゛angel!　they　ᶻ 𝗓

thud, thud, thud.

his boots slap against the ground, the distance between each step so deliberate they couldn't possibly come from a human. you know those steps all too well.

they get louder and louder until they abruptly stop right outside your door. for a few moments he looms there, probably watching you through the wall. you don't show any signs of acknowledgement towards him.

his visits have become more and more frequent these days and you're starting to wonder how he manages to squeeze them in-between his busy schedule.

the door creaks open and in steps every american's wet dream. tall (average), broad (his suit is padded), beach blonde hair that lays lazily combed over (his stylist takes at least half an hour on his hair in the morning), poster smile (it doesn't reach his eyes).

a perfect product. flawless, even. well, as long as you don't look to close.

"hey" he effortlessly smiles that mannequin smile.

you barely glance up from the document you're currently working on. his eyes bore holes into the crown of your head and you're unsure wether it's just his gaze or the actual lasers.

you decide you don't want to take that chance and slowly meet his gaze. no lasers await, just those lifeless blue eyes that never fail to make the room feel colder.

"homelander." you say, laying your pen aside. seems like work has to wait.

"to what do I owe the pleasure?" you don't make an effort to hide the annoyance in your voice.

"just checking in." he takes a step towards your desk, his hands folded behind his back.

"you seem to be doing that a lot lately."

he stops. got him.

"what? pfft." he splutters in that exaggerated way he always does when he's lying. or caught.

"I can't check in on my manager anymore? I just finished an interview and now I have some time on my hands so…"

his head is turned down towards his feet shuffling on the ground.

you don't hurry to answer, giving a non-committal hum instead. your hands are folded neatly on your desk as you continue to stare at him expectantly.

he's quickly getting nervous under your gaze, impatient. he's waiting for an answer that he realizes he won't get.

"did you see it?"

his eyes dart up to yours, as always with that glint of something hopeful.

"I did."

ever since you've started working alongside madelyn, you've learned a lot about vought's newest little wonder.

a perfectly manufactured actor, stars and stripes personified. the facade holds up well enough— unless you were to actually have a conversation with him for longer than 5 minutes that is. it doesn't take much to find the cracks, giving way to that needy thing beneath all the bleach and concealer.

ever since he first saw you, he's been clingy and it's only gotten worse. seems like vought didn't account for the fact his need for parental figures might go beyond what madelyn is able to provide. or maybe they did and that's exactly why you're here.

either way, you're not stupid. you know about his 'special' relationship with her. sure, she makes a good mommy, but the kid needs a daddy too. greedy bastard.

he reminds you of those 20-something-year-olds you sometimes meet at bars. pretty playthings with big eyes and daddy issues. a couple drinks are enough to get most of them bold and crawling onto your lap, begging to get laid.

but homelander. homelander is one of the nervous ones. the sort that looks at you shyly through his lashes. the sort that hopes you can read the need in his eyes, so that he doesn't have to say the quiet thing out loud.

"so.. what did you think?"

predictable. back then he at least tried to hold himself back, but his self control is short lived as always. and now he's all but begging for your attention.

you tilt your head, raising your brows at him in a silent question.

a silent question you already know the answer to. he looks ready to jump at you for it, swallowing like it hurts. that little bit of dignity gets stuck in his throat.

"about the interview. did I.. do good?"

his body is tense— ready to snap as he waits for your response. the longer you wait, the higher his shoulders draw up. you wonder how long it would take till they reach the sky.

a genuine chuckle escapes you. dry, grating against his ears. his eyes snap up, locking his target, ready to fire. so much tension concentrated in his brows and hands. those hands that could effortlessly pull you apart.

his fingers tremble against the trigger, but he won't pull it. he still needs something from you.

the smile never leaves your face, you take it with you as you lean back into your chair.

"c'mon now."

there's not a hitch in your breath, not even a stutter in your heartbeat. it shouldn't excite him so much, knowing that you're not afraid.

"put those away. we both know that's not how this works."

all he's ever been taught is to control himself. to listen to those weaker than him.

orders are his mother tongue, so it's only natural he tries, really tries to let go of the tension, to release the trigger, to listen to you.

one shaky exhale later he finally dares to look at you again, even if only in search of approval— like that was enough to garner it.

