#IT IS WEARING BOOTS BIGGER THAN ITS LEGS

[pinktrapped]

The little sheriff and their comrade Quirrel from Hallowest AU nom nom. Hallowest AU with @alecz-obssesionz .

[princessbrunette]

kinktober : oct 18th

simon riley x uniform kink

simon riley was a perceptive man. infact, he’d been waiting for you to whine out the words “keep the mask on.” since he’d let you see him wear it. from that point on, he knew sometimes you didn’t just want him, you wanted Ghost too.

opposed to contrary belief, simon isn’t actually a violent, degrading, rough, villain in the bedsheets, infact — quite rather the opposite. he’ll keep a soft cotton tshirt on over his scarred built body, sometimes if he’s been off duty for months his tummy would be a bit softer, pressing against yours as he rolls his hips against you, deep husky voice calling you his girl in your ear— and you love it. it’s your simon, the man you love.

but there’s an itch, and it must be scratched.

simon, only wanting to make you feel good is more than happy to oblige. he must admit, there is that side to him, the side that wants to let Ghost take over sometimes. he see’s that side to him as a whole different person, detached, cold, only one thing on his mind and it’s getting what he wants. he likes to leave that at the door when he comes home, his worst fear being scaring you the way he’s been made feel frightened in his past. however, when you’ve caught him coming home late, not bothered to remove all his gear, large and loud as he steps through the house — he notices that it’s not fear in your eyes, rather lust.

its almost the feeling of ‘we shouldn’t’ when you approach him, looking so much smaller than usual because he just looks all the more bigger. your hand curiously traces along his tact vest, the stiff material creating the illusion that he’s even bigger, even impossibly broader than he already is and you bite your lip. he doesn’t say a word, staring down at you through the skull mask. if it were anyone else, you’d shiver — feeling like prey. and you do, but in the best way possible. knowing it was simon in there, still dressed in the dust of his enemies, cold and hard — you couldn’t help but feel your panties dampen beneath your nightgown, thighs pressing together.

“look so good.” you whisper, barely audible— and he doesn’t say a word, almost concerned when his cock starts to bloat in his pants. it was the way you looked up at him, so vulnerable and needy. he could never resist.

you eye him — the vest, the holsters, straps around his thighs, the mask, you needed him. just like this. “can you fuck me, just like this?” you request, so shy and sweet, hands still grasping him like you were worried he’d take the uniform off. simon wants to say no, doesn’t want you to meet Ghost, not ever — but his gloved hand is stroking your cheek now, his thumb tracing over your lips and he realises it’s not his decision anymore, moreso Ghosts.

“bite.” he demands quietly, the air thick and immovable with tension and you realise he’s granting your wish. you obey, biting his glove and he slips his hand out, taking the glove from your mouth and tossing it away before he’s walking you backwards through the house, towering over you, boots grazing your feet every so often until you’re at a wall and he’s looming over you, all you could see.

his touches are rough and greedy, pawing at your tits and yanking your dress up impatiently to get to where he wants, his hand disappearing between your legs to abuse your throbbing clit. “this what you wanted, hm?” you swear his voice has gotten deeper and you nod, mewling up at him, his eyes dark behind the mask. “you’re asking to get fuckin’ ruined, you know that yeah?”

you respond with a “yes!” immediately, the word bursting out of you and he realises this must be something you’d been eager to try for a long time. if that’s what you wanted, he was gonna give it to you tenfold.

“on your knees.”

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

✧ All the graces from Heaven

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader ✦ Summary: Arthur and you enjoy a steamy morning at Strawberry's Hotel, much to the outlaw's delight. ✦ Warnings: SMUT 18+, MDNI! Oral (both reader and Arthur receiving), 69, a bit of fluff if you squint, porn without a plot, Arthur is more of a high/mid honor but loses it and gets a little bit rough, established relationship. ✦ Words: 2,6k ✦ a/n: Yeeeaah so. This is basically a 69 fic, it's pretty filthy and a bit less figurative than my usual works. Just pure smutty smut. I hope you'll enjoy it still! Pic is mine, not proofread! And as English isn't my first language, prepare for some misspellings.

The bedroom of Strawberry’s Hotel is filled with chuckles, and full of scattered clothes on the floor. Leathered boots, two shirts tangled together, jackets and holster belts thrown away messily on furniture. As a lighthouse in the middle of the sea, a black gambler hat stands tall hung on one of the bed's huge footboard legs over this tide of abandoned clothing.

Above it, the old wood creaks as two people mess with each other under the blankets, threatening to make the worn hat fall from its perch. Both are nude as the day they were born, and glued to each other as if they were wearing the other one’s skin.

You and Arthur had quite a time, last night. And since you had woken up, it was nothing but sweet words, cuddling and tickling. Teasing each other had become a private religion between you both, his sarcastic comments always met with a witty answer from you. It made him love you even more.

“Come on darlin’, stay.” Arthur’s deep voice asks you, as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, his nose impregnating with your smell, eyes closing on their own.

He feels good, there. It's in these simple shared moments, those laughs you sew together, those fingers and body you intertwine, those deep and dreamy conversations about your brighter future you share that Arthur finds his remedy. As if after all this life of surviving and fighting for a greater cause, a bigger picture, it was the simplest of things that appeared like an epiphany to him when it came to happiness.

You being the main source and Messiah of most of these humble pleasures, of course. His personal angel.

“You know I can’t. You may have the morning off for once, but I have somewhere else to be. Hosea needs me at the Tracker’s Hotel for a job.”

Arthur doesn’t hide his annoyance and grumbles against your skin, something about “Damn jobs always in the way” and “ The old man can wait a lil’ bit more.”

It makes you smile. As tempting as staying in bed all morning with a naked Arthur seems, especially considering how you can feel his fat cock feeling so soft against your hip, you feel self-conscious about leaving Hosea alone on your mission. You turn your head to the side to kiss your lover’s head, his sandy locks tickling your nose.

“Alright tough guy, time to go.” You decide before getting up in a sitting position, then crawling to the end of the bed to grab your ungarments.

“Not so fast, lil’ missy.” He objects with a low chuckle, obviously enjoying this little chase after you.

Before you can reach your aim, Arthur snakes his hands around your thighs and pulls you back to him in a quick and powerful motion, handling you as if you were the lightest feather, which makes you let out a squeal of protest mixed with surprise.

His laugh resonates for a second and then, he freezes. You had ended up on all four on top of him, but usually, your face was turned to his. This time, Arthur's nose is met with your plump rear, your chest to the other side, just above his crotch. You can feel his body, underneath you, getting tensed. This gigantic, massive, muscled body, so big and tall that his chest feels larger than a tree trunk between your spread legs. What was innocent playing for him just seconds ago had turned into a needy tension between the both of you. The air suddenly feels thick and a silence settles, a tense calm on the shore before a Maelstrom.

Your blouse and Hosea are a long time gone when you realize you can feel his breath on your pussy, the sensation making you shiver. You try to get up from the position, thinking he wouldn’t like to have his face shoved in your intimate parts, but his hands grip tighter and stop you, grounding you in place. You turn your head to him as much as you can considering your situation, taking an interrogative look at his face above your body.

His cheeks are red. Dark red. His eyes are fixated on your entrance, throat swallowing with difficulty. His bust rises and falls heavily, pectorals muscles swelling up before relaxing and rising again. He sighs, and you feel it again, hot air all against you, all against your now aroused and needy slit.

“We hum… We never tried like this…” He starts, voice low and suggestive about what he's implying, his hands traveling from your thighs to grab your ass, one hand for each cheek. They’re so big and firm, and feel so good there, as he squeezes, again and again, driving himself crazy as he admires how the perfect heart shape of your rear looks all squished under his fingers.

“You sure you want-”

Before you can even finish your sentence, Arthur answers it by pressing his lips to your pussy, exhaling through his nose and tightening his fingers on your flesh. This man always had such huge self-control for every dangerous situation known to mankind, but right now, it seems like he couldn’t resist taking a bite when having your perfect cunt under his nose…

A sharp and depraved noise leaves you, making his body burn like redden coal, his mind consumed more and more by your whole being and the simple feeling of your wetness all against his face. His whole universe reduced into this touch, lips against flesh, saliva mixing with arousal. Your sinful nectar and his.

“God, honey!” You whine, back arching without your permission, body moving backward to him, searching for more, needing more.

“Taste so goddamn good… Never gonna have enough of ‘this…” He rasps between a few more kisses to your folds, as a praise or a statement, you’re not sure, and he’s not either as words just flow through him and he lets them out without a drop of restraint or reflection. A rough, unstoppable river. That's how he feels every time he eats you out.

His tongue slowly slips out of his filthy mouth and licks your folds, slowly, tortuously, from bellow aaaall the way up to the inside of your ass. You could have been scared of not being clean enough for him or feeling nervous about his face almost buried in there, but the sound, the moan he had made suppresses all these anxious thoughts all at once.

You have to face the obvious: he’s loving it.

“Aah- Arthur…” Your hips roll against his face, desperate for some more friction, unsatisfied and so aroused by his teasing.

“You go on moanin’ ma name like that and am gonna come without ya even touchin’ me, darlin’.” He warns you, voice hoarse, lips mumbling against your folds, his beard and mustache tickling you just the right way.

You answer his words with a deep sigh, the filth of them burning you to the core. He laps at you the same way again, in one then two long and slow licks, as if savoring you like the finest whiskey he would have tasted. A mewl leaves your lips after each one of them. You’re starting to get impatient, and he knows it, he knows you after all those intimate moments. He stops his lips right at the entrance of your core and gently slides his right hand between your thighs.

The way he has to fold his arm to touch you there isn’t comfortable for him, his bicep being way too big to be crushed like that; but hearing you, feeling your thighs clenching and the appreciative words you let out when his fingers land on your sensitive bud is worth this slight pain. Always putting other’s needs before his own, always being devoted and loyal, always finding happiness in being useful, that was Arthur’s nature. And the bed was no exception to it.

“Was you not supposed to go somewhere?” He asks cockily in a falsely innocent tone, brimming with sarcasm and smugness.

“P-please, Arthur… Quit the teasing, for God's sake…” You ask, trying not to sound too pitiful, probably failing at it.

“A lil’ needy after all, ain’t ya? Ma sweet girl…” He coos, and you can feel his lips stretch into his usual grin, his heart gorging with pride and excitement to have this sort of impact on you.

Bending to your wishes, his fingers start to rub and trace tight circles on your clit as his mouth makes love to your pussy, his tongue delving in as deeply as he can, and the pleasure finally hits you like an earthquake. It feels so good, so damn good, your breathing quickly turning into loud moans.

Your head snaps back forward, and your body pushes your rear up all against him as a cat who would stretch after a nap. Arthur hums in delight and appreciation, unable to speak but encouraging you still. He increases his pace, his digits quick and sharp and so precise against your sensitive spot.

Your face falls down as every fiber of your body hardens, and that’s when your gaze is caught on his cock. Your pussy clenches hard around his tongue just by the sight of it.

It looks so hard and swollen that it must be painful for him. His hips buck forward into nothing, his member almost hitting your chin, with every lick of his tongue inside you. His round and reddish tip is leaking, pre-cum spurting out even more than usual, flowing all the way down into his dark curly pubic hair. His pants would have been completely soaked if he was wearing them.

You're salivating.

It would have been cruel to let him like this, right?

Focusing on him to try and not collapse from your own pleasure, you suddenly press your chest against his belly and take his cock inside your mouth without any warning. The taste of him, this strong saline flavor, fills your mouth.

“Damn!” Arthur shouts in surprise, momentarily parting his lips from yours, fingers slowing their pace. “Jesus, girl!”

This time, it’s your turn to grin, as much as you can, considering how big Arthur is between your lips. You don’t let him any time to think or protest, knowing he would insist that you’d come first.

The way you're crawling on top of him makes it even simpler for you to suck him off, your head naturally placed at the right angle on top of his crotch, and you take advantage of that. Finding support on the mattress with your arms, hands gripping his legs, you bring your mouth up and down hard and fast, sucking his shaft with such vigor you can feel his body squirming underneath you.

“Ngh-! Darlin’! S-stop, slow down! I ain’t gonna last like this!” He tries to plead but his words are drowned in a flood of groans and harsh sighs.

Despite what he’s saying, his body acts in the exact opposite way, hips jerking, cock shoving into your throat at the same time you’re working him. He tries, he really tries to keep on pleasuring you back while you work him, but he feels like he’s completely losing himself, unable to do anything else, to focus on anything else at all.

Your breasts pressed against his belly, his face buried in your pussy and ass, each of your thighs surrounding his head, and your goddamn mouth around his cock, this devilish tongue sliding all around it… He's completely losing his head. It's like being drowned in an Ocean of You. It’s too much. It’s way too much at once for a simple man. A simple, weak, mortal man feeling like he’s receiving every grace of Heaven all at the same time.

His basic instincts win the best of him. His arms are now wrapped around you, pulling you flush against his body, a hand back on your ass cheek, the other on your neck, spurring you into moving your mouth just like he needs to.

“Oh, shit! Yes, go on, go on, take it!”

You've rarely seen him losing his temper like this. He's usually gentle and soft, patient with you during sex, savoring the moment, making it last as much as possible, playing you like an Andante movement from the most sophisticated piece of a symphony.

Right now, he's unchained and rough, rushing to the Grand Finale without minding about false notes, drunk from you and the sensation of warmth he is feeling on every edge of his body; face, chest, cock, every inch of him merging with every inch of you.

He groans all against your pussy, as your saliva drools from this erratic pace. His fingers grip your head and ass tighter as he chases his high carelessly, already coming, way too soon and fast for him. His cock stiffens even more as he fucks your silky mouth, veins gorging with blood, tip throbbing in the back of your head.

“Aaah- Damn… Good… Girl!” He growls loudly with a thrust of his hips after each word.

The last one is followed by a loud and throaty whine, higher-pitched and vulgar, the kind of sounds he would usually let out when being hurt.

He shuts his eyes in a pleasured-filled frown as he pushes his face even deeper between your legs and, more from instinct than anything else, sucks hard on your cunt while he comes, lost, so lost in a sea of primal bliss and pure organic pleasure. His large body burns and tenses one hard final time, and you can feel the path of his cum traveling along his length against your lips as he releases inside you.

It fills you, his saline and strong taste blinding your other senses, cum as hot and sinful as his state, and you exhale with satisfaction as you swallow both this remnant of his ecstasy and the last drops of his sanity.

Arthur falls back heavily on the mattress, completely spent, his sweat staining the white sheets, his hands loosening their grip. Before removing them from your body, he allows himself a playful little spank on your butt as he speaks again, a revenge not strong enough to his liking for your sneaky move.

“Jesus, you’re… completely wild...” He sighs, his heart slowing after having beaten like war drums.

He’s still panting, mouth open and covered with a mix of this sweet cocktail of saliva and arousal. He licks his lips, feeling so satisfied, the sensation of your body everywhere on his skin still vivid and present. Like a stamp of black, indelible ink that has left its mark on a blank sheet of paper.

“You really enjoyed all this, didn’t you?” You ask back while getting off him, legs a bit shaky, your throat starting to feel a bit sore from the intensity you had chosen to go with. “I haven’t heard you whine like this for a long time…”

“I don’t “whine”.” He scoffs, knowing damn well he did, and suddenly feeling ashamed of the sounds he had made and guilty for the rough behavior he had displayed. His negative feelings are soon brushed off though, thanks to your beautiful and mischievous smile enlightening him.

“Yeah yeah, keep telling yourself that. I’ve still got ears to hear, Mister.”

“Hush. Now come here, 'gonna make ya feel as good and miserable as me from finishin’ that fast.”

His eyes burn with that fire he has. The one reserved for you and the excitement and adrenaline of action. You already know there's no way you'll walk out of this bedroom without being completely satisfied.

“Tonight. I’m already way too late to-”

“Now.”

The piece of clothes remains abandoned on the floor as the bed creaks again, that old gambler's hat only witness of Arthur's payback to you.

After all, he never liked leaving a job unfinished.

--

tagging some people who were interested in the scenario! : @amyispxnk @a-court-of-valkyries @fleouris

[wileys-russo]

Emily fox, on the pitch, (sarcastically) “aw baby I’m sorry did that hurt”

I’m thinking enemies to flirts to lovers

frenemies II e.fox

"well good morning sunshine!" lotte laughed as you sat down beside her with a huff, dropping your bag to the ground and rummaging through it with a hum.

"woke up on the wrong side of the bed did we?" the girl teased pulling on her boots as you sighed. "you have no idea. this is going to be a long day!" you warned as the girl squeezed your shoulder sympathetically, the pair of you falling into conversation.

you smelled her before you saw her, the familiar waft of perfume hitting you before the sound of her laugh did, glancing up to see her walk in with alessia, chirpy grin on her face as usual.

"now now, play nice today even if you are grumpy!" lotte warned with a grin as you knocked your knee against hers with a playful roll of your eyes. "its not me whose the problem lots, you know that better than most." you quipped tugging your socks up as emily sat down across the room.

catching her eye yours rolled again as she sent you a wink, tuning back into her conversation with alessia. "i know you're both as bad as each other, she's been here for months now. wave the white flag! be the bigger person." lotte cautioned gently.

"so you admit she's not the bigger person? so she is in fact, the problem?" you grinned gleefully as your friend sighed at the take. "theres that selective hearing. you might want the long sleeve, we're set for rain!" lotte warned as you groaned quietly and unzipped your bag again.

though as you pulled out the top you quickly realised the number on it was not yours and pushed it hastily back in. "i'll survive." you brushed off her concerns as lotte only shrugged. "come on miss holland, off we go." you teased pulling her beanie down over her eyes and standing.

"not again with the tom holland reference! i don't look like him at all." lotte groaned in annoyance as you only grinned. "no i think its more like one of the robbers from home alone." your smile dropped at the familiar voice, lotte shoving emily with a playful glare before walking off with alessia.

"fox." you greeted shortly, the pair of you following after the girls in front who'd fallen into their own conversation. "as if the english weather isn't cold enough, that tones gonna give me hypothermia." the american shuddered rubbing at her arms as you rolled your eyes.

