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Dangerous Desires (ix) - Home Coming

CW: spanking/brat taming, hair pulling, biting, licking, breast play, marking, unprotected piv (dont be stupid), rough sex, slight fingering, degradation, choking, cream-pie (DONT BE STUPID), probs some shit editing, LMK what i missed !!

word count: 10K 💀💀

18+ MDNI !!!!!

You stood in front of the hokage, heart beating out of your chest. You were nervous, that much was obvious. However you couldn’t wrap your head around why you were summoned. Lady Tsunade finished writing her last few words into her notes, stapling them together and setting them aside to address you.

“You must be wondering why I’ve sent for you,” she started, sitting up in her seat. Her face was somber.

“I can’t say you’re wrong.”

“What I’m about to tell you is something only a very select few know about.” Tsunade started, hands clasped together on the desk. “We’re about to go to war.”

You were shocked- was Kakashi really telling the truth?! Was he right all along?! Your emotions were everywhere and it was evident on your face.

“I know, I know it’s a lot to take in. I myself am not sure if I’ve taken it in yet.” She seemed stressed, you could see the worry behind her soft brown eyes.

“Lady Tsunade… who are we at war with?”

“My dear who aren’t we at war with?” She sadly laughed to herself. “Truth be told we’re fighting against a greater force than we know. I hate to say this but we’re looking at a fourth great ninja war.“ Your eyes widened, body filled with anxiety.

“A fourth great war? Are you serious?”

“I’m as serious as death. In fact, there’s going to be a five kage summit soon and I’ll need to attend to talk about said war.”

“So… The war isn’t with the other nations? I mean… if there’s going to be a summit with all five nations, doesn’t that mean neither is the threat?” You asked, still confused.

“Exactly.”

“Then who’s the threat?”

“I can’t discuss that with you.”

“Then why have I been summoned Lady Tsunade? If you can’t tell me who the enemy is tell me what I’m here for.” You were starting to get angry, worried for what you’d been told previously.

“You need to fight in this war.” Tsunade said plainly. “With medical jutsu like yours we would be idiots not to use you. I’m telling you now that we’re not asking you to enlist, but rather we are drafting.” Kakashi was right.

You couldn’t believe him, it was impossible to. How could this be happening? It wasn’t long since you’ve been here and already you’re being drafted in the war. It was exactly how Kakashi had told you, no denying it. This is your job, what you were sent to do, the only thing you know how to do, so damn right you’re going to use your blessing to help all you can.

“I’m well aware of my capabilities my lady, and in fact I find it a great honor to be drafted by you personally.”

“You’re taking this a lot better than I thought you would, I must thank you for that.” She sighed a relieved breath, hand clutching her chest.

“I have no other choice but to. This is what I signed up for when moving to Konoha. I decided the day I learned my first medical justu I would help the world become a better place. If you hadn’t drafted me I would’ve signed up myself. It’s my duty, this is my home.” Your words moved Tsunade, she smiled softly at you. Her face dropped suddenly.

“I’m glad you believe that, and I’m glad to have someone like you be so ready for whatever is to come, really I am. But because you’re going to be in the war I need to to preserve your chakra. Because of this, I forbid you from working at the hospital.” She looked away from you, knowing she didn’t want to see the determination wash away from your face in real time.

“Are you… are you firing me?”

“I’m afraid so. I cant have you waste any of your precious chakra on a few sick patients when we are going to have armies full of injured shinobi on the front lines. We have enough medical personnel at the hospital already, so with you being as high ranked as you are we must save you for the battlefield. You understand don’t you?”

“Lady Tsunade what more do I have other than my job? How long will it be until we are in war? I-I can’t be out of work that long.”

“I’m sorry but my hands are tied.” Her voice was almost as sad as yours, she worriedly watched as your eyes started to well with tears.

“Please my lady. Don’t do this to me.” She got up from her desk and walked over to you, hugging you tightly against her.

“It’s going to be alright, I promise. I just need you to rest up. We’ll be destroyed without you, please just trust me.” You hugged eachother until you could calm down, you wiped any tears that fell and stepped aside.

“Lady Tsunade I have a request to make.”

“What is it dear?”

“I want to go home. Back to my village and see my parents one last time before I go to war. I think it’s only reasonable to see them one last time, as me coming home alive and well is uncertain.” Tsunade stepped back and looked at you, a hand draped softly on your shoulder.

“I accept the request. How long will you be gone?”

“Probably under a week.”

“Then so be it. You’re dismissed.”

You walked out of the office and back home with an intense sadness inside of you. You gave up on Kakashi because you loved your job. Now your job has been stolen from you and it was all for nothing. Everything that had given you value- that had given you purpose- is now gone. You wondered if you should even return home or not.

You decided it would be a good idea if you told your friends Machi and Gale you’d be gone for the next few days, back at home until you decided you needed to come back. They understood and wished you well on your journey.

Kakashi was a mess, thinking about how poorly he treated you during your sexcapade, saying he hated you and fucking you so roughly he wasn’t sure if he had hurt you or not. Who care if he did? You hurt him worse. You hurt him in a way nobody else has. How could you treat him like he was somebody only to leave him like he was nothing? At least, that’s how he saw it.

Business at The Poison Sandwich was slow today, maybe the sadness was in the air. Kakashi ate his BLT, thoughts of you racing through his head. Even up until he heard your name uttered by the two girls you held dearly as friends.

“So she went back home.” Gale said to the cook behind the counter.

“I’ve been thinking about visiting a few of the sandwich shops in her village for a while now actually.” Percy smiled from behind the counter.

“Wait… she went back?” Kakashi interrupted, unsure if he heard right.

“Yeah, yesterday. Said she’s be back in a few days.” Machi said, looking over at Percy. “He said he was going to go the her village pretty soon to try out the food there.”

“Is this true Percy?” Kakashi asked his friend, who nodded as he discarded his white apron.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Can I come?” Kakashi asked, cursing himself. What was he thinking?

“Well as long as you don’t have any other plans for the rest of the day, I see no problem. I’m heading off now, so get ready.” Percy said, untying his apron and tossing it on a nearby countertop. “Ladies, you don’t mind closing shop for me, do you?”

And of course, as enamored with the man as they were, had zero issue and took care of business as he and Kakashi took off.

_____________

Kakashi was shocked to see the strange motorized bike that Percy had built, looking it up and down in shock and awe at the mechanism.

“What is this, if I may ask?”

“Well I’m not a shinobi like you so getting around to long distances isn’t easy for me. I built this myself as a way to make the trips easier.” Percy said, tossing Kakashi a black helmet. Kakashi caught it and reluctantly adorned it, his silver hair peeking out from underneath.

As Percy started the machine Kakashi sat in the back behind him, pondering why he had felt the need for such an impromptu visit to your hometown. He didn’t know why he felt this way, especially after the way you had treated him. Once again he felt alone, abandoned by your heartlessness and eager mindset to go fight off in a war that he felt would mame and kill you the second you had your back turned to the enemy.

“Kakashi… what’s been going on with you?” Percy asked, snapping Kakashi out of the trance he found himself in.

“I’m sorry?” He asked, puzzled at his friends sudden questioning.

“Listen... Gale, Machi, and I all know about your secret affair. And we don’t care- we support it honestly. But ever since you two have had a falling out… we’ve noticed a change.” Percy’s voice was somber as he drove throughout the thick forest, focused on the destination while his heart was stuck in the conversation. Kakashi was silent a moment, his mind was racing. Was it safe to tell his friend the truth? To let the secrets of his beloved lay out in front of someone who was only watching from the outside?

“I’m not sure I understand,” he replied monotoned. His outside demeanor was cool, but anyone who really knew what was going on inside his mind could tell the intricacies of his tone, picking up the way his voice would lilt anxiously as he declared this inquiry.

“Well I’m sure you do, so don’t play dumb with me Hatake,” Percy snapped, he wasn’t playing games- Kakashi was sure of this now.

“Well what do you want me to tell you? Sometimes people don’t work out the way they meant to, we don’t have control over these things. All you need to know is that me and her are… we’re complicated.”

“Bullshit.” Kakashi was taken aback.

“What are you talking about?” The wind was blowing through his hair, headband threatening to blow off his eye. He held it tight, looking at his thighs for avoidance.

“I’m talking about your seriously psychotic desire for control. You’ve wanted her from the moment you met her, haven’t you?” Percy asked, revving the engine of his bike.

“More than anything…” Kakashi admitted, vision still remained on his thighs.

“And ever since then, what have you done?”

Kakashi thought about it for a moment. What had he done? He had fucked you on his desk, broken into your home and stolen your underwear, touched you while you slept, fucked you at work, fucked you on missions- gods... the list could only go on.

“I’ve done all I could.” He clutched his fists, hating how horribly his stomach churned. “And yet it still wasn’t enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that my love for her has consumed me, my body, brain, and soul. She’s all I think about- ever. She’s everything, and everywhere. No matter what time of day or night, I can feel her down to the very air I breathe. I’ve tried for what has felt like forever to have her all to myself.”

“Why all to yourself?”

“Because the thought of her with anyone else makes me violent,” Kakashi said, regretting his words the very moment they spilled past his lips.

Percy remained quiet, Kakashi wasn’t sure if it was so he could talk more or not. He stayed silent for a while too. He wondered wether Percy was judging him, then again he didn’t care too much, it wasn’t him who was worried about public appearances.

“Sometimes I can feel my blood boil when I see another man talking to her. She makes me feel at peace, not just in my mind but in my soul. I love that woman down to the marrow in my bones and to think that some other man could see her and only see her for her beauty, only see her for something to use makes me sick. I can practically feel the bile in my throat just thinking about it.”

“So she makes you feel calm?” Percy didn’t seem to be turned off by the way Kakashi spoke of you, it was as if they were having a conversation so casual it was comparable to one about the weather.

“It’s beyond that,” Kakashi felt his heart flutter as he thought of you, his mind running with excitement just at the opportunity to talk about you.

“Sometimes I think about my past and all the people who have left me. Some of them chose to, some of them didn’t. Regardless, whenever I’d get attached to someone they’d leave, I didn’t have any control over it. Maybe it was because I was weak, or too young to have any real say in the matter. But now it’s different. I’m stronger and I’m older, no matter how you look at it I’m ten times the person I was all those years ago.” Percy remained silent, listening intently to his friend. Something he wouldn’t do to much of as Kakashi wasn’t the type to open up easily.

“When I met her, I knew instantly I loved her. It was a fact just as true as the sky is blue. I don’t think about all the horrible things from my youth whenever she’s around, not when all I can think about is the possibility of my old age spent with this wonderful woman. And the only way to have a future with her is if she doesn’t leave. I’ve grown beyond a simple lust for her, I've realized I can’t escape these feelings. I learned about her past, her favorite flowers and I’ve showered her in as much affection I can show without being too much. I’m sure I’ve crossed that boundary already but I can’t help it, I have too much inside to not let go of.”

“So you want something serious with her?”

“Yes.”

“Why call it quits now? After everything you’ve gone through, why give up?”

“Because she’s going to leave me,” He ran a hand through his silver hair, holding back a tear that was heard through the slight crack in his voice.

“She told you she doesn’t want to be together anymore?” Percy asked, wondering if what his girlfriends told him about you was true or not. He remembered hearing how you liked Kakashi too, but was afraid of ridicule, yet still craved his love beneath it all.

“She wants to fight in a possible deadly battle. I cant disclose much but that’s all I can say.”

“But she’s strong isn’t she? Plus she’s a medic, so wouldn’t she be able to heal herself if anything happened?” Percy asked, unsure about the severity of this “battle”.

“You don’t get it,” Kakashi sighed, leaning his forehead against Percy’s back. “I can keep her through affection and intimacy, that’s one thing we both know we have for each other, it’s apparent. But I can’t keep her from getting herself killed. Death is around every corner for people like me and her.”

“Shinobi, you mean?”

“Exactly. I don’t want to be in love with someone and yearn for them every second we aren’t together just for them to leave and die. It’s not fair to torture myself like that. I’d rather call it quits early before I’m doomed to live a life of suffering. I couldn’t deal with it.”

“Kakashi, you already are.” Percy didn’t care to tiptoe around the fact, he was tired of all the beating around the bush. Kakashi sat there a moment, his head still resting against his friends back.

He closed his eyes, occasionally catching himself to hold onto the bike better as they jostled over small rocks and bumps along their path. Kakashi didn’t have much to say about that, but it did prompt a lot of thinking, not that he could do much with Percy being such a chatterbox.

“You need to hear me out with this, okay? Love is like a sandwich-“

“Good gods, spare me the metaphors…”

“I’m going somewhere with this trust me!!” Percy yelled defensively, his volume mostly washed out by the breeze blowing by. “You can have all the amazing fillings you want: intimacy, shared experiences, passion, romance, all that is great but without the bread that keeps it together it’s just a bunch of things slopped together. What makes a sandwich a sandwich is the bread that keeps it together- a solid foundation, trust. And sure, it’s going to be messy at times, but that just comes with that delicious journey we all sign up for.”

“Is there a point to this analogy?”

“Obviously, dumbass. You have all the makings for a great relationship except for the bread… the trust. The bread you’ve got is thin- real thin. Meaning it’s not able to keep all that great stuff inside. The only way that meals gonna end is with everything falling out. Do you know why your bread is thin?” Percy asked, dodging a large rock in the middle of the path.

“Because of my insecurities…” Kakashi admitted, his face heating up.

“Bingo.”

He sat with this realization, mostly because he was metaphorically eaten up alive by one of his best friends. That aside, he looked at the bigger picture. Was he really that insecure about his trust in you? He knew you were strong, but was he actually just insecure you would rather die than be with him?! Was he really that codependent on you? That wasn’t possible, not with war being such a great threat. Percy didn’t know that though, so that’s another thing to factor in. Regardless, there still was valid food for thought presented to him.

“Well how far away are we now?” Kakashi asked, looking around at the new environment.

“Wont take longer than a few minutes, bud. Relax, we’ll be there in no time.”

___________________

Percy was right of course, only a few minutes later and the two were parked outside the large wooden gates. Sounds of children’s laughter and music could be heard just beyond, as well as the smell of amazing food clouding their senses. Kakashi and Percy walked in, delighted by all the new sights and sounds, it seemed like a festival was taking place, although they had zero clue what it was for.

While it did seem magical at first glance, Kakashi knew the truth behind this villages facade. When he truly looked around beyond the vibrant colors and fun attractions, he saw very sick people lurking around the streets, some even begging for spare money. He sighed to himself, judging all the men who walked by with their expensive robes who were laughing at the sick and elderly.

“Kakashi! Over here!” Percy called to him from beyond the crowd.

Kakashi looked over to where his friend was and saw a small shop next to some sort of brothel-esque building. He tilted his head in curiosity at him, raising both arms in a shrugging position.

“No- come over here! This is the place I came here for!” Percy called louder, holding open the shops door to signal he was about to enter.

Kakashi jogged over there, still overwhelmed by all the excitement going around. When he caught up with Percy, he suddenly felt something very familiar. It was that calmness in his soul he had described to Percy earlier. He spun around, trying to see what it was and if he could follow it.

“Something the matter?” Percy asked, shutting the door.

Kakashi turned his head and saw a small staircase on the outside of the establishment that led to a second story door. He furrowed his brow looking at the door, feeling a strange calling towards whatever was just beyond it.

“No… I guess it’s nothing.” He said, turning towards Percy as he opened the door and walked inside.

It was a small restaurant, a few tables here and there as well as a large island that a middle aged man stood at.

“Hi, welcome in fellas! Take a seat anywhere you want, I’ll get you both a few menus to look at!” He said cheerily, ducking behind the island to grab two menus.

Percy sat at the island in front of the man, Kakashi followed and took the seat next to him. The older man gave them their menus and went in the back to give them some time.

“Are you hungry at all?” Percy asked, skimming the drinks side.

“I could eat,” Kakahi responded, suddenly craving a sandwich more than anything.

There were quite a few options to choose from. Some vegan options, some vegetarian, and some sort of dessert types with various different fruits, custards, and cream fillings. Kakashi was in the mood for something more traditional and hearty, deciding he would ask for a grilled chicken sandwich.

The man reappeared with a small notepad and pen, leaning against the countertop.

“You two ready to order?” He asked, looking at Kakashi first.

“Yeah, may I please have the grilled chicken sandwich?” He asked, pointing to the menu. The man wrote it down and then asked for Percy’s order.

“I’ll have this breakfast sandwich,” Percy said.

“A little late don’t you think?” The man laughed, taking both menus.

“Well you know… breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Why not have it anytime of day?” Percy laughed. The man furrowed a brow and Percy grimaced, embarrassed by his joke falling flat.

Kakashi couldn’t help but feel that comforting aura getting stronger around him. He looked around, maybe it was the environment? Just then it became much stronger, as if all this muscles had relaxed in just that moment. It felt less like an aura and more like a chakra. He quickly looked behind the man and towards the curtains that led to the back. What he saw he couldn’t believe.

You emerged from beyond the curtains, holding two cups of water in your hands. When you looked up you immediately locked eyes with him. You must’ve felt the same muscle relaxation as Kakashi, you suddenly dropped both cups catching the eyes of the room.

“Kakashi…?”

_________________________________

You had arrived to this hometown of yours not too long after you left Konoha. You watched as children ran around happily through the village with their prizes from games going on throughout the streets. You sighed, walking down the paths of the place you once called home, knowing the happiest of people were just tourists in this living hell your family and community was trapped in.

You approached your families restaurant, smiling at the nostalgic feeling it filled you with. You grabbed the handle and walked in, your father standing just behind the island. He called you name excitedly, rushing over to you to hold you in a tight hug.

“You’ve come home! What are you doing here? You didn’t get kicked out, did you?” He teased, letting you go to get a good look at you. You nervously laughed.

“No, it’s not that.” You said, rubbing the back of your neck.

“Well whatever the reason is, it’s nice seeing you again.”

“Um… can I talk to you upstairs for a moment? There’s something I need to tell you… it has to do with me being here actually.”

He nodded and held the curtain for you to walk through. Beyond the kitchen in the back was a small door that led to a staircase, that staircase led to the small flat you and your family grew up in. When you both had settled down in the living room, you had assumed your mother would be there, however she was not. Puzzled, you two sat on a nearby couch and you faced him to ask.

“Did mom go out somewhere? I mean… I didn’t see her in the restaurant or kitchen and it’s a little late to still be in bed…” Your fathers face fell, looking at the carpeting.

“Your mother is uh… well there’s no easy way to say this. Your mothers in the hospital.” You felt your heart drop.

“What’s wrong with her? Why didn’t you send a message?! I could’ve come home to help her- what’s going on dad?!” you asked, voice shaking.

He sighed deeply, rubbing his temples with one hand anxiously.

“We aren’t sure what was wrong with her but… we knew that with the big move and that new job of yours you’d have some real stress. We couldn’t put that on you, so we made the decision to send her to a nearby hospital to get her checked out.”

“Fuck…” you sighed, holding your head in your hands. “You need to take me to her, I can heal her… or fix her or… something- anything! Gods dad, what the hell?! Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“Sweetie it’s fine, your mothers going to be okay-“

“Dad that’s a lot of money! For crying out loud, how are you going to afford the hospital bills?”

“We’ll be fine! as long as you’re okay we’ll be just fine.”

“Here, let me see if I have any extra money on me,” you reached into your pockets for your wallet. Your father quickly nudged your arm away.

“Please don’t, you have enough on your plate already. Why don’t you tell me what you needed to say earlier, okay?” He asked, putting on a small smile.

You frowned.

“Well, since we’re getting everything out in the open…” You took in a deep breath, letting it out with a shaky breath. “I’m going to war.”

You felt your heart shatter the way you watched your fathers face drop again. It was as if he was being told his only child was about to be killed right in front of him.

“Dad, I know how it’s sounds but I don’t have any other choice. There are people who need me, I signed up for this- this is my job.“

“I understand.” He said softly. You frowned, pulling him into a hug.

“I wanted to see you and mom one last time before I left… I know it’s a worst case scenario but… if anything were to happen, I wanted to tell you both goodbye.” You heard your father sob in your ear, holding you tightly. You couldn’t help yourself from crying either and wept with him on the sofa.

“I know you’re strong, and I know you’re valuable, but I’m still so worried,” he sputtered, you patted his back to comfort him but it did next to nothing.

“I know, but I promise you I’m not going down without a fight. I swear to you and mom I’m not going to let myself be weak.” You said sternly, almost as if you weren’t choking back a rivers worth of tears.

After a few more minutes and you and your father had calmed down, you sat there and discussed the situation of war. What it meant for you and your family. You said that with the money you had, it’ll all go to them if you died and they’d be able to move far away, to a better village and have a good financial place for themselves. Your father wasn’t pleased to hear about this and almost cried again. To get his mind off of it, you told him about your job and all the people you met at Konoha.

“Machi and Gale, huh? They sound quite nice! You even have your own students, sounds like you’ve adapted pretty well,” you dad smiled, tears drying on his cheeks.

“I have,” you smiled back, a blush forming in your face when you remembered Kakashi was one of the first you grew close with, even if it started out so riske.

“What’s that look for, hmm?” Your father asked, teasing you for the small blush across your face.

“It’s nothing,” you replied, putting a hand to your cheek and feeling the warmth on your skin.

“Don’t lie to me, I know that look pretty well. You must’ve met someone who isn’t just a friend or a student to you, so tell me!” He laughed, playfully swatting you on your arm.

“I mean, yeah there is someone,” you smirk, shortly after your face fell.

“Um… is everything alright?”

“Yeah, It’s just… things are complicated right now.”

“Oh,” you father said sadly, crossing his arms.

“But he’s a really great guy!” you perked up.

“He?” Your father asked. You nodded. “Does he have a name?”

“He might.”

“He might? What might it be?”

“It might be Kakashi.” Just the your fathers arms uncrossed, his eyes widening.

“As in Kakashi Hatake?”

“Oh great,” you sighed, hating this conversation immediately. “Yeah, why?”

“Because that’s the famous copy ninja! I’ve got to say I’m impressed.” You groaned, holding your knees to your chest now.

“Please stop embarrassing me.”

“I’m not trying to, I’m just suprised that a man like that can be in a relationship with you.” Immediately you grew defensive.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Your brows furrowed.

“Woah, I didnt mean it like that! It’s just… he’s known for being such a hardened shinobi. Who knew there was a heart beneath the mask?” He nervously laughed.

“I knew.” You added. Your father frowned, nervously fidgeting in his seat.

“I’m sorry, " you sighed. "I didn’t mean to be so snappy. It’s just that we’ve spent a lot of time together and he means a lot to me. I’ve seen a lot of his sides and even though he drives me crazy I can’t help but love him regardless. He makes me feel seen, and appreciated. No matter how bitchy I am he keeps trying, nobody else has ever been this patient with me. And what makes things even crazier, is that I feel so drawn to him. It’s like my whole life has led up to the moment we’d meet. Oh, what am I saying? This is starting to get weird, I’ll stop while I’m ahead,” your face felt extremely hot, you avoiding looking at your dad.

“No it’s fine, I get it.” He said, patting you on the back.

“Yeah, thanks.” Silence.

“So what makes things so complicated?”

“‘What isn’t complicated’ is a better question,” although you knew that answer was something entirely too inappropriate to say.

“It’s that bad?”

“Yes and no. It’s a long story, I couldn’t get into it.”

“Well whatever the case may be, you sound like you really love him. In fact, I caught onto you saying that,” he smirked.

“Please stop.”

“Fine.” he raised his hands defensively, then stood up from his seat at the couch. “Now we can sit here moping all day or we can spend time together like we used to. What do you say?”

“Moping sounds good but we can’t afford that right now so let’s work the restaurant like we used to.” You smiled, following him down that stairs.

___________________

“Kakashi…?”

So that’s what it was, it was you all along. He should have known better. Kakashi stood up, uttering your name back to you. You weren’t sure what to do. Truth be told you didn’t forgive him for putting you out on the spot like that, but you also knew there was no real reason for him to forgive you either.

“I’m sorry but would you excuse us for a minute?” Kakashi asked Percy as he motioned to speak to you outside.

“No.” Percy said, fidgeting with his napkin. Your father shot you a concerned look, finally putting two and two together. You patted him on the back reassuringly.

“It shouldn’t take long, we’ll just have a chat upstairs.” You reached into your pocket for a set of keys, walking out the front door of the establishment, Kakashi on your tail.

You two walked out in silence and he followed you up the outside stairs, staying quiet as you unlocked the door and stepped inside. He looked around and it appeared to be your old bedroom, posters and ribbons hanging on the walls. It felt homey to him, more so when he noticed preserved flowers laying on your desk, jasmine to be exact.

“So did you follow me here or did you-“ he cut you off with his lips against yours. Your eyes grew wide in shock. But the moment he put his hand on the small of your back you felt entirely different. Your eyes closed softly and your hands tangled in his hair. You felt a familiar fire burn in your chest, your heart fluttering as his beat in tandem with yours.

“Kakashi,” you sighed, his grip on you becoming tighter. He pushed you against the door, keeping his grasp on you impossibly firm. “Now’s not a good-“

“Stop talking, damnit.” he huffed, his breath hot against your skin. Immediately you shut your mouth, only opening it again to allow his tongue to brush up against yours.

You locked the door while you were still up against it, then resumed pulling on his hair. You also pushed your body against his firm chest, feeling your loins flutter as his breathing became heavier and his kisses more desperate. Kakashis tongue prodded into your mouth, caressing your own as if it lost it, rejoicing in the feeling of finding it again. His body language spoke the same dialect, his arms tense while they wrapped around you, legs locked in place as they cornered you against the wooden door.

You grabbed onto his vest, yanking it off of him and it was only for a moment when his arms left your body. His vest sliding off of him and landing on the floor, he swiftly kicked it away and then resumed his primal grip against your body. He pulled you into him, a breath of air escaping your lungs the moment he ripped your body off the floor. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, head falling to your shoulder while his teeth sunk into your neck, you let out a small grunt from the pain that you couldn’t welcome enough.

“Kashi?” you whispered heavily. He cut you off with another sloppy kiss, the rough smack of his lips against yours had you digging your nails into his back through his body con long sleeve. “What are you doing-“ another kiss “here?”

“What does it look like?” He huffed, hands sneaking past your shirt as he caressed your back with his long fingers. Your breath hitched at the feeling of him touching your bare skin, hair on the back of your neck raising while the tickling sensation of his calloused fingertips roamed your skin.

“I know what you’re doing, but why?”

“I needed you,” he rasped, fingers digging into your skin, his own nails now dragging down your skin. You shuddered in his grasp, thighs clamping down tight around his abdomen. “Must I need any other reason?”

“No…” you knew this was rhetorical, but the gratification you gained from answering him regardless heightened your arousal, giving into him just like you always did. “Needed me for what?” you asked, your chest rising and falling as you struggled to gain your composure.

“I just needed to see you,” Kakashi muttered licking the slight teeth marks that curved along your neck. “I missed this… the way things were before. Y’know I thought about inviting you over the other night?”

“To your apartment?” You were suddenly curious. He nodded, his hands now rubbing down your back, causing you to shiver once again. “What would we do?”

“I don’t even know. I was just so empty without you, even you being in my presence would be enough for me. However, I’m sure we’d find ways to entertain ourselves,” He leaned in closely to your ear “Wanna know how exactly?”

When he said this he thrusted himself into you, his hard package pressing right up against your clothed cunt. You moaned, grinding down on the new stimulation the moment you could, completely void of embarrassment or shame.

“Y-yeah,” your heart was practically in your throat now, however you felt the heartbeats much, much lower.

“Well, I had something in mind,” he hummed, his hands now on your asscheeks, gripping them harshly.

“Ngh- Like what?”

“I was thinking about how bad you’ve been lately,” his breath was almost burning the skin of your neck, you wanted him to so badly rip your clothes off of you and take you to bed. His hair smelled so good, you kept digging your fingers inside of the fluffy mass, gently pulling at it while it tangled between your fingers. He grunted slightly.

“Just like how you are right now,” it came out a purr, vibrations coming up from deep inside his chest. “You’ve been a bad girl. Sometimes I can barely recognize you.”

You didn’t know why you felt so ashamed about his words, a wave of regret crashing hard against you.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, unsure why the apology came so easy.

“So you admit you’ve been a bad girl?” he asked with amusement in his tone, his voice hoarse as he spoke deep into your neck.

“I’m as bad as they come,” you admitted, legs wrapping around even tighter. He chuckles softly.

“Oh? Well then I think we both know what that means,” his cock twitched underneath his pants, you had to sink your nails into your palms to avoid getting handsy. “I think you need to be punished severely.”

The hair on the back of your neck stood up, goosebumps rising on your skin immediately. He carried you over to your bed, tossing you down on it. You crashed against it, a loud squeak echoing through the room. You blushed, hoping to whatever god there was that nobody downstairs could hear.

“What are you going to do with me?” You asked, your hands rubbing where he bit you on your neck.

“You want to know your punishment?” An amused smile spread across his face. You nodded. “Well that’s for me to know and you to find out.”

You felt frustrated, already wanting him to lash out on you, it felt like torture the way he stood over you, patently keeping his hands to himself.

“Please?” you whispered, one of your hands moving south of your body, he watched as your sunk your hands under your waistband, eyes blowing wide when your mouth fell open.

He grabbed your wrist and yanked it back out, pinning it down and above your head.

“I think you need another spanking.” You bit your lip, trying to hide your excitement, your panties already wet when he increased the pressure of his hand.

He sat down next to you, letting go of your wrist and instead using his hand to grab your hair into a tight pony tail, causing you to sit up.

“Should I bend over your lap?” it came out as a mewl, your desperation evident on your face.

“How funny that you just want to jump straight into it,” he smiled in your face, shiny teeth gleaming back at your from beyond his perfect lips. “Sweet girl, maybe you do know how to behave,” he kissed you softly, then had you bend over his lap.

With one hand still firm in your hair, the other pulled down your pants, your panties coming down with it. You clenched around nothing as the cool air hit your wet cunt, a shiver was sent up your back.

“Such a slut, excited for her spanking.” He caressed your soft globes, you hummed excitedly, almost moaning at the delicate touch. “If I hadn’t done this previously I would’ve assumed you didn’t know what this was. Is that true? Are you a stupid girl who doesn’t know what a spanking is?” he cooed, his hand grabbing you hip harshly, fingers digging into your skin.

You grunted, knowing with this much pressure he would leave bruises along you skin for days, weeks even.

“It’s not pleasant, at least not the way I do it, remember? It’s gonna hurt, way more than a few soft taps.”

“I’m hoping for it,” you replied back, surprised by your own response and enthusiasm.

“Oh yeah?” he also seemed surprised, pleasantly surprised. A wicked smile was plastered on his face, searching your eyes with his own. “How long have you been wanting this for? I mean, you’re so obedient. I cant help but assume you’ve fantasized about this ever since last time,” his grip of your hair tightened, you smiled up at him devilishly.

“I’ve been wanting this since I last saw you.”

“Good answer,” he smirked. “Are you ready?”

You nodded quickly, arching your back as the tension builds up in your body.

“An even better answer." his fingertips glided againsty the curve of your back. "I don’t care if you scream or cry, in fact it would make this more enjoyable,” he hummed, pulling on your hair. “Now sit still.”

Kakashis hand came down hard on your backside, a loud slap echoed in your ears. You let out a depraved moan, biting your lip as the stinging starting to settle on your asscheek. He took a moment to take in the look on your face, ogling the flush of color across your cheeks. Quicker, and much harder this time, he struck you again with his ever-so-firm hand.

You whined, squirming in his lap until he spanked you again. After his next, you dug your nails into the mattress beneath you, huffing deep breaths in and out. Kakashi laughs softly, watching your soft ass turn a bright pink as he punished you.

“How many can you handle? You want me to get creative?” he asked happily, softly rubbing circles on your abused skin.

“Y-yesss…” your voice was trembling.

“If you say so. But it makes me wonder… how much pain can this pretty little ass take?”

“I deserve it, we both know I’ve been bad,” you mutter, nails coming out of the mattress as you slowly began to get less tense with each rub of Kakashis hand.

“Yes you have,” Kakashi exclaimed amused. “Do you know how bad? Answer me.” He smacked you again, and all you could muster was a string of whimpers and groans, no real words coming to your mind.

“Answer me properly. I don’t want to hear your little moans. I want a real answer. Tell me what you’ve done.”

“I… I’ve kept you a secret…” you whispered, your hand stroking his knee. “And the worst part is I’ve been fantasizing about you this whole time.”

“Interesting. For how long, give me a number.” He pulls your hair, tilting your face upwards so your eyes are locked.

“8 weeks,” you confess, looking away to avoid his strong gaze.

“8 weeks? How filthy have you been? What’s the most inappropriate thing you’ve fantasized about me doing?” He pulled your hair tighter, forcing you to look back at him.

“I’ve thought about you defiling me.” Kakashi raised an eyebrow.

“That’s all? I’m not going to lie, I expected more from you.” His hand move from your ass to your hip, once again squeezing it tightly. You winced.

“I-I’ve thought about you waking me up just so you can use me to get yourself off,” you blurted out. Kakashi perked up, much more interested.

“Anything else? You’ve had 8 weeks,” clearly he was having fun toying with you. It felt like torture dumping your fantasies onto him, but you couldn’t help spilling your guts.

“I’ve thought about pleasuring you.”

“Go on.” His grip became looser, yet still firm.

“I’d use my mouth.” He smirked.

“Is that all?” You wanted to melt into his lap, escape his massive presence.

“And my hands…”

“Well, don’t you have a plethora of talents,” he teased, bringing his hand back and quickly down his to your ass. You flinched, but before he could make contact he stopped himself, laughing softly. Your face burned hot.

“Anything else? I mean, 8 whole weeks is a looong time,” he raised his eyebrow again, looking directly in your eyes.

“Well…”

“Spit it out, don’t be a tease. I know you can say more.” His words made your skin tingle.

“I’ve thought about how mad you were at me, ignoring me all the time at the office. So I thought about trying to rile you up, get you even angrier. Just so maybe you’d snap and use me without holding back.” He loosened his grip on you.

“You really want that? For me to take my frustration out on you?”

“Yes.” You gripped his knee tighter.

“You really are a bad girl, aren’t you?” He smirked, grip getting firmer in your hair again.

“I am.”

“Do you have no shame? Ass in the air, panties off, pussy soaking wet, and looking me in my eye while you tell me about all the filth you’ve imagined about me. Sweet girl, you’re more perverted than I thought.” He pulled your hair back further, his mouth connected with your more a quick kiss.

