#'oh yeah asthma sucks actually'

[sandymybeloved]

i always forget how horrible asthma attacks are until I'm having one

[satellite-blossom]

Today I learned that I'm chronically ill and that my whole ass family already knew that. ✌️😭

[bitegore]

They're NEVER making another guy like me

[invisibleraven]

"Sign me up."

Alex and Flynn bc I am curious about the dynamic!

Alex stood before the bulletin board, contemplative. It was littered with sign up sheets for various clubs, groups, and committees. His parents had expressed to him the importance of extracurriculars for his college application-so he had to sign up for at least one thing.

Sports were out-he was actually pretty good at track, asthma aside, but they met on the weekends, and he needed those fre for band stuff. Academics wasn't his bag; his grades were good but the mathletes were more Reggie's thing than his.

He wished there was a GSA, but he knew that would never fly with his parents. He was planning on coming out-when he was 18 and could legally leave on his own terms if they tried to kick him out. It sucked being in the closet, especially when he wanted to bring his boyfriend home, meet his family, but he knew that was never going to go well.

"Whatcha doing Blondie?"

Alex turned to see Flynn smiling at him. They'd become pretty good friends since she took over managing the band. Plus they'd gone on enough double dates with their respective partners to make their friendship even deeper.

"Trying to find a club to join," he admitted.

"Glee club?" Flynn snarked.

"Ew no," Alex snarked back. "Maybe yearbook or something?"

"I was going to run for student government," Flynn admitted. "Make sure there's a GSA, have a kickin' prom, that kind of thing."

"Oh," Alex whispered. He had never really been interested in politics, but he was interested in being a good influence-in creating change so that the world was better for kids like him. Maybe student council could be a start. "Sign me up too."

"Yeah?" Flynn grinned. "Wanna run together? Joint platform to make sure the geeks and freaks get a space on the ballot?"

"I'd like that," Alex said quietly. "We should get Reggie to make us posters though, my art skills suck."

Flynn laughed. "They really do."

Then she handed him a pen-the glittery turquoise one she favoured for writing notes in class to whatever friends she shared it with. "You first?"

He grinned, taking the pen, signing their names to the sheet. It felt scary and exciting, and...right.

"Anything else you wanna sign up for?"

Flynn hummed, and shyly pointed to the Drama club poster. "They're doing Much Ado and you know I'd make a kickin' Beatrice."

"That's all you, but I'll be first in line to buy tickets."

Flynn nodded, signing her name, then waggled the pen in his face, nodding to the poster for the dance troupe. "You know you wanna. Plus your parents will see it as you trying to find a suitable girl who can move."

Alex grinned, snatching the pen. "I love your devious little mind." Signing his name with a flourish, tossing her back the pen, then offering her his arm. "You wanna go plan our campaign Madame President?"

Flynn nodded, taking his offered limb. "Do you think we can campaign for better snack machines too?"

Alex laughed in response. "We can definitely try."

[andiwriteordie]

mike has an asthma attack! will is there! you have free reign BUT mike must be wearing glasses bc he does not have working lungs OR eyes. ❤️

LISTEN EVERYONE. ASTHMATIC MIKE WHEELER WITH GLASSES IS SO REAL TO ME. THANK YOU FOR INDULGING THIS HEADCANON THEA. ILY.

say hi to mike wheeler being a nerdy little loser in love in this little modern college au!

—

so in love that i might stop breathing 

This was a bad idea.

No like… seriously, this was a bad idea, and Mike can practically hear the sound of his roommates’ laughter in the back of his mind. God, Max and Dustin are never going to let him live this down, are they? No, they’re definitely not, because they’re both a couple of jackasses who thrive off of making Mike’s life miserable. Every day, he asks himself why the hell he’s still best friends with them.

… 

Whatever. In this case, they were most definitely right, even though Mike insisted that they would not be.

And that is exactly why Mike Wheeler is currently jogging at his local park and trying not to… oh, you know… die and stuff.

There are a lot of things going wrong, and suddenly, Mike is reminded of why he nearly failed high school a few years ago, despite having pretty decent grades. Fucking gym class was nearly the death of him—like… actually. Yeah, tenth grade Mike had to run the mile and (very stupidly) forgot his inhaler in his locker on the other side of the building. He may or may not have had an asthma attack out on the field. Max may or may not have yelled at a lot of people while Dustin sprinted to grab Mike’s inhaler.

… 

They’re not here to bail him out this time, so that’s rather unfortunate. But hey, Mike does have his rescue inhaler this time—not that it’ll do much good, since he’s already taken it and technically shouldn’t take it again for another couple hours, according to the instructions. And honestly, that sucks because Mike has been running for the last fifteen minutes, and his chest feels all tight and itchy and gross. 

Not only that, but Mike is fucking sweating. It’s nearly the end of September, and they live in fucking Chicago, so why is it nearly 80 degrees outside? Climate change is fucking real, and it’s going to be the death of him. His face is all sweaty and disgusting, and his glasses are most definitely fogged up and about to fall off his damn face. It’s great. Really, really great.

And of course—of fucking course—the cherry on top of the cake is that he is here.

Yeah.

The most gorgeous guy Mike has ever seen in his life is here at the park, like he always is and like Mike expected him to be. He’s running laps like normal and wearing those stupid short shorts that Mike knows the track guys at school wear, and Jesus, Mike is so gay. He’s so fucking gay, and honest to God, he’s going to get distracted and trip over his fucking shoelaces because this guy is just so gorgeous. 

And Mike doesn’t know what the hell he was thinking, honestly. He’d just gotten some stupid idea last night when he was a little tipsy and had decided that the best way to get the attention of Gorgeous Runner Guy was to, in fact, become a Gorgeous Runner Guy himself. 

…

It’s not working.

Yeah, there’s no way in hell that Mike looks like a Gorgeous Runner Guy, because he’s over here gasping for air, struggling to finish the lap around the track, and sweating like he’s a prepubescent boy. Definitely not the best way to catch the attention of the gorgeous guy he’s been trying to work up the courage to talk to for the past month, so Mike thinks it’s probably just time to cut his losses and go sit down before he actually collapses on the ground and has an asthma attack or something.

(Dear God, imagine if he actually stopped breathing or some shit like that and Gorgeous Runner Guy had to give him mouth-to-mouth. Mike thinks he’d rather just die at that point.)

Once Mike finally makes it around the track, he walks over to the nearby bench, fighting the urge to just completely collapse onto it. His legs feel like jelly, and the water bottle Max had insisted he take this morning is already empty. His chest still feels all tight, and his pride definitely feels wounded. The walk of shame into his apartment is not going to be a fun ordeal, so as Mike sits down on the bench, he closes his eyes and tries to think through his roommates’ schedule.

Okay, so Dustin definitely has class today, so he shouldn’t be there. That’s good. Max should be going to work soon, so if Mike can hold out a little bit longer, he should be able to avoid her too. In the end, their teasing is inevitable, but Mike would really prefer to keep some of his dignity in tact and not let his best friends see him like this—

“Um, excuse me?”

Mike flinches sharply, and he opens his eyes, and hoooooly shit, holy shit, holy shit.

It’s Gorgeous Runner Guy.

Gorgeous Runner Guy smiles shyly, and he glances at the empty space on the bench next to Mike. “Um… do you mind if I sit with you?” he asks, a little bit breathless. “I, um… I just wanted to take a break, you know?”

Yes, yes, yes, and while you’re at it, do you want to marry me? the literally fucking insane part of Mike’s mind answers.

Mike, fortunately, does not say that aloud. Instead, he just nods hastily and scoots over, patting the bench. “Y-yeah,” he says breathlessly. “Of course.”

Gorgeous Runner Guy flashes another smile at him, and he takes a seat next to Mike. He’s close enough now that Mike can feel his warmth—or honestly, that must just be the stupid, fucking 80 degree weather. It could also be the fact that Mike is sweating. A lot.

“I’m Will, by the way,” Gorgeous Runner Guy introduces, turning to Mike and smiling, and God, did Mike mention how gorgeous he is? Because he is. He’s gorgeous. 

Oh. And his name is Will.

Will’s gorgeous.

“I… I’m gorgeous,” Mike says, and as soon as the words are out of his mouth, he catches the slip up. “Shit, no, that’s not what I meant! I mean, you… you’re gorgeous.. Wait, shit, I didn’t mean to say that either; um, shit, sorry. I’m… I’m Mike.”

(Once again, Mike can practically hear Max and Dustin laughing at him. And once again, he definitely deserves it.)

A surprised look forms on Will’s face, and his cheeks get a little bit rosier. He glances away for a moment, then looks back at Mike and shrugs. “I mean… you are,” he points out, a flirty smile forming on his face, and oh.

Oh.

Warmth rises to Mike’s cheeks, and he stares back at Gorgeous Runner Guy—er, Will—in surprise. “You… you’re joking right?” he asks in disbelief. 

