#clean shaven mats??

[leonsliga]

Mats Hummels looks on as FC Bayern Basketball takes on Valencia Basket 🏀

[alchemistc]

He's drunk when he sends it. Pissed because Buck won't just let this die. Tired of seeing his name flash across his screen, texts full of anger and sadness and hurt.

I suspect you've already met your last and it's not me he sends, and then turns off his phone and reaches for the bottle of whiskey on his top shelf.

---

If he'd been sober he would have known better. It's not even like it's been a pervasive thought - just an inkling at the start of things that seemed to be completely off base once he got to know everyone better, but looking back... He can see it. The built in life. The steadfast support. The knowledge that they'd always, always have each other's back. The kid who hero worshipped him.

The thing is he's fielding texts from Eddie, too, checking in and then circling around to being so goddamn judgmental that it's like they've coordinated their attacks to give Tommy no room to breathe.

He ended it to save himself from slipping so far under the surface he wouldn't make it back.

The fact that he's lost them both to his own fear is icing on the cake for the demon on his shoulder that keeps trying to remind him that once upon a time he'd fully thought Eddie and Buck were amicable exes.

---

He has to blink to figure out who's standing on his doorstep. The mustache is gone.

"If you meant who I think you mean, you're dumber than you look," Eddie says, and shoulders past Tommy before Tommy can even muster an affronted expression.

Tommy wanders after Eddie into his own kitchen, immediately annoyed that he looks more at home there than Tommy has felt in weeks. He'd gotten used to the loft - the space, the echoes, the lights of the city. The smell of his own aftershave on Buck's pillow.

They never spent much time here. The loft was closer - to Harbor, to the 118, to all the things in the city that tempted them out for a night. And staying at the loft meant he wouldn't have the echoes of Buck in every room, around every corner. (The echoes are in him, instead, and he still feels the absence like a lanced wound.) Tommy has always been good at making other people think he's good at putting distance between himself and them.

Eddie digs in a drawer, pulls out the bottle opener shaped like a cow and pops two tops. Holds one out for Tommy and scowls when Tommy wrinkles his nose at the Corona.

"Absolutely screw you if you think I'm driving halfway across town for you just to get the ones you like, right now."

Tommy can't argue that. He takes a drag and swallows. Stares. Is everyone else experiencing whiplash seeing him without the mustache? It looks fine but it'd taken so much fucking work to get used to it and now it's just gone. Clean shaven, an acre of skin he hasn't seen in months.

Tommy blinked and the entire world was different. Tommy freaked and the world changed.

"What are you doing here?"

Eddie's eyebrows both lift, a frank Are You Fucking Serious look on his face that makes Tommy want to take him to the mats and have it out in the garage instead of over beers.

"Buck may be spinning his wheels trying to figure out what the fuck you meant but I know damn well what you were implying."

That seems unlikely. Eddie always seems to be the last person to have a single clue what was going on, with Buck scraping in just before him. It's a tight race.

He used to find it charming.

(He absolutely does not still find it charming, he tells his heart, and wonders if he could hire some tiny asshole gnome to go stomp around in an atrium or two and get it to stop doing what it's doing. Fucking traitor.)

"Do you actually believe that, or is it some dumb excuse because you're terrified of being happy?"

Oh, that's fucking rich.

Tommy opens his mouth to tell him exactly that but Eddie just steamrolls right by him. "You don't have to point out the hypocrisy, jackass. I'm well aware of my own issues. Thing is - you're like, almost right. Buck does make me happy. Next to Chris there's no one else in the world I'd rather have by my side, rain or shine, good or bad. I love him. He's my person."

Tommy rolls his jaw. It's not a vindication to hear it.

"Except I'm not gay, Tommy. And I don't want that. I never have. And neither does Buck, just in case that argument was about to hit the airwaves."

"How do you know?"

Something sparks in the back of Eddie's eyes. Understanding. Triumph.

"You want an itemized list or a demonstration?"

Which is when Tommy knows he's stepped into an absolute minefield. No markers. Just free balling his way through a conversation that could explode with even the slightest pressure.

Eddie's got his phone out.

None of this is ideal.

When he looks up, his eyes land squarely on Tommy, who would like in this moment to be able to curl so far in on himself he gets sucked clean through the other side. "First of all, Buck may have just been improvising his entire journey of sexuality but for once I was trying to get ahead of the curve so that whole starry-eyed newly not straight vision you have of Buck is bullshit. You let him pull you along by the shirt strings for months without pressing pause and then you freak out when he thinks his speed and your speed are the same speed?"

This is feeling a whole lot like an ambush, now.

"Did you ever even try to slow him down?"

Tommy has some choice words that aren't remotely appropriate to say to someone who is at least tangentially still his friend, so he takes another swig of shitty beer. God, this shit is awful.

"You wanna know how I know I'm not his one? How I know he's not mine?"

Tommy really, really doesn't. Honestly he'd like to kick him out.

"Because he went at our friendship at the same warp speed pace he took your relationship and it never fucking scared me."

Proof in the pudding, for Tommy. He's not the sort of jackass who actually thinks he can make a different judgement call on someone else's sexuality than the one they've made themselves, but come on.

"Shannon's been dead for half a decade," Eddie says, voice dropping so suddenly Tommy feels it like an icy draft. "And maybe one day I'll make my peace with that. Maybe one day I'll get out from under it. The point is I've lost them both and the loss wasn't the goddamn same."

"Buck came back," Tommy argues.

Eddie scoffs. Wrinkles his nose. "Jeez, he wasn't kidding about how weird that sounds." His phone buzzes on the countertop, and Tommy wonders what the hell that look on his face means. "Don't change the subject. I'm not here to talk you into anything. I'm just here to drink a beer with you and tell you how goddamn stupid it is to think that an uncertain future with Evan Buckley isn't worth every second of terror it causes you."

"You don't know me as well as you think you do."

Eddie tips the bottle against his lips. Swallows. God, why hadn't Tommy just pursued the self-proclaimed straight guy for a couple weeks before he scratched the itch somewhere else and kept a friend, instead?

"Maybe." Eddie tips his head. "Maybe I do, though. Maybe in the months and months you were invited to all my mopey nights in with Buck and all the crazy crap we end up involved in at the station and all the times you couldn't shut up about him when he wasn't around and all the times I got to see you falling ass over teakettle for my best friend, I learned a fucking thing or two about Tommy Kinard." He wags his head back and forth. "Maybe."

"Is there a point to this?"

Eddie tips his eyes to his phone, and it's probably too late at this point for the suspicion to begin to creep in.

"I mostly just came to confront you about your completely off base bullshit excuses, but there's actually a pretty simple solution to at least one of your multitude of issues, so. Now we're waiting."

Tommy doesn't like the sound of that at all.

"Chris is mad at you, by the way."

It's a distraction. It's fully a - "Why is he mad at me?"

"I should actually thank you, because it's the first time he's actively talked to me in months," Eddie continues, like Tommy hadn't asked a question. "He's pissed because Buck is sad and there's literally nothing in the world that gets a rise out of the Diaz boys like sad Buck."

"You can just say you're pissed at me and go, Eddie."

"Oh I'm angry. Don't think I'm not. Mostly I'm just sad for you. You had six months to get to know Buck and never thought to yourself 'hes going to love me and it's going to hurt' until he skipped too far ahead in the program."

And that's - kind of the final straw. He's let Eddie get his licks in. He deserves it, he knows he does. Honestly it's a little cathartic to hear - to know exactly what Buck has spent his time dissecting post-Tommy. "That's all I ever thought about. Do you think I didn't know going in? I tried to put a stop to it before it even started and he just doubled down! Do you think for a second I wasn't viscously aware that I was setting myself up for -."

No. He's not gonna say it. He's not giving that to Eddie when he couldn't even give it to Ev-Buck. When he couldn't give it to Buck.

Eddie looks victorious anyway.

"And for six months you thought it was worth it."

"For six months I was too much of a coward to stop thinking about it."

Eddie drains the rest of his beer. "I'm not gonna lie. You screwed up pretty bad. Like. Astronomically bad. Giving up your location in a firefight bad."

Tommy does everything he can not to wince.

"It's salvageable, though. If you want it to be. If there's anything I know about Buck it's that second chances are his bread and butter." He's been dancing around saying anything of substance about Buck's feelings, in all of this, but the hints are there. As if the bouts of angry-depressive texts from Buck weren't clue enough.

"And what if it's not what I want?"

Eddie's eyes dart to his phone one more time. "Then you can make it a clean break in about ... three and a half minutes."

Tommy nearly tosses his beer across the room.

[ofthebrownajah]

This picture is intensifying my clean shaven Mat agenda

THE FRECKLES!!!!! i'm going insane goodbye

[bunny-jpeg]

wrestling au 🤼 - starring task force 141!

simon 'ghost' riley -

oh, big scary ghost. the masked heel of the little association he was apart of. he took in the sounds of people's booing, and he fought without much remorse. he tried not to make it look too real, by that he meant not messing up his opponent too much. the last thing he wanted was to get his ear talked off by upper management. there was a routine to follow, even if it ended in bruising, simon still had to follow it. or else everything could be thrown off. his hulking size made him a wall of an opponent, and the story lines where he won were always a crowd favourite. he loved being the big baddie of the ring, he loved to be the monster they booed at. because no matter how loud they got, simon would always walk away with the title belt.

he fucked like an animal though. you were the daughter of his trainer and boy did he love to take you for a spin after he got nice and sweaty. when your father was in his office cashing the cheque for the monthly payment for his services, simon was servicing something else. your back on the wooden bench of the men's locker room. simon's cock splitting you. he used his size to his advantage, while he couldn't do too much damage in the ring. you sure as hell could take a sexual beating. the numerous amount of times, simon had you twisted up as he fucked you. in the locker room, in the back of his car, even that time over your father's desk when he had left early. you were good stress relief and even when the crowd booed him, you were in the back happily cheering for your big, beefy lover.

john price -

face turned heel, a seasoned veteran with the aches and pains to prove it. his knees cracked if he tried to go to low and it usually takes him an extra few days to recover from it all. when he was clean shaven and younger, he was the pretty boy from liverpool. now in the twilight years of his career, he loved to be big, bad, price. he was the kind to play 'dirty', the sort of wrestler to throw last ditch effort tricks to win the match. he got his fists bloodied. he laughed when the crowd booed him, he basked in the feeling of being the worst of the worst. alongside his right-hand man ghost, they were destined to take the title from the pretty faced good guys. he looked good in the books and the 'shorts'. anyone close enough to the ring could see price's bulge. it was the type of be circulated on social media. he was hairy, a little different than the normally smooth wrestler. he smoked on stage and antagonized the audience. he was a hefty man who loved to get his opponents down on the mat.

