#in my hand is my phone with wikipedia locked and loaded | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sublimestarker · 5 years

Text

Starker smut - Trim my hedges

Peter Parker was loaded. Most of it was family money, inherited by his parents and his uncle, but he still managed to double that amount. He worked on apps, and sometimes invested in properties and stock, with his aunt’s permission. “You’re only 19, Peter live your life while you’re young” she’d say and if he had a penny for every time he heard it and rolled his eyes, he’d be even richer. But even she couldn’t deny that their luxurious lifestyle had it’s perks - a nice apartment in Queens and a vacation home in the Hamptons. They were currently there, the July sun shining on Peter’s Ray-Bans as he watched his aunt showing the new gardener around. He knew that the staff never stuck around for too long, so he opted for scrolling through his phone instead of watching the man. Peter was forced to meet him later, when May introduced them.

“Peter, this is our new gardener, Anthony Stark.”

“Please call me Tony.” He said and stretched his hand out to the younger man. Tony, in his tank top and his dirty gardening gloves shaking hands with Peter who was dressed in Gucci pants and had a new Rolex on his wrist was a sight.

“Alright boys, play nice.” May ordered, before going back in the house.

“Kid, you should go in too, I’m gonna trim the hedges and it will get pretty loud.”

“Don’t worry, I have these.” Peter fished out a pair of Airpods from his pocket, and placed them in his ears, his music on low volume, so that he stayed focused. He wanted to observe the gardener a bit more. That guy wasn’t May’s usual type - tall, blonde, with muscles and blue eyes, like the precious ones. Peter particularly missed Steve Rogers, or Captain America,as they called him and a guy who he just called Thor. He had fucked them both, leading to their unemployment, thanks to his aunt. He still remembers the vicious arguments they got in.

“If you didn’t want me to have sex with guys who are twice my age you shouldn’t bring them over.” Peter yelled as he saw that May had fired Steve. His nerves got the best of him and he knew it.

“I didn’t bring them over, I asked them to work for me. You should really think of who you’re seen with, your little hookups can lead to bad press.” May shouted back. He hadn’t seen her this angry with him since he gambled last year.

“Bad press? What is this the 60s. I can sleep with whomever I want and the paparazzi won’t bat an eyelash.”

“Though you should be free to do whatever you want with your body, I’m still the adult here, Peter. There should be some limits. I just want the best for you, I don’t want you to get hurt like last time.”

“We’re still on that. I told you it was just a one time thing.”

“Is that why you were cooped up crying in your room for months. Because of a one time thing. Look I don’t want another Bucky breaking your heart.”

“Don’t call him that. Only I can say that. To you and everyone else he’s James.”

“But he wasn’t, wasn’t he. He was Bucky to his wife and kids, wasn’t he.”

“Get out.”

“Peter I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep my boundaries.”

“I said get out.” He screamed, face red and tears welling up in his eyes. He even threw a framed picture at where May stood moments ago.

Peter was snapped out of that memory when he felt his gardener tapping him on the shoulder.

“You’re so deep in thoughts that you didn’t feel that the first few times, huh kid. Anyway, I need to mow the lawn, so I’d suggest you move.”

“You don’t make the suggestions here. If I wanted I could get you fired right here on the spot.”

“Nice try kid, but I know that your aunt’s the boss here. Plus what are you going to do after you fire me? Replace me with a blonde, blue eyed muscular jock.”

Peter clenched his fist in anger.

“May told you.”

“Yeah, she didn’t want me making the same mistakes as the previous gardeners. Though looking at your attitude, I’m sure she won’t have a problem.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“Oh, I know everything about you. Because I was you. I was a rich brat, with lots of cash and lots of fuck buddies.”

“Anthony Stark, Tony Stark, my father used to know your father. Wait, the Wikipedia article said that you ran away from home one night and that you’ve been MIA ever since.”

“Yeah kid, I know what it says, I wrote it. The truth isn’t that glamorous or mysterious. One night my old man saw me sneaking in my boyfriend. He banished me, it was a different time then. And I’ve been on my own since then. I was 18 and on the street, it was literally rags to riches, but well riches to rags. I tried a lot of things. Took a few odd jobs, went to community college, even tried to get back into the family business after my dad passed. Well nothing worked and here I am, in what I’m convinced is my personal hell on earth.”

“Why did you take this job then? You knew what you were getting into.”

“Because it’s the only way I can get money.”

“You see that little garden over there - Steve planted marigolds for me when he was still here. They should bloom in a week. If you stay at your job until then, you’re free to leave and I’ll even give you an extra 10 k. But if i seduce you before that, you’ll have to work here, all summer, every year. Do we have a deal?”

“Sure kid. Just don’t go crying when you can’t afford to get a new Audi because I can keep it in my pants.”

The next day Peter set his plan in motion, thanking God that May had to go back to New York to handle some unexpected business. He was going simple - sunbathing while Tony was working. So he sat in his chaise lounge, Versace sunglasses on and a tiny pink thong. Better to leave somethings to the imagination. Plus skinny dipping in his pool was one of his other options.

Seeing that his gardener was coming, Peter rubbed some tanning lotion on his milky white skin, before saying seductively.

“Hey, can you help me with the back.”

“Sure kid.”

He spread the lotion down the younger man’s back, obeying every command to go lower.

Tony’s hands were millimeters from Peter’s ass, when the older man leaned in and whispered in his ear.

“Why don’t you get dressed before your neighbor comes over to greet you.”

“Neighbor? Wait someone’s coming over for the summer? Which house is it, the one on the left of the right?” Peter asked frantically as he covered himself with a towel. It couldn’t be, right. He wouldn’t come back here again.

“Right. Why?”

“Did you see who was there? Was it just a woman, or a man, or a couple with kids?”

“It was a couple. What don’t you know your neighbors? If it helps jog your memory, the man had a sleeve tattoo of a biomechanical arm, can’t miss it.”

“Bucky.”

“You do know them. So, what is Bucky some old guy, whose son you fucked or something?.”

“He’s my ex. And he absolutely mustn’t see me.”

As if on que, there was a ring on the doorbell.

“Please get it.”

“Kid you have to reap what you sew. I’m not bailing you out.”

“I’ll pay you.”

“Get in the house before he can see you.” Peter flashed him a smile, before jogging into the house. Locking himself in his room, he peaked through the curtains to see what was going on. He could spot Bucky and Tony arguing, then his ex leaving. His gardener then climbed up the stairs and knocked on Peter’s door.

“Thank Tony. I owe you one.”

“Cash rules everything around me, kid. Now come on, give me the money, Parker.”

“How about a blowjob, it’s worth more than I could ever give you in cash.” Peter tried his luck.

“The money, now.” Tony said through his teeth, one hand gripping Peter’s throat.

“Yes daddy.” The younger man replied instinctively, and made a mental note of how Tony bit his lip at that. Peter grabbed a pen and his checkbook, writing a quick cheque to Tony.

“There’s an extra grand for your silence on everything that happened.”

“Pleasure working with you kid.”

Peter could see Bucky’s car driving away, thanks to someone telling Ms. Barnes exactly where her husband had been earlier.

A few days passed and Peter tried his best to seduce Tony. From skimpy outfits to touches that lingered on for more that they should have, nothing seemed to work. But he had some tricks up his sleeve.

Tony had almost forgotten about the younger man’s seduction attempts and didn’t think much before accepting his proposal of a movie night. He was lounging on the expensive white couch with Peter in gray sweatpants beside him. The movie was Beach rats, Pete’s pick of course. But when them first sex scene started on the screen, Tony noticed something unusual, Parker was moaning. Taking his eyes from the screen Stark noticed that not only was the younger man moaning, he was touching himself. He didn’t stop stroking his cock when he noticed the gaze on him, he even started thrusting faster.

“Peter that’s indecent exposure.”

“But I’m not exposing anything, Mr. Stark. There’s a perfectly good movie and you’re watching me. Seems like you want to sleep with me.”

“Fine, if that’s how you wanna play it, I’ll watch the movie.” Tony said as he glued his eyes to the tv. He was staying focused until

“Tony” a desperate breathy moan cane from Peter’s lips. Ignore it, your will is strong.

“Mr. Stark, please.”. He’s just some little bratty twink.

“Fuck me, Tony.” You could be his dad.

“Daddy”. With that Peter came, his eyes were closed and his cheeks were a rosy shade of pink. Tony still kept his eyes on the screen, but there was a bulge in his jeans. Peter didn’t miss that and quickly came up with a plan on how to work with that.

“Well I’ll have to do laundry now. Mind if I squeeze past?” He said and accidentally fell into Tony’s lap, grinding his hips, feeling the throbbing member beneath him.

“Wow, Mr. Stark, you’re packing. You know I usually don’t care about size, but damn I’m sure you.” Before he could finish his sentence, Tony pushed him away.

“Don’t touch me, kid.”. Well plan failed.

Tomorrow was Peter’s only chance to seduce Tony. It wasn’t about the money anymore, nor was it a matter of pride. The younger man was genuinely in love and that terrified him.

Maybe if Peter fucked Tony all these feelings would just disappear. He was determined to find out. That morning they didn’t even exchange words. Tony was working by the pool when Peter jumped in. He swam a lap, before tossing his swimming trunks by the other man. Then he decided to practice his backstroke, showing off his “technique”.

“Care to join me? You don’t need a swimsuit. Come on daddy.”

Tony just sighed and started stripping. Peter’s eyes sparked up with joy. He was winning. And more importantly he was going to be fucked in his pool. Looking his crush up and down, he bit his lip. For an old man Tony had a nice body. Toned abs, big biceps, that perfect v that drove the guys crazy and his dick. Peter couldn’t wait to have it in his mouth, running his tongue over the uncircumcised length.

“Earth to Parker.” Tony was right next to him, oh god, he was so hard for the older man. “You know this week I realized that you get flustered by me. You, Peter Parker the handsome rich boy who can have any guy, likes me, an old man.”

“You’re not that old.”

Tony took steps forward and Peter backwards, until his back hit a wall. Peter’s breath hitched and Tony leaned into him, their lips millimeters apart.

“Is it worth it, if you loose all the money.” Peter asked, clearly taunting the other man.

“Everything’s worth it for you, baby boy.”

Peter closed his eyes and pressed his soft lips against Tony. But instead of feeling lips, he felt a hand. Anthony had placed his large palm between them.

“Psych.”. He said, before exiting the pool and drying off with Peter’s towel. Peter shamelessly rutted his hips against that same towel before cuming with Tony’s name on his lips.

The next day the marigolds had bloomed. Peter picked one and placed it behind his ear, as a sigh of defeat.

When Tony arrived he wasn’t dressed in his usual gardening clothes, but instead he was in a rainbow crop top and booty shorts.

“Parker where’s my cheque. I’m dying to go to the bank like this.”

“Oh, I was prepared to give you cash.” Peter said, opening his Balenciaga fanny pack to reveal stacks of 100 dollar bills.

“I want a cheque. I want to have physical proof that Peter Parker couldn’t seduce me.”

“Fine.” Peter pouted, stomping his feet up to his bedroom, followed by Tony. When he wrote the cheque, he handed it to the older man.

“Oh, Peter, one more thing.”. Before Peter could say anything, Tony pressed his lips against his. The kiss was hungry and sloppy, all tongue and teeth clashing together. The older man almost ripped off the buttons of Peter’s shirt, playing with his nipples. Tony pulled down his lover’s pants.

“Going commando? I bet you were watch me work and play with yourself, wishing that I was touching your sensitive cock, huh baby.”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Well you don’t have to wish for it any more, cause it just came true.”. Tony palmed Peter’s erection, swirling the precum from his head to the base.

“Need to taste you, baby boy.”. With one bob of his head Tony could deepthroath Peter. His cock was sensitive, he was ready to come just from that.

“Daddy please.”

“Fuck, baby boy, you have to be needier than that. As much as I like having your pretty cock in my mouth, I want you. Get on your hands and knees for daddy.”

“Lube and condoms are in the bedside drawer.”

Tony kissed Peter reassuringly, then coated his fingers in lube. His finger slid in easily.

“Baby boy, did you play with yourself this morning?”

“Yes.”

“And who did you think about?”

“You, daddy.”

“You know that bad boys get punished. Count how many spanks I’m gonna give you.”

Tony’s hand struck Peter’s bottom, loving how the younger man’s hole tightened around him. After 5 spanks Peter was a mess. His ass was red and he was drooling on the pillow, begging for Tony’s cock inside of him.

“Just a but more, baby.” said the older man. He couldn’t take the teasing either. He had to have his baby boy, now. So he just added two fingers and scissored them, opening up Peter. As the younger man moaned, Tony opened the condom and lubed it up, before entering his lover.

“Fuck, baby boy, you’re so tight for me.”

“Daddy, you’re so big, you feel so good.”

“Beg for me, Peter.”

“Daddy, please harder. I need you, please.”

“Okay, baby.”. Tony bottomed out, causing Peter to let out an almost pornographic moan.

“Right there. I’m gonna cum.”

“Say my name.”

“Tony.”

“Try again, baby boy.”

“Mr.Stark.”

“I won’t let you cum if you’re wrong one more time.”

“Daddy.”

“That’s right, baby boy. Now come for me.”. Peter came, making a mess on his bedsheets. He rode it out quickly, cock softening.

“Help daddy come, Peter. Touch yourself.”

“But I’m still sensitive, it hurts.”

“Do you want me to feel good?”

“Yes daddy.”. Peter touching himself and let out a whimper, his hard cock already twitching in his hand. Tony wrapped his fist against him, causing him to groan out and slow his pace.

“Don’t stop ,baby, I’m almost there.”. Just as Tony came, he could feel Peter’s hole tightening, the boy had come again.

“You did so good, baby boy. I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you daddy. Can you help me wash off, all this cum is sticky.”

