homelandersprettybaby
— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —
18, homelander’s babydoll
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pretty in white; homelander
summary; your wedding night with homelander
cw; virginity kink, impregnation, some curse words, mommy kink? and vaguely inspired by that scene in breaking dawn part i where edward breaks the bed
you looked so pretty in white. homelander thinks it’s his favourite colour on you. his pretty little bride. sticking to tradition, he insisted on not seeing the dress until the actual wedding, allowing himself to be surprised when you walked down the aisle.
the ceremony was incredibly lavish of course, not a single thing had been spared on your big day, courtesy of your fiancé. your dress cost more than your parents house, and you weren't even sure how much your wedding ring has cost; it was made exclusively of pink diamonds.
you didn’t need any of it though, you would’ve been happy getting married in a paper bag under a bridge if it meant getting to marry the love of your life.
naturally, there were a million paparazzi and fans waiting outside of the venue for pictures, and you and your husband shot them your biggest smiles. you happily ignored the things homelander muttered under his breath at the intrusion, electing to focus on your upcoming honeymoon.
in the limo, he could barely keep his hands off you. he almost ripped your dress off right then and there. you had to gently remind him that you did not want your first time with him to be in the backseat of a car.
he reluctantly agreed.
after the ceremony, he put you up in an extravagant villa in paris for your honeymoon. he made sure to remind you how many strings he had to pull to get this much time off with you, to anyone else it would've seemed hostile, but you heard the loving lilt in his voice.
you think this might’ve been the first time you didn’t see him in his suit, exchanging it for a sleek black tux.
you loved it.
now, you lay on the bed in your bridal lingerie; a shy ivory lace babydoll, as your new husband kisses your neck. you want him, you’ve been thinking about this moment for months now. ever the traditionalist, homelander wanted to wait until you were married before he fucked you for the first time.
it was finally going to happen.
“are you ready?” he mumbles into your neck, “i finally get to fuck you.”
“i’m nervous.” you whisper, “you know i’m a virgin.”
his tender hands explore the soft skin not covered by the silk. he’s trying to calm you down; he can hear your heart racing like a jackrabbit against your rib cage.
“you’re gonna love it, i promise.” he smiles wolfishly, dragging his lips down your ample cleavage.
the butterflies in your stomach are going rampant now. he’s making you so nervous and he’s barely even touched you yet. despite the fact he burns, you’re shivering under his touch.
“don’t worry babe,” your husband smiles, fangs on full display, “i won’t break you.”
you nod, giving him full permission to continue. you wanted him to be close to you. you needed him.
homelander’s fingers slide down to your thong over your clothed cunt; fingers massaging the material between your slit.
“i know you did a great job picking this little number,” he growls, “but i think it would look better on the floor.”
without warning, he bunches the material up and over your head, leaving your breasts bare and on display for his eyes only.
he can only imagine what they would look like engorged with milk after he knocks you up.
“oh babe, they’re beautiful.”
you smile shyly, fingers finding their way into his hair, gently tugging at the dark roots.
“you like them..?”
he rolls his eyes, it’s a stupid fucking question. of course he likes them. but since you’re his shy little girl, he’ll indulge you.
“prettiest tits i’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing.”
before you can respond, he flips you on your back against the array of comically large pillows. he’s been waiting so long for this. he deserves this. he deserves to fuck his wife’s tight little virgin pussy.
pushing your panties aside, his fat cock pushes against your entrance, pleading to push in and make you his.
“gonna put it in now, sweetheart.”
he couldn’t have prepared you for the burn you were feeling the minute he filled you up. you felt your eyes start to prick with water. it was going to take a couple minutes to get used to.
“so fucking tight for me,” he hisses.
homelander starts at a slow pace, wanting to ease into you. momentarily, he wishes his first time could’ve been with you. he wishes he could’ve had this experience alongside you, instead of with someone who didn’t care enough about him to stay afterwards.
“fuck!” you mumble, “your’re so big, honey. stretching me open..”
at your praise, he thrusts deeper into you, cock kissing your cervix at a brutal pace. he’s losing control, and you can tell by his thrusts.
“careful john, you’re gonna— oh!”
wanting to redirect his strength to something that isn’t you, he grips the headboard, slamming it against the wall. it barely lasts a minute before crumpling right down the middle.
“gonna fuck a baby into you… make you a mommy,” he grunts, “you wanna carry my kid, babe?”
you feel the bed shake underneath you. he’s fucking you so good, you know you’re not going to last much longer.
“yes john! i wanna be a mommy!” you wail desperately as you come, “give me a baby!”
not long after, homelander spills his seed into your velvety walls, filling you up. the thought of you as the future mother of his child pushes him over the edge. he won’t let you waste any of his come, so he gently pushes the excess back into your weeping cunt.
“that was perfect,” you sigh fondly, “but i still can’t believe you broke the bed..”
“i couldn’t help myself, you were just perfect.” homelander says, pulling you into his bare chest.
“i love you so much.” you mumble before nodding off against him.
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Homelander Headcanons: ♥︎
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♡ Despite what most people may believe Homelander would be an extraordinary lover. He would bring you to the heights of pleasure simply because, it feeds his ego knowing he'll be you're best fuck
♡ We all know that homelander is an extremely insecure man so any chance he gets to adored and admired he takes it, seeing your face contort into a beautiful picture of pleasure all at his hands makes him almost instantly cum
♡ Another thing that almost makes him cum is when you squirt, he would absolutely love making you squirt. anytime he fucks you, you're always gonna squirt
♡ Don't stop telling him how good he's doing, Homelander definitely loves being praised. You cannot tell me that this man with no love in his life isn't going to be the most needy thing ever? Tell him how good his cock feels pounding against you, how sensitive you are because of him
♡ Would constantly have his hands on your tits, He would never stop touching and sucking them, Homelander would overstimulate your nipples by biting and pinching them until you begged him to stop
♡ Oral God, homelander eats you out until you cry, he eats you out so much you couldn't feel anything but him and what he was doing to you
♡ Make eye contact with this man and you'll have him eating out of the palm of your hand! Like i would say he's definitely more dominant with sub undertones, he always has to be in control no matter what, he might let you think you're taking the lead but he's in control the whole time subtlety guiding you
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can i request homelander deciding on baby names with pregnant!reader? dadlander has my heart 🥺
"How about Lucas?"
