#I NEED HIM SO BAD. NOW. JESUS CHRIST

[gingersnaptaff]

Arawn headcannons?

Hi, anon!!!! Arawn beloved!!!! God, I love him. I think he's neat and also, anybody who is a fellow dog lover gets brownie points.

Okay, so, Arawn to me is a full-formed God straight out the gate. He doesn't have a family, really unlike say the family of Llŷr and the family of Dôn. He, to me, is similar to Cerridwen and Aerfen in that they make their families because they're vital concepts to the Celts if that makes sense? Like Death (Arawn), Warfare/Fate (Aerfen), and Awen (that's basically like the act of creation in Welsh culture. So Cerridwen's cauldron is the cauldron of Awen. It's roughly translated to inspiration or divine inspiration and it a big deal tbh) are vital things so they took shape pretty quickly. (I'd also say that Amaethon and Gofannon were fully-formed instead of growing up into adulthood but, as can be seen with Dylan Ail Don, gods probably grew into adults like within a day. Like those t-shirts you have to wet so they expand.)

ANYWAYS. He has a wife called Alaw (means melody. It's also the name of a river which features in the Second Branch of the Mabinogion) and she's the deity of said river (I've made that up, but it's cuz Annwfn is associated with water and I was like 'Arawn marries a river deity' to preserve that theme) and, yes, she's the lady who Pwyll has to share a bed with for a year and gets super pissed off when Arawn's like 'BUT BABE WE'VE ALWAYS TALKED' and she's like 'NOT ANYMORE, BITCH, WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU?!' Anyways, they really do love each other and also they have a daughter called Morwen (sea white) who marries a guy and they have a kid called Alwen (also river name) who gets together with Urien Rheged and Modron in a menage á trois)

Originally, I headcannoned him as like a guy who could shape-shift into a 'black scrap' that was a bit ravenish so he could attack those he hated but he's now more fluid and water-based because of the whole Annwfn deal. Plus, idk a God of death being foreboding because of thr fact he's water-based is scary when you think about it! Water is incredibly destructive and nurturing and Arawn can be both. Like, dude is benevolent in The Mabinogion for the most part but when Pwyll first meets him you as the reader think 'JESUS, MY BOI PENDEFID DYFED'S ABOUT TO BE MURKED' because he just shows up and is like 'U SET UR HOUNDS UPON MY STAG.'

He and Alaw met because Arawn can use any river as pathways to his domain and he was out hunting and thr dogs were like 'A PERSON!!!!' Those dogs meet-cuted their master. He just walks on water with all his hounds behind him like a mini procession whenever they wanna hunt.

He is, as discussed, beesties with the Pwyll fam. I know this, I believe this. If the family of Pwyll has one fan it's me, if the family of Pwyll has a hundred fans I'm one of them, if the fam of Pwyll has no fans I'm dead and typing this from my grave. Pryderi sends Arawn letters CONSTANTLY. Arawn still dines with Pwyll's shade.

Chill guy. Any dog he sees he must pet.

He's very ambivalent about the family of Dôn. Like, Pryderi nearly died because of Gwydion (becauss of the one strike thing. I know it should be over running water, but I think the water would spit Pryderi back out because Arawn Does Not Want Him Dead unlike Hafgan. In my book Pryderi doesn't die because that's my brother in booboo and I LOVE him) and he went to Y Felen Rhyd to retrieve Pryderi's body instead of having Gwyn ap Nudd do it so Pryderi could get treatment from Cerridwen, Taliesin, and a tiny string bean of an Emrys/Myrddin.

He loves poetry. His job comes with the perk of having every poet who has ever died in his hall. Of course Arawn's gonna have poetry read to him every night. He even listens to Alaw read her pierty and she's BANGING AT POETRY. (Basing her on Gwerful Mechain, my absolute beloved. Women absolutely did master the Welsh bardic craft and I wish we had more of their works surviving) He commissions poetry for his and Alaw's wedding and gets Alaw to do it so his court knows how fuckin great his wife is at poetry because he's like 'EVERYBODY PLS LOOK AT MY WIFE OKAY SHUT UP SHE'S PERFORMING'

Is besties with Llŷr who is now, uh, chained up by Euroswydd somewhere in a silver chair (my invention idk how boi is chained up because MYTHS DON'T TELL) in a dungeon away from the sea. Euroswydd doesn't know that Arawn's been sending river water to Llŷr on the down low so he can keep his strength up. Although it's not the sea, Llŷr is endlessly grateful.

Arawn has met Cigfa because Pryderi was like 'u gotta meet my third dad' soon after they were married and basically trekked the poor girl to the Afon Cych and was like 'dw, dw, dw, I'm not a weirdo but I've been telling Arawn all about u' ans she's like THE GOD OF THE FUCKING DEAD?! And this close -> 🤏 to filing for divorce then and there. Fortunately, Arawn was like 'nice to meet u do u wanna meet my dogs and my KICKASS WIFE?' and Cigfa was like 'dogs 🥰🥰🥰'

(What if I told u she walks out of there with two Cŵn Annwfn pups who are only a few days old with the reddest ears and whitest coats? What then?)

