#i always get inspired to draw some wiggles

[theartingace]

just for fun, some acrobatic Oryms

[lunarlando]

girl dad lando doing his babygirl's hair (she has his curls for sure hehe)!! he struggles a little but does a decent job at the end ~ maybe following a tutorial video or wifey is guiding him but creative freedom to you ❤️

so cute, thanks for the request! x

feel free to request more :)

“You’re in charge of one thing before we have to leave for brunch with your family.” 

Lando glances up from where he's laid out on the carpet tickling a wildly giggling Estelle to see you with your hands on your hips. 

You’re still one of the many shirts of his that you’ve resorted to using as pajamas since your currently seven month pregnant belly has popped, and you’re looking at him very pointedly, but he still smiles fondly at the sight of you. It’s just an unconscious thing that his face does, that it’s been doing since the day he met you. 

“Mama!” Estelle squeals, pointing at you excitedly. 

“Hi, my darling!” You wiggle your fingers at her, beaming at your little girl with enthusiasm.

“What’ve you got for me, babe?” 

“Be the best husband ever and do your daughter’s hair.” 

“Pretty sure I already am the best husband ever, but alright. Reckon her hair looks just fine the way it is, don’t you think?” He aims a sideways glance towards the toddler. Estelle’s hair is an exact replica of her father’s, tight curls that like to do whatever they want, as evident by the tornado of brown framing her chubby cheeks at the moment. Lando smacks his lips together, bobbing his head understandingly. “Yeah, okay, I’ll try my best.” 

“Thank you, love.” 

He scoops Estelle off the floor with an over-exaggerated grunt, climbing to his feet with her slung over his shoulder the way she always loves to be held by him. She shakes with peals of cute toddler giggles, patting him on the back surprisingly firm for a one year old, making him groan. “Woah, you’re getting so big and strong, Stell! C'mon, let’s go do your hair.” 

You press a grateful kiss to his cheek as he passes you, booping Estelle’s nose playfully before they make their way down the hall to the bathroom. 

Lando sets Estelle down on the bathroom counter, squinting at the items you’ve left next to the sink for him. A few combs, a small brush, a tiny water mister thing that he has no idea what to do with. 

As if you sense he’s confused, you call from the bedroom, “D’you need some help getting started?” 

“No, no. I’ve got this,” He calls back, grabbing a comb off the counter. “Dada’s got this, doesn’t he, lovebug?” 

Estelle is too preoccupied with looking at herself in the mirror to hear him, though if she did, she probably would’ve said no. He has no idea how to do her hair. Sure, he knows how to do his own hair (barely), and hers is similar to his, but it’s different. 

He pulls up the photo album he’s got on his phone of pictures of Estelle—ones he’s taken, ones you’ve sent him whilst he was away—hoping one of them will help him draw inspiration for today’s look. 

One that particularly catches his eye is a photo from the mini holiday you all took during summer break a few months ago, where Estelle’s springy curls are pulled into two bunches towards the top of her head. From what he remembers, those bunches quickly ended up smeared with applesauce, but they were adorable while they lasted. 

“Think this might be the one, how ‘bout you?” Lando turns the phone towards Estelle, showing her the photo. She aims a gummy smile at him, wiggling around happily. “Yeah, s’cute, innit? Alright, here we go.”

—

“Babe, would you c’mere for a second?” 

Lando’s voice rings out from the bathroom after twenty minutes of silence, save for the occasional giggle. You’re all done getting ready, and as much as you want to pop your head in to see what’s happening, you’ll give your husband the benefit of the doubt. You pad down the hallway as fast as your pregnancy waddle will let you, not knowing what to expect. 

“How’s it going in here, my loves?” 

Lando stands back with his hands propped on his hips, head tilted. “I think I did pretty decent, no?” 

Estelle’s got two tiny sort of space buns on her head, a little messy, but better than you were expecting, given Lando’s inexperience. She leans in your direction upon laying eyes on you, making grabby hands at you until you scoop her up. You shift her in your arms so she can see herself in the large mirror. 

“Look, baby! Who’s that over there?” You coo encouragingly, pointing at her in the mirror with a big smile. Estelle mumbles something unintelligible, patting herself on the chest happily. “That’s right, it’s you! Dada did a fantastic job with your hair, didn’t he? You look so cute!” 

Lando tosses the comb he’s holding behind his back and up over his shoulder, catching it and pretending to run it through his own curls in one smooth motion. “Call me Stell’s personal professional hairstylist.” 

He’s serious about it too, giving a straight face until you manage to come up with a response. 

“Is the racing not working out for you? Had to find another job?” You joke, chuckling lightly. He scoffs, bumping your hip with his. You reach up to give him a kiss on the cheek, then hold Estelle up too. “Give dada a kiss?” 

Estelle knows the word kiss very well. Execution, not so much, but she tries her best as she plants what has to be the world’s wettest kiss to Lando’s cheek too. A younger Lando might’ve wiped the slobber away immediately, but dad Lando has no problem with it. He’s changed a lot since his younger days, especially since becoming a first time parent. 

You’re both still navigating that journey together, but you’ll have a year and then some more experience once baby girl number two makes her arrival in t-minus two months time. But for now, you’ll cherish every moment with Estelle before your focus is split between two kids. 

“Oh, thank you for the kiss, lovebug!” Lando chirps, booping her nose gently. “Usually I’d charge top dollar for a mint hairdo like this, but I’ll take that as payment since you’re so cute. You get it from your mum, don’t ya?” 

“I dunno about that,” You hum, leaning into him. “Her dad’s pretty cute too.” 

You don’t have it in you to tell him one of Estelle’s bunches sits higher than the other, not when he’s smiling down so proudly at the two of you like you’re his world.

[ughgoaway]

playing on my mind

content warnings: swearing, referring to Matty as tall (look we all lie for plot purposes okay), dilf Matty and rushed writing... i think that's it? word count- 3.3k ish

a/n: woah this was quick but I am nothing if not impulsive!! this is just a one-shot but if y'all want a series I might do one?? idk it depends on how inspired I am lol. but yes this is just my little blurb-thing from yesterday fleshed out into an actual story!! I'm so glad people liked the idea, I hope this doesn't disappoint <333

(I didn't proofread this so I apologise if its utterly shit </3)

“And off you go! If you need your pencils sharpened or help, make sure you raise your hand! I’ll come to see you!” You say to the group of 30 little balls of energy in front of you. 60 eyes looking up at you might seem intimidating to most, but when it's a hyperactive group of 5-year-olds; the fear wears off slightly.

It was family tree week in your classroom, and you had given your little ones the usual task of drawing their family, each set up with pieces of paper and various pencils and pens to create their masterpieces. Seeing them smile and talk about their older sisters and brothers or how much they love their parents always warmed your heart. 

You originally got into teaching with every intention of working with teenagers. You were sure you shouldn't be moulding such young minds - you were never sure your mind was a very good example. But one test week in a year 1 classroom changed your outlook entirely. Seeing the pure, unadulterated joy on a young child's face was something beyond comparison. 

Getting to watch them grow and develop into little people brought you so much happiness that it could never compare to standing in front of a group of grumpy teenagers. Each teen boy clearly trying to get you over to their desk to “flirt” with you, well as much firting as a 15-year-old boy can do.

Seeing a child come out of their shell, make friendships, and discover their passions made your heart warm in a way nothing else did. So as soon as you qualified you jumped at the opportunity to teach these little ones, this class might be your first but you are sure it will always be your favourite.

And of course, despite what every teacher tells you, they have a favourite student. You were adamant when you began that you really wouldn't have a favourite but then little Annie Healy came bounding into your classroom with a mop of curly hair, untamable energy and the cutest slightly wonky smile you've ever seen. 

She very quickly stole your heart, always wanting to tell you stories and going off on tangents rather quickly, organising tea parties but soon getting distracted leaving you at a small table surrounded by teddy bears giving a toast. Her little body seemed to be filled with enough energy to power the world 3 times over, and you couldn't love her anymore. The idea that she would be leaving your class broke your heart every time you thought about it, despite people telling you not to get attached - you did,

You had just settled at your desk after explaining for the 4th time to Zach that sticking pencils up our noses isn't a very good idea. You ended up telling him if he pushed too far, he'd touch his brain, and soon after that, the pencils stayed firmly in his hand rather than up any nose. If any student was the problem child, it was him. You couldn't hate any student, but let's just say he's given you one too many impromptu haircuts this year to be in line for your favourite.

Soon your real favourite student stuck her arm into the air and wiggled it around in an attempt to get you to see her sooner, little Annie Healy was ever impatient- a trait that is only endearing on her. You quickly nodded and started wandering over, trying not to laugh at her large toothy grin back at you.

“Hi sweetheart, do you need some help?” you say, crouching down to her eye level, flashing a sweet smile.

“Hi miss y/n!” she began, her eyes flittering around your face before landing on your hair, and soon, her hands were stroking your head.

“Wow! I like your hair! It's got sparkly clips in it! You know I asked my daddy for some like that, and he said-” you gently placed a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to stop the tangent before it started. You knew she'd somehow end up keeping you there for 20 minutes, giving you a detailed list of all of her Barbie dolls and their jobs if you didn't redirect her quickly enough.

“Thank you, Annie! I saw your arm wiggling in the air earlier. Did you need some help?” her eyes light up as she remembered why she called you over here.

“Oh! Yeah, I want to write what's in my daddy’s hands, but I don't know how to spell it. Will you help me?” she says, bringing her attention back to her drawing and grabbing the black pencil to continue her work. It's the first time you actually looked at her drawing, and to say you were concerned would be an understatement.

Most drawings of family consist of the same basic elements; a mum, a dad, a sun in the corner, and a house that is wildly disproportionate to everything else.

So imagine your surprise when you look down to see 4 men in what seems to be leather jackets, holding various musical instruments, and a very tall dog next to them.

You blink a few times. Just checking what you're seeing is right. The lineup starts with a tall man holding a guitar, next to a slightly shorter man also holding a guitar with a mess of black scribbles on his head. Next up is a very tall man with drumsticks in his hands and a kit behind him, and finally another very tall man with a beard and a bass. The concern briefly melts away as you consider how impressive it is she knows the difference. In the bottom left corner is a black dog with very long legs and a big pink tongue sticking out, the dog was almost as tall as the first man but you're aware kids aren’t known for their skill with proportion.

No one had prepared you for this in teaching school, there was never a lecture about what to do if one of your kids does a mildly troubling family drawing of 4 men in leather jackets and a horse dog. You try to stutter a response to Annie, but no real words are leaving your mouth. Just a jumble of sounds, each one sounding more confused and stressed than the last.

You flash a look at her only to be met with a confused head tilt and sad eyes. Oh god. She thought you hated her drawing. Shit.

Time for damage control.

You make the decision then and there not to ask her about the details of her drawing, desperately trying not to make her cry. 

Maybe you could go and see her mum in the playground? Yes, that's what you'll do. You'll walk her out, have a brief discussion with Mum, and make sure Annie knows her family isn't 4 men in a band and then leave her be. That sounds like the professional thing to do.

You take a deep breath and smile at Annie, and soon her downturned lips flashed that cheesy grin you knew so well. You tighten your hand on her shoulder and grab a pen, ready to help her any way she needs. 

“Do you mean the word ‘guitar’ Annie?” she gives you an excited nod as you continue speaking, “Ah yes, that's a really hard word for even grown-ups to spell. Let's work it out together, hmm?”

With your mind racing you help her sound it out and label her drawing, even stopping to sharpen her black colouring pencil for her- there's a lot of black for young girls drawing but she's committed to an aesthetic, and part of you respects that.

On the walk back to the desk, you begin practising your speech in your head, trying to figure out how to ask why she’s drawing a band as her family without unknowingly offending mum. Maybe she just really likes music?

You run through your memories trying to think of her mentioning a band before, but nothing comes to mind, Annie doesn't even stay on track long enough to talk about her family. Always seeing something shiny and discussing that instead. 

You flick your eyes to her one more time just to see her animatedly talking with another little girl on her table, her hands gesticulating wildly and her curls bouncing as she tells her story.

The sight calms you slightly, seeing the little girl you know so well acting exactly as she should be. You have the fleeting thought that you might be overreacting, but eventually, you collect the drawings to see Annie had dated her work “1975”. Yup, that discussion with her parents was definitely happening.

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

The bell rings, and you manage to catch Annie just before she runs off into the playground without you, “Hi Annie! I have your drawing from today. Should we show it to mummy and daddy together?” her eyes light up as her curls bounce from her excited nods. 

You walk hand in hand out onto the playground, crouching down you make eye contact with Annie before asking, “Can you point out your mum or dad Annie?”

She nods and begins scanning the playground. You stifle a laugh at the look of concentration on the young girl's face. Her nose is scrunched along with her eyebrows, one hand pulling at a curl by her ear and the other holding yours. Soon, you see her face brighten, and her eyes fill with joy. 

“DADDY!!” is the scream that comes from the little girl as her hand shoots from her head to point to the corner of the playground, she starts dragging you before you even look up but as you do, you feel your heart drop.

As a student teacher, you'd definitely seen some hot dads, but they were still dads. Most were slightly creepy, partially balding, and talked about nothing but golf and their “annoying” wives. You were used to that kind of dad, not exactly this kind.

Standing nonchalantly in the corner of the playground was a tall man. A pile of salt and pepper curls sat on top of his head; untamed but effortlessly and obnoxiously cool. The white t-shirt he was wearing did nothing to hide the patchwork of tattoos that snaked up his arms. The low neck of the top even teased the top of his chest tattoo. Sunglasses sat on his face, they gave him an "I'm too cool" rocker vibe that, for some unknown reason, made you dizzy.

