#but. because i have no chill. it has turned into a Whole Thing

[therainscene]

[Mentions of ST5 leaks below.]

I've been thinking about Linda Hamilton's mysterious role in S5. Leaks tend to agree that she plays a military character of some sort, but I dunno how difficult a guess that is to make given how much of a gun-toting badass her Terminator character is.

Most of ST's guest stars tend to be cast in roles that reflect the classic 80s movies they were in -- Paul Reiser plays a representative of an exploitative institution like in Aliens; Sean Astin solves a puzzle map that leads to underground tunnels like in The Goonies; Robert Englund plays (the father of) a heavily-scarred, mind-walking child murderer like in A Nightmare on Elm Street, etc -- but is that true for all of them?

What does Larry Kline (the slimy Mayor who screws over small businesses to protect the interests of a large corporation) have in common with Cary Elwes's most famous role (the dashing, swashbuckling farmhand-turned-pirate from Princess Bride)? The similarities may not be immediately obvious, but I think they're clearer when you remember that Elwes also played Robin Hood -- Larry Kline is an ironic reversal of the working-class hero Elwes is known for.

What if Linda Hamilton has been cast as an ironic reversal of Sarah Connor?

Sarah Connor is the mother of humanity's future savior, and by Terminator 2, the burden of ensuring that he survives being the target of a genocidal time-travelling AI has turned her into a hardened solider plagued by nightmares of children dying in an apocalypse she's helpless to prevent.

You can hardly blame her for feeling helpless. Even without the time-travelling robots, she's just one woman trying to make a stand against powerful institutions: the military-funded lab that's ignorantly creating the AI her son is destined to oppose; the asylum doctors who think she's a raving lunatic unfit to raise a child.

It's very reflective of 80s anxieties -- not just the Cold War threat of nuclear annihilation, but the conservative threat of social annihilation in the name of silencing misunderstood minorities.

A reversal of Sarah Connor would, therefore, be someone who is still obsessed with protecting children from a rogue (time-travelling? 🤞) hivemind -- but from the conservative, institutionalized power side of things.

In other words: exactly the sort of antagonistic force that was foreshadowed in the S4 epilogue.

(Should the leaks be true, then this would be the real reason for casting Hamilton in a military role.)

Following this train of thought: if we're getting a villain who's focused on "protecting" children, then what does that suggest about the fact that Holly Wheeler -- 7 year-old sister of a gay Hellfire member and frequent innocent witness to The Horrors that surround him -- is shaping up to be one of Henry's targets in S5?

Let's talk about Ted and Karen.

I feel like these two tend to be misunderstood by the fandom. Either they're frothing bigots who would kick Mike out of the house the instant they found out he was queer, or they're chill allies who have been assuming that Mike was dating Will this whole time.

But that's what Will's parents are like. As a visible gay kid who's playing the stereotypical Sad Gay Boy archetype, it makes sense for Will to have parents that represent the obvious extremes of queer acceptance: Lonnie is never going to be convinced that it's anything other than shameful for his son to be queer, and Joyce is never going to be convinced that there's anything wrong with the way her son loves.

But Mike is the invisible, ambiguously straight-passing kid deep in the throes of comphet -- his role is to surprise the audience by subverting their expectations. And so it's important, I think, that his parents represent the subtler attitude that best reflects his story: the ignorant conformists.

They're the sort of people who get offended when they're accused of bigotry -- they're not hateful, heaven forbid! -- but who still passively support bigoted systems because they refuse to stand up like Sarah Connor or Joyce Byers and challenge the status quo.

While I do believe that "our son with a girl?" is a queer-coded line, I don't think the point was necessarily to suggest that Ted knows about Mike's queerness.

Consider the full context of that scene: Brenner was pressuring the Wheelers to rat Mike out so that this weird kid he was hiding (literally in his closet at one point!) could be apprehended, and he easily won them over with a little "protect the children" fearmongering:

The Wheelers want to support Mike -- but they can only understand his behaviour within the heteronormative white suburban context they're used to, and they'll readily trust authorities they absolutely should not be trusting to explain what help he needs.

Unlike Lonnie, though, the Wheelers have the capacity to change in this regard -- and have slowly been doing so. They immediately clocked the ridiculousness of the town's Satanic Panic in S4, and the last time we saw them, they demonstrated a promising willingness to question authority and roll their eyes at conservative fearmongering.

But they haven't completed their redemption arc just yet. Holly's disappearance will be an important test of their commitment to this change in attitude.

Picture a redux of that S1 scene, with Hamilton's character in Brenner's role: "I understand your skepticism. It seems ridiculous that there are people in our town who are so committed to hurting children. But cultists are a different breed. Do you remember what happened to Will Byers four years ago? You don't really believe that he randomly got lost in the woods for a week, do you? The same week another child was found dead in the quarry? We can help your daughter, but only if you act now. Tell us where your misguided son and that deeply unwell boy he's a little too close to have gone."

Do they give in to the fearmongering and throw Mike under the bus for Holly's sake?

Or do they clock this bullshit for what it is and decide to peek behind the curtain -- and finally become the sort of parents Mike needs them to be?

[cosmerelists]

Mistborn Era 1 Protagonists as the Seven Deadly Sins

[Spoilers for Mistborn Era 1 & Secret History!]

Because turning VILLAINS into the Seven Deadly Sins feels too easy, too unsatisfying. But which protagonists embody each of the Seven Deadly Sins? Now, that feels like an interesting question...

1. Wrath: Vin...but also Kelsier

Vin did eventually learn to set aside her wrath, but I'm thinking specifically of the Vin who went to Keep Hasting and simply slaughtered everyone there, the Vin who cut Straff (and his horse) in half with a giant sword. That's some wrath, baby.

But of course, if there's one person who has a surplus rage, it's Kelsier. He's the one who wanted to simply murder as many nobles as possible in revenge for all the suffering they had caused--and anyone who chose to work for them too.

2. Lust: Allrianne

I know, I know. The optics of having a woman as the embodiment of lust are not great. But Allrianne is the character who used her Rioting abilities to make the man she wanted fall in love with her, so... Of any of them, she's the embodiment of lust, I think, of doing anything to get the object of her desire.

3. Greed: Preservation...but also Kelsier

Preservation wanted to hold on to everything he had, to prevent anything and everything from changing or going away. That's a type of greed, I think, to hold on so tightly to what you have.

And speaking of holding on...Kelsier refused to give up his life even when he died. I remember the moment when he tried to get Vin to stay with him, but Vin understood what it meant to let go in a way Kelsier never could. Kelsier and Preservation are both a little bit like dragons hoarding their gold.

