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ssahotstuff · 2 years

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Aaron Hotchner Playlist Collection 💕

I Found Someone by Cher here

Warnings: smut, age gap, oral, fem receiving, unprotected sex, alcohol use, cursing

Word count: 6k

Meeting your father's friends was usually something you didn't enjoy doing. They were boring men with wives that were too good for them, all into accounting or something mundane that didn't make for good conversation at the dinner table. You weren't sure what to expect when your father explained that his guest this evening was an FBI agent, a man named Aaron that he golfed with on occasion. Your mother was trying to play matchmaker, but you told her to keep dreaming; you couldn't help but be curious about the stranger though, eagerly awaiting his arrival.

"Now your father says he's a private man. He may not warm up to you quick," she warned, and you rolled your eyes, knowing you were the most lovable person on the planet and no one could resist your bubbly self, even a big, strong FBI agent.

You wore a shorter lavender dress and sandals, since the weather was cooperating. Your mother had repeatedly complimented your outfit, that's how you knew you'd done a good job getting ready. She was a tough woman to win over, but her idea that you and this secret visitor would hit it off was one she wasn't ready to shake any time soon. Your father had given you the go ahead if you were interested, because you were grown, and he said he was 'exactly your type' and that was an exact quote.

You had just started work on dinner when he arrived, your father inviting him to have a drink by the pool. You took a second standing in the bay window to admire him; he was your type. He was tall and broad, with dark hair and a strong, manly face. He looked like an FBI agent in his khakis and crisp baby blue dress shirt. You pulled yourself away from the window to focus on the meal you were cooking, your mother had abandoned you in the kitchen to see to her guest.

You checked on dinner which was nearly finished, all you needed to do was set the table. It was at this point the handsome stranger had decided to come introduce himself, standing idly by while you put plates in their proper place.

"Your dad tells me we have you to thank for dinner tonight," he shot you a dazzling smile from his spot by the door, and you gestured to the table, trying to make light of the situation.

"Mom means well when she starts, but she usually leaves me to it. I'm Y/n," you put out your hand for him to shake, noticing how his hands swallowed yours up, and it left your imagination to wonder as to what he could do with them. You wanted to scold yourself for being so shamelessly attracted to him but you couldn't help it, he was exactly what you wanted in a man.

"Aaron. It smells delicious in here. Is there anything I could help you with?" You were shocked at his manners, how helpful he was. He put silverware and napkins on one side of the table while you brought the food to the table. He made a satisfied hum as you sat dinner on the table and you took a moment to be proud that you'd learned something in the kitchen and could impress a man with your cooking skills.

"I'll grab your parents, if you want," he offered, so you poured the wine and waited on everyone to join you.

"Smells like the holidays in here," your dad chirped as he took a seat at the head of the table, Aaron taking the seat across from you.

"Wrong kind of bird," you'd made a chicken, baked to golden perfection with the right amount of seasoning and butter, hoping it was as juicy as it looked.

"Either way, it smells good dear. I don't know what I'll do when you move out," your mother not cooking was kind of the family joke—you always made meals, no matter who was coming over. Your dad loves your cooking and so did everyone else, you hadn't met a soul that complained yet.

"Starve or live off of microwave dinners," you shot back and he groaned, all while shooting your mother a loving look from across the table.

"Maybe you can still cook for me on Sundays," he was especially sensitive about you moving out and into your first home in a few weeks, his little girl all grown up and going out on her own. He'd helped you pick the house, deciding on a small, two bedroom home on the opposite side of town, but still close. You would only be five minutes away.

"Sunday dinner sounds doable," you bargained, knowing you'd be busy with your new job but the weekends were always free.

"Her apple turnovers are going to change your life," your dad told Aaron, making you blush. You weren't usually so bashful but your smiley guest had you on your toes, making you a bit more alert than normal.

"I can't wait to try them," he offered you a smile behind his glass, your mother tossing you a knowing look from her spot at the table.

"Tell us about what you do, Aaron. You're a profiler, right? Y/n took a couple of classes at the Academy," your mother beamed, hoping you'd have more than one thing in common with him. He explained briefly what it was exactly that he and his team did, how he was always on the road, and that it was a hard lifestyle to keep up with. He was saying these things to see how you'd react to the toll his job took on his personal life, if it scared you. You weren't the slightest bit intimidated, in fact, you would happily make your schedule work around something like that. You worked from home so it would be easy enough to manage a sporadic relationship, and you were more than interested in the man across from you.

"What do you do exactly?" He asked you, and you assumed your father hadn't explained to him.

"I teach homeschooled children four days a week, it's all on the computer so it's pretty neat. There are only 3 kids I teach regularly so it's a really personal experience," he clung to your every syllable, his gaze on you entirely as you spoke. You'd never felt so recognized; it was like someone was finally hearing you for the first time.

"When I retire from the field I think I'll teach at the academy," he told you, and it seemed that you had more than one thing in common—you could tell by your mother's perpetual happy face that she was excited the two of you seemed to be hitting it off.

"After dinner we'll show Aaron the pool table," your dad said, winking at you from his seat. You were the undefeated champion in your house, your dad had taught you well and you practiced nearly everyday having a table so easily accessible. It was your party trick, your go to at bars to hustle men out of money. You'd play dumb the first couple of games and then you'd sweep them under the rug, leaving them wondering how you did it.

"Something tells me I've been practicing the wrong sport," he was an avid golfer, and you went occasionally, if your dad asked you to. You hadn't been since summer ended, but if they were to invite you, you'd go, just to see Aaron play.

"Oh she's a hell of a golfer too. We should go before you move, take Aaron with us," he suggested and you agreed happily, knowing there was a white tennis skort in your closet that you were dying to wear in front of Aaron. It was long enough to wear in front of your dad but short enough to be rather scandalous, and what better way to tease the new object of your affections?

"I'm free this week," he told you, and so you all aimed for Tuesday, meeting at the country club to spend the day whacking balls around. When dinner was finished you stayed behind to help your mother with the dishes, Aaron and your father making their way towards the basement. Aaron shot you one final look before descending the stairs, a mixture of curiosity and anticipation on his face. Your mother was all giggles as you stood at the sink, washing as she dried.

"He likes you. I can tell," you felt yourself blush uncontrollably as you worked along side of her, trying to keep a straight face.

"He just met me, mom."

You had noticed his eyes on you through dinner, the way he couldn't pull his gaze from you no matter who was talking. He was more interested in your reaction to what was being said, or what you had to say.

"He gave you that look, and I know that look. It's the same one your father gave me," their age gap was similar to yours and Aaron's, which is why your parents were so okay with it in the first place. He was nearly forty, but you didn't mind—he looked really good for his age and it didn't intimidate you the way it might some women. You liked older men, preferred them in fact. He was right up your alley, as predicted by your parents.

"Don't get carried away," you finished up and joined your father and Aaron in the basement, your mom trailing right behind you. She poured the four of you a drink and you watched your dad and Aaron play pool; he was good, but your dad finished the game quickly, pocketing all of his balls first.

"Come play," your dad urged, giving you a chance against Aaron. You started off easy, making a couple of shots, giving him time to keep up with you. It wasn't until your third simultaneous pocket that Aaron started to get concerned he might lose.

"You're a lot better than I expected," he admitted as you won the game, your dad cheering you on from his chair across the room. Your game room was impressive, pool and air hockey tables in the center, a bar in the back, along with several loungers and chairs to sit in. You and Aaron played another game while your parents talked, but eventually your mom and dad went upstairs, leaving you alone with him.

"I know we're golfing this week, but seeing you again is at the top of my to do list," he said after taking a shot and missing, letting you have your turn.

"I'll give you my number and we can do something," you agreed, exchanging numbers before your dad requested Aaron's presence, so you followed him upstairs. They went out back by the pool, leaving you and your mother in the kitchen. She'd just put an apple turnover on a plate for you and then herself, sitting down at the table with you.

"Your dad sees it too. He wants you with someone who can take care of you," your mother explained, and you knew that as overbearing as they could be at times, they only wanted what was best for you.

"We're going to see each other again," you whispered, watching her gush with excitement for you, her hand on your arm.

"I hope you see him everyday."

You had been texting him nonstop. After he left your house, he sent you a message, and it was never ending after that—you always found something new to talk about, keeping conversations going for hours. Your phone hadn't been so glued to your hand since middle school when you'd first gotten one. You walked around the house with a smile plastered to your face at all times, feeling like a lovesick puppy at all times. He was just so sweet, constantly giving you compliments and telling you how he couldn't wait to see you again—it made you want to see him all the time.

You'd just closed your bedroom door for the night, climbing in bed so you could text him uninterrupted by anything else. His nights were spent clacking away at his phone, talking to you, and you loved being able to occupy such a large portion of his time. You especially liked that he made time for you despite his hectic schedule.

Instead of a text message, he was calling you, his name flashing across the caller ID, making you do a double take.

"Hey," you were surprised he was calling but you wouldn't complain about hearing his smooth, deep voice again.

"I don't know how you feel about calls, but I wanted to hear your voice before bed," he purred, making you sink further into the pillows, smiling to yourself.

"You can call me any time. Tell me about your day," you encouraged, and so he did. He didn't give you all the details, but he'd got to work locally the last few days, and he'd finished things up just in time for your golf day. It was tomorrow, and you'd had your outfit in mind for days, hoping Aaron liked it as much as you thought he would.