The whole Hafgan thing is turned into Annwfn's biggest propaganda spin ever. Arawn is like 'Pwyll and I defeated Hafgan who was legit The Worst.' It's probably like Damnatio Memoriae in that no traces of Hafgan's rule over Y Gwlad y Haf exist. Arawn is absolutely ruthless in that.

Gwyn ap Nudd is Arawn's psychopomp but have you also considered be rules Annwfn whenever Arawn takes a holiday? The Wild Hunt is an exercise for the doggos at this point. Mallt-y-Nos screams because she's excited. (God, I've cutesified Welsh myth. Kill me.)

Anyways, anon hope these are good. Arawn is actually a bit more foreboding in the book. Morr��gan's dead clutter his halls, he has a whole run-in with Oisín and Gwyn in a stable before he realises who they are, and murks a load of people. Also, his aura is white and red because of his hounds and also because those are Otherworldy colours.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

what is your favorite thing about charles and your favorite thing about erik? separately, as in what you like most about their characters :]

a devious question this one is, my friend!!! it's hard enough for me to explain my thoughts cohesively, but having to pick ONE thing i particularly love is difficult. with characters like charles and erik, theres been so much done with their characters over the decades and so they have so many components to them that make them so interesting and fun to observe. BUT I TRY FOR YOU TODAY. under the cut i kinda ramble and the size of this text box makin me anxious

i think if i were to be simple and broad, what i enjoy most about charles is his determination to help others, even if he isn't really thanked and/or if people don't even like him. ofc, this isn't to say he hasn't done wrong- to be honest, the fact he does wrong/questionable things at times is another aspect of him i really enjoy, maybe because- broadly speaking- he's meant to be altruistic (intent vs outcome and all that). i don't know if that's super exciting to most people, but it is for me

as for erik, my reason for liking him is easier to explain tbh. To Be Simple And Broad, his progression from villain to antihero over the decades has been fun to observe (as much as i have so far anyhow) and analyze. i think to be a bit more specific, him using his rage and pain as justifications for his villainous actions is definitely what compels me the most: hurt people hurt and the sort, an idea i've always found interesting (something something vicious cycles and the like). yet now, he recognizes this wasn't really. A Just Thing To Do and is beginning to change that, which i enjoy

[moreaujeans]

im so sick of exams i swear to GODDD

[infizero]

every time i so much as think about that scene where light looks at porn magazines while scowling i go into hysterics its genuinely the funniest thing i've ever seen

[hauntingblue]

Can you believe Otto Hightower got kidnapped and ended up in the venomverse having a road trip with his second family???

[lordsardine]

.

[mushed-kid]

.

[itsmeimthedoldrums]

professor venomous please vivisect and fuck me

[depvotee]

Ok while testing stuff around, I've also kept playing BG3 with Gallen and tbh, if he ends up in a polyam relationship with Astarion and Shadowheart, I think I'll kms

[tapiocakisses]

immediate reaction;

omega!satoru... rubbing up against you like he's a cat in head,, he's nuzzling his face into yours, into your neck, into your tummy – he's smearing his scent all over you as if he's marking you up but his real goal is to just push your buttons. he wants you to pay attention to him, he wants you to put him in his place so he's murmuring stuff like "c'mon, you're supposed to take care of me" and "don't you wanna make it go away". his fingers trace over the tent in your pants and the low growl that crawls up your throat excites satoru so much that he almost giggles at the sound. this is exactly what he wants – for his alpha to punish him for misbehaving, for being such a little shit. your eyes grow dark at the sight of his giddy expression and you know that he's doing it on purpose. but he is right, isn't he? you are supposed to take care of him, and right now said 'taking care' just means bending him over and fucking him until he cries to teach him a lesson.

[rafescherie]

✮⋆˙ becoming super needy and clingy during ovulation with rafe.

warnings — 18+. MDNI. cunnilingus (f. oral receiving), mentions of ovulation + being extremely 'needy', fingering, overstimulation.

cherie's note — ily c:

you'd been following him around the house like a shadow all afternoon — fingers brushing over his lap, soft whines slipping past your lips, pressing your body up against him at every opportunity. he hadn't said anything about it at first, just watched you with that curious little tilt of his head, that crooked grin plastered across his face. but after the third time you wrapped your arms around him from behind, nuzzling your cheek into the firm muscle of his back like a clingy little kitten, he couldn't find it in himself to ignore it anymore.

there was something wrong — seriously, wrong.

"baby," he muttered, blinking down at you. "what the fuck's going on with you?"

you shrugged, cheeks hot. you couldn't explain it — you just needed. every nerve in your body felt like it was under your skin and screaming for his. you rubbed your thighs together unconsciously, letting out soft whines and frustrated sighs.

you were too warm. too tight. too empty.

so you climbed into his lap without a word, straddling him like you were supposed to be there — like your entire body was aching for the drag of his cock against your cunt and you couldn't stand another second without it. you ground against the bulge in his sweats with a breathy, helpless moan.

you blinked down at him, pupils blown wide, lips wet from where you'd been biting them. "what do you mean?" you asked, like your aching cunt wasn't already soaking through your sleep shorts.

