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superficialdomina · 1 year

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Missed connection - Part 2

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

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

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

W/C: 2.8k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Softly, you call his name.

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

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

“Y/n,” he smiles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don't... Tell...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don’t ask… Don’t tell….

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

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

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

***

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

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

Continued in Part 3

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

#Tom/reader #tom hiddleston fic

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blorbocedes · 2 years

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outhouse by jacob, Pope Giovanni Paolo II in a Ferrari Mondial Cabriolet at Maranello, 1988, a little life - hanya yanagihara, The Parable of the Mote and the Beam by Domenico Fetti c. 1619, Mattia and Leclerc in conversation Silverstone 2022, Kiss of Judas (1304–06), fresco by Giotto, Scrovegni Chapel, Padua, Italy; charles leclerc bahrain 2019, Charles Leclerc interview Gazetta.

Charles Leclerc and the inherent catholic guilt of being a Ferrari driver

inspired by @karlmarxverstappen's 'leclerc at ferrari is acac' (assigned catholic at contract)

#this is a shitpost #but a high quality shitpost #charles leclerc #f1 #web weaving #catholicism #babe im not even christian im just vibing #the pope in the ferrari is honestly kinda sick #blorbocedes edits #ferrari #christian imagery #i could probably do a part 2 with carlos #i will use ANY CHANCE to put in kiss of judas at all times

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homomenhommes · 4 months

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Starry Sky detail from the Scrovegni Chapel in Padua, 1305. Giotto di Bondone

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christliche-kunstwerke · 7 months

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Die Kreuzigung, Detail der Maria Magdalena und der Jungfrau zwischen Johannes und einem weiblichen Heiligen, c.1303-05 von Giotto di Bondone

Frisch Scrovegni (Arena) Chapel, Padua, Italy

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themuseumwithoutwalls · 4 months

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MWW Artwork of the Day (12/28/23) Giotto di Bondone (Florentine, 1267-1337) Life of Christ #5: Massacre of the Innocents (1304-06) Fresco, 200 x 185 cm. Cappella Scrovegni (Arena Chapel), Padua

A great number of slaughtered children lie on the ground. A soldier stands over the corpses and, at the command of King Herod (who appears in the painting himself), snatches a baby boy from his mother. The women scream, weep and try to protect their children. The men on the other side turn away, crushed and ashamed. This scene is the only one in the chapel in which two buildings appear. The octagonal structure on the right recalls a baptistery (an allusion to the baptism of blood of these unfortunate infants?), and is depicted with even greater clarity than the structures at Assisi.

#italian renaissance #religious art

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careful-disorder · 1 month

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Giotto, Last Supper, Scenes from the Life of Christ, Scrovegni Chapel Frescoes

"The Gospel of John tells of Jesus washing the feet of the apostles, giving the new commandment "to love one another as I have loved you"" The Last Supper

#life of christ #giotto #last supper #scrovegni chapel #frescoes

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pinkeoni · 2 years

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Will is a Christ Figure + Season 5 Predictions

This is probably going to be in multiple parts, but basically a while ago I made a post discussing how Will is a Christ figure, but I was unsatisfied with that post and have since made some new discoveries.

So anyways, my theory goes like this:

A Christ-figure is a popular literary technique where a character is paralled to the biblical Jesus. This is a popular technique that many famous characters fall under, including Neo from The Matrix, Aslan from Narnia, and even a character that Will is heavily paralleled to, Harry Potter.

Here is part of the definition from the Wikipedia article on Christ figures.

The second paragraph discusses qualifications for a character to be a Christ figure. While it is heavily speculated that Will has powers, there are still other aspects of a Christ figure that have already been shown that align with this. “Displaying kindness and forgiveness,” and “sacrificing themselves for larger causes” being two of them.

Of course, we see time and time again how kind Will is. Despite everything he’s gone through, he is still able to remain kind to everyone. In terms of sacrifices, we first see that in season two, when Will urges Hopper to close the gate, despite the fact that he knows it will kill him.

And of course, in season four, Will sacrifices his own feelings for Mike in order to keep Mike and El together.

The most obvious allusion, however, is the “death and ressurection” part. Of course, in season 1, Will dies and then comes back to life. What’s interesting too is that Will’s “body” is put in the ground in episode 5, and he comes back in episode 8, three episodes later. This aligns with Jesus rising from his tomb three days after his death.

(In a lot of ways, El is also a Christ figure, but considering that Will is the focus for next season, I think we are going to see how this plays out for his character specifically.)

Another thing I wanna note is how the Wikipedia article mentions healing as another attribute of a Christ figure. Will is stated in the show to be a cleric, who has healing powers in DnD.

Something about Will that has been pointed out numerous times before is that there usually seems to be surrounded by light. This is not unlike how Jesus is often depicted in pre-renaissance art with a halo of light around his head. Here is a portion of Giotto’s Scrovegni Chapel painting that illustrates this. Jesus is the figure who has a gold halo around his head.