“I bet you’ll say anything at this point if it’ll make me happy, huh? You’ve completely given yourself to me, isn’t that right?” With lidded eyes you nodded looking up at him.

“Are you mine to use?” Amused curiousity lingering in his voice.

“Yes.” Right after you confirmed this, another rough smack was right up against your ass. You yelped, once again digging your finger into the mattress.

“You like that, don’t you? You like getting hit by me.” You nod. Another rough smack. “Say it.” he practically barked.

“I- I like it! I like getting hit by you!” You wanted to curl up in embarrassment, once again hoping nobody could hear you. Kakashi had a wicked look on his face.

“I wonder how many times can I hit this ass of yours before you cry? Are you a tough girl?” He asked condescendingly.

“Yes…” He hit you harder, producing a loud moan out of you. He laughed.

“Are you tough or what? You seem to be enjoying this more than I expected,” this time he struck you lower, so that his palm was right up against the back of your thigh. You desperately squirm again, breathing shakily. He hits you there again, smiling to himself.

“Oh? Am I hitting a sensitive spot?” You almost shrieked when he smacked it again. “So I did find a sensitive spot,” he leaned down closely so that that he was almost in your ear.

“I’m going to keep smacking you, riiight here until your crying and begging me to stop.” And that’s what he did. Over and over again, watching as you rubbed your legs together, slick coating the feverish in-between of your legs.

“How many more spanks can you get before you cry? 10? 20? I know you can take it,” he kept spanking you, each one lighting you up until your ass was red. As he spanked you, he enjoyed watching your eyes roll back, your whimpers echo softly in your room, and your body spasm after each moment of contact.

“You must nearly be at the edge, huh?” Your eyes rolled back to normal, welling with tears. “Awww, is that it? Is that all you can take?”

He delivered the final blow, you moaned loudly, tears flowing down your cheeks. You felt lightheaded, pain and pleasure circulating inside of you. The erotic sensation making it's way up your spine, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up.

“Aww… did I do that? Did I make the tough, pretty girl cry?” You nod, unable to verbalize a single thought. “Such a good girl, taking it like a champ. I have to say, I admire how well you kept your composure… well at least most of it.”

He pulled your hair back, your head coming closer to him and he placed a soft kiss on your forehead. You shut your eyes and bit your lip, your heart melting at his sudden tender affection.

While still having a good grasp of your pony tail, Kakashi slung you over to the side, trapping you against him and the bed. He had you pinned, your wrists above your head. When he towered his large form over you his lips brushed against yours, his scent was everywhere. You closed your eyes again, and felt how his eyelashes fluttered against your cheek as he bent down lower and licked up your neck.

You smirked, a sudden tickle causing you to slightly spasm, Kakashi laughed softly when he saw it. He instead turned to biting you, the feeling of his teeth in your neck filled you with the most euphoric nostalgia. You sighed, legs bending so your knees could squeeze his waist. He rutted his hips into your core, and you shuddered as the wet juices pooled in your cunt and trickled down your legs.

Kakashi looked up at you, lips curled into a cocky smile, pressing softly against your own. You parted your lips, his soft tongue dragging along your plump lip, before his teeth gently trapped it and he bit into it possessively. You never started the day thinking he'd be showing up at your old home, about to fuck you senseless into the mattress you've spent countless nights on. It seemed to you like Kakashi's fate was to always appear, and so was your passionate desire for him.

Kakashi's kiss could make your loins ache like a wildfire, yet it could also make your breaths slow and your heart melt. Maybe it was fate?

I am safe here. His arms are open, his tongue is tender, and I don't need to struggle anymore.

Its all you could think about, really.

Two fingers circled your drenched clit, Kakashi watched your hole clench around nothing. He licked his lips watching your pretty cunt swallow his didgets shortly after, curling up as he pumped in and out.

“She’s so pretty…” he hummed, his knuckles now shiny with your arousal.

Your toes curled the more he pumped you, his fingers working fast. You roughly grabbed his wrist, stopping his movement. He looked up at you, a single brow cocked.

“Something wrong?” his voice was smooth, eyes soft as they watched you with adoration.

“T-that’s not what I need…” You murmured, breathing in and out as if you’d pass out.

“Tell me, what do you-“

“Cock. Yours.” You demanded. Kakashis eyes grew wide, a sinister grin plastered in his face. He retracted his fingers from your cunt, a silent moan escaped your lips when he moved.

“I never thought I’d have you so needy, sweet girl.” Kakashis hand traveled to his waistbands and pulled them down, hard cock slapped against his body con shirt, precum making his tip glisten.

“I can’t help it.” You admitted, your eyes breaking away from his to stare at his erection. Your legs spread wide, and you wriggled excitedly.

Kakashi ducked down to kiss you, cupping your cheeks as he rutted against you, his length rubbing up and down against your clit. You moaned into the kiss, a smile on your face as your pleasure spread. You wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, getting even closer as you two enjoyed eachothers embrace.

Kakashis tongue made its appearance in your mouth again, the soft tip of his tongue swirling with yours, just to retreat and wetten your lower lip.

“Don’t tease me…” you whispered, breaking the kiss only to resume it quickly. He laughed gently, his hand moving south to grab the base of his cock and align it with your entrance.

“Well, aren’t you one to talk?” With one swift motion he went balls deep inside of you again, a shiver running up his back as he bottomed out, his public bone flush with your clit.

You both grunted, then began to lock lips as his hips drilled into you. You both knew you didn’t want to waste any time, each time he bottomed out you grounded down on him further, feeling his warm precum coat your walls as your own arousal spilled out and onto the sheets.

“Always wet for me…” he smiled, kissing down your jaw.

His cock was heavy, stretching you perfectly and throbbing each time it hit that tender spot inside of you that made you digs crescents into his back with your nails. He loved watching your lashes flutter when your eyes rolled back, and he devoured your lips whenever they opened to produce a guttural moan.

“I love you…” Kakashi cooed, a finger of his now playing with your clit.

“Love you- haaah- too…” you replied with a whine between words.

Kakashi pulls your shirt off of you, then quickly grabs both your wrists in one hand. He pins you down, and you’re unable to move. He retracts his hand from your clit and presses his forearm under your tits, pushing them up and drooling at how pretty they sit. He ducks down and sucks a nipple, his soft tongue spreading hot spit over your sensitive tits. He moans, cock throbbing as you pulse around him.

He looks up at you, your face red and forehead slightly sweaty. Fuck, you look so sexy. He groans your name, biting your tit, sucking a hickey into the soft flesh in his mouth. You’re seeing stars, vision blurry as your orgasm comes washing over you. You’re whimpering his name, shaking and yet unable to move under his massive presence. He lets go of your tit in his mouth and watched over you. You were his own personal porn star, cumming for him- cumming on him. Whimpering his name as you choke his girthy cock and take him while he resizes your cunt.

“Filthy… you’re making such a mess.” His pace was quicker now, your cries of pleasure louder as he beats your pussy into the mattress. “Bad girl…” he hums low, almost a growl.

You can’t fight back the violent euphoria, your poor cunt wants more of him, regardless as to whether or not you can take it.

“S’ good…” you mewl, erotic and soft squelches filling your ears as he continues to stuff you with his member, his own orgasm on its precipice.

“You really are a slut of this cock, huh?” he teased, thrusting hard, keeping his dick stuffed deep inside you as he pressed his pelvis against your clit. His nails dig into your wrists, your fingers try to grab onto him but you just can’t reach.

“No more playing games,” he grunts, a hand letting go of your wrists to wrap around your throat firmly. You gasp, your air running thin. “You want me?” His hips retreat, then slam harsh inside of you. You wince, eyes snapping shut when you moan.

“Tsk tsk, look at me.” you follow his order, your brows knitted tightly together, looking up at him through your lashes. His teeth glimmer as he grins mischievously, his grip on your neck tightening. “Nah, you need me.”

You feel like you’re about to pass out again, legs shaking viciously and you felt light headed.

“My body always misses this pussy… fucking made for me.” He nips at your jaw, railing you at the one pace he knows you and he both like it. “Mine.”

He wants to mark you up, leave you purple for everyone to see. So when he notices how hard it is for you to breathe he lets go, and takes delight in how you choke for air. He sucks deeply at your neck, throbbing inside you when he imagines how it’ll look after.

“M’gonna cum again…” you almost plead, hips tilting up to meet his own, welcoming his gorgeous cock back inside of you where you knew it belonged.

“I bet you want me to cum inside you,” he mutters, letting go on your sensitive skin before he sucks another purple bruise into your neck.

“Please.” Is all you manage, your slick now running down your ass.

“Always a slut for my cum…” He bites your shoulder, his tongue licking at the red skin underneath. “Can’t fuck you once without you begging for a creampie.”

You cum for a second time, begging for his hot cum to fill you up and pour out. Kakashi complies, a few more rough thrusts and he’s pumping you full of his burning seed, you feel impossibly full as you throw your head back. Kakashi moans heavily, still pumping you with his cock, loving the way you squirt on him with your own spend.

“You can play with yourself thinking about this tonight,” he says low, kissing you hard while he continues to shoot ropes into you. You twitch, legs spasming as your orgasm refuses to subside.

“N-no. I wanna be with you tonight! I wanna do it again!” You beg, wrapping your legs even tighter around him. His eyes widen and he licks your neck playfully.

“My sweet girl, if I bring you home with me tonight I won’t stop until the sun comes up.”

“I’m prepared to lose a few hours of sleep if it means I can spend them being your whore.” You respond shamelessly. He lets go of your wrist and you grab the back of his head, fully making out with him as you play with his silver mess. “I love you. I don’t care anymore.”

Kakashi hums in delight, pulling out of you, your shared cum sticking to his own thighs now.

“You mean you’re all mine?” He knew the answer.

“Mmhmm… And I’m sorry about the way I was acting before…” You admitted, hands running in his hair.

Kakashi rested his face against your tits, his arms wrapped around your waist.

“What do you mean? I should be sorry. I shouldn’t have been such a scummy person to make you choose me or your career, especially when I knew how much you love it.” His voice was soft and somber, you kissed the crown on his head.

“We both messed up, yeah?” You slightly giggled.

“Yeah,” he laughed back. “If you’re sure about going into this war with me I want you to know something.” He picked his head up, towering over you again. His palm rested against your cheek as his eyes looked deep into yours.

“I don’t care who we’re facing or what we’re up against. I don’t care who’s getting hurt but I do know one thing,” His brows furrowed. “I’m not leaving your side once. I’ll cover you, I’ll fight for you, I swear I’ll kill for you- I already have and I will again if I have to.”

He softly kissed the tip of your nose.

“That goes for me too,” you sighed, one of your hands caressed his shoulder. He grabbed that hand and kissed the back of it, then pulled you off the bed.

You two got dressed, although you chose to change into a turtle neck, and went downstairs. The restaurant was more packed and there was chatter all around, the nerves you may have been heard upstairs disappearing completely.

Percy turned around when Kakashi approached the seat next to him and reclaimed his seat. You walked around the counter and began to wipe it down. Your father came out from behind the curtain that led to the kitchen.

“Here’s that sandwich,” Your dad said, handing your boyfriend the plated food. “Enjoy, son.”

“Son?” Kakashi asked, taking a look around to see if people were watching him. When the coast was clear he quickly lowered his mask for a bite, then put it back on.

Nobody could see the smile underneath he had while he chewed, but you noticed the crinkle underneath his eyes.

“Not bad,” Percy said, polishing off his meal. “What’d you think, Kakashi?”

“Yeah,” he looked up from his plate, watching as you walked around the restaurant, taking orders and handing out drinks. “It was good.” It tasted like home.

A/N: after a much needed break/hiatus i’m finally back RAAAAHHHHH !!!!!!! for everyone asking if i plan on continuing the mafia AU yes i do but i feel like it’ll be a small mini series.

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defonottomholland · 7 days

Text

HoneyBee's Masterlist

Kakashi

Dangerous Desires (dark!kakashi nsfw series) -

Quiet Affair (i) : You're new to town and you catch kakashi's eye, but you also manage to tug on his heart strings. What's he going to do with you?

Visiting Hours (ii) : Kakashi stops by your work and pays you a visit, he seems to need a check up.

Captains Orders (iii) : you think your cover is blown but really the hokage wants to send you out on a mission with Kakashi as captain.

Sink or Swim (iv) : your team arrives at the hidden sand and Kakashi can't believe how good you look in a swimsuit. he thinks you look even better without it.

Stolen Covers, Shared Skin (v) : morning sex with kakashi after a long night. He then finds out how terrified you are of being alone after leaving you unsupervised.

Ride (vi) : Kakashi breaks in (again) to clear the air with you. He gets you off, then gets himself off, and lastly gets what's been sitting heavy on his chest off.

Shikamaru

Birthday Sex (request) - Shikamaru bails on his birthday plans to go on a mission with you. The Kazekage, Gaara, can't help himself but to enjoy a little bit of Shikamaru's present.

Gaara

Birthday Sex (request) - How can Gaara let you go back home without taking you for a spin himself? Maybe its selfish... but Shikamaru can have you all he wants back home.

Lady Tsunade

Doctor Tsunade (request) : Orochimaru was ambushed my Konoha shinobi, he left you behind without a second thought. One mans trash is another mans treasure, and to Lady Tsunade, you're her gold coin.

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defonottomholland · 8 days

Note

Could i request a dark kakashi who is grooming reader to be needy for his c*ck 24/7

yeah i can do that. took a break from writing DD!Kakashi cause this prompt was too good omg

Training

CW: Dark!Kakashi x AFAB!Reader, Groomer!Kakashi x Innocent!Reader, Virgin!Reader, virginity loss, Asuma lives AU, unspecified age gap (reader is an adult), lowkey stalking, grooming, power imbalance, mutual masturbation, cum eating, oral (m receiving), gagging, fingering, pet names, dubcon (manipulation), unprotected piv (don’t be stupid), creampie (DONTBESTUPID), biting, hickeys, too excited to edit lol, lmk what i missed !!

18+ MDNI

You were assigned team Asuma for the longest time, and it was hell. Constantly undervalued in the team because your captain was so fixated on his Shika-Ino-Cho formation there was almost no room for your own separate training. You constantly felt undervalued, and yet your team was the biggest of them all.

It’s been years of this psychological torment, constantly wanting Asumas attention for once, to be treated like a real shinobi and taught difficult jutsus to become stronger than you’ve ever imagined. Your suffering didn’t go unseen however, a certain silver haired shinobi had taken a notice in your agony and watched from afar as you were constantly shut down in every training session.

Sometimes he would see the way your face would become so saddened after you’ve showed up so happily, face beaming and eyes glowing as you ran to meet up with your team. Kakashi was sitting in a tree, skimming his beloved Icha Icha novel when he watched your arrival. When he saw your face contort into something much more depressed his heart ached for you. Your eyes dimmed and the smile was ripped away as if it wasn’t there in the first place.

Asuma had just finished telling you that your participation wouldn’t be necessary today. Instead, his efforts would be focusing on the team’s formation once again. You felt your eyes being pricked with tears, your body felt as if it were being weighed by a thousand tons. Asuma had instructed you to sit on the sidelines, but never noticed the way you disappeared through the forest, headed towards a running river.

You sat at the bank with your head hung against your bent knees, crying heavily. In a fit of rage you took your earrings out and threw them into the river, tears streaming down your face as you blubbered heavily. You resumed your positions, forehead propped up against your knees as you hugged them tight to your chest.

“Excuse me,” a smooth voice softly spoke. You looked up, eyes red and nose dripping hideously. “You seemed to have dropped these.” You met eyes (or eye) with the man who towered above you. His silver hair billowing in the soft wind.

You looked into the palm of his hand to see the silver earrings, the matching pair you shared with your comerades. You huffed slightly, grabbing the wet accessories from his hand. You tore yourself away from the eye contact, he was far too handsome to keep composure.

“T-thanks…” you muttered, clenching them in your fist.

“I hope you don’t mind my asking but, is everything okay miss?” He asked, kneeling down in front of you. You told him your name and he made a mental note of it.

“No… it’s my sensei. He’s always busy with my team and he never includes me in any of our meetings. I feel so stupid…” tears continued to stream down your face.

The handsome man in front of you wiped the tears from your face and you felt your skin burn hot, his delicate fingers on your skin keeping you flustered while you found yourself embarrassed from crying in front of him.

“He sounds very mean…” Kakashi cooed. You nodded softly.

“Yeah… he is…” you agreed. His big hand caressed your cheek, then he moved it down to your chin where he grasped it between two fingers. He tilted your face more towards him.

“You seem far too sweet to have such a bad sensei. If you’re in the market for a new one I’ll have you know my old students took off with their own masters a long while ago,” he suggested, his thumb ghosting over your bottom lip.

“I… I dunno. I don’t even know your name.”

“My name is Kakashi Hatake. But you can just call me Kakashi, no need for formalities.” His eye smiled even though the rest of his face seemed a mystery. Suddenly you felt very comfortable around him, almost melting under his touch.

“Why though? Why help a random girl like me?” You held back more tears, feeling almost worthless from your previous treatment.

“I can tell you have a lot of potential,” he hummed, your innocent face looked so sweet to him. All Kakashi wanted to do was to scoop you up in his arms and cradle you until you stopped feeling so awful. “I’d hate to see such a promising young woman let go of any dreams she has before they even take off.”

You couldn’t bare it anymore. This oughtta teach Asuma, treating you as secondary fodder to your teammates, only for him to be replaced with a kinder and more understanding sensei like Kakashi.

“When can we start?”

_______________________________________________

It had only been a few weeks of training with Kakashi and already you felt like you had improved so much. One lesson he taught you was that your chakra control was so weak because your breathing was all out of control. One day he had asked you to close your eyes and just take deep breaths after all the times you had fallen while climbing up a tree.

You followed his orders and closed your eyes, deep breaths coming in and out of your lungs as you self regulated. You hear his footsteps approaching you from behind and suddenly felt very nervous. You started to breath heavier, your heartbeat racing slightly when you felt him right behind you.

“No no no, you’re doing it all wrong. Here, let me help you.” He stood directly behind you when he wrapped his arm around your waist.

His large hand spread open wide when he placed it palm down on your lower stomach. Your breath hitched, heart racing even faster now. With that hand, he pushed you down, moving you so that his chest was now flush with your back. He smirked underneath his mask, his groin meeting your ass.

“See, now match my breathing, okay?” He took a deep breath, his chest expanded into your back so that you could feel it yourself. Your cheeks felt as if they were a hundred degrees but you tried to remain composure as you matched his breathing. When you had a large inhale, Kakashi exhaled, pushing your stomach further into him.

“Just like that, okay? Again.” When he inhaled this time, his groin subtly pressed against your ass again, interrupting your breathing. Kakashi laughed softly.

“That’s okay, we can do it again.” He inhaled deeper, your scent filling him up while he pushed you even deeper, a fire striking in your loins as his package made itself noticeable.

You two went on like this for a while until he felt your breathing was regulated to his liking. When he let go you of you, you felt dizzy. But you followed orders when he asked you to resume your ascent up the tree. This time you were able to get all the way to the top and down without failure. You felt excited, learning more from him in one sitting than you have from Asuma in years.

You went home that night with conflicting feelings. You were truly happy you had finally found someone who’s teaching style was compatible with your learning style, however you didn’t understand why he had to be so hot. You wanted a sensei you could learn from, respect, someone who you could devote all your energy with into learning. However, as the lessons continued, you felt yourself become less and less level headed. You fantasized about him while you worked, your mind was never on task even once during these sessions.

Kakashi wasn’t innocent himself either. While he watched you try new jutsus and techniques, he found himself pitching a tent almost every time you met up. He would get all smug and smile big under his mask when he caught you staring at it, swelling even more when you got flustered and looked away. He couldn’t help it for much longer.

Another day, when he was teaching you how to properly care for your kunais he watched as you sat down in the middle of the forest, your hands working diligently as you scrubbed away any rubble and dirt that was on the blade. He stood over you, once again feeling his pants grow tighter.

Your face was flushed, seeing his obvious erection in your peripheral vision as your scrubbed away with a damp handkerchief.

“Such a good job,” he purred, your name spilling out of his lips silently. You turned your head to look at him, but your gaze locked onto his trapped manhood behind the zipper. He laughed softly, you quickly looked up and noticed he had caught you yet again, then quickly you resumed your cleaning.

“Y’know, I’ve seen you staring for quite some time…” He started, his hand going down to adjust himself in his pants. Your face grew hotter yet again, your hands working faster on the dull kunai.

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Really, it’s natural.” You could feel your core tense.

“Um… it is?”

“Of course it is. Besides, I would never shame you for anything.” Kakashi reassured you, one of his hands resting on the top of your head, gently patting your hair. “Especially not for curiosity.”

“What do you mean?” You put the knife down, still only looking at him in your peripherals.

“I mean if you’re always looking at it, if you’re always thinking about it, then there’s nothing wrong if you wanted to maybe touch it.” His voice was so soothing, it was almost as if he didn’t even realize what he was implying.

You however were losing it. Your heart was racing and your hands shook softly, that doesn’t even cover the way your body warmed up after imagining what it must feel like.

“I um… I don’t know.” You turned your head slightly, looking up at him.

“Aww don’t be shy, really!” He chirped, stroking your hair softly. “Honestly, you have thought about it before, right?”

“I guess…” you admitted sheepishly. Kakashi beamed.

“See! Since you’ve been a good student for me, I think you deserve a little reward.” He hummed, his other hand tapping on the button of his pants.

“This is all for you, okay? If you’re too nervous you don’t even have to unzip me. You can just touch it through my pants if that’s what you’re comfortable with.” His voice was so soft, a blatant opposite to how hard his member was right now.

“Now what do we say?” He asked, almost rhetorically.

“Thank you, Kakashi…” you blushed as your palm gently cradled his bugle.

“Haaah… ahhhh…” Kakashi moaned softly, throbbing under your touch.

You grabbed the bulge and applied a little pressure, your palm pushing and pulling while your fingers massaged the sides. He grunted, a leg of his twitching occasionally when you had rubbed him the right way.

You felt your body tingle, a puddle starting to form in your panties the more and more you played with his cock. You sat up better and faced him properly, sitting on the heel of your foot as you slowly started to grind against it. Your face was purely pink, and you grew more aroused as his breathing became labored.

“Ohhh fuck… such a good girl for me…” Kakashi sighed, thrusting into your hand roughly. You bit your lip, your wrist becoming tired from all the pressure. “Asuma would’ve never appreciated you the way I do,” he praised as his orgasm slowly built.

You never remembered telling him who your previous sensei was, but put that thought on the back burner as you anticipated his climax.

Kakashi gripped your hair tightly and rutted away into your hand, his mouth falling open as strings of curses and moans spewed out from his mouth. You felt the outside of his pants get wet and the scent of his cum was heavily in your nostrils now.

Your mouth watered as you watched his pants darken, the wet patch spreading further the more you rubbed and your hand got wetter the longer you touched it.

Eventually Kakashis grip on you became looser and you took that as a sign that he was done. He was breathing heavily, head tilted back and you took in the sight of him infront of you. His scent was so strong yet you needed more desperately, you hovered your face closer to where his bulge once was and haphazardly started breathing in his musk.

When Kakashi looked down at you he sighed happily. He took your chin in his fingers again and tilted your face up again. His thumb dipped into your mouth, your saliva quickly coated his finger.

“Oh? Do you want to clean me up?” Your body rumbled deep inside you, your cunt was wet and sloppy and he hadn’t even touched you.

“Maybe…” you responded, tongue circling his thumb absentmindedly. He chuckled lightly, dragging his wet finger along your lower lip. You felt like you were burning up inside, your hole definitely felt it too.

“Maybe?” Kakashi asked, his brows furrowed. “That’s no good. I need a yes,” your eyes blew wide open, your legs twitched. “Or a no,” he quickly added.

“Um… maybe not today,” you answered him, rubbing your thighs together. He sighed.

“Okay then, not today. Well that’s the end of todays lesson, stop by the same time tomorrow for more training, i have something special in store for you,” his voice was low and sensual and it left you with quite a bit for the imagination.

The next day you saw Kakashis cock for the first time, you felt light headed and swore to yourself you were going to pass out. He was girthy and long, prominent veins running up his length as he grew harder and harder. You saw his balls too and instantly wanted to massage them.

He laughed as he saw your innocent eyes devour his sex, he throbbed a little when he saw how hungry you were. You bit your lip to contain yourself, your pussy returning to its achy state it was the day prior.

“Come here,” he gestured you at his feet, his hand wrapping around his cock. You knelt down at his feet, eye to eye with his weeping tip. “Give it a little kiss,” he purred, holding it up for you.

You pressed your lips up against his length, shuddering in excitement. Kakashi responded with a light hum, once again stroking your hair.

“Are you any good with your mouth?” His other hand letting go of his cock to dip into your mouth, gathering your saliva and using it to coat his length.

“I don’t know.”

“Well let’s find out, hmm?” You let him fuck your face, gagging around his thick member as your drool pudded down your chin and against your chest.

You started sucking him off wildly, letting yourself go as you bobbed up and down on him, using your palm to stroke his length whenever it wasn’t in your mouth. You wanted to be good for your sensei, as a way to thank him for all he’s taught you. The salty spend of his precum coated your throat deliciously when you shoved him back there, vibrations from your gags traveling up his dick before he moaned loudly and came hard in your pretty mouth.

He instructed you to meet him again for more training, and as you were getting ready the next day you could already feel yourself getting wet. Just the thought of seeing him, touching him, tasting him was enough to get you going, thighs clamping shut to stimulate your clit as you sat down waiting for him.

When he didn’t make any moves on you this time during his lesson, you felt a strange sadness that was evident on your face. Kakashi noticed this and smirked to himself.

“What’s the matter, sweetie?” He asked, putting his hand on your back comfortingly.

“It’s nothing,” you responded, getting way too excited at this small bit of physical tough.

“You can tell me anything, remember?” Kakashi asked, his big hand now rubbing up and down your back, each time getting lower and lower towards your ass.

“It’s just… I thought we were going to…” You blushed in shame, looking away from him.

“Ooooohhhhhh,” Kakashi responded amused. “Did you want me to touch you?” His breath was warm against your neck now, as if his mask wasn’t on at all. You nodded, mortified by how needy you were.

He led you over to a tree stump and sat down on it, pulling you down in his lap. He undid his pants and put his hand in front of your face.

“Would you be a good girl and spit in my hand?” He asked, nuzzling your neck. You complied and spit directly into his palm. “Good girl,” He said, using your spit to stroke himself.

He moaned softly, playing with his tip as he smelt your hair. With his other hand he sunk it into your shorts, his middle and ring finger circling your clit from outside your panties. You whimpered as his skilled fingers rubbed against your needy cunt, pressing your ass up against him.

He started to stroke himself faster, grunting in your ear several times. He let go of his cock and pulled your shorts all the way down, your panties coming off with them. The cold air hit your warm cunt and you shuddered, then shuddered harder when both his hands started playing with your pussy.

You moaned loudly, legs trembling as his big hands travelled all over your sloppy pussy, juices now running down your legs. With the previous hand, Kakashi used your slick to pump his dick.

“Ngh- ahhhhh…” he moaned heavily in your ear. Two of his fingers dipped into your hole and you wailed loudly, clenching down on them powerfully.

His agile fingers pumped in and out of you, your juices dripping into his palm when he would rut it against your clit. He searched your insides for your spongey little button, curling his fingers to thrust against it again and again until you were crying his name as you shook in his lap.

Your moans only fueled the fire inside of him, he quickly let go of his throbbing cock to pull your shirt up, then pumped himself a few more times before groaning loudly, breathing like a madman when he came all over your smooth back. His hot seed hit your back and you continued to cum in his hand, shaking like a leaf in the wind.

Kakashi gathered his cum on two fingers and stuck them in your mouth, you sucked them clean, tasting his ejaculate while craving more and more.

“See, now you made good on your promise.” He hummed. “A good shinobi always follows through,” he kissed your neck tenderly through his mask and all you could do was whimper, holding yourself together.

As the days went on and more lesions continued, Kakashi bale came much more ballsy. He would have you two laying of the grass, undergarments off and he would slide his cock in and out of your juicy folds, his tip kissing your clit over and over again until you eventually came hard, always crying his name out.

“Kakashi sensei…” you’d cry, as one of his hands roughly gropes a tit. Soon enough he would cum and it would trickle down your legs, where he would scoop it up and always feed it to you happily.

The question of penetrative sex was always how he would start the sessions, getting harder when you would reiterate your virginity, nervous of the pain. He would always try to convince you it was fun and would instead finger you so you could get an idea of it. Usually this was enough for him and you but today was a different story.

He had invited you to his home today, saying he had left something at his place and forgot to bring it to todays training lesson. It was when you offered to go with him, which he knew you would, when he happily accepted your proposal. He opened the door for you and you stepped inside, sitting down on his couch when he locked the door.

Kakashi sat down next to you, his hand resting on your thigh. You looked up at him and felt your pussy throb between your legs.

“W-what about the thing you left?” you asked. He ran his hand higher up your thigh.

“We can worry about that later, let’s talk about us okay?” he hummed, wrapping his hand around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

“What’s there to talk about?” you asked, heart pounding out of your chest now that he had you in his home with nowhere to go.

Kakashis other hand rested against your chest, pushing you down onto the couch. He adjusted his headband and looked at you with both eyes, red sharingan glowing brightly, which made you quiver with arousal.

“That. That right there. You want me don’t you?” He asked, whispering your name into your neck as he got ontop of you, his arm coming back from your waist to instead undo your shorts.

“Yeah…” he pulled your shorts down, your panties came off next and he tossed them to the floor.

“Well then why haven’t we done it yet?” he asked, a finger started at your hole, making its way up your slippery pussy.

“W-What yet?” You asked, legs bending as one knee was almost against your chest. Kakashi leaned down, his face dangerously close to yours, his nose brushing up against your own.

“Fuck.” he whispered low in almost a growl. Your face burned bright pink, unable to look away from him.

“I… I’m nervous… what if it hurts?” you arched your back, his slender finger now circling your clit. Sloppy, wet noises coming each time his fingers traveled around you.

“Well what if we only use just the tip?” He asked, now palming himself with his other hand. You were about to protest when his zipper was undone. “We don’t have to go more than an inch if that’s what you want. “Just say the word and I’ll stop.” He interrupted before you could speak.

By now his pants were coming undone and when you looked between your legs, his cock was fully sprung, its menacing girth and length staring back at you. Kakashi grabbed his base and ran his tip along your folds, you whined silently, the sloppy noises now even louder as his wet tip pushed against your wet folds.

Your mind was racing and you were at a loss for words watching as his dick made you crumble at just the slightest sensation.

“O-okay…” you whispered when his cock ran back down and teased your entrance.

“Just the tip, okay?” he whispered, then sunk the head of his dick right into your tight walls.

You moaned loudly, the stretch of his fat tip felt like he was breaking you open, yet your legs spread wider, inviting him in deeper. Kakashi was breathing heavily, his body burning hot against yours. He wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you tightly as if to keep you still for his usage.

He took a minute for you to get used to his cock, then slid in a little deeper. You moaned again, the burning stretch was alleviated by how wet you were and also by how slippery his cock was. You threw your head back against a couch cushion, back arching even further.

“Y-you s…said j-just the… tiiip…” you blubbered almost incoherently, tears welling in your eyes.

“Come on sweetie, you’re okay.” he hummed, pulling his mask down to kiss you on the mouth. You admired his beautiful face and features and when he knew you were distracted he plunged in an extra inch. You moaned desperately, nails sinking into his back.

“The t-tip is the biggest part. If you can take that you can take the rest, I promise.” He muttered, kissing your jaw and licking your sweet skin. “You do want to be a good student for me, don’t you?”

“Y-yes…”

“And you like the way I keep giving you all my attention?”

“M-mhmm…”

“Well then you’re going to have to keep up the good behavior if you want me to keep treating you like this. That is, unless you want to go back to your absent sensei. To be unseen, and unheard, and completely untouched by me,” his voice was deep and raspy, teeth running along the sensitive skin of your neck.

You heart pounded, that was the last thing you wanted.

“N-no Kakashi, please don’t leave me.” you whimpered desperately, nails sinking in deeper as you held him tighter.

“So you’re gonna take it like a good girl?” he asked, his hips plunging another inch inside of you. You grunted, eyes pinched tightly as your mouth fell open.

“Y-yes Kakashi sensei…”

“That’s just what I wanted to hear.”

His mouth opened and his tongue sunk between your lips, caressing your tongue with his. You two moaned into the kiss, his hips inches away from being flushed with your ass. He shuddered as soon as he was balls deep, your warmth strangling his length with your tight cunt, making his kisses sloppier.

“Ohhhh, sweetie you feel amazing…” he kissed you once again, biting your lower lip firmly. You wrapped your legs around him, keeping him deep inside as you cockwarmed him to adjust to his size.

You stayed like that a moment, sharing passionate kisses while his tip threatened to kiss your cervix. Slowly he retracted his hips and the pain that came with his movements slowly morphed into a much more enjoyable sensation. He moved slowly, your moans mixing with each movement. When he was almost all the way out, he plummeted back into you at a decent pace which was all too much for you.

You spasmed, moaning loud, tears finally falling down your eyes. He licked up your salty tears and kept going at the medium pace, squelching noises coming out from where your sexes met the more he moved. When he was deep inside you again he rutted his cock as deep as he could and you felt lightheaded. His pubic bone caressed you clit and you felt as if you were going to spiral.

Soon enough you felt like his cock was at home inside of you, allowing him to move at his own pace. Kakashi was excited, already starting to pound you rougher. His hips retreated before slamming back into you, your cunt more accepting of him but still tight due to his size. His cock was still winning this battle, pumping you with more and more dick as he jackhammered you delightfully.

“Just like that, baby. Just like that… I knew you could take it,” he grunted to your neck, sucking a deep purple hickey while you whimpered and moaned louder in his living room.

The couch was creaking underneath the both of you, you were a little nervous it would give out or you with fall, but Kakashis arms held you tight in place.

“Does that feel good?” he asked, pushing in before retreating all the way.

You nodded, in fact it felt so good you felt empty without him inside of you.

“Yes, fuck- yes Kakashi…” you murmured, angling your hips so you could meet his cock again.

Kakashi slammed himself inside of you, his balls hitting your ass while his strong arms held you closer. You moaned again, almost drooling before his lips met yours and his tongue danced with your own.

