#conditional love | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

seeds-and-sins · 2 years

Note

Could I request a fic with homelander & a female reader, whom was brought in as a child to basically be John's "little doll". Perhaps they reinforced her body and made her "durable" so she wouldn't break easily. Also I think it'd be interesting if she had powers like Mantis where she can completely understand and influence emotions (with direct physical contact). And that, that's why Vought created her for John in the first place, so that he "would have something to love and that would love him back". she also has a strong dependence on John cuz she fears abandonment, loneliness, and being betrayed so her way of expressing her feelings to him is by displaying physical contact and constantly letting John know how much she loves "belonging" to only him and how much she loves him, pulling him aside to simply hug him since all she wants is to be "closer to him".

Sadly Earth Scene

Paring: Homelander x F!Reader

Rating: M (WARNING: Abusive relationship!!! And brief mentions of sexual content. Also, Cursing.)

Description: You were a project, never meant to aspire for anything more than servitude. Your whole life depended on him, your whole existence. What would you ever do without him?

Author's Note: Finally! I am crying inside because it took me way too long to get this finished. I wrote it at least three different ways and then I decided to just mesh all those different options into one. I hope it's worth it because I definitely know the asker has been waiting for this. I actually might even pursue a second part, but life is killing me right now. We will see what the tide brings in. Enjoy!!!

Rats, mice, monkeys, cats, dogs, animals of all species, of all shapes and sizes, have been used in the name of science for centuries. Vogelbaum's main studies focused with that of rats and mice, the pharmaceutical industry realizing that those particular animals were most akin to their needs. Monkeys being too loud, sometimes too big, not quite biologically meeting the parameters of what Vogelbaum was attempting to accomplish. Rats and mice, small rodents, reproduced and grew at an efficient rate. Not to mention, they had similar genetic coding to that of humans, making them perfect subjects for the likes of experimental medicines and other projects. It was through rats and mice that Vogelbaum had developed an idea, or rather, a solution.

It was in a recent study that scientists had found that keeping rats and mice in the same pen carried little influence on their growth and reproductive rates. Biologically, nothing changed. Behaviorally, nothing changed. Two different species, perhaps from the same family, were capable of coexisting with one another without any repercussions. To most, the discovery was meager and bore no true necessity. However, Vogelbaum saw the study as an act of brilliance. It fueled his curiosity.

Rats and mice, in the same pen, together.

What would be the results if he were to do such a thing with his more sentient subjects? Rely more on social ecological theory in interdependence of one another: children connect with the parents, then to the home, then they make friends at school, at their local church, with the neighbor across the street.

John killed so many of his caretakers. Not even Vogelbaum's most established scientists were able to enter the cell without fearing for their lives. By the time the boy was ready to be released, he would have no sympathy for humanity, no love in his heart. It wasn't as if Vogelbaum cared all that much. He created John with the intention of him growing up into a strong hero, a living and breathing Superman, his greatest dream coming to fruition. Who cared how he got there?

But, it was Stan Edgar that insisted that he fix the problem. The problem being that John had already killed dozens of innocents and he was only eleven.

Here was Vogelbaum's solution. Here lied the answer.

If theory was anything to go by, all Vogelbaum needed to do was find someone that John couldn't kill. Much easier said than done.

That was where you came in. Subjects were presented to Vogelbaum of varying ages, some had already undergone changes from Compound V. At first, Vogelbaum had his sights set on someone older, someone that could stand in as a parental figure for John where it was needed. But, his interest peaked when he saw you. Orphan, age ten, Compound V injections age two, accelerated healing, empath. The answer was there, right in front of him: the ability to control the emotion's of others, the ability to empathize. You would be a perfect mice to John's rat. All Vogelbaum needed to do was... reinforce you a little bit, make you stronger, sturdier. You had the healing factor, but you needed more if you were going to survive John.

With some of the finest implements of genetic manipulation and some more injections of Compound V, you would be a treasure. For you the pain would be excruciating, but once it passed you would be everything that Vogelbaum ever could have dreamed of.

The final leg of your journey could end up being your last, but Vogelbaum didn't care about the success. If his experiment failed, he would start again. It was all part of the process after all, trial and error.