In one hand, he had a lit cigarette, something that was not allowed on school property, but the way his cheeks hollowed as he took a drag had you forgetting that rule completely. He dropped the butt of the cigarette to crush it with his heavy boots before taking a sip of the can of coke that was in his other hand. 

As he noticed you coming over, a dazzling smile broke out on his face. You felt your knees weaken as you tried to brush off how hot he was. 

You then realised you actually had to speak to this man. Fuck. You're not sure you even have a voice currently. If you opened your mouth, you're sure incoherent noises would come out, followed by wild hand motions trying to explain your insane behaviour.

The closer you got, the less you stared at him, feeling too intimidated to keep looking in his direction. This did mean you almost tripped 3 times, but you would rather fall than risk making eye contact with this intimidatingly attractive man.

Annie dropped your hand as you finally reached the man, and she jumped into his arms. He grunted at the force but soon began pressing kisses all over her face, smiling at her uncontrollable giggles.

Quickly, the man noticed your presence and stuck a hand out to introduce himself, “Hi! Sorry about that, you know what it's like when kids miss you. I’m Annie’s dad, Matty.” 

And this is where a normal person would introduce themselves, stick their hand out, and shake Matty’s. Maybe even say their name and start talking, but oh no. Not you. You stood there motionless and just said “Matty” breathlessly to yourself 3 times over.

Time dragged on in the 10 seconds Matty stood there with his hand out. If you weren't aware of how time worked, you would swear you stood there in stilted silence for 10 minutes. 

By some grace of god, little Annie Healy saved you and introduced you, “Daddy. This is Miss y/n. She wanted to come and show you my drawing." 

Matty retracted his hand and pushed the sunglasses that sat on the bridge of his nose up to his mess of curls, just as wayward as his daughters. His deep brown eyes met yours as he tilted his head questioningly at your behaviour. His smile remained wide at you, his tongue swiped over his bottom lip, and you felt your heart stutter. A litany of inappropriate thoughts swirling through your mind.

He quickly diverted his attention back to his daughter, “Oh really munchkin? Is your drawing just that amazing? Is Miss y/n going to send it to all the museums?” he said whilst tickling her sides. You smiled at the pair of them watching Annie throw her head back with erratic laughter. 

Finally, you manage to right yourself and begin speaking, “Right. Sorry about that, long day,” you explain, looking apologetically at Matty, who only nodded and tried to hide his widening smile at your flustered state. 

“I'm just here to talk about Annie's drawing,” you pause briefly and look at Annie in her dad's arms. Not wanting to disappoint her, you form a plan in your mind. “Hey Annie, why don't you go practise some hopscotch! I'm just going to have a quick chat with your dad, okay?”

Before you’d even finished your sentence, Annie was wiggling out of her dad's arms and running off.

“She's got endless energy that one hasn't she?” you say wistfully, staring off in the direction she ran, watching her jump around and giggle with some of her friends.

“Ah like father like daughter, I suppose” Matty says, grinning at your clear love for his little girl. He feels his heart warm at your caring eyes. “So what seems to be the issue? I'm sure you're not over here because the Louvre has asked for Annie’s drawing?” 

You laugh at Matty's joke, perhaps a little too hard. Nervous laughter was one of your less attractive traits, but you try to shake it off and have an actual adult conversation with Matty. 

“Ah no, no phone calls from Paris yet,” you begin laughing lightly, you pull out Annie's drawing and pass it over to Matty and start to analyse his reaction as you finish speaking, “I was just coming over to ask why Annie's family portrait is seemingly a band? I wanted to make sure she knows her family isn't 4 tall men in leather jackets and a surprisingly tall horse dog.”

As you finish your sentence, Matty bursts out in hysterical laughter, folding over as his chortling laughter takes over his whole body. Your face scrunches up at his reaction, your eyebrows are pinched, and a small frown overtakes your features. 

Eventually, Matty catches his breath and looks up at you only to realise how strange his reaction appears. His hand shoots up to your arm and begins to stroke it lightly as he attempts to explain himself.

Each featherlight stroke of his fingers made your breath hitch. You felt your eyes fogging over, and your ears felt as if they were stuffed with cotton wool, the surrounding sounds suddenly becoming muted.

A shake of your head brought you back to earth as you fought to focus on the words Matty was saying.

“Oh I'm so sorry, once you know the story you’ll understand my reaction” Matty began explaining with wide apologetic eyes, “basically Annie's mum isn't in the picture, it's just me and my 3 best friends,” he said smiling.

You lightly laugh and say, “Ah I'm assuming they are the man with the guitar, the one with the bass and the other with the drumsticks?” You finish with a teasing tilt of your head.

Matty's fingers encircle your wrist as that smile you've quickly grown to love appears on his face once again at your teasing.

“Yes those are the ones. You see we’re all in a band - hence all the instruments. I always tell Annie that Uncle George, Ross, and Adam are our family. So when you asked for a family drawing...”

“She drew her family!” You finish his sentence for him, staring at his hand and holding your wrist as you do. He quickly drops it, and you curse yourself for bringing it to his attention.

You wrap your arms around your stomach protectively in an attempt to hide your mounting embarrassment.

Matty smiles and starts to speak again, only to be interrupted by you, “Wait I understand that, but why did she date it ‘1975’?”

Somehow, Matty's smile grew again, “Our band is called the 1975. Weird, I know, but it comes from me being young and pretentious with a Jack Kerouac book.”

Before you could respond, Annie came bounding over and wrapped herself around her dad's leg, “Dadddd” she complained, pulling out the last letter to announce her annoyance to the world.

“Annieeee” Matty teased back in the same tone as her, picking her up as he did.

“Can we go home now? I want to see mayhem!!” she said, excitedly clapping her hands as she finished.

You shoot Matty a questioning look, and he quickly answers your silent query, “the horse dog” he says teasingly, parroting your earlier words back at you.

“Okay darling, let's get going then,” Matty says with a grunt, putting Annie down, grabbing her hand, and taking her backpack from her.

“Say bye to miss y/n Annie,” he says, smiling sweetly at you, but you can see the mischief brewing in his eyes.

His eyes keep your attention so long you almost miss Annie's sweet goodbye, “bye miss y/n! See you tomorrow! Can we talk about your sparkly clips tomorrow?” she asks with a tilt of her head.

“Of course, little miss Annie!” You say smiling at the young girl. You focus solely on her in an attempt not to get lost in her father's eyes again.

You watch them walk away but after a few steps they pause, Matty turns over his shoulder and waves with his free hand, “Bye miss y/n” he says with a teasing lilt to his voice and a flirty wink.

Before you can even process what just happened, he's strolling away casually, and all the mums in the playground are silently lusting after him.

A heavy breath leaves your chest as you start to watch him leave.

“Isn't he gorgeous” a voice behind you whispers, causing you to jump and let out a small scream. You hold a hand to your chest and look at your colleague with wild eyes.

“Oh my god, Amanda, please do not sneak up on me like that! I'm fragile” you say, now laughing at your ridiculous reaction.

“Sorry, sorry,” she begins giggling, “but isn't he just so hot? Annie was in my class last year, and I used to count down the days until parent’s evening! I mean, who wouldn't want to sit across a desk from a man who looks like that?” Amanda says, wiggling her eyebrows flirtatiously.

She begins to teasingly poke your sides at your awkward silence, and you quickly brush her off and straighten up, “Amanda! You can't talk like that about a parent!” You say, trying and failing to have any conviction in your voice.

“I can when the parent looks like that!” she says, smiling and watching Matty stroll away.

You huff at her behaviour and walk away, desperate to sit down and process what just happened.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your desk chair squeaks as you sit down behind your desk. You spin the chair and pick up a pen to begin marking some spelling tests from last week, but before long, you give up.

Staring off into space with endless thoughts poisoning your mind, only one thing can come out of your mouth. 

“fuck."

[naughtyneganjdm]

Turn That Frown Upside Down

Summary: Billy is at home having a hard time dealing with his visions of Kessler. After trying to determine why Joe Kessler is the man that his brain conjured up, Joe reminds Billy why he's certain Billy chose him.

Characters: Billy Butcher, Joe Kessler & Hughie Campbell

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57520939

Warnings: 18+, Swearing, Smut, Slash, Mocking, Dubious Consent, Butcher banging his imaginary best friend, etc.

Notes: This is a short little smutty slash fic that was inspired by this tumblr post made by @shirley-girly. Plus, I'd like to see Joe Kessler & Billy Butcher f*ck. I'm not gonna lie. Enjoy.

“You can’t ignore me forever you know,” Joe’s voice echoed in the back of Butcher’s mind again causing Billy to groan out in frustration. “You can’t get rid of me. Not with all that fun little super cancer growing inside of you. I’m here and I’m here to stay.”

“Ignoring ya has worked so far you cunt,” Billy pinched at the bridge of his nose, scoffing as he sank further into his couch, his thighs separating when he let out a frustrated breath. There wasn’t an escape from this because Joe was always there. Always mocking him whether he wanted him there or not.

“Aw, you’re being mean to me,” Joe spoke in a condescending manner as he dropped down on the couch beside Billy, his eyebrows bouncing up in amusement. “There’s the Butcher I know and love. The bastard of the man I always knew.”

“You’re not even real,” Billy blurt out as a reminder to his vision of his friend that he had lost back in the war. Maybe it wasn’t even a reminder to Kessler as much as it was a reminder to himself. The excitement of seeing Joe Kessler was something that had brought him some of the greatest happiness he had experienced in a while. Finding out he wasn’t real? Well that was an unfortunate event. Knowing that Kessler was part of him and the darkest parts of him was worse.

“I’m as real as you are motherfucker,” Joe reached out to curl his arm around Billy’s shoulders causing him to scoff. It was strange how he could still feel the touch and presence of Joe. It felt like Joe was really there even though Billy knew he wasn’t. “I’m as real as that cancer inside of your head.”

“Fuck off you wanker,” Billy snapped when Joe poked at his temple and he swatted Joe’s hand away. It had Joe snorting, his deep rumble of a laugh drawing chills down Billy’s spine.

“You say that now, but you don’t want me to leave,” Joe suggested, sliding down in a similar position to the way that Billy was sitting on the couch beside him. A long sigh fell from Joe’s lips when he wiggled his legs back and forth. “You want me here. You know that.”

“Oi, when I say fuck off, I mean fuck off,” Billy insisted, throwing his hand up again to give Joe the middle finger. It had Joe’s nose wrinkling in amusement before he shook his head.

“See, you say one thing, but your brain thinks another,” Joe lifted his hand to point at his own head, tapping at the temple. Unhurriedly, Billy tipped his head to the side to glance over Joe. “You keep forgetting that I am you. I’m a part of you. You don’t want me to go. You want me here because you miss me.”

“You’re a cunt, Kessler. You’re not even fucking real,” Billy retorted stressing once more what he knew to be the truth. “I don’t even know why my brain picked you. Of all the people in the world. It could have been Lenny. It could have been me dad. Instead, it was fucking you.”

“You know why it’s me,” Joe suggested which had Billy shifting on the couch, his eyes narrowing when Joe’s dimples became more prominent. “You may have left me there to die, but we both know how you felt about me…”

“I…” Billy paused, a lump growing in his throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do,” Joe grunted, reaching up to loosen the tie around his throat. A wince fell from his throat when he adjusted his positioning on the couch again. “You focus pretty heavy on that waitress you fucked, but you were still with Becca when you did the things you did with me.”

“Shut up,” Billy sneered, his eyes narrowing at Joe from where he was smirking beside him. “Nothing happened.”

“Oh, right. Sure. Nothing happened,” Joe mocked Billy, his head nodding about before a big, wolfish smile expanded out over his features. “Is that what you try to tell yourself at night to feel better about leaving me to die or is that something you’ve truly tried to make yourself believe? Because fuck, I sure as hell have a different memory.”

“I don’t get why I’m even bothering talking to you,” Billy tried to force himself to look away from Joe who turned on the couch to keep his stare locked on Billy. Joe’s hand outstretched to lay across the back of the couch behind Billy. It had Billy’s breathing growing louder with how Joe was locked on him as if expecting him to act a certain way. “Fuck off Kessler.”

“Maybe I can help you remember,” Joe’s voice was quiet and it had Billy sucking in a sharp breath of air. “I’ll go with the first time. Maybe that will fucking help you stir some shit up in your brain. It was late at night. We were alone in the tent. Drinking. Drinking a lot…”

“Stop,” Billy demanded, his voice raising with every muscle in his body tensing up.

“I remember distinctly you talking about missing the touch of someone. How you’d wake up with your cock hard every morning. How much you missed fucking,” Joe continued and in that moment it had a breath catching in Billy’s throat when he felt Joe’s hand lowering in over his thigh. “We started swapping stories, when…”

Billy’s eyes came to a tight close when he felt the warmth of Joe’s breath lingering at the side of his face. A tremoring exhale escape his throat when Joe started kissing at his jawline toward his neck. It had Billy’s lips parting, his Adam’s apple bouncing in his throat. The sensation had Billy’s heart kickstarting in his chest and it felt like the room was spinning. Leisurely, Joe’s hand slid up further until Joe reached between Billy’s thighs cupping him firmly. Tipping his head back gave Joe room to start nipping at his flesh. The rough sensation of Joe caressing over his length had Billy holding back making a sound.

