Work Text:
Every morning was pretty much the same. Even the weekends were similar. “The Cunt” woke up, showered, made breakfast and lunch all while the little brown eyes of an English Bulldog watched him the entire time …and asked for food.
Finally, a short walk and a little bit of breakfast in his bowl when Dad wakes up. The two hump while he sits on the floor and stares, watching purposefully until a throw blanket is dropped on his head, gets caught under meaty paws and he’s rolling around the floor fighting it. After the two finish, his little smiling face pops out under the blanket and he trots in the bathroom behind his pack, blanket dragging along the floor still on his back.
He gets kicked out, and decides to employ his latest trick in an attempt for a morning snack.
Terror watched as Homelander hurried Butcher and Ryan to the elevator, delicious smells coming from each of the bags he gives them. He usually gets to watch them hump in the elevator too when Ryan wasn’t home. The cunt shoos him out of the elevator door and he settled in his comfortable basket for a morning nap, his treat, and a quiet afternoon.
Homelander sees Ryan off to school, smiling happily to see him with friends. Seeing Butcher off to work starts with a groping session cut short when his gloved hands find a lump in the back of his pants pocket. His eyebrow quirks when he fishes in the second Butcher is laughing.
“Are you fucking kidding me with this? Where would you even take these?! Why are you — this is the dumbest, the second dumbest trick you’ve ever taught that dog.”
Homelander pulls yet another pair of his red underwear from Butcher’s pocket. It wasn’t enough he had a pile hidden in their apartment he couldn’t find, and their maid couldn’t find. He assumes the collection is in a zinc box, and hidden well.
“What’s the first, love?”
“That “little to the left,” thing. What purpose does that serve?”
“So, “fuck it” is still number one,” Butcher laughs, “and you forget I taught him to turn around and face the wall, just for you?”
Butcher had said he and Homelander wouldn’t be back until late, so Terror didn’t expect any company except for the cleaning woman he was definitely going to jump on and hump, as usual, and wait for Ryan’s after school activities to come play. He ate his underwear-discovering treat and settled in to a nice quiet morning nap. Exploring the hamper and hiding more underwear and lingerie could wait a few hours; then he could get a nice treat when his dad came home for finding that stringy panty. And not the one he tore up either.
“The Cunt” should consider himself lucky - or Homelander, or.. John? John. Because that’s what Dad called him now, but the white bulldog is still on the fence about all of this Homelander stuff. So Homelander is lucky right now, he’s lucky that he stopped using his boots as a fire hydrant, his hero uniforms as a tree, and his cape to slobber on and roll around in after a good mud romp.
Homelander walked across a stage in front of thousands with paw prints down the American flag - and somehow still managed to pull off a resounding cascade of affection and garner more points than ever for announcing he adopted a dog.
Butcher had let out a small huff, Terror was his dog! Terror himself would have cringed if he could when Homelander started brushing the dirty paw prints off his cape and tried to make a “training is ruff” joke. The crowd screamed with laughter and Butcher cringed for his companion.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Homelander said when he got backstage, except he was looking between both of them, and the dog had his head tilted, “and you,” he smirks, kneeling to the canine’s level, “you’re still better than a cat.”The supe gave him a quick pat on the head, ruffled his ears, and strolled off to his dressing room while they followed.
Butcher gives him a nod when the dog looks back, and to Terror’s surprise, he’s pretty content with the compliment and follows the supe with his little tail wagging, Butcher’s approval be damned.
Terror even gets a treat from the supe when he sits in his makeup chair and passes him a couple cheese wedges.
“We could probably class him up with a big bow, a blue bow. Something that adds a little patriotism to him with a pop of colour? Make him a little more cutesy for the crowd? Leave him as is with that gaudy collar for a men’s magazine shoot?” Ashley is writing down everything Homelander says as he passes cheese and a couple crackers to his furry friend who he had once called ‘the ugliest dog’ he'd ever seen.
“It’s a badass collar.” Butcher didn’t like that people tended to interrupt whatever private time he and Homelander had during minutes of downtime, throwing Ashley out of the room, and he stayed standing in the threshold until they needed to leave again.
The supe pats his little head again and gives him an ear scratch before he tends to his hair and makeup, “Cats are awful. I much rather deal with all the shit your dog puts me through than be in love with a cat-guy. Yikes.”
Terror is so proud. Cheese and anti-cat? He’ll never chew up another boot again… well, maybe just the old ones. They’re just so tough and fun, and it makes Dad laugh like hell. Every. Single. Time.
“I’m glad you talked me back into having a dog around,” Homelander said he would never have another dog again after his childhood pet tragedies, “I’m glad you’re not a cat guy, you know? I’m glad. I really am. Cat people are so… weird. I get lonely girls, replacing boyfriends with a cat, something that’s independent and doesn’t need them but they bother with and serve anyways? Insane. A guy with a cat? Really? What kind of insane issues?” So he shouldn’t be one to whine about having issues with insanity, and yet there he was, complaining and whining. “Like, a guy can’t just get a dog that shows love and affection? Needs a … cat to do…. What, exactly?” Homelander scoffs and hands Terror another cheese wedge.
The supe said that they didn't need a dog and he'd never have a dog in his Vought apartment. He told himself that he didn't need a pet, didn’t have time, didn’t have a life or lifestyle for such a commitment - he would be swarmed walking it on the streets. That his son wouldn’t get along with it, he’d be scared, he’d get attacked — they’re best friends now. Dogs needed so much care and affection, so much time and effort.
