#currently he's nobody puts baby in the corner

[spilt-ash]

I'm a simple guy

fictional man stuck in my brain? I must assign him a fall out boy song

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

HIIIIII HI HI. GUYS FOR U........ no color bc it is. 2am. but i've been thinking so much abt how their color palettes & overall vibes change..... can't get over natural redhead dakota dying his hair even More <33 he wears more bright colors i think but they all default to more like... tactical & less noticeable stuff especially vyncent. in my head they do a lot of walking home through the quieter empty night city at weird hours. at least. when their home isn't destroyed :3 anyway. more bothering u ab them tomorrowww good night!!! <333

UAGUGH. i love them so much oh my goddddddd. pov three beat up emo kids glare at you....... i also love the idea of dakota already being natural redhead but "HEY all my friends are having an impulse emotion dye your hair moment in the bathroom I want to be included. awesome raspberry red. bam." they are silly teenagers at heart. aauaghaaggh

I REALLY REALLY LIKE virion here especially..... like yeah that's pretty much exactly what i was picturing for him..... fucking. scruffy turtleneck pretty much all skin besides his face is covered.... yeah! yeah yeah yeah. he also looks older than the other two which is perfect 2 me because he is! and he's got the extra like. however long he was surviving on his own so that might make him look older than he actually is. augh. no jrpg hair :( but I do really really like his messy updo patchy dye job hair. hehe

BIG fan of the note that william is wearing one of their hoodies and also the note about a bazillion pairs of cargo pants. you KNOW none of them know whose clothes are whose anymore. besides sizes ofc. dakota goes to put on one pair of pants and they're just spilling over his feet bc theyre too long like "oops v these are yours" and vice versa virion ending up with fuckign. cargo pants capris. william grabs what he thought was one of his hoodies but is actually one of the new ones virion got with prt money and goes "oh wait this one is so much softer. mine now" and cuts thumb holes in the sleeves to claim it as his . they don't even acknowledge sharing clothes anymore it's just like a fact of life that they're all interchangeable.... aughaghh. new haven wards see themselves as a single being. you are part of me I'm part of you we cannot be separated in a way that matters

[gilverrwrites]

Discretely touching them down there to their parts and gently squeezing when no one is looking and them not being able to do anything (since it's in public).

Ft. Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, & Roy. AN: Anon you're a menace and I love ya!

Bruce

You get exactly one, which he acknowledges with a stern pout and a cocked brow. Flawlessly concealing the fire you’ve ignited but for his laboured breathing and blown-out pupils. You’re walking a thin line, behaving like a brat in front of Gotham’s elite.

If he sees you reaching for him again, and trust, he will see; it will take him precisely 0.8 seconds to lock you in an unsuspecting death grip and pull you close. He wants you to feel the increased tempo of his heart against your chest. To feel the growing stiffness of his hard-on grazing your hip as he tells you assertively to; “Behave.”  

Dick

Dick sees your game; he raises you tenfold. He knows you’re up to something when he clocks the determined bite of your lips as you survey the subway car, and the mischievous glint in your eye as you look back at him. When your hand snakes under this shirt, caressing his v-lines, he juts his hips forward, presenting himself to you; daring you to take it further.

When you sink your fingers below his waistband he sucks in a deliberately loud breath. You freeze to survey your surroundings, but Dick does not. Dick starts grinding on you until he senses you growing nervous. He locks a sturdy hand around your elbow just in time to prevent you from pulling away, leans in close and whispers; “What’s wrong baby? Thought you wanted to play?”

Jason

“Is that a gun in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?” You giggle at your own joke, because Jason is always packing some form of heat. He might have laughed too, might have trapped your wrist in his hands and rocked against your outstretched palm if you’d been at home, or the club, or even the casino. But not the fucking grocery store, you little perv.  

“Are you drunk?” He offers you an out, glaring down at you with a gaze fierce enough to make a nun blush. You respond with a brazen-faced shake of your head, and he can’t help but imitate it out of disbelief at your cocky attitude. You stay like that, locked in a stare of, rock vs hard place, until Jason cracks first, noticing a couple rounding the corner at the other end of the aisle.

He grabs your arm with an unapologetic level of force, spinning you around and trapping you between his body and the trolley. Hiding his hardness by pressing it against your back. “You’re in for it later.”

Tim

Tim is the most taken aback. His pale blue eyes are rapidly examining your surroundings the moment he feels your devious fingers ghosting over the top of his thigh. He’s cute when he’s flustered, with pink cheeks and blown-out pupils. Nobody is looking, too focused on the conference speaker.

“What are you doing?” He hisses, but before he can get his words out, your hand is gone, casually pulling a non-existent thread from your sleeve.

You don’t reply, you just smile and shoot him a playful wink which puts him even more on edge. So much so that when you abruptly return, this time cupping his half-hard cock through his jeans that he fucking flinches. His knee hits the chair in front, and he sucks in a loud breath, earning him many pointed glares from multiple members of the audience.

“Babe.” Be tries to warn, but his hushed breathy tone makes him sound exactly as aroused as he feels.

Roy

You get it, you do. It was a long trip, and he’s starving but you’ve really been feeling his absence over the last few weeks, and the fact that you’re currently sat in a Burrito Bucket, watching Roy devour a tray of tacos, instead of being at home and watching him devour you, is a problem.

He seems to have noticed your sulking, but too late. “You okay ho- “

His question is halted by your foot tactfully situating itself between his legs. His gaze flits between his food and you, defiant eyes watching you through a mop of shaggy hair. A knowing grin spreads across his queso-stained lips as you answer faux-sweetly. “I’m fine, baby.”

“Right.” He huffs, breath hitching, freckled cheeks turning red when you press your toes down and something firm pushes back. He knows what you want, but he just loves to play dumb. So, he takes another bite, jerking every time you tap or roll your foot but never acknowledging what you’re silently begging for. “Is this one of those things where you say you’re fine, but actually you’re not fine?”

“I’m going home.” You finally concede with an exaggerated sigh, dropping your foot back to the floor and gathering your things.

“I’m coming with you.” He’s on you the moment you stand, draping his arm over you and placing kisses to the side of your neck, your face, whatever he can reach as you struggle to move with his deadweight over your shoulders. Notably, there’s still half a tray of uneaten tacos left on the table. “Funnily enough, I’m hungry for something else now.”

Taglist: @wandalfnation

[violetlichen]

nobody puts my bald baby in a corner

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen / Named Atreides wife A little nsfw but that's not the point. Domestic family life. They have five kids and Feyd desperately wants another. Wifey won't oblige. Don't pay attention to the other characters and Houses I included, I don't know anything about Dune and I just pulled from the fandom wiki or made them up. Their son is not the Kwisatz Haderach either!

****if you're somebody who works at tumblr hq reading this because i accidentally reported my own fic im really sorry****

It has been five years since Feyd-Rautha last saw his wife swell with his child.

It is entirely by her design, and certainly not for lack of trying. He ravages her senseless almost every night, but after five children, the ever infuriating Diana Atreides refuses to give him another. As a Bene Gesserit, it is within her power to do so; the witches are able to bend their own reproduction to their will, and Feyd-Rautha believes she likes his methods of convincing her too much to give him what he wants.

Tonight, he almost has her hooked. He kisses her knee and up her bare thigh, licking and sucking the plush skin there. She barely acknowledges him and lets him fondle her as he pleases, lost in her own thoughts. 

“She’s too old for him. He’s just a boy.”

They are currently hosting several of the Great Houses. Earlier at dinner, he and Diana were approached by the Duke of Ginaz, who suggested they betroth his daughter to their oldest son, Aleksei. Diana had hidden her frown behind her glass of wine, but Feyd-Rautha had seen it and filed it away for later, thanking the Duke for his time.

He hums against her thigh, tongueing over the faint bruise he made. He can use this.

“He will be a man soon,” he reminds her. He pulls her leg over his shoulder as he shifts up the bed, now eye level with her weeping cunt. His mouth waters. “Even if we refuse this proposal, there will be others.”

He knows his wife wants to say more, but the words die in her throat when he shoves his nose against her, inhaling her scent and releasing a shaky breath. He pretends it is for her benefit, but really, this is all for him. With his fingers pulling apart the seam of her, his tongue lolls out, and Feyd-Rautha feasts. 

When he has had his fill of her pleasure, he crawls up the length of her body. She pants underneath him, back arching and eyes squeezing shut like a satisfied cat, her neck exposed and vulnerable. He licks off the sweat there.

“It will not stop with Aleksei,” he says, leaning over her.

Diana scowls. She shoves him, but he does not yield. He grasps her hand, pulling it away from his chest and up to his mouth, where he kisses her fingers.

He knows he is being cruel, rubbing salt in her wound. Her children are growing. At twelve years old, Aleksei is admittedly still too young to seriously consider for marriage, but the coming years will go by in a blink. First it will be Aleksei, then Nikita shortly after, and then Maxim – although their youngest and most unstable son will be difficult to pawn off, Feyd-Rautha thinks. 

His girls are another story. Sasha and Grisha were both gifted their mother’s beauty, but it is Grisha, their youngest, who takes after Feyd-Rautha the most. She is the only one of his children who did not inherit those dark Atreides curls. She is perfect; wholly Harkonnen, like her father. He knows he will feel how Diana does now when it is time for Grisha to leave his side.

It is why he fucks into his wife now, flexing his hips slowly and purposefully, so she feels every inch of his longing. He staves off the urge to empty himself inside of her prematurely, already aching to see her breasts swollen and leaking. 

He stops, trying to catch his breath. He pulls back from Diana to thumb over her pearl, grinding his length into her. “Shall I leave you like this, wife?” he asks her.

“Don’t you dare,” she snaps, her hips chasing his fingers.

“I can give you what you want,” he taunts. “I will pump you full of my children happily. What is one more?”

Diana does not answer, but he sees her breaking, just as he is. He holds her legs open, jutting into the apex of them, growling as he stares her down, willing her to change her mind. She hides her fears behind her pleasure, hides the tear sliding down her cheek by turning her face into the pillow, taking what he gives her.

What is one more child? Certainly not the solution to her problem. It is only a delay of the inevitable, that one day they will all grow up and no longer need her. Feyd-Rautha knows this. But he hopes to delay his wife’s suffering, just as he will delay her gratification if she does not give him what he wants.

When he pumps his load into her, he knows she is not satisfied. He breathes through his own satisfaction, nose flaring like a bull, but she does not complain like he expected her to. She does not roll him over to claim him, or bring her fingers to her cunt to finish what he started, his eyes on her hole, full of his spend.

Instead she buries her face in her hands. Feyd-Rautha leans his weight onto her and pulls her hands away, revealing her face to him. She blinks at him, her lashes wet and clumping together.

He knows what she is feeling. “I feel it, too,” he says. “Let me give you another, my darling.”

Diana nods and looks away, breathing out a held breath. “Alright,” she says. Her eyes soften fondly when they focus on him again. “Alright.”

They lay together for a while, enjoying each other’s company. Feyd-Rautha does not know if tonight will be the night, but he hopes. He hopes she sees it the way he does -- a continuation of their happiness, not the eventual ending of it. He kisses every part of Diana he can reach, and she cuddles into him, their limbs a tangled mess. 

A little later into the night, a knock on the door breaks their comfortable silence. Feyd-Rautha grunts, already irritated, and removes himself from her, slipping on a robe and his pants.

When he opens the door, he finds a wide-eyed servant. “It is the children, Baron Harkonnen.”

Feyd-Rautha frowns and widens the door, panic souring him. “Where are they?”

“They are safe, Baron Harkonnen, but there has been a bit of trouble.”

Diana appears behind him, wrapping her robe around her waist. "What sort of trouble?" she asks, brow furrowed.

“It will be best if you follow me to the drawing room within the guest wing, Baroness.”

Diana whips past Feyd-Rautha and the servant, not waiting for either of them to lead her to the guest wing. Feyd-Rautha follows after her, and he knows to expect his boys. It is not the first time he was awoken by something they have done when they should have been sleeping, but it does concern him that they were found in the guest wing.

Although he is the youngest son, Maxim is the instigator of all things. Not as bright as the others, he is aggressive and impulsive, often letting his hands speak for him. He acts before he thinks, and it frustrates Diana greatly. Many nights Feyd-Rautha has been brought before Maxim in the kitchens, where he sticks his grubby hands into pies and picks at berries meant for the morning’s breakfast. The guards know not to let him out of his room at night without their explicit permission.

But as explosive as Maxim is, it is Aleksei who reminds Feyd-Rautha the most of his own brother, Beast Rabban. His oldest son is proud and quick to anger, easily riled by Maxim and his sisters who poke and prod at him in the ways only younger siblings can. Feyd-Rautha does his best to temper Aleksei, to show him the value in patience, in choosing his battles.

Nikita, self-sufficient boy that he is, waits until the battles are over and won to pick at what remains. He watches. Feyd-Rautha suspects Diana favors him over the others, though she will never admit it. 

All of them dote on their sisters. Sasha has them carry her around on their backs, even when they are tired and sore and agitated from their training. They still treat Grisha like she is their baby, although she is almost six years old now and loathes the comparison. 

Each of them, in their own ways, bring honor to their House. It is not something he had ever imagined for himself when thinking about his future. Feyd-Rautha is proud of his children, and he would not be disinclined to have another.

The chaos they find upon entering the drawing room is enough for him to change his mind.

The lord and lady from Zanbar, whose names Feyd-Rautha has forgotten, fawn over their young daughter, who sits upon an ottoman in front of the fireplace, her face red and streaked with tears. She cries as she pulls at what remains of her blonde hair. It has been crudely chopped off, the ends blunt and jagged like it had been sawed with a knife.

Their boys stand sullenly in front of the governess, disheveled in her bathrobe and still flustered from being awoken in the middle of the night to collect them. Aleksei folds his arms over his chest, his head full of curly dark hair held high. Next to him, Nikita remains calm in the face of their impending scolding. He very likely had done nothing wrong but bear witness to the antics of his rowdy brothers. Meanwhile, Maxim openly glares at the small weeping girl. She deserved what she got, and he is waiting for a reason to give her more to cry over.

“What happened?” Diana asks, dismayed.

“Your sons snuck into my daughter’s bedchamber and cut her hair off while she slept!” the lord’s wife snaps, borderline hysterical. “Where were her guards? How was this allowed to happen?”

She is reaching an unnatural decibel, but withers under the glare Feyd-Rautha shoots her. They were pulled from their bed for this? His darkening expression does not fully quell the lady's anger, and she gawks at her husband, willing him to say something.

"I'm sure there's an explanation," the lord offers unhelpfully, averting his timid gaze.

Diana stills, taking in the sight of the poor girl’s hacked hair. With a deep inhale, she turns to the boys, her hand finding her hip. “Explain yourselves.”