but even at his age, he likes to sink his teeth into the competition. and what's better than the fresh face they got in the women's division. oh, you look amazing under him. price got into the ring with you a few times, the he had you bent in certain was that made you blush. you almost moaned when he had you basically in a ball with his barely covered crotch up against your ass. he even barked the words, "guess it's time for me to find a missus! what do you think? could our new starlet be the wife of the big, bad price?" which only earned hollering from the crowd. he liked it rough outside the ring, when he had you pushed into storage closets. when he got to tear your underwear off of you and sink into his prize. that was his cunt, don't you forget. if he sees you talking to another male wrestler, then there would be hell to pay. you better pray that the pill works, or you'll be in the stands a lot sooner than you expected with price's hefty baby in your arms.

john 'soap' mactavish -

face, face, face! but the face you hate to love! his story lines are always so good. he was cocky, loud, his laughter was like a bark when he got the microphone. he was the good boy from glasgow, even had saint andrew's cross across the ass of his shorts. he was the most flexible, often having the heels of the organization bend him in ways that most others couldn't. while he wasn't the broadest (he was still fairly big), he made up for it in endurance. one time he was asked how he could keep up for so long even if he was bloodied and bruised, he simply laughed and said, "well, ya bed enough bonnies. you can keep goin' all day and all night with the likes of these guys. sadly, the girls tap out before i'm finished." he felt like he teetered between being a heel and a face, he only became more cocky when he won the title from price. when he got the older man on the mats. it was only right for a face to have the title, for a heel to have it was wrong. but yet, there was a cockiness to him. even was he stripped price of the belt and gave the shiny metal a heated kiss. the man from the highlands was on top!

but of course the man on top loves to have his woman on top. and who exactly was the lovely woman to be with mister mactavish? well, it was the ceo's daughter of course! and the stamina he had in the ring bled into your experiences with him in the bedroom. johnny was a cervix bruiser, the kind where you'd feel it for days afterwards. when you sat at lunch with your father, you'd wince and pray that no pained expression crossed your face. like price, johnny was a breeder. with a stamina like a rabbit, of course he was shooting loads into you on almost a daily basis. you'd lie to your father about you whereabouts, you said you were at the library studying for your upcoming final. meanwhile johnny was pouring shots of liquor down your throat then messing up your pretty face with his cum as you sucked him off behind the building. insatiable, with the title around his waist only making it worse. he had the title in his hands and the ceo's daughter's lips around his throbbing cock. but don't worry, johnny isn't the type to tap and leave. no, no, finishing in you is a promise. a promise that you'll be mrs. mactavish very soon. after all, his kids weren't going to have your father's last name.

kyle 'gaz' garrick -

a very clearly a face. his gimmick is the sweetheart next door who can handle himself in the ring. a real knight in shining armor, it was hard when the story called for his defeat. but, in the end he always came back to secure his title. there was a bravado to him, and a real charmer. while some had a face that others wanted to hit, no one wanted to mess up that perfection that was kyle garrick. he did play it up a little bit, sauntering as he entered the ring, letting the crowd get excited for what was to come. he had more than a few fans, but he was always respectful. a real gentleman. he even had a trick where he'd give roses to female fans as he walked towards the ring. his smile gleaming under the bright lights.

of course, the sweetheart of the ring has the perfect love story. the woman who had been with him since his early days. while his fellow wrestlers got into all sorts of trouble, he enjoyed the company of his dear wife. but, don't get it wrong, your sex life was not boring. while price was screwing newbies, kyle was on his knees in the bathroom of the pub you all went to after the match. your back up against the sink of the single stall washroom. your pants around your knees and his large hands on your thighs. his tongue lapping at your pussy. your sweet, muffled moans kept kyle wanting more. his cock throbbed in his jeans, the rush of the match was still abuzz in his system. he loved the taste of his wife, how could he not? even after all these years together, tasting you was like biting into a ripe apple at the peak of its season. the kind of fruit that had a price tag that would make the average person shudder. you were the apple of his eye and the love of his life. of course he'd worship you. there was still an electricity between you two, a fire that couldn't be tamed. if he gave a rose to a fan as part of his gimmick, then you got a dozen. if roses made you allergies flare up, then he'd give you fake ones. so they'd never wilt, like his love for you.

[shhhsecretsideblog]

Hi, i hope you don't mind if i request to combine 2 prompts in one scenario.

8. "There's so much pressure..."

12. "Come on, you'll be fine. First labour's take ages.

Scenario: a pregnant woman got kidnapped by her obsessive ex-boyfriend, went into labor and begged him to take her to the hospital because she can't be having the baby in his basement, but he refused. Go as wild and dark as you want.

Thanks 💌

Thanks for the request anon, this was delicious to write. Only prompt no.8 has been included as the other didn’t naturally fit in to wherever the hell this story went. I swear I have no control, these stories take on a life of their own. You said go wild and dark, so… 😈 Trigger warnings; kidnapping, vomit, blood, violence, mental instability, death (not mum or bubs dw), oh and of course fpreg & birth. Hope you like it

Chained

Libby’s eyes fluttered open. It took a moment for her vision to focus but when it did she realised nothing was familiar. The room was dimly lit, no natural light source, only a singular light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Dark grey bricks formed each of the four walls and the floor below was concrete and rough. She was lying down, on old discoloured bedding on a rickety metal bed. Where the hell was she?! She tried to push herself upright, but she discovered one arm could not be moved. It was handcuffed to the bed!

“What the hell…” Libby muttered.

“Ah… you’re awake.” Came a voice from the shadows.

Stepping into the light Libby saw a man walk towards her. It was Scott, her ex boyfriend. He looked awful. She’d not seen him since they broke up 18 months ago. His hair had grown, now matted and unkept, dark circles hung beneath his eyes and his usually clean shaven chin now sported a severe and dishelved five o’clock shadow.

“…Scott? Where… where am I?” She asked confused and still a little bit groggy.

“You’re at home darling. I rescued you.”

Libby’s brain whirled into overdrive. She remembered going to a midwife appointment, it was her final check up before her due date, she finished the appointment and headed back to her car. She had stopped just before opening the door, hearing something behind her, and then…. everything went black.

“Rescued me?! From what?” Libby asked, managing to push herself to a sitting position with her one free hand.

“From making a mistake. Did you really think you could keep me away from my baby?” Scott drawled, his eyes staring hungrily at her pregnant stomach.

“What the fuck are you talking about? We broke up, I moved on. This isn’t your baby!”

Libby’s outburst was rewarded by a forceful smack across the face. The distinctive metallic taste of blood soon filled her mouth. She was shocked into silence.

“We were great together! We were happy; we were going to get married, have a family, and then… Brendon came along. Poisoning our relationship, turning you against me, stealing you for himself. No! I won’t let him take this away. I’ve brought you home baby… so we can be together.” Scott’s hand touched her bump and his eyes widened in glee. “Where we can be a family.”

This man was insane, Libby thought, realising the true danger of this situation. It was one thing having an ex that still held a candle towards you, but this was way beyond that. She knew Scott hadn’t taken the break up well, but since the split he’d clearly disappeared into a realm of utter delusion. The baby in her womb shifted, feeling the fear of its mother. Scott’s mouth twitched into an uncomfortable grin, feeling the child move. Libby daren’t say anything, it was clear he was unstable and there was no telling what might set him off.

“Rest up sweetie. I’ll get you some food, you must be hungry. Eating for two and all that.” Scott said cheerfully, removing his hand from her stomach and disappearing upstairs.

Libby looked down at her stomach and her handcuffed wrist. She didn’t feel hungry at all. Only nauseous.

~•~

Scott returned and brought her food. Libby didn’t say anything, didn’t move, too scared of accidentally provoking him. He left the tray of sandwiches and crisps on the side table next to the bed and disappeared upstairs, offering a firm “Eat” before he went.

Her memories had returned as she gradually came around from whatever drug Scott had administered. Brendon and Libby had decided to have a little trip away this weekend before the baby came. A baby-moon as they say. They’d told all their friends and family they’d be out of town and without signal for a few days, but this morning Brendon called to say he had a work emergency and they’d have to cancel. That was fine, Libby would just go visit her parents instead. Only she never got a chance to call her parents after the midwife appointment. Everyone thought her and Brendon were away, and Brendon thought she was at her parents - no one would realise she’d been kidnapped.

Her stomach rolled with fear. She needed to think, find a way out of here. Wherever “here” was…. Where the fuck had Scott taken her? She didn’t recognise the room, it could be anywhere. She looked over at the plate of food and her heart sank. She recognised the crockery - this was his family’s cabin, in the middle of the woods.

~•~

Days. She’d been there days. Her family and Brendon would hopefully know she was missing by now. But they’d never find her here.

Scott continued to visit, to bring her food, to talk the baby in her womb. He’d offered to bathe her once, disgusted by the thought she refused. When he tried to get more forceful, hitting her again, she faked practice labour pains and he thankfully left her alone to rest.

She barely spoke to him anymore, too fearful to say the wrong thing again, of which she had learnt the hard way. She tried once to play along with his delusion, that he had “rescued” her from Brendon and now they could be a family. Believing her, Scott eventually unlocked the handcuffs, but when she made a break for it towards the stairs of the basement Scott went ballistic. They got into a fight; she kicked and screamed and hit, but he was stronger and in the carnage she fell forward against the wooden stairs she was trying to climb.

Scott was stricter with the handcuffs after that. Libby swore to herself not to try it again for fear of what might happen to the baby if she fell again.

She had been feeling cramps ever since the fall. They weren’t too bad or debilitating, thankfully she wasn’t bleeding which Libby hoped was a good sign and that her baby was okay. The fall was a brutal reminder of the precious cargo she was carrying and she had to be careful.

The next night Libby was awoken by a forceful cramp rolling through her middle, much worse than any of the others she had felt. Curling round her stomach she breathed heavily through the wave until it passed, and she promptly fell back asleep.

It happened again shortly after, pulling her from her slumber and waking every cell of her body as it peaked, like a coil twisting tighter and tighter. She pushed herself up to sit on the bed. The room was pitch black - Scott controlled the lights and was the only way she knew if it was day or night. She rubbed the aching cramp rolling across her tightened belly with one hand, the other remaining chained to the bedpost. She wished she could move, to walk it off, but with the handcuffs and the darkness she had little options. Instead she got on her hands and knees and rocked steadily through the pain.