Will just laughs, soft and sweet. “I’m not joking unless you are,” he says, a bit shyer now. “Are you joking?”

“No, no,” Mike reassures quickly. “I… I didn’t mean to say that actually, but… but I meant it.”

He pauses, wincing slightly. “Sorry,” Mike adds. “This is so not what I had in mind when I imagined talking to you for the first time.”

“It’s cool,” Will promises with another little laugh. His eyes crinkle a bit when he smiles, and he shrugs. “Maybe we should just… start over then?”

“Maybe,” Mike says, and as the two of them exchange a smile, he turns to fully face Will now. 

“Hi,” Mike introduces softly, holding out his hand for Will to take. “I’m Mike.”

The look on Will’s face softens, and he takes Mike’s hand. His touch is electric, and Mike’s breath catches—no surprise there. Something about Will has always taken his breath away.

“I’m Will,” Will replies, his voice just as soft. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

[boxwinebaddie]

Has Raven/Jersey ever broken a bone?

alright, *cracks knuckles*

this one goes out to sickfic princess ana and whumpwhiz rp.

*blows a kiss to the heavens bc they're angels* MWAH!

but aaaaany-knee-ways:

...it's interesting, actually.

( or at least, it is to me, darling. )

because of how he's written, you'd think probably think, 'oh, but nina! jerseykyle gets in all these fights. he's all big and tough and strong! he prolly breaks bones all the time!" and that's precisely IT, my dear!

jersey breaks bones;

he does not get his bones broken.

EVER.

and i suppose that's because he is a seasoned fighter. ergo, he knows how to throw a wicked punch, where exactly on your body it will hurt or humiliate you the most -- probably a combination of the two if he's feeling particularly pissed that day ( everyday ) -- how many times to do it, where you're vulnerable, sees everyone as a possible adversary and thus, weaponizes the moment he sees you, surveys you, sizes you up, indicates what kind of threat you are and…

Promptly Neutralizes You.

he takes all these precautions, runs all these tedious, elaborate tests and intense, premeditated processes of elimination ( literally ), not just because he does not like losing, which he doesn't...but because he literally can't. simply put: he does not know how to lose or get hit.

see, jersey does not cope with pain very well. mentally or physically. that's why he inflicts pain, because he is secretly scared of feeling it.

on the outside, he is a harsh, frightening, impenetrable, menacing thing covered in barbs and wires and armed heavily, because on the inside he is extremely fragile and should even the smallest chink in his armor form, his entire fierce façade will shatter into smithereens.

he does not like to get hurt, to feel weak, to feel unpleasant and horrible things, so he does everything in his power to be powerful so that he will never feel powerless. it's why he learned how to fight, it wasn't to hit people, it was to avoid being hit by other people. it was a defense mechanism because of how often he got bullied and how weak he constantly was from swimming out against the current of all his chronic illnesses. a lot of people would just let go of that short stick that life gave them and drown, but not kyle. not my baby. no, his life belongs to him. so he sharpened that stick into the shiv...

stuck it straight through the gut of life,

— and made god beg for HIS mercy.

but yes, it's all a perfectly placed show. because my boy, scary and frightening as he may be swinging those freckled fists of fury...

is a fucking WUSS.

who has not broken a lot of bones actually! not his anyways! because when he does lose a fight, he is a sore fucking loser indeed because he's suddenly hit with all this pain that he does not know how to endure or deal with and literally is such a baby and a princess, omg.

i /swear/ that WHOLE divorce whumpshot para and the one of him barfighting is him acting really tough and cool, but hes really like hooly shit, this sucks so fkn Bad, i hate this, i want my mOM!! :'(

riiiiiiiiiip, lmaooooo.

spoiler alert: jersey kyle is dainty and spoiled. he is a champion complainer and if gets a papercut...

you will hear about it.

trust.

conversely, however...lead singer ravenstan,

is very Quiet about pain.

ravenstan knows pain like the back of his hands, he, unfortunately, has had hands on him his entire life and where kyle learned to kick and claw and bite, stan just...internalized and endured all that pain.

he isn't brutal or vicious, he is kind and forgiving, he does not hurt things even if they are hurting him and has been hurt so much that being hurt is as easy as breathing to him…which is horrible because he has asthma and a lot of smoke-related respiratory damage.

but yeah, i actually ( god, i love you ravenstan ) want to scream because where jersey is hard outside and soft inside, raven is soft outside and hard inside and is extremely good at being hurt, ( a child weaned on pain thinks hurt is a comfort, rip ), will take pretty much anything you throw at him and because he literally does not want to inconvenience you...will not even indicate that he's hurt to you.

like he is very passionate about protecting and taking care of other people, but he does not care at all about himself or what happens to him, so if you're hurt, he is on his hands and knees, comforting you, placating you, doing whatever he can to help you...and he might have three bullets in his back, you wouldn't know until he started bleeding through his clothes and fell over. that man is a fucking TANK, guys.

the universe has tried to kill ravenstan...several tries.

( suicide tw, he has also tried a couple times </3 )

no such luck.

it helps that he actually has a surprising amount of off-hand medical knowledge because sharon transferred a lot of it onto him during stan's childhood when she was patching him up because he was a fkn disaster child who tracked mud and blood into her house 25/8, spent three days in a tree and took a hockey puck to the face.

i genuinely think that a large part of why stan was able to survive and endure a lot of the horrors he had was because sharon scolding him in spanish and teaching him stuff literally saved his fucking life.

but yeah, ravenstan is my selfless, accident prone king. he is such a mess, pilots his body so carelessly that it is legitimately frightening. he is constantly covered in bruises he doesn't remember getting, scratches he didn't even notice, does dumb shit and gets hurt and like literally can’t tell he's hurt until he is like abt to pass out.

tldr: rave gets hurt often and has broken a lot of bones.

usually because he's doing stupid, heroic shit.

for example, i am not sure how it got broken, i like to think it was at a concert or an event and he SAVED SOMEONE from something falling or what have you and broke the fuck out of his arm. so his arm was in a cast ( i need it to be hot pink ) and he was super bummed out and felt hella bad because he had a meet and greet and couldn't sign autographs so he just let everyone else...

give him Their autograph instead.

so no one got a personally signed picture of raven of crimson dawn, but much cooler, imo, was that they all personally signed his cast.

my eyes are leaking, lmao. branch in my eyeeee. ;-;

gods...sweet...sweet angel. uGh.

THIS IS SO LONG, BUT I HOPE THIS ANSWERS YOUR QUESTION! idk why i got so invested in this, omg, but thank you for asking and being curious and thank you all for being so lovely and asking me things. it means a lot to me that you care and know i adore you.

-uncle nina, jerseykyle inflictor of angst pain

( and major wuss ) >.>

[misssugarpinkshome]

Author Update!

What's up, fellow youths?? It's after 1am, I'm in immense pain from my body trying to kill me, and I have a sTORY FOR YOU-

Okay, last update was April, so here's all of April, May, and June--

Partner continues to be titless, and it continues to be rad. Their recovery has gone swimmingly!

We bought a house. We actually did it, guys. Terrifying, and so much needs to be done to the house, and it's so much money, but fuck, I'm excited.

Oh yeah I got pink eye.

Oh yeah I got a respiratory infection.

Oh yeah I got ringworm. RINGWORM???

Oh yeah the respiratory infection never went away.

Oh yeah fun fact you need to grade.

Fffffffffffucking hell the end of the school year was rough. I did not catch a single break. I tried my best, y'all, but I was dead on my feet. This was likely the worst I've been sick this year, but... at least it wasn't Covid?? Still, I was off my asthma medication for awhile because my Doc decided not to refill it since I hadn't been back in awhile. That's fixed now, but fuck I am STILL getting over it all)

Let's go on a vacation right after school ends!!! (It was really fucking great and needed, but also a little bit stressful since we hadn't gotten anything done on the house)

Hey, let's start a job over the summer to get money for the house. Work for 4 hours a day, stuck in a room with a bunch of people all on the same document, and don't take any breaks. We're sure this'll be productive!

You know what's a great idea? Starting EMDR at the same time. Oh. Oh you're trapped in a trauma memory for it? Oh. Okay then. Oh. Oh. Well. At least it works for you!

VACATION PART TWO! Time to drive to Wisconsin!

Oh hey let's get pink eye again.

That is a VERY BRIEF OVERVIEW, but lord almighty these last few months SUCKED ASS. Thank you so much for your patience. I've

I've been dying to get this chapter out, and a lucky comment got me on my feet again. Churned out about 4k of this chapter in about 2 days. <3

I hope I can update sooner, but the rest of my summer is mostly dedicated to getting my new house in order. I hope I can get it all done :)

That's all for me. Sugar, out!

[clatterbane]

Hallelujah, they managed NOT to comprehensively fuck up my blood sugar again at that full anesthesia gastroscopy session today!

