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indigo-starcatcher · 2 years ago

Text

CROWN APPLE

Dom!Jake x Reader

Oooohoho, my first smut. So exciting, and a little nerve-racking so please give me your feedback! Enjoy yourselves some filthy Jake, hoes. 😌

MINORS DNI. 18+ ONLY.

Warnings: Dom!Jake, alcohol, weed (if you squint, I guess), slapping, spanking, unprotected penetration (wrap it to tap it, ladies [GN]), cursing. If I missed one, my bad y'all!

Summary: You hit up a Kiszka party to visit with long-time friend, Sammy. Jake unabashedly hates your guts. Or does he?

The familiar burn crept up your throat as you threw your head back, shot glass to your lips. Crown Apple, your whisky of choice.

You had always been a close friend of the Kiszkas, growing up in Frankenmuth and being in the same year as Sammy. You two were good friends all throughout school - you had even exchanged elementary Valentine's. Backyard bbqs, swimming playdates, backyard baseball - you had a million memories in the Kiszka home, and cherished all of them.

That was years ago. Nowadays the boys were really successful with the band, and seldom found themselves at home; they were either touring, or stuck in the studio. Whenever they came home though, they made sure to invite you to every gathering, every party. You were still Sammy's best friend. They all adored you, welcoming you with open arms.

Everyone that is except Jake. You didn't know the reason; he'd never given you one. You just chalked it up to the philosophy that not everyone gets along with everyone, and shrugged it off. Even so, you brushed paths with him on the way into the party, and he never turned down the opportunity to verbally jab at you.

He paused you in the doorway, a snide smirk curling his lips. "You again, Y/N? Don't you have your own place?"

His voice was raspy, and he stood close enough for you to smell the woodsy cologne he'd bathed himself in. It was a bit flustering, though you didn't want to it admit it. You weren't Jake's biggest fan, either.

He continued, a cockier smile turning up the corners of his mouth. You could've sworn you caught him quickly eyeing you up and down. "Or do you not have anything better to do than trail behind my brother?"

As you set your shot glass down on the Kiszkas downstairs bar, Sammy drunkenly staggered over to you. Slinging his arm over your shoulder, he dotted a quick and earnest kiss on the side of your head.

"Heyyyyy, kiddo!!!". His breath smelt of beer, evident by the one he was tipping in his hand, the hoppy smelling drink splashing and flicking little droplets from the top of the bottle.

"I am soooo glad you made it tonight!!! I - hiccup - I miss game nights with you while we're off touring!! HEY let's go race in the yard right now, huh?? whaddya say I think that sounds fun ooh Joshcantimeus..."

His words started to slur together, and they trailed off in your mind as well. You were distracted - you could feel hot eyes burning into you from across the room. Jake leaned against the wall next to the sliding door that led to the patio, a glass of whisky neat swirling in his hand. As your eyes met, he raised a questioning and sarcastic brow, as if to say "can I help you?".

You responded with a small eye roll and returned to Sammy's drunken ramblings.

"Hey, love!" You chirped back enthusiastically. "I definitely wanna race, but I think you need some bread and a lil nap first, okay??" Sammy looked down to you with a toothy smile, eyes blinking one at a time.

"YKNOW. I could -hiccup- I could go for a slice!!"

Eagerly grabbing a slice of pizza from the bar countertop, he sauntered lazily away from you to the couch. He only made it through one bite before falling asleep, the rest of the slice spending the night on his black, low-cut t-shirt.

You giggled to yourself, and grabbed a slice as well. That's when you noticed Chris, one of the band's roadies, had joined you at the bar.

Beer in hand and a tipsy smile on his face, he began to flirt very openly. He asked about your hobbies, how long you'd been friends with Sammy, the works. You found yourself giggling and genuinely enjoying the conversation, flirting as you felt yourself getting tipsier by the minute, nursing your own glass of neat whiskey.

That's when you felt that same familiar feeling: a stare laced with venom. This time from out on the patio, you locked eyes with Jake. His jaw was clenched, his eyes were filled with fire. You furrowed your brow as you watched him throw back a full glass of alcohol in one impressive gulp. "What is his problem?" you thought to yourself. That's when you noticed, the seal was beginning to break.

"Chris! Will you excuse me for just a sec? I'll be right back", you called down to your potential suitor over your shoulder, finishing your sentence as you made your way upstairs to the Kiszkas bathroom.

Washing your hands, you heard footsteps stamping their way up the wooden basement stairs, but thought nothing of it. You left the bathroom and closed the door behind you, only when you spun around, there he was. About a foot from your face, Jake stood. The surprise of his presence backed you against the closed door.

He raised up an arm to prop himself up next to you, leaning confidently against the door frame.

"Y'know," he started, a deeper rasp in his voice than normal. He was close enough that you could smell the whiskey and weed that lingered on his breath. It was intoxicating. You hated yourself for thinking that, but you couldn't help it. His entire aura was hypnotizing. "I really hate you."

"Yeah, off to a good start, Jake", you retorted as you tried to work your way around him. He quickly held up his other arm. They were bordering you on the door frame now, blocking you in.

"But what I hate more, for some God damn reason..." he whispered, only inches from your face now,

"...is seeing any other man try to do what I could do so easily."

"Oh? And what's that, Jakey? Make a complete ass out of yourself?" You threw the words back at him with half-hearted malice, laying the sarcasm on thick.

Jake was a beautiful man. His hair cascading down his shoulders; his low cut shirt that displayed his doubloons like gold stars, bouncing against his bare stomach with every movement. He made you nervous, it was true, but your disdain for him was more powerful.

"No," he said back in a gentle, hushed whisper.

Pausing his words, his pointer finger found its way to your clavical. It trailed ever so lightly up your neck, to your jaw, to your chin, where the soft touch subsided. He squeezed your jaw in his hand, tilting your chin up to meet his cocky gaze. Spitting back through gritted teeth, he snarled as he spoke:

"Make you cum, sweetheart."

In an instant he turned you around, pinning you to the door. With one hand, he held yours behind you, pressed them against the small of your back. His other hand trailed softly but confidently from your calf, up in between your thighs slowly, searching for your core. You could feel the wet heat soaking through your panties as he steadily moved upwards.

"Jake. Don't. Someone will see, someone's bound to come upstairs." You only half-worriedly replied. You'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought about this before.

"Fuck 'em."

Shoving your panties over to the inside of your thigh, he slid in two fingers to the knuckle and curled them, motioning for you to come here in the filthiest of ways. A soft moan started to escape your lips, but not before Jake could stamp his free hand to your opened mouth.

"I love a nasty sound from a nasty whore, but shut the fuck up unless you want the entire party up here."

To Jake's surprise, you quickly turned around to face him, a soft but firm hand landing on his throat, gently squeezing at the sides.

"Then do something about it, Jakey".

A wicked and filthy grin curled his lips over his beautiful white teeth, his deep brown eyes blown out with lust. You'd flipped a switch in him; you weren't sure what you'd gotten yourself into, but you knew you were along for the ride.

"Oh, sweetheart." He whispered arrogantly, softly removing your hand from his throat. Taking your cheeks in his hand, he squeezed hard enough for the pads of his fingers to draw a small ache from your cheekbones. He leaned in, an inch from your face. His hot, whiskey-soaked breath could've gotten you drunk.

"You shouldn't have said that".

With a swift movement, he bent slightly to wrap his arms around your legs, tossing you over his shoulder with ease.

"Now you're stuck with me, you sweet little slut." As a punctuation to his threat, he brought down an open-handed palm to meet your right ass cheek. A surprised yet excited moan escaped your lips.

"Calm down, Y/N." Jake commanded, striding hastily down the hall to his bedroom. "The fun hasn't even started yet". You could hear the smile in his statement.

He threw open his bedroom door, closing it behind him with a kick of his Chelsea boot. He brought down his hand to your ass one more time before throwing you down onto the bed, landing with force.

He crawled over top of you, gold chains dangling and tracing little circles on your heaving chest. You were already soaked through, the throbbing heat crawling up into your pelvis.

"Y'know, I've thought about this before..."

His thumb brushed over your lower lip. "Filling this pretty mouth with my cock just to get you to shut the fuck up". He brought his hand up from your lips to lay a soft but firm smack to your cheek.

Your mouth opened in a small "o", riding the line between pain and pleasure.

"Good girl, you knew just what I wanted," Jake praised as he slid two fingers into your mouth, letting them linger on your tongue. Satisfied, he began to remove them, but you pulled them back into your mouth with a hard suck, making deliberate eye contact. You weren't afraid. You wanted more.

"You're filthy", Jake muttered, almost admiring you. His hate for you hadn't subsided, but he was impressed. He liked a challenge. You released his fingers and he brought them to his lips, sucking on them, not allowing his eyes to shift from yours.

"Crown Apple?" He smirked. "One of my favorites."

In a hasty movement, he flipped you over onto your stomach and lifted you up by your hips. His pelvis inched forward to meet yours, pressing into you. Even fully clothed, you could feel his hard length through his jeans.

"Jake, please.." you begged. You needed him. You'd come to terms with it. You hated him but you absolutely, desperately needed him.

"Please, what? Use your words, sweetheart."

"Please...Jake I need you," you whined.

"As hard as it makes me when you whimper, I need you to tell me what it is that you need." Jake was amusing himself; he enjoyed when you squirmed.

"Please. Jake. Fuck me. Do whatever you want with me."

"I thought you'd never ask."

He reached forward to shimmy your panties down around your legs; you had thanked yourself for wearing a skirt, allowing him easy access. As he freed you of your lace garments, he brought them up to his face, allowing himself a small inhale. His eyes rolled back into his head, and let out a small sigh.

"Those stay with me, sweetheart." He said, stuffing your panties into his jeans pocket. He could feel himself twitching under his denim; he couldn't wait any longer. The very sight of you, dripping in front of him, had tricked a trigger.

He unbuttoned his jeans without hesitation. Shimmying them down to his knees with his boxers, his length sprung free, resting against his abdomen. With one hand he wrapped around his base, slowly and deliberately stroking. His other hand reached forward to cup you in his hands, desperate to feel you drip down onto him. A raspy moan escaped his lips and his head fell backwards.

"My sweet, nasty little slut. How badly do you need me?"

"I need you Jake." You begged. You could feel yourself throbbing. "I. Need. You. Fuck me."

With your command, you felt him slide in to bottom out. He was warm, and wide. He stretched your walls and hit you in places that hadn't been touched, sending little electric currents down your widened legs.

"Oh, fuck," He whispered behind you through gritted teeth. "My little slut, you're so tight." When did he start using the word, "my"?

His slams into you hastened, his moans growing louder with every movement. His length slid almost all the way out of you, only to re-enter with more force. You could feel the familiar knot growing and tangling in your hips, along with an unfamiliar - yet intoxicating - tightening that tensed with every thrust.

"Jake, I..I think I'm going to.."

A pornographic string of moans grew and ripped from your mouth. Jake leaned forward to stifle them, suctioning his palm to your open mouth. You came hard, along with a waterfall release that you'd never experienced before. It flowed from you, soaking Jake's cock and dripping down onto his sheets.

"Jesus Christ, Y/N, that was so fucking hot. Oh, fuck. I'm, I'm.."

Jake couldn't finish his sentence before you felt him twitch, his warmth filling you to the brim. Sent spiraling by the mixture of each others releases, another knot rose up from within you. You finished together, trailing off in a string of signs and moans.

The two of you collapsed down into the bed together, where he remained on top of you and inside of you. He propped himself up on his forearms, wiping away a sweat-soaked and disheveled strand of hair from your forehead. He leaned down, his lips meeting your ear.

"You should come over more often, sweetheart."

#greta van fleet #gvf #gretavanfleet #jake gvf #gvf fanfiction #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fleet smut #jake kiszka #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka x reader

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oldsargasso · 10 months ago

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You have had your hands full! Don’t worry I have ENDLESS fanon thoughts so I will do my best to keep your ask box company 😌

Yes the advantage of feeding ourselves is we get to pick the menu!! I am CERTAIN at this point that Garfield and Benz simply pulled this ship out of thin air and made up their own headcanons to fill in for their lack of screentime LMAO. And NO YOU HAVE NOT TOLD ME ABOUT THIS WIP!! HOOKUPS FOLLOWED BY BETRAYAL?? BY TONY’S TOTALLY NORMAL PA?? YES PLEASE. I am basically eagerly awaiting everything you write at this point. AND YES KENTA IS INVESTED! How can his new boyfriend keep his visa if the team’s funding gets cut? Tragic.

This is why Kim is the realest to me. He asked for none of this and just rolled with the punches when most ppl would have either kept their heads down or fucked off. Objectively The Best. (SHFKFKFJJD Try telling Kim that Tony is his new owner—see how that goes down 😆)

(You are so right as always. Kim deserves ppl kneeling at his feet.)

Double offenses against us specifically, I’ll never recover. I’LL NEVER FORGIVE THEM IF WE DON’T EVENTUALLY GET SOME SORT OF FOLLOW-THROUGH! But yes supportive bf Kenta, it’s absolutely canon, he was definitely lurking in the stands somewhere.

Winner is so iconic and I love him… (multiple timelines running in our heads to carry all of the five hundred ships this show has provided)

Please give me ALL of your thoughts about collars, I beg of you, I live for this. Kenta would ABSOLUTELY be wearing his on the regular—he needs that reassuring weight under his shirt (totally normal about it saying “Kim’s” or smth similar on the tag). Like he’s fine with being a dog as long as it means he’s a beloved pet who doesn’t get cast aside! And Winner is ABSOLUTELY the type to bitch about a collar. He prob tried to make fun of Kenta for being collared (gets almost stabbed for it), but also passive aggressively moans about “Where’s MY present?” and then bitches about the collar when he DOES get it. And I’m SCREAMING HE DESERVES TO BE MUZZLED he’d be so cute… And Dean would look SO pretty in his collar (when is he NOT pretty tho lbr). PLEASE feel free to go on about what they look like! Kim can carry the keys to the collars around his neck 😌

I HOPE YOU ENJOY THE FICS! The KentaDean one is basically written just for the two of us. “The system works” LMFAO RESTORATIVE JUSTICE IN ACTION? Dean thinks he’s being SUBTLE but he has the BIGGEST puppydog expression when he wants something, like he emotes SO much in comparison to Kenta and Kim.

