#god I love being masculine I love having pretty women sit on my lap I love my passenger princess oughhhrnbdeb | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

goddess-of-green · 3 years

Note

I saw your akatsuki kisses post! I loved it and now i wonder if you could do one about cuddles? Or maybe just hugs pls 🥺

Warnings: GN!Reader, language, mentions of blood

◙ Tobi

‣ Cuddles with Tobi can go two ways

‣ You have sweet boi just wanting to be held by you, and hyperactive manchild spinning you around and squeezing you so tight you can't breathe

‣ But we love both ok, stan whatever the fuck Tobi is

‣ Tobi likes to lay his head in your lap and wrap his arms around your waist, snuggling into your tummy while you run your fingers through his hair and he tells you about his latest shenanigans with Deidara

‣ He likes to be the little spoon, please don't make fun of him

‣ Obito likes it when you sit in his lap and snuggle into his chest, it gives him palpitations

◙ Pain

‣ Pain lowkey loves to cuddle with you

‣ Be careful though

‣ If someone happens to walk in on you two he has no qualms with shoving you out of his lap and acting like the big bad boy he thinks he is

‣ Please wrap your arms around him after a long day and just kiss his piercings and let him know how much you lust for love him <3

‣ He prefers to be the big spoon fragile masculinity he weighs like 50 pounds guys but if he had a long day or he's just being needy he'll have you wrap your arms around him and run your fingers through his hair

‣ Konan caught you two cuddling once and never let him live it down (she approves)

◙ Itachi

‣ Cuddling with Itachi is very peaceful

‣ And sometimes sad for no reason??

‣ Everytime Itachi sees you he acts like it will be his last time

‣ If he trusts you, he'll tell you about his baby brother, Sasuke, while you lay in his arms and squeeze his midsection when he starts to get sad

‣ He savors your touch and runs his fingers through your hair, while you hum or tell him stories about your life before you joined the Akatsuki

‣ You try to keep the sad parts out of your stories, and Itachi does the same, you can both agree that cuddling should always be happy

◙ Kisame

‣ He could literally just wrap his entire body around you and suffocate you if he wanted

‣ Big boy, big pillow, big cuddles, big comfort

‣ big

‣ You like to just,, lay on him when he comes back from a mission and he'll wrap his arms around you and squeeze you tight enough for you to know that he fucking loves you

‣ He'll occasionally let you be the big spoon if you can manage to wrap your arms around his monster torso

‣ You love the feeling of him enveloping you in his arms while you two just, lay together, close enough for you to smell the sea salt on him <3

◙ Kakuzu

‣ Honestly, is cuddling even an option with this man??

‣ Depends on how whipped he is

‣ But if you look up at him just right and give him those eyes then...well, how could he say no?

‣ Acts like he hates it but holding his love safely in his arms makes him feel warm inside, all five of his hearts flutter

‣ Will let you go if he so much as senses someone else nearby

‣ If you happen to fall asleep on him he would never push you off

◙ Sasori

‣ Prolonged hugging? Why? Why would he willingly give up the mobility of his hands just to touch you?

‣ But then he tries it, because damn it his love always gets what she wants

‣ And oh, you are very warm and ew he loves the way you feel against him

‣ Snuggling into his neck was the last straw

‣ "Ah, love. You always find ways to rope me into your odd displays of affection. Sometimes I wonder if you are more clever than I am."

‣ He'll have you sit in his lap, keeping him warm while he adjusts his creepy corpse puppet weapons

◙ Deidara

‣ As long as he minds his hands, you guys are pretty much always cuddling

‣ Or at least wrapped up in each other in some way

‣ You were laying in between Deidara's legs, his arms around you and Tobi asked if he could join the cuddle train

‣ He likes it when you run your fingers through his hair, (it makes him blush when you compliment it)

‣ Sometimes he'll just..take you out on his clay bird and you'll lay in his arms while you guys watch the sunset

‣ You tried to be the big spoon once but you practically ate Deidara's hair, you are forever little spoon hahahaha

◙ Hidan

‣ Will just wrap his arms around you if the desire strikes him

‣ He likes to come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, putting his chin on your shoulder and licking kissing your cheek with a smirk

‣ It hurts his manly ego to be the little spoon but real men like the feel of their women's arms around them he tells himself

‣ Can't help but genuinely smile when he sees you cuddled up to him, half-asleep and completely peaceful

‣ Tries very hard to not melt when you run your fingers through his hair

‣ Will sometimes just come up behind and hug you, waiting for you to realize that he's covered in blood and now you are too :)

◙ Konan

‣ oh my god she will suffocate you with her adorableness alone

‣ She has a huge rack so you can feel her up against you when she's the big spoon oops

‣ She gets really shy and will blush if you even suggest cuddling in front of others

‣ please just hug her, snuggle up to her and wrap your arms around her, make her blush

‣ Lay on her thighs, they are nice squish

‣ She smells like tea and rain and ohmygod don't tell her she will blush so h a r d

◙ Zetsu

‣ Cuddling might be a little difficult at first with Zetsu, he has a venus flytrap and two different personalities??

‣ Black Zetsu completely dismisses the idea at first, he is too good for gross human affection

‣ But White Zetsu really wants to try it and you're pouting and god dammit it's like the world wants to watch him burn

‣ "Ugh, come here, brat. Before I change my mind." "Yay!"

‣ He will never admit it but he finds he likes how warm and nice you feel in his arms

‣ White Zetsu blushes a lot and Black Zetsu insults him even though he's blushing too and you just can't see it

#naruto x reader #tobi x reader #obito x reader #pain x reader #itachi x reader #kisame x reader #kakuzu x reader #sasori x reader #deidara x reader #konan x reader #hidan x reader #zetsu x reader

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justthehiddleswrites · 3 years

Text

Follow My Lead | Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Vivian Swann) | Chapter 5 | I bet you look so pretty when you beg.

A/N: This will update every Thursday. There are 13 chapters. There are all sorts of kinds of D/s relationships. This is the one I choose to write this time.

MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Vivian Swann)

Summary: Tom and Vivian have both been unlucky in love, searching for something outside of the bounds of a typical relationship. When the two of them connect via a dating app, Tom is introduced to the idea of being submissive to Vivian. Which is the one thing he never knew he needed. Under the firm hand of Vivian, Tom learns what it means to submit and Vivian learns what it means to be in a loving dominant relationship. But not everyone seems to understand what they have and the best intentions can destroy the strongest relationship.

This Chapter: Sophie and Vivian bond over shopping and Tom and Vivian finally have sex. But not before a little denial.

Warnings for story: Dominant/submissive relationship (sub!Tom), lots of smut including but not limited to: vaginal sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), edging, denial, teasing, use of restraints, spanking, multiple orgasm, anal play, use of toys.

Tag Lists Are Open! Let me know if you want to be added. Thank you for reading!

Vivian tossed on a pair of jeans and a blouse for lunch at Tom’s and then shopping with Sophie. She read and reread Tom’s essay that night. She may have even teared up a bit. Not that she would admit that to Tom just yet. Vivian eschewed heels that day, opting for a driving mocassin.

She texted Tom when she was already halfway to his house, knowing he was already pacing the length of his living room. His nervous energy reminded her of an overexcited puppy. So sweet and endearing. And that smile, that damn smile, melted Vivian’s heart in a way she never felt before.

“Come in.” Tom opened the door wide with a smile.

Tom wore a pair of beat up shorts, t-shirt and trainers. Vivian could see his abs through the thin fabric. She wanted nothing more than to rip off that shirt and lick them. But there was much to discuss. She grabbed the back of his head and kissed him, tongues exploring. They parted.

“God, I love kissing you, sunshine.” she commented, licking her lips.

“I love kissing you, too, ma’am.” Tom whispered back. He hoped for more, but Vivian stepped into the kitchen and sat down, gesturing for Tom to sit next to her. He sat, hands folded in front of him.

“So…” he started.

Vivian slid a folded piece of paper over towards Tom. He unfolded it. It was his essay. Vivian had underlined and circled portions of his writing.

“My essay?”

“Did you mean it?”

“Every word, ma’am.” Tom responded. He stared at her.

“You realize what you are wanting? You realize what it would mean?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tom exhaled. “I have thought about it long before I even met you. To be honest, I think I have subconsciously been seeking this out in my relationships. Seeking out strong and independent women. And it ended in disaster. I think they assumed I would take control, ‘be the man’, make the decisions. I make decisions all day at my job. I play the role of the one in control. But what I want, what I need is surrender. To be strong by giving my control away. To trust someone with my heart and my life.”

“On a daily basis? To give total control to me? It’s okay if you don’t, we can play, keep things casual. It’s not unusual for submissive men to think they want this and then get intimidated or scared.”

“I won’t know if I don’t try. But what I can say is that I have never felt as happy and comfortable than I am with you.” Tom smirked. “Tied up to your bed in my underwear. Give me the chance.”

Vivian chewed on her lip. Tom never looked more like a puppy than he did in that moment. His short golden hair rumpled as though he had run his hands through it waiting for her. His blue eyes wide, hopeful, and on the precipice of spilling tears.

“You know you won’t always get what you want?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That I will say no to you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you need to do as I say?”

“Of course, ma’am.”

Vivian smiled and pulled Tom over to her lap, smoothing his hair. He nuzzled into her neck, inhaling the scent of woodsy perfume. “Then we will do this, sunshine. If at any point you want to stop, tell me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” he muttered into her neck, his breath hot on the skin.

She lifted his head and kissed him tenderly. “Good boy.” She cupped his face. “My beautiful good boy.”

Tom glowed.

They stood and Vivian pulled out an envelope and handed it to Tom. It contained a list of various kinks and sexual acts with boxes for Tom to mark “yes”, “soft no” and “hard no.” “Fill this out and give it back to me today after I return from shopping.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We will continue with the 9 p.m. phone call. I am busy this week so I won’t be able to meet until the weekend.”

Tom nodded, disappointed but understanding. He had a few meetings himself. “Yes, ma’am.” He fidgeted in his seat.

“The next time we get together, we will have sex.” She reached out to stroke Tom’s arm. He shivered. “Until then, no more masturbating.”

“Yes… what?” Tom’s brow furrowed.

She smirked. “No jerking off, no orgasms, no touching yourself, sunshine.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He shuffled his feet. That was going to be a difficult task to accomplish.

“And you are to take a photo of your cock, either in your underwear or pajamas in the morning, and send it to me.”

Tom’s mouth dropped open. His cheeks reddened. He stared at the floor. “Yes… yes ma’am.” he stuttered.

Vivian pulled him into a sweet kiss, her hand petting the back of his hand. “Don’t be embarrassed, sunshine. These photos will never see the light of day and I will delete them after I view them.”

He exhaled sharply. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Now let’s eat.”

Tom rushed to the kitchen and grabbed the salad and sandwiches he made earlier from the fridge. He set them down on the table and then returned with a glass of water for both of them. Tom sat and waited for Vivian to eat before taking a bite.

“Did you make the sandwich?” She asked.

Tom finished chewing before answering. “Yes, ma’am.”

“It’s delicious. Perfect lunch for a warm day. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Can I ask a question?”

“Of course.” Vivian smiled.

Tom chewed on his lip. “Do you think I am ‘less of a man’ for wanting this?”

“Quite the contrary, sunshine. I find it strong, not to mention sexy that you are willing to give power to me. Your masculinity is not contingent on being in charge, on being the boss of the relationship. It is about mutual trust and respect.” Tom nodded but said nothing. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You have been in several high profile relationships or rumoured relationships. And you have commented more than once that they ended in disaster. What happened?”

“That’s not just a question, but the question. I guess what happened was the same thing that happened in all failed relationships. We wanted different things.”

“What did they want?”

“They wanted the guy on the screen. The Jonathan Pine, the Loki. The man who shoves you against a wall and fucks you senseless. The man who pushes her to her knees and has her suck my cock. The one who calls the shots. The alpha male. It’s exhausting. Eventually there would be friction and then argument. I could never articulate properly what I wanted. And then they left. Sometimes loudly, sometimes with an apology. But they left.” Tom sniffled.

She caressed his cheek. “They didn’t deserve you, sunshine.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He sniffed again and then cleared the plate. He checked the time. “I am due at Benedict’s.”

“Drive me, please. I am meeting Sophie there.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Tom gathered his keys, wallet and phone and led Vivian to his car. He opened her door before getting in himself. She scratched the nape of his neck. “Have I told you what a perfect gentleman you are?”

“No, ma’am.”

“You are. So polite and kind and generous. I can’t wait to make you beg for me to let you come.”

Tom jerked the car forward. “Yes, ma’am.”

She twirled his hair between her fingers, she noticed Tom’s shorts tenting. Vivian waited for the stoplight before continuing. “I bet you look so pretty when you beg. My pretty little sunshine.”

Beads of sweat popped out on Tom’s temples. “Yes. ma’am.” He didn’t know how else to respond. All the blood was rushing somewhere other than his brain.

“I guess we will see.” she mused before squeezing the back of his neck and then fiddling with the radio.

It took the rest of the drive for Tom to get his body back under control. He wiped the sweat from his brow as he rounded around the car to open Vivian’s door. Vivian knocked on the door, her hand on the small of Tom’s back. Sophie answered.

“You two came together!” She pulled Vivian into a hug. “And you are at a reasonable height!”

Vivian laughed. “I wore my shopping shoes.” She wiggled her feet.

“Smart woman.” Benedict poked his head around Sophie. She turned and kissed his cheek and rubbed his shoulder. “And the two of you are actually going to tear down that shed and not sit around and drink beer?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Benedict teased. She rubbed his shoulder. Tom stiffened at Ben’s words, but Vivian rubbed his neck and he relaxed.

“Have a good time, darling.” She kissed Tom’s cheek. “Sophie, shall we?”

The two women linked arms and stepped out. Tom’s eyes lingered on Vivian as she and Sophie laughed.

“Should I be worried, mate?” He asked Benedict, who handed him a hammer.

“Two strong independent women, one of whom knows several secrets about both of us? Yes, you should.”

Tom paled.

“You should buy it.” Vivian urged Sophie, who was holding up a gorgeous dress.

“But where would I wear it?”

“Red carpet. A gala. Around the house. Who cares?”

“Around the house?”

Vivian smirked. “Are you saying that your husband wouldn’t want to see you in that dress?”

Sophie eyed the short hemline and low neckline. “Good point, but…”

“If you don’t buy it, I will.” Vivian grabbed for the dress, but Sophie snatched it back.

“Find your own dress!” she giggled.

“Not a problem.” Vivian held up her other arm, ladened with clothes.

Vivian laughed more in the few hours with Sophie than she had in a long time. She had few female friends outside of Ashley, who was busy in starting up her own small boutique firm. Sophie was a delight, sharing stories about Tom and Benedict.

“Did he really streak into the pool?” Vivian asked.

Sophie nodded her head. “Both of them. Although I am certain copious amounts of alcohol bolstered their boldness. You have a bit of an exhibitionist on your hands.”

Vivian blushed. “I can’t say I blame him. Which reminds me…”

She wandered over to the men’s section of the store. Vivian selected a couple of t-shirts for Tom, in shades of blue and maroon. The cotton brushed and soft against her skin and the vee of the neckline cut deep. She also picked up a few pairs of black boxer briefs with bright contrasting elastic bands on the inside. They weren’t Calvin Klein, but Vivian was certain Tom would be delicious in them.

“Already buying Tom’s clothes? The two of you are progressing quickly.”

Vivian smiled, not wanting to betray Tom’s privacy, not even to Sophie. “He mentioned needing some new things. I thought I would help him out.” She shrugged. Not a complete lie. After all, she had made Tom throw out some portion of his underwear.

“Those are cute. I’m grabbing a pair for Ben.” Sophie snagged the underwear.

After they gave the boys enough time to tear down the shed, accounting for the time they would take talking and standing about. They found the two of them sitting on the couch, looking quite pleased with themselves, drinking a beer.

Vivian settled onto Tom’s lap while Sophie sat on the arm next to Ben. She wiggled her ass against Tom’s crotch and he shifted underneath her, pulling her tight against him, nuzzling into her neck. She grabbed the beer from his hand.

“No alcohol for you.” She took a sip. “You are driving.”

“Yes, darling.”

Sophie sighed and smacked Ben’s arm. “Why can’t you be romantic like that?”

“Because I’m married.” Benedict joked.

Sophie threw daggers with her eyes. Benedict grabbed her by the waist and pulled her down. “Ah!!” she screamed as Tom and Vivian giggled.

“How is this for romantic?” Benedict kissed her dramatically.

Sophie righted herself. “Sorry you two had to see that.” She playfully elbowed Benedict. “Sometimes he needs to know who’s the boss.”

“No apologies.” Vivian continued to rub Tom’s neck. “Sometimes you just need to establish your dominance.”

“You’re not going to back me up, mate?” Ben yelled, looking to Tom for support

“It’s okay, sunshine.” Vivian whispered so only Tom could hear, before kissing behind his ear.

“Of course, Ben.” Tom straightened up. “I think… all relationships should be based on mutual respect and trust.” His face breaking out into a smug grin.

“Good answer.” Vivian praised, smoothing down his hair.

“I agree.” Sophie piped in.

“Boo.” Benedict pouted with a smile.

“Would you two like to stay for dinner?” Sophie offered.

Tom looked to Vivian to answer. “I have a big week at work, unfortunately, so I must be headed home.” she stated. “Another time, though?”

Sophie and Ben nodded. Vivian stood and Tom tugged at his shorts to hide any potential arousal. “I’ll drive you home, darling.”

“Thank you.”

Vivian gathered up her bags, and they said goodbyes, Sophie promising to text Vivian later in the week. Tom drove away.

“That went well.” Vivian hummed. Tom didn’t say anything. “You did so well.”

The praise softened his mood. “Thank you. I wasn’t sure how to…”

“You did beautifully, my sunshine.” She ruffled his hair. “I will never embarrass you in front of others. Unless you ask me to.” Vivian wiggled her eyebrows.

“Thank you.” He smiled at her.

Tom walked Vivian all the way to her front door. She pulled him in for a kiss, dropping her bags on the floor to grab his ass, pinching lightly. Tom jumped.

“You do have a beautiful ass.” she purred, pulling away and grabbing one of the bags. “Here. For you.” She placed it into Tom’s hands.

“You bought me something?” His eyes wide with surprise. He pulled out some shirts and underwear. “You bought me underwear?!”

She ran her hand up his thigh before swatting his ass. “I expect to see those in my photo tomorrow morning, sunshine.” She kissed his cheek. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Tom woke up in the morning on Monday, painfully hard. He touched the tip of his cock through his underwear, wishing he could jerk off. Tom grabbed his phone and snapped a photo so he could hop into a cold shower. Once he stepped out of the shower, he found Vivian’s text.

Oh my, sunshine. That looks painful. I can’t wait to feel you inside me.

Tom groaned and dug his nails into his thigh. It was going to be a long week.

Vivian enjoyed herself a bit too much that week, teasing Tom. But Thursday, Tom’s cock was leaking cum, soaking through his underwear. Vivian would text Tom each time praising him for sending the photo and then letting him know how much she was looking forward to fucking him. And indeed she was. So much so that she moved it up from Saturday to Friday.

She texted him early that morning even before he woke and sent his daily picture.

6 p.m. my place. Wear one of your new shirts and boxer briefs. Bring condoms and a change of clothes. You’re spending the night.

Tom snapped his photo and sent it before seeing Vivian’s text. He fisted the sheets as he read. He rolled onto his stomach, biting his pillow. The pressure of the mattress was comforting on his erection. He rolled his hips and felt some relief. He repeated the action three more times before stopping, not trusting himself to not cum.

The day was blurry and fuzzy on the edges for Tom. He could not concentrate on much more than the TV running in the background. While Vivian plowed through her to-do list at work, reaching a settlement for one of the firm’s biggest clients. She gave herself the rest of the afternoon off. Vivian hurried home to prepare.

She chilled a bottle of white wine in the fridge and pulled two glasses onto the counter. She grabbed a few bottles of water and some chocolate bars and granola bars to place on the nightstand before pulling out just the wrist cuffs. The bed linens were crisp white, and the straps prepared. She slipped into a simple black bra and panties before slipping on a dress, no shoes. Fifteen minutes before six and five minutes before Vivian expected Tom, she poured two glasses of wine, sipping from one. As predicted, five minutes later, there was a knock on the door.

“Sunshine.” she sighed as she opened the door.

Tom’s pupils were already large, and he fidgeted. He carried a small leather bag containing his clothes.

She pulled him into a deep kiss. Tom moaned against her mouth as she tugged on his hair.

“Put your bag in the bedroom. Condoms on the nightstand, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He hustled off to the bedroom while she grabbed the wrist cuffs with one finger.

Tom returned and his eyes went straight to the cuffs. He held out his wrists without having to be asked. “Good boy, sunshine.” She buckled them on. “Are they too tight?”

Tom twisted his wrists to test them out. “No, ma’am.”

She kissed his lips lightly and pressed her body against his, his cock already hard. “Some ground rules. No cumming until I say so. No touching my breasts or cunt until I tell you. If you need to stop, use your safe word.”

Tom nodded, licking his lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

She pulled him into the bedroom. “Strip.” Tom frantically pulled off his shirt and pants, folding them neatly. Vivian gestured to a chair, and he placed them there. “Underwear too, sunshine.”

Tom pulled them off and placed them on the chair with the rest of his clothes.

“Hands behind your head. Stand tall, my beautiful sunshine boy.” Tom complied, pulling himself to his full height, chest puffed out.

His cock bobbed as he rocked on his heels. Vivian stood behind him and ran her hands from his shoulders down his back to cup his ass and gave one cheek a playful slap. As she walked her way around him, she grabbed the back of his head and jerked him into a kiss. Tom’s hands waved in the air, not knowing what to do.

“Touch my breasts.”

Tom squeezed, moaning into Vivian’s mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”

She bit down on his lower lip before kissing his neck, sucking hard, leaving a mark.

“Kneel, my sunshine.” Tom lowered to the floor. His head pressed against her legs. She petted the top of his head. “Take off my panties, please.”

Tom’s hands slipped under her dress, finding the waist, and pulled them down Vivian’s legs. She stepped out of them and walked to the end of the bed, sitting down, legs splayed wide. She hooked her finger towards Tom.

