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Dainty snowflakes fall on the other side of the floor length windows, setting the backdrop for what should be the perfect Christmas in Homelander’s penthouse. Just like the quiet music playing and homely lights sparkling amongst the décor.
The usual uncomfortable air of his seemingly unlivable living quarters, more like a museum than a home, is still there. It never seems to go away. It only seems to get heavier with the decorations he’s been gathering throughout December. The garlands and embellishments should evoke emotions somewhere, yet they never seem to.
He reflects on it surrounded by other extravagant decorations and gifts, standing stiffly in front of the gaudy tree he has hauled in. It’s perfect, but no matter what stops he pulls out, nothing seems to fill the space with that holiday cheer it’s supposed to. No matter how well the place is adorned for the holidays, it never seems to fill the void.
This isn’t what Christmas Eve is supposed to feel like, at least not according to the Hallmark actors.
It’s supposed to be warmer, happier. Bring a sense of comforting nostalgia he doesn’t have.
“John?” You hum quietly, poking your head around the corner to the living room, eyeing the back of his cape he refuses to lose, even at home.
Things have become easier since you moved in, providing him with the softness and comfort he had always been missing. Always willing to give him all that and more. Showing him things he’s never had, feeding the need that grew teeth long ago, clawing and gnawing inside of him every minute of the day.
"Cookies are ready. Would you like one?" you ask, being patient and gentle.
The sound of your soft voice finally registers in his mind, overshadowing his melancholy.
A small smile spreads across his face, concealing his previous expression in his façade as he dutifully heads for the kitchen on command. All his actions revolve around finding the comfort he craves in some shape or form. But he won’t be desperate or pathetic by asking for it; no, his ego won’t let him. So he hides how badly he craves it.
You’re impervious to his little act, having memorized his ticks long ago. That smile of his might camouflage the disconsolate look hiding in his blue eyes to the public, but it’s all too clear under your observant gaze. “What’s wrong? Something's bothering you,” you say softly, meeting him halfway and leading him along by the hand instead.
Another soft gesture he can’t get enough of.
“Is it all good enough? It doesn’t feel…” He trails off, searching for words. “Does it make you happy?”
Despite his deepest wish for happiness, it doesn't bring him joy. Just another thing he’ll never understand no matter how hard he tries to. It's turned into an attempt to impress you—to bring you comfort in the holiday he can't seem to find, so utterly disjointed from everything.
“Hey. Of course it’s good enough. I don’t need all this to be happy; I’ve got you,” you laugh lightheartedly, stopping before the counter and spinning around for him to see.
The softness of your gentle grasp and the scent in the air captivate him more than the empty space in his chest, drawing his gaze to what you've crafted for him.
He’d love to say something, but words never seem to come easy to him when you’re around.
"You are all I need," you say with a smile, simultaneously presenting a cookie that you had meticulously prepared with love in your eyes.
Love he'll never have enough of.
He pulls you close by the waist to take a bite obediently, savoring it like everything else you offer. It tastes as pretty as it looks, hand-decorated just for him. “Are you sure?” he asks between mouthfuls, his eyes trained on you for that validation he never seems to have enough of.
“Of course, I’m sure. This is what Christmas is about, honey,” you chuckle. “Spending time with you.”
That fills a void in his chest, a longing that never seems to be satisfied.
Makes him hungry for more.
His unyielding hands grasp the underside of your thighs and lift you onto the counter as he steps closer, wedging himself between your legs. He purrs, his arms drawing you in and enveloping you in his warmth.
“You make me very happy. I promise," you laugh softly, gently scratching at the back of his scalp as you draw him closer.
There aren’t ways to achieve the level of intimacy he desires. He’d climb inside your ribcage if he could.
He swallows his feelings the best he can, his hands grasping at your flesh as desperately as he can without causing harm. "It feels like there's still something missing. I have you; it shouldn't feel this way anymore."
It makes your chest ache.
“It’ll get better the more holidays we spend together. We just have to make more memories together, like this." You say softly, pressing those words into the side of his neck with a kiss that will hopefully make him take them straight to heart.
“Here. Have another cookie," you say, snagging another from the tray on the counter and pulling back in his grip to hold it up for him.
“I can feed myself,” he grumbles, but he's already taking a bite.
You smile as you watch him, absorbing every detail as if he were a living painting. Memorizing his features, comparable to a sculpture of marble, the gentle contours and the sparkle of his teeth as they bite down. “I know,” you chuckle, pressing a kiss to his forehead before he can raise any objections. “What do you say we watch a movie tonight too? Hmm?”
It’s become your purpose to try and make everything as memorable as possible while he’s busied himself with the frills of the holidays. Filling in that aspect of his life he’s always been missing has quickly become your responsibility. But it’s an obligation you’re all too pleased to take, holding him tight through the holidays and showing him how to make wonderful memories to ease his mind.