#Sam Holland imagine | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

drivinmeinsane · 9 months ago

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»{ Holland March x Merman!Jackson Healy }« ※ { ao3 }

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※ Summary: Struggling, he can’t seem to reach the surface no matter how hard he paddles upwards. He’s going to die down here if he can’t cover any distance. He’d failed to take in any air when he went over on account of knocking himself senseless. Making a mistake, Holland looks down and sees the darting shadow of a pointed dorsal fin. Shark. There’s a fucking shark in the water with him. ※ Rating: 18+ for explicit mature content. ※ Content/tags: Alternate Universe, Merman Jackson Healy, Canon-Typical Crack Taken Seriously, Frottage, Excessive Cum, Anal Sex, Cum Eating, Teratophilia, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Smoking ※ Word count: 6,739 ※ Status: Multi-chapter (1/2) :: Complete ※ Author's note: Happy Mermay! 🦈

“But mermaids aren’t real,” Holland protests with a wild gesture of his arms.

In all honesty, the private investigator wishes he were sitting down for this consultation. It’s turning out to be one hell of a doozy. Unfortunately for him, his prospective client hadn’t offered him a seat. Holland feels a prickle of resentment.

“Aye, but this one is. Got m’self a real fish man out in those waters and I aim to catch the bastard for what he did.”

When the call had come to the March residence, Holland hadn’t thought much of it. He doesn’t always get the most… reasonable individuals seeking his services. Still, after driving himself all the way to this man’s house after dropping Holly off at school this morning, he hadn’t expected to be asked to track down a myth.

It’s all complete bullshit in his opinion. This man—Sam… something—must be out of his mind. Holland, of course, is a professional and has taken on more asinine and pointless jobs than this. Money is money and it makes the world go ‘round. Or so they say. Anyway, he has a house to rebuild.

Humoring the older man, he says, “Tell me again what you’re wanting me to do about your mermaid. You’re the fisherman.”

“You want a drink?” Sam calls over his shoulder instead of answering him. Already, he’s going for a cloudy looking jug on a clearly handmade shelf alongside a stack of dented metal cups. “I distill it m’self.”

Never one to turn down alcohol, Holland doesn’t protest. “Why not, but about your mer—”

He’s cut off by the grizzled man shoving a full cup of liquid into his chest, forcing Holland to take it. He narrowly avoids dropping it when Sam takes his free hand in between his.

“Got the hands of a city boy,” he comments. He doesn’t sound put out by this, especially not with the way he rubs a calloused thumb over March’s smooth knuckles.

Feeling himself color with a flush, he takes a swig of the beverage he’s been given. It burns like fire going down. He should probably stay away from open flames after he finishes it. He’s liable to be a victim of spontaneous human combustion if he doesn’t. The alcohol itself tastes little better than he’d imagine nail varnish remover from the 50-Cent store does.

Sam gives his hand a tight enough squeeze that he has to suppress a yelp as his bones are pinched together. Thankfully, he’s released almost immediately. If Holland is a little honest with himself, which he is never is, he might be likely to admit that he finds the other man attractive in some kind of rugged, outdoorsy way. Who’d have thought he would like scruffy men who could snap him like a stick if pushed? He tacks that information onto the ever growing list of his failings.

“About the fish. I just want you to keep an eye out for him. See where he hangs out, yeah? You don’t have to do anything more than spotting him and letting me know where he is.”

“You said he tried to kill you,” Holland says, uncomfortably taking another drink and casting a critical eye at their surroundings.

The investigator has been in some strange homes over the years, but this one very well might be in the top three. While it’s clearly the abode of a bachelor, lifelong if Holland had to guess, there are some things that would give anyone pause. Sam has stacks of Campbell’s tomato soup towering on various shelves. That alone wouldn’t be too terribly strange if it weren’t for the shark mandibles hung up all round his home and the too many copies of Moby Dick stored away on a warped and leaning bookshelf. The cherry on top of the sundae is an oversized pot of water clearly filled with more shark jaws that is boiling merrily away on the stove. Sam’s home must smell like fish and Holland has never been so grateful that his sense of smell got knocked right out of his head along with any additional cognitive abilities that would have benefited him.

“I said he stole m’net and pulled me off the boat then tried to drown me. He’s a big ol’ fucker but if you aren’t fishin’, I don’t think he’ll mess with you none,” the fisherman explains patiently. He’s grinning.

Holland thinks on his words in addition to what he’d been told earlier. Three hundred dollars and all he does is have to dick around on the boardwalks up and down a very small bit of the coast. Maybe he’ll have to take off his loafers and put his toes in the sand. All that for up to a week if he doesn't find Sam’s fish man before than. It’s not a bad job, not at all. At the very least, it offers him the privacy to drink without Holly’s knowledge.

He can’t stand to be home right now. Even though it’s a different house—just a rental and meant to be a temporary thing—part of him still expects to go around the corner and see his wife. Holland knows he’s being selfish by planning working with the anniversary of her death tomorrow, but he needs tonight to grieve and then he can scrape together the fragments of himself to be a… well, not a good dad, but maybe not a complete fuck-up of one tomorrow for his daughter.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” he agrees.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Before Holland heads out to drag himself up and down the beach, he makes the drive back to the rental. Sam had advised him that the mermaid they’re seeking won’t be out until after the sun sets. Something about being shy, or having the behavior patterns of a shark. March doesn’t care. He’s just relieved he won’t have to slather himself in sunscreen and rub elbows with tourists under the sizzling rays of the sun. It’s not summer, the days are too short for that, but it’s never truly cold in California.

With Holly being away at school, it’s lonely at the rental. Holland drifts through the rooms like he’s a ghost himself, putting together what he needs for tonight. His supplies consists of a wrinkled map, a refilled flask, a pack of cigarettes, and his lighter. All the items get left on the coffee table next to his keys to shove into his pockets when he goes to leave for the majority of the night.

Holland makes the effort to be a responsible father, or his version of one anyway, by writing a note for his daughter to find when she gets home. It reads: Working case tonight. Won’t be home until late. Pizza money under the lamp. OK for Jessica to visit. Love you Kiddo.

He tapes it to her door at her eye level. She won’t be able to miss it.

Laying down on the couch, he tries to get comfortable enough to get a few hours of sleep. He turns on the TV to feel less lonely. It’s going to be a long night and this way, he is spared the restless stretch of time spent in bed wishing there was another body tucked underneath the covers beside his own.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Darkness begins to swallow the world with the setting of the sun. Visibility becomes murkier as the lights of the city fade away the further he gets from the heart of it. At least the moon looks like a sizable one tonight. He won’t be going into the dark totally blind even if he did forget to grab a flashlight. Holland isn’t even entirely sure the March family owns one these days.

He pulls off of the street and into a deserted parking lot. The Benz coasts to a stop, tires crunching over sand as it does. March puts the vehicle into park and makes sure to crank the parking break before removing the key from the ignition. One of the last things he needs is for the car to somehow roll down the embankment in front of it and get stuck nose-down in the beach’s sand. He doesn’t bother to close the top as he gets out and heads towards a flight of stairs leading down to the boardwalk that perches on the shore like some Lovecraftian monster.

While he’s descending the stairs, the PI tucks a cigarette between his lips and lights it. The rush of nicotine into his lungs is a familiar comfort. It makes the journey downward feel shorter.

This part of the coast is devoid of after-hour entertainment. There is no Ferris wheel, no stands selling popcorn and cotton candy. No pier-side carnival with young hopefuls or drugged out daredevils. It’s peaceful, almost too much so. If he’s frank, Holland thinks it’s creepy as all hell. Anyone could be lurking out here in the sands. Their footsteps on the wood boards would be covered up the steady roar of the waves. His skin crawls and he fights down a reflexive shriek at the thought of an imaginary boogeyman.

Overcome, he whips around to survey his surroundings with the desperation of the pursued. There’s nothing out here that he can see. Water laps against the pier supports. His panicked breathing finally slows. The cigarette he’s smoking burns down right to the filter as he looks out over the waves for any sign of a shark or a fish man. He plucks the spent stick from his mouth and grinds it between his fingers before flicking it out into unknowable depths.

He pulls his flask from his shirt pocket and takes a swig before tucking it away and continuing on. The investigator’s shoes are squelching over the sodden wood. He tries to keep the money he’s been offered in mind as he thinks about the damage the salt water might be doing to the leather.

Between the lulls in between waves, March hears a knocking sound. There’s a pier jutting off the boardwalk. Curiosity leads him into diverting his path. There’s a small boat tied to one of the mooring points. As he gets closer, his suspicion that it’s only the boat knocking against one of the wooden supports grows. Holland chalks himself up to just being jumpy from being out here alone with ideas of aquatic monsters swimming around in his head.

It’s not nothing. He looks down in the dark water and the rising moon illuminates a dead body knocking against the side of the boat. Holland screams and goes failing backwards, arms pinwheeling at his sides. He slips and hits the boards hard enough to knock the wind out of him. He whines getting to his feet only to slip again and hit his head on one of the mooring posts.

He renders himself unconscious and rolls into the ocean. The shock of the water makes him come to and he opens his eyes underneath the water. The salt stings his throat more than Sam’s shitty homemade alcohol had.

Struggling, he can’t seem to reach the surface no matter how hard he paddles upwards. He’s going to die down here if he can’t cover any distance. He’d failed to take in any air when he went over on account of knocking himself senseless. Making a mistake, Holland looks down and sees the darting shadow of a pointed dorsal fin. Shark. There’s a fucking shark in the water with him.

March redoubles his efforts but it’s useless. He’s not going to make it. Even under normal circumstances, he barely is able to swim.

Oh Jesus, he thinks, Who’s going to take care of Holly? Widow Wanda on the corner is going to have to look after her and her house always smells like cat piss. I’m such a terrible father.

In a rasp of skin gliding across cloth, the shark brushes against him. Holland forgets himself and screams. Water rushes into his lungs and he faints. His last conscious awareness is of human hands grabbing him around the waist and the sensation of behind towed through the ocean by a large animal in the way an orca might drag a seal.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Holland’s world explodes in stars. Pain shoots across his face in the wake of the slap he’s dealt. It’s a hell of a way to be brought back to the world of the living. His head is pounding an a way that provides a rhythm for the way his teeth feel like they’re doing the tango in his mouth. What the hell had happened to him?

Another slap goads him into putting his arms up defensively. “I’m awake! Jesus!”

Opening his eyes, he only sees darkness at first. Then his vision clears and he can make out the shape of a large, scruffy man looming over him. Unable to help himself, Holland screams. The shrill noise bounces off the surrounding rocks.

“Shut up,” the stranger tells him, not unkindly.

There’s no way to easily escape. He has been propped up against a boulder and his way is blocked by the man. He squints, looking closer at him. For a moment, he’s shocked into stunned silence at what he’s looking at. Holland tries to be logical. He is going to be normal and reasonable about this because he is a professional. March will not be the certified freak of the beach tonight.

