homelandercollection
Homelander's Mommy Kink
finally making a homelander account please be gentle22 - he/him
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An expensive sex toy, a snooping supe, and a surprising amount of foot fetish
S E X T O Y | H O M E W E L L
Her house smells like her and her perfume and the coffee she drinks. He feels drunk just from entering it, and it does quell some of his anxiety at breaking in to be so engulfed by her.
She's not home, having left for a meeting, and so he reverently wanders into her bedroom, a pilgrim at a holy site.
Her bed is neatly made, her closet so orderly. His hands wander over her blouses, filling his lungs with the lingering scent of her. And then he sees it. At the bottom of the closet. A sleek golden rounded appliance he's seen before. He snatches it up. He intimately knows the buzz of it, the sound. The way it makes her shiver when she pushes against it.
The light in the bedroom is turned on.
She stands there, hand still on the light switch. Her pulse is rapid, her eyes wide, but only for a second.
He's a scared child again, the spotlight hitting his eyes so brightly. Instead of putting it back, he clasps the toy tightly, a comfort. "Madelyn, I- it-"
"What are you doing?"
"You forgot to lock your balcony door, I was just- Someone might come in and-"
"Thank you for reminding me." She moves across the room to close it, effectively trapping him here. "Now tell me why saving me from a burglar necessitates you going through my things. Has someone been hiding in this closet?"
His face feels hot, and his eyes brim with tears. "I'll go," he whispers, but the shake of her head cuts him off.
"No, you're not going anywhere."
His heart is hammering. He wants to beg her, wants to be at her feet to ask her to just let him go, he would not return. He would.
She gives a little sigh, voiceless. She leaves, her footsteps echoing in the high rooms of her home, stilettos clacking down the stairs. The clinking of glass.
Madelyn returns with her usual quick gait. She stops in the doorway, lifting one leg and then the other to remove her shoes. She is holding a glass of cognac, and he is mesmerised by how her fingers are wrapped around it. His tongue flicks out for just a moment before he can catch himself.
Barefoot, she walks over to her bed and sits down on it, facing him. "You seem fascinated by this one."
He looks down at the toy.
Madelyn sips her drink. "Do you know how to use it?"
He does, and she knows he does. She probably knows how he has found out. He nods because his voice is trapped in her eyes.
"Good. This will be easy. If you want it so badly, I'll allow it." She supports herself with a hand on the bed, balancing, one knee on top of the other. His eyes wander down her legs. He can see her toes through the sheer black pantyhose, her nails painted a tasteful mauve.
"Pull your pants down."
He obeys.
"Turn it on."
He can't hide behind the suit anymore, and he knows she can see the way his dick twitches when he hears the toy buzz to life. He wants so much to cover himself, but her words alone make him jut his hips forward, presenting himself to her.
She smiles against the rim of her glass, tapping her foot in a rhythm he doesn't hear.
"Make yourself come."
The toy feels like too much immediately. It makes his teeth sting with the way it stimulates him, and he wants to jerk his hand away again, but that would be bad of him, and he's been so bad he can't put another tally on the list. Instead he just whimpers his discomfort, wordlessly asking for her to make it better.
Madelyn puts her glass down next to her and seems satisfied with simply watching him.
Homelander instinctively presses the toy closer against his dick, just that bit further, pushing through the initial discomfort and finding that where it ends, pleasure awaits him, shooting straight up his spine.
His knees are buckling with it.
The sleek golden little thing nearly slips from his hand when his cramping fingers accidentally find a different setting, deep vibrations shaking his body apart.
Madelyn raises her eyebrow in acknowledgement. She knows what he his feeling, knows his exquisite suffering because this toy has touched her first.
Not knowing what to do with his free hand, he simply makes a fist behind his body, trying to stand as proud as his weakened knees allow.
He whines, head tipping backwards, eyes burning with a fire not born from shame. And he comes.
"Oh, my sweet boy. Isn't that better? Isn't it better when you do what I say?" She pushes herself up, walks toward him, switches off the vibrator for him while he's still pulsing, shivering in the aftermath. "You got semen on my floor."
It is her hand that pushes him down first, but when he is on his knees, it is her foot that finds his back and gently presses him forward.
His lips meet the floor in a kiss he would much rather press against her naked calf. Instead, he drags his tongue against the rough floor, licking up the stains he made until the room is as clean as he had found it mere minutes ago.
At work the next day, she does not acknowledge what happened, but when he flies past her house, the balcony door is still unlocked.
#homelander x madelyn#GOD i love this#your writing always gives me very deep thoughts and feelings but they're too complicated for me to put into words 😩#which is how i feel about these two so amazing job!!
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i don't idolize homelander, I wanna reduce him to a sobbing pathetic mess by fucking that man into the ground. there's a big difference
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He got drunk and posted that pic by mistake
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rain falls in love
homelander x gn reader. fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of past abuse
Cozy Corner Domaystic: Thunderstorm
You were a light sleeper. Even minor disturbances would wake you instantly; your cat meowing, a neighborhood’s TV turned on, cars passing through the street. Whenever Homelander and you slept together you couldn't help but be slightly envious of how he could turn off the whole world—he slept like a stone, slept like the dead.
Today, though, you doubted many could sleep through the thunderstorm that split New York’s sky. Each thunder louder than the other, sequences of lightning turning the apartment clear as day. And, courtesy of your boyfriend's gigantic windows, you felt enclosed in the roar of the night.
For some, it could be an entertaining spectacle; nature's power a soothing balm, a way to make you contemplate how much of your worries were small and ephemeral—in the end, there was only the earth and the rain.
