#antony starr

[aenslem]

Antony Starr as THE HOMELANDER in THE BOYS

#theboysedit #the boys #antony starr #homelander #mine* #sd* #tvedit #he acts so well with his face #also kinda enjoy when homie is ready to cry #wanna see more of that hehe #poor little meow meow #mancandykings #dilfgifs

[sehtoast]

Lmao, let me slide you a short request. >:)

Big Homie cuddling on the couch with the reader, and he doesn't got his gloves on so the reader gets to explore his big hands. ❤️

one order of big homie with extra fluff coming up <3 love you bud, i'm sorry this took so long but i hope it's what the doctor ordered

Down time with him was always the sweetest thing in the world.

Your favorite was the way he held you.  Standing at eight feet tall, Homelander was the perfect size to practically engulf you in his hold.  Throw into the mix the padding of his suit and, well… 

The world’s greatest superhero was also the world’s coziest pillow.

More often than not, that role belonged to you. His head on your lap, your fingers combing through his hair, his eyes shut and a contented smile on his face… That was the norm, but sometimes your spoiled boy would return the favor.  Just like now.

The TV plays in the background– some Vought film or another– but your attention is strictly on him.  More specifically, on his hands.

They’re damn near double the size of your own.  His fingers are long and slender, nails perfectly manicured, skin soft and warm.  He’s a thing of beauty down to even the occasional mole marking the otherwise flawless canvas of his skin.  But even then, those are so imperfectly perfect that of course they belong on him.  You can’t help but smile as you run your thumbs along the expanse of his hands, tracing along his knuckles, feeling the ridges of metacarpals and the soft squishes of a vein here or there.

You know he’s smiling down at you.  You can practically feel it, and you press a kiss to his knuckles to silently acknowledge it.  This earns you a huffed laugh that fans softly against the top of your head.

You turn his hand over and analyze his palm much in the same way.  Every ridge and valley is its own tale.  The swirls of his fingertips, perfectly unique to him, are hypnotic.  Perhaps you look like a loon holding his hand so close to your face, but you want nothing more than to commit even the most microscopic details to memory.

And perhaps you got a little too lost in said details, because his whole hand suddenly is pressed gently against your face, fingers splayed out up into your hair, and he gently shakes you with a playful giggle.

“Close enough?” He asks, wide grin perfectly audible in his voice.

“Cloh-enou–” you reply, but his palm muffles your words, prompting you both to break out into little laughs.  Having been reclined back against him, your body jostles in time with his laughter, and you swear in your heart that this is right where you belong.  Right here, right now, with the love of your life and his big fingers pinching at your cheeks as you both smile and melt into the joy of one another’s presence.

Silly and kind, sweet and loving…

“I love you,” he murmurs after a time.  Of course you say it back.  And of course you shimmy and roll over to hug him and bury your face into his neck after a much deserved kiss on the cheek.

“I love you more,” you whisper against him.  You know he’s going to echo your words, and then you’ll repeat them too.  You’re more than happy to spend the rest of your days going back and forth on who loves who more, for you know the answer is far more than simply that.

You two are utterly and infinitely in love.

#homelander #homelander x reader #antony starr #homelander fanfiction #the boys #request #ask #homelanderbutbig

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Homelander dating a member of the boys

Y/N was a member of the boys and she was dating Homelander. Homelander knew that Y/N was part of The boys but it was not vice versa.

The boys had no idea that she was dating Homelander. Billy would kill her if he found out. 

When she first joined The Boys she hated him like the rest and wanted to take him down. 

But then they had an encounter where he almost killed her.

But for some reason he was attracted to her and vice versa. 

 She wanted to puke when she realized that she found him attractive. He was her worst enemy.

Or was he just Billy’s?

Homelander couldn’t stop thinking about Y/N after that night. She was like a drug and he needed her. 

Y/N also couldn’t stop thinking about him but she hated herself for it. 

She couldn’t even go to anyone with her problems. They all would hate her.

Homie found out where she lived and stalked her. She had a decent house and she was the one that wasn’t on the run from the cops.

She caught him outside her house one night by the window. 

“What do you want?” “I’m coming in.”

Tension was ever so high between them. Like it was bound to be. 

She wasn’t scared of him. That he could sense. It made him mad but also made her more interesting. 

Why isn’t a puny human like her scared of him?

“I can sense you aren’t scared of me.” “You sense right.” 

He also sensed her arousal? Was she turned on?

“Why are you turned on?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

They ended up having sex that night and though she would never say it out loud it was the best sex she ever had.  

He was very whiny but she thought it was hot. 

The risk of fucking a supe was one that she took and she doesn’t regret it.

After that night, things were never the same. 

Homielander would constantly stop by her house and they would fuck until one night things got deeper.

“Why are you working for Billy?” “I wouldn’t say that I'm working for him but you’re an ass and need to be stopped.”

Her confidence was hot to him but he knew that they couldn’t take him down. 

She thought it was just sex until he took her to Vought Towers to eat. 

“Why are you doing this?” “I like you, oddly enough.”

They both knew that this was more than fucking. It was dating and it wasn’t so bad. 

Billy and The boys hadn’t suspected anything yet which was good. 

Homelander wanted to use the fact that he had you whenever Billy and him made contact but he knew that it wasn’t the right time.

Till it was and oh boy Billy was not happy.

“You’re fucking him?” “Well it’s not just fucking anymore.”

Billy felt betrayed as did the rest of The boys. 

“Y/N, How could you do this? He’s a monster.” 

She didn’t have words, just guilt. 

“It’s because my dick is so good. I fuck her so hard every night that she goes dumb.” 

Hughie looked at Y/N with disgust. She looked down at the ground.

