Tomato Writes

Another dinner with The Homelander in the penthouse you’ve come to know as a cage, another night spent trying to fend off his increasingly lustful advances. Movie nights couldn’t be enjoyed without the fear of unrelenting hands that couldn’t help but wander, each kiss he reverently placed upon you only served to make you feel dirtier than you should and his hugs — god, you tried to turn a blind eye but it’s hard to ignore the world’s strongest supe, somehow always covered in blood, deliberately pressing his hard on into your hip with that smarmy face of his.

Everything about this place, and you call it a place because it could never truly be home — not for you or him, felt off and no matter how long you spent trapped with him you could never get used to your prison. Hell, even the windows had some sort of modernist bullshit bars covering them. It felt like one big joke from the universe. The wood floor had clearly been shined recently, no thanks to the mess Homelander dragged in earlier that still made you shiver. If you looked closely you could start to make out your reflection in the smooth, glinting wood. Really, it was less of a reflection and moreso a vague mass of soft darkness and blurred edges that could be you, but it’s not like you even recognised yourself enough anymore to even tell the difference.

You snap out of your reverie, peeling your eyes away from the floor, and centring yourself back into your unfortunate reality before Homelander could tell you weren’t truly present.

Ah, that’s right.

You’re in the dining room, the lights are dimmed and that gaudy American flag (he called it patriotic, you thought it downright tacky), is pasted behind him. He fed you fresh oysters, sourced by The Deep who dutifully followed his command though tearfully, and Belgian chocolates straight from his gloved hand and perhaps it could’ve been romantic — if it wasn’t for the vice grip he had on your jaw and the knowledge of the sticky blood that coated them just hours prior. His eyes, the ones you thought were inhumanly blue from your very first encounter, seem to pass right through you and pierce into the very depths soul. No part of you is or ever will be safe from Homelander's invasive need to conquer every cell of your being, just so that he can be the one to say that only he truly knows you.

He collects another oyster, making quick work of manoeuvring your head so it’s tilted back and he can oh so slowly tip back the flesh of the oyster down your throat. It’s hard to swallow when his hand is practically choking you but you know better than to voice your complaint. You both watch each other in the dead silence as you struggle to swallow it down. It disgusts you to see his pupils, fixated on the space where his hand meets the underside of your neck, dilate in rapt attention. A part of you curses your past thoughts as all you want right now is to see the blue in his eyes, anything to make this moment any less horrifying than it already is.

Your heart rate quickens and your left hand, always the one to give you away, fidgets with the table cloth next to you reflexively. You hate how synchronised the two of you have become as both of you dart your eyes down to track the rickety movement. Of course, only he has the nerve to slowly drag his eyes back up to your face — you, however, admit defeat and hope that if you stay still enough he will forgive your almost imperceptible transgression.

His grip on your face somehow grows tighter without crushing you into a pulp.

“All done? My girl has a big appetite tonight, huh?” He drops the forgotten oyster shell and uses that fake sing-song voice as his eyes twinkle with mischief and it takes gargantuan effort to not roll your eyes in front of him. You may hate every disgusting, pathetic fibre of his being but you’re not suicidal. He could laser you before you could even begin to notice something’s amiss.

“Mmm, I suppose so.” Bland, devoid of any meaningful emotion; you give him what he wants without compromising your spirit in the process. You don’t mention that he practically had to force-feed you through the entire meal, and maybe he’ll return the favour and leave you alone. Maybe.

He nods solemnly and drops his hands. You breathe a sigh of relief as you slouch forward in your dining chair. Homelander, gracious as he is, ignores your little mistake and instead traipses over to the floor-to-wall windows with the demeanour of a man who has no worries. You know much better than to be fooled by his false bravado by now. He opens the balcony door and steps through as looks off into the sunset with his hands clasped behind his back like he’s posing for a Vought-issue poster. The Homelander image never rests even when he's safe from the prying eyes of the public.

You might feel bad for him if it wasn’t for the small issue of him kidnapping you.

"C'mon over here, babe." His voice booms across the open room and you scuttle over to where he stands. It's humiliating how he has you at his every beck and call like you’re nothing more than his lap dog. You can’t help but cast a look at the faux statue of liberty that stands nearby as you make your way to him; how ironic, a symbol of independence in the same room where your freedom was stripped from you like it was nothing more than a formality.

You hate the stupid pet names he gives you but the first and only time you protested, you had a broken wrist and couldn't work for weeks. Not like you did much working nowadays so there wasn't much to miss. Ever since the two of you started "dating", he's controlled every aspect of your life: who you're allowed to talk to (nobody unless it's a member of The Seven, bar Deep), which family members you can visit (none), what clothes you wear (only what he chooses because he knows best) and so on.

He kindly allowed you to continue working as his personal assistant but there are a precious handful of employees he still allows you to contact and even then it's under his strict supervision. So, despite wanting to fight back time and time again, you eventually quit your ‘job’ by his own design. You've become his living puppet, only existing to parade around and prove that he's capable of something close to love.

You don't realise you've once again drifted off into that jaded corner of your mind until you hear him exclaim, "What a gorgeous view." You're lucky the sunset is rather beautiful today — that means he won't punish you for spacing out during the time he's dotingly put aside for the two for you since it seems like you were only admiring the horizon with him.

You turn to look at him just to find that he had been staring at your profile the entire time.

Gross.

The softness of his face makes you squirm in moments like this; fine lines eased away and his body, usually tense and unforgiving, uncharacteristically relaxed. Watching him be so at peace reminds you of the uncanny valley effect you heard about so long ago. His wide hands traverse the contours of your arms and you can't help but jump at the contact. Again, you expect his fuse to be short and blow at your thinly veiled revulsion but instead he laughs. Breathless and a bit short but a laugh nonetheless.

"Gee, Y/N, you're like a cute little rescue puppy that needs to be trained. Do you want a collar while we're at it?" His voice is light and playful but there's an undeniable tension woven into his words, and the crinkles that line his eyes, that catches you in your place.

You don’t laugh, choosing to grip onto the railing of the balcony as a delicate breeze passes over you, and it doesn't take a genius to tell he's clearly annoyed by your lack of humour as he rolls his eyes and theatrically pinches the bridge of his nose, "Sweetheart I'm joking." His voice is strained though there's a slight hint of a whine laced in his words. He recovers in record time and shoves that saccharine smile back onto his face in the blink of an eye.

Homelander’s voice calls out in a lazy drawl, "Call me crazy but I get the impression you're awfully shy around me and I've been thinking…We need to work on that. Now." A gloved hand moves from its position on your bicep to lightly boop you on the nose and you think the scrunch of his eyes is his attempt at a genuine smile? His sharp canines show themselves soon after which gives you no option but to nervously giggle at his playful actions.

You force yourself to calm down as he walks around to your back, his red cape swooshing in the wind, and slightly obscuring your vision, as he walks. It pisses you off how heroic he manages to look when you know he’s anything but.

He starts to massage the muscles in your shoulder before they begin their descent. A brief touch at your collarbone turns into a lingering and not-so-subtle caress once his hands reach your chest before looping both muscular arms around your waist in a loose hug.

Of course he'd try to cop a feel even when he's trying to calm you down.

You look down at his arms and snort as it properly dawns on you that he's still wearing his uniform. Then again, does it really count as a uniform if it's all he ever wears? You wish you were anywhere else but here; you've never appreciated getting to look at the fading sun as much as you do now — whether it's despite your circumstances or because of them you don't really know. Either way, the combination of the golden hour and the copious amounts of wine Homelander gave you is helping you to relax for the first time in a long time, that is if you ignore the fact he's currently trapping you in his arms.

It's been oddly silent by his standards and you wonder if Homelander is quietly brooding at your lack of conversation. Just as you're about to say something mundane about the view, you wouldn't want him to be wracking up points against you in his head after all, you just about hear him take a slight inhale right by your neck.

What the fuck?!

The tip of his nose is warm and tickles at your neck as he decides to inhale again but this time even deeper before you realise that he's huffing your scent like some kind of creep. You're at a loss for words but it's not like you can even say much about it for fear of your safety.

"You know," his voice is strained and the sudden noise causes you to go stock-still, "I made sure everything we ate tonight were aphrodisiacs." Another inhale but this time he softly moans when he breathes out, "Thought it would help get you in the mood. God knows you must be pent up." A stray finger comes up to tickle your neck in a way he must think is sensual but it only serves to make you wince. It feels like everything he says is some sort of twisted projection of all his fantasies.

Still, you know you have to play the long game — anything to keep him away from your body. “Really? I had no idea…” Your voice trails off, carried away by the wind as you look across the skyline and blink back tears. The sun set a long time ago.

Homelander chuckles in response, full of his usual arrogance, causing his hard chest to move against your back. "Ah-ah, don’t play coy with me. I know somewhere in that busy. Little. Head of yours,” he punctuates each word with a two-fingered tap against your temple, “you knew that. You might be young and inexperienced but you're not that naive."

You fill with rage at his insinuation that you’re inexperienced just because you don’t have any experience with men. You’re not a blushing virgin but it’s all meaningless in his eyes nonetheless.

“Look at you!” He gently pushes you out of his arms and takes up your hand, forcing you to spin for his enjoyment before he stops you facing him and grips your waist again. “Dressed like a slut for me. You want this too.” His voice is a low growl and you feel ashamed under his gaze, trying but failing to cover yourself. He’s the one that chose the lacy babydoll dress you’re wearing right now, not you!

Homelander bundles you up in his arms, squeezing the life out of you, as if the passion he’s feeling can’t be contained any longer. He hasn’t even kissed you yet but he’s already rock solid and grinding it into you. No, no, no, this can’t be happening. This is developing into so much more than the kisses you’ve shared, the ones you could ignore after scrubbing your teeth so hard your gums bled, the ones that made you feel like you were betraying yourself for not fighting back hard enough. You feel your brain switch into the prey mindset; how can you keep caring about the consequences, when all you can focus on is escaping.

So you shove him. Hard.

But he’s The Homelander and you’re you, so all it does is infuriate him. Perhaps you’ve finally pushed your luck after an evening full of infractions. To your surprise, he pulls back and lets you go.

“Enough!” His voice booms so loud a flock of birds hurry away, their wings desperately flapping like you wish to do and he points a menacing finger at you. You back away and let him corner you into the railing like an idiot. “I know you don’t have any religious hang-ups considering you let that woman fuck you like you were nothing but a brain dead rabbit in heat!” You balk at his snarl and at the mention of your girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend? You didn’t even know what she was to you anymore.

You feel your eyes smarting and it frustrates you to no end because logically you know he couldn’t give two shits about religious doctrine but he sure knew how to make you hurt.

He circles you, cape rushing behind him, mocking you by pitching his voice higher to sound like your cries. “Oh don’t be such a fucking prude. I know you…had dalliances with her.” He waves his hand as if that can somehow erase the years of love and vulnerability you shared with the girlfriend he ripped you away from.

“I watched out for you every damn night even if it broke my heart knowing that my darling could do that to me. And here I thought you were doing this pretend virgin act for my sake.”

His presumptuousness and delusional beliefs that he was preordained to have you just because he said so usually maddened you but today was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“You are an entitled sick fuck! I don’t love you and never will.” Your words cause him to stop in his tracks and you get the feeling that perhaps you broke the camel’s back too.

He rushes over to you, pure rage and desperation swirling in his eyes as his chest heaves. He quickly grabs your left wrist in a bruising grip that has you screaming at him to let go! as you instantly feel it start to swell.

“You wanna do this the hard way, babe? See if I care!” He’s screaming in your face and droplets of spit land on your cheeks but you can’t find it in you to care as he’s dragging you closer and closer to the edge of the balcony.

Your head is on a constant swivel as you look to him and the drop behind you. You beg and beg and beg him to rethink whatever’s on his mind, you can be good this time — really!

By the deranged look on his face you know your pleading lands on deaf ears. He lifts you up like you weigh nothing and fucking dangles you over the edge of the balcony. Luckily he’s only got a hold of one wrist which allows your free hand, the left, to grip onto the bar of the railing.

He looks on with cold indifference, a single manicured brow arched, as you scream and still he lets your wrist go. Your heart drops to your stomach when you realise that this could be your last moment on earth. Your vision starts to tunnel when you make the fatal mistake of looking down.

It all comes rushing to you in that moment. The laughter, the love, your family, the inconsiderate behaviour that only drove a wedge between you and Mia in the last moments of your relationship. Is this what they meant when they said your life flashes before your eyes? Every single formative experience of your life rushes past in a technicolour blur that leaves you breathless.

Where are you now? The 100th floor? Everything looks so impossibly high from up here, you hope that when you drop you don’t feel a thing. Your hand is sweaty and twitching like it always does when you’re stressed around him, your legs thrash beneath nothingness and your face is wet with tears and snot from your uncontrollable sobbing. Homelander looks down his nose at you with a sneer and his hands once again clasped behind his hand and you think that this is it, you’ll die a painful death and he won’t have cared any less.

“Admit that you’re a virgin.” His voice is cold and unwavering but he sighs in exasperation at your confused crying. “Admit that you’re a virgin, sprinkle in something about wanting tonight to be special and maybe I won’t let you fall.”

You gulp down panicked breaths you don’t really have and cry out, “P-please don’t let me die! I was just nervous, I swear! Nervous because I’m a virgin but I want you!”

Your left hand twitches and, once again, you both look to it. His eyes stay on the hand that betrayed you but you don’t have the same luxury and instead whip your head back up to face him and continue screaming until your voice is hoarse and barely audible over the wind.

He takes a step closer, reaches a benevolent hand out and you think that this is it, you’re about to be saved just for him to flick your fingers off the bar that were barely holding on as is.

What?