You could, in theory, see the poetry of it. But all you felt was an overwhelming fear. The loud noises reminded you of your father's booming voice, the cracking of electricity too similar to his heavy hands landing on you.
John was away, having left a week ago in some undisclosed mission. Undisclosed to the public, of course, because he told you in detail how, actually, he was going to take part in a non-authorized invasion of a terrorist cell. Or so he called it.
You were alone. Only you and the storm and Popsicle purring in your lap, indifferent to his surroundings.
After another furious thunder nearly frightening you to death, you decided to call John. Tears streamed down your face and you felt ridiculous—it’s only rain. And yet.
He probably wouldn't pick up. If he did, he'd be too busy, what could he do?
In the first ring, however, he answered. “Hello, sweet face. Awake at this hour?”
“Oh, it's nothing.” You tried to disguise your sniffles, suddenly beyond embarrassed. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”
Silence, and then—
“Is it the storm, sweetheart?”
“Yes, yeah. I can't sleep, it keeps reminding me of… you know. I'm sorry for bothering you.”
“Don't you ever apologize to me for that, ever,” he retorted, voice tinged with anger, though you knew it wasn't aimed at you.
“Can we—” Another thunder, and this time you yelped, scaring Popsicle so that he ran to hide under the bed. “God, I hate this,” you whimpered. “I just want you here. I miss you so much.”
“I miss you too, you precious thing. Fuck, this is bullshit. A fucking week here and we accomplished shit. They sent me the most incompetent team of motherfuckers, I'm up my ass with their whining and ‘but sir, mister Edgar said we should be cautious’.”
You laughed. “Sounds like a trifle.”
“Ugh, fucking tell me about it. A week without you for this bullshit. Y’know what, I'm out. Hold on there, honey, I'll be with you in a moment.”
And he hung up. And the storm raged on, but you felt a giddy warmness settling on you.
Not before long, he barged in, completely wet, but you couldn't care less. You ran to his arms, letting the raindrops seep through your clothes as tangible proof of his devotion.
“You didn't need to come.”
“Ah, but I promised, didn't I? I'll be with you anytime you need me, and you need me now, don't you?”
You giggled, forgetting all about the fears. It was washed over. “I do. And you need a hot bath.”
“Hmph. You too, little baby. C’mon, join me.”
You sat behind him in the tub, washing his hair, enjoying every second of this quiet moment. He moaned at the contact and squeezed your thigh as it circled his waist.
If the storm was a demonstration of nature's power, John was both its likeness and antithesis—he himself was a force to be reckoned with, an amalgamation of sheer strength and might. Created by men, but a victim of them. You could understand that, quite intimately.
He gave you security in his power, and you gave him peace in your tenderness—the value of a whisper to a snowbank.
“John,” you whispered. “I love you. I'll keep you forever, because you belong to me and I to you. Will you let me?”
You felt, more than you saw, his deep breath, swallowing back tears you knew were spilling down his cheeks. You didn't care what they said, what he did looking back in anger, because this was the only truth.
“Yeah…” He choked up, but soldiered on. “Yeah, my love. I'm never letting you go. I fucking love you to pieces.”
As you lay in bed together you decided—in the end, there was only he and you.
#homelander x reader#aaaaawaww#it's raining as i read this!!!#i love storms but this is so cuddly i love it
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you can't give me shit for wanting homelander so bad okay the man literally moans when you put your fingers in his mouth like what more could you POSSIBLY want
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Aw thanks @drowningsailors for tagging me into the game! @sehtoast and @blindmagdalena I invite you guys to join :P (hopefully you haven't been tagged already, I've been busy the past few days 😅) Rules are you look up your name + core on Pinterest and post the first six pics!
Apparently Gavincore is like...emo rockband fuckboy? I'm bad at labelling aesthetics but that feels accurate lmao. It's cute I think!
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songbird.
This is just a semi-angsty little ficlet for my OC, Siren. I'll do a proper intro post for her soon but for now I hope you all enjoy the fluff mush.
In these rare quiet moments, Homelander finds he’s genuinely the happiest he’s ever been. Having Siren in his bed, in his arms, has become a frequent nightly occurrence. He never imagined she would become so important to him when she joined The Seven. In fact, there were moments when he wanted to throttle her.
But alas, she grew on him. His little songbird.
Like the flutter of butterfly wings, Siren’s kisses are light and tender all at once. He finds himself at a loss over how her touch can convey her feelings so clearly without ever uttering a single word. She gazes at him as if he were a priceless work of art, committing every feature to her memory.
The way she treasures him takes his breath away every time.
Still, he was scared to let himself get too comfortable and enjoy her. He was too consumed with when the other shoe would drop. Would he lose Siren the way he’s lost everyone else he’s ever brought himself to care about? Happiness was fleeting for him. Inevitably, it managed to slip through his fingers sooner or later. And then, he would be back to being painfully, unbearably alone.
Unloveable.
He'd tear anyone to shreds who dared try to take her from him. But the thought of losing her made his stomach churn. He screws his eyes shut, and his jaw twitches as he tries to swallow back the lump forming in his throat. Before he knows it, he’s crying. He hears Siren sigh softly, followed by her soft hands cupping his face.
“Hey, look at me,” she urges him gently, her voice soft and soothing.
He does as she asks, and she can see the storm brewing in those blue eyes she's loved for so long. She knows that pained expression well. She's experienced that same gnawing feeling of unworthiness more times than she cares to remember. The weight of it is heavy and unforgiving.
”You deserve to be loved.”