“He’s not a narcissist he’s just oblivious” ahdjfjf OUR BELOVED DUMBASS LOSER… I love the way he was as Tony’s henchman, like “I’m gonna be SUCH a good evil henchman my parents told me I was basically overqualified for this job—you want bodyguards? I’ll GET you bodyguards. I let those guys escape but I TOTALLY foiled their little scooby-doo plot because I am the BEST henchman. I’m SOOO much better than Kenta you know like fuck that guy and his stupid handsome eyes-“ Again it’s like… he gives himself so much affirmation he doesn’t need it from others; it’s just attention he wants. He’s SO interesting! And I love the contrast of Kim’s response to Tony being “Absolutely NOT” while Winner’s is “Absolutely YES” they should fuck about it, for our enjoyment.

I’M PLACING MY BETS ON THE MV COMING OUT THIS FRIDAY (prob late evening for you?). I think they’ll save the more emotional ones for after the fanmeet next week (unless they’re only doing one MV drop a month in which case haha catch me lying deceased on the floor!)

HOW COULD YOU BREAK MY POOR LITTLE HEART LIKE THIS?? DEAN HAVING SOMETHING WITH KIM (A FRESH START) ONLY TO END UP FEELING LIKE HE’S BEEN REPLACED… AGAIN… WHY DO WE KEEP PUTTING HIM IN SITUATIONSHIPS AND THEN MAKING HIM FEEL REJECTED. I’M HURTING 😭😭😭 I feel like having Kim’s attention would be so fulfilling? Rewarding? That the slight absence of it is like the sun going out. DEVASTATING (and DELICIOUS for me). But Pete just dropping Kenta off like Kim is running a doggy daycare is hilarious dkfjehshf I have this mental image of Pete carrying Kenta by the scruff of his neck?? And Dean is self-destructing while Kim is just. Unfazed about all of it! Dean wants him to be jealous, meanwhile Kim is like. “It’s physically impossible to be jealous of Winner. But if he hurt you, if he forced you, if you hated it, that’s a different conversation.” I just really need someone going to bat for Dean. There’s something to explore about the difference between possessiveness (what Dean wants or thinks he wants) and protectiveness (what Kim will actually provide).

I will send you five million more words about my ideas once you’ve had a chance to read the fic, since it expounds a lot on what I mentioned before and also just my feelings about our doggies. Also I’ve got like, various heat scenarios to talk about as well!

honestly Garfield and Benz are throwing themselves into this ship with no reservations. I hope they get cast in another show together clearly they deserve to make out on camera like they want 😌

I'm honestly like. mad about that fic lmao I woke up in the middle of the night and wrote a whole bunch of it in my notes app and then when I woke up the next day I CLOSED THE NOTES WITHOUT SAVING. devastated. have to start from scratch. BUT now I'm like. it would probably work better from Kim's POV? but then I'd have to rewrite this which I really like lol :(

When Mr Tony had told Kenta to organise for Kim to be picked up from the airport and taken to the hotel, he definitely hadn't meant for Kenta to do the chauffeuring himself. But finding the loopholes in Tony's orders was how Kenta managed his life these days, so he was waiting in Arrivals in his usual black suit with a printed sign at 6pm the following Tuesday, surrounded by a group of men attired and be-signed much the same. Which was probably why Kim didn't give Kenta a second glance as he walked up. No big deal; Kenta’s used to being overlooked. “K’Kim?” he asks in polite confirmation, although he recognises Kim very well from the photographs he’s studied. Kim gives him a nod. This time he takes a good look at Kenta, sharp eyes sweeping from his carefully styled hair down to his perfectly shined shoes.

anyway then they go to Kim's hotel room and hook up and it starts from there.

Kim in the last few episodes is the BEST. he's just like "time fro breakfast! sure I'll chase down a teenager for a phone. sure I'll come along and beat up Winner in a funky jacket. sure I'll join your racing team and adopt north and sonic as my babies."

I NEED A FOLLOW UP I NEED A SPECIAL EPISODE OR A SEASON TWO. I hope we get something, even tiny crumbs, from the fanmeeting coming up. until it happens I can live in hope lmao.

!!! NOT THE KEYS THAT'S PERFECT!!! oh for sureee Kenta wears his basically all the time. its definitely black leather, right? he has a day collar something like this. or it says return to owner with Kim's details!! and then he has a more substantial collar for when they're at home, with rings for attaching a leash or ties to. yessss Winner. he doesn't care about it but also he should be given presents especially if other people are getting presents! I feel like his collar is red. probably leather as well. spiked!! or maybe something like a martingale collar so it's fine until someone pulls on it. imagine how pretty something like this would be for Dean though! or was thinking like an actual chain necklace/choker so he can wear it all the time and it's all delicate. I'm just imagining them all at the club or whatever, I think Kim deserves to hook his fingers in Kenta's collar while they're sitting drinking and pull him in until he's practically in Kim's lap. or maybe dancing and Kim tugs Dean's shirt down to show off his neck and Kim's claim.

IT WAS SO GOOD as you could probably tell by the insane comment I left. Dean has NO POKER FACE WHATSOEVER he's so easy to read!! how did he get away with any crimes!

the bad guy mv….DELIGHTFUL. even if it was just singing and dancing I love it with every part of my heart.

we keep putting Dean in this situations because he's….so pretty when he cries and is all emotional. BUT LIKE. Kim's not even stopping anything with Dean! in my head he's not even really starting anything with kenta, he's just being supportive and helping the guy integrate into society like a functioning human being. but of course nobody can use their words. Dean alwasy goes from 0-100 INSTANTLY. "It’s physically impossible to be jealous of Winner" LMAOOO. so true. askjfh PAINNNN. Dean definitely thinks he wants possessiveness - I think that's why the polycule works because Kim does offer protectiveness but I think both Winner and Kenat go for possessiveness. Winner because they're HIS things. and Kenta because he's had so little and can't lose any more. Kim is like. "unhealthy! but also…kinda hot." sometimes you just want a dude to go a little bit feral over you. okay.

!!! SEND HEAT RELATED THOUGHTS IMMEDIATELY. we should also talk about designations. I think in the show they're all just. not alphas. but personally I cannot write Winner as anything but an alpha. I tend to go for the other three as betas except for the fics I started early in the show with Kenta as an alpha lol. and I just started messing about with a sci fi au where perhaps Kim's suppressant chip malfunctions and it turns out he's not a beta and now he's about to go into heat in a very cramped ship... but I'm pretty sure I can be convinced any way for these four lol.

#pit babe #pit babe polycule #asks

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beepochi · 1 year ago

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many thoughts head overflowing but Liam going to spend the holiday with his dad and his dad's partner (they drink milk tea together and vibe)

eheh yea this is p much canon. liam genuinely loves jian once theyre finally introduced n vice versa😌 (one thing james actually facilitated well)

think ive only ever written one drabble thing w jian n liam interacting (even tho also hv many thoughts) but dont reckon itll ever see the light of day? so just gonna stick it down below for fun >:) its uhh set after james n jian break up🕺

It’s pouring outside the bar and Jian just stands on the footpath, feeling too cold and too hot. He also feels like he’s about to cry and briefly considers calling someone. Desmond or Marcus. No, not Marcus. Nor Desmond, actually. He swallows and starts walking, the rain hitting his shoulders. He loves them both. But they can be stifling. Their worry; concern; care for him. So earnest and real. He finds it overwhelming and he’s not sure he could face it tonight.

He starts feeling properly cold after he’s walked about a block. He’s soaked now and regrets wearing just the one layer; a thin white shirt. He wipes a forearm across his face and hopes he doesn’t get sick. Sniffing, and still feeling on the verge of tears for no apparent reason, he looks around. He recognises these buildings, he knows where he is. James lives nearby.

Jian swallows and his eyes actually well up for a moment. He blinks rapidly and blames it on the rain. He crosses the street.

On any other night, he’d go home. On any other night, he’d text first. On any other night, he’d stop and think. But tonight is not any other night and he’s not sure what he’s doing.

He doesn’t even need to think about the route; his feet just naturally take him to the classy apartment building.

It’s only when he’s rung the doorbell that Jian starts feeling sick. What if he tells Jian to go away; what if he’s found himself someone new; what if said someone new answers the door?

The door opens. Jian blinks and looks down.

“Liam.” he says, surprised. Liam’s face goes from confused to delighted in a matter of seconds. “Jian!” Jian swallows and desperately tries to think of an excuse, of a reason he suddenly has to leave again, of some reason for Liam to pretend he never saw him, of- “Jian.” a lower, less delighted voice sounds. Jian shifts his gaze upwards again. James stands behind Liam, a vegetable knife in his right hand. He’s in a white dress shirt and navy slacks; the dress shirt is pushed up to his elbows with the first two buttons undone. He looks gorgeous. Jian doesn’t have any words for him. James’s face shifts to a frown as he runs his eyes over Jian. “You’re soaked.” Jian swallows and looks down. He’s made a wet patch on the flooring outside. “I-” “-come in.” James tells him, putting his left hand on Liam’s shoulder as they both step back. Jian’s stomach turns. Nonetheless, he bends down to pull off his shoes before stepping inside and letting the door close behind him. He places his shoes beside the various other pairs, then has nothing to do with his hands. Liam moves in for a hug and Jian doesn’t mean to sidestep. Liam pulls back and pouts. “You don’t like me anymore?” Jian swallows, eyes flicking up to James’s before he answers. “Course I still like you.” He says. “But ‘m all wet. Don’t want you gettin’ sick.” Liam nods slowly and James’s free hand falls to ruffle his hair. “Go lay the table bud.” he says gently. “For Jian too.” Jian opens his mouth to refuse when James cuts him off with a look. Liam gives his dad a corny little salute before running to the kitchen. Jian clicks his thumb joint and feels his stomach twist. “‘M sorry, I-” “-it’s fine. You need to change, c’mon.” James turns and starts after his son. Jian watches him for a second, feeling god-awful, before he bites his cheek, peels off his wet socks and follows.

After a brief stop in the kitchen to deposit the knife, James leads them to the bedroom. Jian hovers awkwardly by the bed as James goes through his wardrobe. Jian is fascinated by how somewhere that used to be his home now feels so foreign. He bites his lip. “James, I didn’t- ‘f I’d known Liam was here I wouldn’t’ve-” “-it’s okay.” James cuts him off calmly, turning away from the wardrobe with a pair of grey sweats and a black shirt. Jian feels his eyes go hot and prickly and he scowls. “It’s not— ‘m sorry. I didn’t mean— t’ come. I-” “-Jian.” James hands him the clothes and catches Jian’s eye. “It’s okay. I mean it. Let me get you a towel.” Jian numbly accepts the clothes as James moves to the ensuite. He drops his gaze to them and they feel so soft. He puts them on the bed.

James returns and comes far too close in order to drop the towel over Jian’s head. He then starts to dry Jian’s hair. His jaw is set, Jian notices, yet not quite in anger. “You look nice.” James tells him after a heavy silence. His eyes are on his hands as he continues to move the towel against Jian’s hair. Jian’s throat clicks as he swallows. “Night out?” James pushes and Jian feels nauseous. “I—” he starts and wishes he could read James’s face, his tone, anything. “-went to a bar.” James’s hands finish and he nods, stepping back. “With friends?” Jian doesn’t know why he’s asking this of all things. He pulls the towel off his head and drops it on the bed. “No.” He mutters, stripping off his shirt and retrieving the towel to rub roughly over his arms and torso. “By yourself.” James says and he folds his arms over his chest. Jian focuses on pulling on the black shirt. It’s too big for him, obviously, and smells of James. “Are you okay?” James asks after Jian stays silent. Jian moves his hands to the waistband of his trousers. He’s not sure how to answer and undoes his fly button and then his fly. James lets out a very light sigh. “Are your boxers wet too?” He asks. “Do you want to borrow some?” “S’fine.” Jian peels off his trousers. James hums as he nods. Jian wishes he would look away as he moves his hands to the waistband of his pants. “Which bar?” James asks. Jian sets his jaw. The shirt is big enough that it covers everything so he pushes his boxers down quickly and doesn’t bother drying before he tugs on James’s sweats. “The Bridge.” Jian mutters and he watches James’s eyebrow twitch. “Why that one?” Jian bites the inside of his cheek and breaks eye contact. He pulls the drawstring of the sweats tight. “Thought it was what I wanted.” James is quiet. Jian has trouble making a knot. “But?” James prods. Jian scowls as his fingers fumble and he has to start again. “But nothin’. Some creep tried t’—” He fucks up a simple knot once again and cusses. James steps closer and knocks his hands away. “Tried to what?” He asks, making quick work of tying the drawstring but not moving back when he’s done. Jian refuses to lift his eyes from the waistband of the sweatpants. James’s hands come to rest at his waist. So light, Jian can’t even feel them. “Nothin’.” He says. “He was just horny. I wasn’t bein’ clear.” The hands get a little tighter. And then, finally, the question Jian had been waiting for: “And you came here. Why?” Jian can feel the warmth of James’s body, he can smell his shampoo, his cologne. He looks at James’s socked feet and his chest aches. Wetness returns to his eyes and he glowers. “Why d’you think?” There’s a small breath from James. “I can’t read your mind, Jian. You need to tell me.” Jian takes his bottom lip into his mouth and realises James’s socks are mismatched. One is navy, the other is black. He sniffs wetly and he didn’t mean it to be such a loud noise. “Needed t’ see you.” He manages. James is quiet. Jian regrets his phrasing. And then there are soft lips pressing against his forehead. “Okay.” James murmurs, pulling back. His hands travel up to cup Jian’s face and he makes it unavoidable to meet his eyes. Jian’s vision is blurry and he blinks. A tear slips out and he clenches his jaw. James’s thumb brushes it away. “I really didn’t-” His voice is tight and he doesn’t know what he’s even saying. “-‘m sorry.” James just watches him, eyes critical. Jian bites his lip as his eyes overflow again. “I know ‘m not- it- but I couldn’t—” James cuts him off with a kiss.

Jian, of course, hadn’t expected a kiss. And if he did, he might expect a soft, tender one. This one, however, is firm and hot and demanding. James’s hands tighten where they cup Jian’s face, giving him nowhere to go. There is tongue and teeth and Jian’s mind is hazy as he just lets James take.