The dotted line section was when I was in the OR and recovery, with the sensor well out of Bluetooth range of my phone. They decided to put me on some glucose again in the IV because somebody thought it was running too low (?). Because hospitals. It was at a decent fasting level, and the chance of it not staying fairly stable during the short procedure was vanishingly low. From past experience.

But, at least I was not dealing with that same dangerously misinformed anesthesiologist, and they actually showed a little sense with it this time. My blood sugar stayed in range, and they didn't leave the glucose drip going for that long. The long-acting background insulin in my system was evidently enough to bring that shit back down after they stopped it. Also, nobody came at me today with random doses of long-acting insulin "to keep me from going hypoglycemic".

Kind of a low bar, but I was honestly pretty concerned after last month's shitshow.

Oh yes, and I also managed to avoid any asthma episodes from the inevitable tracheal tube irritation making me cough. Haven't been needing it otherwise for a good while now, but I preemptively started using the steroid inhaler again after that last appointment--specifically in hopes that it might calm that shit down. Which it did thankfully seem to.

Otherwise, it was more of the same. Rather pointlessly cooped up from 7:30 to around 1:30 on the outpatient surgery unit, in a funky button-up hospital nightshirt, with my troublesome-bendy autistic hyperactive-ADHD ass expected to stay put in a hospital bed other than popping to the bathroom. Which I resisted the urge to do more than a few times, just to move around and decompress a little in a private space. At least I did remember to bring a power bank along for my phone this time, because yeah you're liable to need it when that's the main distraction available over like 7 hours.

I am so done, and also still unsurprisingly pretty achy from spending so long stuck in that bed. Frequently changing positions or no. This new arrangement still really sucks ass compared to the relatively low-stress (very much including physically!) in-and-out visits straight through the endoscopy department that I was having before whoever decided to switch over to this new rigmarole.

But, the experience was still a lot less bad overall than either of the previous times I've gone through outpatient surgery. And at least everyone was acting decent. (Which seems to be the norm at that hospital so far.) Which is certainly worth something. I am also relieved to be able to eat better again once the sore throat calms down some, since it did decide to tighten up again enough to cause problems.

I am still extremely glad to have that done and over with for another month, however.

[fruitless-vain]

Can’t help but laugh at the convenient way my conditions line up with my very few interests:

Attended music academy for 7 years, loved singing, felt I was good at it, finally hitting the point of auditioning confidently for solos

Oh here’s some vocal cord dysfunction for ya you can’t sing the notes you used to anymore and singing in general will feel like a strain

Oh that sucks well that’s okay I can still sing casually and yknow I always have field hockey

Oh no yeah the dysfunction will give you asthma like symptoms but there’s no puffer you can take to alleviate it so you’ll just suffocate sorry about that

Alright so no more field hockey that’s okay I can still bake I like baking I almost went to pastry school!

No actually here’s some POTS you won’t be able to stand for long enough to bake anything and doing so will become a very aversive experience for you. Also singing will trigger these new symptoms more so I’d stop doing that in general tbh.

Cool 👍

[rad-rat-with-a-tophat]

If you still happen to be taking prompts, 46 for richjake or boyf riends?

i will be taking prompts for as long as this blog remains my friend

sorry if this sucks by the way.

Jeremy was fine. He was just fucking peachy in fact. He totally wasn't panicking over his huge gay crush on his best friend, Michael Mell.

It was the middle of winter break and as per usual, Jeremy and Michael were him the latter's basement playing video games and being stupid teenage boys.

Being stupid teenage boys largely meant Jeremy looking after his slightly high best friend. Jeremy had tried weed once but since he had week-ass lungs and asthma that did not end up well for him. At all. Seriously, he had an asthma attack. It sucked.

So now Jeremy was trying to pick up the trash off the basement floor while Michael dozed on a bean bag.

"Jeeeeeremyyyyy," He whined, face smushed into the bean bag, "You don't have to pick the trash up, my moms' don't care,"

Jeremy started carrying empty soda bottles to the recycling bin upstairs, "Yeah but your moms' are super cool and I don't want to inconvenience and if I didn't pick the trash up and I'm pretty sure they'd hate me." He said, halfway up the stairs.

He quickly went to the kitchen and dumped the bottles into the recycling bin. Michael's moms may be super cool but Jeremy is still an anxious mess so he'd rather not talk to anyone who isn't Michael or any of their assorted friends.

When he got back to the basement, Michael is still lying on the bean bag.

In Jeremy's humble, very bisexual, and heavily biased opinion Michael looked absolutely adorable right now. His dark hair was messed around, his glasses slightly skewed, and he looked so huggable.

Yes, yes, Jeremy did know he was pathetic, but in his defense Michael was literally perfect in every single way. He was his longest and closest friend, he cared so fucking much, and the fact that he was arguably the moat cuddle-able person on the planet helped.

And he was looking straight at Jeremy. Great.

"You have been standing there for like an hour," He stated.

Jeremy was panicking but when wasn't he panicking?

"It actually was like thirty seconds... So, um, you're wrong?" He said uncertainly.

Michael mulled this over for a second.

"Yeah, no, but whatever. Wanna deathmatch in Spelunky?" He asked, beckoning to the second beanbag.

Jeremy snorted, "You're setting yourself up for failure. I spent the time when you were in the Philippines over the summer fucking mastering this game."

Spelunky was a simple 2d video game where you'd choose a character and explore abandoned caves. Spelunky also had a deathmatch option where you could fight other players, whic is what the pair tended to prefer.

It was the one thing Michael was bad at and Jeremy basked in his superiority at a random video-game.

"What the fuck. What the actual fuck. This is stupid and I hate it. I fucking quit." Michael had announced after Jeremy had beaten him the tenth time in a row.

Jeremy had just laughed and stuck his tongue at him.

Michael shot him a glare. "Don't you fucking dare gloat. You know what, switch to adventure mode, by yourself. From the beginning. Let's see how braggy you are then."

Jeremy smiled at Michael, switching the game mode and satisfied knowing that he had already beaten the game just in case something like this happened.

Jeremy was half-way through the third stage when something heavy plopped into his lap.

It was Michael.

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. This isn't a big deal. You guys have had physical contact many times. This is normal, Jeremy thought to himself.

So why does this feel different?

Just then, his tiny little 2d figure died on screen.

Michael turned his head to Jeremy.

And, Oh my goodness. His freckles. His fucking freckles!

Michael was close enough that you could see the freckles that dusted his light brown skin. His hair was soft, fluffy, and perfect. His warm brown eyes peered up at Jeremy through his dirty glass lenses.

"Dude, you just died." Michael stated.

While trying (and failing) to fight back his blush, Jeremy answered, "I did- I did in fact, um, die. Yup!"

Michael narrowed his eyes at him, scanning Jeremy's face. This only made his blush grow, climbing from his neck to his cheeks.

Great. More blusing.

"Yeah well, don't do it again." Michael said.

Jeremy awkwardly grinned, "I won't dude,"

"Good," Michael huffed, dragging his entire body onto Jeremy''s bean bag until he was basically lying on top of him, his head pressed into Jeremy's chest.

His blushing dialed from fifty to five-thousand real quick, as well as his heart beat speeding up drastically.

Wait, wait, wait, wait, can he hear my heartbeat? Oh my go what of he can? What if he can? Would he be able to realize I like him? And if he did how-

"Dude, chill," Muttered Michael, breaking Jeremy's nervous inner monologue.

Yeah okay, he could do that? Right?

Michael started shuffling, trying to get more comfortable and ended up placing his head on left shoulder, breath tickling Jeremy's neck.

Yeah he could absolutely not be chill about this. When your crush of almost a year starts cuddling on you you're not gonna be fucking chill! Who would?!

Before Jeremy could organize his thoughts, his instincts took over and placed a soft kiss on the top of Michael's head.

What the fuck?! Why did I do that?! Why did I think that was a good idea! Hell, did I even think?!

Before Jeremy could stammer out an apology, Michael made a content little sigh, looked up at Jeremy and nodded, as if something just clicked in head and Jeremy's heart melted before a fragment of a sound could leave his mouth.

Michael pulled himself up and sits criss-cross on Jeremy's lap.

He stared into Jeremy's eyes, and Jeremy could feel himself heating up and his heart about to beat through his chest.

Michael swallows, "Hey, Jeremy?" He asked.

Jeremy stares back, the video game completely forgotten.

"Yeah, Michael?" He asked, his breath coming out quick and short, his heart feeling like a hummingbird, pounding in his rib cage.

"What happens if I do this?" Michael asked before softly placing his lips into Jeremy's.

Jeremy froze. No thoughts, no rambling, no nothing.

Though he's frozen in shock he notices when Michael starts to tense up and his brain lets him actually talk.

"Apparently, I get really flustered and freeze up."

Michael looked at Jeremy, scanning his face for rejection and disgust.