He falls apart as soon as the words leave her lips, and she immediately pulls him into her arms. He buries his face into the crook of her neck as his tears soak her skin. She knows she can't undo what has been done to him. But she can love him. She can love him with every fiber of her being. She offers it to him freely like an endless well to drink from whenever he pleases.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
She strokes his hair and holds him close, each quiet declaration reassuring that she's not going anywhere and that he is worthy. He's not entirely sure what he did to deserve this, but he'll allow himself to enjoy this moment with his little songbird.
His Siren.
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He's such a freak 🥵 I love it!
A Little Taste of Heaven
Homelander x Luna (Supe OC)
18+
1,331 words || Explicit Sexual Content, Fleshlight, Masturbation, Obsessive Behaviour, Mirrorlander mentioned, Premature Ejaculation ||
Special thanks to @devilander for being my beta
Divider by Firefly-Graphics
Vought’s adult selection.
Everything from dildos and strap-ons to sexy replicas of supe suits.
But Homelander is only after one thing.
Acquiring said thing was difficult. He couldn’t buy it himself and have his name registered on vought-after-dark.com, it would raise suspicions and the last thing he needed was to be questioned about said purchase.
His only other option was to wander downstairs and see if he could find a prototype somewhere that no one would notice going missing. It’s not exactly what he wants but it will have to do, for now, to satisfy a craving that is beginning to take over his life.
This is becoming more than just an obsession — all he dreams about is her, the alluring goddess with disdain in her eyes.
Anger has never looked so good.
Eventually, he has to resort to the fact that he’ll have to buy it. He could always write it off as a work expense but, instead, he puts it down in The Deep’s name. After all, it’s something The Deep would buy.
When it arrives in discreet packaging, he snatches it before anyone else sees it, taking it to his penthouse for an afternoon of much-needed personal time, making sure to lock the front doors tight, drawing the curtains so he can truly be alone.
He opens the initial box, enthusiastically pulling out the packing paper to reveal the ‘suitable’ substitute that will have to make do until he gets the real thing.
A fleshlight — to be more exact, Luna’s fleshlight.
It’s just a generic design, and the chances of it being a mould from Luna’s actual cunt is zero, after all, it says so on the box: For external use only. Product may not reflect the bodily characteristics of the intended supe. Rate of individual satisfaction may vary.
He removes his supe suit, letting it lie on the couch as he retreats to his bedroom, and more importantly, his bed, where he’ll be spending the next few hours with his toy. However, before he dissolves into pure, blissful debauchery, he needs to set the scene and make it perfect.
There’s a flatscreen on a stand, complete with a DVD player and a DVD made especially for him. It sits at the foot of his bed, the remote on one of the bedside tables and a bottle of lube.
This particular DVD is a compilation of Luna’s various interviews and some offhand shots of Luna's body, making a smirk cover Homelander's lips. He knew this particular person could be swayed, especially when Homelander learned about the more ‘unprofessional’ material they had. It only took a small amount of persuasion; a little bit of intimidation with a pinch of blackmail.
Ripping open the box, his eyes darken as he looks at the fleshlight. It will, of course, pale in comparison to the real thing when he eventually wins Luna over. He settles down in the middle of his bed, propping up pillows behind his head so he can watch the special DVD while enjoying this.
From under his pillow, he pulls out one of her slinky short black satin nightdresses, just about covering her ass from what he’s seen with his x-ray vision. Of course, he watches her at night, hence the discovery of a white crescent moon tattoo that sits just above the valley of her breasts.
He waits until she’s left Vought Tower to enter her apartment, retrieving new articles of clothing once her scent is gone from the ones he has.
He presses the nightdress to his body, the feeling against his skin sending a shiver down his spine. It’s only a matter of time until she's on top of him in it, her voice nothing but soft gasps and moans. Oh the things he’ll do to her.
Grabbing the bottle of lube from the bedside table, he licks his lips and overfills the toy. He wants it sopping wet, just like he’s sure Luna’s will be when he finally gets his hands on her. He swallows down the lump in his throat, his hand sliding under the other pillow where a pair of her panties have been lying for over a week.
They were one of the first he took — black cotton with a little black bow.
He initially hated them, deeming them unfit for a supe of her stature. But soon they became his favourite, retaining her natural scent better. He lies them on his face, his nose in the crotch, breathing deep.
With his hand on the remote, he presses play and there she is, her voice filling his ears. Now everything is perfect, well, as perfect as they can be.
He’s already getting himself worked up and hasn’t even used the toy yet. Holding it above his crotch, he watches as the lube drips out onto his cock, his mind running rampant with the idea that Luna, when he finally has her, will be the same.
Holding his breath, his eyes are glued to the toy as he lowers it, watching it swallow his cock down to the base. Throwing his head back, his eyes screw shut, his toes curling and his body tensing while he tries not to lose himself to sensation.
He whimpers, his balls taut and the pleasure sitting heavy in his gut. He’s fighting a losing battle, trying to hold back from cumming there and then but everything is just a little too perfect.
It only takes about three thrusts until he cums inside the toy, groaning as he does so. He mutters apologies under his breath.
‘Really Tiger? You came that quickly? You sure know how to disappoint women.’
His mirror image mocks him from above, while in his mind, Luna leans over him, her hands cupping his cheeks while she kisses his forehead.
‘You did good, I’m so proud of you, that was so lovely.’
Madelyn’s words in Luna’s voice sound more sincere, lessening the shame he feels. However, when the time finally comes, he knows he will last longer, and that he’ll ensure he completely satisfies Luna.
Staring at the screen, Homelander starts to get hard again, his mind running rampant with the fantasy of gripping those perfect hips hard enough as he pulls her to meet every one of his thrusts.