“She was mocking Grisha, mother,” Maxim says, scowling. “We heard her at dinner.”

Aleksei nods, more self-righteous and refined in his anger. “She laughed at Grisha and made her cry because she doesn’t have hair.” He sneers when the lord’s daughter wails a little louder at this, because she, too, does not have hair now. “She called her ugly.”

Diana looks heartbroken over this, but her Bene Gesserit training helps to quickly neutralize her face. She looks to Nikita. “And you? What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I told them not to.”

Feyd-Rautha believes him. Nikita is no less ruthless, but he is also a diplomat by nature, preferring more uninvolved methods of justice or revenge. This boldness is certainly the work of his brothers.

Feyd-Rautha cannot wait to reward them handsomely for it.

Diana believes Nikita as well, for she turns back to the other two. “Apologize to Lady Rosalind.”

“But mother, she–”

“Enough,” Feyd-Rautha rasps, growing tired of the spectacle. “Do as your mother says, so we may all retire to our beds.” He shoots another glare at the lord and lady, who bluster under his attention, too afraid of him to protest again.

Aleksei and Maxim step forward and bow to the young girl. “We’re sorry,” they echo, not meaning it at all.

Knowing that is the best she will get from them, Diana exhales deeply and dismisses them back to their rooms, escorted by their governess to make sure they get there and do not take any more detours. Nikita follows, ever their solemn shadow. 

Diana kneels down beside Lady Rosalind. “Don’t fret. Hair grows back,” she soothes. The girl hiccups, and Diana gently brushes the hair out of her eyes before standing up to face her parents again. “I apologize on behalf of my sons. As you can see, they love their sister very much and do not take kindly to those who upset her.”

The lord and lady of Zanbar try to hide their grimaces. They know their indignancy is unfounded now that they know their daughter had started this. “Baroness, I must apologize–” the lord starts.

“That won’t be necessary,” Diana interrupts, putting a graceful hand up to stop him. “Let’s put this unpleasantness behind us. My husband and I will question our guards to understand how this was allowed to happen. Those responsible will be thoroughly punished.” She looks at Feyd-Rautha. “That includes our sons.”

This seems to satisfy the lord and lady enough to gather up their snot nosed daughter and leave, perhaps vowing to never step foot on Giedi Prime again. Feyd-Rautha will not miss them.

He and Diana walk back to their bedchamber in an agitated silence, until she breaks it.

“Still want another?” she asks him, deadpan.

“Not particularly. Would you still like me to thoroughly punish them?”

“Not particularly.”

Feyd-Rautha hums, and he reaches for her hand. 

The next morning, Feyd-Rautha walks over to Grisha where she sits on the wide stone fence, her little legs dangling over the side. The boys train in the yard, and she watches with her dolls, acting out the sparring techniques she sees with them. He kisses her head, smooth like his. She ignores him, too caught up in supervising the training of her dolls.

Feyd-Rautha smiles. “Who is winning?” he asks.

One of the dolls headbutts the other. Their yarn-like hair swings around violently. It is hard to tell under the light of the black sun, but he thinks one of them is blonde. That one plops to the ground, landing in the sand.

Grisha raises the hand of the victorious doll the way she sees her father raise his in the arena. “This one,” she tells him.

“Well fought,” Feyd-Rautha says proudly. He bends down to pick up the doll and hands it to her. He watches her run her fingers through the doll’s hair, brushing the sand out of it with great care.

One day, his daughter will train alongside her brothers. She will have no need for hair then. It would just get in her way, and make her easier to grab by her opponents. She will see the use in this, and appreciate what makes her Harkonnen.

For now, Feyd-Rautha cups her head and kisses her again. He calls her his beautiful girl, and returns to the yard, picking up where he and the boys left off.

[leviathanleva]

Sugar Bomb

Pairing: Findlay 'Hazard' Docherty x Fem!Reader

Description: Hazard takes it upon himself to secure dinner for everyone one evening. Out of the kindness of your heart, you volunteer to help out only to find out he's gotten you a treat along the way.

[2.1 k words]

Chapter 6

It was a night like any other, calm, and relaxing, everyone was sprawled around the living room, doing their own thing while waiting for Hazzard to come home with take-out. Your stomach growls in anticipation, but you ignore it with ease and return to the mini-game on your pad, poking away at it until dinner arrives. Legs crossed, one foot dangling in the air, bobbing up and down casually; you’re sprawled on the couch like it’s nobody’s business, this was the life.

Phonk is playing from the speakers, turned low so Susie could focus on some last minute document forging. The smell of charred metal is in the air while Touch-Up twiddles with a small addition to Hazard’s gun. There’s a storm raging outside, freezing cold rain which makes you worry for the well-being of your favorite Scotsman. Deaf thunder comes through the music every now and again, makes you shift further into the sofa.

In truth, you could have whipped up something for the phreaks, but everyone had agreed, much to your displeasure, that you slave over them too much and need a break. Hence why Findlay was currently out scouting for your next meal while you sat back and molded into the cushions with a half-empty can of soda on the coffee table.

The gate screeches open and you instantly perk up.

BoomSlang is about to stand from her armchair and leave to help with the groceries when you motion for her to stay put.

“I’ll help him, you just chill.”

“Thanks, babe.” She smiles at you sweetly and returns to tweaking one of her countless weapons as you make your way to the hallway.

It’s a cold day and you tug your cardigan tighter around yourself to fend off the chill trying to nip at your skin. Your slippers drag across the floor as you make your way to the front door. The light at the entrance flicks on and you can’t help the upward tug on your lips as you make your way over.

“Fin?”

“Aye, daftie.” You hear him before you see him, along with the rustling of plastic bags and paper boxes brimming with grub. “The hunt went well.”

“I’ve no doubt.” You giggle and round the corner, then stop to take him in in all his glory.

He’s wiping the soles of his cybernetic boots on the mat, caking it with mud, and shaking droplets of rain off his leather jacket before hanging it up. His hair is a wet mess and the front of his tee is soaked because he refuses to zip up that damn jacket no matter the weather outside.

He looks chilled to the bone, you make a mental note to turn up the heater once you make it to kitchen and have him sit to warm up before dinner.

“What’s that for?” You point to the pink cupcake secured in one of his hands, it seems to be taking all his self-restraint just to not accidentally smush it.

It’s a pretty little treat, chocolate base wrapped in a frilly red cupcake mold, topped with baby pink frosting and edible glitter. Maybe it was your prolonged hunger that was drawing you to it, but it was as much of an eye candy as it would be satisfactory at the bottom of your belly, you were sure.

Was it someone’s birthday again?

“Is for you, luv.” Findlay states proudly, grins down at you and offers you the pastry that looks minuscule pinched between his fingers. “Li’le birdies like pre’y pink treats,…right?”

You couldn’t smile any wider as you took it from him and offered countless words of gratitude. You were ready to tear up at the gesture, but you’ve cried enough in the past few months so you decide to keep your tears for another occasion.

“Yes, we do.”

You’re staring at the damn thing like it’s the most precious treasure in the world and it warms him to see you so pleased, aside from your expression feeding his gentlemanly pride.

“Glad you like it.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, chuckling at the childish glint in your eyes before picking up the take-out bags from the floor.

“We can share it.” You say sweetly and raise a finger to his mouth before he has a chance to protest. “I insist, you little twit.”

You usher him down the hall and scurry to turn on the kitchen heater on full blast. The room has been uninhabited since early morning when you made coffee, so it’s only fair it’s freezing cold and the windows have frosted over. You leave the cupcake on the kitchen counter and holler at the rest of the gang that dinner will be ready in ten before fetching a towel for Hazard’s hair from a cabinet in the corridor.

“Here, handsome.” You toss the cloth over his neck and give his large upper back a pat before returning to your precious edible treasure. “Dry off before you catch a cold.”

The bread knife goes through it like butter and you’re already watering at the mouth by the feeling, not even being able to imagine how heavenly it would taste.

You turn back once the cupcake is split and see the Scotsman still has the bags in his hands, not knowing where you want them put.  You’d half expect him to just set them anywhere and tend to drying himself off, but he was standing in the middle of the kitchen like a lost pup.

“You want your half now?” You ask and rest one hand on the table next to the treat before licking the leftover frosting from the bread knife. You’d thought he’d jump at the opportunity and practically thrust the take-out in your hands before wolfing down his share, but no, he still just stood there.

He was up to something…

If you hadn’t blinked you could have almost caught the little lightbulb coming to life above his head. He nods then, determined to execute his makeshift plan you were blissfully unaware of.

“Ye.”

You motion for him to take his half, but he doesn’t budge, instead he smirks and raises his occupied hands slightly.

“Hands are full, bonnie.”

“So what?...You want me to feed it to you?” It was supposed to be a joke and you do giggle as you say it, but the unchangeable expression on his face makes the grin die on your lips. “You’re kidding…”

When he doesn’t respond or laugh off the mock offer, you scoff. Your hands come to rest on your hips and you shift your weight from one leg to the other.

“You’re a big baby, you know that?” Despite the scolding tone you’re already picking up the bigger half of the cupcake, intending to walk up to him and do as he’s asked, but when you turn around he’s already standing right behind you.

Eager much…

You want to wipe the frosting all over the smug smirk plastered on his mouth, then lick it off, yet your features shift to soft adoration and you reach up, standing on your toes. You cup his cheek gently and bring the treat to his lips. If he truly wanted to be babied, you were fine with providing, even if he thought he was a big shot for lying to you about being unable to eat his share by himself.

He has to remind himself that his hands are very much occupied and he can’t just slide the bag handles on his wrists and encase your waist in his hands.

Right, very busy hands, no way of doing anything with them at the moment…

Right…

He opens his mouth and takes the treat, scarfing it down with ease, leans in when you try to step away and go wash your hands. His tongue comes in contact with the tips of your fingers, and he licks the frosting off, being thorough in his mission. His eyes never leave yours as he does so, laps at you like a dog, seeming to find more satisfaction from your flesh than the edible glitter clinging to your digits. The sharp ends of his canines graze your nails, his lips press into your skin – warm, soft, tantalizing.

You swallow back a whimper, can’t move an inch, you’re rooted to the spot, squished between him and the table. Rain drops trickle from his hair down his forehead, his whiskey orbs are burning holes into your very soul.

The heat from his tongue gliding over your fingers has your entire body overwhelmed with goose flesh and you shudder before mumbling out weakly.

“Findlay…”

“Aye?”

You swallow a lump of excitement and anxiety caught in your throat, then speak softly, making sure your voice doesn’t travel outside of the kitchen.

“Why do you torture me so…?”

He chuckles at that and succumbs to the urge to lay one hand on your hip after sloppily slapping the bags of food on the dining table behind you. He squishes the supple flesh there, and makes you squeal in the process.

“Payback for yer perfume, hen.” He hums, a deep, husky rumble that reverberates in your core. He leans closer, finally letting your hand free only to lower his face to yours. You can feel the cool steel of his nose piercing gently grazing your cheek. “Mah sweet wee hen…”

His lips are so close to yours that you feel his huffs collide with your breaths, can smell the sweetness of the cupcake on his tattooed tongue. You could lean in right now, just an inch closer and your mouths would be sealed together, no telling what would happen next.

How wonderfully painful all this was…

“Is dinner ready yet? Susie said she’s sick of my whining.”

You lurch back at JackDaw’s voice. And just like that, the spell is broken, the room comes back into focus. The door to the kitchen has been open this whole time, someone could have walked in on you two. You wanted to bury yourself alive at the implication.

“Ah, almost lovies!” You call back hastily and slip between Findlay’s fingers, take the leftover bags from his other hand, and set everything on the counter to plate. “Tell the others two more minutes!”

But your torturer isn’t done yet. He comes behind you as you shakily prepare everyone’s meals, presses a hand against your tummy, pulls you back into him, and rests his chin briefly against your shoulder, the tip of his nose drawing against the skin of your neck.

“Fill mah plate good, aye, hen? I’m starvin’.”

You nearly collapse on the spot with how flustered you are, have to resort to gripping onto the edge of the counter to keep steady as Hazard slowly pulls away. You listen for him, hear a chair screech and glance back to see him sitting in his usual spot while toweling his hair casually.

He’d be the death of you. The fucking death of you. You were sure of it.

But what was stopping you from indulging?

The fact that you refused to be a part of a fling, that’s what. You didn’t want casual, you didn’t want just sex, you wanted him for as long as you drew breath, even if that sounded a bit overdramatic in your head. You wanted to be in it for life, just as he’d told you when you’d first met, if you’re in it with him, you’re in it for life. But whether that sentiment extended to his romantic life was a mystery to you.

And it wasn’t a question to just throw out there when nothing was going on between you two besides the occasional pushing of buttons. Or maybe something was going on and you were blind to it, it was never certain when Hazard was involved.

You didn’t know why he hadn’t just asked you out, why he constantly teased you and treated you so lovingly yet refused to take the next step and kiss you. What was stopping him? Was he worried your friends would disapprove? You doubted anyone would object. But then what was the issue…

You watch him as you portion the food – lazy, unbothered, confident, the man you love so deeply yet can’t find the strength to risk it all and just confess.

You were a wuss, a fucking coward. You wish things were different.

He notices you staring at him over your shoulders, grins that famous grin of his, and gives you a wink as he leans back in his chair. You’re ready to die when he pats his thick thigh, silently offering you a new seat on the table for the night. You avert your gaze and focus on the food in your hands.

For sure he’d be the death of you.

<<< Chapter 5

Chapter 7 >>>

Masterlist

[hedwig221b]

happy birthday to wonderful @goddessofsteel 🎉💕 hope this makes you smile today!

read full version

Stiles woke up with a jolt. Opening his bleary eyes, he licked his lips and looked around, thoroughly confused as to where he was.

Then his gaze fell onto Derek.

The man was fully dressed. He was currently putting on his watch but kept his eyes on Stiles. A small amused smile lightened his face, and Stiles immediately wanted to hide from it.

“Good morning, beautiful,” said Derek.

Stiles blinked at him.

Derek chuckled, walked up to the bed and sat down beside him. He cupped Stiles’ face and gave him a light kiss on the lips, before letting him go with a small flick on his chin.

“Sleep well?”

“Mhm,” Stiles raked a hand through his hair and sat up. The covers fell to his lap, and Derek’s eyes immediately slipped down his body.

Stiles didn’t try to cover himself, though his gaze did make him want to squirm.

“I’ve booked this room till three,” said Derek, watching him. “It’s all yours. The mini-bar is paid for, and there’s a nice jacuzzi.”

Stiles’ gaze slid down Derek’s clothes. “And you?”

“As much as I would like to spend time in your company, I have to go.”