#starker #tony stark #peter parker #ironspider #iron man #spiderman #peter parker x tony stark #tony stark x peter parker #starker smut #smut #lemon

360 notes · View notes

nikita-swervin · 5 years

Photo

Rumors

As the oldest house in Forks, Washington, it was no surprise Wintervale Estate was rumored to be haunted. The whole town knows the story, or so they thought. The 75th anniversary of the town was next year and planning was underway. As a high school student and a staff writer for the school webzine, I was tasked with writing an article about a point of interest, as were other writers. Our sponsor and teacher had given us a list of topics to consider, the Estate was one. In true teenage fashion, meaning we couldn’t think up our own ideas, we made a card for each and drew lots.

Yep… you guessed it, I was the unlucky person to get Wintervale Estate. Sure, I had heard the stories, the speculations, and rumors, but I never thought I would ever dig into the history of the house, let alone set foot in it. But, we are getting ahead of the story. My journey down the rabbit hole began where many often do… with a trip to the library.

With my boyfriend, Edward Cullen, in tow, I drove to the town’s small library. He was a history buff like me and often accompanied me on research trips, whether it was for a school assignment or some personal knowledge. I loved that I he came with me. When he found out what I was writing about he was intrigued and had it not been for the fact we had three more classes, we would have been at the library sooner.

I approached the circulation desk and waited patiently as Ms. Cope finished with a phone call.

“Ah, Bella,” she greeted, putting the handset down. “What can I help you find?” She quirked an eyebrow at me before greeting Edward.

Ms. Cope was a good friend and avid reader like me. She knew my taste in books and would always have two or three of the new arrivals set aside for me, however, it was the middle of the month and a good two or three weeks before the next round of new books. “I’m working on a story of the webzine,” I started, pausing a moment.

She motioned with her hand for me to go on.

“It’s about Wintervale,” I said, leaning closer to her and whispering.

“I see.” She eyed me over rim of her glasses for a long moment and then moved her gaze to Edward before nodding. “You two can handle it and might be able to make things right.”

“Make things right,” Edward echoed. “What do you mean?”

Ms. Cope said nothing and turned her back. Opening a drawer, she retrieved a set of keys. She came around the desk and kept walking. I took that as to follow her.

We walked down the stairs and into the basement. The lights flickered and there was a low buzz. Much like upstairs, books lined shelves however they were so dusty you couldn’t read the titles and some had cobwebs dancing in the wake of Ms. Cope’s passing. We came to a stop in front of a wooden door. I could barely make out the faded word – ARCHIVES.

“I don’t know the state of this room. It has been at least a decade since anyone has requested to see the documents within. Darn technology. It ruins all the fun of research.” She unlocked the door and handed me the keys, indicating the key to use to lock the door back up and promptly left.

I looked over my shoulder at Edward. He shrugged. “I guess we have the run of the place,” he said, walking around me and placing his hand on the doorknob. “After you.”

I shook my head and Edward chuckled, moving into the room and feeling for the light switch. The light was dim but would do. There was a long table in the middle of the room, ten file cabinets lined the rear wall opposite the only door, three or four bookcases side-by-side to our right, and two ancient microfiche readers to the left. I set my laptop down on the surprisingly dust-free table and started it up. Moving toward the file cabinets, I looked at the neatly printed labels on the front of the drawers. Each label had a year on it, going back to before the town was recognized by Washington state.

Where to begin? I thought as Edward moved toward the bookcases.

I walked over to the file cabinets. The drawers were labeled with years going back ten years before Forks was officially recognized by the state. Oldest house, I reminded myself and opened the drawer from 1935. Reels of film greeted me and appeared to be labeled with date ranges. Not knowing when the estate was built, I didn’t want to grab one at random and hope it had an article or image on it.

“Did Ms. Cope seem like she would be much help, Edward?” I asked.

“No. There is a lot of books and annuals on the shelves, but without basic information, how do we know where to start?” He turned and leaned back against a shelf.

“Your mom?” I suggested. Edward’s mom, Esme was an interior designer and knew the insides of almost every house in Forks. She was also a history buff. “If she doesn’t know, she might be able to tell us who could help.”

He pulled his iPhone out of his pocket and hit a series of spots on it. A few moments later, his mom’s voice was filling the air. “Hello.”

“Hey, Mom. Bella and I were hoping you could help us out with some information on Wintervale Estate.”

“Wintervale,” she whispered. “What are you two planning?”

That was a strange question. Esme knew the school webzine was working on articles for the 75th anniversary of the town. “That’s the topic I was assigned for the article,” I answered. “We are at the library doing research and can’t find anything. Do you know when it was built? Or, who would know?”

The line went dead. Edward looked at the screen. “She hung up.”

“She knows something, but doesn’t want to tell us is my guess as to why.”

“Web search it is.” Edward sat down at my laptop and connected to the libraries Wi-Fi. He plugged in the name into Google and hit enter. He found a Wikipedia page with a brief entry.

WINTERVALE ESTATE – Half-way house for those released from the mental institution with nowhere else to go or the family refuses to care for them. Builder unknown as is the date of construction. All attempts to obtain information have failed.

There was a single picture of a young man standing next to a brick column with a gate just visible. There was sign the read Wintervale. The photo was sepia and what laid behind the column and gate couldn’t be made out. Edward hit back and went to several other sites. None of them had any useful information or built on the Wikipedia entry.

“Okay, so what do we know from the stories we heard growing up?” I asked.

“Hmm,” Edward said, tapping his chin. “I was always told to stay away from the abandoned house.”

I nodded. My dad and grandmother had both warned me away. “When I asked why, I was told that it was not safe to go into. That the floorboards on the porch and the house where rotted and couldn’t support much weight.”

“Same. My parents didn’t want me to get hurt. Then there are the rumors of it being haunted.”

I scoffed. “Rumors are always floating around but that doesn’t mean they are true.”

Edward shook his head. I was a skeptic in all things supernatural and he knew it. Ghosts, goblins, witches, whatever are characters in stories nothing more. Haunted houses were thrilling but when all is said and done, it was trick wires and people in costumes doing the scaring. To think there are real spooks haunting an old, broken-down house was plain ridiculous.

“I’m going to go and talk to Ms. Cope. Maybe she can give us a starting point,” Edward said, getting up from the table and stretching. “After all, she did say ‘maybe you can make things right.’”

We trudged back through the basement stacks to the stairs. Blinking in the bright light coming through the windows, it took us a moment to find Ms. Cope. She wasn’t at the circulation desk. We found her in the office on the phone. She looked up and raised a finger, ending the call with a few hushed words.

“Find what you needed?”

“No. We need a little assistance,” Edward said. “Do you know when the house was built?”

“1935. There should be film for the year. Maybe an annual. Anything else?”

I shook my head. “That gives us a starting point.”

Back in the basement, I went to the cabinets and opened the one for 1935. There were six reels. I brought out all and gave half to Edward. He went over to one of the readers without me having to ask. I sat at the other one and loaded it.

It was the second of my reels, that I found a brief article.

February 8, 1935

Groundbreaking at Wintervale Estate

The Cope family has broken ground today on westside of town, but it was not without incident. A terrible snowstorm felled a tree. One large limb hit Phineas Cope, breaking his leg. The young boy of six is expected to make a full recovery.

“Edward,” I called once I finished the brief article. “The Cope family owned Wintervale. Do you think Ms. Cope is related the original owners?”

He turned and looked at me. “Good question. Write it down and we’ll ask her.”

I went back to the reels. Going through three more months before finding another article on the same reel.

September 29, 1935

Death at Wintervale Estate

Six-year-old Phineas Cope has passed away for complication of his broken leg. The doctor is baffled as to the cause. When questioned the doctor replied the leg had healed nicely. However, the family spokesperson said the leg was weak and could not support boy’s weight for long periods of time.

I made note and found in October’s paper Phineas’ obituary.

“Bella, have you found anything about Phineas?”

“Two articles and his obituary. What did you find?”

Edward reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “I found an article about his mother, Mary, seeing him at the bottom of a hole right as cement was being poured. She was later institutionalized and died still claiming her son was alive.”

“When did she die? And where?” I asked as I scribbled down the information.

“Mary died on her son’s birthday, December 2, 1935 in her room at Wintervale.”

I felt my face scrunch up. “When was the house finished?”

“A month before her death,” Edward answered. “The reporter speculated she was haunted by her son.”

Something was I had heard came to the forefront of my mind. Rumors about the house and its occupants, but if it was abandoned then how was in occupied? I told Edward what I remembered.

He chuckled. “Always the skeptic, Bella. I’ve heard the same and believe Mary and Phineas never left. We should go check out the house. Look in the windows.”

I shivered at the suggestion. “I don’t know. I have enough for the article.”

“Bella, Bella, Bella. We have a mystery to solve. Something to set right. The truth to find out. What really happened to Phineas and Mary? Why did it become a half-way house? Where’s the reporter? The truth seeker?”

Edward looked at me, hard. “You’re not scared, are you?”

“No. Why would I? I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“Then let’s go. We can always come back. For now, I think we have enough question and old newspaper articles are not going to help answer those questions.”

“What about the annuals,” I said, digging my feet in. I wasn’t scared in the least bit. And Edward’s questions were good.

“We can come back, Bella. I’m sure Ms. Cope will let us back in. I don’t think we will find our answers here.” He stood and held out his hand. “Come on. Be adventurous.”

I rewind the reel before standing. After cleaning up, we left the room and informed Ms. Cope we were leaving and would possibly be back.

#oswc2019 #writing #writing challenge

2 notes · View notes

minyoongimakesmefeelthings · 6 years

Text

PPOYH Request: Jimin wants to knot you

This one-shot takes place in the 'Paw Prints On Your Heart' universe, based on a hybrid fanfiction I made. To understand this request, you can read Paw Prints On Your Heart here!

You sigh as you scroll through the endless Wikipedia page on your phone. It's been 6 months since you've met Jimin and live together. You never took care of a hybrid and eventough you always thought hybrids and humans are pretty much the same, there were alot of things to learn about hybrids. So you promised yourself to learn something each day. You were honestly suprised with how little you knew.

You eyes wander to the title of the Wikipadia page you were on. 'Hybrids In Heat' it says. You scroll through the page without reading any of the info. You knew enough about Jimin's heat. Jin explained you everything there was to know. You stop scrolling when you see a blue link between the lines of black text. 'Knotting' it said.

You raise an eyebrow. You know what knotting is. You only never had any idea hybrids could do that too. Interested, you press the link and start reading the Wikipedia page that pops up.

"During mating the tissues swell up and locks immediately after penetration of the male's penis inside the female. The locking is completed by circular muscles just inside the female's vagina tightening thus preventing the male from withdrawing. Hybrids can control the muscles in the penis and can therefor control if they knot or not."

"Y/N?"

You look up from your phone to see Jimin standing infront of you. "Huh? Ah, Jimin!" You sit up a little bit more straight, causing a little friction between your legs, making you bite your lip. "Sorry, I-I was caught up in reading." You chuckle.

"What were you reading?" Jimin asks, taking a seat next to you on the couch, sitting in a cross legged position.

You stare at Jimin for a second. Unsure if it would be awkward to start a conversation about this topic. "Eh.." You lick your dry lips. "I was reading about 'knotting'.. Do you know what that is?" You ask him, your voice trailing off after every word.

Jimin's eyes widen after the word slipped out of you mouth. A deep red blush appearing on his cheeks. "E-Eh.. Y-Yeah.." He responds, looking down at his lap, avoiding eyecontact with you.

"Have you ever knotted someone?" You ask, your curiousity getting the best of you.

Jimin's head snaps up at you. He's even redder than before, if that was even possible. "I..-" Jimin swallows the lump in his throat. "Once."

"How was it?"

"Y/N!"

Your eyes widen at Jimin. "O-Oh! I'm sorry Jimin! That must be personal, I didn't mean it like that! I'm just curious.."

Jimin stares at you for awhile. "It was good.. It's a different way of cumming.." Jimin suddenly whispers after some silence.

You lean forward a bit towards him. "Really?" You ask interested, hoping he would tell you more.

Jimin nods. His eyes glued on the hands in his lap. "Yeah." He says. You keep staring at Jimin, hoping for more details, but instead Jimin looks up at you. "Y/N.." He starts. "I always wanted to knot you."

You blink a few times as the words Jimin's just said and process them in your head. You furrow your eyebrows together. "B-But Jimin.. Knotting me won't do anything.. I'm a human, you can't get me pregnant anyway..-"

"I know," Jimin interupts. "But you are my mate. And I know I can't get you pregnant and I know it won't do anything, but I guess it's a hybrids way to really say that I love you, because I really do and I understand if you don't want to and..-"

Ofcourse the thought of Jimin knotting you is crossing your mind now. Giving you a warm feeling between you legs. The idea of him stretching you out like that, filling you up even more than he already does, is honestly driving you crazy.

"Then do it." You say, interupting Jimin's rambeling.

Jimin's eyes widen. "W-What?"

You lean forward even more, basically crawling over to Jimin, pushing him down on his back. Your face a few inches from his before you stop moving, your lips ghosting over his. "Do it, Jimin. Knot me." You whisper.

"Y-Y/N.." Jimin starts stuttering, feeling your breath on his face. "I don't know.. Female humans aren't build, down there, to take a knot.. It can hurt you."

You lick you lips, looking down at Jimin's lap to see a tent formed in Jimin's pants. "I beg the differ." You smrik. "You always wanted this? Now's your chance." You said before crashing your lips against Jimin's, quickly passing your tongue past his lips, making Jimin moan softly into the kiss. While you kiss him, you slip your hand towards his zipper, slowly zipping his jeans open. You take the hem of his jeans and wiggle it down, together with his boxer, making his erection jump out and hit his lower stomach, making Jimin hiss.

You crawl on top of Jimin and sit down on his cock. "Y/N.. You're so wet already.." Jimin says biting his lip when he feels the wet fabric of your panties on his cock. "I can smell how ready you are."

You rock your hips in small cirkles, making Jimin moan softly and giving yourself some much needed friction. "Ready for me to be knotted." You say softly.

