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blessashton · 8 years ago

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Dissolve Me - c.h.

summary: Calum’s not getting over you as easily as he thought you would. The nights are the hardest for both of you, and you’re both stuck in a nighttime routine of reliving your breakup.

word count: 2,044

a/n: I’ve been slowly adding to this in my drafts since I started this blog. It’s based off the song Dissolve Me by alt-J.

Now dissolve me Two tabs on your tongue

It keeps him up at night. The memories flicking behind his eyes like a projector every time he closes them. Hazy summer days, a mess of limbs and sheets. Rough hands on soft skin. The flutter of eyelashes against his neck and the sound of your sighs. Your eyes full of tears and the hurt in your strained voice. Calum presses his hands to eyes eyes for a moment before grabbing the bottle of sleeping pills that had recently become a necessary part of his nighttime routine. He tells himself he won’t need them every night. But even when he’s dead tired and all he can think about is collapsing in bed, when the time comes to fall asleep, you’re all he sees. He shakes out two tablets, placing them under his tongue before lying down. He contemplates a water stain on the ceiling as he waits for the medicine to seep into his bloodstream and bring him much needed sleep. Unconsciousness would be a better way to describe it as he rarely woke up feeling rested. It’s been four weeks, he should be over this already, over you. But he isn’t. Nowhere close. He doesn’t know why ending things has taken such a toll on him. This was the exact reason he chose to do it, to avoid getting hurt or hurting you. He started feeling too much, and that scared the hell out of him. Calum didn’t get invested; he had no interest in being tied down. He had tried the long-term relationship thing a few times before, and it wasn’t his thing. It made him feIt trapped, suffocated. But that’s exactly what you had wanted. Stabilty. Something constant and conventional. Something he couldn’t give to you. So he left. It made perfect sense at the time. So why was he so miserable now?

Broken sweethearts who sleep apart Both still pine for the other’s side spine, spoon as sleep starts

You lie completely still, willing the quiet buzz of the tv to drown out the constant stream of thoughts in your head. The nights were the hardest. During the day you have distractions. You barely have time to think, and you’re grateful not to be alone with your thoughts. Because they were all about Calum. You want nothing more than to wipe him from your mind. To start fresh. Why stay so hung up on someone that said goodbye without a second thought? Though you don’t like to admit it to yourself, you still care about him. But he chose to end things; clearly he didn’t feel the same. You let your eyes close slowly, the light of the tv disappearing between your lashes. Despite yourself, you remember the nights you shared in this bed, holding each other, sharing slow and quiet conversations about whatever was on your minds until one of you succumbed to sleep. Part of you wants that now, just to hold him one more time. Have him wrapped around you and let his steady heartbeat lull you to sleep. For a moment you wonder if he’s somewhere longing for the same thing. You squeeze your eyes shut harder and cut the thought short. You tell yourself he isn’t thinking about you. He’s moved on and left you in the past. He’s probably shared a bed with three other girls since then. The thought makes your stomach turn and hot tears prick the back of your eyes. You let them spill out. They’d come out eventually, and you’d quickly figured out there was no use wasting what little energy you had keeping them in. They stream down onto your pillow as they have so many nights in the past weeks, and you let yourself cry until you feel empty and weak. Your bout of crying leaves you in a salty half-sleep. It’s something you’ve grown used to, this pathetic cycle. It makes you feel like such a mess. Why couldn’t you get it together and move on? You know the answer before the thought even enters your mind. Because he was it for you. You’ve never felt what you had felt with Calum. You had thought your souls were made from the same stuff, always meant to find each other. You thought you understood each other, made each other better. But as you’re lying here alone, body drained and a dull ache in your chest, you wonder if it was all in your head.

Calum turns onto his side, trying to get comfortable. But nothing feels right. He’s been perpetually restless since that night, especially when in bed. No matter what, it feels empty. He’s tried filling the space with a few girls he’s picked up at the bar down the street, but even when they’re passed out next to him, he feels utterly alone. It’s never the same as it was with you. But he let that go, and there was no going back. He rolls over, his eyes falling on the red glow of his clock. 2:37. He’d been in bed for two hours, and he wasn’t any closer to sleep than he was at the start. He pulls himself out of bed and tugs on the jeans pooled on the floor. He slips on his shoes and grabs a coat before walking the short distance to the place he so often comes nowadays. He takes a seat at the bar, the bartender handing him his beer of choice without any exchange of words. He gives Calum a look of pity that makes him want to smash the bottle into a million pieces. He knows the people here think he’s a heartbroken guy drowning his sorrows and that he’ll still be here years from now, drinking until they cut him off. But he’s not. He’s going to get over you eventually. One of these nights will be his last night here. He’ll leave and never come back.

