#Bite Golf Shoes Out of Business | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-californicationist · 6 months ago

Note

Hello Cali ❤️. Por alguna razón no te había visto más en mi muro de tumblr y me preguntaba si no estabas aquí, por eso busqué tu perfil y me di cuenta que tumblr me estaba jugando una mala pasada.

How are you??? I'm so busy because I have a loooot of work, pero me tomaré el tiempo de leer todo lo que me perdí de ti ✨✨✨

YOU ARE THE BEST, OK? I LOVE YOU ❤️💍

Quisiera que escribieras un smut de John Price CEO/Mafia con un Reader inteligente y astuto, que queda cautivado cuando John comienza a seducirla, porfis ✨

Anything for you, my friend!! I love you so much <3 <3

Wonderland

John Price is a famous mob boss... but you don't know that. All you know is that you've got a crush on a mysterious, handsome man, and you're willing to go all the way to find out if his bite is as bad as his bark.

The parking garage was dark, and the concrete seemed to hold in the cold like a freezer. It felt like ice on his cheekbone, and not even the blood from his eye socket was enough to warm the skin. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, that odd whooshing sound, and in a distant memory he could recall the first time he had ever gotten a black eye. But, all that was gone now. He had ratted out the one man that no one had dared fuck with in the past five years: John Fucking Price.

Those fucking coppers had said they’d protect him. He even had his people outside his house every hour of every day. How could this happen? He had to admit, he wasn’t even scared, he was just pissed off. Fucking bastards. They’d get what was coming to them. Maybe he’d tell them so. Not like they'd give him any more chances.

“Fuck you, Price. I hope those pigs skin you alive,” he spit out the blood that had began to pool in his mouth, and hoped it hit those stupid boots John was always wearing.

John Price slid his shoe away from the red stain that had began to swell on the ground, keeping his kangaroo leather Berlutis from ruin. The fool beneath his feet had no idea what was about to happen to him, and John almost felt sorry about it, if only for a moment. He and Vinson had been friends once. Hell, he’d even stood up at his wedding.

“Vince, what did I tell you about that bloody mouth of yours? Said it'd get you into trouble, didn't I? Wish there was something I could do for you now, cause you and me, we used to be mates. But, I can't afford friends like you. Not anymore," Price gave the rat a quick shove with his heel and watched as the stain smeared in a thin streak across the cement. He turned to his men,

"Well, lads, I've got a party to get to. You wouldn't mind cleaning things up here for me, would’ya?"

"No, boss," was their quiet reply.

"You'll be sorry, you goddamn pussy!" Vinson was screaming now, "I hope they hang you from the fuckin’-”

Bang! The loud gunshot echoed through the hollow space.

Vinson didn't say anything after that.

"Let's get outta here, Gaz."

"Right away, boss," Gaz opened the door to the limo and prepared to drive John back into the city. There was a big gala at the Genting Casino tonight, and Mr. John T. Price was never late.

He was never early either. In fact, he was perfection incarnate. When he was younger, that wasn't always the case, but after his father died, he had needed to change. No one was fit to rule Liverpool in his stead, and he was thankful that no one had been foolish enough to try. His father had made this town what it is. Liverpool was built by his family, and even though everyone thought the Price regime had grown tired of their reign on the old docks, they couldn't have been farther from the truth.

John had his cut from all of the major casinos, and he traded security in exchange. He owned two of them himself, along with four shopping malls, five bars, three neighborhoods, two apartment complexes, and a golf course - not to mention the property that wasn't in his name. He made sure to give his men plenty of reign over their own enterprises, even if most of them were strip clubs. But, he didn't care. As long as tribute came in every quarter, he never messed around in their business.

He thought Vinson was one he could trust. He'd even given him a car dealership just last month.

"Don't run it into the ground, Vince," he had said.

But, no. What had the little bastard gone and done? Put a tracker on his car and dropped bugs in his office. After everything he'd done for him, that's how he was repaid? To tell the truth, John never liked violence. It was awkward. But, his father had given him fists and showed him how to use them, so there was really no going against it. Violence and fear were vital pieces of the only language that men like Vince could understand. Now, with another family coming to Liverpool, John had to be on his best behavior. Even if 'best' was a little more loosely defined.

As he lit the tip of his last cigar, he reminded Gaz to grab him another few sticks on the way home. Gaz would've never turned coat on him like Vince did. He'd give him the car lot.

"You want the dealership on Sefton street, Kyle?" He offered.

"Sure, boss. Thanks a lot," Gaz smiled, knowing exactly which business he was talking about, "You want me to pull around back?"

They had arrived at the main entrance. Throngs of people were craning around the limo, trying to see who was inside. John thought about it for a second, smushed his cigar tip into the ashtray, and adjusted his tie.

"Nah," he said, "We'll give them the show tonight."

"Sure thing, boss."

Gaz parked the car and leapt out of the cab. His hand was on the door before John could take another breath, and on either side of the door, some of Price’s own foot soldiers took up their posts as bodyguards. When he emerged from the muffled quiet of the limo, it shocked John for a moment to be in such a whirl of chaos.

"Mr. Price, can I get a photo?"

"Over here, please, Mr. Price," a cute reporter was frantic enough to step in front of his men. They picked her up and put her back in the crowd.

John made sure to smile and wave, shake hands with those he had seen before, but he knew it was safer inside.

The manager greeted him warmly and, he noted, by first name,

"John! Good to see you again, mate. We've got just the table for you, tonight. Wait til you see the legs on these girls! It'll be a night to remember."

"I'm sure it will."

"Ah, sorry, but we don't allow weapons past the main floor," the manager's face fell. So did Kyle’s.

Gaz cleared his throat,

"I'm sure you can make an exception for Mr. Price. We'll be very discreet."

It was more of a threat than a promise, and John smiled at his friend's heavy tone. Kyle was anything if not polite.

"Uh, yes, we can certainly make arrangements. Right this way, gentlemen," and now the manager was nothing if not nervous. Perfect.

The night continued as well as it could, but he had never really enjoyed gambling. Why make all this money if he was just going to throw it into the wind? But, he could mingle with the right people here. Except that these weren't his people. He had come as a favor to his long time friend, Alex Keller, but Alex was nowhere to be found.

"Passed out on his missus’ tits, probably!" One of the strangers guffawed at the other end of the Blackjack table.

"He’ll show, don't you worry," another replied.

Well, John didn't have all night to wait on a man to get to his own party. He needed a drink. When he rose to head to the bar, Gaz stopped him,

"I'll get it, boss. No need to bother yourself with it."

The table was silent. The strangers who had been so brassy before were now silent and transfixed on the pair of men at their table, one of whom was important enough to have his slightest whim catered to at a moment's notice.

"It's alright, Garrick. Play my hand, yeah? I'm headed out for a smoke."

"Yes, sir."

John retreated. The awkward stares and weird glances were too much for him to bear. Surely there was a patio around here, somewhere.

By the time he found one, he was disappointed to see it was occupied.

"Oh, beg your pardon. Thought I was alone out here," he said.

To his shock, it was a woman's voice that responded from the shadows. Your voice.

"You're fine. You got a light? Fuckin’ matches are all wet..." You fumbled with the book, striking to no avail.

He smirked,

"I have the fire if you've got an extra smoke."

"Fair trade," you smiled back jokingly.

You were dressed in a clean chef's coat, your hair was pulled up, and you might have been going without makeup, but it was almost too dark to tell. It certainly wasn't casino makeup, that was for sure. John watched as you tugged two cigarettes free from the box, put them to your soft lips, and covered his flame with your hand. Your fingernail paint was pink and chipped. You pulled in the fire of both cigarettes and offered one to him. He took it,

"Thanks."

You grunted in a minimal response.

"So, you're a chef?" He asked.

You raised an eyebrow at him, giving him the glare he deserved for such an obvious question.

He back pedaled,

"I mean, you work here as a chef. I just thought, with the coat...I mean, where's your big bloody hat? You need the hat."

You laughed. It was wonderful to hear, and he liked the way your mouth moved when you started to speak,

"Yeah, I work here. Have for the past three years or so. Bill signed me on as head chef, and I've been slaving away for him ever since."

"Bill?"

"Oh, he's the culinary manager. Runs all the restaurants in the casino and the hotel. When the last guy disappeared into thin air, they had to scramble to find someone, I guess. What about you? Where's your fancy hat? Based on that Hermes tie, I'm gonna assume you're here with the party."

He mindlessly adjusted his tie, noticing its feel on his neck as she called it out,

"Well, I might be."

"Yeah? You some kind of big-shot?" You eyed him again, challenging him to answer with something more than a yes or a no. You had heard yes and no plenty of times.

"I might be," he wouldn't give in.

"If we keep going like this all night, you might end up being the Queen, for all I know."

You both laughed, but then, you sighed,

"Oh well, Mr. Mystery. Keep your secrets then," you shrugged and turned away from him.

He couldn't have that.

"What's your name?" He asked.

"Sarah," you spun back around, "Rachel. Tiffany. Willamina. Might be anything."

You had the audacity to wink at him.

"Alright, you got me, love," he moved a little closer to you, "I'm John. John Price."

He extended his hand and waited for the bad news to sink in. No one who knew his name in this town would be dumb enough to be on a patio alone with him at night. He had dodged the media for a long time, but his trials always managed to get leaked. Twelve accounts of assault and battery, two separate accounts of theft, three murder charges - all acquitted of course. But, still, he was no stranger to ducking the law.

"John? Of all the names," you shook your head and smiled, taking his hand firmly, "Pleasure to meet you."

"You as well. You've never heard of me?"

"Oh, Jesus," you lamented, "Are you famous or something? Look, if I'm not in the kitchen, I'm at home asleep. Sorry. I don't even watch TV."

"No, nothing like that, I just - " He thought about it for a moment before you saw him decide to take a different trajectory, “Not famous.”

“Why is it that I feel a little bit like Alice tonight?” You took a long drag and let the smoke fall from your lips, “Like I’m following a white rabbit down a deep, dark hole.”

He chuckled, and you enjoyed seeing his eyes shine with his laughter,

“If you follow me down,” he sidled up to you, his face close enough to yours so you could smell the balsam in his aftershave, “I’ll show you just how deep the rabbit hole goes.”

A man’s voice cleared his throat behind you, and you both turned to look at who it was.

“Garrick?” John asked, clearly annoyed.

“Yes, sir. Johnny and Simon made it up. They said they know why Keller hasn’t shown.”

John didn’t answer. He simply turned back to look into your eyes, trying to divine some sort of future from them. He must’ve liked what he saw because the next thing you knew, you were being given a golden key card. Top floor.

Not famous, my arse, you thought to yourself.

“Why don’t you take the night off, love. Come see Wonderland, yeah? I’ll be right behind you.”

“My, my,” you said, palming the card from him, “No one ever tells you no.”

Another smile, a little colder than the first,

“No, they don’t.”

“Maybe I will,” you pulled the tiger’s tail.

“You won’t,” the tiger growled back.

As you watched him leave the small patio, his broad back stretching that expensive suit, his thick fingers flicking his half-smoked cigarette off the balcony’s edge, you were kicking yourself. You knew you were going up to his room, even though something inside of you really wanted to yank this guy’s chain. But, his dark, purring voice had made Wonderland sound so inviting… maybe just one little peek wouldn’t hurt?

You waited a whole five minutes before slinking off to the service elevator, cutting out for the night. No one was making dinner anyway; it was the bar that was slammed. You’d already cleaned and prepped your station, so no one would miss you.

You ducked into the bathroom just before the top floor, getting off on the service side in an empty hallway, checking your face for stray flour or coffee stained teeth. You smelled like a pizza oven, but maybe you could sneak a shower before he showed up?.

What a slut, you heard the angel on your shoulder chastise you.

So, what? The devil’s side replied, indignant.

You peeled the chef’s coat off of your body. All you had underneath was a black tee. It was cropped a bit too high for work, but you wore it anyway. Your black work pants were covered in flour and dried food. You brushed them off as best you could. It would have to do. You shoved your coat into your bag and headed back to the hallway.

Luckily, the main elevator was vacant, as was the hallway, so you wouldn’t run into any other guests on your way to Wonderland.

The angel rolled his eyes. The devil glared at him.

The elevator dinged, and you inserted the gold card, clicking the very topmost button to the penthouse.

You’d been up here before. Sometimes, you picked up cleaning shifts on your off days for the extra cash, so you knew the layout. But, that had been in the cold, hygienic light of day. At night, this floor was a sparkling vision. When the elevator doors opened, huge clear windows reached all the way into the ceiling, framing Liverpool’s city center, looking more beautiful than it ever seemed from the ground.

You took quiet, uncertain steps out of the lift, checking for any signs of life. There were none, so you made your way to the bathroom. Huge black marble monolith slabs were carved in a semicircle, a nautilus that curled around the four separate shower heads, all ready to pour their steaming water down your naked body.

You stripped, stepping into the stream, letting yourself pretend that you lived in this sort of luxury for a moment. A soft lather of soap and a little shampoo later and you were clean. The single-use toothbrush and paste was in the hidden drawer that no guest would ever notice, so you stole an extra set, scrubbing yourself to a minty shine.

A pair of black satin robes hung in the closet, so you stole one, tying it around your waist, fully aware that one stiff breeze and the loose-fitting garment would fly right off of you. The soft fabric lay against your skin in the most sensual way, barely touching you and yet making you feel touched.

You explored the hotel room a bit, avoiding Mr. Price’s suitcase like it would bite you. The kitchen came stocked with ice buckets of champagne, so you helped yourself to one, pouring a glass and lounging by the window, wondering how long you’d have to wait for your date.

Fortunately for you, only an hour had passed and you heard the elevator ding. Out from the dark lift came the man himself… bleeding from his lip.

“John! What happened?” You put down your wine and rushed over to him.

He held you back, waving you off like it was nothing,

“Don’t worry, love. Just a bit of a scuffle, tha’s all.”

“But —”

“Seriously,” he grabbed you by your arms and looked you up and down, enjoying the wide opening of the robe as it revealed your body to him, “You should see the other bloke. Let me get cleaned up. Pour me one of those, would’ya?”

Before you could protest, he ducked into the bathroom, out of your reach. You were left standing there, worried and a little concerned for your own wellbeing. You didn’t actually know this man at all, and here you were, lamb to the slaughter, eager and bleating happily.

While he was in the bath, you decided to do a little research. You searched up his name, and you were finding almost no hits, until you stumbled upon a mugshot.

There he was… the notorious mob boss, ruler of the English underground arms dealing circuit, enforcer and racketeering extraordinaire. And here you were, nearly naked in his room with not so much as a penknife within reach. This guy had been in the armed forces, special forces, black ops — the works. He retired and fell into the armed security world, making a name for himself by pushing out the competition by any means necessary. His father had maintained ties to the dark underground, and now John had taken over the family business, doing shady deals for the government and crime organizations alike. All of it was hearsay, of course, and none of the charges had ever landed a single hit… but you knew the truth.

John Price was the most dangerous man in the world; Liverpool’s crime arena was just a quiet little hobby for a man like him. If he wanted to, he could make you disappear like a magician behind a mirror. Gone without a trace.

What would you do? Would you run? Where would you go? How would you explain your sudden exit? Food poisoning?

Before you could even begin to formulate a plan, John was out of the shower. He looked incredible. His hulking, heavy form was steaming from the hot water, and his hairy chest was uncovered. He’d slipped into a pair of running shorts and nothing else, so his brutal body was on display for you. He was covered in scars, and he was heavyset, but his largeness was from his strength. His core was bulky and strong, and when he moved, you could see the tight muscles rolling around beneath the skin like a snake ready to strike.

He turned to you, but even though he wore a smile at first, the moment he made eye contact, his face fell. Somehow, he knew that you knew.

He sighed,

“What did you see?”

He rushed over to his suitcase but found it still locked, looking back to you quizzically. You didn’t move, you didn’t dare. John stepped over to you slowly, deliberately, almost as if he was ready for another fight.

You turned your phone towards him and showed him his own mugshot.

“Thought you said you weren’t famous,” you whispered. Your voice sounded so small and far away, you almost felt like you hadn’t spoken the words.

He smiled bitterly, tossing his towel on a nearby chair and sat beside you on the bed,

“Cat’s out of the bag, then?”

“Yeah,” you looked down at your phone, unable to look him in the eye.

“Go on,” he waved his hand at you, motioning toward the door, “Get out.”

You didn’t move. You should have. Every fiber in your being was telling you to make a break for it. Now was your chance. And yet… you stayed. It was silent for a long while. You could feel his gaze raking over you, hot and heavy. His breaths rumbled in his chest.

“Go!” He spat, “No one’s keeping you prisoner here, girl. That’s me, alright, and the newspapers don’t even know the bloody half of it. Just go.”

You reacted to his volume, shirking back a bit, but you still didn’t stand. You looked at him then, searching for the kindness you thought you saw on the patio just hours before, checking to see if it was still there, if it was even real.

When you met his eyes, his fury was masking a very real pain. He was angry, sure, but the ache of being cast out was apparent, even though you were the one doing the leaving, and you just wanted that bit of brightness back again.

John studied you, watching your every movement, trying to determine what you were thinking but coming up short. He stood right in front of you, his hips inches from your face, and he asked,

“What are you waitin’ on, love?”

A strong thumb lifted your chin, raising your jaw up to look at him again, and he used his enormous hand to grab your face, keeping you there under his will.

“I know you’re afraid of me,” he commented softly, “I can feel it.”

“So?” You replied, trying to keep your tone steady.

His voice was bitter and mocking, and as he leaned forward, you could smell his clean, warm skin,

“You wanna play with the big bad wolf, hm? See if I bite?”

He grabbed you a little too tightly, trying to scare you. It worked, but you tried not to show it. Instead, you decided to place both of your hands at his hips, your palms flat against his warm belly, feeling the dark hair that formed a faithful trail, guiding your eyes down to his waistband.

It was his turn to be surprised. You felt his breathing catch as you moved your hands up along his ribcage, rubbing gentle circles into his skin, petting him like a skittish hound, expecting him to snap.

Letting go of your face, he grabbed your wrist, and just as you thought he was going to stop you, he took your hand and placed it on his chest, stretching your arm all the way up from where you were sat, making you extend your spine as you reached up to him. Your fingers traced the fur that lay flat against his pectorals, and finally, you plucked at his nipples, not allowing there to be any question as to your intentions.

The tip of his wide finger dipped into the silken collar of your robe, swirling around your neck and following it down to the swell of your breast. He didn’t find your peak, but he didn’t seem to care to. He was just exploring.

Suddenly, John moved faster than you could even begin to understand what was happening. He had reached under you, lifting you, and then tossed you back down on the bed. You lay, sprawled, trying to catch your bearings, and then you were covered by his huge form, his wide body casting shadows over your vision, cloaking you in his own private darkness.

His mouth was on you like a hot flame, licking and burning and biting and sucking wherever he wanted to, eager to taste every inch of your skin, the imperfections of a wrinkle or a freckle seemed to go fully unnoticed as he devoured you, sucking you down like his last meal.

You were overwhelmed by the pleasure he was stoking inside of you, and you let a small mewling sound escape from your lips that caught his attention.

“Mm,” he climbed up your body so that you were face to face, “Enjoying your walk on the dark side, love? Think you’re tainted by me now? Or maybe that’s what you wanted, is it? Something naughty, just for a night?”

You didn’t understand his negativity, nor the self-deprecation, so you tried to protest,

“No, I —”

“It’s alright. I’ll show you how to be a bad girl. I’ll teach you, love. C’mere.”

His voice was smoldering and sticky, clinging to your ears with some of that same bitterness from before. But, you didn’t have time to worry about that. He was standing by the bedside again, and he grabbed your arms, making your head and shoulders hang part way off of the mattress. You were left staring at his thick thighs and scarred knees, worried about what he was up to.

Then, all became clear. He had dropped his running shorts, and the fattest cock you’d ever seen hung down, shining with drool, ready to be fed into your mouth.

Your eyes went wide, and although you reached your hand out to try and brace against his legs, it was no use. He supported your head from underneath and bent himself over until the tip of his swollen cockhead touched your lips, the gleaming precome sticking to you like gloss.

Unwilling to be frightened by his aggression, you opened your mouth for him, laving your tongue across his turgid flesh, allowing him to press himself inside of you.

His cock was slick on the head but dry on his shaft, so you did your best to wet him, licking and sucking as he pumped himself in and out, already nearing the back of your throat and not even halfway sheathed.

When he nudged your soft palate, making you gag a bit, you made a noise. You tried steadying him with your hand, and he grunted, grabbing both of your arms by the wrist, holding them above your face, clutched to his hip. Then, he continued to fuck your face, ignoring your writhing gasps for breath.

Your throat tightened around him, but you tried to stay calm. You’d never taken anyone this deep before, but you stilled yourself, ignoring the urge to panic, and you made a point to swallow, feeling your throat squeeze around his head. You could taste him as he painted the back of your throat, salty and sweet at the same time.

That made him moan, and you felt like you’d won some sort of battle. If he was trying to frighten you, it was going to take more than just a little rough sex.

“Mm, fuck… Maybe you are a naughty little girl, aye?”

You hummed, making sure you could feel the vibrations travel through his girth.

He removed himself fully, taking a trail of your own drool with him, gasping from the pleasure of your mouth.

“Fuck, I need to taste you,” he muttered darkly, crawling over you and settling himself between your legs.

You tried to lift yourself back onto the bed, but he kept you hanging there, pinning you down with his strong arm, pressing into your belly with his hand to prevent you from sitting up. Finally, after feeling him kiss and nip at your thighs, teasing you mercilessly, you felt the warm, wet slip of his tongue as it fell between your lips, tasting your throbbing pussy for the first time.

The robe was half-off, and only the tie around your waist was even providing any coverage, and you realized that as he began to eat you, he was yanking off your clothes as well, ripping through the knot of the robe to free you from the fabric.

Now, his mouth moved deeper, and you felt him seal his lips to your pussy, messily drinking you in. As he fucked you with his tongue, his mouth and jaw were strong enough to rock your body up and down on the soft bed, making it seem as if he were actually using his smooth wet muscle as a writhing cock, thrusting it up into you and reaching deep into your hole.

The scruff of his beard was enough to make you want to come, much less the power that he ate you with. Every deep, curling lick sent sparks into your core, making your pussy drip with eager stickiness. It was hungry for that fat, uncut cock, forcing you to imagine how delightful it would be when he popped his giant head into your pink flesh.

You were keening for him. Well, it wasn’t exactly for him, per se. The noises you were making were coming from your throat against your will. If you didn’t scream, you’d pass the hell out, you were sure of it.

“Fuck, that’s it, love. Get loud for me. Ungh… you taste… mmfh… so damn sweet,” he was ruthless, speaking between long suckles from his mouth, commanding you from below.

You wished you could see him, but all you could see from your hanging position was the giant window, looking out across the sparkling city. So, you called out to him, your voice thick with want, with need,

“John…”

That was all it took. He tugged your hips down until he was above you again, prowling over you like some sort of beast, all snarling unbridled lust and appetite. As soon as he was in position — and your body knew he was in position — everything stopped. He stopped.

John looked down at you and became… different. The flirty bloke from the patio was back, and he smiled at you. You smiled back, out of breath and already drunk with hunger, but that was all he needed. He kissed you deeply, making you taste your own musk, and as his soft lips slid over yours, you felt the pressure of his huge cock at your hole, pressing through your folds to reach your hot, soaked center.

You gasped through his kiss, both of you moaning in the same timbre as you felt his heavy dick fit into you for the first time, a sparkling desire swirling within you as every delicious inch of him buried itself in you. He began to thrust himself up into your aching slit, fucking you on half of his length, and then using your own sticky fluid to slip himself the rest of the way in.

“Bloody hell, this fuckin’ pussy… fuck me,” he groaned, wrenching his eyes shut from the pleasure.

“Holy shit,” you breathed.

“Yeah?” He asked, seeking your praise.

“You’re fucking huge,” you didn’t mean to sound so concerned, but there was a part of you that was.

He sat back on his heels, taking some of the pressure away, staring down at your body lecherously, savoring your tits and fondling them in his hands,

“Alright, love?”

“You feel so good,” you insisted, wrapping your hands around his arms as he enjoyed your body.

“Tell me again,” he said, grunting again as he fucked his cock deeper inside of you, reaching a new end before dragging himself all the way back out just so he could start the journey again. He upped his tempo, pounding into you with his weight, the loud smack of his body against yours beating into you like a drum.

“Tell. Me. Again,” he growled his warning, snarling down at you, pinching your nipple to punish you for your silence.

You were gasping for breath. He was so deep now, you could feel the pressure of it in your belly. Between sharp intakes of air, you hissed,

“You… feel.. so… fucking… good…”

“That’s my girl,” he bent over you again and that familiar pressure returned. His cock was too big, and yet you took it anyway. Your body was panic and pleasure all at the same time, and he had you pinned down for the ride of your life.

You weren’t sure how many hours passed that night. He seemed to have the stamina of a much younger man, and every time you dozed off, you’d wake up again to fingers or tongue or cock playing inside of your folds, coaxing you to open yourself up to him. You were happy to oblige, but you were properly fuck drunk. If someone asked you for the alphabet, you weren’t positive you trusted your answer. But, when John Price asked you to open your mouth or your legs for him, you were the top scholar.

A golden, creamy dawn was rising up over the docks as you stared out the window. John’s hand was rubbing your bare back in long, relaxing strokes, and he was leaving soft, lazy kisses down your spine. You knew you were a mess. Your hair was tangled; you’d thrown it up into a messy bun on the second runthrough, done with trying to pretend to be a pristine hot girl. Your body was covered in his marks. Bruises from his teeth and red welts from a delightful slap on the ass or two were painted across you like little tattoos to commemorate your coupling.

“You alright, love?” He checked in on you.

He’d been checking in all night. For all his ruthlessness, he never crossed a line, and he never forgot to make sure you were safe. Sometime in the wee hours, he’d even made you drink a bottle of water and eat some fruit to hydrate, teasing you with grapes like some sort of earthly Baccus.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “Looks like it’s time for me to get out of your hair. Not sure I should be seen by the public in my current state.”

“You have work, or…” John looked confused.

You thought about lying to him for a moment. It would hurt so much less for you to just break it off now in the soft dawn glow rather than a painful goodbye over cold breakfast. But, you didn’t.

“No, just… don’t wanna fool myself into thinking this was something that it wasn’t.”

Your truth hung there in the air for a moment, but before he could open his mouth to reply, you heard the elevator ding.

You turned to look at it, but he didn’t. Instead, he pulled you off the bed and forced you to the floor. It was so fast that you didn’t even realize what he’d done until your nose was in the carpet. Then, you heard a sharp, snapping pop of something hitting the bed.

You watched in horror as John’s hand reached under the mattress and pulled out a small pistol. He held it like a professional, calm and trained, and shot twice. Then, it was quiet again.

He helped you to your feet, and he was telling you something, but your brain wasn’t registering his words. What had happened? Why were there bullet holes in the mattress? Who had he shot?

Then, you saw it. A man’s body was laying across the door of the elevator. Wanting to descend, the elevator’s alarm wailed, beeping and beeping.

John grabbed your jaw and made you listen to him,

“We have to go. Now. Get your clothes on. Now. Now.”

“Okay…” You couldn’t move. It was so hard to even lift your arms. They felt like solid lead. You just wanted to sink back to the floor. Maybe if you could just…

“Hey! Now!”

He shoved your clothes into your hands and you started to put them on, doing your best not to look at the elevator. John was packing a black bag, half-dressed himself, and checking the windows over and over, looking for something in the streets below.

“There’s no time, c’mon, love.”

You felt his hand cover yours as he led you to the elevator. You watched him ruthlessly kick the body away from the doors and push you inside. Once you were in, the doors closed and you rode in silence with him. You could only hear your heart in your ears.

“...to my car. Stay close to me.”

“Okay…” It was all you could say. No other words even dared to come to mind.

“Hey,” he held your face in his as the floor numbers dropped to the teens, “You’re alright. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Okay.”

The doors opened, and you found it extremely weird that the lobby was empty. There were no workers, no guests, not even a custodian. It was just a big, silent cavern in what was usually a lively casino.

He was leading you out to the parking garage, and just as you stepped into the concrete enclave, you heard the screech of tires round the corner. John stood in front of you and gripped the gun in his hand, but he didn’t move away.

The car stopped in front of you, and you braced yourself, hiding behind your lover as much as you could.

“Get in, boss! They’re right bloody behind us. Soap, shove over,” a man’s voice came from the car. He was in the driver’s seat, and he was wearing a ballcap with the Union Jack emblazoned on the top. In his passenger seat was a man in a black balaclava, and in the back was a bright-eyed man with a mohawk who you guessed had to be Soap.

“C’mon, love,” John shoved you inside just as a black SUV rounded the same corner, the engine roaring when it saw Price’s car.

Gunshots rang out, and you knew some of them had hit the car. You worried for John, but he stood straight up, aiming carefully for the driver, and fired his gun. As if you were in some sort of action movie, the SUV careened off-course and slammed into several parked cars. Men began to pour from it, armed to the teeth.

John jumped in beside you and made you kneel in the floorboards, holding his body over yours protectively.

“How’d they find out? Gaz!” John yelled at the driver, shouting his name when he saw another SUV approaching from the side.

Gaz swerved, narrowly missing being rammed, and sped off down the highway, trying to run from his pursuers.

“No idea, mate, but they think it was us who tore up the warf. Banno’s man must’ve turned snitch. Only explanation.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” the masked man sighed, rolling down his window to fire shots at the SUV chasing you down.

“Who’s the bonnie hen, boss?” Soap peered down at you before turning his attention back on the car chase.

“Uh… she’s…” John tried to explain, but you realized that you never even told him your real name, “I dunno.”

“You dinnae ken?” Soap’s brows knitted together.

“Soap! Shut up and shoot, mate,” Gaz turned his attention back on the fight.

“Well,” the masked man grumbled loudly, “She’s stuck with us all the way to Hadrian’s Wall. Heading to Katie’s house. No place else is safe.”

“Aye, good call,” John agreed.

Finally, after leaving the city, your pursuers turned back around and left you to your escape. John helped you back into the seat and checked you for injuries.

“John… I’m…” Your voice shook with fear, and you felt all of that stress tumbling down into your chest, turning into shock and tears.

“Shh, it’s alright, love. I’ve gotcha. I’m… I’m sorry. Should’ve known better.”

“Better?” You whispered as he held you to his chest.

“Aye. Thought I could be a normal man for a night. Hit on the hot bird at the bar, go to a fuckin’ party. But, nothing’s normal right now. I’ve put you in this mess, and I’m sorry.”

You didn’t have a reply, not one that made any sense, and as he held you, you watched the English countryside come into view. Rolling green hills still wet with their dew made everything that had just happened to you seem so far away, but you could smell the gunpowder on his hands as he pet your cheek, and you knew that nothing could be further from the truth.

380 notes · View notes

rachelkaser · 2 years ago

Text

Masonry Monday: The Case of the Half-Wakened Wife

A jealous husband targets a hapless handyman whom he thinks is having an affair with his wife. However, the husband’s attempted frame-up results in his actual murder. Luckily the handyman, who is the prime suspect, has one old friend willing to help him: Perry Mason.

Who’s Who

Perry Mason’s client: Frank Lawton, an old friend of Perry Mason whose close relationship with his employer’s wife comes back to bite him

The victim: Scott Shelby, an scuzzy “investor” who’s jealous of his handsome handyman and plots to frame him for murder

Suspects: Marion Shelby, the wife at the center of the love triangle, who wavers between her husband and her penniless handyman Arthur Williams, Shelby’s accountant, who may know more about his employer’s dirty dealings than he lets on Ellen Waring, a business partner of Shelby’s, whom Frank believes to have had an affair with him in the past Ben Parker, a tough-talking cowboy who is just one of the many people Shelby swindled

The Setup

Two scantily clad people sit on a small dock on a lake: A woman, who’s sunbathing, and a handyman, who is fixing a boat engine while shirtless. The handyman, Frank, offers the woman, Mrs. Marion Shelby, a drink of water and she flirts very obviously with him. Meanwhile, husband Scott Shelby looks on seething from the bushes before returning to the house. In his study, he takes a shotgun from a rack on the wall, and loads two shells with his hand wrapped in a handkerchief. He conceals the shotgun in a bag of golf clubs.

As Shelby places the golf club bag in his car and prepares to drive off, he stops Frank, who is mowing the lawn (again, shirtless) and sternly warns him to stay away from Marion. Shelby drives away, and arrives sometime later in a remote area. Checking to see that no one is around, he takes the gun from his bag and fires one shot into the air. He then returns the gun to his bag and drives off.

Meanwhile, in Pinewood, a man in a cowboy hat is frantically knocking on the office of Shelby and Waring Investments. He brushes aside the small accountant who answers the door and demands to know where Shelby is (he’s not in the office). The cowboy, Mr. Parker, demands to know why Shelby hadn’t sent a check Parker was supposed to receive that morning. The accountant, Art Williams, takes the blame for the delay and promises the check will be with Parker by the end of the day. Parker threatens to see Shelby himself it isn’t.

Back at the Shelby house, Marion asks Frank why he still works for them. He says he likes the place and the job gives him time to write on the side, though he won’t let Marion read anything he’s written. Shelby returns and takes his golf clubs inside, replacing the gun to its place. Marion enters and they snipe at each other over Frank. The phone rings, and it’s a woman named Ellen. Shelby tells her they’ve been expecting her, but Ellen, who’s sitting next to Art Williams, says they won’t be able to make it. After they hang up, Shelby warns Marion about fraternizing with Frank.

Enter Perry Mason, Attorney at Law

In Perry’s office, he’s dictating to Della late in the office. As they’re preparing to leave, a courier enters with a telegram, all chuffed to meet Mason. After he goes, Perry reads the telegram. It’s from Frank Lawton, saying he needs help desperately and expects to be arrested. Frank is an old war buddy of Perry’s who has notoriously bad luck: He was shot twice in combat and his wife died in an accident within a week of his return home. The two decide to drive out to Pinewood Lake to meet with him.

Late at night, Shelby hovers over his snoozing wife, who stirs as he leaves the room but doesn’t wake. Outside, he puts on his shoes and goes to his car. He retrieves two things from the glove box, one of which is a flashlight. He then walks down to the dock on the lake and uses the phone box there to call Frank in his cottage. He tells Frank he’s on the docks, to hurry and bring his shotgun. He snips the wire in lieu of hanging up and throws the nippers into the lake. Frank is bewildered, but quickly throws his clothes on and runs out with his keys.