Oh.

That’s how it ends, then.

“Okay,” said Stiles, because what else could he say. They were nobody to each other. He could’ve demanded his attention and put on more charm to keep him close, but Stiles was too worn out from yesterday to do anything.

Some of the disappointment must’ve slipped through, though, because Derek smiled again. He caressed Stiles’ cheek with a finger, watching his own movements.

“I had a lot of fun last night,” he said.

Stiles stared at him.

What does that mean? Was there supposed to be a “but”?

“Me, too,” Stiles croaked, unsure of what was happening.

Derek seemed pleased. His hand traveled down Stiles’ neck with his thumb tracing the prominent veins and eventually fell down on Stiles’ covered thigh. The man seemed to have trouble keeping his hands off him.

“Want more?” he asked eventually and arched an eyebrow.

Hell, yeah.

Stiles squeezed his lips together to keep a smile in but wasn’t sure he was successful. A fiercely warm jolt of excitement sent shivers down his body.

“Yeah,” he said, keeping what he really wanted to say (fuck yes, please, please, please I have to get my mouth on your dick and feel a beard burn on my thighs) to himself.

Derek’s pleased and somewhat relieved grin was beautiful. He caught Stiles’ hand and kissed the back of it.

“I’m taking you out to dinner tonight, then.” The man was literally glowing. Stiles fought a laugh at how easy all of it was.

“Awesome,” came out of Stiles’ mouth and he quickly shut it, but Derek, thankfully, laughed.

“I gotta go.” He kissed Stiles in the corner of his lips and stood up. “I’ll text you. Take your time and relax, okay, baby?”

And all these fucking nicknames… Stiles had never been called that before, but he found himself liking it.

“I will.”

Derek left, after tearing his gaze away from Stiles’ body and saying goodbye one more time. Stiles fell back on the bed with the silliest grin and stretched, sighing in pleasure.

He was going to have so much fucking fun.

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

If you remember the Bibas family, they were all kidnapped to Gaza on Oct 7, the father Yarden who left their house first, to protect his family, and then the mother Shiri, 4 years old Ariel, and the baby, 9 months old Kfir.

It is now confirmed that they were not kidnapped by Hamas, but rather by one of 26 terrorist organizations in Gaza, each one so small that they're usually referred to as terrorist factions, rather than terrorist organization. This one specifically has adopted a pattern of always cooperating with one of the bigger terrorist organizations (like Hamas or Palestinian Islamic Jihad), so we can assume that's what they did on Oct 7 as well. The first 45 seconds or so from the following vid is what it looked like when Shiri, Ariel and Kfir were being kidnapped, you can see how terrified she is...

Below is new CCTV footage that the IDF has uncovered from a street in Khan Younis, so now we know which city in Gaza the three (Shiri, Ariel and Kfir) were kidnapped to. Shiri is seen barefoot, Ariel's head is sort of visible, Kfir isn't, but it's assumed he's under the blanket, and Shiri holding him close to her body. Because this footage is from Oct 2023, there's so much we still don't know. Are they still there? What's their current state? Nobody knows, but the IDF spokesman has confirmed that there is grave concern for their lives.

Yesterday, a Hezbollah attack drone crashed into Arbel, the mountain on which Tiberias (one of the 4 holy cities in Judaism) is built. For some reason, the siren didn't go off. The drone crashed not too far from a kindergarten, but thankfully no one was hurt. In response, Israel has struck Hezbollah's weapon warehouses in Lebanon. To the best of my knowledge, they're still checking why the siren warning failed, and which country was the drone launched from, Lebanon, Syria or Iraq.

A French report says that the terror tunnels Hezbollah has been digging for years on Israel's northern border are more complex and dangerous than the system Hamas has dug under Gaza. That's what Israeli soldiers will have to tackle if the northern front goes to a full scale war. The terror tunnels Hamas has dug since 2007 under Gaza are so much more developed, extensive, complex and dangerous than Israel has realized, and the IDF has had to develop new ways of fighting in and around them, which we did not have when the war in Gaza started. Hamas' terror tunnels were estimated to be bigger than the London Tube (underground train system) back in Dec 2023, and there have been more tunnels located since. Just to put things in perspective, London's size is 1572 square kilometers (607 square miles), more than 4 times bigger than Gaza, at 363 square kilometers (140 square miles), and has a smaller underground tunnel system, according to what we knew about Gaza two months ago. But people want Israel to sit back, and let these threats to the lives of Israeli civilians continue to grow freely... Just a reminder, on Oct 7, the way the terrorists got to the border fence, to destroy the cameras there, without being spotted on the way was thanks to their terror tunnels, and those tunnels allow them to hold Israeli hostages captives, and it allows Hamas terrorists a place to hide and strike from, and it's where some Israeli hostages were murdered.

Today in our corner, "Suuuure, it's anti-Zionism, not antisemitism, but somehow it keeps targeting Jews and Jewish identity," we got two stories from the UK. One is of a Jewish family sending their baby girl's birth certificate to issue her a passport got the document back torn and defaced, with the word "Israel" under "father's place of birth" scribbled over.

The second story is of how the Amy Winehouse statue, which has stood in Camden Market for essentially 10 years, has also been defaced, specifically the Star of David was covered with a Palestinian flag sticker.

This is Elyakim Libman.

On Oct 7, he worked at the Nova music festival as a guard. Survivors of the massacre there say he helped save quite a few people. At a certain point, he went back to retrieve the body of a murdered young woman, so it wouldn't be taken hostage by the terrorists, and that's when he ended up being kidnapped himself. He's been in Gaza for over 4 months, including during his birthday. The other day, he became an uncle. He was supposed to be his nephew's godfather, but didn't get to. His family said explicitly they want no terrorists to be released in order to free him, and that if Elyakim could weigh in, he would say the same.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[247-diaperboy]

Matt and Mark

Matt woke up before the alarm clock went off. He knew Mark didn't have to go to work today, so he flipped the switch so the alarm wouldn't wake his brother up. He slipped out of his wet pajamas and dried himself off with a dry area of the leg. He grabbed a pair of boxer shorts and a tshirt off the floor and went to the kitchen. It was Friday morning, so Matt had to get to get ready for school. He tossed two Pop Tarts in the toaster and ran for the shower.

He showered quickly, dried off, then quietly went back in the room he shared with his brother. He put the towels on the bed and quietly went to the dresser to get his underwear and socks, pulling out a pair of white socks and red plaid boxers. Mark turned over in bed at the noise Matt was making, and went back to sleep. Matt got dressed in a pair of blue jeans, a t-shirt and a yellow and blue checkered shirt on top. He grabbed his yellow Abercrombie & Fitch visor and ducked into the bathroom to gel his hair. Once everything was spiked perfectly above the visor, Matt grabbed his backpack, Pop Tarts and a YooHoo from the fridge and ran out the door to his car and drove off to school.

An hour later, Mark finally woke up. Even though its Friday, he had taken the day off from work to relax a bit. He got up, put on a pair of his gym shorts, and up and looked over at Matt's bed. He knew his little brother had wet the bed that night. He grabbed the towels and pulled the sheet off and carried the damp bundle down to the laundry room.

While everything was in the washing machine, Mark went up to the kitchen and started a fresh pot of coffee brewing. He turned on the TV and started flipping through the channels. After a few minutes, he settled on one of the courtroom type shows and got a box of Frosted Flakes out of the cabinet. He put the last of the milk in his cereal bowl and added some sugar and half and half to his coffee. The current case was a landlord suing his tenant for $250 of past due rent.

Mark finished his frosted flakes and first cup of coffee. He went to the bedroom and cleaned off his brother's mattress, then went the basement to get the sheets and towels out of the washing machine and put them in the dryer. Returning to his bedroom, he grabbed a tank top, his wallet and keys, and headed for the door.

The drugstore was just down the street and around the corner, so it was a short drive. He parked in front and walked inside, grabbing a shopping cart on the way in. He walked over to the baby aisle and started to look around. He quickly found a nice large pacifier in blue, intended for toddlers, but would do nicely. He put it in the cart, and followed by a pacifier holder with a bear on it, four blue plastic baby bottles, some scented baby wipes, diaper rash creme, and a large bottle of baby powder. He walked two aisles over to the incontenence section. He found a bag that would fit Matt, labled "fitted briefs" on the front. Mark smiled to himself - they were now "little brother diapers".

He proceeded to the checkout and swiped his ATM card as the cashier started to ring up his items. The cashier bagged everything, he entered his PIN, took his receipt and headed for Sears. He pulled in to the parking lot and went inside. Bedding was on the second floor, so he headed up the escalator and looked around for the vinyl sheet his little brother would be sleeping on from now on. A store clerk found the right size for the bed, and rang him up. Mark stopped in the food court for a slice of pizza before he went home.

It was nearly 11:30 when he got back to the house. The sheets were dry, so he took them out of the dryer and folded them and watched The Price Is Right. As usual, some "nobody" who'd "never won anything before" won a new car. Some day he'd win one too. But not today - he had to get everthing ready before Matt got home.

The vinyl sheet fit perfectly, and made a soft crinkle under the freshly washed sheets. Mark went to Matt's dresser and removed the pile of boxer shorts and briefs from inside. He put them in the trunk next to his bed and locked it for safe keeping. Matt wouldn't be needing them for a while. He went back to the kitchen and retrieved the diapers and baby items he'd purchased from the drug store. He opened the bag of diapers and put some in Matt's dresser where his boxer shorts used to be. He then put the baby wipes and powder on the floor between his brother's bed and the night stand.

Mark went back to the kitchen with the baby bottles and the pacifier. He put them in the dishwasher with the remaining dishes from the sink and started the wash cycle. Matt hadn't done his laundry yet, so Mark went back to the bedroom and picked up all the clothes and started another wash running.

Matt wouldn't be home for another four hours, so Mark played around online while the dishes and laundry were washing. The washing machine buzzed and he moved everything into the dryer. Mark decided to go to the gym while he still had time for a quick workout. He drove over to the gym for a short workout, then showered. While he was there he ran into Justin, a guy he'd been interested in for a while. They'd first met at a local night club, but had seen eachother around before. Feeling a bit adventerous, Matt asked Justin if he'd like to come over later and hang out since he "had to babysit his little brother" that night. Justin smiled and agreed as they swapped phone numbers.

The clock in his car said 2:00. Mark stopped at a smoothie shop on his way back to the house. He got home and finished his smoothie while he folded the rest of the laundry, locking the rest of Matt's regular underwear in the trunk. He put all the remaining clothes away and played online untill his brother got home.

"Hey there," Matt said as he walked in. He sat down in a chair and took off his shoes.

"Hey," his brother said as he logged off the chat rooms. "Go take a shower, and leave your clothes here."

"What?" Matt asked. "I took one this morning."

"Yeah, and I'm sick of having to clean up your wet beds for you. Now go take a shower before I get really pissed off."

"Fine," Matt said in a huff as he took off his socks, shirt and pants. He started to walk out the door.

"Hold it. I said ALL your clothes stay here."

Matt grumbled and took off his shorts and threw them at Mark. Mark caught them and proceeded to put the clothes his brother had just left on the floor into the laundry basket. He then put the boxers in the trunk with the others, then went to the closet and took out a diaper. He sat down on his bed and put the diaper next to him. While he waited for Matt to get out of the shower, he picked up a magazine and read.

Matt walked back into the room with a towel wrapped around him. He walked over to his dresser and pulled out a tshirt and tossed it on the bed. He opened the drawer that formerly held his underwear and socks, and stopped.

"Where are my boxers?" he asked.

"You won't be needing them anymore." Mark replied.

"What do you mean? And what are these?"

"I'm sick of having to wash your sheets and clothes. So I've decided to do something about it. Until you learn to control yourself, you will wear diapers," said Mark.

"Oh no. No way. I'm SIXTEEN YEARS OLD."

"That's debatable. You have a drivers license, but you can't stop wetting your bed. Anyway, you don't have a choice in the matter. Lie down on your bed."

"No way. Give me my underwear back," Matt whined.

"Sorry bud, no can do. Now lie down before I make you," Mark said.

"No!" said Matt.

Mark walked over to Matt, yanked his towel off, picked him up and put him down on the bed.

"Hey, that's not fair!" Matt yelled as he got up off his bed.

Mark sat down on Matt's bed, grabbed him by the waist and pulled him over his knee. With his left hand, Mark grabbed Matt's wrists and held them down against his back and proceeded to spank his little brother, harder and harder each time.

"Ow! Stop that! Hey! Get off me!" he started to scream. "Stop it! he yelled as tears started to well up in his eyes. "Okay, I'll wear the stupid diaper!" he said as he started to bawl in his brother's lap.

"Good. Glad you saw things my way. Now lie down on your bed." Mark said.

Matt got on his bed and laid down in front of his brother, tears still dripping down his cheeks. Mark picked up the diaper rash creme and put some in his right hand. He lifted his little brother's legs in the air and gently rubbed it all over the redness he'd just created and around where the diapers were about to be placed. Mark wiped his hands of on a towel and picked the diaper up off his bed. Matt looked over and started to cry while Mark unfolded the diaper above him. Mark lifted his brother's legs in the air and placed the diaper under him. He put Matt's legs down on the bed and pulled the diaper up and taped the sides in place. He picked up the tshirt his brother had pulled out after his shower and put it on him.

"You are not to touch your diapers. If you have to go to the bathroom, you are to use your diapers. If you need a change, you ask me. If I catch you messing with them I'm going to give you a worse spanking than what you just got. Do you understand?" said Mark.

"Yeah, I got it," Matt said softly. As he sat up, the plastic of his diaper crinkled. He went over to the chair where his pants were laying and picked them up.

"Oh no you don't. I want to be able to see when you wet. As long as you're in the house, its just a diaper and tshirt for you," Mark explained.

"That's not fair - what if someone comes over?" his brother asked.

"They'll just find out how much of a little kid you really are then. Well, maybe I'll let you wear shorts on top - MAYBE," Mark said. "Oh yeah, and Justin is coming over to hang out tonight. I expect you to behave yourself. You can do what you want now. Call me if you need a change."

Matt went over to the computer and logged on. He checked his e-mail while Mark showered. Mark came back in, grabbed a tshirt and a pair of khaki shorts from his dresser. He dressed and watched Matt. He seemed to be behaving, so Mark went out to the living room to watch TV. He called Justin and they agreed to get together for pizza in an hour.

Forty five minutes later, Mark went back to their bedroom. "Justin is coming over in ten minutes. You can wear these if you want." He handed a pair of basketball shorts to his little brother.

Matt put them on and sat back down. "Mark, you can hear my diaper under these things! Can't I at least wear my jeans?"

"Nope. We're going to order pizza - you want some?" Mark asked.

