#HOOOOOO BABY

[chickenparm]

do you guys like albedo? asking for a friend

[toytanks]

"OR PERHAPS YOU JUST ARE ATTRACTED TO THINGS THAT HURT YOU" SPEAKING FROM EXPERIENCE FORDSY???????

[birrdify]

OKAY. OKAY GGUH. HOW DO YOU COME BACK FROM AN 11 DAY HIATUS........things HAPPENED holy HELL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!/POS

number one hi again tumblr waves at you!!! youre still as awesome as i remember you to be!!!! second why do i have more than 400 notifs on here STOOPPOYOP HEL third WHY DO I HAVE 14.9K NOTIFS ON MY DISCORD DO YOU WANNA KILL ME!!???????? /?? /SILLY

uhhh...updates...im gonna have to renovate my whole blog ,, im PREEEETTY sure my artstyle changed throughout the week and a half i was gone, i'm now known as birdy4/smg4, i got married in an smg34 wedding as smg4, what else is new.......OH YEAH i have SO MANY DRAWINGS PENDING. JESUS CHRIST. gotta WORK ON THAT IMMEDIATELY!!! i miss drawing too cause uhhh i wasnt able to do that the entire trip:[ cause im a mouse artist....i draw on my laptop... cries

(everything below is just me rambling and i dont wanna flood your feed,,. TL;DR im BACK BABY!!!!!)

gonna have to work on that one drawing i promised, sever the ties and/or fragmented struggles (check those fics OUTT!!!!) doodle dumps....marware, th. THE ICE SKATING COMIC OH MY GOD. im gonna have to make the cover art for that,, wait no. i havent drawn in AGES itll look like dogshit UHHhhhhhhh ill go make . a practice drawing (colored and rendered) ANYWAYS HIII HI AGAIN HI!!!! back to HAUNT EVERYONE with my trash art

i might....miiiiigghhttt.t..t.... make a promo vid or promo art...for this smg4 fanserver im in...cause i consider them as family and everyone there is awesome...,,,

[joelscruff]

yall will be happy to hear that being bedridden with covid for 5 days has given me a lot of time to think about ideas for FoF and other fics and hooooo boy am i excited to start writing again once i can actually sit at my desk without feeling like im gonna pass out lmao

[feliciadraws]

All things considered, I think Moon Tribe technology would have been advanced enough at its peak for cybernetic/prosthetic limbs to have been not only possible but doable

I’m saying this because WAKA WITH A PROSTHETIC ARM

[twistedappletree]

looking to hire an unhinged Russian mechanic who’ll install guns above my car’s headlights so i can shoot at the adult m*n who honk and whistle at the teenage girls just trying to walk home from school

[goofygooberton]

Yea I was better at algebra, but you see vector calculus is my true love

fuck every other personality test, reblog this with your sign and whether you were better at algebra or geometry

[firebornamari]

My knee started aching because of the weather and I tried to tough it out. I have given in to the ibuprophen and now I gotta be miserable until it kicks in.

[shhhsecretsideblog]

Prompt 17

The woman is on a call with her partner

Prompt: “Are you pushing?”

AN: I really enjoy the trope of a partner rushing home to their labouring wife, driving fast trying not to miss the birth, the sounds of the woman’s labour echoing around their car. But for this, I thought it would be fun to reverse it. Hope it’s just as fun to read this way round. [fpreg, 2915 words]

Almost Home

Answering the phone Jack immediately put it on speaker, placing the device beside his laptop as he worked from home. “Hi honey, how’s the shopping going?”

“Err… yeah. Fine. Got everything I wanted but um…” His wife, Rosie, trailed off. Her voice sounded strained and uncertain. “Do you think you could mmm-maybe log off from w-work this afternoon-?”

“Why, what’s wrong? Are you alright? You sound a bit breathless, well more so than usual.” Jack joked but his eyes narrowed in concern.

“I’m fine it’s just— hoooooo — I don’t think those c-cramps this morning were false con-contractions.”

“What…You’re…in labour?” Jack grabbed his phone and stared at the caller ID in shock. “Okay… errr where are you, still at the mall? I’ll get an Uber and come get you.”

“No, no it’s fine. I’m on my way home now.” Rosie’s voice assured down the line.

“You’re driving… with contractions? Jeeze Rosie.”

“Will you relax, I’m fine. It’s only half an hour away and it’s all straight roads-mnnnhhhhh…” Her voice disappeared into a low groaning sound through the tinned speakers.

“… Rosie?” Jack called her name nervously but only got the sounds of her heavy panting in return. He swallowed the urge to shout at her for driving whilst in labour - it was their first baby and he didn’t want to be the cliche panicking father-to-be. It was probably just early labour pains so instead tried to offer help and support down the phone line.

“Try and breathe through it sweetheart, in and out.”

He could hear the way her voice rattled around the car as she moaned, deep and long, and the sounds of her suffering pulled at his heart. When it was over his wife was back on the phone again.

“Oof!… baby feels really low babe. Can you get our hospital bag ready by the door? We might have to head out pretty quickly.”

“But we don’t need to go to the hospital until the contractions are 5 minutes apart, or if your waters break.”

“Uh-huh.” Was all that his wife replied.

“Rosie… how long have you been having contractions?” Jack sternly asked, knowing his wife and fearing the response.

“Mmnnnnh… well, they’ve not really stopped since the ones this morning. And I guess I was feeling a bit crampy during the night…” Rosie admitted between deep and measured breaths.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn't realise they were labour pains, well not at first. But you’ve got that big project at work and we really needed to get this stuff for the nursery so I figured a walk around the mall would help get things moving a bit… Oohhhhhh….it's definitely done that job.” Rosie found herself humming on each exhale as she breathed through the fierce pressure and pain deep in her pelvis.

“Screw the work, Rosie, you should have told me you were having contractions.” Jack scolded, worried and nervous his wife was currently in labour without him.

“Mnnngh— shout at me later, just- just get the bag ready. Hoooooo-fuck..!” She groaned, gripping the steering wheel tight in her fists as another contraction rippled across her belly sending shooting pains up her spine and down her thighs.

