work made a slave out of me

If you’ve been deeply affected by reading “My Family’s Slave” here are some general concrete things you can do.

1) Understand and tell other people that this is not only something that happens in the Philippines. It happens in many other countries. Probably on every continent. For example, in Haiti, they’re called restaveks. Across South Asia, many child slaves work in the textile industry. Don’t treat this as an individual personal failing done only by a few bad people when it’s a vast economic system that thrives in secrecy and which many of us indirectly benefit from.

2) There’s no true ethical consumption but you can at least not support industries, companies or entire economies heavily involved in modern day slavery. Cut out visiting Dubai, for example (although I don’t know anyone that rich).

3) Support transnational unions of service and domestic workers.

4) If you or anyone you know employs domestic workers, talk to them discreetly and compassionately. Ask what they need and how you can support them. Ask who takes care of THEIR kids. Keep your eyes open.

5) Look at any local laws that passively encourage these exploitative relationships and work towards changing them. Immigration law is a huge issue in this area. Undocumented workers scared to come forward because they don’t want to be deported, for example.

6) Fight for feminism and disability rights because women and disabled people are especially vulnerable. I remember in the 90s there was a vast Mexican slave ring that enslaved deaf Mexicans and made them beg on the subways in NYC for money. I gave money to some of these people not knowing that they were kept as slaves and had to turn all their money over to their slavemasters at night, and it shocked the hell out of me. Private charity doesn’t work - these people need living wages, independence, legal advocates. All fixes on a systemic basis.

i'm not even gonna say rest in peace because it’s bigger than death. i never met the man (i was too nervous the one time i saw him) and i never saw him play live, regrettably. i only know the legends I’ve heard from folks and what i’ve heard and seen from his deep catalog of propellant, fearless, virtuosic work. my assessment is that he learned early on how little value to assign to someone else’s opinion of you.. an infectious sentiment that seemed soaked into his clothes, his hair, his walk, his guitar and his primal scream. he wrote my favorite song of all time, ‘when you were mine’. it’s a simple song with a simple melody that makes you wish you thought of it first, even though you never would have - a flirtatious brand of genius that feels approachable.  he was a straight black man who played his first televised set in bikini bottoms and knee high heeled boots, epic. he made me feel more comfortable with how i identify sexually simply by his display of freedom from and irreverence for obviously archaic ideas like gender conformity etc. he moved me to be more daring and intuitive with my own work by his demonstration - his denial of the prevailing model...his fight for his intellectual property - ‘slave’ written across the forehead, name changed to a symbol... an all out rebellion against exploitation. A vanguard and genius by every metric I know of who affected many in a way that will outrun oblivion for a long while. I’m proud to be a Prince fan(stan) for life.
8

What if I can’t make my momma run with me? She pretty settled in her ways. So was mine. She was meant to wait out her bondage. She was always telling us how we was term slaves. We be free at 45. When I was younger, I thought that made us special. The promise of freedom if you just work harder. That’s how they get you. My brother believed in that. And when the lie was exposed, and she learnt she was meant to be a slave forever, by that time, well, it was too late for her to take the journey by foot. But I put her on a carriage up north anyway,

4

“I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you. I think I was twelve. It took me three years to pluck up the courage to speak to you. And I was so scared about the way I felt, you know, loving a girl, So I learned how to become a sarcastic bitch to kind of feel normal. I screwed guys to make it go away, but it didn’t work. When we got together it scared the shit out of me. Because you were the one person who could ruin my life. I pushed you away. I made you think things were your fault. But really I was just terrified of pain. I screwed that girl, Sophia, to kind of spite you for having that hold on me, and I’m a total fucking coward because I got these tickets to Goa for us three months ago, But I, I couldn’t stand… I didn’t want to be a slave to the way I feel about you, can you understand? You were trying to punish me back and it’s horrible. It’s so horrible, because really… I’d die for you. I love you. I love you so much, and it’s killing me.”

PSA for Requesters

I take pride in my work. I love making my art and I love making that art for other people.

But there have been some people who have just REALLY ticked me off.

I will not call anyone out on this, but if you think this post is about you, it probably is.

1. Reblog the art you request. Likes are just the *seen* notification. It’s depressing.

2. DON’T BEFRIEND SOMEONE SO THEY CAN GIVE YOU ART

3. Giving away other people’s art as gifts, even if the piece was made for you specifically, is stealing and it’s wrong.

4. Some artists are stuck in an awkward phase where the only people who are giving them the attention they need for their work are the slave drivers like the ones mentioned above and they can’t say “no” to them because without their requests, they may never get noticed in the art world as a professional artist who gets an income of some sort.

I know I’ll be stepping on some toes with this post, but I have had enough. This is MY ART and what you are asking of me is UNFAIR. If you don’t like it just remember that I am not an art producing machine in your computer. I am a human being who has a life and would like to pay the bills.

What Happened (In the Room Where It Happens) part four

COLAB WITH @aaronburrisadouchebag SHE WROTE JEFFERSON, I WROTE HAMILTON.

Pairing: JAMILTON SMUT YES YES
Warnings: Swearing, (lowkey and highkey) humiliation, daddy kink, thomas jefferson, thomas cant cook and hes insecure about it, one lil spanking, alexander is a slut and wants to be used
Word count: 5284
A/N: I’VE GOTTEN LIKE A DOZEN MESSAGES ASKING FOR THIS IT’S FINALLY HERE I’M SORRY FOR THE WAIT

Part One Part Two Part Three

Chapter four: Sunsets in New York

Hamilton awoke shortly before Jefferson, the afternoon light seeping through the windows, illuminating the room as Alexander slowly opened his eyes to see Thomas cuddled next to him, mouth slightly open as he breathed slowly, still sleeping. Alexander placed a light kiss to the Southerner’s jaw before peeling himself away, sad to leave Thomas’s side, he stood by the bed for a moment, watching in awe as his chest gently rose and fell.

Smiling, Alexander walked to the study where his and Jefferson’s clothes had been tossed around the room. Collecting his clothes, which were beginning to feel grungy after the last day of use, he pulled them on, smoothing his vest as he went to the kitchen.

“Good afternoon, Mister Hamilton.” Joanna said to him, noticing his presence in the room as she washed a dish that Thomas had neglected to take care of.

“Good afternoon, Joanna!” He said cheerily, meeting her by the sink. “Thomas and I spoke, he decided to give you the next few days off to show his gratitude. Paid, of course.”

“Mister Hamilton…” Joanna said, drying the plate then returning it to a cabinet. “Are you sure?”


“Thomas insisted. You work so hard for him, you deserve the next few days–three, to be specific– off for yourself.” Alexander began meandering around the kitchen, shifting through Jefferson’s cabinets.

“Thank you, Mister Hamilton. Tell Mister Jefferson I said thank you so much for his generosity.” Joanna thanked the Treasurer before bowing out of the room.

Finishing his search, Alexander began to go to work in the kitchen, fixing the two of them a nice meek as he waited for Thomas to wake. go go go go!

Thomas blinked awake, squinting as sunlight filtered in through the windows. He groaned, rubbing the gunk from his eyes as he rolled around for a moment. The Secretary slowly pushed himself to a sitting position. Half the day gone and he slept through all of it. Hopefully Joanna has been cleaning what I didn’t. He thought as he slid out of the bed.

He looked around for his clothes, then paused as he noticed that Alexander wasn’t in bed with him. He did hear clattering in the kitchen, so he assumed that was where his partner had gotten off to.

“Humph.” He snorted, finding his trousers. He chose to only pull on his pants and his shirt, not bothering with the frills and layers. He wasn’t going anywhere, so why get dressed?

He shuffled into the kitchen, trying desperately to tame his unruly dark hair. His brows furrowed in confusion upon seeing Alexander alone, rummaging in the cabinets.

“What are ya doin’?” He asked quietly, looking around. He still didn’t see Joanna. “You don’t need to fool with that stuff, Alexander. Joanna can handle it.”

“I sent her home,” Hamilton responded without missing a beat, not bothering to look up at Jefferson as he poured two glasses of water, pushing one to Thomas. “I told her that because you were so grateful for her service, you had decided to give her the next three days off–paid.” He spoke nonchalantly, harsh emphasis placed on paid, as he turned to check the stove.

Thomas’s confused expression snapped into one of shock, then anger. “Are you kidding me?!” He exclaimed. “You can’t just fork out money to my maid if she isn’t working, much less dismiss her in the first place! That isn’t your role here, Hamilton.” He snarled, grabbing the glass of water harshly.

He looked towards the stove, then glared back at Hamilton, “You’re overstepping your boundaries. I know you don’t like slaves, but she’s only a maid.”

Hamilton didn’t even raise his eyes to look at Jefferson as he fumed, he instead focused on the sandwiches baking on the pan– a meal Lafayette had made him many a time. “You seem to have an excess, and with all your slaves, it won’t hurt you to pay a little extra to the one worker you do pay.” He took a sip of the water. “And besides, you don’t need her, making a few meals a day and cleaning up after yourself is nothing.”

Jefferson awkwardly shifted, walking to sit on a stool. “I need my money to produce cotton, Alexander. You don’t understand.” He sniffed, then sipped on his water. The Secretary of State looked back to Alexander. “I’m too busy. I need her to do the simpler work for me.”

Alexander cracked an egg over each sandwich, flipping them to cook, attentively watching them. “You don’t pay for your slaves Thomas, these few extra dollars to Joanna won’t hurt you. And, besides, she works hard for you. She does all your cooking and cleaning, she deserves to take a break. Thomas,” he finally turned to Jefferson, his eyes locking with his, “you’d be less busy if you stopped concerning yourself with matters in which you have no place.” He turned back to the stove, watching the food cook.

“I could say the same for you!” Jefferson spat, slamming his glass down. “You come into my home at my invitation. You are my guest, yet you act as if you own the place! You had no right to let her take off!”

Hamilton smiled when the food was finished, sliding a sandwich onto each of the two plates he had pulled out, turning to Thomas, he gently set it down before the man. “Croque Madame.” He said, pointing to the dish, “I’m sure you had it many times when you were in France.”

He sat down next to Jefferson, placing his own food in front of him. “I don’t remember so much of an invitation so much as it was a contract, remember, Thomas?” He teased, smiling to himself. “And really, you don’t need her all the time. If you reward her now, she’ll work harder later. But, Thomas, she already works very hard. She’s very dedicated to this job. You should show your appreciation.” He took a sip of his water. “Do you like the sandwich?”

Jefferson gazed at the sandwich and nodded. “Lafayette used to make these for me.” He confessed with a halfhearted, far away smile.

“It was a contract you consented to, so you’re my best and thus have the same rights as any slave, by contract.” The Virginian countered firmly. “I do need her. By rewarding her now, she will become expectant of such things that she will never receive.” He huffed.

Thomas looked back down at his sandwich, then lifted it and took a bite. He closed his eyes, memories of his life in France flooding his mind. “Yes,” he mumbled, “it’s good.”