"Yeah," Matt said quietly. "Cheese."

Mark walked back to the tv and sat down. Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. Mark opened the door. "Hey there," he said.

"Hello," Justin replied.

"Come in ... I was just watching TV. You want something to drink?" Mark asked.

"Yeah, a soda or something. You know what kind of pizza you want?" said Justin.

"I was thinkin extra cheese - it's what Matt wanted."

"Oh yeah, your brother. Where is he anyway?" Justin asked.

"He's up in our room on the computer, as usual," Mark replied. "Hey Matt, get down here!" he yelled.

Matt yelled back, "Just a second!"

Justin sipped his soda while they waited. Mark walked over and picked up the cordless phone and fumbled for the pizza delivery phone number. Matt walked in the kitchen carefully, but his diapers crinkled softly under his basketball shorts anyway. "Hi," he said, "I'm Matt."

Justin extended his hand, "I'm Justin. I've seen you around somewhere. The gym maybe?"

Matt nodded and shook hands. "Yeah, I go sometimes."

Mark finally located the phone number for the pizza delivery place and ordered two large cheese pizzas and two bottles of Mountain Dew. He hung up and went to the refrigerator and grabbed two sodas and tossed one to Matt.

"Thanks," Matt said as he opened his can and took a drink.

They went to the living room and watched TV. Matt sat on the couch carefully, consious of the noise his diaper made when he moved. The other two sat down near him and started flipping through the channels looking for something to watch. After a while, Matt couldn't wait any longer.

"Mark, I gotta go to the bathroom," said Matt.

"And what did I tell you about that?" Mark asked.

"Yeah, I know, but I can't," Matt complained.

"And that's your problem. You got yourself into your situation, and you're gonna have to deal with it," Mark replied.

"Situation?" asked Justin.

Mark smiled. "Yeah, this little guy has a bit of a bedwetting problem, so I decided to keep him in diapers until he can learn to control himself."

"Ahhh, I thought I heard something under there. Don't worry, I had the same problem when I was little. You'll get over it," Justin said.

"Yeah, but until then he's treating me like a little kid!" Matt said.

"Comes with the territory kid. You're the little brother, remember?" Mark chimed in.

"Grrrr. I'm not a kid!" Matt growled.

Mark laughed as he got up off the couch. "Right. Whatever." Just as Matt was about to argue, Matt reached down and yanked Matt's shorts off from under him.

"Hey, what are you doing?! Give those back!" Matt cried.

Justin laughed. "You do look cute in them."

"Shut up!" Matt said.

"Hey, that's not nice. What did I tell you about behaving yourself tonight?" said Mark as he tossed the shorts next to the television.

"He's making fun of me! That's not fair!"

"I've got an idea," Mark whispered to Justin. They planned it out, then tackled Matt and started to tickle him. Mark pulled Matt's tshirt up around his chest and held his arms behind his body while Justin tickled Matt all over.

"Hey that tickles! Stop it!" he yelled as he squirmed around in his big brother's grip. "You're going to make me pee all over myself!"

"Now you've got the idea," Mark whispered in his brother's ear.

"No fair!" he said as he started to wet his diaper, still struggling against his brother's tight grasp. Justin continued to tickle untill well after Matt had stopped wetting. "Hey, okay, I give up!" he cried.

Justing stepped back and smiled. "Aww, you wet your diaper!"

"No shit Sherlock." he said.

"Hey, what did I tell you about behaving?" Mark pulled Matt's shirt over his head and trapped his arms inside, then flipped him over on his stomach and smacked him five times very hard through the soaked diaper.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," Matt yelped from under his tshirt.

Mark removed the tshirt from his little brother who was now blushing a bright red. "Awww, come on. Let's get you changed." Mark got up and helped his little brother stand up. All three walked into the bedroom.

"Lay down," said Mark as he took a clean diaper from Matt's dresser drawer.

Matt sat down on the bed and leaned back. "Hey, what about him? Does he have to be here too?"

Justin laughed. "Fine, if you're embarassed about it, I won't watch."

Mark walked over to his little brother and picked up the baby powder and wipes. He untaped the diaper and pulled it down. Matt started to turn red as his brother wiped him off with the baby wipes. "You know, this hair is going to cause diaper rash. Justin, could you hand me a pair of scissors from the desk?"

"WHAT?" Matt yelled. "NO WAY. ITS BAD ENOUGH I HAVE TO WEAR A DIAPER." Mark lifted Matt's legs in the air and smacked his rear end.

"Behave," Mark said as he put Matt's legs back down on the bed. He took the scissors from Justin and trimmed the hair that was growing between his little brother's legs. "I'm not taking it all off, just enough to keep you from having diaper rash."

Mark put the handfull of dark hair he'd just trimmed off in the wet diaper and rolled it up. He then proceeded to rub baby powder on his brother, then taped up the diaper. "You're done."

Justin turned around and smiled at the little boy on the bed. "I still say you look cute in those." Matt blushed again.

"Come on. Back to the living room," Mark said as he pulled Matt up. Matt walked to the door then turned back and reached for the tshirt.

"Nope. Keep walking."

Mat didn't fight this time and kept walking to the living room. All three sat down on the couch and watched TV while they waited for the pizza. Two minutes later, the doorbell rang. Mark got his wallet out and pulled out $15, which he handed to Matt. Go get the pizza, would ya?

"What? No way. I'm not gonna have people see me in a diaper!" Matt exclaimed.

"Get used to it," said Mark with a smile.

Matt got up, took the money and went to the door. He opened the door, gave the delivery man the money and took the pizzas and sodas. The delivery man said nothing about the diaper. Mark went to the kitchen and grabbed some paper plates and plastic cups and headed back to the living room. He passed them around and grabbed a slice of pizza.

Mark flipped through the channels and finally found a movie that had just started. He poured drinks for everyone and sat down to eat. All through the movie, Mark made sure everyone's cups were full, especially Matt's. Mark sat on the couch with Justin, while Matt sat on the floor. The movie ended, and Justin was getting ready to go home. Matt got up to say goodbye, but sat back down and soaked his diaper again before finally being able to stand up again.

"See ya diaper boy," Justin said as he ruffled Matt's hair. Matt blushed again. "Call me sometime - maybe we can get together again or something," Justin said to Mark, "See ya, guys."

Mark took Matt back to their bedroom and changed his diaper for a second time, making sure his little brother was nice and dry for the night. He handed Matt the pajamas he'd washed earlier that day. Mark went to go brush his teeth, then Matt did the same. As he passed his brother, Mark smiled when he saw the top of the diaper sticking out the top of the pajama pants.

Mark crawled in bed while Matt was brushing his teeth. When Matt got in his bed, he noticed the vinyl sheet underneath. "Mark, you put a plastic sheet on my bed too? I thought the diapers were enough."

"It's just in case. You'll get used to it," Mark said sleepily. "Gnight."

"Goodnight," Matt said softly as he fell asleep too.

[kultklassickiller]

Prada You Chapter 8

Summary:

In the summer of 1998, sparks fly between Nyeya and Jey.

Nyeya is an 18-year-old around the way girl. Jey is older, paid, and fine. He is also the leader of the infamous Prada Bois alongside his twin brother Jimmy.  The two have chemistry. However, Nyeya has plans outside of her attraction. With a birthday around the corner and dreams of living a good life, Nyeya sets her sights on enjoying the perks of Jey's money and hood celebrity.

But baby girl has no clue what it takes to really be down. Nyeya is about to learn some hard life lessons at the expense of her 'Prada' priced dreams.

Pairing: Jey Uso x Nyeya (Nye) Green (OC)

Author’s Note: This story is happening in an alternative universe. It features the current and original Bloodline members along with other WWE stars. So, the characters are themselves, but some things are switched around for the stories sake. This was originally written with all original characters, but I think it could work better this way. Hope you guys enjoy it and I actually finish it...

Warning: Please be advised that this chapter contains harsh/foul language, violence, depiction of death. Sorry he had to die so soon..

Disclaimer: This work of art is fictional in nature including the original characters created by me. I do not own any of the existing characters or lyrics from songs referenced in this story. All rights belong to their respective owners with the exception of my original characters. This work is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to cause harm.

Chapter 8: Enemy

A few days later...

"70 days to go. Yay me," I muttered.

I was laying on the floor in my room looking at my calendar. All my plans were done for now that it was over with Jey. As much as I liked him, I couldn't be no fool. I refused to have any man let alone an old one play in my face. Yea, I was young but still, that shit wasn't cool.

My girls agreed with me after I gave them the rundown of what happened.

"Bitch! You lying! Y'all out actin' in front of people. Ew. So, ghetto," Nataya cringed.

"You really need to run his pockets just for that bullshit. How he gon' treat like you one of these regular broads out here," Kiyah chided.

"He look like he fuck with regular hoes anyways. You was too good for him, Nye. Fuck his sunset-colored ass. Prada Boi or not, his lost," Natasha added.

I giggled remembering the wild stuff they was saying. My mood lifted just a bit, but I still felt down about my party. I had some big plans.

My phone rang, I rolled over to pick it up.

"Hello."

"Go ahead and get dressed. We going out tonight, girl," Kiyah sang.

"Nope. Nada. No. I ain't leaving this house to go anywhere near that skating rink," I declined.

I knew what she had in mind, and I wasn't having it. The Prada Bois was having a light’s out party at the skating rink and we had plans to go but that was before everything went down.

"Really, Nye? So, you just not gon' come out the house this summer 'cause his ass may be around. Lame," she condemned.

"Oh, I'm steppin' out all summer long, but I won't be steppin' into no Prada Boi party."

I wouldn't be steppin' far because anything of importance would be hosted by a Prada Boi but that was cool with me.

"So basically, nowhere important is what you telling me," she confirmed.

I rolled my eyes, "I guess so. You can go and then call me when you get back with the deetz, okay?"

I heard her sigh before speaking, "Nah, she saying she not going."

I could hear the twins in the background asking why. I sat up, listening as they continued their back and forth like I wasn't on the line.

"Tell Nye he probably won't even be there. Ain't nobody seen Jey in days," Nataya assured.

While Jey's disappearance was news to me, I still didn't feel like going.

"You hear that, Nye. He won't be there. So put something on, we on the way," Kiyah said.

"I-

Before I could finish my sentence, she hung up. I wanted to sink into the carpet and disappear. I laid there on the floor until the three of them came through the door.

"Really? Get dressed. We already asked your mama about you coming out with us. So, it's a done deal, dude," Kiyah began, coming further into my room.

I groaned in response, "I told y'all I ain't tryna go to that shit. Why y'all ain't listening? Do I gotta say it in Spanish?"

They rattled off multiple reasons why I should as well as more insults about Jey. After an hour of tussling, I was dressed and headed out the door with them. Peer pressure was a motherfucka.

———

We arrived late but before they cut the main lights off. The line to get skates was long as hell so we just stood in line, talking. As soon as we reached the front of the line, Jey himself came right through the door with a few Prada Bois behind him.

My breath hitched in my lungs as we met eyes. If he felt some type of way about my presence he ain't show it. Just passed right by me without a word or a look back. I was tight. Yea, I was the one who called it off but why treat me like a stranger?

"Mhm. You still feeling him, ain't you?" Nataya peeped.

I rolled my eyes, "No but you damn sure said he wasn't supposed to be here. Well would you look at that," I mumbled, grabbing my skates from the counter.

It was her turn to roll her eyes as we walked into the main area. Inside, the rink, people were everywhere. Since few were actually skating, I had to look a while for seats. I didn't want to admit it, but I kept an eye out for Jey. The girls put their skates on, but I didn't. I would hold our spots. They didn't complain and headed out to skate.

The DJ was playing the "Tell Me" by Groove Theory. I sang along as I watched people skate.

"Ya ass still be singing, huh?"

Approaching me was a caramel coated dude named Carmelo we all would chill with from time to time.

"Ah, you know me. I gotta let people know I can blow," I laughed.

Carmelo was cool. He had a crush on me, but I never took him serious. Without asking, he took a seat next to me.

"What boy?"

I asked after noticing he was looking at me hard as hell once he sat down.

"Shit. You."

I smiled, "Why? You just seen me not too long ago. It ain't like I changed or nothing."

I hadn't but I was well put together tonight. The strapless pink romper barely covered my behind. My doe eyes were adorned with fake eyelashes and some shimmer eyeshadow. Gold bamboo earrings hung from my lobes and clear lip gloss had my pink lips shining in the dark. The matching pink Chuck Taylors I had on completed the look.

"I'm just saying you look good as hell right now. You smell good, too," he grinned.

Carmelo was cute. I think his pretty brown eyes really helped. I hadn't really taken notice of him because he was always being a clown or starting shit.

"Thank you. You look good, too. I like those jeans," I complemented back.

Carmelo and I continued to talk for a while until Nataya came back to have a seat. I use this as an opportunity to go use the restroom. I made it just in time before I peed on myself. Carmelo was a talker. After washing my hands and checking my makeup, I exited.

"You been having a good night, Nyeya?"

Jey. I hadn't heard his voice in a minute. His country twang was something I didn't even realize I missed. He was leaning up against a pinball machine that sat along the wall leading to the restrooms. He wasn't alone though. Tama, Tonga, Solo, Jimmy, and Jacob was surrounding him. They all watched me intently. To be honest, I felt rather naked under their gaze as I seemed to have their full attention.

"Yea, I have," I replied as I turned to head back to my seat.

I kept it short and to the point because I didn't want to be in his or their presence any longer.

"Yea, I can see that. You been hemmed up all night," he scoffed.

My slow stride came to a complete stop when I heard that. He had been watching me with Carmelo all night. Even though I hadn't seen him, he had seen me.

"Yea. Well, I'm single and like to mingle, you know," I retorted, glancing back at him.

I didn't intend to spend all night in Carmelo's face but I'm glad it happened. He wasn't the only one who could pull people like that.

"Oh. Is that how it is? Sheesh," he chuckled along with his crew.

I shrugged and kept it moving. Once back where our seats was, I told the girls what had just happened as they were all together now.

"Ha! So, Prada Boi Jey jealous now? Typical," Natasha laughed.

I could agree. Negros never liked when you do them like they do you.

"Where Carmelo go?" I asked as I noticed he was no longer around.

"Somebody paged him. He said he would hit you later. What y'all got going?" Kiyah quizzed.

The answer was nothing as of right now, but I did enjoy the conversation we had.

"Oh, it ain't like that. He cool when he not being a comedian or shit starter," I answered honestly.

Before she could reply, gunshots erupted, and people started heading or rather running towards the exit.

"Damn! What's going on?" Kiyah inquired, standing on the seats to see pass the crowd.

Nothing was going on inside, so the shots came from outside. We grabbed our things and headed out too. By the time we got to the front exit, the ambulance, fire truck, and a sea of flashing police lights were everywhere.

