#Tom/reader

[superficialdomina]

Missed connection

A/N: I wrote a little Tom fic while my next sub!Loki marinates a bit. It's angsty and a little fluffy and totally self-indulgent.

Inspired in part by @dangertoozmanykids101 and this post. I hope that's OK with her :)

Summary: Stuck in a train carriage in Italy with Tom. Angst ensues.

W/C: 2.7k

Warnings: Very light, thirsty smut. Stay tuned for part 2 if you want the filth.

Two Three parts - but if you like where they end up after the first one you can totally leave it here.

Part 1

You sigh, closing your book and gazing out the window of the unmoving train into the night. You should have arrived in Padua before dusk, but your train out of Venice had ground to a halt several hours ago without explanation, and had sat here, with frustrating stubbornness, in the growing darkness. 

You stretch your neck, looking around you. Your train carriage is mostly empty, and the few other passengers appear to be asleep. You envy them. It had taken several long flights to arrive in Italy, and to be trapped here on this final leg, so close to your destination, with zero information, is… infuriating.

A movement catches your eye as a tall man enters from an adjoining carriage. He moves slowly between the seats, past the sleeping occupants. You avert your eyes and pretend to concentrate on your lap, your innate introversion kicking in and insisting you avoid a conversation with a stranger. 

"Mi scusi?" 

Startled, you look up, meeting his eyes and taking in his face. Gosh, you think, surprised, he's very pretty. And... Familiar? 

"Hai un cellulare da prestarmi?"

"Non parlo Italiano," you stammer out - one of the few Italian phrases you'd learnt in preparation for your trip. "Do you speak English?"

"Oh," he smiles, blushing charmingly. "Of course. I'm so sorry to interrupt you, but - would you have a mobile phone that I could borrow?"

As soon as he switches to English, recognition washes over you like a flood. To see him out of context like this was terrifically confusing - but that voice… It was unmistakable. You’re momentarily unable to speak.

"I… my phone battery is flat," he continues, misconstruing your long pause. "May I - would you mind if I sent a message to someone?"

"Of course," you manage, as you pull your phone out from your bag. His face relaxes in relief and gratitude as he takes it from you. 

His hands, you think as you try to surreptitiously watch his nimble fingers tap the screen. By all that is holy, his HANDS. As though he heard you, he lifts his left hand to nervously run it back through his loose curls, while continuing to text with his other thumb. 

Maybe I'm dreaming, you think cautiously. I fell asleep on the train and I'm… You pinch your leg. Nope. Hurts.

"Thank you," he says with a long exhale, looking down at you and handing back your phone. "I wasn't expecting to be stuck here…"

You can't help laughing. "Me neither, obviously," you smile. He smiles back, his beautiful lips parting slightly to give you a glimpse of his perfect teeth. 

"Well - thank you," he says again, turning to move back the way he had come. 

"Ah -" you begin, slightly confused. "What if - I mean, should you wait for them to reply?" You try to keep your voice low for the sake of the other occupants of the carriage in their happy slumber. 

His eyes run over the book in your lap, where your small clip-on reading lamp is casting odd shadows. 

"I'd hate to interrupt you further," he says, the question clear in his tone.

"Uh - it would be nice to have the company," you lie. As if that was ever true. Although this time… He narrows his eyes at you briefly; without thinking, you extend your hand. "I'm y/n."

He bites his lower lip, making your stomach flutter. And not just your stomach, if you're honest. But he takes your hand and shakes it. "Tom," he says simply.

You swallow hard at the feel of his long fingers grasping your palm and brushing your wrist. He thinks I don't recognise him. 

"I - I know who you are," you laugh uncomfortably, unable to hold his gaze as he takes the seat opposite you, his thick thighs spread wide. Invitingly.

"Oh," he says again. And again with that subtle blush. Is he doing that on cue? "Well - it's nice to meet you, y/n."

There's a brief, thoroughly awkward silence, before he expertly transitions to well-practised small talk. “You’re clearly not Italian,” he says, mocking his earlier language faux pas. "How is it that you find yourself on an immobile train in the Italian countryside?"

You exhale, suddenly aware that you'd been holding your breath. Don’t look directly at him. "I'm here for a conference," you reply, making eye contact with his forehead and speaking a little too fast. “In Padua. I just flew into Venice from Toronto this afternoon.” You want to ask him why he’s here - alone? - but it feels too personal. Don’t interview the poor man.

“Toronto?” He asks. “You don’t sound Canadian, either.” Gods above, his face is so… expressive. He blinks slowly and you catch his glorious eyelashes as they flit against his skin. His broad chest expands with every inhale, straining against his tight, white shirt. 

“Oh- no, I’m Australian,” Christ, could you stop sounding so fucking flustered? “But I live in Canada.” He pauses as though waiting for you to continue, even though you were sure you’d finished talking. “Just for the last few years. For work.” He sounds so… Interested. As though the inane nonsense that is inarticulately gushing from your mouth is all he wants to hear. Gosh, he really is charming. What a strange super power. Why am I still talking?

“What do you-” he begins, but he is interrupted by the ping of your phone.

“That must be for you,” you murmur, scrambling to pick it up. “Oh - no, sorry, just my husband.” A shadow crosses his face fleetingly. Keen to get a reply and get back to his seat, you think. 

You flick a quick text back to your spouse. Still on the train - no movement. Nothing eventful. Well, that was a big fat lie, you muse to yourself, glancing at the stunning man sitting opposite you.