“Well,” Hamilton said, looking up at Thomas through his eyelashes, “maybe you’re not as great of a slave master as they say, hm?” he prodded before taking a bite of the sandwich. “Thomas,” Alexander laughed, “you don’t need her. You can cook for yourself just fine, can’t you?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“I need all of my slaves.” Thomas countered, glaring at Hamilton. “I would much rather not break a sweat.”

He went quiet for a moment, taking another bite of the sandwich. He chewed thoughtfully, then took a long swig of water. “Sure I can. I cook just fine.”

A smirk grew on Hamilton’s face as he sat the sand which down in the plate. “Thomas, can you not cook?” He teased.

The southerner held his sandwich tightly. “Of course I can! Everyone can cook!”

Alexander shook his head, his jaw going slack. “Oh my gosh, you need Joanna because you can’t cook, can you? No wonder mac and cheese tastes so bad!” He laughed before taking another bite of his sandwich, shooting a playful wink at the Virginian.

“I-I can!” Thomas exclaimed. He put his sandwich back on his plate and pushed away from the table, heading to the living room. He searched for the morning newspaper and huffed, finding that it wasn’t there. “Must I do everything for myself?” He shouted at Alexander before stomping to the front door and opening it, grabbing it from the porch before returning indoors.

Softening, Alexander stood up to meet Thomas at the door as he walked in, leaving his sandwich at the table. “Thomas,” he said, looking up at the flustered Southerner, “it’s only three days without Joanna, you’ll live.” He placed a hand on Jefferson’s shoulder, gently  rubbing a circle with his thumb, taking the newspaper from Thomas, he led him back to to the table, setting the newspaper down at his seat. “You hardly do anything for yourself, Thomas,” he poured more water into the Virginian’s glass, “it’ll be good for you to take a few days to learn how to do that, or at least give Joanna a break.”

The southerner’s mouth parted and then closed again, trying to find something to say. He finally sat down and sighed, “What are you, my mother?” He grumbled, but grabbed ahold of Hamilton’s shirt. He slowly tugged Alexander closer, taking the pitcher and setting it on the table.

Thomas gently pressed a soft kiss to the other man’s lips, then slouched so he could press his forehead to Hamilton’s chest. “I like it when you touch me like that. On the shoulders, all…. comforting, but in charge.” He admitted softly. “And…. you can cook for the next three days. I can't…”

Hamilton let out a small grunt when Thomas kissed him, then wrapping his arm around Jefferson, looking down at him as the Southerner curled against his chest. Stifling a laugh, Alexander nodded, “I can cook for us, don’t worry, pretty boy.” He used his free hand to take Thomas’s jaw in his hand, lifting his face so that his gaze was locked on Hamilton. “It’ll all be okay,” he murmured before gently kissing Thomas, his arm still tightly wrapped around the Virginian.

Jefferson sighed contentedly against Hamilton’s pouty lips, enjoying their soft texture. He pulled away gently and smiled, brown eyes bright. “Come on, finish breakfast with me.” He said, reaching for his sandwich. He began eating once more, pausing to sip at his water and read the paper.

Sighing, Hamilton nodded and moved to sit down across from Jefferson, watching as Thomas enjoyed the food he had made for him. “Is there any important news?” He asked, reaching for the newspaper, taking it from Thomas, skimming the headlines, “maybe something about my debt plan…” He smiled a bit.

“The vote is Thursday, Alexander.” Thomas smirked. “All the papers are doing is mulling over whether it will pass or not.” He shrugged and finished his sandwich, then gulped down his water. “Can we go… relax for a while? In the living room?”

“It better pass,” Alexander mumbled, finishing his water. “Of course,” he said, standing up, extending his hand to help Thomas up. “I’d like nothing more.” He cooed, a content smile on his face.

The Virginian accepted the man’s hand and stood, going to the couch. He pushed Hamilton down into it gently, then settled down along with him. “Lay back,” Thomas whined, shifting down and stretching out so he could put his head on Hamilton’s chest.

Hamilton did as he was told, relaxing into the couch as Jefferson cuddled on him. He moved his arms to evelop Thomas, one thumb rubbing small circles into the Southerner’s bicep as he slowed his breathing, settling in with Jefferson. “Are you okay?” He asked, a bit concerned by the dominant man’s sudden docility. He moved one hand to Thomas’s hair, gently pushing it behind his ear in attempt to soothe him.

The southerner shrugged and nodded. “You just… you tire me out so quickly. I need time to just relax. And you’re very soft, so… this is nice.” He murmured, pressing his nose against Alexander’s clothed chest.

Alexander’s muscles relaxed, allowing him to more comfortably hold the larger man. “What do you mean, ‘I tire you out’?” he pried gently, sighing contentedly as Jefferson drew nearer to him. His eyes fluttered closed, feeling as Thomas seemed to cling to him, enjoying the quiet moment.

“Your arguing, and the sex drive you have….” Jefferson groaned. He laughed lightly and shook his head, gently stretching his arms upwards so tangle his hands in Alexander’s hair. “You’re so young… I guess I’m just realizing that I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“I’m not that much younger than you,” Smirking over the comment about his sex drive, Hamilton adjusted himself, allowing Thomas to fist his hands in his hair, pulling the Southerner closer to him, humming quietly as his warmth floated onto his skin. “Don’t worry about it, okay?” he said, placing a kiss on Jefferson’s forehead, comforting the man as he tangled his arms around him, holding him close.

The Virginian shrugged and nodded, looking upwards. “Speaking of sex drive…” he tugged gently on Alexander’s hair. “How bout we get goin’?” He smirked, shifting upwards. He rolled his body as he pushed himself closer to Hamilton’s face, looming over him. His hips slotted easily between the immigrant’s thighs, grinding against him. “What all do you like, Alexander?”

Letting out a soft moan as his hair was pulled, Alexander looked up at Thomas, his chest heavy at the sudden change in Thomas’s demeanor, instantly craving to be used by the Southerner. “Fuck… Thomas…” was all Hamilton could manage as he felt Jefferson’s growing erection rut against him.

“Tell me what you want me to do.” Thomas murmured, leaning down to brush his lips against Alexander’s. His erection throbbed as he rolled his hips against Hamilton’s once more. “How should I claim you today?” He asked, chuckling lowly. Jefferson nipped at the Treasurer’s lip, then pulled away. “Or maybe I shouldn’t, and we can keep cuddling.”

Taking a sharp breath in, Alexander pressed his hips against Thomas’s, trying to gain more sensation. “Please, Thomas, use me. However you want.” He whimpered, moving his hands to fist in the Southerner’s hair, “please, let me be good for you.” he begged.

The Southerner let out a ragged breath, diving back down to roughly slam his mouth against Alexander’s. Thomas practically growled, the muscles in his arms twitching as he hastily removed Hamilton’s clothing. “You’re going to be my good little slut, do you understand?” He hissed, biting the man’s lip a little too hard.

Letting out another whimper at Thomas’s words, Hamilton bucked up his hips against Thomas’s. He nodded quickly, the Southerner’s bite stinging his lips as the pain radiated through his body. His hands found Jefferson’s shirt, making quick work of the buttons as he threw the shirt off of Thomas, hands now exploring the Virginian’s chest.

“I want an answer, whore!” Jefferson snapped, pulling away. He smacked Alexander’s ass, which he assumed was still sore, then grasped the man by his dark, Silky locks. “Answer daddy,” he commanded huskily, his brown eyes dark with lust.

A scream escaped Hamilton’s mouth as Thomas’s hand landed on his ass, the impact causing him to shake as his hair was pulled, craning his neck backwards. “Y-yes, Daddy,” he struggled, suppressing a moan, “I’m your good little slut,” he echoed Thomas’s words, staring into the Southerner’s hungry eyes, shrinking beneath his gaze.

The Secretary of State smirked and released Alexander. He stood, shucking the remainder of his clothing, then settled back on the couch to kiss his lover. “Good boy,” he praised, cooing softly. “So much for you taking care of me, huh?” He teased, allowing his hard cock to rub against Hamilton’s. “Why don’t you go to the bedroom and fetch the oil, then come back?” He suggested, but his tone conveyed that it was an order.

Hamilton melted at the praise, letting himself kiss Thomas as he felt the friction of Thomas’s cock against his. He kissed the Southerner once more before standing up, allowing his hips to sway a bit, giving Jefferson a show as he approached the stairs. “Yes Daddy.” he said eagerly, his footsteps heavy on the stairs as he ran up them, rushing for Jefferson’s bedroom to find the oil they had used earlier. In a short moment, he found it, heading back down the stairs with the jar in hand, stopping in the doorframe, his gaze meeting Thomas’s. “This one?” he asked, holding up the bottle slightly.

Jefferson had been lazily stroking his hardened cock as he waited on Alexander. When the younger man returned with the oil, he smiled. “That’s it. Good boy, Alexander. Come here,” Thomas praised and beckoned Hamilton

Taking a shaky step forward, Hamilton neared Jefferson before dropping to his hands and knees, electing to crawl to his lover, holding the oil in one hand as he looked up to Thomas submissively. Once he reached the Southerner, he stopped and rocked back to sit on his knees, his eyes meeting Jefferson’s.

“Damn, Hamilton.” Thomas whispered, spreading his thighs. “Do you want a taste, slut?” He reached out and grabbed the oil, setting it beside him. He then reached for Hamilton again and gently ran his fingers through the man’s dark, soft hair. Gogogo

“Yes please, Daddy,” Hamilton breathed hungrily. His chest fell heavily before he stuck out his tongue dramatically, opening his mouth wide, gently wagging his tongue at the Southerner. “Please, anything you’ll give me, I’ll take. Thomas, I need it.” He continued, craving to taste the Virginian’s thick cock as it throbbed in front of him.

The Virginian gently pulled Alexander forwards, shifting so his cock reached Hamilton’s mouth. He gently rubbed the tip along the other man’s lips, smearing precum across them. “You’re such a good little whore,” Jefferson murmured, finally resting the head of his cock on the immigrant’s tongue. “Go ahead,”

Hamilton let out a muffled whimper as he closed his lips around Jefferson’s cock, flattening his tongue against the other man’s girth as he begs in to bob is head up and down, saliva pooling in his mouth and dripping out the sides of his mouth. He pulled off for a moment to lick a stripe across the bottom of Thomas’s cock before returning to his bobbing motions eagerly.

The Secretary groaned and shifted his hips slightly, tugging on Hamilton’s hair. “Not too much, darlin’.” He warned, gazing down at Alexander. His abdomen was taut, muscles twitching as Hamilton blew him.

Grunting, Hamilton slowed down at Thomas’s words, steadily fucking his face onto the man’s cock as he felt his own cock throb. He watched Thomas through his eyelashes, admiring the way his face contorted with pleasure at each movement.

“Fuck,” Jefferson whispered, his eyes closing and his mouth parting slightly. He gently thruster his hips into Hamilton’s mouth, then pulled him away. “Enough.” The Virginian murmured. “Oil my cock and climb up here.”

Hamilton was removed from Jefferson’s cock with a gentle popping noise before he reached for the oil, pouring some onto his hands before beginning to work on Thomas’s cock. “I can’t wait for you to fuck me,” he mused, attentively massaging the oil onto the Virginian’s throbbing election, “Love when you use me like your good little whore.” He finished with the oil, climbing onto Jefferson’s lap.

