#Homelander x Gender Neutral Reader
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As You Wish
Homelander x Gender Neutral!Reader
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A/N: So I finally got around to writing something for The Boys and I’m really excited about it. Definitely considering making this a series, so let me know what you think! As always, I hope you enjoy. Feel free to leave any feedback you have in the comments and if you like my work consider leaving a tip! Thanks:)
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 1K
Warnings: Blood Mention, Homelander (he definitely needs his own warning), No Spoilers, Angst, Injuries/bruises but they aren’t graphic, the tiniest bit of fluff if you squint really hard, canon divergence, soulmates share each other’s injuries/pain.
Summary: Homelander takes a special interest in you after a strange encounter.
Created for / Fandom: The Boys / @anyfandomgoesbingo Square Filled I1: Awkward Encounter / @anyfandomaubingo N4: Soulmate AU / @badthingshappenbingo I5: Bruises
You hold a strained smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, an empty sort of sparkle. The dark circles beneath them working to only accentuate the pounding headache you’re trying to hide.
Exhausted from not having slept much the night before, you allow yourself a moment, taking in a deep breath to mentally prepare yourself for the rest of the day. Calculating whether or not you can slip in a quick nap on your office couch.
A bitter, coppery flavor hits your tongue, a sudden consequence of biting down too hard on your bottom lip. “Fuck”, you hiss, bringing a hand underneath your chin to catch the drips of blood before they can fall onto your clothes. Just your luck.
“You—You’re bleeding”, Ashley points out.
There’s salt in the air, a tinge of rust. Homelander licks his lips, enjoying the unusual taste of morality as he forces his face into a grimace, “Well don’t just stand there! Get me something”.
The way her heart jolts in her chest causes the corners of his mouth to turn up slightly. He loves how uneasy he makes her feel, thrives off of it.
“Right—sorry”, she says, averting her eyes as she grabs an unnecessary amount of tissues, roughly dabbing them onto his mouth and chin.
Annoyed, he grabs her arm with a gloved hand, his grip just tight enough to leave behind a bruising warning, “That’s enough. Leave”.
She disappears from his eyeline almost immediately, not wanting to anger him any further.
Heels clicking, her palms coated in sweat. He continues to listen to her heartbeat for a moment, smirking at the familiar sound of hair being pulled out at the root as she frantically presses the button to call the elevator.
Hands shaking, her eyes fixed on the clumps of hair splayed across the floor. He grins.
As the doors shut behind her, signaling that he’s finally alone—Homelander pulls off one of his gloves, using an uncovered digit to sweep up the blood she left behind.
Suckling it off his finger, he groans in appreciation, a satisfied smirk sliding across his face as he licks his lips.
With the taste of iron still heavy on his tongue, he drops both gloves carelessly to the floor, sauntering down the hall with a spring in his step, eager to start the rest of his day.
It's only when he rounds the corner and crashes into somebody head-on that he remembers he isn't the only person in the building.
You stumble back, clutching at your chest to make sure your heart is still beating. "What the fuck, man?", you snap, not caring enough to get a good look at who you’re talking to.
A smirk curls up the corners of his mouth as he takes a step forwards, closing the space between you. He looks you up and down, his eyes filled with a predatory hunger that would send most men to their knees.
“Sorry, sweetheart”, he says, his voice dripping with honey and poison, “I didn't see you there”.
Pushing down your fear at the sudden sight of spangled- red, white, and blue. You take a deep breath and a step back, trying to steady yourself, his eyes burning through you like lasers. “Yeah, well, try not to run into people, okay?”, you quip, your voice wavering only slightly.
You start to move around him, but he steps into your path, blocking you.
“Hey, I said I was sorry”, he says, his voice taking on a harder edge, “No need to be so rude”.
Your heart pounds as you narrow your eyes at him, “I don't need your apology, I need you to get out of my way”.
“What's your problem?”, he asks, his voice low and dangerous.
You shrug, “I don't have a problem. You're the one who seems to be fixated on me”.
He takes another step closer, invading your personal space, “Maybe, I just find you interesting”.
You snort, “Yeah, right—Can I go now?”.
Homelander simply looks amused, if a bit shocked, as he steps to the side, still close enough for you to feel his breath fan your face.
“As you wish”, he says softly, his voice a caress that leaves you feeling dirty.
You move to walk around him again, but at the last second he catches your arm, grip hard enough to bruise, “I didn't catch your name?”.
You look down at his hand, then back up at him, “It's not important”, your voice steadies, “Now let go of me”.
He studies you for a few seconds before releasing his hold entirely, “Suit yourself”, he says with a shrug and wink, “I'll be seeing you around”.
You know you should be scared, but for some reason you're not.
You’re not sure what it is, but there’s something about Homelander that intrigues you. You can’t help but be drawn to him, even though you know you shouldn’t be.
You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts as you turn the corner, but you can’t help but wonder what he’s really like behind that corporate-curated exterior.
Homelander frowns, his eyes following you.
Your heartbeat is steady.
You’re not afraid of him.
He clenches his jaw, something about you is getting under his skin. You’re different, that much is clear.
Because if anyone else had talked to him that way, they’d already be dead.
He sighs, beginning to walk away, when there’s a sudden pain in his arm.
He freezes, eyes wide as he pulls up the sleeve of his suit.
There’s a bruise. Shaped like a hand. His hand.
His mind races and his chest tightens. Who are you?
Thanks for reading! Let me know if you want to be tagged or un-tagged down below <3
The Boys Taglist: None yet!
#The Boys#Homelander x Reader#Homelander x Gender Neutral Reader#Homelander#The Boys x Reader#Billy Butcher#Hughie Campbell#Annie January#Frenchie#Kimiko#X Reader#The Boys x Gender Neutral Reader#Soulmate AU#The Boys Fanfiction#John x Reader#Homelander x You#Future Smut
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His Haven
Homelander x Psychiatrist!Reader Pt. 1?
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
When Homelander first met you, he just came in because Madelyn cooked up some scheme with Edgar to 'prove' that the members of The Seven were sound of mind and could pass a psychiatric evaluation similar to the one used in the army. Of course, you had been paid a lot of money to do the evaluations and even more money to ensure that these heroes passed no matter what they said. You were a respected psychiatrist in your field; that’s why Madelyn wanted you specifically.
Homelander went to his appointment, planning on leaving until you said something that caught his attention. You said, 'I am here for you. I took this job because you all spend your days helping and saving people, but at the end of the day, who helps and saves you? Obviously, I couldn’t physically save you, but I can be a place for you to talk if you need it. Nothing you say will leave this room.' Boy, did that stroke his ego in all the right ways. He decided to stay. Something about you was comforting, and he wanted to talk, so he started small with the obvious stuff. He led the conversation by making off-handed remarks about being better than everyone and having to be perfect for Vought. It was clear you didn’t understand his pain, but you were listening to him. You were actually listening to him and responding.
You weren’t like Madelyn, who seemed to argue with every other thing he said; you didn’t respond with dismissive and uncaring responses like Queen Maeve, and you could actually keep up with the conversation, unlike The Deep.
Homelander surprised you and himself when he began attending regular scheduled sessions. You usually led the discussion by asking various questions. Some questions he would lie about, not feeling totally safe to dive into certain topics, or he would just dodge the question and change the subject. Homelander knew you noticed this because anytime he did either of those things, your body language would change, and you would write something down in your little notebook. That notebook had made Homelander incredibly nervous until he found out you were not in there calling him a useless pussy. You were just simply writing topics you two had discussed and what topics made him uncomfortable.
You seemed to actually care about Homelander’s feelings, even the bad ones. Stan Edgar put Homelander in his place, and Homelander looked down avoiding Edgar’s pointed gaze like a child being scolded by their father. Homelander needed some reassurance, but he would never admit that willingly. Homelander felt weak and stupid for needing someone, but you didn’t seem to mind even when he was ranting and raving, so he went to you. You had been his haven. The one person he could confide in and actually be himself.
He arrived at your office in the morning while you happened to be filling out some paperwork. He knew you didn’t have any appointments today because this had been previously the day Vought scheduled for the evaluations of the heroes. Homelander spent the whole day pestering you. 'What are we doing now?' He asked, not entirely oblivious to your mild frustration. 'Still just filling out paperwork,' you replied. He rolled his eyes. 'God, your life is so boring. Go to work, talk to the crazies, fill out paperwork and go home, and you do that all alone? I forgot how boring normal people can be.'
You laughed before telling him, 'no one is keeping you here.' Homelander’s jaw tightened. This pissed him off. You’re not supposed to say that. You’re supposed to offer to do something more fun. You seemed to notice that 1,000-yard stare he has as he retreats into his own mind. 'Look, I just mean that I have to finish work. I know it’s probably boring you to death just sitting here; you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,' you told him, which seemed to make him feel a bit better, but he’s not entirely out of his head. 'It’s fine, we can just talk while you work,' he tells you with a feigned smile.
Homelander begins to perk up while you finish your paperwork and finally asks you the million-dollar question, 'What are we doing when we get home?'
'I am going home to cook up some dinner and watch some television,' you told him, trying to hint that you were wanting to be alone. Homelander was undeterred. 'What are we eating? I could use a home-cooked meal. We could watch one of my movies. I’ve been told I’m a great actor.' Homelander needs you to agree and compliment him. He desperately wants you to tell him he does a good job, even if you’re just talking about acting. 'Yeah? Your movies are pretty famous,' you say, accepting your fate that he isn’t leaving you alone tonight.
The night is spent with him at your house. Homelander wastes no time making himself at home and pilfering through your things. He feels comfortable being so ensnared in your scent. He becomes more comfortable as the night carries on. You fix his plate and drink for dinner, and the two of you share a dinner that he perceives as romantic. Your food isn’t as good as the private chefs at Vought, but Homelander loves it because he got to see the love you put into making it just for him.
You two clean up together. It’s really you cleaning, and Homelander helps by talking about which movie of his you should watch tonight. Finally, you try to retire to your room, but he follows. 'I thought we were gonna watch a movie… it doesn’t have to be one of mine,' Homelander tries not to sound too desperate, and he hated to say that last bit.
'I had planned on watching something in my room, but you can come lay with me if you want,' you tell him reluctantly. Homelander is excited but tries to keep that hidden. You two lay down and begin watching one of his movies. By the end, Homelander is 'asleep.' He knows you can’t tell the difference in him and ignores you when you gently shake him trying to wake him. He’s not the biggest fan of sleeping in strange beds, but for you, he can make an exception. Next time, he wants you in his bed though.
#homelander x you#reader x homelander#gender neutral reader#homelander x reader#homelander fanfiction#homelander#the boys fanfic#the boys#the seven#tw: homelander#psychiatrist!reader#psychiatrist x character#fem!reader#male!reader#nonbinary!reader
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Homelander x gn!reader
A really bad day.
Warnings: crying, Homelander (he's not the one crying tho)
He'd just been sitting on the couch reviewing some documents for Vought, when his ears had picked up on your presence entering the building. His focus immediately shifts completely to you, about fifteen floors down, as you enter the elevator to his suite.
Reason for his piqued attention are the tiny sniffles his super hearing has picked up. They mean that you either have a cold or that you are crying.
Either of those would be an immediate call for high alert for Homelander. Humans are so very fragile...
You can't be sick, he reasons. You hadn't been sick in the morning, when you'd left for work.
So you're crying.
And yes, the sound is muffled, like you're trying to hold it together and not quite getting the hang of it, but it's still notably the sound of tears.
Homelander's eyebrows furrow. Somehow, that's worse than you being sick.
From his current position, he listens intently to the sound of the elevator moving upwards until there's a telltale ring and you shuffle inside his apartment complex.
He hears you take off your shoes while he's drifting towards the hallway.
You see the movement in the corner of your eye and look up at him, eyes meeting his. When you realize that he's really here, your eyes begin to water again.
Immediately he is by your side, holding your shoulders and checking your body for any injuries.
He finds nothing physically wrong with you but before he can ask, you fling yourself into his arms and start sobbing uncontrollably.
Your hands find his back and then he feels the muscles of your arms squeeze him with all your non-powered-regular-human-strength might.
He freezes. This is new.
Homelander listens intently to any new sounds but thankfully the crying seems to be the only noise of distress you let out. Or at least he can't make out any whimpers of pain or something of the sort.
Slowly, afraid to startle you, he relaxes his body. Strong ams wind around your form and pull you closer.
He's honestly scared he might spook you with moving too much, as if he were handling a small animal.
Homelander doesn't like dealing with crying from others, unless it's tears of happiness. People he saves often cry out of relief or from the shock but most of the time he leaves those to the paramedics or other heroes around as soon as possible.
You're his partner. He can't do that here.
This is the first time he's seen you cry, now that he thinks about it. It would make sense for you to cry sometimes, as it is in the normal range of human emotions but the two of you have only been dating for about two months now and known each other for four. So this display of emotions from you is entirely new to him.
'Come on, Homelander', he thinks, 'get your act together'.
He's not going to hand his crying partner to somebody else just because he doesn't know how to deal with human emotions very well...
So he tries to remember his training. What did they tell him to do in these situations?
Oh dear, your hands must hurt with all this clenching going on at his back. He just knows your muscles must be tired at this point.
Not for the first time, he curses his upbringing. Dealing with emotions had come rather short in his education. The focus had always been on how to destroy, never how to comfort.