At least dogs didn’t need a box to shit in.
Terror wasn’t so keen on Homelander either after being raised to hate the guy… but they slept on the couch during a movie side by side the same night he came home and they shared popcorn and he happily ate the grilled chicken strips in the supe’s salad.
Ryan, Terror’s official kid, even came home with a ton of new toys and played until he was introduced to his new bed next to the couple’s own bed. He prefers sleeping on top of Ryan’s bed now, they’d always gotten along, but now he had a true family to watch over.
Even if it included Homelander.
Four hours pass for the day’s morning nap, a typical routine. Terror raises his head up from the cushiony pillow and blanket of his basket. Housekeeping. He trots down the staircase and is surprised to see the usual maid come in with something unwelcome.
He stares down the intruder. He knows her, but she isn’t welcome here. Especially if his family isn’t home. On guard, Terror decides to forgo beloved long legs and scratchable pantyhose of the housekeeper, with perfect white shoes he’s been dying to chew on and follow this woman that looks like a rat. What did she want with his Dad’s bedroom? It’s clear that this room is off limits to her, then again, she’s barely allowed past the couch. She smelled guilty. She was up to no good… She was up to something that would make Dad and “The Cunt” angry.
He growls, getting low to bite exposed legs, and she runs before he can even launch at her. She trips down the staircase, and he watches, completely gleeful with tail wagging before he takes off after her again. He was a good sport, after all. He finally sinks his teeth into one of her calves right before she reaches the elevator, and rips his jaws through the flesh.
She screams and kicks, gripping the handrail of the elevator until he lets go. With white fur now stained with blood, he happily goes and finds the legs of his affection.
Except she gives him a bath, and brushes his teeth…. their romance is dead for the day and he doesn’t even get a treat. He smells like baby powder and it kills the confidence of his attack. Sulking time.
Whose afraid of that?
Terror grabs a hidden pair of Homelander’s nighties and drags it back to his bed, using a garter that falls out of it as a chew toy. He settles back in comfortably, chewing noisily until he tires himself out, resting his head on his paws with a wide yawn.
During his afternoon walk, he refuses to do anything but lift a leg on the Vought building it’s self. It wasn’t long then until the housekeeper leaves and his eyes closed.
Afternoon naps resumed; this time it just might be filled with dreams of being a super powered dog. With a movie… and that post box near the subway stairs in the living room.
Terror was snoring on his back when the elevator opened again and the sound of kids flooded the apartment, the ‘ding’ waking him up and the laughter yawning him awake. He runs full force to the sound, and gets arms thrown around his thick neck, hugged tight, and there’s a bacon strip in it for him too.
Ryan sure knows how to treat a dog.
He’s carrying a large box, and the other boys with him are too. They sit on the leather couch that he has teeth marks in, and started shuffling through it. He earns himself a little cape with a moon pattern tossed over his back. His tail wiggles; his whole backside does.
He sniffs the objects that the kids are taking out of the box, laying them all out on the table. Dice, too many, so shiny, none for him, a big game board… and a whole lot of books.
Terror’s tongue hangs out, breathing loudly and Ryan patted him on the head. “You want to play too?” he asks. His tail hasn’t stopped going full speed, he loves his boy.
Terror slid his head on Ryan’s lap when his phone began to ring. It’s Butcher’s voice and face on the screen. He wiggles until he can get some space on the couch to see too. It was rare that the supe or Butcher came home late now that they were both living together, and living with Ryan. Homelander put strict availability hours in place with Vought since he had his family together, and they’re all talking about moving somewhere spacious.
“We need a backyard, place for the kids and the dog to run around.”
Terror thinks living in space leaves a lot of territory to protect.
“We’ll be home soon,” Butcher is saying to Ryan now, and the word ‘Pizza’ sends the dog into happy spins, brown eyes filled with excitement.
“We won’t bother you guys while you’re having fun,” Butcher says to the small group of kids after dinner, “just keep the noise down—“
“We will,” Ryan replies, and the dog looks between the two of them as they speak.
Terror watches as two of the other children go silent and stare. He knows that look. His ears perk up and he turns, watching Homelander walk into the living room with a stern, but friendly face, hands behind his back, statuesque, cape billowing.
“Ryan,” his voice is serious.
“Yes, Dad?” Ryan still smiles. His father stayed dressed in his superhero uniform to impress his friends, as promised.
“Did you, and your friends, do your homework when you got back from school?”
Ryan is crushed. So much for being cool, “We will.”
“Make sure he does, Terror.”
Ears perked, body perked, tail perked. He looks like a show dog ready for judgement with a can-do attitude.
“We’ll be upstairs if you need help, have fun with your game.”
Ryan and Terror watch the two adults leave, and share a look. Red boots and black combat boots clear the last step and when they don’t come back down after a few moments, they’re sure the two are gone. Ryan goes to the kitchen and pushes a chair against the fridge. Terror has learned to trust the process of blocking a fridge with a chair, although he isn’t a big fan of the danger it brings to his boy. “The Cunt” can fly, this one… not so much. He shifts from one paw to the next until the boy is down safely. He licks his muzzle in anticipation, but drool drips down anyway.
“There’s some in the bottom cabinet!” Homelander’s voice booms from upstairs and they share another look. That superhearing…
The two head back with their little group to the game. Terror nudges the backpack as a reminder, after all, Homelander did give him the pepperoni on top of his pizza even further, he gave him the extra oily pieces of cheese. The two best parts.
Ryan gives unlimited animal crackers though.
Life was so much better with a family.