You breathe, your hands moving up the soft fabric of his t-shirt to rest against his chest. "I did my best to drive you away, but you wouldn't leave. And you call me stubborn."

"Nothing you could have done would have driven me away Petals." His hand falls to where yours rests on his chest, and gently holds your wrist. "Nothing you can do will drive me away. Not now, not ever."

The love in his eyes makes your lungs stop working. He was looking at you the way you always wanted someone to, as if he could see past flesh and bone and into your soul and saw your worth, as if Ben saw every little piece of you that you tried to hide and didn't care.

"And nothing that you've done will drive me away Ben." You whisper leaning in to him. "You can't change the past."

"I know." He swallows tightening his grip on your wrist. “And I know you keep saying that you don’t want me to pay for everything because you want to be more independent, and you’re worried that we can’t afford this, but fuck even if you told me you wanted to stay in that shitty apartment building, I’d buy the whole thing and make everyone leave just to make sure that you and our kid is safe."

Determination flickers in his eyes and you believe it, because you know that Ben would do anything for you. 

"But I knew the moment I saw this house that this was what you wanted, that this life is what you've wanted. I know that you like to do things for yourself, but I didn’t buy the house because I didn't think that you couldn’t help me… it’s because I wanted to do this for you. I like doing things for you because I love you.”

"I love you too." You smile up at him a little misty eyed, but happy.

Ben's jaw tightens for a moment before he says his next words. "I'm not going to lie, I've imagined this kind of life before when I was with Countess."

You fight the wave of anger that surges with her name in your chest. You hated her for what she did to Ben and what she did to your grandmother, and wished that before Ben blew her to kingdom come, you had an hour with her to show her what it was like to get poison ivy shoved up her ass.

But it was unusual of Ben to mention her. He didn't often bring her up in conversation.

"I started imagining it after I visited Diana. I saw how happy she was with your grandfather and with your dad when he was a kid. I wanted that. But each time I tried to imagine what it was like with Countess, it never fit, something was wrong. And I know now that it's because it wasn't with you. It never looked like the life we have together and I wouldn't trade that for another second of fame."

"Ben-" You breathe his name, tears cresting over your cheeks.

"The moment I walked in the front door of this place I knew it was right. I knew this was the place that we were going to raise our children. I see us here too Petals. I see myself coming through the front door and you fucking tackling me because you can't wait long enough for me to close the door. I see us on the couch in front of the fire making love. I see you upstairs in the nursery painting the walls with paint in your hair even though I told you I was going to do it. I see you singing a fucking ABBA song while you rock our child in your arms. And I see you out here in this greenhouse doing what you love and me being happy because I know you're safe and I don't have to worry that I'm going to get home and you won't be there or worse." Ben's jaw tightens at the thought. "I want this with you for the rest of my life and I don't care if I sound like a fucking pussy for admitting that."

Ben drops down to one knee

"Wait what are you-" You begin to say, but Ben pulls a small box out of his pocket that makes you forget how to breathe entirely.

"So I’m asking you to let me give this to you and to our children, because I feel like I’m finally coming home and I don’t want to be anywhere else, just with you."

You stand there for a moment speechless, staring down at where Ben is on one knee. "Are you asking me to move in with you?" You try to smirk at your joke, remembering what Ben asked you the night he came home.

"No." Ben smiles opening the box. "I'm asking you to marry me."

You'd like to say that the ring is beautiful, but truthfully you don't look at it. As soon as the words are out of Ben's mouth you throw yourself against him so hard that he loses his balance and tumbles back onto the pavement, while catching you on top of him to make sure that no part of you hits the ground and make sure the baby is safe.

"Wha-" He begins to say, but you shut him up, your mouth falling against his so hard that you think that you hear the click of your teeth, but you can't stop.

Not when the man below you has your whole heart and had it the second you let him spend the night in your apartment all those months ago, not when he has been everything you needed for so long that the thought of him leaving would destroy you, and not when he is the only person in the world who sees all of you and asked for more.

Ben's body relaxes under yours as he deepens the kiss, drinking you in like he can't get enough, his hands coming up to hold you tighter against him, before he flips you over onto the ground as gently as he can so he's hovering over you. His dark hair is falling forward into his face, eyes bright with mischief, as he stares down at you.

"Is that a yes?" He smirks.

"It's a maybe." Your hands entwine at the back of his neck. "If you reconsider the hall pass option with Jeff Goldblum."

Ben kisses you so hard you see stars. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

"You know you love it, and I plan on annoying you for the rest of my life Gramps. You should get used to it."

"Do you promise Petals?" Ben breathes against your lips, eyes focused on yours.

"I promise. You're stuck with me."

"I can't imagine anything better sweetheart." He kisses you again, but pulls back with a unreadable expression. "Are you mad I lied?” He breathes against your lips.

“No. Because I lied too.”

“About what?” Ben looks confused.

“All of this. It isn’t what I imagined. It isn't what I thought falling in love would look like. It isn't what I expected and it's different than what I told you at that fundraiser.” Your fingers curl into the hair at the nape of his neck to hold him above you, refusing to let him go for even a second.

Ben's smirk drops into a worried frown that you kiss away, the warmth of his body around you like a warm bath.

“It’s better.” You breathe against his lips, watching the way his eyes brighten.

When he looked at you like that it made you feel like you'd swallowed the sun and it was bursting out of your fingertips. You never wanted to lose his lovelight and you wanted to spend the rest of your life being his.

The world outside the greenhouse falls away and you're left with Ben, the man you couldn't help but fall head over heels with the night you decided to take a chance.

A/N: I'm not crying, it's just raining on my face 😭. This reader and this version of Soldier Boy hold such a special place in my heart. Oh goodness I didn't think that we'd ever get here, but wow😊. This fic series wasn't just me writing, it was me being filled with the constant love and support of all of y'all helping me towards the goal and I am so grateful for everyone who reblogged, commented, liked, and loved the story just as much as I did 💗. I could not have done this without y'all. I am going to write a mini-series for them and I have some fic ideas for the two of them, so it is not goodbye completely, it's just I'll see you in a little while. Seriously though, thank you so much to everyone 🥰

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[venus-haze]

Your Name in Lights - Chapter 1 (Soldier Boy x Reader)

Summary: Nothing could have prepared you for your big break, co-starring in one of Soldier Boy's movies and the undeniable chemistry the two of you have on- and off-set. [AO3 Link | Masterlist]

Note: Woman reader, but no other descriptors are used. I left the time period intentionally ambiguous, but it has some '50s/'60s classic Hollywood vibes. The actress you're replacing and the director are made up for this fic.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: Period-typical misogyny. Implied age gap. Power imbalance. Soldier Boy is his own warning.

Sweat gathered at your brow under the bright studio lights, and you hoped it wouldn't show in the costume test photos being taken. You turned to the side at the photographer's direction, wondering what the hell you were even testing for in the first place. Your manager had called you at nearly five in the morning, telling you to come to the studio right away, because if you didn't, some other starlet would get the part. Practically everyone in the room looked stressed, from the costume designer with her furrowed brow to her assistant, hovering near the clothing rack.

"I'm sorry," you began, taking the dress that was handed to you once your navy blue sweater-skirt combo was adequately documented. Sleek, black, with a slit up the side. Obviously for a nightclub scene. You hadn't done many of those. "What movie is this for, again?"

"The latest Soldier Boy picture," your manager Frank said, following you behind the privacy screen toward the back of the room to help you into the dress. You'd long since foregone any sense of modesty around him, the only person looking out for you in Tinseltown.

"In what role?" You wiggled into the dress and peeked around the screen. "This is gonna have to be taken in around the bust."

"Are you kidding? You're the leading lady," he said, zipping up the dress for you.

Your eyes widened. "What happened to Olivia Yearly? I heard months ago that she was cast in Soldier Boy's latest picture."

"Stormed off set and quit. She's a real diva."

"But she's Olivia Yearly, and I'm—"

"You're gonna be a hundred Olivia Yearlys if you play your cards right with this one."

"I haven't even auditioned or done a screen test. How did they find me?"

"Audiences liked you in your last few pictures. It was the people over at Vought who wanted to take a chance on you," Frank said, letting you steady yourself on his shoulder as you slipped on the heels that accompanied the dress. Of course Vought had the muscle to get just about any studio to lend out their stars to them, who could pass up being in a movie with a superhero? "Besides, this way Soldier Boy won't have to share top billing, and obviously you won't be getting an Olivia Yearly salary, so it's a win-win for them."

"Frank—"

"Don't worry, kid, you're not getting stiffed."

"That's not what I'm worried about."

