Work Text:
“Ok, so, he’s got a 1:00 PM interview, which means getting him back here by 10 AM for lunch, retouching the hair and makeup and going through questions again...” His assistant, you, whispers to yourself and paces your office with a pen in your hand. You put your hand over the vape in your pocket (probably to check that it was still there.)
Homelander frowns at the sight, before opening the door without knocking. You turn around and smile up at him blankly. You smell like you are on the verge of getting sick. He hates when people hide things from him. Especially you- he thought you are above that sort of thing.
“I thought you quit?”
“I- ummmm… what?” You say, blinking your eyes a bit faster than normal.
“Don’t play fucking coy with me, missy. You’re smoking again!” He pulls the vape out of your pocket and holds it up to your face. “You know I hate the way this stuff smells.” You try to look away out of embarrassment. That was easy to correct, his other hand tilts your face towards the offending object.
“It’s not a nicotine vape!” You say almost indignantly, then put your hand over your mouth. Your eyes went wide. If he wasn’t so mad, it would be adorable.
“Oh, so have you been getting high on the job? Maybe when I’m not around to smell it?” He lets go of your face, and sits down at your desk. Of course, he puts his feet up on it.
“I ummm- don’t do it until I Ieave the building for the night. I’ve just been a little tiny bit stressed out.” You say defensively, arms now around yourself.
“Come on. You know it’s more than just a little tiny bit stressed.” He glances over at the open bottle of acetaminophen on your desk. “You smell like you’re getting sick. How many times have you gotten a cold in the last few months?”
You never really took a sick day, but Homelander hates when you work from home. First of all, he likes everyone in the office. Second of all, everything just went smoother with you there. Third of all, his stomach sank a little bit when you aren’t around. (He told himself that this was because of the other reasons.)
He’d even resorted to checking in on you at home. The first time had been to make sure you weren’t lying to him about being sick. Or trying to avoid him. Then he’d just kept doing it out of habit. Or something .
“I can still get everything done remotely, while I’m sick. I promise.”
He frowns at you. “C’mere.” He puts his feet on the floor and pats his thigh.
“You can’t, ummm, well, I shouldn’t ,” you say softly, but walk closer. “It’s not professional…”
“I can do whatever the fuck I want. All you have to worry about is listening to me.” He says with a boyish grin. You pause right next to his leg. “Don’t make me ask twice, darling.” It was said sweetly, but you know better than to hesitate further.
You sit down, but stare off into space. Your heart was in a fast tempo better suited to a rabbit or a mouse.
“You haven’t been taking care of yourself. When was the last time you ate something, huh?”
“I had a really great salad.”
“For breakfast?” He already knows the answer.
“For dinner.” You suck in your breath and flinch in anticipation of the verbal berating you’re about to get. But he simply continues.
“Did you get your fluids today?” He places a gloved hand carefully on her bare knee.
“I had a large coffee.”
“And the last time you smoked that thing must have been yesterday, or else I’d smell it on you.” Now it was his turn to suck in his breath. He shakes his head. “This fucking slipshod attitude towards your personal wellness might have been fine when you were doing this for Joe Schmo, but you work for ME now. Ok?” He grips a bit harder on your knee- not hard enough to injure even a mud person like you, but hard enough to make you wince slightly. “Need you at your best when you’re here- I can’t afford anything else.”
“Yes, sir,” you say sulkily. Something about that tone of voice triggers a feeling he hates. He doesn’t normally let anyone talk to him like that.
Before he even realizes he’s doing it, his palm is over your mouth. “ None of that fucking sass, young lady ,” is said through clenched teeth.
You nod, although your mascara has gone a bit streaky in your terror. At least she’s listening. He felt a twinge of what might have been pity, if he’d been anyone else. Which was an odd emotion to have, considering he was also getting an inconvenient hard on. He dangles you off his leg a bit more precariously so you won’t feel it against your back. “ Ok ?”
You nod again, and he lets go of your head with growing reluctance. Homelander ponders how you’d react to his fingers in your mouth. You seem like the type to lovingly suck and even gnaw on them.
