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theharrowing · 2 years

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Dollhouse 💛 18: Namjooning

Hoseok’s job is simple: He enters the host’s body, he confiscates or terminates the target, and he gets back into his own body by dinnertime, easy peasy. Until a client comes along who becomes as obsessed with his life as he becomes with theirs, and the lines between their realities begin to blur.

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💛 Hoseok x Namjoon, Jungkook x Yoongi, Hoseok x Namjoon x Jungkook

💛 word count: 10.7k

💛 hired assassin au, sci-fi, body swapping, graphic violence, infidelity, body dysphoria, lgbtq, smut, fluff, angst, poly, nsfw, smut, 21+

💛 chapter warnings: description of gunshot wound & pain, emotional & physical infidelity, oral sex, anal sex, daddy kink, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, lots of messy feelings

💛 beta read by @neoneunnajimin

💛 posted aug. 2022 | read on ao3

Hoseok cannot sleep.

Namjoon snores on the bed beside him, and in the bedroom across from him, the light is on. Occasionally, he thinks he can hear quiet arguing, catching a voice getting a few decibels too loud before shushing again. It drives him crazy. After jumping back into his body, everyone just dropped the topic at hand and went to bed with things left unresolved, but Hoseok doesn't like to leave shit unresolved.

Hoseok also has to use the bathroom. He knows he should try to wake someone up to ask for assistance, but right now, he just feels like a burden lying in the dark contemplating his options. Namjoon didn't say a word to him after he jumped back—just tucked Hoseok in and went to bed. Yoongi would most likely help, but would it piss off Jeongguk? Jeongguk, who has hardly looked him in the eye since he was shot.

Paging the nurse would likely alert the others and possibly disturb Namjoon's sleep, but it is better than Hoseok pissing himself, so he reaches with his right hand to the large red button on a tethered remote that is draped over the top of the bed near his left shoulder. He takes in a deep breath, presses the button, and closes his eyes. Everything is frustrating and overwhelming, and Hoseok just wants to empty his bladder and attempt to sleep.

It doesn't take long for a nurse to come, and she opens the door slowly, whispering her arrival, and Hoseok is thankful she does not come bursting in with a loud voice. He half expects her to turn the light on and is glad when she keeps it off; there is enough light shining in from buildings and street lamps outside to give the room a decent glow.

"Sorry," Hoseok mutters. "Just need to use the restroom."

Beside Hoseok, Namjoon stirs on the bed, but Hoseok does not turn to see whether he is actually awake, deciding that he would rather not know. He rotates his body away from where Namjoon sleeps, wincing as waves of pain move from his hip down to his toes and up through his spine.

The nurse is quick and gentle as she wraps the thick cloth belt around Hoseok's ribs and holds onto it as he gets to his feet. She is younger and still seems full of optimism and encouragement, unweathered by years of seeing too much traumatic shit. Hoseok appreciates her quiet yet cheery demeanor, though if she asked him how he was doing, he would probably burst into tears. Thankfully, she does not.

Although Hoseok is quickly getting used to his legs again, especially with pain medication that is not making him as dizzy as the last one, he still prefers walking with assistance. Despite the bullet only grazing his hip, a particularly heavy step makes his entire side ache, and he fears a surge of intense pain could topple him over like a sack of onions.

"You're improving quickly, mister Jung," the nurse says quietly as Hoseok reaches the bathroom door. He smiles and tilts his head in her direction, though he does not fully look at her.

"Thanks. I feel a lot better about walking, but I still worry about losing my balance. Maybe in a day or two, I'll be able to move around on my own."

The chuckle from the nurse is light and in no way meant to scold Hoseok, but he already knows what she is going to say before she says it.

"Let's take it easy, mister Jung," she responds sweetly, pushing the IV pole into the bathroom but hovering by the door. "You experienced a traumatic injury. Your body needs time to heal."

Hoseok nods in understanding, making his way to the sink to switch on a dim bulb that hangs over the mirror, preferring it to the bright overhead light that is accompanied by a loud fan.

He knows that, of course, he has to allow his body to heal. But he also does not want to be a burden longer than necessary. And he is not sure how to move forward with at least two of the three men who are sharing this suite with him. Hoseok just wants to be on his feet again, and steady.

After using the bathroom and hobbling back to his bed, Hoseok sits on the edge, not eager to lay back down. He is tired of the hospital bed. Tired of having to change positions so slowly, he doesn't even bother lying all the way down to sleep. Tired of sleeping on his back.

The nurse leaves after Hoseok insists he can handle the rest, although now that he is tasked with rotating his body and kicking his legs up onto the mattress, he is not sure he wants to. He thinks maybe he can just sit on the edge of the bed forever, facing the door.

On the plus side, he is unable to see Namjoon, who is now behind him, so maybe he can just forget he is there, lying disappointed and probably dreaming about filing for divorce. From here, Namjoon may as well not exist. Except for when he snores.

To his right, the bedroom door cracks open, and Hoseok holds his breath. He is not sure why he does this; it won't make him invisible or anything. Maybe he secretly hopes that if he is perfectly still and silent, whoever is coming out of the room won't notice him, and they will just walk on by.

"Hoba?"

Hoseok squeezes his eyes closed and lets out the breath in an exasperated huff. He is glad it's Yoongi, though that also may complicate things.

"What are you doing?" Yoongi asks, and Hoseok tries to ignore the fact that his voice is getting closer. Not that ignoring his proximity to Yoongi has ever proven to be a simple task.

"I had to pee," Hoseok responds, opening his eyes.

Yoongi is standing before him in a loose white tee and black joggers. His hair is fluffy like it has recently been washed and dried, and his eyes are heavy and tired.

"And now," Hoseok continues, shaking his head and glancing around the dark suite. "Now I'm just sitting here. I didn't really plan this out, I guess."

Yoongi hums in understanding and approaches, and Hoseok feels his heart begin to pound. "Need help laying back down?"

Hoseok concedes. There is no point in sitting awake and staring at the door all night; he figures he should at least try to get comfortable. Hoseok nods his head and allows Yoongi to help him lift his legs. It is not that he cannot handle the weight of his own limbs, but rotating his torso is always a precarious feat. All he has to do is ignore the warmth that radiates from Yoongi's large, helpful hands.

With Yoongi’s help, Hoseok is able to get his right leg onto the mattress with no problem, but as the left leg spins and sets down, pain shoots from Hoseok's hip to his back, and he can't help the pained groan that comes from his chest, though he does try to muffle the noise. There is shifting on the bed beside him, and although Hoseok does not look, he can see Namjoon getting up onto his knees and ambling over.

"What's going on?" Namjoon asks sleepily. "Wasn't the nurse just here?"

Hoseok intends on saying yes and explaining the situation, but as he opens his mouth, he just groans some more. The pain has begun to subside, but he is still not fully laid back, and in order to alleviate the weight on his hip, he still has to rotate some and straighten himself out. Yoongi has his hands hovered above Hoseok, waiting for more instruction, but Hoseok does not have any to give, so he continues to shimmy and whimper until he is back where he needs to be.

"The nurse must have helped him to the bathroom, but not to lay down, I guess," Yoongi mutters.

Hoseok can tell Yoongi is trying to stay backed off and not make eye contact with Namjoon, which makes him inexplicably sad and frustrated. With a few more deep inhales and exhales, Hoseok finally feels relaxed. There is a throbbing pain at his hip, but it is manageable and does not punch the breath from his chest like it used to.

"I'm tired of laying here," Hoseok admits with a sigh, letting his head fall back against the pillow. "But I can't just...fucking sit and stare at the door all day. And Yoongi came out while I was struggling to choose between one boring fucking existence and the other."

Yoongi drops his hands to his sides and takes a step back. "I'm going out for a drive. I came out and found him sitting right before you woke up...but now that he's situated, I'm going to go."

Hoseok's hands tangle on his lap, and he stares at his fingers. To his left, Yoongi shifts on his feet a few more times and turns to leave. To his right, Namjoon inches closer on his knees and settles down. Hoseok doesn't look at either of them.

Silence befalls the room save for the sound of Yoongi slipping on his shoes and leaving. A sliver of light floods in, then dies as the door clicks shut, and Hoseok closes his eyes with a deep exhale.

"I owe you an apology," Namjoon says from beside Hoseok.

The vines grip onto Hoseok's ribs, holding on like a buoy out at sea and absolutely fucking suffocating him, and he takes in one more deep, shaky breath as he shakes his head.

"Don't do this," Hoseok mutters between his teeth.

"I shouldn't have reacted the way I h—"

"Don't fucking do this, Namjoon," Hoseok interrupts, opening his eyes and turning to his husband. His voice is sharp and rough, and his hands ball into fists in his lap. "Please, just...stop."

Namjoon looks pained and confused, searching Hoseok's face. "I just think it was wrong for me to be so upset after we—"

"No!" Hoseok shouts, then glances toward the closed bedroom door and lowers his voice. "No, Namjoon, stop this. You are allowed to be upset. You are allowed to feel like we tricked you; please don't backtrack on your pain and brush it under the fucking rug. I can't take it."

Namjoon continues to stare at Hoseok, and his jaw twitches, setting as he appears to tongue the inside of his cheek. Hoseok wants to look away and close his eyes and shut everything out, but he stares at his husband as his breath quakes through him.

"You can't take it?" Namjoon asks, pointing his gaze.

Hoseok nibbles on his bottom lip and extends his fingers, forcing his balled fists to open and relax to relieve their tremble. "No matter what you choose, I feel guilty. Please don't brush off your feelings now, just to explode later. Just talk to me so we can push through."

"Push through?" Namjoon chuckles a small sound lost of humor and shakes his head. "What does that m—"

"I mean...fuck, Namjoon, I need you right now. Physically and emotionally. So even if you hate me, even if you hate all of this, please don't brush it off and let it bottle up and make you turn your back. Please. Giving me the silent treatment and turning your back is so much worse."

Namjoon's eyes fall, and his hands ball into fists, then relax. His voice is barely above a whisper. "You sure you need me?"

The vines twist and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Namjoon's eyebrows raise, but his gaze stays lowered. "You have Yoongi now, so..."

"Yeah?" Hoseok asks incredulously, voice too loud considering Jeongguk may be asleep in the next room. "Yeah, is that how you feel? Replaced?"

Hoseok knows he has no business feeling so defensive. He made this fucking bed, so why is it so hard to lay in it?

He shakes his head and scoffs, eyes darting around the dark room. The glow of city lights bounce in soft orbs around the walls and floor, and he lets his eyes unfocus on a swatch of gold light before blinking back to the present.

"Do you love him?" Namjoon asks. There is a shake to his voice, but Hoseok doesn't dare look at him.

"No," Hoseok mutters without giving it any thought. "But I do care for him. I have...some feelings, I suppose."

"But you want him?"

At this, Hoseok turns his head. Namjoon's eyes are clouded with tears and his pretty lower lip trembles. Hoseok wants to grab his face and nip at Namjoon's mouth until he purrs. He shrugs.

"To an extent," Hoseok admits. "I enjoy his company. And his body."

Namjoon hums and glances around the room. "And if you fall in love with him?"

"Namjoon, be serious."

Namjoon drives his fist down into the mattress beside him. "I am being serious!" he shouts before lowering his voice to grit between his teeth. "I see the way you two look at each other. The affection. The—there's a chemistry between you two that's so thick it's stifling, Hoseok."

Hoseok's stomach flips, and suddenly, he feels like throwing up. How can he defend himself when none of what Namjoon says is false?

Namjoon sighs and adjusts. He appears contemplative as if his outburst moments ago hadn't happened.

"If you say you're not in love with him, then I believe you. And if you want to keep fucking them, then...honestly, so do I." Namjoon scoffs and shakes his head, holding back a smile. "I like this fucked up little affair and all the messy moving parts. Overall, I think they're good for us. I just...I don't want to lose you."

"Lo—" Hoseok cannot speak, words getting tangled in his throat with a sudden flood of guilt and bile rising to the surface. He swallows it down and tries to shake off the urge to cry, but there is an unmistakable quake in his voice. "Namjoon. You would never lose me. I love you more than anything in this world, and I need you by my side. Yoongi and Jeongguk...they're fun and I want them by my side too, but I don't need them."

Namjoon nods and leans forward, letting his feet flop to the side, out from underneath him. Hoseok reaches for him, and when Namjoon takes his hand in both of his with a smile, Hoseok lets out a deep sigh of relief. Yes, Hoseok admits, he does feel like there is a certain affection and chemistry between himself and Yoongi, and he would be lying if he said he wanted to stop seeing him.

But Hoseok couldn't imagine what he would do without Namjoon. Not only is Namjoon his sun and stars, but Hoseok knows deep down that Yoongi would probably always be tethered to Jeongguk, so it is not like he would have him alone, anyway.

This time the jump is smooth, and Hoseok sits up and stretches Yoongi's arms widely. There is no work assignment today; Yoongi had convinced Hoseok, after much arguing, that he should take Namjoon out to dinner and spend a night in their own bed.

Of course, Hoseok loves the idea of going outside and having dinner with his husband that consists of something that is not hospital food, but he feels bad having to use Yoongi's perfectly healthy body to do so, leaving Yoongi to lay in pain with a man who currently cannot seem to stand the sight of Hoseok's face.

Hoseok stands and sighs, then makes his way to the bathroom to get a good look at the outfit Yoongi had chosen for his date. A loose white tee is tucked into loose-fit light blue jeans, and a cream-colored cardigan swallows him, hanging past his hips.

Despite his surprise to see Yoongi dressed so casually, he has to admit, he finds his reflection appealing, running a hand through Yoongi's fluffy dark hair. It is overgrown and beginning to curl on the ends, and the sight of it does something to Hoseok's insides.

"And where am I meeting our husband?" Hoseok asks with a sheepish grin, turning back to Yoongi. It is still disarming to watch his own body be piloted by someone else, and he cannot get over the rasp of Yoongi's voice echoing around in his head as he speaks.

Yoongi shrugs with a grin and says, "He called whatever the two of you are going to be doing Namjooning and told me to dress casually, so...I did my best."

Namjooning. Honestly, Namjooning could mean a lot of things, but it typically means something to do with nature—a hike, a bike ride, a picnic on the river, all three—or it could mean visiting a museum or gallery, or any important historical place. It is how Namjoon unwinds, centers himself, and feels more human. Hoseok grins and makes his way to where Yoongi lays.

"Sure you'll be alright? I can wait for Jeongguk to come back."

Yoongi shakes Hoseok's head and nods toward the door. Beside him, the monitor shows Hoseok's point of view, looking through Yoongi's eyes. "Go on! I can call the nurse if I have to. Get out of here. Go be with our husband."

Hoseok can't help but chuckle and smile softly. He wishes he could see the soft smile that tugs at Yoongi's lips as he leans forward and places a soft kiss on his cheek. Yoongi smiles back, and Hoseok admires his own adorable face for a change.

"Let me know if you need anything, okay?" Hoseok asks in Yoongi's deep, pretty voice.

"Will do, Hoba."

The nickname makes his—well, Yoongi's—tummy do a flip, and he pauses a brief moment before standing up and walking toward the door, slipping into the flip-flops that Yoongi set aside. With a final glance into the room, he waves to Yoongi and exits.

Hoseok: Where am I off to, Joonie bear?

Namjoon: Ice cream stand on the river. The one from our third date.

Hoseok: It's still there???

Namjoon: Sure is!

Hoseok can't hold back a smile as he types in the general location of the ice cream stand that he had all but forgotten until now, remembering the nearby bank he has stopped at several times over the years.

Hoseok: Be there in 10!

The small ice cream stand is exactly how Hoseok remembers it. A square refrigerated box with brightly colored signs covering each side of it and a row of long curly wafer tubes in which ice cream can be injected like a cold, crunchy churro of sorts. He smiles widely as he approaches, finding his husband sitting patiently on a nearby bench, watching passersby.

Namjoon is in a plain forest green tee and tan cargo pants, and although his muscular form is swallowed in the loose layers, he has a calmness about him that makes Hoseok's heart melt. Well, Yoongi's heart. He stands and watches Namjoon for a few seconds before continuing to meet him.

Although Namjoon recognizes Hoseok as he turns his head and meets his gaze, there is a hint of confusion that he blinks away a split moment later, clearly reminding himself and Hoseok that he is, in fact, in another man's body. Hoseok sends a shy smile and grins widely, flashing Yoongi's pretty gums, and Namjoon chuckles as he stands.

"Strange," Namjoon mutters, wrapping his arms around Hoseok. "I don't remember my husband being so small."

Hoseok tuts and chuckles, pretending to shove Namjoon away playfully the way Yoongi might before conceding and allowing himself to be hugged. Then, after a beat, he wraps Yoongi's arms around Namjoon's waist and pulls him close.

"Don't tell Hoseok, but you're really nice to hug, Yoongs. And I like the way you smell."

"Yoongs?" Hoseok parrots incredulously. "What happened to hyung?"

Namjoon chuckles and hums. "I decided to drop the honorifics today. Hope you don't mind, Yoongs."

"Wow. Well, I hope you don't mind, Joons, but I prefer to share ice cream with my date, and I only eat mint choco."

Namjoon scrunches his face in disgust and shakes his head. "You're lucky you're not my husband because I would be demanding a divorce right this instant."

They walk along the river, eating from their own cups of ice cream while taking in the scenery. Hoseok has a scoop of chocolate with a small scoop of strawberry on top, and Namjoon has a pale green melon flavor. They eat in silence, and when Namjoon finally crinkles his empty cup in his hand and swerves off path to toss it into a waste basket, Hoseok sips down the rest from his cup, all of which has melted, and joins him to discard it.

Namjoon's eyes rove up and down Yoongi's body, and Hoseok snickers, shaking his head. "Do you always check out other men when your husband isn't around?"

"Only when the other man is so pretty," Namjoon responds with a wide, playful stare.

Hoseok isn't sure whether to kiss his husband or to slap him. Instead, he continues down the path along the river, leaving Namjoon to follow behind.

"Trying to carry on Namjooning without Namjoon, wow!" Namjoon huffs as he catches up, falling into step beside Hoseok.

"Where to, Joonie?" Hoseok rasps in Yoongi's gravelly voice, sending Namjoon a bright smile.

Namjoon grins back, averting his gaze with a faint blush. "I was thinking the history museum. There's a really neat exhibit on Hanyang, and I thought—"

"You're not actually on a date with Yoongi-hyung, you know," Hoseok mutters, interrupting Namjoon, who stops in his tracks. When Hoseok looks at Namjoon, there is a sadness in his eyes.

"I know that," Namjoon responds sharply.

Hoseok looks at Namjoon incredulously and shrugs. "He's the one into history and all that. I'm...I don't know. Not."

Namjoon sighs and shifts on his feet, and Hoseok, admittedly, knows why. He has never complained about going to a place like this in the past, so him suddenly behaving this way is strange. Hoseok knows it is strange and probably that it comes from a place of insecurity, but he does not want to voice that. He does not want to think about it.

"Fine," Namjoon concedes, lifting his hands from his sides and flopping them back down against his thighs. He seems at a loss as he looks above Hoseok, eyes scanning as if whatever solution he seeks may be right there on the horizon.

Hoseok sighs. "Fine. Let's go. You want to show me, so I want to go."

Namjoon buckles with a groan, shaking his head.

"I mean it. Let's go! I want to see whatever it is you want to show me, Joonie."

Namjoon appears to think it over but doesn't respond, so Hoseok continues. "I'm sorry I fussed; I don't know what my deal is. Maybe I'm hungry."

"Hungry?" Namjoon scoffs. "I fed you ice cream; what more could you want?"

There is a hint of playfulness in Namjoon's tone that relieves Hoseok some, and they continue walking, bickering lightheartedly about the merits of ice cream as a food group, ultimately agreeing to disagree.

Hoseok is pleasantly surprised by how comfortable Yoongi's flip-flops are—ignoring the fact that they're Gucci brand—though, by the end of the museum trip and their relaxing dinner at a quaint spot near the museum, he is thankful to be hailing a cab.

"Wait," Namjoon says as he reaches for the car door, "where are we going?"

"Home," Hoseok mutters. At Namjoon's puzzled look and adorable head tilt, he continues. "Yoongs insisted we spend the night in our own bed."

"Y-yeah, but...should we? I mean... he's okay, right?"

Hoseok reaches past Namjoon to open the cab door, worried about leaving the driver hanging while they talk about something they probably should have sorted out earlier. He gets in and slides through the backseat to the other side, and Namjoon follows. Namjoon begins to mutter a response, but Hoseok cuts him off and tells the driver their address.

"He said he'd call if he needed anything. Also...I can literally talk to him right now if I wanted to."

"Oh, right," Namjoon says, appearing downcast. "H-how is he? Have you guys been chatting all day?"

Hoseok is surprised to find he hadn't thought to contact Yoongi until this moment. "No. I don't know. I haven't talked to him since I left the hospital."

"Wh—really?" Namjoon looks shocked, and Hoseok feels guilty at the thought of his husband expecting that he has been secretly chatting with Yoongi. He can't say he blames him.

Hoseok shrugs. "Honestly, I forgot I could until just now."

"I'm that easy to forget?" Yoongi sends to Hoseok, taking Hoseok off guard. He hopes Namjoon doesn't notice him flinch and wonders if Yoongi had been watching through the monitor this entire time.

"You also hadn't reached out, Yoongs," Hoseok responds in his defense, staring aimlessly out the window.

"Didn't want to disturb your date with our husband."

Hoseok scoffs, catches Namjoon turning to look at him, and lifts Yoongi's hand to his lips to cough, playing it off. He has no reason to keep the exchange from Namjoon, knowing he would be delighted by the our husband inside joke, but he holds it in, choosing not to admit to Namjoon that now he and Yoongi are having a conversation he can't hear.

The moment Hoseok slips out of Yoongi's sandals, Namjoon is on him, grabbing him by the ass and lifting him. Hoseok whines as he's picked up, wrapping Yoongi's limbs around his husband tightly.

"Yoongi doesn't mind if we fuck, right?" Namjoon groans, turning to press Hoseok against the front door while he attempts to toe out of his shoes and kiss him at the same time.

"In fact, I encourage it," Yoongi responds, making Hoseok chuckle.

"Yoongi says he encourages it."

Namjoon stumbles and grins against Yoongi's lips. "Of course he does," he responds in a voice so low it gives Hoseok chills. "Probably excited to watch."

"You bet your ass I am," Yoongi responds as Hoseok mutters, "Of course he is."

Namjoon manages to carry Hoseok up to their bedroom, only stubbing his toe and groaning profanities once, and as soon as they are through the threshold of their room, Namjoon sets Hoseok down and immediately starts pawing at him, removing Yoongi's clothes.

"Tell Yoongi this outfit looks really good," Namjoon grins as the cardigan hits the floor.

"Thanks Joonie, baby," Yoongi responds.

"He says, 'Thanks Joonie baby.'"

Yoongi's next words have Hoseok's breath hitching—have the vines squeezing. "Please make him cry tonight, Hoba. I wanna see him take my cock so well."

"Did he say something else?" Namjoon asks with a raised eyebrow as he tugs his shirt over his head and adds it to the heap.

Hoseok—pulling Yoongi's tee over his head and dropping it down—steps forward and places Yoongi's big, pretty hands on Namjoon's muscular, golden-toned chest.

"Daddy wants to see you cry," he rasps in Yoongi's deep, resonant voice. "Daddy wants to see just how good you take this cock, baby boy."

Namjoon's hands make quick work of Yoongi's jeans, and when they are pushed down over his hips and his fingers are hooked into the itty bitty red briefs Yoongi picked out, Hoseok gently but firmly grabs onto Namjoon's wrists, stopping him in his tracks.

"So eager, baby boy," Hoseok teases.

Namjoon lets out a deep, needy whine. "Y-yes, daddy."

"Any requests for us, daddy?" Hoseok thinks playfully.

Yoongi doesn't hesitate to respond. "Stripped. On his knees. Do you have a vibrating plug?"

"We sure do," Hoseok thinks, then he rasps, "Strip for me, baby boy."

"Y-yes, daddy!" Namjoon says as he eagerly works open his tan cargo pants and pushes them to the floor.

"I want him to insert it himself while you slowly jerk off and tell him how good he is. I want his mouth so close to my cock he begs for it."

Namjoon stands up straight while his briefs hit the floor, and Hoseok advances again, just one step forward, and grabs Namjoon firmly by the jaw. Namjoon lets out a sweet, pitchy whimper and his body relaxes instantly.

"So good for me, baby boy," Hoseok rasps. Yoongi's pale, knobby fingers pushing Namjoon's thick, pretty lips into a pout does something to him, and he does his best to keep the expression on Yoongi's face as neutral as possible. "Open the bedside table."

Hoseok does not let go of Namjoon, who attempts to look toward the table that is to his left, just behind him. He bends at the waist, stretching his arm down, and his fingers dance over the edge of the surface momentarily until he finds the handle and yanks it open. Hoseok loosens his grip but doesn't let go.

"Grab the purple plug and the lube, baby."

Namjoon's eyes widen, and he pauses before turning his head just enough to reach in and grab out a bottle of lube and a purple silicone anal plug. He cradles both items in his palm and pushes the drawer closed with his fist, then straightens and looks to Hoseok for instruction.

"I want you on your knees on the bed facing me. You're going to put this toy into your tight little ass for me, alright, baby boy?"

With a soft gasp, Namjoon nods his head. His voice is soft as he mutters, "Yes, daddy."

Hoseok lets go of Namjoon's jaw and watches as Namjoon scrambles to get onto the bed on his hands and knees with the lube and plug still in his fist. Once he is settled, Hoseok begins to palm Yoongi's cock over his briefs. Namjoon's eyes widen, and his lips fall slack, following the languid movements of Yoongi's large hand.

"Lube it up, baby."

Namjoon anchors himself on his elbows and squirts lube onto the plug, then snaps the bottle shut and drops it onto the cornflower blue comforter below him. Hoseok works Yoongi's cock in firmer strokes, feeling a dribble of precum soaking into the fabric of the tight red briefs. Namjoon also notices, and he licks his lips.

"Tell him to turn the toy on before he inserts it," Yoongi instructs, and Hoseok grins.

"Turn the toy on before you insert it, baby boy."

Namjoon's adam's apple bobs, and he presses and holds a button on the flat base of the plug, pushing it twice to work up a nice steady buzz. His eyes only drift from Yoongi's cock long enough to find the button, then he stares once more, waiting for instruction.

"Insert the toy, baby boy," Hoseok instructs, taking two steps closer to close the gap between them. Namjoon could reach out and touch Hoseok; he is so close.

"Yes, daddy," Namjoon croaks. He reaches back, and all at once, his eyelashes flutter, and his mouth falls open with a deep groan.

"Feel good, baby?" Hoseok asks, squeezing the tip of Yoongi's cock through the briefs. It feels good, so good arousal pools inside him, and he wishes Yoongi could feel the sensation too.

"So good, daddy," Namjoon whines as his mouth trembles and his back bows. His eyes flutter closed, and Hoseok clears Yoongi's throat.

"Eyes on me, baby boy!"

Namjoon's eyes fly open, straight to Yoongi's cock and he pants and whines as he slowly works the plug into his ass. Hoseok wishes he could see as Namjoon pushes it gently in and pulls it slowly out, over and over. Hoseok pulls the tight little red briefs down, letting Yoongi's thick, hard cock spring out, and Namjoon whines loudly, eyebrows knitting desperately.