"is that all you came here for?"

you're actually dismissing him and it feels humiliating, especially to him. you're testing him, of course, but that doesn't make the pang in his chest hurt any less.

look at you, managing to hurt the untouchable and you didn't even have to use your hands yet.

his mouth opens, words joining the dignity still stuck in his throat.

his cape sways as he turns towards the door, ready to leave and pretend none of this ever happened. you should be glad he decided to spare you, he has to control his grip on the handle so he doesn't bend it.

but you're not done yet.

"look, kid, I know why you're here. I get it."

he freezes, door-handle awkwardly stuck mid-turn. slowly he lets it go, turning his head just enough to glare at you.

"what the hell do you think you know about me?"

the words don't come across very threatening but rather scared, like he's actually afraid you might know something he doesn't want you to.

"a lot more than you'd think. now, if you're really that desperate, then be at my apartment at 8 tonight. I'm sure you know where that is."

he blinks at you rapidly in that way he always does when he's flustered and he hopes you don't catch the glint of something hopeful in his eyes.

"why would I—"

"8pm. not later and definitely not sooner. do I make myself clear?"

he can't help the playful smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth as he nods.

"yes, sir."

"good. now shoo."

you wave at him dismissively.

---------------------------------------------

at 07:34 there's a knock on your door.

well, at least he's polite enough to knock.

you're sitting on the couch, nursing a glass of whiskey and watching the news. enjoying the last bit of your free time, before you are interrupted.

you take your time, getting up with a groan and rolling your shoulders before making your way towards the door.

there he is, as always dressed in that ridiculous suit that makes him stand out like a poorly executed product placement in the middle of a movie.

in a way that's what he is, more brand than person. a walking billboard.

"may I come in?" he smirks and you wanna wipe it right of his face.

"I told you to be here at 8."

"yes."

"and what time is it now?"

"07:30?"

"that's right. you see what my problem is here?"

"oh, come on! it's only— what? 20 minutes? that's nothing!"

"I don't care if it's 20 minutes or 5 minutes. when I tell you to be here at 8pm, then I want you to be here at 8 sharp."

overly dramatic as always, he throws his hands up in defeat.

"alright, alright.. no need to make such a big deal out of it" he mutters as he makes his way past you inside.

you shut the door close behind you.

"and this is the second time you've interrupted me while I was busy today. have some respect for the elderly."

"oh, come on. you weren't doing anything important. I wouldn't exactly call sitting on the couch and watching TV being busy."

you stare at him, raising your eyebrows accusingly. his own eyes widen when he realizes he isn't supposed to know that.

"and how do you what I was doing?"

his lips are pressed into a tight line, like he's afraid the answer might spill out if he's not careful. it doesn't matter that you already know.

"no more comments?"

you approach him slowly, drinking in the way his pupils dilate with uncertainty. the way he follows your movements like he's actually afraid of what's to come.

"good."

with your pointer finger you poke his chest, the padding dips beneath the pressure. the fabric goes soft so easily beneath your touch, much like himself.

"watching people through the walls is rude, you know?" your voice is low like a warning.

"it's bad enough that you do it at the tower, but here? in the privacy of my home? tsk tsk tsk. now that's crossing a boundary."

suddenly you step away, leaving him to chase after you.

"I— look. I didn't—"

"quiet."

his mouth snaps shut. he doesn't move as you make your way towards the couch.

"boy, do I need to teach you some manners?"

no answer comes, you don't need one.

you take a seat, leaning against the back of the couch and spreading your legs— comfortable in your territory.

your hand reaches for the forgotten glass of whisky and you empty it in one gulp. still standing at the entrance, he silently watches the liquid flow down your throat.

"come here." you order, rolling your eyes and patting your lap.

while you're putting away the glass he follows suit quickly. when you look back he's already standing between your knees. with a clink you open your belt and you swear he perks up at the sound, watching with fascination as you slide it out of its loops.

in contrast to his eager steps, the movement of his thighs is careful as he tries to climb onto your lap like he's afraid he might crush you. after all, he could if he wanted to.

"no, not like that. I want you to lay across it, ass up."

a faint blush paints his cheeks, or maybe you're just imagining it. either way he does just that, maneuvering himself so that he's strewn across the couch, hips resting on your thigh and head laying on his crossed arms.