You felt a familiar knot twisting in your stomach, your pounded pussy tingled and made your core contract as well as your legs squeeze Kakashi rougher.

“Gonna cum?” he asked, brows furrowed and his eyes blew wide with lust.

You were incapable of words, only noises spilling out in their place while you nodded fervently. Kakashi upped his pace, pounding you impossibly faster while his hips provided him a great strength in his thrusts. Eventually you were moaning loud, pussy clamping hard on his cock, juices flowing everywhere and even onto his couch. Your whole body trembled, Kakashi sunk his teeth into your neck, moans escaping him as he kept going at it with a feverish intensity.

“Pretty girl, oh fuck you’re so perfect-“ Kakashi grunted as he came inside of you deep, his cum unable to be contained by your hole as it spilled out.

You two laid there in eachothers embrace, body’s hot and sweaty and breaths labored and uneven. When he pulled out you immediately missed him, craving his big cock inside of you again, almost unable to think of anything else. However, your body was weak, your hole ached, and your legs were sore.

“You did a good job,” Kakashi praised, kissing you again. You hungrily accepted his kisses, too fucked out to think about what you were doing. “But I can’t say I’m not a little worried.”

Your brain snapped back a little, confused by what he meant.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you did show quite a bit of resistance, I just don’t know if us continuing with training would be helpful or not.” Your heart pounded.

“What? But I took it all,” you blushed, scared your sensei would leave you when you had finally given yourself to him. You needed him, beyond just the training this time. Next it was your body, now it’s your heart.

“Yes, but there are other students who might need my help and if you can’t accept what I have, then I’ll have to give it so someone else.” Kakashi pulled his mask up, hiding his devilish smirk. He had you right where he wanted you.

You got up and held onto him tightly, your face in his chest as you cried for him.

“Please Kakashi, don’t leave me. I’ll be better, I promise. No matter what I swear I’ll listen to you, I’ll follow every order. I’ll keep my legs spread for you whenever you want,” you wept as he wrapped his arms around you, his hand resting in your hair. “I’ll make you happy, I’ll devote my life to it. We can do it again if you want- right now even.”

That’s what caught Kakashis interest. He was smiling big and wide, watching as you came undone for him. Pledging to devote your life to him, keeping you wrapped around his finger.

You grabbed his hand and put it to your cunt, his finger dragging along the mess he made.

“See? I’m ready, I always will be.” You laid back down on the couch and Kakashi laid ontop of you, mask coming back down to kiss you again.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“I want you- I need you… stay. I’ll do anything,” you promised, not wanting this man to abandon you the way your last sensei had done.

“Anything?” Kakashi asked cockily, giving up the mental tug of war he was playing. You nod. “Such a sweet girl… and you’re all mine.”

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defonottomholland · 10 days

Text

Kamui Men Masterlist

Is it filthy? Absolutely

Is that what I came here to write? Absolutely

Welcome to my perverted little corner of the internet. Feel free to like, comment, and reblog to your heart’s content.

Requests are temporarily closed. If you are unsure about your ask, my rules are below.

lmk if you want to be tagged in my stories.

All stories are NSFW/18+ content meant for those of us torn between romance and a kinky romp between the sheets.

Author’s Favorites (basically every Obito story is a favorite)

Kakashi x Reader

The Anbu Captain Series

Hatake Harassment Part 1, Part 2

Brat Taming

Anbu Bimbo

Overnight Training

Friday Night Fights

Payment

Home for the Holidays

Time to Pay Rent

Saturday Lunch

Bottle Feeding (fluff)

His Personal Toy

Obito x Reader

The Man Behind the Mask

A Second Chance

Obsession

More Than Friends

Begging for a Kiss

To Touch a Sinner (fluff)

Tonight, I am Madara

Leather Daddy

I Can Help with That

Home

The Bet

Kakashi x Reader x Obito

A Jealous Hokage: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14

Let Us Walk You Home

Anything to Save the Marriage

Request Rules

257 notes · View notes

defonottomholland · 2 months

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possession

venom!peter x silk!reader

ੈ✩ synopsis: peter parker is not himself when he falls into your universe. it must be a curse that he finds himself tethered to you. the darkness inside him has never wanted anything more.

ੈ✩ genres: strangers to lovers, hurt/comfort, angst, slow burn

ੈ✩ cw: smut (18+ only minors dni), unprotected sex, slightly dubcon, biting, masturbation, violence, gore, self-harm, angst, codependent relationships, slightly ooc peter

ੈ✩ wc: 10k+

ੈ✩ a/n: this is post-nwh. i’ve been working on this for months and i finally feel comfortable posting it even though i still have a love/hate relationship with this story. hopefully i’ll muster up enough energy to make a part two because i certainly have more in store for them. (i miss peter so bad)

ੈ✩ playlist | ੈ✩ masterlist

Peter wakes up with a sharp, throbbing pain in the back of his skull. Maybe if he was lucky, he had completely knocked the wind out of his frontal lobe. Maybe he’d woken in the middle of a coma-induced dream state. As he blinks his eyes open, through the haze of the world around him, his environment pulls itself together. What he sees isn’t familiar.

This isn’t his room.

Maybe this isn’t his body, either. He hopes it isn’t, but he feels the sting of a side wound like an electric shock when he stretches his upper body slightly.

He scans the walls in search of clues. He knows he’s not in danger – at least, he doesn’t think so – considering that he’s in a girl’s room and not a cavernous dungeon. His vision is dreamlike, blurry, still. When he squints at his surroundings, he can see posters on the walls and books stacked in every corner. He shivers when he realizes he’s looking around the room without his mask. Where the fuck is it?

When Peter looks down at his body, he notices how it stings and frowns at the few rips of lycra on his suit that showcase bloody wounds underneath. The bruise on his cheekbone throbs along with the tension headache that plagues his temples. He can taste copper in his mouth from his split lip.

“You’re awake.”

The voice startles him. Everything is still sensitive, his joints and wounds and the act of occupying his body. The sound of someone else’s voice in the room triggers enough adrenaline in him to shoot out a web in the direction of the bodily presence that enters.

You frown, cringing at his attack, but you don’t look as startled as he would expect. He widens his eyes when he sees that you’ve dodged his webs completely. Sitting up, he winces from the sharp pain on his side.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Reflex.”

“Yeah, I can tell.”

He doesn’t know what to do other than stare. Quite frankly, he didn’t expect to have to entertain a stranger tonight, nor did he think that his identity would be compromised in the presence of one. He’d barely remembered what had happened before he’d gotten knocked out. All he could recall was pain and the taste of blood in his mouth. Glancing at the slenderness of your fingers, he realizes that he doesn’t even remember your hands pulling him toward safety.

“You took my mask.”

“Wanted to make sure your face wasn’t broken. I didn’t take any pictures or call the cops if that’s what you think.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” he asks cautiously.

“I'm not particularly fond of them. Unless you want me to test how much ransom a loose Spider-man is worth.”

He blinks at the name, considering how ironic it is that you are the first person to see him in his most vulnerable state since his world changed for the worse. You, this unassuming stranger, who happened to have enough kindness to lug his body into your home.

He’s on edge. Of course, he is; he feels as if he’s been kidnapped, but the acuteness of his senses feels differently than they do when his body knows a threat is in front of him. Instead, it feels like the kaleidoscope of neurons inside him collects together in clear recognition. Like he knows you in his soul alone.

“How did you– how did you even get me up here? I was in an alley, and then–”

“And then I carried you back to my apartment.”

He narrows his eyes.

“Don’t see how that’s possible,” he mutters.

You surprise him by shooting a web from your fingertips to grab a water bottle from your desk and having it recoil into your hand without much effort.

Oh.

He asks you your name, and you tell him. When you ask him the same, he shifts uncomfortably and doesn’t answer you. You don’t take it personally.

Christ, he needs to leave now. But he’s transfixed by your big eyes and your curious stare, and he begins to wonder about you in the same way, as if you are the wounded butterfly he’d picked up on the street instead of the other way around.

You’re fucking weird, Peter’s decided, because, after this, you don’t ask him any more questions. Not anything that deviates from your concern about his wounded state.

You’re rather casual, which surprises him. You make him a cup of tea, lend him some of your oversized clothes (they fit him perfectly), and force him to stay on your bed so you can attempt to tend to his wounds. (He doesn’t let you.)

Naturally, he watches you wash your dishes and he plays the interrogation game, and you let him. You tell him that you’re in Brooklyn. You negate the idea of him swinging back to his house despite how much he insists. When he asks why, you’re hesitant.

“You’re probably safer here,” you sigh, almost impatiently.

He doesn’t argue when he feels the ache in his bones again.

“How is it that you’re like me?”

“I was also bitten by a radioactive spider.”

“Shit. There was another one?”

You don’t answer. God, your nonchalance freaks him the fuck out.

Why aren’t you fazed? What the fuck is wrong with you?

Maybe Peter will fake you out and flee, and he’ll forget all about you. He’ll never come near you again. But then there’s the warmth of your voice, and he stubbornly refuses to give in.

“I’m too fucking tired for all this interrogation, okay?” you exasperate. “You can take the bed. Or the couch. I don’t care. Just pick one.”

Why the hell are you letting a stranger crash at your place?

He doesn’t register it coming out of his mouth. You scoff.

“I’ve been through worse. And you’re barely a threat.”

Peter should feel offended, he thinks, but mostly he’s fascinated by you. He doesn’t blame you for your crabbiness once he sees the clock on your wall read 2:45 am. There’s a nebulous pause between the two of you now, so you make the first move by turning away from him and rummaging through your drawers. You throw an oversized t-shirt and sweats toward him that he catches immediately.

Without a word, you leave the room, which leaves him confused. He thinks that maybe you’re coming back eventually, washing up in the bathroom, but after twenty minutes of examining the knick-knacks and pictures on your wall, your absence is louder than ever. He frowns when he steps out and sees your sleeping figure on the living room couch. Shit. You were serious about him taking the bed.

He peers at you again, eyes adjusting to the room's pitch-black darkness until the window's blue moonlight allows him to see your face. You look peaceful, at bliss, almost.

Peter should just fucking leave. He contemplates this for over an hour as he lays in your bed, frowning at the ceiling because he’s not letting himself succumb to your weirdly kind offer of staying in your bed as a complete stranger.

Yeah, there had to be something wrong with you. You’d probably taken him in to use for human meat to sell on the black market or something. The whole girl-next-door thing was definitely a facade. It was.

Fuck you and your pretty eyes and pretty hair and how he could smell it everywhere in the room regardless of whether or not you were in it. Fuck you and your soft sheets and obnoxious amount of pillows.

Of course, once Peter is done ruminating, the sleep he has in your bed is the best he’s had in fucking weeks.

Your bed smells just like you. Like your sheets are fresh out of the laundry with a hint of something citrusy. Peter can barely open his eyes, but the sunlight from your window annoyingly beams onto his bruised face. The warmth licks his face.

He can hear the barely-there pattering of your light footsteps in the hallway. The hissing of a kettle. He emerges from your bedroom cautiously like a wild animal released from captivity. Your back is turned to him as you hum something nonspecific, some song he thinks he might’ve liked when he was in high school, but he doesn’t remember the name of it.

“Good morning, Peter,” you murmur, looking up and turning around when you notice his presence.

He furrows his brows. There’s a gleam in Peter’s eye that you can tell is untrusting. Like he’s expecting you to attack him.

“I never told you my name.”

Your gaze softens with sympathy. For some reason, you utter a soft apology.

“You already knew about me, but I didn’t know about you,” he accuses, arms crossed. “Why?”

You sigh. “Have you heard of the multiverse, Peter?”

No. No fucking way.

In a panic, he makes his way toward the front door of your apartment, but you beat him to it with two hands on his chest to block him.

“Peter! Peter, stop–”

“What the fuck is going on? Where am I?”

He doesn’t realize that he feels short of breath, chest heaving as he clutches you by the shoulders. He also doesn’t realize the extent of his super-strength, though you don’t complain or flinch from the contact.

“I’ll explain if you just calm down,” you reply, your voice still calm. Even in crisis, you’re still so fucking soft, so placid, and Peter isn’t sure if the fact is comforting or terrifying.

Something catches in his throat when you place your warm palms on his cheeks, an embrace too loving and nurturing for a stranger like him to deserve. The entire gesture rewires his brain instantly. Despite his ragged breathing, he stills and nods slowly.

“You’re on a different version of Earth. Okay? In this version, I’m the one who got bitten by a radioactive spider. I’m Silk.”

“I’m not supposed to be here.”

It comes out more like a question than a statement. You shake your head.

“No. I don’t know how you got here, but I promise you’ll be able to make it back. There’s a lot of us–”

“I know about the multiverse. I’ve– I’ve met other versions. Of myself.”

“You have?” you raise an eyebrow.

He hesitates. His brown eyes search yours, scanning your face until his gaze falls through you to fixate on your collarbone instead of your eyes. He blinks with a glassy scrutiny that bleeds with anxiety.

“I fucked things up on my Earth, and now no one knows who I am. No one knows who Peter Parker is, I mean. But why do you know who I am? How did you find me?”

“You know there are other Peters. I’ve met other Peters. After the multiverse nearly collapsed, the Spider Society was created. As a preventative measure, so that shit doesn’t happen again. All of us have the same story, and fucking it up fucks everyone else up, to put it simply. That can be something we can unpack for later. And I– I felt your presence. And I wanted to keep you safe, so I took you in..”

“There was something out there last night when I fell through. I don’t even remember how I got here. It was like waking up inside of a dream.”

The bewildered look in Peter’s eyes has you nearly as panicked as he is because you recognize it all too well. You’d seen it in the mirror yourself when you had first got bitten by that damn spider, however, at that time, you were fifteen and alone.

“What thing?”

“Something… dark. Amorphous. I don’t know.”

You frown. Your hands are still on him. His face feels like it’s on fire.

The thing inside his body screams at a frequency he can’t understand. It’s so loud that he can’t even hear himself think.

Kill her. Kill her. Kill her.

Shut the fuck up.

Peter jumps and takes a step back. When you try to move in tandem with him, he doesn’t let you. The voice in his head has a rasp unfamiliar to him, and it wants to overtake him. Fuck, is he hallucinating? Is he being fucking possessed?

Get out. Get out. Get the fuck out.

I don’t have anywhere else to go, Peter.

GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY BODY.

Look at her. Fucking delicious. We have to devour her. Now. NOW. NOW.

He won’t remember it later, but he runs through your bedroom door to the window, fumbling on the hinges until he nearly falls off your fire escape. When you relay this to him later, he’s bewildered, shaking. Too afraid to touch you. Too afraid to be in your apartment at all. Unsure of his memory, considering his lack of ability to recall any of this.

And yet, the warmth of your touch drinks him in, and he thinks that if he’s going to be trapped in a different universe than his own, he’s comfortable being in yours, under your roof. After he blacks out, your face is the only thing he can remember when he dreams.

The nightmares wake him up this time. He remembers the horrors of the night before you had found his mangled body in the alleyway. He remembers the pain, the glitch in the atmosphere that had seemed to have his body bursting through the seams, and the black entity that consumed his skin and stuck to it like glue. He remembers what it felt like to be transformed. He just doesn’t remember by what.

When Peter’s lids flutter open, he sees that his environment is sterile and sanitized. You make eye contact with him, and his honey-brown eyes darken, almost spiteful. The longer you look at his face, the more you notice he looks like a child.

He attempts to get up from the bed, but he’s restrained to it. He groans quietly, sucking his teeth.

“You’ll be out soon.”

He doesn’t say anything, though the grimace on his face says a thousand words. Instead, he scoffs.

Kill her. Kill her. Kill her.

The voice in his head is faint and raspy, though, unlike the other times, it’s barely there – much more muted than before. It comes as a passing thought, so nonchalant and quiet that Peter almost convinces himself that it’s something he hears echoed from the hallway nearby.

Your expression doesn’t falter. You merely watch him with curious eyes. It makes his skin hot.

“What happened?” he finally asks.

“You don’t remember?”

Peter doesn’t shake his head, nor does he look confused. He stays neutral as if he’s testing you. His jaw clenches.

“You fucking scared me, you know,” you mutter. There’s an exhaustion to your voice. How long has he fucking been here?

“Tell me.”

“It’s like you weren’t in your body,” you breathe. “Your eyes were all dark and you were trying to run away from me. You passed out after trying to jump off the fire escape. I thought you were trying to kill yourself, Peter.”

He notices that the edge in your voice is languishing, full of a distinct type of worry that he hasn’t felt from anyone else in ages. No one’s known him in over a year. But here you are, from a different universe, sitting across from him in this room with a face that almost looks like it’s about to be ruined with tears.

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“I know.”

“Why am I here?”

“I don’t know what happened. The tests they ran on you – it’s nothing we’ve seen before. Or yet.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“We use a device to send our Spider-people home based on your DNA. Or the spider you were bitten by since that’s what tethers you to your Earth. We thought you might go home and transport back to your universe, but you didn’t. The system fucking went berserk after scanning you.”

Peter’s first instinct is to say I’m sorry, but he knows that would be stupid, and the parasitic thing in his body shuts him down. He clamps his eyes shut to find darkness under all the harsh fluorescent lighting, but the hint of something sinister shakes his body in a way he can’t explain. He briefly remembers the moments before he allegedly tried to jump off the fire escape of your bedroom. Your soft eyes. Your hands on his face.

Your hand touches his now, and it makes his whole body jerk.

(Your warmth reminds him of someone else’s, and for that, the thing in him wants to fucking kill you.)

Miguel doesn’t know what the fuck is wrong with Peter, either. He has other shit on his plate, like chasing misfits through the multiverse.

Peter gets tired of the tests. It’s not like they’re doing anything because every so often, the thing inside him is lecherous and makes him feel disgusting for reasons beyond him. You are the only thing that keeps him calm. It’s like a manifestation of some curse cast upon him, a plague of a punishment.

In between the tests, he stays at yours. You don’t talk to him much because of your hours at the office, and when you’re home, you mostly eat dinner in silence. Sometimes Peter cooks and has dinner warm for you before you get home because he’s impatient and knows how to make a few basic meals from living alone in that dingy apartment.

It’s mundane. Comforting. In some stupid, twisted way, Peter wants to keep it. Keep you. Even if he won’t admit it.

He doesn’t have to be Spider-Man on your Earth, and no one knows his identity. He almost feels like a housewife from how he dotes on you in small ways without you asking, this domesticity he’s adapted just because he can. His injuries have healed, and he works on yours instead.

You reject his help because you’re used to it. Still, he hovers by the bathroom door when you bind your wounds.

He watches you with bated breaths, bottom lip sucked in his teeth. You have no qualms about the pair of eyes on you – at least, you don’t show it.

“That shit’s gonna get infected.”

You roll your eyes without looking at him. Your nimble fingers work on patching up the cut under your breast instead.

“I know what I’m doing,” you huff.

“You didn’t even put Neosporin on it.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t have Neosporin in this universe?” he asks, an incredulous expression on his face.

You shrug.

“Again, I know what I’m doing.”

“Maybe I should be out there with you on patrol.”

Your head whips around then, studying Peter’s face. He stares back at you with a seriousness that doesn’t break. You narrow your eyes.

“We’re working on getting you home, Peter. I’m not dragging you into my shit.”

“You dragged me into your shit the moment you took me in.”

You grimace, saying nothing. Your lack of response annoys him, but more than anything, it chips away at his ego.

Maybe you regret rescuing him. The thought brings dread to his chest, guilt riding up in the caverns of the space he holds for you, which has grown bigger and bigger as the weeks go on. He thinks that if the two of you had met in different circumstances, normal ones, perhaps the two of you would be friends.

He’d been alone for far too long. The scrubbing of his identity already turned him into a shell. The old Peter would’ve been much more proactive about this situation. He certainly would’ve been less fucking moody. But he knows there’s no one to accuse him of not being his usual self because nobody knows him anymore, except you.

Peter is so fucking bored of staying in your apartment. He needs something to keep him going, whether it’s crime or college. Cooped up in your home, he feels like nothing at all.

Sometimes, that feeling subsides when you’re home with him all domestic. He agrees to your movie nights despite protesting your incessant preference for horror. He likes how you curl your lip in a smirk when you tease him for being so damn jumpy.

While your relationship is mildly symbiotic, the thought of you permeates him more and more, usually at night. He has dreams of you that he’d be ashamed to relay when he’s awake. The thing inside him lurches, wants with so much zeal that he has to take measures to calm it down.

One night, when you return from patrol, your Silk suit ripped at your bicep, hip, and the space that’s supposed to cover your ribcage. He lets you patch yourself up like you always do without words other than an annoyed gruff.

Peter can’t get the sight of your bloody wound out of his head, the exposed skin under your breast. Even the tightness of your suit allures him more than it should, which is fucking ridiculous. It’s nearing five weeks since he dropped into your universe. He should be used to you by now.

“You good?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh-huh.”

You know that’s not true. Peter looks like he’s seen a ghost. You don’t pry. You stopped doing that weeks ago.

The second he leaves your room, he runs the shower on cold.

You want it.

“Shut up,” he growls under his breath.

Peter has never wished for a lobotomy, and certainly not as much as he is now.

You want her. Take her.

Shivering does nothing for him. He turns the water up to hot, nearly scalding, just as he’s convinced himself to like it. The thing inside him is consuming him, getting closer and closer to his point of breaking, and he knows it. Every moment he can’t be around you for more than a minute, he knows it.

The only thing that satiates the feeling is to take action himself. To truly quiet that dark, venomous desire, he has to touch himself for release, and he’s ashamed that you’re the thought at the apex of it every single time. Each time he reaches his peak, he can almost make out the figure expanding over his own, a viscous black substance that seems to breathe over his veins. Once he comes to bed with you, it’s gone.

The stupid urges make him feel animalistic. It’s never been like this.

Images of you with your suit ripped at the seams and flashes of your bare skin reel in his brain constantly. It’s embarrassing. He’s not fucking sixteen.

You bother less with pleasantries now that it’s been nearly two months since he fell into your universe. After the initial shock of his situation, of course, he’d had a billion questions, to which you attempted to answer to the best of your ability. Proactive as ever, he’d opted to go to the Spider Society himself on several occasions without you, attempting to understand what could be keeping him tethered to your universe, and to no avail.

After those trials and tribulations, he’d become withdrawn.

“Wanna watch a movie?” you try one night. He shrugs. It’s an answer to most of your questions now. It’s starting to get fucking annoying.

“You mentioned you like Star Wars, right?”

“Sure,” Peter mumbles.

“I’ve never seen the prequels.”

It’s the only thing that brings light to his eyes in maybe a week, you notice. The only other times you see that lightness is when you catch Peter in secret moments cozying up to your cat, Ferris.

(Weird name for a cat, he’d remarked. You tell him you’d watched Ferris Bueller’s Day Off the day you found him in the alleyway.)

Now Peter is settled on your couch with a soft black t-shirt clinging loosely to his frame. Maybe he doesn’t mean to be on the complete opposite side of the sofa, but the distance feels more apparent to you than it should. Ferris purrs in Peter’s lap. Traitor.

You pretend you aren’t fixated by the slight freckles that decorate his nose. Or his collarbone. Or the way that he smells just like you because he hasn’t bothered to ask you to buy him soap for himself.

You get bits and pieces of Peter’s personality over time. You learn that his favorite Thai dish is larb, just like you. He’s incredibly smart, which isn’t unlike you, but you certainly give less shits about the scientific aspect of the multiverse than he does. He has a guilty pleasure for sugary cereal. He loves the Velvet Underground. He has a freckle under his abs on the left side of his body. He’s annoyingly persistent in helping you patch yourself up.

When you hear the sound of your name in his voice, you wince.

“You zoning out already?”

“Huh?”

He gives you a look and you can’t help but giggle.

“You didn’t even hear anything I just said.”

“I was having flashbacks,” you shrug, blinking back at Natalie Portman on the television screen instead of Peter’s eyes. “To my Padme Halloween costume.”

“That’s stolen valor!”

“I was twelve, dipshit. It was on sale at Specter Halloween and there was nothing left.”

“Spirit Halloween?”

You furrow your brows.

“Oh my god. Nevermind.”

For some reason, this reaction makes you pull the fleece blanket from his body. You mumble a rushed apology to your cat, who scrambles off of Peter’s lap in an instant. Peter is quick to pull the blanket back immediately until the two of you end up in a tug of war. You see a flash of grinning teeth.

“Peter!” you squeal when he yanks the blanket so hard that you nearly fall off the couch.

“Why do you have so much energy– dude!” You’re almost in his lap but he’s faster than you. You are so close to using your webs on him.

A flush of heat spreads over your cheeks when he has you pinned to the couch, arms above your head with the blanket now forgotten on the floor. His knees are on each side of you, so squirming does nothing for your cause.

“Relax,” he gruffs.

You can’t tell if his eyes shift in darkness or if it’s just a trick of the television light. The warmth emanating from his cheeks matches yours. The way his legs are spread above yours is vulnerable, and so is the way you’re looking at him, and – fuck, can you stop looking at him like that?

You feel the grip on your wrists loosen as he shuffles to his feet, nearly tripping over the discarded blanket.

“We need more popcorn,” he mumbles.

Fixing the mess of your hair, you peer at him through the dimness.

“That was the last bag.”

“I can get some more then.”

He pulls on the hoodie that’s draped over the armchair – your oversized hoodie, in fact – and it’s clearly too tight on him.

“What? It’s late. Are you – are you hungry or something? I can make you food.”

“With what?” he snaps. “We haven’t been able to go grocery shopping yet this week.”

“Well, it’s too fucking late for that now.”

Silence permeates the space between the two of you. The seconds that pass feel so long. There is no void in Peter’s head, only the sound of a disgusting, gnawing desire. Grotesque wanting. He wishes you would just leave so he can scrub himself raw in the shower like he usually does.

She smells so good.

“I’ll get some stuff from the bodega. I need– I need air, anyway,” Peter stammers. “Should swing around and stuff. I’m holed up in here every goddamn day.”

The comment stings. It’s not your fault that he’s stuck here like a stray cat. He knows that, so he feels guilty when his words come out with more bite than he intends. He can’t stand to see the way your bottom lip trembles slightly as you look away from him, mumbling something of a useless apology even when you both know you have nothing to apologize for.

You flinch when the door slams behind him.

You don’t see Peter the next morning even though your keys hang right next to the doorway. The window by your bed is left slightly ajar, so you assume that it’s meant for him.

It’s fine. He had already expressed his cabin fever to you, so it makes sense that he’d be out exploring the city. (This is what you tell yourself throughout the day, even though you can’t stop feeling an ache in your gut.)

Your day is mundane, but they always are, you suppose. Maybe they haven’t felt as such since you had company every day. Peter’s absence is so much more apparent than it should be. You haven’t been without him in a bit. Even at your stupid day job, he occupies your mind, and the mere knowledge of his absence sears a hole in your heart. It feels pathetic. Maybe he’s home. Maybe he’d come back after you’d left for work.

When you get home in the evening, he’s nowhere to be found. You pretend that it’s nothing to you. You still make dinner for two.

Once you’re settled for bed, Peter is on the other side of town at a random bar. It’s a miracle he gets in without an official ID and all, not to mention his boyish face. A raven-haired girl who skips the line takes a liking to him, plus she seems to know the bouncer. She’s attached to Peter like a moth for the rest of the night.

She’s daring and touchy, with a sense of humor that’s too over-familiar to appear charming. Peter doesn’t have to do much except nod and smirk to seduce her, downing shot after shot just so he can feel a buzz instead of irritation whenever the girl has her hands on him. On the dance floor, the shape of her body slightly resembles yours, maybe. She reeks of over-saturated vanilla, like the inside of a Victoria’s Secret.

When he fucks her in her lavish penthouse, he can only think of you. He thinks her apartment is boring, lacks character, and looks soulless. It’s nothing like yours. It doesn’t even begin to contain the same warmth. Peter feels similarly about the girl, but he’d had enough shots in the bar to ignore that emptiness. For now, he feels full with his cock inside her, hearing her whiny pleas and soft moans as her face gets buried into the mattress. He only cums when he thinks of your face.

It’s not enough.

Shut the fuck up, Peter screams in his head. Shut up.

Though, we’re hungry, aren’t we?

No.

Peter groans, digging his teeth into the girl’s neck as his fingertips press into the curve of her waist. He shuts his eyes, breathing rapidly as his body relaxes on top of hers. None of her sweet nothings registers in his brain. He holds off the violence in his head until she’s fast asleep, to his relief, because then he can return to you.

___

You’re wide awake when Peter fumbles with your bedroom window at three in the morning. He nearly trips next to your bed, but he braces himself, landing his hands on the softness of your rug.

You hear him sigh. Maybe you’ve become too attuned to him. Every movement he makes is a small earthquake to you, so present and real as he unravels even when he’s just taking a few steps toward you. Maybe you’re imagining his breath behind your neck. Maybe you’re dreaming and you wish for it.

He assumes you’re asleep when he crawls into bed with you. This is only the second time. The first time, he’d had a nightmare on the couch and you had offered your warmth. At the moment, he’s inexplicably warm as he wraps his arms around your waist.

“Where were you?” you whisper.

“Out.”

“You smell like a high school girl’s locker room.”

He snorts, tightening the grip he has over your middle. You feel his breath tickling the nape of your neck.

“Okay.”

“You gonna answer me?”

“Why does it matter? ‘m a big boy.”

“It matters when I’m responsible for you and I don’t know where you are.”

“I was always going to come back.”

You don’t say anything to that. You think this is too intimate, but you can’t help but admit to yourself that it’s what you need. The touch of someone else. The feeling of warmth enveloping your body.

You haven’t felt him this close to you before, at least when you’re this hypervigilant. Stretching your back slightly, you decide to turn to face him. Your body curls naturally into Peter’s without a second thought.

You notice the way he bites the inside of his bottom lip subtly. It’s dumb, how rapidly his heart beats now that you’re looking right at him. You pretend you don’t feel it from being so close to him, but it makes your heart elate.

Peter closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see your face. It’s not like the action helps him calm his heart down, because fuck, you’re so warm and soft and pliant in his arms. He’s gotten good at quieting the voice in his head lately but he’s still afraid of it consuming him.

“Goodnight, Peter,” you murmur.

He pretends he’s asleep. It takes everything in him to keep up the facade until he knows for sure you’ve passed out inches away from him.

___

When Peter wakes before you, something primal pushes his senses into overdrive. You smell so fucking sweet. It’s like the universe wants him to eat you.

She’s right there on a platter for you. Just for you.

He’s good at restraining it. Sucking in his teeth, his eyes scan the curves of your waist to the soft edges of your lips.

Despite his restraint, he can’t be in the room with you right now. Certainly not in the same bed basking in your warmth. For fuck’s sake, what were you thinking, allowing him into your bed in the first place?

He already knows the answer – kindness is what fuels you—your altruism. When the mind gets the best of him, Peter curses at your character when he’s alone. Sometimes he’s on a random rooftop bombarded by thoughts of you. Sometimes he’s in your shower.

If anything, you were perfect, so perfect that Peter couldn’t stand it. So warm and pretty and pleasant that even the way he touches his cock doesn’t dirty the image he has of you in his head. You’re too pure, even when you use your nasty tongue against him, even when you fight him.

The slightest showcase of your bare skin doesn’t help the cause. Peter retreats to the couch again even though you tell him that you don’t mind the space he takes up in your bed. He can’t tell you he’s doing it for your safety.

Even so, he’s so attuned to you that he hears your midnightmare whines in the night as if you were right next to him. And when he guards your bed like a dog while you’re asleep, he tries not to focus on the shape of your collarbone. Of course not. He convinced himself that he was lonely, fucking pathetic. He tells himself that the mere sight of your exposed neck and the pout of your lips does nothing to him at all.

Peter comes with you to headquarters. The other spiders are sympathetic to him, often over-friendly. He sticks to you like a lost puppy.

“Did Miguel figure out anything yet?”

“Huh?”

“About getting me home.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise, though your expression neutralizes once you look away. It was stupid to hold any value towards Peter. This is what you tell yourself, at least, so you must remind yourself that his questions aren’t out of left field.

You refused to face the reality that you’d grown attached to him, that his presence had felt normal to you after he’d stayed with you for more than two months.

“Still working on it,” you reply, giving him a sheepish smile.

You feel guilty despite telling the truth. No tests could decipher why Peter was immune to being sent off back to his universe. No updates to the technology had worked, either.

(You don’t really know what he’s still doing here, especially considering how quiet it is at headquarters today. You’re only really there to assist Margo in perfecting the gizmo that helps Miguel verse-jump.)

“I got you lunch, though. And feel free to leave whenever you want, I might stay late.”

You drop a paper bag in front of him. The contents reveal a Cuban sandwich, bread smooshed flat with extra pickles. His favorite. You’d remembered his long rant about missing Delmar’s.

The gesture is sweet. You’re sweet, even though you’re a hard shell to break.

The voice in his head is louder than usual today. Once you’re in a separate room, he feels immediately desperate for your presence, and he can’t tell if this is one of his usual emotions. The moment he fell into your world, besides feeling possessed, the emotions he experiences within his body are unlike him. Stronger, desperate, on the brink of detonation.

“I’m sorry you’re stuck here,” you stammer after clearing your throat.

“I’m lucky,” Peter shrugs. His eyes don’t waver from yours. “That you’re the one taking care of me, I mean. You’re kind for letting me stay.”

For keeping me. Do you want to keep me as much as I want to keep you?

The smile you give him is saccharine as you flush. He wonders if it’s fake, secretly full of vitriol. Perhaps he’ll find out when the both of you are home.

He decides to give you space for the rest of the afternoon. After boring himself with floating in and out of random stores in Manhattan, he returns to your apartment in the evening, jiggling your bedroom window open even though you had given him a spare key.

None of the lights are on except a glow emitting from behind the bathroom door, left open slightly.

Your eyes shoot open when you hear the creak of the door. In the dimness of your bathroom, the only thing that helps you see Peter’s face is the dozens of tealight candles you have around the bathtub.

He gulps, mumbling an apology as he looks away.

“You’re home earlier than I thought you’d be,” he murmurs.

“I was having massive brain fog all day so I came home early,” you tell him. He nods in understanding without saying anything. He doesn’t know why he’s lingering.

“You clearly haven’t figured out the concept of a front door.”

He blinks at the wet sheen of your collarbone, how the candles flicker an orange light across your face, and then he looks away again.

“Sorry. Force of habit.”

“Well, you should try it. You have a key,” you snort.

