#fire-elemental!Tom | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

httpkaulitz · 6 months ago

Text

playing with fire

PAIRINGS: Gangster!Tom x Female reader

CONTENT: Smutt

SYNOPSIS: You're obsessed with Tom and there's nothing you wouldn't do to get his attention.

WARNINGS: dom!tom, sub!reader, mention of drugs drinking and guns, violence, pyromania, p in v, oral (m reciving), public sex.

You went to the bar that night with one thing on your mind. You were already floating after using some good shit you bought a few nights before - the same thing you used to seduce him into going to the bathroom with you, the same thing you slapped your tits and shoved in Tom's face before he fuck you quick and dirty against the sink. You were drunk, but not as drunk as him. He almost immediately regretted it, but you didn't. You've wanted Tom Kaulitz balls deep inside you for as long as you could remember, and now that you've tasted it, you want more. You needed it, because once your twisted mind fixated on something, nothing else mattered: no consequence was too severe, no method was too strange.

You were wearing the tiniest blouse and shortest skirt you had. You knew your body was attractive and you knew that was how he liked it. The way he fucked you with one hand full of breasts and the other full of ass told you that, but even before that you caught him staring. You wanted to feel more than his eyes on you tonight. You wanted him to want you as much as you want him, to give you more than five minutes in a bar bathroom so you could show him that you could really rock his world. You thought if you could fuck him enough, you would hook him. He was already like a drug to you, had been for years, and in your fucked up head you thought maybe the two of you together were perfect: the very definition of two wrongs making a right. Because you were crazy and you knew it, and Tom... well, Tom was Tom.

You paused briefly at the door, taking a minute to roll your eyes at the tight-clothed sluts playing hard to get, before heading down the stairs to the basement. That's where his kind of action was, and that's where he would be, because it was Friday night and that's the way it was. It's always been that way, and it always would be until everyone was on the ground. As you turned the corner, the stench of alcohol flooded your senses. The bitches up there would have covered their noses, maybe even choked, but to you it was a comforting, familiar smell. You wouldn't want it any other way.

Georg was at the jukebox, no doubt playing U2, and he was definitely too distracted to even notice you. And that was a good thing, since he took a kind of sick pleasure in cock-blocking anyone who tried to get close to you. The whole overprotective brother thing bothered you, but for some reason, there wasn't no one in town that he considered good enough to lay they hands on you. Not even his best friend Tom.

You scanned the room from ceiling to floor, even though you didn't need to. You knew where he would be: at the bar with his group, a bottle of beer in his hand. You went straight to him. There was no point in playing. The dirty mirror behind the bar was tilted and stole the element of surprise as you approached. You made eye contact with him in the mirror, but he didn't turn around. He looked irritated, but it didn't faze you. Bill and Gustav were kind enough to greet you, but Tom was silent. You just stood up to sit on the bar stool next to him, letting your skirt ride up and your breasts bounce as you made yourself comfortable. You turned to him.

“Buy a girl a drink?” You asked in a falsely sweet voice.

Tom sat hunched over his beer. He didn't look at you when he spoke. “We’re in the middle of something.” He didn't try to hide the displeasure in his voice. "Go stick your tits in someone else's face, okay?"

"You seemed to like it the other night." You leaned in and spoke deep and husky into his ear.

You let your hand wander to his thigh, and his hard muscles clenched beneath the thin fabric of his pants when you touched him. Tom grabbed your wrist tightly and turned to face you. His huge hands wrapped around your wrist like a steel trap and you bit your lip to keep from moaning.

“I said fuck off. I have business.” He released you and turned to face Bill.

Tom had his back to you and was wearing his black t-shirt, you could see every tense muscle underneath. You couldn't contain yourself. You ran your hands over the fabric from the middle of his back up and over his bare shoulders, all rock hard, and he jolted forward as if you were made of fire. He turned around with his jaw clenched and leaned over.

“I swear to God, if you don’t get away from me right now…”

“You're going to do what, Tom? What the fuck are you going to do if I don’t leave? I’m just trying to get a drink.”

Tom picked up the bottle in front of Bill, the one Tom always bought for him, the one Bill didn't drink, and threw it on the bar next to him. Foam came out of the top and you could feel the liquid splash onto your bare shoulder. “There’s your fucking drink. Now go."

You took it with a smirk. "What a gentleman." You said, and you wandered off towards the bathroom.

You liked him angry; you liked the way the muscles in his arms tensed and his thick veins bulged with hot, angry blood pumping through them. You enjoyed irritating him and watching the pressure build until he broke. You would break him this night. You were sure of it.

You went to the bathroom, the same room he had fucked you senseless in a few nights before, and took the bottle out of your bag. You put some in your mouth and chewed the residue until you were good and excited. The cold beer felt good as it washed away the dull tingle in your mouth and mixed with the slow drip down your throat. You drank the beer to the end and smiled at yourself in the mirror, touching up your makeup a little. With your beer empty, you had an excuse to go back to the bar. The drug was fueling a deep desire for whiskey. You always thought beer was for sissies, anyway.

When you came out of the bathroom, you saw that Tom was alone. Where the hell where Bill had run off to and Gustav was in the corner with his hands on some random slut's ass. You scanned the area for your brother, but he were still clinging to the same girl. Tom was all yours now, there was no escaping it. You sat next to him again and ordered a double whiskey, waiting for him to speak. He didn't, and when your drink arrived, you took a large gulp and turned to him.

“Deals closed?” You asked.

He clenched his fists on either side of his beer, looking down and taking a deep breath before turning to face you. His eyes were on fire and you felt the heat hit your core.

“I'll tell you once. It's not going to happen, not tonight, not ever again, understand? Now get off your ass and take your madness elsewhere. I'm serious. I won’t tell you again.”

You started to feel it, that familiar tingling in the back of your neck that usually precedes some kind of irrational decision, you felt the anger rising and there was no stopping it once it started.

“What the fuck do you think you’re scolding me for?” You spat every word. “You think you can just fuck me and walk away like I’m trash? Do you think you're better than me? Fuck you, Tom. We’re not done yet.”

He banged his fists on the bar and despite the noise of conversation and loud music, everyone nearby turned to look.

Something about the way he used you full name irritated you even more. “Stay the fuck away from me. Don’t make me say that again.”

You pressed a button then, and your mind jumped to the nooks and crannies where you kept your darkest desires hidden. They were bubbling now and it was only a matter of time. You kept your voice steady, but your mind was already thinking about the details.

“Alright, you son of a bitch.” You said. “I will. But give me your lighter. I need to smoke.”

Tom hesitated, but finally decided it would be a small sacrifice to pay to get you out of his sight. He took his lighter out of his pocket and slid it across the counter to you, skull design facing up.

“I will bring it back.” You said, even though it was a lie.

"Don't worry." He replied. “Consider this a parting gift.”

"We will see." You said, and downed the rest of the whiskey in two big gulps before heading up the stairs and leaving.

It was hot as hell outside, but the basement bar was so humid that the night air felt good on your drug-flushed face. It was even invigorating, and that was good, because you had plans to put into practice and you didn't have time to waste. You called your friend. He was the only one you knew wouldn’t ask questions. Besides, he owed you one.

“I need a kit.” You said. “The complete package. I’m in the back of the bar.”

"What the hell is that?" He said.

“Just bring me that shit and shut up about it.” You were losing patience and time was passing. “Or do I need to remind you that you owe me a favor?”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He said, and hung up without saying anything else.

Your friend was in the family business, like the rest of his brothers, his father before them and his father before him. They were torches, mostly cars, with some occasional buildings being used for insurance scams. Arson was their business, and although your brother Georg had always made it clear to your friends that you should never get involved, you knew the business inside out. You clearly remembered the first time you saw them set a car on fire. You shouldn't be there. They took you for a walk and told you to close your eyes. You didn't do that, of course. You peeked through your little fingers and watched them douse the van with gasoline before turning on the Zippo lighter and throwing it inside. You remembered the thrill you felt as you watched the lighter fly through the air towards its final destination, the rush of adrenaline as the van exploded in a ball of fire. Even through the closed window, you could feel the heat emanating from it or maybe it was just your blood boiling at the sight of it Either way, from that day on you couldn't resist the pull of a flame. You started smoking at age 12 just to have an excuse to use a lighter and watch the fire dance at the end of the cigarette as you lit it. Sometimes you would light a cigarette and not even smoke it, just watch it burn down to the filter, the smoke rising as it burned. The fire was in your blood, in your bones. Even if you weren't in the car that day, you would eventually figure it out.

Your friend showed up with the necessary supplies: all the shit for a quick hotline, two cans of gas, some bleach, and a crowbar to break the windows, you wouldn't need that last one, but it might be useful to have close by. The fire cannot go out too quickly. There's no point in that. He put the things in the trunk of your car and closed it, looking for answers he couldn't get from you. If he had seen the bike parked out of sight, everything would have made sense, but he didn't.

“Do you need help?” he asked.

"I got it." You answered. Your friend was quicker than you to start, but if he knew whose bike it was, he would never let you do it. You had to go it alone.

“You better know what the hell you're doing. We can’t take any pressure now.”

“I told you I’ll take care of this. Now go home.”

He threw his hands up, resigned to the fact that you would do what you would do and there was nothing he could say to make you change your mind. You were stubborn as a mule and completely off the rails, but he loved you just the same.

"Just be careful." He said as he got into the car, but he knew caution wasn't your thing. You were reckless as fuck and he could only hope that the family way was strong enough in you to keep you out of trouble. He knew you were educated on how to do it right, but it was the why that bothered him on the way home. If it was what he suspected it was, who he suspected it was, there was no telling what might happen. He put it out of his mind because he needed to. He couldn't get involved in whatever shit you were up to. He said a silent prayer for you as he pulled into the garage.

The minute his car disappeared from sight, you sprung into action. You parked your car next to Tom's bike and parked there before grabbing your supplies from the trunk. You stopped for a minute to observe, running your finger over the details and smiling. You would have liked him to fuck you by pressing your body against it. Too late now.

You took a quick look around before grabbing your blood red lipstick from your bag and scribbling the name of a street on the driver's window of your own car. He would know what that meant; he would know exactly where to go. You got back on the bike, slowly but surely starting it. You were proficient but not fast when it came to stealing, but luckily the night was still young and no one was leaving the bar at that time. You scanned the parking lot one more time before exiting out the back. Tom's bike wasn't exactly discreet, and you'd be damned if anyone up front saw it. You knew exactly where you were going - just a few blocks away, the end of a street full of decaying, abandoned three-story buildings. You could feel your skin crawl with anxiety at the thought of what Tom would do, since like you he had a certain level of psychosis and a propensity to cause trouble.

When you reached the end of the street, you parked right in the middle and began making preparations with almost uncontrollable excitement. You grabbed the gas cans and placed them next to the bike before reaching into the seat compartment and grabbing Tom's gun. You didn't know what to do with it, so you just stuffed it in your bag and placed it in the ground before picking up the crowbar. A quick glance at the street told you, you was alone; all the houses were dark and abandoned except the occupied one at the other end, squatters you knew, and they didn't call the police for anything. The only light was provided by flickering street lamps, but it was sufficient for your purposes. You took one last look at the bike before breaking the mirrors one by one. You picked up some shards on your arm, but nothing too serious. You liked the pain, anyway; you liked the smell of blood.

When the glass was good and ruined, you started with the gas. You took special care not to get anything dirty, but you knew what you were doing and managed to maintain it without much effort. When it was soaked and ready, you bleached the cans and crowbar and threw them over the chain link fence into the ocean of weeds growing in the abandoned lot beyond. You went back and grabbed your bag, taking out Tom's Glock and tucking it into the waistband of your skirt. You didn't know why you did it, but something inside you wanted it there, out in the open, where he could see that you had claimed it. It was cold and hard and having it pressed against your warm skin made your anticipation almost unbearable. You retreated into the shadows, pulling Tom's Zippo lighter from your bag and rolling it over and over in your hand, waiting.