Jack slammed his laptop shut and ran through the house trying to remember where they’d put the bag - why was it that you could never remember where you’d put things when you put them in a “safe place”? - all the while keeping his phone gripped in his hand and hearing the sounds of his labouring wife echo out the small speaker. Insisting that he stay on the line, Jack continued to offer words of encouragement and support as Rosie dangerously made her way home. He found the bag in their closet and rifled through the contents to check everything was there before heading downstairs to wait for his wife to return with the car, a journey which at this moment seemed to be dragging on for a lifetime.

“Mngh— thank fuck!” Rosie gruffed.

“What is it?”

“Traffic lights… contraction… Ooooohhhh- mmmnghhhhh….!!” Rosie took her hands off the wheel as she stopped at the lights, holding her rock solid belly in both hands and trying her best to breathe through the waves.

Jack checked the time on his phone, keeping track of the very short gaps between her groans, and hesitantly and reluctantly he said “Honey, they’re sounding awfully close together. Maybe you should stop and call an ambulance?”

“What?! No, I’m f-fine… hoooo…I’m not giving birth without you. I can m-make it h-home…” Despite her words and determination Rosie’s thighs subconsciously widened in her seat.

“Are you sure?” Jack could hear the almost constant low rumblings of a groan coming from his wife, through every breath and every word spoken.

“Nnnghhh— yes. Just… talk to me… keep me distracted… from these- oof!- contractions.” Rosie gruffed and put the car back into drive when the lights turned green and continued her journey home.

Following Rosie’s instructions, Jack started rambling about nonsense; work stuff, friends and family messages he’d received, mindlessly muttering to keep both their focus away from the sounds of pain emanating from his wife every few minutes. He stayed by their front door, looking through the window at the quiet rural street, waiting desperately for the first glimpse of their car.

Rosie meanwhile tried to hang on to every word coming through the car Bluetooth speakers, trying to ignore the pressure in her hips that was getting excruciatingly worse with every passing second. Her legs were spread as wide as they could go in the driver's seat; one squished against the door while the other was pressed against the centre console, her solid bump right up against the wheel. Even with wide legs nothing was relieving the pressure and the wrenching pain pulling her pelvis apart. The groans coming out her mouth were getting longer, deeper, and had started to end with an almost primal grunt. Her sweatpants were already damp from her waters breaking earlier; whilst walking around the shops she had eventually admitted defeat when the contractions had gotten close enough together that she could no longer ignore what was happening, and typically her waters had gone just as she was waddling across the quiet car park.

It was during a deep grunt that Rosie had a panicked realisation that her body had been automatically pushing. “Ohhhhhh… oh no….oh no…” She whimpered quietly, immediately trying to stop the contracting muscles. The car microphone obviously picked up her words for Jack immediately asked what was wrong.

“Nothing… I’m okay… we’re okay. I just have to breathe through it.”

And not push! Rosie thought to herself, gripping the steering wheel and trying to sit more upright in the hopes that if she blocked the baby’s exit that her labour might slow down a bit.

Jack could hear the raw panic in his wife’s voice, making him practically jump off the walls with frustration that he was stuck at the end of a phone and not with her. He knew she was not okay, she was in labour for fucks sake, but there was something else in her tone… He didn’t know what to say… he wanted to press the question, but she was suffering contractions and driving herself home - she didn’t need his frantic questioning as well.

“Remember the breathing we learnt in antenatal class; short, sharp breaths. You can do this Rosie, you are nearly home.” Jack said reassuringly, but he had no idea if that statement was true.

Rosie’s legs were trembling, barely able to keep her foot on the accelerator to keep the car moving. She would not have stood a chance in a manual car. Following her husband's instructions she panted through the contraction but she could feel the baby sinking lower and lower… she tried to squeeze her thighs together, clench anything that would stop this baby’s progress but everything she tried just made the pressure worse. It was torture, fighting against her body’s primal urge. She needed to push, her body screamed at her to bear down, her baby apparently desperate to be born. Sweat rolled down the back of her neck as she baulked against her instincts, her tight belly was radiating heat like a furnace and she wanted to turn up the air conditioning but daren’t take her hands off the wheel. Her tight grip was the only thing keeping things together, her fingers digging deep into the leather keeping her laser focused on the journey.

Two more contractions passed with that excruciating pressure, the gaps between almost non-existent. The baby’s head was right between her thighs, she could feel it, bulging obscenely into her underwear. Her upright position was agony, feeling like she was practically sitting on the baby’s head. With the next contraction her body slumped, acting without any instruction, trying to relieve the pressure that was bringing tears to her eyes. The pain and pressure was rising up and up and Rosie had no choice but to push with the barrelling force, grunting and widening her legs in the process.

“…Rosie…?” Jack’s concerned voice whispered out the speakers.

She opened her mouth to reply but her body had other ideas and all that came out was a lowing groan as her body bore down against the solid mass in her cervix.

“Are you pushing?!” Jack yelled down the phone.

“Mnghh-trying-not-to- ughhh! Oh fuck!” She gasped.

“Stop! Don’t push. You can’t be pushing now!”

“Try telling our b-baby that— ooohhhhh mmnghhhhhhhh!!” Rosie gripped the steering wheel and sank into the seat, uncontrollably bearing down.

“Rosie pull over, the baby is coming now.”

“Mnnnghh… no! It’s not c-crowning… I can hold it -hooo- in… I’m just down the r-road…” The baby was right at her entrance, her labia bulging and sore against her clothing, but she could make it. She was so close to home.

“For fucks sake Rosie.”

“Oh Jack!” Rosie suddenly cried, her body still bearing down even without her help and she felt her lips start to part. “The head… I think it’s coming - grrrhhhhh— out!! … I’m— I’m trying not to push but I can’t stop it— grhhhhhhh oh god!!!”

“Rosie, stop the damn car!!!” Jack screamed down the phone.

The labouring woman’s foot had come off the pedal already, the car rolling along the quiet rural street. She should brake and safely stop the car, but she wasn’t in control of her body - it was too busy pushing against the heavy boulder in her vagina. The car thankfully slowed to a stop at the side of the road and in between frantic pushes Rosie managed to put the car into “park”.

“Ooohhh Jack… I can feel the head…” she cried out as the round shape pushed against her folds. Rosie tried to lift her knees, to make more space, but the steering wheel blocked any real movement.