But that one time they'd given him a lesson on how to deal with people in distress for of his public image.
However, that doesn't really apply here, he reasons. It might even be impersonal. You're not some random fan he can pat on the back and leave!
So when he picks you up, arms draped over his shoulders, legs wrapped around his waist, he's operating purely on instinct. He's seen a man do this in a movie once and it had worked there, so he takes the gamble.
To his relief, you tighten your grip on him and cling to his body like a little koala, tears still wetting the material of his suit.
The mental image is quite cute, he will admit. Then again, so are you.
Walking back to the couch, he settles the two of you into the soft pillows for a little comfortability. You can't just keep standing in the hallway forever.
Noticing the fuzzy blanket he'd bought for you few weeks ago because his place is always cold, he shifts you around and clumsily wraps you in the soft, red fabric, until you're sitting in a cocoon on his lap.
You've stopped crying at this point as well. There's still the occasional sob or sniffle but for the most part you're just clinging onto him and hiding your face in his neck.
He pats your head awkwardly and you let out a tiny laugh that gets muffled in his neck.
It's quite nice like this, he notices. Not the crying, of course. But have you this close, needing physical comfort which nicely feeds his own cravings for your touch.
He'd actually quite like you like this, all vulnerable, if it weren't for your upset state and the crying... He doesn't like those...
After a while, he experimentally places a soft kiss on your head and you pull away slightly to look at him.
Your eyes and cheeks are red from crying and your face is a little puffy but it's kinda cute in his eyes.
"Do you feel better?" He asks, continuing to stroke your hair.
You nod and take a deep breath.
"Better," you sniffle. "Thanks for being here. I- I needed that hug and I just really felt like seing you. Sorry, I had-... I had a really shitty day..."
His brain stops at that, having just had a revelation.
Constellations in his mind shift just the tiniest bit.
You trust him.
You came to him for comfort.
Not because there was nobody else either but because you genuinely wanted to see him and thought his being there would bring you calm! You felt like seeing him would make you feel better!
The most dangerous person in the world (not that you realize that) and you came to him for comfort.
Deep in his chest, pride and satisfaction begin to swell, along with a new kind of warmth he's never felt before. He doesn't even try to fight the broad smile that sneaks onto his face.
"It's fine! You can always come to me for comfort. I don't mind!" He reassures you, cheerfully,
"I really don't mind."
His arms tighten around you just the tiniest bit. Well, there's no way around it. Seems like he'll just have to protect you from now on.
#mine#my writing#gender neutral reader#gn reader#homelander x reader#homelander x you#the homelander#homelander#the boys tv show#the boys fanfic#the boys tv#the boys#the boys series
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Please, I'm begging you do more Homelander x top male reader. I loved your other fic with him. Maybe reader is a supe who's stronger than Homelander and left. Homelander was sent to kill reader due to reader having information but instead gets fucked. Thank you and have a nice day.
DES says . . . im not doing anything right now, so why not? hope you enjoy xx (even though this is very late).
SUM. — homelander is sick, erratic, manic. why? he has his fame, his money, his powers – what more could he need? an antidote, obviously, what else?
CON. warning — smoking weed / rolling a blunt (once), dry humping, dry orgasm, overstim, mentions of: growling, passing out (figuratively), meeting heaven (figuratively), & yan-like actions. p in a. bareback. begging. impregnation (breeding ?) kink. collar & leash. subby (leaning on), needy, & whiny homelander.
NOTES. — very rushed. semi-detailed smut. not a very good ending.
you flipped through the televison’s provided channels with an unlit blunt protruding from your lips, itching to light it in order to feel the undeniable zest and haze it always seemed to provide you with. the calming and doughy-like sensation melted your brain, it allowed you to escape from the realization that you were indeed wanted by national police and superheros (all at the same time, mind you) just because you even dared to speak of retiring. therefore, you came up with an idea: just escape! to hawaii or somewhere — you landed in Australia, though, so hawaii was entirely off course but aye, you were gone and free and almost high.
what’s not to love?
you finally found a reliable sitcom that’d allow you to not think too hard or pay attention too much. so you sat back and slouched, drowned into the comfiness of the couch’s plush cushions, and lit your blunt. the wafting smoking engulfed itself deep within your lungs and etched itself into the cushions of your couch. before you could even care about your couch’s wellbeing or could even take a second exhilarating blow, the smell of metal being burnt and resulting smoke that wafted from under your penthouse door to your living made your eye brows furrow together with confusion. before continuing your trail on being high, you dipped the blunt into an ashtray and pushed it into the table, and sat up, watching the door with a sense that something was array in the air.
“fix me, oh fuck — y’gotta, fuck, fuck, fuck—,” john’s words fell into loud, squeaky squabbles into the silk sheets of your bed. his large frame sat atop of your hips, straddling you whilst he made a steady pace of teasing his concealed cock with the friction your ruffled jeans provided him with. you wanted to calm him down, tell him it’s okay, baby, you know i’ll fix you, but he chose that ignorant and arrogant company or what the two of you could have had. and that’s something you’ll never forget, but damn, why pass up on fucking the most famous hero in the world because he’s begging to have you? nobody in their right mind would, that’s for sure.
“you gonna let me treat you right?” you asked, gripping on his hips with words that haven’t been spoken before but explained and demonstrated through the many encounters that occurred in the empty janitor closets in the hallways of his company. and john. . he can’t help but grind himself a little harder and nod just a little faster. he wants you in ways he could never explain. he needs you with the biblical and primal history behind it. he begs to serve you as though he’s nothing but a measly worshipper and you’re a god within the highest of heavens. and you allow him to do so.
“please.” john responds, and you know he means it.
before long, he has a pastel-pink color around his neck with the leash wrapped around your balled fist, feeling like a submissive fucking bitch under your control, and damn, he feels good. his hands are tied behind his back with his nails clawing at the air between you and him in order to feel the pleasure that courses through every atom in his very being. for the first time in a long time, john allows himself to be willingly and properly used by someone he adores.
when you mention the fact that you’ve run out of the very last condom, he says: “get me pregnant.” and good lord above, you can’t help but comply with his demands. he felt fucking heavenly too, he felt so, so fucking good, and the noises that were coming from him? good fucking god, you’d capture those noises in a jar and listen to them every night before you sleep if you could.
in between the lingering touches and chaste kisses and animalistic thrusts and moans and being treated like a fucking free-use prostitute, the tears that streamed down his eyes and the whines that came from him and the need eminiting from him to have the immediate skin-to-skin contact with you even though you were literally shoving your cum into the deepest part of his guts is what captivated you entirely. the way he honestly showed his greed proudly with it circling around town and right back to you made your heart swell. fuck, this was sick (sick enough to make you force yet another cry out his hoarse throat).
“oh fuck, fuck, fuck — gotta make you mine, gotta get pregnant and make sure you stay with me, oh fuck, gotta – gonna cum, fuck, gonnafuckin’cum–,” the process that coincided with long strings of his cum colliding with his pretty pink breasts made the loudest, girliest, guttural squeal mixed with a whine mixed with the neediest moan escape from his throat with him crying out your name. your sylabells. and for fucks sake, he knew exactly how to get you started again to buck your cum-covered tip into his abused prostate once more.
when he cried out your name like you were the Archangel himself, you knew that today would turn into tonight which would turn into yet another post-sex morning with a bitchy, clingy, neck-biting john that always needed a piece of you with him or he swore he might (would and undeniably will) go crazy. and to be honest, if you just savor this maniac for just a little bit longer, maybe the earth would look a bit more brighter to you. maybe the air would be clearer, the sun would shine harder, the birds would harmonize better — the morning is the best time of your day.
#dan.writes#x male reader#x gn reader#x gender neutral reader#the boys x reader#the boys x you#the boys x male reader#homelander x gn reader#homelander x male reader#homelander x reader#homelander smut#bottom homelander#x top reader#x top male reader
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Homelander x fem!reader
Sugar Daddy Homelander
At first, Homelander kept you surrounded in flowers. These felt more like a learned gesture the man orchestrated automatically over any personal gift. You soon learn that he's a diehard romantic, insisting on going by the book. A lady should have flowers. His girlfriend would have flowers.
Like clockwork, every week roses would show up on your doorstep. Always lovely, of course but even you can grow tired of a rose scented apartment. It came to the point of you casually gaining an obsession with the language of flowers, which Homelander eagerly latched onto as well. Except now you have to decode the messages every time and correctly or he's prone to get all huffy and pouts the rest of the day.
You now keep a cheat sheet in your phone's note app.
Now the first true gift? That was unexpected but not much of a surprise. Homelander had invited you out to some upper crust Vought party to show you off and of course none of your chain-store items were up to snuff. The color of the dress he'd picked? Blue, of course. A midnight shimmer that made you feel like the night sky for how the light danced across the sequins. How Homelander managed to get your exact dress size, you never figured out but it still feels like a question best left unanswered.
The second gift was less of a surprise, but more of an apology. Homelander had taken to many a nightly visit to your apartment and to say you broke the bed would have been an understatement. In truth, he broke the bed but Homelander still blames you. Cracked the headboard because your mouth had been too clever.
Now the third gift? That had felt like one where you'd wish you had kept your mouth shut. Your old, reliable laptop had been showing its age. You complained, in an affectionate manor as the device is an old friend from your Uni days but Homelander had taken it to heart. The next day, something sleek and red had been sitting on the spot where your old, banged up laptop use to reside. Then came the conversation of how computers worked and yes, you actually do need all of the files from your old one. That was the only day you'd been thankful for cloud storage.
By now, you know to hold your tongue when bemoaning any beloved items in your apartment but that doesn't mean you don't enjoy not so discreetly digitally window shopping and letting out some pitiful sighs as you longingly look at a purse out of your price range. You always act surprised and delighted when Homelander presents it to you a few days later, crooning your praise while making certain to shower him in kisses. The man melts every time without fail.
There are certain perks to dating the most powerful man in the world and you're allowed to enjoy them.
#homelander#homelander writing#homelander x reader#the boys fanfic#canon x you#drabble#ask#anon ask#flluuufffffffffffffffff~#x reader#if there's no sex involved I kinda default to a gender neutral reader so yeh
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How would Thor/Homelander/Soldier boy react to them accidently hurting (emotionally or physically) their bf?
Thor:
Probably the only one here with some emotional intelligence, and yeah, he used to be arrogant, but he's a sweetheart, an absolute angel. Thor is most likely very in tune with how you convey emotions, I mean he worships the ground you walk on.
If he hurts you physically, and you end up scared of him, I can see two things that could happen, he either distances himself from you for a while to work through the mental breakdown that probably hits him. Second option is he hovers; I mean, the man can summon thunder and control lightning - regardless of what species you are (Kree, Human, Asgardian, Elf, Skrull, etc.) - he's gonna be concerned cause I mean, he could maybe indirectly stop your heart, or crush your internal organs, or just hurt you brutally and painfully in any other way.
If he hurts you emotionally, he's groveling; he's doing everything in his power to show how sorry he is and how much he loves you. He'll probably ask you what you want, if you want distance he'll give it to you, he'll stay away until you call back and hopes it doesn't lead to a breakup.
Homelander:
Like father like son, I guess. Sort of. I think with all the time he's spent around people and getting high of approval, he at least has some sort of knowledge on emotions, but not like in a healthy normal way, more in a 'I've been around people crying and whining before I know enough to be able to speedrun the crying stage and get to the forgiveness part' if that makes sense.
Also, I feel like it would also depend on how your relationship is; if you and Homelander have a genuine thing going on, then he'd probably put in effort cause he doesn't want to lose the only source of actual genuine affection in his life. So you'd probably get an apology, some gifts, anything Homelander thinks will get him back in your good graces. And then cuddles.
If your relationship is a fling of some kind or fake relationship to hype the masses with no romantic feelings of any kind involved on his end, then you ain't getting no apology honey 💀, because I mean, he likes to embarrass people who he perceives have wronged him, so even if he's the one at fault for hurting you physically or mentally, it'll somehow become your fault, so he'll probably bring the fight out into the public, use Vought to paint you as the one in the wrong, if you don't want that to happen then you should apologize, you're the one who's wrong here.
Soldier Boy:
I love Ben, I do, but I know this man has like the emotional bandwidth of a rock like he's probably still trying to process being attracted to not only women while also trying to unpack his goofy ass douchebaggery.
I don't think Ben would notice at first if he hurt you emotionally, or if he does, he'd probably think you'd get over it and then be shocked if/when you don't. He'd feel bad and experience the wonderful world of guilt.
If he hurt you physically, he'd notice a lot quicker, and probably feel worse, I feel like he's the kind of guy who takes physical injuries/pain more seriously than emotional and mental.
#shiteanswers#shitedrabbles#thor x male reader#thor x gender neutral reader#homelander x male reader#homelander x gender neutral!reader#soldier boy x male reader#soldier boy x gender neutral reader#shiteheadcanons
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Blue
Part 1
Homelander x gn!reader
Summary: Soulmate AU where you only see colour once you meet your soulmate.
Disclaimer: Homlander is awful, I don’t condone any of his actions, I just enjoy him as a character.
Content warning: I mean it’s Homelander and the boys I think that’s warning enough.
Apologies for any typos.
_______________
You froze as the world burst into colour around you. You’d been fighting with the boys for so long to take this prick down but now he was standing in front of you and his eyes were blue...
