#tom fan fic

[spider-stark]

INFINITELY YOU

part two // crullers & constants

SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

WARNINGS - 18+, story will contain mentions of blood, broken bones, weapons, suggestive language, and more. I will try to update warnings accordingly for each chapter, but please read at your own discretion

WORD COUNT - 4.2k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // no way home fan fiction // rewrite

name key: tom!peter = peter // andrew!peter = parker

Peter Pan Donuts is a sacred place. 

Or, rather, it was a sacred place—and walking back into the shop now felt awfully strange. 

Back when you and Peter first started high school, it had become a tradition to end every Friday with one of the renowned pastry shop’s legendary frosted crullers. You considered it a well-deserved reward for surviving another week of more drama than either of you could stomach, thankful that the weekend was finally upon you and that you could finally breathe without inhaling the reek of the unwashed teenage boys that lined the halls of Midtown. 

Peter Pan’s quickly became a haven. A safe place where the two of you could tuck yourselves away at the end of the bar, talking for hours about the teachers you hated and the bullies you hoped would fall from the face of the Earth. There was nothing that you couldn’t talk about, no secrets kept between you and Peter. 

Or, at least, none that mattered. 

But things changed as time passed, as they so often do. 

It started with the inclusion of Ned. You didn’t particularly mind his presence, even if the conversations had begun to shift towards less intimate topics, focusing instead on movies that you all wanted to see or upcoming video games that you would all try to play. 

Then came the inclusion of Mj a few months later, after she landed a job at the shop. That was when everything truly changed—when it was no longer you and Peter tucked away at the bar, but you and Ned, left to pick at your food and watch as Peter leaned across the front counter and talked to Mj over her shift. 

After a few months of testing every donut on the menu with Ned, you stopped going altogether. 

And Peter never even asked why. 

“I was surprised to see you texted me,” you quip as you slid onto the free barstool, “what happened to not wanting me to get involved?” 

Peter exhales sharply through his nose, and even though his eyes are glued to his phone, you can tell that he was already regretting asking you to meet him here. “I already told you that what I want doesn’t matter.” 

And how true that must have been. 

There had been nothing kind about his text to you this morning, although there was nothing inherently rude about it either, you supposed. It was simple—meet me at Peter Pan’s asap, need 2 talk—but you could almost sense the begrudging nature with which he had typed it. And, sitting next to him now, you could almost feel it, too. 

He didn’t want you here, even if he had been the one to invite you, and you couldn’t help but wonder why he had decided to involve you at all—especially so soon. What had changed in a single night? 

Sitting on the barstool to your left, Parker pops his lips. “Well this is fun. I’m not at all uncomfortable right now.” 

You turned towards him, acknowledging just how different he looked in the civilian clothes that he donned in place of his suit—black jeans that certainly looked worse for wear and an old Ramone’s t-shirt that you immediately recognized as yours. Oversized on you, the short sleeves clung rather tightly to his well-muscled arms. Did he seriously go through your stuff?! 

 “Why are you even here?” You ask, perhaps a little sharper than necessary. You weren’t angry that he had gone sifting through the armoire in the spare bedroom, especially since he couldn’t just parade around as Spider-Man all of the time. But he could’ve at least asked. “Shouldn’t one of you be busy patrolling?” 

It was hard to tell if the offense on his face was real or feigned, but you didn’t care much either way. “Peter wanted answers about my world, I wanted food,” he shrugs, gesturing at the crème-filled donut in front of him. “And Peter 2’s handling patrol.” 

Peter 2—you had almost forgotten about him, the version of Peter that hadn’t wanted to come with Ned and Mj to your apartment last night. As far as you could tell when you woke up this morning, he hadn’t shown up in the middle of the night, either—no trace of Parker or anyone else when you had finally stumbled out of your room to get ready after reading the text from Peter. 

You didn’t figure it was really your business where the mystery Peter was, but you were a little surprised to hear that he was still out patrolling. Was he not exhausted?  

“Ametaur move getting crème-filled,” you tell him, ignoring everything he said. “Should’ve gone with the frosted vanilla cruller, it’s way better.” 

“No way,” he gapes, grabbing the half-eaten pastry and shaking it for emphasis as he said, “this is god-tier, alright? No way anything’s topping it.” 

The expression on his face was actually hilarious, his brown doe eyes alight with pure euphoria as he took another bite of the donut. An exaggerated moan slipped his lips, coated with bits of sugar and crème. It was hard not to laugh at him, especially when you knew that was probably his goal—to combat the evident tension between you and Peter. 

Chuckling, you lift your hands in mock defense. “Suit yourself, Parker. But if you ever wanna experience true pleasure, then you know what to order.” 

Parker looks as if he's about to continue his borderline-lustful tangent about the donut, but Peter spoke up instead, his attention snagging on the name you used. 

“Parker?” He echoes in disbelief, letting his phone clatter against the bar. 

Peter’s sudden resurgence to the real world left Parker silent, sinking back against his stool and taking another bite. 

“What?” Your brow arches, your voice laced with incredulity. “Did you really think I’d keep calling him Peter 2? No offense to Ned, but everything about that feels stupid.” 

Peter’s eyes narrow, coupled with a subtle shake of his head that indicates he doesn't care nearly enough to have this conversation right now. 

You didn’t care much either, and so you steered the conversation in a more productive direction. “So what is this grand plan of yours?” You ask with a somewhat sarcastic lilt. “And where do I fit into it?” 

Another huff of breath escaped his nostrils. “We don’t even have a plan. Not yet,” he reluctantly admits. “But I tried talking to Doctor Strange last night, to see if he had some sort of magical spell or something that would let us go back and fix all of this.” 

Your lips press together, nibbling on the skin and pretending you didn’t notice the hidden meaning behind his words. He hadn’t just gone to Doctor Strange to find a way to get rid of the villains now lurking in your world, because if he had, then he wouldn’t have gone specifically seeking out a spell that would let him go back—not just to stop the villains from ever coming here, but to save May, too. 

“Did he?” 

Peter reached for his cup of iced coffee, if only to occupy his now-fidgeting fingers. “No,” he murmurs, the sound of sloshing ice nearly overpowering him as he swirled the cup. “He didn’t.” 

You frown at the tinge of disappointment that snuck through his otherwise even tone, your chest aching. You had to fight against the urge to say I’m sorry, remembering what he had said to you last night—he didn’t want your apologies, nor did he seem to want anyone else's. 

In truth, you weren’t sure what Peter wanted; or what you could do to help him. 

“Well did he have anything useful?” 

He shook his head, lifting the cup to his mouth. “Define useful,” he scoffed, sounding uncharacteristically sharp. He took a sip of his drink, his nose scrunching as soon as the coffee hit his tongue—too bitter. 

Despite the coffee’s pale color that indicated it was more cream than coffee, you weren’t surprised that it was still too strong for him. Peter had never truly developed a taste for coffee, only pursuing a caffeine addiction for the sake of combating the exhaustion that came with being Spider-Man. That didn’t mean he had ever grown to like it though, masking the taste with copious amounts of sugar and syrups. 

“Something that will keep multiversal villains from tearing our world apart?” You venture half-heartedly, guided by pure instinct and muscle memory as you reached over to take his cup from him, snagging a few packs of sugar from the plastic canister on the bar to0. 

“He has a theory,” Peter gives you a tight-lipped smile, born of pure frustration. 

“A theory? And he expects us to save the world with this theory?” You ask, a bit more derisive than you would have been if Doctor Strange were around to hear. 

Peter scoots closer to you, his voice purposefully low. “Do you remember when I told you about him using the Time Stone before Mr. Stark died? To look through all the different outcomes with Thanos?” 

Ripping open the sugar packets and dumping them in his cup, you managed to mask a wince at the mention of Peter’s dead mentor. You only nodded, not trusting your voice to stay steady if you tried for any sort of verbal affirmation. 

“Well… when he did that, he thinks that he might have actually seen through the multiverse—he just didn’t know for sure at the time.” 

Your forehead creased as you popped the lid back onto his cup, sliding it back towards him. Given his advantage of Spidey-sense, he easily caught it before it could slide too far and end up on the floor—which is what would have definitely happened pre-Spider bite. 

“And you don’t consider that to be useful to our current situation?” 

“No. I don’t.” Peter answers firmly. “Because at the center of it all—in every universe the Stone showed him—all he saw was you.” 

You nearly laugh, your lips curving as you rose a brow at him. “Me?” 

Peter gave a nod as he took another sip of his drink. This time, his nose didn’t scrunch. 

“But it’s been almost a year since the Avengers took down Thanos,” you reminded him, your stunned amusement beginning to fade into confusion. “If he saw.. Me, when he used the Stone, then why didn’t he say anything until now?” 

By no means would you consider yourself to be close with New York’s resident Sorcerer, and so you wouldn’t have expected him to come to you with this knowledge. But Peter—he knew Peter, and he knew that you were Peter’s best friend, and so it didn’t make any sense to you why Doctor Strange chose to wait until now to mention what the Stone had shown him. 

Given the aggravated expression Peter wore, it was clear that he was thinking the same. “I don’t know, and trying to get answers out of Doctor Strange that he clearly doesn’t want to give is like pulling teeth.” 

“But what does that mean?” You couldn’t stop yourself from pressing further, concern starting to bubble up inside of you. Regardless of his answer—if he had one—you had a feeling you wouldn’t like it. “I don’t get how I’m at the center of every universe.” 

Peter blew out a breath, his fingers going back to tapping against the sides of his plastic cup. “Alright, so there are probably well-over a hundred thousand different parallel universes, okay? Some of them are probably super similar to ours, and then there are others that are the complete opposite.” 

“O-kay,” you drone, your brows drawing together. You felt the start of a headache coming on as you prepared yourself for the confusing science-talk that was surely about to start pouring out of his mouth. 

Perhaps noticing your pained expression, Peter tries to find a way to simplify whatever explanation he was about to use. “Try and look at it like this,” he started, “think of the multiverse as some giant, cosmic loom, alright? Now imagine that each thread on the loom signifies a person. As the loom weaves all of these different threads together, different decisions get made and different actions are taken—and with every choice, a new thread is spun, branching off and creating a variation of the original tapestry.” 

“So it’s like you and Parker, right?” You interrupt him, rubbing at your temples. “Same thread, different reality?” 

“Exactly! And, technically speaking, that’s how it’s supposed to be. As the loom weaves and alters reality, each thread continuously evolves into something different.” He paused, his fingers finally falling still. “But now imagine that—in the center of all of these branching tapestries—there exists one thread, entirely unbroken and unaltered by this ever-weaving tapestry of existence, okay? A glitch in the cosmic fabric, a constant that’s woven into infinite realities and yet, somehow, remains fundamentally unchanged. How does that work?” 

You couldn’t ignore the sense of dread creeping up your spine, nor could you escape the slight wobble in your voice as you said, “It doesn’t sound like it should.” 

“You’re right, it shouldn’t work.” Peter confirmed, his expression nearly impossible to read. “But according to Doctor Strange, you are that thread. A constant anomaly that defies every potential law of the multiverse.” 

Nausea bubbled in your gut. God, you did not want to deal with this right now! 

“And let me guess,” a bitter laugh follows your words, “that’s as much information as he was willing to give, wasn’t it?” 

“Yep,” Peter pops his lips, leaning back into his stool. His brows raise slightly in a silent I told you so before he says, “Hey, you’re the one that wanted to be involved, right? Now you’re at the center of everything-” 

“I said I wanted to help you,” you correct him sharply. “Not that I wanted to be at the center of Doctor Strange’s weird Time Stones fantasies!” 

He only shrugs, barely acknowledging the dirty look you gave him as he plucks his phone off of the counter, clicking on a notification. “Same thing, isn’t it? Either way, you get what you want.” 

“What I want?” You echoed, your mouth hung open in disbelief. 

“Doctor Strange seems to think that whatever is wrong with you might help us solve all of this. That you might be connected to the multiverse somehow, or that you’re at least immune to it. So yeah, you get what you want. You get to help,” he spat the word out like an insult, too focused on typing something to even notice how rude he sounded. 

If it weren’t for the feeling that stomach acid was about to come crawling up your throat, then you might have taken some time to unpack the bitterness in his tone or be hurt by the claim that something was wrong with you—but you didn’t. Even if you had, you weren’t sure that it would have gotten you anywhere. 

You weren’t stupid. Peter was wielding his insolence like a shield, purposefully trying to hurt you as an effort to keep you at arms length—and, if you had to guess, Mj and Ned were probably receiving the same treatment right now. 

“Well this isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I said I wanted to help,” you admitted, one hand going to rest against your cramping stomach. At least the throbbing in your temples had died down… 

Peter only shrugged at you, shoving his phone in his back pocket and rising to his feet. “Too bad,” he told you, offering a smile that most definitely wasn’t genuine. “I’ve gotta go, but make him walk you home, alright? I’ll text you if I hear anything else from Doctor Strange.” 

Parker frowned beside you, and whether it was because Peter was speaking about him like he wasn’t here or because of his attitude in general, you couldn’t tell. 

“Whoa, hold up! You didn’t even tell me what your plan is until you hear from him!” You argue, reaching for his wrist to keep him from walking past you until he answered. 

He pulls his hand back from your grip, but not before your stare snags on the reddish hue that stains his nails—blood. Noticing it only served to make you feel sicker, and to make your concern for Peter grow larger. Was he really still walking around with May’s blood caked under his nails? Has he rested at all since last night? 

“Same plan as always,” he told you, your eyes snapping up to meet his, suddenly noticing how rimmed with exhaustion they were. “Stop the bad guys.” 

He didn’t leave any time for protests or further questions before turning his back to you and heading straight for the exit. When the little bell on the door chimed as he shoved his way back out onto the streets, you couldn’t stop the worried sigh that escaped your lips. 

Peter was an Avenger by every right. He had battled alongside a Norse God and helped take down a literal Titan, and so knew that you shouldn’t have any reason to doubt his capability when it came to taking down whatever villains had crossed into your world. 

But it wasn’t that you doubted his ability to survive against them, or even his ability to stop them—you were worried about whether he could handle the weight of it all. 

The weight of him placing yet another thing on his shoulders. Another villain, another fight, another burden, another chance to lose someone. 

Thinking of that, it suddenly dawned on you that maybe Mj and Ned weren’t getting the same treatment as you. Maybe you were getting the worst of it, if only because now whatever connection you had to the multiverse was just another weight he thought he had to bear, another person he had to worry about protecting. 

Guilt flooded your veins, and even as you tried to remind yourself that you hadn’t caused this, you still couldn’t shake the anxious feeling that it was somehow your fault anyway. 

“Y’know, I get that this probably isn’t the right time for this,” Parker starts. When you look at him, your attention immediately snags on the dozen donuts that he had ordered while you were talking to Peter. “But I think it’s so cool that you guys have magic in your world!” 

He takes another bite of the donut in his hand, powdered sugar falling from his lips as he says, “And these donuts! It’s a tough call, but they might be even better than magic!” 

You didn’t know him well enough to be able to tell if he was intentionally trying to lighten the mood or if it was just incidental, but it worked all the same. Laughter poured from your mouth, and it wasn’t until it died down that he said anything else. 

“Sooo… That was tense, wasn’t it? Like, it wasn’t just me, right?” 

You groan, propping your elbows against the counter and placing your cheeks in your palms. “Was it that noticeable?” 

Parker snorts a laugh, stretching an arm past you to reach for Peter’s abandoned coffee. “Oh, yeah. It’s actually painful to be in a room with you two.” 

His playful tone made it clear that it was just a joke, but it still made you feel bad. You already didn’t like how hostile things felt between you and Peter, even if it was only one-sided, and to know that others felt it too just made it that much worse. 

“Things are just.. Difficult, right now.” You tell him, choosing your words carefully. 

“So it hasn’t always been like that with you guys?” He asks, and the delicate arch of his brow made it seem as though he were shocked by the possibility that things had ever been civil between you and Peter. 

There was a chance that you had misread his expression though, as it was very quickly wiped away once he took a sip of Peter’s half-drank coffee, gagging as soon as it hit his tongue. “Holy shi-” he started coughing, cutting off the vulgarities that threatened to spill out. “How does he drink this?!” Parker yelped as soon as he could take a full breath, looking utterly disgusted as he shoved the cup back across the bar. “It’s literally just liquid sugar!” 

You found it hard to stifle your amusement at his suffering, even as he shot you a teasing scowl for it. “No,” you answer his previous question, trying to ignore his melodramatic display, “believe it or not, things between us actually used to be really… I don’t know—easy, I guess.” 

Parker was still smacking his lips to try and rid himself of the cloying aftertaste. “What changed?” 

In retrospect, you realized that it probably would have been smarter for you to bite your tongue. To offer him some cheap, cop-out excuse rather than tell him the truth. After all, you already had experience in hiding from the truth and it wasn’t like you really knew Parker, and so lying to him shouldn’t have been a hard task. 

Yet, for some reason, you told him the truth anyway. 

“Mj happened.” 

Parker’s brows furrows. “The girl from last night, right?” 

“Yep. That’s the one.” 

“Y’know, I don’t really like her all that much,” his words were spoken like a balm, seeking to ease the dejected look etched upon your face, but tinged with enough playful sarcasm for you to know he didn’t actually mean them. “She threw a bread roll at me. A few of them, actually.” 

It was hard not to laugh at the thought considering that it was such an Mj thing to do. “Sounds about right,” you crack a smile, although you don't feel particularly happy. “She’s always been slow to trust, especially complete strangers.” 

In an odd sort of way, the statement felt like a lie. Not because it actually wasn’t true—because Mj was wary of strangers—but because Parker didn’t quite feel like a stranger in your mind. While last night had been a bit awkward, you now felt like talking to him was effortless, each sentence rolling off your tongue with unnatural ease. 

“But she trusts you?” Parker asks, picking a crumb off another one of the pastries and popping it into his mouth. 

You sucked in a breath. 

“I don’t know,” you answer him, with a bit more honesty than you're comfortable with. “I mean, I know that she used to trust me. But now… I’m not even sure if she likes me anymore.” 

His brow snapped up. “What changed?” 

Suddenly the truth no longer felt so easy, and you found yourself wishing that you could change the subject altogether. You didn’t want to talk about this—especially not with him, some boy that you had known for less than twenty-four hours. 

But you had backed yourself into a corner, and so in an effort to try and satiate whatever interest he had developed in the story you had told, you settled on offering a vague half-truth. 

“She started dating Peter,” you tell him simply, putting effort into looking disinterested. “They got together a few months ago and things just… It just got weird, y’know? It’s always awkward when two of your friends get together, I guess. Creates too much drama.” 

“Yeah, for sure,” Parker hums, agreeing with you. “Especially when you have feelings for him, right?” 

An incomprehensible noise escaped your throat, best categorized as something between a laugh and a cough. Your mouth fell open to try and defend yourself, to try and deny his claim—but he didn’t even give you a chance. 

“Oh c’mon!” Parker groans, grinning when he notices the now rosy complexion of your cheeks. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? I mean, let’s be real here, alright? That whole sugar thing earlier?” He jutted a finger towards Peter’s abandoned iced coffee, “Was a dead giveaway.” 

“You’re insane,” You declare, shaking your head and masking your embarrassment with uncomfortable laughter. “I don’t have feelings for Peter—and even if I did, it wouldn’t matter! Regardless of what it’s done to our friendship, Mj is literally perfect for him and-” 

“I think it’s cute,” he interrupts, a delicate smile gracing his lips. Noticing the way your brows furrow, he elaborated, “How much you care about him. And how much you care about her, too, since you’re so willing to pretend like you don’t like him.” 

“I’m not pretending-” 

Parker jokingly cut his eyes. “Yeah, sureee.” 

Blowing a frustrated breath, you push yourself up from the barstool. “Alright, I think it’s time to go home.” You tell him, far too flustered to try and come up with a good defense to his teasing. “You can take the rest of your donuts to go, Bug-boy.” 

There was a subtle shift in his demeanor as the taunting nickname fell from your lips, and he almost felt as though his heart had stopped dead in his chest. 

“Fine,” Parker yields, rising to his feet and snagging the box of donuts from the bar. “But I really hope that you have your wallet—cause I definitely don’t have a way to pay for these.” He flashed a crooked smile before continuing, “Or we can just run really fast and hope they don’t call the police on us for stealing pastries.” 

“I can’t imagine that robbery would be very good for your reputation as a hero,” you chide sarcastically, your own lips curling into a half-smile, “so I’ll pay—but only if you give me every cruller in that box. Deal?” 

Parker spares a quick glance down at the dozen box of donuts in his hands. Half of them were already gone, but through the small cellophane window he could see that there were three frosted crullers left. “Deal.”

series masterlist

a/n - for those who read IY before the rewrite, you may already be able to note some rather major changes going on lmao. i genuinely can't describe how much i actually enjoy rewriting this story, as i'm finally able to collect my thoughts enough to write the plot the way i originally wanted to.

as always, please leave any feedback, opinions, etc.! any and all comments/reblogs definitely encourage me to write/edit faster! and, if you'd like to be added to the tag list, just let me know!

part three, titled "spitfire", to be released april 15th

[shawnxstyles]

panty stealer

DATE: JANUARY 14, 2023

summary: flash forces peter to sneak into the girls sorority and steal a pair of panties as a dare. stumbling into the nearest room to save himself from being caught, he doesn’t expect you to be there, and to let him steal the panties you’re wearing.

request: yes!

words: 5.1k

warnings: SMUT (f- receiving [fingering, oral], praise kink, slight dacryphilia kink, dirty talk, and protected sex), language, alcohol, mentions of weed, and a bit of fluff.

note: frat!peter x sorority!reader / peter masterlist / PART 2

—

“are you serious right now, flash?” peter groans with a pinch to his nose. his eyes screw shut in annoyance at flash’s obnoxious behavior.

“of course i am, penis parker!” flash shouts, shoving peter towards the large, white sorority house. “you have to do the dare or else.”

peter groans again, hating himself for ever agreeing to do this stupid game with flash.

the night had started calm and for once, peter was grateful. friday nights were the craziest day at the frat house, but this week, everyone was a bit too busy with schoolwork. except flash apparently.

like all of his other roomies, peter loves a good party. he doesn’t mind thrashing his house every week if that means he can have fantastic parties at his place (okay, maybe he minds a little bit. it gets tedious cleaning up garbage after a while). he knows he won’t be young forever, so what the heck, right?

people never would have guessed that peter was the leader of the frat. shocking, right? everyone would assume it’s flash for his obnoxious and party boy persona or brad for his attractiveness and charm. but what do those qualities have to do with being a leader? everyone else (besides those two) agreed that peter should be the head of the house because he is responsible and smart, unlike those boneheads.

peter often asked himself if he was attractive and if he had charm.

he did, right?

brad was good with the ladies. one glance and a wink made the girls melt into puddles at his feet. every morning when peter woke up early to go to class, a different woman would waltz down the stairs with a glowing, uncontrollable smile in nothing but a t-shirt. peter knew without a doubt that every one-night stand that stumbled down was brad’s; it was rarely flash or the others and ned had a girlfriend who was in the sorority across from us.

peter hooked-up once in a while. he found it more difficult to be like brad when he had college to concentrate on and lives to save inbetween it all. being spider-man in high school was overwhelming at first because it was impossibly hard to hide it. but now, having more freedom in college made everything a bit simpler. just a bit.

flash being spider-man’s “#1 fan!” still made him chuckle every time it came up.

speaking of flash, when peter stumbled through the door in the evening expecting a chill friday night, flash just had to crank up the energy. as per usual.

“what is this?” multiple bottles of liquor were splurged across the dining table when peter walked into the kitchen. flash crossed his arms with a huge smirk plastered onto his face, while ned looked concerned and stressed.

“i tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen to me,” ned shook his head in disappointment before walking away to his room.

“we’re having a party. it’s friday, penis,” flash said with an obvious tone. peter could easily have him removed from the frat, being the leader and all. yet he still keeps him here. why must he do this to himself?

“flash, i said no parties today. everyone is tired and stressed, and has a lot of work to do—”

“stressed? i think that’s the best reason for a party. you need to get laid, my brotha,” brad interrupted with an arm around peter’s shoulders and a firm pat to his buff chest. brad is way taller than peter, which some might think intimidates him. but peter is mainly intimidated by intelligence, and brad had the iq of a stick.

peter rolled his eyes at the predictable statement. flash rambles on about how parties are a tradition on friday nights and peter sharply cuts him off with a strict tone.

“ugh, fine! no party, party-pooper parker. but we will be drinking tonight. or else i’m sending an invite to 50 people.”

—

peter had no choice but to comply. flash, ned, brad, himself, and the other boys are seated on the furniture with the drinks displaced in the center. flash gave peter an ultimatum; play truth or dare or he rings the entire sports program of a party. peter growled and folded.

soon later, there is a sharpie drawing on flash’s ass, a ruler that measured brad’s dick, a flushed ned from downing too many denied truth shots, and laughter bubbling throughout the whole room. peter is the only one who hasn’t gotten asked anything yet and he honestly feels a bit left out. but he also just wants to do his homework and then go to sleep.

“what’ll be, penis parker?” flash inquires with a mischievous look on his face. “truth or dare? or should i say drink or dare?”

peter, not caring at the time, chose dare. “dare.”

“oh, you’re so in for it.”

—

so in all, peter was basically held against his own will to sneak into the girl’s sorority house. even though he denied the dare profusely and took three shots to make up for it, flash still dangled the party invites over his head like an iron weight waiting to drop.

peter snarled as flash nudged him again impatiently. he thought of an idea that might work. peter would have to do this dare, but would he have to do it alone?

“if you come with me, i’ll give you $50 bucks—” peter sells with raised eyebrows. he licks his lips as the cold breeze rustles the trees and sends slight shivers up his arms. the sky is pitch-black as the heavy clouds cover all the stars. peter felt a storm brewing and he really didn’t want to sneak into the sorority soaking wet.