Now here are images of Will being surrounded by light.

People have theorized that the number seven in the show has major significance. It’s the number that Will rolls which kills his character in the game from the first episode.

The number seven is also theorized to have significant biblical meaning. There is, of course, the seven days over which the world was created by God. This is from the site Christianity.com

This theory correlates with a theory I’ve seen that Will has powers of creation. In Christianity, Jesus and God are thought of as one in the same. I’m not sure if Will created the Upside Down in it’s entirety, but I would confidently venture that he was the one who made it look like Hawkins and froze time there. There is also Will being an artist that makes him a creator in that way as well.

The number seven also has significance in the crucifixion story, as Jesus proclaimed seven statements as he was dying. Furthermore, the Lord’s prayer contains seven petitions. There are other instances to seven in the bible, but these were the ones that were the most important to this theory.

When it comes to how this fits in with the plot of season five, I wouldn’t be surprised if it followed the crucifixion story. There have been many talks of Will sacrificing himself, and I can see it going this way. I think it will also be in episode seven. It would follow the pattern of seven, but it makes sense storytelling wise that something dramatic like that would happen in the penultimate episode. However! I do think that this will include ressurection. The way I see it, Will will try to sacrifice himself, will die, and will come back to life before his final battle with Vecna. But that’s just how I see it.

Two very important characters in this theory are Vecna and Mike, who I will make seperate posts on discussing their importance. Basically, Vecna opperates as an Antichrist figure, and Mike operates as Judas in the crucifixion story. Don’t worry, this theory is actually pro-Byler endgame! It’s more that their characters have allusions to each other and function similarly in the story, and less that they will have each other’s exact fates.

#byler #will byers #will is god #stranger things 5 #stranger things theory #please do numbers this time #second and third parts coming soon #long post #my theory

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frogonamelon · 8 months

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Chompy the starchild <3

Raph’s been sneaking out as the Night Watcher for a while, even after the Shredder is defeated and his brothers are recovering from their injuries and generally taking it easy. He will don a disguise and sneak up to the surface to fight criminals and generally keep an eye on things.

On one of these nights, he sees what he believes to be a mutant dashing between shadows. He finds Y’Gythgba, a warrior from another planet who is here to recapture a creature before anyone else can hunt it down for their hyde, which is incredibly desirable both aesthetically and functionally, for it is both beautiful in a variety of colors and is so durable it can withstand magma.

He wants to help and she needs a guide (or ‘guide’ given that Raph has never been outside of the city) and so they venture out on a mission to the Mojave desert (opposite side of the continent from NYC), defeating many who are hunting the creature and falling in love. Including a sweet moment when they’re close to the end of the journey where Raph is awed at the stars in the desert since he’s never seen so many at once.

When they reach the creature, they find that the Volcanthian Draise (drake tortoise) has been defending her only remaining hatchling against the kraang. She is heavily wounded and being dragged away. The two leap into action and save her, getting her stable enough to be transported back to Y’Gythgba’s home planet for proper care but the wounded mother nudges her hatchling into Raph’s arms, leaving them in his care.

The couple part ways with the promise to see eachother again one day.

Due to the different environment, the young Draise becomes more bipedal than their mother was. They’re shades of magenta and lavender, with yellow eyes that reminds Raph of Y’Gythgba. He raises the draise as his own (teen dad Raphael <3) and calls them his starchild.

The couple communicate long distance for a while before Y’Gythgba returns. The two of them will get married and move to the desert, better environmentally for their child and far enough away for Raph to get breathing room away from the stress of being a mutant ninja. He gets to paint in peace with his wife and their child in a small plot of land in the middle of nowhere under uncountable stars.

Ok! On the Chompy front: I need a name for this child. I want him to be named after an artist as, out of all the brothers, Raph is probably the most likely to continue the tradition. I’ve got two that I like.

Vincent/ Vin/ Cen/ etc- Named after Vincent van Gogh and a reference to the painting ‘Starry Night’. I like this one a lot and choosing a more modern artist than the renaissance turtles feels like a nice progression. It's got cute nicknames but it’s kind of basic since van Gogh is one of the most well-known artists in popular consciousness.

Giotto/ Gio/ To/ etc- Giotto di Bondone is another Italian Renaissance artist who had a few different paintings including stars in particular Stars of Bethlehem and on the ceiling of the Scrovegni Chapel. Also has cute nicknames including the fact that the family met on Earth. My reluctance here comes from already having a tmnt character named Gio.

#Drawing Chompy's mouth was such a struggle I covered it #The bandana color is up to interpretation #A lot of design inspiration came from probably-not-a-rutabaga #In particular the head spikes and the scarf #Unnamed baby is the size of canon chompy #Lil borrower child #Arrietty who #mutant chompy #mrlively tmnt2k12 #raph x mona lisa #y'gythgba #raph tmnt #tmnt 2k12 #tmnt 2012 #chompy

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