"Please, daddy," Namjoon mutters, licking his lips.

"Yes, baby?" Hoseok asks, gripping Yoongi's cock and stroking up to gather the mess of precum from the tip onto Yoongi's palm. Namjoon moans.

"Please let me suck it, daddy."

Hoseok grins. He thinks he hears Yoongi groan over the mind link, which means Yoongi wanted him to hear it, and for a split moment, his eyes flutter closed, imagining Yoongi pleasuring himself, gripping onto Hoseok's cock, while he watches.

"Have you earned this cock, baby boy?" Hoseok rasps teasingly.

Namjoon's eyes fly to meet Hoseok's gaze, and he groans pleadingly. "Yes, please. I'm a good boy! Please, daddy."

"Is the toy inserted?" Hoseok asks, cocking Yoongi's eyebrow. He strokes down the length of Yoongi's cock, sending sparks flying through him. On the upstroke, he points Yoongi's cock ever so slightly forward, and Namjoon's lips flounder open.

"Ah—almost."

"Walk around the bed, Hoba," Yoongi instructs. "I want to watch his ass swallow the toy."

"Daddy wants to watch your pretty little ass swallow the toy," Hoseok says as he begins to round the bed, stroking Yoongi's cock slowly. "Are you going to be a good boy and give daddy what he wants?"

"Yes, daddy," Namjoon mutters.

On their dresser is a garish vintage handheld mirror with a brass frame and long stem embossed with roses and winding thorns. Hoseok grabs it and reaches from the foot of the bed to hand it to Namjoon.

"Here, baby, I want to see your face as the toy breaches your rim."

Namjoon turns his head and reaches haphazardly, falling onto his chest, keeping the hand that's holding onto the toy in place. Hoseok chuckles and shakes Yoongi's head gently. "Cute," he mutters.

Hoseok continues his path around the bed and stops behind Namjoon. This time, the groan from Yoongi is unmistakable, and as he mutters, "Fuck," into Hoseok's mind, Hoseok lets out a shattered breath.

"So pretty," Hoseok rasps.

The toy is at the final stretch of the tapered bulb, and Namjoon pulls it out about a centimeter, then holds up the mirror as best as he can. From where he's standing, Hoseok can see his face in the reflection, and the next upstroke of Yoongi's cock feels even more delicious with the new view.

"You're doing so good, Joonie baby," Hoseok praises, eyes flitting between Namjoon's ass and his reflection.

Namjoon's mouth falls open, and he does his best to keep his eyes on Hoseok through the mirror, but they flutter and roll back as he gives the plug the last push he needs to be nestled tight in his ass. Namjoon pants and sobs and glistens with sweat, and all Hoseok can think as Namjoon lifts his gaze back to the mirror is that he hit the fucking jackpot marrying this man.

With a groan, Namjoon drops his hand to the bed, and Hoseok gets onto the mattress on his knees, takes his place behind him and places both Yoongi's hands on his ass, spreading him wide. Namjoon hisses and lets his head droop before picking it back up as his asshole stretches and puckers around the toy.

"Fuck, I want to taste him so bad," Yoongi whines.

"Force bleeding," Hoseok responds frantically, aloud.

Both Namjoon and Yoongi respond, "Huh?"

"Force bleeding," Hoseok responds just to Yoongi. "Please, I want you to see and feel this."

The idea of sharing sensations with Yoongi suddenly has Hoseok feeling overwhelmed and excited, and he shakes his head, glancing at Namjoon in the mirror. "Sorry, that was meant for Yoongi. He wants to feel you."

"What does force bleeding mean?" Namjoon asks, watching Hoseok with wide, curious eyes through the mirror.

"If Yoongi forces both of our consciousnesses to bleed together, we can feel and see some of what the other does."

"Whoa," Namjoon mutters.

Hoseok leans forward and nips at Namjoon's soft flesh, close enough to his rim to make a shudder run through Namjoon. "Would you like that, baby boy? Would you like it if Yoongi could also feel you?"

"Yes, daddy," Namjoon responds with a desperation in his voice that Hoseok believes. He wants it, alright.

Hoseok licks over the toy, flicking Yoongi's tongue around his rim and Namjoon moans deeply and falls forward. He can feel the vibrations against his tongue, and they are strong enough that it is no wonder Namjoon is sweating. With a few more firm licks over the toy, Hoseok relishes the way Namjoon whines and gasps.

"You did so good for me, baby boy," Hoseok groans as he nips on Namjoon's cheek and upper thigh, leaving a trail of wet marks with Yoongi's lips. "Wanna suck daddy's cock as a reward?"

Yoongi's cock hangs hard, heavy, and neglected, and when Namjoon whines a weak, "uh-huh," Hoseok lifts Yoongi's large hand and slaps Namjoon hard on the ass. Namjoon whimpers and his legs tremble.

"What was that?" Hoseok commands in Yoongi's gruff voice.

"Yes, daddy!" Namjoon shouts. "Please, please let me suck your cock."

"Make him beg a little longer," Yoongi commands. "But let me see his face."

"Turn around for daddy," Hoseok instructs.

Namjoon moves quickly, limbs noodling around as if they are barely hooked up to a working body. It is cute the way he scrambles and trips over himself, and as he turns and meets Hoseok's gaze, it is clear that he is continually thrown off by Yoongi's body being the one to fuck him.

Hoseok is still on his knees on the bed, and he gently grabs Namjoon by the jaw with both hands and pulls him into a deep, sloppy kiss. Namjoon moans against Yoongi's lips, moans as Hoseok licks against his tongue, moans when one of Yoongi's hands trails down to grip Namjoon's throat—sweet, pretty sounds that Hoseok swallows whole.

"Tell daddy what you want," Hoseok instructs, then sucks Namjoon's plush lower lip gently between Yoongi's teeth.

"Want to—ah—want to suck your cock," Namjoon whines.

"Why?"

Namjoon lets out a frustrated, pitchy groan and presses his forehead against Yoongi's. "Please," he whines.

"I asked you a question, baby boy. Answer me." Hoseok tightens his grip on Namjoon's throat and moves his head back just enough to hold him out of reach. Namjoon attempts to jut his chin forward, a tactic he always uses to try to get his way—kissing instead of using his words. When his attempt seems futile, he huffs and pouts like a petulant child.

"Like the way your cock tastes, daddy," Namjoon responds through his pout. "Like how heavy it feels on my tongue. Like the way your come tastes. Wanna feel it drip down my throat."

"Jesus fucking christ," Yoongi groans, and it sounds different from the mind link groan. It sounds like Yoongi said it aloud. Hoseok wonders if they are bleeding; Yoongi never gave an affirmative that he would do it.

"You must really love Yoongi's cock, baby boy," Hoseok teases in Yoongi's deep rasp.

Namjoon looks Hoseok in the eye, raises an eyebrow and says, "Yes, daddy."

Hoseok isn't sure he can describe the feeling that seeps through every pour and sinks deep, deep into every bone. But the vines twist and twist, threatening to crack every rib and turn them to dust. Hoseok does his best not to spiral.

"You wanna taste Yoongi's come that badly?" Hoseok continues, hoping Namjoon doesn't hear the sudden tremble in his voice.

"Yes, daddy."

"Hands on the mattress, open your mouth."

Namjoon's hands slide from atop his knees down to the mattress, and he opens his mouth wide, holds his tongue out flat, and stares up at Hoseok. Hoseok grips Yoongi's cock, strokes it once, twice, three times, then taps the tip against Namjoon's upper lip, making Namjoon whine.

"What if I just tease you?" Hoseok asks through a mock pout, cocking his head to the side.

Namjoon groans and pleads with his eyes, shaking his head. His fingers dig into the mattress below him, and Hoseok wishes he could burn this image into his mind.

"Push in the tip and then pull it out," Yoongi instructs. "Hold it out of reach to make him beg."

Hoseok does as he is told, shifting his weight slightly forward as he drops the tip of Yoongi's cock onto Namjoon's tongue and slides it just far enough into Namjoon's mouth to make all three of them groan. The arousal that shoots through Hoseok from just this small amount of contact makes him dizzy.

"Fuck, that feels good," Yoongi whimpers.

"Yeah?" Hoseok responds. "Are you touching my cock right now?"

Hoseok pulls Yoongi's cock from Namjoon's mouth and holds it just out of reach, watching as desperation tugs and twists Namjoon's features.

"I want your hand to only touch my cock when your cock touches Namjoon's mouth, understand?" Hoseok commands.

"Yes, daddy," Yoongi responds in a teasing tone, but Hoseok can tell that beneath the sass, Yoongi is serious.

Hoseok taps the tip of Yoongi's cock to Namjoon's tongue once more, and snickers as Namjoon tries to crane his neck up enough to wrap his lips around it. Namjoon gasps out a weak sound of defeat, and Hoseok brings Yoongi's cock closer to slap Namjoon's tongue a little harder.

"Pleath," Namjoon slurs with his tongue out. "Pleath, daddy!"

Again, Hoseok slides Yoongi's cock into Namjoon's mouth just deep enough to ignite tiny sparks or arousal, then pulls it out and holds it out of reach. Namjoon lifts his hands from the bed and slams them down, whining and groaning. He looks like he's ready to cry.

"What do you say, Yoongs," Hoseok says aloud, watching as Namjoon's eyes widen.

"Fuck it," Yoongi responds, "let him have it."

Hoseok pouts and cocks Yoongi's head to the side. "Sorry, baby, Yoongi wants me to tease you some more."

Namjoon whimpers and squeezes the comforter tighter in his hands, and Yoongi mutters, "You're a dick, Hoba."

Hoseok wonders if Yoongi is being a good boy and keeping his hands off his cock. He wonders just how much Yoongi can feel and see without watching through a monitor. He wonders if Jeongguk is there with him.

Namjoon's cock is hard, thick and leaking, and all at once, he is reminded of how sensitive Yoongi was the last time Hoseok was in his body. He remembers the threat he made to overstimulate Yoongi and turn him into a whimpering mess, and he pulls his gaze back to Namjoon's pretty mouth, trying not to imagine Namjoon fucking him in Yoongi's body.

Hoseok gently wraps one of Yoongi's pretty pale hands under Namjoon's throat and pushes the other in Namjoon's thick, dark hair, tangling fingers around sweaty tendrils. Without warning, he slides Yoongi's cock back into Namjoon's throat. All three of them make some level of debauched sound, and Hoseok feels a tremble rock through Yoongi's body from the sensation.

"Fuck," Hoseok grits between Yoongi's teeth, slowly pulling Yoongi's cock out. "Yoongi hyung is really sensitive, baby. Don't expect me to last too long in your mouth. Pinch me if you need to breathe."

Namjoon's eyes light up as if it is the best news he has heard all night, and Hoseok rocks Yoongi's hips gently but deep enough to hit the back of Namjoon's throat and make him nearly gag. Tears begin to pool in Namjoon's eyes, and he sucks and swallows around Yoongi's length as best as he can with each thrust.

"Sure you can handle two orgasms in my body, Hoba?" Yoongi asks, and that teasing tone is back.

It is true that arousal is coursing through Yoongi's veins, threatening to short-circuit his brain and overwhelm his body completely. Hoseok feels consumed by pleasure as he continues to fuck Namjoon's throat, driving Yoongi's pretty, thick cock as far as he can.

"Just wait, baby boy," Hoseok responds, and he doesn't miss the sound of Yoongi gasping aloud.

Arousal builds and builds, coiling tightly in Yoongi's guts and Hoseok grips onto Namjoon's hair, trying but failing to rut his hips at a steady pace. He feels ready to fucking explode.

"Fuck, that's it, baby," Hoseok rasps in gravelly, rich tones. "Your mouth feels so good."

Yoongi's hips stutter, and Hoseok drives Yoongi's cock deep into Namjoon's throat. Namjoon begins to gag but breathes through it, and as his throat swallows around Yoongi's length, squeezing it so nicely, Without warning, Hoseok comes, shooting Yoongi's release into Namjoon's mouth. Namjoon moans and swallows hard around him, turning red in the face as Hoseok keeps him gagged.

Then, Hoseok pulls out slowly, giving Namjoon a chance to catch his breath and swallow. Thick strings of saliva and semen coat the end of Yoongi's cock, and Namjoon eagerly sucks it clean, swirling his tongue around the tip until Hoseok is trembling and overstimulated and yanking Namjoon's head away.

Yoongi's cock hardly deflates before Hoseok begins to stroke it, and the feeling is so much, a quake rocks through Yoongi's legs. Namjoon sits up with a grin, mouth covered in drool. There's a glimmer of something devious in his eye that makes Hoseok nervous, and he attempts to back off the bed, but Namjoon quickly wraps him in a tight squeeze, pinning Yoongi's arms to his side.

"Yoongi hung is really sensitive, hmm?" Namjoon asks in a tone that Hoseok can only describe as menacing.

"Y-yes," Hoseok responds, feeling the heart in Yoongi's chest begin to pound.

"Interesting," Namjoon responds. He bends and licks a firm stripe over one of Yoongi's nipples, and Hoseok whines as a jolt of pleasure shoots through him like an electric current.

"Fuck, you are so screwed, Hoba," Yoongi groans.

Namjoon twists and slams Hoseok into the bed, leaving Hoseok to do nothing but tuck Yoongi's chin against his chest and accept his fate. Namjoon is strong—much stronger than Yoongi or Hoseok, and with his arms pinned in Namjoon's hold, there's nothing he can do.

"Gonna make both of you into a mess," Namjoon groans, nipping at Yoongi's neck and clavicle, drawing a trail of wet marks down his chest. "Gonna make both of you my baby boy. Yoongi wanted to watch me take his cock, but I'm afraid I have other plans for you two."

Namjoon's lips connect to Yoongi's nipple once more, and he licks and sucks, teasing the pebbled flesh and sending wave after tiny but intense wave through Hoseok. He cannot fucking believe how easy it is to rile Yoongi up, feeling the blood rush back into Yoongi's cock as he lays helpless to his husband, writhing and mewling.

"Yoongi hyung makes the prettiest sounds," Namjoon teases between licks. "Don't you think so, baby boy?"

"Y—fuck—yes!" Hoseok all but screams as Namjoon takes Yoongi's nipple between his teeth and gently nibbles.

Never has Namjoon been disobedient and changed dynamics without permission, and the thought of him overriding the mental state he is put into while being submissive to overpower Hoseok in Yoongi's body has Hoseok feeling excited. And a bit terrified.

Namjoon straddles Yoongi's legs, uses his hands to pin down Yoongi's wrists, and bends down, sucking Yoongi's cock into his throat in one swift motion. The all-encompassing jolt of pleasure that rocks through Hoseok has him gasping for air and trembling from head to toe—has him legitimately worried he might black out.

Hoseok is surprised by the pitchy, strangled noises coming from Yoongi's mouth. And Yoongi himself is doing no better, moaning and whining in Hoseok's bright, nasally voice. Hoseok tries to focus on Namjoon's head bobbing as he slurps and swallows Yoongi's cock greedily, but each roll of his tongue and contraction of his throat has Hoseok hurtling toward the brink of insanity as Yoongi's eyes roll back.

The pleasure builds so fast, so intensely, that Hoseok feels as if his soul must be lifting from Yoongi's body. He hardly registers the feeling of Namjoon scooting off of him and flipping him over onto Yoongi's front. It is as if the wind is knocked from him entirely when Yoongi’s shoulders topple over one another and his face plants into the pillow.

"Whu—ha-aahh," Hoseok mutters and moans, attempting to ask Namjoon what he is doing, but Namjoon answers for him by spreading Yoongi's cheeks and plunging his tongue inside.

Namjoon is not gentle as he tongue fucks Yoongi's tight hole, and if the sensation wasn't already a lot to handle, Yoongi moaning in response, in Hoseok's voice, only further unravels Hoseok more. Yoongi's body feels like soft melted wax, molded to the bed and pliant enough to bend into any shape he needs to, and all Hoseok can do is lay there and twitch.

As a finger teases and enters Yoongi's rim, Hoseok feels Yoongi's entire body stiffen, and he does his best to breathe and relax through it. Penetration already feels almost as intense as his first time, and Hoseok wonders how many times Namjoon might make him come before he sinks his cock into him.

Hoseok tries to mutter that it is too much, that he can hardly breathe, but all that comes out are shattered, sloppy vowels and consonants in no discernable order. Namjoon checks in and asks if Hoseok is alright, and when Yoongi's throat betrays him and croaks "uh-huh," Namjoon continues his slow, steady movements, pressing his finger in deeper.

Somewhere in the murky depths of his periphery, Hoseok hears the lube bottle snap open. He attempts to prepare himself for what is to come, but when Namjoon squirts cold lube onto Yoongi's hole and roughly rubs two fingers over him, slicking his fingers up and breaching his rim once more, Hoseok gasps for each inhale, feeling each exhale punched from him. By the sounds of it, Yoongi is not doing much better.

"So fucking tight for me, baby," Namjoon groans, pressing the tips of both fingers in and pulling them out. Hoseok can feel how messy it is—can feel the lube drip over Yoongi's testicles and onto the mattress. "I wish I could hear both you and Yoongi hyung as I fuck this cute little fucking hole of his."

"I won't be surprised if he fucking kills us," Yoongi whines.

Hoseok chuckles weakly and whimpers, then hums in agreement. Namjoon pulls his fingers from Yoongi’s hole and slaps his sticky hand over his ass.

"Share with the class!" Namjoon demands, and fuck, if Hoseok loves it when he sounds mean.

"He s-says he wouldn't be surprised if you kill us," Hoseok mutters languidly, feeling each syllable tumble from Yoongi's tongue.

"Awe, is Yoongi's hole too fucking small for me?" Namjoon teases as he squeezes Yoongi's ass in both hands.

Hoseok chuckles again and groans, "I don't know if I can handle you fucking us, Joonie."

The chuckle that leaves Namjoon's chest is deep and dangerous, and it sends a chill through Hoseok. Namjoon crawls up to Yoongi's head, takes a handful of his hair and spits, "You will take this fucking cock and you will like it."

"Fuck," Yoongi whimpers as Hoseok says, "Yes, daddy."

"Gonna stretch this pretty hole til it's gaping nice and wide for me," Namjoon growls, tightening his grip on Yoongi's hair. “Gonna fuck it til it's a puffy mess. Gonna make you beg me to have mercy on you."

Namjoon moves back down Yoongi's body and squirts more lube directly onto his hole, making Hoseok wiggle and whine beneath him. Hoseok genuinely worries that Namjoon might actually be the death of Yoongi's body as he sinks two fingers back into Yoongi's ass. The pain and pleasure of the stretch is so good, Hoseok thinks Yoongi's brain may turn off to everything that isn't this.

Hoseok has no idea how long it takes for Namjoon to finger him open on two fingers, then three, then four. With just two, Namjoon punishes Yoongi's prostate so good, he comes untouched, spilling his release on their brand new blue comforter. With fingers three and four, Hoseok is speaking in tongues.

Yoongi's entire body feels as if it has been emptied of its contents, and all bone and muscle have been replaced by jelly. Hoseok has no idea how he will be able to move at all, and he certainly is not prepared for Namjoon to crawl up the bed, sit against the headboard and pat his thigh.

"Up here, baby," Namjoon commands sweetly. "I wanna see you bounce on this cock."

"Nam—baby, I ca—" Hoseok begins, and Namjoon cuts him off.

"You can and you will. Don't make me ask you again."

Hoseok groans and rasps under his breath, and manages to scrunch Yoongi's body into a mass of limbs, propping himself up onto elbows and knees. Namjoon isn't very far away, and Hoseok only has to crawl a bit before swinging Yoongi's leg over his hips and gripping onto Namjoon's chest.

Namjoon's chest. Damn, this man works out. Hoseok runs Yoongi's hands over Namjoon's pecs and back up to his shoulders, admiring the dips and curves of muscle and bone. Hoseok sits up, positioning Yoongi's ass over Namjoon's thick, long cock and continues to rub his chest, suddenly mesmerized as if this is his first time seeing it.

Oxygen seems to have finally decided to visit Yoongi's brain, allowing Hoseok a brief but glorious moment to think before he is turned back into a scrambled mess on his husband's cock. Hoseok notices the bottle of lube in Namjoon's hand and a shudder runs from between Yoongi's shoulders to his tailbone as Namjoon pops it open and squirts some into his hand.

It is so unceremonious and sloppy the way Namjoon reaches under Hoseok and smears lube onto Yoongi's ass. The cold liquid makes Hoseok jolt and shiver, and he scowls as Namjoon chuckles, despite how devastating he looks when his cheeks form those pretty little dimples.

"God, the plug feels so good sitting like this, I might come too fast,” Namjoon groans, reminding Hoseok that he still has the vibrating toy in his ass.

Namjoon’s gaze darkens, giving Hoseok another chill. “Ready, baby boy?"

Hoseok scoffs and shakes Yoongi's head. "I don't think I'll ever be ready."

"Good fucking luck," Yoongi thinks.

Hoseok lowers Yoongi's hips slowly, and as Namjoon's tip rubs against Yoongi's rim and breaches it ever so slightly, Hoseok already sees stars. "There is no fucking way," he mutters as he lifts and lowers and lifts and lowers.

"Fuck, so tight, baby boy," Namjoon groans, letting his head fall against the headboard with a hollow thunk. His cock head is just barely in Yoongi's ass, and already he appears to be coming undone.

Hoseok is panting, sweating, and shaking from head to toe. Namjoon's cock is so fucking big, and taking it in his own body is hard enough—Yoongi's sensitivity is like a stereo with bass boost turned on, and it is so overwhelming, all Hoseok can do is allow Yoongi's hips to fall into a rhythm of lifting and lowering and lifting and lowering.

"I feel like I might pass out," Hoseok mutters. "How the fuck do you do this, Yoongi?"

Namjoon raises his eyes as if he's intently waiting for Hoseok to relay a response, which Hoseok finds adorable.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I don't bottom very much," Yoongi bites back, full of snark with a few gasps thrown in for good measure.

Hoseok moans as more of Namjoon's cock slides into Yoongi's ass, throwing Yoongi's head back and then snapping it forward. "He say—ahh, fuck—he says he doesn't b-bottom very much."

Namjoon grins, seemingly pleased with this information.

"Ggukie doesn't peg you?" Hoseok asks as incredulously as he can, with a deep whimper falling out with the last syllable.

"No."

Hoseok just shakes his head and chuckles. All of this banter has served to distract Hoseok just enough that he feels pretty well adjusted to Namjoon's length, which is still only partially sunken into Yoongi's tight hole; most of it has managed to slide inside.

Namjoon holds Hoseok steady by the thighs and ruts his hips up, sinking the rest of his length into Yoongi and pushing a sharp, loud exhale from Hoseok. The motion makes Hoseok so dizzy he grips onto Namjoon's shoulders tightly and shakes his head.

"T-too much," Hoseok whines in Yoongi's raspy voice.

"Color?" Namjoon asks.

Fuck, Hoseok thinks. He doesn't want to lie and say yellow when, if he is being perfectly honest, he is still green. Sure Namjoon's cock feels like it is nestled deep into Yoongi's guts, puncturing things it shouldn't be, but it also feels so good, he wants more and more until he can no longer think—wants Namjoon to fuck him until he can no longer speak.

"Green," Hoseok admits weakly.

Hoseok takes a deep breath in and out and does his very best to relax every muscle in Yoongi's body. He cannot be tense and stiff and take a cock of this caliber. What if Namjoon literally snaps Yoongi's body in half? But his attempts to ready himself prove futile as Namjoon lifts Yoongi's hips and sinks him back down, slowly but deeply.

Heat spreads through Hoseok like a wildfire, covering every inch of Yoongi's skin, seeping down into his bloodstream. Hoseok feels totally and completely consumed by pleasure and, once again, hurtling toward the edge. Of what? Hoseok is unsure, but he knows that once he plummets, he likely will not come back the same.

Yoongi moans loudly, filling Hoseok's mind with both internal and external sounds. Hoseok wishes he could see Yoongi. Or rather, could see himself piloted by Yoongi. Hoseok wants to touch Yoongi, wants to kiss Yoongi. Wants to make Yoongi feel the way he is feeling right now.

"Fuck, you're so tight baby, I don't know how long I'll last."

Music to Hoseok's ears. Yoongi's body is already so fucked out, trembling like a leaf in a storm, threatening to snap from its branch. All it would take is Namjoon's large hand on Yoongi's cock for two entire seconds, and Hoseok would come once again.

"Please," Hoseok whimpers.

"Please what, baby boy?" Namjoon snickers.

"Please come, daddy. Please fill us with your release. Wanna feel it drop from Yoongi's pretty hole."

"Christ, Hoseok," Yoongi whines.

Hoseok goes limp and leans into Namjoon's shoulder, lazily draping Yoongi's arms around Namjoon's neck. Namjoon fucks up into Hoseok, holding him by Yoongi's ass in both hands. Hoseok is dizzy—feels drunk.

"Fuck, so good," Namjoon groans. "So fucking good. I want you to lay back for me."

All Hoseok can do is let Yoongi's limbs go limp as Namjoon shimmies his legs beneath him and lays him down. He gasps as Yoongi's head gently hits the comforter, and he lets Yoongi's arms sprawl out over the bed as Namjoon grabs Yoongi's thighs, spreading him wide.

Namjoon leans forward and jackhammers into Hoseok so hard, he forgets how to breathe. Reality seems to slip away as Hoseok is speared roughly on Namjoon's cock. It feels so good, but it is also too much, and all sense of sanity washes away.

Hoseok thinks he can hear Yoongi moaning—thinks he can hear himself moaning—thinks he can hear Namjoon moaning. But he can't be sure of anything for certain outside of the tension that keeps building and building inside him—the spark that, once hit with a hint of fuel, will cause an explosion.

"F-f-fu—" is all Hoseok can mutter, feeling on the brink of orgasm.

Namjoon reaches for Yoongi's cock, making Yoongi's legs tighten around Namjoon's arms, and just a gentle grasp of Namjoon's long fingers sends Hoseok reeling.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Hoseok screams, shocked by the sound of Yoongi's voice at this pitch but unable to focus on that thought for more than a second.

Namjoon strokes Yoongi's cock exactly once, and Hoseok is coming all over Yoongi's stomach and chest, shooting his release as if Yoongi's cock were a god damn water gun. Hoseok trembles so hard he wonders if he might have a seizure, and he watches through droopy lids as Namjoon squeezes his eyes shut and huffs and puffs through his thrusts.

"Squeezing the life out of me, fuck," Namjoon groans.

"C-come, Joonie," Hoseok mutters, attempting to reach up and touch Namjoon before giving up and letting Yoongi's arm hit the mattress.

"I'm coming, I'm coming, oh fuck, ahhh, Yoongiii!" Namjoon moans with his head tilted back.

It doesn't hit Hoseok at first but rather sinks in slowly. Namjoon's hips stutter against the backs of Yoongi's thighs as he comes, and Yoongi's rim is so stretched and used that Hoseok gasps and sobs from every movement. Once Namjoon's hips still and he falls forward, anchoring himself on his palms and letting Yoongi's legs fall, Hoseok begins to dwell on it.

An honest mistake, right? Hoseok is in Yoongi's body, after all. But Namjoon knows who he was fucking. He knows who he went on a date with, who he had dinner with, who made him come so good. Right? So why did he shout the wrong name?

Namjoon doesn't seem to notice. Yoongi is uncharacteristically quiet. Hoseok decides to let it go.