Frank dashes up to the house, and is unlocking the front door when he hears a man yell and a gunshot. He hurriedly unlocks the door, runs into the study, grabs the shotgun -- noting it’s still loaded -- and runs to the dock. He calls for Shelby, who doesn’t answer. On the dock, he finds Shelby’s discarded flashlight, but no sign of the man himself -- the lake is silent. Marion runs onto the docks, saying she heard a shot. She asks Frank where her husband is, and breaks down in tears when he can’t give her an answer.

Later, Detective Sergeant Dix tells Marion they’re still looking for Shelby, and have searched most of the cove next to the dock. He asks Frank to confirm that Shelby called from the docks, and Frank says yes. Dix holds up the receiver with its snipped cord from the dock. Meanwhile, Perry and Della drive up as the police continue dragging the lake. Perry asks for Frank, and an officer directs him inside, while saying they’re looking for Shelby’s body. Back in the study, Dix also confirms the shotgun has been recently fired.

Dix goes into the corridor to meet Mason and asks if Lawton called him. Perry specifies that he got a telegram signed as Frank Lawton, which Dix notes was filed at 8:30 the night before. Dix tells Perry that they suspect Shelby was murdered that morning, and they suspect Frank due to his possible feelings for Mrs. Shelby. Perry asks to see Frank, who is surprised to see his old friend. Perry explains the telegram, which Frank denies sending. Marion excuses herself, while Dix waits outside while Perry confers with Frank.

The Murder

Frank tells Perry that, when Shelby was restless, he would sometimes go for a nighttime boat ride on the lake to relax. Frank knew about these boat excursions. He also thinks that Shelby and Ellen Waring, a business partner who frequently visited, might have had something going, but she always visited with the accountant, Art Williams, who was also a photography buff. Frank adds that no one ever seemed to get along with Shelby. His house is mortgaged as much as it can be, and Shelby uses it to schmooze clients into giving him money before conning them. He even owed Frank two months’ pay.

Perry asks why Frank stayed, and Frank initially plays it off as an easy job where he could write. Perry asks him straight out if he was in love with Marion, and Frank says he was fond of her but neither of them let it go beyond that. Dix enters and asks Frank to come with him. Perry asks Dix to produce a motive for Frank, and Dix pulls one of Frank’s notebooks out of his pocket. Inside is a passage from two days previously questioning why Marion stayed with Shelby, and lamenting that a crooked man like Shelby got to live while so many honest men were killed. Frank seethes that it was private, and Dix takes Frank away.

The next morning in Perry’s office, Paul pours coffee while Perry shaves in the washroom. Perry says he doesn’t think Frank murdered Shelby -- in fact, he’s not sure Shelby is dead. He thinks Shelby staged his death to get away from his creditors and angry clients. If he had a partner in a boat on the lake, he could have gotten away clean -- and also names Ellen Waring as a possible suspect, considering she was supposed to be there that night. Before he leaves, Perry tucks his coat around Della, who’s asleep on the office couch.

The two men arrive at Ellen’s apartment, and Perry goes to check the garage for her apartment. He reasons that, if Ellen drove Shelby away from the lake, she’d have to use her own car. They creep into the garage and, sure enough, the passenger seat is soaking wet. A wet coat and a wet pair of shoes are also in the garage. Later, the two escort Sgt. Dix to Ellen’s apartment to investigate the strange goings-on. She reluctantly lets them into the apartment, saying she just heard about Shelby’s disappearance on the radio.

Dix asks about Ellen’s guest, and she quickly catches on that they think Shelby’s in her apartment. She opens her bedroom door, revealing an older woman. It’s her mother, who just flew in from San Diego. Paul noticed a man in her window earlier, who she says was Art, who has the apartment down the hall. Art himself arrives at that moment. Dix asks about the coat and the shoes and the wet seat. Ellen says she and Art went on a picnic the day before on the Kleiner estate to celebrate their imminent marriage and Art fell into a small pond.

Dix makes a phone call while Mason apologizes to Ellen and Art. She assumes he meant to accuse her of murder, and he says it isn’t murder yet. However, right at that moment, Dix reveals they found Shelby’s body -- fished it out of the lake about a mile away from the dock. Ellen is shocked and has to sit down. Dix says half of Shelby’s head had been blasted off by a shotgun shell. Later, Perry and Paul visit the estate Ellen named and concede she could have been telling the truth -- Perry himself almost falls into the pond.

The Trial

In a Pinewood courtroom, District Attorney Black gives his opening statement. He asks Dix to identify Frank’s notebook and the shotgun. The shotgun has Frank’s and Shelby’s fingerprints on it. One barrel was loaded, while the other contained an empty shell. Perry objects to Dix testifying the gun was recently fired, and it’s sustained. On cross, Perry asks Dix if the shells had any fingerprints on them: They had none. He also asks Dix if he can swear that the gun is the one used to shoot Shelby, and Dix can’t do that. That means another shotgun could have been the murder weapon.

Black then questions Marion about whether Frank had confessed his love to her, and she maintains that he was nothing but polite and professional with her. Black reads a passage from Dix’s journal, where he says he would ask Marion to marry him, but he has nothing to offer while her husband is alive. Black then asks about the night of the murder. Marion says she wasn’t asleep -- she was half-awake. She heard loud voices outside the house, but not who they were or what they said.

After she woke, she heard a gunshot and ran to the dock, and testifies about the scene on the dock. seeing Frank calling for Shelby while holding a shotgun. On cross, Mason asks if Shelby and Marion had a happy marriage, and Marion says she didn’t, particularly after Shelby’s affair with Ellen. She also swears that Frank never made advances to her. Black next asks Ellen -- now Mrs. Williams -- whether she had an affair with Shelby, which Ellen denies.

On cross, Mason offers her some water, which she sips. He asks her why she cancelled her plans to visit the Shelby house, and Ellen says it was because her mother arrived for an unexpected visit. She also testifies about the picnic, but Perry suggests they weren’t at any picnic and quizzes her on the details. She can prove they were at the estate because Arthur, who is an amateur photographer, took pictures of them there on that day. Black wants to call Art to the stand to introduce the photographs, but they adjourn for lunch first.

As they’re leaving court, Perry makes a note to Paul about photography, and they briefly return to the Kleiner estate. Back in court, Art testifies about the pictures and offers as proof of the timing a receipt for the photo shop where he got the film developed the next day. Black also briefly asks about Art auditing Shelby’s company. On cross, Perry asks about the audit, and Art notes there was a $120,000 discrepancy in Shelby’s personal accounts. Della enters the courtroom and hands Perry some pictures. These new photos prove that someone has provided a false alibi, someone who wanted Shelby dead more than anyone else could have . . .

In Summation

This is one of the only cases we’ll ever see on Perry Mason of a client who’s a personal friend of Perry’s. As I’ve said before, the show rarely delves into the personal lives and backstories of the main characters outside of a throwaway reference. This was at Erle Stanley Gardner’s request, as he felt the cases should be the focus of attention. However, every now and then we get a peek at who Perry was before he became the famous lawyer he is at the time of the show.

More particularly, this is someone Perry served with in the . . . um, Army? Navy? They’re not very specific, but I suppose they don’t need to be. “Old buddy of the protagonist” is all the introduction someone ever needs on a show like this. Besides, his importance is not in his past, but in his present troubles. Poor Frank, who we can tell in the episode is a bit of a romantic, gets himself into a bit of a trap: A married woman with no boundaries and a jealous husband with dirty secrets. This wasn’t going to end well for anyone involved.

Frank Lawton gets put through the ringer in this episode. He’s already a bit starry-eyed over his employer’s wife -- who, while nice, doesn’t really seem quite as wonderful as Frank makes her out to be -- but over the course of the trial he’s not only accused of murdering a man over the same woman but has his private diaries read out in court. As someone who does keep a diary, I can’t even begin to imagine how mortifying that would be. He ends the episode thoroughly disheartened, vowing to leave writing behind him, and I don’t blame him.

What I enjoy about this episode is that the victim gets more than your average amount of screen time and is instrumental -- not to mention almost successful -- in the framing of Perry’s client. As Perry points out at the end of the episode, all of the evidence that makes Frank look guilty was something Shelby came up with, and the real murderer either took advantage of it or wasn’t aware of the extent of it (it’s not made exactly clear). I like that he victim is, in a way, hoist by his own petard as Prosecutor Black puts it.

However, there’s one part of his plan that baffles me a little bit: In the final scene, Perry reveals that the telegram that summoned him to Frank’s aid was actually Shelby’s doing, as he found Perry’s name in one of Frank’s notebooks. First, this assumes that Shelby read Frank’s notebooks, and I find it hard to believe he would even know about them. Second, how did he not think that calling in one of the most renowned defense attorneys in the state under the name of his friend whom Shelby intends to frame for murder would backfire?

I don’t mention the part about Perry being renowned for no reason. Early in the episode, when he receives “Frank’s” telegram, the courier who delivers it is absolutely gushing over meeting the great Perry Mason and talks about telling his friends all about it. While this is somewhat justified by the fact that he was clearly expecting to meet someone like Gertie rather than the man himself, it’s still a silly-but-cute moment and certainly not the last time we’ll hear someone react with delight upon meeting the famous attorney.

There is one part of the episode I think of as a bit of a plot hole: The actual murder weapon and some of the evidence was discovered under a plank on the dock. Dix informs Perry of this at the end of the episode. But, before Shelby’s body was discovered, the police did an exhaustive search of the entire cove. You mean to tell me no one thought to look under the dock? Also, without giving the game away, a lot happens on that dock in the few seconds between when Frank hears the shot and when he arrives with the shotgun -- so much that it kind of beggars belief.

This is another “away” episode where Perry works a case away from his home city of Los Angeles. Unusually for an away episode, the investigating officer, Sergeant Dix, gets a lot of screen time. He’s no Tragg, of course, but he does behave in a very fair way. To his credit, Shelby did a pretty good job on his frameup of Frank, and I don’t really blame Dix for not buying Frank’s explanation. He even apologizes at the end of the episode for reading Frank’s private journals during the investigation, which is more than I think Tragg would have done.

There’s one final detail about this case I found very sweet: Perry and Della get several pleasant interactions in this episode, starting when he refuses to let her stay late and type up a memorandum. When she hears that his friend is in trouble, she immediately volunteers to go with him to investigate the situation and won’t take no for an answer. The next morning, he tucks his coat around her as she sleeps on the office sofa. It’s always adorable to see these interactions between the characters, whether you read it as friendly or potentially romantic.

The Verdict

Judgement: ⚖⚖⚖ (three scales out of four) An old friend of Perry’s is in trouble, and through luck manages to retain his friend’s services. The case is also twisted by the machinations of the victim, though everyone other than the defendant has their secrets.

#perry mason #masonry monday #raymond burr #paul drake #della street #the case of the half-wakened wife #s01e26 #paramount plus

2 notes · View notes

uncouth-the-fifth · 3 years ago

Note

imagine damian and the reader at the wayne gala. he gets jealous when he sees her flirting with someone else. he ends up pulling her into a bathroom and fucking her in front of a mirror while saying that other person can’t treat her like he does

and that’s how the reader finds out damian has feelings for her. all this time he acted like he hates her because he’s in denial

Title: More Than They Ever Said

Paring: Robin!Damian (18+) / Canary!Reader

Tags/Warnings: semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex, bathroom sex, slight underage drinking (reader is like 20 lol), mentions of golf.

Word Count: 7150

Notes: sooooo.... this def evolved beyond a drabble lol. the way gala sex kills me every time 😭 I was a little mushy w Dami here bc I miss his sweet side. This also sounded a lot like goldenspecs12's request from Wattpad, so I hope you don't mind that I meshed the two together 😚 I leaned toward Damian liking the reader more than being in denial, but that’s the only thing I sacrificed between the two requests. This one is my fluffiest and most romantic yet 💖

"can I request Damian w a Queen reader, like she's Oliver and Dinah's child? say the reader is a hero but not very active, like she comes in when her parents can't. so when she and Damian meet, they hit it off. The main request is that they sneak away at a gala held by Oliver and the reader and Damian have sex."

Ask to be added to my taglist for future posts!

The party was more fun than you thought it would be.

Benefits were usually chalk-full of old, wealthy people that thought they made good conversationalists. The board members of Queen Industries were tired of Oliver trying to escape their claws, so you’d been recruited in his place. While your dad got to play minigolf in the penthouse’s massive party floor, you were confined to the lounge, playing up what an intelligent, capable business partner you’d be when you were CEO. Fellow businessmen gruffed about their plans with you while their wives cooed and drank, pinching your cheeks.

You thought that you’d hate it, but the attention and the praise was nice. It made you feel like you were helping your dad and your family’s company, which was constantly criticized and judged for it’s choice in CEO. Everyone called your father a lazy silver-spooned idiot, but he was one of the only men in Star City who actually cared. By the time you had Q.I’s biggest donors laughing out of their seats, Dinah’s hands slipped over your shoulders and you were kissed on the side of the face. Thank you, she mouthed, and your position as family support-beam was covered.

Since most of the benefit-goers were at least forty years your senior, you gravitated to your dad. From the penthouse’s upper balcony, you could see his friends circling around the tiny green mats they were using as a makeshift golf course. Usually, Ollie made sure his public persona’s aim was as garbage as his taste in drink was. But tonight, he played as Green Arrow, who never missed. Not once. Especially when it came to Bruce Wayne, who’s golf game was abysmal at best.

But like Oliver, Bruce was a new man tonight. It looked like he was ready to break out the batarangs any minute now. The two men were barely civil about the viciousness of their competition, and if the view of the game from the balcony was interesting, then from below it must’ve been the greatest show of fragile masculinity ever displayed. You had to make fun of them.

The only opening in the circle of men, who all had their hands on their chins as Bruce lined up his next shot, was by the floor-to-ceiling windows to one side of the game. Just one man stood there, hands in his pockets. You slid next to him, unbothered, and squinted at the game.

Everyone in the crowd was dead silent. Bruce was lining up his golf ball so it would roll into a mug a couple of feet away, so you helpfully provided, “A little to the left, Mr. Wayne.”

Your words overlapped with someone else’s. Where you had said Mr. Wayne, they had said Father. Then the man next to you was his son, but...

You would have never guessed it would be him.

Reasonably, you knew that Robin was Damian Wayne. Oliver could be a little loose-lipped at times, and by his judgment you’d been a teenager just a year ago - what could a twenty year old do to Batman’s secret identity? Not much.

Until you saw Robin without his mask.

Damian was achingly beautiful. He was your age, but he stood and talked like he was much older. There was an angle to his shoulder that made him seem astute and sexy. His eyes fixed on you when you spoke at the same time, and they were a surprising mossy color that jumped out against his tan skin, like plants flourishing out of rich soil. There was just enough blue in them to make him seem haunting. Any moment, you felt like he was going to corner you and whisper your future throatily in your ear.

Looking into them, those piercing eyes, for longer than a second made you want to blurt, “You’re much prettier without your mask.”

But that would expose his secret to every golf-loving idiot in earshot, so Oliver had been wrong. A twenty-year-old like you could do fatal damage to Batman’s secret identity, but for Damian, the short-tempered, snappish leader of the Teen Titans, you would risk anything.

Damian stared, and you stared. He squinted, wet his lips, then turned back to the game. This was your only acknowledgment that he recognised you. His voice was deeper, smoother, than you remember it. “Queen.”

You shifted in your shoes, almost laughing in shock. “...Wayne.”

The game grew boring and Damian didn’t say anything else, so you said nothing too, sneaking glances at him. The last time you’d spoken to Robin had been in costume, when he’d thanked you for assisting with a mission. He’d really been thanking you for standing up for him. You didn’t team up often with the Titans, but when you did, you found that they were unusually snappy and mean with their leader. Not necessary on purpose, but you could tell that Damian couldn’t take as many bites as he pretended to. Standing up for him had been a simple thing. The good thing to do. Now, with that look in his eyes, it almost felt like he still thought about it.

He must have, because the kiss you shared at the end of that mission had glowed with heat. To be fair, you both may have believed you were going to die (before the team pulled through and saved you), so it could’ve been a heat-of-the-moment thing. But this was Robin - if he didn't want to kiss you, he wouldn't. And yet he did.

You’d kissed. And the energy of that kiss lingered between you now, drawing you closer together, putting tiny smiles on your faces. He was cute. Cuter without that mask on.

You stood in the stupid golf silence, feeling foolish. Flirting with boys was much easier in fishnets. It didn’t help how fine Damian’s profile was. He had soft, feathery lashes that occasionally touched down on beauty marked cheeks. His lips were even fuller from the side, forever drawn in a curious line. And those eyes, when they caught yours and danced away again, were much too nice to hide behind a mask. You couldn’t get that thought out of your mind.

When Bruce finally made his move, you leaned in to whisper something to each other at the same time, accidentally knocking shoulders.

“I - apologies,” Damian flushed.

“Oh, um, my bad,” you rubbed awkwardly at the spot where you’d collided. “...You were going to say something?”

Damian’s eyes flicked to your fathers, then to you, unimpressed. He lowered his voice so only you could hear. “They’re awfully hypocritical, don’t you think? Father snaps at me everytime I use my skills in public, and yet he’s putting with perfect aim like it’s not the very same.”

Chuckling, you rolled your eyes and scooted closer, ducking your voice into the bubble between your bodies. “My dad’s the same way. Don’t aim in the house, he says, unless it’s him trying to beat Bruce Wayne.”

Your company’s shoulders turned sideways, leaning into you. His breath ghosted the hair on your neck, standing it on end, and again that silky voice sent tingles down your spine. Damian must change his voice as Robin, because he never spoke like this then. So huskily, so low.

He shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

You watched him. He watched you. You ran your tongue over your teeth, and Damian subtly adjusted his slacks from his pockets.

At the same time, you asked each other, “Would you like to get a drink?”

Your hiding place was a loveseat in the lounge, between more businessmen and their ditzy heirs. The bartender was your family’s, so he smiled and turned down your request for a drink, courtesy of your dad’s strictness. Luckily, he didn’t recognise Damian. You watched him order it at the bar, his rings catching the light, the muscle in his arms peeking out from under his blazer.

“I think he suspected I wasn’t of age, so he only gave me one.” He took the place next to you, propping his ankle on one knee and lounging out like a panther. Damian offered the cocktail to you, once he’d decided the coast was clear. It was a cute gesture. “Is that acceptable?”

You fished a five dollar bill out of your purse. “Only if you take this for paying. Don’t think I didn’t see you try and sneakily get that past me.”

Damian scrutinized the bill, then you, somehow managing to be a smartass without opening his mouth. Instead of thinking about how nice it would feel to kiss the slight crease between his brows, you traded hands with him so the bill was in his and the drink was in yours. The gentle brush of you palm to his knuckles put way too many butterflies in your belly.

You talked about everything and anything. About home, family life, your cities. The best of it was when Damian dipped his head so only you could hear him, keeping your secrets close and your bodies closer. This was the only way he talked about Robin, so you circled back to any vigilante subject you could think of just so Damian would keep purring into your ear like that. Better yet, he was smart. Talking to him was engaging, and within minutes he'd entranced you, so you sat there talking for more than an hour. Around you, the party rotated and went on.

At one point, you took a drink of the cocktail and passed it to him to share. Damian placed his lips right where yours had been, licking up the cocktail salt and gulping it down slow, adam’s apple bobbing, like it wasn’t the taste of the vodka he was savoring.

Eventually, your bliss was broken. Damian was called over to his father, again, to discuss business, and he left you with your remaining cocktail and the memory of that mission. You couldn’t find a reason to move from your seat. When you’d realized that you and Robin had been led into a trap on that mission, it’d been too late, and your efforts to escape became more and more futile. All you could do was pray the Titans got to you on time. Robin had offered you his glove as the walls closed in, and you’d watched up-close as he assumed you were both about to die. The fear in his eyes was strange - like it was familiar to him. At the same time, you cupped his neck and he held your upper back, and you’d kissed fervently, sweetly.

Damian had put his forehead to yours, and promised even as the trap shrunk around you, “You were excellent. More excellent than they ever said.”

In the big picture, it was a strange last remark to make, and afterwards you’d been too happy about surviving to think about it. But in the moment, you understood. You were understood. Somehow, Damian had reached into your soul and gouged out the words you’d been dying to hear, from your parents, from anyone, and uttered them to you with burning conviction. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe he meant it. Damian found you excellent. Someone, somewhere, didn’t think you were a failure.

Odd, how you’d never seen the face of the man you thought you’d die with (until now), and yet he saw you so easily. You watched him follow his father into the party crowd now, wondering. The Titans had saved you before you could ask what he’d meant. More importantly, before you could tell him the same. He was excellent.

Once you’d finished off your drink, you left it at the bar and grinned evilly at your family bartender. He rolled his eyes and slyly delivered you another, which, on your superhero schedule, would not have you drunk yet. Another heir to some big company was seated at your right, ignored by his father enough to look for some small talk with you.

He was one of the cute, nerdy types that were usually in awe of you. Girls, available girls, were typically rare at these kinds of parties, so he took you not having a boyfriend as permission to flirt with you. Unfortunately for him, your seat gave a perfect angle on Damian across the party floor. He was impressing the wives of Wayne business partners, who flocked around him like they’d flocked around you, pinching his cheeks. You could almost read their lips enough to guess what they were saying. What a handsome young man you are! Oh, Bruce must be so proud.

“...and then my father flipped over his kayak! Would you believe it? Two thousand dollars, thrown right in our family’s lake.” Your company snickered, howling at his own story.

You circled the rim of your glass, watching how Damian tried to teach some of the women phrases in Arabic. Unknown to them, they were some pretty funny swear words. It threw you into a bout of giggles, and the man next to you kept talking, spurred on by the noise.

The flock of hens around Damian receded, and his shoulders slouched in relief. That was cute, too. It wasn’t often that people understood how draining these parties were, but for people like you and Damian, it was a racetrack of endless, boring circles. Everything was a formality. Few things were genuine. Damian turned, and you caught his eye to let him know you were going to meet him. He nodded toward a side hall, his mouth a curious line again. If you looked at it long enough, it felt like a smile when he mouthed, escape?

Your company was still talking. He stopped when you grabbed his tie and planted a pity-kiss on his cheek, waving to him as you bounced away. “Sorry, kid. Not my type.”

You planned to bring Damian to the secluded balcony on the second floor to unwind, but instead, you were taken by the wrist and maneuvered into an empty powder room. It was colder than the steaming party air and smelled like champagne, with couches to sit on and mirrors to powder at. For a bathroom, the lights were warm and low. The noise of the party went quiet the instant the door was shut, like you and Damian had entered your own little world. No more circles. No more back and forth.

“Here,” Damian said, noting the mirrors. He tilted his head as he asked, like he was nervous, “Is this acceptable?”

“It is the ladies powder room, but I’ll give you a pass, since you’re cute.” You joked. Damian didn’t make a move to relax on one of the couches yet, hanging in front of you like there was more he wanted to say. There was more you wanted to say, too, but no good words came to mind.

But the silence wasn’t awkward. Again, Damian stared, and you stared. The glass he brought with him was set down. He put one fist on the counter beside the door, and like honey had been poured on your nerves, you realized how easy it would be for him to push you up against it. Kiss you senseless. Heat drooled off of him this close, and you wondered if he’d still lean in to whisper to you even if you were alone.

The lack of words drew to a point where something had to be said, anything, but his eyes felt so good on your skin and it was interesting to see him nervous. Something strange told you that Damian liked the silence, too.

You wet your lips with your tongue. Damian cleared his throat, and took a sip from his glass. “Was I interrupting something?”

“Between me and that guy?” You smiled gently, like you were reassuring him, and laughed to yourself. “Oh, man, you should’ve seen it, Damian. Poor kid really thought I was flirting with him. He’d totally convinced himself, it was hilarious.”

His profile was tense in the mirror, which you stole glances at to watch how the amber light played on his handsome skin. When Damian swallowed his drink, his throat rolled in the sexiest way, and immediately your mind fed you with visions of suckling, kissing, tonguing his neck.

“Why’d you ask?” Your eyes sparkled. Damian drew a step closer, and you used the opportunity to swipe a drop of alcohol from the corner of his lip with your thumb. “You jealous?”

It was the touch or the suggestion that made Damian pause. He didn’t stutter, but lagged over what to say, eyes vast and wanting as they raked over your face. “I don’t get jealous,” he clarified, “but… I do intend to be the only man to kiss you tonight.”

Damian’s hand took your chin. Your belly exploded with instant arousal, hitting you like a bullet of liquid lust. “You’re the only man who’s kissed me like that,” you whispered, taking his tie in hand. “I hope that’s always true.”

His voice had gone throaty. “May I kiss you again?”

Again, he reminded you.The two of you had kissed before, and it had been spectacular, terrifying, and excellent.

“Please,” you said, and Damian rushed to your aid.

Not a moment more was wasted. Curling his tie into your fist, you drew him in, slow and deep and wonderfully. Damian’s cologne hit you before his lips did, and both made your core throb for friction. Two broad hands slammed your hips into the door. His fingertips smoothed up the fabric of your dress, pressing you back and squeezing you in until you could feel his belt buckle against your belly. Damian was a sweet, magnetic kisser, chasing your lips like he was on a crusade to save them. Each time they met, he swam deeper. The point of his nose bumped against your cheek. You hummed your laugh against his lips, and Damian groaned as he pulled away, readjusting, twisting, testing the limits of the kiss. And you followed him at every step or more, revelling in his taste.

You didn’t want him to think you wanted the kiss to end, so you drew the hands braced under his blazer around his neck. Soon, that didn’t feel close enough, so you cupped each side of his face and pecked Damian until you were breathless. He brought you in until your arms were flat to his chest, the kiss almost vertical in its intensity.

He groaned when you parted, gasping and blinking just inches from your face. Your mouths were still connected by a thick string of drool, which hung until it split and clung to Damian’s chin and fell, marking a wet strip down into his collar. You panted, watching it go.

Damian left your waist to hold your wrists, keeping your hands around his face. He settled warmly into your touch, basking in it, and the pure enjoyment on his face made you smile. You wondered if anyone else had cared for him like this. If Damian had ever felt someone hold his face and treasure it. The thought gave you a strange urge, so you followed it.

You brought Damian’s brow level with your mouth and sweetly kissed his forehead. Then his nose bridge, then his temples. His face was so quickly warm that you giggled. In the most unsubtle way possible, Damian drew back his hips so you couldn’t feel the heat there, and closed his eyes, begging you to continue.

“I want you,” you whispered against his jaw.

Damian shivered. “You have me.”

You shifted one hand to his shoulder, giving yourself more room to nuzzle and kiss his neck. The line of drool was still there, so you cupped his skin and tilted his jaw up, and in one stroke, licked all the way to his earlobe. Damian’s moan poured from his mouth like a growing flood. You even felt his thighs press together between you, and pleasure tingled in your throat when he choked at the glide of your tongue.

He released your wrists, reached beside you, and locked the door with an audible click.

Then, Damian devoured you. Both hands hooked around your back, arching your chest into his, and finally, bringing his bulge between your hips. You clung to him for dear life, helpless as his teeth pressed into your neck like a vampire. Damian fed like one, too, suckling the skin there like he was starved. Your panties were so wet that you were desperate to get out of them, grinding your core against his.

Damian retreated, gasping. He licked the spit off of his lips and glared into your eyes. Bluntly, he said, “I want to eat you out.”

Once more, you kissed him, delirious with excitement. Your lungs burned for air, but your core burned harder for him. “Take off that suit and you can do whatever you want to me.”

His eyes gleamed. “I plan to.”

Quickly, you shoved your hands into his sleeves and pushed them off his shoulders, giving you a crisp glimpse at his carved shoulders. Damian's fingers blurred from button to button, but he saved the last for you on purpose. You worked in tandem and with little thought. If he could, Damian would steal a kiss, and you would bite his lip and chase him into more. When that last button was popped, his white button-down parted for a gorgeous plane of hard-earned muscle. His abs, ribs and pecs were pockmarked with scars, shrapnel marks and in some places, bullet holes. You stopped.

At your staring, Damian pressed his lips together.

“It's.. not appealing, I know,” he monotoned.

“No,” you disagreed, palming his stomach, “it’s impressive. All these do is show how strong you are, how long you've survived. You're so… built...” you didn't hide your thorough examination of him, “...I mean, we have to be to do what we do, but still… It suits you. It's sexy.”

You worried you'd ruined the moment with your babbling, but he glimmered under your praise. Damian brightened in the way only Damian could, smirking devilishly and towering over you like a supervillain.

“Sexy?” He pressed his naked chest into yours, whispering hotly in your ear. You could feel his silk tie pinned between you. “Does that mean I'm your type?”

You rolled your eyes. “Eavesdropper.”

“Temptress,” Damian replied, just as easily.

To claim your title, you found Damian's belt and pulled on it until the clasp gave. It made a satisfying whipping noise as you ripped it off of him, shouldered into his space to grab his waist in one hand, and cupped his throbbing boxers in the other. Damian's sigh came hoarsely and wanton from his mouth.

“Fuck me,” you demanded, grinning with delight.

Instead of wasting time on a response, Damian fell to his knees, a faithful worshipper. He did the gentlemanly thing and helped you kick off your heels. The tile was icy on your bare feet, but it only mattered until Damian ran his hands up your thighs. Sliding his fingers underneath the fabric, he bunched it up your middle, peering up at you smugly through his lashes. You could feel the debauchery of it - Damian, on his knees, tie hanging still from his neck, pinning you to the door. You, your legs spread and wanting.

Damian sucked in a breath. Your panties had an obvious wet patch, put there by him. He thumbed it carefully, watching your brows tense and your eyes close, basking in your initial whine. All of it enchanted him. You were soaking because of him, trembling because of him, marked because of him. There was not one place he would rather be than here.

Damian collected your sweetness and sampled the taste on his thumb, trapping it behind his smug smile. He ran his tongue over his teeth, spreading the flavor around his mouth, savoring it. As Damian rolled your underwear down your legs, his cock twitched in his open fly. You were beautiful. Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

“Put your leg over my shoulder,” Damian ordered, smirking, “I want to taste you.”

Warmth exploded in your cheeks. “G-go ahead.”

Gradually, you situated your leg across his back, pussy tensing at the touch of the cooler air. This didn't matter for long. Damian's warm lips nuzzled and kissed the thigh closest to him, painting messy reflective circles on your skin with his kiss. Even that made your legs tense wildly, so Damian shoving his wet, blazing tongue into the folds of you cunt pumped moan after moan from your mouth.

“Damian!” You yelped.

Oh, he definitely liked that. Damian pinched your ass and used his mouth so passionately that his head shook back and forth. He darted right for your clit, sucking it until his cheeks were hollow and humming smugly between your legs with every squeal. Parting your folds with one hand, Damian kissed your core just as dirtily as he'd kissed you. The dangerous glint in his eye never faded. He plunges his tongue inside you in earnest, slurping obscenely, purposefully. There's no need for Damian to shoot you cute looks or put on a show - his skill was the performance, because that skill was unbeatable. Your pussy was already tender, fucked nerveless by Damian's filthy mouth. He vibrated your cunt with a deep groan before he drew away, face dripping with slick like a pornstar’s.

“You're suitably wet,” he said, matter-of-factly, “would you like me to use my fingers?”

All the strength you had went into a weak, pleading nod.

Damian was polite enough to grant you your bearings first, letting you grip his hair and squeeze the counter before he resumes. You give him the sweetest, most precious whine when Damian licks you open again. He wisely starts with one finger and builds from there, earning you with pumps and curls of his digits. Damian's talents quickly become a currency, one that you exchange with mewls and pants of praise.

“So good,” you whine, “oh, fuck - fuck, just like that…”

Damian smirks between your legs, jamming his fingers faster into your sore pussy. Lust sizzles low in your gut, ramped up again and again by his thrusting. It’s so powerful that you roll and buck off the door, your hips in his face. You want him - want him more than you want anything.

“You're ravaging,” Damian hums between licks. His eyes are closed, but that only gives the way he touches you more meaning.

It’s so surprising from his mouth that your hold on his hair slips, setting Damian free. He pants, catching his breath, and it’s easily the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen in your life. The effort has slouched him from his knees to his calves, further spreading his legs and opening up the fly of his pants. A solid bulge has formed and spilled out there, straining to escape his briefs like an arm in a sling that’s too small, way too small, for someone of his size. Three of Damian’s fingers are still twisting inside of you.

Slowly, Damian tipped back his head and hung down, arranging himself beneath your cunt. “So beautiful.” His free hand splayed where your leg met your hip. “May I touch you?”

“I-I get it’s the gentleman thing to do, to - to keep asking, but fuck, Damian,” you cursed, “you can do whatever you want to me.”

Damian’s intense jade eyes were so dilated that you could barely make out the color. He dragged his cheek against your thigh, fingers still circling inside you, and grinned like a shark. It was probably a bad idea to give the heir to the Demon’s Head that much power over you.

His other hand squeezed your skin, slow to passionate, from your belly to your breasts beneath your dress. It’s clear by the way Damian looks at you that he loves what he sees. The texture of his veiny, calloused hands feels good on your waist and ass, dragging you closer to him. He chuckles when your back arches, when your nails press into his hands, his back muscles, throwing himself into his task. Damian’s nose prods your folds as he licks you clean, tongue dipping and sliding against your sore clit. It’s like he’s done this for you before, in this exact way. Though he utilizes his tongue the most, his lips too are brutal, matched perfectly to fit your pussy lips.

But that tongue - how Damian’s jaw isn’t tired, you don’t know. He parts your folds and latches onto your clit, flicking his tongue at superspeed until drool and cum bubbles from your sensitive core. Your back winds tighter at every vibrating lick, paralyzing the muscles in your legs with glorious pleasure. It’s so exquisite you start to melt to the floor like warm clay, only to be bolstered back up by Damian, both hands viciously squeezing your ass. He keeps going not for you, but himself, sucking down every last drop of your juices.

Shattered, you twist hopelessly into his mouth, chasing the strained feeling like it’s the last you’ll ever glimpse. “Fuck, fuck - D-Damian, ah…”

“Did it feel good when I made you cum?” He teases, “It certainly tastes good. All those filthy little noises you make for me…” Damian shakes his head at himself, like it’s too fantastic to indulge again. He leaves your clit with a satisfied kiss. “Beautiful.”

Once more, the words are surprising to hear from him. You always considered Damian the prude type, but here he is, on his knees for you, mouth and chin glittering with your juices while he teases you in low, sexy tones. At your surprised look, Damian has the gall to blush.

