#also ended up a lot more lovey than i initially imaged hahaha buT he deserves it uwu

[sehtoast]

Hunger (Homelander x Reader Smut)

18+ | Dry humping, making out. gender neutral reader. | Fic Directory

He's addicted. Nothing short of enraptured heart, mind, body, and soul with you. 

You're soft yet firm under him. You are the warmth he's always craved– the fire he's searched for since as long as he can remember. His hands are everywhere all at once. 

On your cheeks, your neck, shoulders, hips, chest. 

He touches you everywhere. He needs every inch, every fucking bit he can hold. 

He needs you. 

You do something to him that he cannot name. You light a flame, but it does not burn. 

You don't hurt. 

Your lips are soft against his, kiss bitten and plump from just how long you’d been going at it.  Must have been a while now…

Your gasps, your little shuddering breaths are beautiful music to his ears, more perfect than the heavens themselves could ever compose.  You are his instrument, and he, your musician– the maestro that will learn every possible way there is to make you sing for him.  Every stroke of his fingers under the hem of your shirt, every kneading grasp against your chest.

He breaks away for a time, but only to focus his attention on your neck.  The canvas on which his teeth and tongue will paint.  You are his magnum opus.  He will mark you, claim you, and you will forever be the most wonderful creation his hands have ever touched.

You shiver in his grasp, squirming, hands gripping in his ruffled undercut as he nips at you.  He is carnal hunger personified.  He is desire. He is need.  

And you are all that could ever satisfy him.

His tongue maps a path up your neck, over your jaw, up the curve of your cheekbone.  He kisses just shy of your ear, leaning in to whisper, “Mine.”

His hands are moving again, and you find your legs hiked up to wrap around his waist.  He presses into you, raging desire evident by the press of his cock within his suit.  Homelander’s teeth graze the flesh just beneath your ear as he grinds against your core, his breath fanning hot against you.

You hear him bite back a whine.

You tighten your legs, pulling him against you.  The friction makes you both groan, eyes meeting, minds connecting in silence.

I need you.

His lips meet yours, still wet from when he’d suckled his marks, and he rocks his hips.  His tongue caresses yours and he sighs loudly through his nose.  The sensation is tantalizing at best– not nearly enough to drive you over the edge.

But, him?

There was nobody in the world more sensitive than the man impervious to everything.

All it ever truly took was the knowledge that you reciprocate everything.  That you, center of his universe, would and do return his intensity.  That you’re unafraid to moan into his mouth or use your legs to aid in his quest for friction.  

He can smell your arousal.  How terribly you need him– just as he needs you.

To be wanted.  To be needed.

He can hear your heart hammering with more than just desire.

To be loved.

Crimson flutters behind his eyelids.  The force of his thrusts increases until they’re erratic, and your whimpers reverberate between your mouths as he tongues everywhere he can in yours.  It’s as though he means to consume you from the inside out.  He’s sloppy, messy, and hungry.

Even more so when your hips roll to meet his.

His forehead presses to yours, his brow knit, eyes clenched.  He separates from the kiss and saliva follows his lips as he pants hot and heavy against yours.

“O-Oh!”  He pushes against you hard and fast, a pitchy keen catching in his throat as his expression melts and he comes undone.  He cries out your name, and you pull him down to kiss again as his thrusts slow, becoming languid.  He rides out the waves, holding his breath.

“Oh ff– Oh fuck.”  He exhales hard,  eyes fluttering open to stare down at you.  “I…”

He knew you knew.

He came in his pants.

The wetness in his briefs adds a delicious sensation to each circular grind against you.  All he can do is groan while he attempts to collect himself.

But then came a pair of hands to rest at his cheeks.

Your hands.

Kisses to his forehead, just below his eyes, to the tip of his nose.

To his lips.

When he opens his eyes, he swears he’s in heaven.   

The fire in him is tame.  The fury he is so often burdened by is so featherlight that it may as well not even exist.

His heart is full.

For in his hands, in his heart, he holds you.