"Who are you?" Shoved into the twelve by twelve lead cell that housed John, you were clueless, frightened, lost. Was this another horrible test? Another injection of V that would leave you twitching and crying on your metal slab of a bed for days on end.

The boy before you stared blankly, he had never seen someone his age before, someone so small and fragile. He wondered what test this was for him. Did they want him to kill you? Laser through your insides, rip you to shreds, remove your head from your body, break your back? He could do those things.

"W-Who are you?" You asked in a whisper, pressing yourself as far away from him as you could. Vogelbaum's voice cleared over the intercom system, beady eyes monitoring them from the other side of the two way glass.

"John, I would like you to meet (Y/N). (Y/N) is your friend. She will visit once a week. (Y/N) tell John a little bit about yourself." You gulped, glancing nervously between the mirrored glass and the boy called John. You twiddled your thumbs, heartbeat breaking through your chest. "(Y/N) tell John about your powers." The scientist demanded a bit more firmly. You would have sobbed if not for your survival instincts telling you to suck it up and do as you were told. You don't want to get electrocuted, or worse.

“I-I can feel things.”

“Good girl, just like we talked about.” Vogelbaum praised, “Why don’t you two take some time to get acquainted with one another? Be nice, John. Remember, she’s your friend.” Friend? John had heard about the word and had seen pictures of ‘friends’ during his training sessions. The president was a friend, generals were friends, soldiers were friends, police officers, fire fighters, normal people were friends. Friends had become synonymous with someone that John wasn’t supposed to kill. But a true friend wouldn’t lie to John, a true friend wouldn’t try to hurt him. Right?

“You’re my friend?” The young blue eyed, blonde haired boy lifted his chin, standing straight to assert his power over you. You could feel things, what did that mean?

“I-I don’t know.” You stuttered, curling yourself inward so as to put yourself in a better position for defense.

“If you’re my friend, why don’t you know?” He stepped closer and you recoiled further, holding your palms up, your breath quickened. You were lying. John didn’t like liars. You lied like those others, the ones that told him they loved him. “Are you a liar?”

“I don’t think so.” You bit your bottom lip, John remained blank and impassive. He held his hand out to you and his lips quirked up in an almost sickly smile.

“Take my hand. We can be friends.” You vigorously shook your head, tears collecting at the corners of your eyes.

“I don’t want to.” The intercom screeched abruptly and Vogelbaum’s booming voice returned.

“What did we talk about (Y/N)?” He spat, you squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head.

“I’m scared.” You cried, turning your head into the cold metal wall.

“Don’t worry...” John chirped, that smile still splitting his boyish face. “I won’t hurt you.” If you were going to lie to him, then he had every right to lie to you. He was convincing, to a young girl that had no one and nothing. He was different than the others: your age, just a boy, no white coats and pointy needles. No one. Nothing. Slowly, albeit hesitantly, you held your hand out. It was the only way you could gage what he was feeling. You could determine if he was a threat from there.

When your fingers touched his, he was instantly overwhelmed by a whole mess of tingles. He immediately withdrew, jolting away as if he had been stung. His eyes widened, and for the first time he was actually presenting a genuine emotional response. The Doctor took notes.

“Who are you?!” John shouted, you flinched away, but did not mistake what you had felt. When you touched someone, you felt everything; likewise, they could feel what you did. You could manipulate such emotions to an extent, feelings could be altered to lessen someone’s anger or pain. What you felt in John, wasn’t all that different from what you felt in yourself. You instantly made the connection. John’s reaction on the other hand was-reasonable? You had been born and raised in a pit of Vought’s own creation. As an empath, you had been tested in the art of emotions since the moment you could walk and talk. Your training consisted of constantly being presented subjects.

What is this person feeling? Can you make them feel like this?...

What if we cut their hand off? Do you feel their pain? Can you make them feel less of that pain?

What if we hurt you? Can you make someone feel what you feel?

You were used to it, your existence having been molded by emotions. But with John, all it took was one touch, and you knew, he was not used to feeling what others felt. He wasn’t short of emotions, but to truly empathize? He had never empathized with anyone. He had been chained down and caged his whole life, experimented on in every way, shape, and form. No one had ever walked into that room, knowing what he felt. And he had never been able to understand how they felt in having the freedom and independence that he never had.