“Stop,” Billy screamed, shoving Joe back hearing his laugh fill the air when Billy knocked him away. “Enough.”

“You were uncomfortable then too. But I saw it. I saw it in the way you looked at me. The way you would watch me when we’d fucking shower. Stealing glances at my fucking dick every chance you got. Asking me to pull it out so we would have our dick measuring contests,” Joe hissed, moving forward again to grab a firm hold of Billy’s face to get him to lock in on him. “The way you followed me around like a lost fucking puppy dog, listening and doing everything I told you. You may pretend with others, but with me you couldn’t hide that fucking part of you. No, you couldn’t.”

“It was a mistake,” Billy winced surprised with the pain he actually felt from Joe’s grasp on his face.

“A mistake happens once. Not multiple times,” Joe claimed, his eyebrows furrowing when his lips pressed in closer to Billy’s. Sliding in closer to Billy, Joe’s fingers pulled apart Billy’s belt in a swift movement. Next was forcing open the button of Billy’s pants and then Joe’s rough fingertips tugged at the zipper. Instead of fighting him, Billy’s hips arched up when Joe’s fingers sank beneath the material of his pants. Once the strength of Joe’s fingers curled around his cock, Billy groaned out and closed his eyes. “Any chance we were alone, you were always crawling in beside me wanting me to play with your dick while you played with mine.”

“This isn’t real,” Billy tried to remind himself with a slur, his moan filling the air with Joe jerking him off. Grunting, Billy felt Joe releasing his face to help get the material of his pants to the bottom of his waist allowing Billy’s hard cock to bounce free from the prison it was behind.

“Tell that to your rigid fucking cock,” Joe teased Billy, hovering his lips over Billy’s. When Joe’s lips came crashing down over his, Billy didn’t fight him. In fact, he kissed him back. Hungrily. Wanting the sensation that it brought forth. Joe wasn’t gentle in the way he was stroking Billy’s manhood. Yet it had Billy thrusting his hips up toward the movements. “It’s just like it was then. You being a little bitch, yet inside your pants you couldn’t hide your erection. Thrusting your hips up into my grasp like the thirsty little fuck that you are.”

A deep rumble of a moan escape his lips when he felt Joe biting at his bottom lip, giving it a firm tug. It was rough and after Joe did it, Billy was certain he tasted his blood in his mouth afterward, “This was always how it started off. Drinking, getting close, being bitchy and it would lead to my hand down your pants and yours down mine. Jerking each other off. And once we came you’d run off at first. Until you started wanting more. There was always that curious side to you Butcher. The one that wondered what things felt like. You were such an alpha male that you needed to have that power taken away sometimes.”

“Don’t,” Billy whined when Joe started kissing down over the side of his neck. There had been so much pain lately from the way that he was feeling that the pleasure from the hand job was welcomed. Yet, he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear this. To think about this.

“I promised you then that I wouldn’t tell anyone how you liked sucking my cock and having me do the same for you,” Joe grumbled, his nose nudging slightly at Billy’s jawline. Grasping tightly to Billy’s neck with his free hand, Joe forced Billy to tip his head back and bit at Billy’s neck having him wincing out. “Or how you would crawl into my cot sometimes to ride my cock.”

“No,” Billy tried to reach for Joe’s wrist to get him to stop.

“No? No to what Butcher? I’m part of you. And the real Joe would know the truth too,” Joe’s face scrunched up. A grunt fell from Butcher when he felt Joe tugging at his leg getting him to slide down onto the couch. Growling out, Butcher felt the strength of Joe turning him over onto his stomach. Pulling him up onto his knees. It had Butcher’s face pressing into the couch cushion when he felt the material of his pants being tugged down his thighs. “Come on Butcher. Let’s turn that frown upside down.”

“This isn’t happening,” Billy’s eyes slammed shut when he heard the sound of Joe’s belt being pulled open. There was shifting behind him, a weight change on the couch bringing him in closer to the warmth that was pressed against his bottom. Lazily opening his eyes, Billy watched Joe’s hand outstretch to reach for the drawer in the coffee table. Pushing things around had items falling to the floor before Joe grabbed a small bottle. A moment later, there was a pressure at the back of Billy’s head pushing him further into the couch. “This isn’t real.”

“Tell yourself whatever you have to make yourself feel better,” Joe’s voice rumbled from behind him with the slick sensation of the lube that had been grabbed pouring over his ass. It had Billy’s forehead clenching, his lip sucking into his mouth. “But notice you ain’t running from the idea Billy. You know just as much as I do why I was the person you conjured up.”

“Fuck,” Billy arched forward when he felt fingers prodding at his ass. It had him wincing out when he felt one finger being pushed inside of him before another working to open him up. It had been a while since he felt something like this, but he wasn’t rushing away from the idea of it. Joe wasn’t wrong. That was a part of him that he tried to push away for so long and hide. At first, Billy’s fingers dug into the material of the couch, wincing with the way that Joe’s fingers thrust inside of him. He was fighting just how much he truly wanted this. How much he needed to feel this.

“You were always my little bitch Billy,” Joe growled out, pulling his fingers from Billy’s body. There was another pop of the lid from the bottle that Joe grabbed before he was throwing it on the coffee table again. “And you loved every second of it.”

“Bloody hell,” Billy felt the fingers digging at his flesh pulling him back. Wincing out, there was a pressure at his tight hole with Joe lining himself up with Billy’s body. Groaning, Billy’s eyes squeezed shut when he felt the warmth of Joe’s cock pressing into him. It had him fighting to not make a noise. Joe was not one for subtle or taking time. In fact, the moment he thrust into Billy, he only gave him enough time to get used to the sensation of Joe before Joe’s hips were thrusting fast from behind. The sounds of flesh smacking filled the room and it had Billy humming out. “Kessler…”

“This is the Butcher I know,” Joe grunted from behind Billy, his hands bringing Billy firmly back against him while he fucked his former friend. “People would be so shocked to know that the Butcher they knew used to beg for me to fuck him in the middle of the night while pleading with me to let him come.”

“Shut up,” Butcher winced, his hand reaching back to squeeze at Joe’s flexing hip while the thrusts were forceful bouncing Butcher upwards. Keeping his eyes closed helped Billy focus on the pleasure of what it was drawing from him and he moaned out when he felt Joe’s left hand curling around him to wrap his fingers around Billy’s swollen cock. When Joe’s movements stopped it had Billy hissing out. “Keep going…”

“You want to come Butcher?” Joe leaned over Billy, biting at Billy’s earlobe before snickering. The warmth of Joe’s breath had chills running down Billy’s spine. “Then make yourself come. Fuck yourself on my cock like the bitch that you are.”

“I hate you,” Billy maintained with an angered sound after Joe pressed into the back of his head firmly burying it against the couch. Using the strength that he did have, Billy started rocking his hips backward taking Joe in. Then gradually pulled forward allowing him to pull out. It had a breath catching in Billy’s throat and with each movement Billy was able to make it stronger. At the same time, it had his hips bouncing forward toward Joe’s hand that was curled around his hard cock jerking him off. So he was getting stimulation both from his prostate and from fucking Joe’s hand.

“It sure looks like you don’t fucking hate me,” Joe’s moan was loud in Billy’s ear, the grasp Joe had on Billy’s hair growing tighter while Billy worked to fuck himself with Joe’s cock. “You always did love riding my cock Butcher. And you looked good doing it. Just like you do now. Sick and all…”

“Fuck…” Billy’s face grew hot, both of their breathing labored while Billy controlled the movements and the tempo that was set between them. He wanted it hard. He wanted it rough. He wanted to feel everything. There was a tightness in Billy’s testicles with his thighs tensing up. He was nearing an orgasm.

“That’s it, almost there,” Joe urged him on, his moans matching Billy’s with his fingers that were in Billy’s hair digging so tightly into his flesh that it felt like it would leave a mark. “Come on Butch…show your old friend just how much you hate him.”

Joe bit at Billy’s chin with Billy growling out when he felt the first line of his cum cover the couch beneath him. Keeping up with his movements, Billy rocked back against Joe until he reached the end of his orgasm. At the end, Joe took control pumping his hand furiously over Billy’s cock drawing him to moan out at the sensations it drew deep from within him.

“Uhm, Butcher,” another voice pulled Billy from the moment, drawing his head to turn to see that Hughie was standing at the door to his apartment holding onto the doorknob. Breathlessly glancing back over his shoulder, Butcher grumbled to himself when he saw that his vision of Joe was snickering and buckling his pants back together as he sat down. “I can come back if you’d like me to.”

“What did ya see?” Billy shakily stood up, his body weak when he pulled his pants together. Hughie’s face was red, his eyes doing their best to avoid making eye contact with Billy.

“Nothing,” Hughie stammered, waving his free hand up in the air to avoid the conversation.

“Oi, don’t be a cunt,” Billy called out, noticing that his cum was covering his hand and he reached for a tissue from the coffee table. “Tell me what you saw.”

“Well, you were on the couch…” Hughie pointed in the area of the couch, it had an amused expression over Joe’s face while he kept his hazel eyes locked on Billy. “You were humping what looked like the air while jerking off.”

“Oh,” Billy adjusted his clothing and sat down on the couch attempting to catch his breath.

Billy could have been embarrassed that Hughie found him in a fairly sexual position, but it wasn’t the worst position someone found him in so there was no reason to feel bad about it. He knew Hughie had seen worse, so it was what it was.

“Was I supposed to see something else?” Hughie stepped into the apartment, cautiously closing the door.

“Like what?” Billy cleared his throat, shrugging his shoulders when Hughie moved across the room to sit on the coffee table before him. “What are you doing?”

“Sitting,” Hughie was quick to respond, his face scrunching up in confusion.

“There is a spot next to me,” Billy looked to the couch to see that the cushions were covered in his seed. Hughie made a disgusted face when Billy snatched another tissue to clean things up. “It’s not like it’s the worst thing you’d ever had happen to ya. Sitting in a bit of cum.”

“Right…” Hughie shifted uneasily on the coffee table before Billy. Tossing the tissue at the garbage, Billy missed by a long shot and grunted. “So you like the ass thing with the fingers. Annie has been trying to get me into the pegging thing. Started with one finger, worked her way to two, but…”

“I don’t need to hear about starlight fingering your asshole,” Billy was disgusted, scoffing out and waving his hand in the air.

“I just figured since you like ass play maybe you could give me some tips,” Hughie rambled when Billy groaned and got up from the couch. “You were using your fingers there and…”

“The boy has no idea how much you like ass play,” Joe snickered from behind Billy and it had Billy tensing up. “How do you think he would feel to know that you like being fucked in the ass by your imaginary fucking friend.”

“Shut up you wanker,” Billy retorted hearing Joe snort when Hughie went pale. Realizing that Hughie thought he was talking to him, Billy threw his hand up in the air and tried to think quickly of something. “If you like it. Do it. If you don’t. Don’t. It’s not that hard. It’s just a few fingers in your ass. How hard can it be?”

“Smooth,” Joe joked, stretching his legs out from where he was seated on the couch. There was a sense of arrogance flooding over his features and Billy realized there was no getting rid of this part of him. But Joe was right, he wasn’t sure he wanted him to go. After what just happened, Billy knew there was a part of him that he would have to start embracing and accepting. It didn’t mean he would tell anyone about it. He was fucking nuts after all. But there was a reason he picked Joe. As fucked up as it was, the answer was always right there for him to see.

[ronearoundblindly]

For my favorite Steve 🥰💙🖤 (Fools Rush In)

29. Describe their nighttime routine.

30. What are their respective love languages? Do their love languages work well together?

38. Who’s got a quicker temper?

Questions are from this ask game and about this post-Endgame AU with Steve Rogers x lab tech!Reader.

29

There's no TV in your shared apartment because there are so, so many monitors on the compound. Steve likes some peace and quiet, to listen to records or the radio, or simply to read. Nighttime offers less drawing inspiration than daylight outdoors, but occasionally he'll putter with some sketching. That's harder to do while sitting right beside you on the couch, or while you lay with your head in his lap (and vice versa). Even if Steve reads, he has one hand on you, resting. In fact, he particularly enjoys books on tape because you two can snuggle and just relax.

This is your time to chat about the day, too, but since not everyday is very exciting, being present is enough.

All that is done in the living room because Steve is a bit of a purist in what you do where. Eat at the table. Relax on the couch. Sleep in the bed. Do not eat in the bed; that's not what it's for. Weird old fart...

It's fine to get sleepy on the couch, but it's very rare to stay asleep there all night.

For the most part, bedtime routines in the bathroom are separate. There's a His & Her's sink in the master bath, so if that's all anyone needs, you brush teeth and wash face side-by-side.

Steve starts out laying on his back with you curled up against his chest and hip. He does progressive relaxation to force his muscles to release tension from the day. He's so bulky now that this is crucial. It helps elongate his spine so when he does turn over to spoon you, Steve is properly gelatinous to mold around the back of your body.

Sometimes, if Steve can tell you're not asleep yet, he'll start humming your song, and he enjoys that he can hear your smile when you chuckle and wiggle deeper into his hold.

He runs hot, so Steve prefers a fan on in the bedroom which serves as low, white noise. He doesn't mind if you need a thicker blanket, however, he just mostly likes the air circulation.

30

If it's not obvious from Steve's nighttime routine, his love language is quality time. He appreciates the quiet moments you spend with him more than most celebrations. Time is precious to Steve Rogers. He understands its value. You giving him your time means everything.

(Not trying to make assumptions about every reader's love language, but I'm gonna wing it for Keeps.)

