An Angel Waiting For Him (G/T Homelander X Reader)

An Angel Waiting For Him (G/T Homelander x Reader)

1938 words. Pure fluff. Homelander is 8 feet tall. Reader is non-descriptive. Beginnings of a relationship.

When you first learned about Homelander's weakness to head scratches.

Homelander's been inviting you up to his penthouse more often lately. He's never really had friends before, let alone someone he can trust like you, so you figure he appreciates the company. As Homelander prefers to keep a tight schedule, your near daily visits happen at a regular time. It's become an enjoyable ritual of sorts, getting to see him and talk about your days together.

Truth be told, Homelander isn't sure what to make of you. You are so nice to him, but he's skeptical if he should let you get this close. The only humans he's been attached to are horrible people that he can't bring himself to kill… outside of Madelyn. Even though he loved her like a mother, she not only lied to him but she had been afraid of him throughout their whole relationship. Their entire bond was built on fraud… but he can never remove her entirely from his thoughts. He misses the way she provided him comfort, the way she let him lay his head on her lap… even if it was all just a lie.

During your afternoon break, you decide to spend some quiet time away from your co-workers in Homelander's penthouse. Although he isn't inside, he has given you permission to go there whenever  you want. Walking into the tranquil silence of the penthouse, you make your way to the living room to lounge on his oversized couch. You tuck yourself into the corner of the couch, with your back on the armrest for the perfect view to watch the clouds pass by the window.

Just as you begin to feel at ease, you hear Homelander storming into the penthouse. His footsteps are louder than normal, a telltale sign that someone has pissed him off. He plunks himself on the couch next to you, with such a hefty thud that you are shocked his landing didn't catapult you across the room. Tilting his head back, he lets out an exasperated huff as he rubs his temples.

"Rough day?" you ask, sighing as you sit upright. Whatever uneventful break you intended to have is clearly not going to happen now.

"I can't believe I have to work with such idiots," Homelander grumbles, dropping his hand heavily into his lap. "These fuckers have no idea what I do for them, and yet they think they can treat me like I'm not the one in charge of my team".

"That must be difficult, feeling so used," you say, attempting to console him.

"Yes! Thank you!" he shouts as he raises his hands into the air, perhaps a bit more enthusiastically than he intended. "It's like nobody here understands how much I sacrifice for them. I'm just here to say my lines and make them money. I'm a real fucking person! I'm still the captain of The Seven, not them!".

After ending his rant, he looks down at you expectantly, like he is waiting for you to stroke his ego some more. It's what you've come to anticipate from Homelander, the one sure-fire way to bring him out of a sour mood. However, today you came up here for some peace and quiet. Possibly, you think a different tactic can help him unwind too.

"I'm sorry Homelander. I know how frustrating it can be to be treated like that," you say, looking up at him while you scoot a bit closer to place your hand on his thigh. "If there's anything I can do to help, let me know, alright?".

Homelander gawks at you, blindsided by your abrupt changing of the routine. You were supposed to tell him how great he is and how everyone else is wrong, so he could go about his merry way. Instead, your words are bringing up memories of Madelyn, and a thought pops into his head. One that he is uncertain that you would let him do with you.

With a wave of nervousness overcoming him, Homelander averts his eyes from you while clenching his fists and tensing the muscles in his jaw. He's terrible at hiding his feelings; you know there's something tumbling around that big head of his.

"You look like you want to say something else," you remark, giving his leg a gentle pat. "You know you can tell me anything, I won't judge".

"I, um…" he mutters, eye darting frantically before he closes them, trying to steady himself with a deep breath. "I… want to try something… if you, uh… if you'll let me".

"Sure, go ahead," you respond, nodding your head. You aren't quite sure what Homelander is asking for, but your curiosity is piqued.

"O-okay…" he stutters, keeping his eyes planted on the floor. "Just… please… please don't move".

Just as you wonder if you've made a mistake, you watch as Homelander shifts his body lengthwise across the couch to lie on his back. Slowly, he lowers his head into your lap. You're taken aback by the sheer size and weight of his head, which is so large it's practically overflowing on your thighs. It almost feels like you have a big fat cat lying on you, if not for the incredible anxiety you feel emanating from him. He looks like he's scared out of his mind, completely regretting this decision and just wanting to get up and leave. And yet, at the same time he is still like a statue, waiting for you to make the first move.

