#thank you so much for the prompts!!!!

[domesticated-feral]

Hi, hope you're feeling better! I heard you were doing fic/fanart requests. Can I add - and these are totally OPTIONAL btw so please do whatever fits best for you -

(I'm sorry for the first, I really love them and just wanted to add just in case) sciles - where they're being so affectionate with each other. Ex: Stiles tucking his head into Scott's neck and Scott is smiling 🥺 pre-bite or after the bite.

Snow/stormy days. With the pack or any characters honestly. They can be indoors or outdoors, in warm clothes. You can do whatever you want with this.

This is probably asking for too much but thank you for looking over this anyway <3 have a good day!

THANK YOU so much for the prompts aaa!! I am doing better now, cold's all gone and hopefully soon will this stuffy nose.

I absolutely loved both prompts so I made things for both!

The artwork for the first prompt started with fluff in target but I began thinking of how scott and stiles was robbed of a hug in 4x07 Weaponized so I /had/ to draw that!

and because this wasn't as fluffly as I hoped it'd be, I made the fic for the second prompt exclusively fluffy sciles!

[unforth]

Gentle reminder that very little fandom labor is automated, because I think people forget that a lot.

That blog with a tagging system you love? A person curates those tags by hand.

That rec blog with a great organization scheme and pretty graphics? Someone designed and implemented that organization scheme and made those graphics.

That network that posts a cool variety of stuff? People track down all that variety and queue it by hand, and other people made all the individual pieces.

That post with umpteen links to helpful resources, and information about them? Someone gathered those links, researched the sources, wrote up the information about them.

That graphic about fandom statistics? Someone compiled those statistics, analyzed them, organized them, figured out a useful way to convey the information to others, and made the post.

That event that you think looks neat? Someone wrote the rules, created the blogs and Discords, designed the graphics, did their best to promo the event so it'd succeed.

None of this was done automatically. None of it just appears whole out of the internet ether.

I think everyone realizes that fic writing and fanart creation are work, and at least some folks have got it through their heads that gif creation and graphics and moodboards take effort, and meta is usually respected for the effort that goes into it, at least as far as I've seen, but I feel like a lot of people don't really get how much labor goes into curation, too.

If people are creating resources, curating content, organizing the creations of others, gathering information, and doing other fandom activities that aren't necessarily the direct action of creation, they're doing a lot of fandom labor, and it's often largely unrecognized.

Celebrate fan work!

To folks doing this kind of labor: I see you, and I thank you. You are the backbones of our fandoms and I love you.

[erwinsvow]

Do you think rafe would wear necklace with his girl’s initial?? Like his girl bought it as a present and i’m curious on how rafe would react 😃

"so what i'm hearin' is you got me somethin' with my own money?" rafe asks, looking down at the neatly wrapped box, a pretty white ribbon looped around it. your fingers play with the satin bow, anxious for rafe to open it.

"rafe!" you start with a whine but stop yourself. "it's the thought that counts, okay?" he laughs, taking the gift from your hands.

"sure, kid. whatever you say." he undoes the bow, setting it aside since he knows you'll want to keep it. the wrapping paper gets ripped up and off, while you protest that it could have been reused. he opens the box, looking down at a thin silver chain. there's a little pendant hanging down, the shape of your initial.

he looks up from the chain at you, waiting for his response with big eyes and parted lips. you're playing with your R necklace, the way you always do when you're nervous.

"d-do you like it? i thought we could match," you say quietly, biting you lower lip in anticipation.

"yeah?" he questions, taking the jewelry out of the box and into his hand, feeling the weight of it in his palm.

"only if you like it. you don't have to wear it, i just-"

"just what?" he looks you right in the eyes, wanting your real answer, not just you bouncing around his question from nerves.

"i just wanted to make sure everyone knows you're mine." you lip stings from where you're biting down, rafe look into your eyes.

he opens his arms, and you crawl into his lap, taking the chain from his palm and putting it around his neck, clipping it into place. you smile, pressing a kiss to rafe's cheek, his hands tight on your waist.

"got that right, kid."

[celestialwrites]

saying ‘i love you’ without saying ‘i love you’ dialogue prompts

@celestialwrites for more!

♡ “to me, you are perfect.”

♡ "don't you realise? you are my world."

♡ "you brought me back to life."

♡ "the only way i know how to describe what i feel around you is home. i feel at home."