"Blegh, no."
You give a fond, albeit exasperated sigh, looking from the hefty book of baby names in you lap to Homelander. "I've gone through at least thirty of these names. You don't like any of them?"
"They just don't feel right. My son—"
"Or daughter," you interject, not for the first time.
"—needs to have the perfect name, you know? The whole world is going to know it. Something strong, something that will command the respect that he—"
"Or she."
"—deserves! Something powerful, something—"
You press your finger to Homelander's lips, snapping his gaze to yours. He looks confused. "My darling. I care as much as you do about what we will be calling our future child for the rest of our lives, but... A name doesn't do all that."
Homelander falters, pursing his lips beneath your finger. He reaches up to grasp your wrist, and pulls your hand down into his lap, squeezing it in his own. His gaze drifts down to your belly, barely swollen with the beginnings of life. "It's the first thing I'm ever going to give him."
"Or her."
"I want it to be perfect," he says, barely above a whisper, reaching out to settle his hand flat on your stomach. You place yours overtop his.
"It won't be the first thing you give them, you know," you tell him, rubbing your thumb back and forth over his hand. "The very first thing you give them... will be your touch," you say, interlacing your fingers with his. "Your voice. Your warmth. Those are the things that will shape them."
While you had hoped Homelander might find comfort in your words, he looks stricken by them instead. "Hey, what's wrong?" You ask softly, brows furrowing.
"I don't want to fuck this up," he admits finally, his grip on your hand flexing. "I don't know the first goddamn thing about what a childhood should be."
"Love," you answer reflexively, squeezing his hand. "It's love, and god knows you have that in spades to give. The rest, we just... we figure it out as we go. I promise you, there's no parent in the entire world who goes into this thinking they know what they're doing. I certainly don't," you say, huffing out a nervous little laugh.
It's enough to get a smile out of him, his eyes glassy and wholly focused on you. He brings your hand up to kiss your palm, nuzzling into it. "You're gonna be a great mom," he murmurs, breath warm on your skin. You stroke his cheek with your thumb.
"I know," you say with a confidence you only half feel, wringing a laugh out of him. "And you're going to be a great dad. I can feel it."
"...Read the names again?" He asks quietly, shifting to put his arm around you. Gladly, you rest your head under his chin, opening the book back up.
"Kevin," you say, smiling mischievously.
"Ha. Ha," he gives mirthlessly, jolting a giggling yelp out of you when he tickles your side. "Funny."
"Ashley," you say next, your laughter climbing even louder as he grabs you more bodily.
"That's it, give me the book, your privileges are revoked," he says through a grin, tickling you mercilessly.
Ultimately, the two of you don't settle on a name that day, or the next, or even the next, but it doesn't matter. Whatever name your baby ends up with, you know without a shadow of a doubt that it will be given with the utmost love and care, and that they will be raised just the same.
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please send me some requests 💝 !!
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soft homie holding u to his chest when ur tummy hurts and u have a migraine…he just wants u to feel better so u can give him the attention he deserves 🫶🏻
Homelander isn't the most empathetic partner, but despite his powers, he knows pain better than most. He gets a restless energy to him when you're suffering and there isn't an immediate solution he can provide. His gifts feel a curse when he can smell the sour twist of cortisol in your bloodstream, or hear the way your breath hitches with each painful jab.
He's so acutely aware of your pain, he winds up with sympathy discomfort. It sets his teeth on edge. He hates it, and a part of him wants to be as far from it as possible.
Instead, he curls up behind you in bed and lays his hand over your eyes. He runs warm like a furnace, and the soft, heated press of his hand is better than any hot compress. He pulls you against him with a hand on your stomach, cradles you like you're made of glass. Compared to him, you may as well be.
You're so easy to hurt, your own body torments you. Every pain Homelander has ever known has been calculated, intentionally inflicted. He can't relate to these chronic and persistent pains you suffer for seemingly no reason at all, but he does for you what he always dreamed someone would have done for him.
He protects you in every way he can.
He stays.
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Hiii, if you don't mind, could I request any of these prompts with Homie?
"I vow I will always be yours.", "I’m so in love that I might stop breathing.", "Get it off your chest.", "I made you my world, have you heard?", "I would’ve stayed on my knees."
I couldn’t decide which ones to include so u geeeet all of them!
Homelander doesn’t get nervous over many things. Much of anything, actually. He’s practically a god. Gods don’t have anxiety over anything.
Least of all proposals. At least, that’s what he’s telling himself.
Homelander knows that you love him. Two and a half years of bliss have proved it, even when the beauty of it all felt impossible. He’s almost sure you’ll say yes. Almost.
You two had talked about marriage before, and you’ve made it clear you want to spend the rest of your life with him. But what if actually asking you, making it a reality, changes your mind? What if you’d only said that it was him, only him, forever, because you thought it was what he wanted to hear? It wouldn’t be the first time someone he loved had lied to him.
He scowls at himself, then turns away from the mirror to face the window. Homelander isn’t sure he likes being away from America, but when he’d suggested a getaway, you wanted to see Italy. And he agreed—he had wanted everything to be perfect. So there Homelander stands, staring out at a flawless azure sky, trying to convince himself that this is the best day of his life, not the most frightening.
Dinner is tense. He’s rented out a lovely rooftop, with a view and greenery. Homelander quickly realizes his mistake—he yearns for the chatter of surrounding patrons to distract him. But he knew you would want privacy for something like this.
Speaking of you. You’ve been an angel all evening, of course, but Homelander feels himself slip into a cheerful default. It’s how he speaks to fans and politicians he needs on his side. Not the love of his life. Worst part is, Homelander knows you can tell. You’ve got that little crease between your eyebrows, but he’s not quite ready to drop the act. You have no clue how high the stakes are here.