Jefferson smirked, taking the oil from Alexander and spreading some on two of his fingers. He hummed as he gently worked them into his lover’s hole, his free hand kneading Hamilton’s ass. “You know I’m going to use you like the little fuck toy you are,” Thomas murmured, kissing Alexander’s chest.

Moaning obscenely, Hamilton’s mouth fell open as Jefferson pumped his fingers into Alexander, stretching him. “Fuck, Daddy…” Alexander moaned, using a hand to grip onto Thomas, steadying himself. “Please, use me, use me to pleasure yourself, please.” He begged, pushing himself against Jefferson’s fingers.

The Secretary of State let out a soft groan, his cock twitching. “Nah-ah, my little slut.” He removed his fingers and shifted, pushing Hamilton onto the couch. He moved the man to the armrest, placing one large palm on the skin between his shoulders, “You want me, whore?” He asked, positioning his cock at Alexander’s entrance.

The New Yorker let out a grunt as he was manhandled, pushed over the couch as he was forced down, Thomas’s cock teasing his entrance, taunting him. “Yes, please,” he responded, feeling his erection throb, “I need you, Thom– Daddy, please.” He shook a bit in anticipation.

Hearing Alexander’s mistake, Thomas spanked his ass and growled. “That’s right. You better call me Daddy.” He then grasped the immigrant by his hips and slowly slid his cock inside him, groaning. “Ah… you’re so tight…”

Alexander bit down on his lip to muffle a moan at the impact of Jefferson’s hand on his ass. He pushed himself back onto Thomas’s cock, feeling it fill him as bliss ran through his veins. “Fuck,” he grunted, trying to adjust to Jefferson’s large size, “tight for you, Daddy, only for you to use.” he babbled, his hands gripping the couch.

“Damn right. It better only be for me.” The Southerner moaned, leaning back as he slowly tugged his cock in and out of Alexander’s asshole. The oil made it slick, but still allowed them some friction. He dug his fingers into the soft flesh of Hamilton’s hips, finally thrusting harder.

Hamilton let out a small scream at Thomas’s cock being pumped in and out of him, the slight friction causing him to yelp with each hard thrust. “Yours, only yours,” Alexander promised, moving a hand down to wrap around his own cock, giving him the much-needed sensation.

“Ah ah..” Jefferson scolded, swatting away Hamilton’s hand. He leaned over, still thrusting, and grasped Alexander’s cock. He gently pumped it, panting as he multitasked. “Fuck…mine…”

Eyes screwing shut, Alexander began letting out small yelps with each of Thomas’s thrusts. He moved his shooed hand back to the fabric of the couch, giving him support as Jefferson slammed into him, each thrust catching him off guard. As Thomas’s hand worked his cock, Hamilton’s breaths became shaky. “Yours,” he promised again through a moan, “your whore, your depraved little slut,” he degraded himself, getting off on it as he enjoyed Jefferson’s thrusts.  

“Good boy… talk like that some more. Tell me about how much you like my cock.” Thomas muttered huskily, leaning down to bite the treasurer’s shoulder. He shortened his thrusts but made them harder, causing the couch to shake. “Tell me how you want me to cum in you, fill you up with my seed.” He said, the head of his cock slamming into Alexander’s prostate.

Hamilton shook at the new sensation, letting out a loud scream as Jefferson’s cock hit his prostate, sending a wave of pleasure through him. “Fuck, so happy to be used by you, by your thick. big cock,” he mumbled, his thoughts incoherent “I just want to worship you, your cock, for hours, make you cum again and again, covering and filling me with your seed.” He fantasized aloud, “I love how big it is, I feel so– fuck– full.” He became louder as Jefferson’s thrusts remained relentless. “Please, Daddy, mark me,” he turned his head slightly to look at Thomas. “Please, I promise I’ll be good, Daddy,” he shuddered a bit, “fill me up with your cum, claim me, fuck, make me yours.” He breathed heavily, trying to maintain what dignity he had left.

Thomas’s eyelids fluttered shut at Alexander’s words. He pulled Alexander up, so both of them were on their knees, and began thrusting faster. “Good little slut… your hole is mine to ravage, mine to breed, mine to cum in.” He hissed, biting down on the juncture between Hamilton’s shoulder and neck, sucking harshly. His hand stroked the immigrant’s cock, squeezing. “Cum for me.” He murmured in Hamilton’s ear.

Screams now were freely from Hamilton as he was held up by the Southerner, his cock thrusting deeply as he shook. “Yours, Daddy…yours… yours…” Alexander yelped as he began to cum, his whole body shaking as he writhed in Thomas’s grasp, the man’s cock still thrusting, hitting his prostate. Spilling, Hamilton’s cum dribbled down Jefferson’s hand as his own mouth fell open, moving as though to say something, silenced by the overstimulation of Thomas’s thrusts.

With Hamilton’s ass tightening around his thick cock, Jefferson stilled his hips and came hard inside Alexander. He let out a groan, muffled by his lips on the treasurer’s skin. He gently sat back after a moment, pulling Hamilton with him. “Lay still, I’ll go get a rag.” Thomas murmured, sliding off the couch and stumbling to the kitchen.

Hamilton did as he was told, his body resting against the soft couch as he watched Thomas. “T-thank you.” he half whispered, still coming down from his intense orgasm and letting himself come down from the intense subspace he had been in.

Thomas returned with a damp rag and a blanket, setting the latter to the side. He gently wiped Alexander down with the rag, cleaning off all the semen and sweat. He cleaned himself next, then clambered back onto the couch with Hamilton and wrapped up with him in the blanket. “Did you have fun?”

Hamilton smiled at the question, regaining his liveliness as he curled against Jefferson. “Mmm, yes.” He said, looking up at Thomas. “Was I good?” He asked hopefully, wanting to make sure Thomas had enjoyed him.

“You’re always good,” the southerner laughed softly, stroking Alexander’s side. “You can sleep if you want. I’m going to relax, I suppose. It’s a shame I left my newspaper on the table.” He shrugged and chuckled, kissing Hamilton’s cheek.

Hamilton smiled happily, leaning into Thomas as he was gently petted. “Let’s cuddle now,” he demanded, “like we were before, like you had wanted.” he pulled himself against Jefferson, tangling his hands into Thomas’s hair, humming softly as he gazed up at the Southerner.

“This is the opposite of how we were before,” the Virginian countered with a chuckle, smooching Alexander’s forehead. He did gently continue running his hands along the man’s sides, trying to comfort and soothe him.

“Not the opposite,” Alexander murmured, burying himself in Jefferson’s chest as he cooed quietly st the feeling of Thomas’s hands stroking him, helping him calm down.  “We’re just naked now,” he said matter-of-factly, it became evident that any tact he had once possessed was clearly gone as he spoke. He hummed at Thomas’s touch, his previously manhandled body thankful for the gentle touch and Alexander was more than happy to just be with Thomas.

Thomas shook his head. “I’m holding you now. That’s an opposite.” He murmured, gazing down at Hamilton. He proceeded to continue cuddling him and began to gently run his blunt nails along Alexander’s sides. “Does that feel good?” Gogogo

Hamilton nodded slightly, looking up to return the Southerner’s gaze. “So good…” he mumbled, nuzzling against Jefferson. “I could hold you, if you’d want,” he offered, noting Jefferson’s comment as he shifted up slightly to meet the Virginian.

“No no, stay right there. I’m comfortable,” the southerner shook his head and pushed Hamilton back down. He rested his forehead against the top of Alexander’s head, eyes closing. “I really don’t want to sleep. We could go for a walk?”

Letting out a calm breath, Hamilton nudged Thomas’s chest with his nose as he was pushed down. “That would be nice,” he said happily, lifting himself up to look around the room, looking at the messy piles of clothes on the floor. “We need to get dressed though,” he sighed, reluctantly standing up to put on his clothes.

Thomas chuckled and nodded. He rose and pulled on his socks, pants, and shoes, then headed to his room as he tugged on his shirt to fetch the rest of his magenta clothes. When he was dressed, he returned. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Hamilton said, smoothing out the front of his white shirt, deciding to skip his green vest and jacket. He stood up and smoothed out his hair, pulling it into a ponytail at the back of his head, trying to fix his post-sex hair. “Look okay?” he asked, approaching Thomas.

“No,” Jefferson smirked. He walked over to Alexander and fixed his hair, smoothing it into place. “There you go.” He headed to the door, sighing. When he opened it, the light of the sunset entered the house, and Thomas had to squint. He stepped outside, knowing Alexander would follow.

Hamilton blushed red as Thomas fixed his hair, leaning into his touch. “Thank you,” he smiled, following behind Thomas as he stepped outside the door, closing it behind him, admiring the way the sun was setting, but more than anything, he was captivated by how each ray of sun hit Thomas’s face, illuminating his features and as the Southerner continued walking, Alex took small steps behind him, a bit paralyzed by the other man’s stunning beauty.

“You’re welcome,” the Secretary of State smiled and looked away from Alexander. “Come on, catch up.” He said, but slowed down his walk anyway so he matched Hamilton’s pace. He gazed around, watching the townspeople wall by and wave. Thomas smiled and shook his hand back in a friendly manner, then continued walking towards the small park around the block.

Snapping out of his daze, Alexander caught up with Thomas, watching as he charismatically greeted the people. Hamilton spoke to a few as well, but, people were much more interested in speaking to Thomas. For a moment, he considered reaching out to hold his lover’s hand before remembering the gossip that would arise from them being out on the town with each other acting civil, much less holding hands.

Jefferson was having the same thoughts. He occasionally glanced at Hamilton’s lips and hands, but he was sure that they’d be lynched as soon as their fingers brushed. He looked down at the ground a moment as they walked, then nudged Alexander as they turned the corner to get to the park. “What do you say we watch the sunset?”

“Please,” he breathed, “I’d love that.” He followed Thomas to the park. “I’m surprised you’d want to go out in public with me,” he wondered, “we’re supposed to be enemies.” He reminded Thomas, smirking a bit as they walked a quiet spot.

“If people ask, it’s a civil meeting.” Jefferson joked, approaching a one bench with an open view of a medium sized creek. “It’s a shame I can’t hold you,” he mused, reaching the bench and sitting on one end of it. It was small, so they could sit shoulder to shoulder.

Hamilton laughed, shaking his head as his eyes raised to watch the creek, light reflecting in the clear water. Following, Alexander sat down next to Jefferson, resting his hand on the bench next to Thomas’s, his pinky finger looping over Jefferson’s in a discrete display of affection. “I know,” he sighed wistfully, “me too.”

Thomas looked down, gently intertwining his pinky with Alexander’s. His chest warmed; a light airiness that he had never felt before filling it. He returned his gaze to Hamilton’s face, smiling fondly, then looked back to the small section of water before them. “We can return home soon.”