Calum’s had a few beers less than normal, and he’s not nearly as drunk as he usually is when he stumbles back home. But something feels different tonight. He’s got this feeling in his bones that he can’t shake. He wants to see you. If he was sober he wouldn’t dream of showing up at your place after what he did to you. But he’s got a generous amount of alcohol in his veins and nothing to lose. He makes the short trip to your apartment, almost knocking on the wrong door. The gold numbers catch his eye just before his knuckles come down on the wood, and he recoils. He’s shocked at himself that for a moment he forgot your address. He quickly moves a few doors over until he finds the right number and knocks weakly a few times before the adrenaline kicks in and pushes him to knock a little louder. He hopes he doesn’t scare you; he knows how afraid you get when you’re on your own at night. His head falls against the door with a quiet thud. For the first time in years, Calum prays. Prays that you’ll even come to the door. Prays you won’t slam it in his face. Prays you’ll give him a chance to say what’s been in his head for weeks. He hears the door unlock and steps back, tensing up in anticipation. The door swings open and his eyes immediately find yours. They’re tired like his, framed by dark circles. He watches you carefully, too busy taking in everything about you to say a word. As his eyes roam over your stiffened figure lit only by the lights outside, they glaze over with tears. He’s wanted weeks to see you again, and now all the feelings of the past month wash over him. He hears your voice weakly say his name and realizes he’s been staring at your hands for too long. The hands that used to run through his hair and up and down his back when he was upset and that cupped his face with a sweetness that made him come undone without trying. He looks back up at your eyes, tears streaking down his cheeks. He doesn’t have a plan, but he opens his mouth to speak anyways.

Calum’s the last person you expected to be on the other side of your door. Seeing him standing there knocks the wind out of you, and you struggle to maintain your composure. He looks awful, eyes bloodshot and ringed with purple. It makes you feel a bit better about how hard you’ve been taking this; it looks like he has too. Despite yourself, you feel sorry for him. You want to take him into your arms even though he walked out on what you thought was forever. But you stand your ground, prompting him to speak when he zones out, knowing you can’t remain calm for much longer. He’s crying when his eyes meet yours again, and it’s almost enough to make you break down.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He wipes his hands down his face. “Not just about coming here, about everything. All of it. It was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I-I don’t know what I was thinking. I was scared. I’ve never been with someone that made me feel like that and I ran and it was stupid. I’ve thought about you everyday. More than that. I’m not… I’m not sleeping anymore.” He sucks in a shuddery breath before the words continue to tumble from his lips. “You’re in my head every night. And I just- I had to see you. I’m sorry.” You let out a sniff as he finishes speaking, looking towards the ceiling to stop the tears from falling. He tentatively steps forward, gauging your reaction. When you don’t draw back, he wraps his arms around you though at this moment, he’d rather be the one being held. His body relaxes into yours when after a minute or two, you put your arms around him as well. He lets out a cracked sob into your shoulder, the force of his shaking nearly knocking you over. You lead him to your bedroom, sitting him on the edge of your bed. You feel a pang in your chest about having him back in your bed, and even if everything in you is telling you to get him out of here, he needs you.

She makes the sound, the sound the sea makes To calm me down

Calum’s a mess. Seeing you in person undid the last stitch that was keeping him together. As he’s sitting on the edge of your bed sobbing he wonders if coming here accomplished anything other than taking him back to square one and making a fool of himself.

“Take off your shoes, Cal.” He calms down enough to kick off his shoes, and you help him out of his coat. He feels like a child you’re taking care of. Small and pathetic. But when you pull him to your chest and he’s secure in your arms, he starts to feel whole again. He focuses on your voice. You’re not saying words, but making a faint shushing sound, a sound you always made when the world got to much and he broke down. It relaxes him unlike anything else. To be held and listen to the soft sound. This is one of the things he missed most about you. You’re the only one that he can truly be vulnerable around, that he can bare his soul to. He hates himself for giving this up, and he wants nothing more than to have it back for good. By the time he’s calm, Calum feels drained, like he’s finally emptied emotion he’s had pent up inside for weeks. He doesn’t know where this leaves the two of you. You’ve always been selfless and kindhearted, how can he know you’re not doing this solely out of pity? Calum doesn’t have much time to dwell on these thoughts before he’s skimming the surface of sleep. It’s real sleep, a deep sleep that he hasn’t had since things ended. His weight pulls the both of you down as you’re now the only one supporting it, all the while the faint sound of the sea fills the room.

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hrina · 8 years ago

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Magic Word {Calum Hood Smut}

PAIRING: Calum/Y/N RATING: S for smut :-) WORD COUNT: 6500+ REQUESTED: Nope

someone sent me a rly cute fluffy blurb abt calum being a single dad and i was inspire :’)) i rly hope u guys like this, i wrote it in like 24 hrs lol!! feedback is much appreciated (like...very appreciated), and if u like this, the link 2 my masterlist is at the end :-)

~*~

Fuck.

That’s the only word that can describe how you’re feeling right now. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You squeeze your eyes shut, partially to block out the bright sunlight, but mostly to avoid watching as the gorgeous hunk of tall, dark and handsome—also known as you neighbour—runs over, his golden skin shining with sweat. Your toes are curling anxiously in your runners, and right now, you wish that the universe would just take pity on you, that the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

Calum pushes open the cliché white gate that guards his front yard, an expression of concern clouding his features. You stare down at the ground, your fingers mindlessly toying with the pebbles littering the sidewalk. God, you want to die.

“Are you okay?” Calum asks, lifting his hand so that he can shield his eyes from the bright glare of the sun.

You look up at him—not wanting to be rude—and muster the best smile you can, “Yeah, I’m fine! It’s just a little scrape, I think.”

