❥ you and ryan take any opportunity to have some fun, even if it’s in the hotel room he’s sharing with his friend.
tags. friends with benefits, heavy petting, slight exhibitionism, blowjob, bathroom sex, cumshot, facial, dirty talk, name calling, degradation, i’m sorry roman (not really)
wc. 4.3k
hope it was worth the wait bc i lost my mind & the plot a little bit
You stare at the cards in your hand and then glance at the pile of cards splayed across the white sheets of the hotel bed, noting the one at the top.
“It’s your turn,” Roman points out helpfully, like you haven’t been playing the same round for the past 30 minutes. You cast him an annoyed glance, placing your card of choice on top—a draw 4.
Initially, you didn’t want to play, but Roman insisted you join in while Nate, Jonah, and Hollis were out getting more snacks. Even then, you still didn’t want to play because you knew how competitive he got. But when Ryan chimed in, saying, “It would be more fun if you played with us,” you caved, and now you’re on an impressive losing streak while Roman and Ryan duel it out.
You watch as Roman’s face falls, and he groans, “Are you fucking serious?”
“Yeah, I got more if you keep complaining,” you reply. You were pretty sure you had half of the deck in your hand with a variety of draw 2’s and skip turns, whereas both of them only had one card in their hand for most of the game. Uno was not supposed to be this drawn out amongst three people, but for some reason, neither of them wanted to call it quits, and as a result, you were on the receiving end of draw 4 chains that you may or may not have started.
Ryan bites back a laugh as Roman begrudgingly picks up four more cards from the rather depleted deck, a scowl on his face.
“You have to pick a colour too,” Roman scoffs. You ignore the hint of condescension in his tone, staring at the numerous cards in your hand for a moment. It didn’t matter which colour you chose, because you had at least 3 cards with it.
“Um, blue,” you say, glancing at Ryan. There’s a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. You knew for a fact that he had a blue card. You were staring at him too hard for the past half hour not to notice. You probably could’ve caught a glimpse of his card in the reflection of his light eyes from how hard you were staring at him.
You’d be lying if you said it was for strategic purposes. No, Ryan looked good, leaning lazily against the headboard of the hotel bed with a pillow on his lap. He was shirtless—of course, he was. Not that you were complaining. It was late, and you all were winding down from the day. He was probably gonna go to bed after this, and if you were lucky enough, with you.
However, your ogling had given you an advantage. After a couple of rounds, you had managed to figure out what card he had. You would even go as far as to say you enjoyed collecting 12 cards from the deck because of the teasing grin he’d give you when he placed an additional draw 4 card to the chain you started.
That had to be some sick sort of masochism. It left you flustered—his smile and the way he’d laugh, mockingly apologizing for fucking you over. You were losing your mind over a fucking card game. You were glad it was almost over.
“Suck my dick,” Ryan taunts, tossing the blue card on the messy pile of cards at the centre of the bed.
Roman looked pissed from where he sat near the edge of the bed, but you were grateful. Despite the look he gave you, you couldn’t blame him. You did throw the entire game, so you didn’t have to sit there and collect more cards. It was a coincidence that Ryan won and not him.
“Good game,” you say, attempting to lighten the mood.
“You’re cheating. Both of you,” Roman accuses. “You two were teaming.”
“What?” you say, baffled at his words. You couldn’t be too shocked, though. You knew Roman would do everything but accept the fact that he lost.
“Bro, it’s Uno,” Ryan says. His grin widens when Roman rolls his eyes at both of you.
“You two were eyeing each other like crazy. I know y’all have it out for me.”
You were embarrassed that Roman, of all people, noticed that. You collect all the Uno cards that were messily sprawled on the bed, refusing to acknowledge the truth. It’s not like you and Ryan drew up a scheme to ensure Roman’s downfall. It was all coincidental.
“You swear you’re like a god at Uno or some shit. You fucking suck,” Ryan continues to gloat.
It was hot, you thought shamefully. The confidence oozed with each word he said as he leaned back on the pillows piled up behind him, his hips tilting upwards for a brief moment as he situated himself more comfortably. He didn’t give a fuck.
Roman flips him off and gets up off the mattress. In response, Ryan tosses the pillow that was on his lap at Roman, which, after colliding with him, falls to the floor. Roman glares at Ryan, then turns his attention to you, calling your name.
You glance up at him from where he stands at the foot of the bed. “Don’t act all innocent. I only lost ‘cause you were helping out your boyfriend.”
You tense at Ryan being referred to as your boyfriend. You weren’t exactly together, and you definitely wouldn’t call him your boyfriend, but you felt a fluttering in your abdomen at Roman’s claim. It could be anxiety—you didn’t want your arrangement to be perceived as a relationship or at all. You two were just friends. Or maybe it was the exact opposite. You wanted him to be your boyfriend.
You meet Ryan’s gaze. His smile didn’t falter at the term. Noticing would be admitting, so you shrugged off Roman’s mocking words, scoffing, “Or maybe you lost ‘cause you fucking suck.”
“You guys fucking suck,” Roman huffs out in weak retaliation.
Ryan is still smirking, and you’re too busy stuffing the cards back into the beat-up box to entertain him. He walks away, trying to get as far away from both of you as possible. Well, as far as the hotel room would allow him. Roman was sharing a room with Ryan, yet he was forced to sit in the corner of the room after his friends bullied him for losing.
“He’s such a sore loser,” you joke. Roman was on his phone, seated in the chair on the opposite end of the room, clearly not interested in either of you.
“He always gets like that when he loses,” Ryan agrees.
“We’re kinda being unfair. I had way more cards.” You felt somewhat guilty that you played the game in Ryan’s favour, but you didn’t want to sit through another round of nothing. You were definitely the loser by definition.
“Yeah, but you’re not being a big baby about it,” he said loud enough for Roman to hear, but he maintains his facade of indifference.
You sit next to him, back pressed to the headboard. There’s enough space between you both, yet you long to sit closer to him, to feel his body heat radiating off him. Close enough to smell his cologne in a way friends typically don’t do.
“Roman’s right. You were eyeing me like crazy,” Ryan whispers. The room is not big, and he definitely doesn’t want Roman listening to your conversation, so his voice is hushed as if you’re both spilling secrets. You use it as an excuse to shift closer to him.
“It’s part of the game,” you retort. His head rests on the headboard, and his gaze lingers on you. He sees right through your bullshit, a grin on his face. The same grin that hadn’t left his face since he won.
“Part of the game is eye fucking me? What kind of house rules you play by?”
Caught off guard by his words, your eyes widen in shock. Your face burns at his words, and you sputter, “I wasn’t eye fucking you.”
“Mhm, right,” he agrees, humming mockingly.
“I swear, I was admiring your insane skills. You should definitely go pro,” you say, brushing it off like it was a joke.
“Yeah? Did my Uno skills get you wet?” He teases. “That’s why you’ve been staring so hard.”
You scoff at his words. You hate to admit there was some truth to his claim—you could give less of a fuck about Uno, but he was infuriatingly sexy when he got smug.
“You wish.”
The tension between the two of you was palpable. His eyes flicker down to your lips, then back up once more to meet your gaze, and your heart skips a beat. You were starting to get nervous. Subtly, you try to wipe your clammy palms on your sweatshirt—the sweatshirt you stole from him.
“C’mon, don’t you think I deserve a prize for winning?” He asks.
“What kind of prize?” You question, quirking your brow in curiosity.
You had an inkling of what kind of reward Ryan wanted. Your hand moves between both of you, resting on his thigh. You were playing it safe, trying to gauge his reaction. His lips part in surprise, but then his warm palm presses to the back of your hand, a stark contrast to the cold room. With his hand, he guides you closer to his crotch.
“Stop playing,” he whispers, his eyes focused on his hand on yours. His hand, which was larger than yours, was delicately wrapped around your hand, daring you to take what you want—and give him what he wanted.
Ryan groans quietly when you palm him through his shorts. He tilts his head back onto the headboard, exposing his neck. He swallows his moans as you stroke him, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His hand, which previously rested on yours, grasps your upper thigh. Blunt nails dig into the soft skin of your inner thigh, attempting to ground himself while simultaneously drawing you in.
You position yourself closer to him, so close you can feel the body warmth radiating off him, pulling you in even further, like a moth to a flame. There was an obvious outline of his painfully hard length through the thin, black fabric of his shorts, and a damp patch in the cloth where the head of his cock leaked precum.
You two had barely done anything since Hollis was on tour. Every corner turned, someone was there, and neither of you wanted to raise suspicion that something was going on between you both. You two were always together, but it was never enough. It had been far too fucking long since you touched him like this. The accumulation of platonic touches that weren’t so platonic and not-so-subtle glances shared between you two was finally breaking the dam.
Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, silencing your own sounds as you focus on his expression, because he looked so good for you.
Ryan is a mess, plush lips parted as he lets out quiet sighs, and his hips gently bucking into your hold. The sight has you squeezing your thighs together, trapping his thick fingers in the process as you try to quell the dull ache in your core. You can’t help but whimper quietly, “Can you feel how wet I am for you?”
“Wait, fuck, not here,” Ryan mumbles, his chest heaving slightly. Because he can feel how needy you are for him, the heat radiating off your clothed cunt, aching to be played with. Any longer and he would make a mess on the front of his shorts.
His hand slips free from its imprisonment, sandwiched between your thighs, to grasp at your wrist, stopping your movement reluctantly. You stare at him in confusion, eyes wide blown with lust. He motions over to Roman. Too caught up in giving Ryan his well-deserved reward, you forgot about Roman, sitting in the corner of the room, probably losing a game in Clash Royale.
You move away from Ryan, creating enough distance between you both. Your face is warm—from desire or embarrassment, you can’t decipher. You take a quick glimpse at where Roman sat, still lost in his phone with a frown on his face. Thankfully, he didn’t witness the heavy petting.
Staring into the distance, lost in thought, you anxiously play with the sleeves of your sweatshirt. You’re grateful for Roman’s ability to hold a grudge. You didn’t want to think about how he’d react if he did catch you. Your emotions were conflicting. You felt guilty, yet you didn’t want to stop.
Ryan is lost in thought, too, as he adjusts his shorts, a faint hiss escaping his lips. A couple of minutes have passed, and his erection is still achingly hard. His head falls back onto the headboard with a thump as he tries to ignore it. His fingers were idly playing with the drawstrings of his shorts.
The silence was drawn out as the weight of the situation failed to rest on both of you. Only the shred of dignity that continues to strip away when you’re in close proximity to Ryan prevented you from finishing what you started.
“You know, I was thinking of a kiss as a reward,” he whispers. His voice is still breathy as it cuts through the silence. You turn your head to face him once more. He continues, “Jerking me off was better, though.”
Your eyes flicker to his lips, then back to his eyes. His eyes, which were usually as blue as the sky, are overcast with desire. His pupils were dilated, taking in more light, taking in more of you. Ryan leans in close. You can feel his lips brushing against yours, but you tilt your head away. An exasperated sigh from him kisses your cheek instead, and a smirk tugs at the corner of your lips.
“You’ll grope my dick but pass up on a kiss?” He scoffs, crossing his arms over his bare chest.
“No, you’re right, Roman’s nearby,” You justify.
“Now you care,” he says. Honestly, you didn’t really care. You enjoyed teasing him. The annoyed look he’d give you with the slight pout of his lips was worth it. If anything, it made you want to kiss him even more.
You get up from the bed, smoothing out your clothes in an almost comical manner. Ryan’s eyes linger on your form with each movement you make, his brows furrowing in confusion.
“Where you goin’?” Ryan asks hurriedly, failing to hide his disappointment.
“I’m gonna give you your prize, silly.” An innocent smile graces your lips, betraying your true intention. You add, “I mean, if you want it.”
You outstretch your hand towards him as an offering, and without hesitation, Ryan intertwines his fingers with yours. You tug his arm, and he rises from his spot on the bed. He trails behind you eagerly, like a trained puppy following its owner. Roman doesn't bother to spare you two a glance as you disappear down the hall.
You don’t waste time when you enter the hotel’s bathroom. Once you ensure the door is locked, you’re pouncing on him as if you were a starved animal and he was your prey. From the way you were staring at him earlier, it wouldn’t be far off. You’ve been dying for a taste of him. It’s been 72 hours without him touching you the way you want him to, and it’d be okay if the fucker wasn’t such a tease.
With his back pressed to the edge of the sink’s counter, you have him exactly where you wanted him—cornered and anticipating your next move. Ryan cuts it short by wrapping one of his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him as he kisses you. His plush lips move in time with yours, both hungry, and it doesn’t help that you can taste the sugar crystals on his lips that were left behind from the sour patch kids he was previously snacking on.
His hand trails along the curve of your back down to grope at your ass, and you part from his lips with a quiet gasp. His erection rubs against your tummy. He’s still hard from you stroking his cock through his shorts.
“So, what’s my prize, baby?” Ryan questions. His lips, pink and swollen from kissing, brush against yours, eagerly awaiting your reply.
“I thought you wanted a kiss,” you reply. Your hand moves between you and him, twirling with the drawstring off his shorts, contradicting your words.
“I know you didn’t drag me to the bathroom for a kiss,” he mumbles. You were so easy to read when it came to him; you love and hate it.
Instead of giving him a verbal response, you kiss his jaw, and his breath hitches as your lips then press against the column of his throat. Your nose grazes his skin as you continue further down, and you can smell the faint scent of his cologne clinging to him. Who the hell wears cologne to bed?
Your pecks lead from his chest to his abdomen. As you get lower, you purposely press wet kisses on his skin that leave with a loud, exaggerated sound. His abs tense under your lips, and his back digs into the counter. You peer up from your spot on the floor, on your knees, only to find Ryan admiring you already.
“You’re so pretty for me,” he mutters. His hand reaches out to tuck the strands of hair that obscure your face behind your ear.
His compliment and gentle touch add fuel to the fire burning inside you. You shift from your spot on the floor, subtly attempting to alleviate your need. Your knees dig uncomfortably into the cool tiled floor. You focus your gaze ahead, fingers fumbling with the waistband of his shorts.
You tug them low, not enough to free his dick, but low enough to showcase more of the sparse hairs that trail from his belly button down into his shorts. You meet his eyes as you drag your tongue on his skin above the waistband to below his navel. A path of saliva that clings to the coarse hairs, and you can taste the salt on his skin.
“Oh fuck,” Ryan groans. He swears his legs were about to give out, his hands reaching behind him to stablize himself on the sink’s countertop.
His cock throbs within the confines of his shorts. Whatever blood that didn’t rush to his dick settled under his skin, burning warm, and tinting his cheeks faintly pink.
You kiss his cock head through the thin material. It weeps for you to take his length out of his shorts, the front blotted with precum, leaving a dark stain in the black fabric. He’s whining too as you lap at him, only the thin piece of cloth separating you. Low moans escape his parted lips that leave your pussy dripping.
You finally pull his shorts down, exposing his cock to the cool air of the fancy hotel bathroom. You admire his length, standing tall for you. Veins that you’ve memorized with your tongue, trail along his tan shaft to its red, almost purplish tip, which leaked precum. Your eyes flicker from his flushed head to his gaze, your lips merely inches apart from his leaking tip.
It wouldn’t be the first time you both snuck out to do something like this. It’s a miracle no one has caught you two yet. Ryan peers down at you in anticipation. His biceps flex as his grip tightens on the marble surface.
Your hand wraps around him, and your tongue flattens on the head of his cock, savouring the taste of him oozing precum—bitter yet so addicting. You’ve been yearning for a taste of him, literally or not; you’re in heaven. You move to the underside of his cock, the veins along him throbbing on your tongue. You’ve made it a point to hold his gaze the entire time, eyes lidded as you pepper sloppy kisses along his length.
Ryan can barely reciprocate the eye contact, his eyes squeezing shut from the pleasure. A loud groan escapes him as you wrap your lips around his tip. Your tongue nudges at his frenulum, and he lets out a higher-pitched whine than he meant to. All the sounds he accidentally slips while trying to maintain composure go straight to your sopping cunt. You’ve soaked through your underwear at this point, and arousal seeps through onto your sleep shorts.
He’s barely even touched you, only a brief kiss and some groping, yet you’re slipping your free hand between your thighs, failing to ease the ache as you rub your clit through your clothes. Your movement is messy and uncoordinated—a half-hearted attempt to stop the overbearing need pooling in your belly.
His lashes flutter open, and you lock eyes again. You know how debauched you look, on your knees, touching yourself while slurping on his dick like he’s your favourite flavour.
“You’re such a slut for me,” Ryan groans. His hand moves to hold the back of your head gently, and you swear he’s petting your hair. “Fuuuck, baby, you look so dumb when you touch yourself while sucking me off. My pretty slut’s gettin’ drunk off my cock.”