Trying to comprehend what he wants, you absent-mindedly start petting Homelander's hair, as if your brain is on auto-pilot and it believes the giant head in your lap really is just a fluffy cat. Lo and behold, you begin to understand what he was asking for as his stress evaporates from your delicate touches, his eyes fluttering shut as he sinks further into your lap. He lets go of a breath he didn't even realize he was holding, and further nuzzles himself into your hand.

From your first moment alone with him, you've learned how affected he is from simple touches. How he practically bulldozed you when he tried to lean his full body weight into your hands, like he was chasing after something he had missed his entire life. It was something that bewildered you; you've only ever heard Homelander speak of this perfect childhood and family he had, why would he crave affection so heavily?

When you start running your nails along his undercut, you are surprised to hear Homelander start keening, albeit very inaudibly. He's clearly enjoying your attention, but it's obvious to you he's fighting to stay quiet. Unexpectedly, one particular scratch along his scalp causes him to loudly whimper from the pleasure. He immediately freezes, and stares at you with the widest eyes you’ve ever seen. 

"I-I'm sorry…" he stutters, tears forming as he attempts to hide his face in your chest. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm s-sorry," he continues to repeat, eyes squeezed shut like he is terrified that he will be punished. Madelyn forbade him to make such pathetic noises on her lap, and she would only allow these 'sessions' when he obeyed her every word. He expects you will be the same.

"Hey, it's okay Homelander," you reassure him, still petting his hair. You hate seeing him so upset, especially when he hasn't done anything wrong. "That just felt good, right?".

Sheepishly, he nods as he turns slightly to peak at you with one timid eye, as if his entire existence is hanging in the balance of your next words.

"You don't have to apologize for enjoying that," you soothe him, using your thumb to wipe away his tears. "I'm happy that you're happy".

Homelander can't believe what he is hearing. Nobody has ever truly cared about his welfare before, and wanted him to just be content. Even Madelyn was only playing with his emotions to use him for her own personal gain. She never really cared, she just wanted to control him. It almost makes him feel stupid, placing Madelyn on such a high pedestal when there was an angel waiting for him this entire time.

He practically purrs as you resume scratching his scalp as you were before, except without this cloud of dread that was hanging over him. The fear Madelyn instilled in him to hide his satisfaction has miraculously dissipated, purely because of you. You, and your enchanted fingers, somehow adept at locating all of the sweet spots that he can't help but mewl at. Homelander nearly becomes overwhelmed by you, gripping at the couch's wooden frame so strongly you swear you can hear it splintering. There is something amazing about having a godlike superhuman giant whimpering in your lap, exclusively from the affection you give him.

Eventually, your fingers start to tire from your forceful scratching time. As you go back to lightly petting his hair, Homelander opens his eyes to see you looking down at him with such care. The way you smile so sweetly at him is intoxicating, unlike how anyone has ever looked at him before. You are special. He wonders if you even realize that you are so far above the rest of the mudpeople.

Homelander rubs his head lightly into your chest, still keeping his vision focused on you. Compared to how frustrated he appeared when he first sat down, he now looks so serene, totally calmed by your tenderness. As you observe him, you begin to wonder something.

"Say, Homelander…" you start. He gives a light hum, noting that you have his attention. "How did you know I was up here by myself?".

"I could hear your heartbeat," he explains simply, nudging at your chest. "It's the only one I listen for… It's… it's nice".

You aren't sure how to take that. Nobody has ever complimented you on the sound of your heart before. In a weird way, you are grateful that at least someone at Vought is keeping an eye out for you.

"When you were mad earlier… did you come up here just to see me?" you question, hoping to break through his real intentions of meeting you alone outside of your regular ritual.

Even though Homelander doesn't answer you, the ashamed way he avoids your gaze is enough for you to figure out his response. Somehow, you've become more than a friend to him; you're someone he wants to help him feel better, someone he trusts to take his hurt away. It's so sweet you can't stop yourself from smiling.

"Thank you," you say, caressing his cheek. When Homelander shoots you a confused look, you gently laugh.