"oh come on! that was funny, you're allowed to laugh!" emily protested as you strode ahead, hurrying after you. "maybe at you, never with you." you warned, holding back a smile as your boots touched grass and you were able to hurry off to another group of girls.

your mood didn't improve during training, in fact it only got worse as indeed lotte was right and the skies opened up, the rain pouring down the last fifteen or so minutes of training.

given it was the last one before the game this weekend you didn't let it stop you, pushing through at the management teams instructions, breaking off into smaller teams for a round robin of games and a cool down.

all morning emily had been trying to get on your last nerve, her own patience wearing thin as you ignored her time and time again taking lottes advice to be the bigger person albeit the white flag.

but as the rain became near torrential and suddenly you were taken down to the ground a lot harder than necessary considering you'd already given up the ball your tolerance grated.

again and again your back hit the turf with only one culprint taking your legs out each time, your training top coated with mud and bib soggy against your chest as beth whipped a goal into the top corner to end the game and the whistles to finish training finally blew.

right as you'd completed the pass to her again your legs were swept out, wincing as your ass thumped into the ground but you clapped at beths goal none the less not wanting to be a bad teammate.

"aw baby i'm sorry, did that hurt?" a smirk hovered over you accompanied by an american accent and a very punchable face as the girl held out her hand to help you up.

with a glowering scowl sent up at her you smacked her hand away, climbing to your own feet and storming away, hearing her follow after you as the rest of the girls sprinted back into the building to shower and change before media.

but right as you went to step foot into the locker room a hand grabbed yours, tugging you away into one of the recovery rooms as the door closed with a click.

you sighed deeply at the grin which shone back at you, crossing your arms and glaring at her when she refused to move out of the way of the door.

"come on stop the frowning. i said i was sorry!" the american laughed stepping closer as you shook your head. "that doesn't mean i have to accept your apology." you reminded firmly, unwavering as she rolled her eyes.

"no. but only one of us is currently wearing something with a collar and ah...the rain has not been kind to you." emily tutted her hand moving to settle on your shoulder and you hissed as her thumb pressed into a deep red mark on your neck and you smacked it away.

with a groan you moved toward a mirror in the corner, turning your head left and right inspecting the marks you'd covered this morning before leaving, the rain indeed having washed most of the concealer off.

"this is your fault fox!" you advanced toward her as she only smiled, meeting you chest to chest. "yeah. so?" she challenged with a quirk of her eyebrow, your mouth opening and closing trying to find a comeback.

"exactly. you weren't saying anything last night when they appeared!" emily grinned cheekily as you only huffed, shoving her and making a beeline for the door before her hand grabbed yours and twirled you so you wound up chest to chest with her again.

"kind of hard to with your tongue down my throat." you scoffed only widening her beaming grin, her face near split in half as tattooed fingers traced the hickies with a feather light touch.

"let me take you to dinner tonight." now that did catch you off guard, stepping away from her with a frown. ever since she'd signed the american had wedged her way under your skin, the pair of you clashing heads and forever arguing, broken up and told off by your teammates.

though it never translated to the pitch, the two of you working seamlessly together down the right side much to everyones shock given how you seemed to loathe one another in every other sense.

but little did they know it was due to the release you two had figured out helped your contempt for one another, and for weeks now the two of you had been sneaking around one anothers beds, always gone by the morning and never more than that.

so you'd hardly expected these words to come out of her mouth.

"what?" you managed out in shock, emily stepping closer with a nod. "dinner. at a nice restaurant, the two of us. tonight ideally!" the defender explained, sticking by her words.

"but thats not-thats not what we do." you declined with a shake of your head as she shrugged unfazed by the rejection.

"well there has to be some middle ground in this enemies to lovers pipeline, you think you hate me but really you don't even know me. i'd like to change that, to change whatever this is." emily confessed confidently again catching you off guard.

when you didn't reply the girl only grinned, pulling off her spray jacket and handing it to you to put on to cover the marks on your neck.

"great, i'll pick you up at seven then baby. wear something...dry! oh and i want that jacket back, since someone else stole my long sleeve." she winked teasingly, and just like that she was gone.

[sissylittlefeather]

Kinktober Day 10: Play Wrestling

Takes One to Know One

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, cussing, kissing, oral sex (f receiving), implied sex

Word count: ~1.2K

Kinktober Masterlist

When you open the door to the bedroom in the suite in Vegas you share with Elvis, you're shocked to find him standing in the middle of the room with clothes and accessories all over the floor. It looks like the place has been ransacked. And it has. 

Elvis is fully dressed except for one last thing that he can't find to save his life. He supposes he can go without it, but this outfit with the black and white flowered shirt and black pants just doesn't look the same in its absence. He looks up at you when you open the door and hollers. 

"Damnit, honey, I've been looking for that belt all morning!" You look down at your hips and the silver and turquoise belt of his that you have slung around you. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, baby. I didn't know you needed it." 

"Yes! I have to be at rehearsal in twenty minutes. Lemme have it." You glance back down at your waist. The belt really brings your outfit together. It's perfect over your short black dress with your black boots and motorcycle hat. Without it, the outfit just seems plain. 

"No, I'm wearing it already!" You protest. He huffs, his hands on his hips, but he knows you well enough to know that demanding it will just make you even less likely to give it up. You might be the most stubborn and temperamental woman he's ever been with. Usually he appreciates the challenge, it keeps him from getting bored with you, but today he just needs his damn belt. 

"Honey, please. I need it." He appeals to you, his eyes wide and puppy-like. "I have lots of other belts. Pick whatever you want." 

"I want this one." It's not abnormal for you to wear his clothes. This is a thing you've been doing since you started dating him, but this is the first time you've had on something he planned to wear. 

"Honey..." He walks over to you and acts like he's going to wrap his arms around you, but you know him well enough to know he's going to try to take the belt off. 

"No!" You wriggle away and run over to the bed. He can't help but laugh at the way you hold the belt on your hips. You're so damn stubborn. The atmosphere shifts and he walks quickly towards you as you giggle and try to get away. 

"I'm bigger than you, honey, you don't stand a chance here." He wrestles you down onto the bed with his arms around you. You kick your boots off so you can move around a little more easily and manage to get out of his arms, rolling away across the big bed. He lunges to get back on top of you and tries to hold you in place, but you hold your hands up against his chest and squeal. 

"No, Elvis! My belt! It looks better on me!" You erupt in a cascade of giggles as he sits on top of you and starts to tickle your sides. 

"No, it don't, ya little brat. It's mine!" Tears squeeze out of your eyes as you laugh and he lifts up to try to grab the belt, but you manage to get away from him again and start to crawl. He grabs you around the waist and pulls your back up against him, digging his chin into your neck to tickle you again. 

"Ahhh, Elvis, stop!" You giggle and reach back to grab a handful of his hair. He grunts loudly and then bites your neck gently. 

"Gimme that belt, little girl." He whispers in your ear, but the atmosphere has shifted yet again. 

"Nope. No way, baby." You feel him press his hardening dick against the soft flesh of your ass. 

"I have ways of convincing you." His breath is hot as he whispers in your ear. 

"I dare ya to try." You moan in response. He rolls you over onto your back and runs his hands up your thighs under your dress, yanking your panties down and off. 

"I'm gonna get that belt off of ya if I have to lick you until you can't cum anymore." 

"Don't threaten me with a good time, sir." You spread your legs invitingly and he can't help smiling as he moves to drag his tongue up your slit and push it so deep into your pussy that his nose hits your clit. "Fuck, Elvis!" 

You moan and throw your head back as he licks and fucks you with his tongue. His fingers creep up from your hips to the belt and he tries to find the clasp. You're distracted, but not that much, so you slap his hand lightly. He gets you so close to release that he can feel you tense, your clit hard with arousal, and then pulls back. 

"Gimme my belt, baby." 

"What? No!" You pant breathlessly, so close to your orgasm that it hurts. 

"You wanna cum?"

"Yessss!"

"Then gimme the belt." You look down at him and he smirks, touching your pussy gently with just the tip of his finger. 

"That's not fair!" You groan, moving your hips to try to get more friction on your swollen bud. 

"Isn't it?" He flicks you with his tongue lightly and you almost scream. 

"Elvis! You little shit!" You feel him slide a finger into you and tickle your g-spot, just to pull it out seconds later. 

"That's not nice, baby." He pouts playfully. 

"Neither is this!"

"I just want what's mine." More light tongue flicks and you groan, unclasping the belt and tossing it across the room. 

"There! Now let me cum!" He pulls your dress up and off and then removes your bra. He drops hot kisses all over your body, massaging your clit with his fingertips. 

"Fuck... fuck..." You gasp and moan as your orgasm gets closer and closer. Finally, he shoves two fingers inside you and lowers his mouth to your clit, licking you hard as you feel your whole body vibrate with your climax, cumming as hard as you ever have in his mouth. He licks slower and slower as your clit softens and your legs shake. Once you've come back down, he slides his fingers out and stands up, walking over to where you've tossed the belt. He wraps it around his waist and fastens it. You lay on the bed ass-naked and watch him. 

"There. Now you don't have on an outfit that needs it anyway." He smirks. 

"You're a pain in the ass." You grumble. 

"Takes one to know one, baby." He walks over and kisses your forehead gently. 

"Wait, don't you want me to do anything about this?" You run your fingertips up his hardened length. 

"Later. I have to go. But when I come home, I wanna find you just like this. Then I'll have the rest of what's mine. Ya got it?" You nod as he holds your face in his hand and runs his thumb over your cheek. "I love you, honey." 

“I love you too, Elvis.” He kisses your lips gently and then heads out of the room as you sigh and lean back against the pillows. You hear the front door of the suite open and close. 

About three minutes later, you hear the door open again and he busts into the room, shedding clothing as he walks quickly to you on the bed. 

"I thought-"

"Fuck it. They'll wait." You giggle as he crawls on top of you and the belt lays forgotten on the floor.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @atleastpleasetelephone @deltafalax @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @jhoneybees @polksaladava @searchingforgravity @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @makethemorning @your-nanas-house @peaceloveelvis @mrspresley69

[brodygold]

Becoming A Bro

Ben had always been an outcast. He spent most of his time in isolation, immersed in solo activities like video games, chess against the computer, or endless rounds of solitaire. The social world seemed distant, an intimidating place that he never felt he could belong in. But sometimes, a longing crept in, a desperate desire for camaraderie. He watched groups of friends laugh together, teams celebrating victories, and he envied their connection.

More than anyone, he envied the Golden Army.

The Golden Army were everything he could never be: athletic, popular, powerful—and most of all, brothers. They stood together as a unit, an unbreakable bond of loyalty and strength. Watching them from afar, Ben could only dream of being part of something like that. It hurt to be on the outside, so much so that, sometimes, it brought him to tears.

One evening, as he sat alone in his dimly lit apartment, the loneliness crashed over him again. He booted up his video game console, navigating to his favorite game: Golden Army: Legacy of Champions. For Ben, this was the only way he could experience a taste of their world. As the title screen appeared, he stared at the glowing gold armor on the players and whispered, "I wish I could be part of the Golden Army."

His voice barely left his lips before the screen responded in a way it had never done before. The image warped and swirled, forming a spiral that grew larger and larger, creating a vortex right in front of him. Ben’s heart raced, and he tried to resist the pull, gripping the couch with all his strength. But it was no use—the force yanked him into the swirling void.

Ben was weightless, spinning in darkness for what felt like an eternity until, suddenly, he hit solid ground. He opened his eyes, disoriented. The harsh sunlight blinded him for a moment before he took in his surroundings. He wasn’t in his apartment anymore—he was standing on a lush green soccer field. The smell of fresh-cut grass filled his nostrils, and he could feel the breeze brush against his skin.

But his clothes�� they weren’t the familiar jeans and t-shirt he’d been wearing. His eyes dropped to see a shining gold jersey stretched across his chest, with the number 13 emblazoned on it. Below that, matching gold soccer shorts clung tightly to his legs, muscles he didn’t remember having bulging beneath the fabric.

Ben stared in shock, lifting his arms. They weren’t his arms—at least, not the thin, untoned arms he had before. His biceps were thick, powerful, as if years of intense training had sculpted them. His pecs, once nonexistent, were now solid, broad slabs of muscle, his chest proud and firm. His legs felt sturdy, like tree trunks capable of propelling him across the field with ease. Even his hands, gripping the jersey, were larger, the fingers rough with callouses from years of handling soccer balls.

“What... what happened to me?” he muttered, his voice deeper than he remembered.

Panic began to rise within him, but so did something else—a strange fog clouding his thoughts. He tried to cling to the memories of who he was: Ben, the shy guy who preferred video games to people. But those memories were slippery, fading fast as if they were no longer relevant. He blinked, feeling the cool breeze rustle his now-brown hair. Brown? His hand shot up to touch his hair, realizing that it had lightened from its former dark shade.

A pressure was building inside him, not just in his body but in his mind. A new sense of purpose, of belonging. Why had he ever felt so out of place? This felt right—this uniform, these muscles, this team. He wasn’t meant to be some lonely outsider; he was born to be part of something bigger.

“What’s... my name?” The question echoed in his mind. Ben. It didn’t sound right anymore. It didn’t fit.

“Tyler! Hey, Tyler!” A voice shouted from across the field.

His head snapped up. Tyler. Yes, Tyler—that was his name, wasn’t it? He wasn’t some introverted gamer. He was Tyler, midfielder for the Golden Army. He played alongside the best, and his job was to keep the game under control, always in the right place at the right time to assist his team.

“Get Oliver here! The game’s about to start!” the voice called again.

Tyler—he was Tyler now—smiled, feeling the energy of the field course through him. The crowd was already roaring in the distance, waiting for them. His team. His brothers. This was where he belonged.

As Tyler ran to join his teammates, memories of Ben—his old life, his loneliness—faded into nothingness. His heart beat in time with the rhythm of the game. He was one of them now: fast, strong, confident, everything he had ever wanted to be.

On the sidelines, Brody watched with a satisfied smirk. "Another satisfied customer. Another bro for the team.”

[aplaceforyourhearttorest]

Leap Of Faith ✩ James Hetfield (18+)

Trepidation seems to add weight to your already boot-laden legs as you slowly make your way through the long line in front of the now crowded venue, the heaviness of anxiety in your chest making you want to retreat with every decelerate inch you trudge forward. The sounds of yelling and the feeling of unknown shoulders and elbows digging their way into your upper and lower back would usually make you feel unsettled and unsafe, but in this instance, it was the complete opposite. It made you feel less alone and more accompanied, and you didn't realize how much you needed the unspecified consolation until you eventually make your way into the cooling air of the quickly filling up concert arena.

You blearily squint as you trek your way past the double doors and clearly overworked staff members, the cowboy hat nestled on the top of your head seemingly now only becoming useful once you fully get inside, the earlier sun still feeling like it's searing its imprint into the bare and now sunburnt skin of your neck and shoulders.

The anticipation from the dozens of thousands of fans around you fill the already heady air and make it feel almost thickened and condensed as you nearly stumble forward in haste for a good spot, hoping to be on an outer side of the crowd in case you needed to make a break for it or hide. You let out a sigh of relief once you see a small pocket of empty space near the edge of the barrier nearest to the front stage steps, and you rapidly duck under a multitude of raised limbs to shuffle over to the limited clearance.

You toss a halfhearted and much too quiet apology over your shoulder as you narrowly miss colliding with an already heavily inebriated fan and lift your perspired hands to encircle them around the cool metal in front of you. You lean your hipbones against the lower part of the barrier to help steady yourself as a thick wave of bombarding and impatient devotees rush their way forward, as the lights on the stage begin to dim and background music begins to play.

Excitement and dread thrum through you and almost mimic the rhythm of the beat booming out of the side speakers, and for a moment, you almost curse yourself for being foolish enough to make your way all the way out here- a handful of towns over to see a group of old friends that most likely won't be able to pick you out of the crowd or care enough to acknowledge you from it. But at the same time, you didn't want to be seen. A good majority of you just wanted to ease the worry in you by seeing them in person, just this once to see if they were actually okay. The juxtaposition of being too afraid to reach out after all that had happened, and yet being brave enough to make the ignorant leap of faith to come and see them live grates through you, and you miss the telltale screams of the fans greeting the members as they make their way out on stage while you're grappling with your thoughts.

You only begin to look up at the stage from the solid ground beneath you once you hear the background music stop, and a familiar voice encapsulate and envelop the attention of not only you, but the thousands of other strangers around you. Your breath is taken away from you once you're able to readjust your eyesight to the bright and automatic lights moving around the center stage, the members closest to you looking so much healthier and better off than when you saw them last. Relief floods through you in an instant, nearly knocking away all of the regret of you coming out here straight away.

Lars beams from his drum set that's located near the back of the stage, and the large smile he wears on his face makes your heart clench in your chest with elation. The last time you had seen him, he was crying in your arms and hesitating to get onto the newer and bigger tour bus that was awaiting him. The words he screams into the microphone as he waves his drumsticks up and around in the air don't seem to fully register with you, as your eyes slide on over to Kirk. Kirk's eyes are wide and all-encompassing as they scour the large and lively arena, gratefulness painted on his facial features as he clutches onto the instrument in his hands. You get a flashback of the two of you lying out on your old rickety couch together and gushing about shared dreams of getting out of town and doing your own things, and a warm flush of pride alights within you as you see how far he has come and how much he's already accomplished. Jason grins out at the crowd, his expression a bit more sheepish and reserved, but still beaming and full of joyous glee. You hadn't known him for very long or spoken to him much before everything had fallen apart and ended, but you knew he was kind and that he worked his ass off to get to where he was today. They all had.

Your eyes seem to shudder to a stop before they could even peer over at the frontman who you used to be closest with. As if the simple sight of seeing him in real life instead of on the front cover of a magazine would crumble you- and your assumption was correct. As soon as you allow yourself to look over at him, an uncomfortable twinge in your middle ricochets and launches against your ribcage as your eyes rest upon him, and you have to forcefully inhale a rough breath to stop yourself from crying on the spot. James still looks the same, except a few years older and with facial hair. But you could recognize those eyes in any crowd and at any given moment. The same eyes that had originally stared through you and asked if you were alright almost six years ago, that fated and drunken night you two had stumbled into each other. Back when Metallica barely even had its name, and they were living in an apartment that was about as stable as a cardboard box in the wind. The same eyes that would crinkle up on the sides when you made him laugh hard enough and took him out to temporarily get away from all of the bullshit life had to offer at the time, with the other boys included and sometimes tagging along. The same eyes that begged you to come with them that day, paired along with the same mouth that never verbally asked you to. You glance away to look at the spot Cliff would usually stand at during the beginning of shows, and you have to close your eyes to steady yourself and push those debilitating thoughts away. He was at peace now, and you were still trying to figure out how to find your own with the loss. You could still hear his soft laughter and high rants and smell his all-surrounding cigarette and herb smoke. He was such a force to be reckoned with. He still is, to you at the very least, and he always will be.

