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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 7 months

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Homelander being obsessed with his sister HC

Warnings: siblingxsibling implications, Homelander being such a narcissist that he falls in "love" with his own sibling, dubcon, manipulation, stalking, basically all the horrible parts of HL come out to play, MC has blonde hair and blue eyes like HL, different plot than 'All I Ever Wanted, All I Ever Needed'.

II III IV V

Cuz you know all this man wants is a family after being depraved of it from the moment he was born

He’s been alone, starved of physical and emotional comfort

HL just wants SOMEONE to call his own

And when Vogelbaum tells him that he’s not alone in the world, that he has someone in the world, he insisted that he meets this new sibling. What was Vought planning? Why was their newest supe baby sharing his DNA?

Visiting you in Vought's secret nursery, there was an immediate shock of electricity shooting through his brain Already at several months old, you could see his face clearly and gurgled happily, reaching to the young man. Homelander stamps his claim on you immediately. Whatever the scientist had planned for you, HL would intervene. Looking down at your sweet, chubby face was enough to win him over to your side

It would take over him, he’d become a man possessed. He tried to finish all of his tasks as soon as he could so that he could visit you in the nursery.You were now his top priority

His psychotic tendencies were already starting to show early on which worried many of the executives and scientist that were in charge of your well being. They decided that they would not make the same mistake twice. Adoptive parents were looked into. Homelander caught wind. He wasn't opposed, though he'd miss being able to see his little sister easily. Having two actual parents to love her was way better than being monitored and doted on by simple staff.

There were certain mandates that HL insisted on: he'd get the last say on who you went to and he had the right to visit you whenever he wanted.

His jam packed schedule made it harder to visit you regularly though. Stillwell always had him busy either with the marketing team or getting his face out there with missions and other acts of service. You were always on his mind though.

He'd send your adoptive parents mountains of presents for you and wrote you volumes of letters (though at 4 years old you were unable to read). He made sure you'd want for nothing even if your adoptive parents were already well off.

Friction arose when the occasion of your 6th birthday came up and Homelander wanted to take the day off. Madelyn refused his request, claiming that he had more important things to attend to. That was possibly the first time Stillwell was the receiver of his intimidating glower. There was nothing more important than you. Stillwell reminds him that if any of their enemies were to find out about your existence that you could prove to be a weakness to HL rather than the blessing he found you to be. Through association, he could potentially be endangering you with his visits.

Deep down, he knew Stillwell was right. The greater the hero he became, the more he'd be putting you at risk if anyone found out. So until you were old enough to protect yourself, Homelander made the painful decision to keep his distance.

For fourteen years he kept a wide berth from you, his one true weakness. In that time he climbed to the pinnacle of stardom. All of America loved him. Including you and your family.

But you didn't remember much of when you were younger. Didn't remember the bond you share with him. You admire him as the hero you know as Homelander. Not as your brother, not even as John. No, your brothers were the ones your parents had after you were welcomed into their family. Two little brothers who followed you everywhere because they were in such awe that their big sister was a supe. You flew them around, let them show you off to their friends, and protected them from bullies. They were your number one fans.

By your twentieth birthday, Homelander came across your application into the Seven that Madelyn had been hiding. While he hadn't seen you in fourteen years, he still tried to keep his information on you up to date via Vought's archives. Since you were a supe, you went to special 'doctor's appointments', but they were all Vought orchestrated to see what you were really capable of.

He watches your try-out video incessantly, marveling in the beautiful, vivacious young lady you'd become. The little girl he'd last seen was gone. Not a hint of her could be found, only the way her smile made her eyes so bright. She was charismatic with the people interviewing her. Perhaps he unblinkingly stared at her video a little too much. Not aware of the connection, Maeve pointed out how often he'd watched that video. He doesn't want to tell Maeve the truth. Stillwell's warning ringing in his ears that no one should know how the two were related. But you were a hero of your own now. Grown up and more than capable of wielding your powers to protect yourself. Reluctantly the words leave past his lips but he did take some satisfaction from the rounding of her eyes.

"This secret is not to be shared with anyone else." His fingers snatch her arm before she leaves his presence. Maeve pivots on her heels, glaring at him as she tries to wrench her arm free.This only spurns him to tighten his grip. "Do you understand? If I find out that you put her in danger because you couldn't keep your fucking mouth shut, I'll kill you."

HL does everything he could to get you into the Seven but in the end Stillwell held the last say and decided to go with Starlight.That wouldn't be the end to his obsession. Not in the least bit. Now he made it a priority to meet you. He was nervous but once you began to spout praises toward him, HL relaxed. You were excited that THE Homelander was giving you the time of day. "So you remember me?"

That caught you off guard. "Remember you?"

Those two words cause his smile to falter and something dark drop to his stomach. His mouth forms your name, your civilian name that you hadn't told him prior. "Surely. . . you remember me. . . You can't forget about your only. . ." He seemed to be losing himself in panic. You didn't understand the tears that were pooling on his lower lids as he advanced toward you and grabbed you by the shoulders. You're so shocked that you don't even make a move away from him. Just staring widely at Homelander. "I'm your brother. You don't remember me?"

Not giving you any time to reply, HL propels the both of you into the sky.

It's not easy keeping a supe held captive. But being one of the strongest on earth, Homelander managed perfectly fine.

"Don't freak out." Homelander tells you with a gentle smile, like he was warning a child. "Of course I'm gonna freak out!" Your eyes burn with what you know to be one of your shared abilities with HL, laser beams. "You literally just kidnapped me after saying you're my brother!!"

"YOU KNOW WHO I AM" His switch in personalities makes you jolt. He slams his fist into the wall behind your head. "Stop saying you don't know who I am!!"

You were strong, yes, but compared to Homelander? You knew fighting him would only result in your defeat. He drags you through his apartment until you're in his bedroom where you immediately become more frantic and resist his pulling. HL hastily grabs a box from under his bed and begins throwing several pieces of paper at you. "You don't remember any of these??!!" They're children's drawings along with a few sloppily written words. Your parents had similar drawings that you had done when you were little. You didn't remember drawing any of them though.

He's pacing his room now, muttering to himself :"I only left so you'd be safe.""Didn't think you'd forget me.""How could you forget me?""I should've known better than to listen to Madelyn."

You're looking for a way out while he's distracted. You could fly through his window, get the fuck out of there. But it would take HL mere seconds to catch up with you. While you're trying to come up with an escape plan, you can't help but notice the shuddering in his shoulders. You not remembering him truly wounded HL "I-I'm sorry Homelander-"

"John." Slowly he turns to face you once more, his eyes red from a few tears that had trickled down his cheeks. "You used to call me John." His face is utterly broken. You don't know how to handle his constantly changing moods but can't find yourself to leave. Your empathy gets the best of you when you reach down to pat him soothingly on the back. His hand springs toward your face, snatching your jaw in a bone crushing hold.

"I won't make the same mistake again. I'm not letting you go."

#reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #homelander fanfiction #the boys homelander x reader #homelander x reader #the boys #the boys x reader #the boys tv #antony starr

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writeshite · 11 months

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can u write a homelander x male reader, I'd prefer fluff but I dont really care. (Noone writes x male readers😭)

John wakes up to a second heartbeat. His soulmate’s guide is six years overdue, and the cuddliest, friendliest dog he’s ever met, a dark brownish-red golden retriever - John calls him Scout. Dr. Vogelbaum is surprised - firstly, that the universe gave John a soulmate, and secondly, that a dog managed to trot its way into a secure location with little effort - it takes three dead scientists before they realize Scout is here to stay. Vought hates Scout until he can make a profit. Some mediocre photographer snaps a photo of John carrying Scout after he’d run through the mud; it’s on the internet in under an hour and the highest trending photo in the United States by dinnertime.

‘Everything you need to know about Homelander’s soulmate.’

‘13 facts about golden retriever guides, and what that can tell you about Homelander’s soulmate.’

‘How to get guides to choose you.’

The internet dissolves into a mess overnight, and the subject of John’s soulmate is trending globally; the week before Valentine’s Day is his soulmate tour, thousands of people come along, and Scout becomes the face of the ideal guide. John feels so many things - proud when the world praises his guide, confused as Scout’s friendly demeanor makes it harder to find his soulmate, and downright murderous when a fan tries to drag Scout to her and get him to like her - Sitwell tries something similar to the latter, reaching out once to pet the dog, before getting her arm bitten. John laughs, his tone cold as Scout darts behind his legs. When the Seven is formed, the others are a mixed bag; John doesn’t care enough to pay them attention, and they do the opposite, openly gawking at Scout, eyes widening further when Scout outwardly prefers his company; they want to ask, but clam up when he glares at them, hesitant to touch the guide.

“Can’t you take me to my soulmate, already?” he asks Scout one morning; the dog tilts his head, tongue hanging out, and John swears he nods his head in response. Scout grabs his glove, and darts off with it, dodging John as he attempts to grab him; John is just about ready to throw caution to the wind when Scout stops; John doesn’t, flying directly into a tree. He’s not knocked out, but it takes a moment for the ringing to stop; when his eyes open again, you’re standing over him.

“Oh my god, Homelander, sir, are you alright?”

John never quite understood how people could just know their soulmate by sight, even with their guides, he just never understood how people were 100% certain, but now looking at you, it’s like his whole mind just screams ‘yes.’ You hold out your hand for him to take, helping him stand, even with the gloves; your touch just feels right; Scout is the happiest John has ever seen him, tail wagging fast, “Oh, hello again,” you say to him, scratching Scout just behind the ears, you turn to John with a fond teasing smile, and he knows he’s already gone. “So, I guess this means the cat’s all you?” The cat is an orange ragdoll that, according to you, has scratched, bitten, hissed, and attacked anyone who came too close to you for her liking; John’s proud to hear that you named her Mochi, and he’s less proud of that, “Mean cats need cute names,” you simply state.

“What, you’re gonna give me a cute name too, then,” he snickers.

“I don’t see why not,” you eye him for a second, pursing your lips as you think of a name, “Snookums.” His face scrunches in horror, and you laugh, “Ok, ok, that was bad. Honeybun? Pudding? Pumpkin?” You rotate through so many names, each one as sappy as the last one, John’s expressions fueling your laughter further - there’s the distinct sound of a camera shutter, but John ignores it - placing a hand over your mouth as you dissolve into giddy hysterics. “Alright, point taken,” you say, and John is acutely aware of how close he’s pulled you to him. “How about your name then? I can’t just call you Homelander forever.”

“John,” he says.

“John. Johnathan,” You try the words on your tongue, “Jonnie, Johnny Boy.” You shake your head, “Yeah, I’ll stick with John.” You smile, giving John your name, “Nice to meet you, John.”

#homelander x male reader #homelander x reader #shitedrabbles #i feel your pain cause i'm 99.999% sure i've read through all the male reader fics for my fav characters #animal guide soulmate AUs are my favorite they're fucking hilarious. get it? scout. cause homelander's like a boy scout :D i'll see myself #shitequeue #i might return to this AU i think #this is me just rambling #soulmate au

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xieyaohuan · 7 months

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A New Discovery (Butchlander)

Cozy corner kinktober prompts: overstimulation; kink of choice: tickling

Warnings: a tiny bit of angst for a second and a half, but mostly fluff!

“What the fuck was that?”

William is pushing himself up from the floor, stupefied. Then he looks up at the ceiling, and Homelander’s eyes automatically follow his gaze.

“I- I don’t know,” is all the supe manages. That’s the truth. One moment, he and William were making out on William’s bed (yes, Homelander insisted on buying him a proper bed frame), and the next, he sent William flying half the way across the room.

There’s a hole in the ceiling right above Homelander’s head, small embers raining down on him, settling on the sheets and on his bare skin. The hole doesn’t go all the way to the next floor, he notices with relief.

It’s at best a small relief though.

He’s not lost control of his lasers in well over ten years. Certainly not badly enough to cause real damage. Burning holes into walls, and — fuck. William. “Did I… did I hurt you? Are you hurt?”

“Nah. All peachy.” William gets up, dusts himself off and climbs back up on the mattress to inspect the damage from up close. He’s wearing nothing but his boxers. If the circumstances were any different, Homelander would probably enjoy the view. “That V shite really keeping its promises. Not a scratch on my body, love.”

Even when William pretends to be all sarcastic about the pet name, there’s usually some affection. Or so Homelander likes to tell himself. This time though, he’s not so sure.

The frown on William’s face is spreading as he’s prodding the hole in the ceiling, blinking away any ash and debris falling into his eyes.

Homelander grabs William’s blanket and wraps it around himself.

In the lab, this kind of loss of control would have meant no interactions with staff except food trays shoved angrily into his cell three times per day for at least a week. Vought would still make him practice on a target of course, but nobody was allowed to speak with him or even look at him. It was like Homelander didn’t exist. You have to understand, John, Vogelbaum would say later, we just can’t afford for you to be sloppy. We need you to have full control of your powers.

William is still muttering curses.

Frankly, Homelander didn’t expect he’d be so attached to this decrepit apartment. “I’ll pay to have the ceiling fixed,” he says quickly, realizing the mistake as soon as the words leave his mouth.

“I don’t want your fucking money,” William snaps without turning his head to look at Homelander. “Why do you people always think money’s gonna fix everything? Why do you-”

He stops mid-sentence, but Homelander knows how it was going to end: something about supes being careless, ruining people’s lives, because they know Vought will sweep in to offer a check. He’s heard these words so many times out of William’s mouth. He can feel a burning sensation behind his eyes and quickly closes them before there’s another accident.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I really don’t know what happened. It makes no sense.”

He was sprawled on the mattress, his back arched, William tracing kisses down his body. He remembers briefly doubting the wisdom of having let William talk him into taking off his suit. All of his suit. He remembers William touching him, caressing him. It felt weird. Wrong. He tried to ignore it for a little while, but the feeling just kept getting more intense: not quite a tingle and not quite an itch, but somehow so much worse than either. Then William’s hands sent a sudden jolt through his body, and all he remembers is the urge to get away from this strange sensation, no matter what.

The rest, well, the rest of the story is little flakes of ash raining down on him from the ceiling.

Homelander buries his head in the blanket. This wasn't how he expected this night to end.