“Nice costume,” he says, aiming for chipper.

“It’s not.”

“Not what?” Holland asks, feeling slightly strained.

“A costume.”

Silence falls between them while he tries to process that. Okay then, his savior really is off his rocker.

The private investigator chooses to act like he’d been told a joke and he laughs. “Don’t fuck with me, man. I’ve had a bad night. There’s a dead body in the water and you’re out here getting off on seeing Jaws too many fucking times. Well, listen here. I’m pissed at being the victim of your little shark prank and you need to cut that shit out.”

As fast as he can manage, he lunges towards the mystery man and tries to pull his costume tail off. It’s disturbingly realistic—smooth one in one direction and rough like sandpaper in the other. He gets a solid punch to the face for his efforts. It’s like being hit with a whole fucking ham on Black Friday. Holland goes reeling back against the boulder from the pain throbbing over his cheekbone.

“So... you’re a real mermaid then,” he says like it’s no big deal. It’s alright, he just hit his head too hard and tried to pull his presumed rescuer’s leg off. He’s imagining things.

It’s nothing a drink won’t fix, March decides. He fumbles for his flask and finds it still tucked into his shirt pocket. Somehow it hadn’t fallen during his dip in the water.

“Merman. Do I look like a maid?” The stranger sounds decidedly unamused.

“Suppose not.” he agrees. He unscrews the lid of his flask with a flourish.

Holland’s flask is dented and split right open. The only liquid left in it is an unholy bacterial mix of saltwater and liquor. It’s just his luck. Not realizing this, he takes a swig. He ends up coughing and choking. The fish man gives him an unimpressed look.

Eyes steaming, he finally stops coughing. The flask is a bust. He motions to throw it away, somewhere out into the ocean. It’s nature’s trashcan, isn’t it? The United States is dumping barrels of chemical waste out there. One little piece of metal won’t make any difference.

With the speed of a striking snake, the fish guy’s arm shoots out and pins March’s hand to the sand by his wrist. The flask is still clutched in his grasp. A yelp escapes Holland as he feels the bones in his forearm creak warningly. Any more pressure and his arm will snap.

“You won’t litter. What if I came into your home and threw trash into it?”

“How would you get to my house? You don’t have legs,” Holland spouts nervously. “Would you just crawl there? Maybe get a skateboard and—”

“Shut up.”

“Okay,” he says, agreeably, but continues, “So, about the—”

“What did I just say? I’m going to ask you some questions and you’re not going to flap your lips about it. Got it?”

Holland nods and mimes zipping his mouth shut with his free hand. The fish man gives him a skeptical look but eases up on his hand and leans back. Meekly, he tucks the broken flask back into its usual pocket.

“Why are you out here? You don’t look like a jumper or one of those night swimmers.”

“I’m a PI and I have a case, thank you very much.”

Seemingly confused, the mermaid—merman—squints down at him. His eyes are flooded with a solid color. It looks black in the dim light, makes him look like an alien. His hair drips in curls over his forehead. Holland notes that the facial hair has been trimmed. He wonders how. It’s hard to imagine they have shaving razors down in Atlantis.

“What’s a PI?” he asks.

“It stands for private investigator.”

With each breath, the merman’s gills flutter on either side of his neck. The only response Holland gets is a blank look in those inky eyes.

“You know… a detective? A private detective? Private eye?”

There is not so much as a spark of recognition on the merman’s face. March is completely baffled.

“A cop? I’m like one of those but I solve mysteries for people?” he tries.

“You don’t look like one. A cop.”

“Because I’m a PI. I investigate mysteries. Like Scooby-Doo?” he offers, thinking about the masks being pulled off in the cartoon that Holly has been watching on Saturdays to agitate her hungover father off the couch. Well, he’s only hungover for as long as it takes for him to get another drink down his throat. That’s the thing. If you’re always drunk, you feel the aftereffects less. It’s March’s favorite trick.

“The dog?” the merman’s voice rasps. Holland can almost feel the vibrations from the fish man’s chest in his own. He’s still that close, nearly between Holland’s legs. He’s warm and Holland is shivering. He finds himself spreading his legs wider and shifting closer. Shamefully, the PI has to make an effort to stop from plastering himself against the stranger.

He blinks. His voice rises as he asks, “How the fuck do you know what Scooby-Doo is but not what a detective is?”

This night has been overly surreal. Maybe he hit his head harder than he thought. Maybe his brain is having the final functions of a dying man while floating next to the dead body that had sent him into ocean in the first place. Maybe he’s being eaten by the shark right now and is too far gone to realize and his mind is trying to make sense of it by conjuring the animal up as this handsome fish man. Maybe he shouldn’t have rented Splash from the video store the other night. It crossed some wires.

Dismissively, the merman waves a webbed hand. “Right. Who are you?”

“Holland March. I’m a priv—”

That same hand gets shoved into his face, cutting him off. “Jackson Healy.”

Why did his dying subconscious have to make up someone so goddamn rude? Holland shakes it warily. His eyes are still stinging from the saltwater.

“I expected a fish name. Something like Swimathy or James Pond or… Gillbert. I don’t know.”

“Swimathy?” Jackson mutters, disgusted.

Holland makes an offended noise. Hey, at least he’d been trying.

“Why are you out here, March?” he asks.

As Holland thinks about the question, he realizes he hates how the edges of his thoughts are too sharp. The investigator wishes he had alcohol to smooth out his mind until it washed away the discomfort.

“I have a case. Some guy wants me to track down a mythological fish man that tried to drown him the other day. Which I don’t think is even possible because fish men don’t...” he trails off, blinks, his brain kicks into gear. “Jesus! You’re the fish man.”

Healy looks at him, contemplative. The lack of visible pupils makes it more intense than it would be from a human. He squirms under that stare.

“He was hunting and he shouldn’t have been. Not here.”

That’s all but a direct confession. Holland shakily reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out his sodden pack of cigarettes. He puts the wet filter between his lips. A bit of saltwater spurts out with the pressure, coating his tongue in brine. He plucks it out of his mouth, spits, puts it back in place and flicks on his lighter. The cigarette doesn’t catch. Of course not.

Not wanting to be reprimanded for littering again, March shoves the cigarette back in the pack. It explodes tobacco all over his fingers that he has to wipe on his pants before returning the whole situation, pack and lighter, into his pocket.

“I don’t see how that’s my problem. Look, he paid me. A job is a job, alright? You dragged him out of his boat and he wants to know where you are so he can talk it through.”

“Talk it through by sticking me, maybe,” Healy says, bitter tone to his voice, His hand goes to a scar bisecting his upper arm. It flashes silver in the moonlight. Holland had assumed it was a natural marking to go with the other lines and speckles adorning the merman’s skin.

“I don’t ask questions, I just accept payment. It’s a job.” He’s all too aware of how defensive he sound.

Besides, he reasons, this guy… fish… merman is big. Jackson can hold his own, surely. Holland wouldn’t tussle with him, not after feeling some of the strength residing in that thick body of his. He’s built like an old-fashioned bruiser. March can easily picture a pair of brass knuckles on those webbed fingers. All at once, he realizes that Healy’s teeth are sharp and it fully dawns on him that he’s looking at an actual predator, a shark with human intelligence.

Jesus, Holland thinks with dawning horror, what kind of damage could he do if he tried?

“What if I pay you?”

“What? What do you mean pay me? Pay me for what? I don’t solve fish crimes. You lose Bruce out there and need to find him? Do you not have fish detec—”

“March.”

Holland shuts his mouth.

“If I pay you, will you do a job for me as well? You can tell your man where I am, collect on that money and get payment from me after you do my job.”

“What—I don’t accept seashells or whatever fish currency,” he protests, desperately confused.

“You accept paper money? Coins? Jewelry?”

Holland pats himself down in vain. He’s automatically reaching for the crutch of a cigarette before he remembers. Put out, he asks, “How much are we talking?”

“Enough.”

“How do you know what’s enough? How do you even have the means to pay me?” He’s half expecting the fish man to give him a soggy five dollar bill.

Healy moves his wide shoulders up in a shrug as he says, “Your kind leaves shit behind all the time. It all ends up in the water. Finders keepers.”

“But…” he trails off, inarticulate.

“Name a price.”

“I don’t know what the job even is.”

“There’s an organization that deals with illegal hunting—”

“Fishing.” Holland interrupts. In the back of his mind he’s having to come to terms with the idea of fish law and fish court. How else would Jackson know about legalities?

Healy directs a frown at him. “I need you to stick around and tell somebody when he’s out on the water with a net and harpoon doing it. He needs to get caught.“

“Not all fishing is illegal.”

“Yes, I know that,” Jackson says with almost condescending patience, “but what he’s doing is. Some other human got in trouble for doing the same thing. The human has been a real pain in my back, March. I don’t appreciate my life bring thrown around. I’m not going to be his trophy catch.”

“Five hundred. Cash. Paper money. Half up front, other half on delivery,” Holland bursts out, not truly expecting the fish man to agree.

“Done. Meet me where you fell,” he says.

Mouth hanging open, the private investigator watches as the merman pushes out into the water and slips underneath the surface. He’s left behind to get to his feet and traverse through the sand in what he hopes is the right direction of the boardwalk. The beach does its best to steal his shoes.

“Would have been nice if Flipper could have taken me back,” he grumbles.

It’s a relief when he finally climbs the stairs leading up onto the elevated path. Less of a relief is the presence of the body. The dead man is still bobbing unpleasantly by the small boat. A dingy? A rowboat? He’s not sure what to call it. Holland has never been a seaman. He’s not about to start now.

Exhausted, he sits down, letting his legs dangle over the side. It’s been a night. The cold breeze coming off the ocean’s surface makes him shiver. He’s itching for a smoke or a drink. Something. He can’t have shit can he?

March is not sure how long he sits there, soaked and uncomfortably shifting from the chafing of the sand that’s worked its way into places it should never be. He finally gives in and lays down. The back of his head hits the wood with a thunk that makes him wince. After a while, his eyes drift shut and he dozes off.

Something slaps him on the cheek, startling him awake. In a repetition of just a while ago, Holland opens his eyes to see a large figure hovering over him and he stifles a scream.

“How the hell did you get up here?” he gasps. He’s clutching at his heart.

“Jumped. Here. Your money.” Jackson answers, tossing a wet bundle of bills onto his stomach.

Suddenly in much better spirits, Holland sits up and combs through the money with an eager thumb. Two hundred and fifty dollars exactly. The fish man hadn’t been yanking his leg when he said he could pay.

“Meet me tomorrow night at the spot where I dragged you out of the water. Tell your client I’ve been around the pier.”

Before he can respond, Healy turns and launches himself off the wood. He slips into the water with more elegance than the investigator would have expected from something the merman’s size.

“What about the body?” he mutters to no one. The fish man hadn’t explained that at all. Jesus, he hopes that Jackson hadn’t killed him. He shoves the wad of bills into his pocket after standing up.