"you've been acting weird all day," he said, trying — failing — not to look down at where your tank top had slipped off your shoulder, showing the swell of your chest. he tried his best to ignore the way your nipples seemed to pebble under the fabric the further his hands moved against your hips, reacting dangerously to his touch. "horny as fuck. all over me."

you just blinked again, lips parting slightly, then leaned in close and dragged your tongue up the side of his throat like you were trying to mark him.

"you smell so good," you whispered, voice shaky. "i can't help it…"

he jerked back slightly, brows drawn tight. "okay, what?"

but you didn't answer. your mouth was already moving again — lips brushing his neck, teeth dragging down to his collarbone. you rolled your hips into him again, slow and filthy, a broken little moan slipping out as the pressure caught your swollen clit just right.

"i've been aching all fucking day, rafe." you breathed. "i can't stop thinking about your fingers in me. your tongue. i need it — i need you so bad."

his whole body went still, cock hardening instantly under you.

"jesus christ," he muttered, half-stunned, half-turned on. "you've been walking around the house like a cockdrunk little slut all day, and this is why?"

"feel how warm i am, baby," you whined, taking his hand and dragging it between your trembling legs. you pressed his palm against your soaked pussy, the thin fabric clinging to your folds. "i'm so fucking wet for you. i'd let you fuck me raw right now — i don't even care."

something in him snapped.

"you wanna act like a bitch in heat?" he challenged, rough hands dragging your shorts down your thighs. "i'll treat you like one"

you whimpered as the fabric peeled away from your soaked core, the cool air hitting your slick skin and making you tremble. his gaze dropped immediately — the mess you had made of yourself only inches from his wet mouth.

he yanked down your panties without warning, the fabric stuck between your folds, clinging from how wet you were, and he groaned as he pulled them off.

"jesus, baby," he laughed teasingly. you couldn't help it — your hips rocked up toward him, needy and instinctive, your plush thighs falling open wide like your body was begging to be used. your cunt was glistening, flushed and swollen, twitching under his stare. "you're dripping."

you were already so fucking close.

rafe's hands slid under your thighs, fingers curling in a firm, possessive grip as he dragged you to the edge of the couch. he didn't say anything at first — just stared.

"gonna ruin you," he muttered.

rafe buried his face between your soft thighs. he didn't start gentle. didn't tease. just buried his tongue between your slick folds and licked like he'd been starving for it — long, slow drags that sent jolts of heat down your spine, your body jerking in response. arousal dripped from you, messy and obscene, and he groaned into your cunt like he loved it.

and the sounds — oh god, the sounds were disgusting. wet and obscene, the kind of sucking and slurping that made your face go hot with shame, even as your body arched up into him.

your thighs twitched around his head, but he didn't let up — shoved them open wider and held them there like a punishment, tongue circling your clit in slow, cruel strokes.

and then his fingers — two of them — slipped inside of your soaked hole, and you whined.

"god, rafe—! please—"

"this what you wanted?" he rasped, voice muffled between your thighs. "walkin' around the house actin' like a needy little fuckdoll? you want me to stuff you full, baby? fill up this messy little cunt?"

you nodded frantically, face flushed, tears threatening behind your lashes. "y-yeah — fuck! please—"

he grinned against you.

"cum for me, sweet girl."

he didn't give you a choice. his mouth sealed over your clit, tongue lashing fast and precise while his fingers fucked into you deep and hard, curling just right, just right—

the sound of your moans bounce off all four walls, body shaking, thighs clamping tight around his head as you gushed around his fingers. your head dropped back, mouth falling open in a silent sob, whole body locking up as you rode it out.

and still, he didn't stop.

"rafe—rafe—too much!"

he growled into your cunt, "you said you didn't care, remember? begged me to fuck you raw. don't act shy now."

your second orgasm hit before the first had even finished — more intense, more desperate, blinding — your slick dripping down to the cushion below you, your body convulsing as each of your limbs twitched.

"gonna give you one more," he murmured against your clit, voice wrecked. "just one. want you cryin' when i finally fuck you."

[heist-family-content]

This is long enough to be a fic, but oh weeeeell.

As with many other Wayne family traditions, it all started because Bruce was sleep deprived and a little delirious. He had just adopted Dick not even a year ago, but they had their routines. On patrol, Bruce could tell when the boy was lagging behind just a little bit more than usual and sitting down, bereft of cartwheels, on every rooftop. He recognised the signs that Dick would not, in fact, be walking back to the Batcave after this and he would need to be carried.

So Bruce took his sleepy little robin home in his arms, helped him change out of his costume, and tucked him into bed. But Jesus, Bruce was sleepy, too. He'd been up for maybe four days, and all he could really process was that Dick looked so peaceful and happy, worming into three layers of thick blanket after a long night, and he pressed the softest, sleepiest goodnight kiss into his son's head before dragging himself to bed.