“Come here.” He started to stand. “On your knees.”

Tom groaned and walked over on his knees, settling between her legs. His hands hung at his side. Vivian balanced her heels on the frame. “I like how you look between my legs. Use your mouth. Taste me. Make me come.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His excitement was palpable. He reached for her legs. She stopped him with her foot on his forehead.

“No hands.” She pushed her legs wider. Tom hummed as devoured Vivian’s thighs, leaving sloppy open mouth kisses as he traveled up. His nose nudged along her folds. She moaned.

“That’s it, sunshine.” He moved his lips down to her other thigh. Vivian whimpered. “Tease.”

“It will be worth it, ma’am.”

“It better be.”

Tom peeked up and smiled. He licked with the flat of his tongue before swirling it around her clit. Vivian grabbed the back of his head and yanked him forward. “Yes!” she hissed.

Tom continued to suck and lick at her, his cock dripping and hard against his thigh. Vivian’s hand tight like a vise in his hair, yanking his head where she wanted. Tom’s tongue darted inside her entrance, collecting every drop of her arousal, savoring it. When Vivian came, she screamed out, her head falling back, and she pulled hard on Tom’s hair. A shot of pain ran through his scalp. He moaned into her, continuing to lick and slurp. As she came down, Vivian pulled Tom away. His eyes glassy, pupils lust blown. His lips swollen and red, her arousal glistening on him.

“It was worth it, sunshine.”

“yes, ma’am.” Tom remained on his knees, his voice low.

“On the bed on your back, arms out.” She stood and allowed him to crawl into the bed, unable to resist smacking his ass.

“Ow.” he complained as he lied down. Vivian quickly hooked him into the restraints.

“Nice and tight, sunshine? I don’t want you running away.” she play pouted. Tom made a show of flexing and tugging until Vivian ran her nail along his shaft and he let loose a ragged gasp, his hips bucking into her touch. Vivian clicked her tongue. “If you can’t be a good boy, I’ll restrain your legs.”

Tom lowered his legs. “I’ll be good, ma’am. I promise.” he pleaded. “Please, I’ll be good.”

Vivian grabbed the box of condoms and pulled one out. She unwrapped it and rolled it down Tom’s cock. He fought against the restraints at her touch. She climbed back on the bed and Tom’s posture relaxed. Vivian straddled his hips, his cock twitched underneath her. She rocked against the tip, Tom jerked against the restraints and pressed his feet into the mattress. She leaned forward to press her breasts against him. Her hazel eyes staring into Tom’s soul. He whimpered and whined.

“I am going to ride you, sunshine. You are going to tell me when you get close to cumming. You are not to cum without my permission.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tom nodded. “Please ride me, please.”

She lightly slapped his cheek, Tom groaned. “That’s a good boy.”

Vivian lowered herself onto his cock. He was larger than her previous partners, stretching her walls. She moaned and hissed. Tom’s chest heaved underneath her hand, breaths short and shallow as he struggled to control his release.

“Oh, sunshine. Your cock may be my new favorite part of you.” She rocked up and down on him.

“Please, please. Please.” Tom begged. Her walls tight around him. “I need to—”

“It’s not about you.” Vivian stopped. Tom growled. “It’s about me. And I want to ride you until I come on your cock and then, if you are a good boy, I might let you come.”

“Yes, ma’am. Please ma’am.” he breathed.

Vivian resumed twisting and rocking her hips. Tom’s cock hit all the right spots inside of her and soon she was ready to orgasm. Tom’s face was twisted in pain and exertion. He wanted to please and impress you so much.

“I’m close, sunshine. Are you close?”

“Yes… ma’am….” he gasped.

Vivian thrusted hard down on Tom’s cock and she rubbed her clit and came with a guttural moan. As her walls fluttered and warmth washed over her.

“Come for me, my boy. Come.”

Tom bucked his hips twice and yelled as he came. His vision turned black and then white as he came. Vivian squeezed around him. Tom collapsed underneath her, completely spent, the denial of the week having the desired effect of intensifying his orgasm. His face plastered with a smile, sweat glistening his skin. Tom’s eyes fluttered open and closed.

“Tom?” Vivian asked, soft and sweet. She rolled off of him and undid the restraints and then the cuffs, kissing his wrists. “Sunshine?”

“Hmmm…” Tom hummed. She rubbed his neck.

“Tom… are you okay?”

“Yes, ma’am….” His voice trailed off, dreamy. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. Sit up, sunshine.”

Tom sat up with a groan. Vivian handed him a water bottle and snack. “Here.”

Tom blinked and took a swig of water and a bit of chocolate. “Thank you, ma’am. That was incredible. I’ve never….”

She smoothed down his hair and kissed him soft. “You did beautifully, sunshine.”

His head snapped her. “Are you pleased, ma’am? Satisfied? I can… I can…”

“Shhh…” She kissed him again. “I am very pleased. No complaints. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Tom unrolled the condom and discarded it in the garbage can in the room. He grabbed his leather bag.

“You won’t need that. Put it down, please.”

Tom dropped the bag. “But I… ma’am?”

“Come with me.” Vivian walked to the bathroom. “Shower or bath?”

Tom’s eyes darted between the tub and the glass shower enclosure. “Shower, ma’am.”

She flicked on the shower, waiting for the water to heat up. “If you are cold, you can put on your robe.” Vivian gestured at a hook. Tom’s eyes widened at the obscenely short blue satin robe.

“That’s for me, ma’am? It’s awfully short.” Tom’s hands fidgeted in front of him.

“I know the perfect way to show off that perfect ass.” Vivian grinned as she playfully smacked his ass before pulling him into the shower and a deep passionate kiss.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston angst #tom hiddleston smut #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston series #follow my lead

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rawiswhore · 3 years

Text

Razor Ramon/Scott Hall x Fem Reader- "I Luh Ya Papi"

Scott Hall a.k.a. Razor Ramon is apparently quite a bit of a womanizing pervert, especially on social media, and has talked with cam girls and told Paige he wants to give her a spanking.

'Tis a shame he's deleted his Twitter, because what if he saw this tumblr blog and read these fanfics, including some about him?

____________________________________________________________

Unlike 2 certain World Wrestling Federation eras, one that would preceed it, another would come a few years later, hardly any wrestlers during the WWF's New Generation era were "over" as they say in wrestling terms.

"Over" means something the audience really enjoys.

Barely anyone was over during the New Generation era and you never really see people talk about wrestlers from this era in general, many of the wrestlers from this era have been forgotten about.

However, there a rare diamond in the rough during this era that was a massive fan favorite, and that wrestler was none other than Razor Ramon.

Who was Razor Ramon?

A smooth Cuban Guido who basically is like a kid friendly Tony Montana from "Scarface".

Razor doesn't use profanity or tote a machine gun, but after he's hooked up with a woman, he's done with her the next day, and refuses to pay the bill.

In 1996, Razor, at least the man who played him, left the World Wrestling Federation and went off to WCW, where he eventually would go by his real name, Scott Hall, and join a revolutionary wrestling faction known as the NWO (or New World Order).

That wrestling faction ended up helping WCW increase their ratings and beat the former World Wrestling Federation, the biggest pro wrestling company in the world, even to this day, in the ratings, which would eventually lead to a ratings war, and by the end of the 1990's, the WWF succeeded and won the late 90's and early 2000's Monday night wars.

A decade later, in 2002, with the WWF now known as the WWE and WCW going out of business, NWO made a comeback in the WWE, despite being a complete mere shell of their former self, complete with wrestlers in that faction that were shells of their former selves, Scott Hall included.

Scott has always been a massive ladies man and womanizer, even during his Razor Ramon days, and his Razor character was a bit of a womanizer as well.

While he hasn't played his iconic kid friendly Tony Montana character since 1996, one day in 2002, when you and hopefully Scott had some free time, you had walked up to him, grinning and smiling at him and, once you got close enough to touch him, you snuggled up right next to him.

He grinned when you had approached him and got close to him.

"Hey Papi" you purred at him, putting your hand on his chest and your eyes eying him up and down. "Do you have any freetime right now?"

As you said this to him, the tip of your index finger was on his chest and drawing circles.

"You don't have to practice your lines or moves or whatever?" you asked.

"No" he confessed.

Thank God, you thought.

"Even though you still have that little toothpick in your mouth" you mentioned "You haven't played Razor Ramon in years"

He nodded his head, agreeing he hasn't played Razor in forever.

Your head turned and looked left and right, checking to see if there's any people in this hallway.

Maybe a few, but not a lot.

What you're worried most about is little children running around, like some wrestler's kids might be running around and see you trying to seduce Scott.

The roster knows you're a seductive nympho that tries seducing men for a booty call, so they shouldn't be surprised at you trying to flirt with Scott or anyone else (unless it's someone who is really ugly).

"What are you doing?" Scott asked, not saying that in a fake Hispanic accent.

"Looking if there's people in the hallway" you confessed "Especially little kids"

You leaned your head into his ear.

"I'm into roleplay" you whispered and confessed "Why don't you play Razor for me again for old times sake and we can, well, try to guess..."

He chuckled and smiled hearing you indicate what you're inviting him to, but he can't turn you down.

He's had a crush on you since you came into his life, and you've exchanged emails and letters to him gushing over how hot he is and how much you want him, and vice versa, as well as telling him some of your sexual fantasies involving him.

He agreed to do it with you and play Razor Ramon, which made you light up inside, nearly grinning and smiling from ear to ear.

Though, where can you and he do it in?

You were thinking maybe in your dressing room, that's somewhere private where no one can come into your room, though there is also the locker room, although many people might see what you and Razor had planned on doing.

They're also probably sick of you having sex in the locker room all the damn time.

You talked with Scott over where you wanna do it with him, and you suggested your dressing room, a room that's private and won't have anyone interfering, hopefully, and he decided on that.

So you ushered him to your dressing room, your fingers laced in between the spaces of his fingers, holding his hand, and as you walked with him, he said how he doesn't have his Razor Ramon gear like a toothpick, a vest or even a colorful button down shirt, and you noticed that as well.

Should he wear some of those things to get into character?

You asked him that, and he suggested maybe not, his Scott Hall character he plays in WWE really isn't much different from Razor Ramon.

Fair enough.

When you had reached your dressing room, you wrapped your hand around the golden doorknob and turned that knob until the door opened, leading you and him into your dressing room.

Wonder if he's already playing his Razor character already, since he didn't open the door for you?

Razor isn't exactly a gentleman.

Your eyes looked around your dressing room to see if anyone was in there, thankfully no one was there, which made you breathe a sigh of relief.

Your dressing room has a vanity mirror with your makeup on the counter and lightbulbs around your mirror, a very feminine looking dressing room.

You shut the door behind you once you and Scott had entered the room, and you led him to the leather couch in the corner of the room.

Before he could take a seat, he wrapped one of his arms around the back of your waist and pulled you into him, his other hand had grabbed the bottom of his shirt and lifted it, showing off the chest hair on his torso.

"Y'like this, baby?" he asked, looking at you and smirking, putting on a Hispanic accent and doing his Razor Ramon voice.

"Mmmmmhmmmm" you answered, nodding your head and staring at his abdomen.

He then had a seat on the couch, where arm slipped off from behind your back and his fingers gripped off of the bottom of his shirt.

His fingers motioned for you to sit on his lap, and you walked up to him and straddled his lap like you were going to give him a lapdance.

You can feel his erection poking through his jeans, and he probably has had that erection since you walked up to him.

One of your hands slid under his shirt and elevated up the middle of his torso, feeling his body hair.

He grinned when your hand slid up his body, enjoying you doing that to him.

"Mmmmmmmmmmmm" he mumbled and muttered, biting his bottom lip. "Such a sexy little chica"

He changed his accent, now sounding like his Razor Ramon character.

"M-my pretty little chica" he purred, putting his hands on the side of your face.

He could use his toothpick now, he'd love to take that toothpick in his mouth and slide it down in between one of your teeth.

The tips and pads of his thumbs brushed across your top lip, feeling how soft it was, luckily not getting any lipstick or even lip gloss on the tips of his thumbs.

"Your voice is so masculine, so sexy" you purred, sounding sexy and seductive. "So is your chest hair"

"That's machismo, babydoll" he complimented.

"I wanna be your bad girl, Papi" you whispered to him, pouting your lips out to flirt with him. "Your bad...chica"

He grinned on one side of his mouth, liking what he heard.

When his thumbs were off of your lip, Razor Ramon doesn't kiss women on the lips, but he pulled your head closer to his, his eyes shutting as he pulled you into him a bit closer.

His tongue nudged the tip of your tongue, where his tongue elevated up the middle of your tongue, stroking and caressing it.

Razor Ramon might not kiss women on the lips, but he will put your tongue in his mouth.

Your tongue could feel his tongue licking it up, and your tongue as well stroked and caressed up his tongue.

But you're someone who wants to kiss his lips as well, and his top lip is in between your lip, your mouth sucked his top lip.

Hopefully he isn't annoyed with you sucking on his lips.

While he was Frenching you, he moved his hands off of the sides of your face, and snuck them under your shirt, where his hands slid up your back to the back of your bra.

When his hands reached the back of your brassiere, he undid your bra, and he doesn't even need to stand behind your back to undo your bra.

Your bra cups detached from your breasts once the back of your bra was unattached, and this felt so refreshing.

"Does that feel good, babydoll?" he murmured between stroking your tongue.

"Mmmmhmmmm" you answered, nodding your head.

Once your bra was undone, he moved his hands and slid them under your bra cups, his hands cupping over your tits and giving them some squeezes.

Your breasts need some therapy considering you were wearing that tight bra, and his hands are doing the trick.

"Does this feel good, baby?" he mumbled.

"Yeah" you replied.

His hands aren't just squeezing, massaging and kneading your breasts, but fondling and playing with them as well.

He has some rather large hands, and his hands squeezed your tits a little too hard, but your breasts need it, they've been hurting and need a good massage.

"Mmmmmmm" you moaned and mumbled on his lips. "Papi..."

"That's a good chica" he purred, his voice low and husky.

One of your hands was behind his neck, your fingers buried through his raven black hair, and your other hand was vertically stroking and caressing up and down the middle of his chest, his iconic chest hair slipping in between the spaces of your fingers.

As you've been French kissing Razor, blood has been rushing and swelling your clitoris up over how sexually aroused you are.

While you made out with him, you imagined you were Frenching on the 1990's Razor Ramon; the one before he joined WCW and when he was in the World Wrestling Federation.

Although, the hottest Scott has ever looked was in the late 90's in your opinion.

You wish you could have 3 hands, so you can have one hand run through his hair, another hand caressing his chest and another hand, at least your thumb, can caress over his facial hair.

Razor Ramon usually let his hair hang down, will he be annoyed if you pull his ponytail band out and let his hair hang down?

"Hey" you interrupted, pulling your face away from him. "Can I pull your ponytail band out and let your hair hang down?"

He opened his eyes and slid his tongue back in your mouth.

"Razor Ramon usually always lets his hair down" he mentioned, still saying that in his smooth Razor Ramon voice/fake Hispanic accent, smirking when he said that. "I love it when chicas play with my hair"

You smiled hearing that.

"Thanks" you said, smiling when you thanked him.

He smiled back at you as well.

One of your fingers wrapped around his ponytail band, where you pulled that band down his hair until his hair was hanging loose, placing that ponytail band next to you and Scott/Razor on one of the leather couch cushions.

You leaned back into his face until his bottom lip was now in between your lips, where you sucked on that lip, puckering your lips as well.

Your hand behind his head ran your fingers buried through his hair, your fingers combing and sliding down his black locks.

Since one of your hands is close to his face, your thumb tried to reach out and touch the side of his face, where his facial stubble is.

The pad of your thumb did eventually touch the right side of his 5 o'clock shadow, your thumb could feel his fuzzy facial hair.

You ran and brushed your thumb up his facial hair that felt like the hair and touch of a fuzzy peach.

He grinned and smirked at your thumb sliding on his facial stubble, enjoying this.

His tongue has stopped licking your tongue, feeling tired and worn out, and he wants to move on to other things.

His hands exited out of your top and grabbed onto the fabric of your shirt, where he pulled and lifted your top up your torso and over your head, breaking the kiss between you and him when your shirt had reached your lips.

When your shirt was on top of your head and your hair under your top's collar, he tossed your shirt away where it landed on the floor.

His fingers wrapped and grappled onto your bra straps, where he tried to slide your straps down your arms.

Since you could feel your bra straps sliding halfway down your arms, you moved your hand behind his head away so he can slide one of your bra straps down your arm, as well as pulled your hand under his shirt out, exiting your hand out through the bottom of his shirt.

He slid your straps all the way down your arms and across your hands and fingers, only for him to place your bra next to him on the couch.

His eyes took a look at your breasts, reddish from his hands and fingers squeezing them, and he grinned seeing your tits, the roof of his mouth could nearly salivate.

With his fingers no longer grabbing onto your bra straps, his hands moved to your breasts and his fingers were draping across the bottom of your breasts, holding them in his hands.

He pulled one of your breasts into his mouth and wrapped his lips and mouth around your areola.

He sucked that tit in his mouth, particularly sucking the areola and nipple, and his tongue licked your areola in circles.

One of the things he hasn't done while playing with your breasts is tweak and pinch your nipples, so he let his fingers on your other breast go, leaving red, noticeable marks around your breast that will fade away pretty soon, and those fingers grabbed around your nipple, where he tweaked and pinched it, turning it slightly.

Your nipples and areolas are very sensitive, and he's driving you absolutely nuts licking and tweaking your nipples.

Your head arched back while you moaned and your eyes rolled to the top of your head, shutting your eyes.

"Ohhhhhhh God, Papi" you moaned, biting your bottom lip after you said that, your fingers grabbing onto the back of his hair.

"You've got such pretty tits, baby" he mumbled while your nipple was in his mouth, saying that in his Razor Ramon accent.

You can feel his warm breath on your areola while he's sucking it, and his tongue is lubricating and wetting your areola and nipple.

His fingers switched from tweaking your nipple to just letting the tip of his finger run circles on your areola over and over again, and sometimes, his teeth are taking a little nibble of your nipple, but not too hard.

Your moans were breathy and sounded more like a gasp rather than orgasmically, and you were trying to quiet yourself down just in case people hear you loudly moaning in your dressing room.

Though, they shouldn't be surprised, they've even seen you having sex in the ring (but not on "Monday Night Raw" or "Smackdown") and in the locker rooms.

Wonder if there's people looking around for Scott Hall or even you?

He eventually got tired of sucking one of your breasts, so now it's time for him to move on to the other one.

He let your breast slip out of his mouth, your nipple and areola moist and drenched in his saliva.

His fingers playing with your other nipple grabbed onto your breast again this time, although they grabbed the bottom of your tit, not your nipple, and he pulled that tit into his mouth, letting your nipple and areola in his mouth.

Instead of tweaking your nipple he previously sucked on, his other hand tried to slip down your jeans and your thong, despite your jeans being buttoned and zipped up.

His massive hand and fingers managed to feel your smooth, hairless twat, and the tips of his fingers eventually felt your vulva.

His hands are so big, you're surprised that when one of them was down your jeans, it didn't automatically make your jeans unzip, even if his fingers weren't grabbing onto your zipper.

The tips of his fingers began to vertically rub up and down your clit, sometimes even rub them around in circles.

He knows where a woman's clitoris is and he can't wait to suck your clit.

The tips of his index and middle fingers fiddled and played with your clit, sometimes even pressing hard on your g-spot.

He knows how much you love it when someone's fingers press on your clit, and his fingers can feel how moist your pussy is, though you didn't pee your pants.

Meanwhile, while he was playing with your clit, his tongue was licking circles on your areola, wetting it with his moist tongue and saliva.

You, however, leaned into the side of his neck and buried your face there, where you moaned and whispered while you tried to kiss on the sides of his neck, as well as kiss on some of his facial stubble on the left side of his face.

You have such full, luscious, plump lips that look perfect wrapped around a certain man's body part, and he can feel your warm breath on his skin which feels good even for him.

"Mmmmmmm, Papi!" you quietly moaned with your face buried in his neck, your lips fumbling on his skin.

You wish you could take his shirt off, his skin is probably warm under his shirt, and you've been driving him nuts caressing his chest.

His lips weren't just wrapped around your nipple, but your areola as well, sucking on that areola.

While your face was buried in his neck, your lips stumbled to his Adam's apple, where you gently sucked and kissed his Adam's apple like he's sucking your nipple now.

His cock has been growing harder and harder while you've caressed his body, now blood is swelling his shaft even more and his pants feel like they're clinging onto his skin, even though he isn't even wearing skinny jeans.

Your bottom lip slid across his Adam's apple when you sucked on it, and your nostrils inhaled his scent while your face was buried in his neck.

Luckily, he isn't trying to push you off of him.

He eventually wanted to move on from sucking and licking your nipple, now it was time to do something else.

He removed his fingers off of your breast and his eyes looked down at the front of your jeans, where one of his big fingers pulled the button out of the hole and slid the zipper down.

Underneath the fly area of your jeans was his massive hand stuffed under your thong, playing with your clit.

He lifted that hand out of your thong, where it slid out, and his fingers wrapped on top of the sides of your jeans and thong straps and grabbed onto both of them, where he tried to pull and slide them down your thighs.

"Hey baby" Scott/Razor said. "Get off of my lap"

He's trying to pull your jeans and thong down, so he can enter you, however, he doesn't want to enter you now.

You had to listen to him, so you shifted and rotated yourself off of his lap, turning a 360 until you plopped your ass next to him on one of the couch cushions.

His fingers let go of your jeans and thong straps when you turned around, and he grinned at how you rotated yourself off of his lap, that's a special way to do it.

He got off of the couch and rotated himself until he was standing right in front of you, standing on his knees on the carpet.

Your jeans and thong are pulled down to your thighs, but he probably can lean his face and taste your pussy on his tongue, even if your legs aren't spread wide apart.

He wants to do something to you before you ride him, and you can tell when he's on his knees on the floor.

He placed his hands on your thighs and tried to spread your thighs apart, wide enough until he could fit his face in between your thighs.

He leaned his face and head further to your vulva and thighs, until he halfway buried his face into your twat.