Jimin groans. "Y-Y/N.." He closes his eyes, trying to concentrate on his conversation with you and not the pleasure you give him. "I-I don't want to h-hurt you.." He says, the last word coming out as a moan as you grind down on him a little harder.

"Come on Jimin," You start, lifting yourself up onto your knees, displaying yourself to Jimin. Your hand slides down to you panties, you push them aside, showing Jimin your dripping pussy. "Make me feel good." You almost beg. You can see Jimin staring at your heat, licking his lips. You have him right where you want him.

With your other hand you take his cock and hold him still against your enteracne, wetting the tip with your own juices, dragging it up and down your slit. You let yourself sink down onto his cock, ever so slowly, it's even driving you insane. You smrik when you see Jimin throw his head back.

Jimin harshly digs his nails into your hips and slams you down hard, hitting your spot in one try. You gasp. Jimin's eyes go dark and his lip pulls back from his teeth for just a moment; he growls, low and dangerous in his throat.

"Don't tease," He snarls. "Don't tease, I can't stop, I don't want to hurt you, I can't..-"

"Come on," You urge, rocking you hips down on Jimin's cock, bouncing up and down slightly. "Come on, knot me. Knot me like a good boy."

You see Jimin lick his lip. "Lift yourself up a bit." He commands. You nod and lift yourself up bit. He takes an even tighter hold of your hips and forcefully thurst into you rapiditly. Your mouth goes agape by the sudden force he uses, amazed by his speed.

After a few painfully hard thrusts, you feel something you never felt before, you can really feel Jimin's cock get thicker, as if the top of his shaft wants to lock with your circular muscles and suddenly, a pop and it's in. Is that.. The knot locking? "A-A-Ah, wait.. Wait! You pant, slightly in panic when Jimin wanted to thrust deeper into you after the pop.

He stops. Jimin is obviously using every bit of restraint he has left to not thrust upwards. "Y/N?"

"It's a lot," You breathe, trying to relax around it. You feel tears welling in your eyes as the burning gets worse.

"It's going to get bigger." Jimin whispers. "Much bigger.. S-Should we stop?" He asks, worrying when he sees a tear rolling down your cheek. He bites his lip.

"Just.. A minute.. It only hurts a little.." You whimper. You stay there, still as stone, for a few minutes while your body gets used to it, as you feel yourself getting scretched out more and more. The sharp pain suddenly turning into pleassure as you let out a soft moan.

Jimin slowly begins to thrust again, picking up his pace. sharp, quick ones that make you close tight around the shaft of his cock. His knot swells, and you begin to sweat and shake.

"Y-Y-You're so t-tight.." Jimin moans. The short, even thrusts build until they're just as fast as before but they're more careful; less in and out, more grind. It's getting harder and harder to thrust into you and Jimin begins to breathe heavily again. He digs his fingers into your hips so hard, trying do burry himself into you as deep as possible, that you can feel the bruises form. He's holding on for dear life, as if that grip is the only thing keeping him upright.

"Fuck," You gasp, when Jimin hits the perfect spot.

"There?"

"Yes, right there. Right there, oh fuck, right there." The shorter jabs are better suited to this, and the sensation is electric, a familiar feeling in your stomach growing.

"Y/N, I-I need to cum..- I want you to- Are you close?"

"Yes. Yes, don't stop. Keep-keep-right there..-"

Jimin's knot continues to swell until it feels as if it's going to rip you in half; It's practically grinding your g-spot with every minute shift and if that wasn't enough, you suddenly feel Jimin's thumb rub small cirkles against your untouched clit, giving it the attention it craved so badly. "Oh my God, Jimin. Jimin, oh my God, yes..-" Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, making you moan out Jimin's name loudly, throwing your head back.

At the same time Jimin cums inside of you with a load groan, his hips rocking out your high and his own as you feel you insides flooded with cum. The feeling makes you gasp for air.

You both go still. Very, very still. The only sound being heard is yours and Jimin's heavy breathing.

"Y/N," Jimin breathes, shaking. "This.. This is going to take a while."

You turn your head towards Jimin, looking down. "Fine, I'm fine. I..- God, Jimin, you're so deep inside of me I can't feel anything but you." You say with a dry chuckle, breathing heavily.

"I like being this close to you." Jimin whispers, locking eyes with you. "You're mine, Y/N. It feels like that..- Like you're all mine now."

"I am, good boy." You smile, exhausted.

"You can.. You can lie down forward, against my chest. If you like?" Jimin suddenly suggests.

You nod, lean forward, placing your hands on his chest and your face against Jimin's colorbone. Closing your eyes.

"Are you okay?" Jimin asks, his hand drawing small cirkles on your back.

You smile. "I'm perfect."

It takes a little under half an hour for the knot to grow small enough to come out safely. By that time you're so used to feeling of every inch filling you, you almost wish you could stay that way.

"Take a deep breath and relax for me, okay?" Jimin asks, ever so slowly edging out, lifting you of off him. You hiss when you feel him pull out ever so slowly.

You collaps back into Jimin's chest, panting, when he is fully out of you. You can feel the cum drip past you thighs. It's alot more than usual, which you knew would be the case. You groan. "Sorry.. I will clean that up later.." You say.

You close your eyes as you almost fall asleep, before you suddenly feel Jimin's lips against yours, he tongue passing your lips as he lazily kisses you. You keep your eyes closed and kiss him back, just as lazy. Jimin pulls away from the kiss and places his wet lips on your forehead. "I love you," He whispers against your skin. "I know it hurt you.. I-I know, Y/N, I just..- I'm sorry, okay?" He says.

"Oh my god, do not apologize," You say. Your hand reaching up to his fluffy ears, petting him. Reasuring him you're fine. "I loved it. I love you. It was amazing."

"Y/N.. I'm so happy you're my mate."

"And I'm happy to be your mate."

1K notes · View notes

steves-on-a-plane · 6 years

Text

Grant & Ed

Words: 2018 Stony (Steve Rogers x Tony Stark) Reader Insert Main Character Coffee Shop AU (Kind of) MCU Timeline: Captain America: Civil War Prompt Credit: @dailyau & @mundej-deactivated2018528 Summary: Reader has been working at a coffee shop for nearly a year and grows increasingly curious about two of her regulars “Grant” & “Ed” who always come to the cafe together. That is until one day “Grant” arrives alone.

You hadn’t been working at the coffee shop very long. You leaned against the counter and did a rough calculation in your head. It had been about nine months. Though your tenure had not been as lengthy as most of your co-workers, you’d gotten good at your job quickly. You’d had to. People took their morning routines, and their coffee, very seriously. After about a month you’d gotten to know who the regulars were and their orders. You seemed to be generally liked among the customers and for the most part you liked them too. Eventually, your fake smile and cheery greetings came to be genuine acts of delight.

But there were two customers in particular that you always looked forward to seeing. One of them was a blonde with striking blue eyes. He always flashed you a warm smile when placing his order. The other seemed, at least to you, as his complete opposite. He had brown hair and brown eyes. Where the blonde generally looked put together at all times the other man had this air of always being slightly disheveled. His pockets seemed to be stuffed with old receipts, scraps of paper or loose dollar bills. Sometimes his tie was slightly askew or one of his suitjacket buttons would have gotten missed.

You’d come to know them as “Grant” (the blonde) and “Ed” (the brunette) though you’d always assumed those weren’t their real names. While they were always polite to you and your co-workers they preferred to keep to themselves. Generally, “Grant” would place the order, while “Ed” fumbled around his seemingly endless number of pockets looking for enough money to pay the tab. Their order was always the same too. A black coffee, a plain bagel with cream cheese, an iced Americano with whipped cream and three sugars and a blueberry muffin. After the coffees were poured and the pastries bagged the men would carry their order to a small table near the back of the shop.

They didn’t come in every day. Which to you was the most bizarre thing about them. They might frequent the place two or three times a day for an entire week and then two months might go by where you didn’t see them at all. Still, they always came back eventually. You couldn’t help but want to know more about them. Were they a couple? If so, how long had they been together? How did they make their conflicting personalities work together? Why did they disappear during seemingly random periods of time? You knew it would never be polite to ask, so you didn’t. That is until the day that “Grant” came into the coffee shop on his own.

“No, Ed today?” You couldn’t help but note as you already began ringing in the usual order of two coffees, a bagel and a muffin.

“No, uh not today.” He told you quietly. He seemed surprised that you noticed. “And just the black coffee for me.” He added.

“Oh?” You stopped what you were doing and looked up from the register to study him. He looked tired. His eyes weren’t shining like they usually did. Instead they looked red and irritated, like he’d been crying. His hair was sticking up as if he’d been running his hands through it. It wasn’t the way you were used to seeing him. The sight put you slightly off kilter.

“Coffee’s on me.” You said, clearing the order off the register without hesitation.

“No, please I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble…” He insisted uncomfortably.

“It’s the least I can do.” You told him firmly. “You’ve been very generous with your tips over the past few months.” (In fact they had tipped you $20 a day since you’d started working there. Not just you, but your co-workers as well. If they happened to be working when the couple came in.) You wouldn’t hear another word on the matter, turning away to pour his familiar order of a straight black coffee. You turned faced him again before sliding the Styrofoam cup across the counter. At the same time, you placed a hand over the top of the tip jar, preventing him from could slipping a crumpled bill inside.

“Coffee’s on me, remember?” You offered him a smile, and he just nodded in return. “Grant’s” mind was clearly on something else as he walked slowly to his usual table. You began to wonder once again what his relationship with “Ed” was. Had they been a couple? Had they had a fight? Were they breaking up?

There were no other customers in line after “Grant” So you decided to take advantage of the slow moment to bus and clean tables. You tried to turn your mind to other things. To focus on the cleaning and give “Grant” the space he probably needed. But even as you collected empty cups, and wiped table tops you’re eyes continued to drift over to the little table for two that was currently only occupied by one.

You saw “Grant” still sitting there, but now he was on the phone with someone. Could it be Ed? You tried to casually make your way to a nearby table so that you could overhear what he was saying. As you wiped your table down with a soapy rag, you strained to hear the conversation.

“Tony, I’m glad you’re back on the compound. I don’t like the idea of you rattling around a mansion by yourself. We all need family. The Avengers are yours. Maybe more so than mine…”

“Avengers?” You repeated to yourself. No that couldn’t be right. You pretended to scrub a stain on the table that had been there longer than you and wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.

“I’ve been on my own since I was 18. I never really fit in anywhere, even in the army. My faith’s in people, I guess. Individuals. And I’m happy to say that for the most part, they haven’t let me down. Which is why I can’t let them down either. Locks can be replaced, but maybe they shouldn’t. I know I hurt you Tony. I guess I thought by not telling you about your parents I was sparing you, but can see now that I was really sparing myself and I’m sorry. Hopefully one day you can understand. I wish we agreed on the Accords, I really do. I know you’re doing what you believe in, and that’s all any of us can do. That’s all any of us should…so no matter what. I promise you, if you need us, if you need me, I’ll be there.”

Finally your curiosity got the better of you. You sighed knowing full well what curiosity did to cats, but you just had to know what was going on. It was probably going to lose you your job, but you stopped pretending to clean the table and tossed any empty cups in your possession before circling back to “Grant’s” table.

“So, I wouldn’t normally do something like this.” You apologized, standing across from him. “But you and Ed always come in here together and I can’t help but notice the lack of bagel in your order or the fact that your usual dapper appearance is looking a little…” You paused trying to think of a polite word.

“Unkept?” He chuckled. It was a sad chuckle, but he hadn’t asked you to leave him alone yet. So you continued on.

“Yeah, I guess.” You nodded. “I just, wanted to make sure you’re okay. I’m sure that sounds crazy because I don’t actually know anything about you but…”

“No, no.” He interrupted you with a weak smile. “I think it’s kind, but I’ll be all right. Thank you.”

“Um, okay.” You bit your lip. You knew that you should return to your place behind the counter, you were supposed to be working after all, but something told you to sit down instead. An instinct you would later be glad you didn’t ignore.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized again. “But I have a feeling this is probably the last time I’m going to see you, so I have to know, Grant’s not your real name, is it?” Again he laughed, but this one was lighter. It almost conveyed genuine humor.

“No, it’s not, but it’s not exactly not my name.” He explained. “The fake names had been all Tony’s idea. He’d wanted us t have somewhere that we could go, just the two of us. I guess now that everything’s over this is to.” He said, looking around the café sadly. “I’m Steve. Steven Grant Rogers.”

“You’re name’s Steve Rogers?” You asked in disbelief.

“Yeah.” He nodded.

“Hang on a second.” You pulled your phone out of your back pocket. You didn't know why, but that name sounded familiar. You opened your internet browser and Googled ”Steve Rogers.” Hundreds of thousands of results came back, but you were most interested in the top result; a Wikipedia article. You tapped the Wikipedia link and anxiously waited for the page to load. The heading on the next page read:

Steve Rogers (Captain America)

“Huh.” You laughed. “I knew it was familiar. You have the same name as Captain America. I wonder if you look alike.” Your finger moved across the screen so you could scroll further down the article. There was a photo of Captain America in his full costume, but what caught your attention was the small section under the photo. Wikipedia had Steve listed as a “historical Figure” while the second row of information listed his full name.

Steven Grant Rogers.

“No way.” You gasped looking up at Steve. “You’re…this is you?” You positioned the phone screen so that he could see the article you’d been reading.

“That’s me.” He agreed.

“And Ed?” You asked.

“Anthony Edward Stark.” He supplied.

“Oh.” You suddenly felt very stupid. You’d been serving Captain America and Iron Man coffee for the past nine months and never noticed. It was like being at the end of a Scooby-Doo cartoon. All it had taken to fool you was a set of slightly misleading names.

“Ohhhhhh.” You repeated, this time dragging the word out. You began to recall everything you’d seen about the Avengers in the news and on Social Media. They’d essentially been forced to break up because of the Sokovian Accords. It was relatively common knowledge that while Tony Stark had been a driving force behind getting the Accords ratified, Steve had been adamantly against them.