"I'm excited I get to see you again tomorrow," he told you, making your cheeks heat up even if he wasn't around to see it. He could reduce you to a puddle in no time, make you feel at the top of the world with his sweet words and kind nature.

"I've thought about it all week," you told him, his chuckle low and melodious on the other end of the phone.

"Me too. I was going to wait until tomorrow to ask, but while I've got you on the phone, I was wondering if I could take you on a date."

You agreed a little too happily, but you'd been expecting it in a sense. You knew you wanted to see him where you could be around him without your father and you were hoping he'd be a gentleman and ask you out instead of just asking you to come to hang out. You had no doubts that at his age, he was interested in something serious, and you could tell he knew how to treat a lady by the way he was always polite and courteous with you, making sure you were comfortable with him asking certain questions.

"Then it's settled. I don't want to sound impatient, but the sooner the better," you had craved a man that was all about you and it seemed as if you'd finally found one; Aaron was especially attentive, wanting to give you his undivided attention whenever he could. When he wasn't working, he was texting you, giving you updates about his day and asking about yours, or asking a question to learn more about you.

"Excited to see me?" You joked, and he hummed in response, making you eager to hear his response.

"I've been waiting to see you since I left your house. There's just something about you that I can't get out of my head," you were shocked to hear him so transparent but you appreciated his honesty. It had been a long time since you'd genuinely felt anything for anyone, and you'd given Aaron a spot in your life easily compared to other men you'd dated. Aaron was different; he was mature, he knew what he wanted and he wasn't afraid to tell you how he felt.

"I'm glad we're on the same page," you'd felt the same, the man had laced your every thought, making you feel like the most important person in the world with his sweet messages and desire to talk to you.

"Can I take you out tomorrow night? I'm off the rest of the week so any time I can see you, I want to."

You quickly gave him all of your free time, making plans to work twice as hard in between golfing and your date so you didn't fall behind.

"Tomorrow is fine with me. Should I drive?"

He told you that the two of you could meet at his house and you could leave your car there, that way you could come back to his place after dinner. You talked for a while, making plans for the week, just enjoying the conversation. Before you knew it, it was midnight, and you were yawning loudly into the receiver.

"Get some rest, sweetheart. I can't wait to see you tomorrow," you were anxious for the following day, nervous to be around him again. You hoped he still liked you after he spent more time with you, that he didn't get bored of you.

"I can't wait either. Sweet dreams, Aaron."

"Sweet dreams for the sweetest girl."

✨✨✨

"I can't believe you got a hole in one!" Your dad was still celebrating your triumph as you sat down for lunch; you won your round of golf free for making the shot, and they'd given you a gift card for the restaurant inside. You sat between your dad and Aaron, your eyes scanning the menu while Aaron's lingered on you. You hadn't missed his not so subtle stares all day, the longing looks he'd throw you when your father was taking his shot. He couldn't keep his eyes off of you, and the attention was driving you wild.

"You played such a good game today," Aaron told you, and your dad nodded in agreement, toasting his glass of wine to you as he took a sip.

"To you," Aaron clinked his glass against yours, his eyes lingering on your lips as you took a satisfying sip.

"What do you have planned for the rest of the day, Dad?" He was meeting your mother to shop in the city, which meant you could go home and work in peace with no distractions.

"Will you be home tonight?"

You shook your head, and he didn't press the issue, he didn't ask any invasive questions like your mother would have. He trusted your judgement, although he'd ask you everyday if you'd be home for dinner so he knew whether to make it a date night and take your mother out. You were going to miss them when you left, but your boxes had been packed for a while, and you were excited to start a more independent chapter of your life.

Your dad spied a friend across the restaurant and went to say hello, leaving you alone with Aaron for the first time all day. His hand brushed the fabric of your skort under the cover of the table before cupping your knee briefly.

"Did you wear this just for me?"

You nodded, blushing like mad as he smirked back at you over the rim of his glass. His lips were perfect, the most gorgeous shade of pink you'd ever seen, and his smile was something to be treasured. It was rare but you were getting to see more of it, and you adored it.

"I have another outfit for dinner though," he leaned forward slightly when he realized your dad was preoccupied, whispering low enough that only you could hear.

"You won't be home tonight, so I'm hoping that means you'll be with me?"

You took a sip of your water, needing to cool off. You hadn't thought about it when you told your dad you wouldn't be home, but you'd kind of hoped Aaron would keep you out late, or you'd just end up staying with him.

"Is that what you want?"

He nodded happily, sitting back as your food was delivered to the table, your dad rejoining you. The rest of the meal was spent reliving the victory on the course, your dad as happy and proud as you'd ever seen him. You knew he wanted to make the day a special one since you'd be leaving soon, but you'd already planned to make golf days with your dad a regular thing after you moved.

You all parted ways and you went home to work, not stopping until 6 when you needed to start getting ready. You fluffed your hair a bit, deciding it still looked good and slipped on a tight, baby blue dress, your bra and panties matching it. You were applying some lip gloss when he called you, obviously happy to hear your voice.

"I'm so excited to see you, sweetheart."

"I'll be ready in like, ten minutes," he was glad you were ahead of schedule so he sent you his address and it looked oddly familiar, but you couldn't quite place it. You promised to head over as soon as you got off the phone, so he let you go.

The reason his address seemed so familiar was because it was two streets away from the house you'd bought, so you'd live in the same neighborhood. You pulled up to his house and he met you at the door, his eyes trailing over you without abandon as he pulled you in for a hug.

"God, you're stunning. Look at you," he rasped, leaning back so he could take you in. He looked incredible in his black slacks and navy blue dress shirt, and you made sure to tell him so.

"You know that house on Orchard Street with the for sale sign is mine," you told him, his eyes going wide as he led you to the car.

"You mean you'll be a minute away from me all the time? I'll never get anything done," he helped you into his car and shut the door, joining you at the wheel. He let you control the radio as he drove you to a restaurant uptown, it was romantic and quiet, just how you preferred it. He took your hand and led you inside, the two of you ordering water instead of wine. You wanted to go into the night with a clear head, just in case you had to make any hasty decisions.

"I'm so glad you let me take you out. I would've done it sooner but work makes things, well, difficult," he was secretly terrified that his job would scare you off, but you took his hand from across the small table, lacing your fingers through his.

"I can live with difficult."

You didn't stop talking until dinner came, and even then you found things to talk about. It was so easy to speak to him, he was letting you in a lot easier than you'd originally anticipated. He was quick to tell you anything you wanted to know.

"I figured after this we could watch a movie at my place. I made brownies just for you. I remember you said they were your favorite," you'd had a brief discussion about baking a few nights ago when he complimented your apple turnovers, but you hadn't expected him to remember, but he did.

"Are you always this sweet, or is this just for me?" It was his turn to blush, leaning toward you to brush your hair over your shoulder.

"There's just something about you. I don't know what it is," for a moment as his eyes reflected back into yours, you could see a future with him. It was easy to imagine a life where you made yourself available to him and in return, he treated you like royalty. You could see it as clear as day when you looked into his eyes, and it made you want more of him, just like that.

"I feel it too."

By the time you made it back to his house, he was giving you a t-shirt to change into, which hung off your body just as your dress had, hitting the middle of your thigh. You could tell by the way he stared you down as you climbed into his bed that he'd wanted to see you in his clothes; it was possessive for him, like now that you'd worn his shirt, you'd always belong in his clothes.

"You find us something to watch while I change clothes," he excused himself and you browsed the channels, settling on a scary movie that had just started. He saw what you'd chosen and turned out the lights, climbing in bed next to you. Your nerves had completely disappeared and was replaced by a new feeling entirely—you wanted to get caught up in him, give yourself over to him if he'd allow it. You were half naked in his bed, hoping and praying he acted on it.

"Can I come a little closer?" His voice was like silk in your ear, and instead of responding, you moved into him, letting him drape his arm around you. His free hand was in his lap as he set his focus on the tv, but you could tell by the frequent glances in your direction that his mind was somewhere else entirely.

"You're effortlessly beautiful, do you know that? Not many people can look like this just sitting to watch a movie," his hand met your shoulder, squeezing lightly as you turned to face him.

"I really like the way you make me feel," he moved a little closer, pressing a kiss to your shoulder through your shirt, but it still made you tingle all over.

"I want to make you feel good, all the time," he promised you, his head in the crook of your neck as his lips met your skin, featherlight and delicate, but it set you on fire, making you clamp your thighs together. His hand met your thigh, his fingertips pressing gently into the doughy flesh as he let his lips linger over yours.

"Kiss me," you pleaded, rewarded by his mouth meeting yours. It was everything you hoped it would be; his mouth was urgent and needy, his tongue dancing against yours as he brought you to straddle his lap. You could feel your panties, slick and sticky with arousal as you sat on his lap, his hand snaking between your bodies, creeping under your shirt.

"Can I see you, pretty girl?"

In a second you were tossing his shirt over your head, letting him look at you in your matching set as his hands wandered over every inch of you, stopping in the middle of your back to unclasp your bra. His mouth sucked a trail of kisses across your chest, taking each of your nipples into his mouth until they were stiff, tweaking them between his fingers as you tried not to grind against him.