You sniffled, finally considering the situation that you had been shoved into.

John and you were not so different. In fact, he too was the only other person you had ever met that felt like you did.

“It’s okay.” You straightened yourself, stepping a little closer. You held your hand out again, hoping he would accept it out of curiosity. You did feel that he had intent to hurt you, but you couldn’t blame him after everything he had been through. He felt betrayed, angry, lost, lonely, cold, frightened. He was a brew of everything you felt, and more. Finally, someone’s emotions that were your own. John took your hand, cautiously, but this time his fingers snatched you and his grip tightened like a vice. “STOP!” You screamed, he was on the verge of breaking your hand any second. You poured as much of yourself into the touch as you could, all your pain and all your fear. The results were immediate. John’s entire expression softened, his grip relented. Instead, he held you gently. You winced, knowing your hand would bruise, but surely it would heal in no time at all.

Then, something astounding happened, the Doctor leaned in closer.

“I’m-I’m Sorry.” John spoke, tentatively, it was his first time ever saying such a thing. Truly.

Progress. The Doctor thought. And so it was...

“(Y/N)! Jesus Christ! How much trouble is it to get your fucking attention?!” You blinked from your daze, pulling your eyes from the expanse of city below. Your attention darted in John’s direction: he was pacing behind you in a furious step, hair slightly disheveled and violently blue eyes darting about with an unsettling rage. “Did you hear what I fucking said?! Or do you just not give a fuck anymore?!” You shook your head vigorously, immediately jumping to action. The exhaustion from it all was deep in your bones, but your body moved of it’s own accord; some sickening inner instinct, honed after years and years of being at his beck and call. You would do anything for him, and if that meant putting aside your personal needs then you would. That was what you were here for after all. That was why Vought created you: to keep Homelander tame. It was the one job you had been failing at for far too long. No matter how hard you tried, nothing ever seemed to be enough. The only thing that helped you get out of bed everyday was the hope that your efforts weren’t all for naut.

“No! I always care, you know that!” Your hand rested on his forearm as he paused beside you, fierce glare turned down in your direction. He was unconvinced, so you knew he needed an explanation. “I’m just tired.” You confessed, tone dull and low as your emotions got the best of you. You forced a smile on your lips, hoping that it would lighten the mood. Homelander rolled his eyes before aggressively tugging his arm away and pacing again.

“Well, go be fucking tired some other time. This is more important!” He began to pace around the table, putting some distance between you both. But even in the gigantic meeting room, everything felt so small and fragile when it was just the two of you. He had the power to make you feel insignificant and, yet, necessary all at the same time. One second he was cracking a joke with you and the next second he was yelling at you over something that annoyed him. Recently, things had been particularly bad for him. With John’s ratings going down, Stan Edgar constantly breathing down his neck, and Stormfront poking a stick at him whenever she had the chance, tensions were high. You had anticipated that John was going to come take it all out on you, his personal punching bag. You simply hadn’t anticipated the scale of his anger when he had called you to the meeting room that morning. It was draining to say the least.

“I’m sorry, John. Keep talking, I’m listening.” The urge to run and hug him was hard to ignore, but you knew it would only serve to make him more irritated. He very rarely ever let you touch him nowadays, and you had long given up trying to convince him that you loved him. The last time the both of you had experienced physical skin on skin contact was probably ten years ago at the least. He used to need you, undoubtedly, coming to you on a daily basis so that you could relieve the overwhelming mass of emotions bubbling in him. There was once a time where he sought you for relaxation and calm. You had once been the constant in his life, his rock to lean on where no one else could withstand his baggage. You had trained for it, had grown up with him, you knew him better than anybody. But, perhaps, it was that revelation that made him begin to push you away; the revelation that you knew him, in ways that no one else did. Instead, these days, he came to you for release of a different sort: mostly for complaining and degrading. There was a constant teeter tottering between him truly seeing you as his friend, but also as his therapist and his property.