“You’re married?” he asks, as you return your phone to your bag. 

“I - yes,” you reply, absently touching the wedding ring on your finger and trying not to think about the long years since your husband had made your body ache like the man sitting before you. A man who had barely even touched you. 

“Do you like it?” He asks. You are momentarily confused. “Canada, I mean?” 

“Yes. Sometimes. Mostly.” You take a deep breath, once again aware of the arousal he is stirring in you. Make sentences. “I miss home often.” Another awkward pause that you fight to fill, trying not to stare at his long Greek nose or the shadows cast by his ridiculous cheekbones. “They all think I’m British - Canadians, I mean,” you continue, hating yourself for the banality of your small talk. “They all ask me what part of England I’m from. I tell them ‘the very far south’.”

He laughs at that, throwing his head back and issuing a throaty expression of mirth that makes you quiver between your legs. Are… are my pants damp? You wonder silently, both quietly horrified and mildly interested at your body’s reaction to the close proximity of this beautiful man, and the inexplicable circumstances that have led you here.

“Well, you don’t exactly sound like Steve Irwin,” he laughs, eyes glittering in the low light.

“And you don’t sound like Eliza Doolittle,” you quip, before bringing your hand to cover your mouth, mortified. 

“I’m so sorry. I - I’m lousy at small talk. And I’m… A little awed to be speaking to you.” Ugh. Gushing. How unattractive.

But he continues to smile that dazzling smile that touches his lovely eyes so easily. “It’s quite alright,” he says gently. “Most people are.” The words are arrogant, but his tone suggests something altogether different. Is he… Uncomfortable?

He looks briefly out the window into the darkness. Stars have materialised in the inky sky. 

“Skip the small talk, then,” he offers, turning back to face you, voice deep and sultry, eyes piercing and intense. You press your thighs together to relieve the growing tension between them. No question now - you were wet with arousal. “Tell me something… Substantial.” He shifts in his seat and you try desperately not to look at his crotch. Just don’t stand up before he leaves, you tell yourself. His eyes slide to the book next to you. “What are you reading?” 

You also glance at the book on your seat, remembering where you had been mere minutes prior, in that previous life before Tom had first spoken to you. It’s telling that he considers that a substantial question, you think. You swallow. “Ah - War Lord by Bernard Cornwell,” you say, picking it up.

“Are you enjoying it?” 

“I - not really,” you admit, passing your eyes over the cover. Once again, his face encourages you to keep talking. “It’s the last in a long series. I was probably done with them a while ago but - it’s hard not to finish something you’ve come so far with...” You’ve run out of words again, and he’s still watching you…

You awkwardly clear your throat. “What are you reading?”

He laughs and reaches his hand into a large inner pocket of his jacket, pulling out a simple, slightly battered-looking book. 

 “The Dispossessed,” he replies, his eyes sparkling, “by Ursula Le Guin.” His middle finger strokes the spine lovingly. “It’s beautiful. I read it every few years,” he confesses. “It’s a commentary on materialism and capitalism… and it’s also a thought piece about time - time as a product of mathematics and physics but also philosophy and ethics. But mostly,” he finally pauses for breath, “it’s a love story. Love that transcends space and time-”

“I’ve read it,” you interrupt him, and can’t help laughing at the sheer boyish joy that has come over his face as he spoke. “I - it’s one of my favourites, too.” 

The wide, open-mouthed smile he gives you then transforms his entire face, and you suddenly feel that it is the first genuine expression he has given you. What just happened?

“Really?” He is suddenly abuzz with little-boy energy. Puppy energy. “I don’t meet many people who have read it. It’s a seriously underrated Le Guin book.”

“Yes!” you agree heartily. “She’s so renowned for the Earthsea chronicles but… The Dispossessed is so complex and… beautiful. And yes, a truly touching love story. Did you know that Shevek is modelled on Oppenheimer?” 

“I had heard that, but he always made me think of Feynman.”

“Me too!” You laugh enthusiastically, before remembering your sleeping companions and lowering your voice again. “It has, I think, my favourite line ever written.” He raises his eyebrows. You quote, “You can go home again, so long as you understand that home is a place where you have never been.”

“That’s your favourite line ever written?”

“Yes!” you say again, mildly embarrassed. “It’s… it’s…” You search for the words, forcing yourself to form logical sentences again. “We believe that time is something real, that life is what’s happening outside ourselves. But time - life - is within us.” You lean forward in your seat, willing him to understand your point. “You know - you can’t step twice in the same river, because neither you nor the river are the same. Live now, because you won’t be here again.”

He nods. “We all get two lives, and the second life begins when we realise we only get one.”

You exhale, suddenly aware of the thrill that is coursing through your body. Careful, you tell yourself, then chastise yourself for such a foolish notion. But this one might hurt when you land. “Yes. Exactly.”

“I also have a favourite line in it,” he offers, hesitantly. “Maybe not ever written,” he teases you gently, “but…” 

With surprise, you watch him open the book still in his hands to a dog-eared page. He reads. “If you can see a thing whole, it seems that it's always beautiful. Planets, lives. But close up, a world's all dirt and rocks. The way to see how beautiful the Earth is, is to see it from the moon.” 

He looks up at you expectantly, his whole energy shifted, sucking his lower lip into his mouth as though waiting for your approval. But you are momentarily stunned. He’s… Sad. 

