#i just wanted to write overly indulgent HL eating pussy and here we are

[blindmagdalena]

Hunger

18+ 1.8k. homelander x f!reader. established relationship. abuse of super strength. overstimulation. excessive orgasming. 69ing. cunnilingus. blowjobs. just a lot of oral.

An exhaustive demonstration of Homelander's insatiable yearning for love, intimacy, and pussy. 🖤

Homelander is a voracious lover.

Nothing is ever enough, or even near to it. If not firmly checked, chaste kisses spill easily into leisurely makeout sessions, which inevitably stoke the perpetual embers of his need into a roaring fire. He runs preternaturally warm, the heat beneath his skin indicative of the ever present undercurrent of his appetite.

His touches always come with a sense of yearning for more, whether it’s an embrace that lingers a second too long or a simple brush of his knuckles up the bare skin of your arm during a moment of your inattention.

He craves, he craves, and he craves, and never do you believe he is fully satisfied.

Never is his hunger more prevalent than when he’s nestled between your thighs, spreading the rose petal soft lips of your pussy apart with two fingers in a wide V. You can feel his eagerness in the heat of his breaths as they waft over your sensitive skin, as hot as mid July’s burning sun. With those simple huffs, he riles you up before his tongue ever touches you.

He spends a while inhaling the nectar sweet smell of you before finally, wonderfully, his tongue drags a scalding line from your cunt to your clit, licking up the wetness that he’s coaxed from you with nothing more than anticipation.

He never fails to moan at that first blissful taste of you.

“Mm, fuck,” he says, voice low and savoring. He swirls his tongue in a circle over your clit, collecting your slick on his tongue like caviar from a silver spoon before he swallows. The muscle of his tongue is unlike anything you've ever experienced before. It's just as inhumanly strong as the rest of him, and longer than most, plunging into you with supernatural dexterity before sliding up to rub firm, relentless circles over your clit.

The earnestness of his desire for you, the sincerity with which he devours you elevates you within your own body, leaves you feeling resplendent and coveted in a way you never knew you could.

Homelander doesn’t do this as a means to an end. He does it because he enjoys every rapturous second of you on his tongue. He always holds you still through your climax, presses his tongue flat to the gentle flutter of your clit. You can feel him watching you, but you’re too far gone, back arched, head thrown back. 

While it’s always good the first time you come, orgasms are like fireworks. The first handful are only a warm up before the real show begins. By the fifth, the sensation is euphoric, so intense that you lose control of your vocal chords. By the eighth, there comes a dull burn that chases closely behind each one. By the twelfth, the line between pleasure and pain has blurred, but like him, you are addicted to the heat of it all. You tell him that it’s too much, you beg him, but until you specify what for, he will not stop.

You fist your hands in his hair and you sob with the sixteenth orgasm. You would have lost count by now if not for the fact he whispers each number against your skin like a trophy.

“Almost there,” he murmurs, giving your throbbing clit a brief reprieve while he scissors his fingers inside you, thrusting them languidly against the warm, velvety walls of your pussy. “Four more.”

Right. Through the addled haze of pleasure and overstimulation, you remember that he had promised you twenty.

“I can’t,” you whisper, blinking through the blur of tears. You laugh mirthlessly, a hint of mania in your voice. “I can’t–it’s too much.”

“Then tell me to stop,” he whispers in turn, the heat of his words ghosting over your sensitized clit enough to make your whole body jerk, every inch of your skin tingling.

You say nothing. You swear you hear his slick lips split into a grin before you very nearly scream at the returning swelter of his mouth on your cunt.

After twenty orgasms, your entire body aches with pleasure. The muscles in your abdomen suffer with every deep breath you take, thoroughly worked. Your thighs shake uncontrollably. Homelander kisses your own taste into your mouth, and holds you steady while you quiver like a leaf in his arms.

“Holy fuck,” you say eventually, when enough time passes that you’re capable of speech again. You shift tenderly, spread your legs. You’re too sensitive to keep them closed. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re delicious,” he purrs in response, every bit the proverbial cat that got the cream.

After such a marathon, you’d think he would be satiated. At least for a couple of days.

Not even twenty four hours later, Homelander holds you upside down, his nose once again buried in your cunt, your bent knees braced on his shoulders. He has you moaning around his cock, the blood pooling in your skull making you dizzy while his tongue has you squeezing his head between your thighs.

His strength allows him to hold you effortlessly like this, one arm looped around your waist while the other loosely cradles the back of your bobbing head. He’s much less concerned with fucking your face than he is with eating you out, sucking relentlessly on your clit. 