4. Gluttony: Spook

I'm thinking here about the Spook who ate so much tin that he became a tin savant and had to wear bandages around his face because everything was too bright and loud all the time. That's not food gluttony, but I think it is a type of allomancy gluttony.

5. Envy: Marsh

Marsh was jealous of his brother. He was in love with Mare, who was his brother's wife (which is pretty much classic envy), and I think he envied his brother for getting to be more free, while he tried to hold it together and do things the right way.

6. Sloth: Elend

I'm thinking here about how Elend knew things were fucked up and wanted the government and society to change...but mostly he met up with his friends to discuss philosophy and drink and didn't DO anything for a very long time. Obviously, that changed once he was with Vin and got his powers, but I think original Elend could be seen as the embodiment of sloth for reasons of wanting change but not being able to move forward to enact it.

7. Pride: Breeze...but also Kelsier

Yes, Breeze likes to wear nice clothes and drink wine, but that's not entirely the pride I'm thinking about. I'm thinking more about how Breeze pretended to be above it all, that he was chill and unaffected and didn't really care...until a certain death made him break at the end. I think it's a form of pride to want to pretend to be so much above the base emotions that everyone else is feeling. And there's the nice clothes and the wine too.

But, I mean...there is one character who deliberately set himself up as a god and formed a whole-ass religion around himself, and that's Kelsier. I think that takes pride. A lot of pride.

[padawan-snack-packer]

"The Beard. The Hair. The Eyes. The Stare. Ezra Bridger: A Man in Crisis (of Love)"

Let’s talk about Ezra Bridger and his very real, very obvious, cosmically devastating case of Heart Eyes Syndrome the second Sabine Wren shows up in Ahsoka.

This man—this SPACE MAN—has not seen his crew in a decade. He’s been in space-Narnia with space turtles and nomad robes and probably hasn’t had a haircut since the fall of the Empire. He has one (1) bathrobe and zero (0) mirrors, and yet when Sabine appears? This man activates. He turns on like someone flipped the “Yearning Jedi” switch to MAXIMUM.

And you know what he does?

THIS, BESTIES!!!!

He smiles. He stares. He BEAMS.

Like full-body radiating "OH THANK THE FORCE SHE'S HERE" energy.

Like “I just saw my soulmate and I need to sit down” energy.

Like Notebook Nicholas Sparks cover art energy but with more dirt and trauma.

Ezra’s literal first words after ten years of exile: “I knew I could count on you.”

NOT “oh my god hey.”

NOT “wow it’s been forever.”

NOT “why are you here.”

No. He looks at her, with the softest eyes a war criminal Jedi exile can possibly have, and says:

“I knew I could count on you.”

SIR.

WHAT KIND OF ROMANCE NOVEL NONSENSE IS THAT??

This is not just a reunion. This is a moment of Biblical proportions. Ezra is standing there, in the middle of his weird nomad village, looking like if Jesus and Aladdin had a sexy Jedi baby, and he sees Sabine like she’s the only person who has ever existed.

Sabine, for her part, is doing the emotional equivalent of buffering. You can see the spinning loading icon behind her eyes. Because Ezra is smiling like it’s still Lothal, like she didn’t just punch through galaxies and trauma and scream-fights with Ahsoka and her own grief just to find him—and he’s just happy to see her.

AND HE NEVER STOPS LOOKING AT HER.

"I can't wait to go home" my bUTT, THIS IS THE FACE OF A MAN WHO IS ALREADY HOME!!!

Oh really, Ezra? CAN'T WAIT TO GO HOME? My BUTT.

Sir, that was the face of a man who is already home. And the “home” in question????

A Mandalorian girlie with purple hair, unresolved rage issues, emotional walls like Fort Knox, and the sharpest cheekbones in the galaxy.

He said “home” but he meant “Sabine Wren.”

He meant her weird sarcastic little smile. He meant her standing there, alive and real, and arguing with him in that voice he hasn’t heard in a decade. He meant her.

The man wasn’t even looking at the Noti village. He wasn’t reminiscing about Lothal. He was LOOKING AT HER. Straight up gazing like she was a particularly majestic sunset and he was trying to memorize every damn shade of lavender in her hair.

And this man has the audacity to say “can’t wait to go home” while making direct, prolonged, “I’d die for you again and then some” eye contact with the literal embodiment of his trust, loyalty, and decade-long faith.

Sir. Be serious. You’re not going home. You’re standing in front of her.

Like he blinks maybe twice in the whole scene and both times it’s probably involuntary.

He does that thing. You know the thing. Where he looks at her face, then her eyes, then smiles again like he just remembered she exists in real life and not just in the corner of his brain where he stores “Reasons To Survive.”

It’s not subtle. It’s not chill. It’s not Jedi-appropriate. It’s SIMP ENERGY.

This isn’t just a guy seeing his friend again. This is a guy seeing the person he hoped and believed would find him, the one person he trusted when he flung himself into hyperspace with no return plan. And when she shows up, he looks at her like:

✨ Of course it’s you. It was always going to be you. ✨

And that’s why the stare matters.

[stargirllt]

hi. pornstar by nessa barrett but charlie’s the pornstar and he has like a secret onlyfans and his afab/fem bestie (reader) finds it because she’s like “ooh this guy’s body is hot” and then she’s like “wait his voice is really familiar” and then she sees the tattoo on his arm and is like 👁️👄👁️ as she realizes the guy she’s been the biggest fan of is actually her best friend and then it’s literally the song and she kinda hints at it with him then blatantly pulls an “i know what you are” and then they fuck :3

found you 1/2

hey mika you're a genius i love you and im making this into a two part series and im sorry its so late

you'd just gotten home from work, finished your shower, eaten dinner, and now it was time to satisfy the insatiable hunger that'd been stirring in your core since you'd left work. you see, you had a bit of a crush on your best friend, charlie; but he couldn't know that, so you had to continue like things were normal. that included calling him every day on your way home. 

this time, though, it seemed like he was the one hiding something. he was stuttering the whole time, getting distracted more easily than usual, and he kept groaning softly into the microphone. that was the main cause of the pit of neediness beginning to make its way into your core. by the end of the call, you were soaked.

so here you were, alone in your room, hand between your legs, searching twitter for your favorite nsfw creator. it's not like you were some perv or anything. i mean, the only reason you watched him was because he sounded like charlie, okay maybe you were a perv.

