#tom hiddleston x male reader

[sluttyhusband]

Tonight, I Wanna Get Nasty

Tom Hiddleston x Chubby!Femboy! Male Reader

Titles based off Ariana Grande’s “nasty”

Requested by @buckyshusband0 : Tom and reader are both on a movie/tv show, reader is wearing lingerie and when the scenes comes on, he’s wearing a robe. Then he takes it off and every guy is like 👁 and and they’re bricked up. Then Tom and reader get home but Tom saved the lingerie and tells reader to wear it 😋😋

C/N = character name

T/C/N = Tom’s character name

Smut: lingerie, feminization, daddy kink, reader gets insecure for a second

“ACTION”, the director calls out and you step out of your “bedroom”, wearing a robe. You were nervous, obviously, you were basically naked underneath the robe, and Tom would see you in something you wanted to do on your own terms. Though it would be fun to see his reaction. He may be acting but you know him like the back of your hand, he may not show it but you’ll know if it would gain a reaction in the bedroom.

You stepped out and sat on the bed about to give Tom’s cue. You stared down at your watch counting down seconds, “Five, four, three, two…”, and with that, Tom barges in, suitcase in hand and suit jacket over his arm. “C/N, darling!”, he says cheerfully. You hold your hand up, lip’s pursed, “T/C/N you’re late”, you say standing up facing him with your arms crossed, he sighs and drops the suitcase near the dresser and tosses the suit jacket over a chair, “Believe me darling”, he walks over to you and grabs your face and pecks your lip with a kiss, “It was the last thing I wanted”.

And that was your cue. You remove the robe and the entire becomes silent, ‘Oh god they must think I’m ugly, why did I agree?! This sort of stuff is only hot on skinny guys’, you immediately shake away your thoughts and continue on. “Oh I bet it was. And here I was, getting all dressed up”, you sigh and sit on the bed, noticing how, quite literally, everyone’s eyes are on you. “T/C/N… this is the sixth time this has happened”, you look up to Tom and his eyes tell you everything you need to know.

Tom was supposed to say his line but his eyes were glued to you, not your body that was decorated in lace and such, just you. Perhaps it was 45 seconds before the director cleared his throat and yelled, “I-uh, I think that’s a wrap for today”, he walked over to you and Tom, “Tom, good work, and M/N great work… you also look lovely”, you blush slightly, “Thank you sir”. And he smiled as he left, once again leaving you and Tom alone.

“I think I’ll go change then we can leave. Is that alright?”, you asked as you picked the robe and were heading back to your dressing room, “… um yeah, sure sure sure yeah”. You had left and removed every piece of the material.

☆*:.｡. oo .｡.:*☆

You exited your dressing room, now dressed in your regular clothing and had the lingerie set in hand. You asked where to put it but they told you you could keep it. Tom was waiting for you outside his own dressing room. You met him at his door and hugged and kissed him, “I’m ready to go, you?” Tom nodded and glanced down at the lace in your hands. “You keeping that?”, “They said I could”.

You and Tom walked together hand in hand to the car. You had the lingerie in hand the entire car ride home, Tom kept glancing at it, his grip tight on the steering wheel.

Once the two of you made it home you made your way towards your guys bedroom and stripped and stepped into the shower. You left your things on the bed.

☆*:.｡. oo .｡.:*☆

While you were showering, Tom himself had stripped and was laying in bed wearing nothing but his tight briefs. His mind couldn’t escape the thoughts he had when he saw what you were wearing earlier on set. The way the fabric clung to your body, how it accentuated your gorgeous body.

Tom was about to pleasure himself but then you came out, your naked body and the thoughts he had sent Tom’s mind into a spiral. He glanced at the lingerie that was at the foot of the bed and knew he needed to make a decision.

He got up from the bed, “Hey M/N”, Tom walked over to you and kissed you, “Great job today honey”, you smiled as he grabbed your plump and luscious mounds. “Thank you Tommy, you did great too”. “Yeah? I tried to keep it together”, you gave him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?” Tom walked over to the foot of the bed, he grabbed the lingerie, “This. This sent my mind into overload, you have no idea how amazingly sexy you looked in this.”

You blushed and looked to the ground, “Oh please Tom, it wasn’t anything special”, Tom walked towards you again and pressed the fabric against you, “So then why don’t I see you in this again?”, “Fine”, you grabbed the fabric out of his hands and began to step into the fabric.

Tom could feel his breath quiver with anticipation. ‘Finally’, he thought, he wanted to see you dressed up for him in private. He could feel everyone staring daggers at you on set. The fabrics color complimented your skin perfectly, and you had yet to put on the rest of the lingerie. “Hold on”, he stopped you, he led you to the bed and you sat. He grabbed the stockings and slipped them on your legs slowly and one by one, kissing his way up to your groin, where your dick twitched in the panties. He hooked the garters on to the stocking carefully, as he didn’t want to damage the lace trimming it had. “There”, he breathed out, “We just need the top”, he grabbed the matching tiny silk bralette and put it on you. It was a sight for Tom to behold, there you were. Your cock was hard and leaking into the panties, “Tommy, if we’re about to do what I think we’re about to do, these are gonna need cleaning”. Tom peppered a few kisses onto your thighs and let out a soft chuckle, “These are only for tonight. This is cheap and you only deserve the best, I’m going to buy you the nicest ones I can find. Doesn’t matter how much I have to spend or where they’re from. France, Italy, hell, I might even decide to make them myself just so I can make you ones that you deserve. It doesn’t matter, I just want to see you in this stuff all time honey”.

Tom moved aside the front and took your leaking cock into his mouth, that caused a moan to be let out from your mouth. Your hands went to his curls, this was the first time he’s ever had his mouth around your cock, “F-fuck Tommy”, he licked a stripe along your length, “Feels good? I’m not stopping until you unload in my mouth”. He continued to work his mouth on you. “Tonight’s all about you honey, you won’t do a thing tonight”. A few minutes had passed, Tom was skilfully working his tongue and mouth on your cock and balls, and you couldn’t handle it anymore, “Tom… I think I’m gonna”, Tom held his place at the base of your dick, his nose was on your neatly trimmed pubes. You held him down with your hands and thighs as you came in his mouth, a loud moan erupting from you. You felt Tom swallow it all, you laid there, yours and Tom's heaving breaths were filling the room. “That felt great Tommy”, you pecked a kiss on his cheek, “That’s great honey. Now flip onto your stomach, gonna eat out your tight little hole”.

You did as he instructed, you were on your stomach and you grabbed a pillow to lay your head on. The bed shifted as Tom got down onto the floor onto his knees, he savored the sight that was in front of him. Your round plump ass covered in delicate lace, and just underneath it, was your delicious hole. It was like Christmas for Tom, he grabbed and squeezed at your ass, moans coming from the two of you. He grabbed your legs and pulled you closer to his face, there he kissed your cheeks. As to not ruin the lace, Tom moved the panties rather than remove them completely. There he was met with your hole, it was like it was luring him closer and closer to you. He spread your cheeks and licked a stripe across it, causing you both to quiver in pleasure. As he was pleasuring you, he gently squeezed your cheeks, feeling as the two of your luscious mounds caressed both sides of his face. “F-fuck Tommy… How do you get better at this every time?”, this just makes Tom chuckle, and he continues to tongue your hole. He removes himself from your ass, breathing heavily he felt his cock throb.

He spits into his hand and lubes his cock. He held his cock as he began to slowly enter you. Soft broken moans left your mouth as you felt him push all of his cock inside you. He felt like this is where he could relax with and let go of all hsi stressors. Not exactly having sex with you, but just with you. You made all his problems go away, every touch, kiss, you made him feel like he was falling in love with you all over again when he’s with you. As he began to slowly thrust into you, he laid on top of your body, he kissed your shoulders and neck. “Feel good baby?”, the response he got was a nod, he grabbed your face and kissed you.

With your lips still connected, Tom began to gain more force and speed, soon the room was filled with the sound of Tom’s hips slamming onto your ass. Alongside the slapping noise, your moans filled the room. You felt his hips begin to slam harder. And you know what this meant.

“Tommy, cum in me, please”, with the desperation in your voice, Tom couldn’t handle it. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, he groaned out as he felt himself pump his load inside you. As he did so, the sight of him made your own cock spurt out cum. You both were moaning as you both felt insane pleasure. Tom pulled out and gave you a kiss, “You have got to wear anything like this”, he gestured to you, “again, all the time.”

You smiled and rolled over onto your back, “M’hungry”, you rubbed your stomach. Tom leaned over and kissed you, “I’ll just make you a little something.” You caressed his face as you both got up and walked out the bedroom and made your way to the kitchen. You decided to wear your sweatpants, Tom was still naked. You sat on the countertop watching Tom put on an apron and as he prepared the food.

You watched him as he let the food cook on the stove. Your eyes wandered from his back, to his ass. You stepped down from the countertop and softly got onto your knees. You have a kiss to one of his cheeks, “M/N?”, he turned and looked down at you. “Just keep doing what you’re doing”, you kissed and squeezed his cheeks, Tom still continuing to stir around the food to not let it burn. You spread open his cheeks and planted a kiss on his hole. “Mmmm M/N”, Tom let out a breath and gripped the oven’s door handle. You stuck out your tongue and licked a stripe along his hole.

Tom moaned, “What about your food?”, you gave his hole a kiss before answering, “I think I’ll have dessert first.” Tom turned off the stove and let you continue your work. You licked and kissed at his hole, causing there to be a tent in Tom’s apron. Then, you began to tongue fuck him, making Tom moan loudly, he gripped his cock underneath his apron.

Suddenly, you felt Tom move away from you and turn to you, he removed the apron and you saw why he had gripped his hand. He had came, “I think tonight’s the fastest we both ever cummed”, Tom smiled as he looked down at you, “We both have reasons don’t we?” You nodded, he looked at his hand and moved it close to your mouth.

You immediately knew what to do, sucking on his pointer finger, cleaning it of his cum, all while staring into his eyes, “Fuck you’re gorgeous”, he said as he gently stroked himself. You cleaned his entire hand of his cum, but still kept it in your mouth. You rose to your feet and kissed him, you both moaned. You were both kissing until you felt yourself up against the kitchen wall. And your boner was poking at Tom. And Tom’s was poking at you.

Tom just continued kissing you as he began to grind his on yours, moans coming out of both of you. Your cocks rubbed up against each other and you were both tasting his cum, Tom’s tongue invading your mouth as he squeezed your ass as you did his. You moaned as Tom bucked his hips one final time, causing you to moan out and cum in your sweats.

You both settled down and he stepped back and gave you a final small kiss, “Let’s both eat and head to bed, sound good?”, you smiled and nodded, “Since you made my favorite, I’ll make yours”. Tom smiled as he prepared your plate, “You really are the best, and not just in bed, but the kitchen too, especially tonight.”

#Tom Hiddleston x male reader #Tom Hiddleston x chubby male reader #male reader #x male reader #chubby male reader #x chubby male reader

[five-miles-over]

Can you write a one shot about Yandere Prince Hal where he became obsessed with a servant in his castle please?

Thanks for the request and for your patience, anon! Hope you like it :)

You Will Be Mine

Warnings: yandere behavior, forced kissing, obsession

Attempting to outdrink Falstaff was never a brilliant idea.

Like a fawn learning to walk for the the first time, Prince Hal staggered through the halls of the palace. The rays of the morning sunlight stung his eyes like pointed needles, and his head was filled with an all-too-familiar pain It felt as if someone had been striking the insides of his head, a bell ringer inside his skull. His arms and legs were as heavy as bread dough, and his throat was more parched than a barren field.

"Uhh…." Hal winced, trying to wish his hangover away. As soon as he stumbled upon a bedroom that looked like his own, the prince flopped onto the bed face-down. A female - presumably a servant of some kind - chirped immediately, asking if "His Majesty" would like some breakfast. 

How the hell was she so cheery at this hour?…Was it even time for breakfast? Hal wondered, having no knowledge of the exact moment he fell asleep at the tavern. His stomach churned. "No, just something edible," he muttered.

As soon as he could hear the sound of the servant's footsteps leaving his chamber, Hal groaned into the pillow while his head throbbed. This was not the first time the prince of England found himself in such a state after a wild night. After this ordeal ended, Hal would probably meet up with his friend John Oldcastle in the forest, and play a prank upon some unfortunate travelers that happened to be passing by. And after that, they might sweet-talk Falstaff into singing something pretty, and they might be able to enjoy some more of that special, far-too-expensive-for-you wine Falstaff kept bragging about…actually scratch that, wine was probably the last thing that Hal wanted to think about now, let alone drink. 

Holding a tray with slices of rye bread, aged cheese, a pitcher of mead with low alcohol content, and some honey reserved for the royal family, you made your way to the entrance of the prince's chamber. "Your Grace, I've brought you breakfast. May I come in?"

Who was this? Hal knew this voice was different than the voice of the maid who approached him earlier. But there was something inviting about the way you spoke, something…that made him wish for more. "Come in." 

The prince rolled onto his side, catching a glimpse of you as you made your way to a wooden table. All of a sudden, Hal no longer found himself concerned with his headache or his upset stomach. A new energy filled his once-fatigued limbs and his eyes were no longer afraid of the light, all because you entered his chambers. What sort of sorcery did you have that made him feel this way?

Hal's gaze followed you as you placed the tray on a table and fixed your hair. "Tell me your name," the prince commanded. 

You politely replied, telling him the name you were born with as well as the name that most people used to refer to you.

With a nod, Hal studied you. He couldn't quite explain why, but the more you spoke and the more he looked at you, the more…beautiful you seemed to him. Actually, beautiful was but a mere shallow word to describe the way that Hal saw you. Enchanting might be more suitable; your voice was luring him like a siren's call, and the nimble movement of your fingertips along your hair enticed him more than any half-naked tavern wench.

"Come closer. I feel fatigued to eat much," the prince lied. At this point, he was only looking for an excuse to bring you closer to him. 

You obediently sat on the edge of the bed with the tray in your lap, save for the pitcher of mead, which remained on the table. Carefully, you ripped a small piece of rye and the prince caught it in his mouth. 

Hal continued to enjoy your loveliness while he chewed each morsel, thoughts of kissing and touching you filling his mind. But this was far different than the lustful liquor-filled impulses Hal felt when he locked eyes with a wench or a prostitute in a bar. No, his feelings for you were more. He couldn't quite explain why he felt so much desire for you, and neither did he truly want to. All he knew was that you belonged by his side, that there was something that felt right about the rather-intimate position of sitting on his bed so close to him. 

After the prince cleaned the plate, one bite at a time, you bowed to the prince with a smile and promptly left…too soon for his liking, of course. Before he could protest or call your name, you had already disappeared from the room.

Naughty little fairy, Hal laughed under his breath. You did not even asked if you had his permission to be dismissed. Not that it mattered anyways…you already stayed long enough to leave a permanent imprint in his mind. And now, you left him with no choice but to find you, and to get you all for himself. 

Filled with a new energy and the hangover now long-forgotten, Hal roughly threw aside his bedsheets - not even caring that he was still wearing the clothes from last night - and strode into the hallway like a hunter entering a thicket. The servants present immediately halted their conversations and bowed as soon as they caught sight of him, but he barely regarded any of them. All Hal could think about was finding you. 

As he traversed throughout the palace, his pace grew quicker and his patience grew thinner, causing him to curl his fingers until his knuckles were white. He could not bring himself to stop moving until he knew for sure where you were in the palace. Nothing else mattered - not the flabbergasted looks from courtiers expecting him to be in some dirty tavern during this time of day, and not the the gossip among the old maids about which noble girl had been deflowered before her wedding date. All he needed was you, your dulcet voice, and your enchanting beauty. And when he found you, Hal would ensure that he would be the only one who could run his fingers through your soft hair, the only one who could wrap his arms around that lovely body of yours.

"Your majesty, some ale?" A male, young servant shakily approached him. Already aflame with his desire and exasperated at his inability to find you, Hal glared at the servant and threw the pint in the servant's face before continuing his hunt.

Hal finally found you out on one of the palace balconies, hanging a bedsheet to dry, surrounded by other laundresses. Your hair was tied back, save for a few strands outlining your delicate face. He wanted to approach you, dismiss the others, and passionately embrace you…but he did not. If he held you now and kissed your lips, he would not be able to stop. The desire to consume you would overwhelm him, like a drunkard with an unopened bottle of wine. So, he leaned against the entrance to the balcony, crossing his arms while eyeing you from a distance. 

He took in every detail of you, memorizing each and every curve, every detail upon your body that wasn't hidden by your loose dress. He watched you laugh without a care in the world while you went about your washing and cleaning, talking to the other laundresses. Yes, you looked to be enjoying yourself even while you toiled, but Hal knew that when he made you his, you would never have to lift a finger for anything. He would provide you anything and everything you needed, all for your unflinching loyalty and your undying love in return. For that, Hal would be ready to do anything, anything to keep you by his side.

Eventually, you and the other laundresses finished your work on the balcony and begin to chatter amongst each other, making plans for the night. Holding the empty baskets that once held dirty sheets, you all turned around and made your way to the doorway…only to silently curtsy as soon as the prince caught your eye.

"Ladies," Hal smirked at you all before courteously stepping out of the way so they could leave. But when you came forward, the prince blocked you with his arm.

You flinched, holding the large wicker basket. "Your Majesty…"

Hal commanded you to put the basket down, and clasped your chin so that your eyes were looking into his. He murmured your name like a prayer before asking, "What were you talking about with them?"

"We…we were talking about our lives…"

"And?"

"We had plans to go to the local bathhouse tonight…,Your Majesty"

"No," Hal sharply said. "I cannot let you go there."

Your eyes widened. "Why not, Your Majesty?"

"Because those places are filthy, and terribly unsavory things take place in those dreaded bathhouses." He stroked your cheek with his thumb. "I only want to protect you, my dearest."

"Your Majesty…"

"Hal," he corrected you. "Perhaps I can give you a bath, one far better and more deserving for a beautiful lady like you."

"Hal, you flatter me," you blushed, pretending to laugh at what seemed like banter

"The way you say my name is beyond perfect." The prince whispered in awe before crashing his lips onto yours. With one hand cupping your cheek, his other hand snaked around your hip and tightly held you. That was all it took for Hal to give into his desire for you, to venture past a point of no return. 

A whimper escaped your lips and your body tensed in his eery embrace. Yet somehow it only made the prince deepen the kiss until he could no longer breathe.

"The world is a scary and dangerous place," Hal gently said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "If you stay here, you'll be safe. In my arms." 

"I can't, I h-"

"I need you." The prince insisted, wrapping his large hand around your wrist with a deathly grip. "You don’t understand...I need to feel your small hand in my own, I need to hear your voice, touch your lips…you cannot turn away from me."

"I need to -" You tried to leave, but the prince maintains his firm hold upon you.

"We have a bond, my dearest. No one can ever imagine to know what our love is like.” Hal pulled you in for another, more passionate kiss. "And I will make you love me. I'm willing to break any rule for you, to burn the world for you, my everything," he whispered against your lips. "You will be mine."

#prince hal #prince hal fanfiction #prince hal x reader #prince hal imagine #the hollow crown #tom hiddleston characters #henry iv #tom hiddleston imagines #tw: yandere #yandere male #male yandere

[ferhlaufeyson]

I wish there were more x male reader fan fictions with marvel characters

#marvel #mcu fanfiction #mcu multiverse #mcu loki #mcu moon knight #loki fanfic #loki x male reader #steve rogers x male reader #chris evans #tom hiddleston #scarlett johansson #robert downey jr #sebastian stan #chris hemsworth #x male reader #fanfic

[dervampireprince]

ASMR | Marvel - Loki x Listener SFW Yandere Loki Traps You on Asgard [M4A] [Kidnapping]

[M4A] [Yandere Loki] [Dark Loki] [Possessive] [Manipulation] [Gaslighting] [Implied hurting/killing of your fellow Avengers] [Kidnapping/Abduction] [Obsessive] [Established relationship] [Injured listener (not by Loki, listener is already injured which causes Loki to react badly and abduct you)]

So I've never tried an audio like this before. I did the Phantom yandere one but Erik canonically acts like that so... Trying to turn Loki into a real monster when I personally find yandere content uncomfortable to listen to felt awkward. I hope I did okay? If you guys enjoy yandere audios I can make more even though it's not my thing, it's not uncomfortable for me to record these, I'm just not sure that I know the right thing to say or the right level of darkness to take it to? Does this count as spooky Halloween audio?

