#icon imprint

[panzerdrako]

100 all time greatest comics (2014)

[austinbutlerslovers]

Style *Icon

[icecreambrunch]

💀Death Approaches💀

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

listen, no wonder alex couldn’t remember the fucking words oh baby

[quietwingsinthesky]

sorry Sorry im Going to shut up! but. immensely charmed by the long shot of rose and the doctor walking away from her flat. completely unnecessary but it does such a good job of showing how much chemistry eccleston and piper have together just letting them talk and seeing rose do little jogs to catch up to him.

[wolfblood-of-anubis]

Amber Millington, you’ve had a poster of Taylor Lautner on your wardrobe for over three seasons— did that mean nothing??

[marybatson]

ill tell u why the shazam live action movies flop as as cbm adaption. they didn’t have mary go to an undisclosed location in the amazon where giant insects lived and beat them up when they were being annoying to the locals. they didn’t recreate this iconic image

[zorosdimples]

u guys can’t let me go five seconds without thinking about zoro huh

[regulusrules]

mutuals do this

[someonesrealityshifting]

Small thing that breaks my heart:

When I was in third grade, I told this boy that it would be my birthday in four days, and he said, “okay, then I’ll buy you flowers.” Four days later he comes up to me and says, “my mom wouldn’t let me get flowers but I found you this violet in the grass.” That in and of itself was iconic and so so sweet, but it gets better.

A month later, I had to move, and because it was third grade, the teacher made everyone write me letters to say goodbye. His said, “I hope you have so much fun in your new house that you forget about me. I hope that you’re always happy and you never miss us. I’m sorry I never gave you flowers, but I can give you some now.” And he fucking. Drew me flowers.

No, Joey, I never forgot you. You are the reason I have standards in this life, and I’m so grateful to have known you. I hope you’re happy, wherever you are, and I hope that the rest of your days are filled with as much joy as you gave to me. I spilled water on the card about five years ago, and half of it is a a jumbled mess now, but I still have it. It’s the only card I still have.

The funny thing is this dude and I hardly ever interacted. I knew he played football because he was on the town’s kids’ team and my brother was on the middle school team, and I knew he was one of, like, three Joeys in our year. I had a crush on him but obviously never communicated that because it was fucking third grade, but somehow those three interactions imprinted on who I am as a person. I am forever changed by Joey from third grade.

[clawsdevour]

hold the phone

wc: 0.8k content warning: post-time skip, established relationship, osamu x reader, smut, osamu's on call with atsumu but also in you, mating press, not proof read

𓂅 ‧₊ ˚

osamu's large smoldering hands push behind your knees down closer to your chest, as if flattening you into a pancake. a mating press compacted under his large throbbing figure that reeked of lust the more osamu's cock shoves itself in and back out of your sopping cunt that yearned for more.

heaving moans being exchanged amidst the heat and built-up sexual tension in the air while the squelching sounds of your fluids combining rapidly grew louder by the second amongst your damp skin slapping against each other.

however, just when you felt him poke at your g-spot, a buzzing sound that vibrated in the sheets glowed a white screen under the thin fabric.

bzzzzzzz, bzzzzzzz..!

coming to a quick halt, slowing his strokes to become gradual and sensational pace as his rippling torso reaches to your side to check who's calling at this ungodly hour.

"should i pick up? it's my brother atsumu, ugh what does he want?" he groaned in exhaustion, showing you atsumu's contact ringing in the palm of his hand.

"yeah but make it quick 'samu.." you cooed out, eyebrows furrowed as his throbbing cock continued to leisurely move in and out of your overstimulated slick folds.

"m'kay," osamu's husky deep voice trailed along with a slight smirk creasing on the right corner of his mouth, a finger in the middle of his lips subtly signifying you to be quiet.

pressing the receive button with his large thumb, then the speaker icon. osamu's bringing his cell closer to his ear, placing it in the crook of his neck supported by his broad shoulder.

"y'er on speaker," averting his eyes back onto the holy sight under his muscular stature, returning a hand back under your knee with the other drawing tiny circles on your pulsating slippery clit.