You’re still sensitive, scorched by the heat of his tongue, but when you pull your head back to say as much, his hand flexes against your skull and he pushes you right back down onto his cock, burying himself so deeply into your throat that your nose brushes the thatch of hair that beds his cock, and you gag. 

Maybe it shouldn’t turn you on, but it instantly hurdles you closer to your inevitable release. You grip his hips, moaning loud and lewd. You clench your thighs with every ounce of strength you can muster, but you may as well be trying to drown a fish. Homelander is utterly dissuaded, devouring you with all of the same unrestrained vigor.

You have no choice but to succumb, light headed and overcome with sensation. Your orgasm builds and hits you with the force of a tsunami, erupting from beneath his tongue and radiating out to every part of you. You choke out noises of pleasure, muffled by his cock in your mouth, but no less shameless.

As he always does, he flattens his tongue to your clit to feel it pulsate like the tender beating heart of a songbird as you come. You relish in the stillness of him, the heat of his mouth, and the crashing wave of your own release. You’re so lost in it that the sudden flood of salty come that pools in your mouth catches you completely off guard, spilling from the corners of your lips. 

There was no warning to it, just the release followed by the pitious, desperate way he moans against you as his cock unloads down your throat. He climaxed just from the motionless warm wet of your mouth and the taste of your orgasm against his tongue.

Homelander eases you off of his cock, and you suck in a gasping wet breath, practically delirious with the experience. He shifts you in his grasp until you’re upright again, bridal in his arms. Your head lolls instantly against his chest, the whole world continuing to spin while you’re held perfectly still.

He kisses you. Predictably, it is no less ravenous. He uses that insatiable devil’s tongue to clean yours of his own come, kissing you as much as he’s consuming you.

“I love you,” he says between the insistent press of his lips. He kisses and kisses and kisses, and in each one, you feel how, even directly after coming, he’s still hungry.

“Love me less,” you respond flatly, dead weight in his arms. Your muscles feel like wobbling gelatine and your abdomen is still contracting with the afterwaves of your orgasm. It feels as much a punishment for your hubris as it does a reward.

Unwavering, he laughs, bringing you to the bed. “No can-do. Besides, keeps you nice and docile,” he says, pulling back the covers before he lays you on the bed.

You snort. “Docile? What am I, a 40s housewife at risk for hysteria?”

“Well, you're not a housewife yet,” he says, for which you smack his arm. Incorrigible, he settles in beside you, tugging at you until you flop onto his chest. “But this way, I get you all to myself.”

“Only because I can’t stand the feeling of underwear long enough to leave the house. You’ve maimed me,” you accuse, voice tired and affectionate, lacking any bite at all. Your sleepy smile does little to add any venom.

Homelander cups the side of your face and bumps his nose affectionately against yours before he kisses you. His lips are soft and languid against yours, temporarily robbed of that underlying tension, telling you that he’s put a leash on his hunger.

For now.

“I love you, too,” you say belatedly. His eyes flicker open, as blue and watery as the ocean. 

He is a painfully obvious man at times, wearing his love and sentimentality like the scars his impervious body will never show. There is a woundedness to the way he loves you. He claws at you like an animal, consuming your love and attention with the gluttonous appetite of a beast who fears every meal will be his last. No matter how often he indulges in you, a part of him seems shocked that there’s still something left to eat. Shocked that your love for him has neither rotted nor run dry.

Your limbs slot together with his like jigsaw pieces. Not because you were made for one another, but because you chose to fit. It is romantic to think of love as an inevitable thing, that there is one single person out there who will snap to you like a magnet and contour instantly to your every curve. In reality, love feels much more like masonry. Steel against stone, and the conscious choice to change something as immutable as solid rock.

The raw fire heat of him cools to a simmer, and you lay on him like a reptile over a sun warmed stone. You trace idle patterns with your fingers through the smattering of hair on his chest while he memorizes the plains of your body with slow sweeps of his palms. You write phrases on his skin. You laugh when he guesses wrong, and kiss him when he guesses right.

Homelander’s hunger is not only in the consumption, but in being consumed. He aches to feel you yearn for him in turn. You reciprocate his longing in leisurely naps entangled with one another, and in allowing yourself to desire him without reservation. You’ve never played hard to get with him, or made him feel as though he needs to earn your love. You made it clear time and time again that it is unconditional, and that it belongs to him alone.

You wonder if he will ever realize, amidst this frenzying love of his, that you are as starved for him as he is for you.