#*my writing

Simon felt them as your knees brushed against his sides, against his ribs, dangerously close to enfolding around him. He’d watch your eyes flutter open, blinking away some haze to find him.

“Pretty girl,” he’d murmur, entranced by your softened, gentle mouth and thumbing the plump edge of it, and fuck, if he didn’t get hard right then and there at your contented smile and the fond caress of your hand as you hooked your palm over the back of his neck, nails seeking his hair. Your upper lip enveloped Simon’s aimless thumb and took him into the sweet warmth of your mouth, tasting the salt of his skin, and the bulge in his jeans made itself at home right against your pelvis.

You’d give a surprised and pleased moan at the feel of him before he could feel ashamed (Christ, what happened to taking things slow?), and it would be so easy to fumble with each other’s clothes, kissing all the while he unbuttoned your jeans and pulled them down your thighs, pinning your knees to your front because he’s too impatient for his access. Freeing himself, tugging your panties to the side so you were exposed, and then the perfect, seamless slotting together ascending to firm, yet gentle thrusts. God yes, Simon thinks, rutting against you now, it’d only take a few, and he could circle and press your clit so you’d come as quickly as he would lost in the grip, the warmth, the sounds of your moans and slick sex and the delirious motion and rhythm of moving within you until he peaks and you leak with his spend. 

At the sudden, soft inquiry of his name and your waist curving into him to meet his fervor, he snaps out of his reverie. He pulls away and sits up, breath ragged, with the last of his restraint.

“’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to get so carried away.”  

even more groans, like he’s drowning in it. “fuckin—just fuckin’ ride it, please.”

and you wouldn’t hide your smirk as you continued to drag your hips over him. your hand traveling down to play with his curls, pulling at the back of his head so you can push even further down on his nose: “you're so generous, baby.”

“want you happy,” he’d mumble against you. between harsh kisses to your clit, and sneaking a glance at you, “are you happy?”

you know better than to make him beg when he's glassy-eyed and sensitive.

The clock in the hallway was chiming one o'clock when Y/N finally locked the front door behind her. The sun had set hours ago, but her director seemed to care little about time or the lives of others. Even if it took hours, he was determined for her to get the perfect take, and Y/N felt like her bones were about to shatter by the end of the day.

The only other thing on her mind was getting home to Bill, who she knew would be waiting for her. But now he was bound to be fast asleep in bed, and that was the only thing she wanted to do, too.

She groaned softly as she kicked her shoes off at the front door and hung her jacket up on the coat rack before trudging through the house and up the stairs to the bedroom. She didn't bother to turn any of the lights on as she went, letting muscle memory do her eyes' jobs as her whole body cried and screamed with each step.

Finally, she came to the bedroom door and pushed it open as slowly and quietly as she could, the hinges squeaking softly as they were forced open. She couldn't see, but she could tell that Bill was already asleep in bed, the soft sounds of his breathing drifting over to her ears. The carpet was soft under her feet as she tiptoed over to the bed, leaving the room in darkness as her eyes adjusted.

She could just make out Bill's silhouette, the sheets tangled in his legs as he clutched her pillow close to his chest as if it were her body, his face half buried in it. The sight made her smile, and her heart pulled a little. She'd often done the same thing while he was away; the scent of his cologne often clung to the fabric and soothed her on lonely nights, but knowing that he also did it just made her love him even more.

Carefully, she climbed onto her side of the bed and crawled over to him, keeping her movements slow and measured so as not to wake him up. He was the picture of peace when she finally managed to see him: his eyes closed, his lips slightly parted, his face still and content, and his hair sticking up where it had rustled against his pillow.

Even though he was on a break from work, Y/N had noticed how tired he'd been lately, especially when her own work days lasted for so long. She told him every single day that he didn't need to wait up for her to come home, but it appeared that he just couldn't stay up much longer for once. Even in the dark, she could see the shadows under his eyes, and she had a good feeling that they would be bloodshot once open.

She gently reached out to stroke his hair, keeping her touch soft and gentle, like she was handling a baby. The dark locks were soft when they slipped through her fingers, and the smell of his shampoo drifted into her nose as she leaned down to softly kiss he top of his head, gauging whether or not he would wake up. He murmured softly and nuzzled her pillow as he wrapped his toned arms tighter around it.

"Sleep well, honey," Y/N whispered before leaving a soft kiss on his forehead, letting her lips linger before she dragged herself away from him and into the bathroom.

She quietly closed the door behind her, making sure it didn't slam, before turning on the light. The sudden illumination made her eyes sting, and she squeezed them shut to give herself time to adjust before finding a towel and turning the shower on as hot as she could get it. Steam started to fill the room, fogging up the mirror until she could no longer see herself, and she let herself breathe deeply, the warmth blowing away the cobwebs in her head and letting her muscles relax.

After tying her hair up, washing her face, and dropping her dirty clothes into the hamper, Y/N stepped into the shower and let the warm water cascade over her body, washing away the dirt and grime from the day. A soft groan escaped her lungs as she stood under the scalding water, her tired muscles relaxing as she continued to breathe in the steam and let it soothe her sore throat.

Part of her felt bad for making Bill wait so long for her to come home, but a more selfish part of her thought that he could wait just a little longer for her to finally go to bed. Y/N was so used to going to bed alone and waking up in the middle of the night to the feeling of Bill slipping under the covers next to her that it was normal to her.

She finished up her shower as quickly as she could, leaving her tired body smelling sweet as she towelled off and continued with the rest of her night routine. Her mind cleared as she finished her skincare routine and brushed her teeth, only concerned with finally getting some well-earned sleep.

Just as Y/N had put her toothbrush down, she felt a familiar pair of strong, toned arms snake around her waist and pull her into a warm body. The reflections in the mirror in front of her were still foggy from the steam, but she could recognise Bill's silhouette anywhere.

"I thought you were asleep," she said with a sigh as she relaxed into his embrace, relishing the feeling of his warm hands skimming over her arms.

"I was," Bill said, his voice low and scratchy in her ear. "But you woke me up."

"I didn't mean to," Y/N said as his hands continued to roam her body and he bent down to softly kiss her shoulder. "You just looked so cute."

He trailed his kisses across her shoulder and up her neck, making her skin tingle with each brush of his lip as his fingers crept underneath her towel.