He lolled his tongue out of his mouth and took a lick of your pussy, tasting your salty but delicious twat.

His tongue began to stroke, caress and elevate up your pussy, tasting your cunt, his tongue licking slow, careful strokes.

"Mmmmmm" he mumbled while he was eating out your pussy, over how good it tastes. "You taste so good, babydoll"

His voice was low and warm, as warm as his breath, and he's still putting on his Razor Ramon voice/accent.

While he was licking and eating out your pussy, his fingers were busy unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, where he grabbed the sides of his jeans and boxers and pulled them down to his thighs.

He was preparing for entering your pussy, and his jeans felt so tight from having that erection.

His cock sprung out of his boxers and jeans when he pulled them further down his legs, his boner standing there proud and ready.

His tongue was sliding over your clitoral hood and g-spot when he licked your pussy, and sometimes his tongue vertically caressed up and down your clit, licking it up and down like a Popsicle.

You, however, have been reclining on the couch with your head arching and leaning back on the top of the couch, enjoying him eating you out.

You shut your eyes not just over having an orgasm, but to get lost into him eating you out.

"Ohhhhhhhh God" you moaned while he ate you out, tonguing your clit. "Papiiii..."

You want to not just call him "Papi", but "Daddy" as well.

"Eat me out, Papi!" you ordered him, biting your bottom lip.

And that's precisely what he's doing, eating you out, licking you.

Though, his boner has been driving him crazy, and his tongue and saliva have lubricated your pussy enough, though your twat wasn't dry before he ate you out.

He pulled himself up from the floor and sat down right next to you, one of his hands tapping your arms, which made you open your eyes and turn your head.

His fingers and hands began to motion to you to sit on his lap.

Your mouth grew a wide, ear to ear smile, your face lighting up, you know what comes next.

You got off of the couch and turned a bit around, sitting on his lap and straddling it again, and you lowered your ass down until his cock was inserting into your pussy.

You tried to make sure his cock will enter your pussy, not your ass, and you're sticking and pointing your rear end out so he won't stick his dick in the wrong hole.

He has his fingers wrapped around the bottom of his erection, he, too, doesn't want his dick to get in the wrong hole.

You soon started feeling the tip and head of his cock penetrating into your twat hole, and that cock stretched and spread your vaginal walls apart as it broke in your cunt.

Your head was arching back while his cock entered you, and he unwrapped his fingers around his dick when his shaft went further into your pussy.

He moved both of his hands on your hips, holding onto them, and once his cock was completely inside of you, you began to ride and bounce up and down his lap, riding on his cock.

This is what you want. Sex with not just Scott Hall, but Razor Ramon!

You moaned quite loudly while you rode him, your tits bounced up and down while you went up and down.

"Ohhhh, Papi, Papi!!!" you cried and moaned, your eyes closed and you bit your bottom lip.

You, however, put your hands on his shoulders, riding onto him.

Despite that you've been having sex and foreplay with him, you haven't taken his shirt off, and underneath that shirt is his beautiful, sexy chest hair.

Will he get irritated if you remove his shirt?

He shouldn't be too into his Razor Ramon character.

Plus, Razor didn't wear a shirt sometimes.

Since you're riding and bouncing up and down his lap, that means your tits are bouncing up and down as well.

Scott/Razor wants to see your tits, and he tried to open his eyes, his eyes looking at your bouncing bosom.

Yep, your tits are bouncing while you ride him, and he's grinning at your breasts whilst you ride him.

When you had foreplay with him, you weren't faking your orgasm, he really was making you feel good.

The couch was slightly making these squeaking noises while you rode and bounced on him, probably since you're riding him on a leather couch.

Your pussy has been getting more moist and wet while you were riding him, and he's been sexually aroused for quite a long time, so have you.

He's the one who's been pleasuring you for quite a long time, and eventually, you climaxed, crying out when you had came, your clitoris pounding and throbbing.

Your twat was more wet when you had came, but it isn't over until he cums.

He has to be getting hot under his T-shirt, so your hands grabbed onto the top of his shirt and yanked it, trying to pull it up.

He can feel you trying to pull his shirt up, he's assuming it's because you're trying to grab and hold onto something, but no, you want to take his shirt off.

He has such an iconic torso filled with chest hair, and one of your hands moved off of his shoulders and crept up under his T-shirt.

Your hand pressed, but not too hard, on his chest, where your hand vertically caressed and rubbed up and down his chest, his chest hair slipping in between the spaces of your fingers.

Maybe this will make him cum.

His eyes are rolling to the top of his head and even he's slightly groaning while you rub his chest.

"That's it baby" he murmured, still in that Razor Ramon accent "Rub my chest, chica"

You could hear his desires, and your hand caressed and stroked his chest slowly, and this is making his cock grow taller and harder.

"Mmmmmmmmm" he mumbled, biting his bottom lip.

Pretty soon, he jizzed inside of you, grabbing onto your hips when he came, his eyes shutting and teeth clenching.

When he was finished releasing all of his, erm, machismo inside of you, he pulled you off of your lap, then he ordered you to suck on his cock.

Your eyes and mouth grew wide seeing his sperm covered dick, and you began to caress and stroke his cock with your mouth and tongue, licking the cum that trickled and leaked out of his slit and down his shaft.

Your tongue tasted his salty, milky white jizz and swallowed it down your throat.

With his cock in your mouth and your head bobbing up and down whilst you sucked it, he grinned when you gave him a blowjob.

"Such a naughty lil' chica" he purred, smirking while he looked at you. "Got the perfect dick sucking lips"

And he just HAD to do this...

His hands started to motion a chopping motion at his "cum gutters" as they're called, his hands forming a "v" shape.

Yep, crotch chopping.

Yes, his NWO faction did the crotch chop arguably first, although NWO's crotch chop had them pointing a "v" shape at their crotches.

#scott hall #razor ramon #2002 #2000s #00s #wwe #fanfiction

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alitheamateur · 5 years

Text

Fantasy Flight

A/N: YOU GUYS. I’M ALIVE. MY CREATIVITY IS HANGING BY A WEAK THREAD, BUT I’M ALIVE. I managed this little oneshot, in a much, much lengthier amount of time than I would have liked, but here we are after months of a dry spell. I’m hoping this will kick-start some more content, and kill my writers block!!!!! Cross your fingers for me, loves.

You meet Steve Rogers on what seems to be a never-ending flight. But, the man has ways to occupy your time...

WARNINGS: NSFW. Smut, oral sex, language, mile-high action.

Steve Rogers x Reader

The mediocre clearance rack novel you picked up before you boarded wasn’t holding your attention nearly as much as you’d hoped, and the free movie playing was one you didn’t care to partake in again. Sure, the window-seat sunset was beautiful. Neon and pink, with fading blues and clouds like fresh linens and cotton. But, you’d never been in the air this long, and your worrisome tendencies were worming their way to the surface with unmerited warning.

Somehow, thank your lucky stars, you’d scored an empty row all to yourself, so the undisturbed nap you’d just stirred from helped shoo the passing of another hour or so on your journey. You concluded with the aid of a couple more stiff cocktails, you’d doze off and be kissing ground before you knew it.

Just as you were about to click on your light for assistance from the attendant, a man across the aisle stretched into your peripheral.

“No use. I’ve been trying to get a bag of peanuts from her for the last half hour. Seems the eligible doctor on the first row is keeping her busy.”

You combed your matted, once-styled hair from your eyes so you could see clearly if his exterior matched his friendly, congenial voice. Your lips stole a smile before your self-control could protest, and the one on his face grew tenfold in return.

His hair was a muddy blonde, cut clean and proper to match his smooth face, revealing a flexed, dominant jaw. You couldn’t tell what the material of his threaded black shirt was made of, but it had to have been something with flexing give the way it pulled over rugged cuts of bicep. His lashes were long, fluttering and youthful, but they didn’t hide the slight simmer of mischievous delight in his storm-ridden eyes.

“Well, if she doesn’t get here soon, I may have to make my way to the liquor stash on this rig.”

He was cockeyed in the aisle seat across the way, hands folded over the armrest before he offered one your way.

“I’m Steve Rogers, by the way.”

You fumbled with a decision on whether to engage furthermore. Travelling alone to another country had its potential dangerous without conversing with a lone man on an uncrowded flight. But, his clean smile, and bright skin told a harmless story, and you figured maybe a bit of friendly banter would pass the time and distract you welcomingly.

“Y/N. Nice to meet you, Steve the peanut guy.” You played cheekily as your thumb brushed over his hand and closed in a shake.

“Peanut guy, huh? Well, I have certainly been called much worse, by a much less beautiful mouth.”

He had captured your hand, and long overdue held its embrace, and you hoped the whispers inside your head weren’t falling into his palms. The plump veins sheathed under his skin pulsed as you watched them, and suddenly your carnal curiosity settled at the gap of your thighs.

“Ah, a smooth talker, I see. Do you make it a habit of picking up lonely women on flights then, Steve?”

He fluttered a requesting gaze at the empty seat next to you, gentlemanly asking for an invitation. You weren’t even sure how he fit through the threshold of the cramped walkway, much less how his broad shoulders rested comfortably in the less than accommodating seats.

“Actually, I’m probably the farthest thing from a man as such, sweetheart. But, the longer I watched you across the way, the more I just had to hear the sound that came out of those lips.”

What you would have classified as trash coming from most men you meet, sounded only like genuine truth from a guy like Steve and his pearly, symmetrical smile.

“And was it everything you hoped it would be, Mr. Rogers?”

He only had eyes for your mouth. And you, for the sudden peculiar growth behind his zipper.

“Beyond it. But, if I’m being honest, there were more than words that I needed to hear…”

Radiant, obvious flushes of pink pooled at your cheekbones, and something in Steve’s unapologetic face spoke to your every attraction.

“I do have a pretty mean Chewbaca impersonation, if that’s what you’re into.” You remarked, seeing how far you could take him.

There was a glint of a smile, but nothing could break the resolute hunger for Steve to have you in the filthiest of ways.

He cleared his throat. “I haven’t quite figured out exactly what I’m into. But, something tells me it’s whatever is sitting pretty beneath those long delicious legs.”

You’re certain he shocked your heart to a stop, and if it was possible to come by words alone, it may have just happened inside your panties.

Fearful of what you may say, or of leaving a puddle in the cloth of your seat, you fled like a heaving, hot mess.

Very rarely had any man made you blush, or even anything close to such. But, whether it be the way he somehow made his unsubtle innuendos seem uncharacteristically dopey and polite, or simply his God-forsaken, flawless, womb-shattering face, you needed a solo moment to seek out your composure.

The vacant sign on the stuffy bathroom called to you, and you slid in sideways through the cramped door. The peachy lines of your lips were gathering a mist of sweat, and using your even swampier palms to dab the wetness away was useless. It was as if your pheromones had pitched a humid aura around you, and even your hair had frizzed with the static of your arousal.

As you unleashed the cool flow from the faucet to settle your sweltering fever, you heard a double tap in the panel of the door.

“Just a minute.” You chirped, confused as to why the individual couldn’t clearly read that the room was occupied.

You heard a raspy throat clear, the ruins of a chuckle present.

“It’s me, darlin’. You okay in there?”

“I uh, I’ll be out in a minute, Steve. I’m fine, really.” But, the truth was anything but. Your hand quaked against the handle, threatening to open the door just for a quick glance at him. Maybe a hefty enough dose of the slithery sneer to help you tend to the pressure swimming in the lower of your belly.

“You looked a little shaky, Y/N. I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t check in on you.”

You were quite rickety on your feet, but it had nothing to do with illness. Unless being irrepressibly turned on was a medical concern.

Before your reflexes consulted your brain, you were unlatching the metal of the door, to see Steve leaned cross-armed in the rectangle entry. There was a crease between his smiling eyes, and in the fluorescent light of the bathroom bulbs, you could see a scuffed scar beneath his prominent chin. He stepped inside abruptly forcing your back to stumble against the wall, probably sharing the fear that you’d suddenly discover some shred of better judgment and dignity and kick him out.

Both of you froze, blood hardened with anxious suspense, and budding expectancy. After only stillness, Steve’s strong, yet concerned hand trapped the side of your cheek, then found your forehead.

“My God, you’re burning up, doll.” He fiddled with a stray hair clinging to your face, the flowing tempo of his breathing thick and struggled. “We should probably do something about that.”

His able fist snaked to your back, gathering up the length of your hair, then he craned his neck to unleash whispering gusts of cool air down the nape of your heat-rashed neck. Steve breathed over your cheeks, over the hills of your collarbones, then aimed his pouted lips down the slit of your v-neck shirt between the canyon of your weighted breasts.

Gulp.

“That… Yeah, that helps a lot, Steve. Th-thank you.” He had you. Your drowsy eyes were lidded with sex, much like the refection in his very own eyes.

“I’m just getting started, gorgeous. I’ll have you feeling all better in no time.”

Somewhere in the beginnings of his performance, you had been too hypnotized to notice he had pulled free the elastic tie of your waistband, and ably situated you to sit on the sink. The head of the water nozzle prodded the flesh of your back, but your suspicions assured you some forthcoming ecstasy would distract the discomfort.

“Let’s give you a good look over, shall we?”

With a faded glance, Steve pushed himself to your lips, paced licks of his tongue swabbing the stains of liquor on your mouth. You moved to dangle your suddenly feeble arms around his neck, but after a playful nip of his teeth, he pulled away.

“Seems your lips are in perfect condition. But, we may give them another look at in a bit. But first, there’s a few other crucial locations I should see have my full attention.”

Veiled in thin cotton, and even thinner lace, your budding nipples felt the very real tugs, and gripped fondles of his seemingly always magical hands.

You squealed. Pitches of ear-shattering octaves broke the barrier of sound as your skirt began bunching at your waist.

“Wow.” You mustered.

His eager, doe-like eyes admired the teasingly dainty pink bow stitched at the center of your angelic white panties.

“What a sweet little doll you are. So ready for me, Y/N.”

With two measly fingers, Steve ripped your cheeky underwear at the seams, and his entire face crashed into your aching center like some sort of erotic magnet. When he inhaled your scent, a masculine cut nose splitting your lips, you heard the crackle and pops of the sink’s vanity cracking beneath you. The very aroma of your desire for him drove Steve so beyond the brink of control, his grip on the edge of the counter had given way to his strength.

“And this. This sweet, sweet cunt seems to be… Mhmm, seems to be as perfect as can be.”

His explicit admirations sounded like murmuring babbles as his lapping tongue was deeply preoccupied, but the smile lines of his dark-sparked eyes told his tale. You tousled his schoolboy combover, the prowess in you guiltily indulging in roughing him up a little, and he hardly nicked at your puffy entrance.

“Mind those teeth, Mr. Rogers,” you brazenly remarked. But secretly, his cheeky bites were only spurring you on from every corner.

Suddenly, twined with slurps of starvation, and swirls of a mindful tongue, came a burst of your most erotic orgasm. There was a rueful knock on the door, no doubt a polite passenger concerned with the wails reddening your throat, but you both snubbed the intrusion. Steve giggled, fucking giggled, as he attempted to catch every glistening drop of your sugar-sweet release, like he was a silly boy feasting at a candy dispenser.

“Mmmm, like syrup, I’m tellin’ ya’. Better give it all, baby.”

Your mascara had smeared, and your missing earring must’ve been somewhere lonely on the sticky floor, but you were rancid with the high of an almost frighteningly rewarding orgasm, and needed more.

“If you don’t bend me over this sink in two seconds, Steve, I may regret this decision all together.” You plopped to the ground, skirt bundled in your fist, and angled your bottom end indiscreetly over his suitable bulge.

Steve pulled his shirt over his head with one capable hand, while the other made headway on his suddenly cumbersome belt.

“Don’t you worry. You just bend over like a good girl, and I’ll make for certain you get off this plane with everything but regrets. Now, bite on this before those lovely little screams get us into trouble, hm?”

He plugged your mouth with the warmth of his t-shirt, his thumb playing at your lips. You could see the blurs of his reflection in the mirror, and you felt a convulse quake over your body at the sight of mountainous canyons of muscle. When you heard his zipper fall, a knot settled in your windpipe. His heat reached your core before his actual flesh, and your orgasmic, weepy eyes fell closed for a moment when he worked his way inside you.

“My. God. What a tight, tight little beauty you are, Y/N,” Steve cried into your ear as he bent over your back.

The flexes of his abs laying across your spine, dewy slickness parading at your neck where his scalding exhales landed. The whole scene was one for the most blushing of erotica. His rhythm was unsteady. Quick, then lethargic and dirty, with matter of fact grunts punctuating his every move. The unpredictable thrusts kept your entrance hyperaware with luscious anticipation.

You kept your eyes on the mirror, hopeful to catch the clear vision of an emotion on his painfully hot face. Your eyes wanted to give away, surrender to closing at his sexual mercy, but you held watch, nonetheless.

His deep pounds into your slicked center clouded your focus, but quickly you felt the weight of Steve’s head leave your shouder, and you caught eye contact. It was obvious, by the sheepish quirk of a smile, the blown pupils, and impossible thickness of his neck, Steve Rogers was designed to please a woman past the point of return.

A hand like a sneaky snake crawled down the crevice between your pelvis, and shivering thigh, discovering the pleasantly painful swell of your clit. The mirror in front of you, now cloudy with steam from your erratic breaths, caught your handprint as you stretched and clawed for something to take the blunt force of your excitement. A storm of thunderous come brewed inside you, and before you knew it, Steve’s eyes pooled with the onslaught of his own hurricane.

“Round two when we land says I can time this one just right, sweetheart…” He winked, referring to what would be your first unison release with a partner.

Oh, the smugness. The crude, pompous…. Salaciously sexy smugness.

His hips bucked, digging and rooting to the bottom of your belly, while his fingers almost tickled your blossom like the strings of a harp, becoming well acquainted. You matched his showing off, swirling circles around his unfathomably sized cock, doing everything in your power to simply prove his sure ego wrong.

But, with the last push of your pert bum back at him, he flicked at the heart of your sweet spot. Your sight went spotted and white, every hair on your flesh straight as a cats’ back.

“S-S-Steve!”

The pulses of your eruption pulled the red-stricken head of his length, and before your legs even began to fully twitch with satisfaction, Steve howled, and you felt a tickle spewing inside of you.

“Perfect. Fucking. Timing.” He cursed, a puddle of meeting juices pooling at both of your feet.

He kissed the blade of your shoulder, tasting the salt of your sweat, his palms massaging into the cheeks that had left reddening marks on his sculpted thighs. He caressed you, helping you to stand straight, tracing the lines of your body with fervor.

“Looks like we have a date when this plane lands, gorgeous.”

TAGS: @miidailyinspiration @eap1935 @mollybegger-blog @spideypxgirl @fanfictionaffair @firstangeldragonranch

(If I missed your tag, PLEASE send me a message. It’s my best way of keeping up with taglists. xo)

#Chris Evans #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #chris evans oneshot #steverogers #captainamerica #chris evans fanfiction #oneshot #captain america oneshot #chris evans smut #smut #steve rogers smut

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fourdaysofrain · 4 years

Text

Stark Industries: An American Workplace

Summary: A doc crew follows around the staff of Stark Industries as they go about their lives. (The Office!AU)

(A little irondad, a little spideychelle, a lot of self-indulgence. Enjoy!)

Read on AO3

“No, I don’t--” The corner of Peter’s mouth twitches down and he looks at something behind the camera. “Mr. Stark doesn’t treat me any differently than the other employees. I don’t know why everyone says he does.” He tugs his sleeve down his wrist and looks to the side. “I’m the receptionist, so he has to talk to me more to like, plan his calendar and stuff.”

---

“Peter and Tony?” Flash’s eyes are wide and his hands flow in tune with his words. “First of all, he’s the only one who still calls him ‘Mr. Stark.’ Like, what is that? Even Ned calls him Tony now. He’s a really cool boss.”

The camera cuts to Flash hesitating outside of Tony’s office.

“Seriously, it’s crazy. Things are so chill here.”

Flash walks to the door and puts his hand on the knob, ready to open, but jerks away and waves awkwardly when he sees Betty walking towards him.

“Zuckerberg wants what we have.”

---

Ned makes eye contact with a camera and motions for it to look at Peter. It pans and zooms onto the front desk, showing Peter tapping a pencil on his desk and staring into the distance. The camera follows his eyesight to MJ’s desk, where she is working on a hologram quietly. She looks at the camera, then flicks her eyes over to Peter and smirks. Peter drops his pencil and starts typing something into the keyboard.

The camera returns to Ned, who is stifling a laugh. He makes a heart with his hands and then mimes wiping a tear away from his cheek. Just behind him, on the edge of being out of view, Tony’s shoulders are shaking with mirth.

---

“Peter Parker?” Tony Stark leans back in his chair and eyes the camera cooly. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

He grins as his eyes flick between the lens and something slightly to the left. “C’mon, I’m kidding, of course. I know all my employees.” His smile slowly softens as he adjusts his position before looking back to the camera. He clears his throat. “Peter Parker, he’s a recent hire. Not the newest though, Ned’s the newest-- Pete joined the team about half a year ago when I needed an extra set of hands. He’s got a good head on his shoulders.”

Tony idly scratches his jaw.

“He’s the receptionist, but I’ve seen what he can do when you put him in front of some tech. I’m keeping an eye on him.”

---

Peter’s busy fiddling with the highlighters in his cup when the door opens. He looks up and hesitates when he sees it’s Michelle. After a moment, he gives her a smile, which she returns easily. She heads directly to his desk and leans on the edge.

“What is it today- yellow with blue or green with pink?” she asks as she leans over the outer façade of the reception desk and takes a highlighter from his pile. She twiddles it in her hands and looks at Peter through her lashes.

He smiles at her and adds another highlighter to the cup. “Um, I’m actually trying a new thing today: all yellow.”

“Adventurous.”

“They only hire the best at Stark Industries,” Peter says with a smirk.

Michelle laughs and tosses the highlighter back to him.

---

“Peter’s smarter than at least half the R&D department here at SI, but for some reason, Tony wants to keep him as a receptionist rather than, I don’t know, a top engineer.” Michelle juts her chin out at the camera. “What? They’re really bad at trying to hide it. They do this thing, where whenever someone has a really shitty issue with one of their projects, Tony calls a meeting that Peter doesn’t go to, and then it’s magically fixed by the time we get out.” She rolls her eyes. “Then they both act like it just fixed itself. It’s ridiculous.”