Custom audio commissions are open! Full spicy audios on soundgasm and Patreon. Downloadable versions, exclusive  spicy audios and Discord on Patreon. I also stream on Twitch 3 times a week @ dervampireprince . [minors + ageless blogs dni. this blog is for 18+ only.] [do not repost/reupload/edit my audios and videos]

#loki x reader #loki x listener #loki #loki laufeyson #loki laufesyon x reader #reader insert #marvel #avengers #audio roleplay #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #male reader #loki x bucky #the vampire whispers #headcannon #headcannons #tom hiddleston

[loverforfanfiction]

Revenge or tell me you love me-tom hiddleston

[Play the song while reading wait till the song start]

"I've dug two Graves my dear can't pretend I was perfect leaving you in fear" or "oh tell me you love me I need someone on days like this I do on days like this"

Yours and Tom's breakup was mutual you guys both thought it would be for the better but it really wasn't

You have been regretting it since day 3 and you knew tom was to stubborn to say he missed you and so were you

But you decided to put your pride aside for this one

*my ex* ring ring ring

Y/n:it's been a little while since I last heard your voice it would be nice to hear it ..... ok im just gonna say it I miss you tom I miss your hugs and kisses ... I'm sorry I'm so f**** sorry baby pls just respond when you can.. I love you

Tom's pov

[He heard your call]

*my love*ring ring

Yes?

I love you too and I miss you im sorry

Y/n:it's ok.... but we need to take it slow this time baby

I'll wait id wait 20 years for you just to be with you

(Knock at the door)

Who is it!!

[Opens door]

Imagine your gender and race

Y/n:"Even if it takes 20 years"

#Spotify #avengers x fem!reader #avengers x black!reader #avengers x male reader #avengers x plus size reader #bucky x plus size reader #loki x reader #marvel x black!reader #tom hiddleston x original female character #tom hiddelston loki #tom hiddleston #loki x female reader #loki imagine #loki x black!reader #marvel x teen!reader #marvel x reader #marvel fic #marvel x gender neutral reader

[goldpomegranates]

Some Sacred Shore

Will Ransome / Male!Reader

Rated E for religious imagery, allusions to period typical attitudes towards homosexuality, and explicit sexual content. Wordcount: 3.9k Also on AO3.

Luke Garrett's invitation to a birthday party in Essex seemed uncharacteristic, and upon your arrival you find that the intention was to pit you against the village vicar in a contest of intellectual wit. Fortunately, the guests are too preoccupied to lend both of you much attention. Unfortunately, the reason for Father Ransome choosing to live out in the marshes of Aldwinter becomes abundantly clear.

† † †

The news that reached London had been unbelievable at first. Rumors of mythical beasts were nothing novel, your cousin having written you about the alleged hellhounds of Dartmoor just last year—but even tales of murderous serpents paled to the news that arrived from Essex on that dreary Monday morning. Atop your desk, written in fine cursive made slanted by haste, was an invitation. A birthday party for Michael’s widow, hosted by none other than Luke Garrett himself.

It was as odd as it was scandalous. Mrs Seaborne, more sentient trophy than woman, had never been one for parties. She was reclusive, quiet, hung on Michael’s arm with a thousand-kilometer stare that sat well with no one who noticed her reticent demeanor. Honestly, the invitation carried the stench of Garrett’s ulterior motives, scoundrel that he was, more than it did any genuine desire for celebration. While there were a million and one things you would rather do than hop on a train down to Essex, you had promised Spencer an attempt to integrate yourself into the social circles of doctors and academics in hopes of climbing the ladder of success.

And so, overnight bag packed and donning your finest suit, you made for the station.

† † † † † †

Aldwinter is, to put it nicely, a mess of a village. No amount of sidestepping spared your shoes from a muddy demise, and no amount of scrubbing them against the house’s edge could make them suitable to be worn indoors. But you weren’t raised an animal, and so you ask the nearest person who looks the vaguest bit familiar to fetch you a rag.

“You can just take your shoes off and leave them by the door. Half the people in here have already shed their dignity alongside their jackets,” said a woman with arms crossed over her chest and thick eyebrows raised. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Martha.”

You give her your name and offer a hand, which she takes in a firm grip. “I’m a friend of Dr Spencer. I must confess that I’m not entirely sure why Garrett extended me an invitation, but I’m appreciative of the opportunity to be here.”

And speaking of the devil. “You!” Garrett shouts from across the small room, twirling away from Mrs Seaborne in a half-drunken stumble, wine glass in hand. “My friend, I am absolutely delighted you could make it.” He swings an arm around your shoulders in overconfident camaraderie, patting your back. “Make yourself at home. There are drinks in that direction, the birthday girl is over there, Spencer’s around here somewhere but….but.” Garrett pauses, leans in conspiratorially. “You see that man over there? The one in the stuffy suit?”

You follow the direction he’s pointing towards, and you see him, leaning against a door frame, awkwardly sipping his drink. Tall, windswept despite the obvious attempt at personal grooming, the most well-dressed in a house filled with already over-dressed people.

“That,” Garrett whispers, “is Will Ransome. And he’s the reason why you’re here.”

You fix him with an impassive glare. “That’s it? Not because I’m a joy to have?”

Martha hides a laugh behind her hand. “Oh, I quite like you.”

Garrett lifts a finger. “You’re a philosopher,” he says, still clinging to you. His breath reeks of alcohol. “A brilliant one, so I’ve been told. All that deep-rooted nonsense of what we are and what have you… He. That man. He’s a vicar.”

It’s your turn to laugh, both with surprise and mild confusion. One never expects to see a man of God at a party, especially not one this rowdy. “Let me guess. You want me to engage him in conversation.”

“Exactly!”

“Why?”

“He has a way with words. Simple, sure, but inspired. I want to see him sweat, see how good his belief is when pitted against the scholarly.”

“You brought me here to antagonize a pastor,” you say, peeling Garrett’s arm off you. “I don’t think I’ll be doing that.”

“Oh, come now. It’s all in good fun! Martha, tell him.”

“I think you’ve lost your mind,” she tells Garrett. “Go. Cora’s waiting for that sixth dance you promised her this evening.” He disappears into the sparse crowd like he had never accosted you. “He’s had a bit too much to drink,” Martha says, “not that I blame him. Can I get you anything?”

Your shoes still on and frankly ruffled by the exchange, you nod. “I would like a glass of water, please.”

† † † † † †

The jaunty music and raucous laughter are more than you care for, and after giving Mrs Seaborne the impersonal gift you purchased for her from Hatchard’s, you’re ready to call it an evening and head back to the pub for the night. Your plan is thwarted however, by a knock on the kitchen door.

The vicar has to duck his way into every room, and he does so with the grace of an adolescent goat. He’s no posh bastard from the Westminster elite, and no amount of cleaning up can disguise how easy it is to picture him knee deep in mud. He greets you by name with an inquisitive arch of his eyebrows.

“Father Ransome,” you greet in turn. “A pleasure.”

“Please, just Will.”

“Have you been enjoying the evening?” you say, moving to refill your cup. “You seem to be faring better than I.”

“Not by any choice of my own. First, it was my wife who argued we stay for Cora’s sake. And then it was Dr Garrett who was most insistent that I converse with you.” Will holds up his glass to you, and despite the traces of wine still in it, you top it off with water. “Thank you.”

“I assume he’s told you all about me.”

“Only that you’re a student of philosophy. Quite the genius.”

“But…?”

Will’s mouth twists into an unpleasant half-smile. “I believe he thinks I'm illiterate.”

“Luke is a well-traveled man, and his fault is believing he knows all because of it,” you say. “He operates on one heart, and he thinks himself better than God.” You watch him intently, and marvel at his lack of affront. “As for you. You could have been a man of law, I’ve been told, but instead you turned towards faith. I’m unsure if that is wise or foolish given the times we are living in.”

“Do Plato and Aristotle offer comfort in the face of adversity?”

“Somewhat. I choose to find the comfort hidden in logic. There is strength in thought, understanding in enlightenment. I am faced with a serpent, and I do not declare that there is no such thing due to lack of evidence. Our fears and perceptions are powerful enough to make even the fantastical real.”

Will looks down at his glass, nodding thoughtfully. “Then how to differentiate between logic-based serenity and self-realization in the absence of concepts that transcend life?”

You don’t mean to gawk, hiding the ungainly expression behind a cough. “You’re much more well-read than even I gave you credit for.” Unlike Garrett, Will does not look smug. “I didn’t expect a vicar to wield the words of Nietzsche. What’s that parable about biting into the fruit of knowledge? Something about the original sin?”

“Familiar with Scripture, I see.”

“Only the basics.” The water on your tongue is blissfully cold, staving off the heat of too many people in a small space. From somewhere in the living room, Mrs Seaborne laughs, and you notice the way Will flinches at the sound. He fidgets with his glass, and it does not take a genius to put two and two together. “Why don’t we step outside? I could use the fresh air.”

Surprised by the simplicity of your proposal, Will agrees.

† † † † † †

You walk, and you listen.

The night sky is lit a radiant blue, more aqueous than the marsh you tread upon. Wisps of atmosphere cut through it like eels in search of sustenance, bringing the firmament to life. You’ve never seen anything like it, not in London, not anywhere. But the color, that stunning hue of blue, is eerily similar to that of the vicar’s eyes.

He’s a brilliant man, deceptively educated, with a fountain of knowledge nestled between his temples. He weaves truths both personal and universal, engaging in topics that would cow a lesser man of the cloth. You can see why Ambrose mourned yet respected Ransome’s decision to join the church, to move out into the middle of nowhere where people lose themselves to the whims of superstition.

“—and, quite frankly, I’m at a bit of a loss,” he says, digging at his bow tie to loosen it. “It’s as if I have been abandoned, set adrift, unable to navigate the waters I once knew so well.” Will laughs, quietly, and it’s a mirthless sound. “My apologies. I must be boring you.”

“Not at all. There is understanding that can be gained from listening in on others’ misfortunes,” you try to joke, but it falls flat. “Did these trials and tribulations begin when Mrs Seaborne arrived in Essex?”

Will stops in his tracks and gazes out towards the water. Neither of you brought your coats, and you’re beginning to feel the evening chill seep into your bones. He seems unbothered by it, however.

“I’m… unsure,” he says, and you find his lack of denial curious. “A man gleans nothing from avoiding judgment. The least he can do is renounce his sins once he’s acknowledged them.”

“And what sins need a vicar acknowledge?”

Will looks up, and a hint of shame slithers its way down your throat. He cuts a beautiful albeit tragic silhouette against the penumbra of that late hour, and you can’t help but stare. Out here, he does not look like a man of God. He is merely a man dressed in his Sunday best, a bit inebriated, searching for answers on how to best help his village. A quasi-reluctant patriarch; or, at least, one that can use a moment’s respite.

“There is no serpent,” he says, shutting his eyes, “but I can still feel its unrelenting hold on me. The fear is sickly sweet, the uncertainty oily on my skin. I long for the calm that reigned before all of this began. I long for the simplicity of Sunday service followed by supper and a meaningless walk along the shore.” Will heaves a sigh and casts you a fleeting glance. “I long… I long for the time when my flesh wasn’t so weak to temptation.”

You shove your hands into your pockets before walking down the bank to him. “A man of God is, in the end, still just a man. And his conversations with said God are of no one else’s concern. I understand that He has the ability and mercy to forgive.”

Will’s exhale mists the air. “The sentence for premeditation is far more severe.”

“Perhaps in human law.”

His expression speaks to a profound sense of torment that no man should shoulder alone. You know of pastors that have committed much more heinous crimes with less weight on their conscience, but you ascribe Will’s guilt as the mark of a good person. He is trying, he is failing, and you are riddled with compassion. 

You look over your shoulder, at the house in the distance whose interior is filled with warmth and cheer, a beacon out in the stormy sea. The rest of the world, in its bleakness, is where you have always stood, where Will has deliberately waded out to. There is something missing here, something you cannot put a finger on, or, rather, something you’re too skeptical to even consider.

But your ability to tell is yet to be wrong.

You can see it in Garrett, in the way he latches to women yet prefers the company he shares in with Spencer. You saw it in how Martha looked at Mrs Seaborne. Staring at Will, thinking back to his beautiful wife and lively children, you can feel the flicker of a flame pushing towards the realization.

“What is a man like you really doing, hiding out in the marshes?” you say, starting towards the pier, your back to him to allow him a moment to collect himself.

Will doesn’t answer, but he follows.

It’s dark beneath the deck, and you’re mindful not to get caught in the fishing nets abandoned for the night. The bright sky allows enough light for you to see, and the position in relation to the house grants you privacy. The briny air is infinitely better than the London smog you have grown accustomed to over the years, and while you prefer the gentle smells of lavender and bergamot that permeate a well lived-in home, the setting could be much worse.

Beneath the weathered wood as the tide rises, Will considers you with a wary side-glance. His nerves betray his carefully guarded secret because an invert will always recognize an invert. It’s a good hiding place, if unoriginal. Ignore the sin, pretend to be normal, pray to God for serenity.

The cotton of his shirt is stiff and scratchy, a suit seldom worn, and you wonder how he looks dressed down in homey linen. He likely returns to his house covered in mud, rugged for a vicar, and your imagination has always been both your most intimate friend and traitorous enemy. Your palm presses against his chest, fingers fanning out and catching on the buttons, and the faintest pressure has Will leaning backwards, his back pressed up against a pier.

He breathes heavy, chest fluttering as he braces his hands against the wood behind him, eyes shut tight.

“Blame it on me,” you say, stepping up to him until you’re toe to toe. You pinch a side of his bow tie, tugging on it until he finally looks at you. “Sometimes, collapsing an infected lung is the only way to cure it. 

Will stammers but you silence him with a kiss, his thin lips pressed firm together to deny you further invitation. His hands clasp your biceps, and you wait for the inevitable, for him to shove you away, to sneer at your abhorrent behavior, to cross himself and run off to his church and beg for forgiveness—but it never comes. Will holds you in place, at a respectable distance. His mouth does not move, and you debate whether or not he’s actually breathing, but that too withers into surrender when your hand not pinning him to the pier comes up to carefully stroke his cheek.

“You’re the Devil,” he says, nuzzling into your hand with a shuddering sigh.

You laugh and kiss him once again. This time, he reciprocates with no shortage of hesitation. “You don’t believe that,” you say, taking your lips to where the collar of his shirt meets feverishly warm skin, “just how you don’t believe in a serpent bringing out the worst in your flock.”

The grip on your arms ease, Will’s thumbs rubbing circles over the fabric of your jacket. He brings you closer, chests pressed together, and you look up at him, marveling, slightly flustered at the intensity of his attention. “I shouldn’t,” he says with a lick of the lips, eyes dimming with raw desire. “We should get back. You’re shivering. And the tide is—” Will trails off into a heavy sigh, your leg slipping between his and pressing up against his groin. “Please.”

You unbutton his jacket, your hands roaming to drink in the heat he emanates while you pepper kisses along the underside of his chin, enjoying the feeling of his beard. You live for the sensation, for the roughness that accompanies tender exchanges. “Please, what, Father?” You embrace him, hold him tightly, whisper hotly into his ear. “Whatever is said, whatever we do, shall stay between us and God.”

Will surges forward, his mouth on yours with uncontained fervor, desperate whines drowned out by the wind rippling the water. His hands cradle your face, a touch both grounding and fleeting, as his teeth graze your bottom lip. You open for him, for his kiss, his tongue, and it is your turn to fall into the maw of unbridled lust. Cold water against your shoes proves to be a ticking clock.

You shove him against the pier again and Will gives, legs parting just enough to accommodate you between them. His hands float along the parts of you he can reach yet hesitate at your hips. You pause with a grin, pressing your nose to his. “Go on.”

A brief hint of embarrassment flashes in Will’s eyes, but he’s too far gone to give it further thought. Calloused hands grope your ass and you moan, rutting up against him to feel the bulge in his pants press against your groin. It robs you both of breath, suffuses you both with heat, and you take. You take without holding back.

You loosen your tie as Will fumbles with his pants, pulling his erection free and giving it a generous stroke, eyes fluttering shut once more. You watch him, the pinched set of his brow and the tight frown, the way his shoulders shake. Those last dredges of reluctance fighting a losing battle.

“It’s called free will for a reason,” you say. “You have the power to walk away.”

He shakes his head, swallowing with an audible click. “I need you,” he whispers, the sound nearly swept away by the breeze.

The confession rests heavy in your chest, the delirious hunger of a handsome stranger who, in another lifetime, you would have courted. But as it stands, he is a man of God, a married one at that, and while you have never sunk this low you wonder why the grip he has around your heart is as powerful as it is.

You distract him with a kiss, a long and languid one that grows messy, with spit gathering for either of you to lap up with debauched abandon. You wrap a hand around his cock and swallow his shocked moan, settle between his thighs as you fumble with your own fly. “Quiet,” you say, shimming until you’re pressed just right to slip him between your thighs. “Sound carries.”

Will nods but it’s a thoughtless gesture, his arms wrapping around your back to hold you tightly to him, face buried against the crook of your neck. He pants as his hips stutter forward, aborted little sounds falling out of him as you counter his thrusts with stilted movements of your own. You squeeze your legs tighter and he whimpers, fingertips scrambling across your back.

A hand wraps around your own prick and you startle, surprised that he even has the forethought to return the pleasure. Will’s hold is awkward, unpracticed, but you forgive it. You can’t help the moan that bubbles out of you, and neither can you ignore the sudden trace of wetness his cockhead leaves between your thighs.

“I wish I could take you properly,” you tell him, and his pace falters, frantic. “Undressed, beneath me, slick you with oil.” You chuckle. “Anoint you.” Will’s teeth latch onto your shoulder and it’s almost enough to push you over the edge, but not quite. “Would you go to your knees for me, Father? Let me bestow upon you a true sense of rapturous ecstasy?”

“Please,” he mutters, moving to press his forehead to yours, wide eyes unfocused, not a hint of blue left in them. “Please.” You grip his wrist. “What? What is it?”

Straining to listen, only the distant sound of a jaunty tune reaches your ears. You give his hip enough of a push to dislodge him, and Will looks devastated by the loss of contact. However, you do not give him the chance to speak his piece. With a firm hand on his shoulder, you give him a look that leaves no room for misunderstanding.

Water laps at your ankles, and ruins Will’s pants as he goes to his knees before you.

His hair is soft as it spills through your fingers, giving it the gentlest tug that has him panting for more. You trace your thumb down his cheekbone, your touch worshipful, driven to speechlessness at how beautiful he truly is. Will is painfully vulnerable, surrendering more than just his body to you at the very moment.

Dragging a fingertip along his bottom lip, you encourage him to open his mouth. He obeys, hands clasped at his lap in involuntary prayer. You feed him, placing yourself on his tongue and ordering him to hold, to commune with his god before taking it into his belly. The good reverend remains still, eyes open, awaiting his deliverance.

Fingers tight in his hair, you push your hips forward until he hums a complaint, his breaths coming in short huffs through his nose as you sink all the way in. You hold him there, his mouth spread wide around you. He’s tight, hot, and wet, and your thighs quiver from the profanity of it. This blasphemous encounter out in the marshes, beneath a bright sky, away from God’s eyes.

“Please yourself,” you tell him, easing back just enough for him to cough with relief. “Think of my hand, or my mouth on you in turn.”

You brace your free hand against the pier, the other still in his hair as you hear rather than see Will stroking himself at a punishing pace. His moans around you send shocks of electric delight up your spine, turning your limbs to liquid as you draw your pleasure from him, and him from you.