Your mind was racing a mile a minute, telling you to do something, anything! You were supposed to take him down, this wasn’t the plan! However you weren’t the only one who’d faltered, the supe who moments ago had been ready to kill you all now simply stood there, staring and looking not unlike a lost little boy. His mouth opened as if to say something before falling shut.
“What are you waiting for?!” Billy practically screamed from somwhere behind you, you’d almost forgotten they were there. Energy still crackled at your fingertips but your arms had fallen to your sides.
Homelander’s eyes seemed to search yours for something, an answer maybe. Then, as if nothing had happened, he was gone. The ground shook with the force of his takeoff and you were left staring at the space he had been.
You stumbled back, legs almost giving out beneath you. You startled when Butcher grabbed your shoulders, turning you to face him.
“What the fuck was that?!”
You only stared at him as you desperately tried to peace together what just happened. Glancing around at your friends expectant faces you almost wished the answer would jump out at you.
“Well?!”
You blinked, a thousand things running through your head, but when you opened your mouth all you managed was
“Blue...”
_____
Billy had barely looked at you since it happened, even Hughie looked at you wearily. You sat at the back of the hideout glaring at the floor. How could this have happened? Why him? After everything he’s done it had to be some cruel joke.
You kept your eyes focused on the floor, not looking up as Hughie took a seat next to you, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. Butcher was right after all, if Homelander was your soulmate, what did that make you? You were suprised he hadn’t kicked you out immediately, he had every right to.
“So uh... Hey”
You didn’t answer and an awkward silence fell over you.
“You know, maybe the universe is wrong” Hughie tried a second time, doing his best to comfort you.
A heavy sigh left your lungs, “ The universe is never wrong. You saw his face, he could see it too, the colour” you rubbed your hands over your face with another sigh, “I’d always thought that if I did have a soulmate, it would be a special moment, fuck that I guess. Butcher is right to hate me”
“Y/N, he doesn’t hate you, he’s just...”
“It’s okay Hugh, I get it. If Homelander is my soulmate, what does that make me huh?” You stood, “I should leave”
“No!” Hughie rose quickly grabbing hold of your arm “don’t leave, please, you don’t have to leave”
“Yes they do” Billy dropped your bag heavily at your feet, “get out”
“Butcher-“ Hughie started.
“Only kept a supe like you ‘round coz you were useful” Billy spat leaning closer, “but you’re just like the rest of ‘em. Piss off!”
“Butcher!”
“No he’s right” you bit your lip, holding back the tears, “I’ll go”
You took your bag and left the building in a rush, soon finding yourself on the streets with no idea what you should do. The lights were bright, brighter than before, the neon signs felt blinding. The shop windows popped with colour, and every billboard in sight was plastered with those blue eyes and pearly white smile. It made you sick.
Eventually you found yourself back at your apartment for the first time in a while, a thick layer of dust coated the surfaces. You flopped down on the sofa, half expecting a plume of dust to erupt from the cushions with the weight of it. Your head felt heavy against the back of the sofa, there was a million things you should be doing, should be worrying about but right now all you wanted to do was sleep, to get away from it all.
“Nice Place”
You leapt from the sofa with a barely stifled shriek, instinctively taking your fighting stance as energy burst into your palms.
“C’mon, none of that, you know it’s pointless”
You glared as Homelander strolled through your living room entirely unbothered as if he lived there. Hesitantly, you let the energy fizzle away, he was right. The only reason you stood a chance earlier was because you had the element of surprise, right now you had nothing.
Your voice was tight, “what do you want?”
“What do I want?” He frowned before letting out a half laugh that was more of a sharp exhale than anything, looking at you like you’d just asked the stupidest question ever “I want you of course,” he dropped the smile,
“My soulmate” ...
#Homelander x reader#Homelander#the boys#hughie campbell#billy butcher#fanfic#gender neutral reader#my work
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Everybody out here be writing some absolute god tier stuff for Homelander and I rlly wanna join in but my adhd makes it nigh impossible to write 😭
BUT STILL! I wrote a little drabble of filth that I will put out there!
Reader is amab, but no gender is actually specified. Enjoy!
Homelander kissed like he intended to devour, licking into you with a desperate fervour that left you breathless as he clutched at you on the verge of too tightly. As though if he didn’t hold onto you, you might disappear.
Out of all the pretty women that would be happy to turn a blind eye to his warning signs, of all the people eager to drop to their knees for him, somehow it was you that had captivated his attention. You who had left him a bleeding mess with his heart split across the floor to be scooped back up in your weary touch, a fragile thing beneath his own where his searing hands sliding under your shirt made you come apart for him just as he did for you. When he gripped you by the shoulders to turn you onto your belly, you moaned at the weight of him pressing you against the couch, of the urgent hardness digging into the vulnerable place where your ass met your thighs, and squirmed not to get away, but to get closer. It was all he could do to groan in your ear, delirious on the sight and smell and taste of you. He could so easily tear you apart, lay you out like an artistic splatter of reds and purples and mauves to study and to feel, yet instead he fucked you in your living room like it was the closest he would ever get to such visceral fantasizes. It certainly felt like it was, your body underprepared for the girth of his cock and the vigor of his thrusts, your aching whines an assurance in his mind that he was hurting you.
And yet still you did not plead for him to stop, did not beg for him to slow down, instead you reached to touch any and all parts of him once you were sweating and tired and he’d flipped you onto your back. His sides, his chest, his shoulders. His face. Praising him through your tears, as though a deer should comfort the tiger eating it alive. Perhaps you were not as breakable as he’d thought, the brilliant blue of his gaze caught in your watery eyes as you tried not to squeeze them shut against the force of his adoration for you, spelled out plain and unimpeded where it dripped from you as he eventually withdrew himself. He pressed his essence back into the velvet heat of your ass with probing fingers that made you mewl after the onslaught you had so graciously taken, kissed you dizzy with his soft lips and pearly teeth that sucked and bit at your skin down, down past your heaving belly to the leaking, twitching mess of your cock that he swallowed down with the same sureness he had fucked you with.
It was a passionate, obsessive way that he made love, every touch demanding to receive the same devotion he proffered, every bite and growl needing to be met with a soothing forgiveness, immediate and unconditional. Bruises were to be admired, his attentions acknowledged, pleasure to be enjoyed just as he had taken it from you himself. The taste of you upon his tongue was enough to make him nearly shut his eyes in satisfaction as you choked his name and bucked into his mouth, fingers twisted in his hair. Still he didn’t stop, pressed deeper to suckle until you were soft and hypersensitive, sure to take all of you in as he sat back with a smug smile. Sweaty and flushed, tired with lingering aches inside and out, looking up at him like the devoted worshipper you were, he knew you were his.
But even with his hunger momentarily satiated, with his smile soft and pleased and his touches grown possessive rather than greedy, you knew it wasn’t enough. His eyes were sharp, calculating, lingering along your body as though he was prying deep beneath tissue and ligament and into your bloodstream where your heart fluttered just for him. How far would he be able to push until you couldn’t hold any more of him? How far would you let him take you until you shattered apart? And how far would his fascination in you let him enjoy it.
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IF I COULD KILL YOU, I WOULD - the boys x reader
author’s note: been hooked on the boys for the past few weeks and the beginning of season three left me feeling very frustrated, so here’s how i decided to vent. warning of spoilers up until the beginning of season three.
!: there are like three song references in this lol hope you catch all of them
presets: i like to write body-neutral inserts as well as i can, but this once i felt like the reader “looking” like a girl to homelander made plot difference, and it’s explained eventually why at the end of the story. reader has no assigned gender, but talks about using female appearance to manipulate a situation! no gendered pronouns used.
:. 2.816 words
In preparation for what you knew was going to be a long night, chasing after your leftover tasks of the day, you went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, returning to the living room ready to start your marathon of catching up with everything you missed.
Except that just as you sat down on the sofa you were interrupted by your stomach, that started to make you feel unexpectedly bloated, and your bladder, that screamed at you to go to the bathroom. And so, you decided to listen to your body and scurried away to the toilet.
When you got there, you opened the door, turned on the lights and moved to lock yourself in. You spun on the back of your feet to face the mirror above the sink, just for that casual check of if you looked as hot as you felt like, and you found yourself face to face with a very big room, with windows that went from the floor to the ceiling, showing you skyscrapers in the distance. Inside the room, there were TV panels with some news being broadcasted by different channels, and some graphics you couldn’t even begin to comprehend. In the middle of the room, there was a big table in the shape of a triangle, with the inner part cut out. But… it didn’t really look like a triangle, more like-
Fuck. Oh, fuck. The table was shaped as a V, with the bottom and middle corner pointed towards the windows.
V as in Vought. V as in The fucking Seven.
“What the fuck.” You said, shivering as soon as you heard your own words echo back at you.
You didn’t even have time to ponder over how the hell you got teleported from your parent’s house, from the bathroom, even more, to another place entirely. The real issue was that you were standing in a room that by itself could mean one of two possibilities:
you were accidentally trespassing the site of filming for Amazon Prime’s series The Boys;
or, and the most terrifying option,
you were at the actual Vought Tower.
And even though some part of you tried to call you stupid for even thinking of option 2, the other side of your wrinkly gray matter counter argued that teleporting from your bathroom to another place was also stupid. Improbable, inconsequent, impossible, indictive-
Were you having a stroke?
You lifted your hand to count your fingers, for no reason whatsoever. It just seemed like a good idea to use your counting ability as a measure of if this was reality or if you were currently having a seizure on your bathroom’s floor and were hallucinating, or something.
Then, the doors opened behind you, and you heard a voice that chilled your body.
“Oh?”
You swore to yourself, then and there, that if you turned around and saw Homelander, that you’d attack him and ask questions later.
And as you saw him, that idea went completely out of your head.
You could see, even from afar, the twinkle of absolute depravity and madness on his face. He looked exactly as he did on the show. Once more, you thought that you could also be on the filming set of the series, and that physically attacking an actor wouldn’t be good for you - but, to be honest, what ultimately made you not act on your impulses was the bloodlust that you could see in the way his lips curled, mimicking a smile, even though it looked more like he wanted to rip his own face off.
You’d gladly help. Just looking at Homelander in person made your skin crawl. Fucking disgusting piece of-
“And what are you doing here?”
He asked, and his haughty demeanor didn’t change for a second. Behind him, you saw Black Noir turn the corner, and you felt your luck running out as the clock ticked by.
“Oh! I’m, uh, so sorry, Mr. Homelander!” And you brought about the nicest, good-girl looking grin you had, pretending to be shy and trying to look flustered. He had to believe that you were a silly fan, and that your heart was racing in attraction and not terror, or he’d blast your face off. “My mom works at the lab, and she took me here to see what my future could look like if I interned for Vought!”
Many times before, your ability to lie easily had put you in trouble, nonsensically creating small lies by habit and compulsively, but this once, you were very, very proud of what you could come up with on the spot.
He changed his smile for something more fan-service like, and you willed your brain to see him as something other than a fucking genocidal dictator, so you could keep pretending you were enamored with the piece of shit that called himself Homelander.
Black Noir, meanwhile, stood exactly where he was. Not moving a single fucking muscle, almost making your hairline sweat by pure intimidation tactics.
“Ha!” Laughed Homelander, and you tried not to let your smile tremble at the loud noise. “It’s very admirable to have your future planned, especially at a company as special as Vought.”
“Thank you!” You answered, lowering your head and making your eyes fidget back and forth from his face to anywhere else. You could literally hear a giggly ‘I’m shy’ going off in your head, and it took all of you to keep the sarcasm away from your voice. This was a man that could literally fry you. “I’ve actually always wanted to work for The Seven. I think the work you guys do is admirable,” and you also gestured to Black Noir, just out of spite, “and being part of the people that back your patriotic service is the most important thing I could do.”
For a moment, you could feel your neck and back tense, scared of having overdone it. You hated the patriotic nonsense this spangled asshole spewed, and you would never work for his cause - especially after that whole thing with Shitfront, being a Nazi and all - and you really, really wanted to bash his head in.
But diplomacy first, aggression later. You had to survive this before you blew Homelander to pieces.
He laughed again, and your escape made itself aware to you by the return of the pressure on your lower stomach just before he opened his slimy mouth.
“I also got lost, I, uh, was looking for the bathroom?”
°°°
After Black Noir simply pointed the correct way, you sprinted out of the room with a sweet smile and a call of “thank you for your service!” that made you want to swallow your own tongue.
Disgusting. Despicable. Derogatory. Diminutive-
“Are you alright?” And at the sound of someone else talking to you, you spun away from the mirror only to see Annie looking concerned.
Well, understandable. You did spend the last twenty minutes with your face shoved into the sink, eyes wide and unmoving. The fact that you didn’t see a single camera or filming crew on your way to the bathroom further drove the point home that, unfortunately, you weren’t going to be arrested for trespassing on private property, or even fined.
You might actually be a part of the fucked up and apocalyptic world of The Boys, and with that being true, you kind of wanted to spontaneously combust.
“You won’t believe how happy I am to see you.”
She seemed startled, but tried to smile, possibly thinking you were a crazy fan. Well, you were a little crazy, so she got at least one thing right.
“Do you have your phone on you? I need you to put on a song for me.” And even though you knew you sounded crazy, her own tactics to avoid being overheard were simply too genial for you not to borrow them. You wildly gestured with your eyebrows, even mimicking Homelander’s pose, so she could try and gather why you’d ask something like that of her.