"They only filmed two scenes, small ones, from what I've heard, so it's not a big reshoot. You'll get the script this afternoon, the writers are changing a few things, a little less femme fatale, you know? I told them that's not your image."

You sighed. That wasn't your worry either, but Frank already had his mind made up. You'd only recently gotten fourth or fifth billing in your movies. Soldier Boy had been America's favorite leading man and a guaranteed box office draw for as long as he'd been on screen. It'd be a big break for you, the kind you always dreamed of. "Okay, let's give it a shot."

"Attagirl."

The script you received wasn't the most imaginative or groundbreaking, but it was good, a solid film noir that softened its femme fatale lead, the sultry Laura becoming the ingenue Laurie to accommodate introducing you to a wider audience next to Soldier Boy of all people. A sweet girl who'd become his partner and confidant as the plot progressed, eventually his lover by the end of the film. After all, Soldier Boy always got the girl.

From the moment he stepped into your powder pink dressing room, any notions you may have had about your co-star's clean-cut persona went out the window. The smell of marijuana took you aback. You recognized it, knew to stay the hell away from it unless you wanted a scandal that ended your career before it even began.

Still, you tried to be gracious and courteous, thanked him for taking a chance on you, let yourself giggle at the compliment he threw your way about how the makeup artist wasn't going to have a thing to do as long as you were in the picture. Except he steered the conversation clear off course. You supposed he expected you to be more naive than you let on, but you'd been around the industry to know better, tried to stay as professional as possible even though he kept pushing it.

"You know, if you ever wanna run lines, just you and me, I got a suite up at the Chateau Marmont," he said. "All the privacy you could want, get to know each other better."

"That won't be necessary," you said as politely as you could. "Thank you for the offer, though."

"Are you a virgin?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well, it's either that, or you're frigid as hell. I can relieve whatever your issue is, sweetheart. You just say the word."

Your face heated up, and you turned away from him. "I'd like you to go now, please."

"Suit yourself," he said. "See you on set."

As soon as you heard the door shut, you reached for the glass of ice water on your vanity with a shaky hand and brought it to your forehead, staring at your bewildered expression in the brightly lit mirror in front of you.

No wonder Olivia Yearly quit, though you didn't dare imagine what he could've possibly said to her. But you had to try, if not for your own career, then for Frank's sake. He believed in you, even when you were just starting out in an industry that you'd seen cannibalize so many others. He must have pulled some impossible strings just to get you this role. You weren't going to let an unpleasant co-star ruin the opportunity of a lifetime.

Except he almost did, as you faltered ad fumbled your way through your scenes with him that first day. Frustration radiated off of the crew, and every time award-winning director Julian Garrett yelled 'cut', he sounded tired, as if he wondered if the movie were ever going to be made. They were all doing you a favor, especially the people at Vought, giving you a chance, and you had yet to prove you earned it. You knew if you didn't get it together, you wouldn't have another chance to.

Standing next to Soldier Boy by the facade of a made-up bar, you pushed your hair out of your face as a giant fan just out of frame kicked on to fabricate a windy night. The chill, the uncertainty, the tension, all set up perfectly for the scene.

"Haven't you ever had that feeling? Where you know something's not right, but you can't explain why?"

He nodded. "Sure I have, it's what's gotten me this far."

"Then you have to trust me, Soldier Boy," you implored. "Something about Everhart's plan doesn't seem right—seem on the level—"

"Cut!" Julian yelled.

Soldier Boy turned to the representative from Vought, hovering on set, probably a lawyer to cover any liabilities after the Olivia Yearly situation. "This is what you get for hiring some fresh piece of ass who doesn't know what she's doing."

Your hands balled into fists at your side. He said what everyone was surely thinking after having to start the scene over for the dozenth time, but it still hurt to hear. "I'll have you know my ass and I know exactly what we're doing!" you snapped. "Let's start from the top, Mr. Garrett. I'll get it this time."

The director sighed. "Alright, one more time."

When you turned back to face Soldier Boy, you caught a glimpse of his smile before it fell from his face in preparation for the scene.

The tension between you and everyone else on set fizzled out as you spoke, finally finding the sweet spot where you could match Soldier Boy's energy, your determination to succeed and prove him wrong far exceeding how intimidating you found your co-star until then.

"I really hope it won't take so long to get a performance like that out of you tomorrow," Julian said, looking relaxed for the first time all day.

"It won't. I promise."

"Better not," Soldier Boy muttered.

You kept your word, ran through your lines every night until you could hardly keep your eyes open, showed up on set early, even when Soldier Boy was an hour or two late, started getting on people's good sides, or maybe they were finally recognizing your potential now that you were only having to do two or three takes of each scene.

Despite your rocky start and the trepidation you felt about him, there was no denying Soldier Boy's charisma, how easy it was for you to play off of it. Then, between takes, he was more amicable, though you doubted his intentions were as mundane as wanting to get along with his coworker. But you found yourself flirting back when he did, telling yourself it was to keep up the chemistry between your characters rolling, even when the cameras weren't. Frank even told you over dinner one evening that industry chatter had already begun talking you up as the find of the year, whispers of your chemistry with Soldier Boy already drowning out the drama with his previous co-star.

During the second week of filming, the lawyer from Vought had pulled you aside to let you know someone from one of the big Hollywood gossip columns was going to be on set that week. You figured someone from Hedda Hopper's outfit, as she sung Soldier Boy's praises in her articles, though you read both her and Louella Parsons' columns religiously, especially after you were cast in the current picture, and public interest in you piqued. He didn't tell you about it to keep you informed, but rather to warn you to keep your mouth shut if you wanted your career to stay on the upward trajectory it was going.

You tried not to look at the unfamiliar woman too much, cigarette dangling from her lips, notepad and pen in hand, writing a sentence or two every so often. Her face was unreadable, but you tried not to let it get to you, not when the next scene was so important.

Outside of the same bar facade where you finally found your place in the film, you stood as Laurie in the black and white houndstooth coat you'd come to love, preparing to distract the two-faced Everhart so Soldier Boy could gather intel, the first big step in foiling his enemy's plan. Laurie was being thrown to the wolves.

"Soldier Boy," you simpered, "I don't know if I can do this without you."

"Laurie—"

Your eyes glistened with tears, voice breaking ever so softly as you placed a manicured hand on his chest. "No, I don't want to do this without you."

He took you in his arms and kissed you, deeply enough that you had to steady yourself on his biceps, that certainly wasn't in the script, but no one seemed to mind. "Be brave for me, honey," he husked against your lips.

"I'll try."

Again, his lips on yours, and you nearly lost yourself in his embrace until a loud "Cut!" tore through the scene.

Reluctantly, you pulled away from Soldier Boy. Your heart was racing. You could hardly gather the courage to look at him. It almost felt…real.

"Goddamn, I think that was it," Julian said.

"Should we do another take?" the assistant director asked.

"I don't know if we'll get anything better than that. Yeah, let's go through it one more time."

Out of the corner of your eye, the columnist scribbled frantically in her notepad.

The rest of the day, it seemed like you and Soldier Boy were on fire, requiring fewer takes as scenes grew tenser, more intimate—close-ups on yearning faces, the subtle brushing of hands, worried glances across the room. More than once, you felt your heart actually skip a beat when you made eye contact with him.

The movie magic dissolved by night, and a well-deserved day-off of filming awaited you in the morning—as did headlines that screamed of the latest Hollywood romance, spurred on by a photo the columnist had taken the day before, Soldier Boy and Starlet Sizzle on Set!

Starlet. You frowned. They couldn't have even bothered to use your name?

Small potatoes, Frank assured you over the phone when you called him about the papers, soon enough, your name would be in lights.

Vought was certainly pleased with the way you stole the focus from Soldier Boy's beef with his former co-star, all eyes on the two of you with just murmurs of undeniable chemistry.

"So, how does dinner sound? Anywhere you want," Frank said.

"Anywhere?"

"Sure, you're the talk of the town. Long as Soldier Boy's with you."

"Tell him it's his choice," you said. You'd make the most of the good press as you could, play his game within reason if it meant finally getting somewhere in your career.

"Alright, well, he'll probably pick you up around eight."

"Here?" You glanced around your modest apartment. Decently furnished for when you had a few friends over for drinks, though the striped wallpaper was peeling, and you were more than used to the smell of mothballs that permeated the air. "No, Frank, that won't do. Have him pick me up at your office downtown."

"You got it," your manager said before hanging up the phone.

By the time Soldier Boy picked you up, you'd already helped yourself to some of the bourbon you knew Frank kept in his office to settle your nerves. The drive wasn't too bad, he wasn't as handsy as you were anticipating, a bit disappointing, if you were being honest with yourself.