anyway, when you check his account you see that he posted less than twenty minutes ago. about an hour after you got off call with charlie. it was just another audio, but the caption stated that he made on onlyfans. it had a full body view, excluding his face for obvious reasons. 

you contemplated it, like really did. and then you went back to the actual audio and played the whole thing. the clip was different from the others, he spoke in this one. and even more surprising, he let out a very quiet whimper of charlies nickname for you. your fucking nickname.

so obviously you exited out of the video and clicked the link to his onlyfans. his user was "@slime_kingg" surely you were just reading into things. surely it wasn't him. once you'd calmed yourself down from that episode, you remember about the aching between your legs. you sigh, reach one hand back down, and subscribe to the page.

this wasnt a proud moment for you, paying real american dollars to see the naked body of a man who vaguely resembles your best friend of years. however, you did already pay, so why not take advantage of it. you click the first available video on the page. 

the man is sprawled out on a bed with a vaguely familiar blanket under him, you can't quite place where you know it from. once you press play, you can see the vibrator tied to the tip of his cock. he reaches around to turn on the vibrator and you see it. charlie's tattoo. it's bright blue, unique, on the inside of his wrist, pretty hard to miss.

suddenly everything clicks. the man sounds like charlie because it is charlie. the nickname, the tattoo, the voice, the hiding. so you stop what you're doing and you call him. he picks up almost immediately.

"hello?"

"hey char! i have tell you something."

"of course, whats up, n/n?"

"i found it."

"w-what? what are you talking about?"

"you know. i know. slime_kingg? really?"

"ohmygod-"

"chill out, charlie. im not mad, i dont think you're weird or anything. but i do think you're a slut." you giggle at the end of your sentence, watching the anxiety leave him and slowly come back.

"thank you, oh my gosh. please don't tell anyone, it would ruin everything."

"i wont, char. don't worry. i do have a request though,"

"what is it?" he sounded anxious, worried, even.

"i want you to come over, and show me what you're doing to yourself when you record those audios."

radio silence. then, it comes. the jingling of his keys.

"im on my way right now."

"ill see you then, babe." you hang up the phone and realize what you just did. immediately you get up to do your makeup, clean up the house, and put on  your favorite pair of underwear. 

about twenty minutes later, he arrives, not even bothering to knock. he barges into your house, going straight to your bedroom when he doesn't see you in the living room.

"y/n? im here!" he yells, still in search of you. when he enters your room, he freezes. 

"charlie.." you stand and walk to him, stopping right in front of where he stood. he closes the gap, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours in a harsh, passionate movement.

you whine softly into his mouth. "god, charlie. are you gonna do what i asked you to?"

"mhm, is that okay? c-can i do that now?" 

"yeah, sweetheart. show me what you do when you're alone, when you record those audios, when you think about me. im just gonna watch." you sit on the edge of the bed, facing him. he strips himself of his clothes and lays back on the bed.

"i can't, i just ca-cant-" 

"you wanna see me baby?"

"mhm! yes yes please"

you slip off your t-shirt and unclasp your bra, now kneeling next to him on your bed. 

"you can touch me baby, only if you keep touching yourself, though."

he whines and reaches one hand out to lightly grope your tits while still pumping his cock. 

"oh you sound so pretty baby, can i- can i touch you?" you question, unsure if you're crossing a line or not.

"please touch me, m-" he cuts himself off and his eyes widen.

"what was that? what, what did you just call me?"

"please mommy?"

"good boy, i'll touch you."

"ohmygod thank you mommy,"

you wrap your hand around his throbbing cock and begin to stroke him.

"baby, you're leaking everywhere. so needy for me, so needy for your mommy."

at those words he perks up and his dick twitches in your hand. he whines loudly and tries to hide his face in your tits.

"oh baby, dont be embarrassed. are you close, char?"

he nods and continues to shake and whine before cumming all over your hand and shooting up to his stomach and lower chest. 

"so good baby, take your time." when he finally comes down from his high, he snuggles further into your chest.

"baby, i need to get up so i can clean you off."

"mmph," 

once the both of you were cleaned up, you lied together in your bed giggling and talking about nothing.

"charlie? i think next time we need to record this for your onlyfans."

"shut up" he laughs into your chest.

[bayetea]

thoughts on valzhang and/or frazeleo?

in my head frazeleo in a nutshell is like

frank: (is literally just standing there)

hazel: aww that's our guy ☺️ isn't he adorable leo

leo (affectionate): let's throw rocks at him

frank: do you guys even like me

[lucabyte]

🐺🐺🐺❓

[aiscapades]

girl i had huge crush on in school who was a very good friend to me she's so smart and wonderful and kind just told me she's proud of me for inquiring about a breast reduction i literally started crying what the absolute fuck I'm so gay and so deprived of love in my daily life what the fuck kck .?? HELLO??

[chirpsythismorning]

Watching Wayward Pines for potential ST5 inspo bc the Duffers wrote a couple episodes in s1, and when I got to their second (last) episode and their name crossed the screen, I noticed a visual parallel that might already exist on the show…

Recognize it??

It instantly reminded me of that last shot for the opening of s3, with the landscape peaking out behind the Russian base. But when I went back and actually compared the two, holy shit it’s near identical, and not just the landscape.

I didn’t even remember the helicopter being there on the left, not to mention the pillar-esaue contraption at the center. Like… they’re the same picture.!

With them being credited right at that moment, it’s obvious this was an intentional nod to their previous work.

I just thought it was cool so I wanted to share, but in terms of my watch overall, there is a LOT going on that they could pull from. I’m only halfway through s1, though I’ve heard the show goes downhill in s2 so we’ll see how that goes 😂

[danielnelsen]

so if you romance and ascend astarion you can kick him in the balls when he tries to turn you and it’s just very funny, he’s so pissy about it. so much for the most powerful vampire of all time or whatever, he stamps around like a toddler and then leaves forever

[sleepygaymerdisease]

does henry know that henricus can turn into that cat or is it a secret

thats a good question. it's a secret for like, 2 years (the reason for henri keeping this a secret is a long story LOL) but henry eventually does find out and he thinks its like the most awesome thing ever. because like, henry likes the idea of animals but he is very nervous all the time and doesnt know how to interact with them and he worries that they wont understand him. which is normally true (sad) but henricus going cat mode means that he can get used to the idea of a cat in his house. and henricus trusts henry a lot so he will tenatively accept pets.

