#in fact - it could easily be ch3 of the hoodie verse I'm working on

[typinggently]

White Knight

Annie January (Starlight)/John (Homelander) Warning: Homelander. The #Homelight situation and its implied dubious consent.

“Now that you’ve spoken out about your view on sex before marriage – do you have something to share regarding your relationship with Homelander?” Annie stares at the reporter’s lipstick-gleaming smile, a hot-pink contrast to bleached teeth and tan skin. “Our readers are dying to know – does he really land it home?” Blood rushes in her ears.

The flash of a camera reminds her to un-freeze her smile, but her stomach is in tight knots, her fist balled and hidden in the folds of her skirt. “I –“

“Excuse me, what was that?”

Her head snaps up, away from the woman and to him, right there, next to her, using that tone of voice in public. “What did you just say to Starlight here?” He’s smiling, the all-teeth smile, and his voice is light enough to make Annie dig her nails into her palms.

The reporter doesn’t pick up on that note in his voice, has no reason to. She turns her attention towards him, the same lipstick-smile now gleaming in the direction of what’s essentially a loaded gun. “Our readers are wondering about the depth of your relationship.”

“And what makes you think –“ Annie feels frozen stiff, staring his bright smile, those wolf-gleaming eyes. “What makes you think that that’s an appropriate question to ask?”

“The public can’t help but wonder –“

“No.” He shakes his head, one hand going up to stop her, flat of his red palm raised. “No, no, no. In fact –“ Raises his voice, all-American-authority that makes Annie sick to her stomach. “Everybody, listen. Stop the—No flash. I want you to listen.”

The cameras stop flashing, the reporters raise their microphones. The mass of bodies presses in, claustrophobic and unaware of its own vulnerability.

“I will not tolerate that kind of behaviour. You understand?” And his voice tips, gets cutting in a way it shouldn’t, can’t be in public. “There will be no more rude, invasive questions aimed at Starlight. In fact, there will be no more questions of any—“ Louder, colder, and she can’t let that happen. There’s not enough distance between them for her to properly use her powers and there are way too many people way too close for her to even consider that, but she has to do something.

She presses in, puts a hand on his chest. “Let’s go home.”

His head whips around and he stares, ripped from his speech. There’s a fraction of a second where his expression is empty, unreadable, and she tenses up, prepares. But his eyes widen, then his eyebrows go down, he tilts his head, his mouth opens, closes, a flicker in his lashes, a series of almost-expressions rattling by too fast for her to make sense of. Without warning, he leans in, folds himself around her, his arm going around her shoulder and his left hand to her hip. “Right, yes. Let’s go home.” His voice is a little lost, light, as if he’s just as surprised as she is to hear the words coming from his mouth, and she has just enough time to feel his grip tighten around her before they’re shooting up past the gleaming skyscrapers.

When she opens her eyes, the city glitters underneath them and the air tastes of ozone. It’s cool, the wind whips around them. His grip on her waist is tight enough to bruise and her fingers are clawed into his shoulders. “Hey, could you –“

“Yes, right. Sorry.” Absent-mindedly, he adjusts his grip, hoists her up a bit to slip his arm under her knees. It’s so quick and so gentle that there’s no doubt in her mind that it’s a routine move, that he hardly even knows what he’s doing. “Can you believe that?”

She’s resting against his chest, the leather of his glove on her bare thigh. The knot in her stomach pulses sickeningly. “That journalists ask indecent questions? Yes.”

He shakes his head, gaze lost in the depths of the sky around them. “Unbelievable. I should’ve punched my fist through her skull. Should’ve covered the asphalt in her boiling brain matter.”

Annie’s heart pounds in her chest. “Well,” she finally says, light and dry, “I’m glad you didn’t.”

He snorts at that. “Yeah, right. You know, you should be thanking me for this. They never asked Maeve those questions before she outed herself as a sexual deviant. And calm your horses, Jesus. I can hear your heartbeat from here.” At that last part, he tilts his head to look down at her, all smiles and electric blue eyes. “I didn’t save you from those vultures only to drop you to your death now, Sunshine.”

No, she almost says. She’s not afraid. She’s angry. She’s furious and disgusted and hateful. Except – She bites her tongue, hard, and kills that thought in the root. “I’d like to get home, then.”

His smile freezes. “But of course.” His voice is cutting again, haughty. “Hold on tight.”

She swallows, redistributes her weight to rest more securely against his chest. The angle is awkward, she presses her knees together and clenches her fists in her skirt.

“I said,” pressed through those porcelain-gleaming teeth. “Hold on tight, Darling. This might be a little uncomfortable otherwise.”

She exhales through her nose and puts her hand on his shoulder, turns her face into his chest. Shoulders drawn up, she closes her eyes and presses closer, pushes herself tightly against him. Then, everything is a rush of wind and ozone. It barely takes a second, but it feels like she presses her forehead into his warm-hard chest for ages, stomach in knots and heartbeat hammering, the leather of his glove skin-warm against her thigh.

Then, suddenly, he halts, abruptly enough that his cape whips around them. It contrasts with how gentle he lands on her balcony, boots barely clicking on marble.

Relief floods her, sudden and violently. She straightens a little, uses her hand on his shoulder to try and pull herself up so she can climb out of his arms, but his grip on her tightens. She blinks, turns her head to look at him.  

He meets her eye, gold and tan and ice-blue. When he speaks up, his voice is gentle and quiet, a secret. “You know, you could thank me. I mean, I did save you back there.”

At first, she’s frozen in place, staring up at him. From what?, she almost asks. From the innocent civilians doing their jobs? From a situation you put me in yourself? Anger rises in her throat, her pulse hammers against her throat.

She tries to think of Alex, of Hughie. Of the reporter with her lipstick-sticky smile. Her stomach is in knots.

She looks up into his eyes. Under her palm, she can feel the warmth of his chest. “Thank you.”

#this feels as if all it'd take would be a tad more details and it could work as a proper fic chapter #[homelander voice] hashtag homelight! #the boys s3 #drabble #starlander #in fact - it could easily be ch3 of the hoodie verse I'm working on #I even gave it an alternative ending for that exact reason #but for now it's a little standalone drabble <3 #She was so scared in the business lunch one but I feel like there's much more to her #but also! I think once she'd get ANGRY at him she'd be on that slippery slope you know? watch out girlie!!! don't think about that chest! #ALSO!!!!! important question: what do YOU think was going on in his head here?! #because it could be simple jealousy over the fact that he’s not landing it home :| it could also be pure annoyance & stress. it could be — #a GENUINE interest in her - he keeps picking up that she’s uneasy after all. but maybe it’s just wounded pride. his weird morals. etc. #super fascinating to me to think about. I’m writing something from his pov rn and he’s soooo fun AH!!!! #love my little man.