Tom Hiddleston (your love)

My Play Ground

RR(-ish)
Your back to your young eighteen years of age.
Have responsibility, respect, matureness for others or as you thought.

Your exposed skin rubes against your boyfriends flesh, who's sixteen years older than you. Still hot ass fuck. You love him so much that even you can't realize. You both met at a college review, he wanted to be the history professor. Fortunately he's an actor who wants a normal life. You agreed to be part of it.
He gently got inside you. Moaning, clinging, gripping your waist. Nibbling your neck.
You hold yourself together, almost biting your lips off.
He lays you down on his bed. His petal rose lips roaming your body.
"When I first met your sweet ass, I never thought we would be this close." His chuckles are similar to Lucifers. With a grin he pinches your cheeks in humor.

"Man, your so fucken hot." You kissed him deeply.

"Mmmh. I can plead you every night."
He finishes you.

Ruff knocks are herd from the front door. "Did you invite someone?" You look at him. He stares back with a complete blank face.

"Not what I know of? I don't know." He quickly changes into his cloths. White dress shirt and a pair of black suit pants. He sneaks his way towards the house door. Staring through the peephole. You saw him cringe from the room.
"Your father!" He mouthed pointing at the door. Left with bug eyes, and pink cheeks you swiftly put on your jeans, and that red hipster blouse.
You sprayed the house with fragrances. You walk into Tom. Fixing his messy hair with a comb, patting hairs off his dress shirt and finally giving him a warming kiss before sitting on the sofa with your college textbook open. Tom opens the door to a suspicious dad. His eyes crawling around the house.

"Hello sir." You heard Toms voice stutter.

"Dad!" You shout.

"Darling?" Your anxious father called. You walk to him with a huge smile. You haven't saw him sense this past year. Hated the way he dresses, gangster clothes that doesn't fit his own personality. Otherwise his tattoos are to bad for others to knowledge. He deserves better. By that you mean, a wife and a greater job.

"Been a while sense I've seen you." You embrace him but instead his palm met your cheek. You grip you face, screaming. Your cheek has a painful burning sensation. Tom gave up the act and stood up for you.

"Hey man that's not right."

"Don't talk to me, asswhole! (Y/n)! You worthless piece of shit! I trusted you!"

"What did I do!?"

"You slept with Tom!"

"So what? She's not a child anymore." Tom hugged you securely underneath his cold arms.

"That's no right! You're a pedophile!" Your father stared Tom in the eye.

"He not a pedophile!!! He's my husband!!!" You glare at your father. You exposed your fucked face. "Isn't that right Tom?"

"Y-yes."

"I'm not allowing this!"

"Get the hell out of our house before we call the cops!" Tom flinched his left arm at the door. You grinned.

"I'm not leaving without my daughter!"

"What makes you think you have the right? I'm married. Pregnant. Just get the hell out!" You felt Toms hands grip your forearm.
"OUT!" You opened the door.

"I'll be back, and it won't be pretty," He fled off.

He kept you thinking for a while. "Are you okay? Let me see." Tom gently pushed your chin to the side. You felt his breathing hit your skin as he examines your swelled pink cheek.

"Are you? Sorry, I didn't meant to give you a heart attack. Thanks for covering me though. That must've been the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me."

"It's alright babe. His presence was unexpected." He planted a soft kiss on your nose. "I love the fact of having you as my wife, Mrs. Hiddleston. I thought I never say." He gave you a cheeky smile. "I'll make it up for you. I'll cook dinner."

"I'll help."

"No. You can watch the TV or do something productive." He lays his hands on your shoulders.

"Are you-?"

"Yes, lets put it as a big thanks for fucking me." He grins. You couldn't hold your laugh any longer than three seconds. "We aren't finished yet?" He mumbles.

"I don't know."

"I'll save that ass for breakfast." He bumped his hips on your arse.

"Did I ever mentioned how irritated I get when people like that push me around?" You laugh.

"No? Why ask?" He set the dinner plates on the kitchen table.

"Before I was living with him I would turn up my music and dance my thoughts away. Just because I would get yelled at." You here him chop veggies.

"And?"

"Just—Do you like David Bowie?"

"I love the man. Why?"

"Wow. You turned fifty times hotter. I'm going to play Under Pressure and sing out loud like an idiot. Don't judge me or my voice."

"Your not the only idiot love. I'm with you till the end." He giggled.