When James finally pulls back, it’s only enough to let them both breathe. “Stay the night.” He says, nose brushing Jian’s. Jian should say no. “Okay.” James presses another kiss against his lips. “Liam’ll be happy.” He says, stepping back. “Put your clothes in the laundry, I’ll wash them tomorrow.” Jian nods and picks up his soaked clothes.

James goes back to the kitchen and Jian watches him continue chopping vegetables. He feels awkward and is about to offer to help when there’s a light tug on his shirt. “Jian, I did your ones the right way round, look.” Liam pulls him along to the sleek dining table and shows Jian where he’s set Jian’s plate. Jian nods, confused, but gives Liam a small smile anyway. “Fork on left, knife on right.” he explains proudly. Jian blinks and looks back to the table. He notices his place is the only one set this way and can’t help laughing, ever so quietly. “You got it wrong man.” He says softly and switches the knife and fork around. “Knife ’n the left.” Liam groans. “I knew it.” He grumbles and moves to fix his and James’s. When he’s done he looks back to Jian. “Does this mean you’re coming back?” He asks, eyes bright and hopeful. Jian’s stomach drops. He doesn’t know how to respond. “Dad said you didn’t love him anymore.” Liam obliviously continues and Jian thinks he might vomit. His eyes flick over to where James tenses in the kitchen. “But that’s not true.” Liam tells him. Jian really doesn’t want to start crying again, definitely not in front of a child. He clears his throat, trying to get rid of the lump there. “Yeah. S’not true.” He agrees quietly. Liam smiles and Jian notices a missing tooth, one of his top canines. It’s very cute. He points halfheartedly, “When’d that happen?” Liam’s face - impossibly - brightens. “Two days ago!” He says, sticking fingers into his mouth as if to better show Jian. Jian snorts and gently tugs the hand down. “Very cool.” “This one’s loose too!” Liam pushes his tongue against one of his bottom canines and Jian nearly cringes as he watches it wiggle. “Careful.” he mutters, not feeling particularly keen on watching it be pushed from Liam’s gum. Liam rolls his eyes. “Doesn’t hurt.” Jian snorts again. “So brave.” Liam laughs and then he’s taking Jian’s hand and pulling him to his bedroom.

He sits Jian on the bed before telling him to stay and carefully moving a big Lego structure to the middle of his floor. “It’s a spaceship.” he starts, adjusting the toy dinosaur seemingly just plonked on top. “And a hair dresser’s.” Jian laughs and slips off the bed in order to have a better look.

Liam happily guides him through, pointing out all the little secrets and quirks. Jian thinks it’s actually quite impressive and tells him so. Liam accepts the praise as if he already knows and Jian’s chest pangs with affection, listening to Liam start on the dinosaur’s backstory.

They’re up to the bit where the dinosaur is wanted in seven states when James’s voice cuts through. “Dinner’s ready boys.” Jian looks up. James is leant on the doorframe, expression unplaceable. “Yus!!” Liam shoots up and races out of his room. “Wash your hands!” James calls idly after him. There’s an ambiguous yell in reply. Jian stands and steps carefully around Liam’s spaceship. “Did you make?” He asks. James pushes off the doorframe. “Pasta.”

Liam’s plate is already full when he and James join him. Piled high with pasta and one leaf of salad. Jian snorts to himself as he sits beside Liam. “Leave some salad f’r us, huh?” Liam ignores him, shovelling a forkful of pasta into his tiny mouth. “‘Lwedy ate slad jus’-” He swallows. “you guys didn’t see me eat it.” Jian laughs. James doesn’t. “Liam, manners please.” Liam pouts, but sits up straighter nonetheless. James looks to Jian. “Help yourself.” Jian nods and puts only a little bit on his plate. He doesn’t feel hungry. James watches with a moderate expression but doesn’t comment, helping himself once Jian is done.

It’s quiet for the first minute. A weird tenseness hangs in the air. Jian swallows his mouthful, stabbing a piece of cucumber with his fork. “What’re you doin’ at school Liam?” He asks because the silence is making him more and more anxious. Liam, much to his father’s approval, chews and swallows before answering. “Doing a project on the Nile.” “Yeah?” Jian pushes because if he can just get Liam to start… “Yeah!” Liam grins and Jian feels a flood of relief. “And it’s also- I’m working with Amelia who’s my best friend! And we have to- it’s really cool!” He pauses to have another mouthful before excitedly continuing. “We’re making a cardboard copy of the Nile. To scale! And-” Jian lets out a helpless laugh and even James, who seems so restrained and distracted, snorts quietly. “-y’mean not t’ scale, yeah?” Jian gently interjects. Liam’s cheeks tinge red and he lets out a bashful laugh. “Right, right. It’d be massive otherwise! Oh, right! It’s the Nile from ancient Egypt. Forgot that bit. That’s the main bit.” Jian smiles and nods, picking through his food. “So we’re making a cardboard copy, not to scale, and then we’re also making some games from ancient Egypt and it’s so much fun!” he quickly munches down another forkful. “Jian, did you know the ancient Egyptians invented toothpaste?” Jian did not. “No.” He says. “That’s awesome.” Liam nods. “Yeah! And locks too!”

Thus, over the course of the meal, Jian learns all kinds of trivia about ancient Egypt. Interesting facts he will no doubt forget by tomorrow. After everyone’s finished, James tells Liam to load the dishwasher and he goes to the bathroom. Jian feels useless as Liam does his chores, so helps out by wiping the dining table and kitchen down. Liam tells him he doesn’t need to and soon enough shoos Jian out of the kitchen to ‘relax.’

Jian sits on the sofa and does not relax. He spots the blue highlighter stain he’d accidentally marked on the couch last year and idly rubs at it. He’s surprised James hasn’t cleaned it off properly. He then looks at the blank TV before standing and moving to the window. He shifts the curtain and peeks out at the cityscape. It’s pretty.

He goes onto the balcony and leans on the railing. It’s cold but he likes it. Gives him something to feel other than sad. He doesn’t even know if it’s sadness. Maybe it’s more like disconnect. Uncertainty and confusion, too.

He hears the door slide open then shut behind him and his chest twinges for no reason. A hand slips around his waist as James comes to stand next to him. “What’s going on?” he asks, soft. Jian goes straight back to on the verge of tears. He swallows and starts scratching at the railing. “Nothin’.” James makes a noise of disagreement. “You want anything? Beer?” “Tea.” Jian says. James lets out a breath of laughter. “I only have earl grey, that alright?” Jian wrinkles his nose and straightens up. “Hot chocolate.” James’s hand rubs up and down his back. “Okay.” The hand drops as he turns to go back inside. “Don't stay out here, it’s too cold.” So Jian follows him in.

He drops next to Liam on the sofa and squints at the TV. He’s watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine. Jian keeps his distaste to himself and instead drops a hand over Liam’s shoulder and shuffles so they’re both comfy.

James makes them each a hot chocolate and has a glass of wine for himself. He sits beside Jian on the couch but doesn’t touch him and Jian isn’t sure if he’s happy or sad for the fact.

They watch one more episode before James tells Liam to go to bed. Reluctantly, Liam does so. But before he goes, he makes Jian promise to be here tomorrow. Jian’s stomach knots as he does.

The atmosphere immediately changes when James comes back from tucking Liam in and Jian tries to ignore it. He bites his thumb nail as James drops beside him, watching him go back to the Netflix homepage. “Anything you wanna watch?” he asks, absently scrolling through the many options. Jian drops his hand from his mouth. “No.” James pauses on some crime show before scrolling on. “Movie or TV?” “TV.” Jian mutters, not sure what to do now he’s not chewing his nails. James moves to the TV shows page. Jian sees he’s been watching Queer Eye (though he’d not apparently managed to finish his episode) and Abstract. He can’t think of anything further from what he feels like than Queer Eye. The trailer for some psychological crime drama starts playing. A woman stabs a man on a beach. “Light or heavy?” James asks, frowning at the trailer. “I don’t—” Jian starts before worrying indecisiveness will annoy James. “-let’s just watch…” He hurriedly scans the screen for something. “Tintin.” James glances at him. His lips twitch as he looks away. “Okay.”

Jian does actually like Tintin, but he doesn’t think James is enjoying it. That starts making him antsy. He keeps glancing from the screen to James’s deadpan face. He chews his lip and wonders if it would annoy James more to continue watching a kid’s show or to start the search for something to watch all over again. “Relax.” James finally says and there is an edge of annoyance in his tone. Jian’s gut sinks and he bites the inside of his cheek, glancing over. James side-eyes him. “You’re being very loud.” He says. Jian scowls. “Didn’t say ‘nythin’.” James sighs and runs a hand over his face. “You didn’t need to.” He looks at Jian for a while, then fixes his eyes back on the screen. Jian had assumed there was more to come but apparently there’s not. He swallows audibly and shifts, tucking his legs underneath himself and leaning subtly away from James.

A few minutes pass in which Jian quietly watches the TV. But he’s just getting more and more edgy. Finally, he puts his feet down on the plush carpet. “I should go.” He mutters as Tintin and Snowy board a boat. James looks over at him. His eyebrows are raised, not in surprise, not in worry, but in something almost like flat disapproval. “What about Liam?” He asks, returning his gaze to the TV. Jian hates the disinterested air he’s putting on and clicks his thumb joint again. “Shouldn’t’ve even come.” James doesn’t reply to that and Jian feels a rush of frustration. “What about you?” he asks and he sounds immature. A muscle in James’s jaw jumps. “What about me?” He keeps his eyes trained on the TV. Jian swallows. “Don’t you want me t’ leave?” James lets out a dry breath of laughter and looks back at him. “Clearly, baby. That’s why I asked you to stay.” Jian hates when James is sarcastic. It always makes him feel stupid and small. “Doesn’t seem like you want me here.” Jian tells him and he hopes to god he doesn’t start fucking crying again. James sets his jaw before he answers. “I don’t know why you’re here.” He says and his tone now has a slightly softer edge. “I’m trying to give you space.” The lump in Jian’s throat aches. “I don’t want space.” He says, very quietly. James watches him. “What do you want?” God fucking knows. Jian wants to go home, he wants to stay. He wants to talk things through, he never wants to speak again. He wants James to touch him.

Slowly, so James can tell him to fuck off if he wants to, Jian moves. He moves to sit on James’s lap, thighs either side of him. James’s hands naturally come to rest on his hips and Jian isn’t sure where to put his. He settles for James’s shoulders. James continues to watch him. “This is what you want?” He asks. Jian isn’t entirely sure. He nods. James is still for a moment more before one hand comes up behind Jian’s neck and tugs him down.

#sorry its in present tense lmao couldnt be bothered changing #also bear in mind havent rly touched it since at least a year ago #OH marcus is uhhh future bf in one timeline lmao still havent decided how things turn out long-long longterm #also also 'i did yours the right way round' uhh its never come up but jians ambidextrous w left hand dominance fun fact #n just realised jian apparently goes looking for casual sex at a bar BEFORE dinnertime? ignore that lmao #ask #drabble #grow as we go

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vertiny · 11 months ago

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top three eras styling 💖

bec ilysm 🫶 okay so styling is so so fun in some eras so imma... not cheat, but ! break it up into two sections, hope you don't mind ! (one of these might just be purely bc of a hair colour but technically hair is a part of the stylings 👀 (i could do a whole top for hairstyles but that's not what we're here for) + these are gonna be a mix of mv stylings, stage stylings, etc.)

sorry this took so long getting out, i thnk i put Too Much thought into it KSJDGH

under the cut bc pictures are involved and i feel like i talked too much 🥹

SECTION ONE: BY MEMBER

1. yongseung - series ‘o’ [round 3 : whole]. i swear it’s not JUST his hair that puts him here but like . THIS HAIR COLOUR !!!!! wine red / burgundy yongs so dear to my heart, but other than that, the outfit choices made for him were such good ones. we always love a suit look, and there's smth about the copper(?) silk shirt that sits lovely against him, with a pop of a different pattern thanks to the collar, and then the silk shirts in general were just good choices, sarah stickered and seal of approval-ed, the whole works dskjgh, and then ig i just have a thing for yongs being in the orange / brown colour-wheel (especially with this hair) bc it just Suits Him, idk what else to say

2. hwanwoong - pygmalion. a mutual of mine got a real-time view into me, who was a singular leedo bias with a fondness for hwanwoong, who had also already seen the solo concept pics, completely disregard leedo in the group concept pics and zoomed right into hwanwoong with a caption of "HELLOOOO SAILOR 🤩🥰" so he was welcomed into the bias line officially... i think that speaks for itself SKDJGH and if it doesn't, look at the photos. they speak for themselves 🤭 (we also got yongseung & hwanwoong interactions again this era so many pluses in my book ! debut besties (oneus + vrvr debuted same day !) near and dear to me<3)

3. seonghwa - fever: epilogue. look at the material, need i say more? DKDKS no but fr, the pink hair is def a top reason this era of styling lives on in my head. we also got pink-haired vampire!seonghwa so… that’s worth all the hype 😌 also probs has smth to do with pink being my fave colour when i was younger, but either way, it's the colouring of everything together that really makes this era a fave. like, okay, hwa's got pink hair, but they didn't make it a hot pink that ran many possibilities of clashing with everything, and it's not a washed-out distant breath of the colour pink but a nice middle ground, and like i said before, look at the material. the brightness of the pink works with the dark blue and grey jacket, the pink goes up against the blue / green (teal?) of the overcoat and only serves to (imo) heighten the pop the coat brings - the clothes under the coat and the background are all monotone and yet, despite the pink, your eyes are instantly drawn to the coat. the third photo . well. that hwa might just live rent free in my head so i'm incredibly biased on it, and imma sound like a broken record but his pink hair is tied in with the pops of pink on the jacket, and there's spots of different patterns that draw your eye, but none that overwhelm you. and as for the fourth pic... pink (cat) hwa is so beloved to me and that's all i gotta say

(honourable mentions: seonghwa - halazia / seonghwa - crazy form / seonghwa - wonderland (bc sword<3) / yeosang - bouncy (esp this look & special mentions to these two hair stylings) / yeonho - undercover (esp this look) / gyehyeon - undercover (specifically 220508 & 220503) / wooyoung - bouncy (for this hair accessory & this styling alone lol idk i like it a lot) / seonghwa - deja vu / yongseung - crazy like that - and imma stop here bc i could apparently keep adding more :starcry:)

SECTION TWO: BY GROUP

1. verivery - tag tag tag. look, you know me, you know what my favourite colour is (red) lol BUT EVEN THEN there’s smth about the styling for this era that just hits so well. idk, it’s a mix of casual, of flowy, of literally “just some dudes” kinda looks that just work so well. i looooove the mix of fabrics and patterns and how cohesive they are while all being strong outfits all in their own. this set of stage outfits (pictured below) are, imo, great, like . giving dongheon (1) and yeonho (5) “red heavy” fits, giving hoyoung (2) and yongseung (6) black jackets to break up the monotonous of the singular colour, having gyehyeon (4) in a complete red look BUT using a deeper red and blue / black plaid overshirt to make him stand out AND THEN putting minchan (3) and kangmin (7) in black and white fits with a red accent belt? (even tho you can't really see the belt on minchan lol) SO GOOD 🤩 and even after all that, they've all got bits of silver jewelry that ties them all together too

2. p1harmony - killin' it. okay, so we aren't even in this era YET!! but like . the stuff i've seen... yeah, she deserves it. keeho (1) looks so good i'm 😭, theo (2) looks dark and edgy, jiung (3) looks - in the best way - like he's about to start a fight (and win) idk how to explain it but its so good, intak (4) i want his shirt rn plsnthx it looks like someone grabbed the stars and made it into a shirt 🤩, soul (5) is a son and batshit insane (affectionate) and i'm like so ?!?!? about his hair this era !! i don't think i could do it but it's so sick and suits him so well and jongseob (6) i lowkey expected a nosebleed in the styling? SDJKGH I KNOW THAT SOUNDS STUPID but i feel like it'd fit for his styling alone? not in the overall styling but if it was just him? piwon generally always has solid stylings !