Tom was almost done. He was trying to control the next thing, but Bill was in a bad mood and being difficult. And then there was you. He dismissed you immediately, but something in you crawled under his skin and wouldn't go away. You were like a damn rash. He should have never fucked you and he knew it. Don't dip your dick in madness, every idiot knows that. But you were ruthless and shameless and always have been. You were also smart, even though you were crazy. You saw how low his defenses were that night and went for it. It didn't hurt that you had a pretty face and a body built for sin, but still. He should have known better. Now you were an itch he couldn’t scratch.

He threw a wad of cash on the bar to the bartender and left, forgoing goodbyes because he simply didn't give a shit. He walked to the back parking lot, trying to decide what to do with the rest of the night. He was turned on and irritated and knew he would end up either pumping some iron or pumping his cock until he was tired enough to sleep. He took his keys out of his pocket and looked up as he turned the corner, but his bike wasn't there. He took a quick look around, he wasn't drunk, not by a long shot, and he could have sworn that's where he parked, because that's where he always parked. That's when he saw your car, that horrible thing you were driving, and the note you had left in the window for him, scrawled in that whore shade of red you always used to draw attention to your lips, not that you needed it: those lips were made for sucking cock and a blind man could see that. It was just the name of a street, but he knew the place. It was only a few blocks away, but it was no fucking man's land, and he had a nagging feeling that he'd better get there quickly. He got scared and kicked the rusty covering on your car door before running away. He didn't stop until he saw his motorcycle, broken glasses everywhere. Then you stepped into the light and he saw it in your hand, his lighter with the skull design on it.

You wouldn't do that.

You flicked your thumb and the Zippo lighter came to life. You watched the flame dance for a moment and smiled. You were in a kind of trance and didn't hear Tom shouting useless orders for you to stop. You saw him when he looked up, though. He was heading towards you, so you let it fly. He stopped suddenly, the two of you watching the lighter sail in slow motion through the air and land straight on his bike: perfect aim, impeccable execution. The bike started with a hiss and a roar, and for a moment all Tom could do was look at it, his face blank, hard and emotionless. Not that you would know. You were paralyzed by the bright rising flames. The heat from the flames warmed you all over, and your insides were also on fire. Your blood was boiling with the adrenaline of the act, your pussy was throbbing as it sometimes was, Tom's proximity was just a small part of that; it was the exhilarating danger of the fire that really motivated you. You turned to Tom and for the first time his eyes dropped to your waist. He saw his Glock appearing, taunting him.

He crawled towards you, closing the distance with a few purposeful steps, and then he was upon you, malice tearing lines across his forehead. He pulled his Glock from the waistband of your skirt and brought it straight to your face, hard enough to leave a mark but not break a bone. You stood and turned your head to face him. You looked deep into his brown eyes, the glow of fire playing with the golden flecks in his irises, and slowly licked the blood from your bottom lip.

So you went ahead, indifferent as could be. “Hey, Tom.”

He grabbed you by the shoulders and shook you violently, shouting "Hey? HEY? Is that what you have to tell me?"

“What do you want me to say?” The heat from the fire was licking at your legs and you couldn't help it. “I had to get your attention.”

"So you set my motorcycle on fire, you crazy bitch?" Tom's voice kept rising until he couldn't take it anymore.

He grabbed your throat with one hand and dragged you across the lawn of the last house on the street, around the corner and throwing you against the rusty fence. It squeaked under your weight as you bounced off and fell to your knees in the dirty grass. You looked at him for a minute, saw his Glock raised for another try, and laughed like a maniac.

“You’re sexy when you’re mad.” You said, then let your gaze wander to the bike, taking in the flames biting the air and sending small sparks everywhere. You were warm everywhere and ready for whatever punishment Tom had to dish out. You stood up and shook yourself.

"Sorry about all this." Your sweet voice was as fake as your apology.

“What the fuck do you say, bitch? Are you sorry?” He grabbed your throat again and pushed you hard against the fence, your face burning with rage as he pointed the gun under your chin. "Sorry is what you'll be."

But you didn't regret it, not one bit, and you never would. You looked into his eyes and a hint of a smile touched your lips before spitting straight into his face.

"Fuck you, Kaulitz."

Hearing his last name pass your lips made his skin crawl. Tom removed his hand from your neck and slowly wiped the spit from his forehead, laughing to no one in particular before pinning your arms above your head and moving the gun to your temple.

All it took was the rough skin of his fingers, the blunt pressure they were capable of. For your panties to be soaked, the grip he had on you was sweet agony.

“Now you’re really fucked up.” He said, and you just smiled again. “I’m going to wipe that shitty smile off your face. Do you think I give a shit about you being a girl? Because I don't give. You’re fucking crazy and you need a lesson.”

He threw the gun aside and grabbed your hair tightly, pulling your head back. You arched your back into the movement until your body was pressed firmly against his and he was looking straight into your eyes.

“You will learn to keep your madness away from me.” He said. “And that’s me being nice.”

Your eyes rolled back. It was everything you wanted. It was everything you had ever wanted for as long as you could remember. Every calculated move, every preparation, every little detail, all leading up to this moment:

“Hit me, Tom.” You said, breathless and anxious. “Go ahead, do it.”

Tom considered it for a moment, his head tilted slightly to the side. You were crazy, no doubt, but you were fucking hot and for some reason he couldn't push it away, he felt bad for destroying your face. The animal part of him, the one that was about to take control, would love nothing more than to hit you on the head and watch it explode like a watermelon, but he couldn't. He didn't know if he could put a girl down, especially one with boobs like you had. When Tom first hit you, he hadn't quite decided whether he was going to kill you, but one look over his shoulder at the burning wreckage and he knew he would definitely set you right good and proper.

You fell to the ground after the first punch and, in the next few blows, Tom only saw red, heard only his anger echoing in his ears and the crack of fire engulfing his bike. Something made him stop, however. A strange sound coming from the bloodied girl beneath him: a moan, and not the kind that comes with a busted-up face. It hit him then, this crazy slut was enjoying it. You looked at him and your eyes darkened. You were smiling, licking your busted lip. And then you laughed, that horrible, evil laugh. You were like a fucking witch, using some kind of fucked up dark magic to make his dick hard. And it was hard, hard as a rock, there's no denying it. Your breasts were bursting out of your blouse and your legs were spread wide, your short skirt riding up to reveal your barely there panties. There was a heat coming off of you too, and it wasn't from the bike burning brightly behind him. The thin fabric of his pants was doing nothing to hide the bulge there, and you noticed. Of course you fucking noticed.

“Do you get turned on by this shit, Tom?” You asked, teasing him. "Let's go then. Hit me again.”

"You're crazy, you know that?"

You laughed again. That shit laugh. You had your tits out now and were playing with them, as if his dick wasn't already hard enough. He hated himself for it, but he knew he would end up giving you what you wanted. But he wasn't done with you yet. Not by far. He grabbed you by the hair and pulled you to your knees, pulling your face against his crotch.

"Do you feel it, bitch?" He heard you moan against him, felt your hot tongue licking the fabric. "Well, prepare to choke on this."

He let go of your hair and bent down to pick up the gun, tucking it into the back of his pants as he took a condom out of his wallet and handed it to you. He pulled his pants down to his thighs and pointed the gun at your head.

“Put it on and open your whore mouth.”

You licked your bloody lips at the sight of his cock, long, strong and full of veins before rolling the condom down its entire length. You had barely reached the base when you felt one of his strong hands grab your hair and pull you closer. You stuck your tongue out to tease his tip, but he pulled your head back and let go. He pulled the slide on the Glock and you heard the click as he placed one in the chamber. He pressed the barrel to your forehead and smiled at you.

“Bite me and I’ll fucking kill you. Now open it.” He grabbed your hair again and you opened your mouth, taking the length of his cock deep into your throat.

He held the gun just above your head as he fucked you and if you hadn't had a face full of cock you would have smiled; you knew he assumed you would have a gag reflex and you knew it irritated him to find out otherwise.

He wanted to hear you fight and was fucking a hole in your head trying to get you there. Tears were streaming down your face from the grip he had on your hair and the cramp in your jaw, but you were able to breathe well through your nose. You knew how to take dick, and it was very frustrating for Tom. He was really giving it to you now, and when he realized that fucking you in the throat wasn't going to get him anywhere, he pulled your head so close that your lips were in his balls. He held you there with his armed hand and brought his other hand to your nose, closing your nostrils with his thumb and forefinger.

"Try to breathe now, you slut." You looked up and could see the sarcastic smile on his lips.

Now you would fight, he knew. You were all kinds of stuffy and when you started squirming and clawing at his legs, he just laughed at you. He wasn't going to let you choke, but you didn't know that, and he let it continue until he felt your throat closing around his dick and heard your muffled screams. He pulled out of you with a wet pop and you choked on as much air as you could, gasping and coughing into the dirt beneath him. He just stood there with his dick out, watching you. You were like a strange bird, and he honestly had no idea what you would do next. He wanted to know, so he waited.

You finally caught your breath, but you weren't looking at him. It wasn't that you were ignoring him exactly, it was more like you forgot he was there. You were on your knees, entranced by the sight of the burning bike, and before Tom realized what was happening, you were on your feet, taking off your panties and throwing them over the fence.

"What are you doing?" He asked, because he really didn't know.

You turned to him. "Is not it beautiful?" You asked.

“My damn bike on fire next to an abandoned shack? No. That’s not the word I would use.”

“I mean, if it weren’t for your bike, would you think it was beautiful?”

"Well, it's my bike, and you set it on fire, and I'm not done with you yet, so if you wanted to stop and smell the damn roses, you picked the wrong time."

You slowly walked towards him, lifting your skirt inch by inch until it was caught around your waist and he could see everything. A little more light on the matter and he would have been able to see your thighs glistening where you soaked yourself. He could see your hot little clit, and if he hadn't noticed before, he definitely noticed when you lowered your hand and started stroking it. He didn't know he was holding his breath until he had to let it all go at once.

“Just fuck me, Tom. You can kill me later, but fuck me now.” And he wanted to kill you. He wanted to strangle you to death because you were a psychopath and you set his motorcycle on fire and you were a fucking stain on his life.

But most of all, he wanted to kill you because he wanted to fuck you. He wanted to kill you because you had played this dangerous game with him, and you fucking won. He had to laugh, and it was longer and louder than he expected. He laughed because, in some fucked up way, he was impressed. You were twisted as fuck and belonged locked in chains in a padded room somewhere, but you had gone against him alone, and you had defeated him. Few could say that, certainly no one who was still breathing, but you could.

When he composed himself, you were on top of him, stroking his almost painfully hard cock against your clit. Even through the condom, he could feel how hot and wet you were. You were tight too, he remembered. He had been pleasantly surprised. Thinking about how your pussy felt made him angry, because he didn't want to want you. His cock wasn't having any of it, however, and when you spread your legs and rubbed the tip of it against your pussy, he lost whatever control he had left.

“Do you want to get fucked for real this time?” He growled. “I will break you in half.”

“Fuck, do it.” You screamed. And you were begging for it, with every cell in your body you were begging. “You can fuck me to death. I don't mind. Just do it."

Tom cornered you against the fence and drove his dick into your stomach. You reached above your head and grabbed the rusty fence, and when he brought his lips to your ear, you shivered at the feeling of his stubble scratching your cheek. “Come on up and enjoy the ride, bitch, because I’m going to put a bullet in your head when I’m done with you.”

You just looked at him and smiled before jumping into his arms. You hung onto the fence and wrapped your legs tightly around him and he positioned you just right. One strong thrust of his hips and he was deep inside you. You made some kind of animal fucked up sound and he knew it hurt, but you liked it, it was all over your face and the way you moved your hips against him. He wasn't playing well, though. He didn't care if you liked it or not.