Somehow, word of your and Soldier Boy's date was leaked ahead of time, a crowd of fans and reporters waiting outside of the nightclub for your arrival. Its simple, sleek white facade would've been classy if not for the giant neon palm tree sign next to the actual palm trees.

You offered your best smile for the cameras, played up your relationship with Soldier Boy, giving him a kiss on the cheek and practically clinging to his side.

"It's been such a dream working with him," you told one reporter. "I couldn't ask for a better leading man."

As for whether or not the rumors of romance were true, "A lady doesn't kiss and tell," Soldier Boy said, his arm around your waist as he finally ushered you inside. The gaudy, tropical-inspired decor throughout the club was almost tacky, but you supposed it had a certain charm to it.

Sitting down in the booth reserved for the two of you, you felt like you just finished running a marathon as you settled into the plush red upholstery.

Soldier Boy looked at you, amused, "Just wait 'til the movie actually comes out, sweetheart."

A waiter arrived, asking if you'd like to start with drinks or hear the specials first.

"What're you drinking?" Soldier Boy asked.

"Bourbon, neat," you said.

"Make that two." He turned to you, his green eyes giving you a once-over, as if regarding you differently than he had before. "I wouldn't peg you as a bourbon girl."

"It's what was in my manager's office earlier," you said, quickly adding, "I don't make it a habit."

He nodded. "Good girl."

You didn't know whether or not to be grateful when the waiter arrived with your drinks, giving you an excuse to look away from him for a moment, flustered by the simple praise.

Soldier Boy waved him off after the glasses were set down, claiming you needed more time to look at the menu.

"Look, I know we didn't start on the best foot," he began, almost reluctantly, "but you're not half bad. And you kiss like you mean it. I can't tell you the number of times I've had to kiss a broad for a scene and might as well have been kissing cardboard."

"So I'm not frigid?"

He chuckled. "Hell no."

The two of you so engrossed in conversation, you'd forgotten to even look at the menu when the waiter returned, and Soldier Boy ended up ordering for you—as soon as the two of you were alone again, he muttered something about the drinks being the only thing worth going to the place for. The dry baked potato and rubbery steak presented to you on an otherwise gorgeous plate proved him right, and you tried your best to pick at your food without too much of a puss on your face.

Drinks kept flowing, and you switched from bourbon to your usual order, though Soldier Boy was outpacing you by a mile.

"How are you not plastered?" you asked.

"Takes about three times as much alcohol to get me drunk than a normal person."

"What's it like, being a superhero? I mean, I've met plenty of other actors, but no one like you," you said.

"It's a lot of responsibility," he began, his canned answer disappointing you a bit, "from the day I was born I had these powers, I don't know why it was me over anyone else, but I have to use them to help people, to do good."

"But what does it feel like? Some kind of adrenaline rush coursing through your veins? Is it something that just happens?"

"You asking if being a supe gets me hard?"

Your face heated up, "No, not like that, I mean—"

"I don't get whisky dick, I can promise you that, sweetheart."

"Have you ever heard of subtlety?"

He shook his head. "That's the limit of my powers. I can do everything but fly and be subtle."

Despite yourself, you laughed. Maybe it was the drinks, or finally having a chance to talk to Soldier Boy outside of a professional setting let you scratch just beneath the surface of the world's first superhero. Since his debut, when the country was in desperate need of a superhero like him, there had been other supes, each with unique powers, but none inspired the awe that he did.

Over the course of the conversation, he moved in closer to you, your space becoming his until you finished your drink, and he managed to talk you into just one more, his hand squeezing your thigh.

"The table service takes too long, I don't mind going up to the bar," you said.

He shrugged, and you took that as permission to go ahead as you slid out of the booth. Not quite steady on your feet, you made it to the bar in one piece, feeling light as you told the bartender your orders.

The bar's polished surface allowed you to see your reflection—and Olivia Yearly's, right next to you. Striking black hair with hardly a strand out of place, green eyes practically made for technicolor, and her signature pouty red lips, you tried not to swoon at the sight of her. She didn't pay any attention to you, of course she wouldn't, she had no real reason to, until you forced yourself to speak up and say something to one of your idols.

"Miss Yearly? I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm such a big fan," you said.

"Thank you. It's always nice to—" She raised a neatly plucked eyebrow. "Hold on, you're that new girl, the one in the Soldier Boy picture, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am."

"He hasn't scared you off yet? You can't be that desperate for a job."

"Soldier Boy's been a wonderful co-star," you said.

She scoffed, her upper lip curling in a sneer. "How much is Vought paying you to say that? He's the most shameless, unprofessional man I've ever had the displeasure of sharing a sound stage with, and I've been on a lot."

"I know, I've seen almost all of your movies," you confessed quietly.

"Then take my advice, stay the hell away from him, and that company, too."

"What did he even do—"

"Olivia," Soldier Boy said coldly, appearing at your side unexpectedly. "Surprised the place made an exception to its 'no hag' policy for you."

You nearly gasped. Olivia Yearly was a star. A goddess. An institution. Definitely not a—

"Hag? Who the hell do you think you're talking to you fucking—"

"Just shove it, Liv."

"You're digging your damn grave if you stick around the sorry likes of him," she shot at you before storming off.

He scowled, moving so he blocked her retreating figure from your line of sight. "Whatever that bitch told you about me—she's gonna be old news as soon as they see you on that screen. That’s why she's trying to scare you."

"Do you really think so?" you asked, trying to ignore the doubt that crept up on you.

"She sure as hell couldn't kiss like you can."

As if to prove it, he leaned in, his plush lips pressed against yours, the same sparks you felt on set flying between you. His hands on your hips, soft and strong as he pulled you closer, something like that couldn't be faked, not so naturally as the two of you seemed to do. Almost couldn't help but lose yourself in his embrace—until a camera flashed in your peripheral vision, tearing you from the intimacy of the kiss and reminding you that you were only there with him for publicity. You wondered if it could ever be anything more.

Taglist: @waynes-multiverse @youdontknowe @sl33pylilbunny @ladykitana90 @urmomissuperhotsworld @riah1606

[muldermuse]

butcher crowding you against a wall and kissing your neck, his thick beard hair irritating the already sensitive skin

his thick hands keeping your hips firmly against the wall, not allowing you to grind against his jean clad thigh- you whine when you realise he’s stopping you from rut against him

[axnqel]

ⓘ ULTRAVIOLENCE .ᐟ I will do anything for you, babe.

─ pairing .ᐟ homelander x fem!psychiatrist!reader

─ synopsis & word count .ᐟ being hired by Vought as the psychiatrist for the seven wasn't exactly what you'd envisioned for your career. and captain patria falling in love with you? yeah, that definitely wasn't on the bingo card either. you liked him—God, you liked him more than you'd ever admit—but loving him? loving him felt impossible. it was like trying to hold onto a storm; no matter how hard you tried, it always slipped through your fingers, leaving nothing but chaos in its wake. | 4.0k words.

─ content warning .ᐟ slight ooc homelander, talks of narcissism, obsessive behaviors, homelander tweaking out, lwk stalking...., reader being quite literally the complete opposite of homelander, slight arguing but tbh it's lwk one-sided, angst, hurt/not really comfort, ending can be interpreted differently tbh, takes place somewhere in season one i guess.

─ c speaks .ᐟ tiktoks gone and i had over 100 homelander edits and i was only able to save 21. this is what happens when no one turns on their saves. in mourning fr. (edit: i deleted the app when it got banned. yes i know, biggest mistake because now its back??? like omigod), also try to spot the lana songs i referenced by name !!

Vought Tower was intimidating on your first day, though you’d never admit it out loud. The glass walls, the sterile halls, the feeling that the entire building is watching you—it all felt like stepping inside a gilded cage. You weren’t naive; you knew this job wasn’t going to be easy. You’d read the reports, seen the news, and done your research. The Seven were powerful, untouchable, and deeply dysfunctional.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t done anything similar to this before. You’d worked as a trauma counselor for too long and needed something new. But although this wasn’t that different from your previous job, the paycheck Vought offered you was obscene, and the idea of helping anyone navigate that kind of mess was almost too good a challenge to resist.

Still, the reality of it was a little more… intense.

“Try not to take anything personally,” Ashley Barrett chirped, with her tangy-pitched voice and her heels clicking too quickly down the hallway as you struggled to keep pace. “They can be… uh, strong personalities.”

Well, that’s lovely. You raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond, clutching your notebook tighter. Strong personalities. Sure. That sounded like Vought’s PR-approved way of saying absolute trainwrecks and fucking maniacs.