It’s a long climb up the stairs. He might as well be trying to scale the Great Wall of China. By the time he reaches the top, he’s wheezing and desperately wants to collapse on the ground. Rather making for his car, he digs a fistful of change out of his pocket and goes to the payphone at the edge of the parking lot. He slips some coins, ten cents worth, into the slot before pocketing the rest.

Holland presses the 0 button and waits, debating on just pulling his shoes of. The sand really is aggravating. Only the thought of rubbing his bare toes all over the pedals of his car stops him.

“Hi, operator, can you connect me to the police?”

He listens for the confirmation and waits some more for the connection.

“Los Angeles Police Department.”

“I need to report a dead body. It’s down at the dock from the parking lot at the uhhh…” Holland thinks for a moment,” just off Via Riviera and Paseo.”

“Sir, what—”

“Anyway, super dead. Very much in the water. Don’t know what happened. Goodnight,” and he hangs up.

Not wanting to deal with the arrival of the police to be asked questions he doesn’t know the answers to, he wastes no time launching himself behind the wheel of his Benz and getting out of the lot. He’s going to straight home and rinse off in the shower before collapsing into bed. When he wakes up in the morning, things will be normal and fish free. He’ll laugh all of this off as a hallucination.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Light burrowing through the gaps of the blinds and through the curtains is what drags Holland from his slumber. He lays on his side for a moment, taking stock of how sore his body feels. Straining, he makes out the numbers displayed on his bedside block. It’s already well past noon. There’s only a few more hours of daylight left.

With a sigh, he sits up and drags himself out of bed only to immediately trip over the discarded pile of clothing on his floor. It’s wet.

“What…?”

Last night comes rushing at him and Holland snatches up the bundle of cloth. He starts tearing through his pockets looking for evidence that it hadn’t been some kind of alcohol induced dream. He finds the cracked flask and the still damp wad of cash.

March stumbles back, still holding onto the stiffening pants and sits on the edge of his bed. It had been real. That means… Jackson Healy the merman had been real too. Fish people aren’t just myths. The pants slip out of his slackened grasp and fall back onto the floor to join the rest of clothing he’d worn last night.

Feeling dazed, he goes to the kitchen. He doesn’t bother to get dressed in anything more than the boxers and undershirt he’d put on after rinsing himself free of saltwater last night.

He aims for some normalcy, as much as he gets given his choice of employment, and starts the coffeepot. He sets a mug out on the counter. Deciding he’s going to need a bit of a kick while he thinks about the events of the past twenty-four hours, he drags over a bottle of bourbon.

“Dad?” comes Holly’s voice. He’s surprised for a moment then he realizes that it’s a Saturday, no school. Holland is on top of things enough to know that.

The private investigator knows that he’s lucky to have such a good kid. In his more sober moments, he loathes having been the cause of her needing to be so independent at a young age. Holland March is a fuck-up and everyone knows it. He wishes he were a better man, one that wasn’t making his daughter pay the price for his shortcomings and self-inflicted issues. One of these days, he’s going to kick the drinking habit and do right by her, but… today is not going to be that day.

“Hi, honey,” he says, fetching a second mug from the cupboard without her needing to ask. Should a thirteen year old be drinking coffee? Probably not, but March isn’t going to stop her.

Once the coffee finishes dripping into the glass carafe, he fills both mugs two-thirds of the way in order to leave room for any additives. He pushes Holly’s at her along with the sugar jar. He fills his own the rest of the way up with bourbon while she fetches creamer from the fridge.

“What did you do last night? There’s sand and stuff all over the place.”

“I... uh... I had a case last night. I need to check in on the client today and meet with Jackson tonight. Also don’t say—”

` “Were you just drinking again?” she asks before he can finish his word policing. Holly is skeptical, too jaded to hope. She knows him too well to expect real progress from him. It would sting if it weren’t so accurate.

“No! No, my flask actually broke. I didn’t have a drop, promise.” He neglects to mention he had already drank about half of it and had whatever backwater distillery project Sam had handed him prior to Holland doing a nosedive off the pier.

“Dad.”

“Remember that case I mentioned? The mermaid guy? Well, I found his fish man and he wasn’t bullshitting. There’s an actual mermaid, well he said he wasn’t a maid. I thought he was a shark at first, but he saved me and—”

“Dad.”

“Yes?” Everyone seems determined to interrupt him when he’s speaking. He takes a drink from his mug.

“I’m going with you today.” she says, holding up a hand to stop him from saying anything further.

“Okay.” He gives in, doesn’t protest a bit. Holland doesn't want to leave her alone, not today.

Holly looks surprised at the lack of protest. She’d clearly had expected a fight about it.

“I’ll get dressed. Meet you by the car in fifteen?”

Holly flashes him a thumbs up and shoots off down the hall to her bedroom like the Roadrunner off LoonyTunes. He’d been just as high energy back when he was a kid. Holland’s own parents could barely get him to sit still enough to eat dinner most nights.

Burning his mouth a little, he downs the rest of his coffee in two swallows. He goes to his own room at a slightly more sedate pace to find a set of fresh clothes. He’s already mourning the future spent without a functioning flask. He’s going to have to rely on cigarettes alone until he can pick one up on Monday when his daughter is at school. He doesn’t want to have to face the disappointment in her eyes if he purchases one while they’re together. Upsetting her this afternoon is not an option, not with it being the anniversary of her mom’s death.

In preparation for everything tonight might entail, Holland gets dressed in clothing he’s less attached to. If he’s running the risk of sand and finding himself in the ocean again, he’s not styling himself up to the nines. Khaki pants and a short sleeve button-up on top of his underthings are as fancy as he’s getting. Grimacing, he puts on the same pair of loafers he’d worn last night. The traces of sand still lingering in the corners try to breach the barrier of his socks.

When Holland leaves the room, he finds Holly’s bedroom door open without her in sight. He scrapes his keys out of the bowl. He also makes sure to write a fresh copy of Sam’s address on the underside of his forearm, right below his watchband, before he steps outside. He doesn’t feel like trying to remember the house number and street.

As expected, his daughter is waiting for him by the Benz.

“You ready, kiddo?” he asks.

Holly nods, only to look surprised when he loops around to the driver’s side and takes a seat behind the wheel. He’s so disgustingly sober he feels capable of driving with his daughter as a passenger.

“Where are we going?”

“To visit the client. I need to tell him what I found.”

“Oh right… your mermaid,” Holly says doubtfully.

Unbothered by her disbelief, March cranks up the radio, and they’re soon flying down the streets of LA. He slaps the outside of the car door in time with the beat. Holly can be a skeptic all she likes, but she’s going to be surprised when she sees her old man isn’t lying after he takes her with him on his house call to see the merman himself.

In no time at all, he pulls to a stop alongside the curb in front of the same ramshackle house he’d been in just the afternoon before. Holland probably should have called ahead, but it’s too late for that now. He hops out of the vehicle and makes his way up the sidewalk to the front door with his daughter trailing behind him. The private investigator taps his knuckles against the peeling door. It’s promptly answered by the same man as yesterday who peers at him suspiciously from around the door before flinging it open wide.

Sam adjusts his hat and looks approvingly at Holland from below hooded eyes. “Surprised to see ya back so soon, city boy.” He looks at where Holly is standing beside her father with her arms crossed. “And who’s this little lady?”

“My daughter. Holly.”

“Nice to meet ya. I’m Sam. Your dad’s doing me a real big favor,” he says, before turning to Holland with a grin, “Come on in and tell me what you found, yeah?”

Without hesitating, the father and daughter follow Sam inside. Holland doesn’t miss the way Holly has to suppress a gag at the smell the boiled shark cartilage must be putting off. He wonders if the fisherman still has a sense of smell and has just grown immune to it, or if he is like Holland and simply can’t smell.

“I found your fish man,” he blurts out, wanting to get this over with.

Sam’s eyes light up with uncontained glee. “Yeah, where did you find the slippery bastard?”

“By the pier. The one attached to the boardwalk by Via Riviera and Paseo.”

“Ah, he’s moved further north than when he pulled me out of my boat. What time did you see him?”

“Not long after dusk. You were right about his… patterns being like a shark.”

The rugged man claps him on the shoulder. Holland’s knees nearly buckle with the impact. Sam praises, “Good work, we’ll get him yet.”

Failing to successfully wave of offers of tomato soup from the many cans, Holland finds himself seated on a threadbare couch next to his daughter while their host regales them with old seafaring tales from his time on commercial fishing boats. All three of them have chipped bowls of soup in their hands. No spoons. The thick liquid had been heated on the stove next to the ever boiling pot of shark parts. He’s sure it has to affect the taste given the despairing glances Holly keeps sending his way when Sam isn’t looking.

Trying to not bounce his leg impatiently while the other man talks, Holland gulps down his soup. His mind keeps going to the fish man that will be waiting for them soon. It’s going to be a significant drive to the ocean followed by a too-long walk along the shore to reach the spot where Jackson had pulled him to dry ground.

After a while, he simply cannot take any more and manages to speak during a lull in the fisherman’s bottomless, one-sided storytelling. “Sorry, Sam. We’re going to have to head out. Holly’s got homework. You know how it is. Thank you. Bye.”

Sam’s own goodbyes and reassurances that he’ll let Holland know when he “catches that big brute” follow them out of the door while they make their escape to the relative safety of the vehicle. Holly sags back into the seat while he starts the Benz and begins the drive. The sun is already beginning to set. Nervously, he drums his fingers on the steering wheel.

The lot is empty again just as it had been the evening before. Police tape marks off the stairs, though there are no officers milling about. He probably should have checked the news, but regardless, he pulls into the same spot he’d been parked in.

Having learned enough from last time, he strips off his shoes and socks and gestures for Holly to do the same. They toss it all onto the back floorboard to retrieve later. Pleasantly, the parking lot is still warm under their feet as they make their way to the stairs. March holds the tape up for his daughter to step below before ducking under himself. As she passes him, he notices that she’s carrying two Yoo-hoos. The investigator doesn’t say anything. Maybe she is planning on being thirsty after their walk.

Holland digs a cigarette out of the pack and lights it once it’s between his lips. It dangles there while they amble downwards and finally make it onto the level surface over a dozen feet below the parking lot level.

“Dad… Are you sure you weren’t just imagining things?” Holly asks when he leads them off the boardwalk to the beach. Sand threatens to engulf them up to the ankles.

“You’ll see,” he promises.

next chapter -»

Do not repost, copy, or reproduce my work to other sites or in other media formats. Do not use it for anything to do with AI. Thank you.

#the nice guys (2016)#the nice guys fanfiction #the nice guys fanfic #holland march #jackson healy #holland march x jackson healy #russel crowe #ryan gosling #ryan gosling fanfiction #healland #mermay #.my posts #.my work #.fic: ocean boulevard

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your-divine-ribs · 10 months ago

Text

Caught Red-Handed

Words: 6.3k

Doesn't Van ever think about knocking?