He used his cock on you like it was a fucking samurai sword, pretending that each cruel blow was a new, deep gash in your flesh, and that your pussy juice was hot, viscous blood flowing from the wounds. He couldn't kill her; he knew that now. But he could fake it and he could put the fear of God into you while he did it. You were clinging to him like a damn monkey, writhing beneath him as he pounded into you mercilessly. You were gripping and shaking the fence so hard he thought you were going to knock it over, and he could see that your hands were cut and bloody from the rusty metal. Maybe he would remind you to try that, maybe he wouldn't. Now all he could think about was the grip you had on his dick and the look in your eyes as you looked over his shoulder into the fire. The light from the flames flickered in your face and he couldn't see the damage he had done to you. He was grateful for that; made it easier to fuck you until the end of your life. In broad light, the mess he made would have repelled him, regardless of how good the rest of your body felt. And you felt good, better than good, even though he knew he was traveling on a crazy train. It didn't matter, though. You may have won your little game, but he was in charge now. He fucked you with a fury he didn't know he had and your screams became more and more insistent. He knew you were close to cumming, and part of him wanted to be a sadistic jerk, pull out, make you wait and beg for it, and then cum all over your face. But he remembered the way your pussy felt when you came on his dick the last time, so he let you get there, not for your pleasure, but for his.

"Are you going to cum on this dick?" He growled. "Are you going to cum one last time before I kill you, you psycho slut?"

You threw your head back and screamed at the night sky. "Fuck yes. Fuck me harder, Tom."

“What if I stopped right now?” He said. He wanted you to beg for it. “What if I got you all hot and bothered and put a bullet in your head?”

You looked at him, and he was fucking you as he asked, and your eyes got glassy and crazy-looking. That made him slow and he almost stopped, but then you spoke.

“Then choke me.” You whispered. “Choke me and let me cum and then keep squeezing.”

“You’re too crazy, bitch.” He said, and kept his hands firmly placed on your hips as he fucked you.

But now it was all he could think about. You didn't need his hands to hold you down, you were covered between the cruel grip of your legs and the fence you clung to. It would be so simple, really. You were a little thing. He could break your neck if he wanted to. But he didn't want to, not really, not anymore.

"Do you really want me to strangle you?" He asked, and I couldn't believe he was asking the slut who set his bike on fire how you wanted come, but he was.

"Yes." You said. "Please. Do it. I’m going to cum so hard and then you can finish me.”

And you would have died happy with his strong hands around your neck and his cock trapped inside you. You knew he wouldn't kill you now. He would have already done that. He could have done this many times before, but he didn't. And he was looking at you in a way that told you that you were fucking him the way he liked to be fucked, letting him take control, making him feel like he was the king of the fucking world. And to you, he was the king. Other punks could run around all they wanted, pretending their dicks dangled lower than his, but everyone knew Tom was the man. He was the guy you should be afraid of, the kind of guy who would put you down if you looked at him funny. And here you were, watching his bike burn by your own hands and getting fucked for your trouble. You couldn't help but laugh.

“What the fuck are you laughing at?” He retorted. “Do you think I won’t do it?”

And then, just like that, his huge hands were around your neck and squeezing. You were already so close to cumming, but between the anger on his face, the fire dancing in the distance, and the lack of oxygen, you came like a rocket. Your pussy clamped down hard on his dick and you bucked so hard that his hands lost control of your throat, and the rush of air that hit your lungs made you twice as excited. You screamed like you were dying, and thought in the back of your mind confused that you might be climaxing, but you didn't give a damn because you couldn't stop cumming for what felt like a year and he fucked you so hard and completely that you were essentially dead when it was over. Your body was jelly and you couldn't hold back any longer and he knew it so he pulled out and threw you in a heap on the floor.

“I hope you enjoyed this.” He said, ripping off the condom. “Because this is going to hurt.”

You thought for a moment that he could fuck your ass without a condom, and if you were honest, you would have let him, but that wasn't what he had in mind.

“Sit down and look at me.” He said, and started jerking his dick. He slapped your face a few times between thrusts and you smiled and opened your mouth.

"Are you going to swallow it all?" You nodded and stuck your tongue out as far as you could. You wanted to taste him so much you could have cried.

“Get ready for this.” he said, and you watched the veins on his arms ripple as he pumped himself until he came. You would have liked to do this for him, but you stood still, on your knees, with your hands behind your back and your mouth open and ready for him. “Open your eyes, bitch. Keep them open.”

You moved your gaze between his face and his cock; you couldn’t decide which one looked angrier. They were both beautiful, though, and that's what you were thinking about when his free hand grabbed your face and held your right eye open while the other masturbated right into him. The first explosion was strong and hurt like hell, but the next jets streaked your face. You smiled even though your eyes were on fire. You wish you could see his face when he came, but you could only imagine the evil grin he must have worn as he blew straight into your eyeball. He gave you a solid fuck you at the end, and you respected him for that. He certainly deserved it, and you found it almost artistic in its execution. You squeezed your eye shut as hard as you could, and laughed because you knew you were crying cum and it was the funniest thing you had ever imagined. Only you weren't imagining it; it was happening, and you reached up to wipe away your milky white tears. You couldn't see out of your right eye, but your left was working just fine, so you used it to stare at him as you sucked his juices off your fingers. You could taste the strong taste of him even through the dirt and blood and rust, and you moaned into your fingers. You must have been a vision, one eye tightly closed and the other bulging because he couldn't stop laughing at you. But you didn't care. You were happy.

Funny that you shouldn't be happy at a time like that, but you were. If what he said was true, he was just moments away from killing you. Your face was bruised and something was probably broken, your hands were cut, your knees were scraped, you looked like you had gone to war, and in some ways you had. You had won some battles, but in the end Tom held all the cards. He composed himself and grabbed his Glock from the grass, returning to kneel in front of you, your forehead pressed to his.

“Any last words?” He said, his face set in an evil smile.

"Marry me." You said it, and you meant it.

He burst into laughter and stood up in front of you. He pointed the gun at your head and moved his finger to unlock it. One movement of his thick finger and the lights turned off. You heard the deafening crack of the gun and saw the barrel glow and closed your eyes but felt nothing but splinters of wood from where the bullet entered the side of the house a foot to your right. You opened your eyes and he was smiling at you, that shit-eating Tom smile you loved so much.

"If you mess with me again it will be right here." He bent down and pressed a dirty finger to your forehead.

Tom patted your cheek twice in a row and ran towards the bar. You stood there for a moment, but you knew it was past time to get the hell out of there. If you were caught on the spot, it would mean trouble for your entire family. You couldn't allow that. You pulled your blouse up over your breasts and your skirt down. Your panties were long ago left to the weeds and you never lost your shoes. You left in the opposite direction from Tom, even if it meant heading home instead of taking the car. You wouldn't go to the bar now, not after what happened, not in the state you were in. You knew Tom wouldn't say a word about what really happened to his bike. He'd say it was some punk fucking him, and he'd probably savage some random kid for good measure, just to make a good show of it. You would say you were attacked, but managed to escape. You would get ready in the morning and take care of your business as if this whole mess never happened.

Except it had happened, and you would never forget it, and even though he almost put a bullet in your brain a few times that night and threatened to do it for real, you knew you wouldn't be able to let him go. Not now, not ever. You smiled. He was like fire to you: powerful, beautiful, deadly dangerous, and easy to unleash. You'd be happy to watch the world burn just to have him again.

#tom kaulitz #tokio hotel #bill kaulitz #georg listing #gustav schäfer #tokio hotel smut #bill kaulitz smut #tom kaulitz x reader

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sleekervae · 1 year ago

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New York Romantic .1

Masterlist

pairing: Tom Blyth x ballerina!oc

summary: a young actor moves across the hall from an aspiring ballerina. (college au kinda)

word count: 1562

a/n: i've had this idea knocking around in my brain for a few days and finally got to penning it down -- enjoy!

August 2016

The sun stretched its golden rays across the morning sky in New York City, the last embrace of summer's fading heat lingered in the air. The city bustled under a whispering breeze that carried the promise of change, as tree leaves, once adorned in vibrant green, began their slow transformation into a canvas of crimson and gold. Amidst the streets, a serene anticipation filled the air, capturing the essence of a city transitioning as the summer activities came to a close and the kids were dreading the return to school.

The wheels on Tom's luggage clacked against the cracks and bumps in the concrete sidewalk, bleary and tired eyes scanning between his phone and the address placards on the various condos. He knew he should've taken a cab, but the bus was so much cheaper and Google indicated it was only a five minute walk to his new living quarters anyway.

He finally stopped in front of a brick building, the address placard worn and rusted from the elements but the numbers matched up with that on his itinerary. The other cue that gave it away was the variety of art pieces in windows and hung over bannisters and fire escapes. Tom lugged his bag up the three stone steps and ducked inside.

The lobby was pale, dingy and in dire need of a fresh coat of paint; not to mention the air held hints of mothballs and burnt microwaved popcorn. An older woman was sat behind a desk, reclined in her chair while glazed eyes were focused on her computer screen. Tom approached slowly, hoping his smile could cover the exhaustion hiding in his face.

"Hello,"

The woman's eyes were the last to focus when she turned her head, blinking over her glasses and a warm smile graced her face, "Oh, hello! You must be... erm..." she suddenly grabbed a clipboard and scanned the tiny text, "... Jacob Nielson?" she spoke in the classic Brooklyn accent with exaggerated vowels and nasally undertones.

"No," he shook his head politely, "My name's Tom. Blyth," he replied.

She scanned her list with her pen, gasping aloud when she found his name, "I see, now! Very nice to meet you, my name's Doris -- I'm the super here. You're my renter from London, right?"

"Yeah. Well -- Yorkshire specifically,"

"I didn't do so well in geography, honey. Have mercy," Doris replied as she stood up, heading for the wall of cubbies behind her, "So tell me, which insane asylum are you checking into?"

" -- Excuse me?"

"What school are you attending?" she asked again, her fingers flourishing across the cubbies.

Tom nodded, "I'm starting at Julliard next week. I'm an actor," he replied.

Doris scoffed, "Yeah? You and everybody's dog, honey," she pulled a key from a specific slot and returned to the desk, "But you got a nice face, maybe you'll luck out,"

Tom wasn't sure whether or not he should've taken that as a compliment, so he simply smiled back and accepted the key, "Um, thank you,"

"You're on floor three, room 14. Your roommate should already be moved in, he can give you a tour of the place," she explained, "If you need anything, leaky faucets fixed and whatnot just come down and see me,"

"Thank you, Doris," he took his bag and started for the elevator on the right of the room, but Doris called out to him again.

"Hold on, handsome! Elevator's broke! Hasn't worked since Giuliani was mayor," she pointed to the left, "Stairs are over there,"

Tom huffed under his breath; he was tired and the last thing he wanted was to lug his suitcase up three flights of stairs. Nevertheless, he gave Doris one more polite grin as he started for the staircase.

The sun cast stark patterns across the stairs, the skewed silhouettes of the window panes interrupted by Tom's own shadow as he made his trek up. He hadn't at first registered the thundering of footsteps above him until a group of kids rushed passed him.

"C'mon! We're gonna miss the bus!" The stairwell was relatively narrow, arms and bodies knocking into Tom until he nearly slipped and his grip loosened on his suitcase. The suitcase went tumbling down the stairs, smacking hard against the opposing wall and the latches burst open. His belongings spilled everywhere.

Tom grumbled to himself, trekking down the stairs again to clean up the mess. One of the kids however hung back, trailing behind her group but she'd witnessed Tom's misfortune. She double backed up the stairs, staring in astonishment at the clothes and knick knacks, then at him.

"Jesus, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

Tom was crouched over the ground when he looked up, coming face-to-face with the concerned expression of a young brunette. She was lean and petite, dressed down in denim shorts and black tank top. Her converse had two different coloured laces, one red and one yellow. He found that peculiar.

"I'm alright," Tom assured her, "If this is the worst thing that happens to me today, then it's not such a bad day, right?" he tried to laugh it off.

The girl simpered, "Sure," nevertheless she crouched down to help him. One of her friends called out from below.