You thrive on words of affirmation, and Steve becomes better and better at communicating. He starts out so guarded because of the life he leads: his job is acts of service, he doesn't experience physical touch like other, he's...sorta terrible at gift giving, and Steve is being watched and listened to constantly. He's leery of everyone and everything. F.R.I.D.A.Y's everywhere--worse than J.A.R.V.I.S was--which takes a lot of getting used to.

He gets better, though. Steve has had to get comfortable with a lot of new-to-him behaviors. Not that he wouldn't have been nice and communicative with a girlfriend in the '40s, but he never had a girlfriend before. He's had zero practice, and at first, he's very awkward. Eventually, the words come easily, albeit always softly in public. He hates the idea of anyone else being in your relationship. They're there anyway.

Fools's Steve says "I love you" to you often, but the words have about three thousand variations of intonation and subtext, from playful to pissy. If you aren't alone, it's usually whispered.

Other than that, Steve not only tells you how lovely you look--even when you don't feel beautiful--but annoyingly and obviously means it every single time. You can see it in his eyes and his body language. It took a while to accept that he truly loves you and finds you beautiful. Your mind fought against accepting that. You were convinced by his every hesitation that it meant he couldn't possibly love you, but that wasn't true. That's not what was going on.

Steve took a while to sift through his feelings and hangups, but the question was never whether he loved you or was attracted to you. He worried whether or not he could be the partner he wanted to be to the right person.

38

Technically...Steve???? This one's a little complicated.

You get truly angry only after something has been stewing for a long time. Consistent, tiny annoyances or frustrating behaviors eventually boil to the surface in infrequent rages.

Steve, on the other hand, is cool as a cucumber until the most random, damndest things just 🫰🏼set him off. He's a cheeky bastard when his feathers are rumpled the wrong way. It's odd and totally hilarious.

He spends so much time as Cap letting everything just roll off his back like a duck in water. He has to go with the flow. He can only control himself and what he does in the future. He gives orders, yes, but humans err; Steve understands that maybe nothing he plans will go correctly. He's prepared for that.

But...what Steve isn't prepared for is people putting a vinyl record in the wrong dust jacket with no indication as to where the correct one will be. What kind of imbecile-- He can't stand his to-go order being totally opposite what it's supposed to be because seriously he didn't even make any substitutions! And absolutely hysterically, he can't handle there not being a 'wet floor' sign when the very shiny floors happen to be very slippery.

For a big man, Steve falls hard.

He got some great height though... Spun nearly 200 degrees mid-air before flopping the landing and bouncing against the far wall. Spectacularly funny when you know he isn't hurt. It's not even a pride or ego ding for Steve; he's simply furious that someone not-him could have been the one to slip.

So yeah, technically Steve has the quicker temper, but his anger lasts less time than yours.

Thank you for asking!

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

Tags: @supraveng @1950schick @patzammit

@whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses

@jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn

@late-to-the-party-81 @rogersbarber @im-a-slut-for-fluff @fangirl-swagg

@georgeweaslysgirl @austynparksandpizza  @claireelizabeth85 @jamneuromain

[twodogs-twocats]

Taste Me (Sleep Token's Vessel x fem pov) 18+, NSFW

You have a rather gory nightmare about your boyfriend Vessel. Upon waking, Vessel comforts you by drawing inspiration from the nightmare itself. Inspired by the song "Sugar."

Warnings: SMUT - 18+, Minors DNI. Oral, gore, cannibalism, bondage, scary scenarios.

I’ve had this idea floating around in my head for awhile. Sugar is one of my favorite songs, gets me super inspired 😉

We still know how to bleed.

I woke slowly, my consciousness settling bit by bit. A cold, flat surface pressed into my back, but the chill of it was not quite enough to pull me out of my stupor. My eyes remained shut, heavy and dry from sleep.

I took in a shuddering breath. A strange warmth permeated my chest, sort of like I was melting. In fact, my whole body felt wrong, weightless and incorporeal. My mind scrambled to figure out why I had not woken up in my bed, but it couldn’t grasp anything solid. Everything felt foggy, just beyond the realm of understanding. 

I unglued my tongue from the roof of my mouth, licking apart my lips. Cautiously, I wiggled my fingers, trying to summon some energy to my limbs. My bones, however, creaked in protest.

“I wouldn’t move too much if I were you.” The voice came from somewhere behind me. I attempted to tilt my head toward the voice, immediately bringing on a wave of nausea. 

“I need you to stay still so you can keep marinating, my love.” 

Vessel? I knew that voice better than anything. I relaxed slightly. If Vessel was here, then I was okay.

“Vessel, where are you?” I mumbled in a gravely voice.  Even speaking brought about a soreness deep in my chest. “What is going on? Where am I?” Marinating?

A shuffle of fabric, followed by the creak of floorboards.

“My love, you are so, so sweet.” His voice was closer now, like he was standing above me. “I needed to taste you. And not just your soft lips, your gentle breath — I needed more. I am quite addicted to you, you know?”

A chill ran down my spine and at that moment I realized I was completely naked. The cool air whispered along my bare skin. I tried to move my hands again, but it felt like something was holding my wrists captive to the surface underneath me. I began to struggle against the restraints, yet every movement sent a jolt of pain through my body. Panic set in.

“I promise I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” Vessel continued. His voice was low, dripping with a feral sensuality. “I tried to make sure you wouldn’t feel a thing. I only wanted a taste. But then I had more, and more, and more.” Behind my closed lids, I could now feel his warm breath on my face. 

“Vessel, what are you talking about?” My chin trembled. “Where am I? Why can’t I move?” A tear escaped my eyelids, sliding down my cheek. “I don’t feel good.” 

“Do not cry beautiful.” He said, wiping my tear away. “Come, let me show you just how much I crave you.”

I felt his fingers brush across my eyelids, using the moisture of my tears to slowly lift my lids open. At first the light above me burned, and I squinted against the glare. Little by little, the room came into focus.

I was in my dining room. I could tell by the dusty chandelier above me. So the surface I was laying on must be my dining table… which made absolutely no sense.

Vessel appeared just off to my right, handsome as always. As I took him in, I noticed there was more red on him than normal. In fact, almost all the exposed skin of his face and chest was covered in thick rivulets of red liquid. It looked like blood.

“You are truly a delicacy,” he whispered, his teeth bared slightly. “In fact, you’ve spoiled me. I had thought I would save the best for last, but I just couldn’t resist. It was just so… tempting.” 

Vessel now held his hand out towards me, his fingers wrapped around something thick, round, and red. The same red liquid that coated Vessel’s face dripped off the object, falling to the floor. It looked like some sort of raw meat. Bile rose in my throat. Whatever it was, he had been eating it. My Vessel, eating something so -

“Thoroughly delicious. That is what you are.”

The thing in his hand was moving rhythmically. Thump thump, like a beating heart.

And then it hit me, everything falling into place. My breath came in gasps, my head ached, sweat pooled under my shoulders. With all this panic, this confusion, my heart should have been pounding too. But instead my heart was utterly quiet. I became cold as ice, as I pulled my gaze away from Vessel and looked down at my chest.

Where there should have been skin, there was a gaping hole, running from the bottom of my throat to the top of my belly button. Sticking out of my chest like blood-covered trees were my upper ribs, as though they had been broken and forced apart. My lungs were there, frantically expanding and contracting amidst the gore. But where there should have been a heart, there was nothing. 

My heart, utterly devoured by Vessel.

“I can’t give you up now, my love.” He smiled a bloody smile. “I’ve developed a taste for you.”

I screamed.

We still know how to feed. 

I shot upright in bed, struggling to catch my breath. Frantically, I brought my hands to my chest. There it was, the strong, rhythmic beat of my heart.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” Vessel sat up next to me, turning on the bedside lamp. I flinched away from him as the light hit his face, and his eyes immediately flooded with concern. 

“Hey, you’re okay, you’re safe.” He held his hand out towards me, just far enough to let me close the distance. My Vessel. The one I love, a gentle voice in my head whispered. My body slowly relaxed and I let out a big sigh. Vessel would never hurt me. It was just a bad dream. I took his hand and allowed him to pull me into his lap. His broad chest pressed into my back as he wrapped his arms around me.

“You’re okay, everything is okay.” He whispered into my hair. The warmth of his breath sent waves of ease down my spine. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It was just a bad dream. You- you were in it,” I spoke shyly, nervous to admit how afraid of him I had been. “You were… eating me.”

“Oh?” He smirked. “And why is that bad dear? Was I that bloody dreadful at it?”

I chuckled. He always knew how to make me feel better. “No, not like that. You were eating me alive. You had me all tied up and cut open. And you were eating my heart. It was pretty awful.”

He pulled me tighter. “I’m so sorry love. It was just a dream. You know I would never hurt you.”

“I know,” I said, nuzzling into his chest. 

We sat quietly for some time as I filled him in on some of the more vivid details of my dream. He ran his hands along my arms and my back, laughing lightly at some of the more absurd bits. Gradually I found myself laughing too. My dream was already fading into the void where dreams go.

“Just so you know, while I may not be eating you alive anytime soon” he smirked, “I do still find you quite addicting.” His fingers softly grasped my chin as he pulled my face to his. Rather that his typical ornate white mask, he usually wore a soft cotton mask to bed. His chin was still left exposed, and my gaze settled on his lips as they formed a slow smile. “I don’t want your last thought of me before bed to be me as some sort of psychotic cannibal. Allow me to make a better impression.”

My hand lightly traced the lines of his chest and abdomen. The image of him eating me on the dining table flashed into my mind, but somehow, rather than making me afraid, I felt a yearning in my core.

He leaned his face towards me and I brought my mouth to his. The kiss started gently, like he was asking a question. As much as Vessel claimed to be addicted to me, it was nothing compared to my voracious desire for him. I turned to face him fully, coming to straddle his lap. I knew he understood my answer when he ran his hands through my hair, grabbing fistfuls of it as his lips pressed more forcefully into mine. I felt his tongue travel along my mouth, and I parted my lips to let him in. The taste of him fully consumed me as he explored.

His large hands began to travel down my back until he found my ass. Fingers digging in, he pulled me closer to him. I felt his cock beneath his black boxers, already hard and pressing against me. My low belly started to burn with anticipation. I rocked my hips back and forth, grinding against his length, encouraging his arousal. His fingers tightened their grip as he moaned into my mouth.

Before I knew it, he had flipped me onto my back, pushing my oversized t-shirt up to reveal my naked body. “I really could eat you,” he chuckled deeply. Only Vessel could turn something so terrifying into something so incredibly sexy.

He began to trail kisses down my body, lingering at each of my nipples as he pulled them into his mouth with a soft bite. I gasped at the wetness of his tongue. The kisses continued all the way down to my thighs, where he took the sensitive flesh of my legs between his teeth.

My hips bucked, wanting more, wanting his mouth on me. “My my, aren’t you hungry?” He growled. I whimpered in response. “Let me show you how hungry I am too.” 

Vessel’s mouth met the wetness between my legs. His tongue trailed between the folds, sucking, biting, kissing. He slipped his tongue inside of me, moaning at my taste. Every movement of his was intended to please. His strong arms pushed my legs farther apart as he took my clit in his mouth. I cried out at the intense feeling, trying to pull away, but he held me firmly in place. He brought one hand back to my breasts, his thumb circling my nipples, overwhelming me with sensation. I felt heat building as I approached orgasm. If this is what it felt like to be consumed by Vessel, then it was no nightmare. It was euphoria.

“Good girl,” he said, his breath hot against me. “But I know you can give me more.” He quickly brought his mouth back, resuming his feast. Stars flashed across my vision as I came, my back arching away from the bed. He continued to taste me through my orgasm, relishing every moment. 

As I slumped back into the bed, I watched Vessel lick his lips, delighting in my taste. Seeing how much he enjoyed me led to another wave of arousal. I always needed more of him. He must have seen this in my eyes, for he started to crawl back up towards me. His lips met mine for a kiss, and I tasted myself on him.

“Don’t worry my love.” He grinned down at me, a trail of sweating traveling down his bare chest. “I always come back for seconds.”

[amazingmsme]

The Boo Brothers

AN: Late, I know, but class doesn’t get out til 9. This prompt was really fun to write! Peter & Miguel are really goofy & I just love them. How you enjoy day 10!

Peter B. Parker was a class A goofball. He liked playing games and being silly, but most importantly, he liked making people laugh and have some fun. And he was damn good at it.

Halloween always put him in a bit of a spunky mood, and he felt inspired to cause a little mischief. Maybe the chill in the air put a spring in his step, or the fun and spooky atmosphere reminded him of his love of lighthearted pranks. Whatever it was, he felt the need to pull one over on someone. He was walking down the hall when he passed an open door and saw the usual spider-gang hanging out in the wreck room: perfect.

The idea popped up so suddenly and without any preamble, that it nearly startled Peter. But he shoved his hands into his robe pockets and casually strolled in, going along with it as if he'd had this plan all along. He had a natural commitment to any bit tossed his way the likes of which you have never seen.

That is not to say that the others don't know when he's doing a bit. Quite the contrary. It is rather obvious when Peter begins some long winded ruse, but everyone is too interested in where he's going with it to put an end to it.

He flopped his right hand around in his pocket, wiggling fingers, anything he could to make it look like something was caught in there. Pavitr was the first to take notice, doing a double take when he noticed the frantic movement of his pocket and stared with wide eyes.