As Namjoon slowly pulls his cock out and leans forward to place a soft kiss on Yoongi's forehead, Hoseok sends a small, half smile and doesn't bother asking which of them the kiss is for. As Namjoon carries Hoseok to the bathroom, he does his best to focus on the strong arms that hold him tight. As Namjoon starts a bath, he does his best to focus on the strong arms that wrap around him in the warm water.

But Hoseok can't let it go. Not really. Why did Namjoon yell Yoongi's name?

Once again, Hoseok cannot sleep.

And once again, beside him, Namjoon snores. He hasn't heard anything from Yoongi since Namjoon was railing them into oblivion, and his mind keeps swimming, going into overdrive.

"Are you awake?" Hoseok tries, shutting his eyes to prepare himself for disappointment.

He lets out a sigh of relief upon hearing two little words. "I am."

"I stopped being able to hear you."

Yoongi hums, which makes Hoseok smile. Of course, even in Yoongi's thoughts, he hums. "I recalibrated so you wouldn't have to hear me get up and take a shit."

Hoseok can't help but chuckle aloud. "And they say chivalry is dead."

There is a long pause, and Hoseok knows that he has to be the one to initiate a conversation, but he is not sure where to start.

He tries. "Is Jeongguk there with you?"

Another long pause. "He hasn't been back since before we jumped."

This information takes Hoseok by surprise, and he turns to his side away from Namjoon and hugs a pillow close. "Why?"

"I told him he didn't have to," Yoongi responds. "He's struggling with all of this, so I told him to take the night off and stay at his."

"Oh."

"It's fine. The bleeding, the recalibrating, all of that, I can handle on my own. I managed to get to the bathroom and back alone. Your body is in good hands."

Hoseok is honestly surprised. All he can say is, "Wow."

"You should get some sleep," Yoongi says after a pause. "I don't want my body to feel like a zombie tomorrow."

Hoseok nods. "Alright. I'll try."

"Oh and Hoba?"

Hoseok hums aloud, then thinks, "What is it?"

Another pause, then, "Jeongguk doesn't know about any of this, so...don't tell him? Alright?"

Hoseok feels conflicted, feels the vines squeeze and squeeze, but he can't help but smile. "Alright."

"We have a lead on the old men," The Boss announces before the door to the hospital suite is fully closed behind her, rushing in wearing one of her usual neck-to-toe dresses.

After failing to have more than what is considered circumstantial evidence, the dads were released from custody, but have been tailed by agents since. The Boss has continued to dig, looking for something that can link one or both of them directly to the buying and distribution of drugs. Or, she has been looking for an opportunity to take them out.

Namjoon is in the bedroom watching television while Jeongguk and Yoongi sit on the bed beside Hoseok, and Hoseok uses the remote attached to his bed to raise the back of it, sitting him all the way upright. Pain shoots through him, but either it has become less intense, or he has begun to adjust to its abruptness.

"I know it's short notice, but I may need Yoongi on the field early tomorrow morning."

"What's the lead?" Yoongi asks, voice coming out raspy from overuse the night before.

"It appears that Min Hyunsuk is meeting with the governor. We need to make an assassination attempt, and you have extraordinary aim, young man."

"You want me to shoot my father?" Yoongi clarifies.

Hoseok turns to look at Yoongi, surprised to find a cold, blank expression on his face. Beside him, Jeongguk's eyes are on his hands, which fidget in his lap.

"I know it may be asking a lot of you. Do you think you're up for the task?" The Boss asks.

Yoongi nods and scoffs under his breath. "Yeah. I can do it."

please don’t be a silent reader! feedback & reblogs do so much to help content creators!

tag list: @btsstan12, @dasexydevitt13, @giriiboyy, @moonleeai ✨ comment or dm to be added to the tag list!

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#hoseok smut #namjoon smut #yoongi smut #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts poly #yoonkook #yoonkook smut #namseok #namseok smut #hoseok x namjoon x yoongi x jungkook #fic: dollhouse

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dinogoose · 2 years

Text

you put me on (and said I was your favorite)

“Eddie, us getting a divorce was not a failure. It was two people realizing they are better apart. And we are! You said it yourself, you feel happier.” She gestures to him, waiting for a sign he’s listening.

“Yeah but I-“

“No.” She cuts him off, “Love is terrifying, and heavy, and honestly makes living harder, but and that’s a big but,” Eddie snorts, she ignores him. “It’s worth it. I promise you that, and you have this great thing in front of you. So please, for me, for Christopher, for yourself, tell Buck you love him.”

(or shannon lives, eddie and her are the best co-parents, and eddie loves buck)

Every Sunday Eddie and Shannon go out for lunch, while Chris gets some one-on-one time with his Abuela.

They use these lunches to talk about all sorts of things, silly inside-jokes from their childhoods, gushing over Christopher, and occasionally deep secrets. Secrets that take a lot of courage to admit.

A few months ago, her and Eddie were just making small-talk after placing their orders. It was awkward, almost painfully so. Which was very worrying, things hadn’t been this uncomfortable since the divorce dinner.

“Eddie… is there- something wrong?” Shannon asks carefully, not wanting to spook him. He finally meets her eyes still fidgeting with his hands.

“I- Uhm- I need to tell you something.” A million thoughts rushed through Shannon’s mind. Was he taking Christopher away? Was he leaving? Re-enlisting? She takes a deep breath.

“Okay, I’m all ears.” She can’t help the way her voice trembles. She grabs her water and takes a long gulp.

Eddie looks like he’s psyching himself up before he says, “As you know I’ve been going to therapy. Healing, trying to get better for myself.” Shannon nods, she knows this, and is very proud of him. “While I’ve been going… I learned a few things about myself. I- God this is so stupid- I’m gay.” Shannon is just blankly staring at Eddie, as he picks at the table cloth.

Huh. Eddie is gay. Part of her wants to laugh, not to make fun of him, but because this was not what she expected.

Thinking about it though, Eddie being gay isn’t completely out of left field. She’s not about to list a bunch of gay stereotypes he exudes, but more of she can just see it. The way he used to double glance at attractive men. How he never once had a celebrity crush. How utterly close he is to his one coworker.

Oh.

“Thank you for telling me. Not to over-shadow your coming out story, but I’m bisexual.” Eddie laughs, and the tension in his shoulders finally leaves.

After that, they became much closer. No topic was off-limits, no matter how strange or inappropriate.

Today's lunch consisted of them gossiping about everyone, playing rock-paper-scissors to decide who has to attend another child’s birthday party, and strangely enough, discussing their love lives.

Currently (despite Eddie’s protests) it’s his love life they’re talking about now. Or more specifically who they’re talking about now.

“You should do it! Come on, he so clearly loves you. That boy follows you around like a lost puppy.” Shannon says, waving a potato wedge at him to enunciate her point.

“Him ‘following me around like a lost puppy’,” Eddie gestures his fingers into air quotes. “Doesn’t mean he loves me too. So, no, I won’t do it.” He crosses his arms, huffing slightly.

Shannon gives him a very unimpressed look. A part of her does feel guilty, she probably caused this insecurity in him. She knows their divorce hurt Eddie, of course it did, it hurt her too. But, it was the best thing for them. They are better off as friends and co-parents.

Shannon takes a deep breath. “Eddie. You deserve happiness, and I really think telling him could bring you that.”

Eddie sighs, shaking his head, “I can’t Shan. I already had my chance at love, and I failed.”

She blinks slowly at him, contemplating smacking her ex-husband.

“Yeah but I-“

Rolling his eyes, Eddie continues to eat his food, not answering. However, judging from the small smile on his face, Shannon can tell she got through to him.

Eddie has decided, on his own, without any outside influence, to confess to Buck. Just don’t tell Shannon that.

After discussing with Karen, Hen, and even a lightly vague conversation with Bobby, he has decided to do it at home.

He’s going to cook a meal, set up a romantic dinner, and make his big speech. Hopefully Buck doesn’t run screaming for the hills. Not that he ever would. Buck is so incredibly kind, even if he wasn’t interested he would let Eddie down very gently.

But Eddie is about eighty percent sure Buck feels at least something for him. And he likes those odds, so here he is, trying to ask Buck out.

“Buck, hey- uh- do you want to come over for dinner today?” Eddie does his best to maintain eye-contact, but the way Buck looks, shedding his shirt to change into his civvies, is killing him.

Buck smiles, his crow-feet coming out. “Sure! You’ve been getting so good at cooking lately, I’m so proud.” He puts his hand over his heart, batting his eyelashes. Eddie doesn’t know if he wants to hit him or kiss him. Probably kiss him.

“Okay. Cool. I’ll see you at seven?” Buck has a hopeful look pass through his eyes, but it leaves just as quick as it came.

“Yeah- I- Yeah.” Suddenly Buck seems a little nervous, but Eddie brushes it off as projection. He just tells Buck he’ll see him later and heads out.

Oh my god, he did it. He asked Buck out. Now he has to successfully cook a meal without burning it (he’s proud to say his new record is four) and not screw-up his confession.

He’s got this.

He most certainly doesn’t ‘got this’.

His outfit feels wrong, sticking to his body in all the wrong places. The meal just isn’t where he wants it. The table he set feels stupid, and cheesy. To put it all simply, he’s freaking out.

Maybe this was all in awful plan- and execution. Maybe Eddie isn’t deserving of Buck’s love. Of Buck’s soft gazes, gentle touches, his warmth. All the good he exudes. Who is Eddie to try and claim that for himself? He doesn’t deserve that, Eddie-

Ding Dong

Oh shit.

“Coming!” He scrambles away from the table, careful not to knock over any candles. Because a firefighter lighting his house on fire is humiliating, and ironic.

Opening the door, he is greeted by a fantastic looking Buck. He’s wearing jeans that hug his thighs perfectly, a red maroon sweater, and his hair has no product- making it look impossibly soft.

Eddie has to clench his hands to stop from touching him.

“Wow- I mean- come in!” Why is he being so awkward? He has no clue. He steps aside, letting Buck in. Buck looks around then finds Eddie’s eyes looking confused.

“Are you having someone else over?” Eddie just stares at him, now also confused.

“No… just you. Why?” Buck looks away.

“Because of all,” He gestures to the table. “This. It’s just- uh- very romantic.” Buck stuffs his hands into his pockets, drilling a hole into the floor with his eyes.

Eddie comes to a startling realization, Buck doesn’t know this is a date. Eddie almost bursts out laughing.

“Romance was the goal I had in mind. Should we eat?” Eddie can practically hear the cogs turning in Buck’s head. It’s kind of adorable. Eddie pushes out his chair, gesturing to it like a gentleman. This seems to boot Buck back online, as he snorts and sits down.

“So… you were asking me on a date earlier?” Buck asks after Eddie sits down.

“Yes Buck. I’m sorry if it wasn’t clear enough,” He runs a hand through his hair. “I always thought I was pretty obvious with how much I- you know.”

Buck shakes his head, a small fond smile on his face. “I had thought I was being obvious! When you asked me out earlier, I thought I was just looking too deep into things. Hen told me I was being stupid.” Buck laughs and Eddie joins him, reveling in the sound.

“You were being stupid, but you got there.”

They both enjoy the meal, Eddie actually ended up making something delicious. The conversation is just as smooth as always, even with the newly added intimacy, it’s still them. Buck and Eddie.

They’re sitting on the couch a few hours later drinking beers when Buck says,

“I think I started falling in love with you after the earthquake.” He mumbles it into his bottle, but Eddie hears him crystal clear. He turns to him with wide eyes.

“That quick?” In Eddie’s wildest dreams, he had never expected Buck to be in love with him, let alone for that long. Buck just shrugs.

“After the shooting, you were teaching Christopher how to make spaghetti sauce. And man- I just knew. I had been in love with you for a while but that was the moment it finally clicked.” Buck takes his beer and Eddie’s, placing them on the table (on the coasters he bought Eddie). Then he turns his body so he’s fully facing Eddie.

“Eds, are we doing this?” His eyes are bright, full of hope, but bits of insecurity are shining through. Eddie places a hand on Buck’s jaw, attempting to ease his worries.

“If you want to. I think we’re both in good places. I’m back at the 118, I’m going to therapy and I love you so-”

Buck interrupts him with his mouth crashing down onto Eddie’s. Eddie gets with the program pretty quickly, deepening the kiss. Buck’s hands land on Eddie’s hips as he pulls him closer, nearly into his lap. They pull back, panting.

“In case I wasn’t explicitly clear earlier, I love you.” Buck says leaning in to place kisses on Eddie’s jaw. Eddie tilts his head up letting him.

“I love you too. Obviously.” Buck laughs, the air tickling Eddie’s neck.

The night ends beautifully, with Buck giving a speech about wanting to do things correctly, so he leaves with one last filthy kiss.

Eddie cannot believe he gets to have this.

He also can’t believe he has his ex-wife to thank for all of it.

#buddie #buck x eddie #911 show #911 fox #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 fic #buddie fic #911 fanfic #fanfic #fic #tv: 911 #shannon diaz #buddie 911 #originally posted on ao3

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just-a-carrot · 1 year

Note

Hi! I never use tumblr, but I wanted to get on my mostly untouched account and ask you something!

First off though, I want to say that I absolutely ADORE Our Wonderland and Our Fantastic Wonderland. I’m not a horror person, so I saw the game on itch.io for a long time before I was brave enough to try it, thinking it would just be a horror movie plot in the form of a visual novel. But I was so, so wrong, and so pleasantly surprised. I love all of it: the characters are so vibrant and feel so alive (except for when you know, they’re no longer with us and then R.I.P.), the way you don’t pull punches with the heavy topics you cover, the fact that you never know which choice will lead to a death but that you also are merciful and send us back to the last choice rather than giving us a game over (seriously, thank you for that), oh my gosh I could go on and on. The art style grew on me too and now I love it, plus I think it fits the game perfectly; I really like how you draw everyone so expressively.

I’m super excited for the final part to be released, but don’t push yourself too hard; we’re all happy to patiently wait. Being a solo dev is crazy difficult, and the high quality product you’ve released so far is simply fantastic. Plus you added a gallery, not one but TWO new modes (censored and streaming which must have been so much work), and other cool things WHILE ALSO creating the first half of Act 5??? Like how do you get so much done?

Anyways, I’m rambling, so I’ll get back on track. I saw in one of your answers to an ask (about if you’re okay with NSFW art of Our Wonderland) that you said you’re okay with people writing (among other things) about OW so long as they’re not using it in a hateful or bigoted way (I don’t remember the exact phrase you used, but I think that’s the gist of it).

So I wanted to ask, like are fanfictions okay? I have no intention to use them in a way that is demeaning to others, or hateful, or anything unkind. I just want to make some OW fan content to sustain me until the second half of Arc 5 is released, and hopefully share my love of OW and the characters with anyone who decides to read the fanfic(s).

I would definitely give you all the credit for Our Wonderland's characters, storyline, etc. While I'm usually a quiet person on the internet, I want to send anyone who may read the fanfics to the actual visual novels you've made. I would like to clarify that I don't really have an audience as I haven't posted my writing on any websites in a hot minute, but this story has absolutely entranced me. And I want to have more people to nerd out about this story with, so if i can get some more people on board the OW train, I'd be thrilled.

If you say no, I will respect your wishes as the creator and will not write or post any fanfiction!

If you are okay with it though, I’d be thrilled to share the title and website, etc I end up posting the fanfics on so you can read them if you so desire. Regardless of your decision, I will be thrilled to replay Our Wonderland and Our Fantastic Wonderland many times and I’m super stoked for the arrival of part two of Act 5!

(Sorry it's such a long message >.<)

Oh, my gosh, this is such a long (and lovely) message lakdjafld thank you so much for sending in a question! AND THANK YOU SO MUCH??? FOR THE WONDERFUL WORDS??? You're going to make me cry over here!! 🥺💦 I'm glad you decided to try it out despite your hesitations. I definitely know horror in general isn't for everyone LOL And this game definitely gets very intense at times in terms of horrificness LOL So that just makes me even happier that you still ended up enjoying it and the story ahhhhh,,,💦

"Like how do you get so much done?" -> LMAO HONESTLY I DON'T EVEN KNOW I didn't even decide to add all the new features and stuff until the last three or so weeks before the launch which,,, probably was not the best decision as the CG gallery especially ended up taking me hours and hours LOL However, I'm really glad to have gotten it done!! And I hope the new features will be helpful to people!

"So I wanted to ask, like are fanfictions okay?" -> Yeah, that's completely fine!! I am really fine with anything people want to create, just so long as exactly like you quoted above, that it's not for anything offensive or hateful/bigoted. (A-also not that I think anyone wouldn't do this, but I hope that people would honor the chars' sexualities/orientations lkadjfad 💦) I also ask that people don't tag me with anything NSFW as it makes me a bit uncomfortable and I don't want to interact with it (I don't mind people creating stuff like that so long as they're 18+, I just don't wanna interact with it personally dlakfjsdl) 😵‍💫💦 But just normal SFW stuff I have no problem with at all, whether it's writing/fics or art!! I think it's wonderful and lovely that you feel so inspired from my story that you would want to write something yourself! 🥺💕

Thank you so much again for your message! This was really sweet and brightened my day! 🥰

#ow: asks

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capybaraonabicycle · 1 year

Note

33, 42 and 74 for the writer ask

Thank you!! These were difficult :)

33. Do you want to be published some day?

Hm, a tough one immediately. I don't know? Definitely not in English. I have dreamt about becoming a professional author for all of my childhood and youth. But recently (read: for the last 5 years) I have stopped writing much original stuff and focused on fanfic.

Because I have found that I mostly enjoy writing for fun and talking to people about it. And writing for free takes a lot of pressure away, I believe. I tend to worry anyway, if I wanted people to pay for it, I would be even more concerned whether my writing was good enough. Also, celebrating characters I already love seems more fun right now than coming up with new ones.

That said, I AM a big fan of several children's stories I have written and I would love to workshop them some day and have someone illustrate them (or do it myself?) and then have a proper children's book. That would be so cool?! Especially if someone with proper art skills made the images. But to go through all the work of finding a publisher and then promoting the book...I don't know whether I would enjoy that.

42. What’s the last fic you read? Do you recommend it?

I have been following Down the Line by how_to_sit_gay recently and I would recommend it (with reservations).

First of, it's beautifully written and heartwrenching and nervewracking and makes you feel all the emotions. Mostly the emotion 'I want to whack Yaz over the head with her keyboard' but well - just know you will feel strongly about the plot.

Then, it is just cliff-hanger after cliff-hanger. It's all written now so you can just start and read them all immediately and don't have to wait for a week like I had to. Which means, you will definitely become addicted and read all 140k words in one go. So be prepared for that.

Then, Jace is adorable and Bill is a treat and Clara is amazing and Sonya deserves the world, so the supporting cast is great. And you will love Yaz despite all her mistakes and feel bad about still rooting for her. So lots to fall in love with here.

Then, it is a human!!AU and thasmin and a slowburn, so depends on whether you like that, I think all of those sound super fun 🤷‍♀️ Oh, also, obviously it's in the doctor who fandom. (But that's 90% of what I post about so I think you might have guessed that.)

Now, the two reservations:

Yaz works as a phone-sex-worker and the rating is accordingly E. It is suprisingly heavy on the T- or even G-side for many chapters, but stuff happens and also you just need to know if you'd like to read Yaz specifically as a sex worker. Because, well, that leads me to the second point:

The whole subject and certain elements and scenes are rather delicate from a racism/islamophobia viewpoint, imo. I think the author did their absolute best to address that inside the story and I am sure they were being as considerate as possible. But also this is a story for fun and not a dissertation and I don't believe it is possible in the setting to do everything right by everyone. So if that is a sensible topic for you, maybe rather don't read the fic or tread carefully.

That said, I really enjoyed the fic. So, if you think it might be something for you, definitely give it a try!

74. You’ve posted a fic anonymously. How would someone be able to guess that you’d written it?

Hah, good question. I am always wondering what people are recognising my writing voice by.

I would say... start with the characters? If there's River, the fugitive Doctor or 12 in it, that's already a good sign. Then I used to post a lot of pure fluff but lately if there isn't a dash of angst, it's probably not me.

There's often only the minimum amount of tags necessary, and probably the TARDIS is mentioned somewhere in them, either as a character or as a plot-device. The summary should be very short but the notes might get long. The title is probably short, too.

And then...it starts with like a page of setting description, followed by only dialogue. The whole thing is probably between 1k and 6k long. Most likely it has a happy ending.

...do you think that would be enough to recognise me?

#thank you so much for the ask!#love it when I get to procrastinate with an ask game :)

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prometheusinitiative · 1 year

Text

Royce | Chapter 2 Trial | That's the Way Love Is

There’s not really any evidence that can help anyone in this situation, is there?

Royce allows the accusations to roll out without any visible reaction, stalwart as always. If anything, his lack of emotion gives him more of a frigid air than usual. Behind the exceptional poker face, he is sick, holding himself together only because Ridley, currently, is not.

What a terrible thing he’s done, bringing them both here. They are the textbook examples of the ones that kept digging long after finding themselves ass over teakettle at rock bottom—the Krolik siblings have found Hell.

He looks down at the paper he’s written on without revealing it to everyone else yet, and thinks very hard about the justification behind it.

He lifts his eye only, looking into each screen beneath the hood of his brow, practically glowering into each one with a cold, black stare that comes far too naturally for someone who has otherwise gone to great lengths to show patience with others.

Something finally clicks about Eden as he describes sympathetic justification behind assisting in Jules’s death, and there’s a fleeting moment when Royce is taken back to his own childhood, unsure if the snap he heard the first time was the hammer of a gun cocking or bone.

He taught the same lesson to Ridley their father taught to him:

“This is merciful. This is something that won’t survive.”

Watching Ridley quiver like that same wounded hare as she accepts her potential fate and sinks to her knees has him breathing hard. She’s retreating into herself again, going away, and as he snaps his fingers in the same pattern again and again to try and grab the last shred of attention, he wonders who the lesson applies to more. Ridley doesn’t reply to him. She doesn’t even look into the screens. She just stares.

Ridley’s not there, and her reaction—or lack thereof—terrifies Royce.

“Animals don’t have souls. They don’t go to Heaven. But we can all pray and thank God for relieving this wounded beast of its suffering.”

There’s no sense of panic yet, but the icy realization that this could be what does Ridley in finally hits. It’s happening again, and this time, there was nothing he could have done to stop it. Royce doesn’t have the same context as everyone else, but if Jules has been reliving the same period of time for dozens—no, for hundreds of times… Even if it had only been a handful. The hows and the whys behind everything seem useless to know.

What he does know is that very few people would have the guts to carry out such a heavy burden.

Something in his chest clenches terribly; the air leaves his lungs. He’s horrified. He’s relieved. He’s proud. He’s devastated. She did a terrible thing. She did a good thing.

At first, the confessions following the accusations don’t convince him. Morpheus and Hinrik come to mind also. If there was the prick of a syringe in Jules’s leg, who else could know where the medical supplies in this tower were? Hinrik has a beautiful, bleeding heart. And Tracy? Well, Tracy has yet to give anyone reason to trust them, but who knows what’s going on with that horseshit right now.

And then the topic of faith comes up, and it’s so on-the-nose despite his own waning faith in something divine and Ridley’s lifelong turmoil over it that Royce wonders what else Oz knows about either of them.

But for him to see that Ridley is in such a state of terrible grief and knowing even at a glance that she is loved—if not by Jules, then by God, by him, by so many even if she doesn’t know it—and in turn to offer himself up? Whether or not the confession is true, it’s something Royce won’t forget.

Ivette follows shortly behind, removing mention of Ridley from their accusation entirely. There’s a glimmer of hope and gratitude in his eye before he bows his head respectfully to them both, almost as if praying.

Does the cohort want justice? Are they so resolute in their own faith that they know Ridley would be forgiven if she’s sent off?

He thinks of the lone request he made to Jules during their sole meeting as individuals. Cautious, detached, reluctant Jules, who Ridley was over the moon to have as a friend.

"Ridley trusts you. And you are a leader. Please don’t hurt her. It’s all I would ever ask of anyone. But especially you."

Royce looks away again, thinking. He taught Ridley to hunt by six and within the year, she understood the endless cycle of life and death and all it necessitated. But even after all of that, even after all of their parents, their community’s, and even his own insistence that animals had no souls or place in any Celestial Kingdom, Heaven, or Great Beyond, still Ridley cried for anything in pain.

The thought of mercy—cruel, beautiful, loving mercy—only came to her when every possible option had been exhausted beforehand, long after he or anyone else would have given up and done it already.

He calmly holds up what he's written.

It would have been kinder. No, she would have told him, and if she had, he would have helped.

Not let her do something ghoulish like throwing Jules in a fucking aquarium.

But nobody needs to know that.

#submission #trial #ch2 #royce

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scarletooyoroi · 1 year

Note

"It isn't often to see people seeking out Aaru Village who aren't desert fold or aren't up for no good, I'll give that to ya." Though Thoma looks like a good fella, Candace's concern that he may have ulterior motives for being here is completely valid and understandable. Reason why upon further deliberation she asked Dehya to do her the favor of giving the Inazuman man a tour around the village, to test the waters and confirm or prove wrong her suspicions. "I've heard a thing or two about Inazuma. Hard not to when things had been complicated, right? I take that you being in Sumeru means that the travelling restrictions were lifted?"

There is nothing that isn't genuine and heartfelt curiosity to learn more but also from a personal perspective to see what this guy is about. Everyone who steps a foot in Aaru Village is for a reason, most of the visitors know their business. What about him? In their walk they find a young kid sitting on a carpet outside wearing ragged clothes and reading a book that must've seen better days. Her light blue, sharp eyes narrow at the poor sight. "...I wonder if the hardship Inazuma faced these past years can be comparable to the hardships of us desert folk. Being closed while being guaranteed a decent life doesn't sound half bad."

Just hearing about Inazuma within this moment leads him to a slew of heavy thoughts. Pleasant, but as of the most recent days, difficult, the kind of heaviness that only a taste of life within Teyvat in large could truly sort out.

Any ends of their more amiable part of the conversation finds itself edging down to a more focused calm. For the endless vitality in terms of people, the arts and might it could cultivate, there was a share of glaring wounds also gained and endured as a price.

Lightning flashes. Cutting through all and only allowing those that can rise above to be worthy. A cruel form of beauty.

"You're correct." His voice matches before looking over the mercenary. Just the sight of her vigor compels him to draw from his pool of calm as the oasis known as Aaru now being crossed. Even then, a more perceptive eye could show that despite the changes, struggle remains an underlying current to balance with success. Each step found themselves curious as much as they did thoughtful, accepting the situation with firm eyes that couldn't cast away their softness. Gripping at his cloak to keep it settled proper, Thoma's eyes would focus ahead once more.

As they find themselves situated underneath a small series of trees, giving them prize witness to the boons of Ajilenakh Nuts, he nearly pauses at the curious note that's drawn in the verbal sand. "....Dehya." His voice sounds strained at the notion, when in truth, just picturing the pain of others, witnessing it firsthand despite their vigor allowing them to claw through it by any means, it just hurts.

Within Thoma's eyes, there was no glory or graces to be found in pain like this.

"I'm afraid it's not that easy. Despite the change in scenery, culture and life, there's a cruel lining that stays adamant in persisting." Try as he might, the bitterness of being a firsthand witness, active in the waged war between Watatsumi and Inazuma's mainlands, over those who don Visions, it was a conflict that nurtures strife, newly made young without parents, the chaos that allows a heinous poison to settle with acidic, burning edges within.