Friends to lovers // eventual smut // I have a Sam version of this story on my Wattpad too xxx

Imagines Masterlist Main Masterlist

You'd been friends with Van for years, right back when the notion of recording platinum-selling albums and touring the world was just a dream. He was that friend who you could talk to if you had a problem. He never judged you and he always had your back. He was the one person you could call on if you needed anything. So when you'd had a huge bust up with your friend and house-mate and he asked you to move into his house in Chester you didn't think twice. Larry had moved out just months before and there was Van, rattling around in the house all by himself. He'd never been any good with just his own company… and you were of no fixed abode. It was the perfect solution. There was just one small problem...

The past few months you'd started to see Van in a different light. His striking ocean eyes captivated you like they never had done before. The feel of his body pressed up next to yours when he greeted you with a hug made your heart race. And seeing him with his female fans fawning all over him just set off a sharp sting of jealousy which you had no business feeling.

Now here you were on a Sunday night, lounging on the sofa watching TV and feasting on takeaway pizza, trying not to react to the fact that your pulse had started to quicken the moment Van took his seat next to you, barely leaving a gap between your two bodies.

"Give us another slice of yours," he says, not waiting for your consent but reaching over into the cardboard box on your lap.

"No way!" You protest, slapping at his intruding hand and then snatching the box away out of his reach. "You've already had two slices you greedy git!"

"Come on, yours is well nice," he pleads. "I'll swap ya."

"Ughhh not a chance. It's not my fault you ordered the worst pizza on the menu. I mean who has pineapple on pizza anyway?" You wrinkle up your nose in disgust.

"Well, I'll just have to take control of this then if we're not sharing!" Van announces, grabbing for the remote control and switching channels.

You groan as Match of the Day fills the TV screen. You hate football and Van knows it. He's obviously just trying to wind you up and it's working.

"Hey that's not fair, it's my turn to choose what we watch tonight. Spider-Man's on in ten minutes and I wanna see it."

"Do you really wanna see the film, or just perv over Tom Holland, eh?" Van chuckles, holding the remote control higher as you swipe for it. "Ah that's it, isn't it? Ooh Tom, Tom! You're so sexy!"

He mimics you in a silly girly voice, throwing his head back and laughing as you narrow your eyes at him. God he's bloody infuriating sometimes, like a big kid.

"Shut up and pass it here!" You whine, setting your pizza box down on the empty seat next to you so you can reach up to grab the remote.

It's no use though, he passes it over to his other hand and stretches right out so there's no chance of you getting it from your current position.

"If you can get it you can watch what you like," he taunts. "And if you don't I get the rest of your pizza!"

You rise up out of your seat, leaning right over him, one hand on the back of the sofa near his head, the other reaching over as far as you can, fingers straining.

"You're so bloody annoying!" You complain, kneeling on the seat next to him so you can reach even further.

He just laughs with the widest shit-eating grin plastered across his face, riling you up further. You're almost there, your fingers practically touching the remote, just an inch further and it'll be yours…

And then your foot slips out from under you and you find yourself sprawling forwards, toppling right over into his lap. You're practically straddling him, your chest thrust right in his face.

"Woah! If you want my body you've only got to ask!" Van jokes, his whole face creasing into laughter at your obvious embarrassment as you scramble up on to your feet, your cheeks glowing.

You'd normally laugh it off, come back at Van with some cutting remark, but for once you're lost for words, a combination of your self-consciousness and the fact that being so close to Van has made your body react in all sorts of inappropriate ways.

You have an urge to get away now you're on your feet, putting your head down and heading for the door, mumbling something about not feeling too good.

Van springs to his feet immediately, catching hold of your arm just as you're about to exit the room, gently bringing you to a stop.

"What's up? I've not really pissed you off have I? I was only joking you know. We can watch whatever you like... Y/N? Are you alright?"

You've no choice but to turn and face him, your awkwardness increasing. You just hope you sound convincing.

"I'm okay, it's not you... I've just... come over feeling a bit funny... a bit sick. I think I'm just gonna go and lie down upstairs for a bit..."

Van's face falls with obvious disappointment and then creases with concern. "Hope you're okay..."

You pull away, saying you'll be fine, hurriedly rushing up the stairs and into your bedroom, pushing the door closed behind you and flopping down on to the bed, frustrated.

This has got to stop. You've known Van for so long he should be more like a brother to you. If anything happened it would just make things weird. Not that he's probably remotely interested in you at all romantically or sexually. The trouble is, now you've started to see him that way you can't get the thoughts out of your head. There's no way you're going back downstairs now to torture yourself all the more.

You sigh, resolving that you may as well just call it a night and try and get some sleep. You get undressed and shimmy into the little silk slip that you sleep in. It's far too hot to get under the covers so you lie on top, closing your eyes and trying to clear your mind, hoping that sleep claims you soon.

It's useless. Images of Van scroll through your head ceaselessly. His disarming smile... his stunning blue-green eyes... that cheeky way he looks at you, waiting for a reaction when he's winding you up...

It starts out innocent enough, but then your mind really starts to wander. You recall a morning last week when you'd bumped into Van in the hallway when he'd just stepped out of the shower dressed in nothing but a towel, his pale skin still flushed from the warm spray. Imagine if his towel had slipped...

Warmth floods your body at the thought and you squirm on the bed, pressing your thighs together.

Think about something else Y/N, for fucks sake...

Your thoughts drift to yesterday afternoon. Van was messing around with lyrics for a new song he was writing and he wanted your views on them. A smile springs on to your lips, you love the fact that he values your opinion so much.

This is a safe topic to think of. You picture the scene from yesterday. Van was sitting on the sofa in front of the window, strumming away, his eyes screwed shut whilst he sang, completely lost in the music. You'd been grateful for that so you could watch him uninhibited. The sun was low in the sky and it was streaming through the window, bathing him in a soft golden glow. God he'd looked gorgeous.

You'd been focussing on his hands, his long, slender fingers flying up and down the frets, expertly picking out the notes. His hands...

Oh god.... here you go again. You must admit you've become quite obsessed with his hands recently. His fingers are just so... long...

Just imagine...

Fuck... now your mind's really working overtime but this time you don't try and divert it. It's been months since you've been intimate with anyone after your prick of an ex dumped you, and he treated you that badly you've not felt sexy at all since... until now. Why not just enjoy the feeling? It's only a fantasy anyway.

Eyes still screwed shut, you hitch up your silky slip around your hips, spreading your legs apart. You start to touch yourself over your underwear, imagining it's Van's fingers instead of your own. That's when you realise exactly how turned on you are. In no time your heart's racing and your breathing heavy as you writhe on the bed. Your panties feel damp to touch as you curl your fingers around the edge of the lace and move them aside.

You start to caress yourself, dipping one finger inside you to gather the slickness of your arousal, then spread it upwards over your clit, moving in tight circles.

God that feels good. You tip your head back on the pillow and spread your legs even wider, moving your hips in time with your caresses, little whimpers of pleasure escaping your lips. All the time you're thinking about Van and imagining his hands on you, that familiar tightening feeling building in your core.

What you don't realise is that you have an audience. Van came upstairs a few moments ago to check on you, worrying about you feeling poorly.

He didn't knock. He didn't even think. Now he wishes he had... or maybe not...

He knows what he should do. Back slowly and quietly out of the room, pretend he's not seen you, then carry on pretending he's not seen you. But he can't. He's transfixed. He doesn't think he's ever seen a sexier sight in all his life than you pleasuring yourself. Hair spread wantonly over the pillow, brows furrowed a little, your mouth a perfect O shape. Your body's rising and falling with your deep breaths, your fingers gliding over your slick skin. Christ, those little moans that you're making. He can feel his dick stiffening, pressing uncomfortably on his jeans. And then...

"Oh Van..."

What the fuck?

The shock suddenly snaps Van out of his trance and he steps back quickly, kicking the door as he does, alerting you to his presence.

What the fuck?

Your eyes snap open in a heartbeat and you sit bolt upright, confused for a second until you see Van lingering in the doorway, a stricken look on his face. Did he see... everything? Did he hear his name?

Your heart practically leaps out of your chest and you grab for the duvet, horrified, wrapping it tightly around yourself.

"Jesus Van, haven't you ever heard of knocking?" You cry out, mortified, feeling the colour instantly drain from you in shock but then swiftly return with your humiliation, staining your cheeks scarlet.

Van appears to be speechless, his mouth opening and closing like he's a fish out of water. All the time he's shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Finally he manages to string together some stumbled words.

"I... I'm so sorry. I was... errr... worried about you... 'cause you said you felt sick. I was just... errr... coming up to check on ya."

"Yeah well I'm okay!" You say, your voice coming out high-pitched, your eyes darting around so you don't have to look directly at him.

"I can see that!" He blurts out.

You allow yourself to look at him now, and there's a moment where your eyes lock, and it's like there's a million things you both want to say but you can't find the words.

And then it passes. Van backs clean out of the room, still muttering his apologies, and you sit there in shock... absolutely mortified.

What now?

As soon as your eyes flicker open the next morning it all comes flooding back in a wave of red hot shame and humiliation. How the fuck are you supposed to face Van again after he's seen you in such a compromising position? And, even worse... did he hear you moaning his name? How the hell are you even going to look him in the eye if he knows you've been fantasising about him?

You hurriedly shower and dress and make your way downstairs to find that Van's already there, he's obviously rolled right out of bed and come straight down in the hunt for breakfast.

He stands in the kitchen in just a pair of trackie bottoms, no t-shirt, hair all mussed up and looking every bit as delectable as the full English he's frying up on the stove. Your mouth's watering and you're not sure whether it's the aroma of the bacon or the sight of him.

Your gazes lock as you enter the room and for an awkward moment you don't think anyone's going to speak, but then Van does, and it's an admirable attempt to make things seem normal but it just falls flat.

"Oh... morning love. Want some of this? There's plenty. I was gonna come and ask if you wanted some but..."

You thought you might disturb me finger-fucking myself on the bed?

Of course he doesn't say it but you're both thinking it. You can tell by the tiny hint of a smile that plays on his lips, the way he trails off, looking down, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Errr... no... thanks, I... errr... actually have... a meeting first thing. Thought I'd get to the office early, catch up on some stuff. I'm so busy at the moment. Honestly the emails... they never stop coming..."

Now you're babbling, and you have a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that what's happened will taint your easy-going friendship with Van. You really don't want a silly moment to ruin the precious bond you have. You panic, still mumbling about your heavy workload as you grab a banana out of the fruit bowl and make for the door.

You cringe all the way to work and by the time you get there you're in such a state over it that you vow to try and put the whole thing to the back of your mind or you'll just drive yourself crazy. Thankfully work is busy and you throw yourself into it, managing to completely switch off your whirring brain. In fact you almost forget all about it until your phone buzzes with a text notification mid-afternoon. It's Van.