William’s arms wrap around him. “Eh. Don’t worry about it.” His heart is still beating faster than usual, but that’s probably just the aftereffect of being tossed across the room. Whatever anger he felt before is gone.

“Don't you worry about a thing, beautiful.” He peels the blanket off of Homelander’s shoulders and pushes him onto his back, resuming where they left off five minutes earlier, leaving Homelander gasping and squirming.

Something still isn’t right though. He can feel each and every hair of William’s beard on his skin, every touch of his fingers almost unbearable and—

“Stop! Stop!”

William stops, looks up. “What?”

“I… I don’t know.” He can’t put into words what exactly isn’t right.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No. No, no. It’s not that. It’s just-” It’s like his skin, which is supposed to protect him against fire, ice, bullets, is suddenly no longer doing its job. “I- I think my skin is malfunctioning. Or maybe my supe senses... I don’t know-” Homelander’s never had to think much about how exactly his body works. All he knows is that this isn’t supposed to happen.

William is studying him for a moment. Then he says: “Lie back down. I wanna try something.”

Homelander complies. He’s about to ask what the heck William wants to try when he feels his fingers lightly brush over his belly. This time, he can hear himself let out the most embarrassing little squeal before curling into a ball. At least he managed not to singe the ceiling this time.

William is laughing. “Your skin ain’t malfunctioning,” he says, a grin on his face. “You’re just ticklish.”

Homelander stares at him, mouth open, trying to think of something to counter. He’s heard of people being ticklish before. He’s read about it in books and seen it in movies. He technically knows what it is, though it always seemed like just another silly, human thing. A weakness, for sure. There’s no way he is ticklish. “Nonsense,” he mutters.

William’s grin widens. “Oh, I think you are.”

“I’m not!” Last thing Homelander needs is some stupid weakness.

“Alright,” William says. “Let’s try something then. Arms above your head.”

Homelander complies, suddenly wary, watching as William climbs on top of him and pins both his wrists with one hand. And then, without warning, he digs his other hand into Homelander’s undefended side.

This time, William hits the wall on the other side of the room, landing on the floor with a thud.

Still, there's the smuggest little grin on his face as he gets up. “You’re not just ticklish. You’re off-the-fucking-charts ticklish!”

Homelander wants to protest, but all the bits and pieces of knowledge about this sensation he’s never felt before are gradually coming together. It does make some sense, he has to admit. For a moment, he’s angry at Vought for their oversight: for desensitizing him to the most excruciating pain yet somehow managing to leave him with the silliest weakness possible.

“Fucking hell,” William says. “I can’t believe nobody’s figured this out before.” His eyes wander back to the hole in his ceiling. “Well, I suppose I can see why they wouldn’t have tried.” He’s laughing at his own joke, almost giddy with the excitement of his new discovery.

This cheerfulness is very unlike William, and it’s one Homelander doesn’t share. “I don’t need this kind of… deficiency. I can’t afford it. I’m the Homelander. What are people going to think when they find out?”

“Well, you're right, we can't have that.” The smug grin still hasn’t left William’s face. “We’re just gonna have to desensitize you then, won’t we, love?”

#cozy corner kinktober #butchlander #homelander x billy butcher #prompt: overstimulation #tickling #homelander #billy butcher #fluff #the boys #the boys fic #my fic

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afro-hispwriter · 20 days

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The Diamond Queen: Homelander

Homelander/John x reader(platonic), Soldier Boy/Ben x reader(mentioned, romantic), Reader x other female characters

Summary- You have a history with Homelander

Warnings- baby John, mentions of drug use, mentions of soldier boy's "death", herogasam, strap on sex, drug use, snorting of bodies, gxgxg, slight temperature play, more on readers' past

A/n- this is a prequel to Parts 1 and 2

Taglist for this series- @the-house-of-auditore-frye

Earving got placed in a medically induced coma after you returned from Nicaragua. They were worried he wouldn't pull through but his powers helped keep him alive. But Ben had destroyed him far beyond repair. You sat by his bed every day, crying.

It wasn't until Vogelbaum called for you. It took a bit of convincing but soon you were standing in front of his institute. It wasn't the first time you were there, you would be called occasionally when an out-of-control supe needed to be controlled or calmed down in their words.

"I'm so glad you were able to come we know you're going through a lot with Noir and Soldier Boy. God Soldier Boy, hard to believe-." Vogelbaum started,

"Just show me the supe." You cut off Vogelbaum and he frowned. You looked so drained of life, but who wouldn't?

"Follow me." He led you through the facility and into the pediatric ward. It made you uneasy, controlling a child pained you.

"A child?"

"I know how much you hate it, I'm sorry." Another scientist was standing right in front of the door, making faces through the window. When he saw you approach he backed off and they let you look through the small window.

"Oh." A tiny baby, who could barely be a year old sat there all alone smiling and laughing as he held his blue blanket. "He's laughing, seems fine to me." You say not taking your eyes off of the baby.

"That's why we called you, we think we have something here, but we need him to display his powers."

"You want me to force a baby to use its power?"

"We'll pay you, double what you usually get."

Money is money you thought and opened the door. You walked in and the giggling baby looked up at you with a big gummy smile.

"What's his name?" You asked Vogelbaum.

"John."

"Hey, John." You say and sat down, crossing your legs. John crawled to you with his blanket in his hand, he grabbed your knees and used them to push himself onto your lap. "Oh hey." You grabbed him under his arms and held him tightly. As your hands touched his bare arms you felt a sudden electric shock between the two of you. Your eyes softened and you brushed his hair to the side. "Why do they have you locked up here? Hmm?"

He squealed and grabbed onto the hem of your shirt. His bright blue eyes stared right at you, instantly melting away any stress you had.

Since the day you met John, you visited him every day. You created a bond with the child.

Vogelbaum watched the interactions every day as well. It fascinated him, the connection between you and your former fiancé's child was extraordinary. You didn't seem to know John was Ben's, and he'd like to keep it that way.

"Happy Birthday John, I got you some cake." In a singing voice as you carried a gift and a whole cake into the now 8-year-old's room.

"Thank you Y/n." John came up to you and instantly hugged you tightly. It was a very tight hug, any normal human would have been crushed. Ever since John started to display his powers you were there more. You calmed him down most of the time. As he did burn straight through one of the workers just the previous week.

"Guess what flavor it is?" You say and set the cake down on the table.

"Vanilla!"

"You got it!" You handed him the bag with his present and he sat on his head and instantly started ripping it open.

"Cool! These are limited edition Payback figures!"

"I know, luckily I know a few people."

"You're the best." He hugged you again and out of the corner of his eyes a lit-up cake. It floated in front of him and he backed up.

"Make a wish." John's eyes flicked up to you and back down to the cake. He thought for a moment and you made sure not to let your mind wander. He blew out the candle and you clapped your hands.

"Y/n?"

"Hmm."

"Can you watch the first Soldier Boy movie with me?" You knew you should've said no but John was giving you puppy dog eyes.

"Okay, sure."

The two of you settled on his tiny bed eating cake. The entire movie John pointed stuff out, you tried to listen but every time Ben's face appeared you shut off. It wasn't until John shoved you hard that brought you back.

"Y/n? Are you okay?"

"Y-Yeah sorry." Your voice broke a bit.