♡ "it's as if my entire life i have been sinking in a storm and you came and pulled me out."

♡ "you know i stayed for you, and frankly, i don't regret it one bit."

♡ "with the whole of my heart, i believe that together we are infinite."

♡ "i never intend on leaving you. you hear me? never."

♡ "thank you for being the shoulder i always needed, even when you hated me."

♡ "i can't live without you!"

♡ "never leave me, my heart couldn't bear it."

♡ "i've spent my whole life waiting for you."

♡ "consumed in darkness, you darling, were my light."

REBLOG TO SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL WRITERS!!<3

[hydrachea]

Thinking about Robin and Sunday's halos.

About how Robin's halo isn't a closed circle, but more like a branch forming a circular shape, where the start and stem don't touch. It's also uneven in shape and splits into three flowers, like it's allowed to grow freely, unobstructed. Something about Robin having left Penacony and having escaped the confines of her cage, being able to flourish. About her being able to let people in, and connect to them.

Meanwhile Sunday stayed behind to be the head of the Oak family and conform to the strict role that's expected of him, and his halo is a perfectly symmetrical shape that's practically fully closed off. It's sharp, almost more like a crown of thorns than a halo. And it almost doesn't have any openings to let anything, or anyone, in easily. It actively discourages getting close to it.

And then if you want to get sappy about, which I will - Sunday doesn't let anyone in, with that almost completely sealed, thorny halo of his... But there's an opening in Robin's halo, and so it can fit around Sunday's. Something about him always being able to find solace in her, because there's room for him in her (halo) heart always, by design.

Anyway I'm not normal about them.

[2aceofspades]

44 por favor? "I... I think I need a hug."

A very nice choice 🙌✨

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TW: Blood/Injury

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Thank you for your submission! 🤗🌟

(:

[srapsodia]

omg idk if you're still doing the character interaction drawings or not but if no one else has asked for it yet i'd love to see tsukki and yamaguchi in 46: one bandaging the other—yamaguchi wrapping tsukki's fingers maybe? or even the other way around tbh seriously im in love with every response youve given to each prompt, theyre all so cool and dynamic!! (and just your art in general, the poses aaah!!)

46: one bandaging the other

it's a captain's duty to make sure his teammates are taken care of, of course 🧡

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Bunny pile!

[Commission for @newfriendly]

[frostbitebakery]

for @voxmyriad

[themeraldee]

Awkward sex prompt: homelander figuring out how to control his strength with a human reader, who still wants rough sex, but would prefer to be alive at the end of it.

[Masterlist]

18+ Only | 1.2k | Homelander x gn!Reader | Realistic sex. Communicating during sex. Choking. Penetration (but not specified). Fluff at the end.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“But I want you to.” 

It really should have been no surprise to Homelander when you requested he goes a little rougher on you in bed. At first he was taken aback, stopping the pace he was fucking into you with, jerking his head back as if offended, choking on his breath in surprise. You know who he is, bringing up the use of his strength is no small ask. But you’ve shown the signs before. He could hear the spike in your heart rate anytime he’d showcase the incomprehensible strength he possesses. Whether it was him moving heavy objects, accidentally bending steel frames in his penthouse or breaking furniture—like that one time he ripped the headboard off during a particularly fine blowjob—you loved it. Though he never thought that your dirty little thoughts went straight to him using that strength on you. 

“What if I can’t hold back?” He looks down where you’re right below him, all flushed and spread out for him. He’s been giving you a damn good time but it’s like you can never get enough of him. Always wanting more, more, more.

“You can. You’ve been doing it your entire life. Adding a tiny bit more pressure isn’t gonna change anything.”

The one thing Homelander loves about you the most is the pure trust you have in him. After all you’ve seen of him you still believe that there’s no world in which he would purposefully hurt you. So to hear you all but beg for him to use strength that has more than decimated many gets his heart soaring. The feeling of acceptance and unconditional love blooms warm in his chest spreading all the way out to the fingertips currently wrapped around your neck.

“Come on, what’s the point of being the strongest man in the world if you can’t rough me up a bit? I’ll tell you if it’s too painful okay?”

Your hand sat on top, your fingers tracing over his as you squeezed your hand.

“A little more.” You guide him verbally and manually. Your hand is still squeezing around his own until you reach a point where you’re satisfied with his confidence to do this himself and you pull your hand away. “Yeah, that’s it.” You squeak out a little breathlessly as he restricts your airflow.