Van: Hi hope you're ok. Me and Bondy are having a few drinks down the local tonight if you fancy it? x

Usually you wouldn't hesitate, especially if Bondy's down from Newcastle. You love seeing the guys, but you realise that you can't face it and you find yourself grudgingly typing a reply.

Sorry Van, I'm having a rough day and I'm tired already. Have fun and say hi to Bondy for me...

Van obviously does have fun as he's still not back home by the time your eyelids have grown heavy and you've taken yourself off to bed that evening. You can't sleep though, lying there on your back staring up at the ceiling, going through scenes in your head where you and Van sit down to discuss what happened like two sensible, mature adults. The only problem is every single scenario you dream up has the same outcome: Van sniggering like a naughty schoolboy and you ending up red-faced and flustered and even more embarrassed than you were beforehand.

You're still chasing sleep when you hear the key in the lock and heavy footsteps traipsing into the kitchen at gone midnight. You sit up in bed, wondering whether you should get up and speak to Van but then you hear a loud clattering noise, followed by some curse words and muted laughter. He's definitely drunk.

You sigh, sinking back down into bed, listening to Van clumsily banging around in the kitchen, then you hear his footsteps on the stairs. You even find yourself counting the steps, waiting for the moment he'll walk past your bedroom.

And then there's silence... He's stopped... right outside your bedroom door.

You can just make out his shadow in the tiny gap of light filtering under the door. He's standing right there! Your heart almost stops beating and you realise that you're holding your breath, waiting for a sound... his voice, maybe a knock, or maybe he won't knock... again. Maybe he's standing there imagining you like you were last night...

And then you hear him move away.

The rest of the week carries on in the same vein. You blatantly avoiding Van by way of feigning imaginary illnesses or tiredness and enduring awkward encounters in the kitchen that have you quickly scurrying away, and by the time Friday comes around you're running out of excuses.

You've had another exhaustingly long, hectic day at work and when you arrive home you breathe a sigh of relief when you stand quietly in the hallway, listening for any signs of life in the house and you hear none. Great... that means Van's more than likely out, so you've got the whole place to yourself. No sneaking around, no hiding away, you can just relax.

You kick off your shoes and make for the kitchen, on a mission to find the largest glass you can to fill with wine before heading upstairs for a long soak in a luxurious bubble bath. It sounds heavenly...

"Surprise!"

You practically jump out of your skin at the sight of Van in the kitchen as you push through the door. He's standing there holding a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other, the widest grin on his face practically splitting it in two.

"What's all this?" You exclaim, eyes wide, heart pounding from the shock of discovering that you're not as alone as you thought.

"Thought I'd treat ya... 'cause you've been working so hard and I also thought you needed cheering up 'cause you've been dead grumpy..."

"I've not been grumpy!" You protest, aware that you do, actually, sound extremely grumpy. You smile despite yourself.

He continues, placing the glasses down on the kitchen table and beginning to pour out the wine. "And you've been avoiding me."

Shit...

"I've not been avoiding you at all, I've just been... busy, and tired. It's been a long week."

He pauses, looking at you with eyebrows slightly raised. "Oh really? So you've not been avoiding me since..."

Uh-oh. Here it comes. You brace yourself, feeling your cheeks warming, watching his face scrunching in second-hand embarrassment for you.

"Since... The Incident..."

The Incident? The way he says it, even pausing for effect, like he's talking about some award-winning feature film he's bigging up, leaves you in no doubt that you're not going to be able to get away with pretending like it never happened. He wants to discuss it. Right now.

You shoot out a hand, reaching for one of the wine glasses and gulping at the contents, hoping for the alcohol to dull your embarrassment, but sadly it doesn't work that fast.

"Did you have to bring it up?" You say, swirling your wine around in the bottom of your glass to avoid looking at him.

"Actually yes, I do," he says. "If we're gonna live together we need to clear the air. We can't go on like this. I feel really bad that I didn't apologise properly as well, so I'm saying sorry now. I really should have knocked. I just didn't think..."

"Okay, okay!" You interrupt, relieved that he actually seems to be handling the situation maturely and not descending to adolescent level. "Apology accepted. Can we just forget about it now... please?"

"Uh-huh..." Van nods before taking a sip from his own glass, but he's eyeing you over the rim in such a way that you know it's not the last you've heard of it.

You try for a distraction. "Shall we get a take-away? I'm starving."

That seems to have worked. Van immediately clutches his belly announcing how hungry he is and you suggest Chinese. Van places his phone on the kitchen counter and you spend a while hunched over it, perusing the menu. Then you wander into the living room with your wine, leaving Van to phone the order through.

You smile to yourself. Well... that was pretty painless. Hopefully now you can just get back to being housemates and carry on hiding the fact that you're secretly in love... hold on, no... LUST...with Van. There's no way that this is love. What made you even think that?

Your thoughts are interrupted by Van entering the room, grumbling that the restaurant are busy tonight so your food will take at least an hour.

"Well... we may as well have more wine then," he says, holding out the bottle to offer you more and you gratefully accept.

"Woah, not so much," you protest as he fills your glass so full it's practically slopping over the top. "You know how drunk I get on an empty stomach!"

"Lightweight!" He teases, setting his glass down on the coffee table and taking a seat next to you on the sofa.

To your surprise he doesn't sit facing the tele but angles his body so he's facing you, and when you glance over at him him he's got his eyes fixed on you with a grin. You look away but you can feel his eyes on you still.

"What?" You finally say. "What are you looking at me like that for?"

"Can I ask you something?"

Anxiety squirms in your gut and you take another large swallow of your wine. "Well... I'm sure you're just going to ask me anyway..."

You pretend to pick at an imaginary piece of fluff on your dress so you don't have to look at him.

"Do you... errr..." he pauses for a second before carrying on. "Do you do that... all the time?"

"Do I do what all the time?" You say, playing dumb, but you know damn well what he's talking about.

"You know... last weekend... when I caught ya..."

"Oh my god Van!" You cry. "What sort of a question is that?"

He shrugs, still grinning. "C'mon Y/N. How long have we been mates for? We can talk about anything can't we? I'm just curious... that's all."

The embarrassment is radiating off you in waves, but Van's completely unbothered. Your instinct is to tell him to mind his own business, but you don't. There's something about the thought of discussing such an intimate topic with him that's made your heart thump with excitement.

"Of course I don't do it all the time!" You giggle shyly. "Why? Do you?"

"When the mood takes me. Which is... errr... quite a lot actually!" He starts chuckling, while you shake your head. "Well? It's not like I've got anyone else to do it for me is it?"

"What are you talking about? You're not exactly short of female admirers are you? And probably male ones too! You could be shagging someone different every night if you wanted to!"

Van pushes his hair back off his face. He's still wearing a huge smile. "And why would I wanna do that? You know I don't sleep with fans. And I don't go for one night stands... not anymore."

You consider Van's words. He's right. He's certainly not the horny 22 year old he used to be who took full advantage of having girls throwing themselves at him everywhere he went when the band first started getting a following.

In fact since you've moved in with him he's not had any lovers over to stay the night at all. It was one of the things you were worried about when he'd asked you to move in with him to be honest. The thought of having to smile sweetly at a parade of loved up, freshly fucked conquests each morning whilst eating your breakfast just made you feel sick to your stomach with what you’re now realising is jealousy.

Van hasn't finished. He reaches over for his wine glass whilst he's talking. "It's funny isn't it? Back then I thought I was living the dream, but now I realise how kinda shallow I was. I guess as you get older you realise the thing about sex is it's not quantity but quality that's important."

This surprises you. You weren't expecting the conversation to take this sort of turn, you were anticipating Van teasing you mercilessly about what he caught you doing. You'd been dreading it, but the realisation hits you now that it would have been a lot easier to cope with. Hearing Van talking frankly about his love life is just making you realise how much you want to be a part of it. And it's not just the sex. You want all of him.

"Yeah well it's alright if you find someone you're compatible with I guess..."

Van drains his glass, reaching for the bottle and topping himself up. "You're so right. I mean why settle for a quick meaningless fuck with a practical stranger when you can have a real connection with someone?"

And then he looks at you. Really looks at you. You can feel yourself melting under his gaze. You want him so bad. And maybe he wants you too...

But maybe you're getting this all wrong. Maybe it's just wishful thinking and the wine and the talk of sex that's making you feel like the atmosphere in the room has changed. Your head's spinning with thoughts and you panic.

"I hope the food doesn't really take an hour! I'm starved!" You suddenly blurt out, making to rise up out of your seat, but Van darts out a hand to gently grip your arm, stilling you. He's still got that look in his eyes, a certain intensity that makes your belly flip and your heart stutter.

"I heard you," he says quietly.

"What?"

"I heard you say my name... last week. You were thinking about me weren't you? While you were..."

Oh shit! How are you supposed to get out of this one? You can't deny it.

"I... I..." you start but trail off. Your cheeks are burning and your head feels light and there's nowhere to hide.

Van takes your wine glass from you and places both his and yours on the coffee table. Then he reaches for your hand, his fingers curling around yours, entwining them together. He has an earnest expression on his face as he speaks.

"It's okay... don't be embarrassed. I have a confession to make actually..."

He shifts in the seat, moving closer, his eyes not leaving yours. The air between you is thick with a heady kind of tension which only increases as Van speaks again.

"Since I saw you... like that... I've not been able to get it out of my mind. I think it was the hottest thing I've ever seen. All I can think of is seeing you like that again. I really wanna be the one to make you feel like that... for real..."

"I... I..." you stutter, struggling to form anything coherent, your mind fogging over with lust, imagining what might happen.

Van pulls the hand that he's holding towards him, urging you to move your body around to face him more fully and you comply. He's getting closer still, now just inches away.

"Because I reckon I could make you feel good. Really good... if you'll let me?"

He reaches forward with his other hand, gently cupping your cheek. You want to surrender to him, your body automatically responding, your breathing deepening, nerves bristling, but you find yourself holding back.

"I... I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to... it's just... I don't wanna complicate things. I like you Van. Actually... I really like you."

You feel your cheeks warming from the unexpected confession you've just let slip, immediately fretting that you've said the wrong thing, but you don't need to worry. You feel Van's fingers brushing your cheek, his eyes simmering with desire but affection too. "You don't know how happy that makes me to hear you say that... the feeling is definitely mutual."

His gaze drops down to your lips and back up and you find yourself doing the same to his, waiting for the moment they meet, eager to taste him. But still you hesitate. "Can we... can we just... go slow?"

"We can go as slow as you like..."

You both lean in together, too hasty, teeth clashing. It's silly and awkward and you laugh breathlessly, pulling away.

"We'll try that again shall we?" Van chuckles softly and this time he takes the lead, his hand going to the back of your neck, winding through your hair, pulling you closer.