"'samu..!" you discreetly squeaked out when you felt his fiery imprints on you.

osamu's looking down on you with his droopy sinful eyes, the plastered smirk on his lips spreading to the ends of his face when he started to slowly click his hips with yours, your hands finding their way to your face to block out any noise that'd soon escape from your lips.

"did my package get to y'er address by any chance? it said it was delivered, but i ain't see it at all," hearing his twin on the other side of the call.

"mm.. it might've. i can check after i'm done with what i'm doin'," a chillingly calm response to suppress his grunting.

"aight, just let me know if it came. i'll head over tomorrow mornin' to pick it up," listening to atsumu sigh before a shuffling noise, thinking he's about to hang up.

"soo.. 'samu, how's ya girl been?" questioning his twin with a playful tone, almost taunting him.

it's like that question made osamu harder. just the bare thought alone of watching you get stuffed full of him whilst having a conversation on the side ignited something in him. it just made osamu want to tease you even more.

"goin'– ...great" osamu visibly grunts, hoping the audio caught onto atsumu's end, "she's with me right now actually.. d'ya wanna say hi to her?"

eyes widening in shock as your jaw dropped when you hear osamu suggest that you say hi. making out a 'sure!' from the other end of the line, osamu's releasing his grip on the back of your knee to bring his phone closer to your mouth.

"h-hey..! how you been atsumu..!" you breathed out, trying to steady your heart that raced out of your chest despite osamu's thrusts starting to increase in speed.

"what's good, is 'samu treating ya like royalty?" atsumu joked, replying with a simple, "mhm–!"

shit. you just accidentally let a moan slip by on speaker. looking up at your boyfriend in a blazing red shade, he's got the biggest grin on his face from how flustered you are before taking the phone back.

"sorry 'tsumu, we're in the middle of something. pick it up in the mornin', yeah?" immediately coming to a close to finish what he started.

tossing his phone back into the tangled crinkled sheets, he's going at you with full force making you yelp out loud from the sudden change in pace.

osamu's hot face peppers your pink complexion with his gentlest kisses like a reward. moving down to press sloppy wet hickeys on your neck while you whimpered in pleasure.

"so that's why y'all was acting weird.." atsumu loudly gasped despite being muffled in with the sheets.

osamu forgot to press the end call button.

masterlist here

[paramounticebound]

@sufferingfcrged / Darth Vader liked for a sneaky sith!Khan starter!

     “I have felt your pain for years,” he starts, voice muffled and modulated from the durasteel mask he wears, dead-eyes focused on the mechanical man before him. “Your rage, your screaming through the Force to take hold of the shadow who has destroyed you-- perhaps this is an echo, but it is what I see in you still.���

No different than a Sith does he present, shrouded in black cloaks, illuminated by the remnants of light, fluorescent, that quiver overhead. “More machine than man, a painter gone blind or a composer gone deaf. And now you bow before the shadow that has stolen everything from you.”

Gloved fingers quiver at his side, nearly begging to ignite a weapon that only thirsts for blood. While never claiming the title of true Sith, Khan is aware of the similarities between himself and Vader. The greatest being that he forgoes a master-- save for a voracious holocron and the choir of voices that haunt him-- yet it is a prison with some freedoms. So unlike bowing to another. 

    “A pity that you find such comfort in servitude.”

[viiridiangreen]

VIVA CHILE MIERDAAAAAAAAA

Also this is her first big video but it got demonetised so if anyone can afford 2 support her via Youtube Members™ (hint: it’s not gonna be a lot of us from latam lol) that’d be awesome!!