"Somebody got shot!"

"Oh my god! Is he dead?"

"Damn! They killed him!"

"Y'all see anything? What happened?"

Different people were saying and asking the same thing as we pushed through the standing crowd.

"Oh my god!" Nataya gasped as she grabbed my arm.

My eyes followed hers and that's when my heart dropped into my stomach. Carmelo lay sprawled out on the ground with blood pooling around his head. He was the one who people were speaking about. I had just talked to him, just seen him. How could this have happened so fast? Who would do something like this? Yea, Carmelo was mixed up in some things but to kill him. Man, nah.

My stomach tighten at the sight. The sound of my racing heartbeat could be heard in my ears. The combination of seeing him bleeding out, the noise, the heat, and the lights made my head swim.

My knees gave out next.

"Nye! Nye!"

Someone was screaming my name, but I couldn't say who. All that came next was darkness.

[minniethemoocherda]

Loving You is a Losing Game

Summary: When Jean and Scott announce that they are expecting, Morph takes Logan on a night about town to drink away their problems.

A/N: Holy shit that last episode??!!!! Morph is my new fav and Morphine is my current obsession!!! Xxxxxxx

Ao3

FF.net

Well it had finally happened. Jean and Scott announced that they were expecting a baby.

And as expected, the news sent Logan into another of his lone wolf strops. Morph tried their best to cheer him up with some light sparring and purposefully bad impersonations.

But sometimes the only the way to forget one's issues was to get royally fucked.

Which was why Morph had annoyed their friend into a night on the town.

Morph picked the club because frankly Logan's idea of a nightclub was a watering hole for sad old men and pool tables. The one Morph picked was a little rough around the edges but all the best clubs were and since it was a Friday night, it was five shots for a fiver.

Logan wasn't exactly a nightlife kinda guy, but he did enjoy a drink so Morph had challenged him to a drinking contest. A game Morph was destined to loose, but then they always were when it came to Logan. Especially when unlike their friend they didn't have a super regenerative healing ability that fixed the continuous alcohol poisoning of one's liver.

By midnight however, the pair had drunk enough that even The Wolverine was getting tipsy, to the point that Morph had managed to talk him into a dance.

Well dance was a bit of a stretch. More like Morph was dancing around them whilst Logan stood as stationary as a tree. But Morph could see Logan's left foot tapping along to the beat, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards into that soft smirk of a smile and the roll of his eyes as he let Morph use his arms to twirl themselves around. It was more than Morph could have hoped for.

Then of course Morph just had to take it too far and tried to make Logan dip them like a scene from some cheesy rom-com because the idea of The Wolverine doing that for real would be so ridiculous, only to trip over their own drunken feet. They would've banged their head on the dirty dance floor if not for a pair of sturdily strong hands grabbing their waist.

"Had enough to drink bub?" Logan asked from above them, that ever growing smirk haloed by the flashing lights above them.

"Not yet." Morph countered with a smirk of their own, as Logan picked them up and placed them upright again like they were weightless. "Which is why I'm going to get us another round of shots." Morph sing-songed, heading straight for the bar before they did something truly stupid, like put their arms around him.

As they waited for their round of shots, Morph hugged their hips where they could still feel the lingering warmth of Logan's hands.

They hoped nobody would notice the extra fingers in the darkness as they morphed to help carry the drinks back to their friend. This turned out to be a waste of effort as the drinks slipped from their fingers at the sight of Logan chatting up some pretty girl with red hair.

Even after all the drinks they'd had tonight, Morph was not fucked enough to deal with this shit and marched straight for the nearest bathroom. The men's bathroom. Which wasn't the right bathroom. But it never was. And in this form it would have to do.

They usually liked their human form. They knew they looked good. And they liked that in the reflection of the bathroom mirror they could see the eyes of their late mother staring back at them.

But right now, they felt like a puppet wearing an outfit made of a strangers flesh. However for Logan they would endure it.

For Logan, they would do anything.

They thought about going back out to the dance floor. Then they thought about a different redhead. And then they thought about getting another round of shots and another and another and-

A man stumbled into the bathroom. A short, muscular man with a lot of on display blonde hair. Through the glaze of alcohol induced vision, Morph spotted a flash of hunger in the man's eyes.

Now they were usually pretty good at clocking when there is someone like them. The same way they could sometimes just tell that someone is a mutant. But just because they might not wrong, doesn't mean the other won't have a bad reaction.

So Morph smiled and leant against the grimy bathroom mirror, allowing their unbuttoned silk of shirt to highlight the slim curves of their waist.

Music from dance floor could still be heard thumping through the bathroom walls and the other man took a step closer on every beat until Morph could feel his breathe against the exposed skin of their chest.

Then the music changed into something softer and Morph swayed their hips and even though they weren't yet touching so did the man and it was like the pair of them were asteroids slowly circling each other inching closer and closer until they were about to crash and Morph leant down with parted lips and-

BANG

The door slammed open as two much larger yet no less muscular men barged into the bathroom.

Morph barely has time to register the intruders when the man who moment's ago was millimetres away from grinding against their hips shoved them away.

"Get away from me you freak!" He yelled, that hunger in his eyes now burning with hatred and fear.

Morph crashed into the hard tiles of the bathroom wall, an already broken edge cutting through their shirt and ripping a gash down their back.

Over the sudden sting of pain they heard a trio of gasps.

It wasn't until they caught their pale grey reflection in the mirror, that they realised why.

This time when they look back at the man's eyes, the fear has been replaced by absolute revolution. Morph isn't sure which was worse.

"You truly are a freak." The man spat, crowding in on them again, this time with those other two men not far behind him.

Morph sighed.

They had fought Mr Sinister, they could easily deal with three drunk arseholes. Its just that they hadn't been expecting a fight tonight. Although at this point, they don't know why they weren't. It always ended in a fight.

But before Morph could throw the first punch, the two larger men were suddenly thrown through the door of the nearby stall, collapsing in a heap of broken bones and wood.

The first man didn't even have time to react when his face was smashed into the now broken mirror, trapped between two metal claws on either side of his head.

"I could smell that this guy was an ass a mile away." Logan snarled, his middle claw inching ever closer to the man's head.

"Don't!" Morph shouted, placing their hand on their friend's shoulder, feeling the tensed muscle of a predator waiting to pounce. "He's not worth it."

"But you are."

I love you. Morph wanted to say. But couldn't because they were walking on a knife as sharp as The Wolverine's claws and they hoped that Logan wouldn't react the same way as that arsehole did but they could not risk walking off that edge.

So as per usual they make a joke.

"I am not busting your ass out of jail. Again." They said, because as much as Morph honesty did not care about the world loosing three more bigots, they did not want to deal with the shit show of one of the X-men being arrested for a triple homicide.

Morph squeezed Logan's shoulder, like a wire using his body as a conduit to ground his anger. After a moment, the muscles under Logan's skin, loosened as the animalistic urge calmed and Morph couldn't help the sudden rush of realisation that they were the only person on the planet who could calm The Wolverine... aside from Jean of course.

With one last growl, Logan slammed the man's head against the remains of the mirror before dropping his unconsciousness body to the floor.

He then grabbed Morph's wrist and the shape-shifter was too drunk to resist as they were dragged out of the bathroom, back to the dancefloor past the bewildered looks of partygoers who weren't pissed enough to not notice the pair of mutants stalking past and out the club's back door.

Once outside Logan drops their wrist and Morph's sudden chill had nothing to do with the cool night air.

"I thought I told ya not to disappear on me again." Logan said, claws still unsheathed as though prepared to fight off a sentinel trying to steal Morph away again.

"Well I thought that you were busy chatting up that girl." Morph retorted, telling themselves that Logan was this over protective with all of the X-men.

"I was." Logan grumbled, "Until her boyfriend showed up."

Despite everything Morph can't help but bite a laugh because of course the red head had a fucking boyfriend.

Logan scrunched up his whole face the way he did when he was concerned but did not know how to say it. His head tilted to the side like a puppy at the confusion of for once not understanding their joke. This only turned Morph's laughter into a full on cackle.

"Whatever." Logan said, finally putting his claws away as they must have decided that Morph had finally lost it. "Doesn't matter anyway 'cus we're goin' back home."

"W-why?" Morph gasped through their own giggles.

"Because Bub, you're completely fucked."

"But-" Morph tried to point out that tonight was supposed to be for Logan's benefit, but the Wolverine beat them to it.

"We're goin' back home." Logan stated, this time grabbing hold of both their wrists as though he intended to drag them all the way back there himself. And well Morph had always found it impossible to argue against him.

"Fine," Morph sighed, their laughter dying off in the wake of drunken exhaustion. Hopefully the exhaustion would keep the nightmares away that night.

"Let's get back to the mansion then." Morph said, deliberately not calling it home. Not when home was the person standing next to them.

[sad-not-glad]

Sargent Barnes’s Journey Home

A/N: so this is something I’ve had written up for literal years. I finally decided to dig it out and post it so others could enjoy my car ride fantasy Stucky story

—

The bedroom light is off, but he’s not stupid. He knows that he is expected tonight, his visits have been routine and precise. The window is already open when he reaches the house. There’s a man sitting on the bed, watching out of it. When his feet hit the floor he was sure to make audible noise, not wanting to scare the person he was visiting. The bedside light flickers on and the man looks like he might cry. The soldier is quick to pull him close. Tears are shed, but tonight they’re far from sorrowful. Because tonight he will stay, tonight he will leave behind what he became and start to find himself. Tonight he starts the trip home.

“Clint’s down, I’m covering as best I can but I need backup soon”

“On my way Nat. How bad is he?”

“Broken arm, bullet wound in the shoulder, probably a concussion.”

“Got it.”

Iron Man flies over head towards the east, but the soldier hardly notices. His comms system had been disconnected and somehow the Hydra scientists disabled his arm. He was open of easy picking and knew it, but he also knew that the chances of them winning was small enough already. Another wave of enemies came crashing forward and he held his ground as best he could while praying to any God that was merciful enough.

It’s quiet when James enters through the back door. He toes off his boots and strips his Kevlar, leaving everything in the mud room to be cleaned tomorrow. With a tired sigh he steps out through the kitchen makes his way to the fresh coffee. Arms wrap around him from behind and lips press against his neck. Neither say anything, just letting the moment last as they stood there.

The soldier is diligent on his feet. Falcon is to his right currently disarmed and struggling to keep his ground. He thinks quick and plunges his knife into the man in front of him before jumping off to help his companion.

It takes longer than it should have but they manage to take out the armored men. He gives Falcon word to spread about his situation before jumping right back into the fray.

“Soldier’s arm and comms are both disabled. I can’t stay to spot him, someone needs to.”

“We’re spread thin Sam. There is nobody.”

“Clint’s being taken to medical, I’m heading south. Expect Tony over by fourth.”

“Copy that, Natasha.”

When the news spreads about the current alien invasion he doesn’t have to think twice. Baby blues watch unhappily as he armors up.

“You don’t have to go.”

James- no, Bucky looks up and can’t help the tugging at his brain when he sees the frown.

“You don’t have to redeem yourself. Stay home. Stay safe.”

“If I don’t go, people will die. I’ll be back.”

They share only a second together before he leaves.

He fights. He fights like he never has before. Not during the war, not against Hydra, not to regain his own mind. He keeps going until he can’t tell if the blood soaking through his uniform is his or not. They’re pushing him back, everyone else too. They’re cornering he and his team. A hard punch to his bad shoulder sends him down and before he can think they have him cuffed. They have him cuffed and he can’t break free. Natalia is hit with something that makes her convulse and spit blood, Tony is ripped from his suit and tossed to the fray. Bruce is weak and easily corralled, Sam’s wings are torn off and his shield is nowhere to be seen. They’re pinned. They’re going to die.

“I made pancakes.”

“Bucky it’s two in the morning. Why did you make pancakes?”

He doesn’t say anything, just pushes a pancake against those pretty pink lips. After a second they open for the food and he waits.

“It’s really good.”

“ I remembered how to make them and wanted to see.”

He gets a happy smile for that. He would do anything for that smile, and the man it belongs too. It doesn’t take much more persuading for him to put the plate on the bedside table and crawl under the covers into a warm embrace.

A scientist is coming. He knows this scientists, and it’s clear she remembers him too. He can’t do much as she jerks his chin up, smiling like the cat who caught the canary.

“Soldier, it’s been a long time. I’ll enjoy breaking you and your friends down into the weapons you were meant to be.”

He stares back challengingly. She’s about to speak again when blood sprays across his face and she’s on the ground. He can’t see who made the shot, but he already knows. There’s no way he can’t.

When the door opens the old record is still playing. Bucky doesn’t stop practicing though. He wants to dance. He wants to dance with-

“What are you doing.”

His movements halt and Bucky slowly turns, trying his best to look like a sad puppy. Because that always works.

“Will you teach me how to dance again?”

The blush he gets it bright red and the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Strong arms warp around him and then they’re dancing together. He feels happy.

There are yells and men running. Slowly they start to fall, one by one as the man with hair stained from blood makes his way through. Halfway he finds the shield and picks it up without hesitation. There is no remorse in his movements, no pity for the people he kills. The soldier watches as his lover works towards him, stopping only long enough to break the binds holding him down and pass a gun before he’s along again. Bucky understands, and stands guard around his teammates while more forces fall.

“I love you.”

It’s whispered between every kiss, between every touch. They don’t stop, he wants to go all the way. He wants to give himself up to this man and be his forever.

“I love you too. So much.”

It’s over. After everyone else has recovered enough to stand among the bodies he sees blue eyes coming towards them. Nobody speaks as the man takes off the mask across his face, the she shield at his arm. He hands it to Sam.

“It’s nice to know she still works well with me.”

It’s quiet, and he loves it. He loves this man. He loves Steve Rogers. Bucky wants to scream it from the rooftops, but settles for now with a quick kiss as his teammates try to comprehend. They don’t have long before someone speaks.

“What the fuck?”

Everyone is laughing and joking in the light air that’s settled the room. He’s sitting next to his husband, his Stevie. And can’t help but smile, because this is it. Surrounded by the people he loves. He’s finally home.

[little-emerald-snake]

Smutmas Day 20

“Take me. Right here. Right now.” - Ominis Gaunt X F!MC

🔥NSFW 🔞 MDNI

641 words

Warnings: slight somno, public, unprotected p-in-v

They’d been cuddling up together on a couch in the common room reading when Ominis had taken another one of his infamous naps. He was currently breathing heavily with sleep, one arm curled protectively over her.

She wrinkled her nose in dissatisfaction, not shocked he’d fallen asleep but still wishing he hadn’t. Being squished this close to him on the couch under the covers had her feeling…antsy.