Her eyes shone both in suspicion and recognition. “Uh, okay.”
Before she could scroll through her playlists, you intervened. “Chelsea Dagger. That’s a good one.”
Annie really looked like you were the weirdest person she’d ever seen, but honestly, considering the recent events on episode four, of Homelander killing Alex, you for sure weren’t the weirdest and-
Wait, wait. Were you even on episode four?
As the song started to ring out, you swallowed your lasting nerves of not knowing what the fuck was going on and cut the chase as soon as the vocals joined the instruments, knowing the fast-paced rhythm and singing would cover up your words for anyone else but her.
With a glance around the bathroom to see if the other stalls were vacant, you found yourself satisfied and opened up the conversation with, “I need you to take me to Butcher.”
Starlight took a step back, but you could see she was intrigued, despite being extremely on edge.
“Look, it will take me a while to explain, and I’d rather just do it once,” you carried on, before she could interrupt, “but for now, you just need to know that I know a lot more shit than I was supposed to, and I need to talk to all of you. The whole team.”
She stuttered, but held her ground of suspicion. “And who’s this ‘whole team’ you’re referring to?"
“Butcher, you, Hughie, Marvin, Frenchie, Kimiko. Last I checked, they’re all laying low at a store’s basement or something.” Her eyes started to glow, and the lights in the bathroom flickered, and you rushed to add on to anything that would make her feel less threatened. “Look! Look. I’m on your side, ok? I- fuck, cuff me, or you can, like, torch me with your powers if after we all talk you still feel like I’m a threat, but just please hear me out? I really want to help.”
Honestly, if it were you hearing your own speech, you would have fried yourself on the spot. Weak ass arguments, completely crazy and a liability for their kill-Homelander-plans, but you must’ve done something right, because Starlight was dimming her powers and looking at you with slightly less murderous intent.
Good.
“If you try anything, I’ll make you regret it.”
And even if she was a super, you didn’t really take her narrowed eyes and grinding teeth as seriously as you should. But, well, after facing Homelander and lying straight to his face, and surviving to tell the tale, you were feeling a little too lucky.
You were sure they were going to believe you.
°°°
“I don’t believe a fucking word you’re saying.”
Ah, there goes your confidence.
William Butcher was even brasher than you thought he could be, leering at you with that creepy, arrogant smile of his. It was still kinda nice to get to see this completely deranged anti-hero in person.
“And where the fuck did you find this idiot?” He asked, this time turning to look at Annie.
“Look! I’m not fucking lying, you bully.” You said, making Hughie’s eyes widen in astonishment. You had told them everything you knew, down to what you were doing before getting kidnapped into this mess of a universe and what happened at the tower, even exactly what you told Annie before convincing her to take you to the hide-out, and it had no effect on them. Time to pull out the ‘I know what you did in the dark’ card. “Hit me with the most recent supe-related news, and I’ll tell you what I know about it.”
Frenchie jumped at the chance. “Termite!” And when you just stared at him, even though Hughie was most definitely doing the cutthroat gesture at him, Frenchie just powered through, gesticulating wildly to illustrate his words. “Is it true that he shrinks himself and goes up people’s ass?”
Just like that, you had a lightbulb moment, even though the idea of recalling what happened sent a shiver of regret up your spine already.
“You haven’t gone after him yet?” And Hughie facepalmed, obviously concerned about having shared the mission with you, specially after Frenchie told you they’d do it tonight. “This is perfect, then. I’m going to detail everything that’s going to happen to Starlight, and she can confirm after the mission if I got it right.”
“And if you are, how do we know you didn’t set everything up?” Called Hughie, trying to look tough. You grimaced, and his pose faltered. “And why Starlight?”
“Trust me, I couldn’t make up what’s going to happen even if I tried. This is just a level above having outside interference, I guarantee you.” You rolled your shoulders back, looking at Annie now. “And she’s the only one I trust to not try to change things, and to keep secrets. She’s also not going to the mission, so. Self explanatory.”
When you told Starlight, away from everybody else, she looked completely mortified, face twisting up with every word you said. You told her about how Frenchie would see Termite fucking a barbie doll in front of an audience, and that the only sweet moment would be Kimiko watching a girl play the piano, and then the whole endeavor of Termite exploding a guy and then Butcher finally catching him with a bag of drugs, and you knew that for a second she wished she’d killed you in the bathroom so that she wouldn’t have to hear any of this.
“Oh, and Frenchie?” You called, just before he left the room with Kimiko to get ready for the mission. “Wear the tightest underwear you have. You’ll thank me later.”
°°°
Starlight left to go back to Vought, and the rest of the team left to deal with Termite and the visions of hell you had to endure back when you watched that episode.
Or was it this episode? Back home, were you part of the show now? Part of you didn’t even want to ponder over that, considering that being in the supe universe hadn’t really clocked in yet with your brain. Maybe you felt like you were really having a seizure and convulsing around, alone at night in the bathroom floor, because nothing else could explaing how the fuck you got here, much less how you’d go back home. No way were you going to stay in this twisted reality for longer than-
“So.” Marvin interrupted your daydreams, being the only one left to look after you. He complained with Butcher for hours before finally agreeing to come, the tipping point being when you took over the call and told him everything you knew of his life. Even though he was, as he said to Butcher, ‘out of the business, asshole’, he still rushed over. Marvin was mostly here to make sure you wouldn’t just wander off and disappear, or fuck everyone over, since now you knew where the hideout was, but you tried to think that he also wanted to keep you company. “Are you really as good at improv as you made it seem?”
You laughed, more to fill the silence than anything else. “It doesn’t make me look like a good person, but uh, yeah. I’m very good at lying, especially on the spot.”
He hummed, looking back at his hands and the drink he held, which looked like Whiskey. Or just some orange alcohol, you had no fucking clue. “You gotta be, by how cleanly you managed to evade Homelander. What was up with that whole story of being an intern?”
“Well.” You remembered your words to the shitty metahuman back on the meeting room, and gave MM a disgusted simper. “Had to fill up his ego, make him disarmed by seeing an innocent girl looking up to him. I guessed that the fastest way to make that fucker underestimate and disregard someone is by hitting both his desperate need of being loved and his chauvinistic view on women. So, had to make him see me as a docile and demure good girl and disassociate myself as a puny human from his grandeur as a god.”
MM’s mouth twisted downwards the more you spoke, and you lifted your own cup of water towards him in salute. Homelander was pathetic, infuriating and disgusting.
A few moments of silence went by, and you smiled before catching Marvin’s attention again.
“In the end, I guess I only made Annie get me to you guys because I actually believe you have a chance of killing that fucker.” Marvin’s eyes widened. You sat back, and he swore you looked a little too much like Butcher, with a crooked grin that reeked of chaos. “And, well, I’ve never been too much of a gore fan, but watching his head get bashed in is a show I wouldn’t miss for the world.”
#homelander#the boys#the boys s3#gn reader#the boys s2#william butcher#hughie campbell#annie january#starlight#marvin milk#frenchie#black noir#butcher x reader#billy butcher#the boys x reader#the boys x you#gn!reader#gender neutral reader#the boys x gender neutral reader#the boys x gn! reader
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You're My Best Friend (Homelander x Reader)
Summary: Homelander was a test tube baby, raised in isolation in a cold, clinical lab. But that doesn’t inspire America, does it? Vought tasks you with creating the idyllic backstory for its hero, and what starts as a limited comic run spirals out of control when Homelander himself demands your help in making the story a reality.
Note: Gender neutral reader, but no other descriptors are used. Based on a request by @crash-and-cure as well as a bastardization of one of the sweetest love songs ever written (sorry, John Deacon!) This got kinda meta? Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.
Word count: 2k
Warnings: Emotional manipulation, I guess some gaslighting on Homelander’s part? Do not interact if you’re under 18.
When Vought hired you to create their long-awaited Homelander origin comic series, you were thrilled—until they gave you so little information about his childhood to work with, you weren’t even sure you could come up with one comic, let alone the ten they requested. The details about his childhood were minimal, not even a full printed page—a loving mom and dad, played baseball, did well in school, strong sense of justice from a young age, his friends called him “Johnny.” Your requests to meet with Homelander so you could get some stories from the man himself were constantly denied.
You almost considered dropping the project, until you decided to throw caution to the wind and pull from your own childhood and set it in good ol’ generic suburbia. Some of the storylines were based on your own experiences or things that had happened to people you’d grown up with, though you changed enough names and details to not link it to anyone in particular. Except yourself, of course. Using a pseudonym professionally meant you felt no need to change your own name in the comics. Sure, making your cooler fictionalized self Homelander’s childhood best friend was a bit self-indulgent, but no one would know, really.
To your relief, the editors at Vought loved your ideas, making minor changes before bringing the storylines to their comic artists to bring it to life. The result was Finding Homelander: A Boy’s Journey To Be a Hero. The issues flew off shelves when they were first released, ironically praised for their relatability and authenticity. Vought extended your contract, asking you to produce the cartoon adaptation and another ten issues.
Still, in all of that, you’d never met Homelander. A representative from Vought emailed you to let you know to tune in to his interview on a talk show one day, saying that he’d be talking more about the cartoon project on it. You recognized the host, Tracey, always chipper and having some extravagant giveaway for her audience members. Daytime TV was never your thing, though.
“I think what resonates with so many people is how relatable your childhood is,” Tracey said, holding up a copy of Finding Homelander issue #3, where he saved ‘you’ from getting hit in the face with a baseball at one of his games, catching it with ease. It’d been the happy ending to a short storyline of him struggling to find his place on the team and you encouraging him to not give up. “You and Y/N were pretty close, do you still keep in touch?”
“You know, Tracey, not as much as I’d like, unfortunately. Adulthood can be so busy, you need to cherish those childhood memories,” Homelander said. “I did give them a call when the comics first came out, and wow, the laughs we had over those old antics of ours. Talk about a walk down memory lane!”
You guessed the bullshitting was all part of the promotional circuit for Homelander. Knowing this childhood of his was your own fabrication, you couldn’t help but wonder what else about him was fake. Maybe he wanted to maintain his privacy, you could certainly understand that. You couldn’t shake the voice in the back of your mind that said it wasn’t so simple, that the narrative Vought pushed was a cover to hide something in Homelander’s past.
“Now, I’ve heard rumors of a cartoon show based on the comics in the making, is this true?”
“It is! I’m excited for this project, getting back to my ‘roots’ so to speak. I’ll be voicing myself, of course, but it’s funny you’d bring up Y/N, because they’ve agreed to voice themself, too.”
“How fun!” Tracey exclaimed over the roar of the talk show crowd’s applause and cheers. “I guess this is the hopeless romantic in me, but I hope this reconnection leads to something a little more. I’m just a sucker for childhood sweethearts!”
Homelander laughed along with the host’s giggles, “Well, you never know.”
You balked at the television, mouth agape. Surely he couldn’t be talking about you. ‘Y/N’ could be anyone with your same features. Vought had probably hired a professional voice actor for the role and were pushing the authenticity angle. The whole situation felt odd.
When you checked your work email again on your phone, you nearly dropped it on the floor.
SUBJECT: Meeting with Homelander This Week
The email contained a list of days and times throughout the week wherein Homelander would be free, apparently wanting to meet you to thank you for the success of the comic series and discuss upcoming work. Yeah. That last part you sure as hell wanted to discuss too. You responded with the soonest time available, in a meeting room in Vought Tower the following evening. As soon as you hit ‘send’, you wondered what exactly you were getting yourself into.
Anticipation filled your gut as you went about your day leading up to meeting the supe himself. What would he be like, really be like? Was there even a version of Homelander that wasn’t hopelessly manufactured for the masses? You knew then that his upbringing was a lie, and thus stood the probability that so much else was, too.
When you stepped into that meeting room, you hadn’t been expecting his face to light up at the sight of you.
“Homelander, hi, it’s great to—“
“No need to be so formal, Y/N! You can call me Johnny, just like old times,” he said cheerfully, in on a joke you clearly hadn’t been aware of.
“Sorry, Johnny,” you said, playing along. “It’s great to see you again.”
He pulled you in for an unexpected hug that you returned. “Figured we should catch up before things really start getting crazy, don’t you think?”
You nodded, your nose brushing against him as you did so. Just as your lips parted to offer an apology, he smiled, shooing away the assistant who’d accompanied him out of the room.
He sat down, motioning for you to do the same.
“Gotta say, I’m a fan of your work,” he said.
“Thank you,” you said. “I’m not sure I understand exactly what’s going on, though.”
“What’s there to understand? I’m not allowed to know more about my best friend, our lives together growing up?”
“How did you know it was me?”
“Wasn’t hard for me to put two and two together, but considering everyone else around here has their head up their asses, they have no idea,” he said, before lowering his voice conspiratorially and giving you a charming smile. “I haven’t told anyone. What’s a secret between friends?”
You nodded, overwhelmed by the intensity of his attention on you. “What do you want to know?”
He sighed, resting his head on his hand. “Everything.”
So you told him. Not quite everything, of course, but enough to abate his curiosity. At least for the time being. His interviews were sharper, more specific with details rather than rattling off whatever had been in the comics. You watched in shock as convincing photos of his Little League days were posted to his social media accounts, anecdotes provided by his increasingly frequent conversations–or more like interrogation sessions–with you, but in his style, of course. It was almost scary what the graphic design team at Vought could accomplish, not that you’d ever know how, exactly, as they were all under the same strict NDA that you were.
