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homewell-propaganda · 6 months

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Kicking off Cozy Corner Kinktober with the “weirdest shit first” principle. But this whole series will probably be weird. Most of these will be rated E. Heed pairings, warnings. Er… enjoy? If you feel inclined?

Prompt #22: Tentacles.

Marionette (Homewell)

Warnings: very much dubcon, horror elements I suppose, and um, tentacles. Canon divergence at S1E8. AO3 link.

She wakes up feeling groggy, extremely drugged up. “I can’t feel my legs,” she mumbles when she sees the overhead lights and some people in surgical masks above her.

Homelander pushes them out of the way and comes into her view, stroking her face. “You’re awake,” he says quietly, worriedly, and god, are those tears welling up in his eyes? It’s not that she hasn’t seen him cry before, but she can’t think of a time when he’s cried over her. She must be in pretty bad shape.

“Where’s Teddy?” she asks, in spite of herself, knowing it’s not what he wants to hear, but she can’t help it. It’s the foremost thing in her mind right now.

His expression hardens a little bit, but he answers. “Teddy’s fine. He wasn’t harmed.”

“You saved him?” she asks breathlessly.

“Yes,” Homelander answers stonily. “Yeah, I got both of you out, but I couldn’t get the stuff off of you quick enough. You got pretty injured.”

She doesn’t care. When that deranged psychopath intruder decided to set off the C4 around her body she had zero hopes of surviving. Her last anguished thought was about whether Teddy, who was sleeping peacefully in his crib upstairs would be hit by the explosion, or even if he wasn’t close enough that perhaps the entire house would come crashing down.

“But Teddy’s not injured? He’s alright?”

“Yes, he’s completely unharmed,” Homelander reassures her. Then pauses before adding, “Yes, I got him out unscathed.”

She’s marketed Homelander as a hero for over two decades now, but this is the first time she believes the hype. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I love you. You’re so incredible.” She’s crying. Some of it is from the pain that’s starting to assert itself through the fog of the drugs, but she’s overjoyed.

“Madelyn, you need to– you’ve been really injured,” he says, those tears back again. “You’re technically on life support right now.”

She tries to nod in understanding, but she can’t really move her head. She can’t see anything but one of the lights above her isn’t on and she can see her distorted reflection in it. Her face is bandaged up. Her body is bandaged up, and looks like it’s not even whole. But it wouldn’t really surprise her.

“Madelyn, I’m going to do everything I can to save you, alright? Just don’t… just don’t die on me.” He looks so devastated. She wishes she had her hands at her disposal (does she even still have her hands?) to cup his cheek reassuringly.

“I’ll try not to,” she says. “I don’t want to leave you all alone.”

Homelander sniffs back tears and disappears from her line of sight, but she can sense that he’s buried his face somewhere near her body on the hospital bed, and she can hear his crying, muffled in his arms. She hears someone come in and vaguely hears that they’re upping the morphine and falls back into an uneasy sleep.

~~~

She dreams many things in her sleep, awful things, painful things. It’s to the point where she wonders whether she woke up at all. Perhaps this is one long journey to death and her brain is giving her what feels like a long ride on the way out. But it’s not like her life flashing before her eyes. She starts out not feeling her body much at all, and then it starts to feel like she’s growing back into it. But it’s painful, incredibly painful, like searing burning and prickling pain. She hears people discussing her care, she can pick out Homelander’s voice among the cacophony of different unfamiliar voices, and though she can barely comprehend the words, knowing he’s there somewhere in her hospital room is reassuring.

~~~

She opens her eyes and sees a different ceiling above her. She draws a breath and happily notes that she can actually feel her body now, and it’s not all pain. She flexes her fingers open and closed. She’s definitely weak, but she can move. She can turn her head too, and look toward a window that has sunlight streaming through it.

“Madelyn!” she hears from the other side and turns her head to see her favorite hero quickly step closer to her bedside. “How do you feel?”

“Much better,” she says, although her voice still sounds crackly, maybe from disuse. She had no idea how long she was out. “I can feel everything again.”

She raises her hand tentatively and touches her own face. There are no bandages there. “Didn’t I get burned?”

Homelander’s smile is indulgent– she knows it well, it’s the one he puts on for the lucky few children in the death ward of Memorial Sloan Kettering who made a wish to see him and the scheduling worked out. So she grows apprehensive. “What- what happened to me, where am I?”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he reassures her, maybe realizing that she knows him too well to be indulged with anything less than the truth. “You’re in Vought Tower.” Of course. She should have recognized those diagonal mullions on the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“They released me?”

Homelander hesitates. There’s something he’s not saying.

“Homelander.” As she begins to get voice back, she’s able to assume a more imperative tone with him.

“Okay, I just- I just don’t want you to get angry,” he says and his eyes look askance.

“What’s the matter, what did you do? Where’s Teddy?” A thousand wild thoughts suddenly run through her head, thoughts that make no sense– that they somehow used Teddy, maybe even killed Teddy to restore her. She doesn’t trust Homelander with Teddy, even if he did save him from the explosion. She has an instinctual fear of having Teddy out of her sight when Homelander is involved. “What did you do to him?”

“What?” Homelander asks, making a sour face. “No, Teddy’s fine! Teddy’s here in the Tower too, down on the daycare floor. What do you think I am? That I wouldn’t make sure he’s watched after?”

“I’m sorry,” she says, realizing how paranoid she sounds. “I just- haven’t seen him. Please, can I… Can I just hold him?”