To reinforce your words, you gesture to your knee, taking the first good look at your injury. You have to fight the urge to squeeze your eyes shut. It’s definitely not a little scrape. Blood is running down your shin, dark red rivers webbing across the skin. It’s almost artful, but then you remember that it’s blood, and you try to suppress your whimper.

“That doesn’t look too good,” Calum comments, just as another set of footsteps—these ones lighter, like the patter of rain on a window pane—scurry closer.

“Daddy?” a small voice asks, and you catch a glimpse of big eyes and a head of dark hair peeking out from behind the gate. You try to smile and seem as approachable as possible, but the brown eyes just widen when they land on you, and the child recoils in fear.

“I’m here, baby,” Calum says, and at first you believe that he’s talking to you. But then he turns to face the gate, extending a comforting arm, and you shake your head, silently scolding yourself.

A little girl—she looks to be about seven years old—steps out from behind the barrier. She has dark, curly hair that’s pulled back into a braid, and her wide brown eyes are framed by long, black eyelashes that graze her cheeks when she blinks. The shade of her skin matches that of Calum’s, and she wears a pink dress decorated with white polka-dots. Her hands are clasped behind her back, and she keeps her head down, evidently trying to avoid your gaze.

“She got hurt, baby,” Calum explains to his daughter.

The little girl glances at your bloody knee before looking away. You rack your brain, trying to remember her name, but the information evades you. It starts with an ‘A’, you know it does. Amber? Arabella?

“Can you do me a favour, Ro?” Calum asks, and you cock your head to the side, curiosity overpowering you, “Inside, in the top cabinet of the kitchen, there’s a first-aid kit. It has a bright red plus sign on it. Can you get it for me?”

The little girl opens her mouth, “Am I allowed to climb onto the counter to reach it?”

Calum chuckles, “Yes. But just this once, okay?”

His daughter breaks into a grin and nods her head quickly before whipping around and scampering inside; in her hassle, she stumbles on the porch steps. “Careful!” Calum calls out, but she’s already disappeared through the front door.

Calum chuckles again, turning back to you. With a jolt, you realize you’ve been staring at him. His skin is covered in a light sheen of sweat, his curly hair messy, some strands matted to his forehead. He’s wearing a pair of black basketball shorts and a plain white muscle tank that accentuates his skin tone and exposes his defined biceps—his biceps: the reason you had tumbled to the ground in the first place.

“What made you trip anyways?” Calum asks, his lips upturned in a small, good-natured smirk. A shiver runs down your spine—it’s like he can read your mind.

In response, however, you just shrug, trying to brush off your embarrassment, “I’m just clumsy. It—it happens all the time.”

Calum hums, his eyes leaving yours and trailing down to your injured knee. He hesitates, reaching his left hand out to touch it, before ultimately deciding against the idea. He glances back up at you, his hand hovering over your leg, “Can you stand?”

“I think so,” you say, and you push yourself upright, attempting to put pressure on your right leg. You nearly fall back down, your knee buckling and searing with pain. Before you can land flat on your ass, however, your arms shoot out, fingers digging into Calum’s shoulders for support.

“Nope,” you grit out, as Calum chuckles, “It would appear that I can’t. Never mind.”

“It’s okay,” Calum offers you a kind smile, placing his own hands on top of yours and pulling, so that your arms are loosely wrapped around his neck. Your lips part in surprise, and a short yelp escapes you when Calum suddenly scoops you into his arms with ease.

“My house is right next door,” you mumble, painfully aware of how close your faces are. You study his side profile as he stares straight ahead; he’s concentrated on nudging the gate shut with his hips and approaching the steps of his porch. His lips are pink and full, his nose flat, his eyebrows bushy, and his cheeks slightly chubby. He’s attractive, something you noticed the very first day that you moved in. You just never had the courage to talk to him until now.

“I know,” Calum says, a glimmer of amusement present in his irises. He doesn’t look at you, but rather keeps his eyes trained on the front door. You can hear his daughter rummaging around for supplies inside of the house.

Calum struts through the front door, and kicks it shut with the heel of his foot. He moves along the hallway, eventually stopping at the very end of the corridor and entering the doorway of his kitchen. His daughter is in there, setting the first-aid kit down onto the counter just as he walks in. She turns to look at you, her eyebrows raising comically when she sees that you’re nestled in her father’s arms.

“Thank you, Ro,” Calum says, and she just smiles at him, hopping off of the kitchen counter and scurrying away.

Calum sets you down in her place, and you shiver as the cool marble of the counter touches the underside of your thighs. Though it’s hot outside, you regret wearing shorts for your run—if you had stuck with leggings, you wouldn’t have ended up in this mess.

Calum works in silence, unclipping the latches on the first-aid kit and opening the box slowly, studying its contents. You wait anxiously, nearly sighing in relief when he finally pulls out a few bandages, some tissues, and a bottle of disinfectant. He sets the supplies down on the counter next to you, moving to the side and reaching for the tap on the sink; he twists it and proceeds to wash his hands.

Once he’s finished, he shuts off the tap, reaching for the bottom of his white tank. He balls up the hem, using it as a towel to dry his hands. Your lips part as you’re graced with a small glimpse of his torso—his skin is brown and smooth, and you’re just able to see where the crease of his hips disappears beneath the elastic of his shorts.