"Not I mind or anything," Jeremy continued, "Just unexpected, you know?"

Michael grinned, "It would suck ass if my crush since seventh grade hated me for kissing him so..."

Jeremy look at Michael, bewildered, "Seventh grade? That's like, a long time. I've barely been able to survive a year!"

Michael laughed, "Yeah you learn to get used to it you know. Now, are you ever gonna finish this stage?" He looked at Jeremy, smirking a stupid, endearing, little smirk.

Jeremy glared at him, "You know what? Fuck you," He said, pushing Michael off the beanbag. At that both of them started laughing, finding themselves unable to stop.

@gay-stranger-things don't know if this what you meant by wanting me to tag you in "more" but you weren't clear so that's kinda on you.

[punk-pandame]

1,2,3,5,26,38,49,65

weird asks that say a lot

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans?

i have an emotional support water bottle i refill like three times a day and i love her, she's obviously my favorite. but she is exclusively for water. anything other beverage, i drink it out of a coffee mug; except when i want a Special Drink (same beverage drank out of a milkshake glass) to treat myself.

2. chocolate bars or lollipops?

lollipop. orange pwease :3

3. bubblegum or cotton candy?

BUBBLEGUM! i love to chew i love to stim i love to bite i love to loosen my jaw I LOvE to blow a jolly round bubble :D bubblegum <3

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups?

anything but a can. the mythbusters episode grossed me out. if you know you know.

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather?

ngl summer is genuinely hard for me in both the seasonal depression way and the poor heat tolerance + bad air quality asthma trigger way, so honestly? vegetating in my room with the AC running, writing or drawing or listening to music. i do love swimming tho so i can be lured outside with promises of a pool or a beach :3

38. lemonade or tea?

arnold palmer me babeyyyy i drink tea more tho, it's true

49. what saying or quote do you live by?

yknow i was just asking myself this the other day. for a long time it was "survive out of spite". and that was a good thing for me then, i think, because spite was really all i had left at some points to keep going with. but im in such a different environment and headspace and stage in life that i don't think it really applies anymore. i would say "do no harm but take no shit" but i take auto insurance claims on the phone all day. i do nothing but take shit and "do harm" in that insurance itself is a fucking scam and corporate america is the antithesis of everything i believe in as a person. so uh. idk maybe "livin' the dream". cause its something i can say in response to the customary "how are you" question that everyone knows means i'm killing them in my head. but also objectively my life is rather nice right now. i've come a long way. i have a great support network. i have a future i can actually look forward to. in quite a few ways, i really am living the dream. the duality of man? nah. the duality of "livin' the dream"

65. any permanent scars?

oh yeah, tons. i'm one clumsy fucker and my skin sucks alshjkghaj. mild injury descriptions below

most notable to me are:

the ones on my right ring finger from smashing a cup in my hand while handwashing it

the ones in my left knee from falling in gravel and getting a rock stuck in it and having to pull it out with tweezers at home (not fun) and then getting an infection from a rug playing lazer tag (i fell again)

burn-like scars behind my ears from an allergic reaction to tape :) that was a fun thing i learned in drama club that i was not expecting to learn

brand new but deep scars on my left big toe from stepping in glass

burn scar on the back of my wrist from the pizza oven at my first job when i was 15. it used to be like four inches long but now its just a little little pucker shaped mark. the way that healed still blows my mind,

[maybanksbabe]

https://www.tumblr.com/maybanksbabe/724857810980143104/my-roommates-cat-is-on-my-lap-well-between-my

Oh yeah some cats are #assholes and will come up and attack you for no reason😂 my roommates cate is super docile she would never attack and she’s never once used her claws even though we’ve had drunk friends pick her up and bounce her😂 she just hates people.

But also I remember what I was gonna say, I think I jinxed myself when I said I’m happy I got a migraine because it’s been kicking my ass. I’m feeling a little better but still not 100% which sucks because I start work on Monday😬 And if one more old lady (respectfully) tells me to exercise to help my migraines I’m going to have a full on tantrum. IVE TRIED!!!!!!!! WHY DO YOU THINK I HAVE QUIT EVERY SINGLE SPORT I TRIED SINCE I WAS 9!!!!!! Sorry it angers me so bad because exercise actually makes my migraines so much worse and will give me one within ten mins which is why I get winded going up two flights of stairs

-🪼

No I'm so tired of the "you should exercise more/eat better/try this" for things that only actual medicinal routes can help, I'm asthmatic as FUCK when it comes to physical activity and I used to swim but hearing people say "oh well if you did more it wouldn't be as bad" 😳 do you want to see me have an asthma attack? Because I'll bring one on, on purpose I'm tired of this I really feel you anon it is TIRING

[mrsmarlasinger]

(CW: anorexia/disordered eating, medication abuse, depression, death ideation)

I spent last week in Texas on vacation with my parents and sister (yeah, during the record-breaking heat wave). It was nice: eating twice a day, having dessert, eating out, trying pastries. Walking tons and wearing huge T-shirts and men's gym shorts every day, so I didn't have to feel too guilty.

Then I came home and was instantly convinced I'd gained an impossible amount of weight.

On top of that, I've recently realized that the coughing fits that have been getting progressively worse and steadily ruining my stupid life for the past 6+ weeks, finally culminating in me waking myself and my family up 4–5x per night to cough during our vacation...are an asthma flare-up, and one best treated by the five days of Prednisone my doctor prescribed me when I got really sick a few months ago.

(Which I never touched, because apparently, corticosteroids can cause weight gain through appetite increase and insulin suppression. Terrifying.)

Yesterday, after days of acute consternation, I finally succumbed and started the damn Prednisone. Like magic, almost immediately after my very first dose, my cough improved tenfold. Crazy how the medicine your doctor prescribes you actually works sometimes!

So.

The vacation. The steroid. The body dysmorphia.

Well, I've never once had trouble with my asthma until I got sick earlier this year, so I only use my rescue inhaler once in a blue moon. I've got years' worth of old albuterol lying around my room. Not like that shit expires and loses effectiveness after a year or anything.

Decided to kill three birds (the asthma, the albuterol surplus, and the so-called weight gain) with one stone. Decided to eat nothing for two days and abuse stimulants all the while.

Decided that if I did this, I could enjoy my family's annual Fourth of July BBQ (the first one my partner, posing as my "bestie" for my homophobic father, could attend!). I'd have fun and dress cute and talk to people and eat barbeque and desserts, and I wouldn't feel guilty at all, because I'd have budgeted for it.

Having been too scared to consume more than an anxious grazing session in the pantry on Sunday, I skipped food on Monday. Oh, god, I think I slammed at least half an old inhaler that day. Got so comically sick, so ridiculously dizzy and jittery, I started laughing at my trembling reflection in the bathroom mirror. Jesus, I don't puff this much albuterol in an entire year.

Despite the melatonin I took, my usual killer insomnia struck again last night (I'm sure the steroid and albuterol didn't help). I was up all night and only fell asleep long after the sun had risen, nauseous with exhaustion and aching with hunger.

Slept four hours. Woke up midday. Took my damn Prednisone.

Started tossing back albuterol and Benzedrex like there was no tomorrow. Slonked nearly half a gram of caffeine via zero-calorie drink drops.

All on an empty stomach, alone in my room.

Already I'd fasted more than the 48 hours planned. My heart rate skyrocketed from its usual 60–80 bpm to 125 bpm. I was fucking wired, jittery, anxious and nauseous and sweaty, shaking like an old lady's purse dog. My joints hurt. My dizzy head was pounding. A sort of awful feverish heat radiated from my poor quivery flesh.

It occurred to me that I felt exactly like I had that time I snorted [redacted]. Never thought my shitty, slapdash little stim stack could hit me this hard. I felt so sick I thought I'd puke or pass out or both.

All I could do was chant, "I'm going to die. I'm going to die" under my breath, then suck down another musty, powdery hit of expired albuterol.

But hey. I could see the weight I'd lost in those 48+ hours of hell.

What does it matter if I never came down for the party, never had a burger hot off the grill, never talked to anyone, just got progressively wired in my bedroom until my hand shook so bad I fucked up my lipstick?

Eventually my partner arrived and held my sweating, trembling wreck of a body, making nervous note of my tachycardia and hyperventilation as I repeated, over and over, "I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die."

When I felt a little better, we went to root through the leftovers, and I proceeded to low-/medium-restrict on a mini kids' Clif bar, three slices of watermelon, two spoonfuls of pasta salad, and, for some fucking reason, a glazed doughnut. Panicking all the while.

And yeah, sure, I ruined my day, but what's new? I'm ruining my pathetic excuse for an existence too. All in pursuit of, what, becoming more underweight than I already am? Destroying my body more than I already have?

For a spoiled, privileged, rich little white girl without a responsibility under the sun, my life sure feels like a goddamn living nightmare.

I'm so upset.

I'm so sad.