"People get hurt, some can manage to fight against it, others are unfortunate to not get those particular means.. Suffering as a result." Licking at his dried lips, it's clear a more sensitive topic was broached to the traveling warrior, the sort that has him looking with a singular eye towards the past, one kept in the present.

"You've caught wind of the decrees I imagine, to be frank, there was a war that cost many their lives. No short thanks to the remnants of a god being used as part of a war effort.. and advantage for other dangerous powers, on top of the earlier made strife." Stepping over to a nearby edge, he's facing away for a moment, more focused on just.. processing it all.

"There are no comparisons when it comes to facing some form of Hell. I wouldn't want to dishonor those that even now, could be going through something we can't even imagine."

@mantichorae

#mantichorae #| Tucked Letters #oh ow

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xxx-cat-xxx · 3 years

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heaven forbid (you end up alone)

Two years on and I'm still not over Endgame. But at least I finally finished this fic!

A word of warning; this one is Endgame-compliant and centred around the topic of grief and Pepper’s and Happy’s friendship in the aftermath of Tony’s death.

Major thanks to @twentyghosts for beta reading.

Throughout her life, Pepper has always divided her days into small pieces, regulated by meticulous plans. She can’t remember ever waking up without a mental―or written―to-do list and a clear idea in which order to tackle it. It’s her way of managing a multinational company. Of managing Tony, which was arguably more challenging than SI’s 300,000 other employees combined. Of managing her own alien-invaded, super power-sprinkled, increasingly absurd life.

And whenever things get overwhelming and she feels like she’s falling into a bottomless, desperate pit, that’s what she does: plans the next 30 minutes, and then the 30 minutes after that, and so on until it’s one thirty am and she is tired enough to fall into bed without having to think about anything except what’s ticked off on the list and what’s left for tomorrow.

That’s what she does now, seven weeks after her husband’s death.

This Saturday is booked for tidying up the closets. There is no need to keep Tony’s clothes, other than a few special ones for memory’s sake, the band shirts and the ones with the science puns she still likes to sleep in. And it would be a waste to wait any longer to donate them: even two months on, there is more than enough need out in the streets due to the chaos that came on after the reverse.

Homeless people wearing 5000 dollar suits, that would have been to Tony’s taste.

Pepper has cleared her schedule well in advance, picked a weekend Morgan can stay with Rhodey, already ordered the Dress for Success pick-up for the next morning. Made a plan of action, starting with the top floor.

All that’s left now is to do it.

“Okay, Virginia,” she tells herself. The name feels unfamiliar on her tongue, but maybe she needs this, needs the reminder that she had a life before Tony Stark and, as horrible as it sounds, will have one after him. “Get up. Drink some water. Go through the closets.”

It’s just that she can’t.

She enters the bedroom, their bedroom, her bedroom, opens the cupboard. And then she stands in front of it for almost twenty minutes, unable to bring herself to move.

Finally, her legs grow a bit weak under her and she has to sit down on the floor, less and less successfully fighting the feeling that the air around her is completely devoid of oxygen. She can’t breathe. She can’t get up. She can’t walk over to the closet and get started with the next item on her list―it’s as if there’s an invisible barrier between her and the task. She just can’t.

It takes her almost 45 minutes before she finally calls Happy.

Much like Tony, Pepper is someone who distracts herself with work, and looking after Morgan, organising the funeral and getting the Stark Foundation into motion to set up shelters for four million Returned without a place to go have been tasks so time-consuming that she didn’t have any other option than just to function, and function well. Almost well enough to trick herself into believing that she’ll be fine.

Sometimes she wonders whether she has become so good at perfecting the image she shows to the public that she doesn’t even know anymore who she actually is.

“Hey.”

She hadn't noticed Happy’s presence until he is standing in the doorframe.

“Happy,” she greets, her voice sounding foreign to her own ears.

“Oh, Pepper.” He looks her up and down, his expression equal parts sad and kind. “Come on. Let’s get you up from the floor.”

She pushes away his hands helping her up, she doesn’t need them, doesn’t need any help, but then the world blurs suddenly and she kind of does. Happy steadies her when she sways, alarmed but not as surprised as she’d want him to be. It would irritate her, on normal days, because she can take care of herself, doesn’t need anyone to hold her, thank you very much. But today she is just a bit too tired to pretend.

"Have you eaten?" he asks, voice still too warm when he guides her over to the bed and sits her down.

“I had...tea this morning.”

“And last night?”

She is silent. He sighs, and she deflects, “Haven’t had much of an appetite lately.”

“Alright, I’ll go find us some food. Just stay here.”

“Thanks, Happy,” she says quietly.

He sighs again. “It’s alright. I knew this was going to happen sooner or later. I’m just glad I’m here.”

She nods. She knew it too, that she wouldn’t be able to distract herself forever, even if she wouldn’t admit it to herself. But that’s the thing. She wasn’t afraid of it happening, only of the After―of things calming down and her having to deal with the lonely, horrible, rest of her life. Of realising that the inevitable breakdown doesn’t help a single bit. That picking up the pieces is not in the least easier than keeping them together.

Happy returns 15 minutes later with a big bag of cavity-inducing gas station doughnuts, sprinkles and all. The mere thought of biting into one makes Pepper’s stomach roll.

“I’m not sure I can eat those,” she tells him when he sits next to her on the bed and leans against the headboard.

“Just try.”

She does, fighting down the looming nausea, and, surprisingly, the sweetness helps. She breathes out, one and a half doughnuts and a small bottle of orange juice later, and finds that her head feels clearer.

“Morgan would love this,” she observes, nodding at the rest of the treats. “She’s been trying to bully me into making her waffles for breakfast every single morning of the last whole month.”

“So, did she succeed?”

Pepper shakes her head. “It’s bad for her health. But she keeps throwing tantrums. I know it’s because of what happened, but god, she's been so difficult. The way she shouts at me, sometimes I think she hates me.”

Happy sets down his reusable coffee cup and looks straight at her. “She doesn't, Pepper."

She can’t stop herself from snorting. “How would you possibly know?”

“I can see the way she looks at you. Looks up to you. She adores you.”

“I…” Pepper bites her lip, unable to decide whether that’s something she wants to share. Life has taught her that it’s usually better to keep your weaknesses to yourself if you want to stay on top. But then, it’s not like there is any competition of people wanting to parent her daughter. “I don’t know about that. I know she misses Tony, but I also feel that she misses...a parent who knows how to handle her. I’m not―sometimes I’m afraid I’m not a very good mother.”

“That’s not true, Pep, and you know it.”

She takes a deep breath. “I never wanted to have children, Happy. I mean, it’s not that I didn’t want Morgan, once we decided in favour of me getting pregnant. And I never regretted having her. But it was mostly Tony who pushed for this, who needed this. He has - had - a way with kids...you know, I can be strict, but he can―could―get her to do what is necessary without even having to raise his voice. And sometimes I just wonder―what if I ruin it, Happy? She only has me.”

“Firstly, that’s not true. Rhodey and I are here for you too. You got your sister, and I’m sure Peter would be more than happy to babysit as well. There’s more than biological parents for a kid, you know that better than anyone, right?”

She nods, hesitantly.

“And secondly,” he continues, “You are doing great under the circumstances. Nobody is born a parent. But if you’re good at anything, then it is to adapt to difficult situations. You can do this, Pepper.”

“Yeah, I know… I know I can.”

And that’s exactly the point. Pepper has always pulled through. Everyone expects her to keep functioning, and she isn’t one to miss people’s expectations. But sometimes she wonders if she’s still alive in there.

They finish up the doughnuts and start tackling the clothes. It goes surprisingly smoothly, and Happy even coaxes a few hesitant chuckles out of her when he fishes a gold-glittery mankini and a few other special-occasion items out of the far corner of Tony’s wardrobe. They are three boxes in and have moved one floor down when Pepper takes a break to pee and wash the dust off her face in the guest bathroom.

Tony’s shaver is lying on the edge of the sink. He must have been shaving here the day he left for the compound, likely because Pepper or Morgan were using the upstairs bathroom, and left it there. She always tells him to put it back in the cupboard and he always forgets―forgot. She picks it up, ready to put it where it belongs, when it hits her.

It’s futile. It’s a personal shaver of a man who’s never going to need one again. Nobody’s ever going to use this particular shaver again. She could just as well throw it away.

Pepper feels anger burn hot and fierce in her chest. She opens her mouth, to scream, maybe, but all that comes out is a broken sob.

Happy must have been listening for her from the other room, because he is there in an instant. She turns away, reflexively hiding the tears on her face, but he stops her.

“Hey. It’s okay. It’s okay to cry.”

“I need to―I don’t have time―”

“I think we can clear fifteen minutes in your schedule for a breakdown, right?” Happy teases, the smallest of smiles on his face although he looks close to tears himself.

A memory strikes, and she chuckles through the sobs, then cries harder.

“What’s it?”

“That’s just the kind of thing he would have said.”

“Oh, Tony,” Happy smiles sadly.

“I just―I miss him so much, Happy. It’s―It’s all the small things―his shaver―the tinkering and the empty pizza boxes everywhere and the never-ending cups of coffee and the way he just keeps on talking, to his bots and to me and Morgan―and―” she runs out of breath.

“I know. I miss him too.”

“You know, the way he used to stick his tongue between his teeth when he was concentrating and not realising anyone was around? Morgan did the same recently while drawing, and I just―sometimes I just can’t―”

“You can do it, Pepper. If there’s anyone who can do it, it’s you. You are strong.”

Pepper laughs, but it sounds shrill and false in her ears.

“People say that all the time, you know? And the worst thing―you know what the worst thing is?”

Happy shakes his head.

“The worst thing is, it’s true. You know, early into the relationship I was thinking that I can’t live without him. I was so, so scared something would happen to him, so I tried to stop him from being Iron Man… And then we took a break, and he ended up half-dead in Siberia, and at that time I realised that yes, I can live without him. It just wasn’t a life I wanted to live. And now―thinking that I have to do this every day, it’s just―it’s like someone is sitting on my chest and strangling me, over and over again.”

She hears Happy swallow hard, then he shuffles closer and wraps his arms around her, pulling her close. One of the bear hugs that got her through the time when Tony was in Afghanistan and both of her parents died in the span of three months, that got Tony through his panic attacks, and Morgan through some of her nightmares.

She feels water drop onto her neck, and she knows Happy is crying too.

They do finish the clothes before nightfall, because Pepper has always been awfully good at ticking off to-do lists, even on the worst days. When they are done, they get a bottle of red wine from the cellar and empty it in Tony’s honour, sitting near the lake where Pepper and Tony once spent a whole night just after they bought the house getting eaten by mosquitos, when they decided to turn it from a temporary recovery getaway into a home for as long as time would grant them.

Morgan took her first steps here, had her first fall, cried buckets in Pepper’s arms while Tony put a band-aid on the scratch on her elbow, and Pepper remembers thinking how little children know of pain. A few steps below Pepper laid the arc reactor to water, holding the hand of the girl who now knew so, so much of it; and sometimes she doesn’t know if she wants to preserve the place forever or burn it all down.

They sit and drink and at some point Pepper closes her eyes, and through the buzz of alcohol she can almost imagine that Tony is in the garage, finishing up a project before joining them for the night.

She thinks of him with love, with tenderness, with unforgiving pain.

She wonders if it will ever get easier. She wonders if she even wants it to be.

They go to bed at two. Happy takes the guest room where Tony’s shaver is now lying at the bottom of a dust bin. Pepper lies wide awake, her window open, listening to the familiar sounds of life far away from the city.

She will fall asleep eventually, facing away from the empty side of the bed. She will wake up at six, a little hungover, force herself to start the day with yoga and a run. Will call Dress for Success to make sure they get to the house on time, will oversee the pick-up. Will have breakfast with Happy so he doesn’t have to worry about her passing out when he gets on his way. Will sit through an SI video conference until it’s time to pick up Morgan, maybe take her to the mall or to see a movie on the way back home from Rhodey’s. Will make her dinner, give her a bath, put her to bed on time, if possible without a tantrum. Will tackle her email inbox until a headache will force her to bed. Will make a plan for Monday, another Monday without Tony, before falling asleep. Will wake up and face that one too.

Rinse and repeat, one day at a time.

All my fics

All my Pepperony fics

#pepperony moments #mcd #(canonical)#pepper potts needs a hug #happy hogan gives her one #remembering tony #thanks to everyone who gives this a try despite the heavy topic!#i appreciate you

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pilothusband · 3 years

Text

All Hail The King

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Warnings: Alcohol, oral sex, p in v sex, praise kink. I’m a horny bitch, okay? This is purely indulgent.

Word count: 5k

Author’s note: Special thanks to @wyn-dixie for reading this over before I posted it and for enabling this filth. ❤️ This idea entered my brain randomly and I had to write it out. Please let me know what you think! I want your feedback. If I had Photoshop I would have made an edit of Frankie with a crown for this but I don’t have it so here’s this gif instead.

The bar is humming with activity, but the table you’re nestled at in the back provides enough shelter to allow you all to converse without having to yell at each other.

You’ve been nursing a glass of water for a while now, since you’re the designated driver this week. It doesn’t bother you, though— you’re just happy to be out with your friends.

Every once in a while you steal a glance over at Frankie, who’s sitting diagonally across the table, next to Santiago who is directly across from you. Benny is to your left, his large body crowding you into the wall, and his brother Will is at the head of the table.

“Hey Fish,” Benny claps a hand on his shoulder. The force of his hand jostles Frankie’s solid body backwards a little, but to his credit he doesn’t flinch. “How are things with that girl you were seeing? Jennessa? Jennifer?”

You take a sip of your water and look down at the table to mask your interest at the sudden change in conversation.

“Jessica,” Frankie clears his throat. “They aren’t. We didn’t have much in common so she broke it off after a few dates.”

Queue the internal cheering. Jessica was a bit of a wet mop, to be honest. She never had anything to say when Frankie brought her around and she would scoff at everything that was slightly unsavory in her eyes. Deep down, you had to come to terms with the jealous twinge you felt in your gut every time she would squeeze Frankie’s shoulder affectionately, her immaculately manicured nails pressed harshly into his jacket.

“I’m sorry, Fish,” Benny said, slinging his arm around the man, the clumsy movement knocking his hat slightly askew. “Her loss, brother.”

“Here here,” Santi agrees, raising his bottle in the air. “To the king!”

Benny cheers clinks his bottle against Santiago’s echoing his sentiment. Will huffs out a laugh and Frankie groans, hiding his face in his hands.

You gape at the two men in question, but they just giggle like a couple of school girls.

“I didn’t realize I was in the presence of royalty,” you say, trying to figure out what they’re talking about. You look over at Frankie as he takes an impatient sip from his drink.

Benny just about spits out a mouthful of beer onto the table.

“Shut the fuck up, guys.” Frankie warns his friends. “Seriously.” Santi and Benny give him an innocent look. Will focuses his gaze on the bottle he’s holding, picking at the paper label, damp and curling at the edges from condensation .

Santiago leans towards you, his breath hot in your ear.

“We call him the pussy eating king.”

You thank the powers above you weren’t mid-sip, because the choked sound that emits from your throat was both involuntary and sudden. Heat blossoms in your stomach and your thighs clench together as you make eye contact with Frankie. He looks away nervously, embarrassed even.

“So was this a self coronation or..” You trail off, grinning at the flush on Frankie’s cheeks.

“It was that really talkative chick he was seeing for a while,” Benny says, turning to you. “Brianna?”

“Brenda,” Frankie sighs.

“So Brenda crowned you the pussy eating king?” You ask Frankie, who still refuses to meet your eyes.

He grumbles in response, waving off the subject.

“Yeah, she went on about it in detail for the whole night one time. I think you were away for a work trip or something” Santiago is absolutely smirking, loving the way Frankie is physically shrinking under the group’s attention. “Come on Fish, don’t be so modest. You’re a beast in the sack, it’s a good thing!”

You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You remember why you weren’t there. It was because you couldn’t stand seeing Frankie so happy with another woman, so you feigned sick.

“Well, I can see why things with Brenda didn’t last,” you respond, knowing Frankie was kind of a private guy. “But hey, at least she can tell all her friends she got the royal treatment while it lasted.”

Benny, Santiago and even Will all roar with laughter, fists banging raucously on the table. Frankie huffs out an embarrassed laugh, despite himself.

“Yeah, yeah,” he takes a swig of his beer, emptying it. “I need another drink.”

“Hey Ben, what time is your fight next week again?” Will calls over to his brother. You’re grateful for the change of subject. Frankie’s had enough torture for one night and you aren’t sure how many more details about Frankie’s sexual prowess your nether regions can take.

Benny turns towards Will to talk about his upcoming match and you take a sip from your glass to try to hide how flustered you’re feeling. Did this bar get hot all of a sudden?

The glass lands back down with a dull thump and you look up to find Santiago studying you, his eyebrow raised.

“What?” You don’t mean to sound aggressive, but his gaze is unnerving, as if he’s trying to suss out something you’re hiding.

“Nothing, nothing at all.” He smirks and tips up his beer, taking a long gulp. You roll your eyes at him and look down to pick at your nails.

A few moments later, Frankie returns with a fresh beer and you can feel Santiago turning his face in your direction again to read your body language. You school your reaction, fingers digging painfully into your pint glass. Sometimes Pope is too fucking nosy for his own good.

He must lose interest after a moment though, because he turns his attention back to Benny, who’s still talking about his upcoming fight.

The topic doesn’t come up again, thankfully, and you’ve dropped all the boys off at their separate destinations, save for Frankie, who lives the closest to you.

The car ride alone with him isn’t as tense as you were expecting, since his tongue has been loosened with the fair amount of alcohol he’s had tonight. You both chat easily about the upcoming week and how much you’re dreading going back to work on Monday.

You can’t resist one smart remark though, as you pull up to Frankie’s house.

“Your castle awaits, my liege,” you quip, trying and failing to hide your amused smile as you look over at him.

Frankie throws his head back and laughs freely, opening the car door with a wink.

“Goodnight, my queen,” he bows exaggeratedly before shutting the car door.

The butterflies don’t tamp down until you’re securely inside your own apartment, locking the door behind you.

That night was a month ago, which means it’s been a whole fucking month since your brain flew the coop. Every time Frankie does just about anything with his mouth, everything else around you ceases to exist.

Take last Thursday, for example. Frankie dropped by after work to help you change your porch light, since the fixture is too heavy and the light is too high up to easily reach.

He steps up the ladder with ease, unscrewing the fixture and holding it with his left hand. He puts the screwdriver in his mouth so he can hold onto the ladder as he gingerly hands you the fixture. You grab onto it and hand him the replacement bulb so he can swap them out.

He gets the lightbulb in and gestures towards you to hand the fixture back, which he screws back in before stepping down.

“Blegh,” he wipes his mouth on his sleeve, an action that has your last two brain cells screeching to a halt. “Screwdrivers taste awful.”

His statement is cute, self-deprecating, and you try to respond appropriately but all you can do is gape at him like a fish out of water.

‘Get your shit together, he’s wiping off the taste of rust, not your pussy,’ you try to mentally shake yourself out of your stupor, but it does no good.

He turns back towards his toolbox to drop the screwdriver in and close the lid.

“All set,” he says, dusting off his jeans. He sounds a little uneasy, probably because you’re acting like a complete weirdo.

“Thank you so much, Frankie. I really appreciate it.” You find your manners and pull him in for a hug, secretly reveling in how good he smells.

“Any time,” he tells you as he wraps his arms around you and squeezes softly.

Before he pulls away you make a spur of the moment decision, and reach up to give him a small kiss on the cheek. He’s so impossibly warm and so inviting, you can feel your heart flutter in your chest. The sparse hairs on his face tickle your chin.

Frankie clears his throat and ducks his head down, mumbling a hurried goodbye before he heads back to his truck, toolbox in hand. You don’t miss the way his lips are turned up and the crows feet make an appearance in the corner of his eyes, nor do you miss the brilliant flush that spreads over his face and down his neck.

It’s Saturday now and your torment knows no end. You decide you’re too tired to go out and opt to invite the guys over for a movie night, to which they all agree.

You decide you’ll just have to look away every time Frankie takes a sip of a drink, or eats a handful of popcorn. Or God forbid, if he licks his lips.

The group chat has been a nightmare, with everyone trying to come up with a movie to watch. Benny wants to watch The Expendables, Will mentioned something about wanting to see Dunkirk for ages now and Santi is playing devil’s advocate, disagreeing with all of their choices but not coming up with one of his own.

Frankie has been quiet in the chat, besides initially agreeing to come over initially.

It’s 9:00 PM, you have a 30 rack of beers in the fridge and some popcorn set out for everyone. All you have to do now is wait for the guys to arrive. Your phone chimes with a notification from Benny.

Benny and the Jets 🥊: Sorry lady, I got called in for a last minute practice. Raincheck?

Ironhead 🦸🏼: I gotta duck out too. The lady wants to have a date night. Sorry!

You type out a reply to them, a little disappointed but bidding them a good night all the same.

A knock sounds on the door and you rush over to answer it. The door swings open to reveal Frankie, wearing the softest looking navy blue hoodie you’ve ever seen, along with his Standard Oil cap. He looks as unsure as ever, holding a bottle of red wine.

You chirp an over-enthusiastic greeting, internally cringe at it, and step aside to welcome him in.

“I know you like red wine, so I got some for you on the way here. I hope it’s the kind you like.”

You accept the wine and look at the label. It’s a California Zinfandel. You can’t believe he remembered your favorite wine.

“I love it, thank you so much.” You pull him into a hug, nuzzling into the soft material of his sweatshirt. He returns the hug just as enthusiastically, pulling away to kiss your forehead.

“Is Santiago on his way?” You ask, padding into the kitchen to grab a glass from your cabinet. “Do you want a glass? Or I have some beer if you’d prefer.”

“Beer is perfect, thanks,” he says a little breathily as he looks over at you. “Santiago said something came up and that he’s sorry.”

Something feels a little fishy with the three of them ducking out all at the same time, but you don’t mention it as you hand him a beer and search through your drawer for a bottle opener. A few minutes later, you’re both set up on the couch and are scrolling through Netflix for a movie.

“I have no idea what to watch. Do you?”

“Want to watch Civil War? I know the guys will bitch we’re continuing the rewatch without them but they can deal.”

You tip your head back and laugh, navigating over to your Disney+ app.

Frankie takes off his hat and sets it aside while you spread a blanket over your laps, braving a chance to scoot closer to him. He takes the hint and wraps his arm behind your shoulders, nestling you closer to his chest. You settle in and try to pay attention to the movie, despite the wild fluttering that is taking place in your stomach.

Frankie shifts uncomfortably and winces a little. You can tell he’s trying to hide it, but little does he know you’ve been watching every single movement he makes like a hawk. Or a nervous lap dog.

“Does your back hurt? I can move,” you start to get up but Frankie grabs onto your wrist and pulls you back in.

“No, stay. I just need to find a comfortable position.”

You make a soft noise of surprise when he lifts you up and pulls you towards him, settling back so he’s spread out on the couch. You’re settled on top of him, your legs stretched out over his with your back to the cushion, half draped over his torso.

This position has your heart thumping hard in your chest. His face was just a few inches from yours. All he’d have to do is tilt his face towards yours, and you’d be practically kissing.

Focusing on the movie is harder than ever. Your left hand rests on Frankie’s chest and your right is near his head. Without even thinking, you reach out and start stroking your fingers through his soft curls. He hums contentedly, the pleasant sound rumbling through his chest.

A hand makes its way up your arm leaving goosebumps in its wake, landing on your shoulder.

You brave a glance at Frankie and feel your heart stutter in your chest when you realize he’s been looking at you. His eyes are as dark as ever, twinkling against the flicker of your TV.

He closes the gap and captures your lips in a tender kiss. His lips are warm and soft, melding to yours perfectly. The brush of your mouths together is intoxicating. Your tongue darts out to lick at him and he complies, letting out a guttural moan at the sensation as your tongues meet languidly.

You shift your leg so it slots between his and both of your hands find his shoulders and squeeze them, eliciting a soft mewl from Frankie’s mouth. His hands are hot on your back and he slides one down to your ass, kneading the soft flesh over your leggings.

Your hips press into his, rutting into him, soft pants falling from your mouth– mingling with his. You need to be closer, closer, closer. He tightens his grip on your ass in response and rolls his hips so you can feel how hard he is against your belly.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps, breaking the kiss, words tumbling out between his ragged breaths.

You can feel yourself throbbing for him, wetness rushing to your core as his hushed baritone makes your head spin with need. Somewhere in the back of your mind you’re convinced this is a dream. That there’s no way you’re dry humping the man of your dreams on your couch right now.

You duck down to hide your expression, not wanting to ruin the moment with your anxiety and doubt. You’ll take whatever this man gives you, even if it’s just this moment.

You busy yourself by peppering small kisses on his neck, trailing them up to his jaw.

“Hey,” he slows your movements and holds your chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up gently up to look at him.

“I want you. I want this. Do you?”

You feel the urge to look away, his gaze is intense and laser-focused on you. Eye contact has never been your strong suit, so this was a lot for you to handle. But you fight the urge to flinch and stare back, searching to see if there was anything that will give away any trepidations. His expression remains hard set, serious but not unkind. It’s just like Frankie to have eyes as clear as day, giving away all of his secrets. They’re just like him— strong, unrelenting in their hardness and softness.

“Yes,” you reply. Your voice cracks a little, thick with emotion. “I’ve wanted this, wanted you, for so long.”

You feel embarrassment wash over you with the admission, but Frankie doesn’t let it last long before you crushes his lips to yours in a searing kiss. He breaks it off after a moment, lips swollen and pink.

“Baby, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”

He strokes a hand down your jaw, his thumb caressing your skin as a goofy smile blooms over your face.

“I want to make you feel good, baby,” he whispers, his thumb catching on the swell of your bottom lip. “Will you let me make you feel good?”

You blink and swallow heavily, a fresh wave of arousal flooding to your center as the deep rasp of his voice utters those words, smooth as caramel– dousing over you like kerosene on a fire.

You nod, not trusting your voice at this very moment.

“I need you to say it out loud, honey,” he says, his lips brushing against yours ever so lightly.

“Yes, Francisco,” you breathe out. “Make me feel good.”

He bites your bottom lip and tugs, then growls playfully before he grabs your shoulders and flips you over. You let out a delighted shriek, giggling as he lifts up the hem of your shirt and kisses every inch of skin that’s revealed.

“Wait,” you call out. He stops his movements immediately. “You first.”

Frankie grins. You want to press your fingers into the dimple that appears and feel the scratch of his beard under your nails. He leans back and lifts his sweatshirt over his head, the grey t-shirt he’s wearing sticks to the inside of it and he rolls both garments down his arms.

His chest is bare to you now, smooth except for a smattering of hairs in the middle of his chest, and a patch leading down into his jeans. You want to reach out and run your hands down the planes of his torso and follow the path of hair, but your arms aren’t long enough to reach.