Just like every chilean says this days: I AM BEGGING YOU TO GO WATCH MELODY NOSURNAME'S VIDEO THIS IS ONE OF THE MOST WELL DONE ANALISIS AND REVIEWS I HAVE SEEN ABOUT 31 MINUTOS AND ON ENGLISH MIND YOU

This show shaped at least 3 generations of chilean and latinoamerican kids, it may have not aged well in some aspects but god it is by far one of the funniest and well written things that have come out out of Chile. Give it a watch if you can (also I'm sure if there's the demand for it maybe the YouTube channel updates the subtitles for season 4)

[henley-reeves]

"The Runaway Bride" is such an iconic episode, really. It was just Donna in her wedding dress appearing in the TARDIS while the Doctor was in the middle of a heartbreak, and she immediately changed his life, and hers in the process, from the second she started yelling at him to TAKE HER TO THE CHURCH.

This woman came up with a whole variety of pet names for the Doctor in a span of a few hours, some of which (SPACEMAN) would become legendary and character defining and would be remembered fondly by the Doctor.

This episode is full of iconic scenes, like Donna getting kidnapped by a robot Santa and the Doctor trying to save her by encouraging her to jump out of a moving car on a motorway, and while Donna is refusing to jump arguing that she is in her wedding dress, the Doctor's best response is to compliment her look like "girl, you look perfect for a jump out of a moving car on a motorway."

And the next scene on a rooftop solidifies the silly tone of this relationship by the Doctor putting a biodamper ring on Donna's finger cracking a wedding joke, which Donna immediately joins in on.

This scene right there was the start of their friendship and that bond that would last for the rest of their lives. It all started with a robot Santa, a wedding ring and a silly joke which hilariously continued into the next scene with the Doctor and Donna standing under the "Just Married" banner. Comedy gold.

A very underrated moment of the Doctor continuing the affectionate insults tradition between them by calling Donna a 4H pencil, trying to explain to her how she got transported into the TARDIS.

There were these small moments throughout the episode that showed exactly how this friendship of a lifetime started. Like the Doctor taking Donna to see the creation of Earth right after the moment her fiance betrays her and admits he hates and wants to kill her. The Doctor sees all that and tries to distract her by showing her something so extraordinary and beautiful that no other human saw before her. And it works. This woman who has been so unimpressed with him calling him SPACEMAN (derogatory), was now cracking jokes and laughing with the Doctor and very much enjoying his company.

The Doctor and Donna who spent the good portion of the episode trying to get rid of each other, were now ride-or-die besties.

The Spaceman and Earthgirl are now imprinted on each other so much that this little Christmas adventure will become a life changing event and a start of a relationship so meaningful and deep that it will end up changing the Doctor's and Donna's lives fundamentally and save this world and a multitude of others.

The Doctor started the episode with "I don't want you here anyway" and ended it trying to make Donna laugh and making it snow when he heard she didn't like Christmas, and openly telling her he would be lucky to see her again and inviting Donna to come with him.

And Donna who starts the episode yelling at the Doctor and being so unimpressed with him, ends up understanding him on such a deep level and leaving him with the words that he would carry for regenerations to come. And failure to remember these words would lead to the death of this incarnation.

Donna is asking the Doctor to find someone, and she doesn't yet realise that he already found that someone he needs, a platonic soulmate, a friend, a partner, and that someone is her.

"The Runaway Bride" was a start of a many years (for Donna) and many centuries (for the Doctor) road from that rooftop to the garden where they will sit together with a bright shared future ahead. Best mates having the best of times for the rest of their lives. TOGETHER.

[omgthatdress]

An Analysis of the Ubiquity of Mall Brands in the late 1990s to early 2000s, or

I Fucking Hate These Guys

by OMG!thatdress

If you were a tween to teenager from roughly 1997 to 2004, chances are, you were left with profound life-long trauma caused by someone wearing Tommy Hilfiger, Abercrombie & Fitch, Ralph Lauren, Nautica, American Eagle, The Gap, Old Navy, or, if you were came along a little later, Hollister or Aeropoastale.

I cannot overstate to my young followers how over-saturated these brand names were in teen culture at the turn of the millennium, the extend to which EVERYONE was wearing them, and yet, in a weird way, how light the imprint they actually left on fashion history was.

Watching iconic teen shows of the era, you don't see any of them because a.) TV teenagers tend to be way cooler and more stylish than awkward and desperate real teenagers actually are, and b.) these brands were all copyright protected, which kept their names and logos off the airwaves.