“I’m on my way out of the country.” Steve explained. “But I wanted to stop in one last time, since it was our place. You were right, you probably wont ever see me again.”

“Whoa. That sucks. For you, I mean.” You told him. “It’s awful that they’re trying to force you guys to sign something that basically gives the government total control over what you can and can’t do. Do you mind if I ask, I wont ever tell anyone else, but you and Tony…I sort of overheard your phone call. Were you…was he…”

“We never said as much out loud.” Steve admitted. “But yeah. For about five years.”

“Let me get you another coffee.” You offered, noticing his empty cup.

“No, it’s alright.” He waved you off. “I’ve got to be getting on my way.” Steve slid his chair back and started to get up from the table. “But if you could do me a favor…”

“Anything.” You agreed immediately.

“If he ever comes in, will you tell him…” Steve’s sentence trailed off. He couldn’t seem to get out what he wanted to say. So you nodded with understanding.

“I’ll tell him.” You promised.

“Thanks.” He offered you a mournful smirk. “Oh, and in case you ever need a favor of your own.” Steve reached for a napkin and quickly scrawled a ten-digit phone number down. He added the name “Grant” in the corner before handing the napkin to you. “It was nice talking with you, [Y/N].” With his smirk still front and center on his face Steve Rogers walked out of the coffee shop.

31 notes · View notes

distressedpanda · 6 years

Text

Not A Fan! (Tom Hiddleston x OFC) Part 6

Warnings: Language, Slow burn, Younger woman/Older man, Smutty fluff, Extreme Angst

Triggers: Dark past, Hints of past abuse

A/N: I stayed up all night and all day to get this ready to be posted. It was a very difficult chapter to write. It is very Angsty (not a word and I don't care), but I had to have this chapter to move the story in the direction I needed. It is stupidly long!!!!!!! I couldn't find a good place to end it without interrupting the flow. So I am pre-apologizing for pretty much EVERYTHING! But I still hope this is a chapter you will enjoy reading! Hang with me, I promise it will be worth it!!!

P.S. Yes I am a fan of Tom Waits. No I did not steal the song from TWD. I did however decide to use that particular song because it had been adapted by a female vocalist already. Tom Hiddleston is a fan of Tom Waits, so I figured it was easier to imagine the vocals for it.

Tags: @intransittosomewhere

Gets a read more for length(obviously)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Part 6

Freshly changed into not so holey jeans and a baby blue v-neck t-shirt, my hair in a messy bun atop my head, I sat in my shop painting, casting, and finishing molds for the masks I still needed to finish. My phone whistled and I paused grabbing it and grinning at the screen.

This is so boring!!!! I could think of a million things I would rather be doing right now. Chris isn't even talking about the event!

The text from, Thomas, was one of many he had sent since he left me breathless in my apartment. Seemingly needing to stay in contact with me even though we were going to meet again tonight.

I took a selfie, smiling widely, my finished masks in the frame behind my head.

Making great progress here. Nothing boring about this!

I put my phone down, grinning at myself for the double meaning of my message. I could do this. Flirting with someone over a phone was easy. I didn't have to see their reactions, they couldn't see mine. I didn't have to hide, didn't have to think, I could do messaging relationships. Never been good at the face to face aspect needed to hold a healthy, stable relationship. The only time I was able to handle direct interaction, was if I was drinking-obviously, though never to the degree of this morning.

Immediately, my phone whistled back.

Gorgeous, and you are most definitely not boring.

I grinned again, happy he understood the double meaning and ran with it. But before I could come up with a comeback, my phone vibrated again.

Can I tell you something strange?

Sure, I giggled to myself, waiting for his response.

It doesn't come immediately, and as I started painting again, I began to worry he wasn't going to answer. Maybe he brought up something he thought he shouldn't have. Maybe I didn't answer correctly, perhaps I was to flippant, to ignorant of his feelings.

Just before I started to dismember myself-emotionally-my phone whistled again and I released a breath I didn't realize I had been holding.

I miss you

A small smile danced across my lips, and I could understand his hesitation in answering me quickly.

Honesty. . .

Please, he sent back instantly.

I miss you too

Mmmm

I chuckled at the simple response and continued painting.

When I started dozing off and getting dangerously close to screwing up the piece I was working on, I searched my phone for the time. I had been on it several times, harmlessly flirting with Thomas, but I hadn't looked at the time not once.

6:32

Jesus, I had been working for ten hours straight. The sudden pang of hunger confirmed that I had gotten lost in my work and the scintillating conversation. I cleaned up and returned my apron to its hook, dawning on my coat and locking up the shop. Checking my phone on the way up to my apartment, there were no new messages from Thomas and we hadn't spoken about whether we were doing dinner again or not. But when my stomach audibly growled, I decided I couldn't wait that long even if we were eating later.

I opened up my apartment, escaping the cold and hanging my coat. I made my way over to the fridge and rummaged around, finding the ingredients for a simple salad, I quickly prepared the meal. And sat at the bar to eat.

Deciding to determine whether I needed to be cooking or not, I sent him a quick message.

Think you are gonna be later than dinner?

I chewed on a mouthful of lettuce as I waited for a response, humming to myself absentmindedly, when my phone whistled.

It's going to be late, just got Chris on topic about an hour ago. Probably won't make it for dinner so don't worry about me, I will grab something before I come tonight.

I snorted at the innuendo, my mind quickly falling into the gutter. Well that had answered my question though I was slightly disappointed.

Have fun, I sent back.

I finished my meal quickly, leaving my phone on the bar and placing my dishes in the dishwasher. I changed into a long light gray sleep shirt that ended at mid-thigh and some skimpy sleep shorts that were patterned with different shades of pink elephants on a swirling green background. I could barely tell I had shorts on under the top, but at this point I didn't care. I could always change before Thomas arrived. My mind wandered as I pulled my hair free from its messy bun and braided it loosely over my left shoulder. What was I gonna do to occupy myself for however long it took for Thomas to arrive?

“I could do some research,” I thought aloud, and went to retrieve my laptop from the top of my dresser. Making my way over to the couch I sat down and snuggled into the plush cushions. I opened the laptop and pulled up my search engine typing in: Thomas Hiddleston, and hit enter.

I clicked on the first link that wasn't Wikipedia, and suddenly felt guilty as an IMDB profile loaded. Was I going to far by researching this man? Was this an invasion of privacy? He seemed very intent on keeping his dating world out of the limelight or so he had said. If he was in fact a private person there could be things on here he would rather tell me himself.

Deciding against this side of the research, I quickly closed the window and opened a new one. This time I typed in: Loki Thomas Hiddleston. The top of the page read, Showing results for Loki Tom Hiddleston, and I giggled at myself. I had honestly forgotten that he had introduced himself as Tom and not Thomas. Probably another aspect of that privacy he values, I thought. I skimmed the articles opening only those pertaining to the character and the mask I would need to fashion for him.

I did stumble across the fact that his main residence was in Belize Park, in London, England. I guess that explains why he was flying in.

My eyes grew heavy again, and I fought to read the articles about this man I didn't know and come up with ideas that suited the character.

A soft pressure and tickle on my nose had me crinkling it and balling on my side into the couch cushions. Suddenly, my eyes snapped open as my sleep addled brain registered the depression of the cushion next to me. I whipped my head around and was enveloped by an all to familiar and breathtaking mega watt smile.

“Hello, sleepy head,” Thomas whispered, as he lent over me. He had one arm on the back of the couch and the other on the arm, holding himself mere inches from my body and face.

I took a shallow and shaky breath, “Umm, hi,” I cleared my throat and wriggled myself deeper into the cushions again, trying to regain the ability to breath properly. “How did you get in?” I asked breathlessly.

He chuckled and shook his head, “Your door was unlocked, which I truly hope isn't a habit of yours. I tried texting, I even called when I got here and you wouldn't answer the door. I simply decided to try my luck. . .” something seemed to register behind his eyes, and quickly he sat back on his knees. Running the hand that had been on the arm through his hair to rub at the back of his neck, he seemed embarrassed, pink tinging his cheeks and the tops of his ears. “I hope. . .” he cleared his throat and looked away at the floor, “I hope I didn't over step my boundaries.”

I sat up against the arm of the couch, pulling my legs underneath me. I shook my head at him slowly, “No, i-it's alright. It just startled me is all.”

“It was never my intention to frighten you, or cause you discomfort. I just had to see you,” he said sounding ashamed and he still wouldn't look at me.

I reached out, gingerly placing my hand on his cheek and turned his head toward me. I ducked my head forcing him to look me in the eye, “Honestly, I am fine. It's not the worst way I have been woken up, by far,” I admitted, and tried desperately to squash the memories as my eyes involuntarily tried to water.

He watched my face as I spoke, and seemed to breath slightly easier as he covered my hand with his own, “God, I missed you,” he breathed, and I shivered.

“I missed you too,” I admitted, and he lent forward and pressed his lips to mine. Gently, there was no rush in the kiss, no scramble for captured moments. It was chaste and sweet and ended quickly, leaving us both panting. For though it had not been hot, it was still laced with every bit of passion that had been formed between us.

I bit my bottom lip and looked away, withdrawing my hand from his cheek and hold. I turned allowing my legs to drape over the couch and noticed my laptop on the floor, screen gone black. I picked it up and closing it, sat it on the coffee table. I stood up and walked around the couch, I could feel his eyes on me as he watched me silently. When I reached the bar I noticed a black bag sitting there, and looked from it to him. He was now facing me still seated on the couch and his eyes showed a heat that made my own rise from my core.

I shook myself and gestured to the bag with an open hand, “So what do you have planned for tonight?”

He stood, stroking a thoughtful hand through his beard, “I thought we could talk.” He moved to stand across from me at the bar, placing his hands on the top and leaning into them. I noticed his blazer missing and looked over my shoulder to see it hanging next to my pea-coat, oddly the picture looked and felt right to me. My eyes were drawn back to him as he continued to speak, “I figured we haven't done enough of that yet,” he chuckled, “And of course, any serious conversation is always aided by the proper libations.”

That explained the bag, and I couldn't hide the blush that crept into my cheeks. I cursed myself for having tied my hair back, when I knew he would be around. Suddenly, a thought occurred to me, and I voiced it even as I turned to have it answered, “What time is it anyway?”

The clock on the microwave read, 11:53. He wasn't kidding about it being late, “I know I said I would be late. I didn't really plan to be quite this late though. If I need to, I could leave and we could reschedule. . .” he trailed off, looking down and licking his bottom lip and capturing his tongue between his teeth. He shook his head before adding, “I have gone mad,” under his breath.

I giggled and shook my head at him as his eyes returned to mine, the fire in them had died back but I could still see the flickering in his ocean blues, “If you are mad then so am I, because I don't want you to leave,” He smiled, and I felt my heart skip a few beats before it returned to a regular rhythm only accelerated. “Besides, I unexpectedly got a good nap in. I would probably be up all night anyway. You could consider it a civil service. You are providing me company, for what would otherwise be a very long and boring night.”

His smile turned into a devilish grin, “I could certainly meet that request.” His eyes blazed and darkened, and I fought to control my breathing and my heart, my legs trembling. He reached over to the insulated bag without taking his eyes off mine. I flicked my eyes to his hands as they withdrew a bottle of Merlot and a bottle of Jameson, both unopened and chilled. I chuckled at the sight, and turned to the cabinets behind me, reaching up to the top shelf, I grabbed a wine glass and a tumbler. I heard him moan low in his throat and blushed severely, as I settled back onto my heels. I had completely forgotten about my clothing or lack there of, and whipped around to face him, hoping I hadn't caused a repeat of this morning. He had remained at his place at the bar but had lent forward on his elbows, knuckle tucked neatly under his chin, and his eyes scanned my body, making my body shiver and sending sparks to the fire steadily growing in my core.

“Loving the wardrobe choice,” he drawled thickly.

I ducked my head and brought over the glasses, “Well, if you expect me to stay in this and be able to actually speak to you,” I set the glasses down in front of him and daringly looked up at him through my lashes, “I am definitely going to need some of that libation you were offering.”

He chuckled, pouring a generous amount of wine in my glass before pouring two fingers in his tumbler. He picked up the wine glass and swirled its contents lightly around the inside before offering it to me, “You plan on getting drunk again?” He playfully asked, as I took the offered glass from him.

I took a sip of the dark liquid, relishing the rich biting taste as it ran across my tongue, he watched me curiously waiting for me to answer, “Only if I need to be,” I answered honestly. There was a whole lot about me that did bring up bad memories, and I was definitely going to need the liquid courage to get through it. Of course I had no idea what he would even want to know so . . .

“I guess that depends on what you would like to know,” I clarified, when my answer was accompanied by stunned silence and his furrowed brow. I slowly made my way around the bar, returning to the couch. I sat down curling my legs in underneath me, and patted the cushion next to me, “We will probably be more comfortable over here.”

He smiled, and licked his bottom lip as he sauntered over to sit next to me, glass in hand. Laying a leg over the couch, he leaned with one arm across the back so that he was facing me. He cleared his throat, lifting the glass at me, “So tell me about yourself,” he said, as he took a small sip of the amber liquid.

I looked down, and began fidgeting with the bottom of my glass, “What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” he admitted, sounding completely sincere, as he grinned and sipped from the glass steadily, “But how about we start with something easy. Where were you born, where did you grow up if they were different?”

“That is easy, I was born and raised in Columbus, Georgia.” This might not be so bad if we stuck to generalized questions like this.

It continued on like this for about an hour. He told me about his childhood, his sisters, his mother and father. He told me about his education, how he had gotten started in the acting business. He even admitted to still maintaining a permanent residence in London. My answers came slower, I talked about my mother, her teaching career. She was a Theatre professor, and that is how I had gotten interested in mask making and special effects. My rudimentary education, which led up to college in New York and the discovery of my shop and subsequent purchase. He danced around questions of my brother and I answered as best as I could without getting dragged under-refilling my glass about halfway through.