“Oh, you’re listening, now?” He snapped back, lifting a brow at you and scowling. “Suddenly, I’m all that more interesting again?” You visibly softened, shoulders drooping with a harsh exhale.

“I don’t know what you want from me anymore.” You bit your bottom lip, holding back tears. “I don’t know what to say.” It was the only truth you could muster. There wasn't anything human left and without being allowed to use your powers on him, you could never help.

"Hmm..." His stoic glare penetrated you deep as you waited for some semblance of comfort. God forbid you try to get it from anyone else, he would kill them. He was making his way around and back to you then, within arms reach. "You're so pathetic, do you know that?" He cocked his head, eyes darting up and down your smaller self. You shivered involuntarily at the darkness and the cold that flickered in his eyes. "Would you even know what to do without me?" It didn't take you long to find your answer.

"No."

"That's right..." He confirmed, stepping into your space so he could feign a tender stroke along your cheek. "You need me." You allowed your eyes to flutter shut, his gaze still burning holes into you. As a few minutes of silence passed, his gloved hand painting invisible marks into your skin, you thought about saying it again. I love you. But it would still mean nothing to him. He touched you nowadays like one would touch their pet, and pets were supposed to be obedient. "Now..." His glove squeaked as he clenched his fist and took a step back. Your shoulders flinched when you thought he might lay a blow across your cheek. He knew you could handle it, you would heal fast and he didn't care if you felt pain. The blow never came, he gritted his teeth and turned sharply into his pacing again, fists propped behind his back. "Back to what I was saying, I need you to do something for me." Your eyebrows furrowed, but you swiftly bit the inside of your cheek and hid your confused expression. John never asked anything of you, ever. You mostly were kept around the tower to talk to him. You didn't have a job and your tasks were strictly limited to housekeeping in his penthouse.

"Like what?"

"That's what I was about to fucking explain, if you'd just shut the fuck up." You nodded your head vigorously, twiddling your thumbs out in front of you. One of the tears beat the threshold of your eyelash and began to slide down your cheek, you panicked to wipe it away before he noticed. "Not too long from now, I'll be heading to the set of Dawn of the Seven. Another stupid fucking marketing ploy..." He stopped by the large expanse of window, not far from where you found yourself standing shortly before. "I want you to be there." He clasped his hands firmly behind his back as he nonchalantly spoke those words. You immediately turned your gaze up, your expression clenched in confusion as you considered him.

"Really?" Did you sound far more excited than you should have been? Yes. Homelander never brought you anywhere anymore and it's not like you were allowed to go places you wanted anyways.

"Don't get your hopes up." He rolled his eyes, turning his side to face you and sending you a bored stare. "You'll be working. I want you to find out everything you can about Stormfront. Talk to her, convince her, whatever the fuck you need to do to let me in on her fucking shit. Understood?" You had used your abilities on many others in the past. Vought couldn't deny your importance when faced with a reluctant corporate shareholder or a stubborn politician. However, you had never used your powers on another suoerhero before. You were immediately nervous at the idea. No matter how resilient you were, you were still a fragile soul. What if you messed up? Stormfront was a powerful superhero. She could hurt you. "Is that a problem?"

"I've just..." You gulped anxiously, "I haven't used my powers in at least a year, and what if I mess up?"

"Aww, poor thing." He snickered, "Frankly, I don't give a fuck how you go about doing it. Just fucking do it." Another difference between now and then: Homelander had never sent you out to do something like this. He was usually very protective of you-possessive being the better word for it. "Or, do you not want me to be happy?" You blinked at him. Of course, he always said that to make you budge, to manipulate you into doing what he wanted. And you knew it, and you let it happen. Years ago, when you were both younger, he would tell you: I'm not happy here. I don't know what makes me happy. You'd hold his hand and give him all of the joy you could muster, and then he'd smile. His smiles were far more genuine then. Perhaps it was because he was genuinely feeling happiness.

"I always want you to be happy." You responded, devoid of any emotion and dully spoken.

"Perfect." He grinned, closing in on you to cup your cheeks. "Because if you don't..." He whispered lowly, ducking slightly down till you were face to face. "I will break every bone in your body. And when you heal, I will do it all over again." He pinched your cheek as he shoved past you and vacated the meeting room, knowing full well the effect his threat would have on you in his absence. You dropped your head, thinking about simpler times and missing the Homelander you once knew.

