#tom glide

[jaxsonthefirefly]

this is my roman empire btw

the phantom is literally my #1 blorbo rn

[majestyeverlasting]

the moments in between

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader 

Summary: When Joel and Ellie arrive at the Jackson commune, his strong frame and intense gaze captivate you, but as the days pass, you lose hope that he might be drawn to you as well. That is, until the walls come crashing down and the truth finally reveals itself.

Word Count: 7.3k [slow burn]

A/N: I put a lot of love and time into this one. It's my longest fic so far but it didn't feel hard, which I like to believe is a good thing. Hope it resonates, hope you feel the feels and the yearning between these two—let me know! Hope you're well.

A breeze follows Tommy as he saunters in through the doors of the Tipsy Bison, the soft click of his boot heels echoing off the wood with each easy step. The cowboy hat on his head casts a shadow over his eyes until he takes it off, his dark hair cascading down over his ears. There’s a small smile playing on his lips that makes you narrow your eyes.

Cleaning the bartop suddenly loses its appeal, but you don’t stop, only slow down. The fresh, tangy scent of lemongrass continues to waft up from the motion.     

“We close early on Sunday’s, officer,” you tease as he climbs onto a stool. 

He frowns as he sets his hat aside. “I don’t look like a cop, do I?” You shrug, and he chuckles as his gaze roves over to the pool room. “Nate back there? Yo, Nate!” 

“Evening, Tom,” the older man calls back as he polishes a cue ball. 

“Joel’s made it into town.” There’s no overt emotion in the way he shares the news, but you can see that it’s all in his eyes as he waits for you to react.  

“Joel, Joel? As in your brother?” He nods, still in disbelief himself. “Oh my gosh, that’s amazing, Tommy—right? What the heck.” He used to talk about him all the time. 

His exhale makes way for a shaky smile, “I know. Made it in not too long ago with a young girl he’s looking after,” he tells you, voice thick with a mix of emotions. “He’s outside. Wanted to come in and see if you’d let us grab a drink.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Know it’s late. Promise I’ll make up for the trouble.” He knows it’s no trouble. Not when it comes to him. 

He turns around, barstool squeaking, and waves Joel in through the window. 

You move to start working on their whiskies. “Make it up by letting me be the baby’s godmother?” The glasses clink as you set them onto the bar and begin pouring the caramel colored liquid, smirking when you meet his gaze.

Tommy isn’t completely opposed to the idea. You’d been in Jackson since the beginning, a friend to him and Maria in every sense of the word. Arguably family. “If you can manage not to tick me off until the little one gets here.” Despite his words, his eyes are fond. 

The door creaks open, and Joel strides in, scanning the room. There are pictures on the walls of American icons and landmarks, and old Polaroids of commune members. There’s a guarded confidence to the way he walks, an intensity. 

Tommy quickly leans in and whispers, “He means well. It’s been a long day.” 

Joel takes a seat beside his brother and acknowledges you with a curt nod, tugging on the collar of his shirt.  

“Welcome to Jackson,” you greet, introducing yourself afterwards.

“Joel,” he says, taking you in with a steady gaze. 

“Tommy’s told me a lot about you.” You push their glasses closer to them in an encouragement to start drinking.

Joel takes his first sip and fights back a reflexive grimace. It’s been a while, but it's good. Good enough to make him feel pleasantly warm as it glides down. Tommy drinks off his brother’s lead, and you realize just how alike they look. Joel’s hair is a little shorter and accented with streaks of gray, but they both have those same dark, telling eyes. 

They fall into light conversation, but it’s clearly not what they'd talk about if they were alone. That’s when you sense the distance. The slight edge to the space between them. It’s why Tommy resorts to drawing you in, the two of you ripping off each other as Joel listens, fine with not having to speak until this whole little ordeal was winding to an end. However, he does sit up a little straighter whenever you laugh. You pour them more whiskey when their glasses get empty.     

Eventually, the remaining light outside fades away. Tommy hisses at the sight, standing. “I gotta get home to Maria,” he says, stretching his back. Joel moves to get up too, until, “At least finish off this glass, man. You’ve earned it.” Tommy squeezes his brother’s shoulder. He means it genuinely, at least. “I’ll catch up with you tomorrow, Joel. Thanks again for this,” he tells you. 

“Bye, sheriff,” you call after him. Tommy scoffs.  

Joel realizes just how quiet it is when you move aside to tinker with a bison trinket sitting on the counter, unsure of what to say with Tommy gone. He knows you can see him looking at you. “So, are you here by yourself?” he finally asks. 

A playful smile tugs at your lips. “That’s not a creepy question at all,” you tease, quickly gathering that he doesn’t find the implication funny. “Uncle Nate?” you call. 

“Busy!”  

You raise your brows at Joel. “Not alone.”

Nate was chosen family. The man taught you everything you know about shooting, fishing, and survival even though you gave him a hard time for it when you were younger. He was also the founder of the Tipsy Bison. He only came into the bar on the weekends when he wasn't on patrol. His time in the military all those years ago made it hard to step away from a life of service. 

“We were cleaning when Tommy came in,” you tell Joel. He takes in that information wordlessly. 

“You aren’t much for talking, are you?” Joel takes a sip from his glass. “Nothing wrong with that. Must mean you don’t miss much. Really observant.” When he doesn’t respond, you smile shyly, realizing he probably just wanted to relax after a long day. “Guess I won’t stand here and talk your ears off.” 

The floor creaks as you disappear into the recreation room with Nate, rounding the corner. Joel exhales, shoulders dropping from being drawn up. He almost misses your company. 

Nate sits hunched over a word search puzzle, using the pool table as if it's a normal desk. He doesn’t look up at you, even when you give an affectionate tug to his curly gray ponytail. It was something you’d been doing since the days you both were out on your own and had to stay quiet all the time. Back when there was no safety, no security, no commune. 

“Ouch,” he drones, unphased. 

“Are you gonna come out and meet Tommy's brother?” you ask, low so Joel can’t hear. “I feel like you guys have a lot in common: brooding and grumpy.” Pride flutters in your chest when the man’s lips twitch. 

“I’ll meet him… eventually. Gotta finish this puzzle.” You realize there’s a small hourglasses going, the sand swiftly filling the bottom portion. “There ya are—serendipity.” He circles the letters. 

Word searches were something he recently started doing. When you have a past as extensive as his, it’s always chasing after you in one way or another. Especially in those quiet moments that sneak up on you. He claimed that seeking out words from amid an ordered chaos keeps the racing thoughts at bay whenever they come rushing in. 

Joel is finished by the time you join him again, and you realize he’d waited instead of calling out. Already standing, ready to go. 

“Anything else I can get you?” 

He shakes his head. “I appreciate your hospitality.” 

Joel turns to leave but you keep talking, “So I reckon Tommy already squared you away with a house and a tour of the town?” 

He stops. “I’m across the street from him. Gettin’ the tour tomorrow.”  

“That’s great, I’m really glad you found us.” You sound so genuine that there’s a flutter in his gut. “We’re a pretty crazy bunch, but I think you’re gonna like it here.” 

“Hope so.” Those are the words he leaves you with.

Your eyes stay trained on his back as he makes his way towards the door, stride the same as when he first arrived. Perhaps a little looser. Before he exits the bar, his eyes catch a glimpse of one of the decorative license plates secured to the wall: Austin, Texas. 

Shortly after he makes it outside, his heart rate ticks up in that impending way he wishes wasn’t so familiar, breath catching in his throat as if he’d forgotten how to breathe. There’s no escaping the panic as it sets in, surging through him. A few staggering steps allow him to brace a hand on a wooden directory board. 

You see it all from inside. At first, you think he’s trying to read the sign, but then he hunches over more and grips his chest. Without thinking, you jog towards the doors. 

“Joel?” You call once you’ve broken outside. 

It’s a cool spring night, a crescent moon shares its pale glow from above. Most of Jackson is already tucked away inside or at least halfway there. But in this sliver of time, it feels like it’s just the two of you outside. Joel doesn’t let on that he’d heard you, but the moment you’re close enough, you recognize what’s going on. You press your palm to his back to let him know you’re there. That he’s still here. 

“Concentrate on your breathing. In and out, just like that,” you encourage, settling on rubbing his back in measured passes. Then you go quiet on the off chance he needs that. 

In your newfound silence, Joel is forced to focus on the shaky breaths rising from his lungs. That’s when he accepts he’s not in control. Not in the grand scheme of things. There’s a whole big fallen world just outside the gates of this haven. A world that had taken people he loved and was cruel enough to let him be the one who lived to tell the tale. The heat that rises to his cheeks is made up of frustration more than distress, crackling like pop. Like coals. 

The ground takes on a vignette as he stares at it, his vision briefly closes in. You never withdraw your touch. 

When his breaths eventually begin to steady, you remember how to breathe yourself. With a tired exhale, he straightens back up to his full height, and you take a few small steps away. Maybe this wasn’t new, but a fact of life for the man who’d rode into Jackson in an air of mystery and a young girl by his side. Maybe he never wanted you to get a glimpse at this side of him. If he feels that way, he doesn’t make it obvious. He almost looks appreciative that you’d bothered enough to care. 

“Sorry to scare you,” he rasps, not meeting your gaze even though he can feel it. You want to tell him that there isn’t much that scares you anymore. At least that’s what you like to believe. “I’m usually alone.” 

Except, tonight, he wasn’t. And maybe that wasn’t such a terrible thing. 

•••

Howdy Stranger

This is Jackson Hole

The last of the Old West 

Joel reads the painted wooden sign as Tommy and Maria show him and Ellie around. There are people everywhere. Children playing outside, adults fluttering in and out of shops. All while the Teton mountains loom and watch over it all with their snow-capped peaks. He looks over at the girl when she nudges his arm, pointing to a Calico lounging on a porch. Despite her beaming smile, all he offers is a low hum. 

It was hard to be in the now when his thoughts were split between the past and future. Up until Jackson, there was no such thing as stability, and he couldn’t help but think about the day that the rug would be pulled from beneath the commune as well. Ellie’s smile fades when she notices the harsh squint of his face. He kicks himself for it.   

“Cat hater,” she mumbles under her breath.

Joel grunts and directs his attention back to his brother. 

When the tour comes to an inevitable end, Ellie sings Jackson’s praises after Tommy and Maria go their separate ways with a promise to reconnect later that day. He lets her talk as they make their way back to their new house, idly agreeing every once in a while. A few curious eyes fall on them as they walk, but Joel doesn’t pay them any mind. 

“Dude, are you even listening to me?” Ellie stops walking to give him a flat look. 

“I hear you,” he insists. “Been hearing you for the past ten minutes.”

There’s no snark in his tone, but Ellie still feels the slight sting of offense. “Well, sorry for being excited about having a nice place to live for once. It’s not like I was born into hell or anything—I mean the Boston QZ.” Sarcasm drips from her voice as she starts walking again, faster so it looks like they’re not together.

Joel swallows down guilt like it’s just another pill. His legs are long, so it doesn’t take much to catch back up with her.

“Hey…Kid…Ellie.” She keeps ignoring him. “This is new for me too, okay? Everybody’s got a different way of processing, can we agree on that?” It’s a fair enough proposal. He never had been forward when it came to sharing his thoughts. “Wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” she murmurs, deciding to take a break from her rambling for his sake. The mutual silence isn’t so bad. 

Someone he isn’t expecting to see is you. You’re wearing a backpack and ushering a line of young kids into the community center. One of the little girls stops and stretches her arms up towards you, earning a playful eyeroll before being lifted onto your hip. Joel doesn’t miss the way the afternoon sunlight catches your face. 

•••

The next day, a faint thump against the door startles Ellie as she sketches in the dining room. Rather than getting up from the table, she remains still, pencil in hand and brows furrowed. Upstairs, the spray of the shower continues as Joel lets it drown out everything else. Three light knocks eventually sound, and she musters up the courage to scurry to the front. 

She peeks out the window first, spotting you. Someone she hadn’t seen around. An amused smile pulls at her lips at the way you’ve seemingly wrestled the big basket you’re holding into a better grip than before. 

When she opens the door, you let out a relieved sigh. “Special delivery,” you say before introducing yourself. 

“That’s a really pretty name,” she compliments, already warming up to you. “I’m Ellie—is all that stuff for us?” When you nod, she excitedly steps aside and ushers you in. 

“I’m not gonna say you shouldn’t have because that’d be a lie,” she shamelessly admits. “You can put it right over here.” You follow her into the living room and place the welcome basket on the coffee table. 

A few of the ladies you volunteer with helped you put it together after your shift counseling for the spring break camp. There were cookies, seeds, natural soaps, feminine hygiene products, and even a knit blanket that looked particularly soft and cozy. Ellie wastes no time reaching out to run her fingers over it. A laugh bubbles up your throat when her jaw drops. 

“This is literally what clouds feel like.” She haphazardly pulls the blanket out the basket, wrapping it around herself like a cape. “If Joel says anything, this was specifically included for me.” 

“I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt to share if he asked nicely,” you reason, amused. Ellie’s nose wrinkles. “But to be fair, we did think you’d be the one to really appreciate it.”

She smiles at being considered. “Who made it? This is, like, next level.” 

“A woman named Emilia,” you tell her. “She actually made me one back when Jackson was first being built up that I still have,” you tell her, taking a seat on the couch and looking around. The evening sunlight pours in through the windows, casting golden streaks onto the floors. “Now she’s always got a few on standby.” 

Ellie sits beside you, reaching out to dig through the other contents in awe. “They told us the commune's only, like, seven years old on our tour yesterday,” she recounts. Think you’ll have your blanket forever?” 

“Forever’s an awful long time. It might hold up,” you think aloud. Ellie nods, contemplative. “I can take you by to meet her sometime, if you’d like. She’s the resident seamstress, so you’ll probably end up crossing paths anyways.” 

“What about you? What do you do?” she asks, giving you her full attention. 

“I mainly help coordinate community events. Been stepping in to assist with the youth spring break camp for the last couple days, though,” you say. “Also bartend on the nights that I feel like it. Just for fun, you know?” 

Ellie's face lights up. “I’ve had whiskey before.” She puffs out her chest when she says it, and you play into her pride by raising an impressed brow. The first and last time you had a sip was when you snuck it from Nate as a teen. “But that’s really cool, though. The community stuff and all that.” You can tell by her tone that she means it. In more ways than one, you’re reminded of your younger self. 

“Joel’s gonna join the patrol. He says I’m too young, but that’s just bullshit.” She says the last part lower as if he’s somewhere listening. “I’ll figure out a way to make him cave.” There’s an air of confidence to her voice that suggests she’s done it before. The thought warms a tiny portion of your chest.

“I’ve gone out with my uncle Nate a few times. It can be a lot,” you admit. “He just wants you safe, Nate’s the same way.” 

As Joel stops at the top of the staircase, freshly showered, he catches those last words. He’d know your voice even if it’d been forever. His footsteps are quiet as he descends the stairs, but you hear him coming nevertheless. Ellie’s too busy sniffing the pine soap as you straighten up and glance his way. Joel’s eyes are as observant as you remember when they land on you, seeing into you, it seems. His damp hair is combed back in a way that makes him look more distinguished. 

“There you are.” You stand up with a smile. You’d been wondering how he was doing since the panic attack.

He wishes your warmth wasn't so compelling.  

Ellie whips around to look at him. “I know you said not to open the door to strangers—which is practically everybody at this point—but she’s really nice and brought us gifts so you can’t be mad at me,” she rushes out. He clocks the blanket around her shoulders. 

He hmphs. “That’s how they get you.” He’s not being serious, but Ellie frowns, trying to read through his eternal poker face. “Treats and a friendly smile.” Your lips twitch in amusement as Ellie narrows her eyes. 

When Joel starts walking your way, she consoles herself with the fact that he would've already asked you to leave if he sensed your intentions were off. The commune wasn’t filled with questionable people like that anyways. The two of them didn’t have to be apprehensive of every soul they came across anymore. 

He’s close enough now that you can smell the cedar soap on his skin. “I’m not a stranger,” you lightly defend. “Not entirely.” You look from Ellie to Joel. 

A wall rises in real time, shutting you out right along with the night you met. It happens in his eyes just like everything does. He hadn’t mentioned you to her, and it was your mistake for believing he would’ve at least passed on a name. 

You swallow back a small lump in your throat that may not be entirely just. “Anyways, hopefully you guys will be able to put this stuff to use.” 

“Of course we will,” Ellie pipes up. “Are you leaving already?” She hadn’t missed the finality that had crept into your tone. 

You nod. “Don’t wanna take up too much of your evening. I actually meant to come by sooner.” 

“Well, are you going to the dining hall for dinner?” Her gaze flicks to Joel. “Maybe you can come with us.” 

Joel knows he’s in trouble when he hears the fondness in Ellie’s voice. It’s the same sentiment he was straining to tamper down within himself. Every time he opened his mouth or looked at you, it tried to claw its way to the forefront. The last thing he needed was another person getting close enough to see that he was a million tiny pieces being held together by the glue of whatever god was keeping him alive. 

You decline her invitation, expressing plans to go to your uncle’s place. But you give her a rain check. When you go to leave, Joel allows his eyes to flitter down the rest of your body. 

That wouldn’t be the last he saw of you. But it was always from afar, lingering on the outskirts. Wishing there was a seamless way he could fall into your orbit without sending everything spiraling out of control. 

You were always looking right back at him with hope in your eyes, holding space. Waiting for your world to be shaken. 

•••

Laughter, chatter, and music drown out the insects that usually take precedence at night. Weeks of planning had finally come into fruition. All of Main Street is lined with fairy lights that cast their warm glow down on the summer festival. There was no shortage of entertainment, games, and food. It was a time to let loose and relish the sweetness in the air along with that of life. 

Nate plays his harmonica for a group of children around the bonfire, all clapping and stomping along. A smile graces your face as you walk by, waving at him. The fullness of your heart almost overrides the ache that has settled in the arches of your feet. You’d barely sitten down since earlier that morning when preparation began. There was a sense of responsibility that came along with the orange vest you were dawned in. The pressure to assist, and guide, and answer questions wasn’t all on you, but the other volunteers were better at taking breaks. 

Tommy’s grainy voice breaks into the air through a megaphone, “Thirteen-and-up three-legged races starting in five minutes, this is your last call. Grab a partner and make your way over to the east lawn,” he says. “Again, this is the last call.”

Joel and Ellie already happen to be seated at a picnic table that gives them a perfect view of the race setup and Tommy facilitating in an orange vest of his own. Ellie had already worked through her first honey cake and was eyeing Joel’s. He pretends not to notice until she looks up at him all wide-eyed.  

“Can I—” he slides his plate over to her. “Thanks.” 

“Your eyes are bigger than your stomach,” he lightly accuses, shaking his head. 

“What does that even mean?” She takes a bite. “Weirdo.” 

Joel just grumbles and tosses a napkin her way. She wipes her mouth and keeps staring at him. Not because she’s waiting for an answer, but because there’s amusement sparkling in his eyes. Which happens more often now that they’d had a couple months to settle into Jackson. A laugh was coming, she could feel it. 

“Quit gawking at me and eat.” There’s a tell-tale waver in his voice. 

“No.” Ellie lightly kicks his shin beneath the table and that’s what sets him off. 

He tries to bite back a chuckle, but he gives in when it doesn’t work out, shoulders shaking. Ellie starts grinning at him from across the table, and he kicks her back with the tip of his boot. 

“Hey!” She breaks into giggles and retaliates. He lets her have the little victory. 

A small smile lingers on his face when he regains his composure. They sit in a comfortable silence as Ellie finishes the rest of her dessert, taking in the festivities around them. 

It isn’t long before a girl with dark hair approaches their table. She’s a ball of masked nerves. “Hi,” she greets. “Ellie, right?” She says it as if it’s possible for her to have forgotten. As if after they sat together at last week’s movie night, she hadn’t been thinking about her since. 

Ellie get’s uncharacteristically squirmy. “Oh. Hey, Dina.” 

Joel can’t believe it.

Dina tucks a flyaway behind her ear. “My old partner bailed, so I was wondering if you’d maybe wanna do the three-legged race with me. I think we’d make a better team anyways.” Then she glances at Joel. “If you wouldn’t mind me stealing her away for a bit.” 

“Take her,” Joel quips, making Dina laugh. 

Warmth rushes to Ellie’s cheeks as she stands. “Sure, let’s go.” 

The two of them jog over to get prepped for the race. Joel watches the whole while, warmth kindling in his chest at the fact that she was slowly finding her tribe. The race doesn’t start for another couple minutes, and when it does, Ellie and Dina burst off into first. It’s intense. The whole ordeal is a mess of laughter, stumbling, and flailing limbs. In the end, the duo end up placing second, crossing the finish line only to fall into a heap of giggles with their legs tied together. 

Joel stands from the picnic table with a grunt to throw away all the empty plates. He has every intention to sit back down, but notices a few frazzled volunteers carrying mops and towels. Then his eyes rove over to the long line standing at the drink stands. Adults check their watches, children fidget. A woman in an orange vest is talking to another woman managing the stand. He doesn’t realize is you until you turn away from her and beeline towards the community center, looking stressed. 

“Hey,” he calls out to a stout man wearing an apron. “Do you know what’s going on?” 

He’s surprised Joel caught on. Everyone else was carrying on as usual, carefree and unaware. “There was a spill at the community center. You know Mr. Robertson’s special Summer Fest punch?” he asks in a thick Brooklyn accent, Joel nods because he’d heard the rave. Apparently it was made especially for the festival. “Kitchen’s flooded with it. I didn’t have time to build an ark,” he jokes.  

Joel wrestles with himself. “I’ll go see if I can help.” 

By the time you exit the community center, gaze fixed over your shoulder, you crash into Joel. He instinctively reaches out to steady you, touch firm but gentle. “Whoa, easy there.” The low timbre of his drawl is enough to draw your mind away from all the noise. “You alright? Here, let’s get out of the way.” You let him pull you aside by your elbow. 

When you look into his eyes, there’s so many things you wish it was the appropriate time to say. It’s been cordial between the two of you, but it always seemed like he was in a constant state of backing away, like an animal scared of giving into a primal craving.  

There was always a reason why he couldn’t stay in your presence longer than he did. He had to get back to Ellie, or turn in early for his patrol shift the next day, or some other excuse. Even during the game nights you hosted, he would always leave before his belly was full and the real fun was about to begin. When everyone was finally free of the day’s worries and truly ready to talk, laugh, and let everything ride on the toss of a dice. 

He’d resigned himself to enjoying you in the little here and there, the moments in between. So much so that even Ellie had begun to notice. It was in the way he never allowed himself to lean in too close whenever you were at his side. Or never fully crawled out of his shell no matter how many times you smiled sweetly or let your fingertips brush his forearm. 

“Does anything hurt?” He asks more intently. As he scans you over, he notices your clothes. The lower portion of your vest and the thighs of your flared jeans are stained with a wet, dark substance. 

“I’m fine, Joel.” You pull away from him with more force than necessary, feeling guilty for the way he swallows and takes a step back. “Sorry.” You release a heavy exhale, tears welling in your eyes with a dull sting. “I’m ruining everyone’s night.” 

Joel frowns. “No you’re not. Tell me what happened.” 

“I was trying to transfer the extra beverage dispenser onto the wagon so I could wheel it out to the drink stand, but it slipped out of my grip,” you explain. “The lid came off and the punch spilled everywhere.” You wipe your tears away quickly, as if they’ll stain too. 

