John is full of encouragement. His large hands caressing and pulling you in the most divine ways. He’ll hold you close, slowly thrusting into you during your second orgasm, forehead to forehead.
“So pretty honey, know you can give me another.”
“Love you so much, just fuckin- fuck- made for me, fuckin proud of you.”
He’ll plant such tender kisses on your lips, you can’t help but melt and shudder around him. He’ll continue praising you after, cumming himself just from getting you off.
Simon on the other hand, he’s getting that orgasm out of you whether you think you can or not. A bully. Rubbing your puffy clit till your withering and sobbing on his dick. Might stick a finger in your stuffed heat for good measure. He’ll suck on your earlobe, then make his way down your jaw. Finally creaming all over him just how he wanted.
“See? Wasnt that fuckin hard, was it luvie?”
“Pretty little cunt just needed a little guidance, huh birdie?”
Gaz, just has to talk you through it. Dirty talker at heart. Wont shut the fuck up. Definitely has your arms pinned behind your back, enjoying the perfect view of of your cheeks rippling every time he drags his length out and then rams it back in your sopping walls.
“Shit, sweetheart, look at how well you’re taking me. Pussy wont let me go, needs me right, here, yeah?”
“Shh, shhhh, listen angel. You hear all that? That’s allll you, fucking soaking me to my balls. You can give me another, show me how good you are.”
Soap, the idiot, will overstimulate himself while overstimulating you. You’re fucking shaking, telling him to take a fucking break but he’s pussy drunk. So pussy drunk, that even the idea of him pulling out of your tight pussy makes tears well up in his eyes, rambling, whimpering, pleading—
“Cannae get enough of ye bonnie, god, ‘nd ya want me gone? Not like this lass, ma ears ‘re shot. I can’t- ungh- why are ye suckin me like this, Christ-“
“Soo good- hnngh- too good- need you dove. Please, please cum, just once more! I swear, I promise-“
The fool, fucking you both dumb till he’s shooting blanks, cum leaking out of your overstuffed cunt, leaking down his thighs and he’s passed out, still inside you. Don’t worry! He’ll do it over again tomorrow :)
a/n: good morning, sluts, countryfolk, and working babes— lend me your ears!!!
When you blow johnny and just keep gagging and choking he'll most likely laugh at you. But because you don't just let things slide–that man needs to be put in his place anyway–you pull out one of your dildos, and tell him to suck it. He laughs incredulously at first, though not totally opposedto the idea. But once he saw the expression on your face he knows you're serious. And he was never one to turn down a challenge.
Safe to say he's gagging like a bitch. Can barely take half the thing without tears stinging at his eyes. And if you're mean you tell him, "well, that's pathetic, baby." In a mocking tone. (lt makes his cock twitch dw) and if you're even meaner you decide to 'help out'. Forcing the toy down his throat with your hand. Do it over and over. Like he does when fucking your throat without consideration. He's a mess by the end, sweaty, eyes red with tears flowing from them, drooled all over the toy, down on himself like some mutt. But some time during it he came without even being touched.
summary: in which homelander spends his time watching you from vought’s surveillance cameras until he decides to reveal himself as the stalker who’d disturbed your hectic office routine.
note: smuttish, weird and s1 homie
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You worked on the sixtieth floor.
Little old corporate meh.
So not important enough for the ninety-ninth, but not invisible like the basement levels either. You were somewhere in the middle (literally), which at Vought meant you were close enough to the sun to feel its heat, but far enough that no one cared if you burned.
Your job was… simple.
Monitor press responses, draft internal notes, rewrite statements until “collateral damage” became “unforeseen civilian impact” and “Another Homelander incident” became “hostile escalation successfully contained by America’s greatest.”
Words just came easier when you had to type them down. And moral interventions were not allowed of course. You were lucky enough to have gotten this one of a lifetime job opportunity. Speaking out and voicing your actual thoughts would probably get you more than just fired.
But you’d made amends with it in a way, having adjusted to the madness of it all and managing to create a routine out of it that, under moral circumstances, would look like a typical 9-5.
Regardless on your views on propaganda, you were good at your job.
That was the first thing the Homelander noticed too.
Not your face - not at first at least.
But your work.
And it annoyed him so very much.
He didn’t usually read the little people’s edits. He didn’t need or cared to. Ashley handed him the statements, he smiled for the cameras, and America swallowed whatever version of the truth Vought served on a silver platter.
But one afternoon, during a meeting he hadn’t wanted to attend, someone had placed a briefing packet in front of him.
There, in the margins, was your writing.
Not scared. Not desperate to flatter him like other people did.
It was precise. Honest.
Remove ‘heroic restraint.’ Sounds defensive.
Don’t say ‘misunderstood.’ Makes him sound emotional.
Use ‘decisive.’ Polls better with men 35–54.
He’s stared at the sentence.
Makes him sound emotional.
His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek.