Of course, he'll be gentle in the beginning, make love to her the way she deserves but it won't be long until he's rough. But only because she begged him and oh, how she'll beg.
Glazed-over eyes, those soft bitten lips, her hands in his hair and on his body — the vision is enough to get him hard again.
He gets up onto his knees, one hand braced on the bed, the other holding the fleshlight in place while he thrusts into it, biting his lip to muffle his noises so he doesn’t miss a single second of that heavenly voice of hers while he stares at the screen.
Oh, the noises he’ll pull from her with his tongue, fingers and cock, how perfect she’ll look beneath him, riding him, her reflection in the mirror when he takes her from behind.
The DVD changes to one of the first interviews she ever gave, one he remembers well.
“Homelander….”
The way she says his name with so much contempt sends a shiver up his spine and he stares at the screen, relentlessly fucking the fleshlight, the filthy squelching only riling him up more. He needs to be inside of her so desperately, to fill her so full of cum that she has a little bulge in her abdomen; watch her go about her day knowing full well that it slowly drips out of her, staining her underwear and her suit.
With an animalistic howl, he cums and cums hard, almost going lightheaded for a second. He lets the fleshlight fall from his hand, breathing hard as he comes down from his orgasmic haze.
This is the best thing he’s ever bought.
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Teleporting Keys (Homelander x OC)
This is for my very first submission to @cozycornerevents, prompt: "Where are my keys?" Masterlist
No warning besides not beta read, just HL having terrible hiding spots for things, OC is Cassidy Bishop.
Cassidy wasn't the most meticulous person but she did like to have her everyday items to have a specific place for easy locating. With her hectic schedule, she needed to be able to be out of the door when she got paged from the hospital.
Her phone –depending on its battery charge– gets set down on the counter in the kitchen so she will be able to hear its ringing when she has her nose shoved into a book on the couch or if she was in a baking mood and was mixing batter while listening to her gramophone.
Her wallet on her dresser, next to the phone charger she uses when she goes to bed.
The sketchbook and pencils had their home on the bookshelf in the living room. Normally she kept them under her bed so she would be able to reach under when inspiration struck but her nosey boyfriend liked to snoop and pull it out to flick through her sketches making her face flush when he gives her a cheeky grin as he sees a new picture of him. His favorites are the ones where he looked heroic mid-flight.
Her keys hanging from their hook by the door. The little Lego versions of Ryan and Homelander that former made her for her birthday swung by their keychain.
Usually, Homelander comes by to pick her up to spend the night at the tower –which she insisted that she could drive herself there but he just sneers at the idea of her getting in the death box on wheels more than she has to– and takes her home so she can drive to work.
After a serious sit down, she made it clear to Homeander how important her job is to her and that she was a professional so being late is unacceptable. Though that did little to deter the clingy superhero from dragging her back to the warm bed for early morning cuddles. He still made sure she had time to get ready at home. This week was odd though.
One day, after coming home from a long night of celebration of his newly appointed Homelander Day –much to Cassidy’s exasperation about his need to be the center of attention– Cassidy was just about to reach for her keys before stopping short when she saw an empty space.
“Uh. That's strange,” she mumbled as she turned back to the kitchen to see if she left them on the counter. Homelander practically snatched her up and flew out of the window right as she walked through the front door so she couldn't remember where she set them.
After checking other places when she couldn't locate them in the kitchen, she glanced at her watch and started to worry as her time to start her shift crept closer. Biting her lip she pulled out her phone and dialed her lover.
The deep teasing voice that greeted her ears as he answered almost made her immediately hang up and surrender to public transportation and take the lateness, “Changed your mind already? I was just thinking that sunlight would look amazing on you when you're pressed against the glass overlooking the city as I fuck you.”
Over a hundred years old and she still felt flustered at his vulgarity.
“Hush you pervert. I need a favor. I cannot find my keys and I am going to be late. Do you think you can fly here and take me to work?” she knew he would be more insufferable since he has been whining about how dangerous vehicles are and she had a safer way of transportation. His godly self. He would think this as going out of his way to her rescue.
She heard Homelander let out a dramatic sigh, clearly relishing the opportunity to be her knight in shining armor. “I suppose I can make an exception this time, kitten. But you owe me a special treat for this favor,” he purred into the phone, his tone full of smug satisfaction.
Bastard acting like it would inconvenience him. That brat.
She rolled her eyes at his predictable request, Cassidy simply replied, “Fine, fine. Just hurry up before I'm late for work. And no flying too fast this time, you know how much it messes up my hair. I look like fucking Doc Brown before I can fix it.”
With a chuckle, Homelander assured her he would be there shortly and hung up the call. Cassidy couldn't help but smile despite her annoyance at his arrogance. As she waited by the door for him to arrive, she wondered where the keys could be.
She ended up finding them in her bag that she keeps all her art supplies in on the floor by the bookshelf. She forgot that she put them in there when she parked.
That’s when things got weird. Every other day her keys would go missing. She was incredibly confused because she swore that she would put them on their hook when she gets home but it’s not totally strange how often Homelander would sweep in and steal her attention. Plus he was more than eager to take her to work. What made her suspicious was the odd locations she found her keys later in the week.
Once, she found them in the refrigerator, chilling next to a carton of milk. Another time, they were nestled on the cushion of her favorite armchair, as if they were taking a nap. The most perplexing discovery was when Cassidy stumbled upon her keys hanging from a tree branch in her backyard, glinting in the sunlight.
She wasn’t oblivious. She could correlate the teleporting keys and Homelanders earnest want to have her fly with him. Cassidy couldn't help but feel a mix of exasperation and amusement at Homelander's need to have her to himself just a little longer and knew his distrust of cars was legitimate so his fear for her safety was very sweet. Even if she could heal if anything happened.