She teasingly ran her fingers over his rumpled shirt, exposed between his unbuttoned vest. He grumbled in his sleep and slid his leg forward to slot his knee just between her legs.

She sighed softly, pushing her hips forward to grind herself against his knee. She gasped softly, hooking her arms around him, glancing around to make sure they were mostly alone in this corner of the common room.

She proceeded to grind herself against him, slowly rousing him from his nap. He gave a confused mumble, sleep-slowed hands coming to hold her body as he tried to orient himself to what was happening.

Once he’d figured out what she was doing he let a sleepy chuckle free, gripping her hips tightly. “Are you taking advantage of me while I’m asleep, love?”

She blushed, still grinding herself against his thigh, smiling sheepishly when her fingers brushed against his swelling arousal within the confines of his pants. “I’d rather you just do it now that you’re awake.Take me. Right here. Right now.”

He let out a low growl, rolling them so she laid on the couch beneath him, using the blanket as coverage of their bodies as he undid his trousers and slid into her accepting heat.

She moaned softly, tucking her face against his chest when he shushed her. “You have to be quiet or someone will catch us and you don’t want that, do you darling?”

She shook her head, biting into her lip to hold back her moans as her hands came up, fisting into his clothes. “Good, that's a good girl. Gotta be quiet while I fuck you in the common room like this hm? wouldn’t want someone to catch me fucking you in such a public space?”

She pressed her face into his chest, holding back the sounds of pleasure as he tipped his hips, angling them so he’d brush directly against her g spot. “That’s right, don’t want the whole school to hear about you being a needy slut right out in the open, taking me so good.”

She clenched around him, fighting the need to cry out as her pleasure ratcheted higher and higher with every angled thrust into her body and every filthy word he spoke to her. “That’s right baby I can feel you fighting yourself not to cum. Let go, let me fill you up and make you a dripping mess. Better keep it all inside when I cum deep so you don’t get any on the couch.”

She lost it then, his arm wrapped around her as she cried out into his shoulder, spasming and shivering as he also let himself go, deep down inside her.

He shuddered as he relaxed onto his elbows, staying buried deep inside her. Making shallow thrusts to make sure none would drip out as he pulled out and rolled to her side.

Her face was bright red as she made sure to clench her muscles to keep his mess inside, peeking around to make sure nobody had caught them in their moment of passion.

Ominis chuckled beside her. “What? Are you shy now? Thinking someone may have actually caught you being so filthy? Only moments ago that same idea made you cum on my cock.”

She playfully swatted at him as he put himself away. He smiled, pulling her against him, snuggling against her happily. “Now, back to my lovely nap.”

[scullysexual]

a continuation of this. @today-in-fic

mentions of emotional/physical abuse.

“No, Mommy!” Emily cries, trying to squirm away from Dana’s hand. They are in the bathroom of a Walmart, a wet paper towel sits in Dana’s hand as she attempts to wash the dirt and grime of the past few days from her daughter’s face. The five year old has none of it.

“I have to clean your face, baby,” Dana says quietly. Truthfully, she doesn’t have the energy to fight with Emily today. She was exhausted; the stresses of her living situation catching with her.

Last night they had camped in the parking lot of the Walmart whose bathroom they were currently using. It was another cold night and Dana had barely slept. Despite the overnight parking sign, Dana had still been worried somebody would come along and throw them out even if she deliberately parked in the corner furthest away. That, however, had also come with its own issues: no streetlights. So while one half of her had worried about getting kicked out, the other half worried about getting her car broken into while they slept.

Emily, thankfully, had had no issues falling asleep. It was the daytime she struggled with. Unsimulated, bored, Emily’s tantrums had been getting worse lately. So far Emily had ripped one of her books apart and the corner of her tablet had a crack in it from when Emily had thrown it onto the parking lot’s tarmac. Dana tried not to get angry at her child, she was probably feeling the stress too now.

“Why can’t I go home and have a proper bath?” Emily asks.

Home. Every day Emily asked to go home. Every day Dana told her they couldn’t.

“Home isn’t safe anymore,” Dana tells her again.

“Daddy puts bubbles in my bath and let’s me play with as many ducks as I want.” Emily’s head lifts, almost challenging Dana to compete with her precious daddy. She hears what Emily doesn’t say. You keep me in a car all day and try to wash my face in stinky toilets.

Dana knows this already. She would listen as Ethan bathed Emily hours after a fight, like nothing had happened, meanwhile Dana would clean up the mess left behind.

She doesn’t tell Emily the other things Ethan does or says like how angry he becomes when he drinks or how she and Emily are the reason his life is so shit.

Well, they were out of his life now, Dana wonders if it was going any better for him.

Dana tosses the paper towel into the trashcan. She brushes her teeth and then disappears into the cubical to pee. She gets Emily to sing a song with her so Dana knows she still there and it’s during this time that something catches her eye. A leaflet sticks halfway out of the sanitary bin. Dana yanks it out as the lyrics to Wheels On The Bus trail off from her lips. Emily stops singing, too.

“Mommy, where did you go?” Emily cries.

“I’m still on the toilet, baby,” Dana answers though she is distracted looking at the leaflet. It’s a job ad; some time of nanny agency. Babysitting, Dana thinks. There’s a number on the bottom. An ideal striking, Dana gets off the toilet. When she opens the cubical, the leaflet still in her hand, Emily looks at her with relief.

“You took too long,” she says accusatory.

“I’m sorry,” Dana apologises. She shoves the leaflet into her bag and washes her hands.

“Can we go home now?” Emily asks.

“Soon.” Dana helps Emily off the counter and she takes hold of her hand, leading her out of the bathroom.

…

Dana listens as the phone rings, Finding Nemo plays in the background, Emily’s little laughter escaping her mouth as she watches. The phone rings five times and Dana is sure nobody is going to pick up. She’s about to give up when the ringing stops, there’s a slight pause, and then a woman’s voice rings through.

“Happy Nest Nurseries, Ellie speaking, how can I help?”

The voice on the other end takes Dana back a bit and she stutters slightly before she speaks.

“Hi, um…I’m Dana Scully. I was wondering if you had any positions available?” She bites her lip with trepidation, watching Emily through the rear-view mirror.

Ellie sighs. “I’m sorry, we don’t have any places, right now.” Dana’s heart sinks. Ellie goes quiet again and Dana hears the hustle of the phone being moved. There’s a conversation happening between Ellie and somebody else but Dana can’t quite catch the words. Finally, Ellie’s voice sounds through again.

“Actually, Monica says she might have something. Could you come in today?”

Dana smiles, happy and wide. “Yes! Yes, I can.”

“Great,” says Ellie. “I will see you then.”

They exchanges goodbyes and Dana starts putting the car into gear. The sound of the engine coming to life causes Emily to look up from her tablet.

“Are we going home now?” she asks.

“Not quite. Mommy has somewhere she needs to be.”

…

It’s only when she gets to the offices- the address listed on the leaflet and confirmed during a quick phone call to Ellie again- that Dana realises her appearance doesn’t exactly scream interview ready. She looks as tired as she feels, has aged about 10 years in three days. When she untangles her hair from the hair tie it falls down mattered and greasy, in need of a good wash, her curls in need of a reset (or a pair of straighteners) She finger combs through the ends, yanks out a giant knot with a wince, then reties her hair, this time into a ponytail. Then she pulls open the glove compartment in the hopes of finding a stray lip gloss tube in there. After rummaging around she finds not only the lip gloss but mascara, too, along with that a broken comb, couple of random receipts, a lighter, half a pack of cigarettes, Ethan’s ‘lost’ driver’s license- the memory of the day he lost that forever burned into her mind- and a teething toy from when Emily was a baby. Suffice to say, just about everything was in this glove compartment.

Dana shoves everything put the lip gloss and mascara away, she’ll deal with that junk another day. The uses the sun shield mirror and applies the products, immediately looking and feeling better about herself. She turns to Emily then.

“Emily?”

Emily remains half engrossed still by her tablet. “Hmm?”

“I’m about to speak to some very important people. I need you to be on your best behaviour, okay?”

“Can I bring my tablet?”

Dana sighs. When she was pregnant with Emily she didn’t want to become that parent who handed their child a phone screen to keep them quiet. In fact, she had been very against the idea, upholding it whenever she could. It was Ethan who ruined that one. When Emily was two years old he handed her his phone and it had been that way ever since. It wasn’t the first time Dana tried to implement rules and restrictions that would get thrown out the window by Ethan a few hours later. Bubble baths and unlimited ducks one of them. There was a reason Daddy was the favoured one because he gave whatever Emily wished, Mommy was just mean.

“Yes but you’ll have to put on your headphones.”

Emily pulls the headphones out of her bag and puts them on, forgetting to plug the wire into the tablet. Dana laughs and climbs out, reaching back into the car to unbuckle Emily and plug the wire in. Dana guiding a screen-hypnotised Emily, they both walk into the office building.

…

She meets Ellie at one of the desks. The girl wearily eyes Dana and Emily before smiling that fake customer facing smile.

“Maria will be in her office. Follow me.” And Dana does, following Ellie to the end of the hall. Two knocks and when a voice on the other side of the door bids them entry, Ellie opens it.

“Dana Scully is here to see you,” says Ellie.

“Send her in,” says the voice.

Ellie opens the door wider and Dana walks into the room.

“You can go now, Ellie.” And Ellie does so, closing the door behind her.

The woman- Monica- does a once over of Dana.

“I’m sorry,” Dana says immediately. Between the looks Ellie gave her and now the looks Monica is giving her, she knows she isn’t making a great first impression appearance wise. “I just didn’t intend on coming here today.”

“That’s okay,” says Monica. “Who is this?” she asks with interest and a big smile at the sight of Emily.

“My daughter, Emily—” Emily is oblivious, her eyes still glued to the screen. Dana looks wearily towards the other woman.

“You know, a lot of our clients don’t like giving screens to children,” Monica says in a tone that is gentle but still conveys a certain amount of warning.

“I know. And I don’t usually like it either but she’s so restless, she’d only be pilfering through your stuff, she’s very curious. The screen gives her something to focus on, it keeps her quiet, it…” Dana trails off. She knows she isn’t making much of an effort to defend herself, coming up with excuses here and there. “I just needed her to be quiet for now,” Dana says honestly. “I try to restrict her screen time.” A half lie, she did try when she lived with Ethan.

“Sit,” says Monica. “Let’s have a little chat.”

The woman guides the two of them over to the chairs at her desk. Dana helps Emily onto her seat before sitting down herself. Monica watches, beady eyed. When everyone is settled, Monica speaks.

“I don’t often do this but we’ve had a client seeking a nanny recently,” explains Monica and Dana hangs on to every word. “She’s desperate, almost, and we’re fully booked. Or we were, until you called. Now, we will have to do background checks, make sure you’re legit, it’ll take about three days but if everything comes back clean, which in most cases it does, the job is yours. Would you like it?”

Dana can barely believe it. She smiles brightly and nods.

“Yes, of course.”

Monica smiles back. “Great. Let me get you a form.” She wanders over to a filing cabinet and pulls the top drawer open. Dana takes her chance.

“Um…I wondered if I could also get a proof of employment in those three days as well. I’m hoping to get onto a housing list.”

Monica pauses and sighs. “Unfortunately Dana, you have to pass your probation before we can give you anything like that.”

Dana’s heart sinks once more. “And how long is the probation?”

“Three months.”

Dana gawks. Three months! She can’t live in her car for three months. She looks away, willing herself not to cry.

“I also have to ask what you intend to do with Emily when you’re at work. We’re you intending on taking her along too or do you have somewhere to put her, someone she can stay with?”

“Would she be allowed to come with me?”

Monica sighs again. “It’s not advised. You’re protected under insurance if anything was to happen to you while at the house. Emily, however, would not be. It is a risk.”

Dana looks at Emily then. Who knows what type of person this client could be. She could be risking Emily’s safety taking her with her. But where else could she go? To go back home would mean seeing Ethan. Family is…tricky. Melissa isn’t cut out for caring for a child- not to mention if she’d be in any state to even do so- she hasn’t spoken to her parents since Emily’s fifth birthday and that ended in an argument between her and her father, Ethan’s mother despises her and while she loves Emily she’ll only accept Emily if Ethan is the one dropping her off. There was one last person, the only one who has actually offered any support for Dana in the five years she’s been a mother but she too comes at a risk.

But, depending on hours, a risk Dana was willing to make.

“Yeah,” she says. “I have someone she can stay with.”

“Brilliant,” says Monica. She hands the form to Dana. “Fill this in as quickly as possible.”

…

Diana Fowley is the name of the woman who’s kids she’ll be looking after. Two boys: William who was the same age as Emily and Arthur who was three. Simple. Easy. She can do this.

Diana is a lawyer and, according to Monica, going through a divorce. It’s messy, the father’s contact with the boys is limited to weekends or whatever reason and originally, he was the stay at home dead while she was the breadwinner. Now this divorce has meant Diana has to look at other options.

Dana can’t help but compare this father to Ethan. She could never imagine Ethan as a stay at home parent- that was relegated to her- for pride mostly but also for controlling reasons. If Dana has no income herself then she can never leave, forever dependant on Ethan for a home, for financial support. She wishes she could see his face now. I got a job, Ethan. Turns out I’m not as stupid as you made me think.

Not that she was ever stupid. She has a quarter of a physics degree, had a direct path into medicine. A doctor she was going to be, a heart surgeon of all things. She was Emily’s age when she decided that that was what her career was going to be. She had it all worked out: married at 30, a kid two years later. Only the marriage never came, the kid nine years too early.

Dana doesn’t regret Emily, she doesn’t blame Emily for how her life has turned out. Emily is her entire world, Dana just wishes she hadn’t been 21.

“What do you want to be when you grow up, Emily?” Dana asks as they drive down a suburb.

The tablet is still on, now playing Ratatouille.

“A chef!”

This would be wonderful news if, when Dana asked her a few days ago, Emily hadn’t replied with dentist because she was watching Finding Nemo. She expects her daughter’s answer would’ve been a superhero if she’d been watching The Incredibles. But whatever path her daughter choices, Dana just hopes she’s able to become whatever she wants.

Her stomach twists as the house looms in front of her. Bill’s house she thinks as her hands squeeze the steering wheel. No, Tara’s, Dana corrects. If she stays it’s Tara’s house then it is a lot less daunting.

“Where are we, Mommy?”

“You’re going to spend the day with Auntie Tara, baby.”

Emily recoils.

“I hate Auntie Tara!”

“Emily!” Dana admonishes, spinning around. “You don’t hate anyone. Auntie Tara loves you. She wants to see you.”

Tears come to Emily’s eyes as she furiously shakes her head.