Alexander’s eyes remained fixed on the creek before he was snapped out of his focus by Thomas’s voice. “It’s nice out,” he commented before turning to face Jefferson, his own lips slightly parted, eyes darting down to notice Thomas’s own plump lips. “But, we should head back soon, you’re right.“ Thomas inhaled slowly, as if he were trying to absorb the dying rays of sunlight. “Alright.” He smiled, releasing Alexander’s pinky. He rose, waiting on the shorter man. They returned to his home together, ready to settle in for the night.

anonymous asked:

Mo! Omg I miss your writing alot but I hope you're doing well. I've been looking for some other writing blogs to keep myself busy until your triumphant return lol. Any recs? :)

Anon! Hello. I am truly grateful for your patience, you have no idea lol. I am deeply sorry life has gotten in the way and I haven’t been posting as much. I will make a return soon (I hope). Anyway, you want recs? I’ve got a few lol.

@kpopfanfictrash ~ Okay. You know my obsession with Shan. And if you don’t, I must not be promoting enough lol. This brilliance of a human being has posted her writing time after time and I am so in love, it’s ridiculous. She’s also insanely stunning and incredibly witty and has made me mad for her Jimin smut ‘No Strings’ so. There’s that. You can find her masterlist here and I hope you can find something to your liking. 

@seoulscapes Em’s masterlist can be found here and she writes not only GOT7 but BTS, Seventeen, Monsta X, and some Blackpink as well. She’s a lovely human being and quite talented at that so please do peruse the masterlist because there’s alot on there I’m sure you’ll be drawn to! ALSO. She loves Nam Joo Hyuk has much as I do so really, what more do you need?

@yeol-stole-my-soul now I don’t read very much EXO (idk why I’m a bit ashamed lol) but when I’m looking for it, Maria is definitely my stop. Her masterlist is here and I’m sure you will become as obsessed with ‘The Sound of Music’ as I was when I read it because yanno…Sehun’s not my bias or anything. Idk what you’re talking about. And I patiently await an update for ‘Never Ever’ because that shit has me squealing so…yeah. And I’m not going to get into Park Chanyeol. I try my hardest to stay away from him and remain faithful to my wrecker, the perfect Byun Baekhyun, but it’s cool. Really. (And though we’ve never actually spoken, she seems absolutely lovely.)

@the-porcelain-doll-xo so Fal is a new follow, I’ve been reading her work for a few weeks now, and I guarantee her masterlist is gonna drive you insane. It’s too much I tell you, IT’S TOO MUCH. A warning: do not read while on the subway, the train, in a classroom, out in the hall by your classroom, waiting in the car, the grocery store, a friend’s place…look. Just read in a space where you can yell freely and maybe cry a little. That’s what she does to me. Does…does she not do that to anyone else? Just me then. Because I freak out when I get notifications from her lol. Like ‘Beautiful Stranger’? Kill me. I don’t bias Park Jinyoung I DON’T OKAY? And I have not read everything Mark Tuan on there. I haven’t. I promise. Maybe. 

And as always, I have to mention @parkjinyoungology and @engraved-in-the-moonlight and @yves-saintlaurtuan and @venjaeance because they’re one of the first writers I discovered when I made my way back onto tumblr a few months back. While I was slaving over my own work, theirs kept me motivated and fangirly as I threw out idea after idea and re-wrote chapters of my own. So please do check them out because they’re talented (everyone I mentioned are insanely so) and they deserve your likes and comments and reblogs and love. 

Hope this helped anon. Happy reading~

Originally posted by ceohan

What Happened (In The Room Where It Happens) Chapter 4

Co-written with @hamiltonwrotetheother51 and she’s my girlfriend and I LOVE HER!

Chapter 4: Sunsets in New York

Pairing: Jamilton (SMUT)
Warnings: sex, gay sex, swearing, a singular spank, daddy kink, lowkey and highkey humiliation, internalized homophobia, dirty talk, and poor Thomas can’t cook
Word Count: 5284
A/N: I’m sorry it’s late! Here it is though, thank you all for waiting!

Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three 

Chapter 4: Sunsets in New York


Hamilton awoke shortly before Jefferson, the afternoon light seeping through the windows, illuminating the room as Alexander slowly opened his eyes to see Thomas cuddled next to him, mouth slightly open as he breathed slowly, still sleeping. Alexander placed a light kiss to the Southerner’s jaw before peeling himself away, sad to leave Thomas’s side, he stood by the bed for a moment, watching in awe as his chest gently rose and fell.

Smiling, Alexander walked to the study where his and Jefferson’s clothes had been tossed around the room. Collecting his clothes, which were beginning to feel grungy after the last day of use, he pulled them on, smoothing his vest as he went to the kitchen.

“Good afternoon, Mister Hamilton.” Joanna said to him, noticing his presence in the room as she washed a dish that Thomas had neglected to take care of.

Keep reading

not-the-shadow-broker  asked:

I've only been at my job just under 4 months, and i already don't give a shit. I take the bs my coworker does to the manager every time he thinks he can fuck around and make me do his work for him. Our shop manager hates people sitting on their arse. Dude doesn't deserve full time and full wage while part timers have to slave to fix the messes he made out of laziness. Also good luck trying to get me fired for it, i have proof from before clocking on and off and the union to back me. Haha mate.

“I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you. I think I was twelve. It took me three years to pluck up the courage to speak to you. And I was so scared about the way I felt. You know, loving a girl. So I learned how to become a sarcastic bitch to kind of feel normal. I screwed guys to make it go away, but it didn’t work. When we got together it scared the shit out of me. Because you were the one person who could ruin my life. I pushed you away. I made you think things were your fault. But really I was just terrified of pain. I didn’t want to be a slave to the way I feel about you, can you understand? You were trying to punish me back and it’s horrible. It’s so horrible, because really, I’d die for you. I love you. I love you so much, and it’s killing me.”

Skins (2007-2013)

Joker in Belle Reve

This is extremely random but I was doing an RP a long time ago where Harley was pregnant and she and J got captured by Amanda Waller. 


This is basically a one shot that I may continue of Jokers point of view in Belle Reve when he is first captured

Feedback would be lovely and if you’d like me to write more, let me know. Enjoy! 
(Ignore spelling mistakes and such)









The green haired man sat In the corner of the cell; straight jacket tight around his body. The cell was dark and dirty. Padded wall to ceiling and even the door-other than a small flap that could be removed for food to be placed inside the cell- in a dingy, spongy material. The light provided by a single fluorescent bulb at the middle of the ten-foot ceiling, covered by reinforced plastic to ensure he wouldn’t be able to break it.

That was kind of them; making the room mirror how they felt about the man. He could appreciate the gesture….

His head hung low, Green strands of hair falling in his face, seemingly a duller colour than the usual vibrant emerald. His eyes were closed; the blue turned to a dull grey and the deranged look was slightly replaced by one spacey And almost… Lost.

The chemicals entered the room through hidden vents, the gas leaving the metal with a small hiss. The only other sound was his slow breathing; animalistic low growls leaving him every time he exhaled.

Arkham asylum was one thing. However, this was on another level. The familiar cloth straight jacket was replaced by one entirely made of leather strong enough so he wouldn’t be able to break it. The cell was completely ‘safe’; the only possible source of causing pain- the glass of the light bulb- was ten feet above the ground covered in two inches of plastic. He was forced to sit and do nothing and if he caused problems he would get chained to the floor.

On top of that, there was the gas being pumped in in order to make him calm, which it seemed to be doing as well as messing with his mind and thoughts.

He was a trapped animal, being drugged in order to maintain safety.

How pathetic the people were to do that to him.

How long had he been in there? He wasn’t sure. Thoughts falling out of his mind like leaves off a tree on a windy day. He’d gotten better; adapted almost. The more he focused, the more he kept his thoughts, hence his position generally remained at the back corner with his eyes closed and slow breaths leaving his red lips.

Did he sleep? Did he eat? Not really. On occasions he’d drift off but not well or for long, and maybe take a small bite of the 'food’; just enough of both to keep his body ticking. This place wasn’t where he was going to die.

***

The sound of heavy boot steps followed by the clacking of heels echoed in the hallway, approaching the Joker’s cell. The man didn’t move. If one was to just look at him at first glance, they could assume he was dead; slumped against the padded walls like a rag doll.

The steel door opened with a loud creak on its hinges, and that was the sound that caused the clown’s eyes to open; his head remained down however. He could see behind the strands of hair in his face, two pairs large guard boots and some nude heels.

The guards approached him. He still did not move. They pulled him to his feet. He stayed still. They chained his ankles to the ground. Nothing other than slight swaying as if he was being blown by a breeze. The concentration was needed to keep his mind clear. This was his first interaction with the infamous Amanda Waller, so it must have been important. And if he wanted to play? He couldn’t jumble over his words.

“Joker.” The woman spoke, voice confident and steady, yet naturally stern,  Clearly indicating she had nothing to fear. “Do you know who I am?”

He contemplated if speaking was the best thing to do. Yes. It would be. “Amanda Waller…” His head raised slightly so he could look at her more, a silver grin tugging at his lips,“ How lovely to finally meet you…” His voice was falsely over kind, her name leaving his lips laced in venom.

The woman seemed unphased by the man, and she continued as if he hadn’t said anything. “You are now part of my facility,” she stated. “You are under my control. If I ask you to do something, you do it. Understand?”

“Is everyone else as lucky as I am? Getting to speak to you face to face…?” He asked, his voice sounding slightly tired due to the most likely increase in chemicals in the room just in case. He wasn’t working for her. There was no point. He would be out at some point soon anyway.

“You can make this difficult for yourself, or you can answer me when I ask you questions,” the woman responded, and her response made the joker laugh ever so slightly.

“no humour…” He said in a low voice and shake of his head before he spoke some more. “Amanda Waller… I’m not your slave…” He said, “nor will I ever be…” His eyes flicked up to her and a grin was on his red lips, “but the offer means /so/ much to me.” And a laugh left him.

The guards held the bottom of their guns as if they were going to hit the man with them, but the woman raised her hand for them to stop. She looked fed up. She was done being reasonable with this man, there was no use. She stepped close to the green haired psychopath. Very close and the guards acted as though they would pull her away but she once again gave them a silent indication to stay put. “You will learn I’m not someone to joke with,” she said, looking at the man who had leant down slightly to be at her height. “Harley and your child certainly did.”

The grin immediately fell from his face and his jaw clenched.

“What did you do?” He growled at her.

A small smile tugged at the woman’s painted lips, “so that is how I can get your attention.” She said and stepped away from him slightly. “Do you really think I’d let you and that girl reproduce?” She asked as she looked to him as if it was the most repulsive idea in the world.

He stayed quiet but he shifted slightly from foot to foot, getting obviously antsy and angry; like a lion about to be given its dinner.

“Harley disrespected me,” she continued. “When she was working for me, she escaped, thanks to you.” She said and pointed at him, as if saying 'this is all your fault, not mine.’ “I was originally thinking I’d kill her-” another growl left him, but she ignored it, “but then I decided wouldn’t it be better to have her suffer? You enjoy making people suffer, don’t you?” She asked him, putting on the obvious persona that they could relate on this one thing. “So I got rid of the baby.” She said casually.