“Yeah, not a problem,” Homelander says dismissively. “No what I wanted to tell you, but I think you might get angry, is that Mount Sinai gave up on you. Said you’d be on life support for the rest of your life, at best. Said you might even die of the burns and organ damage eventually. So I carried you out of there and took you to the Vought doctors like I should have done in the first place.”

“Did you inject me with Compound V?” she asks. Why would she be angry about this? They administered it in a way that she survived. They restored her back to life, and now she’d actually see Teddy and hold him in her arms.

“Are you angry with me?” Homelander asks and maybe her vision is still a little blurry but he looks so young when he says it– head tilting as if he’s wincing at giving her the news.

“No, my darling, why would I be angry?” She opens her arms and he leans down awkwardly to be embraced by her but taking care not to place any of his weight on her chest. “Thank you for finding a way to save me.”

He’s beaming by the time she releases her arms and he rises. “You know,” and she can tell he’s smug about something. “I only knew how to up the chances of successfully doing that because of the stuff I learned with the Middle East experiments.”

She didn’t scold him when he first told her the night of her promotion, and she sure wasn’t about to now either. “Thank you. You’re wonderful. You know, you should share what you learned with the people working on this at Sage Grove.”

“Fuck’em.” Homelander huffs. “They’re just going to take the credit. I did what they couldn’t. There’s only one person I don’t mind taking credit for my accomplishments, Madelyn.”

She nods tiredly. She may have physically recovered, but her head’s not fully back in the intra-Vought machinations game. “You’re right, thank you, sweetie. You’ve always helped me so much.”

He beams again. “We make a great team.”

Something occurs to her. “Did you give me a full dose? Did I get some super ability?”

Homelander shrugs. “We’re not sure. You were mostly out for the count until now. I haven’t seen anything yet, but doesn’t mean you won’t notice it later on.”

She nods and hesitates to ask the next question, but she has to. It’s starting to kill her. “Darling, could I please see Teddy? He must miss his mama.” She takes care to put the emphasis on Teddy’s needs and not make it sound like she’s the one desperate to see her child.

Homelander’s smile fades a little, but then he raises his brows and starts nodding as if she’s asking for something trivial. “Of course. I’ll bring him up myself.”