Peter’s heartbeat races. God, you smell so fucking good. Like citrus and sandalwood and sunlight. There’s no way he’s going to be able to sleep next to you tonight.

TAKE HER RIGHT NOW. FUCKING DO IT.

“Uh, I’ll leave you be,” he rasps, accidentally slamming the bathroom door closed.

He knows you’ll be annoyed about it later, but he unlatches your bedroom window again to get outside and feel the fresh air. He doesn’t know what to do with his energy, with the gnawing in his body, so he tries to get his breathing even on the roof of your building.

“Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off,” Peter mumbles in succession, straining his body.

On the concrete of the rooftop, he lies down and stares at the evening sky, trying to think of literally anything else, but he can’t. He knows that your existence isn’t a curse, that whatever it is that’s plaguing him is deep within his body, but he doesn’t know how to exorcize it.

In a frenzy, he rips his suit from his body because the thing inside him is begging for stimulation. Thoughts of you flood his brain. Every angle of you, every memory, every scent. You would be surprised to know how much he’s memorized about you considering how rarely he likes to make eye contact.

And God, your eyes. How would you feel if you were watching him right now? Would you be disgusted? Would you be as disgusted as Peter is with himself?

It takes a minute or two of palming his dick before he finishes just from thinking about you. He groans lowly, animalistic, and there still isn’t any relief despite the mess he’s made on his suit.

YOU’D FEEL BETTER IF IT WAS HER.

Fuck you.

Why is he so goddamn flustered? He’s literally slept next to you. And it isn’t like he saw anything when you were in the bathtub. Just your bare face, your wet shoulders–

Fuck, he’s hard again. Peter doesn’t think he’s been this hard in his entire life.

It doesn’t take long for him to cum again even with all the overstimulation. You’re probably wondering where he is, too. He hopes to God you aren’t in your room so he can sneak back in quietly and get changed, maybe throw in a load of laundry so he doesn’t give himself away.

This is so stupid. So, so stupid.

Luck is on Peter’s side when he crawls back into your apartment. He hears you humming from the kitchen and the smell of onions and garlic wafts under his nose. He strips quietly and changes into new clothes.

“Pete?”

Sighing, he follows the sound of your voice. The smile you give him is nearly blinding.

“Where were you?”

“Uhh, checking the mail.”

“For half an hour?” you raise a brow.

He shrugs. An excuse makes its way into his mind.

“And I went out to look for cat food. We ran out. I couldn’t find the, uh, brand Ferris likes, though. Sorry.”

“Wow,” you give him a hint of a smirk. The cat in question jumps onto your shoulder as you bend down to get a pot from one of the lower cupboards. “You hear that, Ferris? Seems like Petey cares if you live or die.”

You coo at the small tabby, who meows in response. Peter rolls his eyes, feigning annoyance.

“And you still haven’t figured out how to use the front door. Do you need a live tutorial from me or what?”

Peter bites the inside of his cheek as he sits down at the island, watching as you pour crushed tomatoes into the pot. The sight makes him awfully nostalgic. You’re the first person who’s cooked for him in years.

“Let me be,” he huffs, the hint of a chuckle in his voice. “And you’re gonna get cat hair in the pasta sauce.”

“No. Ferris is so well-groomed.”

“Not when he sheds all over my clothes.”

“You should be thankful he likes to roll around in your dirty laundry pile. That means he likes you, you know.”

Silence stews in the room, save for the sounds of boiling water. Peter takes the liberty to unlock your phone and put one of your playlists on the speaker.

He clears his throat. “You need any help?”

“Nah, it’s just pasta,” you shrug. “It’s the last we have, though. Wanna go on a grocery run tomorrow?”

“Of course. The fridge is pitiful.”

“I don’t need your attitude when I feed you every day, Parker.”

You smile in jest at him and of course, he avoids eye contact like he usually does. Over the weeks, you’ve been accustomed to him acting like another stray kitten, but sometimes, you wonder if there’s something about your presence or personality that makes him keep you at arm’s length. Not that you should care what a stray thinks about you.

Peter wishes he could act normal around you instead of constantly being on edge. Again, it’s not your fault. If there was a way he could make it up to you, to let you know how much he’s grateful for you, he would. Every time he thinks about it, his body takes over and shame is all that’s left.

The bowl of pasta you put in front of him smells heavenly and looks like a page in the cooking section of the New York Times.

“Help yourself to seconds, big boy.”

His eyes flash to your face, but you’re busying yourself with putting wet cat food onto a small plate for Ferris.

You both end up eating on the island together. You don’t take a seat next to him, choosing to stand up across from him. Instead of conversing, the music continues to play quietly from the speaker, and you scroll mindlessly through the emails on your phone.

“I can feel you staring at me, you know.”

“I wasn’t,” Peter replies, defensive.

“You were,” you snort. “Which is funny because usually you refuse to make eye contact with me.”

“That’s not true.” (He’s lying through his teeth.)

“It’s okay. I’m not offended.” (Okay, maybe now you’re the one lying through your teeth.)

Peter scoffs, looking away, of course.

“Thanks for dinner,” he mumbles.

He looks down, collecting his bowl and utensils. He decides to busy himself with the dishes, taking yours wordlessly without looking at your face.

“You don’t have to do that,” you say softly. He shrugs.

When you say his name, you’re right next to him and he feels like he might choke on nothing. Sure, he senses your presence in proximity to his own, but there’s nothing to stop you from getting close to him.

“You’re always on edge around me.”

He doesn’t reply, even though he knows the sound of running water from the kitchen sink isn’t enough to drown out the tension between you two.

“Peter,” you try. Ugh, now you feel whiny.

“Hm?” He feigns ignorance as he glances at you, turning off the faucet.

“I– I just want you to be comfortable around me.”

“I am,” he lies.

You don’t know what to say to break through the invisible wall he’s put between you two. He doesn’t know how to tell you that the distance is to keep you safe.

Your shoulders sag in defeat as you turn away from him and it conjures a new ache in his chest. Peter is often too caught up in his agony to notice how it might affect you. He can notice the frustration that radiates off of you – he’s not stupid. But the clear disappointment in your body language is so much more apparent than it ever was before.

“I think I might go to bed early,” you tell him, your voice just above a whisper. “Thanks for cleaning up.”

“Of course.”

The door to your bedroom shuts quietly.

Despite his constant uneasiness around you, Peter feels petulant now that you’ve left his side. Especially with the guilt of making you feel alienated in your own home. The trouble of explaining any of this to you feels like a burden more than anything, and you were already dealing with the burden of him staying in your apartment like he was haunting the place.

Ferris slinks between Peter’s legs, purring. He climbs up his legs the same way he does to you and Peter welcomes him into his arms.

“You shouldn’t be nice to me, either,” Peter whispers, stroking the cat’s fur slowly.

After Peter finishes cleaning up the kitchen, he settles on the couch for mindless television while Ferris settles on his lap. It doesn’t take him long to feel his eyes heavy-lidded, and although it should be easy to fall asleep on the couch, his body itches for your touch. Trying to sleep on your couch makes his limbs feel like they need to stretch every other second. So he surrenders and falls into your bed like he usually does. Like how you expect him to.

He dreams of you. He often does.

Usually, he never remembers once he wakes up, which is probably the safest option. At the moment, the dreams are too visceral to be considered dreams to his subconscious.

At the moment, he thinks the silkiness of your skin has to be real under his fingertips. It has to be. It would only make sense because your scent is so fucking strong, so alluring. It permeates the entire room, along with the subtle smell of sex and desperation.

Peter can see your pink mouth parting. The way your back arches. The way his name sounds when it comes from your throat, babbling its way out of your mouth, so sweetly. So fucking innocently.

It’s all rudely interrupted by the darkness that he’s attempted to keep away for so long. A black cloud that envelops the both of you, until the cloud is tangible, until it feels like a substance that could drown you.

Where his senses only uttered your name and acknowledged your sweetness is now replaced by an insatiable hunger. One that is partially his, partially from an entity that could break you in half without a second thought.

Now, the entity clouds him. Consumes his entire body until he’s nothing but a vast monster with sharp teeth with you underneath him.

The look on your face is full of horror. Your naked body shudders. Peter wants nothing more than to comfort you, but he knows he can’t, not when something black and viscous has obscured his entire body.

He is not in his body when his teeth graze the skin of your shoulder, biting hard enough for blood to trickle out of your skin. Your scream is the only thing that he can hear, maybe other than his own, once he sees your mouth spit out blood.

And then, darkness.

___

“No, nonononono, no, fuck, please–”

It all happens so fast. He doesn’t know what he does to you that makes you drop dead so quickly, and for fuck’s sake, his arms are still not his arms.

“Peter!”

A shake in his universe breaks him apart. When he opens his eyes, he sees yours, wide and shocked and bright despite the darkness of the night.

You’re in your bed and so is he. And you’re holding him, unscathed. There is no black gore adorning his arms.

“Peter, it’s okay,” you shush him softly.

One hand strokes his hair while the other is splayed with fingers stretched across his warm cheek. You’re more than concerned by how shaken he looks. Like he’s in shock. You’ve never seen him like this.

“You’re okay,” he says. It’s a whisper. It sounds like a prayer.

“I am,” you nod. “I’m fine. I want to make sure that you’re fine, too, okay?”

His lashes flutter when you stroke his cheek. His breathing is heavy like a newly discovered beast, but you know that you don’t have to tame him from the way he keens to your touch.

“I–I thought–”

“Shh, you don’t have to talk about it. It wasn’t real, okay? You just had a nightmare,” you coo.

You can feel the way he swallows sharply and the way he struggles to breathe through his nose. He winces when he realizes that you’re wiping away a tear from his cheek.

“I was– I was terrible–” he stammers, gasping for breath. “And you–”

“Peter, it’s okay. It was just a dream. It’s okay.”

“You aren’t safe with me.”

His eyes are wild. He’s so earnest when he speaks that maybe, just maybe he could be telling the truth.

You ignore it even though the way he says it breaks your heart.

“I am safe with you. And you’re safe with me, right here,” you try. The sound of his voice has tears brimming the corners of your eyes, too, but you don’t notice. You just want to get through to him. You swallow your anxiety. “We’re safe together, I promise. I would never let anything bad happen to you.”

He scans your face frantically until his eyes zero in on your lips. His senses are flooded with you, like he’s an animal ready to pounce on his prey, but he tries to hold back. His breathing turns shallow and he can’t help but stare at your bottom lip quivering, feeling the warmth of your palms against his cheeks.

TAKE HER. TAKE HER. TAKE HER.

He’s not sure what the motive is for him pressing his lips to yours, whether it’s the demon inside him or the desire festering in his body. Peter knows that they’re one and the same.

To his surprise, you surrender your mouth to him immediately. His tongue slots into between your lips without effort as his hands clasp your body with his innate strength, ranging from your hips to the undersides of your breasts.

You didn’t expect him to kiss you, but now that he has, you don’t think that you want him to ever stop.

Your hands graduate from his cheeks to the back of his head, pulling at his brown tresses as his hands roam your body with more fervor than anyone else has given you.

You’ve been intimate with other people before, but they were always so careful, so timid with you. Maybe sometimes they were rough, but your mind was too checked out to notice. But now, the mere touch of someone else’s fingertips on your hard nipples has you squirming in your bed, making your breath hitch. Already, you feel the warmth in your core.

Peter discards your shirt (nearly rips it off) with ease as you whimper, enabling him, neither of you saying a word at all. You grab at Peter’s shirt to tug off, which he does, but when you pull at the waistband of his sweatpants, he takes your hand and slams it above your head with fingers interlocked.

Look how fun this is, Peter. Don’t you want to ruin her? Fuck her pretty little face?

Peter groans at the thought of you gagged with his cum, but he can barely fathom even taking out his cock yet. Well, he can, and although he’s thought about you like that, he doesn’t want to move too quickly. In contrast, his body seems to be moving faster than his brain.

He never thought you would want it as much as he does.

You whine when you feel Peter’s fingers creep under the waistband of your shorts and underneath your panties, immediately feeling your wetness. It pools into the fabric as he rubs your slit incessantly, making you mewl eagerly as Peter’s teeth suck on the skin of your jaw.

“F-fuck–,” you whimper, limp in his arms, preening to the feeling of his tongue on your clavicle.

You’re so fucking wet, he could devour you in one bite if he wanted to. He could make it painless for you, but that wouldn’t be fair, would it? You wouldn’t feel any of it, none of the agonizing pleasure that should build up between your thighs from his touch alone, and he wants to see it all over your face so fucking badly.

Do not tease us. We have an appetite to fulfill, don’t we?

I’m fucking getting there, hold on.

Sure, the monster in him wants to devour you, kill you, swallow you whole in a snap. But Peter wants to enjoy it. Wants to enjoy you. So he attempts to quiet the deep voice inside of him.

He still has your wrists bound in one large hand while his other grips your thighs hard, discarding your bottoms in the process. When he opens his eyes, he sees you splayed naked for him with a wanton expression on your face, nearly drooling.

He also sees that somehow, he’d taken off his sweatpants and boxers, hard cock swelled up and aching as it grazes your folds slowly.

Peter thinks he’d like to finger you, go down on you, and see how his touch makes electricity spark within your abdomen while your face contorts. He wants to see all your features twist into a sweet expression of pure pleasure, but he’s too fucking impatient. Maybe that’s the thing inside him speaking, so hungry and urgent that he can’t tell if he’s suppressing a being or his desires at this point.

He doesn’t know what currently guides his instincts. They’re all blinded, flooded by thoughts of you. As if there’s nothing else on Earth he could want, ever.

That could be true. It probably is. But that’s something he can unpack later.

For now, he can only be influenced by the sound of your voice begging his name. He swallows down the sound of it with his tongue in your mouth, drinking in your whimpers as he bites on your bottom lip.

“Please,” you beg, lifting your hips to meet his length desperately as you squirm underneath him. “Need it— need—”

“Need me, huh?” Peter rasps. He touches his forehead to yours, hands still clutching at your wrists above your head.

“Yes.”

“So fucking clingy,” he mumbles against your mouth. You arch your back at the mere feeling of his cock prodding against your wet folds and it drives him fucking insane.

For once, the voice inside his head is only yours. He feels grateful for it.

“Were you planning this the whole time, huh? Wanted me in your bed from the beginning, didn’t you? Admit it.” He’s all teeth when he taunts you. He wonders if you’d let him spit in your mouth if you weren’t so busy pouting.

“Y-yes.”

“So fucking cute,” he sneers. “Pathetic, too.”

You don’t recognize the wrath in his voice — it’s unlike him. Even when he’s been pissed off with you. But you don’t have it in you to question it, because the darkness in it sounds like silk and crushed velvet, and the feeling of his hot breath against your neck makes you want him even more.

In the darkness, Peter’s eyes look otherworldly. Dark and bottomless, the devil incarnate.

You moan his name once more and whiplash meets the senses.

With a shaking exhale, you take the stretch of him, all of him, wincing the slightest bit as he bottoms out. It stings until he slides out just to thrust himself back in again, the resolve blatant on your face as your mouth falls in surrender.

Usually, you’d be embarrassed. It takes a bit for you to let someone in like this so intimately, and even when you’ve done it with other men, you were at least a little intoxicated.

Right now, you’re merely blissed from drowsiness, borderline euphoric from Peter’s proximity. You wouldn’t be able to admit it out loud — you knew the sweet sounds falling from your mouth were enough. Even when Peter had first settled into your bed tonight while you were asleep, you subconsciously curled into him like a moth to a flame.

Peter cups your breast in his hand harshly to latch his mouth onto your nipple, sucking and biting just to hear you whine. He’s rougher than any lover you’ve had before, so you aren’t exactly sure if he’s being sadistic with the amount of teeth he’s using. The feeling of his canines against your flesh is like nothing you’ve felt before. You’d never thought it would be a feeling you would get so fucking addicted to.

He fucks into you harder now, pulling up your legs so that his large, calloused palms are bruising the skin of your thighs. One leg ends up hitched over his shoulder so that he can thrust into you from a deeper angle, one that makes your eyes roll back into your head.

“So fucking good for me– so fucking good–”

Your hips shake when Peter inevitably reaches your sweet spot while his hand that isn’t propping you up is focused on stimulating your clit. You’re fucking brainless, listening to his filthy praises.

“Peter! Aah– oh my god–”

He’s obsessed with the way you’re rendered speechless, how you’re lifting your hips just to meet his, how you’re so obedient when you whimper his name. He’s obsessed with you. He thinks this might be another dream.

Sloppily, he nibbles at your earlobe and laves his tongue from your jaw down to your throat as he fucks into you with ease. His pleasure is a rubber band about to fucking snap. Your hushed breaths and whines nearly tip him over the edge, especially when he can feel you sucking in him so tightly.

“Cum for me, fucking cum for me,” Peter growls. “I know you can do it, baby. Can feel you’re close.”

He’s more intense with his thrusts now that he’s trying to coax your release, and truthfully, he can feel himself following you right after.

“I’m– I’m gonna–”

Your voice falls into a staccato of moans that dissipate into Peter’s wet mouth. Your nails dig into his back as he nearly melts into your body.

His frantic thrusts begin to slow, his hips sloppy against yours as he groans against your neck. His mind is in such a frenzy that he thinks he might just devour you. It starts with his fingers wrapped around your throat. He revels in the sound of your voice choking on your moans.

Peter nearly smothers you with his hand over your mouth, while he bites incessantly at your neck and shoulder. The sweetness of your voice, desperate and wanton for him, is quickly replaced by something darker in his mind. A voice dormant inside him that awakens with the threat of contamination. He’s in his nightmare again, but with the aid of your body to remind him of bliss. Of power.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, fuckfuckfuck–”

His body is so fucking heavy on top of yours, suffocating you with his desire. His teeth bite down hard enough on the juncture of your neck to draw blood, and he ignores your cry. The frenzy of war and lust and intoxication in his head is too fucking much. It’s his own personal eclipse.

His warmth spills into you. He feels his cum in between your bodies, overflowing out of your soaked cunt and onto the bedsheets.

It takes a moment for Peter to notice that you’re crying. He knows it should hurt him. He knows he can’t stand the sight of tears flowing down your delicate cheeks because of him. But he doesn’t feel anything at all.

In a way, both of you are changed.

You had leaped off of a precipice the moment you let him into your bed.

Peter furrows his brows at your tear-streaked face, body stilling with shallow breaths. He cups your face in his warm hands and kisses you sweetly like a lover would and not a monster.

For some hellish reason, you kiss him back.

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defonottomholland · 2 months

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screams into the void

tumblr refuses to show my fic in the tags so i'm taking matters into my own hands

here's a link for the love of god

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defonottomholland · 5 months

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nonsense — pt 2 (s.jy)

SUMMARY: previously, jake asked you to teach him how to properly use his big dick. the lesson doesn’t exactly go as planned… PAIRING: bestfriend/roommate!jake x reader (afab) GENRE: smut (minors dni) WARNINGS: smut, size/bulge kink, dacryphilia, masochism/mentions of pain from penetration(?), unprotected sex (pls use protection) WORD COUNT: 1.9k A/N: sorry for the wait but it’s finally here, also apologies for the messy pacing and abrupt ending i seriously had no motivation to finish this lol

read part 1 here

You spent the next week on edge, tiptoeing around the apartment. A part of you hoped there wouldn’t be any awkwardness or tension after you practically pounced on him, crossing the barrier that best friends, and roommates especially, weren’t supposed to. But you were foolish to assume that once Jake came down from his high, he wouldn’t start avoiding you at all costs.

It was painfully obvious. He would come home late at night, only coming to the kitchen to eat while you were in the shower, and locking himself in his room until you left for class the next morning. You couldn’t help but assume he regretted what happened, and you felt an ugly twist in your stomach at the thought that he didn’t enjoy any of it, or worse, that you had pressured him into the act.

You were quietly cracking open the door to your bedroom, wanting to quickly grab something from the kitchen when the door to Jake’s room, directly across from yours, also opened. You stopped in your tracks, making brief eye contact with him before you were directing your gaze to the floor. If he hadn’t seen you, you probably would’ve closed the door and crawled back into your room.

The pounding of your heart was ringing in your ear. As much as you hated confrontation, you hated the idea of walking on eggshells around your own damn roommate and best friend. The least you both could do was talk it out, deem it a one-time mistake and try to forget about it. You took a deep breath and squeezed your eyes shut, leaning against the doorframe.

“Fuck it,” you breathed out. “About last week…”

“Yeah,” he was blurting out before you could even continue.

You were looking up at him now. He was fresh out of the shower, hair wet and towel wrapped around his neck. Droplets of water forming at the ends of his hair were beginning to fall beside his bare feet from his prolonged stance in the same position. He didn’t miss the way your eyes trailed along the veins that ran up his bare arms.

You tore your eyes away from his body to make eye contact with him, mentally cursing at yourself for feeling more and more turned on as the seconds passed. However, while you expected him to look anxious or flustered, you found him looking at you with an unreadable expression, almost similar to how he watched you last week, with you on your knees in front of him and his hands buried in your hair.

You were unconsciously rubbing your thighs together and shifting uncomfortably on your feet from his intense stare. A sudden wave of confidence washed over you before you were closing your own door and striding into Jake’s, pulling him with you by his bicep. The familiar lights from his PC gave you a sense of deja vu.

He tore your grip off him from behind you.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he whispered. You winced, thinking you had misread his intentions and were in the middle of making a fool of yourself.

Jake, on the other hand, was panicking over his inability to exert self control and how you’d react if you found out that he touched himself every night this week to the mental image of your pretty lips wrapped around him.

But it was Jake this time who was mouthing fuck it before he closed the gap between you, hands coming up to grab at the sides of your face and press his lips against yours. You audibly sighed into his mouth before you were a mess of tangled limbs in the sheets, clothes strewn in a trail leading from the door to his bed.

Jake tried his best not to ogle at your bare chest, instead looking down at his own cock, standing tall and proud against his abdomen.

You gaped, reminded of just how big he was.

Jake stopped his movements upon sensing your hesitance, wanting to make sure this was something you wanted and that he wasn’t overstepping any boundaries. He was kneeling on the bed, boxers thrown to the floor while you were lying flat, a pillow under your head.

“I, uh, I’ve never been able to get it in,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish look.

You threw your head back in laughter. “You mean, like, you couldn’t find her hole?” The thought of virgin Jake hopelessly struggling amused you, yet your heart softened at just how inexperienced he seemed.

He winced at your comment, softly chuckling as he shook his head. “No, like I could never fit it in with other girls before.”

Oh. You didn’t even realize that was an actual problem people had. Did that technically make him a virgin still?

You sat up on your elbows, heart racing at the implication. “What the hell makes you think I can take it, then?”

His eyes widened and he immediately shifted lower on the bed to pull at your underwear, ready to prep you. For some reason, he just assumed you’d be able to take him since you were experienced. He truly had no idea how big he was.

Your underwear was hooked just above your knees as he reached out, dragging two fingers up your folds to collect your arousal and bringing it to his lips. His tongue poked out the corner of his mouth as he licked at his digit, moaning in the process.

You pulled him by the wrist, his fingers reluctantly leaving his mouth. “What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna finger you first, needa stretch you out,”

“N-no, I can take it.”

“But you just said—”

“I said I can take it.”

The sudden thrill of a challenge, to see whether you were capable of taking all of him, sent a shiver down your spine.

He stared at the wet patch on the front of your underwear, running his index finger along it. “I wanna eat you out, though,” his lips in a pout. “You taste so good,” he was whining, eyes fixated on your glistening, leaking core.

Your heart did a somersault. “We have all the time in the world for that, Jake,” you couldn’t help but smile. “But I need you inside me— now,” you muttered, your expression quickly turning into one of sultry desperation.

“F-fuck, okay.”

His knees shifted forward as he aligned the head of his cock with your sopping cunt, pushing in at an excruciatingly slow pace. You feel like you’re being torn apart in the most delicious way, the stretch addicting and your mouth falls open at the sensation. You’re usually not great with pain, but you know it’ll all be worth it once Jake starts thrusting into you.

He finally bottomed out on top of you, a shaky breath releasing from his lips. You mentally thanked yourself for choosing this position, knowing very well that you wouldn’t have gotten this far if you were on top. Jake’s eyes were squeezed shut, a visible sheen of sweat across his forehead.

He was embarrassed to tell you directly, but with it being Jake’s first time, it was taking everything in him to not pull out and slam back into you. He wasn’t sure how long he could stay like this, your walls clamping onto him for dear life.

You swore you could feel him in your stomach. He was pulling out before you could complain, leaving just the tip in so he could compose himself and relieve some of the pain he assumed you were in. A whine left your lips, protesting as you hooked your legs around his waist and pulled him back inside you. He sobbed out a cry of your name, bottoming out again and hiding his face in your neck.

Your slick was doing wonders to aid his cock in and out of you. He licked and nipped between your collarbones as he kept a somewhat consistent pace, his cock nearly slipping out from your wetness each time he pulled back. Lifting his head from the crook of your neck, he peered down at you through hooded eyes, watching as you mumbled mindlessly.

“S-so full, mmph, need—ah, Jake, need you to fill me up, oh f-fuck y-yeah that’s it, harder!” Every word of yours was interrupted by a rhythmic, sharp thrust, causing you to inch back toward the headboard.

He chewed on his bottom lip, mesmerized at the sight of you falling apart on his cock.

“So perfect, such a perfect cock…” your voice came out in a purr. You were saying it mostly to yourself, yet Jake couldn’t help but moan out at how affected he was by your praise.

“Y/N, I-I t-thought you were gonna teach me, fuck,” he groaned, hips snapping at an increasing pace.

You shook your head, apologetic whines leaving your lips. There was nothing to teach him, at least nothing you could teach him in the state you were currently in.

The sight of you struggling, falling apart on his cock with tears of pleasure threatening to spill from the corner of your eyes, and the way your cries are beginning to sound more and more desperate brings him to full consciousness, awakening a sudden desire in him.

“Then take it back,” he grunted,

“Huh?” you were mumbling, eyes barely able to stay open.

“Take it back, what you said about not knowing how to use my dick,”

Your breath hitched at his sudden boldness and change of demeanor.

“Say it,”

You gulped down any remaining pride. “J-Jake, fuck, you’re so s-so good with your cock,” you whined. Technically, you were speaking the truth, but you liked it more when he didn’t know how good he was. You liked your boys a little dumb.

“I’m sorry, ‘n I-I take it back,” you mumbled. Jake let out a squeaky moan at your words. You removed your hands that were clawing at his back to pinch at your nipples while you squirmed under him, and he had to close his eyes again to keep himself from cumming.

His pace was faltering from his enthusiastic thrusts, completely lost in his own pleasure and your needy expressions. Reaching down to thumb at your neglected clit with the limited knowledge he had from previous experiences, he noticed a slight bulge against your skin.

You were writhing underneath him and he angled his hips upward with another experimental thrust, completely hypnotized by the view of his tip protruding right beneath your belly button. You let out a broken cry at the feeling, your climax building rapidly and waves of ecstasy washing over you as your walls spasmed from the combination of his fingers working against your clit and the weight of him pressing down on his bulge through your lower stomach.

Just as he was impressing himself at how long he’d managed to last, he’s being made aware of your notable size difference. It felt like he was filling you to the hilt with just half his cock pumping in and out of you. With one last clench around him as you began to come down from your high, he was spilling into you with a strained groan of your name, your tight cunt milking him dry.

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defonottomholland · 6 months

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#taylorswift #favcover #taylorswiftcover #tompetty #americangirl #americangirlcover

youtube

#SoundCloud #Youtube

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defonottomholland · 7 months

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angel unaware

ꨄ︎ pairing: peter parker x silk!reader

ꨄ︎ synopsis: you’ve known peter since you were fifteen, shortly after you were both bitten by the same spider. it was too obvious that you’d end up loving him. as you drift apart during your first year of college, you’re not sure how much longer you can keep dancing in circles with him.

ꨄ︎ genres: best friends to lovers, angst, idiots in love, slowburn, mutual pining, hurt/comfort

ꨄ︎ tags: rated explicit/18+ (smut), alcohol usage, mention of drug usage, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), characters are 19, mild violence, gun violence (there is a school shooting in the beginning but there aren’t too many details)

ꨄ︎ wc: 13.8k

ꨄ︎ notes: omg. happy valentine’s day y’all. i’ve been working on this Big Bertha for literal MONTHS and i’m so happy to finish it and share it with you. thank you for being around even though i haven’t been the most active; this is a gift to you <3

ꨄ︎ listen to the playlist!

The spider bit you first.

It isn’t until you’re fifteen that someone else finds out about it.

In many ways, you should’ve known. The symptoms, the hypervigilance, the strange, gradual transition of filling out your body. You blame puberty first, but this feels more than abnormal. It’s almost as if it’s bursting through your skin. The only other person who seems to mirror your coming of age is Peter Parker, whose twitchy nature exacerbates the longer high school goes on.

You keep your head low because there’s no reason for you to tell anyone about your powers. Not even the boy about whom you’re positive shares the same curse as you.

But then the videos come out. Red and blue lycra flying through buildings, a blurred figure saving cats from trees, webs shooting and swaying as onlookers stare like it’s a circus act. He calls himself Spider-man and you think it’s awfully corny.

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defonottomholland · 9 months

Text

The Hunting Ground (18+)

Dom!Tom Holland x sub!bratty!Reader

Summary: How else would you get adventure back into your life than to visit a speakeasy that's definitly not a kinky-cult-sex-club? Themes: EXPLICIT, BDSM and mentions of BDM, dom/sub, knife play, breath play, unprotect p in v, oral (fem rec.), orgasm denial, overstimulation w/c: 13k oops

a/n: it's late and it's 13k so I'll probs revisit another time whoops. apologies if writing gets sloppy.

MASTERLIST

“Come on. This has got to be a joke. This is the kinkiest cult shit I’ve ever seen.”

“Nope. Not a joke.”

“When I said I was looking for something exciting and adventurous, I didn’t mean a sex club!” You flippantly disregard the masquerade mask onto the couch, whilst your friend Danny, holds his elegantly in his hand as if it is the beholder of all his memories.

“It isn’t a sex club. It’s…an opportunity.” Danny’s lips twist into a smirk that wavers between sweet and sinful. That alone should’ve told you that his opinion on this ‘club’ was simply that. An opinion. A biassed one at that. The other thing Danny doesn’t account for is that opinions are subjective, interchangeable and while he sees his little kinky sex club as an opportunity, you see it more of a shameless hookup with cultic motives.

But you’re curious to hear how he can possibly sell this to you. “Oh yeah? An opportunity for what? Enlighten me.”

Your friend coyly swivels his hips playfully, that all too familiar bashful glow emanating from his olive cheeks. He leans gayly over the edge of the couch with his bottom lip snagged between his teeth, entrapped in his childlike manner and embracing his inner Princess Diaries by swinging his feet. He so desperately wants to say ‘to flirt with hot men and recklessly have sex with them with no strings attached’, but to your surprise, his answer is a little more profound and in-depth.

“To meet like-minded people who share similar interests. To embrace a community that doesn’t judge you for what you like, who…take you as you are. It’s actually very liberating.”

“Puh-lease! You threw that innuendo in there on purpose. Look. It’s a sex club. You meet up to have sex. That’s the common ground.”

“Oh my God, you speak about it like it’s a brothel and you couldn’t be more wrong. Okay, okay, I’ll admit, it’s a little provocative, but it’s not like some sex dungeon, it’s a speakeasy. There’s a bar, drinks, music, dancing, it’s totally chill. You don’t even need to have sex, it’s not a guarantee.”

You fold your arms, staring outwardly and chewing your lips as you mull over the possibility that it might not all be what you initially think it is. But the only way to prove otherwise is to go. Dammit you wish you weren't so curious.

“And…what’s this place called?”