"Are you ready to fucking rock?" James screams into the microphone before him, and the sound of his voice makes you jolt and recenter. You couldn't help but let out a small huff of laughter as the other boys recant the question and scream out their own answers, before immediately jumping into their first song like it was second nature. You watch them with rapt attention, your eyes flickering from each musician on stage, and you felt a familiar sting behind your eyelids as you watched them go. The feeling of bittersweetness is trampled on by an immense proudness, and the dread you felt earlier on soon begins to feel like the excitement that surrounds you. Before you could even wrap your head around it and second guess things, you were jumping with the rest of the crowd, the nape of your neck cracking out a protest as you headbanged in tandem with the men on stage and their fellow fans.

The ground beneath you vibrated and shook you to the core as you bounced up and down, the cowboy hat and elastic in your hair sliding out and off and landing elsewhere as you sang along, your hair landing messily on your reddened and sensitive skin whenever your feet hit the ground. The hands you had wrapped around the barrier in front of you raise and bop with the cacophony of beats ramming their way out of the ginormous speakers around the venue, and you laugh aimlessly as you imitate the drum solo Lars was currently breezing through without missing a single beat.

James' voice reverberates and creates a rough and harmonic sound that feels like it carries everyone's weight in the room, and you couldn't help but attach your gaze to him and hold onto it as he grips the microphone and belts out the lyrics with all of his might. Your hands reach back down to grip onto the metal once again as you gasp for breath, and the lack of oxygen makes you feel high, causing you to lean forward and let out an exhilarated exhalation. You throw your head back and freeze in place as your hair slings back to smack against the top of your spine, and your eyes unintentionally latch onto Jason's. Blue, wide eyes stare back down at you in shock, and he lets out a startled curse as his calloused fingertip stutters on a guitar string. You both wince harshly as the sound cries out in opposition to the original sounding note and the song they were currently performing. Kirk looks over at him in confusion, before following his line of sight and halting all of his movements. His eyes begin to water as soon as he recognizes you, which is immediately. The excitement and enjoyment you felt only moments before turns back into dread as you see a heartbroken expression replace his earlier shock, and you quickly push yourself away from the barricade and look over your shoulder to see if you could still exit as easily as you thought you could have earlier. Jason quickly catches on to what you're trying to do, and he shakes his head in disbelief before falling back into synch with their drummer and frontman, who were still blissfully unaware about what was currently going on. The bassist takes one look over at his downtrodden friend and bandmate and decides that he has to at least try to get you all back together once again, somehow.

Jason clenches his jaw as he watches you try to find an escape, before motioning down at the dutiful security guard closest to him and nodding his head towards you. The bassist flicks his chin in the direction of the staircase nearest to where you're stood and sends the curious guard a wink. Jason walks back to his original place on stage and grins to himself as he keeps watch on the now understanding and on-board security guard making his way on over to your trembling form.

Your eyes widen as you see a tall and unknown muscular man make his way over to you, and you take a large step back as his shirt comes into view. "I'm going to need you to come with me, miss," the man tries to yell out to you coherently, his face settling into a grimace as he tries to beckon you forward and presses his ribs into the barricade. "Someone in the band would like to talk to you, so just give me your hand and I'll lift you over the barrier." You quickly go to shake your head and reject his offer, but as you try to take another step backwards and make a left for your original exit, you realize that it's now blocked with another growing pit of shoving fans trying to get a better and clearer view of the stage.

You run your hand through your hair and tug against the roots as you admit defeat, closing your eyes momentarily to ready yourself for the upcoming lift and the possibility of being fully exposed to the entirety of the band. You shakily grab ahold of the security guard's hand as he holds it out for you so he can use the leverage to tug you closer, and you place your weight on your front to make it easier for him to lift you up by your waist and over the metal bars. You make overwrought eye contact with Jason as you're placed over and on to their walkway that's about a handful of feet closer to the stage, and you quickly look away as he sends you a second glance full of worry and guilt.

"I don't know what's going on, but if you need me to escort you through the back and into the second level of the parking lot, I can do that for you. I might be working for them for the next few nights, but it isn't going to sit well with me knowing that I'm coercing you into being around a group of famous men with a look on your face like that."

You peer up at the slightly greying male with the uneasy and hesitant look on his face, and you send him what you hope looks like a small and placating smile. You go to speak and reassure the man but pause as a voice you could never forget calls for the music to stop, and you hear your name being called out from only a few yards away.

Bright and wild blue eyes stare over at you, filled with utter disbelief and pure confusion. A yellow stage light bleeds out on top of his curly mane, propelling the illusion of a halo around his head as the color of his eyes seem to intensify the longer you stare back at him.

Lars slowly stands up from behind his set and walks over to pause next to Kirk, before walking up even closer to the edge of the center stage and squatting down to level eye contact with the security guard still standing next to you, semi-protectively. "Take her backstage and make sure she doesn't leave," he starts, before blinking rapidly and glancing away to catch his bearings. "We've got some catching up to do." Tears spring to your eyes as you watch an array of emotions vary on each of their faces, and you seem to feel nothing but weighed down and at fault for the sudden disappearance of their earlier happiness. The adrenaline that ran through you while you were waiting outside in line is now long gone, and now all you wanted to do was go home and come to terms with the fact that they seem like they've been much happier since you've been gone.

"I don't think that's such a good," you start before you're quickly cut off by James, who's first single word to you in almost two years is, "Please." You hesitantly look over at him and almost flinch at the despondent and lost expression on his face, and you felt like you could do nothing else but agree. You knew that you owed them that much, even if you were the only one that was left behind. They all seem to partially settle down once you nod in agreement, and they all agree to continue and finish their concert before coming backstage to talk to you and make plans.

After you're wished good luck and a good night by the kind security guard, you're left to sit around in their dressing room, the feeling of being left in the wrong room apparent in you as you take in the absence of the usual vodka bottles and empty beer cans you're used to being scattered all over the floor.

✩

"Why do you think she's here?" Lars asks quietly as they make their way down a hidden flight of stairs once they've finished up their concert, the sweat pouring down them causing whatever articles of clothing they still have on to stick to their skin like an uncomfortable second layer. "And why did she look like she was ready to bolt once Newsted got security to pick her out of the crowd?" Kirk inquires, the deep frown on his face a rarity, causing James to lunge forward and yank on the back of his neck playfully until he begins to smile once again.

"She can probably still hear all of you." Jason quips up from behind the anxious trio, pointing at their room's door, which just so happens to be wide open and no more than a handful of feet away. Lars flushes and briefly hesitates before being the first one to walk in, Kirk soon following after him and grabbing onto the backing of his jeans for leverage.

"Why'd you get security to invite her over the barricade?" James asks their bassist once the other two men are further into their dressing room and out of earshot. Jason lets out a tired sigh and walks a few feet away in the opposite direction, before beckoning James to do the same.

"It's been two years since any of you have spoken to her, and she randomly shows up to one of our shows, which just so happens to be the one closest to the town you guys said goodbye to her in. It seems to me like she needs some sort of closure. And after the near year she spent taking care of all of us after I was brought in and you were all still grieving, it felt like the least that I could do. No matter the circumstances," Jason gives his friend a onceover before continuing. "Are you honestly upset with me inviting her, or are you upset that she didn't come willingly and on her own volition? Because with the way we all left her once we had album preparation and had to move because of production, I'd say the only one who has the right to be upset right now is her."

"She never asked to come with us." James says as a weak rebuttal, feeling helpless and out of his element, meanwhile his bandmate seems to understand both sides so easily.

"And you never asked her to. With all of the heavy drinking and the mourning and other substances, what young woman would want to be around that? Especially if all she can do is just stand around and watch the rest of her closest friends suffer," Jason claps his friend on the back comfortingly, before hiking his shirt over his head and groaning in disgust at the sound it makes while he removes it and tosses it into a nearby laundry bag. "She lost someone she loved and considered a brother that night too, and then a year later we all hitched a ride on our new tour bus and neither side reached out to each other, both too scared of what the other would have to say. If you're wondering what she's doing here, she's probably wondering why the hell we aren't in the room with her and the rest of the guys, trying to figure everything out."

"You're right. I'm sorry, man." James murmurs out tiredly, before taking in a deep breath and raising a hand to rub it down his face in defeat. "This all just came out of nowhere. Seeing her look so frazzled and afraid and out of her element just got to me, and I don't know what to do. I don't know how to take all of this in right now. I don't know how to make things right."

"The first thing you can do to make things right is make your way through that door and hear her side, and then you can tell her yours. We don't know why she came out here tonight, but what we all can do is listen."

✩

You lie your head back on the sofa and breathe out a shaky exhale, trying to quietly prepare yourself for the conversations that should have happened years ago. Anxious thoughts run through your mind as footsteps pitter near the doorway and then walk away multiple times, and each time you look over, it's either an arena associate or a disgruntled and irritated looking manager. You let out a discomforted sound before standing up after about an hour or two, the heels of your feet feeling like pins and needles from sitting in place and not moving around for such a long time.

You wring your hands together behind your back and stretch out your tense shoulder blades, taking a break from walking in circles in the too-bright room as a familiar looking piece of string dangles from an overly large duffle bag not too far away from you. Your curiosity gets the best of you, and you meekly make your way over to the items before squatting down, making sure not to touch the bag or anything attached to it more than necessary.

Your eyes widen as the bright and unique colors of the friendship fabric bracelets you and James had originally bought for each other years ago come into view as you level your height down to peek at them, your eyebrows furrowing as you realize that he has yours wrapped around his in a double knot. The same fabric bracelet you were told you lost days before they left and moved out of town, over two years ago. Your wrap your left thumb and index finger around it and smile to yourself at the feeling of the soft texture, before nearly jumping in place as a voice carefully speaks up from behind you.

"That's James' bag, has been for the past few years. Refuses to let anyone touch it, because he doesn't want anyone to try and remove the bracelets from each other." Kirk says softly, as if he's afraid that raising his voice might scare you off. Lars watches you intently by his side, his neutral facial expression only wavering when he makes eye contact with you. "He's kept them this entire time? He told me I lost mine before you guys left." Kirk winces at the end of your statement and temporarily looks away before explaining.

"He told you that so he could go back to the store you two bought yours from and see if he could add on any additional colors for the two of us, as a surprise for you. Didn't want to waste the money buying us individual one's, because we couldn't hold on to something if you threw it at us and paid us money to beforehand." You were smiling at the self-deprecation before you could even help it, and the boys share a quick grin at the first look of happiness they've seen on your face since the day before they moved back out to California.

"There aren't any new colors added on, though." You muse, standing back up to your full height and pausing as you turn and see James watching you three from the doorway, a careful look on his face. The frontman pushes himself off of the aged wood and slowly makes his way into the room, Jason soon entering behind him and sending you a soft smile as he does so. You send one back, happy to see him, regardless of the mess he could have just gotten you in.

"By the time we heard about management wanting to move us out of state for higher production and future album releases, it was too late for me to head over and figure it out. Doesn't mean I'd ever forget about something I wanted to do for you. I would never." You look down at your feet as James delicately brushes against you to get over to the nearest sofa, and you hold back a shiver as you watch his hands clench into fists afterwards, as if he was holding himself back from reaching out and holding you.

Lars purposefully clears his throat and nods in the direction of where James is sat, hiding a grin behind a raised hand as you're directed to sit next to him on the small two-seater. You look straight ahead as you make your way over to your old best friend and sit down as far away as you possibly can, the entirety of the left side of your body nearly on top of him despite your best efforts. Jason sends the Dane a knowing look, before lying halfway down on the large loveseat on the other side of the room, letting an audible cheeky laugh reverberate around the soundproof room as Lars and Kirk groan out loud in unison and slump toward the uncomfortable leftover metal chairs.

You frown and go to stand up and offer one of them your seat, before freezing as a large and hot palm slides over to rest against the middle of your thigh to hold you in place. Your throat shudders as you dryly swallow, James' thumb momentarily caressing your bare skin before freezing in place. "Don't. They've been hyperactive little shits since this morning. This can be considered their fifteen-minute timeouts."

"As if you could even last that long." One of them mutters under their breath, causing the entire room to burst out into laughter, the innuendo taking out all four of you at once. You press a hand against your mouth as you hunch over from the force of the abrupt laughter, and you feel lighter than you've felt in months, surrounded by the few people you've ever truly felt at peace with. The silence that follows after slowly causes your smile to slip, but with James' hand still on you and the tenseness in the air gone for now, you decide to be grateful for what you have at the moment and stick with it for as long as you can. You softly speak up, suddenly feeling brave enough to explain your side of the story.

"I didn't forget about you guys," you start, promise. "When I found out that the move was being talked about for over a month before I even heard about it, I was really hurt. You guys moved two days after I found out, and I couldn't even wrap my mind around the fact that I was losing even more people that I care about, because you were already gone by then." Your voice wilts as a tear makes its way down your cheek, and you welcome James' thumb as he lightly brushes it away. Jason silently makes his way over to you, kneeling and then fully sitting down by your feet and taking ahold of your hand that's closest to him.

"But I feel like I lost you guys when I lost Cliff. Afterwards, nothing was the same. I didn't expect it to be, but it seemed like no one else was trying as hard I as was to make things as best as they could be. You guys started drinking heavily and having nightmares that I couldn't take away, no matter how hard I tried to. Jason was treated like shit for months for no reason and because of that he isolated himself, and I was left to hold back your hair every night when you all got sick in rotation from drinking and taking too much than you could handle. By the time things slowly started to settle and grieving our brother didn't feel like pulling teeth, I only had a month with you guys left before the record company wanted you to up and leave. I didn't reach out to speak to any of you, because I was afraid. Afraid that I'd end up getting a call or a letter in the mail telling me that I've lost the rest of you in another wreck, or that one day the letters would stop because you'd eventually forget about me and move on. No one here did anything wrong, and I don't blame anyone for anything that has happened."

You look up and see James watching you with a tender expression on his face, his eyes blinking rapidly as if he was holding back tears. Lars has silent tear tracks running down his now flushed cheeks, and Kirk just looks heartbroken. His face is resting in a trembling hand and his eyes are bright red. Jason squeezes your hand and sends you an unstable smile, silently urging you to continue.

"But I need you all to know that I'm not upset with any of you, I'm just extremely proud. I've been keeping up with your music, and when I saw you all perform, it made me feel alive. Cliff is still with all of us and to see all of the effort and exertion you guys put into making everything as amazing as it was tonight, I know he'd be so damn proud. I came here tonight to see my old best friends kick ass, and to make sure that you lot are as happy as you seem to be. And I can leave here tonight knowing that it's true."

All three of them seem to freeze in place as your last words resound around the room, and James begins to tense up beside you. "You're leaving again? After we make amends and we're good, you're going to just leave?" James asks you, his voice heavy with hurt, and you watch with wide eyes as he hastily removes his hand from you and stands up from the sofa.

"James," you start, before promptly shutting your mouth and making yourself small in the cushions as he glares over at you from where he's stood.

"That was your plan all along, right? Come here, get rid of your guilty conscience, make amends and act like everything is fine, and then leave us here to miss you again. That's fucked. This is all so fucked."

"That isn't true, James and you know it." Lars speaks up, his own voice sounding extremely exhausted and dilapidated. Kirk nods beside him, sitting up straight and trying to refocus as the mood in the room begins to darken again. Jason rests an arm against your kneecap and send his bandmate a sharp and warning look, before letting out a sound of frustration as James storms his way out of the room and down the never-ending hallway. Lars repositions himself in his chair and goes to push himself up, but you gently remove Jason's arm from you and stand up instead, the urge to make sure James is alright too strong for you to ignore.

"It's alright. I'll do it, I'll go check on him. I came here and started this clusterfuck, I might as well clean it up myself." You quickly wave off their worries of you heading off on your own, and you reassure them by writing down their dressing room's number in case you get lost. The second you leave their company and the room, your shoulders immediately lower and tears cling to your eyelashes. You take in a deep breath and stabilize yourself whenever someone sends you a worrisome glance, refusing to allow yourself to break down until you know that he's okay and he's in front of you. You're halfway down the hall and almost close to panicking before a red stairs sign beams its way down to you almost knowingly, and you swiftly press down on the latch and launch yourself up the nearest flight of stairs. The sound of the heels of your boots harshly meeting and smacking against the tile beneath you remind you of the sound of you and James when you'd dance in your old, shared home, and you force yourself to go even faster.

You gasp for air as you clutch onto the railing on top of the highest flight of stairs, before letting out a relieved huff as you find a familiar looking boot left behind to hold the roof's door open. You push the hair away from your now sweat-clad face, and carefully shove the door open wider, making sure that it doesn't fully close behind you and lock you two out.

James lets out a sarcastic sound as he halfheartedly acknowledges you walking over, and you frown at the condescending sound. "I thought you'd be gone already. Have anything else to get off your chest before you make your two-hour drive back home?" You recoil as if you'd been hit, before gritting your teeth and spitting out the first words that come to mind.

"Fuck you."

James freezes in shock before pushing himself off of the roof's railing, his face setting into a deadly glare as he stalks his way over to you. "What did you just say to me?"

"I said, fuck you," you calmly raise your hand before continuing, it quickly becoming a fist as he tries to talk over you. "I was trying to be kind and supportive, because I care about you, I care about all of you. But you know what, you can go and fuck yourself. You weren't the only one who was left behind. I had no one in town and I was left in a four bedroom house, stuck paying the rent by myself while you went on to tour the states we spoke about going to together. I cried, for weeks, terrified that one of you would get hurt out on the road, I couldn't go into your guys' bedrooms until your scents were completely gone, and I had to leave the house behind because I couldn't afford it on my own. So, before you continue to belittle me and talk to me like I'm little to nothing, let me remind you that you had three of my closest friends with you the entire time you felt lonely, meanwhile I was actually the one that had no one and was basically abandoned by everyone I thought I could call my family. You want to feel sorry for yourself and be mad at me because I said I was going to leave once we make amends, then fine, go for it. But don't forget to show me some respect, when all I ever did was be there for you. I never expected anything in return, except for a solid goodbye. And you couldn't even give me that."