Your mouths meet and this time it's tentative and slow, your lips brushing each other's gently. You sigh into the kiss as it deepens, your tongues entwining. It's like a release, you've dreamt about this moment for so long and now it's actually happening.

Van's free hand goes to your waist and he pushes you back on to the sofa. You grasp at his hips, wanting to feel the weight of him on top of you and he obliges, pressing himself on to you, his knees sliding between your legs. Just the feel of his warm body flush next to yours makes desire pool down deep inside you and you feel your hips push upwards to meet his like they have a mind of their own.

"Hmm... someone's eager," Van whispers, as he pulls away from the kiss, hovering over you.

"You have no idea," you smile back, your hands sliding between your bodies and going to the buckle of his belt, hastily unfastening it. Ideas of going slow are suddenly the last thing on your mind.

He smiles wickedly, and he catches his bottom lip in his teeth as he looks down on you. "You're a fucking vision, you know that? I've been dreaming about this for so long. What I'd like to do to you..."

"Oh yeah?"

His belt's unfastened now, and you slide your fingers under the waistband of his jeans, but you don't get far before you feel Van's hands on your wrists, gripping them gently but firmly, guiding them away, pushing them back against the chair.

"Nuh-huh, this is all about you," he says. "Told you I wanted to make you feel good didn't I?"

"But..." you start to protest, stopping when he raises a hand and presses his index finger against your lips.

"All I wanna hear from those lips is how good it feels, okay?"

"So I've just got to lie here?" You say, biting back a grin at the smirk on his face as he rises up slightly, placing a hand on either of your thighs, pushing your dress upwards until it's bunched up around your hips.

"Yeah... think you can manage that?"

You feel a little vulnerable and exposed in front of Van in such an intimate way for the first time, feeling the flush on your cheeks, the adrenaline flooding your body with excitement.

His fingers trail down your thighs slowly, tracing little patterns on your skin, and you can feel the small callouses on his finger tips. You're so sensitive to his touch your body shivers every now and again and he watches you intently, a smile playing on his lips as you gasp as he inches closer to the edge of your underwear and then moves away.

"You're a fucking tease McCann," you say, watching his smile widen, his eyes light up with mischief.

"It'll be worth the wait... trust me," he says self-assuredly.

Christ... your heart's beating double time, your breathing getting shallow. You need to feel something, your hips twitching as Van places a palm on either of your thighs, slowly pushing them even further apart. Then he dips his head down, and you feel his lips pressing against your inner leg by the knee. He plants delicate kisses all the way up one thigh, then moves to the other side, repeating his actions. Little tremors shoot through you in anticipation.

"Van..." you breathe, yearning to feel his touch where you need it.

"What's up love?" He asks teasingly, fingers trailing along the edge of your underwear. "What do you need?"

"You know damn well what I need," you whine, impatient. All you can think of is his hands. Those long fingers and how they're going to make you feel.

"Let's get rid of these then," Van says, his fingertips hooking under the waistband of your panties.

He begins to inch them down your hips, not taking his eyes off you as he does it and there's something about this that builds the tension in such a way that it's almost unbearable. When you feel his fingertips connect with your skin, one skimming over your your sweet spot, your body reacts instantly with a shudder of pleasure.

He leans over you to kiss you again, fingers exploring the folds between your legs, repeatedly flicking over your clit. It feels better than you could ever imagine and you moan softly into his mouth, bucking your hips upwards, chasing his touch as his fingers start to stray away.

"Don't stop," you plead in between kisses.

"Mmm... I have no intention of stopping," he purrs. "Tell me... how does this feel?"

He pushes one finger slowly inside you, followed by another, stretching you out deliciously. You whimper underneath him. "Fuck that feels good..."

You words tail off into passionate sighs and you close your eyes, tipping your head back. His long, slender fingers reach parts of you that you could never hope to, and before long you're writhing on the bed as he pumps them slowly inside you, moving your hips in sync with his motions.

Suddenly his touch disappears, and your eyes flick open. He's hovering over you, eyes glazed over with lust, and you watch as he raises his hand, slipping the fingers he's been pleasuring you with between his lips.

"You taste fucking amazing," he says, licking his fingers clean.

The action simultaneously makes you blush furiously but also stokes the fire that's already burning between your legs. You're so turned on you feel like the lightest touch might make you explode.

"Don't make me wait... please!" You implore, rising up slightly, reaching for his hips, feeling desperate now.

"But I don't wanna rush this, you look too good," he whispers, gently pushing you back down by your shoulders, before placing a sweet kiss on your lips. "In fact I'd say you looked good enough to eat."

Fuck... Your body's pulsing now, the heat between your legs intensifying. Van moves completely off the sofa, his fingers curling around your thighs, easing your body around so he's kneeling in between your splayed legs.

You look down to see him moving closer, and he keeps his eyes on you as he leans in, licking a slow stripe to your aching heat. Then he starts to work you with his tongue, concentrating all his efforts on the sensitive nub of nerves. Watching him pleasure you like this whilst he's looking you right in the eye is probably the single most erotic thing you've ever experienced, but you find that you can't maintain his gaze for long. The sensations are just too powerful and you can feel your eyes rolling back in your head.

"Fucking hell..." you breathe, and he hums an approval, the vibrations travelling through your core, making your body quiver.

You can feel that familiar tight knot starting low down in your belly, sure you'll peak soon, and as if on cue, Van suddenly hoists your legs up on to his shoulders to get even closer. He buries his head between your thighs, lapping relentlessly at your clit, easing two fingers inside you, curving them at a spot that has you seeing stars. You can feeling yourself unravelling at an increasing pace, hurtling towards your climax.

Your hands thread through his hair, tugging it roughly at the roots, losing yourself as the first swell of your orgasm hits you like a hurricane. Then it's wave upon wave of indescribable pleasure, moans falling from your lips, your legs trembling. Van doesn't stop until the last of the shudders wrack your body.

"Oh my god," you breathe, slowing coming back down to earth as Van emerges, leaning towards you with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

"That alright then?" He grins cheekily, pulling your dress back over your body to cover you up, then resting his hands across your lap.

"Bloody hell, that was... a bit better than alright!" You say, still panting slightly.

Your body feels wrung out but in the best possible way. Van kneels there looking up at you, hair dishevelled, pupils blown wide, his lips still glossy with your arousal, and you think you might have just been transported to heaven.

"I suppose I should... repay the favour," you say with the most flirtatious of grins, raising your eyebrows at him.

Van's smile mirrors yours as he rises up from the floor, taking his seat next to you on the sofa and wrapping an arm around you, drawing you into a close embrace.

"Oh I'm definitely going to hold you to that love..."

#caught red handed #catb imagines #van mccann #van mccann x reader #fanfic #vanfic #smut

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kaivenom · 11 months ago

Text

Marvel Masterlist

Link to the big Masterlist

Venom/Eddie Brock

º·HCS·º

º·Imagine·º

Imagine Eddie and Venom wanting to fuck you NSFW

º·One-shots·º

º·Preference·º

Peter Parker "Spiderman"

º·HCS·º

º·Imagine·º

Imagine being Venom guest and ending up helping Spider-man stop a robbery

º·One-shots·º

º·Preference·º

How would you met the avengers man

Being Venom's host and dating Spiderman (Tobey, Andrew and Holland + Miguel O'hara)

Steve Rogers "Captain America"

º·HCS·º

Steve Rogers trying online dating

º·Imagine·º

º·One-shots·º

º·Preference·º

How would you met the avengers man

Bucky "Winter Soldier"

º·HCS·º

º·Imagine·º

º·One-shots·º

º·Preference·º

How would you met the avengers man

Tony Stark "Ironman"

º·HCS·º

º·Imagine·º

º·One-shots·º

º·Preference·º

How would you met the avengers man

Pietro Maximoff "Quicksilver"

º·HCS·º

º·Imagine·º

º·One-shots·º

º·Preference·º

How would you met the avengers man

Peter Quill "Starlord"

º·HCS·º

º·Imagine·º

º·One-shots·º

º·Preference·º

How would you met the avengers man

Loki Laufeyson

º·HCS·º

º·Imagine·º

Imagine being a TVA guard and having to scort Loki

º·One-shots·º

º·Preference·º

How would you met the avengers man

Thor Odinson

º·HCS·º

º·Imagine·º

º·One-shots·º

º·Preference·º

How would you met the avengers man

Stephen Strange "Dr. Strange"

º·HCS·º

º·Imagine·º

º·One-shots·º

º·Preference·º

Scott Lang "Ant-man"

º·HCS·º

º·Imagine·º

º·One-shots·º

º·Preference·º

How would you met the avengers man

Special mention from the previous Blog

Bruce Banner "Hulk"

How would you met the avengers man

Clint Barton "Hawkeye"

How would you met the avengers man

Sam Wilson "Falcon"

How would you met the avengers man

Helmut Zemo

Helmut Zemo as a sugar daddy

#marvel #masterlist #blog intro

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broskiblurbs · 2 years ago

Text

When I Lose You (A Tom Holland FanFic)

Words: 2729

Summary: You and Tom are engaged, but a battle with cancer has other plans.

Disclaimer: ANGST ANGST ANGST; mentions of death and vomit

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

Life. It’s a fragile thing. Something that can be taken in a second. You can do everything right and still not have enough time. Humans long to live until a hundred years old, but death could overcome them before another breath. In reality, how do we have the right to make plans for the future if it isn’t promised? Wouldn’t that be an insult, no, a challenge to the Grim Reaper himself? Death is horrifying and it’s coming.

This was something you found out on starry Friday night, well you imagined it would be starry if there wasn’t so much light pollution. The Hollands, a family you grew quite fond of, were having a rooftop party to celebrate Paddy graduating from secondary school. Everyone was having a great time. The loud music was causing a headache for you, but you just popped an Ibuprofen and kept pushing through. Headaches haven't been an uncommon thing for you recently, especially in the mornings. You figure it’s just the stress of wedding planning.

Tom Holland, your husband to be, currently had his arm around your waist and boasting to his best mate, Harrison, about soccer. Well, Tom would call it football. The world seemed to start spinning, so you burrow your face into your fiancé’s shoulder.

“You alright, love?” Tom’s sweet voice rang through your ears.

“I’m not feeling so well,” you answer, feeling your stomach turning inside and out.

“We can leave if we have to. Paddy would understand,” he suggested.

“No,” you respond. Sure, Tom’s little brother would understand, but you only graduate from secondary school once and you wanted to celebrate with him. “Maybe, we could just sit down for a bit.”

“Of course, darling.”

The two of you sat at a couple of loveseats where Harry and Sam Holland were sitting as they discussed bright ideas for The Brother’s Trust. The twins have been your best friends since long before you and Tom started dating. They were running down the sidewalks, for God knows what, in New York City, and Harry accidently ran into you causing you to spill your coffee all over yourself. To make up for it, they bought you a new shirt and coffee. You all have been the dream trio ever since.