“I don’t want to!” the child cries. “I don’t like Auntie Tara. I want to go home! I want Daddy! Why won’t you let me see Daddy?!”

Dana sighs preparing herself for another Emily tantrum.

“Take me to Daddy!” Emily’s foot kicks the back of Dana’s chair. “I want to see Daddy!” Kick. Daddy. Kick. Daddy. Kick. Daddy.

Dana closes her eyes, focuses on her breath, breathing in and out, in and out. She reopens her eyes.

“Emily,” she says quietly, not rising to her daughter’s level. “I need Tara to look after you today.”

“Why can’t Daddy?”

“Daddy’s busy.”

“But I haven’t seen him in years!”

She reminds herself that it’s only been a week.

“I know and we will see Daddy soon but for now, I need you to go with Auntie Tara until Mommy gets back, okay?”

“Where are you going?”

“I told you, Mommy has to go to work.”

The concept was baffling to the child.

“But you stay at home…” Emily says with a frown.

Dana smiles. “Not anymore. We need to find a house—”

“We have a house- Daddy’s house.”

Dana unbuckles her seatbelt and climbs out of the car. She opens Emily’s door, unbuckles Emily, and kneels down in front of her.

“I need you to listen to me, Emily. Daddy is a bad person. Do you know what a bad person is?”

Emily nods. “They hurt you.”

Dana nods in return. “They do. That’s what Daddy did- he hurt me. He almost hurt you.” She wipes a stray tear from her child’s face. “So I got us out of there. That is why we can’t go back home, we can’t go back to Daddy. I’m gonna get us a new house where nobody can hurt us but I need you to stay with Tara so I can do that. Do you think you can do that?”

Emily pauses, thinking it over hard as if she had any choice in the matter.

“Daddy was shouting and you were crying.” Emily frowns as if trying to remember. “And something hitted my head.”

Dana nods again, tears now coming to her own eyes. She thought maybe Emily would have forgotten that night. Clearly not. “It was a glass cup, baby. Daddy threw a glass cup and it almost hit you.”

Emily’s eyes widen. “Why? Did I do something wrong? Do I make Daddy angry?”

Dana’s heart breaks a million times over, the gravel currently cutting into her knees didn’t hurt as much as this. She gathers Emily into her embrace.

“No, baby girl…” She breaths in her unique Emily scent. “You don’t make anybody angry. Daddy meant to…” She stops herself. Daddy meant to throw it at me she almost says. “He didn’t mean to throw it at you. But it did get you so that’s why we had to leave.”

“Daddy let’s me have bubbles and ducks in the bath.”

Dana smiles despite having nothing to smile about. How difficult to must be to understand that the Daddy who gives Emily bubbles and ducks is the same Daddy who screamed at Mommy, made her cry, and threw a glass cup.

“I’ll tell you what,” Dana proposes, pulling away and looking at Emily once more. “If you stay with Tara now, when we get our new house, you can have all the bubbles and ducks you want.”

“I want a duck bedroom. Painted yellow. With little ducks like Quacky.”

Dana sniffles, giggling through her tears. “You can have that as well. You can have anything you want.”

Emily smiles, tears and tantrums over. Another tear falls from Dana’s own eyes and Emily reaches forward, wiping one away.

“Don’t cry, Mommy. You can have bubbles and ducks, too.”

In that moment, every single thing Dana has endured feels 100% worth it if it meant Emily got to be here. She pulls Emily back into a hug.

“I love you, baby girl. So, so much.”

“I love you, too, Mommy.”

Dana presses little kisses all over Emily face until the child laughs and squirms away. Then she stands and Emily resumes watching her movie. Dana knocks on Tara’s front door.

[spahhzy]

A Bunny, Bike, Widow, and a Deadman. 1(?)

-

It's the John Wick parody nobody asked for, but me!

-

A video camera fired up revealing a nice large living room and moved forward around a corner as some banging could be heard, followed by an 'ouch'. The camera suddenly caught sight of one tall blonde haired man, with some defined muscle dressed in black shorts and a plain white tee as he had a tool bag around his waist. He was currently putting together a small table.

Jaune: Just a few more hammers annnnnd done!

Jaune set the hammer down and admired his handy work, unaware that a video recorder was catching every moment until he, of course, turned around.

Jaune: Eh!? Trivia, are you recording me!?

A woman with pink and brown hair just silently giggled as she kept video taping a blushing Jaune.

Jaune: Trivia, how much did you see? The blisters on my fingers!? I'm a handyman, I swea-Oof!

Jaune had tripped over the table. A small ow escaped him as Trivia looked like she could burst into tears from laughing.

Jaune whined but had a silly smile on his face before he just wrapped his arms around her pulling her into bed amidst the fall he grabbed her scroll and smirked as he flipped the camera around this time to take a photo of both of them. Trivia, her head nestled into the crook of Jaune's neck with Jaune head rested onto of hers.

Happiness radiating from both their eyes. A click was heard from her scroll as the little photo was taken.

Warmth filled Trivia as she looked up into her husband eyes, feeling very tired but happy. Nonetheless.

-

Trivia blinked from inside her helmet as she looked up to see a 'Gas station next left'. She checked her left side rear mirror before taking the next exit off the freeway, as her hair fluttered wildly behind her as the motorcycle exhaust echoed off the city walls.

She pulled into the gas station, parking at a pump before killing the engine and finally taking off her helmet.

Her pink and brown eyes adjusting back to the light before she sat her helmet back on the handlebars.

She admired the motorcycle, a nice bike that her husband had gotten for her and on occasions Jaune would bring out his bike and they would ride together down the riding twists and turns that Vales backroads and outskirts had to offer but often then not, she would ride shot gun if she was nit feeling up to driving, still she admired and loved her bike dearly non-the less because it was from the man who was her world and also thanks to clear recommendation from one Yang Xiao Long. She has a taste for motorcycles she did.

She thought it hilarious, that she ,a city girl, wouldn't like anything like this... but boy, did Jaune prove her wrong. He was right when he said it was almost the 'free' someone can be.

She casted her eyes onto the floor as she suddenly felt a crushing sadness begin to eat at her.

Numbly she took off her riding gloves and thumbed the wedding ring tenderly.

While she was feeling sad, something was inside her backpack, that she had carried with her on the ride, wiggling around before a set of tall ears popped out, and suddenly, a rabbit head sprang out of the pink backpack.

It shook its head softly, floopy ears hitting the back of Trivia's head, causing her to turn around and look at her bunny.

The sadness vanished a little bit as she looked at the last gift Jaune had given her before he passed.

-

'I know the pain will be great...and that i will leave a hole but please take this last gift from me to help comfrot you. Her name is Juniper, please take care of her as I know she will take care of you'

-

Reaching behind her Trivia gently petted the bunny's head to which the small white rabbit leaned into the hand and after a few seconds she, with Juniper In the bag, walked inside to put some gas.

-

Coming out of the gas station with a small bag containing water, lettuce, and small baby carrots. She took off her backpack and placed it on the back seat, opening it up a smidge to give Juniper a little more room. The little rabbit looked up at her as Trivia just smiled softly as she reached in and grabbed some lettuce into her hand before guiding it over to the hungry rabbit who had stars in her eyes and chomped away at the green.

At the same time, Trivia had begun to pump gas into her bike, and both enjoyed a brief moment of silence.

Or they would have if a large HUV, blasting loud music, didn't pull into the gas station. It pulled into a pump directly across from Trivia as four young men jumped out.

Sky: I'm gonna go pay for the gas. Does anyone want anything before we hit up the strip club?

Russel: Nothin from me.

Dove: Same.

Cardin: Will one of you get out and go pump gas!

Dove gout out laughing, while Cardin got out, too, finding it a good time to smoke before the night began. Lighting up his cigarette, he took notice of a woman with pink and brown hair feeding her rabbit while sitting on a very nice-looking bike.

Clicking his hair back, he had a very staunce collection of bikes sitting home in one of his MANY garages, but that one in particular? He must have it.

Cardin: Nice Bike!

The woman stopped feeding the rabbit and looked at him before nodding and turning her attention back to the gas pump.

Cardin: Marauder! 70?

The girl just turned her head to him and shook it before fishing out a scroll and typing the words 69 before showing it too him.

Cardin: Oh, even rarer... I asked one of my 'friends' she had one just like this but would never sell it to me...

The woman shrugged as she finished pumping the gas as the bunny sat on the seat, still nibbling away.

Cardin: Alright, how much?

The woman stopped in her tracks and looked at Cardin with an eyebrow raised.

Cardin: Come on, how much for the bike! I'll pay you any amount and a little extra~

A look of disgust flashed briefly across the young woman's face, but she shook her head and flashed her scroll to his face quickly that said.

'Not For Sale'.

She got Juniper back inside her backpack and was about to grab her helmet before a hand stopped her.

Cardin: Aww, look at the cute rabbit.

He roughly pets the bunny's head, who just hides inside the backpack, then he turns his gaze back to the woman speaking in Atleasian foreign tongue.

Cardin: 'Everybody's gotta price, bitch'

Trivia could only just look at the man unimpressed but not before typing into her scroll and showing it to him.

'Not this bitch'

Cardin's eyes widened as he stepped back, allowing Trivia to finally grab her helmet. Cardin looked like he was about to escalate things before Russell stepped in with a look that said 'back off'. He looked back at Trivia and nodded.

Russel: You have a good day ma'am.

Trivia nodded slightly before firing up her bike, putting on her helmet and setting off back home.

Cardin just watched as bad thoughts enveloped his head.

Not for sale huh?

Then he'll just have to acquire it the old-fashioned Winchester way.

That fucking weirdo-nobody bunny lady will regret saying 'no' to Cardin Winchester!

[scratchandplaster]

Stack The Deck - Saint Elliot

CW: Elliot being an opportunistic little shit, toxic relationships

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Cups piled up on the foldable table next to the couch, a skyline of liquors and spirits next to them. Elliot plucked the tablecloth neatly over the corners. It looked great, though nobody knew for how long. In a few minutes, the first guests were about to arrive and with them the reason for his detour into the unknown.

He had been the first to appear at Sahra's doorstep and offered to help prepare the living room while they caught up. Like her invitation, the reason for his attendance surprised Elliot - in a way that should've worried him more than it did.

"Oh, and I need to give you a fair, I wouldn't call it a warning, but still," Sahra stammered and put a bowl of chips down, "She has her special kind of humor, so just…"

Lie there and take it?

"…don't think that she's serious about it or anything!"

"When that's all it takes for the Philharmonic to treat me to a seat, your friend can tar and feather me all evening. Seriously, if she's into that."

Sahra's proposal had sounded a bit unappetizing to Elliot, at first. Radio-silence had taken over since their graduation, sometimes proximity was the only reason to keep contact, until she made the first step. He was always willing to work hard and climb the ladder, an ethos as thankless as it was childish.

On the contrary, Sahra made the rounds rather frequently.

Naturally, Elliot would rather bite his tongue off than admit the slight twinge of jealousy whenever reading yet another feature article about Sahra's performances. Caught between angry customers whining about gas prices and spreadsheets, maybe this Amber could really be the steppingstone he desperately waited for.

"I can't promise you anything," Sahra turned around, nervously chewing on her lip, "but I'll give you three guesses why I am where I am."

"Because you're qualified, I hope?"

"Of course," Sahra replied bemused, "but sometimes a few links grease the gears."

"Thank you for the opportunity, then."

"Thank Amber, when the time comes." Or her father, financing half of the philharmonic's budget. "I hope you leave a good impression with the board members, our current guy is just… Ugh, don't get me started."

The audition started next month. Sahra was right, it didn't hurt to give it a try.

--------

The night passed by quite differently than expected. Not only were Sahra's friends the kind of personalities Elliot usually avoided like the plague, they also were not ashamed to show this fact off. 

As soon as all formalities had been provided, Rhys, a long-term student of mechanical engineering and incredibly proud of it, demanded a round of poker. Real money as wager, that goes without saying.

Elliot considered him to be joking, at first. What pretentious fuck would actually suggest that? His decision to decline made him unpopular quicker than one could say "trust fund baby", a rough start to a night he couldn't wait to be over already.

Sahra, also in no position to finance their games, meanwhile kept herself busy with the drink supply.

"Anyone else?" she asked, empty bottles of wine in her hand with labels Elliot didn't dare try to pronounce.

The reason for his farce, however, kept herself in the center of the group to sprinkle insults like glitter among them. Mostly about Rhys being a sore loser and his girlfriend Liz, a woman as sharp as a marble.

Awkward. If nothing else, Elliot thought, this is awkward.

"I'm out," Amber sighed. Cutting her losses early, she shifted and slipped towards the corner he silently took a seat in. She kept her eyes on the game, but not without pursing her lips at every stupid joke coming from its direction.

"So you're an old school friend, huh?"

The chance he waited for. Elliot cleared his throat and switched over to the offensive: "Yeah, we met in summer music camp."

"Music camp? Wow, that explains why you're such a party animal, huh." She wordlessly mustered Sahra flitting from room to room. "Was she always like that?"

Busy uncorking another bottle for her friends? With every second, the little voice at the back of his mind doubted that they were even that.

"The mom of the group," Amber explained, as if they were all unable to stand and top up their drinks themselves. Nothing too surprising, though, especially when most of them only found an amused grin when hearing about Elliot's days in the office.

"Yeah." He insistently tried to return her attention, "How did you guys meet?"

Amber shrugged. "Here and there. They all came around one day, and we're hanging out ever since."

"That's nice." Ice cubes sloshed against the walls of his cup.

Well surrounded from all sides, Elliot had never felt so alone in his life. Better that nothing, right?

Minutes stretched into hours of draining small-talk, and minute per minute, Elliot's hopes of sneaking into this circle for certain benefits kept on dwindling. Suddenly, a shrill laugh ripped them from their chat. Liz waved her phone from side to side, short flashes of an auditorium clear to everyone around her.

"Oh my god, that's you!" she exclaimed and jumped up and down on the couch, like she just won the lottery. Seconds later, the scattered group gathered around Liz to catch a better view of the video.

This all too familiar scene stirred Elliot awake. Oh, fuck.

Not his recitals. His elementary school had taped one or the other, used in its online promotions in exchange for free lunches. Evelyn had always known how to bargain for her son.

"Wait! That's from years ago, I-"

Behind the screen, the boy gave a little bow, music sheets nearly slipping out of the folder he had tucked under his arm.

"Good evening, my name is Elliot Ribera," he chirped, "Today, I will be performing Cimarosa's Sonata No. 42 in D Minor for you." 

Seriously?!

Then, he bowed again, nervously eyeing the audience to his left. Where Mom sat. 