He started spending more time with you, too, and after a while, it did seem like you were old friends. Part of you flinched whenever you called him Johnny, because Johnny wasn’t even real, but with your complacency, this fabrication was slowly morphing into a strikingly tangible memory. With each conversation, he drew you deeper into the world you’d been paid to create for him until you found yourself slipping up.
You’d been showing him a goofy stuffed monkey on your desk, a cute little thing with big sparkling eyes. A prize for getting two out of three at the ring toss. Probably spent more money winning it than it was actually worth, but it was about the effort, the memories made.
“You remember, don’t you? You won it for me at the county fair,” you said without thinking.
He laughed in agreement, as if he actually had. Except he hadn’t. Your high school boyfriend won it for you a week before graduation. Sensing the mood shift, he set down your prize and looked at you with the same intensity he had when you first met.
“It’s been a while since we were there, huh?” he said. “Why don’t we go back?”
You furrowed your eyebrows. “Go where?”
“Home.”
With a strong arm around your waist, he took off for your hometown. You could hardly tell which way was up or down, he was flying so high, but he didn’t seem to mind the way you clung to him at all. When he finally landed, you recognized the community baseball field where all of his fictional games were set.
“Geez, it’s like nothing’s changed,” he said cheerfully.
You looked at him in disbelief. How long was he going to expect you to go along with it? Or maybe the question you should have been asking was, how long were you going to enable him? The end wasn’t anywhere in sight as he took your hand, and you walked him through your childhood, further enmeshing him in it until you arrived at the house you grew up in.
The middle of the day, no one was home, and so you let yourselves in like you owned the place. Suddenly, the house seemed too small for a man like Homelander to occupy, but he was engrossed in the details of it. He scanned the kitchen, no doubt inspecting the contents of the fridge and cabinets with his x-ray vision. Moving onto the living room, he stared at photos on the wall, the magazines and DVDs that were strewn on the coffee table, giving away your parents’ taste in entertainment.
“Which one was your room again?” he asked.
You swore you could feel his breath on the back of your neck as you wordlessly led him to your room. Each step down the hall felt dangerous, as if you were about to walk into a trap. Face-to-face with the closed door, you opened it, standing aside while Homelander looked around, from what you had hanging on the walls to the knick-knacks you’d left behind.
An uncomfortable tension settled over the room when Homelander closed the door of your childhood bedroom. An odd blend of hurt and amusement spread across his face as he observed the way you were eyeing him, body ready to fruitlessly run from him the way a rabbit would a hawk.
“C’mon, after how long we’ve been friends, I would never hurt you,” he said, as if reading your mind. “We’ve been through so much together. I mean, we were each other’s first kiss.”
You froze. Issue #9. That was something Vought’s editors had added, claiming a romance angle would make the series appeal to the younger female demographic. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time.
He slyly backed you into the wall, leaning over you as you slinked down the slightest bit.
“Show me how we did it,” he whispered, his hand caressing your cheek. “So clumsy and nervous, I can even feel you…quivering.”
“Homelander, I don’t know what you’re—“
He tsked. “Y/N.”
You let out a shaky breath, “Johnny—“
He hummed in satisfaction. “It’s alright. I know it’s been a while.”
You let him kiss you, sweetly in a way that put your actual first kiss to shame. His lips were soft against yours, his tender movements intentional as he cradled your face, pulling you the slightest bit closer to him when you kissed him back.
A sense of familiarity settled over you, warm and comforting like pulling a blanket out of the dryer on a chilly evening. Every time it seemed like you were beginning to overthink the situation with Homelander, he drew you back in with the kiss, a more than effective distraction until you pulled away with a dazed smile on your face.
#homelander x reader#homelander x you#the boys x reader#the boys x you#the boys tv#the boys amazon#homelander#homelander the boys#the boys
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Hunger (Homelander x Reader Smut)
18+ | Dry humping, making out. gender neutral reader. | Fic Directory
He's addicted. Nothing short of enraptured heart, mind, body, and soul with you.
You're soft yet firm under him. You are the warmth he's always craved– the fire he's searched for since as long as he can remember. His hands are everywhere all at once.
On your cheeks, your neck, shoulders, hips, chest.
He touches you everywhere. He needs every inch, every fucking bit he can hold.
He needs you.
You do something to him that he cannot name. You light a flame, but it does not burn.
You don't hurt.
Your lips are soft against his, kiss bitten and plump from just how long you’d been going at it. Must have been a while now…
Your gasps, your little shuddering breaths are beautiful music to his ears, more perfect than the heavens themselves could ever compose. You are his instrument, and he, your musician– the maestro that will learn every possible way there is to make you sing for him. Every stroke of his fingers under the hem of your shirt, every kneading grasp against your chest.
He breaks away for a time, but only to focus his attention on your neck. The canvas on which his teeth and tongue will paint. You are his magnum opus. He will mark you, claim you, and you will forever be the most wonderful creation his hands have ever touched.
You shiver in his grasp, squirming, hands gripping in his ruffled undercut as he nips at you. He is carnal hunger personified. He is desire. He is need.
And you are all that could ever satisfy him.
His tongue maps a path up your neck, over your jaw, up the curve of your cheekbone. He kisses just shy of your ear, leaning in to whisper, “Mine.”
His hands are moving again, and you find your legs hiked up to wrap around his waist. He presses into you, raging desire evident by the press of his cock within his suit. Homelander’s teeth graze the flesh just beneath your ear as he grinds against your core, his breath fanning hot against you.
You hear him bite back a whine.
You tighten your legs, pulling him against you. The friction makes you both groan, eyes meeting, minds connecting in silence.
I need you.
His lips meet yours, still wet from when he’d suckled his marks, and he rocks his hips. His tongue caresses yours and he sighs loudly through his nose. The sensation is tantalizing at best– not nearly enough to drive you over the edge.
But, him?
There was nobody in the world more sensitive than the man impervious to everything.
All it ever truly took was the knowledge that you reciprocate everything. That you, center of his universe, would and do return his intensity. That you’re unafraid to moan into his mouth or use your legs to aid in his quest for friction.
He can smell your arousal. How terribly you need him– just as he needs you.
To be wanted. To be needed.
He can hear your heart hammering with more than just desire.
To be loved.
Crimson flutters behind his eyelids. The force of his thrusts increases until they’re erratic, and your whimpers reverberate between your mouths as he tongues everywhere he can in yours. It’s as though he means to consume you from the inside out. He’s sloppy, messy, and hungry.
Even more so when your hips roll to meet his.
His forehead presses to yours, his brow knit, eyes clenched. He separates from the kiss and saliva follows his lips as he pants hot and heavy against yours.
“O-Oh!” He pushes against you hard and fast, a pitchy keen catching in his throat as his expression melts and he comes undone. He cries out your name, and you pull him down to kiss again as his thrusts slow, becoming languid. He rides out the waves, holding his breath.
“Oh ff– Oh fuck.” He exhales hard, eyes fluttering open to stare down at you. “I…”
He knew you knew.
He came in his pants.
The wetness in his briefs adds a delicious sensation to each circular grind against you. All he can do is groan while he attempts to collect himself.
But then came a pair of hands to rest at his cheeks.
Your hands.
Kisses to his forehead, just below his eyes, to the tip of his nose.
To his lips.
When he opens his eyes, he swears he’s in heaven.
The fire in him is tame. The fury he is so often burdened by is so featherlight that it may as well not even exist.
His heart is full.
For in his hands, in his heart, he holds you.
#homelander#homelander x reader#homelander smut#homelander fanfiction#antony starr#this ended up shorter than i originally imagined it but honestly? kinda nice to do something simple#also ended up a lot more lovey than i initially imaged hahaha buT he deserves it uwu#edit: imagined *
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His Haven Pt. 2
Homelander x Psychiatrist!Reader
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
As the weeks passed, Homelander continued to integrate himself into your life, blurring the lines between patient and "friend." One evening, after a particularly intense session, Homelander broached the subject of spending more time together outside of the therapy room. "I was thinking," he began, his blue eyes searching yours, "maybe we could grab a bite sometime. You know, outside of this place." Your heart sank, torn between the genuine connection you felt with Homelander and the professional boundaries you knew you needed to maintain. With all your other patients, you had discussed boundaries, but not with the members of The Seven. The Deep, A-Train, and Queen Maeve viewed these sessions as a waste of time. Starlight and Black Noir had kept a very professional relationship. You weren't totally sure why Black Noir still came to the sessions since his sessions were spent in silence, usually with him drawing pictures of Buster Beaver and his little buddies. Starlight was the only one that used the sessions for what they were meant for.
You had not thought you needed to set boundaries with them, and that, since these were America's greatest heroes, the boundaries were obvious and unspoken. Oh, how that had bitten you in the ass now, having to turn down the offer. You let those boundaries slip by allowing Homelander to come to your house, but in that situation, there was not a lot you could do to stop him.
"I appreciate the offer, Homelander, but it's important to keep our relationship within the confines of our sessions," you replied carefully, trying to hide the conflict in your eyes, unaware that he could hear your heartbeat and smell your nervousness. Homelander's expression shifted from hopeful anticipation to a subtle disappointment that cut through you. "Right, professional boundaries," he said, a forced smile tugging at his lips. It is the kind of smile that does not reach his eyes. "I get it." You could not let his dangerous expression get to you.
The following sessions became strained. Homelander seemed distant, his usually confident demeanor replaced by an air of vulnerability and irritation. You should be thanking him that he is interested in you. He attended sessions less frequently, and when he did, the conversations were stilted. It was clear that your rejection had affected him more than either of you anticipated. Homelander was not willing to give up. You just needed a chance to come around.
One day, after a difficult session, Homelander lingered in your office. "Is there something you're not telling me?" he asked, his tone a mixture of frustration and hurt. Homelander knew you did not have a partner in your life. He had stopped by to do a thorough search of your home while you were out, and there was no evidence of you dating someone, not even the smell of a casual hookup still lingering on your skin. You sighed, maintaining the professionalism that defined your role. "It's not that I don't value our sessions, Homelander. But crossing the boundaries of a therapeutic relationship can be detrimental for both of us," you explained, your words hanging heavily in the air. "I want what's best for you, and sometimes that means maintaining a professional distance."
Homelander's jaw tensed, and he stood abruptly. "So, I'm just another patient to you, is that it?" His eyes bore into yours, searching for a hint of vulnerability that matched his own. "No, Homelander, you're not just another patient," you replied softly, your heart aching at the pain evident in his eyes. "But I have a responsibility to ensure that our interactions remain focused on your well-being." He stormed out of your office without another word, leaving you with a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. Homelander is a dangerous and unpredictable man. The once-promising therapeutic alliance had crumbled, replaced by an unspoken tension that hung in the air during each subsequent session.
Days turned into weeks, and the divide between you and Homelander deepened. He attended sessions less frequently, and when he did, the conversations were strained and unproductive. Of course, for Homelander, he still had his time with you even if you were oblivious to it. Though, he would much rather be in your arms than jacking off on the building next to yours while you participated in a similar activity in the warmth of your bed.
One evening, after a silent session, Homelander was particularly grumpy in this session. He had expressed that he had a bad day. Homelander lingered at the door. "You should be fucking thanking me,” He pauses. “I am giving you the opportunity of a lifetime, and you're fucking throwing it away. Do you know how many people would leave their whole families just for one glance from me?”
The weight of his words settled heavily on your shoulders as he walked away, leaving you alone in the empty office. It made you wonder how dangerous Homelander really was and how desperate he would become if you continued to deny him. The once-promising connection had fractured irreparably, and the professional boundaries you fought so hard to maintain had come at the cost of a genuine connection with Homelander.
The weeks passed with a lingering tension between you and Homelander. The once-promising therapeutic alliance had crumbled, leaving behind an unspoken rift that seemed insurmountable. Homelander attended sessions less frequently, and when he did, the conversations were strained, devoid of the genuine connection that had defined your earlier interactions. It became evident that your rejection had affected him more deeply than either of you anticipated. Homelander, usually the embodiment of confidence, now wore an air of vulnerability and loneliness that tugged at your conscience. The sessions were marked by long pauses, resentful glances, and a palpable discomfort that neither of you could ignore. You couldn't shake the feeling of regret that lingered each time you saw him. The haunting realization that you had sacrificed something meaningful for the sake of professional decorum weighed heavily on your conscience. Late one evening, a knock echoed through your home. Homelander stood at the doorway, his usual confidence replaced by a vulnerability that mirrored the man you had glimpsed in the early days of your sessions. "I need someone to talk to," he admitted, his voice a whisper.
#the boys#homelander#homelander x reader#the seven#homelander x you#homelander x psychiatrist#psychiatrist!reader#psychiatrist x character#psychiatrist x patient#slow burn?#reader x character#character x reader#gender neutral reader#female reader#male reader
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Homelander x gn!reader
Showers and Tea
Warnings: none
Not proofread (a lot)
Homelander loves showering with you. It's his favorite part of the day.
As soon as you walk into the door, he is ready to go.
"How was your day, babe?" His head peeks out of the doorframe of the living room.
"Wanna tell me all about it?"
Your tired form in the doorframe makes excitement rise in his belly as he scans your body with his super powered eyes after the long day apart.
He floats over to you and scoops you up, helping you to discard any jackets, bags and additional clothing on the way to the bathroom.