"Not as cute as you," he husked before kissing the spot behind her ear and pushing the towel to the floor, leaving her completely bare for him.

Y/N shuddered when his fingers brushed over her nipples, her pussy starting to clench and dampen when he took her breasts in his hands and squeezed them softly, his lips never leaving her neck.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice just above a whisper as she placed her hands over his.

"I waited all night for you to come home," he mumbled into her warm skin, his right hand drifting away from her breast and down to her lower stomach to pull her closer to his body. She whined when she felt him push his clothed erection into her behind and shuffled on her feet to let him slip his fingers between her legs. "You left me with this, and I didn't even get a chance to play with you before I fell asleep."

A moan crawled its way out of Y/N's lungs when he started to lightly circle her clit, and she fought the urge to squirm out of his arms. Her mind was screaming at her to sleep, but her body had an entirely different idea.

"But I'm tired, baby," she whined as her head fell back onto his shoulder. "I've had such a long day."

"Then the least you can let me do is fuck you to sleep."

Her whole body shuddered with desire, and her cunt clenched hard at his words, a fresh wave of arousal gushing out of her. Instead of giving him a response, she turned around in his arms and brought her hands up to his face, holding him still so she could kiss him softly. As her eyes drifted closed, she felt his lips brush against hers, and he took the lead, gently slipping his tongue into her mouth and pushing his fingers inside her needy pussy. He groaned against her mouth as he felt how wet she already was for him, her sweet spot already swollen enough for him to play with.

Y/N felt as if something had switched in her body; she was no longer concerned with sleep. All she wanted now was to feel every single inch of Bill; she wanted his hands all over her body, and his hard cock inside her.

"I missed you," she breathed into his mouth, her voice muffled by his kisses. "I spent all day wanting to come home to you."

"I missed you, too, baby," Bill said when he reluctantly broke off the kiss. Gently, he pulled his fingers out of her dripping pussy and licked them clean as he used his free hand to push his underwear to the floor, leaving them both completely bare. "C'mon, let's go to bed."

Bill took Y/N's hand and led her out of the bathroom, flicking the light off before he closed the door behind them, leaving them in the dark bedroom again. She could just see where they were going in the dark, thankfully the floor was clear as he brought her to the unmade bed and sat down on the mattress with his long legs stretched out in front of him.

"C'mere," he said as he reached out to take her hand, "come sit in my lap."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat when she realised what he wanted to do. Even though her body was sore and tired, she couldn't pass up the opportunity to fuck herself on his cock while sitting in his lap.

She eagerly crawled onto the bed and into his lap, not yet touching his hard cock as she cupped his face in her palms and kissed him softly, letting their tongues dance together as he gently played with her breasts, holding them with his large palms and gently squeezing her sensitive nipples.

Her hips started to buck against him and she lowered herself onto him, dragging her wet pussy along his shaft to slick him up, making him softly moan against her lips. Even though she couldn't see him, she knew that he looked beautiful: his big eyes hooded with lust, his soft lips slightly parted, and his hair perfectly tousled.

"I want you," he breathed against her mouth when she took his cock in her hand, giving him a few slow pumps, and spreading her arousal around. "I need you, baby."

Slowly, Y/N sank onto Bill's cock, savouring the feeling of him opening her up before wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him close to her. Their foreheads pressed together, she slowly rolled her hips forward and backwards as he caressed her back with his large palms and kneaded her hips, helping her keep her movements steady.

"You feel so fucking good, baby," he sighed before brushing his lips against hers again, kissing her softly and sweetly. "Definitely worth the wait."

Y/N moaned into the kiss as she clenched around him, her sweet spot grinding against his cock and her clit brushing against his skin with each rock of her hips. She always loved being so close to him like this, their bodies entangled as they moved together as one, feeling each other's heartbeats until they melted together.

Her tired body continued to move lazily against his as she savoured his kisses, tasting toothpaste on his tongue as her fingers tangled in his thick hair, alternating between scratching his scalp, stroking his hair, and pulling it. He hummed against her lips and pulled her closer to his chest, her breasts pushing up against him so her sensitive nipples could rub against his skin.

Reluctantly, Y/N broke the kiss to catch her breath and buried her face in the crook of his neck as she continued to roll her hips into him, her clit tingling and twitching with each pass. Soft, breathy moans escaped her mouth as she kissed the side of his throat, smelling his leftover cologne and shampoo. All the different sensations were starting to overwhelm her until the only thing on her mind was how he was making her feel; his warm hands stroking up and down her back, his soft lips caressing her shoulder, and his hard cock inside her as they both wound her body closer and closer to climax.

"M'gonna cum, baby," she panted as her hips started to buck faster into his, her swollen clit tingling more as her stomach started to tighten itself into a knot.

"Already?" Bill teased as he trailed his right hand between their bodies to play with her clit. "Here, I'll help you."

Her body jolted at the added stimulation, and Y/N leaned backwards slightly to give him more space, changing the angle. She found it difficult to roll her hips in the position while he stroked her clit, but just the sensation of his thumb on her clit while his cock was inside her was enough to make her eyes roll back.

"Fuck, you look so good like this," he breathed as he rubbed her clit faster and pushed his hips up into hers. "C'mon, baby, let me feel you cum."

Y/N forced herself to keep her eyes open as the knot in her stomach finally snapped, warmth spreading throughout her body as her cunt clamped down on Bill's cock and her clit twitched under his thumb. He held her body still by wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her back into his body as his lips latched onto her neck, feeling how her throat vibrated with each cry and moan that came from her lungs.

Once she'd finally come back to Earth, she took Bill's face in her hands again and crashed her lips against him, kissing him sloppily in her cock-drunk stupor.

"More," she mumbled against his mouth, clenching around him again. "Make me cum again."

He laughed softly between kisses and held her close to his chest before lying down on the bed, pulling her on top of him without his cock leaving her.

"You can never have just one, can you?" he crooned in her ear as she buried her face in his neck again. "So needy."

A pleasured groan of his own flew out into the night air as he started to gently thrust up into her, letting her lie still on his chest as she scratched at his shoulders and kissed his neck. As much as she'd liked being able to fuck herself on his cock, she loved being taken care of by him even more.

He always knew exactly what she liked and what she needed, and at that moment, she needed him to be soft and gentle with her sore body. Her clit was too tired to be played with again, but thankfully her sweet spot was still swollen enough to be stimulated by his cock.