You moan around him, and he bites back a groan of his own. Ryan’s voice was dripping with condescension and pure lust. It makes you even wetter, but you’re not even playing with your sensitive nub anymore, too focused on him. Both of your hands shift to grip his bunched-up shorts around his thighs.
Your cheeks are hollow, and your swollen lips stretch around him as you take more of his fat cock deeper. Spit accumulates at the corner of your lips, dripping down your chin as his cock rests heavy on your tongue. His hips rock in shallow thrusts, and a wet gag escapes you as the dull mushroomy tip of his cock nudges at the back of your throat while the hair at the base of his cock tickles your nose.
You’re distracted by the noise outside. The sound of the hotel door opening and the rest of the guys entering, laughing about something, is barely heard from the bathroom, but it’s loud enough for you to be on edge. Hollis calls your name, then questions Roman, “Where are they? I got those nasty ass candy they like.”
“No idea,” Roman replies.
“Shit,” Ryan gasps. Your attention is focused back on him. “We should stop.”
You try to do as he says, pulling away from him, but he urges you to take him further despite his words. His hand buries into your scalp, and the tattoo on Ryan’s arm contorts with his muscles as his other hand, which grips the counter, tightens. You comply because the expression on his face was just as blissful as your own. He gazes down at you with lidded eyes, thick eyebrows drawn together, and plush lips parted as he lets out quiet breaths.
The guys continue to chat, with Nate asking, “Yo, wanna play some Uno?” and Roman responding, “Fuck no.”
But the noise disappears into the background as he fucks your mouth. Your jaw is aching, and your knees are probably going to be bruised after this, but it was all worth it. There was a high possibility that someone might figure out what you and Ryan were up to. You two weren’t exactly discreet. If both of you were missing at the same time, and the bathroom door was locked with strange noises emitting, you wouldn’t fault anyone for jumping to conclusions.
Ryan guides you off him, and thick strands of saliva break as you part from his cock. His length is coated with a layer of sheen from spit.
“Stick your tongue out,” Ryan instructs.
You obey without hesitation, jaw slackening as you stick your tongue out. Your lashes were clumped together from tears, and your parted lips were swollen and glossy.
“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Ryan whispers. He uses the remnant of saliva on his cock as lube as he strokes his cock. “Not a thought behind those eyes, huh?”
“Say ‘ahhh’,” he mocks.
He comes undone with a quiet groan. Thick spurts of cum land on your tongue and on your cheek. Instinctively, your eyes flutter shut as the warm fluid continues to spill out of his spent cock. You gasp when he slaps the tip of his softening dick onto your tongue, and your eyes open to meet his gaze once more.
He’s still grinning cockily—it’s like it never left since the night started. He shifts away from you, his cock slipping away from your mouth and back into his shorts. You swallow the cum on your tongue, savouring the taste of him. You wipe off the mess on your face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.
“Seriously? You had to get that shit all over my clothes?”
You stand up from your spot on the floor with wobbly knees, and you’re face-to-face for the first time in a while. You scoff, “You got it all over my face first.”
You lean forward, trying to steal a kiss from him, but he pulls away. “I’m not kissing you with cum all over your face.”
“You’re so boring,” you pout.
Ryan moves away from the sink, and you take in your appearance in the mirror. You look thoroughly fucked; your hair was dishevelled, your lips swollen, and there was still cum and spit clinging to your skin. You meet Ryan’s gaze in the reflection, and he’s smiling, proud of himself.
You turn the water on, washing your face clean of any sign of bodily fluids. When you’re done, you take one more glance at the mirror, hoping that you look at least somewhat presentable. You can feel Ryan’s eye burning into the side of your face.
Tilting your head, you meet his gaze, and he’s leaning against the sink’s counter.
“What?”
Ryan leans forward and captures your lips with his, tasting himself on your tongue. His arms wrap around your waist as he pulls you closer to him. Parting from you, he licks his lips, savouring the taste of you.
“I don’t want the rest of the guys to see you like this.”
summary: homelander has taken an interest in you, vought's new intern. no matter how you look at it, as a good or bad thing, it ends the same way: him getting what he wants.
cw: nsfw (18+), smut, dubcon, p in v, oral (m receiving), body worship, sir kink, obsessive behavior, manipulation/coercion, age gap (reader in early 20s)
wc: 7.7k (oops lol)
a/n: hehe. never thought i would write for this man but it was pretty fun :) comm for my sweet beloved @gor3-hound love you so very much mwah mwah <33
At the junction of the V-shaped table, Homelander sat. With his back to the skyline and his gloved hands folded in front of him, he held the posture of a statue. Ashley had been rambling on and on and fucking on for the past five minutes about shit he couldn't care less about. Her nasally voice bounced off the tile floors and painted ceiling, ricocheting around him like a rogue bullet. Only his impregnable skin didn't protect him from the discomfort of this situation.
It was moments like these that really made him regret killing Stillwell.
That woman knew how to handle things. As manipulative as she could be, at least she wasn't absolutely insufferable. How could Stan let Ashley replace her? She was a poor excuse of just about everything. Absolutely spineless, unintelligent, reactionary, and opportunistic. He really couldn't picture any person on this Earth genuinely liking her.
However in the midst of his mental complaints, he realized that the annoying sound of her speaking was directed at him. All the other stares in the room were zeroed in on him too. A-Train observed in cautious silence. Noir's goggles reflected Homelander's own image right back at him. Maeve judged with a sideways glance. And Starlight prepared for the worst.
He tore his own bright blue eyes from the door opposite the table and refocused them on Ashley. They scanned over her thinning ginger locks down to her gaudy outfit - a piss poor attempt at imitating power.
"What?" he asked, his voice cutting through the air with a force similar to one of Maeve's swords.
Ashley blinked in return. Fear swirled in her wide eyes. She tried to maintain that empowered appearance she so desperately wished was real, but he could see the innate urge to cower bubbling within her.
"Was that lineup for the funeral ok with you, Homelander? A-Train and Noir open, Starlight sings, and then you close?" she repeated.
Now it was his turn to blink. Like he could actually give a shit about the order of segments for Translucent's funeral. He swallowed hard. While she projected a mirage of power, he had to do the same with level-headedness.
"That's fine, Ashley. Have those two go first, and Starlight can follow up with Amazing Grace or whatever shitty hymns they teach in that hick town she's from, and then I can finish us out," he responded.
He could see how her knuckles were going white around the edge of her clipboard. She gripped it for comfort, as if that could save her from his potential wrath. It only irritated him more. If he wanted her dead, he would turn her to ashes where she stood. How hard she braced herself in advance wouldn't matter in the slightest. But people could be so foolish in moments of terror.
"Well speaking of that," she said before clearing her throat, an attempt at a natural transition, "We were trying to decide what song she would sing. Maybe one of our originals? Or do you think it would be more tasteful to go with something from an outside source?"
Gritting his teeth, he buried the urge to unleash the bright beams of red from his sockets. His hands slid off one another and pressed down onto the cool table.
"Do you really need me to decide what song is going to send Translucent to the grave?" he replied, "I don't care what you play, and no one else attending will either. They'll be focused on working up some tears for the useless dipshit they never had the displeasure of knowing. Instead of trying to gain their approval, we should be working on finding the next member of the Seven who can replace him. There's no use dwelling on the past. We need to be preparing for the future."
He paused to let his words permeate the room, giving everyone a chance to absorb the sentiment and adapt accordingly. With his pupils still trained on Ashley, he planned on continuing his tirade, but his train of thought came to an abrupt halt.
Soft pitter-patters of footsteps clacked down the hall outside this room. They sounded in a delicate rhythm, only audible to him. As they grew louder, he caught the scent of the source too. Airy and light. A stark contrast to the brash perfume Ashley doused herself in.
The doors at the front of the room slid apart to reveal you.
You stood there for a moment. The realization that you'd interrupted something was visible in your eyes. The small spheres cast down as you wobbled in like a fawn that sensed wolves watching from nearby.
Ashley turned to face you, a glower already set on her features. The resentment she held for everyone else in this building awoke from its usual dormant slumber because there was finally someone weaker she could take it out on.
Once you reached her, your hand rose and gave her a thin stack of papers.
"I'm sorry for interrupting. It's a memo from 82. They made it sound urgent," you explained, everything about your temperament meek and timid.
After a brief pause to let you marinate in the few moments before your inevitable humiliation, she snatched the papers from you. Her eyes roamed over the page with disinterest. Even if the information conveyed by the small black letters was important, he doubted she would give it any reaction. She wanted to lash out, and she was going to, whether it was justified or not.
"They couldn't have emailed me this?" she snapped, as if that was something you could control.
"I don't know. I'm sorry. I'll check next time," you offered.
"You better or you'll run out of next times," she threatened, "Incompetence like this won't fly here. You're in the big leagues now, so act like it. Think before you do something instead of taking commands like a lap dog."
"I'm sorry," you replied, ducking your head again.
"Don't be sorry, just do better," she commanded.
"I will," you agreed.
"Good. Just get out of here now. Go pick up my lunch," she told you.
His lips curled into a scowl as he watched the scene play out. It was pathetic - not you, but Ashley. He hated seeing the fucking smirk on her face as you walked away. She had nothing to be smug about. She was nothing more than a feral coyote going after the scraps the other predators didn't take.
To make matters worse, when she returned her attention to the group at the table, she saw the look on his face. She saw the disdain, but instead of striking regret into her, it only deepened her sense of self-satisfaction.
She thought the look was for you. That he was disgusted with your mistake. Annoyed with your intrusion.
He couldn't have that. Not when that assumption was the farthest thing from the truth. Honestly, he didn't know if he was even capable of feeling such ire towards you. Not his precious little fawn.
Rising from his seat, his glare remained on Ashley. She did show a little fear then.
"You know, I don't have all day, Ashley. I'll open Translucent's funeral, Starlight will follow up with a song, and that will be it. A-Train and Noir can have the day off, because let's be honest, nobody will give shit either way," he mocked.
"But, sir-" she said, clearly confused by his sudden impending departure.
"I have more important things to deal with. If you need anything else, I'm sure one of the others can help you," he dismissed.
With that, he stepped back from the table and began heading to the doors. He hoped if he was fast enough he could still catch you. Even in a building as sleek and modern as this one, the elevators could be quite slow.
Walking out into the hall, his head swiveled in the direction you would have gone. For once, his own portrait didn't catch his eye. He didn't even think about stopping by Stillwell's office to reminisce. Instead, he just headed down towards the elevator. His red boots thudded across smooth tile in rapid succession, covering the path you'd just taken.
Finally, after a few feet, he spotted you. Bottom lip pulled between your teeth. Eyes glossy with embarrassment. Tip of your polished shoe tapping against the ground. You startled when his voice boomed across the space, calling out your name. So cute.
You looked at him with fear in your eyes, but disgust didn't fester in the pit of his stomach like it did when others gave him that anxious stare. Another feeling bloomed inside him, one he couldn't really place. It was just that the nervous gleam over your pupils didn't make him hate himself and all the circumstances of his life that put him in his position.
Instead, your wide eyes and pouty lips made him feel strong. You made him feel like a hero. A real one, not the artificial caricature that Vought projected to the world. With you nearby, he felt like the kind of guy who deserved the American flag blowing off his back with a pretty girl cradled in his arms and a dead enemy at his feet. When you gazed up at him, he could only imagine that the pride rushing through his chest and confidence pooling between his hips was the feeling his creators intended for him.
"Did you need something from me, sir?" you asked, reminding him that he actually had to provide a reason to talk to you. Just wanting to stare at you like a psychopath would not suffice unfortunately.
"Oh no," he waved off, "The meeting just finished up. I was heading out too. I saw you, and I realized I haven't really taken the time to get to know you yet, which is unfortunate because I usually like to be familiar with the newer people we have working with us."
A complete lie. Before you, he didn't remember ever giving any of the interns a second glance. They were true nuisances. They were Ashleys.
"Oh... well I'm around whenever you wanna talk. Ashley keeps me busy, but I'm sure I could make an exception for you," you replied.
"You absolutely can make an exception for me," he chuckled, "If Ashley gives you any trouble, just let me know, and I'll make sure she remembers who's really in charge around here."
It wasn't until he heard your heart rate increase that he realized those words probably came off as threatening. Well, they were threatening, but you weren't supposed to see him that way.
"I'm kidding," he forced out with a laugh, "Just joking around like I do... I just don't want you to worry about getting in some kind of trouble for me sniffing around you."
You huffed out an awkward laugh of your own and nodded. "I'll be sure to make some time for you in the future then and let Ashley know it was at your direction."
"Great," he said with probably too much enthusiasm.
His jaw clenched into one of his usual tight smiles. He averted his eyes from you and looked towards the numbers on the elevator. Fuck, it was reaching the bottom. He didn't want to let you go, but it wasn't like he could just stroll down the street with you to go get Ashley's lunch. His mind scrambled to come up with a solution.
But like your earlier intrusion into the meeting, your gentle voice cuts through the hurricane forming in his head.
"Are you alright, sir?" you ask, anxious concern written all over your features.
He refocused on you and nodded. His arm extended out behind you, his palm landing against the elevator wall. As he leaned in, he could smell your adrenaline spiking. He could hear the shift of your shoe against the ground. If only he possessed a sixth sense for the mind, so he could know what little thoughts about him were flitting through your head.
"I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me," he answered. He smiled down at you, observing the slight nod you gave him in return.
"Of course not. It probably seems silly coming from me," you said.
His brows raised in amusement. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.
He saw the flash of regret in your eyes. The one people always gave him when he asked a question in that tone. The one that came from the panic of realizing they may have said something that offended Homelander.
You suppressed it pretty well though and brought out a smile that gave the impression that you hoped he was messing with you instead.
"Well you know... because you're you," you said and tilted your head in an innocent way that made his chest ache.
He chuckled that charming, prepackaged laugh that had been trained into him. "Even I can appreciate someone taking an interest in checking on me," he replied.
It was maddening, how bad he wanted you. He wasn't even sure when this craving had sprouted inside him. He had been so preoccupied with his affinity for Stillwell that his fixation with you struck him like a glass window in front of a flying bird. But no matter the timeframe in which it blossomed, it had taken root by now and wasn't going to go away on its own.
When he looked at you like this - staring up at him with earnest fascination - his mind drifted to darker places all on its own. He couldn't stop it if he wanted to (and really, he didn't want to). It's just how was he not supposed to be aware of the fact that it would be all too easy to take you back to his room? How could he not think about what it would feel like to have your fragile body beneath his own in private? How could he not wonder what you'd sound like crying out in a sinful mix of pleasure and pain?
Hell, how was he supposed to pretend like he couldn't just bend you over and fuck you dumb right here in the middle of this elevator if he wanted to? No one would be able to stop him. There wouldn't be a thing they could do other than watch. They could stare in horror as he used you like he deserved, as he pounded into your warm, soft, dripping hole like he needed...
Unfortunately, painting that picture in his head had his blood rushing South. He felt the subtle simmer of desire in his pelvis, and he knew in no time his length would be filling out. This suit gave him no way of hiding it either. Clearly, whoever made it hadn't anticipated the Homelander popping a boner on the job.
But luckily for him, the elevator chimed with its arrival at the bottom floor. He straightened out as you looked ahead in preparation of your departure. But before you could go, he grabbed your arm. His touch was tender, holding the same force he'd use when cradling a baby at a photo-op.
"Maybe later tonight you'd like to take me up on one of those talks? After you're done for the day, you could stop by my place. The sooner the better, right?" he asked.
Your eyes widened ever so slightly, but you still nodded. "Um... sure thing. I'll head up once I've finished all my work. It should be around six if that's ok?" you offered.
"Yeah, that works for me. I'll be waiting," he said in an attempt to be playful.
You smiled once more and then headed out of the elevator. His fingertips dragged down your arm to your wrist as you walked away before you finally slipped from his grasp. He could hear your heart pounding faster than your footsteps as you headed towards the exit of the building.
At six o'clock sharp, a knock sounded through his penthouse. And it only took him a few seconds to swing the door open and greet you.
"There she is," he beamed with exaggerated politeness.
You smiled modestly in return, shrugging and smoothing out a crease in your blouse. "I couldn't let the leader of the seven down," you joked.
He scoffed but opened the door wider, beckoning you into his place. You took the invitation and crossed the threshold. Your eyes glanced around the place, taking note of all the things in the apartment that housed the most powerful man on Earth.
The American flag taking up an entire wall almost stopped you in your tracks. It would've been funny if it was someone else, but because it belonged to him, it stood there like a warning. You tried not to show how daunting you found it. Average people could be touchy about that famous piece of cloth. You didn't want to find out if the strongest supe felt the same through means of offending him.
In place of letting that bother you, you shifted your attention over to all the historical pictures hanging on the walls and the sleek surfaces and drawers filled with things you couldn't begin to imagine. Your eyes casted over the statues accenting the space as well. It was all so very polished. It looked like what you'd expect the Homelander entry in an Ikea catalog to be.