About twenty minutes after sitting down, you started feeling even worse. You felt like your brain was going to pound out of your skull. The dizziness felt like you just got off of one of those spinning rides at the amusement park. The vomit, well, you were sure that was going to come back up at any moment. It was dancing its way up your throat and you knew it was coming.

“I’m going to be sick,” you announce, weakly. Tom rushed you inside, knowing you wouldn’t want to throw up in front of everyone. Harry and Sam were right on your heels. They wanted to be there for you, but they didn’t know how. You emptied your insides in the nearest trash can you can find. Tom gently rubbed your back and pulled your hair out of the way as you puke.

“I’m going to go get you some water,” Sam said and hurried on his way.

“It tastes disgusting,” you manage to say in between chunks.

“I know, love. Um, Harry. Do you think you could grab something like a paper towel or a wash rag?” Tom asked.

“Yeah, I’ll be right back.” The two of you sit in silence, other than the sound of you gagging, for a while before Tom speaks up.

“Darling, I know you hate doctors, but maybe it’s time to see one. You’re always sick and I’m worried,” your fiancé suggests. You finally manage to stop throwing up.

“No, it’s probably a bug. Nothing a little rest can’t fix,” you respond.

“But-”

“I said it’s fine, Tom,” you bite back a bit more harshly than you intended.

Before Tom could say anything else, the twins were back and ready to help their friend any way they can. They wiped the puke off your face and made sure you’re all hydrated before you make your way back to the party. Unfortunately, you never make it back to the celebration because you pass out cold right before you get to the door that led out to the rooftop.

“Y/N!” Tom and his brothers rush to your side. “Darling, can you hear me?” Sam checks for your pulse and thankfully it’s there, but weak. “Harry, call 999. Sam, get Mum and Dad.” Tears are rolling down Tom’s cheeks as he screams for you to be okay.

Your arms and legs start jerking. Your head starts shaking all around. Your lips are turning blue and you are obviously having a hard time breathing. Tom sits next you panicked, having no idea how to help you. He felt completely useless and because of that he might lose you. “Oh my god, she’s having a seizure,” Nikki, the mother, exclaimed. She immediately takes control of the situation by making sure there were no harmful objects nearby. She also turned you on your side so you could breathe easily.

“I didn’t- I couldn’t help her.” At this point Tom is hysterical.

“Hon, I know this is really scary, but right now, the best thing you could do is keep calm. Take a couple deep breaths. That’s what she needs from you.” She turns to her twins. “You two, go downstairs and direct the paramics up here. The last thing she needs is to be crowded when she wakes up.”

But, you don’t wake up until you’re in the emergency room. You are hooked up to a monitor and IVs. You have a device around your face that helps oxygen go into your nose. You will later find out that it is called a nasal cannula. You still have a headache and you feel like you’ve been hit by a bus. You see Tom staring at you. His eyes are puffy and red. His cheeks are very tear-stained. He’s just looking at you. Not saying anything.

“How long have I been out?” you ask, deciding to break the silence.

“A day,” he responds, almost emotionless.

“Are you-” You were going to ask if he is okay, but he interrupts.

“I’m going to go get the doctor.” He leaves you worried. He never acts like that: cold and distant.

A few minutes later Tom comes back with a cheery doctor. A doctor who you will get close to in the upcoming weeks, Dr. Parker.

“Good morning, Y/N,” she greets. It wasn’t morning. She’s just trying to lighten the room a bit. “I’m Dr. Parker. How are you feeling?”

“I have a bit of a headache and I feel a bit weak, but nothing to worry about,” you respond, which causes Tom to scoff.

“Go ahead. Tell her. Tell her what you told me,” he demanded. He couldn’t be completely depleted of emotion because you caught a glimpse of a tear rolling down his face.

“When you came in we ran a couple of scans: CT and MRI. It showed you have a large mass in your brain tissue,” she informed. That's when you noticed the “oncologist” on her medical jacket. Your heart dropped to your bum by the news.

“I-I have cancer?” you ask, already knowing the answer. Brain cancer has been in your family for generations. You knew it was only a matter of time until you got diagnosed, which is why you hate the doctors.

“Unfortunately, the test did come back cancerous,” she responded softly.

“How much time does she have?” Your fiancé asked. The doctor took a deep breath.

“It’s hard to say, but I would say weeks, months at most.” Her cheery smile has fallen now.

Everything you look forward to seems to be taken from you in an instant. Going to the movies with Harry and Sam to see the new Marvel movie next month. Going back home to the States to visit your mother who was not healthy enough to come visit you on your deathbed. Your wedding. Having children. Growing old with Tom, the absolute love of your life. All gone. No longer your moments. Simply wishes of a future that you don’t get to have. It wasn’t fair.

“I’ll give you two a moment and then I’ll come back to discuss chemotherapy to see if we could slow the growth.” You look at Tom who was sitting back down in the chair, his hands on his face, and staring blankly into space.

“Tom, I’m so sorry,” you apologized, crying.

“I asked over and over again for you to go to the doctor,” he whispered. “We could have caught it in time. I wouldn’t have to watch you die.”

“I-I didn’t think it would be this serious,” you replied.

“Of course you didn’t,” he scoffs, running his hands through his brown locks.

“It’ll be okay. We will figure something out,” you try. Tom jumps up.

“You don’t get it. It will have to be me who has to learn to live without you! It will have to be me who buries you!” He yells causing you to startle. Seeing this reaction seems to calm him down a bit. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t yell. I am scared. I don't know what I will do when I lose you, darling.

“I can fight this. I will fight this. It can still get better. We can do this,” you promise. He nodded his head in agreement and hugged you.

A few weeks have passed and chemo has taken the light out of your eyes. You’re not the same as you used to be. You’re always tired and ill. Your hair has been falling out, which was the biggest thing for you. You love your hair. It’s your favorite part of you.

“Tom, I’m going to have to shave it all off,” you cry into his shoulder.

“I know, but you will look just as beautiful, I promise,” he coos into your ear.

“No, I won’t! Imagine the wedding photos. They’re going to be awful,” you exclaim.

“They will be wonderful. You have nothing to worry about,” he replies.

“Will you do it?” you ask, looking up at him.

“Do what?”

“Shave it off,” you respond. He gives you a concerning look. “Please.”

The next day, Tom shaved all your hair off, which absolutely broke your heart. You cried for hours in the hospital bed. You were going on about how it wasn’t fair, you were ugly now, and that you were tired of all of this. Tom knew your time was coming. The doctors said you were getting worse by the hour and all chemo was doing was delaying the inevitable.

“Hey, look Y/N! We got a surprise for you! Ta-da!” Harry and Sam came into the room with their hair completely shaved off. They were bald just like you.

“You guys did that for me?” You asked.

“We knew how much it upset you,” Sam said.

“We thought if we shaved our heads it would make it seem less scary,” Harry added.

“That is so..” You sit there, thinking “I can’t think of the word.”

“Thoughtful?” Tom suggested.

“Yes, that’s the word. That is so thoughtful. Thank you.” You smiled, but were clearly upset you couldn’t remember a word.

“Now, it’s harder to tell which is who,” Nikki exclaimed. “Hello, dear.” She gave you a big hug. “I brought you these.” She laid out a few wigs and head scarfs.

“Oh, thank you! They’re so pretty!” You look at all the different options you have.

“We also brought you this,” Sam said as he laid out a white and black shirt.

“Oh, thank you,” you thanked questionably.

“You don’t remember it?” Harry questioned. You shooked your head. “It was the shirt we bought you when I ran into you.” You still looked lost.

“Remember, that’s how we met. Harry ran into you and spilled your coffee, so we bought this shirt in return,” Sam added hopefully.

“Oh, yeah,” you answered, not sounding convincing at all. You couldn’t remember. You had completely forgotten how you met your best friends. It only got worse from here.

A few more weeks go by and it’s clear you weren’t getting better and you were never going to get better. You had already flatlined twice, but the doctors were able to bring you back. You were even more exhausted. You barely could walk or go to the bathroom. You were as weak as ever and it felt like torture to you.

“Tom,” you call.

“Yeah?”

“I want to marry you,” you announce.

“I know and you will, darling,” he answered. He was also exhausted. He had barely slept. He hasn’t been home in weeks, not wanting to leave your side. He was afraid as soon as he left, you would die and he wouldn’t be there for you.

“No, I mean, now. Here,” you clarify.

“In the hospital?” He asked and you nod. “No. No way. You will get better and we will have a big ceremony with pink roses. Just like you wanted.”

“Tom, we’re kidding ourselves. I’m never getting better. I’m dying,” you said. This is the first time you said it out loud, which made it even more real, causing the both of you to cry. “I’m tired, Tom. I’m done.”

“W-what happened to keep fighting? We can do this. You just have to keep believing, please,” Tom begged, tears streaming down his face. You shake your head.

“I have no more left in me. I can’t even sit up in my bed without help. I don’t even remember my birthday. It’s time, and I want my last moments to be marrying you, please, Tom. Help me.” You pleaded.

“You’re giving up? What about our life together?” His eyes are now red and puffy.

“We already lived our life and it was perfect. Now, now, it’s the end. I want it to be a happy one. I want to die as your wife. Please, Tom.” You grasp his hand. He knew you probably weren’t going to live for the rest of the day. Even the doctor told him that you should be dead by now.

“Darling, I-I can’t,” he cried.

“Yes, you can. You’re the strongest person I know.” Tom is sobbing into you. “Please.”

He finally agrees because deep down, he knew it was time to let go. He called his family to the hospital. He helped put on your favorite wig, paint your nails, and put some make-up on. Once everyone got there, you immediately started, knowing the clock was ticking.

“Thank you,” you say. Tom couldn’t say “you’re welcome,” so he just nodded. The two of you shared your vows. Yours wasn’t very long since you couldn’t remember what you were going to say, but Tom’s was beautiful, yet heartbreaking. He talked about how he enjoyed the little time you two had together, how it wasn’t fair that you were being taken away from him, and that he couldn’t wait to dance with you in the afterlife. You two shared your “I dos.”

Tom kissed you like it was the last time he’ll ever kiss you because it will be. He tried to hold on to how your lips felt brushing against his. He tried to remember every detail of you: Your smile, you beautiful eyes, your laugh, just you.

“See you later,” you bid him goodbye. The monitor flat lines as your heart was too weak to beat. Tom yells in pain. He holds to your body, feeling the last of your warmth leaving your body. He sobs into your hospital gown. Sam and Harry are crying too, but not as much. They already mourn your loss while you battled cancer. The doctors come rushing in to try to save you. They try to pull you out of Tom’s grasp, so they could resuscitate you.

“No! Please, no! She doesn’t want this,” Tom begged, still holding onto you. “She told me she was ready.”

“She didn’t sign a DNR,” Dr. Parker said.

“I know, but she told me. Please, don’t do this to her,” He pleaded.