“Please be practice contractions…” she whispered to herself. “You can’t come now baby, you’re safe in there. Wait until we get outta here okay?”

The cramp eventually eased and after a few minutes waiting for the next, Libby let herself sink sideways back onto the bed. The baby had got the message, it was just practice pains, she thought to herself as she drifted back off to sleep.

~•~

The light to the basement flickered to life followed by the familiar stomping of feet on wooden steps.

“Morning sweetheart. How’s the mother of my child today?” Scott said in such a cheerful caring tone it caused a shiver to roll up Libby’s spine.

She glared at him from the bed, lying down under the covers half asleep and curled around her bump.

“Still not talking to me eh? Oh well. It won’t be long before I have a son or daughter to talk to.” Scott drawled, as he placed a cup of water and slice of toast onto the bedside table.

Another cramp squeezed her belly and Libby sucked in a breath, hissing through her teeth. She could feel her stomach hardening beneath her fingers as the practice contraction squeezed.

“Honey, are you alright?” Scott’s eyes pinched in cautious concern.

“Just a kick.” Libby said, schooling her face back to a neutral expression.

“Excited to meet their daddy no doubt.” He gleefully said making Libby feel sick.

This baby is NOT yours! She cried in her head.

“Get up and have some breakfast. I’ve got some things to show you today.” Scott said, offering a hand to help her up.

Libby ignored his hand and pushed herself upright. “What things?”

“All in good time my dear. It’s a surprise.” And with that he disappeared back upstairs with a gallop.

She could hear banging and thumping above her and wondered what on earth he was doing. Her stomach growled and she reluctantly nibbled on the toast that was provided. After eating she was left solely with her thoughts and the noises from upstairs. Plus the occasional cramps that continued to plague her. Sitting down became too frustrating and she managed to get herself to standing right beside the bed. Her arm was pulled uncomfortably far forward by the handcuffs, but at least it relieved the pressure in her hips.

The baby felt so low, like it was grinding on her pelvis. But she did feel like her breathing was better now. Libby tried to focus only on the positives and did not dwell enough to realise this meant the baby had dropped into position for birth.

She stayed standing as long as she could beside the bed, riding out the braxton hicks and swaying her hips side to side, but eventually her legs ached from the awkward position so she return to sit on the bed.

The practice contractions continued to wash over her whilst Scott was banging away upstairs. Libby was starting to get hot and sweaty and could barely sit still through them. She found herself biting her lips and humming through them, trying to keep the noise to a minimum. She didn’t want to attract Scott’s attention. She ended up back on all fours on the bed, one hand awkwardly attached to the bed while she rocked forwards and back through the rising waves. It was getting harder and harder to stay silent through these pains and it was getting more and more difficult to convince herself these were only practice contractions.

“Ohhhh… we had a deal baby. You have to s-stay in there…. It’s not s-safe…” Libby moaned quietly to her child, the pressure in her hips mounting with every contraction.

The sounds of movement from above made her panic. Scott was coming. Quickly, she moved from all fours and returned to her sitting position on the bed. Sitting down made everything worse - the heavily feeling of the baby so so low caused the pressure to spike. So much so she nearly threw up, gaging slightly at the same time Scott opened the basement door.

She could hear him huffing and puffing as he stomped every step, he was clearly struggling with something, and she saw the “surprise” before she saw him. It was a crib! Oh hell no, she thought to herself. There is no way my baby is being born here and it will never go in that thing.

“Darling…” he cooed as he got down to the basement “I got you something. Well, I got our baby something - a crib!” He said proudly as he placed it at the foot of the bed.

Libby didn’t say anything; saying something negative could earn her a slap, saying something positive he’d think she was up to something.

“Well?” He asked, clearly getting frustrated with her silence.

“It’s… nice.” She said timidly, he didn’t seem any calmer so she added “thank you.”

With that Scott broke into an unhinged smile. “Only the best for my baby. Made it myself!”

Libby felt the familiar tightening of another contraction approaching. Breathing steadily through her nose, she tried to keep any pain showing on her face.

“What do you think of the design?” He urged, unaware of the struggle happening inside Libby’s womb.

“Great.” She gritted out as calmly as she could.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Scott rushed upstairs leaving Libby alone for a minute.

The second he was out of sight her eyes scrunched and she panted erratically. Her hips were on fire, the baby sinking lower and lower. This was no false alarm, Libby finally admitted to herself.

Scott came bounding downstairs with a pile of baby clothes and blankets. “I also got these. I wasn’t sure if we were having a boy or a girl so got a selection of different clothes. And lots of blankets and toys. Everything we could possibly need.”

Libby couldn’t help it but she groaned loudly and curled over her contracting stomach.

“They’re not that bad!” Scott said, referring to the pile of clothes he’d now dumped into the crib.

“Ooooooh Scott….” Libby whimpered, the pain still barrelling through her body.

“Lib? What is it? What’s wrong?” He crouched down in front of her and placed a hand on her knee.

“I think… hooooo- I think I’m in labour. You have to take me to the hospital.” Libby pleaded.

“What? Oh no, you’re not fooling me again.” Scott recoiled away from her, and started pacing. “You- you tried that before remember. And then you tried to run away, to take my baby away! You were going to leave me Lib! No!! I’m not letting you out of my sight again. No way. No one else can have you. You and that baby are mine!”

“Scott… please. I’m having contractions… I need help… I need doctors…”

“No… I can’t. You’re just going to leave me again. I can’t lose you.” Scott shook his head, like he was trying to reorganise the thoughts inside. “You’re just pretending again, you’re not really having the baby, you’re just trying to escape. Well you can’t trick me twice. Nuh-uh. I’ll come back when you’ve stopped the act.”

“No! Scott!” Libby cried but the door slammed before she could say anything else.

~•~

Libby shouted and pleaded for 10 minutes straight after Scott went upstairs, but he never came back down. She stopped when her voice started to crack and when she thought she heard the front door slam.

This baby was coming and she was trapped - handcuffed to a bed in a basement in the middle of nowhere, the only person for miles was her crazy ex boyfriend who was convinced the baby was his.

Despite her wishful thinking, the contractions just kept on coming. It was as if accepting they were real had made them more frequent and stronger. There was no clock down here, she had no clue how often they struck, but Libby was aware of the gaps in between getting shorter.

Being in labour was bad enough but the fact she couldn’t move due to her restraints made everything a thousand time’s worse. In desperation she tried to squeeze her hand out the metal handcuff, twisting and pulling, but when it started to peel the skin off the back of her hand she screamed and gave up.

She couldn’t sit down anymore, the pain in her hips too great. All fours was bearable but her arms ached after too long. She tried squatting and kneeling against the headboard, standing and swaying beside the bed. Nothing helped. She felt like a caged animal; frustrated, angry, scared. All the while every contraction brought the baby closer and closer to being born, a fate she was trying desperately to avoid. She feared something might go wrong, and she was scared what would happen the moments after she delivered. Scott was clearly unstable, would he leave her here chained to the bed bleeding out and take away her baby?! She needed medical help, not only for the birth but for her best shot at escaping.

When Scott returned he found her on her knees beside the bed, slumped over the mattress and groaning heavily.

“You can stop this charade Libby! I’m not taking you anywhere!” Scott shouted from the steps of the basement.

“Mnnnghhh! It’s not a charade Scott! Oh god…. So much pressure….” Libby whimpered into the mattress, her knees widening instinctually.

“Come off it. You put on a good show but I know you’re faking it.”

Libby could only grunt, roaring against the building pressure between her thighs. An unmistakable splashing sound hit the concrete floor and she cried out. “My waters…. Hooo- I’m not - faking - it…” she panted and turned around to face him.

Scott’s face had paled and his eyebrows shot up. “Y-you really are in labour?”

“Yes,” Libby breathed, turning around awkwardly with the handcuffs and her large bump, sitting down heavily on the now-wet floor “please please take me to the hospital now.”

He didn’t say anything, instead he disappeared quickly back upstairs.

“Scott!!!” She cried out, worried he would just leave her there forever.

He returned a moment later carrying a plastic box. “It’s happening! Don’t worry darling, I have everything we need for our baby to be born.”

It’s not your baby!!!! Libby shouted in her head.

Sitting on the floor, one arm slung up over a shoulder stuck in the handcuffs, she rubbed her low and heavy stomach with the other as Scott began to unpack the box onto the table opposite.

“Towels. Gloves. Scissors. Clamps. Ooh more towels. Little sucker thing. Wow it’s got everything we need in here. Great Amazon find.” Scott commented as he rattled off everything inside the box.

Holy shit! He wants to deliver the baby here! Libby stopped breathing for a moment, panic squeezing at her heart. He was never going to let her go. She was never going to get her baby out of here before it was born.

“Scott… you can’t… be serious…” Libby said with strained breath.

“Shhhhh. It’s okay sweetie. I’ve done all the research, watched loads of videos. I know exactly what I’m doing and I will deliver our baby here.”

“But Scott I need a hospital, with nurses and medication.”

“No you don’t. Women birth babies every day. I’ve had months to prepare for this. It’s going to be fine, it’s going to be perfect.” Scott’s sinister smile chilled her resolve and another contraction struck before she could continue arguing.

He checked his watched and frowned. “You shouldn’t be having another contraction just yet.”

“I can’t hooooo control it!” Libby snipped.

“Oooo is this the part where you get all angry at me for doing this to you?” Scott joked with glee.

“You didn’t do this to me! This isn’t your baby Scott, please just let me go.”

“Don’t lie!!!!!” Scott shouted, an angry fire flashed briefly in his eyes and his fists clenched tight, but a second later the ire quickly disappeared. “You’re just scared, but it’s okay sweetie, I’m here and our baby will be fine.”

“Ohhh god…..” Libby grunted, the baby slipping lower and pressing against her cervix. She had to move, this position was unbearable, but her legs were useless during the raging contraction. She tried to push herself up, yanking her hands forward but the handcuff rattled and left her arm twisted backwards. “Mnnhhh- handcuffs…. Please undo the handcuffs…”

“You know I can’t do that Lib.” Scott said reluctantly.

“Please…. Mnghhhhh the baby…. I need to move. Can’t stay like this Scott…” Libby groaned and whimpered as the contraction peaked and gradually faded.

“I’m sorry honey, I can’t risk it. But let’s get you back onto the bed shall we, you’ll be much more comfortable there.”

The contraction had left her winded, Libby didn’t have the strength to argue anymore. But when Scott approached and went to help her up she managed to grit “Don’t touch me!” batting his advancing hands away.