“pfft, parker, please. i have enough money—”

“—in weed.” peter finishes, causing flash to halt his words. peter knows that flash can never find a good supply because he complains about it all the time. marijuana wasn’t legal on campus, let alone in the state. the trade had the cogs turning in flash’s head.

“alright, deal,” flash gives in and elbows peter as a form of agreement. then flash motivates brad and ned to join, heading straight for the zone as a group.

their goal was to grab a pair of underwear and leave without being caught. as spider-man, that should be easy, right?

—

for some odd reason, the back door was unlocked. you’d think girls would be more secure and observant than guys, but maybe they forgot. after hopping over the trimmed gardening hedges, the four boys crept through the door and into the kitchen.

unlike peter’s frat, the sorority girls had two big rules that they made known to everyone; no hook-ups allowed and no frat guys. ever. the girls didn’t throw parties like peter, they only went to them, so their place was like a holy sanctuary.

when the guys tiptoed into the kitchen, peter wasn’t surprised the place was damn-near spotless. most of the interior was pearly white; couches, love-seats, tables, counter, cabinets— it was like walking into an insane asylum with minor color accents.

it was at least midnight by now, so the girls had to be asleep. tiptoeing as silent as possible up the stairs, peter leads until they’re all standing in the middle of the large hallway with rapid, contained breaths. flash, being the scaredy-cat he is, follows last and nervously trips over the final step. he slips, tumbling down multiple levels with nosy thuds and bangs of his elbows and knees. all of the guys sprout wide eyes and strained, silent gestures to warn him to stop falling and making an absurd amount of noise.

peter gets goosebumps, hair rising on his skin as he gets a shiver down his spine. his hearing intensifies, picking up mumbled whispers and light footsteps with his spider sense. his eyes wander frantically as he scatters his brain for an idea. nothing comes to mind fast enough, as a door down the hall creaks open. brad and ned drag flash up the stairs, but freeze when they hear the door. out of instinct, peter sprints to the nearest door, slyly slipping inside. he closes the door gently, contradicting the pounding of his heart, without a noise being made. he releases a sigh as his forehead rests on the doorframe.

“what are you doing?” peter nearly shrieks when you casually question him. he stares at you, eyes impossibly wider than before. your arms are crossed as you sit on the side of your bed. peter swallows harshly, gazing at your appearance.

your legs look smooth and supple, and very much bare. he assumes you have underwear on under the t-shirt you’re sporting, and is proved correct when you shift to dangle your legs off the bed. his eyes are drawn to the small sight of your panties that tease underneath your shirt. you smirk, arms still crossed as you let him check you out.

“i-um-uh,” cheeks wildly red, he swallows and averts his eyes to the ground. how does he explain such a stupid thing without sounding like a jackass? i was dared to invade the sorority house. sorry. oh, also, can i have your panties? “it was a dare.”

“to sneak into my room?” your head tilts as you lift yourself off the bed and stalk towards him. peter’s cheeks grow redder while his heart pounds brutally in his chest.

besides the embarrassment flowing like blood through his veins, you were the simple kind of gorgeous that made his knees weak. the kind that is stunning in their own skin and that radiates beautiful energy like magical fairy dust. and peter nearly fainted when he saw your lack of clothes.

he’s seen you many times before; you share a class with him and came to some of his parties. he never talked to you in fear of rejection, but now he doesn’t really have a choice.

usually, he has more confidence with girls, but this is a very unfortunate situation where he lost every skill he’s ever known. even talking.

“no—” ear-piercing screams interrupt peter’s stuttering from the other side of the door. footsteps run all over the wooden floor as low profanities leave the guys’ mouths. “i think she found them.”

“you think?” you clip with raised eyebrows. peter inhales, losing some of his anxiousness at his thoughts of the boys being caught.

poor ned. betty’s going to kill him.

flash deserved it, though.

brad is probably getting one of their numbers.

peter shakes his head and sets his thoughts straight.

“okay, look. flash dared me to do this… stupid thing and i convinced them all to do it with me. i wanted to do nothing but relax tonight,” peter admits with a stressed exhale. you glare at him with squinted eyes, trying to decipher what has him so worked up. it’s not like he got screamed at and kicked out like the other guys. knowing some of your roomies, they might be a lot worse than just kicking them out. you get closer to him and ponder what he said.

“what was the dare, parker?” you shoot a harsh glare at him, daggers that force him to answer. your head tilts with curiosity as your heartbeats sporadically. you’ve never had a guy in your room before, and for that first guy to be peter parker has your heart bouncing around your chest like a boomerang. you’ve had your eye on peter for a few months now; not crazy obsessive, but you won’t deny the blood-rushing crush you’ve grown for the frat boy.

how did you stumble that low? a frat boy? jeez.

peter can’t be too shocked that you know his name, let alone his last name, but you saying it still causes him to forget some of the words on his tongue. many shouts are heard from outside the door, but your chests are nearly touching as you gaze up at him and then the outside world is practically silenced.

“i had to steal some… panties,” he mumbles, voice low and quiet. why does it sound so dirty?

“panties?” you repeat in a hushed voice as your surprised eyes blink a few times. you swallow, clit beginning to throb at the word out of his mouth.

“yeah,” he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “do you have any that i can…borrow?”

your mind hazes at his question. you tried to remember where your underwear was and if it was clean. but as a clear opportunity lies in front of you, you decide to run with it. you look down with a racing heart, fingers gripping the hem of your shirt.

“i…i have these ones,” you lightly ball up your t-shirt, revealing your laced panties to peter. he quietly coughs, cock starting to harden behind the zipper of his jeans. you glance up at his reddening expression through your eyelashes, devilish eyes hiding behind an innocent facade. confidence and lust ease your anxiety. “will these work?”

“um, yeah,” peter coughs again as rosy embarrassment crawls up his neck and blood rushes to his cock. you strut over to the mattress, rocking your hips teasingly, and peter instinctively follows with his heart in his throat. you lie on your back and spread your legs, arousal dripping from you at every movement. peter watches from a side angle, holding his breath as the tension rises.

“well, you’re not much of a panty-stealer if i just give them to you. come and steal them, parker,” you say with as much confidence as you could muster up. your heart was so loud in your ears you almost couldn’t hear yourself. speechless, peter walks to the front of the bed and kneels down, eye-level with your pussy.

he crumples the shirt over your hips, your legs automatically spreading wider. his senses heighten and pick up on the scent of your arousal. a small patch of it can be seen in the middle of your underwear, sending painful pulses down to his forever hardening cock. his thumbs dance around the laced hem, teasing you to see how much he can go.

he would say some of his confidence is back now.

he hooks his fingers under the band, sliding the flimsy fabric down while sticky arousal slings to you. he stuffs the damp material in his back pocket. both of your hearts rack and hands tremble at the extreme intensity, waiting for someone to do something. anything.

peter decides to be that person and resumes his fingers to your hips where the hem used to be. your folds glisten with pent-up arousal, just begging for him to touch you. your puffy clit throbs, neglected, and your thighs subtly spasm trying to remain open. peter grinds on his molars, nearly moaning at the glorious sight. his rough pads trace your smooth skin as he drags lower, dangerously close to where you’re yearning for him.

“peter,” you whisper, holding your breath, so you don’t move a muscle, even though they’re involuntarily shaking with need. he hums, the dirtiest thoughts flowing through his mind. “d-don’t you have to go? what if you get caught?”

“i can spare a few minutes…” his gaze is hazy and distracted, voice gravelly with lust. you clench desperately around nothing as you quietly plead for him to do something. his thumb tests the waters and finally begins circling on your clit, sending electricity up your body. you yelp at the sudden pressure, naturally grinding your hips for more friction. “hmm? don’t you want me to spend a few minutes with you?

his words are taunting and condescending, making your mind go blurry while the words disintegrate from your tongue. the rough pad of his thumb rubs faster while you clench around nothing again, chest heaving.

“i want more than a few minutes,” you moan as his middle finger pets along your soaking slit, teasing you painfully until your eyes roll back. you can sense the smirk growing on his face based on the satisfied hum he responds with.

“more? greedy girl,” peter slides his middle finger into you without warning causing you to release a long string of moans. “shh, you don’t want them to hear you, do you? then we’ll both get caught.”

you shake your head.

“then be a good girl and be quiet for me,” peter demands softly. you nod shakily, as another finger pumps into you rapidly. he thrusts brutally into you, fingertips brushing over your g-spot. you melt as bliss laces throughout your body.

“it’s always the quiet ones who are the loudest,” a devilish and dirty smirk dances on his lips while your teeth sink painfully into your bottom lip. you slap your palm over your mouth to remain quiet as thrilled moans threaten to pour out of you. your revolving hips are halted by his strong forearm, allowing him to curl his digits deliciously into you. you mewl with screwed eyes, back arching at the immense pleasure.

“i’m so close, peter,” you whisper, scared that if you speak any louder your moans will betray you and alert the whole neighborhood. peter subtly grinds his hips into the front of the mattress, cock dangerously hard from your whimpering and whining.

“can i taste you? been dying to since you opened your legs for me,” peter asks while your thighs tremble and your pussy contracts tightly around his digits. you mumble out a shuddery please before his mouth is devouring you.

he never removes his fingers, pumping ruthlessly while his mouth explores your slippery folds. he sucks harshly on your throbbing clit, a muffled wail escaping through your hand. warm and soothing, his tongue glides curiously and sneaks into your undeniably soft cunt. the moan you release is unholy and way too loud. at least right now.

peter wants nothing more than to hear your sweet, sweet moans crying his name while he makes you come in several different ways. but tonight was not the night. he wasn’t trying to get reported and have intruder as a new notch on his belt.

he had a good feeling you wouldn’t run off and report him though.

the idea of it all got him off much more than he would have ever thought. and looking at you, he could say that same.

his mouth plops off of you, lips swollen and puffy from sucking.

“come all over my tongue. let me taste you, sweet girl,” his tone is euphonious and seductive, yet demanding. his fingers savagely thrust into your seeping hole that clenches tightly around him. your back arches off the mattress as your thighs shake from the upcoming euphoria.

peter’s words send your body into overdrive. your muscles contract and your stomach tightens as your orgasm ripples through your body like a heavenly wave. cum oozes out of you and onto his tongue, slurping up every ounce of your juices until there is nothing left.

“such a good girl,” peter praises while he licks away your arousal from his rosy lips. heat crawls up your neck at your sudden vulnerability. you attempt to close your legs to hide, but he keeps them spread with his rough hands. “you’re going to hide yourself after i just ate you out? we’re just getting started, baby.”

peter pulls his shirt off deliberately, showcasing his bulky abs and muscles that made your clit pulse with desire again. he looks like he was man-made, a real-life sculpture with chiseled muscles and perfectly ridged abs. you were insatiable to this man, who snuck into your room to steal something— you should be mad at him. furious. but when his boxers fall down his legs, only dirty and needy emotions and thoughts are left.

your eyes widen at his impressive length; you’ve only been with a few guys in the past, but none of them were this big. you were scared, yet excited to feel his cock stretch you out sinfully. you imagined how long you would feel him inside of you afterwards, soreness like a good workout at the gym.

“you’re so big,” you mumble, not hiding the fact that you were blatantly eyeing his raging cock with hunger, fear, and lust.

“it’ll fit. don’t worry, doll,” he hovers over you, smoothing your hair away from your worried eyes. “do you have a condom?”

you stretch out your arm into your night stand, blindly grabbing a tin-foiled package. you seductively rip it with your teeth, causing peter to groan in impatience. he snatches it away from you and swiftly slides it onto his sturdy cock.

“such a fucking tease,” he hisses, running the tip of his cock along your folds, which were already soaked in arousal again. “are you ready?”

you nod your head surely, more than ready for him to fill you up.

“you’re one to talk,” you sass, rolling your eyes, which were no longer as worried, but full of needy anticipation. he huffs out a single chuckle, eyes strained on his dick rubbing around your wetness tediously.

“speaking of talking, don’t,” peter thrusts into you savagely, making you gasp and shriek. your hand immediately goes to his shoulder for leverage, nails digging desperately into the meat of his skin. the other tightens securely onto your mouth to keep quiet, even though it’s probably useless now.

hoarse profanities fall from his lips as he shifts around your snug hole. your velvety walls choke his cock so fucking good, he doesn’t think he’ll last any longer. and then you clench even tighter around him, sending peter’s eyes rolling back into brain.

“you’re so fucking tight,” peter groans in your ear, flicking his hips upwards into you. your body trembles in overwhelming pleasure, muffled whines begging to be released.

slapping skin and hushed moans fill the air. peter fits a hand between the two of you and rubs your throbbing clit perfectly. his lips travel down from your ear to your neck, kissing along your skin. his tongue discovers your soft spot, sucking harshly until you’re clutching onto him for dear life.

“you’re so good, peter. so deep, too, oh god,” you can’t help the lusty wail that tumbles from your raspy throat when he rapidly rolls his hips, repeatedly touching your sensitive g-spot. he growls at the praise, every action being intensified by the comment. you notice this and smile with a hint of devilishness behind it.

“you may be smiling now,” peter pants, muscles popping and flexing from the position. “but you’ll be crying soon.”

if possible, his thrusts got harder. and deeper. and faster. he was pounding into your cunt like there was no tomorrow, buckets of arousal leaking from you and all around him. peter would pull his cock fully out just to slam it back in, and it made you wither away into another dimension. his balls beat against you harshly with every brisk thrust of his body. his skilled thumb pets your clit, electrifying all your nerves into blissful flames.

there was so much to feel; the biting of his kisses on your neck, the rough texture of his thumb pad on your clit, the long, thick length plunging barbarically into you, and the heaviness of his weight above you. you were so overwhelmed by the pleasure, water brimmed at your tear ducts. soon, full-blown tears are streaming down your face from the euphoria running through your veins.

that familiar wicked smile curls on peter’s face with your appearance; wild hair, tear-stained cheeks, and swollen lips. he doesn’t think you’ve ever looked so beautiful in front of him.

his cock twitches when you whimper loudly underneath the palm of your hand, begging to let you come. contracting on his shaft, your nails stab his shoulder blade until crescent moon marks appear. a strangled moan leaves him when your body rolls up towards him, back arching harshly.

“need to come. so bad, peter,” you whine. his name from your lips drives him mental.

“fuck, y/n,” he sighs heavily. “come around my cock like the good girl you are.”

with those words, your second orgasm tumbles through your body like a thunderstorm. peter slams his lips against yours to keep you quiet, all your pent-up moans turning into needy hums in your throat. stars spot in your vision and you thought you might pass out from being fucked into oblivion. you wouldn’t even be mad— it was worth it.

summoning all your energy, your muscles tense as the liquid floods out of you. your back arches, making your bare breasts push up against peter’s chest. at the same time, peter comes with a string of curse words against your plush lips. he shoots his load into the condom, balls tightening while his eyes screw shut. he steadies his pumps and slowly pulls out of you, never wanting to leave.

you whimper at the emptiness, already missing his cock. he ties the knot and tosses it into the garbage under your desk. peter slips into his boxers and immediately finds the small box of tissues on your night stand. grabbing a few, he cleans you delicately like an antique doll as if he didn’t just ravish your body and soul.

you were beyond dumbstruck as he wiped you up. the few people you have been with never stayed long enough for aftercare, and even though it should be a necessity, the action still made your heart lurch for peter. speaking of your heart, it was beating a mile a minute. sex was a physical activity, yet having a huge crush on someone felt a lot more physically demanding. but you really liked the feeling.

a million thoughts brisked through your head; how does he feel? does he feel the same? did he hate it? did he love it? you shake your head. if you didn’t stop yourself, you would ruin any chance you might have by overthinking too much.

when you refocus your eyes to the moment, peter has his jeans fully on and his shirt in his hand. he slides it on and then looks at you worryingly, seeming as though you’re still naked and haven’t moved.

“are you okay? did i go too hard? fuck—”

“yes—i mean no! shit,” you stutter after interrupting him and close your eyes in embarrassment. “yes, i’m fine. i’m more than fine. that was… really good, peter. like really good.”

peter’s tensed shoulders relax as his face melts from a concerned expression to a soft one. you slip your large t-shirt on and stand up from your bed. your legs are a bit unbalanced and wobbly, and peter can’t help but chuckle as he holds you steady by your hips.

“stop laughing! you did this!” you whisper-yell with a faked angry face.

“oh, i know. next time, i’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk, let alone stand,” he winks with an arrogant smile cascading his lips. familiar heat creeps up your neck and ears, making you all tingly inside at the idea of a next time with peter.

“next time?” large rings of hope surround your irises as you stare into peter’s. his arrogance slightly fades as he itches with nervousness.

“yeah, if that’s what you want, of course,” why is he holding his breath? why is his heart beating so unhealthy fast?

“if i say yes, does that mean you’re going to try to steal my panties again?” you try to hold back your grin as you joke, peering up at him with squinted eyes.

“are you going to let me steal your panties again?” he clicks his tongue with his all too familiar smirk. he loves your playful demeanor and your attempts to withhold a smile.

you pretend to think, really debating. peter can’t help but stare at you in awe. you were beautiful, and he regrets not approaching you earlier because you were… well, he didn’t really know you yet, but he wouldn’t mind getting to know you better. even if you told him to fuck off and never to see him again, he knew that he would never forget you or this night.

you push yourself closer to peter, chest to chest. you can both feel the rapid beating of your hearts through your shirts. however, you stand, gazing confidently at peter. he watches you as you lean right in like you were going to kiss him.

“mm maybe. you might just have to find out yourself,” your breathy words linger on his lips as you back away and casually get into the bed. you unfold the comforter and tuck yourself in, like you didn’t just give peter a semi-hard on in his pants.

suddenly a loud crash is heard from outside, alerting both of your heads to peer out through the window.

“my car!” flash cries so high-pitched and whiny, he probably woke up the entire neighborhood. peter isn’t surprised that one of the sorority girls destroyed his car because he deserved it. someone needed to humble him anyway. you both laugh behind the palm of your hands at flash’s girly scream.

with that, peter realizes that he has to go and that he no longer has any minutes to spare. flash, brad, and ned probably weren’t worried about peter while they were out-running the girls. but now that the girls had done the damage, the boys would soon realize peter’s absence.

“better hide your panties. this isn’t over,” peter walks over to the side of your bed and kisses your forehead delicately. he cracks open the window, turning to you with half his body out. with a wink from him and a gasp from you, he jumps down the two-story window without hesitation. your heart flutters at his gentle kiss that lingers on your skin, fingers pressed against the spot his lips last touched.

rain begins to splash on the glass as sprinkles of water drip into your room through the open window. you purposefully don’t close it, even when you know the carpet will get soaked throughout the night. you welcomed the idea that if peter wanted to come back, he could, simply by sneaking through the window the same way he left.

so many other thoughts cloud your mind, making you lie wide awake. you wondered if his heart was still thumping hastily like the rain pattering on your window and onto your floor. you wondered what he looked like when he was drenched in natural rain water. probably breathtakingly beautiful; soaking wet hair and a childish smile adorning his rosy face while he laughs wholeheartedly.

as you roll over to turn off your lamp with a wistful sigh, you remember that you never even got his number. while trying to guess which set of numbers fit peter parker the best, you fall asleep with a yearning heart, flapping its wings adoringly in your chest.

oh, god, you were down. and it was bad.

what you didn’t know was that peter was down too, but even worse than you.

—

tags: @raajali3

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[enthyrea]

someone’s possessive 🙄

[spidey-webz]

giving peter his first blowjob

warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, peter is 18+ here of course, oral (m receiving), inexperienced peter, hair pulling, tiny bit of dirty talk (soft), swearing, cum swallowing

pairing: tom!peter parker x reader

a/n: this is just peter brain rot because the image of him coming from a blowjob lives in my head rent free

masterlist

Peter and you had been dating for a few months now. You had taken it all fairly slow, not wanting to rush each other through any part of the relationship. And it was working well.

Your time together was always cherished by the both of you. Whenever you were alone, you did spend a considerable amount of your time kissing each other and exchanging innocent touches.

But you never went the whole way.

However, you loved the feeling of Peter growing hard between your legs while you had him on top of you. His soft kisses against your neck spurred you on as you were grinding your hips up into his. The low groans escaping him reverberated through your body and you knew you wanted more.

“Peter,” you mumbled between kisses one day, your boyfriend looking down at you with wide eyes. His hair was a mess, a few stray curls hanging down onto his forehead and his biceps was straining against his shirt as he supported himself with his arms. Your fingers softly wandered over his cheek, then down to his chest. "I want to touch you," you whispered, hands slipping under his shirt. His skin was soft, but the muscles beneath were strong and hard and you wanted to explore them with your tongue.

Peter's cheeks turned a soft red before he pressed a small kiss to your forehead, lying down on the bed beside you. You were quick to settle on his lap as his hardened cock already pressed against his pants, eager to be touched. To be honest, you were just as eager to finally get your hands on him.

His hair was tousled as he spread out on the pillow, letting you take the reins now. You pushed his shirt up further, exposing his happy trail and the tight abs he sported. Kissing over his stomach and then further down while Peter was starting to breathe faster. His hips pushed up to meet your kisses.

You opened his jeans with ease and pulled them down his legs, revealing a few scars on his upper thighs and the visible boner in his boxers. Heartrate rapidly increasing, you took your time pulling his underwear down inch by inch and eventually, his cock sprang free.

His tip was already red and leaking pre-cum as you admired the sight before you. Your boyfriend’s cheeks had grown a deep red as his chest was rapidly rising and falling, your own hands putting his underwear away before you took the time to squeeze his thighs. Peter's thighs were strong and you loved sitting on them, but not today. Today would be all about him and getting a taste of him.

Your hand delicately wrapped around his cock. He wasn't too big, probably just the right size. Prominent veins ran up the sides of his length and you knew you wanted to get your mouth on it as soon as possible. Judging by Peter's fast breathing and the way his hands clung to the sheets, you had to take it slow – drag out the moment, enjoy it.

A soft groan escaped your boyfriend's lips when you stroked him for the first time. Peter had touched himself to the thoughts of you countless times, but it was a better feeling with your hand wrapped around him. His eyes had closed in the process and you were eager to make the man underneath you squirm and moan.

A few more tugs followed, Peter's lips parting as more sounds escaped his throat. The sight was heavenly. His curls were even more of a mess now and his face was filled with pure bliss. His biceps flexed as he tugged on the sheets below him, eyes fluttering open to find your gaze as you continued your work.

You could feel your own arousal rising within you. A tight coil in your stomach, a heat that was slowly spreading throughout your entire body. But this was about Peter now.

"Feel good?" You asked. "Do you like it when I touch you like this?"

It sent a shiver straight down your spine when Peter replied with a raspy voice, nodding quickly.

"Yes. Keep going. Please..."

You didn't have to be told twice.

For the first time, you wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, tasting his salty pre-cum. A small touch from your mouth alone was enough to make Peter buck his hips up. He was desperate for more and he hoped you'd give it to him.

Your right hand still stayed wrapped around his length, but you were circling your tongue around the tip of his cock, enjoying the taste and the feeling to the fullest. When you were sure that Peter had enough of the teasing touches, you decided to take him into your mouth completely.

His cock quickly hit the back of your throat and Peter let out another soft moan. It sounded like music in your ears, so you started to move your head up and down once you got used to the feeling of his length in your mouth.

"Shit," he groaned and pressed his head further into the pillows, while his hips moved up to meet your touch. Your hands held onto his strong thighs, nails digging into his skin as you swirled your tongue around him and took him into your mouth over and over again.

The sweet taste of him remained on your tongue, a firm reminder that he was getting close and Peter grew more desperate by the second.

"Fuck, I'm going to come." His voice broke halfway, knuckles turning white before he removed them from the sheets to bury them in your hair instead.

His hands gently pressed you down further on his cock as he started to thrust up into you instinctively and you couldn't help but moan around him as he did so. A few more thrusts, a few more pants and he was spasming inside you, warm seed filling your mouth.

You swallowed it down without a second thought, pressing a few more kisses to the head of his cock before you let go of him. A swipe of your tongue across your lips and you looked back up to your boyfriend.

Beads of sweat had gathered on his forehead, but there was a smile on his lips and Peter didn't waste any time to pull you back into his arms. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, not bothering to put his pants back on.

Cuddling you and then touching you in return was way more important now.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Sunk Cost

Pairing: Tom Bennett x f!reader Warnings: Mentions of blood, death and injury. Mild angst and mentions of PTSD. Smut. Word count: ~4.8k

Summary: Following the Battle of the River Plate, she is deployed to the Falkland Islands to tend to the survivors of the HMS Exeter. Some of the naval officers are in better shape than others, and when one in particular makes it his mission to bed her before shipping back home, she decides to give him a taste of his own medicine.

Author's note: Based on this request. No tag list - please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. "Conchies" is slang for conscientious objector.

She had travelled aboard the SS Lafonia to the Falklands, accompanied by two doctors and eleven other nurses to treat the injured of the HMS Exeter following the battle of the River Plate.

Having qualified as a nurse almost five years ago, she was experienced in dealing with blood and injury and, in the days spent sailing across the South Atlantic Ocean, she had been steeling herself for the inevitable carnage she would be witness to.

Nothing, however, could have prepared her for the utter devastation she was met with upon arrival. Pulling back the canvas flap of the medical tent, the smell was the first thing to hit her, pushing her backwards like an invisible, oppressive force; burned flesh and the rancid, yet somehow sickly sweet scent of decay.

Everything from minor burns to missing limbs needed to be treated, but those sailors were the fortunate ones, they still drew breath. Seventy two British sailors had lost their lives defending against German forces.

It would be two weeks until a boat arrived to collect those fit enough to travel back to England, so those able bodied enough to do so assisted with dressing wounds and changing bed pans. She was grateful for the help as, despite there being fourteen medical staff to attend to their patients, it was overwhelming and she was tired, so tired.