Danny smiles contentedly. “The Hunting Ground.”

~~~~~

“Do I really have to wear this?” The flimsy black ribbon of the mask trickles through your fingers. The shell is midnight black with a faint covering of silver lace, embellished with enough sparkle to catch your eye under the streetlights. Ahead of you is what looks like an ordinary bar under the false name of The Playground. The tinted windows and low purple LED lights inside is a clever ruse to fool anyone who is none the wiser to believe that the mystery is revealed when you step inside, leaving no other incentive to keep exploring. However, hidden behind the facade of an ‘ordinary bar’ as confirmed by Danny, is the speakeasy. It’s quietly genius; it’s all hidden in plain sight.

“Yes, you have to wear it; it’s like a pass for entry into the club since it’s invitation-only. Plus, anonymity is kinda a thing here. Especially for newbies if they’re not too sure what they’re looking for. You get all types of people here. You’re bound to find someone who is yours.”

You roll your eyes as you tie the ribbon tightly around your head with a grunt, the thick plastic mask sitting squarely on the bridge of your nose. “Anonymity, sure. These things are as good a disguise as Superman putting on his glasses and all of a sudden he’s Clark Kent and completely unrecognisable.”

“Trust me. They do their job. Oh and one last thing.” Why is he smirking again? “Sub or Dom?”

“Come again?”

“What are you, Sub or Dom?”

You blink. “I don’t know. I don’t even know what that means.”

“God, you’re so vanilla--they’re, um…types of people.” Danny vaguely explains and purses his lips, thinking as he evaluates you. “Hmm, we'll stick to sub for now. When you get inside grab a white cup.”

“Fuck sake.”

You follow Danny down a poorly lit, narrow staircase and you get a sense of entering a restricted area, having it not as well decorated, but then you remember; it’s supposed to be secretive and unwelcoming to any wandering stranger. The staircase is quiet compared to the floors above you and below you, giving off a feeling of limbo, neither here nor there as the pounding of the bass-heavy music distorts your sense of direction. There’s two different songs playing and they blend into each other so well that you can’t quite tell what is coming from where, but the further you descend down the staircase, the more obvious it becomes. The floor above you is phased out when you come to a stone archway, lined with plum velvet curtains hanging at either side where wisps of vapour spill from the room. A fiery red spotlight casts a shadow where the words ‘The Hunting Ground’ are projected on the wall to welcome you. Danny stops you before you enter.

“And you told me this wasn’t a sex club,” you quip, motioning to the entrance to hell.

“Remember it’s just to socialise. Nothing needs to happen, okay? After a drink or two, you’ll start to loosen up and have more fun.”

You huff. “I’ll take your word for it.”

You take one step into the stuffy haze and instantly you feel the change in aura, perhaps because you know what people are here to do. Danny patiently waits with you as you soak in the sights, the smells, the heat and the very suffocating atmosphere of the room in front of you. A fine mist hovers in the air, just enough to hinder your view of anything further than 10 metres in front of you - probably intentional to hide the erotic acts in the corner - and only the blacklights and the dancing neon laser lights shoot through. Unlike the bar above, the music is slower and less adrenaline pumping, perfect to fulfil its purpose of enticing its listeners to socialise rather than all-out partying, but in effect, it makes you more nervous; how do you socialise with people you’ve never met? You bump shoulders with Danny is a quiet plea to stay close.

A few people within eyesight turn their heads as you enter in your sage green dress, making their judgements on you through the narrow slits of their masks, a symbol of membership to the club, identical to the one you wear. Under the cover of darkness, the masks do actually provide a sense of anonymity and you take back an earlier thought; what the hell are these masks going to hide? Everything apparently.

You decide not to linger around the entrance any longer for you feel that others can smell your hesitance a mile off. You make a B-line to the table adorning white cups, directly across the table that hold a much smaller number of black cups, and perpendicular to a table with grey cups. As soon as the rim of the cup touches your lips and alcohol sears your throat, you ease a little.

“God, I feel like I’ve just entered the mafia. Why is this place so stiff?”

Danny laughs inwardly. “Oh they’re stiff alright.” That earns him a swift elbow to the ribcage. “Ow!”

“You said this place was chill and judgement free.”

“It is--”

“Then why do I feel like I’m being victimised?”

For a fleeting moment, you catch Danny’s eyes flitting over to the white cup you hold in your hand, being quickly emptied by you. There’s obviously significance behind the white and black cups and you’re certain Danny knows why as he too picks up a white cup with conviction, but what significance they have is being purposely withheld from you.

It’s definitely a cult thing.

“They just want to get to know you. Give them a chance. It’s all with friendly intentions, I promise.”

“Uh-huh.”

Like Danny said, there’s all sorts of people here; men, women, and more situated around the room whether it’s standing in small clusters around a table or sitting in smaller, more private groups in booths. Few white cups, some grey cups, but black cups hold the majority. Some are dressed more provocative than you would ever dare where some keep their secrets to themselves. Those who begin dancing are booming with confidence, sashaying their hips while others simply observe with a glass of whisky in hand. Even hours into the night, you’re still pondering over the likemindedness of such a diverse group. There must be something that ties these people together, because every hour or so you catch a glimpse of couples' escapades, hand-in-hand as they disappear through another archway with a black curtain.

“I’ll be right back,” Danny murmurs into your ear.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m just going to catch up with a friend. I won’t be long. You can manage your own for a bit, can’t you?”

“Don’t think I have much of a choice.”

Danny quickly disappears into the smog and across the dancefloor, and by the time he reaches the bar, he’s out of your sight and anxiety creeps in. As ever, you find solace in the very alcoholic drink, quietly sipping away in a dark corner of the room.

Or at least you thought you were in the corner of the room…

The solid wall behind you suddenly swings open and you lose your balance, falling backwards into the void that has just opened up. Your heart leaps to your throat and your lungs flood themselves with oxygen to prepare for what you know will be a painful fall and the loss of your dignity. Inches from disaster, a miracle happens when two hands reach out to hook underneath your arms and break your fall, leaving you hovering over the floor until the stranger finds the strength to bring you back to your feet again. Sadly, there’s nothing to be done about your drink that puddles on the floor…

With a breath of relief, you quickly compose yourself, turning around to see that indeed the wall you were standing against was actually a door, and in that doorway now stands the masked stranger that saved you from your fall. He stands just a couple of inches taller than you, dressed in a black suit (it could be navy - it’s just so damn dark in here) but replaces the standard crisp, white shirt with a baby blue one, keeping it casual with undone buttons by his collar. You want to make more guesses of his appearance but this club’s obsession with anonymity is slowly becoming a nuisance.

“I’m so sorry, I really thought that was a wall.”

“No worries, it’s easily done.” His words are smooth and puckish, and you feel like he genuinely believes you when he places a gentle supporting hand against your back.

“Right? Especially with a place like this, I mean, would it hurt to turn up the lights even just a little bit?” An innocent laugh escapes you but the second you see his lips parting in what you can only assume is disbelief, you instantly feel like you might’ve crossed a line. His hand drops and sinks deep into his pocket. So much for no judgement…

“Well, we could but most members here know there’s a door here.”

Caught.

He doesn’t watch for your reaction as he picks up the empty white cup from the floor, long, slender fingers holding it tightly while he studies it for a moment and the corners of his lips tug a little before settling it on a nearby table. You’re still not privy to the colour codes and their meanings, and something itches inside of you when you see this stranger turn to you with a knowing smirk on his face. Because he knows.

He folds his arms, muscles defined in the tight squeeze of his blazer and stands stoically before you. “You’re looking a little lost, newbie.”

“I’m just waiting on my friend Danny. He’s the one who brought me here. I don’t know why to be honest. I don’t really think this is my kind of scene.”

The stranger tilts his head curiously. “How so?”

You snort. Isn’t it obvious? “I mean the mask thing is a little weird. And the segregation of cups? What the hell is that all about? Like, I’m always down for something different but the anti-religion cult vibes just isn’t doing it for me. I haven’t been here that long and already I’ve had so many daggers from people that I just can’t tell whether they want to kill me or eat me.”

“Oh my God, you really have no idea, do you? Tell me then, if this place doesn’t suit your majesty’s preferences, why are you still here?”

This stranger doesn’t need you to take off your mask to know that there’s a scowl taking over your features. Affronted, you decide to mirror him, folding your arms and delivering his own stinking attitude back to him.

“Cut the sass. You asked me a question and I answered it. If you listened, you would’ve heard me say that my friend brought me here. Said that if I was looking for something exciting and adventurous I should come here, but I’m not seeing either. Anyway, what does it matter to you?”

“Careful, newbie. Some people here don’t take too kindly towards being spoken to like that. It can get you into a lot of trouble, unless you’re searching for it, in which case, Danny was right to bring you here. And tell him he should’ve put a straw in your drink too.”

You’re so fed up with these innuendos. “I don’t even know what that means!”

The stranger takes a step forwards and brushes your shoulder with his. You hold your breath as he leans down close to your ear and murmurs words that sound like a threat. A shiver descends down your spine. “Ask him to explain it. Tell him that Tom told him too.”

Your stance stays strong as the stranger sweeps past you in an obtrusive manner without a word to spare. Finally out of sight, you give in to the urge to roll your eyes and scoff with as much conviction until satisfied, having suppressed it in front of that stranger. You’re never one to be so outwardly rude to someone, but unless it’s warranted, then by all means, give them hell.

The interaction has somewhat soured your mood, and considering that this place has yet to prove any of Danny’s claims of what a ‘friendly, non judgemental’ place this is, you might make the move to leave. You’ve been here long enough and you doubt that the fun has yet to come.

Not three steps towards your leave, you’re stopped by Danny emerging from the smog like a phantom. “Oh hey! You’re alive! See? I told you’d be fine.”

“Yeah, not fine, Danny. Don’t leave me ever again.”

“Such a drama queen. Where’s your drink?”

“Spilled it almost falling over. By the way, what do the colours on the cups mean? Some guy ‘Tom’ said that you were to tell me what they mean.”

His smile drops and hangs ajar, eyes wide as he processes the words, the name you’ve just invoked. “Tom--did you just say Tom?”

“Yes, why? He also said that you should’ve put a straw in my drink too. Danny, for the love of God, what the fuck does that mean?”

Annoyingly, he ignores your last question. “What did you say to him?”

Danny devotes all of his attention to you as you recount the interaction from beginning to end, sure not to leave any details out. As your friend, all of your expectations are placed on him taking your side in it all, but with each word you spill, he cringes further and further into himself.

“Then I told him to cut the sass--he was being so rude to me!”

“Oh you have got to be kidding me!” You’re struggling to understand why your friend has descended into a fit of laughter, creasing over until he can no longer catch his breath. It’s great that he’s finding it so hilarious that he can’t even seem to straighten himself up to give you an answer, but what’s even better is that you can’t even begin to imagine how many people are witness to Danny descending into mania while you stand with your arms folded, a slack jaw and a look that could kill. And even if some can’t see it, they can bloody well hear it. “I cannot believe you said that to him!”

“Danny, I don’t have time for this. If you don’t tell me at least something, I’m leaving.”

“Wait, wait, wait, sorry, I’ll tell you, okay? I��ll tell you.” After wiping the tears from his eyes, he latches onto your arms and pulls you into his side, directing you to look out at the room before you. “Okay, so you remember the question I asked you before we came in? About being a sub or a dom?” You nod. “The cups are representative of that. White for sub, black for dom. Grey if you don’t particularly have a preference. They’re sometimes called switches.”

“Okay, but what does sub and dom actually mean?”

“They’re just abbreviations. Submissive or Dominant if you want to be proper. They define what a person likes to be in the bedroom. Dominants are usually controlling, they like to manipulate and gain pleasure from using submissives in whatever way they like. Submissives gain pleasure from being controlled, from being told what to do and will usually go through extreme measures to satisfy their doms, and in lieu, themselves. For example, see over there?” Danny points to a booth of what looks like two guys sitting on either side of a girl. They are shadowing over her, running fingertips up and down her leg whilst she sits bashfully in the middle. “Two doms and a sub.”

You look to another area of the room and in the corner you see a woman, dressed in the tightest latex corset you could imagine, and she looks fucking amazing in it. Full of luscious curves. Her confidence is striking as she walks with her head high like she owns everything in the room. She somehow makes picking up a black cup look sexy, drinking from it until it’s empty but inexplicably doesn’t swallow. With her puffed cheeks, she grabs the face of a man who kneels beside her, opening his mouth—“Oh my God!” The words spill from your lips as you watch the woman spit her drink into the man’s mouth, swallowing with glee in his eyes.

“Anyone can be sub or dom. That’s why the cups make it so much easier to identify who’s who and cuts out all the small chat bullshit in between.”

Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. This is a fucking sex club. “But how did you know I was going to be a sub?”

“I just guessed. It takes a certain confidence and skill to know how to be a dom, and no offence honey, but I don’t think you’d be a good dom.”

“And the straw?”

“Signifies a bratty sub. A sub who likes to be controlled but also loves the fight against it. Anything to piss their dom off.”

“Hold on. A brat?! Who the fuck does this Tom guy think he is? He’s talked to me for no more than five minutes and he calls me a brat?”

“Shhh!! Shut up!!! Oh my God!!” He hurriedly ushers you away from prying ears and you feel a sort of trepidation when he looks around cautiously. “Honey, you know I love you and I care for you but you have seriously fucked up to the point where I literally cannot protect you from what’s about to happen.”

“What? How?”

“Tom’s the owner of this place.” He’s trying to hold in his laughter again. “And you just stood there and insulted everything about his club to him--oh my GOD you are so dead. I’m weak just thinking about it.” Had he not been squealing and bouncing on his tip-toes in a nervous but weirdly excited way, you probably would’ve taken Danny’s warning a little more seriously. In Danny’s overly-dramatic fashion, his translation of ‘dead’ just means that you’re only slightly in trouble.

“So what, he’ll probably just kick me out.”

“You better wish that’s what he’ll do because Tom is a capital D-O-M and is a stickler for obedience. He has everyone, sub or dom, address him as sir. It’s like one of his rules.”

“Sir? Really? Are we back in school?”

Your own mocking laughter is the last thing you hear before a voice creeps up behind you, settling deep into the canals of your ear and shocking you into a small but powerful fright. “We can be if you like. At least then I can teach you a lesson or two about how to respect me, newbie.” The way his voice instantly scorches everything inside you is mildly terrifying. It’s the mixer in your soup of emotions; trepidation, anxiety, curiosity, exhilaration, anticipation, swirling together in the pit of your stomach.

You and Danny’s eyes are locked in a stupor, both of you donning guilt-ridden, colourless faces. You think it wise to follow Danny’s lead in not speaking, not moving because only he knows the repercussions that you face. Besides, if you listened to what your brain initially told you to do, you would be in a lot more trouble.

A wordless plea twinkles in your eye and your heart plummets when you see your friend respond with tightly pursed lips and a subtle shake of the head.

“Next time you bring your friends, Danny, I would expect you to inform them on how to conduct themselves around me. You should know better.”

“Sorry, sir.” Danny’s voice wobbles. Fucking wobbles. Loud and proud Danny, centre of attention on the worst of days, always one to speak his mind and is never afraid of judgement, and now he’s…scared.

“Now go. Justin’s waiting for you.” The unfamiliar person Danny has become swiftly brushes past you with no more than a final apologetic look and disappears further into the centre of the room. A certain desperation keeps your eyes on him for as long as you possibly can until you eventually accept your defeat, standing here alone with Tom stalking very close behind you. You notice his shadow standing just on the coast of your peripheral, lurking.

After an excruciating silence, Tom eventually murmurs into your ear, just the edges of his mask skimming the side of your hairline.

“Follow me to my office. We need to have a chat about rules.”

“Okay,” you breathe.

Sure enough the door you nearly fell through enters the hallway leading to his office. It’s well lit, spotlighting the framed memorabilia on the wall and you almost choke a gasp when you see what they contain. Whips, paddles, cuffs, chains, anything of an erotic nature is framed, dated and hung on these walls in plain sight. Tom catches a glance of your awestruck eyes from over his shoulder, smirking wickedly. Little do you know that that isn’t even half of his collection.

He enters the office first leaving you to nervously trail in behind him.

“Sit.”

The tickle of velvet feathers your bare thighs, knees already knocking together while Tom takes a stand behind his desk, underneath the low-intensity spotlight that shines down on him from above. Your eyes skate over his features the second he unties his mask, shadows hugging every sharp angle from the crook of his brow bone to the contour of his cheeks. Holy fuck. Your knees lock tighter together.

“Mask off.” It falls to your lap. When you look back up at him, you see that he doesn’t bother hiding how he takes in every inch of you and it makes the burn of his stare even more obvious. “What do you know already?”

“Um, not much. Danny told me about the masks, Doms and Subs, the thing about the cups, addressing you as ‘sir’ and…” you clear your throat, a previous anger returning, “having a straw in my cup.”

“Ah, so he explained it to you, did he?” Fuck, even his grin is perfect.

You bite your gums, eyes averting. “Wish he didn’t.”

A piercing whistle rings in your ear, short and sharp in the small, panelled office causing an audible wince. “Oi, eyes up here.” Did he just whistle at you? “I’m going to handle this very delicately because you’re new, but if you keep testing my patience then I won’t even give you the chance to back out.”

What the fuck.

“Since your friend failed to explain the rules, I’ll have to do it instead. This is my private establishment and I expect anyone who enters it to follow my rules, including newbies like you. Rule number one: respect. Respect for me, respect for others, respect for the property. Simple, yes?”

“Yes.” His eyes widened slightly, “sir.”

Tom begins to circle around his desk, nearing you. You tuck your feet in underneath the chair as he leans against the desk a foot in front of you. “Rule number two: boundaries. Boundaries must be set by every individual and must be adhered to by every individual. That includes things they consent to and things they don’t consent to, and safe-words should be agreed to and abided by also. Yes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And I know you know rule number three.”

But does he know that you also hate rule number three? Grinding your teeth together, you bite back his answer. “Yes. Sir--” Before you’re able to utter another syllable from your lips, Tom has your cheeks in the pinch of his fingers, pulling you from your seat until you’re just a breath away from his own. Despite the circumstances of your racing heart and your throbbing cheeks, you come to realise that Tom has brown eyes, that his suit is really black, that he has one strand of hair that curls against the rest. Shit. You’re really dipping your toes into muddy water here.

“See this fucking attitude of yours? Drop it. If you’re really so eager to talk, you’ll tell me what it is you want out of this. And know that before you start speaking, you’re on your last warning.” Thankfully, his grip loosens but it doesn’t disappear completely. Keeping you just as reigned in as before, his fingers sink to the curve of your chin and curl around it gently. It’s hypnotising enough that it coaxes you into spilling the truth.

“A little bit of excitement and adventure. Danny suggested I could find it here. So I came to find out for myself.”

“And?”

“I’m…not sure yet.”

“We can certainly offer what you’re looking for, but it depends what kind of adventure you want to take. Do you want to explore or do you want to experience?”

“What’s the difference?”

Tom drinks in your curiosity, content with a quirk to his wet lips. All is silent in his sound-proof office, the beat of your own heart thundering in your ears and it’s the only thing you can tune into while the incredibly intimidating man in front of you sadistically drags out each and every second. “We can start off slow, test your endurance and your tolerances, discover your likes and dislikes, introduce new things one at a time, a soft start over a number of weeks.”

“...Or?”

His pupils dilate. “Everything all at once. A full session, right here, right now. Thrown in right at the deep end. No restrictions and I get full control. An experience to say the very least.”

You gasp and the breath gets stuck in your throat. As the idea is spoken into words, you can’t help but picture everything you saw in the hallway, the whips, the paddles, the chains, the ludicrousy of them ever being used as sources of pleasure and begin to feel yourself being overwhelmed. Albeit, the rebellious side of you plagues you with the mentality of saying ‘fuck it’ and trying it anyway, its voice ringing with the sound of your youth; willing to try everything, to say that you were brave enough to try it, to run away from the boring life of always saying no because you just weren’t sure. You might even find that it’s something you like…

“What do you say?” He whispers with the small coaxing of his thumb gracing over your pout. “And don’t leave it up to me. I think you know what I would prefer.”

You take a breath, cheeks already flushing knowing what’s to come. “I…I want the experience.”

He doesn’t move aside from his lids opening a fraction wider. “Say it again. To be sure.”

“I want the experience.”

A slow, salacious moan sings through his sigh, his breath crashing against your skin like a wave. “Mmmm, I was so hoping you would say that. I’ve been wanting to put this brat back in her place all…night…long. Now I can. All. Night. Long.” Warmth encircles your neck and you realise that his hand has completely captured your throat, controlling every breath you breathe. You desperately try to whimper but even then, all your sounds are clamped down by him. Sensing danger, your own hands reach for his wrist as he pushes you back against the spine of the chair and shadows over you with fire in his eyes. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Safe word?”

“Err…” You don’t have one. You’ll have to make one up. What did you have for dinner last night? “Pasta.”

Tom chuckles but accepts it. “Pasta it is.”

When your one and only chance to speak is taken, Tom quickly readjusts his grip on your throat again, closing it off until your skin is tinted red with exertion. He sinks low, invading your space until there’s nothing but him in your darkening sights, until his lips skim the tips of yours.

“I’ve been wanting to get my hands on you all night. Do you have any idea how hard it was to keep that urge at bay? So fucking hard. I knew you were a newbie, but fuck, you were so fucking rude. You know, you never even thanked me for helping you up earlier. Instead, you chose to insult my club and my customers, and when you do that, you insult me. That doesn’t fly with me and something will need to be done about that mouth of yours.”

You gasp erratically, fighting for breath and his vendetta against you refuses to relent. Just as blackness consumes your vision, just as you're hanging on the precipice of consciousness, he finally relieves the tension and you gulp down air like it’s your drug, your lifeline. Almost simultaneously, Tom thrashes his lips against yours, seizing back whatever oxygen you just gained in a vicious attack. His tongue slips in almost too seamlessly, brushing against your own and tasting every inch he can reach.

From one method of suffocation to another. With his hand no longer occupied at the base of your throat, you find it clamped to the roots of your hair, keeping you detained as he forcefully kisses and licks every part of your mouth, barely leaving any time to breathe. It isn’t painful as such, but god damn it’s overwhelming. The small squeak of struggle easily gets swallowed up by him and he growls for more. In time, another is drawn out but this time it's the result of Tom’s other hand pulling down the neckline of your dress and finding your tits, pinching and squeezing with a passion that’s guaranteed to leave behind a bruise. To say you completely underestimated what the experience is and how little prepared you are for it, is under-statement of the fucking century.

He really isn’t shy, is he?

Minutes go by and you’re losing sensation in your swollen lips and Tom can sense that too; you become lethargic, sloppy and out of control but that’s exactly what Tom is waiting for. He can feel the plumpness of your lips as he drags them out slowly between his teeth, perfect to have wrapped around his cock.

He stands to his tallest, your hair still tight in his grip. “Do you have anything to say to me?”

“I’m…I’m sorry, sir.”

“What else?”

“Th-thank you for helping me up, sir.”

“There’s actually one thing you should know about me,” he murmurs darkly. “If someone is apologising or thanking me, I expect them to show their regret or their gratitude to me. Usually on their knees. That way, I know they mean it.”

“And if I don’t?” You are genuinely curious.

A shadow casts over his face, eyes glowering at your words. He clenches his jaw so tightly that you have to remind yourself to unclench yours out of fear. In quiet, articulated words, he provides you with the first piece of insight of what kind of night lies ahead of you. “I will fuck you and edge you against this desk until you are spent of every piece of sanity that keeps your bratty brain together. Even if you beg, even if you are crying out for release, I will not stop until you are nothing but my cum-filled slut.”

“Fucking hell,” you whimper quietly, but he hears it all the same.

“I would think very carefully about your next words, newbie, or you’re going to become very familiar with my temper.”

Hey, you said you were up for the experience…right?

It takes just a fraction of your lips to curl into a smirk for Tom to realise your motives. Provoked by just the smallest of your smiles, he runs his tongue along the lining of his cheek. He can’t quite tell if he’s insulted or pleased, regardless, the result of either is the same; he will have you reduced to absolutely nothing if his life depends on it. After all, he doesn’t allow insults to run dry on him, he snuffs them out as soon as possible and that’s the lesson you need to learn.

“Don’t fucking do it,” he warns one last time. How generous of him.

The air is tight and feverish, and so very, very quiet. Until…”Fuck. You.”

Your words trigger a pregnant pause, leaving just enough time to hear a pin drop before something sinister happens. A cacophony fills the room: the wooden scraping of the chair legs as Tom yanks you from it, the squeal and the grunt that marry together, the clutter of objects as they fall from the desk to the floor, the resounding thump as your body mercilessly collides with the wooden desk and subsequent the yelp of pain to be heard by no one other than Tom.

The brute’s groping hands impatiently tug at your dress, whipping it up to sit around your torso and the moment your ass is exposed to him, he wastes no time to drill his hips into yours in a desperate bid to split your legs wider and keep you still. The sweltering heat of your cunt seeps onto his trousers and, even contained, his cock feels it all. The harder he pushes to force you down, the harder the edge of the desk cuts through your pelvis, and the longer you stay there, the louder your pleas become. And every second of it all is like heroin to him. This is his high.

Tom rips your underwear from you, the thin material reduced to rags in seconds and just as quick, they become your bindings. With your hands now tied behind your back by the remains of your wet thong and your head smothered against the wooden surface, you are unequivocally oppressed.

“Stay there, and don’t move.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t bother trying that shit with me. You’re too late. You’ve already made your decision to be a brat, so I’ll fuck you like one.”

The recognisable sound of chain links clinking together stops your heart dead in your chest. “Wait, what are you doing?” You try to shimmy a look over your shoulder to take a peak, but you can’t see Tom crouching down behind you.

“Extra precaution.” Cold metal tightly hugs your ankles, grinding away at your bone with every tug. There’s little room to move, you can barely bend your knee without causing yourself harm. You didn’t want to believe it, but the reality is true: he’s chaining you to his desk.

“No fucking way.”

“Yes way. This is what you asked for.” He leans down to leave a patronising kiss to the shell of your ear, unbinding your hands and placing them exactly where he wants them, gripped to the edge of the desk beside your head. Not chained, but the wordless warning to keep them there is evident in the squeeze to your wrists. You’re almost crucified to the desk. It’s enough to make your sweltering body shiver. “And I’ll gladly provide.”

Without warning, he spits into your ass and stops to watch it trickle down to your clit with hunger ruining his patience. He collects it with deft fingers, spreading it through every lip of your cunt, all the way back to gloss your puckered hole. You can feel every movement of his whether feathered or anchored, following the path of his fingers from your asshole to your clit and back again, only stopping to teasingly circle your entrance. He repeats it over and over and over again until you’re leaking with your own slick, glistening underneath the singular spotlight and the fire of Tom’s eyes. It’s tantalising. Worse yet because you can’t move to stop him. You’re stuck with a burning cheek pressed against the desk and your hands trapped under what feels like Tom’s invisible reins.

“Look over to my clock and tell me what time it is.”

“It’s 11:57pm.”

“Good to know.”

By 11:59pm he has you teetering towards the edge of your first orgasm with as little as two fingers and a thumb violating your cunt. By the turn of a new day, he has you wishing you had just said sorry and meant it.

“Such a tight little pussy.” He groans behind you, littering small kisses along the base of your spine and your ass. His two fingers enter you again, anchoring down on the spot that winds you up so perfectly, stroking it with the curl of his knuckle and just when you both sense the coil tightening, he picks up speed and power. Anxiety and excitement broil in your stomach.

“Oh God, f-fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He already knows this. He doesn’t need you telling him. In fact, he’s familiarised himself with the quivering of your thighs, the shaking of your body and already, he knows exactly when to stop. “No! Fuck!” You grieve over the loss of your climax quietly with a small groan laced with heavy breaths.

His gruff, irritated voice buzzes straight down your ear, vibrating with impatience. “You will take what I give you. And you will thank me for it.”

The voice that spills from your lips is hardly recognisable. Whining, winging and moping, you don’t quite understand where the grovelling came from and how it took over, but you can’t find it in you to stop it.

“Thank you, sir.”

And just like that, the routine starts again and without a doubt, the result is the same.

Muscles ache, bones shaking, you feel yourself teetering on the edge of liquifying here on his desk. Alas, Tom possesses the ability to keep you solid like no other man has, keeping you somewhat stable and conscious enough to make you feel every last drop of his torment. No matter what sweet relief you feel when he gently massages your cunt, it’s completely forgotten about the moment he slaps the back of your thighs for moving your hands one centimetre out of place. And just like that, you’re back in the room.

When Tom painfully edges you for the sixth time, he asks you to read the time again. The digits of the numbers have blurred since the last time you checked, but you can just make them out. “It’s 12:32am”

He smirks. “Good to know. Fuck, look at the mess you’re making on my floor.” A flat palm smacks against your cunt, seizing at the stimulation. Your thighs beg to squeeze together, anything to build up some friction to tame the urge but the chains rattle beneath you, keeping you contained.

He tames the fire with the lick of his fingers that curl eloquently onto your clit and swivels it around in circles in the same, insatiable manner as before. At first, you think he’s going to build you up again like he has done for the last thirty-something minutes and you’re not so sure that your mind and body can take the strain, but you feel the pressure of his other hand anchoring down onto your back, pressing your stomach flat against the wooden desk and eliminating any chance you have of escaping. Not that you had any before, but Tom’s a man of guarantee rather than possibilities.

It’s new and the prospect that he might allow to cum reignites the exhilaration in your core.

Effortlessly, he sets your nerves on fire, plucking every one with overstimulation and you're on the cusp of the well-desired orgasm that you’ve waited for for what seems like all night. You writhe so desperately for it that your pebbled nipples are starting to chafe underneath you.

Tom’s maniacal laugh drifts into your ears, his lips pressing soft, tender kisses against your ear and your neck. “What do you want?”

You open your mouth and moans spill out, not the words of an answer. He continues to ruin you anyway. “I want…I want to cum. Please!”

“So you don’t want my forgiveness? You’d rather cum instead? So fucking selfish of you.”

He rips his fingers from you and the sensation is lost. “NO!”

“Yessss.”

~~~~~

You still haven’t came yet. How the fuck have you not been allowed to cum in all the pleasure Tom’s fingers and teasing words have granted you? He hasn’t allowed you to move either leaving all of your muscles, joints and sanity aching against the stiff wood as you remain prisoner to his chains. And as his prisoner, all of your self-control has been stripped from you. With your eyes closed, voice gone, mind vacant, Tom decides to finally, finally, re-evaluate the situation.

And by re-evaluate, you mean change position.

Now unchained, he forces you to lie on your back and you’re thankful that the desk is long enough to support your head, because when you are being punished with extremities, the littlest things can be a saving grace.

“Tell me the time.”

You look over, Tom catching a glint of your red cheeks and the imprints of the wooden grain etched into your skin. “It’s…it’s 1:23am.”

He grins wickedly, licking his lips, and with a smooth wink, he replies. “Good to know.”

“Please, Tom.” The crack is your voice is liquid gold in Tom’s ears and with his hands skating over your thighs, he hears what you have to say. “I’m so sorry about earlier. I am…so sorry. Please--I…I can’t take it anymore.”

“What is it you want?”

“I want your forgiveness. Please, sir.”

He sees it. He really does; the desperation in the tear that leaves your eye, the look of absolute surrender donning your features in fear that he won’t accept your apology, and even in the way your body warms at his touch tells him that there’s nothing else that you desire. That’s the part he loves most and the main attraction for his dominant tendencies; the moment when the bad turn good. When they’re at such a loss with their original intentions that they have no other option but to surrender and submit. From brazen words to pitiful pleas. From bratty attitudes to willful compliance. From ‘fuck you’s to ‘thank you’s. When that switch is pulled, that’s when Tom knows he’s won.

He holds your legs dearly in his hands, your swollen cunt perched directly in front of him as he crouches to the floor. It’s red, puffy and glistening in the light, screaming out to be touched, filled and ultimately freed of the orgasm that is running ragged inside.

He eases the slight quiver in your thighs with a grounding kiss, powerful enough to emboss just the traces of teeth marks onto your skin.

“What a good girl you’ve become.” The same kiss is planted on your other thigh, just a hint closer to your crying cunt. “I’ll tell you another thing about me,” he whispers, feeling the softness of your skin against his lips. “I don’t just dominate and manipulate people, I manipulate pleasure too. I control it. I can stop it from happening, but sometimes I can be in the mood to make sure it never stops happening.”

You take a breath and hold it. The anticipation of what’s about to happen savagely ruins your mind that you just can’t settle your pulse, and even if you try to slowly release that breath, you realise that it is all in vain. Your heart still positively thunders in your chest.

“And guess what, sweetheart?”

Traces of your voice weakly spill out. “What?”

“I’m in that exact mood.”

Tom doesn’t waste a second before his tongue is licking a fat, wet strip up the centre of your cunt and completely destroys your sanity. It’s slow, meticulous in its travels as it covers every inch of you from your hole to your clit and your body involuntarily searches for more. It’s like a wave, rolling over your cunt before crashing into the bundle of nerves at the end. Your cries vibrate through your body, all to be felt by Tom when his lips tightly seal around your cunt, suffocating it with the heat of his mouth and the lashings of his tongue. It’s incredibly enthralling; being constantly aware of every small minuscule change in direction. From thrusting into your hole with tenacity to swirling tightly around your clit in a frenzy, there’s no telling what he’ll do next.

Your body drips with sweat and you can’t decide if it’s from all the involuntary squirming upon the table or if it's the fire within, being fuelled by Tom’s uncontained lust. There’s a small explosion waiting to happen inside you, and Tom holds the detonation trigger.

“Holy fuck.”

“Mmmmm.”

With his head buried beneath your thighs, his hands blindly roam your body. They descend down your thighs and over the valleys of your hip bones, shaping the contours of your waist before feeling the grooves of your ribcage as they expand with each pant you breathe, until he finds your tits, groping and pinching where he can. In both of your minds though, his hands are an afterthought, especially when his gorgeous mouth is massaging your pussy so rhythmically, moving against you like a ship on a wave.

“Ohhhh my God,” you whimper, feeling the burn in your abdomen descend deeper and deeper towards your cunt. You’re so close it hurts. Your legs start to twitch closer together.

“Legs open,” he mumbles. “And look at me. Look at who’s got you shaking.”

You cast your eyes downward, unblinking as he sucks and pulls at your cunt with his lips, making what you think to be the most salacious, delicious sounds a man could make while eating you out.

“F-fuck. Tom, please—.”

Tom’s dark lashes lift, lids heavy as he stares at you with such forbidden intentions that it’s enough to make you shiver. Neither of you break the connection and you think it might just be the final nail in the coffin. With a deathly snarl, he claws at the back of your thighs, lifting them until they are pressed harshly against your chest and pans all of his attention, mind, body and soul into forcing you to cum. You sob as his tongue darts out, abusing your clit in all directions and it slingshots you directly towards the climax you have been aching for.

“Tom!”

With a final flick of his tongue, you crash into your orgasm. It immediately wreaks havoc on your system and splinters your sanity completely, so much that you can’t tell whether you're ascending or crumbling right here on his desk. Your lips part to scream, but your consciousness is shattered into a million pieces and your voice is lost. Wood creaks as your nails dig into the edge of the desk, white-knuckled and numb with a grip so tight you swear you feel your bones begin to bend under the strain.

Like he promises, Tom doesn’t stop. Despite being trapped between your thighs, despite the wriggling and writhing, your pleas and desperate whispers, Tom doesn’t stop. Not for one second.

Every flick of his tongue is more intimate than the last, plucking at your nerves so harshly, nerves that are already pulsing and in need of mercy. Regardless, Tom remains kneeling, feasting on you like you are his last meal, last drink, last breath he’ll ever take.

Swimming through the pain, you come out of the other side to find another climax already waiting, just seconds from bursting as drastically as the first one. With one final pleading look to Tom, his dark eyes swallow you whole, subliminally telling you that he’s more than ready to keep this cycle going for as long as he deems necessary.

Mercilessly, his lips seal around your cunt, tongue slithering itself straight deep into your entrance, still not yet satisfied with what he’s tasted all ready. You’re so wet, and with Tom’s constant laving and licking he only just adds to the mess that he spreads with his hands to your thighs until the glossy sheen catches your eyes. The sparkle of it makes you truly realise for yourself just how aroused he has made you, the sight so alien from your own eyes. No man has ever worn you down like this before. It’s…unnerving. Only because you’re not sure if this is supposed to be what it’s like.

As another orgasm explodes, your body shudders violently on the table, his hands digging themselves into the crooks of your knees being the only thing to keep you from completely wriggling away. Your head collapses against the desk and gives way to a desperate whimper. It isn’t cute, it isn’t coy or coquettish like what you’ve heard before in porn or films. It’s raw, painful and very, very real.

It never seems to end. You’ve lost the ability to determine when one climax ends and when the next starts.

By the fifth time - at least, you think - he claims yet another, an hour later, you break.