Once the two of you are almost through with dinner, you reach for Homelander’s hand, covering it with your own. The feel of your bare hand on his steadies his racing heart, then sends into overdrive. You’d convinced him to wear plainclothes for the trip, and Homelander abruptly misses his suit. He feels naked in his blazer and button down, even though you had gushed over over how handsome he looked. You aren’t gushing now, and his heart is in his throat.
“Hey,” you say, voice sweet as pie. “Everything okay? You seem.. on edge.”
Ugh. You see through him so easily—like reading a book.
“Everything is perfect, sweetheart. I mean, with a view like that, what could be wrong?” And the laugh Homelander forces even makes himself cringe. Tonight is not his best work. Thank Christ Vought’s directors can’t see him now.
The concern on your face deepens. You squeeze his hand. “John, you know you can talk to me. Get it off your chest—you always feel better afterwards.”
He can barely swallow. Your lovely eyes are hard to meet.
“Well. I suppose you’re right,” Homelander starts. He puts his other hand atop yours, pats it, then stands to make his way to the edge of the rooftop.
The view really is amazing, all rolling hills and crashing waves. The golden sky even has a touch of pink in it. He feels you join him at the ledge and huffs out a nervous little laugh.
“I was going to wait till dinner was over. Take you out on the beach, make it real romantic. But you know what they say. No time like the present.” Homelander takes in a deep breath, picks apart every scent in the cool night air, savors yours particularly. “It’s not exactly a secret that I… well, I’ve wanted a love like this for a very long time. Someone I could trust. Someone who would… let me love them with my whole being.”
He feels your eyes burning into the side of his face. Your hand meets his again. He finally musters the courage to look at you, and murmurs, “Someone who feels like home.”
The look on your face is nothing short of lovestruck. It encourages Homelander to go on.
“And you, honey… you’re everything I ever dreamed of and everything I never even thought to ask for. There is no one on this earth I’d rather spend my life with. So that’s why,” Homelander sinks to one knee as he speaks, pulling a little velvet box out of his jacket pocket, “it would be the utmost honor if you would be mine. Marry me.”
And you are dead silent.
Your heart races, Homelander can smell the blood in your face, feel the heat of it. Your eyes are so wide—shock paints your face. No, it’s definitely horror. This is it, he realizes in a horror of his own. This is the part where you reject him. You’re going to say no, just like he’d feared.
Homelander tries to give you some time, he really does, but he’s speaking again before he can stop himself. Best to rip off the bandaid clean instead of dragging it out. “So… what do you say?”
You blink a couple times, seeming to come back to yourself, and then breathe out: “Are you sure?”
He almost laughs, but it gets caught in his throat at the sight of your big, glassy eyes.
“God, of course I am,” Homelander says. “Haven’t you heard, babe? You are my world.”
Before he can blink, you’re on your knees, too, his face in your hands. And Christ almighty, the way you kiss him—it’s like something out of a damn movie. Homelander can feel the love washing over him, like the waves crashing below. It threatens to drown him.
“I will,” you whisper against his lips. “God, yes, I will.
Homelander laughs in relief, almost fucking giggles. The feeling sends his adrenaline pumping. He gently pulls your left hand from his face to slip the ring on. You take it in, gasp out a teary laugh, fail to hide a grin.
“Holy shit, John, it’s beautiful. Just perfect.”
“You deserve the best,” he says. Then, quieter, “I wasn’t sure you were going to say yes.”
He must have sounded really very pathetic, because the look on your face almost hurts.
“Baby boy…” you murmur, and he’s putty in your hands. “I’m so in love with you, I could stop breathing. Of course I was going to say yes.”
Homelander bumps his forehead into yours. “You mean it?”
“Beyond a doubt,” you promise. “I vow I will always be yours. Forever and always.”
Homelander kisses you again then, so overwhelmed that nothing else made sense to do. You taste sweet, like joy and the brightest of futures.
With you there in his arms, his ring on your finger, Homelander could have stayed on his knees for hours. But then you’re standing, reaching out a hand to him—the one with his ring on it. The sight makes his heart soar. Homelander takes it and doesn’t let go once he’s standing.
“There’s still time for the beach,” you say, eyes twinkling.
Homelander smiles, something beyond happy, and kisses your forehead. “Sounds perfect.”
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Drabble: Streamer-girl.
I feel like Homelander’s the type of guy to get obsessed with a twitch streamer.
He’s constantly in the eyes of the public and is told constantly how to stay in tune with his fans, so he does understand internet culture - but in the most bare manner.
Anything past captioned memes are things John will be heavily confused by or thinks stupid of. The internet is just another way lowlifes numb their idiot brains by consuming constant content.
(This is ironic due to the fact that he’s an obsessive consumer of his fans and their love as much as he thinks lowly of them, and also it’s just because he doesn’t understand the internet fully and doesn’t want to admit it like every person past the millennial era.)
But just imagine him having to do some online collaboration to bring points up and he’s suddenly doing some fucking charity event on a streaming site - it’s where he finds out streaming is a career?
John’s speeches and events are live streamed all the time, but people just sit down doing fuck all in front of a camera to get money? How is that even a thing? The supe doesn’t understand, and he finds himself watching a few of them to see what the story is about these lazy fuckers. He knows people are bad when choosing who to worship (he is the exception), but this just puts him in disbelief.
So, John watches, phone in gloved hands and he doesn’t get it at all. It’s either loud, scruff men making the worst type of jokes over video games or women acting like sluts over video games - people watch this shit when they could at least put their cock-bone brains to watching him?
But then there’s you.
John doesn’t know why you catch his eye in the first place, but your views are low and that tells him that you must really be shit if nobody’s watching you. So he clicks because he has to see this, and you’re just…you.
There’s no overreaction, loud puesdo conversations at a rushing chat, it’s just you making small talk to your twenty viewers with cheap looking headphones.
“Hey, user9837531-“
John doesn’t know why he stays to watch you, but you he does - and you’re different.
Then he decides to check in on you every now and again.