Look in a middle school yearbook, however, you'll see it. Look at your aunt and uncle's high school photo albums, you'll see it. Ask any late Gen X or early Millennial. It was real and it was fucking awful.

The big question is why? Why? WHY, GOD WHY?! There's a lot of answers to that question.

First of all, I'm going to cite this absolutely wonderful article from Collector's Weekly about why everyone's grandma had a hideous orange couch in the 70s, and give the most simple and straightforward answer: it's what was available.

This is when the concept of online shopping is still very much in its infancy, and the hub of American consumer culture was still your local mall. If you needed new clothes, you went to the mall. And guess what stores were at every local mall? You guessed it.

For the second answer, I'm going to dig up this utter relic from the early days of internet meme-ing, that has nonetheless stuck with me and had a profound impact of my understanding of how popular fashion works:

I'm pretty sure that the reason Abercrombie & Fitch manages to survive as a brand today rests solely increasingly middle-aged Millennial men whose sense of style has refused to evolve past the shit their mom bought them in high school.

And why the hell would they? Nobody wore Abercrombie because it made them stand out or feel special. I'm still pretty convinced that nobody actually *liked* the aesthetic or thought the clothes actually looked good. You need not look past the basic color palette to understand these were not brands meant for uniqueness or self-expression.

While Britney Spears pranced around stage in her iconic neon colors and body glitter, American teenagers existed in a never-ending hellscape of washed-out neutrals, faded denim, and American flag primary colors.

All of which served its exact purpose: it was safety. It was a way to appear cool if you didn't want to go through the ordeal of actually having a personality or a sense of style. Which, of course, goes back to point number one: it was just shit you bought at the mall because you needed clothes.

It wasn't enough to save you once the school bully caught that whiff of autism and/or queerness on you, but it was enough that you could blend into the herd and pray no one ever noticed you.

Underneath it all was a very subtle undercurrent of class and classism: to wear mall brands was to declare to the world that you could indeed afford to shop at the mall. It meant you weren't, god forbid, poor.

Status symbol clothing goes back to the invention of clothing itself. The concept of brands as status symbols is still very much alive and well, its just more limited to actual luxury brands nowadays. One need look no further than your favorite high-end children's clothing website to see that rich parents still very much think it important that you know their five-year-old is wiping its boogers on Versace.

None of these brands were actual high-end luxury brands, but they still advertised and presented themselves as such. Their ads featured signifiers of "all-american" (read: White) wealth: yachts, skiing, horses, beaches, shirtless dudes with chiseled abs playing verious sportsballs.

The color palettes and cuts mimicked the preppy "Ivy" style of the New England old-money elite, along with their hobbies and lifestyle. You may not actually own a horse, but you can wear a polo shirt. You may not be able to run without breaking your ankle, but you wear the same shirt as the dude holding a football in the ad.

It was an elitist, White and skinny image that didn't age well into the diversity and body-positivity of the 2010s.

In 2003, a lawsuit was filed against Abercrombie & Fitch alleging systematic racial discrimination. People of color were rarely hired, and if they were, they were given jobs in the back, away from customer view. In 2005, the U.S. district court approved a settlement of $50,000. A few years ago, Netflix released the documentary White Hot: The Rise and Fall of Abercrombie & Fitch which admittedly I haven't watched yet because my hatred runs too deep to remind myself of its existence.

It was a hatred of Abercrombie & the (white, thin, neurotypical, heterosexual) conformity that it represented that drove me screaming into the loving arms of Hot Topic and Linkin Park. Jordan Calhoun wrote an excellent article for the Atlantic about his experience growing up poor and Black and not fitting in to the Abercrombie aesthetic.

I would be very remiss if I didn't bring up the "urban" mall brands of the early 2000s: Fubu, Sean Jean, Ecko, Baby Phat, among others. They were favored by Black teenagers and White teenagers who wanted to be Black. I know there's a lot to be said about these brands, but I'm too Caucasian to really be able to talk about them with nuance. Maybe someone else will, and I will be very happy to listen.