“Thank you,” she says, keeping her voice even and smiling amiably, even though the thought of Homelander holding her child in his arms makes her deeply uncomfortable. She can’t let on that that’s how she feels, that she can see how pathologically jealous he is of her attention when Teddy’s in the room, that she wants him as far away from Teddy as possible.

~~~

Nobody at Vought seems to really have a grasp on how or why specific powers develop in particular individuals. Madelyn wonders if the many times she lamented only having two hands while trying to hold Teddy, wipe his spittle, grab her diaper bag, put a ziploc of animal crackers into it, put his hat on to protect him from the sun, and lock her door behind her led to her predicament.

Her power manifests about a week after she’s up and about, and about two days after she’s back in the office as if nothing happened to her. She doesn’t want any of that sorry business to jeopardize her promotion. Most people, even higherups at Vought, only heard that she had been the victim of a home robbery that ended with the perpetrator detonating himself. The news had never reported that she had very nearly died in that explosion.

Her powers manifest while she’s struggling to change Teddy on the Koala Kare plastic foldout changing table in the bathroom. Teddy had a toy he was chewing on and then suddenly decided to fling it away. Before she could even process that the toy would land on the dirty bathroom floor and she’d have to wash it thoroughly and maybe disinfect it, a tentacle whipped out of her torso and caught the toy in mid-air. She stared at it aghast, not immediately understanding that it was her body that this appendage was coming from. She took the toy back with her hand cautiously and waited for the tentacle to slowly recede and somehow disappear back into her body. Her smartly cut business shirt was ripped though. She had to put a jacket over it in her office. This wasn’t exactly the superability she’d have wished for, but it could have been worse, she supposed. The question was, was this just one tentacle she could whip out? How much control would she have over this? She wasn’t keen on having anyone know about the state of her body. There was only one person she could really turn to for guidance.

She has no interest in testing this at her workplace. She drives home, and arranges for Teddy to spend the night at the babysitter’s house, sits down with a glass of wine to settle her nerves, and is about to text Homelander a rare invite to come over when she hears him already landing on the roof.

“You left work early,” he says, a distinct note of concern in his tone.

“Yes, darling, I was just about to invite you over, actually. I need your help with something. Have a seat.”

He sits down in an armchair, taking care to move his cape to the side, and leans forward with keen interest, waving dismissively when she offers him a glass of wine. She recounts what happened, and how she can’t summon the weird appendage back out, but she’s pretty sure she needs motivation. Homelander seems excited by all of this. Maybe it’s because she’s finally infused with Compound V, and it’s another form of intimacy between them, who knows. He goes to the kitchen and brings back dinner plates.

“Just stand there and hold one of these in each hand,” he instructs her. Just when she’s about to ask what he intends to have her do he flings another dinner plate just past her. Her body freezes in apprehension, but sure enough the tentacle whips out and catches the third plate.

“HaHA!” Homelander is giddy with glee, even clapping once in triumph at having figured it out. “That’s amazing. Works like a charm.”

She’s annoyed but can’t argue with his method. Now that she has the attention to study the tentacle, she finds herself repulsed that this is part of her body. It’s flesh colored, but with suckers that are darker, like small human lips in fact. It’s thick, muscular and fleshy, and triggers her fear of snakes a little bit.

“It’s so ugly,” she whispers. Then she notices the tentacle whipped out on the other side of her body this time. It’s the second shirt she’s ruined today. She unbuttons it and casts it off once the tentacle has retracted into her. She keeps her bra on, but Homelander stares anyway.

He approaches her, cupping her face and kisses her. “It’s not that ugly,” he murmurs when he pulls away for a moment. “I’m glad you’re a supe now too.” He seems to be genuine because he goes right back to kissing her, greedily, intensely, but she enjoys it well enough. She’s not sure what’s happening when she suddenly feels not one but two tentacles sprouting somewhere out of her torso. They seem to have a mind of their own but she can also feel things through them as they twine themselves around Homelander’s wrists and up his arms. It’s a very strange sensation.

He pulls back and laughs, watching as the tentacles pull his wrists back from around her. “They’re fucking strong!”

“Still think they’re not ugly?” she asks, raising a brow, watching as two more tentacles emerge from her and head down to wrap around his ankles, even as he smiles and shakes his head. She’s sure he’s not actually immobilized if he tried fighting back against them, but she watches as her tentacles actually lift him off the floor– something she couldn’t dream of being able with her own arms even after this Compound V injection.

He looks at the four tentacles raising him up, creeping and twisting around, locking his elbows and knees, still smiling, although his eyes betray a little uncertainty. “Wow, how many do you have?”

She’s not sure why her body is instinctively responding like this. She can’t exactly control these appendages– they seem to operate independently of her own mind– but she also can’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction. In many ways, this is what she wants to do with him– keep him in check, control his movements, treat him like the fucking marionette he was bred to be.

He doesn’t seem to protest. A fifth tentacle appears. She’s as curious to watch where this one will end up going as Homelander is. It approaches his body slowly, pausing in front of him before poking him at the waist.

“Madelyn… hey, Madelyn…?” Homelander’s eyes flicker to the tentacle and her face. “What are you…”

“I don’t have control over them,” Madelyn says woodenly, a bit mesmerized as she watches the tentacle insinuate itself down his pants and then drag them down his thighs, the sound of threads ripping because they weren’t undone. It’s strong fabric. It shouldn’t be ripping this easily.

“Madelyn,” Homelander says sternly, probably upset that his suit is taking a hit. He jerks his arm in an attempt to free himself, and she cries out, feeling a sharp pain in an appendage she didn’t know she had until today.

“What?” he asks, concerned.

“It hurts when you fight against them,” she says, gritting her teeth.

“I thought you said you can’t control them…?” he asks, sounding sheepish about having hurt her.

“I can’t control them but I can feel them. And I can feel you too,” she says, and the last words make his cheeks color slightly. The tentacle tugging his pants and underwear stops when they’re at mid-thigh and travels back up, easily seeking out and wrapping around Homelander’s half-hard cock.

“Fuck!” he moans, jerking at the sensation.