You make sure to stifle his sounds by being deep in his mouth, nudging the back of his throat, when he climaxes. Each grunt is punctuated by a rough jerk of his arm, a sound so guttural you find yourself nearing your own orgasm. You offer Will a small mercy, unaccustomed as he is, by withdrawing and taking yourself in hand.

His eyes are wide and gleaming, jaw slack as he gazes up at you in abject exaltation, as if you have offered him his salvation. And that is enough. You stroke yourself to completion, spilling across his swollen lips and reddened face. Will makes no move to wipe himself clean, just allows your essence to dribble down his chin and onto his shirt, rendering every piece of his suit ruined.

The tide is coming in, the water refusing to wait for two sinners to gather the courage, or the want, to pray for forgiveness. What is done and is done, and in the ebb of lust comes the twinge of guilt—not for any religious figure, not for the church, but for those who must never learn of this encounter. When clarity sets, your heart aches for the man who holds onto your coattails, shivering from the cold both external and inside.

No amount of wine can fix the vicar. No amount of prayer can change the societal standards that must be abided by. But here, beneath a pier in Aldwinter, at least a shred of comfort can be shared between two men who cannot change fate.

#the essex serpent #will ransome #will ransome x reader #male reader #will ransome x you #tom hiddleston #c's writing. #crosspost #reader insert #will ransome imagine

[thebadboyfanclub]

The Lover Of The Seven Kingdoms (Tywin x Reader)

First of all, I’m sorry but you cannot tell me anything when it comes to Tom hiddleston being the perfect young Tywin Lannister. Second, I love writing morally grey female characters and I wrote grant maester pycelle and mushroom in cause I wanted to show how a lot of male historians portray women in one way cause it’s just easier.

The lover of the seven Kingdoms” grant maester Pycelle had used as a description of (y/n) Martell, the second wife of Tywin Lannister, the symbol of femininity for a plethora of men in kings Landing, the mother of lord Ezra Lannister and lady Asena, the scandalous twins and one of the few bastards that later became legitimate and inherited Lannisport, then they had three more, lady Nymeria, Lady Zara and Lord Sorin, (y/n) was the secret passion of Tywin since she stepped foot at court, she was to be Joanna’s lady in waiting.

Her appearance was one carved by the Gods, long dark raven hair that curled down to her waist, olive skin, and almost black eyes, her lips thick, and a body as juicy as the fruits of her land, her twin brother Dorian had sent her to Kings landing as a way to show respect and also expand her horizons.

“Princess (Y/n) had relations with one of the bastards of house Dayne when she denied him the man gutted himself in front of her, Doran sends her away to avoid more scandals caused by her lustful appetite”

Mushroom note, Joanna liked her, she was smart and endearing, and she knew how to play her part, however, what Joanna had not taken in mind is that (y/n) stopped at nothing to get what she wants, in this case, it was the young Tywin Lannister, the tall man with muscles everywhere, blue eyes and blonde hair was the subject of desire for a plethora of ladies, none of them had the guts to go after him, (y/n) was not like them, she had her eyes set and the game had begun.

“My lord”

(Y/n) called for Tywin, the hour was quite late but Tywin was the hand of the king, the hour did not matter when they were things he needed to pay attention to, papers to be signed and payments to be settled.

(Y/n) had studied his schedule, Joanna was already in bed and Tywin was free, most of the servants were dismissed so they were no prowling eyes to catch her.

Tywin halted and turned to look at the girl that called for him, she wore a rather sheer dress which was unlikely of hers, Dornish people were always costumed to very light choices in clothing, still, this was a step further, if the candles burned a bit brighter Tywin would have been able to see… well everything.

“Princess (y/n), is there something wrong?”

“No, not exactly, I was hoping to talk to you, in private”

Tywin hesitated, (y/n) was just outside her chamber, she was holding the door open which meant that her choice of privacy was her room, still, curiosity about what it could be that needed to be discussed in such a secretive way was enough for his feet to go one and then the other inside.

(Y/n) closed the door before she spun to rest her back on the wood, a smirk playing on her lips as her plan was going smoother than she expected, the room was decorated in cherry red and gold colors, some orange as well and the intense smell of vanilla and musk took over Tywins senses.

“So, I would prefer it if you started talking”

“Do you like being the hand of the king?”

“You summoned me to ask me if you like my occupation?”

“No, I summoned you because I have a pair of eyes, eyes clear enough to see that something has been bothering you”

“Well I am flattered that the princess cares to ask for my well-being, however, I must go”

“You can’t lie to me Tywin, if it���s not your duty then it has something to do with me, you have been avoiding me, you can’t even look me in the eye”

Tywin once again chose to not speak he only made a b line for the door to which (y/n) was resting, she had managed to think of everything down to reaching for the handle when he did, making their hands touch, Tywin did not pull his away, he let it rest on top of hers as he towered over her and she looked up at him with doe eyes.

“Is it me, my lord? It is my presence that is bothering you?”

“No”

“No? You are breathing quite heavily, your eyes travel below my lips, and… dare I say you could have moved me if you truly wanted to, no one is here, my lord, you can confess to me”

“(Y/n)-“

“Go on, confess”

Her voice was barely above a whisper as she gawked at Tywin with lustful eyes with a hint of innocence, she had done this before, Tywin was a mere puppet, a bug that got caught in the spiders' web and was now waiting to experience her poisonous bite.

Her kiss could be described as venom, it made his entire body feel like it was burning and her touch was the only remedy, his addiction started and ended with her, he had been fantasizing about her every night, haunting him like a succubus and stealing the life out of him, at an instant he forgot everything, his wife, his status, his entire life would crumble if someone were to find them, none of it mattered, all that he cared about was to see her, take her.

He took her right on her window, some servants had even reported that they could see the young princess bareback as her moans grew some attention, alas none of them thought something of it, most of the castle had seen a generous amount of men go in and out of (y/n)s chamber at all hours of the night.

Tywin was in utter awe with (y/n), he almost felt like he would faint as he reached his high, it was the only time Tywin considered that (y/n) was a practitioner of dark magic. No other woman had held such power over him in this act.

“My lion”

She had whispered in his ear before she kissed him,(Y/n) was the perfect lover, every night he would slip from his chamber and knock on her door, she would be waiting for him, take him up to the sky, and wrap him with her fire that burned as bright as dragon fire.

Tywin was entirely himself around her, she allowed him to be in control and gave him the euphoric theatrics of prowling on her, which made (y/n) giggle a little, it was refreshing and borderline hilarious to move the strings in the background while Tywin thought he was moving them only because she let him touch them.

“I have exciting news”

“Which is?”

“Princess (y/n) is pregnant, how lovely would it be if we get to marry our children? We could secure Dorne and bind my friendship with her”

“We will do no such thing”

“Tywin, think about it if we-“

“You are forgetting an important thing Joanna, the princess is not married, who knows who the father of that bastard is, my child will not marry anyone of such low status”

What else could he have said? We can’t marry them cause they are siblings? Joanna would be crushed, Tywin had run to her chamber that night, not even bothering to knock as he burst into the room startling her, still once she laid her eyes on him she smiled, she dared to smile as if nothing has happened.

“How dare you announce your pregnancy without even telling me first”

“I thought you had noticed”

“No, I hadn’t and Joanna wants to marry your child with one of our children”

“I am sure we will find a way around it”

“Find a way around it? How are you so calm when the world is crumbling on your feet? You are not married nor betrothed, this child will be declared a bastard”

“This child will be my firstborn, a child created by you and me if you remember, that is all that matters to me”

“Not to the rest of the realm”

“I do not care about the rest of the realm Tywin, that is your problem, it will be royalty in Dorne, I do not care what they call my child here”

“Some said she bathed in goats blood every full moon, she would burn candles and speak in foreign languages to make Tywin stay by her side”

Mushroom claimed, it could be true or just whispers since no one understood the powerful hold that she had on the young lord, Tywin was a fearsome man, calculated and ambitious, yet (y/n) could sway him in any direction she wished with a bat of an eyelash.

It was such a peculiar moment, (y/n) gave birth to twins four moons after her lady Joanna, Ezra and Asena, both of them had their fathers' eyes, sapphires that shined in the light of the sun as (y/n) fed them from her breasts, Tywin had held Asena first, she looked nothing like Cersei still something in him knew that the two girls were born to be each others nemesis, fate had played him like a fiddle.

“I was thinking of going back to Dorne”

“Why?”

“My brother said it is not safe for us, people will talk and I do not want my children to grow up in a venomous environment”

“No, no you will stay, Ezra and Asena Hill has a nice ring to it”

“They are Martells, my love, they shall be called that”

(Y/n) was not ashamed of her children, on the contrary, she adored them and kept them by her side at all times, she taught them how to walk, talk, sing, and dance, a endearing mother with a backbone made of Valyrian steel, a combination made straight out of the seven rings of hell.

“Push, my lady”

“I can’t, (y/n) please make it stop”

“Maester, what is taking so long?”

“The babe has breached, it will not let me pull it out”

“It hurts (y/n)”

“I know, my lady, just one more push”

Joanna fought tooth and nail to survive, unfortunately, her labor did not harvest any fruit for her, the son survived but Lady Joanna did not even get to hold him, grant Maester pycelle held Tyrion and presented him to lord Tywin who was utterly disgusted by the ugly creature.

“That is no son of mine, throw him in the river”

“You will do no such thing”

“This matter does not concern you, princess”

“It does, you may be excused maester”

Pycelle only nodded and left them alone, a strange aura surrounded both of them, Joanna was gone, a deformed babe had taken her life, and (y/n)s belly was ready to pop any minute, what was to be done now?

“Does cruelty excite you?”

“Cersei and Jaime are both healthy and Lannister featured, that… thing could not have been created by me”

“It was not the babes' fault, so I have to remind you that you are also guilty of the thing you are accusing a dead woman of?”

Tywin was a man but that meant little to nothing, if Tyrion was a bastard then there was no difference between him and (y/n)s children, Tywin was in no place to frown upon such an act since he was having another child on the way, a bastard.

“Listen to me, my love, I know you loved Joanna and I loved her too, but the babe survived, it’s the last thing we have from her, grief is a strong emotion, but we have each other to lean on, don’t you want this for us Tywin? for me?”

There it was, her secret weapon, that sweet voice that dripped of honey and the big doe eyes, she knew how to play the damsel in distress down to every detail, Tywin put his lips in before he shook his head in defeat, his wife had departed but his mistress stood before him, demanding a place at his table and life, which he was willing to give her.

-

Cersei was frantic, the announcement of her father's betrothal to the princess (y/n) and the reaffirmation of her bastard children had brought her to an utmost stage of rage that she was going around her room like a hurricane, she was throwing things and cursing as loud as her lungs allowed it.

How could he do this to her? To her family? That woman had slithered her way into their life like a snake and was now feasting over her mother's dead body, this was just plain disrespectful to her mother.

Tywin found Cerseis handmaidens outside her chamber as the sounds that came from it could put to shame any wild animal, the ladies looked frightened and not one of them dared to go in, however, all of them tried to warn him in leaving the lady be, suggesting that this has probably happened before.

“What do you think you are doing?”

“Get out”

“Young lady I advise you-“

“Shut up! I don’t want to listen to you! How could you marry her?! How could you do this to my mother?”

That was the last thing she said before a harsh slap landed on Cerseis's cheek, the girl was taken back by the act since her father had never hit her, he would discipline her but mostly by raising his voice or finding peculiar tricks of punishment, for Tywin to get physical with his daughter meant that she had gone too far.

“You do not get to judge my decisions, you will welcome your brother and sisters and you will be nice to my wife whether you like it or not, did I make myself clear?”

Silence only looks that could kill were exchanged

“Did I make myself clear?”

“Yes Father”

“My love?”

(Y/n) walked into the room, she had heard everything although she chose to reside in the act of being clueless, Tywin had turned away from his daughter and walked to his soon-to-be wife’s side, his hand found hers and brought it up to his lips, (y/n) smiled fondly before she scanned the room with her eyes, a puzzled look on her face as the room was upside down.

“What has happened? Is the young lady alright? The handmaidens were stuttering when I asked about the noises”

“Yes, no need to worry, my dear, Cersei was just redecorating”

“Oh, well if she wishes I can help with that”

“No, no, Cersei is quite specific, she prefers doing things her way, hence this scenery, we should live her”

“As the young lioness wishes, but before we leave”

(Y/n) took a few steps so she can stand ahead of Cersei, Cersei truly felt like a lioness, one that was trapped in a cage to be exact, as much as Cersei wanted to believe she could outsmart anyone (y/n) had years up on the horse, so naturally she was now trotting past Cersei with her caring smile and eyes that lit up, Cersei was left to looking like a kid that threw a tantrum whilst (y/n) looked like a mother that did her best to keep the peace.

“I know you are angry at me, I would be too, I will not try to be your mother, I do however hope that one day you will view me as your ally or your friend even”

(Y/n) went to caress Cerseis cheek which Cersei flinched away from that earned her a cold hard stare from her father, (y/n) only bit her lip in defeat, then it was replaced by a smile of hope, (y/n) genuinely wanted things to go as smooth as possible, to keep all of Joanna's children close to her, it was the least she could do she wasn’t a complete monster, as much as Cersei liked to think of her as one.

“Perhaps it’s too soon, I am asking way too much of you, I hope you have a great day, sweetling”

“Put everything back in its place, now”

Tywin instructed in a stern voice before they exited the chamber that Hurricane Cersei was occupying, Tywin was sure that she would throw something at the door once it was closed and he stood correct when a loud bang was heard.

“She is a young girl that lost her mother, having an attitude with me is inevitable”

“Cersei is not a normal young girl, she has a superiority complex over everyone, our children will not interact with her yet”

“That won’t be a problem, Asena is not… fond of Cersei either”

“I wonder why, let us not think of Cersei right now, it is time for Nymeria to be fed”

“See how beautiful it sounds when it rolls off the tongue? And you wanted to name her Lydia”

Since this babe was the first legitimate child of Tywin and (y/n) he had the suggestion of picking the name of the beloved girl, on the contrary (y/n) was not budging, she was adamant on naming her daughter after the biggest warrior queen Dorne has ever known, her precious Nymeria.

“The princess never wanted to marry lord Tywin, she was far more interested in keeping their relationship private, howbeit Lord Tywin was too consumed by his emotions for her to consider the fact that the princess could have been wed, she simply chose not to”

Grant maester Pycelle added when asked about their wedding. (Y/n) did not care about her children being legitimate or owning land, Dorne was her home, her brother had congratulated her on the birth of her twins and even offered to have them in Dorne, and her family was delighted by (y/n) bringing forth new heirs for the Martells, it was only Tywin that wanted to make it official, to let everyone know that the princess was now cloaked by the lion, her life as the lady of the rock had begun and Dorne had entered a land that they never really thought of earning.

“In a day you will be my wife, therefore, my children’s good mother, I expect them to treat you as such”

“I do not, Tywin they are in mourning, you cannot expect them to make it easy for me”

“I am not dimly witted my dearest, I know they will have some thoughts over our marriage, albeit I will make sure they keep it to themselves”

Requests are open!

#tywin lannister x you #tywin lannister fluff #tywin lannister imagine #tywin x reader #tywin imagine #tywin lannister x reader #tywin lannister #ao3feed tywin #yandere tywin lannister imagine #game of thrones fluff #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones imagines #game of thrones oneshot #game of thrones #got imagines #got x reader #got #got oneshot #got imagine #tywin lannister imagines #yandere tywin lannister x reader #house lannister

[smolvenger]

Greetings bestie 💖🫡

Requesting a Professor Hiddles story (you can choose what subject he's teaching) where he already has this friendly type of dynamic w/ Reader and she's nervous about finals week and he goes "Tell you what, if you ace all your exams I'll take you out to dinner. Anything you want."

…And then (surprise surprise) she wants to skip all that because she just wants him 🫠🫠

I shall leave spice level entirely up to you 😏

And for some ✨inspiration✨…

Hi bestie! Thank you for requesting a Prof! Tom fic! I loved writing it!

Exam Aid (Prof! Tom Hiddleston x Student! Reader)

Summary: When finals have gotten you down, your Shakespeare professor offers some help...and motivation...

Word Count: 5939 (woof)

Warnings: Eventual Smut at the end! NSFW! (Reader is a college student ((if undergrad or graduate that's up to you)) so she's over 18. Dom! Prof Hiddles and Sub! Reader, dirty talk, vaginal fingering, doggy style, doing it in an office. It's super filthy when it gets there, so be warned), mentions of anxiety and insomnia and mental health. My Shakespeare tastes and my IRL English Major college experiences are used and referenced bc it's my indulgent fic too and I do what I want. Some hurt/comfort. Prof Hiddles being both a dom and silly goofy in one fic bc get you a man who can do both.

Taglist: @huntress-artemiss@ijuststareatstuffhereok89@evelyn-kingsley@jennyggggrrr@five-miles-over@fictive-sl0th@ladycamillewrites@villainousshakespeare@holdmytesseract (smut starts at "I'm good at more than just kissing" and ends at "He looked at you with a sweet smile", for your comfort, bestie) @eleniblue@twhxhck@lokisgoodgirl@lovelysizzlingbluebird@raqnarokr@holymultiplefandomsbatman@michelleleewise@wolfsmom1@cheekyscamp@mochie85@muddyorbsblr

 It wasn’t the actual week of finals. Oh no, you knew how the drill would go. It was the month or week before. It would be assigned. Every last essay thrown on top of you. And with professors without a touch of reality for students.

“Who the hell has time to read and finish A Tale of Two Cities in two days?!” you thought as you shoved your unabridged copy of Dickens in your bag. Promising yourself to get through as much as you can and then read the Sparknotes summary in the morning. You weren’t immune to it.

Throughout your time in college, you had many a professor. Professors came in varieties. There were creative writing professors who ranged from tiny women who would assign short stories that made no sense to blonde men with glasses and toothy grins who loved it when their male classmates wrote exploitative abuse. Mythology professors with Greek accents and tans. Then there were the mixed bag of literature professors. 

The previous professor of the literature survey for Shakespeare also taught the American Literature Survey course. He was Dr. Rutledge. He wasn’t from this year, or even this reality. Either a wise old sage or a kooky scientist from the movie. He had long, thin grey hair, and wore bow ties with black glasses and thick tweed jackets. He smiled and would speak for hours in a tone half sarcastic, half serious. You knew he would go back home and cozy up with a whole copy of Moby Dick next to a fireplace as he sipped on tea or even scotch if he was feeling adventurous. When he brought up sex and seduction with the Scarlet Letter it was the equivalent of hearing a nun confess her last orgy. 

So when you registered this year for the Shakespeare course, that was the sight you were expecting.

Since the first day in walked someone different. He may have been wearing a suit, but he definitely was not Dr. Rutledge. 

Everyone was gossiping and chattering and sipping on their iced coffees when they fell silent. Every single back stood up straighter at the sight of him. Young, tall, virile. Long, curly reddish blonde hair. A goatee and glasses to show his maturity. Sharp suits that framed every inch of his lean but fit body. Eyes and cheekbones to die for. A jaw so straight it made the men taking the class question if they were.

No introduction of “hi, I’m-” No icebreaker games. He only stepped forward, to his podium. Held onto it, everyone leaned forward. He had all of you in the palm of his hand. Then, with his clear, bright baritone voice, he spoke-

“Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this sun of York…”

His voice…something about it. So…rich…Goddammit, he picked that one, the opening speech of Richard the Third. If he picked Romeo’s balcony declaration or something like that, you would be in even more danger of falling onto the floor in a horny heap of suppressed yearning. But no…it was Richard the Third’s monolgoue. Of all the characters he was playing, of all the characters in the Shakespeare canon you could thirst after, it was fucking Richard the Third. Definitely not known as a hunk or even a likable person according to canon. 

But the way he said it- threatening, villainous even. He leaned in and confessed his true feelings about the royal family and his plot to destroy them and rule over them. You could already feel something stirring inside you. And it was eight am in the morning. 

As he finished the monologue, speaking it so naturally it was as if it were his own words, the class burst into applause.