3. victon - voice: the future is now. the era has 3 stylings but these two are so 🫶 !!!! to me lol (it's also my first victon era so it's v dear to me) the left side's styling gives off aristocratic vampires and i didn't know i needed this kind of styling in my life until i laid eyes on it ! the shirts all look like they're velvet and soft so that's always a plus in my books. and then the right side's styling !! i'd describe it as "casual royal" lmao it's the mix of them all in a simple pant, and then the jackets / coats are all bedazzled (and all different styles of bedazzlements !!!) making them the true statement pieces, and we both know that means they're sparkly and . well . gimme, i want them 🤲 SKDKD

(honourable mentions: verivery - get away / verivery - trigger / ateez - bouncy / ateez - crazy form / p1harmony - harmony: all in / oneus - pygmalion / oneus - baila conmigo / verivery - tap tap / verivery - undercover)

#I PROBABLY TOOK THIS TOO SERIOUS I'M SO SORRY BEC 😭#so much of this can be boiled down to - prettie<3 #i also always talk too much :sobs: but i hope you don't mind !!!#there's probs ppl / groups i forgot but i lov them smmmmm #ilysm ! tysm for these asks my love! the other ones you asked should absolutely not - hopefully - take as long as this one did to answer #MWAH you're the best<3 #hi bec ! 🥭#<- if you want your emoji changed lemme know too !! i just changed it to a mango bc *mango*#sarah’s replies

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sunsetsixx · 2 years ago

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oh my god yall. i do not even know where to begin so here’s some word vomit about my night last night 🫠

i have no voice this morning. mission accomplished

joan jett absolute QUEEN but wbk. homegirl sounded like a whole studio album

posion was SO MUCH FUN. bret is an iconic frontman & i wish i had half the energy he does

also…dick print 😵‍💫

i think i may have fallen in love with cc deville & his long, luscious hair

def leppard KICK ASS. my guy joe elliot can SINGGG

however i do wish they just cut the acoustic section altogether like ive seen other people say…a dude in the row in front of me fully fell asleep 💀

now to what everyone’s been waiting for…(probably not but ill pretend) my thoughts on MOTLEY FCKN CRUE

they were real. like real people. breathing my boston fenway park air. in front of my face. i still cannot even begin to process

i screamed & cried & danced my way through their entire set like a PSYCHO & at the end the lady next to me goes “i can tell you’re a huge crue fan…im so happy you got to experience that” AND I TEARED UP EVEN MORE

all 4 of them are so. much. fucking. hotter. in. person. holy. shit.

daddy sixx omfg. his black & red fit ft. the iconic back pocket raccoon tail had me foaming at the mouth

im not even joking you i almost collapsed when vinnie walked out in the kimono & the aviators & the SCRUFF ive said it once & ill say it again that man is STUPID HOT rn

basically they just fueled my fantasy of a vinikki menage a trois even more. moving on

THOMAS LEE BASS SHOWED HIS TITS DURING TITTYCAM

mick mars is god. that man deserved far more screen time than he got. his hair is luxurious. his hands are magical. do with that sentence what you will

I GOT TO SEE THE QUEEN HERSELF MS RUBY SIXX IN PERSON. she ran out onstage to give nikki a hug halfway through the show it was PRECIOUS 😭

important observation: vince’s pants are so much more sparkly in person

BAWLED MY EYES OUT DURING HOME SWEET HOME & i got to see vince & nikki do their lil in sync hip sway thing irl that ive gif-ed 87 times so i can die happy basically

the dirt goes SO HARD live

i spent far too much money on merch but i got the poster & i am beyond excited to get it framed <3

overall it was a 1000/10 night & i just feel so lucky & grateful i got to finally see my favorite band. literally gonna be on cloud 9 for the next 6 months

my mom told me i need a shirt that says “i went to the stadium tour & made it everybody’s problem” …i couldnt agree more 😌

#m talks #the stadium tour #the stadium tour fenway #nikki sixx #vince neil #motley crue #mick mars #tommy lee #mötley crüe #the dirt #motley crue live #poison #bret michaels #def leppard #joan jett

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babbushka · 4 years ago

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i think having a water balloon fight and maybe a bbq from the summer list with charlie and henry would be so cute i love family fluff with them so much (especially if it’s your writing😌🥰)

1.2k, no warnings, just family fluff!

You’ve got your eyes closed for a moment, just a moment, lying out on a large blanket in the park. Soaking up the sunshine of a mid-June afternoon, you take in deep lungfuls of clean fresh air, watching as the sunspots dance in front of your eyelids, visible even through your sunglasses that protect you from the rays. It’s a beautiful day to be outside in your city, one of those rare summer days where it isn’t completely sweltering.

There’s a gentle breeze coming through the bright green leaves of the neighborhood park that’s just around the corner from your house, and the smoky mouth-watering scent of hot and fresh barbeque tingles your nose.

All is peaceful and quiet, until all of a sudden there’s a loud smack and splashing sound, and the familiar weight of a child jumping on top of you wakes you out of your pleasant daydreaming.

“Ha!” Henry laughs and laughs, hiding behind you like a human shield after a sneak attack of a red water balloon straight to Charlie’s back, “(Y/N) did you see that? Did you -- were you looking?”

You blink and recover quickly, head swiveling to a very offended looking Charlie, who had purposefully called a time-out on their game of water-balloon-tag so he could tend to the small charcoal grill that sported lunch for the afternoon. Henry’s excitement is contagious despite Charlie’s disapproving scowl, and you can’t help but offer your hand for a small high-five.

“I saw honey, you got him good!” You rub salt into Charlie’s ego just a little bit, playfully, and your husband just rolls his eyes.

The three of you had been out here in the park for a solid couple hours now, and stomachs were starting to grumble, even in the face of all the fun and games. It was one of those beautiful Mary Poppins kind of days, you had taught Henry how to fly a kite while you had the nice breezes at your disposal in the morning, but when the heat of the day began to set in, Charlie announced that he had brought water balloons, so really, him getting wet is his own fault. Not that you were going to tell him that.

“Okay, alright, yeah sure, laugh it up --!” Charlie shakes his head, reaching down to pick something up, and you aren’t so sure what it is, until he quickly chucks a secret hidden blue balloon straight at you and Henry.

“Hey!” Henry gasps in surprise when the water balloon manages to get him right on the chest, water splashing all over you. He runs over to his dad and wraps his arms around his leg in protest, “No fair!”

It’s hypocritical of course, but he’s just a kid, and Charlie doesn’t feel like pointing that out right now. Instead, he ruffles Henry’s shaggy hair -- he’s in dire need of a cut, you think -- and winks, “All’s fair in love and war honey.”

“What’s that mean?” Henry frowns, looking between you and his dad.

“It means,” You stand up and shuck the water off of your arms, a minor casualty for some outdoor fun, “Lunch is ready. Set the table please.”

“But I’m all wet!” Henry complains loudly, and you nod, pulling out a different shirt for him and offering it to him.

“You can change if you want, but it’s so hot that you’ll be dry in no time.” You point out, making him tilt his head and frown again.

“Why?”

“Because of the sun. Remember in science they were talking about the water cycle?” Charlie joins in with a big smug grin on his face, one that Henry only scowls at, each looking so much like the other that you can’t help but let out a chuckle.

“Oh yeah.” Henry moves on from the subject in that way that kids tend to do, grabbing the plates and napkins and bounding over to the picnic table, calling, “Can I have a cheeseburger?”

“One Henry special coming up.” Charlie nods, fixing up the perfect sandwich for his picky eater.

You and Charlie get your lunches together and carry everything the short distance to the picnic table, settling in together. Henry claims the spot next to you straight away, so he can look at his dad and better be a part of the conversation, which warms Charlie’s heart.

It’s been a long year, everything the kid has been through between school and traveling to visit his mother in Los Angeles, that to see his son stay so resilient...all he wants to do is hug him tight and tell him he’s proud.

“I was thinking, if all our chores are done, then on Friday we could take a trip way out east for a week.” Charlie says instead, knowing that he’s in desperate need of a vacation before the summer rehearsals for his new play begin. “Spend some time on the beach in Montauk. Would that -- is that something you’d like?”

He directs that last comment to you, and your eyes light up.

“That sounds perfect.” You reach across the table and give his hand a meaningful squeeze, before taking a big bite out of your sandwich.

“Is that where they have the lighthouse?” Henry’s been to Montauk before when he was younger, so it’s no surprise to Charlie that he only remembers the lighthouse.

“Yup, and they have lots of pretty beaches to swim at, and the radar tower -- ”

“I don’t want to go to the radar tower of all places!” You laugh, immediately piquing Henry’s curiosity.

“Why? What’s at the radar tower?”

“A bunch of nutjobs, that’s what.” You mutter, thinking about the conspiracy theorists that claim the government invented time travel there. They’re always crawling around and trying to break in, that’s not something you want Henry exposed to. “Why don’t we go down to the bay, and we can eat as much lobster as we can manage instead?”

“Down by the bay, where the watermelon grows...!” Henry immediately begins humming to himself, before running over to the cooler where a big thing of sweet tea is that he pours himself a large glass from.

“We’ll be listening to that the entire way home you know.” Charlie smiles at you around a too-big bite of burger.

“Nah, he’ll tire himself out after a few more rounds of tag and sleep in the car.” You wink, and Charlie groans at the thought of more water-balloon attacks.

“I need a nap. God knows I’m fuckin’ exhausted.” He mumbles, and you reach across the table to rub at his shoulder.

“Maybe we should get him a dog.” You reply teasingly, but when Charlie looks at you again it’s with unusually sparkling eyes.

“Or a sibling.” He suggests, and you only blink.

“Oh yeah?” A great big grin spreads across your face, and you know he means it when that deep blush creeps across his nose and cheeks.

“Just a thought.” He shrugs softly, and you have to duck your head, bashful.

If Henry notices anything when he comes back with his sweet tea, he doesn’t say, instead wolfs down his burger with joy, just glad to be out of the classroom and in the sunny fresh air of the park, with his family.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tagging some Charlie lovin' friends! @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @safarigirlsp @steeevienicks @lovinghufflepuffgirl @miabelay11 @chapterhappygirl @schopenhauerdeathsquad @glassbxttless @angel-bxby3 @2000andwhat @raddo1975 @cornmousequeen @metsienmenninkainen @caillea @painttheskylineforme @holding-on-to-starwars @canikeepitonplease @icarusinthesea @princessflip

#charlie barber x reader #charlie barber #charlie barber/you #charlie barber x you #marriage story #adam driver fanfic #adcu #charlie barber imagine #charlie barber fluff

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jeonbunnie · 2 years ago

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ohmigosh! supper happy to see these updates! coming back online and seeing theres not one, but 3!!! new chapters for me to enjoy got me sooo exited! it’s been a minute since I’ve caught up so again, I’m leaving my fav moments/comments below. one day I will leave a normal sized comment under the last updated chapter but that day is not today lol. unhinged love letter under the cut!💗✨

—burning hot? shivering? 👀 babes it’s giving SOULMATE! (or like really bad withdrawal lol)

—first of all? why don’t EYE have big twilight sleep shirt. I’m neglecting my vampires fangirl needs

— bossy paramedic!/med journalist!Yoongi makes me feel some kinda way. idk the idea of him basically taking care of reader without a second thought is so sweet ♡

—and he makes tea?! swoon💕

— jungkook don’t be jealous of yoongi, leave bestie alone!

—needy jk missing reader and having FEELINGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

—also yoongi being chill and making demands to a vampire is funny af

— umm the time difference fit? PLS I’m still not over the photoshoot, i am FERAL 😭

—tiny thing but i really love all the clothing details too!! visuals !!!

—i keep forgetting jk can read minds shdjdjd pls if be in so much trouble 🥴

—oooh love the lore about turning & vampire blood being healing v cool.

—I do not believe him about this ‘no bonding’ business tho, he’s too excited to share his blood😑 I call bullshit

—wait it’s HAPPENING!! the way i was unprepared !

—this kiss!!!!!!!!! 🥵

—I thought I was down bad after: “I’ve wanted you from the moment I knew you existed.” ………. But BABEY

— “If I had a soul it would already be yours” …..I’m unwell😓💕

—loveeee bitchy roomie!hoseok lol

—idk why but Yoongi’s commentary about inter-species relations is taking me out! fornicating. lmfao!