“That’s gonna be difficult when I’m delivering our child.” Scott sarcastically replied.

Libby’s stomach rolled, not from a contraction but at the disgusting thought of Scott between her legs. Nausea bubbled inside, rising up her throat. She retched. “I think I’m gonna be sick…”

Scott jumped back as she dry heaved. “Erm…. I’ll get a bucket. Hang on.”

Libby struggled up to her knees, clinging sideways to the bed, and vomited all over the floor. The force of her stomach expelling its contents pushed the baby against her dilating cervix and towards the birth canal. She couldn’t stop herself from bearing down at the same time.

No no no… don’t push. Her brain cried but it wasn’t something she had control over.

By the time Scott returned with a bucket Libby had crawled back into the bed, leaving behind a puddle of amniotic fluid and vomit on the floor.

“Jeeze Libby, you’ve made a right mess. I’m glad we’re down here now, that would have been a nightmare to clean the carpets upstairs.”

“…water…” Libby panted, curled up on the bed and holding her hardened stomach, too exhausted to do anything other than bear through the labour pains tearing apart her body.

“Okay, sure.” Scott picked up the glass from the table and gently poured it into Libby’s dry mouth. “Everything will be okay Libby, our baby is nearly here.” He whispered, placing a grimy hand onto her bump and feeling the swell, his eyes hungrily lighting up as his fingers caressed the curve.

~•~

She was dying. This was how it would end; trapped in the dirty basement of her crazy ex boyfriend. She never got to meet her baby, or get married, never got to buy her own home, or travel the world. The pain was so much she could barely see. Curled up on the bed Libby groaned into the pillow as the latest contraction squeezed her body in on itself. She was vaguely aware of Scott flapping around the room, he was talking but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. The only thing she could focus on was the mass of the baby’s head sitting right behind her opening, and she was doing everything she could not to push.

The last few hours had been torture. She’d thrashed around the bed, screaming and begging to be freed, to be taken to the hospital. When transition hit she was brought back onto all fours, grunting and pushing without any semblance of control. Scott rubbed her back and encouraged her through it. She didn’t have the strength to bat him off but she did manage to aim her next round of vomiting onto his feet. And all the while Scott refused to unlock the handcuffs and she remained chained to the bed.

Now she was lying on her side over the covers, exhausted, her body completely and utterly drained. Her knees were curled up as much as she could, her bump squashed between her thighs and her breasts. The contractions were right on top of each other and she panted heavily through each one.

Don’t push! Don’t push! Don’t push! she told herself again and again.

“Right, the waters boiled, everything’s disinfected. Clamps and scissors ready. Towel, check. All we need now… is the baby…” Scott muttered, organising and reorganising the equipment.

Ever since the well-timed vomit, he had kept a grateful distance from Libby. He looked through all the toys and clothes in the crib, talking about all the things he would do with his child, trips they’d make, sports they’d play. He was in his own little world, Libby was just a background character.

Relentless contractions kept hitting her one after the other, she breathed as quietly as she could, tears leaking past her lashes from the effort it was taking not to push. She could feel the baby start to stretch her lips, the head inching further and further even without her active pushing. He’d removed her underwear not long after her waters had broken but her dress remained on her sweaty body, thankfully covering her lower half as she laid on the bed. Libby’s legs slightly parted of their own accord as the baby slipped lower. Still curled up on her side, the baby had a clear exit from its mother, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. Scott was ignoring her when she was lying like this and it was the only position that didn’t make her scream. And yet it also proved to be aiding her delivery.

When the next contraction barrelled straight after its predecessor Libby found herself holding her breath and it was only when the burning feeling started that she realised she was pushing. But she couldn’t stop. Gasping another breath she pushed once more, the baby stretching her wider and wider. An involuntary grunt escaped the labouring mother and alerted Scott to her actions.

“Are you…. Libby - are you pushing?! Is it time?” Scott jumped and rushed over to the bed.

Libby curled further over, her face burying into the pillow, squashing her bump and raising her backside. She groaned long and deep as she pushed the baby further out.

“Oh babe, you can’t push like that! You need to get in the correction position for delivery.” Scott said assuredly with all the delusional confidence his “research” had given him.

He took her bent leg, rolling her over onto her back and she screamed. “Scott! No!” The pain was excruciating, her spine was being stabbed, the fire burning between her thighs. She needed to push but she couldn’t when he kept moving her body.

“You need to be in the right position. Come on now, I know what I’m doing.”

“Stop… I can’t… I need to push…” Libby grunted.

“Wait a minute darling, you’re not ready just yet.”

Scott pulled her up to a sitting position and pushed her back against the headboard, pointlessly fluffing the limp old pillows behind her. Her legs were dragged apart and knees were bent and he jumped onto the foot of the bed and looked up her dress.

“Oh my gosh I can see the head!!!” He squealed. He threw her dress up higher, creasing the fabric just below her baby bump, fully exposing Libby’s vagina and the oval shaped crown of the head.

“Push Libby! You can push now!” He urged.

“I’m not-having a contraction-” Libby panted, furious she had been moved into this ridiculous and torturous position. Nothing about it felt right to her body, she wanted to go back on her side, to kneel, squat, anything but this.

“Oh… erm… well on the next one then. Push. No wait, I forgot the equipment.” Scott bounced off the bed and collected all the sterilised equipment he’d been preparing in readiness. “Ha! All that excitement, nearly forgot these.” He placed the items next to him, by her feet. The metal scissors glinted as they caught the light.

A desperate idea began to form in her head, but a contraction soon swept over her and pulled her focus to the burning ring between her thighs.

“Yes!!! Go on Libby! Push!!!” Scott cried.

Curling forward Libby pushed, her body squeezing the baby lower, its head stretching her wider. She grabbed her thighs, gulped another breath, and pushed. The scissors caught the light again with the movement on the bed. If she could just grab them…

“It’s coming, keep it going honey!” Scott yelled and she could feel his trembling hand between her legs.

Libby huffed releasing the push. It was too much, it was too big…

“Come on baby, go again, you’re so close.” Scott urged.

“Hooo-hoooo- okay…. Here it comes….!!!!” Libby threw herself forward curling over her bump once more. With Scott’s focus on the crowning baby she quickly grabbed the scissors and hid them in the gathered fabric of her dress. She screamed as the baby reached a full crown. Panting frantically her body twitched as the baby stretched her so wide she thought she’d be torn in two. Then it slipped further and with a sudden wail the baby’s head was delivered.

“Wow! The heads out, my baby’s head is born.” Scott awed.

Leaning closer his hands trembled towards the newly born head sitting between her thighs. No! You are not touching my baby! Libby thought, and she grabbed the hidden scissors and plunged them straight into Scott’s neck as she released an animalistic maternal wail.

Scott’s eyes bulged out, roaring in agony as the sharp scissors pierced deep into his muscles. He jumped back, standing for the briefest second staring in horror at her, before collapsing to his knees. A drowning choked sound gargled his throat and when he pulled the scissors from his neck the jets of blood sprayed across the room.

Libby watched, in shock at what she’d just done, as Scott clutched his neck, choking and bleeding. After a few strangled seconds he collapsed face first on the ground.

“Oh my god… oh my god….” Libby trembled, adrenaline and fear pumping through every cell in her body. She had to get out of there.

Twisting awkwardly around, she held the handcuff steady with her free hand and pulled her other through the tiny gap. The skin ripped from her hand, the metal scraping bone, she yelled out in pain but didn’t stop pulling until her bloodied hand was free.

It was as if she had left her physical body, the pain a dull echo compared to the survival instinct to get out of this basement. “I’m gonna get you outta here…” she panted, putting a gentle hand over the baby’s head between her legs. She scrambled off the bed, legs bowed as she cupped the head, and rushed toward the stairs of the basement.

Libby was careful, her previous encounter with this wooden staircase not ending well, climbing wide legged step after step towards freedom. She barely made it halfway when she was struck by another contraction. Holding the head with one hand and gripping the bannister tight with the other, her body squatted as it tried to push.

“Mnghhhhhhh! Oohhhhhh hang on baby…. Mnghhhhhh…. Not yet.” She could feel herself pushing hard, the shoulders starting to press against her, itching to come out, but with a firm hand and heavy panting she made it through the contraction.

When she reached upstairs she was surprised how familiar it all was, Scott had taken her here once when they were dating. It wasn’t much, the furniture and decor were dated, but it was a nice family holiday home in a nice rural location. She shuddered when she thought of the secret prison that was hidden below her feet.

Being familiar with the property made her escape easier, she knew the layout and of course where he kept the keys - in the side dish by the fridge. Grabbing the car keys Libby headed for the door and threw it open. But the baby didn’t want to wait any longer.

She hung on to the doorframe for dear life as the raging contraction took hold. “No no no!!!! We’re so close mnnnnnghhhhhh!!!!” Her legs widened as she squatted, pushing uncontrollably against the wall of her hand that held the baby’s head. The shoulders were slipping through… she could feel them stretching… “Ohhh fuck!” She cried, desperately pushing and holding the baby in at the same time.

When the near constant contraction let up just the tiniest bit, Libby made a break for it and ran to the car, both hands between her legs cupping the emerging baby. Unlocking the car with the press of the button she threw open the back door and clambered inside. She quickly locked the door, scared that Scott would somehow still be coming after her, and when she heard the reassuring click of the locks she huffed an exhausted cry.

But the baby was coming, and it was coming now. On her hands and knees in the back seat Libby finally gave in to nature and pushed in earnest, grunting long and deep as the shoulders stretched and slipped out. Lifting up onto her knees to catch the infant she released a primal roar with the final push and the baby slipped into her bloodied hands.

“Ohhhhhh hey baby, it’s okay it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Libby cried, pulling the little boy to her chest. Wiping his face clear he gave a little cough and started crying, soon matched with the tears of his mother.

“We did baby, we got out.” Libby panted and cried, safe with her baby inside the locked car. After a few minutes she wrapped the baby up against her chest with the towel, umbilical cord still connecting mother and child, and she hesitantly opened the door and got into the drivers seat. Starting the engine, Libby drove herself and her new baby to safety.

[raythekiller]

Ticci Toby nsfw alphabet :0? please and thank you!

🗒 ❛ NSFW Alphabet ༉‧₊˚✧

Featuring: Ticci Toby

#Notes: ugh i love him sm

pronouns used: none, gn! reader

˗ˏˋ back to navigation ´ˎ˗

A - AFTERCARE

Super touchy feely and gentle. Will clean you up himself, you don't even have to ask. Cuddles afterwards are a must.