As much as I hate Tommy Hilfiger, I really do have to give him credit for recognizing the incredibly lucrative "street wear" market and selling power of hip-hop. While most of these mall brands kept their image sparkling White, Tommy made Aaliyah his brand ambassador and regularly appeared in the wardrobes of popular rap and R&B artists of the time.

It'd be very easy and very reductive to say that the changing ideology of the 2010s was the downfall of preppy mall brands, but really, the thing that truly killed them was the downfall of the mall itself. Shopping habits changed, and logos and brand names no longer held the power they once had.

The moral of the story is that being a teenager is fucking hell, and these popular brands both offered the safety of conformity and a status symbol to hold over the heads of the poor and uncool. The irony is that everyone who hated them as teenagers (read: ME) and the freaks who grew up to truly love the power of self-expression through personal style (read: ME) became the truly cool people. If you wore Abercrombie you grew up to vote for Donald Trump.

GO GOTH. PREPS SUCK. THE END.

[viperify]

Smutmas 2024 | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ x ᴍᴜɢɢʟᴇ ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

We will meet again. | pt 3

Short summary: When he doesn’t come back for a whole month, you put off the necklace, thinking he won’t return. Though, as you come home from work one day, you spot footprints in the snow leading to your house. But who would visit without announcing themselves first?

Warnings: 18+ only! stalker!Tom, possessive!Tom, dub con, choking, rough oral m!receiving, deepthroating, impact play, rough sex, unprotected p in v, begging, slight degradation

A/N: This turned out filthier than I had originally anticipated, someone pls cleanse my mind?

wordcount: 3,1k

PART 1 |  PART 2

It is late January now, almost a month after your second encounter with Tom. You had been wearing the necklace like he told you to – up until three days ago at least, when you figured he wasn’t going to come back. He has been on your mind each day since the last time you saw him, dreams again plaguing your night’s rest. You shake your head, disregarding your thoughts about him. Whatever happened between you two, it was in the past. Besides, you had agreed to drink a coffee with a coworker next week after he asked you.

A freezing breeze leaves a tingling sensation on your skin as you step out of your car, merely the dim light of the streetlamp shining into the darkness of the night. You have just come home from work, a cloud of condensation forming in the crisp winter air as you exhale a deep breath, shutting your eyes. Work’s been insanely draining lately – with many coworkers on sick leave, your workload has doubled, if not tripled, leaving you burnt out each day you come home from work. As you exit your garage, you notice faint footsteps imprinted into the snow-covered ground on the pathway. They are barely visible now, a new layer of snow making them difficult to distinguish from the rest of the surrounding area. An eerie feeling spreads in your chest, approaching your front door in a quicker manner. A letter in your mailbox has you sigh in relief, assuming it were the mail officer’s footprints. Who else would visit without announcing themselves first otherwise?

Still, you decide to check your security camera first, clicking on the app icon on your phone. A red pop-up message greets you as soon as you open the app.

No recordings available.

It’s been working fine recently. Well, until now at least. “Damn technology,” you mutter with a heavy sigh, turning the keys in the lock, pushing open the door to your home. You kick off your shoes and hang your coat onto the bathroom door, ready to finally head to bed. Just one glass of water from the kitchen was what you needed before you’d slip under your warm duvet, spending the rest of the evening relaxing with a book.

You don’t even bother turning on the lights in the kitchen. Opening the cupboard, you grab the first glass you get a hold of and turn on the sink. Sounds of water splashing, filling your cup echo around the otherwise silent room. Taking a sip of the refreshing liquid, you turn to leave the room.

“The necklace. You put it off.”

An all too familiar voice rings out behind you, and you shriek in terror, the glass of water slipping from your hand onto the marble floor, shattering into hundreds of tiny pieces. “Who-“ you back off, your hand tapping on the wall to find the light switch. As you finally do, you instantly recognize the figure in front of you. Tall and relaxed, brunette curls messier than usual, leaning against the kitchen counter like he owned the place. His burning gaze lays hot on your skin, dark eyes meeting yours.