“He was six years older than me. He read me comic books because he wanted to help mom as much as he could with my care. He played dolls with me, and I played cars with him. He was my protector and confidant, and I know my world became a lot darker without him in it.” I had started opening up without being completely conscious of it, and the words were just pouring out of me now, “He joined the Marines when he graduated from High School. He always made it a point to keep in touch with me, tried to make sure I didn't feel like he had abandoned me. I told him over and over that I understood, and I did. I knew that serving his country had always been very important to him. And he was a good soldier, that was his calling. He was in on leave, when he went for a drive with my dad and. . .” my breath hitched in my throat, my bottom lip trembling, and I could feel the silent tears streaming down my cheeks. I wasn't entirely sure when they had started.

Thomas had been listening in rapt silence, but when I had mentioned him-my dad-his eyes went wide. I could see him putting pieces together in his head, and as he reached for my cheek, I quickly turned my head away. I didn't want to cry anymore, not because of him. I quickly brushed the tears from my cheeks and downed the rest of my second glass before placing it on the coffee table.

“I loved him, dearly,” I added under my breath, and he reached for me again placing his hand gently on my shoulder, setting his own glass on the table next to mine. He made no move to draw me in, and he didn't say anything. His touch seemed to center me and I cleared my throat, “The rest is probably a story for another time.”

I gave him a small sad smile, and he returned a comforting smile, “I can tell he was dear to you. As far as the rest, I am willing to hear only what you are able to tell me. I will not pressure you, ever.”

My smile was still small but turned into something more akin to solace, “Thank you,” I whispered, my voice breaking. I cleared my throat, and added softly, “Can we change the subject, please?”

“Of course,” he moved his hand from my shoulder to brush across my hair. He withdrew his hand placing it lazily across his lap, and shook his head, “I have an odd, off the wall, almost comical question, if you would allow it?” I grinned slightly and nodded my head snuggling back into the cushions. I lent my head against the back of the couch and watched him nervously rub his hand through his hair, “Alright, I have to ask,” he brought his hand in a sweeping motion from the back of his head and extend his pointer finger toward the television, “Why do you have a television, if you don't watch movies?” His brow furrowing in inquisition.

I laughed, in genuine belly rolling amusement. I was laughing so hard, tears ran down my cheeks again. His eyebrows practically met in the middle as he watched me. His own lips curving into a smile of there own. I wiped my eyes, reigning in the fit, “Wow, I needed that,” I looked up into those deep ocean blues, feeling my mood lift even more, “It's for music. I sing.”

His brows reached his hairline then and his mega watt smile shinned brightly at me, “Really?”

I nodded, giggling, “Yes, really. I don't know if I am any good or anything. My mom and brother always said I had an ear for it, so I started one day and just never stopped.”

Licking his lips he breathed in on a hiss, “I would love to hear you one day,” he admitted, his eyes darkening. Heat bloomed from my core and I prayed it didn't show on my face.

“Mmmm,” I tapped a finger against my chin coming to a decision, “What is your favorite song?”

He snorted, “There are far too many. I love music,” he admitted.

I nodded and stood, walking over to the TV. I bent over and pulled a fabric binder from beneath the DVD player. I came back over and dropped it unceremoniously in his lap. He let out a loud huff, “Pick something,” I crossed my arms across my chest and grinned, standing in front of him and cocking my hip to the side.

He opened the binder, and started flipping through the pages his eyes scanning the discs, “You can sing all of these?”

I scoffed at him, “All I have to do is change the octave. Technically, I can sing any song you want, as long as I know the words.”

He chuckled, “I suppose that is true. Not that I doubt you,” he continued flipping through the pages, and then smiled up at me, “You just seem to have quite an eclectic taste, much like myself.”

I rolled my eyes and giggled, “Just pick something.”

He flipped a few more pages over before he turned a devilish grin to me. He pulled a CD from the sleeve and handed it to me, “This one, number four,” he dared me with his eyes.

I took the disk and scanned to number four and grinned widely turning to put it in the player, “You could have chosen something more difficult. I know this one by heart.”

I heard him chuckle behind me as I placed the disc in the player and turned on the TV. I switched to the song he had chosen and smiled sweetly, as the somber guitar intro played. I turned to him and closed my eyes, letting the music flow through me and out of my lips.

They hung a sign up in our town "If you live it up, you won't live it down" So she left Monte Rio, son Just like a bullet leaves a gun With her charcoal eyes and Monroe hips She went and took that California trip Oh, the moon was gold, her hair like wind Said, "don't look back, just come on, Jim"

Oh, you got to hold on, hold on You gotta hold on Take my hand, I'm standing right here, you gotta hold on

I opened my eyes to look at Thomas, he was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and hands clasped together. His lips were slightly parted, and eyes were fixed on my face. I smiled and continued.

Well, he gave her a dime store watch And a ring made from a spoon Everyone's looking for someone to blame When you share my bed, you share my name Well, go ahead and call the cops You don't meet nice girls in coffee shops She said, "baby, I still love you" Sometimes there's nothin' left to do

Oh, but you got to hold on, hold on Babe, you gotta hold on and take my hand I'm standing right here, you gotta hold on

I closed my eyes again and began to sway, as the lyrics would call for, slowly side to side letting my hands swing gracefully back and forth.

Down by the Riverside motel It's ten below and falling By a ninety-nine cent store She closed her eyes and started swaying But it's so hard to dance that way When it's cold and there's no music Oh, your old hometown's so far away But inside your head there's a record that's playing

I opened my eyes again, and he stood up moving to stand in front of me, as I continued with part of the chorus.

A song called "Hold On", hold on Babe, you gotta hold on Take my hand, I'm standing right there, you gotta hold on

He reached out wrapping an arm around my waist and halting my movements. He placed his other hand against my cheek, and I faltered. My knees knocking together, as I trembled in his grasp. His eyes blazed blue, “That was. . .” he started but then seemed at a lose for words.

I giggled, placing my hands on his chest and listening to the song end. I turned my face into his palm to place a kiss there, “What was it, Thomas?”

He shook his head and closed his eyes, “I didn't know, Tom Waits, could be sung like that,” he answered, then slowly opened his eyes. His eyes were almost black, his pupils blown, “You have the voice of an angel.”

I blushed and shoved lightly against his chest, “It wasn't all that, you just picked one of my favorites.”

He tightened his arm around my waist, pulling me more firmly against his body and ran his thumb slowly across my cheek bone, “Trust me,” his voice became low and sent shivers through my body, pouring gasoline on the fire at my core, “It was all that and more.”

My skin was on fire, especially where he was touching me. I couldn't speak. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think and when he lent down to press his lips against mine, I let myself get lost. Slipping my hands up his chest to thread my fingers through his hair, I pushed up onto my toes deepening the kiss. His tongue found mine and I moaned, pulling lightly on his hair, causing his own moan to vibrate into my mouth and rumble down my body. He tasted like whiskey, and smelled like an intoxicating mixture of alcohol and cologne and man. A scent that couldn't be identified as anything other than him.

He pulled away, my hands loosening from his hair and sliding down to his shoulders. He was panting heavily, my own breathe stuttering from my lungs. He looked over my face, running his hand over my hair and settling his hand at the nape of my neck. He cleared his throat, and seemed to regain a little control over himself, his eyes returning to there calm ocean blue, “Well, I suppose that should be all the proof you need.” I quirked my eyebrow at him, opening my mouth to ask for clarification, but he cut me off before I could voice my question, “It was definitely all that.”

I giggled and tucked my chin down, my forehead resting against his chest, “Rose colored glasses,” I breathed.

He chuckled, “Perhaps.”

I lent back in his grasp, reaching to turn off the TV and DVD player. He lent with me, refusing to release his hold on me. I looked back up at his wonderfully angular face, “So what do you want to know next?”

He shook his head, grinning widely and capturing his tongue between his teeth, “I already told you. I want to know everything.”

I turned my face away from him. Lost in thought, I pushed away from him causing his arms to slip from me. He reached to catch my hands in his, before I could turn away. I looked up at him, my face dropping as I got lost in how much I wanted to tell him. I wanted to tell him everything but I couldn't help but fear how much of my story I could reveal before he ran from me.

“I want to tell you, Thomas. Please, believe that I do,” I shook my head and pulled against his grasp, not trying to free myself, but I wasn't sure what I was trying to accomplish instead. “I'm just. . . I just. . .” I couldn't find the right words, my brain firing off too many explanations at once, but none of them seemed adequate.

He pulled me with him, backing toward the couch again. He sat down and pulled me to sit at his side, still holding my hands, he cleared his throat drawing my eyes to his, “You are frightened, I can see it in your eyes,” I nodded, even though he needed no conformation, “ I won't pressure you, Alyse. So let us go back to the simple questions again, like. . .” he drew the word out on a thought and scrunched up his nose, running his thumbs across the backs of my hands, causing my mind to ease at the adorable expression. “Oh, what's your favorite color?”

I smiled, “That I can answer. My favorite color is blue, but like cobalt blue. It's so peaceful and calming,” I blushed, and tucked my chin to my chest, “At least it is for me,” I mumbled.

He finally released my hands and placed the side of his finger under my chin, lifting my face to look at him again, “I couldn't agree more,” he smiled widely, adding, “Mine are red and blue as well.”

We stuck to favorites for a while, and I relaxed into the numbing effects of the wine. He brought up his home again, mentioning its beauty and how much he enjoyed living there. This caused a sobering thought.

“When do you go back?” I blurted before I could stop myself.

This seemed to bring him up short, and leave him at a lose for words. He rubbed nervously at his beard, “I was supposed to leave today, actually.” He didn't look up at me, and I could tell he had trouble admitting that he had planned on leaving today. “I rescheduled my flight, so I could meet with Chris.”

“Which you had to reschedule because of me?” He nodded, but still wouldn't look up at me. He lent his elbows onto his knees, clasping his hands in front of him, he was turned away from me. His form becoming rigid, and causing my mind and heart to race.

“When?” I breathed, leaning closer to him and laying my hands helplessly in my lap.

He shook his head and chuckled dryly, and I saw him capture his tongue between his teeth before he turned his head to me, “Honesty?”

I lent in, placing my forehead against his shoulder. I was suddenly fiercely afraid of his answer, but I knew I needed to hear it, “Please,” I breathed against his arm and I could feel him tremble.

He cleared his throat and laid a hand gently on my knee, “I don't want to leave,” he admitted.

I snapped my head up, my breath catching in my throat, “But you have work, don't you?” He nodded his head, closing his eyes briefly. He looked back at me with trapped eyes and seemed to be struggling for a response. When he parted his lips, I quickly placed my finger over his lips, the tickle from his beard on my skin causing a delicious shiver, “I will not be the reason you postpone work. I understand how important doing something you are passionate about, truly is. You can't give up any part of your life for me. I won't let you.”

He looked stunned, and I slowly withdrew my finger from his lips. He took a steadying breath that mirrored my own, “You really are different from anyone I have ever met.” He sounded wonder struck.

I blushed, but tried to keep my eyes on him, “I told you that already.”

He chuckled, and shaking his head he placed his hand on my cheek. I nuzzled into his touch and closed my eyes, “You did,” he rubbed his thumb across my cheek bone and I released a small sigh between parted lips. “I really don't want to leave now.”

I looked up at him and saw him leaning in, lust darkening his eyes. I threw my hands up, one landing on his chest, the other on his shoulder, “You are trying to distract me, and it won't work. When is your flight rescheduled for?”

He heaved a long sigh, and glanced behind him to the clock on my microwave. He looked back, and laced his fingers into my braid, pulling me closer. He brushed my lips, and I almost pulled back again until he answered, “I have time.” He captured my lips, and I melted into him, his tongue pushing past my lips to find my own. Conscious thought left me completely and as he slipped his other arm around my waist pulling me closer, my arms slid up to wrap around the back of his neck. He pulled me and I squeaked into his mouth when I ended up sitting across his lap.

He chuckled darkly, at the noise. I lent away trying to catch my breath, his hands falling to land one on my hip and the other at the small of my back, “We really do lose control behind closed doors,” I whispered.

He nodded and chuckled again, “We do,” he stated simply.

I cleared my throat and moved to straddle him, my hands resting on his shoulders, sitting draped across his lap becoming uncomfortable. He repositioned the hand that was on my back to land on my other hip, “You never answered my question,” I chastised.

He shook his head at me, “I do not want to answer it.”

“Isn't that lying?” I asked, quirking an accusatory eyebrow at him.

“No,” he stated, sounding incredulous, “It is an omittance,” he grinned devilishly at me and I rolled my eyes. “Besides, if I tell you the truth you may make me leave,” he added, pouting his bottom lip and giving me the sweetest set of puppy dog eyes I had ever encountered.

I lent forward and daringly nibbled on that bottom lip, sucking it between my lips. He groaned, his fingers digging into my hips, when I released it, “That soon, huh?”

He shook his head and swallowed thickly, his eyes gluing themselves to my lips, “No, but I won't get much sleep, if any, before it.”

I cocked my head to the side, “Why would I make you leave because of that? I have a perfectly good bed over there,” I waved my hand across the room behind him.

His cheeks lit up with a pink glow, “I am not sure that is a good idea.”

Emboldened-and I knew this time it was the alcohol-I ghosted my lips across his, “Why?” He groaned and dug his fingers into my hips even harder, to the point of pain. I moaned lowly savoring the heat that flooded through me, at the sensation.

He breathed, heavily against my lips, “I know I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off you. I can't do that here. In a bed. . .” He left the answer open ended, but I knew where he was heading.

I lifted my lips away from his, giving him a break, “I wouldn't mind you hands on me.”

He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the back of the couch and a guttural moan escaped his throat, “You are going to be the death of me.”

Sitting up and nuzzling my face into his neck, I placed small kisses up to his ear. Whispering straight into it, “Is that a bad thing, Thomas?”