You go to storm off, before turning around to face him once again. "And just to let you know, I made myself another friendship bracelet," you kick off a boot and raise your ankle until it's near his eye level. "I added red, because I missed you and it's always been your favorite color." You shake your head in disbelief as he just stands there in shock, his mouth left wide open and his hands grasping at the limited space between you.

"And to think I've been stuck chasing stupid, in love with you this entire time."

✩

The tears you held in for more than long enough finally make their way down your cheeks and eventually down to your neck as you race your way back down to the floor level, to say goodbye to the other guys and make your way back home. You begin to skip steps, ignoring the twinges of pain with every moderate jump you take to speed up as James chases after you, your name sounding pained and guttural every single time he screams it out.

Your chest throbs in pain and your lungs forcibly constrict themselves for air once you finally get to the last flight, refusing to slow for a breather when you know James is only a few steps behind.

You let out a yelp as the first floor door is yanked open from behind you as you hurry your way down the now deserted hallway of the arena, your eyes widening as rough and calloused hands lift you off of the ground from behind and toss you over a wide and broad shoulder.

"Let me down! What the hell is wrong with you?" You yell, gasping out as a large palm smacks against your backside and holds you down in place, the pressure of his hand pushing your pelvic region into his collarbone.

"You know what, you absolute fucking brat? I made a bracelet for you every month for the first year I was away from you, and the guys teased the hell out of me for it. I sleep on the left side of the bed, because I know you prefer the right, and for some dumbass reason I keep it open just in case you decide to come looking for me. I know I left you behind, but I didn't have a god damn choice in the matter. The boys were relying on me to keep my shit together because you weren't able to be there and help me anymore, and every time we toured in the states we spoke about going to together, I was fucking miserable the entire time. I miss you more than I can say and that frustrates me, because I should be able to express my emotions at this point, but I can't because it's you!"

James yanks you off of his shoulder and places you down delicately on the ground in front of him, the difference in between the actions making your head spin, and you grasp onto his bare forearms to steady yourself. You stare up at him in shock as you watch his anger-filled expression break down into absolute anguish in front of you.

"Fuck me because you love me, fine. But fuck you, because I love you too." James brokenly whispers, before descending down and capturing your lips with his. You let out a moan at the feeling of his facial hair roughly colliding with your cupid's bow, and you arch into his touch, opening your mouth for his tongue to slide in as he walks you backwards and towards the wall and picks you up by the backs of your thighs to lean you against it.

James uncaringly yanks your skirt up and ignores your half-muted protests as his fingers press indentions into your already reddening legs. "Tell me you want this," he groans out against you, spit slick lines disconnecting and attaching to both of your chins as his mouth kisses and licks its way down your sunburnt neck. The burn of the roughness of his tongue against the heated flesh causes you to gasp out and clench your legs around his midsection, and he grins against your collarbone as he feels your pussy pulsate against his bare chest. "Never mind, no need."

An amused sounding huff echoes its way down to the two of you, and you wildly blush in mortification as you look over and see the other three guys looking at you with horrified, amused, and slightly appraising looks on their faces. "I hate to break it to you two, but I'm exhausted and currently way too sober at the moment to fully enjoy this beautiful image in front of me. So, if you two could so kindly move the hell out of the way so I can get back to my hotel room and get smacked off my tits and then sleep for twelve hours, I would greatly appreciate it."

James rolls his eyes at his dramatic best friend's words of wisdom, before carefully sliding your skirt back down and placing you back down to stand on your own. You intently stare at the ground beneath you as the rest of the bandmates teasingly congratulate the two of you for getting your shit together, before tossing waves over their shoulders as they hurry on their way out.

Jason looks back and sends you a cheeky grin, and you send him the finger as he tosses his head back, his laughter being silenced by the door slamming shut behind him. You couldn't hold back the grin the encapsulates your face as you watch them run out towards the tour bus, and James smiles himself as you let out a laugh and lean forward to rest your head against his chest.

"What's got you so happy, huh?" James asks against you, entangling his fingers with yours and guiding you back towards their assigned room backwards as he bends down to teasingly lick along the seams of your lips. You place your feet on top of his and cheekily grin against his tongue, before you playfully bite onto it.

"Just glad this guy I've been in love with for the last three years finally got his shit together, it was getting really tiring. Too much waiting around." You tease, letting out a shriek of laughter as he bites into your neck in retaliation, only temporarily letting you go to shut the dressing room's door behind the two of you.

"You know what I heard is really cool about the guy you're into?" James asks, guiding you back until the backs of your knees hit the arm of the two-seat sofa. You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck and bring him down on top of you. "What?" you ask, the breath leaving your lungs as he lifts himself up to trail wet and hot kisses down the front of your body, slowly removing each article of clothing you have on as he makes his way down. You feel a gush of arousal soak the cotton of your underwear before he tugs it down with his grinning and sharp teeth, and you raise your hips to help him out, smiling as he places a gentle kiss to the side of your calf as a silent thanks.

James grins to himself before flipping you over and positioning you onto your knees, listening intently to each sound you make as he licks his way up to your middle, stopping right before he reaches your sex.

"The man's got amazing sound techs that are great at soundproofing dressing room's," he whispers, before roughly sucking on your clit and tangling his tongue in between your sopping wet folds. "Now scream for me."

✩

Your back arches as his sweaty palm guides you upright and into the right position, his calloused fingertips pressing into your lower back as you ride him nice and fast, sweat dripping down your body and landing on his chest in raindrops.

"So fucking good for me, princess. Just give me one more." You hoarsely cry out an inaudible disagreement, causing the man underneath you to coo and slowly stop his rough thrusting into you. You slump against him in exhaustion, every single inch of your skin from the bottom of your kneecaps up to your belly button covered in purple hued love bites, and your clit so swollen and sensitive, your walls spasm around him in a death grip whenever it grazes against James' trimmed and groomed pubic hair and toned stomach.

A warm and damp hand comes up to rub against your scalp, and you sigh out in bliss and close your eyes, before snapping them open as your guided down by your hair in a firm tug to lie down flat against him.

"You've made me wait for so long, and now you aren't going to let me have and get what I've always wanted?" He asks against your earlobe, the sweet and calming tone in his voice a drastic dissimilarity to the grip tightening on your scalp. You open your mouth in a silent gasp and dig your fingernails into the sofa cushions around each side of his head, your eyes nearly crossing and tears streaming down your face as he wraps his free arm around your waist and fucks back into you with reckless abandon.

You can only hold on as best as you possibly can as you allow him to use you, a ragged and wretched cry of a moan hurdling its way out of your chest as you orgasm for the nth time tonight, your legs turning numb and the bottom of your asscheeks beginning to bruise from the power behind his thrusts and his teasing and domineering hands.

The endless tightening around him causes James to grunt out loud and fill you to the brim with him seed, and you fully relax around him once you feel his bottom half reconnect with the ruined sofa underneath him.

James places a delicate kiss to your forehead and curls you into his chest, the rough skin of his palms dancing their way up and down your spine, and you nearly fall asleep within minutes, before tiredly humming out an answer as he begins to speak.

"Hey, doll?" James murmurs against you, absolutely spent himself and hoping to all and any higher power that he remembered to lock the door while he was backing you into the room. "How do you feel about Arkansas?" You grin against his chest and lift your own hand to rest it against the erratic pounding of his heartbeat.

"Anywhere you're going, I'm going." James grins widely, and you feel the comforting scratch of his beard on your skin as his lips stretch and show proof of how incredibly happy he is, in this very moment here, with you.

"Now, that's what I like to hear."

"Oh, fuck you."

[captainlondonman]

New Skin Boss

Jed was glad it was Friday. His Boss allowed Friday to be the day when staff could wear what they wanted. During the week Jed had to tone down his gear, just jeans, thick soled shoes and a sweatshirt and anyway he had to wear a warehouse coat over. However on a Friday he did not give a shit what the other two lads in the warehouse thought and he always put on his Skin gear. Christ if you are a skin you have to show that you are, so out came the bleached jeans, the Fred Perry T shirt, the yellow braces and the yellow laced 20 hole Ranger boots. Like all good skins he wore no underwear and you could see the outline of his cock down one leg made more obvious by the piss stains from not shaking his knob when finishing his piss. The other guys wore their jeans and some boring top always looking at him as if he was an alien.

‘Well fuck them’, Jed thought

The Boss , Brian, was young, early 30s and seemed fixated with golf spending most of his free time on the golf course with his boring suburban friends. Jed had to admit he was good looking but God knows if he was straight or not. Had to be Jed thought with all this bloody golf. He was 6ft. good build, gelled hair with perfect parting and one thing Jed always noted was that there was a nice bulge hidden in his chinos. The guy obviously wore boxer shorts so his cock could swing around a bit. This Friday as they were packing up to go, Brian looked at Jed and said.

‘You always wear your Skinhead gear on a Friday, Jed. I just can’t see why and always so tight on you.’

‘Once a Skin always a skin, Brian. You wouldn’t know.’

‘Too right there, Jed, however I do admire you for looking like that. It may not be for me but it actually does suit you.’

 That night Jed met up with his pals at the local Skin club. Great always to be with fellow skins in their gear. Some wore rubber versions of skin stuff and a few of the bigger blokes would bring their slaves in with a thick collar and chain and make them kneel begging for a beer. This was his home and often he would hook up with another Skin for a night of raw sex but it was usually a one night stand. Christ he had probably had half the guys there. He was talking to Otto who was considered the leader of the Skins who frequented the club. Everyone called him Otto because he loved to go off for weekends to the Berlin Skin scene and besides you would not mess with him, he was at least 6’2” and built like a brick shit house, both arms heavily tattooed and a spiders web tat covering his head. Jed was telling the group abut Brian and his comments.

‘Mate it sounds as if you fancy yer boss. I fucking hope not as us Skins stick together.’

‘Shit, Otto, no way am I having sex with anyone other than a Skin.’

‘So what Jed if this boss was a skin, what would you do?’

‘Well IF he was, I fucking love to be his fuck bitch judging from that cock outline I see in his chinos. But that’s not gonna happen ain’t it.’

‘Stranger things have happened. If you are up for it me and two of me mates could help out a bit. Always want to make us Skin boys happy.’

‘You’re bloody joking’

‘Am I? What say we have a go next weekend but I will need all the weekend and you stay out of things till I call you. You will just need to let us in before you leave  and then you bugger off till I call.’

‘Not sure I can believe all this but hey man you are such a boss I’m willing to give it a go.’

‘Great, I like the sound of this commission. Will make for a good weekend.’

 The following week at 5pm the other guys had gone off and Jed did as he was told by putting something Otto had given him into a cup of tea for Brian.

‘Thought you might like a cuppa before I go off, Brian’

T’hat’s nice of you Jed. No doubt you are off for one of your boys night.’

‘You can say Skin instead of boys Brian.’

‘Maybe but that’s not my thing but if you insist yeah, Skin nights. Hope you enjoy. I’ll be another half hour and then I will lock up.’

‘Have a great weekend. I’m sure its gonna be special’

‘Who knows Jed?’

Jed whispered to himself ‘I know’

 He then opened the door to let Otto in and his two sidekicks.

‘You put the liquid in the tea did you, Jed’

‘Of course just as you asked’

‘Christ what have you there? It looks like a bloody huge suitcase.’

‘A bit like that but don’t you worry. Bri’s not gonna know what has hit him but the result will be exactly as you are wanting.’

‘I’m not sure now,�� Jed replied

‘Look fuck off mate and leave this to the professionals. Go.’ And with that Otto pushed him out the door and quietly shut it behind him.

‘Right lads lets give Bri 20minutes. That should be enough.’

They then opened the office door and saw Brian slumped over his desk.

‘Look like it’s worked boys so lets get to action, open up the case. First, hand me the shaving cream and razor as well as the chains and ropes but before we do anything lets get this guys clothes off.’

All three skins quickly removed Brian’s clothes

‘Well’ Otto said, ‘Jed is right, the guys got a good sized cock, I reckon a good 8inches when stiff but well find that out soon enough. A real waste in a pair of chinos. Dom, put these clothes in a bin bag and shove in the bin outside.’

Otto tied Brian to the chair with the ropes and taking out a good thick leather collar buckled that around his neck and then chained it to the back of the chair so his head was fully upright and unable to move.

Otto then took his electric razor and started on Brian’s gelled hair, great pieces falling to the floor. Once most of it was off he sprayed on the shaving foam, mixing it in with a couple of thick heavy globs of spit for good measure. Taking the razor he worked his way around the scalp once and then another go to make sure the head was smooth and properly scalped.

‘Shit that looks better for a start.  He has a good Skin shape of head. Fucking hate blokes with all that gel thinking they look bloody great. Better shut him up before he comes round but first let’s close the blinds and set up the video system for him.’

Brian started to come to and as he started to open his mouth, he felt  a round rubber ball being forced into his mouth almost making him gag and then it was strapped round the back of his head. He could not move his hands were firmly tied behind the chair and his head was immobile. He was vaguely conscious of a thick leather strap around his neck keeping his head firmly in position.

As his eyes still had a fuzz, he could make out in the dark room three men standing in front of him. They all looked dressed the same and he could make out high boots and shaved heads but little else.

One was bigger than the other two and came forwards so his face was up against. The guy looked fearsome and he could make out the guy was a Skinhead as he was dressed similarly to the clothes Jed wore on a Friday. The guy was bulky with thick legs encased in his bleachers and on his head a large tattoo of a spider’s web. On one cheek was another tattoo of a swastika.

‘So Bri, I’ve just put a ball gag in yer mouth to shut you up for now. You might see you’re naked but don’t worry that will get sorted out. Us lads are going to leave you for a while but before going we have a little piece of equipment we think will help you.

Otto opened up the ball stretchers and fitted them around Brian’s hefty pair of balls. As he clicked them in Brian let out a howl of pain as he felt his balls firmly locked and being stretched. You’ve a good pair there, boi, but we want them to give you a lower voice like us and besides you soon grow to love them and never want them off.’

By now Dom had set up the machine with a screen directly in front of Brian so he could not miss what was to be shown.

‘Ready Bri?’

All Brian could do in his anguish was mumble

Otto started the machine. The first video showed a group of skins hanging around some with knuckle dusters and others with bats, a group of chavs started to walk by the with Skins shouting at them. Every word was Fuck this, fuck that, Oi oi. Then the Skins waded in hitting the chavs with the bats punching the lads with their knuckle dusters, showing their power and making the chavs submit and run off. More videos started up all with real aggro Skins, looking for trouble, and always with the volume set loud, Fuck Fuck, Oi Oi. These words kept thumping in Brian’s eardrums

‘Right Bri, good stuff for you to watch. Well leave you now.’

While Brian sat tied up rigid unable not to watch the violence, the aggro, the sheer force and manliness of the Skins, Otto and his mates went next door for a couple of hours for a few beers.

When they returned Brian was wriggling in his seat, trying to force himself free, a look of sheer anger on his face, his eyes bulging with fury. His arms straining to be free.

‘Now what’s going on here Bri. Lets get that ball gag out.’

As Otto forced Brian’s mouth open and took out the gag Brian let rip

‘Fuck, fuck fuck, Fucking Skins. Oi oi ‘which he kept repeating his voice now deeper and his accent different, a working class sound erupting form his body. ‘Fucking skins,’

‘That’s more like it Bri. What I was hoping to hear.’

‘So for now we will leave the gag off but change the videos.’

Ok Dom put the other ones on for our mate here

The machine started up again and the new images flashed on to the screen. Again groups of Skins but this time no fighting, no fists. Instead the Skins were licking their Mates rangers, all in either bleachers or camos, tight, showing off their package, their hands rubbing against their crotchs. Other images showed some young Skins being forced down on their knees and their heads rammed against the older Skins bulges, unzipping and taking out their erect cocks. Being told to get on with their blow job . the older guys grabbing the head of the younger ones and forcing them to take the full shaft down the back of their throat. In other images other guys unzipped their bleachers and took out their cocks slowing wanking for the camera, eyeing each other and some helping their mate out, hands firmly grasped around the dicks, then coming with reams of thick white spunk at the camera. Other shots showed Skins with a rear zip having it undone and the top Skin shoving two or three fingers up their butt, , or getting down to give them a face fuck letting their tongues explore their mate’s arse. Then pictures and a full fuck as the main guy grabbed the other’s waist and pulled him onto his rigid cock, all the time shouting Fuck.  Another video showed a fist fuck with bottom getting down on his knees and sticking his arse up so his mate could slowly start with a. couple of fingers moving then around to open up the guys arse and adding a third and fourth finger as the bottom squirmed begging for the full fist. Then the hand started to disappear in the guys cheeks and finally the arm moved in and up to the hilt. His own cock was out and wanking as he fist fucked his mate, both shouting with Fuck me mate, take my fist you fucking Skin boi.

As these pictures appeared so Otto and his mates decided to leave.

‘Bri needs a good few hours seeing all this, and you two can come with me otherwise you’ll be wanking each other raw. Later OK’

Brian was left alone to force watch the videos

As the guys were downing their beers and smoking their fags they eventually heard a voice next door shouting

‘Fuck the shit out of the bastard.’

‘Go on fucking wank yerself’

‘Get that fucking cock down yer throat’

The words went on and on in  Brian’s new voice

Otto opened a beer and added something to it saying

Time to move on to the next phase boys

They went in and looking at Brian staring at the screen, still shouting

‘Fucking hell, Otto’ Dom said. ‘He’s luving all this, look at that fucking dick of his.’

Brian was sitting shouting at the screen urging on the blow jobs, the wanking and the fucking and his cock was stiff showing a full 8’ of thick manhood with a decent head. It was as if Brian wanted to break free and grab his cock for a wank

‘Good boi.’ Otto smirked. ‘Glad you luvin this what we Skins do to each other. No one has sex like a Skin. So take a beer and calm down’

Brian slurped down the beer and had not even drained the bottle when he conked out.

‘Right lads get the kit out, time for a bit of art work. Otto took out the tattoo kit with all the needles and colours

‘Time this guy looked more like us eh?’

Dom said ‘what you going to do mate’

‘Well we have to make a start and he can always add himself later as he will do. So I’ve worked out a few ideas. There are a couple of obvious ones.’

Taking hold of Brian’s hand he started to etch out Skin on his left hand on each finger, all in black letters a good inch high.