Who the hell were you?
Well, he found out before lunch.
Your name. Your department. Your desk number. Your badge history. The time you entered the building. The time you left. Your usual coffee order from the kiosk downstairs. Your apartment building. Your mother’s maiden name. Your last three performance reviews.
Vought’s systems were very useful when you were Vought’s favorite product.
By the end of the week, Homelander knew you took the stairs from fifty eight to sixty when you were anxious, even though there was nothing on fifty eight except archived marketing files and one vending machine.
He knew you hated the raspberry protein bars in the break room but ate them anyway when deadlines got bad.
He knew you kept extra shoes under your desk.
He knew you cried once outside the bathroom after a senior VP called your work “hasty bullshit.”
Homelander had watched that part twice.
Not because he liked seeing you cry.
He didn’t.
That was the oddest thing.
He had expected to enjoy it. Depending on the situation and his mood, people breaking was usually boring at best, satisfying at worst. Their silly little reasons for crying like fucking babies without diapers could drive him insane.
They were all so…human. And small. And ridiculous.
Yours was a little different. You had covered your mouth with your hand so no one would hear, forced yourself to breathe, entered the bathroom to fix your lipstick in the mirror, and walked back out like nothing happened.
He had paused the footage.
Then rewound it.
Then watched your face settle into calm in a matter of seconds.
Something in his chest had gone unpleasantly tight.
After that, he started checking the cameras before his interviews.
Then before meetings.
Then after fucking patrol.
Then at night.
Just to make sure you got home, obviously.
He would tell himself it wasn’t strange. It wasn’t wrong. He was the Homelander. He was supposed to protect people right? That was the whole point of his marketing existence. Yes, he hated every second of it but for you, he was willing to pretend.
Besides, you were…
Well.
You were worth watching.
“Your numbers are insane this quarter,” your coworker Diana said, leaning against your desk one morning. “Like, scary insane. Did you sell your soul or something?”
You snorted without looking up from your laptop. “Pretty sure everyone who signs an employment contract here does that by default.”
She laughed.
Homelander didn’t.
From the empty conference room across the hall, invisible behind mirrored glass, he watched your smile curve and linger.
Diana was too close to your desk, her hip was touching the edge.
Why did that bother him so much?
He heard Diana ask, “Drinks tonight?”
Oh he definitely wanted to laser her out in front of everyone.
Fighting the urge, Homelander leaned forward slightly.
“Maybe,” you replied. “Depends on when I finish.”
“You always say that.”
“Because I always mean it.”
Diana just rolled her eyes jokingly and walked away.
Homelander’s gaze stayed on you.
You rubbed at your temple. Your shoulders were tight. You had been sleeping badly again. He knew because you had turned on your corporate phone at 3:12 a.m. the night before and searched, “can stress cause chest pain.”
That had irritated him too.
Vought was full of insects in expensive shoes, buzzing around you, bothering you, taking pieces of your precious day. Your manager gave you extra work because you did it properly. Your coworkers came to you for help because you were too nice to say no. Men in elevators looked at you for half a second too long and then acted normal because cameras existed.
And he saw all of it, that was the problem.
And once he started seeing you, he couldn’t stop.
There was something addictive about your presence, he couldn’t quite grasp. To be fair, he would never even acknowledge to his own self that he’d gotten hooked into checking on you daily. He called it mere curiosity, hoping that if he’d studied you enough, he would know how to turn this into his advantage. Every person had something to offer to him, right? Should offer him.
But if so, why the fuck were the roles in reverse?
The first present appeared on a Tuesday.
Just a fresh coffee on your desk, exactly the way you always ordered it, still warm.
You stared at it for a full ten seconds.
Then you looked around.
No one looked back.
The culprit, watching from the hallway feed, smiled in pride.
But you didn’t drink it like he’d expected.
You threw it away. God knows who was trying to sabotage you into missing that important meeting with your manager later. Nobody had ever brought you coffee before and it seemed suspicious enough for you to get rid of it, just in case. Of course, it would be nice if someone from your coworkers cared enough to do that - but nobody did, mostly because of the strict deadlines everyone followed, so every little second counted. Not much time for chitchat either.
Needless to say Homelander was unbearable for the rest of day.
Ashley spilled three separate coffees trying to get through a meeting with him. The Deep almost pissed himself. Someone from Legal fainted when he asked, very calmly, why it was so fucking difficult for people to show basic gratitude.
The second present came the next day.
A wrapped raspberry protein bar.
Your least favorite.
This time, there was a note.
You should eat real food. Not this shit.
Your body went still.
You picked up the note, turned it over, read it again, then looked directly at the nearest security camera.
Directly with intention.
Homelander went still for a moment behind the screen.
Your expression was impossible to read. Not afraid, exactly. Not pleased either.
Then you raised both eyebrows as if to say, seriously?
And he laughed before getting startled by his own instinct.