"Dude, what's going on with your pocket? Did you catch a squirrel or something?" he asked, drawing the rest of their attention to Peter, and now they all wanted to know what the hell he had in his pocket. Peter played along.

"Heh, no. I wish it were that simple," he said in a serious tone. He schooled his features, lunging a trapped hand at Gwen, who happened to be the closest. She squealed and jumped back as Peter reigned in his arm.

"What the hell Peter?" she asked, cheeks faintly flushed. He did his best to act apologetic.

"I'm sorry, but that's why I came to see you," he said, clutching onto his right wrist with his other hand, forcing it to stay inside the pocket. They all stared at him with confused looks.

"I'm sorry, what?" Gwen asked, arms crossed. Peter rolled his eyes, as if annoyed he had to explain himself.

"Um, look, I'll just cut to the chase. Ghosts and demons and stuff are cool now, right? And you guys are all pretty cool kids, so you're keeping with the trends-" he rambled. Miles furrowed his brows in worry and utter cluelessness, looking to Hobie for any indication of what the actual fuck he was talking about. Hobie arched a brow and shrugged, sporting an amusedly confused smirk. "I guess what I'm trying to ask is, do you guys know anything about possession?"

Gwen scoffed. "You think you're possessed?" she asked skeptically.

“Absolutely! And I’d appreciate it if you took this seriously,” he said, really hamming it up. “I mean, if you don’t believe me, just look!” He “released” his hand from the robe pocket and it made another grab at Gwen, this time being successful. He latched onto her sides and squeezed, sending her into a fit of giggles.

“You liahahar!” she squealed, doubling over as Peter scribbled over her tummy.

“Nu uh!” Peter insisted, continuing the ticklish assault. “See, it happened after MJ got me last night. My hands have been restless ever since,” he lamented, working up Gwen’s sides. “I’m afraid I’m possessed by some kind of tickle monster!”

“You ahahare not!” she denied. Hobie shrugged, a smirk tugging on his lips.

“Don’t know mate, seems legit to me,” he teased. Peter smirked himself and turned on the tallest teen, making him stumble back with a yelp. He managed to wrestle his arms above his head, alternating scribbling in each pit.

“I just can’t help who I attack! Sorry Hobie, I really can’t help it!”

“Shuhut it you bahahastard!”

“Hey, I’m just as much a victim in this as you are!”

Miguel stood in the doorway, dumbfounded, and crossed his arms over his chest. He cleared his throat, grabbing their attention.

“Is there a reason you’re torturing them, or are you just bored?” he asked in a neutral tone, arching a brow.

“Peter’s possessed by a tickle monster!” Pavitr supplied. Miguel couldn’t roll his eyes hard enough.

“Is he now?” he asked, seemingly uninterested. “Well I guess I’ll leave you all to it.” He turned to leave and felt a hand around his wrist yank him back. He stumbled a few feet, being caught by Peter from behind.

“Sorry bud, but I can’t help myself right now,” he said sympathetically as Miguel hissed and thrashed in his hold. He tried to fight back the deep laughter that wanted to spill out when Peter started kneading his hips.

“G-go toho hehehell,” he giggled out through clenched teeth. Peter gasped.

“Well that’s rude!” Peter exclaimed, one hand roaming down to squeeze his thighs. Miguel burst into loud belly laughs, shoving weakly at Peter’s hands. He made a show of taking a deep breath before blowing a raspberry against Miguel’s neck.

A string of curses gave way to helpless cackles and snorts, especially when Peter started nibbling. “Ohohokahay, oho fuhuhuck thahat’s bad! Peter!” Miguel scolded through hysterics, and needless to say everyone in the room was thoroughly amused.

Peter backed off with a smug grin. “You alright?” Miguel stood there, catching his breath and shot a harsh glare at him. He also shot him the bird. If it was even possible, Peter grinned wider.

“What?” Miguel snapped, though it wasn’t as harsh as you’d expect.

“I bit you. You’re possessed now, it’s how it works,” he explained, oh so casually. Miguel scoffed, furrowed his brows, doing anything to try to appear not amused.

“Bullshit.”

“No, it’s true! It had to be how MJ transferred it to me!” he explained frantically.

“You’re really gonna blame your wife?” Miguel quipped. Pavitr barked out a laugh before covering his mouth with his hand.

“You’re missing the point. You’re possessed by the ghost too now,” he said, acting as though it was grave news, but the sparkle in his eyes when he looked at Miguel said otherwise.

“Oh so it’s a ghost now?” he asked, not even bothering to hide his amusement anymore. “Well then, it’s a good thing they aren’t real.” He walked to the doorway, but only made it about halfway.

Miguel suddenly doubled over in pain, a dramatic and very convincing groan emitting from his throat. They all watched on in concern as he jerked upright, arching his back. He unshed his claws with a dramatic motion of his hands. A deep, low chuckle left his lips as he slowly turned towards the group.

“Well well well, it would seem that Miguel is no longer with us,” he said in a threatening tone. He caught Peter’s gaze and flashed a sharp grin, winking. He addressed the rest of them, “But he wanted me to tell you: run.” He really didn’t have to tell them twice.

They scattered like mice, and Peter easily caught Miles in the rush. He was giggling before he even touched him, but the laughter doubled once he dug into his ribs.

Miguel was able to snatch Pavitr by the collar of his shirt, yanking him back and into his clutches. He clawed at his belly and Pav immediately let out a giggly shriek.

They carried on like this for some time, playing this odd game of chase. Every once in a while, Peter would glance at Miguel and see the way he was smiling and actually laughing along with the rest of them.

Maybe Peter should get “possessed” more often.

[giggly-squiggily]

Special Privileges (Black Clover)

*kicks door in with my Yunleo BS* I HAVE ARRIVED!

Heyo everyone! This was very much inspired by my dear friend @intheticklecloset's HC that Yuno doesn't mind when Leopold tickles his neck. Thank you so much for letting me turn this into a silly fic! I had the best time writing it and after many moons- it's finally hear! :D I hope y'all like it!

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):

@duckymcdoorknob @rachi-roo @imjusthere07

Summary: Yuno's neck is terribly ticklish, but he finds he doesn't mind it too much when Leopold's the one tickling him there. Leopold takes full advantage.

Leopold really liked Yuno’s hair.

It was soft to the touch, fluffy like a baby bird and feathery. It looked like the kind of hair where even if Yuno tried combing it down, it would never quite stay that way. The thought made him smile.

Wild as the winds he produced. Perfect.

“It’s lovely.” He spoke out loud, his voice hushed against Yuno’s crown as he carried on twirling and teasing the dark strands. Beneath him, Yuno hummed- far too comfortable to move. “How do you keep it so soft?”

“Hmm.” His boyfriend made a sound of unknowing- if he could shrug, Leopold was sure he would. “It’s always been that way. Never really knew why.”

“Lucky. Mine’s a mess when it’s down. When I was a kid, Mereo would chase me across the entire manor with a comb, screaming at me to stay still so she could brush it.” The fire mage laughed, the memory warm despite the description. “She was a bit rough with it, but I’d rather her do it than anyone else. No one else could have styled it the way she did.”

“Does she still do your hair now?” Yuno peered up at him, staring to smile when Leopold blushed.

“She…cuts it. Sometimes she’ll braid it too- hey, I am totally capable of doing my own hair!” Leopold fumed indignantly, melting almost immediately as he felt Yuno laugh against his chest.

“I believe you. I think it’s sweet- she still takes care of it for you. It reminds me of Sister Lily when we were kids. She’d do the same thing.” Yuno seemed to purr some when Leopold returned to his hair, carding his fingers through it and giving his scalp a small scratch. “I like it when you do it though. It feels nice.”

“I can tell.” The redhead laughed, kissing his forehead before carrying on his little scalp massage. At some point Yuno was presumingly asleep, eyes closed and breathing relaxed. Leopold let his fingers migrate towards the nape of his neck, just barely touching it.

“Hmm-hmmhmhm!” Yuno flinched some at the touch, his breathing hitched. Leopold tried not to giggle. He waited until Yuno was at ease once more before tracing the skin again. “Hmmhmhm! Leo…”

“What?”

“You know what.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“....”

“Thought so.” Leopold grinned as he traced the skin again and again, feeling Yuno twitch and fidget against him. The softest of giggles could be heard, but the brunette wasn’t making any moves to get away. If anything, Yuno seemed to draw closer, fingers curling into his tunic as he pressed his smiling face into his boyfriend’s collar. “You like this too much to move away, huh?”

“Shuhuhush!” Yuno swatted at him, shoulders drawing up to his ears as when Leopold dragged his nails against his skin. “Ahehahaha, Leehehheo!”

“Still not denying it~” The redhead cooed down at him, kissing his forehead as he carried on twitching his fingers, drawing out even more giggles and laughs. “You know- I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this before. Usually when Asta or Mimosa tickle your neck you’re running for the hills.” Then he gasped, eyes lighting up. “Don’t tell me- am I special? Do I get neck tickle privileges?”

“Stahahahap mahahaking it ohohohut to be a bihihig dehhahahahl! Gehaahhaha, yohohohu’re juuhuhust coohohomfortahahahble!” Yuno ducked his hand down to give Leopold’s side a pinch, making him jump with a yelp.

“Oh, it is ON!” Leopold doubled his efforts against Yuno’s neck, his other hand coming over to wiggle against his ribs. It didn’t take long for him to have the upper hand.

“Yohohoohu sohohoohn of ahahahahahhahah!” Yuno cried out as Leopold threw himself on top of him, pinning him to the soft sheets as he brought both hands to his ribs, tickling like no tomorrow. “Leheheheohohohohoho cohohohome ohohohohohon! Stahhahap tha-AHAHAHHAT!”

“What? I can’t make heads or tails of what you’re saying- you’re laughing way too hard!” Leopold spoke to the crook of his neck, planting tickly kisses and nibbles against the skin that left Yuno incoherent in his mirth. “I need to investigate further- after all; these privileges are mine and mine alone yeah? Hehehe.”

“GEHHAHAHA!” If Yuno could smack him, he would. Well- no, he wouldn’t- but the point stands! He shoved at Leopold’s shoulders and tugged at his hair as the other carried on tickling his neck with kisses, cheeks rivaling his boyfriend’s hair and voice near hoarse with laughter. This would be his death; killed by a collapsed lung after being tickled to near tears by his beloved.

Well- there were worse ways to go out.

Eventually though, Leopold resurfaced with a grin, giving him a much deserved break. “Hehe, I gotcha good, didn’t I?” In return, Yuno poked at his belly, making the redhead laugh and squirm off of him. They were laying side by side now, just like before. “You okay?”

“Yheha…yeah, I’m fine.” Yuno nodded, finally able to speak again. “I mean- I almost died and everything-” He laughed when Leopold narrowed his eyes at him, fighting down a smile. “No, but really. I…don’t mind you tickling me there..I guess it felt kinda..nice and all that..” He flushed, redder than from the tickle fight. He wasn’t usually this shy- but seeing the growing smile on his boyfriend’s face zapped away any bravery he had. “D-Don’t look at me like thahat! It’s so duhumb!”

“What can I say? I’m stupid in love!” Leopold threw himself on top of him once more, pecking his face with kisses until Yuno was whining beneath him.

“Ohoohoaky, oohoohaky I behehieheheve you! Gehheheht oohohohff!” Yuno busted into laughter, pulling Lepold down into his chest to hold him properly. “Ugh, you’re so lucky I love you.”

“The luckiest guy in the whole world.” Leopold smiled, his chest swelling at those sweet wonderful words. “I love you too.”

Thanks for reading!

[cheolism]

get good

✧ choi seungcheol x f!reader ✧ summary: you and seungcheol enjoy an evening together with you doing puzzles and seungcheol playing video games. you both lose your games. and you both are menaces. ✧ wc is approx 2.6k ✧ warnings: tried to make this gender neutral again! inspired by soonyoung being bad at video games. no warnings, except seungcheol and reader kiss and curse at each other. both throw rage fits when they fail at their respective games. nothing serious tho!!! not edited.

Feeling extremely satisfied, you set your pencil down on the comforter beside you and stretched out your legs. Your sudoku puzzle was finished, all squares marked off and ready to be checked. 

Seungcheol let out a curse from his desk, shifting. He had been playing some sort of fighting game with his friends for as long as you had been sitting on his bed with the puzzle, his aggravated shouts and clicking filling up his room. 

You wiggled around, pushing yourself towards Seungcheol. His desk was pushed up against the wall next to his bed, which allowed you to reach out and touch him. You grabbed a handful of his shorts and tugged, peering up at him. 

Humming, you rested your cheek on your hand. You were content to just stare at Seungcheol, if you were honest. He had some of the most striking facial features you had ever seen, from his large downturned eyes and thick lashes to his equally thick brows. You were always looking at his lips, fascinated with their plumpness. 

“Finished my puzzle,” you murmured. Seungcheol arched his brow again, moving one of his headphones off of his ear. You repeated yourself, slightly louder. 

“Finished my puzzle,” you murmured. Seungcheol arched his brow again, moving one of his headphones off of his ear. You repeated yourself, slightly louder. 

He made a noise of understanding. “Is my baby all bored now? You finally want my attention?”

You pouted and rolled your eyes, reaching out to tug at his shirt this time. “Don’t be mean.”

“I’m not being mean,” he protested, with a smug look on his face that said he knew exactly how mean he was being. He loved teasing you, and when you asked him why he teased you Seungcheol would just smirk and lower his face close to yours, and then you would quickly forget your question as you got lost in him. 

