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You thought being the daughter of some corporate bigwig at Vought International would land you a cushy job with good benefits. You were supposed to have it made, getting all the work experience you needed for a college program you were desperate to get into and a little pocket money to boot.
Instead, you were made to be a personal assistant to a member of The Seven. The title alone was daunting—being in direct contact with one of the most powerful heroes in the country? Your father promised you it would be okay, that Stillwell, herself, assigned you to only the best.
You prayed it would be someone easy, like Queen Maeve or that new girl. What was her name, Starlight? They both seemed nice enough, as Supes went, anyways. Maybe The Deep? You had always had a little crush on him anyways, and it would be just like your dad to tease you like that. Hell, you would even take A-Train!
Unfortunately for you, no such luck.
"You," Homelander said, practically refusing to learn nor use your name, "come here."
You had only been his assistant for a few days now, and every single day was a living hell. He was supposed to be America's ultimate boyscout, but he was anything but. You knew it from the stories your father told you, gossiping about hearsay over dinner, but now you felt it in person. It was terrifying.
Nothing was ever up to his standards. Nothing was ever good enough—you were never good enough. He barely looked you in your eyes, but weirdly enough, wouldn't let you out of his sight. Part of you thought he just wanted to have you nearby to abuse.
You quickly stepped over to him, walking as fast as you could in your little pencil skirt. "Yes, Mr. The Homelander, sir?"
He rolled his eyes hard enough to nearly knock them out of his own skull. He held up a coffee cup, the label facing you. "What is this?"
You paused, calculating what you could say that would make him the least angry. "The coffee you requested, sir." Simple usually seemed to bode well enough. Not much room for him to twist your words.
"Is that right?" He took a demonstrative sip from it and spit it on the floor in front of you, just missing your heels. "Then why does it taste like shit? I'm almost certain I didn't ask you to order me a cup of hot bullshit. Am I wrong?"
"No, sir."
"Look at this," he said, pushing the label sticker closer to your face, letting his voice grow low and measured. "What the fuck is oat milk? Do I look like an alternative-milk drinking queer to you?"
"No, sir," you repeated, feeling your face grow warm. You could already feel one of his famous meltdowns coming on. Hopefully it wouldn't be as bad as last time. "I'm very, very sorry about that, I must have misspoken on the phone."
"Oh, you misspoke. I see." He shoved the cup into your smaller hands and gave you a hollow smile. "Why don't you drink it, then? Save me the trouble of throwing it away."
"I, uhm—"
"Drink it."
You nodded slowly and pressed the cup to your lips, taking a sip. You tried to avoid eye contact with him, but his gaze was trained on you. He watched as you drank, seeing your throat bob and constrict as you swallowed.
"Finish it," he said through gritted teeth when you paused to take a breath.
You swallowed down the coffee quicker, but you still had quite a bit to go. Leave it to Homelander to order the largest possible size. When you finished it, you heaved slightly, out of breath.
"Good. Now come." He walked to the elevator, heading towards the meeting room.
You slipped in behind him just as the doors tried to shut. What you didn't see was that he stuck his hand out just a bit. Enough to keep the doors from closing on you completely.
-
Another thing about Homelander that you did not quite understand: his incessant need for you to stand right next to his chair during meetings. You were never allowed to leave unless he, too, was leaving, and were never allowed to stand near the door or any other member of The Seven. You stood directly beside him during every meeting, no matter what. You were sure it had something to do with the optics of you always being at his beck and call, or perhaps something about his "possession" being on his person at all times, never liking to misplace what belonged to him.
Either way, you stood next to his chair at the head of the table, standing silently as he spoke to The Seven. It was all nonsense to you, you barely understood what Supes did besides secretly being lecherous creeps and murderers.
You'd be lying if you said the lifestyle didn't look the least bit glamorous. They were all rich and extremely powerful, for God's sake. You wished you had even a modicum of that influence. Plus, they were all quite attractive. Just like celebrities in that way, you thought. Unreachable.
Your eyes searched around the room out of sheer boredom. Immediately, you settled on looking at The Deep. In your short time here, you found out that he was sort of a loser. Still, he was something to look at.
Your childhood self wasn't crazy to have a crush on him. He was just as cute in person, even if he was the laughing stock of the Seven. He had been playing eye-tag with you for a while too, looking you over around the office. Maybe you should say something to him later, would it be crazy to—
Your thoughts were interrupted by your bladder. That coffee ran through your system and you were flooded by the overwhelming need to go pee. Homelander had never allowed you to leave a meeting before, but surely he wasn't that cruel.