Memories came over Elliot in a flood: how nervous he had felt playing in front of maybe thirty people, how the sheets refused to flip, how his legs couldn't even reach the pedals-

"Aww, so cute," Rhys pouted. The clip showed them nothing Elliot had to feel embarrassed about; besides a rough start and a few missed modulations, yet his face still blushed red in humiliation. 

"So cute," Amber parroted behind him and tapped the bridge of her nose, "Maybe you want to show us a video of your talents now - if you count snorting lines off Liz' tits as that."

Pixels of Elliot's past self chinked Cimarosa all throughout Sarah's house. Yes, this was awkward and so much more.

Yet, out of nowhere, the tension broke with Rhys' dirty laugh. If anything, these friends', if one could even call them such, had in common was the dislike of one another.

Enough now. Enough underhanded jabs, enough shallow gossip. Elliot was about to excuse himself, because of a headache he thought up, when Amber linked arms and swooped him to the side.

"I have an old box like that at home," she whispered in his ear after the rest got busy with another round of poker. Of course, she does. "How about a private performance?"

--------

Escorting her home was one thing, yet performing by hook and crook to maybe somehow let her connections help him gain an advantage suddenly felt natural to Elliot.

Trying to ignore how massive the house she had led him to was, he quickly spotted the promised piano at the back of the living room. Wiping over the old wood felt so familiar. Why not strum a bit for her? 

"Alright, Amber," he smiled and lifted the piano lid, "What would you like to hear?"

The lady of the house faltered, half-up the stairwell to the first floor already, and looked back at him in bewilderment. A long pause stretched out between them, until her face finally twisted into confusion:

"I kinda don't care for the music thing you got going. Sorry, I guess."

Didn't. Care. He should have stayed home today, should have saved himself from this complete disaster.

"Okay…" Perhaps she just needed some idiot to bring her home safely. "Then that's the part where I say goodnight. Anyway, it was such a pleasure meeting you."

"Oh, was it?" she barked, irritated. 

At this, Elliot was speechless. The one chance he had tonight never existed to begin with, a big ruse that leeched any kind of patience left in him. And now, this.

Amber leaned on the handrail, focusing on her guest down at her feet: "So, the whole night you suck up to me and when I give you a free pass you'd rather just piss off?"

Free pass? Not this again.

"No. God, no, this is not what I wanted-"

"But you want something. You all do. I don't mind, but don't you even have the courtesy to fuck me for it? How boring. Looks like we both don't get what we want tonight."

She looked offended, Elliot realized, offended that he didn't use her in a way she liked. To prostitute himself for a better likelihood to perhaps get a part? 

Thank you, Sahra, but I waive.

"That's fine by me." Elliot slipped back into his jacket, voice firm: "But to be clear, I'm not-"

Her eyes widened. In the blink of an eye, her face turned pale and Amber collapsed on the stairs. 

Elliot jumped forward, barely catching her before hitting her temple on the banister. Shit! Both his arms wrapped around her shoulders, struggling to slowly pull her to the floor and always careful to protect her head.

"Hello?" Elliot laid her down and lifted both her legs up over his shoulder, "HELLO?"

Never meet up with old schoolmates again. Never, never, never!

After a few grueling seconds, Amber's eyes fluttered back open. She coughed, once or twice, and growled weakly: "Not again…"

"Should I call someone?" Elliot's heartbeat danced on his tongue, too scared of letting her go, "Do you need an ambulance?"

"Yes. No. It's just this blood pressure thing I've got." Rolling her eyes, in annoyance not distress, it was her turn to be embarrassed about nothing now. 

After making sure her consciousness wouldn't leave him again, he ran across the room and back to her. From off the couch, Elliot had swiped a few pillows and stuffed them under her head and knees. More and more, Amber found her voice despite the scare still shaking her to the core: "Don't you dare take a pic."

He halted, then scoffed. "Why would I? What the hell is wrong with you people?" 

Strangely, she just snickered. Chortling at first, until it turned into full-blown giggles, like her request wasn't disturbing enough.

"That's not funny, Amber." Elliot ran a stressed hand through his hair, "Someone needs to have an eye on you."

"Good luck with that. Chase went out, and my parents won't come back until next week."

Great, fucking stellar. He knew what he was about to demand from himself: "I don't want to leave you alone tonight."

"Really now?" Amber squinted over to him and raised one eyebrow. "I'm fine, dude. Probably."

"Not if you might faint again."

Amber didn't mind his objection, suddenly, and gave a short nod. He helped her up onto the couch to settle down beside each other. In the soft light of the chandelier, Amber appeared much smaller. Frightened, maybe.

"The house gets so quiet at night."

Perplexed, Elliot gave her more space to study the carpet fibers intensely. She was a lot gentler when alone and none of her minions swarmed around her. Cute, he might say.

"Is Chase your boyfriend or…"

"Brother," she clarified.

"Got it." Lucky him, nobody would beat him up for coming home with her. That's what he got for messing around, so he might as well make the best out of it.

"You looked disappointed there for a second, Elli!" she cackled. Not nastily, not dismissively. And though Elliot only rolled his eyes at the nickname, he thought that this cheesy side fit her quite well. 

It would stay the only jab in the following hours, as minutes turned into hours again, this time drifting past like a dream. Elliot didn't play for her that night, a temporary goodbye at dawn forcing them apart, but promised to meet her again the next weekend. After all, they wanted to make up for the rough evening. 

A decision Elliot never not regretted.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterlist]

Taglist: @whatwasmyprevioususername, @canislycaon24

[austinsmutler]

A Fool Such as I - Austin!Elvis x Reader - 1700 words

Summary: While Elvis is on stage, Hank Snow has a few choice words for you. Elvis finds out after the show and reminds you of what's really important.

What you’ll like: Sweet!Elvis, 50s Elvis, hurt/comfort (what else is new in my fics?) use of the prompt 'You don't have to worry about me not being loyal', Elvis and Reader are childhood sweethearts

Warnings: None, but Hank Snow is a bit of an asshole in this. Slut-shaming and put-downs from insecure minor characters whose opinions do not matter (keep that in mind for real life too!)

Masterlist | Requests are currently open (Currently only taking requests for Elvis and Austin!Elvis)

A/N: I'm loving all your requests so far. Expect the next one this weekend. It's got virgin!Elvis and it's sweet as iced tea.

“Is that a pair of young ladies… intimates I see on that stage?” Hank Snow said with an arched eyebrow.

You stifled a laugh, while the Colonel did his best to disguise his amusement with a blank stare. “Why yes, I believe it is, Hank.”

“Best not happen when he sings one of my songs.”

“Oh, I’m sure it won’t.” You batted your eyelashes at Hank, who shot you a disgusted look. 

The song finished and Elvis bounded offstage, kissing you on the cheek and sending Hank a smile. “They’re all warmed up for you.”

“I can see that.” Hank grumbled, grabbing his guitar and heading onstage to a crowd that still screamed your boyfriend’s name.

Elvis turned to you with a smile. “Was I good?”

“So good, baby.” Jealousy bit at the back of your throat, but you pushed it down. 

“I can’t believe I’m opening for Hank Snow.” Elvis’ eyes were glued to the stage. “And I get to play the interim too, Colonel said if the interest keeps up I get to play the closing number as well. Not the real one of course, but the music they play when the crowd’s getting tired. He wants me to rile ‘em back up again.”

“That’s amazing!” You grinned as Elvis wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close as Hank got into the swing of things. Your eyes stayed on Elvis, but he wasn’t watching Hank. He was watching the crowd- the bored girls, some of whom had polite smiles on their faces, all of whom wanted Elvis back on stage. 

The pattern continued as summer wore on and the carnival traveled from Memphis to Mississippi, further up to North Carolina. Everywhere you went, the girls were crazy for Elvis… and not Hank. 

The Colonel was gradually expanding Elvis’ setlist, so that by the time you reached Asheville he was half the show, not just an opening act. You and Hank stood backstage, watching as Elvis sang Hound Dog and women screamed. 

Elvis swayed his hips, and Hank’s face screwed up in distaste. “What a disgusting display.”

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, trying to keep your voice light. “It’s just dancing.”

“That? That ain’t dancing.” Hank looked at you, but the revulsion stayed in his eyes as he looked you up and down. You were wearing a simple pink dress and black cardigan with long sleeves, but he made you feel naked and dirty with one look. “What does your mother think of you, traipsing around the country with a boy like that?”

“My family have known Elvis since we were kids. We met at church.” You tried to come up with more to say, something that would make Hank see-

“Church? That boy?” He interrupted with a scoff before you could finish your thought. 

“We sang in the choir together. Nobody minded him dancing then either.”

“He moved like that in church?” Hank gaped at you, then the stage, where girls were starting to throw their intimates again. He made the sign of the cross. “If my daughter went to church and came back with a boy like that, I’d send her to a nunnery.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Maybe your mother is happy to raise a fast girl, but I make sure my wife and daughter stay at home.” Hank shook his head. “I pray for your generation.”

Hank turned back to the stage, and you backed away- only to see the Colonel off to one side, smiling at you. Close enough to have heard the entire exchange. He didn’t say anything, just gave you a nod as you excused yourself from backstage. You knew he had similar opinions. Everyone did: singers never took their wives on the road with them, much less their girlfriends. But Elvis was different, and that was one of the things you loved about him.

Still, that didn't make it any easier to put up with the constant judgement. You and Elvis could be as god-fearing and traditional as the pope; people would still be critical because of the way he moved and sang.

You walked out into the mostly-deserted carnival. Everyone was over by the stage, exactly where you didn’t want to be.

Your thoughts flickered back to the crowd of girls screaming in the front row. Most of them were pretty. All of them wanted Elvis. What was to stop him from having any one of them? Before Elvis’ career started up, the future seemed set in stone: you’d been dating since high school, friends for a decade before that. Marriage should have come after graduation. 

Instead, you were here: a month away from graduation yourself, Elvis already dropped out. Not a word of marriage, and he wasn’t allowed to wear your promise ring because someone might get wind of your relationship. You could damage his career. Elvis loved you a whole lot, but you weren’t a fool. His career, his fans, they were everything to him.

You found a wooden table covered in red paper cups and half-eaten food. Nobody would think you out of place among the trash, you thought bitterly.

The area was deserted, so you sat down and cleared enough space to rest your elbows on the table. Blue Suede Shoes echoed in the distance, and you couldn’t help but hum along before Hank’s words resurfaced, along with many others you’d heard from men who didn’t know you or Elvis.

“I bet your boyfriend makes you wear all that makeup. You look like a slut.” That was a man who’d spoken to you back in Memphis, another performer who traveled with the carnival. You’d been avoiding him for the past few weeks. 

“Why are you in the front row?” One teen girl had said in Georgia, jostling you to one side in the crowd as you waited for Elvis to come on stage. “You don’t look like his type. I read he likes pretty-pretty girls.”

Their words were intended to hurt, to push you out of Elvis’ arms, but they hadn’t. You’d stayed, and the words had sunk into your skin, like splinters of insecurity. 

Hot tears raced down your cheeks as a million thoughts raced through your mind. You and Elvis used to be the most simple thing in the world: love. Now you weren’t so sure about anything. Not yourself, not Elvis, not your relationship or his career or your place in it. 

“Pardon me, if I’m sentimental, when we say goodbye…” Hank Snow’s voice drifted across the empty fairground in a slow drawl. A few people lucky enough to be at the back of the crowd walked away, while the rest stayed in the hopes Elvis would come back on, as he so often did. 

“Now and then, there’s a fool such as I…”

The words sank in. Hank always sang them softly, but tonight they felt barbed, directed at you. Fool. That was what you were, right? Dropping everything back in Memphis to follow your boyfriend. Your mother had given you permission after consistent begging, multiple reassurances from the Presley family, and one especially tearful night where you’d screamed,

“He’s the love of my life Momma, I can’t let him go alone.”

But here you were, alone. Tears rolling down your face, shoulders shaking, breath coming in gasps. It was so hard to breathe you didn’t even hear the footsteps coming up behind you until Elvis draped his jacket across your shaking shoulders. It smelled of his cologne, comforting you almost instantly. 

“Hey, pretty girl.” Elvis took the seat across from you, pushing the trash on the table to one side to grasp your hands. “You wanna tell me what this is about?”

Getting caught crying just made you cry harder, and you wiped your nose with the back of your hand. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m like this.” 

He frowned. “I know there’s a reason. You can tell me.”

You shook your head, trying to smile. Trying to breathe. “I’m fine, really. I promise.”

“Don’t do that.” Elvis squeezed your hands. “Don’t lie to me about something like that, baby.”

You just stared at him. Even after performing, glazed in sweat, eyeliner smudged everywhere, Elvis was still stunning. The black lace shirt he wore contrasted his tan skin, giving him a glow that warmed you up from the inside. His blue eyes were wide with concern while his fingers stroked your knuckles, waiting for a reply.

“Did Hank say something to you?” He asked after the silence dragged on for too long.

Your blood ran cold. “What?”

“You weren’t there when I came offstage. I asked him where you were, he said you should’ve gone home weeks ago.” Elvis frowned. “He’s never been a fan of me, and I’ve made my peace with that. But if he said something to you-”

“It’s nothing!” You shrugged, lips pressed tight together. “Next time I just- I won’t talk to him. I know what he thinks of me. I don’t need to hear it.”

“What he thinks of you?” Elvis’ voice was low, something underneath boiling like blood. “What did he say?”

You repeated the interaction to Elvis, his hands gripping yours tighter and tighter until both your knuckles were white. Once you started, you didn’t stop- every word that lingered in your mind leapt from your mouth, from the men who whispered slut when they saw you with Elvis to the girls who jostled with you for the front row, prepared to say anything to shake you up. 

Elvis stood and you expected him to walk away, to pace or process the information on his own, but there was no hesitation in his movements as he came and knelt on the ground next to your chair. He never took his eyes from yours. 

“Baby, I’m gonna have a talk with Hank.”

“But-”

“No. There won’t be a next-time, no second chances, not with you. I’ve given him enough opportunities to be the polite Southern gentleman he thinks he is. Enough.”

Elvis cupped your face in his hands. “Before we left Memphis, I made a promise to your Momma that I’d take care of you. I’ll take care of this. And if he ever says another word to you, anything less than complimentary, I’ll sock him in the jaw.”

You laughed, crying again as Elvis kissed you. 

“And Baby, about the rest?” He pulled back with a smile, leaning your foreheads together. “Well, there’s nothing I can do but tell you this: You're mine, but I'm yours too. You don't have to worry about me not being loyal. There's only one woman I could ever want in my life, and that's you. Everyone else is white noise, but you’re my favorite song. Understand?”

You threw your arms around Elvis and he held you tight, as if you’d vanish if he ever let go. But you both knew you’d be there for each other until the end.