“Is that…” You stop, knowing that your question is far too personal, but unsure if you can carry on the conversation without asking it. You’ll never be here again, you remind yourself, and stumble on. “Is that how you feel? All… Dirt and rocks?”

He gazes back at you, his smile touched with a hint of melancholy. “Sometimes. I wonder if my life is more beautiful from a distance than from the inside.” 

You consider your words carefully before we speak. “Don’t we all feel that way? Our lives are more perfect, more interesting, on paper, than they are in reality? Only the people closest to us see how messy we really are. Maybe no one knows us as well as ourselves.”

“Maybe,” he sighs. “I often have to remind myself that this is the life I chose, not the life that chose me.” You stare at him, astonished not only by the words he is saying, but by the brazen honesty of what he is sharing, and by the full 180 degree shift in his mood in the last few moments. Volatile. 

“Anyway,” he smiles, almost convincingly, as if to say, that’s enough self pity. “Your turn. Marriage? How is it?”

The question takes you thoroughly by surprise. “M… Marriage?” He doesn’t speak, but raises his eyebrows as he continues to look at you with that unusual intensity… It is strangely intimate. “That doesn’t really seem like a fair question when I’m staring at Tom Hiddleston sitting opposite me.” You groan inwardly, wishing you hadn’t said it aloud. 

He chuckles. “Close your eyes, then.” 

You stare at him open-mouthed for a second, the simple suggestion ringing through your ears like a command. Your core clenches and you feel the slick in your panties practically gushing down your inner thighs. You swallow hard.

But to be fair to your husband, you do as he suggests. You immediately feel incredibly exposed. “It’s…” You pause, thinking; remembering. “You know when you take a long drive, and somewhere in between towns the radio signal drops out, and there’s nothing but static?” To your surprise, words begin to pour out of you, some kind of overflow triggered by the unexpected vulnerability. “And there’s nothing you can do but keep driving, and trust that you’ll get signal again when you reach the next town?”

You open your eyes again. He has leaned forwards towards you, elbows resting on his spread thighs. His eyebrows knit gently, and he cocks his head slightly, encouraging you to continue. 

“Well… sometimes it’s like that,” you finish lamely, embarrassed at your familiarity with him. 

His tongue darts out of his mouth to lick his lips as he continues to gaze at you with his now familiar, interested intensity. “But you do trust it? That you’ll find the signal again?”

“Mostly, yes,” you reply quietly, meeting his eyes properly as a tingly powerlessness comes over your own body. Breathe, you concentrate, acutely aware of how close he is.

In the next second, two things happen simultaneously. With a sudden jolt, the train rumbles to life and begins to move again, light in the carriage flickering as power is briefly redistributed to the engine. You both gasp in surprise at the unexpected movement.

When your eyes meet again, the spell is broken.

In the same moment, your phone pings a second time. You pull it out, handing it to him when you don’t recognise the number. He swallows, a muscle in his jaw quivering. He takes the phone, smiling stiffly and nodding mechanically as he reads the message; he taps a short reply, then deletes the thread. 

He stands as he hands it back to you. “I think we are not far from your destination,” he smiles, abruptly as poised and controlled as when he had first entered the carriage. The suddenness of the transition from friend to stranger leaves you feeling disoriented. “Thank you for your company, y/n. It’s been a pleasure.” 

You take a breath and lift your chin. “Likewise,” you smile. He nods to you before turning away, and doesn’t look back as he leaves the carriage.

Damn, you think. I didn’t even ask where he's going.

Continued in Part 2

Hope y'all don't mind the tags.

@lokisgoodgirl @gigglingtigger @coldnique @holymultiplefandomsbatman @peaches1958 @chantsdemarins @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @vbecker10 @currish-rosewolfe @muddyorbsblr @so-easy-to-love-me @villainousshakespeare @caffiend-queen @peachyjinx @thomase1 @fictive-sl0th @simplyholl @mochie85 @lokischambermaid @cheekyscamp @sarahscribbles @joyful-enchantress @muddyorbs @lovelysizzlingbluebird

[heartiella]

[poltoreveur]

I can’t fix him but I could fuck him.

[slytherinslut0]

jealousy. | slytherin boy headcanons

author’s note: im completely unhinged, as always. no surprise there. love me some angry snake men🥵 please enjoy.

-your boyfriend sees another guy flirting with you in the hall.

Draco Malfoy.

Sees you from down the hall as he’s walking with his friends.

“You know what, guys, I’ll catch up with you after.”

Would literally ditch his friends to make his way over, collecting himself as saunters up to you and mystery man.

Would instantly grab your ass, no hesitation, grip firm enough to bruise. When you gasp, caught off guard, he’d shift his arm up and around your shoulder, pulling you against him.

“What’re we talking about?” He’d sneer.

His voice would be laced with feign interest, smirking down at you with blaring eyes before shooting daggers at the boy.

He’d simply chuckle at you when you tell him nothing, just school stuff, leaning down to place a possessive kiss on your cheek as he grabbed your hand.

“Wonderful. let’s head to class, yeah?”

He’d pull you away from that dude, shooting him another look meant to kill, a silent warning not to fuck with him.

Finally gets you alone in an empty corridor or bathroom; would waste literally no time at all before pushing you against the wall and grabbing your neck/jaw.

“Who the fuck was that, hm?”, “he was practically eye-fucking you…give me five good reasons why i shouldn’t have him expelled or hexed into bloody Azkaban.”