B - BODY PART 

Another chest guy, boobs or not. His hands just gravitate towards it as you're having sex.

C - CUM

Likes coming on top of your stomach the most. Since you're normally barebacking and he doesn't want to risk anything, he pulls out last second.

D - DIRTY SECRET 

Well, he thinks it's a secret, but everybody knows he's never even kissed anyone, let alone had sex before.

E - EXPERIENCE 

As mentioned above, no sex experience, didn't even watch much porn like other guys his age, which is why he normally likes you taking the lead.

F - FAVORITE POSITION 

Matting press. Doggy if he's the one getting fucked, he's too embarrassed to let you see his face.

G - GOOFY 

He's more passionate than funny, since he takes it quite seriously. Will crack a few jokes after it's done, though.

H - HAIR

Actually pretty well groomed, likes to keep his junk clean. Too much hair and he feels gross. Not clean shaven, but fairly decent.

I - INTIMACY

Super romantic and passionate. The fact you want to do something so intimate with him makes his heart flutter, so he wants you to feel appreciated as well.

J - JACK OFF

Doesn't do it too often, never did even as a teenager. When he does, he doesn't even watch anything, just silence as he works his magic.

K - KINK

Here's a full post on his kinks.

L - LOCATION 

Doesn't want to admit it, but in the middle of the woods. Loves the idea of fucking you against a tree and the risk of getting caught.

M - MOTIVATION 

Mentioned this before, but dirty talking is a HUGE turn on for him. Just whisper something in his ear and he's yours.

N - NO

Similar to Ben, doesn't want to do anything to hurt or upset you, like impact play or degradation. Unlike Ben, he won't budge no matter how much you tell him it's okay.

O - ORAL 

Giving, definitely. Even though he has no experience, he's a fast learner. Won't stop until you've come on his face.

P - PACE

He gets a bit desperate, so he might now be as slow and sensual as he wants to. The thrusts become messy and fast after a little while.

Q - QUICKIE 

Prefers to take his time with you, so quickies aren't a very often occurrence. He wants to make sure you're completely satisfied.

R - RISK 

Pretty open to experimenting. Other than that, the most risk he'll take is, again, public sex in the forest.

S - STAMINA 

Oh, he'll go on for hours without breaks. It's insane the amount of energy he has. Though he comes pretty fast, he'll make up for it by coming multiple times in a row. As many as you want.

T - TOYS 

Doesn't own or like them that much, honestly, but if you wanna try it he's all game. That being said, strap-ons are a completely different story for him.

U - UNFAIR 

Can't tease or handle teasing. Doesn't mean he doesn't like it when you're a bit cheeky, though, but he gets worked up super fast.

V - VOLUME 

Fairly loud, also a whimperer. Doesn't speak much during sex, just incoherent ramblings about how good you're making him feel. He gets fucked stupid really easily.

W - WILD CARD 

Fucking loves it if you scratch his back while he's pounding into you. He can't feel it anyway, and it's a sign that he's doing a good job.

X - X-RAY

Pretty good size, about 8 inches, not too thick. Curves a little to the left.

Y - YEARNING 

Not too horny, honestly. You're gonna have to initiate it most of the time if you wanna get laid with him. Not that he minds.

Z - ZZZ

Can't sleep for a good while after. He just holds you untill you go out and stares at your face lovingly, tucking any stray hair behind your ear.

[drjae69]

CLEANING . . .

Patient Mark , is with dental nurse Kara today as he is receiving a mouth cleaning and check up . Dental nurse Kara is careful in cleaning his teeth and mouth of germs taking great care in its maintenance and treatment of him . The patient has a fate few shares with him in the hospital and it is one of the most unglamorous sickening existences. Since some of their staff and select a few patients have fetish for human toiletries and golden showers . When he is in use he is expected to lay underneath on a mat restrained as one of the nurses/doctors male or female defecates and or urinates on to him and only that for the rest of his days and once a week he comes in for check up to make sure he doesn’t become sicken by it. As so they must keep him clean giving him daily showers between sessions and keeping him completely shaven with electrolysis and or laser sessions. to keep him healthy he is and feed a study stream of fluids in IVs and healthy meals . when use he is expected to accept all sorts of excrement, urine and even period blood . Sometimes depending on the meal more liquid then solid excrement other times the full golden showers of urine depending on the fluid intake . Patient Mark lives a ghastly life now yet he remains stoic and quiet only occasionally gasping for air and or groan for discomfort at his new ghastly existence here.

[double--hh]

I Think it's Gonna Rain When I Die

An unofficial addition to the Serial Killer! Francis AU!!

AU belongs to our beloved SK Francis Anon 🔪

TW: Referenced/Implied PTSD attacks, implied/referenced abuse, SK! Francis is an entire tw on his own, possessive behavior, execution via electrocution, Francis loves Nacha and tolerates Ana 👍

The police officer escorted her to the stand alone table, there sat her father… no, he lost the right to that title.

There sat Francis.

Clean shaven, sullen eyes, and ruffled and slightly matted hair. There were two guards against the back wall waiting for anything to happen. Anastacha bit the sides of her tongue as she made eye-contact with him, her expression unchanging as Francis recognized her.

He laughed a breath out and took a pained one back in, “Anastacha! My baby girl, oh look at you! You have your mother’s nose, her hair too, even-”

“Hello Francis.”

Francis pouts and cocks his head, “Mmm, that's no way to greet your father, young lady.”

She held back a snide remark and she sat down, placing her hands on the table folded, she felt her eyes twitch, “How's prison treating you? You look like shit.”

Francis threw an exaggerated hand to his chest, “Oh how hurtful, Annie-” He gets really close to the window separating them, “It's been… stifling, sweetie… 15 fucking years without my wife and child…” His eyes drone around behind her, “Where is Nacha, sweetie? Unless if you two are doin’ a one on o-”

“She didn't come. Nobody came. It's just me.”

She blinked slowly, no signs of emotion from her.

Francis furrowed his eyebrows, humming, “Hmm, surely she’s just sleeping out in the car, Annie, oh I just know your mother misses me like I miss her!” He giggles, tapping his fingers on the table, the chains making a scraping noise on the wood.

Anastacha snorts and cracks a smile, she pulls a box of cigarettes out and lights one up, “What’s so funny sweetie- ugh, y’know how bad those things are for a little girl like you, Anastacha.”

She takes a drag from it, “Y’think mom misses you, Francis? Yeah, whatever, buddy… I do understand where you're comin’ from, feeling like you're the only one who can protect your mother from your own father.”

She bites the end of her cigarette, feeling her heart strain, “You know how many sleepless nights I've gotten after you got arrested? Having to hear mom cry herself to sleep and have mental breakdowns all because of you, Francis, huh? Do you know how many times I've had to convince my own mother that it’s safe to be alone in a room with another man, hell, another person that isn't me?! Oh my god.”

She buries her face in her hands, scrunching her bangs, rubbing her eyes with her palms and mutters out, “You fucking ruined our lives.” Slamming her hands down on the table, Anastacha looks at him dead in the eyes, not a single glint of light sparkled in her eyes anymore, they’re bloodshot, her eyebags even more noticeable.

Francis frowns, crossing his arms, “Sweetie, you know damn well what kinda people are out there, I was tryna protect you and your mother from the scum of the Earth and those fucking man made pests. And what did youse do? Get me arrested after all I've done for your ungrateful ass and your darling, sweet mother.”

Anastacha rolls her eyes, “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Francis let an annoyed breath out, but collected himself, “So… tell me what you’ve been up to, sweetie.” He flashes her a phony smile.

“I’m a Victim’s Advocate. I'm running my own organization, helping get folks out of domestic situations.” She tugs on her purple bow around her collar, “It's… very rewarding. Mom and dad are real proud of me.”

Francis’ eyebrows raised and his eyes widened, “G-good for you, sweetie, but- I-I’m right here and this is my first time hearing about this! Why'd you say-”

“Oh, yeah, mom’s seein’ someone.”

She watched as Francis slammed his hands on the table and stood up, the chair falling back, “WHO IS HE?! TELL ME. SHE KNOWS GODDAMN WELL THAT SHE BELONGS TO ME AND ME ONLY.” The two guards approached him and pulled him back, Anastacha leans back into her chair, taking a drag, blowing smoke from her nose.

Francis magages to calm down just enough so his vision isn't red anymore, but still feeling his blood boil and his mind race.

“Anastacha Lynn Mosses. You better fucking tell me who this bastard is.”

The guards were about to take him away till Anastacha spoke up and yelled, “Jeez Louise! Boys, calm down! Francis, pay attention.” She snaps her fingers to get his attention.

She reaches into her pocket for her wallet and opens it up, she smiles as she takes her driver's license and a polaroid out. She placed both items flush against the window, “Here 'go, Franny boy.”

Francis broke out of the guard's grasp and got his face close to the window.

He wished what he was looking at was a sick prank his little girl was pulling on her.

On the left was the polaroid, it was his Nacha in the foreground dressed in a long sleeved and puffy wedding gown. Behind her was Angus, in a dark purple tuxedo, holding her waist with one hand and his cane with the other. His vision focused in and out when he slowly rolled his eyes to Anastacha’s license and he felt his heart sink deeper than his first night alone without his family when he read her name.

Anastacha Lynn Mikaelys-Ciprianni.

His eyes pinholed as he looked dead at Anastacha, who was smiling as sweetly as ever.

That motherfucker stole his family from him.

Anastacha softly sighs as she puts her items away back into her wallet.

You could hear a pin drop how quiet it was… till Francis hit the plexiglass window, with his fists, cracking with all of his might. Anastacha jumped putting her hands up, watching the guards pull him back to his room while he was screaming obscenities to her, her mother, and especially her father. She cupped a hand next to her mouth and yelled, “So long, and thanks for all of the fish!”

She chuckles as the door slams shut, she can still hear the dead-beat yell, she turns to the officer that escorted her in, “I'm so sorry you folks had to deal with him for so long.” She reached into her pocket and gives him a stack of her business cards, “Leave ‘em by the sign in desk, y’never know what's going on with a person just by looking at ‘em.” He nodded and escorted her to the next room to watch Francis’ execution…

~

…It went as grizzly as one could go, Anastacha and her police escort were the only ones in the theater when it happened. He looked away while she watched it all go down, never faltering. Even when the vertigo of the electricity flashed her eyes never moved from Francis as she watched the remainder of life leave his body...

