can you do an imagine where you have to tutor jock!calum and you guys used to be friends but then you had a fall out and the two of you get an argument and yeah can there be making out pls that'd be gr9 you're the real mvp
it always came across as a shock to anyone who took a stroll through your home to see framed photographs of both you and jock!calum - youthful eyes and toothless smiles - with your arms wrapped around one another in a childish embrace because fast forward nearly ten years later and you were lucky to acknowledge one another with a simple head nod, though time often creates rifts between naive hearts. nonetheless, he was the star athlete - a boy who knew how to play the game and knew what to do to score - who everyone seemed to pine after and place on a sort of pedestal that towered over all; you, on the other hand, blended into the background with a lustful urge to flee this suburban hellhole that felt more like a prison than a home. it seemed cliche but more often than not, cliches tended to happen and declaring it as such would be considered a platitude as well. be that as it may, there were two beings - two concepts, ideas - that calum’s mind simply couldn’t fathom: you and french, and yet you were able to comprehend both. whether or not it was his idea, his parents or your professor, you were coerced into tutoring him - leaving you to clean up after yourself in your room and organize every aspect of your life, even stashing away any childhood pictures so that he wouldn’t get the wrong idea - and found yourself anticipating his arrival as a small stack of textbooks stood similar to buildings whilst loose sheets of paper floated to the floor. little ink doodles were smeared beneath your fist and stained your skin, though you didn’t seem to care or notice. by the time he appeared at your front door, you couldn’t help the nostalgia that seemed to hit you like a fucking truck - his soft cheeks and smug smirk with the feeling that he just seemed to belong there, standing in your doorway like he never left all those years but only aged. he cleared his throat and awkwardly stumbled into your house, maneuvering from room to room as though he were there only yesterday, all the while you quietly whistled under your breath and earned a fairly deserved eyeroll. as the two of you sat on your bed - you translating and explaining verb tenses - you couldn’t help but flick your eyes up every so often to see calum’s gaze wandering around your bedroom, inspecting every corner despite never leaving his position and scribbling miniature sketches on crumpled bits of paper - hearts and safety pins and smiley faces and dicks - but it was his snickering that tipped you over the edge. why the hell were you trying to help someone who didn’t give a fuck? you gave a fuck and you were sick of this bullshit. slamming your books shut, you demanded he leave your house - harsh, venomous words fleeing your mouth and practically slapping him in the face - whilst he merely sat on the edge of your bed, eyebrows raised at your sudden outburst; granted, he wasn’t exactly attached to your hip nowadays but this was out of character from what he knew of his former best friend. then again, him now shouting right back in your face - demanding what the fuck was your problem - wasn’t quite how he would act in any other situation. but what gave you the right? holding your head high as though you were above him? but he was the same, wasn’t he? there was a moment, though, when he knew he struck a nerve as your eyes softened and your bottom lip trembled. shit. shit. shit. he shouldn’t have said anything, should’ve just stayed quiet. but you both knew the silence was oddly deafening the longer it lingered between you; and besides, you were sick of the quiet. and he was sick of the game - people pitting one against the other when he knew how he felt; he missed you, no matter if he was willing to confess those feelings aloud. carefully cupping your cheeks, he pressed his ample lips against yours in a hasty kiss - your hand left suspended in the air as you were unsure what to do, what to hold - until on hand found itself knotted in his ratted t-shirt, the other with your fingers curled around the belt loops of his skinny jeans. calum leaned forward, now hovering over your body, whilst both your lips moved fluidly and heatedly against the other - him letting out a small groan when your tongue ran across his bottom lip and lightly tugged at it. this wasn’t weird; neither of you were best friends but you weren’t enemies. and this, this felt right compared to anyone else. like it was meant to happen. his hands roamed your body - one sliding beneath your top and cupping your breast - as his lips brushed across your swollen mouth, now moving to your jawline. then your neck. nibbling at your tender skin, he’d press wet kisses across the marks he’d left behind - often marveling at his work - and pondering out loud how they would look along your chest; face flushed and the corners of your mouth tugged in a mischievous smirk, murmured how lovely his thighs might look if they were red and purple just as yours.
damn, i’m sorry if this isn’t okay and that i didn’t post this sooner. i hope it’s all good. xx