"that's better."

your hand caresses his back, following the curve of his spine until your thumb swipes across his tailbone. he shivers beneath your touch.

"what are you—"

his question is cut off with a gasp, when you pull down his pants to expose his ass and the upper part of his thighs.

your hands continue to explore him, squishing the soft flesh that doesn't feel all that unbreakable in your fingers. your fingertips brush his inner thighs, leaving his skin tingling everywhere you touch. a soft whimper falls from his lips.

"so sensitive, aren't you?"

it's all so sudden, despite being used to these kinds of games with madelyn. but she usually keeps him completely dressed, the only skin to skin contact is her hand on his face.

"please.."

he can't help it. where she holds back, you don't show any constraint like it's only natural that he's yours for the taking. no one dares to touch him like this. no one except for you apparently.

"begging already?"

before he can answer, you pull at his underwear and let it hit him with a snap. his muscles tense beneath you, shoulder blades drawing together.

"that doesn't hurt you, does it?" you don't sound particularly concerned, almost disappointed.

"no.." he apologizes.

no, it doesn't hurt him at all. pain isn't something he feels easily, yet he's burning all over, you're making him flinch with all but a few caresses, it's embarrassing really. but he's greedy for it— you touch him like you really want him.

a breeze hits his exposed skin as you pull down his underwear, making the hair on his legs stand up. his cock eagerly presses up against your thigh.

next thing he knows your belt hits him with a crack. it barely stings, still he flinches in surprise, fingers digging into the couch.

"do you remember when you showed up at my door?"

"what?"

crack.

"I told you to be here at 8, but you didn't listen. you were already here at..?"

your grip on the belt tightens in anticipation— in warning, because you know he can hear the leather creaking.

"seven— seven thirty! what does that have to do with—"

"07:34." you correct with another slap.

"ouch!" he whines out of pure instinct.

"I know that doesn't hurt, but if want to act like it does, by all means, go for it."

you must be some kind of sadist. your whispers signal danger to his brain, even though he knows you can't physically hurt him. he ignores the feeling in his gut telling him to fucking run already.

oddly enough, it's his pride keeping him in place. he can't back out now. he's not some coward and he'll prove it. he'll show you he can take it.

"26 minutes. 26. that's a pretty big number for someone who seems to have trouble counting higher than his fingers."

maybe it's less pride and more fear of disappointing you— quite a blurry line between those two, isn't it? he nods, despite having no clue what the hell you're going on about.

"it's okay, we'll practice together. here's how this is gonna go;"

absentmindedly your hand squishes his thighs as you explain the rules of your little game to him.

"I'm gonna spank you, one hit for every minute you were early and you're gonna count and say thank you."

he understands, he thinks. it's hard to think when his head is getting all fuzzy and his cock is starting to leak.

"I know you can't feel the pain, but this isn't about that. this is about you knowing your place."

he turns his head, looking at you through his lashes and god— you can tell he's gone already. eyes glazed over and brain gone dumb.

"do you understand?"

"yes"

crack.

"yes, what?"

and you really are nothing like her, are you? none of that gentle guidance, only discipline— that's what you're teaching him. because in your eyes he's still a kid and you can't help but want to raise him to be a man. kind of like—

"yes, daddy!" he cries.

oh.

not quite what you were going for, but also to be expected from him. it's really your own fault for not seeing this coming, of course he would chose 'daddy' as your title.

"that's right. atta boy."

he rubs his cock against your thigh and you can't even be mad at him for not asking for permission. poor thing probably doesn't even realize he's humping your leg.

you rub soothingly where a bruise usually would've been forming by now.

"ready for your lesson?"

"mhm.." he buries his face between your thigh and the couch.

there's no hesitance in the swing of your belt.

"one! thank you, daddy.."

you were right, it doesn't hurt. the humiliation of it all is enough, laying exposed and vulnerable in your lap and taking whatever you give him. but he can take it, can't he? it's not that hard, he just has to be good. be good for you. he'll make you proud, he'll be good, he'll—

crack.

"two! thank you daddy!"

each time the leather hits his skin, his thighs tense a little. his body fights between the urge to crawl away and press into it, which ends with him arching a little awkwardly on your lap. your hand pushes gently between his shoulder blades, a silent signal to stop squirming.

crack.