With his ring finger in his mouth, he ponders, “If a man has never said that to you before...” pop, “consider me surprised.”

“Never while finger-fucking me, at least,” you admited, legs still trembelling. “It was sweet. You… you meant that?”

It was hard to imagine Damian Wayne finding anything beautiful. Even you, who was pretty enamored with him, figured he would judge by quality or skill, not beauty. The words tasted new on his tongue.

Slowly, Damian stood and stretched, his shoulders tight after staying in the strange position for so long. Lifting his arms coincidentally let his waistband sit lower on his hips, flashing his green boxers your way while showing off the huge, carved muscles of his arms. Truly, Damian’s subtlety was unmatched. You didn’t mind his miniature bragging fest - not when he had so much to brag about. Eating you out had put an excited shimmer in his skin, so the gold-toned lights of the room reflected sexily off his sweat, already accenting his kissable tan.

“I did,” he told you, moving on to his sucking middle finger. His other hand played on your thigh, stroking it. “I’ve always been… drawn to you. Every mission we’ve had together. I have a profound feeling that we are very similar.”

You laughed. Not at what he said, but the timing of it. “Would you believe me if I said I felt the same way?”

Damian made a face like his heart was doing jumping jacks. “A few hours ago? No. But now…” he barricaded you against the door, first with his hands and then his hips, closed in so tightly that you had to look past your nose to meet his eyes. “Your crush is adorably obvious. I’m annoyed that I didn’t see it before.”

Your rounded your hands against Damian’s shoulders, then his tie. It twisted nicely around your fingers, silky and cold in comparison to your flushed skin. You were tempted to fix your dress, but nothing, not even the world ending, could make you leave this room.

“My crush is obvious? Damian, all you’ve done for the last two hours is sneak me drinks and imply how much easier it is to be around me.” You grinned, “What’d you say earlier? There you are, Queen. Finally, someone intelligent enough to speak to me.”

Damian shrugged. “It’s true. Your knowledge of bioluminescent ocean life is fascinating.”

“I can’t believe you said that after giving me head for ten minutes.”

“It’s actually been closer to twelve,” Damian smirked.

Playfully, you pinched Damian’s cheek, then pulled him by the tie into a starved, energetic kiss. He must’ve been praying for your permission to continue, because the plan he’d been forming is quickly put into action. You’re hugged, arms scooped under your back as you kiss him. Damian surrenders his mouth to a bit of revenge tonguing while undoing your dress. No amount of kissing will pull him from his task, but your hand is a special case - it smooths down the front of his boxers and Damian melts.

“Y/N,” he groans.

Damian petulantly resists the temptation to close his eyes, but your touch is soft and sweet, demanding him to yield. Your lips suckle on his neck and Damian’s knees buckle. If getting his mouth between your legs didn’t turn him on, then this will finish him for sure.

“I missed you. Kissing you.” You purr into his throat. “One could never be enough for me.”

Is this what it’s like to be wanted? Damian asked himself. The only possible answer thrilled him, and he found himself pouring even more passion into the kiss, into you, wanting to share that rush of affection. You respond to his every touch with vigor. Damian’s heart stalls each time your thumb strokes his face, each time the other strokes him through his slacks.

“Me either,” he rasped, and helped you out of your dress. His tone was shy, but his words held too much depth to be meaningless. I want a wealth of them. I always want to kiss you, was what he wanted to say, but Damian was too embarrassed to raise the words. This moment was too special to ruin with his hopeless romanticism. He kissed you again and again, and to his amazement, you kissed him right back.

“Fuck me,” you begged him between breaths. “Right here. I don’t care if we’re caught.”

I don’t care if we’re seen together. I want to be seen with you, I’m not ashamed of you.

Damian cupped your face and almost knocked you both over with the strength of his kiss. Nose-to-nose, eyes closed, he commanded, “Bend over the fucking counter.”

In a blink, Damian turned and there you were, open and waiting for him. The sink was hip-level, so the bend was nothing but perfect - Damian could fuck you from behind and watch your lust-blown reflection without issue. Your perfect pussy drooled leftover cum down your legs, making your sex shine in the light.

In the mirror, you watched Damian’s eyes darken in delight. His pupils followed the line of your ass to your back, appreciating it like an artist would, like he intended to paint you later and needed to memorize the greatest shapes of your figure. The marble was icy against your hard nipples, which Damian had exposed when he’d impatiently shoved down your bra. Now, he cupped one of your breasts as he bent over you, kissing and suckling his way down your back.

“Perfect,” Damian hissed.

Shyly pressing your butt back against him, you buried your face in your arms and bit your lip, waiting for him to open you up. Damian’s shadow came to hover over you, and in the mirror his eyes were vicious, pools of circling sharks. “Are you ready?”

“Mhm,” you nodded. “Take your time.”

Though you weren’t being sarcastic, Damian took it that way and pinched one cheek of your ass. “With you? I will.” Then, with the same smoothness, Damian asked, “Condom?”

“Pill,” you replied, and Damian nodded his approval.

His pants rustled as they fell down his legs. Where you couldn’t see, Damian committed the sight to memory - his cock in hand, your pussy spread open, all for him. You squeaked when his hot tip touched your cooling clit, and squeaked again when it glided down your pussy and tested your opening. He knew he’d found the way when you winced.

In an unsurprising moment of compassion (for those who truly knew him), Damian kissed the top of your head and offered you his hand. “Would you like to hold it while I…?”

You took his hand and squeezed it to your chest, squeezing him closer in the process, too. “Thank you. Go slow, for this part…”

Damian complied. His sweat-sticky chest hovered warmly over your back. Even if Damian was big, you were wetter than you’d ever been in your entire life - any pain would quickly slide into pleasure. He braced himself with a deep inhale, and a hot, sharp sensation told you that he’d entered you. Where you choked in a needy gasp, Damian poured out his version of a whimper. You both held it. Then, breath by breath, you were struck with the realization that you’d been dying to feel this for weeks, for months, and only now was that heat being satisfied. Damian’s tongue and fingers had come close, but this is what would cure that aching emptiness - his big, girthy cock.

The deathgrip you had on Damian’s hand loosened. “You look perfect,” he murmured into your hair, instantly making your core flutter. “Oh,” he chuckled filthily, “you like that? Funny, how badly that idiot at the bar wanted to be in my place right now…but it’s me who gets to pound into—”

“Damian,” you warned.

He smiled smugly against your neck. “Nothing.”

Dutifully, Damian withdrew his hips, taking all of the heat with him. When he rolled back in, a hot, tingling sensation roared over all of your senses, and you let the moan at the top of that tsunami loose. It was clear that he couldn’t fuck you like he wanted to with one hand fished down at your side, so he glued both to the base of your back and started to thrust in earnest.

“So full...” You mewled, and Damian became a human pile-driver.

Your head seemed to roll off your shoulders with every crazed, rhythmic slam, so you grabbed the faucet and held on for dear life. Every slap was so loud, so powerful, that you prayed this one random bathroom in the penthouse was soundproofed. Anyone walking past would know you were getting railed out of your mind. You tried to compensate by moaning and squeaking quietly, but with force came volume. It didn’t matter how silent you were, Damian’s hips, your ass, the squelch of him inside you - each noise filled the bathroom, echoing off the tile.

The only way you could think to describe him was filling. First, there was the hot, cinching tension of his hands fused to your waist. Then there was his cock, which begged to be squeezed more and more with every pass. You responded to each throb with a mighty clench, which bent Damian over you like an animal, gasping for breath. His balls were painted with your slick. The closer you came to orgasm together, the closer Damian came to you. His hands migrated to higher on your sides, then up by your shoulders, then around you, where Damian kissed your back and rubbed your belly while he made love to you. He talked more than he moaned. Your ear was filled with sweet nothings, with vicious promises of what he would do with a whole night alone with you.

Damian’s reflection was wild with lust. He met your eyes as he fucked you, whispering how beautiful you are, how good you take his dick. His deep green eyes were so dark you couldn’t make out the brown in them anymore. The long muscles on his arms drew taut with each thrust, making his biceps bulge and pin your hips to the sink. Soon enough, a bruise would form from the pressure. One of many treasures from tonight - you would be thinking about Damian in his crisp suit for months to come, and the mess he’d become with you now even longer. Your pleasure built and built and built, like a nail struck further into the ground with a hammer. A very, very big hammer.

“M’ cumming,” Damian husked, slowing his plowing to a sloppy glide. Even his endurance was spent, and you were glad he’d spent it all on you. “Where d’ you…?”

You braced your hands on the counter, then on one of Damian’s. Together, you smoothed his digits down your stomach and between your soft, abused folds. “Inside me, please, please please—” you begged him, “fuck, a-as deep as you can go.”

As a test of your flexibility, Damian turned in and kissed you. Just as he parted your lips with his tongue, he parted your folds with his fingertips, overriding your clit as his cock throbbed inside you to the hilt. He took the invitation as a command. Damian pressed in until you could feel his abs mold to your ass, then stuttered his hips in quick, agonized dips to get himself there. With his fingers and his cock putting stars in your eyes, you finished first.

The white marble counter fizzed in your vision, until all you could see was that powerful, endless white, humming in your mind’s eye. Still, Damian wasn’t finished yet. You bumped your temple against his chin and hummed, “Cum for me, baby… fuck, a-ah!”

Your pussy’s throb raced and raced until it spilled over, pulling Damian right under the current. One clench and he was done for, so the velvety, periodic squeeze of your cunt emptied his store. You hung there, spasming in unison, until that overwhelming heat spurted in a ring around Damian’s cock and flooded out of you. Only then did his fingers stop on your clit, and you settled warmly in each other's arms and tried to remember your names and who you were.

Damian pulled out, then snuggled back in. He would’ve been nervous any other time, but he’d just put his dick inside you, so a little instinctive cuddling could be forgiven. On shaky legs, you turned around and sunk into him. You could tell by how he was eyeing the sink that he was desperate to get clean again, so with one kiss (on the cheek), you set Damian loose.

In companionable silence, Damian cleaned up and you collected the clothes abandoned on the floor. Staring at the corner where you’d just had the best sex of your life put an embarassingly pleasant warmth in your chest. Interesting, how one terrifying moment could become something as special as this. Fascinating, how you’d felt like you’d known him all your life.

“You know… I think you’re excellent, too.” You told him, finishing off the knot for his tie.

Damian dipped his head to hide his smile, but something so bright was impossible to hide.

#damian wayne smut #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x reader smut #damian wayne x you #robin smut #robin #dc smut #dc comics #dc #user uncouth

3K notes · View notes

c-e-d-dreamer · 2 years ago

Note

1D’s Last First Kiss screams Nessian college au and no one can tell me I’m wrong. I mean…

Let me be your last first kiss / I wanna be first, yeah / Wanna be the first to take it all the way like this.

What a great song. Honestly, an underrated song if you ask me. But thanks so much for sending! Last first kiss = fluffy first date, am I right? ;) Hope you enjoy!

Let me be your last first kiss. I wanna be first, yeah, wanna be the first to take it all the way like this.

Nesta fiddles with the ends of her hair, making sure they curl and settle across her shoulder just the way she wants. Once her hair is how she likes it, she grabs her lipstick, finishing up the last of her makeup. It’s then that the knock on her door echoes through the room. She quickly slips her shoes on and rushes to open it, finding Cassian waiting for her on the other side.

He has on his signature leather jacket, a crisp, white tee paired underneath, and a pair of dark washed jeans. His hair is down, hanging loose along his temples and brushing against his shoulders. His grin is wide when Nesta first opens the door, but his expression quickly shifts to one of awe as he takes Nesta in.

“Wow,” Cassian breathes, his gaze sweeping up and down. “You look… wow.”

Nesta has to bite her lip against the blush that creeps up her neck and threatens to settle on her cheeks. “Thanks.”

Nesta steps fully out into the hall, turning to close the door behind her and lock it. When she turns back around, Cassian still has that dumbstruck look on his face. Nesta raises a challenging eyebrow in silent question, and that seems to snap him out of it, Cassian clearing his throat and gesturing over his shoulder.

“I uh… my truck… I have my truck parked just outside.”

His flusteredness shouldn’t be as adorable as it is, but Nesta finds she likes it, revels in the effect she has on him. Especially when she slips her arm through his and Cassian’s gaze snaps to hers in blatant shock. He recovers quickly enough, guiding them down the hallway and out of the dorm building, but Nesta doesn’t miss the pink tinge hiding beneath the skin of his cheeks.

“So where are we going?” Nesta asks as she slips into the passenger seat of Cassian’s truck.

“You’ll see,” Cassian promises with a smirk, closing her door and going around to the driver’s side.

It turns out he’s decided on mini golf for their first date, taking her to a local place not far from campus. It’s surprisingly not very busy for a Friday night, and it takes no time at all for Cassian to pay for their game and for them to grab their putters and a golf ball each, Cassian choosing red and Nesta choosing blue. Then they’re heading to the first course, a wooden sign declaring 1 in bright, gold paint.

It also turns out that Cassian is very good at mini golf, and by the time they’re on course number 8, Nesta’s frustration is beginning to bubble beneath her skin. Her friends have always told her she has a bit of a competitive streak, but it’s almost unfair. Cassian takes every shot with a cool, calm ease, while Nesta is left growling in annoyance every time her golf ball bounces at an odd angle off the wall or skips right over the hole.

She watches as Cassian sets his golf ball down on the white dot at the start of the course. He stands up and lines up his shot, and somehow, miraculously, it goes right between the blades of the spinning windmill, rolling across the green until it lands with a soft plunk into the hole.

“That’s it,” Nesta declares with a huff. “You’re cheating.”

“What?” Cassian laughs, going over and plucking his golf ball out of the hole. “I am not cheating.”

“You have to be. There’s no way you could make that shot.”

Cassian makes an offended noise at that, but his smile is still wide, giving away his amusement. “And tell me, Nes. How exactly does one cheat at mini golf?”

“I don’t know,” Nesta says, throwing her arms up in exasperation. “But I’m going to figure it out.”

“Maybe, I’m just really good at mini golf.”

“Unlikely.”

“Maybe,” Cassian offers, stepping into Nesta’s space and sliding an arm around her waist. “I just wanted to impress you.”

This close, Nesta can feel the heat that always seems to radiate off of Cassian in waves. She can see every gold fleck of his hazel eyes that glints under the autumn sun, can count every dark eyelash, can trace the scar that slashes through his eyebrow. It has her breath hitching in her lungs, has a shiver raking its way down her spine that Nesta knows has nothing to do with the fall weather.

Cassian’s arm tightens around her in response, tugging her that much closer to him until they’re practically flush together. His other hand comes up to cradle her cheek, the calluses of his hand sliding deliciously against her skin. His thumb traces the outline of her bottom lip, eyes blazing as they burn into Nesta’s own.

“Can I kiss you?” Cassian asks, his voice quiet in the space between them.

“Is that what you want?” Nesta shoots back, even as she tilts her chin up toward him.

“What I want,” Cassian tells her, leaning in until his lips just barely brush against hers. “Is to be your last first kiss. For this to be the last first date you ever go on.”

“That’s a bit presumptuous, don’t you think?”

“No.”

Before Nesta can say anything else, Cassian closes the distance and kisses her. Just the first slide of his lips against hers has sparks ricocheting down Nesta’s every nerve endings, has her heart skipping over itself in her chest, has some deep, slumbering music deep in her soul finally alive and answered. And while she will never admit it to him, Nesta can’t help but wonder if this really will be her last first kiss, if for both of them, this will be it. They’ll be it for each other.

And if she’s being completely honest with herself, Nesta finds that she wouldn’t mind that fact in the slightest.

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #acotar #nesta x cassian #my fic

66 notes · View notes

rafescoke · 3 years ago

Note

Hiii! I don’t know if you’re still taking requests but how about a rafe fic where he is super sweet and gentle and just soft with the reader in private but an asshole once their in public? Just angst and a lil but of fluff and rafe being rafe, if that’s not too much to ask!

Facade ; Rafe Cameron

masterlist

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: “This whole thing you’re showing to people. . . that’s not you. Fuck you.”

Warnings: Angst, angst, and more angst. Not the ending everyone’s expecting (I think)

A/N: I’m extremely sorry if this isn’t my best work but thank you for 700+ followers wtf ily <3 finishing all requests in my inbox this week!

“Don’t leave me yet,” Rafe groans. He places his arms around her waist, snuggling close. Her scent of strawberry wafts into his nostrils, and he closes his eyes against her warmth.

“Work.” she mumbles, and tries to stand up again. But Rafe does not let go, still holding onto her skin as if on his last breath, and she lets out a chuckle at the adorable sight.

“I can pay you twice the amount you’re working for right now,” he says. He finally let go of her, and slumps into the vacant pillows that she had slept in a few hours ago.

“I know, and I won’t give you the satisfaction of doing so,” she smiles, and take the chance of freedom to walk towards the bathroom. She checks the naked boy on top of the bed from the mirror, her heart soaring.

His boy.

She kisses him on the cheeks when she’s finally done, swiping her thumb on his pink lips as he whimpers softly in his sleep. She kisses him again, this time on the lips, for good measures.

(Y/N) never really like the restaurant in the country club, because it’s full of impolite kooks and bratty tourists. But money is money, and she’ll never say no to a good sum of them.

She sighs, clearing another dirty table all while thinking of Rafe in his room. Her insides suddenly beam when his kisses slides through her memory, and she wishes the clock would turn faster.

She slides in the empty back room, pulling her phone out from her back pocket and tapping on the top name of her contact. Her fingers glide effortlessly, her mouth forming a smile.

miss you.

Three seconds later, her phone dings.

Rafe: Disgusting.

Rafe: Miss you more :)

She wants to go back to him as soon as possible.

The door behind her back open before she can stuff her phone back in, and she struggles to appear busy as the manager peek his head in.

“What are you doing here? It’s full house. You got a table.”

(Y/N) look up to him, trying to pretend like she wasn’t just skipping some time to text her boyfriend, and nods.

Okay, maybe not boyfriend. She’s not completely sure. They never really certify anything, but whatever’s going on between them is definitely something more than ‘friends’.

She sighs again, picking up a menu before heading towards the group of friends sitting at the long table by the golf course.

“Hey, welcome to—”

Oh my god.

“Hey, you’re (Y/N), right?”

(Y/N)’s attention snaps back to the blonde boy sitting next to Rafe, and she gulps before nodding slowly. “Um, yeah.”

“You work here?”

Is he stupid?

She refrains herself from rolling her eyes, “Yes.”

Rafe scans the menu, not looking at her, and she feel a tug at her heart. Why is he pretending not to know her? She’s not expecting a sudden hug or a kiss on the lips; she’s thinking of something like a goddamn smile.

“Might come down here often, then,” the boy laughs, and the others follow him. Except for Rafe. “What’s the best order here?”

“Pasta,” she mumbles. He’s still looking at the menu, clearly trying to ignore her piercing stare.

“Which one?” The blonde sighs, flipping through the menu. “You got bolognese, carbonara—”

“Aglio Olio,” she answers quickly. He can choke and starve for all she cares for ruining her day like this. Why would he need her opinion on this as if he has never tasted on every single dish on this menu?

“I’ll take that one,” he smiles, and peeks over her arms. “Did you write that down? Can I see it?”

What a fucking cunt.

“That’s it?” She asks, tilting her head to one side. She takes more orders from the other boys, but there’s only one left.

She looks up to him, and finally, he meets her eyes.

“What’s the best soup here?”

Really?

“All of them are good,” she answers, biting her tongue. She never told Rafe before about her workplace, and they had agreed on that, but she did not expect this kind of treatment once he finally found the answer.

“Is this how you treat the customers?”

What. The. Fuck.

(Y/N) bites her lips, and suppresses her groan while the other boys laugh. “We have the best mushroom soup.”

“I’ll go with the mushroom soup, please.”

(Y/N) scribbles down ‘mushfuckingroom soup for the asshole’ down, and gives out her fakest smile. “That’s it? I’ll come back shortly with your food.”

“One more thing—”

(Y/N) turns to them again, still holding onto that smile, “Yes?”

“Try to be nicer to the customers sometimes. That way, we’ll tip you bigger.”

She stalks off, not knowing that person under the same skin she caressed and kissed this morning.

. . .

Rafe bites his lips, sitting on the edge of the bed and pressing the call button for the 17th time tonight.

He sighs when the operator comes on, and throws his back against the mattress again.

Okay. Maybe he was mad at that time. She never told him where she works, and he assumed her workplace to be some kind of a hipster cafe with cats for decoration. He didn’t know she would be serving in the restaurant at the country club.

He texts her again, groaning.

Pick up the phone

Helloooooooooo

The typing notification pops up, and he waits excitedly for her reply. After a few minutes, the notification disappear. He grunts again, and goes straight to his contacts.

He presses the phone against his ear, waiting for her voice to say something; to listen to his pleas and to come back to his arms. He misses her so much, more than anything else in the world.

“Stop calling me,” she says.

He sits up straighter, feeling his blood rushing throughout his body. “Hey, how are you?”

“How’s the mushroom soup?” She mocks, and Rafe raises his brows.

He sees it clearly now.

“Are you mad about that day in the restaurant? I wasn’t even talking shit to you like Topper—”

“Really? The whole ‘bigger tips’ thing? Was that necessary?” She asks, her voice breaking.

Oh god. “It was a joke!”

“Yeah? Congra-tu-fucking-lations, Cameron, it’s a funny one,” she says, and Rafe can hear her slowly distancing voice.

He panics, “Don’t end on me. Look, I’m sorry. It’s just that you won’t tell me where you work, and it appeared as a shock to me.”

That’s the dumbest reason (Y/N) had ever heard. She feels like laughing and crying at the same time, because this is exactly the problem;

Guys like Rafe Cameron would never want to be with a girl like (Y/N) (Y/L/N).

“Suck my dick, asshole!” she yells, and slams the phone down.

Rafe pulls the phone away, his face contorting in anger, and his shoulders slump. He should’ve known better.

It’s just that. . . he’s afraid of what the others would think of him if they knew about him dating a pogue. Ward didn’t take it well when Sarah ran off with John B, and Rafe assumes he would be feeling the same way about (Y/N).

Why does life have to be so fucking complicated all the time?

Two days after, Rafe heard about a party in The Cut, but nothing from (Y/N). He know he’s fucked up big time, and he’s content to make it right with her again.

He doesn’t like stepping his foot onto The Cut, only going to the other side of the island to meet Barry for his medical issues, and sometimes to see how Sarah is doing.

But he’s driving down to the strange place again, so determined to see his girl one more time.

The party is in an abandoned warehouse, and from the outside, Rafe can see how loud and huge the party is. He sighs, thinking about the amount of time he would be wasting to find her whilst going through the throng of bodies.

But he wants to see her and touch her more than anything.

No one seems to notice him, Rafe Cameron, the Kook prince yet, and he’s hoping to keep it that way until he can pull (Y/N) out. Not one person back in Figure 8 could know about his presence in the party, what more the reason he’s there in the first place.

It’s easy to notice her. Black top, denim shorts, and (H/C) hair flowing from her shoulders. He stalks forward, extending his hand, but stops when he notices the boy beside her.

JJ fucking Maybank.

He balls his hands into a fist, and watches the way she laughs at a joke by JJ.

He takes his phone out, dialling her number, and stares as she grabs her phone out of her pocket. (Y/N) sighs, sliding the call button to the left, and keeps it in her shorts again.

Oh.

Meet me outside

Now.

(Y/N) pulls her phone out again, contorts her face at the texts, and finally look up. Her eyes scans the whole area, trying to find a particular brunette. . .

“What’s wrong?” JJ asks, touching her forearm.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, holding a finger up, and heads straight towards the exit.

Her shoes crunches against the gravel as she tries to look for Rafe’s jeep. She stands there alone, crossing her arms, and groans when she realises that he must’ve been tricking her.

Rafe slides his arms around her. “Hey, princess.”

She yelps, pushing him off and looking straight into his eyes. She relaxes when reality hits her, but stiffen again when reality hits her again.

“You’re not supposed to be here.” Her cold voice rings into his ears, but he misses her too much to care.

“C’mere,” he says, extending his hands. “Missed you.”

“Fuck off,” she announces and stalks away, only to be pulled by Rafe’s arms again. This time, she stays in his arms.

“Sorry,” he mumbles against the top of her head. “I’m sorry I was such a dick to you.”

She stays silent, trying to put up a wall between her and Rafe, but it’s near impossible. She misses him a bit too much too.

So she lets him pull her into his jeep, and whatever feud they have before dissipates into the air.

He kisses her on the lips once in the car, and when she pulls away, he groans.

“I’m not going to let you go with just a kiss after 2 weeks,” he says, inching closer to her. She gives him a sly smile, knowing exactly what he’s trying to tell her, and closes the gap.

He pulls away again after finding his hands under her top, and points to the back. She shakes her head, smiling.

“Come on, you missed me too much to say no.”

. . .

Maybe he should say something to his friends to stop them from harassing her.

But he’s glued to the spot, watching as Topper taunts her.

“You lied to me,” Topper pouts, “The Aglio Olio isn’t that good.”

She looks at Rafe, hoping, wanting, longing for him to say something. Anything.

He stays shut, scanning the menu.

“Sorry. Would you like to order anything else?” She sighs, spelling a big ‘fuck you’ on the top of her notepad.

“Do you come with the menu?”

She looks at Rafe again, waiting.

Say something. Please.

She smiles, “I do.”

Topper smiles and the other coos. (Y/N) watches as Rafe’s jaw tightens, and she goes back to her dirty work.

Two can play this game, Cameron.

“Give me your best food, babe,” Topper smiles, and shuts the menu. “Anyone else? Rafe? What do you want to eat?”

She waits. Say something about us, Rafe, please.

“Can we change for another server—” he says, and raises his hand up. “Hey, yo, you, yeah, you the manager?”

Logan gives (Y/N) a warning look before putting on a smile for Rafe, “Yes, sir, is there anything I can do?”

“Can you call someone else to take our order?”

This is way too far. He’s taking this way too far—

“Did our (Y/N) say something?” Logan asks, still smiling. She knows he’s seething inside, and she hates Rafe for putting her in this position.

“No. I just love for a better view.”

That feels like a hard smack across the face. Her throat starts burning, and she can feel her tears slowly appearing.

“That’s no problem, sir, I’ll get you another server—” Logan looks around, “Kate! Yes, c’mere.”

(Y/N) looks at Rafe again. His eyes meet hers, but there’s nothing behind his gaze.

Coward.

She reaches for the cold water on the table, her head’s so light she can literally faint, and splashes the brunette boy so quick that he stands up immediately.

“Asshole,” she states, and turns to Logan. “I fucking quit!”

. . .

Rafe Cameron is 100% an asshole.

She used to think of so many counterattacks to that statement, but there’s zero now.

She hates Rafe Cameron will all her heart, and wishes to never see him again.

He tried contacting her a few times over the week, to which she ignored heavily. She never thought he would stoop so low to preserve his title as the ‘Kook prince’.

To hell with that.

She would never treat him like that, and she’s just so clueless as to why he said all those mean words to her.

He kissed her on the lips, pulling her close. “My baby. So fucking perfect.”

(Y/N) grinded against him, hearing his soft whimpers, and laughed. She watched the clock ticking, and sighed.

“Forty minutes until I’m off to work.”

Rafe groaned, “Stop talking about work. Work with me.”

“As what, idiot?” She laughed, gazing at him lazily. “As a fuckbuddy?”

He sat up straighter, his face contorting in anger. “You are not my fuckbuddy, okay? Stop saying that. God, I will never do that you.”

She smiled, and leaned to kiss him against his chest. She trailed her lips up to his neck, and stopped right behind his ear. He shivered, biting his lips.

“And I’ll make you mind one day, (Y/N), I will,” he whispered.

Now that’s the biggest lie of the century. She gets it now;

The night dates in the most unknown places, like a fancy restaurant in a fucking town 2 islands away from Obx. Not wanting to hold hands or to be posted on her Instagram.

Why had she been so stupid?

“Fuck,” she groans, laying her back against the pillow.

Rafe Cameron is embarrassed to be seen with her. Something like that.

All the sweet things he would say to her in bed is nothing but a tactic to get into her pants. And she allowed him. God.

“You’re a stupid fuck, (Y/N),” she cries, and bites her lips. And she thought he would be the one—

Riiing! Riiing!

“Stop calling me!” She yells first thing when she picks up the phone, trying to stop her voice from cracking. Like always, she failed.

“Yo? You good?” JJ’s voice rang through the phone, a hint of worry in his voice. “I can call you another—”

“No! No, J, it’s fine, I thought you’re someone else,” she sighs. “What’s up?”

“Wanna come down to the beach with me tomorrow?”

“And do what?” She sighs. She doesn’t feel like swimming in the water, or watch JJ swim, or search for dolphins (JJ told her before that there’s dolphins in Obx), or anything, really.

She wants to sleep.

“Surfing,” he answers, like it’s a fact. “Come on, you got the whole summer to practice surfing. Let’s start with asking the hottest guy in Obx to coach you.”

(Y/N) slapped him in the face, giggling ferociously. He picked her up, twirling her around, and when she least expected it, he jumped into the water with her in his arms.

They resurfaced, still in a laughing fit.

“God, Rafe, you’re an asshole,” she laughed, pushing his chest.

“And the hottest guy in Obx.”

She bites her lips, thinking of the memory, and clears her throat. “Maybe not surfing, J, but I’ll come down anyways.”

“Okay to me,” he says, and (Y/N) can imagine a smile playing on his lips. “Goodnight, (Y/N).”

“Night, J.”

She sighs, and shuts her phone off.

Whatever Rafe did to her disappears into thin air when she arrives at the beach and see JJ with two surfboards planted in the sand.

He grins at her when she comes close, “There you are. Thought you bailed on me.”

She rolls her eyes, “I don’t want to surf, J.”

“Since when?”

She groans, “Like. Right now.”

“Nah, come on.”

Maybe JJ’s right. She gives him a nudge every time he tries to hold her, but he’s patient. He waits until she’s more comfortable before helping her up on her board, and when she topples over from the small wave, he lets out the biggest laugh.

And she completely forgets about the fight with Rafe for the whole hour.

“God. You’re a dick.”

JJ smiles, stabilising her board again. “Try again. You can call me a dick once you will not fall over a small wave.”

And she tries again.

By the time the sun sets they were laying right next to each other, just admiring each other’s presence and not saying anything.

She likes it like this. No secrets.

“(Y/N)?”

She hums in response, leaning on her elbows for support.

“You deserve someone a lot more better than Rafe.”

“Don’t talk about him,” she sighs, and closes her eyes.

When (Y/N) told the pogues about Rafe the night after the incidence, they were all fuming with anger and hatred towards the brunette boy. But (Y/N) doesn’t have an ounce of hate in her for him, even after all the hurtful things he said to her.

What an idiot.

“I can’t watch you get hurt again,” JJ says. “I care about you.”

She looks him properly now, watching as the golden light illuminates his handsome face. “I know, J.”

They lay in silence again, staring at the blue landscape of nothingness.

“There’s someone out there who will treat you better.”

She looks at him again. No. No.

“Yeah?” She laughs, trying to give him the idea to stop right now and not make it any complicated for her. She loves him, more than anything in the world, but not in the way she feels for Rafe.

He’s her Laurie to Jo March. Nothing more but a best friend.

He scoots closer, feeling her warmth. “Yeah. Look around, (Y/N).”

She inches away, “J, I’m not looking for anyone. You know that.”

“Except for Rafe,” he mumbles. “Is that right?”

“He’s different.”

“Why, (Y/N)? He treats you like shit, is embarrassed to be seen with you—”

“Okay, J, fuck! I get it, okay? But I’m not looking for anyone. I’m just not. Leave me alone!” She groans, throwing her arms into the air exasperatedly. She doesn’t need another boy in her life right now.

JJ’s right. Except for Rafe.

“I’m leaving,” she says, grabbing her tote bag and stuffing all her belongings. “This is a mistake.”

“(Y/N), wait—” he tries to hold her, but she flinches away. He crosses his arms, “Let me drive you home at least.”

“I can walk.”

“It’s getting darker. Come on, don’t make this any harder for me.”

“A drive back home, and that’s it, J,” she warns, and sets for the black bike a distance away.

The ride towards her small home takes a few minutes on the bike, and all the time she’s sitting behind JJ with her arms placed on his shoulders for balance, they didn’t exchange any words. There’s an obvious awkward dome between the two of them.

“I’m sorry, J,” she sighs, stepping away from the bike and handing him the helmet. “I didn’t mean to lash out on you.”

He smiles grimly, not saying anything.

The engine roars back to life, and he looks at her again; standing with her hair slowly drying and her shirt still sticking to her body. He looks away.

“J?” She calls, placing her hands over his. He raises his brows at her, waiting.

She places a soft kiss against his lips, so subtle yet meaningful to him, and pulls away after a few seconds. She rubs his cheeks slowly, and gives him another kiss on the cheeks.

“Sorry, J,” she whispers.

JJ smiles softly, and runs his thumb over her cheeks.

Maybe in another lifetime.

“(Y/N)?”

Their heads turn towards the voice behind her figure, and (Y/N) swears her heart stops.

Rafe looks at her and back to JJ, his mind connecting the puzzle, and he nods.

“Wait, Rafe!”

JJ tugs on her wrist, his eyes begging. “Leave with me. Come on.”

She looks at JJ, and then back to Rafe, and she hopes for some kind of a way to get out of this. She groans, and pulls her hands away. “Go, J. I don’t need you.”

And that’s enough to hurt the blonde boy.

“Rafe!” She yells after the boy walking to his jeep, but he continues to walk, ignoring her.

She lurches forward and grab his shoulders, turning him to face her. She looks into his eyes, looking for any sign of love for her.

“Rafe, it’s not what you think.”

“Yeah? Were you trying to give him a CPR or something?”

She holds him in her hands again, “No, Rafe, I swear. I was just. . .”

But there’s no proper way to explain why she had kissed JJ. Was it because she feel bad? But why would she kissed him?

“Yeah,” he nods, prying his hands away.

A sudden wave of anger courses through her, because the boy who had hurt her did not just make this look like it’s her entire fault. She pushes him on the chest, and his back hit the car door.

“What the fuck?” He yells, glaring at her.

“So what? You’re making me look like the fucking bad guy now? After all the shit you said to me in the restaurant?

He laughs dryly, “Of course you would point this back at me. Hey, hey, look—” he cups her face, “At least I didn’t kiss anyone.”

She pushes him away, “It doesn’t mean anything! And you’re not my fucking boyfriend.”

He licks his lips, “Yeah. So let me go.”