You just let yourself be carried, knowing that resistance is futile. You won't ever admit it but you love it secretly.
Contrary to what you might've thought at first, there's nothing inherently sexual about his love of showering with you either. On some days it is. But on most of them it's truly just the two of you washing each other, holding each other and telling each other about your day.
You squeeze a generous portion of lotion into your hands and rub them into his hair. Homelanders eyes are closed to feel even more and he lets out the deepest sigh you've ever heard as your hands begin massaging his scalp in rhythmic circles.
The best gossip gets told in those minutes too. He talks to you about the dumb PR stunt he had to pull because of a new recruit and you tell him about the doomed relationship of your colleague and how his wife is definitely going to divorce him any day now.
It's no deep conversation but it flows easy and effortlessly, which you both need at times.
When you have to be hyper intelligent all the time, like he does, seemingly shallow conversation like this feels almost like an escape.
There are no 'Seven' when he's in the shower with you. No crimes to worry about and no meetings to hold with board members, who'd love to see him in a ditch as long as they get their cut.
After you've carefully washed his head, you move to his neck and shoulders, massaging his tightly wound muscles out of routine, in an attempt to relax them.
There are no scars on Homelanders skin. No blemishes or imperfections. Sometimes he worries that you find him inhuman because of it. But you continue to melt all those thoughts and fears away when you slip your arms around him after you feel you've massaged him enough for today.
He then turns around to look at you. In the low light of the bathroom he stares at you, eyes soft and without a hint of the usual vigilance.
You put your hands on his shoulders for stability and stand on your toes to give him a kiss.
"I love you."
He melts into you, as always, arms wrapping around you and pulling you closer.
"Love you too," he murmurs back.
The scents of your mixed shampoo wafts around in the air and moisture from the shower has left fog on the bathroom mirror. There is something quite calming about all of it.
When you step out of the shower later, he wraps you in a towel first and then slings one around his waist before helping you towel yourself somewhat dry.
His eyes take in your comfortable expression, exhaustion of the day and the comfort of the warm shower finally catching up to you.
He carries you to the kitchen after you're both done. Some days you have the energy to complain or insist on walking there yourself but today you appreciate being this close to him.
Homelander may not need to eat a whole lot but he's highly aware that you do. So he watches observantly as you make yourself a few simple sandwich.
It's calming, the routine movements of your hands preparing a small meal, occasionally offering him a tomato or some salad which he gracefully accepts, content to have you care about him even when you know he doesn't need to eat.
That's what made him as obsessed with you in the first place.
You are absolutely aware of his incredible strength and physical capabilities. He doesn't need soft towels, massages or your help washing to survive. But you still do them.
"Just because you don't need them to survive doesn't mean it's not nice to have," you'd said to him once, not invalidating his power but insisting he deserves love nonetheless.
"Not everything needs to be a necessity. Some things just feel nice."
He's used to indulgence now, shamelessly stealing a slice of chicken from your sandwich.
You squint your eyes at him and make a gesture that you're 'watching his moves'.
However, there's a smile on your face so he knows you're not actually mad.
Outside the window, many floors below, the lights of the city become less and less as people settle for the night.
Inside his apartment, your own light is turned off as well only minutes later.
The two you cuddle close for the night. Homelander doesn't need to sleep, much just like he doesn't need to eat, but this too is something he allows himself to indulge in with you.
#homelander x you#mine#my writing#gender neutral reader#gn reader#homelander#the homelander#the boys tv show#the boys tv#the boys#the boys fanfic#homelander x reader
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— “DARLING, DON’T YOU LOVE ME?” [do you love those kids more than you love the second most powerful supe in the world? you could crush his skull with your thighs and he’d love it. why do you not love him? oh love him, for everyone’s sake.]
GENRE. smut + unhealthy fluff
PAIRING. homelander x gn!reader
CW. lowercase intended, gn!reader, top!reader, amab!reader, single parent!reader, supe reader, mood swings [john]. PETNAMES. sugar, sweetheart, asshole [affectionate/derogatory]. KINKS. cockwarming, manhandling [?], heat/hot touch [?].
NOTES. this is a VERY, VERY old draft from 2020, i js had it in my drafts so in posting it but it is also a blurb /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\. enjoy!! <3
serene was the name given to the newest, most powerful vought supe of all time. you, more powerful than the seven put together, were sat on top of a stage at one of the press conferences. you were being asked questions, but it was tireless nevertheless.
“the workspace? between me and you–amazing breakfast, there’s a pool shaped like idaho on the 34th floor, and amazing co-workers! it couldn’t be better, really.” you joked, a heart-warming laugh leaving your lips. in all honesty, your personality made women’s panties drop; mainly because you were stunningly hot, enjoyed ‘little women’, and, according to social media, were written by a woman.
the female reporter who asked the questioned laughed along with you before allowing another reporter to speak. the next reporter stood up and asked if you have a lover, which was a random out-of-the-blue question.
“me? oh goodness, all the attention is on me now!” you joked, a wry laugh leaving your throat after you had sat up straight. “well, i do–” you started before glancing over at madelyn stillwell, her head shook in a non-approving way. then, the idea of the repercussions get shoved in your head.
on one hand, john would be angry. but on the other hand, vought is your job, a high-paying job at that, therefore you need to keep it for the sake of you and your children. “i do not.” you declared, looking back into the camera, “unfortunately, i’m just looking for the right one.” you could feel the grip john had on your thigh since the beginning of the panel tighten, it didn’t hurt in the slightest but you could still feel the leather prodding at your thigh.
the interview ended swimmingly after a few more questions given to the rest of the team, and after all that you just wanted to go home, cook and eat with your children, and then take a nap. however, john wouldn’t allow such a thing to happen.
“why did you lie? you’re ashamed of me, aren’t you?” he screamed, he threw your handmade vases against the floor in a fit of rage. “john, please–alexis and truly are waiting for me, so i need to leave; we can talk about this tomorrow.” you combed a hand through your tangled hair after you had gathered your clothes in your bag, and slung it over your shoulder. you face was free of makeup, which shown your deep, horrid eyebags; and it was obvious you needed sleep. john didn’t care though, he wanted answers, he demanded answers and he would be damned if he didn’t get any.
“you obviously lied! you’re a liar! you probably don’t even have children! oh my god, you’re a fucking–” his eyes started to glow red, that’s when you knew it was enough. you silenced his continuing rambling with a kiss, and he immediately melted against your lips. the kiss was longer than you intended it to be, and only breathless pecks and fuzzy feelings were what remained as the after-affects. “i love you, john, i truly do with all my heart.” he nodded at your words, a deadly, light blush covering his cheeks and the tips of his ears. you laughed, the smile on john’s face made a smile come on your face.
“i love you, [name],” he declared, “so fucking much–” john hastily kissed you. desperation, agony, love overflowed into the kiss, and fuck it was crazy how good john is at kissing.
“fuck, john, wait-” he shut your complaining up with more kisses, more fondling, more desperation. “i want you so badly. so, so fucking badly.” he whispered against your lips after pecking you once more. he straddled you, already rubbing himself against your clothed crotch, and he was enjoying himself rather too much.
“please, i need you so badly.” john knew better than to just fuck himself on your cock without your permission first. “do you think you deserve it, sweetheart, really?” john nodded, eyebrows furrowing together as he could feel his cock twitch against his thigh, just feeling his cock rub against your own made his head spin. john, somewhat, calmed down and now he was resting on top of your lap, cockwarming you.
it was just so good to be on top of you, feeling your cock reach the deepest depths of pleasure no other could reach was so fucking good. john needed to ride you, it was like an unbearable urge residing deep inside of him; fortunately, he commits to all of his urges. the feeling of your cock moving in and out of him was more than drool-worthy, it felt so, so, so fucking good. you told him he was supposed to just sit there and be grateful for what he’s being given, but he didn’t care to listen, no matter the consequences he would receive. you felt so good inside of him, your cock touched every single nerve inside of him and it sent a shiver through his body.
“sweetheart, stop.” you warned, trying to focus on your work rather than john’s desperation, but he didn’t listen. again. you took off your suit-issued gloves and the protective ones underneath, and wrapped a hand around his waist. the skin-burning heat made him buckle down against your torso, quivering and whimpers followed soon after. “you’re an asshole, john. you only listen when i use force like a dog who needs to be taught a lesson.” you spat. “again..” he meekly whispered against your neck, heavy, hot breaths coming from him.
“again?” you questioned, a sinister snare on your face, “what, you want it hotter? enough to hurt you?”, your inquiry received a shaky ‘hurry up’ from him. you laughed a little before placing your freezing cold hand on his lower back, john started to complain before the heat wave spread across his body, igniting his skin aflame. “a–ah! nngh..” he wanted to say stop, the pain was unbearable but it felt so, so good. the homelander was enjoying the pure pleasure that pain brings him. drool went down his lower lip and his chin, fuck it felt so good to be in pain. your cock twitched inside of him after he clutched around you, trying to regain his senses and register what his main focus is. you realized how far-off he was, which was quite a wonderful look, and decided that it was your job to fuck the sense back into him.
after closing the macbook on your desk and removing your right hand’s suit-issued glove and protective glove, you gripped his thighs, your nails digging into his flesh, and lifted him up, only a few meters above your lap. “what’re you–” before he could finish his sentence, a loud, girlish moan left his lips. he instinctively covered his mouth with his gloved hands, not wanting to be so vulnerable in front of you. “c’mon sugar, let me hear your beautiful voice.” his face flushed at your words, but that sweet, sentimental moment didn’t last for long because you pounded back into him–repeatedly. every time your cock slammed back into him, a breathless moan departed from his lips. it was a harmony, a melodic noise that pierced through the tension-filled room.
“it’s... not enough, i want more, please give me more.” john begged and whined for more than touch. he wanted a burning sensation crawling up his spine, slowly but surely burning his skin. fucking hell, it was dangerous to do, he’d surely have second to third degree burns along his backside, but he wouldn’t dare to stop, even if he was down to bare bone. “burn me, fucking burn me before i—”, john let a shrill pass his lips after his skin turned a sickish red shade, cum coated his lower abdomen from the exciting feeling of him being perched on hells hottest fire.
john’s body was covered in life-threating burns, saliva running down his chins, and his blue eyes glazed over: a sight for a pair of lucky-as-fuck eyes. he seemed to be passing out. it was too much, maybe. probably. most likely. he was so beautiful when he was done being a bitch, and fuck he felt so good inside. john pulled you down by your tie and pressed your into his, which effectively made a whimper leave his throat.
it was evidently obvious you would be home late due to taking care of a certain someone’s needs.
© CREDITS TO ur1nonlydan. DO NOT PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR COPY MY WORKS
#dan.writes#dan.blurbs#x male reader#male reader#x gn reader#gender neutral reader#homelander x male reader#homelander x gn reader#top male reader#x top male reader#x dom male reader
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Hello! Since you also write genshin, I've thought about reader or F!S/O being from Teyvat. But that isnt really the main point. How 'bout their F!S/O is from Sumeru and is strictly bestfriends with Cyno and Alhaitham. How would Trey, Azul, Jade, Floyd, and Jamil feel about their F!S/O having boy bestfriends back at her world? Maybe if they're jealous, reader tries to comfort them by saying that Alhaitham is engaged(to Kaveh)XD Lol
You dont have to do this if its to much♡
Oddly specific but I like the cut of your jib!
Also can be read as genter neutral, I don't reall mention gender on this one?
Trey, Azul, Jade, Floyd, and Jamil X F!SO from Teyvat
who is also besties with Cyno and Alhaitham
Trey Clover
Well youre from a whole different world! Magic seems to exist in some capacity at least.
He doesn't know what a Zatyun peach or a Sunsettia is.
But he tries v hard to make you things that remind you of home sometimes!
He actually does a pretty good job at it too!
And thats where the issue arives.
Whenever he asks about your homeland he knows he is going to hear about your best friends
He's trying SO hard to be normal about this
Trey loves you so much but, he gets a little jealous!
You've done so much with these two!!!
"And Cyno's jokes are the absolute WORST! I swear some of the things he says are worse than Ace's!" "Oh that's... nice!"
but they're your best friends! He really shouldn't be jealous.
"I still don't understand why Alhaitham is so jacked, like all he does is read books all day!"
He really shouldn't be jealous
"And I'm kind of glad its never too hot around here! Like I know he works primarily in the desert but like put a shirt on sometimes! You know?"
But damm its hard.
He tries to be subtle (not really)
"So have you ever like... done anything with one of these guys?" "What do you mean?" "Like have you dated one of them..?"
oh.... OH!
You laugh at that, he's embrassed "Oh gosh NEVER! They both have boyfriends anyhow! Alhaitham is engaged!" "Oh."
You nod and give him a little kith
Wow he's relieved!
Azul Ashengrotto
He loves learning about you and your home world! Truly!!!
Azul thinks your mind is briliant, you're so smart and quick on your feet due to years of travel!
With travel comes a lot of experiences
a lot.
without him.
He's playing it cool though! suuuper cool
"Oh I remember Alhaitham would never answer anything that wasnt formatted or completed properly! maybe you could do the same? it would certainly free up some time, no?" "Of course it woudl free up some time, dear... But" "buut?" "Well it wouldn't be fitting of my benevolent nature now would it, my love?"