"Noelle! C'mon! We're gonna miss the bus!" she shouted.

The girl -- Noelle -- shouted back, "Go ahead, Bianca! I'll catch up with you guys!"

"But the movie starts in an hour! It's take forty five minutes from here, man!"

"It's twenty minutes of previews, anyways!" she turned back to Tom, her cheeks tinting bashfully, "Sorry about that,"

"Don't worry. You should go with your friends, I'll be fine," he replied.

Noelle scoffed, "Can I trust you with a secret?"

"Sure,"

"I hate horror movies,"

Tom smiled, "And lemme' guess: they're going to see a horror movie?"

"Don't Breathe. Some kids break into a blind guy's house and he ends up killing them all and quite frankly -- I can go my whole life without more nightmares," she replied, a coy smile playing at her lips.

"Don't half blame you. I'm not the biggest fan, myself," he said, "Do you live here?"

"Yep. That nutcase shouting at me was my roommate," she replied, "Sorry, I didn't get your name,"

"Tom,"

"Very nice to meet you. I wish it was under better circumstances," she chuckled back.

"Don't worry about it -- Noelle," he grinned.

She helped him clean up and pack his things, leading him back upstairs to his room. He assured her he could manage but Noelle insisted, saying it was the least she could do for his trouble.

"Room 14?" she cocked a brow when he told her, the corners of her lips pulling back to bare her clenched teeth.

"Yeah. What's wrong?" Tom asked apprehensively, "I don't have a serial killer for a roommate, right?"

Noelle shook her head, "No, no, you get Sunny. And he's just like his name -- absolute sunshine human being,"

"... I sense there's a 'but' coming," he trailed.

"He's a scholarship violinist, he's brilliant. And he's so brilliant because he practices at all hours of the night," she explained, "... All hours. You might wanna invest in some noise cancelling ear plugs,"

Tom nodded, relieved that at least his new roomie didn't sound like a dickhead, "Thanks for the advice,"

They stopped in front of the door, a worn brass 14 glinting subtly in the light. Tom fished out the key from his pocket, "I guess this is me,"

"Oh, damn," Noelle huffed, glancing at the door across from them, "You get the insane neighbours,"

His eyes flitted between her and the door, "... Whatcha' mean by that?"

Noelle pulled a key from her pocket, "Well, they're dancers for one. So they're always playing music, talking shit, burning their instant noodles because they're half-daft," with that she shoved the key into the lock and twisted, and sure enough the door opened.

Tom glanced at her, sheer amusement crossing over his face. He simpered under his breath, "You're my half-daft dancer neighbour who burns her instant noodles?"

"Unfortunately for you," she confirmed, half smirking.

"And how does one burn their instant noodles?" he asked.

"Don't worry about it," she closed and locked the door again, "But I'll let you get settled in. If you need anything at all, you can just pop over,"

"Thank you, Noelle," he smiled, "And thanks again for --" he stopped suddenly when he heard a faint violin melody from the other side of his door. It was a beautiful melody nonetheless, and it had him intrigued, "I suppose that's my roommate?"

Noelle nodded back, "Yep. I promise you, he's a sweetheart," she started walking backwards towards the stairwell, "I'm sorry again about earlier,"

"Don't give it a second thought. Have fun at your movie," he replied.

She giggled sardonically, "Oh trust me, I'll have a blast. I'll see you around, Tom,"

Tom gave her a small wave, watching her until she disappeared around the corner, could hear her shoes squeaking as she trotted down the stairs. He couldn't deny he found her quite a looker, a small part of him giddy with excitement at the prospect of getting to know his new neighbour. The violin melody continued to play on the other side of the door, and taking a deep breath for confidence, he pushed the key into the lock and opened the door...

#tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #tbosas #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus imagine #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #ballad of songbirds and snakes #original story #original female character #imagine blog

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hotdaemondtargaryen · 6 months ago

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TOM GLYNN-CARNEY TALKING ABOUT EPISODE 1 & 2 OF 'HOUSE OF THE DRAGON' S2 FOR DECIDER MAGAZINE.

DID TOM GLYNN-CARNEY INTEND TO MAKE AEGON SO HILARIOUS?

“Well, look, I find him quite manic.”

“And I think, rather than playing humor — which is always a terrible idea because it always ends up not being funny when you play humor — I want to sort of bring this sort of frantic energy of him and kind of the nonchalance of his approach to being king these days.”

“I think it’s important to find levity at the beginning of something. You know, we’ve got to give him somewhere to go. And I genuinely think he is quite funny.”

TALKING ABOUT THE DEATH OF JAEHAERYS AND HIS CHARACTER IN THE NEXT EPISODES.

“The loss of Jaehaerys is huge. It’s momentous and it’s one of those things that just stains. It affects you on an atomic level now. It’s something you don’t ever fully digest and make sense of and kind of shake off.”

“So, yeah, it informs a lot of his decisions going forward.”

“I always had it in my head that he was kind of rebuilding the person he would have wanted to be through him.”

“I think he saw in Jaehaerys a part of himself.”

The actor explained that Aegon wanted to give Jaehaerys the “love and attention” that perhaps his parents didn’t.

“He saw elements of himself in [Jaehaerys] and it was a kind of a new start for him in a way. And now it’s been snatched from him.”

Without Jaehaerys, Aegon leans into his worst impulses. Aegon accelerates war plans, hanging every ratcatcher in the Red Keep in the hopes of nailing the one who abetted Jaehaerys’s death and firing his cautious grandfather Ser Otto Hightower (Rhys Ifans) as Hand. Ser Criston Cole (Fabien Frankel) will now be Hand, ensuring more blood will be spilled.

Nevertheless, Tom Glynn-Carney’s descent into Aegon’s dark state of mind is never without a hint of humanity.

You understand that it’s grief propelling these choices. Grief for Jaehaerys, Aegon’s son and heir, grief for the “good” king Aegon could have been, and grief for the way his family has failed him.

TALKING ABOUT THE SCENE OF ALICENT FINDS AEGON CRYING BY THE FIRE. AND INSTEAD OF COMFORTING HER SON, ALICENT WORDLESSLY LEAVES HIM.

“There’s a great poem: ‘They fuck you up, your mum and dad. They may not mean to, but they do.’ It goes on with it. But, yeah, it reminds me of that,” Glynn-Carney said, quoting Philip Larkin’s “This Be the Verse.”

It’s a poem that, like George R.R. Martin’s books, bemoans how, “Man hands on misery to man.”

Trauma begets more trauma, a theme House of the Dragon‘s interpersonal drama is excavating this season.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd s2 #tv shows #team green #tom glynn carney #king aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #poems and poetry #hotd aegon #jaehaerys targaryen #interview #hotd s2 spoilers #queen alicent hightower #alicent hightower #hotd alicent #this be the verse #philip larkin #aegon x alicent

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thelampisaflashlight · 5 months ago

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The ghouls, but I revamped my headcanons about them, because why not? Let's go.

-Aether, Dewdrop, and Mountain were brought into the church around the same time, but Dew arrived first, making him the "eldest" of the three ghouls... while also, coincidentally, being just slightly older than both Aether and Mountain in actual age as well.

Of the three of them, Mountain is the peacekeeper, Aether, much to the shock of many, is the troublemaker (he enjoys picking fights with people who are being jerks), and Dew is the thinker.

-Cumulus and Cirrus were summoned around the same time Swiss was brought into the pack. Having been raised on the surface by his mortal father, Swiss didn't really have much of a connection to his demonic side until he found the church, but even then, he had a lot of trouble adapting to life there.

Thankfully, both of the ghoulettes were more than happy to take him under their wing and teach him all the fun parts of being a ghoul.

He looks up to them in the same way one might look up to an older sibling, and he treats them both with respect as both his mentors and his friends.

-Rain was summoned during a rare thunder snowstorm towards the end of winter, which resulted in him developing an odd ability to control electricity. Usually, lightning is seen as a fire/air based element and can only really be harnessed by multi-elemental ghouls, like Swiss or Aurora, but Rain is, in so far as he knows, pure water.

He mostly uses this ability to hunt fish in the lake, charge his phone or laptop, or as the occasional self defense mechanism, because why would he throw a punch when he can effectively taser someone with his fingers?

-Dew, like Swiss, was born and raised on the surface, and grew up leading a normal, human existence until he fell to his death while lost in the woods surrounding the abbey during a thunderstorm.

His death lead to him landing himself in Limbo, where he was given a second chance at life (at a cost, of course) and learned of his demonic inheritance.

Unlike Swiss, who found comfort in discovering his ghoul side, Dew felt deeply conflicted by it and did not immediately join the church, though he was allowed to stay largely because Terzo saw promise in his abilities (musically and magically) and encouraged him to stay.

-Aeon goes by both Phantom and Aeon, but it depends on who he's talking to/who is addressing him, kind of like how you might go by your middle name with friends, but your parents call you by your first name.

For things like ministry paperwork and meetings with important figures, he's called Aeon, but amongst the pack, he's largely called Phantom or Tom-Tom as a nickname.

However, the name Aeon is also used by ghouls that are considered his "seniors", such as Aether and Omega who held his station before him, and Dew, because he refuses to call him Tom-Tom (and because he's old, but don't let anyone hear you say that).

-Cumulus is one of the only ghouls that maintains a home away from the abbey during the off season, and, as of right now, none of the other ghouls have been invited to stay there. It's nothing against any of them personally, Cumulus just likes having her own space that's truly hers, and she spends so much time around the others normally that she needs a break from them sometimes.

-Similarly, Dew has a habit of "wandering off", though he's usually just off on vacation, and, when in doubt, can typically be found simply by asking where he is.

Usually, he's not far from the abbey, as he tends to keep to his "territory" like a cat left to roam, but on the rare occasion he's broken containment (left the country entirely) he's like a ghost.

And lastly;

-Cirrus has been known to hang out in one of the many cemetery plots on the abbey's grounds, and has befriended an alarming number of spirits, who often tell her secrets and information about people who currently live on the grounds or passed there in some form or another.

Because of this, Cirrus knows things that could be devastating if revealed, so she has to be careful about not letting slip information that wasn't given to her by either the individual themselves and/or is already "common knowledge".

She's on incredibly bad terms with some of the abbey's residents as a result of letting slip personal details about their lives, even if she meant to use it as a means of defending them, and it has made it difficult for her to make friends outside of her packmates, which in turn results in her befriending more inhuman entities and ghosts.

#lamp rambles #shitghosting #nameless ghouls #ghost band #the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost band headcanons #nameless ghoul headcanons

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tomssexdoll · 5 months ago

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Playing with fire

"And now I'm all up on you, what'd you except?"

PAIRINGS: Tom 2014 x Female reader

CONTENT: ANGST + SMUT + FLUFF

SYPNOSIS: Tom and Y/N were a celebrity couple, they've been broken up for quite a while, Y/N keeps seeing Tom with a new girl every single week. She decides to get her revenge, going to a bar, knowing Tom would be there and finding a random guy as her bait to make Tom jealous.

A/N: HIIII GUYS

WARNINGS: dom!tom, sub!reader, p in v (missionary), sucking d, arguing, mentions of alcohol

Tom and me used to date. He's a famous rockstar, the lead guitarist for his band Tokio Hotel. I was a famous model, always featuring on magazines and on runways. Our break up was sudden, after 2 long years of unconditional love and commitment he just changed, he became cold and distant, always stayed out late and used work as an excuse.

I knew damn well he was lying, I knew Tom really well and picked up on when he was lying, he wasn't a good liar anyways. I was sad over our break up, like any sane person is, but I used things to distract me, to fill the void.

Our break up was all anyone could talk about for months, some saying they'd never believe in love ever again, some saying it was for the better. I hated how people thought they knew us so well, like they were living our lives.

We broke up after I finally snapped, confronting him yet again about his behaviour, this time I didn't forgive him and just stormed out, later breaking up with him through text.