"I was asking if you ever met Soldier Boy. Since you know, Noir. Your brother worked with him."

"Oh yeah, i-i met him a few times. He was everything the movies and the media made him out to be."

"That's cool, do you think there will ever be another Soldier Boy?" You looked down at him and swallowed.

"I hope so, the world needs its superhero."

You knew deep down that was Vought's plan. John has shown exceptional, dangerous power. Something that interested them heavily.

"I wish I had your abilities, I hate mine. I hurt people." He says and his nose twitches. You set your plate down and wrapped an arm around him.

"I hate mine too, they aren't as fun as everyone thinks they are." John smiled at that.

"Just another thing we have in common."

It was the tenth anniversary of Ben's death(or disappearance). The world was celebrating their lost hero, mourning.

Herogasm was mourning differently. You had never seen so many people fucking in one place. You have gone to herogasm quite a bit with Ben, but it was never this packed.

Your nose burned as you snorted the white substance off the girl with fire abilities pretty pussy. While the girl with ice powers shoved her ice dick far up inside of you. You were high as a kite and loved it. The difference in temperature and the drug made your orgasm 10 times more intense than usual.

"Fuck." You moaned out and lifted your head but got your face instantly shoved into the girl in front of you. She rocked herself harshly, moaning loudly as her clit ground against your nose. You opened your mouth as she came harshly, jerking her hips.

"Thank you." She breathes out and the girl behind you pulled out making you whimper.

"Want to have some more fun?" She kisses you should and you smile hazily.

"Another day." You say out of breath and flip yourself around. Both women stand up but before leaving they leaned down and pressed a long kiss to your lips before pulling away and turning to each other, pushing their lips together and you watch steam pour out from between them.

"See you Y/n." You watched them leave to join whatever other group there was. You stood up and started searching for your clothes amongst the heap of them.

You walked out of the house fully clothed, denying any advances or invitations on your way out. You even stole a bottle of tequila.

Fireworks popped in the distance. All for Soldier Boy. They all acted like they fucking knew him. They knew Soldier Boy. You knew Ben.

You sat on the wet ground, drowning the bottle of alcohol. You hadn't touched a bottle in years. Both alcohol and drugs.

When you first received the V and discovered what your abilities were. The voices were so loud. You couldn't control it, you couldn't shut them out or just focus on one mind. You were at a party and on the verge of tears of how sensitive you were when someone offered you a little bag of powder. It was your medicine until you finally learned to control it. Ben helped you control it, and he didn't even understand it.

Ben was the one thing on your mind. It made you think of what your life could have been like if he were still alive. Would the world finally know who their beloved hero's love is? Would your relationship be accepted? Would you have had your wedding? Kids? Would he have retired?

So many questions and no answers. But they made you think of John. You've known the boy for almost 10 years. He felt like your son. You watched him grow. You practically raised him. He could be your son.

That's how you ended up in front of the institution. Eyes bloodshot. Could barely keep up.

You opened the doors and walked right past the front nurse. She called you for saying visiting hours weren't until the next day but she got cut off by her neck snapping. You forced the security doors open and alarms started blaring around the building.

Workers noticed you and immediately got out of your way.

"Where's Vogelbaum?" You slurred at one and they shakily looked around, stammering over their words.

"I'm right here." You whipped around and almost stumbled but caught yourself. "Seems like you're having a night, why don't we talk in my office." He points back behind him.

"Don't bullshit me." You cocked your head to the aide and you were in his mind. He was nervous, everyone was. But Vogelbaums's mind was screaming something about a collar. "What collar?"

"Y/n, don't. It's been a day for you, with Ben and his-."

"I'm taking John with me, he-he deserves a good life." You say and the scientist sighs.

"We can't let you do that." That made you laugh.

"Did you forget who I am? What I can do?" you simply closed your eyes and everyone in that hallway was under your control. "Bring me John." 3 people walked away like robots, while everyone else was frozen at attention. It wasn't long before John screamed your name down the hall.

"Y/n!" You turned around and immediately opened your arms. When he got closer he stopped. "Are you okay?" You probably looked terrible, horrifying to a child.

"John is okay, I'm here to take you home. We can be a family." At the sound of family, John immediately perked up.

"Really?"

"Yeah." He smiled brightly and ran into your arms.

"Can we leave now?" He whispered into your neck and you nodded.

"Right now." As you pulled apart Johns's eyes widened in shock.

"Watch out!" You turned around but it was too late. Someone in all black stood there holding a silver collar. Before you could react it got slammed on your neck and it locked. Your hands grabbed at it, trying to rip it off but to no avail. Suddenly John blasted the person with his heat vision, instantly killing them.

Your control over everyone fell. You tried to activate your diamond form but nothing worked.

"Fuck." You say and John kneels down next to you. "This shit won't let me use my powers. FUCK!"

"We have to go." John cries.

"I know, I know." You say and feel your body slowly start to weaken. "What is- what is this doing to me?" You asked yourself and your eyes started to flutter close.

"Gas them." Someone said and a can clatter next to you. You started coughing harshly and John dropped to his knees, coughing hard as well. You collapsed face first into the ground, slowly falling unconscious.

Your eyes fluttered open and the blinding light was unbearable.

"Fuck." You mumbled and slowly started to sit up.

"Y/n, lay back down." A deep voice made its way to your ears.

"Mmm." You flopped on the bed and blinked rapidly to get used to your surroundings. You looked around and your eyes settled on the scientist you wished you could keep calling your friend.

“You really fucked up.” You rolled your eyes.

“I'm leaving. With John, and you’re not going to stop me.” You say and in an attempt to control his, a shock triggered makes you scream. “What the fuck?” It made him chuckle.

“You know Vought is so terrified of you that they had me create a contingency plan just for you. At first, it was Soldier Boy himself but then the two of you started getting involved so we had to turn to something different. Hell, I didn’t even think it was going to work. But here we are.” That’s when you felt the metal on your neck, you reached up and grabbed it but a tiny shock made you let it go.

“What is this?”

“This is the device that won’t let you use your abilities, it weakens you, and if you try to use the. It seems powerful shocks, enough of them and we fry your brain. You’ll become a mindless zombie.” He stood from his chair and got close to your face. “Just like everyone you control.” You gave him a hard glare before looking away and swallowing.

“What do you want from me?”

“I need you to leave. Never come back. And don’t come looking for John. America. The world needs a hero again, and it's going to be John.”

“He’s just a kid.”

“He won't be in a few years. I'm going to propose a deal.” He says and you stay quiet. “You’re going to leave and never come back and in return. We take this collar off.” He grabbed it with his hands and he tugged it. “It will stay locked away and nobody will be able to replicate it. Vought will also make sure you live comfortably, funded for the rest of your life. Does that sound good?”

Your jaw tensed and you took in a deep breath.

“What about John, he’s going to ask.” You say and feel your eyes water.

“We’ll worry about that. Now, do we have a deal?” He holds out his hand with a raised eyebrow. You looked at it and back up at him. With a deep breath, you grabbed his hand.