All of a sudden you’re falling, falling, falling and the air you were trying desperately to hold onto is forcefully stomped from your chest. You squeeze your eyes shut while the exhausting rush of adrenaline pumps through your body at record speed. There is no god or deity to argue with now, you are about to die and you wonder if this is the freedom you’ve been searching for.

Then it all stills and you wonder if the adrenaline has stopped your body from perceiving the fall, but you feel something cradling you hard enough to leave bruises on your cold skin. You decide to crack open your eyes to The Homelander who looks unusually teary. You should be mad. You should be howling at him. You should kick and push and accept the fall. Instead, you wrap your shaky arms around his strong neck and openly weep into his body.

You stay mid-air for what feels like an eternity of you seeking comfort in his arms and him softly rubbing your back but he eventually flies you both back to the balcony where the tragedy began and drops in a heap onto the floor.

He exposes his sharp canines as he slowly grins at how weak and broken down you are; his victory. "Let's start again, shall we?" He holds his hand out but your mind is still reeling from your near-death experience that you don’t even notice the olive branch he extends. He soon grows impatient of waiting for you and rolls his eyes before forcefully grabbing your hand once he sees how violently you're shaking. You hate the fact that you can’t help but collapse into his arms in shock once he’s pulled you up.

He bridal carries you to bedroom which is only a few steps for him. You don’t even kicks and squirm, but your fear doesn’t stop you from thinking about how much you hate the open plan penthouse — there’s never anywhere to hide but it’s not like you could hide from him to begin with.

Once you reach the bedroom, equally as dark, opulent and audacious as the rest of the penthouse, he lays you down on the furs of the large bed like something precious.

He surprises you by gently stroking your cheek as he whispers into the quiet of the room, “You know, you’re lucky to be chosen by a God like me. It’s agonising to hurt you like this, but I am saving you from, let’s say, a life of sin.” His words pain you like nothing else you’ve experienced in this life, not even the fall could surpass this, so you softly weep into the bed but this time he takes his gloves off to wipe your stray tears.

You understand what is about to happen and that nothing can stop the tragedy to come.

You expected him to be harsh; thought he’d rip your clothes off in one swoop, or laser them off your body with terrifying precision. But no, he takes the time to carefully strip your flimsy dress in such a gentle way that nausea builds up in your throat. Your underwear is quickly lost along with your dress and you find yourself completely nude before The Homelander. The lights are still low which causes his eyes to appear like dark caves where all light is lost and no humanity is able to penetrate. Your hands slowly make their way near your head and clutch the blue cotton bedsheets in worry.

Homelander meanders to you and a part of you wonders if he’s moving so torturously slow just to ensure he’s thoroughly snuffed the fight out of you. Eventually, he kneels down near the edge of the bed where your legs dangle off and finds his way to the part of you that you tried so hard to guard from him.

“You’ve never been touched down here before…Not properly.” His voice is breathless as his eyes fixate on the index finger which slowly drags its way through your folds. He lightly grazes your clit and chuckles at the way the shiver in response to his touch.

You hate how infantilising this is, you hate how you were never even given a choice from the moment Ashley sent you into the lion’s den. You especially hate how he pulls back to inspect the way his gloved finger glistens under the low light. He licks the wetness you left behind on his glove like a man starved and makes quick work of stripping that one off too.

"My sweet girl's enjoying this just like I said she would." You scrunch your eyes up at his sickening words and the self-loathing they stir up within you.

Deep down you know this is a natural biological response — he fed you countless aphrodisiacs and the fact that your adrenaline is through the roof surely isn't helping, but years of research can't talk down the burning, lecherous shame that latches onto the instinctual part of your brain and ignites your soul. You enjoy this, it tells you. You only say you're a lesbian for attention, it whispers. The voice gradually gets louder and louder until all you can do is weep and attempt to squirm your way out of The Homelander's grasp. Anything to get away from this.

He doesn't appreciate that though, or perhaps he purposely misreads your obvious discomfort for yearning as he instead shushes in your ear and pins your legs down with such ease it makes you feel even more vulnerable than you thought possible.

"Sensitive, huh? And I've barely even touched you." His voice is quiet and he speaks with such reverence and awe you feel the need to hide as heat blooms in your cheeks.

He sets an imposing figure at the end of the bed, even when he’s crouched down, and it’s almost magnetic the way you feel forced to look at him.

His bare hands rub your ankles and smooth their way up your legs, so close to where you ache but not close enough. He keeps rubbing up and down to the point where you wonder if this is it. Perhaps he’s had a change of mind and will let you go and you can pretend this is all one bad dream. Your leg juts out in surprise when his face makes contact with your cunt in the blink of an eye. He continues rubbing up and down your thighs and you wonder if he’s had a change of mind and will let you go as if this was all a bad dream.

Your leg juts out in surprise however when he messily nosedives between your legs with no warning and his mouth latches onto your cunt like a man starved. His tongue makes sloppy circles around your clit before dipping down and lapping at your wet core. He has you clenching your toes and crying out to whoever who will answer cries — you wouldn’t be surprised if any supes nearby with super-hearing could hear your wails of pleasure, the noises were loud and downright pornographic.

Your hands feel like they’re about to shatter with how hard you’re gripping into the sheets. You whine when Homelander looks up, the sheen of your essence marking the entire lower half of his face, but stop your non-verbal complaining when he wordlessly takes your hands and places them in his blond hair. You flex your fingers uncertainly in his soft strands as he goes back to devouring you like you were the first meal he’s had since the beginning of time.

You grip his hair cautiously but you think you hear him whimper this time as he nudges his strong nose into your clit. Experimentally, you grip hard onto his hair and you see the way he hips frantically rut into the empty space below him. Oh?

It’s as if you’re running on autopilot, after all the you that you know would never do this with him, when you clutch onto his hair so tightly you wonder how his hair isn’t falling out in clumps in your hands. This spurs him on to continue eating you out so aggressively you cum so hard it’s a surprise you didn’t fling yourself off the bed. You eventually manage to whine loud enough that Homelander finally pulls himself off.

You watch him from where you lie and he watches you like a predator hunting down their prey. His tongue darts out to lick you off his face and your body burns in humiliation and shame. It feels ridiculous to even think this but as you watch Homelander, still in his godforsaken uniform, a part of you wishes that he was naked too, that he could at least have the decency to share a bit of vulnerability with you. Clearly you jinxed yourself because he peels off the layers of his suit until he’s completely naked.

You sit up on your elbows with wide eyes as you look at him in all his nude glory. His body is objectively fine, he’s svelte and a bit toned though perhaps a let down from what his padded suit projects, you muse, though you feel no real burning attraction for him. What does manage to get a reaction out of you is the size of his dick. You’ve never seen one in real life but even you know that his is massive. You quickly whip your head to the side to avoid the sight but it’s too late: you know it’s long, thick, slightly curved upwards and kind of…angry looking? You wonder if being a supe impacts the size or if that’s all him. Any leftover pleasure from before is wiped away and you shake in nervous anticipation. How can he expect that to fit inside of you?

Smug as he is, he tips his head back to let out an absolute roar of a laugh — clearly, you’ve inflated his ego far beyond what he deserved. No more is said on the matter as he strokes himself and crawls onto the mattress. It dips under his weight and it’s this moment when you confront just how much bigger he is than you. You feel so impossibly trapped underneath him; maybe if you think of a happy memory, you can act like none of this is happening at all.

Homelander has no care for your inner turmoil, "You should feel lucky I’m doing all the fucking work this time. I'm not even making you suck my dick! Shows how much I care about you.” His words are no less scathing than they usually are but they come out softly as he pants, like this is the only way he can express kindness. His use of 'this time' reminds you that it will never just stop here. He will continue to take and take and take until you're nothing more than a husk — not like he'll care, just as long as he has someone.

He fumbles around at your entrance with a certain lack of grace that has you questioning the validity of his own escapades and just like that, your plan of mentally escaping this torment crumbles before you. How could you possibly ignore any of this? His frustration is short-lived much to your upset. Slowly, he sinks his dick into you and you both watch closely — he in unrestrained arousal and you in morbid fear. He was dripping with precum and still it’s a awfully tight fit that has you hyperventilating in pain. Each time you shut your eyes, you hope for him to be fully inside so this nightmare can finally be over but he’s big and your anguish is never ending.

“Fuuuuuck. How are you so tight? You really are a virgin. Saved yourself all for me.” His words are choked and even he seems pained.

The end of his sentence is punctuated with a single, sharp thrust and you scream bloody murder. Sob escape from your chest uncontrollably as each thrust into seems to be unravelling you from the inside out. He’s barely pulling out and still the pain is unbearable. Homelander shushes your pathetic bawling before he intertwines his large hands in yours, softly licking each tear away from the fullness of your cheeks before biting down on the same spots your tears stained.

"She could never fuck you like this." The growl he unleashes doesn't even sound human as he pounds into you, pelvis smashing against yours that would be imperceptible to a supe but only furthers your agony. Blue eyes start to simmer with that red hue and you unintentionally clench down around him in fear that he could lose control and laser you in the throes of passion. Despite the inhuman display of strength, he’s still somewhat like you in this moment: sweat dripping down his brow, chest rising and falling with each thrust and his face even looks a bit funny as it scrunches up in pleasure.

“Nobody, and I mean none of these mud people can have you like this, you hear?” He’s staring directly into your eyes and you get the feeling you need to respond so you nod but by his sigh that wasn’t the right option. There’s no margin for error, not after he just tried to kill you.

His hand snakes down between your sweaty bodies and a finger captures your clit again and resumes the tight circles that have your brain shutting down from all the overstimulation.

“Nobody can have me. O-only you! Just you!” Your voice comes out shaky and uncertain and warbles under his skilled ministrations but that’s enough to please him. He purrs before diving in, taking claim over your lips in a punishing kiss that leaves the tender skin there bleeding and bruised. He laps up the blood and nips down in a cruel cycle that has you crying out for his kiss just so it can soothe your mouth.

He knows just as well as you that you’re close to the finish line so he speeds up and if you thought you were overstimulated before, you were fully gone now. You’re on the cusp you never wanted to reach but you can’t even summon the pain you know lies just beneath the surface. You didn’t even realise you had squeezed your eyes shut but you hear his voice command you to open them and you do. He is taking everything from you and you give him want he wants on a silver platter. How can this feel equal parts orgasmic and soul-crushing at the same time?

Just as you’re about to cum, he can feel the way you clench around him and he gets even harder knowing he’s about to be your ruin, he leans down and you assume he’s about to tell you some dirty secret of his.

“I killed Mia today.”

His voice cuts through the crashing waves of gratification and straight into your heart. Your vision goes white as you let out a silent scream only Homelander has the privy of hearing. The waves soon turn on you and bring you under; you’re drowning under it all, lost in a unforgiving tempest that’s stripped you to your barest elements and you know you will never be found again.

He brings you back to life by playfully biting your ear but you lay on your side in a daze, counting each star and stripe you can find on the pillowcase with unseeing eyes.

You don’t know how long it’s been but it’s still dark out, Homelander has the blanket pulled up to your chest (or his waist) and you can feel his legs locked in between yours. You shift slightly and feel him drip out of you. Your silence is of no bother to him for once as he strokes your hair like an owner does a pet.

“You’re so stinkin’ adorable when you’re fucked out. Guess I’ve ruined you for other men, huh?” Your heart stutters and his hand stills on your head. He rolls his eyes in his own private performance of irritation, “Not that there will be other...people.”

He spits the last word out as if it was poison and despite it all, your heart seems to be breaking all over again even when you thought you had nothing left to give. You let him douse the hand he broke with kisses and he doesn’t fault you when you cry.

She was so much more than just a person.

masterlist

The amount of hairspray that you had in your hair should be considered an obscenity of some kind, but you didn’t have much say in the matter if you wanted to present yourself well at work.

Everything was so new and experimental at Vought. You were brought on as an assistant, but had in your agreement that you would be given Compound when they had a replacement lined up for you, ‘just in case’. That alone should have deterred you from the project, but some part of you figured that you weren’t actually going to be given Compound V after working for the company for a month. They probably could have found someone rather easily within that period of time to replace you, but they didn’t.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want the experimental drug, because you did. The entire reason you were on the company’s radar was that you had signed up for it, but they decided that they had a better, more temporary use for you.

You weren’t upset about it, anyway. You couldn’t be. Not when you had made friends with some of the people you were working with.

Mainly, you had made friends with Bombsight, or Robbie, though he tended to be okay with either. He was your favorite out of the group of new Supes. He was easily one of the most attractive people you had met before, and he always seemed to have a way of keeping you entertained. He talked to you before anyone else did, even though you were just there to take the coffee order of everyone in the room. He took the time to make you laugh, even though he really didn’t have to.

From what you had gathered about him, he at the very least knew that he was good-looking. But he wasn’t in your face about it, even if that was true. He didn’t sit around, making it clear that he knew that half of the people in the room were going to turn and stare at him whenever he walked in. Though he did seem to be at least somewhat aware that you found it rather distracting when he sat with his legs wide open half of the time. But you didn’t let on that much, and you didn’t see much of a purpose in doing so, anyway. You wanted to, but you sort of worked for him, and he seemed to respect the fact that this entire thing was very new. Vought, the company having assistants and superheroes. The last thing that anyone needed was him misreading the signals that you’re putting down and getting the company sued before it could even really get off the ground.

Another Supe on the new team, Soldier Boy (or Ben, either worked, he claimed), didn’t have a single problem with flirting with you in front of everyone. You knew that he was flirting; anyone with a pair of eyes knew that he was flirting. They knew that he was staring right at your chest when you happened to bend over enough that skin could be exposed if you weren’t so keen on wearing undershirts. Everyone knew that he started at your legs, and your hips, and your ass when you were doing just about anything in the same room as him. He made it no secret that he was interested in you, but you weren’t quite sure how to feel about that.