Another couple of tentacles reach out for him, reaching into his suit flap and carefully unwrapping him until his whole front is uncovered from beneath the layers of blue and red. The tentacles attach themselves, flat side to his chest. She can’t really see, but she guesses one of these mouth-suckers would fit right over his nipple. If she concentrates, she can actually feel the tentacles seal over and somehow suck his nipples in. He bucks and arches at the sensation, but the tentacles keep him in place as best as they can, and he doesn’t fight against them, probably afraid that it’s going to cause her pain if he does.

“Madelyn, please…” he keens.

“Please what?” she asks, genuinely curious what he’s pleading for at this point, given how she feels his cock throbbing inside of one of her tentacles.

“I just…” he tries to say something. “What are you…”

“You feel so good. And your body’s so pretty like this,” she says. It’s not even calculated to get him to be docile, but she feels him go limp and submissive in her grasp. She’s trying to get control of these things. She wants to feel control and feel that’s the one holding him and twisting him however she wants. She wants more tentacles.

More tentacles emerge, as if on demand. The ones holding him raise his body up like some sacrificial victim, and he looks the part– panting, red faced, his suit partially undone and hanging off his body. The tentacles unclip his cape– it’s as if they’re becoming more deft with each motion– and she starts wondering if she is getting some level of control over them. After they lay the cape down gingerly on the floor, Madelyn wonders if she can really direct them. The two tentacles travel up to his body. She turns and maneuvers him to get the view she wants, ass facing her, legs pulled apart as far as the uniform pants will allow, each tentacle attaching to an asscheek spreading him open.

“M-Madelyn, I don’t want…” he starts protesting, but very quickly another tentacle emerges and slides towards his face, pushing itself between his lips and jaw when he tries to say what it is that he doesn’t want.

He tries to say something else, but all that she can hear is “Mm-mmm-hmm-hmm”.

“Don’t bite,” she admonishes him when she feels his teeth sinking in, and he obeys and opens wider, even as she shoves the tentacle further back into his throat.

“Darling, don’t ruin this moment, just relax,” she says when she feels how tense his body has gotten in her grip. She finally pushes a tentacle into him from the back, enjoying the muffled noises he makes and the squirming he’s probably trying to minimize.

She holds him suspended in the air like that for quite a while, not feeling any real fatigue. The poor dear reaches orgasm a handful of times– she wasn’t counting carefully. All she really has to do is move the tentacle around his dick ever so slightly. There’s always been very little refractory period in his body, and he seems to be perpetually turned on while being held in this bizarre bondage.

She sits and finishes her glass of wine, turning him when she gets bored of one particular view.

He must be enjoying it at some level, eyes clouded over– you could almost mistake it for sleepiness, but she knows this look. He drifts into some kind of childlike mental state when she hits certain triggers for him. But his eyes are also welling up with tears. Maybe it’s actually painful to have those thick tentacles stuck down his throat and up his ass. Maybe he’s getting desperate for oxygen, because he probably hasn’t been able to breathe with the tentacle down his throat. Or maybe– more likely– it’s the indignity of it that’s getting to him. She needs to give him something.

“Look how much Mommy loves you. I don’t even want to let you go, want to make sure you’re so well taken care of– your whole body. You like being full of Mommy?”

He nods weakly.

“You’ve been so good– saved Mommy. I’m so grateful that I have such a good boy to always help me out.”

He inhales deeply and closes his eyes before opening them again, and looking at her.

“You look so delicious. No one else will get to see you like this. Only me. Isn’t that right?”

He nods along, eyes rolling back and thighs trembling when she moves the tentacle behind him in and out a few times to underscore her words.

#trying to revive the propaganda blog #what's better for that than tentacle p*rn???#fic rec!#my faves

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homewell-propaganda · 7 months

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Homewell all of them. 😉

Or if i have to choose: pre 1,2; Gen 4; love 2; domestic 8

PRE-RELATIONSHIP

How did they first meet?

While Homelander was still in the lab, shortly before his debut. Madelyn was still working on her career inside the company, and someone tipped her off about Homelander and that he would be rolled out to the public soon. A mentor of hers indicated this new "super-supe" would need someone to manage him, and she could fill that role, so she took a trip to the lab to see what she was getting herself into. They didn't really interact much, she just watched him demonstrate some of his powers, and he introduced himself to her (as a form of lab-supervised practice in social interaction).

2. What was their first impression of each other?

He pretty much developed a crush right away and beat himself up for stuttering during his self-intro. She was actually pretty impressed by his powers, recognized the opportunity and then spent the next couple of months positioning herself so that she would become the one managing him.

3. Did any of their friends or family want them to get together?

I'm going to not be cruel to either character by commenting on the false premise of the question and simply say: No.

4. Who felt romantic feelings first?

Homelander

5. Did either of them try to resist their feelings?

Madelyn would have shut down any kinds of feelings

6. If you had told one of them that the other would be their soulmate, what would they think?

I could see HL buying into that.

7. What would their lives be like if they had never met?

Madelyn would be alive. Homelander would have still been very messed up in the head because of how he was raised, but not meeting her would have removed one layer of fucked-upness from his life.

GENERAL

Who initiated the relationship, and how did it go?

Madelyn after noticing he HL had a crush on her. Homelander would not have dared to make a move. She also kept him in a state of uncertainty about their relationship, handing affection out as a reward.

2. Did they have an official first date? If so, what was it like?

Yes, as one of their practice sessions teaching HL how to navigate the world outside the lab. Something like this.

3. What was their first kiss like?

A strategic reward, and a big surprise for him.

4. Were they each other’s first anything (kiss, relationship, etc.)?

All firsts for him.

5. What’s their height difference? Age difference?

Age difference, 15-20 years??? Something like that. I don't think we ever get her actual precise age in canon.

6. What’s their relationship with each other’s families?

The only member of her family he's ever met is Teddy.

7. Who takes the lead in social situations?

Madelyn

8. Who gets jealous easier?

Homelander, but he actually makes an effort not to show it.

9. Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear?