Every night after that, Dick simply would not go to sleep without a goodnight kiss. The boy would be half unconscious, for christs sake, but his little hands could grip Bruce's sleeve like a vice. Bruce pretended to think it was a little ridiculous, but what was he going to do? Watch Dick lose vital rest so he could save his grumpy reputation? To this day, sometimes Dick will shamble into the batcave, half dead to the world, and sleepily whine until he gets a kiss and a pat on the head.

Jason has ridiculed them about this endlessly, but the joke is on him, because all robins forever are doomed to love Mom Bruce Kisses.

Kid Jason had been different. He didn't want a kiss every night before bed- that was for babies! But one day, Jason shuffled into the living room and flopped down on the couch so hard that Alfred raised a brow. Bruce, sitting next to him, stared pointedly until Jason huffed.

"I had a bad day," he said. Bruce nodded and was about to ask Alfred to bring in some ice cream, but Jason stopped him.

"No, it's fine, I'm fine. I just..." He huffed again, not having the words to say exactly what he needed. Bruce watched his son evenly, but his heart ached to soothe him, and not quite having any better ideas, he pressed the lightest kiss on Jason's cheek and smoothed back his messy hair. "It's okay to have bad days," he hummed gently. Jason didn't say anything at first, but he eventually lay his head down on Bruce's knee and took a nap, so Bruce assumed Jason didn't hate it. So "goodnight kisses" are Dick's thing and "bad day" kisses are Jason's thing. Noted.

And then came Tim. Tim, who was always working himself so hard, who stayed up almost as late as Bruce and functioned almost as well without sleep, so that Bruce could barely tell how little rest his boy was getting. Tim, who was always worried that he wasn't doing enough, that his intel wasn't good enough, that he wasn't earning Bruce's love, trust, and respect.

Bruce was really hard pressed to figure out what Tim needed. He was beginning to learn that all children really were fundamentally different, and in the early days, he was worried as hell. He had pushed Jason and lost him. What could he do to keep Tim from being pushed? From being hurt or worse?

One night, he found himself standing beside Tim, who was working tirelessly at the Bat Computer. Tim was explaining something, but Bruce was just staring at him. Tim looked up at him and instantly began to feel nervous. Was he in trouble? Had he done something wrong? Why was Bruce staring so angrily at him-

Tim blinked as Bruce gave his hair a quick kiss. "Good job," Bruce hums simply, focus returning to the computer screen. "I'm proud of you."

So Tim gets "good job" kisses, now. Alfred might have to start making a chart.

Damian doesn't necessarily like kisses, at least, that's how he acts. But Bruce notices the silent, stoic anxiety that radiates off of Damian when his father or one of his siblings gets badly hurt. Even if Alfred gets a papercut, Damian insists that he must inspect it for himself, and while he remains stern and blunt, he fusses over how "unacceptable" it is. In general, Damian refuses to be consoled or coddled, but Bruce notices.

And then Bruce almost died after being blindsided by a joint Bane-Deathstroke ambush, and Damian literally wouldn't leave his bedside unless it was to wreak vengeance. He pestered Alfred every ten minutes about changing bandages and wouldn't eat anything unless Dick coaxed him into it. Bruce allowed it because Damian does what he wants, and he couldn't pretend to not appreciate it.

Eventually, Bruce could sit up without wincing. He looked down at his youngest son, who had fallen asleep on the edge of Bruce's bed. Bruce gently woke him up for school, but Damian waved him away. Bruce huffed, a mix of reluctance and deep affection in his chest. He gently pulled the covers over the boy and gave his little hand a small kiss. The "it's going to be okay" kiss is the only one Damian will accept without complaint.

[salvagemarch]

Lay It on Me

joel miller x reader

3,114 words

summary: you are absolutely smitten with joel and everything about him, specifically everything he has going on in his pants. you know it’s unrealistic to have access to him at all times, so you come up with a solution.

continuation of this blurb but can be read as a stand alone

warnings: reader literally makes a dildo in the shape of joel’s dick, female and male masturbation, unprotected piv, cowgirl, creampie, reader is unhinged, insatiable, and sex crazy but joel likes it, sort of jealous joel, my attraction to blue collar workers is kind of shining through in this…

a/n: i wrote this solely because my first ever anon requested it…this is all for you babe

To say you were pissed would be an understatement

You knew it was unfair, Joel was a busy man with a busy job and a lot of clients to make happy. But he was your man, and you deserved to be happy too.

Here you were, feeling bad for yourself after he cut your usual morning sex short because his brother needed him at work earlier than usual. You were still laying in the same spot in your shared bed, naked, sweaty, and wet, with no Joel there to help you.

Sighing, you knew you could finger yourself, use a vibrator, take a cold shower, do whatever the hell you needed to do to rid yourself of your unbearable horniness, but you didn’t want to anything but fuck Joel.