She decided to confront him about it one evening as they lounged on the couch, his arm wrapped around her shoulders possessively. "John, where are my keys?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
Homelander feigned innocence, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "Keys? What keys, babe? I have no idea what you're talking about," he replied smoothly, though a flicker of a smirk danced on his lips.
“Uh huh,” Cassidy wasn’t buying it as she craned her neck back to glance at the once again empty key hook.
He chuckled softly and pulled her closer. “Hey now, you’re the one that keeps having old lady moments and puts them in weird places. Not my fault.”
The jab about her real age and him turning this around on her made her eye twitch but she just sighed and snuggled more into his side. “You know, if you wanna go flying, you can just ask. No need to be sneaky. Nice attempt though.”
Homelander's smirk widened as he leaned down to press a kiss to Cassidy's temple. "Who said I was being sneaky? Just trying to keep you on your toes," he replied playfully, running a hand through her hair.
Cassidy couldn't help but laugh at his antics as she shook her head in fond exasperation. "Well, consider me on my toes then. But seriously, what were you thinking with the fridge and the tree in the backyard?" she teased, poking him in the side.
Homelander let out a dramatic scoff, pretending to be offended. "The tree was genius, you just got lucky missy. For the fridge, I actually didn’t mean to leave the keys in there. I might have gotten distracted," he said with an impish grin, knowing his slip-up had been caught. Cassidy couldn't help but chuckle at his admission, shaking her head in amusement.
"Well, I’ll need to remember milk is a good Homelander diversion," she teased, giving him a playful nudge. Homelander chuckled and pulled her into a tight embrace, planting a soft kiss on her lips.
After a moment Homelander asked in that unsure quiet voice, “So you do want to go flying with me?”
Cassidy looked up at Homelander with a soft smile, her eyes filled with affection. "Of course I do, John. I always enjoy flying with you," she replied, running a hand through his hair “Besides that one time.” They both remembered how their reunion went about. Homelander's face lit up with a bright smile as he lifted her effortlessly into his arms, preparing to take off into the night sky.
#homelander x oc#so cuuute he just needs all the attention always#ALSO HER HAVING LITTLE HOMEADE RYAN AND HOMIE LEGOS ON HER KEYS??? ADORABLE
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Homelander's birthday speech except it's in the TikTok text-to-speech girl voice.
I spent far too long making this. The brainrot has now commenced.
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Something That's Mine
A cozy corner domaystic ficlet - big thanks to @hdiabolical for beta reading this mwah mwah mwah <3
Prompt: Thunderstorm/Peace offering/Unexpected gifts
Homelander x Fem!Supe OC
This takes place in the year between S2 & 3. Luna is a moon-powered supe whose powers are tied to the lunar cycle. Enemies to Friends.
Contains references to financial child abuse and child exploitation
Divider by Firefly-Graphics
“BECAUSE I’M A FUCKING PRODUCT!”
The words echo through her penthouse as Luna stands there, her body rigid, angry tears welling up in her eyes. He just couldn’t leave her alone, could he? No, Homelander just had to keep pushing and pushing until she eventually snapped.
Screaming at Homelander is probably the worst idea in the entire world, but right now Luna fears nothing.
“The ONLY reason I was chosen is because my powers are ‘unique’ enough to draw attention away from the fucking disaster that was Stormfront.”
Her heart is hammering away in her chest, every single fibre of her being is telling her to stop but her mouth is open and the words are spilling out.
“I’m a supe whose powers are tied to the fucking moon and Vought turned that into a fucking gimmick, more so than it was before. So here I fucking am, advertising fucking diva cups and reading fucking horoscopes like that means anything other than pure bullshit.”
Her fists are clenched tight. Without her gloves, her nails are biting into the skin of her palms hard enough to draw blood that drips through her glowing fingers and onto the floor.
She knows full well he can kill her, part of her wants to bait him into doing so, to end her miserable existence.
“And people have the gall to call this a gift.” She clenches her teeth, letting out a laugh that proves she’s at her limit, almost ready to fall over the edge. “It’s a fucking curse.”
“My ENTIRE life I have been nothing but an object to be used for monetary gain. Little Moonflower, Moonbeam, even Luna, the name I chose for myself, has been corrupted by greed. I have never had anything, not one little fucking thing actually belongs to me. So I’m sorry if I seem ungrateful, but I DON’T WANT TO FUCKING BE HERE!”
The last words are screamed loud enough for the whole of Vought Tower to hear, not that Luna cares. She’s never cared.
“So fuck you. Fuck Ashley. Fuck Stan fucking Edgar. Fuck Vought and FUCK COMPOUND V!”
Homelander’s face is emotionless, he’s just standing there, staring at her. So she waits for the retaliation, for this to turn from words into violence, for him to smear her remains on every surface of the penthouse. But instead, he turns and walks away without a word.
Eventually, the adrenaline runs out and she falls to the floor, wailing while the tears fall from her tired eyes. After all these years she’s finally told someone how she feels. At last, a weight has been lifted from her shoulders only for the unending loneliness and emptiness to seep in like an infection.
She exhausts herself, falling asleep on the cold floor, curled up in the foetal position like she’s done so many times before.
Always a product, never a person.
There’s a thunderstorm over New York.
Luna sits on her designated seat at the conference table in the Seven boardroom, the rain lashing the windows while the lightning illuminates the room, bathing it in a bright white light. Even when she was a little girl, there was something about thunderstorms that always soothed her and, after the meeting she just had, she needed it more than ever.
Last night’s words didn’t go unheard.