He’d be furious, but he’d also know that you’d never choose some other guy over him, so he’d soften once he hears the innocence in your tone.

“You’re mine, princess,” he’d loosen his grip, kissing you softly. “Say it.”

Blaise Zabini.

Was listening to music while walking down the hall, instantly rips out his headphones the second he sees you laughing a little too hard with some dude he doesn’t know.

He doesn’t necessarily stop walking, but he’d definitely slow his pace, kind of just watching, not wanting to interfere but also not wanting to look creepy stalking you from a distance.

When the guy doesn’t leave, he’d tired of waiting, saying “fuck it”, before marching over naturally.

This man is so fucking cool calm and collected he’d just saunter right up and join in, making himself at home.

He’d practically take over the conversation because he’s literally just that chill in every situation, seamlessly fitting right in, so fucking charming and loved by everyone.

You’d kind of just end up staring at him, smiling in silent awe, knowing that this was his way of asserting his place, letting the guy know what the fuck was up.

After the dude leaves he’d just causally look at you, smirking that charming smirk, wetting his lips as he hooked an arm around your shoulder and pulled you close, leaning down for a kiss.

“Ain’t no one getting you without getting me too, babygirl.” He’d murmur against your lips. “let that be known, right now, forever, always.”

Lorenzo Berkshire.

Would literally stop everything. The second he’d see you laughing and smiling he’d be completely unable to focus on anything else and would completely zone out of any conversations with his friends.

Would get like super anxious and flustered pretty much immediately.

Wouldn’t want to intrude so he’d just kind of hang back, wait for you against the wall and try not to stare too much.

His adorable little cheeks would flush, and he’d know he seemed utterly ridiculous so he’d try to busy himself with his shoelace or something while he waits.

You’d quickly cut off the conversation and move over to him, instantly being able to tell that he’s overthinking.

He’d smile at you, though you could still see the concern on his features.

“Who was that guy, darling?”

You’d tell him he was just a friend from class, no one special at all, pulling him in for a hug and giving him a quick smoochie on the cheek.

“Don’t worry enz, no one could ever take your place.”

He’d blush, trying to play it off. “Sorry love, I know you’re my girl.”

You’d take his hand, squeezing him hard, never wanting him to doubt that for a second. “Only yours baby, forever.”

Mattheo Riddle.

“Who the fuck-“

Would literally whip his bag at Theo, hastily shoving through the crowded hallway with blazing eyes, tunnel visioned as he tried to figure out where the fuck this dude found the audacity.

You wouldn’t even have to turn around to know he’s there, you’d be able to literally feel the anger radiating off of him.

You’d already know exactly where this was heading, but you’d also know there was no attempting to stop him because it’s pointless. Everyone in the school knows that.

Matty does what Matty wants, and right now, he wants to fuck up this guys face for even thinking about flirting with you.

You’d simply look up at him, noting his tensed jaw and his dark eyes as he glances between you and the dude, before fixing back on you, wetting his lips before he says,

“Is this fucker bothering you?”

Unable to help it, you’d smirk, shaking your head as you calmly attempted to talk him down.

“No Matty, he just asked if he could borrow my study notes-“

He’d heard more than enough.

“Study notes? Yeah, I don’t fucking think so,”

Without giving the guy a chance to react, he’d reach for his collar, shoving his back against the wall, teeth barred and face contorted in a snarl as he’d hiss:

“Bother my fucking girlfriend again and the only study notes you’ll need are the ones on how to drink out of a fucking straw, understand?”

Not interested in the response, he’d shove the guy away, eyes softening instantly as he moved back over to you, thrusting a hand through your hair as he kissed you like it’d been a hundred years, right in the middle of the hall for everyone to see.

And judging by the intensity in his grip, you’d already know, later that night, he’d be extra fucking sure to ask you who the fuck you belong to while he’s fucking you.

When he finally pulled back, he’d smirk at you. “Some bloody nerve on that guy, huh?”

You’d just shake your head and laugh, taking his hand as the two of you headed for class.

Theodore Nott.

He’d spot you from down the hall, his eyes instantly narrowing, gaze darting around as though he was missing something, as though this was some sort of sick joke.

Surely, this dude is mentally unwell, right? There’s no fucking way that he’s-

Doesn’t bother to think about it for even another fucking second, instantly shoving through the crowd to make his way over.

Proceeds to wrap his arm around your waist, other hand finding your jaw and pulling your lips to his before you could even process it.

Would proceed to full-on make out with you in front of the dude, and I mean tongue and all, his grip on your jaw so tight you’d know exactly what he was trying to do.

His hand around your waist might even slip lower, grazing over your ass, and then that’s when you’d attempt to gather yourself and push him back, completely embarrassed.

He’d just shrug, smirking down at you before he’d finally acknowledge the guys’ presence with literally nothing more than a glare meant to kill.

“Move along,” he’d say to the guy while pulling you away, grip tighter than ever. “This one’s fucking taken.”

As soon as he got you alone he’d be damn sure to remind you that you’re his, and only his, making you beg and whine his name before he fucked you like you deserved the pain.

Tom Riddle.

“AVADA KEDA-“

Lowkey kidding but not really.

No one would even dare because that man would make it clear as fucking day what would happen if they tried.