“I’m sorry guys, it wasn't supposed to happen.” 

They couldn’t believe her. She was fucking enemy #1 for crying out loud. 

“You need to leave.” Billy growled at her, almost getting in her face. 

Her jaw dropped as if it wasn’t understandable why she would need to leave. 

“What?” “If you’re going to be with him, ya can’t be with us.” 

Homelander chuckled at his words. Everyone looked at him. 

“She doesn’t need you. She ever did. She will be fine without you.” 

That wasn’t true. Y/N knew that wasn’t true but what could she do. 

“Come on, we’re leaving.” Homelander held out his hand.

She knew there was no turning back now. She got herself in some serious shit. 

She took his hand and looked at her disappointed once friends and they walked out. 

The Boys watched as their once friend left with their enemy.  

Now they had to add another person to the list. 

“We shouldn’t have let her leave. She knows too much.” “Well then when the opportunity comes then we will kill her if she gets in the way.”

#homelander #homelander x reader #homelander imagine #the boys #the boys imagine #the boys amazon #billy butcher #antony starr

[redchikittymeow]

homelander gif last one for now

#the boys #homelander #antony starr #gif #my gif

[amazingmaeve]

THE BOYS

— 1.05 | "Good for the Soul"

#homelander #homelanderedit #homelander gifs #madelynstillwelledit #madelyn stillwell #madelyn stillwell gifs #elizabeth shue #antony starr #the boys #theboysedit #the boys gifs #the boys season one #the boys s1ep5 #my gifs #queue me up scotty #* #*gifs #*gifset #dailytvfilmgifs #dailytvgifs #dailyfilmsource #dailytvwomen #dailyfilmandtv #dailytvedit #dailytvsource #dailyactors #dailyactresses #dailywomansource #dailymalesource #theboysdaily

[eriksdotter]

The Real MVP

#queen maeve #billy butcher #homelander #annie january #hughie campbell #frenchie #kimiko miyashiro #mother’s milk #soldier boy #victoria neuman #karl urban #antony starr #dominique mcelligott #the boys #the boys spoilers

[feodor-dostoevsky]

HOMELANDER in The Boys Season 4

#theboysedit #the boys #homelander #antony starr #userbbelcher #dailyflicks #useroptional #you magnificent bastard <3

[dilfgifs]

ANTONY STARR as HOMELANDER The Boys S01EP04 "The Female of the Species"

#antony starr #jokerous #usersavana #fieryfrankie #tusersonny #usergiu #* #lou

[homeb0ys]

Since you guys like seeing Homelander looking lost and confused, I ended up making this. Once I got the idea I just couldn’t let it go.

Enjoy. ✌️💙

#antony starr #homelander #the boys tv #the boys amazon #the boys series #the boys #homelander memes #homelander edit #video edit #my edit #there really is nothing inside that head of his is there… #poor babygirl

[intercrusher]

man's (im)perfect son.

#my art #homelander #the boys #the boys prime #antony starr #the boys fanart #idk how to tag this #realism #maybe #the boys tv #john homelander #okayyy thats enough #the boys amazon

[therealbillybutcher]

🖕🏽

#the boys #billy butcher #therealbillybutcher #karl urban #soldier boy #jensen ackles #homelander #antony starr

[aenslem]

THE BOYS (2019– )

#theboysedit #the boys #tvedit #chewieblog #userbbelcher #useroptional #cinemapix #mine* #sd* #karl urban #antony starr #homelander #billy butcher #their tiny interactions are everything for me #god he tries so hard but he is excited to see *william* :'D #oh boi get a room and let everyone live a peaceful life #butchlander

[sehtoast]

Say Please (Homelander x Reader Smut)

18+ | orgasm denial, sex toys, begging, finger sucking, sublander, gender neutral reader, sex toys under clothing, edging | Fic Directory

He was on his literal fucking knees for you– all for you.   

Begging.

You had The Homelander begging.  

It didn’t take much.  Some time, some patience… A little remote controlled toy inside of him alllll day long, set to the lowest possible speed.  He should consider himself lucky that Vought’s costume department thought to make his suit erection-proof.

“Please, please– fuck– please! ”   He mewls against you, hips jerking against his wavering restraint as he fights not to just hump your fucking leg.

   You run your fingers through his hair and his whole body twitches and he whimpers.  

“I– I’ll do anything!”  He pants desperately, walking himself closer on his knees to press against you, face buried against your abdomen.  “A-Anything, just– fucking help me!”   

Throughout the day, he managed to come in his pants twice– forbidden from cleaning up, of course.  After that, his body needed more, much more than that dull little vibration against his sweet spot.  All those times his demeanor broke, all the odd stares at his flushed face, every fucking time he thought of pressing his cock against the edge of a table for a subtle relief…  

He was going fucking insane.

You smile down at him, other hand moving to thumb at his lips.  He swallows your finger in an instant, tongue slicking it with saliva, suckling in the hopes of pleasing you enough to earn his release.  Your taste sends a shiver down his spine that compounds with the vibrations in his ass so deliciously that it makes his eyes roll back.  His hips press forward, cock rubbing against your leg in timid motions.  Like he was afraid you’d jerk away and sentence him to suffer even longer.

You meet his motions with a small push of your own and he sputters, face clenching, drool starting to dribble off his lower lip.  You tug his head back by his hair.

“Tongue out,” you order, smirking at his compliance.  You slide your thumb down the length of it, teasing him ever so slowly.  His face contorts as your thumb creeps further back toward his throat until he gags.  You give a playful chuckle, leaning down to spit against his tongue before engulfing him in a heated kiss, his moans and heavy pants mingle with your collected breaths.  “Good boy…”

His body lurches against you harder.