"This is a better way to finish the night, isn't it?" Bill whispered in her ear, softly groaning when her body shuddered and tensed around his cock. "Just you and me, taking care of each other late into the night. I'd stay up to fuck you all night if I could."

Y/N whined again and her pussy fluttered around him, signalling that she was already close again. Her hips started to move on their own, matching his rhythm as her breathing picked up and she whined louder and louder into his shoulder.

"You gonna cum again?" he asked as he stroked her back, running his fingers up and down the notches of her spine. He felt her nod into his shoulder and sped up his thrusts slightly. "Cum with me, baby."

Y/N clenched around his cock repeatedly, helping her second orgasm of the night come more easily. Her eyes screwed shut as it finally arrived, her sensitive pussy spasming around him as she gasped and moaned into his shoulder, drawing his orgasm out of him. She listened to his own moans and curses as he shot his warm cum into her, painting her insides white as he continued to fuck her through their highs.

She was just about to crawl off of him when she felt his hands on her hips, holding her still. Her spent pussy felt so full with both his cock and cum still inside her, but she didn't want him to leave her. Not when they were still so close.

"Let's stay like this," Bill said, tiredness starting to steep into his voice as he pulled the sheets back over them. "You still feel so good."

Y/N hummed in agreement as she settled further into his body, her breathing starting to slow down as sleep began to take over her body. She tried to find the energy to kiss him or say good night, but her eyes were closing on their own and her body was losing the battle.

The last thing she felt before finally slipping into dreamland was Bill's lips on her forehead and his cock still inside her, slowly softening as sleep took him too.

Homelander knew more about Y/N than he would ever let on.

He knew her coffee order and her favourite foods, what she liked to read and that she liked to listen to podcasts while reading and working. He knew plenty of stories from her former job in the public library, that she didn't watch a lot of TV and preferred to read before bed over anything else. He knew her favourite music, her favourite movies, her favourite authors, and that he was her favourite superhero.

But those were all things that she had told him.

She'd never told him where she lived; he'd figured that out himself when he followed her home one night from a distance. When she'd told her what was going on with her ex-boyfriend, she'd used the word 'stalked', but that wasn't what Homelander was doing at all.

He was just making sure she got home from work safe. Even when that involved flying above her and listening out for her heartbeat.

He'd never tell her that he'd been watching her for months, or that he knew she went to the gym three times a week. She'd never know that he'd found out some of her more intimate traits just by hiding on the balcony of her sixth-floor apartment, listening and watching her through the walls.

He knew what shower products she used, that she treated herself to a hot chocolate before bed when feeling particularly stressed, that she called her parents twice a week, and that her front door had six locks. Each one checked and double-checked before she went to bed. He’d even figured out that she was asthmatic as a child just from listening to how her lungs sometimes wheezed in exertion.

Homelander found her little quirks endearing; some of them were the signs that she'd been scared and was trying to keep herself safe, but he liked that she was trying. He shouldn't have liked that. Deep down, she was likely just the same as all the other mud people: just wanting something from him. But he had yet to figure out what exactly that was.

One thing he would make sure she never found out was that he knew what she sounded like when she came. She would never know how hard the sound of her little gasps and moans made him.

He knew the kind of porn she liked, he knew which acts she gravitated towards, and he knew that she fucked herself with a cheap star-spangled toy while he stroked himself on the other side of her bedroom wall, one of his gloves between his teeth to muffle any sounds he made. He wished it was her hand on his cock, or maybe her mouth, even her pussy. He wished it was his face between her legs and not that stupid toy; he'd get her off much faster, be able to get to the places she had difficulty getting to.

At the beginning, he'd figured that she was just a meek little librarian, someone not worth getting to know. But now, he couldn't deny how much he wanted her. She saw him as a person, not a persona, and treated him like he was real and not as if he had been moulded from clay to be the perfect person.

He had to have her. The question was just how he would get her.

On Monday morning, Homelander descended into the archives just as he did every day. Only the doors were locked, and the lights were all turned off. It was already 10 am, and she started work at 9 on the dot every weekday without fail. The walls melted away as he looked through them to her desk, looking around inside for her, but she was nowhere to be found.

Maybe she's taken a vacation day, he wondered, but part of him had a feeling that something was wrong.

In the months that he'd known her, Y/N had never taken a day off without telling him first. She'd said that it was so he didn't waste his valuable time looking for her, and yet here he was taking time out of his day to look for her. Once he couldn't find her, he made his way back up to ninety-nine, feeling disappointed that he didn't have his treasured bookworm time.

The next day, she was still nowhere to be found. And the day after that. And again.

A whole week had passed with no Y/N, and Homelander was starting to lose his cool. He knew for a fact that she hadn't completely disappeared since he hovered outside her apartment almost every night. So why was she not at work?

Has she quit? Does she not want me around anymore?

He felt like a hole had been punched in his chest. She'd always been so happy to see him and talk to him; how could she just abandon him like this?

He forced the feeling back down, deep inside himself where he couldn't feel it, before making his way back upstairs.

On ninety-nine, he found Starlight in her space at the meeting table, scrolling through her phone. Even though Y/N had told her that they only really talked occasionally, he could trust her on this matter more than he could anyone else.

"Starlight," he said, making her head snap up from her phone. "You haven't seen or heard from Y/N lately, have you?"

"Y/N from the archives?" she asked as she put her phone screen down on the table. "Not all week. Why? I didn't know you talked to her."

Of course you didn't. It's not really any of your fucking business.

"The doors for the archives have been locked all week, and nobody will tell me where she is."

"Maybe she's sick. She doesn't really talk about herself all that much to me; she seems like a pretty private person."

To you, maybe.

"Why do you need to see her? Is there something in the archives you need?"

"No." Yes. "I just needed to talk to her about something. I'll see if she's at home."

"Um, Homelander?" Starlight called after him as he turned to leave. "Don't scare her. She's been through a lot."

Homelander scoffed and rolled his eyes before making his way back out. Of course he wasn't going to scare her. He'd been nothing but kind and courteous to her.

What could he possibly do that would scare her?

Getting into Y/N's apartment building was easier than he'd expected. All it took was some charm, and Homelander was buzzed through, free to go straight up to the sixth floor. He could hear her inside, the television playing some inane reality show while she talked on the phone, presumably to her parents.