After his torture renders you thoughtless, mindless and perhaps a tad vacant, your instincts quickly take over. Your hands whip from the silent hold he had on them and swing down to push Tom’s head full of curls away from your aching cunt while it still throbs through the orgasm. He grabs your wrists, far too quickly for your liking. Tom watches your every movement through his brows, still latched onto your clit, giving nothing away of the disapproval you know he would be demonstrating had he not been so adamant in eating every particle of you. “Please,” your hoarse voice scratches your throat, sounding nothing like you. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll do anything, please--ah, fuck--it’s too much.”

Slowly, deathly slowly, Tom’s lips detach from you, finally granting you freedom, salvation, relief. Yet he just can’t resist recoiling every other second for just one last taste, one last swift lap of his tongue from entrance to clit in one clean strip. The moment all touch detaches from you, your thighs swing close, nursing the pulse that squeezes at your abused clit, taming the orgasm as it flickers its last flame.

“Fucking hell,” you pant. “You truly are a sadist.”

Tom only chuckles, deep, dark, leaking from lips soaked in your slick. It rumbles straight to your core. “Tell me the time, sweetheart.”

Bleary eyes lazily drag themselves over to the clock and after a few blinks, the numbers sharpen. “It’s 2:38am.”

His fingers tickle up your shin, tracing circles around your knee. “So, so good--” you gasp, darting to catch his hand before it sinks between your thighs. He smirks, “--to know.”

Your sadist allows you just one minute, you know because he counts it, to cool down and let your body reset; a glass of water, a clean rag and a comfy seat, unshackled and dressed. He also very calmly warns you as he sheds his blazer and unbuttons his cufflinks, rolling his sleeve up his tanned, muscular arm, that although it’s very late into the night, traipsing on the verge of closing, that you still have a long night ahead of you.

A small breath narrowly slips from your lips while you hold his stare. You can’t even dwell on the gravitas of the situation, not risking spending the valuable seconds of your - likely - only cool down. So you bite your lip, sit yourself down and quietly regain your energy.

Your heart beat doesn’t slow as quickly as you want it to. The exhilaration doesn’t leave your system either, stuck in a perpetual cycle of replaying all that had just unfolded.

You force your way through a breathing exercise sitting on the chair he originally placed you in, facing forward, blocking him out behind you because you know that one look at him and he would detonate all that you had worked to subdue. Once calm, the tether between mind and body reconnects and there’s one thing that screams down the line.

Filled with pleasure, yet still feeling empty. Yet to be fucked.

Tom alerts you that your cool down has come to an end as he saunters out of the dark corner behind you. It felt like barely a second. He had watched you the entire time, eyes roaming your figure, how it shook, how it quivered, how you barely managed to stand on your own two feet as you jumped from the desk, body scorching with the heat from your core. You were like a new-born deer learning to walk while he was a wolf waiting in the shadows.

Sat on the chair, you spin around to complain, attitude brimming, mouth open, words at the ready and…“Hmph!” His hand clamps down hard onto your mouth, pinching your nose with the other. Not a breath slips through.

“Here’s me thinking you had learned to know better than to talk back to me.” His body arches over your head above you, tilting your head back to catch the panic glaze over your wide eyes. You think he’s going to do something rash, something to make you regret even thinking about turning around to answer him back; a slap to the face, a tug to your roots, something as evil as his wicked voice sounds in your ear.

So you can't exactly blame your heart for tripping over itself when, as smooth as butter, he lowers his head, lips puckering to lay a slight kiss to your forehead. It feels like air, an offering that doesn’t conceal something malice behind it. A fragile dusting of comfort to your skin, gentle like a snowflake feathering down onto the ground. Your conscience arrows towards it.

When he lifts his hands from your mouth and nose, you don’t find yourself desperately sucking in the air you lost. Rather, you inhale slowly through your nose and out through your mouth. It had to be that small, insignificant little kiss that lay your nerves to rest.

Tom is one hell of a manipulator.

His lips remain lingering on your skin, skating over the surface, mirroring his hands as they trickle down your cheeks and hold your jaw in their embrace. He whispers…“Do you think you can behave like my good girl again?” A small hum of confirmation buzzes at your lips. It isn’t enough for him. “Take this as your warning. If you decide to be a brat, if you decide to not listen to every word I say from now on, know that I cannot be responsible for what happens to you.”

The severity of his caution has your eyes opening just a fraction wider, able to read the same warning that traces his words in his eyes. He means it. Really means it. Danny’s words echo around your head. ‘He’s a stickler for obedience’. What is he about to do to you that it’s imperative you listen to what he says?

You could say no. You could invoke upon your safe word and make it stop right now. But when you delve deeper into the part of you that made you agree to this in the first place, you find that it still roars with life, telling you that your need for adventure hasn’t quite been satiated.

You swallow, throat bobbing under his digits. “I understand.”

He scrunches his nose in delight. “Perfect.”

You don’t turn to follow his movements to the back of his office, your ears tell you what you need to know. A cupboard door squeaks open, old, rickety, likely an antique. Then rustling. Objects hard, soft, textured, plastic, rubber, metal. A hum of satisfaction, then the closing squeak of the door, different to the first. His footsteps near you, perching directly behind you while you feel the soft sweep of his torso brush against your hair.

Then darkness. Soft, pillowy darkness that floods your vision. Remnants of light trapped in your irises float around like shooting stars before fading completely. It’s the only thing you can hone in on as the knot tied behind your head tightens, confirming that he has indeed blindfolded you.

“Remember your safe word.” He breathes into your ear in earnest. Pasta. “Don’t hesitate to use it.”

“Yes, sir.” You don’t know if he’s still expecting you to say that, but you do it anyway to stay in good graces with him. You’re not entirely sure if it will make a difference to the impending danger Tom warned you of. Even if it doesn’t, Tom’s lip still curls anyway.

“Good,” a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth has you blushing, “now don’t move.”

A single breath is all you have to prepare yourself before something cold eases across the skin of your arm. Insubstantial, almost weightless, it falls from the curve of your right shoulder and descends down until it reaches your hand, resting on the velvet arm. The sensation is ghostly but frigid, gliding but piercing. You can’t quite work out what it is…

The same icy coldness retraces its path back up your arm, floating and gliding along your clavicle and stops directly at the base of your throat, the pit where your collar bones meet.

It knicks your skin.

“Oh my God--”

“Don’t. Move.”

Holy fuck. It’s a knife. It’s a knife. It’s a knife. It is a fucking knife.

That’s the metal object you heard. And its sharpest point is resting directly against your neck.

Your skin pales and your stomach swirls with nausea. All your efforts to stay still and keep calm drains very quickly and panic floods in. Any chills the knife aroused in its cold path is replaced by small beads of sweat, your entire body blazing, screaming danger. Surprisingly, among other things, your nipples begin pebbling, brushing harder against the silk slip of a dress that adorns your body the more the blade's sharpest edge tickles along your skin. Your heart pounds, the sound of panic-infused adrenaline thrumming in your ears, comparable to the time you went on that rickety, old roller coaster when you were younger.

You guess the memory isn’t too dissimilar; forced to feel the thrill of having your own safety rest in someone else’s hands. You have no control here.

It’s…intoxicating.

A dark admission on your behalf, but you’re here for the experience, right?

You dare not speak, dare not break his rules as the peak of the very sharp knife trails lightly up the column of your throat as its runway, bumping over your trachea, scraping the finest layer of your skin, commanding you to incline your head as it rises higher and higher. Your lungs expand and you can’t deflate them until the knife flicks off your chin. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

In the stone cold silence of his room, the resonating shwing of the knife rings in your ears. A small respite.

From what you can hear, Tom moves behind you somewhere. The creak of the floorboard dances from the left to the right and back again, giving you not one hint of where he plans to strike next, subjecting you to the torment of crippling anticipation until he does.

Suddenly the blade comes into contact once more with your skin, laying its long, razor sharp edge against your neck. Your body freezes, your nails scratch the edge of the armchair.

“Stand,” Tom commands sharply. The knife’s blade maintains the same pressure on you, even as you come to a stand, knees knocking beneath you.

Seconds later, the chair clatters behind you, just the swiftest of touches of velvet to your calves before it crashes off to your left, and where four legs once sat now stand just two. Tom. The warmth of his breath flowing past your ear is a stark contrast to the cool blade on your throat. But it’s the low grumble bubbling against your back that plucks a chord deep in your stomach. You can feel yourself getting wetter…

“I can feel your heartbeat hammering against your ribcage, newbie. Worried?”

Yes…

“Or is it more than that? Excitement? Anxiety? Lust? Desire? What is it? Tell me, a penny for your thoughts.”

“Nerves. Mostly. But…exhilaration and curiosity. And confusion.”

“About?”

“Do people actually get off on this?”

He chuckles at your naivety. “Lots of people do. It’s perfect for keeping any brat in their place. But you’ll find it’s mostly the sort that spend all day bossing people about. Whose jobs are to take on the burden of responsibility, leadership, authority. If it’s been a particularly long and hard day for them, they come here. This is their relief.”

“To be held at knife point?”

“To relinquish control. To let someone else take the reins for once. To be controlled rather than being in control. The knife just adds that flare, the incentive to keep them in that headspace of receiving orders instead of being the one to make them. It could be a gun if you’d like,” he jests. You’d shake your head, but you might slice your throat in the process.

You take a constricted breath, feeling the weight of the knife’s edge becoming just that little bit heavier. “And…do you like it? Being the one in control?”

He presses himself against you as if to mould the contours of your body into his, lips furrowing deep into the crook of your outstretched neck roaming where they please. His free hand anchors down onto your hip, slithering its way across the expanse of your abdomen where, if he held you long enough, would feel the flutter of butterflies wings coming from within. Alas, he spreads his fingers, sinking lower onto your pelvis, teasing the curve of your pubic bone and presses down hard, bending you into him. As if the knife he holds against your neck isn’t controlling enough.

His erection pokes and prods at your backside. He’s so hard you release a whimper. What you would give to feel him inside you.

Tom’s words speak directly onto your neck like he’s tattooing them onto you. “I love it.” A beat, then--“Tell me,” he says, low in tone and volume. “Your dress. Any sentimental attachment to it?”

“No.”

The knife’s blade glides to the strap of your dress on your shoulder and picks it up, pulling it taut. “Good.”

One tug and the material snaps.

A small yelp falls out and a flinch has your shoulders raising just an inch closer to your ear. The integrity of your dress now hangs precariously with just one strap holding on for dear life. If one thing is for certain, it won’t be holding on for much longer. You smother the urge to scold him for ruining your dress, your property, and lest you forget the threat of the very sharp knife he holds against you, it’s only the straps, you could tie them back together as a temporary solution. An easy fix.

The knife repeats its actions on the other side until your dress hangs lifelessly around your hips. The cold air bites at your nipples and Tom doesn’t wait one second before he brings the tip to circle around the little bud.

“Oh--” You can’t stop your head tilting back onto Tom’s shoulder when the slight overdose of adrenaline makes you dizzy. The tickling sensation refuses to relent, crossing over the valley between your tits to tease your other bud just as salaciously.

Just when you find pleasure of the tip running rings around your nipples, when Tom’s hand sinks to cup your pantiless sex, when his scent rushes in through your nose, a harsh slap of the blade's flat edge to your tit whips you back to caution. It’s unexpected. Being blindfolded, every touch is. Any touch you feel, whether blade or not, makes you flinch. Quick as a bolt of lightning surging through your body. It’s torturous because in your darkness, in your paranoia, you’re permanently recoiled, shielding, flinching at nothing, waiting for the next hit.

He’ll strike. You know he will. Not knowing when is killing you. And he knows it.

“You asked if I like what I do-” his finger sinks into you, skimming over your clit wet with your slick, “-from what I can feel, I think you like it too.” Your hips buck to gain more friction from both his fingers and from his hard cock pressed against your ass, desperate to feel that euphoria of pleasure again. A sick, twisted crack of satisfaction surges through you when you hear him moan. “Shame you’ve forgotten your manners.”

The surface of the knife slaps you again, harsh against your nipple. “Ow! T-thank you, sir.”

“Better. Now move.”

A few blind steps clumsily place you facing a wall, palms resting flat against the wallpaper while Tom kicks your feet further apart. He makes sure that while he puppeteers you to never let you forget that the knife he holds is always within close proximity, that if you dare defy him, he wouldn’t hesitate to use it. Gentle scrapes, warning knicks, cold presses, even to go as far as break skin would he warn you.

The audacity he has, though, when he takes the knife and slices his way through the remaining fabric of your dress, leaving you to stand stark naked before him. That’s going to be less easy to fix…

“You ripped my dress!”

“Problem?” His voice is challenging, subliminally daring you to bite the bait.

“How the hell am I supposed to get home with no clothes?”

The fiery attitude that tries to bloom inside dies the instant he presses the flat edge of the blade flush against your cunt. The cold surface lying against your heat causes a stutter in your breath. It pushes upwards, almost lifting you off from your feet and onto your tiptoes from fear that any slight movement of defiance would trigger excruciating pain. It’s dangerous, careless, and reckless, and you wish you could scream it, thrash around, push him away and yell in his face. The compulsion is overwhelming. If only you didn’t have a knife to your cunt…

“Telling me your problem isn’t going to make it my problem.”

Your jaw slacks, away from his prying eyes and you suppose you could allow yourself just one moment of freedom. Just one moment of no restraint because releasing what you’re dying to say would just be as gratifying as the first time Tom allowed you to cum. You can easily feel the knot that’s dying to unwind, and saying what intransigent words would tease out the knot inside you, and also send him reeling.

He wants to call you a bratty sub? Fine. That’s what he’ll get.

“You are such a bastard, do you know that? I think you’ve spent too much time being told ‘yes, sir, of course, sir, thank you, sir’ that it’s all gotten to your head. Maybe you could do with being reminded that not everything you do deserves that.”

Quick as a whip, the blade snaps to your neck, digging into your skin that you feel it tearing your skin. The wince is evidence of your pain, but Tom ignores it, settling on placing his focus not on the knife he holds against you, but how quickly he can undo his belt, his trousers, springing his hard cock free and lining it up with your sopping cunt.

Without a warning, because you don’t deserve one, he thrusts into your core, holding your breath hostage under the knife. “So fucking tight,” he stutters to himself. Even for him, the sensation is immense. His next message is for you. “Cheeky little bitch. Think you’re clever? Think you’re funny? We’ll see who’s laughing when you’re begging me to stop.”

Your bodies clash as Tom begins rutting his hips against your ass, the staccato notes of skin on skin and the room swallows every snap, barely making out the door. He fills you, stretches you, and ruins you within seconds and you can’t explain how the pain you feel translates so quickly into pleasure. You feel yourself needing more of it. The stretch, the burn, the knife, it’s indescribable.

His relentless pace maintains, stopping every ten or so seconds to ensure he fills every inch of you, submerging himself to the hilt and mercilessly grinding his hips against you, rolling around your cunt. Without fail, your hands claw at the wallpaper when he does, begging for reprieve.

“When I tell you,” he pants, lips pursed and eyes ablaze, still holding the knife firmly against your neck. “You are going to give me everything.”

He drops himself, snatching a slab of flesh between your neck and shoulder between his teeth and bites viciously in his frustration and you howl. His thrusts only become faster and harsher.

“I need to feel you squeeze around my cock.” A hand slides between your bodies and starts toying with your clit. “I’m not going to stop until I feel you cum around me.”

Tom effortlessly tugs at the elastic band in your stomach and you are about to snap. He overloads your senses, violating your sensitive cunt to the point where you can feel it pulse in anticipation of the orgasm that is threatening to spill. Under the knife that now trails down your body, a pressure builds and it clenches your muscles with its tight grip, and with each pounding Tom hits you with, it grows a little closer to letting go.

Tom fucks you in phases, fast, slow, harsh, gentle, silent, loud, anything and everything thrown into his efforts to completely tear you apart. If it’s regret he’s after, he’s got it. If it’s an apology he wants, it’s there for the taking. If he desires to hear you begging, then it’s on the horizon. You’re willing to give because you’re not sure you know where your limits are, and with your legging threatening to crumble beneath you, you sense that you’re about to get a good idea.

Tears brim your eyes only to be soaked up by the blindfold, a quiet plea for release.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, please! ” Tom denies relief, keeping you squirming on his cock until his needs are satisfied. He has no care for you writhing to get away, because he can easily drag you back where he wants you with just a swift reminder of the blade that pierces your skin. You’re certain by now that you have tiny little cuts littered over your body, accidental or not.

“Tom, stop! I can’t! It’s too much. Fuck!” He doesn’t heed your cries because to him, they are the symphonies he is waiting to hear.

Your entire body quivers and with the flick of his deft fingers and the thrust of his cock, you come undone. There’s no holding it in anymore. The elastic band snaps and a white-hot wash of pleasure convulses through your body. Blood pumping at your core but Tom isn’t relenting.

The squeeze of your orgasm around his cock is suffocating, but yet just as painfully pleasurable as he needs it to be for the euphoric feeling to consume him. Finally, as the walls of your cunt contract once more, he cums inside you. But by this point, you are weak and Tom can clearly see just how destroyed you are. Nevertheless, his selfishness convinces him to pull away and sink into you over and over again, slower and with purpose.

“Don’t you have something to say to me, sweetheart?”

“I’m s-sorry, fuck, I’m sorry!”

“Taking me so well. My little cocksleeve, aren’t you?” He peels away the blindfold to find your eyes over your shoulder, but in your pain and exhaustion you can’t focus on much else and your eyes serve a very glazed-over look. “Look at me,” he spits, you obey. “You��re mine. This pussy is mine. Remember that any time you want to act like a brat.” He thrusts into you again as a testament to his words.

“Yes,” you meekly whisper. The word comes out of your mouth before your sex-inebriated mind can comprehend what he actually said. Once it does, you gulp.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl. Stay still.” Blinded by bliss, Tom pulls from you and with his size, it’s a feeling equivalent to an orgasm in itself and you hiss. Your pussy is hot, swollen, pulsing and leaking and yet somehow, as evident as it is for how sensitive it is, Tom can’t resist one more taste. The knife clatters to the ground. Salvation.

“No, no, no, no, it’s too much, Tom, please, I’m begging you.” The words drip with a desperation you don’t recognise. He simply hushes you, kneels behind you, splits you apart and continues to savour the taste of your arousal, meticulously circling his tongue around the small bundle of nerves once again. The warm, wet muscle glides from entrance to clit, cleaning you up of your wetness and replacing it with his own. For as excruciating as it is to endure so soon after an orgasm, you find yourself melting into the feeling and dizziness envelopes you in a warm hug.

~~~~

“Tell me the time,” he murmurs, turning you around.

Your eyes peer to the clock. “Fuck, it’s…it’s 4:29am. When does this place close?”

Tom sniggers, floating over you with a smirk. “It closed an hour and a half ago.”

“What?! Why am I still here?”

“I’m the owner of this place. I decide who gets to stay and I promised you an experience did I not?”

“You did,” you agree quietly. The slight stickiness between your thighs bears a reminder of the experience and suddenly you’re burning again. You bite your lip, trying to contain the coy giggle like a teenager with a crush. “Some experience that was.”

“Sweetheart, that was child’s play,” he laughs.

“What?”

He pulls you close, skin to skin, soothing out your muscles in a gentle massage. “You didn’t actually think I was going to show you everything, did you?”

Would it be stupid of you to admit that you did? “I don’t know, you did say--”

“That I would give you an experience. Something new, something outside your comfort zone, something you hadn’t done before, an adventure.”

“But--” But the paddles, the chains, the whips, all the things you saw outside…

Not another word lets slip before he cups your cheeks, holding your stare and wordlessly silencing you. “If I had shown you everything, there would be no incentive for you to come back again now would there?” You shake your head. “While you may think I’m a sadist, there are some things within BDSM that newbies like you just can’t be thrown into. Trust me. I wouldn’t put you through that. At least, not yet.”

“Like what? Tell me, I wanna know.”

Tom’s lip curls. He’ll definitely be seeing you around here soon enough given you’re so invested. “Voyeurism, roleplay, flogging, bondage, anal, wax play, primal, orgies, consensual non-consent--”

Your brain fumbles over his words. “Wait what? What’s that?”

The way his eyes lit up so brightly. He brings you closer to brush his nose against yours. “Consensual non-consent or CNC. A fetish where people enjoy being either the victim with the extreme lack of control or the predator with extreme control. Sometimes called rape play--” your eyes widen, “--but it is thoroughly negotiated beforehand and varies from scene to scene. Consent, as well as safe words, are vital. But for some people, verbally communicating consent takes away from the mood. To overcome that, they assign consent to an object. It would be agreed beforehand, could be a red scrunchie that you tie in your hair. If you came here one night wearing a red scrunchie, I would know that you would consent to me taking control over you. Perhaps drag you away against your will, take you somewhere where no one would see, make you get on your knees, suck my cock…” his voice reduces to a whisper and lets you feel his words on your lips. “Would do things to you…”

“Oh…”

Tom sighs, pulling away and composing himself. “For another time.” He winks. “But for now, you need to clean up. There’s a bathroom through that door. Feel free.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.”

~~~~

You don’t emerge from your bedroom until early afternoon the next day. In your true stubborn nature, you do anything you can to prolong the confrontation with Danny. He knows what prevailed between you and Tom, and munching away at a bowl of cereal, you find him smirking at the breakfast bar. All because he knows he was right, he knows that bringing you to the Hunting Ground was the ideal thing for you. You can’t deny him of it.

His eyes find the bite mark on your neck first, bruised and marked. Then to the large T-shirt that he’s certain isn’t yours. The memory of Tom dressing you in it last night has your heart thrashing against your ribs.

“So how did the kinky-cultish-sex club turn out for you?” He grins, a smile stolen from the Cheshire cat.

You click your tongue, deliberating the two ways you could go about this. Against your better character, you grin back at him, colour rushing to your cheeks.

“When can we go back?”

232 notes · View notes

defonottomholland · 10 months

Text

the list

DATE: JUNE 15, 2023

summary: tom offers for you and your writing partner to work at the empty frat house when you have no other options. even though you hate tom with a burning passion, you can’t fail this class. when all is going fine, your partner has to leave abruptly for an emergency, leaving you with no way home (wink). thinking you’re all alone, you decide to snoop through tom’s belongings to try to find his rumored list.

request: yessss

song: Hot in Herre- nelly

words: 9.2k

warnings: SMUT (f- receiving [oral, fingering, cock-thumping, nipple play, choking, deepthroating], m- receiving [blowjob], [small] daddy kink, degrading kink, rough/protected sex [not clearly consensual, but implied], mention of reader going under/slight subspace), pet names (princess), a lot of language, and a lot of dialogue.

note: I’M BACK and i’m with this big baby right here. i hope you guys enjoy this because it took me a few days to write. i’m glad to finally have some time to write again!

frat!tom x college!reader

–

“I’m really glad we got to be partners on this,” You smile as you hug your textbook and notebook to your chest.

“Yeah, me too. I think we’ll do great,” Brandon replies, and then the conversation basically stops there. It was dry and kind of awkward, but he was pretty nice, so it’s alright with you.

Your Creative Writing class was assigned a project that consisted of writing a short story with another person. Your teacher picked the partners and you got Brandon, which you were thankful for because he is original and creative, also known as not being a plagiarizer. But you weren’t sure how well your guys’ genres mixed.

You wrote a lot of old realistic romance stories, whether it was for free-writing in class or on your own time. Brandon apparently wrote a lot of futuristic science fiction and read a lot of comic books. You weren’t against the idea that he was a nerd or a geek, but you just hoped it didn’t overwhelm your writing process. But again, he was nice, which you didn’t get from most guys.

The campus is bussing like usual. All different kinds of people roam the concrete ground waiting for their classes to start or trying to leave without dropping all their things or wandering because they don’t know what else to do. It’s a balance that you’ve been accustomed to for the past year. Yeah, you took a gap year at 18 and are now a 20 year-old sophomore in college, but that doesn’t mean you have your shit figured out. No one does, and that kind of comforts you.

With these random thoughts, you and Brandon walk through the crowded campus until you reach the library.

“What the hell,” You squint your eyes at the paper sign that is taped to the glass door. You suggested the library as your work spot because Starbucks may be a little loud and you needed a lot of silence while writing. You’re also very picky with your own stories, so you can’t even imagine how it’s going to be when you combine ideas. Maybe you should just be less conceited…

As you read the surprisingly fine print, you find out that the room is having an inspection check.

“The librarian told people not to eat in there,” Brandon shakes his head in disappointment and you sigh in subtle annoyance.

“Well what are–”

“Oh, shit, it’s closed?” A voice appears from behind you and you nearly turn around and swing at the body. Only because you know whose body it belongs to.

A body with perfect fucking arms and a stupidly good-looking face–

Stop it.

“No, it’s just locked and has a sign that says it’s closed,” You roll your eyes as you spin around, facing Tom in all his stupid glory. A slight smirk creeps up his face as his eyes look down at you. You watch as he chews his gum, and you hate that it’s kind of hot.

Stop. It.

“What’s with the attitude? I just asked a question–”

“Well, it was a stupid question,” You snarl, biting on your lip in irritation. Even looking at him gets you all riled up because you know how he is.

You’re not sure exactly when you started hating Tom, but you know exactly why. Hate might be a strong word, but it goes well with the feeling you experience every time his name is mentioned or you see his smug face. You hate the way he talks about girls. You hate the way he treats girls, like they’re on some type of list and he’s just checking them off. Every time he even looks at a woman he finds mildly attractive, she’s instantly on said-list. He probably has a handwritten copy somewhere. You wouldn’t be surprised because you’ve heard that rumor before.

You heard a lot about him before you actually knew him. You heard through the grapevine that he lost his virginity to a girl in college when he was only 15, and now he’s a senior in college. And that he fucked three different girls in the same day during his senior year of high school. And a new one that you’ve heard is that he has sex every single day with a new person because he can’t live without it. You’re not sure if all of these are true or correct, but after you got to know him just a little, you know that it can’t be too far from the truth.

Tom was in your Film Analysis class last year. You purposely sat next to him because you thought he was cute, and you weren’t wrong, but you paid for it at the end of the year. He would constantly peek at your papers, and at first, you thought it was a sign of flirting. But he was just too involved with his phone during the films that he never knew what was going on once the assignments came. Your professor didn’t let you guys change seats because it was easier to take attendance with a seating chart, and he had “hundreds of students every day” blah blah blah. Why did your teacher have to be so old he was on the brink of death?

Throughout the entire year, you would overhear Tom talk about girls and what he was doing with them. It disgusted you that someone could be so objective and still get the girl (or girls), but you tried not to get involved with it. Then one day, like a random switch, Tom tried to hit on you. He tries to deny it, saying “Why would I do that?” and “You’re not my type” and shit like that, but Tom is only in it for the sex. He doesn’t care too much about appearances, so that’s how you know he was full of shit.

To this day, you swear you’re still on his list, whether it’s a physical or mental one. Tom flirts with you like he can, and yeah, sometimes that fucks with your head, but you remain composure. Because of your curiosity, you want to find out, one, if he actually has a list and two, if you’re on it. But your hate for him overpowers your curious wonders. If you did find this “list,” you wouldn’t stop making fun of him for it. And, he wouldn’t be able to survive if you were actually on it.

“Can we work at your place, Y/N?” Brandon asks, completely ignoring Tom.

“Can’t,” You reply, “my roommate asked for the evening, so she can…have her boyfriend over.”

“Oh,” he stares at the ground awkwardly and scratches his neck.

“Oh, you mean have sex?” Tom inserts himself into the conversation. You glare at him with searing lasers in your eyes. “What? You can’t say the word sex? Does it turn you on too much or something?”

“Tom!” You whack him in the arm with your heavy textbook and he simply laughs. It was whole and deep, and it made you feel all warm, but so did your hatred for him, so what’s the difference? “What is wrong with you? Do you have any filter?”

“I’m going to say…no,” he winks and crosses his arms like he is the coolest person to walk this earth. His smugness makes your fists clench and your blood overheat with fiery.

“Okay, before this gets into an argument, where are we going to work?” Brandon chips in with his hand on your shoulder. You take a deep breath, trying to think rationally.

“You can work at my place,” Tom licks his pink lips and infamously smirks again. Your body is so hot that it melted your brain into a mush of incomprehension, so you can’t even respond to his idiocracy before Brandon very unsurely says why not.

Fuck.

–

“Welcome to The House,” Tom introduces dramatically while flinging the door open for you both. You swear that was the most gentleman-like thing he’s ever done.

“At least come up with an original name,” You roll your eyes again like your body has been programmed to every time Tom opens his mouth.

“So much attitude for such a tiny person,” he taunts, shutting the door behind him. Brandon walks quickly into the dining room with his backpack, leaving himself out of the very heart-felt conversation between you and Tom. Your jaw ticks a tad at his words. “I love when you roll your eyes.”

Your face scrunches in disgust, but can’t help it when your curiosity slips from your mouth, “Why?”

“Because then I know I’ve done my job,” A hint of a smirk rises on his lips while your eye twitches at his arrogance.

“And what is your job? To annoy the shit out of me? ‘Cause if it is, congratulations! You get promoted every time you talk to me,” No matter how badly you want to, you resist the urge to roll your eyes just because you know how much it would please him. Even with your irate words, that all-too familiar smirk lingers like he’s proud.

He likes when you fight back because no one ever does. It’s easy for him. Too easy sometimes. Yeah, he likes when he can sleep with a girl without having to try too hard, but once he met you, he realized he liked a bit of a fight. Tom craved the passion and bubbling tension that strangled the air between you both. It was thrilling and enthralling, and he knew with enough poking and prodding, you would snap. That was his job; to make you snap.

“Close, but no cigar.”

“What are you, like, a hundred?”

“I’m surprised you’re still talking to me, princess.” There’s that name. That stupid fucking name. You know that he throws that title around like candy to women. You know that the sweet undertone of the tag is what it does for them and what gets them in his bed at the end of the night. It angered you that he thought you were so easy, so gullible. But no, you weren’t going to let him smooth-talk you all the way to his bedroom. Even if it was just upstairs…

“Actually, I’m not anymore,” You finished the conversation and walked away. After you stopped facing him, your eyes immediately went to the back of your head in a dramatic roll. As you enter the dining room, you are suddenly aware of the heat radiating off your skin. You lift a hand up to your beaming cheeks, which turn out to be flaming with the fury bubbling in your blood.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Brandon asks, being the nice guy he is. You swallowed and inhaled.

“Yeah. Let’s get started.”

–

Not even ten minutes later, Tom comes bustling into the room. He says he was just checking up on you guys, but he was just trying to annoy you. After half an hour, he comes back again, saying something about the last football game and if you two have watched it. You inhale a few times, squeezing your pencil in your hand. He walks into the kitchen ajar and grabs something from the fridge.

“Tom, can you leave us alone? We have to get this done by Friday.”

“But it’s my house. I should be able to go wherever I want in my own house.”

“You literally invited us here, so we could work in peace!” You didn’t mean to shout, but Tom brought out the worst in you.

“I never said anything about peace–”

“Look, Tom, just please leave us alone, yeah?” You lowered your voice a bit, hoping maybe he would hear you. To your surprise, he licks his lips and re-enters the dining room, standing near your chair at the end of the table.

“All you had to do was say please, princess,” he winks and struts away, and somewhere inside of you is annoyed that he got the last word. But a big part of you was…affected. Badly. You never thought in a million years the name princess coming from his mouth would hit you, but for some odd reason, it did. Maybe it was because of his impromptu alliteration. Or the wink–no, it couldn’t have been the wink. Maybe it was the octave of his voice? You noticed how it got a tad deeper when he talked to you compared to how he did earlier. Were you looking too far into it?

Fuck, now he’s got you in your head.

Was this his job all along?

“How does that idea sound?” Brandon’s voice pulled you from your overwhelming thoughts, but not fast enough.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch what you said,” You apologize with a head shake. He repeats, and you write it down. This goes on for about an hour or so; you two throwing ideas back and forth.

You tried to find middle ground. You assumed you would be writing some sci-fi romance, and you were correct. Although you wanted to be there in the moment, you couldn’t stop thinking about Tom, and just the thought infuriated you. If you were present, you wouldn’t have complied and agreed to some of Brandon’s suggestions without more of a fight. The more ideas he spouted out, the weirder they got.

“Robots…God, I love writing about robots. Robots falling in love?” he pauses for a moment. “while trying to take over the world! You have to write that one down.”

You wrote it down, but your mind was moving differently than your body. As he suggested more topics, you zoned out completely. He was clearly very into the process and you…couldn’t have been farther from it. Like an echo, Tom lingered in your mind.

Where was he? What was he doing? Was he having sex right now? Why wasn’t he bothering you anymore?

You might have told him please, but Tom is just as stubborn as they come. You can’t say much though because you’re just as stubborn yourself. Maybe that’s why you two always bicker. You wondered if he fought with anyone else like how he battled you. Was he trying to make you mad just for the fun of it, or did he want something more?

Was there really a list? You can’t be the only person who’s considered that, right?

“Oh no.” The two words out of Brandon’s mouth brought you back because they were different from one of his absurd ideas. His eyes are staring at his phone screen once you start focusing in on him.

“What’s wrong?” You asked.

“It’s…a family emergency. Shit, Y/N, I have to go up North. Like right now. Do you think we can pick this up in a few days?” He wavers out nervously and clearly full of panic.

“Y-yeah, of course!” You blink rapidly at the sudden change and nod to every word without really thinking.

“Are you sure?” He questions, but he’s already standing up from the table with his backpack tight around his shoulders and his keys in his hand.

“Yes, now go!” You flee him from the house, so he can get a head-start on his drive. As his car zooms down the street, your eyes wander to the empty driveway of the house. And then it gets you wondering again.

How are you going to get to your dorm?

“Fuck,” You grumble in the evening air, the sun barely beginning to set.

You had no money on you, and of course your card wasn’t linked to your phone, so you couldn’t buy an Uber, Lyft, or anything. You creep your way back into the frat house with slugged shoulders. You drop yourself onto the small couch as silence roams around. You never in your life thought that a frat house, or any house with just guys, would be this quiet. It makes sense that they’re all out though because they’re all social butterflies trying to get laid at the latest party. Woo hoo. Sense the sarcasm?

Feeling sorry for yourself, you wander around the house. You pad the entire downstairs area before making your way up the staircase. The second you touch the top step, your curiosity starts to plague you.

Where’s Tom’s room?

Yeah, okay, maybe it’s rude, but you don’t know what to do. And, come on, it’s Tom. He doesn’t care. More specifically, you don’t care. You don’t care that you’re about to snoop his room because no one is here and it’s not like he’s going to know, right?