You remove your shirt, leaving you in your leggings and bra. It’s a soft lace number, a delicate pink with no underwire. You watch as his hungry gaze roams over your chest. To your surprise, he doesn’t motion for you to take it off. Instead, he leans over you, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

He moves downwards, tongue darting out to taste the salt of your neck. He continues his path and mouths between your breasts, one of his hands reaches out to squeeze the plump flesh in his large hand. You nipple instantly pebbles under his ministrations and he pulls the fabric aside to tease it with the pad of his finger. You moan softly at the sensation and yelp in surprise when he sucks it into his mouth and bites it, soothing the sharp sting with a flick of his tongue.

“Mmm, love how responsive you are already,” he hums, moving down. Your back arches as his mouth makes a hot trail down the rest of your torso. You look down and notice he’s left wet patches where his mouth has been, coating you in saliva and leaving goosebumps in his wake.

He reaches the waistband of your leggings and pushes them down, letting out a strangled groan when he gets an eyeful of your panties, the same shade of pink that matches the bra you’re wearing.

“So fucking sexy,” he breathes.

He peels your panties down your legs and pulls them off along with your leggings, leaving you completely bare from the bottom down. You start to cross your legs to hide yourself, feeling self-conscious at how exposed you are, but Frankie grabs your thigh to halt the movement.

“You better not hide this pretty pussy from me,” he says, licking his lips.

You half expect him to dive in, but he takes a moment to look at you. He’s resting a hand on your hip. His pointer finger makes a path down, tracing an invisible line up and down your slit. You hiss at the ghost of his touch and thrust your hips towards his hand, seeking out more friction.

Frankie lets out an amused chuckle at your reaction and leans forward to plant a wet kiss to your inner thigh. You let out a shaky breath in anticipation– your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest. He kisses up your thigh until he reaches the apex between your legs, then licks a stripe through your folds with the flat of his tongue, pulling a surprised gasp from your parted lips.

He sucks your clit into his mouth and you can’t help it– you buck up into his mouth and grab onto his hair and tug at the strands. He grabs onto the flesh of your hip and whimpers into your pussy. Despite being almost dizzy with need, you feel a rush of power knowing you have this effect on him.

“You taste so fucking good. So wet for me,” he punctuates his words with bold licks up and down. “Never want to stop.”

He changes patterns, making tight circles on your clit with his tongue. The sudden switch has you mewling and your legs clamp around his head involuntarily. Frankie grabs your thighs and wrenches them apart, hooking them over his shoulders as he latches onto your pussy. His hands are on your ass, holding you up as your back arches off the couch.

All you can do is scramble at the cushions below you for purchase as Frankie buries his face into your cunt, lapping at you with abandon. His tongue licks into you with an intensity you’ve never experienced before; it has you seeing stars.

You have no idea how he knows exactly how to manipulate your body to pull the pleasure from you so naturally. Every lick feels like it’s searching for treasure, every suck hits somewhere deep inside, reverberating through the muscles of your thighs and up in your abdomen.

He gently places you back down to the cushions and rubs at your entrance with his pointer finger, looking up at you for permission.

“Yes, please–“ you whimper brokenly. He complies immediately and plunges it into you, following with a second finger, and curls them up. His pace is slow at first and he flicks his tongue out to play with your clit at the same time. He’s soon spurred on by your moans and sets a brutal pace. You once again feel the urge to clamp around him to increase the pressure, but Frankie uses his broad shoulders to hold your thighs apart.

Seeing his shoulders, bare and perspiring from his intensive movements, so wide and flushed, coupled with the furrow of his brow, his eyes pinched closed, makes something primal within you awaken. You barely have time to feel your orgasm coming before it’s hitting you– thighs shaking, back arching, hands in his hair. You don’t even realize it, but you;’re shrieking his name, chanting it like a prayer. He’s groaning in reply, milking you through it with his fingers and tongue, lapping up your release, syrupy sweet and indulgent.

He doesn’t stop until you’re flinching from overstimulation. He kisses up your body lazily, taking his time before capturing your lips. You kiss him back, licking into his mouth and tasting yourself on his tongue. He grinds into you, his jean-clad erection rubs against your aching cunt and rekindles the fire, molten heat shooting through your entire body.

“Wanna fuck you so bad, baby,” he says, panting the words into your mouth.

You moan and break the kiss.

“Want to take this to my room?”

He doesn’t reply, but instead swings his body off the couch and picks you up bridal-style. He stumbles a little with the first steps and you both laugh, kissing each other with each step he takes towards your bedroom.

He tosses you onto the bed softly and you let loose another delighted giggle when Frankie flops over you dramatically, caging you in his arms. Your tongues tangle together in an impossibly sensual kiss. He’s momentarily distracted, caught up in the feel of your body underneath his with the soft touches of your tongue, and you take the opportunity to roll him over and straddle his hips.

Frankie is looking up at you as if he’s in awe, like he can’t believe you’re here right now, naked from the waist down and grinding down on his hard cock, tenting his jeans.

You move down his body and zip his fly down, pushing down the denim along with his boxer briefs. His cock springs free, hard and hot and leaking at the tip. You can’t help but lick the bead of precum, and a broken whine rips from Frankie’s throat. His hands are clenched into the sheets, knuckles white with how hard he’s gripping the mattress beneath him.

You’re bobbing your mouth up and down his length, tongue licking around his shaft and cheeks hollowing out. His moans are loud, constant. He’s babbling praise, telling you how fucking amazing your mouth feels, how badly he wants to fuck you. It’s a heady feeling, bringing a strong and quiet man to his knees like this. You love that he’s letting you know how much he’s breaking for you.

Your tongue finds its way down to his balls and you suck them into your mouth, moaning at the musky taste. His moans are high pitched now and his hand is squeezing your shoulder.

“Baby, you gotta stop,” he grabs onto your hair to pause your movements. “I need to feel you.”

You give him one last broad lick up his shaft and shift back up, and look down at Frankie to catalogue the number you’ve done on him. He’s absolutely wrecked– brown eyes blown wide, chest rising and falling rapidly with his uneven breaths.

You remove your bra, stretching it over your head and throwing it to the side. Frankie follows the movement and lets out a needy, staccato moan at the sight of you, completely bare before him.

You reach down and kiss him soundly on the mouth, lining his cock up with your entrance.

“I’ve got you, baby boy,” you coo, sinking down on his length.

“Fuck,” he grits out between his teeth.

You give yourself a moment to get used to his size and rock into him. His hands fly up to your chest, squeezing lightly and rolling your nipples in between his fingers.

“So fucking big,” you pant out. “So good for me.”

It seems Frankie loves praise as much as you do, evidenced by the twitch of his cock inside you.

Your pace is agonizingly slow. You’re trying to tease out the moment, stretch it out so it lasts forever. It doesn’t last long– you can’t stand it anymore. You bounce up and down on him, snapping your hips when they meet his.

“So fucking perfect,” he pants out. “Wanna fuck you from behind.”

You breathe out a moan and stop your movements. Frankie mistakes your pause for hesitation and reaches up to brush the hair out of your face.

“We don’t have to,” he says, voice gentle, brow furrowed in concern.

“No, fuck. No, Frankie. I want to.”

You gingerly get up and whimper at the loss when he’s no longer inside you. Frankie sits up, shoulders rocking forward and cock bobbing with his movement as he settles onto his knees. You watch him and bite your lip, getting on all fours and lifting your ass up in the air to present yourself to him.

Frankie can’t help the groan that falls from his lips and sinks forward to lay an open-mouthed kiss on your pussy from behind before he lines himself up. He enters you without hesitation, hips slapping against your ass rhythmically, setting a decisively fast pace.

All you can hear is the filthy sounds of your wet pussy as he pounds into you, along with your strangled moans, and his heavy breathing, laced with whispers of praise you can’t discern. The waves of pleasure are too much, too strong. You can feel the familiar build up of an orgasm. Your head is in the clouds as it climbs and climbs– then crashes.

His fingers on your clit is what does you in. Your whole body shakes and all you can do is whimper and moan around his cock while he fucks into you. The strong, practiced rock of his hips become sloppy as he chases his release, muttering words of adoration into the air as he pulls out and cums, spilling onto your back. He pulls every last drop out of his cock before collapsing over you, forehead resting on your spine as he catches his breath.

“Fuck, baby,” he says, once he’s caught his breath. “Should have done this ages ago.”

You both laugh and Frankie gets up to grab a wet face towel from the bathroom

A little while later, you’re both in bed, blissed out and wrapped up around each other. The movie, drinks and snacks are all forgotten. All that matters is here and now– your breaths mingling together as you kiss each other lazily, tongues probing slowly.

In the other room, both of your phones ping on the coffee table with unheard notifications.

The first text is from Santiago.The other boys follow suit, not a minute apart.

Pope 🤦🏻‍♂️: 👑

Benny and the Jets 🥊: 👑

Ironhead 🦸🏼: 👑

Neither of you see the texts until the next morning.

The following weekend, it’s Santiago’s turn to be the designated driver. He’s parked outside of Frankie’s house, waiting to pick both of your asses up. He starts to tap his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel after the first 15 minutes.

“What the fuck are they doing in there?” He asks Will and Benny. They all know the answer, but don’t say anything.

Meanwhile, Frankie has you crowded against the front door, your sundress is hiked up and his face is buried in your pussy. Neither of you can hear the sound of Santi’s impatient honking over your moans.

And if you end up going to the bar sans panties because you can’t find them before Santiago is pounding his fist on the door, well that’s just a secret you and Frankie will have to keep.

Taglist: @tenderclio @softdin @darnitdraco @freeshavocadoooo @recklessworry @wyn-dixie @manalg14 @codenamewife @comphersjost @princessxkenobi @manalg14 @comphersjost @a-skov @sheresh0y @greeneyedblondie44 @blackmarketmummy @brandyllyn @gracie7209 @bootyliciousbilbo @dobbyjen

#frankie morales #frankie morales smut #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #francisco morales pilot of my heart #all hail francisco morales pussy eating king

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jbreenr · 3 years

Text

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale × Reader

Summary: You wanted to meet Ransom's family, he wanted to make sure you'd never want it again.

Word count: 3k.

Warning: Poorly written smut (+18 only, please), public sex (prompt 11), fingering, unprotected sex (don't do that, kids. be responsible), a bit of dirty talk, the Thrombeys being the Thrombeys. And I think that's it.

A/N: So, after finding out one of my stories was stolen an translated in Wattpad, I did not know if I should post this just yet but, what the hell? Let's do it. Anyway, this is for @stargazingfangirl18 and @navybrat817 's Shameless Hoes for Chris Challenge so, happy belated birthday! Yaaay. 🥳 Hope you like this at least a little and that it's not as bad as my paranoid brain thinks it is. Also, I just love how the prompts fit perfectly together, don't you? As always, lack of vocabulary and grammatical mistakes abound. *apologizes in español*

Wheel results (just attaching evidence):

ᴹʸ ᵍⁱᶠ

Draining, tedious, exasperating. Those were some of the adjectives Ransom associated with Thrombey family reunions. He'd arrive late, have some sort of conversation with his grandfather and leave early to do whatever that took him away from that big house.

Today though, he had a reason to stay for more than half an hour.

If it was up to him, you two would have stayed at home, happy, relaxed, and most importantly, naked in his bed, having a more pleasant time than the one you were most likely about to have.

He tried to persuade you. Of course he did! But your insistence and puppy eyes made it impossible for him to say no to your request.

So, here you were, getting out of his car, cake in sweaty hands and an excited smile on your lips, an expression so different from Ransom's, who seemed to be ready to get back behind the wheel and drive straight to Canada.

He didn't knock; he simply opened the door and held it for you to enter. If the three floor house was imposing from the outside, you felt impressed by the inside. Extravagant sculptures, apparently expensive paintings and other kinds of pieces of art were scattered everywhere, telling you just how wealthy and eccentric Ransom's family were.

“That's Harlan Thrombey! ” You exclaimed as you stood in front of the portrait of your forever favorite author holding a knife and a book.

“So?” Ransom asked, unconcerned.

You turned to him open-mouthed, the cake almost slipping off your palms as you went to playfully slap him in the arm.

“How come you are related to Harlan Thrombey and you didn't tell me?” Your question was more of a shock than an accusation.

The carefree gesture he did with his shoulders only accentuated his next words. “I did not think you would be interested in knowing.”

“I wouldn’t be interested?” Incredulity, flowing out of your lips. “He’s the best thriller author of all time! He’s like today’s Edgar Allan Poe!”

To say that you didn't believe him was an understatement. He knew for a fact that you liked Harlan Thrombey's books, just taking a look at the bookshelf in your apartment was proof enough of that.

“We call him grandpa here.” Said a femenine voice. A brunette walked in your direction, her pretty features hardening as she looked at your boyfriend. “Don't we, Hugh?”

He seemed to be ready to say something but decided not to. Instead he inhaled and placed his hand on your back.

“This is Y/N, the only reason I’m not telling you what you need to hear right now.”

Her eyes rolled in irritation and then turned to you. “I’m Meg. Let's introduce you to the rest of the family, shall we?.” And she dragged you to the room where more people were gathered together, discussing something, not before sending a deadly glare at Ransom.

Given the distance between you and him, you didn't listen to the heavy sigh he let out before waking behind.

“Everyone!” Meg called, making everyone leave whatever they were doing to look at her –and you, in consequence. “Meet Y/N, Hugh's new friend.” She then proceeded to introduce every single member of the family, including the housekeeper and the nurse, except for the grandfather, who apparently had a moment of inspiration and left them momentarily to put his ideas on paper.

None of them left their seat to go and shake your hand except for Meg's energetic mom, who hugged you and expressed how much she loved your coat even though it was soooo last season.

Sitting on a couch next to Ransom, you half expected someone to ask you about how you two met or how long had you been dating or what was it that you did for a living. Nothing. As fast as their attention was on you, it fell from you to their previous discussion.

You now understood why Ransom jokingly suggested deep cleaning the house instead of attending that reunion.

What you weren't aware of, Ransom thought, was that all of them were behaving wonderfully compared to previous times.

You didn't know if you felt more disappointed or uncomfortable. Ransom had left your side to go to the studio for a second and you had barely had any interaction with his family. All of them, dipped in their own matters to even notice your presence.

Fran, the housekeeper, was kind enough to take the cake to the kitchen and offer you a glass of water, but after giving it to you, she disappeared along with Meg and the nurse.

“So,” All at once, the room went quiet as Ransom's uncle spoke. “Have you read any of dad's books, Y/N?” Only until you heard your name was that your head snapped up.

“Oh, uhm… yeah. I'm a big fan.” Taken by surprise, you simply answered.

“Really? Which one have you read?”

And to that question, you felt suddenly included in the conversation since you had knowledge of the topic.

“I'm like fifty pages from finishing 'The Needle Game' and intrigue is eating me alive.” As you heard the excitement in your voice, you tried to compose yourself and said “Though 'Nick Of Time' is my favorite.” You smiled at him, hoping that your answer was a good one.

The woman that was introduced to you as Ransom's mother nodded as she licked her lips. The light of the fireplace, reflecting on her glasses as she moved her head up and down.

“Have you read 'Ultimatum' or 'Drop In The Pocket', dear?” Her tone was curious, but the look on her face said differently.

You responded anyway. “They're not bad. I feel like the ending of 'Drop In The Pocket' was a little vague and out of line but it can always be interpreted as an open ending so…” The change in their expressions told you that you had to add something else to that answer. Maybe it was not time for literature humor yet. “But I enjoyed both.”

She hummed and took her drink, detaching from the talk that continued with courtesy questions until it morphed into a heated discussion between Ransom's father and uncle, who would repeatedly ask for your opinion to back up his own.

The discomfort you felt, dispelled to be replaced by the disturbance of being bombarded with dozens of questions at a time, each louder than the other until they changed to a completely different topic to which you were occasionally included as a neutral point of view.

“She knows what she's talking about!” Said Richard at some point when you confirmed one of his arguments. “Thank you, dear.”

Ransom came back from his obligatory argument with his grandfather to find you nowhere to be seen.

“She's using the bathroom.” Informed Jacob, who did not take his eyes off of his cellphone.

Thinking that you went there to hide, he started his way to your potential direction until an overheard observation from his mother stopped him halfway through.

“… Did you hear how she talked about dad's work? Oh, I assure you she won't make it to next week with Ransom.”

Her and Richard's backs were to him, both of them unaware that their son was listening to their share of opinions.

“And did you see her hands?” Joni joined the criticism contest. “She could use some moisturizer, I tell you.”

As usual, they ignored her attempt to fit in and kept going.

“I know it's contradictory to say this,” Richard paused, as to make his point clear. “But he could do better.”

Despite their whispering, Ransom heard every single word and was glad that you were not there to see what was about to happen…

Ransom's words stuck on his throat when he saw you making your way out of the bathroom, fixing the skirt of your dress, with such niceness and warmth directed to him as you smiled, oblivious to the fact that the people you were trying to get to like you weren't going to.

His parents were right. He could do better. He could determine to not see them ever again and it would be the best thing to happen to him… Besides you, obviously.

“What's wrong?” Your concern was evident, just as his annoyance was undeniable.

Cold hands caressed his cheeks and Ransom thought of going back to Joni and tell her to fuck off. Your touch was soft, comforting, and gave him the greatest idea he'd ever had.

“I want to show you something.” Was his answer. It was better if you were the one who decided to never step on that house for the rest of your lives. It didn't matter if it was out of embarrassment.

Taking your hand in his, he guided you up the stairs to the first landing. The creaking sound of the old structure, probably alerting everyone in the other room that you were going to the next floor.

“Are you okay?” The sweet giggle that you let out when he abruptly stopped, almost making him feel bad about what he was seconds away from doing.

“Better than ever.” And he stamped his lips to yours.

Taken aback, it took you a second to respond. Hands on each side of his face as his own explored your body. When his fingers lifted your dress to caress your ass cheeks was when you ended the kiss.

“What are you doing?” You asked in a breathless whisper. “Not that I'm complaining.”

You were cornered against the wall with Ransom towering in front of your smaller frame.

Trying to escape from whatever he had in mind was useless, you knew that much. Though, you were not sure if you really wanted to escape.

“What I've been wanting to do ever since you got a shower without me this morning.” His lips found your jaw and descended to your neck where he sucked to create a bruise. Your eyes closed to the sensation.

“Wait. No, wait.” His fingertip that had started rubbing your still clothed bud paused it's motions as his eyes focused back on your face. “We can't do it. Not here.”

Ransom's finger went back to work, bringing a soft moan that you tried to suppress. “Why not? No one's gonna come here.” His other hand moved up your thigh to lift it. “Even if they did, they wouldn't notice.”

With an expert swing of his wrist, he moved your panties aside, letting the cold air that wandered inside the house hit you before his skilled middle finger entered you while still managing to rub your clit in circles with his thumb.

Adrenaline ran through your veins, fuel activating every nerve in your body and shaking away fear from your brain, replacing it with lust and boldness.

“I'm blaming you if we get caught.” Your hips jolted forward wanting to feel more of his hand, the contradiction between your words and actions, making him smirk.

He added a second finger. Knuckles deep and his cold ring slowly warming against the inside of your thigh, he said, “I'll take responsibility, sweetheart.” Pumping his fingers in and out, he felt your slick running down the back of his hand to his wrist, wetting his overly expensive watch and the cuff of his cozy sweater .“But I can't assure you we won't get caught.”

His words, instead of working as a bucket of cold water as one would expect, increased your need to be touched by him, the yearning for him to take you right there and then.

“Damn it, Ransom.” One of your hands flew to his shoulder to hold onto him for dear life. “I'm close.”

“You're not cumming unless I'm inside you, pretty thing.” At what point did he unfasten his belt and unzipped his trousers, you had no idea. The friction of his digits was gone in a second but the feeling of his already leaking tip rubbing against your most sensitive parts was enough to make you forget about those trifles.

Your lips opened, ready to tell him to keep his voice down when he suddenly thrusted home, stretching you out so deliciously that you had to cover your mouth to muffle the moan that threatened to inform everyone of your current activities.

Ransom's breathing hitched. Being inside you was a dream come true, feeling your walls enveloping his cock so fucking good… it was like you were made for each other, and he was going to prove it, even if his family didn't really get to know.

His hips started moving. Back and forth, back and forth. Delicately at first, letting you adjust to his size but the second he felt you throbbing around him, he increased the pace. Little by little his pounds gained power and energy.

Your whimpers –stuck in your throat, leaving only soft snuffles that crashed against Ransom's cheek, soon became more rapid, erratic and as his fingers dug in the flesh of your thigh to keep you still while he accommodated to go even deeper you heard a creaking noise.

Your boyfriend's blue eyes met yours, his movements never faltering despite the alert given by the dark wooden floor under your feet.

There was a conflict in your head, and Ransom could tell. The way you tightened and the pleading look on your face told different stories, yet Ransom knew they had the same ending.

Shaking your head, your eyes asked him not to do it, but you knew Ransom well enough to be sure that not even begging could stop him.

“You love it, don't you?” His smile grew bigger as his change of position allowed him to hit your sweet spot on and on, ripping high pitched whines from you and obligating you to close your eyes. “The thought of getting caught. The image of someone seeing how good I make you feel.” The placement of his foot, making the landing creak repeatedly each time he pushed up accompanying every word. “Fuck, you're talking me so well. Such a dirty girl, uh.”

His big hand yanked the strap of your dress down, exposing your left boob. Your already hard nipple was soon attacked by Ransom's fingertips. He'd pinch and twist it slightly, just enough to make your back arch in search of his touch.

Pleasure was overflowing your senses, you could feel your heart thudding in your ears and your legs losing strength. Your hand left your mouth to grip at the back of Ransom's neck to keep you from falling.

The sight of your lower lip trapped between your teeth didn't please Ransom. In other circumstances, he would've let you stay that way, as quiet as possible so no one would walk on you. This time though, it was his intention to rip the most delicious sounds from your lips so you thought of the possibility of his family listening.

And so, he lent to kiss you, passion and desire transmitted through his breath. His tongue asked for a permission that was not really required, but as you let it in, Ransom took the opportunity to bite down your lip.

With your lips forcefully parted and Ransom's restless hand traveling back to your bundle, you had no other option than to moan with each quick circle his digits drew.

A series of laughs and undistinguished words were heard from a distance. Both Ransom and you turned to see what they were about, stopping in your tracks with him still buried deep inside your needy cunt.

“Guess dinner's ready.” Unbothered about the information he just gave, he hid his face in the crook of your neck and resumed his movements.

A shaky oh, fuck fell from your lips as you felt the familiar knot in your stomach forming. Your head flew back, hitting the wall with a soft thud.

“Careful. We don't want to be obvious, do we?” You knew you were about to explode, and by the way your walls were clenching and your trembling body tried to separate from him, Ransom knew as well. “Let go, sweetheart.” A roar erupted from him as he felt you tightening around his length. “Cum for me.”

With a last, powerful thrust of his hips, you let out a silent scream. The coil snapped, making you see a kaleidoscope of colors behind your eyelids and listen to a loud ring in your ears.

Ransom followed right after, cursing as he finished inside of you, coating you with every last drop and making sure everything would stay there.

He slid out, leaving you with a feeling of emptiness as he zipped his trousers and took a step back to let you fix your appearance.

You managed to accommodate your dress just in time for Ransom's family to walk out of the room they were in to see you. Your agitated breathing and blushed cheeks, getting everyone's attention.

“Are you okay, dear?” Ransom's dad asked.

“She's fine.” Your boyfriend answered for you. “She's feeling a little sick. I better take her home.” He took you by the hand and helped you down the stairs to the door, which you thanked. Had he not done it, you would have tripped taking the first step.

“But she hasn't met grandpa yet.” Meg noted, furrowing her brows.

“It'll be next time.” And with that, Ransom took you out of the house and in the passenger seat of his car without giving anyone the chance to say goodbye.

When you were at a considerable distance, you sighed, letting out the air you didn't know you were holding.

“Just so you know, there won't be a next time.” You informed him, against your want to meet his grandfather.

“Why not?” He asked with a chuckle, already knowing the answer.

“Cause embarrassment won't let me come back in the near future.”

Behind an eye roll and a tap on your thigh, Ransom hid the triumphant grimace his perfectly carried out plan gave him.

694 notes · View notes

duskholland · 3 years

Text

No Control || Frat!Tom Smut

summary ↠ tom can’t stop thinking about harrison’s girl, and it’s starting to become a problem. — in love with your best friend’s girl au. warnings ↠ this is fifty shades of morally-ambiguous grey, but I wouldn’t say it’s /too/ out there..?¿ there’s no actual infidelity but because of the au, there are themes of cheating, so avoid this if it’s a touchy subject for you. cw: a lot of alcohol, a ton of jealousy/possessiveness, heavy swearing, ongoing frat/party/bet culture, tom being a bad friend, harrison being a bad boyfriend, y/n being a bad girlfriend, and nsfw content. this contains smut! 18+ minors dni. word count↠ 17.6k. a/n ↠ please don’t do this irl, this is just fantasy !!!! y/n, tom and harrison are all flawed people, so please don’t go into this expecting them to all be perfect !!!! this was almost twenty thousand times more debased and fucked up, but I reeled it in last minute :’) that being said, this was still so much fun to write lmao. I listened to your girlfriend by blossoms + jessie’s girl pretty much on repeat as I wrote this! title is from 1d’s classic banger, which apparently influenced this more than I’d thought. thanks to all the anons who sent in ideas for this the other week!! a lot of them made it into this fic, so if you sent in a concept—thank you so much <3 I messed around with the pov so it flips halfway through! it should be obvious but I’m flagging it so you don’t think I went mad. hasn’t happened yet my lovelies but frat!tom does test me ! :’)) enjoy !!! <3

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

extended warnings ↠ masturbating (male), oral + fingering (fem receiving), protected mxf sex. possessiveness in the dirty talk. again, there is no infidelity but there is a lot of bad behaviour + boundary pushing <3

✧ *:･ﾟNo Control･ﾟ:*✧

Tom has seen a lot of pretty girls in his life, but tonight, he thinks that he’s seen an angel.

The frat is loud. The crowd is so thick he can barely breeze, and the fog machine has left a deep grey smog smothering the living room. Flashing strobe lights and the deep drums of bass cut through the air, but despite the way Tom’s head hurts, everything irritating fades as he looks across the room and sees a girl. You. You’re standing in the open doorway, leaning against one of the beams, a solo cup in one hand with the other resting on your waist.

He instantly knows that he wants you.

You’re in a red dress, with the flattering material clinging to your waist and shoulders. It draws Tom’s attention, but that’s quick to shift to your face as he watches you laugh at a joke made by one of your friends. He recognises a few of the people that you’re with from one of his lectures, but he’s almost certain he’s never seen you before. He’d definitely remember.

“Bro? What’s up?” Harrison is behind him, Tom’s best mate. They’ve been friends since high school, and when Tom had decided to up sticks and move across the ocean to a college in America, Harrison had followed. He’s good like that. “You’re just staring at the wall. Look like a proper tosser.”

Tom scowls as he drags his eyes away from you, directing all of his most scathing anger at Harrison. The blond is smirking. Perched on top of his head is a black SnapBack, printed with the frat’s logo. It matches the one that Tom’s wearing, just Tom has it pulled on backwards. He’s the only member of the frat that wears it like that, and it’s become an unofficial declaration of his status.

For the last year, Tom has held the revered position of president of the frat. It’s a lot harder than he’d thought it’d be, but it comes with perks. Several perks.

“I’m looking,” Tom replies, crossing his arms.

“At what?”

Discreetly, Tom brings his cup to his lips and uses his index finger to sneakily point across the room. He leads Harrison to you.