—I’m very curious why it’s so frowned upon in society tho(I can’t relate. I’d be on a vampire like white on rice if the opportunity came up lol lol) where are my fellow vamp loving hoes 😂😂

—woahhhh the reveal of the real reason Yoongi became a med journalist is badass. bummer tho tho cuz think of all the life’s he could’ve saved as a paramedic with hoseoks blood!

— “the loudest dead man he’s ever had the displeasure of meeting” lol lol lol. I adore bickering Sope. Only true besties get on each other’s nerves.

— Yoongi’s caretaker behavior being due to his giant CRUSH!?! *gasp* shut up!

—the plot thiccens ✨

— I would not let jimin in my house! He is to too sly too slick. I don’t trust that mf!(affectionate). What’s his motives for coming to her with this info?

— also wonder why jk would lie about drinking readers blood. did he just want to seem unaffected by her scent almongst the others?or is it something more?

—aaa so many questions! But it’s good I love the mystery lol

—‘If I had a soul, it would already be yours.’ The repetition of this phrase esp after hearing of jk’s betrayal really twists the knife in the wound. Ouch 🥺

—pretty ditzy Betty seems sweet. I hope she becomes a good friend.

—going to euphoria is a bad idea tho omg (but fun for the plot, wooo!)

— “a very revealing dress for maximum damage” yass queen, revenge dress. I love that for us!

—taehyung saying ‘little one” gave me 10x physic damage.

—I’m SO whipped for all these vampires 😫 it’s a problem!

—not jungkook stepping ion taehyungs neck for merely FLIRTING with reader.LMFAO

— I knew he was possessive but Damn!😂 no chill lol

— also side note but the setting!!! this club is so pretty! I wish it were real, I’d go!

—ty for beefy jk visual in the sheer fit 😌 I need that

— “it's in my best interest that your heart keeps beating." Pls I’m soft !

— actual footage of me reading this whole scene between them

—I can’t even put into words how I feel about the private scene in the club like? I had to take a break. I’m a mess.

—crying, screaming, throwing up! I’m sick I tell you sick!🤢💕

wait the gun!!! Girl no! I don’t want her turn like this (but I get it, I’m ride or die for Eddie too….but still!)

-Ok! Next chapter all clear. False alarm! Whew😮‍💨

—“true identity” is my soul mates theory correctttttttt!?

—oop nvmnd this is taking a turn for the worst—not them fighting—we were so close!!!

— “Be my guest. Storm out the room. See how long your brother lasts without me.”

“Fuck you.” You spit, disgusted.

“I think that ship has long sailed, don’t you? THE GIRLS ARE FIGHTing!!!

—“fate” this. “Written in the stars” that. Pls im dying. 😭 I’m not strong enough for this conversation!

— “when I look at the stars all I see is you.” 100k physic damage.

—“Don’t ever threaten me like that again. Your life is a gift, you don’t need to treat it like a weapon against me. We’re on the same side.” THEIR ON THE SAME SIDE!🥺

—“…no doubt in his mind that you and he are connected by the moon. The moon has a dark side that nobody ever sees, hidden and overlooked by the beautiful glow of the surface moonlight. And yet neither can exist without the other – something Jungkook never truly understood until he met you.”🥺😩 this comparison….stop I’m gonna cry!

—on another note, jk visiting home….with THAT mother? bffr this a terrible idea lol

—“the lunar pull between your souls binding and entwining you with each and every passing second you spend in the other’s company.” Yeah I’m just a sucker for all this whole moon of my life, my sun in stars business figurative language

—also! It’s so fun to dive into jk’s head and see her family through his perspective, I really enjoy his viewpoint.

—And the playful shade and banter between everyone is really amusing lol

—oh yay Pi Gasu title drop!☺️ let’s goooo

—aaa the fact that Eddie’s suffering only ends when the reader dies. My heart! The drama!

—also all my previous guesses where so wrong lol I love that though it’s great when a writer can surprise me!

—jk’s past, the curse of his venomous bite….I’m getting answers but bestie these are not the answers I wanted!😭 (it’s all super cool tho I’m just a wreck hearing about it lol)

Aaa, ok I’m caught up. If you can’t tell I super enjoyed these last updates! This is like the vampire I wish I could write, but I’m too lazy lol so I’m glad someone else is out her writing the fic of my daydreams. I can’t wait to see we’re the story ends up next.💗✨

Pi Gasu Series Collection

vampire!jungkook, donor!reader, explicit smut, angst, death, vampire au, fantasy au. 18+ content minors dni 🔞 new banner created by the magnificent @jkshandsomegirlfriend - thank u!

Prologue

An introduction to Jungkook’s world

Divine Sinner

In which you encounter your first vampire, or five

Divine Sinner pt.2

Jungkook reconsiders your last conversation

Twin Roses Between Twin Thorns

You visit your family for the first time in a year

Memories That Last For Eternity

Jungkook needs you to donate, now

Damned If We Do, Dead If We Don’t

Donating blood for Jungkook is taking its toll on your body

The New World

You discover a shocking truth that leads you to Euphoria

One Of Me, Two Of Us

Jungkook doesn’t take your threat lightly and agrees to help

#fic recs #this comment was even longer whoopsie!#fic rec

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annathesillyfriend · 3 years ago

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was i maniacally checking your page every 30 mins for the last two days? maybe so 🤷‍♀️ but i am just so bloody excited for this story

That was how you learned that Tom had been the deciding factor, astonishing the director when he’d chosen Penelope without a moment’s hesitation. You had pretended it didn’t hurt when you’d spotted them hanging all over each other for weeks after that, but it did. He’d chosen her for his own personal motives.

not cool, mate 🔪🔪🔪 such a dick move, you deserve a kick in the ball for that

“If you miss, then you have to let me shave your head at the sorority raffle next month.”

that sounds fun but is it worth the risk?

“but, when I win, you have to come to the state championship next week as my biggest fan.” “Fine.”

famous last words

What have you done?

It’s the world’s weirdest game of cat and mouse.

tom and jerry but make it sexy

Button Number One: Tom absolutely despises it when you call him Tommy.

ohhh, i think it's the exact opposite 😏

“You said, and I’m quoting here, darling, I don’t give a fuck about the goddamn shirt, Tom! Leave me alone!”

yeah, that sounds like something she would say 😂

“Can’t forget the golf skirt, of course,” he hummed, looking far too pleased with himself as you groaned at the sight, “I took a guess on the size.”

he's so nice, he thought about everything 🙃

What would he have done? Come and retrieved you from the sorority house? Dragged you to the course kicking and screaming? No, no, Tom wouldn’t have done that.

You’d spent far longer than you’d like to admit printing photos from his social media, and a few from your own, to be cut apart and pasted on the board.

i admire her dediaction!

If the embarrassment on Tom’s face hadn’t been so amusing to see, you would have been far more embarrassed for yourself.

this is just hilarious, i have tears in my eyes imagining that scene in my head 😂

Has his ass always been so… defined? Have his arms always looked so strong, so perfect to wrap you up and—

Oh, fuck, you think Tom is hot!

you have two working eyes, of course you do, have you seen the guy?

Your palms are sweaty, your skin on fire, and your lungs burning. A war is waging in your body at the sight. Does he know? He winks, and you know that he definitely knows.

girl, you gotta fight back, make him even more hot and bothered than you feel! i believe in you, you can do it!

Or, maybe he just hates the fact that you seem to be the only woman on campus who doesn’t fawn over him.

well, it seems like this won't be a problem anymore 😂

How long would you wait for him? How long would you sit, all alone, before you realized that he wasn’t coming and had probably snuck out some back door to laugh his way back to campus on the bus?

oh no, he's not that big of a dick, right? right?

“You’re a bloody insufferable little witch, you know that?”

look who's talking!

“God, are you really changing with me in here?”

at least you get a striptease out of this 🤷‍♀️

Hook, line, and sinker, he’s caught you in his trap.

“I loved it! I loved watching you, and I wasn’t faking it anymore when I cheered for you, and I meant it when I congratulated you! You were amazing, but you know that, and I was fucking proud—“

i kinda wish she didn't give in but when i think about what's coming... yeah, i am gonna be okay 😌

“Show me,” he repeats, “show me how proud of me you were. Show me how much you enjoyed it, (Y/N). Don’t you think I deserve a proper reward?”

i am starting to sweat a little 🥵

The part of his lips as he pants, the clench of his eyes as he thrusts himself to the very back of your throat once more, and the way his head falls back each time he lets out a noise of ecstasy.

“I guess so, Tommy. You want it off? Come and take it.”

yessss tell him girl

Button Number Two: Tom absolutely loves it when you call him Tommy, and now you finally understand why it’s always gotten under his skin.

ha, who would've thought 😏

It’s rough, and messy, and your back is definitely going to be bruised from how hard he’s slamming you into the wooden surface behind you, but you don’t care.

Button Number Three: Tom really, really loves it when you praise him, and you love to do it.

he should give her more reasons to do it then 🙂

“This changes nothing,” you finally say, taking his prolonged silence as a cue for you to speak, “right?”

good luck with that!

“Yeah, right.” He affirms, and opens the door. “But, uh, maybe you could come inside?”

HAYLEY THIS WAS SO BLOODY AMAZING I AM YELLING like babe, i stan like i have never stanned before... enemies to lovers/fuckers is the best trope ever written and this fic proves that. and yes, the smut was delicious, but your writing style is what makes this story this great. i am in love with your work, dalring! you are a phenomenal writer! thank you so much for your work 💛💛

golf groupie | t.holland

{frat!golf!tom x sorority!reader}

summary: the last thing tom holland needs is to have his massive ego stroked, but when you lose a bet and are forced to play the role of his biggest fan... maybe his cockiness isn't always so bad.

word count: 10,483

warnings: smut! enemies to fuckers. like the tiniest bit of angst/fluff if you squint? alcohol, vague descriptions of golf because i'm bad at it, tom and y/n being insufferable. language. explicit warnings below divide.

18+!!! minors stay away!

here it is, a whole day late because i'm fucking garbage!

warnings: oral (m receiving), fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it up, folks. don't be like these two). cocky!tom! praise kink (m receiving).

The atmosphere in the party is thick, palpable even. The air, clouded with smoke and haze from who knows how many substances, no longer feels exciting and electric—it feels suffocating. Discreetly, or as inconspicuously as possible in your drunken state, you wipe the back of your hand across your brow to clear the sweat that has collected there.

“Sometime today would be nice, (Y/N).”

Your brows furrow in frustration, a haughty glare marring the features of your face as you tear your gaze away from the table to face Tom. Tom Holland, also known as the president of the Alpha Psi Omega fraternity chapter at your university, and also known as the bane of your existence. His smirk is equally as heated as your scowl, and you can see it in the way his brown eyes twinkle that he has you exactly where he wants you… sweaty, stressed, and frustrated.

It’s hard to say just how the rivalry between the two of you began, and even harder for you to pinpoint when exactly the ever present feelings of resentment you harbored for the man first blossomed. Some part of you feels as though you’ve always hated him, but the fiery heat that always blossoms in every part of your body in his present isn’t like any distaste you’ve ever felt before. It’s complicated, confusing, and nothing like the way you hated Maggie Harper back in your home town. She’s the only other person you’ve known, without a doubt, that you hated.

Perhaps the tension between you and Tom is due to your mutual competitiveness. As much as it pains you to acknowledge, and as much as everyone else loves to point out, Tom and yourself are like two sides of the same coin. You both strive to be the life of the party, the center of attention, and Tom would do anything to outshine you in any way that he can. You’d do much the same, though.

Your earliest memory of the rivalry between the two of you takes you back to your freshman year, three—nearly four—years prior. You had been auditioning for the spring theater production, in which Tom had already scored the starring role. It had been quite the accomplishment for a freshman, and that same man had singlehandedly crushed your own dreams that day. Oh, how naïve you’d been, so bright eyed and ready to take on the world.

It had come down to just you and one other woman, a senior who’d starred as the leading role in each production for the past two years. Despite the strong chance that you’d be beat out, you were prepared. For weeks you had practiced relentlessly, perfecting your monologues and lines down to the last breath. When it came time to do the final audition—a reading opposite Tom—you swallowed down your nerves and gave the performance of your life.

Penelope, your competition for the part, had delivered a compelling read herself. Even you had found yourself holding back tears at her beautiful performance, but you felt it in your bones that the role was yours. The other cast and the theater director herself had been openly weeping following your performance, and you truly felt as if the chemistry between yourself and Tom was undeniable.

But, then the impossible happened. Penelope had snagged the role, and it wasn’t until later that you found out why. A friend of yours had been given one of the minor roles and had been present for the decision making process. That was how you learned that Tom had been the deciding factor, astonishing the director when he’d chosen Penelope without a moment’s hesitation. You had pretended it didn’t hurt when you’d spotted them hanging all over each other for weeks after that, but it did. He’d chosen her for his own personal motives.

A ping pong ball assaulting your forehead is what finally brings you back to the present, and your hand flings to your face as you gasp in surprise. “Tom, what the fuck?” you hiss, but he only laughs.

“Are you gonna make the shot or not, sweetheart?” he taunts, and you ignore the way the pet name makes you shiver in favor of the way his smirk makes your blood boil, “Scared? Afraid to lose in front of everyone?”

Two red cups remain standing on the long table. One close to Tom’s end, one of the few from the back row that had been alluding you throughout the entire game, and one more on your end. The ball you’ve been holding for the past few minutes is damp and slippery, and you’re not sure if it’s from being repeatedly dunked in beer or if it’s because your hands are sweaty with anxiety. A crowd surrounds you, an amalgamation of Tom’s frat brothers and your own sorority sisters, and for once all eyes being on you doesn’t fill you with pride.

Scoffing, you square your shoulders and widen your stance as you snarl, “You wish, Holland.” His smirk only widens, brown eyes following your every move with an amount of intensity that only causes the sweat on your brown to worsen.

If you miss, then Tom has the opportunity to win it all. You’d been leading by a lone cup nearly the entire game, courtesy of a busty party-girl distracting him during one of his earlier shots, and now the two of you are on equal ground. He’d managed to sink two cups on his last throw—the ball bouncing the beer in one cup to another before you could catch it—and no longer are you feeling quite so confident in yourself.