At first, he denies this indulgence because it’s below him. It’s just to pass time - but as streams come every Wednesday, John can’t help but find a…calm in you.
It’s nice to see your face (even though he’s sure it’s less pretty in person), your awkward dribble you call a conversation between your followers makes him amused enough to feel this warmth in his chest because thats what it must be, amusement.
It gets worse when this indulgence becomes entitlement.
Weeks go by and John knows you. He knows all the boring shit you non-supes have going on in your life. Work (which means this streaming thing is a second job or a really sad hobby), friends, the newest video game. He knows all these things so he thinks he has at least some right to think of you as someone in his life.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite user with the 83 numbers after.”
There’s your smile and John swallows. Your smile is too amusing because John feels too hot.
He decides to type.
“It’s John.”
He uses punctuation cause he isn’t an idiot like your other 20 followers.
“Oh, well, the only John I know. So the point still stands.”
If you say dribble like that, he should have a right to you.
He begins small conversations in your Wednesday streams. It’s personal and normal. There’s always a video game or soft music or something call a “mukbang”. You eat a lot during them.
“That looks disgusting.” He types during a meeting. Ashley stares but she can fuck off. It’s not his fault you had to switch a Wednesday stream to Friday.
“It doesn’t taste so, John.”
He smiles like you can see it.
This is how it is for awhile, and it’s nice. He’s got a normal, boring girl to tease over a stream. It makes for great routine.
But then you start to get popular. It’s fucking idiotic.
Follows and viewers come rushing in one stream, and it was over from there. Soon, it’s hard for John to see his own chat before it’s swept by spamming cocksuckers vying for your attention.
They weren’t even the first ones here. He was here when you were boring. And now - now he can’t fucking talk to you without paying five dollars for you to see his message?
It’s not right. And now you’re becoming more rehearsed - like every other overreacting slut on screen. These fuckers don’t even know you like he does because you’re lying to them. But you can’t lie to him.
Suddenly everyone is your favorite fan. It’s fucking - it’s not fair.
After this change, John becomes disappointed because he thought his boring girl was better than this, but he can’t stop watching. But the ass-kissing gets so bad that you open a P.O Box to indulge your fans’s desire to buy you stuff, as if that’ll get you to notice them or love them. It’s ridiculous. It’s more ridiculous how much you love the stuff they give you when you open them live.
John decides to send you a dress with the note “Sucks you’re almost as famous as me now. Enjoying the ass-kissing?” - John. It’s because you need to know that people remember who you actually are. And the dress is something you would’ve worn when you first started streaming, not these attention-whore outfits you wear with stupid looking cat headphones.
Ashley doesn’t understand the point of having an intern sending this dress with this message, but she knows not to fucking ask.
You open it on stream and there’s a wide smile, a genuine one. He’s probably the only one that can tell.
He sees you pick up the note and you don’t read it out loud. He’s smug with a smile when he sees your face fall.
But then it’s up again, and it feels like you’re copying him.
“Yes, I am. I don’t understand the first part, because you are the only John I know. I can’t think of a famous one. But, if it brings stuff like this, then how could I not?”
You put the dress up to your chest.
“Thank you, John.”
John swallows and feels like he’s weak. It’s the most impossible thing in the world.
The moment wasn’t enough to keep John patient with you, though - not when you keep catering to fuckers that you don’t need.
You say you love them, you don’t love them. It’s not possible. John knows this but it doesn’t make him any less fucking angry when you say it.
“Where did I get this bracelet? From LenaLuvs8, I don’t know if she’s on stream but I love it.”
You wiggle the goddamn bracelet on your wrist. John clenches his glove fist on his mouth.
Why aren’t you wearing the dress? You can apparently wear shitty jewelry and let people know that you’re practically a slut for gifts and online attention.
This isn’t fair, not when he’s been here since the beginning - not when you used to talk to him like he’s an actual fucking person, you. You’ve only gotten worse. You can’t just do this to him. Why can’t you just go back to mukbangs and ratty sweaters where John doesn’t have to feel like a fucking loser trying to get your attention.
He should already have it.
There’s a chime with a message of your screen popping up.
“It’s cute, sent you something like that yesterday. Will you open it on stream?”
It’s from someone named John Mull.
What the fuck is this?
“Of course, John. I’m sure I’ll love it. And thank you for the donation! Always great to see my favorites on stream.”
John slams his phone to the table. The boardroom turns to him. They’ve gotten used to his habit of watching you. His hand flexes before he swallows and takes a heavy sigh.
That’s fucking it.
“Ashley, I’m going down to tech to see if they can track somebody, important stuff - everybody keep doing great, alright?”
John’s cape flows behind him as he’s quick out the room.
He’ll teach you how to tell the truth, just like before.
And you can be his boring girl again.
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The Lavender Haze video is out now. There is lots of lavender. There is lots of haze. There is my incredible costar Laith Ashley who I absolutely adored working with. This was the first video I wrote out of the 3 that have been released, and this one really helped me conceptualize the world and mood of Midnights, like a sultry sleepless 70’s fever dream. Hope you like it 😁
taylor.lnk.to/lavenderhazemusicvideo
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hello i just wanted to let you know i absolutely love your madman series!! 🤩
also recently i really got into the boys and homelander and i love your content about him as well so i wanted to ask you whether you have anymore homelander stuff planned in terms of a fic, one shots, literally anything i adore your writing so much omg
Coalesce | Homelander Drabble
thank you! Here’s something when I was trying to keep my motivation up for the psychopath
Based off the therapy drabble.
———————————————————————
Where do you end and I begin?
John’s nose is pressed against your cheek. His eyelashes feel so light against your temple. The ungloved hand lays holds your waist tight as his leg reaches over both of yours.
You look up to the ceiling, thinking. You thank God that John wasn’t gifted with mind reading.
He’s been holding you tighter recently - and you know the exact reason why. You’re pushing him away, creating distance between the both of you. But, to put it frankly, it’s what your therapist told you to do.
Well, “to create a healthy sense of independence.”