As you sulk in your bubble of sexual frustration, your mind begins to wander and you remember a friend of yours telling you about a “stupid gag gift” her boyfriend bought her for Christmas. It was some sort of diy clay kit to make a mold of his penis, and in the moment you laughed at the idea. But now, with your spread legs and your poor, unsatisfied groin, it seemed brilliant.

You grab your phone to text your friend.

“Hey, how much did that dick mold kit cost?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Joel, it’s an amazing idea! Just do it, it’ll be worth it!”

You told Joel about your genius plan as soon as he sat down to take off his work boots, which you began to regret as he looked up at you with tired eyes and a sweaty face. The regret quickly dissipated when you noticed his damp biceps and your arousal for him took over everything else.

“Don’t you want us to be closer? This is a great way for us to bond,” you sit down beside him, getting in his personal space to try and convince him to do what you wanted. It always worked.

He continued untying his boots and wiped his hands on his pants. “I already fuck you every damn day and night, how much more close can we get?” you ignore his remark to gawk at his big hands, imagining them on your body.

He sighed as he sat up to stretch his back, glancing over at you with irritated eyes. “You ain’t gonna let this go, are you?” you shake your head with a big smile.

“Jesus christ. Go get in bed, girl. I’m gonna show you I’m better than any dumb toy.”

You cum 6 times that night. It doesn’t deter you from your plan.

Two weeks pass when you get a knock on your front door, and when you open it you find what you’ve been waiting for. The kit. You yell for Joel to come down into the kitchen and when he walks in, hands dirty from wood working, you hold the box up in all its taboo glory.

“It’s beautiful,” you smile.

“It’s stupid. I can’t believe you’re makin’ me do this,” he crosses his arms and leans against the counter, watching as you open the box and glares at the big Clone-A-Willy name on the package.

“I’m not making you do anything, you’re choosing to do it because you love me.”

Joel finds himself lying on the bed with an annoyed expression and spread legs, his jeans thrown somewhere on the floor and his boxers pulled down to his ankles. You take a second to admire his pretty cock before wrapping both of your hands around it and stroking up and down to get him hard.

It really was beautiful. Almost eight inches, wide, had veins and ridges in all the right spots. It’s like his body was made just for you. You swallow down your saliva as your mouth watered.

“Okay, step one: Coat the penis in clay mixture,” you read from the instruction paper in front of you and begin spreading the mix you made earlier around Joel’s dick. His breath hitches as it hits his sensitive skin.

“Shit, you didn’t tell me it was gonna be cold! And it’s slimy, too,” he grimaced at the feel of the clay, and you had to hold back a moan as his appearance grew more disheveled. His thighs tensed and his neck strained at the discomfort, but holy hell did he look hot when he was irritated.

“Sorry, hon. I’m just following instructions,” you explain as you continue working the mixture onto his length.

He frowns at you, clearly unimpressed with your excuse. His cock twitches slightly as you continue smearing the cool, thick clay mixture along him. Despite his obvious discomfort, his cock grows harder and harder under the clay coating.

"Following instructions, huh? Those instructions are shit," he grumbles, shifting his hips restlessly on the bed. "My balls are starting to get numb here."

You bite your lip, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than how hot he looks sprawled out like this, all rugged and masculine despite the weird clay situation. His stomach rises and falls with each breath, drawing your eye to his sturdy chest.

"Almost done, baby. Just need to make sure it's fully coated," you say.

“Okay, all done. Step two: Wait for clay to dry on penis. Shouldn’t be hard at all, right? Hard? See what I did there?”

He frowns at you. The clay continues to set around his dick, creating an oddly textured surface. “You ain’t funny, smartass. No shit it shouldn't be hard. Though I guess you're doing a good job of changing that," he says wryly, nodding towards his straining erection barely contained by the stiffening clay mold.

After a few more minutes of awkwardly waiting, he sits up slowly, the clay slightly cracking and flaking off in places. “Alright, I think it's dry enough. Can I please take this thing off now? My dick feels like it's trapped in concrete."

“Be careful!” you reprimand him. “I don’t want to break. I need it all in one piece to be able to use it,” you place a hand on his stomach and push him back down, opting to take the cast off yourself. His dick grows harder.

He sighs heavily, looking exasperated by your enthusiasm. With great care, he helps you peel away the clay mold, moving slowly to avoid breaking it. As more of his dick is revealed, you can't help but lick your lips in anticipation.

"There, I got it off in one piece. Happy now?" he asks once the mold is complete, holding it up for your inspection. It's creepily similar to Joel’s length, replicating every ridge and vein in detail. He sets it aside on the nightstand before turning back to you with a raised eyebrow.

"So, uh...why exactly are you makin’ that thing anyway? Because I gotta say, this whole ordeal is pretty weird. Even for you,” he takes a tissue from the nightstand and wipes his clay covered hands, making an effort to avoid touching the clone of his penis.

“I already told you, I’m gonna use it when you’re away and I’m horny. And you know I’m always horny.”