[salsflore]

been almost 3 yrs and i am still struggling with the whole mikachi first meeting thing. bye

[savethepinecones]

my mother has texted me a list of like five different things she wants me to do around the house before she gets home from work

[writerfromthestars]

DPXDC PROMPT : ALFRED IS IMMORTAL

Alright. Don't get me wrong, I love au's where John Constantine is like "soul tax evader supreme", but hear me out.

Alfred.

Alfred, Alfred Pennyworth. Who just doesn't die. The guy's immortal. The reason for this is that Alfred is awesome, so anytime he dies, whether it be from old age or a bullet or a world-wide catastrophe, he looks Death straight in the eyes and tells them that he will die when the day comes that no one needs him anymore, and not a second before, and then he just kinda pops back to life. Because let's face it, the batfam would fall to pieces without him.

So, Alfred Pennyworth has basically just been cheating death for centuries, by this point.

Needless to say, Death is none too pleased. Finally, Death goes to Phantom, the new king, who is much more reasonable than Pariah Dark was and who agrees to actually help.

Clockwork helps Danny set up a portal and he zaps into existence in the middle of a Wayne movie night. The bats are all prepared to fight this mysterious weirdo, but Danny ignores them and turns to Alfred, who he then begins lecturing about ghostly tax evasion and how defying death isn't a good thing, so he needs to file paperwork through the proper channels to stay as an immortal almost-God.

Alfred is chill, he plays cards with Clockwork once when he dies, so he knew this was coming, but the batfamily thinks that this mysterious entity is going to kill Alfred, so they're all panicking, trying to think of ways to avoid this horrible future. Alfred calmly listens to Danny, then he interjects.

"Sir, are you aware of the fact that there is a revenant on earth? One who is most certainly under threat of more paperwork than I, seeing as he has been using the Lazarus Pits to revive himself for millennia. I, however, have only been alive for a few hundred years, so I should think that he is a bigger priority. "

Danny glances over at Jason, doubtful. "He doesn't look several millennia old, Mr. Pennyworth."

"Certainly not, seeing as Master Jason is not. Besides, his Undeath License was filed. I have a copy of it if you need to see it, your Majesty?" Alfred answers, demure as always.

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble, sir."

Alfred leaves and returns, moments later with a light green glowing piece of paper. he hands it over to Danny, who examines it.

"Seems legitimate. I assume you filed it during one of your many encounters with Death?"

"Indeed. I have it on good authority, however, that the other revenant, a man by the name of Ra's Al Ghul, has not renewed his License in at least the last half millennia, most likely longer."

Danny sighs. "Where can I find him."

"Nanda Parbat. The signature is impossible to miss."

"Alright, Mr. Pennyworth. I will return once he is dealt with, be it by filing his paperwork or returning him to the Infinite Realms."

"Very well. I will be ready." Alfred answers.

Danny opens a portal to the area around Nanda Parbat and then another, which plops him down right in front of the Demon's Head himself, in a strategy meeting with his daughter and several commanders.

They all raise their weapons, but he just basically grabs Ra's by the ear and tugs him through a Lazarus Green portal, lecturing him about tax evasion and paperwork and bureaucracy the whole time. The League is thrown into uproar, and Ra's is set down in a room with all his overdue paperwork from the past few thousand years. He feels a little bit like crying; if he had known immortality meant this much paperwork, he would've just died, honestly.

Meanwhile, in Wayne Manor, everyone is crying, because they think Alfred is going to die, Jason is confused about the whole revenant Undeath Certificate thing, Bruce is trying to make contingency plans, Tim is contacting the Justice League, and Alfred is planning out his defense and going through every ghostly law loophole he can think of because if he leaves these emotionally constipated crime-fighting vigilantes, he knows that the house that Martha so loved will go up in flames within a month.

Eventually, Danny comes to get Alfred for his ghostly court trial/hearing or whatever, and Alfred says goodbye to Bruce and everyone, goes to the Infinite Realms. Clockwork is on his side, and Alfred ends up winning the court case, on the condition that now that the has an Undeath License, he actually renew it every twenty years, like he's supposed to.

A week later, Alfred returns, crashes his own funeral, and explains that no, he will not be dying anytime soon.

Two weeks after Alfred's return, Constantine shows up at the manor basically begging to learn how the hell he managed to avoid death, and not only that, win a damn court case against them.

[blindmagdalena]

You Let Me Complicate You

18+ 4k homelander x f!reader. bickering, post-breakup sex, dubcon/coercion, angst, jealousy, emotional manipulation, implied murder, stalking, boundary smashing, breaking and entering, cunnilingus, penetrative sex. read on AO3. written as a follow-up to the breakup, but can be read as a standalone. gif credit.

Breaking up with Homelander is... complicated. After all, it is a god that loves you.

"What do I taste like?" You asked him once, drunk on pleasure and those early honeymoon days of loving him. He’d been slow to answer, thinking it over. "Love," he said at last. "Like you love me." You wonder if that holds true. If he can still taste love in you. If that’s why he’s so eager to devour you, or if the absence of it has made him even hungrier.

Homelander is an aberration.

Stronger than a hundred men, faster than a bullet and sharp as a tack all paired with a teaspoon’s depth of emotional maturity. He’s volatile, twisted, broken in ways no amount of therapy could ever hope to duct tape back together. He’s no better off than a dog that bites to kill. No matter how he got to this point, the best thing for him–for the world–would be to put him down by any means necessary.

Too bad you can’t seem to stop fucking him.

It’s late when you hear the front door open with a distinct crack. You’re sprawled out on the couch in the living room, one leg draped lazily over the armrest. What comes next is no surprise to you–a shock of primary colors filling the narrow doorway, a handsome face made ghoulish by the haunting light of the television in an otherwise dark room.

“You nailed the door shut,” Homelander says, the inflection of his voice somewhere between a question and a statement.

“Because you broke it,” you throw back, a stale Twizzler balanced between your lips. It had tasted good enough when you started eating it, but now–in his presence–the sweetness of it has turned sour.

“You changed the locks,” he says with a light shrug, cape swaying as he meanders towards you. “My key didn’t work.”

“Your key? Stealing a key to my house does not make it your key,” you say tersely, lifting your foot to press it firmly to his thigh, stopping him in his tracks. 

He glances down, a mirthless smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before he catches your ankle in his gloved hand, yanking you down the couch so suddenly you lose your Twizzler to the floor with a gasp. It’s one thing to know that Homelander has strength enough to throw cars like frisbees. It’s another to feel it. It sends a rush of adrenaline through you like a jolt, followed swiftly by something hotter low in your naval.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking,” he begins, dropping your ankle. He lifts his knee and slots it between your legs, his opposite boot on the floor, his hand braced on the back of the couch, pinning you in place.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” you cut in dryly, moving to shift up the couch, away from him. He snatches your shoulder, halting you with ease. His thumb strokes your skin idly, goosebumps erupting beneath his touch.