His body shook, breathing quick and ragged with absolute fury.

“Ripped it out of her, despite her many objections….” The woman said, obviously enjoying seeing the man become so riled up. She knew she was safe.

As if he could read her thoughts, his body went still and he stood up straighter once again, expression blank. “I can’t wait to take a knife to that smug smile,” he said calmly as his head tilted slightly.

The said smug smile faded, “you’re taking this out on me, when you know it’s your fault.” She said simply. “I’m done with him,” she instructed the guards and began walking out while the large men shoved the joker to the ground and unchained his ankles.

“I will speak to you again when I need you,” Amanda said as she left, and the guards closed and locked the door behind them all, leaving him in the dimly lit room alone once again.

Vibrations - Deaf!Michael

thank you to unlostmgc for submitting another fic!

Michael had been born this way; when I met Michael, he couldn’t hear a thing – no voices, no music. He couldn’t hear the crash of cymbals as Ashton slammed his drumsticks against them, or the delicate twings of strings as Luke plucked at his guitar. He couldn’t hear Calum’s bass as he slapped against the fretboard, or my keyboard as my fingers danced across the keys. Even though Michael’s ears didn’t quite work, he still found it in him to enjoy music. Michael hadn’t missed a single session.

I didn’t know when it was that I knew I’d fallen in love with him; maybe it was the first time I’d seen his fingers trace the criss-cross pattern of a speaker as Calum played a bassline just for him. It could have even been that time I’d watched him touch his fingertips to Luke’s throat as he went through tuns and adlibs. Then there was that other time, when he’d sat with his back to Ashton’s bass drum so he could feel the beat in his bones.

There was no one that appreciated music as much as Michael. He heard it in a different way to everybody else – though vibrations that set his body alight. You could see just how much it meant to him, his cheeks tarnished a shade of crimson, and his just-as-dark lips spread over his teeth as he grinned with his forehead pressed to the speaker. I had never known Michael to be too far from the vibrations.

Luke and Michael had met at The Deaf and Dumb Institute when they were both sixteen. The place had opened as a school for special needs kids back when special needs wasn’t known as special needs, and Luke tutored there on Wednesdays. They’d clicked pretty much instantly, and after a couple of months Luke introduced us to Michael. We became our own little group, and he became the heart and soul of us all.

I remember thinking that Michael couldn’t have possibly been more beautiful; back then he hadn’t started to experiment with self-expression just yet, and he had blonde hair that fell across his face in a fringe that I remember describing as ‘absurd’ until it inevitably grew on me. Nowadays, Michael had dark stubble and his hair was a shade of red that matched his lips, and fuck, he’d somehow gotten more and more beautiful as the days went by. Broad shouldered, with toned arms and long legs and the collarbones with the dips.

He was the epitome of beauty.

Sitting across from him, I wanted to write songs about how the twist of his cherry lips made my blood pulse in my veins. I wanted to write songs about how just a single touch of his skin against mine made wildfires burn in my stomach. I wanted to write songs about Michael.

I revelled in the way he watched me as my fingers stroked across the black and white keys, my eyes fluttering closed and my tongue peeking out to rest on my lower lip as I played. The way his eyes followed my fingertips made my skin feel like it was covered in flames, burning like nobody else could make it burn. I would give up everything to have Michael watch me like this, forever.

This song was the one I’d been working on for almost a month now, that I just couldn’t get right. As much as Calum had offered to help me write the lyrics, this was the song that I wanted to finish on my own. I’d slaved over it for hours and hours at a time, on the verge of pulling my hair out in frustration. It was toxic, but had too much potential for me to simply throw away.

He was still watching me, even as I huffed, puffed, and started again over and over. It was almost like he was taunting me, his eyes taking in my frustration as I tried to put his essence into notes on a piano. The progression I had was too rough, too hard-edged, and it was becoming a paradoxal jumble as I tried to fit in softer notes.

Letting out a soft grunt, he righted himself before he shuffled slowly towards me. My fingers left the keys and I tilted my head to watch his every move. I felt my entire body become warm as he got closer, my blood beginning to burn as he turned to straddle my piano bench. Even my ears were hot, and I couldn’t imagine how pink my cheeks were.

“Are you okay?” He signed, and I was grateful for the distraction as I watched his hands move in simple gestures. I loved his hands. I loved how his fingers were so small, his palms vast and his fingertips callused from plucking at Calum’s bass. I couldn’t imagine how they would feel against my skin.

I nodded, looking away from his hands and up to his big, green eyes. His jaw was shaded with just the perfect amount of stubble, his skin ever-porcelain and almost crystalline and his tousled, red hair falling across his forehead. Long eyelashes fluttered as his pink lips turned down in a frown, and concern laced his features as he cocked his head in a ‘why are you lying to me?’ kind of way.

“I’m fine, I promise.” I gestured, but his frown didn’t waver as he leaned forward to press a kiss to my temple.

I hated when he did this. He kissed my forehead and wrapped his arms around me and held me to his chest like I was a porcelain doll that he needed to protect. He would cuddle into me and trace the curve of my shoulder and act as if he reciprocated the feelings I had harboured for years. It was torture in the most poisonous of ways.

Michael let out a soft grunt that sounded an awful lot of like the first syllable of my name. He’d been trying that lately; studying how our lips moved when we spoke our titles, and trying to mimic the sounds until we gave him affirmation. The only one he’d gotten perfect so far was Luke, though he’d gotten extremely close with Ashton. It was more “Shtn,” but the twenty-one year old had appreciated the gesture.

I sighed breathily, my eyes closing as Michael dipped his head down to lean against my shoulder, his arms wrapping around me so I couldn’t escape. Neither of us moved, his breath fanning across my neck and his lips so close to my skin that I found myself never wanting to leave his grip. I wanted Michael to hold me every second of the day, because I felt so warm and at home in his arms.

“I’m in love with you.” I said aloud, and he must have felt the vibrations in my neck, his head lifting to look at me in confusion.

When I shook my head, he let out a short puff of air that brushed against my cheek, and my head turned slightly. It was almost like my soul was leaving my body as my nose brushed against his, and he didn’t even make the effort to move as my breath hitched in my throat. My lip quivered as his forehead pressed against mine, and I felt my arms become stormed with goosebumps.

I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to know if his lips were as soft as they looked, or if his hair was as coarse. I wanted to know if his tongue tasted like bubblegum. I wanted to know if he would get as kiss-bruised as I thought he would. I wanted to learn about Michael. I wanted to kiss him.

He didn’t move an inch as I threaded my fingers through the thick locks at the nap of his neck, his eyelids slipping closed as he pressed closer. I could feel the warmth of his skin as his nose knocked against mine, and I let out a shaky breath as my lips enveloped his top one. He flinched, plump lips parting as I suckled gently, before abruptly letting go.

I panicked, shoving him back to create a space between us and in turn pushing myself off the bench. Landing with a thud, my breathing started to pick up again as Michael slid himself down the wooden seat to look down at me. He looked a little startled; with cheeks that were ever-reddening, but it made me all the more embarrassed.

I couldn’t believe I had risked our friendship for a petty little kiss.

“I’m sorry,” I signed quickly, probably getting the gestures wrong in my fervour as I clambered towards my bed. I was going to scream into my pillow for being a pathetic little creature that couldn’t handle her feelings.

I was halfway to the headboard when I heard the patter of Michael’s feet against my wooden floors, and then the bed dipped and squeaked with his weight as he crawled towards me. It was slow, and I looked back at him over my shoulder before I cowered down into the pillows, curling myself into a ball as he leaned to hover over me.

“St-” He sounded out, a little smile teasing at his lips as he gently pulled my legs away from my chest, straightening them just enough to nestle his hips between my thighs. My heart kicked up a storm in my chest, thundering against my sternum and jumping into my throat as my blood pulsed through my arteries. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, Michael’s hands making swift gestures that I read as; “Don’t say sorry.”

My eyes widened in shock as his lips made contact with my cheek, and I sucked in a breath as he snuffled at my jaw until he was leaving tiny kisses against my chin. I could feel gentle puffs of air against my neck as he let out little giggles, the nerves that had once made me completely nauseous dissipating with every one of his breaths.

I was still playing dead, my eyes unblinking and my arms limp at my sides, but this only seemed to make him more amused. Michael stopped his little affectionate assault on my face, but only to capture my wrist between his fingers and move my arm to loop around his back, placing my hand at the nape of his neck before he slipped his fingers in the slots of mine and moved our hands into the thick hair at the back of his head. He didn’t let go until my fingers were tugging gently at the strands, and he pressed that palm into the pillow at the side of my head before he used his other hand to pull my other hand up to tangle in his hair, too.

Michael stilled for a moment, his tongue dipping out to lick his lips as his eyes fluttered closed, and he took a few seconds to revel in the feel of my fingers pulling at his locks. His reaction was a reason to live, his hips wiggling slightly as a shudder rippled down his spine, and his head dropping down so that we were temple-to-temple and his body dropped down so that he was on his elbows. His breathing evened out, soft, almost inaudible whines leaving his lips and my frozen wasteland of a body defrosting like I’d been shoved in a microwave.

I listened to his breathing until mine matched, running my fingers through his hair and watching him as he moved his head so that my fingers caught and tugged a little harder. It was unfathomable how much he liked it, even as I softly scratched my nails against his scalp. He shivered, the quake vibrating through my chest as he wiggled slightly.

He didn’t pull away when I turned my head to nuzzle into the hinge of his jaw, sponging a kiss into his stubble before I gently tugged his head back. I wanted his lips, and he did nothing but comply as I softly connected them with mine. His nose pressed into my cheek as he sucked my bottom lip into his mouth, and I felt every molecule of unease leave me as I relaxed beneath him.

Maybe I hadn’t risked everything for a petty kiss.

His lips were plump and warm, and moist in a nice way. They had a softness to them that was mesmerising, and left me aching for more. There were heavy breaths caught between us as we tilted and rotated to get closer, wet, soft kisses becoming deeper, more feverish. My mind was whirring, my lips parting and a moan rolling through my vocal chords as his tongue dipped into my mouth. Without thinking, I pulled roughly on the mess of thick locks at the nape of his neck, and he groaned gutturally into my lips as a shudder ripped down his spine, and his hips jolted forward.

I was reduced to a moaning less, my head falling back against the pillows as his belt buckle pushed up against my jeans in all the right places. He didn’t blink an eye, his hand moving to grip my throat and his palm soaking up all of the right vibrations as he rolled his hips once again. A strangled breath was pushed out of my mouth as he dropped his head down to the column of my neck, sweeping his lips across the skin and laving warm, relaxing kisses into my flesh.

He made a soft noise as I twisted his hair between my fingers, lifting my knees enough to cradle his hips as they rutted in a half-rhythm that had the both of us panting. His face was hot, and his cheeks were flushed red when he came up from my neck, freshly littered with love bites. I moved down to give him the same treatment, my lips enclosing around his Adam’s apple as he ground gently against me. Shaky breaths fanned my hair as I nipped and sucked on the column of his throat until he was marked pink and red, and he was moaning softly into the pillow as the denim of his jeans came into contact with mine.