There’s about five bedrooms upstairs and three of the doors were open. With delicacy, you barely pushed open the doors that weren’t closed completely as if they would creak loudly and someone would find you. You peeked in a few rooms, glancing at the designs to see if you saw something that related to Tom. None of the rooms seemed fitting.

And then, like a lightbulb, you remembered that Tom was the leader, or whatever bullshit they called him. You know the title only ever gave him an ego boost. In most cases, the “leader” gets the biggest bedroom, well, at least that’s what it was like at your friend’s sorority house. So, testing your theory, you trail down the carpeted hallway until you reach the last room, which you assumed was the largest. Turning the knob, your eyes stare at the master bedroom before you.

Called it.

The room had white walls, just like the others. But Tom had a lot more personality through his decorating than you would have thought and it was…surprisingly…well-kept. Maybe it wasn’t his room.

As you stepped a foot inside, you got the hint that his favorite color was blue; navy bed sheets, baby blue desk lamp, midnight-colored nightstand, cyan desk chair, and a few other accessories that solidified the idea. Your eyes stay glued to his bed for a moment. It was a little ruffled, like he had been sleeping in it, but you knew that bed had been through more than just sleeping. You never thought you’d feel bad for a mattress and some sheets.

Before you know it, you’re traveling towards his desk, which was white (everything was very randomly assorted). You nibble on your bottom lip, debating on if it’s worth digging through the four drawers to find the one thing that’s been nagging you for months.

The list.

Something deep inside of you is warning you that searching through his belongings is a bad idea, but there’s really nothing that stops you from pulling open the first compartment. Carefully, you shift around the assortment of pens and pencils until you admit there’s nothing but those in there. Moving on to the second drawer below the first, it’s extremely heavy. Then you realize the weight is from three hefty textbooks that look completely untouched.

Makes sense.

In the next top drawer, there’s nothing useful beside clean, unused binder paper. Losing all hopes of being right, you check the final drawer. Just in case.

You didn’t know what you were going to find inside of there. But whatever you may have thought, it wasn’t this.

In the deep compartment was a bunch of clothes. Women’s clothes. A few shirts, even some socks, but mainly bras and panties. You almost touched them to sift through it, but immediately retracted your hand before doing so, assuming these articles haven’t been cleaned. Your face is frozen in disgust at the pile as if your gaze is going to burn all of it away.

“I thought it would take a lot more work to get you into my bedroom,” A deep accent says, causing you to jot and slam the drawer closed.

From your crouch, you fall to the ground, heart racing erratically at the sight of Tom. Every nerve of your body was screaming in alert because you thought you were alone. Layers of goosebumps litter your skin when you visually take in his appearance; frizzy, damp hair, dark blue briefs, and a white towel draped over his buff shoulder. You swallow every bit of your saliva and leave your mouth completely dry as your eyes shamefully trail down his entire physique.

It’s not like he’s trying to hide anything.

“It’s a bit rude to stare, yeah?” he ticks, using the towel to dry his hair a bit more. His briefs were a little tight, and you wondered if they were the wrong size. Especially from your seat on the floor, you got the perfect view of his bulge outline. Your stomach burned and your eyes couldn’t stop blinking, trying to make the image go away, but it didn’t. It was real. At this point, he’s basically just giving you a free show. You mentally hated yourself for enjoying every second of it.

Stop it. Now, how are you going to get out of this?

“What were you looking for?” Tom asks almost innocently with a lick of his pink lips, trying to hold back a little smirk. Tom liked watching you snap, but he loved when you were flustered. He loves watching you get embarrassed because you feel hot all over. It’s a sight to see.

“Something to get you arrested,” You reply just as lightly, trying to hide your startledness before awkwardly pushing yourself on your feet. You try to keep your eyes away from him, but it’s difficult when his body is practically glistening in all its chiseled glory.

“Like what? A gun?” he jokes with a charming smile, slowly striding closer to you. Your breathing staggered a tad, but you kept your composure. Mostly.

He honestly looked like he had a gun in his briefs.

He laughs.

“I hope you know it’s not a gun, princess,” That lingering smirk is plastered on his arrogant face again and you wanted to punch it off of him. You couldn’t believe yourself for thinking out loud, especially because it was the last thing you wanted him to hear. You knew it was only an ego-booster. Your entire body flushes in overwhelming heat, wondering how you’re ever going to escape his looming presence.

“I-I obviously know that’s not a gun, Thomas,” You grind your molars at your stuttering because it makes you look and sound weak. Your trembling fingers turn into heated fists that have been ignited by only one thing; your arousal.

“Thomas? That’s a new one,” While you’re stuck in place, Tom doesn’t shy away from inching closer towards you. You don’t even realize it, but you’re holding your breath. “Are you okay, Y/N? You look a bit…flushed.”

Your heart unconsciously stammers against your chest, attempting to find an outlet. But there is none. Just like there is no escape from Tom as he stands in front of you unmoving. He’s so close, impossibly so, that your pounding heart is lurching towards his.

“It’s…hot in here,” You reply with an observation. Your voice was whispering as if your voice was afraid to speak any louder. With his proximity he could probably hear every heated pump of your blood.

“Like the song,” Tom smirks because he knows the real reason why you’re all hot and bothered. It’s something deeper than the temperature of his bedroom (because it really wasn’t that warm). “You know it, right?”

“Yeah, who doesn’t?” You almost roll your eyes before you stop yourself.

“Remind me, what’s the next lyric?”

A wave of heat crashes over your neck at his words, deep and low. Your stomach was burning with desire while your clit was throbbing in your underwear. You never would have thought that you’d be turned on by Tom, but you were doing only the impossible today.

Escaping this situation has left your mind. The only thing in your head now is staying in it.

“Take off all your clothes,” A breathless sound wavers out of your throat and you’re surprised you were even able to respond. Tom’s face is smug, almost proud at how flushed you are. His hand reaches up and ever-so delicately traces over your jawline. It was so gentle, but because he was finally touching you, you nearly moaned. You’ve never needed someone so badly before, and you never thought the person you’d be needing the most would be Tom.

You keep thinking that, but it’s just so hard to comprehend the idea of anything Tom.

“Is that something you want?” Tom’s husky voice fans over your heated skin as his fingers trail down your neck. Your chest raises up and down, and even if you’re trying to fight the feeling, you can’t. Your entire body wants him–no, damn-near craves him–to the point where you can’t even speak. Your subconsciousness hates you because you know how much he is just loving this. You hate to give him such satisfaction. “D’you want to strip? Right here in front of me? Or do you want me to do it for you? Because–”

“Yes,” You whisper with your eyes facing his chest, too afraid to stare into his lust-taken eyes.

“No,” he says, and for a moment when he took a breath, you thought he’d just rejected you. “I need to hear you say it all. I need to hear you tell me what you want. Tell me how bad you want it. I bet I can give it to you. I’ve been waiting long enough.”

His words practically made you a puddle at his feet, but they also made you want to slap him with those heavy textbooks until he learned some manners. Has he really been waiting for you? Or is that just another one of his lines? One that he uses on every single girl he gets in his bed?

Your mind might have cared at any other time, but your body overruled.

“I want…” Your mind was filled with so many possibilities, it was crowding your brain. Tom’s hand that was tracing your jawline then cupped your neck gently, causing you to sigh. You couldn’t resist swallowing all of your saliva again along with your pride. Because you were about to do something really stupid. If you were in a clear mindset, this would have never happened, you’re sure of it. But common sense isn’t here to guide you right now; only desire and lust. “I want you to fuck me, Tom. Hard. Harder than you’ve ever fucked anybody before.”

“Not quite what I was looking for, but I’ll get you there.”

Tom doesn’t hesitate to wrap his hand completely around your neck while crashing his lips to yours. They mush together so sloppily, you could barely call it a kiss. But, damn, did it feel good. Fire and passion laced your lips, and it was so intoxicating that you thought you would overdose on his euphoria. Your mind couldn’t even react properly while your body was going haywire. One of your hands snaked up to the nape of his neck while the other was squeezing his naked bicep tightly.

The proximity of your bodies was about to make you pass out from a heat stroke.

In the misty moment, he leads you towards the bed. If you’d known better, you would have pushed him and told him to fuck off because he would not get to sleep with you. But you didn’t know better. Matter of fact, the only thing you knew right now was Tom Tom Tom.

When your knees hit the edge of the mattress, your body goes tumbling backwards, causing your heart to race even more than it had been. You break the kiss in a gasp, but Tom doesn’t let you fall too far, holding you securely with one hand on your waist and the other on your neck.

“Already falling for me. It’s a bit soon, yeah?” Tom flirts condescendingly with a single chuckle, standing on the edge after dropping you onto the bed. Good, you thought. You didn’t want delicacy anymore. You wanted roughness. You couldn’t allow yourself to be sweet and intimate with Tom. Not if you didn’t want to fall in love with him or get attached.

Not that that was possible.

“Fuck you.”

“I’m trying to, princess,” Even with the insult, his smirk lingers on like a tattoo. Although you despise that ridiculous nickname, your body didn’t care. When the word rolled off his tongue, your stomach erupted in needy desire and your cunt clenched around nothing. Tom isn’t new to a woman’s arousal. He knows when someone is turned on. It appears in their voice, their body obviously, but always in their eyes. And that lust was laced within you: in your voice, body, and eyes.

“You’re loving this, aren’t you?” he taunts, hovering over your trembling body while your mind still tries to come to terms with what the fuck is happening.

“Of course not,” You grumble, but it comes out all quiet.

“Keep tellin’ yourself that. Maybe you’ll be surprised,” he infamously winks before traveling down your neck in harsh kisses. You try to withhold the whimpers he’s causing because it's impossible with the amount of pleasure you’re feeling.

Kneeling on both sides of you, Tom’s hands weave their way under your top, exploring your torso mindlessly. His palms are heavy and rough, the only type you wanted to feel when it came to him. You were wearing a simple bralette that you would feel his fingers trace over impatiently.

“Take it off,” You moaned when he nimbled a bit hard behind your ear. You felt him breathe a chuckle, and you just knew he was smirking. As per usual.

“That’s not very nice,” Tom tsks, halting all his movements and hovering over your flushed face. You were in a daze and he hasn’t even done anything yet. Your core was on fire waiting desperately to be taken care of by the so-called “sex god.”

“I didn’t want it to be,” Grumbling, you grind on your teeth again in impatience. “This was a mistake–”

In complete irritation, despite your body’s desires, you force yourself to sit up. However, Tom does not let that slide. Within seconds your arms are being pinned above your head and he is straddling your hips snuggly. There was no escaping him.

In this position, you could feel his bulge barely pressing against your lower tummy. The thickness nearly made you moan because you were so desperate for it, but God knows you would never get on your knees and beg for it. That’s the last thing you’ll ever do, especially for someone like Tom.

“Slow down there, princess. We haven’t even started yet, and you’re already trying to do the walk of shame.”

“Because you’re being an asshole!”

“I just wanted you to say please, princess,” Tom says innocently, but the most devilish smile rises upon his lips. It’s cruel how contradicting the two are, but you loved it. It spiraled you on even more. “Now, I don’t really care what you say.”

Following his word, Tom didn’t listen to a single word you said. Even though they only consisted of calling him a dickhead, asshole, and fucker, but that’s not the point. Before you know it, your clothes are stripped completely from you and you’re basically in the same predicament as Tom. He clips off your bralette and hastily rips it from your body, tossing it to some unknown place on his surprisingly well-kept floor.

Your breath hinges at the new vulnerability. Tom licks his lips lustfully at the sight of your near-naked body, but doesn’t say anything. No two-cented comment or some witted joke. Nope. Nothing. Something inside of you tingled.

His aggressive hands roughly massaged your breasts. He twisted and flicked your nipples with no care in the world, and that’s just how you liked it. You released a breathy moan when your nipples reached their peak, but he didn’t stop his miniature torture. Mindlessly, you bucked your hips up, right into him.

“Getting off just from some nipple play? God, you must be desperate,” Tom dryly chuckles.

“Shut up,” You groan when his mouth latches onto your raw nipple, intensifying the pain and pleasure that’s firing up in your body.

Tom’s wandering tongue finally makes it down to your underwear, which is soaked through with your arousal. You’re embarrassed to discover his reaction because you know it’s only going to make him even more air-headed than he already is. Your legs are tightly closed, but you widen them just a tad more. Tom isn’t having it.

“Open. I want to see what I do to you.”

You swear your heart skipped a beat because you nearly fucking died right there. Annoyingly obeying him, you open your legs more, giving him more access to your vulnerability. Also, giving him more ammunition to use to make fun of you. You knew for a fact that you would regret all of this in the future, but right now, for some fucking reason, you didn’t give a damn.

“Fuck,” Tom growled so low that you almost didn’t hear him. His face was now so close to you that you could practically feel his grumble vibrate through your thighs and straight to your cunt. “This is what I do to you? This whole time? And you’ve been running away…how selfish of you. To keep this from me.”

“I’m selfish? You are definitely the last person that’s–” The power of your words are cut short when he slides down your panties without hesitation. “–able to say that.”

“How about you stop saying stuff and let me get on with it?”

“Oh, please! Like I’m the one that’s stopping you.”

“Look who learned how to say please,” he smirks, hands prying open your thighs even wider than before. You inhale sharply as your cunt opens completely for him, dripping in your arousal. “Now, shut the fuck up unless you’re crying my name. Got it, princess?”

In the midst of an eyeroll, Tom places his mouth onto your clit. Places might be the wrong word. He latched his mouth hungrily onto you, like he would starve if he didn’t have you right now. Your eyes squeeze shut in shock, trying to decipher the incredible feeling of his mouth on you. Slurping and licking, Tom devours you whole and you can’t stop your body from squirming all over the place from the overwhelming euphoria.

To make you even more insane and to make you lose a bit more of your brain cells, Tom slyly slips one of his fingers in your cunt. It was undeniably soaking, so he slid it in easily. His pace is rigorous, thrusting in and out while sucking harshly on your clit.

Like Tom had requested, you were moaning. At first, it was just a few noises, but then, it turned into his name. The only word you seemed to know was Tom as you wailed and cried from his attack on your cunt. Even as your hips bucked into his face, he held you securely down with his forearm and continued to ram into you until you eventually came.

When you came, it was like you were hit by a freight train. Your orgasm slammed over you so powerfully that you saw stars for a moment. Oh, and you squirted, which you’ve never done before. Your wetness dripped down Tom’s face, and it was kind of funny to you, even if you felt a little bad about it (not really). But Tom had that tattooed-smirk on his face that let you know he was enjoying himself too much. Conceited as always.

“Didn’t know you were a squirter,” Tom wipes away your orgasm with his shower towel while your entire face goes hot again.

“Neither did I.”

“First time? What a pleasure.”

“Oh, shut up,” You roll your eyes, forgetting that he actually likes that. He smiles, but hides it with a smirk. Then Tom pulls down his tight briefs. Looking at his equipment, you nearly choked. It was thick and veiny, and the tip was an angry pink.

You wanted him inside of you, but if this was going to be the only time you do this, might as well get your fill.

“Actually,” You start, heart thumping rapidly. “Can I…”

You didn’t even really ask, you just slowly lowered yourself onto the floor. Tom didn’t stop you, just watched as you kneeled. Your eyes flickered from his eyes to his cock, waiting for him to terminate your movements.

“I’d never say no to a blowjob, princess.”

Rolling your eyes, your warm fingertips rub over his leaking slit. He hisses at the sudden contact, but moans gutturally when your tongue touches him. You lick up his shaft, soaking the entire surface with your saliva. Tom’s hefty hands find themselves tangled in your hair, using it for balance.

Once you take him deeper into your mouth, the urge to pump himself down your throat gets tougher. You hollow out your cheeks, slurping up and down until your face is burning. With confidence, you push him lower down your throat until you gag around his length.

“Fuck, you take me so well,” he groans, his sounds echoing on his blue walls. His stomach contracts, abs tensing as he senses his high approaching.

A few tears twinkle in your eyes, and to kill Tom even more, you decide to stare up at him through your lashes. Your expression appears innocent, but he knows you’re anything but with the way you’re taking his cock amazingly.

When Tom can’t restrain himself anymore, his hips start bucking into your face. He feels you moan against him even if he caught you off guard, sending a wave of vibration through his whole body euphorically. His grip on your hair tightens while the tears that were brimming your eyes start to fall down like a waterfall.

The picture of you crying while his cock was shoved down your throat was enough to get him off through the rest of college. Maybe even the rest of his 20s. You wanted it rough, and you took him like a champ.

With your fingernails digging into his thighs, Tom was sure to come soon. And in the next few moments, he did. He was so blindsided that he didn’t warn you, didn’t tell you to get off of him so you didn’t choke on his cum. But then, you swallowed him without any hesitation.

Tom was nearly hard again because of it.

His remaining orgasm leaked from the corners of your lips, which you wiped away with the towel on the bed. Tom was trying to not appear dumbstruck while you were trying to rid the tears from your face, even though you were almost positive that Tom got off on them.

You had done a lot of blowjobs and deepthroating throughout your college years because again, men aren’t too nice or generous. You just so happen to be both.

As you stand up from the ground, Tom doesn’t wait to push you onto the mattress again.

“That was…” he starts before groaning quietly. Was he reliving it? “I need to be deep inside of your cunt.”

You blinked at the suddenness of his words. He couldn’t give you a single compliment? At this point, you weren’t going to waste anymore time fighting about it. Looking at his cock, he was basically hard again. That seemed like a compliment in itself. His angry tip and thick veins looked like if he knew how to use his dick, it could potentially destroy you. Isn’t that what you wanted, though?

Hell yes.

“Get on with it then,” You pressed, trying to widen your legs a bit more. After your first orgasm and Tom’s, you’re not as shaky as you’d been in the beginning. You got some of your wits back.

“Impatient much? Didn’t the palace ever teach you manners?” Tom jokes with a knowing smirk before hovering over you. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes irritatingly at his extra comment. His cock thumped over your clit a few times, causing you to gasp at the weighted feeling. You didn’t even know he had put a condom on, but the texture of his cock felt like latex, so you assumed.

Even though you told him to get on with it, he doesn’t. Tom’s lips kiss and bite your neck while he continuously slaps your clit with his heavy cock. Whimpers elicited from your mouth at the friction; it wasn’t a lot, but you were still sensitive from your last orgasm. Every time his dick hit the hood of your clit, shots of electricity fired inside of you.

“T-Tom!” You shouted annoyed, attempting to get his attention. But of course, your voice came out as a wavering moan and you saw his ego fly into the sky like a rocket. You can never win, can you? “Can you just fuck me already? What’s with all the foreplay?”

“Can you just shut the fuck up?” Tom stops all of his movements and grasps your throat in his hand. You glare into his blackened-eyes with an angered lust that he’s never seen before. But he likes it. He really likes it. “I’ll fuck you. Yeah, and I’ll keep fucking you until I’m done.”

His last words come out as a growl, one that was so primal and aggressive, you couldn’t stop the arousal that leaked from you. Finally, Tom pushes himself inside of you with no mercy.

Tom’s fingers are still wrapped around your throat, his pressure on and off so you get a millisecond to breathe. His cock slams into you at a meticulous and quick pace. Even with the condom on, you can feel every inch of his length sliding through you like it was raw.

You couldn’t even imagine how good it would feel if it was raw.

With no warning, Tom begins to flick his hips up into you. A broken croak elicits from your trapped throat while your cunt squeezes his cock harshly.

“Fuckin’ love this, aren’t you? Love how I fuck you? Love how I talk to you like you’re nothing?” His voice is guttural and low, laced with lust and degradation. “You’re just a hole f’me. A hole so fucking tight I can barely get my big cock through.”

You hate how egotistical he is, but your core is still on fire with every one of his words. He releases pressure on your throat for a bit longer, and you cry out in moans. His now free hand gropes your breast, slapping and twisting the nipple without care. Your back arched so aggressively, you thought you might cramp up.

Tom rammed into you like there was no tomorrow. His balls slammed against you while his light pubic hair tickled your clit and gave you just a bit more stimulation. Everything was making you float. Your body was just taking everything he was giving you and you were loving it. All the other times you’ve had sex they were gentle and sweet, but now, you’ve realized that it was just boring.

Tom somehow manages to curve his cock inside of you in such a way that it hits you in the perfect spot. A scream of his name flies out of your mouth before you clench snuggly around his shaft again. His name is the only thing your lips know.

“Daddy! Fuck,” You gasp at your own words, the title just slipping out. Your hand covers your mouth in a haste, shutting yourself up before you say anything else. Your eyes screw shut in embarrassment, hoping he didn’t hear you. But it was hard not to when you fucking screamed it. The neighbors probably heard you.

When you got too deep into it, you tended to say things like that. However, you’re usually able to compose yourself before you let it slip. But the way Tom is absolutely destroying you gives you no time to think, no time to do anything but feel.

“Of course, you’re fucking filthy. If I knew you were such a slut, I would’ve made you beg for my cock,” Tom growls in your neck, pounding into you with no remorse. Your mind is in a haze and your body is still on fire from embarrassment and passion. You tried your hardest to hold in your moans after satisfying him with that title, but Tom won’t let you.

He rips your hand away from your mouth, and for leverage, you instantly grip onto his shoulders. With each hostile thrust, your nails dig deeper into his skin, creating red curves all over him. Somewhere inside of you felt a sense of pride because you know that there will be marks later on. Is this what Tom feels like all the time?

Your cunt clutches his dick again, but this time your orgasm is near. Your hand travels down in between you two to rub your clit, but Tom beats you to it. His rough fingertips violently circle the little nub, sending your eyes rolling backwards. When you feel his pace slowing just a tad, you assume that he’s just as close.

“Daddy,” You mewl, scratching his arm as your hips thrust up towards his. Yeah, you were pretty deep.

But so was he.

“Know you’re close, baby. Feel you squeezin’ m’cock,” Tom grumbles gravely in your ear, and his voice sends a tingle down your arched spine. Although it was rough and raggedy, it was the softest he’s been to you all night. “Come, right fucking now, princess.”

Yeah, you might despise him outside of the bedroom, and maybe a little bit in it, but who are you to disobey such a thing?

Your entire body tenses and your heart stops. You don’t even feel yourself breathing as your orgasm washes over you like a never-ending tsunami. Your brain is overwhelmingly fuzzy, your breasts are sore, and your cunt is aching from all it. But you loved every bit of it. It was something you didn’t know you wanted, but when you got it, it changed your views and feelings on everything.

Sliding in and out of you slickly, Tom comes soon after you with a string of profanities falling from his pretty lips. Even if he was conceited, he was a striking man. His body was hand-crafted by God in addition to going to the gym every day. When his muscles contracted over you, you couldn’t stop fawning over him. And his face was remarkable, it was unfair how someone could be given so many good social-standard genes. You wished you could say it was all a rumor. But it was hard to insult his looks when everything he gloated about was true. It was just annoying that he was aware of it.

Funny, right?

“Y/N,” Tom repeated your name over you, hoping you would wake up in the present moment. You were clearly in your head and Tom was a little concerned to say the least. Maybe he sleeps with a bunch of different women and maybe he’s arrogant, but that doesn’t mean he’s heartless.

Blinking several times, you snap out of whatever mindless daze you’ve been in. He’d already thrown away the condom and put on some boxers, not briefs. He gently wiped any excess orgasm away with his towel, your body subtly squirming from the stimulation. When Tom finally sees you coming to your senses, he slowly leans away from you, assuming you want space.

“Wait,” You find yourself saying without knowing what you want him to wait for. When his body rose from yours, you felt cold. It was so uncomforting, knowing that you’ve been so warm this entire time. Tom stares down at your naked body and watches goosebumps fan your skin. Your nipples pebble and stomach contracts. You feel so vulnerable.

“What?” Tom asks a little breathily, one arm holding himself up for balance. He couldn’t really say anything else. For the first time in a while, he’s completely starstruck by you. Your bare figure with your lion-like frizz of hair on his bed, tangled in his blue sheets is a sight he’ll never unsee. He honestly thinks he needs a moment to collect himself before staring at your beauty again.

Have you always been this beautiful?

“It’s…cold.”

“Now, it’s cold? I’m not the weatherman, princess,” Tom smiles like a child with a slight tilt. Your eyes roll like usual, but a smile is tugging at your lips this time. “Maybe you should put some clothes on.”

“Maybe you should shut up,” You retaliate, pushing yourself up. You’re face to face with Tom, merely inches away from each other.

“I love when you fight me,” he compliments, moving his head in little shakes like he adores you. Your heart skipped a beat at his words.

“Why? Because I put you in your place?”

“Something like that,” Tom sits next to you on the bed while you wrap yourself in his sheets. You really didn’t feel like wandering around the entire room completely naked with his eyes watching you. “Also, what were you looking for earlier? I know it wasn’t a gun.”

That familiar wave of heat flushes your skin and your mouth gets all dry. Are you sweating?

“Pfft, I don’t even remember. Must have slipped my mind,” Out of all the things you could have said, you decided to act stupid. Good going.

“C’mon, it can’t be that bad. I’ve probably heard worse,” Your wide eyes meet his, full of embarrassment. “Yeah, I’m assuming it’s some rumor thing you heard, right?”

“Yeah…”

“Tell me.” You’ve already had sex with him, and that’s the lowest you could go. So, it can’t be worse than that.

“I was looking for the list.”

“Not even a list but the list? Must be some pretty special list,” he smirks with an arrogant lick of his lips. One of your hands rubs your arm for comfort while you explain the entirety of what you’ve heard. It took a few minutes, but Tom was listening to every word. He nodded along with a sly smirk on his lips.

“So, it’s a list of all the people I want to sleep with. Is this list in order?” Out of all the questions he could have asked, that’s what he said? Maybe he is completely conceited.

“I guess so. I assumed you could rearrange it if you’d like.”

“Are the women rated?”

“What? That’s disgusting!” Physically writing down how well someone was at sex was pathetic to you. But the curious cat in your mind was wondering one thing:

What would Tom rate you?

“Well, if I had a list, you’d probably be near the top.”

There is no fucking way you said that out loud.

“You did, though,” Tom laughs while your fists clench his sheets embarrassingly. You fall backwards onto the mattress, covering your face with the bedding.

Why are you still in his room? Why have you not felt the urge to flee yet?

Your skin was burning from embarrassment and your heart was beating sporadically, but your breathing was steady and your mind was decently clear. So, why were you still lying in Tom Holland’s bed naked without a single thought of leaving? Did you…like it?

Or maybe because you have no way home and what’s the rush?

“Hey,” Tom says while you’re still beneath the covers. “Are you still cold?”

“Yes,” You mumble quietly.

“Do you…want to take a bath? Or a shower if that’s weird–” Your head slowly peeks out from the navy blue, finding Tom’s wandering eyes. His large hand was scratching the back of his curly head. A single tingle shot through your body, making you a degree warmer. It was the first time you’ve seen him even a little bit unsure of himself, and that made you smile. Just a tad because it let you know that maybe you’ve made him snap out of whatever bubble he lives in. Even just for a moment.

Discarding the sheet, you sit up on your knees at the edge of the bed. Like before, you’re face to face with Tom, and you can see the struggle in his eyes to not look down at your bare breasts. It nearly makes you break out into a fit of laughter, but you carry on.

“I’ll go with the bath,” You whisper seductively and don’t hide the way you stare down at his pink lips. You couldn’t help it. They just look so kissable.

What is wrong with you!

“I’ll, uh, leave you to it then,” Tom coughs awkwardly. He’s never been like this before. He’s good with the flirting, seducing, foreplay, sex, and even the aftermath of leaving right after. But the second it even gets remotely romantic or intimate, he shuts it down quickly before anything else can happen. Though right now, he’s the one who made it sweet and offered you a bath. A bath is cute and domestic, which is so unlike Tom. He would have never offered something like that before, especially with no one home. He should’ve just kicked you out.

What’s different?

“Oh,” You look at the floor in pretend disappointment. Just to note, you’re still completely naked, standing in front of his bathroom door. You’re so glad he has his own bathroom. “You don’t want to join me?”

Tom blinks, wondering if you’re being serious. He never thought you out of all people would want to have sex in the bathtub, let alone with him. He swallows, trying to keep his cool.

“Yeah, obviously, I was just letting you get a headstart,” Tom rapidly removes his boxers while you strut into the bathroom, shaking your ass in your trail. Streaks of curses leave his mouth while he slams the door closed, not forgetting to lock it.

For the record, the rumor was true; Tom did have a list. It was in a spot he knew no one would check; his textbooks in his desk drawer. A single sheet of paper that has a list of the girls he’s been with and the ones he wants to be with. It’s crazy how such a rumor was developed when no one knew about the list except for himself.

Yes, it was listed in order and he reorganized it whenever he needed to. That’s what erasers are for. He writes it in pencil because nothing is set in stone. It’s honestly hard for him to remember who’s in his top five right now. Yeah, Tom sounds like a complete douchebag, but he didn’t really care.

Tom said that your name would be “near the top” if he had a list. What a liar he is.

Ever since he met you, you’ve been the first on his list. You’re the only name that hasn’t been erased since he wrote it his junior year. Also, you’re the only person who has a little note on the side of her name:

1. Y/N Y/L/N -The one

Tom had a feeling that he won’t have to write any names down, or even need the paper anymore. Even if he never had a list to begin with, he would have never needed one to remember you.

—

i hope you guys liked this i worked hard!! likes, comments, and reblogs are all appreciated <3

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defonottomholland · 10 months

Text

Little Birdie Part 2

Summary: You always thought you hated Tom more. But after a wild night that has now led into a confusing situationship you start to question who you should be hating more: your nightmare brother Andy, or his best friend Tom? w/c: 8.8k TW: just brothers being horrible A/N: Wow wow wow okay here it is. Please be kind as I am still easing myself back into this. And I know compared to the first one, it's barely anything, but writing 8k was actually a REAL struggle for me. There's probs mistakes and horrible writing but hey! i did it. And also DO NOT WORRY THERE WILL BE A PART 3. I DON'T INTEND TO LEAVE THIS STORY AS IS BUT I THOUGHT YOU GUYS SHOULD AT LEAST HAVE SOMETHING. okay okay okay all forgiven? Enjoy :)

LITTLE BIRDIE PART 1 // MASTERLIST

There was a book you once read years ago exploring the relationship between humans and dreaming, and it captivated your mind from the instant your fingers turned the first page. You were thrilled by its language, its storytelling, its theories and explanations to the point where you were absolutely obsessed by the enigma that is dreaming. The leading theory intertwined with its words was that dreaming was a human’s way of analysing their memories, learning from situations with hindsight and acting as a rehearsal for future challenges.

It was a book you rarely forgot and a book you rarely shut up about. You remembered the moment you finished it and the profound imprint it left on your mindset. Your hands didn’t want to let go of it. From then on, it prompted you to question every dream you ever had since then.

The dream you had last night certainly fulfilled that theory. Images of your own troubled memory involving your own troubled brother flashed before you. Aside from the unstable, hostile relationship, there was actually another reason why you tended to stay away from Andy. And for some reason, your mind decided to remind you just last night in the form of a dream.

Ten years ago, when you were eleven, you had just finished reading Matilda for the first time, one of the few books that occupied a home on your shelf as one of your all-time favourites. The storyline was almost an uncanny retelling of your life and because of that you immediately fell in love with it. You found so much of yourself in Matilda; a lonely girl with a love of books living with a family that didn’t quite understand her. Admittedly, your parents were much kinder to you than Harry and Zinnia Wormwood, but you couldn’t say the same about your brother. Andy resembled Matilda’s menacing brother, Michael Wormwood, in every way.

Prior to reading the book, you had had an awful week dealing with your brother who was in the early stages of his teenage years and you had yet to find a way of escaping his torment when your parents weren’t around. That was until you read Matilda, sitting on your front in a pillow fortress, swinging feet and unblinking eyes with the book perched so close to your face. One of your favourite moments was when Matilda had cleverly pieced together a very daring prank involving bleach hair dye, originally intended for her father but you took inspiration from it in any way you could and decided to replicate something similar for your brother. With the confidence given to you by Matilda, you found your mother’s bleach and concocted a mixture that was poured directly into your brother’s shampoo, cackling as you had finally gained a way to get back at your brother. At the time, you thought it was enough to keep him off your back, that with enough time he would realise the error in his mistakes for ever having mistreated you like Matilda’s brother Michael did.

It was the biggest regret of your life.

Things didn’t go your way. In the end, it was Andy that made sure you realised your mistake and a day later, you had suffered more than you ever had before.

Enraged, Andy had stormed into your room, hair blazing with a tinge of orange that originally had you in fits of giggles, but when you realised the true extent of his anger, you weren’t laughing for long. He had fought to grab you by your ankles and vigorously drag you from your bed whilst insults and slurs passed through his lips. You had kicked and squealed but your parents were out for dinner with business partners. You were left by yourself, left to suffer the carpet burns up the length of your spine as he pulled you out of your bedroom, to defend yourself when he had pulled you to the edge of the half flight of stairs and sent you tumbling down the steps. Being a carpeted staircase with fewer than 10 steps, you got away with what could’ve been worse but it didn’t mean that the injuries you sustained you didn’t ache from. So blinded by anger, unprecedented for a fourteen-year-old, Andy couldn’t explain to your parents how you ended up with a split head that needed stitches. He couldn’t explain how you had ended up with carpet burn blisters on your back. He couldn’t explain why he did what he did simply because your parents didn’t need an explanation. They knew what had prevailed.

It was a night you realised just how far Andy was willing to go to show how much he hated you and you vowed to never risk provoking him again. It was also a night Andy vowed to never risk hurting you again after the trouble he got himself when your parents arrived back home.

Well, at least not physically. Little birdie would already have scuttled away before it escalated to that point.

The dream had fizzled out into a dark void as the memory turned blank. As you arose from your slumber, you wondered why, of all nights, would your conscience decide to resurrect such a memory. Again, you reminded yourself that no one really knows exactly why people dream and what messages they carry, but if you were to guess; perhaps knowing what transpired last night between you and Tom, it was your deeper conscience telling you to consolidate an old opinion of yours; that Andy was the truer evil you should be hating more. Not Tom. Not after how Tom looked at you with a soft glazing of affection in his eyes just before you fell asleep, tenderly caressing the skin of your thigh with a grounding squeeze, the very feeling that made your heart jump with giddiness.

Longing stare, gentle touch, soft whispers.

Maybe it could be a feeling you could get used to. You were willing to give him the benefit of the doubt just to feel more of it.