She pulls him to her again, “Don’t fucking run away from me like this! You didn’t even apologise!”

“Because you won’t pick up my calls!” He yells back, throwing his arms into the air. “You want to fuck JJ fucking Maybank? Then go.”

“Maybe I do want to fuck JJ, Rafe, because at least he’s real. This whole thing you’re showing to people. . . that’s not you. Fuck you.”

“Yeah?” He taunts, staring at her left hand placed directly on his chest. “Then fuck him. You don’t need me.”

“I don’t.”

“Yeah,” he laughs, watching as her chest heave. “I can go to Kie too, you know, to make this even.”

“Yeah? Would you embarrass her in front of your friends too?”

He shrugs, “No.”

She grits her teeth, knowing that he’s just trying to get under her skin.

“I hate you.”

He turns her over, so she’s facing him, and inches closer to her ears. “You don’t.”

“I do.”

He laughs again, pressing himself against her, and Rafe blames the heat of North Carolina in mid July for the sudden tingling in his stomach.

“I hate that stupid smirk on your face right now, and I’ll do anything to wipe them off.”

He presses a soft kiss against her cheeks, feeling her brush against him, and let out a soft whimper. “Okay.”

After 2 weeks of not seeing her, all he wanted was to talk to her at her house, after all the calls that she didn’t pick up. But when he waited for her to come back from God knows where and saw him getting off JJ’s bike, he lets the cold side of him take over.

He lets her go, sighing. “I’ll just go. This is a waste of time. You’re clearly not thinking about me.”

(Y/N) bites her lips, because a part of her wants him to stay, and they can kiss each other again, but another part of her wants him to go and leave her alone.

“Go.”

He hesitates, and nods. The jeep speeds away, leaving (Y/N) alone in her front step, thinking about what she had just done.

She hurt JJ, who wanted nothing but the best of her, and she just lost Rafe. She’s as good as alone in this world, and she’s not sure what to do anymore. She wishes she never let her temper got ahold of her, but it’s too late.

She just wants to sleep it off right now.

@okayshoto @joselyn001 @onceuponateenagetrash @dyingsleeping @iwannabeapogue @meaganjm @rafesobxs @flossy2929 @unfortunatekiwitrash @scottybitch @asimpwriter @amaya124 @tommy-tommo @thatshithurted8 @fallincindy @marvelwhor3 @rafeswh0ree @kookap @supernaturallydc-blog @blank-velvet @alaniskauany @kiiim8 @witchywrter @kaitlyn2907 @heyimflo @overcookedpastasause @tsukkiswifeey @spidey-d00d @anonymousobxfan @gotmeinloveagain @chicagoblackhawkslover96 @lexi-writes @classydragonthingknight @belongtoyou-u @badbussylol @savannah-elliott @angelreyesgirl100 @haterpenny @beehappyyy @alwaysclassyeagle @maybankslut @kayleea122 @clearbolts @lovelyxtom @christianaevans @jemimah-b99 @opierdalacz @dangerdolns @wildflowerliv @classygirlything21 @pogueslandia @alwaysclassyeagle @rottenstyx

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron one shot #rafe cameron imagines #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey imagines #outerbanks #outerbanks imagines #outerbanks x reader

534 notes · View notes

worldoftom · 4 years ago

Text

Putter Fantasy [18+] – Strike 2 i

pairing » roommate!fwb!actor!Tom x fem!reader

words » 14.6k

warnings » Tom’s dad makes an appearance ; fluff ; pining ; golf talk ; smut ; explicit warnings below the cut

special thanks » @hypnotized-so-mesmerized ; @nowayhomeparker ; @spidey-sophie ; @sinisterspidey ; @duskholland ;

b’s note » didn’t want to keep referring to y/n as being “busy with work”, so i added a particular kind of online activity. hope you don’t mind :’)

series masterpost | main masterlist | send me feedback?

explicit warnings » shared dominance, protected sex, orgasm denial, oral (f. receiving)

· ⛳️ ·

Strike Two - i

Three weeks.

Three weeks all alone in a flat, either buried in work or sleeping because you hardly felt in the mood for anything else. Sometimes the boys would call home to check on you and everything else, sometimes you’d call them because it had simply been too many days, and of course sometimes you and Tom spoke in the middle of the night. More often than not, you’d have a hand on the phone and the other down your knickers, but on occasion you’d talk for hours in whispers as though anyone could hear you.

Three insufferable weeks that lasted close to three centuries. Moderately appeased when Tom finally called saying he was on his way from the airport. Yet only soothed completely by a thirty second fuck as soon as he got home.

It was rushed, yes, your eager body smashed between the wall and his hard muscles as you groped around the top of the shoe rack at your feet where you’d stashed a condom before you went downstairs to help him with his luggage. Your knees were sort of in the way and you pretty much scraped them on a metal shelf, but once Tom got the rubber on and slipped into you, it was as satisfying as taking off a pair of high heels after an excruciating day. The waves of pleasure rolled over you from your hand on your clit to his cock grazing your spot, to the frantic slap of his hips against yours. And it took only a few thrusts before you cried out in blissful pain and felt him collapsing against your back, too.

“Ugh,” you groan now, rolling your head on your shoulders when Tom reappears on your left. You’ve been sitting on the hardwood floor, in front of the spot where he just fucked you, contemplating whether you want a second round right here, right now or later on a proper bed.

Tom is coming back from the kitchen, scratching his lower belly mindlessly, the obvious bulge in his briefs still hanging between the v of his zipper. He settles down on the floor next to you and offers you one of the two pieces of chocolate he’s carrying. “Here.”

“Thanks,” you mumble through your first bite.

Tom only hums in response, clearly occupied with eating his own piece in one go. He looks satisfied, or at least partially, the same way you feel, and there’s a beautiful red spot on the base of his neck where his collar is stretched to the side. You left it there on your way up in the elevator, by sucking so hard on the skin that Tom had serious trouble trying to get the key into the front door lock.

After he finishes chewing and before you get another bite into your mouth, you look at him and study the slope of his shoulders. He’s got his knees pointing up, and his elbows rest on them while his hands are loosely clasped together somewhere in the middle. Feet straight on the floor, his head bowed as he sighs. Then he looks up as though he can feel your eyes on him.

He smiles and you smile back. Looking back to what just happened, you need something to break the silence, so you say, “Can’t believe you lasted that long.”

“Oh, go off, will you?”

“What was it, thirty seconds?” you tease him further.

He laughs, pushing you hard on the shoulder. “I came because you came, so you’ve got nothing to brag about.”

You eat the last portion of chocolate in your hand, gazing him straight in the eye. “That… wasn’t enough for you, was it?”

“Not really,” he scoffs as though it’s so obvious, “but I need a shower first.” He grabs the collar of his t-shirt and pulls it over his nose. His voice all muffled when he adds, “Ugh, I smell like baby puke.”

“You let a baby puke on you?” you ask around your mouthful.

“I didn’t let them, but the little bastard did it anyway.”

You laugh with him and get up first, extending a hand to help him up. “C’mon, I can help you scrub, then I’ll suck you off for the trouble you went through.”

“How kind of you,” he spoke with effort as he held on to your hand and let you pull him up. “But I also want that six-nine on the couch while we watch Shameless that you promised me last week.”

“Of course, champ,” you say with a cheeky tilt of your hips as you grab one of his bags and drag it to his bedroom door. “And don’t forget your little reward for that gorgeous pillow humping video you sent.”

“Yessss.” Tom grins, stopping next to you with a larger piece of luggage. He sets it on the floor and grabs you by the waist, pressing your back against the wall. “Love when you ride me like that, baby girl.”

“Mhmm, I know,” you retort, just as sassily, accepting his short kiss and smiling into it.

When he pulls away, there’s this odd expression on his face, a cryptic smile and an equally unreadable arch of his eyebrows. “Aaaaand,” he says, dragging the vowel at the same speed his hands drag down to your hips and bottom, “sex on the balcony, right?”

You tilt your head at him. “We’ve had this discussion before.”

“What? Sex against the window when it’s open is okay, but the balcony is so off limits?”

“It’s not the same thing, Tom,” you quip with an eye-roll before you kiss him again. “Let’s get you in that shower before you get any more weird ideas.”

“Like the washing machine?”

“That would be fine.”

“And the kitchen table?” he inquires, and you know exactly where he’s going with this, but decide to let him say it just the same. “You eat food on it.”

“Yeah, but we don’t eat food off of it, y’know?”

“You wanna do it in Harrison’s room?” he blurts out when you pass by the door.

“No!”

“He’s got this beautiful dressing table with a mirror…” he teases. “I could sit on the chair, and you could watch yourself as I rub your tits, pinch your nipples, kiss your shoulders…”

The image forms in your head in a second’s inhale. You facing the mirror, riding Tom’s cock from an unusual angle, watching yourself, watching his hands as they lead your pace and grab at your flesh. His moans— fuck, his moans in your ear like a secret not meant to be found out by your roommate.

You bite your lip and turn to Tom, stopping in your tracks. “We couldn’t…”

“Says who?”

Giggling, you let Tom grab you by the waist again and kiss you straight on the lips. When he presses against you, it’s pretty clear that his cock is getting hard again, so you open up your mouth and invite him in. All the while you keep stepping back and into the bathroom.

“We could have a quickie there, and he’d never know,” Tom whispers against you, rutting his hips deliberately so that his middle slides right in between your thighs. Everything in you clenches at the feeling.

“I—” you try, but Tom shushes you with another peck, wiggling his eyebrows. “Okay, maybe—”

“Really?” he questions, quite judgingly, if you may add, pulling back to look at you. “You’d do it in Harrison’s room, but not on the bloody balcony?”

“Not on the balcony!”

Tom tries to reach for your hand, but you move it away. “I dunno why you’re so crazy about it anyway,” you retort, getting a wicked idea before you let him do anything else. “You probably wouldn’t last thirty seconds in there— oi!”

Tom chuckles and splays a hand over the patch of skin where he just pinched you before draping his arms around your back.

“You deserved that.” He smiles against your mouth, leaning in closer and closer, and you’re not strong enough not to melt into his eager kiss.

The next hours go by in a blur. Shower. Sex. Lunch. Sex. Shameless. Sex. Your body alight under Tom’s methodical hands. Neither of you rests until you’re breaking a sweat, you lying on your back on the couch that’s been covered with the duvet from your bed, Tom sprawled out on top of you with his head nestled between your breasts. He’s been lapping at your nipple for at least half of episode three, but it’s starting to falter now.

You can also see his eyes drooping shut, so you move your hand from his shoulder to the back of his neck and say, “Maybe you should nap, Tom.”

“I’m napping,” he mumbles, mouthing your nipple in full afterwards. It’s not sexy at the moment, you’re still exhausted from the previous frolicking all over the house. It’s mostly soothing, a tender caress of his tongue across the bud before he pulls away silently.

“You’ll probably be more comfortable on the bed,” you reason with him.

“You’re comfy.”

“Right, but you’re smashing my boob right now, so…”

Tom lifts his head right away, tilting it so he can stare at you. “Sorry. You could’ve told me.” His words are slurred and he sounds tired, so you insist.

“It’s alright. I just think you’ll feel better on the bed, stretched out properly,” you trail off, watching Tom as he spreads a kiss here and there from your chest to your neck and face. Your hand moves automatically to the back of his head, rubbing his scalp through the thick strands of his hair. Every stretch of skin that he touches stays burning like embers before he moves to the next one, but this time it doesn’t burn between your legs. It burns on the inside. Crackling up from the bottom of your gut to the middle of your chest, a sense of solace for all the days you spent without him until this morning.

The moment you moan a little less quietly, you snap out of it. You can’t dwell on this feeling like this, not with how much it pangs every time he’s gone, so you resort to a simple method.

A joke.

“Hopefully without your dick being cum-glued to my hip.”

Tom chuckles onto the hollow between your collarbones and lifts his head to look down at where his crotch meets your hip. “Yeah, that felt weird at first, but I barely notice it now. And—” he drawls his words, “it’s your fault, really. You always get stupidly wet when I finger you before we fuck, so it gets everywhere.”

“It’s your damn hands, Thomas,” you taunt him, trickling your fingers over his where he has them splayed over your side. “They’re too pretty. Bony. Crooked. Just perfect.” You bat your eyes at him, watching his smile turn into a smirk. Then you whisper, “So who’s fault is it, really?”

“I’ll take the blame for that,” he mutters back, craning his neck so he can hover over your mouth. “I love how you get so whiny over them, so alright. Maybe. I guess this is my fault, so I’ll go wash up.”

“Then nap.”

“And then I’ll nap, don’t worry.” He giggles, pecking your shoulder before he moves to sit by the farthest end of the couch. Your body runs cold immediately, goosebumps prickling your skin.

“Will you lay with me, though?” he asks, gazing at you. His ears redden after he finishes his question. “No shenanigans. I swear. Just, um,” he gulps, “lying down together. You could, y’know, maybe bring your laptop and finish watching the episode there? And after I fall asleep, you’re free to do whatever you want.”

You blink at him, not expecting this suggestion at all. After three weeks on your own, you do crave human interaction. You just never thought that Tom would, too. But if he thinks he’ll sleep better with you there, who are you to say no to that?

So you agree and minutes later, you slide into his spring-smelling sheets. Half of you wants to remind him that you’ve had naps here because his bedding always smells good, but you don’t really want him to go on and on about his mother’s homemade fabric softener and how it changed his perception of doing laundry by his own hands. Tom’s journey to self-reliability isn’t something worth discussing more than once a month.

Once you’re settled in, lying on your back with Tom cuddled into your side, his face in the nook of your neck, you sigh. This is warm and peaceful, it always is. It’s too bad that your mind always wanders through dangerous paths when you’re just enjoying each other’s company like this. You try to stop it, try to stop the flush of hormones that pools up in your belly, but Tom only enhances them when he starts kissing up to your mouth.

“You said you would nap,” you giggle when he reaches your chin.

“And I will, but first,” he starts, interrupting himself with a peck on the corner of your mouth. “Wanna make out with you.” You pull away to gaze at him as he repeats in a husky tone, “Please make out with me.”

He’s grinning, cheekily as usual, but you don’t feel cheeky at all. What you hear are the alarms going off in your head, the ones that set off your heart into a sprint every time. It doesn’t help that he’s nuzzling his face across your cheek and the tip of your nose. His breath is sauna-hot on your skin, and you want so badly to cave, you do. It’s been three weeks since you got to do this. Well, you did it a few times today already, but it was always so furious and thoughtless, with the purpose of getting off and nothing else, and right now you’re in bed. Cuddling. And it’s ridiculous to even try to pretend that you don’t want it too, not when Tom’s mouth is right there and, yeah, you have waited too long not to be kissing him the whole day for the next week or so.

“I missed you,” he says softly when he brushes his lips on yours. You’re only human, so you peck him back and open up when the kiss intensifies.

You sort of just lie there and let yourself be kissed, eyes rolling back when his tongue brushes yours. He tastes like tea and butter cookies, mostly tea, though that could be from the mix of your own saliva, but it’s perfect. It’s him. And his mouth is slick and hot, preoccupied with counting the indents on both rows of your teeth, which is perfectly fine by you. Tom can do whatever he wants as long as he doesn’t freaking stop.

Which, okay, eventually he does. His tongue retracts and for a little while, it’s only lips on lips, little smacks and dreamy hums, but never less gentle. Tom is such an amazing kisser, attentive and focused, earnest in touching every part of you with nothing but his mouth. Right now, his hand grazes down your side and belly until it rests on your hip bone, softly. And yours is lost in his hair again, fingers splayed between the strands, sometimes rubbing his scalp, soothingly. Everything about this moment is so tender, you want to cry.

After a while, you can tell Tom’s eyes aren’t just drifting closed. They’re heavy and his motions are gone, so you pull away and try to work around him so that he’ll lay there comfortably. You remain on your back for a little while, not sure if the heartbeat you can hear in your ears is only yours or a race between the both of you. All you know is that it’s strong and nearly painful, constricting your ribcage for a second or two.

The thoughts and feelings become dangerous soon, so you try to wriggle out of the bed without bothering him that much. Tom ends up curling up on himself and rolling over to the other side, so you climb out with as little of a jump as you can so as to not stir him up. It seems pretty safe when you get to the door and look back over your shoulder, finding him deep in sleep, breathing heavily. You watch him since your feet are glued to the floor, wallowing in the stretchy craving in your chest.

Then you flee out of there as fast as you can.

Nothing really leaves your mind as you go through what happened in that bed within only a few minutes. At least what went on through you, because that’s the scary part. For now, you sit in the armchair in the living room, facing the big windows to the balcony, cradling a smoking cup of tea in both hands as you watch the light clouds glide across the sky.

Your head, however, is a whirlwind of questions and doubts. He missed you, he said, and he kissed you like he actually did. Despite being drowsy, the intent was all there. In his hands when they nursed your body with no sensual intentions at the time, perhaps just for the sake of holding you, of keeping close. It was in his chest where it was flush against your side, the pressure of his heart beating as though it was poking out of his chest the way you’d seen in old cartoons. And it was in his lips as they devoured yours. Softly, yes, sure, but that only heightened the other side of this coin.

He missed you, he said, but did he miss you the way you did him? It was disconcerting just to think about. The way you would hover your finger over his contact number whenever you had anything to share, multiple times a day, only to put your phone down after reasoning with yourself that he was busy with more important matters than his fuck buddy’s issues. The way you would have wine nights on the rare occasion that he’d post on his social media, going down the rabbit’s hole into the old videos of him, when things were more casual and less complicated. When he was just Tom Holland, Rising Actor and you were just a person looking for a flat to share.

This tea isn’t strong enough to drown any memories, but it’s too early in the day for anything stronger. And technically you had promised yourself you wouldn’t drink anything away again, not feelings over Tom or anyone else. The problem is that this thing that has been haunting you for so long, this thing you have been trying to bury through layers and layers of keeping busy and forgetful, isn’t as strange as it is unwelcome. It hurts at some points.

If only you had anything to work with from Tom’s part, but you don’t really see anything. When he’s here, he tries to devour you at every chance he gets, be it with his kisses or his cuddles. And when he’s not here, he calls to (pretend to?) check up on you just so he can ease in some more action over the phone. That’s not enough to get you nurturing any feelings. You need something. Something definite. Certainly more than an ‘I missed you’.

You curl up further in the seat, feet tucked in under you so they can’t take you somewhere you don’t want to go again. For a second, you wish you could just know how it would end if you spoke about this woe that’s been tormenting you. It could be with anyone, but of course you’d prefer to talk it over with Tom. Because right now you’re on a rollercoaster yet have no idea how you even got on it in the first place. You’re right at the top, the car balancing off of wishful thinking, waiting for the right push to nosedive into the first curve.

As always, whenever you’ve found yourself thinking about Tom in these terms, you can’t stop your mind from rewinding back to the last time something like this happened. It’s not a good memory, but it’s inevitable. The first time you had a serious crush on someone, who you used to hang out with for better and for worse, every single day for months on end. Then when you finally worked up the courage to try and kiss them, you were pushed away. You had to stand there and listen to some bullshit lecture about how the friend zone was a sacred place and that they had the biggest honor by having you in their life. As a friend. As though that was a line that could never, ever be crossed for them.

You could have gotten much better closure if they had even wanted to hang out with you afterwards, but it was like you had suddenly gained romantic cooties or whatever. Something contagious and unwanted.

That cannot happen again right now. Not with Tom. That would mean leaving this flat, leaving both him and Harrison, and you absolutely adore your life the way it is right now. A few days before they both left for work, they even talked about getting a bigger place so Tom’s twin brothers, Harry and Sam, could come live with them as well. Their friend Tuwaine, too. And you.

That idea alone filled your eyes with tears when they said it because you want that. You go through ridiculous moments of laughter with all of them, and they all welcome you as though you’ve been in their life since you were born. That’s a sort of connection you don’t want to lose. Which is why you can’t muster up the courage this time. Not considering the risks. No matter how many times you have to swallow down your feelings in the near future. You’ve been doing fine up to now, so why not hang in there a little longer? Eventually, hopefully, who knows, maybe it will all go away once you eat all those emotions until they’re completely gone.

You have no idea if it will work. But you’re willing to try.

With a groan, you get off the armchair and go scream silently into your pillow for a few minutes. The poor thing has been screamed into so many times in recent weeks that the shape of your teeth is visible in the fabric.

You have to get out of your head, desperately, so you get some food into you, prep another cup of tea — avoiding the flavor Tom has taught you how to like because it triggers too many memories of laughter while chasing each other around the kitchen table — and you grab your laptop to respond to recent comments in your channel dedicated to facial art. This platform you’ve been working on is relatively new. You’ve been posting content every two weeks and it’s always fun, and anything to distract yourself is more than welcome.

Tom doesn’t wake up from his nap, so you settle for the night with your comfort show rolling on your laptop until you fall asleep into the teeth-shaped shadow in your pillow.

•

The next morning, you wake up by yourself. You don’t have commitments for any time soon, so you let your body do its process of burying everything under a mantle of sleep. It’s healing to a certain extent.

When you get to the bathroom, you stop at the sight of a pair of socks thrown haphazardly to the ground, funnily enough right next to the laundry basket. You roll your eyes, leaving them exactly where they are so you can yell at Tom later. The problem is that this means he’s already up, out there somewhere in the house for sure.

You find him in the kitchen, looking fresh and energized. He’s still shirtless and in pajama bottoms, barefoot of course, humming and bouncing his head to a tune that you can’t hear.

“Good morning, sock boy.”

“Good morn—” He freezes and looks over his shoulder, turning around at the same time with a small pot in his hand. “Did I not put them in the basket?”

“No, you did not.”

“Fuck,” he curses and puts down the pot. “Sorry,” he adds with a grimace, rubbing the back of his neck. “I could swear I thought about it…”

“Well, next time think a little harder,” you say with a roll of your eyes and a dismissive hand gesture. You’re done talking to him about it. It’s pretty clear he’s never going to listen, no matter how often you nag him about it.

“Don’t be so condescending, y/n, I’m getting a lot better,” he says, watching you as you walk to the table.

“I suppose leaving your socks closer to the laundry basket each time can be called progress.” You nod and rest both hands on the back of a chair, asking, “What’s going on here?”

“Making breakfast,” he shrugs, “I’m still in a completely different time zone. Woke up when it was still dark out and I couldn’t go back to sleep, did my morning workout and now we’re here. So, waffle or pancakes?”

“Waffle.”

“Coming right up, miss.”

You chuckle at him and try to help, but he shushes you and pulls up a chair instead, offering it to you. “Milady.”

“If you cook me breakfast every time you leave your socks on the floor, I won’t be able to walk very soon,” you joke, knowing how overboard he tends to get with cooking breakfast. For others, mostly, which you don’t understand since currently he’s on a diet because of work that limits a lot of what he can eat. Yet if he’s happy doing this, who are you to stop him?

“Don’t worry,” he gives you a boyish grin over his shoulder. “I could carry you around.”

You smile back at what he says. There’s no way you can hold it back now. This dude is too corny for his own good. And the part of your brain that isn’t focused on following the sweet scent that fills the kitchen is bubbling with nerves all over again. Everything you thought about yesterday while you were on your own comes back to you like a wave. Unavoidable, unstoppable.

As you watch the muscles on his back sway under the skin, unable to identify the song he’s humming, you question yourself briefly about what Tom just said. It’s a common thing to say to a friend, you think, carrying them around, literally or not, when there’s something restricting them. But at the same time you’ve never heard him say anything of the sort when Harrison’s home.

Tom is much more approachable, much more of a jokester with you when it’s just two in the flat. When you’re alone. This realization leaves you with more doubts, with a sort of wondering that resets the alarms in the back of your head. But they’re overridden by the part of you that’s freaking out, asking why and what does that fucking mean if it means anything at all.

“You alright?” Tom asks, interrupting your musings.

You look up and hum questioningly, seeing him use a skimmer to move a pile of asparagus from the frying pan in his other hand to a plate on the table.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you trail off, rubbing your temple to wish away your thoughts.

“C’moooon, it’s me, your favorite sock boy,” he smiles goofily, making you chuckle at him because how can you not? The man’s freaking adorable without even trying. “You can tell me what’s going on if you want.”

��It’s nothing,” you say, “honestly. I’m just tired, went to bed at ass o’clock in the morning because I lost track of time—”

“Not checking on people on your channel again…”

“Well, they like my videos, and I like checking in on them. Don’t you check on your fans?”

Tom purses his lips to the side, although he never stops stirring whatever he has in his pan, then says, “Hmmm, I really don’t.”

“Well, must be nice having millions of followers,” you say with a teasing eye-roll, hand gesturing in the air patronizingly.

“And knowing they won’t go away.” Tom grins while parroting back to you something you used to say to him a lot, back when you first set up your channel.

Afterwards, you watch in silence as he mills about the kitchen in Tom’s truest chaotic mode. The rumble in your head continues to swivel around, but thankfully the Chatty Cathy of the house starts babbling about some weird dream he had last night, probably induced by the extra hours he spent in bed, he says.

“Made your favorite,” Tom says eventually, Adam’s apple bobbing in his bare throat when you look up. With a gesture of his head, Tom pulls the plate closer, perfectly centered with the silverware you’ll be using.

The waffle smells… like him. A recipe he once said he was trying out just for you. It’s a flavor you’d never thought you would even like, but there’s something about Tom’s breakfast food that pulls you in. You didn’t really question it until now.

Of course you can’t upset him by not eating something he so carefully cooked for you, so you adjust the chair and get settled. “Let’s eat then, Chef Holland. Thank you.”

“I’m not a chef,” he puts in with a chuckle, “that’s my little brother Sam, but I have beat him several times at breakfast food. Since, y’know, I have more practice getting up early than he does.” Tom smiles, taking his own food and going on and on about how his mum used to have a lot of trouble getting four boys down in the kitchen at a decent time every morning.

You grin at Tom and look down at your breakfast. You used to not think much of it because, like he said, he’s always up at odd hours and breakfast is his favorite meal of the day. Although you don’t really get where he does his research since he’s always so busy, with you or otherwise, but his recipes have been nothing short of amazing. And today is no exception.

As you eat, Tom by your side with a poached egg on asparagus on an alarmingly small piece of toast topped by shaved cheese and pepper, he engages you in conversation and, as usual, it’s so easy to chat with Tom about everything and nothing. He’s naturally talkative and has an unending collection of stories to tell, to which you always listen closely, though this time you try not to laugh bites of waffle out of your nose.

The front door bangs in the background when you’re smacking Tom’s shoulder for laughing at nearly having broken his nose earlier while working out.

“Don’t worry, love, my nose’s used to it.”

“It’s still dangerous!”

Tom laughs open-mouthed at your objection, and then someone else enters the kitchen.

“Good morning, children,” Harrison greets you, throwing a duffel bag at his feet.

“Good morning, sir.”

“Lovely, look how coordinated you two are,” he teases you and Tom for speaking at the same time, which throws you into another laughing fit. “I am surprised you’re alone and sitting here looking so decent. Well, half decent, in Tom’s case.”

“Shut up, mate, it’s just breakfast,” Tom retaliates, throwing the remaining head of an asparagus from his plate at Harrison’s face, before he gets up and strolls to the oven. You frown when he turns it on.

“Crunchy,” Harrison mumbles as he chews, walking back to the doorway. “I’ll go drop this in my room, and then I’ll come join you. Unless there isn’t anything left?”

“Got your baked asparagus and blueberries heating up in the oven,” Tom replies. You widen your eyes at him and at how much he got done in a single morning. “And a perfect poached egg waiting for you in a lovely ice water bath.”

“I’m so glad we’re roommates even though you know I hate poached eggs,” Harrison says, pointing his finger at Tom and adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder with the other hand.

“They’re better than your greasy, fat, deceiving beans on toast!” Tom argues. Harrison ignores him with a scoff.

You’re half aware of him leaving the room when you turn to Tom, still gaping at him, and say, “Wow, someone really likes their breakfast food.”

“Can’t help it,” Tom shrugs, strolling to the fridge and retrieving a medium bowl of water with an egg in it. He puts it down on the counter next to the stove and turns around to you, sliding an arm over your shoulders. “I love you,” he says, dropping a kiss on the top of your head. “Both of you. And, um, maybe I’m trying to fatten you up, so what?”

Suddenly unable to laugh at his joke, you hum a thanks and utter a meek, “Love you too”. You then reach for your cup of tea to get rid of the knot in your throat. It’s empty, so you stretch towards the kettle, but Tom interrupts you.

“I got you,” he says, grabbing your hand and putting it down on the table. His thumb runs somewhat over the skin between your thumb and index finger, but it’s too light and too fast for you to make anything of it.

By the time Tom is refilling your mug, and as you make sure to keep your eyes on the stream of water instead of him, Harrison comes back into the kitchen.

“I have a question.”

When you look up, he’s walking to the other side of the table, arms crossed over his chest as he stands there, tall and proud.

“What’s… going on?” you ask warily.

“Did you, or did you not— and whatever you tell me, I promise I’ll believe you—” Harrison gestures with both hands now, holding them flat in front of his chest before he crosses his arms again. You blink at him and ignore the stretch of his t-shirt around his biceps, gazing up at his eyes instead.

“What is it!” you insist, noticing how quiet Tom is right now.

“Did you have sex in my room?”

“Oh…” You spit into laughter, throwing a hand over your mouth so you don’t spit anything else anywhere. Your mind goes through the small altercation you had with Tom about that very issue, but you really, really didn’t do anything there. To be real, you’ve barely been able to look at Harrison’s bedroom door ever since. “Why would you think that?”

“I just went in there, and my chair isn’t where I usually leave it,” Harrison clarifies, not uncrossing his arms right now. This position makes him look powerful, somewhat haughty too, but he does seem to have a reason to doubt.

“I don’t know about you,” you start to answer, looking at Tom with a shrug of your shoulder, “but I didn’t.”

“Then you know I didn’t either, H,” Tom excuses himself.

“Alright, look, I went there the other day when I was sorting the laundry, but that’s it,” you clarify, focused on Harrison but stealing glances from Tom as well to test his reaction. “I spent, like, less than thirty seconds in there, I swear.”

You feel a pinch on your thigh, but you only pull your leg away, pretending it doesn’t faze you that much.

“Alright, alright,” Harrison trails off, squinting at the both of you, but accepting your response as he’d promised. It was the truth, anyway.

“We did talk about it tho—”

“Tom!”

“What?” He shrugs. “We did!”

“He didn’t have to know,” you retort, facing Tom but gesturing with your head towards Harrison, who’s sitting across from you.

“She’s not wrong.”

“Well, so what, we talked about it, it was just a joke.” Tom takes another sip of his tea, wiggling his eyebrows at you to make you laugh.

“Hmm.” Harrison humphs through his nose, but he doesn’t bring it up again and the topic dies down.

“What do you think happened to the chair then?” you question him, drinking your tea and casually waiting for the conversation to move forward about everything and nothing. As expected, you spend about an hour sitting in the kitchen, even sharing ghost stories from your childhood.

At some point, after Tom receives a text message, he asks, “Hey, are you both coming to dinner at my mum’s tomorrow night? She’s asking because she’s going shopping later.”

“Sure,” Harrison says.

You take the last sip of your tea and study both of their expressions. First a smiling Harrison, then a curious Tom. He blinks at you and asks, “Are you?”

“I… didn’t know I was invited,” you say. It’s true. You do remember Tom mentioning it over the phone, that usually there’s a dinner at his parents’ house whenever he comes back from a job. While you have been to their family gatherings before, when Tom was home during the summer and there were biweekly meetups in the Hollands’ back garden, this one sounds a bit different to you.

“How come? I… called you about it, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but, I don’t know,” you start, putting down your empty mug. “I mean, I know I’ve been there before, but this dinner seems different somehow? You and your brothers have been away for weeks, so I figured it would be more… hm, restricted, so to speak. Family only.”

“Nonsense,” Tom scoffs, “Mum always says family and friends, and that includes you, so you’re coming.” He blinks for a second, then frowns a little. “You’re coming, right?”

“Of course.” You smile at him to try and soothe the arch of his brow. You like it a lot more when it’s relaxed and you can see the stray hairs that angle up instead of growing smoothly along the length of his eyebrow. Sometimes you even find yourself wondering if Tom grooms it when he’s getting ready every morning or if he leaves it alone in its irreverent slope.

“Perfect.”

•

The rest of the day goes by uneventfully. For once, you’re the busy one, not Tom or Harrison. You can hear them chatting in the background, but ignore their voices. You’d rather finish cutting this new video soon so you’ll have more time with them later.

Two of Tom’s brothers come over before lunch. Harry, with his messy head of curls that shine much redder today than you’re used to, most likely from the strong sun outside, carries a couple of cases of beer in his arms. Sam, on the other hand, with a pair of sunglasses pushing his dark hair back, complains about his twin being in the way when he’s carrying a heavy oven dish.

Afterwards, the boys disappear for the remainder of the afternoon while you wrap up work. As soon as you’re free, you send Tom a text asking if you should join them or if they’ll be home soon. You don’t want to seem too eager, so you rewrite the message a bunch of times before you hit send. Then you regret it because it has a typo, but it’s Tom so you figure you’re safe. It would’ve been worse if it was Harrison, he’s a lot pickier with his texting.

It takes less than a minute before your phone pings with a reply. And then another.

Coming home!

⛳!

You chuckle. Tom and his dumb golfing emoji. The man is obsessed. He uses it as an excitement emoji, whenever he’s in a good mood or when something he really wants happens. You don’t really understand it, but you’ve learned not to expect anything other than weird quirks from him. Not from a man who uses exclamation points for pretty much everything, at least.

After a while, and a lot of texting back and forth with him with a lot of ! and a lot of :D, you sit in the living room, in the armchair by the big window. You’re enjoying the last bottle of beer with the stereo on in the background, a killer bass line whumping across the flat, when they all come back. Loud and laughing, as per usual, with Tuwaine in tow as well.

“Why are you drinking alone?” he practically shouts once he turns the corner and spots you.

“Trying to get ahead in the game,” you reply, winking at him. “Knowing you all, you’ve been on a binge across town the whole day.”

“Well, then you would be wrong,” you hear Tom say as you greet Tuwaine with a hug. When you pull back, Tom’s on the way to you sporting a wide grin on his lips. “We went mini golfing today.”

“Pfft, that would’ve been my second guess,” you chastise him, shrieking into his shoulder when he embraces you too tight in a similar joking manner.