‘Well he can’t hide that now and lets give him another for every bloke to see. Taking the black needle again he etched out a spiders web on Brian’s neck, not as big as his own on his head but one about 4inclhes in diameter and one that no shirt would hide.

‘Looking good. Lets do one more.’

He made a pair of Ranger boots on his right arm with yellow laces.

‘I like a bloke with yellow laces.’ Otto said. ‘Always the sexiest. Right lets clear this up and give him a quick rub with some disinfectant. The bruising will soon go and he can admire himself.’

‘Ok Chas now get the next bit of gear for our friend.’

Chas took out a full rubber hood with no eyelets and just a plastic tube coming out from the mouth. Otto took the hood and put it over Brian’s head zipping down the back to make sure it was a very tight fit. He then fitted a funnel to the end of the tube.

‘Perfect. Christ I’ve been dying for a piss after those beers and cant save it much longer so Bri here is in for a fucking long drink. So lets wake the boy up .’

With that Otto took his hand and gave Brian a resounding slap across the rubber bound mask. ‘Fucking love hitting a bloke in rubber. Take that you fucking shit heap, and take that again,’ whacking Brian 3 times to make sure he was awake.

As Brian came round Otto opened his bleachers fly and pulled out his large thick tool.

‘Shit man,’ Dom said ‘I always luv seeing that big dick of your. Never fails to get me going’ as he started to rub his crotch.

‘Later man but for now lets give Bri here a good drink’

Otto put his dick over the funnel and start to let a stream of hot piss down it. Brin suddenly felt this wave of acrid piss spilling into his mouth but was totally unable to stop swallowing it. At first he hated the taste and tried to block it out as it poured down his throat but something clicked in his mind. It didn’t taste that bad, in fact he loved the taste and the more Otto poured down the more enthusiastically Brian swallowed.

‘You now fucking luv that boi, don’t you. Take my piss, after all those beers there’s plenty for you, as wave after wave poured down.’

Both the guys watching started rubbing each others crotches,  thick outlines in their bleachers showing.

‘Ye see Bri, yer getting me mates all worked up and you can expect some luvly creamy spunk coming yer way from them. So guys hold yerself for now. The guys still rubbed each other precum stains showing through. Brian drank every drop of Otto’s piss.

Otto removed the funnel and then the rubber mask showing `Brian’s skin head glistening with sweat.

‘That was fucking great.’ Brian said. ‘Make sure you get a few more beers and let me have it again.’

‘See boys, the change is working. Well done Bri youre on the right road. Now me, Dom and Chas are gonna stand in front you. I’m gonna remove your neck chains but not the collar, it suits you, and take off the ropes. Us skins like our Rangers nice and clean and with all that piss of mine in yer mouth you are gonna lick every one so now get down on yer knees. ‘

Otto grabbed Brian by his leather collar and forced him down on his knees

‘You got 6 rangers there boi that need a good lickin so get on with it.’

Otto kept his hand on the chain that was attached to the collar and pushed him to start with Chas’s. Brian knew what he had to do and do it right

Chas shouted ‘Get fuckin right down Boi and let me see that tongue shine up me boots.’ Brian let his pissed stained tongue lick deeply on the toe caps using his spit to shin up the spit oozing out his mouth

‘That’s it boi get all the way round.’ Brian was grovelling on the floor licking round the toe caps and the backs of the Rangers his chin buffing up and his hands firmly around the boots. He looked up at Chas to make sure he was doing a good job and saw that he was stroking his crotch and Brian could see the outline of a good sized dick stretching down the inside of his bleachers

‘You lick well boi, gets me going. Me cock now nice a hard., as he unzipped his fly and let his hand go deep inside his bleachers to pull out a long cock.

‘Now fucking lick mine’ Dom shouted. He already had his dick out and was stroking it dropping some spit on to his shaft.

‘Fucking lick and use your tongue and spit boi,’ Otto shouted putting one of his boots firmly on Brian’s head and forcing it down onto the boot. ‘When we say lick you fucking lick got it.’

Chas and Dom now had their hands on each other’s cock giving one another a good wank.

Otto said,’ I’m saving you for later Bri but come on lads let’s see you both spunk over Bri’s face you can see he’s gagging for it

Shit I’ve a load of good spunk ready for him’ Chas shouted

‘Me too’ Dom said ‘I love your hand rubbing me cock, Chas, keep it going. As for you Bri sit up and lets see your face. That’s it, stare at our pricks and get ready for our cum.’

Dom was now using his hand up and down the full length of Chas’s cock and Chas was working Dom’s head knowing he loved his head rubbed with spit.

Otto watched rubbing his own crotch, smirking at his lads getting off on each other.

‘We’re gonna cum together boi so be ready to swallow and what you don’t I’m gonna rub all over yer face’

Dom and Chas had worked one another up to shoot their load.

‘I’m ready now Chas’

‘Me too Dom, yer fucking great at wanking me off, Christ im coming’

‘Take aim’

Both guys let out a stream of cum onto Brian’s face, Brian trying to swallow as much as he could loving their spunk and started using his hands to wipe it into his mouth whilst Dom and Chas rubbed what was left all over Brian’s face

Christ that fels better Ive been dying to shoot ever since we started his on the guy.

Otto said don’t worry I think youll both be at it again soon.

Otto took a wet cloth and wiped Brian’s face removing all excess of spunk.

‘I think its time to get some clothes on you boi, it the only clothes you’ll be wearing from now on, you never want to wear anything else. Once a Skin always a Skin. I’ve your new uniform.

Otto opened the suitcase and brought out the clothes for Brian. A Fred Perry black T shirt with yellow piping, a pair of camos with yellow braces, yellow long socks and 20hole ranger boots.

‘Ok Chas help the guy on with his gear. He needs to know how to do the laces of his boots.’ As Brian put on his clothes he started to feel even more different and wondered what clothing he had ever worn before this weekend. He seemed to know this was right for him and he felt it suited his body, showing off his chest and firm arse. The putting on of the boots was like a sexual surge, feeling them tight around his legs, knowing he could kick the shit out of someone wearing them with their steel caps. The pressure around his legs gave a pressure to his cock as it grew in length down his leg.

,Right Bri time to see the new you. This is what it’s all been about and hope you like what you see.’

Dom brought a mirror in and Otto pushed Brian in front

‘Well boi you look fucking horny,’ Otto said rubbing his dick

Brian was amazed. He now looked just like the others there and his spider Tat looking like a real Skin, but then he is a real Skin. He clenched his fists and could see the Skin tat on his knuckles. By clenching his fists he looked ready for a fight, tough, real aggro and so fucking manly, such a fucking turn on. His cock was rigid.

‘Right Bri time to finish off the transformation and I get the pleasure. Get over here.’

As Brian moved over towards him Otto unzipped his flies and put his hand deep down inside to pull out his thick veined 9inc rampant cock. This ain’t been washed in days boi so all the better for fucking you now bend down over your desk.’

Brian saw Ottos cock and for a moment winced at the thought but seeing this rough man standing in his Skin gear with his massive cock out at the ready, Brian knew he wanted to be fucked by this monster.

Brian did as he was told and Otto unzipped the rear of his camos.

‘I make sure all my bois have a rear zip as I love to fuck them in full gear. Dom you can call Jed now and get him down to see his Boss.. That’s some arse you got there,  Bri, just as I like good firm cheeks and a deep cleft at your hole.’

Otto spat two large globs of spit onto his rancid prick.

‘Makes it a bit easier for you first time.’

As he put his arms around Brian’s waist he moved his cock into the crack.

Dom and Chas were both watching rubbing their cocks knowing how well Otto fucked.

‘Well Dom no point in the two of you just watching and feeling horny so Chas get over to the desk next to Bri and let Dom fuck you at the same time. I know you love his cock.’

‘I fucking do’ Chas said as he leant over next to Brian and  unzipped his rear fly  Cum on Dom give it to me.’

‘Watching Otto fuck the hell out of Bri will make you even more horny.’

Otto took his hands and spread open Brian’s cheeks to let his cock find the hole.

Nice little hairy arse you got there boi and I can see a good slit you have for my big dick.’ With his hands keeping the arse wide open he let his head meet Brains hole and spat another glob to push the head in.

‘Fucking hell Otto what a cock you have, you’ll bloody well split me.’

‘Don’t worry boy once I get the head past, my shaft will glide up your arse right to the hilt. Just look at Chas and how he takes Dom’s cock.’

Chas was starting to move his body back to allow Dom into his arse. Dom had taken Chas by the shoulders and was pushing him against his balls.

‘I want to feel that arse of yours right up tight against my balls. Make em swing Chas.’

Chas rammed his body back as much as he could until he felt Dom’s pubes rubbing against him.

Meanwhile Otto had started pushing in the full length of his cock. That’s it boi take the full load as I’m gonna blast you.’

‘Shit this is fucking great, I’ll never want anything but dick again.’

By now both Dom and Otto were fully up as Chas turned next to Bri and taking hold of his head kissed him plunging his tongue down Brian throat.

‘That’s it bois enjoy one another while we enjoy you.’

‘Come on Dom lets give our lads everything we got and cum together’

The two men fucking started pummeling, grasping their prey and pushing their dicks in an out with increasing force and rapidity. Brian and Chas were giving each other deep throat groaning as they could feel the dicks up their arses ready to explode in side them

‘Christ Bri this is your moment there’s no going back now once I cum inside you. Dom  get your jism ready as I’m about to cum’

‘Me too mate’

And with that both Skins erupted their spunk deep inside Chas and Brian.

 The door opened and Jed stood there transfixed at the scene.

‘Fucking hell it’s a bloody orgy. What have you been doing.’

Otto slipped his cock out of Brian’s arse giving his cheeks a hard slap.

‘Well done Bri, you know how to use that bum of yours. Now see who’s here. It’s your mate Jed who asked us for help to change you.

Otto zipped up Brian’s rear and let him stand up to face Jed

‘Christ you looking fucking amazing’ Jed said staring at his boss. ‘I could never have imagined. I don’t know what to say Otto.’

‘I think you are about to find out.’

Brian walked over to Jed and before Jed knew what had happened Brian had him in a stranglehold making Jed unable to move.

‘So it was you, you fucking little shit who caused all this. You’re the one you has put me through all this, you fucking little wanker. I should have known. It’s you who have made me a skin’, he sneered into Jed’s face  spitting at him and using his spare arm to rub it in. ‘Fucking great life you’ve given me You made me a Skin just like you and Otto here. You’ve changed my life for ever.’

Jed did not know what to say ‘I didn’t know it was going to end this way Brian,’

‘Well it fucking has and let me tell you, its bloody brill. What a fucking great life you’ve given me. Who wants to be anything but a skin but I’ll tell you now having just been fucked good and hard by Otto, my cock needs to get rid of plenty of spunk and its your arse that’s gonna take it all.’

Brian threw Jed at the table and as he undid Jed’s jeans he could feel Jed with a full erect cock.

‘So you like seeing me like this do you. Well all these times I’ve seen you checking out my package you’re now gonna get it as I am so horny after Otto.’

Brian undid his zip by now his camos showing a large stain of precum.

‘Christ I’m ready for you and that arse Jed.’

With one arm firmly on Jed’s back he took hold of his cock and pressed against Jed’s crack which was already moist and waiting. He knew he was going to be fucked and he so wanted Brian inside him.

Brian decided this was no slow fuck he wanted Jed to feel every inch as he rammed the 8 inch prick all the way up so Jed could feel he could go no further. His movements were rapid but Jed wanted it all and was pushing his arse back and forwards to help the sensation and while being fucked he had his hand over his own shaft wanking for all he was worth.

‘Christ Brian fuck me, let me have all your cream as I’m about to spunk all over your desk. Go on faster and faster I want you. Christ I’m ready to explode’

‘You little horny skin you Christ I m ready to give you all my spunk’

‘Me to, shoot mate’

And with that both men groaned deeply and came at the same time a great spray of cum shooting across the desk from Jed and Brian at last cumming as he had so wanted to do during the weekend. He was a Skin and he loved fucking.

‘So guys, looks as if I’ve had another success. I can pack up.’ Otto said

Brian replied, ‘thanks Otto. Jed you’re coming home with me tonight I’ve not finished with you yet. I think you and I have something together and a good night of fucking will see what happens. I may have another job for you Otto.

 On Monday morning Brian and Jed were waiting in full Skin gear for their warehouse staff to arrive. The two guys walked in and saw Brian, no longer in his chinos and light blue shirt, but looking a full skinhead in his bleachers, Rangers and Fred Perry, totally shaved and the spider tattoo showing. He had an arm around Jed and as the blokes took in the scene so he tongued Jed.

‘Well lads as you can see there have been a few changes. You see me as I want to be and I’ve promoted Jed to be my personal assistant. I’ve decided to take the company in a new direction and in order to make the changes I’ve brought in some help, so meet Otto, Dom and Chas.’

The 3 Skins came in and stood behind the employees.

‘You won’t be going home for a couple of days as Otto  will be working on you. We are all going to be one fucking great Skin team.’

[endereies]

FUCK IT - MATT STURNIOLO - PART 10

Spotify Playlist:

Pairing: Matt x Oc

Contains: Growing up with parents who make her feel isolated, what happens when she meets Matt. A person who introduces her to new people, new experiences and new feelings.

Requested?: no

Author's notes: Finally!! another fucking update for this fic, i know its been too long. I'm finally hooked on these characters again and i hope this somewhat makes up for it.

Word Count: 4188

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

“Is this something we are meant to do?”

“Fuck it.”

“What exactly did you buy, Matt?” I leant against the passenger door with my back facing the car, adjusting my clothing repeatedly since I had nothing else to do.

“God, you can be so impatient sometimes” He was being vague on purpose, and nothing gave away what he had planned, I just messed around with the hem of my skirt until he was ready to leave.

“I’m not the one being secretive here” I huffed, growing more impatient the more he was leading this conversation on. With the sound of the trunk shutting, I quickly swivelled my hips to try and spy anything to answer my questions. However, he shoved everything into his bags, holding them by his hips.

“I’m not the one being whiny, look I promise you will like it.” He almost snaps at me with a harsher tone than before, so I drop it to avoid making the situation worse.

I walk in front of Matt, leading him through all the bushes and pathways. I knew the path like the back of my hand and yet once again we had gone in the dark to it took longer than necessary. I had never planned to go here either and so I got struck with brambles that also stuck through my clothing. My shoes were scrapped, and my zip-up jacket had been dragged back by branches and leaves and I was growing agitated.

“Are you alright, Ally?” While I know he is being sincere in his questioning, I merely respond with a deep sigh before finally responding.

“All of this shit is overgrown and it's getting on my nerves.” I feel the level of stress rise whenever I had to throw another branch to the side, but I get distracted by the nickname that he reused. That wasn’t going to go away anytime soon.

“Here, let me help you” I turn around to see the distance between Matt and I shortening before he walked past me, he holds the next few branches to the side with one arm and insinuating for me to go forward with the other.

He continues this for the rest of the journey up towards the houses behind the Grove, holding back branches and leave to clear a path for me. This was definitely something that Matt had planned to do in his head, wearing heavy duty boots that weren’t impacted when standing down on the thorns. A thick pair of jeans covered his legs followed by a jacket I had seen him wear multiple times during school practice in the mornings.

The closer that we got to the houses, the less amount of foliage that I had to pass through. Matt remained walking ahead of me and I took any chance I got to stare at his backpack trying to find any hint or recognisable shape that I could pinpoint.

“Which house are we going to” we had only explored a few of the houses since the last times I was here and there were still about six of them that we hadn’t looked at once.

“The first one we went into when you brought me here” He smiled at me, holding a strap with a free arm getting more excited about his plans the closer we got to each house.

He follows me to the second house on the street, instantly recognising the poorly painted walls and abandoned tools on the tables.

“You want to see what I brought now?” The backpack is gently placed on the floor, lowered by its straps and Matt looks up to me and I immediately get a bigger smile on my face.

“Ugh finally!” My body stands directly next to his with my eyes not moving from his hands that gently open up the top of the backpack and unzipping the first section.

He pulls out several pots of paint, varying in colours but still remaining consistent to each other. Several blues, browns, pinks and white paint cans spread over the wooden floorboards. After barely processing the colours, Matt pulls out more equipment that I hadn’t used in the house before like a sander and mini saws.

“What the fuck, where did you get all of this!” I grab the saws out of his hands quickly and analyse them one by one before placing them atop the table next to me.

“When you pointed out details when you first brought me here, you kept naming things that remained unfinished or the plans you never got to put in place. So...I thought I could do something about it..” He trails off as he notices me staring up towards him, not realising that my cheeks are turning redder with each small detail he remembered.

“You really did all that?” My smile widens on my face.

“You’ve talked about this place and anytime we go you always bring up a plan that never happened. I needed to change that quickly.” His arm grips the back of his neck and rubs the skin gently.

“How much did this all cost Matt..” I peek at all the tins of paint with a multitude of colours being represented with small labels across the front.

“Doesn’t matter” His voice was blunt as he picked up one of the pink shades displayed in front of us.                                                                       

“The fuck do you mean it doesn’t matter, this amount of paint has got to be expensive.”

“Doesn’t matter. Your smile matters to me more than a bit of money.” Those words just spilled casually from his lips and my body seized slightly and dropped the initial attitude. I felt my stomach twist in an unfamiliar way, and I just slowly shut my mouth.

“Now are you going to be quiet and grab a paintbrush or keep complaining.” I am left a little stunned as he brushes past with me with a grin over his face. I manage to reconnect with my thoughts and quickly grab a small paintbrush sprawled at my feet. I walk over to Matt where he had start to pour the thick liquid into a spare tray that had obviously been used before and dips his own brush into it. I watch as the lightly pigmented mixture drips down the sides of the tin after he scraps it.

I saw a small smile linger across his face as I approached him, now standing by his side. It wasn’t like being in this house was anything new to either of you but it was the way he was remembering each detail of me that stained my thoughts.

I had seen him be observant before, especially with people he cared about. It was one of the very first things that ever stood out to me about him.

When I had mentioned that I only wear silver jewellery, he made sure to get me a matching bracelet and necklace that was silver.

I mentioned how I like to get a coffee on a Friday after the long weeks and he started showing up with me exact order each Friday before I ever had a chance to object. And if the cafe didn't have the ingredients? He made sure he went somewhere else for it.