“That’s good?” He asks, choking on his words halfway at the way you squeeze around him while he’s still lodged firmly inside you. He jerks with his movement, giving you a very short snappy thrust but after your little intermission where you taught him how to choke even this little sensation made you moan.

Homelander’s eyes widen when he realizes the sheer potential of your request. Not only could he hear your heartbeat, your shaky breaths and moans, he could now also feel them. Right against his fingertips. The moan vibrated against his hot skin, your heartbeat constantly thrumming all around him. He felt it in the way you were tight and clenching around him and now he felt it under his grip.

He released his hand a little, settling the palm of it in between your collarbones.

“See? Wasn’t that good? I love feeling your strength, let me have a little more of it.” You say it with such conviction, inviting him in, accepting him exactly—no, especially—because of the way he is.

The last thing Homelander wants is to not be able to fulfill your needs. As much as the thought of hurting you—actually hurting you—kills him, if it’s something you find excitement in he’ll be damned if he doesn’t deliver.

He pulls you down the length of the bed a little bit to give himself more space and with a grin he pins your wrists above your head, holding them down against the mattress with little effort. He knows he’s doing something right when that startles you, you let out a cute yelp that quickly turns into a moan. God, he could eat you up with the way you’re looking at him. But he’s gonna need to leave that for round two. Now he’s here to fulfill a wish.

He slowly picks up the pace. He’s thrusting slow and deep while his other hand freely explores your body underneath him, giving it generous squeezes as he goes. He’s testing the give of you. Learning where he can apply the pressure you so desperately crave. 

He’s fucking into your faster now, grunting at the sheer heat of you surrounding his cock with every slide. His hand glides up your body, settling back on your neck. He gives you a look as if he was warning you of what’s to happen. Yet he still manages to catch you off guard. With the snap of his hips and the iron-clad grip of his hand your eyes widen in what Homelander only translates to fear.

Immediately, he lets go.

“Why did you stop?!” You look at him, your own hand gliding across where his hand was squeezing a second ago, as if to chase the phantom feeling, recreating it yourself.

“Why did I stop? You got scared and I don’t want to fucking kill you!” He sounds angry but it’s mainly to hide the genuine worry that comes with this irresponsible play. It’s already hard for him to hold back anytime you’re having normal sex. Wanting him to rough you up conjures very different imagery in either one of your minds.

“Baby, the scary part is the best bit. I know you’ll stop before it’s too much. You can feel the give of my body. Let yourself feel that, okay?” You say softly, soothing his fears. In your entire relationship he’s not managed to hurt you, you don’t imagine it was about to start now.

“Now come on, I wanna cum with your hand around my neck.” You give him a cheeky smile that breaks him out of any doubts he had about manhandling you the way you’ve requested.

He’s given you exactly what you’ve asked for. Just enough squeeze and pressure that you feel so overwhelmed with the greatness of his presence pinning you down and nearly squeezing the life out of you that you succumb to your release. Homelander follows you there, unable to hold off after seeing the way you look at him with such adoration right after he let your airways open fully and you regained your senses. 

After you’re both beyond blissed out you snuggle up to one another, locking the jigsaw pieces of your bodies together.

Homelander traces a finger across the bruised finger marks wrapping around your neck. Part of him relishes in the way he’s managed to brand you where you won’t be able to hide it easily. Even with a scarf or a turtleneck, any slight move of the garment will expose the impressive size of your lovingly placed bruises. 

The other part of him isn’t that happy about it.

“I hurt you.”

“Duh! I wanted you to!” You scoff as if it was the most obvious thing.

His fingers trace over them some more before he leans in, placing a soft kiss against the marred skin.  

“You’re fucking crazy.” He lets out a little disbelieving laugh as he pulls you closer into his arms.

“Yeah, you’ve been rubbing off on me.”

“Nope, this is all you.” 

“Maybe. Hey, can we try spanking next?”