Madelyn, to fuck with him.

LOVE

Who said “I love you” first?

Homelander. And then he felt very silly and hated himself when she couldn't get herself to say it back.

2. What are their primary love languages?

For him: getting her expensive things, flowers, stuff he would have learned about through movies and books.

For her: giving him attention

3. Who uses cheesy pick-up lines?

HL might have tried one later during their non-relationship relationship.

4. How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA?

Cuddle: sometimes when she initiates. No real PDA except very discrete ones.

5. Who initiates kisses?

Madelyn

6. Who’s the big and little spoon?

Not something they do, but I guess resting your head in someone's lap makes you the little spoon??

7. What are their favorite things to do together?

For HL: Any kind of time spent with her

For Madelyn: In better times, I think she enjoyed his adoration and knowing she had complete power over him.

8. Who’s better at comforting the other?

Madelyn because she knows what he wants to hear.

9. Who’s more protective?

Homelander is very protective of her, but she did watch out for him in the company and made sure he ended up in his leadership position in the Seven.

10. Do they prefer verbal or physical affection?

Both!

11. What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?

Same answer as the other day: Mutter and Demon Kitty Rag

12. What kind of nicknames do they call each other?

They don't have nicknames for each other.

13. Who remembers the little things?

Homelander

DOMESTIC LIFE

If they get married, who proposes?

They don't get married. She doesn't want to, and he would never dare to propose (much less after she didn't reciprocate his 'I love you')

2. What’s the wedding like? Who attends?

N/A

3. How many kids do they have, if any? What are they like?

No kids

4. Do they have any pets?

He's her pet cat.

5. Who’s the stricter parent?

N/A

6. Who worries the most?

Actually both roughly in equal parts, but about very different things

7. Who kills the bugs in the house?

Homelander with his lasers to show off

8. How do they celebrate holidays?

Each by themselves, alone. She usually works from home to distract herself. He sends her a formal card by mail and then keeps thinking about maybe texting her on top of that on the holiday itself to wish her a happy X again, but never does. :(

#headcanons

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homewell-propaganda · 8 months

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25 for homewell? 👀

25- Write about your ship bathing or swimming together.

"Want to join me?"

Her body is submerged in the water, only her head peeking out from between the soft silvery bubbles. There's a smile on her face, and he tries to focus on that. Perhaps she's not mad at him. (Her heart is beating a little fast, but it almost always does. It doesn't have to mean anything.)

When she caught him, he expected to be scolded. Instead, she asked him to open the door to her bathroom and come inside, forced him to look her in the eyes.

And now, this.

"There’s enough room for both of us."

She's looking at him expectantly, but his mind is blank. Nothing exists except her eyes, her smile, her voice, her breath, her angry heartbeat. He looks down, shuffles his feet, tries and fails yet again to come up with a response.

This is another test, he knows, one of those that are impossible to pass because he does not understand the rules. Of course he is supposed to refuse, but will she sit him down later and analyze each minute detail, pointing out where he went wrong, which unspoken social rules he broke this time? Of course she will. Everything is always a test with her.

The books he's read won't help him here, and neither will the movies he's watched, not even the etiquette guides she's given him to read. There's nothing he can think of that covers how to behave when you've been trapped like this.

How does she always manage to get him into these types of situations?

Don't worry, she says, her heartbeat still contradicting her words: I'm not mad at you, and he wonders if that is a test, too, what exactly it is that she wants him to apologize for.

I may have broken something, is all he can think of. It was what gave him away. I'm sorry, he says, I'll go clean it up. The words sound clumsy, incoherent, helpless, stupid. She'll think he's stupid.

Her smile is widening; he can sense the muscles on her face contract. No need, she says, I'll take care of it later.

When he raises his eyes a little, he realizes he can see through the walls of the tub, but the water is distorting the shape of her body. He was vaguely aware he couldn't see through water the way he could see through her walls, her desk, her clothes, but he always assumed that was because whenever he tried he was under water himself.

Disappointment mixes with relief.

She notices his gaze, and all he wants is to reassure her that he's not spying on her, that she's safe in the water even from his eyes, but would it really be reassuring to tell her that he looked, if only by accident? (Don't pierce my clothes, I'll know if you do, she told him in their first year, and he almost never does, not when he's in her line of vision at least.)

It was an accident, he says. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Perhaps if he keeps repeating those words, she'll take pity on him and tell him what exactly he has to do, how he can make it up to her.

Take off your clothes, she says, more demanding now. I want you to join me. Don't make me come out of the water.

Everything is a blur as he peels off his gloves before slipping out of his suit.

She's watching him as he folds it and places it on the toilet seat. Somehow taking off his suit top feels a lot stranger than slipping out of his briefs; she's seen him naked below the waist a few times before but never above. Even if he tried to cover his chest, she would still see his shoulders, his arms.

"Come."

One arm emerges from the water, beckoning him closer. There's a smell of alcohol on her breath; her glass by the side of the tub is almost empty. It feels wrong, misplaced; she never drinks when she's with him at the Tower.

But they aren't at the Tower.

He carefully steps into the water, grabbing the side of the tub as if his life depended on it. Her eyes are still on him, so he quickly lowers himself into the water, comforted by the protection it offers; she, too, can't see him underneath layers of bubbles and water.

His head is spinning as she pulls him towards her until his body rests against hers, wrapping her arms around his chest.

I'm sorry- he starts again, but she shushes him and draws him closer, nuzzling her face against his neck.

Don't forget to breathe, she says, or perhaps it's just her constant voice talking in his head again; this keeps happening. Doesn't matter. He takes a deep breath as he sinks a little deeper into the water, closing his eyes and resting his head on her shoulder.

She takes a handful of bubble foam and rubs it into his hair and on his nose until they both have to giggle.

Oh, what am I going to with you, she says, her voice almost sleepy now, but her heart has calmed down and her breathing has slowed.

It takes Homelander a while before he understands that she's neither angry nor afraid nor even displeased by him.