He wasn’t fazed in the slightest when I slipped my fingers underneath his shirt, Michael’s back muscles twitching as I trailed my fingertips across the skin, dragging the t-shirt with me. Pulling away, he wrestled with the shirt until it slipped over his head, and then his hands moved down to my hips to rid me of mine. I wriggled out of it, and he threw to the floor as if it offended him. His fingers immediately went to my belt, tugging at the leather until it was free from the buckle, and he moved back slightly as I lifted my hips to get the denim down to my thighs. He tugged at the elasticised material, pulling it haphazardly over my feet and dumping it off the end of the bed before coming to hover over me again. I made fast work of his jeans, pulling his belt loose and popping the button, pressing my chest against his as I reached around to push the material down over his ass.

He latched onto my neck, his teeth grazing the flesh and his fingertips pressing into my jugular while I tried to get his jeans off. They were tighter than mine and not elasticised, and I barely got them to his calves before he was shoving them off and gently sinking his teeth into the new mark. I clawed at his hair in retaliation, tugging just hard enough to make his palm enclose around my throat just a little tighter, and his hips to push just a little harder.

I could feel the ridge of him with every gentle thrust, brushing against my mound in the most torturous of ways. I’d imagined sex with Michael hundreds of times over, but I could never have imagined that it would ever happen. But I could feel him, and he was definitely as invested in the moment as I was. It was real.

He let out a soft squeak as I knocked out his arm, taking advantage of the lack of support from one side and rolling us so that he was on his back. The movement caused his lips to detach from my neck, and he almost looked confused with what to do with himself as his hands dropped down to my hips.

I watched his expression, his head melting back into the pillows, and his mouth popping open in a soft gasp as I flattened my palms against his shoulder and gently moved my hips in a rhythm that was half as slow as the one he’d set. He was still tucked away in his boxers, pushed to the side but ever so visible beneath the material. Michael shot me an incredulous glance as I trailed my palm down his chest, smoothing over the soft flesh of his stomach until I could slip my finger beneath his briefs, careful not to stimulate him too much as I lifted the waistband away from his stomach. His cock moved of its own accord, straightening up to lie flat against his stomach, twitching fervently as the elastic of his waistband snapped back against the underside of it.

Where he wasn’t long, Michael was thick. There was a perfect column on the underside, streaked with little blue rivers of veins that all flowed right to the tip, that was flushed a colour not unlike cherries. Creamy beads of pre-come slicked the head, leaving it nice and wet and I couldn’t wait to get my mouth on him.

But I wanted to tease him, fitting his covered cock right between my folds. His eyes were locked on the space where our hips met, the head of his cock peeking out from beneath his boxers and oozing more and more pre-come as I rocked my hips. The fabric of his boxers wasn’t doing much for me, my clit throbbing with every tentative stroke, but my body was alight with sparks that would shoot straight down to my clit and make me wetter and wetter.

I moved to press my palms back against his shoulders, arching my back slightly with every teasing roll of my hips. His breathing was messy, his fingers pulling at my hips in a desperate attempt to get me to move faster, but I daren’t. I wanted him to come like he deserved. He deserved a strong, mind-blowing orgasm.

I looked back down to his cock, leaking droplets across his stomach and growing harder still, and I decided that I wanted to hear him keen. He tried to keep a hold of my hips, confused as I moved to put my knees on the inside of his and slowly shuffled down the bed a couple of inches. His hips lifted straight off the bed when I pulled at his boxers, tugging them down his legs and throwing them behind me.

He gripped the wood of the headboard as I licked the little puddles of pre-come from his stomach, and he let out a painfully erotic groan as I wrapped my lips around the tip. He threw his head back, letting out a grunt when it smacked against the headboard, and one of his hands snaked down to grip at the sheets. I could feel his pulse on my tongue, hot, and he was so heavy in my mouth that I couldn’t even fathom how I was going to fit the rest of him in. He was so thick that I could barely stretch my lips over his girth, and he was harder than concrete as he slipped slowly into the warmth of my mouth. My hands ran over his hips, keeping him still as my tongue traced the ridge just under the head of his cock, that place I knew would drive him insane.

Casting my eyes up his body, Michael was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. His eyelids fluttered as he tried to keep them open, trying to find mine as I took him down, and his jaw was loose and hanging low as soft, kitten-like mewls fell from his lips. His cheeks were already flushed a shade of red that rivalled his hair, which was sticking to his forehead like plaster.

He whined lowly as my lips popped off him with a wet suck, and his head rolled forward to watch me as I traced the map of veins that streaked across his skin like little lightning bolts, my tongue flicking over each one. Wet, open-mouthed kisses were trailed from the head of his cock, to the base, paying special attention to the spots that made him purr and the places that made him whimper. Under my tongue, Michael Clifford was a mess.

His fingers relaxed and he tried to catch his breath as I sucked generously on the dip between his balls, gently rolling my palm across the two of them like they were dice, and he was my favourite game to play. Chastely, I left the same, tongue-filled kisses on his shaft, and I licked a gentle stripe back down, and then up again, curling my tongue over the beads of pre-come that were dribbling from the head. I kitten licked at him, looking up the expanse of his body to meet his hooded gaze as my fingers wrapped firmly around him. I continued to lick, humming against his skin in a song that made him groan aloud, before his hips lifted and his cock breached my lips.

Head rolling back, he didn’t even try to hold back the sounds he was making, long, low moans rumbling through his chest as he held himself up on his elbows. His Adam’s apple dipped up and down as he swallowed, his throat looking ever so perfect with the shade of stubble contrasting against the dark, purple bite I’d left on his jugular. Simpers and keens ripped through his chest as I began to suck in long, hard pulls that hollowed my cheeks, and my fingers began to twist and tug to match my lips.

I went slowly and deeply, the hand that was in the sheets moving to tangle in my hair as his cock filled my throat in the most glorious of ways, and my hand met my lips three-quarters of the way down as his body started to tense. My eyes flicked up at him again, watching him as his tilted his chin towards the ceiling and squeezed his eyes shut. The fingers that were gripping the headboard had long since gone white, but his hold only seemed to get tighter the further I took him in my throat.

Agonising and torturously slowly, I let him rut against the back of my throat, rolling my tongue over the column of his cock with every gentle movement. I gently tugged at the base of his cock with my palm, following the path of my lips as I slowly lifted to suck adoringly on that flushed head, before he was anchored once again in the back of my throat. His thighs began to shake, and almost immediately Michael’s hands were clawing at my jaw and he was pulling me away from him before he could coat my tongue in ribbons.

We were a mess; my spine slammed against the mattress and my knees against his ribs; his fingers twisted in the pillows and his lips against my chest. From afar we would have looked like a knot, limbs entangled and sweat slicking our skin, with Michael’s hair a mess of spikes and curls and my hands clutching at the skin of his back. We were a mess, but a beautiful mess.

Michael’s biceps were still quivering, even as he lowered himself down onto his elbow and leaned to one side. His eyes flicked over my face, gauging my reaction as he trailed his fingertips down the expanse of my torso, before slipping his hand beneath the fabric of my underwear. I sucked in a breath when his thumb traced its way across my throat, relishing in the vibrations that were yet to come.

He paid very little attention to my clit at first, sliding his fingertip right past it to the slicked up part of me we were both excited for him to fill. I could feel his eyes on me, flicking down to watch my hands as I hastily pulled my underwear off, letting my legs fall open so that I could feel every sensation. Michael’s fingertip did nothing but tease, rubbing across my entrance in gentle strokes that built the anticipation for what was to come.

Hopefully, me.

He traced the ring of muscle another time before he finally dipped in, rolling his fingertip gently in a circle to stretch me out. It didn’t feel like much to me – I wasn’t a person that responded to penetrative stimulation – but I knew that whatever was going to take place afterwards, would be worth the patience.

Michael’s little teasing session continued, but I became more enamoured with his lips as he dropped his head down to my neck. He sucked a wet kiss in the space below his thumb, his hair tickling my chin as he sponged slow kisses into the pillar of my neck. Tiny, stinging sensations were muted with a soothing swipe of his tongue, and I knew that when I woke up in the morning that my skin would be tainted with hickeys.

His thumb brushed against my windpipe as I let out a soft moan, pressing his face into the flesh of my chest as he nipped meekly at the swell of my breast. He breathed out heavily, both in relief and content as I unclasped the hooks on my bra and let the cups fall to the floor. Another moan reverberated through my vocal chords as his lips enclosed around my nipple, and that one finger became two.

Tingles ignited on my skin as his teeth grazed across the peak of my nipple, his tongue flicking out to create sparks as he suckled gently on the skin. I loved the way his tongue worked; tracing the bumps that rose on my skin, and following the desperate bud in swirls and little tickles that were driving me to the brink of desperation.

My back curved into Michael’s chest as his fingers pressed further into me, scissoring slightly as he explored a new part of my body. It was less teasing and stretching now, and more pleasuring, his fingertips searching for that one point that would make his palm quake with new vibrations. Crude, wet noises filled my ears as he moved his hand, thrusting them through what felt like pools of arousal.

He nudged against that one spot, and my hands flew to his hair. His lips detached from my breast with a moist suckling noise, before he was leaning back over me with one intention, and one intention only. Michael’s hand wrapped around my jugular, and his eyes were set on my face as I tugged on the roots of his hair, and his fingers pistoned slowly into that spot until I was soaking the sheets and was more than ready for him.

I leaned away from him, reaching for the old Converse box beneath my bed, whimpering quietly as he slipped his fingers out of me. I turned away to look through the box, but not before catching a glimpse of his fingers breaching his lips. As I was rifling through, Michael made it his mission to get my untainted nipple just as bruised and swollen as the other, catching it between his lips and laving his tongue across it like it was his favourite sweet.

He flinched when a strip of condoms hit him in the forehead, and he pulled away to tear one away from the rest before dropping the spare ones on to the bed next to us. I looked back to him to watch him take the corner between his teeth, tearing the foil carefully and pulling the latex from the packet. I grabbed a little bottle of lubricant, just in case, before sliding the shoebox back under my bed, and looking back to Michael just as he dropped his head down to my chest, a long groan tearing through his throat as he tugged himself through the rubber.

He licked his lips, snapping out of whatever reverie he had fallen into as I smacked my palm lightly against his chest. His eyes flicked over my hands as I gestured the words “I want you” in a jumbled mush, but he seemed to understand as he reached for the little red bottle that sat atop the sheets. You could never be too wet.

I knew he liked when my hands were in his hair, and they immediately found their home in his crimson locks as he dribbled a little bit of extra wetness onto the both of us. It was warm, distracting me from the initial objective of its use as it slipped slowly down my skin and onto the bed sheets. It was messy, but I had an inkling that, without it, he wouldn’t fit. He may not have been big, but he was thick.

He dropped down onto his elbows, one hand dipping under my head to tangle in the once-neat strands of hair that fanned across my pillow and the other tracing across my collarbone until his fingers were parallel with the column of my throat. His index finger was awfully close to my lips, catching the currents of air that brushed through them, while his thumb took its normal place across my windpipe.

