Stardust in my eyes (Homelander x Reader)
Also available on Ao3: stardust in my eyes - UnluckyAmulet - The Boys (TV 2019) [Archive of Our Own]
Sometimes, working for Vought just gets to be too goddamn much.
Which is why that fateful day, you and a couple of friends had gone to get lunch and in the corner of the canteen for worker bee drones, things went from gossiping about random drama between colleagues to playing an oldie but goldie. You and your friend Claire had been playing Smash or Pass for the past ten minutes and you'd gone through damn nearly every person you knew at work. Obviously, it was all good fun, and you were being careful not to be too loud about it, but as you picked at your lunch, Claire decided to up the ante a bit.
Now, it was Smash or Pass: Supe edition. Specifically, you were talking about the Seven. You’d already done A-train and Starlight, both of which you’d said Pass to, while Claire said Smash to both.
"Okay, so how about...The Deep?" she said. You made a face.
"Firstly, he smells of fish.” You say, slurping on your drink. “Like, constantly. Secondly, I heard a rumour he made an intern cry because he was rubbing his crotch against her ass on the elevator ride up, so yeah, no. If I wanted a fucking creep, I could go to any dive bar in the city."
“Ew, I didn’t know that last thing.” Claire says, making a face. “Okay, fine, I’m changing my answer to pass too.”
You snort, and she points at you.
“Hey, don’t judge me! It’s not my fault you’re so picky you’ve said no to like everyone.”
"I'm not picky, I'm selective." you counter. "It's not my fault you'd let the Seven pass you around like a Christmas present."
Claire scoffs but she can't argue - she's said Smash to way more people than you have, not just Supes or co-workers.
"What?!" Claire shrieks. "Why?!"
"Because unlike you, I don't have a mommy kink." you say, rolling your eyes. "I dunno, she's not my type. Plus, she always acts so damn bored by everything - she'd probably just expect you to get her off and then kick you out of bed and play fucking Candy Crush or something. No thanks, I don't want to do all the hard work."
"Okay, okay...what about Homelander?"
Okay, that one isn't quite so simple. The Deep, A-Train, Starlight and Queen Maeve were all a fairly straightforward "no" and you haven't gotten to Black Noir yet, but somehow the answer eludes you. Homelander seems so far removed from normal human with their normal, squishy desires that it's difficult to even imagine having sex with him. You're sure you've never seen him out of that costume of his, either. But you're definitely considering it...
"You're taking way too long to answer~" Claire singsongs. "Don’t tell me you’ve got a boner for that sexy cape?”
"Firstly, shut up. And secondly, yeah, okay, he's attractive but like..." you paused as you try to organise your thoughts, wondering what made you hesitate, except for the whole 'Almighty symbol of America who can shoot lasers from his eyes' thing. "I kinda feel like I'd be getting it on with someone's dad?"
You had no idea how old Homelander was, only that he was definitely older than you. Plus, there was his vaguely patriarchal vibe when he addressed the adoring public, like he was steering them onto the right path or something. Not that you exactly opposed to sleeping with older men, per se, but you’d prefer to know how much older somebody was first.
"Yeah, I know what you mean," Claire says thoughtfully, chewing on her sandwich as you both stand up to toss your wrappers away and get back to work. “There’s something a little fake about him. And he probably says ‘God bless America’ when he comes or something.”
You nearly spit out the last of your soda, and bubbles go up your nose, which makes you hack and cough from an effort of not cackling, pounding your fist on your chest.
“Fucking hell, you’re the worst!” you say, giving her arm a playful shove. She smirks and shrugs.
“Just being honest. Anyway, we’re not done playing yet. Black Noir?"
You think about it.
You were about to head back to your desk with Claire when Ashley suddenly comes clacking up to you both with her usual harried expression on her face. Some days you feel like she's maybe a hair's breadth away from having a nervous breakdown, and you'd nearly feel bad for her if she wasn't so annoying. You can't pretend you haven't seen her, either, because she calls your name.
You make a face at Claire, then turn to Ashley as she approaches.
"Hey! I'm glad I caught you. Listen, the Seven have a meeting later on this afternoon but I don’t have time to put their itinerary in the meeting room, can you do it and just make sure everything looks presentable before then?”
You suppress the flicker of irritation - what do you look like, a Janitor?
"Uh, sure, I guess. It's just the desks, right?"
"Yeah, everything else has been taken care of!" Ashley says, looking a little calmer at confirming that nearly every other matter is all perfectly sorted and pencilled into her little schedule. "Thanks so much!"