With a casual bow, brushing his curly blonde-red hair out of his face, he introduced himself.

“Hello class- good morning. I’m your professor- Professor Hiddleston, and I will make this as fun and engaging as a morning class on Shakespeare can be.”

From then on, you enjoyed the class. You tackled it on- after all, you wanted to have some fun. You loved Shakespeare. But Professor Thomas Hiddleston…was a bonus. Thank the lord he wore suits. And if not suits, white shirts with the sleeves rolled up. He might as well as taken it off for you. 

You went through various sonnets. Then explored the poetry- Aphrodite and Lucretia. Then the plays. Even plays that the undergrads thought the most dull he made intriguing. He made everything clear with Shakespeare’s life too himself- how the Bard lost a son named Hamlet. How Shakespeare was accustomed to the great courts and low brothels Prince Hal tasted both of. 

When theatres did productions or there was the odd movie adaptation in theatres, everyone went to go see it. Then he had a showing of lesser-known film adaptations. Showing how Orson Welles framed the shot of Falstaff to make the large knight seem even larger. The Bollywood Othello where at long, long last Emilia survived and she was the one to kill Iago, much to the class’s cheering.

“Are there any other movies we should watch?” he asked.

One kid shot up and suggested Shakespeare in Love. He raised an eyebrow.

“ It was not Shakespeare’s invention to have the lovers die. Romeo and Juliet was a a known story in Elizabethan era England and everyone knew back then that the lovers died. It’s like someone just suggesting that Superman comes from another planet- we all know he does. Not  because of him having an illicit affair as his poor wife was left to raise their surviving children far off and alone!”

“What about Anonymous!?” cried one kid, trying to be cool.

He let out a deep, ragged sigh. 

“There is more than enough evidence to suggest Shakespeare wrote the plays. Every criticism says he can’t write it because he was uneducated. However, if you look, there are hysterical inaccuracies in his geography And no one questions the authorship of Maya Angelou because of her lack of formal education! Just because he was not a nobleman, does not mean he was not aware of things as you are! Every Anti-Stratfordian argument boils down to classicism.” 

It was the best class you took. Having him teach definitely helped. And he would invite people for coffee talks and of course, you would bolt to join. Yet you enjoyed it- seeing him so relaxed. Warm in his coat as everyone circled around to talk about plays they knew of but hadn’t read in this class.

“Well- all of us went through our high schools. We all read Romeo and Juliet- what do you think?” he questioned them one autumnal day. 

“They’re just brats! Ugh!” one guy snarled out.

That you couldn’t take. You set down your drink, glaring at him. 

“They’re not!” you cried out passionately.

Eyes turned forward to you. You wished youcould have slapped him, but you stopped.

“Well, Y/N…why do you think that? Why are they not brats?” the professor asked. 

“I think…the plays aren’t meant to be realistic. Of course, they fall in love immediately- so do Rosamund and Orlando but no one calls them brats! It’s not Romeo and Juliet who get everyone killed! It’s not their love that hurts anyone- it’s just the feud and Paris l thinking he is entitled to Juliet’s body after her supposed death! No one knows about them- only they, the nurse, and the priest know about it! They’re innocent! Juliet calls Romeo her ‘friend!” Her one and only friend! That’s how alone she is without him! They are just innocent victims of a greater scheme. Hamlet and Othello fall prey to their own flaws- but Romeo and Juliet are just two young kids caught in the crossfire!”

You didn’t realize how passionate you were. You felt your face get hot with embarrassment as the class gaped at you. But the Professor was nodding his head. He gave you a small smile as you sat down.

“That was…very good. Next time, use the text and a few sources, and you have yourself a good essay, Y/N,” Professor Hiddleston said.

You liked how he challenged you. He would only want you to do better. He wouldn’t blow smoke up your ass, but he would support you. You would ask after each other. He told you a bit about his life- about how much there was to grade. How he got the job. Little things- but little things only added up to how much you liked him. Even…even…no, you couldn’t you would never say it aloud. But your bedtime fantasies…you were more than mere friends…but that was only for fantasies. 

You tried to let those regular Shakespeare classes comfort you. But finals were taking a toll on your sleep, and your health. You were so wound up and stressed, trying to read and perfect essays that you had trouble going to bed. Your brain kept churning- unable to think of anything else but your work. You couldn’t realx- you worked so hard to get into this school, this degree. If you didn’t pass then…you would be a failure and all that work to go to this school would be for nothing. 

At least after a sleepless night, you had something to look forward to- to distract yourself. But even lately in those classes, you curled into yourself. The heaviness of your exhaustion and the jolt of your anxiety over finals in an unending cycle of misery. You were so…tired…and done…and drained…you knew it would pass with time…

After class, as everyone filed out, Professor Hiddleston walked over to where you slowly gathered your things. He held out a hand to you.

“What is it, Y/N? You’re usually smiling and happy here. But you seem very grave lately…has something happened?”

You shook your head.

“Not really just…finals…I want to do well. I can’t get C’s- I want to do them perfectly! I want to! I want this degree! Now I…I’m so scared of failing…I wanted this school so much, now I…I…” you began to mutter.

You felt tears wriggling out of your eyes, and your breath shook as you uselessly tried to hold them back. He handed you tissues from his coat pocket. You felt like a trashbag- crying in front of this fucking Greek God. But he looked at you kindly. You wiped your eyes. Snot threatened to release from crying and you blew your nose. Ugh, he would think you were especially gross after that. But his gentle smile did not change. You wrapped up the tissues and tossed them aside- then he handed you the little plastic package.

“Is it mansplaining if I give you some advice?” he asked.

“Oh, no…it’s not…” you said. 

“Break your studies apart, Y/N. Ten little minutes at a time. A break. Then ten more. If you take time to focus, it will help you. Or if you make it fun and play music or make little drawings, then you have a picture as well…I know it means a lot…but if you rest, you will recover…and you must think smart, not hard,” he advised.

“Okay…” you nodded.

“Y/N, there are counselors here…they will help you and you don’t have to pay anything. They; 've helped me, and so many others, they should help you…” he suggested. He got out pamphlets from a corner of his desk to give to you. 

“I’ll see one…Why are you so kind to me?” you asked impulsively, looking up.

He put his hands in his pockets, glancing down, and then back up.

“If I may be frank, you remind me so much of myself when I was a student. I had a thesis I had to write on Shakespeare’s problem plays…and it consumed me. I wish someone had given me that advice at that time-I only want you to suffer a little less. Don’t be so hard on yourself- like I was on me…”

You nodded up at him, adjusting the straps of your bag and gathering your things in your arms. 

 “And I’ll..I’ll make it fun- I’ll think of a reward for after…” you said.

He placed his hands in front of him, his lips tightening, and then in a rushed exhale, he spoke. 

“Y/N…how would you…you…you like dinner? After finals?”

You perked your head up. Was this real? You blinked at him, saying nothing.

“Y/N…make me a bet…Go to counseling, break apart your studying, get through your finals, and do as well as you can…and I will take you out to dinner, how does that sound?” he asked.

You smiled at him, your heart beating fast. But yet…you were touched. You put a hand over your chest and released an exhale.

“Professor that…that sounds wonderful…” you answered.

“Ah, excellent. Now- is that a deal?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

You gave him a smile and a small laugh.

“It’s a deal,” you replied.

You managed to get a counseling session scheduled for tomorrow. You went inside, sat, met the kind therapist, and smiled as you vented and cried out your feelings. When you went back to where you lived and spent your emotions, you crashed onto the bed. It was the best nap you had ever taken. 

You followed his advice. You broke down studying or writing essays and researching. You took more breaks. You had made flashcards with doodles for the tests and were catching on quickly. Your research was more fruitful and your essays were getting better in your eyes. You found you slept a bit better at night.

Each day as you sat in at 8 am, the Professor would smile at you and nod. You felt more like yourself again despite the looming deadlines. And they didn’t seem like a matter of life or death anymore. 

Everyone knows the week before finals are hell. To study and work so much with no time off from usual classes. But… you would still miss that 8 a.m. Shakespeare survey- and the handsome professor in his suits.

“Y/N, don’t be scared- you will be phenomenal,”  He gave you a wink that turned you into jelly.

Damn him. To think you would have dinner with him. You turned around to peek at him erasing the markerboard and glimpsing his curved bum,  how his hair curled at the back, and his broad back.

Yeah, now that was motivation to do well.

You studied and wrote with enthusiasm. You completed it all in due time. The essays were to your satisfaction.  When you settled at night, you cuddled his pillow. Remembering his smell- be it his shampoo or cologne, the mild, citrus scent. Fantasizing about him. Of dancing slowly at a formal event with you in an evening gown. Feeling his hand on your back and his head lowering down to touch your forehead. Of sharing ice cream. Being a damsel in distress for him to rescue. Then you thought of his body…. And the images changed to something naughtier. Wearing short skirts and showing up to his class. And him noticing. And lifting it up…

You conked right to sleep.

Finals week began. The entire campus knew it was stressful and went ridiculously out of their way to cheer up the students. But it was a lot of fun, you had to admit. Having dogs on campus to pet. Discounts on coffee. That Monday morning the cafeteria was packed with the free breakfast they offered. Once you brave the long lines for free food, you headed out to your first final. 

Professors, to your amusement, dotted around the campus. If they didn’t have a class to be in, they were handing little care packages while dressed in silly costumes. The sight amused you and made you smile.

Then walking up, you turned to the right and jumped at the sight with a happy, surprised gasp that became laughter. Professor Hiddleston himself wore a light, frilly tutu made for girls a quarter of his age over his pants, little costume fairy wings over his shirt,  and had a headband with little stars on top like ears. 

He turned towards you and his face turned bright pink. 

“Professor Hiddleston! What is this?!” you asked.

He opened up his arms to present his silly costume.

“We’re doing our anti-stress events! I am here to provide you with help with your stress!” he announced theatrically.

You put your hands akimbo and surveyed his costume up and down. If the class knew, they would lose it.

“And you’re doing it?!” you asked.

“Why not! I’m not a stick in the mud all the time! I can have fun!”

You laughed again.

“I should take a picture and send you to the group chat of our class!”

“I don’t see why not!”

He posed as you took a picture. 

“And how are you feeling?”

“I feel better! Much better now- I feel like I’m ready…”

“Good! It will be done soon! A bit at a time!”

He handed over a stress-free care package. Exchanging smiles, you continued by with a lighter step in your shoes. 

You went to every test outside of the pre-written essay. You knew what to do as you wrote short essays for the tests. You didn’t completely panic and wrote them as well as you could. When it came to every exam,  you felt you knew and understood the material. The week flew by. 

Sure enough, on that Friday, with shaking hands and a turning stomach, you looked up your grades. Taking in a breath right when the clock hit noon, you tapped a shaking finger on the mouse.  The link buffered on your computer to view them. Then it lit up with revelation. 

You passed them. You passed them all. In fact, you did very well. 

Your heart was racing but—you realized…you didn’t have his number. Only his email address. With the still nervous feeling…you emailed him, your professor.

“Hello Professor,

My grades were announced- and they’re all spectacular. I passed all of them. So…you made that promise…are you available for dinner?”

You sent it off. You could only ruminate for five minutes- his response was quick. 

“Of course, dear Y/N…

Here’s my number below… Meet me in my office. The parking lot isn’t far from it.”

You managed to text him immediately. You were giggling and pacing your room like a high schooler as your phone buzzed with his responses.  You re-read them as you paced about with your phone in your face. The high of your crush floating you into the clouds. You were going to go to a nice restaurant- one wasn’t finalized yet, but something nice. And that meant you had to look the part!

You were so excited. You made sure your makeup was how you liked and that your hair looked clean. You put on a part dress-one with a shorter skirt. It was too perfect not to. It was cut only a little low to show some mild cleavage. The collar was wide enough so that it showed your collarbones. It was nice, but flirtatious and romantic. It hugged you in a perfect fit while making you feel amazing and sexy. 

Sure enough, you went over to his office. The place was abandoned. All offices and buildings on the Friday of the Finals are in the early evening. You walked over and knocked on the door.

He opened the door and your heart almost stopped.

He was lovely. In his suit. His curls and that slutty goatee combed. Smelling fresh and clean. He still was in his blue suit- bringing out the blue in his eyes. Loving, beautiful.

“Ah, Y/N- please, come in,” he welcomed.

You followed suit. He closed the door. There was a second where you just looked at each other. Despite his goatee, you saw him biting his lip.

“Now, how about that dinner, Y/N…” he offered. “There’s La Gardeniera-suitable. A nice place for a special occasion as this…”

You gave him a shrug.

“I don’t care…anywhere…” you replied. 

“Anywhere? ” he asked.

He put his hands in his pocket and looked at you. It was a simple office- white and brown as many are. There was a bright window, the blinds turned over, as the setting sun’s rays fell over it. There was a small bust of Shakespeare and a pitcher with cups of water. His desk had a neat stack of papers, and annotated books all over it. Cozy and comfortable- like how he made you. 

“I just…I want to be with you…I don’t mind. Take me to a McDonalds and I won’t care…” you went on.

“Y/N…I…me?” he asked.

“Yes, you! We don’t even have to eat or…to, uh…I just…” the words were failing you and you felt your heart pick up. You looked down at the floors and then back up at him. 

“You want to…to be with me…” he walked forward curiously. But you did not retreat. Did not back away. You only met him in his blue eyes, welcoming him.

“Y/N…are you sure?” he asked.

He took a step closer. He was right before you. And you did not retreat. You met his gaze. So close. The tension between you.

“Professor Hiddleston, I am sure…I just want to be with you…anywhere…you just…make me happy…” you finally confessed.

“You make me happy too…” he murmured

He leaned forward, seeking permission. You gave a shaky nod. 

Then he kissed you.

 Something in you released. So long it was boxed up- now wild and free.  He immediately took his hands and ran them up and down you and you held onto him in the kiss. Feeling him as he deepened it with the wet sound of lips. Grabbing onto each other, releasing what had been held for so long. He released and then kissed you-again, then again. Like he was drowning and you were air. 

“Mphm- what-what were the grades?” he asked before kissing again.

You caught your breath and took a break still close to his lips. 

“Passed them. Flying colors,” you reported.

 He kissed you again, moaning into it. Then he broke it again.

“Well now…my little student…doing so well…” he rasped.

You grabbed him and heart racing you felt him kiss you. His facial hair scratched against you. He kissed you back. He backed you up.

“You’ve been…good…” he breathed, pressing you there into it. You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders. 

“Mphm- this feels…feels so nice…you’re a good kisser,” you whispered.

“I’m good at more than just kissing, my dear-”

He held you, pulling you close. He backed you to the door-holding you against him. He then reached a hand and turned over the lock. It was sealed with a click. His hands then returned to you. He cupped your cheeks, then it slid down your neck, and your chest, and then settled on your wasit. 

“I’ve…I’ve…God, I’ve wanted you so much…I…I don’t know if I…think I can…hold back…my dear, I-I-if you’re not…not ready, I’ll-”

“I don’t want to leave yet- let’s wait for dinner-take me. Fuck me here, now,” you begged. 

You didn’t need to say any more than that.  ou shuddered. He found your skirt and touched your leg, lifting it up. Feeling your skin, cold from exposure.

“All this…is all for me now…”

His hand reached over your leg. His long fingers possessively gripped each bit of flesh. Enjoying it- feeling you for the first time. Treasuring you and making his mark- you were his and his alone. He wrapped an arm around you and lifted you up onto that door. You let out a sound He then took your leg and guided it to wrap around his waist, holding onto him. You were so dripping wet you could feel his pants brushing your soaked panties. He held you easily-so, so easily. Just muscle and wall holding you and keeping you in place. He managed to lift you up- keeping you up with how pressed he was to you. How warm. Keeping him on you.

Your lips crashed again. You kept touching him. One hand finally touching his hair- his beautiful, long curls. The other kissing into him. In his suit, he began to ground against you now that you had nowhere to go away- not that you would leave. He kissed you with tongue and fire. You wrapped your arms around him and kissed him back, wet noises and messy, desperate need.

“Tom…Tom, I-” you murmured.

He touched your chin, shushing you.

“We’re still in my office, my dear. And you will call me Professor,” he said.

He reached a hand down- feeling hte seat of your soaked panties. Smiling from teh effect already.

“Yes…yes, I will…” you breathed out. 

“Now- my little angel. She did so well…and she comes to me, so needy…so desperate-first for her finals and now for my cock-”

You held onto him, touching his tie. Pulling him up. You felt his erection stretching through his pants. The hooded eyes and soft voice, his hot breath. You gave him a smile- eager to have him. 

“I’m going to rip your clothes off and fuck you senselessly- and I want you- I never heard a thank you- I want to hear your gratitude for how I take care of you in every way…how does that sound? Too much for you?”

“It sounds wonderful for me-Professor,” you purred in response.

He wrapped an arm to help you up and carried you- legs around his waist.

. He then backed you over to his desk. He kept one by you- so close, so close. He took a hand and shoved aside the books and papers. It didn’t matter- now there was you. 

He pulled up your skirt. Desperately trying to find the zipper. Almost shaking in his long fingers. His erection seeping through his pants- he was so pent up.

“All that time. Wanting you. Feeling you near. Do you know how many nights I had to jerk off to imagine this- you! Seeing you- feeling you right there- my little beauty, angel, and siren at once.”

He shoved your dress off and down. Now in your bra and underwear. His hands went to under your straps- feeling them already- his bare flesh on your bare flesh. You were backed there.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you what?” he asked darkly.

“Th-thank you, Professor.”

He kissed you again. You were his little pet, his toy, his plaything. And you would please him- You held onto his shoulders. Grinding more into his body, He was still. Yet you heard his breaths, catching in his chest. He still remained clothed. 

Then in a rush, he gripped your bra.

“You won't need these- not with me.”

With a strength that made you gasp, He ripped your bra in half. He breasted so fast, panting like a beast. Looking down at your breasts.  Both large hands fondled them, moving them around. 

“Th-Thank you, Professor,” you whispered.

“But there’s one thing- one thing keeping me- from what I need” he growled.

He reached down, and in a second, he ripped your panties apart again in half. You gasped at the feeling. The cloth in two- uselessly falling apart.

“No bra- no panties when I see you -easier access- do you understand…I have a need for you, do you get it-”

“Yes- yes, sir.”

“Close- but not it. You forgot. And you’ll be punished.”

He turned you around, so your bare ass was shown. He immediately spanked you hard- it clapped around you. You let out a shout.

“It’s thank you-Professor.”

“Thank you Professor!” you cried out, feeling the sting. 

“And you will get it right!”

He spanked you again, harder. The momentum made you move against the desk, feeling your ass move with it. And feeling his greedy eyes all over your exposed skin.

“Th-Thank you, Professor!” you cried.

He pulled you back up but kept your back to his chest. He kissed your cheek, fondling you from behind, whispering in your ear.  

“If you don’t want another punishment-Tell me what I am-”

“You-you’re my-my-”

The words failed you. He leaned you down again and spanked you.

“You’re my professor!”

He spanked you again.

“Say it again- and say thank you-”

“Yes- yes- thank you, Professor…”

He grazed over you. Feeling you. You were catching your breath. Dripping so hard. He put his hands against your inner legs. 

“The more I do this- the more I see you, the more I’m with you, the more you- you torture me. I can’t stand it- I-I have to have you, Y/N- I have to, I have to-do you- do you want-”

You lightly turned your head over to see him and could have gasped. 

He unzipped his pants and lowered them. Already his cock was large and twitching. It leaked so much, that his precum made you shiver. It drizzled down and made a path down his leg. You clutched onto the desk, smiling and bracing yourself. 

“Yes- take me- take me on your desk, Professor…”

He smiled, and then his hand made you bend over it again. ‘

“Spread. Your. Legs.”

You were such a horny querying mess, he touched your legs so that they spread for him. Then finally, you felt him at your entrance, and inside. 

You let out a long groan- and so did he. As he got in - inch by inch. 

“Yes- yes all-ah!” you cried out as he got all of himself in you. 