[venusbyline]

i can fix him (no really i can)

[natti-ice]

18+ mdni

Me: “fuck, I need his cock”

Him: *is literally just words on tumblr*

[c1nnam00n]

how it feels trying to find a fanfic/imagine about a fandom that’s dead and dry

[nottsangel]

— hp porn links ੈ♡˳ 16k celebration.

warning: 18+ only. these are twitter links that contain porn videos. these are not fics.

includes: theodore nott, mattheo riddle, draco malfoy, tom riddle, lorenzo berkshire, pansy parkinson, fred weasley, george weasley, ron weasley and harry potter.

nav . m.list . drabbles m.list

— THEODORE NOTT

brother’s bsf!theo fucking you in your room

sex with toxic!theo after a fight

dealer!theo fucking you in his car

bf!theo using you as a stress reliever

— MATTHEO RIDDLE

roommate!mattheo fucking you while everyone’s asleep

missionary with mattheo in his dorm room

bsf!mattheo helping you relax after a long day

classmate!mattheo fucking you against his desk

— DRACO MALFOY

enemy!draco fingering you in the bathroom

draco pounding into you from behind

dom!draco spanking you when you misbehave

draco sneaking into your dorm room late at night

— TOM RIDDLE

dom!tom fucking your throat

rough sex with tom after you’ve been needy all day long

bf!tom fingering you

tom waking you up in the middle of the night

— LORENZO BERKSHIRE

roommate!enzo fucking you in your room

makeup sex with bf!enzo after an argument

dom!enzo fingering you

reverse cowgirl with bsf!enzo

— PANSY PARKINSON

making out with bsf!pansy

gf!pansy eating you out

pansy fingering you in the bathroom between classes

sleepovers with bsf!pansy

— FRED WEASLEY

bsf!fred eating you out

morning sex with roommate!fred

bf!fred fucking you after you flirt with someone else

riding fred’s face after a stressful day

— GEORGE WEASLEY

bf!george breeding you full

baking with bsf!george

morning sex with roommate!george

george fucking you raw after you pull the condom off

— RON WEASLEY

jerking off sub!ron

riding classmate!ron after class

ron fucking you against the wall

sleepy sex with bf!ron

— HARRY POTTER

needy harry fucking your thighs

missionary with harry

dom!harry fingering you from behind

shower sex with bf!harry

[sp7-mr]

[ruerecs]

PSA! you don't have to have smut in your fic to make it good.

for all the butthurt people in my reblogs, i’m literally a writer too. that’s literally why i made this post, never said you shouldn’t. just said you don’t have to? (all the people complaining about this post just know i’m laughing at your replies🙂‍↕️)

[ophelieverse]

[superficialdomina]

Missed connection - Part 2

A/N: Part 1. Also - this story occurs in an AU where Tom is single and available. Only one person is cheating here, and its not our baby faced angel.

Warnings: Smut. 18+; minors DNI. Infidelity. Fingering, oral (f receiving). Utter self-indulgent nonsense.

Summary: Another chance run-in with Tom. This time it’s hot.

W/C: 2.8k

It had been a perfect week in Padua. The conference had been as you'd anticipated; long, challenging days of forced socialising and extraversion which left you feeling exhausted, but you'd had good feedback on the research you presented, and you had met some wonderful people who might become collaborators - friends, even. And in your downtime you had unashamedly embraced Padua; visiting the museums and basilicas, seeing the Scrovegni chapel and seeking out the underground Roman ruins. You had spent your mornings walking the beautiful lanes of the Botanic gardens, and afternoons sipping aperitifs at the café below your AirBnB. 

The warm, sunny days had been punctuated by occasional stormy downpours. Just like this one, you think, watching the heavy rain drench the warm pavement from your covered café table. The smells, the sounds, the click of heels on cobblestones; it all enfolded you with a sweet joy that you didn’t want to end.

End. You suck in your cheeks, thinking momentarily of your husband. Once, you had both been deeply committed to the concept of monogamy; when love was fresh, and temptation seemed immaterial, if not unthinkable. But over time, your precious optimism had waned. You knew that you had both, at times, found your best intentions to be worthless in the face of a compelling attraction. Were occasional acts of infidelity deal breakers in your marriage? 

Distrust and discord grow where betrayal is exposed. And so you had set aside your fairytale expectations, with simple rules: don’t ask, don’t tell, don’t catch feelings.

Your eyes glaze over and you sink quietly into yourself, sipping your aperol and thinking back over the past few nights. Ever since your encounter on the train, it has been hard to concentrate on anything... except him. Replaying your conversation over and over, cringing at things you had said, regretting things you had not. Analysing his every word, every movement, every expression. Was that hint of chemistry real? Had you imagined it? 

The more you had reflected on it, the more you realised that it was simply his talent at putting people at ease. He was charming - the internet all agreed. It was just who he was. And nothing to do with who YOU were.

More than that, it was irrelevant. It was over. A fascinating, inexplicable blip in your otherwise mundane existence, and beyond that, meaningless.

But no amount of reasoning or personal berating could stop you fantasising about an imagined alternate ending to your brief encounter with Tom. Instead, you had spent your nights alone in your sweet little loft apartment, touching yourself mercilessly to the thought of him. His beautiful, expressive face and his broad, perfect body. His eyes. His mouth. The rumours of his amorous talents and his impressive endowment. The feel of his hand in yours that one moment you had touched… Gods, you are in public, you chastise yourself, looking around, embarrassed, to ensure no-one is watching you. 