With a deep breath and an annoying ringing in your ear, you pull your hand back and squint your eyes at his cup. The nearly weightless white ball glides through the air and hits the rim of his cup, your heart stalling in your chest, but he catches it from its spin around the rim before it can hit the beer beneath. Fuck, your stomach twists as you meet his arrogant gaze once more.

“Are you ready to see me win?” he goads once more, and all at once the rage in your belly seems to take over.

Normally, you’d know better than to challenge Tom Holland. The man only ever seems to strengthen in the face of adversity, stepping up to any challenge that comes his way with a level of certainty that makes you nauseous, but the spite on your tongue is impossible to hold back. “Wanna bet?” you snipe, and he puffs his chest with raised brows, “If you miss, then you have to let me shave your head at the sorority raffle next month.”

For a moment, a fraction of a second so fast that you nearly miss it, his smirk morphs into a grimace and his eyes flash with fear. But, Tom is quick to correct himself as the crowd around you both ooh’s and aah’s with excitement. “Fine,” he shrugs, licking his lips with a chuckle that warns you of bad things to come, “but, when I win, you have to come to the state championship next week as my biggest fan.”

“Fine.” you shrug, though internally bile is creeping up your throat at the very idea.

Tom grins, “Fine.”

And then, like something out of a movie, he cocks his arm and throws blindly. The ball sinks into your cup instantly, not even touching the rim, and for a moment you think your knees have given out with the way the floor rocks beneath you. You’re still standing, though, and the floor is creaking wildly under the ravenous crowd jumping on Tom who stares you down as if you’re the only person in the world. You can’t even hear the raucous cheering, that ringing filling your ears until it sounds like white noise, and you can’t look away. Even as the cup is held to your lips and beer is forced down your throat like a fucked up water board, you remain trapped in Tom’s stare.

What have you done?

⁑⁑⁑

There’s not much in the way of entertainment that brings you quite as much joy as getting under Tom Holland’s skin. In the few years that you’ve known him, you’ve come to realize more than just a few things. Firstly, despite his uncanny ability to rise to any challenge and come out on top, Tom’s temper is about as short as they come. Secondly, nobody else seems to be as apt to getting him all hot and bothered as you are.

And, thirdly? Well, thirdly, you get a peculiar amount of joy from watching him squirm. One simple push of his buttons from you, and suddenly Tom is a whole other man—gone is the devilish charm and quick wit, so quickly replaced with fiery scowls and rumbling growls. He’s enticing in that way, exciting even.

Maybe you’re just sadistic, or perhaps just a bit unhinged to relish in his unraveling like you do, but who’s to say? You know, better than anyone, that Tom gets that same sick satisfaction from you. It’s the world’s weirdest game of cat and mouse. Hell, the two of you could probably give Tom the cat and Jerry the mouse a run for their money with your reckless antics.

For example, right now Tom’s jaw is so tense you’re almost convinced you can hear the faintly audible crackle and grind of his teeth over the distant chatter of his fellow golfers. His eyes are dark, so dark you can barely discern the familiar amber twinkle of his molten irises anymore, and they laser focused on you. Or, well, on your outfit.

As much as you love the thrill of having all eyes on you, you have to admit that in this moment… you’re more than satisfied with the intense beam of Tom’s eyes alone. Patiently you wait for him to approach, his steps harsh and calculated stomps against the asphalt of the parking lot, and your smirk only widens at the sight of his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Oh, he’s pissed, and you are loving it.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” he seethes, accent thickening in his fit of rage, and it only makes you all the happier.

Feigning innocence, you blink at him and flick the hem of your skirt playfully as you say, “What, you don’t like it, Tommy?”

Button Number One: Tom absolutely despises it when you call him Tommy. His jaw ticks, his eyes flash, and your belly twists into gleeful knots at the sight of it. He almost makes it too easy, really, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

In the distance you can make out the all too pleased faces of his teammates and straggling fraternity brothers. A small group of them remains outside the bus, their eyes trained on the pair of you with amused smirks and raucous laughter. They’re whispering—but you have a pretty good idea as to what they’re talking about.

You wonder briefly if Tom knows his eye is twitching, but his voice is far from a tremor as he demands, “Where’s the stuff I gave you? You lost the bet, (Y/N), and you were supposed to—“

“Oh, calm down, Tom,” you sigh, and bite back a laugh at the way he pinches his nose in utter frustration, “I just made a few… improvements.”

It’s true. You had made a few improvements to the cheap outfit and poster that Tom had given you the night prior, when he’d shown up unannounced to your sorority house un the middle of the night. Just when you’d been about ready to admit defeat, consumed with anxiety and embarrassment over the day that lay ahead of you… Tom had pushed just the right button to get you fired up again.

The door to your room burst open unexpectedly, and you’d barely had time to snap your robe shut before Tom came stalking into the tiny bedroom with a devilish grin and a mischievous twinkle in his eye. If anything, the glimmer had only intensified at the startled gasp you’d let out and the way you clutched your satin robe even tighter to your nude body in astonishment.

In his hands, he carried a plastic sack that rustled loudly and a gruesomely tragic attempt at a poster, two of the corners bent and creased from a lack of care over the flimsy board. You glared at him, snapping, “What are you doing in my room?”

“Right, we have a few things to go over, sweetheart.” Was all he said, that usual cheeky smirk splitting his cheeks as he made himself at home in your room. All you could do was groan as he plopped his still shoe clad feet onto your bed as he flopped onto the mattress, before he continued, “I’ve taken the creative liberty with your shirt, since you so nicely informed me you didn’t give a fuck about it.”

Indignantly, you tried to protest, “I did not say—“

“You said, and I’m quoting here, darling, I don’t give a fuck about the goddamn shirt, Tom! Leave me alone!” Tom pitched his voice higher in an attempt to mock you, the action causing your face to heat up and your lips to curl in a snarl. Nevertheless, he goaded, “Sound familiar? Anyhow, I come bearing gifts.”

It was ridiculous how easily he caused your blood to boil, how easily he made your skin crawl, how easily he made your heart race—wait, scratch that last one. It was just the rage and adrenaline causing heart palpitations, surely. You wondered, sometimes, if he felt all of the weird little things you felt when the two of you went head to head like this. Did he feel as if he were at the peak of a mountain, struggling to breathe and jittery with anticipation of the unknown?

Surely, not. Tom Holland probably felt only resolute hatred for you, if his actions told you anything at all. Though, you did wonder if any other person made his cheeks go red like you seemed to. Did anyone else seem to fluster him so easily?

Tom cleared his throat, bringing you out of your silent reverie as you were presented with the shirt in question. It was small—at least two sizes smaller than what you’d told him. It wasn’t the size that made you bare your teeth in a spiteful hiss, though. No, it was the god awful photograph of himself emblazoned boldly across it. Was that… was that a headshot?

Taking your grimace of disgust in stride, the man grinned and dumped the cheap article onto your floor before rifling through the plastic sack once more to retrieve a skirt. “Can’t forget the golf skirt, of course,” he hummed, looking far too pleased with himself as you groaned at the sight, “I took a guess on the size.”

If the shirt was anything to go off of, you were almost certain it wouldn’t fit. “You’re a little too happy about all of this, Tommy.” You grumbled. At least there was a brief respite of satisfaction for you in seeing the familiar way his eye twitched at the name.

You really weren’t all that sure as to why it bothered him so much, but you didn’t really care either. Nothing was off limits when it came to the two of you. Well, maybe except true public humiliation; the two of you may have gotten a kick out of riling each other up before a crowd, but there were some things that might have gone too far. You hadn’t figured them out, yet, but surely you would eventually.

“Just pleased to see you finally admitting the truth, sweetheart.” Tom cooed.

The truth? Did he mean… “Oh, come off it, Tom.” You scoffed, but he only beamed back at you cheekily, “You wish!”

His eye dropped in a lazy wink, “It’s okay to be honest with yourself, (Y/N). I can’t blame you for falling in love with me—“

“Oh, just get to the point, Tom!” you snapped, ignoring his laughter at the way your temper flared, “Finish your little show so I can go to bed.”

If you had thought that the shirt was bad, it was nothing compared to the sign. Tom showed it off to you as if it were a masterpiece, but you could only compare it to the likes of a six year old’s arts and crafts project. Big block letters spelled out, Go Tom! And somehow, someway, he’d managed to run out of space for the five letters. It was embarrassing, really, how terrible it was.

Tom showed it off to you as if it were a masterpiece, but you could only compare it to the likes of a six year old’s arts and crafts project. Big block letters spelled out, Go Tom! And somehow, someway, he’d managed to run out of space for the five letters. It was embarrassing, really, how terrible it was.

You could deal with the stupid shirt. You could deal with the ugly golf skirt. But that sign? Hell no. There was no way you would be caught dead holding that sign—it brought you discomfort to even keep it in your presence.

Which, was why you’d torn it to shreds the moment Tom had finally dragged himself out of your private space. After a lot of screaming, and a bit of crying, you sat amidst the shreds of the poster and dreaded the day to come. You were meant to follow the university bus to the golf course bright and early the next morning, and for a moment you truly considered just not showing up.

What would he have done? Come and retrieved you from the sorority house? Dragged you to the course kicking and screaming? No, no, Tom wouldn’t have done that. But, you knew that if you didn’t show it would give him all the ammunition he needed to torment you for the foreseeable future. Not showing up would show that he’d finally, truly beat you, and you wouldn’t stand for that.

No, you couldn’t let him beat you again, let him see that he’d truly won and pushed you past your limit. If you wanted to come away from that day with your pride intact, then you would have to show Tom that you could beat him at his own game. And, what better way to do that, than to make him squirm by doing exactly what he’d asked of you?

If Tom Holland wanted a super-fan, then a super-fan he would get.

“You call those improvements?” Tom scoffed, and you shrugged, “I spent money on that shirt, (Y/N), where the hell is it?”

Gone is the t-shirt with the awful photograph of his face. In truth, it never would have seen the light of day even if you had liked it—the fabric was too thin and the fit too tight on your body to be worn in public. Plus, your breasts had stretched his face beyond recognition… on second thought, perhaps that would have been fairly amusing.

Instead, you’re wearing a simple shirt you’d made with the words Go Tommy! Expertly written in perfect sizing across the front. You’d been sure to measure for accuracy. The golf skirt miraculously fits well, and so you at least can say that you’d followed one bit of his instructions. And the sign? Well, you’d taken your own creative liberties (and your sorority sister’s scrapbooking supplies).

A bigger, brighter, better neon poster board is crisply rolled in your hand to be revealed only once you arrive at the golf course. You’d spent far longer than you’d like to admit printing photos from his social media, and a few from your own, to be cut apart and pasted on the board. You couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he would see the way you’d pasted photos of yourself next to him.

Pouting teasingly, you whine, “It was too small, Tommy. Stretched your face all out and made you look even uglier.”

Button Number Two: insulting his appearance always gets him going. Tom’s cheeks redden and his hands shake as he raises them to his face, pulling at his hair as If he is attempting to keep himself from truly losing his cool. Oh, he really makes it all worth it with his reactions.

The bus honks, and one of his teammates calls out for him to hurry up, and the moment is over. He gives you one last bitter glare over his shoulder as he snarls, “Stick to the deal, (Y/N), or else. You lost the bet, so deal with it.”

“Oh, I’ll deal with it, alright,” you smirk, “don’t you worry, Tommy. I’ll be the best super-fan in the world.”

⁑⁑⁑

Golf is, without a doubt, the most boring sport on the face of the planet. Despite the forced, nearly crazed smile that splits your cheeks and the proud way you tote around the neon-pink poster in your hands, you can barely focus on anything anymore. Your feet hurt from walking the course, your back aches from straining to be sure you’re never out of Tom’s line of sight, and your throat is going raw from the manic cheers you hoot whenever the crowd applauds for Tom.

If the embarrassment on Tom’s face hadn’t been so amusing to see, you would have been far more embarrassed for yourself. It takes everything in you not to cower away from the shameful glares of the unsuspecting victims around you, most of them none the wiser of just why you’re acting the way you are. But, Tom’s cheeks are permanently painted pink, and if the way he chews on his lips tells you anything, he’s positively sweating.

But the thing that really throws you for a loop and leaves you feeling breathless? You can’t seem to drag your eyes away from the man, and not because your little scheme is very clearly working. For once—okay, for once that you’re unable to deny—you’re not watching Tom purely out of malice. Not entirely, anyways.

No, your eyes are practically glued to his form. The obviously toned planes of his body under his ridiculously tight polo and grey pants. Has his ass always been so… defined? Have his arms always looked so strong, so perfect to wrap you up and—

Biting hard on your tongue, you inhale sharply as you realize exactly what is so different about the way Tom makes you feel in comparison to how Maggie Harper did. With Maggie, the disgust and hatred had been clear and blatant in your mind. Sharp, unyielding, unforgiving. But, with Tom? It’s always been a muddied mess of butterflies and hornets in your guts.

Oh, fuck, you think Tom is hot!

You think Tom is hot, and you can’t deny that if there’s anything interesting at all about golf, it’s him. It’s obvious why he’s made it to the state championship, and why the whole school has been buzzing about his practically guaranteed win. He’s good—good enough that even you can tell, and a weird bubble of pride swells in your chest.

He’s hot, he’s definitely going to win, and maybe being his super fan isn’t the most embarrassing thing. After all, you could have come as the loser’s super fan… What the hell is going on with you?

Tom’s eyes meet yours as the crowd claps for him once more, respectfully, and yet you’re silent. All day he’d been avoiding your gaze, but now that you’re quiet? He can tell that something is bothering you, and that little smirk slowly starts to stretch across his perfect, pink—his stupid lips again!

His eyes are twinkling with a certain kind of fire you’ve never seen in them before, and it makes your heart race. Your palms are sweaty, your skin on fire, and your lungs burning. A war is waging in your body at the sight. Does he know? He winks, and you know that he definitely knows.

The rest of the tournament is a blur. Hole after hole, applause after applause, your mind is swimming in the clouds. You’re here, but you’re a million miles away as you struggle to make sense of all of the conflicting thoughts and feelings within you. One thing you’re certain of, is that you definitely don’t like Tom. You think he’s insufferable, and a petty part of you will never forgive him for the Penelope incident, but you also can’t help the way your mouth waters at the obscene ripple of muscle in his biceps each time he swings his club. You can’t help the way your eyes gravitate toward the cling of his polo to his torso, or the strain of his pants around his thighs. You’d be lying if you said you never thought of it before.