The sound left his chest before he could make it handsome, before he could make it charming. A real laugh, brief and surprised.
You decided to put the protein bar in your drawer.
You did not throw the note away either.
You came to the conclusion that someone was actively stalking you enough to know parts of your routine in the company. Could it be an overhead? Did you do something wrong that would cause doubt about your performance? Were you subtly being threatened? Someone who doesn’t want to get caught watching wouldn’t leave traces that they are.
Sure, surveillance in such a place is a must and you have signed up for all of this but this is targeted. Who would care enough to watch a mere employee on office fucking five?
Things started shifting drastically as your questions doubled.
Your workload got lighter, doable.
Of course you noticed.
Emails that would have ruined your morning suddenly went to other people. Your manager stopped leaning over your shoulder. The VP who had criticised your work was abruptly transferred to a division in Ohio and looked physically haunted on his last day. (Haha Ohio)
You watched the changes happen around you like furniture moving by itself in the dark, like some haunting had taken over.
At first you told yourself not to be dramatic.
This was Vought. Weird things happened at Vought. Cover-ups happened at Vought. A lot of dark, illegal things happened at Vought.
Supes walked through walls, PR teams buried scandals, one time someone from Finance found a human teeth in a conference room and everyone just agreed to ignore it…
For better or worse, you were part of this twisted world.
But the notes kept coming.
Not every day. That would have been easier to dismiss as a prank.
No, they came just when you needed them.
A black umbrella waiting on your desk five minutes before rain hit the city.
You forgot yours.
A new badge after yours started glitching.
Security should do their job properly.
A copy of a report you had lost when your laptop crashed.
You need to save your work more often.
Your stomach twisted every time.
The handwriting was neat and controlled. Almost old-fashioned.
You realized who it was before you dared to admit it. You’d heard stories about him before, of fixations of his to get what he wants and then dispose of whoever was lucky enough to help him. He was untouchable and distant, scary up close, nothing like the man on the screen. You never had the honor of meeting him in person, thank goodness.
Everyone knew there were cameras in Vought Tower and everyone knew the walls had ears. But knowing that was different from feeling watched.
And lately, you felt it everywhere;
In the elevator.
At your desk.
In the lobby, when the giant screens played his speeches and his blue eyes looked out over everyone.
You would glance up, and for one horrible second, it would feel like the image was looking back at you.
Then one night, you stayed late. Awfully late.
The office became unfamiliar after hours. The fluorescent lights seemed colder. Desks sat empty. You were rewriting an emergency response statement about a “contained incident” in Queens. Contained, apparently, meant three city blocks and a news helicopter.
Your eyes burned but you had to push through.
Your phone buzzing startled you out of your trance. Who could it be at this hour?
Unknown number.
Go home.
Your blood went cold. No, no, not again.
You stared at the message.
Then typed back before you could completely lose your nerve.
Who is this?
Three dots appeared immediately.
Then vanished.
Then appeared again.
You know.
Suddenly the office felt awfully quiet.
You looked toward the camera in the corner.
“Stop it,” you shouted out loud.
Nothing happened.
Your phone buzzed again.
You’re tired. You’ll make mistakes.
Your fingers tightened around the phone.
This was actually fucking insane. Your mind is racing with possible scenarios concerning your fate. Would you be crushed to death? Badly beaten? Because for sure that didn’t seem to be how normal people reach out.
Well, supes are not normal people and probably don’t think like normal people with all this power in their hands now do they?
Are you watching me right now?
This time, there was no delay.
Yes.
Your breath caught in your throat
There it was. The confirmation sunk in and your fear tripled.
You stood up so fast your chair rolled backward and hit the desk behind you.
“I don’t know what you think this is,” you said, voice shaking despite your best effort, “but it needs to stop.”
The elevator dinged.
Oh you were so fucked.
The doors opened at the far end of the floor.
And then you saw him. The man who had disturbed the peace you had worked so hard to find in that shithole. Ocean eyes and golden locks walked towards you slowly, while you stayed frozen in place.
He was undoubtedly Homelander, but not fully. He was missing the cameras, the cheering crowd, the American flag rippling behind him on morning news. Just him in the suit, cape dragging softly over the polished floor, face calm in a way that made your instincts scream.
You knew who he was and heard things about him, but this was when you started to realize you didn’t know him at all.
“You shouldn’t be here this late,” he said.
You hated that his voice was gentle.
It would have been easier if he sounded cruel.
“I’m working.” Should you have added sir at the end of the sentence? Considering he had been violating your privacy, you decided to risk it and go with a big fat no.
“I know.”
“Of course you know.”
His eyes flicked over your face. “Aaaand you’re upset.”
You laughed once, sharp and humorless. He had to be kidding. “Wow. Great observation.”
His jaw tightened.
Careful, something in your head warned. He could take you out in an instant if he wanted to. And yet, despite knowing the danger you were under if you slipped and said the wrong thing, the anger inside you still managed to surpass your survival instincts.