She goes clicking off and you exchange a confused glance with Claire.
"That was weird. Why did she ask you specifically?" Claire said.
"I have no idea, but at least it'll only take me like five minutes." you sigh. "I'll be back soon."
The conference room is so fucking big that you take a second to just stand there and gawk at the panoramic view of the city through the windows, before you snap to attention. You don't want to linger in here - even if you're just here to straighten up the table before the Supes get here for whatever big important meeting they have. You still think it's weird Ashley told you to do it, and it feels even odder to be in here alone. Like you're trespassing.
"Let's just get this over with..." you mutter to yourself, crossing the room and beginning to put the piles of papers on each table, starting from Starlight's seat and working your way around.
After a few minutes you relax. It's even a little nice, getting a couple of moments away from everyone else. Vought is a massive office building but there's nowhere to be really alone - people are always sneaking out the fire escapes for a smoke, the toilets have gossiping employees, the canteen full of people with differing lunch shifts, etc. There's always a buzz, always endless humming in the background. You've compared the place to a beehive before for good reason.
You're just about done, wondering if by doing this, Ashley was testing you or something - maybe she wanted to see you could be trusted in here, and now you've basically finished, you've passed and she might think about putting in a good word for you to the higher-ups, when a voice damn near give you a heart attack:
"Lost in thought?"
You shriek and drop the handful of papers you were holding.
When you look around, the Homelander is standing there. You didn't even hear him come in. For a minute you're so startled you just stare at him - it's like seeing a snow leopard, something impossibly exotic and rare, and the fact he's even talking to you is even more of a surprise. Your heart is pounding loudly in your chest, and you wonder if he can hear it - he's smiling like you've just told a good joke.
"Oh, Homelander!" you say, because it's what he tells all the staff they should call him, pressing a hand to your chest. "You scared me. Um, I can leave, I'm pretty much done here."
His familiar smile only widens, and he gestures with a flick of his wrist.
"Don't let me stop you. Might as well finish up what you came to do, right?"
You awkwardly smile in response, unsure of what else to say, and go to grab the papers you dropped, blood rushing through your ears. You're hyperaware of him in the room, where he rightfully belongs, while you just wound up here because Ashley needed somebody to do some last-second grunt work. When you put the stack of files on Black Noir's desk and pointlessly straighten them, Homelander speaks again, pacing a little closer.
"You know...you should probably be a little more careful about what you talk about with your friends while you're in the building."
"I mean...I guess you had no way of knowing who was listening, but...well, let's just say, it was pretty hard not to tune in, you know?"
Oh my god.
You went to melt through the floor. You straighten up to watch Homelander, who has an expression that's slightly chiding but amused, like you're a little kid who's learned a new swear word or something. He doesn't seem angry, but the thought he overheard you and Claire paying fucking Smash or Pass is enough to ignite your anxiety like a spark to gunpowder.
"I gotta say, you're not wrong about The Deep - he does fucking stink of fish," Homelander says conspiratorially. "Your little friend didn't seem to mind that, but she said Smash to nearly everyone. You though - you didn't seem interested in anyone besides Black Noir - I'll have to let him know, I don't think he's seeing anyone right now. Though who fucking knows, with that guy?"
You feel like it's probably not the time to point out you did also admit you thought he was hot. You've got to do some damage control, here.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean - I wouldn't have said that if I didn't think it was being overheard." you blurt out hurriedly. This is a disaster. You want to strangle Claire, the fucking game was her dumb idea in the first place, she's the one who should be getting told off by Homelander, not you! "It- it was just a stupid game to pass the time."
He cocks his head.
"I mean...it's not like...you're not..." you say, babbling like a fucking lunatic, doing anything you can to backpedal out of this. This has to be a dream - a fucked-up one. "You guys are Supes, so it's a totally moot point anyway! I-You- you were dating Queen Maeve until recently, right? It's not like you'd want to...I mean, we're just normal people and you're..."
"Oh, I don't know about that." Homelander says, his tone almost jaunty, stepping a little closer. His hands are tucked behind his back, which makes you nervous, because you can't tell what he's going to do with them. "Let's see what we're working with here. Turn around."
"What?" you splutter.
"Go on." Homelander says, making a circular motion with his finger. "Do a spin for me."
You feel queasy, like you need to go pop an antacid tablet, but what can you do? If he wanted to, he could well have you fired. Or chased out of town. Or maybe even deported. Who knows? You'd probably deserve it, to be honest - what the hell were you thinking, letting Claire rope you into that stupid Smash or Pass game?! Of course, you had no idea he was in the building at the time and could hear you, but still!