“Good boys get what they want, right?”

He gives an eager nod.

“I better hear you say it,” you chide deviously.  “All I can hear right now is that toy slowly dying inside of you.  Is my Johnny a good boy?”

“I’m a– I’m a good boy!”  He parrots eagerly, hands palming at your sides.  “I’m good– I s-should get what I want!”  He whines pitifully when you step away from him.

“On the couch,” is all you had to say for him to scramble to his feet. “Take everything off– except your underwear.”

He damn near shreds his suit ripping it free from his body, each piece thrown about the room haphazardly.  Homelander sits eagerly for you, fists clenched at his sides as he watches you strip your lower half bare.  He could’ve come then and there if not for that last scrap of restraint keeping him from losing it.

The front of his red briefs are stained a dark red, evidence that he’s been leaking so much all day that his previous releases never got to dry.  You ghost your finger over the tented fabric, sliding featherlight just over the tip.  His head falls back and his thighs flex as more pleas fall from his lips.  You work the fabric down to his knees, watching with delight as the moisture inside clings to him in strings.  He hisses at the cool air finally wafting over his heat.

You give a playful flick to the base of the toy, which rests right against his perineum.  His cock rests against his hip, tip red and weeping, shaft jumping each time his hole twitches against the toy.

“P-Please…” He keens in a whisper so tight you barely hear it.  “Please,” he says again in a sob.  Tears gather in the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill down his flushed face.  His mouth is agape with desperate, heavy breaths, chest heaving with each one.

You position yourself to hover just over the tip, just enough that no meager thrust upward would quite touch your entrance.  His hands come to your hips but you’re quick to relocate them elsewhere.  You are in control, not him.  You decide when and what he can touch.

He sucks a sharp breath of air when you grasp him to guide him in, and no sooner than his tip breaches your hole is he practically fucking screaming, eyes blazing a bright crimson as he spills into you.  His sounds are weak and endless as he chokes on a breath, cock spurting load after load into you, come spilling out to run down his shaft.  There’s so much and you fucking feel all of it.  He bucks up into you at one point, having floated up off the couch just enough to finally fucking sink inside.

He writhes– practically fucking convulses through his orgasm, all while you get to sit there and watch with a devilish grin.  Your hand dances up into his hair once more to grip and tug, tilting his head back to clear the way for every kiss and bite you decide he’s earned to that delicious neck of his.

As soon as he can catch his breath, he’s apologizing– he’s begging you to forgive him for ruining it.  Little does he know that this is exactly what you wanted all along.  To reduce him to such a base need that the slightest touch of your heat would send him spiraling.  You didn’t edge him since sunrise for nothing– even if he did succumb a couple times between then and now.

You retrieve your phone from where you’d tossed it on the couch and increase the toy’s speed, going from practically zero to one hundred in a second.  He arches and shouts, head shaking back and forth as he grits his teeth.  He knows not to fuck up into you– not yet.  

Not until you give him permission.

You fully intend to fuck him silly for the rest of the night, but not until you’ve had a little more fun with your darling dear Homelander.

Not until the only thing he knows is that he’s your good boy.

#homelander #homelander x reader #homelander smut #homelander fanfiction #antony starr #the boys #thank you cozy corner for the spontaneous inspo

[gallavichsreddie1128]

What if Y/N had the powers and Homelander didn’t?

Y/N was the leader of the seven, she was the most powerful member and the world’s favorite one as well. 

She had a husband named John Gillman who was just an ordinary everyday guy. 

They had a son together named Ryan who they loved very much. 

John would attend all the parties and red carpet events with his wife. 

 “She is such a strong and powerful, amazing, lovely wife and I’m so proud of her success and to see her saving the world.” 

John was like a housewife. He kept the kitchen and house clean and he always made her dinner. 

On stressful days after shooting a Vought movie or saving someone, John always ran a bath for her or gave her a massage. 

Y/N loved her job but it was sometimes exhausting. John was always there to help her relax. 

Y/N loved the seven and the members well…except for Stormfront. Stormfront took a liking to John when she first met him and Y/N knew right away. John was oblivious and just thought she was being nice but Y/N saw right through that Nazi bitch.

Stormfront wanted John and tried to get him to leave Y/N. She would constantly show off her body to him and try to tempt him but it always failed. 

“I’m sure she’s just being nice.” “No babe, she wants to fuck you.” 

When all the stuff about her being a Nazi came out Y/N wasn’t shocked. She was happy that the bitch got exposed. 

“I always knew she was a bad person. I mean after she tried to fuck you? Yeah it was pretty obvious.” 

Y/N tried to keep John away from her work as much as possible. But it was hard when he brought her lunch every day and kissed her cheek before he left. 

Starlight was in awe of the relationship and wished that it could be her and Hughie some day. 

When Billy found out you had a husband he managed to kidnap him to lure you to him. 

“Why the fuck did you kidnap my husband?” “Knew that you would come looking so listen luv, We need your help.”

Taking down Vought was a good but terrible idea. Y/N wanted to laugh in Billy’s face but she had the power to do so when the time was right. 

“So he only kidnapped me so you would help him take down Vought?” “I guess so.”

John supported you on the decision to help, especially after hearing that you weren’t born a supe but Vought made you one. 

It was hard for you to hear that your parents betrayed you like that but John was there for you and helped you through it. 

Soldier Boy constantly flirted with you. He didn’t care that you were married. 

“So he’s a puny human.” “Well I love him.”

John was annoyed that Soldier Boy flirted with you but the man was a supe so what could he do?

That was until Billy got his hands on Compound V and took it.

Y/N was hurt that Billy took it but more hurt that he convinced her husband to take it. 