"So what do you think?" he asked. He knew his words came off as stiff. Probably a little stilted sounding. He just couldn't help it. For the first time, he couldn't get a read on how you felt through physical signs alone. And right now, he really really wanted you to like him.
"It's... impressive," you answered.
But he could hear the hesitation in your voice. In each word, there was the same wavering quality to it that you get when Ashley grilled you in front of an audience. It wasn't the precious reverence that he saw in the elevator. The nervous kind of admiration you held for someone above your standing. This was just plain anxiety, and that served no purpose to him.
Despite your trepidation however, you walked forward to the window at the back of the place. You looked out over the city in awe.
"I would love to live somewhere high up like this," you said.
He came up from behind to stand next to you in front of the glass panes. His eyes landed on your face. You stared out the window, wonder twinkling in your eyes. Your voice sounded almost breathless. It was adorable.
"No fear of heights?" he asked.
"Not when it comes to being inside. Maybe I'd be nervous if we were on a balcony or something," you replied.
"Oh come on. You'd have nothing to worry about if you were with me. I'd never let you fall," he said, dropping his voice a few octaves.
You made that cute little face again when those words hit your ears. Your eyes widened before they fell to look at your shoes. So modest, the way you shied away. He wondered if you were always so timid or if it was only when a god amongst men like himself flirted with you.
He chuckled and reached out, tilting your chin back up to look at him. "You don't need to be nervous," he soothed, "There's no safer place to be than with the Homelander, right?"
You nodded right along. His words left no room for objection.
"Good girl," he smirked and dragged a gloved thumb over your cheek. He pulled his hand back and stepped in the direction of the brown leather sectional that sat in the middle of the room.
"Come over here and sit down. We can talk," he directed.
Following him to the large couch, you took your seat near the corner. You assumed he'd sit at the other end or at least towards the middle of the perpendicular cushions, but no. He sat down in the corner with you. His body was at most a foot away.
He continued to smile at you though he didn't speak. It felt odd, sitting there in silence across from him. He wasn't doing anything overtly threatening, yet you still felt at his mercy.
"So, do you like it here so far? Do you feel like you're fitting into the Vought family?" he asked with a bit of an edge to that second word.
You nodded again. A relieved breath seeped from your lungs as the tense void in conversation came to an end. "Yeah, it's nice here. I feel like I'm learning a lot."
He chuckled and leaned back against the stiff backing of the sofa. His muscular arm draped along the top. Though it wasn't his intention to draw your focus there, he caught the way your eyes dragged over his bicep.
"That's good," he said, "It can be a lot when you're new. I wouldn't want you feeling overwhelmed."
"That's nice of you. I appreciate it, but I'm used to a busy schedule," you replied.
"You're freshly graduated, aren't you?" he checked.
"Yeah," you said, your lips quirking upwards at his guess.
"I thought so. You have that cute, wide-eyed, optimistic thing going for you."
A small laugh leaves your lips. "I know. Ashley said I'll grow out of it by the end of this quarter."
His face dropped, and he almost abandoned the prince charming act he was attempting to pull off for you. The mere mention of Ashley was enough to irk him, but the thought that she was trying to change you? Not only change you but jade you. To strip away the soft and sweet qualities that hooked him on you in the first place. It was criminal. He couldn't hide his disdain.
"You shouldn't listen to her," he said. He wasn't angry, but his cadence held intensity. "Ashley's problem is Ashley. To be honest, I don't even know why they gave her an intern. It's not like she'd be good at teaching anything when she still doesn't understand most things about our business herself."
Your fingers dug into the edge of your seat. It wouldn't have been significant in a normal conversation, but when speaking with a man who could hear a pin drop forty stories down, he noticed.
"You're still nervous," he observed.
In an instant, your hands flew to your lap, like you knew what gave your anxiety away. You fidgeted with the hem of your skirt and shrugged.
"A little," you admitted.
"Are you scared of me?" he asked.
You shook your head without even thinking about the question.
"No, it's not that. I swear," you reassured, "It's just that this is a big deal for me. I'm really honored you want to get to know me, and I just want to make a good impression."
"You don't need to worry about that. I wouldn't have invited you here if I didn't have a good impression of you," he said.
You sighed slightly, letting out a bit of tension, but he could still smell that boosted cortisol running through your blood.
"Come here," he ordered, his voice soft but undeniably firm.
"What?" you asked.
A puff of amused air blew from his nostrils. "Come here," he repeated, "Sit closer."
As if you needed the guidance, he patted the space directly beside his hip. He could see the uncertainty in your eyes even after the gesture. The lack of understanding toward his reasoning persisted. Regardless of your skepticism however, you scooted in his direction and ended up where he wanted you.
"That's better," he said.
With careful fingers, he slipped the glove off his right hand. Your eyes locked on it in subtle awe. You'd seen this man on billboards and commercials for years. His face dominated newscasts. His voice broadcast over the radio on a weekly basis. Still, you had never seen such a human part of him. Five fingers and a palm reaching for your own.
They clasped around your hand. His skin was smooth. The gloves preserved them from any marks of experience.
"Did Ashley warn you about me?" he asked, drawing your eyes back to his own.
Your heart thundered, but you couldn't lie. Never had Vought bragged about Homelander being a human lie detector, but in this moment, you felt like that was the case.
"Yes," you responded.
He clicked his tongue in disapproval. "You didn't believe her, did you?" he asked.
You could tell he already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear it.
"Yes," you whispered again.
"What did she tell you?"
It was hard to remember that conversation you'd had a few weeks ago with Ashley. Feeling like you were two seconds away from having lasers beamed through your skull made minute details fuzzy and distant, but you manage to choke a few out anyways.
"She said that you have a very specific vision for the Seven, and that you'll do anything to make your dreams reality. She was just saying you're ambitious. That you care about the greater good," you summarized.
"I have a feeling you're saying it a lot nicer than she did," he teased. He could feel the fear rolling off of you in waves, and in a moment, he would rectify that. But for right now, he didn't mind letting his precious little fawn tremble in terror for a few moments more.
"Yeah, she can be kind of blunt," you said with a shaky laugh.
"That's one word for it," he said.
"She's not gonna get in trouble because of what I said, is she?" you asked.
He couldn't help laughing at that. The sound came out low and throaty. You were just so fucking pure. Worried about protecting someone who wouldn't hesitate for a second to sell you out if it meant she could climb up another rung on the corporate ladder.
His exposed thumb rubbed back and forth over your knuckles. "No. Of course not. We're just talking," he said.
He leaned in closer to you, positioning his mouth in close proximity to your ear. His free hand came up to cup your jaw.
"I appreciate your honesty though. Ashley probably couldn't tell you this, but I appreciate a loyal girl like you," he murmured.
On both your hand and through his glove in contact with your chin, he could feel your skin heat up.
"Oh... thank you, sir," you said.
He chuckled. His fingers squished into the flesh of your cheeks, making your lips puff out as though they were seeking a kiss.
"So polite, but I like that. We need more people here who understand their place," he said.
At this point, the gravity of your circumstances began to settle on you. Your fear had worn off a bit, and you realized what a compromising position he had you in. With one tight squeeze, he could crush every bone in your face.
Out of instinct, you tried pulling back a little. You didn't make it obvious, only attempting to gain a few inches of space.
That was a few inches too many though. He tightened his grip and kept you where he wanted you.
"Ah ah," he tutted, "How many times do I have to tell you that you don't need to be scared? I'm not going to hurt you."
You dropped the resistance right then and there. It wasn't worth pursuing. If he didn't want you getting away, you weren't getting away.
He took a few more seconds to study your face, taking in every minutiae of your expressions. Then, his hands dropped to your waist, and he pulled you into his lap. His thighs were firm against your ass, both rigid in how he carried himself and defined from the pure muscle that made them up.
His hands smoothed up and down your sides, coasting over each crease in your blouse. He massaged your soft tissue with gentle squeezes from the beginning of your bra down to the swell of your hips.
"God, you're beautiful," he muttered, "You fit here like you were made for me."
You vibrated in his grasp. He could feel the way you quivered with the urge to pull away.
"Thank you, s-sir," you stammered, "I really appreciate it but-"
"But nothing," he cut you off.
"But I don't think we should be... doing this," you tried to continue anyway.
"Why not?" he asked. Though his tone made it obvious that no matter what reason you provided, it wouldn't change his mind.
"Because you're like my boss, y'know? And I worked really hard to get my spot here, and I don't want people thinking I slept my way to where I am," you explained, "You're really nice, and I admire you a lot, but it wouldn't be right."
He didn't respond immediately. He paused and let your words hang in the air for a few moments.
"You know," he finally spoke, "I don't think you understand how things work around here. It doesn't matter what anyone else in this building thinks. Only me."
You blinked at him, unsure of how to respond to such an assertion. It didn't matter though. He continued without your input.
"What I do with you, how I feel about you - no one else will know about it unless you tell them. But even if you do and even if they care, there isn't a thing they'll do about it. There's not a thing they can do about it," he continued.
"I still don't think it's a good idea," you maintained.
"Good thing this isn't for you to think about then," he mocked, "You're a fast learner. You'll figure it out soon enough. I am God in this tower. And a god doesn't listen to his subjects. He guides them. He knows best."
One of his hands slid up your tummy and over your chest onto your throat. He cupped your jaw and swiped his thumb back and forth across your bottom lip.
"What did Ashley tell you about me?" he asked.
"That no one gets in your way."
"Good. And she was right. No one gets in my way. Nothing stops me from getting what I want. And I've wanted you for too fucking long not to try you out."
That set of fingers on your chin pulled your face towards his and brought you into a kiss. You froze against his lips. It felt as though all of time stopped. This high up, you couldn't hear the sounds of the city outside the penthouse. No one existed in this moment but you and him.
Unlike you, he melted into the exchange. He sighed against your skin and pulled you flush against his toned body. After a second to let you come to terms with what was happening, he kissed you again. His lips sucked on yours gently, attempting to coax you into returning the affection.
The most he got is you puckering them up ever so slightly.
He pulled away with frustration in his eyes and grabbed your face, jerking you a little to look at him.
"Don't act like you don't want this. I know you do," he said, "You're scared, but you don't need to be. Relax and let yourself enjoy this. It's not everyday that the most powerful man on earth wants to fuck you."
Your eyes blew up like little saucers, but before you could really process the directness of what he'd said, he was kissing you again. This time it wasn't as nerve wracking. You softened up a little and kissed back.
You didn't put much effort into it. Your lips responded like this was a juvenile first date. But he didn't let up. He didn't let you give him anything less than your best. His hands roamed across your body. They groped and fondled your breasts and then migrated South to feel up your ass through your pencil skirt.
Your muscles started to loosen up after a minute or so. You told yourself this wasn't so bad. He was being gentle so far, and for someone with his abilities, you wanted it to stay that way. You brought your hand up to his face and cupped his cheek. With that as leverage, you deepened the kiss.
He groaned as soon as you started to give in. His hands fell to your hips and tugged you so that you were straddling him. He smacked your ass, the sound echoing around his apartment. You could tell he held back. A real spank from Homelander could shatter your hip, but this one barely even stung. Maybe he did like you.
His fingers came up and with a sharp tug, he popped the front of your top loose. The column of buttons sprung free. The strips of cloth fell away to each of your sides, exposing a sliver of your skin. He furthered it by pulling off the garment entirely. His eyes trailed along your bare shoulders to your collar bone before finally landing on your breasts. He gave them a firm squeeze, kneading them through the barrier of your bra.
Meanwhile you rolled your hips down on his lap. Immediately, you felt his bulge that had risen to attention between your thighs. You did it again and then again. Each time you ground yourself against him with more pressure.
He grunted, and his eyes fluttered. His hands returned to your waist and gripped you hard, guiding your movements. He seemed transfixed for a few moments, as if he couldn't decide his next move.
After a few seconds though, he got his momentum back. He yanked you off his lap and flipped over so that you were seated on the couch again.
He rose to his feet before you. There your eyes scanned over his body from his tousled blond hair and his kiss-swollen red lips to his sculpted abdomen and his swelling erection. You reached out to touch him, but he stopped your hand mid-air.
Once your arm was limp on the couch again, he removed his other glove. He dropped it to the floor before bringing his right boot to the spot on the sofa next to you. He unzipped the red shoe and then discarded it like he had with the other item. The other boot followed the same routine.
"I don't let just anyone see me like this," he told you as his fingers began to undo his collar, "You should feel lucky."
Lucky wasn't the word you would use to describe your feelings in this situation. Maybe special. Or distinct. Individual. Either way, you continued to watch. Your eyes glided over his figure as he pulled away the tight blue costume that seemed like a second-skin for how much he wore it.
His defined chest came into view. Your reluctance hadn't vanished all together just yet, but at this point, it was fading fast. Pale hair dusted the muscular expanse and trailed down his stomach to the waistband of the bottoms. The waistband he soon hooked his fingers over and peeled down.
He dropped the scaled navy fabric to the ground before kicking it away, leaving himself in just a small pair of boxers. His hand came down and rubbed the swollen tent at the front while his eyes lingered on you.
"Do you want to touch?" he asked.
You nodded. It wasn't a hard decision. This was still a bad idea. You hadn't changed your mind on that. But at this point, what else was there to do? Defying Homelander wasn't an option for anyone on this planet ever. You were no different.
"Ask," he commanded.
"Please can I touch you?" you said.
"Please what?"
"Please, sir. Can I touch you?"
"Good girl," he praised before nodding, "Go for it."
You reached out, this time successfully. Your palm landed flat on his stomach. You held it there for a moment, just feeling his skin. In a way, it was unreal. To feel that someone propped up on the world's pedestal was flesh and blood like you.
Rubbing up and down, you continued getting a feel for his body. He smirked at your wonder before guiding you up by the elbow.
"Stand up and do it right," he said.
"Sorry."
The word came from your mouth automatically. You brought your other hand up to his chest and felt the muscles in his chest. Everything was so built. You expected that, but it was still odd to feel beneath your fingertips. He felt like a living ken doll. You almost didn't believe if he dropped his boxers there would be a real cock there.
Your hands traced up to his shoulders with precision. They explored down his biceps and forearms. And then finally, you brought your lips into his chest. He sighed and tilted his head back, relishing the feeling.
You kissed all over, swirling your tongue and tracing shapes onto his skin. It was almost entrancing, to be so focused on someone like this. You barely noticed as he turned the two of you and sat himself down on the couch, lowering you to your knees.
You worked your mouth down his abs, licking and kissing the twitching muscles. Your fingernails scraped up his sides and then down onto his thighs. When your lips reached the waistband of his boxers, your eyes glanced up at him.
"Can I take them off, sir?" you asked.
He smirked at the title. Only one word of correction and he'd trained that phrase into you.
"Yes," he answered. It was a simple answer. All that was required for someone so naturally obedient.
You took it in stride, tucking your fingers over the elastic and tearing them down. His hard cock popped up and slapped against his pelvis. You couldn't have been happier about your earlier ken doll theory being proven wrong. The sight of his dick was enough to make you drool. It was better than any work of art out there.
It rested against his body at the perfect length, the perfect girth. The tip flushed beautiful red and pearly white beads of precum smeared at the top. Your fingers wrapped around it and gave it a few strokes, testing the waters.
His hand came down and petted your head. He watched as you studied the appendage, as you experimented with your own touch. It was so fucking cute he thought he might cum right then and there. Fuck, he thought you were sweet every moment he had eyes on you, but right now, you were darling. You were doing as he said. Accepting your place at the feet of a superior being.
"Put it in your mouth," he said from above, "I want you to taste it."
There was no hesitation on your end this time around.
"Yes sir," you responded before leaning forward and wrapping your lips around his cock.
He groaned and let his chest hollow out with a harsh exhale. Your mouth was so warm and wet, nice and snug around his length. He rocked his hips up, pushing it further into your throat. He expected a small gag or sputter, but instead you moaned. You shut your eyes and flattened your tongue against his shaft before beginning to bob your head.
"Fuck," he hissed. His legs tensed up, and he pressed down on your head. That did get a tiny gag out of you. You gripped his hips to stabilize yourself though and stayed in place. Your nose nestled against the darker curls of hair that sat at the base of his cock.
Spit leaked from your mouth and dribbled onto his skin below. He took a few moments to just enjoy the feeling of his dick down your throat. The sight of his sweet, innocent girl choking on his cock. Then he let you pull off and catch your breath.
You took a few deep puffs, letting the spots clear from your vision before you dove back in for more. Your hand stroked the lower part of him your mouth didn't cover in its shallow sucks while your other set of fingers caressed his balls tenderly.
He'd never experienced devotion. As much as it pained him to ever acknowledge, his sexual experiences had been lackluster up until now. There were the times with Maeve, but they always left something to be desired for him. Then there was the time with Stillwell that ended before it really started. In either case, no one had ever put all of themselves into pleasuring him like you were doing right now. It drove him wild. He could feel his sac tightening up, and he knew he had to get you off.