She had smiled, though it had not quite reached her eyes, as she’d been introduced to the private that would be assisting her on her rounds.

“Name’s Tom, Tom Bennett,” he’d greeted her with an incline of his head and a lopsided smirk. 

“Nice to meet you, Private Bennett,” she’d replied as politely as she could, discreetly taking him in.

He stood around six feet tall, a mop of sandy coloured hair atop his head. He was classically handsome with high cheekbones and an aquiline nose, and carried himself with a self assured swagger that emphasised the fact that he knew he was good looking. She could have overlooked his vanity, were it not for the fact he was apparently cocky in every other respect too.

Her exhaustion had worn her patience thin, however, she was certain that the sailor assigned to helping her with her rounds would have grated upon her nerves even with a full night’s rest. She found his unwavering smirk and continual stream of flirtatious remarks wholly inappropriate, considering the situation they found themselves in. There was no doubt in her mind that he had fought bravely and his service upon the Admiral Graf Spee was to be highly commended, but it didn’t mean she had to enjoy his company, she merely endured it.

“Private Bennett, I need to give this patient a sponge bath, can you please dispose of these dressings?” She asked, keeping her tone curt as she seated herself beside a cot.

“My turn next, yeah?” He quipped cheekily, causing her to press her lips into a tight line to suppress the urge to sigh.

She lifted her eyes to meet his, her stern gaze wholly unaffected by the way the blue of his sparkled with mischief. “The dressings, Private Bennett.”

“You can call me Tom, y’know,” he said airily, the smirk on his face never faltering as he snatched up the dirty bandages and turned to walk away.

“I’d rather not,” she muttered wearily to his retreating form, turning her attention back to the sailor laid dozing in the cot beside her.

All of her rounds were much the same; Tom trailed behind her, flirting shamelessly, and every remark made her blood boil. For the patients yet to regain consciousness, she could mercifully ignore him. However, for the sake of maintaining a pleasant bedside manner for those who were lucid, she had to smile, laugh and remain polite.

As the days dragged on, she found herself wishing the boat coming to ferry Tom Bennett back to England would arrive sooner. Attempting to keep her temper in check and not give him a well deserved telling off in front of everyone was becoming as exhausting an effort as it was caring for the wounded. He was a pain in the arse.

It had been a particularly demanding day - several of the patients being treated for severe burns had developed infections - by the time the next nurse arrived to relieve her of her duties, she was desperate to be off of her aching feet. Sitting down heavily upon a bench in the rest area, she fished her cigarette case from her apron pocket, flipping it open and placing one delicately between her lips. Before her hand could reach for her matchbook, a flash of flint followed by flame ignited in front of her, illuminating the end of her cigarette into a bright, cherry red glow.

She blew out a tight line of smoke, her eyes narrowed in displeasure as she looked up at the smug face of Tom Bennett. The sight of him was enough to spoil the pleasant taste of tobacco that she usually revelled in upon her first drag. The corners of his mouth were upturned into a self satisfied smile, his eyes crinkled in quiet amusement as he looked down at her. He always looked like he was entertained by a joke that only he was privy to, it drove her crazy.

“Thanks,” she said curtly, taking another drag.

“Anything for you, gorgeous,” he winked, seating himself beside her and lighting up a smoke of his own.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” she muttered darkly, gazing off into the distance, her lips pursed.

“Do what?” He mumbled around his cigarette, keeping it perched at the corner of his mouth.

She sighed, pressing at the point between her eyebrows with the thumb of her free hand, an absentminded gesture of exasperation. “Everything’s a joke to you, isn’t it?”

Tom snatched his cigarette from between his lips, holding it between the forefingers of his right hand as he raised his palms in a defensive gesture. “Enough misery ‘round ‘ere, ‘int there? Jus’ tryna make you smile.”

“Well, you’re not,” she spat, taking a quick puff, savouring the short burst of lightheadedness that the nicotine rush afforded her.

He gave an easy shrug, fixing her with a dopey grin. “Well, I don’t see anywhere ‘round ‘ere where I can buy you flowers, so my witty charm will have to do.”

She scoffed, flicking away her butt, and rose to her feet, storming off.

“See you tomorra, yeah?” he called after her, “unless you want someone to help warm your cot tonight?”

Fucking prick.

Sleep evaded her that night. Tom had gotten under her skin. It made her furious that with so many men injured and dying around them, he failed to see the gravity of their situation. How could he be cracking jokes and making clumsy attempts to seduce her in the midst of a war? He needed to be taught a lesson, to be taken down a peg or two, and she decided she was the person to do it. Perhaps if the tables were turned on him, then he’d realise just how inappropriate his behaviour was and feel rightfully ashamed of himself.

The following day, as Tom accompanied her on her rounds, she laughed heartily at his flippant remarks, allowed her fingers to linger against his as he passed her bandages, and stared deep into his eyes every time she addressed him.

“Lucky sod,” he’d jested as she’d dabbed gently at the burns on a patient’s chest.

“You’ll get your turn later,” she’d quipped back with a wink, causing his jaw to fall agape. He’d been quick to close his mouth again, averting his attention to the floor as his cheeks had turned crimson.

It was obvious her being receptive to his advances was having an effect on him. All day she saw the way his eyes widened in disbelief, the slight blush that crept into his cheeks when she returned his flirty banter. He was uncomfortable with not being given the brush off, and she was enjoying every second of it.

“What are you playing at?” His voice came from behind her, as she was rifling through the medicine cabinet, searching for a bottle of iodine. It was a quiet corner of the medical tent, partitioned off from the sick beds for medical personnel to replenish supplies and dose out medicine.

“What do you mean?” She asked casually, not turning around as her hands continued to move aside brown bottles. She hoped the clink of the glass was enough to disguise the hint of amusement in her voice, and if not, at least he couldn’t see her smiling.

“You’re flirting with me,” he stated simply, though his voice didn’t carry its usual confidence.

“Am I?” She replied with faux innocence, casting him a glance over her shoulder.

He wasn’t standing as straight as he usually did, his brow was furrowed and he had his hands clasped in front of him. He was nervous.

Good, she thought.

“I–I think so, yeah…”

She rounded on him, closing the distance between them, delighting in the way his posture visibly stiffened as she pressed close, placing her palms against the broadness of his shoulders.

“I guess I finally figured there’s no use in denying what’s between us,” she cooed, “can’t fight it any longer.”

“Yeah..?” He asked, blinking rapidly, lips parted as he stared down at her with wide eyes.

“Absolutely. You deserve a reward, Private Bennett,” she said, reaching up to card her fingers through the softness of his hair. “You fought so bravely, it would be an honour for me to give myself to you. You’re a war hero.”

His face blanched, and for the first time since she’d met him, she saw the corners of his mouth turn downwards, a flicker between anger and sadness causing his brow to furrow and his gaze to dull. He grasped her wrists gently, moving her hands back to her sides, before quickly walking away.

She had expected to feel triumphant in managing to fluster him enough to get him to back down, but she didn’t. It was wholly unsatisfying, a heavy feeling of guilt sat like a stone upon her chest. There was something in her words that had utterly knocked the wind out of Tom’s sails, she had pushed too far. She hadn’t embarrassed him, she’d crushed him, and the worst part was she wasn’t entirely sure what she had said that had caused such an unexpected reaction.

He was quiet for the rest of her rounds, silently following orders, not meeting her eye when he spoke or was spoken to. It was as though all the light had gone out of him. He didn’t hang around for a smoke once she was relieved of her duties, so she was forced to follow after him as he strode back to the sleeping quarters reserved for uninjured naval officers.

“Hey, wait!” She called out, her feet hurrying to keep up with his longer gait, finally falling in step beside him. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”

He stopped, huffing out a sigh as he turned his face upwards, briefly closing his eyes, before looking back down at her. “Forget about it,” he muttered, “message received loud and clear. I won’t hassle you no more.”

She was left standing there as he walked off, leaving her alone. Despite what he said, she knew forgetting about it was the very last thing that she would be able to do.

Her rounds were miserable over the days that followed. Tom didn’t laugh, he didn’t smile, he didn’t even speak unless spoken to. As reluctant as she was to admit it, she missed his jokey flirting. Whatever this was, the silence and sadness that hung between them, she hated it. She couldn’t question it in front of patients, and as soon as his obligation to her was fulfilled for the day, he hurried back to the naval quarters, making it clear he had no desire to speak to her.

Even the patients had started to notice it - of course they had - the stony silence that the pair worked in was a stark contrast to Tom’s usual annoyingly proud and jovial demeanour.

“Lover’s quarrel?” A private with a head injury asked playfully, as she pulled away his dressings to check on the wound.

Tom spoke before she had the opportunity to respond, his tone arrogant and steeped in annoyance. “Nope, just focusing on the job, mate. Got a ship coming to take me away from here tomorra, and the quicker I’m on it the better.”

She felt her heart lurch at his words. So preoccupied with the fact that Tom was refusing to speak to her, she had completely forgotten that he’d be leaving soon. Now his departure loomed imminently and the thought of it made her chest tighten uncomfortably. He couldn’t just leave and never speak to her again without giving her the chance to make amends, or to help her understand what she’d done wrong in the first place; that wasn’t fair.

He didn’t even look at her as she turned to him, instead he handed her the clean set of bandages he’d been holding and walked away, leaving her to finish up with her patient alone.

“Must be nice,” the injured private remarked, as she pressed the clean dressing to his wound and bandaged it up. “Wish I was leaving.”

“Me too,” she uttered softly, a sombre feeling settling over her as she realised she was talking as much about herself as she was the patient she was treating.

Tom was nowhere to be seen for the rest of the day, and she was left to complete her rounds by herself. She supposed she would grow used to it once he left. The strain they were under would be lessened by those fit enough to travel on the boat tomorrow being removed from their care. However, she felt like she was missing a part of herself without him at her side; like looking at the wall and not being able to see her shadow cast upon it. The weight of his absence would fade, but the hurt and uncertainty wrought from his disdain would not. She needed to put things right before he sailed away from her tomorrow, or she would forever live with the guilt of it.

She waited impatiently for the rest of the day for nightfall, deciding that if this was a conversation she was going to pursue then it was better to do so without witnesses - or at least when those witnesses were asleep - the canvas confines of both the medical bay and sleeping quarters provided very little privacy.

Once it was suitably dark, she made her way to the large tent that housed the cots of the naval officers. The humidity made the night air sticky and it clung to her skin, feeling as thick as the inky blackness of the sky above her.  A wave of nervous apprehension washed over her as she reached for the canvas flap - what if Tom was already asleep, or refused to speak to her? What if other sailors were awake and questioned her reason for being there?

A simple white lie of delivering pain relief could deal with the latter of those problems, but she had no idea how to deal with the former. Before her pounding heart and trembling hands could convince her otherwise, she pulled back the partition, greeted by darkness and the gentle snores of those who were asleep. A few kerosene lamps were lit by the beds of those who were still awake, their dull glow illuminated the men that were sitting up reading, smoking or playing solitaire with playing cards spread out across their blankets.

Her eyes searched the gloom for Tom, half expecting him to be fast asleep. Finally, she spotted him, and her stomach erupted into nervous flutters as she saw that he was still awake. She felt as if she was intruding upon something far too intimate, seeing him in the tight white t-shirt and briefs of his underclothes. He laid upon his front, the legs of his tall frame almost hanging off the edge of the cot as they crossed over at the ankle. The low lighting that glowed across the sharpness of his features cast long shadows across his corner of the tent, however, it was not dark enough to hide the yellow canary that fluttered around the small cage that he had balanced upon his pillow. His attention was so focused upon the bird and its shrill twittering that he didn’t even notice her as she stepped carefully towards him.

“Who’s this then?” She asked quietly, once she was a few paces away from Tom’s cot.

His head snapped up quickly, brows raising in surprise as he took in the sight of her, almost as if he couldn’t believe she was standing in front of him. He cleared his throat, shifting onto his side and propping himself up on his elbow before responding. “Her name’s Vera.”

“Vera…that’s a pretty name,” she said, offering him a soft smile as she fidgeted awkwardly with her fingers, forgetting everything she had wanted to say to him.

He lifted the cage, placing it gently on the floor between his cot and the tent wall, then looked back at her. “So what brings you ‘ere then?”

“You won’t speak to me,” she replied. Her voice sounded small, sad and vulnerable to her ears, and she loathed it. She had come here to apologise and then leave, not get upset.

“Usually, people take a hint when that happens, they don’t barge in on them when they’re going to bed.”

His reply hit her like a physical blow, and he must have seen the way her face fell, as he was quick to follow it up with; “But I guess I can’t blame ya for wantin’ a peek at me in me undercrackers.”

She felt instantly lighter as she saw the playful grin spread across his face, turning hers away as she felt her skin grow hot.

Silence fell between them once more and she drew in a steadying breath before lifting her gaze to his again. “I couldn’t let you leave without knowing how sorry I am,” she stepped closer, “I don’t know what I said that ticked you off exactly, but what I did I did with the intent to teach you a lesson, to humiliate you, and that was wrong. I was sick of your flirting, but I realise now that after all you’ve been through that you were just trying to make a horrible situation a lighter one. You’re so brave, and–”

“I’m not fucking brave,” he snapped, making her jump.

“What?” She moved to stand directly beside his cot, her head tilted slightly in confusion.

“I’m not brave,” he repeats, his voice turning to the hushed tone he’d used previously. He scrubbed a hand across his face and fixed her with a tired stare. “I’m not a war hero.”

She blinked rapidly, furrowing her brow as she perched upon the edge of his makeshift bed. “Is that what got you upset? Because I called you a war hero?”

“Do you know why I joined the Navy?” He asked, shuffling back to make more room for her to sit within the narrow space.

She shook her head, allowing him to continue speaking.

“Was avoiding the nick,” he uttered, sniffing. “I’m not a hero, I’m a coward dodging a stretch in prison.”

She was surprised by this, but not repelled. He was hardly the first man to join up to the draft to avoid the authorities, and he would be the last. She sighed softly, looking him in the eye. “That doesn’t change any of what you’ve been through, or how bravely you fought aboard that warship. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Well, I’m not,” he said sullenly, “I’m not going back. The minute I get back home that’s it, I’m done with this bloody war.”

“You can’t do that,” she told him softly, suddenly feeling afraid for him.

“Why not? It’s not my fight. I saw people fucking die. I don’t wanna give my life for something I don’t believe in.”

“You could be hanged for desertion,” she argued, a hint of desperation in her voice. Before she had time to think about it, her hand reached for his, grasping his fingers with her own.

“Dad’s a conchie,” he said, intertwining his fingers with hers, “I could be too.”

She glanced down to where their hands were joined, almost wanting to scream in frustration. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Well, what am I s’posed to do?” he seethed, snatching his hand back, leaving her to silently mourn the loss of the contact.

“I can’t convince you to do anything, Tom, but please talk to your dad before you make a decision you can’t take back.”

“Y’know, that’s the first time you’ve called me that,” he said, his expression softening.

“What?”

“My name. It’s usually always Private Bennett. I like it when you call me Tom.”

She averted her gaze, feeling her skin blaze with embarrassment once more. “I guess I should get going. Us talking’s probably keeping people awake.”

His hand shot out, grasping hers once more as she rose to leave, making her freeze in place.

“Stay,” came his softly uttered plea.

“There’s all these other people,” she protested in a quiet voice, though she sat back down.

“I just want you to lay next to me. We probably won’t see each other again after tomorrow, and I don’t wanna be alone tonight.”

“I dunno…”

“No funny business, I promise,” he said with a smirk that immediately crumbled her resolve. “I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

“Alright…”

Tom laid out straight and pulled the blankets up around himself, holding one side up in silent invitation for her to join him. She slid underneath, not realising quite how tight the confines of the single cot were until her body was pressed right up against his.

Wordlessly, he leaned over to turn out the lamp, then turned to face her, slinging an arm over her waist and closing his eyes.

She laid there with her eyes open, just about able to make out his features in the darkness. The humidity combined with the heat of Tom’s body and the blankets thrown over them made it uncomfortably warm, and it was an effort not to squirm. But that wasn’t her only means of discomfort. It was difficult to keep her breathing steady and her body from trembling in spite of the heat; she hadn’t anticipated being in such close proximity to Tom to have such an effect on her. The feeling of the long, lithe muscle of his body pressed against hers made her pulse race and her core throb with desire, though the sensation was intermingled with pangs of guilt. He was seeking comfort in her, and here she was lusting after him when she’d spent the last two weeks berating him for doing the same to her.

His breaths fanned softly across her face, and she was convinced that he had fallen asleep, until his grasp on her waist tightened slightly, his fingers digging into her flesh. She froze at the intimacy of it, ashamed of the way desire pooled between her thighs at the gesture, until he ducked his head to bury it into the crook of her neck.

“Help me,” he whispered against her skin, a desperate plea for something, anything to make him feel better.

She reached up tentatively in the darkness, her fingers stroking through the silkiness of his hair. He sighed contentedly in response, and the sensation made her shiver, causing an involuntary tug at his tresses, making him groan and grip her tighter.

“Please,” he murmured into her neck. His hips began to grind against hers, the evidence that he was just was affected by her as she was him more than apparent as it pressed repeatedly against her.

Before she had time to consider the absurdity of it all, she hooked her thigh over him, prompting him to roll onto his back as she straddled him. Her chest rose and fell erratically as she stared down at him. He looked back with wide, imploring eyes, his fingers flexing firmly against the swell of her hips, urging her into action.

The touch was enough to ground her, to give her pause to realise they were in a tent full of sleeping sailors, that she’d rebuffed all of Tom’s previous advances, that come tomorrow she’d never see him again.

She swallowed thickly, trying to move off of him. “We shouldn’t.”

“Please,” he repeated with more urgency, his grip upon her tightening, stilling her and preventing her from moving away.

It was the begging of a desperate man, a man who had seen awful things, who was afraid to die, who was sailing away tomorrow into uncertainty. How could she say no? And how could she deny herself? Over the last two weeks she had seen unimaginable horrors, worked tirelessly, didn't she deserve a little fun?

She allowed the throbbing between her thighs to guide her actions as she reached beneath her skirt of her uniform, tugging her knickers to one side. Tom’s breaths grew unsteady as his eyes watched her in the darkness, his own hands moving to push down his briefs.

As the swollen head of him pressed against her entrance she felt that she was aroused, though not wet enough to make his passage an easy one. She had to rise and sink down repeatedly against the upward thrusts of his pelvis before the tight muscles of her heat finally yielded to him.

Sinking all the way in to the hilt, Tom hissed loudly, earning himself a quiet scolding from her. “Quiet, or you’ll wake people up.”

He bit his lip as she rocked her hips gently, allowing herself to adjust to the intrusion. It had been a while since she’d been with anyone this intimately, and it stung slightly, though the pain was not unpleasant.

She gazed down at him, seeing the crease between his eyebrows as they furrowed against the intensity of his pleasure and the effort to stay quiet. Seeing his face contorted into such a state, even though the darkness prevented her from seeing him clearly, was enough to have her sensitive walls clenching with desire, and she took that as her prompt to begin moving in a steady rhythm, lifting up as she rocked forward, then down as she pulled back.

“Fuck…” Tom murmured under his breath, his fingers leaving indentations in the flesh of her hips.

“Does that feel good?” She asked, her voice breathless with exertion.

“Y–yeah…don’t stop.”

In that moment, none of it mattered; the sheen of sweat upon her skin, the other people asleep around them, it all faded to nothing. Her only focus became the man beneath her begging for more and the exhilarating ache each time the head of him brushed against a sensitive spot deep inside of her.

“You’re so brave, Tom, and you’re doing so well, making me feel wonderful,” she breathed, as she moved atop him.

His expression was one of utter submission and pure adoration, his eyes were glossy with pleasure, his full lips were parted. He clung to her as though he was a drowning man and she was his lifeline, and she supposed she was in a way. She served as a much needed moment of respite when all around him was fear and uncertainty.

She could feel her peak beginning to crest alongside his, his cock pulsed inside of her with each spasm of her core. She pulled off of him as white hot waves of pleasure crashed over her, stifling his groan of satisfaction with a hot, messy kiss - the first they’d shared - as she tightened repeatedly around nothing and he spilled himself across his lower abdomen.

He laid against her chest afterwards, once he’d cleaned himself up, and she cradled him to her breasts, gently ruffling his hair. A satisfied ache had settled between her thighs, and her eyelids felt heavy with tiredness.

“Will you write to me?” He asked quietly.

“If you keep your promise, Tom, then I might not know where to write to.”

He hummed quietly before falling silent.

“You will keep your promise, won’t you? You’ll speak to your dad?”

“Yeah,” he whispered back, almost thoughtfully, “I promise.”

Tom left the next day, and she didn’t see him again, though he often crossed her mind. Six months later, when she was stationed in a hospital in Paris, her heart stuttered in her chest as she looked upon the familiar, yet bruised face of a man laying unconscious in the ward she was working in. She smiled as she approached the bed and looked upon the sleeping form of Tom Bennett. He’d kept his promise. He was a hero after all.

[ana-reblogsposts]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤

fluff | Tom Riddle | ⋆.˚🦋༘⋆ | Tom Riddle Masterlist | Masterlist

SUMMARY: When Y/N’s rushed morning leaves her hair down, Tom Riddle finally gets the chance to approach her, revealing a long-kept admiration.

AUTHORS NOTE: Based on a scene I saw on tiktok from the book Bosses Secret by Serene.

The morning sun barely peeked over the towers of Hogwarts when Y/N burst out of her dormitory, running down the empty corridors, half out of breath already. She’d never woken up so late—her hair still hung loose in soft waves around her shoulders, and her robes were hastily pulled on over her uniform. She didn’t usually look like this; she was used to a neat bun or braids that framed her face perfectly. But today, she hadn’t had the time to fuss over any of that.

As she rounded a corner, clutching her bag tight to her side, she nearly collided with none other than Tom Riddle. Tall, poised, and sharp as ever in his crisp prefect’s robes, he glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. Y/N felt her cheeks warm immediately. She wasn’t sure why it had to be him she bumped into, but somehow it felt both horrifying and… oddly thrilling. This was Tom Riddle, the infamous and admired Slytherin prefect who practically commanded respect from everyone he passed, herself included.

“Sorry, Riddle,” she blurted, trying to catch her breath. She began to stammer, unable to look him in the eyes as she tugged at the sleeves of her robes, feeling entirely disheveled. “I know I’m a mess and—”

“Y/N, right?” he interrupted softly, his gaze fixed on her. Before she could finish her apology, he reached out and gently brushed his fingers through a loose curl that had fallen over her shoulder. The touch was light, and he seemed almost curious, as though it was a move he’d planned but never dared to make until now.

For a split second, she froze, her heart hammering at the unexpected closeness. His gaze softened ever so slightly as he held the lock of her hair between his fingers, studying it as if it held some kind of secret.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice lower, just for her. “You look beautiful like this, by the way.”

A surge of warmth flooded her cheeks, her eyes widening as she looked up at him, unable to find her voice. She had never seen Tom look at anyone the way he was looking at her now—intensely, yet with a touch of softness. And it was the first time he’d ever even spoken to her.

“You… you think so?” she managed, a bit taken aback.

His lips quirked into a small, rare smile as he dropped his hand back to his side. “Yes. It’s… refreshing,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “I’ve seen you every day, and yet I feel like I’m only really noticing you for the first time.”

Her heart stuttered at his words, and she couldn’t suppress a small, shy smile of her own. There was something almost surreal about this moment, standing in the empty hallway with Tom Riddle, her hair loose and unkempt, while he looked at her like she was the only person in the world.

“Well,” she said, still a little flustered, “I can’t promise I’ll look like this again.”

“Perhaps you don’t have to,” he replied smoothly. He glanced down the corridor, his usual unreadable expression flickering back into place, though his eyes still held a hint of warmth when he looked back at her. “Just… don’t rush off too quickly next time.”

And with that, he gave her one last, lingering look before turning and continuing down the hallway, leaving her standing there, her heart racing and her thoughts a chaotic, breathless blur.

[littlemissmiller]

Bird in a Cage

Part 3: His Perfect Girl

Pairing: dark!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

Summary: After your photoshoot, President Snow prepares you a bath and you get ready for dinner. With the help of the bath, some wine, and some special chocolates, you’re feeling for him have seemingly changed…

Word count: 3.3k

Warning: 21+ (drinking), smut, choking, oral (f!receiving) , nicknames (baby, good girl), semi-rough sex, use of aphrodisiacs, dark themes, toxic themes, obsession, stalking, possesion, kidnapping

A/N: hiiiii! I’m back! i know it’s been a while and i apologize it’s been a rough August/end of July, but I’m back, I’m better than ever (hopefully…) work has been killer (I’m just a lil ole tech at a hospital y’all) and i had some personal life problems…so i hope you enjoy this, i was planning on finishing Summer Highs by the end of August but we shall see. Thanks to all who have continued to support me and this account i appreciate it greatly. Much much love ♥︎

Series Masterlist

༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚

After you finish up the photoshoot, you’re whisked away to your bedroom. As you enter, the aroma of rose petals and chamomile fills the air. It’s hot and steamy and you peak into the bathroom as you walk in. You look around the room and on top of the bed sits a rose gold, silk robe and another letter. Only ce the maid closes the door you pick up the letter and read it.

My dear,

I was able to see the photos from today. You are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. Absolutely stunning. You will look just as beautiful at dinner, I’m sure. Freshen up. Your bath is ready.

- C.S.