Within the hour, Ashley was dropping by the penthouse to accompany you to the set of Dawn of the Seven. You didn't protest and the whole time she spoke with you, you remained quiet and curled up. She was afraid, you could hear it in her voice. That was what Homelander did to people, he scared them into submission. In their case, they feared him doing his worst: burning them through with his lasor vision, or pulling them limb from limb as they suffered an agonizing slow death. In your case, you feared him discarding you completely, casting you aside, never coming to you again for anything.

"Urgh, isn't this exciting?!" Ashley hollered with feigned excitement, she squeezed your shoulder as you both stood outside of the limo that brought you to the set. "Homelander told me you never leave the tower, so I figure this must be a crazy experience for you. You want a latte, or something?" You faced her finally and shook your head, knowing that she was only appeasing you for the sake of Homelander's approval. You never knew what Homelander called you. There was once a time when he wanted to call you his girlfriend, but Vought refused. Later, Vought then paired him up with Queen Maeve and the two of them seemed to be an item for a while. But, what he called you nowadays, you weren't sure. Part of you didn't even care anymore.

"No, I'm good. Thank you." You reluctantly smiled at her and she returned it.

"Aww, aren't you adorable." She commented, you twiddled your thumbs as she directed her attention briefly to her phone. "I've got to take this, feel free to walk around and help yourself." Ashley strode off in a furious step, lifting the phone to her ear. You inhaled deeply, taking in the expanse of the set out in front. Trailers went on and on for acres and in the distance you could make out a staged destroyed city scape. You decided the quicker you got to completeing your task, the better. You started walking between the trailers, passing employees and sending them friendly waves so as not to come off suspicious. Stormfront wasn't anywhere in sight and neither were any other members of the Seven.

One particular turn and you were being swooped up into a pair of strong and thick arms, your back pressed to something hard and immovable, and it didn't take you more than a second to know who had grabbed you. Gloved fingers pulled up around your throat and a heated breath beat across the nape of your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

"John?" You whispered breathlessly, he had for some reason dragged you into a small gap between two trailers, somewhat shaded from the sun that beat heavily over the entirety of the Vought movie grounds. "What's wrong?"

"Have you talked to Stormfront yet?" You shifted, but immediately corrected yourself when the grip on your throat tightened. Your heart was pumping so fast, Homelander hadn't held this close in ages. You rested your hands on his forearm that belted your waist, squeezing at the muscle there. Without his skin touching yours, there was no stopping him from hurting you here.

"Not, yet."

"I thought so..." He growled in your ear, "You think it's fucking funny to parade around like a whore?"

"W-What?" Oh no, what did you do now? You thought you were doing pretty well, all things considered. "I just got here. I'm trying to find her."

"Why did you smile at Ashley? Hmm? And those other pathetic fucks that are moping around? You don't think I wouldn't notice. They're all looking at you. Is that what you want?" Jealousy. You belonged to him, remember?

"John-" He spun you around and slammed you against the trailer wall. The metal dented from the force of his shove, his hand still gripping harshly at your throat, and you winced. When your eyes finally settled on him, you noticed something that chilled you to the bone. John was looking anywhere and everywhere, anything that wasn't at you, and he was almost frantic in his movements as he leaned his weight from side to side. If you touched his cheek, you might be able to gage what he was feeling, but as far as you could see he was extremely disturbed. "I won't smile at anyone anymore, okay?"

"You-You shouldn't." He sternly chopped back, then finally glaring into your soft gaze. His eyes darted across your features, down your body, and then back to your face. "That's it. You're coming with me." He wrapped his arm around your waist and before you could protest you were being propelled up into the air by at least two hundred feet. You squeaked in surprise, wrapping your arms around his neck as he slowly lowered you back down to the ground. It was somewhere else on the set now and not more than a few feet away you saw an awning. Beneath that very same awning were a handful of members of the Seven, including the one you had been looking for.