Planting one hand on each side of your head, he tugged you back. You looked up at him with glossy, cock-drunk eyes and saliva-coated lips. He swiped some of the mess away before addressing you.
"You're doing so good for me, but I think you're ready for more, don't you?"
"Yes, sir," you agreed.
"My perfect pet," he crooned and pulled you up onto the couch.
He laid you flat on your back and ripped your skirt and panties off in one go. His eyes drank in the sight of your nude lower half, but he didn't spend much time savoring it. He spread you out, slotting himself against your center.
With a few rocks of his hips, he dragged his length through your wetness. He let the sticky fluid coat his shaft, and then he sunk in. His tip bullied its way into your entrance and the rest of him followed. You whined at the stretch. Your walls clamped around him, eager to accept the intrusion.
"Atta girl," he grunted as he worked himself all the way in.
His hips connected with your ass, but he still bucked them, trying to get more. You yelped at the force. He was already buried inside you. Anymore and his tip would be nudging the entrance to your womb.
Fortunately for you, he pulled his hips back, giving you a short break from feeling so full. It was short lived though. Seconds later he snapped back in. That began the quick rhythm he set into. It was desperate and needy, emotions he'd tried to hide until this point.
You whimpered as your body bobbed with the momentum. His thrusts bounced you back and forth. The sounds of his body smacking against yours filled the room. His fingers dug into your waist hard enough to bruise. You didn't complain about the minor pain though because you could tell he was holding back in every other regard. If a few marks on your side kept you from being pulverized by a super cock, then that was a burden you were willing to carry.
Above you, he starts to pant. His breaths leave him raggedly huffing, sucking down what oxygen he can get in the midst of rutting into you. He tilts his head down at you and gazes at your blissed out face with lidded eyes.
"I could have anyone. Any person on this Earth would be mine if I wanted them to be. But the only one I want is you. Doesn't that feel good?" he breathed.
"Yes!" you cried out. Your back arched up off the couch. "Feels so fucking good, sir."
He leaned into you more, squishing your body into the surface below. Your thighs pressed against your tummy as he bent you.
"Yeah, it does," he grunted, "It's all there is. It's all you need to think about. How you're all mine."
"Mhm," you whined with a lazy nod. You were getting closer to cumming and responding to his words was taking a lower priority in your mind.
"And to think you tried to deny yourself of it," he mocked. He clenched his jaw and slammed into you harder.
You shrieked and clutched his shoulders. In the back of your mind, you hoped his penthouse was sound proofed or at least enough distance from the nearest one. Otherwise you wouldn't have to tell anyone about this incident for it to spread throughout the tower.
"I knew better, didn't I? I knew this is what you needed," he said.
Again, you nodded. You felt the heat in your belly reaching the boiling point.
"Say it," he huffed.
You tried to force it out, but your own hiccuped sob of pleasure cut you off. He didn't give you a break though. He stared down at you with expectation, so you continued.
"You know best- uh, fuck- you know best, sir," you whined.
"Good fucking girl," he growled on top of you.
He was already close from the blowjob you'd given him. Only a few strokes more, and he was ready to explode. He swiveled his hips, angling them upwards to pound into that special spot that would make you see stars and stripes.
You mewled when you came. Your body trembled harder than it did when you were scared. Arousal gushed out of you and coated his skin. He huffed and buried his face in your neck before letting go.
Everything faded into the background as you laid underneath him in the haze that came after the absolute high of pleasure. Now you could feel his heartbeat too. The organ thundered against his chest over and over as he came down.
Minutes later he pulled back. His knuckles caressed down your jawline before he climbed off of you entirely. He sat back on the couch and let out a deep breath. You weren't sure whether you were supposed to pick up your stuff and leave or follow along with him and stay close to his side. There was no real indication of what he wanted in this moment, but he turned to smile at you and huffed out a laugh.
"I think I'll keep you with me more often now. Really show you the ropes of fitting in around here."
You sat up and nodded awkwardly. He leaned toward you, cupping your cheek.
"I'll be a much better teacher than Ashley ever was," he said. His arm snaked around you and pulled you to his chest again. "No more errands or coffee runs. I'll show you things you need. Things that you'll enjoy."
He ran his fingers over your face and kissed your temple. The touches were tender against your skin. They would have been romantic if your mind wasn't racing with what this all meant in terms of your job and the grand scheme of your future.
Looking at him though, he wasn't worried at all. He smiled down at you before whispering once more.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Being Ashley Barrett’s personal assistant may have bought you killer networking opportunities in Vought but it's also made you the fixation of the most dangerous man in the nation. Homelander receives you with stars in his eyes but you would never know it. You live in a constant state of minimal terror with the supe strutting around your workplace.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He's developed a pavlovian response to the scent of your perfume and pauses during meetings to inhale its remnants after you've left the room. He's left with a near orgasmic expression on his face every time. Once, while you were taking meeting minutes, Homelander stared at you blankly. You were certain he was contemplating snapping your neck but he was just mesmerized by the pulse of aroma fluttering at the base of your throat.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ You've never held a real conversation with him but he's stricken by the idea of you. He uses his super hearing to eavesdrop on your private conversations and gets irrationally jealous of anybody you mention with affection.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Homelander finds your fear of him both intoxicating and frustrating. He wants you to love him but he only inspires terror when he steps into your personal space.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He interprets your avoidance as a game. He doesn't realize you're simply trying to survive corporate day-to-day. He's only focused on his own agony and figuring out how to possess you without breaking you in the process.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Homelander finds himself on the roof most evenings to watch your car leave the parking garage. He tracks the sound of your heartbeat until you're miles away and he hates that he needs you. He also hates that you fear him. Most of all, he hates that he's never felt more alive than when he's scaring the hell out of you.
summary: homelander has taken an interest in you, vought's new intern. no matter how you look at it, as a good or bad thing, it ends the same way: him getting what he wants.
cw: nsfw (18+), smut, dubcon, p in v, oral (m receiving), body worship, sir kink, obsessive behavior, manipulation/coercion, age gap (reader in early 20s)
wc: 7.7k (oops lol)
a/n: hehe. never thought i would write for this man but it was pretty fun :) comm for my sweet beloved @gor3-hound love you so very much mwah mwah <33
At the junction of the V-shaped table, Homelander sat. With his back to the skyline and his gloved hands folded in front of him, he held the posture of a statue. Ashley had been rambling on and on and fucking on for the past five minutes about shit he couldn't care less about. Her nasally voice bounced off the tile floors and painted ceiling, ricocheting around him like a rogue bullet. Only his impregnable skin didn't protect him from the discomfort of this situation.
It was moments like these that really made him regret killing Stillwell.
That woman knew how to handle things. As manipulative as she could be, at least she wasn't absolutely insufferable. How could Stan let Ashley replace her? She was a poor excuse of just about everything. Absolutely spineless, unintelligent, reactionary, and opportunistic. He really couldn't picture any person on this Earth genuinely liking her.
However in the midst of his mental complaints, he realized that the annoying sound of her speaking was directed at him. All the other stares in the room were zeroed in on him too. A-Train observed in cautious silence. Noir's goggles reflected Homelander's own image right back at him. Maeve judged with a sideways glance. And Starlight prepared for the worst.
He tore his own bright blue eyes from the door opposite the table and refocused them on Ashley. They scanned over her thinning ginger locks down to her gaudy outfit - a piss poor attempt at imitating power.
"What?" he asked, his voice cutting through the air with a force similar to one of Maeve's swords.
Ashley blinked in return. Fear swirled in her wide eyes. She tried to maintain that empowered appearance she so desperately wished was real, but he could see the innate urge to cower bubbling within her.
"Was that lineup for the funeral ok with you, Homelander? A-Train and Noir open, Starlight sings, and then you close?" she repeated.
Now it was his turn to blink. Like he could actually give a shit about the order of segments for Translucent's funeral. He swallowed hard. While she projected a mirage of power, he had to do the same with level-headedness.
"That's fine, Ashley. Have those two go first, and Starlight can follow up with Amazing Grace or whatever shitty hymns they teach in that hick town she's from, and then I can finish us out," he responded.
He could see how her knuckles were going white around the edge of her clipboard. She gripped it for comfort, as if that could save her from his potential wrath. It only irritated him more. If he wanted her dead, he would turn her to ashes where she stood. How hard she braced herself in advance wouldn't matter in the slightest. But people could be so foolish in moments of terror.
"Well speaking of that," she said before clearing her throat, an attempt at a natural transition, "We were trying to decide what song she would sing. Maybe one of our originals? Or do you think it would be more tasteful to go with something from an outside source?"
Gritting his teeth, he buried the urge to unleash the bright beams of red from his sockets. His hands slid off one another and pressed down onto the cool table.
"Do you really need me to decide what song is going to send Translucent to the grave?" he replied, "I don't care what you play, and no one else attending will either. They'll be focused on working up some tears for the useless dipshit they never had the displeasure of knowing. Instead of trying to gain their approval, we should be working on finding the next member of the Seven who can replace him. There's no use dwelling on the past. We need to be preparing for the future."
He paused to let his words permeate the room, giving everyone a chance to absorb the sentiment and adapt accordingly. With his pupils still trained on Ashley, he planned on continuing his tirade, but his train of thought came to an abrupt halt.
Soft pitter-patters of footsteps clacked down the hall outside this room. They sounded in a delicate rhythm, only audible to him. As they grew louder, he caught the scent of the source too. Airy and light. A stark contrast to the brash perfume Ashley doused herself in.
The doors at the front of the room slid apart to reveal you.
You stood there for a moment. The realization that you'd interrupted something was visible in your eyes. The small spheres cast down as you wobbled in like a fawn that sensed wolves watching from nearby.
Ashley turned to face you, a glower already set on her features. The resentment she held for everyone else in this building awoke from its usual dormant slumber because there was finally someone weaker she could take it out on.
Once you reached her, your hand rose and gave her a thin stack of papers.
"I'm sorry for interrupting. It's a memo from 82. They made it sound urgent," you explained, everything about your temperament meek and timid.
After a brief pause to let you marinate in the few moments before your inevitable humiliation, she snatched the papers from you. Her eyes roamed over the page with disinterest. Even if the information conveyed by the small black letters was important, he doubted she would give it any reaction. She wanted to lash out, and she was going to, whether it was justified or not.
"They couldn't have emailed me this?" she snapped, as if that was something you could control.
"I don't know. I'm sorry. I'll check next time," you offered.
"You better or you'll run out of next times," she threatened, "Incompetence like this won't fly here. You're in the big leagues now, so act like it. Think before you do something instead of taking commands like a lap dog."
"I'm sorry," you replied, ducking your head again.
"Don't be sorry, just do better," she commanded.
"I will," you agreed.
"Good. Just get out of here now. Go pick up my lunch," she told you.
His lips curled into a scowl as he watched the scene play out. It was pathetic - not you, but Ashley. He hated seeing the fucking smirk on her face as you walked away. She had nothing to be smug about. She was nothing more than a feral coyote going after the scraps the other predators didn't take.
To make matters worse, when she returned her attention to the group at the table, she saw the look on his face. She saw the disdain, but instead of striking regret into her, it only deepened her sense of self-satisfaction.
She thought the look was for you. That he was disgusted with your mistake. Annoyed with your intrusion.
He couldn't have that. Not when that assumption was the farthest thing from the truth. Honestly, he didn't know if he was even capable of feeling such ire towards you. Not his precious little fawn.
Rising from his seat, his glare remained on Ashley. She did show a little fear then.
"You know, I don't have all day, Ashley. I'll open Translucent's funeral, Starlight will follow up with a song, and that will be it. A-Train and Noir can have the day off, because let's be honest, nobody will give shit either way," he mocked.
"But, sir-" she said, clearly confused by his sudden impending departure.
"I have more important things to deal with. If you need anything else, I'm sure one of the others can help you," he dismissed.
With that, he stepped back from the table and began heading to the doors. He hoped if he was fast enough he could still catch you. Even in a building as sleek and modern as this one, the elevators could be quite slow.
Walking out into the hall, his head swiveled in the direction you would have gone. For once, his own portrait didn't catch his eye. He didn't even think about stopping by Stillwell's office to reminisce. Instead, he just headed down towards the elevator. His red boots thudded across smooth tile in rapid succession, covering the path you'd just taken.
Finally, after a few feet, he spotted you. Bottom lip pulled between your teeth. Eyes glossy with embarrassment. Tip of your polished shoe tapping against the ground. You startled when his voice boomed across the space, calling out your name. So cute.
You looked at him with fear in your eyes, but disgust didn't fester in the pit of his stomach like it did when others gave him that anxious stare. Another feeling bloomed inside him, one he couldn't really place. It was just that the nervous gleam over your pupils didn't make him hate himself and all the circumstances of his life that put him in his position.
Instead, your wide eyes and pouty lips made him feel strong. You made him feel like a hero. A real one, not the artificial caricature that Vought projected to the world. With you nearby, he felt like the kind of guy who deserved the American flag blowing off his back with a pretty girl cradled in his arms and a dead enemy at his feet. When you gazed up at him, he could only imagine that the pride rushing through his chest and confidence pooling between his hips was the feeling his creators intended for him.
"Did you need something from me, sir?" you asked, reminding him that he actually had to provide a reason to talk to you. Just wanting to stare at you like a psychopath would not suffice unfortunately.
"Oh no," he waved off, "The meeting just finished up. I was heading out too. I saw you, and I realized I haven't really taken the time to get to know you yet, which is unfortunate because I usually like to be familiar with the newer people we have working with us."
A complete lie. Before you, he didn't remember ever giving any of the interns a second glance. They were true nuisances. They were Ashleys.
"Oh... well I'm around whenever you wanna talk. Ashley keeps me busy, but I'm sure I could make an exception for you," you replied.
"You absolutely can make an exception for me," he chuckled, "If Ashley gives you any trouble, just let me know, and I'll make sure she remembers who's really in charge around here."
It wasn't until he heard your heart rate increase that he realized those words probably came off as threatening. Well, they were threatening, but you weren't supposed to see him that way.
"I'm kidding," he forced out with a laugh, "Just joking around like I do... I just don't want you to worry about getting in some kind of trouble for me sniffing around you."
You huffed out an awkward laugh of your own and nodded. "I'll be sure to make some time for you in the future then and let Ashley know it was at your direction."
"Great," he said with probably too much enthusiasm.
His jaw clenched into one of his usual tight smiles. He averted his eyes from you and looked towards the numbers on the elevator. Fuck, it was reaching the bottom. He didn't want to let you go, but it wasn't like he could just stroll down the street with you to go get Ashley's lunch. His mind scrambled to come up with a solution.
But like your earlier intrusion into the meeting, your gentle voice cuts through the hurricane forming in his head.
"Are you alright, sir?" you ask, anxious concern written all over your features.
He refocused on you and nodded. His arm extended out behind you, his palm landing against the elevator wall. As he leaned in, he could smell your adrenaline spiking. He could hear the shift of your shoe against the ground. If only he possessed a sixth sense for the mind, so he could know what little thoughts about him were flitting through your head.
"I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me," he answered. He smiled down at you, observing the slight nod you gave him in return.
"Of course not. It probably seems silly coming from me," you said.
His brows raised in amusement. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.
He saw the flash of regret in your eyes. The one people always gave him when he asked a question in that tone. The one that came from the panic of realizing they may have said something that offended Homelander.
You suppressed it pretty well though and brought out a smile that gave the impression that you hoped he was messing with you instead.
"Well you know... because you're you," you said and tilted your head in an innocent way that made his chest ache.
He chuckled that charming, prepackaged laugh that had been trained into him. "Even I can appreciate someone taking an interest in checking on me," he replied.
It was maddening, how bad he wanted you. He wasn't even sure when this craving had sprouted inside him. He had been so preoccupied with his affinity for Stillwell that his fixation with you struck him like a glass window in front of a flying bird. But no matter the timeframe in which it blossomed, it had taken root by now and wasn't going to go away on its own.
When he looked at you like this - staring up at him with earnest fascination - his mind drifted to darker places all on its own. He couldn't stop it if he wanted to (and really, he didn't want to). It's just how was he not supposed to be aware of the fact that it would be all too easy to take you back to his room? How could he not think about what it would feel like to have your fragile body beneath his own in private? How could he not wonder what you'd sound like crying out in a sinful mix of pleasure and pain?
Hell, how was he supposed to pretend like he couldn't just bend you over and fuck you dumb right here in the middle of this elevator if he wanted to? No one would be able to stop him. There wouldn't be a thing they could do other than watch. They could stare in horror as he used you like he deserved, as he pounded into your warm, soft, dripping hole like he needed...
Unfortunately, painting that picture in his head had his blood rushing South. He felt the subtle simmer of desire in his pelvis, and he knew in no time his length would be filling out. This suit gave him no way of hiding it either. Clearly, whoever made it hadn't anticipated the Homelander popping a boner on the job.