"ngh— five! thank you, daddy.."

the first ten go about as smoothly as you expected. seems like he can count without using his fingers after all.

crack.

"ten.. thank you, daddy—"

maybe he does deserve it. you're older, you know better and you only want what's best for him, right? he's been so good for you, he can push this a little further, right?

by eleven you've got yourself a new title.

"eleven.. thank you, dad.."

well, isn't that something. you wish you were surprised, or at least a little less into it.

you continue without complaint and he even hears your heartbeat pick up a little at the title. he sighs in relief— bullseye.

by fifteen he's drooling onto the cushion.

"mhh.. fifteen.. thank— thank you, dad…"

by seventeen he's losing count.

"six— no, seven— seventeen. thank you, dad."

it's getting harder to focus with all that attention on him. the friction of his crotch rubbing against your leg with each slap is nowhere near enough. he almost wishes the slaps would hurt so he'd have a distraction from his aching cock.

by 21 he's lost count.

"twenty? thanks, dad—"

"no, kid. that was number 21."

his eyes widen. you feel him freeze beneath you, dread crashing over him in cold waves as he realizes he messed up.

he's not in his right mind, that much you can tell. so, responsible manager that you are, you jump to avert the crisis.

"shh, it's okay. you did good, I'm so proud of you."

usually you would've started over when he messed up, but even you know there are some lines you shouldn't cross if you don't want to end up as a stain on the carpet.

also, you just can't be disappointed when he's looking at you like that. your hand moves to his hair on its own, caressing the strands soothingly.

"26's just a little too big for today, hm? it's okay, you'll get there."

his body trembles against you and it takes a second for you to understand those are sobs shaking him.

"I'm sorry, dad.. I'm sorry, I'm sorry." he mutters.

"no, no, hey. come on, let's get you up."

you help haul him up the shoulder, adjusting him so that he's properly sitting in your lap. his pants strain around his ankles, restricting the movement of his legs.

"there you go."

his head collapses onto your shoulder like it's too heavy for him to hold. you wrap your arms around him and pull him closer. ignoring the fact his dick is pressing against your crotch, you rub his back and let him sniffle into your neck.

"you've learned your lesson, my boy. took it like a champ."

his grip on your button up tightens, threatening to rip it apart.

"I think you deserve a reward."

there's no mockery to be found in your words, only a genuine want to care for him.

"do you want a reward?"

he peels back his face so he can search for any evidence of dishonesty in your face. his eyes burn red, snot glistens above his puffy lips. he's never looked more beautiful.

when you cup his cheek and look at him with nothing short of love, he nods shyly into your palm.

his hand travels towards his cock, but—

"ah, ah"

—you stop him. he freezes.

"little boys shouldn't touch themselves down there. only adults can do that."

oh.

oh, fuck.

you're really going all the way with this.

if he wasn't hard before, he would definitely be now. he can practically feel the blood moving southwards— far, far away from his brain.

"but, dad…"

the title sounds so natural on his tongue and the way he's whining in your lap like a little kid almost makes this too real.

"it hurts." he whimpers.

you can't help but indulge him.

"I know, kiddo. I know." you stroke his cheek and wonder just how deep his need for a daddy goes.

an idea comes to mind as feigned pity fills your eyes.

you're an incredible actor, because the look of guilt that crosses your averting eyes almost looks believable. the sigh that leaves your mouth, that look of contemplation.

"god, we shouldn't be doing this.."

right now it's believable to his stupid brain, and isn't that enough to fill the gaping hole inside him?

"look, I'll help you out. but this is gonna have to be our little secret, okay? can you promise me that?"

in a ridiculously fitting manner you hold out your pinky finger and he accepts it without hesitation.

"I swear I won't tell anyone, dad." he promises with a certain innocence that comes too naturally to be feigned.

"pinky promise?"

"pinky promise."

"that's my boy."

the last of his thoughts, if there were even any left, disappear as you place one hand on his hip while the other wraps around his cock.

one stroke and his mouth falls open, shameless moans falling from his lips.

"has anyone ever touched you like this?"

"n—no"

"not even madelyn?"

your thumb brushes over the slit.