Michelle sits quietly for a moment before adding, “What’s more ridiculous is how many times they’ve done it.”

---

Peter looks behind the camera pleadingly. “I’m the receptionist. That’s it. I promise.” He sighs and motions to the camera with his hand. “Trust me, I’m terrible at keeping secrets. If I was as smart as these guys, I wouldn’t shut up about it.” He laughs to himself. “MJ says it’s ‘cause everyone expects men to be smarter than they are. She’s normally right about that kind of stuff.”

---

Betty waves Michelle over to her table in the kitchen when she comes in to get a cup of coffee.

“I saw Spider-Man again this morning,” she whispers over her salad.

Michelle raises her eyebrows. “Again? That’s the third time this month, Betty.”

“Yeah, well. Like I said, I started walking to work. I have more time to look around.” She leans in conspiratorily. “He’s always heading towards SI.”

“Don’t tell me you believe Flash.”

Betty laughs and sets her fork down. “I don’t believe him.” She tucks her hair behind her ear and raises her eyebrows at Michelle. “I also don’t not believe him.”

“Betty,” Michelle says, “Spider-Man wouldn’t work at SI. Have you seen the videos of him online? He’s kind of a dumbass.”

The camera pans to the door to the kitchen, where Peter is standing outside and peering in. Seeing the camera move to him, he quickly clears his throat and enters the room.

“Hey--” His voice comes out as a squeak. He clears his throat again. “Hey, guys.”

“Peter, perfect!” Betty pushes her Tupperware away from herself, giving her more room to talk with her hands. “You talk to Tony all the time--”

“Not all the time,” he mutters.

Betty ignores him. “Has he said anything to you about Spider-Man?”

Peter straightens immediately and looks to the side. “Oh, well. You know how he is, he’s really secretive about Avengers stuff. All I know is where he is during the workday. Sometimes I figure out where he’s going to eat dinner.” He laughs awkwardly, but quickly swallows it and looks into his empty mug when neither of the women laughs with him.

“C’mon Peter, we won’t tell anyone.” Michelle raises her eyebrows at him as she pours herself a cup of coffee from the pot.

“Okay,” he says after a few seconds. He moves his head to the side as he decides what to say. “Okay, but you can’t say anything about it.”

Betty leans in from where she’s sitting at the table.

Peter takes a deep breath. “He once said ‘she’ when talking about Spider-Man, so… I think Spider-Man’s a woman.”

He looks into the camera with a slight frown as Betty gasps.

---

“Spider-Man’s not a woman,” Peter says. He cringes and looks at the camera out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t ask me how I know that.”

He rubs his forehead with his hand. “Or why I said that.”

---

“Really?” Betty puts her hand over her mouth. “Are you kidding, why hasn’t she said anything? That’d be so empowering for little girls who want to be superheroes!”

Michelle glances into the camera before looking back at Peter, unimpressed. “I don’t buy it. I think Stark was messing with you.” Betty flings her hands into the air and she sighs. “Fine. If Spider-Man is a woman, I respect her for Mulan-ing it.” She shrugs. “Gal’s gotta do what a gal’s gotta do.”

“Her voice is pretty masculine in the videos online though.” Betty puts her chin in her hands for a few seconds before she lights up with an idea. “Oh my God, it was like, super high pitched when she started out, what if Tony made her a voice modulator when he upgraded her suit?”

“It wasn’t--” Peter looks away and sets his mug on the counter. “Wasn’t that high,” he mumbles.

Michelle smirks at him then looks to Betty. “No, Betty, you’re totally right. Don’t tell Flash, or he’ll go even more Spidey-crazy.”

“God, that’s so badass, though.” Betty sighs and leans on her elbows. “I think I’m kind of in love with her.”

“Yeah, well.” Peter nervously laughs and mimes zipping his lips as he starts to open up the door back to the office. “You didn’t hear it from me.”

He leaves to go back to the desk and the camera zooms in on his forgotten mug, still empty.

---

“I’m only here because I heard Spider-Man works here.” Flash’s leg is bouncing and his eyes flitter around the room as he speaks. “Graduating from MIT Magna Cum Laude helps a lot, but y’know. Spider-Man’s my top priority.

“He shows up sometimes. He brought us bagels last month.” He gives the camera a wolfish grin. “Peter and Ned missed out.”

---

“Flash already told you about Spider-Man bringing him bagels?” Ned rolls his eyes. “He never shuts up about it.”

He looks behind the camera and scratches his temple. “I had a flat tire that day so I came in late. And me and Peter, we-- we carpool sometimes, so he wasn’t there either. I don’t mind. I see Spider-Man all the time. I uh-- I think my way home is on one of his patrol routes.” He glances to the side and then returns his gaze to the camera. “And, I mean, Iron Man’s my boss. So I have enough superheroes in my life already.”

---

Tony claps his hands as he enters the office. “Mornin’ everyone,” he announces as he continues to walk. “Let’s start off with a quick meeting. Conference room, five minutes.” He starts to enter the conference room but pauses to point a finger at Peter. “You too, Pete.”

Peter looks up from his desk and nods.

Within a few minutes, everyone has filed into the conference room. Peter’s the last to walk in. He nervously looks for a chair before Michelle gets his attention and moves her jacket from the seat beside her to her lap. Peter smiles and sits down.

“Alright. Good morning, SI,” Tony starts. He sucks air between his teeth quickly. “I know we don’t normally do these, but I figured I should keep you all in the loop.”

Flash raises his hand. “Is this about--”

Tony clears his throat and waves his hand to cut Flash off. He pointedly glances at Peter, who sits up a bit straighter. “No, this isn’t about Ned’s email. That can continue as normal.”

Peter looks around, but everyone else is nodding. He looks into the camera with a quirked brow for a moment, then looks back at Tony.

“This is regarding a recent threat of violence on SI.” The group looks around and starts to murmur. Tony quiets them by taking off his sunglasses and clearing his throat. “It’s credible, but there’s no need for anyone to worry. Just a few rogue chitauri. I’ve already briefed a few of the Avengers and the day will continue as normal.”

“So why are you telling us this?” Abraham asks from the back row.

“I figured it’d be better to hear it from me before you see it outside the window.” Tony puts his sunglasses back on and sniffs. “That’s all, be sure to stay inside for lunch. I’ll keep you posted if anything changes.” He glances at Peter, then claps his hands together. “Let’s get to work!”

Everyone slowly starts to get out of their chairs and head to the door.

Tony points at Peter as he’s chatting with Michelle on his way out. “Pete, mind helping me change some reservations in my office?”

“Oh,” Peter says as he glances from Michelle to Tony. “Oh. Yeah, of course, Mr. Stark. I’ll be right over.” He looks back at Michelle and manages an apologetic smile. “Sorry, MJ. This’ll only take a second.”

---

“I don’t think they’re secret meetings.” Peter rubs his knuckles along his jawline. “It’s just like, what’s the point of everyone being there if he’s just going to tell me that he wants to eat dinner with his wife at 7 o’clock instead of 8?”

---

Michelle sighs. “They’re totally secret meetings. Are we supposed to believe that changing reservations over the phone takes half an hour?”

She looks down and then back to the camera. “If it were just Peter in there, I’d believe that. He’s a nervous wreck. But Stark has enough confidence for the both of them.”

---

Liz walks up to the receptionist’s desk where Peter’s typing something into the computer. She’s carrying something behind her back. She waves a hand to get his attention, but he’s focused on the screen. He doesn’t look up until she walks around the desk and is about to tap him on the shoulder. Right before her finger hits his shirt, he flinches and turns around in his seat.

“Liz!” he yelps. “It’s just you!” He exhales and straightens out his shirt. “Sorry, I’ve been on edge with all this… chitauri stuff.”

She chuckles, a bit surprised by his reaction. “Okay, weirdo.” She walks back to the front of his desk. “I just wanted to say thank you for helping keep the office running smoothly.”

Liz smiles and puts a small potted cactus on the top of the counter. Peter stares at in for a second before responding.

“Is this real?” he asks with wide eyes.

“Yeah,” she says through a laugh. “Of course, it’s real, Peter. So don’t poke it. And water it once a week! I’ll remind you.”

“Wow, thanks so much, Liz. I somehow inherited May’s black thumb, so I’ve never had a plant of my own before. I hope it doesn’t die!” He screws up his face. “Sorry, that was a really weird thing to say.”

“Yeah, that was kind of a downer.” She smiles at him. “Anyways, enjoy the plant. Thanks again.”

Peter watches as Liz returns to her desk. “You’re… welcome.”

The camera zooms in on Michelle, who quickly looks away.

---

“Yeah, so I told everyone it was Secretary’s Day today.” Ned runs his hand through his hair. ”I don’t know if that’s true, but I know no one here cares enough to check. Peter’s just been kinda stressed, ‘cause there’s a lot of…” He looks to the side and inhales. “Receptionist jobs that Tony’s been giving him recently. I wanted to do something to cheer him up.”

He waves his hands at the camera. “I promise I’m not being like, weird, or anything. We’ve been friends since high school! We blipped together!”

---

Peter’s going through documents when Tony’s door opens and he steps out. He quickly crosses over to the receptionist’s desk.

“Hey, kid.” Tony puts an envelope on the surface of Peter’s desk and slides it towards him securely. “This is for you. Don’t spend it all in one place.”

Peter looks up from his work, but by the time he focuses on the envelope, Tony already left for his office. He finishes signing the paper he’s on and then grabs the envelope and tears it open. He stares at what’s inside for a few seconds before rushing to Tony’s office.

“Holy shit, Mr. Stark, did you mean to put this many zeroes?”

---

“Yeah, sometimes you forget how rich your boss is when you work here.” Peter looks down and rubs his hand along his thigh. “Rich… and stubborn.” He looks back at the camera. “Anyways, if anyone has any recommendations for charities that aren’t like, corrupt, I have suddenly found myself with some extra cash.”

He looks away and says, almost to himself, “MJ probably knows some good ones.”

---

Peter finds Michelle in the break room. She straightens up and tightens her grip on her mug of tea.

“Oh, Peter, I wanted to say--”

Peter cuts her off. “Wait, are you going to say something nice to me? Because like, that’s cool, but everyone’s been giving me things and complimenting me for no reason today and I’m kind of freaking out.”

“Oh.” She blushes. “Yeah, I was going to.”

“Not that--” Peter blanches. “Not that it’s a bad thing, I’m very grateful, but um, why?”

“Ned sent out an email to everyone that today’s Secretary’s Day? I looked it up, it’s actually in April, but he said you needed a pick-me-up, so…” She looks down at her tea. “Everyone’s been trying to help you feel better.”

Peter averts his eyes to the vending machine. He puts some coins in as he speaks. “Yeah, I guess I’ve been more stressed out than usual recently.” He warily smiles at Michelle. “Mr. Stark can be a lot sometimes.”

Michelle smiles back. “I can imagine. Being a billionaire must be so hard.”

Peter opens his mouth to speak when Tony rushes in. He has a gauntlet on and his arc reactor is shining through his shirt. Peter instantly turns to face him.

“Hey, kid, time to--” He stops for a second when he sees Michelle sitting in the room.

He straightens out his shirt and puts his gauntlet behind his back as if that’ll make Michelle forget she saw it. His voice is quiet but tense when he continues.

“You know those files I needed you to pick up from down the street?” Tony asks pointedly. He flicks his eyes to Michelle and then back to Peter. ”Time to go grab ‘em.”

He motions his head to the side and then leaves the break room. Peter looks to Michelle, back to where Tony was standing, and finally at the vending machine. Michelle raises her eyebrows at him.

“Sorry, that’s…” He rubs the back of his neck and shifts his weight from side to side. “Those documents are really time-sensitive, so I gotta go.” He starts to follow Tony.

Michelle watches his receding form in shock.

”Get something from the vending machine, on me! There’s like, 75 cents in there already!” he yells behind him.

She stares at the empty doorframe for a second before flicking her eyes to the camera. After a few beats, she gets up and walks to the vending machine.

---

“Orange soda,” Michelle says, holding up a can. “Thanks for asking. It’d taste weird after my peppermint tea, so I’ll just save it for Peter. He likes ‘em.”

She looks away. “I had to put a few more quarters in to buy it, but he can pay me back later. You know how… exhausting walking down the street and back can be.”

---

“Holy shit, Spider-Man’s out there!” Flash yells from the windows by Abraham’s desk.

“All the Avengers are there, of course Spider-Man’s with them,” Abraham replies. He pushes his chair back so Flash has to dodge out of the way before standing and pushing the blinds aside.

The camera pushes past the group to see a sliver of the window. As it adjusts to the brightness of the sky, a few blurry forms can be seen flying through the air. A few are discernible as Spider-Man and Iron Man.

Betty walks over from across the room to peer outside. “Wow, Spider-Man really is amazing. I wish I could be bitten by a radioactive spider.”

“I actually read an article that quoted Sam Wilson saying he was born with his powers, not bitten,” Liz added, joining the quickly-forming group at the window.

“Peter would probably know.” Betty pulls back from the window to look at the receptionist’s desk, which is empty. “Hey, where’s Peter?”

Michelle walks out of the break room with an empty tea mug and a can of soda. “Tony sent him out a few minutes ago, he needed to pick up some documents from down the street or something.” She raises her eyebrows at the camera as she sets the soda down on Peter’s desk.

“That’s pretty irresponsible of him,” Liz mutters as she watches the fight going on outside.

“Hey, guys?” Ned yells from the other side of the room with a hand over his phone’s microphone. “I’m on a really important phone call right now, do you mind quieting down?”

The others nod and go back to their desks. The camera focuses on Ned’s computer screen, which is open to a webpage about the chitauri. He quickly closes the tab and glares at the camera.

---

“I have a roommate who’s really into D&D.” Ned’s eyes slide to the side. “And now that aliens are real, he wants to implement them into his campaign. That’s why I was looking them up.”

He snaps his gaze back to the camera. “That’s also who I was talking to on the phone. He just really, really needed to know the chitauri’s weak spot. For his D&D campaign.”

---

Peter walks into the office two hours later with his clothes slightly askew. His hair is sticking out more wildly than it normally does and his shoes are scuffed. He groans and rubs his ribs as he sits in his chair. He smiles when he sees the orange soda sitting on his desk and looks over to Michelle, who’s already on her way over.

She leans on the counter. “So, did a bus run you over once you picked up those documents, or…”

“No,” Peter says stiffly, “I actually got caught up in the fight. Crazy, right? Thank God Mr. Stark was there, he found me a safe place to hide until it was safe.” He chuckles and looks away.

“Right,” Michelle repeats, “crazy.”

“Um, anyways.” Peter bites the inside of his cheek and looks up at Michelle. “Mr. Stark’s taking the rest of the day off, so we can totally leave early if you want.”

Michelle looks over her shoulder at her desk. “Oh, I don’t know, I have so many models to render.” She looks back at Peter and smiles. “Let me grab my coat and we can walk down together.”

---

“MJ’s great.” Peter rubs his torso and looks squarely at the camera. “She’s awesome. Sometimes I catch her looking at me and… I don’t know.”

As Peter talks, the camera cuts to a scene from earlier in the day. Everyone is crowded around the window trying to catch a peek of one of the Avengers. Michelle is sitting at her desk and staring at the can of soda on Peter’s desk.

He chuckles sardonically. “Who’s got time for some random receptionist, right?”

---

“Which car is yours?” Peter has his hands deep in the pockets of his winter coat.

Michelle points across the parking lot. “The blue one over there.”

“Thank you for saying the color, I know nothing about cars,” Peter jokes.

They smile at each other for a second before Peter’s smile falls. Michelle’s follows suit.

“Um, listen, MJ.” Peter pulls his hands out of his pockets and rubs his shoulder. “I’m…” He trails off for a second and lets himself stare at Michelle. She looks back at him expectantly.

The camera zooms out; they’re alone in the parking lot.

Peter snorts and looks away, unfreezing from his position. “Uh, I just wanted to thank you for the soda.”

Michelle smiles at him. “Anytime. Happy Secretary’s Day.”

“Am I actually a secretary? Are secretaries different than receptionists?” Peter asks as he shoves his hands back into his pockets.

“Boh,” is Michelle’s only response.

Peter grins at her. “Well said.” He looks down at his feet for a second. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Okay, MJ?”

She smiles and shrugs halfheartedly. “Maybe. Depends on if my apartment got destroyed or not.”

“I’m sure it’s okay.” He gives her a sarcastic salute. “Adiós.”

Michelle snorts. “Bye, loser.”

---

Michelle looks down from the camera and sighs. After a few moments, she looks back into the lens.

“Yeah, of course I know he’s Spider-Man. Him, Ned, and Stark are really obvious.” Her gaze moves to behind the camera and she gives a small, soft smile. “He’s sweet, though. His secret’s safe with me.”

Tag List: @ironfamjam @addi-is-amazing @mysterio-is-a-little-bitch @wellplacedbanana @night0seven @unfathomable-universe @bibbidi-bobbity-booyah @spideynamu

#sorry this is reposted a few minutes after the first because i tried to edit tags on mobile and it yeeted the whole post into hell #but its ok we thrivin #irondad #iron dad #spider-man #spiderman #spideychelle #peterxmj #peter x mj #marvel #mcu #iron man #avengers #art writes #the office #i guess?#sorry to my tag list if you got tagged twice haha

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shitty-tf2-headcanons · 5 years

Note

Hi! Congrats on the relatively new tf2 account! I was wondering if you could write some fluffy stuff for the Mercs with an S/O that has a flat chest and short hair that gets mistaken for a boy a lot? Thank you, dear!

Can do, deary! I can kinda relate since I wear hoodies a lot and my voice is kinda deep so yeah ಥ‿ಥ

Scout-

Is ready to throw hands and bats with anyone who mistakes you for a boy again. Nobody disrespects his gal like that and gets away with it! Will sulk and mope if you won’t let him kick their ass though

Proudly proclaims that your short hair is pretty hot to him. Who cares if it makes you look like a boy, it just makes you cuter! To him, boobs are boobs. Any size or shapes is special. So you’re boobs are no different. They’re just perfect to him

Though if it bothers you a lot, he’ll suggest you wear dresses or skirts more. Though you can wear whatever you want, he’s always going to find your irresistible

Soldier-

Will perceive people mistaking your gender as a attack on you. And any attack towards you is a attack towards America!! Will not hesitate to beat the crap out of them (stop him before he starts fighting old ladies)

There’s nothing wrong with your hair! It’s a standard military cut, perfect for a soldier like you! Your breasts are just fine the way they are. He wouldn’t change them for anything

Won’t ask you change how you look. You could be bald and wear clown shoes and he would still parade you around in public and demand that people admire your beauty

Pyro-

Good God woman you are so fucking precious to them!!! You have no right to be this damn cute!! Everyone should know what a beautiful and stunning woman you are! Anyone who says otherwise is getting an axe to the face

Your short hair? Absolutely beautiful! They could touch it all day long if you let them! Your breasts are small? Their just as beautiful as the rest of you! Pyro sees no absolutely no flaws with you, you’re perfect!

Please don’t change who you are!! They’ll cry so hard if you change how you look just because of what some people said! They’ll burn the whole damn world if it means you won’t ever change

Demo-

Will laugh at the fact that everyone mistakes you for a boy. I mean, isn’t it obvious that you’re a woman? Still, he’ll tease you a little too. Will only be ready to blow shit up when people start intentionally insulting you

He finds your short hair sweet! It makes it so much easier to see your pretty face. Really enjoys your small breasts, making them any bigger would only take away from your beauty. Their the perfect size to him

If you’re feeling down because people keep calling you a boy, then Demo will cheer you up in the best way he can. By wearing his trusty kilt when the two of you are out together! Hopefully he can get a laugh out of you and a few other people

Heavy-

Do you really think people are gonna try calling you anything when this giant man is around? Will angrily glare at whoever calls you a boy and will crack his knuckles for good measure

While he does like longer hair, that doesn’t stop him from loving your short cut. It fits you perfectly. He’s gonna feel a little odd with your small breasts but he’s not gonna ask you to change them. He loves you for who you are

Won’t ask you to change your appearance. Will ask you if he’s allowed to break any little baby who mocks your beauty again

Engineer-

Aww don’t listen to them, hun! They’re just jealous! Not a lot of people are blessed with good looks like yours. Will just sweet talk you and comfort you the whole time

Greatly saddened and irritated that not a lot of people appreciate short hair on women. It’s such a good look! Your breast size doesn’t matter to him. He’s learned to value personality over appearance any day

Just like Scout, might suggest you wear more feminine clothing or makeup. But he only recommends this if you are already thinking about doing it

Medic-

Oh who cares what these idiots are saying? Take it from him, a genius, when he says that you are truly a lovely specimen

Likes your short hair. It’s easier for him to rustle and easier to give you head kisses when you’re sitting in his lap while he’s working. Absolutely loves your small breasts. They’re so pleasant to look at

Would you feel better if he stole the organs of whoever keeps mistaking you? Please say yes, he really needs some new organs

Sniper-

Knows exactly how you feel. He used to be mistaken as a girl when he was younger. Will glare at anyone who mistakes you and squeeze your hand in a comforting sort of way

He prefers longer hair but that doesn’t stop him from stuffing his face in your hair and stroking it when he can. Sniper, the ultimate boob man, loves your boobs unconditionally. All boobs are perfect and beautiful to him

Won’t stop you if you try to change your appearance but won’t like it either. He changed his own appearance to appear more masculine and he regrets it slightly. Don’t change please, he loves you for who you are

Spy-

Pay those peasants no mind, mon amour, they can’t seem to comprehend how a woman can be this beautiful. Will kiss you deeply in front of everyone for good measure. Suave bastard is so damn cheesy

As long as you love it and it frames your face nicely, he’s going to enjoy your short hair. He’ll always run his hands through it when he’s reading. All breasts are beautiful to him, however, yours are perhaps the most beautiful of them all

If you still bad after all his sweet talking, he’ll take shopping for some new clothes and even get your hair styled in anyway you want. Anything for his love

Miss Pauling-

Just deadpans at anyone who calls you a boy. First of all, how dare they? Second, you look nothing like a boy. Third, you’re so gorgeous it should be a crime

Is going to love your hair no matter what. To her, whatever hairstyle you have is always going to look beautiful as long as you like it (Pauling drinks her respect women juice). She enjoys your breasts. They’re beautiful and she can’t disrespect them because she’s almost flat chested too

People who disrespect you or call you a boy again might just end up being the next corpse she buries (after she buries the other 7 corpses, of course)

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 headcanons #tf2 scout #tf2 pyro #tf2 solider #tf2 demoman #tf2 heavy #tf2 engineer #tf2 medic #tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #tf2 miss pauling #asks

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lorenzobane · 6 years

Text

Regional Flora

(On AO3 Here)

In retrospect, Sam really shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was when he was the first person T’Challa asks to hang out with socially.