"Gonna lay you down, sweetheart. Would it be alright if I taste you? I'll beg if you want me to," you knew by his tone that he was serious but you'd never make him beg, not when his eyes were darkening by the second as you climbed out of his lap and laid against the pillows. He made sure you were comfortable before he parted your thighs, examining the ever growing wet patch on the front of your panties. His fingers darted out to touch it, his thumb brushing your clit through the fabric, making you moan lightly. His eyebrow shot up and he did it again, this time slowly dragging his finger upwards with a bit of pressure, the sensation enough to make your legs shake.

"Sensitive girl, gonna have so much fun with you," his words went straight to your core, the fire you felt for him now an uncontrollable inferno, consuming every inch of you.

"Been dreaming about this since I met you," you told him, ducking forward to give him a kiss, his hands massaging your thighs, splayed across your skin beautifully.

"Mhm, I wanted you as soon as I met you. I couldn't stop staring—I still can't," you knew he only had eyes for you, he gave you too much of his attention, wanted you around as often as you could be. He grew tired of teasing and slid your panties down your legs, laying his head on your thigh, his eyes glued to your sex. His fingers slid through your arousal, making you sit up on your elbows to watch him explore your body. His fingers found your clit, rubbing at an agonizingly slow pace, making your brows pull together as you bit your lip, staring down at him.

"Already, baby? We're going to have so much fun," he was thoroughly amused as you came undone, shuddering under his gentle touch. His fingers flicked expertly at your clit, his thumb brushing over you lightly before he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to your clit, peering up at you to gauge your reaction. You felt your mouth fall open as he did it again, this time swirling his tongue around your bundle of nerves. You let out a strangled noise that was music to his ears, because the kisses didn't stop, combined with the fluid movements of his tongue, you were whimpering his name in no time, gripping the sheets as he brought you to the edge.

"Tastes so good, let me feel you do it again," he slowed down dramatically, his tongue lapping at you at a more steady, precise pace. It was driving you insane, how quickly he could give you what you needed, his mouth moving against you like he'd always known what your body needed.

"Jesus, Aaron, your mouth is perfect," the words came out as a whisper, but he heard you, his lips curling into a grin as you went limp against the mattress, your head on the pillow, one leg tossed lazily over his shoulder. He was content, pleased to be pleasuring you. You were addicted to the way his hands gripped your thighs, pulling you further into his mouth as his tongue traced patterns on your swollen, sensitive clit. You'd had more orgasms than you could count under the mercy of his tongue, but he was sitting up, crawling on top of you so he could kiss you passionately, his hand cupping your face. He pushed down his pants and boxers, kicking them off.

"Are you okay with this, sweetheart? If you're not, that's okay," you pulled him forward, encouraging to slip into you.

"I don't have a condom," he groaned, but you told him you were on birth control, so with one final glance at you, he let himself slide into you, your walls stretching to accommodate his massive member. You let out a moan as he bottomed out in you, wiggling against him and he hadn't even moved his hips yet.

"Impatient, baby. Let me get used to you, feel you squeeze me tight," for a moment he stayed completely still, letting you clench around him as he throbbed inside of you.

"I love the way you feel inside me," you panted as you looked up at him; he began to pump in and out of you, especially slow, like he was trying to control himself. His eyes were barely slivers but there was a ghost of a grin on his lips as he buried himself inside of you, gripping him like a vice.

"You're so perfect, sweetheart. You feel so fucking good, my knees are shaking," he could barely keep his balance as he fucked you, struggling to stay upright as he thrusted into you, making you feel whole, completed. It was unusual that you didn't feel the least bit insecure with him; you hadn't had the chance. He made you feel like the most desired person in the world, it was hard to feel anything but wanted.

"Aaron, please," he sped up a little, the sound of his hips smacking your flesh bouncing off the walls as he let go and stopped holding back—his pace changed and he was pounding into you, making you cry out in ecstasy; you never wanted anyone else to touch you, only Aaron. You'd never been so sexually satisfied, and you didn't want to share him with anyone else. His thrusts were getting sloppy, his hips moving into you on a mission as his hands gripped your thighs tighter. When he finished inside of you, you held your breath at the sheer intimacy of the gesture, happy that he trusted you enough to do it. He kissed you hard on the mouth as he leaned forward to caress your face, his thumb brushing across your bottom lip.

"I can't get over the fact that you'll just be around the corner in a couple of weeks," he got up long enough to grab a towel, cleaning you up before he slid back into bed with you. You cozied right up next to him, feeling for his body in the dark. His hands found yours, his fingers weaving together with yours.

"I hope that means I'll see more of you," you'd be lying if you said you weren't already falling for him-it was inevitable, from the moment you met him.

"You want to see me again?" He sounded kind of surprised, like he hadn't expected you to be so eager to spend more time with him, but you were hooked; you didn't know if you'd ever be able to get enough of him.

"You're kidding, right? Of course I do. Unless you don't," you were scared for a moment that he only wanted you for the night, and nothing more, but in the darkness you felt his lips connect with your cheek as he settled in for the night.

"I want to see you as often as I can. Your dad invited me over on Sunday, he said you're grilling out and I can't miss that," it would be the last time you got to use the grill before summer was officially over, and it was kind of like your going away party since you'd be moving out the following day. Your dad had practically begged to do a cookout, as long as you agreed to cook everything. You were going to miss cooking for him, the little compliments about your meals that he'd always give you that made you feel special.

"I have a suspicion that they want us together," he chuckled, peppering your face with kisses as he rolled over, tossing his arm over you. Neither of you had bothered to get dressed, so your bare back was pressed against his chest; you'd never felt so secure, so safe with another person.

"Your dad told me the day I came for dinner that we'd be good for each other. I knew he was right by the time I sat down for dinner," he whispered, kissing your shoulder blade as he cuddled into you.

"He's hardly ever wrong," you yawned, his arm snaking under the blanket to wrap around your middle, his other arm tucked under your pillow. He seemed to be completely at ease in the bed with you, and it made you hopeful for the future, what you could be together; you hadn't expected someone to come into your life and flip it upside down so quickly, not when you were about to begin an entirely new chapter of life, but you were glad it was him.

Master tags: @wheelsupkels @periodtcevans @hausofwhores @criminallyobsessedcm @tojithesourcerkiller @fireworksinthesky @realdirectionx

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whereismyhat5678 · 10 months

Text

I know this is weird to dump on y’all but can I vent for just a few minutes? If this is even considered a vent since it’s not anything sad, I just wanna get this off my chest real quick.

(If you don’t want to read the essay I wrote scroll to the bottom and just read the TLDR 😅)

I like being a woman. I do. I like using she/her pronouns. I like wearing pretty feminine stuff. And in general I just like to be feminine. I’m happy being a girl.

But I just always wanted to just- try on a suit- JUST JUST HEAR ME OUT FOR A SECOND-

I wanna look like a dapper young gentlemen- like a very posh man that wears like- like one of those eyeglass thingys-

Like this fellow right here:

I also wanna have a mustache, LIKE THOSE ONES THAT ARE FLUFFY AND COVER YOUR MOUTH- the- THE PAINTERS BRUSH MUSTACHE!! Or examples like: The lampshade, the handlebar, the Hungarian, OR THE IMPERIAL (that one’s GODAM GORGEOUS-)

But more about the suit- I wanna- I PICTURE myself in a black slick suit with a white undershirt and a silk like tie, with nice shiny black buttons and some white gloves to match the undershirt. To show sophistication. With one of those top hats OH I LOVE THOSE!!

I’d like to see it on me but I wanna look more masculine in it like- like what I just said I wanna have a mustache and OH such a deep voice!! I wanna be those narrator voices that are soothing and just, you can fall asleep to them.

I wanna look dapper, I wanna look snazzy, I WANT TO WEAR A SUIT. I want to have a cane that I can lean onto while standing, I want other men to talk to me like if I were just another guy.

I WANT TO BE ONE OF THOSE GUYS- that are like, buff but also a bit fat since, ngl I would genuinely like to be a fluffy guy, AND REALLY TALL and look down at people. I want to be tall too not just as a man but as me because I just wanna be the size of my dad. At LEAST 6’0 that’d be AMAZING.

I WOULDN’T JUST WANNA WEAR A SUIT EITHER- I wanna be a gentlemen that wears warm cream colors and a nice soft brown sweater with a beanie and THOSE BOOTS. (You know the ones I’m talking about-). I wanna have big legs and wear those jeans that look HUGE to other people but are normal for you cuz you’re just a big guy! I wanna wear that, THAT AMAZING SMELLING COLOGNE GOD DO I WANT TO WEAR COLOGNE.

Okay- to wrap things up- sometimes, I just want to look masculine AND IF ANYTHING IF I CAN’T LOOK MASCULINE AND APPEALING (and smoke cigars like one of them guys in the movies, drink alcohol or beer even though I don’t like it- OH AND HOW HAVE I NOT MENTIONED WANTING TO HAVE THAT MAN GOLFER FIT-)

OKAY BUT REAL QUICK- I’d want to have like A BUNCH OF PAPER BOY HATS (I already wear them and I LOVE THEM SO MUCH- but if I looked like a man?? 🤯🤯) with like different colors to have one each day to match the shirt I’m wearing- with brown pointed at the tip shoes that are shiny and SO SO HANDSOME!!! I wanna look handsome I want someone to tell me I look handsome in like a vest and a red tie with a paper boy hat and nice cologne and A GOD DAMN SOPHISTICATED ASS MUSTACHE!- And when I go golfing with buddies I have the casual golfer fit, BECAUSE THEY JUST SO NICE AND SPIFFY AND HANDSOME I WANNA LOOK LIKE THAT!!!