Supe or not, there was not reason for you to get actively stalked.
“You can’t do this.”
Homelander tilted his head, putting his hands behind his back. “Do what?”
“Watch me. Text me. Move things around in my life like I won’t notice.”
“Y/n, I helped you, and this is what I get? Humans are truly ungrateful.”
“You fucking scare me.”
That landed.
His expression shifted almost imperceptibly, but you saw it. The irritation. The disbelief. The brief, wounded confusion that he crushed immediately under something colder.
“I scare you,” he repeated, just to make sure that he’d heard correctly.
After treating you so nice, trying to help and take care of you subtly - that was the thank you he was getting? He should have snapped your neck right then and there for being such a fucking brat. You had the audacity to talk back to him and doubt his decisions? He could do whatever he wanted with you at any point.
Maybe he shouldn’t have been so graceful towards you.
Despite your confession, your heartbeat seemed pretty steady. It was definitely different than what he was used to. Normally those who feared him didn’t word their fear, rather they were betrayed by their own heart threatening to rip out of their chest.
“I kept people off your back.”
“You interfered with my job and I don’t want that please.” You said, in attempt to reason with him.
The overhead lights hummed.
For a second, you remembered exactly who you were talking to; not a difficult executive. Not some lonely man with boundary issues.
Him.
The most powerful man in the world.
And you had some serious audacity to get into an argument with him, subtly pushing him to admit he was wrong and changing his mind.
Homelander stepped closer.
You forced yourself not to step back because you’d bang on your desk. Besides, showing vulnerability would definitely be to your disadvantage.
“You have no idea,” he said softly, “how many things I don’t do.”
His gaze dipped briefly, then returned to your face.
“I don’t come to your apartment,” he said. “I don’t stand outside your window. I don’t remove every idiot who looks at you wrong. I don’t make you answer when you ignore my messages.”
Your stomach turned.
He said it like these were gifts.
Like restraint was romance.
“Homelander,” you started carefully but he interrupted you by lifting his pointer finger.
“Nope, shut up. Because you kept the notes. The coffee, no. That hurt my feelings, by the way. But the notes? Top drawer. Under the emergency Advil and that awful lipstick you never wear.”
A chill slid down your back.
“You went through my desk, too?”
“I don’t need to go through things to see them.”
“Why me? Why are you doing this to me?”
He took another slow step forward, boots nearly silent on the carpet. His smile didn’t falter, but something darker flickered behind his eyes - hunger, maybe even a flicker of uncertainty.
“Why you?” His voice was smooth, laced with that arrogant drawl, but there was a raw edge to it.
“Because you’re real. Not some simpering idiot throwing themselves at me for clout or power. You sit here night after night, working like the world isn’t already mine. And you don’t flinch when I look at you. Not completely.” He was closer now, towering over your desk.
“I’ve seen every little moment. The way you bite your lip when you’re focused. The way you sigh and stretch… the way your shirt pulls across your chest. You’re mine to watch. And I’m tired of watching.”
Your breath caught now. All strength you’d managed to muster had totally evaporated. You should have been terrified. You should have screamed. Instead, heat pooled low in your belly at the raw possession in his tone. “That’s not a proper answer,” you whispered, but your voice trembled.
Mine, mine, he kept saying that. His superiority over literally everyone else probably made his life boring, boring enough to drive him nuts. He looked at you as his plaything, something to help time pass until he got bored and jumped onto the next.
Despite all these thoughts running in your head, knowing that you were totally helpless and at the mercy of the strongest supe, there was something sickly attractive about the way he treated you. The way his eyes, stormy now, took you in, the way he approached and talked to you. The way he looked awfully good in that suit, the way-
Oh.
He rounded the desk in one fluid motion, faster than you could track. One gloved hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up to his. His thumb brushed your lower lip, surprisingly gentle.
“It’s the only answer you’re getting,” he murmured, voice dropping to a velvet growl. “Now stop talking.”
His mouth crashed down on yours without any other warning.
The kiss was anything but gentle. It was hot, demanding, almost bruising. His lips were softer than you expected, warm and insistent as they moved against yours.
You gasped, and he took the opportunity to deepen it, tongue sliding in to taste you with a low, hungry sound that vibrated through his chest.
He tasted like mint and something faintly metallic, like ozone after a storm. One of his hands tangled in your hair, gripping just tight enough to send sparks down your spine, while the other braced on the desk, caging you in.
You kissed him back. God help you, you did. For someone thinking supes had weird hobbies, you were acting in a similar manner yourself.
But what were your options anyway? He definitely wouldn’t let you walk out in a civilised manner.
Might as well add to your book of life that you got to fuck the strongest man in the whole entire world.
Your fingers fisted in the front of his suit, the fabric strangely smooth and unyielding under your palms. He groaned into your mouth when you tugged him closer, the sound raw and surprisingly human.
