Chapter Text
Yesterday #259
The bar creaked softly under Annie’s grip as she hauled herself up again, one arm bearing the brunt while the other hovered, waiting its turn. Her face tightened with effort each time she lifted, breath steady but worked, sweat beading along her temples and slipping down the line of her neck.
She had wedged the bar into the exposed beams right at the threshold between her bedroom corner and the living space, the first thing she did after the reset this morning.
The penthouse smelled the way it always did. Apple cinnamon, warm and faintly sweet, the candle burning somewhere along the decorative ledges as if nothing in the universe ever changed, which it didn't. The gift pile still sat beside the vanity, a modest heap of unopened boxes catching the daylight pouring in through the reinforced glass walls. Outside, the city existed. Inside, time had looped itself into something domestic and strangely intimate.
Across the room, Homelander was draped across the couch in an attitude that could only be described as aggressively comfortable, naked and unbothered, one arm slung behind his head.
The television across from him played one of Starlight’s movies, the sound filling the living space with familiar dialogue and overpolished heroics. Every so often, his attention drifted away from the screen without permission, drawn instead to the way Annie’s shoulders flexed, the way her back tightened as she switched arms during pull-ups, the quiet grit in her expression when the strain peaked.
Each time he caught himself staring too long, the movie jumped forward without him. A flicker of annoyance crossed his face and he reached for the remote, rewinding just enough to reclaim the moments he’d missed. It happened more than once.
When he managed to keep his eyes on the screen, low chuckles slipped out of him at the scripted humor, genuine, comfortably unguarded. A-Train’s guest appearances earned their own reactions, a sharp huff of laughter here, an amused scoff there. He even laughed outright when A-Train and Starlight started bickering, the sound easy, almost fond, like the past had settled into something watchable instead of cringeworthy.
Annie pulled herself up again, muscles burning, the bar trembling faintly beneath her strength, and for a moment the room held that odd, fragile balance. A looping day. A familiar space. A god on a couch laughing at a movie about the woman training ten feet away.
One scene landed particularly well, funny enough that he paused the movie mid-beat and turned his head toward Annie, her back still to him as she worked through another pull-up.
“You’re way too meek in the movies,” he said with a low chuckle, eyes flicking between her shoulders and the frozen frame on the screen. “If only they knew how annoying you actually are…. This is absolute PG-13 bullshit.” He shook his head like the injustice personally offended him.
Annie laughed, breathless but unfazed, the sound light and familiar, like this was an argument they had already won a hundred times before.
The room settled again into that comfortable quiet, one that didn’t demand filling. The candle kept burning. The city kept existing beyond the glass. After a minute, Annie broke it.
“Hey, I’ve been wondering lately…”
Homelander paused the movie again, this time fully turning toward her, interest sharpening as his attention locked in. He waited.
“Did you ever tell them about the time loop,” she asked, shifting her weight smoothly to her other arm and continuing the pull-ups like the question was casual, “when you went to the future?”
“Nope,” he said easily, eyes already drifting back to the TV, thumb hovering over the remote as if the topic barely registered.
“Why?” She probed, curious.
Homelander stopped, then set the remote down entirely. A smirk crept in as he gestured loosely between them, exaggerated and unapologetic. “What, you wanted me to tell everyone about you and me? About this? Us? Including Hughie?” His tone dripped with theatrical disbelief.
“Oh,” Annie said, dropping cleanly to the floor in one smooth motion. She straightened, wiping her palms on her shorts and then wiping herself with a towel as understanding clicked into place. “Right.”
A grin tugged at her mouth as she shook her head. “That would’ve been incredibly mortifying for future me.” She laughed, genuinely amused, like the idea of her own distant suffering was a private joke she could afford now.
Homelander huffed, satisfied, and reached for the remote again.
Annie, in the meantime, transitioned down to the floor without ceremony, planting her palms and shifting her weight onto the balls of her sneakers. Push-ups followed, slow and controlled, her body lowering and lifting with measured strain, muscles tightening with each repetition.
