Chapter Text
Silently, stealthily, Homelander came into your life.
You were unloading your groceries from the car, when you turned to see the supe standing right on your lawn, admiring your home. He was in your path, and would not let you inside until you invited him. And from there, things only got worse.
Flattery dulled your distrust. This was a superhero, regardless of how you disagreed with his company or his actions he was required by his very nature and job not to hurt you, and why would he? He just seemed to admire you. You should have seen that admiration for the obsessive abuse it was the moment the smile left his eyes and they flicked to the swell of your breasts through your clothes.
He’s on your couch one of the sporadic days he decides he wants you. Only this time instead of pressing you to the carpet and jerking off over your breasts while you hold your shirt under them to make your non-maternal tits look bigger and fuller, he has you on his lap.
It was so fast. You always find him, never hear him come in. Today he was sitting there, cock already out, twitching against his suit as he smiled at you and beckoned you over.
He tore your pants off, pulling friction burns against your thighs, and as usual freed your breasts from your shirt to press his face into as he gripped your ass and pressed your slit against his length.
You just breath through your nose.
He pulls your legs to either side of his hips and grips the base of it, smacking it against your folds now hovering uneasily close to surrounding his cock.
His penis sticks, his prefuck soaking the underside. He’s thicker in the middle, shiny pink head a perfect swollen bulb. You see it throb out a clear glob, which follows the trail already down to his balls.
This isn’t what he usually does at all.
It was assault, despite your silence, every time he rubbed one out over your tits, rubbed a load into your skin, it was clear you didn’t want this in every other way, it was just that Homelander could burn you open with a stare or crush bones with a pinch of his fingers or make you a splat against the wall with a flick of his wrist.
He knew you were delicate by comparison, he had to, and it terrified you to think this was his gentle, leaving huge red and purple handprints on your sore tits multiple times a month. Only because you wouldn’t feel as good as a corpse. Every look and movement was a threat.
He pulls you till your stomach’s against his chest, shuffling forward a few inches, dick only bobbing under its weight, staying pointed right up towards your spread lips.
He inhales your collar, breath shuddering, before planting both hands on your lower back and slamming your bare cunt down around his quivering, leaky dick, spearing you open on him.
He relishes the exquisite grip of your unprepared pussy stretched down the length of his member, and one thought around the searing, splitting pain surfaces in your screaming head. This isn’t assault.
He’s raping you.
He feels so much bigger inside, unable to relax your drenched walls through the fear and pain to ease the grueling drag of friction. He moves well before you can even try to.
Your wetness is deafening, and it burns as hot as the pain as he runs his fingers over the small of your back down to your asshole to shift you forward, dragging you up his trimmed blond pubes in the process, changing the angle to somehow make it burn more and letting out a moan before God.
You’re finally forced to breathe, and with oxygen comes every vein and inch of erection sculpted silky skin penetrating you, like a pillar with the core of a hot steel rod.
It feels like you have some sort of control, being on top, but you hold completely still, letting him pack your cunt with his thickness again, pushing you, as it seems he’s testing if he can bottom out. He can’t. Not even close. You’re so full you feel it in your chest.
You can’t hear what whimpers you’re making, knowing better than to scream, dissociating your body from the sensation from the man doing this to you.
He pulls you up and pleasure erupts with his upstroke, his hips moving to meet yours, shocking your system into hard tingles.
You sink, trying to elicit that feeling again, leaning back on his cock and feeling it throb up through the root of your clit.
“Yes,” he whines, a mess long before he got inside you. “Ride my cock mommy ride my cock mommy—”
He bounces you off him, a stroke so hard it feels like it’s carving you open, followed by another, sawing your sexes together.
You say his name, a whimper through the ordeal he’s making in and out of you, hardly getting it out around the thrusts of passionately forced intercourse. You feel how bad he wants this, needs it. He loves how you feel. How you can’t fight him.
He speeds up, rattling the furniture and appliances with the careful redirection of his force into the floor instead of your bones, mesmerized by the spring of your breasts. He won’t break you, he’s keeping control.
So you resist, and he moves you, for you, uncaring, just chasing that delicious grip you make around him, the kiss of your depth to his cock head.
You’re gasping against his hair, it’s getting harsher, rocking, unable to stop his rhythm, and you feel it quickening, that telltale sign of one thing.
“H-Homelander!”
Finally, he grunts in acknowledgment, a frustrated stutter.
“John.” He corrects. “What could you possibly have to say to me that’s important right now??”
You know he’s close, you know what it looks like, and that you only have seconds.
“You have to pull out you’ll get me pregnant!”