He eased you in at first. Your legs again over. He gave a few gentle, experimental thrusts. It was slow, even sloppy. Each intrusion, poking you inside. You were making an appreciative groan. You ground your hips further against him. The room was hot and smelled thick with sex.

“There…you can take…take all your professor's cock, can you?” he growled.

“Yes-yes I can..”

He then made a sharp thrust inside and you cried out.

“Oh!”

He then experimented- hips rolling towards your ass. You let out sounds like you never heard yourself make. He then had a hand to keep you down. To keep you down And then he began to pick up. Slamming into you. Keeping you still, close, on him. 

“Nrg-nrgh- yes-there-fuck-there’s my-myfuck- good litlte student-nrgh-want to please me- hrng-begging-begging to-shit-yes-yes-darling-begging for me-”

You were moaning into it. Your body shakes forward and back from his thrusts. You felt yourself spiraling. Then he slowed. He leaned down and whispered into your ear. The pleasure was at a standstill, you caught your breath as you heard his hot voice right beside you.

“You have another order- cum only when I’m about to-cum when I tell you- yes?” he demanded

“Yes!”

“Yes, are you grateful!” He moved his hands to feel your arms. 

“I am- th-tahnk you, Pr-Professor.”

He went back up and began to thrust again. Slow- then medium. You let out those pornographic sounds out as he did.

“Fuck- what you do to me, darling,” he breathed out. 

He let out another gasp, his voice itching up in a groan and then back down. Then he slammed into you, letting out a loud voice. 

“Who is going to let you cum?  Who lets you cum when you’re a good girl?” he rasped. 

“My-my- fuck-professor will- will let me-cum-yes!

“Not yet- not yet-mine is-if-fuck, it’s building.-”

He spread your legs wide and entered you. Then he grabbed your hips. He began to pound into you. The desk shaking- the wall quivering. Slamming against that wall with a thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud. He whimpered your name. You clung onto it, your knuckles popping out of you.

“Yes-Yes you are-beautiful little student- you are-g-grateful- fuck.-tight-so tight- shit-”

He was so deep, just rutting into you. He was an animal. Pure fucking you into the desk You felt the itch of his suit- the deepness of it. The papers scrambling away- scratching you. The pure ecstasy of it.

“And” thrust “tell me-” thrust “tell me this”- thrust “darling-”

He laced a hand, it reached your folds. You let out a whimper. He dug around- two fingers in-already feeling you. God- you weren’t going to last. He wasn’t going to like it, but you weren’t going to last. You let out a whimper as you felt him inside you.

“What” thrust “ is it” thrust”- “what is it- good” thrust “good girls do- ”thrust

“They-they-they get to-to-to come, Professor-”

“Yes! Yes-you're at my-my limit-gods-gods- what you do to me-You’ve been good-so good- I can’t-I can’t-so cum, darling-”

He strummed you. And you let out another intense gasp. He was strumming you. His fingers making you more open, his cock in, out, in out. You felt it build- he played with your clit so much. Trying the right place, You felt it rise, but not there. And he kept thrusting. A frustration in his rasp.

“Yes- dammit- why won’t you now? Why won’t-won’t you cum?! Cum, dammit- cum- darling- fuck, fuck- god- yes, gods, I’m there…I’m getting there, cum, dammit- why won’t you cum…”

With a new fury, he pounded against you into the desk- the filthiest, most intense thing you felt. The pleasure building up you, going up, up about to be out of control. 

“I’m- I’m going to-I’m going to-I’m going to cum, professor I-I-I”

It would spiral up, yes, but you had yet to reach it. You ground your hips further, moving from his thrusts, as his fingers were there- finding you at the still of your high and just needing your brink.

“Yes- God, yes-cum, darling-I order you, your professor orders you-Yes- yes, cum, girl, dammit- do it, cum, darling- fuck, I’m about to- do it- CUM!” he deamnded like a yell.

With a last shout you cried- “PROFESSOR!” and you came.

Spiraling down from the pleasure. It broke into chills over you-your voice left you and yet your heart was racing. You could feel him gushing into you and yet you could also feel the cum from your own body between your legs, on his fingers.  He panted. He then moved you over. You saw his hair wild and arrayed. You moved it out of his face.

He looked at you with a sweet smile then took your hand and kissed it. He sat you down on a chair and took off his jacket- putting it over you like a cape. Then he went over and got you a glass of water from the pitcher. 

His voice had softened, he kept touching your face, checking for any accidental bruises or marks.

 “How are you? Are you…are you alright, Y/N? I didn’t go too…too-”

“You were perfect- it was perfect,” you replied with a smile. The water wasn’t super cold- but it was fresh. 

He let out a sigh of relief. He then cupped your cheek. 

“You should see yourself how I see you. You’re glowing. Absolutely glowing-I had only hoped you were…were happy with it…”

He looked down at the ruined bra and panties.

“I’ll buy you another…” he muttered in apology.

“Oh- an orgasm and dinner and new bra and panties? You spoil me rotten already!” you teased.

He gave you a kiss on the forehead and then he helped you back to dressing. 

“Here-we could…go back to my place and order something. At this rate, it might get late. I’m not that good of a cook-I was hoping a restaurant would impress you. I hope you don’t mind…”

“How could I, Professor?” you added, taking your hand in his. 

#fics #carrie writes #professor fics #prof! tom #prof! tom hiddleston #professor! hiddleston #professor hiddleston #tom my beloved #requests #prof! tom hiddleston x reader #professor hiddleston x you #smut #smut fanfic #smut fanfiction #tom hiddleston x reader #I can't believe I wrote this #professor hiddles #professor tom hiddleston #professor fic #professor hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston au #tom hiddleston x y/n #tom hiddleston x reader fic #tom hiddleston #loki #ao3 writer #loki fic #tom hiddelston x reader #tom hiddelston imagine #tom hiddelson

[prolix-yuy]

Simulated

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader Actress

Summary: You're a professional, which is why a sex scene with Dieter Bravo will be no problem at all. Now you just have to convince yourself to believe it.  

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of male and female bodies, simulated sex, grinding, fantasizing about sex, anxiety, lil bit of size kink, probably incorrect method for filming sex scenes but I'm using what I know and making up the rest. Don't do this for real, this is fantasy and Dieter is a filthy boy.

Notes: This leapt out of my brain and was enabled by the Discord besties. Dieter brainrot is setting back in but I doubt anyone's complaining. This may be the sexiest thing I've ever written without actual sex happening, but you all can be the judge of that.

Cross-posted on AO3

Midnight Alley Masterlist

Trembling on the verge of passing out is not how you wanted your first time in Dieter Bravo’s arms to be, but no amount of reprimands to your rebelling body have worked. 

It’s not him, far from it. Dieter had been nothing but gentlemanly since you came in for scene blocking. The director offered to have stand-ins while they adjusted lighting and staged the shots, but you boldly offered to come in anyways. It wasn’t your first shoot, but it was your first sex scene, and you wanted to impress the director with your no-nonsense attitude about it. 

All that confidence flew out the window when you came face to face with your scene partner, Dieter Bravo. Well aware of his aloof playboy nature, you didn’t expect his handshake to be so warm, the quirk of his smile to make your heart flutter, or for him to smell so strongly of eucalyptus. Apparently his agent mentioned you would be there for staging, and he decided to come in to test your chemistry. No issues there, your curious eyes roaming over his wrinkled cargo pants and threadbare sweater. He could be wearing nothing and you’d still melt into a puddle. Which, shockingly, wouldn’t be that far in the future.

Calm down, girl. Be professional.

To be fair, Dieter is fucking gorgeous, even under the bloodshot eyes and air of annoyance. His curls are even softer looking in person, heavy shoulders stretching his t-shirts and bulky forearms complimenting his thick thighs. Even the little pooch of a tummy makes you salivate. While your friends drool over Tom Hiddleston or Harry Styles, your heart beats fast for men who can crush you under their bulk. “Weighted blanket boys,” you like to call them, and Dieter wholly falls into that category. 

Which is why when you got the casting call for a bit part in the crime drama Midnight Alley, which Dieter had been co-starring in for three seasons, you leapt at the opportunity. Even if you didn’t get to share a scene, at least you could catch a glimpse, maybe say hello. That was surely worth the long hours. His proclivities for casual sex definitely didn’t fit into that plan. No sir. Definitely not.

It all became real when you got the pages. Your character was a one night stand, relegated to three scenes - the bar where you make eyes across a crowd, the tasteful sex scene (though only barely - tv ratings have really changed in the last twenty years), and the morning after when he leaves to go to a crime scene. The “gaze across the smoky dance floor” was easy enough; anyone with half a brain and a pulse would blush at Dieter’s intense stare, raised eyebrow, and sly grin, a signature of his questionable character. It raises goosebumps down your arms, his parted lips and the slip of his pink tongue resting just inside, the crinkle of his eyes when he knows he’s got you. If a man ever gave you that look you’d be in his bed in moments. 

Scratch that. Not just any man. Dieter’s the only one who could pull that off.

The blocking should have evened out your nerves, and in the moment you believed it did. Dieter was an absolute gentleman, even warmer than you hoped, as you waited to be called on set.

“Ever done a scene like this before?”

“First time. Can you tell?”

He thumbed through his thicker script.

“Wasn’t going to make you more nervous by pointing it out. But yes.”

You blew out a puff of air, making Dieter smirk even more as you crinkled your sheets.

“How do we…?”

“You know the direction?”

“Yeah, it seems…straightforward.”

“Well, today we’re just going to do the major movements - positions, angles, you know - and while they mark focus and shine a light directly up my asshole, we can talk.”

A burst of giggles pulled a wider smile onto his face, waiting for you to calm yourself.

“What do we talk about?”

“What’s comfortable for you. What would pull you out of the scene. What you’re open to. You’re our guest after all.”

So your afternoon was spent pantomiming the sex acts written for you and…talking. Which wasn’t supposed to be sexy, or like two hours of incredibly hot foreplay, but your body apparently didn’t get the memo.

“Anything you really don’t want me to touch? Besides the obvious,” Dieter asked, coming down from his hands to his elbows by your face. The tip of his nose brushed briefly against yours. A hairlight shifted in your periphery.

“My ribs are pretty ticklish,” you admitted, nodding to the assistant director Ramona when she moved on to the next setup. Scooping his hands behind your back, Dieter pulled you on top, showing how to sit a little further up on his stomach to fake the grinding. Unfortunately, the plush flesh against your core didn’t help with the ache.

“Here’s okay?” he asked, wrapping his hands just under your breasts, the tips of his thumbs barely grazing the swell. You nodded, body getting jolted again when the director Adiel asked for Dieter to scoot up the bed a few inches.

“My, uh…” you said, then stopped as you lost confidence. Dieter took his hands off your chest and laced them on his own. He looked up at you expectantly. “My…nipples are really sensitive, so I know I’ll have pasties on and everything, but, it’s like, uncomfortable if they get touched certain ways. So I just wanted to…warn you of that. It shouldn’t be a problem, just, ah, you know, just in case.” Your throat closed up, embarrassment at even saying anything crushing your tongue against the roof of your mouth.

“Thanks for telling me, I appreciate it.” Dieter patted your thigh and his smile was a little more tender than before. 

God, he really looked good underneath you.

“My skin’s sensitive too, scratches show up really clearly on it and it pisses off the cinematographer. So that’s the only thing we’ll have to watch out for there.” The shuffle of changing positions interrupts your conversation until you’re on your stomach with him pressed against your back.

“Sorry if I pop one too, it’s kind of par for the course with these. I’m good at keeping it under control for the most part.” You giggle into the pillow as he hovers over you. 

“My biggest advice?” Dieter murmurs, mouth close to your ear. You hum into the pillow. “Let yourself have fun. It’s not gonna feel natural, but that doesn’t mean it’s gotta feel cold. You won’t offend me if you go off script. I might too, if it feels right. If we’re having fun, the audience will too.”

The weight of his body bearing down on you drives any more anxieties out of your blissed-out brain.

The day of the sex scene comes quicker than you’d like, and the tender crush you’d been nursing for Dieter has become a panicked bird inside your ribcage. You’d spent the hours before preparing, mentally and physically with an indulgent morning routine, but nothing can stop your nerves when Dieter catches sight of you and gives a little wave. He’s in jeans and a black button-up, hair being artfully styled but sunglasses still on. One knee bounces in the chair but otherwise he looks cool as a cucumber. 

The sliver of golden chest you peep through the neck of his shirt sends you scurrying to your dressing room.

Everything leading up to the moment you step on set is distraction. Chatting with makeup, hair, props, with the fucking boom operator who looks just as confused as you are that you’re asking about good places to eat in the area. You talk with the intimacy coordinator, who gives you final notes on the scene. (“If Dieter makes you uncomfortable at all you give me The Eyes and I’ll correct him. No questions asked. I’ve worked with him for years, and I will cuss him out to his face.”) Eventually there’s no one left, and you’re standing alone clutching a water bottle to your chest when Dieter sidles up.

“Nervous?”

You almost jump out of your bathrobe. Which would suck because all you had on was a dark lace lingerie set, pair of pasties and the strange modesty patch protecting your lady bits. Sometimes seeing the behind-the-scenes really did erase the movie magic.

“Yeah, sorry. It’s a little more real now than the rehearsal,” you sigh, and Dieter’s bray of a laugh actually calms you. He puts a hand on your back and rubs firm, soothing circles that bring your heart back into an acceptable rhythm.

“You’ll do fine. And I’ve done this…eh, probably more times than it’s polite to mention. You’re in good hands.” He pulls off his sunglasses, treating you to rich brown eyes you could lose yourself in if you weren’t a professional, goddammit. 

“Close the set, please!” Ramona calls out, and the nonessential crew files out until it’s just you and Dieter and about eight other people who will be watching you writhe and moan. Taking in a deep breath and letting it out loudly, you shake your limbs and metaphorically gird your loins (since they already are pretty girded).

“Can I have actors on set please?” You stride up to the bed with as much confidence as you can muster, Dieter strolling up behind you. Now that he’s close he smells like fresh cotton and spice, a sharp shift from the earthier scents you’d been experiencing. Even a hint of mint from his breath, suddenly thankful you’d brushed and mouthwashed twice. 

“Positions for Scene 17.”

Yes, the first shot. Dieter would be hovering over you, kissing you as he pulls his shirt off. You would be in your bra and panties, slivers of your body visible in the frame but Dieter’s broad chest and unbuttoned waistband on display. Sliding the bathrobe off and placing it off camera, you arrange your limbs on the bed, hands shaking just a little now. Dieter stands at the foot, and if you weren’t about to simulate sex you’d swear he was devouring you with his heavy gaze.

Just getting into character. Breathe.

“Roll sound.”

“Speed.”

“Scene 17a, take one. Roll camera.”

“Rolling.”

“...Action.”

As the set drops to silence, you watch Dieter change from the slightly aloof but sympathetic actor to a brooding morally gray detective needing to bury his failures in a soft body. Despite your coaching, your eyes widen at the set of his jaw, how dark his eyes become when he wrenches off the offending button-up. He sinks to his knees between your thighs and hovers over you, hands pushed into the mattress on either side of your head. 

“Be good for me, yeah?” he husks, deeper and full of gravel. You nod, and he descends to crush your lips together. He urges your mouth open and works your lips together, but his tongue stays obediently behind his teeth. 

Fuck, for a second you forgot you were acting.

His hips dip, denim scraping along the inside of your thighs. He parts from your mouth with a gasp, forehead coming down to press against yours. He takes a deep breath, then…

“Cut! Reset.”

You blink slowly, Dieter already lifting back up to stand at the foot of the bed, rebuttoning his shirt. 

“Any notes?” he asks, voice so calm and clear you snap back to the reality of the situation. 

“When you’re kissing, pull her thighs up around you,” Adam says, Dieter’s head swiveling back.

“That all right by you?” he asks, smoothing the shirt on his skin. 

“Yeah, yeah, absolutely,” you answer, trying not to croak out the words. It was just the first take, it’s fine that you’re a little off-kilter. It would be easier by the second one.

It was not. Not by the third either, still swimming in the heady arousal that wafts from Dieter’s commanding presence. The director complimented how you clutched at his shoulders when he squeezed your thighs, which you tried to pass off as purposeful rather than hanging on for dear life. You were doomed, you’d bitten off more than you could chew and you were going to mess up this role and had no idea how to stop it.

Three more scenes to go.

You take a lap as they reposition the cameras, flip-flops slapping against the concrete floors of the soundstage as you debate if you have enough time to rub one out before going back, just to take the edge off.

“Actors back on set!”

Dammit.

Scene 18 has you riding Dieter, his hands guiding you until he bares his teeth (your signal to move with him) and rolls you on your back to pound you into the mattress. The lingerie is gone now, the cool air of the soundstage caressing over curves of your body that most people rarely see. Dieter averts his eyes when you disrobe, and carefully arranges himself below you. You’re feeling more centered, straddling Dieter with a little less fire burning between your legs, but your troubles take a sharp turn.

“Lean forward a little more, you’re half out of the shot.”

“A little faster.”

“Put your hand on his stomach about ten seconds in.”

“Never mind, back to how we had it before.”

“No, we said no hand, remember?”

“Do you need a break?”

Your body shakes after take 6, half from the exhaustion of lifting up on your knees over and over, your toes starting to go numb, and half with anxiety over forgetting another cue, or missing another note. The smile you keep shooting the director is getting strained, and mortifying tears start to prick your eyes. Dieter is watching your face closely, and with a pointed look at Ramona she calls a brief break. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, guiding you off his lap to sit on the edge of the bed. You cross your arms over your chest, and he reaches over to give you your robe. Draping his own over his lap, he strokes that soothing pattern of circles over your back as you shake your head.

“Sorry, it felt so easy in rehearsal, I’m having like, a weird lockup right now,” you stammer out.

“It’s okay,” he says, “I know what it is.” You look up at him with more desperation in your eyes than you mean. He nods sympathetically.

“It’s the cock sock, isn’t it?” 

He delivers the line completely deadpan. The shock of the phrase, plus the serious set of his brow, makes hysterical laughter burst from your lips. You bury your face in your hands and shake as Dieter’s deep chuckles tickle into your ear.

“That’s better, just need to get a little of that tension out,” he soothes, meeting your eyes with a charming smile. If only this could be a real moment, not something looked on by several men and women drinking coffees. Dieter seems like the kind of partner who would always make you comfortable, and seen, and absolutely satisfied.

That last thought tingles the baby hairs on the back of your neck as you move back into position. Straddling Dieter once again, the ridiculous genital covering out of sight, he grips your shoulders.

“Okay, let’s get back into character here, yeah? Remember your motivation?”

You nod. Not that the scene really needed a deep backstory, but you’d decided you were blowing off steam after a rough few days at work and an ex texting you to get back together. Dieter was mysterious, exciting, so different from your past boyfriends, and when he met your eyes across the room all you wanted was for him to wash the bad taste of their memories out. 

“Got it? Good. Here’s mine,” he says, leaning up while the last few preparations finish around you. Lips to your ear, he whispers only for you. 

“Another dead end, another long day, and I want something to distract me. I’ve got my eye on my usual type, but then I see you. You stand out in the crowd, bold, confident. You hold my stare, challenge me. I thought I wanted something easy, something mindless, but looking at you, I changed my mind. I wanted something with substance, someone to give as good as she gets, and I know you’ll give me even better. My cock got hard just looking at you, you’re fucking perfect. And then when you let me buy you a drink and you criticized my whiskey choice, I wanted to bend you over the bar right there. So I’m taking you home to bury my troubles, but you can surprise me as many more times as you like. I like to be surprised. I want you to take me as much as I’m taking you.”

Dieter lies back with a hell of a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“Action!”

Your body moves with an ease that had been eluding you, liquid rolls as you take your time riding him. His hands come up to your hips, urging you faster, and instead you grind down on him, pressing your hands into his chest and pinning him into the bed. You’re not supposed to be fighting him, but it feels so right to arch and rock harder into him. His bare legs flex against your ass, meeting your hips with his thrusts. You can imagine how good he’d feel if you weren’t faking this, how his powerful thrusts would hit your g-spot. His hand cups the back of your neck, teeth bared in warning as he rolls you onto your back. 