~

Afterwards, she left the prison, it was late at night, night life was just getting started, but she was not interested in the slightest. As she lit up another cigarette, she felt a drop of rain hit her nose.

She looked up and saw rain clouds moving in, “Mmm… peculiar… didn't know he had a soul…”

She continued walking until she found a vacant and illuminated phone booth. She entered before the rain started pouring down, the droplets making music on the glass walls. After putting 15 cents in, she slumped against the cooling wall, smoking, looking at people scuttling for cover, waiting for the caller to pick up.

“Ugh, hello? Ciprianni residents, Nacha speaking…”

“Hey mom, it's Anastacha.”

She heard her mother move excitedly on the other end, shaking Angus awake.

“Ana! Hija! How are you?! Are you okay? Did anything happen?! Do you need us to drive over?!”

Anastacha laughed, “No, mom! I'm good, I'm fine, it was very…” She looked for the words as she heard her father speak faint but very tired Italian in the background, “I feel like I closed a large chapter in my life and I’m… glad I went.”

She clears her throat as she hears Angus take the phone, “Ciao, sweetheart, I heard what you said, ‘m happy you decided to go, I’m so proud of you Anne… shit, Nacha, cara mia, what time is it?”

Anastacha huffs, checking her watch, “It's only midnight-thirty, dad!”

Angus groans as both Nacha and Anastacha giggles, “Alright, alright, I’ll let the oldies sleep, I just wanted to let y'all know that I'm outta there and I'm doing good.”

“That's great, hija, you go out and enjoy the night! Don't drink too much!”

“Yes, and remember to aim for the throat and ears if you can! And if you brought your pistol or brass knuckles even better!”

Anastacha heard her mom smack him on the shoulder and he laughed, “Ciao, Anna, you be safe and take care of yourself, mom and I love you-”

Nacha yoinked the phone, “Love you hija! Please come and visit us soon! We always have the guest room open for you!”

Anastacha puts her cigarette out with her dress shoes and smiles, “I love you guys too, when this next case is cleared up I’ll drive over to see y'all before you guys move again, good night!”

They both wish her goodnight and she hangs up. She unlatches the phone booth and exits, the rain is now a drizzle.

Sighing, she decided to take her folks advice and enjoys the evening to the fullest, starting her a new chapter in her life.

~

[col-islander43]

Haircut

Mat Barzal x reader

Warnings: none

Word count: {1,033}

"No, you're not." was your immediate response after Mat walked into your shared bedroom, claiming he was getting a haircut.

He stopped in his tracks, his brows drew together, and a pout formed on his lips as he stared at you in confusion. Trying to keep it together, you asked "What's wrong?"

Shaking his head, a sigh escaping his lips as he continued walking toward the bathroom "Nothing. My mom said the same thing when I told her I was getting my hair cut. It's just a bit creepy."

Joining him in the bathroom, you sat on the counter as he got out everything he needed to shave, he liked doing it the traditional way. There wasn't much to shave, just a bit of stubble, but he got used to having his face clean-shaven. So against your wishes, he was going to shave, you loved his facial hair and you were open about it.

"How about you sleep on it and make a decison tomorrow?" you bit your lip to suppress your smile when he gave you the same look from before as he applied shaving cream to his face.

"Babe, I already decided. I'm getting my hair cut on Friday I just have to make the appointment." Stepping in between your legs he handed you the razor, knowing you loved helping him shave even if you loved his facial hair more.

You had until Friday to convince him to not cut his hair since today was Tuesday "It's not fair, you know? You shave your beard, and you'll cut your hair which by the way didn't grow that much, what am I supposed to look forward too?" the teasing tone lacing your voice seemed to escape your boyfriend as he stared at you with his mouth wide open.

"You did not just say that!" his disbelieving tone and facial expression made laughter burst out of your mouth, hiding your face in his chest, careful to avoid the shaving cream.

You placed a couple of pecks on his exposed collarbone before looking up at him again "I'm kidding, love. I find it unfair because when I cut my hair you throw a fit for days."

"That's diff-" he cut off his sentence when you leveled him with a look that spoke for you. "Ok. I can't promise that my decison will change, but I'll sleep on it, only because you asked. Now give me a kiss, I'm getting touch starved."

You were about to protest, but before you could get the words out he had given you a peck on the lips which resulted in shaving cream covering small parts of your face.

---------

Laying on your side you watched the sun shining through the blinds, gently caressing Mat's face and highlighting all his features that you loved. Like every morning, you softly traced all his features with your thumb, the other hand raking through his hair, careful not to wake him up.

"I think you've memorized my whole face, you probably already had it memorized the first week you stayed over." His gruff morning voice startled you even if he was whispering.

"I'm sorry if I woke you." You slowly retracted your hands, placing them on his chest but Mat wasn't pleased with that decision. He pulled you closer, shaking his head as he placed your hands in their previous positions.

"You didn't wake me, but I'll get upset if you stop all the caressing. I'm feeling loved." The boyish grin that took over his face told you he was teasing you, but you continued your caressing because you liked doing it.

"You are loved. I love you. And I'll tell you every chance I get. Also, if you really want to get a haircut I'll suck it up and accept it, but your mom said she'll disown you." your voice was slightly above a whisper as he opened his eyes, confusion taking over his features.

"I love you too, but when did you talk to my mom?"

You chuckled when his lips formed into a pout, pecking his lips you caressed his brow "Yesterday. After you called her and went to the store to buy the cookies you claim are for me but eat your weight in. She sounded desperate and I can't blame her."

His jaw dropped as he softly pinched your waist "What's that supposed to mean?! Also they are good cookies."

You shrugged your shoulders trying to come up with a good answer "Baby, you're pretty, you're gorgeous, you're handsome just the way you are. You don't need a haircut."

He kissed your forehead as a way of thanking you before quickly pulling back "Hey! Don't avoid the question."

"I'm not avoiding the question." You definitely were "You don't need a haircut, it's a decent length." you gently pulled a couple of strands before pecking his lips "Especially after what happened last time." you murmured under your breath.

"What did you say? Speak up, sweetheart." He said the words in a low voice, the smirk on his face revealing he heard you loud and clear.

"Nothing." You looked down avoiding his gaze, but that didn't last long because he placed his finger under your chin lifting your gaze. He shook his head telling you he wasn't going to let this go.

"Speak up, baby."

His words made you squirm slightly, he knew exactly what he was doing "I said, especially after what happened last time. We're both a bit scared, babe. You said you were going to trim the ends and then you came back bald."

He burst out laughing, rolling onto his back and dragging you with him so you could lay on his chest "I wasn't bald."

You hid your face in the crook of his neck as your face slightly reddened "There's a difference between trimming the ends and getting a buzz cut. If you really want to get a hair cut I can trim your ends."

He pulled away slightly, his brows drawn together "You can do that? Why don't I know this?"

"I can trim ends I have done it before. And you never asked."

"We have been together for 2 years, how can I not know that?"

---------------------------------------------------------

Hi, Hi. School finished a couple of weeks ago so I'll try and post more.

Feedback is appreciated, hope you guys enjoyed!

[verdemoun]

Hey, it's me again! Sorry for being mousey last time.

I know this is a bit recent but if I wait too long I'll either lose the idea or my nerve.

For some reason, I adore the Transfem "Kieran" Duffy HC. It's almost certainly projection, because while I was never held hostage by a roving band of psychotic Irishmen, I am shy, neurodivergent, and paranoid to the point of having escape plans I will never use.

I know you already did one for 1899 Kieran (which may or may not have cursed me with a love of an incredibly niche HC for an already very niche character) but could you maybe do one for Timewarp?

Alternatively, if you would like something different, Sean and his father learn about everything that happened in Ireland after their deaths. The 1916 Easter Rising, The Troubles, or Margaret Thatcher as a whole.

As another alternative, disregard this ask all together, and go get a snack. You probably need one.

A snack would be good rn I'll have a snack with one hand and reply with the other.

Transfem Kieran,,, beloved.

Bessie motherfucking Matthews can smell gender dysphoria like a bloodhound and would notice the second they brought the non-verbal smelly homeless former-O'Driscoll home.

Kieran's been sleeping rough for a month, just like when he was first let off the tree in Horseshoe he desperately needs a bath.

After a slight miscommunication about hot water (and the concept of not needing to share bath water), Kieran is sitting on the couch two hours later shivering in three layers of clean clothes and a blanket with Bessie very gently and patiently brushing the knots and mats out of his hair. The first thing Kieran makes close to a noise is a delighted squeak in the back of his throat as Bessie says what nice hair he has. Bessie immediately ties a little braid in Kieran's hair, to another overjoyed squeak.

Kieran absolutely latches onto Bessie as a safe person. When her husband assures her Kieran had always been around the women in camp and just seemed to prefer their company, Bessie takes note.

Innocently saying that they weren't expecting any more timewarpers for a while so Kieran has to go shopping in her wardrobe for a bit. While Hosea's clothes are in there too he picks out a v-neck and a chunky knitted cardigan and looks very content in women's clothing that still fits loose because of how scrawny he is.

Bessie also offers to help Kieran shave. Getting a close shave was still a fairly rare occasion thing in 1890s so she could easily say it was a treat to make timewarping seem less scary.

Instead Mair gets a moment of seeing herself with her hair perfectly washed and brushed and soft and clean shaven in femme-presenting clothes that didn't even exist in canon era and very quickly goes from 'yay men can be pretty in modern era' to the gender euphoria of 'wait am I a man? or am I a pretty lady? can i,, oh i can be a pretty lady!!'.

Bessie would also be euphoric because a) timewarp actually giving people a chance to explore gender identity in a way they couldn't in canon era and proving all the fear and learning to adapt to modern era is a good thing b) she finally gets a daughter because throughout all the children she has accidentally adopted over her lifetime (Arthur, John, Sean, Lenny) she is yet to actually have a daughter due to dying before the gang picked up Tilly.

Bessie would adore brushing Mair's hair and taking her shopping to get fancy nice smelling soaps and clothes. Mair would still be a hoodie gremlin but the classic oversized paired with a mini skirt but the hoodie's so long it just looks like she's not wearing anything under it.

Exception being first-time she sees a dress she absolutely must have. It very much looks like something from the early 20th century and only modern to the gang, with a bell skirt and petticoat to match.

Processing timewarp honestly takes up so much of the gang's time most would struggle to actually recognise Mair as Kieran except for the OG timewarpers who would respect times change I guess Mair is her name now. 'There's cars now and no one owns horses, and robbing banks and getting away with murder is almost impossible, you have to get an actual paying law-abiding job, also sometimes people change gender'.