Homelander was unceremoniously pushing at your lower back, guiding you toward the awning. Homelander had the wildest and fakest grin on his lips as he pushed you toward Stormfront. A-Train was sitting at one of the chairs, a morose looking Queen Maeve alongside him, upon seeing you they both sent you pity filled grimaces.

"Stormfront," Homelander's chipper voice jarred you from your dazed state and your eyes focused on the leather woman in front of you. "I'd like you to meet one of my best friends, (Y/N)." He nudged you forward, Stormfront smiled at you and your brain instantly saw the comparisons in Homelander all too sweet chesire smile.

"Aww, aren't you a sweetheart. I've seen you around the tower, what do you do?" Homelander's fingers slightly followed the curve of your waist and when you didn't respond quick enough he squeezed there.

"Oh-Um-I help Homelander with all sorts of things-Um-"

"Cool, cool, very cool-"

"Anywho," Homelander interjected, quickly losing all interest in the interaction. He did his part in his mind, he introduced the two of you and hurried your misison along just fine. "I have to go run a few errands and was wondering if you guys could watch her for me." He briefly glanced at A-Train and Maeve, but you knew he was mainly referring to Stormfront.

"Absolutely, we'll get some girl talk started." It was so fake it made your stomach churn, and when Homelander withdrew to go 'run some errands', as he had claimed, you found your fingers instinctively grappling onto his forearm. He glared at you, then snorted awkwardly as he used your own grip to drag you back closer to him.

"What the fuck did we talk about?" He husked in your ear, you stood on your tippy toes, till your lips were near his cheek. You were always so careful not to touch his skin, knowing it would set him off.

"I don't like her." You whimpered, "I don't like any-"

"Do as I fucking say, or else." You hesistantly nodded, allowing him to slip through your fingers as he stormed off. The ground rippled with a small quake as he leapt from the ground and sored into the sky.

"So..." Stormfront began, "You guys have an odd friendship, right?" You slowly faced her, she was plopping a few blueberries into her mouth. There was a darkness in her brown eyes that didn't sit right with you. "I'm just asking because, well, I've heard rumors that you're actually just his fuck toy." A-Train was in the middle of sipping a soda, he choked halfway through a gulp and hunched forward in his seat.

"I remembered I needed to be somewhere." He was a fast mover that A-Train, leaving just as soon as he uttered that last word. Maeve crossed her legs and then ducked her forehead into her palm.

"It's alright," Stormfront stepped into your personal space as she glared at the retreating A-Train. "We don't need his kind here anyways." Your entire face went pale, part of you wanted to ask her to specify what she meant, but another part of you was sickened by the idea of her explaining it.

"Come on. Let's talk." She dragged you to one of seats nearby and plopped next to you. Your soul fled your body as she began a one-sided conversation about the super terrorist threat and her job. Dread filled you as you listened to her go on and on, about things that you were certain Homelander didn't really need to know. The whole time she kept making off-handed comments at you, mostly pertaining to what you did and your relationship with Homelander.

"How does it feel to be the cocksleeve to the world's strongest man? I mean, I don't blame you for it, that's your place." Maeve left at some point, meaning that you were alone with Stormfront. After at least two hours of talking, you decided to take a chance and reach out to touch her. If you made her feel more amenable towards you, you could ask her anything and she'll tell you. That's what Homelander wanted, her secrets, right?

"You've got something on your-"

"Don't even think about it." Her once friendly tone had dissolved into disgust. You slowly returned your hand to your lap, squinting at her in wonder. People who knew where you stood, at Homelander's side, but nobody really knew that you were a supe. "Oh, you didn't think I knew?" She sighed, then spread the length of her arm across the back rest of your chair, she leaned in. "I know everything about you, (Y/N). You're a supe created and tailored solely to be Homelander's little fuck doll." Your lips parted to protest, but no words left them.

You were so tired. So very tired.

"Look, like I said, I'm not judging. That's your place, to keep Homelander in check..." Her gloved finger twisted in your hair. "But..." She emphasized, a tight lipped smile sealing her expression. "I can't help but feel like you've kind of failed, hm? Is that what it feels like, at least?" You stood up from your chair and went to flee. You didn't want any part of this conversation, or where it was going, or- "I could help you." She said cooly, just as your back was turned to her, you froze. Hesitantly, you spun back on your heel to face her. You were desperate. For what? You didn't know.