“Accidents happen,” Joel’s tone is steady like scripture, tenderness peeking through just enough to cling onto. “Everybody’s fine. The world's still turning.”

Nobody had reacted in an extreme manner. There were gasps and startled jumps, but assurances came rushing in as the janitorial volunteers insisted that they’d get everything cleaned up. Everyone in that kitchen knew that there were worse things in life than spilled juice. Sure, it was upsetting, considering the time Mr. Robertson spent and the people looking forward to drinking more, but it was a small mistake in the grand scheme of things. But when your heart is already heavy and your mind is tangled with other concerns, those little mishaps feel like the most devastating ones. 

There was a directness about Joel, though, that eased away the guilt crawling beneath your skin. It was like he understood what screwing up truly was and this was many light years from it. 

Dina spots Joel in the distance and points him out to Ellie. “There he is over there.” 

Their smiles fall from their faces when they get closer and realize you’re crying. “Holy shit, what happened?” Ellie looks between you and Joel, worry etched onto her face. 

“I just made a stupid mistake.” You sniffle, trying to regain your composure, not wanting to worry them.  There was always something unavoidably daunting about seeing adults cry. 

“You girls stay here with her for a second. I’ll be right back,” Joel instructs. 

A new song starts up by the live band that’s playing. It’s an instrumental rendition of Every Breath You Take. A decent crowd has gathered, nibbling on sourdough and nodding to the melody. Some people are wrapped in each other’s arms. Joel soaks it all in as he navigates back to the racing lawn. 

Tommy claps him on the back when he makes it and Joel returns the gesture. “You enjoying yourself, man?” Tommy asks. 

“Yeah,” he says distractedly. “There was a spill at the community center, so no more punch. You think you can get everybody on the same page?” 

“Copy that.” 

Tommy’s voice carries through the megaphone as Joel makes his way back to you, the announcement fading with each step. 

“Howdy, folks. Some of you may have already heard, but in case you haven’t, there’s been a little spill and we are unfortunately all out of Mr. Robertson’s world famous punch for the night. We apologize if you didn’t get the chance to try it, but I promise we’ll figure out a way to make it up to y'all. In the meantime, I heard the lemonade and ice tea ain’t half bad.” 

His words blur into the background as Joel makes it back to you. There are a few disappointed groans, but nobody is completely devastated by the news. They keep carrying on just as he knew they would. 

Tears no longer streak your face when Joel makes it back, Ellie and Dina seeming to have lifted your spirits a little more. 

“Do you wanna go get cleaned up?” Joel suggests. 

Now that you’re thinking about it, the feeling of your clothes sticking to your skin is beginning to grow uncomfortable. You take a deep breath at the thought of walking home, away from Summer Fest, all the energy, all the fun. Joel sees the disappointment on your face. 

“I can go with you,” he offers.

•••

The walk to your house is quiet, the sounds of the night's festivities now distant. The porch steps creak gently under your weight as the two of you ascend them. Joel watches as you unlock the door, but finds himself cemented as you step inside. Confusion, appreciation, frustration, and want are all amalgamated into one look directed at right his way. Without saying a word, you head further inside, leaving the door open. 

Joel’s hands twitch at his sides like he’s a live wire wrought with energy. Bugs would fly in if he didn’t do something—that’s the justification he creates. You’re halfway to the laundry room when you hear the front door shut behind him as he follows after you. 

The living room is illuminated by dim lamplight as he walks through. A quick glance into the kitchen gives him sight of one of Ellie’s more recent drawings stuck to the refrigerator door with a smiley face magnet. It's a portrait of your face that you agreed to sit for one lazy afternoon while Joel was away on patrol. 

The air smells like you. Understated and sweet, floral and earthen. Small plants line multiple windowsills despite how convinced you were that you couldn’t keep anything alive. The whole commune would be worse off without you and he’d be the first to wilter away. 

At the sound of a zipper and clothes brushing against skin, he stops his pursuit of you. Miles away even though you’re mere yards apart. All he has is your shadow, dancing in the dim light pooling out of the laundry room and into the hall with him. He backs himself into the cool wall and closes his eyes, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Up and down and up again. An SOS in the middle of a sea when salvation was right within reach. It gets quiet after a while. No more running water, or cabinet doors, or shuffling around. 

“You can let me in, you know?” comes your voice, so light it’s almost nothing. Joel releases a shaky breath and opens his eyes to the sight of you, dawned in old shorts and a graphic tee. You wish he would say something, anything. Share a fraction of what’s going on in his mind. “I’m right here, Joel.” 

“I know. I see you.” There’s a defensive edge to his voice that’s wounded around the edges, as if he’s trying to accommodate the truth that burns within his ribcage, his stomach, beneath the entirety of his skin. 

“So now what?” You swallow your nerves, studying his face, his neck. “We’re just gonna keep seeing each other for the rest of our lives and that’s it? No knowing, no feeling, no experiencing?” You ask. “No loving?”  

One by one, the walls close in, until it feels like you’re standing toe to toe with nothing but words as weapons and honesty being the only way out. It’s not a fight he’s ready for. He can trek through the harshest winters, fight off monsters and all manner of men, but he’s defenseless in front of you.

There will be no victory, no rising from battle with a bloodied fist or blade, or immediate relief akin to the coming of spring. The only way out is to dig within, and he already knew what resided there. It was a matter of carving it out and laying it on an altar for you to see as you did the same. It’s not a fight at all, it's a sacrifice. All risk with probable reward. 

“I don’t want that to be all that we do.” You’ve never heard Joel speak so quietly. It’s as if there’s Infected lurking nearby and he doesn’t want to be devoured. “Think about you too much.” 

“I was starting to think you didn’t like me at all. Not like how I like you,” you say. 

Joel swallows thickly, warm all over. “How do you like me?” 

You push out of the laundry room doorway to step closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his chest, feeling the warmth beneath his shirt, the beating of his heart. You let it thrum against your palm until a shallow breath slips past his lips, then you move to cup his stubbled jaw, lightly brushing your thumb over his lower lip. The urge to touch you back grows so great that he finally gives in and lets both of his strong hands settle on your waist.  

Joel can hear his heartbeat in his ears as he leans in towards you, studying your face, searching for any sign that this might be some elaborate ruse. Instead, he finds something so poignant that he doesn’t have the words to define. It’s as terrifying as it is wonderful to, for once, be unable to size up what he’s up against. 

You close the space in between you with a softness that takes his breath away. Bared heart meeting bared heart. Joel’s lips are gentle and unhurried, every second savored and not a single one missed. You try to focus but it feels like you’re falling and flying all at once. Then his fingers dig into your waist a little harder, a silent plea to stay there with him, the warmth of his kiss, the firmness of his body as he pulls you closer. 

Your hands find their way to the back of his neck to play with the hair curled at his nape. The kiss deepens not in urgency but a shared understanding. A promise sealed in the way your bodies fit together. And then, slowly, deliberately, Joel eases back, lips lingering on yours for a heartbeat longer until there’s a slight space in between again. Your breaths mingle as he rests his forehead against yours, thumb stroking tender circles on your waist. 

When you open your eyes, he’s already looking at you, wondering if you can feel that two worlds having converged into one, buzzing with a newness that’s as beautiful as all the words you’d kept bottled inside. 

•••

It hadn’t taken much. Just a hug and a few soft kisses pressed to the underside of his jaw. When Joel’s grumbling finally subsided, it made way for the soothing ripple of the river. You’d settled along the bank and stretched out a few blankets when you first arrived. An hour seemed to pass in the matter of a few seconds, laughter, conversations and all. Now the sun creeps closer and closer to the horizon up in the ombre sky. 

It wasn’t any fault of your own that you’d asked Joel if the date could extend a little longer. It’d been a month of getting to see him in this light, open and unguarded, generous with giving those slow, easy smiles. Willing to lay down across your lap like this when you asked sweetly enough. 

The small mouth of a fish breaks the surface of the water as you trace along his hairline, disappearing by the time you run the pad of your finger down his nose. His lips twitch as he continues to ward off sleep. This time, there’s no stopping a soft laugh from rising up your throat. That’s all it takes for his eyes to flutter open, blinking until they’re able to focus on the soft upturn of your lips. No sooner do they avert to the sky, assessing the fleeting light. 

“We gotta head back now,” his voice is gruff. When he moves to sit up, you place a delicate hand on the center of his chest and he settles back down with a sigh. “C’mon, sweetheart, the sun’s setting. I don’t want you out here in the dark.” 

Packing up and riding back to the commune meant this moment would be resigned to a memory. “A few more minutes won’t hurt,” you insist. 

Before Jackson and before you, every second was about enduring to the next. Life was an endless onwards, onwards, onwards reverberating through his veins. Slowing down was always a risk until you showed him that sometimes life’s most worthwhile moments were in the stillness. Somedays that was easier to remember than others, but he sure did put in an effort. 

“I think you’re enjoying this more than I am anyways,” you tease. The corners of his lips quirk upwards before he can stop them. 

You continue on like that, tracing his face, occasionally glancing up at the snow-capped peaks of the mountains. Then an animal catches your attention across the way, lean and tall with short antlers protruding from its head. You suck in a breath of pleasant surprise, and Joel startles upright thinking the worst. His shoulders relax when he sees the creature. It bends its neck down to nibble at something in the grass until deciding to gallop away. 

“Just a mule deer.” He gives you a look. 

“I know, sorry. I get excited.” You offer an apologetic smile and he's reminded of how beautiful you look in the light of the setting sun, features aglow. He doesn’t say anything, just soaks you in here and now. An airiness fills your chest. 

He stands with a groan, extending a helping hand back down to you. When you’re steady on your feet, he takes your chin in one gentle hand and tilts your head back so he can align his lips with yours. The kiss is brief, and he follows it up with a soft peck.  

“Will you let me take you back home now?” he questions. “Ellie’s gonna have our heads if we’re late for game night. Especially when she’s choosing the line up.” 

•••

No heads roll that night. Plenty of dice do, while Uno cards are slapped onto the coffee table, and Jenga blocks fall. Tommy, Maria, Dina, and your uncle Nate, eventually file out of Joel’s house, leaving the three of you alone. Ellie feigns sleep on the couch as soon as it’s time for cleanup, and dozes off for real as you and Joel start taking care of everything yourselves. 

He steps up behind you as you’re standing at the kitchen sink, snaking his arms around your middle. A curious hum rises up your throat as you lean back into him. 

“I think somebody cheated during Jenga tonight,” he hushes against the shell of your ear, relishing the way you shiver at the warmth of his breath.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  

Joel noses at the back of your head. “So you weren’t the one touchin’ me during that last round?” he asks. “Scratching my back, squeezing my thigh.” 

“It was innocent,” you insist. “It's a stressful game, I was just trying to ease your nerves. How was I supposed to know your hands would get all shaky?” 

A sudden chuckle shakes his chest, sending a ripple of warmth through you. “Ease my nerves? We weren’t even on the same team.” His fingers squeeze your hips in quick, gentle pulses, making you arch into him in a spell of helpless giggles. Joel evades your attempts to grab his wrists, but shows you mercy when you turn around, looking up at him through your lashes like you could do no wrong. 

“You’re lucky I happen to like you an awful lot.” He places both hands on the counter behind you, effectively caging you in. 

You smooth your hands up his chest, admiring the soft lines by his eyes, the handsome bump of his nose. “I know. I’m the luckiest person alive.” 

“No, that’s me,” Joel whispers. 

He’s certain of it. 

- 

Thank you so much for reading. I’d love to hear your thoughts, it’s my favorite thing.

[mattyriddlesbitch]

Headcanons of the boys while you're pregnant bc my hormones are crazy and want me to get pregnant again so I'm doing this instead.

My period hit an hour after writing this so that explains it.

Draco Malfoy

Stressed omg. Like he wants everything to be perfect

Will hire help when he's away at work just so you don't have to do anything. Cleaning? Maid. Cooking? Personal chef. Even a chauffeur

I, for some reason, feel like he'd handle your mood swings the best. Always so calm, no matter if you're crying, yelling, or stressed.

1000% helping with the nesting period. You're ready to set up the nursery, he's with you, picking out things and setting it up. Will also hire someone to do a cute mural on one wall.

Lowkey will cry by himself when you're sleeping about how happy he is that he's having a baby with you. Like will sneak off to the nursery, sit in the rocking/gliding chair with the ultrasound and smile as tears fall.

Will buy all the types of ultrasounds at one of those places that does it. Normal, 3d, video, getting a recording of the heartbeat(even putting it in a bear). Anything and everything.

Tom Riddle

I'm gonna be honest, I don't think he'd be the best. Like at least not emotionally.

I do feel like he'd get 10x more protective though.

Won't let you leave the house without him. What if something happened to you?

Will help you with everything physically. Like will help with building things for the nursery and doing anything tedious so you don't strain yourself.

Will make sure you don't eat any junk food. Always on top of your prenatals. Making sure you're eating 3 square meals a day and will make sure none of it is food you will puke, making sure if you do puke from the food, you never eat it again.

But when it comes to your mood swings, I don't see him being any more gentle with you than normal. Will probably just remind you it's pregnancy hormones and that everything's okay, but that's about it.

Mattheo Riddle

Doesn't know what to do. Panicked at every new thing happening to you.

Will go to every appointment and ask a million questions every time to the doctor.

Does find your pregnancy cravings amusing and will try them with you, even the gross combos. Will also try to get them for you, no matter the time of day.

Almost like Tom in the protective part, like not letting you leave without him or someone else.

Tries so hard with your mood swings. He doesn't understand how to calm you down. He understands it's pregnancy hormones, but doesn't understand how you're crying over a dog video and doesn't know how to calm you down.

Will not let you do anything for the nursery other than pick out items. Will bring a comfy chair in the room or set up the rocking/gliding chair first so you can sit in it and tell him how you want everything, where you want everything placed, all that.

Blaise Zabini

The best. Omg. He's already so sweet, and this will just turn him into the sweetest boy ever.

Already buying matching outfits for all of you the day you tell him you're pregnant. Also buys you the cutest maternity clothes, you're almost disappointed when they don't fit anymore after the baby.

Loves indulging in your cravings. Even if it means getting up at 2am to go get ice cream because you want this specific ice cream, not what we have in the freezer.

Will talk to the bump at night so baby will recognize his voice. Also loves feeling the kicks. Also buying a doppler so you two can hear the heartbeat whenever you'd like.

Didn't understand the nesting period at first, like why are you cleaning and stressed about getting everything ready? We still have two months. Once he learns, he is off his ass and helping with everything.

Also like Tom with the meals and prenatals, but doesn't mind junk food. Just tries to get you to eat healthier food first, but baby's in charge here, he knows if baby doesn't want it, you're not eating it and would rather have you eat cheetos and candy than nothing.

Lorenzo Berkshire

Cries when you tell him you're pregnant, partly from happiness, partly from 'holy shit we're gonna be parents'. Cries when he sees the ultrasound too.

So doting. Asking every 5 minutes if you need anything, water, a snack, a massage, cuddles?

Handles your mood swings pretty well. He just wants to find out what the problem is. How can he fix it? Hugs? Cuddles? Kisses? You wanna go get some treats or snacks or food?

Obsessed with your bump. Paying for the top top top maternity photographer so he has high quality pics forever. Buying cute maternity clothes that show off your bump.

Will let you help with small things for the nursery, like putting up decorations on the shelves and wall and rug just so you can feel like you helped without doing anything too tedious.

Will get you a pregnancy pillow but gets so jealous of it when he realizes it's pretty much impossible to cuddle you with it. 'Am I not comfortable enough?' Glares at the pillow when you're not looking like it's a real person.

Theodore Nott

Smiling like an idiot when you tell him. Hugging you so tight, he's nearly crushing you.

Already like your personal chef, but he's researching the best meals for pregnant women and making them for you. Lowkey almost feels insulted if you throw any of them up but has to remind himself it's not you or him, but the baby. Will whisper to your bump when your sleeping too about 'how dare they? that was excellent food?'

Speaking of, is big on talking to the baby, like he'll come home and lay or sit down with you and talk to the baby about his day. Not even directed at you and if you make a comment, he'll jokingly say smth like 'hey, I'm talking to the baby, not you.'

As soon as you get the furniture for the nursery, he's setting it up. You don't even have to ask and it's most likely done without you knowing. Like you'll walk into the nursery and all the furniture is ready to go, you just need to decorate and rearrange.

Will have a shelf dedicated to yours and his old baby stuff too, just so there's a little part of you two with the baby always.

Finds your mood swings funny and tries not to smile, but you can tell and it makes it worse. 'cara mia, why are you crying? it's just a commercial.' He'll say, but wrap his arms around you anyways to comfort you.

Taglist:

@jeannie-beannie @yourenogoodforme @mixvchelle @helendeath @evaslytherpuff

@soaked4abby @hpnsfwaddict @mayamonroem @motherfing-stargirl @brittney-121

@dracoslovergirl @littlemadamred @mattheoriddlesbitch @acornacreacure @opheliamalfoy236

@demieyesore

Let me know if you wanna be added!

[munariplans]

routine | wanda maximoff

synopsis: a routine to follow; to secretly navigate the delicate balance of your double lives, you and wanda risk it all for just a clandestine affair teetering on the edge of discovery.

wanda maximoff x reader

word count: 2.1k words

warnings: infidelity, angst

a/n: it's only time, and fair, to write for wanda too :)

it all falls into routine pretty quickly; the late-night creaks of her front door, your feet tapping against the solid hardwood of her living room, her arms wrapping themselves around your body, lips finding your own. 

to build a unique relationship that defied categorisation, and to then allow the relationship to morph until it just about justified itself – you weren’t sure who started it first. perhaps it could have been wanda’s lingering glances, could have been your own sharp tongue. either way, you were seeing a colleague that shouldn’t have been your solace, and she hadn’t stopped it either.

it had been a long day at the office. or two days, you weren’t too sure. with a new product launch in the next week, everyone had been working overtime, you didn’t remember the last time you had seen your own wife, and you certainly didn’t remember her reminder to pick up the dry cleaning if you were on your way home. maybe she had even said it last week instead of this one. 

but you did remember the familiar steps to wanda’s house, the ding of her doorbell, the smell of vanilla and wood behind the door. it was already all beckoning to you, the comfort of a place that wasn’t even your own. 

as usual, she opened the door, already dressed in her satin nightgown, hair half-dry from her shower. and you collapsed right into her. wanda stumbled holding you up for a moment, but hearing your satisfied sighs and whimpers from her fingers threading themselves into your hair, followed with your arms melding your two bodies together, she too, couldn’t control the relief she exhaled. 

“you’re late.”

“i know, tom held me back today.”

wanda clicked her tongue. “i saw you asleep in your office last night. wanted to bring you home, but your assistant was working late too.”

she felt you nuzzle your face into her neck, breathing in the lavender and honey from her bath. “mmh. i did.”

“don’t overwork yourself.” her words, and replies, had always been curt. straight to the point, but never malicious. she cared about you, but she couldn’t show so much that she would give you the wrong idea. she knew what this was, after all. a relationship of convenience; a companionship made from two lonely, desperate people. 

she brings you to bed after allowing you to use her shower, your eyes drooping as you lay yourself over her, while she switches on the sitcoms on her television. fingers glide over the splay of your back, absentmindedly tracing the taut muscles there while you relish in her touch. the weight on her own body wasn’t uncomfortable, but more of a reassurance, a reminder, that she was grounded, and so were you, in the present moment. wanda pulls you in even further when the show cuts to a commercial.

there was a notification from your phone, in the bedside table next to wanda. glancing over at it, she feels a certain sting in her chest. she’s not sure why. it wasn’t like it was anything new; she had always known about it, she had full access to your phone anytime she wanted to check on it. 

still, the i love you that you had gotten from someone other than her, while not unfamiliar, irked her. she didn’t know what was up with herself, to only be irritated by something she knew from the start was her reality only now. must be the hormones, it was that time of the month after all. she had already rejected your advances to join you in her shower, and you understood. thankfully. 

you missed the quick swipe of her fingers across your phone, clicking on the message and deleting it. it wasn’t something she wanted you to see tonight. she inspected a few earlier messages, saw that they were causing even more pain to simmer in her chest, and hurriedly shoves it back to where it came from. 

you whined for her fingers to return to where they were, and thankfully, she came back. you mumbled sleepily, “how was your day?”

“we work in the same office, don’t we?” wanda replied, amused. 

“well, different departments.”

“fine,” she quickly said, but at your woeful gaze, she softened, “it was fine. kate invited me for yoga after work. then i got home, tried out a new recipe from the cookbook he got me, and waited for you.”

your fingers interlaced with hers, looking up at her like she put the stars in the sky. wanda found it difficult to swallow the lump in her throat. “you made dinner?”

she nodded. “it’s in the microwave, i can heat it up for you if you want.”

“no, no, it’s okay,” you reassured her, pushing her back down when she tried getting up, “i’m too tired to eat it now. and besides, it’s for him. i shouldn’t…be eating his food.”

“you know–”

“–i know. but i have my boundaries.”

wanda pinches the skin at the nape of your neck for cutting her off. you wince, and she leans down to kiss it, tongue lapping at it quickly after as a way of saying sorry. “it’s that paprikash you like. the one you keep going on and on about. i made it for you.”

a smile crept to your cheeks. “the one jane from legal made for me once.”

the pinch came again, and wanda felt almost guilty at the angry red welt it formed in the wake of her anger. “right. you still fucking her, or…?”

wanda didn’t find the chuckle from your lips even the slightest bit funny. you propped yourself on your elbows, kissing wanda’s neck slowly. “wands…it’s not like that. come on.”

“she wants you. i just know it. everybody knows it.”

“she did invite me out for drinks today,” you quipped, to which wanda sighed irritatedly, but you were quick to recover with, “but i said no. was too tired.”

“because you’re coming home to me.”

“because i’m coming  home to you,” you affirmed. it was only then that wanda let go of the frown on her face, allowing you to come close enough to kiss her, chest rising and falling beneath yours. you held her face as you let her take control, and she brought you down even further to her, as if never letting you go. it was comfortable, and safe, and leaving you lightheaded and giddy, when it really shouldn’t be. 

you really shouldn’t be doing this. but wanda was enjoying this so much, and it would be futile to deny that you weren’t. her skin so soft, her hair silky smooth, there was something just so irresistible about the woman underneath you. she’s got you right in the palm of her hand.

your phone rang this time, and while wanda instinctively shot out her hand to silence it, you were quicker, and took it from her right as her fingers clasped around the device. she groaned in annoyance when you sat up and checked who had been calling you.

“it’s my sister,” you announced, to alleviate some of the jealousy and tension evident in her face. 

wanda listened as you spoke, forcing you to put her on loudspeaker, while her hands ran up and down your thighs, impatient for you to end the call and carry on with what you had been doing to her. she sighed irritatedly each time her name was said, each time your lips even formed the shape of pronouncing it.

“yeah, of course, i know,” you assured your nagging sister, “flight’s at six-thirty. we can’t be late. you’ve booked us business class seats. i got it. natasha and i will be there, sis. we wouldn’t miss your wedding for the world.” 

you felt wanda’s hands lift up your t-shirt, to which you tried pulling her away, but she swatted your hands off first. you reluctantly obliged, as she found your breasts, and began her ministrations on them as you stayed on the phone. she heard her name again, and sat up, lips latching on to your skin, and biting hard. you sucked in a harsh breath, feeling the skin tear before wanda was licking it up again, marking you and then apologising for it. 