“Have your waters broken hun?” Jack’s voice was strained in his attempt to stay calm.

“Nnghh…they-broke-at-the-mall-mmmghhhh…!” Gritting her teeth Rosie disappears into another deep and primal push, her body taking charge determined to get this baby out.

“Fuck. Okay… honey I need you to listen to me; I need you to try and see how much of the baby has come out. Can you do that?”

Rosie panted and nodded her head, forgetting for a moment that Jack couldn’t see her. “…yeah. I’ll try…” she added.

Knowing that removing her clothing wasn’t an option in this position, Rosie moved a nervous hand around her big belly between her spread thighs and felt the clear shape of the top of the baby's head through her leggings.

“It’s poking out a bit but— hooohooo- it’s not fully out yet.” She whimpered and sobbed, the realisation of her situation hitting her full force with the first contact with her baby. She was trapped in her car at the side of a road giving birth.

“Where are you babes? I’m gonna call an ambulance.” Jack's heart was breaking, not only for missing the birth of his child but also not being there to support his soul mate during all this.

“At-the end- of our road… oh Jack,” she whined with fear and tears “I need you. I can’t do this.” Her chest heaved with her rapid breathing, the pressure was overwhelming and her labia was on fire.

Jack flew out of the house so fast he didn’t even shut the front door behind him when he sped down the street, running. “Just hold on Rosie, I’m coming.” He panted down the phone, his legs burning with the sudden physical movement.

“Ohhhh the baby’s coming… I need to push again— ughh…no…have to pushhhh but— mmmnnnghhh!!!— not enough room! ” Rosie was panicking, her legs were as wide as she could get them in the driver's seat but it wasn’t enough to make space for the emerging baby. Her body was too upright, her belly too squished, her legs too close for the large head to get through her birth canal.

“I can see the car Rosie, I’m coming, hold on just a little bit longer.”

“Mnnghhhhh!!!!” Rosie was completely lost to another uncontrollable bout of pushing. When the contraction waned, enough to somewhat control the urge, Rosie threw open the car door and swung her legs out immediately. “Hoooo-hooo… baby hang on just a minute… just give me one minute…ohhhh”

Awkwardly and cumbersomely Rosie managed to pull her body out of the low car seat, gripping the car door and heaving her labouring body to stand. The weight in her womb suddenly dropped even lower, the head pressing against her opening and stretching her lips wider than she thought possible, the baby fully crowning between her legs. “Ohhhhhhhh…shit!!.” She turned around and braced against the door as the baby’s movements prompted another contraction. Before she could take a breath her body was already bearing down and her knees widened and trembled. The car was still running, the phone call with her husband still connected, but she couldn’t speak. All that she could think was getting this baby out and getting it out right-fucking-now.

A long animalistic grunting sound came out her throat as she dipped into a deep push. The baby’s head was slipping beyond the crown into her clothing, pushing against her maternity leggings and bulging it down. A gasp, a desperate gulp of air, was all she was given before she was pushing again giving it everything she had.

If the car wasn’t already in Jack’s eyesight, Rosie’s loud roar would have told the anxious father exactly where his wife was at that moment. He watched her pull herself out the car, her face flushed and exhausted, her hair limp and damp on her shoulders. He thought she must have seen him, and was getting out to get to him, but when she turned around and grunted deeply Jack almost froze in fear. This was really happening, their baby was actually coming, here and now. The car door blocked the view of his labouring wife but her cries echoed down the country road and he could see her body dipping down and bouncing back up. She was pushing, that much was evident, but he was panicked at what he'd find when he’d reach her.

“Rosie!!” Jack shouted as he approached. She turned, tears falling from her cheeks, but her eyes widened with relief for a split second when she saw him. Her mouth opened to shout back but instead the relieved look in her eyes vanished and another groan spilled from her lips as she clasped back on to the car door and pushed again uncontrollably.

Jack could see her body was trembling from head to toe with the strain, and when he passed the open car door he could see why - there was a giant round shape pulling at the crotch of her leggings.

“Jack— the head— hooooo I think it’s out…” Rosie panted, still clinging onto the vehicle for dear life.

“Oh my god. Oh Rosie…” words failed him and his arms went around her back.

“Get them off! Get my leggings off!” She growled through clenched teeth.

“Right… errr of course.” Jack stuttered, completely lost and uncertain. He pulled the clothing down over his wife’s hips and was immediately greeted with the face of his newborn child. “You’re right, heads out I can see them! Oh my gosh hi baby!”

“Mmnngh— Jack… is there a chord? Round the neck?” Rosie shifted awkwardly from hip to hip, leggings bunched at her knees, as she felt the start of the next contraction coming.

“I— I don’t think so. How do I check?”

“Can you see anything— wrapped around the neck?? Ohhhhhh hurry… there’s so much pressure… I’m trying really hard not to push…” Rosie balled her fists and dug her nails into her palms.

“No… nothing is round the neck.” Jack confirmed.

“Ohhhh great. Get— hoooo get ready to c-catch!!…” Rosie warned before taking a gulp of air and clamping her mouth shut as she pushed. Her hips dropped and knees bent, almost into a squat, with the force of her push. She tried to open herself as much as she could, the shoulders pressing against her opening. “Mnnnghhhh— come on baby…!!!” She cried and bore down, growling with the effort and eventually feeling the baby move downwards. “It’s coming— out!!!”

With a gush of fluid the baby slipped from Rosie into Jack’s awaiting hands and immediately gurgled a soft cry.

[spaceratprodigy]

NEW WYCB UPDATE JUST DROPPED!! GO READ MY FRIEND'S FIC RN I LOVE HER SM!

Also? Have you read the previous chapter? 🤨 Maybe you should. Maybe there's even some art at the end of it made by yours truly.

Summaries:

Cats poetry night, swing dancing, home-brewed beer. What could go wrong?

clears my throat and smiles innocently

surprise!!! two new chapters!!!!!!!!!!! deacon and charmer hang out with the atom cats a whole bunch and then... uh... some other stuff happens too :) pls make sure to read the notes at the end of 25/the beginning of 26 as they r important!!!!

im not returning to weekly posting yet just because ~life~ and i want to be able to devote the time and effort to this fic that it deserves bc i love it very much, but again, they'll be back!! but exactly where they go from here......... well, who's to say

as always, the link above will take u to the most recent chapter (25) and this one will take you to the beginning :3 enjoy!!!