"For trusting me, you goof," you grin, leaning down a bit nearer to his speechless face. "I'm happy that you're comfortable with me to talk about stuff that bothers you. I know how hard it can be to feel so alone".

"And if you want me to help you relax like this again," you remark, as you boop his nose with your finger. "I don't mind. I'm just glad to help".

Confounded by your genuine kindness, Homelander can himself start to cry again. He wishes he could hug you right now, but his whole body feels like it's been cemented in place, unwilling to move from this blissful position. All he can muster is to bury his face into your warm chest, relishing the comforting sounds of your pulse. Not even Madelyn's lap felt this welcoming, it's like your entire being is perfection.

"You're welcome Homelander," you tell him, bending down a bit further to give his head an awkward hug. "As long as you let me, I'll be there for you".

gonna write my own overly specific and seemingly arbitrary do not interact

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Play With Fire ( Homelander x Reader)

18+ for language, female (plus size♥) reader | You walk into an elevator with Homelander...💋

You can only stare at Ashley’s cold dismissal. Not Ashley Barrett, of course. You’re not high up enough to get personally fired by the CEO. Her assistant is the one doing it, also Ashley. 

There were too many fucking Ashleys in this office.

Your head is buzzing and you can’t exactly focus on the words that spill out of her mouth. She has such a pleasant smile plastered on her lips. A fake, corporate smile as she tells you that as of today? You no longer work at Vought International. A job you had scraped and clawed for. Survived an unpaid internship in fucking New York City for, moonlighting as a waitress in a diner where patrons had sticky hands even for one such as you.

You stare at her, having no idea what words her placid smile makes. Something about turning your badge in at the front desk on your way out. That they’ve packed everything up at your desk already and it will show up to your house in two to four business days. An easier transition, she says. How kind.

Neatly packaging your existence away and shipping it off in the post as if it didn’t fucking matter. You blink and you’re already stalking out of the office. The dismissal had been clear. They had saved it for when you normally would be packing up for the day. Less drama. Always better to fire someone on a Friday afternoon. Not many witnesses. At least you can slink out with some scraps of your dignity. Before you realize it, you’re fast walking through the hallway to the elevator lobby. All your mind can focus on is getting in that elevator and escaping this fucked up place. That is your one goal as your insides churn with bitter anger and your brain buzzes.

Your rage is impotent, with no outlet. What could you even do? Nothing against Vought. Not with their airtight security. You knew how Vought paid everyone and anyone off to make undesirables vanish. How they mopped up the ‘accidents’ of their precious supe products. How your firing was another one of those casualties, dismissed at a whim of the Seven. You knew specifically who. That star-spangled blonde bastard. One typo led to one tantrum from the supe and you had to suffer for it.

Rage pushes your feet to move a little quicker as you spot the open elevator doors. Someone must have just exited, you see the retreating forms of a handful of people down the opposite end of the hall. Perfect, except those doors are closing and you’re too impatient to wait in the lobby a moment longer.

At the sight of the closing elevator doors, your feet pick up their pace. You can’t stay in this building a moment long, not in this hallway with the chance of spotting anyone you know who may recognize the set of your face as something amiss.. Some of them know you well enough to know that would mean something’s wrong, or they knew the bad news before you. That gives you the motivation to snap a hand out to stop those closing doors, praying it’s empty so you can take a breath alone. You need it.You deserve it. It’s the least the universe can do for you at this moment. The universe is not kind today.

The doors stop at the presence of your hand while you slip through the opening. Your regret is almost instantaneous as you step into the re-opening doors because there stood Homelander.

Fucking Homelander in his stupid suit, looking all the world like Uncle Sam shat out the perfect Boyscout. Except, you know far better. There was a monster in that human suit.

He looks ever the caged predator within the confines of the enclosed metal space, wholly uninterested in you. There’s only the briefest of glances your way before his attention is back on the elevator’s LED number display. Oh, but you hate him. Stuffed up supe, high on his own importance.

You’d seen him about the office, from a distance. A wolf among doting sheep, bleating for his attention. How did anyone dare to get close when he flashed those canines? You should flee, but the elevator doors click behind you with a finality. No, fuck it. Fuck him. You don’t care. All you care about is getting out of this shit hole and this elevator ride will be your last here. One way or another. The white hot rage is back to roiling in your gut and you feel as if you’d choke on it.