She’d been called into an emergency meeting where she was, once again, berated by Stan Edgar for her behaviour and general attitude, warning her that if she doesn’t start to play nice with others, he’ll be forced to teach her.
Numbness seeps into her fingers and toes, flowing into her limbs, helping her to disassociate and disappear into the pit inside her mind. She can barely feel the tears that continuously cascade down her cheeks. It’s all become just a bit too much.
“I hope I’m not disturbing anything. I heard you had a meeting with Stan Edgar. He always has a habit of not telling me when he’s having important meetings with my teammates. Do you want to tell me what it was about?”
She doesn’t answer — she hates how vulnerable she is right now and in front of the last person in the world she’d never want to see her this way. She chews the inside of her cheek, visibly shaking, trying to calm herself down enough so that Homelander will go away and leave her alone.
“You know, I discovered something interesting today.”
The familiar clink of glass against the table draws her attention. She swallows hard as she stares at the label of the wax-lidded jar. It’s the same label she’s seen for years, the one with the young white-haired girl no older than six, a forced smile on her lips.
Little Moonflower’s Moonshine.
The lavender-flavoured battery acid that her parents make, the one that bears the immortal image of her as a young child, the very first of many items that would be peddled. If he has this, not only does it prove that he’d been in her apartment, but there is a very high chance that he has read something in the very fine print.
Homelander perches on the edge of the table next to her, taking her hand and removing her glove, placing it down on top of his, toying with her fingers. His touch is gentle, his hand rubbing up and down her arm yet she keeps her eyes low. He turns her hand over, tracing patterns on her palm, mimicking how she communicates with Black Noir when she doesn’t want to talk out loud.
“There’s an address on this label, it’s very small, but it’s there. Refers to an address near Zumbrota, Goodhue County. Have you ever heard of it?”
She swallows hard, breathing heavily through her nose. She knows exactly where he’s been — a warning she had buried at the back of her mind slowly coming to the front, one from Queen Maeve and Starlight about Homelander, how unstable he is and what being involved with him could mean for her and her family, even though they are estranged.
“Found this dilapidated old farmhouse, the remains of a still to create that poison.” He vaguely gestures to the jar. “It seems as if the occupants left, not sure if it’s in a hurry or maybe, they just received a large sum of money to move.”
She doesn’t react, almost as if she already knew her childhood home had been abandoned. It would only be a matter of time, after all, Luna being brought into the Seven no doubt earned her family a substantial amount.
“I asked around and found a forwarding address, some fancy house on Oak Meadow Lane in Rochester. So I decided to visit, and I met this great couple and their son, Phoenix. They even invited me in for apple pie and ice cream. Then they started talking about their little miracle daughter, the one saved by Compound V.”
Her jaw tightens and she rips her hand away from him, getting up from her seat and walking towards the window. The story of how she came to be injected with Compound V is painful, one retold to her constantly as she was growing up, one that shaped her understanding of what she truly was — a product.
“It's funny, they've made all this money on their daughter's image yet they don't seem to understand copyright laws.”
She hugs herself, fingers digging into her arms as she continues to stare out of the window. She watches the reflection as he stands, slowly moving closer with his hands behind his back. He stops only a few feet away.
“So I took the liberty of talking to the legal department and, would you believe it, they're going to sue this family. But not only that, they're going to make them repay every last cent to their daughter.”
A weird feeling washes over her, somewhere between relief and shock. There's only one question she wants to ask but at the same time, she doesn't want to know the answer. She knows what she's supposed to say, she just can't bring herself to say it, not to him.
“You know, if you'd come to me sooner, this would have happened a lot earlier. After all, you're on my team and I protect my teammates. But I can't help if I don't know what's going on so maybe, next time something happens, you come and see me first.”
The words stick in her throat so she chooses to remain silent, watching as he walks away. She knows that he didn’t do this out of the kindness of his heart, that this will come with a price.
A Full Moon.
Luna sits in the chair in the make-up room, vacantly staring at her reflection. The full moon means that not only she is at her most powerful, but she's also due to do the same Vought-mandated bullshit she has to do every time.
After the events of yesterday, she has no option but to follow through, despite how desperately she wants to tell Ashley to go fuck herself. So instead, she stares at her reflection in the mirror, mentally preparing herself to sit on that couch with a fake smile on her lips.
She's halfway through a daydream when the make-up room is suddenly deserted, a black box appearing in front of her face, held by a familiar red gloved hand.
“What’s that?”
Homelander shakes the box a little, trying to make it more enticing; however, after his little visit to her family, she’s half expecting to find a finger. When she doesn't reach for the box, he decides to do the honours, lifting its lid slowly. Her eyes widen with surprise as she looks at the contents.
Lying on a bed of satin is a crescent moon pendant, delicately carved from moonstone, attached to a twenty-carat white gold chain.
“The Romans revered moonstone,” he explains, obviously very pleased with himself. “They believed that it originated from solidified rays of moonlight. They attributed it to their deity, a divine incarnation of the moon, the goddess Luna. Because that’s what you are, a goddess.”
It’s by far the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen, and the most expensive gift she’s ever received. He removes the pendant, allowing the box to fall to the floor and fiddles with the intricate clasp as he puts it around her neck, the pendant lying flat against her chest.
Once the clasp is secure, his hands stroke down the back of her neck and rest on her shoulders, leaning down to whisper in her ear.
“For the one who's as enchanting as the moon, it’s only right that you have a necklace to match your celestial beauty. It looks beautiful on you, just like I knew it would.”
Her fingers tentatively run over the smooth precious stone, tracing the crescent moon as her eyes dart between it and his face in the reflection of the mirror. There’s so many things she wants to say, so many unanswered questions that need to be asked but she finds herself almost tongue-tied.