“i know,” you continued, wanda kissing up your neck now, purposely as loud as she could. she wanted you to get caught, “look, it’s supposed to be nerve-wrecking. it’s your wedding, for heaven’s sake. i remember when i was getting married to natasha, i couldn’t sleep for weeks! i was just so excited, and–fuck!”

“what was that?” came the voice from the other end. wanda smiled. success.

“n-nothing,” you regained your composure, glaring daggers at her this time, “look, i have to go, but we’ll be there. first thing tomorrow. no, natasha’s not with me right now, i’m sleeping in my office because i have to tie up the loose ends at work before we spend the next two weeks with you for your wedding. i’ll see you soon, alright?’

two weeks. two weeks is far too long. wanda doesn’t want to wait two weeks to see you again. it was her turn to have her glare turn murderous when you ended the call, snatching your phone away from you and shoving it under the drawer. you sighed, indulging her. “six-thirty?”

“i have to go by four, alright? i have to pick up natasha,” a bite to your shoulder, “and get a ride to the airport,” another angry teeth mark. 

it was nearly midnight already. wanda couldn’t believe you failed to tell her you barely had four hours together. “fuck you.”

“wands…”

“seriously, fuck you,” she emphasised, tears already beginning to form at the ends of her eyes. the bitter, choking feeling in her throat too raw to voice out her anger and jealousy. 

“come on, don’t be like this,” you begged, holding her thrashing hands as she tried to buck you off the bed. she refused to let you see her cry angry tears, but you had done so anyway. you held her hands against your chest, kissing them all over until she gave up fighting altogether, until she could only shut her eyes, and face away from you in shame. “you’re always like this.”

“is–it–so–wrong–” she was hiccuping, voice broken, “–to want you around? to have you with me?”

she knows it is. you know it is as well. but neither of you tell the truth around it. you both were too attached to each other to face the reality. “i’ll be back soon, alright? just two weeks. then you’ll have me, for as long as you want. as long as he’s not around.”

wanda let out a cry, heartbreaking and raw; and you bite your own lip in guilt. you hated to see her like this. she never had a problem letting her guard down with you, and you didn’t want her to think it would be a mistake doing so. she cried then, frustrated and angry, “i want to break up! i hate you, i never want to see you again!”

“come on wands…”

“i hate y–” your lips were on hers then, soothing her, placating her, like one would an insolent child. you had released her hands, and they had clawed at your arms, scratching down red, angry lines down your skin. she was doing to you what she couldn’t say out loud. how betrayed she felt, how wrong it was that you were taking her to your sister’s wedding, and not wanda. never wanda.

“just two weeks. i promise. i’ll text you everyday.”

“i want to break up.”

sighing, you challenged her. “...do you really?” 

but then wanda’s lips trembled, her eyes fully glossy now. there were tears streaming down her face, and her nose was turning red. her nails dug into your skin, feeling almost like claws. and after a minute, she shook her head, slowly, sadly. 

you knew it. she could never end it; and neither could you. you always come back. or she does. neither of you want to acknowledge the dirty situation you were in, the games you were playing with each other, and your spouses. how attached wanda was to you, how soft you were for her. it had gained traction, spiralled, and crashed and burned long ago. there was no going back now.

she would threaten ending things with you, you asking her if she really would, and her pulling back just seconds later. the two of you would make up after, never acknowledging how much you actually meant to each other, never saying a word about the other’s feelings. then you would go back home to your wife, and she would wait for her husband to return, and pretend like you were never anything more than colleagues. not even friends, barely acquaintances.

“she’s just someone from work,” you both would say to your spouses, a lie cooked up and chewed and spat out like a routine. and it works, everytime.

[bumblesimagines]

Curiosities

Request: Yes or No

Summary: Overwhelmed and distraught by his duties and the death of his child, King Aegon decides to indulge in his favorite pastime: visiting the Street of Silk. However, he decides this time, he wants to seek comfort in the one person he's always been curious about.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

TW/CW: Typical GoT warnings, Aegon being Aegon, mentions/implications of child exploitation, mentions of teen-adult relationships, mentions of Targcest/incest, death of a child, sexual content dontttlookatme, (Y/N)/Reader is a brothel worker, potential spoilers for S2, mentioned/implied homophobia (the Faith)