Taglist (you can add yourself to be tagged anytime I publish a new Homelander story): @infinetlyforgotten  @rafecamsgirlll @nervoussystemss

[merimerz]

day 10: storm

[erwinsvow]

an idea… rafe and shy reader having sex for the first time

everything's overwhelming with rafe, but this is particularly so. you thought you were completely ready for it, from the way you had handled everything else so well. in fact, rafe was the one taking things at the slowest pace possible, trying to make sure he didn’t pressure you into something you weren’t ready for.

you didn’t like it—thought he was trying to be something he’s not. he’s gentle with you but never like this, never to this extent. it must be a big deal then, sleeping with rafe, giving him your virginity, you finally decide, if he’s acting so differently about it.

in fact, you think you’ve been ready to give it up since you first started dating him. rafe brings it out of you, coaxes a different side of you out with gentle words and soft touches. you’re going mad over it. you can’t count the amount of times you’ve crawled into his lap at any given opportunity, anywhere the two of you are alone—his truck, the couch in your living room and at tannyhill, the hidden booth at the country club. you’re begging for it, not sure how much more obvious you can get.

you finally decide tonight’s the night—following a nice dinner with the two of you. you had spent extra long getting dressed up, a pretty white lingerie set on underneath your blue dress, all done up for rafe. finally back at tannyhill, entire body vibrating and tingling with excitement, you don’t wait another moment, crawling into rafe’s lap and kissing him hard. you take off your dress and rafe stops just for a second to take in how forward you’re being.

“hey,” he finally breathes against your lips, pulling away. “c’mon, you’re not ready for this.” 

“yes i am!” you whine, impatient and horny, feeling rafe get hard underneath you. you want him to be able to do all the things you know he wants to do, want them done to you. “i am, i am-” and you lean back to kiss him, ending up pinned underneath him before long.

he knows you’re not, but he plays along. you’re so wet already he doesn’t have to do much, but he makes you cum all over his fingers anyways, hoping it’ll satiate you.

“please, rafe,” you moan against his mouth, pushing in for another needy kiss. “wan’ it inside. please.” and he does know you, knows everything about you, but even he can’t resist when you say things like that.

you watch with big eyes while he lines himself up with your wet hole, hovering over you. you think you’re so ready, that three of rafe’s fingers inside you should be comparable to what you’re about to feel, that you’re more than prepared. your eyes squeeze shut when rafe pushes inside, all the air leaving your lungs. you try to moan out but it’s more of a gasp than anything else, one that rafe swallows into a kiss. 

your eyes get watery—it’s just habit. it hurts, too, because rafe is so much bigger than you expected. you bite your cheek, looking up at rafe through teary eyes and clasping a hand over your mouth—you don’t want to admit that he was right. 

“c’mon kid, give it up. y’not ready for this, i know you,” rafe says, leaning in close to your ear to whisper it quietly. he’s not even half-way inside you.

“i-i can take it,” you hiccup. you hate disappointing rafe.

and it’s not that he doesn’t want to—he does, desperately so, wants to fuck you within an inch of your sanity every time you walk into a room and look at him with your shy eyes and sweet smile. he wants to break you, wants you cumming on his dick until there’s nothing left in your head, no shyness left in your heart. but he wants it when you’re ready for it, not like this.

it only takes another minute, you finally admit you’re not ready, and rafe pulls out of you. you feel like crying, terribly sad and dejected, wishing you could just be normal for rafe for once, be what he wants. 

“stop,” he says, wiping away a stray tear. his arm rests over your stomach, trying to get you to lighten up. “when you’re ready for it, i’ll fuck you until you can’t think. s’just not today, kid.”

you finally agree when he says that, getting over it because you know without a doubt in your mind—rafe knows you better than you know yourself.

[ominouspuff]

Vode An

REQUESTS / BLOG EVENT

From @ulchabhangorm - Palette#1 - Commander Wolffe - Music stirs the soul

[beecauseevan]

first kiss in front of the team/at work!!

"You ready?" 

Eddie turns. He's been staring at the firehouse, but Buck is a much prettier sight, cast in gold by the morning sun filtering through the car windows.

"Ready? For work?" 

"Sure." Buck rolls his shoulders into the Jeep's driver's seat in a half shrug. "For work, and for—you know. Twenty-four hours is a long time."

Eddie leans against the door at his back, a smirk blooming on his face. "Is that a pickup line?"

"I don't have to use pickup lines on you," Buck tells him, but he's smirking too. "I picked you up a while ago."

Eddie hums.

"All I'm saying," Buck continues, "is that twenty-four hours… is a long time."

Eddie could keep playing hard to get. Taking the bait sounds more rewarding, though. He reaches for Buck, curls his fingers into the front of Buck's black t-shirt,  "Guess I better stock up on this while I still have the chance, huh?"

"I guess so," says Buck.

Eddie looks over his shoulder at the parking lot. It's empty, not a soul in sight.