Homelander’s cold blue gaze flickers over you once more as you stew, taking you all in within an instant. Your badge and your name. Another useless Vought employee, a wriggling worm at his feet. The Hero Management Department by the logo on your badge, but he’s never noticed you. No wonder. You’re too short. Someone who could get lost in a crowd. His lips turn up in a cruel sneer. Fat, too. A pudgy, little grub. At least you’re dressed well. You need to be if you work here. Almost demure in that dress that must have cost half your pathetic paycheck. He wants to be disgusted by you, but you meet his eyes. People rarely did that. There’s fire burning in those wide eyes. A defiance he’s not used to seeing often. Especially not from something as breakable as you. It gives Homelander pause. He’s puzzled. That sort of volatile hatred was usually reserved for dear William, but you? It was almost comical seeing such a delicate thing like you sparking with it. You looked like a little firecracker about to go off and Homelander wonders what sorts of sparks you’d show.

Your expression was utterly, almost eerily calm yet he could feel the rage rolling off of you, it was a palpable taste on his tongue. An almost bitter tang that made Homelander reflexively lick his lips. That gets your attention. Previously, you’d let your eyes dart around the elevator in your unrest. Now your eyes fixate on the flick of Homelander’s tongue while the wheels within your brain begin to whirl. What is the stupidest thing you could do on your last day at Vought? Something reckless and impulsive. Suicidal even.

He watches you with interest now that you’re daring to meet his gaze, scrutinizing this little mortal confined in the elevator with him with anger steaming off your body. Normally, Vought employees fawned over him while reeking of fear. They cowered and all but tried to tongue his taint in their need to appease him and soothe Homelander’s volatile moods. Yet here you were, looking as much like a caged animal within the confines of the elevator as he felt most of the time. 

Homelander senses the shift in you, from anger to something else. He can’t pinpoint it, not yet. Not with how the adrenaline pumps through your veins as you fix your eyes on his face, a heady perfume if there ever was one. It’s a little like prey backed into a corner, finally deciding fight over flight. Homelander doesn’t fear you or any possible outburst you could throw his way. How could he? He’s a god and you’re an ant. Still, he’s curious as to what you’ll do. Homelander can see the tension in your body, how your muscles coil before a pounce.

You weren’t quick, by any means. Homelander could have deflected you with his pinky finger, but the determination in your eyes kept him still. What were you even planning to do to him, of all people? Seeing you unleashing your anger on him would amuse the supe. Give him a valid reason to crush your fragile skull in his fist with a satisfying wet crunch. Yet, you surprised him. All that anger and vitriol boiling over shifted into something else entirely, but it still burns.  It burns so much that you need to let it out. Which you do, by pressing your lips against Homelander’s. It’s pure impulse and oh so reckless. He’s killed people for lesser slights but you don’t care. Not in that moment. You want this, maybe even need it. Need to vent out all your frustration on the man who caused all this in the first place.

So you dig your nails into the leather fabric of Homelander’s suit, having to get up on your toes to press your lips against his own. 

They’re surprisingly soft, Homelander’s lips. You hadn’t expected it. A contrast to the lack of give against his body because leaning into Homelander is like leaning into a brick wall. Unmovable. The only give is from his lips and you suspect that’s because you took the supe by surprise.

The audacity of this little bug!

Homelander’s eyes are wide, shocked even at your brazen act. Staring down at this impertinent little human daring to touch him.There’s a desperation in your act, in how your face is still twisted up in rage and confusion but softening as you stubbornly keep your lips moving against his own.

Still so curious. 

He lets you kiss him, even goes as far to settle into the kiss himself. He can’t help it. Softness was a rare thing for him to feel and you really are oh so soft against him. Pliable and willing now that you’ve settled into properly kissing him. You’re not bad at this either, knowing exactly what sort of coaxing pressure to give him while teasing Homelander into giving back more.

So he does.