Aegon is a pathetic wet cat of a man (derogatory) but Tom is so pretty

~~~

Aegon hardly remembered the first time he'd visited a brothel.

Perhaps it was the mixture of drinks in his system preventing him from recalling the first time he'd stepped foot in a brothel. He'd been a teenager, he knew that much, and he'd likely paid for the prettiest woman in there. He'd had enough experience messing with the maids around the castle to know what to do and he'd ensured to pay well for the service. But despite not recalling the act itself or even the woman he'd done it with, he vividly recalled the worker who'd caught his eye the second visit. 

It'd been a week or so after the first visit and he'd gone in sober, willing to drink whatever the brothel had in stock until he passed out or was kicked out. He sauntered in with his typical confidence. He was a prince; everyone wanted a taste of him. The other customers in the brothel regarded him with smug smirks and nods of acknowledgment, to which he returned with the same smugness. He'd taken a seat at one of the tables and savored the way workers glided toward him in revealing clothing - or no clothing at all - with coy smiles and flirty coos. His eyes, however, failed to lock on the women flocking to him. 

Across the way, he noticed one of the rooms with the curtains drawn back by a few inches, giving view to the worker and customer inside. A boy around his age, perhaps a year or two older, sat on the bed with his rope drawn back and hanging loosely from his shoulders. A woman had her head on his chest, her eyes shut tight and cheeks stained with tears while her red-colored lips formed words.

The sight would've made him laugh, it was utterly pathetic for a grown woman to cry on the chest of a boy, but his heart lurched longingly when the boy raked his fingers through her hair and gently rocked her. The act looked so... sweet.

"Who is that?" Aegon questioned one of the women settled at his side, hardly paying any mind to the soft stroking of his chest. She tilted her head over her shoulder, searching for what'd caught his attention before she spotted the two. She gave a soft hum and looked back at him, her lips delicately dragging over his cheek and stopping at his ear. 

"That would be (Y/N)," She told him softly, her voice velvety. Her long lashes tickled his skin. "Poor Nora lost her husband to a horrible fever not long ago, My Prince. I hear he looked like (Y/N) in his youth. She seeks comfort, not pleasure." 

"I see," Aegon murmured and finally took a swing of the wine offered to him, waiting for it to settle into his veins before he gave in to the ladies around him. His eyes continued to drag toward (Y/N) throughout his stay. 

Men in brothels were no surprise, not to frequent customers, at least. Some enjoyed the company of men without facing scrutiny, some needed the money, and others were simply raised in the brothel. Throughout his visits to the brothel, Aegon learned it'd been the latter for (Y/N); a boy born in a brothel who simply never left. He found his curiosity spiked with each visit, each time he caught sight of him serving wine or slipping behind the curtain to entertain someone new.

Aegon never approached. It was completely new territory, territory he'd been told by septas and maesters he should never enter. 

It'd only been when his little son and heir died at the order of his older half-sister that he decided he couldn't give a rat's ass about what the Seven thought of him. They'd never given him a time of day, even as the King of Westeros, so why should he care? His son was dead, his sister-wife was a mess, and the Council acted as if it were all a mere inconvenience. 

When he staggered into the brothel that night, everyone stopped their doings to stare at him wide-eyed and silent. Each of them bowed, whether dipping their heads or bending at the waist and watched him as if waiting for him to crack. Aegon hated it. He hated how everyone seemingly viewed him as weak. He was the King, for fuck's sake! The wine and ale swimming through his veins made his senses and emotions heighten, forcing tears to spring to his eyes. 

"Drinks on me!" He hollered into the room, and the crowd within erupted in cheers and whoops, the energy returning to the room tenfold. A laugh tumbled out of his lips and his shoulders straightened, soaking in the gleeful looks and nods sent his way. They loved him now, even if they believed him to be a usurper or not. They loved him.

Aegon took a goblet from a table and drank its contents, feeling the liquid burn his throat and send a shudder up his spine. He set the goblet aside and wiped his lips with the sleeve of his shirt, vibrant eyes searching the room until they spotted the object of his desire. He made a beeline for him, ignoring the ladies who attempted to catch his eye until he stopped by him and grasped his arm a tad roughly. 

"Your Grace?" (Y/N) stumbled slightly with the tug, his grip on the pitcher tightening to avoid spilling any wine. He stared at him, brows lifting and eyes blinking owlishly. Aegon had never seen him up close before, and regret settled in his belly at the realization. What a fool he'd been, letting time pass him by. 

"You're mine for the night," Aegon told him, taking the pitcher from his hands and setting it down at the table he'd been serving. The men there shifted uncomfortably under Aegon's stare, none of them uttering a single word of protest and instead turning their attention onto the other workers around. 

Brothels had unspoken rules. Everything that happened in a brothel, stayed in the brothel. No one spoke a word of what went down or whom they saw within the walls of one, unless they wished for their own secrets and pleasures to be spilled to the public. Of course, Aegon expected his new Master of Whisperers to hear of it by the time he returned to the Red Keep, but he trusted Lord Larys to keep it to himself. 

Without another word, he turned toward the nearest empty room and tugged the curtain open far enough for the two to step inside before tugging it close again. Aegon's heart raced in his chest, be it from the drinks or genuine excitement, he couldn't be sure. He turned to face (Y/N), finding the young man already seated at the edge of the bed watching him. 

"What do you want, Your Grace?" He asked gently, his head tilting to the side while Aegon fumbled to get his clothes off fast enough. He looked enticing in the soft candleglow with his rope pulled apart to show his chest and stomach. It made heat spread throughout Aegon's body. 

Discarding his layers of clothing, he stumbled forward and grabbed hold of (Y/N)'s face, lips slamming against his clumsily. "You." He exhaled and pressed their lips back together, pushing (Y/N) flat against the bed with ease and digging his knees into the mattress. His hands forced the silky robe further apart, undoing the belt and pushing it further down (Y/N)'s shoulders until he could grab a fistful of it and yank it off the bed. 

"What is it you want from me?" (Y/N) asked next, breathless and head tilting back to allow Aegon more access to his neck. Aegon suckled and nipped whatever skin he could reach, littering his skin with red and purple marks that'd surely vex the Madam who owned the brothel, but he was a king. He could do as he pleased. 

Aegon laughed airly in return, leaning back to admire his work and pressing his thumb into one of the bruises. "What everyone else wants." He responded, eyes slowly raking over the rest of his body; from his rising and falling chest down to his thighs. Irritation flared in him at the fading mark of fingers and he placed his hand over his thighs, squeezing until he ensured the only mark left was by him. 

"Your Grace," (Y/N) reached out to cup the nape of his neck, and in one swift move, Aegon found himself lying beneath him. He blinked up at him and then laughed giddily, hands flying to (Y/N)'s hips and squeezing the flesh there. (Y/N) leaned back on his thighs and took him by the shoulders, pulling him up into a sitting position so they were face to face. "What do you really want?"

"Yo-" The word died in his throat when (Y/N)'s fingertips brushed back his messy silver hair behind his ear. His lips pressed together tightly, eyes jumping away from the worker to focus on the lewd mural painted over the wall. (Y/N)'s palm pressed against his cheek, his thumb stroking his skin.

The gentleness of it, the sweetness, the comfort. It was all foreign to Aegon. He was used to being slapped, pushed, screamed at, ignored. Nobody had ever touched him with genuine kindness, not even Ser Criston who seemingly preferred his brother over him, or his mother who spent most of her time staring at him in exasperation or disappointment. The only people who ever looked at him with pure love and adoration... were his children. Little Jaehaerys.. 

Tears sprung to his eyes immediately, a sob threatening to rise in his throat. His teeth clamped down on his bottom lip as his vision blurred, fingers curling around the sheets in a desperate attempt to stop the tears from falling. He couldn't cry in front of someone else, much less a stranger. He was a king. He had to be strong. Crying showed weakness. Aegon wasn't weak. No, no, they were all wrong. He was strong. He-

"I'm here, Your Grace." (Y/N) cooed softly, and Aegon's eyes snapped back to him. He smiled kindly at him and pulled him closer, his fingers tangling themselves in Aegon's hair. They ran through the silver locks sweetly, comfortingly, detangling the knots that'd formed and scratching gently at his scalp. "I'll take care of you."

With that, the wall he'd so desperately built crumbled, his arms slinging around (Y/N)'s waist as his lips parted to release whimpers and muffled wails. (Y/N)'s arms curled around his shoulder, cradling his head and humming gentle lullabies Aegon vaguely recognized. His body trembled and shook with each sob and cry, arms pulling and tugging him closer; seeking out the warmth and comfort he'd been deprived of since his childhood. A father who ignored him, a mother who begrudgingly cared for him, siblings who hardly liked him... a dead son. 

(Y/N) only moved to lean back into the countless pillows, bringing Aegon along with him and letting the king rest his head over his chest. His skin had long grown wet with tears and saliva but he remained silent, focused on rubbing circles along Aegon's back and brushing back his hair until the hiccups and sobs subsided, quieting down into sniffles and tired sighs. Part of him wanted to feel embarrassed but he felt too exhausted to allow the emotion to take hold of him. 

"I'm sorry this happened to you, Your Grace." (Y/N) told him softly, and Aegon's face scrunched up again, the last few tears spilling down his cheeks. Nobody had bothered to comfort him, and he'd been too overwhelmed by everything to seek it from his sister-wife. They hardly understood each other. Her with her odd riddles and sayings, him with his drinking and affairs. 

(Y/N) shifted underneath him, reaching over to the nightstand and retrieving a handkerchief. He dipped his fingers under Aegon's chin and tilted his head toward him, gently dapping at his cheeks and under his nose, drying and cleaning the evidence of his weeping. Nothing in his face changed, no disgust or boredom in his eyes. Only the kind smile and soft eyes. It made Aegon relax fully and completely. 

His fingers tightened on Aegon's chin, tugging on it gently and pulling the king up before connecting their lips again. Aegon slumped against him, his clear mind focused on the softness of his lips and the hint of wine still on his tongue. The back of (Y/N)'s ankles met Aegon's bare thighs, carefully pushing against them until their hips were pressed together. He swallowed the breathy whine that escaped Aegon, a brief teasing smile appearing on his face before Aegon began rocking needily against him, the smile vanishing. His parted lips allowed Aegon to venture into his mouth, tongues colliding on occasion. 

The hand along Aegon's back began exploring, running over the muscles he'd developed despite spending most of his time lazying about. His hand dipped downward and playfully squeezed the mound of flesh there, a low groan escaping Aegon. He pressed his forehead against (Y/N)'s, his lips curling into a smirk at the innocent look that (Y/N) gave him. Cheeky bastard. It was expected from a brothel worker, though. 

The clumsy rocking of his hips increased and the fingers that retangled in his hair gave a tug, gentle enough to not create any real pain but hard enough to get his attention. Aegon whined and dropped his head down to (Y/N)'s shoulder but he eased his rocking, his fingers digging tightly into the pillows and sheets beneath him. At his easy submission, (Y/N) smiled again and pressed a chaste kiss to his temple. 

"Good," He breathed and Aegon flushed at the way heat rushed to his lower belly. (Y/N)'s hand left Aegon's backside and reached for the nightstand again, pulling out a small round cup and bringing it closer. Despite his trembling thighs, Aegon managed to peel himself away from (Y/N), the loss of contact making his hips buck. 

"What is..." Aegon trailed off, (Y/N)'s hand taking his wrist. His thumb swiped over Aegon's fingers, pressing each down until one remained uncurled. The realization dawned on him fairly quickly, the way his features brightened making (Y/N) laugh softly before he dipped the finger into the liquid Aegon assumed to be some sort of oil. 

"I'll guide you, Your Grace." (Y/N) told him softly, setting the cup aside and guiding his hand down between their bodies. Aegon's eyes flickered between (Y/N)'s face and his hand, a strangled curse escaping him when warmth greeted his digit. His free hand tightened further around a pillow, the designs threaded into it imprinting in his palm. The way (Y/N) held eye contact hardly helped with his attempt at self-restraint. 

His mind ran wild, promptly forgetting about politics or the fact they were nearing a war for the first time in decades in order to focus on (Y/N)'s face. The darkening bruises along his neck only made Aegon's mouth water and heart flutter with pride, every gentle gasp and quiet whine that left him only made his veins burn with desire, something he found more addictive than the intoxication of wine. His head swooped down, burying itself in his neck to drag his tongue over the bruises and darken them even further with more suckling.

His hand began moving, slowly and experimental at first. Aegon hardly considered himself a gentle lover, for he preferred the joy of rough and fast fucking, only ever being considerate when it came to his sister-wife. Even then, even with Helaena, he often chased after his own high and pleasure over everyone else's, but he'd been desiring (Y/N) for far too long to make a fool of himself. When he curled his finger and heard (Y/N)'s breath hitch, he smirked and slipped in a second digit. 

Aegon humbly believed himself a quick learner when it came to things he enjoyed, so by the time he added a third digit, he'd already ensured (Y/N) had turned into a panting and whining mess. (Y/N)'s heels dug into his calves roughly enough to turn his pale skin red, the subtle hint of pain only fueling him to quicken his pace. He'd left (Y/N)'s collarbone and part of his chest covered in markings, ensuring any other patrons (Y/N) took for the following days knew who'd taken him to bed. 

The hand tightly gripping his bicep flew down to Aegon's wrist, squeezing around it and pulling his fingers out. His lips formed a pout immediately but he savored the gasp and light huff that escaped (Y/N). He swallowed and leaned up, capturing Aegon's lips again before pushing back against him, toppling Aegon onto his back once again and straddling his hips. Aegon's eyes brightened, his hands digging into (Y/N)'s thighs in anticipation. 

"Shit," A guttural groan left the king, his blunt nails leaving imprints in (Y/N)'s skin when he wrapped his fingers around Aegon's length, his thumb pressing over the slit. Aegon's hips bucked and he threw his head back, his adams apple bobbing with a harsh swallow. His chest heaved and a mixture of a whine and a plead fell from his lips like a prayer. 

"Easy, Your Grace." (Y/N) cooed, his free hand moving to Aegon's chest and pressing against it, fingers gently massaging into the muscle. The hint of mischief in his words didn't go over Aegon's head. His heels dug into the crinkling sheets and his nostrils flared with the deep breath he took, his grip on (Y/N) loosening and thumbs rubbing over the areas apologetically. (Y/N) nodded approvingly and Aegon gave a lopsided grin. 

His composure lasted a whole three seconds before it crumbled with a few pumps from (Y/N)'s hand, though he only continued with a chuckle instead of scolding him. Aegon's eyes turned glassy again from the sensations, his breath hitching every few minutes while the knot in his stomach tightened. He let out a whiny noise when (Y/N) paused his movements, his bottom lip jutting out. However, when he caught the way (Y/N) pushed himself further on his knees and hovered over him, he clamped his mouth shut. 

Aegon's breath hitched again followed by a sharp curse as (Y/N) lowered himself at an agonizingly slow pace. A dribble of drool slipped out from the corner of his parted lips and trailed down his cheek. His mind had long gone blank, the only thing he focused on being the sensation of (Y/N) taking him with only soft pants and the occasional hiss. He desperately wished to move, to flip them over and ensure (Y/N) wouldn't be able to walk for at least a day but he wanted to be good, he wanted the praise he rarely ever got. So he remained still, hands moving to (Y/N)'s hips and clawing lightly at him. 

"You're doing-" (Y/N) cut himself off with a soft grunt, the hand at the base of Aegon's length leaving to plant itself on his other shoulder. Aegon swore he saw stars when (Y/N) fully settled on him. (Y/N) breathlessly laughed at the awestruck, hazy look on Aegon's face, his hand gently cupping his cheek and kissing him. "-so well, my sweet Aegon." Aegon whined softly at that. 

"Please," Aegon whispered and (Y/N) gave him a thoughtful look despite the teasing curl of his lips. "I'll be good." He murmured, words slurred but he hardly felt the effects of everything he'd taken that night. 

"Will you?" (Y/N) still sounded breathless, the candlelight showing off the gleam of sweat on his skin. His hands moved from his shoulders to wander over Aegon's chest and stomach, trailing over his biceps and arms until they reached his hands and laced their fingers together. Aegon nodded hurriedly, so desperate and wanting but the feeling of their hands together made his stomach flutter with a newfound emotion. 

"I-" Aegon had little time to finish his sentence before (Y/N) rose to the tip and then slipped back down to the base, the action knocking the air out of both of them and further tightening the knot threatening to break loose at any moment. One of (Y/N)'s hands untangled itself from Aegon's to slam beside Aegon's hand, a half-hearted attempt at balancing and grounding himself. Aegon held onto the other hand tightly, refusing to let him go for even a second. 

(Y/N) leaned down and pulled him into a heated kiss full of all tongue and muffled cries, Aegon's restraint chipping fully away when (Y/N) grinded down on him a few times. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and wrapped his arm around (Y/N)'s waist tightly, his thighs beginning to ache and burn deliciously.

"Go ahead," (Y/N) exhaled on his lips and Aegon lost himself. 

Much time passed, the sound of pained groaning and grumpy muttering from the other side of the window telling them the sun would soon be rising. The thumping footsteps of patrons nursing hangovers echoed through the brothel as they shuffled out, the jingling of coins and such mixing in. The quiet chatter of brothel workers followed, cups and chairs clinking as they began cleaning up. 

"Your Grace," (Y/N) sighed sleepily, his eyelids visibly heavy and lip slightly jutted out. Aegon felt equally as exhausted but the sight of him rubbing tiredly at his eyes made his heart swell, finding himself unable to resist kissing his semi-swollen lips. (Y/N) hummed softly, his fingers slipping between their faces to push Aegon back. "You must head home. Your-" He cut himself off with a yawn. "Your kingdom requires you." 

"I'd much prefer staying here forever," Aegon responded, coiling his arms tightly around (Y/N)'s body and dragging him closer against him. His whole body ached, his muscles sore and head spinning from the beginning of a hangover. (Y/N) breathed out a snort and rubbed his cheek into the soft satin pillow, eyes beginning to droop. 

"You mustn't. They'll come looking for you, Your Grace." 

"Aegon." He groaned. "Call me Aegon."

"Aegon." (Y/N) repeated softly. "Go home."

"Come with me, then," Aegon told him quietly. At his words, (Y/N)'s eyes snapped open, the sleep jerked away from his body and replaced with surprise. Aegon chuckled at his wide-eyed expression. "Come with me to- to the Red Keep. Come... be my paramour. You'll have your own room near mine... and- and you'll receive whatever you wish for. No one will dare say a thing."

(Y/N) stared at him for a long moment before he cupped Aegon's cheek and pressed a fleeting kiss to the tip of his nose. "You're exhausted, Your Grace. You do not understand what you're saying. You'll come to once you properly rest. You must go now before the sun rises and others see you." He said, slithering out of Aegon's hold to retrieve their clothes. He slipped his robe on with ease and offered Aegon his tunic. 

"I'll get dressed," Aegon took his wrist and dragged his lips over the back of his hand. "If you agree to become my paramour and live in the Red Keep." 

"We're only allowed in the Red Keep to entertain, Your Grace. You'll never be allowed to have a brothel worker as a paramour, much less a man. The Faith will never allow it. The Dowager Queen and- and-" 

"I do not care what they think. I am King. I can do whatever I want, and I want you to be mine."

[prettybabybaby]

Dark ideas for riddle brothers !! Mattheo x reader x Tom - noncon

You are a gryffindor and you piss both of them off . When they get to know that you are the one who pisses both of them off they make a plan to fuck you so hard that you know your place .

reader’s house is not mentioned

rating: ¡ 18+ only ! ¡ minors do not interact !

content: noncon

your intelligence puts even tom riddle to shame and you know it. you walk around with an air of superiority that rivals his own. your charm exceeds what his carefully curated persona could never quite reach. the picture perfect girl who would undoubtedly have everyone at her feet but still just out of reach.

mattheo was one of them. despite how much he tried to hide it, his fascination was clear. tom found the situation ridiculous, even telling his brother as much. but mattheo hadn’t listened. he never does.

you rejected him coldly, not even pretending to feel remorseful about it. mattheo’s pride had been hurt and he had hated you ever since. suddenly tom’s cruel remarks felt justified. they felt true and real.

the idea was mattheo’s, the plan coming to mind after yet another smug stare from you as you walked by him. you were taunting him, making sure that he knew that you knew how much your rejection had affected him.

tom was disinterested at first, finding no benefit in such an act. was he willing to risk his own reputation for the brief satisfaction of your dejected face and a tight squeeze around his cock? was he really willing to risk it all for pleas for remorse and smudged makeup? humiliation of being bare and vulnerable before your two greatest enemies while they used you brutally… mercilessly…

the appeal quickly grew, the next time mattheo made the offhanded comment tom wasn’t fast to shoot it down. tom made no effort to stop mattheo from creating a plan, but, he did offer a few pointers. tom also didn’t scold mattheo for his choice in timing, one that was way past curfew. tom asked for no confirmation, he simply showed up.

mattheo was already waiting, fingers anxiously tapping his thighs as he searched for his brother. when he saw him, a smile grew on his face. mattheo’s plan wouldn’t have worked without tom’s corrections, something tom made note of as he helped mattheo carry your body away.

soon enough, tom’s eyes roamed your chest as the buttons of your blouse were open wide and your tie, that was usually worn snugly around your neck, pressed and perfect, was pulled loose. tom watched as your chest bounced with each brutal thrust of his brother’s hips, lust and loathing fueling his movements.

mattheo put in a show better than you did. groans and moans tumbling from his lips freely, loud enough to block out the sobs that left yours. tom found it dramatic and unnecessary, though, he couldn’t say he hated the noises of frustration mattheo’s mocking drew from you.

even after mattheo, you were unbelievably tight. perhaps it was the lack of want, the sensitivity as your body screamed at you to give it a break. none of that mattered to tom. the only thing on his mind was the clenching around his cock, the slippery glide along your walls as he pushed in and out.

mattheo made sure to bother you again, clearly not through with you after one measly round. rough slaps to your cheeks, pinching your cheeks together meanly, forcing you to watch as tom fucked you. you simply sobbed as you watched his cock disappear between your legs, a painful burn in your core following each movement.

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Twenty Four-Info:you and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

Tags: 18+, Dirty Talk, ANGST ANGST ANGST, Kissing, Childhood Trauma, Slight!GunPlay(very slight), More Angst, Sadism, Slight Emotional Manipulation.

Find the rest of the chapters HERE.

Your fingers glided gently across the pages of your open book, tracing the lines of text as if seeking to absorb the knowledge directly into your skin. The ambient hush of the library enveloped you, punctuated only by the soft rustle of pages turning and the occasional murmur of voices in the distance. It was a haven of tranquility, a sanctuary where you could finally turn your thoughts off and allow yourself to get lost within the words of the text.

In this cocoon of silence, you immersed yourself, your eyes traversing the lines on the page with a voracious hunger for understanding. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of old parchment and the subtle aroma of polished wood, creating a sensory symphony that enhanced your focus. But amidst this serenity, an abrupt disruption shattered your concentration. The creak of a chair being pulled out and the faint sound of footsteps approached, heralding an unexpected presence.

Startled, your eyes lifted from the text to find Mattheo seated across from you--his dark, penetrating gaze drilled into yours, his eyes narrowed with a glaring suspicion as he analyzed your features, slowly and cautiously--not daring to speak. The sudden intrusion in such a public setting caught you off guard; a mix of surprise and unease filling your lungs as you blinked, glancing around the room to ensure no attention had been drawn.

It had been two days since the events in the bathroom, two whole days where the conversations were as bland as a piece of raw fucking chicken, and yet, here he was. Without warning. You had no fucking clue what he was doing here, but the look in his eyes told you it wasn't for any particularly pleasant reason.

"When were you planning on informing me about your little friend's new companion, hm?" His voice sliced through the air like a blade, his eyes narrowing with sadism. "I mean...I just happened to stumble upon her leaving my brother's dorm, and I'd highly fucking doubt she was there for a casual browse through his book collection, wouldn't you agree?"

Your eyes widened in shock, nerves flooding through you like an icy tide, freezing your words in your throat. You had been meaning to tell him, but since the two of you had hardly been speaking, it seemingly slipped your mind.

You glanced around the room, as if searching for an escape from the intensity of his gaze, before finally managing to whisper, "Are you fucking serious right now? Why is that any bloody concern of yours?"

"I just find it utterly fascinating," he sneered, his voice dripping with dangerous intent as he leaned over the table, scuffing his chair toward you. "...the intricate web of secrets you weave, Raven...not very Ravenclaw of you, now is it?"

"How is that a secret?" you hissed, your voice laced with both irritation and trepidation. "And why would I care about Emily getting with Tom? I never had any feelings for-"

"Not talking about that," he interrupted, his tone sharp as he cut through your words. "I'm talking about everything, in a far more broad context...all of the willing little lies and deceit...all the ways you've used me, just as much, if not more, than I've used you...you even managed to outwit Tom, which is one hell of an impressive accomplishment all on its own, I'll give you that."

The oxygen in the room vanished, leaving you nearly gasping for breath. "I...outwit Tom?"

"Well, it was only thanks to his blaring review that you landed this mentorship, was it fucking not?..." he scanned your features, his brows pinching in focus. "Every calculated step you've taken, every deceptive move you've made, all orchestrated to extract what you wanted for your bloody career...it truly makes a man wonder..."

His words struck like a cold breeze, sending a chill down your spine as you struggled to process the weight of his insinuations--you were beyond startled by the pace of this conversation, each syllable from his lips landing like a punch to the gut, rendering your mouth mute.

"I..." his words had you reeling, your voice catching in your throat, your confidence shattered by his unsettling revelation. "What the hell are you implying, Mattheo?"

Your throat tightened as you struggled to maintain composure. Swallowing hard, you tried to play it off, squinting at him in an attempt to mask your anxiety. But his penetrating gaze saw through your facades, leaving you defenseless against his piercing scrutiny. Mattheo's movements were deliberate, each shift in his chair calculated to exude an air of intimidation and control. His eyes, sharp and predatory, followed your every reaction as if he were studying his prey before a calculated strike.

"I did some digging on you last night...on your background...what your parents do...since, you know, you clearly had no interest in telling me yourself..." a sinister smile played on his lips, his eyes gleaming with a sadistic satisfaction. His voice lowered to a barely audible murmur, laced with a sense of superiority. "After the night at the lake, after that little spat we had...I just...I just couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to you than met the eye...and boy was I ever fucking right.”

Letting his words sink in, he leaned back in his chair, that sickening grin still plastered across his face. As the realization of his words settled like a heavy stone in your chest, you grew increasingly uncomfortable, acutely aware of the other students nearby. Their presence, though not directly involved, added a layer of unease to the situation.

Leaning across the table, you whispered urgently, "Do you have to do this here?" The words escaped your lips in a hushed plea, your voice strained with the need for privacy and a shred of dignity. "Like at least-"

Mattheo's response was chillingly calm, his grin widening with malicious delight.

"Oh, princess, come on," he purred, his tone a twisted mockery of sweetness. "Why continue to hide the truth? Let them hear what kind of person you really are..."

Your anger surged, the intensity of your emotions making your fingers grip the book tightly as you leaned in closer to him.

"You're a despicable asshole, you know that?" you spat out, your voice edged with pure disdain. "What's your bloody angle here?"

"Never claimed otherwise, did I?" His tone was flat, devoid of any remorse; meeting your words with an infuriating calmness. "Unlike you, I don't pretend to be something I'm not."

Your eyes rolled so forcefully it felt like you were glimpsing the inside of your skull, a groan of frustration clawing at your throat. Of course, he chose this moment--a place where you had to hold back your torrent of emotions, where you couldn't unleash the full force of your anger upon him. He knew exactly what he was bloody doing here, and it was fucking infuriating.