Slowly you turn all the way around, aware of Homelander's eyes on you the entire time, heart pounding in your chest. When you turn back to him, his head is tilted slightly, mouth parted like he was about to say something.
"Huh." was all that came out.
You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from demanding to know what 'huh' means. Unfortunately for you, he decides to share.
"You know...the dress code for you people isn't very flattering, is it?" he muses. "I hadn't thought about it before. But you...huh. I think you've got a lot more going on under there."
He gestures at you, a kind of 'go on' hand movement.
"Take it off."
It's not a suggestion, it's an order. A command. Your face prickles with shame, unable to quite grasp this is actually happening to you. And from Homelander - Mr. America himself. You're naive to be so shocked - around here, he may get treated like a god, but he's still just a man.
"Go on." Homelander says, smiling, and you can't stop looking at those prominent canines. "Show me."
You can't procrastinate further, lest he get impatient enough to strip you himself, or even worse, laser off your clothes or something. He probably wouldn't be overly bothered if he scorched your skin too, and the thought makes you sick. He could just use his X-ray vision if he wanted to, but that's not what this is.
This is a punishment and you'd be stupid to make it any worse for yourself. You'll be lucky if you walk out of this room with your job.
Your fingers shake as you unbutton your shirt and you keep peeking anxious glances at Homelander, but it's impossible to read his mood just by looking at him - his expression could be anything, bored or annoyed or merely waiting. It's eerie.
He says nothing as you drop your shirt on the ground - you don't quite dare put it on the table or one of the chairs, so you're just grateful you know for a fact the floor has been vacuumed recently. But you can feel his never-wavering gaze on you like a weight as you keep going. You're down to your underwear and bend down to unzip your boots when he finally says something.
"No, leave those."
You straighten up hurriedly, even though you really don't want to. This is beyond humiliating - America's golden boy is seeing you in just a bra and panties, for fuck's sake. They don't even match. Your face is burning and a squirming sensation writhes in the pit of your stomach, like you're about to pass out or puke or both.
Homelander prowls around you like a lion, taking in everything from all angles, and you have to ball your hands into fists to stop yourself from covering yourself with your arms. You don't think you've ever felt so naked before, even if you're still technically clothed. His boots click as he comes to a stop right behind you.
"You're shaking." Homelander mocks you, his breath hot on your neck. You can feel the heat of him right behind you, like you're standing right in front of a sun lamp.
"Yeah," you say in one breath, even though you didn't think he was looking for a verbal response.
He spins you around to face him, his grip bruisingly strong on your upper arms. He's smiling like he's won something, and his eyes slide down to your tits, eyelashes casting tiny shadows across his cheeks.
"Yeah," he says softly, more to himself than you. "I'd fuck you."
The words barely have time to register in your shellshocked brain before he's on you. His hand tangles in your hair to jerk your head back and you let out a squeak of pain, but it's muffled by his mouth on your, hot and vicious and unyielding. There's nothing tender about the kiss - he kisses you like he wants to devour you, a growl in the back of his throat that honest-to-god make your knees buckle.
He's not shy about feeling you up either, hands roaming over your body like it’s a toy that he’s just ripped the wrapping paper off of, manhandling you however he wants and all you can really do is go with it, heart pounding like a goddamn jackhammer. This has gotten so out of hand so quickly that it’s dizzying trying to make sense of any of it.
…So why is a little part of you enjoying this? Just why is there a wet patch pooling at the crotch of your panties and your skin erupting in tingles wherever he touches you?
He snaps your bra open, ruining the clasp, and wastes no time in fondling your tits, the material dragging over your sensitive skin breaking them out in goosebumps. They’re fucking soft against his palms, hands that have killed, killed and killed again, but here he is massaging your tits like they’re priceless objects. He lowers his face and runs his tongue over them, and you nearly collapse right then and there – it’s like a fucking livewire pressed straight to your skin. He hums in approval at how responsive you are, teasing your nipples with the pads of his thumbs. Apparently Homelander is a tits guy – that’s definitely never come up in any interviews before.
Why are you finding yourself so fucking humiliated and wanting him to do more? Knowing you can’t do anything to stop him?
Homelander pulls back for air and slowly swipes his tongue across his bottom lip – the taste of your lipgloss lingers, something sweet that makes him hard, dick pressing against his suit. You stare back at him, caught in the fragile place between lust and disgust. He likes that look on you, hair all messed up, pupils blown wide until there’s barely any iris left, just a thin circle of colour wrapped around blackness, and your lips look red-raw and swollen from his rough mouth.