Homelander hit play again. The penthouse filled with the noise of the movie’s climactic fight scene, choreographed chaos crashing through the speakers. Onscreen, A-Train and Starlight fought side by side, all dramatic timing and hopeful heroism. Between cutaways, Starlight’s love interest appeared, a lanky civilian type who looked deeply allergic to gyms, hacking into some encrypted system exactly on cue, just as she had instructed him to. The resemblance to Hughie was uncomfortable enough to feel intentional.
Eventually, explosions settled and victory arrived right on schedule. Starlight and A-Train stood triumphant, joined by a surprise cameo from Brad Pitt, who apparently was also a supe in this universe, because, duh, Brad Pitt. The movie drifted into its softer ending, cutting to Starlight reuniting with her long-limbed boyfriend, the two of them folding into a drawn-out, tender hug framed like it was meant to fix something in the audience.
Homelander rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t see Annie doing push-ups in the background.
“Why do they always cast a typical what's-his-face as your love interest?” he muttered, irritation sharp but lazy. “They all look like fucking Hugh Campbell.” He shook his head, genuinely disappointed, like this was a recurring failure of cinema rather than a personal affront.
Annie let out a low laugh from the floor, breath steady despite the push-ups, clearly enjoying his spiral more than the movie.
He glanced back at her when she didn’t elaborate, eyebrows lifting. “No, seriously,” he pressed, voice firm with mock concern. “Can they even lift you properly? Or do they just feel like pool noodles when they touch you?”
The question hung in the room, obscene and absurd, colliding beautifully with the heroic score still playing in the background.
Annie eventually laughed again, louder this time, the sound bright, unrestrained, like the humor had landed on her half a minute late. Clearly delighted by his irritation, but she never broke her rhythm. Her arms bent and straightened with steady control, breath even, as if his outrage was just background noise.
Instead of indulging one of his many random complaints, she veered sideways with it.
“Hey,” Annie said casually, eyes on the floor beneath her. “Have you noticed how my underwear doesn’t show up on the couch anymore?”
“Oh, that’s because I kept it,” Homelander replied without missing a beat, his tone smoothing out, irritation evaporating like it had never existed.
Annie's head snapped toward him. Push-ups abandoned. “What?”
He shrugged, utterly relaxed. “Yeah. Took it at some point. Probably stuffed it in my glove. It’s been respawning there ever since.”
Annie stared at him, brow knitting, disbelief blooming fast. Not because he had done it. That part was unsurprising. It was the omission that got her.
“That’s a fucking deviation, John. Do you even realize what that implies?” she said sharply. “And what kind of creep are you, exactly?”
Homelander flinched the instant she used his real name, a brief wince crossing his face like she’d pressed on a bruise. She only ever used it when she was either horny or irritated, and currently, she was visibly irritated.
And he knew exactly what that deviation implied. It implied he could’ve been dead—permanently—and Annie would never have gotten the chance to drag him back from the void, if not for that one-way coordinate he’d set on the time-travel device. If he’d opted for a two-way ride and kicked the bucket without returning, the contraption would have stayed stranded in the future like Annie's underwear, never returning or respawning back into their pocket timeline.
He’d thought about it. Dwelled on it. And like everything else in this absurd loop, he’d convinced himself that it all happened the way it was supposed to. That some cosmic, screwed-up logic had a plan. But frankly, he wasn’t about to resurrect that whole philosophical debate now. Nope. He had a movie marathon to enjoy—or, more accurately, to silently dissect and nitpick while pretending to relax.
The movie credits rolled at the same time, mercifully, and he clicked the movie pause. He shifted forward, feet landing on the plush carpet, one arm draped over the back of the couch as he turned fully toward her.
“It’s admiration,” he said finally, waving it off with an unfazed ease. “You wouldn’t get it.”
“That’s literally what psychopaths and creeps think,” Annie shot back, already dropping into position again. She resumed her push-ups, eyes rolling hard enough to qualify as cardio all on their own.
He rolled his eyes in return, already exhausted by her talent for turning nothing into a moral tribunal. She could be infuriatingly precise about the smallest things. Women.
“Yeah, well. It’s mine now,” Homelander said, tone drifting into distracted ownership as he reached for his phone on the coffee table and began scrolling with lazy flicks of his thumb.