When A-Train started taking about something, you quietly leaned down and whispered, trying to get your boss's attention.
"Sir?"
He hummed, clearly less than interested in what you and A-Train were both saying.
"May I be excused for a moment?"
Homelander huffed, shooting daggers at you. "No. Meetings are important. You will stay here." He bit his tongue before he could add 'with me.'
"It's an emergency, I need to visit the ladies' room," you said, somehow even quieter. It was so embarrassing to have to plead to use the bathroom like you were a child.
"Hold it," he spat back, no longer whispering. "It can wait."
His team stopped talking and looked over at the two of you, silently watching the exchange.
Your mouth fell open softly. You wanted to push forward but you knew his temper was growing short. You could possibly hold it for two-to-five minutes tops. You preoccupied yourself by staring down at your feet, anything to keep your mind off of the growing pressure in your bladder.
Another few moments passed and you just couldn't do it anymore. You let out a soft groan, enough to alert Homelander.
"Jesus," he said, managing to sound both annoyed and entertained. "The hell is wrong with you? You can't hold it through a briefing?"
You shook your head slowly, avoiding the gaze of everyone. They all watched you, staring at you like you were his sick, little pet.
"Fine then," he said, waving dismissively at you. "Go."
You sighed and flashed him a grateful smile. "Thank you, sir, I'll be quick."
He grabbed your wrist when you turned on your heel.
"I didn't say you could leave."
You paused in confusion, feeling small under his intimidating stare. "But..."
"I said 'go.' If you have to so badly, do it. Right now."
How could one man be so evil? How could somebody be so needlessly, ruthlessly cruel, and look excited while doing it. He smirked at you, still holding onto your wrist with a surprisingly gentle, but heavy, grasp.
"Sir, please," you pleaded, growing hot with embarrassment.
"Piss yourself." His grip grew a little tighter, warning you.
You sniffled a bit, feeling both fear and pain grow in your lower belly. Your eyes traced his features for any sense of joking, but he was deadly serious, despite his grin.
You clenched your thighs together and shook your head. No, no, no. You couldn't do this, it was too much. You took a lot of harsh treatment from him, but this was just inhuman. You had dignity, at least a little bit.
His warm chuckle filled your ears, sharp with malice. "Let it go," he said, giving you another squeeze.
He poked your belly with two of his fingers, using enough force to send you back a step. The pressure finally did it, and you started to leak.
Slowly, at first. A few dribbles hit the floor in the eerily silent room. Then you let out a mix of a gasp, moan, and sob. The stream got heavier and you felt relief and humiliation creep down your spine.
You felt Homelander's hand snake around your waist and pull you closer to his chair. He took those same two fingers and pushed against your bladder again, pressing against you with a wicked grin. "Good," he said, teeth gleaming and mumbling a, "good girl."
You wailed, as the last few drops trickled down your thighs. Your skirt was entirely drenched and a large puddle formed below you. You were an adult. A fully grown woman. Soaking in your own piss and stewing in embarrassment in front of the seven most powerful people in America.
"No," you sobbed again, falling down to your knees, losing control of your legs completely.
"Poor thing, huh?" Homelander teased, looking at the others.
They were mostly mortified, still unmoving. Nobody said anything in your defense, they all just watched. Silently viewing the biggest humiliation of your life.
You lied on the floor, feeling the cold linoleum clash against your heated cheeks. His boot came down on your back, slowly tracing your spine.
"Clean it up, now," he said, singsongy and fully enjoying himself. "Yeah, that's it." He moved your body against the ground, literally mopping the floor with you. "Stick your tongue out, just like—yes, that's it."
You lapped up your piss, too exhausted to even try to fight it. You pressed your lips against the floor, making a slurping sound. You were slightly surprised to hear him audibly moan at that and were even more surprised to feel yourself get wet. Or maybe that was still the piss.
Homelander slotted the tip of his boot against your dripping panties, nudging against you while you continued to clean up after yourself.
"What the fuck?" A-Train finally said, pushing himself out of his chair to leave, eyes blown wide. "This is too much, man. Jesus Christ."
Everyone made their way out of the room too, wanting to forget about whatever he was doing to you in there. All you could hear was The Deep talking to A-Train as they walked out together.
"I don't know man," he said, "that kinda turned me on."
"Don't fucking talk to me right now."