Azul keeps trying to prove he's a better boyfriend than your old friends
He needs you to know he's the best option for you <3
"And could this 'Cyno' make you a delightful seafood pasta like this?" "No, not really, he was more into rice." "I see..."
Oh hey he made you curry and rice
You know, by the way. He is NOT sneaky
After another bout of showing off, you finally say something.
"They have boyfriends, you know?" "huh?" "Cyno and Alhaitham? they have partners. You don't have to be jealous." "Why would I be jealous, dearest?"
DENIER
Denies his jealous to this day but he gets happier after you reassure him.
Jade Leech
Yeah he's super cool about this!
for the most part...
He's extremely interested in learning about the flora in your world!
and he thinks those vishap creatures you compare him to sound rather interesting.
Jade being rather curious in nature comes in handy! since he doesnt seem to get jealous.
His questions are... odd, though. they kind of make sense?
"Cyno once took out like-- 10 guys in like a MINUTE! it was so cool! "Is he that fast in the depths of the sea?" "No-" "I see..."
Sometimes he's a little less slick though
"OH my gosh Alhaitham is so weird about soup! He hates the stuff because it could get on his books of all things!" "Does he consume beverages as he reads? tea perhaps?" "Yeah, sometimes." *Pleased eel noises*
He's just being careful :)
Jade often prefers to dicuss your best friends while in the kitchen. he likes spending this time with you!
And he has his knives and mushrooms at his disposal.
*chop chop chop* "And so Haitham and I used to skip out on akademiya meetings together-" *chopchopchop-* "But Cyno would ALWAYS 'catch' us just before the meeting would actually ends-" *ChopChopChopChop-* "So then he'd bring us to Kaveh, Alhaitham's fiance to-" "He has a fiance?" "yeah,why?" "no reason." *chop~ chop~ chop~*
He's still keeping the information from his... questioning in mind.
Can't be too careful, after all.
Floyd Leech
He loves his shrimpy's stories!!!
He hates his shrimpy's stories :((
Floyd is reaaal conflicted. He thinks you're so interesting! your world seems like fun!! he wants to go there with you.
But not with those men you keep talking about
"So sometimes there are these HUGE mushrooms that kind of act like a launchpad! they're super springy." "Eh? Jade might like soemthing like that... OOOH! do ya think if I throw someone (Ace) on one of those they'd still bounce?" "Yeah they would! one time while going after a criminal, Cyno had to-" "Eeeeh I'm bored. You coming to my next game?"
Subtlety? not THIS eel
He audibly groans when you bring them up sometimes.
But he still loves hearing you talk! so it really confusing sometimesz
"So genius invocation uses 8 elements, 7 from the nations, one is omni. Usually the cards are based off of vision users like Diluc of mondstadt, Arataki Itto, from Inazuma... OH! there is one of my best friend, Alhaitham, he's dendro and Cyno's is electro, its actually" Oh he's no longer looking at you.
You get an idea... "There is one of Haitham's fiance, Kaveh" "Oh really?"
GOT HIS ASS
You're his girlfriend, you know him best.
He's a little less weird about listening to your stories now, he's way more enaged.
He still tugs you closer to him when you mention other men, but thats kind of normal for him now.
Jamil Viper
A confident king? He's not really jealous. He knows he can be better than them.
Plus they're just friends to you.
But in all honestly he like... doesn't care too much about Teyvat.
You're here now, with him. not them.
Don't get him wrong, Jamil likes hearing about what your world!
There's only oneee little thing he doesnt love hearing.
"Sometimes I miss the food from Teyvat... Cyno always made the best Tahchin." "The best you say?" "Yeah! he shaped it like a pyramid every time he made it!" "Have you ever tried mine?" "You make tahchin!?"
He's smug, you'll love his cooking more than that Cyno's.
He serves you a plate of tahchin, golden brown, perfectly seasoned, barberries topping the rounded rice dish "So, what do you think?" "This is so good! I kind of miss the padisarah petals though.."
The hell is THAT?
"Is it... not up to your expectations, my flower?" "No its delicious! I think I just miss the way my friend would make it.."
He's a little grumpy about it!!
Jamil gets kind of huffy with you next time you're together.
He's not ignoring you but just don't bring up food for a while.
Snake man will just respond with "Why don't you ask Cyno." when it comes to cooking for the next day or two...
#twisted wonderland#twistedwonderland#disney twisted wonderland#twst#disney twst#twst x reader#twisted wonderland x reader#twisted wonderland x yuu#jamil viper x reader#azul ashengrotto x reader#jade leech x reader#floyd leech#trey clover x reader
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Good Natured
Summary:
There are a great many mysteries in this world; some are solved by the advent of science, others remain secrets of the universe, but without a doubt, perhaps the greatest mystery known to humanity is how you willingly dated and continue to date the Homelander.
Pairings:
Homelander x Gender Neutral!Reader
Tags:
Magic!Reader | A Little Bit Of Flower Language | 5+1 Things (Sort Of) | Fluff | The Tiniest Wee Mention Of Violence
Words: 4584
Author's Note:
The original ask is here, requested by @ayamethewitch I spent three hours reading up on flower language, mainly cause I got sidetracked again. This turned out way longer than I thought it would, and idk how 😭
There are a great many mysteries in this world; some are solved by the advent of science, others remain secrets of the universe, but without a doubt, perhaps the greatest mystery known to humanity is how you willingly dated and continue to date the Homelander.
Every child dreams of becoming a superhero, flying through the sky, saving people from dangers, fame, fortune, and adoration. Annie’s looked to the skies and the heroes that came before with admiration and plastered her bedroom walls with their merchandise; she’d run around the house like she was flying, arms out and smile on her face. Now, as she stood in Vought, the newest member of the Seven, it was safe to say she was far more than just ecstatic.
Though it wasn’t really like anything she’d imagined - the Seven and various other supes stood around the room; the public had had their fill of her, so now, she mingled with her fellow heroes. She’d been nibbling on the same cookie for the past thirty minutes - Stormfront and Homelander were the big no-nos; the two were in the midst of showing off - Queen Maeve had spoken to her for a bit before moving on. Annie was now standing by the Deep and Black Noir, half-listening to whatever the topic of conversation was.
“Hey,” a new voice called out softly. Annie turned, and you held out your hand, “Bloodroot, lovely to meet you.”
“Bloodroot….” Annie says the name cautiously, shaking your hand, and examines you. You’re, for lack of a better term, perhaps the oddest one in the room - your witch hat resembles a mushroom, and your loose pale green shirt has various flowers threaded on the sleeves. It dips down on your chest, exposing the multiple necklaces you have; your pants are a dark color, as are your shoes. Annie notices the necklaces and rings you have all have some form of star-like symbol; if not gold, they’re either red, blue, or white. ‘Reminds me of Homelander,’ she thinks to herself.
“Yeah, it’s a dramatic name, but it does the trick,” you wink. A few petals bloom from the corner of your eye; they drift to the floor and melt into the ground. Annie gawked at you, and you shrugged, “It’s kind of on point, though.”
“That was amazing,” she says, and you wave her off.
“Not really, making petals’ a parlor trick, although….” you trail off, taking off your hat, you shove your hand in it and stick your tongue out, fishing for something, you pull a whole bouquet of yellow roses, and hand them over to her. “Yellow roses to brighten up your day.”
When Annie takes them, the petals open, twisting out to become butterflies that flutter around her, leaving a trail of golden sparkles. The sparkles fall on her, leaving a slight glow and bringing a smile to her face; the stems unravel, and the leaves burst into birds, settling on her shoulders. The unraveled stalks shoot up, then burst like fireworks, Annie’s smile gets wider as she marvels at your magic, “Holy shit….”
“Welcome to Vought, Starlight,” you say.
The others around had stopped their conversations and joined Annie in marveling, some reached out to the butterflies as they drifted away from her. A few looked just about ready to rush towards you and ask for more magic marvels but resisted doing so. John hated the attention you gave new supes, but it helped them feel less nervous and brought a smile to their faces. Granted, it also meant that a few would latch onto you for a few days before John would threaten them.
“Don’t I get any flowers?” Kevin pouted.
“No.” You almost groan at the sound of John’s voice; he’d gone from his little show-off to your side at the mere mention of flowers from the Deep. He placed his hand on your waist and frowned, glaring daggers at the other hero, “Sorry, Guppy, but my partner’s not some charity.”
“John —”
“Partner?” Annie questions, and John takes your hand, turning it over to showcase the various rings on your hand; he points to one in particular - the band resembles a vine, twisting towards the center and around three diamonds in the middle. The band wraps around the jewels like a branch would emerge from a tree, “Wow.” It’s all she can say; she’s only been around for a few hours, but from the little she knows so far - you and Homelander are on two ends of the personality spectrum.
You shake your head as John proudly displays the ring; he doesn’t let go of your hand, instead keeping it in his hold as he stares down the Deep. You’d given him flowers once, and John had thrown a right fit about it, Annie gulps nervously, and you elbow John. “Starlight, is it?” he turns to the newest addition to the team, and she anxiously nods, shaking his hand with a tight smile. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to welcome you properly.”
Her tight smile loosens when you toss her a reassuring smile, “So…” she starts, “how long….uh….have you been married?”
“We’re not married, well, not publicly,” John responds, “as far as the public’s aware, we’re recently engaged. Vought likes the opposites attract story, and I like showing off my partner.”
“How did you meet?” Annie asks; she directs the question at both of you but looks to you.
“I tried shoving my hat down his throat,” you reply, almost deadpanned, it brings a snort out of Annie, “Course, it didn’t work, so I settled for almost turning him into a tree.” She laughs, then reigns it back when John glares at her, “...sorry, sorry….” but then you laugh, and she takes that as a sign that she’s safe to do so again.
The party’s died down since your welcome gift as people mill about, and the excitement settles down; John grows weary of the conversation, tapping his foot impatiently. When you and Annie’s laughter dies down, he starts to steer you away, footsteps slow as you bid goodbye to the new supe, “Don’t hesitate to find me if you need help,” you say, elbowing John again when he shakes his head sternly, eyes tinted red.
Annie watches you get swept away, now, just you and John; she notes how the supe’s figure nearly wraps around you as if to block anyone from laying eyes on you. It’s not just her; it seems; the other guests all wait for Homelander to direct his attention - however brief - elsewhere before looking at you. Some practically avert their gaze when you pass by, and Annie has to take a moment to grasp the soft (?) look Homelander gives you.
“Strange aren’t they?” the Deep remarks, “Don’t worry, you’re not the only one who wonders how Homelander got them to date him.” He assures her, “By the way, his hearing barely registers when they’re around, so nothing you say will have him ripping your lungs out.”
Yeah, nothing quite like she imagined.
Every day, the damage control department at Vought sends kisses towards the photo they have of you. The picture hangs framed in the back corner, tucked away in a tiny cubicle, where the tired department has set up their offerings - see before you, they had it tough, cleaning up after one supe was hard enough, but cleaning up after Homelander was a nightmare. Then, like an angel, you graced this world, and their jobs became easier, Homelander’s damage rate decreased, and they could rest easy, knowing they wouldn’t have to sacrifice countless nights to fix things.
Various other departments had their own altars, but damage control was the main one - it was well hidden, polished daily, and sometimes prayed to as well. This was all, of course, on a need-to-know basis; Homelander didn’t quite appreciate anyone so much as looking at you for too long; Anika shuddered to think what he’d do if he found out. Security had personal altars, all tucked away by their stations - hers consisted of a vase of sweet peas and yellow lilies, a subtle way to convey gratitude. The combo was very common around security, and some had even gone as far as to wear it on their person.
The higher-ups were none the wiser, and no one felt inclined to inform them on the matter. “Your flower’s drooping.” The silent worship you received from the Vought employees also brought about superstitions - letting flowers die on Vought grounds could bring misfortune or, worse, Homelander (somehow). As if Anika didn’t already have enough to fear from this godforsaken job.
She tended to leave her flowers till the day they were shriveled before replacing them; her coworkers all shook their heads at her as she dumped the old flowers. She’d already had her last break of the day, so she’d have to wait and come back tomorrow with new flowers. She shook off the nagging feeling, focusing on her work; just when she thought she was home-free, low and behold, Homelander comes charging into the room, eyeing each and every one of them as he lays out his demands - she prays he just waltzes past her, but he doesn’t. Choosing her to find what he needs and to find it now.
Her hands slightly tremble as she works; the supe stands over her, arms collapsed behind his back - she thinks she can feel the heat of his laser eyes as she takes what he deems as too long. He’s almost fed up with her slow progress when salvation appears; you waltz into the room - your iconic hat gone - you don a classy suit-like attire, with a waist cape and fingerless gloves, you look every bit the witch Vought market you out to be.
“There you are,” you say, coming up to them. Anika’s coworkers try not to seem too nosy, but some have their heads slightly turned in her direction. “John, you’re bothering the poor dear.”
“I’m not bothering her; am I bothering you?” John asks in a demanding tone. Anika’s not sure what answer he expects, but she shakes her head, a strained smile on her face, “See.”
You roll your eyes, “You’re bothering her, John; come on, if you’re that bored, I’m sure we can find you something else to do.” You grab his arm, tugging lightly; he takes a step, then turns back to Anika, “You can get the report sent up to you; now come on.” You tug a few more times, and he finally turns to leave; you move to follow but pause, hand reaching out to Anika’s vase. Sweet peas and yellow lilies sprout from nothing, “Should last you longer than the last ones,” you tell her.