I love being a woman, I REALLY DO- I like being a woman because in the future I wanna look beautiful in pretty dresses and nice necklaces and pretty shiny hair (short obviously-) and cute glasses to match my cute outfits! Heck I wanna wear some of these dresses:

Vintage I know- but you gotta admit they look GORGEOUS!!!

And I’ll admit I’m completely fine with being a woman because of this! I wanna look pretty in dresses, be called beautiful, have a dazzling outfit to make myself look even prettier!

But I also just, wanna look handsome! Wear a suit. Have a mustache. Have a nice deep voice and- funny story- I remember I saw an episode of Steven Universe where Pearl was wearing a suit and I thought she looked AMAZING!!

I ended up telling my mom that when I got to Prom I want to have a suit, which my mom laughed and jokingly said I would look like a lesbian. Of course I don’t like woman like that, I think they’re all beautiful but just not like that. But in general I thought to myself I just wanna see myself in a suit, a tie, nice shoes, a nice hat, with cologne. And I again don’t even have to look masculine, I just want to look handsome and spiffy!

I started liking the idea of having masculine facial hair because I can’t stop thinking about if I did have those things, they would be AWESOME!!

I’m sorry if I ended up writing too much or confusing you with my words, so in long short of it:

I like being a woman, wouldn’t mind wearing a suit, wouldn’t mind having a masculine voice features hair etc, and I wanna look handsome. But I still like dressing femininely.

I’m sorry for the long talk, I just wanted to spill my mind a bit, nothing much to it though 🤷‍♀️

#Rambling A LOT (sorry about that)#Also to make it clear I like my pronouns. she/her I like it. If I dressed masculine I’d probably just-#actually I don’t know about that- WOULD I WANNA BE CALLED HE??#Right now no #But if I DID DRESS MASSCULINE and LOOK masculine. I would PROBABLY use he…..but I’m not sure….#God damn I’m weird.. 🤦‍♀️#Is this also considered- a vent?….

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rugtopper · 1 year

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THE INTERVENTION

BY RUGTOPPER

Vinny did not expect to find anything in his mailbox at work. He did not he know why he bothered looking in it. He had been an inter-office courier at Payton Publishing for three years. No one ever sent him messages; he was never invited out for a drink after work; and, no one even bothered to say hello to him in the halls as he made his rounds. Finding a handwritten note in his box was a shock. He was even more shocked to read that he was invited to watch a football game with some of the executives from the eighth floor this weekend. He hated going to the eighth floor. All the male executives would give him strange looks. They were looks he was not used to getting. They were looks of pity, but not in a condescending sort of way. It was a look of pity that you see someone give another human being when you know that that someone is about to help that human being. Regardless, it did not make Vinny feel comfortable. When he left the eighth floor, he always felt like he was about to be the next big project for the local Junior League to take on to make them feel good about themselves. He had no idea how wrong he was. He had no idea just how good he was going to feel about himself.

Vinny went to eighth floor, as instructed in the note. He waited outside Mr. Reynolds' office. Albert Reynolds was a tough man to size up. He was not the type of man you would see going to a football game, much less hosting a football party. He was more the type who might sing with the local chamber ensemble on a Tuesday night, and play golf on Saturday afternoon. Mr. Reynolds came out of his office with a big grin on his face. He was a slight man, maybe 5'7", if that tall; very trim with no facial hair. Aside from his height, his most striking feature was his fiery strawberry blond hair. At 43, he was still very youthful looking with his ruddy complexion and the flaming head of hair.

"Here are the directions to my house, Vinny. I hope you don't have any trouble finding the place. There are only going to be six of guys there, plus you."

"Should I bring anything, Mr. Reynolds?" Vinny asked.

"Well, Vinny, first call me Al. Second, if you want to you can bring some chips. The other guys are bringing the rest of the food. I'll be in charge of the grill out back."

Thanks, Mister . . . ah, Al."

"No, problem. See you Saturday at noon."

"Sure."

All week, Vinny looked forward to the weekend. Also, he noticed that the guys on the eighth floor looked at him differently. He wasn't sure what kind of look this was. Still, when they saw him, they did at least speak to him. That was the best change.

Saturday finally came. Vinny showed up at Al's house right at noon. He could hear the TV when he got out his truck. He grabbed the grocery bags and headed toward the front door. Before he even got to the porch, the door opened. It was Mr. Pierce. Perfect Pierce they called him. He once recalled a book that had had 10,000 copies printed because of a punctuation mistake on the last page of the book. He was not one to mess with at all.

"Hey, Vinny, glad you're here." Mr. Pierce said as he took the bags out of Vinny's hands.

"Hi, Mr. Pierce.

"Now, Vinny, we're away from work. Just call me Derek."

"Okay, Derek." Vinny replied.

"I think you know all the other guys here," Derek said as Vinny made his way through the door.

Yes, Vinny knew all of the men. After a quick survey of the room, he also knew why he might be there. He didn't really make the connection when Al gave him the directions, or even when Derek, with his stark-white preppy hairdo, greeted him at the door. Now he knew. There sitting in front of the giant screen television were the other four men from the eighth floor. All six were clothed in their khaki slacks, typical golf shirts and their obvious toupees. Here Vinny was in his blue jeans, faded t-shirt, tennis shoes, and ratty black hair. Now he knew that something was up.

Derek closed and locked the door. Al got up from his chair and came to shake Vinny's hand. Vinny was led over to the sofa.

One of the guys turned off the television.

"Now, Vinny, I bet you're wondering why we asked you here. Especially when you think we haven't even had anything to do with you all these years."

"Well, it is kind of odd, don't you think?" Vinny asked, as he ran his hands over his messy hair with the V-shaped hairline.

All the men just looked at each other and then at Vinny.

"Vinny, we want to help you. We think you're a great guy. We know you've been waiting for job to open up in editing. You've seen people come and go. You've even been overlooked twice. Most men would have left, but you've stuck it out. We appreciate that more than you know. But we can't help you until you decide that you need help. We need to know that you are willing to do what it takes to improve yourself for the job that you want."

"Look, uh, Mr. Steel, is it? I just came to watch the game. Yes, I'd like to move into editing. Yes, I'd like to remain in the publishing business. I've got time. It's been three years since I finished grad school. I've had a lot of offers, but not with a smaller publishing company like yours. I like what Peyton produces. I like their style. I like the fact that they really want to publish local authors."

"Yes, it is Mr. Steel, but you can call me Gene. We like what we see, but only in your resume, Vinny. There is plenty of room for improvement in so many areas of your life. We just want to help you, that’s all."

"Vinny, let me just cut to the chase. The way you present yourself on paper is suburb. The way you present yourself in public is another story. That is what we want to change."

"Look, Al, let me make myself clear. I don't need your pity that each of gives me every day at work. I certainly don't need some sort of intervention to help me make it in the publishing world."

"True, Vinny, but believe me when I say that the publishing world is not busting down any doors to find the next best editor. It is a closed field. Everything is focused on the next author, the next bestseller. No one cares about editors or proofreaders. They are a dime a dozen. What I'm trying to tell you is that, as you are now, you will never stand out. There is nothing in your appearance that says, 'yes, I am a professional.' It says 'look at me, a man in his thirties who can barely make ends meet, who can't dress himself, and who is losing his hair.'"

"So, it comes down to that, does it? My hair. Is that what this is all about? This is rich. A room full of men in rugs giving me a lecture on hair loss. This day just gets odder and odder."

"Alright, Vinny. So what. So, we happen to wear toupees. The alternative is what you are quickly moving toward. We have all been there. We all know what will happen. We see what you do. We see you try to hide it at work. We see you use a lot of product to make the front look fuller. You brush down the sides to hide that growing V at your temples. We even see you slap on that awful ball cap when you get into your truck everyday when you leave. Is that how you want to live, Vinny? Are you prepared for what happens next?"

Up until this point Vinny and Al had been the only two involved in this exchange. Suddenly, Mr. Cappato spoke up. He was Italian, just like Vinny.

"Vinny, you and I are a lot alike. We both come from big Italian families. We both know how hard it is to be the one in the family who is losing his hair. Look at me Vinny. I was your age when all my thick, black hair started going down the drain." With that, Mr. Cappato reached his hand up to his full, coal black pompadour, and took it off. There sat Mr. Cappato with just a narrow rim of dyed black hair over his ears and across the back of his head.

Vinny just sat there in shock, speechless.

"This is where you are headed. Look at me, Vinny. Let me help you. Let us help you." Mr. Cappato pleaded.

"What, now all of you are going to take turns showing me your bald heads?" Vinny asked.

"We just might, but first I think we need to do something else."

That was Mr. Peyton, Jr., the boss’s son. He had the fakest head of brown hair you have ever seen. It did not even match the course salt-n-pepper hair on the back and sides. He didn't even bother to dye it to match.