And it's then - as you pass a cursory, sheepish glance around you, wondering if the nearby strangers could read the filthy thoughts running through your mind - that you see him. Head down, hood up, utterly soaked by the unexpected downpour and uselessly trying to find cover under the straight-sided buildings across the street. 

Is it him? It’s hard to make out his face under his sodden hood. But his long, lean body, broad shoulder blades curving down to that slender waist, powerful thighs in tight jeans… The sight of him sends a shot of heat to your core, primed by the fantasies you’ve been indulging in all week. Either it’s him, or there’s two of them, you think. 

Softly, you call his name. 

He looks up, frowning warily. You inhale sharply as his features come into view; fuck, that perfect face. You press your thighs together and take a steadying breath. You raise a couple of fingers in greeting - and feel yourself melt into a puddle when he smiles in recognition. 

In three long strides he is across the narrow street and beside you under the cafe awning. He reaches up and gracefully slides his hood back, revealing sodden curls stuck to his sharp cheekbones. Droplets from his damp hair continue to run down his strong, sharp nose; he wipes rain from his eyes and your cunt pulses delightfully at the sight.

“Y/n,” he smiles.

“Hello, Tom,” you grin in return, the lust coursing through you making you confident. “Forgotten your umbrella?”

“Ah-,” he starts, chuckling self-depreciatingly. “Yes. Well, truth be told, I don’t have one.” Water continues to trickle down his face from his damp hair, disappearing into his soaking grey hoodie which clings delightfully to his broad shoulders and chest. 

“Are you - are you trying to get somewhere?” You motion in the direction he had been headed. “This street doesn’t go anywhere but to the church at the end.”

He sighs dramatically. “Actually, I’m… lost,” he confesses. “I was trying to get to the Prato della Valle but - my phone battery went flat, and I don’t know the way.”

You laugh warmly. He really is lovely. “Again? Are you Candy Crushing it to death?” He looks at you, confused. You think quickly; try and fail to stop yourself nervously wetting your lips with your tongue.

“I - the place I’m staying is right above here,” you hesitate for a second. Gods, this is so presumptuous. “Would you - I can offer you a towel - and a phone charger?” His mouth curls up at the very edges. 

He lowers his eyes to his soaked clothing. “That would be… very welcome,” he smiles. 

***

You step inside the bright loft apartment, and he ducks his head to follow. The apartment is flooded with the stormy afternoon light pouring in through large kitchen windows; a small staircase twists up to an open mezzanine bedroom, while a narrow corridor leads to a bathroom and laundry behind. 

“Please - ah, make yourself comfortable,” you motion to the small kitchen table. The space suddenly feels small and intimate as he fills it with his size. “There’s a phone charger next to the stove. I’ll - I’ll find you  a towel.” You disappear briefly down the short hallway. When you return a minute later, he has stripped off his soaking hoodie and stands in a skin-tight white t-shirt, wet and translucent. His beautifully sculpted torso is as clear as if he had been topless. Fucking hell. Was fantasising about a celebrity lover a betrayal of your marriage?

“Can I - would you like some tea?” you stammer, trying not to stare at his beautiful frame and turning to place the kettle on the stove. When you turn back, he is examining something picked up from the table; your conference lanyard and name tag.

“Dr. y/n?” The smile he gives you has a hint of mischief. 

You laugh. “Yes, but not that kind of doctor,” you reply. “I’m a research scientist.”

“I see that,” he says, returning your lanyard to the table and taking the towel from you. 

He aggressively rubs the towel over his saturated curls, face obscured for a moment, and when he reappears he is so delightfully dishevelled that you almost moan with lust. If I could just run my fingers through those locks…

Images of him rise in you, unbidden. His face in your hands. His naked body under yours. What precious, secret sounds did he make at the height of passion? How did his perfect face contort in the moment of orgasm?

He continues to look at you intently, his face enigmatic. And so beautiful. The urge to reach out and grab his shirt - pull him towards you and feel his solid form against you, embrace him - is almost overpowering. Every filthy deed that had occurred between you in your midnight imaginings races through your mind, so loud that surely he must hear it. The wet arousal pooling between your legs leaves a warm slick between your thighs, threatening to expose you.

You make a desperate attempt to compose yourself. “Ha-,” you stammer, remembering something you want to ask him, “have you been in Padua all week?”

“Ah - yes,” he admits. “Actually, I’m glad to see you. I’ve… I’ve been thinking about you.” 

His words make you freeze. Surely that’s a lie. His face is still unreadable. 

“I wanted to apologise for… For how we parted on the train,” he continues quickly, momentarily averting his eyes, nervously licking his lips as he looks down at his large, beautiful hands. “The abruptness with which I… left.” His tone drops, and his rich, gravely voice sends another pulse of electricity through your core.

You begin to shake your head, ready to defend his right to maintain his distance from you, remind him that he owes you nothing - but your breath catches in your throat as he looks back to you, smiling gently, his eyes soft and a little… That look again. Why does he seem so sad? 

“Why did you?” You’re not sure what makes you so brazen. But the words are out before you can reconsider them.

He opens his mouth to reply, but is interrupted by a shrill whistle. You jump in shock at the intrusion, then move quickly to take the kettle off the stove. Thank the Gods, an excuse to look away from him for a moment. You weren’t sure how much more of his presence you could take before you’d need to excuse yourself for some relief…

You hear him move a second before he touches you. As his hands come to rest gently on your hips, you let out a low gasp, traitorous arousal blossoming within you, deep and iniquitous. His warm, sticky torso presses against you, and you feel the wetness of his shirt seep through yours as you grip tight to the tea cup you are holding. Your one anchor to the real world. What the fuck is happening?