His body pressed against yours, solid and radiating heat even through the costume. You could feel the hard planes of his chest, the tension in his shoulders as he fought to keep control.
“Fuck,” he breathed against your lips, breaking the kiss only to trail his mouth down your jaw, teeth grazing your pulse point. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
Your hands moved on their own, sliding up to his neck, then into his perfectly styled hair, messing it up. He shuddered at the touch like no one ever touched him like this, like he was something to be wanted and not feared. That small, vulnerable reaction made something soften inside you even as arousal burned hotter.
He lifted you effortlessly, your ass hitting the edge of the desk as papers scattered to the floor. Your legs parted instinctively, and he stepped between them, grinding against you.
The hard length of him pressed against your core through his suit, thick and insistent. You moaned, rolling your hips, chasing the friction.
“Homelander-” you gasped.
“John,” he corrected roughly, nipping at your collarbone as his hands worked open your blouse. Buttons flew.
“Say it.”
“John,” you whimpered.
That broke something in him. He shoved your skirt up around your waist, fingers hooking into your panties and tearing them aside with a sharp rip that made you jolt. Cool air hit your slick folds, but it was immediately replaced by the heat of his hand as he cupped you, two fingers stroking through your wetness.
“So fucking wet already,” he growled, voice wrecked. “For me.”
You nodded frantically, pulling him back into a messy kiss. Tongues tangled, teeth clicked, breaths mingled in desperate pants. His fingers circled your clit with devastating precision before sliding into you, curling just right. You cried out against his mouth, thighs trembling around his hips.
He didn’t wait long. The sound of his suit being pulled aside was faint, and then he was there—hot, heavy, and bare against you. The head of his cock nudged your entrance, slick with your arousal.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
You did. Those blue eyes were blown wide with lust, pupils dilated, but there was something almost pleading beneath the dominance.
He thrust in with one powerful stroke, burying himself to the hilt. The stretch burned so good you saw stars, a broken moan tearing from your throat. He was big, thicker and longer than you’d imagined and the feeling of being so completely filled made your head spin.
“Fuck, you feel-” He cut himself off with a guttural groan, forehead dropping to yours. For a second he just stayed there, trembling, like he was savoring it. Then he started moving.
Hard. Deep. Relentless.
The desk creaked beneath you with every thrust. Your hands scrambled for purchase on his shoulders, nails digging into the suit as he fucked you like a man starved.
Each drag of his cock against your walls sent pleasure spiraling through you. His mouth found yours again in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss, swallowing your cries as he pounded into you.
One of his hands gripped your thigh, spreading you wider. The other braced on the desk, knuckles white. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his usually perfect hair falling messily over his eyes. He looked devastatingly human like this,
flushed, desperate, lost in the feel of you.
“You belong to me,” he panted between thrusts, voice breaking. “Say it.”
“I belong to you,” you gasped, clenching around him. The pressure was building fast, coiling tight in your belly.
His pace faltered, hips stuttering as he chased his own release. He reached between you, thumb finding your clit again, rubbing tight circles until you shattered.
You came hard, back arching, vision whiting out as pleasure crashed over you in waves. Your walls pulsed around him, pulling him deeper. With a broken moan that sounded almost pained.
John followed right after, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with hot, pulsing jets.
For a long moment, the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the faint creak of the desk.
He stayed inside you, forehead pressed to yours, eyes closed. His hand came up to cradle the back of your head almost tenderly, thumb stroking your hair.
“You’re not getting rid of me,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Not now. Not ever.”
And he meant it.
He’d give you the freedom to choose him, sure, but he’d have the final say, anyway.
He listened to your heartbeat fade through steel and concrete when you left a few minutes later, still dizzy and flustered by what had just happened.
Would telling Diana be an infringement of your NDA? Holy fuck, who cared? That was the most intense experience of your entire fucking life. Him having this obsession with you maybe was less creepy than you thought. Or maybe you getting with him totally turned your mind upside down and blurred your judgment, totally forgetting the potential peril you had just gotten yourself into.
John looked at your desk. Your mug. Your closed laptop. Your drawer with every note you pretended you didn’t care about.
His smile returned.
Small, private, patient.
You would text him when you got home like he’d requested.
You contemplated what it would feel like to have John Price—your dad's best friend—to bend you over the counter and lift your leg up to fuck you deeper about a million times since you moved back home.
Every time you saw him having a glass of whiskey or beer with your father in the kitchen, your mind always wandered to that fantasy. There is no way he isn't packing.
Broad shoulders, thick biceps and thighs that looked like tree trunks with a mess of dark brown hair and silver highlights and his beard too, the same one you wanted to sit on and soak in your slick.
You could survive three months.
June.
July.
August.
Then back to school where there are plenty of guys to get your mind off of the man you've been crushing on since you were seventeen, and at twenty-four it was only stronger.
