ʟᴏꜱᴛ. (Homelander x reader)

Chapter 3

Im gonna start this off by saying, TW: mentions of violence, s/h, blood, and other possible triggering details. Read at your own risk!

You open your front door in hopes your father is asleep. He was. You sigh and slowly close the door, locking it. SMASH. You flinch and turn around. He's awake.

"Where the hell have you been?" He yells.

"Out."

"Oh yeah?" He lunges at you grabbing you by your throat, slamming you against the door. "What the fuck was the news about? Do you want the world to know you're a freak!" He tightens his grip. You feel something cold and metal rub against you for a split second. You look down and catch a glimpse of a kitchen knife in his other hand.

"Look, we can talk about this." You try and reason with him. No matter how hard you try your powers are failing you. You grab the hand choking you, wincing from the pain.

With a quick motion he slashes at your wrist and throws you on the ground. You get up as quickly as you can, holding your bleeding wrist. The environment going in and out as you loose more blood.

"You think I'm fucking stupid y/n!" He slashes again hitting the upper part of the same arm. He continues to slash at you until he gets bored, by the end your arms are both blood stained, there's a gash on the right side of your face, barely missing the eye. And your back and chest has multiple slashes criss-crossing.

He leaves you alone on the ground, barely breathing. Falling back asleep on the couch.
•••

You wake up in your room. You limp your way into the living room, he's gone. For now. You check the time on the stove. 7:30 pm.

"SHIT" you run around looking for your phone but when you find it, it's in the toilet busted. You panic, your eyes doing that thing you hate and you run outside. You bump right into someone, who doesn't move a muscle.

Before you can look to see who it was, your being dragged by the arm back inside.

"YOU THINK YOU CAN STAND ME UP LIKE THIS. THE WHOLE WORLDS ABOUT TO FIND OUT EXACTLY WHO YOU ARE!" Homelander yells, throwing you down on the couch. Only 30 minutes late and you're in the gutter.

"I-" you can't speak. You start sobbing violently, everything that just happened and now you're fucked by a supe who failed to save you again. Someone you hate all over again.

He looks down at you, noticing the blood on the ground, the kitchen knife on the counter plastered in crimson. He looks back at you and lunges at you, pulling off your sweater and tank top. You sit there, bloody and bruised in your sports bra. He picks you up and hold you in one arm looking around your body, examining. Thinking wether or not you did this to yourself or not. Once he sees your back, he has his answer.

"Who did this." He wraps his arm around your waist and looks at you. You avoid the contact. "Who. Did. This." He repeats.

"You already know who did this." You know he knows your story, why ask.

"Hm." He grinds his teeth. "Let's go." He grabs your sweater off the couch and helps you put it back on. Wrapping his around you to help you walk, you go outside and he lifts off. Again, faster then you were anticipating.