"Vinny, I think you need to go to the bathroom and wash out all that product. I think you really need to see just what little you have up there."

"I think you might just need to make me, Junior." With that Vinny jumped up and snatched off Mr. Peyton's toupee. Not only did it reveal his bald pate, but it also revealed where his tan line stopped and his pasty scalp started.

"Well, I think that is enough childishness for one day." said Al. "Boys, I think Vincent here needs a bit of help. Please escort him to my barbershop in the basement."

When Al said this, two security guards from the building came in from the other room and lifted Vinny off the ground. One of the other executives, who had remained silent to this point, produced a large needle.

"This will make things easier, Vincent." said the executive with the tightly-curled wig.

Vinny found himself half awake in a barber's chair, strapped down and wearing only his teal-colored bikini briefs, surrounded by the six men. All of them were now totally bald. Their wigs and toupees were lined up in front of Vinny on stands just staring at him. One of the security guards was now dressed in a white barber's uniform. Vinny's hair was dripping wet. All of the black-colored mousse and fiber thickeners had been washed out. Gone was all the darkened powder used to hide his nearly hairless crown. Vinny just looked at himself for the first time. Then he looked at the men in the mirror. Lastly, he looked at the six Styrofoam heads staring at him.

With slurred speech, Vinny managed to say, "you're right, guys, I need help. I know if I ever want to advance to the eighth floor, I have to change my look. I've been denying it for over ten years now. I need to improve my image. I want a full head of hair like you guys. Mr. Cappato, I do want to look like you."

"Call me, Carmine, Son. I think that would be the best thing."

"Rex, go get a wig just like Carmine's out of the closet for Vinny here." Al told the barber.

While Rex was gone, the other security guard, now in full barber's gear came and began prepping Vinny.

Vinny's head was shaved until there was just a shadow left. Vinny was given two more shots. With this he passed out. Hours later, he awoke in the chair with a stiff neck. He was still hung over, but managed to open his eyes. In the mirror was this guy with eyes like his, who had a totally hairless, shiny dome. Rex was behind him mopping the floor. The smell was worse than a locker room. He knew that smell. He didn't need to think about what had happened while he had been out. The other barber came back into the room. He rubbed Vinny head with a clear liquid. This was cool and cleansing. It also completely removed the shine on his scalp. While the barber was doing this, Vinny noticed that there was only one wig stand in front of him. On it was a thick, black wig. The barber took this off the stand, applied tape to the underside and put it on Vinny's head. He pressed hard so the tape would adhere. He turned Vinny to the side and started combing and cutting. Next, he got out a steamer and started styling the wig. While Vinny was still groggy, Phil turned Vinny toward the mirror. Suddenly, Vinny was wide awake. Now he really recognized himself. This was the Vinny from high school. This was the cool Vinny that every girl and boy wanted to sleep with.

All six executives filed into the room. They were wearing their toupees and wigs.

"Vinny," Al said, "We have a change of clothes for you upstairs. We've recorded the game, if you want to watch it with us. Also, you are expected in my office on Monday morning to discuss your new position as a copy editor. Are we clear?"

Vinny nodded as Rex and Phil helped him up. Mr. Cappato helped Vinny up the stairs to the guest bedroom. Vinny put on his new casual clothes while Carmine watched and occasionally helped. Several hours later they eventually emerged from the guest bedroom each brushing down the back of his hair. The weekend turned out better than he had hoped. Vinny never watched the game, but spent the rest of the weekend with Carmine. Monday morning a whole new world began.

THE END

#cheap toupee #voluntary bald fringe #toupee for men #hair replacement for men #male transformation #toupee

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Best Top 12 Trending T-shirts For Men In 2023

Today we will provide you some information about Top 12 Trending T-shirts For Men in 2023, here is the list of 12 Trending T-shirts For Men with price and details and also purchase links, just find your prefect T-shirts with your selected price and comfort.

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dealz-are-sweet · 11 days

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A Birthday to Remember

Summary: You're birthday celebration is crashed by an unexpected guest. (Steve Rogers)

Warnings: noncon/dubcon, fingering, flirting, public canoodles

Note: @punishmepunisher said Evans was rocking a suburban dad who drinks applebee's margaritas and listens to Jimmy Buffett so this happened.

Please enjoy and let me know what you think. Please also reblog because it's a lot longer than I intended.

You laugh over the rim of your appletini. The overly sweet drink goes down too easy as Charlotte calls for another round. It’s not exactly the thirtieth birthday you dreamed of, but you can’t complain for the company.

It’s almost fitting as you enter your third decade, the downhome atmosphere of the Applebee’s; the staticy classic rock buzzing from the speakers, televisions playing sports games over the bar, where men in golf shirts and khakis nurse Heinekins and cheer on their favourite batters. The old jokes don’t stop as Charlotte and Tatiana hide behind the few months until they cross the line of the big three-o.

“You think you can handle another round, grandma?” Tat giggles as she looks around for the waiter.

“Shut up,” you grumble and roll your eyes, “just you wait, you’ll regret it.”

“She’s getting cranky in her old age,” Charlotte cracks and drains the last of her pina colada.

You harrumph and cross your arms as you sit back against the plastic cushion. The waiter stops by as Tat calls for another order.

“I shouldn’t have trusted you two with planning this,” you bemoan, “I mean, really?”

“Oh, come on, you said no clubs,” Charlotte taunts, “so we went with something more your speed.”

“Let me guess, we’re hitting the funeral home next?” You scoff.

“That’s next year,” Tat cackles.

You shake your head and sit through their roast, the waiter bringing you a second appletini as you thank them. You’re gonna need at least half a dozen to get through the night, especially with these two.

The bright green liquid dwindles as you gulp it down eagerly, listening to Charlotte chatter about her new Tinder match. A cute redhead she claims. You haven’t had much luck on the app despite her many flings. You feel as if you’re doing something wrong and Tat is once more in her on-and-off hookup with her old college roommate.

As you’re ready for a third, pondering changing up the flavour, a sudden lull goes up as the crackle of a sparkler breaks the din. Several waiters approach singing happy birthday as you cringe and sink down in your seat. Charlotte and Tatiana join in out of tune, drawing out the song annoyingly as the cake is placed on the table before you.

You growl before you blow out the candles and the servers proclaim you next drink on the house. You smile and thank them, holding back your humiliation and ordering one of the blue drinks on special.

“Right,” you say as you’re finally left to wallow with your so-called friends, “I’m gonna break the seal.”

“Already? Oh, shoot, there goes her bladder, we should’ve brought the depends,” Tat jokes and you give her another snarl.

You leave them to their laughter as you climb down from the booth and head towards the signs beside the kitchen. You take your time, hiding in the stall as the alcohol flows into your veins and gives a bit of a tint to your vision. You wash your hands and stare at your reflection.

You don’t look older. You don’t feel it either. Thirty isn’t so bad. Give it a couple years and your few strands of grey will be streaks. You twist off the tap and yank out some paper towel to dry off.

It’s a bit louder as you come out into the restaurant. The bar’s growing raucous as bottles clink onto the wood top and the avid ball fans cheer for their team in the ninth inning. As you pass behind the stools, a body stumbles into you as he slides off a tall stool.

A large hand catches your lower back, steadying you before retracting abruptly.

“Oop, sorry about that, I didn’t see ya there,” the man takes a step back, resting his hand on the leather of his vacated seat, “oh, you’re the birthday girl, huh?”

“Oh, uh,” you glance over at Charlotte and Tat as they speak over the table, slurping from their thin straws, “yeah, my friends are a bit dramatic.”

“Here, let me buy you a drink,” he offers.

“Oh, no, no, that’s fine. It’s nice of you but–”

“I insist, come on,” he waves to the bartender, “what are you drinking?”

“Really, I can’t, I gotta get back to my friends,” you insist.

“Bah, make them wait, they don’t seem to miss you,” he peeks at them over his shoulder, “Steve, by the way.”

You nod, uncertain about the man. He’s older than you. Forty at least judging from the patches of silver at his temples that weave back into his golden hair. Even so, he’s not bad looking.

You return your name, another wary look to your table, and you fold your hands anxiously.

“Another margarita,” he orders over the bar and turns to you, “well?”

“Um, vodka soda,” you say, sticking to the same liquor. If you don’t feel your age, you definitely feel the alcohol.

“Here, all yours,” he pats the stool and steps away as the bartender begins his mixing.

“No, it’s fine–”

“I insist,” he points to the seat, his voice firm, fatherly almost, “sit.”

You hold back a sigh and step on the crossbar and haul yourself up. He stands beside you, his elbow on the bar as he digs out his wallet. He pays as your drinks are set down and tells the bartender to keep the change.

“You’re too nice,” you say, “buying a complete stranger a drink.”

“Stranger? I know your name, you know mine,” he says smoothly.

“Right,” you put your fingers on the cold glass, “I guess.”

“So, how old are you now? Wait, wait,” he raises his large hands, “let me guess,” he taps his chin as he thinks, eyes roving over you, “twenty-three?”

You nearly choke as you suck on the straw and scoff, “try again.”

“Hmmm, up or down?” he asks. You point at the ceiling and his brows shoot up, “oh, I see, aging gracefully.” He pauses to drink from the tall green neck of his beer bottle, “Twenty-five?”