“Why would you inject that into your body?” “I wanted to beat Soldier Boy, he can’t have you.” 

Truth be told you did find it hot seeing him with powers. But it had to be a one time thing! 

“It was a one time thing, right?” “Yes but you have to admit it was pretty fun.” 

Y/N and John were the dream couple and that wouldn’t change 

#the boys #the boys imagine #the boys amazon #homelander #homelander x reader #homelander imagine #homelander x you #antony starr #billy butcher #soldier boy

[jethrowest]

let me see you stripped down to the bone…

- stripped by depeche mode

congratulations! you’ve been hired as homelander’s entire glam squad! what an opportunity! now let’s try real hard not to let the fumes get to you, okay?

pairing : homelander/afab reader

word count : 5.6k

warnings : homelander in and of himself, toxic workplace environment, something akin to stockholm syndrome, fingering, smut. 18+, mdni

special thanks to @blindmagdalena @sehtoast @homeb0ys and @clockworkzeppelin for letting me scream at you about this!

writing tag

gif credit

divider credit

Homelander is an asshole.

That doesn’t bother you much. You’ve dealt with plenty in this field, which means you’ve learned how to make life easier for all parties. That particular learning curve includes when to stand out and blend in, at times concurrently depending on what variety of asshole they happen to be.

As a whole, the makeup artists and hairstylists at Vought take care of The Seven and go where they’re needed. And as a cosmetologist, you were hired to provide both services for Homelander and Homelander only, which you consider to be one of the most prestigious stamps one could add to their professional passport.

Before you became official, you were colorfully threatened by a Ms. Ashley Barrett, who, after the fact, had no qualms throwing you into the lion’s den to figure your own shit out.

In no uncertain terms were you told that if you fucked any part of this up, your sparkling resume would look best as something to sit her smooth, bare ass on while getting fucked on top of her desk. No lube or protection. It would then be tossed exactly like her salad.

Not an image you could have ever predicted crossing your mind. Honestly, you should have stopped her right there and walked your happy little ass out of her office toward pastures that might have not been greener (you were being handsomely compensated), but certainly not as toxic. While the red flags were a color you couldn’t quite ignore, you were also curious about why they stood out so much more than they did regarding previous employers.

None of this is to say you live under a rock. Anyone who has access to the internet is ambushed daily by these Supes’ personal lives. Homelander’s track record as far as choice in partners went hadn’t been ideal, so you understand that made him less popular at the time. That of course has nothing to do with you or your capabilities.

You opt to wear gray-colored glasses, seeing everything with a neutral blend of black and white. As much as possible anyway.

Nevertheless, curiosity killed the cat. But hopefully not your career.

The first day was awkward to say the least. Immediately, you knew you weren’t going to like your coworkers.

Glints of sympathy changed how they perceived you. A target, whether they intended for this to happen or not, was nailed to your forehead, and it made them buzz around you like avid, greedy wasps keen on seeing how rapidly the honeybee will be brutalized. You didn’t much care for going cross-eyed while staring at that target whenever you crossed paths. They didn’t know you, yet because of who you were working under, deemed you helpless. They didn’t give you a chance to establish yourself before branding you a victim.

Why should you respect them?

Small talk wasn’t entertained either, as their judgment tarnished any future encounters. They ostracized you once you showed no interest in engaging with them. That didn’t disappoint you. You weren’t here to make friends.

You do wonder how those before you fared: if they were jaded when they arrived or if they couldn’t help but succumb to the pressures of being at the top rung of a very unstable albeit sought after ladder.

Ms. Barrett quickly introduced you to Homelander, her parting gift before leaving the two of you alone.

You weren’t completely nervous in his presence. He wasn’t any different to you than the other celebrities you’d worked on, except he could rip you in half like a piece of paper if he was so inclined. But he’s the hero of this country’s story, so really, you should have nothing to worry about.

His demeanor, you noted, suggested arrogance, annoyance, and boredom. All things you’re used to. So you offered your hand to shake, which he eyed with a slightly upturned nose before grabbing, told him it was a pleasure to meet him and got straight to business.

Looking back, he was clearly expecting more out of you. Maybe not a display as excessive as getting on your knees and professing your undying love, but close enough. Somewhere in the middle, perhaps.

Part of you believes he might have also counted on fear. To you, he’s not anything or anyone unknown. Another big name in a fancy suit with impossible demands.

You were given a routine to follow and products to use. You did as you were instructed and found the process to be simple and, as Homelander’s expression revealed, uninspiring.

While you were utilizing a face brush to apply powder, he must have decided he was done enduring your lack of enthusiasm, because he suddenly asked, “What are you wearing?”

You stopped for a split second, no longer than, and continued. “The name of my clothing designer, you mean?”

He scoffed, waving his gloved hand at you, almost knocking the applicator you held to the ground. “No, your perfume. What are the top notes?”

You laughed and that seemed to confuse him. “Why, you want a bottle?”

“I don’t like it.” He sniffed sharply and cleared his throat. “Smells like you should be on the corner selling your used body parts.”

Ding ding ding. Alarm bells and red flags galore. You enjoy a challenge, however, and are a bit of a masochist, so you persevere.

“Well, what doesn’t smell like a cheap hooker to you? I’ll start wearing that instead.”

He cocked a brow, studying you. Trying to figure out if you were being serious or mocking him.

“It’s your first day.” A warning. “Are you on your best behavior, or can you do better?” He leaned forward in his chair, forcing you backward. “You should be working harder to prove yourself. Prove your worth.” He sat back again and shrugged. “Or maybe you really are worth as much as that dumpster juice you doused yourself in.”

At this point, he more than likely envisioned your happy little ass getting offended and storming out of the room. Breaking down, sobbing. Questioning why he was being so rude. One of those or, better yet, a nifty combination.