“And I’ve realized that this whole… thing between you and I, this ‘will they, won’t they,’ ” he says, bobbing his head side to side. “It’s getting stale. Don’t you think it’s about time we progressed the plot?” He asks, leaning in close.

You brace your hand against his chest, holding him in place as ineffectually as you did earlier. You both know it’s all a game. It’s all pretense. There had been fondness between you once–love, even–but you’re done with that now. You have to be done with it, or Homelander will swallow you whole. He’s a black pit, a murderer, and his need knows no end. He’ll destroy you and everything you know and love if he thinks it’ll satiate that need.

You’ve lost enough. You can’t afford to lose any more of yourself to him.

“Jesus Christ, you even think in TV script,” you say, pushing on his chest. He leans back, but not by much. It sends a terrible little chill down your spine. “I’m starting to think the only thing that might actually kill you is an original thought.”

His eyes narrow and his bright white teeth flash predatorily in the darkness. “You’re lucky I haven’t broken your neck,” he says, hand slipping from your shoulder to your throat. The sharp press of his thumb into your windpipe steals your breath, makes your thighs tighten on either side of his leg snug between yours. His lips split into an unkind grin. “Or maybe not. You’d probably like that.”

“You’re disgusting,” you spit, gripping his wrist with your other hand. Your pulse is starting to throb against the leather of his glove. He moves his thumb from your windpipe to your jaw and turns your head away, leaning in with a deep, pointed inhale along your neck.

“Is that why your hormones are going haywire? Because I disgust you?” He asks, grinding his thigh between your legs in a way that makes you gasp. “Y’know, given how full of it you are, I was sure I’d smell the bullshit on you. But all I smell… is how fucking wet you are.”

He grabs your hip and the memories come to you like muscle memory. How good it feels to be gripped and fucked and loved by someone beyond your comprehension. To feel as if you’ve stopped the world turning and called the sun itself to shine on you alone.

You twist your chin out of his grip and level him with a heated stare. “I hate you,” you hiss, grasping for the knife you know will twist the deepest. 

It works for a second, his smug expression faltering, but only for an instant. His jaw sets, and his lips curl into that same unkind smile. “C’mon, babe,” he coos, the intimate familiarity woven into that pet name making your skin crawl. “We both know that I can always tell when you’re lying.”

He kisses you like he always has. Like you belong to him. In a way, you suppose you always will. There’s nothing you can do to pry your throat from Homelander’s jaws. Nowhere you can run that he won’t eventually find you. Like quicksand, the more you fight, the tighter he clamps down. Truth be told, though, that isn’t the worst of it. The worst of it is that the tighter he grips you, the less you want to fight him.

His tongue slithers into your mouth like a serpent into the garden and you bite down hard. While pliant between your teeth, the flesh doesn’t yield. It never will. He never will. Instead he moans a little chuckle that fades into a rumble against your lips.

“That how it’s gonna be?” He asks, the words rasped into your mouth. “Y’wanna bite and claw? Play hard to get?” He laughs, the sound of it reedy and light, like it’s all a silly little game of make-believe. “I can do that.”

He reeks of his own desperation for what he says to be true. More than anything, he wants to dress up his desires as yours. He wants to believe he’s giving you what you want. That way, he can trick himself into believing you need him.

He bites the middle tip of his glove and tugs it off with his teeth, tossing it aside. His bare thumb brushes your lip, smearing his spit and yours. “I saw you with that fucking loser,” he says, the airiness suddenly gone from his voice.

Your stomach drops. Two days ago you’d been with a man. You’d been so desperate to forget him that night that anyone would have done the job. You stumbled out with some nobody from the bar who’d been good enough for a sloppy makeout session in the back of his truck, but not good enough to bring home. It hadn’t ended well.

How close of an eye is Homelander keeping on you?

“I’d be angry if it hadn’t been so fuckin’ pathetic,” he says through his teeth.

“Liar,” you say tightly. You feel his fury in the tension of his body. He’s pissed that you’d seek this out anywhere else. As if he still has a claim over your body. Your pleasure.

His eyes flash up to yours. He sneers, pushing his thumb between your lips. “I watched you bite his lip until he bled. I watched him slap you,” he says, dragging the pad of his thumb along the ridges of your bottom teeth. The memories come to you as he speaks them, every moment of it made bleary by alcohol. “You wanted it rough, but he couldn’t handle you, could he? Because you’re used to something better. You’re used to a god.”

You sneer right back at him, yanking your head to the side, his thumb slipping from between your lips. “Could you be any more in love with yourself? Go fuck yours-”

“I still had to kill him, of course,” he continues nonchalantly, grinding your thoughts to a screeching halt. He laughs humorlessly. “For kissing you. And, well–for everything else, obviously. Slapping you,” he says, brushing his knuckles down your cheek. The same one the man had struck. “Humping your leg like a fucking dog.”

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, throat tight. Bile burns at the back of it. All you wanted was to get away from this. The blood, the horror of it. Yet no matter what you do to dissuade him, he brings death to your doorstep. “You have everything. You could have anyone. Why are you–”

“Because I want you,” he hisses, words so sharp his sharp teeth snap together. “Because I love you, and that’s what you do when you love someone,” he says. You can feel the accusation building in his words. “You don’t give up on them. And if that means cleaning up every dirty little mistake you make,” he says softly, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “So be it.” 

A cold shiver rolls down your spine. You stare woundedly at him, lips parted, brows pinched together, the misery of it all etched into every line of your face. He stares at you in turn, and after a beat, his own hard expression softens.

“Hey, hey,” he says, the heat of his breath a ghostly kiss on your lips. “It’s okay,” he says, brushing the tip of your nose with his. “I forgive you.”

He kisses you again, more tender now. Your eyes prickle with tears. His gentleness hurts so much more than his violence. It disarms you, carries you to a time when things were simpler between you. Sweeter and warmer. 

Homelander makes the world feel wonderful and dangerous, like standing in the middle of an electric storm. Being loved by him is the feeling of having your ribs cracked open, your heart cradled in his bare hands, possessive and bloody. What had been thrilling grew stifling, a feeling you realize now never truly went away.