I'm so angry.

I'm angry at the world, because what the fuck did I do to deserve chronic anorexia? I of course believe that I'm a nasty little bitch who deserves the worst of all things, but god, even I don't deserve this. No one deserves this. Anorexia is cruel and unusual punishment for the crime of possessing a tangible form. I'm only 22, and I've dealt with this bullshit for, what, seven years now?

I'm so sad. I'm so sad. I'm so cripplingly, earth-shatteringly sad.

I fasted and slammed stimulants for more than two days so I could enjoy a once-a-year party with my family and our friends (the cringe of American nationalism notwithstanding), only to starve and panic and isolate myself anyway. Now I'm hungry and sick to my stomach, parachuting kratom like it'll fix things. Like eating toilet paper and fake opiates will nourish me. What was it all for? What the fuck is any of this for?

It's not worth it. None of this is worth it. I'm miserable, spiraling. I can't work. I can't function. I'm out of control. It's not my rock bottom by a long shot—hell, I haven't even gotten my lowest weight back—but it sure feels like it. This is hell.

I just want to eat. I want to eat. I want to eat. I want desperately to eat. Please, god, let me eat. If I can't eat, let this vile disease kill me already. I want to eat. I'm so unwell. I want to eat. I'm so, so sick. I want to eat. I want to eat.

Please.

Please.

God. God. God. God. God. God. God.

[kiridarling]

𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓.

— 3.0k words

eijirou kirishima | hard dom + dubcon jic + f!reader + exhibitonism + face-fucking + dumbification + car sex + more! minors dni.

"Made me come all this way...it’d be a pity if I didn't get somethin' out of it."

"No, no, no, no, no—c'mon," you cry as your car engine spits and sputters to a stop in the road, coughing like an old man with asthma before it's dead for good. Jamming your heel on the gas pedal, you twist your key in the ignition, but there's no use. You're fucking stuck.

You sigh, before slamming your forehead against the steering wheel. It's hard enough to sting, and the blaring horn startles all unsuspecting birds in a five-mile radius, but you could care less. Stuck in the middle of the woods at one in the morning, AAA membership-less with nothing but the clothes on your back and the vehicle you came with. Short cuts are a fucking myth.

Mina's the only person you can think of calling—because frankly, she's the only one who'd know a mechanic who could help at this time of night if one exists. Which you doubt. Severely.

"[Y/N]?" Mina answers, semi-urgently. You wonder if you startled her out of a good sleep, but knowing the night owl, her evening is just beginning. "What's up?"

"I'm fucking stuck in the middle of nowhere," you groan, banging your head against the back of the seat though you know she can't see you. "Car's not working."

"Oh no," she coos, and her pity is useless. "Do you have AAA?"

"No. Do you have a mechanic?"

"A mechanic...at one am? I don—wait," she interrupts before you hear something akin to rustling sheets. "I might have a friend who could help! But don't get your hopes up girlie, he's a heavy sleeper."

You shrug, shaking your head. "At this point, I'm desperate."

"Alrighty!" Mina confirms, and now all you can do is fucking hope her friend pulls through. "I'll give him a quick buzz and then send his number over, sound good?"

"Sounds perfect," you breathe, relaxing (somewhat) with your chin against the steering wheel. "Thanks, girl."

"Of course!" she cheers, and you wonder how someone could have so much energy at this time of night. "Good luck!"

"Thanks," you snort. "I might need it."

Riiiing! Riiiing!

Eijirou's had a long day.

A pipe busted at the auto shop today, resulting in an immediate flood—meaning they had to get everything that could possibly rust out as quickly as possible, aka everything in the goddamn shop.

So, yeah. He's had a long day, and when he's finally able to get under the covers and go the fuck to sleep, Mina calls him with this.

"Hey...Eijirou, buddy, best friend—"

"Mina, I love you, but what do you want?" Eijirou grunts into the phone, voice worn and ragged from limited sleep and his terribly long day. One am is never an appropriate time to call anybody, but he figures something has to be up—Mina's not the type to call in the middle of the night.

"Um, well. My homegirl’s kinda stuck in the woods with car troubles—"

"The woods."

It takes Mina a second but she hums in confirmation, and Eijirou can see her head nodding from where he lays. He sighs, rolling on his back to blink up at the ceiling. "Yep!"

"What is she doing in the woods at midnight?"

"I don't know!" Mina exclaims. Eijirou runs a hand over his face. "I just—please, Ei? She doesn't have AAA or anything and it's really, really late. All you have to do is hotwire her car or something, right? It's not like she totaled it or anything."

And dammit. Eijirou hates being a nice person.

"Just give me ten."

Mina practically gasps out a thank you, "You're a lifesaver Ei! Really! I—"

She's interrupted by the buzz of his phone—this time, from an unknown number. Eijirou raises an eyebrow, "That her?"

"Should be!" The pinkette says. Eijirou's feet finally touch the floor and it's painfully cold. His bed has never looked more appealing, and that's counting all those instances in high school. "Thanks again, Ei!"

"Yep," Eijirou says, popping the 'p,' before clearing his voice and switching the line. Customer Service at one am, here he comes.

"Red Riot Auto Repair and Services, how may I help you?"

All he receives is a grunt on the other end of the phone: "My car won't turn on."

Eijirou waits for you to give him a little more to work with, but it's clear that's all you have to say when you ask hello to ensure he's still on the other end of the line. Runs his hands through his hair, he silently prays he won't have to leave the house to get your car to work.

"Did you try jiggling the key?"

"Yes, I'm not stupid," you huff, and Eijirou's eyebrows fold in exasperation. He insists you do it again though, and hears the weak splutter of your engine through the phone with a heavy heart. "'S fucking useless."

"Did you try tapping the battery terminals?"

"The battery whatsitals?" You say, too loud and smart-mouthed for the very thin amount of patience Eijirou harbors. He reaches for his hair tie, satisfied enough with the messy bun he makes on the first try.

"Just send me your location," Eijirou sighs, moving for a jacket before snatching the keys to the shed. He'd rather just get this over with than beat around the bush.

Luckily, you're not far. 

"You drive that thing?" is your first comment, and Eijirou can't even appreciate your beauty before your first words shatter your image completely, and he's slamming the door to his truck with rolling eyes, rusted toolbox heavy in his hand. "It looks like Mater from Lightning McQueen."

Eijirou just stares at you for a second, just to see if you're really serious, and resists the urge to scoff when it seems like you are.

"It's a truck," is all he says, before marching around you and to the task at hand—your car. "Pop the hood."

You huff, but you listen, and Eijirou wastes no time in getting to work. You watch with your elbows balanced on the rim, curious but quiet, and that allows him to get in the zone enough to realize there are countless problems with your car.

"When was the last time you took this thing into the shop?" He probes. You click your tongue, eyes tracing the outlines of the trees as you search for an answer. That's never a good sign.

"Um...never?"

"And how long have you had it?"

"A few years," you nod, and Eijirou drops his head.

"It's a miracle you made it this far in the first place," he chuckles bitterly, shaking his head. What the hell is he going to do now? There's no way your car is moving anywhere tonight. You frown, jamming your hands on your hips.

"Well? Are you going to fix it or what?"

"I can fix it," Eijirou says with a shrug, closing your hood. "But not tonight."

"What do you mean not tonight?" You badger, breathing down his neck as he hikes back to his truck to set the toolbox down. There's no reason to carry it if he's not going to need it.

"I mean, your car's going to need a solid six months before it can run again, Sweetheart."

When Eijirou turns, you're much too in his face for his liking. He can practically feel your breath against his chest, and it has him rolling his eyes, leaning against his truck with arms crossed.

"Yeah, okay, but I need it to run tonight," you explain, gesticulating so wildly Eijirou fears his own chest may fall in the cross-fire. "Like, I need to get home tonight."

"I can't—" the redhead sighs, running his hand over his face. You're terribly difficult, and if Mina had given him a proper warning he probably wouldn't be here in the fucking first place. "Listen. My shop is out of commission for the next few days 'cause of a flood. I can work on your car or whatever, but it'll take a sec, so the most I can do is drop you at a hotel down the road or somethin'. Sound like a plan?"

"No," you growl, claws and all, and Eijirou wishes for nothing but death. "That doesn't sound like a plan! I don't know you, what makes you think I'll get in a car with you?"

Oh. My. God.

"Then you can spend the night in your car and have Mina come get you in the morning," he huffs, stomping over to the driver's side of his truck. "So it's either you're gettin' in, or I'm leaving ya."

With that, he slams the car door shut, shoves his key in the ignition, and counts to fucking ten, and on nine and a half you're flinging open the passenger door and bouncing in the seat, arms crossed over your chest in indignance. You don't even look him in the eye.

"Seatbelt," he warns. You tut.

"I don't need a fucki—"

"Put on the goddamn seatbelt."

You don't say anything, but he's satisfied by the click that follows. Eijirou shifts into drive and you two take off.