It wasn’t that he was unattractive; it was quite the opposite. He was a good-looking guy, and he knew it better than anyone did. But he also seemed to have other people who had caught his eye. He was a clean-cut player. He got around, and he got around with other people whom you worked with, like Liberty. You knew that he didn’t mind sleeping with anyone or anything, and that made it difficult for you to deal with the teasing and the flirting. Because the thing was, you’d never call it harassment.

If you really wanted him to stop, he would. You doubted that he’d even tell anyone if you confronted him. He could be a bit intimidating, but he didn’t seem like the type to fuck you over for telling him no. You got jittery when he touched you, you felt something in your stomach and between your thighs when he got too close to you, and sometimes things got a little bit out of hand. Or, really, one time things got a little bit out of hand, and every other time things were pretty under control.

You just remembered that you had been standing in front of a window, looking out into the city by yourself. You’d never worked in a building like the one that you were working in, not really. You had office jobs before, sure, but nothing like this. The scale that was going into making sure that everything was perfect was something that you had never seen in person before, and something that you weren’t sure if you would ever see again.

It almost made you feel important to be able to look into the city like this, knowing that Supes were the talk of the town and that you were in line to get injected too. Truthfully, you might die if you did. There were only five people who had been injected and lived to tell the tale, and a part of you wasn’t sure why you were even counting down the days until they told you that it was coming. You weren’t sure that you wanted it to come.

The thought had been stressing you out enough that when Soldier Boy came into the room, when he flirted with you and stood so close behind you that his chest was pressed against your back, you couldn’t help the way that you leaned into it. The way that your ass pressed against his hips, or the way that you let his hands rest on your waist for just a moment before one of them inched between your thighs.

Everything else had been a blur. You remembered being pressed against a bookshelf in the study that you were in. You remembered the way that his lips felt on your neck and the way that he felt inside of you. But you also remembered that you realized, pretty succinctly, afterwards, that you didn’t have half as much interest in him as you had in Bombsight. Soldier Boy was good in bed; he knew how to please a woman, and he knew how to keep you interested. He even cleaned you up afterwards and made sure that you were okay. But there was just some emotion in you that was missing, something that you were quite sure that you would have felt if you had been with Bombsight instead.

How would you know, though? You hadn’t been with Bombsight, and you weren’t sure if he was going to give you the chance, even though he had lightly flirted with you when he had the opportunity to do so.

Things changed, though. Faster than you would have liked, too.

You’d anticipated that maybe, someday, someone would come to you and remind you that you had signed up to be tested on, too. That they were working on finding a replacement just in case. Or, really, no matter what. If it worked and you lived, you would probably take on a different role in the company. But if it didn’t work and you died, then you were just going to have to be replaced anyway. It didn’t make much of a difference. No matter what, that day didn’t seem like it would ever come, but after two months, it did.

The memory of being injected with Compound V was something that was gone the moment it happened. You somewhat remembered that Bombsight was there, that he was the one person they allowed to be with you when it happened because he was the first one to ask. You knew that, if you were to die, you didn’t much like the last image that he would have of you, but you figured that you would rather be with him than be alone or be with anyone else. But if he held you or stayed awkwardly in the corner, you would never remember.

The injection seemed to fry that part of your memory.

When you woke up, your entire face was covered in blood. There was blood clotted along your cheeks and your lips from where you had probably been coughing, and someone was in the process of cleaning it up. But you were alive, and that much seemed to be a shock to them.

“Y-oh my God.” Bombsight was beside you the moment that your face was cleaned up, his glove coming off so he could feel your neck, right below your jawline. “I don’t understand. She still has no pulse.”

“You thought I was dead?”

“You have no pulse.”

Right. That makes sense.

“It could be a side effect of whatever power she got, sir.”

It was, you’d come to find out rather quickly. You had a pulse, your heart was beating, but no one could feel it. It was like there was an impenetrable barrier around your vulnerabilities that was being protected. You were stronger than before, much stronger, and you were better with weapons that you had certainly never trained with. It seemed like it gave you talents more than it gave you straightforward powers, but you weren’t too offended by that. It made the next step in Vought’s position for you to make more sense, anyway.

If you had something harmless, being told that you were a secret weapon would make no sense. You wouldn’t wear a cool outfit like the other Supes, nor would you be in the public eye like them. To anyone else, you would just appear as an upper-level employee at the company. You were business-savvy, so they could genuinely use you in those areas. But you would handle grittier work, the type of work that would typically be assigned to a bald man in a suit with leather gloves and a suitcase. Someone who no one would suspect could easily overpower them, but could.

But that meant that you weren’t an assistant anymore, and that meant that you were essentially equals with the man who had chosen to be with you when you took the injection in the first place. The shift had been palpable within him, but that also meant that it was palpable with Soldier Boy. Soldier Boy, with whom you had sex with two weeks ago, and it felt like they were in some sort of silent competition that you wanted no part in. Bombsight had no qualms with being with you now, at the very least, he had fewer qualms with expressing it out of fear that he’d upset you, since you were more on an equal playing field.

But Soldier Boy never had any issue with expressing himself, and Soldier Boy had no issue with expressing that he wanted to fuck you again. You, however, were rather aware that you preferred Bombsight. You knew that from the moment you’d been intimate with Soldier Boy, and you weren’t sure how to tell him that. What if you were being presumptuous and Bombsight didn’t want that? What if he was just a nice guy and you thought he was hitting on you when he wasn’t? Plus, you weren’t afraid of Soldier Boy, but you had never been good at doing things that you knew might hurt someone’s feelings.

And yet? You were well aware of what you wanted. You didn’t need to listen to them bicker with each other or have Private Angel and Torpedo remind you that they’re both clearly vying for your attention to realize that. They were both flirting, but you really only wanted one of them. It was Private Angel who eventually got you to actually admit that, and Private Angel who sent Bombsight your way with all of that information to finally (hopefully) stop the bickering and pining that has been going on for as long as she’s known you.

“How’s… this? What is this, actually?”

Your attention was diverted from the papers that you were working on. It was a speech that was being planned for Soldier Boy to give in a few days' time with Liberty, something that you knew was incredibly important to the company and its image. But it also needed to be planned just right. You would be there, and the company knew that a party interested in dismantling Supes would be there as well. There needed to be a big enough diversion in the speech to feel natural and not incite conspiracy, but enough that people wouldn’t notice if you took the party at interest out during the speech.

“A speech, nothing. You’ll see in a few days.” You shrugged it off, leaning back to sit up straight when Bombsight approached you. “Business as usual.”

“Another defector?”

“Something like that, yeah. Disgruntled guy who got rejected for the trials, says that he was denied his ‘fair shake’ at being a Supe when his DNA didn’t align with Compound V. Guess he’d rather die than be told no.”

“Mm.”

Bombsight usually talked a bit more, and he almost always had something more to add to conversations. But right now, he was eerily quiet, and it wasn’t something that you were used to. You watched him with your eyes squinted a bit as he pulled up a chair, sitting beside you. His legs were spread enough that you were watching him quite clearly, but you could swear that there was more of a bulge in his pants than normal.

“You can keep writing.”

“But you’re here, maybe I wanna talk to you.”

“Maybe I want you to keep writing.”

“But-”

“Please?”

“Fine, Robbie.” You huffed as you leaned back down to keep writing, but after you got a paragraph or so done, you could feel one of his hands on your arm. You watched the way that his fingers grazed delicately against the cotton button-down’s sleeve. The way that he undid the button at the wrist was just so his fingers could brush against your arm. He was doing it on purpose, touching you just to get a rise out of you. But he was sitting closer, too. His leg brushes against your thigh, his chin moving to rest on your shoulder. “You’re far.”

“What?” He paused when you spoke, almost sure that he misunderstood you. But you understood what was happening here. Private Angel had done you a favor, and you were getting what you wanted. You weren’t going to let that pass you by, especially since it took two to tango.

“You’re sitting too far away.”

Your eyes met his when you let your pen fall.

“How close would you suggest I sit?”

“I don’t know, maybe we could share a chair?”

He pretended to think about it for a moment before you were both shuffling. He was in your chair, his hands on your hips, and pulling you down to sit on his lap. You were seated rather comfortably against him after a moment, before you picked up your pen and started writing again. But he was kissing your neck the moment that you were writing, and you were really trying to keep up the ruse that you were still invested in the speech and not rather wet and pressed up against him.

“Did he hold you like this?”

So he knew that, too.

“Not really, no.”

“Did you think about me?” His tongue dragged against your skin when he asked that, and you were certain that you almost felt your soul leave your body when he nipped at your neck.

“Yes, I thought about you.”

“Did you wish it was me?”

Bombsight was getting bolder, you noted. He had removed his gloves and placed them on the desk, one of his hands cupping yours so he could make sure that you were still working. His other hand was pressed on your inner thigh, his fingers trailing past your lace garters before pressing lightly against the dampness that was coating the center of your panties.

“I did-I-” You were certain that your brain short-circuited when he pushed his fingers underneath the fabric of your panties, his middle finger sliding through the slickness of your folds. He moaned against your neck, and some part of you knew that no one else could ever make you feel this way. “Tho-thought about you, I wished it was you. I wanted it to be you so bad, and I-after-all I co-ould think about was you.”

“I bet.”

Admittedly, he seemed a bit distracted. He did have two fingers inside of you, though, so you weren’t shocked that his mind wasn’t entirely thinking about whether or not you thought about him when you were with someone else. But he did take your pen out of your hand, urging you to relax against him. The moment he did, you leaned back against him. Your head pressed into his shoulder, your lips parted as a soft sigh left your lips.

“Robbie-”

“Mhm?”

“Please don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.”

His fingers moved a bit quicker, pushing deeply inside of you and curling just where you needed them. You could feel his thumb brush upwards to press circles into your clit. The pressure was just enough to make you squirm but not enough to feel overstimulating. He seemed to know just how to make you feel good, and he must have known it, given the obscene sounds that were leaving your lips as your body pressed back against his.

Bombsight’s lips were pressed against your neck again, muffling his quiet moans as your hips slowly ground against his bulge on instinct. Everything he did made you squirm, and that made you brush up against him. He was just as much of a wreck as you were, and that was definitely saying something.

He held you through it, though. Keeping you close while his fingers worked inside of you until your pussy clenched around them. His grip was rather tight as you cried out softly, trying to keep yourself from making too much noise that it would draw anyone’s attention, but knowing, too, that there was a part of you that didn’t mind too much if anyone heard.

It wasn’t until you came down from it enough to pay attention to your surroundings that you noticed that he was kissing your neck again. Though he did seem a bit surprised when your hands moved underneath you so you could undo the belt on his pants.

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to, though.” You responded, turning back to face him. His cheeks were a little flushed, his lips parted and somewhat wet. But his blue eyes were blown out, all dark, his blond hair a bit of a mess. He looked good, but he looked good every single time that you looked at him, so you weren’t too surprised. “Do you want to? I only want to if you do.”

There was a small bit of your brain reminding you that you needed to be careful with this - there were certain things that were considered polite and impolite in society, and having sex with someone like this was certainly not considered to be polite. But he had just fingered you, so you figured that some of those manners that you were brought up on weren’t in the picture anymore. Really, they had probably flown out of the window the moment that you sat down on his lap.

“I do- God, I do.”

The smile that covered your lips was a bit infectious, but neither of you focused on it for too long. Bombsight worked on his pants rather quickly, while you took your damp panties off so you weren’t just trying to keep them out of the way while you were together. But that was taken care of soon enough, and when he was inside of you, you couldn’t bring yourself to understand why you hadn’t done this sooner.

Your hips moved slowly against his at first, taking him deeper than you had anticipated in the first move, but getting used to it in the long-run. His body felt like it melded against yours perfectly, his hands finding your hips and holding you to him while your soft moans filled the room. But you tried to keep quiet, mainly. Not just because there was a risk of people hearing you, but because you really, really wanted to hear the noises that were coming out of his lips. You’d heard him make little noises here and there before. Mainly, whenever he got hurt in some way, nothing that you were overtly getting off to. But this was different. He was moaning because he was inside of you, and he was doing it so close to your ear that it would have been impossible to miss.

One of his hands moved to the front of you, pressing you back tighter against him when you started to move faster. Your head was pressed back against him, resting right at his collarbone, while you leaned into him. Your eyes were rolled back just a bit, though you bit down into your inner cheek to avoid making a noise that was too loud when you felt him hit just the right spot inside of you.

Everything felt like it was slow and fast at the same time. You were with him, you were moving with him, and you could feel him inside of you over and over again, and that was all that mattered. You weren’t really sure how long it went on before you both finished; all you really knew was that, at some point, you’d both ended up slouched against the desk with one of his hands gripping your hips so tightly that it may have hurt if you felt pain in the same way that a human did still.

Bombsight was as careful about cleaning up as he was about anything else. He kept you close while he cleaned you up before setting you down in the chair that he had been sitting on. But you stopped him when he went to put his gloves back on, taking hold of one of his hands and tugging yourself up on moderately shaky legs so you could meet him in the middle.

“Don’t run off.”

“I’m not.”

“You totally are.”

He stopped, though. His hands found your shoulders to stabilize you when he realized that you had been a little shaky standing up. But Bombsight didn’t run off, even though some part of him seemed to want to.

“It should have been you from the beginning, anyway.” Your voice was so quiet that it was probably easy to miss. But he was so close to you, there was no way that he missed anything that was coming out of your mouth. “I just figured- it just felt like-”

“I get it, it’s… complicated.”

“Yeah.”

His eyes averted to your mouth, and you realized for perhaps the first time since he came in here that he’d kissed your skin but not your mouth. You wondered what his lips tasted like, what he would feel like pressed even closer against you. It didn’t really seem like you needed to wonder for long when one hand slowly moved to your face. One of you closed the distance, and it really didn’t matter which one. But someone did, and all you could really think about was how good he was at kissing you. He was good at everything, and it was almost insufferable, but you had your fingers tangled in his hand and tugging him closer before you could really spend too much time thinking about that.