You’ve heard worse, unfortunately for him. Not always directed at you, but that doesn’t matter. You can handle it.

“You’re absolutely right,” you stated calmly, folding your arms across your chest. He looked at you with pretentious, petulant intrigue. “It is my first day, and I want to make a good impression. Which is why I’m asking you what you would like me to wear so I can continue to keep that good impression intact and, as our professional relationship develops, stay on top of it.”

Homelander’s mouth twitched. He sighed deeply and slouched in his seat, staring at the wall to the left of him. Then he deigned to cast his gaze back at you, resting his cheek on his index and middle finger. He tapped the arm rest with his other hand.

“Ugh, fine. Whatever.” A pause followed that lasted longer than necessary. Were you meant to guess? “Just wear something, I dunno, less. If you would have done your homework like a good little peon, you’d know I have super senses. Highly developed. Can you even imagine what that entails?”

Finally, he freed the canvas you were nearly finished with, and you flicked the soft bristles across the bridge of his nose. You smiled, more to yourself than him.

Felt rather on the nose, as the saying goes.

He didn’t comment on your grin. You didn’t give him time to. But he did huff like you were being obtuse on purpose.

“I can try. And my imagination is giving me some less-than-ideal scenarios,” you replied. Another pause. At least he was letting you do your job again.

You don’t know what compelled you to keep going, but something about his lack of a real answer made you carry on. “Do you have a favorite flower or baked good? Maybe a spice?”

Homelander almost glared up at you. You say almost because, for whatever reason, it didn’t seem like he was directing that harshness at you, though former words and actions proved otherwise. Something inside, perhaps. Or outside of this enclosed space.

“I already told you what to wear. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You took the hint and remained quiet the rest of your session. Soon, you were done.

As you were packing and tidying up your station, he took it upon himself to stand behind you. He lingered over your shoulder, watching the scene play out like he was director and star and you were barely an ant on the sidewalk he acknowledged before squashing.

The heat radiating off of him was impossible to dismiss, a wall of it barricading your backside. He clasped his fingers underneath his cape and inched closer. You thought he was as close to you as he could get without touching you. He was that warm.

When you glanced up, he was staring at you through the mirror. As absurd as it was, you managed to get chills. Goosebumps broke the surface of your skin.

“Fresh chocolate chip cookies. Straight out of the oven. Like mom used to make.” He flashed an unnerving smile before turning to exit.

From there on out, even after you bent to his will and found a gourmand scent that matched what he described, Homelander tested you. Your work ethic, clothing choice, eating habits, and most of all, patience.

Your parents would ask how you were liking your job, how it was working alongside the Supes- not to mention the most famous of all- and you’d lie through your teeth. You felt you had no choice, Ashley’s threat ringing in your ears.

Resume, bare ass, tossed salad...

Oh yeah, it’s going great! They’re all super flexible. I couldn’t be happier!

At least that pun made you feel a little better about hiding the shame of what you’ve allowed yourself to take on.

This was all in the first few weeks. It started to get a little easier after that, which is surprising considering more was added to your to-do list.

You should have moved on before starting. But, for whatever asinine reason, you didn’t.

Every time you go back to your apartment and assess your appearance in the bathroom mirror, you wonder who’s making who up here. He’s changing your looks more than you are his. You’re like his human doll.

You’ve put up with a lot over the years, but this takes the cake and shoves it in your face. As fucked as it is, the flavor is growing on you. Like a fungus. Growing, nonetheless.

You can’t stop thinking about him.

It’s innocent enough, you try convincing yourself. Making sure you have the right outfit laid out the night before, the right lunch (no onions or fish or anything “freaky”!), etc. He is your superior, after all. You shouldn’t be viewing him in any other light.

He’s the most frustrating aspect of your existence these days, but he’s also the one you’re around the most. His penchant for workplace gossip and how unintentionally funny he is tends to make him palatable, which has regrettably become an understatement.

Months go by. You’ve witnessed how alone he truly is. How he has nothing outside of performing his tricks on Vought’s all-encompassing stage. And when he begins asking for your input, starts doing things for you that are so blatant it’s perplexing, you find your stress and vexation melting into cumbersome fascination.

It’s embarrassing. You don’t have the courtesy of enough time to dwell on your feelings toward the situation either, from beginning to whatever end you might be met with. You suppose that could be beneficial in the long run.

It also hits you when you least expect it; when you really don’t want it to.

Your body doesn’t wait until you finally have a moment alone. It decides, while you’re helping Homelander with his skincare routine that he insisted upon because you know more than these vacuous corporate douche-bags, to heat up without warning and slither from your head to your heart until it grasps you unfairly between your legs.

You try not to step into momentary paralysis. You understand to what extent his powers reach. It’s not like he doesn’t go on and on about them. About himself.

Whatever he notices, it’s not right away. A palpable tension fills the air between the two of you eventually. But it takes a more significant amount of time than you would have anticipated to permeate the natural flow of things.

Fuck, you can’t even be safe inside here, where your thoughts, whatever they may be, are yours. You can’t even have yourself. He has every part of you, and you are willingly relinquishing that control.

Your evening, once you can have it, consists of combing over every decision you’ve made leading up to this strange, disorienting space you find yourself occupying. All it does is leave you exasperated in a much different way than before and with an unsettling observation (or hallucination):

Was that the tail end of the American flag outside your window?

You are unacceptably late.

Rushing around, you throw on the first top and bottoms you see from your closet and spritz some perfume on your neck and wrists. You don’t check your phone. You’re afraid of what will pop up on your screen. And, frankly, you don’t have the time.