The first meeting was set in the briefing room, a sleek conference space with a long table that was seemingly just for show. Fortunately for you, this was just an introductory meeting, and you had extra time to prepare for the sessions you would have with the supes later.

You weren’t expecting them to show up all at once—if they even showed up at all. But as you stood near the head of the table, straightening the folder in your hands for what felt like the thousandth time. the door swung open.

And there he was.

Homelander didn't just walk into a room; he commanded it. It was the first thing you truly noticed about him. Perfect posture, perfect suit, perfect smile that somehow felt more threatening than polite. His presence swallowed everything else, leaving no room for anyone else to breathe. And when his sharp blue eyes landed on you, it felt as though the world was closing in on you.

"You're the shrink?" he asked, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Psychiatrist," you corrected, keeping your voice steady.

He chuckled, low and quiet, like he'd already decided this was going to be fun—for him, anyway.

"Welcome." He said, his eyebrows raising as he walked over to the chair at the head of the table.

You stepped a few steps over, but that clearly did nothing as he subtly scooted closer to you.

My, did you need so much strength for this job.

The job was not easy. In case that wasn't already clear. Getting the supes to cooperate was like talking to a wall. You didn't want to coerce them into spilling out every detail of their life, but you weren't expecting them to be so grounded. Maybe your judgement was just clouded from what the media showed you about them.

Luckily, your office was a calm contrast from the chaos exhibited in Vought tower. The decor was intentionally neutral-earthy tones, soft lighting, and a simple desk with your tablet, folder, and notebook resting on top. A pair of comfortable chairs sat across from each other, meant to foster openness. Yet, the calm facade of the room was tested by the personalities that walked through the door.

Maeve was... okay. She was sweet, closed off, and knew exactly when to stop talking. PR training had clearly blinded her.

Black Noir was quiet—obviously but did exchange a couple words through his notepad.

A-Train was clouded and very insecure. However, that didn't change your resentment for his attitude towards you. Goodness.

The Deep pissed. you. off. But you kept a professional demeanor. His misguided attempt to flirt with you and the exaggerated confidence almost made you want to punch a hole in the wall. Ha.

Starlight might've just been your favorite yet. She was sweet and willing to talk, and her soft voice made you feel safe.

However, when the clock struck 6:00, and Homelander walked into your office on the dot, lord, you might as well have fainted.

It wasn't that you liked him or idolized him. You barely knew of him. Of course, you'd heard the name here and there, but to be frank, you never kept up and your family didn't give two shits. But the way he carried himself and spoke to you, it made your heart clench.

He was surprisingly so open to speaking, but the more he opened his mouth, the more narcissistic he seemed. If you could diagnose him with a God complex, you would. He acted like some million-dollar man, though he truly was. It just seemed he wanted to be in charge wherever he went.

"Thank you for taking the time to meet with me. I want to hear about how you're doing and how I can... support you." You kept your expression neutral, though your pulse quickened.

Homelander's smile widened, but there was an edge to it. "Support me? That's cute, but I'm fine. Really. The question is, how are you holding up? First day on the job and all." His tone was so friendly and polite, it confused her.

And it went on like this every session. He would come at 6 P.M. on the dot every Friday and the atmosphere in the room would become so charged. His presence was so magnetic, and his smile was disarming, yet the more he talked, and the more you listened, you started to feel some kind of way. Not anything you could explain, as ironic as that seemed.

And there was no kidding he felt something too. But your feelings were nothing compared to his.

He felt a burning desire for you the minute he walked into that conference room and looked you straight in the eye. He was willing to give himself up for you, and it felt so weird for him. Never in his many years of living did he ever feel this way.

Plus, you were just some ordinary woman. There was nothing special about you to the ordinary eye. You weren't a superhero or an entrepreneur. At the end of the day, you were just a psychiatrist, trying to make it through the day. If that was the case, then why was he so drawn to you?

He didn't understand—no—he couldn't understand.

And as time went on, this desire only grew stronger. Mutually.

Homelander began to fixate on you, quite unhealthily for that matter. It started innocently enough: more frequent eye contact in your sessions, lingering in the doorway of your office, showing up early for your sessions, or even walking you out of the tower at the end of your shift.

Being around you was like a balm for the constant chaos in his mind.

To him, you're unlike anyone he's ever met: calm, kind, and so completely human it fascinates and unnerves him. You were the complete opposite of him, and he never thought he could be attracted to that.

He's always managed to be in a relationship that was, while short-lived, with someone who elicited every ounce of his personality. Someone who was just like him. And maybe that was a good thing, who knows? But it only confused him more.

At first, he tries to justify it. You're his psychiatrist. His shrink. Nothing less, nothing more. You're meant to listen to him, to care about his feelings; he tells himself it's just your job.

However, as time goes on, he starts wanting needing more. He's tired of the patient-doctor dynamic. He begins asking personal questions, sometimes invasive, using his enhanced hearing to eavesdrop on your conversations with others, and justifying it all with the idea that he's "protecting" you. Problem is, he doesn't really know what he's doing. He's just trying to convince himself that his actions are worth being justified.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't notice the shift in his behavior and try to keep the professional boundaries. You remind him, gently but firmly, that the relationship is strictly therapeutic. But it felt like you were telling yourself that rather than the captain himself.

"What's your favorite flavor of ice cream?" Homelander brings up after a moment of comfortable silence between the two of you.

You shifted in the cream-colored plush chair, your eyebrows raised with confusion. "I'm sorry?" You spoke questioningly. The two of you were just speaking about his narcissistic tendencies and now he's asking what your favorite ice cream flavor is? How bad was his attention span?

Homelander smiled, but it had that edge to it. So much so, you couldn't even tell if it was genuine. "What is your favorite ice cream flavor? Come on, you've gotta have one." He tilted his head as he continued to stare at you, his gaze never averting.

The question was simple. Innocuous, even. What's your favorite ice cream flavor?

But somehow, it felt like the world had slowed down the moment he asked it. What?

You blinked, the words tumbling through your heads as if he'd said something infinitely profound. It was the question itself—it was the way he asked it. The casual tilt of his head, the way his lips curved in that perfect, effortless smile, like he wasn't aware of the absolute devastation he left in his wake. His eyes—bluer than any sky or ocean you'd ever seen—were locked on you, so unrelenting it felt like he could see straight through your skin. He could.

Your throat tightened, a mix of awe and panic, as if he'd plucked every coherent though from your mind and left you with nothing but the ridiculous, overwhelming knowledge that this man was impossibly beautiful. Lord.

It was embarrassing! Really. You weren't some love-struck teenager, swooning at the mere sight of him. But God help you, that's exactly what it felt like.

"Uh..." you stammered, your brain working overtime to catch up to the question. You barely managed to form words; your voice softer than you intended. "Mint chocolate chip. I guess."

His smile deepened, and for a split second, you thought he might laugh. Not in a cruel way, no, but in that teasing, playful way that made your chest tighten even more.

"I love mint chocolate chip." He said, and you swore the warmth in his tone was just for you.

And just like that, you were lost.

You walked into your office the next day to find a tiny red cooler on top of your desk, with 4 jars of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

Homelander starts requesting more one-on-one sessions than originally planned. At first, he frames it as a necessity. "You know, it's stressful being me," he says with a tight-lipped smile during one session, leaning back in the chair like he owns the room. "I think I deserve a little extra... support."

You can't exactly argue. After all, this is your job, right? If he wanted extra support, he would get it. Simple as that. But even in those early days, there’s something about the way he watches you that makes your skin prickle—not with fear, not yet, but with the awareness of something unspoken hanging in the air.

It’s manageable, at first. He talks vaguely about the pressure of being perfect, about always having to put a show for the cameras, the crowd, and his fellow teammates. He doesn’t give you much, but to be fair, he doesn’t have to. You’ve worked with people similar to him before, people who hide their vulnerability behind bravado.

What surprises you, though, is how much he seems to want you to understand him.

And he clearly won’t stop until you do. Or until he makes you feel the same way he does.

It’s late—too late for anyone to still be in the building. You’ve been working late, reviewing session notes and preparing for tomorrow’s meeting with The Seven. The fluorescent lights hummed faintly, and the silence of Vought Tower felt heavier than usual.

You were so engrossed in your work that you didn’t notice him at first, not until his reflection suddenly became clear in the glass of your office window.

“Burning the midnight oil?” His voice was smooth, casual, but it startled you all the same.

You turned, clutching your chest. “Homelander—God, you scared me.

He stepped inside, uninvited, and you immediately noticed the difference in his appearance. His cape is slightly askew, his hair less perfect with strands falling into his face, and there’s a tension in his posture that you can’t seem to place.