But this time it felt slightly different knowing that he was involved in what was a huge part of my life, the buildings finally reminding me of something that wasn't a lost friendship.

-

It had been about an hour of painting between us two and I got most of a room covered in it's first coat of paint. The sunlight etched onto the walls which only enhanced the pink pigments.

I took a small moment to stand back and appreciate the wet coats of paint that had been freshly layered onto the walls.

Matt was finishing up a section of the wall next to me as just as I zone out fully, I get dragged back out again when Matt calls out my name.

"Alyia?" His head is titled, and his body is leant towards mine, subconsciously closing the distance between us.

"Hm? What's up?"

"Can I have some more paint from the tin..I've nearly run out." His voice naturally trails off as his focus turns to the areas he still needs to cover.

I fumbled around a little as I scanned the floors for the tins of pink paint.

I walked quickly through each area of the room, my footsteps echoing on the hardwood floors. I looked on every available space, trying to spot the bright, recognizable colour.

The small paint tin is sat right by the stairs and with a pull of the handle, I lift it up to carry over to Matt. The thin wooden stick pokes out the top of the lid and once I pour the extra liquid in it stirs in the pigments.

Matt's gaze burns into the back of my head, watching the small stirring movements. When I stand up and lift the stick from the floor, the wood smacks on Matt's arm, leaving a trace of baby pink across his skin.

"Oh God, sorry Matt. Fuck I didn't mean to". Panic sets in my chest while I try to fix my mistake.

I grab the tissue box and grip a few at once before turning to Matt once more.

"Hey..Alyia, you're stressing too much. It's just some paint." Suddenly I feel his hand grip my wrist, lowering it ever so slightly.

"A-are you sure?" I was only met with a meek nod and a sincere smile, which did soothe me a little.

"S'ppose so...as long as I can do this" It wasn't long before his own brush swiped the tip of my nose. My nose now felt wet, like a dog's nose. Surprisingly, I didn't hate it.

"Matt! What!" A grimace spread under the paint while I brought out my phone to assess the damage.

It was only a cute little dot, yet enough to stand out against my skin tone. I was brought out of my focus by giggles that Matt desperately failed to hide. He turned his body away from me, but it was obvious he was laughing at me.

“You can be insufferable, yknow..” I grabbed the box of tissues I was going to use on Matt and wiped my own face instead. It felt cold to touch, that feeling spread to the tissue.

As I wiped my face, I failed to realise he had turned back around to face me. The tissue fell to a nearby stack of rubbish, and I sighed as I missed the empty pot I was aiming for.

I grimaced at Matt once I caught his attention again. Which didn’t seem too hard.

“Really. You managed to miss a spot, kid.” He swapped the brush to his left hand and before I could reach my own hand to his face, he did it for me. His touch was gentle, that wasn’t new. His thumb traced the outline of my nose, barely missing my cheeks. He laid his hand on the skin next to it. Unlike the cold paints, my cheeks heated up faster than I could stop it.

“Hey, at least it matches your cheeks now.” It did until he pointed it out. That’s when they faded darker.

“Get outta here bro. Don’t even.” He didn’t even flinch when I swatted his hand away to the side. Anywhere away from what I just experienced. Even if I didn’t quite know what that was.

“Sweetheart. You know I don’t bite right?” He had to refrain from giggling at the situation, a meaningful laugh I hadn’t heard from him in a while.

It never got any easier to hear that nickname fall ever so sweetly from his lips.

“Yeah yeah. Whatever.”

-

It had only been a few minutes since we both managed to compose ourselves, barely. Yet I kept thinking about it like it was the only thing I knew. It was definitely something that I didn’t want to end. So, I didn’t let it.

By now I had swapped the colour on the brush to a jet black to line the walls with. Why not have fun with it.

Quickly, the dark substance drew out a lengthy line on Matt’s arm, missing the previous pink line he left on. For some reason. He jolted backwards with a laugh almost grossed out by the sudden change in stimulation.

“Such a child.” His words held no fire to them, I wondered if he had wanted to. “Says the one who started it.” I use my free hand to point to my nose, patching with paints.

He attempted to swatch another layer of paint onto my skin but he failed. That resulted in drops of paint flicking onto my clothing. Traces of baby pink were now splattered atop the grey jacket that was slipped off my shoulders.

Regret immediately crossed his face. He knew my parents were designers and that I, more than likely, was covered in their articles. Expensive articles.

“Shit. I-“His voice was meek, not being able to read my face as it was tilted away from him. However, he quickly found out how I felt.

The shade of black I was still using soon mimicked the paint on my clothing. It sprayed onto the shirt he was wearing, a simple and plain tee. But the fact it was white made me chuckle.

He let out a sigh of relief once he realised, I wasn’t mad at him for ruining the fabric. Frankly, I didn’t care about any of it. I never cared for anything my mother mad, it was practically the thing that drove us away. Besides her attitude of course.

We acted like children, now running around the room and flinging the paints around. For a moment we forgot about the price of the tins we were now throwing everywhere. All that mattered was ensuring the other was covered in more pops of colour than them.

“Matt, I swear if that gets in my hair.” As quickly as I spoke, he laid eyes on his new target. My hair that was just relaxing on my shoulders now appeared like a botched dye with pink.

“Oops, missed.”

-

After deciding it was better to subside the paints for another day, we laid on the wooden floor beneath us. Making sure we had a clearing that wasn’t obstructed by loose nails or tools.

“Its late...” It wasn’t a hard observation to make, the sky grew dark and was patterned with faint stars. It was the fact you hadn’t expected to lose so much time to paint fights.

“Guess so. You need to head home?” I looked at him with a heavy expression, he got the message.

“They aren’t home…right.” He almost grimaced at the thought of forgetting, sometimes he wished they were home for me more. But that would cut into the sessions we spend together. He chose to be selfish.

“But you have Nick and Chris at home, you gotta be back before Nick yells at you again.” I recalled the last time we stayed out late without making him aware. Safe to say Matt never heard the end of that.

“It’s a bit late for that, I’ve already seen the missed calls.” He seemed so relaxed about that, if I had missed only one call from my mother, she would’ve gone ballistic.

“Cmon, let’s get you back home, yeah?” His voice coaxed me the same as a small child, gentle, sweet.

The strong places of the stairs were memorised by now which made our exit quicker. Some of the thorns previously stomped down by Matt remained pressed into the ground. When one thorn gripped my skin and scrapped it, he insisted he went in front again. As if my skin and clothing wasn’t damaged enough.

He took a small glance back when he heard me playing a small quiet tune from my phone. I simply put my playlist of shuffle, but it obviously peaked Matt’s interest.

“Turn that shit up, kid.”

“You fuck with Kid Cudi?” He gave me a nod as if it was obvious, but I shrugged it off and ‘turned that shit up’

The music continued into the car ride back, I didn’t want to insist I could walk home. I knew he’d win no matter what I did. My head bopped to the music, zoning out at the window. We were in silence the whole ride back towards my house. I wasn’t uncomfortable, however. The music filled any awkwardness, if there was any. There was only one thing that I seemed nervous about, which was getting paint on the seats of is vehicle. I knew most of it had air dried by now, I just knew that car seats were expensive to replace. I know the exact price because anytime that I drove my parents’ car, I always ‘messed something up’ and had to replace it. I didn’t want to seem as someone who wasn’t capable of anything, so I stopped driving it after that.

Familiar streets seemed to appear, and we both knew it would only be a few minutes before we arrived at my place. The radio was cranked down until it became background sound for us both. I looked at Matt who had one hand placed on the wheel while the other rested on his thigh. His fingers twitched slightly, and I noticed pretty quickly that he was mimicking the drums from the song playing.

I hadn’t realised we had pulled up until Matt spoke for the first time in a while.

“Alyia? We’re back at your house.” He tilted his head closer to mine to make sure that I heard him. I did.

“Oh yeah right. Thanks for dropping me off.” My body slid back towards the door and pushed it open. Once I grabbed all my belongings, I walked around the car to see Matt. The window separating until he pulled it down.

He looked at me expectantly. Why did I never realise how icy his eyes looked.

“Need anything sweetheart?” I swallowed harshly and pushed myself away from the door. “Nope, just..thanks again. For the supplies, paints and the dri-“

He raised his fingers and put them inches away from my lips. “If I hear another thank you come from your mouth, I swear Aliya. I’d do it again no matter what you say.” He smirked at me, and it did ease a few concerns, now pushed to the back of my throat.

“Look, just because you’re used to apologizing and feeling like everything is your fault doesn’t mean that’s true. You don’t have to thank me every minute. You can relax around me. I don’t bite.” He looked down at where the window fell into the door, tracing the tip of the glass before finally making eye contact with me. He seemed almost apologetic for pointing out how my parents made me act. To be honest, I had been sorry about that for longer than he did.

I didn’t reply, I didn’t have to. I kept looking at him with a stupid smile on my face. The same I had while in the grove mere hours ago.

“See you in school?” I finally trusted my voice to speak but it was timid. “I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?” My head nodded and I stood up onto the curb, pacing back to my house.

Shit.

My parent’s car is there. If they see me like this, I’m screwed. That’s it, I’m grounded. I won’t be able to-

I cut my thoughts of when I heard footsteps, they were heavier and dragged ever so slightly on the carpet. My dad.

“Alyia, are you home, I’ve been worried sick.” He quickly trailed off once he saw the state of me, paints covered a lot of my clothing, even the ends of my hair were dishevelled. I hung low, expecting yelling to follow quickly.

“Upgrading your mother’s work?” He laughed. He wasn’t mad at me? “Just go clean up before your mother sees, alright. Make sure you either clean those or throw them. As much as I love the experimentation, I’m not sure that your mother would approve.” With that he walked past me and wondered into the kitchen. I wasn’t willing to risk the chance of my mother seeing the way I destroyed her works. As much as I’m willing to do that all over again.

-

Matt’s pov:

I stayed there for a few minutes, leaning back into the leather. The music was chirping softly. I should’ve left, I watched her get in safely, but I just couldn’t move. I wasn’t waiting for her to run back out and ignore her home life. I wasn’t even watching the door. Traces of paint covered my hands, and I couldn’t help but stare. I tried to run my fingers over it, but the heat of my palm scrapped away a few spots.

By the lights on in the driveway, I knew Nick was awake. I felt bad that I let him stay up again, I just hoped that Chris wasn’t up as well.

“Matthew. Taking your sweet time staying out again. I knew you had the band shit, but we both know it doesn’t last thi- My god, what the fuck happened to you!” He was blunt and straight to the point, he always was but that didn’t make the words he said any easier to hear. I knew he was mad, anyone could figure that out.

He pushed down his glasses and held the bridge of his nose, taking all the clothing in one by one.

“Practicing music doesn’t require baby pink and black paint, what did you do?” He grabbed my shirt and tugged on it. “White. Really?”

I smirked pathetically “Its just some paints, I didn’t care, and I still don’t.”

“You’re lucky that I love you, kid. Just have a shower, its late.” He shook my shoulder as I walked forwards the kitchen for a drink. My eyes met Chris’s through the hallway, he had a weird smile on his face. He smirked at me and raised his eyebrows; I was talking to an actual child.

“I take it you were out with Alyia?” His tone pissed me off, acting like all I did was talk to or about Aliya. I wanted to but that doesn’t mean I did.

“Oh, shut it.” Chris simply shrugged and retreated to his room, humming a song that had been stuck in his head a few days.

During my shower I noticed an obvious change in the water colour, especially when I got rid of the black lines up my arms. No other lights than mine remained on and it made me realise how late I actually stayed out.

Fatigue had hit my system by now and having that hot shower only managed to relax me further. My phone screen lit up the room as I got a message. The quiet vibrations were the only sounds I had heard since the car radio.

My body slumped next to it and stared at it until the screen faded black. I held the phone in hand and since my room was almost pitch black at this point it failed to use face id. After I failed numerous times to fill in my password, I scrolled up to see who had messaged me.

Alyia🎸:

*Sent 1 attachment*

‘Youre lucky my mother didn’t see lmao.’

A photo? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her take photos, let alone send one to me. It didn’t take long for me to click on it.

It wasn’t exactly a selfie and now I understood her sending the photo. The most that I could see of her face was her lips that curled into a neat smile. Locks of hair flowed past her shoulders, and I could see she hadn’t cleaned up just yet, her jacket lay just below her shoulders which allowed the remaining fabric to bunch at her wrists. The selfie was taken from up high just so she could present the paint in one go. Her skirt remains hugging her hips that hadn’t moved from before. I assessed the amount of paint that had been sprayed and was still covering her hands. A light smile covered my face

I stared longer than I should have, I didn’t have the fear of being caught by her real form. I never had the urge to before. I had no idea why I was now.

I don’t respond immediately, and I know that she can see that I’m online, that takes a second to seep in.

Matt🥁:

‘Nick caught me, scolded the fact I was wearing white more than anything.’

Alyia🎸:

‘Frankly, that doesn’t shock me. I better go get this shit out of my hair. Cya kid.’ I just hearted the message and left my phone on the duvet. Light rain began to scatter my window, and I was thankful I wasn’t outside in it. My hand raised itself to my face and I tried to wipe away the weird feeling in my chest. I just hoped sleep would wear it away.

© ENDEREIES 2024

@melliflws @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @bueckers @worldlxvlys @raysmayhem-72 @patscorner @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07 @luverboychris @jnkvivi @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @shorthairchris @missmimii @thecynthh

[lxndonorris]

sunsets - Fabio Quartararo

Y/N x Fabio Quartararo Theme: Fluff (light touching) going on a ride with Fabio and enjoying a beautiful sunset x word count: 1220+ taglist: @game-set-canet open for requests :)

The sun is shining brightly through your bedroom window, illuminating the room with its warm glow while you're getting ready for a ride. You can't even remember the last time you asked your boyfriend, Fabio, to take you on a motorcycle ride. Busy schedules, bad weather conditions, or just other plans prevented you two from jumping on his bike and going for a ride.

But not this time: the weather couldn't be better—not too warm or too cold. Just a few fluffy clouds wander through the sky while the sun is shining ever so brightly.

With one last look out of the window, you turn back to your closet. "Protection is most important." You hear Fabio's voice echo through your mind, painting a smile across your lips. Of course, he is right, but the way he would say it, smiling, like an expert teaching his student.

You bite your lower lip, looking at the black leather jacket hanging in front of the closet doors. It's Fabio's, and he gave it to you just for this ride. Running a finger along its zipper, you enjoy the feeling of its fabric.

Carefully, you take it off, and in one swift motion, you throw it around your shoulder, and, one arm at a time, you put it on. The fabric feels soft on your skin, and it fits well. He is a little bigger than you, but he enjoys tight clothes, which benefits you all the time.

The jacket flatters all of you, and what's even better, Fabio's familiar scent clings on to it, giving you comfort right away.

Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes for a second, remembering the first time he held you close, hugged you, and kissed you. You were one month into the relationship when he invited you to watch a grand prix, where he managed to win in a great display of his pure talent.

Just then, you feel hands and arms running along your waistline before you're pulled back slightly, wrapped in a soft hug.

"There you are." Fabio's soft, yet a little rougher voice, lingers in your mind for just a second before you open your eyes again. "How does it fit?" He asks you, his warm breath tingling on your skin right behind your ear. It feels so good to have his arms around you, and with his body so close, the scent of his cologne grows stronger.

"I think it's perfect." You separate yourself from him to slowly spin around, showing off the fit of his leather jacket on you. His eyes wander all over your body, from your boots and pants up to your shirt and his jacket.

"It does." He nods approvingly, and a shy smirk forms in the corner of his mouth.

Fabio, on the other hand, is wearing black biker gear; he owns multiple of those, and like always, it's tight but suits him well.

"I'm glad we're doing this again." You say this and place a hand on his firm chest, causing him to smile even brighter. "Me too." He places his hand on yours to stroke the back of yours with his thumb.

For a second, you stare into each other's eyes before you lean in and kiss him. He embraces your lips on his own and pulls you a little closer. But then you lean his head back, licking his lips quickly. "We should get going." He says it with an even rougher voice.

You nod in agreement, and together you put on the rest of your protective gear.

Then he leads you to the garage, where his bike is already waiting for you. Fabio turns to you and hands you a helmet before he puts on another with a coy smile spreading across his lips.

As a professional racer, he is used to wearing all of this. For you, it's different. Helmets may feel a little restrictive, but the more you're wearing one, the easier.

"Come on." He nods towards his bike before he gets on top of it. Fabio makes it look so easy as he effortlessly throws his leg across. He then turns his upper body toward you, and just by the way his eyes sparkle through the visor, you know he is giggling to himself.

'Challenge accepted.' You think about and follow his example as closely as possible. And, just like he did before, you can easily join him on the bike. You move a little closer, wrapping your arms around his chest, basically hugging him from behind.

"Y/N. You're ready?" You can barely hear his voice through the helmet, so you lean closer.

"Let's go." You say, holding back a chuckle as the bike turns to life underneath you. The entire thing is vibrating contently, and Fabio teases you a little by letting the engine roar a few times.

Your body tightens as the excitement ignites a fire inside your belly. In an instant, you feel a dozen different things when the adrenaline kicks in prematurely.

Taking another deep breath, the two of you start moving slowly. As an expert, Fabio handles the bike well. Carefully, he enters traffic behind a few cars. Feeling the wind brushing against you, hearing the sound of the bike engine echo through your ears, and holding on to Fabio's firm and tight body, you smile brightly.

He accelerates once the road is clear, and you go faster and faster. The wind pressure gets stronger, the engine gets louder, and you feel your own body becoming less tense, enjoying the rush even more.

You can tell Fabio is feeling the same. Hearing him humming happily, his body moves slightly—pure hedonism.

You hold on tight as he takes turns, overtaking a few other cars, before he stops at a red light.

"How are we feeling?" He turns his head, and you know he's smiling so brightly.

"Very good." You lean in closer again, stroking his chest with both of your hands, causing his eyes to sparkle again.

The acceleration kicks in once the light turns green, and after a few more minutes, you're finally on an open road on the coast line.

You turn your head toward the ocean and watch the sun paint the entire sky in every shade of red as it sets ever so slightly—so beautiful.

By hugging him a little tighter, you enjoy the ride even more.

After what feels like a beautiful eternity, you reach your destination—a little picnic area with a perfect view of the ocean.