She is fully at ease, and that is the most beautiful realization he has had all day.

#fic #self rb

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homewell-propaganda · 8 months

Note

Soft OTP prompts: #12 for pre-canon Homewell (kind of thinking about your hc that during his media-slash-being-normal-in-public training Madelyn was the one tasked with some of it)

<333 Can be as short and/or unstructured as you like. I'll take rambling hcs too!

12- Write about your ship going somewhere new together for the first time.

What are we?

“You can’t hold my hand like that.”

He looks at her, confused but not quite ready to let go of her yet.

It takes a moment until he has sufficiently collected himself to respond.

“Why not?”

The grip around her fingers tightens. He’s taken off his gloves, so it’s skin on skin, but it feels like she's locked in a vise.

This is going to be delicate business. Homelander doesn’t handle criticism well, no matter how gently it is delivered, and there’s a personal dimension to this now.

“You introduced me as your mother, remember?”

That doesn’t have the effect she was hoping it would. If anything, he seems more confused now, eyes blinking rapidly.

“But you suggested that I-”

Madelyn suppresses a sigh. When she told him he was ready to go to a restaurant with her, he got a little too excited, so she did suggest he introduce her as his mother precisely to keep any excessive displays of affection at bay.

“Of course,” she says, “There's nothing wrong with that. But holding hands is something you would do with your girlfriend. Mothers and sons don’t hold hands like that. You have to be consistent, you see? If you introduce me as your mother, you have to treat me like your mother.”

“Oh.” Homelander finally lets go of her hand. “I see.”

Madelyn isn't convinced he fully understands what the problem is. She'll have to explain it again, maybe pick a movie they can watch together that will show the difference. She'll think of one.

For now, she's glad she has her hand back. It feels numb and tingles as she kneads it back to life, but there's going to be no permanent damage.

Homelander is watching her rubbing her wrist, that vaguely terrified look in his eyes that he always gets when he thinks he may have accidentally hurt her.

“It's okay,” she tells him, “everything is okay.” But she's glad when the waiter interrupts them to take their order.

She's bought out the restaurant for the night. All the other 'guests' work for Vought, and the staff have been paid well for their discretion.

Homelander knows this, but it's the first time they're doing this little exercise outside of the Tower, and his voice shakes as he orders for both of them (Vought insists on raising him old school).

Still, he does a much better job than last time, properly conveying her order and picking a perfectly acceptable dish for himself. (The first time they did this, he ordered himself a slice of chocolate cake as his main course and almost cried when Madelyn told him he couldn't have that.)

She pats his arm. “You learn so fast.”

He's beaming at her praise, but it doesn't take long until that look is replaced again by the slight frown that tells her something is still bothering him.

“What is it?”

He hesitates, like he always does when he worries she might judge him or think he is stupid. “You’re not my real mother,” he finally says. “Just my pretend mother... Is that why I can’t hold your hand? Is it because we're... less real, and they know?”

His eyes look suspiciously glossy.

“No. No. Oh, God no,” she says. “No, that's not why. It's just that mothers and sons don't touch each other like that.”

He looks up and locks eyes with her. “We do though,” he says softly. “We do.”

Madelyn sighs. She's always known that mixing her roles would come at a price one day. You see, Vought told her, Homelander wants a mother as much as he wants a lover. Maybe this would be easier if you gave him what he wants.

She's given him tiny pieces of both, whichever role best fit her purpose at a given time. Of course, she’s explained to him that they’re just playing pretend, but the truth is, she’s not sure Homelander fully understands what that means, and Vought's advice has been utterly unhelpful for teaching him the nuances of social interaction.

“Yes,” she says. “We sometimes do things that ordinary mothers and sons don't do. It's because you're special. But you can't-”

“I can't touch you in public,” Homelander finishes her sentence. “Because you're not my girlfriend. Because you're not my real girlfriend... But you're also not my real mother.”

He's hesitating again, and his voice is dangerously low as he asks the question he's been meaning to ask: “But then what are we?”

There's a nontrivial chance things are going to go sideways from here and she's going to have to start this lesson all over again, something she can't afford on the tight schedule Vought has given her.

And so she smiles as she takes his hand. “You are the greatest super hero in the world. And I'm here to help you with some of that burden. The truth is, we can be anything we want to be. But other people aren't as special. Their minds are small, and there are things they won't understand. So sometimes, when we are outside, we have to act in certain ways because if we show them what we truly are, we might scare them.”

He's familiar with those words, she's used them hundreds of times before to explain to him why he can't do, say or ask certain things in public. She's never applied them to their relationship though.

Still, they work their magic. Homelander is nodding, perhaps relishing the words in his head, a small, conspiratorial smile on his lips.

“I understand.”

She knows he's truly understood when he withdraws his hand unprompted the moment the waiter returns with their wine. He smiles with newfound confidence when he's offered a taste, and sips it without making a face before nodding approvingly and telling the waiter to pour them more.

“Here's to us,” Madelyn says, raising her glass. “I think you're ready to go to a real restaurant next time.”

#fic #self rb

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homewell-propaganda · 8 months

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I'm a weirdo who doesn't do playlists, but I can add these two:

Katzenjammer: Demon Kitty Rag

youtube

Rammstein: Mutter (gonna promote my Mother's Day Homewell edit while we're at it)

youtube

Hey, Homewell enthusiasts, I know some of you must have some juicy recs for songs you associate with this pairing. Any genre, any mood. Although I did purposely omit Older Women because I have a limit and that limit to casual listening is country music, apparently. Also Lonely Island’s Motherlover is disqualified.

@homewell-propaganda ?

Anyway, here’s my sparse list thus far

Spotify

#homewell radio #playlists #to be continued #Youtube

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homewell-propaganda · 10 months

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This scene is doing things to me

#gifs

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homewell-propaganda · 10 months

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~Homelander~

You can guess which one is you and which one is him✨☺️

#rbing to the propaganda blog because yeah #very much a homewell dynamic lol