Some days I wish I could just cuddle up in his arms again but I couldn't. Living with the fact that the was gone broke my heart. One day I was at a bar, I had seen he had been fucking around with other girls, paparazzi taking photos of every girl he was seen with in public.

I knew he was going to be at a bar tonight, purposefully planning my entrance, wanting to make sure he saw me without me having to cause a scene. Tonight was all about making him jealous, making him miss what we had.

My plan was to find literally any guy I could and flirt with him, he was my bait for the night. I knew dancing with the guy and grinding on him would drive him absolutely insane. As I arrived, I shortly found my target, a guy with a scruffy beard and short hair, having a drink with his friends.

Tom was in his element, lounging at the bar with a glass of whiskey in hand, trademark dark sunglasses, hiding his piercing gaze from the world. He laughed and chatted with his friends, catching up on the latest girls they'd been with, a nasty scowl forming on my face at their words.

As I approached the random guy, I gently traced my fingers over his shoulder, "well, hello there," I smirked, taking a seat next to him. He grinned in response, turning his body to face me, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Well hello darling, would you like me to get you a drink?" he said, his voice thick with lust.

"Oh that'd be perfect! Just a vodka redbull please," I smiled and reached into my bag, pulling out my lipgloss and reapplying it. Toms ears perked up when he heard my signature drink, his eyes scanning around and finally setting on me. He raised an eyebrow, taking in my appearance and the man I was basically flirting with next to me, his jaw clenching before turning away.

Tom grunted and just decided to ignore me for now, not wanting his jealously to get the best of him. He focused on his own drink, the amber liquid in the glass swirling as he tried to push down the anger and jealously that threatened to overwhelm him.

I was obnoxiously giggling, even if the guys jokes weren't funny my laughs got louder, trying to get Toms attention again. Toms grip tightened on his glass as he forced himself to continue small talk with his companions. But he couldn't seem to shake off the image of me and the man, my laugh echoing in his mind and driving him crazy.

I could slightly see the affect it was having on him, fuelling my ego even more, driving me to go up a level. After a few more drinks, I got up, grabbing the mans hand and leading him to the dance floor.

Toms heart clenched tightly in his chest as he saw the way the mans hand gripped mine, the hungry look in his eyes as he pulled me close. The song choice was perfect, a dirty, sensual song, the lyrics lewd and graphic. I started to dance with the guy, swaying my hips on him and gently grinding, my mouth slightly agape as he peppered soft kisses onto my neck.

Tom watched as me and the man danced, heat rising within him as he saw me move with such seductive skill. He couldn't take it anymore, slamming his glass down on the table, the sound ringing out through the room as he stood up.

He strode over to the dance floor, determined to claim me back. I knew Tom was approaching, already sensing the anger and jealously coursing throughout him, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of my lips, satisfied that my plan had worked.

Tom quickly pushed the other man away from me, a snarl twisting his lips as he pulled me back against his muscular body. He wrapped his arms around my waist, his hands possessively gripping my hips as he held me close, "stay the fuck away from her, she's mine.." he growled lowly.

He quickly pulled back from me and grabbed my arm, storming off to a quiet, private area. "What the fuck was that, hm?" his grip on my arm tightened, pulling me in closer, his eyes flashing with anger. "What? I was just dancing, we aren't together..remember.." I said, giving him a deadly glare.

"I don't give a single fuck if we aren't together, you're mine and you know that..." he sighed, "what are you doing to me, what are you doing love, you drive me fucking crazy," he grunted.

"Oh shut up, it's not like I don't see every week you're with a new girl, for fuck sakes Tom you're such a hypocrite," I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest.

"I know that dress is karma, that fucking perfume you're wearing is intoxicating, you got me thinking back to when you were mine.." he mumbled, trapping me against the wall, towering over me.

"You act like you're so innocent, like you don't purposefully get seen with women in public to make me jealous, I know what you're like Tom, if you actually wanted to hook up with those women for yourself you'd do your best to hide them," I sighed, shaking my head. His nostrils flared in annoyance at my words, taking a deep breath, trying to reign in his temper.

He leaned in closer, invading my personal space, "you know me so well, but you still chase after me. Why is that?" he chuckled, "you just want attention, you don't want my heart, maybe you just hate the thought of me with someone new" I knew he was right, I couldn't stand the thought of him with someone who wasn't me.

"See, can't even defend yourself.." he scoffed, shaking his head, "whatever.." I turned to leave, but Tom wasn't having it, "excuse you, where the fuck do you think you're going?" he grabbed my arm, pulling me against him, his eyes boring into mine.

"I'm not fighting with you Tom, i'm not interested," I pulled away, trying to walk off again but to no avail, he grew frustrated and grabbed my arm, harder this time, spinning me around to face him. "Oh no you don't. You're not going anywhere princess.." he dragged me into the bars bathroom, slamming the door behind him and locking it.

He pulled me back into his arms, his hold firm as he looked down at me, "I'm done playing games with you," he growled, smashing his lips into mine. I whined, his hand coming to the back of my head and pulling me in closer, his tongue demanding entry as his hands roamed over my body.

He was a man on a mission, determined to claim me as his again. His grip tightened, dominating the kiss with a fierce intensity. As he pulled back, a small string of saliva followed, our lips red and swollen.

His eyes were dark with desire and possession, "let me get one thing straight," he said while reaching behind me, zipping down my dress, "you're mine and I'm not fucking share you with anyone else. Ever. You understand me?" his voice was firm, leaving no room for argument as he let my dress fall to the floor.

I nodded, knowing that challenging him would only get me in deeper shit. He released a growl of satisfaction as I submitted to him, leaning in and pressing a firm kiss to my lips, possessiveness radiating off him.

His hand slid down to grip my ass, squeezing firmly as he pulled me closer to him. "Get on your knees, now," he said, his voice low, with a hint of danger that sent a shiver down my spine. I instantly obeyed, slowly dropping to my knees, my eyes never leaving his.

"Good girl..." he purred, unbuckling his belt and letting it fall to the ground with a soft clink. His hands move to his pants, unbuttoning them slowly as he watched me with a hungry gaze. "So patient.." he mumbled, sliding his pants down and letting them pool at his feet.

"Take my boxers off..cmon.." he egged on, moving his hips forward so the imprint of his cock was inches away from my face. I bit my lip, reaching up and looping my fingers around the waistband of his underwear, slowly dragging it down. His cock sprung out, slapping against his abdomen.

"Fuckk.." I gasped softly, he ran his hands over his shaft, giving it a few strokes as he spoke, "now, wrap those pretty lips around it and start sucking.." he grinned. I took his cock in my hand, slowly gliding my mouth down his cock, engulfing every inch.

He groaned in pleasure as I took his entire length into my mouth, my warm, wet lips feeling amazing around his cock. He started thrusting gently at first, fucking my mouth slowly as he looked down at me, "such a dirty slut..sucking my cock like that.." he grunted, his fingers tangling in my hair and pulling it gently, guiding me on his thick cock.

I bobbed my head up and down, sucking his cock hard and fast, feeling his bulging veins throb on my tongue. He lost himself in the sensation, starting to fuck my mouth harder and faster, his balls slapping against my chin.

"Shit...I'm gonna cum soon if you keep sucking my cock like that, I'll fill your fucking throat with my load.." he growled lowly. I choked and struggled to take his cock as it repeatedly hit the back of my throat, saliva building around my mouth.

He grinned as he saw the struggling but determined expression on my face. "You like that, huh? You want me to fuck your throat harder?" he moaned lowly, "mmh! Yes!" I whined, his thrusts became more powerful at my response, fucking my mouth harder.

His balls started to tighten, saliva dripped down my chin as I kept sucking his cock, mascara filled tears streaming down my cheeks. "Fuck! Yes! Keep sucking that cock you filthy whore!" he yelped, exploding in my mouth, his thick, hot cum shooting down my throat in powerful spurts.

He kept thrusting his cock into my mouth, making sure I swallowed every last drop, "swallow it all, you little fucktoy. Every last drop belongs in your stomach.." he panted, trying to calm down after his earth shattering orgasm.

He slowly pulled out, grabbing my arm and bringing me up to my feet. His hands moved to my panties and roughly shoved them down, "take these off, I'm not done with you yet," he murmured, his gaze fixed on my wetness. "That's more like it.." he moved closer, gripping my hips roughly before lifting me up onto the counter.

"You're so fucking wet.." he draped his fingers along my folds, collecting the wetness and bringing it to his mouth, humming in delight. He stalked closer, his tip prodding at my entrance, teasing my clit with the head of his cock, biting his lip as he felt a surge of pleasure.

He smirked, enjoying the way I squirmed beneath him before he slowly started to push himself inside, "god you're so fucking tight...I could stay buried in you for days," he groaned, I wrapped my arms around his neck, my mouth slightly agape as I felt every inch go in slowly.

His hands gripped my hips tighter, pulling me closer to the edge of the counter until I was flush against him. He started to move his hips in slow, deliberate thrusts, "fuck..you feel so good.." he mumbled, burying his face into my neck.

He groaned in pleasure as he picked up his pace, his hips moving faster, driving himself deeper inside me with every thrust. He nipped and kissed at my neck, leaving behind a trail of bites as he marked his territory, "you're mine..fuck.."

He started to pound into me relentlessly, his anger and frustration poured into his rough fucking. The counter slightly shook with the force of his thrusts, his arm wrapping around my waist to secure me.

I moaned loudly, digging my nails into his back as his cock repeatedly hit the spot I loved the most, "Tom! Fuck, mmh!" he grinned devilishly, his hips snapping back and forth quickly, his cock sliding easily in and out of my slick, dripping pussy, "so fucking wet f'me, hmm?" he reached up, grabbing a fistful of my hair and pulling it back, exposing my neck to the cool air.

"Such a dirty girl..taking my cock twice," he grunted, the sound of our bodies slapping against each other filling the room. He continued to fuck me hard, almost punishingly so, satisfied with the desperation in my moans and the way I held onto him.

"Harder! Faster!" I whined, throwing my head back, "oh you want it harder, hm? I'll give you harder.." he grumbled, his voice filled with dominance. He instantly obeyed with my command, slamming into me with brutal force, the head of his dick hitting my cervix with each thrust, driving me into a state of oblivion.

"Fuckkkk!" I cried out, feeling a knot form in my stomach, my climax building up rapidly. At this point he lost all control, his hands moving under my thighs, I wrapped my legs around his waist and he picked me up, starting to slam me down onto his cock, "oh my fucking god! Fuck!" I practically screamed, my body bouncing against his brutally.

"Take it! Take it all!" he yelled, his balls slapping against my ass with each bounce, the sound echoing throughout the room, "i'm gonna cum!" I yelped, my pussy tightening around his cock.

As I reached my climax a clear stream of liquid escaped my pussy, my juices coating all over his hard cock. His eyes rolled back in pleasure as he felt me squirt all over his shaft, feeling the warm liquid coat his balls, his release being triggered. He emptied himself inside me, making sure to fuck his cum deep inside me.

We were both spent, exhausted and panting, trying to catch out breathes. He placed me back down on the counter, slowly pulling out, watching as his cum slowly spilled out.

He quickly cleaned the both of us up, helping me put my clothes back on, putting his back on too. I got up off the counter, my legs trembling from the intense love making session. "Fuck.." he ran a hand through his hair, "let's get you home..ok?" he grabbed my hand, leading me out of the bathroom and outside the bar, hailing for a taxi.

As we were waiting in silence, he spoke up, "what if I told you that I had no interest in anyone but you? That every time I'm with someone else, it's just a show, to make you jealous, I never stop thinking about you," he turned to face me, gently cupping my face in his large hands.

I smiled at his words, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. "I'd believe you..I really have missed you Tom, I don't want to act like I'm not in love with you, I want you back, I want what we had back.." I looked up at him, he instantly nodded and placed a gentle kiss to my lips.