He’s in New York, working with Tony and Steve on setting up the Avengers again. Sam is tagging along, mostly to make sure that Tony and Steve don’t kill each other, but also because being in New York, and being bankrolled by Tony Stark is basically his childhood dream.

He’s gone to Broadway at least 11 times in two weeks. Steve is somewhere between amused and bemused.

Still, when T’Challa comes sidling up to him after a meeting, surrounded by stunningly beautiful women holding large spears, he wonders if he’s going to die. What he doesn’t expect is–

“So, you like the theater, Mr. Wilson?”

“Um,” Sam says, trying to make his brain work faster. “Yes?”

“Wonderful,” he continues, his smile is so disarming, “would you care to join me tonight? Nakia is busy in Oakland and I confess I am… Curious about western theater.”

Sam nods, feeling completely out of his element but T’Challa looks thrilled. “I will pick you up at six, I would also like to have dinner.”

Looking back it’s logical, T’Challa is not used to being surrounded by white people, not even close to used to being a minority. And Tony, and Steve, who do try their best, have their white alpha male tendencies that make them discount anyone else in the room. T’Challa doesn’t let them, his quiet charisma rips through both their showboating, but he has to work for it.

Sam, for his part, is actually really excited to have other black people around him. He knows it’s different, they’re from Wakanda, they don’t have the same relationship to whiteness that he does. They feel like fish out of water, in a different culture where they are a minority. Sam sometimes feels like he’s a drowning fish, being pushed under oppressive waves just when he gets his head up.

They do have fun at the theater. Sam is once again shocked (and he shouldn’t have been) by the depth of T’Challa’s sensitivity and warmth. He tears up during the play without shame and comments on the beauty of it. Sam is just amazed that this strong man, this leader, a pillar of his community, has the generosity of spirit to tear up when he sees something beautiful. It makes him wonder what Wakanda is like, to create people like T’Challa.

Sam is not remotely surprised when T’Challa invites him to Wakanda with him. Steve watches him in barely concealed jealousy as he gets loaded up into the Wakandan ship. He knows that Steve is desperately curious about Bucky, and Sam has promised to check in on him.

“I hope you will like Wakanda,” T’Challa says, clapping his shoulder and sitting next to him. “Soon we will invite the rest of your friends too. We just thought we should start small, with the council.”

Sam laughed, “I’m sure I will, man. And they’ll be fine, I love making ‘em jealous. Y’all are cool, what’s the food situation out there?”

Spicy, apparently. Sam spent the entire first dinner crying while the Queen-Mother stared at him and the Princess laughs (”my god, man! Call me Shuri. Princess makes me feel ridiculous.”)

T’Challa takes it in stride and ignores it, Sam is more grateful than he can possibly say.

“I would like for you to join me at the council meeting tomorrow,” he says, lapping up his spicy curry without blinking.

“Yeah, man. Sure,” Sam manages to choke out, “anything I should be aware of?”

T’Challa leans back and thinks, “The Jabari tribe, which has been isolated for centuries, has recently rejoined our council. M’Baku, the tribe leader, he is a bit… Tempestuous. Be wary of him.”

Sam nods and swallows down some milk, cooling the burn.

Sam loves Wakanda. The bright colors, the architecture, the people milling about, surrounded by technology and tradition and food and music. He almost can’t believe a place like this exists.

He is able to walk around a bit, before the council meeting the next day. Nakia, the King’s girlfriend, decides to join him. Upon meeting her, he immediately realizes he was wrong, she is hardly just the King’s girlfriend. Nakia is amazing, and Sam is half in love with her.

“You must try this,” she says, dragging him to a street vendor selling meat. “It will blow you away.”

And damn, it did. It was some of the best meat he’s ever had.

“So, how’s California treating you?”

Nakia laughs a little under her breath, “it is hard, to be away so long. I was a spy before, I am used to leaving… This time though, it feels a little harder. Besides, the water in America is not as good of quality, I can not drink the tap water. It is very difficult.”

Sam chokes on a laugh but nods understandingly. He presumes she’s referring to constantly having to leave T’Challa, who spends most of his time in his country while she is in the United States. When he saw them walking together, he assumed she would be regal to the point of not relatable, the type of woman who is a queen. Maybe a non-murderous Lady Macbeth.

And she is all those things, fierce, intelligent, but so unbelievably kind and loyal, Sam is honestly blown away. And when T’Challa and her are together, he gets the benefit of watching them both melt. The respect and love in their eyes, in their words, in the way they trust each other so completely, is honestly mind-blowing. Sam doesn’t know if he’s ever seen a love like theirs. It is beautiful, but honestly… It makes him a little lonely.

“We must get going,” she says, pulling Sam out of his thoughts, “the meeting will start soon.”

Sam had been expecting a boardroom table for the meeting, high backs and a huge table separating everyone. He’s pleasantly surprised by a huge, regal room, with several chairs in the center that are cozy and close. The other members are already there, looking at him with judgment.

“The last American we had here,” a woman began, Sam assumes she is a tribe leader, “he tried to lay waste to our way of life. He tried to destroy our traditions. And yet, you allow another one inside our borders.”

T’Challa is calm. “We can not judge all Americans based on N'Jadaka. He was struggling with… Other things. Sam is a model of America, a good soldier, and a good man. Bast has blessed us with his company.”

Sam shifts uncomfortably, and can’t help blurting out, “listen, I’m not trying to cause any trouble. I’m just–”

“Please stop,” a voice cuts in, it’s deep and draws Sam’s eyes. Sitting in a chair, thighs spread wide, is a really really hot guy. Sam stared at him for longer than appropriate and wondered again if there is something in the water. Okoye, Nakia, T’Challa… They were all gorgeous. But this guy… Something about him.

“M’Baku,” T’Challa says, and that catches Sam’s attention. This guy is the loose cannon that T’Challa warned him about. “Let him speak for himself.”

M’Baku rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair, Sam’s mouth goes a little dry at the movement but forces himself to focus.

“All I want is to experience this great land. Wakanda is amazing and filled with such wonderful people, I could not be more honored that I am the first guest formally recognized on this soil. You can trust me.”

The council is quiet for a moment before they seem to make eye contact. Sam can’t breathe, but apparently, he passed some type of test, because they move on to other items on the agenda without looking at him again. He can’t help but sigh in relief and look for an exit.

He makes eye contact with Okoye who nods and gestures to the door, and he starts out.

“So, Sam Wilson,” a voice interrupts him once he’s outside the chamber. “The first American to be invited formally to our country. Their country. The Jabari did not invite you.”

Sam turns slowly to face M’Baku. He has to look up slightly, M’Baku has five inches on him and more than that in general heft. Sam is a man built to fly, but M’Baku looks like he could shake the earth.

“I’m sorry to hear that man,” Sam says, shaking his head ruefully, “but I’m here now, aren’t I? Sorry, ya lost, flyboy.”

“Flyboy?” M’Baku says, tilting his head to the side slightly, and it is unfairly adorable. “I thought it was you who… Can fly.”

Sam chuckles, “I am, but don’t worry your pretty head about it. Just an American expression.”

M’Baku looks even more calculating now. “Pretty?”

Sam kind of wants to shoot himself. Instead, he splutters out uselessly,“I have to go. Shuri… The Princess is expecting me.”

He hears the rolling sound of M’Baku’s laughter as he walks away briskly, his face burning. He’s not here to flirt with tribe leaders, especially ones who are not trusted by your friend. Because it violates the bro-code and he and T’Challa are totally bros. So. Whatever.

He should have known that wasn’t the end of it. M’Baku just starts appearing after that. When Sam is doing his morning runs, when he’s wandering the shops, when he’s on art history tours given by 21-year-old kids. He’s there, giving snarky, but devastatingly intelligent insight on everything Wakanda has to offer.

At first, Sam tries to avoid him, desperate to not cause too much trouble. Then T’Challa, who is much more observant that Sam gave him credit for, simply said one day, “M’Baku is a man of honor. I am glad he has taken to you so well.”

Sam cocked his head to the side, “no, man. I’m not disobeying you or whatever. He just keeps appearing everywhere. I know you don’t trust him–”

T’Challa looks down, hiding a smile, “Sam. It is okay. M’Baku is difficult, surely. But he is a good man. With a good heart. And so are you.”

“Listen, I don’t know what you think–”

“I know in America,” T’Challa cuts him off, “there are certain thoughts and assumptions about life partners. About masculinity and what that means. It is different here, Sam. M’Baku has never loved women.”

“He…” Sam is at a loss, “but… He?”

T’Challa shrugs, “Bast and hanuman see hearts, and goodness, and honor. They are not concerned with trivialities of gender.”

And that had been the end of that, apparently. Now, Sam doesn’t know what to do.

M’Baku is apparently more than fair game, and there is nothing cultural stopping him. Now that he knows that he takes to looking around at the other people in town more, and he notices how many women are holding hands, and how many young men are playing footsie, and how many old men are walking in the park. It’s a little dizzying, to be surrounded by so much love and acceptance.

The other problem is M’Baku himself. He’s… Sam is not sure where he stands with him. Some days, Sam is sure they are flirting, walking next to the flower market while M’Baku makes him laugh and mocks him for loving the bright flora so much.

Some days, he’s sure M’Baku thinks he’s an idiot. On those days he’s cold, and difficult to read. It’s hard to keep his head on straight.

In the meantime, he observes Nakia and T’Challa again. Their easy camaraderie, their deep love. He can tell that they are best friends as well as lovers, holding hands so softly as they walk through the gardens of the palace. He sighs to himself.

“American minds aren’t meant to think so much.”

Sam turns around and smiles, M’Baku is standing behind him holding flowers from the market. Sam is particularly fond of them, though he’s sure no one knows, he’s never bought them. He just spends extra long looking at them.

“These… They are for you,” M’Baku said, curtly.

“For me, man? Why? Why these?”

M’Baku shrugged, “they are your favorite. You always make us stop and stand for so long when the shop has them. So here. Maybe now you’ll stop dragging me all the way there just to look at them.”

Sam can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. “Thank you, M’Baku. That was really nice of you.”

“Pah,” M’Baku says, using his hands to physically push Sam’s sentiment away, “it is a matter of practicality.”

“Sure,” Sam agrees with amusement.

“I…” M’Baku starts, “I have to go.”

Sam watches in confusion as M’Baku practically sprints away from him.

“He likes you, you know,” Shuri says, her eyes are still hyperfocused on his wings. She’s offered “a few minor improvements” that Sam is sure will make Tony nut.

“Who?” Sam asks, playing dumb.

She looks up for a moment and narrows her eyes, “don’t play stupid, Sam. My brother and I have been talking about it.”

“I… What? T’Challa…” Sam splutters, completely betrayed.

Shuri shakes her head. “Stop being stupid, Sam Wilson. He has given you flowers. What more are you waiting for!”

“I don’t know,” Sam asks sarcastically, “emotional availability.”

Shuri rolls her eyes, “he is emotionally available to you. You are just stubborn.”

“Is it so wrong for me to want him to actually say something? In words?”

Shuri slaps him upside the head, “you’re a fool. He doesn’t use his words. He uses actions. He showed you he cared with the flowers, and now he’s waiting for your action.”

Sam stares at her for a. moment, amazed that he’s so stupid, before presses a kiss to her forehead and runs out of her lab screaming, “you’re a god damn genius.”

He finds M’Baku easily, though something tells him that if he didn’t want to be found Sam would never find him. He is sitting on a chair in a small restaurant sipping on mint tea. Sam slides in next to him.

He takes a moment to bask in this, he’s never felt so instantly comfortable with anyone. He somehow just knows that M’Baku will always be there to back him up, loyally and kindly, with wisdom and honor.

He also takes a moment to realize that now that he’s here, he doesn’t know what to do.

“I liked your flowers,” Sam blurted out.

“So you mentioned,” M’Baku replied calmly, taking another drink of his tea.

“Why are you down here so much?” Sam can’t help but ask, “your tribe. They’re all in the mountains.”

M’Baku looks at him for a long moment, before taking another sip of tea. “I think you know why.”

“Do you… Do you want… Do you want to maybe go on a date? With me?” Sam asks, finally at his wit’s end.

M’Baku laughs, and it stings. Sam turns away to face the crowd again, gearing up to leave, when a hand grabs his wrist.

“Sam Wilson,” M’Baku says softly, “we have been on a dozen “dates,” He puts the word in quotes. “I did that for you. Because of your American culture.”

“Oh…” Sam says, totally caught off guard. “So… What do you want to do?”

M’Baku’s grin turns dark and dirty before he leans over slightly to kiss Sam right in the middle of a busy shop. It’s powerful and forceful and Sam barely manages to hang on while M’Baku proved that he’s a plunderer at heart.

“That,” M’Baku says pulling back slightly and licking his lips,” is what I want to do.”

Sam nods, a smile pulling at his face, “yeah. I want that too.”

#Black Panther #The Avengers #Sam Wilson #T'Challa #M'Baku #Nakia #SaM'Baku #Sam Wilson x M'Baku #T'Kia #Falcon #Me: that's it no more rarepairs #Also me: So... Sam and M'Baku....

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bandoms-are-fandoms · 6 years

Text

Ghostwriter Chapter 5

I begrudgingly walk into the home I’m sharing with BTS after the day’s long events and I heave a tired sigh. I glance back at the young man behind me as he takes off his shoes and I can’t believe everything I heard up until now. Earlier in the day, Jungkook stood up in front of everyone in our morning meeting and informed them that he wanted to work with me on the music.

“What did you say!?” I shouted that morning with little to no attempt at stopping myself. I stared at him with a dubious look and he gave me a cheeky grin. The rest of the group gave him curious looks, but they shrugged their shoulders.

“You don’t really do much without good reason,” J-Hope nods his head in agreement, then grins at me, “I guess you’re on babysitting duty, Sakka!” He jokes, but I’m still in complete and utter shock by the situation.

“B-But you said you couldn’t work on a song because you’re so busy-!” I began to stutter, my mind going at warp speed.

“Jungkook’s schedule is the less busy than the rest of ours,” Namjoon responds coolly, looking over the schedule sheet he seemed to pull out of thin air, “And with the way you’re writing, it may be better if someone was helping you.” He smiled at me almost as if he’s reassuring me that everything is going to be alright.

I stare at Jungkook for a long moment before slowly nodding my head; I can’t pass up this opportunity to learn from someone who has experience writing music. Maybe he can explain to me what love is too; he’s an attractive guy, there’s no way he doesn’t know a thing or two about women.

The rest of the members ended up agreeing to Jungkook helping me with my writing, and then we went about the rest of our workday. I’m still in shock about everything that has happened, but now is not the time to be in shock at these events.

Now that we are home, I go and change into something more cozy and bring my laptop out with Chi-Chi hot on my trail. She hops up on the couch with me and snuggles into my side as I open up a document and stare at the screen quietly. I can’t take my eyes away from the blank page when suddenly there’s a cup in front of my face. I glance down at the white mug and notice there’s some hot coffee inside; looking up, I finally notice Jungkook standing right behind me.

“Which song are you starting with?” He asks when I gratefully take the mug. He sits down next to me, putting his rounded glasses on to look at the page. He scrunches his brows and looks at me, “You have nothing?”

“Well…” I sigh, pulling up each document for all seven songs, “I have little phrases here and there that I add when I think it’ll work.” I push the pink laptop in his direction and he looks over the phrases.

“These are all cliches,” He states bluntly, moving from one document to another. He stops on Jimin’s Song, staring at it for a long moment before sighing and setting down the laptop, “You’re a writer, you must know a cliche when you see one.”

“Of course I do,” I whine, crossing my legs in sitting position, “But what else can I put? There’s not a single word that I know about these things!”

“What?” He smirks at me, “Have you never been touched by a guy?” I flush at him, frowning.

“What kind of question is that!?” He rolls his eyes, picking up the laptop, looking at the documents again. He points to one of my phrases in Jin’s song of Enduring, “I like this phrase, ‘Our scars are the stories we’ve faced together.’” He looks at me, nodding his head.

“My mother always says that,” I say, picking up my mug, sipping the warm drink, “She’s probably the only example I have of some sort of love.”

“Have you never been in love?” He asks, raising an eyebrow to me. I shake my head, giving a sheepish smile.

“I’ve always been too busy for a relationship. Focused on school and focused on my dreams… I guess it’s silly, being twenty years old and never having a boyfriend before…”

“I wouldn’t say it’s silly…” Jungkook shrugs, grabbing his own mug, “An inconvenience, sure, but not sill.” He grins at me jokingly as I smack him hard on the arm.

“Oi! That’s not funny!” I laugh anyway countering my own statement, “What about you? Any loves in your life?” He shrugs to me once more, his black sweatshirt hoodie covering his face.

“I’ve had a few relationships, yeah,” He informs me, leaning back in his seat, “I’ve never really had an easy time talking to girls.” He chuckles, looking at me with a smile.

“It doesn’t seem that way to me. You talk to me all the time,” Chi-Chi crawls into a ball on my lap, probably as nosy as I am about this celebrity’s love life.

“...Yeah, I don’t really consider you a girl,” As the record screeches in the back of my head, I stare at him with a blank look. He starts cackling and giggling like a small child while he observes my face, “You should see your face right now!” I frown, setting my cup down, and punching his arm as hard as I can.

“What do you mean you don’t see me as a girl!?” I shout, feeling anger boil inside of me.

“Ow! You see! This is what I mean! You punch like a guy!” He laughs as I shove him off the couch, “Is this how you treat someone who is trying to help you!?”

“This is how I treat jackasses how don’t know how to treat me like a freaking lady!” I throw one of the couch pillows at him as he continues to laugh at me. After we fight for a while, he gets on the couch again and starts helping me.

“We’ll start with self-love, that’ll probably be the easiest one to work with,” He tells me, leaning back on the couch, “Get to writing.”

“God, you’re so bossy,” I huff, picking up my laptop from the floor, starting to get to work. Self-love, huh…? Taking a deep breath, I plug in my headphones to listen to music and set the mood for myself. Even though I’m focused on what I’m supposed to be working on, I couldn’t stop thinking about what he said.

He doesn't see me as a girl…? Am I not pretty enough? I dress like a girl, I wear heels, I do my makeup… So, I do a few things that are considered masculine like drink strong alcoholic beverages like whiskey or sake? I feel myself growing depressed by each passing thought and will myself to continue my work.

After a while, I handed him my laptop and he looks over it before handing it back over to me with a frown, “Do it again,” he tells me, turning back to his cellphone. For the next few hours, this is how we went. I kept getting failure after failure and his mocking just got worse every time I handed him said failure.

I didn’t notice the others coming home until the shouting and the banging occurred, jumping me out of my daze. I look up to the boys who are holding a take-out box with grins on all of their faces.

“What’re those looks for?” Jungkook asks, staring at them with a blank face.

“Our little Jungkook decided to help a girl in a need and we thought he should be rewarded!” Jimin claps his hands together, going to grab the dishes out of the kitchen.

“She’s not a girl,” Jungkook states, getting up from his sitting position, walking into the kitchen. Hearing that statement, I throw another pillow after him.

“Stop saying that!” I shout, crossing my arms, “I am too a girl!”

“Not with that angry look on your face,” He laughs, helping the others set the table. V walks up behind me, looking over my shoulder.

“Wow! This is coming along great!” He shouts, causing every boy to stop what they were doing and swarm me.

“Oi! I’m claustrophobic! Move away!” I shout, pushing the fourteen pairs of hands reaching for my laptop, “I will punch all of you!” Chi-Chi starts growling at all the boys as Jin quickly grabs my laptop from my lap and runs to the kitchen table, “Hey! I didn’t give you permission!”

Everyone flies after Jin to read the song I had just produced and they all ‘ooh’ and ‘awe’ at it, pointing to different phrases. It was Jimin who spoke up first, “Is this my song!?” He cries to me, running over to give me a big bear hug. I gasp at the sheer strength of the boy who was nicknamed Mochi; who calls someone this strong Mochi!? That stuff is squishy, this boy is a fucking beast!

“It’s just a first draft! I’m not even sure I want to keep it!” I gasp for air as the boy picks me up from the couch in excitement.

“But for a first song, you did a great job!” Jimin praises, setting me down, ruffling my hair, “What a good dog you are!”

“Now I’m a dog!?” I shout, swatting his hand away.

“She does have a dog like appearance,” Jungkook laughs, looking back at the laptop. I frown, crossing my arms, “Obviously, you’ll have to write this again, but you’re making progress.”

“This actually looks like a song,” Suga agrees, nodding his head, “Good work, doggy.”

“This better not stick, I swear to god,” I huff, crossing my arms.

“Oh, it’ll stick,” J-Hope laughs, looking over the song, “We could probably start working on the music for this.” Namjoon nods in agreement, handing me back my computer.

“Congratulations, Miss Ghostwriter,” Jin laughs, patting my head, “Or should I sound Miss Doggy?”

“I will kick all of your asses!” I shout, swatting away yet another hand. I huff, closing my computer, “You don’t get to see any more songs!”

“Hey,” Namjoon laughs, “We’re only joking. You’re not a dog.” I pout, walking over to the kitchen table.

“Totally not a girl though,” Jungkook mumbles causing all the guys to break down in laughter. I lunge for the boy and we get into some form of a punching or swatting match.

“Children!” Jin shouts, pulling us apart, “There is food on the table! Eat before it gets cold!”