“The fuck did they put in your hair to get it so stiff?” You teased, breaking a bit of the tension when he pulled back. His smile was adorable, the dimples in his cheeks making you feel weak at the knees in all the ways that you figured he was supposed to.

“The same stuff they put in your hair, don’t be a hypocrite.” He wasn’t wrong, especially given how stiff your hair was when he twirled it around his finger. “We should go wash it out together.”

he hates how weak and juvenile having a crush on you feels but don't worry! it gets much deeper than a crush in no time

he's absolutely willing to try and get into a relationship with you the normal way (or at least as normal as dating homelander can be) but the second there's one minor inconvenience or you don't seem as receptive as he likes, it's gonna go south quickly -- even for his standards

homelander flies above you on your journey home without you realising since he can't stand the idea of you getting hurt all because he wasn't giving you adequate attention

so really it's only fair he gets to hover by your bedroom and peek through your windows using his x-ray vision once he's made sure you got home in one piece

he's a perv

homelander is obviously going to break into your house but he doesn't see it as breaking in

he's simply spending time in his future partner's home, you just don't know you belong to him yet

likes to move things around and watch the panicked look on your face from where he stalks hides from outside your window

he thinks everything about your helplessness against him is soooo cute :)

speaking of him being a perv, i like to imagine tha he was bored one day and stole all your bras (if you wear them)

#hesniffingthem

when you got to work he was not so subtly staring at your chest the entire time

yes he got a boner, no you’re not gonna do anything about it because he’s homelander

the image of your shocked face when you looked down to his lower half is burned into his mind

he only does stuff like this when the two of you are alone

he’s got a reputation to uphold after all

he monopolises ALL of your time -- you no longer have a home life because everything centres around homelander now

tells you what to wear at work and might even surprise you with a whole new office wardrobe

says it’s a new incentive for the employees and yet somehow you’re the only one getting stuff hmmm

he will trap you in some random copy room and talk your ear off about the most asinine things ever just to be around you

he hates that he can smell your fear and hear your heart pounding whenever he's near but he will fix that soon

he's definitely gonna ask if you notice anything new about him in these conversations and will visibly deflate if you don't notice he's used a new cologne because he overheard you talking from 10 floors away about how you like guys who use it

spiritually a loser c'mon

he never bothers trying to impress other people as it's usually the other way around, especially for mud people with no powers like you, so your disinterest absolutely kills him inside

he will be taking out his rage on some poor intern later since he really doesn't want to hurt you too much just yet

you probably did notice but felt too scared to just speak normally with him

he’s gonna invite you to his penthouse all the time and if you dare decline he’s going to make your life at work hell

soon you learn never to say no to his invitations

it’s lowkey awkward because he’s incapable of just talking like a regular person

he doesn’t see it that way though he thinks every little ‘date’ you two have is a success

speaking of rage, he will kill any of your coworkers that seem a little bit too comfortable with you

at first he hides it from you but the deeper his obsession gets the more of his insanity he's going to show

he knows you're a kind person, it's one of the reasons he can't get enough of you, so if you know that you will be responsible for any future deaths then maybe you'll obey his orders more often

if this is what he needs to do to ensure you stay with him he will do it

OH he doesn’t even ask you to date him if it’s gone on long enough, he just calls you his girlfriend in a meeting with the seven and that’s that

"I had a long day. Was kept after work for some items needing to be done."

Your voice is exhausted and worn out. Your body was tight and there was a tension grinding on your nerves. Homelander could see without using his X-ray vision. He knew he needed to take care of you instead of the other way around.

Every time he visits you, normally you would baby him. Kisses, home cooked meal, cuddles on the couch, and then a few rounds rolling around in bed. Both getting some kind of satisfaction and never being left with discomfort. Your relationship with Homelander had been steady, but not yet gone public. His visits only at night to avoid attention, but it suited your work schedule.

You pulled your keys out from your bag. You unlock the front door and head in with him following after you. You dropped your bag on the floor and felt. Something growing inside. Almost the tension in your body wanting to be released quickly. A bath was not going to cut it. Maybe a massage?

As you were trying to figure it out, Homelander had closed the door and walked up to you from behind. He loosely wraps her arms around your waist before resting his face in the crook of your neck. His lips brush your skin, the tension burning in a good way from his touch. It was clear what needed to happen and you took the opportunity.

You turn around in his arms making his head lift only to be captured and pulled into a passionate kiss. The passion dying quickly and being replaced by a deep yarning to consume his lips. He did not pull away, if anything he melted into your lips letting you take the lead like normal. You back him up to the door where his back hits hard enough to make the door creak. Your hands drop to his collar to lead your hands to open up his suit. His skin exposed and the chest hair riddling his chest, something you did enjoy feeling when being passionate. Though this time you rub your hand through his chest hair before pulling on strands to give him twinkles of pain. He groans against your lips, the sound lustful and sweet to your ears. You press your hips against his and feel him just crumbling from the pleasure.

You pull or rip from his lips just to look into his eyes with demands. "Such a good boy, letting Mommy have her way with you." It was like you held a leash to his collar. His breath ragged and already a boner struggling against his suit. "Oh look who joined us."

Your lips curled into a wicked smile as you reached a hand down to cup the tent. You can feel some bit of protection in his suit. It makes your smile drop as you pulled away and glared at him.

"Didn't I tell you before to remove that cup. I want to feel your cock against your suit when you come around here." Your tone was harsh, but then turned soft. "How is Mommy supposed to reward my sweet boy for good behavior."

God how your words gave him such euphoria. "I'm sorry Mommy, it won't happen again. Please let me make it up to you."

Without even saying another word he picks you up by the waist and wraps your legs around him. He carries you to the couch while kissing from your jaw to neck. He nips at your neck, but does not dare to leave marks unless you allow him. Though the work of his teeth relieved the tension that had been crippling your body. His hands release you along the couch as he angles you so your left leg hung off the couch. He still kisses your neck, but stops to remove your button up work attire. He doesn't rip it knowing you wanted him to go slow, but funny enough you pull your shirt open ripping the buttons off. He was startled for a moment, but you gave him a look that said to get to work.

Homelander continues where he left off, his kisses going from your neck, your collar bone, to your chest. He stopped to unclasp your bra with his teeth as the bra had a front clasp. His crystal blue eyes looking up at you as you watched him. Like an obedient dog he is, Homelander began to kiss and even nip gently at your breasts. His actions obviously avoid your nipples. The bites and kisses slowly unwind your stiff body. His hands were busy undressing himself, you didn't notice as your eyes fell shut to enjoy his meticulous lips dancing on your chest.

You have yet to really moan, but your breath was shallowing out. The pleasure is beginning to warm up your body, starting from the pit of your stomach to your chest. The heat between your legs only faint as he was working on building you up to satisfaction.

His lips parted from your skin to speak. His lips graze and his hot breath tickles your skin. "Am I doing good Mommy..?"

Before you could respond he finally wrapped his lips around one nipple while his hand went to the other. He finally was stripped down of his suit. His gloves even thrown off the couch with the rest of his suit. Soon your clothes will be there, but patience. Which he was testing as his tongue rolls over your hardening nipple. Both perked up as he focused his attention on them. Your breath slowly becomes ragged like his was at the door. He always had a creative mouth.

"Just like that, such a good boy." You finally got out as he bites down a little harder than before making you jump with a faint whimper.

His eyes lit up as he enjoyed finally getting a sound out of you. His eager eyes now trained on your body. His hand leaving your other nipple so then his mouth could kiss over and latch on. His hand sliding down to u bottom your pants and unzip them. His hand sneaking under your lace panties that he bought you a year ago. His fingers parting to slide along your folds. He teased the edge of your lips to only grow your excitement. He could smell the hormones and then something else. A faint chemical reaction that would only be picked up by a sharp sense. It was like vanilla, creamy, light, and sweet. His lips parting from your nipple to groan as he was already extremely excited. His hard length just grazing your thigh as he removed his hand from your panties. You were left needing, but not begging.

"Did I tell you to stop?" Your words coming out frustrated.

He was surprised by the tone, but knew you had a rough day. Your normal warmth has an edge to it whenever you are tensed or sexually frustrated.

"Sorry Mommy, I will get right to it." He had a small smirk as he pulled your pants down and panties with them.

Homelander lifted your legs to remove those restraining garments. Once done he didn't release your legs. He only rested them on his shoulders as he lined the tip of his cock to your entrance. He would normally rub his legs along your lips, but today there was something about you both that couldn't hold back anymore. He didn't give any warning as he thrusts into your warm slicken cunt. His head impacting with your cervix instantly. Your head flings back from the intense pleasure as his hips moved quickly. He always thrusts like a dog in heat, but this time he wasn't rapid in an lustful way. He was rapid in grinding along your lower walls, hitting not only the cervix but that certain spot that lets you see the stars.

Immediately the pleasure strikes your body as though crashing waves against the seashore. Your legs shaking along his shoulders. His arms lock you in as one hand rubs your thigh and the other reaches for your breast. His hand cups before squeezing gently against your plush breast. Your inner walls clamping tighten around him in a desperate need to have him deep within you. This time was so focused on you that you lost your edge and the need to take care of him. He was taking you to cloud nine and making sure his eyes stayed on you. Seeking, pleasing, and yarning for your approval.

There was moans rolling off your tongue as he ripples through you with each thrust. The knots twisting and snapping within you were leaving you a mess under him. His own groans and whimpers fueling his thrust to not stop. The pace was perfect, the angle perfect. Your slick keeps the friction quick and easy. But there was one giant knot waiting for the pure release. He could tell as he was getting close. He always seems to be easy to get off, but you can tell his thrusts were deliberate to get you off first.

You call his name with praise for his thrusts and telling him how good he felt. The words only thrilling him and making his thrusts faulting briefly as he aims solely for your cervix making you almost coo with pleasure.

"Can I cum inside Mommy, please~" Homelander whimpers out as he looks down at you with those doe like eyes that beg for you.

Wanting that sweet release you agree to him cumming inside of you. His thrust growing with an eager pace that started to make the room spin and your mouth hang open with relentless moans, groans, and cries. He finally buries himself deep within your pussy, shooting a few strings of cum as he calls you with needy whines. You join him in calling his name as you cum with him. The beauty in mixing both climaxes was gratifying.

Homelander only pumps himself into you to make sure every drop stays inside. He lets your legs fall around him before he lays down on top of you. His face goes straight for your neck to inhale your scent and bury his face against your skin. His arms sliding under you and your own wrapping around his head. Stroking his hair and rubbing his upper back. You both a panting mess as he rubs his nose against your neck. Your eyes are closed and regaining its steadiness.

"I love you." He says exasperated from such a finish.

The first day that you met him, everyone warned you that you needed to be nervous around him. He was volatile, cruel, and not to be trusted.

Maybe for a moment you had been nervous, but it didn’t last. Not when you got into a room with him, anyway. You weren’t like one of the other picks for The Seven; Homelander had picked you personally because he believed that your good image would be good for the team. There had been some behind the scenes controversies, some people claiming that there was too much violence being propagated by the movies. There wasn’t really a hero that was clear-cut as being a good guy, besides, in their eyes, maybe Homelander and Queen Maeve.

You, on the other hand, were a kid’s television show star.

Ultraviolet, named for the rainbow colors that the flames that came from your hands could make. Your powers weren’t all too similar to Lamplighter’s, and as opposed to his more gritty persona, you came off as bright and colorful.

In reality, your hands didn’t shoot the colors of rainbows; they were only edited to look like that on television. There was a hue that would surround your hands and your feet when the flames came out, a natural protection from the heat, but the colors came out different every time. The most common was bright blue, like the flame from an oven once it was on high. But they could also come out red, or yellow, or any other color that would be associated with the rainbow. Sometimes it was two or more colors, but often it was just one. More lackluster in person, but the persona that Vought had created for you made up for it.

You wore a one-piece bodysuit with a blue background and a rainbow across the stomach, with a cape that was supposed to emulate a cloud. The shoes of choice for the show were a pair of roller skates that were often edited to look like there was something coming from your feet - typically a rainbow trailing behind you. You weren’t the most powerful Supe, to be sure. Your powers weren’t necessarily weak, but they weren’t all that special, sparing the color that set them apart from most other people with powers to do with fire.

But your image was squeaky clean. So Homelander recommended you personally, and when Vought pushed back a bit, saying that your image was a bit too different from some of the others and that your color-scheme was too similar to A-Train’s, he insisted. So you weren’t nervous when you met him, because you were fully aware that he was the one who wanted you in the first place.

It was such a small thing, really. Not being afraid of someone you were only just meeting was something that… most people could say in most situations. But that tiny thing for you made all the difference for him. You were the first person, in a long line of people, who wasn’t afraid of him. Your heartbeat didn’t skyrocket any more than it would when anyone would when they met someone for the first time. You didn’t disrespect him, but you weren’t walking on eggshells around him, either. You treated him normally, and that was odd for him.

Something small for you was how you ended up being so close.

Irritatingly close, for some.

When there was an issue, he went to you with it. To handle it, to vent about it, to complain about something that other people would judge him for. When he did something bad, he was candid about it. He told you when something went wrong, he told you about the flight, he told you about everything that had happened between him and Maeve and everything that had led Starlight to hate being on the team so much that he knew of. And it was mainly current things that he complained about until it wasn’t.

There was one particular night that he had come to you, clearly upset. He told you a lot about his upbringing, how he had been made in a lab without anyone who really cared about him. Without anything to bring him any real comfort. He had been made for one purpose, and one purpose only. You’d gotten a lot closer that night, but it was also the night that you realized that you felt more about him than what a friend should feel.