"The seat's so uncomfortable."

Not even twenty feet.

"Suck it up," is all the pity Eijirou has to offer. He's preoccupied with trying to get from this side road to a main road with, you know, actual civilization. The road is unsteady—unsteady enough that a bump sends the both of you flying towards the roof of his car, and naturally, you have something to say about it.

"Y'know, for a mechanic, you're not a very good driver," you say, and it has Eijirou's fists tightening around his steering wheel. His patience wears down until it has the height of a penny, and Eijirou worries for when it shatters because he has no clue what he'll do if it does.

"And it smells a little funky," you continue anyway, eyes wandering around the cabin aimlessly."Kinda like cheese. No offense."

Eijirou pulls over at that, teeth grinding. Is he really going to snap over cheese comment?

“Is this a condom?”

Yes. Yes, the fuck he is.

"Get out."

"Um—excuse me?" You blink, eyebrows raising in offense. "You're kicking me out. Because I found a fucking rubber?”

Eijirou glares your way and he's sure you can feel him radiating fury, and that's enough to convince you to hop out of the car without another word. He follows, slamming the door behind him.

"Okay? Now what?" You growl, and Eijirou loves it—the false display of confidence. Because he knows it won't take much to break you once he gets you under his thumb, and you'll look so pretty once he does. Cocking his head to his side, he tells you to come here without having to open his mouth. You follow.

"Now, on your knees."

You splutter at his request, rolling your eyes as if he wasn't being serious. Though you shut up once you hear the clink of his belt, lips widening in revelation, and Eijirou thinks you'd look much prettier with your mouth full.

"You made me come all this way—it'd be a pity if I didn't get somethin' out of it," Eijirou says, and the way you shiver implies that you like this more than you let on. He coos when you say nothing, "And for the first time today she's got nothin' to say. See? You're improving already."

He gives you a second to move. When you don't, he lifts an eyebrow. "Knees, Princess."

You do and Eijirou groans at the view, palming his hardening cock at the sight of your bambi eyes blinking up at him—and it's a pretty one, at that. Leaning against the door of his truck, he grunts, "Take it out."

Your fingers hook under the waistband of his boxers and Eijirou shivers upon contact with the cool air, but the warmth of your palm makes up for it. You spit on his cock with a curled lip and it's nothing short of crude, before you're swirling your tongue around the head and taking him as far as you can possibly go.

"Uh-uh," Eijirou tuts, grabbing you by the hair to pull your mouth off his cock. "We got at my pace, Sweetheart."

"Why?" You pout with a curled lip. Eijirou scowls.

"Because," he says, before stuffing half of his cock down your throat, "I'm gonna put that big fuckin' mouth to use at my pace."

With that, Eijirou thrusts into your mouth, using the grip he has around your hair as leverage. Your throat is impossibly warm and the way you choke has him keening, and that's enough for his hips to start picking up mindlessly.

"Shit—what a dirty fuckin' girl," he says, smirking when you moan around his cock. "You like this? You like sucking off a guy you just met?"

Your eyes flutter at that, nails digging into his thighs, and it nearly has him cooing. When you swallow around him Eijirou's hips stutter and he grunts, "In public, no less. Anyone could drive by and see you taking my dick down your throat...but you'd like that, wouldn't you? You want the world to know how much of a slut you are."

Your hand falls between your thighs and Eijirou grins like the devil as he watches you touch yourself on the dirty road, desperate just because knows how to push the right buttons. That's enough to have him caving, demanding you rise to your feet and get in the backseat of his car.

"Hands and knees," Eijirou urges, his body towering over yours from behind. It's not long before he's pinning your wrists to the windshield with one hand and using the other to land a harsh slap on your ass; harsh enough to make you jolt forwards from the force.

"Such a pretty ass," he coos before slapping it again, and your teeth dig into your bottom lip to muffle the sound. "And it's all for me, ain't it, Princess?"

You nod, but Eijirou spanks you again—he's looking for an answer.

"Y-Yeah, yes, all yours just—" your hips wiggle in search of his cock. Eijirou chuckles, leveling his lips with your ear.

"Want me to fill you up, Princess?"

You gasp out a yes, nodding vehemently. The redhead finds he likes you like this much better, chest rumbling with arousal. "Yeah? How bad?"

"B-Bad, please, I need t—fuck!"

Eijirou stuffs you full with one thrust, and even he needs a moment, freehand searching to hold onto your hip while his grip tightens around your wrists. You quiver under him, and he swears he can feel your gut contract around his cock, eyelids fluttering when you grind against him.

"Holy shit," Eijirou finds himself wheezing, not expecting you to be so tight. You drop your head against the cool windshield, whimpering like the pretty little thing you are, shuddering as he pulls out before ramming himself in again until he's balls deep. You scream, back arching from the angle.

And fuck. It's impossible for him to stop after that.

"Fuckin' look at you," Eijirou chuckles, body practically caging you against the seat, "Drooling all over my window like a slut. Fuck, you really know how to get a guy goin' huh?"

“Pull—pull my hair,” you request, words from his pistoning hips. Eijirou tuts and rips your hands off the window in favor of pushing your head into the seat, not making a move to yank on your hair once.

“I don’t think you’re in the right place to be making demands, Princess," he growls before his hot palm cracks against your ass, hissing from the way you tighten around him when he does.

You whine at that, pushing into him the best you can. It only spurs his hips on faster, and Eijirou lets go of your hands in favor of grabbing your face instead, groaning at the sight of the tears shining silver from the moonlight. He likes the fact that you can't do much but gasp and rock against him, your hands falling to clit to finally push yourself off the edge.

He looks at you and all he sees is his dumb little thing, who can't do anything, let alone get her car to work, and that's when Eijirou realizes he doesn't want this to be as much of a one-time thing as he initially thought.

"Gonna...gonna cum," you slur, cheek mashed flat against his window. Eijirou fucks you into the door of his truck, pace quick and bruising, as his mind thinks of all the fun you two could have together—all the fun he wants to have with you.

"Cum, Sweetheart. Make a mess of my cock and my leather seats, yeah? Show me how good I make you feel."

You tighten around his cock, tight, and that's enough to send him spiraling into an orgasm of his own, hips stuttering to a stop as he fills you up. Though his hips never stop, not until you're coming around his cock with a broken moan, curled toes digging into his car floor. He watches you catch your breath, splayed across the seat, with a sudden realization that he feels much lighter, but doubts it was the sex that did the trick.

"You fucked your anger out now?" You wheeze, breaking the silence, and Eijirou snorts.

"I—yes," he says before his eyes trail to the scratch marks around your hips and thighs. "Are you...okay?"

"Never been better," you toss your arms in the air like you're on a rollercoaster but lack the energy to scream. It's cute and it had the redhead re-evaluating everything, wondering how the day could start so shitty and yet, end so well. "Are you okay?"

His eyebrows furrow, "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I dunno," you shrug, and Eijirou finds it hard to stay focused when you look like that. "You asked me, so. Everyone needs a post-sex check-in, ya know?"

Fuck.

Fuck, yeah he's definitely keeping you.

[ceilingfan5]

ice cream please 🍦🍦🍦

"You know, my nephew thinks this is a front for something?" Kravitz tries, and mostly fails, to not look and sound like he just chased down an ice cream truck to flirt with the ice cream guy. Pathetic, you think. Maybe so. But have you considered: the ice cream guy is incredibly, incredibly cute, and Kravitz has had at least three dreams about him since the last time he watched Angus? Exactly. 

Oh lord, how did it come to this. 

"Fuck, you've found out my secret," Ice Cream Guy laughs, covering his beautiful gap-toothed smile. He's more freckled than a strawberry and twice as sweet, at least when he's wearing his customer service hat. Fuck's sake Kravitz, you think. Let the guy do his job without being flirted with. Ah, but ICG flirted with him first. He wrote his number on Kravitz’s palm the last time he bought Angus ice cream. 

Unfortunately, it washed off. This is the greatest tragedy the impartial face of the sun has ever beheld. Also, it sucks. 

"Yeah, for sure." Kravitz winks--Jesus Kravitz, winking?? This is just embarrassing. At least you didn't drag the kid into it again. Yes. This is true. Angus is at a science museum with his grandpa this weekend and was not available. "You know, when I was his age, I literally thought that meant, you know, washing the money like clothes? And then I heard how nasty money really is, and I wished it was true. Honestly, the fictional mob in my head is doing this country a real service." 

ICG laughs again, his nose scrunching up so fucking cutely Kravitz might have the asthma attack he's only delayed, you know, from the running after a moving vehicle with off-brand cartoon characters painted on the sides. 

"Honestly, same! Do you know how often I get money from a bra or something? Nasty. That mob in your head had better get around to it." 

"I'll let them know." He winks. Oh, divinity, he winks. "Hey, um, I, um." 

"Great start." 