“I was in the area,” he says, brushing off your concern with a shrug. “Thought I’d check in. See how you’re doing.”

The statement threw you off. “I’m… fine,” you said carefully, unsure of where this was going. “You didn’t need to come all the way up here for that.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s not trouble. You know, I think you’re the only person in this whole damn building who’s honest with me.”

There’s a rawness to his words that takes you off guard, but before you can respond, he’s already moving closer, standing just a little too close. His gaze felt heavier than usual, like he’s searching for something in you—validation, comfort, maybe both.

"You really care about people, don't you?" he asked softly, almost as if he's testing the waters.

You nodded, choosing your words carefully. "I do. It's why I got into this field. I want to help."

He tilts his head, his smile sharpening into something darker, more knowing. "Even people like me?"

The way he said it sent a shiver down your spine. You meet his eyes, trying to keep your voice steady. "Especially people like you, Homelander."

"John." He corrected.

You furrowed your brows. "Sorry?"

"Call me John."

The first kiss didn't come softly—it was a collision.

It happened after one of your most intense and deep sessions. Homelander's mask slipped completely; his usual smirk replaced with a vulnerability so raw it made your chest ache. He's sat across from you, his hands gripping the edge of the chair as if he's afraid he might fall apart.

"I don't know how to stop," he admits, his voice low and trembling. "This... this thing inside of me. It's like... it's eating me alive."

You're not sure what to say. For all your training, for all your professionalism, you're still just a person. A person who feels too much.

"You're not broken, H... John," you whispered, even though you're not sure you believe it.

His eyes snap to yours, and for a moment, there's silence. Then he's standing, closing the distance between you in a single heartbeat.

"Don't say that," he says, his voice sharp but desperate. "Don't lie to me. You don't really understand—no one understands. But you... you're different."

Before you can stop him, his lips crash into yours. It's not gentle—it's needy, almost frantic, like he's trying to our everything he can't say into you. You feel the weight of his emotions in every movement, every shiver of his breath against your skin.

And for a moment, you let him. You kiss him back, your fingers curling into his suit as you let yourself drown in the intensity of it all.

But then reality hits, sharp and cold. You pull away, your breath hitching.

"This... we can't," you stammer, stepping back. "Homelander, this isn't right."

He doesn't respond immediately. His gaze is locked on you, his chest heaving. Then, slowly, a smile curls across his lips—a soft, unsettling thing.

"You felt it too," he says quietly, and there's a glimmer of triumph in his tone.

You shake your head, and the pounding of your heart is like music to his ears. "This can't happen again," you whisper, but even as you say the words, you're not sure you believe them.

You tell yourself it was a mistake. That it was a moment of weakness, nothing more. But it doesn't feel like a mistake. Not when you catch Homelander looking at you during your sessions, his gaze heavy and unrelenting.

"I scare you, don't I?" he asks one day, his tone casual but his eyes anything but.

"You don't scare me," you reply, though your voice wavers.

He leans forward, his expression softening. "I should." He says, almost gently.

There's a part of you that wonders if he's right. If you're being reckless, selfish, delusional. But then there's another part of you—a darker, quieter part—that craves him. That loves him. Even though you know you shouldn't.

And that's the part that keeps you up at night.

You notice it the next morning—the way your mail seems disturbed, the faint smell of his cologne lingering in your hallway. It's subtle at first, easy to dismiss. But it only gets worse.

You find flowers on your doorstep. Your favorite, in fact. There's no note, but you know exactly who they're from.

When you confront him during your next session, he doesn't even try to deny it.

"You don't have to thank me," he says, smiling like it's the most normal thing in the world.

"John, this isn't... appropriate," you say, your voice firm but uncertain.

"Appropriate?" He echoes, his smile fading. "After everything I've done for this country, for this cruel world... you're worried about what's appropriate?"

You don't know how to respond, so you don't. But his words stick with you, planting seeds of guilt and confusion that take root in your mind.

You're sitting in your apartment, nursing a glass of red wine and trying to shake the feeling that you're being watched. The soft hum of the radio fills the space and before you know it, he's there, standing on your balcony like he belongs there.

"You left the curtains open," he says, his tone teasing but his expression serious.

"John," you say, standing quickly. "What are you doing here?"

He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he steps inside, his gaze locking onto yours.

"I can't stop thinking about you," he says, his voice low and raw. "You're all I think about. Every second of every day. And it's driving me insane." He's practically fed up. He could kill you, get it over with and maybe then everything will go away. But somewhere deep inside, he knows that's not the case.

You should tell him to leave. But instead, you let him close the distance between you again.

When he kisses you this time, it's softer, slower, but no less intense. And once again, you let yourself get lost in it.

The kiss ends too soon, leaving you breathless and unsteady on your feet. Homelander—or rather, John, as he’s insisted you call him—steps back just enough to study your face. His expression is unreadable, a mixture of triumph, longing, and something darker, something that makes your pulse race for all the wrong reasons.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he murmurs, his voice almost tender. “I’d never let anything happen to you. No one will ever hurt you while I’m around.”

You can’t stop the chill that runs down your spine at his words. There’s sincerity in them, but also a quiet promise, one that doesn’t leave room for argument. It’s like he’s already decided what your life will look like, as if the idea of you existing without him is unfathomable.

“I’m not afraid,” you lie, stepping back, trying to regain your composure. “But this… this isn’t right, John. You know it isn’t.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, the mask slips. The vulnerability you’ve seen in your sessions flickers, but it’s quickly replaced by something colder, more calculating.

He doesn’t like being told no. You can see it in the way his shoulders tense, in the flicker of irritation that passes through his piercing blue eyes.

“But it feels right,” he counters, taking a step closer. “Doesn’t it? You can’t tell me you don’t feel it too. I know you do.”

You want to argue, to deny it, but the words catch in your throat. Because the truth is, he’s right. You do feel it. That pull, that connection, that overwhelming magnetism that makes it impossible to think straight when he’s around. It’s intoxicating and terrifying all at once, like standing on the edge of a cliff and daring yourself not to look down.

“This isn’t about what feels right,” you say finally, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to keep it steady. “It’s about boundaries, John. About professionalism. And this—whatever this is—it crosses every line.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his expression unreadable. Then he smiles, slow and deliberate, like he knows something you don’t.

“You’re scared,” he says softly, almost sympathetically. “Not of me. Of how you feel about me.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. Because he’s not wrong, and he knows it.

“I think you should leave,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. “This… this isn’t going to happen, John. It can’t.”

His smile falters, and for a split second, you see something raw and dangerous flash across his face. But he doesn’t argue. Instead, he nods, his expression hardening into something more familiar, more controlled.

“Alright,” he says, his voice tight. “I’ll go. But this isn’t over. You know that, don’t you?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. All you can do is watch as he steps back out onto the balcony, his cape billowing behind him like a shadow. He pauses for a moment, turning to look at you one last time.

“Goodnight,” he says, his voice soft but laced with something unspoken. And then he’s gone, disappearing into the night like he was never there.

You collapse onto the couch, your heart pounding in your chest. The room feels impossibly quiet without him, the weight of his presence lingering even after he’s left. You tell yourself it’s over, that he’ll leave you alone, that you can go back to your life and pretend none of this ever happened.

But deep down, you know better.

The following days pass in a blur. You throw yourself into your work, trying to ignore the way your skin prickles every time you pass a reflective surface, the way you can’t shake the feeling that you’re being watched.

The flowers keep arriving, always your favorite, always without a note. And every time you see them, you’re reminded of his words, his touch, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

And then, one night, you find a letter slipped under your door. It’s written in his handwriting, neat and precise, and your hands tremble as you read it.

I’ll wait as long as it takes. You know where to find me.

You fold the letter carefully, placing it in the drawer of your desk. You tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything, that you don’t care, that you’re not waiting for him to come back.

But as you sit there in the quiet of your apartment, staring at the faint glow of the city lights outside your window, you can’t help but wonder what it would mean if you did.

Would it be so wrong to want him? To give in, just once, and see what it feels like to be completely consumed by someone like him? Or would it be the beginning of the end, the moment you lose yourself to something you can never take back?

You don’t have the answers. Maybe you never will. But you can’t deny the tiny, treacherous part of you that whispers: what if? What if it was easier? What if loving him didn't have to be so hard? Would you still do it?

And somewhere out there, in the shadows of the city, he’s waiting.

© axnqel ─ all rights reserved. our work is not to be reposted, translated or plagiarized anywhere.

[winchesterdreamgirl88]

Under the Spotlight

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Summary: You have been Jensen's assistant for a few years and during a convention you guys have to share a bed and feelings are revealed.