A heat wave came through choking everyone with the humidity giving you the excuse to wear short shorts and tank tops.
“Hey, Mr. Price!” You said as you bounced into the kitchen thankful he was alone while your father stood outside where he tended to the grill.
His blue eyes swept over your barely clad body then focused on your face keeping a neutral smile. “Hi. Back for the summer?”
“Yep.” You popped the p and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge pressing it against your sweat slicked skin.
You knew John would be tough to break, but after all he is only a man with needs.
Before he could ask anything else, your dad opened the sliding doors and stepped inside dabbing at his forehead with the back of his hand, he smiled at you.
“Good to see you out of your bedroom, reminds me of the old times.” He grinned, making you roll your eyes and laugh.
If your father was good at anything, it was embarrassing you whether or not he knew it.
John found something to focus on, but you swore that he was watching you or perhaps was it your insatiable need to get his attention?
Either way you have three months to get him to fuck you stupid.
I haven't written x reader in sosososo long but I am trying to get back into it even though it feels stiff dnjshd would anyone be interested in more?
The video was blurry and his raspy voice was laced with desperation “Hey kiddo, look who misses ya. Couldn’t wait for you to come home so ‘m gonna be playing with one of your lil toys here” he puts the phone on the bedside table besides him and there it is- your stuffed animal in price’s big hands rubbing against his shaft.
you felt embarrassed, gross and wet..?
This wasn’t something you should be looking at in between class! But you don’t wanna ignore your old man either..
He rubbed your stuffie moving up and down his length, balls hanging heavy and his red angry head glaring on your screen.
“Missin’ you so bad lovie, yer prolly wishin’ this toy was you yeah? Can picture you drooling on yer desk, tryin’ to get yourself off by rubbing yer’ lil cunny on the seat while yer tryna take your eyes off this but you cant, can ya kid?”
God it was like he could read your mind, your core ached so badly. Feeling weirdly jealous of the way your stuffie looked next to his cock.
You could hear his laboured breaths in your left earpiece, his pace getting more erratic and intense.
“Mhm-fuck kid even yr’ lil stuffie feels so fuckin’ good, d’ya want me to paint it all white? Wan’ me to make a mess on the little toy you sleep next to every night? Yeah? Cuz I’ll make sure you smell yr’ old man’s jizz every fuckin’ night”
Your old man was a hot, hard and moaning mess on your screen.
He gripped onto the toy as if it were something he needed desperately, holding it down as he came all over it. His stomach hair, your toy and the bed sheets all coated with your dirty dad’s cum.
“Come home soon yeah? Gonna fuck you better than this stuffie of yours.”
You notice the class is ending so you quickly start removing your EarPods and put your phone back in your pocket but his voice returns,
“Hey and also don’t even think about washin this, it’s mine now” and with that both the video and your class ends.
john price was a face bartenders were tired of seeing.
already tired people pulled exhausted as they watched him butter up the newest pretty girl at the counter. forced to crafting up a drink on his will to slide it over to whatever woman it was he had the drive to persue and claim. only for the night of course, never longer.
it was nice watching the older man be shoved back into his age bracket once and a while. preppy things in heels like you, snapping at him to blow off. wet his dick at someone elses overpriced apartment.
standing your ground over a glass of cheap wine, scoffing at his desperate attempt for what might be a smirk? you couldnt guess, he was hotter the less you focused on him.
"..so, vintage coach love. you like 'em worn?" god, men were far better when they only sat and looked pretty.
you took matters into your own hands, in your mind at least. offering to do the unfortunate woman hed run into later down the future, right. maybe even call it community service.
was the communities man anyways.
you slammed your hips down, surely bruising his pelvis with the unhalting force you brought. goosebumps across your spine that relushed in deep pleasured groans scratching from his throat.
kneading against him in ways to your pleasure, yanking his hair ( that actually smelled surprisingly nice, burbon and woody cedar — brownie points to him ) and pushing his neck up to your chest everytime he forced out a grumble in objection.
smearing your mark across his skin in places he had never been touched with without intent to be harmed. pale and sensitive chest flushing a vibrant pink with pretty purple spoches littering across.
deep whines strummed from vibrations deep in his throat, shoving your lacey underwear in his mouth to finally make him shut the hell up.
slipping out the door in the same gleamy heels that caught his eye. the only trace you were ever there was the sultry perfume that wafted across his tainted sheets and glitter particles that caught the new suns light as it poured into his room.
never even giving him your name. like a pretty siren that sucked his soul and recalibrated him just to slip back into murky waters.
good thing he snagged your name from your ID at the bar, laswell would do wonders.
ׂׂׂૢYou and Tucker slept together once, and while it was a mistake on your part, Tucker can't seem to leave you alone. You've got him completely addicted. He spends every spare second trying to convince you that he can treat you better than anyone ever has.