Your only option for transportation is the subway, as you’re sure the special vehicle from Vought is long gone. Why would they wait for someone like you, even if you’re practically Homelander’s personal assistant? One of his only friends. You doubt he has more than Black Noir, and that isn’t as perfect as it appears to the casual viewer.

You dread what kind of explosion you’re without a doubt walking into once you show your miserable ass up. You’re going to smell like everyone on this train. He’s going to go ballistic.

The question remains: why are you continuing to put yourself through this? It’s not your circus, yet somehow, the monkeys have become your liability.

You know, deep down, what keeps you going back. It’s simply too ridiculous to admit aloud.

Making your way past security, hurriedly presenting your badge, you realize you forgot to brush your teeth, or at the very least, gargle some mouthwash. You thank your lucky stars when you open your purse to a pack of gum tucked away in one of the compartments.

It will have to do.

When you open the door to Homelander’s dressing room, you see a couple of employees standing near the counter where the bag of supplies has been opened and rifled through, looking like they might soil themselves, a frantic Ashley, and an extremely pissed off Homelander in the middle of it all.

Reflexively, you cringe. You attempt to wipe any trace from your features, but it’s too late. Ashley is glaring daggers at you and Homelander can hardly bring himself to look in your direction. The others don’t matter to you. They never did.

“I’m so sorry I’m late. I know there’s no excuse-”

“You’re goddamned right, there’s no excuse! I don’t give a shit if god and his whole fucking choir of angels came down from heaven and divinely called you to give them a makeover! What were you thinking?!”

You’re about to answer, though you comprehend her query is more or less rhetorical. She interrupts your slightly open mouth while gesturing wildly, proving your point.

“Oh, that’s right! You weren’t thinking at all, were you?! But I do believe you’ve thought long and hard about what’s at stake here. And you know damn well we at Vought don’t tolerate this kind of sloppy behavior. Not to mention the way you’re dressed! It’s adding insult to injury!” Her hand swipes at the air, the length of your outfit, and you glance down, recognizing how comically mismatched you are. Her correct observation affects you more than it would have months prior, stinging your ego- one of the many things that’s been shelved in order to accommodate the person who won’t even grace you with a glance.

A dramatic groan cuts short any further commentary from the redhead, perpetually stretched thin between her absurd duties.

“Jesus Christ, Ashley, why are your big fucking horse gums still flapping?” Homelander’s booming voice slices through your mind like a jarring, dense migraine. He pinches his brow between middle finger and thumb, eyes closed. “I want you and Tweedledee and Tweedledum t’get the fuck out. Now.”

Ashley is plainly dumbfounded, struggling to see where she went wrong (a pattern when it comes to dealing with the volatile leader of The Seven), mouth agape. She shakes her head. “But sir, are you-?”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about or doing. Clearly.”

Ms. Barrett turns a shade paler, staring at Homelander and blinking owlishly before snapping herself out of her stupor. She hurries her lackeys out of the room, shooing them along like a pair of misbehaving toddlers. She doesn’t give a final look, no further warning. She merely shuts the door behind her.

You also hear it lock.

What the hell does she think is going to happen?

You should have stopped this while you had the chance. You should have never taken this job. You should have stood up for yourself and walked out. You should have you should have you should-

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

His caustic tone sends shivers down your spine. It’s unlike anything you’ve heard come out of him. And you’ve heard enough.

Again, you open your mouth. It fills with blood, thick and metallic and more potent than the mint from your gum. You’re silenced by it.

He stalks toward you and grabs you hastily by the shoulders, swiveling you around so you’re face-to-face with the choices you’ve made. Your mirrored image is reflected back at you, exhausted and searching for any last shred of who you might be beneath his heavy palms.

“Look at yourself! Do you even recognize who’s staring back at you?” No.

“What kind of game are you playing, hmmm? Is this… humiliating spectacle you’re putting on for the money? Your pathetic career? Like it’s goddamned rocket science to pick up a can of hairspray and use it. Monkeys have hands.” He makes a noise that’s akin to a snorting horse, exhaling forcefully past his nostrils. “I mean, did you really think you could pull a fast one on me?” He clutches your jaw, squeezing it between middle and thumb. Every muscle in your body tenses, your heart picking up rhythm.

“Spit that fucking gum out. Don’t think I can’t hear you grinding it between your molars like a dumb animal. You aren’t a mama bird, are you? Y’don’t have cute little baby birds t’force-feed your regurgitated leftovers, do you? Eugh, gross.”

You take a deep breath and exhale through your nose. It presents you with a false sense of security. You do as you’re told, and it lands on the floor in front of your shoe, saliva dangling on a thread as withered as your sanity.

Suddenly fresh breath seems like the most insignificant issue, when Homelander himself once made it out to be something earth-shattering.

You’re such a fool.

He leans in and sniffs your throat. Your fingers lengthen and bend.

You’re so many things at once. Confused, angry, nervous, scared. And, to your dismay, warm. God you’re so fucking warm. He’s heating you up from the inside out. You clench your jaw, still held in place by a firm bind.

“Get rid of those ugly clothes. I don’t care what you have to do. I can’t stand the sight or smell of them.”

You shut your eyes. When you open them, all you see is red. The other emotions are smothered in favor of that brand of heat. What happens next is a blur. You temporarily leave yourself.

“Fine. Have it your way, Homelander. You always do.”

Breaking free of his fluctuating hold, you start tearing at what you’re wearing, tossing everything- including your bra and underwear- to the ground. Your shirt winds up with the gum sticking to its loose fabric. You even take your shoes and socks off, not paying any heed to where your belongings go. Just that they’re gone.