[laborlover33]

“Oooooooooh god Im starting to feel like i need to push” she grunts rocking her heavy hips alone and deep in her labor. “Mmmmm Noooooo NGHHHHH” she cries “Hoooooo I can feel you” she moans as her baby moves down

If anyone wants to help me labor or needs help my Dms are open

[skelexguts]

GUYS. GUYS!!! NONVERBAL CATNAP CONFIRMATION LETS FCKING GOOOOOOOOOOOOOO WE WON GUYS!!!!! WE HAVE WON TONIGHT BABY WOOOOOOOO HOOOOOO

[sightofsea]

good omens post-s2 fic recs

here's a list of fics i found really great so far!! all of these are completed, will go back and add in WIPs once they've finished.

Not for All My Little Words by @mia-ugly and @soft-october-night was the first thing i read post-s2 that i was like yes!!! yes this is it!!! its such a fun banter-y little romp of aziraphale trying to woo crowley with literary quotes as crowley hops around the world. VERY fun

Drinking Buddies and Diaries by dove_dove was another one. it's crowley teaching muriel how to be human and aziraphale getting weirdly jealous and bitchy about it. there's also a lot of aziraphale's diary entries in here. incredibly funny very satisfying ending and completely in line with the humor of the show.

puttin' on the ritz by @moonyinpisces. what can i say that hasn't already been said. funny horny goofy 20s romp. implies that crowley crashed the stock market bc he's googoo gaga. you can't get anything better than this

I'm the treasure baby, I'm the prize by stereobone. crowley takes up sex work only he never fucks the guys, he just hypnotizes them so he can use them as free therapists. just such a good concept and so well executed.

a rarer height by hyruling. this. THIS was the long fic i was waiting for. the arguments are so visceral, the scenery is a absolute gem. the tension and softness is palpable i just wanna lie down in a bed of it. absolute GOAT. emotional wreck for the ages.

Just Once More by NaroMoreau. i'm a simple girl i love a time loop and hoooooo boy does this DELIVER!!!! excellent aziraphale character study. excellent themes excellent language excellent everything.

[yeyinde]

hoooooo boy. m!mc anon here - your response was extremely interesting and i am a little obsessed with your brain (i’d like to study it, you truly come up with the most delicious ideas)

but i also have to say that out of all of tf 141, that idea for soap was actually so delicious that i had to physically put my phone down for a while. respectfully, that is the hottest thing i’ve probably ever read. even more feral soap?? forcefem?? phew. amen.

thank you for giving me more material to zone out to in the middle of the day (praying hands emoji)

ahhh thanks!!! i started to drag on more about m!Reader and Johnny, but. this happened lmao. so here is some nasty Johnny picking up m!Reader in a bar.

forced!fem. switch Johnny. m!reader is described as being very masculine presenting. but in the flavour of Will Graham's whole aesthetic

All things considered, it's a little clichè.

Older man (��ish, you amend mentally, remembering the birth year on his driver's license when you chanced a peek over his forearm as he rifled through his wallet: 1982—millenial) hits on a younger man in a crowded sports bar. Opens the conversation with haven't seen you around here before, and let's the defined chisel in his jawline do the heavy lifting in place of a personality. Adds a wink to that line, too.

Thighs pressed tight against each other on the stool. Arms brushing. Speaks purposefully when it gets rowdy so he has to lean in close, stubbled jaw grazing your cheek as he mock whispers his lacklustre response to a question you didn't ask. Buys you beer. The expensive kind, too. Laughs when you ask what he's drinking and orders something that makes him seem like he's more of a man than you are.

For a brief period between intermissions—when it gets quieter and he conveniently sneaks off to the washroom—you debate picking up the heavy innuendos he's trying to put down. It could be worse, you think, staring at the only other potential lay you've been entertaining over the last two weeks.

You could be getting mediocre sex from a guy who keeps sending you unasked for pictures of his cock and hole. One you keep dodging by adding an appropriately enthused wow, all this and it's only 10am on a Tuesday to every "yep, that's a dick" image he sends in place of a real conversation.

The sarcasm gifting you yet another unasked for picture of his hand around his cock. Sure is, baby. But—

"be better if ye were 'ere wit' me."

You startle, phone cracking off the edge of the counter. "Shit—"

The person over your shoulder peels away for a moment. "Ah, sorry. Ack—is yer phone alright?"

"Yeah, yeah," you breathe, tapping on the screen. It flicks on. You're graced with another picture of his ballsack. The caption—

"need yer cock s'fuckin' bad—"

You cut him a sharp glance over your shoulder. It's rude. You're a little annoyed at having your travesty of a sex life aired out for every obnoxious wannabe cowboy to overhear, but the irritation is stemmed by the fill of liquid hazel—and flecks of blue, you think; a pretty blue ring around oxidizing copper.

Larimar. Marbled with umber. Framed around glossy white streaked with small rivers of red. Tinged slightly yellow—undoubtedly from the pack of cigarettes you find stuffed into the breast pocket of his red, gingham button down when you tear your eyes away from him. The look too intense. Too much.

Taking stock of everything else about him is just as flustering. The gingham draped loosely over him. Wrinkled sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Collar opened until the last few buttons around his navel. He's wearing a black shirt beneath that glues to his skin, pulling taut around his sternum and collarbones. A gold chain with a thick, heavy cross sits in the valley between, swinging when he rocks back on his heels.

Thick thighs stuffed into jeans that stretch to fit. The bottoms tucked half-heartedly into a pir of black, leather boots.

The shirt shifts when he moves, pulling tight around his broad shoulders as he lifts the last swig of a beer bottle to his lips. Beneath the coarse, black hair that dusts over the pale, peachy skin of his forearms, the back of his hands, his knuckles (Jesus Christ), his muscles flex. Bunching tight under veined flesh.

It makes sense to follow the trail to those sucking lips, but you catch a flash of pale pink, the sweep of a blood-red tongue through the hazy brown of the translucent rim of the bottle and feel your heart lurch in your chest.