“Does it hurt?” Calum’s voice snaps you out of your daze. You look up, only to find he’s watching you, which means…holy shit, he caught you staring. Your face heats up, and you wish that you could just curl into a ball and shrink until you could no longer be seen.

“No!” you say, a little louder than necessary. Your voice rings out in the tranquility of the kitchen, and you cringe, “I mean, yeah, of course, but I kind of—stopped noticing, I guess?”

Calum smiles, shaking his head at your rambling. You purse your lips, your humiliation growing with each passing second.

“Here,” Calum concludes, reaching for one of the tissues he had set down. He snatches it up and looks at you expectantly. You merely nod, lifting your leg up so that he doesn’t need to crouch. He smiles gratefully at you and gets to work, wiping away the blood and dabbing at certain areas that are more tender, like the skin around your injury.

You’re itching the break the heavy silence that has settled upon you. Your fingers twitch with anticipation and finally you blurt out, “So… ‘Ro’, huh?”

“What?” Calum pauses and looks up at you. A moment later, he understands, and he smiles softly, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. You can’t stop staring at the pinkish tint, and you immediately decide that you adore seeing him so bashful.

“Yeah,” he says, standing up straight and scratching at the back of his neck, “Her name’s actually ‘Aroha’, but I just call her ‘Ro’ most of the time.”

Aroha. So that’s her name.

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, “Why did you pick that name?”

“It means ‘love’ in Maori,” he explains, and your brow furrows. Calum must see the confusion on your face, because he continues, “They’re an aboriginal tribe from New Zealand. That’s where I’m from.”

“Oh,” you say, tilting your head to the side, “I think that’s really nice.”

Calum chuckles, but there’s an air of superficiality behind it, like he doesn’t believe your words. You lean forward, placing your hand on his bicep impulsively.

“I mean it,” you tell him, “It’s a really beautiful name.”

And you’re a really beautiful man, you want to add, but you bite your tongue, fighting the urge to blurt the words. It’s true, he is beautiful—in fact, you don’t think it’s fair for a man to be this attractive. But you can’t have him thinking that you’re that desperate. That would be embarrassing—and you’ve already embarrassed yourself enough for today.

“Who picked it?” you inquire, “You, or her mother?”

Calum’s soft expression immediately hardens, and you know that you’ve fucked up. He stiffens, his eyes leaving your face—instead, he trains his gaze down at your knee, seeming to inspect the damage.

“Her mother isn’t important,” he answers; it sounds like he’s trying to control the tone of his voice, like maybe there’s a slight snap laying beneath the cool exterior. You pull your hand from where it’s resting on his arm, curling into yourself shamefully.

“Oh. I—I’m sorry.”

Calum notices your subtle movements—you get the feeling that he’s good at reading people—and he hastens to make amends, “No, it’s not your fault, it’s just—,” he breathes deeply, “—her mother left right after she was born. So, to answer your question: I picked her name.”

“That’s terrible,” you tell him, and then backtrack suddenly, “I mean—not her name of course, but the fact that…”

You trail off when you see Calum laughing quietly. And despite the absurd heat rising to your face, you can’t help but to giggle along with him. That’s the end of your conversation—Calum continues to fix you up in silence, though this time, it’s not awkward or uncomfortable. You hiss slightly when he spritzes the disinfectant on your knee, and he mutters a gentle apology. He then leans down, blowing cool air onto your skin to quicken the drying process, and you swear that you’re going to pass out right there on his kitchen counter.

As you desperately try to compose yourself, Calum reaches over for the multiple bandages littered across the counter. He picks one up and rips open the wrapping with his teeth, and all you can imagine is him ripping open a condom packet using that exact same technique and holy shit.

You want to die.

Calum smooths the bandage over your damaged knee before stretching out to grasp another one. He repeats the process, and you have to look away so that your mind doesn’t overpower you and conjure up impossible fantasies that leave you breathless and very, very aroused.

“Better?” Calum finally questions after he flattens the third and final bandage against your skin.

You look up at him, and for a moment, he holds your gaze, his brown eyes seeming to stare into your soul. It’s like he can see everything, all of the dirty reveries you’ve summoned, the awe-filled thoughts fluttering through your mind, the nervousness and anticipation that he evokes within you. He can see it, can read it, knows exactly what’s causing it, and he’s amused by it. You gulp.

Suddenly, his daughter—Aroha—stumbles back into the kitchen. The connection is broken, and both you and Calum look away, fixing your gazes on her.

“Hey, Ro,” Calum says, “What’s up?”

Aroha slowly pads over to him. You notice that a plastic tiara has been placed lopsidedly on her head, and she’s now clutching a fuzzy pink bear in her right hand, hugging the stuffed animal to her chest.

Calum crouches down and Aroha leans forward, whispering something in his ear. You can’t hear what she says, but Calum smiles when he processes her words, so you immediately decide that you like it. The corners of Calum’s eyes have crinkled, and he beams at his daughter, “Would you like to ask her yourself?”

Aroha steps back and shakes her head. You giggle, looking at Calum expectantly. He turns to you and sighs, though there’s a faint smile on his face, “Princess Aroha would like to formally request your presence at her tea party,” he lifts an eyebrow and continues in a far more colloquial tone, “Are you in?”