“You are mean,” you whined. You turned away from him, burying your face into his pillow. You breathed in his smell, both the thick scent of his cologne that always seemed to linger on him even when he was fresh from the shower, and the softer, more natural smell of Seungcheol. You shifted again, peeking out to see Seungcheol grinning, looking back at his game again. 

“You’re not even paying attention to me now!”

“I am, baby,” he soothed. Seungcheol glanced between the computer screen and you. “You didn’t want my attention earlier when I wasn’t gaming with the guys.”

“That’s because I was sick of you earlier,” you mumbled. 

Seungcheol pulled his headset off fully. He turned to you, a smug look on his face. It was the sort of look he had when he felt he won something, whether it be a stuffed animal from a claw machine or when you admitted that yes, you did like the stupid movie he had dragged you to watch. It was the same look Seungcheol would get after kissing you, sometimes, moments when you felt as if your heart had stopped completely, when you felt like if you spent the rest of your life kissing Seungcheol it would still be a life well spent. 

“Well,” he said, drawing out the word. “I guess I better keep my distance from you. You know, since you were so sick of me.”

And then he turned back to his computer and put on his headset, leaving you alone once more. 

You pouted. You knew this game. Seungcheol wanted you to whine and beg for his attention; wanted you to make a fool of yourself for him. And sometimes you did. Sometimes you would hold onto his arm and press kisses to his neck and cheek, begging for attention from him. 

He would do the same to you during times he felt you had given something that wasn’t him too much attention. Seungcheol had even done it once when you were holding a friend’s new puppy, tugging on your arm and laying his head against it and asking who was cuter, him or the puppy. 

You huffed. You pushed away from the head of the bed and went back to your spot, picking up your pencil and puzzle book. Seungcheol murmured something into his headset and laughed, and you were tempted to chuck your pencil across the room at him. 

Instead you went down each column and across each row of your puzzle, going over your answers. Humming, you tapped your feet against the bed as each box proved to be right. Then you were at the final column: one, seven, six, three --

Three??????????

You glanced at the very bottom of the column. There, in the bottom of the column and the last in the row, was the number three. 

You had two of the same number in the same column. 

“FUCK,” you spat out, feeling as if the curse had started deep within your soul and bubbled out of you. 

Seungcheol turned in his chair just in time to see you throw the pencil against the comforter. You then, in a fit of rage not unlike that of a toddler, grabbed the puzzle book and hurled it against the floor, letting it hit it with a dull, satisfying thud. 

“Well damn,” Seungcheol began. 

You shot him a vicious look, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Are ya winning, baby?”

“Fuck off, Choi Seungcheol.”

“That’s the -- what? Fourth puzzle you’ve failed this afternoon?”

“I said I don’t want to hear it --”

Seungcheol carried on, delighted. “You know. If you’re bad at sudoku, then why do you play it?”

You rose from the bed, feeling particularly murderous. The blankets pooled around your waist before falling to the floor, revealing your bare legs. Your shorts had ridden up considerably, and you took a pause from your anger to awkwardly pull them back down.

Seungcheol was laughing at you when you finally got to him, your hands reaching out to frame his face. You looked at him for a somber moment, taking in his sparkling eyes. His hands settled on your waist, moving you closer and to stand between his thighs. 

You followed his lead, leaning down so your faces were close together. He was still smiling, obviously pleased with the turn of events. 

Your hands moved from his face, wandering down to his biceps. You squeezed the muscle and Seungcheol obliged, flexing his arms beneath your grip. For a moment you were content, feeling the firmness of his arms and the smoothness of his skin. You trailed your nails on his skin, smirking softly at how his grip on your waist tightened and his fingers tug into your flesh. 

Seungcheol moved his face towards yours. His eyes were intent on yours and his tongue peaked out of his mouth to lick at his lips. 

That was the moment you got your revenge. 

“FUCK!” He shouted, and you immediately pulled away from Seungcheol. Laughing, you retreated to his bed. From there you watched him rub at his biceps, looking at you with an extremely hurt look on his face, not unlike that of a puppy denied treats. “Why the fuck did you pinch me?”

“Don’t be a dick, then,” you snapped. 

Seungcheol cursed some more, rubbing at his skin. “Fuck. Fuck. You’re so -- you’re evil.”

“Yes,” you grinned, wiggling at him. “I’m the evilest datemate in the world. And you told your mom you think I’m ‘the one!’ I fooled you!”

“Damn right you did,” Seungcheol mumbled, sticking his lips out in a pout. “Can’t believe she thinks you’re the sweetest angel.”

“That’s because I am,” you chirped. You moved up the bed to the pillows once more, so you were next to Seungcheol. You were at the edge, and you moved to your knees, reaching out to grab Seungcheol's shoulders so you could steady yourself. “I’m the sweetest angel on the continent. And guess what?”

Seungcheol was still pouting, his puppy-dog eyes turned to you full blast. He knew what was coming. “What?”

“I’m the sweetest angel,” you began, lowering your face to his. Seungcheol’s eyes flickered to your lips. “And I’m all yours.”

And then you pressed your lips to his pout, effectively erasing it off of his face. Seungcheol, who was extremely weak to the power of kissing, wrapped his arms around you. He brought you close, lips coaxing yours, leading a soft dance between the two of you. 

“Mine,” he agreed once the two of you finally pulled away. Seungcheol planted another kiss on your mouth. “Even if you’re an asshole.”

You settled back on the bed, lips still tingling from the kiss. You pulled out your phone, snuggling into the mess of blankets and comforters and pillows. “What are you gonna play now?”

You glanced up. Seungcheol was smoothing back his black hair, headset in his other hand. You were struck right then by how handsome he was, eyes smoothing over the sharpness of his jaw, how strands of his bangs framed his face. The set of his broad shoulders, the shape of his hands. 

“Um. Anagrams.”

Seungcheol repeated what you said in a tone of disbelief. “I’m dating a grandma,” he said, settling the headset over his ears. 

“That’s right!"

And so the two of you were lost in your respective games. Both of your eyes were glued to your screens, the room filled with the clicking of Seungcheol’s mouse, tapping of keyboard, and his reprimands against his teammates. 

Whenever he got too loud you would look over at him. Sometimes he would turn around and give an apologetic gesture, but you didn’t mind all that much. Seungcheol didn’t game often, preferring much more physical competitions than virtual. Furthermore it wasn’t often he left you to your own devices.

Not to say Seungcheol was controlling. No, the two of you had your own lives. You met for lunch when you could, had dates out as often as possible. But still you planned little days out with your friends, joined your family for meals. You two had separate lives, but when you were together it was as if you two were stuck in the other's gravitational pull, constantly revolving around one another.

(Seungcheol’s mother had remarked on it once. You were leaning against the counter, joking with his dad and giggling along with the horrible jokes he made, when Seungcheol plodded along and draped himself over your back. His mother had taken one look at Seungcheol before hitting him with a spoon, scolding him and telling him to leave you alone. She then smacked his father for teasing you "too much", and for him to leave you alone.)

(“She loves you more than me!” Seungcheol’s dad had said, laughing loudly, the same laugh as his son. His mother had agreed, setting homemade dessert in front of you and urging you to eat quickly.)

Eventually you made your way up the bed to lay as close to Seungcheol as possible without actually leaving the bed. Your feet were hanging off of it and pressed against his thigh, and every so often he dropped his hand to run his thumb over the knob of your ankle. 

“Ya,” Seungcheol began, tensing. You looked up from the gotcha game on your phone. His jaw was set, brows furrowed. “Soonyoung. Move. Soonyoung. You have to fucking move --”

The screen flashed and Seungcheol cursed, throwing his hands up in the air and dislodging your feet. You watched, amused, as Seungcheol berated Soonyoung over the microphone. “Kwon Soonyoung. You are the worst fucking player. I’m serious.”

“What did he do?”

“He just sat there for ten minutes!” Seungcheol shrieked, gesturing at the game. “And no one even shot him! He was left alone! And the fucking moment he moved, he got shot!”

You laughed, throwing your head back a little. You moved, standing to lean against Seungcheol and talk into the microphone attached to his headset. “Don’t listen to them, Soonie. I think you’re amazing.”

And then you made a little kissing noise into the microphone. You were just able to register the noise of Soonyoung returning the air kiss before Seungcheol pushed you back onto the bed, shrieks of laughter escaping you. 

“Give me a moment,” he said. Seungcheol threw his headset off and onto the desk, practically throwing the chair back in his hurry to get to you. 

You were laughing loudly, pushing back against his shoulders and Seungcheol clambered on top of you. “Stay away, you heathen!”

Seungcheol captured your arm in his hand, bringing it to his lips. He pressed a kiss against your skin, eyes boring into your soul and making your heart flutter. “Don’t --” he began, his lips moving up your arm and pressing kisses between every word. “Ever do that again. You’re mine.”

And at the final word his lips were on yours, forcing your mouth open and immediately invading. His hands were in your hair, angling your head for him to better kiss you. Seungcheol kissed you like he was intent on devouring you, tongue claiming the inside of your mouth for his, teeth biting at your lips before he descended on your neck. 

You were gripping his shoulders, little gasps leaving you as he pressed kisses to your throat and neck. He practically worshiped your neck, lips frantic against it. 

When Seungcheol finally pulled away from your neck, you were panting. He pressed a final kiss to your lips before pulling off of you entirely. Seungcheol wheeled his chair back to the desk, running a hand through his hair and settling the headset back on, as casual as could be, as if he hadn’t just ravished you and left you famished. 

You ran a hand through your own hair, laying there. After a moment or two you got your wits about you, straightening up and grabbing your phone. 

mingyu (the annoying one): so you’ll kiss soonyoung and seungcheol but not me. 

you: take a shower once in a while and i’ll consider it

mingyu (the annoying one): you cannot tell me that you believe soonyoung takes showers more regularly than i do

you: enough w this soonyoung slander. you could spend this time taking a shower but instead you actively ruin your friend’s reputation. this is why you are maidenless.

A loud curse brought you from your phone screen. You watched, somewhat concerned, as Seungcheol lifted his keyboard up from the desk, and with the force of a starving man desperate to get the potato chip bag on the verge of falling form its slot in a vending machine, began shaking the keyboard and cursing at it. 

“Cheol,” you began, bewildered. He either wasn’t paying attention to you or didn’t hear you, so you raised your voice. “Baby? Seungcheol?”

He turned to you, keyboard clattering to the desk. “I’m sick of this! Fucking -- Wonwoo and Jeonghan and Chan are on a team and who do I get? Soonyoung and Mingyu!” 

“Mingyu isn’t so bad --”

“Soonyoung doesn’t even FUCKING KNOW HOW TO TURN ON DARK MODE ON HIS PHONE!”

“I know,” you agreed, “I’m the one who did it for him. What happened?”

Seungcheol turned to face you fully, a pleading look on his face, as if you were the god of gaming and could control the outcome of his game. “I literally was doing so well. Really. Nothing could stop me. Not even Wonwoo. Soonyoung doesn’t move the entire game! He just stands in a corner and waits! And I play the game how it’s supposed to be played and what do I get? Killed!”

“Well,” you began, licking your lips. You felt as if you were on the edge of a cliff with Seungcheol and had two choices: you could either give him a helping hand and coax him back into a more relaxed state, or you could push him over the edge. 

“Well,” you said again. “If you’re so bad at the game, why do you keep playing it?"

[who-do-i-know-this-man]

PURRGATORY Pt 1/3:

Just today, my submittion, elijah from purrgatory, was eliminated. Beaten by just 1% from 3.5k votes, Elh will be moving on. I shouldn't be terribly upset, as that means people have played purrgatory before and remembered it. What I hate is that nobody has ever talked about it. This was a life-changing game to me, 2nd favorite, and to see nobody singing its praises is disheartening. This post is in remembrance of purrgatory, elijah, and how it effected me.

PART ONE: purrgatory, A GAME BY NIV

music to set the mood

purrgatory is a free-to-play point & click visual novel, created by Niv. Following your death, you're sent to purrgatory, a place between Heaven and Hell, and you're able to pass time in an afterlife where nothing really matters. You can meet and talk to its seven inhabitants, kyungsoon, oliver, numa, sean, elijah, natalie & tori, listen to their stories and try to remember your own. Fur-ever's not so bad, right?

The game was originally created during the "I Can't Draw" game jam, by solo developer Niv. Niv has a tumblr, though is largely inactive. From Niv answering a question about inspiration, "The point-and-click style was definitely inspired by early Flash point-and-click games -- I have to point out Daymare Town in particular just because of how similar the art style is. The story and characters come from my love of slice-of-life character-based narratives like Night in the Woods and Undertale. I've also always had a fascination with mazes and wanted to make a game where people just sort of live and hang out in a maze." I'll be talking about the general story, characters, art, and music, while avoiding major spoilers as much as possible. Go ahead and play purrgatory before or after I'm done with this thing, all that matters is you played it. I played through both major endings while inspecting everything, and beat it after 6 hours.

from left to right- natalie, kyungsoon, elijah, charon, sean, oliver, tori, numa

The gameplay of purrgatory revolves around exploring the labyrinth of purrgatory, talking to its inhabitants, and uncovering what led both them and you here. Nearly everything is inspectable, so click everything you see, and you'll most likely be treated to something humorous. This game loves puns, as the title suggests, and you'll be the one making them whether you like it or not. Every character drawing is traced multiple times over, to create a nice wiggling effect. purrgatory is devoid of color, the residents colors the only ones you'll see.

purrgatory is giant, boasting 80 different screens, and you will have to go through each one at some point. It's easy to get lost here, but muscle memory will guide you. You will first meet charon, the River Styx receptionist. Your interaction is brief, but she'll hand you your form to fill, a one-way trip to purrgatory. After you enter your name and select custom pronouns, she'll mention you're the eighth, "over capacity." You'll be directed to enter the portal and have a chance to ask a question, from, "who am i?", "where am i?" and "who are you?" After this, your only choice is to enter the portal to purrgatory.