Maybe you shouldn’t have been petting his hair and letting him rest against you. And you definitely shouldn’t have had sex with him before he left, because you were certain that wasn’t what normal friends were supposed to do. But you weren’t normal friends, and no matter how much you knew not to think about that, you couldn’t help it. It made it a whole lot more irritating when Stormfront came into the picture, though you didn’t let it show. You never really let any emotions show unless it was a smile on your face. That was how you’d been raised, that was all you really knew.

But everything kept changing. More people died, you hooked up with Homelander again at Herogasm, and despite everything you knew that he did you remained close to him. Unafraid of him. It was almost cathartic to have someone who was comfortable with it. With the violence, with the pain. With the way that sometimes, every so often, he expected you to hurt people, too. And you did. Most times without question. The lack of fear you had around him didn’t change, but you did change.

There was one particular day that made that incredibly clear.

​

He’d gone to visit the people who ‘raised’ him, and that was something that you knew was incredibly personal to him. You’d expected that he would have gone alone, but he didn’t.

Your fingers - now covered by a white glove that went up to your elbow as opposed to your original costume that didn’t have any gloves - were intertwined with yours as you walked down the hallway that he had surely walked out of years ago, thinking that it was the last time that he would ever see it. But this was different. You knew that everyone here was going to die this time, that they couldn’t hurt him like they used to. Most people might go to therapy, but even if Homelander were most people, something like that was never going to work on him.

For most of the visit, you’d been sitting there. Letting him do what he needed to do, watching while he tormented the people who he hated for tormenting him in the first place. You were quiet, but not nervous. You didn’t feel bad for the men who were dying in front of you, and maybe the version of you that had first been recruited into The Seven would have. There was a part of you that was wholly aware that you had changed in a way that was entirely unrecognizable to some.

Your family, your friends. Many of them were worried. Publicly, you were very close to Homelander. You were always with him, always speaking entirely positively of him. And that was something that worried a lot of people. Too many people, really.

But maybe they had no right to be worried.

“Could you help me with this last one?”

His voice was quiet as he spoke. He was going to enter the room again, the one that you knew he had been locked in when he was younger. He was speaking lowly so he didn’t entirely reveal his plans to the others, but you were certain that they had to know.

“Yeah, sure.”

Help with ‘this last one’ was an understatement, you’d realized. You hadn’t fully realized it until you’d already killed two different people. People who you were certain were uninvolved with him, in particular, but they knew about it, didn’t they? They knew about it, so should you really feel bad when you had their blood on the wall and a hole burned through one of their eye sockets?

Maybe you should. Maybe not all of these people knew about it. You didn’t speak much when you had your hand pushed through someone’s stomach, when you could feel their organs in your hands. There was a certain power in it, even knowing that Ashley would be irritated when she found that she needed to replace your costume again because it had been stained.

But when it was over, you were sitting back against the wall. There was blood on it, blood smeared all over your cape and your legs; it would be a sensory nightmare if you weren’t wearing thick tights. Your hand was over your cheek, feeling your skin. You were pretty sure you had been trying to clean the blood from your face, but you’d forgotten what action you were doing entirely by the end of it. You were in a bit of a daze until you noticed a hand in front of you.

“We should go.”

“Mhm…” You took his hand, but trailed off as you thought back to your own childhood. “You know, I wasn’t treated like you were. Not like… in a room like this, not made to be the most powerful but-the most-fucking-obident. My dad resented me for a bit because my powers didn’t develop immediately; he figured that the V was a scam. But my mom was smart; she knew that they’d come. And she knew I needed to be just fucking perfect when they did.”

There was a bit of an eerie, dazed laugh that came from you when you recalled it. “Fucking perfect. That’s what they made me. And when I wasn’t, she hit me, or she screamed at me, and one day my powers did come because of her. Because she was screaming, because I knew she was going to backhand me or sack my dad on me. And then my powers came out, and-I guess she didn’t hit me anymore after that.”

Homelander, for once, didn’t actually respond immediately. But you did take his hand. You did meet him in the middle, standing up. Your eyes were still glossy, but there was a smile on your face that best displayed the slight confusion that came from that much gore. “They deserved it, all of them.”

“They did.” He almost seemed to be contemplating something before he stopped. His free hand was on your chin, the blood smearing from his glove onto your already stained cheek. You didn’t stop him when he kissed you, and he didn’t stop you when your fingers were in his hair, pulling him closer. It was supposed to happen like this, you reasoned. When you were both a little bit fucked up, talking about how everyone in life loved screwing you over. It was supposed to be just like this. But he pulled back, and you almost fought him on it before you remembered where you were. “Home. We need to go home.”

“Yeah, home.”

​

It wasn’t much of a home, anyway.

Things continued to shift and change. Members of The Seven came and went, and you got over your irritation about Firecracker trying to take Homelander’s attention away from you when you figured that he didn’t really like her very much. But things got worse, too. With him, with his mental health.

He felt entirely too low and alone, no matter what happened. Even when Soldier Boy came back, it was clear that he was just fighting for the attention of a man who was never going to want to play the role of a father figure in his life. He wasn’t really his father, anyway. Biologically, sure, but the man had come out of a test tube. He was an experiment, not really much of a child to anyone. And deep down, you were sure that he knew that. Which was why things got worse, and why you got clingier. Maybe it would help, you figured. It certainly wasn’t hurting.

You’d been close with him in public, incredibly so. Just about any time you were out together, you were holding hands, but there was no real way to define your relationship. It was… codependent. You both relied on each other, but you relied on each other in the same way that you clung to each other. Hooking up had become more normal, making out had become more normal, but it wasn’t really something you spoke about. It just kind of happened, and then you brushed past it.

Until it wasn’t, apparently.

​

Your afternoon had been normal, mainly. Soldier Boy had been woken up about a day ago, but that was something that you’d already moved past. You had a habit of moving past just about everything strange that happened in your life. So what if there was a hundred year old man who you used to have a poster of on your wall on the team now? That wasn’t something that you ever really fretted about before, so you figured that there was no purpose in starting now.

Homelander’s penthouse had become the place that you were in more often than any other place in the building after being on the team for a bit. You spent most of your time with him, so it was only natural that you would also spend most of your time on his floor. There wasn’t really anywhere else that you wanted to be, anyway.

He’d been sitting with you pressed into him, your cheek pressed into his shoulder, while he watched people speaking about him on the news. You weren’t sure why he did it. You knew that he hated watching people talk about him, but it had become worse lately. He was miserable and sad, even with Soldier Boy being woken up. He’d sent him off to deal with something, but Soldier Boy had nearly died, and Homelander had been a bit distraught, even though he’d come back alive.

“Vi?” A shortened version of your Supe name, Homelander didn’t really believe in using human names because he didn’t really believe in humans. The only person who was now a Supe you’d heard him refer to with their human name was Ashley, but that was a bit different. Still, you were used to it by now.

“Hmm?”

“Everyone knows that we’re close, and my image has taken a hit with the Starlighters.”

“Yeah.”

“We should get married.”

“M-Homelander, people don’t even-are-wait, are we dating?”

“Such a human concept.” He brushed that off, but you figured that was answer enough. You were together all the time, and he let you cling to him. He let you be just as codependent as he was because nothing he ever did freaked you out, and that was something that he knew was rare. But he also did like you; he clearly cared about you enough to make sure that you weren’t in harm’s way. He didn’t like people who didn’t like you, and you knew that. “I guess in a technical sense, yes.”

“Mm.” You hummed, thinking about what he was saying. You knew that he probably (maybe) wouldn’t make you if you said no, but did you even really want to say no? You’d kind of tied yourself to him already in every way that counts. There wasn’t a chance that you were going to leave, no matter what, so did it really make all that much of a difference if you were married, besides there being a title to your relationship? Maybe it did. Maybe it did in the sense that you wanted that. “Yeah, okay. Let’s get married.”

“Perfect.”

“It’ll help your image, though?” You asked him, your voice quiet as you moved your head so your chin would rest on his shoulder. Your eyes traced over his face, taking in the familiar features that had become so normal for you to see. You were so used to him that there wasn’t really a way around it. But you felt that you were used to him in a good way. You liked him more than you were supposed to ever have liked him, but it was like second nature now. You couldn’t really imagine your life without him. “I mean, people already know we’re close, so-hmph-”

Your words were cut off when he kissed you. One of your hands was around his shoulder, your fingers tightening in the padding of his suit. You had never seen him without the suit on, and you found that you wanted to. You wondered what he looked like without the suit on, and maybe he would show you if you were married. Maybe, now that you knew what this was, you could actually see him. Physically, anyway. You knew pretty much all there was to know about him otherwise.

His kisses got deeper, though. His tongue brushes against yours, your back pressing into the couch as your body adjusts to fit below his. He was so close to you now, his body hovering over yours. Your fingers found one of the clasps on his suit, but he stopped you before you could take it off, despite the pout on your lips.

“Not just for my image… entirely.”

Oh.

Well, that kind of made sense, anyway. There weren’t very many people who stuck with him. In fact, there would be none if it weren’t for you and, you suppose, The Deep. But he didn’t really care about The Deep. He was a member of the team, but he didn’t respect him, though. He didn’t have any reason to kill him or doubt his loyalty, but he didn’t think very highly of the man, either.

“Can you take the suit off?”

“I’ll consider it.” His eyes broke contact with yours, his lips trailing against your throat. Your back arched closer to him when you felt him suck a bit of skin in between his lips, a sigh leaving your mouth as you clung to him just a bit. “When we’re married.”

“Ugh. Tease.”

The smile against your skin was entirely, entirely worth it.

​

The entire ordeal had been quick. Oh-Father and Ashley put together a ceremony quickly, and you ended up married in front of the general public. Though the people there were specifically chosen because they had a favorable view of Homelander. That didn’t really change anything, but things still changed in a pretty big way. Mainly, that Homelander had also gone insane.

When Soldier Boy came back, he was pretty irritated with Homelander for sending him somewhere without a proper warning that he might die. Soldier Boy almost died, really. But he didn’t because his blood had something different in it. The V that the rest of you had been given was more diluted than what the originals were given, and Soldier Boy couldn’t die from the virus that had been created to be a cure-all for getting rid of Supes. He was immune, but no one knew that going in.

He’d insulted Homelander, and Homelander had a breakdown. But then he went a bit insane.

He claimed, the very next moment that you saw him, that he had seen an angel. The angel had told him everything that he needed to know, and that the reason why everything was so hard for him was that he was the one true God. It was one of the most insane things that you had ever heard come out of his mouth. And while you weren’t scared of him, you were concerned. Concerned because this wasn’t a remotely normal thing to be thinking, because you were quite sure that he was going to get himself in trouble if he kept this up.

There was really only one way that this was going to end, and you knew it. If someone else didn’t kill him, he was going to get burnt out. You really didn’t want him to die or get hurt, but you weren’t sure that there was really any possible way to protect him. Most people wouldn’t remain by his side, but you would. You always did, and you always would. Maybe you could protect him, then. It was better than leaving him to his own devices, anyway.

But now you were just with him, standing there, wondering how to proceed while you were barely comprehending that he was bringing you into the bathroom with him until you were standing directly in front of a tub if…

“Is that milk?”

“Breast milk.”

“Oh.”

“Get in.”

Clearing your throat, you turned back to look at him. You weren’t sure that you wanted to get in, but you wondered if you could get something out of it if you did.

“Can I see you without the suit on? Fully?”

“Yes, if you promise to get in.”

“Okay, perfect.”

You didn’t really need much more prompting. You started with your cape, undoing the claps and letting the cloud-like fabric fall to the floor. Your hands moved down to remove your boots, followed by taking the suit itself off. You were left in just your socks and gloves, which quickly joined the pile of clothing on the floor. But you were stopped before you could get in.

“You wanna see me so bad?”

“Really, really bad.”

“Then you can take it off. I trust you.”

Your eyes moved up to meet his, but you let your hands do the work. Removing his gloves first, knowing that you’d seen and felt his bare hands more than once. Next was the cape, then the boots. But you were careful when you got to the claps on the suit, your eyes not leaving his. Searching, clarifying. But he nodded, knowing that you were making sure that he wanted you to do it. So you did.

Seeing his skin for the first time was an odd experience, but not a bad sort of odd. It was odd in the sense that you rather liked seeing him. You’d felt him inside of you before, you’d seen part of his legs, and you’d seen his butt. But you hadn’t seen anything else, so actually getting him fully undressed was interesting in a way that you hadn’t known it to be when you’d seen anyone else undressed before. Yet, all you could really do was kiss him. On the mouth, on the cheek, on the neck. He let you kiss his chest, let you feel the hair on his chest, and the fact that his stomach wasn’t as toned and muscular as the padding on his suit. He was rather slim, which was a contradiction to the bulky padding.

“Bath.”

“Right.”

You were with him in the bath rather quickly, and thankfully so.

Soldier Boy was in the room on about a moment’s notice. The milk in the tub wasn’t clear, so he couldn’t see anything below the water. But you listened while he talked to Homelander, you moved off of him while he seemingly asserted his dominance by standing up entirely nude. You resisted reaching up to touch him in any way, letting them have their conversation even though it was a conversation that Homelander clearly didn’t enjoy very much.

But the moment he was back down again, you were in his lap, and he was being… odd. Still. You watched as he dipped his fingers in the milk, watched as he sucked the milk into his mouth. His eyes didn’t really leave yours, though his free hand had moved to rest against one of your thighs.

This was a weird situation, you knew that. It was weird to be sitting here in the tub with him because the tub was filled with women’s breast milk that he had taken from a hospital, apparently. You were bathing in breast milk, actively, and that was a strange thing. He was being incredibly odd because he believed that he was God now, and everything was all sorts of messed up. And yet he was looking at you like he wanted to fuck you, and, for reasons that you’d unpack when you weren’t on top of him, you were getting a bit turned on.