Joel shook his head, a mix of frustration and fondness in his expression. "Yeah, I know you're horny all the time, but that doesn't mean this is the only solution. What if my brother goes snoopin’ around and sees that you have that? You know he likes the run his mouth," Joel starts overthinking. "You're gonna be the talk of the town, aint't ya? 'Did you hear Joel’s girl has a plaster replica of his cock?' Christ, the rumors will be flying," he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief.

You bite back as he spirals. “Yeah? Maybe I can use it right now if you’re so ashamed of me, let it take your spot completely.”

His smile faltered at your words. "Whoa, hold on a minute. I'm not ashamed of you, crazy girl. I just...I don't know, it's weird, okay? Seeing my own dick in a fucking mold, knowing you're gonna use it on yourself..." He trailed off.

Joel exhales shakily and runs a hand through his hair, struggling to articulate his feelings. “God knows how horny you are, and there ain’t nothin’ that makes me happier than gettin’ to take care of that whenever you need. But this...this is different. It's like you're replacing me."

Despite his hesitation, you can sense an undertone of desire in his voice. He's torn between his possessive nature, and the thrill of watching you pleasure yourself with his likeness.

You sit on your knees and scoot closer to him. “Aw, is baby jealous? You really think I’m trying to replace you?”

Joel scoffs, but there is a hint of vulnerability in his tone. “Me, jealous? Of a goddamn sex toy? Please. I'm just sayin’, this is crazy." He crosses his arms while he wallows, his cock still hard and on full display.

He pauses, seeming to take a moment and think over his next words. “I guess I have to be honest. Seein’ you touch yourself with my dick, even if it's just a copy...it is kind of hot. Knowin’ that I can make you feel good like that, even when I'm not around..."

He trails off, a flush creeping up his neck as he meets your gaze. There's an intense look in his eyes. "Just don't start expecting this to become a regular thing, okay? I'm still the one who gets to be inside you.”

You bite back a smile as Joel reassures himself, reminding you of your need for him more for his peace of mind than yours. “Of course. It’s just for when you’re unavailable, I promise.”

He nods, accepting your terms and letting his jealousy subside. A small smile plays on his lips as he takes in the sight of you eagerly eyeing the toy. “If that's what you want, go on and use it.”

He gestures towards the nightstand where the replica sits, awaiting its inaugural use. “Just don't forget whose it really is when you're done playing with it,” he says, eyeing your covered cunt.

“You wanna watch or something, perv?” you tease.

“Me? A perv? I’m just curious to how you’re gonna use the thing. ‘Sides, it’s only fair considering the fact I had to deal with having my dick covered in clay.” He leans against the headboard, crossing his arms behind his neck. “Put on a show for me. I deserve it.”

You lean forward to grab the toy off the nightstand, sitting back to look at Joel. You’ll give him a show.

As you position the clay piece between your legs, Joel’s eyes don’t leave your body once. His gaze is trained to the space hovering over the cockhead of the toy, and you can sense his arousal growing at the promise of watching you get off. “Don’t forget to stroke the real thing later,” he says, reaching down to palm himself.

You bring your bottom lip between your teeth as you begin to rub your panty covered center on the molded cock, watching Joel rub his dick. “Fuck me, why don’t ya just put it in already? I wanna see you ride that thing,” his words come off as a command but you know better, sensing the desperation beneath them. Joel was always just as horny as you were.

With a huff you toss your shorts off and pull your panties to the side, wearing nothing but them and your tank top. You fit the tip between your wet lips. “You need to be patient,” you scold him as you ease yourself onto the toy.

Joel’s free fist clenches at his side, fighting the urge to pounce and yank you onto his lap. The sight of your slick entrance welcoming the dildo into your body makes him want to moan, and the vision of you was almost too much for him to handle. “You,” he pants, “are testin’ my limits, sweetheart.”

You let yourself sink fully onto the toy, the obscene sound of your wetness filling the room and simultaneously making Joel’s actual tip leak with precum.

You breathe lowly as your eyes roll closed, spreading your legs to fully take in the feeling of the toy. The familiarity of the shape comforted you, but the inhuman smoothness to it gave you something new to explore.

The moan that leaves your lips makes Joel throb painfully, his dick begging for relief as he gawked at the sight before him. “Jesus, fuck…look at you, so damn sexy taking that thing so deep…” he wasn’t even really aware of what he was saying, letting his dirty thoughts come out of his mouth freely as he tugged on his cock.

“You like that, don’t you? Like bein’ able to have my dick buried inside you at all times?” he mumbled, continuing to stroke himself and watch you through hooded eyes, “I bet you can’t wait to cum all over it, can you?”

His words just made you whimper, encouraging you to slide up and down the toy, “Feels so good, Joel,” you leak more arousal onto the sheets below, “Love your dick so much.”

A guttural groan comes from Joel’s throat, his hips jerking involuntarily as if he was following the motion of the toy inside you. “Don’t I know it, baby,” he reaches out with his free hand, trailing his thick fingers over your thigh. “Keep goin’, work that thing in and out of ya. Show me how much you love having my cock inside of you.”

Before having sex with Joel, you didn’t think it was possible to cum in under five minutes. Now, even with a fake version of his dick, you already felt your stomach getting tighter. “So deep,” you moan out, “‘M gonna cum, Joel.”