"H-How?"

"You don't really want this, do you?" She snickered, shaking her head and then dropping her gaze with an almost distant expression. "I mean, Homelander certainly doesn't." You stepped closer, feeling hollow and drained.

"I belong to him, I like to belong to him."

"Oh, please..." She rolled her eyes, "You've got some fucked up form of Stockholm Syndrome. It's been, what? Twenty years in the making. Don't think you're in the wrong for wanting anything else. He doesn't love you, he never has. You were gifted to him by the very same people that threw him in a cell for most of his childhood. Seriously, no wonder he hates you." Your eyes burned with tears, but none came. Your tears were all gone, used up, dried up. "You're tired." Stormfront grasped your shoulders as she came to stand, rubbing them up and down with a soothing grip. "Let someone else take care of him now. Let someone who actually deserves to be at his side, take care of him."

"Y-You?"

"Yes. We'll create a new world together, we're perfect for eachother." She huffed as she gave you a once over. "When was the last time he even touched you, a real touch." Years. Years. Years. Oh, how you missed him so much? She was right, he didn't want you. "Don't you want him to be happy?" You tensed at those words, realizing their engrained purpose in your brain. "Go out in the world. Explore." But what would I do without him? "I'll take care of him. You won't have to worry. This is what's best for him."

"I-" You gently removed her hands from your shoulders with light shoves. "I should get going."

"Yeah, of course..." She smiled brightly, "Think about what I said."

You left the set of Dawn of the Seven through Ashley. She seemed hesitant at first, considering that Homelander hadn't given her the okay, but she could see you were distraught about something so she ordered a limo for you. When you returned to the tower, you immediately went to Homelander's penthouse and you proceeded to drag yourself around. You tried watching TV, eating ice cream, listening to music, nothing was making you feel better. Eventually, after a few hours stuck in your thoughts, you began to pack. You didn't expect that Homelander would return for a while, so that gave you plenty of time to write a note, gather your things, and leave. Would he come after you? Would he kill you? Most importantly, would he miss you?

No.

He didn't care about you. He needed someone better, someone stronger, someone he had chosen.

And you needed to get away, you needed to take a break, you needed to know that Homelander wasn't the only person you could rely on anymore.

Your biggest fear: Would Vought come after you? You had never been out in the world on your own before. Would they find you?

You heard the double doors to the penthouse burst open and your breath caught in your throat. You knew you had spent too much time looking at that picture on the wall. Ya'know, the one of Homelander and you when you were young. His arm was wrpaped around your waist and you were buried into his side and he was smiling, genuinely. If the photo were alive to reveal that moment, when after the massive flash, you turned to kiss his cheek and he turned to kiss your lips. There was never any amount of love that you could pour into those kisses that proved yourself to him, that proved how much you cared for him, that proved how much you loved him. It was never enough.

Homelander entered the bedroom, his teeth grinding together as he looked upon the scene before him.

"What do you think you're doing?" He growled lowly, you plopped down on the edge of the bed; the bed was covered in your folded clothes and your toiletries, a suitcase open at the foot. You couldn't meet his gaze, fiddling with your thumb in your lap. "You didn't do anything I asked of you all day. Why shouldn't I punish you?"

"I'm leaving." His head craned back as if he was stung, his face channeled through a series of expressions before he settled on a stoic glare.

"Do you really expect me to believe that?" He clasped his hand behind his back, cape wisping out behind him as he carried forward. "You need me. You don't know what to do without me. You're pathetic." The same words he always said to you, a broken record of insults and degrading comments that you had come to agree with.

"I know." You sobbed, a burst of courage bubbling up from the intense sadness that coiled your insides. You stood, chin up to face him, and the tears were fresh this time. "But why put yourself through this any longer? Why keep me around? You don't want me, you don't need me. I'm a burden everyday, and you're you." You gestured at him with an aggressive swing of your hand, then turned to start shoveling items messily into your suitcase. "It's not good for me to be around anymore. I only remind you of what we suffered through. I only remind you of Vought's attempts to control you. I don't deserve to be at your side, I-"

"Who told you this?" When he spoke this time his voice was cracked, uncharacteristically soft. You didn't dare look at him, too afraid of what it would do to you.