“Can a God still get fucked?” You asked him, turning back so you were facing him. His answer seemed pretty succinct when he leaned forward to press his tongue against one of your nipples, licking the bud before wrapping his lips around it. “I suppose that means yes, then.”

You could feel him hard against your thigh, now. You could feel his hand moving his erect cock in between you both until it was settled directly at the entrance to your pussy. Your eyes had yet to leave his, but he also had yet to speak. He didn’t really need to. Not when he was pressing inside of you. Not when your lips parted around a moan that fell through them as you adjusted to the feeling of him being inside of you. It wasn’t new. You’d been with him before. But you enjoyed it just as much each time.

“Do you like this?” His tone changed, almost like he felt human again, as he grabbed your hand to show you the two rings on your finger. There was a wedding band, one that matched his. But there was also a diamond engagement ring. It was pretty, it was exactly the sort of thing that you would have wanted, and he knew it. It was a shame that it had to be worn underneath gloves, but you figured that he hadn’t suggested the change because it was personal.

“I love it, it’s perfect.”

Whatever honesty he was looking for in your eyes, he found.

His hips moved against yours, finally giving you permission to ride him. But you were mainly focused on the way he reacted when you did. Homelander was always a bit noisy in bed, but there seemed to be a bit of increased arousal by being in the milk while he was inside of you. His hands were tight around your hips as you rode him, taking your time.

“I really like that you’re my husband now.” You stated that your voice is a bit breathy now.

“I like that I’m your husband now, too.”

Human. Entirely human. Wanting to be married to someone was a human trait, and one that he seemed to have. But it was something that you weren’t surprised by. As much as Homelander wanted to claim that he was above being a person, you knew that he wasn’t. He was just as much a person as anyone else was, if not more so. But that wasn’t something that you felt the need to say to him. You wouldn’t.

“Fuck-”

The way his head fell back when he moaned, the way he whimpered when you squeezed him just right, did things to you that you weren’t sure how to process. You felt one of his hands caress your hip before moving to collect some of the milk, smearing it over your breasts, before his head tilted back up so his lips and tongue could attack the flesh.

None of this should be a turn on, but it was. It felt good. It was demented and strange, but you found that you liked it. Like him. There was nothing normal about him, nothing that you should really like, but there was never a moment in which he wasn’t your favorite person in the room. Your movements got faster, your moans more erratic. He didn’t seem far behind, either.

And it was your favorite type of sex because you came at the same time, or at least so close that you weren’t sure who finished first. Your fingers tug into his shoulder as you come with a cry of his name, his face still pressed against your chest.

It wasn’t until about an hour later that you were dried off and back in his bed, covered by nothing more than a fluffy blanket. You couldn’t get over the way that it felt to curl up with him, to feel his skin entirely against yours while you were in bed. It was different this way; you liked it far more.

“I really like your body.”

“Yeah?”

Your fingers trailed from his chest to his stomach, resting there for only a moment before moving back up to be placed right above his heart. You liked to feel the beat of it, to know that he was a person even if he didn’t want to be one. But you couldn’t really blame him, could you? He was raised to believe that he was being made to be the best. He was raised in the same way that cattle or a prize pony would be raised. Not to see himself as a person with feelings, not to see inherent value in himself, but to be the best. To be the prodigal son.

Years ago, when you first joined The Seven, maybe that wasn’t how you would have seen things. You were normal back then, despite your past. As normal as you could be, anyway. But you weren’t someone with blood on your hands on purpose. You’d killed a parent by accident, and that was an almost common occurrence in new Supes - if it wasn’t a parent, it was a sibling or a friend. But it was often discovered through tragedy.

Yet, you weren’t the one to kill people just because you could. You avoided it; you didn’t like violence. But now you were comfortable with it, apologetic about it. And maybe you weren’t just as bad as him in every sense, but the inherent codependency that had formed had made you practically inseparable. His crimes felt like they were your crimes, and maybe they were to some, since you looked past them. But it didn’t scare you; nothing about him really did. Not from the moment you first met him or now, with your hand leaving his chest so you could rest your face there instead.

“I think you’re one of the only people who’s never disliked me.” He spoke like he was whispering, but no one was here to hear it, anyway.

“I love you, you know. That’s why.”

“I know.”

Her fingers rapidly typed the passcode, sitting up and entering the chat. Everyone was sharing the link to the same headline.

Malcolm Hudson Found Dead in Apparent Murder-Suicide with Boyfriend

She felt like her heart stopped beating for a second. That motherfucker had framed Malcolm’s boyfriend and made him kill himself after. She hesitantly clicked on the link.

Shockwaves are rippling through the media world after tabloid editor-in-chief Malcolm Hudson was found dead alongside his boyfriend in what police are calling a “domestic nightmare gone fatally wrong.” Police rushed to the Manhattan apartment after multiple 911 calls reporting gunshots from the building late at night. Inside, officers were met with a horrific scene: a semi-destroyed flat, both men deceased, each suffering a single gunshot wound to the head. Investigators say a firearm recovered at the scene contained only the boyfriend’s fingerprints. But the most disturbing detail remains the lack of warning. Neighbors reported no shouting, no argument, no disturbance of any kind. Only silence… followed by gunshots. One resident told reporters: “We only heard things breaking… then the shots.” Authorities continue to investigate the circumstances surrounding what is currently being treated as a domestic murder-suicide.

She felt her stomach turn and she ran to the bathroom, throwing her phone somewhere in the hallway and falling to her knees, throwing up as she started crying.

She sat on the cold floor as she cried, wiping her mouth and burying her face in her hands. Malcolm was gone. His boyfriend was gone. And it was all because she wanted to play with the ‘soft side’ of a dangerous, merciless man. Everything was because of her. She didn’t know how she would ever live this down.

She went back to the bedroom, picking up her phone on the way and sitting on her bed again. Everyone was talking about how ‘they saw this coming’ and ‘they never liked Malcolm’s boyfriend from the start’. She felt a particular type of anger bubble up inside her as her thumbs worked on the keyboard.

+ Two people died and you’re making this about yourselves. Have some fucking compassion.

The group chat died down after that, no one having the heart to text back anything else. She left her phone on her bed and went to the kitchen, destroying the drawers trying to find the packs of cigarettes she keeps there for her friends that smoke. She finally found one and lit it from the stove, coughing violently after a deep hit. She hadn’t smoked since college. But she knew she needed this right now. She laid on the ground, eyes on the ceiling and mind on Malcolm and his boyfriend. She laid like that and cried with raw, almost animalistic sounds erupting from her throat. She put the first cigarette off on her thigh.

An hour later; her crying had stopped, she was lying in the same place and there were only three cigarettes left in the pack. She groaned and lazily got up when her phone started ringing. She picked it up when she saw it was her sister. “Baby? Are you okay? I saw the news just now,” her sister said, the panic and disbelief audible despite the distorted sound. “As okay as I can be,” she said, numbness undeniably there. Her sister didn’t speak for a few seconds. “Do you want me to come over?” She declined the offer too fast, as if she would find out she’s somehow connected to this with no evidence whatsoever if she saw her.

“Okay… Um… I’m always here if you need me. Call me, come over if you want to, tell me to come over… I don’t know. I love you, baby. I’m sorry for your loss.”

She hung up without saying anything back, rubbing her eyes and heading to the bathroom to take a shower. A long, cold one.

When she got out, her screen lit up again. Two notifications popped up at the same time.

A text from Malcolm’s brother, probably sent to everyone, informing that his funeral will be held on the 12th.

An e-mail from the board of directors, requesting a meeting on the 15th regarding her potentially taking Malcolm’s place.

She stared at the notifications in disbelief, not quite knowing how to feel for the first time this morning. She changed into comfortable clothes and got out, walking to the nearest liquor store with a cigarette in hand.

—

She didn’t really live the next four days, she merely survived them, drunk out of her mind and lungs feeling like they’re on the brink of collapse. She wrote a shitty speech and showed up tipsy to the funeral with sunglasses bigger than her head. She saw her sister and her husband in front of the church when she got out of the cab.

“What are you two doing here?” she questioned, voice disturbingly coarse from the wine, beers and cigarettes. “Malcolm was a good man. We wanted to say farewell. And be with you,” her sister replied and looked at her husband with a painful half-smile. “We’re here,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder and leading her inside.

The funeral was horrifying. He’d touched the hearts of so many people and all of them were crying in disbelief; the sound echoing, bouncing off the stained glass and wooden walls. She was the last to make a speech. She stumbled her way to the altar, almost falling at the last stair. Thank God it wasn’t an open-casket funeral. Thank God.

She carefully looked at everyone behind the pitch-black glasses before speaking. Everyone looked at her like they knew she wasn’t sober. She wanted the ground to split open and suck her in.

“Malcolm was… the closest I ever had to a brother. He was a caring man who was always there whenever you needed him. He loved life and spent every day like it would be his last. He was ambitious about his work and he was a good leader. A great leader. I don’t think he has any regrets or what-ifs and I’m… glad… to know that. I hope he’s looking down at us happily, seeing that we all cherish him deeper than he ever could have imagined.” She turned around and walked to the casket, a hand on it. “I love you, Malcolm,” she said. Then, she leaned down and got so close to it her lips almost pressed on the wood. “I’m sorry,” she whispered carefully before walking down and quickly leaving the church as tears started streaming down violently.

Her sister and brother-in-law ran after her as she sat down on the sidewalk and folded. Her sister held her tightly, her eyes welling up too upon witnessing her little sister be in so much agony. She took off her sunglasses and looked at her. “I… I need a drink,” she said between sniffles, her sister’s face softening immediately upon seeing the dark circles around her eyes. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, baby,” her sister replied, which was followed by her snatching herself away from her touch. “You don’t get to tell me what’s a good idea right now.” She sounded eerily calm. Her brother-in-law protectively wrapped his arms around her sister. “Let’s go back to ours, okay?” he offered, not wanting to escalate things further in a moment like this. “Yeah, yeah, that’s a good idea,” her sister said, eyes soft. She nodded, walking to their car and curling up on the backseat.

–

The rest of the evening was spent with her getting drunk and smoking too many cigarettes, her sister and brother-in-law begging her to eat something and failing and her crying in the bathroom once every thirty minutes.

She came back from yet another crying break and seated herself at the dining table, opening another beer. “It’s all my fault, you know.” It slipped so naturally no one reacted the way they were supposed to for a second. Then her brother-in-law’s head snapped up, looking at her sister. Her sister looked at him and then at her, the realisation dawning suddenly. She realised what she had just said only after that, when she saw the horror on two’s faces. Her sister leaned forward carefully. “What do you mean, baby?” She cursed at herself mentally. Did everything in her power to seem normal and like she meant to say that. “Malcolm… called me… the night it happened. I was passed out… drunk on the couch. I didn’t hear the… phone ringing. And then I… woke up to the company group chat exploding,” she lied through her teeth, trying to make the pauses as she made up the lie seem like trying to remember the details grief had packed away.

Relief washed across her sister and brother-in-law’s faces, the horror turning into sympathy and pity. “That doesn’t mean it was your fault. You couldn’t have known. Don’t try to blame yourself, baby. It’s not gonna make things easier.” She nodded numbly, downing the beer, the fizz burning her throat. “I gotta go,” she said and got on her feet with comical hardship. Her sister was on her feet in an instant. “Why don’t you stay? You can stay,” she said, almost begging. She shook her head. “I wanna be alone.” Her brother-in-law stood up at that. “Let me drive you home, then?” he asked and she nodded, looking down at her feet. The three walked to the door quietly. Her sister hugged her so tight it suffocated her. “Be safe,” she yelled as they got into the elevator.

The car ride back to her place was silent. Her brother-in-law had turned on the radio when he had first started driving, but she turned it off almost immediately. She struggled to keep her eyes open throughout the ride, head falling and being brought back up repeatedly for the entirety of fifteen minutes. When the car came to a halt in front of her building, she rose back up and got out in a flash. “Thank you for the ride,” she said, smiling shamefaced. “No problem. Just take care of yourself, all right?” he said and drove off only after she got inside.

The elevator ride was particularly dreadful. Having to stare at her heavy, bloodshot eyes through the mirror made her feel even more sorry for herself–she didn’t even think that was possible at this point. When she stepped out and turned towards the direction of her front door, it was like her whole body randomly became paralyzed.

Because Homelander–not John–was there, casually leaning on the wall next to her door with a smile so sincere it scared her. She swallowed and took a small step back. He winked once, opening his arms and giving the illusion of a warm welcome home.

“Well, you look like shit.”

*

“He could be cool or cruel to you and me, knew we'd put up with anything. I want to hurt him, I want to give him pain. I'm a roman candle, my head is full of flames.”

She helped him up, leading him to the bathroom. He studied her face as she gently wiped the blood off and dabbed ointment over the cuts, as though he expected disgust to appear eventually. But all he could see were focused eyes and an almost-there smile.

“You aren’t scared of me?” he asked, barely above a whisper. Her hands paused over his eyebrow. “If I finally tell you that I am, will you stop asking that every two weeks?” she asked back and giggled sweetly, hands going back to work again. “You should be,” he said, voice normal now. “Okay, John,” was all she said before turning on the bathtub faucet.

“Is the rest of your body fine?”

“Just my face.”

She nodded, setting a bathrobe next to him and opening the bathroom door. “Holler if you need anything,” she said and left, walking back to her bedroom to put her diary somewhere he wouldn’t find.

As John took off his suit and stepped into the bathtub with a huff, she sat down outside the bathroom door.

When he called out her name quicker than she thought he would, she waited for a few seconds before getting up and walking inside again. 

“Stay with me.”