You don’t process the glaring fact that you made yourself naked in front of your boss. In front of the most powerful man this country, and possibly world, has known. You don’t care that things have escalated this far. That they shouldn’t have. They shouldn’t have. But guess what? They did. And these are the consequences you both have to deal with.

“You wanna know what game I’m playing?” You turn around, forcing him backward. “It’s funny, I thought you’d be able to answer that for me, considering all the hoops I’ve had to jump through to not only save my ass, but make sure you had someone to talk to at the end of the day! Who on your team can you say goes above and beyond like that for you?!” He blinks at you now, eyes wide. Features fall to the floor where your clothes reside. You have his full and undivided attention.

An impressively dangerous thing to have.

“What more do you want from me, Homelander? I practically live with you without any of the benefits that usually includes! You’re really going to stand here and berate me like I haven’t given you fucking everything you’ve ever asked me for? Because I made one mistake? I gave up my entire world, which I know doesn’t mean shit to you. But it does to me.”

You fold your arms over your chest. Nothing covers it. You have to know before you lose all dignity. So you ask once more, hoping it won’t get lost in this bizarre mess.

“What do you want from me?”

Nothing. He can’t stop staring at you. You aren’t aware enough to be ashamed, but you are aware enough to be upset.

His infuriating silence compels you to bend down and gather what was a barrier between the two of you. You are no longer needed if he can’t do what he does best, which is spout off, leaking bottled words everywhere like a broken faucet. It’s a pretty simple question, you think.

That’s when the glass behind you shatters.

You flinch, pause what you’re doing and slowly stand. Cautious in whatever your next approach will be.

Surveying the aftermath, you’re relieved to find that you’re far enough away from the mirror so no injuries were inflicted.

When you finally lock eyes with the source, you see red. The atmosphere surrounding you heaves like the distended belly of a rotting corpse; hisses like an overflowing tea kettle; pierces you like lightning.

Homelander’s expression is rigid. His jaw quivers. Irises are a bright, shining scarlet. If you try anything rash, you might be next. But, having been around him for so long, you’re more inclined to believe he’s having trouble processing his own emotions. And that might have been one of the only ways to release them.

You drop the top and pants you managed to reclaim. Your brain hasn’t fully recovered from the constant devastating hit it’s taken, so you don’t want to put a name to what’s pushing you forward. You don’t stop until you’re directly in his line of vision.

Swallowing, you carefully extend your hand. The ruby color begins to crumble and give way to the vast ocean you might have drowned in one too many times. You lost track, blocking what you could out. Too real and intimate to accept for a realm that thrives off of inauthenticity and misfortune.

Homelander inhales harshly and you retreat, pupils hooking themselves to his. Searching for any sign you shouldn’t be right where you are.

Of course there are several; unfortunately, you are currently blind to them. Blind to everything but him.

That’s how it’s been for awhile, hasn’t it?

He has a habit of not granting you the luxury of time.

Quickly, he snatches your wrist and brings your palm flat against his cheek. He exhales, eyelids fluttering, nuzzling into you.

It’s so simple, yet it disarms you in ways you aren’t accustomed to.

Homelander basks in this chaste display of affection, and so do you, in awe of how enraptured he appears. Soaking you inside of his pores.

In turn, your cognizance reappears. You nearly topple over, realization infiltrating every part of you.

You’re not wearing a stitch.

A knock at the door startles you both. You glance over in that general direction and hear from the other side, “You’re on in fifteen, Homelander, sir!”

Gazing back up at him, you witness that same fire expand at a rapid rate. You use your other hand to bring him back down to reality, to ground him. It rests against his chest, delving into and cracking his ribs, flaying him open.

What strikes you is how vigorously his heart is beating. How you can feel it through his uniform.

This is how much you affect him. (Can you fathom that you’re only privy to a fraction?) Having evidence of the tiniest reciprocation drains you of any unwanted discomfort.

His fury subsides. You breathe out. He does, too.

“Go sit in your chair. I came here to do my job, after all.” The tenderness with which you speak seems to ease him further, his shoulders deflating with each word.

That aside, you’re playing with a lit match. You’re unsure who’s going to set who ablaze, but you’re willing to go down with this entire building to find out.

He does as he’s told, watching you the whole way like a mutilated mixture of a snarling cornered animal and a man fervently in love. He almost trips into his seat, not an ounce of grace in his gait.

Sacrificing his entire image just to get a glimpse of you.

Whipping his cape to the side, he sinks into the cushion. You get things ready as you typically do, your movements a bit jittery from the adrenaline sending haphazard jolts to your limbs. Despite this, you’re focused. You are more focused than you remember ever being.

You work efficiently, keeping in mind the limit that’s been put on your time.

Homelander bores holes through you. He doesn’t need lasers for that. You’re exposed and vulnerable and he pries what he fostered apart until it’s distinguishable by no one else but him.

You relearn his perfectly manufactured features. Different lights shape shadows you either haven’t seen before or feigned ignorance of. You commit to memory how he looks, smells, feels, the side of your hand grazing his cheek and hanging on.

He’s invigorating, your excitement building to a crescendo you can’t neglect. The heat in your core disperses, most of it congregating low in your belly and behind your expanding rib cage. His pupils drink you in, urgently and violently.

Your arousal is heady. He licks his lips. A hint of a whine caresses your ears and it makes you dizzy.

How could you have ever denied yourself?

You decide to take further control, testing the waters to a greater extent.

It’s your turn to watch him the whole way down. You straddle him, easing yourself atop his taut thighs.

After a few moments of humoring yourself, of pretending to concentrate on your work, dusting his nose with powder, you straighten. Eye contact has not been severed.

You motion toward his hands, balled into tense, repressed fists at his sides.

“Take off your gloves.”