A/n- not proud of this one tbh. Let me know what you guys think though. Going to start working on part 3 ASAP:)

#soldier boy x reader #ben x reader #the boys #homelander #x black reader

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olliveolly · 4 months

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It's finally the last day of the year, and although I no longer feel that holiday atmosphere, I am filled with a bright longing for the past time and a little hope for the best days to come.

I had this idea for a long time, to draw a lonely Homelander for the New Year, as I usually do, but an old thought came to my mind.

We all know his origin story as the result of a laboratory experiment, but what if Vogelbaum, knowing the risks, created more than one John in the first place? It's just that Homelander was the only one to survive.

At least he is not so lonely anymore ❤️‍🩹

New adventures are around the corner. Happy New Year!🎉🥂

#happy new year #new year #homelander x oc #homelander #the boys series #alternate universe #sketch #the boys #ghost boys

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deliciouskeys · 4 months

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For @xieyaohuan because they were interested in something mentioned offhand about "the idea that as HL got older Vought tried to give him pleasant experiences to motivate him and prevent depression but that it was always in an isolated area, and away from any people who weren’t Vought employees."

It's not for @xieyaohuan because this fic probably outs me as a (former) baseball obsessive nerd, and is painfully American.

In any case...

Baseball is My Favorite Sport It's 1990. Homelander attends his first baseball game in a tiny minor league stadium, and Vogelbaum is a cold, cold man. Gen, in case that needs to be clarified D: Weird, like most of my bb HL content.

[ao3 link]

“Here we go... this is a nice spot, right here.” Vogelbaum sits down on an uncomfortable wooden bench seat and pats the spot beside him.

John looks around, stares, probably wondering why most people are trying to sit closer to home plate while they’re all the way out in right field, where there are hardly any people, but he doesn’t ask anything. He’s been exceedingly well behaved the entire four hour car ride to get to Utica, nose pressed to the window, watching the upstate New York countryside drift by. They could have chosen a venue closer to the City, but decided to play it safe. Vought wanted the boy exposed to crowds before he was going to be the subject of their attention. But this was also his first exposure to people who weren’t Vought employees. The crowd here is manageable, in the hundreds. If anything happened, they could probably cover it up in a small town like Utica. If they had gone to a game in Long Island, that probably wouldn’t be as easy and the margin for error would be very slim.

He glances back at the two Vought bodyguards who have seated themselves directly behind them. Insurance in case anything happens. Not that it’s clear how they could prevent anything catastrophic from happening if John somehow got out of control, but it’s good to have some backup. Vogelbaum thinks it’s ludicrous that they came in their usual black suits and sunglasses to sit in this tiny baseball stadium in an audience full of families with young children. They are far more conspicuous and out of place than John. In any case, Vogelbaum is the most important line of defense here to make sure the boy manages his first excursion into a public event.

“John, what rules did we agree on when you’re out here?”

The boy turns away from the field where the players are warming up to look at Vogelbaum earnestly. “Don’t move fast, don’t fly, don’t power up my eyes, don’t talk loudly,” he rattles off.

“That’s right. Just enjoy the game.”

“What if...” John hesitates. “In the movies sometimes a ball flies out of the field and then people can catch it. Can I move fast to do that, at least?”

“Absolutely not,” Vogelbaum cuts him off. “Don’t move out of your seat under any circumstances.”

John nods and folds his hands in his lap.

“Are these the best baseball players in the world?” he asks.

Vogelbaum can’t help but scoff. “No, John. This is A ball. These players are trying to get into the Big Leagues. Come on, you know the Blue Sox aren’t part of the American or National Leagues.”

John screws up his eyebrows, deep in thought. “Oh yeah. But they’re still pretty good right?”

“They’re okay I suppose. They still have double A and triple A ahead of them. Most of them will never make it to the Majors.”

John watches them warm up playing catch, and Vogelbaum can tell he’s scanning through the walls to look at the pitcher warming up in the bullpen.

“Which team are you a fan of?” John asks.

Vogelbaum grimaces. “I haven’t been to a game in ages. My father used to take me to Yankees games in the Bronx. They were an amazing team when I was a child. Not so much these days.”

“Do you take your children?” John asks and Vogelbaum’s body freezes. He’s tried to never mention his children anywhere near the lab building, but he supposes the other researchers might have blabbed something about him going home to his family. Or maybe it was because his wife sometimes insisted on calling him to ask when he’d be home in a passive aggressive tone. He’d never mention his children, but her voice through the receiver might have. And this boy can hear everything inside that building. Vogelbaum finds the idea of John knowing anything about his children intensely disconcerting. He breathes deeply to make sure his heart rate slows down.

“I do not. My daughters aren’t so interested.”

John beams. “Well, you can take me any time! Baseball is my favorite sport.”

Vogelbaum nods. “I’m well aware.” He always found Vought’s idea of what the boy’s hobbies should be gratingly on the nose.

“Do you think...” John pauses, as if sensing that he might get reprimanded for the question before even asking it. “Do you think I could become a baseball player when I’m old enough?”

“John. Come on now. You know baseball is an exclusion sport. They’re all about tradition. They haven’t let supes in yet, and seeing what happened to hockey, I don’t think they ever will.”

“But...” The boy looks upset for the first time that day. “You’re saying I wouldn’t be allowed to play even if I don’t use my powers?”

“Yes, even if you don’t use your powers. That’s a silly idea anyway. Would you hit the ball with one hundredth of the strength you actually have? Would you run the bases slowly? Besides, John, this game is beneath you. Everyone at Vought has such high hopes for you. You could do such interesting things with your life. This?” He gestures to the field. “It’s just a childish pastime.”

“But... isn’t it America’s favorite sport?”

“It certainly bills itself as that. But it’s just nostalgia. People longing for classic American sports before the first supes appeared in the 40s. It’s just sentimental.”

John looks back at him, still looking sad and perplexed. “You don’t like it?”

Vogelbaum realizes it’s strange to deride a sport they’re about to sit through seven innings of. “I like it just fine, but I don’t want you moping about not being allowed to play it. Let’s just enjoy watching.”

John seems mollified by that explanation and turns back to watch as the loudspeaker announces the beginning of the game. He seems to follow the game with interest. They’re sitting far enough away and to the side that the action isn’t very visible, but this child can see perfectly well at this distance.

“I can see catcher’s signs!” John announces, a little too proudly, and a little too loudly, so that a man sitting several empty rows in front of them with his two sons turns and looks at him. John seems oblivious, so Vogelbaum shushes him. John speaks in a more hushed tone. “He’s showing one finger for the pitcher to throw a fastball, and then the other ones are slower.”

“That’s right. I think the standard signs are two for a curve, three for a slider, and four for a changeup. And they’ll tilt their wrist to show which side of the plate they want it on.”

“Oh yeah,” John says, staring intently. Vogelbaum finds his eagerness to look through people’s bodies a little bit disconcerting, but he has resigned himself to the fact that John can look at anything he wants and there’s no good way to stop him from doing that.

“Now watch closely—if they get a runner on second, they’ll change the signs to a secret system they came up with beforehand.”

“Why?” John asks.

“Because with the runner on second, he can see the catcher’s hands, and he could whistle to the man up to bat.” Vogelbaum suddenly gets self-conscious. “I don’t know, it’s all pretty silly details.”