He’s inescapable, literally and figuratively. Even when he isn’t inviting himself into your home or lurking in the periphery of your vision, Vought’s hero is plastered on every billboard and screen in the city. You haven't been able to breathe without inhaling the thick miasma of him.

Tears roll down to your temples as you kiss him back, both hands fisted in his soft hair, tugging. He makes a pleased little sound against your lips, teeth grazing your bottom lip. He’s always kissed like a man possessed–like every brush of your lips is a drop of salvation–but the hunger he’s developed since you tried to leave him is unparalleled. He kisses you like he means to devour you whole.

You bite back a sob, but the hiccuped noise of it catches his attention nonetheless. He breaks from you, looking down at you with a feverish mix of yearning, impatience and something that almost resembles pity, which might be the closest thing he knows to sympathy.

“Hey,” he coos, dusting your jaw with feather light kisses. “Don’t cry.”

“It’s awful,” you choke out.

“What is?”

“Your love.”

“I know,” he says after a prolonged pause. “It’s all I know.”

You look at him, the image of him bleary through your tears. There’s a morose resignation in his ocean-storm eyes, a distance that makes him seem far, far away from you, even as you taste the heat of his breath on your lips.

Focus returns to his gaze, and suddenly he’s present again. “It’s all I know,” he says again, his tone made of wood, stiff and splintering.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you lift your palm to his cheek, hovering just shy of touching. He’s pulled to it like a magnet, nuzzling into your palm, eyes closing. His hand slides down the familiar slopes of your body, settling at your hip, where his fingertips sink in like claws, the pressure of them shy. For as vicious as things have gotten between you, he’s never hurt you. A fact he lords over you as if he should be applauded for it.

I love you more than anything. You know that, right? That I would never do anything to hurt you? He’d asked you during that first fight. When everything went wrong. 

You’d only been able to nod then, trapped with a man you didn’t recognize wearing the face of the man you loved.

That’s right. Of course you do. Because if I wanted to hurt you, I would have. It would have been easy, huh?

Despite how desperately you’ve tried to fortify yourself against him, it’s still so easy.

Homelander is an aberration, but so too is he a man, and there was a time when the man was all that you saw. When the monster at the core of him reared its head, bloody and unrepentant, that became all you could see in him. Now, the two are so irrevocably tangled in the sinew of the other, you’re never sure which you’re looking at.

“I miss you,” you confess to the man in him, voice so soft only his ears possibly could have discerned the words. As if you can hide the words from the monster lurking behind if you speak them quietly enough. 

He looks as confused as your own aching heart. “I’m here,” he says, everything in his tone willing you to believe it. He doesn’t understand that you miss who he was before you knew what he was.

A mournful noise swells in your chest, but he kisses you before it can escape. “I’m here,” he says again, the hand at your hip turning into a fist in the fabric of your clothes, tearing them at the seams. “I’ll make you feel better,” he says between presses of his lips, hungry and rushing, like he can outspeed your miserable grief. “Let me make you feel good.”

Sex has always been an avenue of redemption for Homelander. Whether he’s frustrated, anxious, wounded or a combination of them all, he’s sought to remedy it through a good orgasm. He treats you as though the notion should hold true for you: the fight doesn’t count so long as he makes you come.

Yet again, you’re left stricken by him. As you have a dozen times before, all you can do is nod. Deep in your core, you know he’s right. He can make you forget this horrible ache in yourself, the grief and the fear. He can take you away to the dream you’d lived before you met the beast in his shadow. 

Coherent thought turns to water slipping between the cracks of your mind as Homelander’s bare fingers brush your inner thigh. You suck in a sharp breath that leaves you as a shudder and you clutch at his collar, twisting the fabric, unsure if you mean to push him away or pull him closer.

Homelander makes the choice for you, closing the distance and kissing you too gently, too sweetly. You spur him with your teeth, needing it faster, harder. Needing it to hurt just enough to not feel entirely right. He ignores your prompt, focused wholly on tasting you, on sliding his fingers up into the waiting warmth between your thighs. He presses the pad of his middle finger to your clit, deft and familiar.

You sigh, closing your eyes, ready to lose yourself to the feel of something good. He slides serpentine down your body, kissing you through your shirt, nipping at your skin through the fabric for the way it makes you jump. His lips trail down until they pass the hem of your shirt, finding where he’s stripped you. His mouth is unbearably warm, breath hot huffs on your bare skin, goosebumps erupting everywhere.

He mouths at your hip, sucks the skin dark before trailing further down, leaving a constellation with his lips. The scorching wet heat of his tongue feels like a brand on your clit, replacing his hand with his mouth. 

You thread your fingers into his hair, widening the spread of your legs to allow for the way he shoulders under and between them, lifting your lower half. He nuzzles into the nectary sweetness of you, moaning unabashedly for your familiar taste.

What do I taste like? You asked him once, drunk on pleasure and those early honeymoon days of loving him. Everything about him fascinated you; did his super smell lend itself to super taste? Could he pick out each note of you, dissect your profile into sections?

He’d been slow to answer, thinking it over.

Love, he said at last. Like you love me.

You wonder if that holds true. If he can still taste love in you, if that’s why he’s so eager to devour you, or if the absence of it has made him even hungrier. If he plunges his tongue to the core of you in the hopes he might discover lingering shreds of what the two of you once had.

A moan escapes you. His fingers bite into your thighs, tongue coaxing more. Restraint dissipating, you tighten your grip on his hair and tug, grinding hard against his mouth. He knows the stepping stones of your pleasure as well as you know yourself, knowing just when to suck, when to lick. He’s more relentless than any other man could hope to be, never needing to stop for breath, never succumbing to aching muscles. He maintains a pace that sends you careening so viciously towards release, you give a choking gasp when it hits you, your head thrown back against the couch as euphoric relief rolls through you in waves.

Homelander shrugs out from under your trembling thighs, his mouth slick and shining, eyes predator wide. You’re both panting, silently gauging the other. You’re first to break the standoff, his hunger infectious. You climb onto your knees and grab his shoulders, pushing his back to the couch, straddling him. He keens when you kiss him, an addictive sound that gives you a deceptive sense of power.

He murmurs your name in fervent repetition, dragging his mouth along your skin, inhaling you like a drug. You unbuckle his belt with the ease of experience, unzip his pants and slip your hand inside. Curling your fingers around his cock, you find it already hard and dripping in anticipation.

“Anything you want,” he breathes, the words coming between the prayer-like recitation of your name. “Money, diamonds, anything, I’ll make you a queen,” he says, eyelids fluttering at your touch. He pledges these things like an act of devotion, but you recognize this Faustian bargain for what it is. It will cost you your heart and soul.