It’s safe to say the rest of the evening isn’t as uneventful as your day. It ends with the six of you fighting for a spot on the couch versus the armchair versus the floor so you can watch a movie together. Then it progresses to yet another yelling contest over who gets to pick the film. When it comes down to you and Tom, you can hardly believe how easy it is to make him let you win. But finally, the beginning credits start playing and you glance around the room. The twins and Harrison on the couch, Tuwaine in the armchair, and you and Tom on the floor.

As the film rolls, beers and buckets of popcorn shared all around, you can’t scratch away the feeling that Tom’s watching you instead. Every time you glance at him, his eyes are glued to the screen or he’s flicking the corner of the label on his beer bottle, but there’s something about his silence that itches in the back of your brain.

There is one occasion when you do catch him looking at you, so you shrug and gesture with your head. “What?”

“Nothing, I’m watching the film,” he says pointing ahead, then offers you some popcorn before popping a piece into his own mouth. He does turn to the screen after that. However, barely a second later, as an aerial image of a city landscape goes by, Tom’s eyes are on you again.

You feel a rush of hormones go through you, but instead of shrugging it off, you face him and don’t let him look away this time.

Tom gives you a smug smile in response and shuffles closer to you, draping his arm around your shoulders. “We’ve already seen this part,” he whispers, “can’t we make out instead?”

Giggling, you start shaking your head, but it’s Harry who says, “…no?” When you look up at him, he’s got the most judging look you’ve ever seen on a person. Even for him.

With a fed-up roll of his eyes, Tom throws some popcorn towards Harry, but settles back against the pillows pouting at you.

“Thanks,” Harry says, and afterwards you hear someone say, “for fuck’s sake, Tom,” but you can’t make out who it is.

You share a look with Tom and he’s still pouting, but it turns into a small smile. He keeps his arm over your shoulders, making you fight so hard against the will to cuddle closer and lay your head on him. There’s an itch in your gut craving a hidden kiss in the dark from him, begging you to cradle his chin and turn his mouth to you. You don’t move, however, instead rearranging your arm so it’ll fit better against his side.

Warm in his embrace, under his gentle gaze, you lay a hand on his leg, caressing the inward curve towards the back of his knee. When he sighs, you stop and glance up, eyelashes fluttering softly with a smile. His lips part in a small breath, and you want nothing more than to feel them on you again.

Tom is so close and the crisp aroma of his cologne infiltrates your every sense. It smells distinguished, expensive, sweet like him. Stronger now that you’re turned to him, but barely a spritz if you look back at the screen.

A thought forms in your head as you watch the film. Tom, leaning your neck back with a gentle palm, kissing your forehead and down your temple, across your cheek until he finds your mouth. You want to be kissed, want to be wooed, want to be swept off your seat and laid over the pillows and adored.

Much to your dismay, however, Tom keeps gazing at you from the corner of his eye, and he wraps a hand around your shoulder, the other covering yours on his leg, but he doesn’t try to kiss you again.

Later, you’re all set to sleep, comfortable in your bed under a thin sheet because it’s a warm night, when there’s a knock on your door.

It’s Tom, who peeks in and says, “Do you mind?” You nod only once and he steps inside, closing the door behind him.

“What?”

“Wanted to kiss you goodnight,” he says with a smirk.

You smile back and sit up, beckoning him closer and grabbing him by the back of his neck for a short kiss. The way Tom embraces you has you getting up on your knees so you’re more level with him, both your arms around him as your lips meet softly. With a few more pecks that Tom counts aloud, making you giggle, he finally pulls away when you don’t even want him to.

“You wanna sleep here?” you suggest, sitting back on your heels. Fortunately, it doesn’t take long for Tom to agree.

Nothing really happens tonight. You know he prefers to sleep on the left side of the bed, so you shift to the other one and lie down with your back to him, thinking of the many times he’s sighed blissfully when he’s had the chance to spoon you from behind. Tom stops you, however.

“Stay turned to me, darling,” he says, shuffling around until your feet entangle with his.

You let him nestle closer into your chest and listen as he quiets down with a long sigh. ‘Missed you,’ you think he says, but the words are all muffled by the pillow. Resting an arm over his waist nonetheless, palm flat against his bare back, you fall asleep with your mind wrapped around the wish of spending a million more nights just like this.

•

The next day, Tom is glued to your freaking hip. You have work to do, but he keeps coming round with snacks and glasses of water and that silly, boyish grin of his. Sometimes he even only comes by to ask you if it’s going alright. While you’re used to him checking up on you, it is rather odd since you’re in the same house. Inevitably, when he goes out of the house with Harrison in the afternoon, Tom keeps texting you in regular intervals.

⛳!

Im having a fresh drink, are you? :D!

Then an hour later:

Need a snack? 🥐 ☕️

Btw! We still need to finish our coffee vs tea emoji debacle young lady ☕️

Then after another while:

Do you also think that Harrison culd beat me at thumb wars? 😠

Lucky for you, you finish work in time to answer this text, but before you can, Tom sends another one:

Nevermind :(

You ‘aww’ audibly at his sad emoji and decide to send him a comforting voice message, telling him that this one doesn’t count since you weren’t there to verify Harrison’s win.

Tom’s reply is his trademark response:

⛳!

“His fucking exclamation points, mate,” you smile to yourself.

From then on, you and Tom text back and forth. He’s incredibly silly and random, but it’s fun and it keeps you entertained while you get ready for tonight’s dinner at Tom’s parents’ house. You’re not going to dress up a lot, but you want to at least make a decent impression. Tom’s family has always treated you with kindness and you’ve always had a good time with them, so this evening should be no different.

•

“Having fun?” Tom’s voice comes up from behind you at the same time as his arm around your waist.

You’ve been at Tom’s childhood home for a while now. Dinner went really well, better than any expectations you could have had. Tom’s family was loud and messy as usual, but you fit right in with them, joining in on their jokes, letting them roast you for your hair style because, to be fair, it looks fancier than you probably had to, but you felt like it would compensate for wearing such a casual fit.

Right now, you’re standing by the stairs to the second floor, holding an empty beer in front of Harry. You turn to the side and find Tom smiling at you, with a couple of bottles in his free hand, extending it towards you.

“We were having a private conversation, Tom,” Harry deadpans, with his eyes half squinted.

“Just wanted to give her a beer… and a kiss,” Tom excuses himself, stealing a peck from your lips when you lean closer.

“Gross.”

“Shut up, bro.” Tom kisses you a second time, definitely to provoke his younger brother. You giggle at their interaction and squeeze Tom’s hand before it leaves your side.

Soon after, their dad invites everyone into the living room. It’s a night of chatter and laughs and a feel-good time, lost in several different conversations about life and work and, of course, golf. Tom’s dad tells a few anecdotes from his time in the green and also a story about Tom calling him in the middle of dinner one day to goad about a record round at the course.

“I shot 79,” he mimics his dad with a haughty grin. You’re not sure if that’s a good score or not, but it seems like it was enough for Tom to flaunt it on the phone with his own father. His competitive side is always at its peak when it comes to golf.

“It was an easy course, but don’t tell him,” Tom admits into your ear, kissing it right after.

This moment right now feels very familiar. It reminds you of when you suggested to Tom a trip to the golf course in front of someone else. Back then, it was only Harrison, but as soon as he heard that you were going golfing with Tom, he immediately asked to tag along. So, you figure, if you mention it again in a room full of golfers, Tom will assume you’re thinking about bringing his fantasy to life, but not knowing about it, someone else might want to come too.

It feels like a dangerous power game to you, but teasing Tom is one of your favorite pastimes, no doubt about that. The last time, he was clearly turned on during the whole round. You could feel it in the way he kept touching you, and afterwards in the way he kissed you outside the restrooms. Now here’s your chance to do it again. To rile him up. To make him so frustrated by the thought that he could be golfing with you and living his fantasy and yet he might have to wait another day.

Decided to test this theory of yours, you turn to Tom before he pulls away from your ear. “Hey, you going golfing tomorrow?”

“It is Thursday,” Tom replies out loud, grinning and taking a long sip of his beer with his eyes on you. “I didn’t book tee time, but we can work around that.”

“Can I come with?” you ask, lips around the edge of your bottle, not doing much to keep it a secret between the two of you.

“That was implied, darlin’.” Tom winks and drapes his arm over the cushion behind your head.

You’re sitting on the couch by the French windows into the back garden, next to the armchair that Tom’s family dog, Tessa, is occupying for her evening nap. Your and Tom’s thighs are pressed so close that you can feel the clench of his muscles when he shifts. Not only that, but there’s about half a seating space between you and Harrison, who’s sitting on your other side.

You turn your head at the sound of your name, only to find every pair of eyes in the room blinking at you. “Sorry?” Turning to Harrison, he shows you a half smile and wiggles his eyebrows once, drinking some more as you try to make sense of what’s going on.

Tom’s dad finally says, “I asked if you golfed, y/n.”

“Oh, um,” you trail off, gulping down for a second so you can compose yourself. “I— just started, really. Tom and Harrison took me golfing the other day, and it was…”

“It wasn’t too bad,” Tom says gracefully, making you turn your head to him.

“Thank you, coach,” you muse, giving him a tight-lipped smile.

His dad laughs, then asks, “Is he a better coach than he is a golfer, then?”

“To y/n?” Harrison intervenes, chuckling gracefully. “Definitely a better coach. Not sure he’d be so lenient with anyone else.”

“It was her first time, mate,” Tom excuses himself, “so what if I gave her the benefit of the doubt.”

“You gave her some benefits alright,” Harrison mumbles. You elbow his side hard in return.

“Do you still play on Thursdays, Tom?” his dad asks quickly.

“Yes, but—” Tom tries, but his dad doesn’t let him finish.

“Brilliant. Would you like another free lesson tomorrow, y/n?”

“Wait—”

“I would love to, Mr. Holland,” you cut Tom off too, loud and clear.

Tom groans and when you look towards him, his head is leaned back on the couch and he’s rubbing his face. He mumbles, “Why would you do that?” in a tone you’re sure it’s only meant for you to hear.

“Why not? He’s your dad and it was a kind offer,” you say for everyone to hear, grabbing his hand and pulling until he’s sitting upright again. “Besides, he’s been playing for much longer than you, so technically he might be a better coach…”

You stop talking the moment you see Tom’s gaze darken with vexation, hiding a giggle behind your hand.

It’s amazing to watch him as he realizes what you’ve just done. His mouth is a tight line, disapproval all over his face, and the furrow of his brow is indescribable, but it also feels… perfect. What just happened is perfect for what you had in mind, and it lines up with what you said when you first agreed to help Tom bring his sex fantasy to life. You warned him that night that you would do things by your own rules, and here you are.

“Oh, c’mon, Tom,” you tease, patting his thigh with fake comfort, as you wipe your lips in preparation for your first ever golf pun. “Grow some pro v1s, will you?”

“Did you just—” Tom interjects, gaping at you while the rest of the room chuckles lightly.

“Harry taught me that one,” you say with a head gesture and a grin towards Harry. He explained to you that ‘pro v1’ is an elite type of golf ball that not even Movie-Star-Tom-Holland has ever bought given their value and his bad luck with losing balls at the course.

Tom only shakes his head. “I’m gonna kill ‘em.”

•

You’re about to wash your hands when someone knocks on the bathroom door.

“Just a minute please,” you say as politely as you can. You’re almost finished anyway, needing only to recheck your look, but there’s a second knock.

“It’s me.”

Tom. You smile to yourself at the thought of what he could possibly be thinking of doing in his parents’ bathroom. He’s insane if he wants to try something too risky, but you open the door nonetheless.

His vicious expression is the first thing you notice. The twist of his brow. His sniff and the way his nose twitches. The twinkle in his eye as he closes the door again and leans back onto it.

“I know what you’re doing, y/n.”

“What am I doing, Tom?”

He puffs out a breath and when you look at him, he’s got his head tilted to one side and is swiping his tongue shortly over his lips. You can also hear his nails scraping against the wood.

“One time, sure, it’s an accident,” he carries on, using his hands to propel himself in your direction. His movement makes you stand still in front of the mirror, face turned to him as you study the way he moves and the way he speaks. “Two times, though? Nah. I don’t buy it.”

“I… dunno what you’re talking about.”

“It’s me, y/n,” he says cryptically, “you owe me one.”

Tom talks pausedly, measuring every word and how hard he should inflect it. You can tell so from the predator angle of his shoulders when he stops right next to you. He’s close. Impossibly so. If he tipped forward a quarter of an inch, the tip of his nose would touch you.

You have to admit it’s starting to turn you on a little. Or rather, a lot. When he gets in this mood — provoked by your own actions, you’re perfectly aware — it’s difficult to ignore the way he gets into this ‘character’, this animalistic side of him that you’ve come to know so well. Even so, the thrill of testing him is bigger than anything else, so you mutter, “Owe you one what?”

“A fantasy.”

“Oh, right… that.” You chuckle breathily, facing away from him to continue checking yourself in the mirror. Starting with something he’s always liked to watch you do, you wipe your lips with the tip of your pinky, keeping your mouth ajar and your eyes on him through the reflection. The clench of his jaw is obvious, in particular when he sneaks behind you and turns.

“Listen to me, young lady,” he says, using both arms to cage you against the counter. His metal watch clinks against the surface. When you glance downwards, it’s resting carelessly around his wrist, glistening in the bathroom’s bright lights.

You also notice Tom’s fingers wrapped tight around the porcelain. His chest is on your back, his crotch pressed against your arse. He doesn’t seem to have an erection, but he pushes you a little more and the edge of the basin sinks into your flesh so hard it makes you gasp.

Leaning closer, his breath in your sensitive ear drags a shiver down your whole body, head to toe, all the way down and back between your legs, pooling up right in your core.

“Play the fool as much as you want,” he mutters, licking the shell of your ear and pulling it into his mouth for a short second. You feel your pussy clench around nothing, suddenly wishing you hadn’t started this game.

“But when I get what I want,” he adds in a broken voice as you gulp, “you’ll be swinging a different tune.”

The pun has the opposite effect of what you expect. Or it could be the way he’s saying it, with his eyes on yours in the mirror and his elbows closing in around your torso. Every inch of his front is kissing every inch of your back, thighs included. You want him. You do. And the position is perfect. Tom would only need to pull down your bottoms and his, down to your thighs, nothing more, and he could take you and have you and consume you with all the hunger you see glinting in his eyes.

You know this is your own fault, it was you who fooled him into thinking you’d be going to the golf course alone with him.

“You owe me one,” Tom rasps into your ear, tonguing at it obscenely.

And yeah, you do, but you intend to pay him back. Soon. Eventually. He’ll know when.

You also know what you’ll get if this teasing game drags for much longer. A long, purposeful punishment. That’s been his style in the last months. Pretending to be provoked by your actions only to use it against you in a torturously satisfying way. But in the end, it should be so rewarding. Especially for him because you’ve tortured him enough and have decided, perhaps just now, influenced by the power of his body over yours, by the wet, hot bliss of his mouth nibbling on your ear, that you’re going to cave next time.

Tom’s words and tone of voice follow you around as you try to enjoy the rest of the evening. When you go back to the couch and sit comfortably in the middle, listening to Harrison and Harry’s conversation about drone photography, the other side of you feels rather cold. Tom is not sitting with you, and as you first notice this, you frown. You scour the place looking for him and you do find him. On the other side of the room, sitting in a single armchair with his legs crossed tight. His ravenous tiger eyes on you and a beer hiding the sneer on his lips.

From then on, he stays clear of you at all times. The exception lies only when you’re walking somewhere, be it to get drinks or to grab a snack from the dining table, and he appears right behind you as if out of thin air. Every time, his hand brushes against you, across the small of your back, the curve of your hip, the length of your spine. Always in silence. Always with that twinkling gaze of mischief.

It’s exciting and scary at the same time. But you surely even up the score, staying focused on other conversations instead of chasing his attention. Making it seem like his game of cat and mouse isn’t turning you on is the best and worst thing you could do to him, you know this so well. Tom loves control as much as you do, and he hates being teased as much as you do, so this… This should be interesting.

Since Tom is avoiding you, you stick to Harrison’s side considering he’s the person you know the best. And where Harrison is, Tom’s brother Harry is, too. H squared, you like to call them. They hate it, but it’s not your fault they’re a two for the price of one pack. Cut from the same cloth, true brothers from different mothers. Both loud and expressive, smart and creative, always with a project brewing in their minds. It could be unnerving if it wasn’t such a powerful epitome of friendship.

Here’s the fun part. In the beginning, either from being an airhead or from rubbing off on the boys’ chaos, most likely from the latter, you kept switching Harry and Harrison’s name.

It all started as an honest mistake.

At the time, Tom, Harrison and Harry spent pretty much the whole day stuck together in one of the rooms. Since you barely came out of yours, as you were only starting to get used to the idea of sharing a flat, you didn’t exactly know which of them left every night. Breakfast wasn’t a clue either because you would walk into the kitchen and there would be three blokes, in three black t-shirts, blinking wearily at you with three superhero-themed mugs in hand.

Your head was littered with worries back then, so you never blamed yourself for not knowing who was who. You knew Tom as he’d been the one interviewing you when you answered their ad, but not the other two. It wasn’t like they looked alike because one was a blonde and the other a redhead, but they were constantly together. And they had the same humor. They made the same snarky remarks. They literally finished each other’s sentences at times. So for the first weeks after you moved in, you could not tell them apart.

Harry. Harrison. It’s not that different anyway.

You remember one of the first days really well. You were trying to decipher their nonexistent set of rules for the laundry room and decided to reach out for help. Tom was nowhere to be seen, so you resorted to the only person that was home. He was chilling in the balcony, with his back turned to the window, so you couldn’t see his face. That was the first problem. The second was that he wore a cap on his head, so you couldn’t see his hair either. Just your luck. The one feature you could distinguish between the two of them was indiscernible at the moment.

With a resolute sigh, you stepped out onto the balcony and excused yourself. “Harry—”

“—son.”

“Pardon?”

“Harrison.” He tapped his chest, then waved a finger from the left to the right. “Not Harry.” Then he pointed at himself again with his thumb. “I’m Harrison.”

The fact that he used hand gestures to accentuate what he was saying was absolutely mortifying.

“Harrison,” you parroted with a grimace, scratching an untraceable itch on the side of your neck. “Sorry.”

He smiled politely. “It’s alright, love. I’m only teasing. Can I help you with anything?”

That was only the first step. Day after day, as you became more and more confident around them, you stopped apologizing for that mistake. And soon after, you started using the name Harry to tease Harrison whenever he was being sassy with you, in good memory of the balcony scene. It was all fun and games, and even though neither one nor the other liked the fact that you used only one name to refer to them, they didn’t make you feel any less welcomed.

It’s actually with your arm looped around “Harry-son”’s forearm that you get back to the flat. Tom has lowered his preying game significantly over the course of the night, yapping happily on the ride home, but he’s quiet now. Walking ahead of you with a bag in his hand that he refused to tell you or Harrison about, then unlocking the door and marching straight into the bathroom.

The silence that fills the flat is understandable. It’s late, it’s been a long night, and the tension between you and Tom is obvious. The bathroom door is closed and it stares at you as you walk past, the silence from the other side gathering goosebumps on the nape of your neck. You have no idea what Tom is doing in there, but you remember his poise very well. Hand clasped around an unidentifiable bag, strong, firm steps on his way in. The fact that he went quiet as soon as he stepped out of the car. It was like he entered another dimension.

On his way through the hallway towards his bedroom, Harrison wishes you goodnight and flees out of the way as you reach for the door handle of your own room. You step inside, leaving it open, and get ready for bed.

There’s a shadow that walks by and pulls you out of your musings about tonight. It’s Tom, and he’s standing right at your door, already in his sleeping attire. Long pajama bottoms and no shirt. His chest glistens in the faltering light of your room. And his eyes— fuck, your skin feels warm just from the fire in them. His eyes are blown and hungry, taking you in from head to toe, not leaving a single inch unwatched.

“Kissing me goodnight, I presume?” you ask, almost innocently, leaning back against the chest of drawers in a way that highlights your curves. You’re wearing an old, baggy jumper, your legs on full display.

Tom shifts his weight from one foot to the other, but that doesn’t ease up his predator pose. He’s about to pounce, you can tell that much, but you hold back your tongue just to test him.

“You don’t really deserve it after that little stunt you pulled tonight,” he says, wiping his bottom lip slowly with the tip of his tongue. He moves it sensually, looking you straight in the eye as though to disarm you. “But I didn’t want you to think I’m mad at you, so I decided to come over.”

“I didn’t think you were mad at me,” you reply, taking a step forward. Not towards Tom. Towards the bed. Then you dare him, “Are you coming to collect it then?”

He doesn’t say anything. He only moves. He strides with a fury in his step, his hair in disarray, hands tightened into fists, but he relaxes them to grab you by the arms and reel you into a kiss. It’s firm and not gentle at all, ravenous in every swipe of his tongue. Tom brings his teeth into play, nipping on your lips without warning. Making you gasp and arch into him from the desire that rises from the spearmint in his taste alone.

“Tom—” you try to warn him that the door is still open, but he shushes you instead.

“Shhh, you’re gonna have to be quiet tonight,” he purrs into the corner of your mouth, kissing it before he drags his lips in a single line down to your neck. “Hm? You think you can handle that? That the door stays open tonight while I have my way with you?”

“Fuck—” You nod, incapable of words right now. Tom’s grip is firm on your arms, tight but also gentleman-like, rubbing his thumbs where they reach as though to soothe you. It works, it definitely works, because you forget the slight pain from his fingers and turn into putty in his arms.

“I, uh,” Tom starts, licking a path up your neck that makes you shiver, “I was thinking we could try something tonight. If you want.” You only gaze at him through your eyelashes, silently daring him to speak. “You ever heard about orgasm denial?”

You hum because you have.

“Well, I was thinking I’d like to try that,” you smile at his suggestion, not expecting the next words that come out of his mouth. “On you.”

“What?”

He chuckles with a devil’s smirk dancing on his features. “Not so fond of the idea now, are you? Hm? Isn’t that what you’re doing to me, though? Keeping me on edge about the damn golf course?”

Trying to move forward is an impossible task. Tom’s thighs are blocking you at every angle. He feels huge and hot and perfect, hands biting into your arms.

“Denying me my fantasy, you naughty girl…”

You suck in a breath as his lips drift from your neck to your collarbones and back to the underside of your chin. You try to urge him into more, try to touch him, but he elbows your hands as soon as they start to move.

“So I’d like to edge you right back. Teach you a little lesson. I mean, the moment you told me about your dream, I made it happen, and now you’re pulling my leg on this? Not. Gonna. Happen. Again. Is it, darling?”

You shake your head. In fact, your whole body shakes in his arms at the velvet tone he’s using. You have noticed that his voice never becomes angry, it’s always smooth, docile, the kind that raises goosebumps on your skin and damps every piece of underwear you put on.

“Say it.”

You gulp first, gasping when his chest presses so close that your nipples harden instantly, but then you comply. “It won’t happen again.”

“Good girl.”

And if you’d ever thought you’d been compliant, now is the moment when you completely surrender. You let Tom take you in his arms and kiss you passionately, you let him walk you towards your closet and position you with your hands on the door. You even let him spread your legs with a tap of his foot and bend over your spine to an angle that suits him. Anything he wants, you’re willing to give him. Even if at the end you don’t even come. It’s not the high that you crave right now. It’s the intense pleasure you know he can give you on the way up.

Tom drops a loud kiss on your shoulder before he pulls away, moving his hands to the hem of your shirt, bundling up the fabric as he drags them slowly up your spine. He stops at the top of your back, leaving your clothes alone, draped over your shoulders and falling around your sides, your breasts pulling down in response to gravity.

You feel your nipples taut and tight, wishing he was kissing them instead, but you let him do as he pleases anyway. So you wait, in silence, for his next move or his first order. Your eyes are on the mirror in front of you, your face too close, his too out of sight. It will be impossible not to look at yourself as he works his devilish plan.

The thoughts stop when you hear and feel your knickers rip under his hands. You watch them fall between your legs, and right after them, Tom falls to his knees.

“Gonna kiss this pussy goodnight,” he whispers. Before you can process what he said, he’s got two handfuls of your arse and his face on your cunt.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper, squeezing your eyes closed at the pressure. The next thing you know is his arms wrapping around your thighs as he holds you against his mouth and starts sucking hard on your folds. You moan, pressing your forehead into the cold surface. Eyes closed, refusing to look.

Tom alternates between suction and little flicks of his tongue until you’re panting and shaking and grinding back against his face.

“You gotta stay still,” he says in a mumble, tracing his tongue across your slit. “You gotta stay quiet, too. C’mon, you don’t want Harrison to hear you, do you? Hm? Do you?”

You don’t dare to reply, of course, clamping your lips tightly so nothing comes out. There’s still a few hums that escape, too loud and too big for your throat. Tom tuts when he hears them, shaking his head which you can tell from the way his nose brushes your pussy.

“Tom,” you keen, trying to keep your voice to a minimum though you can’t stop your hips from chasing the heat from his mouth.

His hands tighten around your flesh and you hold still, understanding that’s what he wants. You obey, moaning aloud but immediately shutting your mouth closed again.

With a single look to the right, you can see the open door. The hallway echoes despite being so small, so you try to be careful. You try your hardest, in fact, but Tom doesn’t make it easy for you. He stops the teasing altogether, sliding one of his hands over the back of your thigh until he reaches the center.

“So fucking wet, baby girl,” he praises. “How do you always taste so damn good?”

Tom takes one long, heavy lick upwards, his whole tongue collecting your fluids, before he shifts his hand and slips a thumb into you. You can feel its entire shape, the prominent knuckle, the scrape of his nail on your walls, his deliberate pumps in and out of you.

You clench around it mindlessly as a fog blinds your eyes. Sensation starts to build in your gut, spiraling upward and upward until your head is a mesh of colorful lights. It’s so fucking intense. The culmination of a whole evening of teasing each other with watchful looks and featherlight touches. The memories and the current heat swirl inside you and threaten to blow.

“Fuck, Tom, I’m so close,” you warn through a sigh, completely aware that he will want to know. That’s the basics of orgasm denial as you know them. He’ll drive you up to the peak of your high, but won’t let you cross the finish line.

“Good girl,” he mutters in response, placing a kiss on the apex of your thigh as a reward, but he doesn’t pull away yet. He retreats his thumb and replaces it with two other fingers, thrusting in and out, crooking them persistently against your spot. When he presses his nose to the side of your entrance, the tip of his tongue starts toying with your clit back and forth, back and forth, light as a feather, before he sucks it into his mouth again.

“Ah—” you gasp, way too loud. But your mouth doesn’t stay shut this time. Your lips touch the surface of the mirror, no longer cold from you breathing on it all this time. Your tongue traces the inside of your teeth in a last attempt for control, arms buckling weakly, legs just the same, as you start to tremble under Tom’s doing.

You’re close, you’re dangerously close and right on the verge of coming. You can perceive the tension in your belly, the coil twisting and turning, your pussy clenching around his digits. So close to giving in to it. Wanting it desperately, toes curling and waiting for it to crash over you.

But then he stops.

He pulls away completely with a gasp. His fingers pull out, his nose and tongue and hands let you go. You almost collapse at his knees, legs shaking, too weak from the pleasure, but Tom’s arms do come around you carefully. He’s back on his feet now, holding you against his chest, caressing your hair and mumbling your name in soft whispers.

“I got you, I got you,” he says in praise, “you did so well, baby. Took everything I gave you so well. Fuck, you looked so good too. Bloody stunning. Fuck. Almost made me come in my boxers. I love that.”

As he talks, Tom guides you to the bed and lays you down slowly. When you look at him, he’s got a gentle smile on his face as he continues to caress your head.

“Did so good for me,” he goes on and on, telling you everything you like to hear. “Looked so gorgeous. Did you see yourself in the mirror, huh? Your face— god, your face was so beautiful. Fuck, how did I get this fucking lucky?”

When he stops, it’s to kiss you. Not as softly anymore. There’s hunger in his moves, his hands tugging on your shirt and crawling under it, across your skin, all the way to your breasts.

“Wanna go again? I’ll let you come this time,” he says with a chuckle. You can’t imagine how fast you’re gonna crumble if he touches you between the legs again. You’re probably going to combust because the coil in your belly is still there, twisting, crying out desperately for release.

“I’d like that,” you say nonetheless, spreading your feet until his body falls in between. “You were… so good,” you compliment him within a mutter, grabbing his face and kissing him in full. Mouths and tongues crashing, reaching for the roof of his mouth as far as you can go.

“Oh fuck,” you moan when his crotch ruts against yours. That’s when you realize how hard he is, that he didn’t touch himself while he was eating you out. And before you owe him anything other than a fantasy, you curl a leg around his and try to spin.

“Does your offer still stand?” you ask when Tom lands on his back gracefully. Immediately his tongue returns to its faithful spot against yours. He kisses like a maniac, with hunger. Chasing after your taste with passion and fire.

A fire that grows right in the center of your chest yet again, just from the swipe of his hands over your hips. He grabs your sides and sits you on top of him, keeping your core dangerously close to his cock. You’re not sure how long you’re gonna last if he does this, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He only grabs a handful of your buttocks and pulls you forward.

“Ngh,” you moan indistinctly, gritting your teeth so you aren’t too loud.

“Gonna make me come, aren’t you, baby girl?” Tom goads, helping you move back and forth over his erection.

Fortunately, it doesn’t take him too long. He sits up and mouths one of your tits through the shirt, his tongue curling around the nipple as though there’s no fabric at all. He gets it wet, and makes you wetter than ever. You grind down on him because it feels so good, your clit swollen and crying out for friction, the muscles inside tensing up around your pleasure.

One, two, three more thrusts of your hips and his arms clasp around you until you can’t breathe. Tom collects your mouth into a frantic kiss, panting into the back of your throat, muffling his shout as he shakes beneath you.

“Fuck yeah, oh fuck,” you can perceive a few curses as he rides it out, hands on your waist, keeping you down on him, driving you stupidly nuts from the heat that twirls up to your brain yet again. So you try to focus on him, placing little kisses on his face as his frown softens.

Tom breaks the kiss and pants against your lips, muttering your name and baby girl over and over again, “So good to me, holy fuck.”

You do love when he’s like this, head so wrapped up in his pleasure that his words come out like mewls.

As his torso falls down on the bed, his hands are still tight around you. He’s moving you softly over him now, riding his own high out, but it’s too dangerous. You try to warn him, try to tell him that there’s a burning string of rope in your belly about to snap, but your tongue curls around your teeth. It’s incapacitating, the mix of his pleasure and his control over you.

“Gonna come—” you manage to utter. And he grinds you down over his middle until your body starts to contort, hands squeezing his pecs, thighs closing in around his sides. The pleasure fogs your eyes and twists your belly, trembling down your legs and off of your feet as you collapse on top of him.

“Fuck.” You breathe out. “Fuck.”

“That was hot,” he muses, turning you both on your sides to cuddle up into you.

Tom grins at you, brushing his chin against your breast before he kisses the nipple that’s still poking through the shirt. You gasp and take a deep breath, twice, letting him play with your chest as he wishes.

“Love sucking your tits,” he murmurs against your sternum.

“Love your mouth,” you answer. Tom pinches one of your nipples gently, mouthing it right after to soothe it away. Touching and rubbing his palms over the both of them, too, as he crawls up to kiss your mouth.

Just once. Softly. A promise that the night’s over for now.

As you clean up in the bathroom together a few minutes later, Tom is helping you dry your back when he gasps. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he says, sounding rushed, “I got you something.” Then he throws the towel into your hands and bolts out the door.

Not giving it much thought as you finish up, you don’t wait for him to come back. You find him in your room when you walk in, fresh and smelling nicely, and he’s got a paper bag in his hand. It’s the same one he was carrying when you all got home a while ago, you can tell as much, you just don’t know what it contains.

“What’s that?” you ask as you close the door, retrieving it from his extended hand shortly after. “It’d better be a new pair of panties.”

“It’s not.” Tom chuckles, and you can tell he’s eyeing your chest. You’re in your knickers and a clean, white t-shirt since the last one you wore had to be thrown into the laundry basket after he ruined it with his eager mouth.

“Alright, I didn’t buy it myself, it was my mum,” he explains. You still don’t get it, but you listen to him because he sounds extremely excited. It’s not common for him to give you any presents, though he is known for other types of small gestures, but his enthusiasm rubs off on you a little bit. “I told her your size—”

“Oh, so that’s why you texted me about it the other day?”

“Yes!” Tom grins. “C’mon, open it. It’s perfect for tomorrow.”

“Hm. Tomorrow?” You hesitate now. Tomorrow you’re going golfing with him, so you figure that this is related. Under his ecstatic gaze, you dive into the bag and pull out the black garment he hid inside. “What’s this?”

“A golf skirt!”

“Uhh, these are skorts,” you point out shrewdly as you examine what you’re holding.

“What!” he exclaims, gaping at you and snatching the piece of clothing from your hands. “That bloody woman. I told her I wanted a skirt.”

“Sorry?”

The skort is quite cute, actually, with a small pocket on the side and a thin belt wrapped around the waist that matches the small logo on the hem. It also looks like it would look good if you were to wear it. You’re not sure how Tom’s mother was able to buy something so on-point for you, but maybe she knows you better than you think from the few times you’ve hung out at her house.

“Ugh. How am I supposed to fuck you in this?” he groans, holding them by the crotch in front of his face.

“Did you tell your mum that’s what you wanted this for?” you question him.

“Of course not,” he huffs, annoyed at the way his own mother just cockblocked him.

“Then how was she supposed to know?”

“Argh. She’s gonna hear about this…” he mumbles, shoving the skorts back into the bag. “Anyway, I’ll send these back. But, the idea is that you’ll have a proper golf skirt to cover your gorgeous thighs when I pound your hot, wet pussy at the golf course.”

You grin at his filthy words, embracing him around the shoulders to offer your comfort.

“Did you not like the skirt I wore the other day?”

“No, I loved it,” Tom clarifies, pecking your mouth. “But one of these feels more… professional. And you want to look the part, don’t you?”

“Haha, sure,” you muse, remembering something similar he said when he was helping you with your swing. “Did you get me a cap too?”

Tom laughs. “No, I didn’t.”

“Guess I’ll have to wear one of yours, then.”

“You’ll look sexy in them,” he says, setting the bag down at random and moving to push the bed covers.

You look at the bag where it lies at the foot of your dresser. You appreciate this gift Tom got for you. It may seem frivolous, but you can’t help the tug that tips the corners of your mouth upwards.

“Thank you,” you mutter to him when you’re already in bed. “I’m really sorry it wasn’t the skirt you wanted.”