It was a month ago when you decide going to see a professional would do you good - and much to John’s dismay. You told your boy it would be good to get the stress of work and family out.
In turn, your boy told you that it was stupid enough of you to have a job in the first place - and more than enough was said about your family. You remember the light teasing smile you gave when you saw John huff with his own tighter smile.
“What?” He scoffed. “Need some shrink to listen to you bitch about me?”
You rubbed his back with slow kisses, a silent promise as he pouted. Only your boy can get threatened by mental health care. But with the threats, John promised that “He couldn’t give less of a flying fuck.”
“You won’t be wasting my money on it, Babe.”
“It’s on Vought insurance, John. And I don’t expect you to pay for anything, you know - as much as you try to.”
A defeated scoff as he drummed his fingers against the table.
He assured that you would be bored of it and see how useless the whole thing is. But it’s been more eye-opening than anything. You don’t like it.
Talks with your therapist, Dr. Daniels, went well enough for the first few weeks. It was mostly conversations and advice about stress management for work and such. If anything was boring, it was that. It’s when you feel comfortable enough to open up about John when Dr. Daniels starts to question.
You worry about your boy, and you worry about how you might effect his personality, traumas, etc.
“I’ve been meaning to manage my schedule to match John’s. He hates when I’m not able to take his baths with him. He doesn’t even know where to find the bath bomb.”
You laugh, Dr. Daniels doesn’t.
So, you tell the Doctor all this, and he can only come up with the conclusion that your relationship with him is much too dependent - both ways. You assume all your worrying about John has him worried about you.
At one point, you realize John might been listening in. It’s hard to defend your boy when Dr. Daniels notices it too.
“He bought me the bristle hairbrush!”
“The one you were talking about yesterday?”
Another example is you talking about a coworker who isn’t giving you the best time - and then they end up gone. Not dead, but a sudden change of jobs always happens. You don’t mention that to the therapist.
And John’s hidden reaction doesn’t help when Dr. Daniels first gives a guide on how to become more independent.
You take him in your arms, as you always do. Fingers run through the pale of his hair. You’re looking up at the ceiling before you glance down with a smile. There’s the sharp blue of his eyes already staring into you.
“Why don’t you take the day off tomorrow?”
There’s a finger tapping the middle of your chest, John’s eyes go there.
“Why? Nothing’s happening tomorrow.”
“Exactly. For once, I won’t be surrounded by cocksucking nobodies for the day - so maybe we can have our own special day together. Like those dumbass couples in your movies do. Can go to that fucking museum you’re always bugging me about.”
You think with warmth creeping into your stomach. That does sound nice, but you realize that John was listening in. You also realize that you should be more offended than you actually feel, but all in all, you realize your boy is making this into a game.
“Huh, how’s that sound?”
He puts a hand under your button up, trailing two fingers from your sternum to belly button.
You think about what Dr. Daniels said.
You grab his hand from your stomach gently, and you pull them away before you let go.
John’s humorous smile turns cold. His eyes go low.
“I’ve got lots of work to do tomorrow, baby. But that sounds like a good idea. Maybe another day.”
A low sigh.
“Yeah, okay. Fine.”
The fine is low and drawled. You see the pink of John’s tongue sticking out as he rubs his fingers against each other.
“Just trying to spend the day with my girlfriend, but yeah, work. Your most important thing nowadays.”
You think John would leave it at that, but in the silence where you pretend like he means what he says, he huffs.
“You know, you’re always complaining about how we don’t spend enough time with each other - and your work, and fucki-”
He stops himself with tightly pulled lips, air tight on his cheeks.
What he says is always so harsh on his teeth that you have to nuzzle yourself in his neck so it doesn’t turn into a fight. It doesn’t, but it turns into weeks of John slowly losing his patience. You can tell, and you can’t blame him. But if you want to…if you want to be with him for the rest of your life - you can’t have him getting tired of you.
You can’t have him getting bored of your love.
That might not be the reason Dr. Daniels wants you to distance yourself from John, but its what keeps you going through the “the creation of independence.”
So, the next night, you shower without telling John you are.
“Babe?”
John comes home to hear the shower on. He would find the sink of his stomach embarrassing if he wasn’t angry.
In the rush of the water, you don’t hear him jiggle the doorknob. It’s only the slight turn because you locked it.
John almost scoffs at the closed door as he tries to open the lock. Red seeps into his throat because he can’t fucking believe you locked it. What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you pushing him away?
“We’re locking doors now?”
You bring your body wash to your rag, not hearing John’s accusing tone.
It’s a quick laser to bring the whole doorknob off. The door itself slams open and you hear the crinkle of a cape and the sound of his red calming.
The shower curtain flings to the side with a gloved hand and lips pulled thin as you’re all soapy. It almost makes John stop his anger from tightening around his chest.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
You swallow.
“Showering.”
John lowers his head. “Without me.”
You see water specks flick onto your boys face, so pretty and pouty in the water.”
“Sorry, baby. I forgot to tell you.”
You know he doesn’t believe you when you see him straighten himself out, hands on his hips with a slight bended knee.
“You forgot, hm? Doesn’t seem like you.”
He says it like it’s a joke, if it was said without an once of venom, it might’ve been.
It’s not. You always tell him it’s time for a hot bath and shower. You wonder if he knows how much the silent excitement in his eyes tease you. But he’s always so quick when you tell him you’re ready that he probably doesn’t.
“Yeah, I just-” You run your hand over your wet hair. “It was a busy day today, just wanted to get the shower over with.”
There, John runs his hand over his hair as he huffs with raised eyebrows and that harsh smile.
It hurts to see your boy like this, but it’s for the best. You think about how he commands your boss into letting you sit in with him on his meetings. You think about the nightly showers where you don’t get one moment to yourself. It’s constant cuddles and head-in-laps. It’s him looking over your shoulder every time you’re on your phone. It’s all so John. And you love it.
You can’t let him get bored of it cause you never will. You have to space out the obsession.
“I didn’t think you were that much of an idiot to forget but hey! Still gotta love that little brain of yours.”