He'd just raised his fist to knock on her front door when he paused. What exactly was he supposed to say to her when she opened the door? He didn't just 'happen to be around' and decide to drop on by; he'd purposely come to see why she was avoiding him.

Starlight's words echoed in his mind. Don't scare her.

Instead of dwelling on it, he hastily knocked on the door before he could change his mind. On the other side of the door, he heard each lock click and latch slide before the hinges squealed open and she nervously poked her head through the crack.

Her eyes widened once she saw him.

"Homelander? What are you doing here?"

"Surprise," he said. "I missed you this week, and Starlight said you maybe weren't feeling well, so I thought I'd come check in on you."

"You missed me?" she asked bashfully as she opened the door. She was already wearing her pyjamas, and he could smell the sweet scent of her body lotion on her skin. None of it should have made his loins stir, but all he could think about doing was unwrapping her like a present so he could feel her soft body.

"Of course I did," he said warmly as he stepped forward. "My day's not complete if I don't see my bookworm."

He heard her inhale, her heartbeat pick up, and her body shivered slightly at being so close to him. He hadn't come to her home with the intention of flustering her, but it was a nice addition.

"D-do you want to come in? I was going to make some hot chocolate."

God, she was so sweet he swore it was going to kill him.

"Sure!" he said before waltzing through the door into the apartment.

"Sorry if it's a mess in here," she said as she re-locked the door behind them. "I don't have a lot of people over."

Homelander scanned over the room, taking in what little mess there actually was. A single dirty plate and cutlery set were in the otherwise empty sink, while a coffee mug and a basket of laundry sat on the coffee table in the living room. If that was what she counted as a mess, he dreaded to think what she thought looked like a pigsty.

"I've seen worse," he said as he took a seat at her kitchen table, the chair scraping against the hardwood floor. He took his gloves off and unceremoniously dumped them in front of him, the leather slapping together.

"I grew up in the kind of house where we had to dust in every nook and cranny when we had guests," she said with a soft laugh as she gathered her hot chocolate supplies. "Kind of a hard habit to shake."

They made light conversation as she made the sugary drinks, heating the milk on the stove, stirring in the cocoa powder, and pouring them into mugs. Of course, he couldn't decline when she asked if he wanted cream and marshmallows. Chocolate wasn't his favourite, but when it came with almost a can's worth of cream, he was willing to indulge.

"So tell me," he said as he ran his index finger through the mountain of whipped cream before licking it off. "What's been going on with you lately? You don't seem sick, and you would have told me if you had any time off."

Her pulse spiked. He watched her hands start to tremble as she picked up her mug and tried to lift it to her mouth. Clearly the stress-relief hot chocolate wasn't working tonight.

"Hey, you're okay," he soothed as he took the mug from her hands. "Try to breathe."

She took in a shuddering breath as tears pricked her eyes, making them sparkle in the low light. If she wasn't about to melt down, he would have thought she looked pretty.

"He-he found me," she croaked. "Last week. He was waiting for me outside the Tower on Friday."

"Who did?" Homelander already had a good feeling who she was talking about, but he still needed to hear her say it.

"Scott, my ex."

His stomach dropped at hearing the name. He'd made sure she made it home safe every single night for the past few months, and yet that scumbag still managed to find her and get under her skin.

"I came to Vought because of the security it promised me. Nobody can get into the archives without clearance access, the building isn't exactly public, and you're there. But he was mooching around waiting for me. I think he saw me, but as soon as I saw him I just ran."

"So you've been staying here instead of coming in," he said as a statement, not a question.

She nodded, and a tear rolled down her cheek. "I've just been so scared to leave the apartment in case I run into him, and he does something to me again. I mostly feel safe here, but I can't sleep because I keep thinking about him finding out where I live and trying to break in."

That explains the metric fuckton of locks.

"C'mere," he said as he took hold of her hands and guided her around the table and into his lap. "Nothing bad is going to happen, okay? I'll make sure of it."

Her body fit perfectly against his, as if she was supposed to have been in his arms all along. The scent of her hair products drifted into his nose when she rested her head on his shoulder, making his heart flutter at how much she trusted him and wanted to be held by him.

Is this what it's supposed to be like? To be wanted rather than feared?

"Thank you," she said as she returned his touch, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her body into his. "Will you stay?"

Don't scare her.

She was already scared, but clearly not of him. She wouldn't have asked him to stay with her if she was.

"Of course I will," he mumbled as he rested his cheek on the top of her head. "I'll stay as long as you want."

Without thinking, he turned slightly to kiss the top of her head and pulled her tighter to him. He let his mouth linger, inhaling the scent of her shampoo and letting it wash over him.

But it was over too soon. Y/N suddenly pulled away from him, placing her hands on his shoulders and looking at him with wide eyes, her lips parted. He couldn't get a read on her reaction; her heart was beating fast, and he could feel her body warm, but she didn't seem upset.

"What's wro-"

"Don't stop," she interrupted, her voice just above a whisper. "Do it again."

Tentatively, he pulled his hand away from her back and stroked her face with the backs of his fingers, watching how her eyes dilated and feeling the blood rushing under her skin. His palm cupped her jaw as he brought her forehead to his mouth to gently kiss it.

Is this right? Is this what she wants?

He had no reason to wonder when she raised her head to rest her forehead against his, her nose stroking along his as their lips brushed together, as if she was asking him to keep going. Finally, he pressed his lips to hers, and something bloomed in his chest, warm and bright.

She tentatively returned his kiss, her soft lips pushing back and moulding with his, sharing her sweet taste. He could taste lingering cream and chocolate on her mouth, mingled with something unique to her that he couldn't get enough of. A chill ran up his spine when she hummed in pleasure and rested her hands on his chest.

He wanted to feel her hands on his bare skin, but that lingering worry that he would scare her remained. His cock stirred in his pants, no doubt hard enough for her to feel it, but she was none the wiser when he slipped his tongue into her mouth, tasting her more as he kissed her deeper.

Her chocolate mouth was warm and inviting for him; had he been in a less clear mindset, he would have ripped her clothes off there and then, but the time for that wasn't now. Holding her by the hips as she tangled her fingers in his hair and kissing her senseless would have to do.