“Alyse,” he moaned my name, and I took it as a challenge. I nibbled at his ear lobe, a soft grunt escaped his lips and he pushed me back by my hips, “I do not want to do that to you. I refuse to objectify you, or treat you as though I do not care.”

My eyes snapped to his, and I could tell this was hard for him. But the growing fire in my belly couldn't be extinguished, not even by those oceans.

“We don't have to go that far,” my voice was low and sultry and I didn't dare change it, as I watched his slowly turn into blue rimmed coals. I traced my hands down to his chest and rubbed back up to his shoulders again, his skin trembling beneath my hands, “I don't think I want that either,” I admitted. “But I want you. In a way I have never wanted anyone before,” I was trying to explain myself and felt like I was failing.

He chuckled and shook his head, “Are you asking me to make-out with you?” I nodded, biting my bottom lip, “In your bed?” I looked down and nodded again. “And you aren't expecting more?” I shook my head vigorously, causing myself to become slightly dizzy. He slid his hands up my back, and I let myself be pulled against his chest. He slid a hand into my already messy braid, and tugged lightly so I was looking at him again, “If it becomes to much for either us we stop, yes?”

His grip on my hair prevented me from nodding in reply, so I released a breathless, “Yes.”

He growled and rolled his hips, I gasped feeling his growing erection rub against my inner thigh. “Harmless touching, nothing more, yes?” He ground out between clinched teeth. I couldn't stop the whine that escaped my parted lips, and he yanked slightly on my hair, causing just enough pain to make me gasp and tremble in pleasure. I could feel my panties becoming wet, as my juices started to flow. “Yes?” he reasserted.

“Yes,” I cried, giving over completely to his domination.

He lent forward, cocking my head to the side by my hair. He ran his warm, wet tongue from my collarbone up to my ear lobe, and I couldn't breathe, “Good girl,” he purred, I gasped trying to find air, my panties becoming soaked.

Swiftly he stood, latching his hands around my thighs. I yelped and threw my arms around his neck and hooked my heels behind his back. He chuckled as he walked around the couch toward my bed, kicking his shoes off as he went. My heart kicked into over drive. All kinds of questions racing through my mind. Was I really going to do this? Was I going to have a make-out, possible heavy petting session like some horny teenager? Were we moving to fast?

A resounding Yes filtered through my head, and as he lowered me gently onto the bed and hovered carefully over my body resting on his elbows, and nestling firmly between my trembling legs. I found I didn't care. Not about the questions, not about how fast we were moving. Everything felt right, and as he leaned in to capture my lips with a fire of his own, I felt safe and wanted. I let go of everything holding me back, all the niggling memories from past relationships. Where they learned my story and ran. Where they learned that I was broken and left. Where they found I could get lost in my past and called me crazy. Where they found I could cry at the drop of a pin and offered no comfort.

One of his hands moved from the bed to trail down my side, over my hip and came to rest just beneath my ass cheek. My heart fluttered and I moaned into his mouth when he squeezed, kneading my flesh with his fingers. I moved my hands to the sides of his face, pulling him harder into my mouth as our tongues fought for dominance. He growled and rolled us so we were laying on our sides, never breaking the kiss, he let that hand trail up my side again and brushed the side of my breast with his thumb causing me to mewl into his open mouth and arch into his hard body.

He chuckled darkly, breaking away from my lips to trail kisses down my neck, nipping at the sensitive flesh above my collarbone. I gasped and moaned, rolling my hips into his, desperately seeking release from the heat growing between my legs. He let his hands flow all across my body, rubbing up and down my back and across my stomach while continuing his assault on my neck with his mouth. Seeming to need to be in contact with all of me, and yet hesitating to touch anywhere that could be covered by a swim suit. I pleaded with him, “More,” But I wasn't sure what I wanted more of, and he growled nipping at my neck.

I moaned and keened under his touch, completely forgetting what to do with my own hands. I caught up when his mouth found mine again, his fingers dancing playfully across my collarbone and teasingly grazing the tops of my breasts. I tangled one hand in his soft curls, pressing him more firmly against my mouth, while the other brushed across his toned back and down his side. I curled my fingers into the hard flesh just above his waist band, earning an appreciative moan that I returned with a mewl. I let my finger nails drag up his stomach to his chest, unknowingly pulling the fabric of his t-shirt with me.

When my hand reached his collarbone, he rolled me onto my back again. He broke away suddenly and I could see what I had done to his shirt. He quickly stripped it off over his head, tossing it carelessly away, and latched back on to my neck. I grasped, and moaned running my fingernails down his bare back. He growled into my throat and began pawing at my shirt.

Fair is fair, right.

If I kept my back against the bed, I could remain comfortable shirtless. So I lifted my ass off the bed to aid him and ended up grinding my warm wet lips against his erection. He groaned loudly throwing his head back. I finished removing my shirt and tossed it to the floor. When his eyes came back to me, he sucked a sharp, hissing breath in through his teeth, “You are killing me,” he breathed, and didn't sound upset about it at all.

I giggled at him and laid my arms above my head, causing my breasts to swell and spill slightly over the top of my bra. I was still wearing the set he had bought for me, “You bought it,” I teased, my voice low and seductive, “It's your own fault.”

He groaned as if in pain, his eyes trailing from my face, down over the swell of my ample chest, across my bare stomach and back up again, “How?” He begged.

I frowned, bringing my arms down and suddenly feeling very self conscious, “How what?” My voice trembling, despite my best efforts.

“How am I supposed to resist you?”

I smiled, bringing my hands up to the sides of his face. He closed his eyes at my touch, and buried his face into my hands, his beard tickling my palms, “Don't,” I whispered and pulled him down to my lips, pushing my tongue into his mouth and swirling it around his, as he moaned.

All to soon, my eyes started growing heavy. The fire between my legs becoming smothered, under the haze of sleep. My movements becoming sluggish and lazy, I sighed happily. His hands roaming up my sides, mine clawing at his back. Fighting the tendrils of sleep threatening to close my eyes for sleep, instead of pleasure. He grouped gently at the under sides of my breasts and I arched my back into his ministrations, his lips never far from mine. His movements started slowing as well, his kisses turning short, losing some of the heat and becoming sweet.

He sighed, pulling away to lean his forehead against mine, “You are tired,” it wasn't a question and I whined at the statement.

I fought to answer, but found my tongue thick and my mind bleary with the edges of sleep, “I don't want you to leave,” I mumbled

He chuckled lightly, running his hands up and down my sides. His thumbs drawing circles, that had m body trembling, and arching into him again. “I can stay. But you need sleep,” he groaned in response, “I need sleep.” I whined again, but was physically unable to resist, when he lifted me up from the bed to nestle my head gently against the pillows. He pulled the covers over us, and my mind surfaced long enough to make sure my back wasn't visible to him. I curled into his chest, and he wrapped his arms around my waist pulling me close and nuzzling his face into the top of my hair, inhaling deeply he sighed, “Sleep, little one.”

I closed my eyes and was almost out when I asked, “What time do you have to be at the airport?"

He grumbled, “Noon,” and the vibrations from his chest against my cheek, pulled me even closer to that edge.

I fought it needing to tell him, “Wake me before you leave,” not knowing if he understood the request, as sleep captured me and pulled me into its comforting embrace.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fandom #tom hiddleston fan #hiddlesarmy #hiddlesedit #hiddles #hiddlestoner #hiddleslove #fanfic