•°. *࿐•°. *࿐•°. *࿐•°. *࿐•°. *࿐•°. *࿐
The first time you slept with Tucker, it wasn't supposed to mean anything. At least that's what you told yourself. You'd spent two years rebuilding yourself after your ex. Two years scraping pieces of your dignity off the floor after being lied to, cheated on, and fed promises that turned out to be empty. Somewhere along the way, you stopped believing men were worth the effort.
Tucker, unfortunately, didn't seem to get the memo. "Just one date." he pleads "No." you say emotionless. "Okay so then maybe dinner as friends?" he says grabbing your bag for you, "Tucker." He grinned from where he sat across from you in the student lounge. "I'm hearing maybe."
You rolled your eyes, the problem wasn't that Tucker annoyed you. The problem was that he didn't. He remembered things. Tiny things. The way you hated onions. The way you always ordered extra ice. The fact that you got quiet whenever someone you didn't know would show up. Most people saw your walls and walked away.
That didn’t bother Tucker in the slightest. "You know," he said casually, "I could treat you way better than that loser ever did." You laughed. He tilted his head. "You hear one thing about my ex and suddenly you're trying to save me." His smile faded slightly. "No." He protested.
"Yeah." you say chuckling. "No." His voice was quieter this time. "I'm trying to convince you that you deserve better." The words landed harder than they should have. You hated that. You hated that every time he looked at you, it felt genuine. You hated that he never pushed when you told him to back off.
Most of all, you hated that part of you wanted to believe him. "You should give up," you said. Tucker laughed softly. "Not happening." you roll your eyes and continue walking. "You are unbelievably stubborn John." you say half jokingly,
"You don't even know what you're fighting for, and you don't really want me. ." His eyes met yours. "Yeah, I do." you knew exactly what he meant, he wasn't chasing some fantasy version of you. He'd seen the trust issues, the bitterness. The way you ignore him anytime something starts to feel real.
And he stayed, not because he thought he could fix you. Because he wanted you anyway. "Tucker..." His expression softened. "You don't have to decide anything," he said. "I know you're scared." You opened your mouth to argue. He raised an eyebrow. "Terrified, actually."
You rolled your eyes. "Shut up." A smile tugged at his lips. "Look, all I'm saying is that whenever you're ready to stop assuming every guy is your ex, I'll be here. I promise you, I am not him." The worst part wasn't that Tucker wanted you. The worst part was that after months of fighting it, you wanted him too.
—
A month later, Tucker was still trying. Good morning texts, Pictures of him randomly doing things, random complaints about classes. The occasional "you should come to my game tonight" that always ended with you changing the conversation, and tonight was no different.
Tucker: Big game tonight.
You didn't answer.
Tucker: I know you're reading this sunshine.
Tucker: You're actually the most stubborn person I've ever met.
You smiled
You: Go focus on hockey.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Tucker: So you're coming?
You: Tucker. Stop.
Tucker: :(
You locked your phone.
—
The arena was loud. You immediately regretted showing up. The stands were packed with students, music blaring through the speakers while players skated warmups across the ice. You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself and climbed into an empty seat near the glass.
Nobody knew you were there. Especially Tucker. You told yourself you weren't there for him. You were just curious. Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about and nothing more. Then Tucker skated past, and somehow he spotted you immediately. You watched his head snap toward the stands. Then stop…Then do a double take. A slow grin spread across his face.
The entire warmup he kept glancing over. Every single time he passed your section. It was ridiculous. By the time the game started you could practically feel his excitement from across the rink. The game itself was surprisingly entertaining. Fast. Aggressive.
You caught yourself paying attention whenever he had the puck. Caught yourself getting nervous when he got checked into the boards. Caught yourself cheering when he scored. The second the puck hit the back of the net, Tucker's head turned toward the stands. Toward you.
His teammates crashed into him in celebration while he pointed in your direction. The girl beside you shouted. "HE SCORED FOR YOU." She said with a huge grin on her face. "He did not."
—
They won.
Unfortunately.
You were halfway to the parking lot when someone grabbed your elbow. "Took you long enough." You turned. Tucker stood there with wet hair and flushed cheeks, still wearing part of his gear. The smile on his face was so cute it made you melt.
"You came." you give him a soft smile "You actually came." You rolled your eyes. “Just wanted to see if you were actually a good player like everyone says.” His grin somehow got bigger. For a moment neither of you spoke. The parking lot buzzed around you with people leaving the arena. Then Tucker's expression softened. "You stayed the whole game."
The simple observation hit harder than it should have. He knew you haven't stayed a whole game since your ex, he hadn't expected you to. Part of him still thought you'd leave. You looked away. "Yeah." When you looked back, he was staring. Not with his usual teasing smile. Just looking at you. Like you were something he'd been waiting for.
Your chest tightened. "Tucker." you say uncomfortable. He hummed "You know this doesn't mean anything, right?" A laugh escaped him. "You keep saying that." He pauses "And somehow you keep showing up."