"Also..can you stay the night, you know how I get when I have to be alone for the night," I said, giving him a look he couldn't refuse. "Alright baby, alright," he chuckled, placing a firm kiss on my forehead.

tags: @ballhair @tomriddlesrealgf @bills-wife-1

tags: @tomscumdoll @billsdolliest @bkaulitzlover

tags: @miyukafujii @ella1289 @pa1n-0f-l0ve

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thephantomcasebook · 3 months ago

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I am sooo disappointed in S2 HOTD, and now I understand why you were warning us about S2 writing. I encourage you to watch Ben Shapiro's S2 review of HOTD. Everything he states hits the point as I feel of S2 writing. But I really feel that if Miguel was still on S2 he would basically steer the ship right, as in writing and direction of the story. Sara Hess needs to be fired definitely. But I don't understand why you don't like Miguel, once he gave us a solid S1. If you want audience to understand why Aemond turned evil from S1, then show us when he immediately returned from Storm's End and Alicent and Otto argue the stupidity in Aemond's decision to kill Luke, once Aegon was offering peace terms to Rhae Rhae. Please explain why you hate Miguel.

I hate Spotchnik because he is the sire of all the bullshit of Season 2.

People, fundamentally, don't understand this point. Sara Hess was not on the original writing staff of HOTD. There was no original writing staff for HOTD. There was Ryan Condal and GRRM that wrote all of the scripts for Season 1.

Sarah Hess was brought on by Spotchnik and his wife as a producer to hack up and rewrite Condal and GRRM's original scripts in order to fit with the overall narrative that Spotchnik (and mostly his wife) wanted to tell in the story.

Sara Hess rewrote and reworked elements of Condal and GRRM's scripts during shooting.

Things such as Criston Cole being a thug rather than the most dangerous man in Westros. Turning Alicent and Rhaenyra's rivalry in the original scripts into a closeted lesbian romance.

Example:

A.) In 1x08 there was no rape of a maid by Aegon. Aegon is introduced in the Condal and GRRM script as having to be collected from a brothel and dragged back to the Red Keep where Alicent scolds him for neglecting Helaena and embarrassing her by his frat boy antics in public.

Sara Hess is on record saying that she and Spotchnik did not jive with Aegon just being a whoring, lazy, drunk. And they wanted to make him more villainous in order to show how Alicent is perpetuating "The Patriarchy" by covering up a rape.

B.) There was no fighting pits in 1x09. In the original script by GRRM and Condal. Aegon is abducted from a tavern while drunk by Misaria and is used as leverage by Misaria for more privileges in Otto's service - not to stop the fighting pits.

Sara Hess wrote Aegon to be involved in fighting pits cause it was "Game of Thrones" - which is her excuse for every bad writing decision she made.

All of 1x09 was rewritten and restructured by Sara Hess at the behest of Spotchnik in order to make the Greens bad. From the awful scene between Alicent and Rhaenys, to Aegon's fighting pits, and the Dragon Pit Massacre.

Tom Glynn-Carney told the story about how he had it out with Sara Hess and Spotchnik when they added the rape scene in 1x08 that wasn't there during the table read. He told them them they were kneecapping Aegon and giving him nowhere to go. To this Spotchnik told him to shut up and do his job as he his told to do it.

My point is that Sara Hess was the hatchet woman of Miguel Spotchnik and his wife. She was brought in by them to purposefully fill HOTD with their sanctimonious bullshit political agenda.

Spotchnik was fired, not because of his wife, but because the new heads of HBO after the merger with Discovery and Warner sent back his Season 2 treatment and told him to start again. Spotchnik threw a massive tantrum because the previous heads of HBO gave him free reign to do whatever he wanted with Artistic Freedom. But the new heads of the studio did not agree to those terms. So he quit and cried like bitch on the way out. And HBO did him a solid by not telling anyone how bad his Season 2 treatments really were.

And since I've read them, I can tell you they're some of the most righteous trash you'll ever read.

Everything you hate about Season 2 is a symptom of a disease that Miguel Spotchnik bio-engineered and spread from bringing on Sara Hess to hiring Olivia Cooke and Emma D'Arcy for their identity and political activism rather than talent.

The taint of Spotchnik's and his wife's vision of HOTD remains long after they've been booted. Mostly because they never got rid of Sara Hess who was the main scribe to most of the bullshit in Season 1 that doomed Season 2.

Two heads of the Hydra were chopped off but one still remains to blight the countryside.

#House of the Dragon #Miguel Spotchnik #Sara Hess #tom glynn carney #Aegon II Targaryen

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thenighthekate · 1 year ago

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Moments captured ( t.k. )

Trace my curves in charcoal, sketch my lines in lead, fill in all my shadows, as I lie naked on this bed.

Her eyes focused on the rather large canvas in front of her, her fingers tightly wrapped around a brush gliding against the fabric, smearing paint wherever it went. Her mind was hazy from the glass of wine in her hand, the dark crimson liquid swirling in the crystal as she moved.

Soft melody flowed in the background, her hips moving and the white button up shirt she was wearing rising. She was in her element, only seeing the vision of her piece. Soft hums left her lips to the rhythm of the music, her hair up, some strands falling over her shoulders.

She could feel his eyes on her, his intense gaze set on her back as she moved. The lighting was dim, a few candles and a burned out light bulb over her work space, every other corner pitch black. " Didn't know you liked to stalk people." She could hear his footsteps parting from the shadows, his own figure blocking light as he came closer. His hands wrapped around her waist, his chin on the top of her head, hugging her from behind.

" You're the only one." His mutters were soft, no louder than the music playing. They swayed side to side, indulged in their presence, both of them staring up at the painting. " What you got here?" Tom's gaze was hardly set on the art work, the figure in it oddly familiar.

" I just took inspiration from a beautiful person I know." She said with a smile on her face, her mind replaying the exact moment she tried to capture.

" You're calling me beautiful?" He leaned down, his breath in the crook of her neck, a soft kiss placed on her smooth skin. His own mind was starting to get hazy from the scent of her perfume, vanilla and hints of cinnamon making him want all and nothing at once.

" Who said it's about you?" She had a teasing tone, her eyes closing for a short moment before a squeel left her lips when she felt him pinch her sides. His teeth softly grazing her neck.

He took a step back from her warmth, slowly turning her body to face him instead of her work. One hand stayed on her hip as the other reached for her wine glass, putting the cup behind her on the small table she had. " Is there someone who is a picture perfect copy of me that I don't know of?" They quietly giggled at the thought, his hands yet again wrapping around her waist to pull her closer, her own arms sliding around his neck, paintbrush still in hand.

Hearing the music once again they started to sway, their energy radiating off one another. " You should come to bed," His forehead fell against hers, his eyes closed, enjoying the moment shared between them, " it's getting late."

" I will." She whispered, kissing his lips. What was intended to be a small peck turned into a deep kiss, his hand on her cheek pulling her closer, her fingers running along his scalp. " Let me just finish up in here."

He didn't want to let go of her body, his whole being warm whenever he was close to her, like on fire again. His eyes twinkled with unknown reasoning behind them, his lips pulled into a small smile as he gazed at her. He slowly nodded letting his hands fall, his steps sounding out into the distance with yet another reminder not to take long.

#thenighthekate #tokio hotel #tom kaulitz #tom kaulitz angst #tom kaulitz fluff #tom kaulitz smut #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz x y/n #tom kaulitz x you

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louisetaylor · 1 month ago

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SFTH boys as the 4 elements?

Okay, I'm pretty sure Sam is earth. Unless he's fire.

Tom is probably water, unless he's air.

Luke is probably fire, unless he's air.

And AJ is...water? unless he's earth

#man idk #sfth #sfth luke #sfth tom #sfth aj #sfth sam #sfth fandom please come to my aid

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majimatime · 2 years ago

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Do What You Want (Roman Roy x Reader)

A/N: I had the idea for this at like 2am right after the newest episode came out, and I finally put it into writing!! This is my first ever Succession fanfiction and of course it had to be about Roman, I adore him this season. (Also, a warning for weird business/power dynamics.)

You sit at a small desk in a poorly lit office in Waystar’s LA office building. There’s an email displayed on your laptop from Joy Palmer, an executive at Waystar’s film production company, and you’ve read it about fifty times now. One more scan won’t hurt.

‘Your CEO terminated my employment over lunch this afternoon. You will be hearing from my legal team shortly.’

As the head of entertainment coverage at ATN, you’ve worked pretty closely with Joy Palmer over the past couple years. Your department reviews all the films that flow through her production company, and you cover (and sometimes attend) the premieres of all their atrocious superhero movies. It’s a fruitful business relationship—that’s just been totally shattered.

You ball your hands into fists and rest your head against them, squeezing your eyes shut. Why the fuck hadn’t anyone told you that Roman was meeting with her? Why hadn’t Roman told you? This is just…dumb. It’s so, so dumb.

It’s not like Roman hasn’t come to you about business stuff before—you’re actually pretty close. When you were promoted to the head of entertainment coverage, you were sort of initiated into the inner circle—with the old guard, Tom, the kids, and Logan Roy himself. You were completely and utterly out of your element, attending board meetings, cross-country business deliberations, and all the other fancy shit that comes with the territory. Roman almost instantly latched himself onto you when you entered his sphere, making weird jokes at your expense and then watching attentively for your reaction with those big, expressive eyes. You found all his stupid comments pretty funny, and you liked the way he lit up when you laughed at them, and so a bond was created. Right now, though… He’s taken the stupid thing a bit too far.

Just as you’re about to look back up at your laptop and start drafting an extremely apologetic response, there’s a knock at the door. “Yeah?” you call.

“It’s your boss—open up,” comes a reply from one Roman Roy.

You exhale heavily as an exasperated, slightly amused grin stretches across your face. What exactly is he looking for, coming to you after he royally fucked your job? “Yeah, come in.”

Roman opens the door and steps inside, and Christ, does he look upset. You’re a little taken aback by this; you sort of expected him to be in good spirits, high off the power trip of firing a crucial member of the Waystar machine. In true Roman fashion, he forgoes the chair in front of your desk and sits on the small table across the room, swinging his legs lightly back and forth. “Ken told me where you were holed up,” he explains. His tone is casual enough, but he looks nauseous. “What the hell are you doing in this weird little shitty office anyways?”

You laugh a little, shutting your laptop and folding your hands across the desk. “It’s a pretty normal office, Roman,” you reply, “and it’s one of the furthest points in the building from where your brother’s set up shop. I was working near him for like an hour, but all I could hear was blocking and dialogue planning and set designing…” Roman rolls his eyes, and you grin. “It was like sitting backstage at a community theater rehearsal.”

Roman laughs shortly at that. “Ew. That sounds horrific.”

“Yeah, it was.” Your voice trails off, and the two of you fall into silence. Your eyes are fixed on Roman, but his are bouncing all over the place—from you, to the corner of the room, to his hands that he’s been wringing nonstop since he walked through the door. He’s obviously thinking about the monumental fucking mistake he made earlier, and you certainly are too. “…So. Joy Palmer, huh?”

His demeanor changes instantly, and he snaps his head back like he’s been poised to move this whole time, just waiting for you to bring her up. “Yeah, that was—it’s sad,” he says loudly, uncomfortably, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s not cool. But really, it was necessary. She’s not a good fit with what Kendall and I—what we’re trying to do.”

“Huh.” You lean forward a little, ducking your head so he can’t see the scowl that flashes across your face. “…Not a good fit. Okay.” She has everything, really: experience, connections, a willingness to produce shitty movies just to make Waystar more money. Sure, she had been a little shaky recently about Waystar’s politics, but that issue could’ve easily been resolved with a bit more money offered in the right way. But that’s all thrown out the window now, and you hope Roman realizes how bad that is.

You’re not sure he does, so you emphasize it. “I mean, I’ve been kind of working her for the past few months,” you offer, looking up to meet Roman’s gaze. “I know her big issue is dealing with the political side of ATN, which I mean—sure, no one wants to work with the Jeryd Mencken Fan Club. But…in the last week I was actually making some progress with her. There was potential there—“

”There was potential?” You freeze when Roman interrupts you; his voice is low but his tone is venomous. “Okay…” He sucks in air sharply through his gritted teeth, and he glues his gaze to the floor. “I guess—I guess I’m just wondering, what fucking good is potential when she’s sitting there complaining to me across the table about this thing that you’ve apparently worked out already?”