You try to swallow but your throat is dry.

He makes a noise as he drinks. A sucking slurp, the plop of his lips unglueing from of the mouth of the bottle. A quiet, groaning ahh whispered under his breath.

It pulls your eyes up, forcing you to fill in the rest of this puzzle, and you know, even before the same dense cropping of hair that covers his arms (hands, fingers) starts to show at the black hem of his Henley that you made a mistake. A grievous one. He's handsome.

Defined jaw. Implish lips. An angular nose. Thick, full brows. The same pale, peachy skin sloping up his neck, chin, cheeks, and forehead before disappear into dark brown, almost black, hair. An untrimmed mohawk. A scar on the side of his head, cutting clean along his temple and stretching back to his ear. The hair around it is sparse. Shaved. The gorge of his scar a dark pink inside. Healed, but—

Raw.

A little like the rest of him. Rougish, in a way. Fractured.

His hair is matted down on top. Toussed along the unblemished, overgrown side, but flat on his crown.

The mystery, however, is solved when he flicks a ballcap onto the table beside you with a crooked quirk of his mouth. All teeth. White, sharp.

The man slips into the stool your date was occupying with a sniff, the smooth ridge of his nose bunching up. Displeasure drapes itself over his expression, a little rumple in his brow. "Screamin' Jesus. Dunno wha's thicker. His cologne or his come-ons."

The barb is unexpected. You try to hide your snort behind a grimace, rubbing the tip of your nose with a rough finger. He catches it, though. The pinch in his brow smoothing out as he grins wide, vicious.

Your heart lunches. Stutters uncomfortably in your chest. "You watchin' me or something?"

He turns in the seat, knee bumping into your thigh. Crowding you easily as he folds over the tabletop, elbow dropping to the table with a muted thud. His cheek slides into his palm, head tilting as he considers your words. The implication.

And then he grins wider. "Or somethin'."

Cocky. You scoff, but it just makes him look more amused.

"Tha' yer type?"

"Hmm?"

He motions to the nearly untouched glass of whiskey in front of him. Then to your phone.

"All talk," he enunciates each word, letting his accent pull taut around the syllables. "An' no action."

"No action? You don't think buying me beer and sending dick pics, begging for a fuck, is no action?"

"Aye—" he reaches for the beer he placed down beside his cap, and takes a generous swallow as you pretend the shift in his throat isn't making you a little light headed. He peels away with a grunt. "Ah do."

"Yeah?" You scoff, bringing the nozzle to your mouth to quench the ache in your throat. The soft preen coiling in your chest. Stupid words like, so what about it, pretty boy? wanna take me home. "What would you do instead?"

"I'd split yer pussy open on my cock in the loo. Let everyone in this bar hear ye moanin' fer me—"

You choke, barely have time to put the bottle down before you're haccking into your fist. He has the decency to pat your back as you wheeze.

"Ain't got a pussy," is what you settle for after a beat, voice hoarse. Wrecked. The way he shudders at the sound is unmistakable. Your neck feels hot. Itchy.

"Oh, sure ye do," he leans in close, warm breath fanning over your cheek. "A nice, tight little pussy fer me to fuck—"

"I'm a man." You feel a little stupid saying it. As if any part of you could be mistaken for slight. For soft. Feminine. You work with your hands. Grew up in the backcountry. Fishing before you could talk. Chewing tobacco before you hit puberty. Your old man made sure to pound that notion into your head before you even know what it meant to be a child. "I don't know what kinda games you're playing, but—"

"ahm no' playin' games," he shrugs, leaning back. It gives the idea of space. Distance. But his hand finds its way your denim-clad thigh, nails skimming the inside seam of your jeans wear the material is softer, worn down from friction. Too high to be appropriate.

You should move. Snap at him to take it off. Growl the words out if you have to do.

(Punch him, maybe. But he looks like the sort who would like that too much, you think. Rough. Dirty. Not afraid to fight back with his teeth if he needs to.

come on, baby, hit me harder—)

Your knee jerks. His grip tightens. "I got a cock. Not a pussy."

He makes a face at that. His full bottom lip juts out, angling to the side in confusion. "Ah ken? Ahm plannin' on ridin' that cock tonight, aye. The one yer little date is so desperate fer—"

"Jesus—" you wheeze, cock thickening in your jeans. Men aren't—

They're not usually so forward with you. It's nudging innuendos. Beer. A whispered wanna get outta here when the bar is about close and no one else is around to see it. You know what you look like. And it's not—

Soft.

"Easy," he taunts, grinning. "Don't choke so soon. 'aven't even go' ma cock out—"

You're not entertaining this. Absolutely not. He's—

Well. You're not sure what he is, but he's not normal. Not right. And you're not that desperate.

(maybe)

But the words die in your throat when his bright eyes glance down at your empty bottle, a frown forming over his pretty, pink lips like you not having anything to drink right away was somehow the most inconvenient thing to him.

"Get ye a drink?"

"Sure," you say, nodding. Then: "thanks."

It's softer. Gritty. The word scrapes over your throat in a way that almost hurts.

You blame it on the beer you drank before. Sloshing around your empty stomach and making you feel wildly off-kilter. Tipsy, maybe. Too drunk. Vulnerable to kindness (however threadbare it might be) when you usually get lewd pictures and beer you didn't ask for.

He flags the bartender down with a flick of his wrist. Keeps his eyes listed toward you as he leans over the counter, whispering something in his ear that you can't hear. Unease knots in your stomach. Cold fingers linking together, pressing frigid knuckles to your soft lining.

You look away when he drops back into his seat, hand finding its way back to your thigh. Gripping tight. Possessive. It curls around you. His warmth, his touch. The smell of him—sweet wheat, lemongrass; something earthy, like the damp, wet scent of mid-autumn; maple leaves stuck to the pavement after a late night rain shower—and you breathe slowly through your nose, both eager for the smell and sick of it. Sweet maple. Tart pumpkin. Your fingers twitch. You fold them into fists, glancing down at the spread of his hand on you.

His knuckles are red. Blotchy. Raw. The skin on his middle finger is cut across the wrinkled folds of his joint. The knick is deep. Almost a circle if not for the way it tears on the side, streaking outward. The outer edges of the crater are white. The inside pink before it turns to a deep red in the middle. Clotting already.