When he speaks, his words are soft and deep, his mouth close to your ear. “I confess, I found myself shocked at the vulnerability I felt,” he murmurs. “All your talk of time, and living, and radio signals.” You hear the playful smile in his words, and your eyes close involuntarily. Your breath comes quick and hard, the sweet tension deep in your core pulsing and writhing like a caged animal. “And in a moment of clarity, instead of being grateful, I was… Ashamed.” He inhales deeply as though breathing you in, his lips still millimetres from your skin. “I apologise.”

The rules. Don't ask, don't tell, don't catch feelings.

You don’t speak, terrified that you might break whatever spell he is weaving. Slowly, and so, so gently, he brushes his mouth across your neck; you can feel his breath as he exhales. A wordless sound of pleasure escapes you as you roll your head back into his chest, willing him to pull you closer. To hold you. Your cunt clenches and begins to weep uncontrollably. 

“Is this alright?” he murmurs softly. Eyes still closed and involuntarily mute, you can only nod. Gently, he reaches around you and untangles your fingers from the handle of the tea cup, placing it safely on the bench top. 

The feel of his fingers on yours is like fire whiskey to your belly. Fuuuck, you want to scream, but your mouth refuses to make the sounds. You reach behind you, finding and gripping his solid thighs, and you lean into his chest as his beautiful hands explore your waist, your hips, the outer curve of your breast. His long, hard erection is pressed into your back, resting neatly above your cheeks, and his mouth continues to move wetly, assertively, across the soft skin of your neck. You are utterly lost to this moment, utterly present, as though the Universe consists only of the tiny space occupied by your bodies. 

At last you find the capacity to turn and face him. He grins at you, sweet and boyish and joyful, and you pull his face towards you, pressing your lips to his and opening your mouth to accept his exploratory tongue. Pausing to pull his still-damp shirt over his head and carelessly discard it, you let your hands travel the expanse of his chest and abdomen; every muscular, sinewy ridge and curve a new carnal delight. 

Don't... Tell...

His fingertips press into the soft curve of your ass, and suddenly he lifts you off the ground, placing you roughly on the counter. You meet his eyes and for the briefest moment you are astonished by the wildness reflected back at you, a blaze of desire and animalistic need. At the sight of him all askew with lust, you find your voice.

“F-fuck, Tom - fuck,”, you gasp, his mouth returning to suck open-mouthed kisses along your neck. “What- what happened?”

He moans deeply as you say his name. “I’ve thought of little else since I left you on the train,” he growls into the space of your clavicle, tongue still moving across your skin, leaving prickly goosebumps in its wake. 

“U-uuh ha ha,” you manage to pant out a laugh, “what an unlikely coincidence.”

He chuckles into your neck, a deep, reverberating noise that vibrates through his upper body. His hands search for the edge of your skirt, pushing it up to expose your thighs and underwear. His fingers loop into the lacy trim, deftly peeling them from you, unveiling your wet, swollen folds. He steps back momentarily to admire you. 

“May I take you upstairs?” he asks, his voice husky. You can only nod again, and in seconds he has you in his arms, your legs wrapped around him tightly as he ascends the small staircase to the mezzanine. You loosely take a handful of his luscious hair, gently pulling his face to yours and kissing him deeply once more. 

When he reaches the bed, he deposits you roughly. You hear a soft thud as he falls to his knees on the floor, then feel his large, gentle hands roam their way up your thighs again. He hooks his arms under your knees and smoothly pulls you towards him so that your ass rests at the edge of the mattress, your skirt lost way up around your hips, your slick folds exposed to him. His fingers press into your soft flesh again, and he draws long, wet kisses up your inner thighs.

He meets your eyes again for a moment. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says clearly, and then his face is lost from view as he places his perfect mouth on you. 

The bliss is instant and exquisite. Your fingers search for any part of him you can hold, finding purchase in his still-damp curls; you writhe as he expertly runs his tongue across your outer folds, teasing, testing. You struggle not to press your hips into him as his strong, practised tongue explores you. Slowly dipping inside you, drawing the sweet nectar from you as you fall towards the precipice of release. Finally finding that hot, hard mound of pleasure, his flat, firm tongue massaging you, lips meeting to gently suck that most sensitive bud. 

“F-fuck, yes,” you moan, lost in the rhythm of his movements, giving in to the moment, to him. “Yes, there - u-uh, right there.” 

At last, he slips his fingers inside you, twisting and scissoring before curling up to rhythmically move against the underside of your clit. It was too perfect. Your walls clenched around his wonderful fingers, the rush of climax threatening to overwhelm you.

“I’m - uugh, Tom, I’m c-coming,” you groan thickly. And powerfully, beautifully, pleasure crashes over you, wave after wave; he guides you through your blissful release with his mouth and hands, until your thudding heart gently places you back down in the world. 

You lie still for a moment, eyes closed, breathless, letting your blood settle back into your body. You open your eyes again when you feel him close to you. 

You can’t help laughing at his boyish grin, his expressive face smeared with your wet arousal as he kisses you deeply, joyfully. 

You let out a long, delicious sigh. “That was…” You trail off.