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homewell-propaganda · 10 months

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Look at him 🥺

A redraw from this scene that made my parental instincts go off👇

#art #s1e2

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homewell-propaganda · 11 months

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Internal Affairs (Homewell)

i've been wanting to write Homewell for ages, but was having a hard time deciding exactly what i what i wanted to write, but then this idea hit me today. i ended up banging it out in a single morning, and i'm pretty happy with it! i enjoyed getting into Madelyn's head a bit. also, @xieyaohuan is 100% to blame for this. thank you for being the Homewell champion!

Summary: 18+ 2.3k homelander x madelyn. bottomlander. sublander. fingering. After Homelander and Maeve’s very public breakup, Homelander’s ego is wounded. Despite being talked into viewing the breakup as his idea by Madelyn, the rejection has left him stung and irritable. Because of this, Madelyn finds herself dealing with him storming into her office more than twice as often, pent up in every imaginable way.

She decides to take matters into her own hands, and relieve some of that stress. For both their sakes.

The knock to her office door barely counts as a formality anymore. By the time Madelyn gets halfway through her invitation of “Come in,” Homelander is already through the door, shutting it behind him. He’s wearing the same pinched expression he has been for the last week and a half, his lips pursed, brows furrowed. She bites back a sigh, bracing her hands on the edge of her desk.

“Have you seen The Source headline today?” He asks her, bristled and petulant.

“I have not,” Madelyn answers, pensively tapping her fingers on the underside of her desk. “Is there a problem?”

“Yes,” he hisses, stepping towards her desk, though he maintains an undercurrent of respect in the distance he keeps, even in his upset. “Maeve Moving On? It’s been a week, Madelyn! A week, and she’s gallivanting around like she’s Nicole Kidman post divorce. Like she’s celebrating,” he says, spitting the word like it’s something vile. “This is not what we discussed.”

“The tabloids will talk. That’s what they do,” she answers in her best soothing, placating tone. “It’s alright. Maeve has an interview with VNN this week. We’ll address the rumors then, and she can put them to bed.”

Homelander scoffs. “Please. The only thing she’s putting to bed is every Tom, Dick and Jane that catches her eye. She’s out of control, Madelyn. You need to talk to her. It’s not just her image on the line, alright? It’s mine, too. And the Sevens!” He says, pointedly tapping a gloved finger on her desk. Righteous anger is easier to wear than the petty, wounded state of his pride.

“I hear you. You’re right,” she says, standing from her seat. That causes him to straighten up, his hands falling to his sides. “Maeve’s out of control,” she echoes him, watching the way her validation loosens some of the tension from his expression. “I will talk to her. Make sure she’s up on all of her talking points.”

Though his jaw is still tight, Homelander nods curtly. In a perfect world, that would be enough. He would accept what she told him, his upset would be soothed, and he would leave her office in peace. Instead, he remains there as if rooted in place, his hands in tight fists by his sides. It isn’t enough, and if she’s being honest, Madelyn knew it wouldn’t be.

Ultimately, the tabloids have nothing to do with his upset. Homelander has dealt with the ups and downs of publicity his entire life, and this isn’t the first time his relationship with Maeve has been covered in a less than positive light. No, he doesn’t care about any of that. His split with Maeve has left him with a void he doesn’t know how to fill. That would be true no matter how Madelyn spun the situation in his favor.

She supposes it couldn’t have lasted forever. Maeve had been by no means an excellent accomplice in maintaining Homelander, but at the very least she had been effective. If she was going to keep the hero under her thumb, she was going to have to take a more hands on approach, and pick up Maeve’s newly loosened slack.

Madelyn smiles warmly, and lifts a hand to beckon him to her. “Come over here.”

Homelander blinks owlishly, visibly caught off guard. Perhaps he had expected to be dismissed, still broiling with unresolved misery and newfound loneliness. Tentatively, he crosses the invisible threshold Madelyn maintains between them, eying her with equal parts curiosity and wariness. He makes his way around her desk, but stops before moving behind it. His hands fold demurely in front of him.

She beckons him again, urging him closer. “It’s okay. All the way.”

His throat bobs as he swallows his hesitance, nodding. He steps closer, and Madelyn rolls her chair all the way back to the wall, opening up the space behind her desk. Once he’s close enough, she puts her hand on his forearm. “I’m sorry that she hurt you,” she says quietly, watching his expression slowly smooth out until he looks young and vulnerable. It takes very little from her to get him to this point.

She’s made sure of that.

“Breakups are hard, and they’re lonely,” she says. She strings together specific words, ones she knows will disarm him, with all the care of a jeweler crafting the perfect series of gems in a necklace. “You’re so strong. Anyone else would have crumbled by now.”

“Not me,” he says, an attempt to coax more of those pretty, sparkling words from her.

“No,” she agrees, smoothing her hand up and down his arm in short strokes, “Not you. Not my very best hero.”

His lips twitch in an almost smile, but it falters. His gaze drops to her hand on his arm, following the back and forth flow of it. There is familiar, barely contained longing in his expression. Through their time together, she has been careful to microdose him with these affections, feeding him just enough to ensure that he neither starves, nor grows bored. Either would be deeply dangerous.

However, every so often, she acknowledges that there must be something more dangling from the stick than a morsel. There must be the lurking possibility of a feast, or he will lose interest regardless.

Madelyn takes hold of his wrist, and gives a gentle pull. He looks back up at her with all the tentative curiosity of a wild animal. She maintains her nurturing smile, and asks him, “Do you trust me?”

He only nods, which tells her that, mentally and emotionally, he’s exactly where she needs him.

“Good,” she says, dragging the word out, letting it wash over him. “Come here. Put your hands on the desk,” she instructs, barely above a whisper. He casts her one lingering, uncertain glance before his curiosity and obedience win out. He bends slightly to flatten his palms to her desk, eyes trained on the grain of the wood.

Madelyn steps forward, her skirt brushing against his cape, and reaches around him. She deftly undoes the mechanism of his belt, and hooks her thumbs into the waistband of his pants. He sucks in a sharp, exhilarated breath as she pushes them down to his mid thighs. Without all the ridiculous padding of the suit, he feels much less unwieldy beneath her palms. She slides them up his outer thighs like she might touch the flank of a horse so as not to spook it, keeping her touch confident and smooth.