And she did as he asked, sitting on the cold tiles and lightly smoothing his hair. John started mindlessly splashing water around. “Are you… seeing anyone?” he asked, earning a chuckle from her. “No. I don’t want anyone in my life. Not romantically… not like that,” she said, reaching for John’s designated blue loofah. “Not even me?” he asked this time as she scrubbed his body as gently as she could. “No, John. I’m sorry.”

He stilled. Even the water got quieter. She paused too, and he took the loofah from her hand. She slowly got up after that.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“Yes.”

She got out and closed the door behind her. Halfway down the hallway, she decided to turn back and sit by the door again.

On the other side of the wall, John wasn’t even doing anything. He’d taken the loofah for nothing at all, it just laid in his hands as he plainly stared at it.

Sure enough, he called out her name again. She quietly got up, walked all the way to the living room and then back to the bathroom door before going in once more. She didn’t want him to know she’d stayed.

“I decided I don’t want you to leave.”

She nodded and flashed a warm smile, sitting down on the same spot. He handed the loofah back and she resumed cleaning him up as if it hadn’t been interrupted the first time.

When John finally stepped out and got into the bathrobe, she hurried to the bedroom as casually as she could manage. He didn’t know where she kept his boxers and she could not risk him opening the drawer she hid her diary in.

He slowly walked inside, looking around with an impressed expression. “Spending your whole weekend painting the walls was worth it. The burgundy really does fit the room better,” he said as he took the boxers from her hands. “Yeah, I’m happy with it. It’s cute,” she replied and turned around as John untied the robe. After he slipped in, she sat on the edge of the bed and looked at John through his reflection in the mirror.

He crawled onto the bed and seated himself behind her, his head on her shoulder and hand running up and down her bare arm. His eyes found hers in the mirror.

“Sometimes I think I hate you,” he said. Confusion consumed her face. His hand wrapped around her wrist and squeezed. She didn’t even budge. “But the moment I come here—poof. You treat me so nice,” his voice became unsteady, “and I get so fucking mad when you act like this is nothing to you. Like these past five months have been just another Tuesday for you.”

She blinked a few times. “It’s not ‘nothing’ to me. It’s… just not the same thing it is to you.” His grip around her wrist loosened. “I need– I need it to be the same thing,” he replied. She slid her wrist away from between his fingers.

“You might think the whole world revolves around you, John, but mine doesn’t. You’re the one who keeps coming here. I never once invited you.”

John got up upon hearing that. She stayed seated, but turned around to face him. “This is unbelievable,” he spat out. “You should be the one asking me to let you in, not the other way around.” She shrugged. “You’re not my hostage, John.”

He squinted, stepping closer. “Are you telling me to leave?” She dropped herself onto her back on the bed. “I’m saying that no one is forcing you to stay here if I don’t… how should I say it… fulfill your ego?” John’s blood boiled at how sweet her voice sounded all throughout that disgusting sentence.

“You’re skating on thin ice,” he said lowly, her head dropping to the side to look at him. “You gonna Tonya Harding me?” His brows furrowed and his mouth slightly opened, cocky confusion on his face. She chuckled at his reaction, getting up to take his suit from the bathroom floor and take it to the balcony so it would air out until the morning, John trailing after her from room to room. “What are you doing? You’re, like, putting that out for everyone to see.” She looked down at the street and then at the suit, then back at him. Her hands lingered on the suit before she pushed him back inside with her palm on his chest. “No one’s gonna spy on the 25th floor, John. We’ll be fine,”

She got into bed and he sat down next to her. “Already sleeping?” he asked, tone playful. “It’s literally 2 AM,” she replied, groaning and turning her back to him. He almost touched her shoulder, pulling away right before his fingertips brushed her skin. He waited for her to fall asleep while he stared holes into her mirror.

—

She was drinking her morning coffee while scanning the newest headlines as John slept.

“You’re never in bed when I wake up,” he said, apparently he had materialised out of thin air in the living room. Leaning against the doorframe, he pouted sarcastically. “You come here all worn out and tired, of course you’re not gonna wake up before me.” He rolled his eyes. “You can at least lay in bed until I do.” She shot a look—unreadable with a hint of that indestructible warmness. She opened her mouth and then closed it, shutting her laptop and getting up.

“I’m leaving.”

The sarcastic pout came back to John’s face. “It’s too early.” 

“I’m working pretty overtime nowadays,” she replied and paused for a second. “I cleaned your suit up as much as I could. Made an extra sandwich for you, it’s in the fridge if you’re hungry. Fresh coffee in the pot. Don’t stay too long,” she added while putting her coat on.

He smirked. “Extra sandwich? You never eat breakfast,” he teased. “You made it just for me! I knew I would make you fold,” he continued melodically. “No one’s ‘folding’ here except you, John. I’m just trying to be decent,” she replied and left the apartment speedily. Even though she held it back inside, she smiled widely as she stepped into the elevator.

In the office, she basically threw her coat and bag at her table and walked to the editor-in-chief Malcolm’s room. She smiled at him as she closed the door and sat down.

“Good morning! How are you?”

“Good morning, Mal. Pretty good. You?”

“I’m fine,” Malcolm replied, his lips curling into a smirk that looked almost evil. “How’s HL?” he asked, smirk turning into a full-on smile. She laughed. “He’s surprisingly… needy? He’s getting more and more comfortable around me. Last night he came again and literally dropped to the ground when he saw me.”

He giggled, amused. “Have you decided on a title yet?” She nodded. “I’m thinking, ‘Homelander v. John: The Unseen Side of a God’. Is it too corny?” The editor-in-chief shook his head. “No, I think it’s great. Keep it unless you come up with something better… How long left?” She thought for a second. “I think I can crack him further, honestly. One more month, maybe one and a half.”

The man nodded slowly, smiling again. “This single article is gonna save us from bankruptcy. Please, please, please don’t fuck it up or fall in love–or get yourself laser-sliced.” She laughed. “I won’t. But you gotta raise my pay when things go back to normal. I’m basically risking my life for this, Mal.” He frowned. “Raise your pay? Honey, I’m gonna make you the managing editor after things go back to normal.”

She narrowed her eyes at that, satisfaction already building up. “Thank you, Malcolm. Let me get to work,” she said and got up, heading towards the door.

“Okay. You wanna go down to that new sushi place for lunch?”

“Yes! Looks so good. See you.”

When she sat down, she took out her laptop and diary; transferring the stuff in her diary to her document.

November 4. Homelander is back, injured again. He collapsed immediately upon seeing me; his face telling me, “I surrender.” He was John again as I cleaned his wounds and bathed him like a mother. He said I mean something to him. I know that unsettles him. But he still came back.

When lunchtime came, she got up from her chair for the first time since she sat down 4 hours ago, taking her laptop and diary in her hands and heading back to Malcolm’s office. She knocked on the door but didn’t wait for him to answer, getting in and putting her laptop and diary away in the cabinet he keeps important stuff. The one everyone knows not to even consider taking a quick look at.

At the sushi place, they talked more about Homelander v. John. Obviously.

“I kinda think you should fuck him,” Malcolm says casually, making her almost choke on a piece of pickled ginger. “For the article or..?” He laughs. “Of course. But also to see for yourself. Aren’t you curious? Y’all have been sleeping in the same bed for almost half a year and you haven’t let him kiss you once.”

She thought. If he was bad in bed, that would be great material. If he was good, it would be nice for her and the article. It was a win either way. Plus, it might make her closer to reaching her goal of ‘cracking him further’. “You’re right, Mal, and I hate it.” He scoffed sassily and flipped her off. “And I hate how your left eye flickers like a possessed doll when you’re deep in thought. You never hear me saying anything about that.”

Back at the office, she saw that she’d transferred everything in her diary for now and worked on her other articles. Continued the one about her interview with a fantasy author, published the one about her predictions for next year’s fashion trends.

As she was gathering her stuff and preparing to leave, her phone buzzed. John.

+ Can I stay tonight?

She smirked, already walking toward Malcolm’s office before she registered it.

- Since when are you asking for permission?

+ Since right now

- You can stay.

She shoved her phone in his face. “I think I’m gonna take your advice sooner than planned.” Malcolm laughed hysterically, the employees behind the glass wall glancing toward his office.

“Don’t come in tomorrow morning unless America’s favourite superhero’s been on top o’ ya,” he said, the laughter lingering in his voice. “On top of me? Cowgirl exists,” she joked. Malcolm scoffed sympathetically. “So cute of you to think he’d let you take control, honey.”

After she returned home; she took a long shower, did her hair up real nice, drowned herself in the best perfume she had and wore the nightgown she hadn’t in years. Only once she started cooking did she realise what she’d spent the last two hours doing. The realisation shocked her, that she unconsciously got dolled up for him. She shook her head once, then twice, to get her mind refocused on dinner.

It was around 9 PM when the door bell rang. John was surprising her today. The moment she opened the door, “What happened to you today?” she questioned—genuine. “I wanted to live life through a civilian’s eyes,” he replied and walked in, pulling her into a hug.

A hug?

She wrapped her arms around him. Against her shoulder, he mumbled, “You’ve never used this perfume before. Only for special occasions?” She pulled away as he winked. “Something like that,” she said while making her way back to the kitchen, John only a step behind. “Wow, you cooked, too?” She only smiled, plating the dish and pouring a glass of wine only for herself.

He sat down as she set the plates down, his hands reaching for the fork and knife when she told him to wait and gestured for him to get up.

He followed her into the bedroom. She rummaged through her dresser, finding a shirt and pair of sweatpants. “Take the suit off. I don’t want Homelander tonight. John time, come on,” she said as she laid them on the bed. He reluctantly popped off the buttons on top of his suit. “Are these your ex-fiancé’s?” he asked, offended. She made a disgusted face. “No. I donated those to a homeless shelter. These are my dad’s. He flies over to stay for a week or two once a year.”

She went back to the kitchen as he changed, chugging the wine and pouring another glass while waiting for him to come back.

When he did, they finally started eating, his eyes widening. “Didn’t take you for a chef,” he said. She smiled. “I was a waitress at this fancy restaurant back in college. I’d spend my breaks in the kitchen and watch everything,” she said, eyes trailing off as she reminisced. Good old days.

John paused for a long while, catching her attention.

“Who was that guy today? The one you had lunch with.”

She frowned. “Am I being surveilled, John?” He coughed once, performed. “I was… passing by and I saw you,” he replied and immediately looked somewhere else.

She playfully raised an eyebrow.

“My boss, Malcolm.”

“Seemed like a pretty fun and friendly boss-employee dynamic.”

“And you said you were just passing by?

“Why are you having a one-on-one lunch with your boss?”

“He’s gay, John.”

That concluded his little interrogation. He tapped his fingers on the table a few times. “Oh. Ew,” he said before continuing his meal. She rolled her eyes as she did the same. Soon after, it was her turn to pause. “That’s why you wanted to stay tonight? ‘Cause you were jealous?” He answered a beat too late. “I wasn’t jealous.”

“Really?”

“You said I always come here ‘all worn out and tired’. I wanted to change things up a bit.” He stared at her, then rolled his eyes. “Ugh, you don’t deserve anything. Whatever.”

She shook her head, giggling. She knew he didn’t mean it and she liked it more than she should’ve.

John went to the living room as she loaded the dishwasher and when she sat next to him, she had poured yet another glass. “What are you, an alcoholic?” She scrunched her nose. “Thought I needed to get at least tipsy to make it through tonight.” He pouted—the same sarcastic one from this morning. “Am I that hard to be around?” She shook her head. “It’s not about you. Just work… stuff. I told you I’ve been working overtime.” John’s face remained blank but his eyes lit up. “You should come work at Vought.” She chuckled dryly. “And work under worse conditions? I’m good.” He smirked. “You would see me every day, though.”

“I’m gonna get promoted to managing editor when I finish this one article. Between a man and my career, I’ll choose the latter.”

“I’m not a man, though, I’m a god.”

“Whatever that means.”

The rest of the evening went on as she talked about the West Hollywood teenage experience, the gap year she spent in Vienna, why she decided to move to New York and her early times as an amateur journalist. John surprised himself when he realised how intently he was listening. He was genuinely listening. But all throughout, there was this question at the back of his head making him crazy. When the room got quiet at one point, he blurted it out.

“Why did you break up with your fiancé?”

She sighed loudly, setting the wine glass on the floor. “He kept cheating on me and swore he’d change every time I caught him. He never did. So I left quietly one night.”

John frowned. “He never came looking for you?” She chuckled at that. “He would’ve actually stopped if he cared that much,” she replied and picked the wine glass up from the floor. His frown grew deeper by the second. “He– He didn’t know what he had,” he said, hands slowly creeping up to her thighs to softly caress them. They both looked at his hands; both silent, both content. She set the wine glass down again and slowly inched closer to him on the sofa, John’s eyes flashing back up. She cupped his cheek, thumb over his cheekbone as she kissed him oh-so softly. John froze, not being able to physically respond. She held her lips on top of his, waiting for him to come back to his senses. And when he finally did, kissing her hungrily as he effortlessly picked her up and made his way to the bedroom holding her; she regretted it. This felt too good. But it wasn’t supposed to. At all.

He laid her onto the bed—she thought he would throw her—and got on top of her, brushing hair out of her face before kissing her again. She pushed her palms against his shoulders and tried flipping him over. “No, no, no,” John whispered. “That’s not how we’re gonna do this.” I guess Malcolm was right after all, she thought.

She reached down to the hem of her nightgown as they kissed, pulling it further up to take it off. John held her hands in place rougher than he had intended to. “Keep it on. It’s pretty.” She nodded, breathing heavily and already sweating. It was embarrassing. She’s supposed to evaluate this moment, not fully live it. Yet here she was, pathetically looking up at him with eyes that begged him to stay right where he is.

After she took his shirt off and he took off the sweatpants, she wrapped her legs around his waist to pull him flush against herself. When his clothed length pressed against her heat, he whimpered. A whimper, from the mighty Homelander.