You sigh and once again remember that he can see you. You take a deep breath, the enchanting scent of the room flooding your senses. He wasn’t wrong. After sleeping on the floor all night, then modeling all day, you did feel sore in places. You take the robe and waltz into the bathroom. The porcelain tub is steaming and the water is littered with rose petals. Next to it, a small table, with a flute of champagne and three chocolates wrapped in gold foil. You test the temperature with your hand. The warmth is so inviting, you can’t resist. He’s even laid out a towel for you at the edge of the bath and had candles lit. It’s romantic in a way.

You strip off your dress, letting it fall to the ground and sink in. You submerge into the hot water and let out a soft sigh. It envelops you like a warm blanket, unwinding your knots, aches, and pains. You feel an immense wave of relaxation wash over you. You pick up the flute of champagne and sip. The bubbles dance on your lip and down your throat. It’s delicious, delicate, and lulls you further into a calm state of mind. The warmth of the tub encompasses you, melts your thoughts away. Maybe you could get used to things here for a bit.

Maybe this isn’t so bad

You think to yourself and your mind drifts off to President Snow of all people. You take another deep breath in and reflect on lunch. You’re torn. For the first time since being here, you feel like you’re noticing how handsome he is in person. You had seen him in pictures and on TV counetless times, always admiring the handsome young blonde. Before the gala, it was fair to say you were attracted to him, how could you not. He was one of the most handsome men in all of Panem and for most people completely unattainable. Yet, being his prisoner had put a slight bad taste in your mouth about him, an eerie feeling you can’t seem to shake.

The bath is helping however, and it’s hard to feel that sense of unease, when the water is so comfortable. You bite your lip, letting out a long sigh. Soon you would be with him, accompanying him at dinner. But now the thought of it doesn’t sound so bad. A nice meal, some wine, it truly sounds inviting. You take another sip of champagne and start to feel the buzz. You haven’t been this pampered in a while, despite your modeling career.

After a few more minutes soaking in the tub, you get out, take the towel, and wrap it around your body. Once you're dried off you put the robe on. When you exit your room you nearly forget he can watch you, but you seem to care as much. You had finished your champagne and was not just tipsy, but drunk off the aromas and warmth of your bath.

When you walk back into the bedroom there is a new outfit on your bed. It’s your dress. The red dress from the night of the gala. It’s an elegant red silk, with an across the shoulder cut and a slit that stops at your upper thigh. A pair of black heels lay at the foot of the bed and you recognize them as the same ones from that night as well. Along with the dress, he has given you a new accessory. A heavy, thick, silver, chain necklace. It’s intimidating, but nonetheless you take it back into the bathroom and change. You take time to also fix up your hair and makeup, despite having little tools to make your hair look nice. Once you feel you look your absolute best, you exit the bathroom and knock on the door. The maid opens it up, smiles and escorts you out of the room, along with the guards. They lead you back to the dining room this morning, where Coriolanus is looking out the window, sipping on a glass of red wine. The maid shuts the door and he turns around. He’s changed since you’ve last seen him. He now stands before you in a pair of dark, blood red slacks, and vest on top of his crisp white button up. He smiles and walks over to you, his black dress shoes creating an echo in the room.

“Hello my dear, you look incredible.”

“Thank you, President Snow.”

“Please, come sit” he gestures to the dining table.

You obey and take a seat.

“How was your bath?”

“Very nice. I haven’t felt that relaxed in a while.”

“Is that so? I would think a women in your career would have that sort of pampering in her schedule red” He remarks

“Not necessarily. That’s all things they expect me to do in my own time and that’s not always easy. Especially when the Capitol is always having a new trend to keep up with.”

“You can tell me twice, our citizens seem to change their mind about what’s popular quite often. It makes planning for the games challenging in some ways.”

“Because they want a good show?”

“Exactly, my smart girl”

Your core can’t help but burn slightly at the nickname and you bite your lower lip without meaning to. He smirks at your actions and pours you a glass of wine. You take it from him and take a sip.

“You like that don’t you. Being called my smart girl…”

“I-I don’t unwelcome it…”

“Good. I’ll keep that in mind. Tell me? Did you enjoy the photoshoot as well?”

“I did. I’ve always enjoyed modeling, despite how taxing the hours can be.”

“I’m glad. You truly did look stunning in those photos. I’ll make sure you see them tomorrow.”

You nod your head and take another sip of wine.

“You smell wonderful by the way. There’s more of that to come. Just so you know.”

“More baths?”

“More everything. Baths, clothes, pampering, and…” he holds out his hand, expecting you to take it. You do, without hesitation this time.

“Being treated like the gorgeous creature you are” he kisses your knuckles

“Can I ask you a question?”

He tilts his head and anticipates your response.

“You said you had something for me. If today went well”

“Ah! I do! I’ll show you after dinner” he kisses your knuckles again, smiling.

There is a brief moment of silence, before two avoxes come out with a charcuterie board and two plates. Coriolanus once again pays them no mind as they serve you, leaving a set of plates as well. You go to thank them, but he squeezes your hand.

“That’s not necessary, my dear” he kisses your hand one last time, before releasing it.

You nod to show you understand, then take some cheese and cured meat from the board.

“So what’s after dinner?”

“I thought a night walk would be nice. Get some fresh air then I’ll be taking you to my chambers.”

“To your bedroom?”

“Mhmm” he nods taking some cheese and crackers “and if you want, you can stay with me in my bed tonight…would you like that?”

“T-to sleep with you.”

He nods and smiles.

“Just sleep?”

“If that’s all you want…”

You nervously sip your wine, to afraid to answer. You look away for a moment then look back. He’s still anticipating your response, a curious look spread across his face.

“What do you want?”

He smiles and reaches for your hand again. You takes it and he squeezed it.

“My dear, I want whatever you want. If you want me to bed you properly, I will…”

“But my wants aside, what do you truly have in mind…”

He pauses for a moment, kisses your knuckles, before releasing your hand, taking another bite of cheese, and swallowing it with his wine. He leans back and eyes your body.

“You truly wish to know…”

You nod vigorously.

“Well a beautiful woman such as yourself deserves to be shown how beautiful you are. And not just with nice clothes and a hot bath.” He smirks

“With what then?” You ask

“Let me ask you, when’s the last time you slept with a man?”

You feel a slow heat creep up your face. How could he be so bold and brash towards you? Then again this is President Snow.

“I-well…it’s been a while.”

“Longer than a year?”

“Less than.”

“Did he make you shake, tremble? Make you forget your own name and replace it with his?”

“N-n-no, President Snow”

“Ever?”

“No. I’ve never had a man do that to me. Usually I…” you start, his inquisitive gaze stopping your thoughts.

“Go on” he encourages

“I usually don’t focus on my own pleasure and neither does the other person”

“Is that so?” He grins

You nod anxiously, tucking a hair behind your ear.

“Would you like that? If a man made sure you felt satisfied?”

You shift in your seat. The heat starts to rise from in between your legs and the handsome young face of the president is now ever more apparent. A gentle smirk lays across his face, as if he’s back to being a school boy who answered the professor’s question right over everyone else. The type of look that puts you right in your place. You bite your lip and glance down for a moment. You shift in your seat again, hiding your emotions behind your wine glass.

“Look at you. You do, don’t you? You’ve never been properly touched by a man. They take from you and never give. I don’t like to take things without giving back. Especially when it comes to my need to please a woman such as yourself.”

“I-I just always felt like that’s how it goes.” You admit

“Maybe for the boys you’ve been with. Most men want to make sure their women are good and satisfied. A man like myself, that’s what I love most. I crave it to a degree.” He explains

“So I take it you’ve satisfied many women in Panem?”

“I’ve been known to. Part of why my staff wants me to find a wife. And I’ll admit, I would like to find someone to have as my own. Have you ever been in love?”

You’re once again taken back by his boldness, sipping your wine before answering.

“Once, a few years ago…” you whisper tentatively.

“And not even he treated you how you deserve?”

“No, that’s why we broke up. Because I felt neglected and he didn’t see a problem.”

You look directly at the handsome blonde, and he peers at you, mouth slightly agape, as if he had been horribly offended. His breath hitches as he downs the last of his wine furiously. He sets the glass down and pours himself another.

“I promise, as long as you’re in my care, I won’t neglect you like that. You’ll never feel like that if you become my First Lady. Ever. Do you understand?”

“Yes, President Snow”

You and him move past the topic and into polite conversation. He asks you about how you got into modeling, what you like about it, what you hate. He seems interested in you and your life, nodding along and continuing to sip his wine. Eventually, dinner is served and it once again looks amazing. It looks like a white sauce pasta at first, but on closer examination there are elements to it you don’t immediately recognize.

“I see you’re making a face. It’s a truffle pasta. You can’t even get this in any restaurant in the capital. That’s how rare they are now. I only have chef make it for specific occasions.”

“And what’s the occasion tonight?”

“You. To our first dinner together.” He raises his glass and smiles.

You nod and tentatively smile back, raising your glass and clinking it against your own. You take a bite and immediately let out a soft moan. It’s so savory and rich. The sauce is so flavorful, and creamy. It has a garlic like taste to it, savory with a hint of umami to it.

“It’s delicious.” You utter

“Glad you think so.”

You both eat and enjoy the meal in front of you, talking little and focusing on the flavors. It truly is one of the best dishes you’ve had and you’re not sure how’ll his chef continue to outdo himself. You take your time to eat, the young president occasionally tossing you a glance and smirking to himself. He’s all too amused by your satisfaction with the meal. He loves how pleased you look and is tempted to now see you pleased in a different light. You notice his reaction, and try not to feel so small. You hate how he watches you and try to focus on your food.

Eventually, you both finish and there is an awkward moment of silence as the avoxes clear away the plates.

“Would you care to join me in the garden?

You nod and he smiles. He stands up, taking his wine glass, and you follow suit. He takes your hand and guides you out of the room. You slowly walk out to the garden, holding his hand the entire way. He continues to look back at you, giving you a devious smile each time. He can’t help but let his eyes trail over your bare legs and chest. He can’t help but imagine how the rest of your beautiful figure looks and he intends to find out soon.

As he leads you away, you look out onto the garden, which is now lit up by various lights on the pavement and in the rose bushes.

“It’s beautiful out here at night too.”

“Isn’t it?” He squeezed your hand.

He guides you down the stairs and surrounds you in the green and white lush of the rose bushes. He leads you around, walking back to where you and him hand lunch.

“I’d like to see more of the garden this evening if possible?” You request sounding innocent, but you keep your goals of escaping in the back of your mind.

“Of course. But I have something for you here.”

He guides you to the spot where you had lunch, the chairs and table gone and replaced by a single, tall standing iron table with a box on it and a small silver tray covered up next to it. You look at it curiously and he momentarily drops your hand and picks up the box.

“Turn around.” He instructs softly

You obey

“Close your eyes and push your hair back.” You nod and follow his instructions once again.

You hear the box open and then the sound of something metal clinging slightly. You have a good idea of what it is now. He approaches you with careful footsteps. Coriolanus stands confidently behind you, clutching the jewelry in his hand. Slowly, your chin is tilted up by his fingers, his hot breath fanning the shell of your ear. He unhooks the chain from around your neck and slides it into his pocket.

“You can keep that one of you want, but I have something far more beautiful.” He whispers

You shutter as he wraps a new necklace around your neck, followed by his hand under your jaw, kissing behind your earlobe.

“Turn around. Open your eyes, beautiful.”

You do as he says. You touch the new necklace and look down at it. It’s a golden rose, and it lays horizontally against your chest. You look at him doe eyed, speechless. Coriolanus grips your chin, forcing your face to look at his. He smirks. Coriolanus wants desperately to kiss you, but he knows now is not the moment. He strokes your face gently, then turns behind and uncovers the platter next to the box. Two chocolate truffles sit on the plate and he takes it, putting it in front of you.

“It’s the finest chocolate I have at the palace. Chef wants you to test out his new recipe. It’s different from the ones you had with your bath.”

He holds the chocolate to you and you part your lips and bite, as he slides the piece into your mouth. He trails his thumb across your bottom lip and to the corner of your mouth. He then licks the excess chocolate from his thumb, his tongue trailing a long, broad stripe.

“Mmm” the blonde moans “you can taste the hints of orange.” He remarks, taking the other piece.

“It is very good.”

“I should tell you this chocolate contains a few interesting ingredients.” He remarks

“Like what?”

“Nothing unusual or man made, just some natural elements. Since chocolate is already…a boost to…” he starts “certain needs…and desires” he says, popping the other truffle into his mouth.

“Will I feel…different”

“Not like a drug no, but you may feel more inclined to want to do something about how you feel.”

He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles.

“You look so pretty out in the moonlight.”

“Thank you Mr. President.”

He smiles at you and you continue to follow him through the garden. He walks you down a path leading to more greenery and bushes. Then the path opens up into a cleared out area with a grand marble fountain. On top of the fountain was a sculpture of a woman, the symbol of Panem. Water flows from the top of her head and back into the fountain

“I’ve always liked this part of the garden. The fountain. What it represents.”

You look at the fountain and walk to it. You look inside and look at images of all the symbols engraved into the base. Coal, lumber, grains, all the resources from the districts. You look at it and realize that the same water flowing out is the same as the water in the base. You slowly put the pieces together of what it means.

“The Flow of Panem. It was built for the last president. In all honesty I want to move it so it’s more front and center.”

“Explain it to me.” You ask, even though you got the idea. You know it will fuel his ego, make him trust you more so hopefully he’ll show you around and then you can really plan an escape.

He smiles and looks at it, tilting his head.

“The base flows into the statue and the statue spits the water back out on the base. The base provides for the statue and the statue gives back.”

You nod and he holds out his hand again and you take it. As he continues to guide you around, you admire how the flowers look under the glow of the lights and moonlight. He finally takes you back inside and at this point you’re holding onto this arm. He loves how you cling to him and by now you’re both feeling the effects of the chocolate. You look up at him and give a soft smile. As you step into the palace he leads you to his bedroom, and a new feeling washes over you.

His bedroom is similar to the rest of the aesthetic of the palace. There is a small area for guests to sit in front of a fireplace. Off to the side, in front of the large window looking out, sits a small desk. You glance around at the many portraits of his family and depictions of younger versions of him. Next to the desk is a spiraling staircase that must lead to his bedroom. In the sitting area, a table stands with another chilled bottle of red wine. Coriolanus invites you to join him by the fire and you do, following him. You lean against the mantel and he gets some more wine, picking up the bottle. He walks towards you, refilling your glass and you thank him. He puts the bottle on the mantle and looks at you with great interest.

“You’re welcome” he whispers, brushing your cheek with his forefinger. “Your skin is so warm here by the fire.”

“So are your fingers” you breathe

You look at him, eyes connected to his own and a small wave of lust washes over you. He trails his touch down to your jaw, holding your chin delicately. He smirks and tilts his head.

“It makes me wonder, where else are you hot?”

He sets his glass next to the bottle and places his other hand on your waist. You set your glass down as well, as his touch begins to light up your body. His thumb brushes your hip and thighs, grazing under the slit of your dress. You gasp at his actions and lightly grip his bicep. He trails his thumb across your bottom lip, then tilts your face to fully look at him. Coriolanus sighs, his blue eyes beckoning for your full attention. You can see how full of need he is. How badly he wants to kiss you, but is waiting for your permission. You flutter your lashes at him slowly, looking at his tempting lips. Your body is begging for you to give in and finally you do. You can’t help it. He’s so handsome, the light from the fire shadowing his features perfectly, causing your head to stir. You kiss him, slowly, carefully.

His breath hitches and he moves his hand to cup your face. He continues to kiss you, moving his mouth with your own slow pace. He doesn’t want to frighten you. In fact, the exact opposite. He finally has you how he wants to and now he’s desperate for more. His lips are so unexpectedly soft and tender, a complete opposite in comparison to his normal demeanor. You continue to kiss him, finding yourself wanting more. Your body continues to betray you as a slow heat creeps up your skin, starting in between your legs.

You pull back with a gasp, almost taken aback but own actions. A greedy smile curls up on his lips. He cups your face and strokes it carefully with his thumb.

“So perfect. Makes me want more of you, my angel”

He leans in to kiss your cheek, then trails it down to your jawline, and then your neck.

“Can I mark you?” He growls

You nod breathlessly and he sucks on your soft flesh. He’s starting to become more and more animalistic with his actions, finding it hard to restrain himself. He pushes your neck further against his mouth and tilts your head back. The heat in between your legs is now becoming sensitive as your core is now throbbing for him. You bet you’ll be soaked by the time he finally takes you. His lips leave another mark on the other side of your neck and he pulls back to admire his work. Satisfied, he traces the marks with his fingertips and looks into your eyes.

“Would you like to continue this in my bed?”

You nod, almost surprised at your reaction. He guides you and picks up his wine glass.

“Take your wine.” He insists

You nod and follow him up the stairs leading to his bedroom. Once up and inside, you briefly look around. It’s clear he likes to keep the aesthetic of the palace consistent and his bedroom reflects that. It’s a relatively plain room. A single king bed, with white sheets, lays against the right side of the room. It has a delicate, hand carved wooden canopy that sits above it, making the bed look cozy and inviting.

He turns to look at you and sips his wine. He once again touches your neck and smirks.

“Finish your glass. It will help the chocolate work better.”

“Why is that?” You ask

“Wine can have a similar effect as those chocolates. They can both help you feel…like you want to give into your needs.”

You take a sip as instructed and look at him straight in his eyes as you do.

“So that’s what the chocolates were then. A boost for…”

“One’s natural desires, yes.” He sips his wine finishing it.

You finish yours as well and he guides you to his bed. You sit and he takes your glass, along with his own, from you, putting them on his nightstand. He returns back to you, sitting next to you. He cups your face again, letting his other hand part your legs slightly.

“I have a feeling you didn’t even need the chocolate though. Hmm?”

“I-I won’t lie, before I came here, I did always admire you.” You admit, despite your need to escape, you once again feel torn, especially now that he’s about to take you fully.

“Yes, tell me more”

“I mean, when I would see you on TV or in the papers, I had thoughts.”

“Mhmm, where I’m doing what I’m doing to you.”

His hands trail more slowly, continuing to part your legs, fingers dancing on your bare thigh.

“Yes, Mr. President”

“Mmm” he hums “have I ever told you how pretty you sound talking to me like that. I love how right it sounds.”

“It’s your title is it not?”

“It is. But you are careful and respectful about using it. You have no idea how different you are. How special. How much it means to hear you say my name like that.”

You watch him as he now gropes your thigh. He turns your chin and kisses you again. He sighs against you, slowly lowering you onto his bed. He doesn’t crawl on top of you however, yet he simply lays by your side, strokes your hair and continues to kiss you. He revels in having you on his bed like this, a sight he’s waited for ever since he first took you to his home. Time and patience had proved him right once again. You spread your legs some more and he moans against your mouth. He pulls back, resting his lips against yours

“Getting needy?”

You nod, and he bites and pulls at your bottom lip causing you to moan.

“Do you like getting eaten out?”

You nod vigorously and he slides his hand under your dress through the slit, grabbing your panties and sliding them down. He chuckles as he goes back to feel your wetness.

“You’re dripping.” He rubs your core slowly, gently “I need to taste you.”

“Please…” you beg

He lets out a low, sinister chuckle as he starts to kiss down your body. Your dress is still on, yet you can still feel the pressure of his lips through the fabric. He finally reaches your thigh, inching down to nestle himself in between them. He drags your dress up past your hips and admires your exposed slit. He looks at you as he rubs it again. You can’t help but moan and clutch the bed sheets. He watches you beginning to writhe under his touch and he truly loves the sight before him. Then he dives in, his tongue giving your core a curious kiss, then a long, broad lick. You shutter and buck your hips. He holds them down, going back in with more conviction. His mouth is so soft and wet against you and you can tell he’s quite experienced in this area. You're not sure how many girls he’s taken home or went to bed with, but he sure knows how to make you feel like the most special woman in the world. Like a man starved, he eats you like it’s his last meal. His mouth envelops your pussy, licking and sucking on your clit with great attention. You can tell he loves it too. Loves to taste women like this. Get all up in it and devour them. Especially you and your perfect pussy. And you taste so divine.

As he continues to lap at you, you continue to struggle against his touch, hips wanting to still buck and legs beginning to shake. You moan over and over and over again. You can’t help but also moan out his name, telling him how good it feels. His hands hook under your thighs as he pushes his face in further to your folds. You’re so sensitive, so needy, dripping and throbbing from your heat. He pokes his tongue through your slit and fucks you with his mouth. Despite his best efforts, your hips buck up over and over again. You squirm at his touch, you’ve never had a man do that to you before. The sensation is incredible and you feel completely lost under the spell of his mouth.

Coriolanus is reveling in your lust. Your whimpers and moans are so sweet rolling past your lips. He wants you to be loud. He wants you to enjoy yourself. He wants to know how much you want him. Let the whole palace hear it too.

“That's it beautiful, let it all out. Let me hear those pretty little noises”

He goes back to your core practically drowning in your wetness and he gives you a few last swipes with his tongue. He kisses your slit then pulls back. He gets greedy, letting his fingers pick up the work from his tongue. He’s so passive, almost experimental, as he plays with your clit. Then, he slides a finger in and then another. You moan and watch him. He sits up on his knees, placing his hands on your pelvis. He curls them up and pushes them in and out of your core. He finds a good rhythm and speeds up. You gasp in pleasure, his fingers working you up so much you feel like you might explode. He speeds up again, changing his hand from a curling motion to a rapid up and down pace. You clench his forearm and flop your head back onto the mattress. He can tell you’re close, your slick, gummy walls wrapping around his fingers like a vice. He watches you, your expression, your pretty face scrunching up. He pulls back just as you know you’re going to finish, he pulls his hand away. You whine at the loss, but your attention is won over by his actions. Coriolanus smirks as he undoes his belt.

“Take that dress off sweet thing.”

You nod and shimmy out of it. He pulls it down and off your body. He gasps at your naked figure, taking in the sight laid across his bed. He sighs, palming himself through his pants as he simultaneously palms your breast with one hand. He pulls his pants down, leaving his boxers on. He rubs himself slowly, gawking at you and admiring how gorgeous you are.

“Look at you, so beautiful like this.”

He leans down and kisses your jawline sloppily. He rocks his hips against your pelvis.

“I really, really want you…” he growls

“Then take me” you moan back, your whiny voice sounding oh so desperate.

He smirks to himself, pulling his boxers down. His cock springs out, hard and ready. He strokes it in his hand, watching you and occasionally glancing down at it.

“Touch yourself.” He commands

You nod, biting your lip and gently rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves in between your legs. You rub slowly and watch him as he pumps his length. A satisfied smile sets in on his lips and he moves his hips closer. He leans down, kisses you and then, slowly pushes in. You moan against his mouth, pull away, and gasp as he bottoms out. He feels so big and full inside you. He slowly moves, grunts falling from his lips as he picks up the pace. Your hand falls away and finds his biceps. His hot breath fans your face as he rocks into you and he eventually captures your lips with his own. Cupping your face and keeping his movements consistent, you feel a slow wave of pleasure beginning to build. He pushes your leg up towards your chest, giving him better access to you. You look down at where he’s entered you and whimper. Watching his cock move in you like this has you drowning in ecstasy. He notices how mesmerized you are and wraps his hand around your neck.

“You’re hypnotized by it aren’t you? Tell me do you want more?”

You nod fervently and he chokes you tighter.

“Let me hear you. Tell me.”

“I need more. Please sir.” You croak

“Good girl.”

He speeds up, his hips getting faster and faster. Coriolanus slams into you, your body moving in sync with his rough rhythm. Your whimpers fill the room and the young president revels in your satisfaction, committing your sweet sounds and noises to memory. He continues to have a tight grip on your throat, almost cutting off your air, but you can still breathe. He stares into your eyes, his lust flooding your soul. He kisses you harshly, lips wasting no time to taste you. He prods his tongue in, swirling it with your own. You can’t help but moan, his hand moving to clench your jaw. He pulls back to look at you again. He looks down in between your legs, then back at you. He snakes his hand down to swirl your clit. He rubs the sensitive bundle of nerves, causing your hips to buck.

“That’s it. Show me how much you enjoy this. Just let go baby. Allow yourself to enjoy this pleasure I’m giving you.”

“Yes sir, thank you Mr. President”

“You’re so welcome my dear.” He kisses you again “My good” he groans “obedient…” he thrusts into you “girl.”

He ruts into you, lips still sealed on your own. Your own hands have settled on his back, holding onto him like a bear gripping a tree. The more he moves, you can feel you’re about to explode. Coriolanus picks up on it too, and gives you several purposeful thrusts to trigger your high. And he does. You clench around his cock, letting out a desperate cry of relief. Your legs shake and quiver, and you a series of cuss words flow from your mouth.

“That’s it.. Let it out. Dirty girl, it feels so good doesn’t it.”

He can feel himself getting close too, riding off the wave of your own climax.

“I’m going to cum too baby.” He warns “It’s ok, don't worry about taking it..”

You whine in protest at first, but then you feel it. His white, hot, cum shooting into you, hitting your cervix. Coriolanus slowly rests his hips, letting all of himself spill into you. He feels so satisfied, loving how fucked out you look as he pulls out. He watches the cum roll past your folds, down your ass and leg. He licks the pad of his thumb and trails it up your legs. He shoves it back at you then holds his thumb to your lips. You part them and he nods. You suck on his thumb and he moans, appreciating the sight in front of him.

“You’re so perfect. So gorgeous. You’ll stay with me tonight .”

You nod. It wasn’t an ask, but rather a command. You lick your bottom lip and then bite it.

“I’ll get you a towel and your nightwear. I’ll be back soon, don’t worry I’ll come hold you so you can fall asleep.” He whispers, kissing your cheek.

He crawls off the bed and heads to his bathroom to get you a towel. You lay back, wanting to cover yourself since you’re suddenly more cold. You spot a throw blanket at the edge of the bed and reach for it. You wrap up in it and wait for him to return. You rest your eyes and fold your hands under your head for support. You feel calm, relaxed, and truly satisfied as well. It’s like he’s put a spell on you, not drugging you per se, but you can feel that after tonight, your feelings about this situation have shifted.