"We're all alone," Buck mutters, voice softer than before, though the gleam in his eyes hasn't changed.

"All alone," Eddie agrees, and tugs him close.

They arrived in the parking lot half an hour early, but when they actually make it inside, their shift is about to start. That means the locker room is empty, which in turn doesn't mean much—the glass walls provide no privacy—but Buck is nothing if not bold.

"Stop," Eddie mutters, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, which hangs half-open from his shoulders. He doesn't have to glance up to know Buck is looking at him, can feel the weight of his gaze on the exposed skin of his chest. It makes him feel stupid, and tingly all over, and warm.

"I'm not doing anything," Buck replies, equally quiet, though the smile in his words is loud. 

"You're staring."

"I'm admiring."

And, honestly. Buck just spent four consecutive nights admiring every inch of Eddie's body. He should've looked his fill by now, but when Eddie finally meets his eyes, the hunger in Buck's smile is as obvious as it was this morning, yesterday, two weeks ago. Eddie shivers, glancing past Buck at the app bay to make sure nobody is watching them. 

What if they both took a sick day? What would Bobby say then?

He pulls himself together and slaps Buck's (gloriously naked) chest. "Get dressed."

"Yessir."

"Oh my god," says Eddie, and moves to the other side of the locker room before he forgets himself. 

And just in time, too. Hen knocks on the glass door, then sticks her head inside. "You guys coming?"

"Did the bell ring?" Buck asks, eyes wide. 

Hen narrows hers and looks from Buck to Eddie and back to Buck. "No. I think you would've heard that."

"Right," says Buck. "Sure. I wasn't distracted or anything."

Hen frowns at Eddie, clearly expecting him to know what is going on with Buck, and she's not wrong, but Eddie shrugs anyway, feigns ignorance. Hen sighs.

"Bobby made waffles," she says. "If you don't hurry up, I'm giving your share to Ravi."

The city keeps them busy, after that, provides them with a steady stream of fender benders and fires and the occasional cat stuck in a tree. By the time they get another moment to themselves, the sun is setting over the city and the station is awash in shades of crimson and gold.

Eddie is just stepping off the treadmill, sweaty and in dire need of a shower, when Buck joins him in the gym.

"Hey," Buck says. 

Just that. Just hey. He's smiling and his curls look soft in the afternoon sun, and Eddie wonders if this will ever stop being thrilling, if he'll ever be able to look at Buck without feeling like his chest is going to burst from all this love, if he'll ever be able to exist in Buck's presence without wanting, no, needing, to put his hands all over that glorious body.

"Hey yourself," he says, and Buck's smile widens, and he steps towards Eddie as if magnetized.

"I've missed you."

"You saw me ten minutes ago."

Buck shrugs. "You know what I mean."

Eddie does. He doesn't wish that he didn't. He likes knowing. 

"Sixteen hours," he says lowly, as Buck stops in front of him, just a few inches shy of appropriate—but then they've never needed much personal space when it came to each other. "Think you can manage?"

"Barely," Buck replies, before his smile sweetens. He looks down at his feet and Eddie looks down too, at Buck's hands, which are twitching at his sides as though they're desperate to reach out. "But, yeah. I'll manage."

Eddie nods. He drags his eyes back up and finds Buck watching him in return. He's so close Eddie can count his lashes, could trace the smile lines in the corners of his eyes.

"There you are." Chim strides into the gym and stops dead in his tracks, frowns at them, which may or may not have something to do with the fact that Eddie just jumped away from Buck like he's been stung. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Eddie says, too quickly.

Chim's frown deepens. Behind him, Hen appears on the scene of the crime, watching them over Chim's shoulder.

"If you guys are in some kind of trouble—"

And really, that's just uncalled for. Eddie opens his mouth and closes it again when he realizes he doesn't really have an excuse. Not for the first and probably not for the last time, Buck saves him.

"It's, uhm. Christopher's birthday party," he says. "We're—making plans."

Hen looks at Chim, who shakes his head.

"Chris' birthday is months away," she says.

"Well." Buck scratches the side of his neck. "Doesn't hurt to be prepared, right?"

He slides a pointed look Eddie's way, waiting for backup. Eddie opens his mouth.

It's new, still, this thing between them, new but not fragile. Three weeks ago, when their first kiss shattered every single one of Eddie's defenses, when he finally allowed himself a shot at true happiness, he warned Buck—told him that it would take him some time, that he would not be able to be Buck's plus one to a wedding any time soon.