"Enough with the games, Riddle," you snapped, the words escaping through clenched teeth, your patience stretched to its limit. "Stop being a bloody arse and spit it out already."

"Your family history," he said, leaning in so close that your eyes locked in a battle of wills, each glance a dagger threatening to pierce the other's resolve. "It isn't as pristine as one might think...in fact, I'd almost be inclined to say it's the complete fucking opposite."

Your entire body tensed, coiling like a tightly wound spring. There was a pause as you studied his face, trying to decipher exactly what he knew before responding.

"Careful, Mattheo," you retorted, your voice laced with a sharp edge. "Just because you've unearthed a few skeletons doesn't mean you've cleared the whole closet."

"Honestly, Raven, I'm just curious," his grin stretched wider, the atmosphere around him growing denser with an almost palpable tension. "How did you manage to play the part for so long? You certainly had me fooled...even managed to trick the sorting hat into believing your little fucking charade...it's quite impressive, truthfully..."

A knot tightened in the pit of your stomach, every nerve inside you screaming in turmoil. "I...I don't know what you're talking about-"

"Don't even bother," Mattheo's words cut through your feeble denial, and he tilted his head, his intensity thickening the air around you. "I see right fucking through you, now, princess...that innocent act won't work on me anymore..."

His eyes, like burning coals, seared into your skin as if trying to uncover hidden truths. The room seemed to close in around you, amplifying the weight of his accusation.

"Generation after generation of Pureblood fucking Slytherins..." he continued, his voice low and laced with feign exasperation. "And yet, here you are...apparently as Ravenclaw as they come...you've managed to make yourself so damn-near invisible that no one even fucking noticed..."

Your breath hitched, caught in the vice grip of his merciless scrutiny. The truth of his words hung heavily in the air, a damning revelation that sent a shiver down your spine. Your carefully constructed facade, your shield against the world, was crumbling, and Mattheo had managed to find the cracks, leaving you exposed and vulnerable in his piercing gaze.

"I'll admit, I feel rather idiotic for not piecing it together sooner..." he sneered, his tone cutting through the tension like a knife, hands curling into fists atop of the desk. "I guess I was too entranced by your starry-eyed facade to see the cunning Slytherin hiding beneath, even though it was right in front of my face this whole time...your biting sarcasm, your unrelenting ambition, and your overly-eager knack for deceit--classic fucking Slytherin traits, aren't they, Raven?"

Your entire being blazed with a searing heat, a tempest of conflicting emotions threatening to consume you. The urge to throttle him until he fell silent warred with a fierce desire to pull him close and lose yourself in a breathless kiss. How infuriating it was to witness his sharp wit, a talent he wielded effortlessly, yet one he seemed unwilling to apply to his fucking studies.

At your silence, he huffed, glimpsing your lips again. "Not even the stars can change the essence of who you are, princess." He whispered, a hint of mockery in his tone. "Maybe it's about time you were honest with yourself."

Your anger surged like a tidal wave, crashing against the shores of your restraint. In that charged moment, you leaned in closer, as close as you possibly could, your body practically vibrating with intensity. How dare he sit there, smug and superior, acting like he had unraveled the very fabric of your being just because he had dug up a few skeletons from your family's closet?

Sure, your parents weren't paragons of virtue, but their actions don't define you--and that was the very the essence of all this. Every choice you've made, every hardship you've endured, has been a deliberate effort to distance yourself from their toxic legacy. His derisive remarks only fueled the fire, and you practically hurled the words at him, your voice laden with disdain.

"You don't know a single fucking thing about me," you seethed, "all you fucking know is what the inside of my body feels like...don't you dare sit there and act like you've got me all figured out."

Your steps were purposeful as you pushed up and away from the table, leaving him sitting there, his words lingering in the air like a bitter aftertaste. You moved back into the library, the familiar scent of old books surrounding you like a protective barrier, but you knew it wouldn't shield you from the storm that was Mattheo bloody Riddle for long. No, that would be far too fucking easy.

And nothing about your situation with that boy was easy.

As you put your book back on the shelf, you felt his presence behind you, a suffocating weight pressing down on your shoulders as you reluctantly spun back around to face him.

"Why'd you do it, huh?" Mattheo's voice cut through the air like a razor, his narrowed eyes fixed on you as he backed you up against the shelf, his presence overwhelming. "Are you truly that ashamed of who you fucking are?"

"Mattheo," you spat, your fists clenching at your sides, the frustration boiling inside you. "Please, don't push it...if I wanted to tell you about that, I would have..."

"Yeah, you're ashamed," he sneered, dismissing your words with a cynical laugh, confirming his original point. "You're ashamed of where you come from...fuck, I always knew we were alike, but I never knew it'd be this much-"

"What the fuck is this? Some type of elaborate power-play move? Some type of big intimidation act to get me to tell you about my life?..." you snapped, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and pain. "If you wanted to know, why didn't you just ask me? Instead of fucking me every chance you got why didn't you try having a real conversation with me? Try actually opening up to me for once?"

"Even if I did..." he said, dropping his tone into a low whisper. "Would you have told me? You said it yourself that you don't fucking trust me..."

"What do you want to know, Riddle? Huh? You want me to tell you how I grew up in a mansion full of emptiness? How my parents were never around and I was left with my cold, reserved grandmother, who cared more about her fucking butler than me?...or maybe you want to know about how I was raised in a world of expectations, forced to be perfect in every way imaginable, while my parents only bothered to acknowledge my existence when it served their social ambitions..."

You paused, frowning at him, your features a near scowl. "You're sure quick to call me a rich little princess...and sure, maybe you're right, maybe I had all the material things one could ever desire...but it was never enough, could never be enough. Something was always missing, like a void inside me that nothing would ever fucking fill."

Your eyes burned with unshed tears as you continued, the weight of your past bearing down on you. "When my grandmother got sick, it was the only time she actually fucking spoke to me. She told me to be different, to break free from the mold that had plagued my family for decades. I was there with her in her final moments, the first and only fucking time she ever said she loved me. And where were my parents? Absent, as always. They didn't even show up until days after her death, showering me with gifts, as if their mere presence could make up for years of neglect..."

In an unrelenting torrent, words cascaded from your lips, each syllable carrying the burden of years' worth of pent-up emotions. Mattheo's unwavering gaze never strayed, his chest rising and falling in shallow bursts, absorbing every uttered syllable as though he never anticipated such revelations.

"Sure, maybe I was handed whatever I wanted on a silver fucking platter--but I was always alone, and truthfully, that's how I fucking preferred it. I never believed in destiny, Mattheo...the stars never whispered my name, my future...I had to shape my own path, I had to become something of my own...once my grandma passed, I was left with the butler. My parents didn't care about what I did as long as my grades were to their standards. They had no idea I wasn't in Slytherin until my third fucking year..."

You paused, your eyes catching Mattheo's parted lips, a reflection of sheer astonishment. Despite fighting to maintain composure, your voice softened with each breath, your heart pounding in your throat.

"I had to grab my own fate with two hungry hands, pulling and pushing and molding my life into something I could be fucking proud of...and then you came along, with your smart mouth and your fucking effortless charm...and you just...you forced your way right into my bloody heart, tore down my walls like you fucking belonged there." The bitterness in your voice hung in the air, the pain of your past etched into every word, your chest heaving with emotion as Mattheo stood in front of you, speechless. "Yes, I've made mistakes, but they belong entirely to me...and thats precisely what sets us apart, you went through some shit and let it possess you...I chose to fight back."

Trembling fingers betrayed the turmoil within, your entire body quivering in the aftermath of the verbal storm you'd just unleashed upon Mattheo. Only when the deafening silence enveloped you did the weight of your words become palpable.

Unable to endure the silence any longer, you broke eye contact, running a trembling hand through your hair. "I'm so sorry...I didn't mean to trauma dump on you like that, I just-"

"No," he declared, "don't you dare apologize to me...I should be the one apologizing to you."

Mattheo's interruption sliced through the charged air, his voice emerging rasped and strained, as though he had withheld words for years. Swallowing, you met his intense gaze, attempting to decipher the kaleidoscope of emotions swirling within his eyes.

"Don't pity me, Mattheo...I'm well past needing that," you whispered, your figure leaning subtly against the bookshelf, a tangible weariness emanating from your being. "Everything you've ever said was right...two sides of the same coin, the masks, the fact that we're each haunted by our own ghosts. You've always been fucking right. The only misstep was when you claimed you'd be my ruin."

Mattheo arched an eyebrow, bridging the distance between you with a measured step. "And why is that?"

"Because, little did you know, I was already in ruins," you murmured, reaching out to loop your fingers around his belt, pulling him closer. "If anything, you've been my bloody salvation...you did something I wasn't sure I was capable of anymore--you made me feel."

A tangible tension hung in the air as Mattheo's hands gripped your hips with a silent urgency, a fervent plea for your presence.

"As if you're going to fucking say that," he countered, his grip conveying unspoken desires. "As if that's not precisely what you did to me."

"Yeah?" you smirked, your voice a sultry whisper. "And what do I make you feel?"

"Everything, Raven," he cooed, lips grazing sensually over your jawline. "Hate, desire, anger, lust...among other things."

Your breath hitched, suspended in the charged exchange. "Among other--"

Before you could finish, Mattheo cut you off, his lips crashing onto yours in a searing kiss, a palpable surge of desire that eclipsed the need for spoken words. He pressed you against the bookshelf, the wooden solidity of the shelves meeting your back. His hands, with a journey of their own, glided up your sides, their warmth leaving a trail of anticipation. They found their destination on your face, gently cupping it with a possessiveness that made your heart flutter, and you sighed into his mouth, letting your hands rest at his sides.

"Everything about you is so fucking addictive..." Mattheo's confession hung in the air, a declaration punctuated by the heat of his lips tracing a fervent path along your jaw. His hand, a serpentine caress, slithered down your arm, leaving a tingling trail of warmth in its wake. "You are both hellfire and holy water...soft yet strong...and every bloody time I touch you I feel a little less war-torn, like your chaos balances out mine...I just...I have no idea what peace feels like Raven, but I have to imagine it feels a lot like you..."

"Mm...fuck, I've missed you..." a soft sigh escaped your lips as his kisses descended, exploring the landscape of your neck. Your fingers instinctively tightened their grip on his shirt. "Whatever happened to that break you said you wanted..."

"Fuck the break," he growled, desire lacing his voice. His hand ventured boldly behind your head, the other finding a home on your hip, possessive and hungry. "I want you so fucking bad...I want to fuck you right here...right against this fucking shelf...cover your filthy little mouth so no one can hear you fucking moaning for me..."

"Shit..." you mewled, gasping slightly as his hand slid around to grip your ass. "Maybe...if two people can't seem to stay the fuck away from eachother, they aren't meant to be apart, hm?"

"Maybe you're right..." Mattheo purred, nipping at your earlobe as he pressed you back against the shelf. "I've always been a strong man, Raven...but you break me without effort...you are my weakness, the chink in my fucking armour..."

"Your undoing?" you murmured, your fingers tracing over his belt.

He hummed. "Precisely."

"When are you going to open up to me, Mattheo?" You whispered, your voice a fragile murmur as though you were afraid of the answer, slipping your fingers under his belt now, gliding along its path. "Tell me all the bad things you've done...tell me what made you into the weapon you are...you don't need to be afraid...I saw your darkness from the very beginning and I'm still fucking here, aren't I?..."

"Why?" His grip tightened, breath hitching. "Why didn't you run?"

Your lids fluttered, slowly losing yourself in the warmth of his breath against your neck. His scent enveloped you; a familiar, soothing balm to the ache he'd caused with his recent request for a break. The answer formed easily in your heart, though voicing it required vulnerability, more than you'd ever expected to give.

"Because...it was a reflection of mine."

Mattheo's only response was a deep growl that rumbled through the charged space, a primal sound that resonated with desire. Without hesitation, he pulled you back into a hungry kiss, his body pulsating with pent-up energy seeking release. The intensity of the kiss mirrored the raw hunger between you, a magnetic force that defied all notions of any further separation.

As your fingers continued their exploration along his belt, tracing the contours with a teasing caress, you encountered an unexpected sensation--cold, unyielding metal tucked between the leather and his abdomen, its texture rough, and harsh. A chill ran down your spine as confusion slowly crept over you, your eyes fluttering open in slow, tentative blinks, fingers seemingly frozen in place.

Mattheo, lost in the heat of the moment, seemed oblivious to your sudden unease. The kiss deepened, his hunger transferring into the fervency of the embrace. But your focus had shifted, and your trembling fingers tentatively confirmed the nature of the cold object--something metallic, something that should not be there. You gently pulled away from the kiss, your eyes wide with realization, fixated on the metal object now halfway exposed. Dread tightened your chest as your brows pinched, flicking back up to meet his eyes.

"Mattheo," you whispered, the name carrying a weight of urgency, "what is this?"

Mattheo's swallow echoed in the charged silence, his gaze dropping to your hand, his chest still heaving from the passionate kiss. His eyes widened as the weight of your question settled in, a realization dawning on him, as if he had momentarily forgotten about the object concealed within his belt.

"Raven, I-"

He began, but you interrupted, yanking your hand back. "No-what the fuck-"

"Stop," Mattheo commanded, his tone abruptly taking on a harsh edge. With deliberate movements, he pulled up his shirt slightly, revealing more of the mysterious object nestled between his belt. The revelation hung in the air, and Mattheo, eyes now serious, asked a question that carried the weight of the moment: "Do you trust me, Raven?"

Your eyes squinted as a realization crashed over you, the rhythm of your heart shifting into a turbulent drumbeat within your chest. There was absolutely no denying it--that sleek, ominous silhouette spoke volumes. That was a fucking gun.

Frozen in a surreal disbelief, your ability to think, blink, or move was momentarily hijacked. Mattheo's hand surged upward with a suddenness that matched the shock in your eyes, seizing your jaw with a commanding force. His fingers, both firm and urgent, redirected your gaze, forcing you back to the depth of his eyes, which were now darker than the midnight sky.

"Answer me," he demanded, the intensity of his words amplified by the gravity of the situation. "Do you fucking trust me?"

The weight of the question echoed in the charged air. Your mind spun, grappling with the incredulity of the scene unfolding before you. Firearms had been a distant memory, relegated to hunting trips with a Muggle friend back in middle school. Yet, the stark reality of Mattheo possessing a fucking handgun in the heart of Hogwarts shattered any remnants of normalcy, the shockwaves reverberating through your very core.

"I-I-" you stammered.

Mattheo jostled your head in his grip, pulling you closer. "Yes or no question, Raven."

Blinking, you found yourself caught in a tempest of conflicting emotions. The tendrils of trust warred with the unsettling presence of the gun, a contradiction that defied all reason. In the throbbing silence, Mattheo's growl of frustration pierced the air. Relinquishing his grip on your jaw, he seized your wrist, directing it back toward the ominous weapon.

"Take it out," he commanded, his eyes fixed on yours. "Right now, Raven. Take it."

A whimper escaped you, your fingers trembling as they tentatively wrapped around the cold metal. With visible reluctance, you extended it out, pointing the gun down at the floor. Mattheo's grip on your wrist persisted, unyielding, anchoring you in the unsettling reality of the moment.

"I'll ask you one more fucking time," he whispered harshly, the words slicing through the charged air like a razor. His breath, warm against your face, carried an unsettling contrast to the gravity of his demand. "Do you trust me?"

Another desperate whimper slipped past your lips, the nodding of your head an almost frantic plea. "Yes! Please, I trust you. Just take it back-"

Mattheo's reply erupted as a snarl, a guttural growl that echoed with a feral intensity. His features, twisted by a crazed possession, accentuated the mad determination in his eyes as he tightened his grip on your wrist. With an unhinged sense of purpose, he directed it upward, the cold barrel now pressing menacingly against his own temple.

"Pull it," he said stoically, the eerie calmness chilling against the tension. "Pull the trigger."

Your jaw dropped, the brimming tears reflecting the disbelief that swirled in your eyes. "No! What the fu-"

"Do it," he repeated, the calmness persisting. "Go on, baby, pull it."

Sickened and paralyzed by the surreal horror of the moment, you hesitated, the sheer shock of what Mattheo was asking you to do anchoring you in a moment of profound disbelief. Your mind swarmed with recollections of the crazy things you'd done for him before, but this--this was unlike anything you had ever fucking imagined. The weight of the gun in your hand, the gravity of the situation, left your brain reeling as the stark realization of the moment seized hold of your senses.

His frustration, palpable and charged, manifested in another growl. With a menacing determination, he shifted his hand to envelop yours, forcing your finger down, the pressure on the trigger unrelenting.

You heard the click, you felt the click--and yet, nothing happened.

"Fuck..." you choked out, a turbulent blend of relief and confusion seizing your senses in a tumultuous embrace. "What the fuck..."

He blinked, his dark eyes tracing over your lips as he clicked it again. And again. The ensuing silence, pregnant with the surreal gravity of the situation, echoed through the seemingly empty library. Each breath you exhaled became a struggle, the air tinged with the weight of the inexplicable moment, your senses teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.

Then, like a tidal wave crashing over you, the realization struck with breathtaking force. "It's enchanted..."

"About fucking time you caught on." Mattheo nodded, his acknowledgement cutting through the charged air with terse confirmation. He released the hold on your hand, pulling the gun away and casually slipping it back under his belt. "This gun only serves one purpose Raven, and it's never to kill, only to protect..."

Your heart leapt. "Protect what?"

"Doesn't matter," he said, a gentle hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from your eyes. “You can trust me, Raven…you can always fucking trust me…”

You exhaled, a long, exasperated breath. “I know, Mattheo…”

“Good girl,” he cooed, a smirk playing on his lips as he stoically reached into his back pocket, as if on a quest for something. "Has Nott popped the question yet?"

Your cheeks flushed. "Yes.."

"Good," he replied, his other hand securing your wrist before he withdrew his busy one, placing a handful of Galleons in your outstretched palm. "Go treat yourself to a dress. Something red, something tight."

As he withdrew his hand, he leaned in, placing a hot, wet kiss on your cheek, smirking from ear to ear as he said. "I've got something I have to do tonight, so I can't stay...but I look forward to respectfully ripping off whichever lovely dress you decide on."

"Respectfully?" you quipped, a playful glint in your eyes. "I'll make sure to pick a dress that demands nothing less than the most dignified removal, then."

"Oh, Raven...I can promise you it'll be the furthest thing from dignified." He snickered, wetting his lips as he took a few steps back, slowly beginning to make his retreat. "See you then."

As he spun around, making his exit, your mind followed suit, a whirlwind of emotions from this entire encounter. Only Mattheo Riddle could master the art of rendering you utterly anxious, furious, emotional, aroused, terrified, and, finally, relieved--all within the span of under an hour. You'd never encountered a man who expertly navigated every one of your buttons and boundaries like he did, yet you couldn't deny the potent influence he held over you.

You couldn't deny that as soon as he left, an insatiable longing for his presence consumed you, an undeniable yearning for his return.

—————————

Chapter 25->

[just-some-random-blogger]

I don't know if you accept requests, but I'm going to risk it. Did you see the last photo of Harry Collett and Tom Taylor (the future Cregan Stark)? Could you write a Harry/Jace x reader x Tom/Cregan threesome? I'm obsessed with them

Push & Pull

It's basically Lannister tradition to create a scandal on your nameday, or maybe that's just you.

Jacaerys Velaryon x Lannister!Reader x Cregan Stark | 1k+ | cw: fem!reader, jealousy?, am I the drama!YN, typos, etc.

A/N: hello nonnie! i do take requests, but i dont explicitly state it because ive been having a hard time writing. i had an idea for a jace fic when you sent this, so it felt really timely, but then that fic i went to die 💀✋ so im tryna revive my spark writing smth else. i know you said a threesome but i just 💔 the best i can do is them tryna one up each other. I AM SO HYPE FOR THEM FR FR but i didnt really see the actors' photo together, just them in the trailer

"Is that the older Velaryon boy?" I mutter to my brother in between taking a sip of wine.

Jason turns where I'm looking and takes a sip of his own wine, "indeed."

"He's rather easy on the eyes, isn't he," I smile at my Jason.

He raises a brow, "and you are rather engaged, aren't you?"

"Engaged to be engaged," I shrug, looking around the room again, "and I do not even see our man of the hour anywhere."

"Lord Stark is travelling here from Winterfell. One would expect him to be late."

"Are you not the same brother of mine that said impressions have their weight in gold?"

Jason narrows his eyes, "clearly that was Tyland."

I roll my eyes at him and look away. I quickly turn back to Jason after I notice something, "oh, look. He's coming over."

"Lady Lannister."

I avert my gaze from my brother, to Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, who gives me a nod in regard.

"My prince," I smile and curtsy.

He smiles back then turns to my brother, "Lord Lannister."

Jason raises a brow and nods curtly.

"If your sister will allow it," Jacaerys turns to me, "I would like to ask her for a dance."

I giggle under my breath. I share a look with my brother. Jason assesses my expression before turning back to the dark haired man, "my sister is not accepting dances this moment."

I turn to Jacaerys as he gives me a questioning look, "may I enquire why?"

"I hurt my ankle," I mutter, "whilst getting off the carriage."

Jacaerys' forehead visibly wrinkles, "you took a carriage here?"

I purse my lips into a soft smile, "I did."

"To Casterly Rock?"

"I was visiting a lady friend who lives not too far from here."

"... I see."

Just as Jacaerys says this, the doors open, and Lord Cregan Stark's arrival is announced as he walks in. As he swaggers in, I am struck by a delicious idea.

"On second thought, my prince," I extend a hand, "my ankle is feeling rather better now."

I feel my brother give me a dirty look, but before he can say anything, I am whisked away for a dance.

Jacaerys leads me as we dance, holding my hand firmly as we glide across the floor, and pulling me closer than what was needed when the movement called for it.

The truth was, I didn't mind it, but there was nothing I loved more than putting a man in his place.

"You're being quite familiar with your touches, Jacaerys," I mutter when we as close enough.

I see his eyes light up when I call him by his first name. He chuckles, "can you blame me for wanting to be so?"

I hum as he spins me around, "I doubt many refuse your advances anyway, with the life of a princess up for prize."

Jacaerys ends up behind me as we continue with the dance. I feel his breathing as we continue with the next steps. Once we pull away and face each other again, I speak, "it is an honor to be the first."

Jacaerys looks at me in confusion when I curtsy rather than take his hand. I smile, "I have another waiting on me," then walk away.

It doesn't take long for me to weave my way out of the dancing bodies, nor to find the said person waiting for me.

I press my lips together into a soft smile as I approach the towering man, "Lord Stark."

Cregan nods and extends a hand, "my lady."

I take his hand and smile when he kisses my knuckles, "I do hope your travels were safe."

Cregan straightens up and tilts his head, "safe?"

He takes a step forward and brushes my knuckles, "I arrived to see my future bride ensnared in the jaws of a dragon."

I clasp my hands together and raise a brow, " I believe the Velaryon's sigil is that of a seahorse."

"And I believe he is set to inherit the throne after his mother, the king's appointed heir."

I purse my lips and lock eyes with Jacaerys from across the room. A moment later, I turn back to Cregan and smile, "political talk has always bored me."

He shifts on one leg, "I would not bore you on your nameday."

"Then dance with me."

Cregan takes a second, then offers me a hand.

Not a moment later, the two of us are dancing with the rest of the crowd. Cregan is much more wary with his touch, more courteous, and modest.

I cannot help but tease him with lingering touches and with the bat of my lashes, "you are surprisingly graceful for someone of your stature."

Cregan chuckles, hands gripping my waist with more intention, "perhaps the same could be said about you, my lady."

I raise a brow, "what's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, with your injured ankle and all."

I tilt my head, eyes locked on his as we change partners. I keep my attention locked on Cregan as I come back to him the next measure.

"How do you know that?"

He tucks my hair behind my ear, "your brother told me as you danced with Jacaerys Velaryon, how you humored him, despite your reluctance."

We spin around and switch partners again.

This time, I cannot keep my attention on Cregan as I find myself face to face with Jacaerys, himself.

He immediately speaks, "I did not know you were waiting upon Cregan Stark."

I do the steps with him and purse my lips, "why would you need to know who I wait upon?"

"I thought I made it clear," the corner of his lips quirk, "I wish to be familiar."

I chuckle, taken slightly off guard, "and I thought I made it clear that I did not."

Jacaerys' hold on my hip lingers, "did you?"

My breath hitches when he pulls me flush against his chest, arms around my waist as we twirl. He breaks away, seconds too long, and we change partners again.

Except I don't, and neither does Jacaerys, for then the music finds its completion. We stand in front of each other, staring, as the rest of the room breaks into applause.

"I would like to share another dance with you, my lady," says Jacaerys.

"She is already spoken for," another answers for me.

I peer up at Cregan as he comes between us. He blankly stares at Jacaerys. It lingers and becomes rather painful. Eventually, he gives him a nod in regard, "your grace."

"Lord Stark," Jacaerys clenches his jaw before nodding back.

I stare at them as they stare at each other for another prolonged moment. I purse my lips then sigh, "I am actually feeling rather parched. Would you two boys like to pour me a drink?"

The two of them turn to me, but before they could respond, I'm already heading off to the banquet table. My brother's eyes shoot daggers at me as I approach.

[atypicalamortentia]

Riddle's Diary || Tom Riddle

Synopsis - A few days into your last year at Hogwarts, you wake up to find an unusual diary nestled between your class books. After uncovering its secret, the diary very quickly becomes the only thing you can think about.

Warnings - SFW.

Notes - All characters a 18+

Word Count - 4k.

[Caffeinate Me]

You weren’t exactly sure where the diary came from. You had woken up one morning to find it neatly nestled between your class books on your bedside table. You had asked around Hogwarts to see if anybody had put it there, alas nobody had owned up to placing it in your belongings. 

The diary itself was plain black and made of leather. The unrecognised name of ‘Tom Marvolo Riddle’ was written in gold on the bottom of the very back of the diary. As you studied the diary, your first instinct was to flick through the pages but when you did, you saw they were all empty. It was as if the diary was brand new. Unused. You shrugged and placed the diary neatly back where it had been and went about your day as usual, forgetting all about it until you returned back to your dorm room that evening. 

When everybody had gone to bed and you were sure everybody was asleep, you grabbed the diary and made your way down to the common room where you sat at a desk facing a window, looking out at the clear night sky. You admired the diary for the second time today and sighed. “Where did you come from?” You muttered to the diary. You opened it to the middle page and inspected the lining of the book. You were looking for any evidence that there had been pages ripped out, but the lining of the diary remained intact suggesting that there hadn’t been. Just as you were about to close the book and head back to bed, words appeared on the page in front of you:

Hello. 

You shook your head and squeezed your eyes shut tightly before reopening them and looking at the page the words had appeared on. There was nothing there. “I must be going mad,” you whispered to yourself. You were about to close the diary once more before words appeared on the page again:

No, you’re not going mad. 

Then, as quickly as they appeared, they disappeared without a trace. You picked up the diary and looked closely at the page. 

My name’s Tom Marvolo Riddle. What’s yours?