When he returns, he cleans you up, then helps change you into a pink, satin sleepwear set, with a lacy top and bottoms to match.

“So sexy. Here.” he holds them out to you and you also see he’s holding a small silver tray with a pill on it.

“This will keep you from getting pregnant. I’ll get you a water”

He walks off, taking your empty wine glass with him. He comes back shortly, the glass now filled with water. He hands it to you, watching you closely as you swallow the contraceptive. You hand him the glass and he sets it down. You just now notice he’s shirtless and in just a pair of boxers as he crawls into bed. You move under the sheets as he lays the comforter over your body.

“Are you comfortable, too warm, too cold?” He asks

“I’m comfortable…” you murmur, slowly lulling into sleep.

Coriolanus settles in next to you, his hips slightly grinding into your ass as he pulls you closer to him, flush against his chest. He places small delicate kisses behind your ear and sighs into you.

“You realize how perfect you are. How perfect tonight has been?”

“Thank you Mr. President. It has been fantastic.” You agree

He turns your chin, kissing you firmly on the mouth.

“You can call me Coriolanus right now. Say it. Tell me what I want to hear.”

“It was perfect Coriolanus.”

꧁🝮꧂

Next Chapter

[corioswife]

hey, bestie! I love your writing, it's just a chef kiss mwah! If I can request a fic! Imagine the reader being kinda of a femme fatale, and popular with her peers because of her beauty. -Coriolanus develops a puppy crush on her when he sees her in the halls, but one day the reader notices him, and talks to him, and after that, he's lovestruck and slowly becomes obsessed with her. Leaving cute notes and flowers at her locker and letters. The rest of the story, you can control and write.

The reader is like Jennifer from Jennifer's body but ignore the succubus part.

thank you love, i love this req sm! 🎀 i tried my best to capture everything as my fics aren’t usually too long !! nsfw 18+ skip if uncomfortable

Coriolanus Snow x Femme Fatal!Reader

Coriolanus Snow, the undeniably charming student at Capitol University, couldn't keep his eyes off of you. He was smitten with your beauty and the alluring way you carried yourself, captivating everyone with your grace and presence.

As the days passed, Coriolanus grew bolder and began leaving cute notes and flowers at your locker, hoping to catch your attention. His heart raced every time he thought of you, and he found himself losing focus during classes, consumed by thoughts of you.

One day, you finally notice him. He's sitting alone in the library, head buried in a book, looking oh-so-adorable. You walk up to him, feeling the weight of your beauty and charm, and strike up a conversation.

You engage in a casual conversation with him, unaware of the effect you're having on him. The more you talk, the more infatuated he becomes. His heart races, and he struggles to maintain eye contact as his thoughts wander towards intimate scenarios involving the two of you.

As the conversation continues, You sense something different about Coriolanus. His eyes are brighter, his voice is softer, and he seems a bit flustered. You sense his longing and desire, and a spark of curiosity ignites within you.

You continue to engage with him, teasing and flirting, unaware of the depth of his affection for you. As the conversation deepens, so does his passion, and he finds himself struggling to keep his desires in check.

Coriolanus is on the verge of confessing his feelings for you, but something holds him back. He wants to express his love, but is too shy and self-conscious. He's torn between his desire for you and his fear of rejection.

Unbeknownst to Coriolanus, you start to feel a strange connection with him. His shyness and hesitation only serve to heighten your curiosity about him. As the conversation winds down, you find yourself wanting more from this enigmatic individual who has captured your attention so thoroughly.

Unbeknownst to Coriolanus, you start to feel a strange connection with him. His shyness and hesitation only serve to heighten your curiosity about him. As the conversation winds down, you find yourself wanting more from this enigmatic individual who has captured your attention so thoroughly.

As the night comes to a close, Coriolanus finally finds the courage to confess his feelings for you. His voice trembles slightly as he tries to find the words to express himself, but finally, he blurts out, " I'm in love with you. "

You stare at Coriolanus, barely able to believe what you're hearing. You are deeply moved by his honesty and vulnerability, and you find yourself falling for him even deeper.

" I'm falling for you too " you whisper, your heart racing in anticipation of what might come next. As the two of you stand there in the silence of the night, you realize that your lives have just irrevocably changed.

The two of you embrace, your bodies pressing together as you share a tender kiss. You can feel the heat and desire radiating off of him, and you know that this moment will be one you'll cherish forever.

" My room is just upstairs " Coriolanus whispers into your ear. His voice is hoarse with desire, and you can't help but shiver at the thought of what might happen next.

As the two of you make your way upstairs, the anticipation and desire building within you both is almost unbearable. The door to your room closes behind you, and the two of you are finally alone together.

Coriolanus kisses you deeply, his tongue seeking entry into your mouth as his hands roam over your body. Heat surges through you as he pushes you against the door, pinning you there with his strength and desire.

You moan into the kiss, arching your back against him. Your fingers tangle in his hair as you pull him closer, needing more of his touch. The feeling of his skin against yours is electrifying, sending shockwaves of pleasure through every inch of your being.

As if he's reading your mind, Coriolanus's hands begin to explore the most intimate parts of your body. His fingers dance over your sensitive skin, teasing and tantalizing until you're ready to beg for more.

Finally, Coriolanus moves his mouth from your lips to your neck, kissing and nipping at your skin as his fingers continue their journey. You gasp and arch your neck into his mouth, wanting more of his touch. This is a feeling unlike anything you've ever known before.

You gasp as Coriolanus undoes his pants, freeing his aching erection. He positions himself between your legs, his eyes locked onto yours as he slowly positions against your entrance.

" Please " you whisper, your voice trembling with need. " I want you. "

Coriolanus pulls back, only to thrust forcefully inside you, hitting your sweet spot with a force that steals your breath.

His fingers digging into your hips, his mouth trailing kisses down your neck, his hips moving in a punishing rhythm that drives you to the brink.

" Come for me " he demands. Your body shudders, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your name, a moaned plea, falls from his lips as he feels your walls clenching around him.

" Coriolanus... " You whisper his name, your voice hoarse from the intensity of the moment. He groans, his body shuddering as he releases himself into you, filling you completely.

[little-annie]

It's in the kitchen of their shitty little 1.5 bedroom apartment that Eddie Munson continues to bemoan his roommates request for him to watch the 2024 Olympic Games with her this evening.

“Christine Henrietta Cunningham,” he starts with a sigh, wiping the reminentes of yet another YooHoo from his upper lip, leaning a narrow hip against the countertop's edge, “there is no way in hell you are getting me to watch the Olympics.”

Already wearing her team USA sweater, Chrissy tries to protest. Just as she did last night and the night before. For some reason thinking it's such a dire thing that Eddie watches the Olympics this year.

“First of all, not my middle name. Second-”

“You would literally have to glue my eyeballs open.”

“Second-” she tries again, voice stern, pointing a yellowed spoon in Eddie's direction as she dishes up a bowl of Kraft Dinner for them both.

“There is not now, nor will there ever be, any reason for me to watch juiced up jocks prance around and play any form of sportsball.”

There's so many reasons. Christ. Fuck. So many. But he's not telling Chrissy that. He'll watch the reruns when she's not home. He couldn't possibly be caught dead after last time.

“What about the swim-”

“Not even Gandalf himself,” Eddie interrupts, “-could convince me to waste my precious campaign planning time on such a thing.”

Following Chrissy to the living room, bowl of macaroni in hand, Eddie refuses to sit down next to her on the couch. He's not going to watch. Nope. Maybe sneak a peak in passing? Sure. But not watch. Are you kidding me?

“What a about To-”

The metal spoon that was once in Eddie's hand chatters to the floor as he mock gasps. Neon yellow noodles on the tile that the cat comes running over to clean up, Eddie stands in abject horror. She wouldn't dare.

“Don't you dare say what I think you're about to say, Christine. My 2020 not obsession with Tom Daley shan't be spoken of. It was merely a blip in the system. A glitch in the matrix.”

He still thinks Tom Daley can get it. But that's neither here nor there. And what is there, is simply between Eddie and the well used bottle of lotion next to his bed.

Chrissy rolls her eyes, now sitting with her legs crossed on their ugly ass thrifted couch, patting the cushion next to her as if Eddie's a dog. “Eddie you literally watched every one of his ra-”

Races?

“I did not.”

Okay maybe we wanted to. Who wouldn't? But it's not like he obsessively watched every one of the man's races.

“... I missed two.” He admits Inna whisper.

And what a sheer travesty that'd had been

“Oh yeah. You missed two. Oh Edward, how could I forget?” After patting the cushion mindlessly next to her again and eating a spoonful of macaroni she faux whines, “‘Oh Chrissy, would you record the race for me? I don't want to miss it.’”

He doesn't sound like that.

“I do not sound lik-”

All pathetic and whiney? Eddie Munson doesn't sound like that.

“As if I would believe you actually gave two shits about the races you giant homo.” Chrissy rolls her eyes so hard Eddie's surprised she doesn't hurt her neck, “You just liked seeing those boys in spandex.”

Well…. She's not wrong. Sports are dumb. People playing sports for money is dumb. What the Olympics does to those cities in the aftermath of the event is dumb.

But she's not wrong.

Spandex

“…. I hate you”

“No you don't.” She smiles, blowing Eddie a kiss.

“Um. Yes I do.”

As if he could ever hate Chrissy.

Avoiding making eye contact with her as she continues to pat the cushion next to her and turning heel towards the hall, Eddie decides maybe it's just best to eat his supper in his room. Away from jockey spandex and its temptations, “Anyways. As I was saying. Fuck you and your jocky hobbies Chrissy.” Eddie yells from the hall, “My time is far too valuable to be wasted mindlessly drooling over arrogant jocks and their-”

In a sing-songy voice Eddie hears Chrissy call from behind him, “You're gonna want to watch this!”

He groans, turning back around from the journey he'd just started in the direction of his room, “I would rather di-” only to be caught short when a familiar mole dotted, spandex covered ass makes its way across his TV screen.

He'd recognize that ass anywhere.

Went to every goddamn swim meet at the stupid community pool to see that beautiful ass in motion for years.

He fawned over it in the halls of Hawkins High.

Drooled over it on the odd days he actually attended gym class. Tried to solely avoid eye contact with it when he found it bare and within reach in the change rooms only an hour later.

Fuck.

Eddie's knees feel weak and before he knows it he's climbing over the back of the couch, bowl of macaroni in his lap and mirroring Chrissy's position. Legs crossed. Eyes glued to the TV. Mindlessly eating chemicals that some big corporation somehow manages to pass off as macaroni and cheese.

“Is that Steve Harrington?”

Oh look at those moles.

Beautiful.

Those pecs?

Fucking hell.

“Christine!?” Eddie screeches from his position on the couch when Chrissy doesn't answer, just simply shrugs and smirks at him. The little devil. “Did I just see Harrington?”

“Told you, you'd want to see this.”

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Promise Woven in Silk

18/12: Letters & Lingerie Kink - Tom Bennett Word Count: 2.1k~ | Warnings: suggestive letters, masturbation (m), p in v sex A/N: thanks to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for checking my Tom Bennett was cunty enough 🤭

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

Tom couldn't wait to be off this fucking boat.

It was a sort of slum in motion, but with the threat of being killed or drowned.

He made his own fun, practically forcing people's hands into betting on the day his canary laid an egg, pissing off the commanding officer and choosing rather colourful language when he was speaking to people of a higher rank than him. Not like he gave a shit.

But he only did those things because he was Tom.

It didn't make him really happy.

The only thing that managed to pull a smile to his face were letters with her handwriting on the front.

It felt wrong to call her a sweetheart so to speak. After all, at first there was no expectation of anything deeper, not wanting to get involved in something so trivial before he decided to disappear abroad. But it was exactly that expectation that drew him to her.

She wasn't desperate and needy. And yes, he'd tease her for it, but she was so fiercely independent, she turned her nose up at how a woman should conventionally act towards someone she liked.

He loved her for that.

He leapt onto the top bunk, checking the room was clear before pulling the sealed letter from his pocket, the paper slightly crumpled with her swirly feminine handwriting decorating the front.

Dearest Tom,

I hope you are settling into navy life well and are not causing too much trouble for the people who have the displeasure of being around you all day and night. 

He smirked. She knew him too well.

As I write this, my stomach flutters at the thought of your upcoming shore leave. I have been entirely too impatient to not tell you that I have concealed a great secret from you, one I should hope you will be pleased to uncover upon your return to me.

Picture me, with delicate lace trimming framing the curves of my body, meant for your eyes only of course. The fabric, as smooth as a moonlit ocean, holds promises of stolen moments where you are once again by my side.

I must confess, once you are back I scarcely think I could ever let you go again. The mere thought of you being here with me has a pleasant, exciting effect on my inhibitions. An effect, I dare say, you are keen to replicate.

I anticipate the shared warmth of our reunion, one I have no doubt you have sorely missed.

Yours in fervent longing…

He swore his mouth was agape, before a sly grin slipped onto his face.

Jesus Christ.

Tom's baby blues flitted over her handwriting, as if needing to commit the words to memory over and over to make certain he was reading the same thing.

His fingers gripped the delicate paper noticeably tighter as his mouth went dry.

Cheeky fucking minx.

Completely naturally, he brought the paper to his face, sighing longingly at the familiar scent of her perfume. She'd no doubt spritzed it a few times before sealing it, intent on torturing him even further as if the words alone had not done so.

Her scent flooded his mind, making way in his brain and pushing all the blood there south, his manhood pulsing almost uncomfortably at the memory of her.

The way he'd left her lingered there.

She had his white shirt around her shoulders and completely nothing else, her breasts peeking teasingly against the thin fabric as if to tempt him to stay when she knew he couldn't.

He'd almost jumped right back on her when she rose to her knees and plucked the post-coital cigarette from his lips to have a sweet, shallow drag of her own, her eyes aglimmer with mischief and sparkled with lust. 

And he's not ashamed to say that the image of her lips around the cigarette had him wishing they were around him instead. Looking up at him through her eyelashes, massaging the length that would not fit in her perfect mouth.

And so here, miles and miles from her, but unable to think of anyone or anything but her, he slipped his hand into his trousers, keeping her letter close to his face and pumped himself needily, imagining it was her grinding her hips atop him, her moist lips parted with those sounds he loved so much slipping forth.

He spilled himself over his knuckles in no time with a choked moan that he had to keep quiet.

It was sweet, sweet torture.

“Cheeky. Fucking. Minx.”

Tom practically skipped through off the train onto the platform, resisting the urge to break into a run as he played the route to her flat in his mind and how to get there the fastest.

It felt like he'd had a perpetual need for her ever since he read her words, which was more akin to pornography than an innocent love letter, having the desired effect of keeping him rock hard, fists clenched and jaw tightened.

God, she'd pay for that.

His boots thumped as he made his way up the back stairs to her flat, fists rapping on the door rapidly and excitedly, his chest feeling all tight and fluttery.

Every second there was no answer, his leg bobbed with anticipation.

Tom's tongue poked his cheek as the door slowly cracked open, a smile working its way to his face.

Her hair was waved over her shoulders, a satin dressing gown around her and tied at the middle, accentuating her waist, with her legs all bare and poking tantalisingly out beneath the rich fabric.

She herself gave a smirk, pulling the cigarette from her lips with two of her manicured fingers.

“Hello, sailor.”

Fuck, her voice.

She squeaked in surprise as Tom's tall form had to twist to force his way in, his bag forgotten to the floor with a thud, finding better purchase on her body as he surged down to meet her lips halfway. She smelled and tasted just as he remembered.

Bodies touching and smirking between fervent kisses, he mumbles between them, “Hello, beautiful.”

Heat rose to her cheeks, and equally sank to that spot between her thighs that grew moist, aided by the endless weeks without his presence.

“I can't believe you sent me such racy letters. You just want to get me in trouble, don't you... and believe me you're doing a fantastic job at it.”

She hummed, pulling away to look up at him, smirking as he plucked the cigarette from her to take a drag for himself.

“You've got to have something to look forward to on shore leave, Bennett.”

He grinned with all his perfect teeth, stubbing it out once he was done with it and running his tongue over his lips.

She scrunched her nose, her hands around his shoulders as she craned up to meet his misty gaze, “in any case, I don't know what you mean. My letters were perfectly well-meaning and innocent.”

He scoffed, the smoke leaving between his pink lips, blonde eyebrows raised, “innocent? Those letters could be classified as a war crime.”

Her lips part involuntarily, warmth gathering in her gut as his hands lay flat either side of her waist.

"Now, where's my promised prize? To celebrate my return.”

She bit back a grin, her hands sliding down his chest to the tie at her front, fingers pulling it loosely unbearably slowly.

Tom swore he ascended to heaven once the silk parted to reveal what she'd promised beneath, a delicate lacy number that seemed to drift over every curve and left very little to the imagination.

 “Now that's what I call a greeting and my reward.”

His hands assisted in pushing the silk off her shoulders, leaving her standing in her silk sleepwear, the front dipping right where the shadow of her breasts appeared.

He grinned like a schoolboy, raking in every piece of her he'd been unable to see for weeks. God, maybe even months.

“You know, I almost thought you were lying in your letter and you didn't actually have this... but you surprised me.”

Her eyelashes fluttered as they both leaned in, dragging his nose over her cheekbone and placing several kisses, too chaste for his nature, along her jawline.

“I couldn't possibly do that to you, Tom.”

She giggled girlishly as his hands were now unable to stop their journey around her body, squeezing and moulding the flesh to his palm as he guided her to her bed. He stood, looking down as she lay there waiting for him with that honey-like gaze, biting her lip when she saw him work on his own clothes.

Once he got to his belt, she lifted her hands to the straps of her brassiere, to pull them down, until Tom tutted at her, kneeing her legs apart in reprimand, earning a confused expression.

He loved it when she looked all dumb like that.

He smirked, “Maybe I want you to keep it on. You look good in it.”

At this she lowered her hands, eyes glimmering with mischief as she watched him struggle with his belt.

She smiled smugly, “have you gone soft on me, Tom Bennett?”

“Soft is the opposite of what I am right now, love.”

A soft giggle slides past her lips as Tom looms above her, shoving his trousers past his hips as they snag on nothing, his eyes hardening  the more frustrated he gets. But it quickly dissipates, core clenching around nothing once he pulls himself from his underwear, hardly having to stroke himself to full attention.

His fingers creep along the side of her thigh beneath the delicate lace, swiping the pads of his fingers against her, grinning widely when he finds his words and actions have had the desired effect, her hips twitching upwards at his touch. 

“Oh, love. You’re fucking soaked for me.”

His ministrations become rough almost instantly, tugging the silk to the side and running the fat head of his cock, red and weeping against her womanhood. She watches the way his chest inflates and deflates with heavy breathing, at how the dog tag there glimmering in the low light around his neck, looking down between them, the air feeling hot and only the sounds of pure carnal desire rumbling in their throats. 

“Tom - please -”, she mewled longingly, trying to move her hips to gain friction as he teases her bud with the tip of his length. 

A dark chuckle rumbles in his chest, “God I fucking love it when you beg. What do you think, should I make you do it again?”

She shakes her head quickly, closing her eyes and turning away with a warm face at the intensity of his gaze down at her. 

He huffs another laugh and lays atop her, pushing her leg apart with his knee and pressing a kiss to her temple, “It’s alright, love, too fucking impatient for that.”

Her mouth falls open, warmth flooding her as he pushes into her agonisingly slowly, splitting her apart on his length to slide into her slick walls. Tom can’t help but screw his eyes shut, burying his face in her neck and inhaling her perfume as her warmth squeezes him and her fingernails leave crescent-moon shaped marks on his back.

He barely waits to reach the end of her before he moves, his hips meeting hers softly at first, but increasing in vigour once he hears her tiny little whimpers, and the way she presses her lips together to try and be quiet. 

Ever stubborn. 

Skin meets skin with quiet smacks, neither needing to say anything (except for the occasional ‘fuck’ encompassed by a low moan from Tom) but just basking in this closeness they’d been deprived of in all the time they’d been away. He is sure he could stay between her legs all fucking day, squeezing the flesh of her thighs and tasting her lips on his. 

“Fuck - ‘m gonna-”, he moans lowly, his hand running up the nape of her neck and pulling the strands of her hair through his fingers, not enough to hurt. Her core tightens around him, head thrown back into the mattress, lips parted. 

“oh - fuck, yes-”

With a choked moan, he takes her over the edge with him, holding her so tightly that had he been in his right mind, he’d think he was hurting her. But she doesn’t protest. She only loosens her grip on him when his thrusts falter to a stop, but his length remains tucked inside her, shuddering when he feels her core clenching around him in the aftermath of her peak.

His normal attitude clouded by the haziness sex, he rests on his forearms above her, giving an exhausted smile that she returns. 

“That the greeting you were hoping for?” she asks, her breath coming in short, hot pants.

And just like that, the Tom Bennett grin returns, leaning down to capture her lips again, “Yes, but I’m not done with you yet.”

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorskyy @fan-goddess

[spider-stark]

INFINITELY YOU

part three // spitfire

SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

WARNINGS - 18+, minors DNI

WORD COUNT - 4.5k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // no way home fan fiction // rewrite

name key: tom!peter = peter // andrew!peter = parker // tobey!peter = pete

On the walk back from Peter Pan’s, it seemed as though Parker had managed to entirely escape the sputtering awkwardness that had ensnared him the night before. 

And, after countless city blocks of listening to him babble about absolutely everything and anything, you realized that there was one very striking similarity between him and Peter. 

Both boys had a fervent interest in all things nerd. 

“New Hope takes place nearly two decades after the rise of the Galactic Empire, meaning that Leia is only nineteen when she's kidnapped and forced aboard the Death Star! Which is like, absolutely insane, right? Seriously! Imagine being nineteen years old and stuck inside of something that has the potential to obliterate an entire planet!” 

Shoving open the lobby door to your complex, Parker hardly even waits for you to hum your agreement before continuing his retelling of the Star Wars film. 

“And at the exact same time, Luke is finally beginning his Jedi training! Which, honestly, nineteen is actually super old for that, but-” 

Moving towards the stairs, Parker close on your heels, you cut him off with a question. “Too old? Nineteen is hardly even an adult,” you argue. “What age do most Jedi start training?” 

“About four or five, so obviously Luke was way behind,” 

Not even a full three stairs up, you come to a grinding halt, leaving Parker to bump into your back. “Four?!” You cry out, wide-eyed as you spin around to face him. “That’s insane!” 

Parker only lifts his shoulders, clearly not understanding the reason for your horror. 

Furthering your point, you add, “There’s nothing ethical about taking a bunch of little kids and training them to be weird, intergalactic warriors!” 

“It’s the best way to train them!” He lifts his hand defensively, explaining, “The earlier they start training, the less likely it is that the kids will have formed an attachment to their families! That way they learn to act out of logic instead of emotion!” 

For a heartbeat, you’re rendered entirely speechless by the absurdity of his claim, left to stand with your mouth agape as you blink at him. 

“That sounds like emotional abuse,” you finally huff, shaking your head. “Actually, scratch that—it doesn’t sound like emotional abuse, it just is!” 

“It’s not abuse-” 

You hold a hand up, stopping him before he can say anything else. “Give me one good reason why a group of adults should withhold love and affection from children if they aren’t abusing them.” 

“Uh, how about the fact that love is basically what made Anakin turn to the dark side!” Parker scoffs, clearly unwilling to recognize how insane the notion he was pushing actually is. 

“Or maybe Anakin turned to the dark side because he was indoctrinated and traumatized by some stupid space cult!” 

The expression on his face is downright laughable. 

It was as if you had just reached out and slapped him across the face. His jaw went slack, his mouth hung open in blatant offense. As a sputtering noise falls from his lips, trying and failing to come up with a good rebuttal, you smirk. 

“Exactly,” you boast, taking his inability to speak as a sign of victory. 

Twirling on your heel, you continue up the stairs, nearly all the way to the top before you finally hear him come stomping up behind you. 

“The Jedi Order is not a cult!” He finally shouts after you. 

Already traipsing through the hallway, fiddling with your keys, you sing-song, “Whatever you say, bug-boy.” 

Reluctant to admit defeat, Parker continues grumbling under his breath as you unlock the door, spouting something off about your lack of respect for George Lucas. 

“Look,” you tell him, pushing the door open, “if liking Star Wars matters this much to you, then I’ll gladly watch them with you.” A wry smile plays on your lips as you turn to look at him, standing in the doorway, “Maybe watching them will be enough to change my opinion on turning kids into galactic slaves.” 

Eyes narrowing in a playful glare, he’s only able to hold the expression for less than a few seconds before a laugh causes him to break character. “I just can’t believe that Peter hasn’t made you watch them already,” he admits. “I had you watch them so much that you could probably recite the scripts from memory alone!” 

His amusement dies off as soon as he finishes the sentence. Despite having been the one to bring it up, the mention of his world seems to cast a sullen shadow over him, ruining his sweet, boyish smile. 

Curiosity instantly claws at you, begging you to ask him why his world seemed to have such a negative effect on him. Or, rather, why his version of you seemed to have such an effect. 

This had happened last night too, when you had asked him if the two of you were friends in his world—and it was because of this that you assume that you’re somehow the common denominator in his discomfort. 

Still, you don’t let yourself ask him about it. For as much as you’re starting to like Parker, you don’t know him nearly well enough to try prying into his life. 

Not yet, at least. 

“Well, you’re more than welcome to force me into sitting through them in this world, too.” You tell him sweetly, sweeping an arm out to gesture inside of your apartment, inviting him. “It’s not like I’ve got any plans for the rest of the day.” 

You couldn’t even remember the last time you did have plans. Life had been so quiet since that last night with Peter and Mj—the night when everything went so horribly wrong. 