“You’re so sexy,” he growls in your ear, hooking your legs around his waist and smacking his hips into yours. The impact is softer than it looks, aided by your moans and writhing beneath him. He goes for a handful more thrusts before “Cut!” is shouted again.

“There we go! I like the improv, can we do just one more for coverage?” Ramona says, giving you an approving smile when you immediately get into position. 

“I could go all night,” Dieter shoots back, earning an eye roll from half the crew and a dry mouth from you when he flicks his gaze back and winks. 

The second take flows even better, your bodies finally speaking to each other. Dieter palms your ass, you slow your hips. He urges you to go faster, you grind down on him. He grits his teeth as you push his chest, nails just about to bite into the supple flesh. His eyes capture yours over and over, and the hunger inside them is some damn good acting. 

The cues, the flip, and you’re on your back again, but this time Dieter drops his head to cover your breast with his hot mouth. You arch, a strangled gasp as you wait for his tongue, his teeth, but he works his jaw against the flesh and nothing more.

Fuck, you want something more.

When he pops his mouth off he resumes the script, thrusting frantically into you but with more force this time, even an edge of desperation. You meet his energy, throwing your head back and letting him yank you against him over and over. The slap, the friction, this gorgeous man before you all makes slick weep from your untouched cunt, clit aching for the act you’re simulating.

“Cut! Excellent, really good work guys, you’re hitting your groove here. Let’s move on to 19.”

Dieter stays above you for a few seconds more, your chests heaving. The lust bleeds away to a soft smile as he pats your side.

“Good work, you take direction really well.”

You bite your tongue to stop yourself from saying, “Just from you.”

You take one more walk around the soundstage to try and calm your rebellious body, but the moment you see Dieter again, kneeling in the bed with the blankets bunched in front of his hips, it’s all dashed away. Even his respectful touches as he guides you to your stomach, checking in if you’re comfortable, all burn across your skin. You just need to get through this scene.

“Action!”

This is indeed the finale. Dieter would finish above you, pounding into you from behind. You were supposed to lie there and take it, let him cuss and choke into the back of your shoulder before his breathing slows and you cut to the next morning. You could do that. You totally could. Most men you’ve been with hump you into the bed like this and it does very little for you. This would be fine.

The moment Dieter starts rutting against your ass you know you’re done for. You’re too worked up, and the position lightly teases your nipples. A wrinkle of blanket rubs against your mound just enough to relieve your clit, and while you know you should stop you can’t help but grind into the bed just enough to light up your nerves. Dieter hovers above you, thick forearms planted by your shoulders as he hisses and grunts his way to a fake climax. You press back against him, giving your own satisfied smile as he drops his forehead between your shoulders and rolls his hips again. 

“Not bad, can we go one more time?”

Shit. You’d hoped that would be enough, arousal rising dangerously between your thighs. Rearranging the sheets to deny you pleasure, you catch Dieter slumping to one side and watching you. It’s intense, being in his stare, but also warming and protective. When you lie back on your stomach and give him a nod that you’re ready, he leans down and whispers in your ear.

“If you want it, you can have it. I won’t tell anyone. You take it when it comes.”

You barely get a moment of shock before the cameras are rolling and the scene begins again. Did Dieter just…insinuate that he’d cover for you if you came? The thought makes wetness gush between your thighs, now lacking the friction you were relishing in earlier. The need aching in your cunt makes you roll your hips back against Dieter, a strained “fuck” spitting through his teeth. He grabs your hips and guides you against his narrow ones, not quite hitting where you want but the snap and slap of him against you still works you up more than it should. You cry out, bury your face in the pillow, fist the blankets as he chases his release. The practiced groan signals the end, this time his cheek pressing against your back and a kiss dotting your spine. 

Thank God. You were finally in the clear.

“I think we need one more, guys. I want a little more…intimacy this time. You both okay with that?”

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

“I don’t…” you started to protest until Dieter’s hand finds its way to the back of your neck.

“I think you can do it. I know you can. One more time?” he asks, but in his eyes is a promise that makes you nod, even against your better judgment.

This time I’ll make you cum.

Dieter changes tactics when the cameras roll. He starts off fast, yanking you back against him. Sitting up on his heels he arches you off the bed with his expansive hands. His thighs cage you in, squeezing tight. Something thick and soft slides against your ass, and you realize Dieter is hard behind you, cock still wrapped up but the weight of it against you obvious. You want him between your legs, fat head sliding over your clit, but you let him adjust you to exactly where he wants. 

With Dieter’s guidance you rock and writhe against him, drips of praise reaching your ears. With a deeply groaned, “Fuck, baby,” he folds over you, stomach pressing into your back. His fingers lace with your own, hugging you to his chest as he pumps his hips in long strokes. His cock nudges your lower back, little gasps keening out. He noses your cheek and guides you to turn your face to the camera. 

“This okay?” he mouths into your ear and you let out a, “Yes, please,” loud enough to mean anything for the camera. You slide a hand into his hair, gripping the thick curls to a stuttered sigh of pleasure. The pressure and motion finally gives you the stimulation you need, and it’s barely any time before your orgasm barrels to the forefront. You tighten your grip on Dieter’s large hand and school your face just enough to not look like you’re cumming through the hottest scene you will ever act in.

“That’s it, take it, take it baby, you’re doing so well, fucking god, look at you,” Dieter groans into your ear. He presses you deeper into the mattress, muting the uncontrollable bucking of your hips for the camera. Teeth scrape along your jaw in tender nips as he stutters to his fake finish, a guttural groan and relaxing of his body signaling the end of the scene. But Dieter lifts up on one elbow and pinches your chin between two fingers, turning your face to his. He looks at you like a mystery to be solved, like a gift, and then kisses you, slow and indulgent.

“Cut! Excellent, loved the ad libbing Dee, but you gotta stop saying fuck, we’ll have to cut that out,” the director says. Dieter laughs against your back, and the warmth of his skin makes you want to melt into the bed and never leave. 

“You doing okay?” he asks, lifting up off you and tugging both your bathrobes over to give you some modesty. He fists his own over his swollen erection, a little pink high in his cheeks and sweat along his hairline.

“Yeah, perfect, absolutely,” you say lightly, legs wobbling when you try to stand up. His eyes drag over you, a prideful smile playing on his lips as you try to cover up your dazed affect. “One more scene?” you say brightly.

“Yeah,” he says, distracted. “One more scene.”

The final shot of your day is the following morning, soft yellow light traded for the cool blue of daylight streaming in. You’re facing away from the camera, Dieter waking and looking over at your naked shoulder. He sits up and strokes along the curve of your waist, making you sigh in your sleep. He watches you with a mix of regret and resolution, kisses your shoulder, and gets out of bed.

The scene is done in one take. You wish it took all day.

The end of the shoot is quiet, taking off makeup and getting back into your public clothes. You strain to hear someone coming to your dressing room, a certain wild-haired brown-eyed man giving you a sendoff. A kind word, a piece of advice, you’d take anything. But he doesn’t come, and you leave the soundstage with your check and thanks and promises of references. 

The drive back to your apartment is quiet, music even feeling too loud for the moment. Weaving through LA traffic, the moments of your day slip through your mind like silk ribbons.

You suppose this is what meeting your heroes is like. A moment in the sunlight of their presence, then back to the real world of auditions and day jobs and hoping your parents never see this particular part of your portfolio. The dishes need washing, calls need to be made, and you have to go on with your life. It was an excellent experience, albeit a slightly inappropriate one. But if that’s the worst you got up to with Dieter then it was fairly tame.

The fleeting thought of what you’d actually hoped you’d get up to with Dieter comes and leaves without incident. 

By the time you get home you’re planning what casting call you’d go to tomorrow, making your grocery list, and considering if you can get away without doing laundry tonight. Which is why you walk past the bouquet of flowers in the atrium without checking who it’s for. Waiting for the elevator, however, curiosity gets the better of you and you peek at the card.

Your name. It’s your name on the perfectly imperfect bouquet of garden roses and eucalyptus. You’re opening the card as your cell phone vibrates in your pocket. Fishing it out, you greet the Midnight Alley casting agent on the other end.

“Are you open to a semi-recurring role?” 

“W-what?”

“Yeah, the director and AD were really impressed with your chemistry with Bravo. They’ve been trying to write him a love interest in the show, but he’s turned down all the potential actresses and guest stars. No chemistry, bad chemistry, whatever, but the point is he asked for them to consider you.”

Your hands shake, the clean white card pinched between your fingers.

I think we can do better together than that. Dinner?

-DB

“What do you think?”

Your heart flutters as you set it free.

“When can I start?”

END

#dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x fem!reader #dieter bravo x reader #the bubble fanfiction #midnight alley #prolix fics

[holdmytesseract]

Under Your Spell

model!Tom Hiddleston x fem!Reader

Summary: You're a photographer and just landed a big job. You try to stay professional, but the model you are working with is quite the distraction...

Warnings: almost nudity, tattoos, piercings, thirst, fluff?

Word Count: 2,1k

a/n: Yep, you read that right... model!Tom... 😏 Well... @multifandom-worlds texted me a few weeks ago and gave me the inspiration for this oneshot. 😁 We regret nothing. 👀

Tagging: @lulubelle814 @km-ffluv @eleniblue @muddyorbs @loz-3 @vbecker10 @jennyggggrrr @mochie85 @chantsdemarins @peaches1958 @multifandom-worlds @fictive-sl0th @loki-laufeyson-1054 @lovingchoices14 @simping-for-marvel @stupidthoughtsinwriting @vanilla-daydreaming @lou12346789 @lady-rose-moon @evelyn-kingsley @the-princess-of-loki @acefeather2002

Masterlist

Part Two -> Still Under Your Spell (written by @multifandom-worlds )

(Credit for the picture goes to @multifandom-worlds 😁)

"Got a new job for you." Sam, your boss turned friend said, making her way over to you. You were currently in one of the studios, cleaning up after the photo shooting you just had. You were a professional photographer, working for a quite big agency. Turning to face Sam, she stood beside you now, grinning broadly. "And a real big one at that." "Sam, if that's another joke-" "This time it's not! I swear! This is real!" The blonde, curly haired woman giggled, lifting her hands in surrender. Sam tended to prank you from time to time, telling you that you've got a big job; hired from someone like Prada, Gucci or even Nike or Adidas. Well, it never was the case... Until today. You crossed your arms over your chest, looking at her expectedly. "You might want to sit down, 'cause it's going to blow your mind." "Sam, please, I don't have to sit down, just because-" "Calvin Klein, male model." "Ohhh gods. Okay, yep, yep, I-I need to sit down." Sam laughed, guiding you to sit on one of the stools. You wouldn't say it was one of your biggest dreams to do a photoshoot for Calvin Klein, but it was definitely in the top five. You needed a second to process this, taking a deep breath. "Sam... Really? Like... Really, really? The Calvin Klein?" Your boss giggled, nodding. "Yep, really really. The Calvin Klein." "Wow... This is... wow..." Sam smiled, knowing very well that this was a small dream coming true. "Congrats, sweetie. You deserve this." You returned her smile and couldn't help but to hug her. "When is the shooting? Where? And oh gods, who is the male model? Do I know him?" You had turned from a stunned girl into an excited energy ball within seconds. Sam laughed once more. "Friday next week. I don't know where yet. I'm still waiting for the management to tell me that. And the model... Well, I don't think you know him, 'cause he's pretty new in the business." "Well, who is it?" "Name's Tom. Tom Hiddleston."

Ten days later, you were pacing around the spacious, yet cosy looking room, preparing everything for the photoshoot. You had arrived over an hour earlier, checking on everything twice - just to be on the safe side. You wouldn't want anything to go wrong. Not on such an important shoot. After all, this could be the chance to prove yourself. The stepping stone into a big, successful career as a professional photographer.

You were readjusting the tripod, totally lost in thoughts, when a deep, yet smooth voice brought you back to the here and now. "Hello?" You spun around at the voice, a hairsbreadth away from knocking over the tripod with the camera. "Apologies. I didn't mean to scare you." The voice spoke up again. "It's okay, I-" You turned around without an incident this time, facing the man to whom the sensual voice belonged - and almost fainted right then and there. Before you stood a tall man with deep blue eyes and a charming smile on his face. His blonde-brown hair was short and curled itself in soft waves over his head. His facial features were utterly defined, with a razor-sharp jawline and high cheekbones. A tattoo adorned his neck. From underneath the white shirt he wore, peaked out another black tattoo as well. He was absolutely gorgeous.

You swallowed hard, tried to regain your focus. "S-Sorry, hi. I, uh, was so in thoughts and... You must be Tom, right?" His smile widened a bit, as he stepped closer. "Please don't worry. I should've knocked or something... And yes, I'm Tom." A smile like his could light up the whole world. You were sure of it. Tom stretched out his arm towards you. Your eyes fell to his outstretched hand. He has such big hands, you thought immediately, biting your lip, before you took his kind and polite offer, and watched how his hand swallowed yours whole. "Y/N." "Very nice to meet you, Y/N." You gave the man a smile, trying to cover up your nervousness. "Likewise, Tom." Your hand left his again, and to prevent an upcoming awkward silence, you spoke up again. "Shall we begin?" "I'd love to."

Sam joined you no minute later, informing you and Tom about the details of the shooting, before she went on her way again, leaving you and Tom to work. While the man went into the adjacent locker room in order to get changed - or well, rather half naked (After all, it was an underwear commercial photoshoot.), you checked your camera one last time.

You knew from the first look at Tom, that he was definitely born to be a model, with the breath-taking good looks he had been gifted. But what you saw when he emerged from the locker room, your heart seemed to stop beating for a moment. You had expected a lot... But not this. Not what your eyes witnessed in that very moment. Tom was naked, of course, except for the grey Calvin Klein trunks, which sat snugly around his hips... And crotch. You swallowed hard, tried not to focus on this, of course. Like you had already recognised before, he had tattoos - but not just the two you had seen. Oh no... Tom had a lot more. In fact, was almost his entire body covered with tattoos, starting with that tattoo on his neck. Although, his upper body was not entirely covered, but mostly. Flowers climbed all over his torso, starting at the waistband of the Calvin Klein trunks, up his hips and sides, kissing his left pec and spreading all over his shoulders and arms. It looked stunning and utterly beautiful. You understood to 100 per cent, why Tom became a model.

Tom's legs were covered with a few flowers as well. You could see a flower tendril on both legs, winding itself upwards from his ankles over his calves and knees, ending on his muscular, thick thighs. Speaking of muscles... Tom's body was well shaped. You could tell that already by the blue shirt he had been wearing. Biceps bulging underneath the soft fabric. His shoulders were broad and strong and you could definitely see the fade outlines of his abs, forming into a sixpack. That, combined with the smattering of fine hair in between his pecs and down his belly button was enough to almost got you hyperventilating. You had photographed a lot of people by now, but nobody had swept you off your feet like Tom did. Not just because he looked like a prince, straight out of a novel, written by a woman, no... Because he seemed to be such a nice, kind and charming man.

Though, the tattoos and his utter good looks weren't the only things which caught your attention... Although he looked like a sunny boy with all those flowers, he had something to balance out the 'bad boy image'... Piercings. Tom had a black, curved barbel piercing on his left eyebrow. His lower lip was pierced as well with a black labret piercing. You even caught a glimpse of his tongue piercing, when he licked his lips, which got you thinking about how good it would feel to kiss him with those piercings.

And you weren't just talking about the three on his face... Oh no... There was more. When your eyes wandered lower to his chest, you could see that Tom had both his nipples pierced; causing you to almost drool on your t-shirt. For fucks sake, Y/N! You internally screamed at yourself. Get a grip! This is work! Not a strip club! Stay professional! You swallowed hard, "Alright!" and took a deep breath, hoping that Tom didn't notice your wandering eyes and lusting stare. "Are you ready, Tom?" The handsome man rubbed his hands, smiling and nodding. "I am ready when you are." "Perfect. Let's start."

You had prepared something for the shooting, of course, trying to implement your customers wishes and perceptions. On the left in front of the big white screen stood a rather old, almost vintage chair and on the right a pallet, turned bed, with a soft mattress, some pillows and a white duvet. "Chair first?" Tom asked you, pointing towards the furniture. "If you'd like, sure." "Alright." He smiled, walking over to the chair. You repositioned your camera, thinking you'd start with the bed first, but well... In the end, it didn't matter.

"What do you want me to do? How should I position myself?" You instructed Tom to brace himself with one hand against the chair first, making him stand sexy, but chilled. After that, you told him to sit down, but the wrong way round, so that he sat with spread legs on the furniture, facing the back of the chair. He placed his arms casually on said back, bending his spine slightly. You had positioned the old chair to stand a bit skewed, so his trunks were clearly visible. After all, this was an underwear photoshoot. Well, you were glad that your direct gaze was shielded. Unless you probably would've been expired already. Cause of death: Sensory overload.

When you were done with the first item of the photoshoot, you told Tom to move to the bed, which sent a tingle down your spine. You couldn't deny, that photographing Tom in a bed got you quite a bit hot and bothered. This was a whole new level, causing you to lose concentration and focus slightly once again. You literally couldn't take your eyes off him - and luckily you didn't have to. You were supposed to look at him, weren't you? As the photographer?

"What would you like me to do in here?" Tom asked with a smile, referring to the bed, of course. Take off your trunks and then my clothes. Wait, what? You blinked, shaking your head slightly and hoping Tom didn't notice how you were struggling to keep a cool head. "U-Um... Feel free to try any position you like." He did notice. The man wasn't stupid - and you were bad at hiding your visible attraction. A soft smirk graced his lips; feeling utterly flattered. "Okay, whatever you say, boss." He firstly sat down at the edge of the makeshift bed, placing his elbows on his knees, getting into a kind of thinking position. You quickly snapped a few pictures, watching him change into another few positions. After taking another photo, you looked up at him and said something you regretted afterwards. "I like the way you pose, but I think we should do one more. Perhaps one in which the trunks are very good visibly? Kinda... on full display?" Whoops. You realised immediately how sexual this just sounded, causing you to stumble for an explanation. "I-I mean not that, uh, Calvin Klein complains, because their product isn't to be seen, y-you know? S-Sorry…" You added a small, awkward giggle, hoping your cheeks weren't that red. Tom smiled, shaking his head. "No, I understand. Don't worry. You are probably right." Like you said, you regretted saying this, because Tom took this very seriously...

He returned back to the bed and got on it. Placing himself towards the camera, he laid down on his side, propping his upper body up on his elbow, while he spread his legs, placing one foot on the mattress, so that his leg was bend. The trunks were on full display now. And you? You had to swallow very hard, fighting so hard against yourself to not look. Though, you could swear it looked at you first. Shit.

His thick thighs were perfectly outlined by the grey trunks, causing them to even look stronger. The waistband stretched around his torso deliciously, desperately holding on. "Is this position alright?" "U-Um, yes, sure." With shaky hands you took a few pictures, trying hard to stay professional. Why must he be so sexy, though?

The rest of the photo shooting was absolute torturous for you. Knowing that you were allowed to look, but not to touch. Oh and how you would've loved to touch... You were kind of glad when Tom was dressed again, but also very sad at the same time. "It was a great shooting, thank you. You are a very good, talented photographer." You couldn't help but blush at Tom's words. "Vice versa. You're a remarkable model." The man chuckled. "Well, thank you, Y/N. It was a pleasure working for and with you. Hopefully we get the chance to... work together again." He winked at you, causing your knees to almost give in. Gods, why was he like that? "Well, I-I hope so too."

#tom hiddleston one shot #tom hiddleston x y/n #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston oneshot #tom hiddleston fanfiction

[five-miles-over]

Can you write a one-shot about Yandere Jaguar Tom when he became obsessed with an innocent woman and starting to stalking her sending her gift and flowers, the woman tried to explain that she is not interested in him, but Tom doesn't listen to her and one day he became tired to just stalking her, what do you think?