Tom curls up further on his side, his back to your chest tonight, and nuzzles closer to you as he hums. You wrap a hand around his waist and the stroke of his fingers interlocking with yours is the last thing you feel before you pass out.

· ⛳️ ·

Strike 1 « ‧ » Strike 2 ii

#b writes #tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland series #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #holland #fantasyverse

413 notes · View notes

poge-life · 3 years ago

Note

⚠️ obx² spoilers!

hii, idk if you're accepting requests for long smut stories at the moment, but I love 365 days so much that I instantly thought of you when I had this idea. Would you write an imagine based on that scene where Rafe is at Ward's closet (you can change the context if you want), and then the reader walks in when he's looking in the mirror and she leans against the door/wall saying something like "Looking good Mr. Cameron", but in a teasing way so it leads to smut ofc, you can choose how it happens, but with dom!rafe, basically the same energy as 365 would be fantastic! I love your writing 💞

I am so flattered that you thought of me to write this and i knew as soon as I read it, I had to write it. This does not take place during the 365 timeline, but the OBX timeline. Please do not read if you haven't watched Outer Banks or finished this season because this does contain spoilers for OBX2 beneath the cut.

Also, it took me fucking forever to figure out to get a clip of Rafe putting on Ward's jacket, so enjoy!

Summary: After needing space after everything that happened this summer, you decided to go and see Rafe, just not expecting him to look good in Ward's jacket

Warnings: OBX2 spoiler, smut, daddy kink, name calling, spitting, spanking, hair pulling, and angst towards the end if you squint.

This past summer was...eventful. To say the least. Rafe had asked you to spend the summer with him instead of going to Florida with your family like you do every summer. And of course, you said yes. Spend the summer in Miami with your family or stay in the OBX with your hot-ass boyfriend? That was a no brainer.

You just didn’t expect this summer to turn out the way it did. Topper and Sarah had broken up because she ended up with John B, the Pogue who worked for her dad, Rafe’s drug habit had gotten bad, his dad had decided he needed to get a job, Rafe ended up beating Pope Heyward up with a golf club, and then proceeded to try and beat the shit out of JJ at Midsummers, annnnd Sheriff Peterkin was dead.

Oh, and Sarah and John B were alive after getting lost in the storm that they were chased into by the police.

And the cherry on top was that Rafe was the one who shot Peterkin and his dad killed himself to keep Rafe from going to jail.

You had distanced yourself from Rafe for a while, needing a moment to process everything that had happened. You didn’t know what to do. Rafe had come to you after everything that had happened and told you he knew something was wrong with him. That he had all of these thoughts in his head that made him want to hurt people but he didn’t want to do it.

He had gone to Ward about it but as usual, he had brushed it off and told him there wasn’t anything wrong with him and that he was going to be okay.

You could tell something wasn’t okay with your boyfriend. Ever since Peterkin’s funeral, he had been acting differently. His movements were sluggish and he seemed to zone out a lot and he acted more impulsively. Well, more than usual.

He came straight to you once he found out that his dad had killed himself. And that was the first time you had ever seen him cry. He was scared of what he was going to do and didn’t know how to stop it. He wanted help but no one was willing to get him the help he needed.

So, you vowed to help him in any way you could.

Sarah had texted you and told you Rafe was having a hard time processing everything that had happened with Ward. She had told you that their father had left behind a video, explaining everything; how he killed Big John Routledge, stole gold from John B, and killed Peterkin.

So, yeah. You could understand how Rafe would have a hard time processing what was going on.

You parked your car, grabbing your phone as you made your way up the driveway of Tannyhill. Letting yourself in through the side doors that you knew they never locked, you made your way up the stairs. Taking the way you knew like the back of your hand at this point to Rafe’s room, you peeked in to see his room empty. Pushing the door open, you made your way to the bathroom, not seeing him there either.

Realizing where he was, you made your way to Ward’s room. The light from the lamp gave the room a soft golden glow. You saw shadow movement from the closet and slowly made your way over to it.

Rafe was standing in front of the mirror with one of Ward’s jackets on and you hated to admit it, but he looked good. Really good.

Your eyes raked up his figure from his reflection and you leaned against the door as you called out, “Looking good, Mr. Cameron”

Rafe turned to look at you in shock before relaxing when he realized who it was, “Hey.”

“Hi.” You softly said, making your way over to him. You stopped with just a few inches in between the two of you. You brushed your hands over the front of his jacket as you looked up at him through your lashes, “You do look good, Rafe.”

He turned back to look at his reflection in the mirror, “Really?”

“Mhm,” You hummed, wrapping your arms around his waist from the side, “looking all professional. Really gets me going.”

Rafe couldn’t help the laugh that came out as he looked at you through the mirror, “Yeah? What about it, baby?”

You shrugged, running your fingers over the top of the band of his jeans, “Just thinking about you sitting behind a desk and in comes your beautiful girlfriend, hoping to distract you from all your hard work...only for you to get frustrated because you have an important client to work with so you have no choice but to bend me over your desk and take those frustrations out on me”

You let out a teasing sigh as you pulled away from him, “But then again, you’re just wearing a jacket.”

You barely made it a foot away from him before he tugged you back to him, his hand instantly finding its way around your neck, causing you to look up at him. He had a smirk on his face as his eyes roamed over yours, “good to know that even in your little fantasies, you know who’s in charge.”

“Who said it has to be a fantasy?” You whispered

And that’s all it took for him to snap.

Rafe leaned down and smashed his lips onto yours, tightening his grip around your throat, causing you to moan as you wrapped your arms around his neck, one of your hands going straight to his hair, giving it a tug.

You were so glad he had decided to ditch the hair gel and just leave it natural. You loved it that way.

Rafe pulled away, causing you to whine, “I want you in my room, naked on all fours. Do you understand?”

You had never been so glad to have his hand around your neck because you knew you couldn’t hold yourself up after what he just said to you.

You nodded but you should have known that wasn’t gonna fly with Rafe.

He shook his head, kissing his teeth as he titled your head up even more to look at him as he delivered a harsh slap to your ass, “C’mon baby. You know better than that. Use your words.”

“Yes sir.” You whispered, biting down on your bottom lip.

He released the grip he had on your neck as he nodded his head towards the closet door, “Go on. And I really wouldn’t test my patience right now if I were you.”

You all but scrambled out of the closet, making a beeline straight towards your boyfriends room. Kicking your shoes off by the door, you made quick work of the button on your shorts, pulling them down along with your thong, basically ripping your shirt in half to get it off, tugging off your bralette as you made your way to the bed.

You did as you were; on all fours with your ass in the air. You felt a little embarrassed at the situation, considering this was going to be the first time you guys fucked in the house with Sarah, Rose, and Wheezie home. But you didn’t care. You just needed Rafe. And you needed him bad.

You heard the door shut and the sound of the lock clicking in place.

Rafe stopped in his tracks at the sight of you on his bed. On all fours, just like he asked. He knew you were going to listen. You always did when it came to him.

He slowly made his way over to you, lightly trailing his fingers up the back of your leg, watching in satisfaction as goosebumps appeared. He grabbed your ass with both hands, kneading the flesh in both hands.He spread your cheeks apart and had to bite back a moan at the sight of your glistening pussy.

He knew you had gotten worked up earlier, but jesus, he didn’t know you were this worked up over him.

“You know why you’re being punished, don’t you, sweetheart?” He softly asked, ghosting his fingers over the place you wanted him the most

You had to fight the urge to moan at Rafe’s words, looking back at him over your shoulder, “No, sir?”

Rafe raised his eyebrow at you, “You have no idea why I’m punishing you? I suggest you think real hard.”

“I interrupted your work.” You mumbled, letting out a yelp from the hard smack he delivered to your ass, “You know I don’t like it when you mumble.”

“I interrupted your work.” You spoke louder, looking back at him once again, him nodding in agreement, “You did. And you know how I feel about that. You could have lost me an important business partner. But lucky for you, all I had to explain to him was that my girlfriend was a needy little slut who’s desperate for me to put her in her place.”

You couldn’t help the moan that slipped past your lips at his words. You loved his dirty mouth and he knew it too. Which is why he always took advantage of that fact.

Rafe let out a dark chuckle at hearing you moan, “Yeah? You like hearing that I have to tell people that I have to put you in your place because you're desperate for my cock? You like people knowing that you’re my little cock whore?”

You let out a whimper at his words, nodding your head, “Yes, I like people knowing I’m your little whore.”

“Good girl.” He smirked, slowly inserting a finger into your pussy, “Yeah, you’re my good girl.”

You pushed yourself back onto his hand, making his finger go deeper. Rafe quickly pulled his hand back, kissing his teeth, “You always seem to forget I’m in charge, baby. I thought you were my good girl?”

You quickly nodded your head, “I am. I am your good girl.”

Rafe shook his head at you, shrugging off the jacket, “See, I don’t think you are. Because good girls take what I give them. But you decided to be greedy and wanted more.”

“I’m sorry.” You said.

“C’mere.”

You moved from your position, turning to kneel in front of him on the bed. Your eyes raked over his appearance, lingering on his arms, because good lord, they look really good in that shirt (I am not kidding. I watched him put on the jacket an embarrassing amount of times just to watch his arms flex)

Rafe stepped directly in front of you, causing you to lean your head back a little bit to look up at him, noticing his eyes had gotten a shade darker. He dragged his hand up the front of your body and you shivered from the feeling, Rafe smirking at the reaction.

He rubbed his thumb on your bottom lip, pupils blown as he watched you take his thumb into his mouth, lips wrapping around it as you sucked on it, going down to the knuckle.

“Fuck me.” He let out, causing you to release his finger with a pop, nipping at the top of it, “Then fucking do it, Cameron.”

Rafe reached for the back of his shirt, pulling it over his head as you worked on unbuttoning his pants, tugging them down and tossed his shirt to the side, kicking off his jeans as you rubbed your hand over his cock.

You hooked your fingers on the top of his calvins (you can’t tell me that both Drew and rafe aren’t the type of guys to wear Calvin Klein), slowly tugging them down, not breaking eye contact. Rafe kicked them off the rest of the way as he tangled his fingers in your hair, yanking your head back.

“Open.”

You smirked as you opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out as Rafe leaned down to spit in your mouth. You closed your mouth, swallowing before showing him.

“Good girl,” he smirked, “back on all fours, baby. You know how I want it.”

You nodded as you moved your body back into the position you were in only minutes ago. Except this time, you were facing the mirror that was attached to his dresser. You watched with your heart racing as he kneeled behind you on the bed, stroking his cock, never taking his eyes off your pussy.

You leaned down so your chest was on the bed, back arched, with your ass in the air, just how he liked it. Rafe ran the tip of his dick up and down your pussy, collecting your arousal, making it easier for him to slide in, not like that has ever been a problem before.

He didn’t even give you a heads up as he slammed into you, causing you to let out a loud moan as he quickly set the pace. Going slow but bottoming out at a hard pace. Just the way you liked it.

“Fuck, baby,” He moaned, grabbing onto your hips, throwing his head back, “you always feel so good.”

You threw your hips back against him, causing him to stop, holding you tight against him, a vice like grip on your hips, “what did I just fucking say? Good girls take what I give. But you’re not one. You’re a needy little whore.”

He leaned over your back, wrapping his hand around your throat, pulling you up so you were flushed against his chest.

“Look at you, baby,” he whispered, both of you making eye contact in the mirror, “you go from this sweet girl in public to my little slut as soon as I touch you.”

“Please.” You begged, wiggling your hips against his, causing him to let go of your waist only to bring his hand back down on your ass. Hard.

“Please what, baby?” He teased, smirking at the way you leaned back into him.

“Please fuck me.” You begged, wrapping your arm around his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“Please fuck me, what?” He teased, tugging on your ear, waiting for you to say the word so he could give you what you both wanted.

“Please fuck me...daddy.” You whimpered, leaning your head back on his shoulder, turning to leave kisses on his jaw.

Rafe turned his head to the side to pull you into a bruising kiss. Teeth clashing, spit dripping down your chin. It was hot. Rafe pulled away, pushing you back down on all fours as he pulled out so just the tip was in before pushing back in hard.

You let little moans and whimpers at the brutual pace he was going. And you knew it was all the frustrations he’s built up these past few weeks.

Rafe leaned forward and tangled one of his hands in your hair, tugging your head up to make you watch in the mirror. He had a light coat of sweat on his skin and his hair was messed up from you running your fingers through it.

“Such a good girl.” He moaned, pulling you up so you were flush against his chest again, “C’mon baby. You want this dick so bad, fuck yourself on it.”

You moved your hips back at a fast pace, locking eyes with him in the mirror as he leaned down to press wet, hot kisses on your neck. You pulled away from him and turned to face him, tangling your fingers in his hair as you pulled his head down to bring him into a kiss.

Rafe leaned forward, causing you to lean backwards, moving so you were laying flat on the bed with him hovering over you. Rafe wrapped one of your legs around his waist as he moved to push back into you. You both let out a loud moan at the feeling of being connected again.

You pulled Rafe down for a kiss as you wrapped your arms around him, digging your nails into his back. He pulled away, placing both of his hands next to your head, not breaking eye contact with you.

You see just how much he was hurting just by looking at him. And it made your heartbreak. He was never one to ever show his emotions but after everything that happened this summer, you knew he was slipping through the cracks. And it was only a matter of time before he broke.

You tightened your grip around his waist as he sent a hard thrust that spot that had you letting out a loud moan. Rafe smirked at you and did what every guy was supposed to do when this happened, just keep doing it. He kept the same angle as he leaned down and buried his face in your neck, sucking on your sweet spot.

“Fuck Rafe.” You dragged your nails down his back, causing him to let out a groan at the feeling.

“C’mon, baby,” he leaned up, brushing his lips over yours, “you know what you need to do if you wanna cum.”

“Please make me cum,” You whimpered, tugging on his hair, “I wanna cum.”

“Yeah?” He spoke, “You wanna cum?”

You nodded, leaning up to press your lips to his.

He pulled away, pulling out of you, causing you to let out a whine at losing the high.

“Ride me.” He said, laying down next to you. You quickly climbed ontop of him, his hands sliding up your thighs and to your hips. You reached inbetween the two of you and rubbed the tip of dick along your pussy before sinking down on him.

“Oh, fuck.” You moaned, throwin your head back. You placed your hands on his chest before slowly moving up before sinking back down again. Rafe tightened his grip on your waist, his eyes never leaving your chest.

Even after all this time, your tits were still his favorite thing. And he kept his word and somehow managed to find bars with an ‘R’ on them. And of course, there were many pictures taken that night as he could barely keep his hands off of you.

Rafe leaned forward and attached his mouth to your tits, his hand going up to grasp the other one, kneeding it between his fingers. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pressing yourself closer to him, moving your hips back and forth.

Rafe pulled away from your tits, looking up at you as you looked down at him, just keeping eye contact for a while. He leaned back on the bed, causing you to lean forward with him, placing your chest directly on his as he placed his feet on the bed, driving his dick into you at a fast pace.

He let out a moan at hearing your whimpers in his ear, nails digging into his skin. He turned his head to the side and pressed his lips to yours, not once faltering in his pace. He felt you tighten around him and pulled away from the kiss, “Shit, baby. You’re squeezing the fuck out of me.”

“I wanna cum,” you begged, leaning forward to place kisses on his neck, “Please make me cum, daddy.”

How he could he not give you what you wanted when you begged for him like that?

He flipped you both over, pulling your legs over his shoulders as he fucked into you at a brutual pace. All that could be heard was the sound of skin slapping on skin and the occasional moans from the both of you.

Rafe placed a kiss on your ankle as he watched you play wih your tits, squeezing them in your hands. He felt you tighten around him once again and licked his thumb before bringing it down to rub your clit.

Your back arched off the bed as his thumb moved in circles, bringing you closer to the edge. You grabbed onto the sheets, closing your fist around them as you felt the knot begin to grow in your core.

“You wanted to cum,” Rafe growled, thrusting hard after each word, “So cum.”

And that’s all it took for the knot to snap. You let out a loud moan as your legs shook around his shoulder, gripping the sheets tighter in your fists as Rafe never stopped the brututal pace he was going at, chasing after his own release.

His hips faltered as he began to slow down as he felt his cock twitch, shooting out his cum as he began to catch his breath.

Rafe pulled out, causing you to let out a quiet moan at the feeling as he laid next to you. You turned to look over at him, watching as his chest moved at an irregular pace. You shot up as you looked closely at his face, noticing the tears that built up, looking for a chance to escape.

“Rafe…” You spoke in a quiet voice as he sniffled, looking over at you. His lip quivered as his tears started to fall. You scooted closer to him, pulling him into your embrace, wrapping your arms around him as he buried his face in your chest, tightening his grip around your waist, letting out sobs.

You looked up at the ceiling as tears of your own began to show up, placing a kiss on his head as you rubbed his back, “It’ll be okay. Everything will be okay.”

But both of you knew that it wasn’t going to be okay.

#drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey smut #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey imagines #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron imagine #obx rafe #rafe imagine #rafe fic #rafe obx #rafe #outer banks x reader #outerbanks rafe #outer banks smut #obx imagines #obx smut

395 notes · View notes

chuckbass-love · 4 years ago

Note

56 and 100 with andy or steve plss

Hellooo lovely. First of all thank you for the request and i’m sorry for the long wait. I was taking a break from requests to work on the multiple series that i’ve got going on but i’m back now and i hope this is worth the wait. Secondly, i chose Andy for this and i really hope you love it.

Prompt #100: “Call me selfish, but i don’t ever want anyone else to touch you”

Prompt #56: “Come sit on my face, let me show you how much i missed you”

Disclaimer: My work is not to be translated or to be posted anywhere else other than MY Tumblr, Wattpad and Ao3 without my permission. However, reblogs are welcome.

Pairing: Andy Barber x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Jealousy, fluff, smut, oral sex ( f receiving), language and ass grabbing. 18+ guys

Word Count: 2,861

GIF NOT MINE!!! Credit to @lovingpostit go check them out💜

I’ll Show You

It’s been one hell of a day at work today and all you want now is just to cuddle up on the couch next to Andy, a glass of wine in hand and some random movie that he’s been dying to watch all week on the TV. To tell the truth you don’t even care what movie it is, all that matters is that he’s next to you, holding your body close to his with his cologne filling up your senses and intoxicating you. Oh and lots of kisses are also a must.

You could honestly spend forever in his company and it’s been that way since you first met, you’ve always been drawn to each other like magnets, to put it in the most cliche way possible. But it suits the two of you because you’re both introverted and home bodies. So any time you get where you can just sit together and enjoy each others company, you take it no questions asked.

This week has surprisingly dragged, probably due to all of the clients you’ve had. Your calendar has quite literally been chock a block full not to mention the severity of the things your clients unload onto you. It’s been tough. But you got into this business because you can’t help but help people and you knew the second you started on your journey to becoming a therapist that it was never going to be easy. Nothing good ever comes easy. But you don’t mind that, you’ve never shied away from a challenge before and your brains are just another thing added onto a long list that Andy keeps of why he fell in love with you.

That along with your heart of gold.

On the drive home you decide to turn the radio volume up a little more than usual, you need something to keep you going until you can run into the arms of your love and as Led Zeppelin comes onto the radio, you know you picked the right day to crank the volume up. What a band.

----------------------

Andy is just making his way out of his own office and down to the parking lot to drive home himself. He’s usually home before you but tonight he had to clear up a couple things before he got to leave and much like your career, his is also never stress free, but he loves it too much to give it up.

As you park your car you notice Andy’s isn’t here yet which isn’t unusual, you know he’s most likely had to stay behind a little later so you decide that you’ll be the one to start cooking dinner ready for when he arrives. You step out of your car and head to the back seat to retrieve your bag along with your jacket from this morning before strutting up to your front door. But before you can even put the key in the lock, your neighbour Ian jogs over, calling your name to catch your attention.

“Ian, hi” you beam, greeting him with a friendly smile, one which he returns gladly.

“Y/N, me and Julie were just talking and since i’m taking the boys out golfing tomorrow, she’ll have a spare coupon for the spa, if you’re interested in joining her”

You have been rather tense lately and since it’s Saturday tomorrow, you’re not gonna pass up such a wonderful opportunity to relieve the tension building and the knots forming all over your back.

“Sure, that would be great. What time?”

“11” he responds simply and you nod your head rather enthusiastically.

He places his hand on yours as he smiles from ear to ear “brilliant, she’ll be over at half ten then just to be safe. Have a nice evening” and with that he walks away just as Andy is walking towards you with a not so cheery look on his face. Must have been a tough day at work for him too.

“Hi handsome, what’s with the pouty face?” you tease as you let the two of you into your shared house but he doesn’t seem to be laughing at your not so funny joke.

“Andy?” you press him for some kind of response even if it’s a nod or mumbling, you’d rather something than to be blanked by him but to no avail.

He just shrugs his coat off, hooking it onto the coat rack before slipping his shoes off and placing them in the shoe holder. And since he doesn’t seem to be responding any time soon, you do the same before padding into the kitchen to have a look at what you have in the refrigerator and the cupboards to cook for dinner. You eventually settle on a simple dish, mac n cheese. It doesn’t take too long to cook and that’s exactly what you need seeing as you’re starving.

You take one of the many pots and pour some water in it before setting it on the stove on a medium heat to boil whilst you change into something a little comfier.

As soon as you enter your shared bedroom you see Andy making his way into the closet too and when you walk in he turns his head to see you staring right back at him, confusion all over your face.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, hoping that this time he might actually tell you rather than acting like you didn’t open your mouth “what did Ian want?” is all he says and it’s all he needs to say for you to know just why he’s acting off with you.

Ian and Julie have lived opposite you ever since you moved in and you automatically got along, all four of you. They’d get a babysitter for their children and you’d double date every now and then but those fun times were interrupted when Andy insisted that Ian had a thing for you. Although you tried to convince him that it wasn’t true and he was just paranoid, you couldn’t help but notice the evidence too. The way Ian would look at you and hold his stare a little too long, the way he’d flirt without you realising it at the time and obviously today, the way he had his hand on yours. Andy must have taken one look at that and assumed the worst.

“He asked if i’d go to the spa tomorrow with Julie, i said yes, why?” you have to be sure though, although you’re assuming now, you want him to be able to tell you what’s got him so bitter.

“I don’t trust him” he mutters as he finishes changing into some sweatpants and a sweatshirt.

“He’s harmless Andy”

“I saw the way he was with you just now, touching you and giving you that shit eating grin, he knew what he was doing”

“Andy, whatever he thinks of me, i don’t care. I’m with you for a reason, can you just trust me”

“It’s not that i don’t trust you” he snaps

“Except it seems that way”

You hold off on changing for now, deciding that storming off childishly is the better option. Once you’re back downstairs you then place the pasta into the now boiling water, making sure to turn the heat up one more too.

“Why can’t you just see things from my perspective here?” he wonders out loud as he leans on the kitchen counter, catching your attention. The way his hands are in his pockets and his shoulders are hunched over, it makes you feel bad for even getting mad at him. Sure jealousy isn’t great but when he gets so worried about other men stealing you away you can’t help but realise just how much he loves you. He loves you so much that the thought of you leaving breaks him let alone if you were to actually go.

But he doesn’t have to worry about that and you’ve told him plenty of times.

“It’s not that i don’t see things from your perspective, it’s the fact that there’s no telling you. I would rather be alone for the rest of my life than be without you yet you’re too caught up with Ian having a little crush to notice that”

“Yeah well call me selfish Y/N, but i don’t ever want anyone else to touch you let alone flirt”

Instead of fighting back against him you step closer and wrap your arms around him as you stand on your tip toes and just as your lips touch his, his hands grip your face gently.

His grip tightens the more you kiss him and when you slip your tongue in, he loses all control. His hands dance all over your body, leaving no spot untouched. Goosebumps form all over as the kiss heats up, the pasta long forgotten on the stove as you’re too busy being ravished by your man.

“Someone’s very possessive” you mock, smirking a little into the kiss before he kisses you so hard it knocks the air from your lungs and when you pull away you’re gasping.

Your breathing hitches as he rests his forehead to yours, his handsome face inches away from yours and all you want to do is just claim his lips, just like you did seconds before. You can’t get enough of him.

However, he beats you to it, gripping your chin aggressively as he bites down on your bottom lip with need. You pull him closer by wrapping your arms around his neck loosely to which he happily obliges.

“Is that a problem?” he asks, raising his brows at you as you struggle to regain control of your breathing, you simply shake your head no in response, half expecting it to end here. But he has other plans.

“Good” he starts, slowly walking into the lounge leaving you stood there confused. So you decide to follow, only to find him laying down on the couch with his eyes trained on you.

“Now, why don’t you come sit on my face, let me show you how much i missed you today”

Your heart skips a beat as you watch him smile afterwards, you can’t quite believe that he’s all yours.

Without another second left to pass, you head over to him and begin to straddle his waist. He quickly takes control, moving you further up until you’re hovering above his chest.

Large calloused hands grip the hem of your skirt, slowly pushing it up to expose your laced black panties. Andy can’t help but choke on air as he sets his eyes on your panty clad mound. But rather than waste time, he starts to devour you over the lace before eventually slipping them to the side and feasting on you like a man starved.

The sensation causes you to throw your head back and practically scream due to how good it feels. His tongue on you like this will never get old, it’ll always be one of the best things in life, one that you’ll continue to enjoy for many years to come. The way his skilful tongue glides over your puffy folds with such precision before he eventually latches on to your bundle of nerves, it’s almost too much to bare and you can feel the coil tightening already with every suck and lick.

And when he slurps on you as he drinks the juices that pour from your fountain you’re unable to stop your hips from moving on their own accord and before you know it, you’re grinding yourself on him desperately as he lays there taking it like the greedy man he’s always going to be for you.

For him, you’re it. You’re the one and you always have been since he first met you.

After Laurie he didn’t expect to ever want another woman again until you came along. You rocked his world, turned it upside down and since then, he’s been hooked. He’s obsessed with the taste of you, the smell of you, the sight of you and the sound of you. You ignite a fire within him, alert all of his senses and turn his whole body into gooseflesh. Just the way he loves.

He flickers his eyelashes before looking up at you as his hands make their way to your perfectly shaped ass so that he can dig his claws into the soft skin of your round globes, causing you to keen for more.

The sounds your making should have alerted the neighbours by now but even if they do, Andy doesn’t care. He just loves the music you make as you arch your back, still riding his tongue as he pushes it further into your tight and wet hole.

“Please, Andy” you cry out, reaching down to run your fingers through his fluffy hair, you’re desperate now, even more so.

“Hm?” he mumbles, the noise vibrating onto your pussy “i’m gonna cum” you breathe out heavily, trying to gain control over the situation but failing miserably.

Andy rests his hands on your hips, stilling the movements before diving back in for more. He swirls his tongue around your folds once again before ultimately settling his plump lips around your pulsating clit and sucking like his life depends on it.

You can’t hold back anymore, the sinful moans are enough to make him cum too without you even so much as touching him.

And with one final suck and two of his fingers massaging your folds, you cum with a frantic sob. Your body launches forward and he pulls you down so that you’re laying on top of him.

He strokes your back delicately, soothing your shaking body. He can feel your legs jolting every couple of seconds.

Eventually you get off of him and attempt to stand up but of course, you fail miserably.

“So, how was that?” he rasps, chuckling simultaneously

“Perfect, oh and i missed you too today” you smile and he eventually stands up as you slouch down.

“Good, now just let me finish the job then we can order takeout” he says, causing you to furrow your brows but the unasked questions have their answer once he gets on his knees on the floor between your legs and dives right back in.

You shiver a little, your pussy is still trying to recover but he just can’t get enough. His tongue laps at the cum still spilling out of you, making sure that every last drop is inside of his mouth before swallowing it all.

“Now i’m done” he quips and you sit up a little, pulling him closer to you so you can get a taste of yourself on his tongue. Once he slips it into your mouth you can’t help but get carried away, until the door knocks, disturbing you from your peaceful and romantic moment.

You stand up to go and answer it, quickly sorting out your appearance in the hallway mirror before you open it. It’s Ian.

“Ian, hi... again” you giggle nervously as you turn to see Andy’s face change from content to angry in seconds. He practically jumps up off the couch to join you at the door, his beard still damp with your arousal.

You watch as Andy stares the poor man down before wiping at his face.

“I was just stopping by to let you know that Julie wants to leave at 10 instead, you know because of traffic and all” you can practically smell anxiety on him and Andy notices it too.

“Sure, that works for me” you say before the situation turns awkward.

You glance over at Andy who is just stood there watching him intently but he’s coming off rather intimidating.

“Anyway, we’re about to order takeout Ian so we have to go” Andy adds in before snaking his arm around you waist and pulling you closer to him, you follow Ians eyes as he looks down at your skirt and you can only hope Andy didn’t spot that but judging by the change in his breathing, he did.

Shortly after Andy bids Ian goodbye and as he’s walking off, you’re still in the doorway.

You turn to your jealous boyfriend and tut, resting your hands on your hips but he soon disbands your serious facial expression as he smacks your bum which causes you to squeal.

“Andy”

“Let’s get you to bed so i can really show you how much i missed you” he kicks the door shut as he picks you up to carry you to your shared bedroom and you just know you have a long night ahead of you.

-----------

General Tags: @deadlymistress24 @coffeebooksandfandom @chris-butt @holtzkinnon @mychemicalimagines @llamadelreyx @haus-of-bitch-talk @buckstaybucky @thewinchestergirl1208 @chrissquares @patzammit @dummiesshort @cevans-fics @americasass91 @toni9 @aaliferous @bradfordmyworld @thereisa8ella @candlefics @yassspose @randomsevans @fanficforfun

Just Chris & His Characters Tags: @onetwo3000 @sheofthegarden @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @mrsbbarnesrogers @princess-evans-addict @stxvercgersslut @chris-evanslover @bval-1 @thejemersoninferno @denisemarieangelina @janeyboo @evansphnx12 @dwights-new-plague @whxre4cevans @cherry-gemz

LMK if you wanna be added to any of my tag lists...

126 notes · View notes

collecting-stories · 5 years ago

Text

Bake-off - JJ (Outer Banks)

Request: can you write something with jj where the reader bakes a lot :) i understand if not, but i bake a lot (especially pies, i’m rambling sorry!) and thought this would be cute

A/N: So, since it’s JJ the baking had to include weed. 😛

Outer Banks Masterlist

///

The tray of banana nut muffins sat on John B’s table, half eaten. It was long before Big John died that there was ever even a homemade birthday cake in the house, neither men having much luck in the kitchen. But the muffins didn’t belong to John B anyway, they were JJ’s, which was even more peculiar, according to Kiara. If the Routledge men were shit at baking than the Maybank’s had never even turned on an oven.

“They’re a gift.” JJ shrugged, laying across the laz-e-boy on the porch and munching on one.

“A gift?” That was more shocking than their existence. JJ didn’t really get gifts and definitely not baked goods.

“Did you mow someone’s lawn?” Pope asked, reaching for the muffin only to have JJ Flop away from him at the last second.

“You could say that.” He grinned, attempting and failing a wink.

“Ew, JJ.” Kiara groaned and walked back into the living room, emerging a moment later with one, “oh my god they’re edibles.”

“What?” Pope asked.

“There’s weed in them.”

“Yes there is.” JJ grinned, “I ate two last night and was cooked. It’s some good shit.”

“Is it your shit?” Kiara asked, taking a bite.

“Obviously, I said it was good didn’t I? I got the best shit on the island Kie.” He replied.

“I know you didn’t make them so who made them for you?”

JJ was a purest, as he dramatically referred to it. He rolled his own joints, dried his own weed for vaping, and he didn’t do edibles. At least he didn’t until one of the guys in the kitchen at the hotel turned 21. A box of cookies sat on the counter in the kitchen, marked Andrew. Double chocolate-chocolate chip, according to Andrew, and packed with a enough weed to “have you cooked after half of it”.

“They’re delicious man, you gotta try one.” Andrew had insisted.

“I don’t do edibles.”

“You’ll regret it.”

And naturally, being told that there was the possibility for regret was a guaranteed way to ensure JJ did something. His bizarre fear of missing out dictated that he have no regrets and so he took one and ate the whole thing right there in the kitchen. And it was good...it was so good it didn’t even taste like weed and he was two seconds from telling Andrew he’d been dupped when he felt the familiar ease settle over him.

“Where’d you get these?” He asked, slipping three into a plastic bag and dropping them in his backpack.

“That girl that works in the kids area.” Andrew shrugged.

You were a glorified babysitter, in charge of occupying people’s toddlers while they went out to play golf or shop or go to the spa. Not the greatest job in the world but the kids were usually easily contained and the parents always tipped well.

JJ knew you to see you, always wandering around with some kid or another attached to your hip, talking about Frozen or Descendants...he’d heard you duet a song from some Disney Channel movie with one of the little girls just last week. It made you seem a bit green honestly. He couldn’t imagine you doing anything less than innocent, especially making your own edibles.

He waited until after his shift to look for you, still wearing his white button up and vest but with his cargo shorts back on. You were outside supervising and participating in a game of soccer with a handful of eight year olds.

“Hey,” he called, waving to you as he walked up. You tossed the soccer ball back into the makeshift field and turned toward JJ, “Andrew said you made him those cookies, for his birthday.”

“Oh yeah,” you nodded, “I know he doesn’t like to smoke so...”

“Could you make me some?”

“Sure, what flavor?” You turned away for a moment to make sure all five of your children were still actively playing soccer and JJ took the opportunity to check you out. Your t-shirt advertised the hotel and hung loose on you. Shorts and a pair of running shoes completed the look and he was appreciative for the view of your legs.

“Chocolate peanut butter.” JJ decided.

Chocolate peanut butter cookies, snickerdoodles, brownies, blondies, coffee cake, you and JJ had slowly formed a friendship built on experimental edible recipes. He supplied the weed and you made him whatever baked goods he could think up. He had even downloaded the Tasty app and Pinterest for the sake of finding new desserts for you to tackle.

“So this girl just makes you whatever you want?” Kiara asked the next time a container of cookies appeared at John B’s house. Sugar cookies, with piped on icing that made them look like beach balls.

“It’s business Kie. I supply the weed from my cousin, she makes the edibles. We sell them too, it’s a very lucrative business.” JJ replied, eyes closed, laying in the hammock outside John B’s while he smoked.

Kiara was munching on a sugar cookie. She wasn’t really complaining about the edibles, her mom had been on her lately about the possibility of her smoking and the edibles were easier to hide. Especially because yours didn’t smell half as bad as some she’d had in the past. Mostly she was just curious about this girl that JJ was spending time with. He acted like it was casual but Kiara had known him for a long time and she knew JJ lacked the ability to hang out with a girl casually. Even they toed the line sometimes.