You see him swallow when he turns his eyes away from you. He begins a turn back to the hallway, doorknob at his boots.
“I guess I’ll be waiting for my turn in the fucking living room.”
“John-”
You think it that fact that he doesn’t shower that night is a punishment for you. But you enjoy his musk - but you know Ashley doesn’t. Still, after your shower, you couldn’t help but cuddle him as he pouted on the couch. John couldn’t help but lean into your arms as he pretends that it’s not heaven.
He deserves this. You told him that. It took him so fucking long to believe you because how can he when everybody who has ever cared for him actually not cared for him? And here you go, because of fucking Dan - you take it away.
Like he isn’t your good boy or something. But John has been and it’s not fucking right. Not when you were the one that made him need it.
So, he’s got his arm tight on your stomach and you know why. It’s been the first time you’ve been home without going off to work or to see friends you “don’t need.”
But it all comes crawling back in the corners of your mind when he’s holding you so close against him. You know your boy. He’ll need more and more, but you don’t want to be there when he starts to expect from someone he doesn’t want anymore.
You try to rise from the bed to go nowhere, but the hand on your waist grips with an unknowable mumble from John.
It might small, frustrated mm as he forces you to settle back into bed. He nuzzles his profile back into your cheek and temple. You almost think about staying right here, because it wouldn’t hurt.
But then you think of the actual reason why Dr. Daniels says you should create distance - because people do get hurt in his “obsession.”
You remember the snarky remarks against fans who think they know you. You remember the occasional hater going missing. You think about how it’s John - you don’t believe it’s obsession, and if you ever do, you can’t find anything wrong with it.
You like it in fact, it scares you how much you want to keep it. It’s panic that finds you almost jolting out of the bed - too quick for John, as if you’re as superhuman as he is.
You hear your name as you walk out of the room - it’s frustrated and loud.
“Sorry baby, just gotta use the bathroom.”
And it’s a rush there where you hear footsteps follow after you close the door - fingers in the hole - the door without a doorknob.
The door slams open with the figure of your boy, hair tussled from being in bed for so long. There’s a squeezed fist that goes from his lips to a point at you - knuckles forwards with the tightest sigh you’ve ever heard.
You look to the messy hair, dried up gel and he looks so beautiful. Sometimes the blue of his eyes seem more harsh than the red.
“John, I’m using the bathroom-”
“No, you’re not.”
You laugh then, light with disbelief because even though you’re not peeing, your boy seems so adamant on telling you if you are going to pee or not.
You look to the mirror to lessen the mess of your bed hair. John steps closer to you, taking his own look to the both of you before his stops your hand with a grip of your palm. Your fingers curl around the tight hold.
“John, what is it, huh?”
You know exactly what it is - and you know by the pull of his lips that he knows that you know. The question was a mistake.
“What is it? Are you fucking kidding me?” He lets go of your hand to pull a patch of his hair hard for a moment - after he huffs before there’s a finger in your face.
Then there’s not when he pulls it back with hard eyes. The idea that finger wagging displeases you is still there - to make you hard with him is too much. even in his anger.
“Why are you doing this?”
You have to pretend, just to try.
“Doing what, John?”
“Don’t fucking-“ He takes in a sharp breath. “You’re gonna pretend that you’re not pushing me away? You’ve been acting like a bitch. You’ve been-“
Another sharp breath, but it’s shaky. It’s vulnerable.
“You’ve been acting like you hate me.”
You swallow, sudden pain in your heart as you see the truth in his eyes. He always knows how to do it.
“John, you know that’s not true.” You scratch your nose and John looks to the tile before back up at you.
“Well you’re not acting like it is. You can’t do this and lie to me. You think you can lie to me?”
You look to mirror at the question for you. You never do, even when he thinks you do - but it’ll always take John a long time to believe he’s worthy of honesty. Even when he might not like it. You are not scared of his reaction or his heart.
You’re not scared of the grip of your chin pull you face back to him.
“Do you think you can lie to me?”
There’s your hand wrapping around his wrist because you know it’ll get him to settle - and then you can explain, even if the reason isn’t something he’ll enjoy, and is something your embarrassed of.
You see the tilt of John’s head with pouted lips.
“No, I don’t. But baby, don’t you think we both need to become a little more…independent?”
The hand is still on your chin.
“What are you talking about?”
“Just…we’ve been invading each other’s space, you know? I love it, John. I love how much we can get close together - but I just think that it might be unhealthy.”
John just stares into your eyes, it’s a glare, you think.
“Are you calling me clingy?”
Again, he always knows how to do it.
“No, John-“
“You’re the one who’s clingy, you love when I touch you and when I’m with you - and all of sudden you just take it away from me? Then you think it as a fucking problem?”
You sigh before the hand on his wrist goes to open palm on his chest.
“John, baby - I just want it become too much for us, I don’t think co-dependency is good if we want to keep loving each other close. Moderation, baby.”
He lets go of your jaw with a scoff.
“Co-dependency? That’s not even a fucking word - it’s a-“ John puts his hands up in the air. “It’s a puesdo-term. Who’s putting this fucking shit in your head, huh?”
You swallow before you sigh.
“You seriously think that what we have is bad? You think I’m bad. You-“
Sharp breath. You look into his eyes, the frame of his lips and you know he’s hurting.
Dr. Daniels is wrong. How can he be right when he’s making John so sad?
“You were the one getting all bothered when I couldn’t believe anything you did was true - and well, babe, I guess it’s not. You just convince me and pull of this shit where I can’t get five minutes alone with you. Like you’re repulsed by me or something.”
He sniffles, you can’t tell if the anger is turning into more rage or more hurt. He shakes his head without scoff - and see his nose scrunch with his mouth.
“How can you think this is a bad thing? Why do you hate it now?”
How can this be right when your boy is hurting so much?
You feel the heaviness in your stomach at the right of John’s eyes, hands on his hips. You know the rage is asking for a touch. He’s begging you to tell him that he’s wrong even though he’ll never believe he is.
You can’t undo months of work and affection with taking your love away.