He could have kissed her forever, until she'd lost the ability to think or speak, but unfortunately, she was only human. One who needed to breathe.

"You okay there?" he murmured against her mouth as she panted against him.

"Yeah," she breathed, flustered as she removed her hands from his hair. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"You're a good kisser," he said when he drew away from her, keeping her in his lap. "Not at all what I expected from a bookworm like you."

She didn't say anything, just tried to hide her hot face in his shoulder before climbing off him.

The rest of the night was mundane but perfect: the two of them lounged on the sofa in front of the small television set, that show about drag queens playing at a low volume as she lay on his chest and let him play with her hair. The experience felt brand new to him; he'd spent so much of his relationships being the one who was comforted that being able to comfort someone was an alien experience, but one that he warmly welcomed.

Everything about the situation was how things should be: a man taking care of his girl when she needed him the most. No hidden agendas, no strings being pulled. It was as easy as breathing for him.

Once he felt Y/N start to drift off in his arms, he held her tighter to his chest and stood up to carry her to her bedroom, not needing to ask where to go. The small room felt cosier than his grand penthouse, like someone actually lived there. A pile of clothes sat on a chair in the corner, and a vanity table with makeup strewn across the surface was wedged between her bed and a wall.

Carefully, he laid her down on the double mattress and tucked the blanket around her, as if she was a giant caterpillar. He hesitated a moment before reaching down to cup her face in the palm of his hand, feeling her warm cheek, how soft her skin was. He was just bout to draw away when she stirred.

"Where are you going?" she murmured as she nuzzled her face into his palm and opened her eyes again. "I thought you were going to stay."

"I'll be here," he said softly, his thumb stroking her cheekbone. "But you've gotta get some sleep. We need our archivist to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed on Monday morning."

Her hand snaked out of the blanket cocoon and gently patted the space beside her. "Stay with me. At least until I'm asleep."

He swept his cape up behind him and lay down on the mattress next to her, not bothering to take his boots off. She didn't seem to mind from the way her eyelids were fluttering to stay open. The sheets smelled like her, sweet and delicate from her lingering body lotion and laundry detergent. There wasn't enough room for him to lie on his back, so he rolled over to face her, their foreheads almost pressed together.

She felt so warm, cocooned in her blankets, and he wished he could hold her close to him again. But then he would never be able to let her go.

"You never told me how you managed to get away from him," Homelander said after a long pause, his voice low.

Y/N opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again in hesitation. He could tell that she still wasn't entirely comfortable telling him all of the details, but he couldn't help his curiosity.

"I waited until he wasn't home one night and packed as much as I could in a bag so I could just run without him catching me," she said softly. "I figured I could just get the rest of my stuff later."

"Did he? Catch you, I mean."

She nodded. "He caught me as he was coming into the apartment and tried to pull me back inside, but all he managed to do was tackle me to the floor. So I kicked him in the face. He said I broke his nose."

"Did you?"

She laughed softly, a burst of air from her nose. "No, but I really tried."

"Atta girl," he said with a smile. "I figured you had some fire in you."

"I didn't have any money since he took all of it for himself, so I ran to my coworker's house. I didn't know where else to go."

"Well, you're safe now. I'll keep you safe."

He wanted to tell her about himself, but the time wasn't right. The words were right there, on the tip of his tongue.

I was hurt too.

But that was a conversation for another day. For now, he was just content to be able to fall asleep next to her.

At 5.30 pm the next Monday, Homelander waited for Y/N to finish work, just as he'd promised he would, to escort her home. As much as she tried to keep her nerves from him, he could hear how heavily her heart pounded in her chest and her teeth grinding together. It had taken quite a bit of convincing for her to come back to the archives after her week off, but he could tell that she was still apprehensive about leaving the building.

What did she have to worry about? She had him to look after her now.

"What's wrong?" he asked when he noticed that she'd stopped following him through the foyer.

"Everyone's staring," Y/N said, her voice small as she hugged her tote bag closer to her body. "Is it always like this?"

He glanced around at the other people gathered in the foyer, who were certainly staring at them. Some looked away when they noticed him looking back, while others continued, having whispered conversations behind their hands as if he couldn't hear them. Air-headed corporate types didn't normally bother him, but today they did.

Who's that girl with Homelander? What's she doing with him? Whose dick did she have to suck to get to hang out with him?

He fought back the urge to laser every one of them, instead settling for shooting the dirtiest look he could muster and making them scurry off like bugs under a log.

"Just try to ignore them," he said as he took her hand in his. "It's me they're looking at, not you."

They'd just reached the sidewalk when Y/N tugged on his hand, forcing herself to hide behind his back. He could feel her start to tremble against him as her pulse spiked and her lungs constricted, wheezing as she tried to stop herself from hyperventilating.

"What?" he asked, trying to pull her out from behind him. "What's going on?"

"He's here." Her voice was thin and strained as she cowered against him. "Over there."

Homelander followed Y/N's finger to where she pointed, his gaze landing on a scrawny-looking poindexter on the other side of the street.

That was the chump who'd reduced his sweet bookworm into a quivering mess?

His feet moved before his brain did. Y/N reluctantly let go of his hand as he started to march away from her.

"Please don't do anything bad," she called after him, her voice still shaking.

"I'm just gonna talk to him," he called back over his shoulder. "Don't worry."

The traffic slowed and stopped for him as he sauntered over the road, never looking anywhere but at his latest target. Even from fifty feet away, he could smell the stale cologne on him, could hear how he muttered to himself about Y/N.

God, what did she ever see in this guy?

The guy looked like he'd stepped right off the set of The Big Bang Theory; unruly hair that he clearly didn't know what to do with, lame graphic tee with some nerd shit on it. There was no way he was the same person who had convinced her she was nothing but dirt.

But he knew that looks could be deceiving.

"Hey there," Homelander called out as he approached. "You need something? Directions, an autograph?"

"Oh, Homelander," the guy said in surprise as he turned to face him. "I'm just, uh, waiting for my girlfriend to finish work."

"Really? Who's your girlfriend?"

"Her name's Y/N, she works in the archives."

You stupid fuck.

"Oh, Y/N! I know her, nice girl. You must be Scott, then. But from what she's told me, you're not her boyfriend anymore."

Scott's face dropped, clearly not very good at hiding his emotions.