You grin and look back at Aroha, who is watching you with wide, vulnerable eyes. God, she looks so much like her father, and immediately, you know that you won’t be able to refuse them—either of them.

Calum gazes at his daughter expectantly, “What’s the magic word, Ro?”

Aroha looks down at the ground, and in the smallest voice, you hear it: “Please.”

Calum grins, clearly satisfied, and he looks back up at you, his brown eyes glimmering with an emotion that you can’t quite decipher.

“I’d love to, Your Highness,” you tell the young girl, and slowly, you push yourself off of the counter. Initially, you wobble, and Calum reaches out, placing a hand on your hip to steady you—it’s the highest he can reach, considering the fact that he’s still kneeling on the ground, but his touch makes you shiver nonetheless.

You curtsy, and Aroha’s eyes light up. She spins around and dashes out of the kitchen, no doubt to prepare an extra seat so that you may join her for tea. You smile and look down at Calum; he’s in the midst of picking himself up off of the floor, and eventually, he’s standing right in front of you.

“You know,” he muses, “I still don’t know your name. And considering that we’re both going to be attending the same tea party in a few minutes, I think that it would be best if we first became acquainted.”

You laugh, “I’m Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” Calum shoots you a dazzling grin, and you’re afraid that your knees will buckle again, “I’m Calum.”

I know, you want to say, but all you can do is smile.

~*~

Calum fucking loves his daughter.

He always has, of course, but it’s safe to say that she’s definitely one of his favourite people on the planet. All because she’s the reason that he was finally able to talk to you, another one of these aforementioned favourite people.

He was working out in the front yard, performing one-handed push-ups when she had yelped out an urgent “Daddy!” and pointed to the gate. He stopped, looking up and not seeing anything worrisome, but then she informed him that “some lady fell!”

And now here he is, four months later, pacing along the length of his kitchen and waiting for the familiar ring of the doorbell.

You’ve become friends over the past few months. Aroha absolutely adores you, and Calum wants to cry, because how could his life have twisted so perfectly? Ro’s always asking if she can invite you over for tea parties, and of course, it works, since coincidentally, you’re always free whenever she (or rather Calum) calls.

In fact, it’s become a Friday night tradition: you traipse over from next door—usually wearing something casual (or fucking hot, as Calum likes to think) such as tank top and a pair of sweatpants—Aroha bristles with joy, and Calum’s dick is left semi-hard by the end of the night.

One Friday, Calum called your cell, only to be met with the sound of a thumping bass when you picked up. You told him you’d gone out to a club, but weren’t exactly having a good time, so yes, you’d be at his place as soon as possible. About half an hour later, Calum opened the door to see you dressed in a tight black dress and heels, your hair curled, eyes smoky and dark—he had to grip the frame of the door to keep himself standing upright.

That night was filled with agony. Not only did he have the most painful boner of his life, but he had to keep the knowledge hidden from both you and his daughter. Aroha wasn’t hard to fool, but you kept shooting him odd looks, raising one perfectly manicured eyebrow whenever his voice came out a bit strained.

The doorbell finally rings, and the sound causes Calum to jump. He quickly hurries down the hallway, stopping to fix himself in the reflection of a mirror before continuing. Once he gets to the front door, he freezes and takes several deep breaths, trying to keep himself composed. And then he’s opening the door, his blood thundering in his ears.

You look as beautiful as ever. Your hair is thrown up into a messy ponytail, a few strands falling down to frame your face. As usual, you’re sporting a tank top—though it’s black today—and a grey pair of sweatpants. You smile up at Calum warmly when you see him, and Jesus Christ, why is his heart pounding?

“Hey,” you chirp, “Is Ro ready for our tea party?”

Calum feigns confusion, and then his eyes widen comically and he shakes his head, “Shit, I forgot to tell you: she’s actually sleeping over at a friend’s house tonight.”

He didn’t forget to tell you. Not in the slightest bit. And a part of him feels bad for lying, but he just wants to spend some time with you (he’s got a condom stashed away in his pocket—just in case). Aroha is the most important thing in his life, and he loves her with everything in him, but he needs some breathing room. And whenever she sleeps over at a friend’s house for the night, he welcomes the brief interval of relaxation with open arms.

Your lips part in surprise, the words sinking in before you nod, “Oh. I’m sorry, this is sort of weird then, isn’t it?”

Calum cocks an eyebrow and chuckles, shaking his head, “What? No it’s not. Would you—I mean, you can still come in, if you’d like? We don’t have to spend our Friday night alone.”

You pause, processing his offer. And then you give him a bashful smile, your shoulders hunching as you accept his request, “Sure. That sounds nice.”

Calum returns your smile, stepping away from the door so that you can come inside. You toe off your runners—he can’t help but to notice that they’re the same ones you were wearing when he was finally able to have a conversation with you.

“Are you hungry?” Calum asks, “I’ll get us something to eat.”

“I already ate, actually,” you inform him, and his heart sinks. After a moment, you grin wickedly, “But I wouldn’t be opposed to some popcorn—and maybe some wine.”

Calum chuckles, “Popcorn and wine. What an abnormal combination.”