“Thank you,” she chokes out the words, almost unsure of herself.
He squeezes her shoulders before turning her around in her chair, taking a step back and offering his hand. “Now, I believe the woman of the hour is needed in the studio for her monthly bullshit.”
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Breaking Point (Homelander x reader)
Homelander delights in teasing you until he needles you too much on the wrong day.
1.5k words | Jerk Homelander to guilty Homelander, hurt/comfort if you squint. Homelander x gn!reader, implied chronic pain reader, implied plus-sized reader, [A03]
You are so soft. Your flesh gives under his grasp when he yanks you by the arm, careless with how it makes you stumble. Homelander laughs mockingly at the small, annoyed twitch of your lip as he tugs you close. Too close.
"Hey. Where are those new poll results, sweetheart?" The words are a purr, warm breath a caress against your cheek as he looms too close to be proper. Everything done with calculated intent to pull a reaction from you.
You stare blankly up at him, expression schooled neutral. You're used to this game. You've watched other employees crack and fracture under the pressure Homelander exerts. You refuse. You're made of sterner stuff, a master of hiding how you're honestly feeling.
He knows he gets to you, but you rarely let it show on the outside. You can school your face, but there's no controlling how he makes your heart hammer in your chest. How being so close to him sets your nerves alight in a pleasant sensation. Homelander leers down at you, pleased at how your pulse skitters under his scrutiny. He releases you, stepping back as the persona of a proper gentleman settles into place. Homelander smiles as he waits for your reply, the well-practiced one that the cameras always catch.
You're quick to give Homelander an indulgent smile back. An exchange of fake expressions as the two of you play nice. You look so placid and calm before him, but Homelander knows better. He can hear your heart jumping in your chest.
"I can pull them up for you right now if you want?" You reply, the words even and calm as you look up expectantly. You're too tired to deal with any bullshit. Homelander's included. You're always too tired.
In his eyes you're so amiable, so sweet. So disgusting. Your response isn't what he wants. It's controlled and that's no fun. He's not satisfied with your performance. Homelander sneers, whirling away with a flutter of his cape. "Never mind."
You stand there, grimacing in his wake as you rub the spot where he grabbed you. You briefly let your honest emotions flicker freely on your face while his back is turned.. No eyes on you at this moment as sheer frustration and pain settles in. You take a breath as your mask of calm is set back into place. You go on with your day.
Why are you so soft? Under his hands and how you interact with others. Why do you always hand out such easy smiles so freely? He hates that about you. You carry that weary calm like a cloak, but you'll shake it off with a vibrant smile and a laugh if the right person engages you in conversation. They distract you from your fatigue and you light right up.
Homelander has yet to earn one of those sunshine smiles. He gets the fake ones. The ones that make him feel like a child clamoring for attention that you only indulge with your patience. He hates it. It makes him feel small. A god should never feel this way around such a weak mortal as yourself.
As any god does, he lets it bruise his fragile ego. The mortal must be punished and punish you he does. Every day Homelander tries to get a rise out of you. He tries to crack that cheerful facade you've welded in place. It must be fake. No animal has such a cheerful disposition naturally. There's no reason for it because you're so often a lethargic thing. He can smell the weariness on you, the stress, and even pain. How the fuck are you still smiling?
-and why the fuck do you never smile at him?
Homelander decides, in his usual mature fashion, that if you won't smile? He'll bait out your anger instead. He wants, needs a reaction from you beyond those fake smiles.
He continues to goad you day in and day out. He'll slide right up next to you, too close, and lean down to ask directly into your ear for a report or some statistics on what his numbers are doing. Any old excuse to engage with you. He gleefully invades your personal space and is extra handsy because Homelander knows you hate it while he's aware of the effect it has on your body.
If he grabs your shoulder and squeezes just so, your breath hitches. If he places a palm against the small of your back, your pulse races away without fail. If Homelander berates your fashion choices or comments on how tired you look, you flash that hollow smile while your eyes speak loathing at him. He wants that fire, craves it.
The tired fatigue that you always carry briefly pulls back to hint at a simmering something. One day he'll get you boiling over. In anger, in lust. It doesn't matter which one as long as it happens with him there to witness it.
Homelander finds himself brimming with anticipation for that day until it finally happens.
Everyone has a breaking point, even you.
It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. It's too much, please just-
He's caught you trying to hide away in a conference room, the scent of adrenaline in the air as your heart races. A glance with his x-ray vision reveals you staring off with shaking fists clenched against your plush sides.
Finally!
Will you lash out? Will you bite back? The thought sends a thrill through Homelander at seeing little Miss Sunshine finally rattled. There's a storm brewing on your face as your fingers tighten. It's an expression Homelander knows he's worn many a time. The sort of look that has interns scattering and Ashley stammering.
What a delight it'll be to see what you unleash. What can you possibly do, as small and soft as you are? Will it be like watching a kitten hiss and claw? Adorably pathetic.
He strides into the conference room with a smirk, the door clicking shut behind him. "There you are! You missed today's meeting, you know." He chides softly with a waggle of one finger as Homelander strides closer. You stare up at him, eyes blazing.
"Now what are we going to do about that?" Homelander goes on, voice as smooth as honey as he smirks down at you.
Something in your expression shifts. A crack in your mask appears.
Gotcha.
"Well?" He prompts, expectant. Giddiness trickles down his spine as Homelander grins wide, fangs on display. He can't wait to see how this rage of yours plays out.
Except you don't unleash anything on him. You don't even insult Homelander, which would give him reason to taunt you further or retaliate. It would give him a reason to finally lash out at you in earnest, but all you're doing is standing there.