“Don’t tell me you’re enjoying this,” he teases, sliding a hand down to your hip and squeezing. “You like getting ordered around, huh? Like being told what to do?”
He doesn’t give you time to confirm or deny it – a second later he’s casually shoving his hand into your underwear, smirking as your mouth drops open in disbelief, his fingertips teasing against your slit. It drives a moan from your mouth, and he grins, holding you in place with his free hand, like he knows you’re tempted to bolt.
“You’re so fuckin’ wet,” he hisses, plunging his fingers deeper inside your cunt and you gasp, making a pointless grab at his arm – to steady yourself, to get your bearings, you don’t know. “I think you were lying before – Pass, my ass. I’ve barely touched you and you’re soaked. Do you go home and fuck yourself thinking about me?”
“Homelander…” you moan, you can’t help it. Your head is swimming and his fingers are so thick and he’s relentless, pushing and pushing you without a care in the world about what might happen. Whether it’ll break you or not.
“Go on,” he whispers, working his fingers in and out of you, clamping you to his chest with an arm around your back so he can watch the emotions flashing across your face like his own personal picture show. “Say my name.”
And then, as it starts to get fucking unbearable, the intoxicating fog blanketing your brain rendering you unable to concentrate on anything else, when you’re gonna fucking cum all over his fingers, he stops. Pulls his hand free. Your expression drops, surprise and outrage making your eyes snap to him.
“Didn’t think it’d be that easy, did you?” he all but purrs, clearly taking deep amusement in your bewilderment. “You fucking desperate little slut. You’ll come with I say you can.”
He makes a show of wiping his slick-coated glove off on the back of The Deep’s chair, before he looks back down at you and something in his gaze makes you stand stock-still, a classic prey response to being stared at by a predator.
“Now,” he says, and there’s no forced geniality in his voice anymore, his tone not far away from being a growl. “What was it I said a minute ago?”
Oh, jesus christ. You think, which you’re pretty sure wasn’t what he was aiming for.
“Aah, yeah, I remember now,” he says, nodding. “I said I’d fuck you.”
The room spins as he abruptly grabs you and aggressively turns you round, and next thing you know you’re bent forwards over the very desk you’d just spent the last fifteen minutes tidying – he only needs one hand pressing down on your back to hold you down.
You hear his ragged breathing and the sound of his belt being loosened, and you squeak as he yanks down your underwear like he’s personally offended by them – you’re sure you hear something rip – and he’s back against you, so hot it’s like a furnace and oh shit, wait, he’s going in raw?! You grab pointlessly at what’s in front of you, papers crumpling in your sweaty fists.
He does not go gentle as he thrusts into you and all you can do is make a strangulated keening noise – he’s so thick, filling you up and stretching you out. You bury your face into your forearms, muffling your gasps and squeaking against your skin because the noises he’s driving from you are making you want to combust with embarrassment. Not that he can’t hear them anyway – he’s made the fact he has superhearing more than plain, after all. But he can’t help finding it endearing you’d even bother to try hiding it – like anybody would dare walk in and interrupt him right now. Not after he specifically told Ashley to keep everyone away from the meeting room while he dealt with you.
“Fuck, you’re tight…” Homelander growls as he thrusts into you, his own words being drowned out by moaning of his own. “So fuckin’…”
You stare at the doors across from you, terrified somebody’s going to come in and see you like this, getting fucked by Homelander like a bitch in heat – he hasn’t even taken off his gloves but here you are, only the straps of your bra and a pair of over-the-knee boots covering you. Homelander removes the hand from your back and grips your hips with enough force that you yelp in pain – it’s nothing close to what he could really do, but you know you’re going to have hand-shaped marks there later. Not that you care much with how he’s fucking you with total abandon now, and each stroke of his cock drives you closer and closer to your breaking point and you cling onto the table with one hand like it’s going to help you somehow.
“Still feel like you’re fuckin’ someone’s dad?” Homelander taunts you as his thrusts start to get sloppier, more erratic, and you groan to have your words thrown back at you.
“No, no, Homelander, I- “
He pinches your clit and rolls it between his fingertips, and you keen out loud, nearly sobbing with pleasure and pain at the same time. Your head is buzzing with the stimulation, trapped between so many sensations, terror of getting caught, of getting so close to relief, panic that he’ll go too far and break something, of what he’ll do with you when he’s finished…
“No, no,” he chides you, clicking his tongue like you’ve given him the wrong answer in a quiz. “Call me daddy, if that’s how you see me.”