Your tongue feels like lead in your mouth. Unhinging your jaw takes more effort than you can expend, and you pant, a little, when your mouth finally pries apart. The words thicken on your tongue.

What happened—

The bartender comes back, his shadow falling over the counter. You jerk your head up, blinking at him as he places something down in front of you.

Something pink.

You swallow again. "Uh, what's this?"

"Sex on the Beach," the man answers, waving the bartender off. "Pretty drink fer pretty little thing."

"You wanna get punched? Because this is how you get your teeth knocked out—"

"Oh, baby," he purrs, accent rolling over the words in a way that goes straight to your cock. "If that's what yer intae, ah don't mind gettin' a little bloody fer ye. Might make suckin' yer pretty little cock easier."

Little. Your throat aches. Your mouth is dry. The beer is gone, cleaned empty bottles cleaned up by the bartender. Trying to swallow only makes the sting in your throat more prominent and does little to relieve the burn.

In front of you, the pink drink sits mockingly. Beads of condensation drip down the glass.

It's not even the stupid implication of a man drinking a cocktail that keeps you from reaching for it, but the fact that he ordered it for you with that in mind. Pretty drink fer a pretty—

Your throat clicks. Flesh glueing together when you swallow. Peeling away painful when you breathe.

Fuck it, you think. It doesn't mean anything. Not to you. Not at all.

When you reach for it, his head jerks over to you. Staring, unabashedly, as you bring it your lips and take a sip.

He groans. The hand on your thigh tightens. "Good girl."

It heats you up. Buzzes in the back of your head. You should get out of here. Leave. Go home and sink your head into your pillow, squeeze your eyes shut until all these terrifying feelings are snuffed out. Smothered. Tucked back into a box you didn't realise you had—

"Wanna come home wit' me? Let me fuck yer pretty pussy until I cum?"

The swell of anticipation in your chest makes you flinch. "I told you—"

"Ye want it, don't ye?" His hand moves higher up your leg, bleeding warmth through the denim. "Want me to make fuck ye. Make ye cum around ma cock. Bet ye have th' sweetest little cunt—"

"Fuck—" you shiver. His word wrap around your hindbrain, a soft touch that makes you feel hot. Itchy. Your heart pounds. You wonder if he can hear it. "I don't—"

"Gonnae let me taste it. Sit tha' pretty arse on ma face, aren't ye? Ride me until ye cum."

"I can't—" you force the words out of your throat, feeling the scrape against the soft tissue inside until it hurts. "I don't know what you're trying to do, but—"

"ahm tryin' tae take a pretty girl home—" girl. Girl. You shudder, feeling sick. Nauseous. "'ave her spread her pretty legs fer me..." he leans in, lips brushing your warm cheeks. "Let me ride that pretty cock until she cums—"

"Stop it—"

His hand finds your cock, thick in your jeans. Pressing tight against the zipper. "Gonnae fuck me so good, aren't ye? Not gonnae let ye cum unless it's inside me—"

"You're—ah, fuck—" his hand rubs over your bulge, eyes hooded, heavy, as you twitch. A wet spot grows, dark and unmistakable against the cool blue denim. "A—anyone ever tell you that you're kind of a freak?"

"an' yer a messy girl—" another pulse. The patch grows. It shouldn't turn you on. This sort of talk—it's not something you've ever been interested in before. Ever tried. Outside of porn—big, barrel chested men crushing another in their arms, growling about how they're gonna knock them up—it never surfaced. Never reared. "Gonnae let me clean ye up?"

You should say no.

It's on the tip of your tongue. No, leave me alone. Get the fuck off of me. Say that shit to me every again, and I'll—

His hand slides up, fingers curling over your clothed cock in a way that knocks the thoughts from your head, leaving nothing behind but an empty space. An ache. An itch. Something that needs to be filled.

Your phone chimes. Another text. You don't have to look down to know what it is, but his hand slides over, fingers dropping to the sleek, black surface. He pulls it to him with the pads of his index and middle finger. You should stop him. Grab it back. Leave—

"Need yer thick cock inside o'me," he narrates, mouth ticking up in a terrifying smirk. All teeth. A dogtoothed grin. "Now, there's a thought."

He dips his chin, tongue poking out from between his lips as he types something back in response. You can't see what it is from this angle, but the pinch in his brow, the glimmer in his eyes—you're sure this guy, potential candidate; looming mediocre lay, will have you blocked in five minutes. When he glances back, a tendril of something darkly satisfied brimming in the amber of his eyes, you amend it to right now.

You huff. "Shouldn't take things that don't belong to you."

The man stares at you for a moment, the corners of his eyes creasing in that same soot-stained amusement he had when he ruined your chances with the too-pink tip of his tongue hanging out. Satisfied dog. It's unnerving.

You think it scares you.

Or—

It should.

Whatever he finds as he fossicks through the fragments of your shattering composure, it seems to make him purr. His pupils expand. His nostrils flare. He leans in again, and you taste ash on your tongue. "M'ready tae leave."

It's not a question. The with you rings out like a gunshot in the back of your head.

You should say no. It's been on the tip of your tongue this whole time. No. No. Leave me alone. Go away—

But each time you try to pry apart your clenched jaws to say it, the look in his eyes make you think dogs and their bones.

You swallow this rancid thing in the back of your throat down. Make a jerking movement with your shoulder—a shrug, maybe. The twitch of your aching cock gives you away.

"C'mon, wannae fuck tha' little pussy o'yers," he rasps, words a tangled growl in the thick of his throat. Accent eliding. Slurring together. "Or ah'll have tae drag ye back tae the bathroom. Fuck ye in the shall. Make yer pussy cum on ma cock—"

You shiver. It's disgust. It's anger. It's—

His hand peels away from your thigh, reaches for your phone. He leans toward, and shoves it into the back of his pocket.

"what ahm I gonnae do tae ye?"

You know what he asking for. Feel the heat smoulder inside of your veins, burning up your neck. Be a man, you think. Be a man. Tell him to fuck off. Punch him. There's nothing soft about you. Nothing delicate. He's crazy. You're not—

His stare is paralyzing. You feel dread thicken in your stomach.