“Was that John?” she whispered.

“It’s always been John inside this apartment,” he replied as he hooked his fingers under the waistband of her panties.

*

“Planets collide, collide, collide at the smack of your kiss but you can kiss your brother. Because we will not be lovers.”

“My body feels like it’s gonna fold into itself and disappear.”

His face softened. Concern looked so unnatural on him. “You should have told me if I was hurting you,” he muttered, propping his head on his hand. “Oh, believe me, I would have. It’s not that. Your stamina… I didn’t think about the consequences of it.”

The cocky smile that came after that said everything he didn’t put into words and he lightly poked her waist with his pinky. She jolted, immediately sighing and burying her face in the pillow. “You have a tick?” She groaned. “No,” she said, voice muffled. “So you wouldn’t mind if I…” he poked once more, making her jolt again. “Stop it.” He laughed. “What did you say? I can’t hear you ‘cause of the pillow.”

He continued poking and she tried to push his hand away to no avail. Twisting and turning in the bed, she felt that his pokes started turning into tickles. “John. John, no. Stop. John!” His laughter got louder as she started laughing along. But her face dropped midway when she caught a glimpse of his wide smile. He stopped, towering over her. “What?” She swallowed. “Nothing.”

She slid from under him, eyes unfocused as she dizzily made her way to the kitchen to brew some coffee. John sneaked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her shoulder. “What’s going on with you?” he questioned, the unnatural concern transferring to his voice. She didn’t answer and continued putting coffee inside the pot. Then, gradually, she started to shake. He spun her around. “Are you crying?” She hid her face in her hands as if that would help. “Why are you crying?” he asked, pulling her hands away and replacing them with his. “Work is… so… stressful. The company’s nearing bankruptcy and everyone’s depending on my ‘big article’ to save the day. But now I…” She shut herself up, knowing she was swimming in dangerous waters. “Now you what?” he questioned. God, he always had to keep digging.

She stayed still and silent, causing him to repeat the question. Nothing. He slowly pulled his hands off her and walked back to the bedroom, putting his suit back on quickly and crossing the hallway with frustrated steps. “I’ll talk to you later,” he said and got out.

She took a few deep breaths, in and out steadily, before hitting her head once with her palm. “Stupid. Fucking stupid. You’re stupid,” she repeated over and over again before getting ready for work.

At the office, Malcolm was already sitting on her desk and chatting with the other employees. “Woman of the day!” he yelled cheerfully upon seeing her enter, leading her to his office. Once the door closed, they sat down. “You don’t look good. Everything okay? Is it HL? He that bad?” Malcolm questioned, lips tightening. “He wasn’t. He just doesn’t get tired. I didn’t think about that,” she replied, shutting her eyes for a few seconds. Malcolm looked at her, eyebrow raised and lip pursed. “Hey,” he said. She looked up. “Don’t fall in love. I will literally gouge your eyes out.” They had the shortest staring contest in the world before Malcolm burst into a laughter. “I’m kidding! Cheer up a little, girl.” She nodded. “Yeah, Mal. Okay.”

She went back to her desk, opening her laptop to resume the interview article. She hadn’t brought her diary today. Maybe because she forgot—or maybe because she didn’t want to.

Before she knew it, the day was over. Malcolm had come to her desk at lunch and she’d told him she wasn’t hungry, sitting at her desk the whole day.

Being someone who normally walks home, she took a cab that day. It was like all life had been sucked out of her.

She went straight to the bathroom after entering her apartment, taking the second shower of the day as if the boiling hot water would snatch all worries off her mind and push them down the drain.

She changed and started making her way to the kitchen. When she passed the living room on her way, though, she saw John from the corner of her eye. Seated on the sofa, one leg thrown over the other with a book in his hand.

A book.

Right.

A book?

Shit.

No.

Her diary.

Of course. The one day she leaves it home, John shows up and finds it. Of course.

She put on a mask of fake calmness and walked inside. “Look who’s finally showed up!” he said with a smile, the diary opened on his lap; date showing September 18. He was already 3 months in.

She snatched the diary away from his hands. “Do you have no sense of privacy?” she said as she did, voice louder than usual for the very first time. “Scared I’ll find out you care about me more than you say you do?”

She squinted as she threw the diary onto the coffee table. “I care about you immensely, John. I said I won’t love you. Not like that. That’s different.”

He chuckled, dark and frighteningly calm. “Why have you been documenting everything? Everything I’ve said is written down verbatim down there. The short glances, the flick of my fingers. What is this, seriously?” he asked, slowly stepping closer. “I don’t want to forget you,” she replied, stepping back a bit. But he just kept closing the distance.

“Tell me the truth. You’re not gonna like it if I do.”

“It is the truth.”

“Stop.”

Her back was pressed against the wall now, John staring into her soul and piercing it. “One more chance,” he said, voice low. “I told you the truth, John,” she replied, voice cracking slightly. He smirked angrily and took a deep breath, his head moving closer to her. “It’s about me, isn’t it? Your company-saving article.”

She just stared at him before collapsing under him and starting to cry again. John got on one knee in front of her and held her jaw, turning her face to himself. “You were gonna show the world how vulnerable I am, how hungry for affection and how stupid… stupid for believing you would ever do all the things you did if there wasn’t anything in it for you… I liked you. I fucking liked you!” His eyes glowed red and she flinched, pulling her knees up. He stared at her like that for a few seconds, then his eyes turned back to normal when her crying got worse. He breathed in and out heavily. “I liked you and you turned me into a lab rat.”

“I wasn’t gonna publish it, John. I changed my mind this morning. That’s why I didn’t take the diary today. That’s why I didn’t write about last night or—or this morning. I wasn’t gonna do it, I swear.” He pushed her head back once, the back of her head hitting the wall hard. “You say it like it matters! Why should it matter when everything you’ve done, you did to be able to continue your little experiment?” he yelled. She looked down, then back up. “Nothing I did was insincere. I didn’t clean you up or take you into my bed for article material,” she said, body somehow limp while trembling. “But you made them into material later on,” he said, calmer on the surface now but still full of rage inside.

He let go of her face so suddenly she almost fell forward. Walking towards the coffee table, he picked the diary up again and started flipping through the pages.

July 22. It’s been a week since he broke into my apartment and demanded I let him take a shower. I realised today he was using my loofah every time he came here. I bought a separate one for him on my way home today and his eyes lit up when he saw it.

August 13. I was at Rockaway Beach with my sister today. I don’t know how he found me, but he flew over the beach and waved at me.

September 8. He asked me to bathe him tonight. His eyes welled up when I agreed to it. He almost cried as I shampooed his hair.

October 25. He fell asleep halfway through a sentence tonight. I don’t think anyone’s ever let him rest before.

November 1. He looked proud when I laughed at his joke, like a little boy showing someone the drawing he did at school.

He read all of them out loud, voice cracking here and there. “You’re disgusting,” he said and threw the diary towards her, the hardcover hitting her knee and making her yelp. “I wasn’t gonna do this. Malcolm… he talked me into it. Turning this—you into an article didn’t even cross my mind until he said it, John.”

“Fucking Malcolm. You’re so independent when it comes to me but suddenly don’t have a will of your own when Malcolm opens his mouth?”

“I was gonna lose my job, John. The company’s been crumbling.”

“I’ve been telling you to come work with us for the past two months!”

She got quiet, pushing herself off the floor and walking towards him. She raised her hand towards his cheek and he held her wrist quickly. “Don’t you dare,” he said, voice breaking. Her face softened into something he hadn’t seen before. Regret. “Please don’t leave.” He swallowed hard. “You don’t get to ask me to stay,” he said, eyes getting glossy. He blinked a few times to stop the tears from forming. Her eyes welled up again, dropping herself onto the sofa. “Are you… gonna kill me?” she asked, eyes like that of a lost puppy and voice fragile. He looked at her. “I would’ve done it already if I could,” he said, defeated. Guard down again. “But Malcolm’s gotta go.” Her head snapped up. “What? John. Come on. He was thinking in numbers. He was trying to save me and all the others at the company.” He chuckled. “So you can be naïve sometimes, huh? He wasn’t trying to save jackshit. I could have killed you. Not even now; before. Way before. He put your life on the line for his gain. You can’t be that stupid.”

He sat down next to her, hand on her knee. Not intimate. A threat.

“You’re gonna give me Malcolm’s address and you’re never gonna speak a word of it to anyone.”

“John…”

“Don’t ‘John’ me. Address. Now.”

She gave it and started crying again halfway, words turning into mumbles. John got up.

“Here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna… You’re gonna go in tomorrow and you’re gonna quit. Then you’re gonna act surprised when Malcolm’s found dead mysteriously. Understood?”

She thought for a second.

“They’ll get suspicious of me then, though, if I resign and he gets murdered after.”

John raised an eyebrow and smirked, clearly impressed. “Oh, you are a sick little thing. We would’ve been good if you didn’t fuck it up, you know?” She sighed, slouching down on the couch. “Just get it over with, John.”

He took one last look at her before going out to the balcony and flying away.

—

The next day felt like a fever dream. She tried her best to be kind to Malcolm due to his tragic death approaching, her eyes on whatever clock she could get a glimpse of all throughout the day. Between his questions about Homelander and John and his back-handed compliments to the other employees, every single sentence of his kept turning into “Homelander’s gonna kill me tonight, by the way,” in her head.

She hugged Malcolm before leaving the office.

“Ew? What’s happening?” he said, laughing as he hugged her back. “See you tomorrow, Malcolm,” she said and hugged him a bit tighter than she meant to, as if her body was trying to protect him from what her mind knew was coming, before letting him go. As she started walking towards the exit, Malcolm ran up and stopped her, a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you for the hug. I needed it.” She smiled weakly and nodded, turning around and finally walking out as she wiped away the tears that were threatening to form.

She put her headphones on and walked home, sighing in deep relief when she finally got inside. Changing her clothes and pouring a glass of wine, she saw that the diary remained where John had thrown it yesterday evening. She picked it up, going out to the balcony and sitting by the outdoor fireplace, trying to light it. When she finally got it to flame up, she took a last look at the diary; flipping through the pages like she was trying to memorize every word before they stopped existing. Then she threw it inside furiously, not blinking until the first page curled up. She got up, going inside to rummage through her bag. When she finally found the USB stick that contained only Homelander v. John, she got out and threw it inside the fireplace too. She took a deep breath before going inside, putting on a Sinatra record and returning to the wine glass, her eyes almost lifeless.

—

She realised she’d passed out, wine glass broken and ivory carpet stained, when she woke up to the doorbell ringing. She looked at the time.

23:57

John had to have done it by now.

Was it the cops at the door? Malcolm’s boyfriend? His brother, maybe? She spiraled on her way to the door, walking as slowly as possible to prolong the arrival of whatever it was she was about to face.

Her hand held the doorknob tightly and she slowly pushed it down, peeking her head through the gap instead of opening it fully.

John?

She opened the door wider and held his arm, pulling him inside. He looked worn out and satisfied at the same time. She didn’t know that was possible. “I was gonna go in through the balcony but then I saw you were asleep so I wanted you to panic at the ring.” He said it like it was funny. Like nothing had happened.

“Did you do it?” she asked, face full of terror. “Yeah. He cried like a baby. Embarrassing.” Her throat tightened, but nothing came out. She wanted at least a single tear to prove to herself this was hurting her. But the knot disappeared when John started heading to the living room, and she followed suit. “You know that’s not gonna change anything,” he said and pointed to the fireplace outside with his head. Her lips trembled. “I did it for my own peace of mind.” He scoffed. Opened his mouth. Then he rolled his eyes and started pacing around the room.

She crouched and started cleaning up the shattered glass as he walked in circles. “I don’t know why I came here. But this will be the last time.” She nodded without looking up. “I figured.” He frowned, getting closer to her. “You don’t care?” She finally looked up. “Why would it matter if I do? Are you gonna stay?” He took a deep breath before turning his back on her again. “No. I just wish I could make you hate me too.” She frowned. “You hate me?” she asked, voice getting lower with each word. “Of course I do. Are you crazy?” he said in front of the window without looking back, eyes observing the lively streets of Manhattan. She didn’t say anything at that, continuing to pick up the glass. His hatred was valid. She’d used him and had regretted it only when it was too late—only when the consequences came crashing down.

When she winced and whispered an inaudible profanity, John’s head snapped back almost reflexively. Her hand was bleeding and it was almost impossible for such a small piece to draw that much blood. He crossed the room in two steps, crouching beside her and holding her hand in his. “I’m fine,” she said and tried pulling her hand away but John’s grip was strong. “Are you even seeing the amount of blood that’s spilling from your palm?” he said, helping her up and walking her to the bathroom. The lights there were brighter and he held her hand under cold water for a bit before taking a close look at it in case there were any shards inside the cut.

He’d memorised where each supply was after all these months and he took out some cotton, bandages and batticon; cleaning up the wound and covering it up neatly as she complained about being able to do all that herself. “You said you hated me literally five minutes ago,” she said as he secured the bandage in place. He looked at her, held her head in his hands and kissed her forehead. “Old habits die hard, I guess,” he said before leaving the bathroom and getting out of the apartment.

Standing in the same spot, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked exactly as she did the night she left her fiancé. She pitied herself for a few more seconds and shook her head, walking back to the living room. She vacuumed the remaining glass and tried her best to wipe the dried wine off the carpet as much as she could with one hand. The burgundy hue just stubbornly stayed there no matter how much she rubbed.

She gave up after a few minutes, going back to her bedroom and burying herself in the sheets.

She fell asleep faster than she ever had before.

*

“Broke my own limb and blamed you for the limp. And like a spoiled only child, I thought l'd be forgiven. I lied through my canines and I pulled at your hair. I wanted you to hate me so you'd know l was still there.”