Homelander hooks you in the steel grip of one hand, fingers digging into your waist and he finds you yielding. Soft and giving as your lips. He should have expected that given your size, but he finds that he likes it. He can dig his fingers in a little deeper with no fear of snapping ribs with the slightest of pressure.

Homelander is kissing you back. Fucking Homelander! You half expected to get thrown across the elevator shaft for your action, but he was almost holding you gently. Almost. This close you can feel the restrained power of him that all but hums through the supe’s body. It should frighten you, but it’s thrilling having a monster yield so readily to you of all people.

You need something to ground yourself because this can't be real! You grab for Homelander's hair, sliding your fingers through it. Idly, you muse at the softness. It wasn't gelled and hard to the touch as you expected. Leave-in conditioner, that must be it. The thought makes you smile into the kiss, tightening your hold on Homelander's hair with a playful tug to coax his mouth closer.

You don’t expect the needy moan Homelander releases against your lips at the gentle tug. Would have never expected such a sound from a man like him. You greedily swallow it up, using it to your advantage to slide your tongue over his lips. They part under the pressure and then you’re kissing Homelander deeper. This is far from an innocent, impulsive act now. He’s meeting your fire, consumed by the flames as much as you are. More so because now Homelander seems intent on devouring you as he fits his lips to yours, bruising them while his tongue slides slick over your own within your mouth. He growls. Homelander fucking growls into the kiss and you feel that tremor down to your toes, arousal a white hot flash through your system. Thus it really can’t be helped when you mold your curves into the hard lines of his body, fingernails scraping at Homelander’s scalp while you try to taste every corner of his mouth. His free hand even comes up to take an ample handful of your ass as he pulls you flush against him properly, and is that- Holy fuck.

The chime of the elevator hitting the ground floor snaps you both out of the moment. You jerk apart and even in his surprise, Homelander’s grip is loose enough for you to step away safely. You stare up at him a beat, taking in Homelander’s flushed features and how he pants.

You did that. You did that to the most powerful supe of the Seven, possibly the most powerful supe in the world. Smug satisfaction settles on your shoulders for a moment.

You can see the rage building in his eyes, disgust twisting up Homelander’s features and there’s even the glaring threat of red sparking in his gaze. Holy shit. Your heart squeezes as the smugness shifts to the instinct to survive. It’s time to flee or die.

Homelander sneers at you and you know he’s about to say something scathing to put you in your place before he obliterates you. Instead of cowering, you flash him a thousand watt smile. The sort you’ve employed on dates with hapless men to get them giving dopey grins right back to you. It works well enough.

He blinks, the red glare vanishing from his eyes. People in this tower never smile at Homelander like that. Another surprise. You exit stage left before he recovers, almost running into someone on your way out of the elevator. It’s Ashley. CEO Ashley this time, with tablet in hand.

Her gaze flicks up from the screen as she gives a little start before suspicion tinges her features. “Weren’t you fired?” She whispers the words under her breath, brushing past you before stiffening up at the sight of the supe still within the elevator. “Homelander! There you are!” She chirps out with faux cheerfulness and a dead smile. “I’ve got fantastic news on your latest numbers!” That gives you enough time to slip away, with Ashley crowding up to Homelander eagerly to stroke his ego so he’s kept calm for another day and no one dies. You certainly didn’t die. Personally, you think the supe’s mind will be occupied by other things today. You turn your badge in at security’s front desk with a self satisfied smirk.

For his part, Homelander silently steps out of the elevator with eyes fixed on your retreating frame. He doesn’t register Ashley’s yammering as she tries to tell him the good news about a ten point boost. No, Homelander’s mind is too busy contemplating what he will do to you. Little bugs like you can’t get away with taunting gods.

A wide, shark-like grin spreads Homelander's lips now that he has revenge on his mind. He snaps his attention to Ashley, voice sharp as Homelander lifts a finger in her face for silence “Ashley. That woman. Give me her name, now.”

this sweet murder puppy that i would die trying to hug (odogaron)

and this weird ass giant worm of death that murked my poor jerby dude (deathworm)

sound freakishly similar, odogaron's howl and the deathworms death groan thing sound almost the exact same

just a observation i made

chicks were still stuck in dresses werent they

Your phone battery percentage determines what year of the 1900s you'll live in.

How screwed are you?