We stick out tongues out at each other as everyone sits down and begins to eat our meals. We all pass around the boxes of takeout, joking around with each other as we continue to talk about anything and everything. By the end of the meal, however, Suga and Jungkook somehow got into this rock, paper, scissors match to see who would get the single room. Suga was currently staying in the room and Jungkook was getting tired of bunking with me and Namjoon.

“Shouldn’t I be the one who tries to get the room?” I joke, starting to clean up the plates.

“Dogs sleep on the couch,” Suga tells me bluntly while Jungkook warms up his hands, “1… 2… 3…” and the short game of rock, paper, scissors ends in…

“Yes! I won!” Jungkook cheers, fist pumping the air. Suga groans, smacking the table, “Enjoy sleeping with the dog pervert and Snore Monster!” He cheers, dancing around the table, cheering all the while. I sigh, shaking my head.

“I think I’ll sleep on the couch…” I mumble to myself, not really like the sleeping arrangements anyway as I finish cleaning. Jungkook and Suga quickly move their things from each other’s rooms and Jungkook shove me in the direction of his room. The rest of the guys help them out, but when I try to help, they refuse to let me. They shove me out of the room, telling me to clean or take a shower or whatever.

After I’ve showered and gone through my nightly face cleaning routine, I walk out of the room where seven pairs of eyes are staring at me expectantly. I blink, drying my hair with a towel, staring back at them. They all slowly start grinning, making me feel uncomfortable.

“What?” I ask them, frowning.

“You know, you’ll get frown lines if you keep making that face,” Jin jokes, pulling me into the direction of Jungkook’s room.

“Why are we going in here!?” I whine, struggling the boy’s strong grip.

“Come on,” he tells me as the rest of the guys file into the room. I blink my eyes, I notice that the room is cut in half. My stuff on one half, with Chi-Chi, sprawled out on the air mattress. On the other side are Jungkook’s new bed and his clothes thrown around the room already making it mess. There’s one big white sheet separating the room.

“We’re sharing,” Jungkook informs me, laying on his bed, “I figured you deserved your own space.”

“We’ll get you a new bed too!” Jimin tells me, opening up the closet to show me all of my clothes inside. Split in half by a bar, showing me where Jungkook’s clothes began as well. Namjoon nods his head, picking up the glass ball on the bed stand.

“We figured that it’ll be easier for you if you can be yourself,” Namjoon informs me, dropping the ball. J-Hope quickly catches it while I punch Namjoon in the arm.

“Are you crazy!?” I shout, setting my ball down after J-Hope hands it over to me.

“It’s not like she isn’t already comfortable,” J-Hope laughs, patting his friend’s injured arm.

“Well, now you can really call this home,” Jin tells me with a grin.

“...You guys know I have an apartment still, right?” I ask, crossing my arms. V holds up the keys to my apartment.

“Yeah, we’re sending someone to get your stuff,” Suga tells me as he leans on the wall.

“We already talked to your landlord too, so now you’re officially living with us!” V cheered, clapping his hands together.

“We can keep an eye on you and monitor your writing progress,” Suga adds in. I blink, staring at all of them, “We aren’t taking no for answer by the way.”

“Doggy is a part of the family!” Jungkook pokes my cheek, laughing when I shoot him a glare.

“Can you guys try to talk to me about these things!?” I huff, “I already live here, you don’t have to treat me like a prisoner!”

“You’re not a prisoner, you’re our pet,” V jokes causing me to let out a frustrated noise.

“Everybody get out!” I shout, trying to shove them all out. I can’t help, but feel the tears running down my cheeks. I hear soft coos as they all begin to tease me for crying in front of them, “I hate every single one of you!”

“Look at her cry! She really is like a small dog that yaps and whines!” Jungkook laughs as I try to kick him in the shin, “Ow! This is what I mean! You have the strength of karate master or something!”

“Stop treating me like a dog! Start treating me like a freaking lady!” I smile, enjoying all the playful banter. Once everyone had gone to bed and I knew Jungkook was fast asleep, I pulled open my laptop and put in my earbuds once again. Taking a deep breath, I smile as I feel my fingers go about the natural pace of writing. Before I know, it was about three in the morning and I was in need of some sleep. Shutting my laptop, I close my eyes and fell into a happy sleep.

I just didn’t realize that within the next few weeks, everything was going to take a turn. I never realized how everything was nice before it all flipped over. Before I flipped over and realized I was doing something that may end up hurting these amazing guys.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Author’s Note: I do not own BTS or anything associated with them. I do own Sakka and her associates!

#bts #bts imagines #bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts jungkook #bts jimin #bts jhope #bts jin #bts rm #bts rap monster #bts suga #bts v #bts taehyung #bts yoongi

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bunnyravit · 7 years

Text

Red Silhouette

Who: Ravi & AU

What: You're an art student in Seoul with a femdom streak, and you turn his world upside down when you show him what it's like to be dominated. Despite the BDSM nature, this actually ended up being quite fluffy. Warnings: NSFW, foul language, graphic smut, awkward flirting, oral sex (reader receiving), sub Ravi, light bondage.

You met so innocently. You were sitting on the grass in the park, a sketchbook in your lap, trying to come up with something for your final. The sun setting behind city buildings flooded the park with a hazy orange glow. Tapping the page with the wrong end of you 2H pencil, you sipped your now lukewarm mocha and set it back down on the patch of dirt beside you. A chilly autumn breeze swept through, and with one hand holding down the page you were working on, you tried to pull your dark denim jacket tighter around you. Balmy, bright summer had left so suddenly, but you liked it better this way. The cold reminded you of home. And you looked damn fine in your black fall boots.

You heard a husky voice calling out, somewhere far away, over your right shoulder, but didn’t think anything of it, until a little French bulldog pattered up next to you. Heavy short breaths and a scrunched up nose, black leash trailing behind --he was so cute. Then he started pawing at your messenger bag. "You looking for something, little guy?" He pulled down at the corner and your open pencil case tumbled out. You groaned. But then he sneezed and shivered so pathetically, that you couldn't help but close your sketchbook and pull him into your arms. "Poor baby, are you cold?"

"Ongdongie!" A man stopped suddenly at your side, bent over, catching his breath. "I'm sorry," he huffed. "He...slipped...out of my hands." Out of the corner of your eye, you see him pantomime how the leash flew from his grasp between labored breaths.

"That's all right," you laughed, smiling down at the little squirming mass, now burying his face in the crook of your arm.

"Oh!" the man got on his knees and started to collect the spilled pencils and erasers from the grass beside you. "Did anything break, or...?"

"No, no," you said, and then you finally saw his face. He had sharp, sad eyes, softly pouting lips offset by a masculine jaw, and smooth, tan skin so flawless it was almost glowing.

His eyes met yours with such concern as he said, "If anything was damaged, I promise I’ll replace it."

You remembered to breath, and started to help him pick everything up. “Really, thank you, but I think everything is fine—” at that, Ongdongie squirmed out of your lap, darting behind you, and knocked over your coffee. You gasped, saving your sketchbook as you jumped to your feet. “Ongdongie!” the man cried again, and grabbed the dog’s leash. Ongdongie just looked up at him and whined. He knew he was in trouble. “Miss, I am so sorry. Did you get wet?" He looked close, examining your skirt. You felt your heart suddenly pound at the close attention.

The breeze picked up again, and you put extra effort into smoothing the fabric against your leggings. "No, I'm fine. And really, it's all right. I have a three-year-old terrier back home, so I know what it's like. In fact, that's probably what your little guy was smelling. Were you looking for a friend?" You asked the puppy in a cute voice.

"Please, let me at least buy you another coffee.”

“Uh,” you hesitated. You weren’t one to go out with a stranger, but aside from being so handsome, he seemed genuinely frazzled. “Sure, why not. I wasn’t getting any work done anyway.” While you packed up your sketchbook and the rest of your things, he ran your empty coffee cup to the trashcan, and then returned to walk you to a coffee shop he knew nearby. You recognized the name—it was a cool, upmarket place with fancy drinks, but you were always too afraid to go in. It was so full of Seoulites, you worried a waygook would stand out too much.

Unfortunately, just as you suspected, you were the only non-Korean in the shop, and people kept glancing your way as he walked you to a table on the patio. He ordered two mochas at the counter while you played with Ongdongie, thankful for the heat lamps that made the outdoor space almost cozy. There was a soft thud against the table, and you realized he’d returned and set your cup in front of you. Despite how clumsy he seemed when you met, there was something quiet and graceful in the way he moved. “I realized when I was ordering,” he said, “that I still don’t know your name.” You picked up the cup, and realized it had Miss Pretty written down the side.

You laughed, and he seemed relieved. “It’s _____.”

“It’s nice to meet you, _____. I’m Kim Wonsik, but people know me better as Ravi.”

“Know you better…?” Then you recognized that handsome face, and realized the real reason people were staring. “Oh!” You said too loudly, and then looked around apologetically. “I…I can’t believe this. I actually know your music. It’s beautiful. It’s truly so different from anything else you hear.”

He looked down at his coffee, a faint blush in his cheeks and a slight smile—but not a genuine smile. More like a polite one. “Thank you. But what about you? What were you working on in the park?”

You sighed, the frustration you’d momentarily forgotten returning. “My final project for a painting class. I’m an MFA student at K-Arts. The whole semester I’ve been working with the theme of duality, mostly power and fragility, but…I’m burnt out, to be honest.”

He tilted his head thoughtfully. “That’s an interesting concept though. How did you come up with that?”

You slowly sipped your mocha, trying to think of a lie. You knew his music could be kinky —in fact, you only discovered him because a fellow student recommended “Secret Night” and “Chained Up” to you— but you didn’t know this man. And Korea was much more sexually conservative than home. You couldn’t just start talking about your BDSM awakening at a coffee shop on a weekday evening. “Um, it’s just…I…it’s based on a personal experience I had," was apparently the best you could come up with.

“Oh…ok,” he answered softly, clearly embarrassed by your embarrassment. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“No! No, it’s me. I’m not good at talking about my work. Especially when it’s been giving me trouble.”

“I understand that. Really well, actually. Let’s not talk about work then…” he went on to ask what made you want to get your masters in Korea, and you told him Korean art had inspired you so much in undergrad that you ended up minoring in the language just to feel closer to the artists. And you’d always loved traveling, ever since you did a year abroad in Paris. “You speak French?” he asked with genuine enthusiasm.

“Bien sûr je parle français. Si vous étudiez l’art coréen et l’art français ensemble, alors qu’ils ont tous les deux des traits uniques, vous voyez vraiment comment nous partageons tous une seule expérience humaine.”

His mouth gently fell open as you spoke, a blush spreading all the way to his ears. A strong emotion swelled in your chest. Oh god, you thought. He was so cute. How dare he suddenly be so cute? He cleared his throat, and then sipped his coffee, Adam’s apple glistening in the lamp light as he swallowed. “That’s…that’s really cool. I'd like to learn French. I speak some English, but I don’t really have enough time to study and become fluent.”

A few years ago, you would have salaciously offered your services as a live-in tutor, but you’d attracted enough of the scum of mankind to know to keep your walls up a little longer. You both heard a little snore, and realized Ongdongie had curled up at Wonsik’s feet to sleep.

You asked him what else he studied, and he talked about his composing classes—everything he studied past high school was while he was working full time as an idol, and it had messed up his sleep schedule eternally. You had terrible sleep habits too, but it was all your own fault, staying up late working after partying too hard. You mentioned one time in Paris when you and your classmates tried to paint together outside of class, but ended up drinking the entire Saturday before the assignment was due, and then drinking the entire Sunday to avoid a hangover while you hastily finished your projects.

“Did that really work?”

You sipped your mocha. “No.” You laughed together. “We were miserable! Do you ever look back at the things you did just a few years ago and think ‘WOW, that was so dumb. Why did I do that?’”

He covered his eyes, laughing and grimacing in embarrassment. “Next time we see each other, maybe I’ll show you some pictures from my early days as an idol. You’ll feel better about your mistakes.”

You felt a grin pulling at the corners of your lip, and raised your cup to hide it. “Next time we see each other?”

His fingers twitched against the table. “Yeah. I’d, well, I-I’d like there to be a next time. I-If you would.”

His stutter stirred something in you. You just wanted hold him to your chest and take care of him. “Yeah, I’d like that too.”

You gave him your number, and you parted ways. You half-expected to never hear from him again. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it wouldn’t have been his fault. He was busy, and so were you. Just two busy ships passing in the night. Besides, as an idol he was already surrounded by beautiful women all the time. He probably even had a girlfriend. You forced yourself to keep your expectations low. But then late that night, you got a text.

Hi, _____. It’s Wonsik :)

You smiled so hard it hurt your cheeks, and you thanked God your roommate didn’t notice. You weren’t ready to tell anyone about him.

It was all so innocent.

You streamed his mixtape on your way to class the next day. His music could be so strong and angry, and yet so soft and sad and warm. You listened to more as you worked in studio, and felt like you were developing a fetish for his voice. Gruff and powerful, but cozy and sweet. This was the sound you needed in your life.

You waited to answer his text until this morning. You didn't want to seem like you’d been waiting up for his message. "Play it cool," and "low expectations," you told yourself. But then that afternoon he texted you, How is your work coming today?, and you couldn't stop the glee brightening your cheeks.

A little better. I've been working on some of my other pieces, but I had a little inspiration. Oh God. You couldn't believe you just said that. How is your work going? You texted quickly, hoping he wouldn't ask you what you meant. It would be so corny and embarrassing if you admitted you were listening to his music.

Tiring. We've been rehearsing all day. I love the choreo, but I'm a little jealous you get to work on your own stuff right now.

I'm a little jealous you're in a room with six beautiful sweaty men, you thought. Haha, don't be, you texted instead. Everything is on me. I'm jealous you have a studio and five other members who care about your success.

It's true, and I'm very grateful. But you have so much freedom! You can do any concept you want. When will I get to see your work?

You left the last message on read and went back to your mostly finished painting. You didn't know the answer. You didn't know if you ever wanted him to see it. But you kept glancing at your phone, vacantly hoping the right answer would just come to you, and soon your roommate came over from her desk and laid her head on your shoulder. "Who are you texting that made you show the full range of human emotion in three minutes?" Maya whispered. "And I can tell it's a boy, so don't lie to me."

"Fine," you sighed, and explained everything that happened last night.

"Get it!" she whispered at a harsh speaking volume, beaming and slapping your arm for not telling her.

"But now he wants to see my work...."

"Ooooh, he doesn't know about your dirty, perverted soul."

"Maya."

"Look, if you like him at all, which I can tell you do, he's gonna find out sooner or later. You might as well let him find out sooner. Otherwise, if you wait until you catch real feelings, he could still leave you over it, and it'll hurt you more."

You groaned. She was right. After half an hour of trying to find the right words, you told him about the university's show in two weeks, and that if he was free that night, he could come with you.

That'd be really cool! He answered, and then after a minute texted, But I'll get to see you sooner than that, right?

You went to dinner together a few nights later, a cozy table in the back of an upscale French restaurant. It was different than the French food back home, or in France, but so delicious. You shared a bottle of rich red wine that went right to your head. As he told the story of how he adopted Ongdongie, his deep, gruff voice became so cute that you had to reach across the table and squeeze his hand. His eyes lit up at the contact, and he interlaced his fingers in yours as he went on, staring at the table with a sweet smile. His hand was big and warm, and there was so much electricity in his touch it made you giddy.

It was hard to resist kissing him in the cab ride home, legs touching, hand in hand, speaking softly in the dark. But you managed to stop yourself. What if he was the kind of guy who needed to be the instigator? He was ok when you touched his hand, but kisses were different. Then he whispered something in your ear in that beautiful voice, and you melted into the backseat upholstery. You wondered if he knew what his voice was doing to you. You didn't think you were hiding it all that well.

He walked you to your door, and you felt your knees slightly shaking, unsure if it was the wine or him. He held your hand firmly, stroking your thumb with his so sweetly. You wanted to pull him down by the collar and kiss him and invite him up, but Maya was home tonight. It was a conscious plan you two had made, to stop you from moving too quickly. But you didn't account for just how well you and Wonsik would get along.

You slowly approached your front door, and turned to face each other, him still holding on to your hand. "I had a really great time tonight," you said.

Grinning, he met your eyes, and there was a spark of heat in them that threatened to make your knees buckle completely. "I had a really great time too. I don't think I've ever met someone with a life as interesting as yours. And I can't wait to see your work."

You giggled and glanced at the ground as you stepped closer. "I'd love to give you preview...but it's getting pretty late."

"Oh, I wasn't trying to—that's not what I meant—"

"I know. It wasn't you, I was the one..." you chuckled awkwardly, and then licked your lips as you waited for his reaction.

He covered a surprised laugh with the back of his hand, and looked around embarrassed. "Oh," he said softly. "You're right, though. I work early in the morning, and I know you have projects to work on..." you nodded and felt yourself moving closer. He started to lean in too, swallowing as he met your eyes. "You look…really pretty tonight. I guess I said that already."

"A few times, but it doesn't get old," you grinned. He glanced from your lips to your eyes a few times, and you knew it was coming, but it was coming too slowly. You slid your free hand up to his neck, and cradled his jaw—suddenly his lips met yours, like a magnet. He started gently, but then he was ravenous. He held your waist, but then you pushed your body against his, and his hands raked up the back of your coat to hold you there, taut against him. You ran your hands up through his thick black hair, and then your fingertips slid down the nape of his neck. He sighed lowly, and then he pulled away.

He gazed at you silently, lust-darkened eyes, but then he cleared his throat and looked away. "Um, we should...we should stop."

"Yeah, ok," you barely managed to whisper.

"I-I'll text you."

"Yeah," you grinned.

"And then, I'll see you soon," he said, smiling back.

"Right," you laughed, hesitantly pulling away from him to put your hand on the keypad. "Good night."

"Good night," he echoed, and slowly backing away as you got inside.

A few hours later, after you'd told Maya everything that happened and you were getting ready for bed, you got a message. It was a picture of a curled-up Ondgongie, with Ongdongie hopes you sleep well written across it.

You laughed, and texted back, Lol, cute. Aren't you going to sleep?

I had a little inspiration. Besides, you can’t expect me to sleep after a date like that.

You texted every break either of you had, sharing workplace selcas and funny things your classmates said. Your conversations often climaxed late in the night, when you were lying in bed. It started with you checking up on his sleep, and he yours. Then you shared your fears about whether or not your art was really worth it, whether or not your ideas were actually original, or really worth sharing. He told you every artist feels that way at some point, like you're just another voice in the crowd. But you're not, he wrote. I haven't seen your work yet, but you're unlike anyone I've met. Your voice is different. Your art matters.

Warmth spread through your chest, and you felt yourself blushing to the roots of your hair.

Was that too cheesy? He asked, when you didn't answer right away.

I want to see you, you texted back. Send me a selca?

Lol, why? My hair is all messy, and I'm in my pjs.

I'll send you one, if you send me one, you answered. A half a minute later, you got a picture. Black hair hung in his face, with one eye closed and a small smile on his pouty lips, and the hint of a collar bone peaking out from his low neckline. He was so cute, but you were never good at that. Instead, you smoothed out your hair, and laid on your stomach so you could get a little bit of cleavage in the shot.

Ahh, you're so sexy. How am I supposed to go to sleep now?

Payback for those sweaty rehearsal pics you sent me earlier.

Hahaha, you liked that?

Of course I liked it! You're a very sexy man.

He sent back a smiley emoji with closed eyes. I can't wait to see your artwork.

I just hope you're ready for it, you answered. Truly, you did. You hoped it wouldn't scare him away.

The night of the show, he picked you up in a sleek black car. Maya was already at the gallery setting up, so you didn't have to feel weird about not sharing the ride. He held the door for you, and helped you in, eyeing the way your dark red velvet dress clung to your curves. "You look perfect," he said as he slid in beside you. The chauffeur pulled away from the curb, and your body swayed into Wonsik's. You steadied yourself by placing a hand on his knee, and looked up at him—then he was kissing you, soft and sweet, and almost innocent.

"Thank you," you said, smoothing out the collar of his crisp white shirt and then the lapel of his black suit jacket. His hair was slicked back, and he wore a subtle hint of eyeliner, simple silver studs and a few thin rings. You grinned. He looked so elegant and tame, so unlike the impression he usually made on stage, but so true to the man you knew. You grinned. "You look absolutely irresistible." He smiled shyly, whispering more compliments into your ear as he held your hand.

As you walked into the gallery, your hands kept ending up together, even while you were checking your coats. You saw Maya there with her girlfriend, and she flashed a thumbs up in approval. You turned him away so he wouldn't see and mouthed stop. "Hey, let me get us some drinks," he said, touching the small of your back. You nodded, and he left for the bar. As soon as you turned around, Maya was there.

"Oh my God, nice work, babe," She said, watching him leave.

"Do you know where my stuff is hanging?"

"In the next room over."

"Think he would notice if I didn't let him leave this room?"

"Don't chicken out now," Maya urged, poking you in the ribs. Wonsik came back and you introduced them. Then the two of you walked around the gallery, hand in hand, your palm getting sweatier the closer you got to yours.

"Don't be so nervous," he whispered. "Everything in here is amazing, but I'm sure yours will still stand out."

"Yes. Yes they will." Then you saw them, in the back, with the rest of the more adult-themed works: a series of paintings of strong male bodies in submission. The light and colors were high contrast, and every expression, for the ones with faces, was one of willingness and ecstasy.

You watched his face as you approached them, and it terrified you when he let go of your hand. Was this the end? He got even closer to your work and studied them. You stood behind him and waited for his reaction, tapping the side of your glass furiously with dark-lacquered nails. "These are yours," he stated as fact.

"Yes."

He glanced back at you, rubbing his lower lip with his thumb. "The posture, this emotion...what you capture in their expressions is really strong."

"…Thank you?"

He looked back at you, questioningly, but you still couldn't read his face. "These are really fantastic. Why are you so shy?" he said with a chuckle of disbelief.

You sighed nervously and took a deep drink of wine. "It's just...most guys don't really like this kind of thing."

"You've been dating the wrong men," he said definitively.

"You think so?" you asked quietly, venturing a step closer. "You don't have to say you like it if you don't. I understand."

He turned around, smirking at you darkly, and sipped his drink. "Tell me," he whispered, leaning close and pointing effortlessly to the one at the end. "What exactly did you do to inspire that reaction?"