“It’s true,” Harry and Sam agreed, even though they weren’t there. Dr. Parker took a deep breath and signaled the doctors to go.

“Time of death: 18:47.”

part two here

#fanfic #my writing #spiderman #fiction #reader #marvel #celebrities #cancer #tom holland angst #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland #tom holland x you #thehollandfamily #angst #tw death

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under-the-sea33 · 3 months ago

Text

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒

hii loves <

here are some guidelines for requests:

reader preference: fem!reader and gender neutral!reader only

characters I write for: there are a list of characters below which I am comfortable doing, however if your person is out of that list, still request and I will see whether I deem it suitable

request details: the more details, the better! this way, I can see what you're imagining, and bring it to life! <3

➺ 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

james potter

sirius black

remus lupin

peter pettigrew

barty crouch jr

regulus black

evan rosier

poly! marauders

poly! wolfstar

harry potter

ron weasley

fred weasley

george weasley

charlie weasley

bill weasley

percy weasley

cedric diggory

draco malfoy

theodore nott

mattheo riddle

lorenzo berkshire

lucius malfoy

severus snape

tom riddle

abraxas malfoy

➺ 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐋

tony stark

bruce banner

clint barton

pietro maximoff

!poly avengers

bucky barnes/winter soldier

sam wilson

steve rogers

thor odinson

loki odinson

peter parker (andrew garfield, tom holland)

doctor strange

peter quill

wade wilson

➺𝐌𝐀𝐙𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐄��

newt

thomas

minho

jorge

aris

gally

frypan

alby

winston

➺ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐈 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘

conrad fisher

jeremiah fisher

cam cameron

steven conklin

➺ 𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌

billy loomis

stu macher

➺ 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒

fitz vacker

dex dizznee

keefe sencen

alvin vacker

tam son

➺ 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐎𝐍

colin bridgerton

anthony bridgerton

gregory bridgerton

benedict bridgerton

simon basset

prince friedrich

➺ 𝐖𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃

fiyero tigelaar

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nickeverdeen · 9 months ago

Text

MCU masterlist

Match-ups:

Peter Quill

Peter Parker 1

Shuri

Peter 1 #2

Peter 1

Peter 3

Bucky

Sam

Peter 1

Steve

(you can also choose a group in which I’ll pair you with the characters from it or you can just leave it in general and I’ll choose from all of the groups)

Preferences:

The original 6 Avengers reacting to you kissing them while being drunk

The young Avengers and their love language

(you can choose which characters you want or whatever group you want)

Avengers

Tony Stark (Iron Man)

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Steve Rogers (Capitan America)

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Bruce Banner (Hulk)

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Natasha Romanoff (Black Widow)

Imagine:

Taken pt. 1

Taken pt. 2

Taken pt. 3

Taken pt. 4

Taken pt. 5

Taken pt. 6

Taken pt. 7

Taken pt. 8

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Clint Barton (Hawkeye)

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Thor

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Wanda Maximoff (Scarlet Witch)

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Scott Lang (Ant-Man)

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Carol Danvers (Capitan Marvel)

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Stephen Strange (Doctor Strange)

Imagine:

From Crayons to Canvases | Doctor Strange x platonic fem!reader

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Spider-Men

Peter Parker 1 (Tom Holland)

Imagine:

Caught in the Act (Sort of)

Across the Miles

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Peter Parker 2 (Tobey Maguire)

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Peter Parker 3 (Andrew Garfield)

Imagine:

In anoter life

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

The Guardians of Galaxy

Peter Quill (Star-Lord)

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Gamora

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Drax

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Rocket (only platonic)

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Groot (only platonic)

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Nebula

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

S.H.I.E.L.D.

Nick Fury

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Maria Hill

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Melinda May

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Sharon Carter

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Wakandans

T’Challa (Black Panther)

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Shuri

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Okoye

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

M’Baku

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

W’Kabi

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Hydra

Brock Rumlow

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Winter Soldier

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Revengers

Thor

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Loki

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Bruce Banner

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Valkyrie

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Korg

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

The young Avengers

Yelena Belova

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Kate Bishop

Imagine:

Bodyguard!Kate Bishop x Mafia boss fem!reader

Unexpected Blooms

Mission Saved

Under My Care

Blanket and Tea

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

America Chavez

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Cassie Lang

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Being Cassie Lang’s sibling

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

19 notes · View notes

tomholland1996simp · 2 years ago

Note

I love your tom Holland x daughter imagine, could you please do another where y/n throws a tantrum and like starts hitting everyone and then hurting herself? And Tom calms her down? X

Tantrums || Tom holland x daughter

I’m backkk, sorry I took a bit of a break due to my mental health. I just needed to have a break from writing and try to sort myself out. But i’m back again writing, enjoy :) <3 P.s this is such bad writing and it’s short.

Also there’s something wrong with my master list can anyone help?

Summary: Toms daughter, Y/n, throws a very bad tantrum and started to throw things and hurt everyone. Then when Tom walks in he sees her trying to hurt her self so he takes her away to calm her down and speak to his daughter.

Y/n could come very angry easily, the most littlest things could stress her out and she could become angry. Of course she was still only young, at the age of 5. She was still learning right from wrong. Most of the times Toms mother, Nikki was with Y/n when he was away, so she took care of the little holland even during her bad times. Tom had been there too, he’s seen her fits and has always calmed her down.

However, recently y/n has been becoming a bit too violent when she becomes angry or distraught. Toms brothers were always the ones to become the target of the little girls attacks. Why? No one could tell, maybe because they reminded her of her dad. She really missed him a lot.

The holland brothers (minus Tom), were sitting in the living room one day. Them all messing around playing with y/n who seemed to be enjoying their company. When suddenly Harry’s phone started to ring, him picking it up as everyone became quiet as his answered his phone.

“Oh, hey Tom. You alright, mate?” Harry spoke, the girls head perking up at the sound of her dads name. “Daddy?” She said, only to be shushed by Paddy as Harry was talking to Tom. Y/n sent him a glare, not knowing why her dad was calling her uncle.

“Alright, yeah. Nah she’s just playing with her toys. Yes, she’s had lunch.” Harry chuckled at his brothers worried questions.

The truth was is that Tom was nearly home. He was in fact in Harrison’s car, his best friend who had picked him up from the airport. Tom normally wanted to talk to his daughter, but he wanted to surprise her in person to hear her voice and see her beautiful cute face.

“Daddy!” Was shouted from the phone as y/n sat next to Harry, doing grabby hands so she could speak to Tom. “Pleaseee” she asked nicely, trying not to lose her cool.

Harry shook his head saying his goodbyes to his oldest brother, trying not to give the surprise away. “See you in a few weeks, Tom, bye” He ended the call, placing his phone on the side.

Y/n looked at her uncle angry, she had asked him nicely to speak to her dad. She got off the couch going to Harry’s phone and taking it. “Hey, y/n, give me the phone please” He asked putting his hand out.

“No! I wanted to speak to daddy” She whined, stomping her feet loudly.

“Sweetheart, he’s busy he’s at work” That nick name was the name her dad would call her too, so it sent something to the 5 year olds brain.

“I DONT CARE! Call him” Y/n threw the phone at Harry, demanding to speak to her dad.

“Y/n we don’t throw things” Sam raised his voice, they were all used to this. Y/n always got mad and threw things, she didn’t mean to of course, but she never really learnt from her mistakes.

The girls eyes welled with tears, it had been two whole days since she’s heard his voice. The voice that she loved the most. The voice that would read her a book till she fell asleep. That voice was Toms. “Let me speak to him!” She screamed.

Paddy sighed, walking out of the room knowing a tantrum was due to break out. Normally the boys try to deal with it, but instead he went to get his mum. When Nikki walked in minutes later, she saw y/n about to throw one of her dolls at Sam.

“Y/n, honey. We don’t throw things-“ Just as she said that the girl threw the doll at Sam, it missing and hitting the wall behind him. Sam did say something to set her off.

Sam grabbed the little girls hands as she punched him, trying to calm her down as she screamed and cried. “Hey, hey. Come on you know your not allowed to hit people” He tried to soothe her down but that didn’t work.

Nikki walked over, placing a hand on the small back of y/n’s. Touch was the thing she didn’t need from them right now. Y/n turned around and slapped Nikki’s hand off her, it becoming a surprise to them all. Y/n loved her Nan the most, she would never hit her or get mad. Normally she would love her touch and run into her arms.

“Y/n you need to calm down” Nikki said softly, the girl walking away from them a little as she kicked another toy that laid on the floor. That’s when y/n brought her right hand to her face, slapping it harshly. Nikki gasped, not liking the way she slapped her face.

No one heard the front door open, or the call that Tom shouted to tell everyone he was here. What he expected was his little girl to come running along happily, not to hear loud cried from the living room. He placed his bags down, Harrison trailing behind him.

Then he saw his daughter, she was slapping herself and he flinches at every time she done it. Nikki was crouched down trying to stop the sobbing girl, but it was no use.

“Hey, hey” Tom ran into the room, his brothers and mother relived that he was finally hear. Nikki backed away, letting her oldest son step in to soothe his daughter.

“Go away!” Y/n shouted, delivering another slap to her face, again. Toms eyes softened, him grabbing her hands slowly, rubbing them soothingly.

“It’s daddy, i’m right here, sweetheart” Her eyes open instantly, there he appeared. The face she hadn’t seen in what felt like forever for her. It had been nearly two whole months without feeling his comfort.

“Daddy?” She cried as she fell into his body, hugging him tightly.

“Yes, it’s me” Tom tried not to cry, he didn’t like it when she became like this all sad and angry. Tom picked her small body up, her face still crying in his neck. He looked over to his family, smiling gratefully at them, the boys nodding for him to take her somewhere more quiet.

Walking up the stairs, he played with y/n’s hair hearing her cries go to tiny sniffles. He went into his room, closing the door behind him. Sitting on the bed he went to move the girl but she only held onto him tighter. “No!” She whined.

“I’m here, i’m not gonna leave” He laid onto his made bed, laying her on his chest so she can hear his heart beat. After ten minutes y/n had calmed down, she looked up at Tom who was jet lagged.

“I’m sorry, daddy” She sat up a little onto his chest, “I didn’t mean to hurt uncle harry or sammy” Y/n honestly told him.

“I know, baby. But you can’t hit people, not your family who love you so much. And you most definitely shouldn’t hurt yourself” He wiped away the last tears that fell, cradling her face that she leaned into.

“I just missed you, and Harry wouldn’t let me twlk to you” She sighed, Toms heart breaking.

“It’s okay. It’s done and over with, we just move on from it. That was my fault, I told your uncles that I wanted to surprise you. I love you so much okay, so so much” He brought her back into a hug, kissing her head.

“I love you too, daddy”

“Wanna go apologise to the others? I’ve also got you a present” That made her eyes widen, excited to see what he had got her, but also to say sorry to her family.

“YES! Yess!”

This is shit.

142 notes · View notes