But luckily for him, the elevator chimed with its arrival at the bottom floor. He straightened out as you looked ahead in preparation of your departure. But before you could go, he grabbed your arm. His touch was tender, holding the same force he'd use when cradling a baby at a photo-op.
"Maybe later tonight you'd like to take me up on one of those talks? After you're done for the day, you could stop by my place. The sooner the better, right?" he asked.
Your eyes widened ever so slightly, but you still nodded. "Um... sure thing. I'll head up once I've finished all my work. It should be around six if that's ok?" you offered.
"Yeah, that works for me. I'll be waiting," he said in an attempt to be playful.
You smiled once more and then headed out of the elevator. His fingertips dragged down your arm to your wrist as you walked away before you finally slipped from his grasp. He could hear your heart pounding faster than your footsteps as you headed towards the exit of the building.
At six o'clock sharp, a knock sounded through his penthouse. And it only took him a few seconds to swing the door open and greet you.
"There she is," he beamed with exaggerated politeness.
You smiled modestly in return, shrugging and smoothing out a crease in your blouse. "I couldn't let the leader of the seven down," you joked.
He scoffed but opened the door wider, beckoning you into his place. You took the invitation and crossed the threshold. Your eyes glanced around the place, taking note of all the things in the apartment that housed the most powerful man on Earth.
The American flag taking up an entire wall almost stopped you in your tracks. It would've been funny if it was someone else, but because it belonged to him, it stood there like a warning. You tried not to show how daunting you found it. Average people could be touchy about that famous piece of cloth. You didn't want to find out if the strongest supe felt the same through means of offending him.
In place of letting that bother you, you shifted your attention over to all the historical pictures hanging on the walls and the sleek surfaces and drawers filled with things you couldn't begin to imagine. Your eyes casted over the statues accenting the space as well. It was all so very polished. It looked like what you'd expect the Homelander entry in an Ikea catalog to be.
"So what do you think?" he asked. He knew his words came off as stiff. Probably a little stilted sounding. He just couldn't help it. For the first time, he couldn't get a read on how you felt through physical signs alone. And right now, he really really wanted you to like him.
"It's... impressive," you answered.
But he could hear the hesitation in your voice. In each word, there was the same wavering quality to it that you get when Ashley grilled you in front of an audience. It wasn't the precious reverence that he saw in the elevator. The nervous kind of admiration you held for someone above your standing. This was just plain anxiety, and that served no purpose to him.
Despite your trepidation however, you walked forward to the window at the back of the place. You looked out over the city in awe.
"I would love to live somewhere high up like this," you said.
He came up from behind to stand next to you in front of the glass panes. His eyes landed on your face. You stared out the window, wonder twinkling in your eyes. Your voice sounded almost breathless. It was adorable.
"No fear of heights?" he asked.
"Not when it comes to being inside. Maybe I'd be nervous if we were on a balcony or something," you replied.
"Oh come on. You'd have nothing to worry about if you were with me. I'd never let you fall," he said, dropping his voice a few octaves.
You made that cute little face again when those words hit your ears. Your eyes widened before they fell to look at your shoes. So modest, the way you shied away. He wondered if you were always so timid or if it was only when a god amongst men like himself flirted with you.
He chuckled and reached out, tilting your chin back up to look at him. "You don't need to be nervous," he soothed, "There's no safer place to be than with the Homelander, right?"
You nodded right along. His words left no room for objection.
"Good girl," he smirked and dragged a gloved thumb over your cheek. He pulled his hand back and stepped in the direction of the brown leather sectional that sat in the middle of the room.
"Come over here and sit down. We can talk," he directed.
Following him to the large couch, you took your seat near the corner. You assumed he'd sit at the other end or at least towards the middle of the perpendicular cushions, but no. He sat down in the corner with you. His body was at most a foot away.
He continued to smile at you though he didn't speak. It felt odd, sitting there in silence across from him. He wasn't doing anything overtly threatening, yet you still felt at his mercy.
"So, do you like it here so far? Do you feel like you're fitting into the Vought family?" he asked with a bit of an edge to that second word.
You nodded again. A relieved breath seeped from your lungs as the tense void in conversation came to an end. "Yeah, it's nice here. I feel like I'm learning a lot."
He chuckled and leaned back against the stiff backing of the sofa. His muscular arm draped along the top. Though it wasn't his intention to draw your focus there, he caught the way your eyes dragged over his bicep.
"That's good," he said, "It can be a lot when you're new. I wouldn't want you feeling overwhelmed."
"That's nice of you. I appreciate it, but I'm used to a busy schedule," you replied.
"You're freshly graduated, aren't you?" he checked.
"Yeah," you said, your lips quirking upwards at his guess.
"I thought so. You have that cute, wide-eyed, optimistic thing going for you."
A small laugh leaves your lips. "I know. Ashley said I'll grow out of it by the end of this quarter."
His face dropped, and he almost abandoned the prince charming act he was attempting to pull off for you. The mere mention of Ashley was enough to irk him, but the thought that she was trying to change you? Not only change you but jade you. To strip away the soft and sweet qualities that hooked him on you in the first place. It was criminal. He couldn't hide his disdain.
"You shouldn't listen to her," he said. He wasn't angry, but his cadence held intensity. "Ashley's problem is Ashley. To be honest, I don't even know why they gave her an intern. It's not like she'd be good at teaching anything when she still doesn't understand most things about our business herself."
Your fingers dug into the edge of your seat. It wouldn't have been significant in a normal conversation, but when speaking with a man who could hear a pin drop forty stories down, he noticed.
"You're still nervous," he observed.
In an instant, your hands flew to your lap, like you knew what gave your anxiety away. You fidgeted with the hem of your skirt and shrugged.
"A little," you admitted.
"Are you scared of me?" he asked.
You shook your head without even thinking about the question.
"No, it's not that. I swear," you reassured, "It's just that this is a big deal for me. I'm really honored you want to get to know me, and I just want to make a good impression."
"You don't need to worry about that. I wouldn't have invited you here if I didn't have a good impression of you," he said.
You sighed slightly, letting out a bit of tension, but he could still smell that boosted cortisol running through your blood.
"Come here," he ordered, his voice soft but undeniably firm.
"What?" you asked.
A puff of amused air blew from his nostrils. "Come here," he repeated, "Sit closer."
As if you needed the guidance, he patted the space directly beside his hip. He could see the uncertainty in your eyes even after the gesture. The lack of understanding toward his reasoning persisted. Regardless of your skepticism however, you scooted in his direction and ended up where he wanted you.
"That's better," he said.
With careful fingers, he slipped the glove off his right hand. Your eyes locked on it in subtle awe. You'd seen this man on billboards and commercials for years. His face dominated newscasts. His voice broadcast over the radio on a weekly basis. Still, you had never seen such a human part of him. Five fingers and a palm reaching for your own.
They clasped around your hand. His skin was smooth. The gloves preserved them from any marks of experience.
"Did Ashley warn you about me?" he asked, drawing your eyes back to his own.
Your heart thundered, but you couldn't lie. Never had Vought bragged about Homelander being a human lie detector, but in this moment, you felt like that was the case.
"Yes," you responded.
He clicked his tongue in disapproval. "You didn't believe her, did you?" he asked.
You could tell he already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear it.
"Yes," you whispered again.
"What did she tell you?"
It was hard to remember that conversation you'd had a few weeks ago with Ashley. Feeling like you were two seconds away from having lasers beamed through your skull made minute details fuzzy and distant, but you manage to choke a few out anyways.
"She said that you have a very specific vision for the Seven, and that you'll do anything to make your dreams reality. She was just saying you're ambitious. That you care about the greater good," you summarized.
"I have a feeling you're saying it a lot nicer than she did," he teased. He could feel the fear rolling off of you in waves, and in a moment, he would rectify that. But for right now, he didn't mind letting his precious little fawn tremble in terror for a few moments more.
"Yeah, she can be kind of blunt," you said with a shaky laugh.
"That's one word for it," he said.
"She's not gonna get in trouble because of what I said, is she?" you asked.
He couldn't help laughing at that. The sound came out low and throaty. You were just so fucking pure. Worried about protecting someone who wouldn't hesitate for a second to sell you out if it meant she could climb up another rung on the corporate ladder.
His exposed thumb rubbed back and forth over your knuckles. "No. Of course not. We're just talking," he said.
He leaned in closer to you, positioning his mouth in close proximity to your ear. His free hand came up to cup your jaw.
"I appreciate your honesty though. Ashley probably couldn't tell you this, but I appreciate a loyal girl like you," he murmured.
On both your hand and through his glove in contact with your chin, he could feel your skin heat up.
"Oh... thank you, sir," you said.
He chuckled. His fingers squished into the flesh of your cheeks, making your lips puff out as though they were seeking a kiss.
"So polite, but I like that. We need more people here who understand their place," he said.
At this point, the gravity of your circumstances began to settle on you. Your fear had worn off a bit, and you realized what a compromising position he had you in. With one tight squeeze, he could crush every bone in your face.
Out of instinct, you tried pulling back a little. You didn't make it obvious, only attempting to gain a few inches of space.
That was a few inches too many though. He tightened his grip and kept you where he wanted you.
"Ah ah," he tutted, "How many times do I have to tell you that you don't need to be scared? I'm not going to hurt you."
You dropped the resistance right then and there. It wasn't worth pursuing. If he didn't want you getting away, you weren't getting away.
He took a few more seconds to study your face, taking in every minutiae of your expressions. Then, his hands dropped to your waist, and he pulled you into his lap. His thighs were firm against your ass, both rigid in how he carried himself and defined from the pure muscle that made them up.
His hands smoothed up and down your sides, coasting over each crease in your blouse. He massaged your soft tissue with gentle squeezes from the beginning of your bra down to the swell of your hips.
"God, you're beautiful," he muttered, "You fit here like you were made for me."
You vibrated in his grasp. He could feel the way you quivered with the urge to pull away.
"Thank you, s-sir," you stammered, "I really appreciate it but-"
"But nothing," he cut you off.
"But I don't think we should be... doing this," you tried to continue anyway.
"Why not?" he asked. Though his tone made it obvious that no matter what reason you provided, it wouldn't change his mind.
"Because you're like my boss, y'know? And I worked really hard to get my spot here, and I don't want people thinking I slept my way to where I am," you explained, "You're really nice, and I admire you a lot, but it wouldn't be right."
He didn't respond immediately. He paused and let your words hang in the air for a few moments.
"You know," he finally spoke, "I don't think you understand how things work around here. It doesn't matter what anyone else in this building thinks. Only me."
You blinked at him, unsure of how to respond to such an assertion. It didn't matter though. He continued without your input.
"What I do with you, how I feel about you - no one else will know about it unless you tell them. But even if you do and even if they care, there isn't a thing they'll do about it. There's not a thing they can do about it," he continued.
"I still don't think it's a good idea," you maintained.
"Good thing this isn't for you to think about then," he mocked, "You're a fast learner. You'll figure it out soon enough. I am God in this tower. And a god doesn't listen to his subjects. He guides them. He knows best."
One of his hands slid up your tummy and over your chest onto your throat. He cupped your jaw and swiped his thumb back and forth across your bottom lip.
"What did Ashley tell you about me?" he asked.
"That no one gets in your way."
"Good. And she was right. No one gets in my way. Nothing stops me from getting what I want. And I've wanted you for too fucking long not to try you out."
That set of fingers on your chin pulled your face towards his and brought you into a kiss. You froze against his lips. It felt as though all of time stopped. This high up, you couldn't hear the sounds of the city outside the penthouse. No one existed in this moment but you and him.
Unlike you, he melted into the exchange. He sighed against your skin and pulled you flush against his toned body. After a second to let you come to terms with what was happening, he kissed you again. His lips sucked on yours gently, attempting to coax you into returning the affection.
The most he got is you puckering them up ever so slightly.
He pulled away with frustration in his eyes and grabbed your face, jerking you a little to look at him.
"Don't act like you don't want this. I know you do," he said, "You're scared, but you don't need to be. Relax and let yourself enjoy this. It's not everyday that the most powerful man on earth wants to fuck you."
Your eyes blew up like little saucers, but before you could really process the directness of what he'd said, he was kissing you again. This time it wasn't as nerve wracking. You softened up a little and kissed back.
You didn't put much effort into it. Your lips responded like this was a juvenile first date. But he didn't let up. He didn't let you give him anything less than your best. His hands roamed across your body. They groped and fondled your breasts and then migrated South to feel up your ass through your pencil skirt.
Your muscles started to loosen up after a minute or so. You told yourself this wasn't so bad. He was being gentle so far, and for someone with his abilities, you wanted it to stay that way. You brought your hand up to his face and cupped his cheek. With that as leverage, you deepened the kiss.
He groaned as soon as you started to give in. His hands fell to your hips and tugged you so that you were straddling him. He smacked your ass, the sound echoing around his apartment. You could tell he held back. A real spank from Homelander could shatter your hip, but this one barely even stung. Maybe he did like you.
His fingers came up and with a sharp tug, he popped the front of your top loose. The column of buttons sprung free. The strips of cloth fell away to each of your sides, exposing a sliver of your skin. He furthered it by pulling off the garment entirely. His eyes trailed along your bare shoulders to your collar bone before finally landing on your breasts. He gave them a firm squeeze, kneading them through the barrier of your bra.
Meanwhile you rolled your hips down on his lap. Immediately, you felt his bulge that had risen to attention between your thighs. You did it again and then again. Each time you ground yourself against him with more pressure.
He grunted, and his eyes fluttered. His hands returned to your waist and gripped you hard, guiding your movements. He seemed transfixed for a few moments, as if he couldn't decide his next move.
After a few seconds though, he got his momentum back. He yanked you off his lap and flipped over so that you were seated on the couch again.
He rose to his feet before you. There your eyes scanned over his body from his tousled blond hair and his kiss-swollen red lips to his sculpted abdomen and his swelling erection. You reached out to touch him, but he stopped your hand mid-air.
Once your arm was limp on the couch again, he removed his other glove. He dropped it to the floor before bringing his right boot to the spot on the sofa next to you. He unzipped the red shoe and then discarded it like he had with the other item. The other boot followed the same routine.
"I don't let just anyone see me like this," he told you as his fingers began to undo his collar, "You should feel lucky."
Lucky wasn't the word you would use to describe your feelings in this situation. Maybe special. Or distinct. Individual. Either way, you continued to watch. Your eyes glided over his figure as he pulled away the tight blue costume that seemed like a second-skin for how much he wore it.
His defined chest came into view. Your reluctance hadn't vanished all together just yet, but at this point, it was fading fast. Pale hair dusted the muscular expanse and trailed down his stomach to the waistband of the bottoms. The waistband he soon hooked his fingers over and peeled down.
He dropped the scaled navy fabric to the ground before kicking it away, leaving himself in just a small pair of boxers. His hand came down and rubbed the swollen tent at the front while his eyes lingered on you.
"Do you want to touch?" he asked.
You nodded. It wasn't a hard decision. This was still a bad idea. You hadn't changed your mind on that. But at this point, what else was there to do? Defying Homelander wasn't an option for anyone on this planet ever. You were no different.
"Ask," he commanded.
"Please can I touch you?" you said.
"Please what?"
"Please, sir. Can I touch you?"
"Good girl," he praised before nodding, "Go for it."
You reached out, this time successfully. Your palm landed flat on his stomach. You held it there for a moment, just feeling his skin. In a way, it was unreal. To feel that someone propped up on the world's pedestal was flesh and blood like you.
Rubbing up and down, you continued getting a feel for his body. He smirked at your wonder before guiding you up by the elbow.
"Stand up and do it right," he said.
"Sorry."
The word came from your mouth automatically. You brought your other hand up to his chest and felt the muscles in his chest. Everything was so built. You expected that, but it was still odd to feel beneath your fingertips. He felt like a living ken doll. You almost didn't believe if he dropped his boxers there would be a real cock there.
Your hands traced up to his shoulders with precision. They explored down his biceps and forearms. And then finally, you brought your lips into his chest. He sighed and tilted his head back, relishing the feeling.
You kissed all over, swirling your tongue and tracing shapes onto his skin. It was almost entrancing, to be so focused on someone like this. You barely noticed as he turned the two of you and sat himself down on the couch, lowering you to your knees.
You worked your mouth down his abs, licking and kissing the twitching muscles. Your fingernails scraped up his sides and then down onto his thighs. When your lips reached the waistband of his boxers, your eyes glanced up at him.
"Can I take them off, sir?" you asked.
He smirked at the title. Only one word of correction and he'd trained that phrase into you.
"Yes," he answered. It was a simple answer. All that was required for someone so naturally obedient.