19 notes · View notes

whatitistobeaphan · 7 years

Text

7:30 Every Morning

Prompt: teenagers au

Genre: fluff

Warnings: swearing, very little homophobia

Shit, Dan was late. He was really late. He hadn't realised how fast the time flew when he was listening to music, but the time was 8:24 and school started at 8:30. Being late was okay, it never really mattered - unless you were on your last strike of in-punctuality. Like Dan was. That meant meetings-with-your-parents serious, and detentions. Loads of them. So he did something he never thought he'd do. Dan Howell ran for it. The school was in sight, but he couldn't even see students milling around the front gate. Maybe he was even later than he thought? Out of breath, he stopped for a minute to check his phone. 8:29. He had made it, but... where was everyone? There was only one boy sitting on the steps in front of the locked gate. Raven black hair covered his face and Dan could see he was listening to music on his phone, using red earphones the same brand as Dan. Then he looked up, revealing piercing blue eyes and a defined, pale face. Dan recognised him as a really cute boy from a few years above, Phil. They had never spoken, but Dan definitely used to have a bit of a crush on him back when he had first come to terms with his sexuality. Holding back a blush, he tapped Phil on the shoulder, asking him for the time. Phil frowned at Dan's phone in his hand, but unlocked his own to pause his music and display the time, as well as the album cover for 'Welcome To The Black Parade' by My Chemical Romance. Dan grinned, until he noticed the numbers at the top. "Seven thirty!? My phone is an hour late!" Dan was outraged. He knew it had to be his brother messing with the time zones on his phone. Sometimes, the average sibling rivalry was a lot more than he bargained for. Phil looked confused, but when Dan didn't elaborate, he unpaused the song and locked his phone again. Silence fell upon the two boys as Dan considered his next move. He didn't particularly want to go back home and see Adrian's gloating smirk at his fiftieth successful prank, and there was nowhere else to go since he didn't have many good friends that would let him come over at this early hour. Listening to music was the best option, so he sat down next to Phil, pulling his phone out again and searching his pockets for his earphones. They weren't there. Dan briefly remembered throwing them on the floor of his messy bedroom in a hurry to quickly get dressed and leave for school. He had even skipped breakfast! But, as always, the most important thing was his music, and, without annoying Phil, he couldn't really listen to any. So that sucked. Just then Phil nudged him, seemingly getting what was going on. Dan looked at him questioningly, and as a reply, Phil offered on earbud of his earphones, which Dan happily accepted. Phil still hadn't uttered a word, but he was very expressive through his eyes and actions - like right now he had a very kind face and and was doing a very kind act. Music is sacred, and there's always that constant fear that people will judge you based on your music tastes and how loud you listen to it and so on. But it just so happened that Dan very much agreed with Phil that Muse was the best ever, that you could never go wrong with TOP, and that MCR, FOB and Panic! were the holy trinity. So when Phil smiled in appreciation, Dan did too - unknowingly, though Phil noticed out of the corner of his eye. It was funny how the hour passed to easily after that. It was interrupted half-way by a teacher unlocking the gates at 8:00, but Phil wordlessly paused his music, picked up his bag and sat down on a wall, this time inside the gates, beckoning Dan to join him. And despite the homework he really should have been doing, and the test in the afternoon he really should have been revising for, Dan sat down with no hesitation at all. That's how it started. Dan woke up an hour earlier every morning - because who doesn't need the extra half hour of their daily routine to straighten hobbit hair? His family was asleep, so he had the whole house to himself while he made breakfast and showered. It was peaceful, silence echoing around the deserted kitchen, and Dan was relaxed while he ate his cereal. Instead of listening to music while getting ready (to escape the noise of the people usually around him), he saved his eardrums for Phil, as they would always meet up at the same time and share music. With his own splitter and headphones, Dan would always be happy sharing Phil's phone, since the music was no different to his own, and when Phil showed him something new, it was always something he liked - completely truthfully, their music tastes just... fit. And when their knees brushed together, Dan blushed and looked away, the warm feeling spreading through his body making his cheeks fuchsia. He looked back, hopefully the colour gone from his cheeks, and Phil was smiling to himself, then to Dan when he noticed the brunette's eyes on him. They locked eyes for a moment, Phil staring unbashfully while Dan doing the opposite. When a teacher came out - thankfully interrupting Dan's mini heart attack - Phil stood up as always, pausing his music and taking his earphones out. This time, however, he offered his hand out for Dan. All Dan did was stare disbelievingly; Phil was standing and Dan was sitting on the steps, earphones in hand. He accepted Phil's help, and was pulled to his feet by muscular arms. Not that he noticed. They went inside the school gates, sitting down on the wall again. As it was the norm for them, Dan sat close to Phil in order to share his phone, but Phil made no move to play the music again. "Dan, I feel like we haven't talked at all and - well, I've always been here alone, but now you sit with me and I think I'm wasting an opportunity to get to know you." Phil spoke, breaking the comfortable barrier of silence between them. Not that Dan minded at all, he liked Phil a lot and was somewhat excited to start a proper friendship with him - actual talking included. "Yeah, you're right." Dan said, but Phil didn't seem to expect Dan to agree, so he just looked surprised. "Anyway, why do you come here so early?" Phil bit his lip, and Dan tried to ignore just how sexy that was. "My brother's an asshole." When Phil didn't elaborate, Dan prompted him. "Older or younger?" "Older. His name is Martyn, and he doesn't go to this school anymore. He still lives with me though, and ever since I... since some stuff happened, he's been really horrible to me, so I avoid him now." Phil didn't look at Dan once when he admitted this. "What about you anyway?" It was a feeble attempt to change the subject, and Dan noticed this. "Dunno, the idea of not being late anymore and listening to quality music without having to waste my own phone battery kinda appealed to me." He said vaguely. There wasn't really any importance to his story, Phil's sounded a lot more troubling. "Ever since you what, though?" The nervousness was catching, as Dan swallowed in anticipation. He wasn't sure why, but he felt like if Phil was to say what was on his mind, it would be some massive confession that he'd only told his family. Phil cleared his throat. "Um, ever since, I, told them, um, I'm... uh, I'm gay?" He phrased it as a question, quickly broke eye contact with Dan. Though when he looked up, Dan was frowning. "I can't believe you have a homophobic brother! It's not the Stone Age anymore, gay marriage is even legal in America! I'm so sorry you had to go through that Phil." Dan was honestly extremely upset for Phil. He was bisexual anyway, and even though he hadn't explicitly told anyone other than himself in front of the mirror, he didn't really think anyone would be particularly bothered by it. Phil peaked at Dan from behind his fringe. "You mean you don't mind?" He asked. "Of course! I'm not a complete dick. Nor a hypocrite." Dan said, coming out as nonchalantly as he could. Phil eyes just widened, showing off that beautiful ocean blue. "You mean you're...?" "Bisexual, yeah." Phi looked clueless, so Dan filled him in. "It means I like girls and boys. There are loads of different sexualities, you have no idea! The internet hobos - including myself - are extremely up to date with these things. Tumblr is a wonderful place, my friend!" Phil laughed at that, so Dan guessed he knew what he meant. Conversation trailed off after that, but Dan didn't mind. Phil turned on his music again, and as 'Sarah Smiles' (P!ATD) played, he couldn't help the happy, loved-up theme of the music get to his brain. Was Phil... glowing? Yes, his eyes were always bright and skin pale enough to be a vampire, but there was a new, happy glow about him that made Dan erupt into a grin. "What?" Phil asked. Dan didn't realise he had been staring. He could kiss him right now. Dan could kiss Phil and Phil would kiss back, then they'd rest their foreheads together and sigh happily. But he didn't. "Nothing." The next day, Dan was late. He had stayed up late last night, going through Tumblr and Wikipedia and searching up different sexualities and how to come out and taking surveys to see which Disney princess he was (the result was Belle). This made him forget to set his alarm for 6:30, and due to his messed up body clock, he slept until eight and had to do the whole panic thing where he runs around finding clothes and grabbing books. Unfortunately for him, Dan had to skip straightening his hair, since he at least wanted to speak to Phil before school started. Of course, it was a bit weird that he was only late to be early and meet Phil, so technically Dan was on time, but he didn't see it that way. And neither, apparently, did Phil, as he definitely shot Dan a surly look his way. Dan wanted to go and talk to him, but the bell had rung and the two were in different years, forcing him to wait until break to look for him. However, he couldn't find Phil anywhere; it was like he had disappeared. What he didn't know was that Phil left school during both break and lunch to eat, as he didn't have many friends and wasn't really social enough to care. The annoying situation meant that, unless Dan was to stalk him, he wouldn't get to see Phil until that next morning - if he wasn't avoiding Dan. Luckily enough, Phil's brother was enough of a dick for him to not be able to bear his company at all, so Phil arrived at his usual time of 7:20 and put his earphones in. Dan, this time waking up at the correct time, joined him ten minutes later, sitting down besides Phil and hoping he wasn't mad. To his surprise, Phil took out his earphones from the phone and held his hand out to him. Dan handed over his splitters. Moments later they were nodding their heads along to My Chemical Romance's 'It's Not a Fashion Statement It's Death'. Everything was going as normal, but Dan couldn't help but to feel some... tension around the two. Phil clearly had something on his mind, but he didn't look like he'd be updating Dan about it anytime soon. The brunette boy decided to break the newly-found uneasy silence around them, nudging the other with his elbow. Phil paused his music, watching Dan with curiosity and waiting for him to say something. "Sorry I was late yesterday, I overslept. Wikipedia tangents are so unpredictable sometimes." Phil chuckled a little a that, albeit possibly a little forced, but Dan smiled, happy he was getting through to him. "How boring was yesterday, without my company and all? Miss me much?" Dan asked cheekily. Phil rolled his eyes, though he was smiling. "Meh, same old, same old. Me and the caretaker, though - I think we really hit it off yesterday. You were nowhere to be seen, and be is just such great company - you're not really needed anymore." Dan couldn't tell he was joking until he broke into a grin, draping his arms around Dan's waist in a friendly, laid back manner, drawing him close as one would squeeze another's hand. There was nothing amorous or suggestive about it at all, Dan reminded himself over and over again as he leaned into Phil's touch. Peacefully, the boys stayed that way for what seemed like a very long time. Neither pulled away, nor did Dan or Phil turn the music back on at any point. Dan liked it like that. He wasn't quite sure what was going on in his head, or Phil's for that matter, but that moment of mindfulness was extremely welcome. Of course, the one thing that may have been definitely far better would have been for Phil to lean in, looking down at Dan's mouth with lust and desire, then suddenly Phil's lips on his, softly, sweetly kissing him with loving and tender care. But that didn't happen. Soon, another week passed, and Dan felt like something wasn't right. It was the weekend again, but this one was lonelier than most. He only saw Phil on schooldays early in the morning, and was almost... craving more. Phil was all that was on his mind, whenever he had a moment to his self, or just a bit of time where he could let his mind wander, it always returned to Phil's crystal blue eyes and jet black fringe. Of course, it didn't come with the baggage it came with before; Dan was no longer questioning his sexuality, and had fully accepted it. But before he could even think to make any sort of move on Phil, it was best to be certain of the reaction of his parents. Dan had never been afraid of what people thought of him - at least, never before. It never really bothered him. And now... it was about his family: mum, dad, Adrian. Thinking about Phil reminded him that coming out wasn't always so easy. When Monday rolled around, Dan decided on going to Phil for advice. He had already had previous experience with the exact situation Dan was dealing with, so it seemed the obvious choice. Phil was already sitting on his steps, nodding his head along to the music, though when he noticed Dan he took out his earphones. "Hey." He smiled, lighting up both his face and Dan's. Dan swallowed nervously. "I was wondering if I could talk to you about something?" He asked. Phil nodded, patting the space on the ground beside him and setting aside his phone. "Whatever you need, Dan." Phil smiled again, making Dan feel far more comfortable and reassured as he smiled back. "I want to ask you about... coming out." Dan looked at Phil nervously, and Phil stared at his lap somewhat guiltily for a few minutes before looking up and replying. "I'm sorry, I probably scared you you about coming out by telling you about my brother. It doesn't always go like that, Dan, and not everyone is a homophobe. Sometimes you have to take risks so you don't hold back who you are and what you want; it's better than pretending to be someone you're not." Phil cupped Dan's cheek in the palm of his hand and Dan nuzzled into it ever so slightly. "If your parents love you, they will accept you." As he said this, Phil removed his hand. "Thank you Phil, really. I think... I may be actually ready to do this." Phil smiled at Dan, a proud expression on his face. "Good. And if you need any help, I'm here for you." Dan chewed his lip. He wanted to ask for one more thing but was unsure whether Phil would find it strange or not. "Maybe, um, you could help?" Phil's response was to look at him quizzically. "I mean, you could, well-" "Pretend to be your boyfriend?" Phil guessed. He had been thinking the exact same thing, though he wasn't sure exactly how he had found the courage to say anything. Dan nodded sheepishly. "I'd be happy to do that, anything to help! I know how hard it is, when you're so nervous of their reactions. And I'll be there for you no matter what." He took Dan's hand and smiled. "Would you, maybe, come over after school? My parents wont be home until a bit later, so we could just hang out and get our story straight?" Dan suggested, taking another risky leap into the unknown. "Sure." Phil smiled again. The rest of the school day was just plainly irrelevant. Dan didn't care about the area of a triangle using sine, he didn't care what Shakespeare symbolised though his repeated use of verse, he didn't care about the direction of blood flow through the heart. All that mattered was that Phil freaking Lester was coming over to his house. As if that wasn't nerve-wrecking enough, they would be discussing their (fake) relationship. And coming out. Dan wasn't the loneliest kid in school - that was probably Phil, at least before he met Dan - he had a few mutual friends though seating arrangements and groups in classes. As long as he kept on good terms with them, Dan was fine with it. But now he really needed someone he was close to, that wasn't Phil, so he could talk about Phil. And after school, Dan started panicking. Where would they meet? When? What would they talk about? Should they walk or take the bus? What should they eat? Should Dan change out of his uniform? How should he introduce Phil to his parents? Is the fake boyfriend thing a bad idea? However, he saw Phil already waiting by the gate. He was staring off into the distance, so Dan jokingly waved a hand in front of his eyes, announcing his presence. Phil grinned, lighting up his whole face, and offered his hand out to Dan, who had to remind himself that it was all an act, and not a sign that Phil liked him. The two made their way to Dan's empty house, walking the whole way and talking about the many mutual interests they had. Once they started on their similar music tastes, the conversation found it's way to video games and movies, as well as tumblr and youtube. Dan led Phil up to his room, untidied and covered in band posters. The first thing Phil commented on was the piano, sitting on the stool and lightly brushing the keys. "Do you play?" He asked, and Dan replied in affirmative. "Will you play for me?" Phil smiled cheekily. Dan hesitated, but then grinned back and pushed Phil off the stool playfully to sit on it himself. Taking a deep breath, he placed his fingers on the piano and began to play 'Inguene', letting the music wash over him. When he looked up again, Phil had his eyes closed and was leaning against the wall. The music stopped playing, and Phil opened his eyes, blushing at Dan's amused stare. "Shall we discuss details?" Phil changed the subject hastily. "That was beautiful by the way." He added. Dan's blush was darker than Phil's, but he stuttered "Thank you" and sat down on his bed, inviting the other boy next to him. "So, how long have we been dating? My mum'll want the story of how we met." Phil giggled, and Dan almost died in shock at how cute that was. "Well, my mum always said that the best way to lie is to stay as close as possible to the truth. So why not just tell the real story of how we met, about a month ago, adding that we started dating then as well. That'll also clear up where you've been disappearing early in the morning every day. Then everything's sorted!" "Sounds airtight to me." Dan smiled. "Now I can focus my mind on worrying about how they'll react." Seeing how forlorn and nervous Dan looked, Phil scooted closer to Dan and wrapped an arm around him. Dan found himself leaning into his touch, unsurprised at his urge but very surprised at his confidence. Phil rubbed his hand up and down Dan's arms, comforting him, and though he made Dan's heart beat faster, it also calmed him down and made him feel more at ease. "Don't worry," Phil murmured quietly, his breath hot on the top of Dan's hair. "Everything will be fine. And if we don't get the preferred outcome, I'll stay by your side and help you through it." Dan looked up at Phil with eyes so full of innocence and worry and trust. "Promise?" Placing a kiss to Dan's forehead, Phil smiled. "Promise." But Dan didn't really have the time to silently scream about the deep blush flooding his face from the tingling spot on his forehead that the hottest boy in the world had kissed so softly but so lovingly, since from downstairs, he could hear his mother entering through the door while talking on the phone to his father. "Oh shit, she's early." Dan whispered, looking at Phil while his stomach lurched. "Do we have to do this now?" "It's now or never Dan. We can wait for your father to come home first, but I think we should get it out of the way first. Okay?" Dan nodded. "So how do you want me to act? Should I call you by your name or a pet name? How should I address them? Do you want me to be touchy or not?" It then occurred to Dan just how nervous Phil was. "You really don't have to do this, you're not actually my boyfriend. These strings aren't yet attached to you." He joked. "No, I want to." Phil argued. Dan thought for a bit. "Well, in that case, just act as if you were really my boyfriend." "But if you were really my boyfriend and I was being introduced to your parents, I would have no idea how to act, so I'd ask you!" Dan chuckled at that. Downstairs, his mother was finishing her phone call. "Dan, I'm home!" She called up the stairs. "I'm going to have to go down now. And it doesn't really matter what they think about you, this is all fake, and we're going to have to 'break up' at some point too." Phil looked down, playing with his hands. "What?" Dan asked. "It's just... I do care what they think of me because... well, I want to be your real boyfriend someday, if you'd say yes of course." Dan gaped at him. "You... you really mean that?" When Phil nodded, Dan couldn't contain his happiness. He flung his arms around Phil and embraced him tightly. "Yes. Of course I will be your boyfriend." He didn't want to ever let go, but from downstairs his mum was calling him again. "Coming mum!" He reluctantly untangled himself from his BOYFRIEND and called down to his mum. "At least I'm not lying to her any more. And to answer your question, be yourself and be comfortable with that. I've never brought anyone home before, let alone a boy, so I don't really know how you should act, but that seems like the safest bet." Phil held out his arm as Dan opened the door, beckoning for Dan to hold on. "What a gentleman." Dan commented, leaving the room with his boyfriend. "Mum?" He called out. "I've got someone here. Someone special." Dan smiled at Phil, who only blushed. The two went down the stairs, letting go of each other when they met Dan's mum in the kitchen. "Mum, this is Phil." His mum gave him a quizzical look. "He's my boyfriend?" Dan's voice got higher at the end of the phrase, making it sound like a question. Mrs Howell stayed silent for a minute, then raised the phone to her ear. "Didn't I tell you, Howard? I knew Dan was going to come out, I said so! You just heard it with your own ears. I'm going to go now, come home soon! Love you." She put the phone down. "Sorry, Sweetie. Your dad and I were having a disagreement on when you were going to come out to us. Phil, was it? Welcome to the family." Phil, who was shifting uncomfortably before this, grinned slightly and and blushed. "Thanks, Mrs Howell." "Just call me Katherine." Phil's smile grew. "You treating my son well?" "Muum." Dan moaned. "Um, we haven't really been going out very long... but yeah, I'd never do anything to hurt him at all." Phil looked at Dan when he said this, giving him a sweet smile. "Well that's good. Do you go to school together? Is that why Dan keeps sneaking off early every morning?" Phil looked sheepish. "Um, we don't... we're not in the same year, but we meet up every morning." "Aww, that's so sweet you two. I expect to be seeing a lot more of you, Phil, but you can go upstairs now. Stay safe!" She joked. The two boys went back upstairs, both blushing furiously. "I think that went quite well." Dan said. Phil bit his lip. "There is just one more think I want to do." Phil said quietly, edging closer to Dan. Dan closed his eyes, easily guessing what was happening. Phil was taller, so Dan tilted his head slightly upwards, and their lips connected.

#phan #Phanfic #phanfiction #phanfic au #whatitistobeaphan #teenagers au

53 notes · View notes

bigalsblogget · 8 years

Text

"Lost time is never found again." - Ben Franklin

How to Have an Internet-Free Day!

By Craig Ballantyne

In military jargon there is something referred to as Mission Creep.