"No, she's definitely my girlfriend," he said slowly. "I promised I would walk her home. You never know what weirdos are lurking around here."

"Hmm, I know exactly what weirdos are hanging around here."

Homelander narrowed his eyes at him, making sure to get as far under his skin as possible. There was no chance that this loser was going to act like his bookworm was actually his.

"What do you want with Y/N anyway? You guys friends or something?" Scott asked, starting to regain his nerve.

"Something like that."

"Figures," he scoffed. "She always preferred the company of men, if you know what I mean."

Homelander grit his teeth together, trying to keep himself from smashing his face into the wall.

"Alright buddy," he said. "She's already told me everything you did to her. I know that you kept her from her family, I know that you stole her money, and I know that you beat the shit out of her on a regular fucking basis."

His pulse spiked.

Gotcha.

"Listen, sh-she deserved it," he stuttered. "The apartment was always a mess, she spent all of her money as soon as she got it, she would talk to other guys all the time, I just couldn't get a hold of her."

"Bullshit," Homelander spat, the word punctuated with a quick flick to the bridge of his nose.

The cartilage cracked and splintered under his finger with a satisfying crunch before blood poured out of his nose like a faucet. No doubt there would be hairline fractures in other parts of his face.

"You broke my nose!" Scott cried, his voice muffled by his hands as he tried to stop blood from spilling down his face. "You broke my fucking nose!"

"Just finishing the job for her," Homelander hissed as he backed away from the snivelling loser. "If I catch you hanging around here again, it'll be your whole skull that gets caved in. Got it?"

"I'm gonna sue you. I'm gonna go to the press and then sue you and Vought for all you've got."

Homelander barked out a laugh. "I'd love to see you try. You go to the press and say that I broke your nose over your ex-girlfriend, who's going to believe you? This doesn't even count as collateral damage."

Just as quickly as he'd strode over, he turned on his heel again, inspecting his glove for any blood. Thankfully, they were spotless.

Clean as a whistle.

"I'd say I'd see you around, Scotty, but I don't want to see your fucking face around here ever again. You don't want to be sniffing around Y/N unless you want something worse to happen."

Without even looking back, he made his way back to the front of Vought Tower, a satisfied smirk on his face as cars stopped for him. Y/N was still waiting for him at the doors, clutching her bag to her body as she watched him approach her. She looked anxious as the people around her started to swarm towards him, trying to make herself look smaller and smaller in the crowd.

But as soon as she saw him, her body relaxed, and her eyes softened. When she'd told him she felt safe with him, he hadn't exactly believed her, but seeing how she reacted to his presence convinced him.

How could someone want to break down a creature as sweet and beautiful as her? Why would someone want to hurt her?

An image of her battered, bloodied face flashed into his mind: her nose bleeding, her lip split, one of her eyes blackened and swollen. It made his stomach turn; his blood ran hot. He could just turn back and finish the bastard off, but that wasn't what she wanted.

And what she didn't want, he didn't want.

"What happened?" Y/N asked as he approached her. "Is everything okay?"

He didn't say anything; instead, he closed the gap between them and cradled her face in his hands. She jumped slightly at the sudden contact before relaxing into him, the roar of the crowd around them fading away into a hum.

She felt so fragile under his hands; he could apply just the slightest amount of pressure to her head, and it would burst like a ripe tomato. But then that would make him just as bad as he was, and he only wanted to be good for her.

Don't scare her.

People were starting to look at them again; he could feel their eyes boring into him. If I did what he wanted to do, no doubt Ashley would be on his back about making a PR statement, or going public. That was the last thing either of them wanted.

Don't scare her.

"Are you okay?" she asked him again, her forehead starting to crease in concern. "What's wrong?"

Don't scare her. Don't scare her. Don't scare her.

"Fuck it," he mumbled under his breath before crashing his lips into hers, not caring about the commotion around them.

She stumbled backwards as a surprised squeak bubbled in her throat, her heart pounding as he continued to touch her, hoping to kiss the shock out of her. Her face was rigid against his for a moment before she kissed him back, melting into him as her hands rested on his chest.

The delicate scent of her perfume and the taste of her lip balm filled his senses, and a pleasured hum escaped her throat when her lips parted for him. He resisted the urge to kiss her the way he had in her apartment, suddenly hyper aware of the attention they were gaining.

Maybe if he kissed her more, they would all just go away.

"What was that for?" she asked him when he reluctantly broke away from her, her voice soft and sweet.

“No reason,” he mumbled against her lips. “Just felt like it.”

She smiled against him before giving him one more brief peck and pulling away from him. His face dropped slightly as his hands fell from her face, immediately missing the feeling of her being so close to him. But once the roar of the crowd around them returned, he understood why she'd moved away.

No doubt there would be a splash page of the two of them on Page Six the next day.

One gawking reporter asked who the 'lucky lady' was; plenty others demanded statements, but Homelander was hardly in the mood for PR. He wanted to make sure his girl got home safely, and he would turn every single one of them to dust if he had to.

"I think it's time we got you home, bookworm," he purred as he wrapped an arm around Y/N, holding her tightly to him with her arms circled around his neck. "Hold on tight."

She squeaked in surprise when they shot up into the air, the city getting smaller and smaller until the people looked like ants beneath them. Her grip on him tightened as they rose higher and higher, her lungs wheezing in the thinner air. They barely had the time to admire the view below them as they soared over the city, finally landing on the balcony of her apartment. He didn't want to let her go, and he could feel that she was still clinging onto him, her legs shaking as she regained her balance.

"You doing okay there?" he asked her when he let her go to unlock the balcony door.

"Yeah," she shakily breathed out as she opened the door and let them both inside. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Homelander followed her inside, slid the door closed behind her and watched her as she took her jacket off and hung it up at the front door. All six of the locks were still untouched.

"Is it always like that?" Y/N asked once she was sure that her legs weren't going to give out beneath her.

"What, flying?"

"No, I mean the attention," she said as she put her bag down on the sofa beside her and kicked her shoes off, Homelander following her lead. "I always thought I was destined to be invisible my whole life, so that is something I never thought would happen to me."

"You'll get used to it." The anxious look on Y/N's face didn't make it seem like she was entirely convinced. "Alright, you don't have to get used to all the attention just because of me. If you want your privacy, I'll make sure you get it."

"How can you be so sure? I really don't want to have the press knocking on my door."