“I’ll make you a god,” he moans at a particularly deft twist of your wrist.

Making you come will have to be enough for now.

“Fuck me,” you tell him breathlessly. “The way I like it.”

Like flipping a switch, the dazed pleasure in his eyes sharpens. The corners of his mouth tug, his upper lip twitches, eager tension slipping into his touch as his hands slide up your thighs, grasping your hips. His fingers sink in tight enough to bruise, despite the gentleness of his touch. The immeasurable power lurking within his unassuming frame is a novelty that never wears off, a thrill that shocks you to your core no matter how many times you experience it.

Like a vicious storm, he’s beautiful and terrible in equal measure. Caught in the eye of his maelstrom, the only thing left for you to do is weather him.

He guides you down onto his cock in one slow, agonizing pull. Even with his spit and your orgasm easing the way, it’s too much all at once. Relishing the aching burn of being split apart by him, you make a noise that gives him pause. You don’t let him stop. You brace your hands on his shoulders and lift off of him almost entirely before sinking back down deeper than you had before, wringing a moan from him in turn.

Homelander’s fingers dig securely into your back as your bodies slot together and find an old, familiar rhythm. By now he knows exactly the angle to take to best pleasure you. You let out a shaky sigh at the warmth that spreads through you, the pressure of your climax building, his heat sinking into you like the light of the sun itself.

You’re used to a god.

You cup his face and kiss him. You bite his lip until you should taste blood. You dig your nails into his skin so hard your knuckles ache. If he notices it, he’s only pleased by it.

“I’d move heaven and hell for you,” he swears between kisses, ripping the shirt from your body. The cool air hits your damp, hot skin like a shock. 

“I don’t want them,” you say, voice catching on one of his sharp and sudden thrusts. He’s close. You can feel it in the tightness of his muscles, in the erratic, merciless way he drives into you.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, voice reedy, tight. He kisses down your chest, scrapes his teeth over the swell of your breasts. “They’re yours. It’s all yours. I’m yours.”

Those words should hit you like a prison sentence, but they don’t.

They make you come.

Homelander holds you tightly as he, too, breaks into pieces, filling you with light and heat. He chokes more promises against your skin, kisses the salt from your skin and licks it greedily from his lips. You spin in place in his arms, dizzy on your own orgasm, riding out the aftershocks with his cock throbbing against the quiver of your cunt.

For a long while there’s nothing but the sound of your breaths and the distant din of the television. The tremors wracking your body gradually fade, and the chill of the open air begins to set in.

Homelander holds you tight as the sweat on your skin cools. He kisses a trail from your neck to your shoulder, nuzzling there before he rests his head down, face tucked into the crook of your neck. You feel wrung dry, eyelids heavy. You card your fingers absently through his hair, body boneless against his. Your eyes ache from crying, but you don’t mind it. Strung out like this, the aches left in the wake of pain and pleasure both feel equally good.

“It’s late,” he says warmly, a smile in his tone. He sounds lovesick, the way you both did once upon a time. Back then, you thought you knew every dark corner of his insatiable heart. “We should sleep.”

“Okay,” you agree, voice frayed. He lifts you gingerly from his lap, adjusting to cradle your naked body to his chest. Despite how Homelander unspools himself before you, you’re always the one left reduced. Bare and vulnerable both physically and emotionally. You slip your arms around his neck as he stands, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I could take you to the tower,” he whispers, sending a chill down your spine. “My bed’s bigger.”

“No,” you say, remembering a door you cannot reach, no matter how many times you grasp for it, and the god’s hands that sent you spinning. He’s already so capable of turning your home into a prison. You’re not sure you’d ever escape his penthouse. “I want mine.”

Perhaps the most terrible fact of all is that Homelander is neither a god nor a monster. 

He is simply a man without limitation.

“Sure,” he says, kissing your cheek. The touch lingers, dripping with his adoration. “Anything you want.”

So long as it includes him.

[hoshigray]

hello, lovely! is it okay to request a short fic wherein gojo’s pregnant wife (y/n) stole his kikufuku? thank u! (missing soft gojo hours 😭)

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: omg stoooop this is so cute and sweet, what!?

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Gojo x pregnant afab/fem! reader - tooth-rotting fluff - pet names (angel, baby, stars and moon, sweetheart) - Gojo being a big crybaby over sweets - so soft, i was smiling while writing, hehe~.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.1k

THUD!

“…!” You jolt, immediately looking to the entrance of the living room to see your husband. “Gojo! You okay?”

The white-haired man stands still with a gawked expression, eyes covered by his black blindfold with his usual Jujutsu Tech attire, and you can assume the noise came from the souvenir bags he dropped to the floor.

“…Y/n, my angelic stars and moon,” he finally speaks after a few seconds of silence, and you can see his lips quiver with trembling hands. “Is…Is that my last kikufuku?” 

If there is one thing Gojo loved more than anything other than you, it would be his undying love for sweets! You could never find him without any at his disposal; he’d have a bunch of lollipops in his pockets, be licking popsicles or soft serves while monitoring his first years during their missions, or typically stop by a café and grab some crepes for dessert to take home and share with you. He’s known to have a childish heart, and sweets are his weakness!

His all-time favorite would be the mochi delicacy he often gets during his mission trips to Sendai, and he’s always sure to buy a whole box worth to make the long trip up North worth it. Kikufuku, the crushed edamame and cream-filled mochi, is Gojo’s favorite sweet to eat — you’re a witness to him happily stuffing his face with them lying on the couch after a hard day’s work. He’s the type to eat one every week until he can return to Sendai and get more. 

This week was the very last one he had saved, secured in the cold fridge for him to eat once he got home. And he wasn’t going to Sendai anytime soon, so he planned on treasuring and savoring it the moment he stepped inside and lay beside his pregnant partner to chill on this blissful spring evening.

He could never get over the sight of you whenever he came home. Gojo loved his partner so much that he swears he would burn the world if you commanded him to, which you knew is an exaggeration, but his love is true. The day he got on one knee and heard you say yes to his proposal was the happiest he’d ever been, sweeping you off your feet, putting you in your dream puffy white dress, and officially becoming the spouse of the strongest sorcerer in the jujutsu world! And now you were swole with his child!? Not even God could strike this man to calm him down of his glee.

You were sitting on the living room couch like you always did, waiting for your husband to return, wearing a black maternity one-piece that comfortably molded around your figure and a blue flannel shirt – his flannel – to keep you warm. Gojo came home with souvenirs to share and impress, a huge smile just from thinking about your reactions. 