You shake your head and give him a doubtful look, “you don’t have to lie, it’s not working.”

“Twenty-six?” He tries again, the same glower aimed back at him, “no? Shit, uh,” he hooks his thumb in his belt and hovers his glass before his lips. He squints at you and takes a slow drink, popping his lips off the rim as he thinks, “don’t tell me you’re thirty.”

You nod, “yep, thirty.”

“Jeez, well, you look good for thirty, trust me, I know,” he chuckles, “damn, I’m old.”

“Are you?” You wonder.

“Take a guess,” he leans on the bar as he crosses one foot over the other.

“I don’t want to,” you say, “I wouldn’t want to offend you.”

“What? Come on, I can’t look that old, I’m sure you can get it.”

“Steve,” you pluck his name out of your mind after a moment of grasping, “I don’t know.”

“Come on,” he goads.

You press your lips together and take another sip. You peer over at Charlotte and Tatianna. They’ve noticed and they’re watching none too subtly.

“I should get back to my friends,” you say again.

“You guess my age and you can go,” he says, “so?”

“Uh, I don’t know… thirty?” You utter weakly.

He laughs, “be serious,” he slides closer, brushing against your legs.

“Forty,” you resign in a stony voice.

His cheek ticks, “warmer.”

“Okay, er, forty-two?”

“Getting there,” he tilts his head.

“Higher or lower?” You ask impatiently and slide to the edge of the stool, wanting to get back to the table.

“Higher,” his tone rolls in his throat smokily.

“Um, forty-five?” You bluster helplessly.

“Bingo,” he wiggles his glass at you, “fifteen years, huh? Not that much but enough.”

“Sure,” you say, confused, “well, I–”

“Hey,” Charlotte interrupts, “hate to butt in but we were getting a bit antsy so we cut the cake.”

“Here,” Tatiana hands you a plate with a slice, then offers another to Steve, “we figured we bring you some.”

“I’m coming back, it’s–”

“Thanks,” Steve takes it and sets down his drink, “you guys have some wild plans for the rest of the night?”

Tat gives a prolonged glance in his direction before her and Charlotte share a coded look, “well, that’s the thing. I have a girl waiting for me at my apartment and Char here has a guy blowing up her phone, but our friend, single as the day she was born.”

“Tat,” you hiss under your breath as Steve laughs.

“And she’s thirty. Tick tock,” Charlotte adds, “she won’t be able to score a sexy older man for much longer.”

“Shut up,” you growl.

“So, we’ve had our cake and ate it too,” Charlotte smirks, “so the table is all yours.”

You blink at her as you try not to seethe in anger.

“Go on, enjoy the rest of your birthday, babe,” Tat adds as she adjusts her purse, “we’re just gonna share a cab.”

‘I hate you,’ you mouth over your glass before you take another drink.

They giggle and give a wave, “see you later, you can tell us all about it tomorrow,” Charlotte chimes as they strut away.

You gulp down the last of the bitter vodka soda and place it on the bar, “well, that was not uncomfortable at all. I’m gonna go grab my things and disappear.”

“Wait,” he says as you drop off the stool, your plate nearly toppling out of your hand, “you gotta have your cake. It’s your birthday.”

“I… guess,” you bite your lip, “but you don’t have to–”

“I think it’s pretty obvious that I want to,” he says, “so?”

You feel bad saying no, even if you’re uncertain about him. He’s friendly enough but you don’t exactly go for the suburban Applebee local. He did buy you a drink though so the least you can do is be polite.

“Sure,” you say, “I can’t eat all that cake alone.”

He grins and turns back for his margarita. You lead him to the table and sidle onto the bench. He slides in beside you to your surprise as you set down your plate. He’s close as he sits next to you and settles in.

“I prefer vanilla,” he says as he jabs his fork into the chocolate sponge.

“I don’t mind either,” you say as you mirror him. This is going to be an awkward night. Charlotte and Tatianna are going to pay.

“So, you must be from town?” he asks before taking a bite.

“Yeah, east end,” you answer.

“Ah, I live up in Chester,” he swallows, “pretty tame over there.”

“That’s close,” you say awkwardly, never very good at the whole conversation with a stranger thing.

“I look like the type, eh?” He glances down at his striped golf shirt.

“I didn’t think about it,” you lie, focusing on your cake as sweat beads on your scalp. He smells like bergamot and citrus,

“You don’t have to lie to me,” he says as he stretches his arm behind your head, his fork clinking against the plate.

“I’m not,” you reach for the forgotten blue cocktail you ordered before your venture to the toilets, “really.”

“So what do you do? You seem like a teacher type.”

“I do? Didn’t you think I was twenty-three?”

“Well, now I know you’re not. Maybe you’re a lawyer? You like to argue.”

“I’m not arguing,” you stop yourself, leaving the last bit of your slice untouched as you twirl your fork nervously, “I work in curriculum development. Not quite a teacher.”

“Ah, I knew it was something like that,” he puts his fork down on his empty plate and takes a napkin to wipe his lips, crumpling it up and tossing it with the silver. “You must work hard, no time for guys?”

“Just haven’t gotten to that,” you shrug as his arm falls onto your shoulder. You wriggle and try to shrug him off, “it’s warm in here,” you fan yourself as the fork shakes in your hand.

“Well, you’re damn hot, aren’t you?” he purrs as he leans in.

“Wha– I– Can you back up?” you choke out, “please.”

“Come on, baby, just a little fun for your birthday,” he turns towards you on the seat, blocking out the restaurant with his shoulders.

“Okay, no, you’re too–”

He shoves his hands between your legs and you gasp, clamping your thighs around his fingers.

“Hey,” you grab his wrist, “don’t do that–”

He curls his arm around your head and smothers your mouth with his other hand. You murmur into his palm as he forces his hands up to the seam of your leggings. Your eyes round as heat surrounds the pressure of his rough touch. His breath fills the tight space as he pulls your against him.

You’re almost in his lap as he places his chin on top of your head, hugging you to him as he rocks his hand. It’s painful as the coil winds within, the weight of his hand against your clit twists it tighter and tighter. You garble as he shakes your whole body with his rhythm and hushes you.

“Doesn’t that feel good, honey? Hm?” he keeps two fingers against your folds as he presses the heel of his hand against your bud, “fuck, I feel you getting wet through these things.”

You whimper as you latch onto his thick forearm, his scent drowning you as the alcohol laces through your hazy mind. He moves his fingers up and down, tracing the seam and pushes on the stitches with his nail. The fabric split and he tears the hole a little at a time.

You tremble as you claw at him, begging him in muffled sniffles to stop. He feels along the edge of your panties and inches them aside, delving between your wet lips. You bat your lashes in horror as he coos at you under his breath.

“Fuck, you are wet, honey, hm? You like being my little slut. With all these people around too…” he dips his fingers into you, wiggling his hand against your clit as he curls his knuckles, “yeah, you’re gonna cum already, aren’t you?”

The noise all around blurs; voices, the radio, the television, and the clatter of plates from behind the kitchen doors. You suck in air as your eyes roll back, the tingle spreading across your thighs as your hips rock without thinking. He squeezes as the fire bloom and smatters across your pelvis, an orgasm spiking against your will.

You puff against his hand as you squeeze his wrist and shudder through your climax. He eases you through, your walls twitching around him in rebellion. Slowly, he slips out and lets you go. You pants as you brace yourself against the cushion as he untangles his arm form your neck.

He puts his elbow on the table and admires his glistening fingers. You reach between your legs to feel the tear in your leggings, your cunt tender to the touch. He winks at you as he licks his fingers and pushes them into his mouth with a hum.

He pulls them out in a deliberate motion, “tasty,” he smirks and turns his hand, checking the time on his watch, “damn, I told the wife I’d be home at ten.”

You gape at him as he takes a deep swig from the curved glass and slides off the seat. You quiver as you sit up, watching him dumbly as you try to understand what just happened.

“See ya, honey,” he waves with the two fingers he just fucked you with, “happy birthday.”

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #one shot #maybe?#mcu #marvel #au #captain america #silverfox au

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deadlycupid · 2 years

Text

tennis court - modern au

tw: homophobia

“Am I right with the assumption that you’ve never played tennis before?” Tommy asked.

His tennis clothes looked like they belonged to him, like this was something he did. The red shirt complimented his body in all the right places and even the headband looked cute in Tommy’s wild curls. Nico, on the other hand, felt ridiculous in the tight shorts Tommy had lend him and the old t-shirt he had picked out this morning.

He had to pull his hair up into a ponytail and now felt subconscious about the freckles on his face and neck.

“Only the few times we played it in PE.”

Nico pulled on a strain of his hair until it was loose and he had to pull it behind his ear.

“I’m counting that as a no,” Tommy concluded.

“I’ll show you the basics then.”

Tommy gently pulled Nico away from the rest of his family to the side of the court.

“Here, first your tennis racket.”

Nico took the racket and twisted it in his hand experimentally. It was lighter than he had thought.

“You have to hold it like this.” Tommy stood next to him and got closer to close his hands over Nico’s and pulled them towards the middle of the hilt.

“I can’t believe your whole family plays tennis,” Nico confessed, Tommy looked up.

“That’s not even all of them. Some of them play golf.” Tommy shrugged his shoulders. “Other families play board games, we play tennis I guess.”