Your heart is racing in your chest, missing a beat or two in the process. He did come back. Though your relief at the sight of Tom quickly vanishes, being replaced by anger.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you raise your voice at him, slowly walking towards the brunette. Tom doesn’t even budge, only his eyes following your movements. His lips curl up into a tiny, sly smirk as you stand directly before him, his taller figure easily looming over yours.

A small huff falls over your lips, shaking your head at how unbothered he seems to be by your reaction.

“You can’t keep breaking into my house. Turn up unannounced.” you add, a little more calmly. His hand reaches up, the pad of his thumb softly brushing over your cheek for a brief moment, before he breaks the silence.

“I don’t break into houses, darling. I merely enter.”

“I do not care what you call it, it’s—“

His lips crashing on yours have your complaint come to an abrupt halt. It’s passionate, hungry, almost as if he’s been starved of your touch.

The first time you feel his lips on yours.

“No matter how hard I try, you never leave my mind. There has not been a day since we met that I have not thought of you. It’s ruining me.” He voices, and by the look of his eyes you know he is being genuine.

“Yet, you left. Like I was nothing to you.” you mumble, kneeling down to pick up the shattered glass on the floor. Tom is silent for a moment, sighing as you collect the tiny pieces on your palm.

“You are going to hurt yourself. Step away.” he demands, nudging your side with his knee. As you do, he takes out his wand, pointing it towards the mess on the marble floor.

“Reparo.”

Your mind is too slow to comprehend what happens next, each individual piece rearranging itself to take the shape of the glass it once was, the spilt water on the floor vanishing. Your eyes widen as the cup stands before you on the floor, completely unharmed like nothing ever happened. Slowly, you turn to face Tom. “You can do that?” you whisper, inspecting the glass as you get up, eyes flickering between the glass and the brunette in front of you.

He nods.

You nod.

“Why are you here?” you finally ask, putting the glass back into the cupboard.

Tom’s arms cross over his chest, his gaze sinking down to his leather shoes. “I don’t particularly like the way that man’s mind works when he looks at you.” he remarks, the bitterness evident in his voice.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. “What ma-” you begin, until realisation dawns on you, a bewildered huff falling over your lips, “my coworker? Have you been stalking me?”

Tom grasps your arm, closing the distance between you two as he pulls you towards him, strict eyes burning into yours. “You are mine. Since the day you have decided to mess with my head. I need you to understand that.”

A playful smirk forms on your lips. With such a massive ego, there was surely going to be nothing more satisfying than to test his limits, right?

“What if I don’t want to be yours?” you murmur, cocking an eyebrow.

If his eyes could darken, they do. A small crease forms between his eyebrows, grip on your arm growing impossibly stronger to the point you are sure it would leave bruises. As you struggle to free yourself, he spins you around, trapping you between the counter and himself.

“This attitude of yours,” Tom hisses, palm pressing down on the sides of your throat, “needs to be fixed.”

Your lips curl into a daring smirk. “Fix it, then.”

Tom scoffs at that, and you swear you hear him mumble “pathetic” before his hand leaves your throat and he drags you after him to your bedroom. He doesn’t even bother turning on any source of light, as though he had the layout of your entire house mapped out in his mind.

He most likely did.

After almost tripping on the stairs twice, you reach your bedroom, where you normally would now be peacefully reading. Whatever he was going to do with you instead surely wasn’t going to be much worse, though.

As soon as you enter, Tom lights a few candles you had in your room with his wand. He then pushes you down onto your knees by your shoulders, facing him as you sink down against the wall. “Should be grateful I am taking you to bed and not fuck you against the kitchen counter like you deserve.” he sneers, making quick work of his belt, his grey trousers slipping down, left to pool at his ankles before he steps out of them.