Parker sucks in a breath through his teeth, a hand coming to rest against the back of his neck. “I should probably get back out on the streets,” he reluctantly says, sounding more like he was convincing himself of that than you. “But, I don’t know, maybe we can take a rain check on it, yeah?” 

Disappointment washes over you, sudden enough that you’re sure it shines through on your face. It takes a shocking amount of willpower to stop yourself from trying to persuade him to stay, wanting to remind him that two other Spider-Men were already running themselves ragged in pursuit of the villains—so why did he have to go, too? 

You had grown used to his constant talking, having found solace in the chatter that kept you from slipping too far into your own thoughts. Selfishly, you wanted him to stay so that you wouldn’t have to be alone; so that you wouldn’t have to risk thinking too long about Doctor Strange or the multiverse or constants or Peter. 

The thought of admitting any of that out loud, however, felt incredibly humiliating. 

“For sure,” you force a smile, trying to ignore the many thoughts swirling in your mind. Then, eyeing the slightly too-tight Ramones shirt that he’d stolen from you, you add, “But shouldn’t you at least come in and change?” 

His nose wrinkles slightly as he shakes his head. “Nah—I think this city has more than enough spider-people swinging around it right now. I figure we might actually benefit from one of us patrolling on the ground-level, y’know? Maybe I can ask around for any giant lizards or blown light bulbs.” 

It’s hard to tell if the last bit is meant to be a joke or not, but you laugh anyway if only to avoid knowing why you should be worried about lizards and light bulbs. 

“Sounds like a plan,” you second his idea. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later then?” 

A surprising sense of joy lights his eyes at the sound of your hesitance, unfitting of the simplicity of the moment, but charming nonetheless. He grins—a wide and endearing sort of grin—as he takes a step back, “I won’t be gone long,” he promises before reminding you, “lock the door behind you, alright? And if you need anything-” 

He pauses, patting the pockets of his jeans only to remember that he didn’t bring a phone with him to this universe—and that, even if he did, there likely wasn’t a wireless plan good enough to support multiversal travel. 

“If you need anything, call 911.” 

“Got it,” you laugh, watching as he stumbles backwards towards the stairwell, cheeks red with faint embarrassment. 

Turning to go inside, you can’t ignore the warmth that now blooms in your chest. 

You could definitely get used to having him around. 

A peculiar sensation prickles at your skin, curling along your spine like icy fingertips. 

Something was wrong. Very wrong. 

The usually comfortable atmosphere of your apartment had shifted. An eerie tension fills the space, a near-suffocating feeling that has the very walls holding their breath, humming a tune of warning as you inch further into the living room. 

Your stomach twists as the sharp tang of exhaust fumes fills your nostrils. By the couch, a faint breeze rustles the curtains of a window, wafting in the nauseating scent of the city street below—a window that hadn’t been open when you left earlier. 

A mere foot or so away, you notice that the picture frame Parker had been fiddling with before is now lying on its face, having been knocked off the end table and abandoned. Atop the table, you notice that the lamp is sitting askew, its base just inches from tumbling over the edge and joining the frame. 

Someone had come in through your window—and it didn’t appear as though stealth had been very important to them, given that they had clearly stumbled into the table upon their entrance. 

Adrenaline floods your senses, your spine stiffening as you take a series of slow, quiet steps. 

Moving towards the corner, you carefully reach out a hand to grab the metal bat propped against the wall. The bat had been an unlikely housewarming present from when you first moved in, given to you by Peter’s mentor and your own reluctant renegade, Tony Stark. For nearly two years now it had sat in this corner, unused and gathering dust—until now. 

You wrap your fingers tightly around the base, wincing slightly as the rubber grip pulls at the still-healing flesh on your palm, making you curse yourself for not properly bandaging the wound last night. 

But you’re used to pain—and so you’re easily able to bite back against it as you ease through the living room, checking for any sign of the intruder's presence. 

As you walk, gripping the bat like your life depends on it, you can’t help but hear Tony Stark’s voice echo in your mind. 

If you’re gonna live alone, then you should have some sort of protection—he had told you, gently placing the cool steel into your hands for the first time, a ribbon tied sloppily around it—not that you need it. 

Satisfied with your search of the living room, you start easing towards the hall. You’re good at sneaking around, having had a lot of practice at it—every movement you make is calculated, every footfall so purposefully gentle that it’s nearly silent. 

Quiet as you were, you could do nothing to ease the sound of your blood thrumming wildly in your own ears, your heart pounding against your chest. 

The incessant beating worries you—because you know that there are people in the world with the unnatural ability to hear such things. Peter, even with his enhanced hearing, had to be close to someone in order to hear something as soft as their heartbeat; but you had heard rumors that there were others who could hear a pulse from miles away, others like the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. 

The thought makes your blood run cold, though you try to push the worries from your mind. From what you know, the Devil doesn’t have a habit of breaking into apartments, nor was Queen's his usual jurisdiction. 

No—what you were dealing with had to be no more than an average burglar! 

An average burglar who, somehow, scaled up the side of a building to break into your apartment… 

Alright—you think, approaching the end of the hall—perhaps it’s a not-so-average burglar, then! Still better than the Devil. 

Peeling one hand from the bat’s handle, you curl your fingers around the doorknob to the guest room, Parker’s room. You ease the door open slowly, trying to keep the old hinges from crying out as you peer into the space. 

The sweet scent of vanilla is the first thing that hits you, contrasted by the subtle bite of vetiver. 

Parker—the room smells of him, even though he had only been here for one night. 

On the bed, the quilt is rumpled and thrown about, pillows strewn about. The doors of the armoire are wide open, a few old shirts hanging over the edge of one of the shelves, no doubt from when he went digging through your clothes in search of something to wear. 

The room was messy, but empty. 

Your shoulders sag, half-a-breath loosing from your lungs. The relief is short-lived, however; as by the time you edge back into the hall to turn towards your own door, you’re overwhelmed with dread. 

If whoever broke in was still here, then this was the only place they could be—save for the bathroom, though you seriously doubt any burglar would have much interest in scouring through your toiletries… 

Easily, gracefully, you twist the knob, the metal yielding quietly to your careful touch. 

The curtains are tightly drawn, eradicating any trace of sunlight and leaving the room cloaked in shadows. But, even in the darkness, you’re able to see the rough outline of a figure sprawled out across your mattress. 

For a split second, you think of Parker’s advice to call 911, the weight of your phone suddenly heavy in your back pocket. 

You think of how you should follow that advice. 

You think about how fast you could run—if you would be able to reach the front door before they could catch up to you. 

But then you stop thinking, disregarding all logic and reason as you take a step into the room, as if drawn in by some invisible force. 

Remaining mindful of your surroundings, you slowly approach the edge of the bed. Squinting in the darkness, you try to study the body laid out atop your comforter. Watching the steady rise-and-fall of their chest, it suddenly hits you that, whoever they are, they’re asleep. 

Slinking around the corner and coming to stand at your bedside, you’re finally close enough that you can see them in spite of the absence of light. Crimson and blue spandex clings tightly to their arms as they cling one of your pillows to their chest, and you feel your entire body sag with relief as you loosen your grip on the bat. 

So this must be Peter 2. 

The fabric of his mask is bunched up and resting along the bridge of his nose, which is somewhat smushed against the pillow he’s holding, no doubt leaving him to breathe in the scent of laundry detergent and your perfume. 

Lower, you can make out the subtle contours of his jawline and the curve of soft, pink lips. Higher, you’re met with the impassive stare of then white lenses sewn into his mask. 

The lenses shield his eyes from your view, and a curious feeling begins to tug at the furthest corners of your mind. Take it off—it seems to whisper, compelling you to move in closer, your shins pressing against the side of the mattress—take it off. 

You grit your teeth and try to ignore the feeling, try to ignore the velvet-voice slithering through your mind; begging you to look at him, to touch him, to notice him, to-

Pain shoots along the side of your temple, likely in response to the sudden tightness in your jaw. It distracts you enough that you’re able to shake the strange feeling long enough to regain your focus—even if the remnants of it still linger. 

You shouldn’t be interested in him—you should be pissed at him. 

Not only had he broken into your house, which was already bad enough, but he had also climbed into your bed and made himself cozy! The absolute gall, the audacity he must have, has you allowing the tiniest sliver of rage to ignite inside of you. 

Both hands still gripping the bat, you lower it from where it rests against your shoulder to swiftly jab its head into his stomach. 

A cough sputters past his lips as the impact pushes the air from his lungs. 

You’re actually shocked that you landed the blow—in truth, you had expected his spider-sense to kick in and detect the incoming hit, waking him with just enough time to dodge the shot. But, apparently, his instincts had made the mistake of assuming that you were of no threat to him. 

“Morning sunshine,” you chime, your feigned cheerfulness set off by a sneer. 

He’s scrambling into an upright position, knees sinking into the mattress as he presses a hand against the sore spot you’d created on his stomach. “What the fu-” 

His voice is hoarse—from sleep or pain, you’re not sure—and he doesn’t finish the curse spewing from his mouth once his head shoots up towards you, as if finally registering the sound of your voice. 

“I don’t know what things are like in your world,” you muse, swinging your bat back to rest against your shoulder, “but in this one, breaking and entering is considered a crime.” 

He’s still catching his breath, and while those damn white lenses covering his eyes give so little emotion away, you assume that he’s going to apologize. It’s what Peter would do, and Parker, too. 

But not him. 

“Your friends said I could stay here,” he defends himself. Taking another deep breath and extinguishing the burning in his lungs, the lower-half of his face transforms into a defiant smirk. “It’s not breaking and entering if you were invited.” 

“And did they tell you to sleep in my bed, too?” You shoot back, brows rising in annoyance. “Word of advice: next time you’re invited to stay in a total stranger’s house, maybe try not to repay their kindness by crawling through their window.” 

He mocks you without missing a beat, “Word of advice: you live in a shitty neighborhood—if you don’t want people coming through your windows, you should try locking them.” 

“Ah, right! Cause the average person is definitely willing to scale the side of a building for the prospect of an unlocked window!” 

“You’re a pretty girl in a dangerous city,” he drones, lifting a shoulder as he meets your sarcasm with purposeful calm. “You’d be surprised what people would be willing to do for a chance at getting you alone.” 

The insinuation sends a shiver down your spine, but you mask your unease, flashing a smile that’s more predatory than sweet. “Aw,” you coo, “so you think I’m pretty?” 

He returns the expression, skillfully avoiding your derisive question. “I think you’re irresponsible—and a little cocky.” 

“Better to be cocky than a felon,” you remark. “Just spare my neighbors the acrobatics show next time, would you? Maybe try knocking on the door like a normal person! Preferably when you’re not dressed like… that.” 

It’s not that his suit wasn’t nice, because it was. But it lacks the advanced Stark-tech that makes Peter’s suit so uniquely sleek, meaning that it was likely safe to assume that no one in this world would mistake this boy for the real Spider-Man. 

Unless they were to catch him scaling up the side of your building… 

“I tried knocking.” he sounds exasperated, as if you are testing his patience. “You weren’t home.” 

You snort a laugh, wondering if he truly believes that is all the reason he needs to break into someone's home. 

“Then you should’ve waited until I got home,” 

“I hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. I was too tired to wait.” 

“Then you should’ve slept in the alleyway with the rest of the strays,” you hiss at him, fingers tightening around the bat as your frustration builds. 

The sheer ferocity in your voice gives him pause, stunning him into silence. 

Then the corner of his mouth begins to twitch upwards, lazily grinning at you as if he actually enjoys the verbal onslaught. 

You can tell that he’s watching you through those white lenses, and his tongue darts over his bottom lip, you feel your breath catch in your throat. “Fine,” amusement dances in his tone as he raises his gloved hands, “fair enough.” 

For a moment, no sound comes from your parted lips, leaving you to stand there gaping at him until you remember how to speak. “Fair enough?” You echo, shaking your head slightly. “That’s all you’ve got? No apology?” 

He moves, forcing you to take a step back as he shoves his legs over the side of the bed and rises to his feet. He’s not as tall as Parker, but he still stands an inch or so higher than you, making it hard to not feel intimidated as he stares down at you, your own face staring back from the reflection of his lenses. 

“Better not push your luck, Spitfire,” 

He’s baiting you—he has to be! Using a stupid nickname to get under your skin, to try and prod further at your short temper. And it’s working—god, you hate how much it’s working!—because you find yourself contemplating putting his superhuman durability to the test by whacking him over the head with your bat. 

“By the way,” he says before you have a chance to act on your intrusive thoughts, pointing at your hands, “you’re bleeding.” 

As if his words switch a flip in your head, you’re suddenly aware of the acute throbbing in your palm. You loosen your grip on the bat, letting it clatter recklessly to the floor as you hold your hand out to examine it. 

Unsurprisingly, the rubber handle managed to tear open the barely-healed cut on your palm, courtesy of your too-tight grip on it. You hiss through your teeth, watching as blood oozed from the cut, dripping down towards your wrist. 

Slipping past you, the boy only half-manages to stifle his laugh. “You should probably take care of that.” 

He’s already slipping out into the hall by the time you regain enough awareness to follow after him, gritting your teeth against the pain. 

“And where do you think you’re going?” 

“To the other room,” he calls over his shoulder. Once he’s standing in front of Parker’s door, he spins back around to face you, his snarky expression still in-tact. “Where I’m hoping you won’t follow me.” 

Everything about him causes your blood to boil—his grating voice, his insolent attitude, his stupid soft lips. 

“Would it kill you to be nice to me?” You exclaim, your voice strained with pain as you try to wrap your hand in the lower half of your shirt. 

It takes no-time for blood to start seeping through the thin material, and you certainly don’t look intimidating like this—the lower half of your abdomen on display as you try to apply whatever pressure you can to the wound—but you don’t care. 

“I don’t have to let you and Parker stay in my house—I’m doing it because I’m nice, alright? And, so far, you’ve been nothing but a dick!” 

The thin fabric of his mask shifts, brows furrowing at the mention of Parker. Unlike Peter, however, he doesn’t bother commenting on the nickname. “Nice isn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe you. Especially since you’re the one calling me names.” 

The levity in his tone makes you want to scream—what was his deal?! 

You press harder against your bleeding palm, your breathing turning shallow. You’re not sure if it’s frustration or pain or what, but you feel like your head is spinning. “Look, I don’t know you, alright? But this? Isn’t gonna work,” you bark at him, chin lifted defiantly as you stare into his mask, unrelenting. “If you plan on staying in my house, then you’ll get your shit together—got it?” 

His head tilts, curiously watching as you continue your frantic speech. 

“No crawling in through my windows or sleeping in my bed or smarting shit off! And take off that stupid mask!” You huff, shaking your head. “Or, I don’t know, pull it down the rest of the way! Just do something because you look stupid like that!” 

The words are spewing from your mouth like a torrential downpour, fueled by the rage swirling in your stomach and the throbbing in your hand and—

He laughs, a genuine laugh that isn’t born of derision, and you feel your racing thoughts slow to a halt. “You should work on your insults,” reaching for the nape of his neck, he tugs his mask off. “Because that was pathetic.” 

It’s no longer just your thoughts that have slowed, but the entire world. Everything around you feels like it has come skidding to a stop—leaving you staring up at him like a dumbfounded idiot. 

He’s beautiful—a commonality among Peter’s variants, it seems. 

He’s smirking, an infuriatingly charming smirk that lets you know he has no intention of listening to your demands for him to silence his quick wit. But you’re not focusing on that—no, you’re focusing on the features that had been hidden from you this whole time; his dark hair, tousled from removing his mask, falls in a chaotic halo around his face, contrasting the vibrance of his eyes. 

His eyes. 

They leave you breathless, and you hate it. Colored with the deepest cerulean you’ve ever seen, his eyes feel like staring into the depths of a crystalline ocean. You can almost feel yourself getting swept up in their tides, feel them enveloping you in a feeling of familiarity, as if this wasn’t the first time you had been pulled into their ebbing waters. 

“Have we–” your mouth has gone dry, your voice cracking. “Have we met before?” 

It’s a ridiculous question, and you recognize that even as it’s spilling from your lips. You couldn’t have met him before—not when the two of you weren’t even from the same universe! 

He seems to be thinking the same thing, and you’re already preparing to take the full force of whatever smartass comment he’s about to fling at you. “I’ve met you,” he says simply, taking you by surprise. Then he inclines his head towards your still-bleeding hand, “You should patch yourself up before you stain the carpet.” 

You look down at your hand, at the hem of your shirt, soaked in blood. 

“But just so I know,” you look back up, his body half-turned towards the door, his fingers resting against the knob, “if Peter and Parker are already taken, then who does that make me?” 

You have to force yourself to take a breath. “What did I call you in your world?” He’s silent for a moment, staring at the floor and chewing on his lip. Then, pushing the door to Parker’s room—their room—open, he smiles.

“Pete.”

a/n - ayyy, pete's finally here! and, ofc, lots of other little important details sprinkled around as well.

also, i really wanna say thank you to everyone who has been reading and enjoying this story so far! it truly means the world to me to read all of the nice comments and to know that you guys are interested in this story! so, again, thank you 💖 as always, please comment/like/reblog and let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist!

part four, titled "blooms of subterfuge", to be released april 29th

[shawnxstyles]

man-handled

DATE: DECEMBER 4, 2023

summary: you get a little caught up in your boyfriend’s muscly arms and can’t help but imagine what it would be like if he man-handled you.

request: i thought it was but i guess not??

words: 5.1k

warning: SMUT (f- receiving (multiple orgasms, oral, fingering, throat-fucking), m- receiving (oral), slight daddy/sir kink, degrading, name-calling, dirty talk), language, and probably the shittiest ending ever

note: i’m so tired y’all

mafia!tom x reader

–

You weren’t usually like this. You weren’t known for being so horny to the point where you can’t think straight. You were known to be quiet, shy, and even a little innocent. But sometimes Tom brought out the worst in you. But you learned to like that side of you. The secret, dark, and dirty side that only Tom could unveil from you. Watching you unfold and come undone–no pun intended–gave Tom a deep sense of growing pride.

Every day he made it more obvious that he was the only one and that there would never be anyone else for you.

What was causing you to act so strange was a new obsession for you. You had been with Tom intimately numerous times, but he never failed to pleasure you immensely. You two have explored each other’s bodies inside and out, yet your mind still found things to obsess over. Currently, it was his arms.

His arms.

They were usually covered with different brand-name suits, all varying from gray to black. The sleeves always wrapped around his biceps snuggly, hinting at only some of his bulkiness. Usually, the sight of him in his suits when he left for work had you thinking about how hot he looked overall. But as you watched him leave this morning, your eyes couldn’t stop fixating on the packed muscle you knew was hiding under the black suit’s sleeves.

You’re not sure, but you think this newest obsession started last night by complete accident. That accident being Tom’s overwhelming dominance and control when he was fucking you.

Although you were on the quieter and more innocent side, it amazed both Tom and you that you were secretly fucked in the head just like him. You hadn’t even known it until you stumbled upon Tom. Sometimes, you think that he molded you to indulge in his kinks and fantasies, but he’s never forced you to do anything. If anything, it’s always you shyly asking him to do something more when a dirty thought pops into your head. He always makes sure to degrade yet praise you in the most addicting and twisted way.

Last night, while you and Tom were simply watching a movie, things got heated (it was never just going to be a movie). Tom had gotten home early and just wanted to relax. But the makeout between you two got hotter and you both got needier. When you moved yourself to his lap, gently rocking into him, his strong hands forced you to stay still. You remembered the bruises present on his knuckles and wondered if they still hurt when he squeezed your hips. You whined into his mouth before he picked you up easily, throwing you over his shoulder as you squealed.

“Always so greedy.”

Tom has picked you up and threw you over his shoulder before. Maybe the other times he was gentler about it, afraid to hurt his little princess even if you were completely okay with it. But that night, he didn’t seem to give a fuck. He had a difficult day at work, the evidence clear on his wounded hands, so maybe he took some of that aggressive out on you. After he had brought you upstairs, you were extremely drenched as his bulky arms tossed you on the bed.

But after that, he apologized for being so rough. He explained how he had a tough day and he was sorry for taking it out on you. It resulted in long, sweet, loving sex that you adored all the time because you got to see the part of him that no one sees. Just like that secret part in you that only he sees. Except, you weren’t yearning for his softness after being man-handled. No, you were looking to be fucked. Hard. You wanted it rough, messy, degrading, and straight sinful. The nastiest scenes flooded your mind through the night, hoping that you could relive one of them with Tom. As he fucked slow into you last night, your eyes couldn’t remove themselves from his bulging arms holding himself over his head. You watched as the muscles would work and his veins would pop out when he did a push-up, and it had you clenching around him pathetically.

What were you going to tell him when he came home?

For the rest of the day, you wandered around the house needily. You cleaned, you read, you reorganized, but nothing distracted you enough from your fucked-up thoughts and the pulse between your legs. One part of you felt ashamed for hiding it from Tom, but the other half of you didn’t care. It felt like you had your own little secret that no one knew. But then again, you really wanted to tell him because you wanted to see the results. And feel them…

When it was late into the evening, seemingly later than when Tom usually returns, you sighed to yourself. You brought yourself to bed, too worn out from your own desires nagging you down all day. If only Tom didn’t have a rule about touching yourself while he was gone, you would have been able to handle your dirty situation all by yourself. But no, Tom had to be insanely controlling and sexy about everything, just making your situation even harder to deal with. Just as your bare feet slip into the comforter, you hear the hefty front door open. Your head shoots up, instantly on high alert of Tom’s arrival. Just when you thought your body was relaxing, the sound of his approaching footsteps seem to heighten your hormone levels, veering away from homeostasis once again.

Tom peeks his head through the ajar bedroom door, body hunching over the door handle. He doesn’t say a word until he realizes that you are in fact awake, opening the door wider. He skulks closer to you, his body bulky and stoic just how you remembered it being this morning when he left. His hands at his sides had those infamous cuts and bruises that you always wrapped with bandages. He never wanted you to, you demanded that you do. Your heart pounds as your tummy tickles, wishing he could read your mind and just handle you the way you want him to with those bruised knuckles.

“Missed you today, Princess,” his thick hand rose to caress the hair on your head. You feel yourself lean into his touch, yearning it always no matter how intense or soft. You always craved to just feel him.

“Missed you too, Daddy. So much,” your hand reaches up and encloses around his wrist, squeezing softly. His hand gently pulls away as he sits beside you on the bed, and you nearly whimper at the loss of contact.

“What d’you do today?” Tom asked simply and softly, genuinely curious about your day. But finally with him next to you, your mind has gotten all fuzzy, and you feel like you’ve forgotten every word you’ve known. Your eyes haven’t drifted away from his arm since he pulled away from you, mind encompasses in the way he moves.

“I cleaned. I reorganized the shelves in your office. Oh, and I read too…”

Tom tried to listen to your dull list of activities, but he couldn’t help but notice how distracted you seemed. Maybe you were tired from all the chore-like things you did. But your eyes weren’t blinking as they started at his chest, clearly hazy with something. Something familiar.

“Yeah? And what did you read?”

“Um… I don’t remember,” your head started to tilt to the side as you licked your lips, lost in whatever thought was clouding your mind currently. Tom’s mouth curved just the slightest bit up at the airheaded state of you, wondering if you could be anymore adorable. The fact that you didn’t remember what you read, knowing you love reading, is what stood out to Tom the most. Something was obviously off, Tom just couldn’t figure it out yet.

“How was work? Do you need me to patch you up?”

“Work was stressful. People don’t listen and then ask why m’so harsh. And idiots like to go behind m’back and take stuff from me,” Your eyes fall onto his wounded hands.

“S’not nice…”

“Not nice at all, huh?” Tom reaches up to caress your face ever-so gently, not wanting to touch you too much with his open cuts.

“Come on. Let me fix you up. Please?”

Now, how could Tom ever say no to you?

–

Sometimes, Tom could be stubborn. Like right now, where he refused to sit down while you tended to his wounds because he’s saying that it won’t take long enough to sit. You want to roll your eyes in annoyance, but you don’t want him to see your attitude and punish you later. Or maybe you do…

He had his suit jacket off now and just his crisp, white buttoned shirt rolled up to the elbows. The skin that was untouched was smooth under your delicate touch, but his scars and fresh cuts, which were most likely old ones reopened, were rugged. You dabbled light pressure as you wiped away dry blood with the wet cloth, not afraid of hurting him because he barely blinks when he punches someone. He surely wasn’t phased by his girl cleaning up his damages like a little puppy trying to lick themselves better. That’s exactly what your touch felt like—little puppy licks and gentle pawing.

And when you applied the cooling ointment, his pain was eased, but he doesn’t think it was from the cream. No, he is a firm believer that you are his medicine. Your words, your touch, your soul was healing. Although he was your opposite in every way and he hurt people for a living while you mended people’s aches with your mere presence, he could never hurt you. Never.

So, when you’re all finished wrapping his hands with that rough cloth that’s an excuse for a bandage (it was all he had stored), he’s shocked by your blunt statement. You were rarely blatant about anything, especially when it had to do with sexual situations.

“Why did you apologize to me last night?” You just threw your words at him, hoping he caught them. He didn’t know that when you were fixing him up you were ogling his arms like a child in a toy store during the Christmas season. His veins were green, constant exploitation of work causing them to pop out more. He looked delicious and it made you crave him more than ever. Even more with his ripped up hands. You wanted the roughness and pain and the power to be instilled on you. You wanted him to take his particularly hard day out on you. Tom blinked, silently leading you out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. He tried to recall exactly when he apologized to you, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Clearly, work had gotten to his head too much.