"Sweetheart," he purred, a dangerous tone in his voice. "They'll listen to me. They have to."

Her face softened as she leaned in to him, tucking her legs up next to her as he pulled her to sit in his lap. He was just about to kiss her temple when a muffled ding sounded from her bag. An annoyed grunt escaped her throat as she forced herself to sit up and pull her phone out of her bag to look at a message. One that made her furrow her brow.

"What is it?"

"Library group chat," Y/N said, not looking up from her phone. "Apparently Scott's going around telling people you broke his nose."

That little pipsqueak works fast.

"I'm sure he's fine," Homelander said, a little too quickly.

"Did you?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

He could just lie to her and say he did it to himself. But that would be breaking the promise they'd made to each other.

"It's not a bad break," he eventually said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. "He'll be fine in a few weeks. Besides, I got him off your back, didn't I?"

"I guess that explains why you didn't tell me what happened right away… But if it gets him to leave me alone, then okay."

"You're not mad?" he asked as he took his gloves off and unceremoniously dumped them on the coffee table.

"Of course I'm not mad," she said sweetly as she snuggled back into his chest.

He was quiet for a moment, not making any moves to touch her. She'd just found out the truth of how much he was willing to protect and defend her, and yet she wasn't cowering away from him like he'd expected her to. Instead, she was cuddling up to him like a puppy.

"You're not scared? Of me?"

She sat up again to look at him and took his face in her hands.

"No, I'm not scared of you," she said softly. "Should I be?"

"Someone once told me that they were scared of me. Someone I thought I was very close to."

"And where are they now?"

Dead. With a smoking hole in her head.

"She's not around anymore," he said, wanting to change the subject. "And that's for the best."

He braced himself for a barrage of questions about her that he wasn't in the mood to answer. He didn't think he would ever be in the mood to answer. A sense of relief washed over him when Y/N just nodded in agreement and leaned in to rest her forehead against his.

"Well, if I had your powers, I would have done the same for you," she said softly. "Thank you for looking out for me."

Homelander felt his face burn under her touch, and he prayed that she couldn't feel how hot his skin had become.

Is that what love is supposed to be like? Real, true love with no lies?

No matter how many times Starlight's words echoed in his mind, there was still that underlying fear that he was going to scare Y/N. She didn't know that he was easily smitten like this; not only did he fall fast, but he fell hard.

He couldn't fuck this up. He wouldn't fuck this up.

"Anytime, bookworm," he said, just as softly as she touched him. "Anytime."

You were having a relatively normal night, working a case and staking out a couple of vamps, when your phone buzzed with several messages from Dean. First, he asked if you were busy. Then, he asked if you were nearby. Moments later, he sent you an address to a motel. Then, came the message that caused you to leave the stakeout completely and go frantically speeding down the road.

Your tires screeched as you rounded a corner. The neon light of the motel soon appeared ahead, its reflection dancing across the many puddles on the asphalt. You pulled into the first parking spot you saw and stepped out of your car. The rain immediately soaked you to the bone, wetting your hair and your clothes, sending a chill through you, but you couldn't find yourself caring as your eyes scanned for Dean's room number.

The motel was rather seedy-looking – more so than normal. The wooden palings were splitting, and the paint was chipping off the trimmings and walls. There wasn't any other car in sight. You wondered just how bad things were if Dean had found himself in a place like this.

Once you found his room, you practically ran over to the door and threw it open, not bothering to knock. Your eyes immediately landed on Dean, who sat on the edge of one of the beds, his back to you. A wave of relief washed over you – he was alive – but the sight of his tense shoulders and the untouched beer bottle in his hand kept your anxiety simmering.

You closed the door behind you and took off your saturated jacket, leaving it next to Dean's leather one.

"Hey," you said with a sigh, "You okay?"

Dean responded with a curt nod but said nothing more. You stepped closer to him and placed your hand gently on his shoulder. He flinched at the touch, and you felt a pang in your chest. When you finally got close enough, you quickly scanned his face. The bags under his eyes were darker than usual, and his normally sharp gaze was clouded with exhaustion. HIs hair was wet and spiky, and his lip trembled from the cold.

Your eyes continued to trail down to his side, where his shirt clung to his skin, dark and wet with blood. Three jagged and deep gashes spread across Dean's side. His shirt was torn.

Your eyes widened as panic once again surged through you. You frantically looked around for anything you could use to stop the bleeding. You grabbed the first towel you could get your hands on and pressed it to his side, grimacing when Dean winced in pain.

"Jesus, Dean. What the hell happened?"

"Werewolf," he gritted out.

"I think you're gonna need stitches."

There was no first aid kit in sight, so your mind began running through alternatives. You could go to the front desk and ask if there were any supplies, but asking for anything more than a simple band-aid would cause suspicion, and the last thing you needed was someone knocking on the door asking too many questions.

You could use dental floss. You had known plenty of hunters that used it in the past and not had a problem, but you weren't sure there were any needles…

"There's a sewing kit in the bathroom."

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. "You read my mind."

“One of my many talents.” 

----

Needle, thread, dental floss, tissues, water. You looked over the supplies in front of you, mind racing at a million miles an hour. Despite being a hunter yourself, you weren’t exactly a natural when it came to stitching wounds and performing first aid. In fact, the sight of too much blood caused your head to throb and your legs to go numb.

Dean had already taken off his shirt, leaving you to see the full extent of his injuries. The gashes started at the top of his ribs and curled around to his left shoulder blade. Blood continued to trail down his back, causing your mouth to go dry. Pins and needles tingled your toes, and the room began to spin…

You shook off your thoughts and shifted your weight between your two feet, hoping to get some blood flow back there. You put your thoughts and discomfort behind you and prepared to begin. 

“This isn’t gonna feel great,” you said, trying to control the shake in your voice. 

“Not my first time,” he replied. 

You grabbed the needle and thread, and – with shaky hands – tried your best to thread the cotton through the eye. You sat behind him, deciding to start around his shoulder. With a damp cloth, you tried your best to clean around the area, whispering apologies whenever Dean flinched. 

“What happened?” you asked quietly, using your gentlest touch to guide the needle through. 

“I told you,” he said through gritted teeth, “werewolf.”

“Yeah, I know, but…” you trailed off. “Where’s your dad?” 