John doesn’t seem to think so and keeps watching the game raptly before he starts announcing the speed of the pitches. Vogelbaum hasn’t noticed too many superhuman mental powers show themselves in this child, except for these seemingly interrelated abilities to count quickly and estimate speeds and frequencies with surprising accuracy.

“76 miles an hour. That was a changeup. 90 miles an hour. That’s a fastball.”

“You see how slowly they throw? That’s as fast as they can lob it. You can throw, what, five, six times as fast as that? When you’re not even fully grown up. And you wanted to play with them?”

John shrugs, seemingly uncomfortable with the comparison and its implications and goes right back to announcing the pitches.

“84 miles an hour. Slider.”

The man in front of them turns around again. “Ha! Your kid almost sounds like he knows what he’s talking about and sees it all the way from over here.”

Vogelbaum nods woodenly. “Yes, he’s aspiring to be an announcer.” Then turning to John, he says much more quietly “Remember we agreed you’d keep your voice down? People here shouldn’t hear you.”

John nods and starts mumbling the pitches out very quietly. Vogelbaum is admittedly pleased that he makes himself busy with figuring out particulars, of course, but sometimes he worries this boy is growing up to be strange. He hopes it’s a phase where he just happens to get fixated on certain things easily.

The food vendors have been hovering where the majority of the sparse crowd is sitting but one finally makes his way over to their corner of the seats.

“Hot dogs! Get your hot dogs!” resonates across the many empty seats. The man in front of them motions the vendor over and starts buying some.

John is intensely interested. “Dr. Vogelbaum? May I please try one of those?”

Vogelbaum wearily motions the vendor over.

“Alright little man. How old are you?”

“N-nine.” John mumbles. Maybe he’s intimidated by the vendor using that brash theatrical voice.

“An excellent age! You want relish with this?”

John stares wide-eyed. “Wh- what’s... wh-”

“He doesn’t need relish,” Vogelbaum interrupts him. John has a strange verbal tic when he gets nervous. Vogelbaum won’t go so far as to call it an outright stutter because it comes and goes, but it’s probably time to hire a speech therapist to nip this problem in the bud. Before the higher-ups become aware of it. They’re banking on him being a good public speaker.

“Anything for you sir?” the vendor offers and Vogelbaum shakes his head, trying to keep disdain off his face. “You want some Crackerjack too, little slugger?”

John looks questioningly, then sees the box the man pulls out and, before Vogelbaum has the chance to protest, answers with an emphatic “Yes!”

Vogelbaum relents and pays for both items to avoid a scene, and scoffs when the bodyguards seated behind them also get hot dogs.

“This is the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted in my life!” John declares loudly, only muffled because his mouth still full of hot dog and bun. One of the men behind them snickers.

“We don’t talk with our mouth full,” Vogelbaum says. Then adds “I’m glad you like it.”

John finishes the hot dog but Vogelbaum tells him to wait before he starts on the Crackerjack. Instead of focusing on home plate, John seems to be watching the people sitting in front of them. The two boys have gotten bored and are shoving each other.

“May I talk to those kids?” John asks.

“Absolutely not. We’re here just to visit and to see if you can behave yourself.”

John saddens again. “I won’t do anything wrong. I won’t show them that I’m a super.”

“Believe me, you don’t want to talk to them,” Vogelbaum grumbles, eager to cut off any more arguments.

John suddenly gets even more discreet and whispers in his ear. “Why are they shoving each other?”

“They’re siblings. Brothers will roughhouse like that.”

John stares at them. “Will I ever have a brother?”

Vogelbaum sighs and tries not to visibly roll his eyes. “No, John. You’re one of a kind. And not everyone has a brother. I was an only child growing up as well.”

John looks up at him and nods.

“Now why don’t you pay attention to the game instead.”

“I am. It’s bottom of the fourth, two outs, man on first.” The batter grounds out and the fielders start jogging toward the dugout. “And now it’s top of the fifth.” Now it’s John who’s rolling his eyes.

“Alright, I stand corrected. You were paying attention. But don’t roll your eyes at me.”

“Sorry,” John says, and he’s still a little morose, so Vogelbaum relents and hands over the box of Crackerjack.

“Hey there’s something in there!” John says, peering at the box, shaking it.

“Why don’t you open it instead of looking through it. I think those come with a little prize or something,” Vogelbaum says wearily. Thank god the Minors only play seven innings. He’s getting tired. It’s sad to admit but he never really finds a common language with children. John is, by most counts, a singularly interesting child and precocious in many ways, but Vogelbaum still finds it hard to be patient when he gets excited over small, inconsequential things.

“It’s a whistle!” John says.

“Don’t blow it loudly,” Vogelbaum warns.

John puts the whistle in his mouth and blows into it very quietly even as he’s watching the game. The player at bat suddenly hits a homerun and John springs up, excited. Vogelbaum is already worried that he’ll do something stupid and take off into the air and reveal himself, but instead John slumps back down into the seat, spitting out the whistle that he crushed to pieces with his teeth.

“I broke it,” he says despondently.

“It’s alright,” Vogelbaum says in the most reassuring tone he can muster. “You get excited and you forget your strength. At least it was just a toy.”

John’s staring at the pieces of cheap plastic in his hands.

“Just throw it on the floor,” Vogelbaum says.

John looks at him questioningly.

“It’s a stadium. People throw peanut shells on the floor. They’ll come by to clean it up.”

John tilts his hands and lets the broken pieces fall on the floor, apparently still in disbelief that he’s allowed to litter. Vogelbaum realizes that he should clarify.

“You’re right. In most places you shouldn’t throw trash on the ground. This is an exception.”

John seems satisfied by that explanation and starts on the Crackerjack, with a small shudder and grimace when he first tastes it. “Wow, it’s very sweet!”

Vogelbaum dreads the sugar rush the boy might have on the drive back to Long Island. Eight hours on the road in total, all just to prepare this child for being among people in a safe venue.

“Dr. Vogelbaum?”

“Yes, what is it.”

“This is the best day I’ve ever had. Thank you so much for taking me outside to see this game!”

Vogelbaum can tell John wants to hug him, but they haven’t done so in years, and Vogelbaum’s body language remains closed off to dissuade him. But he does smile. “I’m glad, John. I’m glad to see you’re having fun.”

“Maybe we could go again?” he asks, but looks back down at the Crackerjack box when he receives no response.

#bb homelander #homelander #vogelbaum #the boys #the boys tv #mystuff #fic

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fatum679 · 2 months

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18+ Homelander & Soldier boy

"All those years… That they burned me and that they pumped me full of poison, I held onto the hope… That you would come. That you would save me"

Like father, like son.

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ishomieokay · 3 months

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Masks We Wear (Chapter 3)

Teen and Up. 2.4k, suicide attempt, canon-typical violence, ptsd, mental health issues, murder, description of a corpse, morally grey!john, unethical experimentation, child abuse, nudity, kidnapping, threats of violence. part 3/44. AO3 link. part 1, 2.

Right before turning eighteen, John Vogelbaum escapes the clutches of Vought. Always under the radar, he manages to live as a regular Joe for the next couple of years. Until one day, trouble comes knocking at his door in the shape of Grace Mallory. What does the CIA want to do with him, anyway?