“So when can we meet your esteemed business partner?” Kiara asked.

“What?” JJ rolled his head to the side to look over at her, pushing his sunglasses down his nose. “Why do you wanna meet her?”

“Why don’t you want us to meet her?” She countered.

“I don’t care. You can meet her.” JJ replied, trying to act nonchalant about the whole thing. He couldn’t fool Kiara and he knew that but that didn’t stop him from trying. He didn’t want you to meet his friends, mainly because he liked having you all to himself. It meant your attention wasn’t divided four ways.

“These are burnt on the bottom.” You commented, sitting on the kitchen island beside a cooling rack of peanut butter cookies. The peanut butter was JJ’s favorite though you usually didn’t make them because of allergies.

“They’re fine.” JJ replied, munching on a cookie while he scrolled through tiktok. You rolled your eyes at him and held one up, turning it over to inspect the nearly black bottom of the cookie. JJ had sworn that he would keep an eye on them while you left to talk to your mom on the phone but he’d let the buzzer go two minutes before he finally took it out.

“At least you’re the only one eating them.” You remarked, taking a bite of the one in your hands. You scrunched up your nose at the taste of burnt cookie, “the high better be worth it.”

JJ put his phone down, pushing off the counter so that he could come over and stand in front of you. You raised an eyebrow as JJ moved your knees apart so that he could stand between your legs. He opened his mouth, letting out an ‘ahh’ and you rolled your eyes at him as you placed the burnt peanut butter cookie in his mouth.

“It’s burnt.” You reiterated, watching him chew the cookie. You had discovered that JJ could pace himself far better with a blunt than he could a batch of cookies. He’d eat three in a row and get cooked, an unusual occurrence for him. You ran a hand through his hair, brushing it out of his eyes. “Your hair is so greasy it literally stands up on its own.” You teased.

“I washed it!”

“The last time you went in the ocean does not count as a bath.” You replied. You continued to play with his hair as he leaned closer to you, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

“You have off tomorrow?” JJ asked, still munching on his cookie.

“Yeah but my mom’s home all day.” You replied.

The experimental creating of edibles had led to a friendship and then a something in between. You weren’t quite ready to call JJ your boyfriend but you certainly weren’t entertaining the idea of anyone else. He spent all his time at your house when he wasn’t with his friends or working. Even when your mom was home and there was no baking, he hung around. At work he sought you out throughout the day, more than once crashing whatever activity you were doing with your kids.

“I was thinking you could come out on the boat with us.” JJ said. He was determined, now that he’d told Kiara he would, to introduce you to everyone. It certainly didn’t mean that he was planning on giving up his alone time with you but he’d concede to Kiara this time. “My friends wanna meet you.”

“Okay, I’d like that.” You replied, smiling at the implication that he was introducing you to his friends, “but I’m making them better cookies cause these are burnt.”

“There’s nothing wrong with them.”

“No but there’s something wrong with me for trusting you to watch the oven.” You said.

His eyes opened and he pouted at you. “I’m very responsible.”

“I know babe.”

taglist: @maplelattes22 @poguesrforlife @freckled-and-daydreaming @chasefreakinstokes @millie-753 @fangirlwithme @alex12948 @howdyherron @katherine097 @tangledinsparkles @tragicmisfits @carbonated-beverage @mariofgreengables @damonsalvawhore27 @ssprayberrythings @dopedoodes @dolanfivsosxox @jolomez @timotaychalabae

#JJ (outer banks) x reader #JJ (outer banks) imagine #JJ (outer banks) fanfiction #JJ imagine #JJ x reader #JJ fanfic #JJ fanfiction #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfic #obx imagine #obx fanfiction #obx Netflix imagine #obx fanfic #obx Netflix fanfiction #outerbanks imagine #outerbanks fanfic #outerbanks fanfiction #collecting stories imagine

607 notes · View notes

dansantat · 4 years ago

Photo

NOW WE ARE TWO: A Eulogy for My Father

Adam U Santat (October 21,1943 - April 27, 2021)

Today is April 27, 2021.

When I was very young and we lived in New Jersey my father took us to the beach and he lifted my tiny frame over his neck and we walked out into the ocean together. My mother watched us from the coast as we wandered 50 yards into the shallow sea. I was terrified of whatever lurked in the water convinced that sharks would come and eat us. My father gripped my legs and whispered, “I’ve got you. You don’t have to be afraid.”

I don’t exactly know why this particular memory rests so clearly in my mind, but it’s a good one. That was my father in a nutshell.

I interviewed my parents for a memoir I’m currently working on. This is what I know of my father.

He was born in the small village of Khlong Dan, Thailand on October 21, 1943, though the official birth certificate indicates October 27 because of a typo (21 sounds like 27 in Thai) He was the youngest of nine kids. His parents immigrated from China and started a merchant business. For fear of being racially ostracized by the local Thai people the oldest brother changed their name from “Lim” to “Santativongchai” (he found the word in an old book)

They collected rain water off the storm gutters in order to drink. He didn’t get hie first pair of shoes until he was 10 years old. They were sandals, really. Knowing facts abut Western culture was cool and he had an insatiable desire to learn everything he could about America. Coming to the United States was a dream of his obsessed with Elvis Presley, Paul Anka, and movies like “Shane” He admits to being spoiled by his mother and says he was lazy during most of his childhood, but was gifted in math and science. And he truly was. He attended medical school, paid for by his older sister, Yawanit, and he came to Newark, New Jersey in 1969 to do his internship.

My mother followed a year later

His first car was a Red ‘69 Camaro. No air conditioning. He ran the car into the ground because he was unaware of the fact that you had to change the oil. He never owned a car before then.

This was the American dream.

I was born in 1975 and they soon made a mass exodus to Southern California along with many of their Thai doctor friends with brief career stops in Wykoff, New Jersey and Hopedale, Illinois until we settled in our newly built four bedroom home in Camarillo, CA.

He worked for the state of California as a pediatrician, and eventually as a cardiologist, and then a psychiatrist continuing his education over the years to fill the needs of the state. He was an accomplished man in his field.

He loved golf, tennis, and buying things he would see on TV. He loved Ralph Lauren clothing, he owned one of the first Apple computers, and he loved making weekly trips to Los Angeles to buy classical CDs and audio equipment.

Three weeks ago I stepped inside my parent’s home for the first time in over a year. The COVID-19 Pandemic had kept us apart . “Stay at home. We’ll see each other after this is all over.” my parents told me.

Under normal circumstances I would happily avoid their company for fear of constant nagging about a plethora of reasons which mostly dealt with my weight, or my political views.

But this was different.

My father had been diagnosed with Stage 4 liver cancer and he returned home to hospice care. My mother was helping him get situated on his favorite couch because he refused to use the hospital bed that hospice had offered him and recommend that he use.

They say that doctors make the worst patients.

Besides his stubbornness my mother was angry at him for not putting up a fight, turning down Chemotherapy and Immunotherapy and opting to just let the cancer take him. She herself having been a breast cancer survivor over 25 years ago (along with living with lupus for 45 years) could not comprehend the thought of just giving up. But my father knew the odds. He had taken one look at the CT scan and he knew the primary source was in the liver and it has metastasized to the lungs, his jaw, and his pelvis.

His body was dying but his mind was still as sharp as a tack.

I understood the diagnosis, as well. When speaking to the doctor on the phone he did not mince words by emphasizing quality of life. My father’s days were limited, and I was there to make the most of the time that was left between us before he departed.

“I have one last question for you before I go.” he said to me.

“Anything. What’s your question, Dad?”

“How much....do you earn annually?”

My mother and I quickly glanced at each other and we both immediately let out a huge laugh. “HA HA HA! You have one last question and that’s what you want to ask me?!”

He was always curious about my finances.

He is my Asian father.

Normally, this type of question would be a point of heated contention and it would typically result in an argument at a restaurant, and yet, here he is living his last weeks and he STILL wouldn’t let the question go. And this time, without argument, I simply tell him.

Why deny a dying man his last wish?

“I’M SO PROUD OF YOU!” he shouts as we all share in a good laugh.

“I have one more question...”

“What is it, Dad?”

“Why do you always get upset when I ask you that question?”

This too would have normally resulted in a heated discussion, but I simply gave him an honest and simple answer, “Because you taught me that it was rude to ask people that question.” And I left it at that.

My mother gets up and heads to the kitchen and it’s in this moment that my father pulls me in closer to discuss more pressing matters.

“I don’t want you to worry about me. I’ve accepted my fate and I’ve lived a good life. I’m worried about your mom. I want you to take care of her after I’m gone.”

“Of course.”

“I’ve saved up a lot of money. Use it to buy a house with a guest house for her. Make sure it has a big yard so she can do her gardening and she’ll be fine.”

“I promise, Dad. I’ll spoil her.”

“Good.”

My mother returns to the family room with an assortment of shirts for my father to wear. I grab a blue button up collared shirt from Tommy Bahama. “This shirt actually isn’t too shabby.”

“It was originally $125 and I got it for $90!”

Always in pursuit of looking his best while also landing a great deal.

He is my Asian father.

“If you like the shirts they’re yours now. All of this is yours.”

None of the items that my father owned interested me. What interested me was giving him one last amazing experience before he was gone. The one thing my father truly treasured among all his possessions was a one of the finest wine collections I had ever seen. It contained over 500 bottles of wines he had collected over the course of twenty years housed in three separate wine refrigerators, which were spread throughout different rooms in the house and sent their electricity bill skyrocketing to the moon, and my mother’s nerves to the very edge of insanity.

“Hey, what do you think about going into your wine collection and we drink the most expensive wine you have?”

“No,” he says hesitantly.

“But don’t you want to know what you bought? Don’t you want to at least know what the best wine you own tastes like? I don’t think you should leave this world without enjoying your one great vice in life.”

My father looks away from me and mutters, “No...It’s yours now. All of it.”

This is not how I want it to end. I want him to have one last good memory.

My mother interrupts, “I’m hungry. What are we having for lunch?”

I try to keep my father focused on his bucket list. I’m hoping for just one last memory, “Whatever you want, Dad. My treat.”

He looks at me and says, “I want a Pink’s hot dog.”

My mother and I look at each other in shock. This request from a man who was obsessed with his blood pressure. A man who constantly avoided salt like it was Kryptonite to Superman was now requesting for one of the saltiest most nitrate rich foods in America.

“With mustard and relish.”

25 minutes later I returned home with three sodium bombs per his request. My father, who hadn’t eaten in three days, grabbed a hold of his hot dog, and ate the entire thing. My father, a man who did everything in his power to stave off death by cardiovascular disease to the point of obsession, was indulging in the one thing he avoided like the plague.

SALT.

As I sat on the couch and watched him eat his hot dog I could see the look on his face as he solemnly took each bite thinking, “What was the point of being so scared for all these years?” I took solace in the fact that for the first time in my life, I saw him as a person unafraid.

Later that day, a few of his closest friends came over to wish him well. I met them at the front door, “Hey, do me a favor. Can you see if you can make him agree to having one last glass of wine?”

It was a good idea.

HIs friends all walked in, paid their respects, and then peppered him with little hints like, “Hey, how about one last sip of wine before you go?”

My dad finally agreed.

“That fridge has the best stuff!” my dad shouted as he pointed to the fridge closest to the door.

I was not as knowledgable about fine wines as my dad and his friends were. That’s what Google is for.

I reached into the back of the fridge and found a bottle of Opus One from 1995.

This was $600 bottle of wine. It wasn’t his best but it it would do nicely.

The room let out an audible “oooooh” when I entered the room with the bottle.

His best wine glasses were brought out, we each poured a glass, and we toasted my father. We share stories about his life, he boasts to his friends about my accomplishments, and we are basking in a moment of complete harmony.

For this moment in time, I was his perfect Asian son.

He thoughtfully studied the peaks generated by the swirling of the wine on the edge of the glass

“It’s been a good life. No regrets.”

I was glad I could give him this.

This week I bought that house for my mom. I told my father this as I fulfilled his last dying wish while I held his hand.

“I’ve got you, Dad. You don’t have to be afraid.”

“I’ve got you.”

24 notes · View notes

jimmydemaret · 4 years ago

Text

STQ Women's Running Shoes Breathable Air Cushion Sneakers

STQ Women’s Running Shoes Breathable Air Cushion Sneakers

Custom Golf Shoes Pics. STQ Women’s Running Shoes Breathable Air Cushion Sneakers.

Golf Shoes Pics – Now Cheap Price [price_with_discount]

Discounted Golf Shoes Pics, STQ Women’s Running Shoes Breathable Air Cushion Sneakers.

USD$29.43

[ad_1]

STQ Women’s Running Shoes Breathable Air Cushion Sneakers

Available at Discount Price. STQ Women’s Running Shoes Breathable Air Cushion Sneakers

This…

View On WordPress

0 notes

eternalstann · 5 years ago

Text

Drunk

Summary: a very drunk Tom Holland spends his night making you laugh. You decide you can’t let him go home alone....

Paring: Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings: just swearing (for now👀)

“What’s the difference between the g-spot and a golf ball?” The brown haired boy you’d befriended asked and you try not giggle when you respond. “What’s the difference Tom?”

“A man will actually search for a golf ball!” He exclaims and you can’t help but laugh at the corny joke. You’re a little tipsy but you can tell he’s way farther gone than you are. “Do you play golf Tom?” You ask studying his face, you couldn’t stop looking at his eyes. His face was so familiar. “Yeah I love to golf!” He speaks loudly, trying to be heard over the music blaring through the club speakers. He cocks his head to side, “Do you golf?” And you shake your head. “No, I’ve never been golfing actually..” you tell him and he recoils in over exaggerated shock. “Y/N! You’ve never been golfing?” He booms, hand over his heart. “Nope, never” you smile at his antics.

“I’ll take you golfing one day, we can search for the ball...and I’ll search for your g-spot too” he slurs and now you’re really laughing. Your face heats up at his words, “You’re shit faced!” You pat him on the back. “Who did you come with?” You wonder out loud and he shrugs. “I came with my best mate Tuwaine, but he left with his girlfriend Audrey. He’s been trying to get her back for weeks” he spills. “So you’re here alone now?” You gather.

“Noooo, I’m here with you silly!” Your heart flutters in your chest. “I know, but how’re you gonna get home! What’s your address?” You ask, pulling out your phone to call him an Uber. You felt uneasy though, what if he got there and couldn’t find his keys? Or he fell down the stairs? You don’t know why you’re so concerned for this man you’ve known all of two hours. “Home? I don’t wanna go home. I wanna stay with you..” he whines and you bite your lip. “Let’s call Tuwaine” you suggest, ignoring his previous statement.

He sighs but does as you say. You both watch the phone ring before it goes to voicemail. “Tuwaine doesn’t love me” he pouts, looking up at you with puppy dog eyes. Should you send him home anyway? It just didn’t sit right with you. You take a deep breath, “Do you want to come home with me Tom? No funny business. I just wanna make sure you’re safe” you explain and his eyes light up. “A sleepover? With you, absolutely!” He stands up and you steady him when he wobbled on his feet a bit. You glance over at your friends, still dancing. They’d be good.

You pull out your phone with one hand and do your best to balance Tom with the other arm. He leans his head on top of yours, and you can’t help but giggle when he breathes in your hair. “Mmm you smell nice” he compliments. “Thank you Tom”

He boops your nose and you give him a funny look. “Sorry you have a cute nose” he blushes. “Thank you again” you reply, pulling him towards the door when you see your Uber is only three minutes away.

The whole car ride, Tom asks you questions. “Are you sure you don’t mind me staying with you?” - “Okay well then can I make you a late night snack; I’m quite the chef if I do say so myself” he boasts. “If you were sober I’d totally take you up on that, but I really like my apartment and I’d rather not see it burned down!” You laugh and he gives you a playful glare. “I’m not even that drunk” he argues as you both get out of the car. But the way he has to lean on you the whole way up, and the red flush to his skin tells you otherwise. “Mhmm sure you’re not” you roll your eyes.

You flick on the lights when you make it inside and Tom stands up straight to take it in. “Sorry it’s kind of messy, I’ve been working a lot” you explain, grabbing a plate off the coffee table and a hoodie off your couch. “I don’t mind, your apartment is just like you. Warm and Pretty” he grins and you shake your head. You seemed to be doing that a lot tonight.

“Are you hungry, or thirsty? You should probably drink some water...” you advise, watching him take off his shoes and then his shirt. “No food, I’d rather eat you” he wriggles his eyebrows and you give him a playful shove. If it were anyone else you’d feel uneasy, a strange drunk man in your living room in the middle of the night. But his vulgar flirty comments just make you feel all tingly. You trusted him, maybe you shouldn’t have, but you did.

You studied his broad shoulders, and the lines of his toned chest, then his that abs you followed downwards. You sigh, he was probably one of the most gorgeous men you’d ever seen. But he was horrendously drunk. “Not tonight” you whisper; “you can sleep in my bed, just try not to puke in it” you continue but Tom cuts you off. “No way! I’m not taking your bed, you’re too nice for even letting me be here. I’ll take the couch!” He declines, making himself comfortable on the plushy cushions. You decide to just let him be.

“Goodnight Tom” you call over your shoulder as you walk to your room, feeling his eyes burn holes in your back.

“Hey Y/N, you said not tonight. So another night?” He asks, peeking at you from over the sofa and it takes you a minute to realize what he’s talking about. You blush when you do.

“Maybe” you call back and hear him chuckle,

“I’ll take that”

———————————————

Part Two

ahhhh okay so this just part one. if y’all like it I’ll post part 2 tomorrow!! 👀 enjoy & hope you all are safe and happy! Love u allllll

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland preference #tom holland one shot #tom holland blurb #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom smut #spiderman #peter parker

532 notes · View notes

roxa-sos · 5 years ago

Text

princess - jj maybank

jj maybank x kook!reader

tw; verbal and physical abuse. bad dads >:(. sexual assault. drugs. rafe cameron lmao.

request; “Hey can you do a request where jj works for y/n’s kook family and one day he eves drops on how her dad is forcing her to date rafe for business. All rafe wants is sex and drugs and y/n doesn’t want any part of it. But her father yells and almost hits her. On her way out of the house to ask rafe to date she sees jj moving the lawn. They both kinda have a thing for eachother, they flirt. Jj asks what’s wrong and she vents about rafe and her uptight life. He invites her to join the pogues“

a/n -- this is my first non-anon lengthy request so i’m pouring my heart and soul into this :’) also this hits kind of close to home bc i have a shitty dad, so i’m basing y/n’s shitty kook dad off of my own shitty rich dad... enjoy :)

“morning, daddy.” you saw your dad standing next to the dining room table as you looked through the kitchen, trying to find something to eat. such a bougie lifestyle, yet you never really fit in.

that morning, you’d woken up to the noise of the kid that always mowed your lawn. god, he was loud, but he was good company when you shouted at him from your second story window. he was one of those kids your dad told you to stay away from. lowlives, whatever he felt like calling them. you could still hear the hum of the motor through the open windows as your dad started talking.

“good morning, baby.” he greeted you with about as much emotion as you gave him, setting his phone down on the table. “you know the camerons. yacht club friends, ward and i go for cigars and golf every few weekends?” your dad spoke about them as if they were rather obscure, but ward cameron owned the outer banks, so obviously you’d know the family whether you knew them personally or not.

you knew sarah cameron through school anyways. she was the kook queen. actually, you were both like kook royalty. your dad was loaded, her dad was loaded, therefore you had to get along with the camerons no matter what you wanted.

“yeah.” you didn’t feel like your dad deserved too much of an answer from you. you didn’t know where this was going, anyways. it always seemed like he wanted something from you, like that since you were his kid, you owed him something.

“and rafe, rafe cameron’s a good kid. nice and proper. he’s growing into good money. honest guy. your age.”

your dad even sounded slimy.

everything he said was wrong. rafe cameron was... chaos. rich, unchecked, powerful chaos. rafe cameron was mean and reckless.

but the change in your dad’s tone caught your attention. it made you turn to fully face him, abandoning the cereal that sat in the dumb plastic container that sat on the counter.

he wanted something from you. your dad was always convincing people - selling an idea to them before he’d even made an offer. that was the kind of guy he was. he was disgusting. and he was already asking you to do disgusting things.

“sure.” you didn’t feel like arguing with him either, though you could tell he was getting fed up with your improper responses. “do you want something from me?” you asked, leaning your hand on the counter. you and your dad had been on a good streak lately, no matter what you thought of him. you gave him the benefit of the doubt, maybe he was trying to be nice... or something. but you had to be straightforward to get anything from him.

“alright, let’s get down to it, then,” your dad chuckled, putting up his hands defensively as he crossed the kitchen to stand next to you. he sounded like he was socializing with one of his friends. “it’d be good for... the family, it’d be good if you and rafe got together. dated. good for us, the camerons, good for the outer banks.” he spoke with his hands, making broad gestures.

he could tell you didn’t like the idea as soon as your expression changed.

“hard pass, sorry daddy.” you laughed like he’d been joking himself. his expression changed to something darker, like he was frustrated.

“sorry, you must’ve misinterpreted me or something, y/n. you’re smarter than that. i’m not proposing this, i’m telling you to do this. you don’t know what’s good for you yet, you’ll understand.” he put his hands down like he’d just finished the conversation. he’d made the decision for you, he was done talking about it. but you weren’t.

“dad, he’s a sex obsessed drug addict who feels my friends and i up at parties topper holds. i’m not dating him.” you weren’t getting aggressive, but you weren’t about to drop this and give in to your dad’s wishes.

“shut - would you just shut up, y/n? he’s a respectable boy who you’d be lucky to have.” your dad made his argument again, raising his voice. he looked you up and down like you were something he was selling, but something he was disappointed in. your jean shorts and tube top obviously disappointed him, but that was your goal with the outfit anyway. pissing off your dad in a nonchalant way that he wouldn’t bring up unless you made him mad some other way.

“no? i won’t shut up, he’s-” you didn’t get a chance to finish before he started yelling.

“y/n, i’m not dealing with this disrespect right now. you’re being a crybaby, you’re going to go over to the cameron’s and you’re going to ask him to take you to the yacht club later. i’ve made myself clear.” his voice was booming and terrifying, and the only thing you could focus on.

“i’m not doing that, dad-” he never let you finish when you argued. you took a step towards him as he began to back away from you, not wanting that to be the end of the argument, but he grabbed your wrist and raised his free hand in a threatening manner.

“don’t make me do this, baby. i won’t forgive myself.” he didn’t sound like he would regret it, but you flinched. you were scared, like you always were.

you stayed quiet, and after a few seconds, he lowered his hand and let go of his death grip on your hand. “good.” he muttered, leaving the kitchen.

you felt like a coward, but you’d saved yourself from a black eye.

yet, you possibly signed up for many future injuries by obeying your father.

you figured you just needed to get it over with. abandoning whatever breakfast you’d planned on having, you headed to the foyer to put on your shoes and leave. knowing rafe cameron, he probably wasn’t even out of bed yet. you’d unfortunately catch him or one of his friends before you even left the neighborhood.

this couldn’t be that bad. it was... for the family.

you slid your feet into some sandals, and you couldn’t help but think about what you were heading towards. drugs. long nights. bruises. y/n cameron. your own father was having you do this, almost on free will.

opening the door, you looked across the lawn to the source of a noise you’d blocked out. you’d forgotten that one of the pogues was mowing your damn lawn.

he was blond. wearing some dumb surfer-dude snapback and cargo shorts. it looked like his shirt was tucked into his back pocket, and he was glistening with sweat. the lawnmower stopped humming when he saw you, and he raised his hand to wave.

you figured it couldn’t hurt to talk to him. just to delay the inevitable.

a few strides across the lawn and you were in front of him, and it looked like he had a dumb smile on his face.

“what’s wrong, princess?” he asked, leaning his forearms on the lawnmower. he used the name jokingly, and he’d been doing so ever since you met. he compared you to a princess locked in a tower - rapunzel. it was cheesy, but it didn’t take you long to realize that he wasn’t really wrong. “trouble in paradise?”

you scoffed, but a smile stayed on your face. this was dumb, he was dumb. but he was nice to talk to.

“rafe cameron is what’s wrong” you laughed, hearing his name come out of your own mouth stung.

jj grimaced, shaking his head. “ouch. rich boy causing problems? that’s news to me.”

“nice joke. funny.” you said sarcastically, rolling your eyes. he only knew the half of it. “no, actually, i’m on my way to ask him to... date, i guess. long term stuff. for the family, or whatever my dad was talking about.” you rambled a bit, half talking to yourself.

jj almost looked concerned, the smile barely fading from his face. you didn’t want to confide in him, but he seemed to welcome it.

“and, and i don’t want to,” you continued, shaking your head, “my dad’s just... he’s a scary guy. you know? i’ve been dealing with him for forever, but he’s just... terrifying when you don’t do what he wants you to. that’s why i live such a comfortable life, though, right? i should be thankful.” you laughed in a bittersweet manner, gesturing to your obnoxious house.

“that’s how things work around here, princess.” jj laughed, watching you look at the world the way he did.

“well, yeah. yeah, i know, but he’s making me go and... get with rafe cameron. rafe. cameron. rafe fucking cameron! isn’t that insane? and when i said no, he got all loud and he grabbed me and i almost made him hit me.” you unintentionally put the blame on yourself, rubbing your sore wrist.

jj’s eyebrows furrowed when you mentioned your dad getting a little physically violent with you.

“that’s... not cool.” he didn’t know what to say. he was nowhere near letting you in on some of the more personal parts of his life, but... he could... relate.

“no, no it’s not.” you agreed, taking a deep breath. god, you were almost crying. you didn’t even know when the tears had started threatening to come out. “it’s just... i’ve done everything. i’m, like, the perfect kook girl. i do everything he says. i’m nice to my mom. i take care of his stuff. i run with his people. you’d think he’d let me have a say in something like this.”

jj stayed quiet again, biting his lip.

“but no, no, i’m dumb for thinking like that. freedom is a privilege i don’t have. i’m a rich girl in a cage.” you nodded, laughing a little more. you sounded so sad - like, you didn’t know why you were complaining.

“you should meet my friends.” jj suggested, shrugging like it was a random idea he threw out there. “we aren’t into drugs. well, okay, that’s a lie, our livers are all probably shot and i’m a pothead, but we��re nice.” he joked, rambling a little himself.

he couldn’t save you, but he could sure as hell make things a little better.

“boat rides. fishing. the marsh. not a yacht and definitely not a yacht club, but i like to think we’re a little cooler.” jj kept going, waiting for your answer.

“yeah. sure, why not?” you didn’t have to be the perfect daughter. especially when you were being treated like shit by the people you gave everything to.

you could... probably take a few beatings. it was worth a good time, though.

“good to know. we’ll swing by tomorrow morning, unless you want to get out of here asap?” he suggested, looking at the rest of the lawn he had to mow. he’d be screwed if he didn’t wrap it up, but he seemed to think he had his priorities in order.

“as soon as possible, please.” you admitted, watching him push the lawn mower next to your house, just out of view.

“alright, princess. let’s get you out of here.”

a/n -- psa i love jj. in case u didn’t already know. send me more requests :’)

314 notes · View notes

cali-holland · 5 years ago

Text

Heartbreak Weather, Part One- T. H.

Pairing: Tom Holland X Horan!Reader

Prompt: After going through a rough breakup, you lose all hope in love, but your brother Niall Horan insists on getting you back into the world. When you meet his friend Tom Holland, you start to think that maybe your life isn’t just heartbreak weather.

Word Count: 4000

Featured Songs (All by Niall Horan): Heartbreak Weather - Nice to Meet Ya - Dear Patience - No Judgment

Previous Part: Teaser

Masterlist Tom Holland Masterlist

*Gif is not mine*

~~~

MARCH 2018

“God damn it, let go of the ice cream.” Your older brother huffed, attempting to take the cold dessert from you

“No, leave me alone.” You pouted, refusing to move from your position on the couch.

“You need to get up and off this couch. Come with me to the gala- you already have a dress and everything.” Niall sighed a breath of relief as he finally wrestled the pint of ice cream from your arms.

“I don’t want to go. Leave me to wallow in my own pity.” You groaned, pulling your blanket up over your head.

Just three days ago, you were excited for your older brother to come to London and spend a few weeks with you. You were at school in the bustling English city, and he was usually very busy. Luckily for the two of you, his charity gala for golf lined up perfectly with a break in school; and he invited you to go along with him. You were so eager for that event, and he’s right- you did have everything ready for it, including a red dress you were in love with.

Your mood changed completely when you discovered your boyfriend of two years had been cheating on you for over six months with his best friend. Niall’s arrival coincided with the downfall of your relationship. And now, you had no motivation to get off the couch; you simply wanted to be sucked into a void of sad dog movies and ice cream.

“No, you are coming with me to that gala. Think about it- you dumped Eric’s sorry ass and now you’re going to an event that will be flooded with paparazzi. Show him what he’s missing.” Niall said.

“As my brother, I don’t think you’re supposed to say that. I think you’re supposed to be over at his place, beating him the hell up.”

“Oh, trust me, if it was legal, I’d beat the shit out of him.” He stated. “Please, will you come?”

“Fine, but I’m going straight back to this state once it’s all over with.” You replied. You rolled your eyes while he cheered. You stood from the couch and headed to your room to get ready. Niall let out a sigh as he heard you begin to play Sam Smith over the speakers.

“As if she wasn’t sad enough.” He shook his head, before going to your guest room to get ready himself.

~~~

The gala was being held at a fancy hotel in central London, and you felt nerves overcome you as the car came to a stop outside of the entrance. The paparazzi lined the carpet and the fans lined the paparazzi.

“Can I go home yet?” You asked, and Niall gave your hand a quick squeeze.

“Come on, you’ll kill it out there.” He smiled. The car door opened and Niall stepped out with you following along behind him. You two stopped and posed for pictures on the carpet, before you stepped aside to let Niall have his moment.

Making your way inside, you took in the beauty of the ballroom- it definitely looked like a gala rather than a glorified hotel room. Bruno Mars’ Just the Way You Are sounded over the speakers, and you couldn’t help, but feel a sting in your heart. This was your song with your ex; and it still hurt to think about it. Your smile began to drop as you scanned the room, wondering if Niall had made it in through another entrance. Your eyes fell upon a brunette boy across the room. Almost instantly, his brown eyes found yours and he smiled. You felt your lips curve into a genuine smile back at the stranger. Something about him felt familiar to you, but between the crowded room and the surprisingly bad lighting, you couldn’t place him.

“Y/N,” Niall’s voice caught your attention, pulling you away from the stranger’s captivating stare. “Come on, we gotta get seated.” He led you over to your table, which had name cards placed on them.

“Who are we sitting with?” You asked, wondering if he would know, as you two sat down.

“My buddy, Tom, should be with us.” Niall stated.

“Tom as in-” Before you could finish your question, a loud British voice sounded from behind the two of you.

“Niall! It’s been ages!” The voice exclaimed, pulling your brother into a hug. As Niall pulled away, you felt your eyes widen with surprise as you were met with the face of Tom Holland in front of you- a.k.a. the brunette stranger from not even five minutes ago.

“Tom! How have you been?” Niall smiled.

“I’ve been great. I’ve been here for a few weeks, but I go back to filming in a couple days.” He replied, just as cheery.

“I’m on a break right now. We gotta get together before you leave and play a few rounds.” Your brother eagerly replied, “There’s this great golf course by Y/N’s place.” Niall caught himself as he looked down to you awkwardly sitting there at the table.

“Hi, I’m Tom.” Tom smiled, holding out a hand for you to shake.

“Y/N, Niall’s sister. The one that lives near a golf course apparently.” You joked, shaking his hand. Niall sat down and Tom took the seat beside you, effectively trapping you between the two.

“Y/N, do you still play?” Niall asked you.

“Not often, but I bet I can still beat you.”

“Really? You’re even better than Niall?” Tom inquired.

“Surprised I’m better than him?”

“Considering he’s the only person who’s beaten me every single time, I’d say I’m more intrigued and intimidated.”

“I’ll come play some holes with you two, then we’ll see.” You laughed.

The gala’s host made his way onto the stage and the three of you fell into a comfortable silence with the rest of the audience. Dinner was served shortly afterwards and there was a flow of conversation between the three of you.

“Oh, there’s Rory. I need to go say hi.” Niall stood up, once he finished his meal and spotted his friend at another table. He immediately went over to Rory, striking up a conversation with him.

“He’s such a social butterfly. Everywhere he goes, he knows someone.” You laughed, shaking your head at him.

“I bet the fans get crazy with him, don’t they?” Tom asked.

“Ni gets spotted a lot less now that he’s got his brunette hair back. I’ve always liked it better natural than blond.” You stated. Before Tom could speak up again, you got a text notification. Though the contact was missing you knew exactly who it was, sending you a ‘I screwed up. Please, let’s work this out’ text.

“Uh, sorry, I just- I have to go.” You said, standing up from the table and avoiding looking at Tom. This whole night, you hadn’t thought about your ex at all; you were so captivated by Tom.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” Tom asked, standing as well.

“Nothing, I just can’t be here right now.” You replied as your voice cracked through your words. With phone and purse in hand, you rushed out to the empty hallway and sat against the wall, letting your tears freely flow. You were crying so hard that you barely registered Tom sitting beside you and putting an arm over your shoulders to comfort you. As you steadied your sobs, you began to speak.

“Have you ever felt like your whole life’s been heartbreak after heartbreak; it’s always heartbreak weather at this point. I dated my ex for two years, and he cheated on me for months. And now he wants to get back together?”

“I’m sorry.” Tom said, “If he’s stupid enough to cheat on you, then he doesn’t deserve you. You’re incredible, and that’s coming from someone who’s only known you a few hours.”

“I’ve spent every day of the past two years devoted to him, and now I have nothing. I wasted so much time on him. I should’ve known he wasn’t the one. Niall warned me all that time ago that he wasn’t good enough.” Your voice was soft as you spoke. “I’m sorry you have to see me like this.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ve all been through this before.” Tom paused, thinking of how to lighten the mood, “Do you want to get out of here? We can go get some real food- this vegetarian stuff isn’t cutting it for me.”

“I look like shit now.” You said, wiping under your eyes in an attempt to fix your mascara that was bound to be all over your face.

“You look amazing. Come on,” Tom stood up and held out a hand out to you. You took it and he helped you stand.

“I don’t want to confront Niall, not now. I’ll just text him.” You stated.

“Just make sure he knows you’re safe.” He replied, leading you out the back exit as he called for his car. You pulled out your phone and texted Niall: ‘Went to go get actual dinner with Tom. I’ll see you tonight’.