His gaze lifted briefly, snagging on her form on the floor, before sliding back to the screen. “You know,” he added casually, like it had just occurred to him, “they should make a movie with you and me in it. These twink-ass love interests they keep giving you are visually boring as fuck. Makes your sex life look tragic.” He snorted, rightfully pleased with himself.
“Oh, right. That’s you and Hughie.” A low, juvenile chuckle followed, proud and unrepentant.
Annie shot him a sharp glare and finally abandoned the push-ups altogether. She shifted to sit on the floor, knees drawn up to her chest, elbows resting on them as she let out a long, tired sigh.
“How would you feel if I stole your cape, huh?” she asked flatly, swerving past his comment like it didn’t deserve anymore attention, which it didn't.
“I didn’t steal your cape,” he replied immediately, unbothered, eyes still glued to his phone. “I stole your panties. Big difference.” He paused, then smirked. “Now, if you steal my boxers, that’s perfectly fine by me. But honestly? I’d recommend taking one of my gloves instead. I’d love to see you masturbate wearing it.” He winked.
“You’re disgusting,” Annie said, rolling her eyes hard. Then she paused, lips twitching despite herself. “That does kind of sound hot, though.”
Homelander’s grin widened as his attention finally locked onto her, phone still dangling in one hand.
“Hey,” he said lightly, “ever fantasize about dying again while I’m fucking you?”
Annie’s mouth twisted. A short, ugly laugh slipped out. “Why are you always like this? Why does everything crawl back to sex and murder with you?”
Homelander simply shrugged, casual, smug. “Because it gets under your skin every single time.”
She groaned, tipping her head back like she might scream at the ceiling instead. “Unreal.” The water bottle was snatched up and drained in long, desperate pulls. When she dropped it back down, she dragged a forearm across her forehead, sweat and irritation smeared together. “I can’t believe I signed up for this.”
“Mm.”
He scrolled. Stormfront’s suicide news blared from the screen; anchors grave, banners screaming history, tragedy, outrage. The usual circus.
A wince crossed his face, more annoyance than grief. Then, without looking up, “Like I always say—poor, helpless Starlight, always getting fucked by Homelander like a designer love-bag. That'd be a great porno title, by the way.”
Annie snorted despite herself. “A love-what? You’re so fucking cringe.”
“And yet.” He teased without really looking at her, smirking.
She rolled her eyes again, lips pressing together, then gave in with a tired shrug. “Fine,” she said flatly. “I’ll fuck you right now.”
The words landed heavier than intended.
Annie pushed herself up and walked over, slow and resigned, like someone willingly stepping into bad weather without an umbrella.
That crooked grin spread wider now on his face, eyes still on the screen, satisfaction blooming like a bad habit he never bothered to quit.
Once the gap closed, Annie eased herself onto his lap, straddling him with casual ease like she knew exactly what she was doing.
A low, teasing moan slipped from him immediately, rich with smug satisfaction as he shifted, adjusting both her and himself with precise, possessive hands on her hips. The phone, forgotten in the moment, slid off his grip and thudded softly onto the carpet.
“Good girl,” he purred, voice a dark rumble as their faces drew close. His tongue traced the curve of her lips, tasting, testing.
“You’re doing this movie marathon crap just to skip sculpting class,” Annie said, amusement curling in her voice, a sly smirk tugging at her mouth. “We’ve got fifteen minutes, tops.”
Homelander clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, lips brushing over her jaw, a faint pressure at the nape of her neck.
“It’s stupid as fuck,” he murmured, mimicking a shiver of disgust, arms firm on her hips to hold her steady. “It gets grime under the fingernails… it’s revolting.”
Annie rolled her eyes, leaning back enough to glare at him. Not angry really. Persuasive. “It’s supposed to be therapeutic, remember? To help us process things… without going completely violent. Then we’re going to take piano lessons with Black Noir.”
“Yep. Boring and stupid,” he said again, lazily, tone casual but impossibly intimate as he pressed soft, lingering kisses along her neck.