"hngh—! no, no one.."

"not even yourself?"

he turns his head away. your hand stills.

"answer me."

"I— yes.."

you reward him with another stroke.

"see, that wasn't so hard. no need to lie to your own dad. you know I'll love you no matter what."

it doesn't matter if you're saying that because you mean it or just because it's what he wants to hear— it works him up all the same.

I'll love you no matter what.

I'll love you.

love you.

love. you.

"I— I love you, dad.." he babbles.

you smile. he made you smile.

your lips move, but he can't hear what you're saying. he's gotten everything he's ever wanted and now it feels like his ears are stuffed with cotton.

daddy loves me.

he nods mindlessly, but all he can focus on is your hand around his cock. he's touched himself before, but it never felt anything like this—

it never felt this good before. so good— so gross.

god, he's so gross. this feels so, so wrong and he doesn't know why.

shame paints his cheeks red, dripping down to his neck and chest. every touch has him twitching, you're snatching noises from his mouth he didn't even know he was capable of making.

he shouldn't feel this good.

"aww, is my boy enjoying himself?"

it doesn't seem like you're worried at all, so he shouldn't be either, right? he's overthinking. you know better anyway. if you think this is right, then he should think that too. right?

the nickname has him bucking his hips into your hand. each word you coo at him makes his stomach twist with pleasure. each of his pathetic reactions makes his stomach twist with shame.

"good.. feels so hah— good.."

he can barely form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence. but you don't mind, you like him like this.

he's helpless inside his own body. he's helpless in your arms— the only arms there to catch him.

"it's okay, the first time can be a bit overwhelming. but don't worry, I'm here. daddy's here."

it's quite a sight, having him all desperate in the palm of your hand. his eyes are hazy with lust, his face hot from blush and forgotten tears. his sweat glistens in the soft light of the floor lamp.

why do I feel like this? what are you doing to me?

"dad! I can't— please, dad— hngh..!"

"close already?"

he nods feverishly, not trusting his voice to answer. you move the hand that was steadying him by his hip to his cheek. immediately he nuzzles into it, closing his eyes and furrowing his brows.

"we're gonna have to work on that, son."

the hand slides into his hair, pulling him closer until his head nuzzles into the crook of your neck.

little boys shouldn't touch themselves down there.

"but I'll let it slide this time, since it's your first."

you pet his head as he moans into your neck.

only adults can do that.

"close, so close.."

so there's nothing wrong with the way you're touching him, you're an adult after all.

"go ahead, cum for me. make daddy proud."

his orgasm is all but ripped from his body as he spills into your hand with a muffled whine. hot pants land on your skin as you continue to stroke him through it.

you're allowed to touch him, even though he's still a little boy…

"that's my boy, that's my boy.."

you pat his shoulder proudly, fresh tears well up in his eyes. he feels ecstatic and it almost makes up for the shame.

"hey, hey.."

your voice echoes, barely registering in his ears. he can't keep the tears from spilling, as much from happiness as from guilt.

it's not a pretty sight in the slightest, to any normal person at least. you find it to be quite endearing. he sniffles, but the snot continues to run down his nose.

his mouth twitches between smiles and frowns— he's helpless against himself. as much as you're enjoying this, you need to take care of this mess before it really gets ugly.

"look at me, kid."

you pinch his cheek, lifting his head until your face to face. and isn't he just the wettest boy you ever had?

you can't help but kiss the tears from his cheeks, deliciously salty on your tongue. you peck his nose and plant a final kiss on his forehead.

he looks like he's about to break beneath your lips.

"calm down, kiddo. breathe."

you take a deep breath and he imitates it with a shaky inhale. you continue this dance until his breathing somewhat returns to normal.

"there we go."

you pat his cheek. his lip twitches with a whimper.

"good boys don't cry."

"I'm sorry, dad.." he croaks, barely getting the words out.

"no need to apologize. now let's get you cleaned up."

his head falls onto your chest in protest.

"just a little longer.. please?"

you shouldn't indulge him, you've already been way too nice to him tonight anyway. yet..

"fine. 5 minutes, but no longer, okay?" you sigh.

you feel his smile spreading against your chest as he nods.

hopefully he'll get it right this time.

----------------------------------------