Word Counts: 1127

Warnings: Allusions to smut

A/n: I feel like my stories are finally getting better and people are liking them more! I will make a part 2 of what happens next if people want. Feedback is appreciated:)

You'd been Jensen Ackles' assistant for two years now, and if you were being honest, your feelings for him were more complicated than they should be. Working behind the scenes of conventions, handling his schedule, answering his fan mail, and making sure he was always at the right place at the right time — you'd gotten to know him better than anyone, save for his family. And, despite your best efforts to keep things professional, there was an undeniable chemistry between the two of you.

You had always kept a respectful distance, knowing he had just gone through a very public divorce, and you didn’t want to make things harder for him. But tonight... tonight was different.

The two of you had flown out to a convention in New Orleans, and due to unforeseen circumstances, there had been a mix-up with the hotel accommodations. There were no extra rooms available, so Jensen had offered to share his room with you — a situation that made you nervous, but you couldn't refuse.

By the time you arrived at the hotel, both of you were exhausted from the long flight and the packed schedule. Jensen’s charming smile, though, never faltered. He had that way about him — always so easygoing, making everyone feel comfortable around him, despite the emotional weight he carried from his divorce.

You checked in, got the key, and headed to the room. It was a spacious suite with a king-sized bed, which in hindsight seemed far too small for two adults, especially considering the unspoken tension that had been building for months.

Jensen opened the door, and you both stepped inside. He immediately collapsed on the couch with a groan. "Man, I’m beat. You don’t realize how draining these things are until you’ve been on your feet for twelve hours."

You nodded, trying not to let your eyes linger too long on the way his shirt clung to his chest, the way his jeans stretched just right. You’d always known Jensen was attractive — how could you not? But right now, in the quiet of the hotel room, the usual banter and crowds were replaced with the rawness of two people alone together, and the silence felt heavier than it should.

"I'm going to take a quick shower," Jensen said, sitting up on the couch and pulling his shoes off. "Feel free to relax."

You smiled politely, nodding, and quickly busied yourself with organizing some notes on the desk. But your thoughts were elsewhere. You couldn't stop wondering what it would feel like to let your guard down — to not worry about the boundaries of being his assistant. To just... be a woman.

Minutes passed, and you heard the water turn on in the bathroom. The sound of his shower only added to the growing tension in the room. You tried not to imagine what he looked like in there — tried not to think about the way he smelled, the warmth of his skin. But your mind kept betraying you.

Finally, the sound of the shower stopped, and a moment later, Jensen emerged from the bathroom, a towel around his waist, his chest still glistening from the steam. His messy hair only added to the allure, and you had to turn away, pretending to focus on the notes in front of you.

"I’ll be done in a minute," he said with a grin, as if nothing unusual was happening. But you couldn’t shake the heat that suddenly filled the room, a feeling that was too close to desire.

"You... want to watch something?" he offered, already heading for his suitcase, pulling out some clothes.

You nodded quickly, trying to sound casual. "Sure, whatever you want."

As he changed into a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, you settled on the bed, careful to stay on your side. The bed seemed so much smaller now, and every inch of space felt like a boundary you couldn’t cross — but there was no denying that something between the two of you had shifted.

After a few minutes, Jensen finally climbed into bed next to you, both of you keeping to your respective sides, as if the distance would somehow make things easier.

For a while, you both stayed quiet, watching the TV, the only sound being the faint hum of the air conditioning. But you couldn't stop noticing the way his arm brushed against yours occasionally, how his scent filled the room. And despite all the unspoken words, all the "I'm just his assistant" thoughts in your head, you could feel him getting closer — almost as if he was waiting for you to make a move.

Then, out of nowhere, Jensen’s voice broke the silence. “You ever think about how weird it is? Being so close to someone, but never really… crossing that line?”

Your heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t a direct confession, but it felt like it.

You turned your head to look at him, his green eyes flicking to yours. There was a flicker of something in them — something more than friendship, more than professionalism. "What do you mean?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned back against the pillows, one arm behind his head, his gaze never leaving yours. "I don’t know," he said with a shrug, though his expression was anything but casual. "Sometimes I feel like there’s this tension between us. Like we’re both just waiting for the right moment."

Your breath caught in your throat. Was he talking about what you thought he was? You didn’t know how to answer, but you felt the words rising in your chest. Say something. Do something.

Before you could stop yourself, you found yourself closing the space between the two of you, your hand reaching for his. Jensen didn’t pull away. In fact, he leaned forward slightly, his eyes searching yours for permission.

And in that moment, all the years of being just his assistant — of staying professional, of holding back — dissolved.

You kissed him. Gently at first, then with more urgency, as if the weight of everything unspoken had to be released in that single moment. Jensen’s hands were on your back, pulling you closer, the heat of his skin burning through the thin fabric of your clothes.

For the first time since you’d started working with him, it didn’t feel like there was any distance between you. It didn’t feel like he was someone you had to be professional with. It felt right.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and tangled in the sheets, Jensen’s smile was soft, but there was no mistaking the desire in his eyes.

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice low, "I think this is the right moment."

And that was all you needed to hear.

[thequeenofcurses]

His Weakness

summary: they said he had no weaknesses -- until he met you. homelander x fem!reader fluff wk: 1.7k

They said he had no weaknesses. He is impossibly fast and strong. He can fly, has super-hearing, along with x-ray vision. He is a tall, charming, ocean-eyed, blonde and has the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen. His laugh could change your whole mood, and seeing him stare back into your eyes made your heart melt.

Your relationship was far from conventional. For one, the bitch Stillwell would never approve of you two being publicly out together. Plus, you have this teeny aching feeling in your chest that she may have the hots for him. Secondly, he was right, and you two going public as a couple might indeed put you in danger. Homelander has a lot of enemies, and he doesn’t doubt any of them would try to hurt you to get to him. As he always says, “your safety comes first.”

“But you did it with Maeve!” you would protest.

“No offense, honey, but Maeve is a supe,” he would say. “Besides, our relationship wasn’t real. It was just something Madelyn wanted us to do. It was good press for a while,” he’d chuckle.

You would pout your sadness, but agree that he was right. Queen Maeve was also bulletproof and could snap a man’s neck with one hand. What could you do? Cower in fear or run away, screaming for help? You were only human.

You remember when you first met, never thinking you two would end up where you are now.

The black smoke was clouding the room so fast you could hardly see. Your eyes were burning as you tried to navigate the small area of your bedroom.

The fire was burning everywhere, all around you, with no real escape insight. Screams could barely be heard, as the fire was drowning most sounds out. You prayed internally that the fire department or someone would come to save you guys, but as the seconds went by and the flames grew more abundant, that thought was becoming a fantasy.

You lived on the fifth floor, so crawling out the window wasn’t an option. The flames were beginning to rise even higher. You were starting to run out of options and time. There was no way you couldn’t take the ‘easy way out.’ Especially knowing your sister and her baby still sound like they’re trapped down the hall.

You may not be a supe, but you don’t necessarily need powers to save anyone. You turn toward your bed and wrap your full body in blankets, then face the door.

CRASH!

Suddenly, your window is broken, and all the fire starts to lean towards it as if it also wants freedom.

You were squinting and coughing, trying to breathe through the smoke. You could make out red boots and what seemed to be a red and white cape.

“H-homelander?” you coughed.

“Ma’am. This place is about to blow. I’m going to have to get you to safety.”

“No!” you coughed back at him. “I won’t leave my family.” You gathered your blankets and sprinted towards the door and into the hallway.

Homelander stood agape, amazed a powerless human would reject his help. Quickly regaining control of the situation, Homelander followed you.

You dropped to your knees, crawling, trying to navigate the halls, with only your blanket and your memory of the house to navigate you.

“‘aam, let, ‘elp,” you thought you heard from behind you. Focused, you kept pushing forward. You weren’t leaving here without your family. If they died, then you might as well be dead too.

“Somebody help, please!!!” you could hear your sister crying. “Please, help!! I have a baby with me!” You crawled faster toward the voices, ignoring the burning smoke in your eyes.

You finally arrived at their door. It should be soft enough for me to kick or ram it down, you thought to yourself. You flipped over to your back, making sure your body was still covered and began to kick. “Amy, Sarah, I’m right here! Hold on!” you shouted. “C’mon, come on, come on!” You kicked with all your might. Crack! The door finally gave in. Your sister called out to you, and you got up and carefully crawled to the corner they were in, avoiding the burning pieces of the wooden floor.

“Thank God, you two are okay.” you cried. “Here, take my blanket!” You wrapped them up as best you could.

Before you could react, you are pulled up to your feet. “Look, lady, this place is gonna crash, you need to get–” you shrugged the deviant’s hand away. Homelander's.