Initially, it feels like maybe you said the wrong thing, or said it the wrong way. He doesn’t budge. You’re patient, however, so you wait like you’ve always done, the warmth from your cunt mingling with the hardness beneath you. Your mouth waters.

At last, Homelander nods and removes his gloves, tugging on the index of each. He places them on the armrests and transfixes himself to you once more.

“Do you want to touch me?” you ask, voice and body staying impossibly still in spite of your nerves.

Immediately, he shakes his head, “Yes,” the first time he’s spoken since your outburst, and without hesitation, reaches for your chest. You close your eyes, falling into his snooping lifts and tugs and squeezes, giving yourself permission to become possessed by the inhibited imaginations of how selfish, how rapacious his touches might be. How smooth his bare hands are, how ardent each digit is.

Leaning into you, he sucks one nipple into his mouth and palms the other, moaning and vibrating against your flesh. He digs his fingers into the pliant softness of your hip, steadying you with disciplined pressure. You squirm, attuned to every minuscule shift.

The lit match is tilted toward you now, swift and stunning. Your fingers release the brush you’ve been holding. It aligns with the slit of the cushion, forgotten and purposeless.

You wrap your digits around the hand on your curves and guide him toward your throbbing center. He doesn’t fight you. Doesn’t stop your movements. Doesn’t scold or challenge you. Instead, he curls his fingers in a way that makes you unabashedly moan, cupping your folds and pinning his thumb to your clit, adapting to your anatomy.

Your wants.

It seems like breaking away from you is a daunting task, but he does for a moment, brow furrowed, more engrossed and invested than you’ve ever witnessed.

“Fuck.” The curse sounds downright edible, your new favorite flavor. Your name tumbles from his lips like he’s been practicing, a sweet, rich icing on top. You gasp, his tongue adhering to you again, swirling around your peak before lightly biting it.

Rocking your hips back and forth, side-to-side, you grind hard into his palm. He strokes you like he’s studied what pace you prefer, how much friction you crave. You’re so wet, even you’re thrown off by it.

Once he’s finished with your chest, he’s back against the seat, unable to peel his gaze from you. Your full, swollen, glistening breasts.

His mouth hangs open, obscene, desperate whimpers slipping from it. Pupils are like whirlpools that drive you under. Drive you mad.

Homelander adeptly slips two, three digits inside your sopping cunt, unrelenting in his intentions to make up for lost time. The voracity of his actions propels you forward, balancing against his chest. He grasps and pulls at your other hip, groaning loudly in your ear, confirming his approval of how close you are to him.

It’s still not enough.

Pulling you even tighter to his blinding sun of a body, he encloses his free arm around you and desperately bucks his waist. “I want… I want… I want…” he chants. Your nails drag up his neck and along his scalp, overwhelmed by his warmth, his scent, him. Your lips ghost the sliver of skin above his collar, making him growl.

You anticipate and dread and yearn for what’s been building for so long. You clench and release, clench and release, clench and release, body chanting with him.

You’re intuitively thankful for the chair’s sturdiness; however, if it would have collapsed, you’re honestly not sure you would have noticed. Or cared.

You hear him come first. Feel the temperature rise temporarily. It’s so sudden and all-consuming that you naturally follow, his name an instinct you can’t help but divulge. You haven’t come down from the turbulent emotions rushing through you earlier, and that combination catapults you over the edge.

Your orgasm draws more deliberate, vehement grunts and sighs of satisfaction from him, as if your pleasure is inexplicably the same or worth more than his.

You can’t crumple into a boneless heap like you want to. You just can’t. You have to look at him. Look at his bliss; the glazed, barren-yet-so-full-of-you expression, of what these months of working in close quarters have done to him.

What you uncover is not what you were picturing. There’s a mixture of that haze with something almost apologetic below the teeming surface. Clouds of red to skies of blue. Destructive in and of themselves.

Sliding his fingers from your wetness, he wraps his lips around each one that was inside of you and spreads them apart. Your slick sticks to his glossy skin and stretches between digits, a generous amount. You whimper at the loss- the emptying, hollow feeling- and watch, mesmerized and delirious as he savors you.

Swallowing you whole, Homelander sweeps his knuckles across the apple of your cheek and presses his lips hard against yours. He wastes no time inhaling your gasps and moans, licking your mouth and the faint taste of mint, stealing it from you. You ingest what you can of him as well, exploring what was open to you longer than you realized.

He then seizes your wrists. It’s a rough gesture that evaporates into gentle circles along your pulse points. Still, you know you’re going to bruise where he turned the key and locked you into place: wherever he is.

A visible sheen coats his lips.

“I want you to tell me I’m good. Great. The best.”

His breathing is labored. So is yours.

He kisses the inside of the wrist smeared with perfume, your fluids, his saliva; ends with your hand and rests his cheek against the slope of it.

“I want you to be mine. All mine. Mine alone.”

You’re shaking. He moves forward and pets your hair, twirls it; grabs your nape and holds his thumb to the front of your throat. Securing you. Keeping you there.

“You have to stay. Be mine and stay.”

You thrum with an ache he forced upon you. He’ll claim you were starving and he was the only one who could satiate.

You nod. You were never going to leave to begin with.

Homelander made you his. And you thanked him for it.

#homelander #homelander x reader #the boys #antony starr #my writing #let me see you stripped down to the bone #oneshot #god it feels so good getting this out #i’ve been going through a painful writer’s block so 🥹 #thank you everyone who helped and anyone who reads #this is my first full-fledged homelander fic so i’m a bit nervous but! very excited 🖤 #love you all 🥰

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Homelander being obsessed with his sister HC

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

II III IV V

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

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

HL just wants SOMEONE to call his own

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That caught you off guard. "Remember you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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