“You were exquisite, darling,” he says, finding your hand and lifting your fingers to his mouth. He presses slow kisses against your skin, leaving a trail of your own sticky residue. Flush with orgasm as you are, the term of endearment makes you want to laugh aloud.

Warm, evening light fills the apartment; the rain has cleared, and the bright sun is setting. The world continues turning, you muse absently. 

Don’t ask… Don’t tell….

Don’t think, you tell yourself sternly. Just be.

You reach out to find his body, firm and lean and obnoxiously sculpted. 

“I hope we’re not done,” you mutter, and pull him close again.

***

@gigglingtigger @coldnique @holymultiplefandomsbatman @peaches1958 @chantsdemarins @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @vbecker10 @currish-rosewolfe @muddyorbsblr @so-easy-to-love-me @villainousshakespeare @caffiend-queen @peachyjinx @thomase1 @fictive-sl0th @simplyholl @mochie85 @lokischambermaid @sarahscribbles @joyful-enchantress @lovelysizzlingbluebird @dangertoozmanykids101

OK I lied - apparently there are three parts here. I’m not ready for them to say goodbye just yet.

Continued in Part 3

@give-me-a-moose @maple-seed

[aemondfairy]

The Albatross

summary: Originally an unlikely match, you give birth to Aegon’s first child and his entire world changes.

pairing: Aegon x Strong!Reader

word count: 767

warnings: Description of pain & childbirth, brief mention of blood, guilt.

note: “Albatross” is used metaphorically as a psychological burden dealing with shame or guilt! (and shout out to Taylor Swift)

Aegon wanted to hate you. He wanted to hate your hair and your eyes. Your thick eyelashes, the freckles that dusted your cheeks, the way your nose scrunched when you laughed. Despite wanting to hate you in your entirety, he found himself physically incapable of doing so. As a young boy he refused to admit it, even going so far as to tease you for your features — but he thought you were beautiful. If anything, you could’ve resembled his mother more than a Targaryen.

It wasn’t your features that were wrong, but who you inherited them from; you and your brother’s served as living, breathing reminders of Rhaenyra’s infidelity.

Alicent Hightower had been sure to remind him and his siblings that you and your brothers were a product of their older sister's infidelity. An embarrassment to the family. An insult to the crown, to the realm. Abominations. Bastards.

Screams of pain shook the walls of the Red Keep.

“I can’t do this anymore, Aegon! Please make it stop, it hurts!” you rasped, clawing at the blood-soaked bedsheets. It had been almost 24 hours since your labors had begun. To everyone's surprise, Aegon had yet to leave your side.

“We’re almost there, my love. You’re doing a great job,” your husband encouraged as he placed a chaste kiss to your sweat-drenched forehead, which you only returned with a death glare.

“I cannot take it anymore! Just get it out! Cut it out if you have to!”

One of your handmaids tried to dab at your forehead with a cloth, but you gripped her hand forcefully.

Aegon gave her a sympathetic look as he got her out of your grasp, locking his fingers with yours.

“You know we can’t do that, my love. I will not risk losing you.”

You winced as your midwife slid a finger around the base of your opening. All day long you had been violated against your will. Childbirth was not only painful, but humiliating. For Aegon’s sake, you silently prayed the babe was a boy. You weren’t sure if you would be willing to go through this again.

“I can feel the head, your grace. Just a few more big pushes for me and the babe will be here.”

You groaned loudly, your teeth grinding together as another contraction wracked your frame. Pain radiated down your spine and into your groin. You felt like you were being ripped apart at the seams. Being eaten by Sunfyre seemed to be a more pleasant fate than this.

“You hear that? You’re almost done. You’re doing so good.”

You squeezed onto Aegon’s hand as hard as you could, pushing with all the strength in your body. The harder you pushed, the sooner it would be over. You needed it to be over. With a final push, your vision began to blur and your mind went blank.

Before you knew it, loud cries pulled you back to Earth, and coo’s from your handmaidens filled the room. You laid back with a sigh of relief.

Finally.

The handmaids quickly handed the babe to Aegon so you could get cleaned up.

“A girl,” she stated proudly, “and she looks just like you, my queen.”

“Like me?” You shot up.

“Lay back your grace, you need to relax,” she scolded you.

Throughout your pregnancy there was a fear in the back of your mind, that if the babe inherited your features that Aegon would be disappointed. Turns out, you couldn’t have been more wrong.

“Yes,” he chuckled, tears swelling in his eyes, “like you. She is absolutely beautiful.”

He placed the baby in your arms, smiling down at the two of you.

A wave of guilt had crashed over Aegon at the sight of his newborn daughter. As well as your initial reaction to her looks. Thinking about the torment you endured for those same features in a world full of violet eyes and snow-white hair. How could he have been so cruel to you for something so fickle?

He couldn’t help but think about Ser Harwin Strong. And the fact that he probably shared the same thoughts as him the first time he laid eyes on you as a babe. This baby was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen and the thought of anyone making her believe anything else made his blood boil. He would simply not allow it. Anyone who even dare whisper a word regarding your daughters features would lose their tongue for it.

Although the responsibility of sitting the Iron Throne loomed heavy over Aegon’s head it wasn’t until this very moment that he had true reason to be motivated to rule: his new family

[poltoreveur]

“He’s a villain! You only like him because he’s hot.”

Okay and?

[actually-mentally-ill]

[cosmicschmidt]

I need this man biblically.