—--
The fight with your mom started at 8 that morning. You'd called her on your way to class hoping that this time she would comfort you. By the end of the conversation, you were sitting in your car gripping the steering wheel while she listed all the ways you were disappointing her.
Your grades weren't where they should be, you weren't taking enough classes, you spent too much time on soccer, you didn't spend enough time on soccer. You weren't trying hard enough, you weren't enough.
The conversation ended the same way they always did, with words neither of you could take back. The rest of the day only got worse. A failed exam, terrible practice, coach who pulled you aside afterward just to tell you he expected more from you. By six o'clock, you felt hollow.
Like somebody had scooped everything out of your chest and left nothing behind. You sat in your car long after the sun started setting. Not driving, not moving, just staring. You thought about calling Hannah, but you couldn't stand the thought of talking. Couldn't stand the thought of explaining why your voice sounded the way it did.
Somehow you ended up pulling into Tucker's neighborhood. You feel stupid immediately. What were you doing? You weren't his girlfriend, you weren't even really anything. You sat there for another minute. Before finally getting out. You climbed the steps before you could knock, the door opened, Garrett stood there. His eyebrows shot up. "Hey."
Garrett knew you. Not well, but enough. Enough to know something was wrong. His expression changed immediately. "Are you okay?" The question almost made your eyes sting, you hated that stupid question.
"Is Tucker here?" Garrett glanced over his shoulder. "Yeah, he's-" The reality of what you were doing hit you all at once. Showing up at Tucker's house because your life was falling apart. Showing up because somewhere along the way he'd become the person you thought about when things got bad. Your chest tightened. No. No, that was pathetic. You took a step back. "Actually, never mind."
Garrett frowned. "What?" You shake your head. "Forget it." He sighs, you forced a smile. "I should go." Then you turned and walked away before he could stop you. The cold evening air hit your face. Your vision blurred. You hated yourself for coming. Hated yourself for crying. Hated that after everything, after all your promises to never depend on another person again, you'd somehow ended up on Tucker's doorstep.
You were halfway to your car when the front door opened behind you.
"Hey sunshine"
You stopped walking, the stupid nickname he gave you because he said you were the grumpiest person he knew, and needed sunshine. His voice alone was enough to make your throat tighten. Footsteps hurried down the porch steps. You didn't look at him. If you looked at him, you knew exactly what would happen. "What happened?" His voice was soft.
"Nothing." It came out weaker than you wanted. "You never come here." The lump in your throat grew. You stared at your car, at the pavement. Anywhere but him.
"I wasn't thinking." You squeezed your eyes shut, the tears were coming now. The horrible kind that showed up after holding everything together for too long. "I just..." Your voice broke.
People wanted things from you all the time.
Teachers, coaches, your mom. Everyone wanted more. More effort, more success, more perfection. Nobody had stopped to ask if you were okay. Nobody except him. Your eyes filled before you could stop them, you looked down quickly. Tucker didn't say anything.
Didn't tell you not to cry, didn't ask questions, didn't try to fix it. He just stepped closer embracing you into his body, that was the thing that finally broke you. A tear slipped down your cheek. You laughed weakly at yourself. Tucker's face softened. "You don't have to leave, I'm here for you sunshine, just let me in.”
—
You'd been ignoring Tucker for almost three weeks. His texts went unanswered, calls went straight to voicemail. So the last person you expected to see standing outside the soccer field after practice was him. you spotted him leaning against the fence. The second his eyes found yours, he pushed off it.
"We need to talk." You groaned and started walking past him. "Tucker, don't." "No." That made you stop. His voice was angry. "I've done the space thing. I've done the waiting thing. I'm done pretending I'm okay with you disappearing." Your chest tightened. "Tucker-”
"I like you." You froze. "I really, really like you." Your heart started pounding. "I think about you all the time. I look for you everywhere. When something happens, you're the first person I want to tell." You stared at him. "Tucker..."
"And I'm not here because I expect you to magically trust me." His voice softened. "I'm here because I know you're scared, and I know that's why you're running." He stepped closer. "I'm not asking you to marry me." A small smile tugged at your lips. "I'm asking you to stop pretending there's nothing between us."
"I don't want to keep fighting for someone who won't let me in. And all my friends tell me to just let you go." The honesty in his voice hurt, you knew he was right. You'd spent weeks pushing him away because it felt safer than admitting how much you cared.
Tucker looked at you for a long moment. "If you tell me you don't feel anything, I'll leave. I promise sunshine." Your heart sank immediately, you couldn't say it, couldn't lie to him. A smile slowly appeared on Tucker's face. "Yeah," he said quietly. "That's what I thought."
You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the tears threatening to form. "You're so annoying." His grin widened "So," he said. "So?" you repeated. "Can I finally take you on a date?" You laughed and nodded. "One date." you say softly "Oh sunshine, there's going to be more than one date." he says and kisses the side of your forehead.