You hug him tight, arms going in between his elbows. There’s no thought, just the warmth of the red in John. It’s the first time you’ve held him without any thought that you shouldn’t in awhile.
Your face presses into his chest. He’s stiff in your hold. But you know he’ll falter, he always does.
“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean for you to think that. You’re my sweet boy, okay? I’ll always love this.”
You sniffle. “It’s not a bad thing at all.”
“It’s not.” He sniffles. “You of all people should know that.”
John does falter with arms wrapping around your shoulder blades, he puts the side of his face to yours.
“How could you think this is bad, huh?” The hold grows tighter. “You think I’m bad?”
There’s a nose to his chest. “No, John. You’re the best boy there is. I love this. These days were so tiring. I’m sorry I pushed you away, baby.”
Another sniffle.
“You don’t need to go anywhere. Fucking co-dependency, what the hell that does even mean. Just a fucking excuse for nobodies who don’t have anyone to love them.”
“Yeah.” You say it quiet, just to assure your baby.
There, you look up to the face of John, and you see him looking at the both of you in the mirror. At that, for some reason, he puts his jaw on your chin and holds you even tighter. Like he’s reassuring himself that you’re not going anywhere.
In the hold, John brings you down to the floor - he’s got his back up against the edge of the doorway. You sit on the top of his thigh, his knee bent in the air. His arms are still tight around you as put his face into his neck.
“John, why don’t we go back to the bed, hu-“
“No.”
It’s low, and needing. The cold of the tiles sits under your knees.
You rub his shoulder, but it’s hard when there’s little space between you.
“Come on, it’ll be warmer there-“
“No.”
“Baby-“
“Can’t you just fucking love me?”
Oh. Your poor boy. Always hurting himself in his own head. You let your head go limp on his shoulder.
“Can’t you just stay? Just-“ John stops himself. It’s where he swallows and shifts his thigh. “Just relax. You told me it’s supposed to be nice like this. It’s doesn’t matter which fucking room we’re in.”
There’s a nose in his neck there, you kiss the skin there softy.
“I know, baby. You know I love you, right? I love this - I love our love.”
There’s more kisses where you think John would loosen his grip. It’s where he usually would settle to let his hands follow your body elsewhere. But he doesn’t.
“My sweet boy. I’m sorry, John.”
You try to shift in his hold to make yourself more comfortable, but John just pulls you back into his chest. It’s a hard movement that would be desperate if he wasn’t so focused on just holding you.
“It was the shrink, right?”
“John-“ You try to pull away to face him again, but he’s too quick in pulling you back into your helpless position.
“You love this. You love me. He doesn’t need to be this fucking spewl in your head. He doesn’t know shit about us. Not matter what you tell him.”
Comfort. The warmth of his red.
You finally settle, it’s where you feel the desperate power in John’s body loosen. He’s no long stiff and tight with you as his weight.
“I know, baby. He doesn’t understand.”
“I’m gonna teach that cocksucker a lesson. He can’t go fucking putting shit in your little head.”
It’s easier to rub his shoulder now, but your fingers travel to his hair. “He was just trying to help, sweet boy.”
“Don’t fucking defend him, you -“ There, John settles the rage with a swallow. “This is love, right?”
He shifts you in his arms as a gesture.
You run your hand through the pale.
“Yes, always, baby.”
“Then he needs to learn how to do his job right.”
You look up from his neck, and you see calm finally settle in John’s features. He’s too busy thinking on what to do for anything else. He’s too busy making sure you stay in his arms.
If Dr. Daniels thinks this is how you shouldn’t love John - your baby boy, well.
Maybe he does need to be taught. That you’ll make sure John will stay good.
———————————————————————
There’s a knock at office door of Dr. Daniels. He knows it’s you, and he thinks he’s making good progress in growing a healthy relationship between you and Mr. Homelander.
He opens it to find you ready for your appointment - and a taller, blonde superhero standing at your side. His hand is in yours, and there’s a bright smile with tight eyes. If Dr. Daniels wasn’t a psychiatrist, he wouldn’t have notice the harshness of the look.
“Well hello, Dr! Thought I’d stop by to hop one of my girl’s sessions. See the doctor at work, make sure he’s at work, right?”
John laughs, Dr. Daniels doesn’t.
It’s where he notices you almost share the same one.
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fever dream (homelander r18)
NSFW [x reader]
warnings: Homelander ofc, reader wears a dress again, reader is also sick but why would HL care lol, humping, Dom behavior, ice play?, p in v… in a hotel elevator
summary: Part two to sundress - After your little attempt to get Homelander’s attention, you fear everyone has moved on, including him. He assures you he has not.
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sundress (homelander r18)
slight NSFW [x f!reader]
warnings: slight nsfw/smut, homelander almost unalives another supe oc (not y/n)
summary: After being rescued by Homelander, you boldly seize the chance to linger on his arm. He lets you.
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just imagine how angry homelander would get if people asked his girl about her sex life with him..
Best Things - NSFW
———————————————————————
It would be hellfire.
I feel like John was super prideful about showing you off to the world in the earlier times when you two first went public - but then he realizes he has to share. I can imagine the idea of you two going public was actually his idea, something you were just hesitant on as a nonsupe and he just got so petty and suspicious because that definitely instilled a hot insecurity that you’re ashamed of him.
So, of course, you two go public and it’s heaven. He gets to be so proud of his pretty little girl while everyone sees the love you have for him and only him. It’s interviews and magazines covers and it’s great for the supe because everybody knows who you belong to and that there is proof that he’s fucking loved.
Of course, until people start loving you - and getting too fucking personal.
Suddenly your boy is huffing with arms crossed as you sign autographs and laugh and smile your fucking teeth at all these cocksuckers. And honestly, he thinks you’re doing way too much for the fans, almost like you need their love more than his. Like the love he has for you isn’t enough or something.
John doesn’t know it, but it makes him pout. If there isn’t pure red, he’s probably pouting, waiting for you to prove him wrong - even though he’s never wrong. But he’ll still lean into your kisses.