You and Tom got dinner from a drive through and ended up taking it back to your place. Your shoes were both abandoned by the door, and Tom’s jacket laid on the back of a chair with his tie hanging loosely from his neck. He rolled up the white sleeves of his suit, giving him better access to chicken wings.

“This has got to be the best post-gala idea.” Tom laughed, taking a bite of the chicken wing, trying his best not to make a mess as you did the same.

“Absolutely.” You agreed. “I should have probably changed out of this dress though.”

“At least it’s red?” He offered.

“That does nothing to hide a chicken wing stain.” You teased.

“Just trying to be helpful.” He laughed.

After you finished up eating, Tom searched for something on Netflix while you changed into more comfortable clothes- a tight fighting dress was not the move for a night in.

“Do you want to watch anything specifically?” Tom called out to you from the living as you made your way into the kitchen, in search of some wine.

“How about a comedy?” You replied, “Do you want some wine?”

“Sure.” You grabbed two glasses and an unopened bottle, taking them into the other room. You set them on the coffee table and took a seat beside Tom on the couch.

“The Hangover?” Tom asked, and you let out a laugh, pouring out the wine.

“I love that movie.” You said, handing him a glass as he hit play.

“I’m not normally a big wine guy, but this is good.” He stated, surprised after the first sip.

“My ex may be a shithead, but he’s got great taste in wine. This was one of his most expensive bottles. I took this from his place about a week ago.”

“Damn, you might as well take his wine.” Tom joked. “I wouldn’t have expected you to like wine.”

“What did you expect me to like? Beer like Niall?”

“Yeah, actually.” He laughed.

“Don’t worry, I can hold my own with beer as well.”

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence as the movie played. At some point during the film, you shifted and placed your head on his shoulder, leaning into him. It didn’t take long for you to drift off to sleep.

You began to wake up when you heard a door shutting, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move, too content with your peaceful sleep. You were only vaguely aware of two voices.

“Tom, you’re still here?” Niall asked, his voice at a regular volume.

“She’s sleeping.” Tom replied in a hushed tone.

“Oh,” He said, recognition coming over him as he saw your position. He glanced over and saw the wine, knowing exactly how you ended up in there.

“Yeah, we got dinner and watched the Hangover.” Tom explained quietly.

“Here, I’ll take her to her room.” Niall moved over towards you in an attempt to free Tom from his position.

“I’m up now, you dickheads.” You mumbled, keeping your eyes closed.

“You gotta get up or else Tom can’t move.” Your brother stated. You let out a groan before opening your eyes. Your eyes widened in confusion as you realized your head was fully on Tom’s lap, not at all on his shoulder like you last remembered.

“My bad.” You said, sitting up and giving Tom the opportunity to move freely once again.

“You’re fine, love.” Tom replied with a smile.

“Well, I’m going to get a shower. I kind of got champagne all over me.” Niall laughed, before heading off to the guest room.

“How long was I out?” You asked, slowly standing from the couch to clear the wine bottle and glasses from the table.

“I don’t know. I think the movie finished a couple hours ago?” Tom replied.

“A couple hours? Tom, you could have woken me up.” You said.

“You just looked so peaceful, like you really needed the sleep. I didn’t want to disturb you. When the movie finished, I moved your head so your neck wouldn’t be sore.” He explained. His words just about made you blush, thinking that he spent his whole night caring about your wellbeing.

“You’re sweet, you know that?” You smiled, leading him to the front door.

“Thank you for everything, Tom. I had a great night.” You admitted as you walked him to his car.

“I had a great time too.” He replied.

“Good night, Tom.” You said, stepping away from him.

“Good night, Y/N.” Tom got into his car as you walked back inside your apartment.

“So, you and Tom, huh?” Niall asked the moment you got inside, his hair still wet from his shower.

“Piss off.” You shook your head at him and ducked into your room. That night, you drifted off to sleep with thoughts of the next time you’d see Tom floating around in your head.

~~~

The next day, you woke up to the smell of Niall making breakfast. Sure, he could easily get his own place in London, but him staying at your place meant you two got to see each other more. By the time you made your way to the kitchen, he was already eating his portion and drinking his morning cup of coffee.

“Morning.” You smiled, helping yourself to the rest of the food.

“Did you sleep well?” Niall asked almost teasingly.

“Yeah actually. Best night’s sleep I’ve gotten in a while.” You replied, avoiding eye contact with him, knowing exactly where he was going.

“Wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain British lad now, would it?”

“I don’t know. Did Louis say something?” You teased back, sitting down at the table across from him. He rolled his eyes and playfully scoffed.

“Well, if it has nothing to do with Tom, then good.” Niall stated as you began to eat your breakfast.

“Good?”

“I wouldn’t want it to be awkward or anything. We’re going golfing today, and you’re coming with us.” He smiled before clearing his plate of food.

“I’m sorry, what?” You laughed awkwardly because yes, it would be strange having to see Tom again so soon.

“Golf. Eleven o’clock.” Niall clarified, before getting up from the table and clearing away his dishes.

“What if I don’t want to go golfing?” You asked.

“Oh come on, like you’d want to pass up the opportunity to beat me.”

He left the room in silence, leaving you to finish eating alone. You sighed, picking up your phone to flick through Instagram while you ate. Like every other day, you had to go through your follow requests. Being the younger sister of Niall Horan meant that a lot of fans tried following you for the past several years, but you wanted to maintain some privacy and kept your page hidden from the public. The fans still attempted to follow you though; you couldn’t exactly tell your brother he couldn’t follow you, and so they easily found it.

You paused your scrolling when you saw a verified mark. The little notification read, “tomholland2013 wants to follow you”. You let out a small laugh before accepting it and following him back- another one of your Instagram habits, you didn’t follow many celebrities besides the One Direction boys. You finished your scrolling and then went through the rest of your morning routine of checking out new posts and viewing stories. As you went to view the new stories, you saw Tom had just posted one. When you clicked on it, you didn’t think you’d be so surprised by it, but boy, were you surprised.

You weren’t sure what kind of stories Tom posted, but you definitely felt like a shirtless, sweaty gym video was an unusual story for him. You laughed, shaking your head. Sure, you had heard about the actor being incredibly ripped, but you never really thought about it in detail. And after that video, you were sure you would think about his muscles a lot more.

You decided that was enough of Instagram for now- you didn’t want to stumble into anymore thirst traps right then. Besides, it was time to get ready for golf with Niall and Tom.

A few hours later, you and Niall pulled up to a golf course on the outskirts of town, and you met Tom inside with his own set of clubs. You couldn’t help but blush when you saw him in his tight polo, especially now that you know exactly what his abs look like under there. He greeted you and Niall with a smile, and you tried to ignore the fact that his stare lingered on you.

“Who’s ready to play?” Niall asked, pulling you away from your thoughts as the three of you headed over to the golf carts.

“Are you ready to lose?” You quipped back, making Tom laugh as you all placed your clubs in the backseat of the cart.

“When’s the last time you played?” Your brother questioned.

“Like a year ago.” You replied.

“I might put my money on Niall winning then.” Tom joked, “He’s been playing weekly.”

“Hey, I had to practice weekly so I could beat Y/N next time we play together.” Niall stated.

“Just sounds like you’ve got no life.” You teased.

As expected, you won the overall game as Niall placed second behind you. He swore that you were cheating somehow. The three of you decided to go down to a nearby pub for lunch, and, also as expected, your brother ran off to the bar for drinks, leaving you and Tom alone.

“So, I see you found me on Instagram.” You said, teasingly, “How long did it take for you to try to find me?”

“Took me longer to decide if I wanted to actually request you or not.” Tom laughed, “I didn’t want to come off creepy, especially because your account is private.”

“It wasn’t creepy.” You laughed as well, “I have to say though, the gym video was a nice touch. A minute after I followed you too.”

“That happened to just be a coincidence.” He said as he began to actually blush at the call-out.

“Oh, I bet it was.” You teased.

“Is there any way I can get your number? I leave tomorrow for filming, but I’d like to stay in touch with you.” Tom asked, his voice sounded nervous. You were a bit surprised by his forwardness, but you already knew your answer.

“Yeah,” You replied and both of you reached to take out your phones. Swapping phones, you both added your numbers. You smiled, seeing his lock screen- a picture of a dog. You asked, “Is this your dog?”

“That’s my Tessa. She’s such a sweetheart.” Tom said, smiling as he looked at the picture fondly.

“She’s adorable.”

“Maybe you can meet her one day. She loves meeting new people.” Before you could even try to reply, Niall came back, pulling the two of you back into reality.

“I forgot I was driving.” Niall told you sheepishly and you laughed.

“I can drive, don’t worry.” You laughed.

You two parted ways from Tom, wishing him a safe journey to the states. The car was filled with a strange silence between you and your brother until he finally spoke up.

“Am I allowed to ask about you and Tom again?” Niall asked anyway.

“I gave him my number, but we’re just friends.” You said with a small sigh. “I dated Eric for two years. Up until last week, I thought he was the one, but then he broke my heart. He was unfaithful to me for months and-”

“Tom’s not Eric.” Niall spoke up calmly, “I know you’re afraid of rushing into things with Tom, and that’s fine- take it slow and be patient. You don’t even need to date him. I know Tom though, and he would never do to you what Eric did to you. Tom’s a good man. I never liked Eric; there was always something wrong about it. I thought he was using you to get to me sometimes-”

“Way to sound vain.” You quipped.

“My point is,” He emphasized, “I don’t let just any of my guy friends hang out with my baby sister, and I especially don’t leave you in social situations with them. Eric was a dick. I know you’re probably worried that the whole distance thing won’t work with Tom; maybe it will, maybe it won’t, I don’t know.” “Where are you going with this?” You sighed as you pulled up to your place, parking the car.

“What I’m trying to say is just give Tom a chance. Be friends with him, get to know him, maybe date him. Just don’t shut him out because of what Eric did. Don’t let Eric have that power over your life anymore. Don’t let him make you scared of dating or of even being friends with a guy. Alright?” Niall asked.

“Yeah, I get it. Thanks for the whole pep talk.” You said, getting out of the car with Niall right behind you.

“Besides, if you two date and he breaks your heart, then I’ll go beat him up for you. The press will love that one.”

“Oh yippee.” You playfully rolled your eyes at his antics. As awful as his pep talk was, he was right overall- you couldn’t let your past with Eric dictate your future with Tom. You were headed for some sunny skies, away from the heartbreak weather that clouded your past.

~~~

Part Two Part Three Part Four

#tom holland #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fic #tom holland series #niall horan #heartbreak weather

237 notes · View notes

maluminspace · 4 years ago

Text

Genre: Fluff

Pairings: Calum Hood/Michael Clifford/Female Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Content: Calum and reader take Michael on a cute little first date, lots of fluff, kisses and cuddles, a few sexual references.

Trigger warnings: Strong language, alcohol, references to sexual activity

A/N: This is my contribution to the August/September 5sos fic writers collab. This time we decided to exchange gifts and I had the pleasure of writing for the lovely @malumsmermaid! I hope you enjoy this, Lauren, your whole form was an absolute treat, I could have written everything on it tbh! <3

Thank you @h0tsos and @mermaidcashton for helping me as always!

The carpark outside the amusement complex seems about as busy as you’d expect it to be on a Friday evening.

As Calum pulls the car into a parking space as near to the entrance as possible, you check your reflection in your little compact mirror, trying to ignore the nervous butterflies in your tummy.

“You look gorgeous, angel.” Calum smiles encouragingly, turning off the car and unfastening his seatbelt. “And you know Michael will think so too, most of his messages include some comment about how beautiful you are.”

You shove your compact back into your handbag and turn to face your boyfriend. He looks as flawless as ever, the dying sunlight casting his handsome face in a golden glow. Most people would have taken his comment as an admission of jealousy but you know him too well for that. He’s not envious of Michael complimenting you, in fact he actively encourages it. Your boyfriend’s only insecurity is that your date might like you a little bit more than he likes Calum. Something that you find very hard to believe.

“He’s always raving about how gorgeous you are too, Calum.” You reply seriously. “There’s no way he’d have agreed to this date if he wasn’t attracted to both of us.”

“You really think so?” Calum asks, a rare bashfulness present in his expression as he searches your face for a sign that you might be lying just to make him feel better.

Nodding sincerely you reach out to take his hand. “Michael definitely seems to like a man who knows what he wants, doesn’t he?” You prompt, tilting your head questioningly. “Besides, how could anyone not think you were hot, Cal? Have you even looked in a mirror lately? You look more like an underwear model everyday.”

Calum laughs, a light blush rising his cheeks. “Shut up… I do not!”

“Are you challenging me, Hood?” You ask, “Because we both know how that ended up last time.”

There’s no way that Calum can argue with you. Last time he’d denied how good he looked, he’d ended up pressed against the stall in the bathroom of a bar, fighting to keep his moans to a minimum as you sucked the life out of him. He seems to get lost in the memory for a moment but you snapped him out of it with a brief kiss to his cheek. “Come on, we can’t keep our date waiting!”

Calum nods giving your hand one last squeeze before he gets out of the car.

Your nerves only seem to multiply as you join Calum outside, taking his hand again and leading the way into the amusement complex. It’s not the sort of place you and Calum visit all that often. You’d been to the Cinema here a few times but according to the sign at the entrance, there was also an amusement arcade, mini golf center, and an escape room attraction in addition to the bowling alley that you knew about already, because that’s where your date worked.

You’d found that little piece of information out when you’d first started talking to Michael a few weeks back. He’d nervously reached out to you and Calum when he’d joined the online ghost hunting forum that the two of you ran. After a couple of days of small talk, the messages had become a little bit flirty and Calum had suggested moving your conversation over to Whatsapp instead.

Despite being a bit nervous at first, Michael never seemed to be lost for words and he wasn’t completely hopeless at flirting either. He’d quickly integrated into your life and you’d found yourself discussing him with Calum in increasingly sexual and even romantic ways. After a while it seemed inevitable that you needed to meet him in person and see if this online ‘thing’ had any substance in the real world.

When you’d suggested meeting up for dinner, Michael had seemed incredibly excited, suggesting that you meet him after his shift at work so that the three of you could grab something to eat at his favourite burger place.

Heading into the building, you stuck close to Calum, trying to focus on your excitement rather than your nerves.

On the surface, Calum looks cool as a cucumber, slinging his arm casually around your shoulder as he glances around, taking in his surroundings. Underneath that calm exterior, though, you know that he’s a whirlwind of emotions, just like you.

You reach the amusement arcade first. It’s fairly busy, little clusters of families and groups of friends gathered around the various gaming machines. Their laughter and excited chatter brings a smile to your face. This sort of environment reminds you so much of the early days of your relationship with Calum, when he’d try to impress you by winning hundreds of tickets on the games or getting you a cuddly toy from the grabber machines.

Calum seems to have the same thought as his gaze drifts to the basketball game. “Remember how good I used to be at that?” He asks, smiling wistfully.

You nod. “You used to win so many tickets on that game.”

Your boyfriend’s gentle smile morphs into something a little more flirtatious as an idea occurs to him. “Maybe I should try and impress Michael with my skills… do you think he likes cuddly toys?”

“Who doesn’t?” You counter with a small giggle. “But if we don’t hurry up we won’t get a chance to impress him, he’ll think we’ve stood him up.”

Calum pulls you into further into his side as he quickens his pace, following the arrows on the overhead signs to the bowling alley. Not that it’s necessary, really, given that the unmistakable sounds of heavy bowling balls rolling over polished wooden floors and the clattering of plastic pins is loud enough to be heard over the beeping and blooping of the arcade games.

As the bowling alley looms in front of you, your eyes are drawn immediately to the welcome desk. There’s a young lady currently spraying deodorizer into a couple of pairs of the bowling shoes but Michael is nowhere to be seen.

“Hi there!” The girl smiles brightly, storing the shoes back on the rack behind the counter. “Is it just a lane for two, or are you part of a bigger group?” She asks, her brown eyes glinting prettily in the dim light.

“Oh, we're not here to play, sorry.” Calum replies nervously. “We’re just meeting someone here…”

“Oh my god! You must be Michael’s dates!” The girl exclaims, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet. “He hasn’t stopped talking about you all day!”

The news that Michael has told his work friend about you helps ease your nerves a little bit. It confirms that he’s excited for the date at least.

“Really?” Calum chuckles, “we can’t wait to meet him in person…”

The girl leans over the counter, beckoning you both closer that she can talk in a lower voice. “He’s a bit of a dork and he’s really nervous, so please go easy on him!”

You nod, knowingly. “Yeah we gathered about the dork thing.”

“And we'll take care of him, we promise, won’t we babe?” Calum adds, squeezing your arm gently.”

“Of course!” You confirm. “He’s not the only nervous one, though.. we’ve never done anything like this before, either.”

The girl simply grinned. “Well, you’ve picked a good guy, I really hope tonight goes well, what’re your plans?”

Before you can reply, someone interjects. “You better not be ruining my good name, over there, Jas…”

You glance up to see Michael hovering awkwardly at the other end of the counter.

“Would I ever do such a thing?” Jasmine gasps dramatically. “I’m just making sure your cute dates know what they’ve let themselves in for, that’s all.” She aims a quick wink at you and Calum before heading over to tidy up the desk space around the computer.

“I promise I’m not as nerdy as Jasmine has probably tried to make you believe I am.” Michael chuckles, stepping a bit closer to you.

He looks even more beautiful in real life than he does in his photos. His green eyes have such depth to them, that you swear you could get totally lost in them for hours. His fluffy blonde hair is just begging for your fingers to be run through it and you can’t help but let your eyes drift over his simple, yet attractive outfit. The plain black button-up (done all the way up to his neck, unlike Calum’s…) and his black skinny jeans compliment his body perfectly.

“She didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know, dork.” Calum smirks playfully.

Michael blushes and curls in on himself a little, so you take the initiative to move the conversation on. “That doesn’t stop you from looking gorgeous, though!” You try, tentatively reaching out to touch his arm. “It’s nice to see that someone knows how to wear a shirt without flashing his nips at everyone.”

Calum huffs in mock offence at your comment, but Michael chuckles, his eyes lighting up gleefully with the gesture.

“Hey!” Calum grumbles jokingly. “Everyone loves seeing a bit of nipple now and again.”

“I agree, I think hot guys should always have their nipples out.” Jasmine interjects.

You notice the way that Michael bites his bottom lip as his eyes travel down Calum’s chest. “Yeah hot guys, definitely should…” he agrees quietly, as though he’s talking more to himself than anyone else.

“Well maybe after a few drinks we can get a few of your buttons open.” Calum smirks, reaching out his hand to stroke Michael’s arm, just like you had a moment ago.

Michael melts at the suggestion, his eyes burning into Calum’s as he swallows thickly. You know exactly how he’s feeling, you’ve been subject to Calum’s effortless flirting countless times. Your boyfriend is just a master at making people feel relaxed and incredibly wanted at the same time.

“Well I don’t know about that…” the blonde replies, his cheeks reddening under Calum’s gaze.

Despite his online flirting, you’re not entirely sure that Calum’s full-on approach is the best way to win Michael over. Making an executive decision, you interject, breaking the silence that’s descended over the three of you. “Trust Calum to start talking about your nipples before he’s even brought you dinner!” You giggle.

“Hey, you were the one that brought up the nipple conversation!” Calum argues, shooting you a smirk before turning his attention back to Michael “don’t let her convince you that she's innocent, Mikey. She’s far from it, I promise!”

Michael’s blush deepens a little further at the fond shortening of his name and the insinuation that you have a mischievous side. Knowing that Calum could easily turn this conversation into something far too cheeky for such an early point in the date, you decide to try and navigate a safer topic once again. “Stop traumatising the poor guy, Calum.” You sigh. “Are you going to take us for dinner before Christmas or…”

Calum’s smirk stays firmly on his face as he nods. “Sure, if Mikey’s ready to eat?”

Still looking a little shy, Michael scratched the back of his neck. “Sure, unless you guys fancy a game or two of bowling first?” He asks. “Because, y’know, I don’t have to pay or anything…”

Despite looking a little embarrassed about his suggestion, he also sounds somewhat proud of the fact he can show off something to them.

“Sounds like fun.” You reply, hoping to bolster his confidence a bit. “Although I think it’ll be a very unfair game! You probably get to practice a lot.”

Michael shrugs, “not a lot…”

“It doesn’t matter how much he practices, angel.” Calum smirks. “I’ll still beat both your asses.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that, Mr!” You giggle, slapping Calum’s arm playfully. “Let’s team up against him, Mikey babe, and show him how it’s done!”

Michael’s expression brightens at your use of the combination of his shortened name and the pet name Calum had used for him earlier. “You want to team up with me?” He asks, as though the news is somewhat of a shock. “I just thought…”

“Well if Mr I’ll-beat-both-your-asses wants to prove himself, we should teach him a lesson, shouldn’t we?” You giggle, gaining a little self confidence as you take his hand. “Let’s knock him down a peg or two, huh?”

Michael nods, closing his fingers around yours as he glances at Calum to make sure he’s not overstepping any boundaries.

“Well it’d make a change for you to knock something down, because you certainly never hit many pins….” Your boyfriend teases before squeezing Michael’s arm affectionately. “I hope you know what you’re letting yourself in for, teaming up with this one.”

“It’s just nice to be able to bowl with someone other than my dumb friend, Luke, to be honest.” Michael admits. “He’s a great guy but he’s clumsy as hell and he has the attention span of a gnat.”

“Sounds like he’d get on perfectly with Calum, then.” You smirk.

***

Once you’ve all changed into bowling shoes, Jasmine allocates you a lane and wishes you luck. You don’t miss the little wink and thumbs up she gives to Michael before she returns to tidying up the shoe rack.

“Lane 5 is my lucky lane.” Michael announces, the hint of pride that he’d had in his voice when he told you he didn’t have to pay to bowl here, is back and you find it utterly adorable. “So it looks like we have a fighting chance of beating you after all…” He adds, turning to face Calum as he picks up a bowling ball in each hand from the rack.

“I hope you’re right, babe.” Calum grins. “It’s been ages since i’ve had some decent competition!” He aims a knowing nod at you along with a raised eyebrow.

“Hey!” You protest. “I’ve beaten you plenty of times.”

Shaking his head, Calum insists that you’re terrible at most things that could be described as a sport, no matter how loosely the activity might qualify.

“That’s so rude.” You huff playfully, linking your arm through Michael’s. “Come on Mikey, let’s beat his ass…”

Michael giggled excitedly. “I’m up for that bet.”

“Well I hope all your practice pays off, because the losers are buying nachos…” Calum winks at you both.

Before you Michael can reply, a thoughtful expression takes over your boyfriend’s face. “Unless you get those for free as well, Mikey?” He adds, “In which case we need a new bet…”

“I get them half price…” Michael laughs, the adorable sound making your heart melt a bit in your chest.

“We can get nachos next time anyway!” You interrupt, “I don’t want to ruin the nice meal you’re gonna buy for use later, Cal.”

Calum opens his mouth to respond but Michael interjects. “Yeah about that…”

For a moment you’re terrified that Michael is having second thoughts about the date. It’s obvious by the nervous look on his face that Calum shares your concerns.

Michael scratches the back of his neck anxiously. “I feel like I should be the one to buy dinner for you guys. I’m the one who should be romancing you both and stuff…”

Relief floods through you at Michael’s words, knowing that was his biggest concern about the night meant that you didn’t have to worry about him backing out. You have a whole speech ready about how Calum loves to be the one that treats his lovers to meals and gifts. It’s all part of how he shows his affections. You never get to say any of it, though.

Calum steps forward, cupping Michael’s cheek gently. “We’re the ones that asked you out, Mikey.” He smiles softly. “Let us take care of you and pay for the meal tonight, okay?”

Michael sort of melts under Calum’s gaze as he nods. You know from experience that when Calum turns on the charm like that, there’s no choice but to agree with whatever he’s saying. “As long as you’re sure?” The blonde replies, his eyes never leaving Calum’s.

“I’m sure, babe.” Calum insists, still holding Michael’s gaze effortlessly. “Hey, angel.” He adds to you without looking away, seemingly engrossed in Michael. “Would you be really mad if I stole the first kiss with our date.”

“Not if I get one right after!” You grin, stepping a little closer to the two men.

You can tell that Michael’s heart is pounding, that slight fear and panic that always engulfs you in the seconds before a first kiss with someone new, is painted all over the blonde’s pretty face. In an attempt to calm him and simultaneously feel more involved in the moment, you take Michael’s hand. He spares you a quick glance before Calum gently commands his attention once more.

“Are you happy with that, baby?” Calum asks, glancing down at Michael’s lips as he spoke. “We don’t want you to feel like you’re being passed around or anything.”

A tiny glint appears in Michael’s eyes that suggests he probably quite likes the sound of that actually. You make a mental note of that for when things hopefully do take a sexy turn a little further down the line. There’s no rush, though. Right now you're just excited to see Calum kiss your new date and then kiss him yourself.

“I’m more than happy with that.” Michael confirms, leaning ever-so-slightly closer to Calum. “I’ve thought about it a lot actually.”

Seemingly satisfied that he’s not pushing too hard, Calum pulls Michael’s face closer to his own until their lips meet. It looks like a soft and gentle gesture, their movements sort of hesitant, neither man wanting to come across as too pushy or eager.

It was strange that you’d been a bit worried about this moment on the run up to your date with Michael. Despite your attraction to the blonde, you’ve always had somewhat of a jealous streak and you’d been concerned that it’d rear its ugly head when Calum started showing Michael some romantic or sexual attention. However, now that it’s happening right in front of your eyes, the only thing you actually feel is excitement. It’s almost as though this moment marks the very start of a new chapter of your life, and it’s not nearly as scary as you thought it might be.

Watching Michael melt into Calum just makes you want to take them both home and explore this new thing alone with them. You know that it’s important not to rush, so you push those thoughts away for the time being, focusing on enjoying the moment.

When they finally pull apart, you waste no time in sidling between them, wrapping your arms around Michael’s neck. He looked even cuter up close; his eyes were such a pretty shade of green, you felt like you could lose yourself in them and if his lips feel as soft as they look, you don’t think you’ll ever want to stop kissing them.

Despite having just done this with Calum, Michael seems a bit nervous. The corners of lips twitch into a hesitant smile as he leans forward a little clumsily. You giggle softly, tilting your head a bit to make the angle easier.

Michael connects the kiss, his movements gentle and slow, giving you every opportunity to back out if you wanted to. That’s the very last thing on your mind, though. Michael’s lips feel every bit as heavenly as you’d imagined. You never thought that anyone could make your knees weak just with a simple kiss like Calum could, it seems you‘d been very much mistaken.

“God, you two are beautiful.” Calum whispers, his hand resting on your lower back as he hovers closeby.

A tiny hum escapes Michael, it’s almost a moan but he seems to catch himself before it quite develops into one.

You swallow it eagerly, sliding your tongue over Michael’s bottom lip to deepen the kiss.

“Looks like my angel loves kissing you as much as I do, baby.” Calum whispers, just loud enough for you and Michael to hear over the background noise.

The blonde man looks slightly dopey as he finally pulls away for air. “You’re both…” He breathes, seemingly trying to figure out the right words to describe you and Calum. “Uh, you’re both amazing, I…”

“We could say the same about you.” You reply, pecking one last kiss to Michael’s lips before snuggling into Calum. The contrast between the new exciting feelings you have for Michael and the deep, familiar ones you have for Calum make for the most wonderful combination. “Right, Cal?”

Calum hums in agreement, placing a kiss on your cheek and then Michael’s. “It feels like we’ve all hit the jackpot, doesn’t it?”

“Definitely.” Michael agrees, nodding enthusiastically. “I don’t know how I managed to get you this, but I couldn’t be happier about it.”

“Neither could we.” You confirm, stepping away from both men towards the keypad for your lane’s display monitor. “Now let’s whoop Calum’s ass so he can buy us burgers and cocktails!”

“The burgers and cocktails were always going to be my treat, but I wanna know what I’ll get when I win.” Calum smirks..

“What if the winner can choose any prize they want in the arcade and the loser has to get it for them?” Michael suggests. “I’ve had my eye on that cute little pumpkin keyring in the coin push machines for forever…”

You could tell by the expression on Calum’s face that he was already incredibly soft for your date. “Then you’d better win, hadn’t you?” He replies, pinching Michael’s cheek playfully.

“Calum’s terrible at the coin push machines, though.” You chuckle, “we’ll be here all night!”

“That’s okay…” Michael grins. “I get half off the nachos, remember?”

***

The first half of the game is mostly spent exchanging flirtatious banter and the three you of trying desperately to appear cool and sexy to the other two.

Even though you and Calum have lived together for quite a while now, and know pretty much everything there is to know about each other, you still find yourself trying to impress him as much you’re trying to impress Michael. You know that’s probably not the only surprising thing you’ll find about adding someone new to your relationship, and it’s a pretty exciting thought.

You try to imagine what other thoughts and emotions will be conjured up as time wears on and Michael becomes a permanent fixture in your life. Perhaps it’s far too early in your relationship for thoughts like that, but you can’t really help it. Although Calum has always been more than enough for you, Michael definitely seems like the perfect finishing touch to your lives.

“Yes!” Calum exclaims loudly, pumping his fist into the air as the final pin clatters over on the shiny wood of the bowling lane. “Looks like I just extended my lead even further.” He boasts, aiming a wink at you and Michael before ambling over to take a sip of his beer.

Jasmine had been kind enough to ask one of the waiters to bring you over a complimentary drink each. You’d insisted on paying but she assured you that she was allowed to give out a few freebies and it’d been a while since she’d exercised that privilege.

“Don’t get too comfortable in the top spot.” Michael retorts, ambling over to the ball dispenser and picking up his favoured green one. “I’ve made bigger comebacks than this in the past…”

You glance up at the scoreboard on the aging monitor hanging over your lane with a doubtful expression on your face. Calum has a considerable lead and you only had 4 goes each left. The likelihood of either of you overtaking him now is slim to none. Despite that fact, Michael looks pretty confident and you want nothing more than to encourage that. “Yeah, go on, Mikey! You’ve been heading for a strike all night.”

Michael beams over at you, obviously enjoying your enthusiastic motivation. He steps up to the lane, focusing harder than he has all night before taking a little run up and hurling the ball towards the waiting pins.

Watching intently, you cheer loudly, jumping up from your seat and clapping with excitement as all 12 pins are sent tumbling in every direction. “Yes! Mikey, you did it!” You shriek, running over to him and engulfing him in a huge congratulatory hug.

He giggles delightedly, wrapping you in a surprisingly firm embrace before kissing the top of your head.

The tiny contact sends butterflies dancing in your tummy as you melt into him, trying to prolong the hug for as long as possible.

“I told you!” Michael grins. “I’ve wanted that keychain for a long time, there’s not much I won’t do to get it.”

As you finally relinquish your hold on your date, you have a vision of him standing at the coin push machines, concentration etched into every inch of his face as he tries his absolute hardest to win the little pumpkin trinket.

“I might hold you to that, baby.” Calum smirks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “I’m actually tempted to just let you win if that promise stays on the table.”

“Pfft!” You huffed. “Let us win… wow Calum, I can barely hear you over the sound of your ego.”

Your boyfriend simply shrugs, a playful expression on his handsome face. “Hey, the numbers speak for themself, angel.”

***

It turns out that Michael’s strike was all that he needed to turn his luck around. After that he barely leaves a pin standing on each of his turns and easily ends up with the winning score.

“I think you lied about not practicing much.” Calum pouts, draining the last of his beer before leading the way back to the check in desk. “I think you were just holding out on us, to give me a fighting chance.”

A slightly guilty flicker in Michael’s eye suggests that there is possibly an element of truth to Calum’s accusation and you can’t help but laugh. “Oh stop moping and go get our boy his pumpkin keychain!” You command playfully. “I’ll decide what I want afterwards.”

Once the bowling shoes were all returned, the three of you headed towards the amusement arcade. Just like the rest of the complex, it was fairly busy. The delighted laughs of various little groups of people, the flashing lights and musical bleeping from the machines and the general playful atmosphere, wake up a childish excitement in you. It’s been a long while since you and Calum have had a date like this and you hope that Michael will help bring more of this element to your relationship.

Calum instinctively winds his arm around your shoulders and you notice that your date looks a little awkward, as though he’s perhaps feeling left out. To quickly remedy the situation, you reach out to tangle your fingers through Michael’s. He instantly smiles and relaxes, blushing a bit when Calum aims a fond smile his way. “So which machine do I need to defeat to win your prize, baby?” He asked.

Michael visibly appreciates the pet name, apparently he hasn’t gotten used to it yet. He points at one of the coin push machines in the center of the room. “The pumpkin keychain is in the one right on the end.” He clarifies. “I’m not sure how close to the edge it is, though.”

When the three of you arrive at the machine in question, both men examine it closely. Calum in particular appears to gauge the distance of Michael’s desired prize from the drop. “Well, it just so happens that I’m pretty amazing at these games, so it won’t take me long.” Your boyfriend states, his confidence returning with full force.

You know that Calum’s bravado is just a playful front, part of his way of flirting and simultaneously hiding his nerves. That doesn’t stop you from wanting to knock him down a peg or two occasionally. Smirking, you turn to meet Michael’s gaze. “Yeah, I hope speed impresses you, baby.” You giggle. “Calum’s kind of known for it in most areas…”

Collab Masterlist

Poly Masterlist

Main Masterlist

My KoFi

Tag list: @h0tsos @byxthexway @afuckingunicornn @moonchildsblack @calumbbyyy @loveroflrh @sexgodashton @megz1985 @myfalsedevotion @aulxna @honeyedlashton @tea4sykes @ghostofmashton @fairyintheglass @cashworthy @cashtonasfuck @opheliaaurora23 @sadistmichael @wildmichaelflower @wildfl0wer-meg @irwinkitten @cxddlyash @wildmalumflower @cashtonasff5sos @iovehemmings @lowpowermodex @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles @celticclifford @5-secondsofcolor @queer-5sos @Secret-Diary-of-an-Aquarius-blog @babylon-corgis @paradigmax @koalacal @treatallwithkindness @lovelybonesetc @morguleth @atlcalm @mantlereid @malumsmermaid @lashtonswildflower @mermaidcashton @mysticalhood

#malum #poly!malum #poly!malum imagine #poly!malum fluff #poly!malum blurb #poly!malum fic #malim fluff #5sos #5sos fluff #5sos imagine #5sos blurb #5sos fic #female reader #my writing #otp: forever through it all #malumsmermaid

55 notes · View notes