His body molded against hers, heat radiating through the slight brush of skin, low moans vibrating against her collarbone as he pulled her just a fraction closer, claiming her in all the quiet, intimate ways that made normal life feel impossibly distant.
Annie drew in a slow breath, letting it out in a soft sigh against his lips. “You could sculpt whatever you feel in the moment. Trust me—it’s… very gratifying in the end. I know it’s a process to figure it out, but that’s the point, right? You have to go through it to get there. And time’s all we have.”
Homelander huffed, whining suddenly like a spoiled child. “Whatever I feel? Really? What am I even going to sculpt with that?” His brow furrowed, pouty. “How do you even know what emotions look like? What if I’m feeling… I don't know, horny?”
Before she could respond, he leaned back slightly, eyes glinting with that dangerous, playful light. “Oh—right,” he said, a grin spreading wide, sharp and self-satisfied. “I could always sculpt you nude and scatter them all over my penthouse.”
The excitement in his expression was almost palpable; abrupt, mischievous, and predatory in the same moment. His voice dropped then, conspiratorial.
“You know what? I think it’s about time we figure out a way to remove Stormfront permanently, physically—from my penthouse. Turn her into a deviation.”
Annie scoffed, eyebrows rising in mock surprise, eyes narrowing. “What? Why? You… you loved her, right?”
“Sure,” he said casually, shrugging as though it were no big deal. “But we both know she’s dead. Been dead for a while now. And for someone dead, she’s… overstayed her welcome.”
Her lips curled into a grimace, half amused, half exasperated. She slapped at his arm lightly. “You just want to remove her so you can put your sculptures in your penthouse. You disgusting pervert. Sculpting classes are canceled indefinitely.”
Homelander smacked his lips, mock-serious now, teeth grazing lightly along her neck as if the conversation were mildly vexing him. “No, seriously. We’ll start the sculpting classes tomorrow. First thing. And we’ll brainstorm some ways to deviate her the fuck out of my penthouse while at it.”
Annie smirked, a slow, teasing curl of amusement pulling at her lips. “Riiiiight…. and you think better after a good sex, don’t you?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, playful yet daring.
“Exactly,” he murmured, eyes darkening with a possessive hunger.
His hands were already moving with casual accuracy, sliding over the fabric of her workout bra, lifting it over her head, brushing against the curve of her ribs as he freed her breasts. Then, with the same fluid, unrelenting attention, he helped peel the shorts down, fingers grazing her thighs in the process, intentional, intimate in every motion. The underwear followed next, swifter than the shorts.
Even in the simple act of undressing, there was a tension that pulled at the air between them, a mixture of lust, love, amusement, and a dangerous familiarity that made every second feel intense and unquestionably theirs.
Once he tossed the underwear at the single sofa across from him, his hand traversed down to her ass and grabbed each cheek in each hand. He spread them apart, positioning her pussy over his member.
“Why’s it so easy to turn you on, huh?” he whispered, voice low, pleased, already feeling the answer in the way she was wet from nothing more than his mouth at her neck all along, teeth grazing skin like a threat he never quite followed through on.
Annie shot him a murderous look through her lashes, embarrassed and defiant all at once, lips twitching with a bashful smile despite herself.
Unbothered, Homelander smoothly slid his cock inside her, gradually pulling her down as the thick piece of meat spread her open.
The reaction was immediate. A sharp gasp tore free, her head tipping to the side as her eyes fluttered shut, pleasure stealing the strength from her posture for a fleeting second.
Homelander’s grin widened as he bit down on his lower lip, all his upper teeth sinking in as his pupils swallowed what little blue remained. He tightened his hold and shoved himself further inside her, drawing a pained, breathless moan out of her like a prize.
He savored it, the sound, the way her body responded without permission, and then he relented just enough to let her reclaim control.
Annie wrapped her legs tighter around his hips, grounding herself there, then her hips began to roll on his cock.
His groan broke loose, head tipping back before snapping forward again. His eyes ignited, burning crimson, the glow stark against the satisfied cruelty of his grin. Lust had brought something feral across his face, all pretense gone.