Or, the one where Homelander is never born. A traumatized, socially-awkward John wanders through life trying to work out what to do with himself, and somehow becomes a member of The Boys.

Taglist: @discowizard88 Let me know if you want to be tagged!

He’d been performing a flight test, when the idea occurred to him. As he reached the stratosphere for the very first time, wind blowing hollowly around him and with the taste of ozone tingling on his lips, John thought wildly, what if I die? When the answer came to him, he found himself flying forward, way past the point required to finish the test. Although it was barely noon, he could see the sky around him turn increasingly darker.

Up ahead there were stars flickering, and even further, John got a glimpse of the sun. He wondered whether he’d actually made it so far up, or if he could attribute the vision to lack of oxygen. Oddly enough, the possibility of his untimely demise didn’t concern him much. Instead, he was picturing the research group down below, running around like headless chickens as they tried to figure out why their subject’s ascent wouldn’t stop the way they planned.

See what you’ve done? This is what you’ve forced me into, John thought, vindictively, and he could see Jonah Vogelbaum in his mind’s eye, screaming and pulling violently at the little hair he had left once he found out that the results of his eighteen-year experiment had literally been flown into the sun. And wasn’t it sad that he valued his own life so little that he was willing to end it just to spite his creator?

John kept moving forward, undeterred. His lungs were burning. The air was compressing around him, increasingly heating up the higher he got. His protective gear, a skin tight suit made out of spandex and leather, was beginning to disintegrate. His whole body itched. He risked a glimpse down and halted to a stop almost without realizing.

Everything was quiet. Earth receded below him as he drifted in orbit, and John felt nauseous and faint. He’d gone too long without air. As resilient as he was, he still needed to breathe in order to survive. The rush of adrenaline that allowed him to power through this journey that would have annihilated any other creature was fading, taking its toll now that he’d allowed himself a rest. Quite some time had passed before John realized that he was falling.

It all came to him in fragments. He wasn’t falling anymore. There was a deep itch spreading throughout his body. He felt impossibly cold, and yet the slightest movement left a scorching feeling on his skin. Something moist and rough dragged across his cheek, finally pulling him out of his slumber. John opened his eyes and found a German Shepard staring intently at him. It had just licked him.

“Get off me, you dirty mutt!” He shouted, swatting at it as he sat up. The dog yelped and backed away, lowering its ears. John rubbed violently at the foul smelling drool covering his face. He looked around, and realized he’d landed on someone’s barn. They would probably try to get a few bucks out of him, what with the man shaped-hole he’d left on the ceiling.

Uh, not if I’m gone before they get here, John thought stubbornly. It’s not like he brought a wallet along for the launch. He didn’t own one, as a matter of fact. His legs were still wobbly, though, and as soon as he tried to stand he fell face first into a pile of hay. John groaned. His vision was blurry, and there was an incessant buzzing in his head. He felt raw and sort of deflated, like a football that had seen one too many world series.

Right, so, not dead, he thought with a hint of derision, now what?

He imagined Vogelbaum would be unspeakably pleased if he ever found out that one of his subjects had managed to survive free falling to Earth from outer space. Vought's billion-dollar investment in his pet project had certainly paid off. John was so utterly indestructible, he couldn't even kill himself if he tried.

There were indeed repercussions to his ludicrous attempt, though. The pain he was experiencing was so overwhelming it was hard to focus. He wondered briefly if he had suffered internal damage, but a quick glimpse at his body through his X-Ray vision was enough to rule out that possibility. There would probably be bruising, though. At last, he stood up. Regaining the ability to walk was a relief, although faint and short-lived. As soon as John crossed the doors of the barn, he was greeted by the panic-stricken face of an old man and the end of a shotgun barrel.

“I don’t want no trouble, okay?” He said in a thin voice. “Not with a Supe. Just leave now and I promise not to call the sheriff.”

John blinked, tilting his head to the side. The words took a minute to register due to the buzzing in his head. Once they did, he realized that he was the cause of the old man’s fear, although he didn’t think he’d done anything to warrant such a reaction. Besides existing in his general vicinity, that is. Wherever he was, he guessed coming across a Supe was something of a novelty, and perhaps not the type to be glad for.

“Easy, partner. What’s got you so jumpy, uh?” John said, offering the stranger what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “It’s all fine, I’m not here to cause any harm.”

He took a step closer, and the man quickly took one back. He wasn’t staring at his face but down. John followed his gaze and grimaced. He wasn’t exactly looking his best at the moment. Or perhaps he was. The man was right to fear him, in any case. No upstanding citizen would trespass into someone’s private property while shamelessly sporting their birthday suit.

“Right, I’m naked. I guess that’s got you feeling a bit spooked,” John said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “I swear there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for this, though. So, how about you put that gun down?”

He moved forward again, and that was his mistake. The man went trigger happy on him, and fired. He wasn’t hurt, of course. It had taken a series of operations and a rather uncomfortable amount of tinkling with his DNA, but now John could say that he was effectively bulletproof. The doctors had tested that quite diligently. As it always did back then, the bullet ricocheted off him. Then it went through the old man’s skull, instantly killing him. He fell to the ground, so fast and abruptly that it took John a moment to understand what had happened.

He stood there for quite a long time, withstanding the bite of the scorching sun on his exposed flesh. The German Shepard had returned and was barking furiously at him for the audacity of killing its owner. John paid it no mind, knowing that it couldn't hurt him. Points had been made that there was nothing on Earth that could. Blood was steadily spreading through the ground. He realized then that the dead man had not been old, as he’d first assumed, but rather young and worn out by life. He chuckled.

Once he started, John didn’t stop laughing until the pain became unbearable, forcing him to his knees. There were tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. No matter what he tried or where he went, it seemed he could never truly escape death - that is, unless it was his own.

Once he was able to compose himself, John went out onto the highway and hijacked a car.

“Oh, would you calm down?” He said, giving the anxious-looking driver a stern look. “We’ve been over this, Kevin. I’m not gonna hurt you. Just take me across the state line and you’ll be fine . And for fuck’s sake, roll the goddamn windows down! This adrenaline stench’s killing me.”

There was likely nothing to fear in this sleepy small town in the middle of Louisiana. Had he been any less of a paranoid, John would have seen no issue in staying a day or two to figure out his next move. He hadn’t been in the vicinity for more than two hours and he’d already left a body behind, though. It was an accident, of course, and perhaps he was being superstitious, but it did seem like something he ought to pay heed to. There was an itch in him compelling him to move forward, to put as much distance as he could between his handlers and himself. He didn’t want to risk Vought tracking him down if they somehow figured out that he wasn’t dead.

“Right,” Kevin replied, licking sweat off his upper lip, “of course.”

John rolled his eyes but said nothing. His whole body hurt, and he could feel a migraine forming. Many times as he made his way through the cornfields a rush to the head left him feeling as though he were about to faint again, but he never did. Even if flying hadn’t meant further exposing himself to detection, he wasn’t sure he could do it in the state he was in. He spared a glance to the unlucky fellow that had been forced to serve as his personal chauffeur, and noticed that his knuckles were white on the steering wheel. Perhaps he’d gone too far with the whole threats and blackmail business.