Rich people things, Nico thought and sighed.

“Come, I show you how you swing the racket right,” Tommy said.

Joyless, Nico watched Tommy get in position but then his eyes drifted to the crowd called Tommy’s family again.

Nico had only agreed on coming with Tommy because he could never say no to him when he gave him those round green puppy eyes. But even before that Nico had decided to go, because Tommy kept telling him all week long how boring meeting his family was and how badly he wanted a distraction.

That he actually had to play tennis had only accrued to him that morning and that’s why he was completely unprepared, not only for playing tennis but also for meeting Tommy’s family. The whole week Nico thought it would only be Tommy’s parents and maybe his uncle with family but Nico hadn’t thought about how big a family could actually be. There were so many aunts and uncles, cousins and cousins of cousins. Nico had stopped counting after the 10th time he had introduced himself. Most of them greeted him back equally friendly some were as arrogant as a peacock. Tommy told him to just ignore them, “most of these people you will never meet again and they’ve most likely already forgotten you.”

Still, Nico felt intimidated by the sheer mass of Tommy’s family, and all of them were rich or famous. And maybe there wasn’t a difference between these things.

“Hey, Nic! Are you even listening?” Tommy nudged his side softly.

“Don’t I have to just hit the ball with the tennis racket and then repeat?”

“Well, to put it simple yes. But you can seriously hurt yourself if you’re not doing it right,” Tommy made a serious face as if he was discussing world peace with him and not tennis.

“Okay, okay, show me again,” Nico gave in, he knew better than to argue. But Tommy never got the chance to show him again because a tall woman with long beautiful chestnut hair wrapped in a high ponytail came running their way.

“Tommy!” She shouted, her voice thick like honey as well as sweet.

“You promised to play a double with me against my son last time.”

Tommy let his racket sink, the net part hit the ground.

“Oh, uhm. Aunt Penelope,” guilt was written all over Tommy’s face, “I do remember. But can we please play some other time?”

“Tommy, sweetheart, you promised.”

“I know, it’s just Nico is with me. He has never played before. I don’t want to leave him alone,” Tommy tried to explain, but Nico saw the look on the woman’s face. There was no winning, especially not for men.

“Well, that’s perfect. He can play together with Austin against us,” she exclaimed cheerfully and didn’t wait for an answer. She strutted back the way she came, the ponytail flicking from one side to the other.

Tommy’s smile remained until Penelope turned around, then all his facial muscles slipped from his grasp. His expression was somewhere between anger and pity.

“I’m so sorry, Nico,” Tommy immediately apologized.

“Ah, it’s okay. Sounds like fun, whatever a double is.”

Tommy tilted his head to the side and chuckled half heartedly.

“Oh, if only you knew,” Tommy muttered then louder but still quiet enough so only Nico could hear, “okay two things, Austin is like crazy good at tennis so you won’t have to do much. So please, don’t try to keep up with him. You can seriously hurt yourself and I really don’t want that, you understand?”

“Yes, understood.”

“And second, Austin, he, well to put it simple has an unreasonable hatred for me. Just ignore him when he talks. His mouth is bigger than his brain.”

Nico nodded his head. Austin sounded like fun. Not.

Besides that he really couldn’t understand what was so bad about playing tennis with Penelope and Austin, even thought Austin seems to be a dick but so were most of the rich people Nico had met, today.

Sure, he’d rather play tennis with Tommy alone somewhere far off from the others but if that wasn’t possible he could arrange with whatever a double was.

Or so he thought, because as soon as they entered the court and he caught the eyes of Austin he knew it wouldn’t be easy. In no way physically or emotionally at least.

Austin looked like the text book rich son, golden slicked back hair, a toothpaste advertisement smile and eyes as grey as a stone and with the exact same kindness in them, which meant none.

Nico was suddenly aware of his too old t-shirt. It had poor Asian boy with no parents written all over it and he had to grip the racket harder to keep himself from picking on the hem.

No one knows, he told himself, no one knows you.

He felt Tommy’s hand on his lower back; what was supposed to be a comforting gesture felt like an unspoken confession. He was weak, a no body, who needed the hand of his boyfriend to make him feel strong. Nico tried to read Austin’s face but if that was what he thought of Nico he didn’t let it show.

Nico sighed.

“You’ll be fine,” Tommy murmured into his ear, “I’m right here on the other side of the net.”

It meant nothing and they both knew it.

“Okay, we serve first,” Penelope cheered.

“It won’t be too bad,” Nico muttered and walked over to the other side of the net where Austin was standing.

“Hey,” Nico offered as a polite greeting.

Austin narrowed his eyes and gave him a nod. He was even taller than Tommy, so Nico actually had to tilt his head back to look him in the eyes.

“I take the back,” Austin said instead of a greeting and moved out of Nico’s sight.

“Okay.”

Nico didn’t really care. He just hoped the match would go by fast and that he could spend the rest of the day with Tommy, alone.

Everyone got in position and the double started. Austin got the first few balls and just like Tommy had said he did the most work. But it wasn’t that Nico didn’t want to help he just didn’t know how. Tennis was a lot more complicated when you stood on the court and didn’t just watch it from the side lines.

They lost the first point. Nico didn’t even noticed at first, it wasn’t until he heard Penelope’s joyful laughter.

Tommy and Penelope won the next 3 points too. With that they apparently won the first set. Nico had hit the ball once in that whole time and it had been more a defensive reflex than anything else.

“You’re making it easy for us!”

Penelope laughed. Nico wondered if she forgot that he had never played before. It’s not him making it easy, it’s just he didn’t know how to not make it ‘harder’. He felt bad for Austin, maybe they could get someone else to play for him so that at least Austin had a fair play.

“He’s marking it easy for you,” Austin shouted back, there was a certain edge to his voice. “Before we continue, let us drink first.”

Nico turned to Tommy, who shrugged his shoulders apologetic. It was his way of saying: ‘It will be over soon. Don’t worry about it.’

Nico wanted to believe him, but with Austin on his side of the net he didn’t saw the sun rise. Non the less he tried to stay positive. It was just this one game and they lost the first set pretty fast, maybe they could just repeat that for the next set too.

“Here, for you,” Austin pushed a cold water bottle against Nico chest. He didn’t wait for Nico to grab it so it fell to the floor.

“Uhm, thanks,” Nico said through gritted teeth as he bent down to pick up the bottle.

“Do you think this is funny?” Austin asked when Nico got back up again and gripped his shoulder. The way his voice sounded made it clear it wasn’t meant as a question but Nico answered regardless.

“I believe I don’t understand what you mean.”

“I believe you don’t think at all.”

Rude, but rude is something Nico knew how to deal with.

“If this is about playing tennis then we can find someone who takes my place. It’s my first time playing and we told your mother but she thought it would be-“

“Oh, you’re cute. Want me to pity you for being so clueless?”

Nico couldn’t follow. He looked to the side to see if he could find Tommy, but when he couldn’t find his black curls he looked back to Austin.

“Do you need your friend to hold your hand?”

“No, I’m good on my own. I’d just liked to know what your problem is.”

Austin looked amused.

“My problem? My problem is clearly you. You walk around here as if you weren’t an embarrassing excuse of a person. Why did Tommy choose you? Where you so easy to lure in with money? Is that what this is? Some sugar daddy thing? Are you his little boy toy?”

Nico’s throat twisted into a knot. He couldn’t talk but what was even worse was that he couldn’t breathe. From far away he heard someone say something then he was suddenly pushed aside. Nico stumbled back a few steps before he realized what had happened. Tommy had his fist crooked into the hem of Austin’s shirt and pulled him down with it so that they were eye to eye.

A high pitched scream came from somewhere, probably from Penelope. But Nico couldn’t take his eyes from Tommy so he couldn’t be sure. He had a furious look in his eyes and his voice was so low when he talked:

“What did you just call him?”

“Your toy.”

“He’s NOT my toy, do you understand? Nico is my boyfriend.”

“You know how embarrassing you are, right Tommy.” Austin grinned

“Shows up with your ‘boyfriend’,” he said it as if Nico was a disease, “and expects us to be happy for you. As if you weren’t a disgrace to this family. If you want to be rebellious do it on the days we all don’t have to see you.”

Tommy’s throat had red spots and he balled his shaking hands in to fists too, his knuckles were turning white. Nico had never seen him this mad.

There was that one time Nico had met Tommy in the park after he had talked back to his dad, but even there he had been so much calmer than now.

“You take that back! I’m not here for your entertainment or embarrassment! I came out a long time ago why can’t you just accept that!” Nico’s heart was beating so fast it pulsed in his ears. He felt sick to his stomach.

“Oh please, spare me that talk again, yeah.”

For Austin all of this was some stupid game, Nico realized, just another way to set Tommy off. He had nothing to lose but he gained so much from hurting Tommy.

“But you always hated me, am I right? I wonder why? Maybe it’s because my parents actually like me for who I am and I don’t have to be the best at everything. Or is it because you are a bastard.”

Silence.

“Tommy! Language!” That was Roxana, screaming from the side of the court. That was what Nico finally got to look away. Penelope stood on the other side of the net, she didn’t look as perfect as she had before. The rest of Tommy’s family had gathered around the entrance of the court. Roxana turned to the others and said:

“He didn’t mean it like tha-“

“No, I meant it exactly like that! I done. I’m done with all of you. Nico is my boyfriend and if you don’t like that, well, that’s your problem not mine.” No one said a thing.