Dean clenched his jaw, and you immediately knew you had touched on a rough subject. Throughout the time that you had known Dean, you had learnt his relationship with his father was far from healthy. John Winchester was not your favourite person in the world. In fact, you and Dean had gotten into plenty of arguments about him in the past. 

“He’s not here.”

“That’s not what I meant,” you said, continuing your stitching. “Why isn’t he here?”

“Do we have to do this–?”

“--Yes.”

Dean sighed, scrubbing his hand down his face. The anger and tension radiating off him was palpable, his shoulders were tense and his breathing was heavy. You finished stitching the first gash, and tied the thread off with a neat little knot. Instead of immediately moving on to the next one, you moved around and knelt in front of Dean so you were eye level. You placed a hand on his right knee and traced gentle circles into his skin with your thumb. You raised your eyebrows, sending him a look that was simultaneously stern and empathetic.

You just wanted to know he was okay.

“We’d been stakin’ out the thing for weeks,” Dean began. “We finally pinpointed it to this boathouse. Dad was sure that it was in there, so he sent me in first to sweep the area.”

“And…?”

“Turns out it was a lot smarter than we thought,” Dean said, a dejected smile on his lips. “It was waitin’ there for us. Dad knew, but I didn’t.” 

“Then why did he send you in there?”

Dean shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you. But the thing had me on the ground before I even realized what was goin’ on. Put it’s claws in me and ran.”

You shuddered. 

“Dad didn’t stay,” Dean continued. “The second he realised it jumped ship, he went too. Left me with my phone and wallet… I walked here.” 

“What?” 

If Dean’s anger was palpable, you were damn-near irate. You pressed your lips together, trying to control yourself from spewing all sorts of profanities. If you had it your way, you would have marched your way up to John Winchester and given him what for. You would have knocked his lights out if Dean had let you. 

You stood and pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes.

"He – you? God!"

"Alright hot-head, calm down."

"No, I will not calm down!" You spun on your heel, turning to face him again. "Your own father left you for dead!"

"He's done worse."

You laughed bitterly. "That doesn't surprise me."

"Alright," Dean sighed, raising a hand to stop your tirade. "I'm okay! I'm still here, aren't I?"

"Oh yeah, you're the pinnacle of okay."

"Your sarcasm isn't helping."

You shook your head. Angry tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you were too stubborn to let them fall.

"I just wish you would understand that you deserve better," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "You could leave his ass behind any time you like -"

"Oh yeah? And then what?"

You paused, and looked down to your feet. 

"You could come with me?" 

For half a second, Dean smiled. “You and I would kill each other in half an hour.” 

He was right – but you’d never let him admit it. 

“Why’d you text me then?” You asked. “If we’re just gonna kill one another–”

Dean shot you a pointed look. 

“– I’m serious.” You said. 

Dean stood up with a groan and walked over to you. You stood with your arms crossed, a slight frown creasing your brow. Nothing could be heard but the rain that battered against the windows and the thundering of your own heartbeat in your ears. 

Dean tucked a strand of your wet hair behind your ear, “You’re the first one I thought of… The only one I wanted here.” 

A blush crept onto your cheeks and you shook your head fondly. “You’re fantastic at changing the subject.” 

Dean winked, but his smooth-talking was soon replaced by a painful scowl. 

“Let’s finish this up later, shall we? I’d rather not bleed to death.” 

aerion who kidnaps pretty things and keeps them captive to play with until he gets bored and kills them. it starts out smaller than that, of course, in high school -- girlfriends he abuses, drugs, rapes, shuts up with threats or money or by targaryen reputation alone. it doesn't go as far as murder until later.

he uses a little cabin on the grounds of summerhall, deep into the woodlands, that used to be dyanna's haven. nobody but he and daeron have visited it in more than a decade, and it used to be the place she went when six kids and a husband who was obsessed with her became too much.

daeron who knows about it because aerion drugged and raped his first college gf when they visited after first year of uni/college. daeron passes out drunk, wakes up to aerion fucking her while she whimpers and cries. vomits, demands to know what the fuck aerion is doing, realises that aerion is staring him in the eye when he finishes, feral and grinning

the morning after she'd been confused, couldn't really remember much, did they drink that much? daeron let her believe they had, because in the moment it had been easier than telling her that she had been drugged. it was kinder that she believed they'd had sex while blackout drunk (wouldn't be the first time) than to tell her that she'd been raped by his little brother. aerion was a monster, but he was right about that much.

daeron who aerion continually manipulates into playing caretaker because he enjoys watching daeron get attached and wracked with guilt and grief but ultimately being unable to betray him.

he thinks it's amusing how pathetic and cliche it is that daeron keeps trying to protect/help/save them (he knows daeron sees their mother in them, that he's subconsciously trying to heal the wound of her suffering and death). he's pretty blind to how it's equally cliche that he's recreating dyanna's death* with a version of their mother that doesn't die until he decides they do, who can't leave without his permission, who he can vent all his anger and hurt at the abandonment onto.

he tells himself he chooses people that resemble her -- not always the look, but the mannerisms, the pattern of speech, the personality -- because it makes it impossible for daeron to resist, but... well. he lost her too.

daeron who tries to tend the wounds, bring food, and not get attached because he knows what the outcome is going to be. but he can't help himself. can't help himself because he is genuinely appalled by aerion's sadism, but also because it feels so good to be the brightest thing in someone's world. the softest, kindest, best thing. the thing that they cling to and crave.

aerion offering daeron a choice, sometimes, on days where his toys are a little too broken for rough handling -- on days where daeron tries to push back. you or them. you can get on your knees for me, you can bend over for me, you can take the pain instead. which will it be? well, beg for it, if you really mean it. beg to suck my cock, daeron. beg for me to fuck you. beg for me to hurt you. do you think they'll still see a saviour when they've seen you cum on my cock? or will they see you for what you are.

daeron knows how fucked up it is when they start to want him to touch them, to fuck them, just so they feel like they have a choice, have control of something in aerion's tiny, suffocating nightmare world. It always starts out as their attempt to win him over, to convince him to help them, but eventually that hope gutters out and they just want something that doesn't (only) hurt.

reader who's the latest victim. who might have a chance to survive because daeron's been circling the drain and aerion is worried he'll break if he doesn't give him something to hold on for. you shouldn't get your hopes up, though.

death would be kinder.