Homelander has always had a distinctly sterile scent to him, and impeccable hygiene. She has no doubt that the frequent showers are to do with his heightened senses. He likes to keep clean and scentless. He’s the same way when it comes to his gloves, always preferring to keep them on over getting his hands dirty navigating the world. Unless he’s seeking connection, of course.

Next, she adjusts his cape out of the way, settling the bulk of the heavy fabric on her desk. He adjusts his hand to pin it there, eager to assist the process in any way he can. With a hand between his shoulder blades, she gradually applies pressure until he gets the message, and sinks down, down, down, stopping only when his chest hits the desk.

“There we go. Just like that,” she coos, continuing to stroke his bare skin, letting her nails scrape every so often. With her other hand, she pops open the side drawer of her desk, and retrieves the bottle of massage oil she keeps. Most days it’s reserved for her dry skin and aching neck. Today, it serves a greater purpose.

Pouring a generous amount into her palm, she rubs it between her hands to warm it. Homelander cranes his neck to try and get a look at her over his shoulder, but between all the padding and his eagle pauldrons, there isn’t much maneuverability. She doesn’t let him wait for long. Once the oil is warm and slick on both of her hands, she puts her hands to his lower back, just beneath the top of his suit, and begins working the oil into his skin.

Homelander inhales sharply, giving a little noise of confusion that quickly melts into a pleased, needy sigh. Madelyn works her fingers into the tight, woven steel muscles of his lower back, dragging her hands gradually lower. His breath hitches when she takes two generous handfuls of the meat of his rump, rolling her palms into it.

Before long, he’s panting softly, rustling the papers on her desk with every huff. His legs have settled into a wanton spread, and she’s ignored the swell of his cock long enough that, when she steps back to apply more oil, she can see that he’s drooled a puddle of precome onto the floor below.

“Would you like some more?” She asks, to which he nods fervently.

“More,” he pleads, swallowing back the saliva in his mouth, breathing shallowly.

“Of course,” she soothes, stepping back in close. “Anything for my sweet boy.” She punctuates her words by cupping his balls in her warm, wet palm. His whole body jerks, but he settles readily back into her hand, rutting only once against the pressure before he reigns himself in. “That’s it. Always so good for me,” she says, massaging him in slow, rhythmic rolls of her hand. With her other hand, she takes her middle finger and begins working his rim.

Homelander keens while she slides knuckle deep into him, his hips giving barely restrained little jerks, torn between pushing down into her hand and back onto her finger. Everything about her touch is too much and too little, a balance she has worked diligently to perfect. She’s certain she could make him cry if she teased him long enough, but there isn’t time enough in the day for that. He has an appearance this afternoon, and she’s determined that he will be on his best behavior.

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” She prompts, drawing her middle finger all the way out, only to join her index finger with it, sinking both back in in a slow, purposeful push. “You deserve to feel good.”

He’s nodding, babbling reedy nonsense through his breaths.

Madelyn smiles down at him. “Because you are good. My good, good boy,” she says, his balls tightening up in her palm as his muscles contract. She fucks him languidly with her fingers, scissoring them on every slow pull. “Aren’t you? Tell me you’re my good boy.”

“I’m your good boy,” he rasps out immediately, fists clenched so hard on her desk they shake, the leather of his gloves barely surviving his grip. If he were gripping her desk, he would have cracked it by now.

“That’s right. And you always will be,” she murmurs, sliding her hand from his balls to the underside of his cock. With only her middle finger, she touches a firm line from the base of his cock, following the thick, throbbing vein there, all the way up to the leaking head of it, and then all the way back down.

That’s all it takes to set him off. Homelander moans loud and low, his whole body going rigid as his cock jumps with each pulse of his release, ribbons of come audibly painting the floor beneath Madelyn’s desk. She slips her fingers out of him and settles both hands on his ass, massaging and hushing him through his explosive orgasm.

“There you go,” she whispers, maintaining those calming strokes as he comes gradually down from his high. He’s slumped completely down on her desk, but he’s managed not to destroy anything. That wasn’t always the case. These little “sessions” used to invariably involve some degree of destruction, be it strength or laser related, but over time she has trained him well. Aside from the spill, one would never even know unless they saw it happen. “That’s it. You’re wonderful.”

When his breathing evens out, and the aftershocks settle, Madelyn cleans her hands on a hand towel, and then helps him pull his pants back up. He turns around, and she tucks his soft cock back into the confines of his pants with all the care and attention of a lover, albeit a brisk one. She fastens his belt back into place, and smooths his suit out.

Homelander is smiling loosely down at her, cheeks flushed a vibrant pink. He’s got the look of a lovesick puppy, and he leans into her hand just like one when she reaches up to fix his hair. “Thanks,” he whispers, his tone warm and conspiratorial.

“It’s my pleasure,” she tells him sweetly, brushing back a couple loose locks of his hair. “Do you feel better?”

“Mhm,” he hums, leaning towards her. She can see in the half close of his eyes and the slight tension in his lips that he means to kiss her, but she deftly redirects him, and kisses his cheek. Certain rewards must be reserved.

“Good. Nothing makes me happier,” she tells him, giving his gloved hand a squeeze before she steps back. “Now, I have a meeting, but Ashley has your talking points for this afternoon. Will you pick them up from her on your way out?”

There’s a brief flash of disappointment in his gaze, but ultimately, the giddiness of his post orgasm haze wins out, and he nods. “Sure. You’re going to be there, right?” He asks, voice sounding small, despite the way he towers over her.

“Of course I will,” she says, smiling. “I’ll always be there for you.”

His own smile broadens, predator teeth hidden behind the wide spread of his lips. “Okay.”

He lingers only a moment longer before he clears his throat, and sheepishly excuses himself. Madelyn watches him go, waiting until the door closes behind him to sit. She inhales a slow, silent breath, sinking into her seat on the exhale. She stares down at the steaky, wet mess of come staining the carpet beneath her desk. After a beat, she reaches over for her intercom. “Ashley, make sure Homelander gets those documents for his appearance today. Also, send in the custodian. I spilled my coffee,” she lies smoothly, lifting her finger off the button.

Sometimes, keeping your business clean requires making manageable messes.

#fic rec!#homewell fic

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