According to Wikipedia, it is "the expansion of a project or mission beyond its original goals, often after initial successes. Mission creep is usually considered undesirable due to the dangerous path of each success breeding more ambitious attempts, only stopping when a final, often catastrophic, failure occurs."

Recently, I've suffered from Internet creep. No, I haven't had any interactions with Anthony Weiner. I'm referring to the slow expansion of time spent on email correspondence and website surfing into my daily schedule.

Blasphemy, you say. Is not your editor supposed to be the epitome of schedule discipline and restraint when it comes to productivity?

Well, yes, and I take the responsibility of being a good example to our readers very seriously. Hence the need for an intervention.

My most recent experiment was based on an idea that Matt Smith and I have been discussing for a long time. I call it the Device-Free Day.

The experiment was run on a Sunday. I didn't use a computer or turn on my phone for almost 36 hours (from Saturday afternoon to Mondaymorning). No email, no text messages, no checking NFL scores online. Nothing. It was wonderfully liberating. I plan to do this at least once per month.

Granted, for a few ETR readers, this might not be a big deal. But for the majority of readers, going that long without access to email or text messaging is akin to withholding breathing from their daily routine. I can assure you, however, it was not that difficult. I'll prove that to you below with a step-by-step plan on how you can do the same.

The benefits are numerous.

Avoiding the siren's call of the Internet gave me much more time to think, to reflect in introspection, to plan some big projects, to spend time with family, and to read the books that have been piling up around me thanks to my overzealous Amazon shopping habits.

One of them was the educational and entertaining, Daily Rituals, by Mason Currey. I love this book. It's an amazing anthology of the daily habits kept by famous authors, painters, and composers from history. Many of them exhibited strange and wonderful behavioral quirks. Some were extreme disciplinarians, others were substance abusing, obsessive-compulsive geniuses that drank themselves to death or at least suffered from wild excesses. Many of them make my habits look downright normal.

It also revealed how dedicated these artists were to their craft, often working five years or more just to finish one book! It was incredibly inspirational - and even if you're not a writer, you'll find great motivation in their perseverance and persistence towards their goals.

But you'll also discover that even three hundred years ago, our literary heroes were dealing with procrastination every day. Instead of email, they spent hours answering letters instead of working on their novels. Others engrossed themselves in multiple newspapers, and would today likely cycle through a series of online websites to get their fix.

Ultimately, they all found ways to combat their vices enough to create works of fiction, musical compositions, and other works of art that have stood the test of time.

That's the role of the Willpower reset - to give you the discipline and defense against the many time vampires of modern society that will help you get more done.

By taking a device-free day, you'll experience mental clarity. Ideas for projects will bubble forth when you don't have your attention diverted to your inbox, or as you sit in anticipation (read: desire) of a new text message to satisfy your attention deficit issues.

Taking a holiday from wireless connectivity will help you identify the gaps in your defense and weaknesses in your day. At what time are you most itching to access your favorite news sites? When are you on the cusp of madness to get access to your inbox? By knowing these truths about yourself, you can shore up your defenses and modify your routine to be more productive.

You'll also discover the power of batch tasking and how transition time, back and forth from email to work to email to work is robbing you of hours of productivity each day. While the reality of a device-free day is that you'll return to an email inbox filled with more messages than usual, you'll also realize that you can whip through the correspondence in a short time, much less than you would spend on a normal day checking email several times.

Ultimately, you'll experience incredible liberation from a device-free day. It will reset your willpower so that, for at least a few days after, it will be easier for you to avoid checking your inbox, Facebook account, YouTube, and favorite news websites as often as you had been last week.

Of course, this all sounds easier said than done, right? Well, let me give you hope that it will work for you.

First of all, I don't suggest trying to do this on a Monday when you're traveling for business to an important meeting all the while having three kids at home (with at least one of them sick, of course), and an overwhelmed spouse that wants to hear your voice. Likewise, I don't recommend a device-free day on the morning after a hot date when you want to keep the spark alive.

Certainly there are days that are best for trying this experiment. These tend to be later in the week or on the weekend.

Everyone can pull this off provided you plan and prepare for what we know will occur. You just need to establish a series of practical considerations that will enable this to work.

If you worry that you will succumb to temptation, as I nearly did late in the afternoon when the desire to visit ESPN.com was almost overwhelming, there are simple steps you can take to stay strong.

First, make your commitment public. Share this with your friends and family the day before. This will also help manage their expectations with respect to your response time on any messages that they send you on your device free day.

If necessary, hand over your devices to a gatekeeper. Have them stored under lock and key so that you can't get at them.

That said, make sure everyone important has an emergency contact for you. Have your phone forwarded to another number where you can be reached. I still use a landline. My immediate family knows the number. Everyone else can wait.

You will also need to have any relevant phone numbers, meeting places, and content to review printed off from your devices so that you don't suddenly find yourself trying to remember where you were to meet your wife for lunch or the details of a specific project that you want to work on.

Finally, be prepared to deal with the aftermath. You'll need to set aside time for the extra work that you'll come up with for yourself. Being liberated from technology will allow your mind to work properly again. You'll be more creative than you can remember yourself being in a long time. This will lead to many good ideas that will need implementing when you are ready to return to your already busy schedule. Consider this a good thing, but be prepared for it.

Listen, you can cut the cord, so to speak, yourself or you can pay $350 per weekend to attend a digital detox camp in the woods. I think you'll agree that the DIY approach is better, and certainly cheaper.

Likewise, you can do a willpower reset with anything in life. If you think you're drinking too much caffeine, take a weekend off to reset your intake and identify the times of day where strong habits have been built and desires are overwhelming. Once you've identified these obstacles, come up with at least two solutions to overcome them in the days ahead.

The simple connection of cause-and-effect can liberate you from almost any negative ritual in your life. If you find your progress in life hampered by the control of digital devices over your time, plan ahead for a device-free day this weekend. At the very least, you'll actually get something done and remember what it was like to be alive back in the 1980's. The retro experience will deal your mind a load of benefits.

#ALW'S BLOGS 2017 #ALW'S HEALTH and WISDOM #secret cures #cures for cancer #underground medicine

3 notes · View notes

handsingsweapon · 7 years

Note

18 victuuri for the halloween challenge

The character ends up locked in another reality where everything around them is just a bit ‘off’, as well as the fact that no one seems to recognize them. Then they meet one other character who does remember them, and appears to be going through the same thing.this was a hard one to decide what to do for … tw for panic attack! otherwise not particularly scary. more fluff than scare.

Mornings are supposed to have a rhythm. The alarm goes off; Victor grabs it, and depending on his mood, the schedule ahead of them both, or the day, he either proceeds to take Makkachin out for a morning run and then comes back for a shower, or he nuzzles closer and breathes soft, increasingly sloppy kisses across Yuuri’s neck and his shoulders.This morning the alarm goes off until Yuuri has to reach for it, until he knocks his phone and his glasses off their nightstand trying. He grumbles a complaint for Victor’s benefit and tries to go back to sleep.

Five minutes later the alarm goes off again. “Victor,” Yuuri whines, to no answer, which piques his curiosity. He opens his eyes to navy blue sheets, expecting white, and the bed’s oriented the wrong way, and come to think of it this isn’t even his house.

“Victor?”

He wanders through an empty living room and an unfamiliar kitchen, getting increasingly short of breath. “Vitya? Makkachin?”

Yuuri throws back the curtains. Detroit looks back out at him.

Don’t panic don’t panic don’t panic don’t panic

He looks down at his hands; the engagement ring twinkles back at him, and Yuuri stares at it, palms trembling, until he decides to settle for calling Victor. He’s not sure what he’ll say: Hi Vitya. I woke up in Detroit this morning, did we happen to go to Detroit?

His phone’s lock screen is usually a picture of Victor and Makkachin, on the beach in Hasetsu. Today it’s an old picture of Vicchan.

Victor’s number is not in his phone. The vice around Yuuri’s chest seizes up as his brain folds up into static. Don’t panic, Yuuri thinks at himself, panicking. He hits the floor, sucks in huge and ineffective gulps of air, and suddenly there are two slender hands framing his face.

Phichit Chulanont’s kind eyes come into focus. “Yuuri? Yuuri, what – it’s okay, breathe. Breathe.”

He’s in a doctor’s office taking a spirometer test. “What do you mean, anxiety?” Celestino asks, while Yuuri breathes deeply in, and deeply out. He’s the first one Phichit called, once he got Yuuri upright in the flat. Phichit, what am I doing here? Yuuri’d wanted to know, confused, because even this house is foreign to him; when he lived with Phichit it had been in a shitty, miserable dormitory room and not a decently-sized two bedroom flat. I mean, you’re up really early, Phichit had shrugged, and then he’d gotten increasingly worried. Yuuri, you live here. “Yuuri, I’ve known you for years and you’ve never once had a panic attack,” Celestino says, which prompts Yuuri to scan his face. He’s always known the Italian to be big and bold and perhaps even pushy, but not once has Celestino ever been malicious. He has a good heart, and there’s no lie in his eyes.

“Well, what about my anxiety?”

“Anxiety?” Celestino laughs and shakes his head, although he’s got a curious look as he watches Yuuri finish the breathing test. “I think you hit your head a little hard trying to come up with that new program last week. You’d think with five world championships under your belt, you’d know how to cut yourself some slack.”

“I … what?”

All the tests come back normal. There’s nothing wrong with him. Phichit drives them back to the apartment in a car he insists is Yuuri’s. Yuuri isn’t sure when he had the time, interest, or money for buying an Audi.

He watches a city where everything looks the same fly by his eyes, twists the ring around his finger. Back at the house he finally takes notice of the details in what’s supposedly his room, artifacts of a life that isn’t his. The photo on his nightstand isn’t from Barcelona, for one thing. It’s a picture of him and his family in a place he recognizes as Sochi.

They’re standing in front of the Olympic rings. He’s wearing a gold medal that he’s seen and held before: one of the two of them that Victor has, at their flat in St. Petersburg.

He googles ‘Victor Nikiforov phone number.’ The first result is a dentist office in Topeka, Kansas. Out of desperation, Yuuri clicks on the website. That Victor is definitively not his Victor.

He goes through all three pages of results before he gets taken to anything useful: a mailing list about Russian skaters. He tries to run what he finds through google translate, and the phrases all come out wrong.

Knee surgery?

When Yuuri goes to sleep, he tells himself that this is a horrible dream, and that he’s going to wake up to Victor resetting their alarm. Even if he isn’t in the mood to curl closer, Yuuri’s going to pull him back into bed and kiss him until he chases the wrongness of this entire scenario out of every inch of his own skin.

By the third day, he’s starting to lose hope.

He’s read his own Wikipedia article to get up to speed on his life. He is Yuuri Katsuki, five-time world champion. He lives in Detroit, where he trains with his coach, Celestino Cialdini, and he keeps a roommate – not out of necessity, but friendship and habit. There are whole forums devoted to his magazine spreads: enigmatic world-champion, Yuuri Katsuki, they say, as though he were actually a mystery. He’s watched his own interviews on YouTube, as cool and collected as he was in Barcelona right in the middle of his record-setting free skate, speaking with a calmness that Yuuri has never once felt.

“I think I just need a break,” Yuuri admits to a worried Phichit, and he books the next flight to Hasetsu with this other Yuuri Katsuki’s money; money Yuuri himself has no recollection of ever earning.

Victor isn’t there, either: Yuuri called his sister to ask if there’s been any foreigners at the inn on day 2. Well yeah, idiot. We get them all the time now, thanks to you. It wasn’t Mari’s fault that Yuuri’s heart leapt into his throat. It’s a couple from Australia this month. Why the hell do you care?

He kisses the ring when he wakes up and before he sleeps. He’s taken it off of his finger and stared at the other half of a snowflake inside more than once.

Sharp-eyed Minako catches it on his hand and wants him to explain himself immediately, but Yuuri won’t take it off. “It’s a good luck charm,” he says, which wasn’t convincing when he proposed the first time around and sure as hell isn’t convincing now.

He skates Stammi Vicino, Non Te Andare over and over again by memory at the Ice Castle Hasetsu. Doing so, he can almost feel Victor nearby, can imagine what it’s like to reach out and touch his face.

“Hey, stop that!” Yuuko’s voice chases the ghost of Victor Nikiforov away from Yuuri’s imagination. She’s getting on to the triplets. “That’s Yuuri’s new choreography,” she insists. “You can’t just video it.”

That’s when he remembers: Victor commissioned the music. For all Yuuri knows, he’s the only one on earth who knows this song.

“No,” he murmurs, and skates back to the start. “Let them film it.”

Minako’s the one who finds the video on YouTube first. It’s uploaded from a Russian account and it’s only got one hundred and fourteen views when she finds it, which just begs the question exactly how far in YouTube’s video results she’d gone, sitting around and drinking to pass the time at the shop. She still sounds a little tipsy when she bursts into Yu-Topia waving her phone. “Get a load of this, Yuuri,” she quips, and tosses the device at him with little to no warning. “Some Russian amateur’s skated some weird homage to you.”

Yuuri nearly drops the phone. “He’s calling it Yuuri on Ice.”

He hears Yuri Plisetsky’s voice, grousing in Russian that Yuuri can just barely make out: it’s something about you shouldn’t be back here, you moron, the doctors told you no skating.

It’s the next voice that takes his breath away, along with the figure on the ice.

Victor.

It’s Victor.

There’s no music in the video for where the piano strain is supposed to be, of course not; in this place, it’s another song that doesn’t exist, but even at this resolution, Yuuri can see it, the gleam of gold on his hand as Victor reaches.

Yuuri watches the whole thing, crying, and then chokes back a laugh at the end, when Yuri Plisetsky’s shock rings loud and clear: Victor, what the fuck was that?

“Minako-sensei,” he says carefully, scrubbing at his face while she looks at him like he’s grown additional heads, “… have you ever been to St. Petersburg?”

#victuuri #sim's halloween prompt-a-looza #tw: panic attack #asksimanything #prompts!

45 notes · View notes