From here, you'll meet kyungsoon the hyena, a cat, and oliver the mouse in the library. As you explore past the starting area, you'll find numa the snail in the flower garden, sean the snake and elijah the pangolin in the writing corner, natalie the moth in the apartment, and tori the owl in the station. Each has their reason for being here, and it's up to you to help them. The personalities of these people are what make this game, as each is written realistically and sympathetically. numa is meek and has trouble controlling her emotions, sean died during his happiest days and considers most of his life wasted, and kyungsoon was slothful during her life and never exerted her efforts anywhere. These are all things they tell you as you help them with what little goals they create for themselves in purrgatory.

Despite the heavy subject matter, purrgatory is inserted with lots of funny scenes and dialogue from every character. kyungsoon will make sarcastic remarks at your expense while not showing any strong emotion, sean has a sense of humor entwined with lots of internet and ruanch, and numa has many intense scenes of frustration that got me many times. Speaking of the characters, purrgatory consists of a largely LGBT+ cast! From Niv, "Don’t worry about misinterpreting! Every story is a collaboration between creator and reader, after all, so I expect nothing less than people creating their own headcanons. That being said, in MY head, numa and kyungsoon are lesbians, sean is gay, oliver and tori are bi, natalie is aroace, and kyungsoon is of course trans..."

On music and art: purrgatory has a wonderful soundtrack and sound design! With the low-effort look of the world, the music pairs excellently to the areas and scenes, my favorites being "the warehouse" and "lights out." There are special tracks in there as well, like a rendition of "Fly Me to the Moon" done with meows and a song composed by sean (do not look this up, will spoil). Exploring purrgatory, you'll find the various characters in many activities, such as standing around, sleeping, and laying on the floor. Every character not-still conveys so much emotion, despite looking like this:

There are a few endings, but only two major ones, which I will call "ghost end" and "feline fine." ghost end is the worst ending. While you were in purrgatory, you did not get to know anyone there, and yet for some reason, you're spared. This is the first ending I got. feline fine is the good ending. You remembered your past and helped everyone, and through comradery, found color.

"purrgatory" is an amazing game, which I wholeheartedly recommend. It's free on Steam right now. Please play it. My favorite character was elijah :3

I applaud the dedication, and I very much hope that people are convinced to check the game out. I know I'm definitely going to read through this more thoroughly later and maybe check out the game.

[evilasiangenius]

“From here the stars are all obscured,” Aziraphale said, disappointed. “I’m so sorry, my dear. I know you wanted to see the stars.”

“Eh, it’s fine.” Crowley shrugged. “Doesn’t matter if there are stars or no stars. I just like being with you.” He reached out to touch the downward pointing lapel of Aziraphale’s pale overcoat, gently brushing off a little moth that had alighted upon the pale creamy fabric; before they left the apartment, they had changed miraculously from their evening wear to some ordinary clothing.

Aziraphale smiled at him, in that way that was not one of his polite customer service smiles, fictional and vague, but with a genuine and deep warmth that Crowley could clearly see even in the shifting light of a passing delivery truck’s headlights that almost obscured the angel’s expression.

“I like being with you too. I’m so glad you came. I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea but…” Aziraphale looked around. “You know, it’s one thing to do the ordinary day-to-day work of miracles and blessings, but when it’s an official thing, sometimes I get nervous. Well, all right, I am always nervous.”

“Nervous? Why?”

“I don’t know. It’s not like I’m not capable of blessings or divine inspiration, but-” Aziraphale paused, and Crowley waited patiently for him to continue. “It just seems that I...I’m afraid that somehow I’ll make a mistake. That I’ll somehow mess it up, when it’s an official thing. That when it matters, maybe I can’t do it properly.”

“Oh.” Crowley glanced at the angel, who was hugging himself, and then he put his arms around Aziraphale, drawing them to a halt in the deep shadow of a building, his chin upon the angel’s head. “I know you. You always do the right thing. Even...when you don’t want to.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale’s arms moved about Crowley with a vague hesitation before closing tight around him. “I suppose you’re right.” His words were muffled against the black fabric of Crowley’s suit, but Crowley heard him clearly.

“I know you don’t make mistakes when it comes to important things,” Crowley said softly. “And I believe in you. You’re much stronger and more able than you think.”

“I wish I would believe that too, my dear. You know, I’m so glad that…” Aziraphale sighed. “I’m sorry that I ruined our vacation-”

“No, no, it’s fine. Let’s just get this over with so we can go have some breakfast on the ship. Oh, and before dinner, could we go for a cocktail in the Observation Lounge? And I want to try the camel riding machine in the gymnasium. Never heard of such a thing; I want to know if it bites and spits properly like a real camel.”

“Yes, let’s do that. All of those things. And sit in the library together – I’ll read you something if you like, there’s a book that I’ve been reading that I think you might enjoy and we should try the Verandah Grill for lunch sometime, and oh! let’s go window-shopping, there are supposed to be many shops on the Promenade Deck. And if you don’t mind, my dear, let’s also go to the writing room.”

“The writing room?”

“I want to write a letter.”

“To whom?” Crowley wondered. “After all, I’m here-”

“Oh, to you, my dear.”

“Even though I’m here?”

“I just like writing letters.” Aziraphale tightened his grip around Crowley in a spontaneous moment of joy, wiggling them about to and fro and surprised, Crowley laughed.

“Then write me a letter. A long one. Tell me how much you’re enjoying our vacation.”

“I will,” Aziraphale promised, and then without warning the angel stepped back, letting go reluctantly. “Sorry, my dear. Look at the time, we had best hurry.”

x

[waklman]

Of Course He Loves Me

summary: your past comes back to haunt you, and your roomate jake is there to witness it.

pairing: jake seresin x female reader

warnings: hurt/comfort. talks of past exploitive experiences, bad treatment of women, negative self talk, and allusions to sex. 18+ blog.

a/n: inspired by rhiannon mcgavin qoute shown above bc it reminds me of jake :)

word count: 3.6k.

“Do we want chocolate chips in our pancakes?” Jake asks, solemnly, waiting for you to make the executive decision.

“I think we do,” you confirm, matching his serious tone—twisting your middle to grab the said bag of sweets. The plastic crinkles when he takes it from you, with a pleased hum. 

Jake sets it down, then quickly scans the spread in front of him. His eyebrows pinch together, realizing he’s missing just one item. “Pancake mix..” he lowly mutters to himself. 

You scoot forward, aiming to hop off the counter to fetch it, but Jake stops you–pinning the hem of your sleep shirt down against the countertop with his hand, wordlessly telling you to stay put with a shake of his head. He doesn’t spare you a second to object–already guiding himself across the kitchen in search of the box of dry ingredients himself.

A defeated sigh slips your lips, looking ahead as he trudges off with heavy footsteps.

The towhead blond has yet to tame his bed head–there’s two pieces of hair sticking out each side of his head resembling ears, making him look like a newborn kitten. 

While he slowly sifts through the cabinets, the sunlight filtering through the apartment reflects off something on his finger, drawing your attention away from the state of his hair. You softly smile to yourself, seeing the ring you had on last night, now sitting safely on his pinky finger. It was a drunken habit of yours—you somehow always lost track of your personal belongings on nights out. Knowing this, Jake made sure to keep your things under his care when you had too much to drink.

Your chest tightens in appreciation for him, there was no one who looked out for you the way he did. 

“Whoever gets to marry you, has to be the luckiest girl in the world,” you announce quietly, looking down at your legs, bringing them to a slow stop–no longer unconsciously swinging them. You blink in recognition, seeing that at some point last night–he pulled a pair of fluffy socks onto your feet. You wiggle your toes, as all the events—previously muddled by alcohol, start to come back to you. 

“Marriage? Darling, I thought we’d be roommates for life,” he quips with a light laugh, carrying the acquired box back over to join you and the rest of the ingredients. 

“I’m serious, not everyone is lucky enough to have someone like you,” you try to laugh, but it falls short—now aware of the reason why you drank so much in the first place. Fuck.

In an attempt to distract yourself, you look past your own feet, searching for something to steady yourself on–and your eyes land right onto Jake’s feet. He has on a pair of your fluffy socks too, but they’re an older set, with matted tufts of cotton and elastic fibers scutching in on itself. 

Jake sets down the box, putting a pause on breakfast for now, troubled by your abrupt silence. He can see from the corner of his eye that you’re just vacantly staring at the floor. Something about the shift in demeanor ticks off a warning signal in his head. 

Then, it clicks. You got wasted last night, throwing back shots like it was nothing. When he tried to probe, you drunkenly told him you just wanted to try something new. And a part of Jake found it off-putting—you had an affinity for sweet drinks, so why the need for change? 

A knowing concern coats his thoughts immediately. 

“Did he text you again?” He asks, face unafraid. But deep in his gut, Jake feels the anxiety anchoring him down from where he stands, locking his knees in place. He wills himself to look away from the box mix in front of him, finally lifting his head up to look at you. 

From your peripheral, you can see Jake’s eyes set on the side of your face, patiently waiting for a response. In no way does he rush you, but you feel hurried to give him an answer. Yet you can’t. The walls of your throat have already swelled thick, pressing together at the center, preventing you from speaking.

Jake swallows grimly, eyes dropping down to see you gripping onto the granite counter for dear life, knuckles tight and veins about to burst from excessive strain. After a beat of silence, he calmly moves around you, flipping on the sink beside you. 

The panic that takes hold of you doesn’t allow you to see him test the temperature of the water, nor does it let you feel the way he carefully pries your hand from the counter, easing each finger off the cold ledge. You’re brought back once you feel a warm liquid run over your hand. It slips through your fingers and soothingly traces the skin of your wrist, that’s held by him–you can feel everything again. 

Jake slowly takes in a breath, allowing you to mimic him. His eyes are still locked on you, and a brush of relief briefly sweeps his heart when he notices you taking languid breaths with him. Though, your gaze is still lowered, eyes focused on the lining of his socks. 

After a few more steady exhales, you attempt to reply to Jake’s question again–but embarrassment enters your system, holding you back. You chose to slowly nod instead, knowing he’ll understand. “Okay, I see,” Jake answers cautiously, keeping his voice low. 

He’s still holding your hand under the running water, with both of you acutely aware of the deja vu that washes over this familiar exchange of words. It’s almost a pitiful routine that you two fall into every year–all starting with a text from your ex-boyfriend each time. 

It’s as though you could never get rid of him—the older guy you met working part time back in highschool always made yearly appearances in your life again, like it’s some twisted occasion he must attend to. 

He’d tie you down, under the false promise that “he’s changed”—convincing you to meet up with him. And you’d go, fully expecting to receive an apology—chasing that closure you deserved. But everytime, without fail, your old wound would be mercissley torn right open by him, raw and bloody for the world to see—for him to see. 

And it was ruthless, the way he’d ripped you apart, belittling you, reminding you how gullible and worthless you are—throwing it in your face for his own sadistic pleasure. No one will ever love you if you’re this pathetic, crawlin’ back to me like some fucking puppy. It made him satisfied with himself, knowing you’d always be there for him to gain a sense of control again. He chased that high each year, renewing himself with it—tossing you aside like garbage, after he got what he wanted, until he needed you again next time. 

And everytime, Jake was there for you after shit hit the fan—holding back his anger, while he consoled you–trying his hardest to sweetly smile at you while you weakly combat your heartache. Jake hated how useless he felt—his efforts were always futile. Because, truly there was nothing he could do to stop the hurt that laid inside of you.

But there was one thing Jake could do, and that was making sure to never express his disdain for your decision to see your ex, because he knew how you felt when everyone else in your life did. It made you feel small and stupid—the two things Jake never wanted you to feel about yourself. To him, you were nothing but forgiving and sweet, just stuck in a harmful cycle. This was not your fault, it never was. 

Back when you two were teenagers, Jake had been somewhat alarmed by your relationship with the guy, because what did a man of his age want with you? But Jake held his tongue and trusted you, holding back his concerns when you told him about your new boyfriend, because you glowed like you never had before. So, seventeen year old Jake did what he thought was best—he kept his mouth shut—because what kind of best friend would he be if he stood in the way of your happiness? 

But, if he knew then, what he knew now, Jake would have done anything in his power to stop you from ever meeting him. Because that jerk shouldn’t have ever been interested in someone so much younger than he was, in the first place. It took Jake years of maturing, reaching his very age today to come to that realization because now you two are no longer kids.

“And he wants to see you again?” he asks, jaw clenched, already knowing the answer.

You swallow. “I’m seeing him next week.”

“Jake?” 

“Yes?” Jake answers before he can even think, already peeking over the back of the couch in search of you. 

He looks in the direction of the wall by the end of the hallway, patiently waiting for your footsteps to finally reach there. 

You come out, holding up the front of your dress and Jake doesn’t know what to feel. “Can you help me zip this up?” you ask, embarrassed you couldn’t get your dress on fully. Your hands had been trembling all day, knowing who you’ll be seeing tonight. 

Jake immediately rushes to get up at your request—not letting you take another step towards him. You lightly smile, not surprised by his behavior at all. He’d been like this since you met, programmed to never let you take the extra mile to reach him.