The soft cotton of your black suite caressed your skin as you tossed and turned. The early morning sun streamed in through the small square window in the corner, illuminating the entirety of the shed. You had never slept on the couch before; it felt so out of routine. You were much more used to the bed upstairs hidden behind the blackout curtain, so you weren’t accustomed to waking in the bright morning light. It was somewhat uplifting. Albeit, the cramp in your neck was less so.

You basked in daylight’s glow for just a minute before acknowledging how bare you were sandwiched between a blanket and the couch. Despite it being a foreign feeling, it was hardly startling compared to the savagery your body endured last night. Your ass stung, your pelvis throbbed and your head pounded. But nothing hurt more than the tightness in your chest, a pressure so suffocating that your heart was almost murmuring to be free. The pain of solitude was a bitter one.

You, along with the black cinders of a dead flame, a raggedy towel and bottle of half-empty whisky lying by the side of the couch, and a broken promise were the result of what happened when Tom Holland got his way.

He didn’t stay.

You wanted him to stay and he knew that, but he didn’t stay.

Your pain tolerance had been worn down to its last thread and you wanted nothing more than to be cocooned in comfort and warmth. You sought recovery under the thin blanket, grasping it in fists and pulling it tightly over your shoulder as you turned on your side while a sigh deflated from your lips.

It was too good to be true. Tom was never going to change and now, neither will you. You should just keep hating him like you did before.

~~~~

Andy also seemed to be a no-show when you eventually entered through the back patio doors into the living room. Although the air was still and calm, there was still a feeling of unease crawling up your spine when you walked past the mess left behind by Andy’s friends. Without thought, your eyes subconsciously landed on the settee where Tom had placed himself last night before he came to you, where he had sat with fire in his eyes as you bravely threatened to expose his misdemeanours. You remembered feeling like you had achieved something, like you were the victor of a battle that seemed impossible to overcome. Little did you know it was a threat he was going to face head on, and suddenly last night’s…punishment instantly flashed in your mind.

Upon the thought, a sudden flash of realisation coloured your mind and your hand whipped to clamp over your neck. You almost forgot. The bruise on your neck. Shit, was it bad?

You shifted nervously in front of the sheen of the oven door, seeing not one but multiple red splotches staining the skin of your neck in its reflection. Fuck, fuck, fuck! How could you walk around here so brazenly with that on your neck? Trust Tom to be an issue even when he wasn’t here. Bastard.

“You got nerve comin’ back in here after your little stunt last night.” Andy’s groggy voice along with shuffling bare feet entered the kitchen. Fuck, you were hoping for a little reprieve to wash, change and lather your neck in makeup before Andy even had the chance to leave his bedroom. Between the dream you had last night and the bruise to your neck, Andy suddenly being here caused your heart to thump a little harder in your chest, but it was his tone that made your blood run cold.

He sounded…pissed. Well, that was nothing new. But aside from his usual abhorrence towards you, there was something about his expression that resounded a little deeper. Grumpier. His eyes also looked at you a little differently, like he knew something about you that he hadn’t before, something contemptible and there were no second guesses as to what it was. He can’t know. How could he know? Tom--he wouldn’t…would he?

Your hand stayed resting against your neck out of pure guilt while Andy roamed the kitchen, searching fridges, cupboards, drawers.

“What?”

He froze in his tread and turned to look at you expectantly with a deep scowl. “Uh, the whole Tom thing? How can you not remember what you did? Are you that fucking stupid?”

You swallowed thickly, quickly preparing words. “It…it wasn’t my fault! I didn’t know what he was going to do!”

“Well, what did you expect? You were pretty much asking for it!”

You took a hefty breath, body shaking with anger. “Fuck you, Andy. Just fuck you. Why can’t you just be on my side for once? That’s what brothers are supposed to do!”

Andy scoffed and turned back to the measly bowl of cereal he poured himself. “Well if you had just given me a slice of pizza like I asked then none of it would've happened! That’s what sisters are supposed to do, right? Do you know how pissed he was after you blackmailed him? He was blaming me for it, saying that I told you everything and how I betrayed him and how he can’t trust me anymore. I mean, how the fuck did you even know all of that?”

Oh. He’s talking about that.

Your hand remained casually resting against your neck, under the shield of your hair as a sigh blew past your lips. With quieter subdued words, you mumbled, “you guys aren’t exactly the quietest when you’re drunk and high.”

“Well mind your own business and put some headphones on next time!”

“Whatever.”

“Why are you holding your neck like that?”

“I slept on my couch last night. Got cramp in my neck.” Ready to leave with your secret still undisclosed, you turned to make your exit from the kitchen, heading towards the bathroom.

“Weirdo.”

The shower was a degree or three colder than you would usually have it. Something about the freezing cold water inflicted a feeling of clarity upon your skin, like a breath of fresh air, cleansing the stains of the debauchery of last night’s secret. Even as you stepped out, you exited with a new mentality and left the promiscuous past to drain away with the water. However, in its place frustration took over. Typical that whatever relief was to be had from the refreshing shower was only to last mere minutes, because now the heat of loathing had consumed you. Of course, your inner-consciousness blamed it on Tom, but there was a small minority that was self-loathing too for even letting it happen. You should’ve known better.

You stopped, frozen to the spot. The thing was…you did know better. You passed him off as a womaniser, the ‘selfish player’ who strives for nothing but his own satisfaction and only chases girls that share the same intent. You read him like one of your books, exposed everything you knew about him directly to his face and he confirmed it all without hesitation. So was there really anything surprising about what he did? No, of course not. You knew how sharp the blade was before you let yourself get cut by it.

So why were you still bothered by it?

The thought still followed you as you mindlessly dabbed concealer over your neck. You watched yourself in the mirror and for just a moment tried to avoid looking at yourself as just a reflection and rather how others would see you.

It was obvious you had never been adventurous with your appearance, your virgin locks hung around your usually make-up free face, adorning wise but inexperienced eyes. What you saw was what you got. Nothing you wore represented your family’s wealth; plain, basic clothing and lacking the expensive accessories that your brother might choose to wear, but it showed that you didn’t need money to be content and preferred a simple life. The more deductions you pointed out about yourself, the more you regretted ever reading Sherlock Holmes, because fuck, you were so readable. So transparent to the eye that you assumed it was why Andy knew how to push your buttons, that your parents knew exactly what books to get you for your birthday, and possibly how Tom was able to win one over on you.

The epiphany hit you hard and fast. Perhaps knowing Tom wasn’t the issue. After all, it certainly didn’t cause any vulnerability on his part. Perhaps the issue resided with never considering what others saw in you. Tom knew you would grow curious despite how adamant you were of opposing the idea. He knew that even though he was everything you hated about your brother and more, you would still fall into his trap. He knew how he made you feel when he was near, dissecting every sign until they were raw and unfiltered. He just knew. He even fucking told you!

“You’d be surprised at what I know about you.” Because you were so fucking readable.

Your head sunk deep into the caverns of your hands, quietly swearing an oath to yourself to stay away from Tom Holland until you figured out how not to be so transparent.

“Hey, dude. I’m sorry about last night. You up for comin’ round again tonight? I’ll get dinner and beers. My treat. Cool, dude. See you at about 7.”

As the words of an invitation echoed through the hall, you realised it was going to be much harder than you anticipated.

~~~~~

You spent most of the afternoon fretting over how you could avoid Tom’s inevitable return to the house. Your eyes gazed out of your bedroom window to see your shed exactly the way you left it. You couldn’t face going back there tonight. Tinted with Tom’s presence, it now served as a constant reminder of last night so it wasn’t exactly the best place to be if you wanted to avoid him. Being in the house was too risky which meant the only option you had left was to simply leave.

As 6:45pm ticked by, you tied your shoelaces, grabbed everything you needed and descended down the stairs, ready for your walk. You weren’t exactly sure where you were going to go, maybe you would find a Starbucks somewhere and read, but right now, your priority was to leave the house first and foremost.

“Where you goin’?” Andy had asked, his lips already sealing around a bottle of beer. You were surprised he even cared enough to ask.

“Out.”

“Good. Can finally give me some peace.”

Never mind. “Whatever.”

“Scuttle away, little birdie,” he chimed, seconds before you slammed the front door.

The pebbles clicked loudly underneath your feet as you marched your way down the private driveway. The sun had already begun to set beyond the horizon leaving behind orange remnants to colour the sky. Despite the day creeping into night, it was still warm and you praised yourself for leaving behind the jacket you considered wearing and indulged the feeling of having a warm breeze gloss over your arms. It was the first time you had seen outside of your house in a while and with that came the realisation that there was as much beauty in the real world than there was in your books. You should’ve done it sooner.

No, really. You should’ve. Because Tom’s Lamborghini was slowly rolling up your driveway towards your house. You checked your watch; 6:49pm. Fuck. He was early. Why was he early? Why couldn’t he have turned up when he was supposed to? Why must you have to go through this again?

Heartbeat accelerating, you looked back towards your front door calculating whether you had enough time to run back, but it had seemed you had walked too far and he had driven too quickly. There was no turning back. You had to face him head on.

Sweaty palms sunk deep into your pockets as you continued your stroll towards the gates, head down and ignorant of everything around you. Naively, you hoped for him to simply drive past you and pay you no mind, but of course, it was Tom Holland. Any opportunity to be a pain in your arse he was going to take it. You just wanted to be invisible, and despite the tinted windows and the pounding music coming from within, there was no way he wouldn’t see you and there was no way you were going to be able to avoid him.

You expected a slow stop, a rolled-down window and a witty comment to leave his mouth before making the rest of the journey towards your house. And in all honesty, you would’ve preferred it that way. In fact, you would’ve preferred anything over what actually happened.

The bubbling rumble of the engine stilled just a few yards ahead of you. The door opened and slammed shut again seconds later where a hearty silence followed. Quietly desperate to know what he was doing, you couldn’t resist the urge to lift your head to see him casually resting against the side of his car, waiting for your approach with his hands deep into pockets. Dark eyes latched themselves onto you as you neared and they instantly ignited a flame inside you, one that you hadn’t learned to tame yet.

In the split second you had before anything was said, you reflected back upon your earlier epiphany about how readable you were to him. Although you hadn’t found a solution to it as of yet, you decided to play into it, letting your brows sink into a scowl, writing the words ‘fuck off’ across your features with as much ambition as you had.

His head cocked to the side, purposely exposing the blemish you had regrettably left on him last night. You seethed at the sight. “Hey, little birdie. Where are you headed?”

Fuck him and his patronising, mocking tone. “Out.”

“At this time?”

“Maybe I would've liked it to have been at least thirty seconds earlier, or if you were ten minutes later. Either way.” You had intended it to be a clear insult to him, but yet you couldn’t fathom why he was chuckling with that stupid grin on his face. He took a step closer and folded his arms, his eyes examining you head to toe. Even in a different light, his eyes still contained the same lascivious quality as they honed in you. You really wanted to shiver but you also didn’t want him seeing what those eyes did to you, not when you were supposed to be pissed at him.

Longing stare…

Wordlessly and without warning, his hand reached out towards you allowing his fingertips to glaze over your jawline, purposely tilting your head to expose the part of your neck you doused in makeup. Your body burned at his touch, a violent act of betrayal of your own conscience as it pleaded with you to hate him rather than quietly yearn for him.

Gentle touch…

He watched the hidden bruise carefully, twitching under the bob of your throat from swallowing nervously and perhaps with a twinge of guilt for having concealed it. Why you felt guilt, you weren’t quite sure. It had been estranged from your emotions all day, and if anything, you felt empowered by concealing what he left behind. But under the scrutiny of his disapproving glare, you were far from the feeling.

The click of his tongue spiked in your ears. “Andy doesn’t know, does he?”

“No. But I guess that doesn’t matter, does it? I suppose you’re just going to go and tell him anyway-”

“He won’t believe me. Not unless he sees what you’ve covered up.”

“It’s better that way.”

“And why’s that? I thought we agreed that little birdie’s free to do what she wants--”

“And I thought you agreed to stay.” The words had fallen out in a trice before you had a chance to stop them. Tom wasn’t a fool to miss the anger behind them, and had he been a straight-up idiot, he would’ve missed the sadness in your eyes too.

His hand retracted the moment you continued. “That’s why Andy doesn’t know; because I got played by your game even though I know what you’re like, and it’s fucking embarrassing. I didn’t want Andy to find out that I was that stupid and naive to think that maybe for once, you wouldn’t be an asshole. It’s like it’s all some sort of prank for you, isn’t it? Because after all, you’re the one that comes out on top and I’m the one being humiliated. It’s always been that way, I should’ve been fucking smarter to know it was never going to change.”

Tom swallowed every word and embraced the silence for a moment before muttering your name in a voice quieter than normal.

Soft whispers…

“Just…do me a favour and leave me alone. Shouldn’t be too hard for you. God forbid Tom Holland spends more than one night with the same girl.”

Not sparing a second look, you turned towards the gate and quickly walked further from Tom who was left with nothing else to say. Although you were already fully convinced, you had secretly given Tom one last chance to explain himself. Just one chance to stop you and explain why he didn’t stay like he said he would, and still as you walked away and exited through the gates, he didn’t take it.

Each step you took was harder and quicker than the last. You drove your heel into the ground as that same frustration pumped through your veins, constantly abasing you for being so caught in the humiliation of it all.

“Fuck,” you whispered to yourself when you noticed your hands shaking. For a while, you spiralled into your own subconscious questioning why his absence this morning hurt you in a way you didn’t expect it to. No matter how profound your own self-analysis of what you were feeling was and why you were feeling it, you couldn’t find a remedy for it.

And like with every other problem in your life, instead of confronting it, you ran away from it.

~~~~

“Hi mum. How’s the holiday?” Your tone was chirper than usual as you spoke into your phone. It didn’t at all reflect how you were feeling inside, but you couldn’t let your mum worry about you. It would ruin her holiday.

“Hi honey, it’s nice hearing from you. It’s amazing; weather’s sunny and warm, the food’s great and all is relatively stress-free, well, except from when your dad dropped his passport at the airport and nearly lost it--”

“Jesus!”

“I know! I told him! The moron. Anyway, how are things with you and Andy? You sound like you’re outside. Oh God. Is the house still standing? It hasn’t burnt down has it?”

An airy chuckle fed through the line. If only she knew that Andy was just half of your problems. “Yes, it’s still standing so no need to panic. And I’m out for a walk. Decided I needed to leave the house for a bit to get some peace and fresh air. Andy has…been his usual self. Don’t get mad but he had a party the first night.”

“Ugh! I knew it! Truthfully, I always knew he was going to throw a party but I didn’t think it was going to be as early as the first night! Great. Now I owe your father a grand. It wasn’t too disastrous, was it? You must’ve spent the night in your shed. Did you get pizza delivered?”

You opened your mouth but no words came out. You never told her you were going to be staying in your shed, nor did you ever tell her about ordering pizza, regardless of the fact they happened on separate nights. She was still, in some aspect, right.

“Y-yeah, I did.” A long sigh broke the pause in between your words. “Hey, can I ask you something? And be honest with me.”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“Am I predictable?”

Your mother somewhat spluttered through the phone as she tried to find her words, obvious enough that if she had just said the first thing that came to her head you would’ve already had your answer.

Yes.

But of course, she was your mother, and in her sweet, maternal manner, she decided to answer delicately. “Well, you were always set in your ways, even from a young age. Very much a creature of habit. Routines and tendencies, you know?”

“So…I shouldn’t have a routine?”

“That’s not what I’m saying. Everyone has a routine. For example, your dad and I get up at 7 every morning, we’re at work by 8, we come home at 5, we make dinner, we watch TV. Every Monday, Wednesday and Thursday, I go to the gym. Yes, I have a routine but that doesn’t mean you’re going to know whether I’m in the mood for tea, coffee or vodka and it’s the same with you. I know you spend your evenings reading, but that doesn’t mean I know whether you’re going to read romance, mystery or horror. My point is; just because you have a routine, doesn’t mean your personality is predictable too, just the likelihood of your next steps. I’m just making it apparent that yours hasn’t changed since you were young. What’s got you asking?”

The truth sat on your tongue.

Andy’s best friend, Tom, whom I’ve hated most of my life, said he was going to fuck me even though I didn’t want to fuck him, but I still let him fuck me, and now I’m angry that I let him fuck me because it proved that he knew I was going to let him fuck me.

Obviously, that wasn’t what you really said. “Lately I’ve been feeling like everyone seems to know what I’m going to do before I even know what I’m going to do.”

“Well, change up your routine. Read in the afternoon and take a walk in the evening. Spend time in the living room instead of the shed.”

You hummed quietly, deliberating her advice. You remained quiet for just a second too long for her liking.

“Honey?”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t help but wonder if this has something to do with Andy. He hasn’t said or…done anything hurtful to you, has he? You know it would break me if he was to repeat what he did ten years-”

“No, no, it’s okay. He hasn’t done anything in particular, at least nothing I can’t handle myself. Now go and enjoy the rest of your holiday. I’ll text you soon, love you.”

She sighed, unconvinced, but replied back with the same familial passion she had always shown you.

As the hours drifted late into the night, you made it to your local Starbucks and sat with your hot chocolate encased in your hands. While your book lay unused beside you, your old habits drove you to blankly stare out of the window, casually watching other people as they continued on with their life while you reflected on your own. The conversation you had with your mother still ran circles around your mind, and as ever the insightful person she was, you thought it best to heed her words carefully. Change your routine, she said.

What was your routine? What was a guarantee in your life? Well, for one, you had to look no further than your own memory of Tom’s words not too long ago. ‘It's hard enough that the sight of Andy makes you scuttle away so easily…’. As much as it pained you to admit, he was right. It was the only cause-and-effect Andy and his friends could rely upon. The longer you thought about it, the more and more of your little tendencies surfaced in your head.

So you decided to change them all.

When your mother said to change your routine, when translated into your mind it read along the lines of ‘when Andy comes along, don’t scuttle away. When his friends are invited over, stay in the house. Throw them off, don’t let them know your next steps.’ Although it was going against your human nature, you were going to put your mind to it. Do not let anyone have a higher power over you. Do not let anyone know what you might do next. It was going to be a real test of your mental and emotional stability.

~~~~~

As it had appeared, that test arrived sooner than you anticipated. Not two days after your mother had bestowed you with her advice, Andy had organised yet another party at your house. There wasn’t exactly a strategy in place per say, but you had already pre-emptively taken everything from your shed because you didn’t want to dangle the temptation of retreating to your sanctuary in front of you. You wanted to remain strong in your ambitions no matter how you were going to do it or how difficult it was going to be.

As night fell, you watched from the upstairs office’s tall windows as people started to flood into the house, just to get an idea of what to wear. You wanted to look the part, wanted to look like you belonged there and not just a lost ghost floating around the house like you had been before. Most girls you saw were pretty casual, thankfully swapping the short dresses and skirts to jeans and a nice top, choosing comfort over style, nevertheless still maintaining that expensive price tag. That shouldn’t be an issue; you pondered over the choice of Balenciaga shoes you had in your wardrobe.

Once the party had started, you gave yourself a generous 45 minutes to psych yourself up for the night ahead, throwing back a few drinks you had brought in from the shed, fixing up your hair and makeup with a little more detail, and spending many, many minutes staring at your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes fell to your neck, the deep purple of the bruise had simmered to just a faint wash of pink that it wasn’t completely obvious to the eye, almost invisible in the dark. The foundation brush in your hand hovered a few inches above it, wavering between covering it up and leaving it be.

No. Leave it. Who cares who sees it? Not you. Not anymore.

The brush rattled against your vanity desk as you dropped it, turning towards your bedroom door and walking downstairs before a second thought could cross your mind.

With each step you took, you counted the number of things that were a guarantee for tonight: drink, drugs, games, chaos, debauchery, gambling, a mess. You had always seen the result of those things when you stepped onto the scene the next morning, but tonight, you were going to see them happen in action. A little daunting if anything, but if you were trying to look on the brighter side, you were fulfilling an unsuspecting part of your curiosity that had always wanted to see what exactly Andy got up to during these parties of his.

The crowd was once again split between the open living room, the kitchen and the veranda. There was no doubt that in time other rooms would eventually be used for other things, but the night was still young, sober and relatively innocent. You wanted to grow with it.

You couldn’t help but notice how you caught a few eyes with your entrance; a group of girls in the corner whispering between each other, a few of Andy’s friends turning their heads to catch a glance; shock, confusion and curiosity evident in their pregnant stares. It was attention you weren’t used to receiving, but that was the whole point of tonight. Change your routine. Be unpredictable. Be unreadable. Take control.

There was a pair of eyes you had yet to see, though.

Longing stare, gentle touch, soft whispers.

Stop it.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” It was Andy, lips pursed, teeth gritted. It was obvious your sudden appearance was startling to him, and it was no surprise to you that he wasn’t taking it well. His control was slipping…

“Here? As in my own house? What could I possibly be doing here?” The sarcasm dripped from every word as you yanked back your own arm from Andy’s fist.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

You smirked. “Says who?”

He opened his mouth again, at a loss, but was interrupted by louder, higher-pitched voices as they swarmed in from behind him. “Oh my God, Andy, is this your little sister?” It was Morgan, the girl Andy had brought back to your parents’ bed on the first night. She seemed to be engrossed with you, introducing herself animatedly and already inviting you to get drinks with her from the kitchen, much to Andy’s dismay. Despite being a little dumbfounded by Morgan’s sudden interest in you, you decided to not question it with the sheer satisfaction of knowing that you were stealing his attention.

“She was just leaving.”

“What? No, come on, let her join. You said tonight was going to be chill. ‘The more the merrier’, you said. Remember?”

Morgan whisked you away by the curl of her arm wrapped around your shoulder, bearing nothing but her pearly whites as she escorted you to the colourful array of expensive vodka bottles, mixed amongst the fat, golden champagne bottles on the kitchen counter, every second one uncorked. Morgan helped herself to the champagne glasses stacked up in the tall cupboard like she had done it so many times before, grabbing one for herself and one for you. God, it was like this wasn’t even your house and she was the hostess.

“It’s so nice to finally talk to you. You know you’re like a myth to us.”

Your laughter was loud and abrupt. “What?”

“No, seriously. We all knew Andy had a little sister but, like, we never see you.”

She handed you a glass of bubbling champagne and you took it delicately between your fingers, twirling as you reflected upon her words. “Well, I’ve decided to change that.”

“Good for you. I’m sure there’s plenty of people who want to meet you--oh! Talia! Over here! It’s Andy’s little sister!”

A slender body circled around yours and facing you was Talia, the girl you once fantasised over replacing. She greeted you with a smile on her face against the backdrop of her long, blonde hair as a red hue crossed yours. It was a smile that seemed genuinely welcoming and a sly thought spawned in your mind; maybe she doesn’t know about you spying on her that first night…

You couldn’t imagine her being so welcoming if she did.

“Oh hey! I can’t believe you’re here. It’s so strange seeing you outside your shed.” It was so strange to see her not latching onto Tom. Speaking of, where was he? “By the way, thanks for letting me use your toilet that first night, I don’t think I would’ve made it if you hadn’t. I was just so drunk and I literally couldn’t hold it.”

“Sure, it was no problem.”

“Really? I kept thinking that I had pissed you off.”

Well…“Don’t worry, it wasn’t you. It was…um, Tom. Didn’t want him in, honestly.”

A look of disgust contorted her features at the mention of his name. It didn’t make sense in your head albeit it was something you could resonate with. Perhaps you weren’t the only one to be foolish enough to lose at his game. Her eyes rolled widely and the click of her tongue conveyed a message that didn’t need words. She apparently despised him. Both a sucker for gossip, Morgan filled you in on the details with Talia giving extra snippets of insight every ten seconds or so, and after an unnecessarily long and dramatic build up, you found out that Talia and Tom used to have a little friends-with-benefits-no-strings-attached situation going on over a number of months. Talia had been using Tom in the same way he was using her; to alleviate boredom. It wasn’t news, honestly. In fact, it was hardly discreet. But the shock came from what Talia told you after.

“He texted me like three nights ago saying he wanted to end it.”

He would’ve been with you when he texted her. You must’ve been asleep by the time he did. A nervous glance to your left gave away your paranoia, regardless you probed for more. “Why?”

“Something about maturing or growing up or whatever.” She flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder with a short, unbothered sigh, her phone now perched in front of her face. “Oh well. I mean it wasn’t like we were exclusive. I can get my fun elsewhere.”

Stuck in thought, your eyes mindlessly gazed over Talia’s shoulder where your focus pulled your attention to the living room, full of bodies sitting, standing, conversing, drinking, all blurring into one amalgamation of movement. But there in the centre of the room was one motionless figure, a solid rock amongst the waves and it caught your attention immediately.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

Adrenaline was fed through your veins at the sight of Tom, just like it had done before. His stature was strong and confident as he faced you, clutching a beer in hand while the other burrowed into his pocket. He had you in his sights and with a glare so firm from eyes so dark, you found yourself being ensnared by them. You couldn’t put a name to the expression on his face and it left you wondering what his intentions were. Several ideas coursed through your mind but none had any semblance of plausibility.

With slow and careful movements, Tom tilted his head in a smooth motion to crack his neck. Only then, did you figure out what was going through his head.

With a breath caught in your lungs, you stayed vigilant as he subtly raised his beer just inches into the air with the neck of the bottle tilted slightly in your direction, dedicating a small, personal toast with the gentle nod of his head. What the hell did that mean?

You swallowed, cautious. You turned your attention back to Talia. “So…um, you haven’t heard from him since?”

Her eyes looked at you from the phone. “No. Knowing him, he’s probably moved onto someone else. Lucky bitch whoever it is. Tom was kinda my favourite to fuck around with. He knew what he was doing if you know what I mean.”

“No.” You deadpanned. “I don’t.”

Oh yes you do…

Having that very enlightening conversation with Morgan and Talia was just the first of many. Every second you spent around the house, the more people began to realise that you were here to stay and took the opportunity to find out all about Andy’s mysterious little sister. As introverted as you thought you were, you were actually enjoying the conversations, realising that not every one of Andy’s friends were as conceited as he was. At first it was the girls, watched by many begrudging boys as you single-handedly stole their attention, a problem that could only be resolved by joining them, chatting to you, finding out more about you and lure out the embarrassing stories of Andy they knew you had stored away somewhere. You were more than happy to oblige as it passed that point in the night when people had estranged themselves from sobriety, opening up with every drop they drank, including you. Although, you told yourself you didn’t want to take things too far, not on your first night of liberation from Andy’s silent clutches of which he was struggling to retain.

You had chatted to all but two. Two boys who had cowered to the far ends of the room for the majority of the night, watching, observing, refusing to follow the crowd. There was no attempt to patronise you, manipulate you, mock you in any way because, like your mother had suggested, you were completely out of routine. So out of character that the boys didn’t know what to do and unlike what you were dreading earlier, the party had developed into something you were happily embracing. It had actually pained you to take a break from the party when your phone had completely drained of its battery, so overused from adding multiple people on socials, adding numbers, taking photos that it had actually died.

Quietly excusing yourself, you made your way up to your bedroom believing you hadn’t been followed. It wasn’t until you tried to close your door behind you that a foot had stopped it from sealing you in. You barely made it to your charger when the intruder grabbed your arms and violently spun you around.

“What are you doing, get the fuck out my room!” Alcohol fuelled your anger as you spat words at your brother who was far from pleased.

“You little shit. You told all my friends about Mexico?!”

Mexico was your biggest weapon against Andy. It was a time where you and your family went on a summer holiday to Cancun a couple of years ago; an amazing time for you, but for Andy, it was his most embarrassing memory. Just days after arriving, Andy had an unfortunate incident involving the sea, lost swimming trunks, and a very awkward interaction with a lifeguard. Andy was absolutely mortified and the rest of the family giggled uncontrollably as they vowed to him to never tell a soul. It didn’t stop them from talking about it when the family got together, and while they kept their promise to never tell another soul, you had been embarrassed one too many times by Andy to solemnly keep that vow.

“Serves you right for embarrassing me in front of your friends all those other times-”

“That’s not the fucking same!”

“In fact, you’re right. Mexico doesn’t even begin to cover the amount of times you’ve embarrassed me. Now get off me before I start telling all your friends about everything else.”

His grip tightened, containing your struggle. “You’re not going back downstairs,” he ordered.

“Face it, Andy. You’re just too scared to admit that all your friends actually prefer me over you. That’s why you never ever let me near when you have them round.” You knew all too well that you were provoking him, something that you promised yourself never to do again, but you’ve lived so many years cowering from him. Just for once, you wanted to give him what he deserved.

“Shut up!” Enraged, Andy shoved you, and you landed just short of your bed, your spine landing onto the wooden bedframe with a clatter. With the door being closed and the music blasting downstairs, no one could hear the fight ensuing in your room. Once again, you were left to fend for yourself. But you were older and stronger than what you were ten years ago, surely you could stand a better chance against him.

In a tanlge of limbs, punches and kicks were thrown where and when possible, the two of you caught up in a careless fight with no clear winner. It lasted several pain-inducing minutes until the final, winning blow was taken by Andy who had managed to get you pinned to the ground. You weren’t sure what to expect from him as he forced you to the ground. Of course damage had already been done, but what else could Andy do to ensure you would stay here like he wanted you to? He knew as well as you did that at the first chance of escape, you would take it, so with every second that passed, the worry and fear in you increased. He was stuck for options, having nothing to keep you pinned.

There was an intense moment of anticipation. Your eyes remained locked in place with his as you internally battled it out with each other, waiting for either to have the chance to do something.

You clocked the moment his eyes wandered to your neck and heat rushed to your cheeks because you knew exactly what caught his attention.

“What’s that?”

“None of your business,” you spat. “Let go--”

“Is that…is that a hickey?” His voice was incredulous as he brushed a harsh finger over it, expecting it to be make-up but when it didn’t disappear, his eyes locked back onto you and his hand remained around your neck. “Who?” He demanded. The fire inside him roared ferociously. For a moment, the thought that he could potentially suffocate you crossed your mind. “Who?!”

To both of your surprise, the door swung open. “Dude, what the fuck are you doing? Get off of her!”

Andy’s weight was alleviated from you very swiftly, and your eyes caught on to the soft brown curls of Tom as he hauled him away from you, giving you just enough time to catch your breath and find your feet. By the time you came to stand, Tom had Andy shoved against your bedroom wall, a look of confusion riddling his face. He still didn’t know why his best friend had sided with you, and it made him all the more angry to think about what you had said earlier. He wasn’t ready to admit anything.

“Are you fucking crazy?” Tom yelled, face reddening by the second. “She’s your sister?!”

Andy glared at him through furrowed brows. Defending you was so uncharaceristic of him so it felt like a stab in the back for Andy. “Why are you taking her side in this, man?”

“How could I possibly take your side when you just attacked her?”

The two boys continued to argue in front of you while you stood silently behind them. The novelty of having Tom openly defend you against Andy had yet to wear off, so you were curious to see how far he would go and how it would play out.

“Dude, she told everyone about Mexico!”

“So? You’ve embarrassed her in front of all of us before.” Damn, right he has. “You told us all she was a virgin--”

“Was?” There was a brief silence in the argument, the gears winding in Andy’s head. His eyes twitched, stealing a glance of you behind Tom’s shoulder but contempt drove them back to Tom. “You know, don’t you? Who did it? Huh? Who left that thing on her neck?”

“Probably someone who can do a better job of looking after her than you can--”

You decided to finally cut in. You mustered the confidence and spoke firmly. “Tell him.”

Tom turned to you, a little surprised, almost as if he wanted confirmation of what you just asked him to do. With his eyes gazing over your features like they had done so many times before, he was able to clearly see the resolution written in your eyes and the confidence he saw as you stood your ground, unblinking. A small smirk tugged at his lips. He could read you so well.

Little birdie’s free to do what she wants.

“It was me.”

“You…no, you’re lying. I don’t believe you.”

“He’s telling the truth.” You came to a stand in front of Andy. “The night you had all your friends round for sports night. Tom left early, didn’t he?”

“How do you know that, you were in your shed…”

“Because he didn’t go home. Did you not think it was weird that he came back the next day with a hickey on his neck? That it’s just as faded as mine is now?”

An epiphany soon glossed over Andy’s eyes. “You were holding your neck…but you-you said you had neck cramp.”

“Or I was covering something up.”

Andy looked to you, to Tom and then back to you, betrayal and anger riddling his features. Between you and Tom, neither of you could quite tell who he was going to lash out at first and as a precaution, Tom took a step in front of you, curling his arm around your front. You initially thought it strange that Tom felt the need to protect you given what your brother had just found out, especially since you knew that you were considered ‘off-limits’ to your brother’s friends. Then again, it wasn’t out of brotherly-protection, it was out of greed and possession, and knowing Andy and his lack of familial compassion, you realised that you were just as much in the firing line as Tom was. His next words attested to that.

“You…whore.”

Now Andy had called you a lot of things, but a whore was never one of them. It had your blood boiling, your skin crawling with absolute digust, and your molars grinding together. What did you do to deserve a brother as rancid as him?

The moment he uttered that word, you pounced for him in a blinding rage. What stopped you from actually hitting him was Tom, making a very mature decision to collect all of your flailing, swinging limbs and calmly escort you out of the room. Andy attempted to retaliate but with a swift and threatening ‘do not fucking touch her’ from Tom, he retreated and sulked his way to his room. Regardless, you refused to relent until you were safely out of his sight, out into the front garden and trailing towards the front gate with the music of the party dulling behind you.

Once you reached the gates, Tom turned to you once to ask you if you were okay and in your alcohol-adrenaline-induced state, you simply nodded. That was good enough for him.

Wordlessly you followed Tom, having little to no idea what he was doing or where he was taking you. All you knew was that he had your hand in his and you were walking out of your driveway. You shook your hand lethargically to test whether or not he would let go but his grip only tightened, apparently adamant on his decision to take you away from here.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going back to my house.”

“Why?”

“So that this time, you’ll know I’ll stay.”

All things considered, you should’ve said no. You should’ve reminded yourself exactly why you were trying to avoid Tom. You should’ve stopped him and given him a ‘what-for’ for all the hurt he had caused you like you did with Andy. But you didn’t because you couldn’t stop reminding youself of why you wanted to say yes.

Rough hands, dark eyes, desperate moans. Longing stare, gentle touch, soft whispers.

You were tired of the reasoning, tired of the tension, tired of constantly battling, and tired of trying to decipher what every little minute detail meant. You just wanted to say yes and get on with it.

So you did.

Part 3 coming soon

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