Buck laughed at him, told him to stop worrying and we're not going to any weddings anyway, Eddie, unless you know something I don't, and kissed him again, and ever since then, he's been—patient, and careful, and wonderful, and everything Eddie could ask for and more.

He'd live like this, in secret, for another six years if Eddie asked it of him.

"Cause, you know," Buck continues, probably realizing that Eddie is too distracted to help him, and covering for him immediately, because he has his back even now. "Teenagers, they have—expectations. Right?"

"Right," says Eddie, and then he reaches out a hand and cups Buck's cheek and pulls him into a kiss, firm and sweet. When he breaks away, Buck is slack-jawed and glowing, and Eddie clears his throat and turns back to Chim and Hen, who are watching them with twin blank expressions. "Any more questions?"

"Huh," says Chim.

"Huh," adds Hen, and then, to Chim, "you owe me so much money. I knew it would happen before Christmas."

Chim groans loudly. Eddie leaves him to his misery and turns to Buck, who still looks stunned.

"Okay?" he asks quietly. He's lightheaded and giddy and so, so happy.

Buck's expression morphs into something different, something new, something that looks a lot like the inside of Eddie's chest feels—soft and warm and wonderful. "Okay. You?"

They have to talk to Bobby, and soon. Their future holds questions, of that Eddie is sure, and a lot of paperwork. He doesn't care about any of that right now.

"Never better," he says, and kisses Buck again.

[2aceofspades]

Number five with Leo and Mikey Leo feeling guilty about triggering the events of the movie

5.) "I don't know if I can forgive."

I changed it a bit, but hopefully it's still alright 🫣

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Also, here's an extra cuz I misread the request at first gah-!

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Thank you for your submission! 🌟✨

(:

[blindmagdalena]

I know someone's already asked for the voice kink a couple times which I love your writing for those frfr but have you ever considered doing a hand kink prompt for homie? If I'm being real his hands are pretty

18+! 1.4k homelander x reader. finger sucking, vaginal fingering, grinding, dirty talk.

The first time you saw Homelander’s naked hands, the reveal left you feeling scandalized. His fingers are long and lithe, but not spindly. His nails are always clean–one positive thing you can say about those gloves–and nicely manicured into a rounded shape. 

Pronounced veins create sprawling patterns on the backs of them, disappearing into the spaces between his knuckles. His wrists are slender enough to look delicate, but the thrum of power in his touch proves they aren’t.

Suffice to say you’ve been obsessed with them ever since.

“Y’know, it takes real talent to make hand-holding feel perverse,” he says one day, one corner of his mouth arched in a lazy smile.

Days like this are your favorite. You’ve both been awake for hours, but getting out of bed hasn’t crossed your mind once. Not while you’re tucked in against him, his arm around your body, his hand cupped between yours.

His hands have been at the mercy of your reverence for the majority of the morning.

“What’s perverse?” you ask with a laugh, absently sliding your fingertips up and down the space between his fingers, your touch light and slow.

“You are,” he says, smile widening. “Never had my phalanges edged before.”

“I just like your hands, I think they’re beautiful,” you say, pressing your thumb up his palm in slow, firm slides. You move up each finger, feeling tiny knots disperse beneath the pressure like wood crackling in a fire. “And since you insist on hiding them so frequently, I have to take advantage where I can.”

“I do love it when you take advantage of me,” he purrs, his free hand sliding down your hip, gripping the meat of your thigh.

You grin, bringing the tips of his fingers to your lips so that you can kiss each and every one of them, finishing with his thumb.

His gaze drops to watch, fixated on the plushness of your mouth, and how it moves. You wet your lips with a swipe of your tongue that he follows with predator quickness. His rapt attention makes you feel as powerful as he is, all that raw power thrumming in the very hand you hold in yours.

Tentatively, he tugs at your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, eyes never leaving your mouth.

Watching him in turn, you open your mouth and take him into it, teeth scraping over his knuckle. His eyes darken at once, his own lips slightly parted, mirroring you subconsciously.

His thumb, like the rest of his hand, is smooth and without callouses. He tastes clean to a near clinical degree, but there’s a faint salt tang to remind you he’s still human. You trace the veins along the back of his hand before interlacing your fingers with his and squeezing.

With a sly little smile, you bite down just behind his knuckle while pushing your tongue against the pad of his thumb.