Your expression crumples up like wet tissue. The tears are white hot and silently streaking down your face in an instant. The sound you make is beyond pathetic as you drop back into your seat, huddling into yourself. Homelander watches stock-still as you draw your legs up, arms coiling about your knees as you bury your face away from his gaze.
It's a truly pathetic sight, sobbing like the little mud person you are.
Homelander should feel triumphant. His grin twists to a grimace. He awkwardly shifts, gloves creaking as he balls his fingers into fists at his side.
Why isn't he pleased? He's watching you shatter and it doesn't wash him in the usual delight bringing misery to others does. Your sunshine is gone and it's raining on your parade, which is exactly what Homelander wanted.
Your crying should amuse Homelander. He's not amused. Instead, there's a sinking feeling within the pit of his stomach. A dead weight settles heavy inside as all his amusement flees at the sound of your whimpering sobs. It's a foreign sensation and Homelander doesn't like it one bit.
Homelander works his jaw as guilt chews away at his insides, stuck to the spot hovering over you. You continue to cry, quieter now with your back bowed and face hidden. He can smell the salt of your tears easily.
Silently, he reaches back to pull up the length of his cape. This Homelander offers to you. He doesn't have a handkerchief like a proper gentleman, so this will have to do.
He knows he's broken something. Carelessly snapped it in two. Homelander has done it countless times before. The snap of a spine. Fizzle pop of a control deck. The crackle and sizzle of flesh. The wet sucking sound as organs spill on the floor. It's natural for a creature such as him. Things breaking is a fact of his life. He's never felt guilty about any of those times. Guilt is a rare emotion for Homelander but now it's clawing up his throat, threatening to choke him.
Homelander blinks and refocuses his gaze as he feels a tug on his cape. He watches in a detached way as you dab at your face with the fabric, sniffling loudly. Homelander can't make himself apologize. He doesn't know how.
Instead, he asks in a surprisingly tentative voice. "Bad day?"
That takes you by surprise as your gaze snaps to him. You stare a beat up at Homelander and then you smile. It's a quavering sort, but it's an honest smile. The sunshine rushes back into your face as Homelander sucks a breath in. Were you always such a lovely little creature?
"Yeah," You say slowly. "Something like that."
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Antony Starr as THE HOMELANDER in THE BOYS
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To Love an Anchor (Homelander x OC)
post slaughter homelander, post mass murder euphoria homelander, forehead kiss, spidersona oc | Fic Directory
“You're shaking.”
He says it so bluntly. There's no point in skirting around it. Not now. Not when his mind is so clear and his pain has been alleviated so sweetly.
They're dead. All of them. Walls painted with their remains, bodies torn to shreds, heads rolling, blood spurting. It was so beautiful.
It is so beautiful.
All the things he wished he could've done to them as a child. Everything he should've done to them.
Now on display for his sweet little Benjamin, quivering before him like a cold, wet puppy despite his outstretched hand.
The bug had come to find him. Sent, probably, by someone who saw the security cameras before he blinded them with viscera. He stares at the boy with a content smile.
“Say it.” Homelander says, voice so uncannily chipper despite everything.
Without missing a beat, Ben echoes those words he's heard so many times before.
“I'm afraid of you.”
Homelander shuts his eyes, though the smile never fades. It hurts differently this time. The truth. No preamble. No lying. No fluff.
“Then why come here?” He asks. Homelander cocks a brow, amused and curious, waiting for the worst. That hand is still extended toward him, still inviting him to grasp it– blood and guts be damned. “Why bother?”
He listens closely to the flutter of the bug's heart, to the rising of his blood pressure and the way he gulps. Ben's mask is off. There's no need to peer through anything to see the strange look in his eye nor the shine of sweat collecting at his brow. He stinks of adrenaline.
Benjamin is afraid of him.
“Because–”
Here it comes. One more thing from which he'll have to set himself free. The last anchor that's keeping him human. Sensitive. Soft. Weak.
Just say the words, Benjamin.
All the bug needs to do is say it. That the man before him is no longer the man he fell in love with. That the Homelander of yesterday is the one he holds dear, not this snarling beast bent on destroying everything that dares chain him to the sniveling boy in the labs. That he–
“Because I…”
Say it!
He fixates on Benjamin's quivering lower lip. If he meets Ben's eyes, the fog will fade. The euphoria of wrath will drain from him in one messy swirl. The anchor will drag him back down.
“I love you more than I'm afraid of you.” Ben's voice cracks through the tightness of his throat. He takes a step closer, muck squelching audibly beneath the stained white soles of his shoes. “I love you.”
He wasn't supposed to say that.
He was supposed to echo her words– say it the same way she did. With frustration and fear, desperation and agitation. His answer wasn't fucking meant to be anything like that.
Conflict swirls Homelander's mind faster than he can even realize Benjamin has come toe to toe with him. Hands rise to cup his face, thumbs gliding with ease through the blood. He blinks, and suddenly the bug is standing on his tip-toes and pressing a kiss to his forehead.
The haze of euphoria begins to taper, and Homelander realizes just what he'd been thinking. What he'd been considering.
How could he?
Even entertaining the idea… No.
No.
Not his Benjamin.
Not now, not ever.
“Let’s go home.”
He doesn't say anything. They're both silent for a time and the world suddenly feels like a violent sea again. Waves crashing upon him, sweeping him under into the crushing abyss of clarity.
“I want you to come home.” Ben says. But that's enough.
It's all he needs to reach out and take that shaking hand in his.
For the ship would've been lost at sea long ago without its anchor.
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