You gasped loudly. What sort of magic was this? You watched as the words disappeared from the page before you looked at the ink pot that sat neatly on the corner of the desk you were sitting at. “Am I really going to do this?” You asked yourself before picking up the feathered quill pen and writing your name on the page of the diary. You waited for a few seconds, not sure what you were expecting to happen but just like the words you had seen, your name simply disappeared from the page. In its place was a response:

That’s a pretty name for a pretty girl. 

The words were gone and the page was yet again blank. Did a diary really just call you pretty? You shook your head once again and allowed the quill in your hand to glide across the page as you wrote your reply: 

What is this book?

You waited a few seconds before a response came. 

My diary.  

“But why would somebody enchant a diary?” You asked aloud to yourself. 

So I can live forever. 

“Oh,” you frowned at the words on the page. Whatever it was, whoever it was, they could hear you speak? This was magic you had never encountered before, nor even knew was possible. You didn’t respond to the diary and instead looked out of the window as your mind whirled with possibilities. You still didn’t even know where this diary had come from and now you were up in the middle of the night talking to it? When you finally looked down at the page, you saw another sentence:

It’s late. You should go to bed beautiful. 

You closed the diary without writing a goodbye. You were shaken and confused. “It is late,” you mumbled to yourself looking at the grandfather clock situated in the corner of the common room. This all had to be one weird dream. You would wake up in the morning to no diary that could hear you or write to you and you’d tell your best friends about it and you’d laugh about the weird dream. Yeah. That would happen. You grabbed the diary and stood up, making your way back to the girls dorm and climbing back into bed. You placed the diary back where it was when you found it and fell into a deep sleep. 

You were the last to wake in the morning and the first thing you did was look for the diary. There it was, right where you left it. So it wasn’t a weird dream? You opened the diary and waited for words to appear, but none did. “Maybe I was just so sleep deprived I imagined the whole thing,” you whispered to yourself. You waited for a few more moments and still no words appeared. “What am I thinking?” You groaned and threw the diary onto the bed before getting ready for the day to come. 

Your first class of the day was potions. It was probably your favourite class, but as you sat and listened to Professor Snape drawl on about various different potions you just couldn’t concentrate. No matter how hard you tried. Your mind kept lingering back to the diary and the night before. After potions class you had a free period. You tended to sit in the library and study, but yet again you couldn’t concentrate. You found yourself sneaking back to the common room and acquiring the diary, placing it in your bag before going to your second, and final, class of the day. You found yourself peering at the dairy in your bag throughout the lesson through the corner of your eyes, not paying attention to the Professor that was trying to teach you Defence Against The Dark Arts. The lesson was soon over and you evaded your friends to head back to the common room in an attempt to communicate with the diary once more. You sat at your bed, pen in hand, and began to scrawl onto the page in front of you.

Was I dreaming last night? 

You waited a second and before you knew it, the words you wrote had disappeared leaving a response in its wake. 

No. 

Your eyes widened and your heart began to thump desperately in your chest. You shook your head and watched as the words left the page until it was blank once more. You were about to write back about how insane this was but the diary beat you to it. 

You think this is crazy, don’t you?

You nodded and cried out, “yes!”  

It’s not. It’s magic. 

“Well duh,” you groaned loudly. 

“Y/N, are you okay?” Your friend's voice came from the other side of the girls' dorm. You panicked and snapped the diary shut before throwing it under your pillow just in time for your friend to walk in. 

“I’m fine,” you said, blinking rapidly at her. 

“I heard you say ‘yes’ extremely loudly,” she looked around the room realising nobody else was in there but you. “Who were you talking to?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. 

You frowned and shrugged, making up a quick lie. “Just thought of the answer to some homework I have. Been thinking about it for days and it finally came to me.” 

“That’s… good…” Your friend said slowly before backing out of the room leaving you alone yet again. When you were sure she was gone, you grabbed the diary back from under your pillow and opened it. 

Ashamed of me?

The diary wrote. You raised an eyebrow and wrote back instantly. 

You’re a diary. 

That’s not a no. 

You scoffed. You weren’t ashamed per say, just confused. It was a damn talking diary! You needed to find out more about the diary before you let people see you with the damn thing. You sat crossed-legged on the bed, pen in hand, and continued to talk to the diary. 

So. Tell me about yourself.

The diary responded instantaneously with a counter question:

Why don’t you tell me about yourself, pretty girl?

You rolled your eyes. Out of all the magical things you thought would make a blush rise to your cheeks, a diary certainly wasn’t one of them. 

Stop calling me “pretty girl”. 

Why should I?

You bit your bottom lip as you wrote back furiously. 

You don’t know what I look like. 

Are you sure about that?

You paused and looked around the room. Surely your friends weren’t pulling a prank on you with this diary were they? When you didn’t answer, the diary continued to write to you. 

Why don’t I show you who I am? 

Your heart continued to beat rapidly in your chest and before you knew it, you were being sucked into the diary. You looked around the room and recognised it as your dorm room. The diary was nowhere to be found and so, not sure what had happened you smoothed down your uniform and began to walk out of the room. Things looked exactly the same and you made your way out of the common room to the grand staircase. There, you saw a man with curly hair and the most piercing brown eyes standing at the bottom of the staircase. He looked on as someone was taken away, covered by a sheet - someone had died? You didn’t recognise the man and his robes were slightly different to yours and it was then that you realised you were in a different time era. The cogs were turning in your head when suddenly you were interrupted by a voice you were familiar with. “Tom?” You looked to see Professor Dumbledore standing in front of the man, shielding his view as the body was wheeled away. 

“Tom?” You asked loudly, but nobody turned to look at you. “Tom Marvolo Riddle?” 

“What’s happened Professor?” Tom asked Professor Dumbledore who looked on sadly, placing his hand on the man’s shoulders. 

As the pair talked, you walked next to Dumbledore and waved a hand in front of his face. When he didn’t acknowledge you, you began to realise what was happening. These were memories. Tom’s memories to be exact. The two began to fade away and suddenly you were left alone in the corridor before you were sucked back out of the diary and onto your bed. You blinked a few times and looked at the diary that lay on your bed. “What the hell was that?” You asked yourself, opening the diary to the first page. 

That was a memory of mine, my dear. You see, I used to be a student at Hogwarts. 

You raised an eyebrow before picking the pen back up and scribbling back. 

Used to be?

Yes, used to be. A long time ago. 

“That explains why I didn’t recognise you,” you said, knowing that the diary would respond to your mumbling. 

Exactly. Who could forget a handsome face like mine?

The diary replied. You yet again rolled your eyes and scoffed. The diary wasn’t wrong though, he was extremely handsome. 

What are you thinking about?

The diary asked. This made you think about what you were thinking about and instantly you shook your head as if trying to shake the thoughts from your brain. 

Nothing. 

Came your response. You continued to shake your head, not allowing the thoughts to re-enter your mind of Tom Riddle. You bid your goodbyes before closing the diary and placing it back under your pillow - not allowing the diary time to say goodbye. 

An hour had passed since you last spoke to the diary and you were already itching to talk to it again… To talk to him again. Despite having your friends around you, sometimes you felt like an outcast. Somebody who didn’t belong. This diary was making you think… Was making you feel. “This is ridiculous,” you whispered to yourself as you walked down the hall to the Great Hall. You opened the large doors to the Great Hall and were met with crowds of people gathering around their house tables, eating away at the large feast that was spread out across the long tables. 

“Y/N!” Your friend called, standing up and waving her arms to catch your attention. “Over here!” You smiled weakly at her and walked over to your house table, settling down next to your friend. “Where have you been? We haven’t seen you all day!” 

“I erm…” You whispered, looking down at your skirt. “I’ve not been feeling well. I’ve been in the girls dorm for most of the afternoon, just resting.” 

“Are you feeling better?” Another one of your friends asked you, to which you just nodded a response. “Good.” 

You began to eat the food on your plate silently as you continued to think back to Tom Riddle's memory. There was no denying that if that man was Tom Riddle, he was extremely handsome. Charmingly handsome. His brown eyes were inviting as he looked past Dumbledore at the gurney the covered body was laying on. They twinkled as if they were harbouring a deep secret, one you were sure you could get out of the diary if you asked. 

“Y/N?” Your friend shouted, grabbing your shoulder and shaking you, grabbing your attention from your thoughts. “I said have you done the potions homework?” 

You looked at your friend with a mouthful of food and shook your head. Gulping the food down, you began to speak. “When is it due? I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

“Like what Y/N?” Your friend hissed silently. “This is our last year for goodness sake! Get your head in the game or you’ll fail your exams!” 

You straightened your body and nodded. “You’re right.”

“I know,” she smiled, brushing off her shoulder playfully. You turned back to your food and continued eating in silence as your friends around you chattered and laughed. Before you knew it, you were making your way back to the common room quickly, alone yet again. You walked up the moving staircases, being careful not to get trapped on the revolving stairs as you hurriedly made your way back to your dorm. You got into the girls dorm and slammed the door shut behind you. When you realised you were alone you walked over to your bed and picked up your pillow revealing the leather diary you had been thinking about non-stop for the last twenty-four hours. You could tell in your gut that this diary was going to become a problem for you. You picked it up and sat down on your bed opening the book. 

Did you miss me?

Your eyes widened at the words on the page. 

No.

You lied. 

Liar. 

No.

This continued for several minutes before you gave in. 

I suppose I missed the company you seem to bring me. 

You wrote. Your heart was yet again thumping in your chest as you scribbled the words on the empty, yellow parchment. 

How cute.

Cute? You wouldn't exactly call it ‘cute’. It was more sad than anything. Talking to a diary, memories of somebody from the past as opposed to your kind, caring and loving friends. You gripped the diary tightly between your fingers, folding the book ever-so-slightly. Your leg was bouncing off the floor as you thought about what to say to Tom next. Alas you didn’t have to think before more words were scrawled on the page. 

How was your day?

“My day?” You mumbled to yourself, grasping the pen tightly in your hand as you began to write back. 

My day was okay. I haven’t been able to concentrate on my studies today. 

And why is that?

“This damned diary,” you said loudly. You placed the diary, open, next to you gently on the bed and stood up. With your head in your hands, you grasped your hair and pulled ever-so-slightly whilst groaning in frustration. 

What is it about my diary that is so distracting to you, my dear?

You looked down at the diary on your bed and sighed. You picked it up again and replied. 

It’s like having a constant friend in my bag. 

You didn’t have to wait long for Tom’s reply.

A friend?

“Yes, a friend,” you whispered in a hushed voice. 

But, that’s a good thing isn’t it? To have a friend with you at all times, no matter where you are. No matter what you do. 

You thought for a moment. You supposed it was a good thing, but again you knew this diary was going to become a problem for you if you kept it. 

I have to give your diary away.

You wrote on the empty page after much deliberation. 

NO!

Tom replied. There was an urgency in his writing. The capitalisation of the letters sent your heart into a frenzy. This diary, this Tom Riddle, had been in your life for roughly twenty-four hours now and you were already starting to feel attached. 

Why do you have to give my diary away, pretty girl?

You bit your bottom lip as you ran the pads of your fingers across the parchment. The words dissolve off the page in the blink of an eye. The thought of that handsome boy in the memory calling you a pretty girl brought a blush to your face. You shook your head. You couldn’t be thinking like that. You didn’t know a thing about this Tom Riddle, about this diary. 

We should meet.

The words flashed on the page. 

“Meet? How could we possibly meet?” You asked the diary, confusion laced your voice. 

Magic. 

Came the reply. In an instant you were sucked into the diary yet again. You stood up off the bed and brushed yourself off, taking in the room around you: you were in another memory. There was movement in the corner of the room and your eyes shot to the darkness of the room's corner. A figure loomed in the shadows and your heart began to thump, your ears began to ring and your legs began to shake. Were you trembling out of fear? Out of anticipation? You weren’t quite sure. 

“I’ve been very anxious to meet you,” a voice came from the shadows. Stepping into the light, the curly haired male from the first memory stood in front of you. 

“T-Tom?” You asked, ears still ringing. 

The man took a few steps towards you, a twisted smile graced his lips as he spoke confidently in response. “Yes. It’s me.”

“H-How is this even possible?” You asked. You were breathless as Tom continued to stalk towards you. 

“It’s simple magic really,” Tom replied. He was now standing mere feet away from you and you could truly admire his features in the girls dorm light. “Have you been as anxious to meet me as I have to meet you?”  

You shook your head as your throat ran dry. You gulped down a lump and spoke, trying your best to sound unaffected by him. “You’re just a memory.” 

“I may be just a memory, but that doesn’t mean I’m not real,” he whispered, bringing his face closer to yours. He looked deeply into your eyes before his gaze dropped down to your lips and back up to your eyes again. “It doesn’t mean that what I don’t feel is real…”

“What do you mean?” You asked softly. 

Tom brought a hand up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. His face was so close to yours that you could feel his breath on the side of your face. It was warm, intoxicating almost. You felt your heart flutter as his hand dropped from your hair and to your hand that rested next to you. He held it up to his heart which you could feel beating in tandem with your own. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I feel Y/N.” 

You shook your head a ‘no’ as he spoke to you, lips gracing your ear seductively. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He pulled away from your face and stood up straight. Brown eyes twinkling in the dim light of the room, staring into your soul. “Liar,” he whispered, a chuckle escaping his lips. 

“Tom…” You whispered breathlessly. You sucked in a breath and moved closer to him, touching his shoulders gently with shaky hands. “I can touch you?” 

“Of course you can,” Tom smirked. “And I can touch you.” He responded with a hand ghosting your hip, pulling your body closer to his. Your heart was skipping beats at his touch and you looked up at him. “I can even kiss you, if you want me too.” Tom’s hands cupped your face as he brought it closer to his own, gaze flickering down to your lips seductively. 

“Why would you kiss me?” You whispered to him, eyes burning into his own. You desperately wanted to look away out of embarrassment, but you kept strong. 

“Because I’m in love with you,” he said so nonchalantly. 

Your eyes widened and you stepped back at his words, visibly recoiling. “Excuse me?” You asked, raising your eyebrow. 

“You heard me,” Tom replied as he dropped his hands from your cheeks and gripped onto your hip, earning a squeak from you. “I’m glad you found my diary.” 

“I didn’t find it,” you whispered. “It was placed in my belongings and was there when I woke up the other morning.” 

Tom hummed and with his free hand, stroked his chin. “Fate has brought us together then, my love. Together, we can do it.”

You pulled away from Tom’s grasp and looked at him with confusion on your face. “Do… What?” 

“Open the Chamber Of Secrets, of course,” Tom replied. The Chamber Of Secrets? What on earth was the Chamber Of Secrets? Your face must have asked the question before you could vocalise it, and Tom chuckled. “You don’t know about the Chamber Of Secrets?” You shook your head. “What are they teaching you at this forsaken school,” Tom said whilst rolling his eyes. 

“Magic,” you answered softly. 

Tom continued to roll his eyes at your answer but he leaned in closer to you once more, his breath fanning across your face causing your entire body to shiver in anticipation. “Will you help me?” He asked. Without even thinking, you found yourself nodding a simple ‘yes’. Tom pulled away from your ear and smirked down at you. “Good. Good. We shall waste no time and get to work immediately.” 

“Okay…” You nodded slowly. You looked into Tom’s eyes and felt your palms get sweaty almost instantly at the way he was looking at you. There was a hint of need there, possession maybe. Whatever it was, you couldn’t quite place it. 

“About that kiss,” Tom whispered huskily, stepping one step closer to you so that he was now invading your personal space. “Would you like it?” 

Before you even thought about it, your head was nodding a ‘yes’. Tom was grinning at you, licking his lips before he placed them on yours softly. You whimpered the second his lips touched yours but melted into the kiss almost immediately. You felt Tom’s hands rest on your hips, gripping tightly and pulling you flush against his chest protectively. Tom wasted no time in deepening the kiss, pushing you backwards until your back hit a wall behind you. You were suddenly trapped and wouldn’t be able to get away from him if you wanted to. Your cheeks were on fire as you felt Tom bite down on your bottom lip between his teeth before he pulled away and looked at you. 

“How was that?” He asked breathlessly. His arms had fallen from your hips and were now resting on either side of your head as he leaned above you against the wall. 

“Best fake kiss I’ve ever had,” you whispered, voice low and nervous. 

“I think it’s time I return you to your time,” Tom said, a hint of sadness in his voice. “I just wish I could keep you here with me… Forever.” 

You blushed furiously at his words and before you knew it, you were being transported out of the diary and you were sitting back on your bed in the girls dorm. The diary was once again open and a few words were sprawled on the page for you to see:

Come visit me again soon sweetheart. 

[cardansriddle]

"You know how to ball, I know Aristotle" - (tom riddle x fem!reader)

Summary: Tom finds himself harbouring a small crush on the Slytherin Chaser.

Warnings: None, just pure fluff. As always, not proofread, so apologies for any mistakes.

A/N: First post in months, hi, hello, I'm alive!!! This one is heavily inspired by the lyrics "you know how to ball, I know Aristotle" from so high school by taylor swift (obviously). And we all know Tom is the nerd in any scenario.

༻♛༺

The players soared through the azure sky, their movements orchestrated with precision and grace as the game began. Quidditch had never held any allure for Tom; he deemed it brutish and an unworthy diversion from his personal pursuits. After all, he would rather spend his hours on research to further his magical skills, become the most powerful wizard of all time and accomplish his one ultimate life ambitions.

Yet he had been dragged to the game by his persistent, relentless Knights. Half of them had already taken to the field, while the remainder bellowed raucous cheers from the stands. That is, if one could call creative chants being hurled at the Gryffindor team cheering.

With a disdainful curl of his lip, Tom reached for the book nestled at his side, fully intending to pass the time by reading. Yet, before he could even read a word, a chorus of gasps pierced the air, followed by a rush of wind that tousled his dark locks. Startled, he glanced skyward, just in time to witness one of the Chasers of his house team swooping gracefully to intercept the Quaffle hurtling towards an unsuspecting bystander behind him.

She shot a cheeky smirk at whoever she had just saved before gliding away. Something within Tom stirred—an unexpected surge of fascination seized hold of his senses and he found himself tracking her every movement with a newfound intensity. For a moment his scholarly mind analysed her movements with the same meticulous scrutiny he applied to his studies. She moved with a fluidity that seemed to defy the laws of gravity, her every manoeuvre executed with a finesse that demanded attention.

As her lithe form weaved through the chaos of the game, Tom couldn't help but lean forward to pay attention to the game. He was transfixed, his gaze glued on her as she scored a goal after goal.

"See! I told you Quidditch was fun!" Orion Black exclaimed from next to him, hand moving to pat Tom on his back before realising who he was speaking to and forgoing the action all together.

Tom did not bother acknowledging the boy.

The game came to an end as the Slytherin Seeker deftly caught the snitch after a particularly intense dive, and soon enough the entire crowd of students were rushing to congratulate the victorious team. Just like that, Tom was snapped out of his daze. He gathered his belongings and decided to leave.

༻♛༺

The party in honour of the Slytherin team was in in full swing by the time Tom set foot in the common room. He cursed under his breath as he navigated the crowded space, desperate to retreat to his dormitory and escape the chaos that engulfed the room.

Pushing his way through the throng, he passed by the large emerald couch when his eyes caught sight of her. She sat with her friends in a small circle, an amused smirk playing on her lips. The boisterous energy of the celebration seemed to ripple around her. Tom's ears perked up as someone called her name, attempting to draw her attention. He quickly noted the name, etching it into his mind with the same precision he used for memorizing spells.

"It's your turn!"

She waved a hand in dismissal. "I'm good."

"Oh come on! It is not fair for you to give out the most ridiculous dares then run away when it's your turn. Come on, don't be a coward!" Her friend goaded.

"Perhaps if I were a Gryffindor I would be insulted." she replied with a shrug. Despite her nonchalance, her friends’ uproarious protest began to wear down her resolve. Tom could see the determination flicker in her eyes before she finally relented. "Okay, fine! I will play this once!"

"Truth or dare?"

Tom resisted the urge to scoff at the ridiculously childish game they were partaking in. He should have left right then, but he could not deny that something tugged at his curiosity despite his best efforts to remain aloof.

"Dare."

"What happened to you were not a Gryffindor?"

"I'm just trying to determine if I would be a lousy one or not."

Her friend’s eyes narrowed in thought, clearly plotting the perfect dare. Tom was about to move away when her friend's eyes landed on him, and he saw them sparkle in mischief. He was quick to turn away, pretending he could not hear them.

Just as the girl was announce the dare, a couple crashed into him in their impatience to get through, fingers weaved together, jostling Tom and forcing him to step aside. He grimaced as they hurried past, clearly headed for the dorm rooms. When he turned his attention back to the group, he noticed with a start that the girl had disappeared.

Trying ignore the bizarre pit of disappointment in his stomach, he turned on his heel to head up to his room for the night. He had already lingered more than enough. Just as he turned, another figure crashed straight into his chest. With a string of colourful curses under his breath, he automatically grabbed to steady the person. Tom had lost all his patience, and he was about to snap with something mean when his gaze landed on the Slytherin Chaser.

Whatever sharp words he’d been preparing evaporated in an instant. His focus shifted entirely to the pair of wide, doe-like eyes staring up at him innocently. Too innocently. His instincts told him it spelled trouble.

"Oh, Riddle! I'm sorry, I tripped over my own feet." She said with a sheepish smile, a feigned apology dancing on her lips. Tom narrowed his eyes. She was an athlete, her entire existence on the pitch was defined by her precision and grace. He knew well enough she wasn’t the type to stumble over her own feet.

He opened his mouth to retort but she beat him to it. "Did you watch the game today?"

"Yes," he responded curtly, his gaze never leaving hers, trying to decipher her game.

"Really? I thought you never attended the games. Well, what did you think of it?"

The corner of Tom's lip curled as he replied. "First and last time. Your Quaffle almost disfigured my face."

She raised a brow. "No, the ball almost disfigured Adrian. Your charming smile was in no danger, I assure you."

"My charming smile, yeah?"

A delicate blush crept up her cheeks, turning them a pretty shade of pink under his teasing gaze that she was trying—and failing—to conceal. Tom felt a wave of smug satisfaction at the reaction he had drawn from her. Slowly, he twirled his wand between his long fingers, savoring the moment, letting the tension simmer in the air between them. His movements were slow, deliberate, before he lifted her chin ever so slightly with the tip of the wand, the cool wood brushing against her skin.

"Well, in any case, congratulations on your victory," he murmured, his voice low as he held her gaze firmly in his. "Disfigured smile or not." Then, with the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, Tom broke away to walk past her, heading toward the dormitory.

He was halfway across the common room when a sudden shout rang out amidst the loud crowd.

"Tom!" Her voice rang out, and just as he was about to glance over his shoulder, a hand reached out and grabbed his wrist, turning him around with unexpected force. His brows knit in confusion as he looked down at her, words forming in his mind but never reaching his lips. Before he could react, her arms were around his neck, pulling him down in one swift motion. Her lips crashed against his, bold and unapologetic, her kiss catching him entirely off guard.

Tom stood frozen, momentarily stunned, every thought, every calculated plan vanishing in the instant their lips met. For a man who prided himself on control, it was the first time in a long while that he felt completely unmoored. The kiss, with its suddenness and intensity, left him reeling in ways he hadn't deemed possible.

He tuned out the instant cheers and whistles breaking out in a wave of noise at the display, his thoughts consumed only by the soft lips moving over his own.

But the moment was over a moment far too soon. her breath uneven, eyes gleaming with nerves. Tom’s heart, which had betrayed him for just a moment, slowly began to settle back into its steady rhythm.

She bit her lip, a sly smile forming as she met his gaze again. "Sorry… I was dared to do that," she said, almost apologetically.

Tom’s expression didn’t falter, but a flicker of irritation crossed his mind. The kiss, the boldness—it had not been her choice. “Of course,” he replied coolly, his voice measured as he ran a hand through his hair. "A dare.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, Tom leaned in just enough to let his words hang in the air between them, lips brushing against her cheek, his voice low and filled with a subtle challenge. “Then… I dare you,” he began, his gaze locked on hers with a teasing intensity, “to do it again.”

He smirked as her eyes widened, clearly caught off guard by his response. Her gaze flickered to his lips for just a second before she pulled back, her smirk widening. "Careful what you wish for, Tom. You might regret it.”

"Only if it results in your Quaffle flying at my face again."

"If you refrain from reading your book at my game, I promise to keep it away from your vicinity next time." She rolled her eyes, but before either of them could speak again, she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him again, this time softer, slower, the lingering laughter fading into something sweeter.

[wutheringcaterpillar]

Could I request a barmaid employee!reader x Tommy where he finally convinced her (pressured her) into trying opium with him and he takes advantage of her blissed out state please and thank you 👀

-Thank you for the request! Hope you enjoy!

warnings: drug use, date rape basically, noncon, smoking, p in v

Shining the glasses behind the bar, your not so busy night was coming to end only the lonesome Shelby you could see walking toward the pub in the rain. He was drenched when he walked inside, the smell of soaked clothes and whiskey wafting through the air when he stepped inside.

Tommy had been interested in you for awhile now but hardly ever made an appearance in the pub since you were hired. Something about you kept him astray. Maybe it was the way your hair flowed effortlessly, your strands shining in the dimlight. Or the way your skirt hardly covered the bare skin of your exposed thighs, the fabric sometimes getting bunched up without you know. Such a mysterious, yet beautiful young thing.

Taking a seat at the bar Tommy pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tapping at the bar signaling for a glass of whiskey as if he hadn't had enough.

"Mr. Shelby, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He chuckled, lighting one, this one not having that orange hue at the bottom like most cigarettes. You'd heard of people rolling their own but Thomas was wealthy enough that there was no need.

Crossing your arms, you crossed the bar, taking a seat beside him when he offered his hand out, motioning for you to take a hit. Perhaps the man just wanted company, a stranger to share his time with from his dreary life, yet something seemed off. He hadn't even said anything to you and you'd heard the rumors about him.

“It’s just a smoke. What do you think I laced it or something?” Tommy chuckled casually, keeping his calm composure, those blue, charming eyes shining like diamonds toward you while the sound of water dripping from his hair onto the floor being the only sound in the room.

After some contemplation, perhaps one cigarette wouldn’t be too bad, besides it wasn’t often your boss even checked in with how the pub was doing. The casuals never failing to show up and drink their lives away while wallowing over women who’d left them, throwing a few flirtatious remarks in the process.

“Alright fine.” Tommy leaned over, his firm grip on the drug pressing to your lips, telling you to inhale. It wasn't even nearly five seconds later that you were coughing up a lung. You didn't normally smoke, the feeling of smoke filling your airway still new to you but this tasted different. Maybe it was imported tobacco or something, definitely not weed.