Homelander makes a rough noise in the back of his throat, his nails biting dull crescents into your thigh. His throat clicks dryly as he tries and fails to swallow back his hunger.

Pulling off of his thumb with a wet pop, you kiss a trail from his thumb to the divot between it and his index finger, moving leisurely. His skin is growing warmer and warmer against yours, and from where you’re holding his wrist, you feel his pulse quicken.

Particularly when you take his finger into your mouth again, savoring the way it seems to hum against your tongue. 

The feel of him reminds you of the static that would collect on old CRT screens; an invisible force that makes your tongue tingle. Beyond his beauty, he is otherworldly down to the core of his being. Unlike anyone you’ve ever been with.

It’s no wonder you’ve become addicted to him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, enraptured by the sight of you taking him to his last knuckle, your tongue swirling around his finger. 

His hand on your thigh moves and suddenly you’re moving, too. He manhandles you effortlessly onto your opposite side, his finger slipping from your mouth.

He repositions you to put your back to his chest, and with his arm under you, he brings his hand right back to your mouth, coaxing your lips open with his fingers.

Naturally, you greedily swallow down two of them without hesitation.

He groans softly at your ear, kissing the sensitive spot just behind it. Meanwhile his other hand moves down your side, down your belly, slipping into the space between your thighs.

“So warm,” he murmurs, and you’re not sure if he means your mouth or your cunt, his fingers toying with your clit, but you don’t care. You shiver, letting out a quiet moan of your own against his fingers. “So soft.”

You start to match his strokes, drawing back to lick at just the tip of his middle finger the same way he’s teasing your clit.

He catches on quickly, pushing his fingers further back to massage your cunt, only to suddenly pull them away.

You protest with a sharp little nip, but he doesn’t stay gone for long. You hear him suck his own fingers into his mouth–a mental image that by itself makes your pussy throb–and all at once his fingers are back upon you, wet and pushing in.

You moan, pulling his hand to take his fingers deeper into your mouth, tongue pushing between them. The feel of him is absolutely unreal, and everything you enjoy about him on your tongue and your lips is amplified tenfold when he’s sinking into your cunt.

With his fingers buried inside you, he presses you firmly back into him and grinds his cock against the curve of your ass, already hard.

You purposefully arch back into him, hollowing your cheeks sucking on his fingers, bobbing your head in time with his fingers pushing in and out of your pussy.

It feels like heaven to have both of his hands inside you, fucking you, pinning you against his chest where you can feel the tension of his restraint, of his power.

With a rough little gasp you pull off of his two fingers only to take three instead. To your delight, he takes the hint and adds a third between your legs, the aching stretch so good it makes your thighs quiver and clench.

“Fffuck,” he grits out, matching his own pace with how he grinds against your ass, smearing wetness from his leaking tip. 

You can feel how close he is by the faint tremble of his hand, how he’s holding himself back. 

Not to be outdone, he angles his thumb to work your clit, the shock of sensation causing you to bite down on his fingers suddenly.

It makes him moan.

“That’s it, bite down hard, sweetheart. Lemme feel how bad you want it,” he says, the dam officially broken. “You know you can’t hurt me, don’t you? So do it, bite all you want. You like my fingers so much, you’re gonna cum spitroasted on them.”

It works. His words push you over the edge you’d been teetering on, plummeting you down into a surge of pleasure that washes over your entire body, that makes your breath halt and your jaw clench.

While your release is a silent and internal thing, Homelander’s is not.

He growls in your ear, mercilessly fucking you with his fingers through the quakes of your orgasm. He’s murmuring filth and desire and need until he’s choking on the words, gasping his pleasure as he comes against you, a wash of white hot deliciously searing your ass and lower back.

By the end of it you’re both panting, bodies slack against the bed, his hand splayed on the pillow next to your head, his fingers still buried in your quivering cunt.

With what strength you can muster, you slip your hand into his, interlacing your fingers and squeezing. He returns the gesture, stroking your hand with his thumb while he recovers.

“S’mazing…” you slur, tongue and body blissfully loose.

He peppers soft kisses along your neck, nuzzling against you. “Told you it was perverse.”

“You made it sexual.”

“You complaining?”

You don’t respond.

“That’s what I thought,” he says, his smile audible in each word.

Staring at your hands interlaced on the pillow, you smile, too.

They look beautiful together.

“I love you.”

He squeezes your hand. “And I love you.”