His eyes glow red hot as he moans obscenely, a loud, long shout, crushing his arm around your waist to keep you down and grind your pelvises together, mashing his twitching balls to your ass, forcing his whole length inside.
His hips jerk, his head pressed parallel to the couch seat over the back, mouth hanging open as he holds you down on him, release riveting his body.
You expected that to scare him, surely, evidence of his violations of you would soil his image, but you guess you underestimated how sure of his power he is, and how hot he found the changes of a pregnancy, of making you a mother, you only reminded him that he could do that to you.
You feel each spurt whipping against your fornix, filling your tightly stuffed vagina with his sperm, vein spasming along your walls with each ungodly pump punching into you.
He clutches one asscheek in a gloved hand and rolls it in a circular motion, then your whole hip, nudging his cock about inside you like a knife might an empty jar of peanut butter, almost lovingly rounding your cervix before pressing it with his swelling frenulum again and again, shorter ropes spilling directly on target.
He looks drunk.
“Hey hey hey, don’t cry, please, c’mon.”
He rubs your arm, then your back, shushing you.
It’s stabbing. You’re thrumming with pain. His dick is even bigger inside of you and it hurts. Almost as much as knowing there was no condom, no birth control, nothing between those lashings of fertile seed and your ovaries. That you begged him and he threw his head back and came without a shred of hesitation.
Finally, he lets you pull off of him. It takes everything you have, mental and physical. His softening cock isn’t any easier on the way out than the way in, grazing your whole channel in the struggle. A soft pop breaks the suction. There’s blood and semen coating his dick and your opening, but also copious amounts of your own slick, enough for strings of it to web both your pubes and your inner thighs together.
You try to stand and collapse back into the coffee table. Your parts burn like they’ve been beaten, and they have, deep bruises coat everywhere his hands have been, and your legs are shaking with the effort to keep your hips up. Hips that feel broken apart. You can’t close your legs. His eyes rove up his handiwork, humming.
He tucks himself back under his field blue and towers over you.
“Thank you, sweetheart.” He touches just his thumb to your face, eyes crinkled with faux warm appreciation. You’re a thing to him. You don’t think he even remembers your name. “Just what I needed.”
And with that he steps over you, strides out through your front door, and takes off with a burst of air shaking your cabinets.
You rush into your bathroom, dragging your uncooperative legs through sheer force of will, crashing through the door, and turn on your shower head. Not even checking if it’s warm you step over the tub wall and angle it up your gaped sex.
You scream from pain, raw, abrasion bloody insides scalding under the tepid water, braced against the shower wall. You barely see the whitish mucus rinse away as it flows in thinning dribbles through the water and red down the drain. You aren’t sure you don’t blackout.
You need to get to a drugstore for some Plan B.
You can’t get pregnant.
You can’t let his superpowered sperm make their way inside your womb, can’t let that awful incest pervert, your rapist, fuck a half supe baby into you and make you an actual mommy—
Your thighs clench tight. The water has moved up to your clit and the cold metal head meets it before you can stop yourself. Your nerves spark. You buckle.
Thinking about all his tiny swimmers in you right now, millions of them unabated and unperturbed by your wants, thoroughly fucked inside you, makes you dizzy. He came directly in you. Unprotected. Rubbed it in. You had let him. The constant mantra in your ear of mommy, mommy, mommy, in his broken, breathy, desperate voice, it’s making you wetter, a great big drop of your slick splattering your ankle.
It was already in the grooves and walls of your uterus, not even being human, who knew how long it could survive up there, delaying your ovulation wouldn’t work if you had already ovulated or if his sperm lingered in you for weeks, waiting and searching till it found an egg.
The water raises in temperature, enough cold out to get to the hot, the metal digging under the bud and pressing till it flicks upwards, bathing your nerves in toe curling warmth that radiates through your body like an earthquake.
You press your shoulder and face to the wall, cupping your breast and twisting your nipple between your fingers, and do it again, the steam filling your lungs and your aching pussy clenching around nothing as you shake from pleasure. It feels so good.
Homelander’s rape baby may already be conceived and implanting in your defenseless belly, you might be getting pregnant right now from this, and you cum at the thought, bucking, running your hand down over and under your belly button where it will start to swell in no time at all if you are. You swear you can feel them in you. Impregnating you.
Letting out a shuddering breath that makes your whole body tremble, like a sob and a sigh and a moan all in one, your orgasm helps against the tide of aches you know won’t leave you for days. You almost hope he left you with something else too. You shut off the water, stripping off your soaked shirt.
If he didn’t, you think you want him to rape you again.