As your climax began consuming you, Joel surged forward and planted two beefy hands on your hips, pulling you down onto the toy. The lewd squelch of your pussy gripping onto the mold filled the room, punctuated by your moans growing in pitch and Joel’s words of praise.

“That’s it, cum for me,” he grumbles. “Let go, baby, Give that thing everything you got.

His grip on your hips tighten, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he helped you piston up and down. The toy plunged in and out of your dripping cunt, making you whimper loudly as you gushed around it. Joel tugged you down, hard, one final time as he held you in place and grinded you against the base of the dildo.

As you rode out the aftershocks, Joel held your shaking form against his body and stroked your hand gently, shushing you as you came down from your high.

“Will you fuck me now?”

Joel breathed out exasperatedly. “First, you make me sit through having my dick turned into a sex toy, and now you’re askin’ to fuck me after cumming on said sex toy?” Despite his shock, Joel knew he wanted to give your body as many orgasms as it could handle. He eyes his own crotch, knowing he was still hard.

“I suppose I should give you somethin’ in return for that performance…” he trailed off before grabbing your body as if it weighed nothing and laid back on the bed, sitting up against the headboard. “Come on, up ya go. Show me what you’ve got.”

You smile breathlessly, still feeling your walls twitch and clench around nothing. You throw your legs over his waist and sit right over his cock.

Joel slides his hands up your thighs to your hips, grasping them and sliding you onto his tip. “Fuck, baby, you’re so wet,” your previous orgasm still drips from between your thighs. His hands moved to grip your ass cheeks, pushing you to sink down. You both gasped and groaned as you took his length in, Joel thrusting up to meet your downward motion.

“That’s it, honey,” he encouraged, “Use me however you want. Jus’ don’t stop.”

He loses himself in the feeling of you bouncing above him, the weight of your breasts pushing against his chest and your moans like a bird song to his ears. You whimper and rest your hands on his strong shoulders, finally having his dick back in you after fucking the replica. Nothing is better than the real thing.

“Love your cock so much, Joel. So perfect for me,” you praise him mindlessly, letting your horny brain do all the talking as his dick filled every space inside your pussy.

He slid his hands up your torso while you rode him, letting his thumbs hike your shirt up to reveal your breasts. He moved one hand down to steady your hip, and used his other to reach for your tits, taking turns to palm each of them softly. “You are so fuckin’ sexy like this,” he groaned out, “Can’t believe I get to call this body mine.”

Your moans turn into full on whines, letting Joel consume you entirely as your second orgasm began forming. You rolled your hips downwards, letting his dick fill you as deep as it could as your slick walks gripped him tightly.

“I’m cumming again, Joel,” you warn, sliding up and down. Despite your words, Joel makes no move to stop you, his body surrendering to yours.

“Go ahead, baby, get it nice and wet for me,” he murmurs, his voice thick and heavy with desire. You comply as Joel moves his hand from your breast to your clit, rubbing circles on it with his fingers. You clench around him before your ears start to ring, finishing with loud whimpers.

With renewed urgency, Joel grips your hips and bucks up into you, the force of his thrusts rocking your body and making the bed creak. His balls draw up tight against you, and with a powerful thrust, he buries his face into your neck and lets out grunts into your ear. You feel him cumming inside of you, feel it spilling out of you as he gives slower thrusts. Your tiny whimpers of satisfaction fill the room as he pants, wrapping his arms fully around your torso and bringing you with him down against the bed. He feels something nudging his back, but he ignores it as you move over to nuzzle into his chest.

The both of you catch your breath together, basking in contentedness and the warmth of each other’s sweaty bodies.

Suddenly, Joel’s body jolts up when he hears a blood curdling scream coming from beside him on the bed.

“YOU LAID ON MY DILDO!”

[hansoeii]

I can excuse a lot when it comes to Doctor Who. But jesus christ, what was that?!? You have the incredible Ncuti Gatwa right there, and you just waste it???? I'm genuinely just so incredibly sad over this. I absolutely ADORE Ncuti Gatwa in this role, but my god, this writing is just...so bad. He didn't even get to face a dalek, cybermen, or the master!!! What is this!! All the incredible stories you could've written, but instead, you do this. You have your first black and very openly queer doctor right there, and you do nothing with it. The stories we could've gotten!!! The potential!!! I'm so SAD.

This show really needs to step away from Disney and start completely fresh. RTD needs to step down and give room for someone else. Someone with new, fun ideas that don't involve any kind of nostalgia bait. We need another fresh face as the Doctor, new writers, and a whole new team in general. I didn't mind the whole bigeneration and loved the specials with David Tennant, but having Ncuti Gatwa sandwiched between both David Tennant and now Billie Piper just feels incredibly rude to me. He's completely overshadowed when he's literally such an incredible Doctor.