You bite your bottom lip hard and breathe deeply through your nose. “…I don’t know, Roman. So you fire her? That’s the move? You fire her so that we have to get someone else who has less connections, less experience, who is fucking lesser in every way—just because you got mad?”

“Oh my God,” he breathes, jerkily running a hand through his hair, “fuck off. Why are you doing this?” You frown; did he think you were just going to let him off the hook? Congratulate him on his first big independent move as CEO? But then his head sinks into his open palms, and he takes a deep, shuddering breath, and you realize suddenly that that is exactly what he’d expected. Or hoped for. He’s still for just long enough that you get nervous; when you’re about to ask him if he’s alright, though, he raises his head and locks eyes with you.

Your phone dings, and you break eye contact to quickly check the notification. It’s one of your writers; she’s sent you a text about the Joy news, and by the tone of her message, she’s extremely freaked out. When you look back to Roman, he’s still staring at you with that same angry disappointment—disappointment that you won’t just lay down and tell him he did the right thing. “Listen, Roman,” you begin, holding his gaze, “it’s my job too. I mean you’re the new CEO, you’re fuckin’ stretching your legs—good for you. But if we lose the movie side of our operation for a while because of this… That’s abysmal for me.”

His eyes widen a little, and you’re shocked to see, for just a second, an apology forming at his lips—but before he can finish mouthing “sorry” he stops, pressing his mouth into a hard line. He stares down with furrowed eyebrows at his hands, lightly clasped together in his lap, and he’s silent for a long time. As you watch him, he takes a deep, labored breath. “Well, in that case…” He’s barely audible. “Why don’t I just fire you too? Since you failed to convince a chief executive to stick with the company and tanked your department.”

The shocked grin that pops onto your face is completely involuntary, and you breathe an exasperated, “Oh my God.” You turn away and shake your head, taking a steady breath. What the fuck’s gotten into him? You’ve already seen that he’s not afraid to make horrific business decisions; firing you would come as easily to him as breathing right now. But you’re not going to beg Roman Roy, your only friend in this morally bankrupt circus, for your job. You refuse to. So, you fold your hands across your desk, and you reply as evenly as you can. “Technically, Roman, you don’t fire me. Tom Wambsgans does.”

He raises his eyebrows, and you can practically hear the “um, actually” before he even opens his mouth. “Yeah, I know,” you continue, smiling ruefully, “you can just fire Tom, and fucking—eat him alive and become him, and then… You can do whatever you want with me, right?” This has almost become amusing; you feel a weird compulsion to laugh.

That feeling vanishes when you see the look on Roman’s face. It’s like you flipped a switch; his gaze instantly disconnects from yours and he looks straight down like he’s trying to stare a hole through his shoe. You frown a little as you peer over at him, trying to figure out what the hell he’s thinking, when you fully realize what you just said. It’s an invitation, a statement more intimate than anything you’ve ever said to each other before, and he knows it. Roman slowly stands up from his seat and you watch him, look closely at the expression on his face—and the darkness in his eyes confirms your thoughts. It’s not like you’ve never thought about him in that way; frankly, he’s the only human connection you’ve made since you started at Waystar. You’ve often wondered (or perhaps hoped) if he was ever going to make a move on you, and a long time ago, you decided that if he ever did, you’d reciprocate it. You’re going to do just that. He wants a win, and you want him—everyone gets what they need.

He takes a few measured steps towards you and you feel yourself lean just a bit closer to him; just as you’re about to stand, he bends down, snakes his arms around your waist, and practically yanks you up to meet him. With a forcefulness that you’ve never, ever seen him display, he kisses you, disregarding gentleness and letting everything run on pure, unfiltered instinct. Your hands quickly find him, and you place one firmly against his cheek while the other slides through his hair. He holds on for a bit longer, trying to put as much as possible into that first, fantastic kiss, and then he has to pull away.

As you part, both reeling, he whispers, “Say that again.” When you don’t respond—you’re still catching your breath—he mumbles, “Please. Please say it.”

You’re more than happy to oblige him, and you stare right into his dark eyes as you speak. “You can do whatever you want with me, Roman.” Your words coax a full body shudder from him, and his lips are right back on yours, hands running over every part of your body they can access. His fingers skirt under the hem of your shirt and there’s a loud fucking knock at the door—and you both freeze exactly where you are.

It’s Kendall. Great. “Hey Rome, I saw you come in here, buddy. Uh—we’re, uh, crunching some big ass numbers out here, and I would love to have your eyes on these maximizations to the user-facing stock plane.”

“What the fuck does that mean…?” you breathe, and a short, high-pitched laugh escapes Roman.

As you both try to suppress your laughter beneath wide grins, Kendall calls, “What was that, bro?”

Roman quickly clears his throat. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a sec, Ken.”

“Cool. Fantastic.” And you and Roman both stand there, listening to his footsteps as they grow fainter and more distant.

The rush of the moment has faded severely, and even though you acknowledge how fucking amazing that felt and would like nothing more than to continue, you know it’s not the most practical thing to do. “…You should probably head out there, right? Make sure he doesn’t just start making up figures?”

Roman snorts as he untangles himself from you. “Yeah, he would do that, wouldn’t he?” He stands before you, looking wonderfully disheveled, and you reach out to fix his collar and smooth his hair.

He practically melts under your touch as you comb through his hair with your fingers. You half expect him to kiss you again, but it seems the tension was sucked out of the room by Kendall and his corporate bullshit speak. You wish he would kiss you again. After one last sweep of his hair, you propel yourself forward and kiss him gently, sweetly; he kisses back, but he makes no attempt to move closer to you, so you take a step forward and close the gap.

“…I’m fucking this up,” he mutters, quiet and dejected, after you part. “I’m doing it all wrong and I’m being stupid.”

He’s not necessarily wrong; you try to ignore that thought as he turns and walks to the door. “Just take care of your brother,” you say with a little smile, and he gives a muted grin and a thumbs up back.

He’s so bad at this and he’s so sad. You sit back down and crack open your laptop, and within seconds about thirty emails flood into your inbox—it’s Joy’s legal team, just like she promised. You groan, and lean back, and try to get your mind off the feeling of Roman’s lips on yours so you can draft a decent apology.

#roman roy x reader #roman roy imagines #roman roy imagine #succession x reader #succession imagine #my writing

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frodo-with-glasses · 8 months ago

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Dreams in the House of Tom Bombadil (and the Four Elements of Trauma)

Now that we've gotten to the point where the hobbits spend the night in Tom Bombadil's house, I'd like to expand on this bullet point from my chapter review:

Much apologies to my girlies on the server who headcanon the hobbits with phobias corresponding to the four elements; sadly, Tolkien is not on the same page as us this time.

For context, I present to you these screenshots of messages sent on the Fig Tree Discord Server back in January:

This started as a half-joke, but it's since evolved into something of a shared headcanon for some of us. Pippin has a Thing about fire, because of the Pyre of Denethor. Frodo has a Thing about water, because his parents drowned. Bri has since told me that she headcanons Merry has a Thing about air, specifically cold air, after his encounters with the Black Breath. And that leaves Earth to Sam.

The good news is that this is a really fun headcanon; and when you look at LotR through this lens, it's actually kind of staggering how well it fits with the events of the book.

The bad news is that Tolkien did not write LotR with this idea in mind; and the whole thing with Old Man Willow, and the subsequent nightmares that the hobbits have in Tom Bombadil's house, make that abundantly clear.

After all, what does Old Man Willow do to Frodo? Lulls him to sleep and then tips him face-first into the water. He almost drowns. He almost drowns. Sam finds him face-down in the water, unconscious, held down by a root and not struggling; there's water in his nose and his mouth and his eyes and ears and he can't breathe, he can't breathe, he nearly goes out the same way his parents did, in a river that connects to the one where they died. If Tolkien was writing Frodo with hydrophobia, this probably would've gotten a bit more attention than it did. But no; in Tom's house, Frodo dreams of Gandalf and Black Riders, because he's the protagonist and Tolkien needed an efficient way to foreshadow things a bit.

What does Old Man Willow do to Merry? Closes its roots over him, so that only his legs are sticking out; and when Frodo and Sam set fire to the tree, Merry screams, and begs them to put it out. "He'll squeeze me in two, if you don't. He says so!" He could feel the roots of the tree clamping like a vice under his ribs, squeezing, crushing, bruising; he could hear the voice of the tree in his head, demanding he communicate the ransom message. And as our beloved former anon, Meg, pointed out: Could he breathe in there? Was it dry and stuffy and stifling inside the tree? How much air could he even draw in, when his lungs were being crushed and had no space to expand? He screams with what little breath he has left, but can they hear him? He's going to die. He can't breathe. He's going to die.

But, ironically, he's the one who dreams about nearly drowning, and his dream-brain convinces him he's lying in a "soft slimy bog" before he wakes up and finds himself in Tom's house again. He's not the one who got tipped into the water, but go off Tolkien I guess.

What does Old Man Willow do to Pippin? Closes its roots over him completely, with a click like a lock snapping into place; and when Frodo and Sam set fire to the bark, and Old Man Willow gets angry, they can hear Pippin's "muffled yell" from deep inside the tree. Fire. Smoke and ash and anger. Could Pippin smell the burning wood around him? Could he feel any heat or sting? Did he hear Old Man Willow's voice, the same way Merry did, cursing the flames and threatening to smother him if it wasn't put out?

His nightmare, out of the three of them, is the only one that makes sense to me; he dreams that he is again inside the willow, hearing the wood creak as it sways in the breeze over him, and hearing the voice of the tree laughing at him again. But, sadly, no mention of fire.

All of that to say, if I wrote Lord of the Rings—which I realize is a terribly presumptuous thing to say given that I am, unlike Tolkien, Not A Genius, but hear me out—I definitely would have Frodo's nightmare be about drowning, Merry's be about suffocation, and Pippin's be about burning alive. This would then be foreshadowing for the later horrific stuff they're going to encounter concerning water, air, and fire respectively.

I dunno. It just seems like a missed opportunity is all. Which is probably why, despite how much I adore the “nightmares revealing inner turmoil and then characters waking up in safety and comfort” trope, I never really liked this sequence in the book all that much.

Sam, meanwhile, is welcome to continue sleeping “in deep content, if logs are contented". Good for him. 10/10, no notes.

#four elements of trauma #old man willow #frodo baggins #meriadoc brandybuck #merry #peregrin took #pippin #samwise gamgee #lord of the rings #lotr #my writing #long post #i do realize that it is very silly to criticize tolkien for not adhering to a headcanon we made decades after his death but hear me out #we’re right 🤣#that is all

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muddyorbsblr · 2 years ago

Text

a tale of ice baths and hot sauce

See my full list of works here!

Placement: the day after 'a sizing mishap'

Summary: An effort is made to find out who your mystery boyfriend is during the Elementals challenge when some members of the staff see some marks on your neck that weren't there before…

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: language [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: mango mention (no really i did that here lol); bit of insecurity from Reader if you squint

"You think anyone would notice if I just pinched a chip from the bowl?" you joked while setting up the table for the Elementals-themed challenge that a handful of the Soccer Aid players were going to voluntarily subject themselves to with Joelah, the host for most if not all the promo videos for this event. You raised an eyebrow playfully at her when she approached the table with a giddy little skip in her step, practically twirling in her outfit of relaxed fit jeans and a diagonal cut asymmetrical crop top. "Please tell me where you go shopping I'm in desperate need of cuter clothes. I mean, 'raiding the boyfriend's closet chic' is cute and all but…I also drown in fabric whenever I do it."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Y/N, I think you're faring pretty damn fine if I do say so myself." She waved a hand at your current getup of a cropped loose olive green halter top and a black ruffle skort. "Players seem to enjoy it well enough," she mumbled with a lower tone, as if warning you that you were currently being ogled. "Oy! Eyes on the ball, you pervy lads!"