That thought did not help his current situation. And of course, you took the moment to sniffle and adjust your position. This results in you immediately becoming aware of the effect you’d had on him. Shit. Both bodies tense. “I’m- I'm sorry,” You squeak after a moment.
“Don’t fucking move,” he says quickly, picking you up and placing you back in the chair. “Gotta do everything myself around here,” he murmers as he leaves the room.
—-
Despite being told not to move, you take a moment to clean the mascara off your face and gather your composure. Well, as much as you can gather it under the circumstances.
Homelander returns quickly with a sandwich and a huge water bottle. Where he’s gotten them doesn’t really seem relevant right now.
“Sir, I can’t drink 64 ounces of water in one sitting,” you say nervously.
There’d been moments before where you swore his eyes had lingered a bit too long. Of course, you’d thought it was a trick- there was no way your girlhood crush would be interested in you. Now it was obvious. You might as well have been naked, for all the good your clothes did in the face of his enhanced vision.
Homelander lets you sit with the discomfort for just a second too long, before he strides up confidently.
“Every day you come to work- no, every day-this is the minimum amount of water you drink.”
He puts you back into position on his lap, now with his arm around your waist. It was almost strange how comfortable he already was with you; your heart is pounding in contrast.
“What if I forget? Or get too busy to drink?”
You were almost certain he was smirking behind you. “You can keep a bottle on your desk, that way I can check your progress when I’m in here for something. I think that should keep you honest. Now, open up.”
“Open u-“ your question is cut off by him inserting the bottle neck into your mouth and tilting it back. You frantically adjust to avoid choking on it.
“Good girl,” he coos mockingly.
His free left hand isn’t shy about shifting upwards, popping off a couple of buttons on your blouse, and pressing itself insistently against your right breast. But it’s hard to focus on that when you’re practically being waterboarded.
You dimly wonder if he’s ever killed anyone in a similar way.
“Almost done,” he updates cheerfully, now idly playing with your nipple. “Ya know, I don’t think you should wear a bra to work anymore. You don’t even need one.” A soft “pop” belies the fact that he’s instantly destroyed almost a hundred dollars. At least he’s considerate enough to toss the underwire in the trash can beneath your desk.
This small movement forward, and his removal of the bottle from your lips, brings into focus the swollen prick underneath you. “Hmmm. Gonna have to push that interview back, huh?” Homelander pulls off a glove and unlocks your work phone, quickly typing away. You have certainly never given him your password.
“We still have plenty of time,” you say gently, with an eye to the clock on the wall. “You don’t even need to head to makeup and hair right now. You could have a fifteen minute break, if you need one.”
It’s silent for a second too long behind you. You’re flipped around like it’s nothing. Those blue eyes bore into like they could do brain surgery. Well , they probably could. Try not to find out.
“Hey, I’m just trying to be considerate. You’ve never blown me before, not sure how good you are at it. Can’t rush these things.” He leans forward slightly to nibble at your ear and your neck. You can’t think of a way to refuse, not like this. “I shouldn’t,” you say, sounding whiny, pathetic even to your own ears.
“Sweetheart, I’m not gonna respect you any less for it. I think I’ll like you even more.” His lips meet yours and you definitely can’t think now, not with his tongue in your mouth.
It’s not until he hums in approval that you realize you’re grinding your crotch against his. It shamefully just makes your stomach flip, not in a bad way, in the way that usually precedes your pussy gushing.
You hope he can’t tell, quickly get on your knees and start unzipping his fly in the hopes of distracting him. He’s perfect here, throbbing wildly in your hands, and you trace the underside of his dick with your tongue. That cheerful mask instantly drops to reveal something far more hungry, possibly sinister. “Fuck,” he murmers, eyes trained on the way your mouth and throat bulge obscenely. You meet his eyes best you can, given how nervous you are.
“Shoulda done this sooner, beautiful.” He says hand now lovingly playing with your hair. It’s saccharine and you want more. More ? What is wrong with me? You deep throat him the best you can, drawing another pleased sound from his throat, instead of more words that wound and heal you at the same time.
Words are confusing. This is simple. This you can manage, making him keen and the muscles in his legs twitch. He’s getting close.