He doesn’t discard of his belt like you thought he would, no, instead he messily wraps it around your throat. With the loose end wrapped around his hand, he hauls you towards him, grinning tauntingly as he glances down at you. “Made you a new necklace. One you look even prettier in.” His free hand wipes across your cheek, and you close your eyes, waiting for the sting of his palm harshly landing on it. It never comes. “And now, you are going to be a good girl and open that mouth wide for me. Shouldn’t be too difficult considering what got you here in the first place.”

You nod, fingers eagerly hooking under the waistband of his briefs. Your eyes sparkle at the sight of his length, hard and swollen right in front of your face. He tugs on the leather, urging you to part your lips for him. First, you swirl your tongue around his tip, a low groan falling over the brunette’s lips as he watches you work his length into your mouth. He doesn’t allow you much time before he takes over, thrusting in and out of you at an increasingly harsh pace, fingers tangling in your hair.

Coughing and gagging noises fill your bedroom as the head of his cock repeatedly hits the back of your throat, hot tears streaming down your face at the foreign intrusion. “Come on. I know you can— fuck— take more than that, open up wider. Let me use that dirty mouth of yours.“

You try to relax your muscles as much as you can, and he slips further down your throat, your nose held flush against his lower abdomen as you struggle for breath. “Fuck— just like that—“ he keeps you there for a brief moment, firmly tugging on the leather wrapped around your neck. Spluttering around his length, your hand finds his thigh to tap on it, signalling for a break. With the hand he has buried in your hair, he yanks your head back, briefly letting you catch your breath before he thrusts back into your warm mouth with a groan.

You look up at him through your eyelashes, streaks of mascara running down the sides of your face and neck, staining the leather of his belt. His brows are drawn together, the prettiest sounds of pleasure falling over his full, slightly parted lips. Knuckles white from how tightly he is clutching onto the loose end of his belt. You feel yourself become lightheaded at the lack of blood circulating through your head, every cell in your body screaming for oxygen. Your tongue lays flat in your mouth, feeling the thick vein on the underside of his cock as it ruthlessly slips in and out of you.

Tom’s movements grow more erratic, feeling him twitch inside of you, a rosy flush colouring his otherwise pale cheeks. Though, before he gets the chance to reach his orgasm, he pulls out of you, a string of saliva connecting your swollen lips to his throbbing cock.

He breathes heavily, taking in your messy form beneath him. Make up runs down your face mixed with your tears, saliva trickling from the corners of your mouth. A satisfied smirk forms on his lips. “You look properly filthy like this. Just how I like it,” his hand leaves your hair, wiping over your damp cheeks, “and I am the only one who gets to see you like this, isn’t that right?” The brunette doesn’t wait for an answer, though.

Smack.

“Fuck— yes! Yes, only you!” you yelp as his palm harshly comes down on your cheek, leaving a burning sensation on your tear-soaked, sensitive skin. With your head tilted to the side, his finger hooks under your chin, making you look back up at him. “Good girl. Now, get up.” he instructs, nudging you with a tug on the leather around your neck.

You do as he says, legs wobbly and tingling as you get up, knees bruised. He has you stand against the wall, arm sneaking under your hips to adjust your posture, bending you over just slightly.

Smack, smack, smack.

This time it’s the flesh of your ass tingling painfully, having you hiss and lurch forward, though Tom is quick to readjust you, kneading the red spot in the shape of his hand imprinted on your skin.

“Spread your pretty legs for me,” he demands, his knee finding its way between your legs, nudging them apart. A shiver runs down your spine as his hand wanders over your waist down your stomach, finding your swollen clit. “God— Tom, please!” You cry as he skilfully draws circles on it.

“Patience.” he replies lowly, and as quick as it started, it ends. Instead, his fingers dip between your folds, a guttural groan falling over his lips as he feels your arousal on his them. “Fucking soaked for me. Pathetic girl.”

He doesn’t waste much time before two of his digits push into your slick entrance, working you open for him. It’s like he’s studied your body, fingertips massaging over your g-spot with every thrust of his hand. Hot pleasure rushes through your veins, walls greedily clenching down around him as you push your hips back against his fingers. Though, before you can reach your much needed release, he pulls out of you, having you whine in protest. One of his hand snakes around your throat, over the leather of his belt, as his tip finds its way between your folds. “You think you are ready for me?” Tom asks, his breath lingering hot on the side of your face as he leans in.