You rushed back to your apartment, making out the whole ride home, his hands sliding up your velvet bust as you whispered his name. You briefly discussed safe words, but it was difficult to speak. When you finally got home, you shoved him back against the closed door. He grunted in response, and smiled when you pulled his face down to yours. You kissed him roughly this time, your tongue pushing past lips and teeth, and he moaned as you bit his lip, pulling away. His eyes were glassy, and you could already feel how hard he was growing against your thigh. You left him there, slowly walking to your bedroom, and stopped in the doorway. "Come on," you said, and nodded inside. He quickly followed you.

Softly shutting the door behind him, you turned and cupped his cheek. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

He took your hand from his face and pressed a hot kiss into you palm. "Oh yes," he said roughly. The sound of that deep, needy agreement resonated in you and you became extremely aware of how wet you were. You needed him now.

You sat on the edge of your bed, just in front of him, tossing your hair over your shoulder and crossing your legs. “Strip for me.” He instantly shed his jacket and threw it across your office hair, and then started hastily undoing the buttons of his shirt. You dragged the pointed toe of your shoe along his inner thigh. “Take your time. Maya isn’t staying here tonight.”

“We have the whole place to ourselves?”

“I didn’t say you could speak,” you sighed, in mock disappointment. He nodded, lips sealed with that shy smile of his and you felt a shock of electricity travel up your spine. “Good boy.” He undressed all the way to his boxers before you told him to stop. You slowly took in all of him, chiseled abdomen, tan skin smooth as butter, clavicle and shoulders like cut marble, until you met his expectant gaze. You stood and walked around him, grazing your fingers along his perfectly muscular body, and then briefly into the waistband of his boxers before heading to your nightstand.

“On your knees,” you said. He obeyed, his eyes growing darker when he saw the black handcuffs. “Hands behind your back.” He breathed heavily as you cuffed him and he audibly gulped when you whispered “good boy” into his ear. Grabbing the hair at the back of his head, you pulled him back to kiss him, and he submitted to your violent kiss with a deep groan.

You stripped yourself slowly, holding his gaze as you dropped the red velvet dress to the floor, and your bra and panties after it until you were only wearing your heels. You pulled him close to the bed and sat on the very edge. He swallowed roughly as you parted your knees, eyes fixed on your glistening core. With one hand on his shoulder, you ran a few fingers once over your slit and held them out for him. He sucked the tips of your fingers clean, his eyes so clouded with desire. “Are you going to do everything I ask of you?”

“Yes, mistress,” he whispered.

You softly ran your hand back through his hair and gripped the back of his head. Then you parted yourself for him and pushed his face into you. He obeyed readily, first swiping his tongue up your slit to collect all that built up arousal. Then he circled your clit rapidly, before sucking on it. “You’re so hungry for it,” you said barely suppressing a moan, and lifted one leg over his shoulder to dig the stiletto heel into his back. He sucked harder. It was so good. He started roughly flicking your clit, bringing you so close. You pulled his hair and he moaned into you, the vibration bringing you dangerously to the edge. “Enough.” You pulled him off of you and he gasped, licking the moisture still on his lips. You stood, trying to hide how much your legs were quivering. You didn’t think he’d take you that far that fast.

Slipping a pointed toe between his legs, you grazed his neck with your fingernails. He grimaced, as you pressed your foot firmly against his rock hard cock, and rocked back and forth. He whined as you pressed into him more, looking up at you so desperately, but he said nothing.

“You’re being so good,” you whispered. You unlocked his cuffs and ordered him to his feet. He rose unsteadily, but then he held your waist and leaned down—you slapped him across the cheek. “I know you did not just try to kiss me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, still grimacing from the sting. “Please, mistress, forgive me.”

You dug your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pulling the most delicious sigh from him as you took off his last bit of clothing. “Get on your back,” you waved toward the bed. He shot to the bed and laid back. You straddled him, high on his hips, and felt the leaking tip of his cock against your skin as you cuffed him to the bed frame. You slid yourself back, and after grinding against his cock, you grasped it in your hand, to his needy cries, and slipped the head inside of your saturated core.

“Ah-aaaaah!” he cried, hips bucking up, but you sharply slapped his hip bone. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“You’ll take what I give you and be happy for it.”

“Yes, oh God, thank you. Thank you, mistress.” At that, you slowly sank down, taking in all of him. You waited there to see if he would try to thrust again. He didn’t. But his breath was rapid as he intently watched where your bodies joined, his wrists straining against the cuffs.

You smiled. “Good boy.” Not wanting to hold back any longer, you pounded down on him. He cried out with almost every breath, his head pressed back into the pillows. It wasn't long before you could feel your orgasm mounting, and with the way he squirmed beneath you, you knew he was close as well. With one hand circling your clit, you slid the other up his chest, and then with most of your body weight, you pushed down on his heart. He gasped first, and then groaned. He looked you in the eye, nodding so desperately.

You rolled your hips quickly, your heart pounding in your ears. “Are you going to come for me?”

“Yes…yes, mistress…oh God,” he choked before his body went stiff, and as your own climax burst suddenly and intensely, you felt him jet inside you. You stopped pressing on his chest, but rode him a little longer, until the last waves of ecstasy had subsided and he started to spasm with oversensitivity. Then you carefully climbed off of him and undid the cuffs.

You laid beside him, examining him in worry. He hadn’t use his safe word. Was it ok, or was he about to bolt? Thankfully, he showed no sign of running. He was limp in the sheets, looking thoroughly fucked up. “That was…” trying to catch his breath, he gazed at you with a sincere, unguarded smile. “That was amazing.” You sighed in relief and looked at the ceiling. But then his brow furrowed at your silence. "W...was I...?"

"You were wonderful," you said softly, and rolled onto your side to kiss his forehead. You brushed a few strands of silken black hair out of his face, and then laid your hand on his chest. "Are you sure it wasn't too much?"

“Oh god, it was perfect. Honestly, I’ve…” he bit his lip and glanced away, “I’ve always wanted to try that. But there aren’t a lot of women who are into it, you know? And you were...” he widened his eyes and exhaled meaningfully. "Thank you." Hand still quivering, he caressed your arm, and you caught sight of his reddening wrist.

You interlaced your fingers in his and kissed the thin red line. "Does it hurt?"

"Not much. It was worth it."

You smiled down at him. He was holding your gaze so intently. So real, so sweet.

You showered together, carefully caressing his chest and arms, and then his legs that must have been aching from kneeling so long. Then he gently grabbed your wrists and pulled your arms around him. You laughed, and called him, "my sweet boy."

His eyes suddenly grew fervent, and you thought you felt him stirring to life again against your thigh. "Say that again," he said.

Your cheeks flushed. "You're my sweet boy."

As he stroked your back, he whispered into your ear, "you are my goddess. I'm so lucky I found you." You buried your face in his chest. He laughed. "How can you suddenly be so shy?"

"I, um..." you started uncertainly. "I'm not used to men sticking around."

His serious eyes swept your face, and he tucked a wet strand of hair behind your ear. "Like I said before, you've been dating the wrong men. This isn't just a fling for me. You are the sexiest, most interesting, cutest girl I've ever met—"

"I'm not cute—"

"Yes, you are. Normally, you're this beautiful, charismatic queen, so it always takes me by surprise, but sometimes the way you laugh or the way you look at me is so cute I can't think." He lightly pinched your cheek, and you frowned playfully, turning away. "I'm not going to walk out on you. I want to be yours." He leaned close, but didn't kiss you. "Will you take care of me?"

You slid your hands up into his hair and pulled his face to yours. This wasn't like your other kisses. It wasn't innocent or rough, but passionate, and firm, and real. You were pretty sure you could love him, but you weren’t ready. Not yet. At this moment, you were happy to have him in your arms, holding you like he would never let you go.

#vixx scenarios #vixx ravi #vixx fanfiction #vixx fanfic

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possibly-meaningless · 5 years

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Dailies - Home from home

23.07.19

It’s technically morning, with the fans snoring like pirates in hammocks, or alternatively white rattlesnakes, and the water outside taking it’s turn to blow unevenly on my singular body which cannot sleep. Someone is fading in new lights at the window, just fast enough to get your attention. New Haven, picking an outfit. Not for us, mind you. Never for us. For logics unknown and in no need of explaining, for no sake at all, but certainly decided.

24.07.19

You walk out into the morning which is like drinking from a stream., putrescence consistent, insect karaoke, packed lunch of sandwich and plumb. Your career is waiting in the howling tunnel, but for now you are walking errands and eating sunscreen. Answer your own question, if no one else can, buy what you want for breakfast. I’d rather a life than your kind of efficiency, the grind of a waiter scraping your own.

Je suis complètement larguée, perdue, levée d’ancre, un petit rafiot qui traverse la rue dix fois pour en retrouver un grand, vide, rudimentaire, à peine construit, alors que la nuit grésille et présente des étoiles. Il n’y a pas de maison en mer, et quand vient la fatigue, les seules certitudes qu’il y a ne sont pas reposantes.

25.07.19

It was one of those moments you know can exist, where you receive a long and genuine moment of practical kindness from a cook vinyl collector whose girlfriend sold you plates and glasses, who knew New Haven so pretty well and drove to your street without a GPS, and helped you pick up a table and chairs, and when you listened to music to remantle the table you found your apartment beautiful, and when you left you talked to someone fixing something big and funny in the grass with tape, and walked past the smell of fresh pizza. And if you pay attention you’ll notice your gait is wider, your shoulders back, that loud cars are listening to music they like, and that the power poles sing just as well as cicadas.

26.07.19

Blasted be this bus– bad day I suppose. Learn from mistakes only. I’m torn between a headache and a dedication to being Buddha-like, to mourning the unlikely refund, the upcoming exhaustion on the Uber, Lis’ exhaustion at her work. I chose to be here, yes. And I will make of it what I can. There is no reason not to be, once I have cradled my little suffering, to coo like the toddler in the yellow dress and earrings, you are traveling, you are traveling, your time is never wasted.

It’s as if I cannot be on this Jersey Turnpike at any time but at eye-hitting sunset. As if the world will not allow it. Perhaps it was the first loving thought I had for this place that assigned me to it, and that I am now the sole designated lover of the gold cutouts on the Passaic river, this residence of cars where mere accumulation forms our departing products in the dust. If so, I am to see it as itself, not as a shallow safari of white and red metal birds, not as a child’s toy-strewn floor, the working hand on a veiny body. I am to see it strange billboards and all, a land bent to utility, understanding of its own gas-fumed complexity, tarmaced and bolted, where flatness is walls, having picked me.

27.07.19

Auntland is just so damn well written. And Lis is working god knows where but always impressing me. My friends are beautiful in a way that simply means I love them. She stops in the antique store where I do not, tells the Roman coins to me. How does one organize a store like this, where paintings are stacked, unnamed, painted wood and cursed carved jade? What went on in a Mayan mind, in this unpolished mosaic mirror? We should buy a castle together. We don’t recognize the Manson murders. We eat cumquats from the branch, and figure out how we are gods. I paint, and Eli knows government secrets. The buses are socialist free. Ten meters of crying DiCaprio, whose girlfriends are never over 25. I decide who lives or dies, who gets to take the scooter home. What a delightful Chekov’s gun, what a connection of inanities. And with the would-be limes that glued circles into my palm so that I must fill them with wisteria fuzz, we took to the painted wood and wrote: OAI. And in the Georgetown chalk dust of the building we found nothing exciting at all but sent off our exploring nonetheless, we took the eraser and wrote: OAI.

28.07.19

We buy plums, small and mottled, skin the best, and get them in a plastic bag. We joke about the poem, freezer plums, while the heat gets at my shoulders you touch, use your neck to protect me. The juice flecks our elbows with purple paillettes, and the lace at my breast. I’m intrigued that you like me, intrigued if you like me. A line of sweat rolls down your back from your bra and another from of the fold of my butt. I say, not to you, “see what I meant about fruit?” with the slit of the plum open at my thumb and use my tongue to finish the fleshy pit.

29.07.19

É, T, ohielleu. Je m’appelais comme ça avant. Maintenant il y a à ma place quelqu’un de très bien, mais de complètement différent, en chemises rayées, les yeux fermés au soleil, riant ou riante selon le jour, montant une étagère seul(e) et repensant à ce que moi j’ai senti en me disant ayant sept ou huit ans. Ça me va. Cette person ferme les yeux et voit une photo qui n’existe pas, d’un balcon espagnole en sépia. Elle s’amuse à habiter n’importe comment, et aime beaucoup, tout court, d’une manière que je ne pouvais imaginer que par le biais de moi même. Elle pose toujours des questions, ça c’est bien. Elle pleure d’autres choses que de désespoir. Elle a fait la paix avec elle même, et sait que tellement d’autres trucs vont venir lui foutre dans la gueule. Celle dont elle a le plus peur de voir en colère c’est moi.

30.07.19

The dump outside my apartment seems to be getting fuller every time I go home. Every day, I encounter a new insect. I think « I’ll come back for this later, and if it’s gone, then it’s gone » almost as if I’m thinking it was meant to go. The world has been trying to make me believe in predestination. My bottle of Gamsol spills in my suitcase, but it pools entirely into the dustpan at the bottom. When I lift it up, it spills, but only into the suitcase cover. And it cleans the spray paint off my hands. The ruins of cardboard valleys smell, that is the clearest reminder. They enter a state of being trash and immediately start to smell. I reach into the dumpster for what I need— magpie mind, magpie means. This is the sink I will be drinking in for the next year, and the stove doesn’t work. I walk the cupboards into the house like Easter Island heads.

31.07.19

Warm and sticky, legs and teeth, rain or percussion, swipe and reloading. Misspell a dinosaur. Cool yourself down, cold brownies in the fridge, muggy but just muggy, not hot, waiting for imaginary clothing, talking about drawing clothing, think of opening the window to the wet air, stay pinned by your laptop like by an at-home cat. Film over your teeth, laugh track in a song, chattering gutter, TV-show noises, waiting to go to a task, ignoring the pressing one, pick up your phone, write down a number, stand up, be light headed, sugar nourished.

Skill number one: drink water when you are drunk. Ceaselessly gulp, breathe like a bull into your glass. Why drink, when you are embarrassing enough sober. Blind men would find you bottomlessly stupid. Find the time to find this funny. Laugh about what matters. Think about going dry. See yourself stumble, again and again and again, off the walls, into bed, into formless conclusions.

01.08.19

Something not quite like a headache leaning against the side of my head. It’s the screens, I know that, and maybe the lack of sleep that I intent to maintain, and the beer today after the last night’s Old Fashioned, the earbuds I stole from a lost and found just parsing sound through my ears. My phone screen is sick now too, necrotic pixels growing only when you check, like the pea plant on the windowsill. A vision clouding while I continue to smile, not to sound morbid, of course.

02.08.19

If your body has decided you are going to cry, and no amount or quality of your usual thinking is going to save this (remember, this is also matter of luck and means) find yourself a comfortable place or places to do it. Jaywalk and scowl at the cars, ask the sun for cancer-freckles, worry your music with volume, drop yourself from finger-height like a pill into a glass— any form of cutting off will do. Don’t actually hurt yourself. Learn to recognize the good habits from the bad, the healthy from the fucked, palpate your own side, train yourself to make the right decision.

03.08.19

This place is one big noxious noise and I am not using it to its full effect. I am the one white Bollywood dancer who goes on the dance floor to think. I do this during sex too. My thoughts take monster forms on the dance floor, legged, entering. I dance like a writing, like a thinking, like unlocking the heart of an encyclopedia: Americans dance on their heels, and I would stomp if I wanted to be masculine. Eye contact changes everything, not only for you, especially for others. Look at the two women grinding— couldn’t that be you? Would you know how to give yourself properly to that hand? Would you squirm? Would you fear? You’ve stopped asking if you seem awkward or brave. The question has been eradicated. You’re working out of line, and doing nothing at all. You are looking at the halo lights and watching your carrousel mind melt in a black plastic shape where you’ve decided to put yourself for nothing. Couldn’t you do more? White woman you are, cleavage-key, dancing sexy for the Hindu gods? What a waste.

04.08.19

The sea reminds us the strongest, because every ripple is a mountain where one crest is the sand and another is the sky, because a half of you is pushing through jade hip by hip, because you are driftwood-sun-dried and the water takes your breath in weight or in drowning lap. We are reminded when we sit on rock, and the wind and heat does the all of us, when our bodies are just another thing for the world to be on, when the being there is just being at all, smelling seagull fallings (fish, shit) while the ocean talks to itself.

05.08.19

We dolly our furniture in dark processions, clack and bonking from pavanent to pavement, sweating evenly. Once again a ferry, this time two-manned, this time jolly, stopping traffic like spirits on the street, chatting shotgun through the tower of trays, legs, drawers, scraping wrists and ankles, puzzling at our load on a corner then off again. Simone can’t tell if she pisses Matan off. In living with strangers she doesn’t mind being bossy. Dish towels are clean and not for cleaning. She refutes claims of her dirtiness. I find she is someone who is very sensitive to gender roles. Abby Adult says adult beds are not in corners. I climb up the walls to give myself a red canopy. Stash and steal and crowd and clutter, Howl’s bed, magpie’s mind, treasure box. Let me live somewhere I can get lost.

06.08.19

I am folding myself into this house like into a blanket, filling every corner with some hand-sized glee. The moving and choosing fires off the part of my brain that is a mouse pushing levers, saving grains, planning for later, living like cooking, by habit and precaution. Cameron had nothing in their room. These are two sides extreme, both beautiful, both in their own flavor correct. My choice is to be fret-tired and worn in a moment; rather than lacking or scavenging later, bumped and familiar with frustration or money-spending. I like the bartering, the cooking with nothing, the piling and stringing things up. “Your DIY aesthetic” says Matan, strange and insightful again. Birds will make a nest to see it torn down the next year.

07.08.19

The storm like me back it seems. I talk about her incessantly, of when the kites fly low and remind me of the sea, of the way the sky presses on the city and makes you notice it, doing what you’re doing but doing it with your eyes on a corner between roofs were you see her scheming the rain, first drizzle then pour. And I make my ferry way, pressing my umbrella between my fingers and phone, braced and ready for the trick to fall, eager in the waiting like happy prey. And when you do start love, you have humor: you growl somewhere to the side-ear and fall just on the chorus of Don’t Let Me Down while I join in and soften just as it stops. You have me laughing clamorous and soaked and clear.

08.08.19

I dream that I am Theo, lost and boyish and cut-off from everything and especially myself expect girls and history and whatever excites the mind to marvel. Let me read again, now that I am slightly weak, now that my mind is playing tricks on me again, listlessly making me believe I am worth no one’s time. I want something to sparkle for me or damnit I will go and find it. I will go to a play tomorrow and I will be in New York and I will read on the train. By God I will be good at this if nothing else.

09.08.19

“Pay attention” says Ethan, “to how your body feels.” Is your phone less reactive, or is it the cover screen? The chord, the block, or the device? I stand evenly on both feet in the line at UPS. I return every eye that meets me, insistently— look at me, I am looking too. Pay attention. My face feels gathered like a half-raised first. My step clacks, my back is straight, I am no floater, Theo. Where is my benevolence? Why must it depend on, vaguely, if Adrian is sleeping with Lis, if Holly cancelled on me, how my body decides to wake up? Who am I being so cool for, so impenetrable, when I have said so often that I refuse to defend myself against people?

10.08.19

C’est drôle comme rapidement je me remets à aimer. Il faut aller trouver ces choses: la pièce de théâtre indépendante et un peu étrange, l’établissement au nom russe, la tartine un peu brûlée. Florence me pose les questions comme il faut: non pas, comment vas tu faire (qui est une bonne question, mais pas la première) mais que vas tu faire. Je sais déjà ce qui me fait frémir. Tout ça je le sais. Il s’agit d’être radical. De savoir être radical. De choisir. D’aller chercher. Savoir rester heureux est vraiment un art— étrange d’ailleurs, vu que le monde a tellement à donner pour être heureux.

The AC in the train starts up again. There’s a helpfulness in the air today, like the summer doesn’t want to end, is sunny, and sea-like, glowing and streaked with clouds. But the movies are closed until September, and I don’t understand it. The coast has put on its best, I can tell, but doesn’t dare ask me to stay and I am ignoring it— going home. Never have I felt so invited to roam little Connecticut alone. But I am going back to my duties, sad-no smiling to the sun, as if I am an adult who truly must. How symbolically heart-ending if I were to sit inside today! I’ll go, no I will. I’ll take Natalie or no one but I will. You cultivate what you want to be, Caleb said it, we all agree— nothing has so clearly been that occasion for a good habit.

11.08.19

And we didn’t go to the beach in the end— we will, because we have a car now, but we have not yet. Instead we took the car to Lowe’s and the storage unit, and made a copy of the keys. I sat in the back seat with the sea in my hand like a toy I’d been told to be quiet with. Trent slid his hand over the wheel and he and Natalie held arms over the front seat like parents, in a way signaling to one another they’ve just felt affectionate, but must for now keep it seemly for the children. I take Natalie in, big eyes on her for long moments. Bare-chested Trent eating strawberries over a chair makes me stare. I want a moment with Nat alone (walking to the car, at home while errands are run by Trent and her mom) to raise the back of my hand up and point to my finger: the ring? As if to ask: how are you? How much of who you are with me can I still expect to see? And then, no matter the response, to say: alright, I’m glad.

12.08.19

The walk to work is always interesting. I face the sun both ways, cross like an accomplished idiot, stride as if to prove to the summer session students, and the tourists, and the construction workers, that this place is mine. The air is carpeted with the hum of HVAC and wired with cicadas, cool and rustling near the graveyard and parking-lot hot near the Whale. A painter camouflages a new building into the sky and an old man coughs on the steps of his house, wearing all red. New Haven calls for climate emergency, and for gun lessons, and for a twin pack of cigarettes (and of course, to Tax Yale). I am only a certain amount of native here.