Is he serious? You have no idea if he means it or if he’s just being a bastard, but a particularly hard thrust that actually nudges both you and the table forwards has you saying it anyway, babbling like a lunatic.
“Sorry- agh- daddy, fuck, that feels so good-!”
“Thassit…nnh…I’m gonna…fuck you full of my cum…” he pants and it sends a bizarre buzz of pride through you that you managed to make a Supe short of breath. “And you’re gonna take all of it, aren’t you? Take all of my cum…”
Like you have a choice, since he didn’t bother to put any protection on. But you’re too lost in your own orgasm to care, the force of it rendering you utterly blissed out, too busy riding that glorious, tingling high to care much about anything else going on, even if you can’t ignore the hot, sticky flood as he comes, and fuck there’s so much of it, how are you going to go back to work like this?? Homelander makes a sound between a groan and a snarl as he comes and you know you’ll be hearing that noise in your dreams.
Finally, it stops. For a moment neither of you move or speak, except for panting breaths, and you want to look behind you to see what mood he’s in now, but you don’t quite dare.
He moves away and you slump onto the floor, because you’d really rather not have your naked ass just there on display across the table. You feel blindly across the floor for your skirt and tug it on as Homelander tucks himself back into his suit and sniffs once, swiping a hand through his hair.
You can’t find your fucking underwear, you realise with a stab of panic – he must have literally ripped them straight off you, so you wouldn’t be able to put them back on anyway, so you just shove your arms through your shirt and try in vain to button it with trembling fingers.
“Tell Ashley the room’s ready now,” Homelander says, and his voice is impersonal, like he’s done nothing more than take care of some trivial order of business.
You can only nod and get to your feet, wobbly as a newborn deer. Homelander smirks as he watches you from the side of his eye, you look so pathetic and off-balance he’s almost tempted to fuck you again, but he does have work to get back to. You’re off the hook – for now.
When you get to the doors, you pause and look back at him. It would probably be better to just leave with whatever semblance of dignity you still have intact, but you have to ask him.
"Um...do I... I mean like...I still have a job, right?" you hedge nervously.
"What?" Homelander glances over at you laughs, like this is the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard. "Did you think I was going to hand you your fucking notice?"
Yes? No? You had no idea what he was going to do. But you just shrug, because it seems safer than speaking. He scoffs and gives his head a shake, but his gaze drags down your body and your stomach clenches again, despite what’s just happened.
“Run along and get back to work like a good girl,” he says softly, but loud enough you can hear every word just fine. “I think we’ll be seeing each other again real soon.”
You can’t muster a response to that, so you just nod and hurry out, trying your utmost not to break into a run, lest he be tempted to give chase. You pass a mirror on your way down the corridor and the sight makes you freeze.
You look like you’ve been mauled by a wild animal, and you can smell Homelander’s cologne all over you. You probably reek of sex. You’re not sure how far that is from the truth, to be honest. Hopefully you can make it to the toilets on this floor without anybody seeing you and tidy yourself up a bit – you can’t go back to your desk like this. And you can only hope to god nobody finds your discarded panties in there because Ashley would likely figure out how and why they got there.
At least I still have my job. You think, even if you know it will never be the same now – you’ll never be able to look at Homelander, or any of his posters or action figures or T-shirts – without thinking about his hands on you, of him watching you strip with that hungry look on his face, ever again. Maybe it will fade in time, maybe not. Maybe Homelander has fucked half the people in the building on equally flimsy pretenses, or you could be the first time he’s indulged himself like this. He might forget all about you, or you could forever be known as ‘that mouthy assistant I fucked once’. You have no idea.
And that’s maybe the scariest thing of all – not knowing what comes next.
Meanwhile, Homelander stands in the meeting room, awaiting the rest of the Seven to enter. In his hand he toys with the now-ruined pair of underwear you’d had on earlier – you were so fucked out you hadn’t even him notice him swipe them off the floor.
He’ll hang onto them as a…souvenir, if you will.
His superhearing picks up the sounds of the others approaching, and he turns, plastering on a smile as he approaches his desk. A tongue swipes across his bottom lip, a lingering taste of that sweet flavour – cinnamon or butterscotch, something that reminds him of dessert – only sealing your fate further.
After all, when you get a taste of something like that, why wouldn’t you go back for a second bite?