(dread, you think; your cock jerks. The front of your jeans are damp. The sticky drag of them on your groin calls you a liar.)

"Ahm no' askin' again, hen."

Your jaw unlocks easy this time. Opening with a quivering sigh that makes him groan low under his voice, eyes fixed on you. Drilling holes into your head. Needling his warped desire into your mind.

"You're gonna," your voice shakes. Heat sears your skin. It feels you're going to melt. "You're gonna fuck my—my pussy—"

The noise he makes is sinful. Liquid. Rich. A groan that breaks into a thrilling moan. Your stomach knots. Churns. You'd be sick if you had more to drink.

"C'mon—" he jerks his head toward the door, eyes blazing. "Gonnae ye exactly what ye need."

You go. Stand when he does, chin dropping to your chest in humiliation when your cock jerks at the idea. Sliding your jacket off your shoulders, holding it in your trembling fists as it covers your pelvis. The unmistakable need there for everyone to see.

Fuck yer pussy so good, he growls, ripping his wallet open and shoving a fistful of neat, straight notes on the counter. "Ain't gonnae need anythin' else when ahm done wit' ye. Gonnae be beggin' fer my cock inside ye—"

You should run. And when he steps back, motioning for you to move first, it feels like he's giving you the perfect opportunity to escape. To flee. You want to. You should.

But you don't. Something holds you back. Makes your teeth sink into your tongue. Jaw hinging shut. Snuffing out the words rotting in the back of your throat with a swallow.

You follow him quietly as he paws at you, rutting his cock against your thigh, whispering in your ear about all the terrible things he's doing to do. A better, more sensible man would've run, something holds you back.

The same thing that makes you ignore the reason why you haven't asked about his bloodied knuckles or wondered where your date is.

You know the answer already, don't you?

"Ahm gonnae fuck ye so good, hen. Won't be thinkin' about anyone else when ahm done wit' ye—"

It's what you've been looking for since the beginning.

[ghoultrifle]

i'm not sure if this is drabble sized but i would love to hear your thoughts on raintom mutual masturbation👉👈

hoooooo boy this is gonna be good :3 i aeon'd your phantom and transed your rain, i hope that's okay

"Just like that baby," Aeon says, his tone more encouraging than what his smirk portrays. "A bit further. I know it feels good my darling boy but we need to get you in the right position." A reassuring hand rubs gently across Rain's bicep. Aeon feels it tense as the pillow drags further over the water ghoul's dick.

"Is that right, daddy?" Rain stutters, looking down to see the carefully folded pillow wedged between his legs, wet patch staining the ocean-blue case, before looking back up at Aeon, doe-eyed.

Aeon hums, reaching out to flick Rain's clit, noticing the stain grow larger as he bucks into the pillow. "Such a whore for me, aren't you Rainy?" He's met with a fervent nod.

"Only for you daddy, make me feel so good. Need you."

"I know, baby boy, another time, hmm?" He pouts, laced with the knowledge of what they both know is coming. Rain whimpers as Aeon palms himself over his boxers, "Need you to get off now. Put on a show for me." It sounds so innocent but the embarrassment is hitting Rain like a truck, a dusky pink spreading from his cheeks down to his chest.

Rain hesitantly begins to hump the pillow, the stimulation too much and not enough all at once. He's achingly hard and can feel himself leaking with every thrust against the smooth fabric.

Opposite the water ghoul, Aeon takes himself out of his underwear and begins to stroke in time with Rain's cautious thrusts. "You know the rules, baby boy, I need to get off too," he grins, baring his teeth. "You'd better speed up, don't you think?"

Too dumb to speak, Rain watches, mouth agape as he humps the pillow with quick bunny thrusts and Aeon matches his pace.

"Good boy," Aeon says, reaching out to hold Rain's chin. "Don't even think about cumming until I say."

[queen-of-reptiles]

𝙼𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙴𝚈𝚂𝙸𝙳𝙴 𝙳𝙴𝚁𝙱𝚈

description: In which Missy Bo Kearns and her partner are on opposite sides of a derby, and sometimes, rivalries run a little too deep.

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Missy Bo Kearns x female reader

disclaimer: I am in now way saying missy is bi-sexual or lesbian, this is all fiction

warnings: language, angst, also just fluff

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y/n just posted

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tagged missybokearns

y/n oh so we cute cute...

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username1: the calm before the storm...

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username2: what storm?????

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username3: It's Merseyside derby this weekend, missy plays for Liverpool, but y/n plays for Everton...

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username2: OH SHIT

missybokearns: Wow - cannot believe your mine ...

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y/n: ditto baby <3

clarewheelerr: CUTIES <33

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y/n: LIKE YOU

meganfinnigan1: slay

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y/n: thank you very much Captain

username4: considering how die-hard these two are for their teams, this weekend will be frosty...

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username5: They don't even stay in the same apartment the night before, Missy talked about it last derby day, she said to protect their relationship, one of them goes and stays with a team-mate

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username6: I respect the loyalty to the team, but is it worth putting their relationship on the line for?

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username7: For them? YES

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y/n just posted on their story

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missybokearns just posted on her story

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y/n just posted

liked by, meganfinnigan1, nathalieebjorn, and 120, 476 others

y/n come on you BLUES!!

view all 10, 287 comments

username1: COME ON EVERTON!!!!!

username2: I am so nervous!!!

username3: COME ON!!!

username4: LOVE YOU SO MUCH

meganfinnigan1: LETS GOOOOO

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y/n: YAYAYAYAYAYAY

nathalieebjorn: WHOOOOOO HOOOOOO

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y/n: AHHHHH COME ON !

username5: I'm so nervous omg!

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username6: why?

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username5: Because she and her girlfriend play against each other today and this is the first time since y/n's ankle injury they are doing so...

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username6: ahhhh okay.

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twitter/X

username1: did anyone see the way Missy wouldn't look at y/n?????

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username2: YES! I thought I was the only one who saw it! y/n looked so sad!

username3: Liverpool really gunning for y/n today!

username4: OMG did anyone see that?? Missy's awful tackle, how wasn't that a card?

username5: y/n looks like she's about to cry I can't!

username6: I feel like y/n's about to snap...

username7: WHAT A GOAL Y/N!!!!!!!!