“So, you don’t happen to have any clothes I could borrow, uh?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest to suppress the need to cover himself. You would think that after walking approximately three miles under the scorching mid-afternoon sun he would become accustomed to being naked out in the open. As it was, John wasn’t even used to existing outside of a lab, let alone being as exposed as he was. It was a sensory nightmare, if he’d ever had one.

“There’s a bag on the back seat,” Kevin said, looking visibly relieved. It was probably getting weird for him too. John pulled a shirt and some pants out of the bag and was quick to put them on. The fit was abysmal but at the very least it was covering. He considered Kevin for a moment, and wondered if there were any questions he ought to ask before they parted ways. It wouldn’t be long for now, if the street signs were to be believed.

John still wasn’t sure what he would do, once they made it to Arkansas. He felt out of sorts and unable to formulate a plan. It wasn’t clear to him whether his exhaustion could be attributed to the fall, the lack of oxygen or a prolonged exposure to radiation. Perhaps it was the combination of it all. He just knew that he wanted to make it out of the countryside, away from the unbearable heat and the sharp, overwhelming smells of farming and pollen.

It doesn’t matter where you go, tiger. They’re gonna find ya, a voice murmured in the back of his mind, as he stared listlessly at the passing scenery. You seriously think you can survive without them? You ungrateful, spoiled brat! You're never gonna make it on your own. May as well go crawling back to daddy Jonah and beg for his forgiveness, while you still can.

Fuck off, John replied with a scowl, I don’t need them. I don’t need anyone, and especially not you. Leave me the fuck alone!

You just couldn’t handle it, could you? Homelander said viciously. Don’t know why I’m surprised, you’ve always been so weak. So fucking fragile. Vogelbaum didn’t give ya enough head pats, is that it? Is that why you’re running away with your tail between your legs, like the fucking pussy you are?!

No. John shook his head. His lower lip trembled, and he bit into it to try and hide it. No, that’s not it. Just- shut the fuck up!

You would’ve made a lousy hero, anyway. Perhaps it’s for the best. From here forward, we’re on our own, partner. That’s how it’s always been, isn’t it? Who would want you, but me? Not the doctors nor the tutors. Certainly not Vogelbaum. I mean, not even death will have you. How pathetic is that?

John could feel tears gathering at the corner of his eyes, and quickly blinked them away. It was the pollen, he told himself - the sharp brightness of the outside world that he'd so rarely witnessed in the past. To say it was overwhelming was an understatement. The never ending turning of the Earth, the people moving about, the smell of livestock, the cars passing by. He could feel his heart racing, and suddenly he felt nauseous and unbalanced, as if he were about to fall.

Are you seriously having a panic attack right now? For fuck’s sake, John. I thought we were past this, Homelander said, and John swore he could hear him laughing. If his handlers did manage to track him down, they would drag him back to the lab by the scruff of his neck. They would put him in the Bad Room again. He needed to blend in. That meant concealing his powers and performing normalcy - speaking, living and dressing like a faceless figure in the crowd. He could probably pull it off. His tutors always said that he had a talent for acting.

You can’t escape your fate, John, said that soft, brutally mocking voice. You were created with a purpose, and you’re going to fulfill it whether you want it or not.

Belatedly, John realized that he was muttering to himself, anxiously bouncing his leg up and down. Kevin was staring at him warily. He clamped his mouth shut, forcing his body to go completely still.

I’m the strongest man in the whole wide world, John thought, rubbing his eyes, I can do whatever the fuck I want.

#homelander fanfiction #the boys fanfic #homelander #antony starr #homelander fic #homelander the boys #my babygirl #fine i'll create my own content #lena writes #john escapes the lab and joins the boys au

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handoverthekawaii · 8 months

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We Go Together | Homelander x You | Chapter 22

Note: This chapter contains explicit sexual content.

Taglist: @hom3landr @theaudacitytowrite @lover1307

“So is it true?” you ask suddenly.

You’re seated on the sofa in Black Noir’s living room as John scrounges together dinner for the two of you. And it really is scrounging — it is blatantly obvious that John was never taught to operate a microwave, a truth that is simultaneously tragic and funny by virtue of being so fucked up.

Still, you can tell he is making a genuine effort, just like you could tell by the way he laid out clean clothes for you and bundled you up in a blanket before starting on dinner. Even though he hardly knows how, John is doing his best to take special care of you in the aftermath of your captivity.

In the kitchen, John freezes at the sound of your words. After what Vogelbaum had said to you back at the lab, he knew it would only be a matter of time before you asked a question like this. And, frankly, it terrified him because, once he tells you about all the shit he’s done… what if you don’t like him anymore?

John forces himself to take a deep breath before he turns to face you. He made a promise that he would never, EVER, lie to you, no holds barred, flaws and all — and, by God, he is going to abide by it.

“Is what true?” John responds, answering your question with a question.

“Well… Jonah Vogelbaum said you killed a lot people,” you say, seeing John visibly wince at your words. “Is that true?”

The captain of The Seven walks around the kitchen island, enters the living room, and sits down on the couch alongside you. After a long moment he answers, “Yes, it’s true.”

“H-how many?” you ask, your heart rate beginning to pick up as John’s words sink in. What if you escaped one danger just to end up faced with another? And you don’t feel any better when his next words are,

“I have no fucking idea.” At this, John puts his face in his hands. “Too many… way too goddamn many. Sometimes I lose my temper in the heat of the moment, like today… but usually it’s an accident.”

Usually? you think to yourself. There’s a “usual” way he kills people?! Forcing yourself to push down your panicked thoughts until you get all the facts, you ask, “What kind of accident?”

The Supe bows his head silently, eyes shut as he revisits memory after painful memory. After a beat of silence John says, “Like one time, in th-in the Bad Room… I tried to give my teacher a hug, but I… I squeezed too tightly. I broke her spine, and sh-she died.”

“Jesus Christ!” you blurt out. “And none of this was ever made public?”

“Of course not!” answers John with a mirthless laugh. “No matter how many people Vought’s Supes hurt, the company doesn’t fucking care… anything to protect that bottom line.”

It wasn’t just Mom and Dad, you realize now. For decades, Vought’s been covering up the crimes of the company AND its employees. They have been selling the American public on a lie, when all along they cared more about profits than people.

And John might be the best (or worst) example of all — raised in a lab, by people with no conscience, tortured and desensitized to the value of human life. America’s favorite hero, with the potential to become the entire world’s greatest enemy.

But it’s only potential. You see that now, by the way he’s risked life and limb to protect one life — yours. The way he’s tried so hard to make you feel comfortable and safe, and the way he’s sitting next to you now with his head buried into his hands, body shuddering as waves of emotion crash over his shoulders.

“I want to be different, Y/N,” John says now, in a near-whisper. “I don’t want to be that person anymore.”

And with every fiber of your being, you know he’s telling the truth — you believe him. So you outstretch your hand and place it on John’s knee. The Supe lowers his hands and looks over at you, his expression changing rapidly from fearful to hopeful to wistful and back.

“Well, I have good news,” you say. “It’s not too late for you to start over.”

“With you?” John asks, the vulnerability in his voice cutting, like a chainsaw to the heart.

“Yes, with me,” you reply, offering a small smile. “Like you said, we go together, right?” [continued on AO3]

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