Adrenaline is still flooding your body, so you carefully get off the bike and regain your composure, watching him turn the engine off and steadying it. You take your helmet off—a much-needed release—and enjoy it as a cold breeze brushes through your hair.

Fabio does the same and runs a hand through his hair, unable to stop smiling.

"Enjoyed yourself?" You smirk and reach for him, wrapping your arm around his waist as he does the same.

"Oh, definetly." He giggles, runs a hand across his own chest, and kisses you softly, once, then twice. "Did you?" Fabio raises an eyebrow.

"So much." You lean into him once more, your lips brushing over his. "Thank you." Kissing him again, you hug him tightly.

He purrs again before he pulls away, both of you turning toward the pretty sunset.

[esilher]

Collaborative December klaine challenge 2023 between @esilher and @mynonah

A Wonderful Life by @mynonah

"Can I help you?" Blaine asks, wrapping his arms around Kurt's waist from behind.

"Is that the help?" Kurt chuckles.

"Why, isn't it better?"

"Much better. Thank you."

"So what are we doing?"

"Oh, isn't it obvious? We’re measuring the frame, silly. I need to know its dimensions."

"I see... And why?"

"To know if everything will fit, Blaine. We have such a wonderful life and so many plans. What if there isn't enough room for everything? What if one of our adventures is bigger than the frame?"

"That's never been a problem before. I think you should just let them deal with it, Kurt. They seem to know what they're doing."

"Well, I don't know.... It doesn't look big enough to me, look at this... we can't even fit in it now."

"Because we're too close. Yesterday we fit perfectly from top to bottom."

"You! I haven't had legs in days, Blaine! If I know the dimensions, I can figure out where to stand next. I have so many fabulous clothes, it's a shame to let them go to waste. Yesterday I wore my favorite boots. What if the frame gets smaller?"

"Okay, okay. Stop panicking, please. It's definitely not getting smaller. There were three of us yesterday, remember?"

"That's right, three. But what if Cooper comes over one day, huh? Or Dad and Carole? Or if we want a dog? Or a bigger parasol on the beach? And there's our daughter, Blaine... And I didn't even mention the triplets!"

"Whoa, slow down!! It's all separate universes, Kurt, you're messing everything up. You need to calm down. Five kids and a dog? Jesus Christ. Give me that thing, I'll help you measure it diagonally, but then you have to let this go. Please. Trust me, they know what they're doing. Let's just watch a movie instead."

"Thank you. I'm gonna... Um, Blaine?"

"Huh?"

"No offense, but… what the hell are you wearing?"

"My Dalton uniform, apparently. Oh, and… a boa?"

"I can see that, honey... but why?"

"I have no idea, you know it's not up to me. But I think I like it."

"Oh." Kurt's eyes widen as the sentence makes sense in his head. He looks at himself in alarm.

"Thank God,” Kurt sighs in relief. “I'm just being elegant. Now all I need is some weird stuff from the first season… Have you seen any of those? Ugh, I think one year Rachel and I burned all the photos. There was this horrible outfit that..."

"DON'T give them any ideas!!! Oh God... that was close. Come on, let's watch that movie, popcorn's ready."

…

"Kurt? Do you think I could suggest a title? I'll just write it under the frame."

[thetomorrowshow]

i can't remember (when you weren't there)

trust au sequel story - the seablings compare notes

yep there is a whole compilation of side stories that will be posted irregularly! there's already two on ao3 sooooo yeah have fun

~

“Yimecht! Stop swimming so far out!”

He laughs delightedly, sticks his tongue out at his sister behind. “You can’t catch me!”

“Yimecht!”

He keeps swimming, flicking his tail faster and faster, torpedoing through the water. Bubbles stream past his face, his ear fins are flat against the sides of his head, he loves going fast—

Something big barrels into him, catching him in its arms, rolling them to the side together.

Yimecht gasps out another laugh, wriggles out of his sister’s arms. “Again! Let’s do it again!”

“No,” Szise says firmly, and she seems grumpy. “Get in the pouch.”

That’s not fair! She may be in charge, but she’s mean. “I don’t want in the pouch,” he argues, crossing his arms. “I’m too big for it. It’s stupid.”

“I’ll make a bigger one when we have time,” she tells him. “It’s not safe for you to be out. Get in the pouch.”

“Why? Why isn’t it safe?”

Szise sighs. “There are dangerous people who want to hurt you. You have to stay hidden until your scales are hard, okay?”

Yimecht opens his eyes, slowly, to see a bedroom.

His bedroom.

Jimmy closes his eyes again, tries to grab on to the last vestiges of that strange, misty, familiar dream.

It slips away as he tries, smoke vanishing in his fingers.

Jimmy . . . Jimmy doesn’t dream. He doesn’t think he’s ever had a dream. Lizzie doesn’t dream, either, neither of them dream and it doesn’t make sense for him to just . . . dream something.

He doesn’t dream. He just doesn’t.

It had been about Lizzie, though.

Jimmy opens his eyes a second time, glances at the worn, ancient little book on his bedside table.

He needs to talk to her.

-

They don’t get the opportunity to talk until two days later.

The Codlands have been entirely freed, and they’ve already started rebuilding. Many refugees who had fled to other lands are returning, and Jimmy’s own little camp of rebels has made it back to their individual homes. He has plans to personally thank each and every one of them, after the dust settles a bit.

He’s supposed to go see Scott tomorrow—they’ve been apart for far too long already, two weeks without seeing one another (though they message each other whenever there’s a free moment) feels like years, but until then, he’s meant to be arranging all the tasks that need to be completed this weekend and delegating them to the various members of his newly-reformed small council.

Which, of course, is a perfect time to talk to Lizzie. Jimmy has been positively itching to just sit down and talk to her for weeks now, ever since he came into the possession of this diary that clearly belonged to her.

Not to mention, she’s a giant sea monster now.

That feels like something they maybe ought to discuss more than just in passing.

They have a meeting place that’s always been theirs, a little dock at the edge of the capital, usually empty due to its rundown state, the wood old and rotting, the hand-rope almost entirely frayed.

Jimmy arrives right on time, slipping his boots off and setting them on the dock beside him, then tugging up the cuffs of his trousers a little bit to be able to dip his feet fully in the water.

Jimmy’s clothes are all fine to get in the water, though some are more suited for it than others. His tighter trousers he usually leaves on, stretchy and aerodynamic, made for swimming. He doesn’t wear those too terribly often, though, as many other cultures find them inappropriate (and he doesn’t think they have any room to talk, he’s seen the leggings that royal Mythlanders prance around in—but he supposes it’s just part and parcel of being Cod), preferring instead to wear billowy trousers or skirts.

The pair he’s wearing now are a patterned brown-green, loose-fitting, bunched at the ankles with leather cords. They’re wrapped around his waist and tied there; just one pull of the tie securing it and they’d fall, leaving him in his knee-length, skin-tight shorts, ready to leap into the water. He loves their convenience and comfort, and some of his pairs (including these) fit with the betrothal clothing standards (which is, coincidentally, something that they’ll be discussing this weekend).

All that to say, he really doesn’t care too much about getting his boots wet, because half the time he jumps into the water without taking off anything (despite Cod clothing being designed for that very purpose), but he does so now so that he can sit for a moment and relish in the feeling of the water between his toes.

He’s considering slipping off his trousers and sliding into the water (Jimmy only ever half-undresses for swimming—if he’s wearing tight trousers, he’ll take off his shirt, but he feels oddly exposed if he ends up with both off) when Lizzie pops up out of the water beside the dock, huge and a little terrifying, the water rocking against him in actual waves at her entrance.

His sister is a sea monster.

Or, more accurately, a sea monster is his sister.

The pink scales that he’s always known are still there in the same patterns on her cheeks and jaw and around her eyes, but her pale skin is gone, replaced by smooth blue scales. Her face isn’t quite the same, a bit sharper and somehow more . . . fitting, like this is how it’s meant to frame her cheekbones, and her more humanoid face had been just barely the wrong shape or size. She’s a good twelve feet tall, probably standing on the ocean floor yet still able to stand head and shoulders above the surface.

Changed as she is, she is his sister, and nothing’s truly different about the grin that she gives him, soft and loving and maybe a little bit vicious.

“Hey, Lizzie,” he says fondly, and Lizzie clicks her tongue in a dolphin greeting—and her tongue is way longer than it used to be, whoa.

“How is everyone settling back in?” she asks, voice a little echo-y in a way it never was before.

Jimmy shrugs. “As well as anyone would expect, I guess,” he says. “It’s hard, but we’re making it work.” He hadn’t been planning on doing any swimming right now, but with Lizzie shaking water droplets everywhere, he figures he might as well. He pulls free the tie of his trousers and slips into the water, stretching out his arms and kicking his legs, the water cool and inviting against his skin and scales.

The effects of living without the ocean (or any meaningful body of water, really) for so much time hadn’t gone unnoticed. The first moment that he had dipped into the ocean proper—two weeks ago, when he and Lizzie had swum out to free the Codlands—it felt like some dying part of him was suddenly revived, despite not really being aware that it was dying in the first place.

Like part of his soul, slowly drifting further away, was bound back to him.

And he wonders, now, if leaving the ocean in the first place played any part in separating him from his memories.

No use in small talk. He might as well cut to the chase.

“So I’ve got this book,” he says, just as Lizzie says, “Scott gave me this book.”

Jimmy pauses, waits for Lizzie to insist he can talk first, but Lizzie just keeps on talking.

“It’s a history book of the ocean, from . . . hundreds of years ago, I think?” she says, pulling a book out from a very large satchel (which still looks too-small on her). “It’s absolutely ancient. It talks about the forming of the world, and the development of the seas, and this sea . . . dragon? The word doesn’t quite make sense—this sea monster that used to rule the ocean. Apparently she died, and there just wasn’t a ruler for a long time? I don’t know, I skipped most of that part. Boring politics and all that. And then it talks about her two children hatching or something, and the splitting off of the salmon, and . . . that’s where it ends.”

Jimmy frowns. He isn’t quite sure when the salmon split off, but it was long enough ago that none of his people were alive when it happened. Most scholars agree that it was probably several hundred years in the past; the Codlands have been pitted against the salmon for as long as can be remembered. “When did you say it was written?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, the movement sending a small wave to rock into Jimmy. “There’s something weird, though—I don’t speak the language it’s written in. But—”

“You were kind of able to read it anyway?” guesses Jimmy, his stomach flipping.

Lizzie nods, giving him a strange look. “Exactly. If I think too hard about reading it, I stop being able to. But I think it’s some old form of Oceanic. Have you seen it before?”

She hands the book to Jimmy, one hand large enough to cover both of Jimmy’s.

Sure enough, flipping open to the third page, it’s written in those strange old letters that itch in the back of Jimmy’s brain, tall and blue and washed-out. This book is far more neat than the one he has, the handwriting strict and uniform, the lines straight and not trailing down the page.

If he carefully doesn’t focus, he can tell that it’s saying something about a god.

This one, he knows, wasn’t written by Lizzie.

But he can suddenly hear it, as if told by his sister.

“Once upon a time, mama met our father, who was a god. Then she could die happy, because her babies would live forever.”

He blinks, glances up to see Lizzie waiting, sharp, black nails tapping against her arm. “Sorry, what was your question?”

“Have you seen these letters before?”

Slowly, almost trance-like, Jimmy reaches for his book, which he’d left on the dock, tucked into the large pocket of his trousers.

“Scott had this, he said he meant to give it to you,” he says. “It’s—it looks like . . . well, see for yourself.”

Lizzie takes the book from him—this one, smaller than the other, appears almost tiny in her hands—and carefully opens it, pinched between her fingers.

And soon enough, brow furrowed as she studies it, Lizzie comes to the same conclusion that Jimmy had.

“I wrote this,” she says, seeming almost dumbstruck. “I—this is my handwriting. This is about us. I wrote this. I don’t remember writing this.”

“I think it’s from Before.”

Lizzie doesn’t respond, eyes flying across the pages. “This is about you!” she gasps, pointing. “It says you were a small, damaged egg.”

“Embellishments to make the story more dramatic,” Jimmy waves off. He does remember seeing that part and stoutly ignoring it.

Lizzie pauses to give him a look. “If I wrote this, I wouldn’t lie. Besides, you look like the type to be small and damaged.”

She returns to her reading as Jimmy sputters a couple of protests. There’s no proof that he was ever an egg, actually! Let alone a small and damaged one!

After several minutes, she looks up again, brow creased. “Jimmy,” she says slowly.

“Yimecht!” his sister calls, laughing.

“How old are we?”

“Well, people usually tell me I look about twenty-four,” Jimmy says, checking the backs of his hands for wrinkles. They’re as unwrinkled as they’ve always been. “So maybe somewhere around there?”

“Yes, but you’ve looked twenty-four for the past decade,” says Lizzie. “And for . . . what, thirty years? For thirty-odd years, people have been telling me I look twenty-six. Shouldn’t I be fifty-something? At least?”

“You don’t really look twenty-six anymore,” Jimmy comments. “You look like a sea monster.”

“A young sea monster.”

“Still a sea monster.”

“My point is,” Lizzie presses, “the history book says that the two eggs of this ancient sea-dragon-monster-thing hatched, and ruled the ocean together. And this other book says that you and I were—the rulers, I guess. When I wrote this, we ruled the sea. But according to this book, if we were those two eggs, that would have been centuries ago at least. Far too long ago. How . . . how old are we?”

“Then she could die happy, because her babies would live forever.”

“Wow. We’re gonna live forever?”

“We’re gonna live forever,” Jimmy says now, echoing the words of his fading memory. “That’s . . . I think you told me that. A long, long time ago.”

It’s his sister’s voice in the memory, even if the words aren’t familiar. He would recognize her anywhere (and he always has, when they first crossed paths nearly a decade ago he heard her voice and knew instantly that she was his sister, despite knowing nothing else).

The idea—living forever—sends a little thrill through Jimmy’s scales. He’s never going to die. He never has to grow old.

That sounds awesome.

Lizzie, however, seems less than excited by the prospect. “I think so,” she says quietly. “That feels right.”

She looks down at her hands, her claw-like nails. “Joel’s having my wedding ring remade,” she says after a moment. “Since the change is looking kind of permanent.”

“That’s nice of him.” Jimmy hadn’t even realized, but Lizzie’s still wearing the ring, on a thin chain around her neck.

Hopefully he doesn't turn big right after getting married to Scott. That would be a huge ring.

“Promise me,” Lizzie says suddenly. “Promise me that we’ll always be here for each other.”

Why wouldn’t they be? They’re going to live forever, of course they’ll always support each other. She’s his sister, even when his memory was a blank hole he knew her, and Jimmy can’t even imagine not being by her side.

“Yeah,” he says, confused as to why she would even ask. “Of course.”

“Jimmy, I mean it,” she says. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” he says. “Why would I leave you?” The look she gives him is almost mournful, markedly different from how it might have looked in a face not entirely scaley.

“Things will change over time,” she says vaguely. “You’ll feel differently then.”

He doesn’t think he will. He would never abandon his blood, no matter what happens.

And, unsatisfying and unfinished, their conversation ends there. Something has put Lizzie in a somber mood, so Jimmy takes the journal back, vowing to translate it when he has time so they can properly read it. Lizzie takes the history book with a promise to do the same.

And Jimmy forgets, over the next couple of days, Lizzie’s concern. Too caught up in the excitement of living forever, he doesn’t imagine there could ever be real consequences—none that matter when compared to immortality. And then, even that is mostly put from his mind, what with discussions of betrothals and long meetings of holding hands with Scott under the table.

But he does translate the journal, and traces his fingers across hundreds of years of protection and love.

He doesn’t remember it as being his—

“Yimecht! Stop swimming so far out!”

—but his name is there, dozens of times.

Smallbelovedfoundbrother.

Yimecht.

He thinks he likes it.

[got-into-worm-by-mistake]

Insinuation 2.8 Live Reactions

(This is me, writing reactions as I read, because why the fuck not. They're not complete, mature thoughts taken after I sit back and evaluate what I've read. Consider them as such)

“Call off your dogs!” Brian shouted. The largest of the dogs, an ugly Rottweiler or a mutt with strong Rottweiler blood, seized my wrist in its jaws.  My knees almost buckled in response to the pain, which only worsened when it abruptly snapped its head to one side and wrenched my arm.  I fell, and in a heartbeat, the other two dogs – a German Shepherd and a hairless terrier with a missing ear and eye – were on me.

If all the fanfic is correct, the one missing an Eye is Angelica, IIRC? And one of the others is named Brutus.

While those two were at it, the Rottweiler still had my wrist in its teeth, and it began pulling, as though it wanted to drag me somewhere.  I grit my teeth at the pain and tried to think something I could do that would amount to more than curling up into a fetal position to protect my arms, legs and face.

I would not be handling this as well as Taylor. No matter how desperate I was for friends/belonging, or however much I wanted to join a villain team undercover, etc, I definitely, definitely would run at the first sight of Rachel and her dogs.

Fuck dogs. All my homies hate dogs. (And yet, dogs refuse to understand that don't fucking leave me alone)

The girl had blood running from both of her nostrils.  I recognized her from the picture I had seen on her wiki page.  Rachel Lindt.  Hellhound.  Bitch. “I fucking hate it,” Brian growled at the girl, putting emphasis on the swear, “When you make me do that.”

Okay, so that is not what is going on here, but I admit, the first thought I had when I read this is when a husband hits his wife and goes 'look what you made me do'.

Again, I get that's not what's happening here, but that is where my brain went.

She wasn’t attractive.  An unkind person might call her butch, and I wasn’t feeling particularly kindly towards her. 

Why is calling someone butch unkind, Taylor?

Also, like, why is that the first thing (the attractiveness or lackthereof) of a woman? Back when I thought I was a straight guy (i.e. before coming out as a trans woman) my first thought on looking at a guy was not whether or not they were attractive.

I mean, there's a reason why people think Taylor is closeted. And to be fair, she's 15 right now, and what, 18 at most by the end of the story? It's not unreasonable for people to come out to themselves even later than that.

Reminds me of a fic I read yesterday, where a time travelling Amy and Taylor from another timeline end up in Canon-verse (and the older Amy and Taylor are married) and Lisa says: "We can either keep talking about your future self and her wife. Or we can start talking about your own sexuality Miss 'This-Closet-is-Nice-and-Warm.'"