Thanks for the request, and thank you for your patience

All I Long For, All I Worship and Adore

Pairing: Yandere Jaguar!Tom Hiddleston x Reader 

Warnings: stalking, brief mention of drugging, obsession, kidnapping

As soon as the engines came to a halt, you exited the train and briskly walked towards a small bistro. Located on Great Suffolk Street, it was one of your favorite spots in London. In your mind, there was no better place to be on a Friday evening.

Much to your relief, the place wasn't terribly crowded, and you were able to find a table within minutes of entering. You removed your coat to reveal a pretty navy dress that perfectly suited your body type, and smoothed your hair with your fingers.

"Good evening, madam." A waiter - bearing an accent distinct to Essex - handed you a menu.

You glanced at it for a moment, and then gently handed it back to him. "Thank you, I think I'll go with my usual. Pan-fried prawns with no coriander, and chips please. Curry on the side."

"Of course, madam." 

Strange, you thought to yourself. He never asked you for your drink order. No worries, perhaps he would return after some time. And if not, then you would tell him when he brought your food.

With small sigh, you rested your head upon your hand. Throughout the week, you had wanted nothing more than to escape your home for a little while. The same home, which you'd lovingly decorated and furnished into a sanctuary, was now turning into the setting of a nightmare.

It had actually began two months ago, with anonymous letters arriving at your doorstep. They were love sonnets at first, some of them extremely familiar to you. One of them read, 

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date."

And you actually loved them; no one had ever made you feel so beautiful inside. Some of the letters, though, were too…intimate for your liking.

"My sweet darling,

There is simply no perfect way for me to eloquently convey my feelings for you, please forgive me for being so forward with you.

I love you, my precious flower. I love you more than Cupid loves Psyche, more than Apollo loved Daphne, and far more than King Arthur loved Queen Guinevere.

From the moment I saw you on your way home, exactly twenty days before today, I knew that my heart belonged to you and no one else. I cannot stop thinking about you day and night. I think about your beauty and your sweetness, about how you are truly made for me.

You have made me feel a love more beautiful and powerful than anything I have ever read or felt before. Perfect you are indeed, my lovely starlight.

And for months now, I have watched your every move - my eyes seem to always find you, I cannot help it - and I find myself each time admiring your numerous charms. I watch the way you smile at little things, like sunsets, ice cream, and film posters. I notice the way you run your fingers through your hair so playfully and absent-mindedly…oh, were I one of those fingers that I could caress you so.

One day, I promise that you will be mine. Surely now you are aware of my deep amorous feelings for you. I will make sure that we are together forever, even if I must butcher the whole world to win your love. 

Nothing else matters - you belong to me, for you have captured my heart, my lovely starlight. And one day, I know that I will steal your heart as well.

Yours truly,

Tom

At least now there was a name that you could associate with the stalker.

Then, the letters began arriving at your doorstep with gifts - Godiva chocolates from the Gold Collection, bottles of perfume from Gucci and Prada, and seasonal flowers wrapped in tissue paper. Each gift came with a little notecard that said,

"Thinking of you, my lovely starlight. Fondly, Tom."

The first few times, you took the gifts to the police,hoping that you might be able to find out who was apparently stalking you. Maybe the police could issue a restraining order, but your efforts were in vain. Without a face or a physical description, they could do nothing.

Once, while you were leaving the police station, you found a black Jaguar parked incredibly close to the building. Leaning against the car was a tall gentleman wearing a white button down shirt, black trousers, and shined shoes. Everything about his appearance was immaculate, from his unblemished skin to his jet-black hair.

"My lovely starlight," he addressed you, causing you to stop in your tracks. The gentleman grabbed your wrist and studied you intensely.

"Tom." You swallowed, not meaning for the name to escape from you so suddenly. 

The gentleman tightened his grip. "You know my name…tell me, my darling, why were you sat the police station?" He glanced at the package in your free hand, and then returned his gaze to you. "You wound me, darling," he whispered with pity in his voice. "Don't you know that I adore you? My gifts are a token of my admiration for you. They were meant for you to have."

"I don't want them," you stiffly answered, trying not to look into his eyes. 

"You don't want them?" He echoed, his breath warm against your cheek. "Then I suppose I'll have to punish the ones who selected them. I'll bring you something more closer to your liking." 

With those words, he shamelessly kissed your knuckle and released you from his grip. You fled to the train station without looking back, only to find a box with a white, lacy set of lingerie at your doorstep the next morning.

"Ma'am?"

Interrupting your rumination, the waiter placed your food before you. And much to your surprise, he brought a glass of your favorite drink.

"How did you…this is my favorite, how did you know?" You asked, a twinkle in your eyes.

"Wasn't me, ma'am. It's compliments of the gentleman over there." The waiter pointed to another corner of the bistro, where Tom - who was sitting at his own table -  waved in your direction.

A chill rushed down your spine, your toes trembled inside your shoes, and your breaths grew shorter with each passing second. He knew you were here…

A jovial grin upon his face, Tom invited himself to the chair across from your table. He wore a black blazer and a slender silk tie of a similar hue, and carried a glass of champagne in his right hand. "How wonderful to see you again, my lovely starlight."

Tom clinked his glass against yours, and took a sip. "It's bad manners not to take a drink."

Not knowing what else to do, you took a drink from your glass. It was delicious, yes, but not good enough to fight the knots forming in your stomach. 

"Better." Tom reached across the table and gently clasped your chin, raising it so your eyes met his vibrant cyan ones. "You look very beautiful tonight, darling."

"Thank you." You gulped. After a moment of silence, you spoke up. "Tom…"

"I love it when you say my name," he praised. "It sounds perfect from your lips."

"Tom, I…I know you have…I know you've done all of these gestures, but I'm not interested in being with you."

Tom blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"I don't want to be with you. I don't feel this way about you, and I want you to stop watching me. It scares me…"

"I see." 

You sighed with relief. "Oh. Thank you…you understand."

He nodded. "Still no reason we can't have a nice supper together." Tom mischievously grinned at the chips on your plate. "Those look delicious - I think I'll get a plate of my own."

"Alright." You looked down and licked your lips. Something just felt…off about this situation. Did he really just agree to stop stalking you so easily? Only one thing to do. 

You rose from the table and adjusted your dress. "I think I'll go freshen up - there's a ladies' room here." After Tom began talking to the waiter, you left.

Ten Minutes Later…

"Fly me to the moon

Let me play among the stars

Let me see what spring is like on

A-Jupiter and Mars"

You rubbed your eyes, finding yourself in the backseat of a car…with Tom in the driver's seat, casually singing along to the song playing on the radio.

"You are all I long for, All I worship and adore…" Tom sang, a slight breathiness in his voice. He pressed his foot on the accelerator, making the engine roar. Then, he turned to you with a grin.

"What happened?" Your eyes shot wide open at the sight of your state. Your hands were chained together with handcuffs, your feet were bound with a cloth, and there was a strange, sweet smell coming from your arms. "Tom, what happened? What am I doing here?"

"You were right," he simply said. "It was time to stop watching you."

"I…I don't understand. How did I end up here?"

Tom shrugged, making a turn at a green light. "What do you remember?"

"I asked to go to the washroom."

"Did you wash your hands?"

"I did…"

"Then what else?"

"I…I…" You faltered. "I wiped my hands…and then nothing."

Tom chuckled to himself, and this only made you more nervous. "I ought to give Dr. Laing a present." He smirked, "The soap and the paper towels you used were laced with anaesthetics. And before you try to guess, I did not use chloroform; its reputation is based on lies. Requires too much time, and keeps one unconscious for too little time."

"What will you do now? Are you going to hurt me?"

"Hurt you? Do you really think that low of me, darling?" He shook his head. "I would never do such a thing. I'm going to make sure we're together forever."

"This can't be happening…" You shook your head.

Tom continued to sing along with the radio, "In other words,  please be true

In other words, I love you…"

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston characters #jaguar tom hiddleston #jaguar villains #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston x y/n #jaguar tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston imagines #yandere male #yandere tom hiddleston #tw yandere #male yandere

[november-rayne]

The Audition

A Tom Hiddleston Fanfic

Summary: Tom is up for the role of a lifetime. You use technology to help him perfect his villainous sneer. 🎥

Genre: Smut. Domestic fluff.

*This story is for mature audiences only.* 18+

*Minors DNI*

Warnings: Graphic depictions of sex. Degradation and other dirty talk. Soft Dom/Sub. Rough sex. Oral sex - male receiving.

Tom x female reader

Words: 2900

Based on this gifset by @lokihiddleston

The Audition

You sighed heavily as the warm sun from the open window crept across the pillow and warmed your cheek. The morning light was bright behind your eyelids. Lazily, you rolled over and flopped your arm across the other side of the bed, finding it cool and empty.

Your bottom lip pushed out in a little pout as you realized your lover was not there for your customary morning cuddle. The sound of the shower starting full force broke through the gentle lilting birdsong that tickled the periphery of your conscious mind.

He’s still nervous.

Still half asleep, you stretched languidly, enjoying the feel of your smooth legs on the fresh sheets and the dull ache that raised between your thighs. You grinned inwardly as your mind brought forth the images of Tom’s beautiful face below you as you rode him hard, impaling yourself on his generous endowment until he was delirious with pleasure.

Preparing for auditions had never bothered him before. Even big ones. He prepared dutifully and breathed life into his characters to the best of his ability. If he was hired, wonderful. If he wasn’t, he was confident in his acting skills; he knew there would be more auditions. As a couple, you weren’t struggling for money; both of your acting gigs generated enough cash to cover the rent on your North London flat and then some.

But to call his upcoming audition big would be a gross understatement.

Titanic.

Gargantuan.

Mammoth.

If he landed this role, it would be life-changing. Thrusting him into the spotlight on the world’s stage. The chance to become a household name like McConaughey, Hanks, or De Niro.  

You had never seen him so tied up with nerves. So, being the generous partner you were, you decided to fuck him senseless; wear him out for hours so that he could fall into a sated state of deep sleep. You allowed another self-satisfied grin to spread over your face as you recalled the sounds he made for you the night before; the moans, the curses, the grunts. The beautiful music of his ecstasy that you brought out of him filled you with glowing pride.

Dozing in and out of conscious thought, you heard the shower spray replaced by the sloshing of water and tapping of the razor against the sink as he performed his morning shave. You moaned at the thought of it. The almost erotic way he craned his neck to get under his chin and the way the clean skin of his jaw felt under your lips when he was freshly shaven.

You shivered despite the warmth of the sun on the bed. Goosebumps raised on your naked flesh, and you felt the stirrings of arousal.

Needy much? You laughed to yourself. Tom moved in with you three years ago, yet it only felt like yesterday. Your amorous need for him was still as present as it was in the beginning.

Fully awake now, you waited for him to exit the bathroom so you could hopefully lure him back to bed for a cuddle. When he didn’t come out after several minutes, impatience won out, and you pulled on one of Tom’s Cambridge T-shirts you found on the floor, then made your way to the door.

You tapped softly with your knuckle, “Tom? Are you finished? I have to pee.”

“Yeah, come in. Sorry.”

You opened the door and found him standing in front of the mirror, gripping his white towel around his waist, his hair still wet and dripping onto his broad shoulders. Droplets of water trapped in his chest hair glittered in the bright light of your vanity. The look in his eyes was pensive as he studied his face.

“You still thinking about the audition?” You kissed his damp cheek as you passed him to the toilet.

“Despite your best efforts to distract me, yes.” His lip curled up briefly as his eyes followed you. His T-shirt was only just long enough to cover a third of your bare ass.

“You’ve got this, babe. The execs at Marvel will love you.” You smirked as you sat and peed. The ache between your legs and the now prominent bruises on your thighs from Tom’s bony hips reminded you again of last night's vigorous sex rodeo.

“I dunno,” he returned his gaze to the mirror before him.

“You’ve read every comic in print. You know the character backward and forward.” You patted dry with the tissue and flushed. You bumped him to the side with your hip so you could reach the sink. You made eye contact with him in the mirror while washing your hands. “What exactly are you tripping over? Do you want to do the monologue for me again?”

“It’s not the lines… I could recite them in my sleep.”

“You have, Hiddleston.” You wet your toothbrush.

“Sorry.” He gave you that adorably sheepish smile. “I just want this so badly. If I don’t get it,” he shook his head, “Don’t get me wrong, I love the stage, and I would never give it up. I’m happy with the films I’ve done so far. But this… Hollywood?” he shook his head again.

“I know. It’s huge.” You widened your eyes at him for effect as you brushed your teeth.

He studied his face in the mirror, got serious, lowered his head, raised his eyes, and grimaced menacingly, “Foolish mortal,” he uttered in his gravelly baritone.

He looked at you expectantly, “How was that?”

“You have the voice down pat. It’s just…” you spat and rinsed your mouth.

“What?”

“Well,” you sighed and put your toothbrush back in the holder next to his.

“Well, what?”

“You’ve got haughty, aloof arrogance down. The regal posture and the attitude? Spot on.”

He waited for you to continue.

“The grimace isn’t as menacing as I know it can be. Maybe a touch too cartoonish? It should be… sexier.”

“Sexier? You realize I would be portraying the villain, right?” he chuckled.

“Villains are sexy! You are perfect for the role. You are the sexiest man I know. Uhh- if you could only see your face while you’re fucking me.” You stare at him briefly with a faraway look in your eyes.

“Thank you, love. But-"

“That’s it! Of course!” You snapped your fingers and pushed past him, “Wait right there.”

Curious, he watched you run to grab your iPhone from the nightstand and a small tripod from your desk.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m giving you an assignment.” You grinned wickedly at him as you set your phone up on the tripod and positioned it on the long counter of the vanity. You then moved Tom into position in front of it. You pressed record, then turned and seductively sauntered to stand before him.

“Darling?” His eyebrows shot up as you pulled the Cambridge shirt over your head and dropped it onto the floor.

“Do you trust me?” You pressed up and started kissing up the column of his neck in a way you knew drove him mad.

“Yes, but…” he eyed the phone warily. He could see your naked ass and his large hands on the screen as they found your hips. He watched the timer ticking up, indicating it was recording a video.

“Forget about the camera. I want you to see yourself as I see you. This will work. Trust me.” You pulled the towel away, dropping it with a heavy thump to the tiles by his feet. He was tense, but you pressed yourself tight to him anyway.

“Don’t think about the camera, Tom. Think about me.”  You brought his hand up from your hip to your breast. He kneaded it eagerly, pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You moaned and let your hand glide down his back to his perfectly round bottom.

His lips found yours, and he kissed you tenderly as his hands roamed over the expanse of your bare skin. Soon, you felt him pressing the impressive length of his thick cock onto your stomach. You reached up and grabbed fistfuls of his blonde curls. Heat bloomed in you, and your kisses became urgent.

“Master…” you whispered as Tom delivered wet, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

He smiled against your skin when he heard the moniker. Last night he was subby and pliant, doing as he was told under your command; this morning, it was his turn to call the shots.

“Wench!” He fisted his hand in your hair and yanked your head back, “Did I give you permission to touch me?”

“No, Master.”

“No, I did not.” He grabbed your ass and squeezed it firmly, pulling your body closer to his. He released your hair and pressed down on your shoulder. “Kneel.”

You went to your knees before him.

You leaned forward to nuzzle his cock with your cheek, but he caught you by the hair, stopping you just short of your prize.

You looked up at him with wide innocent eyes, “Please?”

“Please, what?” His baby blues were boring a hole through your skull. You resisted the urge to smile as you felt the familiar wet heat between your legs.

You swallowed thickly, “Please, Master?”

Entirely in character now, he raised an eyebrow at you but didn’t release you.

“Please, Master, may I please suck on your cock?”

At that, he removed his hand. “Get on with it, you needy whore.” 

He hissed, his toes curling as you wrapped your lips around the head and lapped at the pre-cum dribbling from him.

“Thank you,” you offered before running your tongue from the base to the tip of him.

“Do you think you have earned this? You don’t deserve the honor. What have I told you about interrupting me as I try to work?”

You gave him apologetic eyes as you took him into your throat.

“Ahh, but I am a lenient master.” He stroked the hollow of your cheek with his thumb. “I have too much pity for you, you pathetic creature.”

You moan around him and feel his butt and thigh muscles clench as he let out a sharp breath.

“No more of that. I don’t want to bless you with my seed too soon, little slut. You haven’t earned it.”

You moaned again more wantonly and palmed his heavy balls in your free hand. His head fell back dramatically, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. You closed your eyes and leaned in as far as you could. His course, blonde curls tickled the tip of your nose, and you felt his hips thrust forward. Your eyes watered, and you gagged loudly but didn’t relent as he fucked your mouth.

“Enough!” he pulled out of you with a growl. A thick string of drool dangled obscenely from his head before falling heavily onto your thigh below. He leaned over and grabbed your chin in his hand, “You disobedient little cock slut!”

Before you could respond, he had you on your feet and bent over the long counter of the vanity. You quickly checked your phone to ensure he was still in the frame, then spread your feet wide as you rested your weight on your forearms.

He chuckled darkly when he put his hand between your legs and found you wet. “You…” he moaned as his long fingers pressed into you. “… so wet… so tight…”

“Please, Master,” you clenched around his fingers, desperate for more. Desperate to feel yourself stretched around his thick cock.

You gasped and jumped as his free hand landed on your ass; the smack echoed around the tiled walls of your bathroom. “Ahh…” you writhed beneath his palm as he rubbed small circles over the red, raised skin.

“Calm yourself.” You bit your lip as he removed his fingers, wrapped his arm around your hip, and started tapping lightly on your swollen clit. “Do you want my seed, little one?”

You nodded, unable to speak. You tried to think of anything but the rhythmic pulse of his fingers.

“You must earn it. My seed is precious. Why should I waste it on you?”

“I… I…” your fingers tried to find purchase on the smooth quartz countertop.

“You are pathetic. You were so easy to bring to my bed. You put up no fight. So eager.” The tapping stopped, and he started rubbing tight circles over you.

“Oh fffuuck T-” you inhaled sharply, “Master.”

 He gave your reflection a devilish grin, “Did you dare almost use my familiar name?”

“I’m s-sorry,” you gasped. You were going to come. He hadn’t given you permission, but you couldn’t stop the crescendo. You went over the edge before you could think to warn him.

Your knees tried to buckle, but Tom pulled your hips back to him firmly. The blissful delirium was short-lived. He removed his hand too soon, and your orgasmic song quickly turned into whimpers. You went to move your hand between your legs to chase the fading feeling of raw pleasure, but Tom caught your wrist and pressed it against the counter.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Please…”

He tutted, “Naughty, naughty.”

“I’m sorry, Master. My King.”

He pressed into you slowly. Too slowly. You pushed your hips back to hurry him along. He responded by pulling out of you and smiled as he heard your high-pitched whine.

“Maaassterrr… I need it. I need your cum inside me. Please…”

Tom watched the undulation of your hips as you writhed, desperate for him. His cock was aching for you in return. “Greedy peasant.”

He wanted to deny you, to tease you until you were begging. Another time, perhaps. He couldn’t wait another minute for you, for your perfect little pussy, always so wet and tight for him.

He held tight to your hips and took you roughly. You watched his face in the mirror with your mouth agape and panting. There it was. His bottom jaw pushed out a fraction farther than the top. His lips pulled back over his teeth as he sucked in quick breaths.

He cursed and grunted. The sharp sound of your skin smacking as he fucked you bounced around the room.

Give it to me, baby. I want it all.

He brought the fingers of his right hand back around to stroke your clit. “Come now, my little pet. Come around my cock.”

Your eyes squeezed shut, and you concentrated on the heat building between your legs. Soon, you were crying out Tom’s name as your body twitched and spasmed.

“Fuck, woman…” his pace stuttered, and you felt his cock jerk and throb as he coated your channel.

He ran his large hands all over the soft skin of your back as he tried to catch his breath. Once he finally regained his wits, he caught you giggling at his reflection in the mirror.

“What is funny?” His cheeks were flushed, and his breathing was still ragged.