“No!” you yelled. You pointed to your right with a cough. “Them first.”

He glanced at them with an ever so slight look of disgust. A woman and a small infant. He quickly smiled at them and said: “alright, everything’s going to be okay.” Homelander made sure the duo was securely in the blanket, then picked them up and began to fly back the way he came.

Homelander was fast but fast enough to save you too? You weren’t so sure.

Crash.

The doorframe from the door you kicked down just fell, blocking your exit and trapping you.

Crackle, crackle.

The ceiling was starting to give in.

“At least they’re safe,” you whispered to yourself. You leaned against the corner they once were in, slid down the wall, and closed your eyes, beginning to accept your fate. Your tears immediately evaporated from the heat of the searing flames.

“Ma’am, you’re stubborn, you know that?” you heard a hard laugh from above.

You looked up to see Homelander flying a few feet above you with his hand reaching out only inches from you. He was acting so calm as if your building wasn’t about to come plummeting down.

You hesitated. Was this not your fate? Your life was boring, and you were just an aspiring book author with no children or significant other. You saved your sister. The pretty one, so she could raise her daughter.

No! Fuck that. You’re a fighter — a survivor. You have millions of stories to tell, this being one of them, and you’re damned sure you won’t be taken out this way.

You reach up and grab his hand. Before you could blink, you were outside safely on the ground near the other survivors.

“Sorry, if you’re a little discombobulated or nauseous,” Homelander apologized. “I had to move extremely fast to get you out of there.”

You shook your head no, searching the area for your sister and niece. He noticed.

“It’s okay; everyone is fine,” he tried to reassure you. Pointing to the medical area, he said: “they’re riiiight over there.”

You coughed and coughed as you ran toward them, not stopping until you embraced them in a hug.

“I’m so glad you two are safe,” you cried.

You made sure the medics had finished treating Amy and Sarah before tending to you. Surprisingly enough, besides a mild case of bronchitis, you were totally fine.

The residents of your building started to head to the nearby shelter. You stayed behind, looking at your once but now blackened home.

You assumed after everyone was safe, The Seven would’ve returned to Vought. You were wrong.

“Y’know, stubbornness can be a big personality flaw.” You didn’t have to turn around to know that voice. Homelander.

You turned to face your savior. “Lucky for me,” you said matter-of-factly. "I don’t care.”

“What you did was stupid,” his tone was more serious now. “You could’ve died back there.”

“They’re the only family I have,” you said. “I had to make sure they were safe.” You shrugged off the fact that you were once again talking back to the tremendous almighty Homelander.

He smirked. “How can a human be so reckless?”

It was rhetorical, but you couldn’t help responding, “when you love someone, you’re willing to do anything for them.''

He made a quizzical face as he was trying to process everything you just said. “Huh, is that so?”

You only nodded. You decided that it was the end of the conversation and turned to leave. You met back up with your sister at the shelter. Women took most of the beds with children. You happily accepted a mat on the floor right by your sister’s bed. Before you drifted off to sleep, you thought that you’d never forget the man who saved your life. Of course, he saves probably hundreds of lives every day, but for some reason, you felt like you two had a moment together. It felt like time had slowed down when he saved you.

Your new apartment had two large white window doors leading to your balcony. You never wanted to lock the window in case he showed up. Besides, if you ever had an intruder, he’d be there within an instant anyways.

Some nights when you didn’t have to work, you would wait on the balcony for him to fly down and kiss you. Sometimes he’d pick you up and take you on nightly flights across the city. You’d occasionally have to remind him he’s going too fast, and he’ll apologize and say he was too caught up in the moment with you.

You still wish you two didn’t have to sneak around at night to be together. One day, you’d say to yourself.

“You know what, fuck it?” he once said at the end of one of your nightly flights.

“Hmmm?” you responded as he made you two land on your balcony.

“Fuck the press, fuck Stillwell, fuck all of it.” You looked at him, confused as to what he was talking about. “I want to take you out on a real date. And not at some abandoned empty place. I want everyone to see you. See us .”

You were speechless. You always wanted this but never imagined it would ever happen. “B-But Stillwell won’t be happy,” you stuttered out.

“I don’t care about her happiness or Vought’s, only yours,” he said.

Once again, you weren’t sure of what to say. You only managed to get out a “Why?”

“Because,” he started. “When you love someone, you’re willing to do anything for them.'' He kissed you with as much passion as the first time.

You were still baffled that this was happening but smiled through it. “The annual Vought party is tomorrow night,” he said. With a kiss and another and another, he told you his goodbye. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

[themo-themo]

The Boys are back so a reminder

The actor playing Frenchie - Tomer Capone, was not only an IDF soldier but a squad leader.

With his brigade taking part in The Second Lebanon War that killed over a thousand civilians and left 900 000 people displaced.

And he obviously is in favor of Genocide Joe for sending funds to Isn'treal to continue to colonize Palestine.

Free Palestine 🍉🍉🍉

[cyrranka]

A Star Is Born

[dollerinna]

I WANT TO F**K YOU LIKE AN ANIMAL .

( black noir x fem supe!reader )

summary: the not-so-innocent things that go on in noir’s head abt you during The Seven meetings (wc: 1.8k)

warnings: MDNI, dub-con, rough p in v, doggy style, primal play themes, size kink, gagging, sobbing, corruption kink, Homelander being a weirdo at the end… just a lil’

first fic on this blog and I lowkey hate it- ughhh sorry if it’s all over the place!

The morning sun cast its golden glow upon the Manhattan skyline as The Seven assembled in their meeting room.

Homelander paced before them, detailing some new initiative he had conceived, but his words rang as emptily as the void behind his eyes. The Deep hung on his every syllable, eager as ever to prove his ass-kissing self with poorly-timed quips. This earned him nothing but a withering side-eye.

A-Train and Maeve listened with feigned interest, checking out of the conversation all but in body. Noir sat apart, idly fidgeting with a pen as his mind wandered. But his attention was drawn not to the usual faces, for there was a new supe among them—you, the latest fresh-faced recruit to their team.

On the surface, you appeared the absolute picture of attention���eyes forward, laser focused on Homelander as he tiresomely outlined the team's objectives.

It was cute, really, how focused the newbies always strived to be. Yet beneath the facade, you were actually anything but so, not when you felt an unseen gaze assessing you, weighing you.

Flicking your eyes discreetly aside, you confirmed a suspicion you could smell from miles away: Noir watching from across the table, his expression shrouded as ever behind the visor of his helmet.

Ugh, talk about creepy.

A subtle flutter of your eyelids shifted your line of sight, choosing to trust that his thousand-yard stare just so casually happen to drift your way and not an attempt to burn his gaze into your very soul.

Besides, what else could the guy possibly think about? Training, orders from Vought, simple pastimes—usually, such painfully mundane, run-of-the-mill thoughts occupied him.

But little did you know in this moment, as he studied your presence from afar, his mental reflections took a turn less… innocent.

─────────────────

“N-Noir… mmph-… please…”

It wasn’t his doing, he didn’t ask to be plagued with this sickly obsession; but every time he heard your voice, it was as if sweet, smooth-spun sugar had come alive.

An alien lust scorched Noir’s consciousness, catapulting his fevered mind into unfamiliar territory. Try as he might, he couldn’t shake the sinful thoughts that stubbornly stuck to him like glue. Just the mere notion of ever being responsible for those pretty little sounds was enough for arousal to creep through his veins like a nasty virus, sapping what was left of his crumbling self-control.

Your every whine, your every moan, would be a siren's call that beckoned him to claim you, to strip away your composure until you were utterly, helplessly his. All he craved was to watch the light in your eyes dwindle, to witness your breaths dampening into shallow puffs of air that blanketed your gaze in a veil of fog, gradually muffling you into a stillness even quieter than he was.

And truthfully, it wasn’t a matter of whether you liked it or not.

Noir would ensure his touch left no room for refusal, his grasp iron-hard as he positioned your trembling, naked body on the floor to his liking—face pinned down, ass arched up, just as it should be. Yet even as he held you fast with a palm braced against your sweat-slicked spine, his other hand moved with a surprising tenderness, gently teasing loose and brushing apart the knotted strands of hair clung to your ruddied features.

He imagined the merest of touches would set your blood aflame, rumbling up a ripe groan from your core. “…Oh m-my god… fuck…” words fled your mouth on airless breaths, nearly inaudible but still enough for him to catch. In response, he’d slowly lift a finger to your glistening lips, accompanied by a soundless ‘shh’—a signal for you to behave.

After all, good girls should never cuss.