“Tommy,” Nico mumbled tentative, “he isn’t worth it.”

Reluctantly, Tommy let go of Austin. It was clear who had won the fight (if you could call it that).

Tommy grabbed the hand Nico held out for him, he squeezed it so hard Nico was afraid he might break his fingers, but he would let him, if that was what Tommy needed right now.

“We are leaving,” Tommy announced but didn’t wait for an answer instead he headed for the locker room pulling Nico along with him.

As they passed the others on their way out Nico saw the expressions on their faces. Some of them were upset, others nodded their heads as if they were agreeing with Tommy. But two faces stood out the most.

Roxana’s had a mix of shock and pride, her husband, who stood next to her, looked equally proud but also rather mad, not at Tommy though, that much was clear.

That’s when Nico realized that they would be fine, Tommy’s parents would have their back and deal with the family, especially Penelope.

The worries he had, subsided immediately and he decided to do what he did best, ignore the others and take care of Tommy.

The door hit the wall as Tommy opened it and with the same temper it fell back into the door lock.

“Tommy,” Nico tried but he wasn’t sure what to say. From the door he watched Tommy opening his locker and throwing out his stuff. Then he slammed the locker door shut. He stood with his back to Nico and Nico could see his shoulders rise and fall to the beat of his heavy breathing.

“Tommy.”

Hesitantly, Nico got closer to him and laid his hand on Tommy’s shoulder.

“Don’t,” Tommy muttered.

Nico let his hand sink. “I’m just trying to help you.”

“I know. But-“ Tommy interrupted himself and turned around. He looked tired. Eyes red from tears he had tried not to spill.

“I shouldn’t have brought you with me. This is all my fault and I apologize,” Tommy sounded defeated, as if this was the end, “I’m so sorry, Nico, I think this was too much too soon. I should-“

“No, Tommy, it is not your place to apologize. I don’t understand why your family behaves like this or if they are just homophobic a-,” he had to stop himself before he said something he might regret, “But this has nothing to do with us. We are untouchable. Do you understand?”

“I do. But I’m afraid that you will run from this, from me. If you stay you’ll have to deal with this every time you meet my family. I don’t want to lose you, Nico, but I also don’t know how to make this work out without it being so hard.”

Nico sighed and reached for Tommy’s hands.

“Then don’t try to. I can handle your family perfectly on my own. And besides, how often do I have to meet them? Once, twice a year? I’ll just sit with the people that like us and then we will be fine.”

Tommy looked to the side. He seemed to think about it, hopefully realizing that Nico was right.

Nico waited for him and drew little circles into the back of his hands.

“Tommy.” He whispered tentatively. Tommy turned his head and sighed.

“Hm, yeah. Maybe you are right.” Tommy’s head sunk down on Nico’s shoulder and he reached up to play with the hair on Tommy’s neck.

“It will be fine, Tommy.” He promised.

“I want to believe you.” He heard Tommy mumbled. “I so desperately want to. But I’m afraid it won’t be that easy.”

“I know, believe me, I know. But just for now can you trust in me that it will be alright?”

Nico felt the hot breath of Tommy’s exhale on his neck and shivered.

“I’ll try.” It was the best Tommy could offer and it was enough for Nico.

“You know, in hindsight, it was really hot how you protected me from Austin. Pulling him down by the shirt and all.” Nico joked as he unraveled on of Tommy’s curls from his finger. Tommy chuckled softly.

“No no, I mean it. Why aren’t you always in protection mode?” Nico continued to tease. “All mean and strong.”

Tommy lifts his head a small smile on his lips. “Oh, shut up! You know very well that you would hate that.”

“Do I?” Nico rose his eyebrows. Tommy shook his head.

“That was so clear, leave it to my boyfriend to lighten the mood with lewd comments on my very unattractive outburst of anger.”

“You know you love me for it.”

Tommy kissed him on the lips then. It was tender and sweet and way too soon he broke the kiss off again. Nico felt himself chase after it but held back.

Tommy squeezed his hand lightly and sighted.

“They still think that Lilieth and I get back together. That we will be the new rising couple on every magazine. But that won’t happen,” Tommy looked up from their intertwined hands, “I like Lilieth. She’s is one of my best friends. But it’s you who I love. And that won’t change. Not for my family or some irrational status we have to keep. I’m either with you or not here at all and they have to accept that.”

Tommy nodded his head firmly. “That is what I want. Being together with you, Nico, more than being with my family.”

“And I want to be with you, Tommy.” Nico mumbled, the only rational words to leave his mouth. Because the rest of his head was occupied with thoughts and feelings about how much he loved Tommy, and how lovely he looked standing right here in front of him.

Nico closed the gap between them to kiss Tommy again. He put his hands on Tommy’s neck and gently pulled him down to him, letting his actions speak for him.

And Tommy kissed him back immediately, gently he pushed Nico against the lockers. One of Tommy’s hands on Nico’s hip the other in his hair as he hovered over him. Faintly Nico felt how Tommy untied his hair and it fell back down to his shoulders.

“I like it better this way.” Tommy muttered breathlessly against his lips.

“Yeah?”

Tommy twisted one of the black strands around his finger.

“Yes, it suits you very well.”

Then Nico pulled him back down, kissing him more ruthless, with more meaning. Softly he bit Tommy’s lips and immediately soothed it with his tongue. The grip on his hip tightened as Tommy pushed him even harder into the locker.

A quiet whimper left Nico’s lips in between kisses, but he didn’t struggle out of Tommy’s embrace, instead he tried to pull him impossibly closer.

He never wanted this to stop but eventually Tommy broke their kiss and leaned his forehead against Nico’s.

They both struggle to even out their breaths.

“Let’s continue this somewhere more comfortable, yeah?” Tommy muttered. “And not where my whole family is just around the corner.”

Nico laughed a bit breathless.

“And where I can wear something more comfortable.”

“Preferably, I would like you to wear less.” Tommy teased, winking at him and Nico playfully shoved him away.

“That depends on how you behave.”

“Oh, you’ll see I will be so good.”

Nico smiled, kissed Tommy’s jaw and muttered into his ear.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Then he pushed Tommy, who was a bit dumbfounded, off him and went to pick up the clothes Tommy had thrown out of the locker.

“Did you have to throw them everywhere?” Nico asked. “Is this my sweater?”

“When has any of your sweaters truly been yours?”

Tommy came up behind him to inspect the red sweater Nico held up.

“Does it really matter who wears what? They were originally both my sweaters, so?”

“But I’d like to wear yours?” Nico insisted.

“Why?”

Nico turned around and gave Tommy his best ‘do I actually have to tell you the obvious’ looks.

“Because it smells like you.”

“Oh.” Tommy’s cheeks turned bright red. “Right, okay, well uhm in that case, I think I wore this one this morning.”

And before Tommy could mumble another word Nico had already pulled the sweater over his head.

“Happy, now?”

“Very.”

They changed into the rest of his clothes and then Tommy locked his locker again and led Nico out of the tennis club house. The whole time Tommy held Nico’s hand and drew little shapes with his thumb onto the back of Nico’s hand.

That was Nico’s favourite part about holding Tommy’s hand. It was always so grounding and soothing and made Nico feel really save.

In the parking lot they met Tommy’s dad unexpectedly. He was waiting for them next to Tommy’s car. When Tommy saw him his steps slowed down and Nico pressed Tommy’s hands reassuring.

“It will be okay.” He whispered before they reached Mr. Redburn.

“Tommy, Nico, I wanted to let you know that I completely understand that you two want to leave now and I support that decision. Don’t worry about your aunt, your mom and I will sort this out.” Mr. Redburn placed his hand on Tommy’s shoulder and looked him in the eyes, with so much care and love that Nico almost got jealous. “I’m proud of you, Tommy, and I’m not ashamed of you. I have never been.”

Tommy nodded his head, swallowing hard.

“We’ll talk about Austin some other time. Now, drive home or go out. Whatever you youngster do these days for a date.” He laughed and Nico couldn’t help but chuckle too, even though it was more because of the word youngster than anything else.

“We’ll be home before eight.” Tommy promised. “Thank you, dad.”

Mr. Redburn squeezed Tommy’s shoulder again, patted Nico lightly and then he left the parking lot.

“Wow, I don’t know what I thought would happen, but it definitely wasn’t that.” Tommy mumbled as he hung his head low, shaking it slightly.

“Your parents love you, Tommy. They would always be on your side.” Nico said, nudging Tommy’s side. “Besides, Austin was clearly in the wrong here.”

“Oh, god, don’t remind me of him.” Tommy sighed. “I’m sorry, Nico. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I really am. I wish my family wasn’t this complicated.”

Tommy shrugged his shoulders and looked at him.

“They are complicated, but you aren’t Tommy and that’s what matters to me most.”

Nico stood on his tiptoes to peck Tommy’s lips and gently brushed his hair to the side.

“And now, let us get away from here.”

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#writeblr #writer on tumblr #wip: the angels of death #modern au #writing #my writing #can you believe it o actually finished this snippet that I teased ages ago lmao #not beta read we die like Noah

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