You took it in stride, tucking your fingers over the elastic and tearing them down. His hard cock popped up and slapped against his pelvis. You couldn't have been happier about your earlier ken doll theory being proven wrong. The sight of his dick was enough to make you drool. It was better than any work of art out there.
It rested against his body at the perfect length, the perfect girth. The tip flushed beautiful red and pearly white beads of precum smeared at the top. Your fingers wrapped around it and gave it a few strokes, testing the waters.
His hand came down and petted your head. He watched as you studied the appendage, as you experimented with your own touch. It was so fucking cute he thought he might cum right then and there. Fuck, he thought you were sweet every moment he had eyes on you, but right now, you were darling. You were doing as he said. Accepting your place at the feet of a superior being.
"Put it in your mouth," he said from above, "I want you to taste it."
There was no hesitation on your end this time around.
"Yes sir," you responded before leaning forward and wrapping your lips around his cock.
He groaned and let his chest hollow out with a harsh exhale. Your mouth was so warm and wet, nice and snug around his length. He rocked his hips up, pushing it further into your throat. He expected a small gag or sputter, but instead you moaned. You shut your eyes and flattened your tongue against his shaft before beginning to bob your head.
"Fuck," he hissed. His legs tensed up, and he pressed down on your head. That did get a tiny gag out of you. You gripped his hips to stabilize yourself though and stayed in place. Your nose nestled against the darker curls of hair that sat at the base of his cock.
Spit leaked from your mouth and dribbled onto his skin below. He took a few moments to just enjoy the feeling of his dick down your throat. The sight of his sweet, innocent girl choking on his cock. Then he let you pull off and catch your breath.
You took a few deep puffs, letting the spots clear from your vision before you dove back in for more. Your hand stroked the lower part of him your mouth didn't cover in its shallow sucks while your other set of fingers caressed his balls tenderly.
He'd never experienced devotion. As much as it pained him to ever acknowledge, his sexual experiences had been lackluster up until now. There were the times with Maeve, but they always left something to be desired for him. Then there was the time with Stillwell that ended before it really started. In either case, no one had ever put all of themselves into pleasuring him like you were doing right now. It drove him wild. He could feel his sac tightening up, and he knew he had to get you off.
Planting one hand on each side of your head, he tugged you back. You looked up at him with glossy, cock-drunk eyes and saliva-coated lips. He swiped some of the mess away before addressing you.
"You're doing so good for me, but I think you're ready for more, don't you?"
"Yes, sir," you agreed.
"My perfect pet," he crooned and pulled you up onto the couch.
He laid you flat on your back and ripped your skirt and panties off in one go. His eyes drank in the sight of your nude lower half, but he didn't spend much time savoring it. He spread you out, slotting himself against your center.
With a few rocks of his hips, he dragged his length through your wetness. He let the sticky fluid coat his shaft, and then he sunk in. His tip bullied its way into your entrance and the rest of him followed. You whined at the stretch. Your walls clamped around him, eager to accept the intrusion.
"Atta girl," he grunted as he worked himself all the way in.
His hips connected with your ass, but he still bucked them, trying to get more. You yelped at the force. He was already buried inside you. Anymore and his tip would be nudging the entrance to your womb.
Fortunately for you, he pulled his hips back, giving you a short break from feeling so full. It was short lived though. Seconds later he snapped back in. That began the quick rhythm he set into. It was desperate and needy, emotions he'd tried to hide until this point.
You whimpered as your body bobbed with the momentum. His thrusts bounced you back and forth. The sounds of his body smacking against yours filled the room. His fingers dug into your waist hard enough to bruise. You didn't complain about the minor pain though because you could tell he was holding back in every other regard. If a few marks on your side kept you from being pulverized by a super cock, then that was a burden you were willing to carry.
Above you, he starts to pant. His breaths leave him raggedly huffing, sucking down what oxygen he can get in the midst of rutting into you. He tilts his head down at you and gazes at your blissed out face with lidded eyes.
"I could have anyone. Any person on this Earth would be mine if I wanted them to be. But the only one I want is you. Doesn't that feel good?" he breathed.
"Yes!" you cried out. Your back arched up off the couch. "Feels so fucking good, sir."
He leaned into you more, squishing your body into the surface below. Your thighs pressed against your tummy as he bent you.
"Yeah, it does," he grunted, "It's all there is. It's all you need to think about. How you're all mine."
"Mhm," you whined with a lazy nod. You were getting closer to cumming and responding to his words was taking a lower priority in your mind.
"And to think you tried to deny yourself of it," he mocked. He clenched his jaw and slammed into you harder.
You shrieked and clutched his shoulders. In the back of your mind, you hoped his penthouse was sound proofed or at least enough distance from the nearest one. Otherwise you wouldn't have to tell anyone about this incident for it to spread throughout the tower.
"I knew better, didn't I? I knew this is what you needed," he said.
Again, you nodded. You felt the heat in your belly reaching the boiling point.
"Say it," he huffed.
You tried to force it out, but your own hiccuped sob of pleasure cut you off. He didn't give you a break though. He stared down at you with expectation, so you continued.
"You know best- uh, fuck- you know best, sir," you whined.
"Good fucking girl," he growled on top of you.
He was already close from the blowjob you'd given him. Only a few strokes more, and he was ready to explode. He swiveled his hips, angling them upwards to pound into that special spot that would make you see stars and stripes.
You mewled when you came. Your body trembled harder than it did when you were scared. Arousal gushed out of you and coated his skin. He huffed and buried his face in your neck before letting go.
Everything faded into the background as you laid underneath him in the haze that came after the absolute high of pleasure. Now you could feel his heartbeat too. The organ thundered against his chest over and over as he came down.
Minutes later he pulled back. His knuckles caressed down your jawline before he climbed off of you entirely. He sat back on the couch and let out a deep breath. You weren't sure whether you were supposed to pick up your stuff and leave or follow along with him and stay close to his side. There was no real indication of what he wanted in this moment, but he turned to smile at you and huffed out a laugh.
"I think I'll keep you with me more often now. Really show you the ropes of fitting in around here."
You sat up and nodded awkwardly. He leaned toward you, cupping your cheek.
"I'll be a much better teacher than Ashley ever was," he said. His arm snaked around you and pulled you to his chest again. "No more errands or coffee runs. I'll show you things you need. Things that you'll enjoy."
He ran his fingers over your face and kissed your temple. The touches were tender against your skin. They would have been romantic if your mind wasn't racing with what this all meant in terms of your job and the grand scheme of your future.
Looking at him though, he wasn't worried at all. He smiled down at you before whispering once more.
TW: Agoraphilia. Exhibitionism. Violence. Non-con. SA. Sex in a meeting room. Innocent reader. Implied age gap. Reader's father is present. Slaughter does happen (reader survives, though). Homelander is rough. Homelander is being Homelander.
Reader: No specified gender. No description of the reader. No use of Y/N. "Hole" and "entrance" as the only terms for reader's genitalia.
Author's note: Might be the wildest one so far, surprisingly enough.
!NSFW! under the cut
The meeting at the Seven tower dragged on. A group of investors with sticks up their asses acted as if they had the right to dictate terms to Homelander when he was, in fact, the face of Vought.
There were ten people inside the room, all sitting around the table. Homelander, eight old, bitter pseudo-businessmen and you. Your father had taken you to the meeting because he knew you admired Homelander, so now you sat in one of the chairs, almost vibrating with excitement, which also made you the only person there who was in a somehow good mood.
Halfway through their complaining about how the price of buying a supe is too high these days, Homelander rested his chin in the palm of his hand, a faint frown on his face indicating his growing irritation. You were watching him intently, trying to be subtle about it, even though your eyes didn't leave him even for a moment.
"Four hundred million for some pseudo-hero pumped full of blue shit from a syringe?" One of the investors scoffed while reviewing the offer. "This has to be a joke."
Homelander's eyes were on him in an instant. Not threatening just yet, simply watching. Waiting for another misstep.
"You want that much money for some walking drug addict? It's absurd." Another one said, daring to address John directly.
"I don't set the prices, Stan Edgar does." Homelander responded flatly.
You kept watching him, not really interested in their conversation, too invested in the way John was leaning back in his chair, looking like he was growing more and more agitated by the minute.
"Then tell Stan we won't let some lab rats cost us a fortune." Your father suddenly spoke up, turning to Homelander with a frown. Their eyes locked, and at the mere mention of lab rats, John's gaze became icy.
"Tell Stan Edgar?" He repeated slowly, narrowing his eyes. "Who do you think I am?"
It should've been enough of a warning. But it wasn't.
"You're a product, you listen to the people who are buying you." Your father said coldly, which only made John's eyes narrow further. This time in something closer to dangerous amusement.
"I'm the Homelander." He smiled slowly, baring his white teeth. "I do not take orders from Stan or some weak, human garbage like you."
Silence. Homelander's gaze swept over the room, he could hear their hearts pounding in their chests, fear slowly beginning to take root in their minds. John inhaled the scent with unhidden pleasure. He wanted more, more of that terrified obedience.
Then his gaze finally turned to you. The smirk that appeared on his face was downright feral. "Oh, right. That's your kid, huh?" He asked your father, even though his gaze was fixated on you. It made you feel uncomfortably bare, the excitement from earlier slowly dissolving to make place for unease.
Your father nodded slowly, suddenly much more careful while choosing his words. "Indeed, why?"
John shrugged and turned to him again. "Let's see how well I listen, then."
He wasted no time, just stood up, pushing the chair back and walking over to you. Your chest tightened at the mere sight of him approaching you with that mean look. John, however, didn't let you think too long, he simply grabbed you by the shoulders, forcing you up to your feet. Everyone gasped, watching in horror as he manhandled you, bending you over the table right there, in front of them.
Your father immediately stood up, slamming his hands against the desk. "Stop that immediately-" He demanded but John's eyes shifted to him, already glowing red. The laser burned a hole in your father's shoulder, effectively rendering him incapable of further speech. Apart from pained, pathetic whines that started leaving his mouth, of course.
You couldn't react. Not with Homelander's grip shifting to the nape of your neck before slamming your cheek against the table. He wasn't gentle at all. This was more of a performance than anything else, after all. He easily kicked your legs open with his foot before moving his other hand to your pants, causing you to let out a yelp when with one sharp movement, he tore them off you, leaving you bare and trembling.
"Stop, please-" You tried, hands moving to grip the desk but he ignored you completely. The silence in the room was defeating. Nobody dared to make a sound, terrified and nauseous from the sight in front of them.
Homelander didn't bother with opening you up, he simply pulled his own pants down swiftly, his cock already hard and leaking precum from the tip. You could feel it press against your entrance for barely a second before a sharp cry of pain left your mouth when he pushed in, burying himself to the hilt inside you. Everyone in the room gasped and your eyes went shut, tears welling up in them.
"Eyes on your daddy, sweetheart." Homelander murmured with mock sweetness, hand twisting in your hair before forcing your head back so you could face your father. He looked horrified and pale, trapped between wanting to kill John and being unable to do anything while actively bleeding out and squirming in pain.
In this position, you could see every single person in the room, or at least as far as your teary eyes allowed you to. Some of the investors were staring in horror, unblinking and nauseous, others were shamefully looking down, either embarrassed or aroused beyond reason. Your father, however, turned his head away, unable to keep looking at his child getting fucked right in front of him. He just kept tightening his own hand over the gaping hole in his shoulder.
"Yeah, just like that. Keep looking." Homelander smirked and shook his head, hand escaping your hair to painfully grip your throat instead. He was pounding into you with single-minded focus, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room. You were sobbing, tears streaming freely down your cheeks from how painfully deep he was thrusting into you.
He slowly leaned down, his other gloved hand moving to clench on your thigh and pin it to the table as well. The new position allowed him to fuck even deeper into you, his cock hitting that sweet spot over and over again, making you moan and whine shamefully. "So tight. Never had a cock inside you, huh?" He taunted.
John's gaze then turned briefly to the people present at the table, x-ray vision allowing him to see exactly what was happening under that surface and he grinned with feral amusement. "Oh my. Did you know that two of them are jerking off right now?" The filthy chuckle that left him made you physically flinch.
After a few more moments of enjoying the fear and disgust, John apparently grew bored of it, though. He frowned slightly before shifting his grip on you, grabbing both of your arms and pinning them behind your back. His thrusts started growing more erratic, hips snapping forward, not caring about your pleasure or discomfort whatsoever.
He pushed in one last time before pulling out suddenly, leaving your hole gaping and letting his seed coat your ass instead. The absence of his cock filling you made you whine, as he didn't even let you come, just sharply pulled you off the table and threw you onto the floor like a discarded toy.
You hit the ground like a ragdoll, curling up on yourself almost immediately, sobs leaving your parted lips involuntarily. Homelander just pulled his pants up, watching with a self-satisfied smirk how some of the more empathetic investors were trying not to gag at what they just witnessed. Then his eyes shifted back to your father.
"Oh." Homelander hummed, gaze sweeping over the pale, lifeless body, blood pooling under your father's chair. "Well, that's quite unfortunate."
He sighed, eyes lightening up again and just a second later, everyone sitting at the table was cut in half by his laser vision, the upper halves of their bodies hitting the ground with a thud.
You looked up with terror, almost expecting him to murder you as well, but Homelander didn't even glance at you, he simply adjusted his gloves and left the meeting room, the heavy metal door sliding shut behind him. You looked around briefly before curling up on yourself again, trembling and sobbing weakly into your own arm.
That was probably much more cruel than just finishing you off.
i think about this often. the thought of slapping him is sooooorhrhhrgrgrgrr like augh. someone write something about my boy getting slapped. but like. not in a fight way. u guys know what i meanz.
tags: mdni!!!, dom!hollis x sub!reader, power dynamics, inspired by the movie the secretary
—
you come into the office the next morning with a knot in your stomach and a pulse that hasn’t settled since last night. hollis didn’t touch you. he didn’t kiss you. he barely even raised his voice. he just… pushed. he tested. he saw every reaction you tried to hide, and he filed them away like your body was some kind of report he was studying.
today, the studio feels different. quieter. charged.
you sit at your desk and pretend to type, but your eyes keep drifting toward the glass-walled recording booth where he’s working. he’s wearing black again, blonde hair messy like he rolled out of bed straight into music. his mouth is slightly parted in concentration. he looks like a problem you should never have agreed to assist.
and he glances up at you, entirely aware of what he’s doing.
the intercom clicks.
“come in.”
two words. the same as yesterday. but they land lower, heavier.
you step inside. the door shuts behind you with that soft, final sound you’ve already learned to fear and crave.
he’s spinning gently in his chair, looking at you like you’re a question he wants to answer slowly.
“you’re early,” he says.
“i didn’t want to be late today.”
a hint of a smile. “good.”
he gestures to the chair beside him. you sit. your thighs tense automatically, pressed together until his voice cuts through your posture like a blade.
“apart.”
your breath falters. you part them. not much. he tilts his head.
“wider.”
heat coils in your stomach, and you obey. he doesn’t touch you, he just watches you settle into the position he wants you in. calm. controlled. open.
“better,” he murmurs, turning back to the mixing console. “stay like that.”
you feel ridiculous. you feel exposed. and you feel… incredibly, stupidly turned on.
he pretends to work, adjusting audio levels, clicking through files, but every few seconds his gaze flickers down to your thighs, then up to your face. checking. measuring. confirming.
you swallow. “you’re doing this on purpose.”
“of course i am.”
“why?”
he gives a low laugh, not mocking, just amused by the fact you asked. “because i want to see how far you’ll go before you stop me.”
you don’t answer. because you’re not sure you would stop him. not here, not now, not when your whole body feels tuned to him.
he reaches across you, slow and deliberate, to grab a notebook. the movement makes his shoulder brush your chest lightly, enough to make you inhale a little too fast. he hears it. he lets the silence stretch.
he flips open the notebook and hands you a pen. “we’re starting something today.”
“what?”
“tasks,” he says simply. “things you do for me during the workday. small things. nothing you can’t handle.”
you nod, curious and nervous. “okay.”
he looks you dead in the eyes. “write this down.”
you wait, pen poised.
“one. you do not lie to me. about anything.”
you write it.
“two. when i ask you to come into this room, you don’t hesitate.”
you write that, too, pulse hammering.
“three,” he says, leaning in slightly, his voice lowering just for you. “when i give you an instruction, you follow it.”
your breath shakes. he notices.
“four. if you’re unsure what i want, you ask.”
you write slowly, trying not to let your hand tremble. his eyes follow your handwriting like it’s something he owns.
“five.”
he pauses. he studies your face, your mouth, your throat.
“you tell me the truth about what you’re feeling. even the things you don’t want to admit.”
you swallow. “even if it’s messy?”
“especially if it’s messy.”
you finish writing the list. he takes the notebook gently from your hands and scans the page, then closes it.
“stand up.”
you rise.
he stands too, stepping close enough that you smell the warm mix of cologne and studio air. he doesn’t touch you. doesn’t reach. doesn’t crowd. he just exists right there, in your space, a little too close, like a promise.