Kravitz’s cheeks heat up. 

"I um, as much as I would like to give you some money for goods, I super am actually out of change? I gotta be honest, I really only chased you down because I washed away your number? I actually have my phone on me this time-" 

ICG laughs like this is the funniest thing he's heard all week. 

"Shit," he says, wiping a tear away. Angel. Who said that? "I thought you'd decided not to text me! Damn. Here, it's, um. It's Taako? T-a-a-k-o." And he rattles off his number, as Kravitz dutifully types it into a new contact, and also tries not to do a little jig in the street. he can't believe it was this easy. Who could have predicted that asking for something would end in receiving that thing. He has to tell the scientific journals about this asapity. The world needs to know. 

"Incredible," Kravitz says, half to himself. "Incredible. I- I really, I'm sorry, I really feel like I should buy something? I only have a dollar fifty?" 

Taako leans on his elbows and returns that wink with extra force behind it.

"You could just put it in the tip jar." 

"Fair point." And he does. Because he is a fine summer gentleman, and maybe a tip will distract Taako from how sweaty he is. "I should, uh, I should let you get back to taking money from babies, but-" 

"But text me, yeah?" Taako grins. "You're too cute to let slip away." 

Kravitz sweats harder. 

"For sure, for sure. Just, don't, text and drive! Haha. Okay. I'm going, I'm going to go. And you're going, to. Keep working. Okay. Um. Thank you for saving my bacon with the number. You know, hygiene, it, um."

Taako laughs. 

"Lighten up, my guy," he says. "Summer's full of possibilities. Say, if I make enough money in this piece of shit, I can make a down payment on a food truck and really get the ball rolling, you know? That dollar fifty you gave me is pushing a dream uphill. So, I mean. Thanks, yeah?" 

"Yeah," Kravitz says dreamily. And Taako wraps things up and drives off, waving to Kravitz as he goes. Kravitz clutches his phone and, as soon as the ice cream truck is out of sight, absolutely does dance in the street. 

Thank God for nosy children. 

[mypoisonedvine]

Reader and Steve end up exposed to something on a mission that cause them to body swap. It would be hot as hell if one of them was seeing Bucky too and he decides to have fun with their misfortune.

(okay so this is kind of a crack fic so im sorry in advance asgjakhsagdj this is the WEIRDEST SMUT I’VE EVER WRITTEN... very nsfw and a slight touch of dubcon beneath the cut.)

you’d only been in Steve’s body for a few hours when you began to understand how deprived this man was.

you hadn’t gotten his memories.  you didn’t really understand how this had happened at all but you knew that for sure, because you distinctly recalled being you yesterday and now you were him.  and he was fucking horny.

maybe it was you, a little bit, but this was definitely his body acting of its own accord more than it was your mind inside of it.  it felt different in a guy’s body, for one.  it felt so different to have need like this, so much more all-encompassing than the subtle tingling in your gut that you normally felt when you were turned on.  damn, is this what it was always like for men?  you weren’t sure how they ever managed to get any work done.  maybe they don’t.

my cock is hard, you thought to yourself, trying to wrap your head around the concept.  you tried not to look down at it as you leaned back in your chair-- his chair, actually-- but you could feel it, not just the arousal coursing through it but the head curving back and digging into your hip.  

I can’t touch it, you decided, it would be invasive.  he’s not here to consent to me touching his body.  and you firmly believed that logic, and yet you felt your hand-- his hand-- reaching into the waistband of his uniform and pulling it out.  you whimpered just to feel warmth on it, though the sound was foreign to your ears as you realized you had his voice.

you had never been good at handjobs, but it was like instinct was guiding you as you stroked the cock you found in your palm.  his hands were sort of rough, something you normally liked but was not well-received in this body.  but it was enough-- it was just enough to satisfy this desperation that burned in your chest.  you could tell it had been so long since this cock had gotten attention from anything but this hand, you could feel how much he needed more but you, as his friend, understood why he didn’t get it.  he always told you he was too busy for dating.  frankly, if you got to this point, you wouldn’t really be worried about “dating” so much as “hooking up” but he was, understandably, not the type.

your head fell back as you bucked up into your hand, biting down on your lip-- and you’d always dreamed of tasting his lips, just not like this.  “fuck,” you hissed, the sound of his voice mundane to his body but driving your mind wild inside his stupidly beautiful head.  there was an urge to moan your own name, just to know how it would sound if he said it like this, but the idea was too weird for you go through with it.

then again, you were stuck in Steve’s body and jerking off so, ‘too weird’ was kind of a moot point.

you were jolted out of your rhythm when there was a knock at your-- his-- door.

“wh-who is it?” you stammered.

“it’s me!” you heard from the other side of the door. “or, well, it’s you!”

“shit,” you mumbled as you rushed to redress, running to the door-- you were so much faster in this body, unsurprisingly.  you weren’t really psychologically prepared to open the door and see yourself there.  you weren’t ready to be pierced by your own gaze, your own arms crossed in confusion.

“do you always get wet when you look at me?” Steve asked you suddenly.  “or is this just me... knowing it’s you?”

you swallowed, feeling an Adam’s apple bob in your neck-- what an odd sensation.

“does my voice always sound like that?” you asked when you heard his words from your mouth.

“we need to fix this before Bucky finds me again,” he demanded, “I barely managed to toss him off me.”

“... so I guess you found out about us too?” you winced, your secret fuckbuddies relationship now out in the open.

“more than I ever wanted to know,” he frowned.  his expression shifted as he looked up at you again.  “what were you doing?”

“what?” you asked, and you heard your own breathlessness.  “I wasn’t doing anything.  you always breathe like this.  don’t you have asthma?”

“I used to have asthma,” he corrected.

“yes, and now you have a vagina-- my vagina!-- so maybe we should focus on that and not you giving me this random third degree here?”

“whatever,” he scoffed, brushing past you to step into the room as you shut the door.  

“you didn’t... look, did you?” you asked nervously.

“uh, no,” he answered quickly, “did you?”

“I made a specific point not to,” you announced proudly.

“oh...” he mumbled, “good...”

“sooooo...” you changed the subject awkwardly, “any plans on how to fix this?”

“I was thinking we’ll start by trying everything we can think of, and work from there,” he offered.

“good plan,” you decided.  “maybe.... maybe, uh... we have to... go... somewhere?  or do something?”

“go somewhere and do something?” steve repeated incredulously. “you’re a real genius.”

“don’t make that face at me, you’re gonna give me frown lines,” you sneered.  “I can’t help it, okay?  I can’t think!  I’m distracted!”

“by what?”

“by... by stuff!” you defended, scratching the back of your neck-- it was your nervous habit, rendered entirely different by his short hair.

steve sighed, your chest rising and falling with his breath.  “it’s hard, isn’t it?”

“well, yeah, switching bodies is hard--”

“no.  it’s hard... isn’t it?”

your eyes went a little wide.  “ohhh. uh, yeah, it is.”

“god, I’m sorry,” he groaned, hiding your face in your hands, “it does that a lot.”

“how do you do anything?” you squawked.  “it’s like all I can think about is... is how bad I just need to be in something, something... warm!”

“welcome to my world,” he shrugged.

“you have to let me...” you began, but stopped yourself.  “no, no, we-- no.”

“what is it?” he asked.

“you have to let me fuck you.  me.  you have to let... you fuck me...?”

“won’t that be, you know... scarring?” 

you nodded.  “but I’m not sure we have a choice, please just-- just let me-- I know I want it.  I mean, I know my body wants it.  didn’t you say I’m wet?  I’m probably drenched by now, huh?”

he stammered a bit before answering. “um... I think so...”

“it feels warm, right?  warm and sensitive and like you need to be filled with something?”

“...kinda...” he replied hesitantly.

“please,” you groaned, “don’t tell me I’m the only one that’s ever thought about it.”

“no,” he answered, quicker than ever, “no, you aren’t.  you’re... you’re sure it’s okay?”

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” you finally admitted, “not like this, but I’ll take what I can get--”

“fuck it,” he mumbled before pulling you into a heated kiss, and with your eyes closed you couldn’t really tell the difference of who was who anymore, you just knew that it was him touching you and you didn’t really care that his hands were smaller and that his lips were softer.

you undressed each other at lightning speed, and there was a hand on your cock-- clearly he was pulling from his own experience with his own cock, because wow, he knew exactly how to touch it to make you gasp and whimper.

“you can look,” he offered to you when he pulled back from the kiss, “I know I did.”

“did you like what you saw?” you asked hesitantly.

“better than I ever imagined,” he grinned.  “I even put a finger inside you.  I’ll be honest, I’m not sure I’m gonna fit.”

“neither am I,” you sighed as you looked down at the thick member your own slender hand was wrapped around.  “fuck, steve... it’ll probably hurt you.”

“let’s just hope we can fix this tonight and you get to be sore tomorrow, not me,” he chuckled a little.