13.08.19

Last night called for rain which came and stood, grey boots in the window at my awakening. Thanks to it now I am under the burbling skylight, wedged into the service stairs like a young délinquant, barefoot, sandal-tanned and flecked with black with but only waiting for my flats to dry. Donna Tartt narrates over me in alliterative phrases stuck there since high school English: “widow Dido,” “Popchik, Popchik.” She makes the packing of my lunch seem frantic. I am misted in parts and soaked in others. I contend with the parts of my commute I have the least affection for when they offer me shelter. Boring duties are renewed with care (I check my bag like a friend) and the umbrella surprises me with a watery caresse. The pour stops and starts in uncaring moods, while I marvel at the fleck of dry sand on my fingernail, as expertly dropped as a seagull’s bird shit.

Making food, spiked-seltzer drunk, feels like something I should be doing in my early twenties. Still in my shoes, not quite bumping into our move-in mess, navigating to the stove where my peppers are patiently cooking. Technically drinking alone, I suppose, although Nat and Trent are in the room next door. They’re as if teenagers had gotten married, playing locked-up video games, eating pop tarts and pop corn. I’m being mean, but still. Give me a friend other than myself to be arrogant and drunk with.

14.08.19

The day has felt like a skipping record. I sit with my shoes awkwardly up on the bar of the old geology classroom table where we have our lab meeting, legs apart, changing the position of my hands to look more like the men on the team. I’ve been wanting to project to them, and to convince myself, that I am confident, and unashamed of myself as a researcher. The flattened squamate skull Kelsey has been segmenting all summer spins evenly on the projection screen like a rainbow screensaver. “It took me a lot longer than I’d like to admit to figure out how to make it loop in PowerPoint,” she says, in the bored and awkward silence preceding Anjan’s arrival, “does anyone hear that ominous beeping noise?”

As the meeting goes on I feel bad for my cynicism. Anjan is helpful, and full of feeling; he kicks his voice into a fury about how the auditorium in the new science building will have no exhibits for modern research, only stupid, dead, drunkard white guys, dried out carrions in their graves whose work we refuse to shut up about. Pisses him off; he’ll go up and give them a piece of his mind. “How about you Alice?” eventually he turns as he does for each of us to ask about my progress, paused and attentive, a gooey ring of white exposed all around the iris. “That’s good!” I flicker my eyes around the room, unsure if I have ended my explanation. “If you’re working on vomeronasal projections you should look up nervus terminalus– nerve zero. It’s kind of an old theory, might be totally wrong but you never know. It’s worth looking up. Some of those old dudes tend to say more interesting things than some people in the field nowadays.”

I think back to the ominous beeping at the apartment, poked through my reading by the musical sting of Trent’s medieval strategy game a room away. He and Nat hadn’t realized I was home at first, and had cooed at one another in a way I knew I would only hear now as they would never do it around me again, and talked about how mushrooms tasted like cum, Trent explaining that he had, yes, sampled his own cum which is why he knew what it tasted like. I made myself coffee, which I never do, half milk and three spoons of sugar, feeling like a thief for taking from Nat’s Knick-knack teapot. Worse, I catch myself wanting a drink, in pathetic emulation of Theo’s own self-seriousness, the brooding, world-bereaved young man, for whom defensiveness is not only perfectly reasonable, but noble.

15.08.19

Jack, you came up in conversation with Nat. There’d been a build up to it all week, me thinking about morality and self-image, feelings of guilt, feelings of rancor. I sat on the couch, wrapped up into myself, furrowing my brow because I wanted to feel myself do it, wanted to put myself here, guilting profusely over every movement and word I said. I was too arrogant, didn’t notice when Nat stormed out that morning, I steered the conversation wrong (“how do you learn to do that right?” had asked Max) toward myself, or towards the wrong kind of comfort or advice or recognition, sloppy, really. Just sloppy, when you can be deft. And I thought about how guilty I felt for what I’d done to you I said, “if I forgive myself for what I did, then I am no better than him for forgiving himself, for absolving himself of the need to think of the pain he’s caused, and the pain he might cause in the future.” The difference, of course, and I don’t need a shrink to remind me, is that I need to hold us both to the same standard. That does not mean I’ll happily dismiss you to my advantage as deranged, or a dick, as you surely do me (I can almost hear it) but it does mean that I can expect for you to think on your behavior as much as I have mine, and when you do not (I have no way of confirming that you do) work accordingly. Same standard for you and I Jack— simple as that. For me and you and everyone else. Mix and match.

16.08.19

The next day I wake up thinking “let’s try impunity” and what an immediate delight. I walk and I see: GMC pickup, electric pole panel, security camera, parameter, when was this constructed? Are they working on Payne Whitney? Yale facilities vans have reference numbers. Brick patterns on the windows, tinted glass, where does this bus go? My voice picks up, I am un-embarrassed to speak, I listen to rap and move around the lab. I work. On the way back the air is breath-hot, and mercury light pushes out from behind the clouds in blingy prelude to a storm. I’ve selected a song of Lis’ that pulls my confidence all the way up through my spine, two gender-fucking voices, one slapping and modern, the other age-old and trilling.

17.08.19

I didn’t think I wanted to swim until my feet were in the water. Perhaps it is like weighted blankets and hugs that make you cry: being held never uses the front door of the mind. There is movement, my froggy propulsion through the water, and then there is the off-handed way the ocean sloshes to the shore with you still in it. I cannot conceive of the volume in any other way but the sea. Knowing what it is like to drown can change everything. Barnacle cuts are pink and radiant but impossible to feel, the opposite of paper cuts, which I suppose makes sense in more ways than one. I tie my ribbon around my hand like a tribal fisherman, hung up by all limbs in the water. I accost the dead skin on my heel. I speak and sing to myself. I do not notice the fog until it is in.

18.08.19

Shovel-fulls of visions arrested on their way to meaning. The day is jumpy and bored until. I am marvel-bound until I am talking, at which point I am stringing conversation and looking at your tattoos. Your eyes are clear, like lemon beer. The walls flake, and your photographs are grainy with dark, looking for fish in the deep. A sense of light, an understanding not semantic. A re-wiring. I climb and make, I sit in your smoke, I show the different angle which is absurd and funny, makes us tiny toys. You are from Moldova, I have to remember. I hold your hand on the backseat. You were talking yesterday about the moving holes of LSD.

19.08.19

The sequence of the day has seemed completely natural— something a hobbit would set their watch to from the porch, looking out into the turning of the world. Chris was around, and will be for the next few days since his New York conference got cancelled. We both understood the afternoon so well before carrying it out: we would both get chai lattes and bump around the Willoughby's unembarrassed when our orders get messed up, say we should “make the usual walk to the Div school” and stop to sit in a tree by the observatory, perch in the stormy wind like two academic birds in the Marsh Hall belfry, and chat about efficiency, and language, and morality. At work, it storms. I pack up to walk home some half hour after the rain and head to Stop and Shop in the gold-dripping postdiluvian afternoon: an excuse to see a neighborhood that isn’t mine, where streets fan out into the unknown, sparse with people and rife with churches, a zone I’ve not yet added to my mental map. I buy bread, hair ties for my roommate, “nice” jam for the other, slot them in my technicolor backpack, and glide home on the sound of crickets and seagulls beaming through the limpid air.

20.08.19

I’ve decided not to go to work (Laurel hasn’t asked for me, I’ve figured out the extraction problem on my own, I’m getting lunch with Chris and Julia near the med school, I’m not even getting paid anymore, I have other things to do, and if she needs me she can just text). The only thing I’ll be missing is the chill of the lab, without which we are faced with an unclenching strip of hot, humid weather than I scroll across the weather app on my phone. The apartment is still as whispery as a wood: spoon tinkling once against my chosen mug of tea, Trent or Natalie taking a rising sip from the vape pen, mindlessly clicking at a video game, against the faraway in-and-out of chittering cicadas.

21.08.19

Around 1:30am we left Viva’s and dropped Jenna off with her three-year-faithful, less-successful-than-her boyfriend (Andrew? It would be weird if Chris slept over with him walking around the one bedroom apartment in the morning) but the rest of us had other prospects. I guarded Christina like a puffed bird while she changed in the trunk of the car from a black striped shirt to a black striped sweater, and helped list the roofs in the area. I could do Dwight, Kris had the password to the Howe Street roof, and Cameron still technically had keys to the whole building, but their first suggestion had already taken it: the creepy, stony walls of St Lawrence Cemetery mausoleum.

Next, drinks: I had half a bottle of mango-nectar orange juice in the fridge, and a flask of vodka that’d last been used at dinner on Friday for one of Christina’s mosquito bites. Nat and Trent had moved in with a dreg of Maker's Mark, which was waiting on the kitchen counter, and Kris, of course, had more vodka at home. Halfway out of the apartment, waiting for Natalie to get dressed and join us, I couldn’t help but laugh at our situation: we’d pulled into the parking lot like a bunch of gangsters, crouched over the giant electric fan in the back seat, Kris smoking and blasting some dark, full, floor-of-the-mind Witchhaus for the entire tenement to hear. We were making things exactly as we wanted them, speeding off onto a road that was empty and ours with the arrogance of a Neo-Tokyo biker gang.

Campus, which had felt like a kingdom until yesterday, has been retaken without a breath of effort. The air smells like a firecracker, and the dorms like shoe-box houses. People have started partying, and practicing, and working, as if they had spawned there already in the act.

22.08.19

I am drunk and sober enough to write. We are magnificent tonight, you would see it. Our kisses barely hold back— I kiss Kris on her rough, shorn head, I rasp at her slenderness, the meeting angle of smile and cheek, I kiss Keduse on his good man’s t-shirt, on his Egyptian locks, the enamored look in his eyes and hands, I kiss Cameron with hands around the waist, into bony rebellion, hated and going, spirit that knows me in a pair, dyed hair.

And for those who are not with us, I have planted a kiss on your neck— feed me more alcohol. For those who are too lost to stay— you are guiding yourself, and we are here waiting. For those who are trying us, getting their feel— our love extends to you too. We are the city, that much I can tell. She is in the blinking foreign, she is in the dollhouse lights, she is in the streets of police and the things out of their sight. The drug dealer, the broke, the roped-up nervous boy, and those who’ve got nothing to lose, and everything to look for.

She is the stage for us, the in between. She knows I see her— she is the mint I bring to my lips with inexpressible longing: wilderness of love. I cannot smell it without knowing it exists. After all, she is here: kiss them, she says, for I cannot quite do it in a way they will understand. Dutifully I do, and imagine hers, smiling sadly, pearled horizon, born dressed. I will miss you, Christ! God I will miss you! How much I owe, and this fantastic longing, it stands for all the rest of it! What tender love I will feel until I am torn from this.

#creative writing #daily wriiting

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shineebebe · 7 years

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Surprise

(A/N: Smut themes throughout. Foreplay and body positivity. This one’s apart hair on women’s body’s. I’ve written one about plus sized girls before. Let me know if you like the body positivity theme.)

“So, what’s this surprise you have for me?”

Key asked with a smirk on his ridiculously gorgeous face once he pulled away from a intense make out session. Your lips practically throbbed, he kissed you so hard. Whilst Key was practising with SHINee, you decided to make a little change to yourself that you hoped Key would like; you’d been waiting all day for him to see it and when he came home, the two of you pounced on each other like always. How could you resist the walking sex god that was Kim Kibum? He was above you on the bed, running his hand up and down your thigh seductively. Your boyfriend knew it drove you crazy when he touched your inner thighs like that, even if they were covered with clothing. Anticipating, you bit down on your lower lip, gazing in to Key’s mischievous, sexy deep eyes.

“Why don’t you start to undress me and you’ll see.”

You teased, making Key’s eyes nearly pop of his skull. It wasn’t often that you were so forward but you couldn’t wait for Key to see his treat.

“My my baby. Unwrapping you like a birthday present. Let’s see what I’ve got for being a good boy.”

You wouldn’t object to being called a birthday present. He had a way with words; he turned you on immensely. Key started with lifting your top off your body, his eyes practically burning in to you as he couldn’t stop looking at your cleavage. He licked his lower lip, hungry for you and in awe of you.

“Hmm, no piercings or tattoos here.”

He uttered, looking at your stomach and your shoulders. You knew that was what he’d be expecting by a surprise but he really had no clue.

“What about here?”

He questioned, his fingers gently hooking under your bra straps and dragging them down your arms before reaching around you and unhooking the bra slowly, never taking his eyes away from yours. He had a cute, playful smirk on his model face and a gaze that said ‘I can barely wait for this surprise, I just want to devour you’. Of course his eyes fell to your bare breasts once your bra fell from your body. Again, Key was surprised.

“Huh. No nipple piercings here. That’s fine baby. I love these just the way they are.”

Key’s eyes glimmered with lust before he took a nipple in his warm mouth, sucking on them and teasing you with a burning desire. A sexually frustrated moan slipped from your mouth, running your fingers through Key’s dark hair, barely able to handle the pleasure Key was giving you from just his mouth alone. As he took a nipple gently between his teeth and pulled slightly, one of his hands snaked it’s way to your excited womanhood. Key was getting warmer. You pushed your hips up to meet his touch, your head falling to the side. Key took it as the perfect opportunity to kiss your neck passionately, tugging and kissing the sensitive skin in just the right erogenous zone. He loved the way you began to mewl and whimper, running your hands up and down his back. The sounds that came from your mouth made Key’s manhood stiffen until the point where it was almost painful.

“Where’s this present baby? I’m getting impatient.”

He whispered in your ear, oozing sex appeal and making your core so wet that you could feel your juices leaking on to your panties. In ecstasy, you groaned.

“Keep looking.”

You panted, telling Key that your surprise was actually on your bottom half. In a rush, Key began to yank your tight fitting jeans from your legs which was incredibly hot; you loved it when your boyfriend was so impatient to see your naked body, he practically tore your clothes off like a wild animal. You had to admit you felt pretty exposed compared to him and Key could read that from the anxiety in your eyes and the tenseness in your muscles. You watched him pull off his shirt, revealing his thin but masculine, alluring frame. Key’s eyes scanned your lower half like a hunter, seeing nothing new on your legs and feet, only catching a glimpse of the wetness showing through your panties. Now Key was ultra curious as he had nothing left to search apart from what was under the fabric covering your now aching to be touched pussy.

“Jagiya, what have you done to yourself? Is it naughty? Have you been a very bad girl?”

You bit down on your lip at his words. You hadn’t been a bad girl; you just wanted to be good for your man and try something you’d never tried before. Key crawled back between your legs and placed his lips on to yours, cupping your face with one hand while the other returned back to rubbing your panty covered folds. Your moan was lost in to the steamy kiss, opening your mouth just a little to play with Key’s tongue. He made the most sexy grunts and groans when you drew shapes on his bare back with your finger tips. He shivered under your touch, letting you know you had control over him too. Key was practically begging to know what his little surprise was and he was so close to finding out. Whilst you kissed him harder, enjoying getting lost in the feeling of his soft lips, you felt your panties being slipped off your legs ever so gently. You didn’t want Key to pull away from the kiss yet but his surprise was waiting for him. Of course the impatient man didn’t want to wait, as much as he was enjoying kissing you. Key gasped the moment he saw it.

“Jagi! Where has it all gone?!”

You pouted at the reaction; it wasn’t the one you were expecting.

“You don’t like it Bummie?”

You questioned, your sexual arousal being drowned out by disappointment. You sat up, crossing your arms over your exposed breasts.

“No it’s not that baby! I’m just shocked. It looks so different. It looks sexy of course but wow.”

Earlier, whilst you were in the shower, you spontaneously decided to shave all of your pubic hair off, thinking that Key would be really in to it. Your whole life, you heard guys talk about how they don’t like much hair or any hair down there at all and even though you trimmed your bikini line or sometimes shaved it a little bit, you wondered if Key had always wanted you to shave it off but never said it out loud.

“I thought you’d find it sexy baby. I did it to please you.”

You explained, looking at Key’s bewildered face, crossing your legs as he was still staring at your smooth mound. Key chuckled warmly, picking you up and making you sit on his lap. Key’s manhood was still hard and ready to go by the lump that was arising under you.

“Jagiya, listen to me. I’ve never had a problem with it before, right?”

He said sweetly, wrapping his arms around you and cuddling you close to him. Romantically, he kissed the top of your shoulders and your forehead, making you smile. It was hard to believe he was yours and all yours sometimes. You shook your head, no, he never seemed to have a problem with your pubic hair before. All of a sudden you realised you had no reasons to think that Key didn’t like your grooming regime.

“I don’t mind what you do with your body baby. You’re beautiful no matter what. I’m still going to be crazy about you.”

So the myth was settled; Key thought you were irresistible no matter what you decided to do with your body but he seemed like he wasn’t completely turned off with your change either as he laid you back on the bed and spread your legs wide apart. Key was practically drooling at you as he pulled his jeans and underwear off in one go. When you saw how hard he was for you, it was hard for you to be still and wait to taste him; Key had something in mind for you already. He leaned forward, lowering his head so close to where you wanted him, taking his manhood in his hand and playing with himself. Key groaned, going crazy with his greediness.

“Oh baby, I’m going to eat you until you cum in my mouth, over and over again. You can play when I’m done.”

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thehautegoddess · 6 years

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goddess mother: a dad's advice for moms raising sons

check out this vintage post from my old blog, haute mama in the city. although my boy is 12-years-old and becoming so independent, this post still rings true – i hope you enjoy!

i am completely in love with www.thegoodmenproject.com, a blog i found out about on twitter (@goodmenproject). here’s some background:

“the good men project is a glimpse of what enlightened masculinity might look like in the 21st century,” the press raved when we launched. finally, “a cerebral, new media alternative” to glossy men’s magazines. in fact, the good men project is not so much a magazine as a social movement. we are fostering a national discussion centered around modern manhood and the question, ‘what does it mean to be a good man’?“

the world desperately needs this, and i am more than happy to share. there are a ton of amazing tidbits on the site that i will be referencing frequently, but a post entitled, "raising boys (a dad’s advice for moms)” recently caught my eye.

i often speak of my son, who is my favorite thing in all the land, and i definitely grapple with the concept that while he is a child, which comes with its own set of issues, he is also a male. and just like i consistently have to contend with the *ahem* challenges (i am keeping my vibration high today…) associated with my male relationships, my sweet boy is no exception. i need to think like a man, so to speak, when dealing with him.

here are some of my favorite highlights from the post:

“think caveman. adult women have thousands of emotional states, as do girls like my daughter. boys, on the other hand, tend to feel one of three: mad, sad, happy. don’t project your complex emotional life on your son. his issue of the moment might not be that complicated. He wants to eat, poop, or run. on a really bad day he wants his toy back after some other kid took it from him. he doesn’t want to stare out the window and have lengthy discussions about the meaning of life, as my eight-year-old daughter often did." — this is really great advice. i am extremely emotional. extremely. when i am in crisis-mode, i can spend hours on the phone with my board of directors/life coaches (i.e., my friends) working through my issues. and i noticed that he already finds this incredibly strange - he rolls his eyes and seems totally annoyed with my girl talk. lol. this is why. i need not complicate the boy’s life with my girl drama! i am going to monitor my phone time, and try to conduct conversations when he is not around.

"watch his body not his mouth. again, like adult men, the clues to how your son is doing will show up first in his body language. jumping up and down with six-inch vertical leaps is the natural state of being and is good. slumped shoulders are bad. yelling is good. quiet needs attention.” — i know for sure this is true, because i remember the first time i saw my son’s posture change because someone hurt his feelings - and i will never forget that moment. when i pick him up from school, and he is jumping around like a crazy monkey, i know he had a great day.

“when in doubt, hug. boys will often have a much harder time than girls verbalizing their problems. my 5-year-old son will sometimes burst out into tears after seemingly trivial events. i know there is something deeper going on, but i am not going to get it out of him, at least not at that moment (whereas my daughter would not only tell me what went wrong but in no uncertain terms why it was my fault, which was generally true enough). so the solution is physical not verbal. i spend a lot of time just hugging my boys. i usually have no idea why. but as a default cure-all, it seems to work wonders. a minute later they are all patched up and ready to rumble again. this even works pretty well with my 14-year-old, who is a 6-foot-tall linebacker at boston college high school.”— i love to hug my boy. he is so sweet, and very loving, and i want him to be that way as a man. i have started making it a point to always hug him after i discipline him, and explain to him that God sent me to be his mommy and teach him how to be a good man, and discipline is part of that. and sometimes he just comes and crawls in my lap and wraps himself around me, and it’s the best thing ever because we have an unspoken moment of pure comfort. hugs effing rock.

“pointless physical activity is perfect. my brother and i once convinced his two sons and my older boy, when they were all around the age of 10, that they really needed to build a structure out of rocks. the rocks were on one side of a beach, but the perfect spot where the structure had to be built, according to our sage advice, was on the other side of the beach. each stone weighed between ten and thirty pounds. the boys started moving the boulders one by one, working together to lift the heaviest ones. my brother and i set up our beach chairs midway from the rock pile to building site. we read the paper most of the morning while the boys tired themselves out moving rocks and then assembling a tremendous cathedral. by lunch they were tired and happy, and my brother and i had enjoyed a peaceful morning." — i need to get more involved with this. i remember will smith said his father tore down a brick wall in front of their house and made he and his brother rebuild it - and although it took them months, they enjoyed the process! i thought that was the oddest thing - i guess that’s just what men do, chile…go figure :)

"crowds, not so much. i have noticed that my daughter lights up when she enters a crowd, whether family or strangers. mass humanity is something that gives her energy. with my boys, and, frankly, for me too, it’s the opposite. they get shy and tend to hide behind my legs. i try to protect them from these situations and not push them beyond their limitations." — my son is super outgoing, but i definitely notice that he sometimes shrinks in front of large crowds. in my effort to help him get over his trepidation, i often push him to be more confident. but now that i read that this is the nature of boys, i will back off, and let him naturally move.

"bedtime is sacred. because boys are so active, it’s hard to get them to sit still. the best time of day is the ten minutes before they go to sleep. crawl into bed with them, read books, and hold them while they fall off to sleep. if you don’t believe in God, you will once you have lain next to your overactive son while his body goes limp next to you, and he ever so faintly begins to snore." — this one is my favorite. one of the best moments of my day is lying in bed reading with my angel :) i love it, and rather than rush him to sleep, like i used to, i use it as a time to be still and reflect on our day and my tremendous love for him. i have found this time to be incredibly calming.

thank you to the better man project, as i learned a lot from this amazing story. i will apply what i have learned and continue to be on the lookout for signs from the universe on how to be the best mother i can be! :)

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