"I thought of it myself." You stopped, realizing he could probably tell if you were lying to him. You were holding a clump of once folded clothes in your shaky hands. "John..." You placed everything down and then finally faced him, your feet shuffling at the navy blue carpet. His eyes were glistening, as if he was about to cry any moment and it threw you for a loop. "I-" You shakily reached out to grab his forearm, eyes focused on the way his muscles twitched under your touch before you looked up at him. "I love you so much. More than you have ever known. But, I'm tired. I'm so tired. You deserve someone better, someone you chose."

"I-I'll-" His eyebrows furrowed in a split second of rage. "I'll find you. You'll never be able to hide from me-"

"Why? Why bother?" You forced a comforting smile on your lips to sooth him, although you were the one that needed soothing. "You know I-"

"I don't know what I'd do without you." He husked out, struggling to utter those into the space that parted you both. You stood there, absolutely gobsmacked, unable to peel your fingers from his arm as your body froze completely.

"W-What?"

"I do need you." He admitted, albeit with some reluctance. You watched as a tear trailed down his cheek. You wanted to hug him so badly, you want to touch his flesh and tell him everything was going to be alright. You wanted to make him better again. "So, stay. I'll do better." You lowered your head, chin pressing to your chest.

"I want to believe you." You whispered and luckily his super hearing could pick up on the faintest of sounds, because the words were barely voiced from the pit of your throat. You spun away from him, toes curling into the carpet, you continued packing. "It's been years, John. Years since I've touched you, years since you've needed me. I've only ever wanted to be closer to you."

You made him feel human, he wanted to say. You made him feel whole, he wanted to say. You made him love, he wanted to say.

But he was Homelander, the strongest man on the entire face of the earth, superior to all, and long ago, he had learned that having you so close made him weaker. Having you around made him human.

At the same time, watching you leave killed him. He didn't know what it was like to die, but this must had been as close as he would ever get to it.

"I can't let you leave."

"Then, kill me, I guess." You released another choked sob and his heart wrung at the sound. You closed the suitcase shut, after shoving in the last of your things. The sound of the zipper rolling on the track, pulling around the case and sealing it shut, it made him wheeze with desperation.

It was the unknown. The unknown of not seeing your face everytime he entered his penthouse. The unknown of having to live without talking to you, sharing light conversations and the occasional jokes he cracked that were in reality quite morbid and unsettling. You wouldn't be around when he needed you. You wouldn't belong to him anymore. You dropped the suitcase to the ground, deciding that any sort of goodbye would not suffice. You slipped on your flipflops and as you were leaving the room...

"Touch me." You gasped, pausing in the doorway. You could hear sifting out behind you and it was Homelander, removing his gloves. "Please."

You faced him, relishing in this moment, but anxious that it might be too good to be true. Should you give in? Or should you proceed to leave? Homelander had never laid himself so bare before you, John had never given you this much in far too long. He sniffled, tossing the gloves on the bed and holding his hands out to you. "Please. Touch me." You relinquished all of your power to him.

You held your hands out the same and as you were within reach, your fingers interlocked an entire explosion of feelings, overwhelming and strong, came through. You looked up into his eyes and began to cry and so did he. Why would he put himself through this? Why would he suffer, when you were there the whole time?

"Oh, John." You cried for him, jumping up into his arms and pressing your lips to his in a chaste kiss. His entire body wracked with a harsh sob and his arms wrapped around you to hold you closer. You would not break the connection, cupping his cheeks and holding your forehead to his. "I wish you had come to me sooner, my poor boy." Your thumbs wiped away as many tears as you could catch, but there were so many. You hadn't seen him cry like this in ages.

"More." He breathed, "I need more of you." He whimpered, tugging at your clothes, you nodded your head vigorously.

You were so tired.

But you would give yourself to him.

#reader #the boys #homelander #vought #the seven #queen maeve #a train #homelander x reader #female reader #stormfront #abusive relationship #conditional love #obession #supe!reader

113 notes · View notes