“yesterday,” he says quietly, “you wanted to show me something. you didn’t say it, but i saw it.”
you exhale shakily. “and what do you think i wanted?”
he smirks; slow, knowing, devastating.
“you wanted someone to take your control away. not because you’re weak. because you’re tired of pretending you don’t crave a place to let go.”
your breath catches.
“i’m right,” he murmurs.
“yes,” you whisper.
he steps behind you. still not touching just close enough that the back of your thighs almost brush his. your body sways instinctively. he watches the movement with dark satisfaction.
“good,” he says softly. “then here’s your first task.”
you don’t breathe.
“close your eyes.”
you do.
his fingers barely graze your hips, not holding, not pulling, just a whisper of contact that sends heat rushing through you so fast it’s embarrassing. he leans forward, lips almost touching the shell of your ear.
“from now on,” he murmurs, voice warm and low, “when you’re in this room with me… you don’t think about anything else.”
your pulse stutters.
“not work. not the outside world. not the people you’re supposed to be good for.”
another breath against your ear.
“you think about me.”
your knees go weak.
his hands slip away before you can lean into them.
“good,” he says. “you can open your eyes.”
you do. he’s already walking back to his chair, calm, composed, like he didn’t just unravel you without lifting more than two fingers.
“that’s all for now,” he says, sitting. “go back to your desk.”
he doesn’t look at you when he says it.
he knows you’ll listen.
—
a/n: i have all chapters written guys, i’m obsessed with their dynamic
tags: dom!conceal, fem!reader, fingering, p in v, creampie, making out, smoking, lmk if i missed anything !
w/c: 2.5k !
a/n: this was supposed to be posted earlier for new years but i kept getting off track :c
It’s about an hour until the new year. An upcoming artist, Feng, had invited his whole following as well as some influencers that were currently in LA. You, being a model and content creator, decided to come along with a couple other friends you model with.
You’ve been here about an hour, had a couple sips of your friends drink and took pictures with people who seemed to recognize you.
“Do you know where we could get a blunt?” you mumble in your friend, Alyssa’s, ear. The both of you were standing in the hallway by the kitchen, swaying to the blaring music. It was so loud that you could feel the bass in your blood and that mixed with the bit of alcohol you had tonight made you feel slightly dizzy but in a good way.
“I don’t know, maybe ask one of those guys for theirs” She replies. Your gaze shifts from her to the group of guys on the balcony that are smoking. You furrow your brows at her and give her a look that says fuck no.
“Oh c’monnn, what harm is there in asking?”
“I don’t know maybe they’d drug me and I’ll die from taking a hit.”
“You’re so serious, it’s new year’s eve! You need to live a little, babe.” She exclaimed before taking a sip of whatever mimosa she had in her hand. You rolled your eyes then looked back at that group. Maybe it was the alcohol but you were easily persuaded. It wouldn’t hurt to ask.
You tap Alyssa’s shoulder to signal that you were walking off and she nodded, watching as you approached the people crowding the balcony.
As you walked, all the confidence you had slowly began to fade. Your heart was racing so quickly that you could feel the beat everywhere. Anxiety consumed you to the point where’d you had to repeat in your mind that they weren’t about to laugh in your face.
They looked pretty intimidating. You couldn’t tell if you recognized them or if you were gaslighting yourself into believing you knew them so it would be less awkward. They seem to be huddling together and as you approach them, the one with a grown out buzz seems to eye you first.
“Do you guys have an extra blunt me and my friend can use?” You asked, watching his eyes widen before looking at his friends then back at you.
There’s a moment of silence between all of you, it wasn’t until the tall one with long blonde hair spoke up that broke it.
“Uhh, I think we do. Nate where are they?” He muttered before nudging the guy beside him.
The guy who was supposedly Nate just shrugged after digging in his pockets. “I think Ryan’s got them.” He said before slapping the back of the guy with the grown out buzz’s head.
That caused him to perk up. “What the fuck Nate?” He exclaimed before looking back at Nate, noticing his smug smirk.
“Did you hear what she said? She wants a blunt, don’t you have them?” He says, Ryan digs in his pockets before pulling one out.
“It’s my last one, so we’re gonna have to share.”
“Share?” you question.
“Yes, share.”
“This is how you try to get a girl?” One of the guys with shoulder length dark hair teases. He earns a nudge from the blonde one who is clearly holding back a laugh.
“Uhm..me and my friend wanted to smoke it, i don’t know if-“
“That’s fine, love. She can join us, I don’t mind.” He nods as if it’s already been decided and walks towards you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as the both of you walk back inside. Even with the deafening music, you can hear the way his boots jingle as well as his belt.
“So where’s she at?” He interrupts your thoughts which causes you to blink a couple times and look around. You hum before spotting her.
“That’s…her” you point, voice fading away as you realize she’s very much occupied by sucking off some guys face.
Ryan lets out an unamused hum. “Okay then, this way.” He mumbles, more to himself, before leading the both of you into the bathroom.
“Are you joking? You’re gonna hotbox us in here.”You protest while unwrapping yourself from his hold.
“I won’t let anything bad happen, princess” He insists while closing the door. You roll your eyes but give in. You hop onto the counter, watching as he starts to light the joint then take a puff.
After a couple seconds of silence, he breathes out the smoke and his gaze moves to yours.
“I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere.” He says suddenly while holding out the blunt for you. You take it between your thumb and pointer before clearing your throat.
“Yeah..I model.” You shrug.
“Yeah? What’ve you modeled for?” He’s clearly trying to make conversation but you’re so consumed by your nerves you can barely comprehend answers.
“Like, for clothing brands and..stuff” you cough, the smoke hitting the back of your throat too quickly.
Ryan knew you. Y/N. He was just too stubborn to admit that he had a small crush on you. He had spent hours at night stalking your instagram profile, your friends profiles just to see pictures of you. It’s like you’ve consumed his mind in a way.
“And stuff?” He repeats with a smirk. “You’re very shy, aren’t you?”
“What? No, I’m just answering your questions” you stammer.
He hums. You watch as he drags his gaze along your whole body. From the black mini skirt you have on to the silver glitter eyeshadow smudged around your eyes. Before either of you can say anything else, you hand him back the blunt. The faster that thing goes out, the faster you’ll be able to get back to your friends.
Soon enough, you feel the effect of the weed hit you. Your eyelids feel heavier than usual, every thought you’ve had slowly fading the more you breathe in.
“Feels good, right?” Ryan interrupts the haze you were in. In response, you nod with a smile that says ‘i’m high as fuck’. You aren’t the type of person to smoke or drink all the time, so whenever you do the high really gets to you.
He chuckles as he walks forward, standing between your legs and placing a hand on your outer thigh. Now face to face with him, you can’t help but admire him. The way his cheeks hollow as he inhales smoke and how he tilts his head in silent curiosity as to why you’re staring at him.
“You want another go?” He offers as he hold the last bit of the blunt out in front of you. You slowly nod once before taking one last puff and handing it back to him. He runs the sink beside you, putting it out before tossing it in the trash.
“I should go find my friends..” You murmur but make no effort in moving.
“Leaving so soon?” he murmurs with a slight smirk, his eyes moving from yours to your lips.
“Yeah..- I should.”
“But are you going to? You’ve said that twice now.” He teases.
“Do you want me to?” you challenged, brows furrowed. The weed mixed with the bit of alcohol you had in your system really boosting your confidence. It surprised you.
His lips folded inwards as he pretended to think about it. His eyes meet yours again, shaking his head before smiling at you.
“Then I won’t go.” You shrug, like it was decided long before you confirmed it.
His hand on your outer thigh starts to fiddle with the hem of your skirt. Your breath hitches, not really knowing how to react in this scenario.
“The high feels good?” he murmurs, lips only a couple inches from yours.
“I answered that already.”
“You know what would make you feel even better?” He smirks, his fingers trailing closer and closer to where you need him the most.
Not knowing how to answer, you place your hands on his shoulder, trying to distract yourself from how fast you’re breathing due to nerves.
“I don’t do this a lot.” you murmur, not realizing what you said before it already happened.
“Do what?” his brows furrow in mock curiosity. He knows what he’s doing, he just wants to hear you say it out loud.
“Have sex with strangers” your hand on the back of his neck pulling him slightly closer, lips almost touching his.
“That’s what this is?” He teases which causes your heart to drop. You can practically feel your face go pale and your heart rate quickening. You mask it with a huff of laughter.
“I-I thought..well”
“I’m just kidding, baby” he interrupts your stuttering before pressing his lips to yours. It starts gentle, like you’re something fragile he doesn’t want to break. One hand reaching under your mini skirt and the other cupping your cheek.
You feel his tongue graze your bottom lip, a silent ask for entry. Giving in, you part your lips. He wastes no time and instantly the kiss gets heated. His hand on your mini skirt moves stealthily just until you feel his knuckles graze your clit through the thin cloth of your panties.
You let out a whimper into his mouth, all your senses heightened due to how intoxicated you were. “You like that?” He mutters into the kiss.
Instead of answering, your hips jerk forward, wanting more. He grins into the kiss while adding more pressure against the fabric.
“Can I?” He asks, breaking the kiss to look into your eyes. You nod with your half lidded gaze on his. He looks down as he pushes aside your panties, revealing your wet core.
He slowly glides two fingers along your folds, the feeling causing you to gasp. You bite your lip, not wanting to make any loud noises despite the blaring music just out the door.
“Don’t hold back, I wanna hear all those pretty sounds you make.” He murmurs, lifting his head back up. His cheeks are tinted pink as the lips are slightly swollen from the kiss. The sight alone could make you come undone.
You open your mouth to respond when you feel two of his fingers inside you, letting out a lewd moan at the feeling.
He starts slowly, his pace enough to meet your needs but you can’t help but feel like you need more. “Faster.” you mumble, which causes his eyes to widen slightly.
“Whatever you want, angel” He responded, his fingers moving in and out of you much quicker. He watches as your face contorts in pleasure, your grip on his shoulder tightening that his skin could have crescent shaped indents underneath the fabric.
All that is heard are your pants and whimpers, moans getting louder the closer you get. He can tell. He can feel you clench around his fingers, waiting for the right time to pull out and leave you needy.
“Ryan..I-please” you whine.
“Please what, hm?”
“Please! I’m so c-close!” you start pleading as your lust filled gaze catches his before looking down to watch him mercilessly finger you.
He continues his pace for a few more seconds before completely pulling out, leaving you empty and unsatisfied.
Before you can even process what’s going on, his shirt is already being torn off his body. You can’t help but eye him and notice how gorgeous he is. Your eyes trail down to the faint hair leading below his belt. In your weed induced haze, you reach for his belt, trying to undo it but fumbling.
“Eager for my cock?” He teases as his hand reaches to place hair behind your ear and cup your cheek.
“I need you” You whimper, fingers idle on his belt as you look up at him.
“Okay, and you’ll have me. Patience, baby.” His hands moving to help undo his belt with a smirk. He pulls down his jeans until his knees, too lazy to go any further.
You on the other hand start to remove of your panties, also too eager to remove everything you have on. Your gaze drifts down and you notice his hard bulge against his black boxers. He notices how your eyes widen slightly, “it’s okay angel, you can take it.”
He guides you off the counter and turns you around, now face to face with your own reflection. You didn’t know you looked this fucked up. Faint lip combo smudged along the corners of your lips, the thin layer of sweat on your forehead, glossy eyes and smoke somehow fogging up the whole room.
“Fuck” he cusses under his breath, looking down at how you arch against the counter.
Before you know it, you feel his tip against your entrance, collecting slick. You look up at him through the mirror, his gaze locked on how his cock looks against your pussy with his lips parted in pleasure.
He slowly thrusts in, every inch filling you up. It slightly stings due to the stretch, letting out a moan at the feeling. It wasn’t until his hips connect with your ass that you realize you were holding in a breath. His hands grip your hips as yours curl into fists, nothing in reach for you to grab onto.
“Fuck, is that okay?” He asks, finally meeting your gaze in the mirror. You nod in response but that doesn’t seem to do it for him. “Words.”
“Yes.” you murmur.
He starts pulling out, making sure not to hurt you before thrusting back in. He picks up a rhythm. Each time, his tip kisses the perfect spot, causing your eyes to roll back.
He moves one hand from your hip to your shoulder then to your jaw. “C’mon baby, watch me fuck you dumb” He leans over to grunt in your ear. You use all you have in you to open your eyes and look at yourself. “Look at how pretty.” he adds quietly.
He pace becomes more sloppy, each thrust somehow going deeper and deeper. Your moans getting louder as you can feel the knot in your core form once again. He leans over, pampering gentle kisses along your cheek before reaching your neck and sucking on the skin.
You can’t even form a complete sentence at the moment, all noise coming from you just being babbles and incoherent pleads. “C’mon pretty girl, cum for me.” He pants.
That did it. You can feel your thighs shaking slightly as the bubble in your core bursts. Ryan finishes not long after, staying inside you for a moment before pulling out. “Fuck, sorry baby” He murmurs as he watches his mess drip down your thigh.
“I’m on the pill..It’s fine-“
You’re interrupted by someone banging on the door.
“Ryan! Are you in there?” A man’s voice calls out.
“Uh! Yeah, one minute!” Ryan exclaims before meeting your eyes in the mirror with a smile.
"He moves one hand from your hip to your shoulder then to your jaw. "C'mon baby, watch me fuck you dumb" He leans over to grunt in your ear. You use all you have in you to open your eyes and look at yourself. "Look at how pretty." he adds quietly." oh my god ruin me PLS
Hollis x reader (childhood bestfriends to fwb to lovers)
A/N: minecraft lore police please dont attack me, i know i got some of the things wrong. anyways i hope yall like it, this is based on a rec, the time line probably doesnt really make sense but whateverrr.
WC: 2k
cw: explicit, drunk calling, heavy angst, crying during sex, jealousy/insecurity, past friendship breakup
prologue – still remember your landline
summer 2015 → summer 2019
The first time you met Hollis Parker Frazier-Herndon he was eleven and crying because someone stole his diamond pickaxe on the school Minecraft server.
You found him behind the portable, hoodie sleeves soaked with tears, blonde hair sticking up like he’d been electrocuted. You sat down, opened your cracked iPad, and gave him half your stack of diamonds without saying a word.
He looked up, eyes red, and whispered “you’re my favorite person now” like it was a blood oath.
After that it was you and him against the literal world.
2015: building an entire city in survival mode on his laggy laptop while his mom yelled that dinner was ready. You both screamed back “FIVE MORE MINUTES” until the spaghetti went cold.
2016: he discovered SoundCloud rap and you discovered that he could make beats that actually slapped. You sat cross-legged on his carpet at 2 a.m., passing the same pair of busted Skullcandy headphones back and forth while Carti and Uzi blasted so loud his dad banged on the wall.
2017: first “I love you” that neither of you meant platonically but were too scared to admit. It happened in the middle of a creeper explosion; he saved your character at the cost of his own and you both just stared at the “Hollis was blown up” screen while your hearts tried to outrun the respawn timer.
2018: the summer everything felt unstoppable. You taught him how to French braid the front pieces of his hair because “it looks sick with the beanie, trust.” He taught you how to layer 808s until they hit like a truck. You had a shared Spotify playlist called “us against them” with 47 hours of music and exactly one slow song (White Ferrari) that you both skipped every time because it felt too big.
That same summer, he vanished into YouTube tutorials for three straight days. 3-hour builds, pixel-by-pixel obsession. You came over on Monday and he teleported you to a hill overlooking your world.
A castle. Pink wool walls glowing under the blocky sun, towers twisting up with stained glass you’d pick the colors for later. Surrounded by blossom trees—hand-crafted oaks draped in pink wool petals, cherry-like blooms he grinded for because “they’re your favorite, right? Like the ones in your backyard.”
He gave you the tour blushing the whole time, beanie tugged low. “Built it all weekend. For you.”
You named the world “pink castle” on the spot. Fell asleep on his floor that night with the game still open, petals drifting in the virtual breeze.
June 2019: last sleepover before everything cracked. His room still had the glow-in-the-dark stars you stuck on the ceiling in 7th grade. You were both 18 now, laying shoulder-to-shoulder, passing a warm Mountain Dew while the Minecraft menu looped.
He turned his head, voice soft: “College is gonna be so ass without you.”
You laughed, but it came out wet. “We’ll call every day. And you’re literally moving three hours away, not Mars.”
He went quiet for so long you thought he fell asleep.
Then: “Promise we won’t be one of those friendships that just… fades?”
You hooked your pinky with his without looking. “Never.”
You fell asleep like that, pinkies locked.
Three weeks later he was gone (LA first, then Chicago, then everywhere that wasn’t here).
The calls turned into texts turned into “liking” each other’s stories turned into radio silence that neither of you knew how to break.