(The Fic in question, Boom, is very entertaining, very nuts, and very not updated in the last four years)

Most of her features looked like they would have been better fit on a guy rather than a girl.  She had a square face, thick eyebrows, and a nose that had been broken more than once – maybe broken again just a moment ago, given the blood trickling from her nostrils.  Even as far as her physical build went, she was solidly built without being fat.  The trunk of her body alone was bigger around than mine was with my arms down at my sides, just by virtue of having a thicker, broader torso and having more meat on her bones.  She was wearing boots, black jeans with tears all over them, and a green army jacket over a gray hooded sweatshirt.  Her auburn hair was cut shortish.

A hazard of first person narration, I suppose.

She didn’t reply.  Instead, she licked her upper lip clean of blood and smiled.  It was a mean, smug sneer of a smile.  Even though she was the one lying on the ground with a bloody nose, she somehow had it in her head that she’d beat me.  Or something.

Rachel's really not making a good first impression on Taylor, or the readers. She doesn't seem to feature as much as Lisa or even Brian and Alec, in the fics I've read, so I don't really have strong fanfic-induced opinions about them (also don't really about Brian or Alec, save that Alec does get all the funny sarcastic lines)

Then, like I had done so many times over the past few days and weeks, I searched for a reason to justify why I was backing down.  It was almost reflexive.  When the bullies got on my case, I always had to take a moment to collect myself and tell myself why I couldn’t or shouldn’t retaliate.

Yeah, instincts hard won are hard to break.

For a few moments, I felt adrift.  Around the same time that I realized I couldn’t find a reason to back off, I realized I had already wrenched free of Lisa and Alec’s support and crossed half of the room at a run.  I reached for my bugs and realized I’d been using my power without thinking about it.  They were already gathering at the stairs and by the windows.  All it took was a thought, and they started flowing into the room in greater numbers.  Cockroaches, earwigs, spiders and flies.  Not as many as I might have liked, I hadn’t been using my power for long enough to gather those from further around the neighborhood, but it was enough to count. Bitch saw me approaching and raised her fingers to her mouth, but I didn’t give her a chance to signal her animals.  I kicked for her face like I might kick a soccer ball, and she aborted the whistle to cover her head with her arms.  My foot bounced off of one of her arms and her entire body recoiled as she flinched.

AYYYY! Taylor!

<Insert the 'you know what that is? Growth' Gif>

Bitch and Brian started speaking at the same time, but Brian stopped when she started coughing.  As her coughing fit subsided, Bitch looked up at me and snarled, “If I ordered them to kill you, Brutus would have torn out your throat before you could scream.  I gave them the hurt command.”

That doesn't help, Rachel. You get that, right?

(She does not, I know, get that)

Sensory deprivation.  When those two words came to my mind, I felt myself relax some.  Brian’s power mucked with your senses… Sight, hearing, touch.  I wasn’t limited to those three.  Reached out with my power, I identified where all of the bugs in the loft and the factory below were.  Using them to ground myself like a sailor might use the constellations, I figured out where the stairs should be and found the railing.  The hands hadn’t grabbed for me again, so I hurried down, down the stairs and out of the oppressive darkness.

Once again, powers are Bullshit, and Taylor's especially so. :p

“I became a-” I almost said superhero, “cape to get away from that shit, from assholes like Bitch.”  There was also the fact that Tattletale spooked me, but I couldn’t say that out loud.

To be fair, Rachel isn't actually like the Trio, but Taylor doesn't know that yet.

“Fine,” I sighed, “But just so you know, I’m only coming back because she doesn’t want me to.  I quit, she wins, and I’m not fucking having that.”

More growth from Taylor. Here, she can fight, and here, with people she isn't so used to not fighting. Plus, they're villains and also Capes, so she probably doesn't feel as many issues are there stopping her from just fighting back with her powers.

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #14: An Apple a Day (Does Not Keep the Paladin Away)

Prompt: clear || Master Post || On AO3

A/N: Spoilers through patch 6.4: The Dark Throne.

--

The sky is so blue.

Zero’s memories of the Memoriate War, before the Thirteenth and all its people drowned in ever-darkness, are still patchwork and hazy, but watching the heavens from the Radz-at-Han airship docks, she’s reminded that once, the Thirteenth had skies the same color.

Today, she sits along one of the city’s outer walls, watching the flow of traffic heading to and from Palaka’s Stand and the port at Yedlihmad, drinking in the sounds and the colors of a living city, a living nation. She nibbles on an apple absently, and she relearning how to enjoy the pleasure of eating. That first one she had eaten on the Source, she was still trying to remember the physical act of eating, tearing with incisors and canines, grinding with molars, little thought given to texture and taste. Now, she remembers how to pick out the choicest apples from the bowl, avoid the ones with bruises or soft spots, remembers how to take a boot knife and peel the skin off in a single take, remembers that in some villages, mothers would take such fruit skins and fry them and dip them in honey as treats for their children.

Zero remembers she likes her apples a little sweeter, but the tartness of this one is refreshing, regardless. The last bite bursts as brightly across her tongue as did the first one, the flesh yielding with a satisfying crunch beneath her teeth.

“Mind if I join you?”

She turns at the familiar voice, and has to look up at the familiar smiling face of Dancing Heron. The roegadyn is out of her armor, dressed down in a yellow linen shirt that fairly glows against her copper skin and black trousers; her usual wear, at leisure in Radz-at-Han. But the swordswoman carries herself with the same tall surety she had that day in Garlemald, when she stood between Zero and hungry voidsent.

Zero shakes her head, and Heron easily swings herself up to sit next to her on the wall. Almost immediately, and without seeming to notice, Heron begins to tap the heels of her boots against the stone in some rhythm only she knows. Well, she and her sisters; put all four Warriors of Light up on a wall or cliff, legs dangling over the edge, and one will begin that hypnotic rhythm that all three pick up in chorus.

Heron doesn’t say anything as she takes out a bag of samosas from the pack slung around her shoulders, merely digs into her lunch, apparently perfectly content to sit in silence with Zero. For her part, Zero appreciates it; she is becoming more comfortable with those parts of herself that aren’t voidsent, but even before the Thirteenth died in the void, she had been a woman of few words, and too much chatters makes her uncomfortable. Heron’s silence is the most comfortable to bask in; Alakhai carries too much tension, ever ready to draw her knives against a threat even when she isn’t aware of doing it, and Estinien often ends up restless, leaping off to join the Radiant Host in their training.

Zero leans back on her hands, eyes drawn skyward once more. On the distant horizon, grey clouds boil, a heavy storm to bring cool rain to Radz-at-Han and wash away the inevitable dust roused by so many travelers and traders and bustling residents. But the perfect, painful blue keeps her attention, and even without clouds to chase, it is so easy to get lost in that infinity.

A sound causes her to start, and Zero cants her head to the side to see Heron rummaging in her pack, much deeper than possible, and Zero blinks at the strange sight of the roegadyn up to her shoulders in a pack not much larger than a melon before she remembers Synnove’s ability to enchant items so that they were bigger on the inside. Heron herself is muttering, too low for Zero to make out the words, before a triumphant noise leaves her lips and she pulls back, two apples in hand. Heron grins, and turns to hold one out to Zero.

“Want one?” she says. “The market here carries a lot apples from the La Noscean orchards, but this one is from Gridania, s’called a honey queen.”

“Thank you,” Zero says, reaching out to pluck the apple from Heron’s grasp; she knows better now than to refuse a freely-offered gift, especially from Heron. Zero will not win against the other woman’s inherent, cheerful stubbornness.

She examines the apple curiously; it’s only a little smaller than the ones that grace the Satrap’s tables, and its skin is a mix of yellow and pink, rather than glistening red. But the flesh is firm even with her gloves in the way to dull her tactile senses, and the smell is the same. She lifts the fruit to her lips, and takes a bite.

Sweet floods her mouth in a heady rush, and Zero’s eyes go wide. Her toes curl in her boots, and the noise she emits is less a moan and more a squeak. She chews quickly in order to swallow, then takes a larger bite, but this one she savors. A well-named cultivar indeed: the sweetness rolls as thick and heady as honey across her palate and she rolls this bite from one side of her mouth to the other, a content hum escaping her as she slowly chews it into juice.

Next to her, Dancing Heron is laughing, and Zero looks at her again. Heron’s eyes are crinkled, her pleasure at Zero’s own as obvious as the black of her hair.

“Glad I picked a good one!” Heron says. “I have a few more if you’re still hungry after that one.”

Something uncurls in Zero’s chest, pulsing soft and warm, and she can’t help but notice that Heron’s eyes are a perfect, painful, shining blue.

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[writerswho]

Bestie can you please write a scene where the reader sees the Tardis for the first time and does the whole "it's bigger on the inside" bit but then follows it up with a your mom joke

Hi, sorry for the delay. I don't know if I managed to do it the way you imagined because I'm not familiar with jokes and had to Google it to make sure I knew what it was, but I think I got it. I hope you enjoy it.

You don't know how on Earth you end up in the middle of a cross fire between fish people and lizard people, but you're certain you don't want to be there any more. You try to run, dodging the bullets (wait, are those lasers?). You fall on your face and curse under your breath because, of course, you would fall flat on the floor. Even when your life literally depends on it, you still cannot manage to run in a straight line. From a glance, you see a blue box, just big enough for you to ride inside. You run to the box and the moment you cross the doors, you think that maybe, very probably, you hit your head harder than expected when you fell. 

The inside of the small blue box is giant, its interior resembling a cave with huge curved crystals forming a semicircle around what appears to be some sort of control desk. 

There are two people around the table, and they look in your direction as you pass through the door. One of them is short and blonde and has questionable fashion sense, matching braces and rainbow with a pair of high-waisted teal blue capri trousers. The second person has the most exceptional hair you have ever seen in your life, with golden curls that shine in the carve-like room light. They wear dark gray jodhpurs trousers and a white leather jacket buttoned up with a fur waistcoat over it, a wide black leather belt around the waist and leather boots that are extremely high. There is a holster attached to one leg. 

Stunned, you take a step back, leaving from the same place you entered. You continue walking backwards without breaking eye contact with the two people or the inside of the blue box. 

“Do we need to do this now?” the person with the space hair asks. 

“Come on, you love this as much as I do,” the one with the rainbow replies. Both have fond smiles.

Totally ignoring the surrounding danger, you scan the outside of the box. It is a normal police booth, the kind you see in old movies and series, the ones you are sure you have seen in some old photographs of your grandparents. You circle the booth clockwise, then retrace your steps counterclockwise. You knock on the cabin, kick it lightly, look for hollow or false spaces or anything that explains the difference between the outside and the inside. You return to the starting point in front of the double doors that are open, showing the two people enjoying your little show. 

The sounds of the battle grow louder, and their smiles falter. 

“Not to be rude,” says the one with the hair, “but we're kind of in a hurry to get out of here. Do you want a ride or not?”

You think you say yes, as you find yourself inside the box once again. The doors close behind you with a loud bang that brings you out of your stupor. 

“Oh, they are going to say it,” comments the one in braces. 

“It's bigger on the inside,” the words escape from your mouth as if you had a greater force compelling you to say them. “Like yo mama.” They look at you in surprise and amusement, the one with braces and rainbow stripes crackles loudly, it's as if they could roll on the floor for laughing so hard at any moment. You feel your face burn with embarrassment, wishing you had stayed outside. Facing fish people and lizard people is much better than this kind of humiliation. 

“You know, in all these years, this is the first time anyone has said this,” the one with the questionable fashion sense says. 

“Hold tight,” is all the other say as they start fiddling with buttons on the big round thing in the centre of the room. The other tries to help, tinkering here and there, but every time they do something, the one with the extraordinary hair undoes it. The whole room starts to shake, and you feel that maybe, in fact, you were safer with the fish and the lizards. However, there is no turning back now, so you hold on tight and hope for the best. 

[otomes-and-tears]

hello! may I request a nevra x mc (she/her) scenario where they just cuddle after a long day and one thing leads to another? it doesn’t have to be smut, I genuinely just wanna see his flirty, playful and teasing side more because beemoov is keeping it away from us

thank you for your time! if you don’t want to write it that’s okay, still thank you for all the beautiful scenarios/headcanons you have on your blog!

♦ Nevra teasing the MC ♦

► tags/warnings: mild spice

► words: 1286

► a/n: today is NOT the day you guys get some smut out of me. I cannot for the life of me write anything remotely close to sexy, for the disappointment of my lovely readers. I do, however, like writing Nevra endlessly teasing the MC and love my readers enough to try my hand at a mildly spicy fic. I apologise for the quality. Most of this was written at three AM as I was kept awake by a howling puppy.

► Masterlist

“I need a day off.”

The guardian throws herself onto her bed, sighing contentedly at the feeling of finally settling down after an entire day on her feet. 

She hears the sounds of cloth rustling and doesn’t need to open her eyes to know that Nevra is getting ready to bed himself.

It’s a little hard to tell when he started spending most nights in her room instead of his own. It’s just a new part of their routine that they settled into, so natural that her bed has started to feel too big and too cold if she ever spends a night alone. 

Her closet now has a space filled with clothes too big for her to wear, and her desk has filled with documents that she doesn’t dare touch. It’s just a part of it. Pure domesticity, even if they’re living through interesting times.

“You and everyone, I believe.” Nevra says, and she hums in agreement “You shouldn’t lay in bed with your shoes on.”

She looks up at him from her place in the bed, grinning as she noticed he was undoing the laces in her boots to take them off for her. 

Even seven years later, when he became a more serious and reserved person he still took care of her. 

“I was going to get up… Eventually.” The faelian explained  “It’s just that….My legs feel like jelly. I can’t even sit up.”

“I’m guessing Karenn tired you out.”

“I feel so old. I don’t think I can keep up with her anymore.” 

Patrolling was bad normally, but it got worse today when they needed to survey an area bigger than usual. And being paired with Karenn usually meant being a victim to one of her pranks once she got bored of working, and being subjected to her unending teasing.

It didn’t help that her friend heard a strange sound in the distance and simply disappeared into the shadows to check it out, which meant that Mc had to spend at least an hour trying desperately to look for her through the woods, but it was not like she would ever tell this part to Nevra.

The vampire took off her shoes and placed them by the wall, near her bed. Exactly where she’d place them herself.

She reached her arms out, dramatically asking for cuddles. Nevra rolled his eyes, but still indulged her, as always, by laying beside her and pulling her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her to get her even closer.

Mc doesn’t miss the tiny differences from before. How he seems to hold her tighter now, how he breathes in her scent and kisses the top of her head absentmindedly.

He’s always quieter when he gets to hold her for the first time after a long day. They don’t talk about it, but there’s this nagging feeling in Mc’s mind that it’s a result of her sacrifice.

Being together feels natural, but it isn’t as if nothing has changed. He knows the pain of losing her. Even now that she’s back, the dark shadow of her years of absence still looms large over them. 

Mc is lost in her thoughts when he starts playing with her hair, twirling her curls on his fingers and feeling its texture, and later moving to massage her scalp. 

“Are you tired already?”

He asks, and their closeness makes it so Mc can feel his voice as he speaks.

“I’m tired.” She looks up at him “But not sleepy.”

“Aren’t you going to change into something more comfortable?” 

“Nooo, I’m too tired to move.” Mc whines “If you’re so bothered by it, you can take them off yourself.”

She says, playfully. It is an attempt at teasing as much as an invitation. 

“You’re getting bold, aren’t you?” 

He brushes away her hair, tracing her neck with her fingers, going down from underneath her chin to the hollow of her neck to her collar bones, fascinated with their shape and the way her breath hitched in her throat as she felt his touch.

He was above her now, laying on his side, propped up on his elbows as his hand idly traced shapes in her upper chest, never venturing lower without her permission.

There was this hunger in his eyes, a dangerous glimmer that was so unmistakably Nevra. It made her heartbeat quicken in anticipation, a familiar heat pooling in her lower stomach as she shifted her legs in an attempt to get more comfortable, looking away for a moment due to how overwhelming it all felt.

“What, you’re getting shy now?” Nevra taunts and seems annoyingly pleased with her reaction. “I’m just obeying your orders.”

“Oh, just shut up!”

She reached out to him, lowering him enough so she could properly kiss him.

He indulged her, gently shifting their position so he’d be able to kiss her deeply. A reprieve from an entire, stressful day apart.

Nevra parted from her, kissing her nose, cheeks and then moving onto her jaw and the small junction between her neck and jaw, which he dragged his sharp teeth against, making her eyes flutter closed and an embarrassing squeak escape her lips.

She could feel his stare, the self-satisfied, knowing smirk that he proudly wore when he turned her from a functioning adult to a blushing mess with little to no effort on his part. 

His hand started venturing lower, slowly unbuttoning her shirt, teasing her by doing it as slowly and methodically as he possibly could.

If she ever tried to lower him to kiss her again, he’d kiss the corner of her mouth instead, just shy of what she wanted.

“You’re having way too much fun with this.”

She gets up just enough to help him take off her shirt, which gets her a brief kiss as a reward. He starts working to undo her belts instead— Ugh, why did she wear so many? She would need to have a conversation with Purriry about practicality soon.

“I’m just doing what you wanted, my love.” There’s that smirk again, the teasing tone that drove her insane. “I can’t bring myself to deny your requests. You’re my weakness. So if you want something, just ask.”

He pretended to struggle with the last belt, and she impatiently undid them herself.

Nevra bit back a comment about her eagerness and helped her out of her pants, throwing the item on the floor roughly in the same direction as the rest of her clothing.

“Are you really going to make me beg?”

Mc asks, and despite intending to sound annoyed, the question doesn’t have as much bite as she wanted it to.

Nevra takes advantage of the exposed skin, taking the time to take in her form and fully appreciating her beauty. He traces the faint outline of her scars with his fingers, and the small action doesn’t make her feel exposed and self-conscious as it makes her feel adored.

“I don’t think ‘make’ you is the right term.” He adds, and his heated gaze is a sign that their little game won’t last much longer. “Although, I can make you beg for it if that’s what you desire.”

She thought about it for a second, looking up at him as Nevra patiently awaited her next move. She could put an end to all of this right now or she could flip him over and deal with his teasing as he jokingly scolded her for being so impatient.

There were endless possibilities, and it filled her with excitement.

“I’m not tired anymore,” Mc says, finally.  “I won’t make things easy for you.”

Nevra, for one, seems delighted by her response.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”