“So,” he rasped, voice strained, glowing gaze locked on her, “that’s a yes? We’re deviating Stormfront?”
Annie gasped as she bounced slowly on his shaft, nodding frantically, urgency written all over her expression. “Yep. Permanently.” Her voice was breathless but focused, priorities intact even now. “And let’s try deviating Ryan too. Might be impossible, but it’s worth a shot.”
Homelander nodded along with her, mouth parted, eyes still blazing as he watched her move in his lap like she owned the moment and him with it.
“Yeah. That too.” That crooked grin pulled at his mouth. “But the kid’s got super-hearing. I might have to cover your mouth every time I fuck you.”
The laugh burst out of her before Annie could stop it, mingled with a startled gasp, dissolving into soft, helpless giggles as he thrust up and cut straight through her amusement.
His grin turned sharper and delighted, pleased with himself, pleased with her, pleased with the ugly-pretty weird normalcy of planning a future like this in a time-loop.
Then it struck him, cleanly, unavoidably, that maybe it was finally time to set the ego down. Not shelve it temporarily or disguise it as magnanimity. Actually put it aside and just confess to it without performance.
What exactly was stopping him now?
The world wasn’t ending. It wasn't moving forward either. No cameras were rolling. No timelines were collapsing. It was just her and him, at all times.
“Hey, Starlight—” he said at last, his eyes never quite leaving her naked form, as though looking away might weaken his nerve.
“Yeah?”
He didn’t dress it up. Didn’t wrap it in sarcasm or deflect it with humor.
“I know we have a treaty in place but—you know I love you, right? You're my ride-or-die.”
The words settled between them, simple, sudden, and unguarded.
Annie froze. Her gaze snapped to his face, sharp and searching, like she was checking for a punchline. Her mouth parted before she could control it. For a second, she just blinked at him, completely unprepared.
“Uh—”
Nothing followed. Her brain seemed to stall, visibly buffering. She swallowed, throat tight, the suddenness of it knocking the air out of her. Of all the versions of him she’d known—the tyrant, the narcissist, the reluctant ally—this quiet, unshielded one always caught her off guard.
Color crept into her cheeks as the meaning finally settled in. It wasn't a joke, or manipulation, or control.
It was simply the truth.
Her eyes dropped, a shy smile breaking through despite her pride. Her fingers curled deeper into his shoulders, grounding herself.
“I know," She nodded, "I—I love you too.”
Before I say goodbye, here are a few lines from the story that became my personal favorites. Some were shaped by life experiences, and many stayed with me long after I wrote them:
- Because failure was only permanent if you stopped trying.
- Empathy was a terrible side effect of context.
- As if that would ever happen. As if anyone sane would tell Homelander “no” to his face in the waking world. Only dreams allowed that kind of stupidity.
- The day was wrong. That was the only way to describe it. Cursed, maybe. Packed too full of shocks for him to process any single one properly. Everything kept demanding a reaction before he’d finished feeling the last thing, and the pressure of it all was driving him inward.
- And what in the ever-loving hell was #Starlander? Since when did her name come first? His name always came first. It was supposed to. It had to.
- He pushed harder anyway. Desperate to outrun the panic. To outrun the overwhelming sense of being trapped.
- The truly sick part was how quickly his brain adapted to the premise. A future where his accumulated knowledge would matter, even though that future was just the same day wearing a fresh coat of denial. The thought settled into him like a parasite, horrifying, efficient, and impossible to unthink.
- The irony wasn’t lost on her; apparently the scenic route to emotional growth involved obliterating half the planet.
- Annie clocked it immediately—the way his body had collapsed into the couch, the familiar defeated sprawl he defaulted to when something internal was chewing him up.
- She’d helped him. Probably because nothing mattered tomorrow in the loop. Or maybe, she’d done it simply because she was wired that way. Miss Goody-Two-Shoes. Miss Unbearably Decent. Miss Moral Compass.
- Feelings only matter if you want them to.
- Homelander had a lot of issues with a lot of things, but lectures ranked dangerously high on the list.
- Survival for the perpetually moronic required something good enough, even if that something was as bizarre as breastmilk.
Did any of them stick with you too? :)