“I just hope I can walk normally again before my curtain call.”

He gave you another one of his adorably shy laughs that you loved so much, “The show must go on.”

He pulled out of you slowly, most of his spend following and sliding down your leg. He retrieved a clean washcloth from the linen cupboard and wet it under the hot water.

As he cleaned you off, you looked into the camera’s lens, “And, scene.” He laughed with you as you stopped the recording.

“You are going to delete that, right?”

“Let’s not be hasty. When you get this role, you will be gone for weeks with a whole ocean between us.” You winked at him.

“If I get this role, darling. If.” He placed his hand on the side of your neck and rubbed your cheek with his thumb, “But thank you for believing in me. I love you.”

His eyes were sparkling with post-orgasmic magic, and you felt your heart flip in your chest.

“I love you, too.”

He kissed you tenderly for what felt like several minutes before releasing you with a final kiss on the forehead.

Weak-kneed and twitterpated, you slipped back into his T-shirt and went to your dresser to pull on some leggings. You grabbed a hand mirror and motioned for Tom to join you.

“I can’t believe we just made a sex tape.”

“It’s homework. Try not to get too excited.”

“They never doled out homework like this at RADA.” He followed you to the bed, shirtless and barefoot, his favorite grey sweatpants slung low on his hips. He snuggled up beside you as you played back the scandalous video.

“That’s what I look like while I’m…” you peeked at the phone through your fingers.

“No use being shy now.” Tom pulled your hand away from your face and kissed your knuckles, not looking away from the part of the video where you were pleasuring him with your mouth.

He watched the video, transfixed. “Mmm… I’ve changed my mind. Do not delete this.”

You blushed, “It is quite hot, isn’t it?”

He hummed in agreement and adjusted himself in his sweats.

“There,” you hit pause, “That’s the look, babe.”

“The sexy grimace?” he chuckled.

“The one and only. Here,” you passed him the mirror. “See if you can replicate the look while your dick is soft,” you teased.

“Who says I’m soft?” he tickled your thigh as he leaned in to steal a kiss.

“Please don’t get me wound up again. I really do need to be able to walk tonight.”

During the days leading up to the audition, you would catch him practicing his villain face in the mirror well past the point where he perfected it.

When he got the call from the director asking him to be their Loki, he took you out to dinner to celebrate. He wore a bespoke blue pinstriped suit and secretly carried a small velvet ring box in his pocket.

#sas assemble #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #my first reader insert #smut and fluff #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #loki fandom #tom hiddleston characters #domestic fluff #the audition #sas stories

[dervampireprince]

ASMR | Marvel - Loki Sneaks You Away to Rest [M4A] [Sleep aid] [Romantic]

[M4A/GF4A] [Sleep aid] [Romantic] [Established relationship] [Whispering] [Comfort] [De-Stress]

Loki's back babiess! Still keeping uploads going despite everything that's happening, thank you to everyone who's sent well wishes to me and my family on Twitter, Tumblr and Discord, it really means a lot and makes me feel less alone.

Custom audio commissions are open! Full spicy audios on soundgasm and Patreon. Downloadable versions, exclusive  spicy audios and Discord on Patreon. I also stream on Twitch 3 times a week @ dervampireprince . [minors + ageless blogs dni. this blog is for 18+ only.] [do not repost/reupload/edit my audios and videos]

#loki #loki x reader #loki x listener #audio roleplay #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #marvel imagines #imagines #headcannons #headcannon #male reader #non-binary reader #loki laufeyson #loki laufesyon x reader #tom hiddleston x reader #the vampire whispers #frostiron #lokius #loki x bucky

[6rookie-writer0110]

Down by the woods

Avengers Cast x Male Reader

Request - Can you make a avengers cast x male reader who's near 30 in age and is a great voice actor with amazing vocal skills his mcu role is Thor and sif son but his also voiced Thor and Loki in games and animated shows they find out when when someone ask him to do his thor and loki voice and the cast are shocked when he has a little conversation to himself using his thor and loki voice

You are on the set of the Avengers movie, you play the son of Thor and Sif named Woden Thorson. You are sitting in your chair and you're talking with Mark, Jaimie, and Scarlett. A few minutes later, Chris Evans, Robert, and Tom Hiddleston come out with the birthday cake. Everyone starts to sing happy birthday to you and you are speechless.

“No way” You smiled big.

“We didn't forget,” Scarlett said and she kissed your cheek.

You blow out the candles, everyone cheered and they start to hug you. The cast is taking pictures with you.

“How does it feel to be old?” Jamie teased.

“I’m not that old,” You said.

You and Robert cut the cake and everyone is starting to eat the cake. You took a picture with Chris Hemsworth and Chris Evans as a joke, you tagged the opposite Chris on Instagram. The cast did write nice things about you on their social media and added happy birthday.

This is the second Marvel movie that you have been on. When you first met them, you were very shy then Robert helped you to feel comfortable.

You are doing a scene with Chris Hemsworth and Jaime and Tom.

----

You are feeling so excited because you are going to comic con with the cast. You will have to do a Q&A and take pictures with some fans and more. You are in your hotel room and you can't stop smiling, because you will wear a costume... You met with the others and they are in shock and some are giggling.

“What are you wearing?” Robert asked.

“I am Ash Ketchum from Pokémon and this is Pikachu” You smiled.

You are holding a plush Pikachu.

“Wow that is cute,” Jamie said.

You take a selfie with her and she posted the picture on Instagram. You are the only one with a costume.

Later, you and the cast do a Q&A, and people are liking the character you will play.

“Y/n, do you think Thor will be the fun dad and Sif a serious mom?” A fan asked.

You look at Chris and Jamie.

“Yeah, Thor will be the fun dad. He will try to discipline Woden but he would fail. Sif will be a serious mom, she would try to show that she will be a fun mom... Kinda off” You smiled.

You and the cast continue to answer questions and make the fans laugh. Later, you take pictures with some fans and did a few autographs.

✫ ✯ ✬ ✫

You are on the Good America show with the cast doing an interview.

“Y/n, is it true that you play the voice of Thor and Loki?” Michael Strahan asked.

“Wait, you are playing Loki and Thor and not them?” Robert asked.

“I didn't know about this” Chris H. Said.

“Yes, I play both characters and I do change my voice. That's why they didn't know” You said.

“Can you do the voices now?” Tom Hiddleston asked.

“Oh, Y/n you should do the voices now,” Michael Strahan said.

“Okay, I will do the voices now,” You said.

You start to do the voice and a small scene...

Loki: Do you really think it's a good idea to go back to earth?

Thor: Yes, of course. People on earth love me, I'm very popular.

Loki: Let me rephrase that: Do you really think it's a good idea to bring ME back to earth?

“Oh my God. That was impressive, Y/n!” Scarlett smiled.

“Bravo, Y/n. You nailed each of our voices” Tom said.

“So you can do everyone’s character?” Chris H. Asked.

You nod “Yeah, I can do everyone's character”

Chris Hemsworth tried to mimic your voice but he failed. Everyone and including you laughed

“See, I can change my voice too” Chris Hemsworth laughed.

----

You are at the avengers movie premiere, you take pictures with the cast. The hosts ask you questions and you start to answer them. You mostly take pictures with Chris and Jamie and you stand in the middle.

#x male reader #male!reader #marvel x male reader #marvel cast imagine #avengers cast x reader #marvel x reader #Avengers Cast x male reader

[goldpomegranates]

solid grip

007!Male!Reader x Bond Boy!Tom Hiddleston

Rated E for explicit sexual content, dubious consent, & voyeurism WORD COUNT: 2.2k also on AO3.

Playing wrangler to another double-0 would normally be child's play, but when a crime lord sets her eyes on Mr Hiddleston thanks to his natural charm and insistence of being a gentleman, the assignment gets dicey. He plays the role of seductor to perfection, and much to your dismay, all you can do is watch.

—x.

MI6 gives him a gun. It comes as no surprise really, following the events at Monte Carlo and the narrow escape that cost you two months’ worth of off-duty physical therapy in order to regain feeling in your right arm. No doubt he’s learned how to use it in that time, has eased into how his own limbs should move in close-quarters-combat. He’s sharp-eyed, quick witted, and one hell of a fast learner. A little bit much for just being a secretary shipped off to play Bond Girl to your 007, but you’ve never complained.

Thomas certainly has, but he forfeited the right to do so the moment he took that gun from Q. Packing power beyond most conventional handguns, the Beretta is tailored to his specific biometric data, its grip and barrel modified to sit comfortably in his hands. The way his long, slender fingers wrap around the polished surface, forearms straining against the recoil during target practice has been distracting, to say the least.

Unfortunately, the gun is only the start. At times, he is his own deadliest weapon, if even by no choice of his own.

You keep an eye on him from behind Q’s desk, the camera feed unrealistically crisp for a tiny lens perched in a nondescript corner of a cramped room. The audio feed is less grand, and the situation is dicey.

In the back room of a nightclub in London, another double-0 is playing the good girl card, her voluptuous chest and thighs barely reigned in by the sleek red evening dress she’s wearing. Tom hangs on her arm like a protective boyfriend, trying to sell the ruse to the crime lord currently dealing them an offer. Drugs, weapons, state secrets, the usual.

Said crime lord, also a lady of astonishing build and beguiling presence, eyes them both with interest beyond the professional kind. She’s playful, waving baggies below their noses as her hulking bodyguards wield assault rifles by all exits. It’s meant to be a reconnaissance mission, a quick in-and-out, but she’s taking too long to crack, and your people are getting antsy.

“Get me a name, double-0,” you say, applying just a hint of pressure. Neither reacts, but you know they’ve heard you.

You are not a handler, neither are you a supervisor, but this was meant to be your assignment had you not taken a bullet for the secretary. Q was, miraculously, on vacation, and as devoted to Queen and Country as MI6 is, the true voice of the people was the five hundred pound note. Especially the five hundred pound notes you swiftly slid into the home team’s pockets in order to grant yourself a say on the mission.

“—another type of payment,” the lady says, a feedback loop leaving your ear ringing.

Tom steps aside, awkwardly wringing his hands as the crime lord takes the double-0 by the hips and kisses her cheek. You make nothing of it, all agents have trained for this kind of scenario, but it dawns on you that Tom isn’t, in fact, an actual agent. He’s a glorified sidepiece, a decorative charm planted, in this case, to make his female counterpart come off as powerful.

You’re about to offer a warning but he interrupts the two women, hands to his chest with concern clear across his face. The mics are barely holding on and, had the Quartermaster been at HQ, he would’ve found a way around the problem. Instead, it’s just you on visual, a gaggle of runts on the ground, a double-0 in a bind, and a secretary who thinks he can retcon a potentially disastrous situation.

“Sinclair, don’t let him,” you tell the double-0. “Hiddleston, I’ll make sure this is the last field mission you ever see.” In hindsight, you figure that was exactly what he wanted to hear.

There’s a reshuffling of people, quick conversations, and snappy commands, and you watch in abject horror as the bodyguards mill out of the room with the double-0 in tow.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” You are usually a tad more composed in these kinds of situations, but you have zero faith in Hiddleston getting the name you need when oftentimes doing so requires techniques you know the man won’t be able to stomach.

To inflict torture, one must first be subjected to it.

The bastard was too much of a gentleman to even consider the option, but his English sensibilities were definitely questionable when you witness him curl a finger beneath the crime lord’s chin, slowly tipping her face up to look at him. Her hands grip the front edges of his jacket, her blood red lipstick glossy under the room’s lighting. She smiles at him, eyes squinted with copious amounts of suspicion, but she seems appeased for the time being.

She sits on the couch in front of him, her legs crossed, and beckons him forward with a finger.

You count the hidden weapons in the room.

It shouldn’t bother you. You’ve seen it before, have sat through far more grotesque situations. You’ve trained for this. You all have. It’s your job to give it all for the assignment, no matter the cost.

In some cruel twist, the mic picks up everything. The rustling of fabric as acrylic nails play with his belt, the ripple of a zipper, the shocked gasp. You could take the headset off, but you don’t. You shouldn’t in case she breaks and gives up the name of her supplier.

“Very chivalrous of you,” she says, and you can see the movement of her elbow, can imagine her hand wrapped around him, “giving yourself up to protect your girl’s honor. Although was that truly the reason?”

Tom’s back is to the camera, his feet wide apart for balance. She leans forward and his head tilts back, eyes fluttering. You can’t see that last part, but you’ve had him in a similar situation, beheld the way he wore pleasure when teased.

“The world needs more men like you,” she continued, before the sound of a moan around a mouthful came through the headset. She pulled back, putting her hand back to work. “Whores, I mean. Good looking ones with proper manners and a deep-rooted desire to get thoroughly fucked.”

He makes an indignant sound and retaliates by taking a fistful of her long hair. She takes it in stride, leaning into the grip as she jerks him off.

“Do you have anyone back home? No offense, but you and that woman hardly have any chemistry. You couldn’t fool a blind woman if you wanted to.”

She goes in with her mouth again, this time staying there for a long moment.

You look away from the screen, disgusted by your interest. The hot, heavy pulsing between your legs something you will have to program out of your system in the near future.

You have played it fast and loose these past several months, courting Tom in some sort of acquaintanceship with benefits fantasy. Despite never truly sleeping with him, always stepping away when things got too heated, this nagging possessiveness grew exponentially pervasive.

It’s not part of the job. It could never be a part of your life while on the job. The only friends you could afford to name were your Quartermaster and M, and those were just your work buddies at the most. Lovers were few and far between, the occasional hit and run to let off steam, something that has become unnecessary when training and field work were just as effective.

But here was Mr Hiddleston getting under your skin, getting felt up by someone else under your supervision, apparently enjoying himself going by the way he enthusiastically removed his jacket.

And the sounds he made. Maybe he was adept at torture, just not the painful kind.

You look back at the monitor out of the corner of your eye and see that they’ve moved. For the love of everything holy, he’s sitting on the couch, trousers undone and cock in hand. She’s hovering over him, knees on either side of his thighs, dress bunched up in her hands.

You can’t bear looking anymore, but you do. You do. The way his hands hold onto her back, guide her in a graceless bounce that looks as sloppy as it sounds, the way he thrusts up to meet her has you gripping the edge of the desk.

The rub of fabric over the mic is grating, but it isn’t enough to obscure his thoughtless ramble and her vicious whisper. A whisper that puts you on high alert again, eyes and ears open. “Quite the show for your mates back at MI6, I reckon,” she says with a laugh, cradling his face in her hands. “Should I tell them?”

“Don’t,” Tom says, momentarily clear.

“Should I tell him?”

Your knee stops its jittering, your entire body going still. It has to be a coincidence, you tell yourself, digging through the scene in front of you. She’s cunning, everyone on the case knows this, and she will say anything to get under anyone’s skin. Just because she is able to read him doesn’t mean she knows him.

“So, it is a boy,” she says, gasping, breathless. “Is he as charming as you? Oh! Is he a double-0?”

Through the haze, Tom’s eyes momentarily flicker to the camera. She doesn’t seem to catch him doing so, but you do. Your finger hovers over the metaphorical panic button, the one that will send everyone in the vicinity crashing into that fucking room and run damage control. The situation has now gone from precarious to dangerous, and you refuse to get another red mark on your ledger.

“Is he watching us right now? Can he hear us? Why don’t you go ahead and tell him how tight I am, how hard you are inside of me?” She leans back, her hands on his knees for leverage. And that’s good. Her hands are preoccupied, nowhere near a weapon. “Is it me? Or is it the thought of him watching that has you dripping?”

You cross your legs, expression schooled despite the absence of eyes around you. Maybe Medical was right and you should have taken a proper leave, at least until the remnants of painkillers and whatever other substances had left your body. You spare a thought to James and how he would have handled the situation, or any other double-0 for that matter. Hell, you even consider reaching out to Moneypenny for advice and your thoughts are drifting.

The headset crackles with the sound of a voice that isn’t Tom’s, but someone else on location. You catch a hint of your name, and a choppy question you take to mean whether or not they should move in. The answer makes itself impossible when on the other end all you can hear is the debauched cries of two people—one of which you wish was you and that is a problem. That is a big fucking problem. Playing around with the secretary is one thing but getting defensive about said secretary clearly enjoying a quick shag on the job is so far out of bounds you momentarily consider reassignment.

“Do not engage,” you say, and in return you get Tom’s sweet gasp.

The lady has wrapped herself around him, and while his hands rest at her back, pressed together, he’s staring at the camera. His gaze is steady despite the sultry part of his lips, his movements slow and measured. He leans back enough to lift her dress and show you where they meet, the slow glide of him moving in and out of her, the heavy weight of pleasure on his face.

You dig deep for that iron control that landed you the position. Back ramrod straight, you tell yourself the reason why you’re resting a hand over your thigh is for balance, a grounding touch, and not at all because you came close to pressing a palm against your groin. Shifting in your seat provides no relief, accidental pressure sending you to your feet.

Leaning over the desk, hands firmly splayed over the high-tech surface, you breathe evenly through your nose as you continue to listen. The woman’s frantic panting, Tom’s pleading as his voice goes higher than you’ve ever heard it before, and you want it. You want him.

The finishing blow leaves you lightheaded, his long and ragged moan stroking the deepest parts of you until it echoes inside of your stomach. The aching throb between your legs has not gone away and you will do nothing to remedy it, just suck it up and keep going, get your agents home safe.

“Disengage,” you say over the headset, ignoring the waver in your voice. “If she’s not giving it up after that, there’s no use in pursuing. We’ll find another way.”

The crime lord whispers into Tom’s ear, and you can see the moment it happens, the triumph in his eyes telling you that he got it, that she broke at the last second, but you know better. There’s no dick good enough to surrender an empire over. Whatever that woman has up her sleeve will come at a steep cost. But some bridges can be allowed to stand through the night.

“Get yourself cleaned up, Mr Secretary. Our men are on the move.”

#tom hiddleston/reader #tom hiddleston/you #x male reader #x gn reader #jag!tom #james bond au #c's writing. #reader insert #series: house of aces

[folkookie97]

— clara, 21, she/her. 💌

— brazilian ficwriter, angst & smut.

— INTP-T, enneagram 6w5, caprincorn sun, taurus rising & moon, sagittarius venus, scorpio mars.

— jungkook utted, taehyung & yoongi biased. bts stan since dope era 2015.

— fav movies: hunger games (all of them but especially catching fire & tbosas), the notebook, priscilla, twilight saga, scream (1996), titanic, pride & prejudice, little women (2019).

— fav TV shows: daisy jones & the six, gilmore girls, bridgerton, the haunting of hill house, grey's anatomy, friends, YOU, gossip girls

— fav artists: bts, taylor swift, ryan gosling, jacob elordi, margot robbie, emma stone, tom hiddleston, lana del rey, tom blyth.

— more random facts: i'm 5′ 2. my fav album is folklore (taylor swift) and my fav song EVER is "all too well" but that 10 minute version. i'll graduate in education degree in december. i'm left-handed and my fav colors are pink and red.

💌 i love writing smut and i also love writing angst with some BTS members x Female Reader/Female OC. i like exploring AUs and writing prompts inspired by songs too.

💌 sometimes i like to write darkfics (and the characters aren't always good people, but anyone who reads fanfic should know that these things have anything to do with the real-life members).

💌 on this account i usually pick writing ONLY about my biases (mainly jungkook, who's my ultimate). in no way am i belittling the other members, cuz i love them too, but i just feel more comfortable this way. i hope you respect that. <3

💌 but if i ever write something about them, i'll add it to the alternative masterlist.

💌 if any of my writing involve love triangles (or something like that) with the other members, I'll add it to the 2 masterlists (the real main and the alternative).

💌 THINGS I REALLY DON'T WRITE ABOUT: pedophilia, incest (step-incest MAYBE), rape/non-con (dub-con MAYBE), male!reader or male!oc, ABO, anything sexual involving poop. anyway, there are several other criminal things that are kind of obvious too, right?

💌 REQUESTS: closed for now, but you can feel free to send me messages suggesting some idea. <3

💌: all my fics are crossposted on my ao3.

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