Molly would absolutely fall in love with having another girl in the gang who doesn't actively hate her (her and Karen still have some beef to work out) and spend hours doing Mair's make-up with all her fancy products and Mair would adore it. Otherwise she is useless at doing make-up because that shit is hard.

She's somehow an even bigger horsegirl because she really identified with the being a girl part. People thought Kieran was obnoxious with his love of horses? Mair is worse, infinitely, infinitely worse. The few who make the connection Mair was once Kieran Duffy? The way she talks about horses.

My Little Pony backpack that goes everywhere with her.

She makes friendship bracelets for her favourite people, because she would never part with any of her precious horse figurines for any reason. She would still bite Sean for touching any one of them.

Bessie: precious darling daughter would you like to get our nails done together? Mair: yes please!! - after - Mair: yay pretty nails!! pretty!! Bessie: Bessie: it's okay if you want to take them off Mair: oh my god yes please

[leonsliga]

Mats Hummels vs. Marko Pesic 🏀

[batteredrugosa]

WIP Wednesday response:

Next request: Bloodweave Hallmark Movie. The boys are cleaning up the kitchen after pub quiz night at Gale's family owned diner in the small town of Moonhaven (they are definitely gonna fuck in this kitchen y'all. I have seen visions) for @aparticularbandit, @balthazarusrex,  @twyrewolf, @eriquin, and @zyrafowe-sny.

The kitchen was clean and buttoned up already when he followed Gale in with the trays.  The  dim lighting under the counters cast long  shadows across the rubber mats covering the black and white tile pattern of the floors.  He set his tray down next to the sink, rattling the metal appetizer baskets stacked in a haphazard pile with their  colorful checked paper liners sticking out between them and sending them askew.  Gale reached for the apron hooks and wrapped a big  black apron over his clothes before turning towards the sink and rolling up his sleeves.  Astarion suddenly didn't know what to do with his hands.  The rush of the water filled the quiet space, bubbles beginning to rise on the surface as Gale added soap when  he snapped a hair tie  off of his wrist and twisted his  hair up into a messy bun.  Astarion was overcome with an urge to lean in and  nuzzle against the long  golden line of exposed neck. he wondered what Gale's beard felt like.  He had been clean shaven the last time Astarion had been allowed to be this close to him.   He wondered if he still wore sandalwood and vanilla. .   "I'll go grab the bus tubs. Jenny said she would collect the glasses for us." As quickly  as he could, without openly running, he escaped to the dining room before Gale could turn and notice his rapidly spreading blush.

[snapple16]

Hello, Hello! So since I mentioned it here first I'm gonna share the first ch for the Bowuigi 20s au here! Now as I say on my fics comments much appreciated!

Warnings!

Tw: Blood, Guns. It's a gang fic so..

Also this ch is tame compared to what I have planned

____________________________________________

Cricket song filled the night air as fireflies danced amongst the tree trunks. The small man-made lake glittered in moon light, owls called out to the night as they took flight. It was a peaceful night, until the grind of wheels on the dirt road interrupted the nighttime symphony. The headlights of the two vehicles were kept off even though the occupants were on their own land. They didn't want to draw attention to themselves. The first vehicle, a Willy's Overland Whippet 93A came to a stop just on the shores of the lake. The car's occupants filed out, the four turtle like creatures moved quickly around to the large padlocked chest strapped to the back. The driver pulled a large key ring from his pocket, letting out a triumphant noise when he found the key on the large ring and unlocked the trunk. The larger of the four a five foot ten bruiser reached in and pulled out the beaten up occupant.

"Pl-please.. I.. I didn't want to.." The koopa pleaded as he was dropped unceremoniously on the ground. The green shell on his back was cracked badly, leaking blood as did his nose. The brown hair on his head was matted from blood and dirt. The front passenger door of the specially built Rolls Royce Phantom Limo opened as a nicely dressed koopa hybrid got out, his head was clean shaven a few black scales dotted around his single eye while the other was covered in an eye patch. A black shell lay over the suit jacket.

He moved over to the back of the door and opened it allowing the King to exit. "King" Bowser Ryujin was an intimidating sight for his men to behold no matter how many times they saw him. Standing a little over seven foot tall with firey red hair slicked back between two sharp horns, sharp fangs poked out from his bottom lip of a mouth set in a human face that always had a nasty smirk. Dressed in his nice three piece suit with his large spiked green shell on the back he looked every bit of the Mafia boss that he was. His scaled tail swished back and forth like a cat waiting to pounce on its prey, fiery red eyes glowed as they focused on the koopa man before him. From behind him came a much shorter man with round rim glasses and a pointy cone hat perched on his head, dressed in a fancy suit Kamek did not look at all that intimidating until he waved the wand that doubled as a cane.

The bloodied koopa started to crawl toward his old boss still trying to plead his case. "Boss, I.. I'm so sorry I didn't want to. You gotta believe me. King Boo he.. he tricked me.. he said he'd-"

The koopa flinched as the one eyed koopa reached into his jacket, the traitor expected a gun or a knife instead he pulled out the case holding the King's prefered cigars. The other koopa pulled one out and deftly clipped the end and offered it up to his king. Bowser plucked it from his third's fingers holding one end up to his mouth where he blew a small flame on the end catching it on fire. He blew it out allowing the end to smolder before he stuck it between his lips.

"Marky, Marky, Marky." Bowser shook his head as he started toward the shivering koopa on the ground before him. "I don't care why you did it. I don't care that you let that over sized marshmallow trick you. I care that you BETRAYED me, now had you come to me and told me what he was going to do, I might have let you live for even entertaining the idea of betraying me. Maybe I'd only take a finger or a hand. Now I'm afraid you put me in a difficult position: Kill you quickly and end your suffering, or make it last."

In what seemed like a split second of thinking the koopa Mark chose for him. Seeing no other way out of the situation alive Mark tried to scramble up and make a run for the lake. He seemed to have forgotten what the king had living in the lake, for in a matter of seconds he was overwhelmed by alligators attracted by the scent of blood. The screaming only lasted a few seconds. Bowser took a deep inhale of his cigar before letting out the smoke with a few sparks.

"Howitzer." Bowser motioned to his third.

"Sir." Howitzer nodded, he didn't even need to be told what to do already knowing what his boss wanted done. It was going to be an unpleasant night for Mark's family.

*

The midday sun shone brightly on the street, the pedestrians had smiles as they enjoyed the spring sun. The warm beams seemed to point toward one particular flower shop, the shop name Bella Rosa was carved into a green and blue plaque over the front door. The bell of the small flower shop jingled, signaling another customer coming in. Luigi Mariano, the owner, stood from behind the counter where he'd been kneeling, blue jean overalls slightly dirty at the knees. His blue eyes sparkled brightly as he saw who had come in.

"Mario, mio fratello!" Luigi smiled brightly as he moved around the counter to greet his older yet shorter twin brother.

In terms of appearance Mario had the same blue eyes as Luigi, his mustache was a little more styled than his brother's. Clothing wise however they were on the complete opposite of the spectrum. Mario was sporting a red three piece Italian pinstripe suit, which only made sense since he was the boss of the Mariano family mafia. Despite his lifestyle Mario always made time to visit his little brother. While Luigi was spared the life of a mafia leader or at least second, their father had made sure he still got into 'real man's work' and had him drafted into the military, special forces to be exact.

Mario had been furious and wanted to get his little brother out, unfortunately before Mario could get to him Luigi had finished his basic training and was shipped out. By some miracle, Luigi had survived the first world war and made it home. To Mario's shock, he was still the same sweet, slightly skittish man he'd been when he left. Even so Mario made sure his baby brother wouldn't be involved in anything violent ever again. Now head of the family Mario had a protective order put on Luigi and his shop.

"Lu, how's business?" Mario asked warmly as he embraced his brother, not at all bothered by the dirt getting on his thousand dollar clothes. "Must be good since its spring time."

"Its going well, everyones getting ready for mass and Easter sunday." Luigi nodded pulling away. "What are you up to?"

"Just a routine drive around. DK's wanting to meet up later for drinks so I figured best get work out of the way." Mario stated. "Heard rumors there's been a few koopas running around the area."

"Only the few civilians that don't live in Bowser's territory. Not all koopas work for him you know." Luigi shook his head. While he's heard stories of the terrifying dragon turtle hybrid he'd never seen the man. Not that he wanted to, if even some of what he'd been told was true. "I know I'm beating a dead horse but please try not to get caught by the police in a speakeasy or start any fights?"

"Hey, I don't always start those fights and I've never been caught." Mario huffed, crossing his arms. Luigi couldn't help but giggle, even as a mafia leader his brother still acted like a child sometimes. It was good to see Mario still had his heart even with what he does for a living. "Oh by the way, Peach wants to meet up this weekend with us and the other girls. Daisy's gonna be there." At Mario's eyebrow wiggle Luigi just rolled his eyes, his brother knew his preference lay with his own gender. Didn't mean Mario wouldn't tease him relentlessly.

"Still, please try to stay out of trouble. I really don't need your men dragging your tail in here like they did two months ago." Luigi stated.

"Hey, that was not my fault. DK said that area was legit, how was I supposed to know it had already been overtaken by those koopa creeps?" Mario defended. Luigi just shook his head as he pulled his older brother back into a hug.

"Go handle your business, I got orders to fill." Luigi smiled at him as they pulled apart.

"You sure you don't want me to leave a couple men here for you? I'm sure they'd be willing to help out." Mario offered. Luigi shook his head no.

"No, Fratello, you need all the help you can get to keep you out of trouble." Luigi smiled. "Now go on."

Mario always hated leaving his little brother alone since he came home from the war. Not that Luigi couldn't handle himself, the skinnier Mariano brother was a gentle soul and prefered talking to fighting. He would rather himself get hurt than someone else. And the last time he left Luigi alone he'd been shipped out.

Mario sighed as he nodded. "Alright, bro. I've been hearing some of King Boo's men and more of Bowser's have been spotted roaming our streets at night. So don't go out unless absolutely necessary, and even then call me so I can send someone to be with you."

"Mario, I'm not a little boy anymore you know." Luigi rolled his eyes.

"No but you are a mafia boss's brother. A dopo, fratellino." Mario walked toward the door where his men waited outside for him. As the door closed he looked down at the toad with blue spots, "Mikey, you stay close to this shop. If Lu leaves you, follow him, capiche?"

"Comprendo, Boss." Mikey nodded with a salute to his mushroom cap.