Large, strong hands would then greedily paw at the lush fat of your ass cheeks, the scratchy textured fabric of his gloves leaving blooms of red across your flesh. Spreading you open, he’d admire the way your juicy, moist folds parted slightly, the aching emptiness within your entrance eliciting an involuntary clenching—your muted moans, trapped in your throat, acting as a wordless plea for more of his touch, more of him.

He liked to think you’d be mere putty in his hands, before he was even close to fucking you.

Noir would take his sweet time exploring you, his curiosity of the human form eclipsing the immediate need to quell a white-hot carnal desire every red-blooded man gets. He was good at rearranging people’s insides, literally, but what if he flipped the script in a much different way?

Experimentally, he’d run the very tip of his gloved finger along the weeping slit of your sex, ghosting ever so lightly over your swollen, hypersensitive clit to collect your slick arousal. Then, without warning, he’d dip an entire digit into your quivering depths, reveling in the way your spongy muscles squeezed and welcomed him in.

Your breath would hitch at the intrusion, skin prickling with a visceral need as you eagerly shoved your rear back against his palm, craving more. However, just as swiftly, he would withdraw his hand, bringing it close to his face to observe it covered in your juices, inspecting how the slimy, milky-white essence connected a trail between his fingers.

Who knew light fondling and agonizing silence was all the foreplay you needed? (or at least, in Noir’s fanciful pornographic depictions of you)

Once done playing with his food, he’d drag his knees closer to your body, his hips flush against your ass, leaving your peripheral vision filled with nothing but his imposing, darkly-clad figure dwarfing your own. Without hesitation, he’d reach down to remove the codpiece off him, freeing his hefty cock which sprang forth in the air, where it stood rock-hard, veiny, and impossibly large.

Wrapping a hand around himself, the thickly-roped, buzzing veins were betrayed by each gritty pull of his glove, drawing a guttural grunt from behind his balaclava. He’d guide his erection between your warm folds, the engorged ridge of his tip prodding against your bundle of nerves, sending electric jolts of pleasure to crackle through your core, before he began to sheathe himself inside you with a push that drove him home.

With a grip possessive and firm around your waist, Noir quickly fell into a steady, almost robotic rhythm of sturdy pushes and pulls. Each punishing collision of your bodies was answered by the lewd, rapid sounds of skin-on-skin, making damn sure you felt every single inch of him as he rutted into you like a man possessed.

He’d only hope to see you struggle taking him all in, envisioning how the sheer scale of his size forced the very air out from your gasping lungs.

“P-Please Noir!… ngh-… my body can’t handle this much,” your once-lovely voice now ragged and frail, scraping sobs grinding your vocal cords near silence as you churned and coiled like a fawn caught in the clutches of a big, bad wolf. “Be gentle, I’m begging you!—-” You choked out weakly, bordering on a soft, pitiful whine.

Expectantly, a weighted silence followed suit from Noir. In his typical, unsparing fashion, he slipped a glove from his hand, jamming it into your mouth and effectively gagging you into silence, as if to say—pipe down, be a good girl, and take my cock like you’re supposed to.

Even without a single word uttered by him, it worked like absolute fucking magic.

Your torso would practically collapse under the onslaught, wobbly limbs giving way as you let Noir use your arched up, offering form like a personal fleshlight. His hips would retract further back in an excruciating slowness, simply marveling at your wetness coating the base of his member like a second skin, only to slam back into you with raw vigor.

Your tight, gummy walls would be offered absolutely no time to adjust to the relentless invasion of his girth, the sheer thickness of his cock forcefully stretching out your cunt to shape him, to the point it felt like he was trying to split you into two.

He’d yank your flexing thighs back to meet his brutal series of thrusts, burying himself into you to the very tilt as the fleshy head of his cock kissed your cervix, igniting a searing white bolt of static to lance through your vision, momentarily fracturing it.

The all-consuming, dizzying sensation hit you like a ton of bricks, toppling your senses and wrenching a strangled sob out from your slack jaw once more. This earned you another biting touch from Noir’s thumbs pressed into your sides, as if seeking to wring every gasp out of your chest, to hear your moans rattle through your ribcage.

However even your rawest cries were swiftly muffled, swallowed by the balled-up glove shoved roughly between your teeth, which reduced you to nothing more than a gagging, pleasure-drunk whore for him to claim.

─────────────────

Meanwhile…

“Welp, that about covers it for today,” Homelander announced with a thunderous clap, loud enough for it to ring through Noir’s ears and bring him back to the present.

Slowly, Noir spun his head back towards Homelander, who had just finished addressing the team while his own thoughts drifted to places where even the pearly gates of heaven wouldn't give him the time of day.

“Now shoo- and no more sloppy behavior. I’ll be keeping an eye on each and every one of you.” Homelander dismissed them with a casual wave and a chuckle laced with another one of his thinly veiled threats.

As everyone, including little-miss-oblivious-you, got up to leave the meeting room, Homelander sauntered over to Noir, heartily slapping a heavy hand onto his back. “Earth to Noir! I know that look—thoughts a million miles away behind that sphinx-like mask of yours,” giving a sly little shrug, he slanted a meaningful look towards Noir’s codpiece. “But methinks, someone here isn’t as impenetrable as I thought…” A thin wry smile played his lips, a subtle hint at his x-ray vision allowing him to see a particular something-something of Noir’s that was currently just as hard as his body armor.

“It might do you good to line that suit with zinc. Wouldn't want any unwanted eyes peeking where they shouldn’t, do we?" An amused exhale, part sigh part snicker, slipped out of Homelander as his gaze swept over Noir once more.

True to form, all he received in turn was Noir’s standard muteness, as soundless as a grave.

Homelander eased the quiet with a huffed laugh, rocking back on his heels as he tilted his head in playful study of Noir. "But don't worry," he added with a knowing smirk, "it happens to the best of us. But do try to keep your head in the game! And not with your other one, ‘kay buddy?” Homelander jested in mock-reproach as he landed one last waggish, firm slap between Noir's shoulders, flashing his gleaming white yet eerily pointed grin.

Noir remained statue still, no hint of feeling betrayed by his rigid posture despite the toe-curling awkwardness of the encounter, or perhaps he'd yet to fully realize Homelander had peered within and seen his aching, raging hard-on behind the suit's facade.

Noir silently watched Homelander shoot two playful finger guns, his cape swirled shut behind him before leaving the room.

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Pssst- Likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated in this household and keep me motivated! <3

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Apologies if there are any grammatical errors here, cuz I’m alr so done with this fic 😭😭😭

[nijigasakilove]

Oh the woman you were.. you deserved so much better

[ghostinthemach1ne]

currently mourning homelander’s season 1 hair

[faunshiii]

tysm for all the love on my other starlight drawings!!!!! here's some more fanart, featuring other characters this time :DD

[venus-haze]

Your Name in Lights Masterlist (Soldier Boy x Reader)

Summary: All eyes are on Soldier Boy's new movie, especially after his leading lady drops out just as filming starts. An aspiring starlet with a few supporting roles to your name, you're offered your big break when Vought unexpectedly chooses you to replace her. Stardom finds you almost overnight, but your rocky relationship with Soldier Boy eventually eclipses your career, and you have to decide how you want your legacy to be defined.

Note: Female reader, but no descriptors are used. This has an Old Hollywood-esque setting, but I never specify an exact year, though it’s pre-Payback and spans about a decade.

Warnings: Period-typical attitudes, power imbalance (literally and figuratively), age gap, cheating, substance abuse, smut in some chapters.

AO3 link ★ Teaser ★ Playlist ★ Pinterest Board ★ Inspo Tag

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

[If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this fic, please say so in the replies of this post!]

[muldermuse]

OTHER WAY AROUND -- baby trapping butcher AS the toxic ex >:)

YES YES YES YES YES

sending him photos of the baby scan with a 🙂. even doing it from different phones so he can’t block your number everytime

turning up at the bar, where you know he takes his dates, in outfits that show off your growing bump

introducing yourself as butcher’s wife to his date and he’s rolling his eyes. trying to explain to his date that you’re his ex and you’re having his baby but you’re not together anymore- you’re smiling bc she’s already left

calling the locksmith when you’re outside his place, crying that you’ve lost your keys and you can’t get it. luckily, the locksmith takes pity on you and lets you in. butcher comes home and you’re in his bed, made yourself completely at home like you never moved out

he laughs it off, seemingly not in the mood to argue about how you’ve kinda broke in to his place, until he sees that you’ve started emptying his spare room.

“where the fuck is my stuff?”

“hm? oh…well, the baby needs a room and that one is perfect so i just started getting rid of stuff” you don’t even take your eyes off your phone as you speak to him, too absorbed in looking at all the women following butcher on his socials