“That girl,” he says slowly. “Do you know who she is? Who invited her?”

Tom prides himself on knowing most people on campus—or, at least, anyone he needs to know. Anyone involved in Greek life or the party scene at his college has a face burned to his memory, and he prides himself on recognising matching names too. A lot of power comes with being able to immediately recognise someone. It makes him likeable, and he feels good knowing that someone feels appreciated by him.

“Dunno,” Haz mutters. He squints his eyes as he looks at you too. “She’s with Tyra. Maybe they’re friends?”

Tom scoffs. “Well, I’d guess that, yeah.”

“Are you going to do anything, or continue to stare like a creep?”

After taking a final swig of his drink, Tom pushes the empty plastic cup into Harrison’s hands. His mate thumps him on the back.

“I’ll be back,” he mutters. Then Tom pauses and throws out an easy smile. “Or not. Depends.”

Harrison rolls his eyes. “Go on.”

“See ya, mate.”

As Tom walks across the crowded room, he tries to hold himself a little straighter. He’s dressed simply tonight, in an all-black combination of t-shirt and jeans, but the gold chain he has around his neck adds a little depth. Around his wrist is his watch, and it glints as Tom reaches up to briefly whip off his hat and tousle his hair. His eyes are fixed firmly on you, and he finds himself grinning when you see him.

You’re even more radiant up close. Your eyes are a beautiful shade, and they fill with curiosity as you look Tom up and down. An expression of intrigue passes over your features as you mutter something to a friend and push away from the doorframe, being pulled to Tom as if by an unseen gravitational force.

“Hi, darling,” Tom leads with, keeping his voice cool. When you step closer, he meets you, easily and lightly pressing his hands to your waist as he kisses your cheek. “I’m Tom.”

You give him a wry smile. “I know who you are,” you reply. Your eyes are fluttering all over his face, and your hips feel soft beneath his hands. “Y/N.”

Tom likes how your voice sounds.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful woman,” he responds easily. He crosses his arms, angling them in a way that makes his muscles bulge. “I’ve not seen you around here before.”

There’s a shyness to your gaze that makes Tom smile wider, and he watches as you fiddle with your hair and tentatively meet his gaze.

“Do you know everyone that comes to your parties, Tom?”

“Yeah.” Tom slips his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “Or, at least, I try to. I know I’d definitely remember someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” You’re speaking louder now, emboldened by how fully Tom’s giving you his attention. All around you, there are people looking, people whispering. Everywhere Tom goes, he garners attention.

Tom offers you an easy smile, tilting his head to the side as he nods. Sometimes he likes to play it cool and keep his cards close to his chest, but he doesn’t think you’d like that. He doesn’t think the chase is necessary. You’re looking at him with round, inquisitive eyes, and your gaze keeps circling back to his mouth.

“You’re stunning, love,” he says. “Do you want to dance with me?”

You reach out and take his hand, and Tom feels a jolt of warmth trail up his spine. It confuses him. He’s pursued a lot of girls in his life, and he’s felt attraction plenty of times before, but he’s never had his heart ache quite like that from just one touch. As you run your thumb over the back of his hand, you look up at him from beneath your lashes.

“A dance? With the president of the frat?” you tease. As Tom chuckles, you smile cheekily. “I dunno. What can you give me in return, if I give you what you want?”

“Oh, a businesswoman,” he teases. “I see how it is.”

You smirk. “Business major,” you supply.

Tom arches his brows. “I’m a business major.”

“I know. We’re in the same class.”

For a few minutes, you slip into conversation about your course. Tom learns that you share the same 9am every Monday morning—a class that he only managed to make it to the first week of term. You don’t linger on the topic of academics for too long, though. It doesn’t take much before Tom’s got you in the back corner of the room where it’s quieter, listening to you reel off your first impressions of the frat. You keep your hands on his shoulders, slowly but purposefully rolling your fingers over his shirt, keeping him on his feet as he catches a whiff of your peach perfume every time you move closer.

He almost gets his dance, but then there’s a tap on his shoulder, and it’s one of his brothers, whispering about an incident on the patio involving a table and the pool. Tom grimaces and reluctantly casts his eyes back to you.

“I need to go and sort this out,” he mutters, frustrated. You shrug, biting your lip as you rock back on your heels. “Will I see you later?”

“I don’t know. Will you?”

Tom smiles. “I will,” he promises. Wanting to give a lasting impression, he easily swoops his hand up to cup your cheek. When he receives a nod of approval, he leans in and deposits a lingering kiss to your forehead, inhaling a deep breath of your shampoo and feeling the tip of his nose tingle in response. You cling to his arms a little tighter, and when Tom goes to pull away, he isn’t able to until you’ve kissed his cheek.

“Have fun,” you say, stepping back.

“Thanks, darling.” Tom gives you a final look, his insides debating whether or not he really needs to go deal with the issue. When there’s a loud shout from out on the patio, he sighs. “Take care.”

Even when he’s out on the terrace, you stay on Tom’s mind. As he oversees two of the guys pulling the table out of the pool, he replays his interaction, mind swirling over your face, your figure, your voice. He finds himself scratching at his chin, not entirely present. After a while, he ends up back in the house, huddled with a group of the guys, and it isn’t until someone pushes Harrison forward that Tom truly comes back into the room.

“How long has it been, man?” Jacob, one of the guys, and one of Tom’s American friends, is grinning at Harrison. The man is standing in the middle of the group, bashful cheeks a light pink.

“Eh… a couple weeks,” Harrison supplies.

“Bullshit,” Tom adds, chuckling when Harrison flips him off. “Haz hasn’t got laid in months.”

“Fuck off,” Harrison mutters. “Not all of us are as...promiscuous as you, Tom.”

Tom shrugs. “Well, what are you going to do about it?”

Harrison pauses, stroking his chin. “Dunno,” he finally decides.

Tom rolls his eyes. “We’ll wingman you,” he decides. He looks around at a few of the other guys and doesn’t stop until they’re all nodding and making similar sounds of agreement. “Anyone you like the look of tonight?”

Haz hesitates but eventually shakes his head. “Nah. Haven’t seen who’s around.”

“Alright.” Tom presses his palms together, an idea forming. “Next girl that walks into the room, we’ll set you up with.”

Harrison hesitates. “But what if she’s taken?”

Jacob steps forward, smirking. “The next single girl who walks into this room,” he clarifies. He holds out a hand and raises a brow. “Bet?”

Harrison looks down at Jacob’s hand. A bet, like the one he’s referring to, may as well be as binding as a contract. There’s no going back. He looks to Tom, a little nervous, but the fear vanishes when Tom nods.

“Alright.” Harrison does the frat handshake, and the guys around them all holler. Tom makes his own loud sound of support, grinning widely. “We’ll do it.”

They have to wait for a while. The first few girls that walk in are all accompanied by partners. Tom’s starting to get tetchy and he knows Harrison is too, but as soon as that thought crosses his mind, the universe decides to throw a curveball right into his face.

You walk in.

“Oh, shit,” Jacob says. He elbows Harrison. “There you go.”

Harrison immediately looks at Tom. “Uh… Isn’t she…?”

Tom sucks in a hard breath, the sound sticking behind his teeth. “Yep.” He looks at Harrison, who’s looking particularly deflated.

For a moment, Tom thinks about Haz and everything that he’s done to support him. Harrison flew across oceans to stay with Tom, moved into the frat with him, operates as his right-hand man. He’s his golf buddy, his gym partner, his best mate. For Haz to go back on such a public bet would be the same as resigning himself to social humiliation, and Tom would be a terrible friend for making him do that. Tom can give him this.

Right?

“I don’t need to—”

“Nah.” Tom decides to step up. “It’s a bet. It’s fine.”

Harrison grimaces. “Are you sure?”

Tom feels like a petulant child. Now he’s agreed to it, he feels his stomach rebelling. You find yourself at the centre of his attention again as he looks back over, instantly regretting it as the action connects your eyes with his. His breathing catches as your lips pull into an eager smile.

But Tom pushes through it. He looks away and stares at the floor as he nods, strengthening his attitude as he reaches out to smack Harrison on the back.

“Yep. Go for it.”

“Thanks, bro.”

He can barely watch as his guys approach you, and Tom decides to stay back in the corner of the room. It’s clear that you’re confused at first, but through quick discreet glances, Tom watches as you start to talk with Harrison. When Tom gets approached by another girl, you start to speak with Haz more freely, and he assumes that you’ve forgotten all about your conversation from earlier. When Jacob and the others split off, leaving you and Harrison alone in the back corner, Tom has to leave the room.

For a while, Tom drinks. He does a couple of shots out on the patio and chats with a few girls, and eventually, he’s pulled back inside the house. He ends up in the large living room, where the main party is happening, and it seems that you and Harrison have taken it to the next level in his absence.

Tom’s lips curve into a scowl as he looks across the room and sees you, wrapped up in Harrison. The blond’s hands roam all over you, moving from your cheeks, shifting back into your hair before curving down your figure. Tom can barely keep watching as Harrison’s palms curl around your waist and go down to squeeze your ass, and he swears he can almost hear the breathless moan you deposit into the air in response.

He looks away when Harrison starts to nibble at your neck and you toss your head back in pleasure, but Tom can’t stop himself from stealing quick glances every few seconds. In the pit of his stomach lies a terrible beast, acidic and possessive, clawing at his heart. There’s a tenseness to his jaw that he can’t quite shake, even when Tom tosses the remnants of the shit beer down his throat. There are easily a hundred people in the room with him, but he doesn’t care about a single one of them. The only one he cares about is you.

After a few moments of his eyes dissecting the contours of your face, Tom feels someone wrap their arms around his waist. He stiffens, turning his head and looking around until he finds himself staring at the face of a girl from his accounting course. She’s pretty, wearing silver eyeshadow, and Tom thinks that her name is Sasha.

“Hey, Tommy,” she greets. Her perfume smells overpowering and it makes Tom grimace. “Wanna dance with me?”

Tom looks back across the room, his stomach turning as he sees Harrison has pulled you down onto a sofa with him. As you straddle his lips and continue to kiss him, his blood runs hot.

“Fuck yeah, darling,” he mutters. Tom reaches out and wraps an arm around the girl, pulling her closer and letting his eyes fall shut as her lips find their way to his neck. “Let’s dance.”

He doesn’t need you. He barely fucking knows you. Tom has met a thousand girls, and it feels as though he’s kissed as many. The only things he knows about you are inconsequential—who cares if you smell like peaches and wear a glossy lip balm? Who gives a fuck that your voice sounds like a pretty wind-chime. Not Tom, that’s for sure. Tom’s got another girl kissing him and tugging on his hair. He doesn’t need you.

So why can’t he stop thinking about you?

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The pillow that Tom has wedged over his head makes his ears ache and does nothing to obscure the sounds drifting into his room, so after a few moments of failed silence, he throws it aside. A loud huff passes by his lips.

It’s been a month since the party, and every Sunday morning since, without fail, he’s been woken by the sounds of your moans. Harrison’s room is right next door, and though he’d always complained to Tom that the walls are thin, Tom had never been the one on the receiving end like this. It’s always been Tom having lazy post-party sex with a random girl, or Tom taking a girl into the shower room and locking out his brothers all morning. Now it’s Harrison, making noise with you, and suddenly it’s not just the fact that he’s not had sex in four weeks that’s getting on his nerves.

Your moans are loud as they catch in the back of your throat, and they make Tom hard. He grumbles as he reaches down, hands dipping beneath the covers as he pushes a palm beneath his boxers. A softened groan passes past his lips as he pulls out his cock, pausing only to bring his hand back to his lips and spit on it before he starts to jerk off.

Tom had gotten over the guilt of getting off to you without your knowledge two weeks ago. For all he knows, you know that he can hear you, and you’re being so loud for him. He’s learnt that you’re cheeky like that, and the thought makes Tom tug his cock a little harder. Harrison’s bed is squeaky, and he can only imagine that you’re riding him. Tom bites back a moan as he imagines how pretty you must look on top.

He’s spent more time with you now, since that party, and it hasn’t helped his predicament at all. Every time he runs into you, you seem to grow hotter, and his attraction for you only burns brighter when he sees Haz grab your hand or kiss your lips. What had started as a bet for one night together has escalated, and now you’re both dating. Tom doesn’t think that he’s a bad person, nor would he ever say he’s a bad friend, but you’ve become his forbidden fruit.

Maybe it’s the fact that he can’t have you that makes Tom so incensed. He’s never been denied like this—been blocked so unscrupulously and irritatingly. Whilst you aren’t official with Harrison, Tom knows that his mate likes you. Hell, he can hear how much he likes you, right now, as Haz’s bed continues to squeak and your moans rise in volume.

Tom thinks he could get you to moan louder.

It takes an embarrassing two-minute window before Tom’s biting back a yell of your name, cumming in sync with a set of particularly loud whines that you emit next-door. He falls back onto the mattress, his clean hand going up to card through his curls as he tries to catch his breath. For a few moments, he lays there, scowling up at the ceiling as he tries to bathe in the afterglow of release, but it goes crashing down again when he hears your light giggles followed by Harrison’s deep guffaws.

Tom practically storms out of bed, wiping at his hand with some tissues before he stamps into a pair of grey joggers and leaves his room, slamming the door loudly in his wake. He hopes the sound scares Harrison so much he falls off his fucking bed.

The bad mood continues, even after Tom’s leapt through the shower and scrubbed at his ears. He ends up in the frat’s kitchen, the wide space still partially littered with solo cups and discarded bags of crisps from the party the night before. There are a few junior members of the frat hobbling around with black bin bags, looking pale and peaky. When they see Tom, they try and pretend they’re not hungover, and their act of skittish admiration is enough to make him feel a little better.

He’s just starting to assemble a protein shake when the air in the kitchen changes. Tom finds his eyes drifting towards the door, just in time to watch you walk in. The sun seems to follow you as you stroll into the kitchen, one hand at your side as the other plays with the tips of your hair, a relaxed smile on your face. As you look around the room and take stock of the several fratboys sitting on random pieces of furniture, your smile draws shyer, and Tom watches you glance down at your feet as you hurry towards the counters to where he is. You catch his eye, a blinding smile unfurling across your lips as you raise a hand in greeting.

As you sweep close, Tom blinks himself out of his stupor. He swallows down the lump in his throat as he steps forward to kiss your cheek, his hands falling onto your shoulders. When you step away, he takes in your outfit. Your legs are mostly bare, but you’re in a pair of shorts with an oversized grey t-shirt slouched on top of you. Tom’s eager eyes dip down, caressing your chest until they find the pointed tips of your nipples, straining against the fabric.

He clears his throat as he feels his cock prick to life.

“Morning, darling,” he manages, immediately turning around and facing the counter. He uses the smoothie as a pretence, but really he doesn’t want you to see the building bulge between his legs.

You seem to be oblivious, and Tom sucks in a breath as you step close. You place your chin on his shoulder and peer over it, comfortably leaning into him, and he swears he can feel your tits brushing up against his bare spine.

“Morning, Tom,” you greet, voice raspy and pure. “How’s your hangover?”

Tom chuckles, focusing very intently on ignoring the way your minty breath fans out across his cheek. You’ve got your arms wrapped loosely around him, hugging him easily and comfortably. He’d never complain that you’re at ease around him, but it doesn’t help his boner.

“Fine,” he responds, playing it cool. “I’m a pro at this, darling. Can’t remember the last time I had a hangover.”

You snort, and despite the loud volume, Tom thinks it’s a beautiful sound.

“You’re so fucking cocky,” you murmur, voice vibrating straight into his ear. “I feel like I’m going to die. Head’s killing me.”

Tom coos. He spends a moment violently mixing some green protein powder into the rest of his smoothie, then reaches up and rummages through a cupboard. When he procures a packet of painkillers, you release a deep sound of relief and finally step back.

“There you go, love,” he mutters. He makes sure to brush your hand with his as he passes it to you, smirking slightly when you jump. A lot of the time, Tom thinks his attraction to you is one-sided, but then something like this happens and casts doubt on that assessment. Neither of you has mentioned the night that you met, and sometimes he wonders if he should bring it up.

Tired and slightly delirious, Tom decides to test the waters. Just for fun, because he can, and because he likes the thought of making you flustered. He knows that his reputation precedes him and that you probably buy into the idea that he’s a flirt as much as everyone else does. If you respond badly, he’ll just blame it on his naturally charming disposition, and if Haz takes issue with it, well… Tom will just bring up the many red marks on his ledger.

“Thanks, Tom,” you say. He watches you rummage through a cupboard and pull out a glass, and his eyes follow your legs as you lean over the sink to get water and the hem of the shirt rides up.

“You know you’re fucking stunning, yeah?” Tom says before he can second-guess his plan.

You freeze, the waterline in your glass threatening to spill as you try to process his words. When you look back, there’s an expression of curious bewilderment on your face.

“What?”

Tom, his boner finally soft again, turns around to face you properly. He brings his arms over his chest, smirking wider as he watches you look at the curves of his biceps. He’s shirtless, and he knows the hours he’s spent in the yard doing weights with Haz shows in the firm definition of his abs and pecs. You seem to enjoy looking at him.

“You look hot.” Tom watches your face very carefully, not wanting to cross too many lines. “I bet Harrison told you that though, this morning.”

Something shifts on your face, and you bite your lip. “Well…”

“Well?”

“Harrison doesn’t say much in the mornings. Or, well, ever.” You pause, a deep line carving between your troubled brows. “He isn’t very vocal.”

Tom hums, stepping a little closer. “Harrison is good at a lot of things, but he has certain shortcomings.”

You lick your lower lip, and Tom’s gaze lingers on the glistening trail of your saliva.

“Like what?”

Tom makes a non-committal noise and pauses to take a sip of his smoothie.

“Well, you know. He’s very intense. He doesn’t always see what’s right in front of him.”

You raise an amused eyebrow. “Aren’t you supposed to be friends?”

“We are. He’s my best mate. But that doesn’t mean I can’t criticise him for acting carelessly.” Tom drops his voice, letting you see the way he checks you out. “I just think that he doesn’t appreciate how lucky he is sometimes.”

You turn away, breaking eye contact as you take your pills. As you hum a soft tune, you pick up the kettle and fill it up, only looking back to Tom when it’s been plugged in and starting to boil.

“Alright, I’ll bite,” you reply, voice curious. You step closer until you’re standing in front of Tom, your eyes again going to his bare chest. “What does Harrison have that you don’t think he appreciates enough?” The suggestive look in your eyes matches the seductive inflexion in your voice, and Tom feels a shiver pass down his spine.

He plays it off coolly, shrugging slightly. “I’m just saying, darling, that if I had the honour of waking up beside someone as beautiful as you, I wouldn’t let you out of my sights all morning.” Tom reaches out slowly, gently letting his fingers bridge the gap between you as he toys with the hem of your shirt. You move closer, subtly encouraging him to continue, so Tom lets his hands shift up to hold your waist, feeling your curious eyes on him the whole time. “What was he thinking, eh? Letting such a lovely lady leave his bed. Crazy.”

You chuckle, a bashful smile on your face as you gnaw your lower lip. “Well, he wanted tea.”

Tom hums. “And I think that that’s bullshit.” He pauses suddenly, eyebrows raising as he finally looks away from your face and finds his gaze sticking on an emblem branded to your big t-shirt. A deep chuckle vibrates through his chest. Of fucking course. “You know what this is, love?” he asks, tugging at your shirt. When you shake your head, he grins. “Boyfriend material.”

Your reaction is immediate: soft frown, arched brows, confused stare.

“Harrison is not my boyfriend,” you say.

Tom clicks his tongue. “Never said he was.” He rolls his hands up your sides, gently caressing your warm figure. Though he wants to run his palms higher to your chest, he stops himself. “This is my shirt, babe. Laundry gets them mixed up all the time, but it’s mine.”

Your lips part and you look between Tom and your shirt with horror in your eyes. “Oh, fuck,” you murmur. Immediately, your hands fly down to the hem. “Do you want me to take it off?”

He shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “As much as I’m sure I’d like that, there are too many other people in here.” He feels jealous again just thinking about it.

You nod, pausing the movement after a second as your eyes narrow. “Wait, how do you even know? It’s just a plain t-shirt?”

“What, you think I’m making this up?” Tom’s smirking again, and it widens as you fluster. “‘S alright, love.” He reaches up and points at the emblem which marks an event from rush week last year. “Logo,” he states. “And… I think you’ll find if we take a look at the label on the back, it’s got my name on it.”

You let him manhandle you, melting back into his hold as Tom stands forward and turns you around. He brushes your hair out of the way and reaches up, gracing his fingers over your spine as he delicately pulls out the back label. You won’t be able to see it, but it fills him with smugness to see his initials stained stark against the label: TSH.

“Well… I’m sorry, anyway.” Your voice is hoarse, light and feathery as if you’re holding your breath. Tom lets his hand rest on your shoulder after he’s tucked the label back. He’d move away, but you’re leaning into him completely, your hands grasping at the palm that he has curled around your stomach. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

Tom leans down, and in a bold move, very gently kisses the base of your neck. Your skin is soft and warm beneath his lips, and the breathless gasp you release is just as sweet.

“It’s okay,” he rumbles. He pauses, eyes fluttering shut as he inhales your peachy scent. “Feel free to use it any time you’d like.”

Not wanting to push too hard, Tom leaves a final, wetter kiss to the bottom of your neck before moving back, unwrapping his arm from around your waist and repositioning his hands back on the counter. He leans against the wooden cabinets, wondering if you’d been able to feel his hard-on that’d peskily bounced back when he’d heard your whimper.

If you feel anything, you don’t say anything. In fact, you’re quiet as you step to the side and pour out the boiled water into two mugs. “Thanks,” you say, speaking through the steam. You glance back to Tom, and he swears your eyes are darker. “It’s soft.”

Tom sips his smoothie, eyeing you over the brim as you poke at a tea bag with a metal teaspoon.

“Fabric softener,” he says, nodding slightly. His brain is running slow, still caught up on how nice it’d felt to kiss your neck. “It suits you.”

You throw him another shy smile. “How does Haz take his tea again? No sugar, yeah?”

Tom bites his lip. “Wrong,” he lies. “Haz likes three sugars. Don’t be afraid to put in a little more, though.”

You eye him sceptically. “I don’t think that’s right.”

“He is my best friend, love,” Tom says. He hides his mischievous grin behind his smoothie, and he watches you roll your eyes. “Listen, if he’s got a problem with it, he can take it up with me or he can come and make his own cup of sodding tea. Lazy bastard.”

You snort, and Tom feels his stomach turn as he watches you spoon three teaspoons into Haz’s mug.

“Well, I’ll let you know what he says,” you mutter. Finally, you pick up the mugs in your hands and walk forward, pausing in front of Tom. Your eyes skim his figure again, briefly zeroing in on his chest before caressing the fine lines of his lips. “Thanks for keeping me company. This was fun.”

Tom nods and steps forward to kiss your cheek. He hopes you can feel how desperately he wants to press his lips to yours.

“Any time, darling,” he assures. “If you ever need anything, you know where I am, yeah?” He lets his teeth brush your earlobe as he pulls back slowly, smiling to himself when he sees you shiver.

“Yeah,” you murmur. You swallow deeply, and your eyes hold his gaze for one moment longer before you tear them away. “Have a nice morning, Tom.”

Tom watches you walk across the kitchen, almost stumbling when you get distracted trying to look over your shoulder back at him. He smirks, raising a few fingers in a lazy wave.

“See ya!” he calls back.

His blood doesn’t stop pumping until you’re all the way out of sight, and even after that, he knows the only way he’ll be able to properly shake you is by attending to his hard-on. Again.

You’re like a shadow that won’t stop chasing him.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The party is in full swing, and Tom feels like a king.

There are several benefits to parading the title of president of the frat. Tom gets the largest room in the house, along with an ensuite. He’s able to prioritise himself on the gym schedule and the cleaning rota. Every party, he’s looked up to, treated like royalty, his every wish and command carried out by his brothers. If he doesn’t like a song, it’s changed. All it takes is one arched brow in the direction of a partygoer, and they’re ejected from the house. The beer is his favourite make, and everyone loves him.

Tom has the whole world in his hands, which is why it’s incredibly infuriating that his kingdom tonight isn’t ordered how he’d like it.

It’s two months into the semester, and the buzz that’d characterised earlier parties has faded. Finals are coming up soon, so maybe that’s why Tom feels unsettled. Or, maybe it’s the fact that the music isn’t hitting quite as well as usual. It could be that he hasn’t tied his shoes as tightly as he normally does, or maybe that the vibe within the house is just...off.

But Tom knows exactly what the problem is if he brings himself to think about it. He’s tried drowning his ugly feelings in cheap beer, but there’s no denying it: his mood had taken a significant plummet when he’d glanced across the room and seen Harrison with his hands all over you, your lips locked together. The shard of jealousy that had lodged itself in the warm precipice of his heart is unshakeable, and there’s a horrible bitter taste on his tongue.

Tom is so fucking jealous that he’s about two seconds away from pointing at the couple and getting someone to kick you out.

“Bro. Bro. The fuck is wrong with you, man?”

It’s probably a good thing that Tom’s been interrupted, as he’s fairly sure there’s enough poison in his gaze to burn off a large patch of Harrison’s hair. He shakes a grimace over his lips as he looks to the side, eyes falling to his friend, Jacob. Jacob’s in a loose Hawaiian shirt, the red and white pattern glowing under the luminescence of the UV lights.

“What?” Tom says, playing it cool. He takes another drink, shuddering slightly as he lets the alcohol ease him.

“You look like you want to beat someone up.” Jacob squints, trying to look in the direction that Tom knows he’d been staring in. “I only see Haz. Are you guys, like… Good?”

Tom releases a short bark. “‘Course, man,” he says, voice lifting lighter. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

Jacob scoffs. It’s loud in the crowded living room, but Tom can feel the undertones. “Uh, we all know about the bet. We all also know that you’d had your eyes on Y/N before Haz pulled her.” He pauses, wiggling his brows until Tom punches his arm and scowls. “I’m just sayin’... Seems like you have some unresolved shit going on.”

Tom doesn’t deem him with a response, not knowing where to start with that. It’s Saturday night. The last thing he wants to do is talk about this. He already drives himself mad every other day of the week as he ponders this particular puzzle.

“We need to get the energy up,” Tom mutters. He spins around, beckoning over a few of his friends with his hands. Someone gives him a shot, and he downs it before looking back at Jacob. “We’ll do a game or something. Get people. We’ll do it on the patio.”

Ten minutes later, there’s an assembly of partygoers on the terrace at the back of the house. It’s a mix of sorority girls, jocks, and fratbros, but Tom doesn’t pay them much attention as he claims his spot on a rickety canvas camping chair and sits back. He lets Jacob take the lead, doing another two shots when he sees you and Haz join the circle.

You’re in a black dress tonight, the material skimming just above your knees. As you walk out onto the patio, the midnight breeze swishes the hem up a little, and Tom watches as you giggle and drop Haz’s hand to smooth it down. Harrison presses an easy kiss to your cheek, and the smile on your face builds. It freezes when you spot Tom, your eyes darkening as your teeth dig into the pink flesh of your lower lip. Tom raises a brow, watching you stand a little straighter as your gaze runs over his form, lingering on the golden chain he’d pulled on earlier.

The spell breaks when Harrison sits on a chair and tugs you down with him, an expression of irritation briefly souring your angelic face before you smooth it back. Tom doesn’t look away until Jacob starts to speak.