"Thanks," you told her with a smile, pulling your hair into a ribbon so that it wouldn't stick to your sweaty neck. "Now…do you wanna share with the class why you were skipping--"

"Bloody hell, Y/L/N, your neck!" she gasped, pointing at the right side of your neck and collarbone. "You didn't have that when I last saw you yesterday--Oh my lordy me, you hooked up with someone here! Is it one of the players? That social media star on the World team? One of the pros? Sam Claflin??"

"No on all fronts, Jo," you laughed off her questions. "My boyfriend's working the event, too. I was with him." Her jaw dropped to the ground with your revelation. "We're keeping things a bit…low key, you know?"

"Oh you and your secrets," she teased, still motioning toward your neck. "If that isn't a sign that screams 'Horny blokes step the fuck back', I haven't the faintest idea what is. Anyways, what were you asking earlier?"

"Ah, right. I was gonna ask why were you skipping on your way here like you were back in school and teacher just gave you a gold star?"

"Oh…Oh! Because I just got the players for the Elementals Fire and Ice challenge and Number 6 lit'rally up and volunteered to represent Team England." She made a motion fanning herself. "That godly bod dripping wet and clothes just clinging to him? Lordy me have mercy. And whoever put him in the teeniest jersey and shorts imaginable, I just wanna eurgh! Wanna grab 'em and thank 'em to the high heavens, y'know? Thank 'em for their service."

You are very welcome, you thought to yourself.

"Maybe if you leave an iced coffee on the table and go pspspsps they'll acknowledge your gratitude," you joked, once again pointing to the chips. "I'm taking a pinch. And trying out these sauces, I've been deadly curious since yesterday."

"You take the green one, I'll take one of the reds," she offered, already getting a large chip for herself and placing a few drops of the brighter red condiment. When you had placed a dollop of the green hot sauce onto your own chip, you clinked your pieces together before taking thing whole and bracing for the worst. "Fuck all that is hellish!" she mumbled around her piece, eyeing you incredulously while you just continued on chewing and letting the taste of the sauce linger for a moment or two. "How in the…"

You grabbed all the bottles and looked over the labels with a scrutinizing eye. "The green's deceptive. Makes you think you're getting the milder one but it's got the highest level of Scoville units. I feel sorry to whoever's gonna end up with that."

There was some motion from the corner of your eye, which you quickly realized were the camera crew and some other members of the staff carting around numerous 10 gallon bottles of water and 3 drums. And following just behind them were the six players slated to play this little trivia game. You gave them all a little wave and a courteous smile, making sure to hold eye contact with each of them, and saving Tom for last so you could allow yourself the indulgence of holding his gaze for a fraction of a moment longer, which he returned with a small wave and an obviously deliberate infinitesimal twitch of his two middle fingers.

"Goodness, Y/L/N," one of the staff members, Allen, bellowed. "What happened to--"

"My neck?" you finished for him. "Don't worry about it. My boyfriend thinks himself a vampire," you answered with a casual shrug, earning you a round of chuckles from the rest of the crew and the players. You motioned toward the water drums. "Should we get that all set up then?"

"Oh. Yeah, for sure." He waved his arm toward the drums as well. "Have at it."

"I could help you," Scarlette chimed in, already taking the end of the drum in front of you and jutting her chin in the direction of your neck. "I didn't see that on you yesterday when I picked up my uniform. I take it your boyfriend's somewhere in the building then?" She capped off her question with a cheeky wiggle of her eyebrows.

"Yes, and I'm not saying a single word on where and who he is. But I won't deny it if anyone guesses correctly. The only catch though…you only get two guesses each," you offered, looking at both her and Joelah.

"Claflin," Scarlette spoke immediately, causing the other one to make a motion as if to stop her but all too late.

"Aaaaand that's one wrong guess. Also makes you the second person in this place to for some reason think that I'm bumping uglies with Finnick Odair."

"I could've told you it's not Mister Clock App, or Claflin…or any of the pros," Joelah grumbled out. "We're down to three."

You two set up the last of the water drums, making sure that they were equidistant from one another, and after thanking Scarlette you moved toward the massive water bottles to start filling them up. "Let me help you," Tom spoke up, already placing his hands under the bottle, brushing his hands across yours before taking most of the weight of the bottle and leading you both toward the drum. "You reckon they'll guess me, darling?" he asked under his breath.

"Absolutely not," you answered, keeping your voice down. "I don't think they'll even consider it a possibility that I can pull you."

"Personally I think you pull me just fine," he shot back, smirking when you had to suppress a chortle from his words. "More than fine, actually."

"Menace," you hissed, trying to covertly take deep breaths while the two of you walked to the next bottle and repeated the process.

"Only for you, sweetheart."

"Okay you must be built all kinds of different, because I don't think I coulda kept my wits about me being that close him with the guns on full display, and in close proximity to…what was it the internet called it again?"

"The mango?" you prompted Joelah, causing you both to break out in stifled giggles while waiting for the camera crew to finish setting up.

"Yes! And I saw that little hand brushing, too I mean—how were you not absolutely swooning the second he walked up to the bottle? Hell, how did you even function?"

I have been under those guns on full display and touched more than just his hand, you thought to yourself, holding your words back and instead gave her a little shrug. "Worked with him before. You get used to it," you bluffed. "Besides, I've got someone, and I'm really happy and stupid in love. So there's that, too."

"We need a hand here!" Scarlette called out in your general direction, her and Bugzy already on their feet but pointing at Tom who for some unknown reason, currently had both feet sticking up and out of the drum and putting him in a position that made it exceedingly more difficult for him to get up and out of the drum.

"How in the actual fuck did he even get like that?" you started thinking aloud. A strangled noise slipped from your mouth the second his head dipped below the water and his hands lost their grip on the edge of the drum.

You knew that he would be able to find his way back up, but it didn't stop the way your heart caught in your throat. The way that your legs were involuntarily twitching as if taking on a mind of their own and urging you to make your way to him.

If he hadn't stuck his head back out from under the water just a few seconds later, you would have been more than ready to run to him and help him to his feet, check on him the way he often checked on you when he would see you short of breath on set. You wouldn't have given a damn about the cameras capturing your every move.

But instead you were frozen in place, watching as he ascended and took a big heaving breath, shaking the water from his hair and his eyes before finding your gaze. You were suddenly acutely aware of nearly every minute movement of your body trying to fight back every reaction you had to the excessively obvious bedroom eyes he was giving you, resorting to subtly digging what little fingernail you had into the palm of your hand to at least focus on something else until he looked away.

You moved the moment you clocked the excitement on the faces of Joelah as well as some female members of the staff, already undoubtedly about to speak up that they would gladly help him out. "Can we cut?" you hollered toward the cameraman, who responded to you with a simple thumbs up, pressing a button on his equipment that stopped recording. You quickly whipped out your phone and snapped a picture of Tom in the precarious position before you reached him.

"Really, Y/N?" he huffed, feigning exasperation but you knew that tone better than any other person around you at the moment. He was amused. And you would be in trouble later tonight. You even began to doubt if you could completely walk properly in the morning or if you would walk into the briefing area with a more than slight penguin waddle.

"Had to," you quipped, shrugging your shoulders and scrunching your nose at him reflexively before placing your phone back in your pocket and holding your arms out toward him so he could brace himself. "Tuck your feet back into the drum."

You heard the slightest grumble from him before he wrapped a hand around one of your arms, did exactly as you said, and then wrapped his other arm across your shoulders while he tried to find his footing in the undoubtedly slippery interior of the water drum. "Thank you, sweetheart," he whispered under his breath, pulling you closer as you gripped the towel that was handed over to you and making quick work to spread it out and use it as a cover from prying eyes and wild cameras once his feet were firmly planted on the ground again.

The heavily curious gazes of everyone around you gave you enough pause to not wrap the towel around his waist, realization quickly dawning on you that the gesture would definitely be seen as a show of intimacy. You avoided his gaze as he took the towel from you, opting instead to lead the way to behind the backdrop, picking up his cleats and bag on the way.

You felt the irrational bristling of your skin as the sound of women giggling and commending your boyfriend on his form throughout the drills hit your ears, your hands finding it difficult to grasp the small laundry pouch you'd packed in his bag and a fresh pair of socks from the near violent shaking. When a familiar ridiculously large hand appeared in front of your face, you looked up abruptly to find Tom standing above you, the smile on his face growing brighter when you placed your hand in his and stood up.

"You're shaking," he murmured, bringing your hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Come here."

He caught you off guard when he tugged you into his arms, a small yelp escaping you before you could stop yourself that had you hoping that nobody on the other side of the backdrop heard it. "What're you doing?" you questioned him in hushed tones, holding back your giggles as he pressed the fluffy sleeves of the bathrobe that he wore to your face and neck. Your hands wrapped around his wrist when he started patting at the exposed skin of your chest. "Sweetie!" You couldn't hold back your giggles when he used his free arm to wrap around you and pull you closer to him.

"You're wet," he said simply, continuing to pat at your dampened skin.

"Well I'm your girlfriend, it kinda comes with the territory," you quipped, letting out another barely muted squeal when he pulled his hand from your grasp and grabbed the back of your head to pull you in for a kiss. Almost immediately you melted in his arms, both of you smiling against each other's lips as you wrapped your arms around him. "Private--"

"This is private, goddess," he cut you off, capturing your lips in another soft kiss. "Public would be bringing you to the center of the field and marking you again with everyone as witness so that there isn't a shadow of doubt in anyone's mind that you're mine."

The sound of the camera crew calling out for him snapped you two out of your moment. "Give me a minute," he hollered out, pressing a final kiss to your forehead before loosening his hold on you and letting you step back from him. You offered him your hand to hold himself steady while he changed out the soiled socks from the challenge. "Did you take a look at the hot sauces on the table?"

"Of course I did," you quipped, scrunching your nose at him when his eyes flickered to yours. "Don't take the green one, it's a trap."

"I'll keep that in mind," he murmured, eyeing you with a smirk when he stood upright and you took his shin guards from him. "And what exactly are you doing, darling?"

You answered him with a playful grin. "Oh I'm sorry. Would you like to try putting these on through two layers of fluff?" He answered you with a minute shake of his head. "No? Well alright then." You proceeded to crouch down and place the shin guards under the knee-high socks, only stopping when you heard a shutter from above your head and looking up at him from your position with a bemused smirk. "Really, Tom?"

"It needed to be done," he said with a chuckle, waving your phone tauntingly in his hand. "After all, you do look so tempting from this angle. Let me just send this to my phone really quick."

You made a point to audibly snap the garter of his sock against his skin, making him jump the slightest bit and squint his eyes at you as you rose to stand upright again. "Give it back," you cooed, holding your hand out. Instead of doing just that, he grabbed hold of your hand and closed the distance between you, placing your arm over his shoulder as his hands roamed down your back before settling in your back pockets.

Before you could say a single word, he pressed his lips to yours in a soft kiss and you could feel the weight of your phone back in your pocket. As well as his hand grabbing a handful of your ass before he pulled away. "I love you," he whispered, briefly brushing the tip of his nose across yours before stepping backwards, back to the set so that the World Team could have their turn at the ice baths.

"I love you, too." The sound of the crew calling out your name this time and telling you to come help in setting up the next batch was enough to wipe the smitten grin off your face and send you running in the other direction.

A/N: Starting off my 5-day weekend strong with a new Soccer Aid piece out! I have one more that I'm gonna focus on before I give Soccer Aid Hiddles a break from the page for a while to focus on…'relinquish the crown: plans & protestations'! 😳👀 It's been too long since I've written those two blorbos and I miss them so they're next 💖

everything taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @unlucky-number-13 @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @sarahscribbles @kats72 @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lovelysizzlingbluebird @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @dangertoozmanykids101 @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @anukulee

#tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x female reader #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston imagine #muddyorbs writes

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