“You’re wet, fuck, play with yourself.” He says in a ferver. You instantly obey, moaning into his crotch.
“Drink up,” he groans as he unloads near the back of your throat.
—-
A few days later, and the whole experience might as well have been a hallucination. Well, other than the water bottle that now lives on your desk, and actually forcing yourself to eat at regular intervals.
He smiles at you and waves from his rarely used adjoining office as you leave for the day. Despite the weed detox making you slightly miserable, you manage a sweet smile back.
What was it all for, if he never notices? If life goes back to normal? Maybe he was kidding. An intrusive thought means you leave your water bottle on the desk.
An intrusive thought means you’re mindlessly scrolling through various adult websites on your laptop an hour and a half later, toy buzzing away. A knock brings you out of your reverie.
“Come back with a warrant,” you whisper irritated under your breath. But you pull on a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt, and head to your living room.
“Homelander?!” You ask in shock to the man standing on the balcony.
—-
“Did I forget to do something?” You ask, almost trembling. “I don’t think your expense report needs to be turned in yet..”
“I don’t need a warrant to visit my favorite employee. Silly!” Homelander gives you a peck on the lips.
He likes making you squirm a little bit. It was hard to hold back for a few days, but watching you sleep had made it a bit easier.
“You left this at the office! Thought I’d swing by and drop it off for you.” He places the almost empty 64 ounce bottle on the counter. “Bet you’ve been feeling better since you started drinking more water. I notice you’re not popping acetaminophen like they’re candy anymore. And you smell much better. Not like you’re getting sick.”
You look shifty but murmer agreement.
“Don’t have to be embarrassed about what you were up to before I showed up. It’s perfectly natural. Especially with how stressed out you’ve been- and the detox.”
You look like you’re going through the whole range of human emotions in a few moments. It’s cute. Before you can open your mouth to speak again, he plants another kiss on you, feeding you his tongue to keep you dizzy and compliant.
“C’mon, let me help you finish up. You’ll feel better.” He happily grabs your hand and pulls you along to your bedroom.
You might be a little too dizzy and compliant: blood pressure suddenly spikes.
“Lie down, honey. Take a few deep breaths. You’re ok- you’re with me.” He smiles reassuringly and snuggles up with you. Despite some initial apprehension, it seems to help.
“It’s so cozy in here,” he comments, arm around you. “What’s this, 300 thread count?? I see why you like working from home.”
You flip around, concerned. “I don’t fake being sick to work from home.”
“Well, you don’t prioritize your health, so I guess it’s not that you’re faking it. It’s just still, you know, your fault that you’re getting sick all the time! You’re lucky to have me taking care of you.”
“Does that mean you miss me when I’m not there?”
His face went a bit darker, fake cheerfulness all gone now. “I, uh. Listen, I really like how you run things. You’re practically a machine. When you’re not there, some fucking moron is stepping in and trying to smooth everything over like you would.. well, it’s just not the same without you. I want you to be there.”
“I think I do a good job of delegating,” you say gently in rebuttal.
“Well, I mean, you try. It just feels different without you there, making sure everything is ok.” He gulps, suddenly surprised by how vulnerable he feels. It makes him flustered.
“So ummm, maybe- we miss each other when I’m not there?”
Is she telling me that she misses me when she’s not around? Sure sounds like it.
Most things aren’t scary to him, this is terrifying. He just blurts it out.
“I really care about you. So I need you to take better care of yourself. I wanna be the one to help you.”
“I care for you too. I’ll do better, for you. And keep making sure everything runs the way you want.” You say, also scared. Heart fucking pounding.
“Would you do more than that for your me? Because you care about me?”
“Yeah, of course. Whatever you need.”
“You’ll be more than just my secretary?” He looks earnestly at you. Enough that someone could forget who he is.
It alleviates some of your fear, enough that you agree wholeheartedly and seal it with a kiss.
“Ok good, because I uhhh- wouldn’t have been happy if you’d said no.”
You giggle nervously and change the subject. “You said something about getting me off?”
“Sure did.”
He makes good on that, multiple times that evening.
—-