"And for God's sake stay out of sight this time." Mario ordered as he approached the car waiting for him. Mikey saluted again as he hurried away from the shop front toward a good vantage point.

All the men under Mario 'The Plumber' Mariano learned one particular rule upon their initiation: No one touched Luigi Mariano. Any who broke the rule, gang member or rival member learned very quickly what Mario's wrath felt like.

[thescholarlystrumpet]

I want to know everything about Father Fell and the slow burn WW2 AU!

Eeeeeeee! I'm like a kid on Christmas! (which, incidentally, they do celebrate together and it's adorable).

To avoid too many spoilers, I'll say this: period typical ignorance around sexuality does contribute to the slowness of the burn. Tho Crowley is almost immediately like "oh shit, I guess I'm a simp now."

snippets:

The white-gold head of hair he recalled shuffled into the room. Under that was– yes, the cherubic face, full cheeks and bright eyes, a stubborn looking chin and a romantic nose. The man was simply lovely and it made Crowley deeply and abashedly aware of his own slovenly appearance.

**

It was obvious the priest had no idea how he sounded (or looked) when he used the last of his butter ration on some fresh bread he’d baked that morning. Or the ostentatious way his pink tongue wriggled about when chasing an errant crumb or dab of sauce. It was inadvertent seduction, by way of culinary delight. Crowley wished he wasn’t enjoying it as much as he was.

Fell... stays in denial a bit longer.... I even made him a meme, early on XD

snippets:

It took Fell another breath to find his voice. Crowley did not just clean up well. With his whiskers shaven and all that muck washed away, he was… the word captivating came to mind, but it did not seem evocative enough. He was still too gaunt for even his slender build, but that only accentuated the sharp cheekbones and jaw. His nose was just this side of aquiline, a notch on the bridge indicating it had been broken at least once. There was a dusting of ruddy hair over his chest, disappearing into the V of the shirt, sparser than it had looked when matted down but still distinctly masculine.

**

In the evenings, when they often sat by the fire or in the soft gaslamp glow of the kitchen, Fell would secretly admire the way the light caught those eyes. Like Crowley shimmered from within. He could almost imagine his friend as a constellation, point by gleaming point sketched out against the velvet sky.

[thegoofyfanaticus]

(( Art is commissioned from the incredibly talented ArtReplicant. Original story by me. )) Wyatt was getting highly annoyed at Dustin's taunts and having a hard time concentrating through Dustin's sexual remarks. It was the first time Wyatt had fought an openly gay or bisexual man and while he himself was gay he had never openly talked about it during a fight. Had he gotten aroused during a fight against another guy? Certainly! Wyatt was attracted to clean shaven ripped men who were around his size of build. He loved going up against guys he knew would pose a challenge. Through the fight he would gain a sense of chemistry between them and see if he was attracted to them by how they fought. He also had to admit that through the fight one could tell how clean another man was because even if they sweat profusely, a clean guy's musk was vastly different than the pungent musk of the one who did not clean themselves regularly. While Dustin kept cranking his arm and forcing his face into the mat, Wyatt considered his attraction to Dustin. Dustin had a great build, was solid and cut. The hair on the face, chest, and down the middle of his abs wasn't too bad. While Wyatt only trimmed his chest hair to keep it close, he left everything else natural. He preferred his partners not to have as much or any. It was something about the hair on hair for him. It was odd, he knew, but he liked what he liked. He felt Dustin's hard bulge press into his ass. Dustin had laid out a little more as he turned the armbar into a chicken wing. He was humping Wyatt slowly as he pressured the joints of Wyatt's arm.  This was the move he had hoped Dustin would make. Using his free arm, Wyatt quickly thrust upwards like a one handed pushup and used his power to roll over on top of Dustin. The move shocked Dustin and in the midst of the roll he lost his hold on Wyatt. Wyatt used this one hesitation of shock from Dustin to force him to his side and lock him in a chokehold. Dustin had scrambled at just the last minute so the chokehold was not exactly as Wyatt had wanted, but it was enough to give him leverage over Dustin, crank Dustin's neck a little, wear down his opponent, and gain some control over this match. Wyatt had gotten his left arm under Dustin left shoulder to trap Dustin's left arm at his head. Dustin's right arm was trapped under his body in an awkward position. Wyatt used his free right arm to press down on Dustin's head and pressure it against his own left arm. It wasn't exactly what he was looking for but it worked. Dustin chuckled as he gasped for some air. "Knew you liked it rough," he grinned. "Let's see what you can really do." Wyatt sneered, "You talk too much..."

[babybatscreationsv2]

Starker + vampire!Peter rising from his grave

Warning: this is a vent fic, it's not very nice, it implies a sad ending but it's open enough that you can make your own

The dirt was the only thing he'd known for so long. It was caked to his skin and matted in his hair. He deserved every bit of it. He was only as good as dirt. No, he was less. At least dirt could grow things.

The cemetery was empty this time of night, as one would expect. Peter shuffled through the grass, weak and half blind. The blindness only grew worse as he found the street. Street lights bathed him in yellow and stung his eyes. He squinted as he carried on, aimlessly moving. He was barely in control of it. After who could say how many years, the monster inside of him had taken over. His hunger would no long allow him to remain buried. He'd crawled out of his grave the night of his death and crawled right back in when he couldn't live with the guilt. Now his mind was empty of anything except the hunger.

Bright lights cased him shrink back. He almost fell onto the sidewalk. He stood with his hands over his eyes, afraid to move and in too much pain to see until the lights dimmed.

"Are you alright? What the hell happened to you?" A voice called to him.

Peter blinked away the light to see a car parked on the street and a man hurrying to reach him. Cars looked different than they had when he died. So did men. He was dressed so sharply, but he wasn't clean shaven. He always liked men like that. His father had called them slobs.

Hands hesitantly reached out and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Did someone hurt you? God, you're filthy." The man looked at the dirt on his own hands just from touching him.

"Can you talk?" He stared at him with big brown worried eyes. Peter wasn't sure if he could talk or not. His throat hurt. His whole body did. He didn't want to try so he just shook his head. The man nodded.

"I don't know if this is the right order of doing things, but I'm gonna take you home and clean you up and then well get you to a hospital. Sound good?"

Peter nodded again. He should have said no. He should have ran away, but he was so hungry, in so much pain. All he wanted was warmth. To feel close to someone. After all those years in the dirt.

The man led him to the car and opened the door for him. The inside was just as different as the outside. It was unsettling. The man got behind the wheel and gave him another look over.

"I'm Tony, by the way," he said. Peter just looked at him. "Don't worry. You're in good hands."

He started the car back down the road. Peter watched the cemetery pass by. There was a small forest beyond it, then a neighborhood. It looked different, too. There were houses. New ones. The ones he remembered didn't look the same.

The longer they drove, the more his hunger became hard to ignore. There was a certain smell coming off of Tony. One that made his mouth water.

They pulled into the driveway of a house with a perfect lawn and neat little bushes all in a row. Tony pulled the car into the driveway and they waited as the garage door opened. They pulled in and parked. Then Tony led him inside.

He was too kind to be so close. He helped Peter out of his muddy shoes and jacket. Then they both saw how torn his clothes were. Bugs must have eaten them while he was underground. Or maybe he was down there long enough for them to just decay. He had no idea. Just like Tony had no idea how much danger he was in and Peter had no will to stop him.

He was in a trance, called by the promise of warmth.

"Let's get you cleaned up and get you some food, okay?" Tony asked him with big brown eyes. Such concern and kindness and loneliness perhaps.

Peter looked around as they walked through the house together. There were pictures on the wall of the man with a little girl. No sign of a spouse to be seen. They passed by an empty bedroom decorated with pink flowers on the wall. Where was the girl?

"Help yourself to anything you need. I'll be the kitchen." Tony turned on the bathroom light and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Towels are in the cupboard."

The smell of him faded as he walked away. For a moment, Peter thought he could resist. That he could leave. But that smell... he had felt so good. Aching with need, but the feeling was thrilling. Maybe he could just be near him. Maybe he didn't need more than that.

He turned on the shower and stepped under the water. He turned the handle warmer and warmer, but the heat refused to penetrate beyond the surface of his skin leaving him just as cold inside as he always was. He scrubbed away the dirt. Then he washed again just to be sure he was clean.

When he stepped out, he looked at his filthy clothes on the floor. He certainly couldn't put them back on, but Tony hadn't left him anything. So he dried off with a towel then wrapped another around his waist. Maybe he should care more about being naked in front of a stranger, but the only thing he cared about was getting back to Tony.

The man was in the kitchen, warming up some food. It probably would have smelled nice if Peter were still alive. Tony's back was turned. He didn't seem to notice when Peter entered.

"Thank you," he said, though his voice was all gravel and it hurt his throat.

Tony flinched and turned around, but he smiled at the sight of him. "I knew there was a boy under all that dirt. You hungry?"

Peter shook his head. He was hungry, but nothing Tony could cook would satisfy him. He needed more than food.

"I'm starving. Had a long day. Nothing compared to the day you had, I'm sure."

"I'm Peter, by the way," he said. He leaned against the kitchen counter, keeping distance between them. He couldn't get too close. He just needed to be near him. Where the promise of warmth was almost as good as the real thing.

Tony kept talking. Kept asking him questions before giving up. Then it was quiet and Peter could hear his heart beat. Maybe Tony liked his company, too. Maybe he felt the same way. It was good to be close to someone after so long alone.

But as Tony ate his meal, Peter found himself inching closer. By the time he was done and he turned to set his plate in the sink, Peter was close enough to touch him. So he kept going, closer, until his hand was on Tony's chest.

"Peter?" he asked softly. Tony's heart was racing. He could hear it.

Peter slid his head up, almost touching his neck. Tony's hand came to rest on his wrist, but he didn't push him away. His skin was so warm. Peter closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the sensation. It was so good.

"You don't have to..." Tony said.

It was almost funny. He thought Peter felt that he owed him for his kindness. He had no idea what he had let into his house.

Peter's hands touched his face. Gently, he pulled him down. Those big brown eyes stared into his own until they finally shut in anticipation. One starved for the connection, the other for warmth, their lips met.

And it was enough for Tony. Enough for him to moan, to pull Peter closer, to drink from his lips as if he were an oasis in the desert.

But it wasn't enough for Peter.

He slid his mouth away from Tony's lips, across his cheek, down his neck. And then he bit into his skin.

There it was. The warmth he craved.

Tony tried to push him away, but it was too late. Now that he had a taste, he couldn't stop. He needed it. He would die without it. Life was endless pain, endless misery without it. He couldn't stop himself.