“Tom, you didn’t tell me cigarettes were going to make my mouth as dry as a fucking desert.” Your eyes were dazing, vision turning blurry from the drug. Was this how cigarettes were supposed to make you feel? It was working, Tommy was pleasantly surprised how fast the potent effects had on you.

"You alright y/n, eh?" Your body suddenly felt a euphoric rush, angelic eyes rolling back as your eyelids fluttered shut.

Noticing your head falling, Tommy sat back you temple resting lazily on his shoulder as he smoothe back your hair, other hand gliding over the bare skin of your thigh.

The last thing you remembered before everything turned black was Tommy’s fingers inching under the thin fabric of your panties.

Your vision and thoughts came and went in waves, only conscious for certain periods of his abuse.

Tommy hummed in approval, before unbuckling his belt buckle and flailing your blissed out body over the bar, ignoring your incoherent mumbles of protest. Fuck you could hardly see anything, the atmosphere just spinning, unable to form any basic thought while a numbing sensation inhabited your brain and body. The only thing you could sense was the profound danger you were in, body unable to do anything about it.

His hands grazed up the smooth skin of your thighs, landing on your perky cheeks and gripping tightly at the fatty skin. He was going to have so much fun.

"Fuck." He cursed in a low, desirable groan finally having your most private area on full display just for him.

His fingers slicked between your wet folds, stopping at your hole. Plunging his fingers in, he was surprised to feel how wet and tight your hole was, it was even better than he imagined.

Groaning and trying to bat him away with a flick of your hand, he grabbed your wrists holding them behind your back while unzipping the zipper of his pants, allowing his girthy, eager member to spring free.

“Aw c’mon sweetheart. I’m simply doing you a gratuitous favor.” You whimpered underneath him, unable to close your legs due to his tall, over powering figure standing between them.

Aligning his cock he took a deep breath in before plunging into your sweet, tight abyss. Your head rolled from the slight sting, still unable to do much from stopping him. He felt rather large, girthy even. Stretching you open wider, his eyes glued to his cock sliding in and out between your slicked walls. “Tommy-“ The only thing you could mutter out, wincing from the pain and still delirious from the effects of the drug.

“Look at my favorite barmaid taking me cock so well.” He continued to hold your wrists back, hips snapping against you roughly, hitting your cervix with each forceful thrust. You cried out from the pain that still had yet to turn into any type of pleasure.

Your ass cheeks ricocheted off of his movements each time his length pounded back into you. You were out of breath, body weak. The sight of you so weak and ar his complete mercy only pumped the raging hormones inside him, stepping closer so that he was rutting into you like a fucking dog relentlessly. Claiming what he’d wanted to for quite a long time.

His fist curled in your hair, lips just inches away from your ear as he moaned lustfully against your lobe, biting at the sensitive skin roughly.

“Gonna fucking cum in you like the whore you are…” The last thing you felt was Tommy’s cock pulsating inside of you before you passed out.

When awoke, Tommy must have layed your damn near lifeless body up against the shelves of liquor in the basement. Jolting up, your head was pounding, eyes scanning the room frantically before the shattered pieces of your memory came flooding back into your mind.

Upon noticing the bruises on your thighs, you could hear menacing footsteps walking down the stairs toward you. What else had he done to you?

"Ready for a second dose?"

[peterparkouryo]

fell from the sky into my lap | ⍣ ೋ

⍣ ೋ

prompt; You encounter a very charming boy on the train.

warning: fluff, fluff, and did i mention fluff?

word count: 1.5k

a/n: meet cute!! i missed writing <3 (also ignore the fact that i used this gif once b4, feel free to send me tom gifs for future fics 😭)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ taglist

You step out of Midtown High, the warm afternoon sun casting long shadows across the pavement. You had decided to stay after school, opting to have a small study session with a few of your friends for an upcoming test for the gruesome mathematics class, also known as calculus. The weight of your backpack pulls slightly at your shoulders as you make your way down the stairs of the school building, balmy wind blusters against your skin. Descending down the stairs finally, you keep your head down and walk across the football field, creating a safe distance between you and the ongoing practice taking place. 

What seemed forever, but in reality was maybe a good two to three minute walk off the school grounds, you head toward the train station. The familiar hum of chatter and the rhythmic clack of shoes on the sidewalk fill the air, blending into a comforting soundtrack of the end of the school day.

As you approach the station, the distant sound of a train horn echoes, signalling its arrival. Just in time, you thought to yourself. You quicken your pace, the excitement of heading home, mixed with the anticipation of the journey itself, propelling you forward. The station is a bustling hub of activity, with students, commuters, and travelers weaving in and out of the crowd.

You swipe your transit card at the turnstile, the beep granting you passage onto the platform. The cool, metallic scent of the train station mingles with the faint aroma of fresh coffee from the nearby café. You glance up at the electronic display board, noting the arrival time of your train. It's right on schedule.

The train glides into the station with a soft hiss of brakes and a rush of wind. The doors slide open, inviting you inside. You step onto the train, the cool air conditioning a welcome relief from the warmth outside. You find a seat by the window and settle in, reaching into your backpack and digging through to find your wired headphones, despite begging your parents for regular ones.

You open your phone, clicking the green app for music, scrolling through many playlists you've obsessively created for various different scenarios. Picking a playlist you don't remember creating, you let out a tired yawn and sit back, wandering your eyes to the left, and daydreaming  about your bed. 

The train ride was relatively quiet, aside from a crying baby (not that you could hear it, but breaking your daydream to observe your surroundings, you could see a crying baby), and the loud music blasting in your ears. 

For the next six minutes, the music from your headphones consumed your ears, guaranteed to worsen your hearing in the next twenty years or so. You were at an unusual ease you normally don't feel when you're alone on a train by yourself. It could do with the fact that there was maybe five or six people onboard, you weren't too sure.

You lay your head back against the seat and stare out the window, the passing buildings rapidly leaving your vision. A bored sigh leaves your lips, the spotify ad only adding onto the exhaustion you felt. 

The train stops, indicating people were either leaving or stepping on the train, and you tear your gaze away from the window out of curiosity, watching a couple people swipe their transit cards. You notice the last person, a boy with hair as brown as a bear, swipe his card more than once, and you can only assume something was wrong.

The more you watch the boy struggle, the more you feel bad because not only was the operator getting impatient, the passengers moan and groan as well. Slowly you dig into your pocket for your card, standing up and swiftly walking to the front of the train. Showing the boy a friendly smile, you glance at the operator, who's eyebrows were furrowed and a permanent frown carved onto his face.

"Um, he can use my card." You say unsurely, not entirely positive thats even how transit cards work.

The man narrows his eyes and stares between you and the boy for a good while before he exhales a huff.

"Go ahead, you're holding up my line." He mumbles and you furrow your eyebrows and glance behind you, seeing that it was only the boy and no one else, but you decide not to say anything about it.

You swipe the transit card, watching the red dot change to green, and the boy sighs in relief.

"Thank you." He says, watching your every move as you put your card back into your pocket.

You nod and your eyes drift to his face, studying him carefully, because boy, he was gorgeous. The boy had eyes just as brown as his hair, maybe even a little lighter with the golden specks straggling within them. If anyone was lucky (such as yourself) to stand so close to him, one might be able to see the small barely visible, but undeniably delightful freckles scattered across his nose.

Your eyes trail down to his lips, but not in a weird way, the small smile etched on his face captivated you and deep in your stomach, you swore you felt butterflies erupt. The smile was warm and inviting, and one of his most endearing features, capable of lighting up his entire face. It gave him a friendly, yet approachable demeanour. 

He was the kind of person who had the-boy-next-door kind of vibe, and you can't help but gaze longer than intended, making him uncomfortable in a way you had no intentions of doing.

So, you clear your throat, and quickly look at your shoes. 

"Its no problem." You mutter.

There's a standstill silence between the two of you, the murmur of passengers, the rustling of bags and the occasional ring of a phone not helping the awkwardness you felt whatsoever.

Eventually, the boy shows you yet another charming smile, walking past you to sit in a nearby seat. You return to yours and try your hardest not to stare at the boy diagonally across from you.

There's a standstill silence between the two of you, the murmur of passengers, the rustling of bags and the occasional ring of a phone not helping the awkwardness you felt whatsoever.

Eventually, the boy shows you yet another charming smile, walking past you to sit in a nearby seat. You return to yours and try your hardest not to stare at the boy diagonally across from you.

That challenge, however quickly crashes when you glance at him only to see him gazing back, in a way that wasn't entirely creepy, but cumbersome for the both of you. You do your best to show him a smile, cringing slightly when you realize its more of a nervous grimace than what you intended.

Though, he shows no signs of being weirded out by your so called "smile", he waves as you wave back. A rush of warmth and pleasantry overtakes you when he looks away. You'd think this is the first time any boy has ever showed you this much attention, no matter how little it might have been.

Minutes pass in a blur as the train carries you forward, each moment seamlessly blending into the next. Ultimately, you reach your stop and you gather your things, albeit a bit reluctantly. As you leave, you bite your lower lip and share a scrutiny when you walk past him, making your exit off the train.

While you step off the train, and make it your mission to ascend up the stairs, a hand purchases on your shoulder causing you to flinch fearfully, many thoughts running through your head as you make the stupid decision to turn around to face the culprit.

 All fears subside once you meet the familiar chestnut brown eyes of the boy from the train.

He realizes your initial fear and holds up your tangled headphones. "You left these on the train." He blinks.

"Thank you." You obligate, retrieving the headphones from his hand.

The boy nods and buries his hands in his pocket, unwieldy looking around.

You tilt your head as a thought comes about.

"Is this your stop?" You wonder.

He breaks his train of thought and stares right at you before laughing awkwardly. "Um, no my stop was actually three more blocks away." He informs and guilt fills you at that information.

"Oh, I'm sorry," You apologize, frowning.

He shakes his head quickly. 

"No, its fine I was just going to stop at Delmar's anyway." He reassures and smiles, holding out his hand.

"Also, I'm Peter by the way, Peter Parker." 

You return the smile and shake Peter's hand at his dorky introduction, speaking your name in greeting.

"I know, we share a gym class." Peter says.

You blink at the revelation, having no idea he even went to Midtown. Small world, you think.

"Anyway, is it okay if I walk you up the stairs, in a non weird way that seems creepy." Peter offers shyly, interrupting the barely there silence. There was something about his adorably dunce proposal that made you appreciate him despite only knowing the boy for ten minutes at most.

"Sure." You agree all too eagerly.

With new found courage, you and Peter make your way up the stairs of the train station and you're greeted with the bustling New York city, of what you can only describe as chaotic, honking cars and fellow civilians either on their arguing or arguing on their phones.

You felt excited to be walking next to Peter, no matter how small your interactions have been or how little you two new each other, you were grateful for his presence.

Grateful that you decided to take the train. Had you would've walked, only god knows what could've happened, the foreign feeling of butterflies in your stomach would not had been, that's for certain.

taglist: @victoriousskylar @imawhoreforu @myfangirlinessononeblog

shoutout to the divider account: @saradika-graphics

[tomscumdump]

DRESSING ROOM

-18+

“HOWS THIS outfit baby?” I asked excitedly, placing my hands on my hips and doing a little spin. the little outfit I wore was a torn up black fitted tank top, with a matching micro black skirt. his eyes analyzed me from head to toe. he stood up, adjusting his pants as he walked over to me. “liebe, you know you look amazing and everything.” I rolled my eyes and walking back into the dressing room, he followed after shutting the door.

tom pushed his body up close to mine, snaking his hands around my waist to my exposed stomach. he planted soft kisses on my neck biting gently. he fidgeted with the waistband of the skirt I wore.

“no.” I chuckled softly as I pushed him off me, he groaned quietly and threw his hands to his sides. “baby cmon.. why not?” he said pouting, but I knew he was trying to hide that stupid smirk. I let out a sarcastic laugh as I turned to hit

“because I’m not having sex in a dressing room, idiot.”

I said laughing a little, he sat down clearly mad with me. I scoff and slid off the current shirt I had tried on, revealing the lacy bra I had on, the hem of the matching panties peaking out from the skirt as I bent over. he groaned and let out a scoff. “your killing me y/n.” I giggled and turned around.

he still had on his pissy expression and rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. I walked over to him and gently grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look at me. “baby, we are in a public area. no.” I gave his cheek a quick kiss, he stood up and slammed me against the wall harshly. my eyes widened in shock “tom what the fu—“ he quickly cuts me off by smashing his lips against mine. I moaned quietly, I pushed his lips off mine and scoffed.

“tom, i would so love to fuck you right now. but you know people would hear us, I just can’t be quiet.” he planted harsh kisses on my neck, I let out a little whimper. “let me handle that then.” he said with a smirk, gliding his tongue against his lip ring. he slid off my skirt and my panties along with it. I tried to speak again, to take it slow and not to harsh. but he slapped his hand against my mouth, silencing me quickly. he ripped off his belt and jeans, then rammed his cock into my tight pussy.

my eyes rolled back and my back arched, he bit his lip in pleasure. “this tight pussy could make me cum on the spot.” he grunted, letting out a breathy laugh. I let out a muffled whine in response, he continued to pound me as he spat explicit sentences at me. my hands flew to his biceps for support, I couldn’t hold myself up at this point. he grabbed my thigh, placing it around his hip allowing him to dig deeper into me.

“tom- t-to ~ngh~ much!!” I cried, but he didn’t care. his veiny hand muffling my whimpers and moans. his free hand flew to my bundle of nerves, rubbing rapid circles my whines became more frequent as that knot began to form in my stomach.

“I’m g-gonna cum!!” I moaned out as my eyes fluttered due to the pleasure. he pulled me closer and grunted in my ear. “no your not slut, you cum when I say so.” I whined in response, nodding my head as I obeyed his every word. my legs shook here and there, his middle and ring finger still rubbing circles on my clit. his huge cock stretching me out completely. “if you make one fucking sound your not cumming.” I screwed my eyes shut and threw my head back, jesus christ I wanted to cum so fucking bad, but when tom said something he meant it. so I listened to him and shut my mouth, pursing my lips, knawing at my bottom lip, anything to keep those lewd noises from coming out.

“good fucking girl, keeping that pretty little mouth shut while I pound you. you like that? you like when I fuck you senseless slut?” I nodded my head, my eyes struggling to stay open as he stared directly in my eyes, his praising only getting me closer and closer.

his thrust getting sloppy, I could tell he was close. he grabbed my waist and flipped me around, pressing my body up against the mirror as he pounded me from the back, his hand snaking down back to my clit rubbing fast circles again. my eyes rolled right to the back of my head, feeling his tip ram right into that sweet spot I desired.

he grabbed a handful of my hair, pulling my head back forcing me to look into the mirror as he fucked me. “look at you, little whore taking my cock s’good hm?” every word he said to me put me under a spell. he could say anything he wanted to me and I’ll take it like the good girl I am for him.

I felt that familiar knot form in my stomach again, and I knew for a fact he was close too. the way his thrust got sloppier and sloppier told me everything I needed to know, I thrusted my ass back just to feel more of that pleasure I longed for. his groans and grunts becoming more frequent as well.

he threw his head back slightly, as his hand slid off my mouth I whined out. “gonna ~mhh~ cum..!” I said out of breath. my legs shaking, my eyes screwed shut and my back arched. “fuckkkkkk, cum baby cum.” he grunted as he grasped my waist harshly, slamming his dick into me.

our skin slapping together loudly one last time, as we both came together. “ohhhh shitttt…” tom dragged out, letting out a breathy laugh as his warm cum coated my walls. some dripping out of my used pussy “fuck!! oh fuck yess!!” I moaned out quite loudly. I didn’t care anymore, and neither did tom. he thrusted into me once more, riding out that high we both loved and enjoyed.

I let out a quiet whimper once more as he slipped out of me. feeling empty from his long veiny cock. he dug his middle and ring finger into my pussy, tasting our mixed juices. I stared at him with a tired smirk on my face as he stared back with that same stupid smirk.

he helped me put my clothes back on, and he put his on. “I changed my mind baby, I don’t need any of this.” I said in a tired tone as I threw the outfits I had matched together onto the bench. tom picked them back up and held them. “no, they look gorgeous on you baby.”

I looked up and smiled at him, and he smiled back. “also, I’d like to rip them off to pound you again.” he smirked, playing with his lip ring. knowing how much I loved it when he did that. I rolled my eyes and scoffed as we walked out the store, we knew some people heard. as we paid and left, one of the store clerks had gave us a weird look. we laughed it off as we made our way to the next store.

“.. so?” he looked into my eyes and quirked his eyebrow up, I already knew what he was asking. i sighed and gave him a weak grin I rolled my eyes and bit my lip. “cmon say it, I know you wanna.” he teased on, I groaned and hit him playfully. I chuckled in defeat.

“.. maybe quickies in public aren’t so bad.”

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･✮ 

ahhh !! I really liked this idea, i got this idea bc I dreamed about it happening with me n tom hehe :333 also im literally so thankful for all the love yall give me on my post omgomg ?? yall freaks r amazing, love you guys 4eva 💋💋

[slytherinslut0]

TOM RIDDLE. | Tighter Than A Noose

Tags: 18+, PURE SMUT, Good Sex, Praise Kink, Fingering, Oral Sex, Standing Sex, Edging, Teasing,

A/N: Yes. Yes I would throw myself in front of a bus for this man.

You were busy studying at the desk in your boyfriends dorm, your mind struggling to stay focused on the task at hand, when a sudden creaking sound broke the concentrated silence. You looked up to see Tom, water droplets glistening on his bare chest, striding out of the shower while clad only in a tantalizingly low-slung towel.

Your breath got caught in your throat as his piercing eyes met yours; a devilish, knowing smirk playing on his lips. He sauntered toward you, his body exuding confidence and magnetism, a sight that effortlessly lured your attention away from your book without notice.

"What's the matter, princess?" he purred, his voice dripping with seduction. "Am I distracting you?"

His words wrapped around you like a silken web, ensnaring your senses and leaving you yearning for his touch. Unable to tear your gaze away, you felt a surge of desire coursing through your veins. The mere sight of him, his sculpted physique and enticing presence, stirred a fire within you that refused to be ignored.

As he stopped beside your chair, he reached out, gliding his fingers along the contour of your jaw, tracing a line down your neck. You shivered with delight as his cool touch sent goosebumps crawling over your skin.

"A little..." you teased, your voice a mere breath in the air. "How am I supposed to focus when you come out here looking like that?"

"Mm." He leaned closer, his mouth grazing your earlobe as he whispered, "why don't you take a little break? You've been working so hard..."

Your lids fluttered, fingers gripping your book with force. "I suppose a quick break wouldn't hurt..."

As you gave in to the tempting proposition, a mischievous glint danced in Tom Riddle's eyes. He smirked victoriously, pleased with your surrender.

"Finally," he murmured, his voice heavy with anticipation. His hand reached out to grasp your chin and drag your gaze up to meet his. "Stand up for me, princess."

You quickly rose from your chair, eager to please him--eager for his touch. As soon as you stood, his large hands wrapped around your waist, pulling your ass in tight against his front, pushing the front of your thighs against the edge of the desk.

"You look so fucking sexy," his grip on your waist tightened, his breath washing warm over your skin. "You know I love watching you study...watching your brain work...you're so smart, my girl...I'd love to show you just how much that determination of yours turns me on."

His fingers trailed down to the hem of your skirt, teasingly inching it up higher. Your breath hitched as they reached your ass, massaging it firmly before moving down your thighs. The sensation sent shivers through your body, making your heart race with desire.

"Tom..." you mewled, pulsing for his touch. "Please..."

Tom's hands moved with impatient urgency, pushing you over the desk and drawing a shocked gasp from your lips at his newfound force. His touch was firm and possessive, showing you that he always takes what he wants without hesitation. He knocked your legs apart further with his knee, and you could feel his fingers teasing at your folds through your panties, rubbing and pressing playfully.

"You're already so wet for me," he murmured huskily, "fuck, you're such a good girl...so eager..."

You gripped the desk so hard your knuckles turned pale, and Tom hummed, his breath hot against your neck as he shifted your panties to the side and slowly slid his fingers between your folds.

"Oh, Gods..."

Tom groaned, deep in his chest, thrusting his first two fingers inside your dripping heat, curling them inside you expertly--playing your body like an instrument as he drove you wild with pleasure.

Your lids fluttered, his free hand gripping your hip with force. "You like that, don't you, pretty girl..." he murmured, the rasp of his voice driving you insane. "Being bent over and taken like this, while you're still wearing your little uniform skirt...fuck, it makes me hard just thinking about it..."

When his thumb brushed your clit, you moaned loudly, entire body jolting with pleasure. "Oh, Tom...fuck-"

In the midst of your ecstasy, Tom stopped all of his movements, and you nearly groaned in protest, your pussy clenching around his fingers as he kept them buried inside you. His free hand shifted to your chin, tilting your head slightly to meet his eyes as he looked at you with a quizzical expression, as if he just remembered something important.

His obsidian eyes bored into yours. Gaze focused. "You were studying for the potions exam, weren't you?"

You nodded, lips parted and brows furrowed in confusion. "I-I was..."

"Let's see how much you remember, shall we?" Tom said, his voice low and husky as he deftly continued to tease you. "I'll ensure all that hard work pays off..."

You parted your lips to question him, but he cut you off. "Let's start with an easy one..." his breath was hot on your face as he softly pressed his lips against yours. "What is the use of Asphodel in a potion, my love?"

You tried to focus as he resumed his ministrations, pumping his fingers inside of you, his pace quickening with each passing moment. Your mind struggled to stay on track as pleasure coursed through every part of your body--rendering your thoughts a near jumbled mass of bliss.

"I- it's used for the...strengthening solution..." you gasped, trying to keep up with his relentless teasing.

He smirked and his movements sped up, making it harder to focus.

"That's correct. But can you list all the ingredients needed for the Draft of Living Death ?" Tom's voice was deceptively calm as he spoke, but the underlying tone of dominance was unmistakable.

That fucking bastard.

As you tried to recall the ingredients, your hips involuntarily bucked against his fingers, your clit screaming for attention. Tom seemed to take pleasure in this reaction, a smug grin spreading across his beautiful fucking face.

"Come now, darling. You know the answer...I won't let you cum until you prove it."

With a pout, you strained to remember the ingredients. Fighting the building urge to entirely unravel before him, fighting against the pleasure rolling through your limbs as you silently worked to collect yourself. 

"Mmm, I-I think it's...powdered root of Asphodel mixed with an infusion of wormwood-ah-and t-then it needs to be simmered for about six hours." You paused, squirming through your bliss, feeling the tightness building within you with every passing second. "After that, just add some Valerian root and a bit of sopophorous bean juice."

Tom almost immediately nodded in approval, grin widening with sheer proudness; his long fingers slowing down their movements. You were so fucking close to the edge, but it was clear he wasn't finished with you yet.

"Good job, my girl..." he purred. "Now, tell me what happens if you add too much sopophorous bean juice."

The desire and pleasure were making it nearly fucking impossible to concentrate. You tried to think, tried to wrack your brain for the information, but the building pleasure was getting to you--making your body vibrate with pulsing, unabashed need. Tom noticed your struggle and smirked knowingly, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

"Come on, pretty girl...don't disappoint me now..." he trailed his fingers from his free hand along your inner thigh, the frustration and desire mixing within you, fueling your determination to answer him.

Through gritted teeth, you managed to recall the answer. "If too much sopophorous bean juice is added, it can cause a prolonged sleep or even a coma-like state in the drinker."

Tom's grin widened, realizing that you've answered correctly. "Well done, my little plaything..." he purred, swiping his thumb over your clit again. "Fuck, you make me so fucking proud...just one more, baby..."

Suddenly, he increased the pace of his fingers, plunging them deep inside you and hitting all the right spots. The pleasure washed over you like a tidal wave, and there was no fucking way in hell you could hold it back for even a second longer. But just as you were about to reach the peak, Tom slowed his pace down once again, denying you release. When you groaned in protest, your head falling back in frustration, he shushed you, pressing his lips against your ear.

"Keep being a good girl for me...if you get this right I will give you what you want, my love..." he purred, free hand caressing your thigh. "What is the purpose of using unicorn hair as a potion ingredient?"

You groaned in both frustration and pleasure, feeling your body quivering with need as he thrust his long fingers deep inside you. Despite the intense sensations, you were able to concentrate just enough to answer his question.

"Unicorn hair is used in potions to neutralize poisons, purify the drinking water or to bring about magical healing," you said, panting heavily.

Tom nods in approval, the hunger evident in his eyes. "Mmm, very good," he purred. "Fuck...I could watch you study all day if it meant getting to do this..."

Without warning, he thrust his fingers in and out of you with lightning-fast speed, thumb rubbing harsh circles over your clit, sending you over the edge with a scream of ecstasy in a matter of seconds. You clenched around his fingers, pussy milking them as he worked you through your climax, lips attacking your neck as you moaned and squirmed against him. As you came down from your high, Tom pulled his fingers out of you and brought them up to your lips; shoving them past your teeth.

"Taste yourself off of me," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. "You’re always so responsive...it's no wonder I can't keep my fucking hands off of you."

He ripped his fingers from your mouth and pulled you closer, his hands sliding down to cup your ass as he pressed his body against yours. You could feel the hardness of his erection pressing against your thigh, and just the fucking thought of what was about to happen made you even wetter. You needed him in ways unimaginable, you needed him in ways your own brain couldn't comprehend.

"Tom..." you murmured, head falling back as his teeth grazed your pulse. "Please, fuck me, fuck-I need you..."

Tom smirked at your desperate plea, his eyes filled with an intoxicating mixture of amusement and hunger. He knew exactly how to play with your desires, how to manipulate you into begging for him; into becoming nothing more than a drooling, pathetic mess at his feet.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered with a low, seductive tone, "not so fast, princess...I enjoy seeing you squirm with need...I want you to crave me, to fucking ache for my touch."

His fingers trailed teasingly up your inner thigh, lingering just inches away from where you wanted him the most. The anticipation continued to build, the ache within you growing stronger by the second.

It was almost unbearable. "Tom..."

"Tell me," he breathed against your skin, his voice a tantalizing whisper, fingers brushing over your clit. "What would you do to have me inside you right now? How far would you go to satisfy that insatiable little cunt of yours, hm?"

He thrust a finger back inside your aching pussy and your lungs stalled. Your pulse quickened. "Oh...anything...fuck-I'd do anything you wanted..."

Tom raised an eyebrow as he watched you squirm in pleasure beneath his touch, his eyes darkened with lust. "Do you really mean that, princess?" " he murmured, his fingers slipping in and out of you with ease. "You know I could make you do unspeakable things.."

You nodded frantically, gasping as pleasure washed over you in waves, your need for him multiplying by the trillions. "Anything, fuck-" you whispered, your voice strained with desire. "I'm yours."

Tom pulled his fingers from you, gripping your hips and pressing himself against you, a low groan leaving his chest as he did. You could feel his desperate bulge pressing against your ass, your cunt clenching in acknowledgment of it.

"Prove it," he said, his voice low and commanding. "Show me that you're mine."