“k-keep stroking it, please,” you sighed, “I’m already-- I think I’m close.  I can’t really tell...”

“you should be able to feel it here,” he explained as he slipped his touch lower to cup your balls--

“oh,” you breathed, “this is... new...”

“oh please, it’s nothing compared to a clit,” he laughed, “that thing is sensitive.”

you realized that steve was taking much better advantage of this than you were-- while you had his body at your disposal, you needed to test out the superhuman strength.  it took you almost nothing to lift your own weight onto the desk, grinning as you saw him gasp at the show of strength.

“been a while since somebody lifted you?” you asked him with a smirk.  he didn’t reply, just spread his-- your-- legs and let you grind against him, just the warmth of a body enough for now even if you weren’t inside of it.  you kissed him again as you pulled him closer, thrusting to let that poor, sensitive cock slide over the delicate skin beneath you.

“well, well, well,” a voice echoed from the doorway.  you sat up and spun around to find Bucky, leaning around the wall with crossed arms and a satisfied smirk.  “it was just a matter of time before you two got together-- we all knew it.  no wonder you ran off so fast, babygirl... you had another engagement to attend to.”

“Buck, hold on--” Steve began.

“Bucky, this is not what it looks like,” you interrupted.

“then what is it?” Bucky asked with faux innocence.

you and Steve looked at each other, neither of you sure exactly how to answer that.  “it’s complicated,” you answered in unison.

“don’t worry about me, I’m not jealous,” he explained.  “we never said we were exclusive, no hard feelings,” he addressed Steve-- but he was talking to you.  well, he was trying to talk to you, but he didn’t know he was looking at Steve.  well, he was looking at you, but just your body-- oh fuck it, even you couldn’t make sense of it. “but Steve?” he chuckled. “he doesn’t even know what he’s doing.  he can’t make you feel as good as I can, I know it.”

he was like a blur as he pounced on you-- your body, at least, but it was Steve that was arching his back and moaning as Bucky licked and sucked at your neck, slipped his metal hand into your shorts and apparently found your most sensitive spots instantly.  Steve was already bucking up into his touch, your own moans echoing over the walls even if you weren’t the one making them.

“B-Buck, wait,” Steve protested, but he was too weak now to push him off, and too far gone into the pleasure to want to.

“feels good, hm?” Bucky purred, throwing a stray glance at you.  “are you jealous?” he asked you tauntingly.

“yes,” you admitted.

“jealous cause you know how good it feels when I make you come like this?” he pressed, and you froze.  

“do... do I?” you asked Steve anxiously.

“don’t look at him, look at me,” Bucky corrected firmly.  him? you wondered, but before you could ask, he answered your question, turning to address Steve pinned under him.  “I know it’s you, Steve.”

“what?!” you both gaped.

“she would never call me ‘pal’ like you did earlier,” Buck explained, “and she would never say no to me like you also did earlier.”

“hey!” you protested.

“and you,” he laughed, “I’d know that deer-in-the-headlights look anywhere, even on a different face.”

as embarrassing as this whole situation was, it was sort of nice to have someone else acknowledge it.  it made you feel less crazy.

“I can’t keep track of this conversation while there are fingers inside of me,” Steve shivered.

“it’s weird, isn’t it?” you smiled at him.  “good weird.”

“very good, very weird,” he agreed, breathing heavier as Bucky’s arm flexed from pumping his hand back and forth.

“she usually comes in just a few minutes from this,” Bucky explained to Steve, making you feel oddly exposed-- and not just because you knew they could both see the achingly-hard cock threatening to burst from the hastily-zipped pants.  “I know it’s you in there, but it’s still her body... so it should still be the same, right?”

“I-I’m close,” Steve replied, making Bucky laugh.

“oh, you’re even faster, damn.  go ahead and come for me-- don’t you wanna hear how she sounds when she comes?”

“yes.”

“don’t you wanna see that pussy cream all over my fingers?” 

“yes.”

“then beg me not to stop,” Bucky demanded, and instinct took over.

“please don’t stop,” you found yourself saying before Steve could answer, making them both turn to you.

“I’ve got you so well-trained,” Bucky grinned before looking back down at Steve beneath him.  “just like that, doll,” he repeated his instruction.

“don’t call me ‘doll,’” Steve barely managed to protest between loud moans.

“okay,” Bucky relented, “beg for me just like that, Stevie.”

“please!” Steve shouted instantly.  “please... please don’t stop.”

“one more time?”

“damn it, Buck, don’t stop!” he sobbed, and you wondered if you always looked like that when you came or if it was Steve’s expression painted on your own features.  Bucky, as always, wasn’t content with just one, and Steve’s eyes shot wide open as he realized that this could just keep going, over and over.  

“you’re-- you’re really not gonna stop,” Steve gasped.

“he’s mean like that,” you explained with a little smirk.  you were looking forward to getting back in your own body just for the multiple orgasms alone.

“how’s it feel, Stevie?” Bucky asked proudly.

“s-so good,” he answered dutifully, “so good it almost hurts.  fuck it hurts... but I want more, I wanna come again.”

“mm, so greedy,” Bucky praised.  “just one more, then we need to give our lonely friend some love... I bet she’s ready to make a mess in your pants just from watching me finger you--” he turned to you suddenly-- “isn’t that right?”

“yes,” you answered quickly.  “p-please, Bucky, I feel so... I need you.”

“I know, babygirl, it won’t be much longer,” he promised, “I can feel your cunt clenching on me already-- come on over here and feel for yourself.”

you hesitantly stepped closer, hissing a little as Bucky’s free hand grabbed your wrist and pulled your hand closer.  “see?  just put your finger in beside mine, I want you to know how tight you get when I make you come.”

you took a shaky breath but did as he asked, hearing Steve’s gasp as you inserted his thick finger into your slickened channel.  it definitely felt different than when you put your own fingers in yourself-- for him and for you.  it was different to feel your pussy around your finger when you couldn’t feel the finger in your pussy... if that made any sense.

“three’s too many,” Steve complained.

“and yet, here we are,” Bucky winked.

“I can’t,” Steve clarified, “it’s too big.”

“aw, she always says that but then she changes her mind... you will too,” Bucky decided.  “now just move like this,” he explained to you as you started to move with him, feeling the way your body responded instantly.  it built up so fast as you tried to keep up with Bucky’s pace, watching Steve cry out at the same time as your walls tightened around the assortment of fingers-- Steve and Bucky’s, flesh and metal-- inside you.

“you’re close,” Bucky informed both of you.  “feel the way that pretty pussy is getting so wet, holding on so tight?”

“y-yes,” you shivered, trying your best to ignore the pangs of need coursing through the cock you still struggled to acknowledge as your own.

“go ahead and come, Stevie,” Bucky encouraged, and that was all it took; Steve cried out as your whole body spasmed-- not just your body, but the body you were in.  You were coming, much to your dismay, without even being touched, ropes of hot come creating a wet patch on Steve’s uniform, and you couldn’t bit back the groans of pleasure as your gut flexed with each wave of the orgasm.

“oh, now look at that,” Bucky purred as he looked back and forth between Steve and yourself.  “you two both made a mess.”

“aw damn it, my uniform!” Steve protested as he looked at you.

“I think you need to help our girl clean up that mess,” Bucky cooed as Steve shot him a look.  “it’s been too long since you got your dick sucked... and I’ve always felt it’s your responsibility to solve your own problems.”

“I... I don’t know how,” Steve protested.

“I’ll show you,” Bucky promised as he guided Steve to kneel in front of you, helping you push down your trousers.  “just lick up some of that come first, nice and slow.”

you gasped the second you felt a warm tongue against your skin, your hands reaching out and finding a comfortable place to grip on your own hair-- and Steve moaned when you pulled on it.

“you like the taste of your own come, Stevie?” Bucky purred. “now put it in your mouth-- just the head, you might not be able to fit much else.  suck on it like a popsicle.”

you bit back a moan that wouldn’t been embarrassingly loud when you felt a warm, slick mouth wrap around where you were now much too sensitive.  

“look down, babygirl,” Bucky whispered to you.

“I-- I can’t,” you denied, “I can’t look.”

“but you look so pretty when you suck cock, doll, haven’t I told you a million times?”

you sighed but obeyed, opening your eyes and looking down at Steve looking up at you, but with your eyes, and with your lips stretch around his thick shaft.  “I... I do look pretty,” you agreed nervously.

“did you always wonder what Steve looks like when he’s getting his cock sucked?” Bucky asked you as he knelt down beside your body where Steve was using it for the moment.  “The answer is... very confused.”

“that might be unique to this situation,” Steve explained as he pulled away from you.

“keep sucking, whore, I didn’t say you could stop.”

that language made you both moan softly, but Steve obeyed.

“oh, we are going to have so much fun,” Bucky chuckled excitedly, and you already knew that you were in for a very long night.