“Spin the bottle,” Jacob announces, looking around at each person. There are a few groans, but they’re drowned out by the cheers. Tom just rolls his eyes, sitting back and briefly surveying the circle. He’s pretty sure he’s pulled at least five of the girls already, and the rest of them seem fine, too. Obviously, there’s only one person he’d want the spin to land on, but he’s already accepted that the universe isn’t on his side when it comes to you.

A few rounds pass. Tom isn’t really paying attention until the neck of the bottle lands on him and he has to kiss a girl from his psychology class. It’s a quick kiss, and her lip gloss makes his mouth tingle, but Tom only realises how hammered he is when he has to sit up from his chair and lean over to spin the bottle.

Tom looks around the circle as his fingers ponder the glass, grasping the attention of the group like he’s holding court. He looks at you and finds you looking at him, your lower lip held between your teeth as Harrison rubs your arm. Haz has you in his lap, your legs thrown across his thighs as you sit on him sideways. Harrison’s blond curls rest up against the side of your face, and Tom has to look away as he grimaces.

The bottle spins. It clatters quickly over the paving stone, hurtling with an angry force that Tom hadn’t entirely intended to use. He holds his breath, his eyes widening as it stops. Pointing at you.

“Looks like that’s Y/N,” Jacob announces.

Tom sits back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks at Harrison. His mate’s eyes have lost their charm, a deep frown settled on his face. Tom thinks he looks exactly like the tough-faced models from Vogue with that mardy scowl on his face. He raises a brow, as if to say, up to you, and watches as you turn in Harrison’s lap and whisper something into his ear.

A moment passes, and Tom’s surprised when Haz nods and pushes you up from his lap. He meets Tom’s eyes, giving him another smaller nod, and Tom sits back, pleasantly resigned to the fact that Harrison isn’t going to ruin the game.

“Hi,” you greet as you approach him, smiling.

Tom reaches out, offering you his hands as you finish treading over the collection of limbs and shoes that crowd the patio. Your fingers are so soft in his.

“Hi, darling,” he responds. Tom feels hot, everywhere, and he hopes his cheeks aren’t as red as they feel. “You look stunning,” he adds, voice quieter.

“Thanks.”

You hesitate, eyeing him up and down as if trying to assess the best way to kiss him. The girl he’d just kissed had bent over to press her lips to his, and as Tom remembers this, he drops one of your hands and reaches up and wipes his mouth again, trying to eradicate all traces of her lips. When he’s achieved this, he tentatively reaches up and presses the palm to your waist. Respectfully, of course. There are a lot of people watching.

You seem to be less reluctant to indulge, and Tom feels his eyes widen as you step forward and sink into his lap, your knees bending as you press your shins into the canvas of the camping chair on either side of Tom’s thighs. Suddenly your face is hanging in front of his, warm breath coming out over his face, and Tom has just enough time to wonder why your breath smells of pineapples before you’re leaning in.

He kisses you, and for a few seconds, he’s frozen. Everything that he’s learnt at the frat and over the course of his college life goes flying out the window, and he’s left feeling like a kid again. The background noise filters out, and all he can focus on is the weight of your body pressing into his legs and the feeling of your lips, soft and silky, moving over his. When you reach up to weave a hand into his hair, he comes back around, the roar of the party filling his ears as an adrenaline rush floods his chest.

Tom knows this will probably be his only chance to kiss you, so he leaves nothing behind. He brings both hands to your waist, urging you closer as he recovers his charm and kisses you properly. His tongue works into your open mouth, pressing against you and exploring the sweet space of your lips as you moan into him. He feels your fingers drift down, one of your hands staying bedded in his curls as the other plays with his chain. Never before has Tom felt so consumed by a kiss, and if the circumstances were different, he wouldn’t hesitate to reach around and grab handfuls of your skin, wouldn’t hold back his kisses, or his moans, or his coos of praising endearment. He’d give you everything.

When you pull back, your nose brushes up against his, and it feels like the two of you are the only ones in the world.

“How was that?” you ask, voice quiet. There’s a shyness to your disposition, a nervousness as you meet his eyes.

Tom reaches up, holding your cheek and brushing his thumb across your chin. He tidies up your smudged lipstick as he squeezes your waist.

“Perfect,” he replies, voice low. He can feel Harrison staring at him, but he doesn’t give a fuck. “You’re… You’re incredible, darling.”

You sit a little taller, looking proud of yourself. “Well, now I understand what all the hype is about,” you mutter. “You’re a good kisser. A really good kisser.” You pause as a shiver works its way down your spine, and Tom glances at your bare arms.

“Here,” he mutters. When you stand from his lap, he’s glad his jeans have some wiggle room so his raging boner is less obvious. Tom’s quick to shrug off his jacket, and he passes it up to you without a second thought. “Don’t freeze,” he says, wagging a finger at you.

“Tom, I couldn’t—”

“Yeah, you can.”

You bite your lip. “Won’t you be cold?”

Tom just flexes his biceps, smirking again as he sees you checking out his muscles. “Got these bad boys to keep me warm,” he teases, pointing at his guns. He softens, just for a moment. “It’s fine. Said you could always use my stuff, didn’t I?”

You look flustered, opening and then immediately closing your mouth before turning around and making your way back over to Harrison. Tom sits back in his chair, trying halfheartedly to suppress the smirk that continues to hold his lips as he admires how nice his jacket looks draped loosely across your shoulders. You always wear his clothes so well.

Tom looks at Jacob, who shakes his head in response. Then he looks at Harrison, and he can’t stop himself from laughing. Harrison’s a shade of salmon pink, and it only softens out a little bit when you settle back into his lap and kiss his cheek. Tom watches Harrison flip him off then pull you closer and kiss you harshly, and messily. You don’t seem as into it as you’d been with Tom, he realises. You’re holding back, grimacing slightly as Harrison pulls back a triumphant moment later.

The game concludes a while later, but Tom stays out on the patio, feeling dizzier by the second. The camping chair is comfortable, and the chill in the air helps him feel soberer. Whilst Tom doesn’t regret the multiple cups of beer and several shots, he does consider that he might’ve gone a little too far in his efforts to forget about you.

You’re gone, now. Out of sight, back in the party. Tom’s making light conversation with a few of the guys still left in the circle, but they clear out when a shadowy presence falls across the patio. It doesn’t take long for Tom to realise it’s Harrison, and he tries his best to sit up straight and look less smug as Harrison drags a chair over and places it opposite Tom.

Harrison stares at him, hard. He’s in a matching snapback and a loose white t-shirt, his ring glinting as he crosses his fingers and examines Tom’s face.

“So…” Tom starts, disliking how charged the air is. “Y’alright, Haz?”

“Shut the fuck up, Tom,” Harrison says instead. When Tom pulls a face, he sharpens his gaze. “What’s wrong with you?”

Tom chuckles. He’s feeling drunk and annoying. “Well, that’s a bit of an unspecific question, Harrison. There are many things that you might say are wrong with me—”

“You know what I’m talking about.” Harrison breaks off, sighing loudly as he flops back in his chair and runs a hand through his hair. He looks smaller, nervous. “Do you have a thing for my girl?”

Instinctively, Tom shakes his head. “Y/N?” he says dumbly. When Harrison nods, Tom hums. “Is she your girl?”

Harrison flounders for a moment. “I mean… Technically no, but we’ve been hooking up for two months.” He pauses, grimacing. “Look, mate. I know I fucked it when we met her. I knew you wanted her, and I still took on the bet. But I really fucking like her now, and… And…”

“And?”

“If you decide that you want her, you’ll get her. You always do.” Harrison grumbles as he crosses his arms. “Can I not have one thing? Just one.”

“You do know that Y/N is perfectly capable of making her own decisions, yeah?” Tom says, only slurring slightly.

“Oh, yeah. Of course, of course.” Harrison’s bobbing his head almost comically. “But still… Do you know what I mean?”

Tom closes his eyes for a few moments, the patio spinning. He speaks through gritted teeth. “Haz, I love you, man. You know what I’m like. I’m a flirt.” He cracks open an eye and gives Harrison a dopey smile, and the next words he speaks are the truth. “I wouldn’t seriously try to steal your girl, alright? I wouldn’t sleep with her if you guys have a thing. We were just playing the game.”

Harrison releases a deep breath. “Thanks, man, I—”

“Wait.” Tom feels bolder. “You do need to tell her, though.”

“Tell her what?”

Tom narrows his eyes. “You know what,” he says, speaking to a very sheepish-looking Harrison. ��She’d want to know that your relationship is built from a bet. If you… If you seriously think that you’re g’nna have a fucking relationship with her, she needs honesty.” Just the thought of you and Harrison going official makes him feel sick.

“No way.” Harrison’s curls go flying as he shakes his head. “Fuck that. Are you mad? She’d break it off.”

Tom grimaces and looks away from Harrison. “I’m just saying,” he mutters. “You shouldn’t lie to the people you care about.”

It’s rich coming from him, but Tom knows that nothing he’s said has been a lie. He won’t sleep with you if you’re still with Haz. Maybe he’d try to break you both up, but he wouldn’t purposefully sleep with someone in a relationship. Logistically, he doesn’t think he’d be able to, even if he wanted to, because despite the tantalising banter he’s able to carry out with you, you’re a good person. You’d never cheat on Harrison.

“Yeah.” Harrison looks guilty now. “I guess.” His eyes shift away from Tom, falling to someone else. Tom startles when he feels two hands come down to rest on his shoulders, and glances down, only relaxing when he recognises the silver rings curled around your fingers.

As if a deity, you’ve appeared, just when Tom was thinking about you. He wonders if it’ll always work like this.

“Hi,” you greet, looking first to Harrison, then Tom. “What are you guys talking about?”

You’re standing behind his chair, perfume light and peachy. When Tom cranes his head back, your perfect face blurs.

“Nothin’,” he murmurs, a sleepy grin on his lips.

You chuckle. “How drunk are you right now?” you ask.

Tom makes a non-committal sound. “I don’t want to stand up and find out,” he admits. “So I’m just going to stay here until I get sober.”

“What if it rains?”

“Well, I guess I’ll get wet.” He reaches back and grabs lightly at his jacket, still covering your upper half. “Some thief ran off with my jacket.”

You snort, then pat his shoulders before walking around to the front of his chair. You offer him your hands, and Tom takes them easily.

“Babe?” Harrison pipes up. “What are you doing?”

With ease, you help Tom up from the chair. He fakes it a little, exaggerating just how woozy he is so that you have to wrap your arms around his waist. He hides his mischievous smirk in the crook of your neck, suppressing his guilt. He wasn’t lying to Harrison—he will stay in his lane. But old habits die hard, and you’re very warm, and he’s very drunk, especially with the blood rushing to his head.

“Putting him to bed,” you respond. “He’s tired.”

Suddenly, Tom finds himself yawning. He leans into you, pouting softly at Harrison as he tries to look as exhausted as possible. He’s always been a convincing actor, and his friend buys it completely.

“Alright,” Harrison says. “Do you need help?”

You shake your head. “Nah,” you respond. “I’ll be fine.” You squeeze Tom’s waist. “He’s just a big teddy bear.”

Tom doesn’t think he likes that (if anything, he’s a lion), but it seems to ease Harrison. The man presses forward, kissing your cheek before giving Tom a firm pat on his shoulder.

“Right, then,” he says. “I’ll be inside.” Harrison glances at Tom, reluctance filling his blue eyes before fading slowly. “Sweet dreams, bro.”

“Thanks, Hazzy.”

“Don’t ever fucking call me that again.”

Tom’s still chuckling as you lead him back inside, and he knows that you’re trying not to giggle too.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Tom already knows that you’re cute, but as you help him up the staircase and get him ready for bed, your adorableness really comes through.

“Drink this,” you announce, walking back into his bedroom with a glass of water in your hands. Tom admires the way that you walk, glad he’s already in bed and hiding beneath the covers. Your hair is a little wild, and he knows that’s probably his fault—Tom’s cheeky, and he’s especially persistent when he’s hammered, and he might’ve been a bit mischievous in the bathroom when you’d tried to convince him to brush his teeth, refusing until you’d had to physically push the brush into his mouth. You’d rolled your eyes, and he’d been distracted by watching you in the mirror.

“What is it?” he asks annoyingly. Now Tom is almost naked, clad only in his boxers, and he does a deliberately long stretch of his arms above his head, smirking as the duvet falls down to expose his toned torso.

You roll your eyes again as you sit on the edge of his bed, pushing the glass into his hands. “Water,” you supply. You stare at him, raising a brow. “Probably won’t help with the hangover, but I feel like I need to try.”

Tom takes a few sips, looking at you over the rim of the glass. You look tired, up close. Still glowing, and beautiful, and gorgeous, but tired. Your lipstick is faded, and he can see the shadows of your dark circles peeking through your makeup.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You glance at him, chuckling shortly before looking down at your hands. You play around with a few of your rings, sighing.

“Just tired,” you respond. You manage a forced smile. “Doesn’t matter.”

He frowns. “It does.” Tom obediently downs the entire glass, wanting to coax a smile to your face. “Why’d you come out if you’re tired?”

“Haz wanted me to.” You bring your eyes back to Tom. “I wanted to come and support you, too.”

Tom blinks. “Me?”

“Yeah.”

“Aww.”

You scrunch up the end of your nose as you stand from his bed, smoothing down your dress with your hands. “Well, I do care about you, Tom. I know there’s a lot of pressure on you to make the parties good.”

Warmth bursts through Tom’s chest. “That’s so cute,” he mutters. He looks up at you, the light being cast from the ceiling light cascading over your shoulders like a halo. “You’re cute.”

“And you’re plastered,” you respond, smiling. You walk closer, running a hand over the top of the duvet until you reach Tom. When you’re standing up by his head, you tentatively reach down to push his shoulders. “Lie down,” you coax. “Bedtime.”

Tom sinks into his mattress with ease, smiling when you gently pick up his head and plump the pillows. You reach down and pull the duvet up to his chin, tucking it in around his chest firmly, your tongue held between your teeth as you go. You’re very attentive, and the sight of you looking after him so well doesn’t help his predicament at all.

“Thanks, darling,” Tom murmurs. He sighs contentedly. “So comfy,” he whines. “Why don’t you stay with me if you’re tired?” He cracks open an eye just in time to see the expression of shock on your face fade to one of amusement.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you respond. “Can you imagine how confused you’d be waking up in the morning?”

“Would be a good kind of confusion, though.” Tom rounds out his eyes, trying to look as soft and unassuming as possible. “I’m a great bed partner, babe. I won’t kick you. I’ll give you space. Or, if you want, I’ll cuddle you. I’m great at cuddling people.”

You just laugh, your face vibrant and light. “You’re so funny,” you say. “I wonder if you’ll remember this tomorrow.”

Tom scowls, grumpily snuggling further into bed. “I invite a pretty girl into my bed and she rejects me,” he grumbles. “Your loss, baby.”

“You sound more and more like a fratboy every time we speak.” You stand back, crossing your arms over your chest as you look him up and down. “Right. I left painkillers on the side, and there’s more water too. Sweet dreams, Tom.”

You turn to leave, but Tom makes a noise of objection. You pause, raising a brow in question.

“Goodnight kiss,” Tom begs. “Please?”

You laugh again but step back towards him. You bend over, necklace dangling in Tom’s face as your hands smooth up to rest in his hair. He’s overwhelmed by the scent of your perfume and the close proximity, and for a moment, he thinks you’re going to imitate the breathtaking kiss from earlier. But then you move up. You kiss his forehead, gently, stroking a few strands of his hair as your lips linger against his skin for a moment longer than necessary. When you pull back, Tom has a dumb expression on his face, and he’s glad that you follow up the kiss by turning off his lamp.

“Night, Tom,” you say, walking across the room. There’s a single shard of light, peeking into his room through the open door, and it illuminates your silhouette as you pause there.

“Night, Y/N,” he responds, voice slightly thick.

You gently close the door behind you and leave Tom alone, with nothing but his thoughts and his fantasies to entertain him. He grumbles as he turns over, a very prominent and selfish thought pushing to the front of his mind:

Tom loves Harrison, but he’s fed up. He can’t carry on like this, yearning incessantly. He doesn’t want to stay in his lane, he wants you to be his girl. Desperately.

Tom has to do something. He has to make you his.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You think that whoever scheduled Intro to International Business for 9am on a Monday hates all college students.

It’s dreary as you make the hungover trek to campus. The ache in the front of your skull rattles with each sombre step, and you never get used to the chill of November’s dark mornings despite having plenty of experience with them now. You’re bundled up in a hoodie, a jacket, and a scarf, yet the flecks of grey raindrops still manage to soak you. By the time you reach the lecture theatre, you’re grouchy and regretting ever leaving your bed.

At the time, going to the frat party the night before had seemed like a great idea—Harrison hadn’t stopped blowing up your phone about it all weekend, and you’d felt compelled to keep him company. There were other factors that made you eager to go, too.

It’s all a blur now. Spin the bottle, disrupting Harrison’s tense conversation with Tom, taking the latter upstairs. You think about the sight of Tom bundled up in bed, duvet pulled to his pouting lips, and your entire body bursts into flame, rippling with an unrestrained desire that makes you feel guilty for just existing. You’d been so affected by the events of the night before that you’d had to go home, too overwhelmed to stay with Harrison in the room beside Tom’s.

Most of the seats around you are empty. You’re early despite rolling out of bed after sleeping through your first alarm. As you settle into the back of the theatre, you begrudgingly pull out a pad of paper and a pen, wishing you’d thought to bring sunglasses. This is the class that you supposedly share with Tom and Harrison—also business majors—yet they’ve never made an appearance beyond a half-assed attempt in the first week. Sometimes you wonder how they’re both able to pass a class they never show face in.

“Fuckin’ hell, love. Who the fuck scheduled this so early? They’re taking the piss.”

You startle as a grouchy voice enters your space, and your eyes snap up just in time to see a dark figure drop down into the open seat beside you. The deep navy blue hoodie is pulled above his head, and he immediately crosses his arms, but you know without a doubt who it is.

“Tom?” you ask, voice full of shock. You sit forward, reaching out to place a hand on his arm as you peer at him. When you meet his pale face and see the thick sunglasses covering his eyes, your eyebrows raise. “Since when do you come to class?”

Tom clicks his tongue, lips curving into a smirk. It’s a little disconcerting that you can’t see his eyes, but you can tell they’re dark and seductive. They always are.

“What d’you mean?” he teases. “I’m always here.”

“As if.”

He shrugs and breaks off for a moment to yawn. “Thought I should start being a good student, ‘n all,” he mutters. “Finals next month, and everything.”

“And how’s your hangover?”

Tom pulls a face. All of a sudden, he leans over, rummaging through his bag with loud actions until he procures a bottle of water and a bag of mixed nuts. When he sits back up, he pushes down his hood and jerks off his sunglasses, exposing the damage. You wince as you take in the deep bags beneath his eyes and the way his brown irises are marred with red. He still manages to smile, though, and after ripping open his snack, crunches a couple in quick succession.

“I’ll be fine,” he says. “I don’t get hungover, but if I do, it clears pretty fast. I’m built differently.”

You snort. “Yeah right,” you mutter. You find yourself looking at his lips, and briefly, you’re transported to how incredible they felt last night when you’d straddled him and kissed him. Quick to shake that off, you find yourself blinking as you stare at him. “You were trashed last night. I had to take you to bed. Do you remember?”

Tom gives a hapless shrug, not quite looking into your eyes. You wonder, not for the first time, what thoughts are running through his mind. He confuses you immensely.

The night you’d met, you’d been convinced you’d end up sleeping with him. He’d swaggered over to you, dripping charm, looking incredibly hot in an all-black ensemble, chain, and cap, then he’d kissed your forehead and promised to see you later. Just, you hadn’t seen him later—instead, his friends had not-so-subtly set you up with Harrison as Tom had stood across the room, watching. A part of you had felt side-lined by him, but Harrison is attractive, so you’d jumped on him the moment you could.

Harrison is nice. He’s kind. Dependable. He’s the kind of boy that you could easily take home to your mother and hear nothing but kind words about. He isn’t always the most attentive, but he’s funny, and he cares for you, so it’s fine.

Tom is… Tom is an entirely different ballpark. There are no words to describe Tom Holland. You’d thought you knew enough about him before meeting him at the party, but the man you’ve come to know since doesn’t match up to the reputation that surrounds him. Tom is cheeky—it’s obvious in his flirtatious jokes, and his lingering touches, and his habit of kissing your cheek every single time he sees you. He’s funny too, but his sense of humour isn’t mean or callous like most of the lads in his house. Beneath the hardy exterior lies someone who genuinely cares, and looks out for the people he loves.

He makes you feel alive, each one of your cells burning and sizzling every time he’s around. Tom makes you feel the pounding rhythm of your heartbeat everywhere—in your ears, in your chest, between your legs. He gives you everything, whilst giving you nothing at all. It’s entirely perplexing.

You need to stop comparing them. It’s not a competition. You’re seeing Harrison, and Tom has no genuine interest in you. You’re friends, and he’s flirty, but that’s it. You’re friends, and you shared the best kiss of your life last night, but that doesn’t mean a thing. It doesn’t matter that Tom fires you up the right way, because it’s one-sided, and you’re with Haz.

Tom ignores your question about the night before and instead tips his bag of nuts towards you.

“Care for a nut?”

You snort as you pick out a cashew, crunching it softly as he watches. Tom’s deep brown eyes linger on your lower lip as you slowly lick the salt from it.

“Delicious,” you say, earning a loud cackle from your companion.

“Dirty girl,” he mutters, grinning wickedly.

“No, you just have your mind in the gutter. Not everything has to be an innuendo, Tom.”

“Wrong. Everything can be and is an innuendo if you try hard enough. You should know this by now, darling. You’ve spent enough time with me.”

“Maybe, but not all of us share your immature sense of humour, Tom.”

He gasps, eyebrows sliding up his forehead in mock shock. “Are you calling me a child?”

“Childish,” you clarify, smirking as he shoots daggers at you. “You’re such a boy.”

Tom sits back, blinking a few times in quick succession before clearing his throat. His eyes seem to darken as he leans in closer, bringing a hand up to rest on your shoulder. His fingers are warm as he pushes the hair from your face and gently tucks it behind your ear, leaning across the seat until he’s able to whisper gently.

“I am not a boy,” he coos, voice soft. “I’ve just never broken out the proper charm on you, darling.”

Your throat runs dry as his hot breath fans out across the side of your face, minty fresh.

“And what is this proper charm?”

Tom opens his mouth to speak, but it fades a moment later. He pulls back, appearing to lose his cool last minute as his cheeks flush.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he mutters instead. He shifts around in his seat, looking back at you for a split-second before glancing away. Tom’s reluctant to meet your eyes, and you watch, confused, as he chugs about half his bottle of water before pulling off his hoodie. He’s still flushed—face warmer and more alive than it’s been all morning.

Your brows furrow as you look at Tom’s shirt. “Hey, is that the one I borrowed the other week?” you ask, speaking before you have time to process the words.

Tom chuckles, regaining his charm as he throws his hoodie on top of his bag and turns to face you, a hand lodging in his hair. It’s longer than it’d been at the start of the semester, a few strands dangling over his forehead.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Smells of you.” Something crosses over Tom’s face, and he flashes you the tips of his pearly teeth as he smirks. “Smells of us, darling.”

Your reaction is immediate and uncontrollable. A hot flush, moving through your entire body, forming in your centre and rolling across your figure from the inside out. You hope that you can play it off by pulling your notebook into your lap. The back of your mouth is dry, but you manage a weak, quipping response of, “you should wash that,” before you spiral too far.

It’s in the small things. His comments. His lingering touches. His smirks. Tom drives you crazy.

The lecture starts, but you don’t pay it much attention. Instead, you stay huddled up in the back with Tom, killing time as he shows you a collection of photos from the night before. After flicking through the snapshots from a very blurry night, Tom moves on to a different folder in his phone, nimble fingers swiping across the screen and showing off some of his favourite memes. You end up almost crying from laughter, clutching to his arm as you bend over in your seat and try to pass by undetected by the notoriously strict professor. Tom’s hand soothes over your back, and you briefly wonder if you should dissolve into laughter more often just so he can bring you back down.

When the class finishes, Tom throws his arm across your shoulders and walks you across campus. It’s only when you’re halfway towards the car park that you realise where he’s taking you.

“Wait— I can walk back home.”

“Nah. It’s fine.”

“It’s out of the way, though.”

Tom squeezes your side. “‘S alright. You’re my best mate’s girl. ‘Least I can do.” He pauses, apparently oblivious to the sour expression you pull in response to those words. “Plus, you looked after me last night, so… I kinda owe you.”

Deciding to just accept it, you hum in agreement. “Okay. Thank you.”

“No problem, love.”

He’s very warm and his cologne smells like a forest breeze. You enjoy strolling across campus with him, especially when he kisses your temple as you separate at his car. It’s a battered old thing, and you’ve been in it a few times before. You’re fairly sure that Haz owns it too, but the way Tom settles into the driver’s seat and keys the ignition makes him look like the proper owner. Tom commands any space he inhabits with poise and elegance.

“You’re out near Sarah, aren’t you?” Tom asks as he jerkily reverses from his parking space.

“Yeah.”

“Nice area,” he comments, which makes you laugh. Tom glances at you, raising a brow. “What?”

“Small talk?”

“Mmm. Well, is there anything else you’d like to talk about, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. Fuck, you can’t handle the way that sounds dripping from his lips.

“Nope.” You stretch your hands out in front of you, yawning. “Too hungover to think.”

“Fair enough.” Tom drums his fingers over the wheel, and you find yourself watching the lines of his slender digits. He has very pretty hands. “Good party though, eh?”

“Oh yeah. Crazy. Did you have fun?”

Tom releases a noise of reluctant agreement. “It was alright. Not the most successful night for me.” He risks a brief glance at you, chuckling. “Isn’t really the best look to get escorted to bed.” You aren’t sure if you should feel guilty for that, but Tom’s quick to add, “not that I don’t appreciate it. I do. I just shouldn’t have been so eager.”

“Why were you?” you ask. “It seemed like you were trying really hard to get drunk. Did something happen?”

Tom cackles, the sound so loud and quivering so precisely that it makes you jump. “God, if you only knew…”

“Eh?”

“Nothing. It was nothing.”

You’re intrigued now. “What?” you press, reaching across the console to pat his thigh. You’re over halfway back to yours now, and like a bloodhound, you want to know answers. “Was it a girl? I’ve not seen you with anyone since… Well, ever.” You furrow your brows. “Did someone reject you?”

Tom’s face clouds over immediately, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat as you watch his jaw set into a hard line.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snaps, his easy demeanour gone.

“Woah,” you mutter. “Sorry.”

Tom cards a frustrated hand through his hair, his eyes glinting dark. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no. I was not rejected.” The way his voice quivers makes it sound like a lie.

You pull a face as you cross your arms over your chest, your hangover exacerbating your rapidly falling mood.

“Aren’t we friends?” you ask.

He sucks in a fast breath. “Yep,” he replies, speaking through tight lips.

Something has changed. It’s as if you’ve crossed an invisible boundary that you hadn’t seen, tripped a trick wire only visible to him. The air between you is thick, and Tom doesn’t say another word until he’s turned down your street and pulled into a space outside your house.