From over your shoulder you met his gaze, your own eyes full of lust and desperation. You wanted to simply beg him to just fucking get inside you, but you knew in his world actions always said more than words. The desire in your chest was too strong to resist, and so you dropped to your knees before him--trembling hands instantly reaching for his towel and tugging it off his perfectly sculpted body, freeing his long, hard length from its confines.

Tom groaned as you wrapped your fingers around his shaft. "Take me in your mouth, princess..." it was a command, a gentle but stern command. "That's it, just like that..."

His hands tangled in your hair, gripping your soft between his fingers strands with commanding force. You swallowed his length until the tip hit the back of your throat, licking and sucking on him with selfless abandon. You wanted him to feel good--you wanted him to feel fucking desired--you could only hope this returned him even the smallest percentage of the pleasure he's made you feel, time and time again. He groaned with pleasure, thrusting into your mouth with increasing urgency, until he stopped you abruptly, tugging you back up to your feet by the hold on your hair.

As he bent you back over his desk, you felt his head teasing your slick slit, coating his throbbing length in your juices. You clenched in anticipation; his hand snaking around your throat and tightening his grip; pulling you back against his shoulder as he teased you with slow, false thrusts.

"This what you want, my little slut? Hm?" He purred, lips pressed again your ear. "You want me inside that pretty wet cunt?"

Through his grip on your throat, you nodded. "Yes...please..."

He groaned, bending you over slightly, releasing the hold on your throat. "Fuck, princess..I love the way you beg for me..." he murmured, pressing the head of his cock inside you before pulling out. "Do it again."

You wailed in respite. "Please, Tom! Please...take me..."

"Mm." He hummed. "Good girl..."

His hands shifted to your hips, holding you firmly in place as he pushed his throbbing cock inside you, your walls swallowing him to the hilt and pulsing around him as he paused there; letting you adjust. You were already a moaning mess, your legs shaking and your eyes rolling back as he slowly pulled out before thrusting back in again, and again, and again; the pace shifting, intensity increasing with every single one.

The desk shook, slamming against the wall as he pounded into you without mercy, his hips slapping against your ass with a deliciously rough rhythm.

"Shit-you feel so good..." he growled from behind you, his hot breath tickling the back of your neck. "You were made for this, you were made for me to fuck senseless, weren't you slut?"

His words only drove you wilder, adding to the unfathomable pleasure as he slammed into you with a relentless intensity. You couldn't help but to moan and whimper, completely lost in the sensations coursing through you.

"Fuck...I am..." you choked through your gasps of pleasure. "Only for you."

He groaned, fucking you deeper, his hips picking up speed--you squealed as his fingers snuck around your hip and found your clit; the sound of your bodies colliding filling the room, punctuated by your wanton gasps and his husky grunts of pleasure.

"That's right, princess..." he groaned. "You're fucking mine. Only mine."

You nodded, unable to speak another single word into existence as pleasure suffuses every inch of your being. Tom's fingers increase their speed on your clit, his hips slamming against your ass with every single thrust, the power of his body utterly consuming your entirety. As he brought you closer and closer to the edge, your eyes rolled back, fingers gripping the desk so hard your knuckles cracked; your jaw falling open in incomprehensible bliss.

"Oh-Tom-fuck!"

You writhed, legs shaking, vision fading as the pleasure wracked your body; and you're left teetering dangerously fucking close to the edge.

"That's it, baby..." he purred. "Cum for me."

You wailed, and with one final explosive thrust; one more steady swirl over your clit; he brought you tumbling over the edge, your entire body convulsing with pleasure. If it wasn't for the power of Tom's body behind you, you were certain you'd be a pile of limbs on the floor; your orgasm wracking through every ounce of your existence.

"Shit-" he hissed through grit teeth. "You're tighter than a fucking noose, princess, fuck-"

As much as he tried to hold off his release, it was clearly useless, and with only a few more deep; brain-shattering thrusts he followed after you, his body convulsing with release as he spilled himself inside of your pussy.

He kept himself buried inside you for a moment, tilting your head to the side to capture your lips with his; you melted into his mouth, his hands coming up to cup your breasts as he held you against his chest.

"You're perfect, baby..." he purred against your lips. "And all mine."

"All yours." You breathed, smiling.

[tkaulitzlvr]

i’ll be needing a part 2 of persistent pls🤭

PERSISTENT (2) - T. KAULITZ

synopsis: you realise that you have pushed your limits after your antics at the club earlier, tom not holding back on showing you this once you both arrive home.

content: smut

a/n: i have no idea why so many people wanted a part two to persistent, but its been asked for in both my inbox and comments so i decided to do it so u guys can leave me alone🙄🙄, but yea hope this lives up to ur expectations (they better be low bc this is terrible💯)

the house is silent, my heavy feet trudging up the stairs, a small smile on my face as i anticipate what tom has on his mind - though i know deep down that i shouldn’t be excited. he wouldn’t go easy on me, not after how i had acted. in fact, the way his jaw remained clenched, eyes dark and cold, hands gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles began to turn white, veins prominent through them, if i had any sense within me, i would be scared - knowing that whatever unspoken words he is holding back would not be gentle ones, his actions bound to be even less forgiving. though i am far too focused on the pleasure he will bring me to consider the fact that he probably doesn’t plan on showing me any remorse, not at all regretting my attitude, even though i probably should.

when tom would get like this, so utterly infuriated with me, he wouldn’t hold back, switching from the gentleness he usually showed me in bed, often leading to me uttering the safe word that he had put in place for instances like this. when he would often act on impulse, unable to judge when it became simply too much, his anger driving him to be a little too reckless, the short word acted as a safety net, tom knowing that he had to stop, no matter how much part of him wanted to keep going, this his way of teaching me a lesson. it never seemed to work though, the thought of him being rough only turning me on, leading me to act this way in order to get this side out of him.

however, the new presence of this word meant that no matter how much i begged him to stop, his pace wouldn’t falter until i uttered the four letter word - blue. it didn’t matter how many tears ran down my cheeks, knuckles clutching the sheets so hard that they turned white, mouth open in silent screams, muttering words of discomfort, he would only speed up his movements, knowing that unless i said the word, i enjoyed the pain in some twisted way, not wanting it to stop despite the way my voice would say otherwise.

the room is quiet as i enter it, bed neatly made, cushions laid out in a specific pattern, sheets tucked perfectly into the sides, not a single crease visible on the white silk. it is a shame - i know tom too well to recognise that it won’t look that way for much longer, the bed likely to become a complete mess before he has even entered me. somehow i don’t flinch when the sound of the front door roughly opening echoes throughout the peace, diminishing it instantly. the loud slam that follows instead sends a surge of excitement through me, a knowing smirk on my face, not ready to let tom win just yet.

so i act nonchalant, calmly walking over to my vanity, humming incoherently, my hands grabbing a makeup wipe from the side, making contact with my skin as i begin to wipe my makeup off, starting with my foundation. i had noticed his footsteps making their way up the stairs the second his foot had made contact with the carpet, yet i tuned the sound out, continuing my innocent humming, acting like tom isn’t minutes, maybe seconds, away from fucking me so hard my vocal chords wouldn’t have the strength to whisper anymore, let alone sing to myself.

my eyes close as the makeup wipe glides over the skin, leaving a baby pink residue on the material, my face now bare besides from the red tinge still present on my lips.

“the fuck are you doing?” his low voice sounds through the room, my eyes turning to the reflection of the mirror, met with his large frame stood in the frame of the door. he had been stern with me since finding me outside the club, clearly thinking that his threats would scare me, not expecting to find me doing the exact opposite of what he had instructed, his expression more angry than ever.

“taking off my make up. i’ve told you it’s bad for me to sleep with it on, i don’t want my skin to break out.” i ramble, shrugging nonchalantly as i begin to stand up. my face is neutral, yet inside, my nerves tinge with satisfaction at the sight of tom’s jaw clenching, a loud groan leaving his lips.

he says nothing, my back to him as i begin to reach for the zipper of my dress, though i don’t get far. his own hands roughly tug mine away from my back, placing them harshly by my side as he spins me around, pushing my body against his and smashing his lips onto mine. the kiss is nothing short of desperate, rough and sloppy, tongues fighting for dominance, this enough to distract me from his quick steps that walk me into the wall, my back colliding harshly with it.

“you just don’t know when to fucking stop, do you?” he grunts, tugging his large black jacket from his frame, discarding it somewhere on the floor. his hands firmly grab my face, pulling it towards his own and reconnecting our lips, his teeth biting mine harshly, marvelling at the small whine of discomfort that leaves my lips, eager to cause me small drabs of pain - not enough to hurt me, but just the right amount to make me lose my stubbornness.

“jump.” he mutters against my lips, his hands hooking underneath my thighs in anticipation for my movement, yet i shake my head, much to his disbelief, a small smile tugging on my lips.

he pulls away, eyes narrowing once he picks up on my amusement, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip.

“you think this is funny, hm? come on, laugh again, i dare you.” he begins, studying the way the smile on my face slowly fades, caving in as he towers over me, one arm resting against the wall behind me. he nods his head, signalling me to show the same sense of entertainment i gained from disobeying him, though he doesn’t receive it, my mouth closing, eyes looking upwards into his own innocently.

“that’s what i fucking thought. y’know, i think you’ve forgotten your place. you really need me to remind you? ‘cause you know i will schatz.” he threatens, a satisfied grin on his lips once he realises how submissive i have become. i stay silent, a small hum leaving his lips as his hands grab the flesh of my thighs, hoisting me upwards. my back is flush against the wall, hips directly against his as he holds me up, fingers digging into the skin, my dress riding upwards slowly.

“fucking pathetic.” he whispers, his lips ghosting over mine, immediately noticing the way my head moves forwards slowly, silently begging for him to kiss me once again. for a second, he puts me out of my misery, capturing my lips in a soft kiss, humming into it slightly, acknowledging the way i quickly kiss back, unapologetically desperate for him. though he pulls away once he has hooked me in to the point that my kisses become faster, tugging on my lips slightly as he moves backwards, smiling sadistically when i whine in frustration, taking one hand and smoothly caressing my cheek, taunting me more than he ever has before.

he stays teasingly close, torturing me at this point, dipping his head even closer momentarily, dragging his thumb across my lips, collecting my saliva. he adores my weakness, loving how he is already in control, continuing to tease me despite the fact that he has won - he had the second he came to find me at the bar. we both knew that, yet i kept up my guard for too long, it’s presence now so thin it is almost non-existent.

“i don’t know why you try to act like you’re in charge. you and i both know you’ll be screaming my name in five minutes. you don’t have to hide it, i can read you like a book. you know it, you’re just humiliating yourself.” he chuckles lowly at my silence, dipping his head downwards as his lips make contact with my neck, placing open mouthed kisses over the skin. i tilt it to the side, giving him easy access.

my eyes fluttering shut once his lips touch the sensitive spot below my ear, i know that he has me under his control. and when he tears me away from the wall, walking over to the bed with my thighs still hooked around his waist, i don’t try to fight it anymore. he is frustrated, much more than he was when we entered the car, me disobeying him just once was enough for him to lend me no sympathy, this communicated once my back makes contact with the bed, roughly colliding with the soft mattress.

he climbs on top of me, my legs spreading instinctively to allow him within them, and closer to the place where i needed him most. sure, he would’ve found his way between them regardless of if i had obliged or not, but i decide to make part of it easier for him. his hands pull them apart even further, my dress now bunched up at my hips, lace panties on show for him.

“where’s that fucking attitude of yours now, hm?” he questions, studying the way my chest heaves up and down, the wet patch on my panties inches away from his face as he bends downwards, placing a soft kiss over the material, my hips bucking upward at the unexpected act. he grabs the flesh, forcing them back downwards, his head emerging from between my legs.

“don’t think i’m going easy on you ‘cause you’ve stopped acting like such a brat.” he states, hands roughly tugging my panties down as he speaks. “we’re past that point now. you’re getting fucked until you can’t use that mouth of yours to act out anymore.”

his words aren’t a threat, no, they are nothing short of a promise. sure, he says a lot of things when he is angry, but right now, each syllable that pours from his beautiful lips is nothing but the truth. and, whilst i couldn’t hide from the slight fear that habituated within me, the aching between my thighs overpowered it, throbbing desperately, needy for some sort of stimulation.

my silence is music to his ears. even though my acts of rebellion fuel his desire to ruin me, he much prefers me at his mercy, begging for him, my entire body his possession, his name written all over it, marking me as his own.

once my panties are somewhere on the floor, he moves to my dress, motioning for me to sit up, his calloused fingers attaching themselves to the zipper, tugging it downwards with such force the soft material rips. i gasp in disappointment, a tinge of anger rising within my chest, prompting the misbehaved side of me to make another appearance.

“are you fucking kidding me? that dress cost-”

“fucking shut up. i’ll get you a new one.” he mutters, tugging the material off of my body, leaving me completely naked beneath him, tom still completely dressed.

normally, i love his style, his baggy jeans and layers of t-shirts suiting him perfectly in most circumstances. yet right now, when i want nothing more than to feel his body against my own, it proves to be more of an inconvenience. he tugs the oversized denim downwards and off of his frame, his t-shirt soon following once he manages to tear it off. his dick prints firmly through his boxers, the outline prominent through the material, the thickness of it making the heat in my thighs unbearable as i move to clench them together, desperate for some sort of friction.

he shakes his head, roughly prying them apart with one hand, the other raking his boxers downward, his dick hitting his lower abdomen, the tip red, his erection so prominent it looks almost painful.

“all fours.” he orders, stroking himself a few times, watching as i turn around, positioning myself as he asked. he groans breathily from behind me, pumping himself a few times before i feel his tip meet my entrance.

he is unforgiving, thrusting his hips forward in one fast motion, moving his dick completely inside of me, not giving me any time to adjust as he usually would. i cry out in pain, my walls stretched out to the point that it is uncomfortable, the feeling of his tip prodding deep inside of me, combined with his thickness continuing to stretch me out creating a sensation that causes tears to build in my eyes.

“fuck- it’s too much…hurts.” i manage to let out, voice shaky as the angle doesn’t at all help my case. in fact it worsens it, my back arched in the air, arms flat against the bed, shaking as they try to hold me up, close to letting out.

“take it.” he says, cursing underneath his breath as he begins a fast pace, almost pulling out completely, before slamming back into me. “you want to act like a brat, i’ll treat you like one. you wanted this, don’t back out now.”

he knows that he is being rough, he can tell from the way low whimpers leave my lips with each quick movement of his hips. words almost inaudible, small utterances of discomfort muffled into the sheets, soon fading into screams of pleasure, cries of pure ecstasy, proving just how much he was right. and though i cannot see his face, my own smushed into the pillows, through his small groans, i can sense the sadistic smirk on his lips as he continues to pound into me.

“look at you, so fucking needy.” he taunts, his hand slowly reaching to grab my hair as i silently thank myself for tying it in a ponytail earlier. though now it is wild, wispy hairs falling from the hair tie, the ends ruffled slightly. yet he is able to take it easily, using it to pull my body upwards, back flush against his chest. he doesn’t make any attempt to be gentle, a loud yelp sounding from my lips as he ensures our bodies are pressed together, his fingers continuing to run through my hair.

“try to talk back now, like you did earlier on. you can’t, can you?” he questions, already knowing the answer. my mouth is wide open in a silent scream, head resting back against his shoulder as breathing consistently even proves difficult, tuning out everything besides from the sharp movements of his dick in and out of me. even his words are muffled, not registering in my head, this providing him with even more satisfaction, any communication soon melting into loud gasps, unable to muster any sort of response.

“doesn’t matter how many times i tell you. you’ll never learn, will you?” he scolds, his own voice shaky, often cut off with small groans, faltering especially when my walls clench around him. “takes me fucking you like this for you to shut that mouth of yours. you and your damn attitude.”

each time i clench around him, drawing his dick deeper inside of me, i wonder how much more i can take. god, i swear i can feel him inside my stomach, so full it is hard to breathe, the air, thick with the smell of sex, not helping my state. he seems to become more relentless, running his hands down my back, only to forcefully push my head back into the sheets, my high pitched moans now muffled into the silk, back arching subconsciously, each stroke of his cock inside of me making me more weak, swearing that i will collapse if he continues, struggling to hold my lower half up despite tom’s harsh grip on it.

his hand finds it way to my stomach, snaking around my waist to press downwards harshly, my mouth falling open at the sensation, able to feel every inch of him inside me, unable to hold back the loud cries that pour from my lips.

“fuck- oh my god!” i whine, lifting my head upwards from the sheets momentarily, teeth sinking into my bottom lip. my entire body trembles, the knot in my stomach tightening with each harsh thrust, his hips snapping against me at an even faster pace, his momentum somehow increasing.

“you feel it, hm?” he groans, fingers digging into the flesh of my hips, nails leaving marks in place of the soft skin. “sometimes you don’t realise how lucky you are. that you’re the only girl- fuck! you’re the only girl who gets to feel me inside of you, yet you can’t help yourself, can you? always have to act out…shit!”

the soft curses that spill from his lips become more frequent, this along with the feeling of his dick twitching inside of me letting me know that he is close too.

“i can’t- gonna cum!” i moan, pushing myself backwards so that i am closer to him, forcing him that little bit deeper inside of me. i writhe my hips, squirming slightly as my release is within arms reach, silently praying that he will put me out of my misery and let me cum - knowing that i am stupid to think that he is going to be so lenient.

“fucking hold it. you’re not cumming yet, you don’t deserve to.” he states, thrusting a few more times before his dick twitches one final time, ropes of his hot cum shooting into me. his nails dig into my ass as he kneads it, his release continuing to wash over him, a chorus of loud grunts leaving his lips.

now he is moving so slowly, riding out his high, teasing me by doing so, the slow strokes of his cock inside of me more unforgiving than his fast movements before. his tip, milking out the last drops of cum, now hits my g-spot repeatedly, each deep thrust sending me literally insane as it becomes impossible to hold my release.

“please- i can’t…i need to cum, can’t hold it.” my begging is almost pitiful to him, a low chuckle leaving his lips as he keeps moving in and out of me, despite the fact that his climax has been and gone.

“you wanna cum, hm?” he teases, pushing me upwards by my stomach so that my back is pressed against him once again. this time, his lips make contact with my neck, nibbling at the skin, his tongue running over it soon after, the feeling only making it more difficult as i continue to beg.

“mhm…please tom, let me cum. i’m sorry, i’m so sorry.” i plead, my words coming out as a low whine, tears cascading helplessly down my cheeks. he hums against me, the bass within his voice sending a shiver throughout my body.

“hmmm, are you really sorry, baby?” he teases, knowing that i am willing to say anything to let go of the knot in my stomach, on the verge of screaming at the top of my lungs in pure rage.

“mhm, yeah…i’m so sorry…i’ll be good from now on…so good! please, let me cum- shit!” my voice is hoarse, throat sore from the loud moans that have escaped from the back of it, completely worn out, beyond desperate to feel my release.

“go on baby, cum for me, c’mon.” he says, kissing my shoulder slowly as i nod my head vigorously, letting go of the tight knot in my stomach.

my head falls backwards, eyes squeezing shut, swearing that i can see stars as my mouth falls open, a high-pitched moan escaping from it as i clench around him one last time, my release washing over me. i almost fall forwards at the feeling, so overwhelming that i lose the strength to hold myself upright. tom collapses with me, still thrusting in and out from above me, fucking his load deeper inside of me, his chest heaving up and down as he does so.

his movements slow down as i sigh in relief, completely spent. however he pulls out of me momentarily, only to flip me on my back in one swift movement, quickly bottoming out inside of me once again.

i cry out at the sensation, unable to handle the feeling of his sharp thrusts, overly sensitive from being teased for so long before.

“i can’t take it…it’s too much!” i whine, already a moaning mess, yet this time, the pain overtakes the pleasure, coursing within me no matter how much i attempt to drown it out, his rough strokes stretching me out so much that it soon becomes uncomfortable.

“yes, you can.” he states, holding my arms above my head, his hands keeping my wrists in place. he is adamant on ensuring that i learn my lesson, and, the discomfort that overtakes any other feeling silently confirms that i will never act out again, struggling to stay still as my entire body squirms.

“please…i can’t…”

“not stopping until you learn that you don’t get to act like a fucking brat and not get punished for it.” he says, circling his hips a little, moving in and out ever so slowly, reducing the speed of his thrusts, instead focusing on the small whines that he elicits from my lips at the change in pace, noticing the way my face contorts in pleasure.

the slight change in angle allows him to press directly against my spot, rather than brushing past it with each deep stroke, another release soon building up within me, the overstimulation meaning it doesn’t take much to take me there. and, i can tell that he is getting close too, his breathing becoming fast and heavy, hands squeezing the flesh of my thighs as he uses them to thrust in and out of me.

he fills me up once again, teeth sinking into his lip as he does so, a restricted whine emitting from the back of his throat, the sudden pressure triggering my own climax. my hands find their way to his biceps, maintaining a tight hold as i squeeze them harshly, chest heaving up and down, unable to handle the slow rocking of his hips. he rides out his high, before picking up his pace once again, clearly looking for a third round, seemingly unaffected by his two previous orgasms. he is pushing my limits and he knows it, watching the way my face twists, forehead lined with sweat.

his head falls backwards, eyes fully closed, mouth slightly open, and, if he wasn’t so lost in his own satisfaction, i am sure that he would be teasing me somehow, reminding me how pathetic i look underneath him, or scolding me for my antics earlier on. though he saves his energy, instead using it to build up his pace, tuning out the sound of my small whines.

“stop- i can’t anymore!” i beg, tears rolling down my cheeks, my voice small and shaky, legs trembling uncontrollably.

this time, he knows that i mean it, when i take my hand, taking it firmly, with as much strength as i can muster, against his chest, attempting to push him away. but, despite this realisation, he keeps going, not showing any intention of stopping, not until i say the word. yet it is on the tip of my tongue, holding back from saying it just yet, enjoying the pain in some messed up way. though i know that i am spent, unable to do anything but exhale rapidly, just able to shape together the word “blue.”

his eyes shoot open, movements coming to an immediate stop, face softening once he registers my state - eyes bloodshot, body shaking, lips wavering as they attempt to hold back the sobs dangerously close to sounding from them.

“shit- fuck baby, i’m sorry, are you okay?” he rambles, quickly climbing off of me, wrapping his arms around my small frame and pulling me into him, rubbing my back comfortingly.

“i’m fine it’s just- too much.” i whisper, my voice barely audible, throat raw. he notices this straight away, pulling me closer into his embrace, planting soft kisses into my hair, mumbling small apologies into it every few seconds, listening to my breathing as it eventually slows, my body relaxing into him, his hold on me making it easy to fall into a deep sleep, tom’s soft snores soon following.

requests are open! keep sending them in!!

[stellayuta]

Your boyfriend Yuta, albeit known as a gentleman in public has his days when he is an utter, unexplainable freak. Much like your periods derails your mood for a week, there will be certain days each month, where Yuta is so lust driven, that he starts being not so gentlemanly.

Warnings: smut, mdni, 18+

On some mornings when you would be bustling about the kitchen fixing some breakfast or getting ready for work, you'd find Yuta lounging on his cush sofa, head propped on the arm of the seat, eyes watching your every moment hungrily as his other hand would fidget on his lap, tracing patterns in the linen of his pants while maintaining eye contact.

When he'd get back from his missions, dusty and weary, he'd plop himself down on the nearest chair, his katana hanging in between his legs with his head resting on the handle. You'd come round the corner, asking him about his day and he'd tell you, in a low, composed voice - as his hands went up and down the covered blade, smoothly like a cat's movement. You'd eye the shaft of his sword and bite your lip sheepishly.

It had been a few weeks since you and Yuta had last done the dirty, owing to his busy schedule and now, you were needier than ever, trying to get him alone and hot and pounce on him. You would always fail though, because Yuta would have to rush to his work, planting a kiss on your forehead. This was the daily routine now for a fortnight and you were utterly puzzled. Yuta would NEVER say no when you looked at him like you'd suck the life out of his cock.

On one of these busier nights, you unassumingly entered your house, unlocking the door and heading to your shared room with a tired sigh. It would be a bit till Yuta would be back, maybe you could take a steaming shower...

"ugghh..." You hear the unmistaken grunt, a familiar, welcome sound.

What the?

You hesitate at the doorknob but take a deep breath and open the door a crack, just enough to get a view of your bed. There in the eeriness of the moonlight night sky sat Yuta. The angle allowed you to watch him like a peeping tom with a gaping mouth as you saw him stroke and glide a needy hand over his erect shaft that peeked out of his pants. In between his thighs, his katana stood as he held on to it, more like gripped it for his life as he increased the pace of pumping his length.

Your ears bled from happiness at the noises Yuta made, hungry whimpers and angry grunts that echoed and bounced off the walls of the otherwise quiet house. You saw the moonlight illuminate his cock and make it look godly - tall and veiny.

Before he could cum though, he let himself go for a second and you could stand there simply watching anymore. You bust through the door and face him, huffing with longing. He turns and eyes you with sad, doe like eyes - his signature expression. It almost looks comical - sad, teddy bear Yuta plopped on your bed with his vain dick on full display.

"Yuta.." you gasp, approaching him, unbuttoning the top of your dress shirt.

"Please-" you whisper, reaching out and pressing your hands on his chest as he looks up at you. "Please, fuck me."

"Please..." You beg again as he starts removing his white button up and places his katana on the bed. You are quick to rid yourself of your clothes in the meantime. He grabs you by your hips and makes you sit on his lap, back plush against his chest, your thighs spread out on his muscular ones.

He places his chin on your neck as he carefully slides you atop his hardened cock.

"Yuta.. I've wanted this so bad.." you kiss his cheek tenderly. "For so long..."

"Baby, I wanted one peaceful night with you..." He rasped needily, putting his palm on your clit and stroking, just like he was stroking his sword the other day.

"One night away from this damned job so O could satisfy the woman I love."

"Yuta, shut up and go harder!" You whine, trying to bounce on his lap to increase the friction as he keeps his pace devilishly slow.

"two weeks made you this impatient?"

He asks, cocking his hear to side, eyeing you from your left. He begins to accelerate, his fingers intertwining with the folds in your nether region, earning a pleasing moan from you.

"Y-yu-Yutah-I-Pl-"

"What's wrong baby?" He asks, pushing up into you hard.

"Can't form words?"

You can't and so you resort to screaming his name out as your orgasm crashes onto you.

The next few seconds are pure bliss as your eyes roll into the back of your head and your muscles relax atop his body.

"Feel better now?" A sweet voice cuts through your fog. Generic Yuta with his aftercare.

"Okkotsu Yuta." You kiss him harshly.

"If you ever stroke a f*cking sword better than you stroke me, you're never getting head again!"

You relish Yuta's shocked expression as you hop off his dick and go about your merry way.

~~

(I edited the pic a bit. Gege always makes him look so depressed haha)