“God, Tom— stop teasing! Please, I need you.” you whimper, hips bucking against his cock.

“So fucking desperate,” he scoffs before thrusting his entire length into you at once, hips flush with the reddened skin of your ass as you gasp at the stretch he is providing you.

Tom lets you adjust briefly, before almost completely pulling out just to fully bury himself into your warm, soaked cunt again. He picks up his pace after that, having you jolt forward each time his hips snap into yours. “Gripping me so— fucking— tight. You were made for this, for me,” he hisses under shaky breaths, your combined moans filling the room. “No one else. You are mine. Fuck— Say it. Tell me who you belong to.”

“I am yours! God, Tom— All yours!” you almost scream, earning a low groan of approval from the brunette, his palm squeezing down tighter around your throat as you clench around him. The leather tangles between your breasts as he pounds into you, tip brushing against your sensitive cervix with every other thrust. An all too familiar feeling builds in the pits of your lower stomach, having your eyes roll to the back of your head, hot waves of pleasure having you dangerously close to the edge. So close to the release that you sought after so badly.

“You think you have—“ he hisses, “earned to come? Beg. I want you to fucking beg for it.”

A weak whimper falls over your lips, your mind all too hazy to really comprehend what he is demanding from you. His hand leaves your throat, having you sink against the cold wall again. “Do it. Beg. Beg like the slut you are.”

His rough treatment and the way his cock hits all the right spots inside of you has you see stars, and the only word you hear is beg. Fuck.

“T-Tom please, I can’t— please let me come. I am all yours, please!”

You feel him twitch inside of you, his thrusts growing erratic, and you know he is just as close as you are. One of his hands rubs circles on your clit once more, the other toying with your tits. “Come with me. Make a mess, filthy girl.”

That is all you need to hear until you convulse around him. A cry of pleasure falls over your lips as you reach your climax, your cunt eagerly pulsing around his thick length. As your knees threaten to give in, his arm finds its way around your waist, holding your spent body up for him. Tom soon follows after you with a grunt, emptying himself deep inside of your warm walls with one last thrust.

After pulling out of you, he lets your exhausted form rest on the silk duvet of your bed, placing a kiss on your forehead. Just like last time, he casts a cleaning spell first on himself, but then, on you too. With another wave of his wand, you both are dressed again.

When he is done, your eyes lock. Neither of you says anything for a moment, until you finally find your voice. “Don’t leave, please.” you whisper, yearning for his touch — touch that isn’t rough or painful, but touch that is soft and comforting.

“I wasn’t going to leave.” Tom replies, taking a seat next to you on the bed. “Consider your “date” next Tuesday cancelled. I am taking you out.”

“Where are we going?” You ask, a smirk creeping onto your face as you sit back up.

“It’s a surprise. You’ll like it.”

He swipes a strand of hair out of your face, his gaze lowering to your neck. “So where is the necklace?”

You had placed it in your jewellery box when you took it off. “It’s downstairs.”

He mumbles two words, one of which you make out to be “necklace”. As soon as those words leave his lips, the silver chain lies on his palm, the green stone shimmering in the dim candlelight. He places it around your neck and closes the clasp. “As long as you wear the necklace, you have a piece of me with you. Take good care of it. It was my mother’s.”

”Of course,” you nod, closing your palm over the green gem. As you do, a warm sensation radiates from the stone.

It’s not long until your exhaustion gets the better of you, and you drift off to sleep. Tom stays with you throughout the night, though when you wake up in the morning, he is long gone. You find a cup of hot tea on your nightstand, your favourite, and a note that reads the following:

Be ready at 5 on Tuesday.

And remember to stay away from him. I am watching you, sweetheart.

Tagging for pt 3: @smut-anarchy @theacreativity @tomriddleswhcre @sirenseaborne @hopebaker