“Well… Thanks, I guess,” you mutter. You reach into the footwell and pull up your bag, your eyebrows furrowed as you turn back to face him. For a few moments you bounce between jumping out of the car or staying, but you hate leaving things tense like this. Not with him. “Are we… good?”

Tom turns off the engine. For a moment he stares at his hands on the steering wheel, but then he brings his gaze up to you. His eyes are sad and raw, and it makes your heart hurt.

“We’re fine, Y/N,” he says, voice softer. “Sorry. It’s the, uh… The hangover. Makin’ me act like a twat. I’m sorry.”

You release a sigh of relief. “It’s okay, Tom.” A light chuckle slips by your lips. “I was worried I pissed you off for a moment there.”

Tom’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You? Never, darling.” He drums his hands over his thighs, and you remember the circumstances.

“Oh, sorry. I’ll get out of your hair,” you say. You hasten to undo your seatbelt and reach towards the car door, only to pause when Tom reaches out suddenly to touch your arm. “Yeah?”

“I, uh…” Tom’s close, leaning over the console. Your eyes drift over the freckles of his face, and you get distracted by how warm his brown orbs are, like glinting pools of honey. “I really am sorry,” he adds. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

You tilt your head to the side. “It’s fine.” You glance down to where he’s softly caressing your arm, his eyes fixed firmly on your skin. His hand feels nice. Soothing. He soothes you. He always does. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Tom nods. “Yeah. I’m great.”

You don’t quite believe him, but you’re willing to accept that the hangover has knocked him.

“Well, thank you,” you say. You turn back to face him. “For the lift. And the nuts.”

Tom finally smiles again, and the sight makes your heart soar. “No worries, babe,” he says. He winks. “Any time.”

You lean over the console and kiss his cheek, your mouth hitting a spot of skin closer to his lips than the side of his face. If Tom notices how flustered it makes you, he doesn’t say a thing. You’re still shaking as you pull your bag over your back and hobble from the car, shouting back a tight, “bye!”

Tom raises his hand through the open window and winks again as he pulls away from the curb, leaving your body throbbing persistently and your heart more confused than it’s ever been.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Two weeks pass. You don’t see Harrison much, but Tom continues to come to class. Life goes on, nothing unchanged, and finals come and go with ease. Before you know it, it’s the final mixer of the semester.

Harrison’s going to miss it. He tells you as much when you turn up at the frat two hours before kickoff to find him stuffing shirts into a bag. He looks guilty as you walk into his room, question written all over your face.

“You remember Rory, yeah? From UPenn? He invited me to their party. Apparently, they’ve got Travis Scott. It’s gonna be lit, so… I’m going.”

“Overnight?” you ask, looking at his heavy bag. Harrison nods, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah. Sorry… I probably should’ve told you.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah.” You glance down at your hands and swallow the irritation that festers in your chest. Harrison has never been great at communication. Throughout the duration of your arrangement—whether you’re just dating, or just hooking up—he’s kept his cards close to his chest. He confuses you.

When you’d first spent the night with him, Harrison had acted like he’d wanted something more with you. You’d been on a few dates, he’d brought your flowers, the works. But with time, it’s as if he’s tired of you. The spark has slipped away, and if he wasn’t on his way across state, you’d sit him down and have a discussion about the direction of your entanglement. But he is, and you have no time, so you display your irritation by crossing your arms.

“I’m sorry,” he adds. He finishes zipping up his bag and throws it over his shoulders before stepping towards you. With warm hands, he cups your cheeks and brings you in for a deep, passionate kiss. “You can always come if you want.”

You grimace as you shake your head. “I told Tom I’d help him here,” you say. “It’s fine. Just… Have fun, alright?”

A shadow of jealousy briefly flitters across Harrison’s face, but it’s quick to smooth away when he clears his throat. “‘Course,” he says. He takes your hand and leads you from his room. “What are you guys doing?”

“Hm?”

“Tom. What are you doing with him?”

“Oh. Just hanging up banners, and stuff. He wanted me to help him with the drinks too.”

“Nice.”

The air between you is stale, and you’re glad when Harrison pulls you down the corridor and pauses outside Tom’s room. There’s loud music coming from the room, so Harrison has to rap loudly several times, an act that makes you cringe.

“Come in!” yells Tom. Harrison does just that, pulling you in after him with a firm grip. “Oh, hey guys?”

You instantly wrench your hand from Harrison’s, not wanting him to feel your palm grow hot as your eyes fall onto Tom. You’ve caught him mid-workout, perched on the edge of his bed, shirtless and doing curls with a hand weight. There’s a healthy red flush to his face, and his bicep bulges as he flexes with the weight. All across his chest are lines of thick muscle, and you find yourself staring.

“Hey, dude,” Harrison says. “I’m just on my way out.” He turns to look at you, an easy smile on his face. “Y/N told me you guys have plans tonight, so… I guess, I’m just wondering. Can you keep an eye on her? Look after my girl, y’know?” He pauses to chew on his lip, guilt at leaving reflected in his eyes. “Make sure she’s okay, ‘n all that.”

Tom stands from the bed, tossing the weight onto the mattress with ease before approaching you, smirking. “‘Course, Haz.” He wraps a very hot, slightly sweaty arm around you and pulls you into his side. “I’ll take care of her.” Tom glances at you, shrugging softly. “Take care of you,” he adds.

You don’t know what kind of dangers you might face tonight that warrant a personal guard, but you don’t think you mind it if your attendant is Tom. He’s hot and sweaty and he smells of man, but you burn for him.

“Thanks,” you respond, slightly breathless.

Harrison looks between you both, then shrugs. “Great.” He steps forward and briefly touches his lips to you. Tom freezes, holding you tighter in his arms the moment Harrison kisses you, and that action makes you feel perplexed. “Have a good time, guys.”

“You too, Haz,” Tom responds. You echo similar sentiments.

When the door closes behind Harrison, Tom doesn’t move. He simply holds you tighter, then drops his mouth down and presses a light kiss to the base of your neck. Your choked whimper travels into the air, and you flush as he steps away.

“We will have fun tonight, won’t we, Y/N?” he teases. His eyes are dark as they briefly skitter across your figure. After a moment, Tom walks across the room and picks up a towel and a fresh set of clothes. Tom pauses in front of you, tilting his head as he looks at you. He has to know how frazzled he makes you feel. He’s got to.

“Yeah,” you reply, voice high. “A lot of fun.”

“Mmm. Hope so.” Tom steps forward and cups your cheek in his hot palm, kissing your forehead before stepping back. “I’m going to shower. Make yourself comfortable, yeah? What’s mine is yours.”

A full-body shiver travels down your spine, but luckily it isn’t until he’s turned on his heel and strode over to the door.

“Have fun,” you call out. Tom turns back to wink, then disappears in a flash.

As the door closes behind him, you wonder if you really lost your spark for Harrison, or if the feelings you had for him just paled in comparison to the ones you harbour for his best friend.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The party picks up quickly. You split off from Tom a few hours in, being pulled away by one of your friends and staying with them for a while. You start to miss him, though, so you excuse yourself from a game of beer pong out on the patio and walk back into the large frat house, cringing slightly as you hear the loud music. You haven’t been drinking much tonight. Something tells you that you’ll need your sober brain.

It takes you a while to find Tom, the house busy and wild. He’s not in the kitchen, nor the hallway. Your adventures take you to the large living room, where they have the music and the drinks set up. As you wander inside, your eyes take a moment to acclimate to the dim lighting. When they settle, you see him, and the breath leaves your lungs.

Tom is standing in the middle of the dancefloor, talking with a girl. She’s draped in his arms, the tips of her fingers running through his hair as she chats to him. Tom is looking at her intently, paying rapt attention to what she’s saying, but the smile on his face doesn’t quite stretch to his eyes. When he spots you, his brows briefly raise, only for them to lower again as he smirks. He winks at you, then reaches for the girl, bringing her in closer and dropping his mouth so he can start to kiss her neck.

Jealousy consumes you. It burns through every other rational thought that you have. The sight of the girl wrapping herself around him as Tom kisses up her neck makes your fingers curl into fists at your sides, and you start to walk across the room before you can comprehend it. Tom sees you, continuing to make flirtatious eye contact with you as he deposits light, wet kisses to the girl’s shoulder. It feels targeted and provocative, and whatever game that he’s playing seems to work.

“Tom!” you call out when you’re just a few centimetres away. He leisurely pulls away from the girl, dark eyes twinkling mischievously as he looks up at you.

“Yes, Y/N?”

You grimace. Now you’re over here, on the receiving end of stares from Tom and his companion, you wonder why you’d responded so immediately and directly.

“You need to come with me. We have, uh… Things to do.”

Tom raises an eyebrow, stepping away from the girl as he crosses his biceps over his chest. He’s wearing his golden chain, the one that always drives you mad, and he looks so fucking handsome under the UV lights.

“And what would those things be, Y/N?” he asks. The girl at his side is looking between you both.

“You know,” you hiss.

The girl frowns, then huffs out a sigh and pushes at Tom’s arm. “Can we go upstairs?” she asks him. Tom glances at her, chewing his lower lip as he finds himself on the receiving end of her fluttering lashes.

“No, Jess,” he says, evening out the rejection with a soft smile. “I’m sorry. Have a good evening.” Before she can respond, Tom reaches out and takes your hand, pulling you with ease towards one of the corners of the room. You squeal as he tugs you, easily falling into his side and enjoying the press of his warm arm to yours. He drops his voice, pausing only when you’re on the edge of the dancefloor to spin you and press his hands to your waist. “Are you alright, darling?” he asks, smirking. “Looks to me like someone was a little jealous.”

Your body heats up, and you find yourself nibbling at your lower lip as you try to make sense of the situation. “Nope,” you lie. With ease, you reach up and rest your hands on Tom’s broad shoulders. “I was just… Thinking about the night we met. You said we could dance then, but we never did.” You tilt your head to the side, throwing out a convincing smile. “Do you want to change that?”

Tom growls, tugging you closer as he wraps his arms around you. The tips of his teeth brush up against the shell of your ear and you whimper as his hot breath fans out over the side of your face. “Fuck yeah, babe,” he murmurs.

You settle into it easily. Tom ends up pulling you so your back rests flush against his front, his arms skating around to hold your waist as you grind back against him. It’s close and hot, and it doesn’t take long for him to put his lips back where they belong—on your neck, kissing deeply. Everything that he does feels calculated and purposeful, but it’s only when he brings his kisses near your ear and whispers a low, “you’re so fucking hot, baby,” that you come back to earth.

“We… Shouldn’t,” you whimper. Tom kisses your lobe in response. “Harrison.”

“What about him?” he mutters. His voice is raspy and seductive, and the way he strokes his hands over your sides makes your eyes roll back. “He doesn’t care about you like I do, Y/N. You know he doesn’t.”

You close your eyes, focusing on the way Tom sucks deep bruises to the sensitive spot on your neck. Harrison had never been able to find it, had never even tried.

“He cares about me,” you say, voice hoarse.

“Yeah. But not enough.” Tom spins you in his arms, reaching up to cup your cheek in a hand. He peers at you, eyes wide and insistent. “He lies to you. Did he ever tell you about the night that you met?”

You quirk a brow. “No.”

A shadow of hesitation passes over Tom’s face, but he swallows it down. “He only came up to you as part of a… a fucking bet. That’s the only reason I didn’t come back to you that night.” He strokes his fingers over your cheekbone, soothing you when you frown. “You’re the prettiest fucking woman I’ve ever met in my life, and it’s been killing me to see you both together.”

You press your forehead to his, feeling his breath come out in hot pants over your face. “Do you like me, Tom?”

He chuckles. “You have no idea how much, babe.” Tom shifts his hands back to your hair and he cradles your face. “I’d be so good to you. I swear.” He’s speaking earnestly, his voice breaking softly as he looks at you. “I love Haz. He’s my best mate. But we all know that you’re not a good fit. He left you here tonight. He doesn’t satisfy you.” Tom drops his voice, tilting his head to the side as his voice drops lower. He brings his lips closer, kissing the side of your mouth as you shiver. “I could satisfy you properly.”

You release a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding. For a moment you stare at Tom, eyes swirling down to his lips, then, as if entranced, you reach down and pull your phone from your bra. Using one hand on the screen, you reach up to cup Tom’s face with the other, smiling softly when he instinctively tilts his lips and kisses the palm of your hand. You write out a short message, the guilt in your heart fading when you briefly check Harrison’s Instagram story and see him surrounded by a sea of girls at the party he hadn’t invited you to.

After sending the message, you tilt the screen towards Tom’s face, watching his skin glow white as he slowly reads the few words.

You: Haz, I’m sorry to do this over text, but it’s over. I think we both know that we’re better as friends.

Tom’s brows raise. “Did you..?”

“Yeah.” You bite your lip and slowly tuck your phone back against your chest. “It’s over.”

Tom kisses you immediately, both of his hands anchoring your cheeks. You could almost cry with how good it feels to have his mouth touching yours again. He parts his lips and slips his tongue into your mouth, and you moan as you wrap your arms around his neck. As he holds you tightly, his hands slip down to hold your waist, and though your teeth and noses collide and clash, you don’t care. It’s beautifully imperfect, and it’s so hot that it makes your whole body throb. Tom’s curls give you the perfect leverage to jerk him closer, and as you make out mercilessly on the edge of the dance floor, you feel a piece of you slot into place.

“Come upstairs with me,” he groans, voice thick as he speaks against your lips. Your mouth is wet with spit, but you don’t bother to wipe it clean when you pull back. Tom’s eyes glint with hunger, and he grabs at your hand when you nod.

The journey upstairs is fast and easy, full of your giggles as he runs his thumb over the back of your hand. The moment you’re in his room, Tom pushes you back against the door and flicks the lock, attaching his lips to your neck with ease.

“Tom,” you whine, running your hands all over his back as he sucks harshly against your skin.

His hands skim lower and you curve your spine away from the door so he can grab handfuls of your ass, your moan mixing with his grunt when he pulls away from your neck to kiss your lips again. It’s as if he’s ravenous—unable to pick between your lips and your neck, your hips and your ass. Tom changes his position every few seconds, and the irregularity fills you with excitement.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he groans. Tom pulls back breathlessly, looking straight into your eyes. “Can I… Are you okay with this?” he clarifies, holding your gaze firmly until you nod.

“I’m more than okay with this,” you say.

“Good, good... Pretty baby.” Tom runs his index finger down your face, his knees bending as he slowly sinks down in front of you. He scatters two light kisses to each of your breasts before travelling down your navel, only stopping when he’s fully on his knees, gazing up at you from beneath his lashes. “Darling?”

“Hmm?” You’re light-headed but aroused, your dress feeling tight as you shuffle against the door.

“Can I taste your pussy, baby?”

Your breath catches in the back of your throat, and the first time you try to speak, only a moan comes out. Tom smirks, fingers easily pushing up the hem of your dress. As his fingertips stroke up your thighs to rest on your waistband, he pauses, tilting his head to the side in question. “Yeah,” you manage, voice a whisper. “I want that so badly.”

“Mmm, should’ve just said, darling.” Tom’s head dips, disappearing between your legs. You whimper as he rubs the front of two fingers down the front of your panties, the material wet and warm. “God…” He unhooks them easily and tugs them down your legs, pausing to allow you to kick them off. When he repositions, he holds your thighs further apart and presses a kiss to your soft flesh. “You’re fucking soaked, lovie.” His hot breath fans across your centre. “Pretty cunt’s just waiting for me, isn’t it?”

His cockiness turns you on, and you’ve barely gotten out a garbled moan before he’s delving in. Tom’s skilful tongue runs up your slit, light at first, gradually leading you into it. You cry out as he finds your clit, sucking softly around the bud before lapping his tip across it gently. You have to reach out and grab ahold of the nearby bookshelf as arcs of pleasure spread out from your centre, small whimpers and moans being pulled from your mouth as Tom continues his assault.

“Tastes like paradise,” he whines, speaking against your cunt. “So sweet, baby. I understand why Haz likes being with you so much.” Tom pauses, drawing a few more strokes across your clit as you whimper. “Mine now,” he murmurs, deep voice vibrating across your centre. “My pussy.”

“Tom,” you moan, legs shaking. He responds by bringing his right hand up, slowly curving two of his digits into your heat. As he starts to thrust his fingers, the sounds of your wet arousal fill the air, making you moan louder. “Feels so good,” you encourage, realising he works harder when you speak to him. The top of his curls brushes against your legs as his tongue continues to glide over your clit, merciless and pleasurable.

“You sound so pretty, love,” Tom says, pulling away slightly. The vibrations from the noise make you moan louder, and you glance down to see him staring at you, eyes blown wide with lust and his chin covered in your juices. He looks back between your legs, readjusting his fingers and curving them at different angles before he strikes gold. When you call out his name, his other hand goes up to your hips, holding you back against the door as he smirks. “I want you to cum for me, darling,” he coos. “Let me make you feel good. I want to hear those pretty little moans. Be loud for me.”

You don’t take much convincing, as once Tom’s got his mouth back on your clit, you’re arching your back as you fall over the edge. He laps your bud with his hot, firm tongue, his fingers continuing to stroke at your walls until you spasm into climax, reaching out to grab his hair as you moan and writhe against the door. He holds you up, even when you feel like falling, and it has to be the most intensely pleasurable orgasm that you’ve ever experienced in your life.

“Fuck,” you pant, only able to calm down when Tom pulls back. He sits on his shins, smacking his lips as he looks up at you, smirking. You’ve still got a hand on his head, so you fiddle with his hair as you recover. “That was so good.” A breathless smile finds your face. “So good. Thank you.”

“No problem, darling.” Tom clambers to his feet, and your eyes find themselves drawn to the bulge in his jeans. “Knew I could make you cum,” he says, speaking almost to himself. “Looked like an angel. Taste like one too.”

You swallow a moan and step forward, hands twisting behind your back to release your zipper. Tom’s eyes widen as you push down your dress, stepping out of it with ease.

“We’re not done yet, are we?” you ask, biting your lip as you look over to the bed. Tom shakes his head and offers you a hand after you’ve pulled your phone from your bra and placed it down on his desk.

“No way,” he agrees. Tom pushes you down onto the mattress but stays standing at the edge, nimble hands quickly releasing his belt and pulling off his jeans, then his shirt. You admire his Calvin Klein boxers, black with a white band skimming across the top, and he wiggles his eyebrows. “Fuck,” he adds. His eyes skim your figure, appreciation held in his gaze. “I can’t believe I’ve got you here.” He gets on the bed, pushing you down and climbing on top of you as he kisses his way up to your mouth. When he’s hovering above your face, he cups your cheeks. “Most beautiful girl in the whole world, love. Girl of my dreams.”

You kiss him, your hands finally able to learn the curves of his muscular back. Tom grinds down into you, his covered crotch meeting your bare pussy, and the friction to your clit makes you moan into the kiss. As you admire his form, you settle into his lips, your heart beating faster and more persistently against your ribcage.

“Tom,” you say, speaking against his mouth. He pulls back, lips red and puffy. “You’re so handsome. Have I ever told you that?”

Tom bites his lip, continuing to roll his hips down against yours. When you start to grind up to meet him, an expression of enjoyment darkens his face. “Thanks, love.”

You lick your lips as you wrap your arms around him, holding him closer as he continues to grind into you. “Every time I’d see you out doing weights or walking around shirtless, it’d turn me on,” you admit. You snake a hand between your bodies, managing to press your palm up and against the outline of his cock. Tom groans loudly, dropping his head into the crook of your neck and whining as he ruts against the pressure. “I want to feel you,” you whimper. “Properly. I want to feel how good it is to have you inside me... I can feel you. I know you’re big.” You bite your lip. “I’ve thought about it for weeks.”

Tom forces his face away from your neck and meets your eyes, his pupils completely dilated. “You are going to be the death of me, lovie,” he says seriously, drawing a chuckle from your lips. Tom leans up and kisses you, softer, but only for a moment. He reaches across his bed and rummages through his bedside table, procuring a condom a second later.

“Let me do it,” you offer. Tom nods, and you swap positions with ease. Tom settles on the mattress, raising his hips and watching as you tug his boxers down his legs. You feel yourself salivate slightly as you take sight of his cock, erect and flushed, pressing up against his lower stomach. Holding the open condom in one hand, you run your thumb over his tip with the other, gathering beads of his silver precum on your fingertip. You meet Tom’s eyes and sit back on his thighs as you push your finger into your mouth, exaggerating your moan as you lick it clean.

Tom tosses his head back, his hair fluffing up against the pillows. His cock twitches against his stomach. “Fuck, baby… You’re driving me crazy.” When you reach back and roll the condom over his length, he can barely keep still, rutting up and filling your hand the moment you’re done. “You know… every time you stayed the night with Haz, I could hear you guys,” he says, looking at you through hooded eyes. You give him a few pumps, biting your lip as you admire his member and try to imagine how good it’ll feel filling you to the brim. “Used to get off listening to your moans. Imagining it was me fucking you. Thinking… Thinking about how good it’d be to- fuck- to open you up on my cock.”

His words make you feel hot, and you speed up the rhythm of your hand as you watch his face flush with heat. “I know,” you admit. “I could hear you sometimes.” You lean up and press a kiss to his chest, feeling his hot skin between your lips. “You make the hottest noises, Tom.”

“For you,” he groans, jaw tensing. “It’s all for you.” He continues to rut into your hand, and you smirk as you feel him throb. As Tom grows more erratic, you feel your slick between your legs thicken and your core begin to throb.

“Can I ride you?” you ask.

Tom immediately bounces his head, eyes lighting up like you’ve spoken the only thing he’s ever wanted to hear. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes—”

You bend over to kiss him, sliding up his body with ease. Tom reaches up your back, eager hands falling to a stop at your bra. He manages to unclasp it after a few attempts, grinning victoriously against your lips as it falls slack. Once you’ve thrown it aside, you sit back, watching as Tom’s hand goes down to guide his cock through your slit. One of his hands rests on your hip, palm hot and heavy, and he gives you a short squeeze as he presses his tip against your entrance.

Slowly, you sink down onto him, moaning loudly as his girth stretches your cunt. Your eyes squeeze shut as you adjust, breath hitching when Tom adds his thumb to your clit, the pleasure easing the stretch. When you’re completely seated, you find yourself shifting, Tom groaning when you clench and slowly start to ride him.

“Oh my god,” he moans. “Feels like heaven, darling. Actual heaven.” His jaw is tense as he tosses his head back, prying open an eye to watch as you bounce over him, moving faster as you find your rhythm. “So wet, sweetheart. So tight… So much better than I’d ever imagined.” He’s looking at you with pleasure screwed across his face, and the sight of him so desperate makes you feel powerful.

“Tom,” you whimper. “I can feel you so deep.” You’re starting to unravel, feeling him everywhere. With the thumb still rolling over your clit, his hand weighing down your hip, and the tip of his cock brushing deeper each time you come together, you can feel yourself on the verge already. “Can you… I can’t…”

“Y’wanna flip?”

“Yeah. Please.”

It happens easily, without Tom falling from you. A moment later, you’re resting over the warm mattress, wrapping your legs around Tom’s back and pulling him closer as he rails you into the bed. He’s faster than you’d been, and the new angle opens you up deeper, allowing his tip to press more pronouncedly against your g-spot. His chain dangles against your neck, the cool metal scorching against your flushed skin.

“Oh god,” Tom groans. The sounds of your bodies meeting as he roughly thrusts into you, again and again, fill the air. “You’re so perfect. Feels so good.” His eyes are dark as they meet with yours, swirling with unrestrained lust. “So wet, lovie. D’you like it when I fuck you? Yeah? Pussy’s squeezing me so tight. My pussy, isn’t it? You’re mine.”

“Yours,” you agree, liking how it sounds.

Tom grunts and drills into you faster. With each rotation of his hips against yours, his thick head reaches further, dragging across your g-spot with ease and causing sparks to race up your spine. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, and you clutch at his torso for purchase as you scramble to stay grounded. When you add a hand to your clit, you feel your cunt clench, squeezing his length and making him groan again.

‘I’m not gonna last, love. Shit. Feels too fucking good,” he whimpers.

You bring his lips back to yours, meeting them clumsily as you moan. Your skin is hot and sweaty, being smothered by the heat of his body bearing down on you. You wind your free hand into his hair. “It’s okay,” you get out, voice catching. “I’m so close, Tom. Fuck. Make me cum. Please.”

You ride the edge for a few moments more before Tom cries out, calling your name in a voice so exerted and broken that it pushes you over the edge too. As his cock pulses against your walls and his groans fall like music to your ears, you let everything go, basking in the pleasure that crashes over your figure in thick, consuming waves. Tom’s hands are slick as they grasp at your sides, but he’s holding you tightly in place and you like it.

When the air finally clears, Tom pulls out, collapsing onto the mattress beside you with a loud groan. You flip onto your side, quivering as your core pangs with pleasurable aftershocks, your tired eyes drifting up to meet his. He reaches out, sweaty palm drifting to your face as he cups your cheek and smiles at you.

“Well,” he starts, voice low. He pulls you closer, and you carefully curl yourself into his arms. Tom nuzzles his lips against your forehead and leaves three light kisses to your skin. “That was a heavenly experience.”

You snort, burying your face in his chest and feeling the cool metal of his chain press to your skin. “Heavenly?”

“Mhmm. Because you’re an angel. My angel.”

You smile into his front. “What a charmer,” you say.

Tom combs some fingers over your hair and softly coaxes you away from his chest. Both of you share a pillow, his deep brown eyes feel of inquisition as he looks at you.

“Darling,” he mumbles, speaking slowly, almost nervous. “I like you a lot. And… And I know the circumstances are messy and complicated, but… I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. I want this to be an every time thing. I want you to be my girl.”

“Your girl?”

“Yeah. My girlfriend.” Tom’s handsome eyes flutter over your face. “What do you say?”

You trace your index finger around the sculpted lines of his face, smiling softly as his lips pull into a grin. You think about how your life has changed since the first night you met him, and how your heart has slowly learnt to gravitate towards him. Tom’s right—it is messy, and maybe your union is complicated and a little wrong too, but it feels good. Him kissing your forehead and pulling you closer feels good. He feels good.

“Yeah,” you agree, speaking slowly. “I would really like that.”

Tom’s face splits into a smile, and he pushes in to kiss you. “Good,” he murmurs. “‘Cos I’m gonna woo you every single day of your life. I’ll bring you tea every morning, tuck you in at night. Make you moan louder than you’ve ever moaned in your life—”

“Alright, alright. You’ve already won me over, Tom, you can calm down—”

“Nope.” Tom’s grinning widely as he continues to peck your lips, unable to keep his hands off you. “I’ll keep charming you until I’ve won your heart, babe. This is just how it’s got to be.”

You kiss him, not knowing how to tell him that he’s already had your heart, firmly in the palm of his hand, since the very first night you met.

“Well,” you respond, voice quiet in the air. “I quite like the sound of that.”

Tom nuzzles his nose against you, lips brushing yours. “Yeah?”

You hum affirmatively and reach up to bury your hands back into his hair. “Yeah.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

:D let me know what you think please !!! I would love to know if you have a favourite scene...?! I am torn between y/n putting tom to bed + the lecture theatre...lmk (if you want !!)

mlist + taglist are through the link in my bio <3

thank you for reading!! <3<3

#tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader smut #frat!tom #frat!tom holland #frat!tomfic #smut #alternate summary for this is: tom has a raging b*ner for 16k straight

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