“I’m an abnormal girl, Calum Hood,” you reply, and Calum grins. He likes it—likes the banter that you can carry and how you can keep it going with such little effort. You’re witty, quick on your toes, snarky even—Calum likes it a hell of a lot.

~*~

You follow Calum into the kitchen soundlessly, hopping onto the counter as he rummages around the cupboards. Finally, he seems to find what he looking for, and he pulls a packaged bag of popcorn out with a triumphant grin. You laugh softly, and he just rips at the clear wrapping with his teeth—why the fuck does he have to rip everything open with his teeth?

Calum places the flat package of popcorn in the microwave, setting a timer and sticking his tongue out in concentration. You watch as he presses a final button, and the microwave rumbles to life. Calum turns back to look at you sheepishly, but you just offer him what you hope to be a kind smile.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, throwing his thumb over his shoulder, “The wine’s in the cellar.”

You nod, placing your hands underneath your thighs. You don’t want him to see how your fingers are twitching with the itch to grab him by the collar and pull him close to you, “I’ll be here.”

He smiles—almost like he’s relieved—and turns his back on you, traipsing out of the kitchen. You hear the door to the basement creak open, followed by his footsteps descending, growing fainter until they cease altogether. Once you’re sure that he’s busy on the floor below, you blow out a heavy breath.

Goddamn, he’s beautiful. This is the worst thing that has ever happened to you. With Aroha out of the house, you’re not sure how you’ll be able to control yourself. You’ve always been able to show some restraint in the past, but that was when there was a child in the same room. Now, it’s just the two of you, and you’re trying to keep your demons of desire at bay.

Calum’s not helping—he’s wearing another pair of black basketball shorts and a grey t-shirt, and he looks so good. Just when you think he can’t get any more attractive, he somehow finds a way. Your stomach is roiling and curling into knots, your skin crawling whenever he glances at you. You just want to rip his clothes off, have him take you right then and there against his kitchen counter.

Control. Control is key.

Suddenly, there are footsteps drawing nearer, and Calum enters the kitchen. You swallow and try to make it look like you weren’t just about to drop to your knees and beg him to fuck you.

Calum holds up a bottle of wine victoriously; it’s not very big, but it looks quite expensive, “This is the oldest one I’ve got.”

“You’re going to waste it on me?” you joke.

Calum smiles and nods his head, “Only the best for you.”

It gets quiet after that. Your breath hitches in your throat—Calum averts his gaze, busying himself with popping the cork from the bottle. You watch him in silence, swallowing heavily and trying to ignore the rapid thumping of your heart. It’s so loud, and you’re terrified that even Calum may be able to hear it.

Calum finally succeeds, setting the cork down on the counter. He reaches up into one of the cabinets, producing two crystalline glasses. Exhaling softly, he walks over to you, holding the glasses in one hand, the wine bottle clutched tightly in the other.

“Here we go,” he mumbles, seemingly to himself. He sets the glasses down and fills a third of each with red wine. For a short while, all that can be heard is the sloshing of the alcohol, as well as the faint sound of popcorn popping in the microwave.

Calum places the wine bottle down on the counter next to you and offers you a glass. You take it from him, your cheeks heating up for no apparent reason.

“Thank you,” you mumble, peering up at him from over the rim of your drink. You take a sip, humming at the pleasant flavour.

“No worries,” Calum replies—his own wineglass is blocking his lips, but judging by the crinkles that appear around his eyes, he’s smiling.

You both pull away from your drinks at the same time, smiling at the synchronization. Calum sets down his glass, and you do as well, sighing before looking up at him.

He’s already watching you. His gaze makes your skin prickle with desire—he’s looking at you with dilated pupils, the black concealing the brown of his irises. You tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear and bite your lip, meeting his gaze shyly. As if compelled by some higher force, Calum steps closer to you, his face only inches from yours. His hands come up, and he lightly rests them against your thighs—his touch is still hesitant, as though he’s not sure what you want.

You lean up into him, trying to convey your desires. And it works too, you’re so fucking close, but then the timer on the microwave beeps, and the machine shuts off—the popcorn is ready.

“Oh, I—,” Calum freezes, looking conflicted. A moment later, he steps back, intent on retrieving the steaming bag.

Before he can move any further, however, your right hand lashes out, fingers curling into the front of his t-shirt and holding onto him tightly. “No,” you practically growl, yanking him back.

He jolts, reaching out for the counter to steady himself. You spread your legs so that he stumbles into the unoccupied space between your thighs. You’re both breathing heavily, your noses only an inch apart and your chests rising and falling with anticipation.

Calum makes the first move, leaning in and kissing you—hard. His lips are soft and plush, but his technique contrasts their texture deeply. He’s fierce, nearly animalistic, bruising your lips with his own; you love it.

You loop your arms around his neck, and his hands move from the counter to your hips, gripping them and pulling you forward. You wrap your legs around his waist, trying to bring him closer to you, wanting—needing—the contact.

“Shit,” Calum whispers when you both break apart for air. Your breaths are coming out in heavy pants, and he rests his forehead against yours, not wanting to stray too far away. You look up at him, seeing the lust and concern in his eyes—two emotions that should be opposite of one another, yet he brings them together so beautifully.

“Do—do you want to?” Calum asks, and though it’s such a simple question, you’re both aware of the humongous repercussions that may unfold. But you can’t think, your brain locked in a permanent state of desire, a loud chant of Calum, Calum, Calum ringing in your ears.

