the fact the arranged relationship trope would be so easy to pull off w/ homelander because this man has never had a single relationship that wasn't fake/manufactured somehow lmfaooo until it stops being fake on his end. that's when things Really get interesting
Anon, you don't know how much I LOVE some good fake dating trope. Considering what we saw of Homelander and Starlight, there were glimpses of him actually wanting in a way, for it to be real, mayhaps to assert his dominance, but also because how what's real and fake is so mingled and duplicituous in his mind. They had potential there.
But, yeah! Imagine. You are an non-supe actress, a rising star—what you need, now, is some good marketing. Homelander, after the Stormfront fiasco, would look so good dating a non-supe, wouldn't he? You're half eager, half fearful, but your team convinces you, or demands you accept, insisting this is the only way to ensure your stardom.
As a performer yourself, you see right through his fake smiles, the cavalier gentleness of his hand on your waist, his rush to open doors for you and his protective stance against paparazzis and rabid fans—but, most especially, haters.
What began as a simple strategy to both your benefits slowly goes to uncharted territory; for you, at least.
His kisses are no longer more than a little peck in front of journalists and photographers. It's overwhelming, intense, it's all you were afraid of. For all the right reasons. For all the wrong ones.
Hot, and slow. Breathtaking, and all-consuming. Homelander's eyes, his lips, his hands. He starts to leave marks on your body. Not painful enough to be a exactly problem, but for you to feel branded. His, and his only.
Your contract said eight months.
Homelander rips it off in front of you, grinning. "We don't need that anymore, do we, honey?"
You quiver and he delights in it.
Homelander leads you to his penthouse—is it a death sentence or a life one? Horror tastes like craving, you've come to realize; dread is a tempting thirst.
You wonder how long you'll have to wait for it be over. Yet you fear that, eventually, some sick part of you will no longer wish it so.