It’s pretty undeniable that Tom is attractive, objectively, but never before has it at the forefront of your mind. Maybe that’s what amuses you the most at how sensitive he seems to be when it comes to you insulting his appearance, because you know damn well that Tom Holland knows he is attractive. Or, maybe he just hates the fact that you seem to be the only woman on campus who doesn’t fawn over him.

But, now? Now there’s no denying that you are completely enraptured with his appearance, bordering on drooling over him, and he’s eating it up like a starved man. Your cheers have silenced in favor of clapping, much to the relief of the rest of the audience, and your eyes are constantly meeting his each and every time he looks over at you.

The arrogant quirk of his lips makes your blood boil in more ways than one. It makes you melt like a hormonal teenager, but it also flares that indignant fury within the pit of your belly. You hate him so, so, so much, and you hate the stupid way you want to put your hands on him in a completely non-violent way even more.

You hate the way you aren’t faking it when you cheer over his championship. You hate the way your shouts aren’t forced or teasing, but earnest and full of pride as you applaud him. You hate the way he grins at you and for once doesn’t have a hidden message behind those brown eyes. And, you really, really hate the way you hug him in front of everyone and like the way it feels.

“Wait for me outside the changing rooms.” He whispers for only you to hear, and you really fucking hate the shiver that racks down your body at the way his lips brush the shell of your ear. You especially hate the way you do exactly as he asks, and you don’t hate doing it one bit.

⁑⁑⁑

Waiting for Tom is exactly what you need to get yourself in check. In fact, the longer you wait, the more you feel your annoyance toward the man seep back through your veins—or, maybe that’s just because you’ve been sitting on the concrete for so long your butt has long gone numb. The crowd has dwindled down to practically nothing, and you’re starting to wonder if maybe this was Tom’s plan all along.

How long would you wait for him? How long would you sit, all alone, before you realized that he wasn’t coming and had probably snuck out some back door to laugh his way back to campus on the bus? A hot flare of anger bubbles through you at the thought, and you get up with a bitter scoff that makes your throat ache.

You should have seen it coming. All over again you’re reminded of that day three years in the past, reminded of the shame and embarrassment you had felt because of Tom fucking Holland. The punishment was never about you making a fool of yourself in front of the crowd—like always, Tom’s found yet another way to remind you that you’re a complete sucker for him and he knows it.

Swiping some imaginary dirt from your skirt, you angrily crumple the poster that you’d discarded onto the ground beside you and stuff it into a nearby trash can. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Tom may be an asshole, but at least he isn’t an idiot like you are—

“What did that poster ever do to you?”

Yelping at the sudden sound of Tom’s voice, you snap away from the garbage can you’d been fighting with as if it had electrocuted you. And, there he is, in all his glory. He’s still wearing the polo and pants, and he’s standing just inside the doorway to the changing rooms, and you’re wondering what the hell he’s been doing for the past hour and a half to keep you waiting.

Tom’s eyes are crinkled at the corners as he grins in amusement, appraising the half-hearted way your poster hangs over the top of the trash can, and your tongue is sharp as you hiss, “You sure took your sweet time. Congratulations, idiot, you missed the bus!”

His nostrils flare and he narrows his eyes at you, quirking that ridiculous messy brow of his as he snaps back, “I know, I asked you to wait because I was going to ride back to campus with you, sweetheart.”

There’s a lilt in his tone as he sneers the pet name that’s been coined yours and yours alone, and it only grates at you all the more in this moment. Why does he call you that? Why does he insist on calling you sweet names when his intentions are anything but? You hate him, and you hate that you secretly love the way the name sounds each time it slides off his tongue.

“And what if I don’t want you to, Tommy?” you taunt, hands on your hips and posture wide in defiance, “What if I just leave you here? I’ve already fulfilled my end of the deal, I’ve done my punishment—“

Button Number Three: Tom absolutely hates it when you deny him, and just like that, you watch as his temper begins to come unglued. “You’re a bloody insufferable little witch, you know that?” he grits out, jaw working overtime as he steps up to you, “Just when I thought you were finally going to drop this pathetic little act of yours, you just have to go and remind me that you’ll never change! You’re always going to be a—“

Your hands jump to life before your mind does, and he grunts as you shove him childishly. It’s a weak push, one that barely causes him to stumble, but it’s more than enough to show him that he’s got you exactly where he wants you. His mouth snaps shut and his eyes are trained heatedly onto you as you clench your fists and lock your knees indignantly. “I’m always going to be a what, Tom? A bitch?” There’s no playful fight in your tone this time; you’re pissed, and he can see it.

He loves it. It’s obvious from the way his eyes light up despite the stoic pinch of his brow. In a flash of movement that leaves you dazed and spinning, his hand clamps around your arm and drags you into the darkened changing room. It’s empty, and most of the lights are turned off, and it’s alarmingly quiet.

You’re alone with him, and you’re not sure whether you’re excited or terrified at the thought. The change in lighting from the blinding glare of the sun to the dim, near-darkness of the room has your eyes unfocussed and you blink rapidly to try and clear your vision. “What the hell are you doing, Tom?” you demand, and he laughs. The sound is distant, letting you know that he’s drifted away from you and further into the room.

“Just making sure you don’t leave me stranded, sweetheart.” He teases, and now your eye is twitching.

Following the sound of his voice, you make your way through the darkened rows of wooden lockers. A few times you bang your knees off of poorly placed benches (or, benches you’re still struggling to make out in the dim lighting, rather) and your grunts only make him chuckle in amusement. Your legs are aching and your temper is sufficiently frazzled by the time you find him, but in an instant your vision is sharper than ever and the air is sucked from your lungs.

Tom’s shirt is off, and you’re greeted by the sight of his bare back flexing as he works at the buckle of his belt deliberately. “God, are you really changing with me in here?” you gasp, and he peers at you from over his shoulder with a smirk. “What the hell were you doing all this time?”

He turns to face you and continues with removing his belt, shrugging nonchalantly, “Making you sweat. Have to admit, I expected you’d have left.” You knew it! “So, why’d you wait?”

The button of his pants pops open easily, and your breath hitches as he unzips them without a care. You swallow thickly, eyes glued to the strong hands that curl around the fabric of his pants, and you have to turn your head as he begins to pull them down. “I don’t know.” You mutter, growing hot under his gaze as your ears are trained on the sound of his trousers hitting the floor.

His chuckle is playful and gives you chills. “You don’t know?” Tom muses, “Didn’t want to stick around to congratulate me?”

“No.” you grumble, and you clench your eyes shut in frustration at the weak retort. That’s it? Where the hell has your fire gone? It’s ridiculously to keep your resolve when you know that he’s practically naked, mere feet away from you, and you’re not sure whether hatred is what’s fueled the feud between the two of you for so long.

Is it hatred? Or is it a weird, toxic sort of sexual tension? Does he feel it too?

Tom’s voice is much closer as he hums, “No?” His hand is gentle, but firm, as he grips your chin and turns your head back to face him. You know he can see the way your eyes flicker down to his bare chest for just a moment, and he cocks his head goadingly, “That’s not very nice of you, (Y/N). I almost thought you were enjoying it, what with how hard you were staring at me—were you?”

“No.”

You’re made. The not-so-subtle crack of your voice is a blazing sign screaming that you’re lying, and he catches his lip between his teeth to stifle the laugh the rips through his chest. He’s so close, his hand still holding your chin, and your resolve is in shambles around you.

His tone is husky as he repeats his words from the previous night, “It’s okay to be honest with yourself, (Y/N), we both know you were.”

Hook, line, and sinker, he’s caught you in his trap. You’re not entirely sure who’s the first to move, but your movements are frantic as you meet him in the middle to crush your lips to his, and fuck. His lips are soft, yet hard and unyielding as he bores down on you with just as much force and desperation. Your head is spinning and your lungs feel like they’ve collapsed under the weight of his kiss, and you hate the way you never want it to end.

Lips gliding over lips, teeth clashing, and his grip on your jaw has gone from a tender hold to a bruising squeeze as he holds you in place. You’re panting, gasping out hot breaths into his mouth as he parts his lips and breathes you in. Tom groans as your hands leave your sides to clutch his shoulders, clinging to him out of a fear of your knees giving out.

Your head falls back as he drags his hot and heavy lips away from your mouth, trailing wet and sloppy kisses over your jaw before he’s whispering in your ear, “I want to hear you say it, sweetheart.” Gritting your teeth, you shake your head indignantly and he growls under his breath, “Say it.”

Tom’s still working at your neck, his lips sealing around your tender skin as he sucks hard to leave his mark—a mark you’re certain will not fade for days, regardless of how many frozen spoons you might hold to it in the night. It’s not until his teeth nip at your flesh that you start to truly give in, a pitiful whine escaping you as you dig your fingernails into his shoulders, “Tom—“

He clicks his tongue, moving onto another patch of skin just behind your ear as you still refuse to tell him what he wants. Another harsh suck, one more nip of his teeth, a soothing glide of his silky tongue over bruising skin, and you can’t hold back the moan that rips from the pit of your stomach. You hate the way you can feel his smirk against your ear as he hums approvingly at the sound.

“You’re lying.” He states plainly as he pulls back to look you in the eye, positively glowing from the pliant way you’ve melted into his hold. One hand is gripping your hip firmly, the other having drifted from your jaw to find purchase in the tender space of your ribs just beneath your breast. With each breath that heaves through your chest, you can just barely feel the brush of his thumb along the swell of the fleshy mound, and you hate how much you crave to truly feel it.

Stubbornly, you protest, “I’m not.” You are, though, and he knows it.

All at once he backs away from you, all traces of his touch leaving your steadily heating body, and you have to choke down the whine of protest that threatens to leave you. Tom’s still smirking, and he shrugs whilst raking a hand through his curls that have grown messy in your entanglement, “Alright, then. I guess I read the signs wrong.”

You know damn well what he’s doing, and it’s ridiculous how easily he can snare you in his web. How easily Tom Holland can get you right where he wants you, tangle you up in his trap, and how easily he can bend you to his will. You’re faced with two choices—stick to your stubborn refusal to admit he’s right (as always) and leave this room without ever knowing what could have happened, or tell him what he wants to hear and find out exactly what could happen.

It’s a challenge, an unspoken competition, and that’s what leads you to do it. He’s gloating over your childishly stubborn nature, and you can’t stand it anymore. Your voice is harsh as you snap, “Fine, Tom. I enjoyed it.”

For a moment he looks surprised, but the subtle part of his lips is quickly stretched into a radiant smile. “That’s it?” he taunts, and you growl with a pathetic stomp of your foot. “Come on, sweetheart, you can do better than that.”

“Fine!” your voice raises, “I loved it! I loved watching you, and I wasn’t faking it anymore when I cheered for you, and I meant it when I congratulated you! You were amazing, but you know that, and I was fucking proud—“

Your back slams against the locker behind you, and the loud moan that reverberates through your body at the feeling of his body pressing into you is theatrical. This time his kiss is deliberate, an all-consuming grind of his lips into yours and his hands wander your body freely. He’s pawing at your breast, squeezing the tender flesh harshly, and he’s palming your ass with a harsh grip that has you whining and pushing back into his hand desperately.

But, Tom’s got other plans. Feeling the way you submit to his touch, wordlessly begging for more, he pinches your ass hard enough to make you yelp and rips his lips from yours. His eyes are dark and heady, and his voice is gravelly as he tells you, “I want you to show me.”

Your loud breathing is wavering, the pants of air tremoring as you squeak, “What?”

“Show me,” he repeats, “show me how proud of me you were. Show me how much you enjoyed it, (Y/N). Don’t you think I deserve a proper reward?”

It takes a moment for you to figure out just what he wants, but the subtle press of his hand on your shoulder to nudge you downward fills you in. Timidly, you whisper, “Yes.” And then you’re sinking to your knees in the empty changing room, and you’re thankful he’d taken his pants off so long ago because you’re pretty sure your hands are shaking too hard to have ever taken his belt off.

Your fingers are visibly trembling as you reach toward the band of his briefs, and he laughs arrogantly at the sight, winking at the scowl that mars your features in response. Taking a deep breath, you shake off your nerves and peel the fabric down his legs quickly. That’s all you have to do—this is a challenge. Just another competition, and you’re determined to win.

His length stands at attention, your eyes trailing over the form of his cock as it springs free, and you bite down the smirk that tugs at your lips at the sight. He’s already worked up, pre-cum leaking from his reddened tip, and pride swells in your chest at knowing it’s because of you. So, your suspicions are confirmed, he has felt it too—he has those same muddy feelings that you do.

Tom’s hand curls through your hair, gripping the strands tightly at your prolonged hesitation, and he tugs your head back until you’re looking up at him. “Get on with it.” He warns, and you roll your eyes only to yelp as he yanks your hair roughly. “Don’t do that again, or you’ll regret it.”

It takes everything in you not to do it again. A part of you wants to do it, to test him, to challengehim, just to see what he’d do—but you’re determined to stay on track. The thrill of his hand guiding your head toward his length has you shivering in anticipation, though, and you’re all too eager to part your lips and take him into your mouth.

His tip is heavy on your tongue, the taste of the stray drops of his pre-cum sparking salty and bitter through your mouth, and your hands grip his thighs tightly as you adjust to the weight of him. Tom’s grip on your hair slackens for only a moment, before tightening considerably, and you relish in the quiet groan that spills from his own lips above you. You were determined to reduce him to a blubbering mess, to show him that even when he thought you were giving him exactly what he wanted… you were still the winner.

Your first bob is curious, testing your limit, and your scalp stings from how harshly he pulls at your hair the further your lips travel down his shaft. Pulling back, you hollow your cheeks tightly and flatten your tongue against the ridge beneath his tip, sucking hard. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he hisses, and you take that as your cue.

Your nose digs into the curls at the base of his cock, his tip prying your throat open as you swallow around him and hold him there. You can feel the way his thighs quiver, and your hands squeeze them teasingly. Button Number One: Tom loves it when you take all of him, and you love the way he trembles all for you.

You pull away to breathe, swirling your tongue around his tip and milking each drop of his leaking cock greedily, before pushing forward again. This time his thighs tense, his hips bucking into your mouth, and he moans when you choke around him in surprise. Tears gather in your eyes, and your nose burns as your spit is forced into your sinuses, but you push on despite the desperate urge to recoil.