“I don’t remember what you’re talkin’ ‘bout, darling,” Without a thought, he begins unbuttoning his shirt with his bandaged hands. He looked like something of a fancy man mixed with an underground boxer. Not the type of fancy that shows off his money, but the type that’s humble and real and works hard for what he wants. A man who made himself. And that’s exactly who Tom is; someone who built himself.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling like you’re under the spotlight. But you took a breath. “Last night, when we were having… sex… you apologized for being really rough.”

He flatly hums, indicating that you need to continue while he buttons his shirt. You could just faint from his sculpted, stony beauty that was hidden behind a few buttons and fabric. Unlike his knuckles, his skin was smooth and untouched besides his scattered tattoos. He had faint scars that you could barely see unless you were looking really hard (which in your case maybe you were). His build and figure used to intimidate you, but now, you’re just awed.

“Well… I kind of liked when you were rough…” Your words dragged out, especially as your head tilted down to face your lap in embarrassment. “You’ve never really been like that before and it caught me off guard, but in a really good way! I didn’t realize I wanted something like that until… yeah.” You weren’t embarrassed that you were attracted to your own boyfriend’s man-handling, but by the fact that you had to admit that to get what you wanted. Sometimes, you wish he could just read your mind, but life wasn’t a movie or a book, even if it felt like that from time to time with the life you live. Dating a mafia man was insane to visualize–those things only really happened in books. Or so you thought.

“You did?” You softly hummed, nodding your head. You could feel the heat radiating off of your cheeks, your heart thumping in your chest. You didn’t think Tom would reject you. That’s not why your heart was beating faster than its usual tempo. You were anticipated and your organ couldn’t help but be thrilled at what was to come. “You liked when I took my day out on you? Liked when I was a little mean?”

You crossed your ankles that had been hanging off the bed, biting your lip. You nodded, maybe a little too quickly, because you got slightly dizzy from the movement along with your amped hormones. You had that beat in your chest, but you also had that throbbing pulse in your lower body that has been aching since you watched him leave earlier that day. In the most Tom-way possible, he stalks over to you, torso bare while his trousers remain on. He’s slow and calculated, and it makes you even more anxious. When your eyes finally look up at him, he’s glaring down at you with blown-out pupils, a darkness swirling with the brown color of his irises.

He’s close to you now, inches away from touching you. But he doesn’t. You hear the clink of his belt loosening around his waist before it’s adoring his hand. His quick movements cause the leather to slap your bicep, making you gasp, but what he doesn’t do is apologize. You’re not sure if what he did was purposeful. Did he want to startle you and show you how rough he really could be? You never lingered too long on the idea of him using a belt on you, but if Tom was going to be man-handling you more often, then the thought would probably be more recurring. Tom shrugs off his pants as if they’re a bother, and by the large bulge outlined in his briefs, it seems as if they really are.

You hadn’t even realized you were licking your lips until Tom’s hand came up around your throat, thumb pulling it out. He tucks his thumb into your mouth, gripping it tightly.

“Drooling over m’cock and I’m not even fully undressed yet,” he removes his thumb before lightly tapping your cheek. “On your knees. Need to fill that filthy mouth.”

The devil on your shoulder wants to be a brat and not listen to him, but you’ve been craving this all day. If Tom knew what you wanted–which he did��his punishment to you would just be not giving it to you. And that’s not your ideal plan at the moment. So, you slide off the edge of the bed and onto the floor at his feet. The first thing he does is spread your thighs open with his ankle.

“You don’t get to squeeze y’pretty little thighs together while sucking me off. That’s rude, pet. Get as wet as you want, but if you close y’legs, you’re not comin’ tonight. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Your hands were waiting anxiously by your sides, clawing at the skin on your thighs. Your pussy was already clenching around its own wetness, unable to close due to his new limit.

“It talks,” his tone was sinister and demeaning. The kind that would make someone’s eyes twitch and hands fist in an argument out of irritation. But his works were fueling some type of sick need inside of you that needed to be sedated, and this seemed to be the only way to do it. And you didn’t mind it one bit. You fucking loved it. “Who knew such a slut would be so obedient?”

You knew better than to respond to that rhetorical question. Instead, you patiently wait for his smirk to rise in cocky pride before he finally slips off his briefs. Like every time you’ve seen his cock, it’s pretty. You didn’t know they were supposed to look so yummy and dream-like. He was smooth with inklings of hair scattered down at the base and his tip was a cute coral color that grew an angry red when he was hard. From the looks of it, he was pretty hard. His tip was leaking that delicious pre-cum you were dying to taste, even if you’ve had it thousands of times before. Having to sit and stare at his glory without touching was some type of punishment, you think.

His hand latches onto the base and the other grips the back of your head. He pushes you closer, tapping your cheek with his tip. You suck in a breath, readying to take him.

“You know what to do if it’s too much. And it will be.”

Tom shoves his cock into mouth once you’re open wide enough. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust to his size or explore his prick like he usually does. This time he’s quick and harsh like he’s trying to beat some type of record. But he’s still just as calculated as he always is, and you know he’s not just going to come fast because he can. Most men do that all the time when they want to get off briskly, but Tom wasn’t like that. He liked to take his time and appreciate the moment, edging you both just a little to make it a little fun. He always edged himself more though, forcing orgasms out of you before you would even touch him.

Your cunt pulsates around nothing, trying to grasp the pleasure he is holding from you. Hands clawing at his meaty thighs until your nails break the skin barrier. Moans attempt to escape your mouth, but are instantly shoved right back down your throat from his thick cock. Tom drills into you with no mercy, causing saliva to cascade down your chin in long strings. The muscles in your jaw ache from their open stance, begging for a break that you would never get. If it was too much you could easily tap his thigh a few times and it would all be over, but that’s exactly what you don’t want. You love that he came home after a stressful day and you could make him feel better. You didn’t want your limitations to restrict his maximum abilities when you secretly wanted more to begin with.

“Look at you letting me fuck this throat. This whiny, little throat and your filthy mouth. Always so fuckin’ needy for it,” his grip on your hair intensified, stilling your head from any movements you might subconsciously make. You’re not surprised when the tears finally start to leak from your eyes, rolling down your face in wavering streams rather than small rivulets. “I’m so big I made you a crybaby. That good, sweetheart?”

There were no words that were able to leave your stuffed mouth, only rumbles of moans that vibrated around his cock so dirtily that his head was falling back. Deep, guttural groans emitted from his rough throat, his movements never faulting. Even when you feel the tip of him twitching in the back of your mouth, he doesn't stop.

“Take it. I’m going to come and you’re going to take it. All you wanted was to be a storage for my cum, right?” Tom’s words were cruel and degrading, but they were the exact thing that got you off. Your stomach churned in lust, feeling a bit neglected, yet pleasured by him fucking your mouth.

He was going all out tonight and you didn’t want anything less. Tom didn’t even give you a warning about when he was coming, he just wanted you to take it. And who were you to defy him? When ropes of his much-needed release fired from his prick, you made sure to swallow every drop. He slowly removes himself from your mouth as your jaw aches immensely. Saliva and cum were lathered around your chin, coating your lips with the taste of him. Your hand lifts up to massage your jaw as you look up at the flames of lust in Tom’s eyes. You notice that there’s slight hesitation; he wants to default back into a caring lover rather than a dominant one. But even with the soreness in your jaw, you manage a smirk to let him know that you’re fine. You’re more than fine, and you’re more than ready to continue the rest of the night. You know that it will be your turn soon too at some point, right? That throat-fuck was torture for your sopping cunt. You’re mind-dizzyingly horny.

“What’s the matter? Your lip is all trembling and wet,” You didn’t even notice him stuff his prick back into his pants because you were so mesmerized by the taste left on your tongue and the ache in your jaw. He leans down, nearly level with you on the floor, but still hovering over your head. “Just like your pussy I bet, hm?”

Your entire body shivered from his words as if a frozen wind cascaded through the bedroom, but at the same time, your skin has never burned so fiery. His hands were quick to fit under your arms, lifting you up to your feet. When your thighs met again, they squeezed tightly to rid the incessant throbbing between them. You knew you were just soaking wet too–the kind that reached all the way to your bum once Tom laid you flat on your back. The kind that would drip onto the bed sheets if you were positioned on all fours with your rear up in the air. Tom loved to do every which way with you, but he was keen on watching your scrunched-up face relax once you came. The way your nose would wrinkle and eyebrows furrow, mouth just wide enough to slip a finger or two through. Which, of course, Tom would take advantage of. But right now, he wanted to taste you.

It had been such a long day, full of busyness and rage-work. He didn’t mind having to punch a face or two daily, especially when they wronged him significantly because then he got to do more than just a punch. The only part he hated was seeing your face in the aftermath. When he’d come home, he would see you all delighted to see him back and well, just for your expression to drop in concern at his wounds. Whether it was his hands (it was usually his hands), arms, chest, or even his face, you were relentless about fixing him up. Tom’s resistance was nothing to you, so eventually, he would just sigh and let you aid him. You had something of a magic touch because only you could make Tom feel better. Nothing like the doctors he had occasionally visited as a child or even his mother’s kisses. And now, his knuckles may be bruised and may be bandaged, but that would never stop him from taking care of his girl. Especially when his girl got all shy about wanting to be man-handled. He thought you were the most adorable thing really.

Usually, Tom would gently lay you back on the comforter and make sure you had a pillow underneath your head. This time, he didn’t even hesitate to throw your willing body like a ragdoll on the bed. The gasp you let out was practically a moan. His invasive, manly hands shredded your bottoms down your legs without a care in the world. You’ve never seen him so aggressive with you, but God, if it wasn’t exactly what you wanted. You had been craving this type of fucking, and now that you have it, well, you might just pass out from how good it’s all going to feel.

“This slutty little pussy,” he growls, thumb circling your throbbing clit. He can feel the way it swells underneath his rough touches, and he can hear the way your breath gets caught in your throat. You were always so delicate to him, like you would break if he held you too hard. But while you were soft, you were also strong, which is why Tom was able to treat you like this and you wouldn’t shatter like thin glass. “So weepy and wet. Who knew you were such a cock whore, hm? Or is it just for me?”

“You. Only you.”

Tom knew it was only for him. And of course, you knew it was only for him. No one has ever gotten you as wet as Tom has, and no one has pleasured you nearly as much. He strived to satisfy you until you begged him to stop, which no one had ever come close to doing. Every past partner you’ve been with always had to use lubricants because they couldn’t make you wet enough. You were always ashamed and embarrassed, but then you realized that’s how they should feel. Their performances are minuscule and rubbish; compared to Tom’s, they don’t stand a chance. But you didn’t bother with those past “lovers” anymore, because you had your one and only right in front of you. Or more like right in between your legs with his head on your thigh.

“Right. I’m feeling a bit hungry. You’ll let me eat, won’t you?” He widens your legs, forcing them to spread so you can’t suffocate him with your thighs. Lewd whines spill from your mouth as his breath hits your pussy, warm and close. “Oh, wait, I’m making the decisions.”

His lips lock onto your clit, sucking on the nub. You don’t conceal the moans that instantaneously begin to slip out of you like a mantra. He changes his rhythm, going firm and fast, and then slow and calculated. It was addicting, and it left you clawing at the bed sheets and curling your toes. His tongue swirls through your folds, collecting your juices and prodding inside of you.

No man has eaten you like Tom has. When they did it, they did it as if it was a chore. Tom does it as if it’s a reward.

He cherishes you, honors your body with his hands and mouth while also showing you who’s in control. It’s these things that make you utterly obsessed with him, thinking about him for twenty-four hours even when you see him at the start and end of every day. You were obsessed with the way his tongue was licking into you, desperate to consume every drop of your wetness until you were drained. His thumb returned to its home on your clit, pressing and holding as it throbbed beneath his finger. Your head spun as if you were drunk on a carousel, but it wasn’t nausea you were feeling. No, it was the ecstasy of pleasure building up inside of you as you approached your high.

“S-so close. Fuck—”

A slap to your inner thigh caused you to squeak into the heated air. Tom never cared when you cussed before, but the fact that he did now was another little turn-on that just got added to the list. Seriously, what was wrong with you?

His mouth popped off of you, thumb never letting up on your clit. He cleanly slides his middle finger through your slick folds, easily curling it inside of you. Even with his wounded and wrapped hands, his thrusts are flawless and perfectly paced. The sandy texture of the bandage occasionally itches your inner thigh, adding a delicious stimulation to your skin. As he pumps his digits inside of you, you are aware of the muscles in his arms flexing, which makes you clutch tightly around him.

“Oh, what’s got you so tight?” You groan at his words, not responding clearly. “Don’t be a brat.

“Your a-arms,” You can’t help but moan as he curls his fingers inside of you again.

“Yeah?” he hovers his body over you now, one arm supporting his bulky weight right beside your head. It was exactly like how you had remembered it and you didn’t even have to tell him. His bicep was next to your head, pulsing and working to keep him up right. You could feel and hear him grin and grunt every time you squeeze tightly around his fingers. “You’re the filthiest fuckin’ girl I’ve ever seen. The way you’re taking my fingers I just know you’re wishing it’s m’cock.”

Your skin was on fire. Your hair was a mess. Your head was going to evaporate into a cloud of lust. And your body was an oozing waterfall. That’s the only way to describe how you felt.

His transitions are natural and effortless as if he could do it with his eyes closed because he’s mapped your body out so well. But no matter how many times you’re with him, you’re still withering beneath him, shaking until your orgasm washes over you like a tsunami. He tilts his head, licking his lips before whispering in your ear deeply.

“Since you’ve been crying for it all day, come. Go ahead. Soak my fingers. Soak the fuckin’ sheets.”

You topple over your orgasm into a pool of pleasure, indeed soaking his hand and the sheets beneath you. As your body becomes hypersensitive, you wiggle away from his touch, only for him to hold you in place. He snatches your hips, stills them roughly with a press of his bandaged hands.

“I’m not done here, sweetheart. For this one, I want you to be as quiet as possible. Can you do that? Or are you inclined to let the neighborhood know who is making y’come this many times?”

Tom was incessant about making you come a magnitude of ways that night, all with specific rules. One with no touching, one with no moving, one with no moaning. It was a rollercoaster of crying and orgasms. To say you were exhausted was an understatement, but you’ve never felt more refreshed and satisfied.

You were so tired that when Tom left to begin your aftercare, you had passed out on the messy bed sheets.

—

i rushed the ending so much, but i felt bad that i’ve posted in so long and i’m just so busy that i never have time to write anymore

taglist:

@motheroffae @noa217 @nelly-belly97 @spidermanffh3000 @rugbeat3000 @mysticdaisy21 @emilyparkerholland @mrstealuregirl @bisexual-desi @sherlockstrangewolf @madsttx @graywrites20 @bradtomlovesya @princesspannnn @sageisswaggg @purplerose291 @girlbossnancy @lockwood-lover @theslayerofthevampires @breaxthing @eatshitanddiee @lnmp89 @crybabyddl @pretty-npeach @marine-mayday @aerangi @justanotherpasserby-blog @tinafuentes @moniffazictress11 @eywaheardyou @alwaysclassyeagle @raajali3

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[holdmytesseract]

moodboard by @mochie85 divider by @fictive-sl0th <3

Summary: It's been a long time coming... But now the day for you and Loki to say 'Yes' and enter the bond of marriage has finally arrived. A covenant for eternity.

Chapter Two - y/n's Bachelorette Party

Warnings for this Chapter: suggestive smut/light smut, partying, alcohol, dancing, talks of babies?

Word Count: 4,2k

a/n: So... This chapter is a little wild - as it should be, right? After all, this is Y/N's bachelorette party! 🥂

A huge shoutout in this chapter goes out to @sagitternolunaspace ! Thank you for helping me with the Midgardian (pre-) wedding traditions! Also a huge thanks to everyone who helped me along with this chapter and gave me ideas for the party!

💍 Chapter One °☆• Chapter Three 💍

Baby Fever Masterlist °☆• A Covenant for Eternity Masterlist (coming soon!)

Loki had barely returned from his little two-day mission, when he immediately went to see you, of course - and somehow on the way between the gym and your shared apartment, the both of you ended up on the common living room sofa; kissing and cuddling. Well... At some point rather casually making out; not wasting a single thought that anybody could just walk in.

"I missed you," you breathed into Loki's ear, as he was hovering above your laying body; head buried in the nape of your neck. Soft lips caressed the skin there, while one of your hands tried to tame his wild raven curls.

You could feel your fiancé smiling against your neck. The muscles in his upper body twitched as he pulled back and readjusted his position. He placed both his hands beside your head, causing his biceps to bulge against the leather.

"Words are not enough to describe how much I missed you, my love." His lips found yours once again, but when he wanted to pull back this time, you didn't let him and so Loki just took you with him; causing you to end up straddling his lap.

You could feel the god smirking in the kiss; big hands gripped your sides and roughly pushed you closer against his chest. Loki's lips muffled your squeak and before you could react was his tongue suddenly involved in the ever-growing passion of this little reunion.

Heat grew within your veins, and even though you still were in the common living room, you couldn't resist the temptation.

You rolled your hips against Loki's; causing the god to break free from the kiss. A low groan left his mouth, before his jaw dropped in the sudden wave of arousal which just drowned him.

You just smirked. It didn't happen too often that you were able to catch him off guard like that. "Seems like you really did miss me," you breathed; tucking on a few loose raven curls.

But Loki recovered fast and within the blink of an eye, your wrists were held together in the firm grip of your fiancè's right hand.

"Naughty girl..." His low, husky voice caused a shiver to run down your spine.

Now Loki was the one smirking. How the tables have turned...

The god moved his left hand from your hip to the hem of your t-shirt; his mission clear. But before he was able to complete his mission, a loud, happy sing-song voice, coming undoubtedly from the hallway bursted the little, steamy bubble you and Loki were in...

"Oh Y/N!"

Wanda.

Your friend scared you so much, that you flinched and literally fell off of Loki's lap - and almost from the sofa, "Woah!" but your soon-to-be husband caught you in time.

Not a few seconds later, Wanda, Nat, Jane and Pepper appeared in the doorway; giggling like a group of teenage girls.

"Y/N!" Wanda sang out again. "It's time, babes," added Natasha, while Pepper started to grin smugly. "Ooo, girls, I think we may have interrupted something." The blond woman referred of course to the position you and Loki were in... Him, manspreading on the sofa and you, well... A leg draped over his lap and hand on his chest.

Jane started to giggle, while the other three ladies were grinning broadly. "Of course, we interrupted something. We all know that they can't leave their hands off of each other."

Loki, being the smug and self confident god he was just smiled charmingly at your friends and ran a hand through his long, wavy raven curls. "Well, you can't blame Y/N, can you, ladies? I have that effect on women," he smouldered; winking.

While Loki had the perfect response at the ready, you just blushed and wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

"You have that effect on Y/N - and that's enough," Nat said with her arms crossed; stepping closer. The others followed her.

"No need to be embarrassed, babes." She winked at you. "Come on, it's time."

You blinked; were utterly confused now. "Time? Time for what?" The gorgeous spy rolled her eyes. "Ох, ради бога... (Oh, for god's sake...) Your bachelorette party of course! We've got only three weeks till the wedding, so come on!"

You blinked once again. "B-Bachelorette party?" "Yes!" The whole group chanted; giggling, before Wanda summoned a folded paper with her magic and let it float into your hands. Still taken by surprise, you opened it.

It was a list. A packing list.

"Go, pack your stuff! Departure is in 30 minutes!" Jane urged you on. "B-But, I can't just leave, I- Loki-" "Ah.Ah," your best friend cut in. "Mischief will survive two days without you." With those words, she grabbed your hand and pulled you to your feet. "You won't be mad at us for stealing your girl for the weekend, right, Mischief?"

The god sighed, but smiled. "I'm afraid I won't have much of a say in this, so... As long as you're going to bring her back to me unharmed..." His words caused the Widow to roll her eyes and the other women to giggle. "You do remember who I am, Laufeyson? Who we all are?"

Loki smiled. "Of course, Miss Romanoff."

About an hour, quite a few goodbye kisses and some hectic, chaotic and definitely uncoordinated packing later, you sat inside a fancy limousine together with your girls - and a bottle of champagne.

"Here's to your wedding, sweetie," Wanda proposed a toast and lifted her glass with the sparkling liquid inside. Pepper and Nat followed. "Here's to the fact that we are related soon!" giggled Jane and brought the glass up in the air as well. You smiled a bit tensed, but joined in. "Here's to me marrying the love of my life." You all clung glasses and took a sip. Shortly after, you felt the hand of your maid of honour on your shoulder; gently kneading the muscle. "Relax, babes. I know that we kinda assaulted you with this, but that's the fun thing about it. Don't worry, it's gonna be great." You smiled. "I know, Nat."

With the time passing, you indeed got more and more relaxed and were really looking forward to where your friends would take you. "Okay, girls, tell me... Where are we going and what are we going to do?" You asked, knowing very well that you most likely would get no answer.

All of them giggled. "Nice try, but we definitely won't tell you a thing," Pepper said. "Yes, let yourself be surprised!" Wanda agreed. You sighed, but kept on smiling. "Alright, alright! Just tell me if there's gonna be strippers involved, because if there are, Loki's gonna kill you all - and I don't want that."

Nat shook her head. "There's not, no." "I mean, we thought about it," Wanda giggled. "But I said that you won't probably want that, because 1) Mischief would kill us, like you said, and 2) You can get that every day, because you literally have your personal stripper, so..." The Widow explained and took another sip of the champagne. "That's right. We would've never find a man that's hotter - at least for you," Pepper said. You giggled, "Wise decision, ladies - and I mean, you got a point." and shrugged your shoulders. "If I think about it... I should ask Loki to strip for me way more often, 'cause I certainly miss something out if I don't..." The girls laughed and wholeheartedly agreed with you.

About two hours, another champagne glass and dozen party songs later, you and the girls had reached your destination. Nat blindfolded you and helped you out of the limousine, while the others 'checked if the coast is clear'. You were nervous, but also overly excited about what was to come. After all, you had absolutely not a single clue what they had planned.

"Okay, babes, are you ready?" "I think so, yep. Hit me." Nat smiled - unbeknownst to you, and led you a few steps forward. "Alright..." She started to untie the blindfold again, "I hope you are excited to spend Friday and Saturday here with us." and uncovered your eyes.

Slowly, you opened them; peeking at first. You could recognise a huge, quite fancy building. Curiously, you opened your eyes completely - and only mere seconds later they widened to the size of plates; jaw slacking. "Oh my gosh!" You squeaked up; taking everything in. "Is this... Is this what I think it is?!"

Your friends laughed and nodded. "Indeed," said Nat. "The spa hotel you always talked about," continued Jane. "With dozens of different saunas, swimming pools, wellness, a restaurant..." listed Pepper. "And in the 'basement' is a disco with a bar," giggled Wanda.

You squealed.

"A-And we're going to stay here almost the whole weekend?!" They all nodded again. "All inclusive, of course. Only the best for our bride." Nat winked at you.

"You all are insane, I- Ahhhh!" You quickly pulled your friends into a group hug; close to shedding a few tears of happiness. "Thank you all so, so much! I love you, girls."

Once Natasha had checked everybody in, three kind bellboy carried all the bags to two rooms on the same floor. You shared a room with Natasha and Pepper, Wanda and Jane shared one - which was straight opposite yours and Nat's. Then you all went to explore the rooms and unpack the bags. It was beautiful, luxurious and perfect for a weekend.

A spacious king-sized bed, big bathroom, balcony, walk-in wardrobe, mini bar and even a huge flat screen TV.

Your friends definitely spared no expense. That much was clear.

The first thing you all did was, of course, to explore the whole hotel and what you were able to do two and a half days. Turned out, there was a lot - like mentioned before by Pepper and Wanda, but also so much more.

Since you were the bride, you got to choose where to start. Being still a little high on adrenaline and excitement, your decision was easily made... The 'adventure' section of the huge swimming pool area with at least ten or fifteen different water slides. The moment you laid your eyes upon these, the kid in you screamed at you to go there.

Unfortunately, there was a problem you didn't recognise you had - until you were on the way to the women's bathing cubicles. "Girls..." You stopped in your tracks; eyes wide. "I don't have swimwear. You didn't tell me to pack something, so I didn't..."

Pepper, Natasha, Jane and Wanda exchanged a look, before they all broke into wide smiles. "Finally..." laughed Pepper. "She realised it." "We thought you'd never get to it," giggled Wanda.

You just blinked; looking incredulously at your friends - until Natasha started to rummage through her bag and revealed a little package; neatly wrapped in pink wrapping paper. "There was a reason why we didn't tell you to pack something. Besides, it would've probably ruined our surprise," she sat and handed you the gift. "Unwrap it!" Jane literally couldn't wait for you to see what's inside.

"O-Okay, thanks." You started to unwrap it, "Is it the obvious item I think it is?" and giggled - but your laughter immediately died in your throat when you held said item in your hand. It was a swimsuit. An emerald green bikini. And it wasn't just a swimsuit... It was probably the sexiest you had ever seen... Beautifully tailored and definitely able to show off your curves. Perfect for you.

You swallowed; taking in the piece of swimwear. "Um, girls... Are you sure this is a swimsuit and not lingerie?" They all giggled, but nodded. "We can confirm, it's a swimsuit," answered Pepper. "But we thought since you are about to get married and this is your bachelorette party, you could use something sexy, too, you know?" "Besides, it's definitely multifunctional. When Mischief sees you in this... He's gonna loose his shit," Nat winked at you.

You couldn't help but giggle girlishly. "I could be a bad, bad girl and send him a pic of me later; ask him what he thinks." A murmur went through the crowd. "Little minx," your best friend teased you, while the others just giggled.

Once you thanked your girls thoroughly and everybody got changed, you all made a beeline to the slides - and what could you say? You didn't have this kind of fun since you were probably a teenager. You didn't regret your decision even in the slightest. Nat, Jane, Pepper and Wanda loved it as well and so it was no wonder that you all spent the rest of this exciting Friday in that department of the hotel.