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username8: AHHHHHHHHHH

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y/n sucked a breath in as she broke, her feet nudging the ball as Missy ran at her, but y/n was angry, she was hurt and so she simply dummied one way before turning the other, dragging the ball with the sole of her foot.

Missy was sent completely the blonde pretty much face planting as she went down, fooled by y/n's skilled move, the crowd all 'oooh'd' in shock, cheering as y/n sent her foot through the ball.

y/n paused, waiting before it soared into the top corner, Rachel Lawns merely getting a shocked finger to it. y/n let out a cheer of joy her teammates screaming as they jumped on her.

To have played 70 minutes 1-0 down, to have this happen was incredibly needed. Megan jumped on her shoulder, y/n's hands trying to stabalise her captain.

"You beautiful bitch!" Megan yelled and y/n laughed as they moved back to their positions.

All they had to do was not let Liverpool score. The team had not been expecting a win from this game, so to come away with a draw would be great.

The game re-started, Liverpool moving quickly, but Megan jumped in, intercepting the ball and passing it to y/n. The player turned, only to have two pairs of studs rip into her shin and thigh.

y/n essentially flew back, rolling onto her front and groaning as she looked up, eyes filled with hurt at Missy's face, who looked terrified of the tackle she had just made.

The blues hadn't even raised their hands before the ref had blown the whistle and reached into her pocket, bringing the bright red out in Missy's direction.

"Can you feel this?" The medic asked y/n, the woman still slightly dazed so she hadn't realised they'd even approached.

"Yeah, it hurts." y/n deadpanned, and the medics chuckled, used to her as they helped her up onto her feet.

"Nothing to bad squirt, just a few scrapes." The physiotherapist of the team Stephen said, as y/n joined him on the side of the pitch, begging to be let back on.

Eventually the ref let her back on, but a few minutes later blew the whistle and the draw was set. Liverpool set their heads down in annoyance, but y/n and the girls all cheered hugging.

The start to the season had been a tough one for Everton, they had suffered several annoying point losses, so any points they could scrounge were a blessing at the moment.

y/n was talking with Nicoline, the two having been the first changed as usual as they waited for their team and discussed the newest episode of Strictly.

Nicoline was looking slightly behind and her eyes hardened, her arms folded and she huffed as y/n turned to see her girlfriend waiting sheepishly in the corridor.

It was clear to y/n that she had been crying and any previous anger she held at her girlfriend for her actions on pitch immediately ran from her when seeing her teary eyes.

"I'll see you tomorrow Nico." y/n hummed, her teammate pausing as she looked back over at Missy. But y/n's reassuring smile made her nod and clasp her hand before walking away.

y/n and Missy walked to the car in silence, only a few cars being left now as they slid into the vehicle and waited for the other to speak awkwardly.

"Missy?" y/n asked kindly and her tone immediately made Missy break.

"I could have really hurt you." She says softly. "I was so mad, and I just went in and then you hit the ground. I'm so sorry." Missy rambles quietly.

"Hey, I'm okay." y/n hums, her hand reaching over to take Missy's. "We know how we get derby day, so I won't say any more on that and the tackle was rough yes, but it wasn't entirely intentional." y/n says calmly.

"I'm so sorry, I love you so much." Missy repeats and y/n sighs.

"I know Missy baby." y/n promises. "And I love you just as much, especially when you fall on your arse like that." She continues, hoping and succeeding in making her girl laugh.

"Hm, enjoy it now, it will never happen again." Missy promises and her girlfriend laughs, leaning over to capture their lips together, the blonde Liverpool player deepens it quickly, her hand tugging at y/n's shirt, pulling her closer.

y/n could hardly breath when Missy's tongue collided with her, the two trying their best to fight the other but eventually the kiss slowed and they pulled away softly, smiling at each other.

"Oi oi!" Megan yelled from outside the car and the two jumped apart, Megan howling as she grins at them.

"Fuck off." y/n yelled at her close friend who rolled her eyes and stuck her middle finger up before walking away.

"Home?" Missy asked, chuckling at her girlfriend's captain and her antics.

"Home." y/n confirms and Missy turns the car on.

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y/n just posted

liked by, missybokearns, meganfinnigan1 and 198, 982 others

tagged missybokearns

y/n a point and a kiss, a good night if you ask me :)

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missybokearns just posted

liked by, y/n, rachellaws, and 209, 276 others

tagged y/n

missybokearns may have been a draw, but I won the best prize...

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twitter/X

username1: awwwwwwwwww - Missy and y/n's photos!

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username2: SO CUTE

username3: I'm surprised Missy is not in the doghouse after her tackle.

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username4: RIGHT? her red was such a ridiculous tackle and on her girlfriend no less.

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username5: yeah, like that is someone you say you love????

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username6: she clearly didn't mean it and was so apologetic to y/n afterwards, she was crying when she left, and not because of the red card.

username7: if y/n can forgive, your petty asses can too, it was a heated tackle in a heated game, forgive and forget!

username8: I'm still trying to get over y/n's equaliser honestly.

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username9: THE WAY SHE SAT MISSY DOWN

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username10: The way Rachel stood no chance????

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username11: We need y/n to join Liverpool tomorrow!!!! I would sell a kidney to make this happen people!

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missybokearns: I agree ! xx

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username11: HOLY SHIT

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y/n: Ya'll will never catch me in a liverpool shirt!

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missybokearns: I can think of a few instances you haven't minded ; )

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y/n: Now listen here you little shit!

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username12: HAHAHAHAHAHAH

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missybokearns just posted on her close friends story

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Missy smiled to herself as she heard her girlfriend singing along to the radio while she cooked them both dinner, yet as she posted the story she heard a clatter and sat up from the sofa worriedly.

"MISSY BO KEARNS." y/n yelled and Missy grinned cheekily.

"Shit!" Missy called as she raced toward the bedroom, her girlfriend right behind her, the story of her in a Liverpool shirt bright on her phone.

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END

Hope ya enjoyed lovelies!!! Thank you for all the requests - I am working my way through them, slowly however .... !! xx

this was supposed to be up a lot earlier but had a lil emergency which i managed to sort !!

-

Queenie xx