You kept the realm alive. Every few months you’d log in. The spawn was overgrown, the heart-shaped dirt house long crumbled. But up on that hill, the pink castle stood—towers pristine, blossom trees perfect, petals untouched.
He must log in too. Repair the glitches. Keep it alive in secret.
Because if the blossoms fade, what’s left?
present day – 2:17 a.m., march 2025
You’re three plastic cups deep into bottom-shelf rosé, sitting cross-legged on your dorm floor in an oversized hoodie you stole from him years ago. Midterms fried your soul, your roommate is at her girlfriend’s, and your “i’m fine” playlist just autocycled to White Ferrari for the third time tonight.
You hate that you let it play.
Your thumb finds the contact before your brain can stop it.
hollis 🖤 last seen september 2023
The little phone icon stares at you like it knows this is a war crime.
You press call.
One ring. Two. Three—
“hello?” His voice is deeper, rough from sleep or a session, but it’s still him. Still the same soft edge that made you feel safe at fourteen.
You forget how to speak for a full five seconds.
“…y/n?”
You laugh and it comes out wet. “hi. shit. forget my number, parker-herndon?”
Silence. Then the softest exhale you’ve ever heard. Like he just dropped ten pounds of weight he’d been carrying for years.
“never,” he says, so quiet you almost miss it. “how drunk are you right now?”
“on a scale from buzzed to paramedics? solid seven. maybe eight.”
He huffs a tiny laugh. You hear rustling (sheets, maybe a blanket). “you okay?”
“no.” the honesty slips out before you can stop it. “i saw this stupid minecraft tiktok and the castle was in it and i just— i miss you so fucking much it’s embarrassing.”
More rustling. A light flicks on somewhere on his end; you can hear it click.
“the pink one?” he asks, voice cracking on the last word.
“yeah. the one with the stupid blossom trees you stayed up seventy-two hours building because youtube told you how to make the petals look real.”
He’s quiet so long you think the call dropped.
Then: “i still log in sometimes. just to… fix the chunks when they break. make sure the trees don’t despawn.”
Your heart physically stops.
“hollis.”
“i know,” he whispers. “i know.”
You’re crying now, ugly drunk crying, wine-stained tears on an ancient hoodie that still smells faintly like him if you press your face into the sleeve hard enough.
“i hate that we became a memory,” you choke out.
He makes this broken sound (half laugh, half sob). “me too. every day.”
You wipe your nose on the sleeve. “are you in chicago right now?”
“yeah. just got back from LA yesterday.”
“come home.”
He breathes once. Twice.
“i can be there by tomorrow night,” he says, like he’s been waiting six years for permission. “i’m booking the flight right now, okay? just— stay on the phone till i’m done.”
You hear him tapping, the familiar sound of him typing too fast with one thumb. The same sound from when he used to book minecraft realm slots at 3 a.m. because the server was full.
“done,” he says thirty seconds later. “southwest, lands at 6:48 p.m. i’ll— i’ll pick you up or meet you at the castle or whatever you want, just—”
“come straight here,” you cut in. “dorm’s empty. i have the bottom bunk.”
He laughs, watery and shocked. “bottom bunk. jesus christ.”
“i still have your hoodie, by the way,” you mumble. “the black one with the paint stains. never washed it.”
You can hear his smile through the phone. “keep it. looks better on you anyway.”
Silence again, but this time it’s the good kind (full, warm, alive).
“hollis?”
“yeah?”
“don’t hang up.”
“not going anywhere,” he says, soft. “not ever again.”
You fall asleep like that (phone on the pillow, his breathing in your ear, White Ferrari looping quietly in the background).
(end present day call scene)
next stop: tomorrow night, 7:12 p.m., when he walks through your dorm door looking like six years never happened and the blossoms are suddenly real again.
the summer fwb era – may → august 2025
You make rules on the second morning, both of you still half-naked and eating cold dino nuggets off the same paper plate.
no sleepovers (unless it’s 4 a.m. and uber surge is criminal)
no feelings (obviously)
no telling anyone
if one of us catches feelings we end it clean, no ghosting this time
You shake on it like it’s a business deal instead of the most delusional contract in history.
The first crack appears week two.
He’s only supposed to be in town for three days “mixing some vocals.” Ends up staying nine. You blame “flight delays” and “studio cancellations” while he’s literally falling asleep on your chest every night watching old Minecraft let’s-plays on your laptop.
You start keeping his favorite blue raspberry slushie flavor in your mini-fridge. He starts leaving hoodies “by accident.” Your top drawer is 60% his socks now.
June: he drags you to the studio at 3 a.m. because “the reverb is perfect right now.” You end up bent over the mixing desk, his hand over your mouth so nate in the next room doesn’t hear, both of you laughing into each other’s shoulders when the beat drops at the exact wrong moment.
After, he plays you a half-finished song (soft vocals, glittery synths, lyrics about blossom trees and second chances). You ask who it’s about. He changes the subject and kisses you so you forget the question.
July: you fly to LA for a long weekend “as friends.” He pays for your flight before you can argue. You spend four days pretending you’re not holding hands under restaurant tables and falling asleep tangled in his california king while the city lights paint pink across the sheets. He teaches you how to make cold brew. You teach him how to do your winged eyeliner (he lets you, sits perfectly still, calls you a steady-hand goddess). You never post any of it. The rules, remember?
Mid-july fight:
You see a tiktok of him at some rooftop party, blonde girl laughing in his comments. You don’t text for two days. He calls seventeen times, shows up at your dorm at midnight with a new blossom tree sapling in a pot like a psycho. “it’s for the balcony,” he mumbles, cheeks red. “so you stop thinking i’m replacing you.” You cry. He cries. You have sex on the floor because the bed feels too far. Rules? What rules?
August: the lie gets too big to breathe in.
He’s back in Chicago “just for a week” that turns into three. You stop pretending you’re not together 24/7. You cook pasta in his tiny studio kitchenette shirtless. He wears your college hoodie everywhere.
Then the LA model pics drop (some party he swears he left early). You don’t scream. You just go quiet. He notices immediately.
Text at 2 a.m.
you if i’m just the hometown pussy you hit when you’re bored, at least say it so i can start getting over you again
He calls instantly. Voice cracking before you even pick up.
“please don’t do this over the phone.”
You meet at the old high-school football field at midnight (same place you used to watch him try to skate, same place you had your first almost-kiss behind the bleachers).
He’s there first, sitting on the 50-yard line, blonde hair glowing under the stadium lights that never turn off. Hands shaking when he sees you.
You stop five feet away.
“i can’t keep doing this if i’m just nostalgia,” you say, voice flat.
“tell me i’m crazy. tell me it’s just sex. i’ll survive it.”
He stands up slow. Steps forward until you can see the tears already on his lashes.
“you were never nostalgia,” he says, broken. “you’re the whole fucking reason. every song, every flight, every time i logged back into that stupid realm at 4 a.m. just to sit in the castle and pretend you were there. i’ve been in love with you since we were fourteen and i let you name the fucking parrot in minecraft ‘blue raspberry’ because it made you laugh.”
You’re crying now too.
“then why the rules?” you whisper.
“because i was terrified you didn’t want me the same way anymore.” He laughs, wet and wrecked. “i thought if i called it casual you couldn’t leave again.”
You close the distance. Grab his hoodie strings like you did that first night in your dorm.
“i never left,” you say against his mouth. “i was just waiting for you to come home.”
He kisses you like the world’s ending and beginning at once. Hands in your hair, your back hitting the cold grass, stadium lights turning both of you pink like blossom petals.
When you finally breathe he rests his forehead against yours.
“be my girlfriend,” he says. “for real. no rules. no running. just us and the stupid pink castle forever.”
You laugh through the tears. “took you long enough, Holli.”
He kisses you again, softer. “marry me one day?”
You pretend to think about it. “ask me again when the blossom trees are real.”
He grins, the same shy one from when he was eleven and you gave him diamonds.
Tomorrow you’ll go back to being loyal
(Hollis/Roman/reader)
A/N: based on a true story- dont ask (please do)
CW: infidelity, explicit smut, public play, food play, alcohol, morally messy reader
WC: 1,5k
You push through the club doors and the bass hits you like a second heartbeat. It’s been forever since you’ve been out, forever since you wore something this tight, this short, this deliberately reckless. The vodka cranberries you pre-gamed with are humming warm under your skin, and the second you step into the strobes you feel him.
Hollis.
He’s already on stage, mid-set, black hoodie half-zipped, chain swinging, but the moment you appear in his eyeline the song almost falters. Just a tiny hitch in the beat, a half-second where his voice catches like he forgot how to breathe. Then he recovers, but his eyes don’t leave you. Not once.
You feel it everywhere, like a hand sliding up the back of your neck. Every lyric feels aimed. Every “girl you said you have a boyfriend, girl I don’t care” is a bullet with your name on it. You’re not even dancing yet and your underwear is already ruined.
You find a spot near the DJ booth, close enough that when he crouches at the edge of the stage during the breakdown his knees are practically between yours. Sweat drips off his jaw onto the floor in front of you. You swear he times slows down when he mouths, just for you: been a long time.
You mouth back: too long.
He smirks, licks his lips, keeps rapping like he’s not imagining bending you over the monitor right there.
When his set ends the lights cut to red and he disappears backstage. You don’t even think. You just move. You slip past security (some girl recognizes you from his last show, waves you through with a knowing grin) and follow the hallway that smells like weed and dry ice until you’re outside in the cold night air behind the club.
He’s already there, leaning against the brick wall by the train station entrance, lighting a cigarette with shaking hands. The second he sees you he drops it without stamping it out.
“Did you miss me?” His voice is lower than the bass inside, rough from screaming lyrics, hungry. He steps in until your back meets the kiosk window. “Did you think about me?”
Flashbacks hit like a drug: last year, same city, different club. Him kicking the bathroom door shut, your dress rucked up to your waist, his palm over your mouth while he fucked you so hard the stall wall rattled. You can still feel the bruises his fingers left on your thighs.
You tilt your chin up, close enough that your lips brush when you answer. “Keep thinking about how hard you fucked me in that bathroom.”
He groans, hands sliding straight to your waist, yanking you into him. “Fuck, say it again.”
“You fucked me ‘til I saw stars, Hollis.”
That’s all it. He kisses you like he’s trying to bruise you all over again, teeth clacking, tongue filthy. You bite his bottom lip hard enough to taste metal and he growls, spins you so the cold glass is against your back, crowd of late-night commuters ten feet away pretending not to watch.
His hand is already under your skirt, two fingers pushing your soaked panties to the side without asking.
“Jesus, you’re dripping,” he rasps against your ear. “This for me or for him?”
You wrap your hand around the outline of his cock through his jeans, squeezing until he hisses. “Guess.”
He curls your toes like this?”
“Shut up and touch me.”
He does. No warm-up, no mercy. Two fingers straight in, curling rough, thumb grinding your clit while he watches your face like he’s memorizing it. Your knees buckle; he pins you harder against the kiosk with his hips.
“Does he know how easy you fall apart for me?” he whispers, voice shaking with how bad he wants to be inside you right now. “Does he know you still come running the second I look at you?”
You can’t answer because you’re already coming, biting his shoulder through his hoodie to stay quiet while your pussy flutters around his fingers like it’s been waiting a whole year for this.
He keeps going, slower now, dragging it out, lips brushing your ear. “I’d fuck you right here if that train wasn’t coming.”
Headlights flash down the track. The train. His train.
You’re both breathing like you just ran a marathon. He pulls his hand out, sucks his fingers clean while staring straight into your eyes, then kisses you so you taste yourself and the night and every bad decision you’re about to make.
“Next time,” he says, voice wrecked, “I’m keeping you.”
The train screeches in. He backs away, adjusts himself with a pained laugh, and steps on just as the doors close.
The train’s red lights vanish into the dark and you’re still standing there, thighs sticky, lips swollen, heart hammering so hard you feel it in your clit. Hollis’s taste is still on your tongue, his fingers still ghosting under your skirt like a brand.
You pull out your phone with shaky hands.
you: can you come get me?
rommulas: say less. send loc, i’m omw babygirl ❤️
Twenty minutes later his beat-up silver Civic rolls up to the kiosk. Roman hops out, circles the car, opens the passenger door for you like he’s done a hundred times.
“Hey youu,” he smiles, soft and sleepy-sweet, eyes doing that slow drag down your body like he’s trying not to be obvious about it.
He smells like the same fabric softener he’s used since you were neighbors, warm, clean, safe. The total opposite of the cigarette-clove-chaos still clinging to your skin.
You slide in. He closes the door, jogs around, gets in. Before he even starts the car he reaches for your hand, brings it to his mouth, kisses each knuckle slow.
“Missed you,” he murmurs against your skin. “Been thinking about you all week.”
You laugh under your breath. “We’re just friends, Roman.”
He grins, eyes on the road as he pulls off. “Yeah? Just friends?”
“Good friends,” you correct, same script as always.
“No-kiss friends?” he teases, glancing over.
“No-kiss friends,” you lie, and he just hums like he knows it’s bullshit but he’ll let you have it, for now.
At his place he kicks off his shoes, flicks on one lamp, keeps the vibe low and golden. He’s wearing those gray sweatpants that should be illegal.
“You hungry?” he asks.
You shake your head.
“Want chocolate?”
You laugh, confused. “It’s like four a.m., Roman.”
He just smiles, mysterious, and nods toward the bathroom. “Go shower, baby. You smell like the club.”
You do, because you need it. You need the hot water to wash Hollis’s fingerprints off your hips and the memory of his teeth out of your head.
When you come back, towel barely knotted, hair dripping, he’s sitting on the edge of his bed in nothing but those sweatpants, Nutella jar in his lap like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
He looks up, eyes dark. “Can I eat chocolate now?”
The penny drops. Fucking. Drops.
You feel your face go hot. “Roman…”
He twists the lid off, scoops a fat dollop with two fingers, and crawls over the bed toward you. “Been starving for you,” he whispers, voice gentle but wrecked. “Please?”
You nod before your brain catches up.
He lays you back like you’re something holy, spreads warm Nutella across your nipples, slow circles, watching your chest rise and fall. Then lower, parting your thighs with the kind of reverence that makes you dizzy, smearing a thick stripe right over your clit.
First lick is careful, almost shy. Second lick is him groaning into you like he’s been fasting for months. By the third you’re arching off the mattress, fingers twisted in his curls, Nutella and spit and want everywhere.
He eats you like it’s worship, like dessert, like apology and thank-you and i missed you all in one. Tongue flat and broad, then pointed and cruel, sucking your clit like he’s trying to pull your soul out through it. When you come the first time you actually cry a little, it’s so soft and overwhelming after Hollis’s brutality.
He doesn’t stop. Just hums, pleased, slides two fingers inside you and curls while he keeps licking, slower now, savoring. Second orgasm rolls through you gentle and endless, thighs shaking around his ears.
When he finally pulls back his lips are shiny with chocolate and you, eyes blown wide, looking at you like you’re a miracle.
You’re both sticky and breathless. He carries you to the shower again, washes you so tenderly it almost hurts, big hands soaping every inch, rinsing Nutella out of places it had no business being.
Back in bed he reaches for the nightstand drawer, pulls out a condom, hopeful.
Tomorrow you’ll go back to being loyal.
You shake your head, small but firm. “Not… not that.”
He freezes for half a second, disappointment flickering, then smooths it away instantly. “Okay, babygirl. Whatever you need.”
He spoons up behind you instead, arms tight around your waist, nose buried in your damp hair.
You fall asleep to the steady thump of his heartbeat against your spine, Nutella still ghost-sweet on your skin, guilt somewhere far away for tonight.
Tonight you’re just warm, and worshipped, and quietly, horribly addicted to being wanted this much by two totally different boys in the span of one night.
"Yeah, choke her just like that," Roman says, smiling as two fingers deeply curl inside your pussy. You moan as you look at both of them, sitting between them; they were so close to you, breathing on you as they both put their focus on you. Hollis chuckles as he looks at you, wrapping his hand around your neck--having you ultimately gasping for air. "You know I won't let you die, baby, c'mon."
Whimpering as Roman picked up the pace, spreading one leg as he gave you a peck on the lips, Hollis coos into your ear, "You're so greedy, baby, you need both of us?" he says, flicking your clit aggressively. He was almost jealous that he had to share you--especially with his friend :/
"I-i really do, Holli, both of you guys," you mumbled, barely being able to talk. He tightly choked you again, "fuck, you're so cute." Roman groaned, "You can have us, baby. Think you can take me right here?" he rubbed your asshole, slowly fingering your ass."
nodding, "think I can holls." Both men chuckle, "You think you can?" Roman mocked, "Can barely take my dick, lying through your teeth."
"I know I can,"
"She knows she can, Roman," he looks at him and smiles, getting up and unbuckling his belt, "take my dick down your throat first and we'll see, okay, gorgeous?"