Soft kisses were shared as I trailed one hand down his back, following the curve of his hip to the thick muscle that brushed against my mound with every movement we made. His tongue slipped delicately into my mouth as I lined him up, becoming the distraction I needed as he pressed his hips forward. He pulled away to rest his forehead against mine, watching every tweak in my expression as I grasped a handful of his ass and opened up around him. Slow, tender kisses were placed across my cheeks as he sank forward inch by inch, and his eyes flicked down to watch himself disappear inside me.

His moan broke, cracking to silence as he pulled out. He might’ve been too concerned to feel all of the sensations when he pushed in, but as he slid back out, his jaw clenched and his fingers tightened just a little more around my neck. I intentionally tightened my muscles, revelling in the sound of his broken whimpers as he felt the little contractions around the root of his cock.

Michael Clifford made the most beautiful noises, his lips ever-parted as he rolled his hips in circular gyrations that were slow, yet tactful. He filled me up like no one ever had, his pelvis flush against my mound as he pushed deep, deep into me. Just thinking that this was Michael’s cock buried to the hilt was enough to make my blood turn warm and my pussy to clench adoringly around him. It was Michael. My Michael.

I lifted my legs to wrap them around his waist, the tops of his thighs pressed against the backs of mine. He was so close to me that there wouldn’t have been a mere millimetre between us. I could feel his cock, pushing deep, but there was nothing more pleasurable than Michael’s moans as he leaned down to rest his temple against mine. He was a cacophony of whines and grunts that I only wished he could hear himself, each and every sound sending a rush of warmth to where we were connected.

I jolted, pulled roughly at his hair as he repositioned himself, the head of his cock brushing against that spot he’d discovered with his fingers. He nipped at the skin of my ear in retaliation, making me hiss in pain, but it was overwhelmed with a loud moan as he nudged against that spot again. My fingers weaved their way through his hair, silently telling him, “there.”

His breath was in my ear, fanning across my shoulder as he huffed heavily in effort. His slow thrusts had morphed into something different, his hips angled to hit that spot in an ever-increasing rush to get to our orgasms. Michael’s hand moved further up my neck, and I gasped in surprise as he thrust two of his fingers into my mouth. He wanted vibrations.

I started to really moan, relaxing into the mattress as I let myself release all of the noise I was holding back. Soft moans turned into long, erotic whines with every hurried thrust, and I pulled at his hair just the way he liked. His once-quiet noises began to match mine, and mixed with the wet, crude slaps of his cock burying itself between my thighs, it was better than any fantasy I’d ever imagined.

Desperate whines and subtle glances cast downwards told me that Michael was close. He’d been close when I had my lips wrapped around him, and there was no way I would expect him to hold it any longer. I was nowhere near finished, but watching as Michael’s teeth sank into his bottom lip and his hand clutched at my neck was enough to satisfy me forever. Loud, cracking, high-pitched groans filled my ears, and his biceps started to quake once again as his hips slammed forward with a haphazard force that I knew was Michael chasing an orgasm that was right within his reach.

His hips slowed down, his forehead coming down to rest against mine as he sucked all the breath from my lungs. His mouth fell open in a silent moan, his shoulders tensing and his thighs shaking as he held eye contact, and I felt my body fill with warmth as he spilled into the condom. He worked himself through it with slow thrusts, his mouth moving down to cover mine in a sloppy kiss that was broken and sloppy and filled with breathy moans.

When his hand unfurled from around my neck, he leaned down to press a kiss to the space that had held his thumb, and he slid out of me slowly. I had never felt so empty, and almost desperately, I wanted to have him back inside me again. Panting softly, I assumed it was over, letting my head roll back and dropping my hands from his hair. I didn’t expect him to continue his little trail of kisses down my torso, swiping his tongue over that first nipple before he sponged love marks into the softness of my stomach. My hands immediately went back to his hair, and anticipation started to bubble in my veins as he grasped at my thighs.

He cast his eyes upwards, and a gasp slipped from my mouth as he enveloped my clit with those pretty lips of his. He treated it like he treated my mouth, with tongue-filled kisses and sucks that set my body alight. There was tingles and sparks and rushes of warmth to my toes and back. Two fingers were pushed into me before I could even contemplate it, and the gentle presses of his fingertips had me on the edge in seconds.

Michael looked absolutely glorious between my legs, crimson hair sticking up in all directions and glistening green eyes holding mine as his jaw flexed. He was all tongue and lips, flattening the muscle and delivering fat licks to my nub like it was a field day at an ice cream parlour. It was torture, his eyes watching me as he wiggled his tongue through my lips, gathering as much wetness as he could before bringing it back up to my clit.

His fingers were moving agonisingly slow, but he’d figured out that my clit was my ultimate weakness, his lips wrapping around it and sucking in the most tantalising of ways. He kitten-licked and teased and wiggled his tongue until I was writhing on the sheets, both of his hands moving to hold my thighs as he dipped his tongue down to my cunt. I let out shallow moans as he sucked and slurped, his nose pushing against my clit and his chin against my taint.

I could feel it building up in my stomach, the knot.

He licked and he sucked, moving back up to my clit. I wanted Michael’s tongue on me forever, tracing these same circles into my buttons every day for the rest of my life. Circles, just circles, but they were sending swift electric shocks all the way to my toes and back again, and I knew I was close to cutting the ties that seemed to be pulling my bones into my stomach.

My back arched high off the bed, my hair falling into my face as I gripped at his, my toes cramping as they curled and my thighs shaking as an orgasm tore straight down my spine. There were little electric explosions with every bone-shaking lick to my clit, and looking down at him, I could see that he was slicked to the nose with wetness. He didn’t let up until I was pulling a little harder on his fringe, giving me one last lick from taint to clit before he was hovering over me again.

I pulled the condom off him, tying the end in a knot before dropping it into the bin beneath my bedside table. He teased at the duvet covers, getting them out from underneath me, and then pulling them up over us. A little laugh fell from his lips as we were plunged into darkness, and his arms wrapped around my waist as he searched my face for my lips.

White guilt from a black person’s point of view, and why it needs to end

As a freshman in high school I had took part in a class about how culture shapes society our society and colors our view of the world. One day while we discussed the Trans-Atlantic slave trade I made a comment about how my ancestors from untold centuries ago were taken from Africa and sold to a Barbadian plantation owner to work the sugar fields. After class a girl who was usually very quiet came up to me and said that her some of her ancestors manned slave ships and that she was sorry for what they did. I told her not to be and that it had nothing to do with her but she insisted it was somehow her fault. 

That confusing conversation introduced me to the ugly little concept we call white guilt, something that pops up a worrying amount on this site and in real life, and it needs to end. 

I’m not going to sit here and pretend that your culture has no bearing on your personality, Its is the foundation of your upbringing, the anchor of your beliefs, and the guiding light of your morals. But for all that culture gives you, it cannot give you the responsibility for your ancestor’s decisions. No, it should be your actions that define you as a person and not those of a long dead predecessor. 

You were not the one stealing my ancestors from their home, the one who beat and killed them for wanting to be treated like a human, or the one who bought and sold them like commodities. But by the same token I have not suffered under the crack of the whip, chains of slavery, or being worked to death like some sort of draft animal. We are a product of these people and the culture they created, but for all they have given us we are not them.

No one should ever feel ashamed to exist, especially because of things they had no control over. People can be horrible, and I’m not excusing that, but dwelling on mistakes you didn’t make is unhealthy and gets us nowhere.

Prejudices aren’t going to magically go away and anyone who tells you that racism is dead has never seen the news. These are serious issues which permeate every level of our society, but we cannot let transgressions from a past we had no hand in shaping define who we are as human beings and how we see others. We should never forget the past, lest it be born again in another form, however its high both sides learned to forgive.

Is this going to solve all of our social ills, of course not. There are still going to be horrible people, racist people, and bigots. But forgiveness is the first step on the long journey ahead of us. 


I’m sorry if this turned into a rant/rambling mess. I just needed a place to vent some frustration and this seemed as good as anywhere else.

Title: A Grandmother’s Right
Rating: PG
Pairings/Characters: Padme/Anakin, Padme Amidala, Anakin Skywalker, Luke Skywalker, and Leia Organa.
Summary: The way Padme sees it, a life on the run as a rebel, a refugee, and a mother has earned her the right to spoil her grandchildren.

@baratheons creates for @jerseydevious

——-

“Really, Mom?”

Padme turned her son with innocently arched eyebrows.

“Did you really have to get them their own holotables and that Galactic Rebels game and all that candy?” Luke clarified.

“Why not?” Padme asked, turning back to watch Anakin guide Rey in executing the perfect Form V against an imaginary opponent. Leia chimed in on the lesson every so often to tease or make suggestions. Anakin caught Padme’s eye and gave her a wink that made her look away with a silly grin. Even after decades of marriage, he could still bring a flush to her cheeks. “Why can’t we give our grandchildren a few presents now and again?”

Luke laughed. “Now and again? More like twice a week or more.”

“That’s a grandmother’s right,” she insisted.

Keep reading

Taehyung Scenario: Irreplaceable.

Request: So one of my cats just died and I’m really upset about it. I was wondering if you could write a BTS V scenario where that happens and he cheers you up. I want it super fluffy and cute.

Genre: Fluff / Romance


Taehyung sat in the dorm’s couch with a worried expression, his elbows on his knees, his eyes fixed on his phone.
You were supposed to go on a date this afternoon, but he’d been trying to contact you since the early morning and you weren’t answering, neither texts or phone calls. At first Taehyung was mad, thinking that you were ignoring him for some reason but then, as the day went by and he didn’t get any news from you, worry started to build up in his body. You weren’t like this, you’d usually answer pretty quickly, or if you were in class or busy with something you’d let him know. But today you didn’t answer anything and it was making him feel that something bad had happened.
He checked on his watch again, it was almost six in the afternoon and nothing from you yet. Taehyung decided he couldn’t take this any longer, what if something had happened? He had to go and check that you were fine.
He stood up and went for his coat, Hoseok was in the room playing X-box with Jungkook, they looked up at him, putting pause to the game.

-Is everything ok?- the older boy asked when he gazed at Taehyung’s face.

-I don’t know-

-Y/N isn’t answering yet?- Jungkook questioned and Taehyung could tell his friends were a little worried too.
-No…-

They realized Taehyung was getting his things to go out so their eyes became inquisitive. -I’m going to her house- he said replying to the question on his friends faces.

-Let us know if we can help with anything-

-Thanks hyung-

He called a taxi and waited, the anxiety reflexed in all of his body. Taehyung called you one more time, but he meet again with the answering machine. That only increased his worried feeling, he was so unease, the ride to your place felt kilometric and when your house was finally in front of his view he rushed towards your front step, ringing the bell in an anxious despair.

He rang it three times, walking in little circles while waiting; being such an active boy could be hard in these kind of times when he didn’t know how to keep his body calm.
There was a little noise behind the closed door and Taehyung finally stood still, waiting until the door was opened and revealed you.