However, the sight has him gasp dramatically loud and drop everything to the wooden floor, because he saw something in your hand, something that broke his heart noticing the green and white filling apparent from a bite on an undeniable white rice cake. 

You were eating the very last of his kikufuku…How could you!?

You blinked at him, then turned to the sweet in your hand, and the realization of what you were doing finally hit you. “Oh! I’m sorry, Satoru! I was feeling snacky.”

The tall man teeters to where you’re sitting, whining with every step. “So why didn’t you eat your snacks, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know?” You shrugged, licking bits of the edamame cream off your middle finger. “They didn’t seem like what I was craving for. I wanted something sweet, ya know? And I finished my ice cream two nights ago, so this was all I could find.”

“Yeah, but like,” you can tell his eyebrows were scrunched together even if the black material concealed his upper face. “That was my last one, baby! Plus, you could’ve texted me you’d eat it, or I could’ve stopped somewhere to grab you something sweet!”

“I know! But, you were very busy today; a big mission up in Kyoto and a meeting with Principal Yaga, sooo…” you squished the mochi gently, licking more of the filling coming out. “I didn’t wanna interrupt or bother you…”

“But stilllll~!”God, you were so cute when you cared for him, you almost made him forget the whole thing then and there. But you can’t hate the man for being a little upset, right? Gojo sighs and places his cheek on your belly. “Little booger, you hear what your momma is doing to me? So cruel~.”

You gasped. “Hey! Don’t say that to them!” Your free hand tries to yank him off your tummy by the hair, yet he doesn’t budge as he exclaims painfully. “What, are you saying the pregnant love of your life is some villain because they ate one of your sweets? As if I never caught you taking scoops of my favorite ice cream!? Have you no shame, Gojo Satoru!”

He swats your hand off his snowy hair, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Between you and Principal Yaga, there is a scarce few Gojo would allow to beat him up for his foolishness. He turns his head – still above the baby – to face you and releases a sigh. “I’m sorry, I was just really stoked I’d get to have that kikufuku; it’ll be a long while before I go get more…Ughhh.” Another sigh is exerted, and you can only shake your head with rolled eyes. He’s such a baby.

You bring his blindfold down to his chin to free the azure eyes he’s been hiding since this morning, and his hair falls from its spiky appearance. Then, you separate the mochi into two and push one to his lips, “You happy now?” You say with a grin. “I’m sorry, but I wanted to give these a try. Besides, we’ll have a little one to look after soon; wouldn’t it be nice for them to know what their father likes to snack on from time to time?”

Now, how in the world could Gojo still be upset with that logic? Being a father is a foreign concept he’s accepting with open arms, sharing the experience with the person he values and cherishes the most. To have a child with you is the highest honor of all for him. And imagining his small family happy and eating sweets together under his care makes his cheeks show a subtle shade of pink.

He smiles as he accepts the piece of the rice cake, chuckling when you flick his nose playfully. “You’re so sweet, angel.”

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ✩ dividers by @/benkeibear.

[hoshifighting]

Can you please do svt members who eat out their girls because they want to pleasure them vs those who genuinely fucking love the taste of pussy vs those who are so into eating out they might just cum totally untouched while eating you out

why svt like to eat pussy?

WARNINGS: pure putaria and smut, oral (f. receiving), pussy-drunk analogy.

eats you out bc he wants to pleasure you

seungcheol: the type to give you a speech about how he’s a man of duty and literally write essays about making sure you have toe-curling, back-arching, crying-in-pleasure levels of satisfied.

seungkwan: gold star service provider. it’s giving “nothing but the best for my baby.” he type to ask for feedback mid-session like, “is that good? or do you want me to go harder?”

wonwoo: mf reads books about anatomy to perfect his technique. he’s meticulous as hell, but he’s also so quiet and focused while doing it that you’re left wrecked because how does he even know your body better than you??

seokmin: he’s just so happy to make you happy. he’s the king of telling you how good you’re doing while he’s down there, and it’s the most wholesome yet sinful thing ever.

vernon: this man’s lowkey about it. he’s not saying much—he’s just doing it. very intuitive, very chill, but still SO effective. the kind who gives lazy and broad licks but somehow leaves you shaking. and when he’s done, he’s like, “you wan’me to order some food?” like he didn’t just wreck your entire existence. would probably frown at the sight of your legs shaking. (gives this vibe of that one meme: my boyfriend just left me trembling, and now he is playing minecraft)

2. loves the taste of pussy

jeonghan: smirks while wiping his mouth this man will straight-up tell you he loves the way you taste. and the thing is, he’s cocky but he’s earned it. you’re left wondering who’s being pleasured here because he’s moaning like he’s the one getting off.

joshua: sweet, until he’s between your legs like a man possessed, act like you’re a full-course meal, and he is starving. will kiss you after, totally unbothered that you can taste yourself on his lips.

minghao: he’s the type to tell you you’re delicious with the most deadpan sincerity while licking his lips, and it’s lowkey terrifying how good he is at it.

jun: this man is an enthusiast. he’ll legit say, “I could do this all day,” and you believe him. will pause mid-session to kiss your thighs just to prolong his enjoyment. he is is savoring you like the main course you are.

vernon (again, because he’s sneaky like that): listen, once he gets a taste, it’s game over. sure, he acts chill, but he’s obsessed. you’ll hear him humming into you, vibing just like when the waiter put your fav food on your table.

3. so into eating out they might cum untouched (y’all already know these men are problems)

mingyu: he would grind against the mattress and your leg just from how turned on he is. you’d hear him moaning WITH YOU, and suddenly it’s not just about you anymore—he’s a mess, and it’s hot.

hoshi: would put his whole chest into it like it’s a performance. he’s slurping, he’s whining, and he’s holding onto you for dear life while losing himself in the process. will look up at you with those wide, starry eyes like, “did I do good, baby?” (might need a minute after because he is too into it)

woozi: his arms are locked around your thighs so you can’t run. his tongue is completely illegal. you’re sobbing, and he’s just groaning into you like it’s his orgasm. would cum untouched 100% and then smirk about it.

chan: this man is hungry. his whole vibe is;; “you’re my first meal of the day, and I’m starving.” mf has no shame, no chill, and no limits. he’s gripping your thighs like his life depends on it, grinding into the mattress because he’s that turned on. when he cums untouched, he’s shocked AND EMBARASSED like he wasn't literally eating you out seconds ago.