Her head snaps to you, as do the heads of everyone else, but you just chuckle and leave them with a wink. Anika leaves an offering at every altar in the building for a whole week after, a grand gesture of thanks that she’s still breathing. She’s on her way to damage control when she bumps into you; she steps back and thanks you profusely.
“No problem at all,” you tell her, “feel free to come to me if you need any help.”
She nods, watching you as you go by, then averts her gaze when Homelander rounds the corner. You take one of his arms, disrupting his perfect posture, threading your fingers through his; you almost skip in the corridor - Anika leaves extra on that offering.
Whatever Ashley did in a past life to deserve this, she’d like to repent for now at this very instance.
Of course, you happen to fall sick on the day of a major interview, and of course, the doctors forbid you from leaving the bed until it's passed. The first wave of get-well-soon flowers get returned when your sneezing makes them explode; Homelander practically bars anyone aside from the doctors from stepping foot in your shared suite.
“John, I can’t get better if you chase away the doctors.” You try to sit up, but John pushes you back down, wrapping you to your neck in blankets. It wasn’t anything too serious, most likely just a cold; a week’s worth of bed rest should do you some good. The doctors had been sent to double-check and make sure the diagnosis was correct; you wrangle your hands from the cocoon you’re in, taking John’s hands in yours. “Dear, I don’t need to be buried in mountains of blankets.”
“Yes, you do,” he insists, “that’s what people do when they’re sick.”
Ashley nods her head to herself, he’s not wrong, but she thinks he might be smothering you - not that she says that aloud. Homelander hasn’t left your side since you woke up with the cough; he’d thrown out all the flowers when someone had commented on pollen allergies - not that he knows if you’ve got them - you’re decked head to toe in cozy clothing. An hour ago, the heating had been up to the max, but you’d put it back down after Ashely had shown some discomfort.
“Homelander, sir,” she interrupts, gulping when Homelander turns to her with crimson eyes, “the interview starts in —” she ducks, barely managing to dodge the laser from his eyes.
“What did I say about the interview?”
She whimpers, “The executives said….” her eyes dart away, “....they said it’s not an option.”
Your coughing fit draws his attention away from her, and she sighs in relief; he speeds off, returning with a glass of water. He puts the edge of the cup by your lips, you manage half the glass, but Homelander doesn’t move, insisting you finish the rest. He pushes your hair back, shirking off his glove, and placing the back of his hand on your forehead - your running temperature is running almost as high as he usually does. The medicine they’d given you had been sickeningly sweet, and even now, John could still smell it in your breath - you’re eyes droop, and you’re on the verge of nodding off, yet stubbornly, you refuse to sleep until this matter is resolved.
“Sleep,” John demands, but you shake your head.
“Not until you promise to go to the interview.” Your voice is raspy, and you’re quite literally hanging on a thread; your mind is foggy, and your limbs feel heavy; the plush comfort of the bed lulls you further and further from the waking world. “John,” you persist until he groans, agreeing to it; once you’re sure he’s not just saying it to get you off his back, you give in to the fatigue. John tucks you in bed, a kiss on your head; he switches off the lights and drags Ashley out of the room.
“You don’t leave them alone for anything,” he seethes, “I don’t care if the building catches fire; you stay by their side until I’m back. Got it?”
Ashley nods, eyes wide as she tries not to wince at the tight grip the supe has on her forearm; Homelander straightens back to his signature posture, and she tries not to quiver at the way he scrutinizes her. She walks back into the room where you rest, grabbing a chair; she puts it close to the bed but moves back when the room takes on a scarlet glow. Homelander’s footsteps echo as he leaves; your face is half hidden under the blankets, and she doesn’t reach out to touch you - on the off chance your maniac’s using his x-ray vision to spy on her. She takes back what she’d been thinking earlier; she’d obviously been lucky enough not to be stuck with Homelander in this life.
Channel One prided itself in being the first at everything; over the years, they’d been the first to interview Vought and give the public the best of what journalism had to offer. Today, they had the luck of interviewing the it couple at Vought - Homelander and Bloodroot - the opposites that attracted the title’s still in work. Jennifer prided herself in being the one to catch this interview - the last interview hadn’t been a bust per se, but you’d been sick, and Homelander had been on edge the whole time.
She’d gotten a double couch for you and Homelander to sit on, and an armchair for herself, an assortment of flowers had been arranged for you - anthuriums for hospitality and heathers for admiration - not the usual combo they’d pick for guests but anything vaguely romantic like a rose might have her losing her arm to the Homelander. The live studio audience sounded excited; they murmured among themselves as they anticipated your arrival. They quieted down when you entered the room, followed closely behind by Homelander. You and the supe sat close together on the double couch, his arm draped behind you on the back, his other hand holding one of yours in his lap.
She held out her hand to introduce herself but pulled it back when Homelander stopped you from reaching out. She smoothed down her hands on her skirt, the director signaled, and the cameras started rolling, “Good evening and welcome; tonight, we return with Homelander, accompanied by his partner, Bloodroot.”
The audience clapped, and she handed you the flowers, “From everyone in the studio, we’re happy to see you up and about this week,” she said, ignoring the slight eye roll from the other supe.
You thank her, fingers thrumming on them, the vines twisted around themselves, and they went from bouquet to flower crown; the audience gasped, “So, tell us about your upcoming engagement party, what should we expect for the future of Bloodroot and Homelander?”
“Well, you can expect a lot more of this,” Homelander kisses you; it’s short, but it tugs at the heartstrings, “and a big wedding,” he adds on.
“That’s sweet,” she comments. The interview is a lot easier than the last one, Homelander’s still the egotistical bastard he usually is, but he tries to reign it in - barely. The flower crown on your head remains as elegant as it was when you’d made it, Jennifer has a blast, and the audience has fun chiming in with their own questions. She remembers the first time you and Homelander had an interview with Channel One - it had been at the beginning of your relationship, and the number of proposals you received was astounding.
“So, aside from all that, do the two of you plan to start a family?” Jennifer asks.
You scoff, “Doubt it.”
“I prefer to have my partner’s undivided attention,” Homelander replies, shuffling closer to you. The audience is split in answers; some sigh in disappointment, others cheer - the interview ends with applause; when the cameras stop rolling, and the lights go out, Jennifer watches backstage as Homelander piles treat atop treat, mostly sweet, the two of you stand off in your own little corner, the supe devoted to listening to every word you said.
Hughie would like it on record that this had been Billy’s idea, not his, Billy’s. Because who else would think of kidnapping the world’s most overpowered psychopath's partner - though how they managed to get the jump on you is another matter entirely. Annie had helped; well, as soon as she’d made them all promise nothing would happen to you, screw what happened to Homelander; she wanted assurances you’d be safe.
“They’re not as bad as Homelander.” She’d been arguing back and forth with Billy; the subject of what to do with you had been the hot topic for the past few hours. They couldn’t step foot outside the lead shielded basement without a foolproof plan - Homelander had been rampaging across the country looking for you. “If we try, maybe we can convince them to help us.”
“You’re talking about the same bloke who stood by that fucking cunt,” Billy argued, “They’re married to him for fuck’s sake; what makes you think they don't know about him?”
Annie hesitated, “They’re not like that —”
“Just cause they helped you on your first day doesn’t mean they’re not gonna turn you to mush at the first chance.” Billy points at the wedding photo from last year; it had been as grand as Homelander had said it would be, “They slept with the cunt, they kiss the cunt, they married the cunt, they’re as bad as the cunt.”
“Well, at least I’m trying,” Annie says, “all you’ve come up with is making this a hostage situation as if we have the muscle to handle that.”
“Oh yeah, and what if your friend in there goes back and blabs about us to their husband? What then? You know how Homelander gets; you willing to have your head blown off?”
Hughie turns away as the timer goes off, he opts to hand you your food to avoid getting dragged into the argument again. You’d been placed in the most lead-shielded area of the hideout - Annie had fitted it to be more comfortable than its usual concrete flooring, she’d also brought miscellaneous books from your suite, and you’d been rereading those for the days you were trapped here.
“Any chance you’ll let me walk out of here today?” you ask, but Hughie shakes his head. “Worth a shot,” you shrug.
Hughie doesn’t quite understand you; you’re not as malicious as the other people at Vought, or even most of the supes, so why on Earth did you choose to marry Homelander? Annie had said it was for genuine love, Frenchie had morbidly remarked that maybe you suffered from some form of Stockholm Syndrome, Billy had scoffed - the answers varied and against his better judgment - and the strict rule of not making conversation with you - he asked.
“Oh, well, because he asked,” you replied, glancing down at the ring on your finger; you twist it with a small smile, “and I’d already gone through the trouble of falling in love with him.”
“But he’s —”
“A murderous cunt with the emotional intelligence of a three-year-old on steroids?” you provided, and he nodded, “Yeah, I’ve gotten my fair share of concerned letters from fans and anti-Homelander fans alike. He’s complicated, and —”
There’s a crash upstairs, and Maeve’s voice carries through, she’s just arrived, and no doubt joined the argument. “Any chance you’ll divorce him and help us put him down?”
You shake your head, “Not likely,” you reply, “but I can agree to possibly holding off his murderous tendencies long enough to have you escape in one piece and hopefully making sure he doesn’t hunt you down after.” You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.
“You know then,” he mutters, “about….” he gestures to nothing, in particular, hand waving around in the air.
“It’s hard to miss, especially when he comes to bed with bits of human still in his hair.”
Hughie leaves you; he finds Annie and Billy have stopped arguing, but they occupy opposite ends of the room, Maeve in between, rubbing her temple and no doubt nursing another headache. “This plan was a mess from the beginning,” she mumbles, “did either of you even think this through?”
“Well, I was thinking we could use them to get Homelander to heel,” Billy voices, “Miss starshine over there wants us to hold hands and sing kumbayah with ‘em.”
“That’s not what I said —”
“ —might as well have.”
“Enough,” Maeve yelled, “Homelander’s been plowing his fist through people’s chests looking for them, he’s burned abandoned lots looking for them, and he’s getting crazier and harder to predict by the second.”
“How bad is it?” M.M asks, finally feeling the need to join the conversation.
“His costume’s more red now that it is blue,” Maeve responds, “We’ve gotta take them back.”
“How? Homelander’s been circling the planet 24/7; he so much as hears their voice outside these walls, we’re dead in a heartbeat.” Frenchie laments.
“Unless,” M.M. chimes in, “what if we leave and then have Maeve respond to an anonymous tip.” He accentuates the last two words with air quotations, “At least a couple hours after we high tail out of here.”
“That’s a stupid idea,” Billy says.
It’s their only idea, at least the only one that doesn’t involve any of them getting killed; they pack up everything and make it look like a construction company moving out and about. They don’t go too far - a lone truck driving speedily away from where Homelander’s partner is found a few hours into the morning would no doubt be suspicious - they park just behind one of the other buildings nearby, hiding away on the second floor of one of them. As planned, Maeve shows up first, Annie and the remaining Seven behind her; they step aside at the sound of a crack in the sky as Homelander lands upfront.
The ground isn’t perfect when he lands, shattering like glass; some of the concrete flies up as he rushes in, and the lead door flies through one of the walls a few minutes later, followed by a frustrated scream, then nothing. There are a few moments of silence, and Annie and Maeve share an uneasy look. Just as they were about ready to follow, the doors swung open, and out came Homelander, you carried bridal style in his arms.
“John, I can walk fine,” they could hear you insisting, but the supe was resolute, flying off before anyone could utter a word.
The Deep lets out a sigh, doubling over on his knees, “Oh, thank god, we found them; I don’t know how much longer I could survive with Homelander that hopped up and manic.”
John doesn’t leave your side even when you get back to Vought towers; the doctors have to work around him as he glares down at each and every one of them. He doesn’t trust the food brought to you and has several of the humans who do bring it to taste it first, waiting to see if any of them pass out or die. You haven’t told him about Annie or Maeve, and you’re not going to; judging by how close he is to punching a hole through the wall, you opt to keep that little nugget of information tucked away.
It’s just the two of you now; John’s bloody uniform is lying in the corner of your shared bathroom, and you’re sitting between his legs, leaning back on him in the bathtub. The bathtub. is spacious enough, but he’s tucked himself in one end with you. You’d already helped him wash off the blood, and he’d taken his time running the soap down your body, reassuring himself you were, in fact, real.
The water’s lukewarm now, so you pat his hand, but it takes a few more pats and a knock on the door to get him to move. You stand from the tub alongside him, but he guides you out, hand on your lower back, as the other grabs one of the robes; he has it gathered up to your neck; he wraps one of the towels around your neck and then opens the door - Ashley goes over a few more details, then leaves you and John to your evening.
“I’ll find them,” John mutters on your skin, “....make sure they die painfully.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
He doesn’t say anything, eyes void as he helps you change into sleep attire, “I’m serious, John, promise me you won’t do anything rash.” He nods stiffly, hugging you so as to hide his face as he mentally plans the demise of your kidnappers.
End Note:
This has been a rather long fic, and I have no idea where it started or where it ended 💀 Stay Hydrated.
#homelander x gender neutral!reader#homelander x reader#the boys imagine#shiterequests#flower language is both fascinating and overwhelming to me#flower 🌸 au
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Ma Ha's Magic Film Corner
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✧ * º • heartbroken
pi-slices
Pi-Slices
younggifted25
Untitled