Keep reading

None Of Your Business-Part 3

You are a newly graduated MBA student trying to get a highly sought-after job at Wesson Technology.  You have spent your life proving to people that there is more to you than your Omega status.  Will billionaire tech genius and Alpha Sam Wesson take a chance on you?

Characters: Alpha! Sam Wesson, Alpha! Dean Smith, Omega! Reader, Beta! Charlie Bradbury, Beta! Ruby, Omega! Castiel Novak, Beta! Kevin Tran, Omega! Jo Harvelle

Part 1    Part 2

Why on earth did I tell Sam I would start Monday?  What was I thinking?  That gave me just one day to get my act together before I started at Wesson.  I glanced at my phone as I drank my coffee, and saw I had a new text.

Dean: I need to talk to you. Call me

 As much as I didn’t want to deal with this right now, I called him.  He sounded like hell when he answered.

“Hey Dean.  It’s me.  “Are you okay?” As if I didn’t already know the answer.

“Look Y/N, last night I said some stuff…” He began.

“Yeah you did. Can I come over so we can talk? I’ ll bring you coffee.”

Dean was a sucker for good coffee. “Yes, please.  The stronger the better.”

An hour later I was standing at Dean’s door holding two steaming coffees. I knocked twice and he opened the door.

“Stop knocking so loud!” He said, clutching his head. He was a little pale, and he had major bedhead, but otherwise he looked fine.  More than fine actually.  I caught myself admiring the way his arms looked in the tight gray t-shirt he wore.  What was with me openly drooling over men lately?  If I didn’t know better, I’d say I was going into heat, but it definitely wasn’t time for that.

We sat down in his living room and I handed him the coffee. He took a giant sip. “So….You want to explain to me what last night was all about, Dean?” I said quietly.

Dean rubbed his hand over his face. “Listen Y/N, you’re a great friend, and I thought I’d convinced myself that you being an Omega didn’t matter. But it does.  I thought we would be able to friends and it wouldn’t be an issue.  But when I’m around you….  I can’t always…. when Wesson was looking at you like that…..” Suddenly he stopped talking and just looked at me.

He wasn’t really making any sense. I looked at Dean, trying not to let him see the tears that were welling up in my eyes.  “Do you not want to be my friend anymore, Dean?” I said in a choked whisper.

His eyes were locked with mine, and his green eyes were hard.  “You don’t get what I’m saying. When I knew you were going out with Wesson, I couldn’t stand it.  When I’m with you…..I can’t…….I just……..”

Apparently Dean got frustrated with trying to find the right words so he just decided to show me instead.   Half a second later he had pushed me back on the couch, his strong hands holding my shoulders while his mouth devoured mine.

He wasn’t at all gentle, all that pent up sexual frustration bursting out of him. I was frozen in shock for a minute, but then my hands creeped up and locked around his neck, pulling him closer.  This was a surprise yes, but a really good one.  This man could really kiss.  When we finally broke away from each other, panting and wide-eyed, neither of us said anything for a moment.

He spoke first. “This is what I have been trying to tell you. I don’t want to be just friends. I want more.”

Keep reading

Science teacher

This is my first story so it might be a little bad but i hope you enjoy it!
***

I was fourteen-years old and in the ninth grade. Mr. Jovelo had been my science teacher when I was in the sixth, seventh and eighth grade.

Mr. Jovelo was in his thirties and very tall, 6'4. He was always well-groomed, clean cut, attractive and well built. He had very dark black hair, that was always neatly trimmed, brown eyes, full lips and an always ready smile. And a bubble but that made all the girls swoon, it was a lot more difficult for a horny, gay teen-age boy.

Mr. Jovelo had us do an group assigment with three other people. Usually i went with my friends and started the questions on the board. “Ok class, you have to answer in complete sentences” he said, finishing writing up the last question.

Now Mr. Jovelo is usually never careful were he sits, he’s sat on more kids in his life than chairs. Mr. Jovelo always says its an “accident” but i feel like he does it on purpose. I’ve never been sat by him before, but with a butt like that i wouldnt mind.

My shoulder partner called over Mr. Jovelo and came over to my side. My partners,including myself, didnt notice him coming and he just sat on me. I froze, i didnt know what to do but to enjoy it.

Im usually quiet in the group so my partners didnt notice i was under him, but he did. Mr jovelo started wiggling around and bouncing up and down a little. I instantly got hard and almost came on the spot. Finally Mr. Jovelo realized and got up.“Sorry i didnt see you there..” he said with a smirk, “but must i say you’re pretty comfortable to sit on” and winked.

“Uh, a-anyways we need help with question four…” i said. He helped us find the answer and left. Throughout the whole assignment i couldnt stop thinking what he said, you’re very comfortable to sit on. While i was replaying the moment in my head i forgot we were going over the questions

“Jake…JAKE” Mr. Jovelo almost shouted. I was frozen, embarresed by my daydreaming i could speak. “Fine if you won’t answer,I’ll see you after class”

***
“So jake why didn’t you answer the question today?” Mr. Jovelo said. “I-i was distracted” i answered. He got up from his seat and approached me, “ Was it because i sat on you?” he said with a smile that makes everyone melt inside. I didnt answer unsure of what to say.

“I felt your little friend was a little excited wasnt he? I bet you would like me to sit on you again wouldn’t you?” Mr. Jovelo said patting his bubble butt.

“I guess i would” i said without thinking. He laughed and sat back down in his chair “Take a seat i want to give you something”. I sat in the chair infront of him. Mr. Jovelo pulled out a plastic cup and poured in a liquid i couldnt identify.

Taking this as a sign i drank it, it was sweet with a bitter after taste. “What was that?” i asked. A smirk quickly appeared on his face. “Oh you’ll find out eventually”. What did he mean by that? Suddenly my vision clouded, the last thing i saw was Mr. Jovelo mouth, can’t wait till we get home.

***

I woke up in a strange room. I looked around but it was too dark to see. Where am i? I tried to get up but i couldn’t. My body couldn’t move and the air was kind of stuffy. Suddenly the weight on me lifts off and a wave of fresh air hits me. “Good morning sleepy head” a familiar voice said, “ Do you enjoy the view” he said showing off his giant bubble butt. Ive never seen a butt so huge, his underwear seemed to be at the point of breaking wanting to release those two huge mounds of meat

Once my vision cleared i saw Mr. Jovelo standing over me, he was a giant from my point of view. “Whats going on Mr. Jovelo?” i asked confused.

“Remeber that drink i gave you? It shrunk you down to 4 tiny little inches, now you’re a little ant compared to me.” A rush of emotions ran over me, a little more turn on than scared and confused.

“What about my family and my friends? They’ll worried sick about me, i have to go back to my normal size please” i said. Laughing he said “ Oh don’t worry about that i told your family you were sent off to a program in London for a couple of years, to will improve your science skills and they ate that up like hungry wolfs” he said confident in his plan.

I stood there unable to speak. I couldn’t think or even function with all this information. “But why me? Why not anyone else?”

He got face to face with me “Oh thats easy, ive known you liked my ass for years,and youre the smartest in the class so it made sense to pick you for my made up story” he said. But there was still something bugging me more than anything

“What am i even doing here in your house anyways Mr. Jovelo?”. He released a big burp that almost knocked me down. “ Ive been working on that drink for years, mixing differnet chemicals to shrink a human completely and once it was done i had to test it out on someone” he laughed and continued “ I always needed an ass slave to worship every inch of my ass and you seemed to fit what i looked in for a slave”.

My heart almost left my body. I was taken away from my family,friends and my whole life to become an ass slave.

“Mr. Jovelo this is crazy!! You have to-” i was interrupted by another burp that succsefully knocked me down this time.

“Oh Jake do you think i care? Now if you dont mind its time for me to watch tv shows” he said standing up.

His ass blocked the light and all i could see was his ass eating at his underwear and a sweat line going down his beautiful crack. I stood there in fear and lust seeing his ass approach closer and closer.

“Oh and jake?” he said stopping “ Dont call me Mr. Jovelo anymore… Call me master from now on, and you’ll be addressed as slave"  and with that final sentence his bubble butt engulfed my tiny body

***

I’ve lost track of the time under his sweaty ass. I didnt have any trouble breathing but man it reaked really bad in there. Soon after i realized my tiny face was on his asshole.

Great. This is what i have to do untill i die, living servicing my science teacher.

In the middle of my thought he let out a wet fart. “I hope you dont mind, I’ve had at least 60 deviled eggs for dinner today and they make me very gassy” he said as he farted once more, longer than the last one

The smell was unbearable i couldnt stand it. I almost threw up each time i inhaled. “Slave i want you to purify my farts, i don’t want to smell a thing when i fart, slave and if i do you’ll experience the worst punishment of smells in your life” he said farting again.

Afraid and not wanting to face this punishment i inhaled his fart, gagging each time. “Thats how its done slave very well”

***

Hours went by and countless farts were released. “Ahh i think i might hit the hay slave”

He got up and fished me out from in between his ass and set me by the counter. Dazzed i didnt move much. “I just wanted to see you one more time before bed slave” he said charmingly

“Hope you enjoyed our little session today, because its about to get a lot better” he said

He grabbed me and started moving me towards his ass. “Mr. Jovelo please dont!”
He stopped suddenly and brought me close to his face. “I told you to call me master, slave.” he said, “ since i feel nice today and this is your first day you’ll face something somewhat similar”

He set me down and pulled of his boxer briefs. I was mesmerized by the sight, his ass cheeks were bouncing with freedom and his cock and balls were huge. He left the room and came back with a thong

“What is that?!” I asked. He picked me up and placed me in the little pocket designed for a shruken person. “Oh its something to help you remember to call me master”

He put on the thong, he spread apart his ass cheeks so i would meet his asshole faster Once he finally got my face on his asshole he let go of his mounds closing me in a fart oven.


“Do you like it? I designed it myself. Now everytime i fart you can smell purify the fart! Aren’t you glad to have such a generous master?” he said farting

“This is inhumane-” i was cut off by a wet fart. “I don’t want anyone smelling any farts tomorrow slave, we’ll be going to school where you’ll sniff my farts all day without anyone knowing but me” Mr. Jovelo i mean… My master said

“Well nap time slave!” he said and layed down.
***
I couldn’t sleep through night with my master farting every 5 minutes, like a ticking bomb.
Tomorrow wouldnt be any better

I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you. I think I was twelve. It took me three years to pluck up the courage to speak to you. And I was so scared about the way I felt, you know, loving a girl, So I learned how to become a sarcastic bitch to kind of feel normal. I screwed guys to make it go away, but it didn’t work. When we got together it scared the shit out of me. Because you were the one person who could ruin my life. I pushed you away. I made you think things were your fault. But really I was just terrified of pain. I screwed that girl, Sophia, to kind of spite you for having that hold on me, and I’m a total fucking coward because I got these tickets to Goa for us three months ago, But I, I couldn’t stand… I didn’t want to be a slave to the way I feel about you, can you understand? You were trying to punish me back and it’s horrible. It’s so horrible, because really… I’d die for you. I love you. I love you so much, and it’s killing me.
—  Naomi Campbell (Skins UK)