“Fucking, Christ, (Y/N)!” he cries out as you pick up your pace, his nails scratching your scalp and the other hand coming down to push stray hairs from your face to clear his view. If you’d thought your favorite look on Tom’s face was the familiar clench of his jaw whenever you pissed him off, that was nothing but a distant memory now. Now, now you’re certain that this is your favorite side of Tom. The part of his lips as he pants, the clench of his eyes as he thrusts himself to the very back of your throat once more, and the way his head falls back each time he lets out a noise of ecstasy.

You love it. You love the way it’s you doing that to him, and you love the full-body shivers that consume you as you feed off of his pleasure. Already you can feel your body responding. Your belly is tightening in anticipation, your thighs are clenching, and you want nothing more than to take your hand from his thigh and slip it into your skirt.

But, that’s not your plan. You keep ahold of his legs, peering up at him from under your lashes as you take him down to the hilt once again, squeezing the hard muscle of his thighs as he groans, and you’ve got him right where you want him. You won’t be the one to take the next step; you’re determined to push him to do it himself.

It doesn’t take long, either. The moment your hand leaves his thigh to curl around his shaft, your mouth bobbing in tandem, he practically rips you away from him by your hair. His breathing is labored and you can see the slight tremor in his hands as he takes a step back and breathes, “Enough, that’s enough.”

Wiping the spit from your chin, you coo, “I thought you wanted a proper reward, Tommy?”

His briefs lay abandoned on the floor, and he kicks them away on shaky legs as he grits out, “Take off your shirt.”

“No.”

He sputters, and you blink at him innocently, still sitting on your heels on the floor even though your kneecaps are begging for mercy. “No?” he repeats, and you nod, “So that’s it, then?”

Shrugging, you dismiss, “I guess so, Tommy. You want it off? Come and take it.”

Hook, line, and sinker. His jaw clenches, and in an instant he bounds toward you and heaves you up from the floor. Tom’s hands are frantic and he fumbles to rip your shirt upward, your arms lifting with the motion as he drags the fabric over your head and tosses it away. The air chills your skin, and you can see the way his eyes are drawn to the stiff peaks of your nipples straining against the fabric of your bra.

He doesn’t stop there, though, and you’re holding back a triumphant grin as his hands yank the zipper of your skirt down and shove the fabric off of your hips. His eyes are greedy, blown wide and eager as he drags them over the form of your body, only covered by your scrap of lace thong and bra. The feeling of having all eyes on you is nothing compared to the thrill of having him look at you like this, like you’re his last meal.

Finally, seeing him completely enthralled with the sight of your body, you make the next move. His breath hitches as you bring your hands behind your back to unclasp your bra, letting the straps slide down your arms and the faint sound of the fabric hitting the floor practically echoes in the quiet room. You trail your hands down your sides, hooking your thumbs into the waistband of your thong, and he groans quietly.

The lace ghosts over your thighs and drops to the floor as well, and Tom is paralyzed before you. “Are you just going to stand there, Tommy?” you tease, and his shoulders stiffen.

Button Number Two: Tom absolutely loves it when you call him Tommy, and now you finally understand why it’s always gotten under his skin. He’s slow and purposeful as he steps up to you once again, his eyes gliding over all the plains of your body before finding your own, and you’re breathless at the intensity of his stare. He’s hesitant, almost, as his hand comes to rest on your hip.

“Don’t you want your reward?”

Tom silences you with a kiss, the force of it knocking your head back into the wooden locker behind you as he backs you into it all over again. A dull ache radiates through your skull, but all that you can focus on is the way his hands feel on your bare skin. One large palm drags up your ribs until it cups the swell of your breast, and he squeezes firmly. You gasp quietly, and he slips his tongue between your lips until you’re melting into him.

His fingers are deft and experienced as he toys with your nipple, pinching and rolling the bud between the calloused pads of his thumb and fingertips until it’s stiffened to its limit. “Tell me how much you enjoyed watching me.” He whispers the demand into your lips, and your back arches when he tweaks your sensitive nipple harshly. “Tell me what you liked, what had you staring at me like you wanted to rip my clothes off right on the green.”

You love the arrogant tone of his voice, and the way his cocky smirk feels against your lips as he steals another messy kiss from you. It’s sloppy, and wet, and you can feel the mixture of your saliva coating your chin and cheeks from just how feral your kisses are, and you love it. “Tommy, I—“

You can’t get the words out as he drags a finger through your folds, gathering your wetness and groaning throatily into your ear. “All this for me?” he taunts, treading the lone digit over the hood of your clit with just the faintest amount of pressure, but it’s enough to make you whine, “Tell me, and I’ll give you what you want.”

“I—“ his lips seal around the nipple he’d been rolling between his fingers, and your voice pitches upward as you struggle to speak, “I loved the way you looked in your uniform. I loved the way your shirt was so tight, and I couldn’t stop thinking about what you’d look like without it—fuck, Tommy!”

Tom nips at your breast, scrambling all the thoughts in your head as you throw your head back into the locker again, and his fingers tease your sodden entrance. “Keep going, sweetheart.” He tuts, and you’re putty in his hands.

Breathily, you stammer, “Your arms—I couldn’t stop staring at your arms. The way they looked when you made a long drive, all the muscle straining against your sleeves like they could rip at any second—your hands! Your hands, I wanted to feel you touch me with your glove on!”

He dips one finger into your silken hole, your walls greedily clenching around him and working to draw him in even deeper. “Is that so?” he hums, and you nod pitifully with your eyes blown wide. His brown irises twinkle as he looks up at you, an airy chuckle sending shivers down your spine as he states, “I could get it out, if you’d like.”

For a brief moment you consider it, your mind taking you back to all the fantasies you’d conjured up about the leather article, but then he curls his finger against your spongy walls and you’re crying out, “No! Just, please, fuck me, Tommy!”

The game of cat and mouse continues. You’d gotten a leg up on Tom with his cock down your throat, but now, with his finger working to break you open, he’s back on top. He knows it, too, and you love the way his eyes hungrily devour the desperate plea on your face. Now, you’ve literally got a leg up on him.

His free hand closes around the soft flesh of your thigh, hitching your leg up until it’s curled around his back and hanging from his hip. A second finger slips past your entrance, and he scissors them within you until your struggling to hold yourself up anymore. “Another time, I suppose,” he shrugs, and you’re so consumed with the feeling of his digits pumping within you to take note of his implications that this will not be the only time he has you like this.

Tom’s grip on your thigh is harsh as he squeezes at the supple skin, his lips finding yours again as you writhe against him. The stretch of his fingers curling, scissoring, pumping into you burns delightfully as he picks up his pace. All that you can hear is the roar of blood rushing behind your ears, the messy squelch of your juices echoing through the room, and the sloppy whisper of your lips moving with his. You bite down on his lower lip when he curls his fingers just right, hitting the spot deep within you that sends sparks of pleasure radiating through your body. “Right there, Tommy, please—don’t stop!” you beg, your hips bucking, and he listens.

His cock is pressed into your abdomen, and Tom bites hard on your own lip as he curls his fingers again and again, working hard to take you to the limit. “C’mon, sweetheart, I know you’re close.” He grunts, and your hands are desperate to find purchase in him to keep you from crumbling. One curls into his hair, fisting the chocolate curls roughly, and the other squeezes the bicep that’s still straining to hold your leg up on his hip.

The coil in your belly is white-hot, tightened to an extreme that you’ve never felt before, and you’re greedy for more. Grinding your hips into his palm, pushing his fingers even further within you, you cry out, “Please, I need you—“

His thumb rolls deep circles around your clit, and you’re completely shattered. The coil snaps, your vision exploding into blinding stars, and you nearly topple to the floor as your leg finally gives out. Tom catches you, though, hissing as your nails drag deep welts into his bicep.

All too soon his fingers disappear from where you want—no, need them. You whine at the empty feeling that destroys your mind blowing orgasm, but the whine is quick to morph into a shriek. “Tommy!” you gasp, and he groans as he thrusts his length into your clenched entrance abruptly.

He sheathes himself to the hilt, splitting you open as your walls continue to flutter through the aftershocks of your climax, and his face drops into your shoulder. “You’re so fucking tight.” Tom pants.

Your heel digs into his back as you cling to him, your toes straining to keep you standing on the ground as he draws back and snaps his hips into yours roughly. The sharp cry that tears through your throat makes it burn, your windpipe ragged from the shrill exertion, and he moans deeply. His tip rams into the spongy point his fingers had just abused, and you clench around him in response.

It’s rough, and messy, and your back is definitely going to be bruised from how hard he’s slamming you into the wooden surface behind you, but you don’t care. All you care about is the perfect way his length stretches you, the way his lips suck at your neck mindlessly, and the way it feels when he rolls his hips just right to push as deep within you as he can go. He’s still clutching your thigh, his other hand holding your hips in place, and you wonder if you’re squeezing his arm hard enough to draw blood.

Pulling at his hair, you force his lips back to yours as your eyes roll back in pleasure. At this point you’re pretty sure the lazy, desperate press of your lips together is far from an actual kiss—more just frantic mouthing and heavy panting as you exchange moans into each other’s lungs, but you love it. “You feel so fucking good, Tommy,” you heave out, and he groans loudly as he forces his hips upward in a rough thrust, “I love it! I love the way you fuck me; I want you to make me cum!”

Button Number Three: Tom really, really loves it when you praise him, and you love to do it. His growl Is animalistic as he grips your hip so tightly it hurts, but the pain fades to nothing as he drives his cock into you even faster. You can feel yourself dripping down your thigh, the sound of your juices and the rhythmic slap of skin on skin tearing through the silence in the room, and you love the sound of it. His moans are deep and vibrate through your body, making you rock down into him each time he makes a noise.

“This cunt is mine,” he growls, and you clench your eyes shut as you feel his hand leave your hip to work in between your bodies. His thumb presses harshly on your clit, a choked squeal escaping you, and he demands, “Look at me, (Y/N). I want you to say it. Tell me whose cunt this is—tell me who fucks you like no one else ever could!”

You whine as his thumb remains still over your bud, his thrusts slowing too, and you’re too desperate to keep feeling him to care for how easily you give in to his demands. “Yours! It’s all yours, Tommy, I’m yours! Nobody could ever make me feel this good, nobody but you!” you sob, and you’ve never seen a smirk so pleased as the one that splits his cheeks in that moment. You love it, though.

His thumb rolls over your clit in steady, rhythmic circles, and tingles rip up your spine. Tom’s thrusts pick up their pace again, and you chant his name like a mantra. You can feel him straining, the way his thrusts are spastic and less focused, and you know he’s close. His eyes are clenched, his curls are limp and slick with sweat on his forehead, and you can see his cheeks reddening as he holds his breath to keep from cumming.

Gripping his hair tighter, you whisper, “You win, Tommy.” His eyes snap open, and you repeat, “You fucking win, you were right, please, just make me cum!”

You’ve found the golden ticket. His hips slam into your own one final time, his thumb working your swollen bud with more fury than ever, and the spark in your belly catches. Your entire body seizes as you tip over the edge, your head thrown back and your leg locking around his waist so hard he can’t pull back. He’s still rolling your clit like his life depends on it, even as he shouts your name and his cock twitches within your pulsing walls, and it’s burning you up inside.

The climax that consumes you is nothing like the first. Instead of stars in your eyes, it’s like you’re staring directly into the sun. Your vision whites out, and your hearing distorts into white noise, and your entire body is trembling. Each continued circle over your clit sends another wave of pleasure through your body so intense that you spasm, and you finally have to beg, “Stop, stop! Too much, Tommy, stop!”

His thumb finally stops its assault, and all you can focus on is the feeling of his length pulsing within your walls. A warmth fills you up, and you moan at the sensation despite knowing it was probably a poorly made decision. “Fuck,” Tom pants, chuckling slightly as he drops his head onto your shoulder and finally drops your leg, “I really hope you’re on birth control.”

“Yeah,” you laugh, “I am. Probably should have talked about that before, but… yeah.”

He’s breathing heavily as he laughs too, sheepishly repeating, “Yeah.”

⁑⁑⁑

The car ride back to campus is far from awkward, much to your surprise. You and Tom spend the entire ride discussing his championship, and you pretend to understand what he’s talking about when he goes full golf mode on you. In turn, he listens just as dutifully while you tell him about the upcoming sorority raffle in a few weeks, though you know he probably doesn’t care.

You sing along to the radio, fight over which top 40 song is the best, and you even find yourself dancing as you drive like you do when you’re alone. He dances too, though, so at least you know you have ammunition should he ever decide to speak of your horrible moves in public. You laugh and poke fun at each other, and for once it’s not about making the other mad. It’s just… playful.

But, now as you pull up outside of the fraternity house to drop him off, things are finally starting to come back to reality. Neither one of you can look the other in the eye, and you aren’t entirely sure what to say to him as you finally put the car in park and he grips the door handle. For once, he’s the first to break the silence and tread into uncharted territory, “So…”

“This changes nothing,” you finally say, taking his prolonged silence as a cue for you to speak, “right?”

His brown eyes hold your own for a long moment, and you almost worry you’ve said the wrong thing, before a tiny smirk twitches at his lips just like you’ve always seen, and he nods. “Yeah, right.” He affirms, and opens the door. “But, uh, maybe you could come inside?”

You stare at him in stunned silence, and the mischievous twinkle in his eye never dwindles as he patiently waits for a response. Glancing at the house, filled to the brim with his idiotic fraternity brothers, you ponder over whether to say yes or not. You could say no, and wonder what would have happened if you said yes. Or, you could say yes and find out for yourself.

It’s a challenge, or at least that’s what you tell yourself. Another competition, and you refuse to back down from him. So, you shrug and say, “Sure. I still hate you, though.”

Tom grins, “And I still hate you, sweetheart.”

TAGLIST {non-permanent, fic exclusive}:

@osterfieldshollandgirl @daydreamingchaos713 @itscaminow

special thanks to @peterr-parkourr for being the best hype woman ever. i hope you enjoy this!

#i will either get zero sleep tonight or dream about this fic #so damn good #tom h fic rec #college!au #golfer!au #enemies to fuckers #september fic recs

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