The last fucking straw for the guy, though, is a question.
His little girl always gets dumbass questions from dumbass lowlives. It’ll never not want to make John pop someone’s eyes out, but restrains himself because he’s that good of a boyfriend.
But he’s all the way on the other side of the street of fans while you’re off all smiley on the other side. Of course, though, the shrill voice of a fan to you catches his ear.
“So, how’s the sex life with an actual superhero?”
John hears snickering and his sweet girl with stutters. He hears his own heart picking up and he can’t fucking believe. Fucking nobodies - who the hell do they think they are?
“Oh, I don’t-that’s a lot in question.”
Why are you such a pushover? Tell them to fuck off.
“I bet it’s a lot in general. It’s gotta be the best thing about you two, right?”
And that’s where John is at your side in a beat. It’s his own smiles as his voice booms with a sudden announcement that you two will be off - and with a grip too tight on your waist, you’re both off into the air - and you know.
You know when your boy’s lips are pulled thin and there’s heavy breathing. You want to tell him to do those breathing exercises you make him do, but you know it’s pointless.
(John thinks it utterly fucking stupid, but he only does it because it amuses him how happy you are when you see him “calm down.”, it’s not like the slow of his heartbeat means anything when he does them.)
He turns and there’s that crinkle of his glove. There’s no kisses when he pushes you down to the couch by the neck. There never is because it’s hard for John to be needy while angry without getting embarrassed.
The dress that’s too fucking short pulls up quickly and there’s already heavy breaths from you. A mimic that John holds between his gloves.
“You should’ve told them to fuck off, kitten.”
Not kitten.
Right now, you know you could go sweet and maternal with soft kisses that’ll trail down to his skin - but you’re too tired from all the meet and greets and you want it hard from your boy.
“John, I’m sorry.”
He scoffs into your mouth as his knees pushes on your crotch. He nudges against your pussy and there’s a little mewl from you. He almost loosens his grip on the arm that tries to reach for his face.
“You should be thankful I didn’t kill the bitch.”
“I am. I am, John.” It’s a soft moan where your boy puts a finger to your clit hard. He removes the glove in a quick moment before his finger is down there again - and you’re already wet.
John was already ready to fuck you into sweet pain, but the way your clit gets swollen so fast brings the blood hot. With the other hand, there’s a hard grip to your breast, he pushes your tit up as you give him a sweet moan.
Of course you like this. You’re his little brat - it can never be punishment for you. The only punishment you don’t enjoy is when he drops you while flying. But he fucks you so sweet then.
John stares into your sweet face, eyes closed and clit swollen. He looks down to your tit and swallows. Fuck. Fuck all of this.
The best thing out of you two? Fuck that bitch, but it’s a pretty close second.
His pointer finger brushes over the nipple as he begins to make circles on your little clit. He slips another finger into your pussy as he goes down to suck.
It’s hard, there’s almost a bite. Your semi-pantied pussy, wet and finger-fucked, is not enough for you to ignore the pain.
“John!”
He looks up, mouth still on your nipple.
“Soft, baby. Please.”
John looks into the sweet little mouth of yours and fuck. He feels calm crawling in. It’s fucking embarrassing how quick the anger fades to get you to soften.
“Sorry.” John’s tongue swirls around the nipple to sooth. The finger picks up the pace and you’re always so tight that it would be painful with he was weak.
Your moans and mewls bring the calm to John’s chest. There’s no longer red - just you and it would make him angry if he cared. He doesn’t care anymore. He just sucks on your breast and John gets lost - you can see it in your boys eyes. You can see him suddenly…get weak. If that’s what you can call it.
No, he’s thinking. And what a mess that’ll be.
The finger inside your pussy slows to a stop. You almost put your hands down there to guide him, but you see John pop his mouth off your nipple. There’s a glossy mouth as he almost flops the side of his face into your breast. He removes the finger and lowers his weight onto you. His favorite cuddle position. You almost sigh, but you just bring your hand to the other side of his face.
You brush against his cheek.
“John?”
There’s a sniffle.
“Baby?”
There’s no sigh.
“Is this the best thing about us?”
“Huh, baby?”
The weight of John’s head grows heavy. “The fucking sex, is that really the best thing?”
You sniffle. No, you guess.
“I don’t know, John. Would that be a problem?”
“It is the best thing, but all of it is.”
“Yeah.”
There’s a moment where you see your boys eyes shift, and then he lifts his head up towards you, chin on skin.
“What’s the other thing?”
You know exactly what to do now. There’s never a moment where you’re not working, you love it.
“The other thing?”
“The other things. About me.”
You run your hand over his hair. “You, John? Everything.”
He scoffs. “Besides my fucking dick.”
There’s a small laugh where John squeezes your thigh.
“Your hair.” You give the blond a little tug. “Your eyes.”
It’s said with a smile, but John furrows his brows and pulls his lips thin.
“Those-“ He inhales hard. “Those are just fucking things.”
His swallow is like a punch.
Oh, your poor baby.
“Aw, John - baby, come here, sweet boy.”
You pull him up, his head on your shoulders. It’s always so easy and you know John will kill you if he ever sees this as a weakness. Or worse, he’ll hide you forever.
“I love your laugh. Your real laugh.” You continue to play with his hair as you feel his thin lips on your neck - not kissing. “I love how you always find ways for dates even when you’re busy.”
John’s hand finds it’s way to your unsucked breast. He holds it gentle in an open palm.
You sigh light. “I love how strong you are - and I don’t mean your powers. You’re my strong boy. And that’s the best thing.”
There’s an instant squeeze to your breast. You don’t think it sexual, because John seems so focus on your answer that he might not be thinking about anything else.
There’s another sniffle.
“Okay.”
And your boy’s okay. He’ll be proud of himself soon enough.
You seem him look down to your sucked nipple, and you tug on his hair slow. You feel the hardness of his dick in your thigh.
“What’s the best thing about me, besides the best things?”
With another squeeze to one breast, and before going to suck on the other, you know John’s back to John, as always.
“That you’re mine.”
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