I know that most of this mess is likely due to issues behind the scenes. The ratings were incredibly low, and disney didn't want to renew, so Ncuti Gatwa didn't want to be stuck in a limbo and potentially say no to bigger opportunities simply because he had to be the Doctor. And I totally understand him, I would've done the same. But all this could've been avoided if they simply just wrote better episodes from the beginning. They promised these seasons would be a fresh start, something easy to get into as a new fan, and that simply just wasn't the case at all. RTD is way too stuck in the past and way too focused on all these grand, big reveals that no one actually cared about, and that didn't even get resolved in the end. All we wanted were some fun, silly adventures with the Doctor and his companions. We didn't need the Disney budget and all these big villains. All we need is some fun characters with great chemistry. Throw some Daleks and some more silly aliens in there, and we're good. Why give us Sutekh, the Rani, and Omega in there all at once when you don't even have a solid script to justify it?? Just go with the classics and actually make it easier for new viewers like you promised! It's just all incredibly sad to me. So much wasted potential. I was so hopeful when Ncuti Gatwa was announced, and I'm so disappointed that this is how his run ends. He deserved so much more. I hope he knows how beloved he is in this role and I do hope we see him again in some way once this mess is resolved.

[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.

[neroushalvaus]

Tumblr in the 60s

☮ monkeewholock follow

🎉🎉CONGRATULATIONS UNITED KINGDOM 🎊🎊🎉🎉🎉🎉BYE BYE GROSS INDECENCY!!!!🌈🌈🌈 62 countries have now legalized sexual activities between men🌈🌈🌈

🐞 homophilespock follow

SPIRK CAN FINALLY FUCK

🚀 starrfleet follow

They are American, not British... But I'm pretty sure spirk has always been able to fuck since the show is set in the future.

📻 lesbianbobdylan follow

Christ, this is not about your cutesy uwu yaoi otp, go outside and smoke some grass

10,8 t. notes

🌻 flowerpower follow

Politicians are not your friends but damn Kennedy is fine, I look at one (1) picture of him and my head literally explodes

🌻 flowerpower follow

...i just woke up, why is my askbox full

🌻 flowerpower follow

WHY IS HE TRENDING I'M SCARED

🌻 flowerpower follow

guys stop reblogging this it's been like five years i've changed

290,9 t. notes

🎹 nixonsafascist follow

do you think they call him little richard because he has a little. Richard

🎹 nixonsafascist follow

easy website

58,1 t. notes

🇻🇳 shirellesofficial follow

Being the only lesbian in your friend group sucks so bad. "beatles or stones??" i will kill you

🗣 lavendermenaceisreal-deactivated72537262

Disrespecting female social groups for male validation? Typical lesbian behaviour.

🇻🇳 shirellesofficial follow

Mike Jacker isnt gonna fuck you

🇻🇳 shirellesofficial follow

Oh no I think she couldn't handle that

77 notes

✌ draftdodgerdyke

DM me for the addresses of my Swedish and Canadian friends. Do not put your personal information in the reblogs.

🙍‍♀️ silvermilk follow

You should be ashamed of yourself.

✌ draftdodgerdyke

huh??

🙍‍♀️ silvermilk follow

I said, you should be ashamed of yourself. You disgust me. I assure you, when the commies attack us, you will not find your silly little post "groovy" anymore.

✌ draftdodgerdyke

Jesus, don't flip your wig

🙍‍♀️ silvermilk follow

My father fought in ww2 for you ungrateful degenerate.

✌ draftdodgerdyke

Don't see what your daddy's unsexiness has to do with me and my lads taking a sexy sexy trip to Sweden.

#anyway only hot guys dodge the draft

587 notes

🪕 prostitutesandlesbians follow

in every interview i watch of the beatles they are so DONE and trolling everybody, these fucking annoying BITCHES, i need them inside me so badly

🪕 prostitutesandlesbians follow

#this but not john lennon #i just can't forget the heinous things he said about jesus

idk I actually think it was very sexy of him, stop trying to cancel john in my post

✝️ jesusrevolution follow

The reading comprehension on this website is piss poor. John literally didn't mean he was greater than Jesus or better than Jesus, he was just trying to make a point about the world becoming more secular. Cancel culture has gone too far.

🚷 to-hell-with-the-beatles follow

How dare you say we piss on the poor?? Jesus died for Mr Lennon's sins and it's not "cancelling" to send him a few respectably worded death threats to remind him of that. He cancelled our Lord first!

✝️ jesusrevolution follow

Girl Jesus literally said it's cool, I dropped acid yesterday and saw Him and He told me.

🪕 prostitutesandlesbians follow

help the girls (christians) are fighting in my beatles thirst post

6,008 notes

🛼 donovandyke follow

I will be glued to the tv today. If you don't want to hear about it, just blacklist #moonlanding !!

0 notes

🗣 claudeberger4ever-deactivated98975287

Hi I'm new to the Hair musical fandom so I'm not super invested in the whole discourse, but I just felt like this needed to be said: Friendly reminder that not being against the war in Vietnam does not make you a bad person!

🥁 ringoforpresident follow

it literally does tho

✌ draftdodgerdyke

Another win for us hot guys

17,2 t. notes