Around 7 p.m., everyone returned to their shared hotel rooms, in order to shower and get ready for dinner. The hotel also had a restaurant - of course, and it turned out that the food was absolutely delicious. With bellies full of delicacies, you all pondered about what to do for the rest of the evening. A decision was rather quickly made.

"Again, babes, you are the bride... Your decision."

You remembered your best friend's words and decided to pay the disco downstairs a visit. After all, you had every reason to celebrate, right?

You were currently standing inside the spacious bathroom; changing into your cocktail dress before Pepper, Jane and Wanda would come around. It was literally the first ten minutes (besides showering) you had for yourself. A few moments to breathe and take everything in. With your one hand helping your body to slip into fresh underwear, the other hand went to press your fiancè's name on your phone in order to give him a call. It was time to finally get in touch with him... You tapped on the speaker button and let it ring, but Loki didn't pick up. Shrugging your shoulders you ended the call.

After you were done, you switched with Nat.

Fifteen minutes later, everyone was ready to go - the other girls as well and so, you went downstairs together.

The disco was huge for a 'hotel disco'. A spacious, fancy room with a bar, bar stools, bar tables, some sitting accommodations, a mirror ball, and of course a big dance floor in the middle. When you arrived, the party was already in full swing. It was crowded, but not overly crowded. Perfect conditions.

The first thing you did was, of course, going to the bar and getting drinks; drinking a toast to your upcoming wedding, the bachelorette party and friendship.

After that you stormed the dance floor; taking all your friends with you.

In the middle of the crowd, Nat called suddenly out to you; literally screaming through the music and singing people. "Babes, your phone is ringing!" You had placed your mobile on a little bar table at which your best friend stood; taking a break from all the dancing and having something to drink, while you were currently dancing with Wanda.

"What?!" You yelled back; letting go of Wanda and turned to face the Widow. "I said your phone is ringing!" "Who is it?!" "Wait, I'll check." There was silence for a short moment. "Your Disney prince!" She answered with an audible smile. "Can you-" "Already on my way!" No five seconds later, you had your mobile in your hands.

"Thanks!" She just winked at you. "No phone sex, yeah?! We are in a disco, babes!" You rolled your eyes and shook your head, but also couldn't stop yourself from grinning. "Shut up!" Nat laughed and watched you leave for the toilets.

It were small moments like this which reminded you why Natasha was your best friend.

"Hey, babe," you happily answered the incoming call, "I know, I texted you that I'd call again, but well... I'm sorry." and bit your lip. "Where have you actually been? You hardly miss a call from me."

On the other end of the line, Loki stood beside a huge black party bus. The bass of the current song could be even heard outside, like the god noticed. "Hello, darling, I-" He didn't get really far to explain something... One of the bus doors slid open; revealing a definitely tipsy Tony. "Reindeer Games, 'r ya comin' back now?!" The billionaire literally yelled at the god. Therefore you weren't able to overhear it.

A frown formed on your forehead. "Loki, I- Is that... Was that...? Did Tony just- WHAT? Babe, what the hell are you doing? Where are you?"

Without answering Tony, he stepped further away from the bus; swallowing hard. "Well, love, I... I am at my bachelor party."

You blinked; brain seconds away from a restart. "What? Really? The boys took you out for your party at the same time?" "Seems like it, yeah..." Loki agreed; running a hand through his raven curls - unbeknownst to you.

"Well..." You started to smile. "As I can hear, you followed my advice and gave them a chance..." At the other end of the line, Loki smiled as well. "Yes, I did." A beat of silence passed, before... "Well, where are you? What are you doing? Spit it out, soon-to-be-hubby! I'm curious!" You demanded in a playful tone; giggling.

"I am afraid I don't know. My brother, Stark, Laing and Banner ripped me rudely out of my reading session three hours ago and since then we are, um, driving around in a party bus, did Lasertag and uh now, we are really partying. Lots of music and lots of alcohol."

You giggled. "Yep, sounds like a bachelor party. I'm excited to hear what you'll tell me tomorrow. Or well, rather where this journey took you and-" "Y/N! Our song is on!" Jane's voice cut suddenly through the air and your sentence; echoing through the empty ladies bathroom. "Oh my gosh, I'm on my way! Babe, I gotta go. We are at the disco and mine and the girls song is on!" Loki smiled - something you weren't able to see either. "Alright. I won't bother you any longer then. Have fun, my love." "Thanks! Have fun, too! But please look after yourself and don't drink too much, yeah?" "I promise, but only if you promise me the same, darling. I love you." "Yes, I promise! I love you, too."

You quickly hung up and literally stormed back to Wanda, Pepper, Jane and Natasha, who were already dancing to the song. "Come on, babes!" Nat squealed and took your hand; pulling you into the dancing circle.

"I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want!" You started to scream along the lyrics; pointing at Jane - who jumped on the train, of course.

"So tell me what you want, what you really, really want!" She hollered back at you; showing off her amazing dance moves.

"I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna really, really, really wanna zigazig ah!" You answered with the next lines of the song, before everybody joined you in singing.

"If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends! Make it last forever, friendship never ends!" By now you were all laying in each other's arms; fully embracing the song. Neither you, nor your friends cared about what the people around you were thinking. This was your bachelorette party - and you had every right to celebrate and be happy.

A few drinks, dances and songs later, you and the girls made their way back to your rooms. You weren't absolutely hammered. Nobody was. But definitely drunk.

It was quite late, when you and Nat found the way into the spacious king-sized bed you shared. You'd share with Nat anyway nearly anything. She was your best friend after all...

The following Saturday started very lazy for you and basically everybody else, too. You weren't the only one who had to sleep off your slight alcoholic intoxication and because of that didn't leave the bed until 11 a.m... Therefore turned breakfast almost already into lunch.

It was definitely time to get to the wellness part of this little trip. While the sauna called out for Nat, Wanda and Jane, the Thai massage sounded really inviting for you and Pepper. So, the group split up.

Ten minutes later, you found yourself laying on a massage couch; face down - gazing through a hole in the head support. Nothing but a towel was draped over your bum; covering little of your naked skin. You didn't care, though, just like Pepper. The massage you received from the two women standing beside the massage couch was exquisite.

You heard Pepper sigh in satisfaction. "Yep...," You answered almost drowsy. "I wholeheartedly agree, Peps."

After the massage, you and Pepper kinda switched with the other three girls. They went to get a massage as well and you and Mrs. Stark headed for the sauna.

Again you wore nothing but a towel, as you sat down on the wooden bench beside your friend. "Have you already called or texted Tony today?" You asked; looking at the blond woman. She just laughed and shook her head. "No, not a chance. I know him. He's probably still sleeping off his drunkenness somewhere." "I haven't heard from Loki yet, too... I texted him, but it seems like he isn't addressable yet either." Pepper turned to face you; smiling. "Well, it must've been a good bachelor party then." You giggled. "Apparently, yes."

Once the both of you had sweated enough, you took a shower, swam a few rounds and then rejoined with Nat, Wanda and Jane, in order to slowly round off your bachelorette party - and one of the private whirlpools was your chosen destination. Nobody else was around. Just you and the girls - and five glasses of champagne.

You all clinked glasses; smiling. "Thanks for this, girls. I absolutely enjoyed it. Best bachelorette party ever." "That's great to hear," started Wanda. "Means we made the right decisions."

Everybody laughed and took another sip of the expensive liquid.

"Now, babes... Tell us... What are you looking forward to the most in this new chapter of life?" Your best friend asked. "I mean, getting married is a big step, after all." Jane and Pepper agreed. "Especially when getting married to Loki. I think we can all say that we never expected to see Mischief marrying someday," said Wanda; giggling - to which also everyone agreed. "You turned him into a better person, babes. Can't deny that." Jane nodded at Nat. "She did, definitely. Thor tells me the same at least twice a week... What a good influence she is on his brother and how good she is for him."

You couldn't help but blush and smile sheepishly. "Well, I... All I did was giving him a second chance in life. A chance nobody thought he deserved." You swallowed hard; thinking back to the days how everyone looked at Loki through spiteful eyes.

"I felt that there was so much more behind those beautiful blue eyes. Not just the villain and power-hungry god he seemed to be. Because he's not. He's so much more. All he needed was someone who truly cares about him. Who listens to him and well... Who shows him love." "Aww..." The girls cooed. "That's beautiful," said Pepper. "That's true love," swooned Wanda. "Yes, but you didn't answer my question, babes." Natasha winked at you.

You smiled. "Well... Honestly? Everything. Sharing that deep bond with Loki - and with that the rest of my life. Calling him my husband..." A pleasant shiver run down your spine at that thought. "And well, I, uh, I wouldn't say no to start a family." You blushed in an even darker shade of red. It was something you never revealed to somebody besides Loki.

"Ahhh, oh my gosh, yes!" Your friends squealed; completely excited. "Please, Y/N, yes! You gotta! I wanna become an auntie!" Jane was completely excited. "Me too!" Agreed Nat. "Besides, you have the actual privilege to have a baby with that man. There are about a million ladies out there, who'd kill for a baby from Loki." "Nat!" You gently slapped her arm, but couldn't help but smile. She just shrugged her shoulders; smirking. "It's true, babes, and you know it." "Plus, you are going to have so much fun making that baby," Wanda commented; wiggling her eyebrows. You laughed, "Oh definitely. I absolutely don't doubt that, but..." and shook your head; your demeanour suddenly shifting very quick. "I talked with Loki about it and he, uh, he doesn't want kids. He made it very clear. I accepted his decision, of course, because I love him and didn't want to lose him."

All of the girl's jaws dropped. "He really said that?" Asked Jane in disbelief. You nodded. "Yeah... Repeatedly. He says he doesn't know how to handle children and that it has never been a priority in his life." "Ouch... But I can understand him. It's his choice and he has his reasons, so..." Nat said and the other girls nodded. "That's what I thought, too. I can't pressure him into this. I never would."

After a thoroughly relaxing day in the wellness area of the spa hotel, you all went back to your rooms; had a shower, packed the few things you had and just enjoyed the evening together.

On Sunday morning, it was already time to say goodbye again and the fancy limousine who drove you to the hotel picked you and your friends up again, in order to drive you back home.

Tags: @muddyorbsblr @mochie85 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jaidenhawke @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @multifandom-worlds @jennyggggrrr @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @fictive-sl0th @herdetectivetheorist @hisredheadedgoddess28 @chennqingg @princess-ofthe-pages @km-ffluv @brokenpoetliz @huntedmusicgardenn @lokiforever @stupidthoughtsinwriting @loz-3 @jaguarthecat @icytrickster17 @eleniblue @yourfriendlyslytherinhc @mypainischronicbutmyassisiconic @kimanne723 @lou12346789 @smolvenger @lokisrealpurpous @isaidoop @lokisgoodgirl @aagn360 @cakesandtom @alexakeyloveloki @glitchquake (Continuing in the comments!)

[sevenhusbandsofyn]

"𝐈 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮"

I OWN YOU | BOYFRIEND! TOM RIDDLE X READER | IMAGINE |  PAIRING: Boyfriend!Tom Riddle x Reader

SYNOPSIS: your boyfriend mouths something to you and your friends become curious about what he said. WORD COUNT: 352 WARNING(S): Dirty Talk? shocked besties, flirting.

AUTHORS NOTE: Saw a Mattheo version on tiktok and decided to write a Tom version.

The dimly lit Slytherin common room Y/N sat on a plush couch, sandwiched between her boyfriend, Tom Riddle, and Draco Malfoy, Theo Nott, and Blaise Zabini. The atmosphere was light-hearted, in stark contrast to Tom's typically reserved demeanor.

As they chatted and shared stories, Y/N couldn't help but notice Tom leaning in close, his lips moving silently as he mouthed something to her. Draco, Theo, and Blaise, ever observant, caught the subtle exchange.

Draco leaned over to Y/N, a mischievous glint in his gray eyes. "Did he just say 'I love you'?"

Y/N stifled a laugh, her gaze flickering to the intrigued trio. Theo and Blaise leaned in, eagerly awaiting her response. The prospect of Tom Riddle expressing love was a rare and intriguing occurrence, to say the least.

Y/N shook her head, a playful smile dancing on her lips. "No, he said, 'I own you.'"

Draco, Theo, and Blaise's eyes widened, their jaws nearly hitting the floor. They didn't know what shocked them more—the audacity of the phrase or the fact that Tom Riddle, known for his emotional restraint and lack of public displays of affection, had just smirked.

Tom observed the reactions of his friends with a self-satisfied grin, relishing the astonishment he had caused.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Shipping Out

Pairing: Tom Bennett (World on Fire) x f!reader Warnings: Drinking, smoking, public sex, smut. Word count: ~1.5k

Summary: Just trust me on this one, and read all the way to the end.

Author's note: A little birthday treat for @bottlesandbarricades. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

The pub is crowded and noisy, the humidity of the air making her carefully coiffed curls cling to the back of her neck with perspiration. It’s not often that she frequents this side of Manchester, but the change of scenery is a refreshing switch of pace to the monotony of everyday life. Laughter, music and the clinking of glasses is preferable to the whir of the factory sewing machines.

She taps her red lacquered nails against the wood of the bar, wrinkling her nose at the stickiness of the wooden surface beneath her palm. If the frequency with which it’s wiped down is any indication of the attentiveness of the barkeep then she’s in for a long wait for a drink.

Sighing, she fishes her cigarette case from her handbag, flipping it open and plucking one out. No sooner has she placed it between her lips than a hand is clicking a flame to life before the end of it, turning it a glowing cherry red. She casts her gaze upwards through the steady plume of smoke, met by twinkling blue eyes and a cocky smirk, as the chivalrous stranger deposits his lighter back into his trouser pocket and regards her with a tip of his head.

“Thanks,” she says with an easy smile, taking the smoke between her fingers and exhaling a tight line of vapour up towards the ceiling.

“Don’t mention it,” he replies with a wink. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this then?”

God, that’s a terrible line.

She bites back a laugh, and decides to humour him. “Trying to get a drink, service in here is awful though.”

He purses his lips, eyes raking over her from head to toe, before nodding. “Can’t be having that.” Slapping a hand against the bartop, he calls out, “Oi! My lady friend and I are dying of thirst over here! Anyone serving?”

She raises her eyebrows in disbelief, but doesn’t have to wait long until a middle aged, irritated looking woman makes her way around the corner to the pair of them and grumpily takes their order. She’s long since finished her cigarette by the time the glasses are placed heavily down in front of them.

He doesn’t even ask what she wants to drink; she ends up with a gin and tonic, while he has a pint. It’s what she would have ordered anyway, but the bold presumption unsettles her regardless.

Sipping her drink, she relishes in the way the fizzy bitterness envelopes her tongue as she takes in what he’s wearing; navy blue slacks and a matching long sleeved smock, with a white striped collar.

“Shouldn’t you be on a boat somewhere, sailor?”

He grins, setting his glass down on a dog eared beer mat. “Just so happens I’ve been given a night of shore leave. I ship out again tomorrow.”

“Lucky me,” she says with a coy smile.

“If you play your cards right you might be.”

There’s that smirk again. She watches as he takes out a packet of Lucky Strike, perching one between his lips before offering one to her. She gratefully accepts, and he’s quick to light it for her, before doing the same to his own.

Every table is full, but she doesn’t mind, she’s content just to prop up the bar with him, ignoring the ache of her feet as they lapse into effortless conversation. He’s handsome, if a little overeager and she pays rapt attention as he entertains her with stories of his time aboard the HMS Exeter.

She’s on her third gin and tonic of the evening when he leans in to whisper to her.

“So, I might not see another woman for months after tonight. You gonna help me make it one to remember?”

Feeling her cheeks heat up, she giggles softly. “What did you have in mind?”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll find a way for you to thank me for my loyal service to our country,” he tells her, taking her hand and leading her out of the pub.

Allowing the gin to fuel her confidence, before she can change her mind, she lets him guide her outside. Even met with the sobering chill of the night air, she offers up no protest when he pulls her into the ginnel, the brickwork biting into her back as he pushes her up against the wall and captures her lips with her.

It’s a messy kiss, moist and desperate with need. He tastes of beer and tobacco as she welcomes his tongue against her own with parted lips, her fingertips sliding over the breadth of his shoulders and up into the cropped softness of his sandy coloured hair.

Pressing tighter against her, he groans appreciatively, mouth moving from hers to travel a path across her jaw and down her neck, as his hands find their way up her skirt. One teases the top of her stocking while the other presses against her clothed core, making her gasp.

His touch is hurried, not as thorough as she’d like, yet she feels a growing stickiness between her thighs regardless. The warmth of his fingers and lips against her makes her feel desired, and she is lightheaded, almost giddy, to see the effect she’s having on him.

Instinctively, she parts her legs wider as he dips beneath her knicker elastic, stroking eagerly through her folds.

“Christ, you’re soaked,” he rasps against the shell of her ear, “bet you’d let me fuck you right here, if I wanted, wouldn’t you?”

She bites her bottom lip, stifling her quiet whimper as his strokes against her cause her to throb. “Please…”

“Since you asked nicely…” He pulls back, blue eyes dark with intent as he makes quick work of unbuckling his belt, lowering his trousers and briefs just enough to free his erection.

Even in the darkness of the alleyway she can see that he’s thick and heavy, and he pumps lazily at himself, while his free hand reaches into his pocket.

“Leave that,” she tells him, as she spots the foil of the sheath wrapper.

He raises an eyebrow, pursing his lips as he stares at her. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” she whispers.

That’s all the confirmation he needs, slipping the packet away and surging forward. He pulls her underwear to the side, grasping the base of himself and pushes forcefully into her in one motion.

The movement knocks all the air from her lungs. Though she is wet, the public nature of their tryst leaves little time for him to prepare her fully, the luxury of time is not on their side, but in their desperation neither one of them cares. It stings, the fullness of him pushing against her, but it’s a pleasurable hurt.

Her breaths leave her mouth in shallow pants as he pistons his hips into her, lifting one of her legs to hook her thigh around his hip. She wraps her arms around his neck, clinging to him as he rocks into her, his forehead pushed up against hers.

“Filthy slut,” he grits out, “bet you’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”

“Y-yeah…” she whines, feeling his fingers press tighter into the meat of her thigh.

His brow furrows, and he grunts, his pace becoming sloppy and erratic. While the ache builds steadily inside of her, she worries he’ll finish before she does. The thought is fleeting, and as though he’s read her mind, the hand not gripping her thigh slips between them, fingers rubbing tight circles against her bud. She clenches around him, the added stimulation serving to intensify the tightening in her lower belly.

“That’s it,” he mutters, “come on.”

He pulsates inside of her, knocking against a spot that makes her tip over the edge suddenly, and she lets out a choked cry, a rolling wave of weightlessness travelling from her head to her toes. Her walls spasm around him and he pushes himself in to the hilt, a groan of relief escaping him as he spills himself inside of her.

They stay like that for a few moments, both catching their breath as their bodies relax. He grins as he pulls back slightly, before leaning in to pepper her face with soft, playful kisses.

“Tommy!” She huffs a laugh, swatting at his shoulder.

He slips out of her, stepping back to tuck himself away and fasten his belt. “Thought we weren’t supposed to be using our names? Part of the fun was pretending we don’t know each other.”

She scoffs, putting her gusset back into place as she feels his spend start to drip out of her, and smooths her skirt back down. “Think you ruined that when you ordered my drink without asking what I wanted. A stranger wouldn’t know I like gin and tonic!”

Tom rolls his eyes and chuckles, offering his arm for her to take. “Right, right. Well, I’ll remember for next time. Whatever you need for me to fulfill your fantasies.”

“Right now, my only fantasy is being at home in bed. That pub is horrible,” she tells him as they begin to walk down the street arm in arm.

“You wanted the uniform. I wasn’t gonna take us somewhere someone we know would see and take the piss.”

She laughs, gripping his arm tighter as she looks up at him. “Was fun though, wasn’t it?”

He gazes down at her with hooded eyes as they continue to walk. “I’ve had worse nights.”

[ana-reblogsposts]

𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐬

fluff | Academic Rival!Tom Riddle | ⋆.˚🦋༘⋆ | Tom Riddle Masterlist | Masterlist

SUMMARY: When Y/N finds herself at odds with a classmate, her unlikely protector makes sure no one else dares to challenge her.

AUTHORS NOTE: Saw a headcanon on how Tom would act if you're ever in a fight.

The corridor thrummed with a tense energy, alive with whispers and glances as Y/N and a Ravenclaw girl stood face-to-face, locked in a fierce argument that had begun over a simple disagreement in Potions class. What should have been a passing spat about a misplaced ingredient had somehow snowballed into a stubborn standoff, each girl unwilling to back down.

The Ravenclaw girl’s face was flushed with anger, her jaw set as she spat, “Maybe if you actually paid attention to your own work, you’d understand why I’m right about this.”

Y/N crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing with icy resolve. “Or maybe you’re just too proud to realize you’ve made a mistake,” she shot back, her voice calm but cutting. “You didn’t even double-check your notes, did you?”

A murmur ran through the crowd, students glancing back and forth between the two girls like spectators at a duel. A few stifled gasps hinted at the onlookers’ anticipation, waiting to see if anyone would get the upper hand. But just as the Ravenclaw girl’s mouth opened, ready with her next retort, her words faltered.

Her eyes darted nervously over Y/N’s shoulder, widening. The spark of defiance in her expression dwindled as she seemed to shrink back, looking as though she’d rather be anywhere but there. Y/N frowned, about to question the girl’s sudden change in attitude, when she caught sight of a familiar figure approaching from behind.

Tom Riddle had entered the corridor, his presence as commanding and cold as ever. His gaze swept over the scene with an unreadable calm, landing on the Ravenclaw girl and pinning her there in silent intimidation. The air around them seemed to grow heavy, as though he alone commanded it, and the crowd fell into an anxious hush.

Tom gave the Ravenclaw girl a subtle, dismissive tilt of his head. His message was clear: leave. The girl’s bravado vanished in an instant, and she managed only a quick, nervous nod before she gathered her things, muttering a barely coherent apology, and practically fled down the corridor. The crowd didn’t linger long after, some students averting their eyes as they slipped away, others glancing at Tom with wary admiration, before dispersing altogether and leaving Y/N and Tom alone.

Y/N took a deep breath, turning around to find Tom watching her with a faint, almost amused smirk, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

“What did you do?” she asked, folding her arms, her tone one of exasperation tinged with curiosity.

Tom shrugged, feigning innocence, his expression infuriatingly calm. “I didn’t do anything,” he replied smoothly, though the glint in his eyes betrayed him.

Y/N rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “Right. Because she just happened to change her mind the moment you showed up.”

He didn’t answer immediately, but his smirk deepened, his eyes flickering with a playful light as he took a step closer, regarding her with that same knowing look. “You know,” he said softly, his voice low, almost teasing, “the only person you should be fighting with is me.”

Y/N raised a brow, her arms still crossed. “But we’re not fighting?” she replied, her voice defensive.

His gaze sharpened, and he arched an eyebrow with an amused tilt of his head. “Aren’t we?” he murmured, his tone challenging, yet the hint of amusement in his eyes suggested he was enjoying the exchange far too much. She caught the hint of a smirk on his face, one that told her he’d gotten exactly the reaction he was looking for.

Y/N felt her cheeks warm, letting out a soft huff as she crossed her arms tighter. “Fine,” she muttered, her lips twitching with an unwilling smile. “Maybe we’re… debating. But that doesn’t mean you need to chase everyone else off.”

“Debating?” he echoed, leaning in slightly. His voice dropped lower, a dangerous warmth in his tone. “If this is what you call debating, I’d hate to see what happens when we’re truly at odds.”

Y/N’s heart skipped, but she held her ground, refusing to back down. “You still don’t need to defend me, Tom,” she replied, though the firmness in her voice wavered under his intense gaze.

He tilted his head, giving a slow, almost casual shrug. “Maybe not,” he said, his voice a quiet murmur, “but that doesn’t mean I won’t.” The words were soft, almost an afterthought, but there was a possessive edge beneath the surface, a quiet claim that left no room for argument.

She let out a small laugh, shaking her head as she tried to ignore the flutter in her chest. “So, what, you’re just going to scare off anyone who dares to argue with me?”

Tom’s lips curled into a faint smirk, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Only the ones who don’t deserve your attention,” he replied. His voice was casual, almost playful, but the steely resolve in his tone betrayed the quiet possessiveness he refused to openly acknowledge.

Y/N scoffed, feeling her cheeks grow warm. “You know, this whole overprotective thing—it’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

“Is it?” He arched a brow, his eyes softening slightly. “I’d think you’d be used to it by now.” His voice lowered, and the cool amusement gave way to something deeper, something dangerously close to affection. “After all,” he murmured, his tone carrying a rare hint of warmth, “I’ll always be there to remind them that you’re not theirs to challenge.”

Her breath caught, his words leaving her momentarily speechless. There, beneath the layers of cold indifference, she caught a glimpse of the quiet, possessive loyalty he kept hidden from the world. She could feel the depth of his words—the way he would always stand by her, even if it meant he’d never voice his feelings directly.

Finally, she managed, “So… that’s your way of saying you’ll always be there to ‘debate’ with me?”

His smirk softened, a rare warmth flickering in his eyes. “Something like that,” he replied, his voice barely a whisper, as if the words were meant only for her. The unspoken promise in his tone left her pulse racing.

They stood in the quiet corridor, the weight of unspoken words lingering between them, until he gestured toward the library. “Shall we?” he asked, his tone returning to its usual calm reserve, though his gaze lingered on her with unmistakable fondness.

With a sigh and a faint smile, she nodded, falling in step beside him. And as they walked down the hall together, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that beneath Tom’s cool exterior lay a silent devotion he’d never admit—and that, despite her protests, she didn’t mind it one bit.