In response, you grab him by the collar of his shirt, your nails pressing into your own palms as you ball up the material. You peck his lips softly, kissing him briefly before pulling back and whispering, “Fuck me.”

“Fuck,” Calum breathes before his lips are back on yours, pulling you in for another bruising kiss. His hands leave your waist, and you pout, before realizing that he’s fishing around in his pocket. A moment later, he produces a foil packet, and you can’t help it—you laugh.

“You were expecting this?” you say. A faint blush rises to his cheeks, but Calum smiles as well.

“I came prepared for anything,” he tells you, which just adds to your amusement. You lean back on the counter, watching as he slams the condom down onto the marble next to you and makes quick work in removing his shorts. You lick your lips when you perceive his bulge, straining against the cotton of his boxers.

Calum looks up at you, and you realize that you’ve been staring. Your hands fly to the waistband of your sweatpants, and you fight to push them down your legs. Calum helps you tug them off, letting them drop to the floor and kicking them to the side so that he can step closer to you.

“I want to fuck you—,” he admits, “—hard. Can I?”

“Please,” you whimper, left breathless at the husky tone of his voice. You rack your brain, trying to find simple words that you can string together to form a coherent sentence, “It’s—we can go slow next time.”

Immediately, you want to slap yourself. Next time? Could you be any more desperate?

But Calum just chuckles, accepting your logic and nodding. His fingers toy with the hem of your panties (you really wish you had put on a sexier pair—little printed flowers aren’t exactly known for their seductive nature), and you whine, pushing your hips forward for more.

“Calum,” you mewl.

Another faint chuckle escapes Calum’s lips, and he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your pussy over the cotton material of your underwear. Your hands fly up to grip onto his shoulders (which are still concealed by his t-shirt, much to your dismay) just as he groans, the sound sending jolts of electricity straight to your clit.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he mumbles, continuing to litter soft kisses up and down your thighs, “Went right through your panties, baby. S’all for me?”

“Yes,” you whisper, your body incapable of mustering a higher pitch. Calum finally hooks his fingers into your underwear, and without a warning, yanks them down your legs. You gasp when the cool air of the kitchen meets your pussy, a weak shiver running down your spine.

“Just fuck me,” you say, fed up with his teasing. You want him inside of you; your restraint is crumbling pathetically—how the hell has he kept his composure for so long?

“Gotta open you up first, baby,” Calum explains. Your heart soars at the use of the pet name, but you shake your head, your bottom lip quivering with desire. Calum sees your expression, and he cocks his head to the side in confusion.

“No,” you say, hating how your voice shakes, “No foreplay. Just fuck me, please, Cal. N-need it, need you.”

Calum’s gorgeous lips part in surprise. He leans forward, pulling you into a harsh kiss. You reciprocate, your fingers twining in his hair and tugging roughly. The man in front of you makes a strangled, wounded noise, and you lighten your grip, but then he mutters against your lips, “No. Keep going.”

So you tighten your fingers in his dark curls, yanking on them. Calum groans, nearly collapsing against you, and a faint giggle leaves your lips, breaking the lustful tension lingering in the air. Your head falls back as Calum kisses your cheek, your jawline, sucking a bruising mark into the spot a few inches beneath your earlobe. Shakily, you reach for the condom beside you, snatching it up and pressing it firmly into his chest.

He pulls back from the crook of your neck, his hand coming up to cover yours and pull the condom from where it’s clutched tightly in between your fingers. You watch as he pulls back, his fingers fastening onto the elastic of his boxers before he’s yanking the offending material down his legs. His cock springs up, slapping against his stomach (which is still covered by that goddamn grey t-shirt).

As if he heard your thoughts, Calum then grabs at the collar of his shirt, hoisting it upwards and pulling the fabric over his head. Your mouth dries up when you study his body—the muscles in his arms, the smoothness of his torso, the wonderful caramel colour of his skin, only interrupted by black designs that have been permanently inked into his flesh.

He’s beautiful.

Calum blushes and mumbles a low ‘thank you’, and you realize that you’ve said that last part out loud. You look down, momentarily embarrassed before your eyes find his body again—it’s like a magnet, and you somehow know that you’ll never be satisfied by any other man after tonight.

“Your turn,” Calum prompts, his voice low.

At first you’re confused, but then you understand; you cross your arms over your body and grip the hem of your tank top, pulling it over your head swiftly and tossing it down onto the ground. You then reach around your body, finding the clasp of your bra and undoing it effortlessly.

You can’t help but to smile when you see Calum’s eyes widen at the sight of your bare chest. He takes a tiny step towards you, his right arm outstretched, but you slap his hand away before he has the chance to touch you.

“Nuh-uh,” you say, “You’re not touching me until you’ve put on that fucking condom.”

Calum grins at your sassiness, holding up his hands in a form of mock-surrender. And then—finally—you get to see what you’ve been fantasizing about for the past four months. Calum lifts the condom packet to his lips, ripping through the foil with his teeth. The sight makes you shudder, and you bend your legs up onto the counter, giving him the most perfect view of your pussy.

“Shit,” Calum breathes, his eyes trained on the apex of your thighs. He tries to roll the condom on without looking, but he fails and eventually curses, gazing down at his work. As soon as he’s finished, however, his eyes are back on you, fixed firmly on your pussy as he takes a step closer.

You allow him to touch you this time, and his hands immediately find your thighs, trailing further up so that he can grasp your hips and pull you forward, your ass on the edge of the counter. Calum grabs the base of his cock, guiding it towards your core. He taps your clit with the head twice, eliciting a strangled gasp to fall from your lips.

You glare at him accusingly, and he smirks. He aligns his dick with your entrance, and you both inhale simultaneously.

And then he’s tilting his hips forward, pushing in—it’s only the tip of his cock, but you’re already left breathless at how full you feel.

“Fuck,” Calum breathes, slowly filling you up. You clench around him for a moment before forcing your muscles to relax. You allow yourself to tilt your head back, finding a soothing breathing pattern and trying to maintain it. Even with the condom, you can feel everything—every ridge, every vein. Calum’s pulsing inside of you, and eventually, his hips fall flat against yours when he bottoms out.

“You’re—so tight,” Calum chokes out, and you shudder at the husky sound of his voice.

You lift your head back up, slowly wrapping your legs around his waist, your ankles locking at the small of his back. Gradually, your push yourself up so that your hardened nipples are grazing his chest. Calum’s fingers twitch on your hips, and you cup his face in your hands, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“Fuck me,” you order.

He does.

As soon as he processes your command, his hips draw away from you, and you whimper at the feeling of his cock sliding from where it’s nestled perfectly in between your silky walls. Calum retreats until only the tip of his dick is inside of you, and then pauses. Just when you’re about to question him, he drives back into you, knocking the breath from your lungs.

“Fuck!” you yelp, your nails digging into the muscles of his shoulder. Calum curses at the pain but carries on, establishing a rough and unforgiving pace.

You bury your other hand into his hair, your fingers braiding through his curls and tugging on them every once in a while; you enjoy hearing the low rumble that he makes every time you do. Calum’s fucking you properly now, your heavy breaths intermingling in the air, his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust. You let out an obscene moan, throwing your head back, and he takes it as an opportunity to suck and nip at the skin of your throat.

“Like that, baby?” he asks, biting gently on your earlobe, “Can feel you squeezing around me, God, I love it so much.”

“Calum,” you whimper. His name is the only thing you can muster.

“I’m right here, gorgeous,” Calum coos, but you can hear the smirk in his voice, “Right here, fucking you deep.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you chant, teeth digging into your bottom lip to keep your moans suppressed. Calum noses a strand of hair out of the way, pressing a comforting kiss to the shell of your ear. He’s still driving into you, his hips slamming into yours with impeccable precision, but somehow, the smaller gestures—the details—are what mean the most.

“I wanna come,” you say suddenly, gasping the words like the urgency has just hit you, “Make me come, Cal, please.”

“Yeah,” Calum mutters, almost to himself, “I’ll let you come, baby, don’t worry.”

And then he shifts the angle of his hips and drives back inside of you, hitting your spot immediately—and you swear that you see fucking stars. You let out a loud gasp, your legs nearly kicking out in a spasm. You body convulses with pleasure, and the air is punched from your chest. Calum fucks you through your orgasm, gritting his teeth when your walls flutter and clench down around him.

With a few final thrusts, he twitches and stills inside of you, spurting his warmth into the condom. His eyes flutter shut, eyebrows raising subconsciously. You whimper when he falls against you, using the counter to keep himself standing upright. He buries his face in your hair, groaning and pressing kisses to the side of your head.

For several long moments after that, there’s only silence mixed with the lethargic purrs of your breathing. You allow your eyes to drift shut, not wanting to ruin the perfect seconds that draw out around you. Finally, Calum shifts, and you want to cry, because you know that it’s over.

“That was…” Calum can’t see to find the right words.

“I know,” you croak.

Calum moves slowly and you sigh, your walls trembling as he pulls out of you. He peels off the condom, knotting it and disposing of it in the trash across the room. You can’t help but to watch his ass as he walks away.

“Do you—?” Calum’s voice rings out suddenly, “Do you want to stay? We could watch a movie, maybe go for round two on the couch?”

He turns to face you once he’s finished asking the question. You can see the nervousness in the way that his eyes watch you warily, the way his teeth gnaw on his dark, swollen bottom lip.

Your heart is somersaulting in your chest, your insides liquefying and God, it’s so pathetic, but you don’t care. Because Calum Hood—your sweet, caring, attractive neighbour—just fucked you raw on his kitchen counter, and is now asking you if you want to stay.

He wants you to stay.

“What’s the magic word?” you tease, and Calum lets out a genuine laugh.

“Please,” he says, walking back over to you.

You grin, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning in for a kiss, which he happily bestows upon you. It’s playful yet meaningful, and you want to cry because everything is so goddamn perfect.

And so you stay.

When the night fades into dawn and the dawn fades into day, you stay. A week later, when Calum drives you out to a nice restaurant for dinner, you stay. When Aroha calls you “Mummy!” for the first time, you stay. Two years later, when Calum drops to one knee and offers you a ring, you stay.

And three months after that, when the slight swell of your stomach is finally beginning to show—still—you stay.

~*~

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