“I shared my location with you,” you whisper, back facing towards him now. You shiver, feeling his knuckle brush against the exposed skin there, gently holding the small zipper between his fingers. 

“Why? I trust you.” He pretends to be unaware of the situation, trying to convince himself that his gut feeling isn’t true—that you’re not seeing him tonight. 

“I’m seeing him in a bit, and I just—I want you to have my location.” Jake finally zips up your dress, feeling like he sealed your fate—you’re destined for a dreadful night, and he can’t do anything about it. 

He reaches for your waist, but doesn’t have to do much to get you to turn around, because you’re already spinning around to face him. 

Jake swallows hard. You look almost unreal under him—too pretty for his brain to even comprehend. And a part of Jake hates that he won’t be the only one who gets to see you like this, especially not tonight.

“Okay,” he stares down at you, expression unreadable. 

You look up at him, wanting him to give you a reason to stay instead—but he doesn’t see the thought begging to be seen in your head, too distracted by the sick feeling pooling in his stomach. 

“Be safe, and remember to text me, please,” he whispers, pressing a delicate kiss to your forehead—as if he’s implanting his reminder there. 

The light pressure of his lips makes your heart melt in your chest. With his hands still on your waist, Jake lightly pulls you into him, not sure if it’s to comfort you—or himself. He just knows that he needs to hold you. You instinctively lean into his touch as he begins to wrap his arms around you securely. “Will you come pick me up after?” you mumble, against his shirt. 

“I’ll be there the moment you tell me to.” He assures you, meaning it fully. 

Jake feels restless, swerving into the acceleration lane, slamming his foot on the gas. The rain harshly slamming down against his windows just spurs him on even further, bringing him past the speed limit. 

It’s already well past midnight, and you called him not long ago, barely able to get out a word, too choked up even speak—having to hang up and text him instead. 

Leading up to this, Jake had been shamelessly checking your location. With every second that passed with no update from you, his leg bounced harder against the wooden floor, prompting the downstairs neighbor to smack their ceiling, warning him to knock it off for the fifth time. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Jake had practically lunged at his phone when you finally called, heart sinking when he painfully listened to you whimper–the only coherent word that left your mouth was his name.

He already knew your location, rushing to meet you there now. It’s a ten minute drive from here, Jake made sure to check—but he’s already nearing you in under three minutes. 

It’s not long until he spots you in the empty parking lot. He practically throws himself out the car, ignoring the fact that his door is still slung open.

The sight of you sitting on the wet pavement, knees protectively pulled against your chest, and face buried into your hands makes him sick to his stomach. It takes everything in him to maintain his composure, finally reaching you as he lowers himself to your level. 

All the weight of his worries pit against him now, making it hard to breathe—it’s suffocating almost. 

With careful hands, he wraps his fingers around your cold ankles, attempting to regulate your body temperature, sweetly swiping the skin there. Jake swallows unsurely, feeling you shake like a leaf under him. 

In the palms of your hands, you’re biting back the viscous cry threatening to spill over. Jake’s chest caves in, weak from seeing like this. “It’s okay, let it out.” he permits, leaning in to whisper the words against your ear–drowning out the sound of the rain completely. 

It’s okay, let it out. Those five words mean more to you than you could take, especially coming from Jake. 

Before you can even realize it, the honeyed reassurance opens the flood gates to everything you’ve been suppressing. The horrible insults you pathetically took in the past hour, the sickly feeling of his hands on you from earlier, and the stabbing memories from years ago all bubble to the surface. And you finally break. 

You lamely fall forward, with Jake catching you immediately, in his arms–as the sound of your cry finally echoes into the air. It hurts–the way it thrashes against the walls of your throat, and mercilessly sears through your lungs. It hurts so much, but you can’t hold it in anymore–instead, you force yourself to take on the painful feeling as the cry empties out of you. 

Jake screws his eyes shut at the withering sound, promising to himself that this is the last time he’ll have to hear you like this. He will never let you feel this way again. 

Trying to keep his voice from trembling, Jake forces himself to smile, sweetly whispering to you, once again. “Let’s head home, Darling.”

You haven't said a word since you two got back, too ashamed to speak of tonight’s events. 

But Jake doesn’t show you any sign of judgment, as he pulls out your skincare bottles from the drawer with pursed lips. He came into the bathroom, after waiting outside for you to finish your shower, helping you prep for bed now. 

“Toner pads first,” he declares softly, screwing open the container. 

You tiredly look through him, unable to tear the sad expression off your face. But he softly smiles at you anyway, carefully swiping the cotton pads against your skin. 

It’s like this for the next few minutes—with you lost in your thoughts, sitting on the sink while Jake does his best to correctly go through each step of your routine. 

“I’m so naive,” you weakly profess out of nowhere, starting to sniffle. 

Jake stills, putting down your moisturizer, remaining quiet to let you continue.

“I was—I am, so stupid Jake,” you correct yourself. “I can’t even be mad that everyone looks at me like I’m—like I'm dumb,” you spit out. “I deserve to feel like an idiot, because I just am.” Your voice begins to tremble, but you keep going anyway. “Of course, I had to throw myself at the first person who gave me an ounce of attention, because I knew no one else would, but look where that got me.” You pause, harshly wiping away the rogue tear that slips down your cheek. “He’s right Jake, I’m damaged goods, no one can love me when I’m like this.”  Jake breathes heavily, dissecting the way you talk about yourself. You couldn’t be more wrong.

“Stop it.” he says sternly, no longer smiling. 

His tone catches you by surprise, and you’re scared to keep looking at him. He looks so tired of you—so done with you. Anyone else would’ve given up on you by now, it comes as no surprise that he’s taken the chance to do so.

You lock your eyes on the limp hands in your lap instead, ready for him to admit defeat, like he should. Instead, Jake catches your discernment and reaches out to grab your hands. 

“Look at me,” he says more softly this time. 

Tentatively, you lift your head to look at him again, ignoring the tears blurring your vision.

He takes a deep breath, before speaking again. 

“You’re not naive. You're not stupid. You're not dumb. You’re not an idiot. You’re not damaged goods,” he says firmly, addressing all the hurtful terms you called yourself. “And you’re not incapable of being loved.” You feel your bottom lip quiver at the final statement.

“If any of that was true, I wouldn’t be able to care for you so much, but I do. I care about you so fucking much,” he says, face contorted in pain, seeing the disbelieving look on your face. “You’re everything he’s not. Every bad thing he says to you, is not about you at all. It’s about him. He’s naive, he’s stupid, he’s dumb, he’s the idiot, and he's the damaged one.” You finally allow the tears to drip down to your neck—completely soaking the neckline of your shirt. 

Your eyes snap shut, shaking your head at him, denying what he says. “I mean everything I said.” Jake affirms again, gently swiping away your salty tears. You still don't believe him.

“How do—how do you not hate me, as much as I hate myself?” The choked out sentence punches him right in the heart. This hurts Jake most of all. 

You turn your head away from him, eyes still screwed shut. But he’s already pulling his hands from your lap, to cradle your head in his hands instead. 

“I can never hate you,” he says, voice strung in hurt. He doesn’t know what was the worst part of your question. How could you possibly hate yourself? How could he possibly hate you? And how can you possibly hate something, he loved so dearly. 

You open your eyes, ready to spit out something—anything that’s hurtful enough to get rid of him. He doesn’t deserve to deal with you anymore. But the words die on your tongue, because he’s looking at you with so much concern, with so much love. 

And it’s as if your body has a mind of its own, because now you lurch forward, capturing his lips in a kiss. 

Your head spins when kisses you back in an instant, purposefully slotting his lips against yours, like he has the ability to suck out the hurt living inside you. But it feels like he does, because it's healing, the way he kisses you.

Your heart bursts under your ribs, feeling him slowly drop his hands to your waist, thumbs swiping over the fabric of your shirt, with no urge to take it off you. Yet he’s still able to pull a noise from you, swallowing it down his throat as it leaves you.

His tongue slips into your open mouth next, curling against your own wet muscle—its almost euphoric. The entire room blurs around you, your mind can’t process anything—but him. 

Yet, you pull away first, shocked by the unfamiliar feeling that started brewing in your tummy. You blink shyly at him, he’s fully pressed against you now. “I can never hate you,” he whispers the affirmation again, planting a kiss on your forehead. He stamps the declaration there, hoping it never leaves your mind. 

“I know,” you answer him, believing him this time. Jake swallows, seeing you stare up at him, trusting him fully.

Without a thought, Jake leans back down to peck your lips, drawn in by the way it’s wet with his saliva. It’s meant to be short, because his lips are already drifting from yours—but you chase after the feeling in your stomach again, feeling it growing stronger. Jake hands trail down to your hips, squeezing them in surprise, kissing you back. 

He feels your hands already reaching for his pajama pants, fingers digging into the band, and he stops you, moving his hands to coax yours away from there. 

You retract your mouth from his, feeling regretful. “Shit, I’m sorry Jake I—”

“It's not that.” He assures you. Your brows furrow at his reply, until you understand the apologetic look he’s now giving you—and you know exactly what it means. I love you, but not tonight.

You nod.  

Jake kisses the corner of your mouth, withdrawing his hands to dig out something from his pocket. You smile at what he pulls out from there. It’s a pair of mismatched fluffy socks, one blue and one pink. 

You both look down at his own feet, and he lets out an embarrassed laugh. He’s wearing the matching pair for each sock in his hand. His left foot has a blue sock on it while the other has the pink sock. 

A warm feeling pins you down—Jake is wearing your socks.

note: this one is very special to me, so thank you for reading. as always, reblogs are very greatly appreciated!

taglist: @pono-pura-vida @teaminator @alana4610 @angellwingsss @nataddz @deliriousfangirl61 @bookchik26 @little-wiseone @lonelysoul50

join my taglist here or follow me on @waklman-library & turn on notifs there to be notified when i post!

[asmutwriter]

You Saved Me (Part 12)

DESCRIPTION: (Season 10) After a close run in with death, you decide to start anew. Ending up bumping into the last person you wanted to see

A/N - A shorter part but I was strongly inspired by the small confession he made to the priest in S10E16 (quoted at the end). Plus I needed a semi filler part that could link the next parts together and help develop the story line. And yes this is the third time I've tried writing part 12. I'm hoping this one will stick and I wont change my mind in the upcoming months

WORD COUNT: 2033

From Beginning / Previous / Next / Master List

WARNINGS: brief mentions of fire/arson, brief mentions of death, talk of injury, injury detail, guns, swearing, threat, fighting, mark of cain Dean, knives, jealous Dean, this whole part is mainly just angst

DISCLAIMERS

- This is fiction. Please always talk to your partner before doing anything and make sure they are ok with what you are doing beforehand

"You could just get off of work early"

"I told you I can't" you say to your friend. She watches as you clean the table she's sat at.

"Just say that you need to pick the kids up, then we can go home and drink ourselves to death"

"Im already going out with you on Friday night"

"Yes. You managed to get your new fancy fella to babysit for you" she wiggles her brows at you. "You sure you don't want me to look after the kids and you and him book a hotel somewhere?"

"No I do not" you say, a smile on your face. "He's coming over tonight anyway. Getting me and the girls fish and chips on his way back from work"

"Oh how romantic of him"

"Shut up" she smiles. Picking up her coffee with both hands. Sipping it. You hear a customer ask for the small in shop TV to be turned up. Drawing you, and the other customers attention to it.

''-known about what started the fire which resulted in the death of 5 people. 3 more injured. Police and firefighters worked hard to rescue as many as they could. Information still to come as we find out more. Now, the weather-"

"Jesus" you say. Taking the cloth you were holding. Folding it a few times.

"Those poor people". You take in a breath. Spraying some product onto your cloth before going to a new table. Wiping down the surface.

You spend the next few hours cleaning tables, washing up cups and plates, so on and so forth. Before it is time for you to leave your shift to go pick up the girls from school. The three of you listening and singing to the 'Tangled' soundtrack as you drive home. You get through the front door.

"Mike will be round within the next few hours. He's bringing chips and - because its a Friday - we can watch a film whilst we eat"

"Yay!" they both excalim. Dumping their bags down in the living room.

"But first I want you both to have a shower and do your homework, do you understand?"

"Yes mum" they both say, a dragging annoyance in their voice as they head to their bedrooms. You pick up their bags. Placing them on the pegs by the back door. Going over you start doing the dishwasher. Unloading it. Only a few minutes go past before you hear a knock at the door. You hear Lydia call out "I'll get it!"

You hear the door open. The voice of your child being heard. Met with hushed toned voices. You put the mug you were holding away, shutting the cupboard as you hear the front door shut.

You press the home button on your phone. Seeing the time. You frown slightly. Mike hadn't messaged you saying he was on his way. You pick up a tea towel. Drying your slightly dampened hands onto it as you start walking to the corridor. Placing the cloth on the side as you call out your daughters name.

"Lydia?" you get to the entrance of the corridor as someone walks past. You get made jump, not expecting someone so suddenly. Then a different kind of fear hits you. Dean Winchester turns to face you. You meet his eyes, a few seconds go by as you both analyze the situation.

He reacts first, his hand going to the back of his jeans as he goes to grab his gun. "Fuck" you mutter. Almost instinctly you kick him in the crotch.

"Crap" he gasps out, bending down slightly. Hands going to his groin as you lean over him, grabbing the gun from his jeans. You point it at him.

"Dean?" you hear Sams voice. He comes round the corner, seeing the situation. He goes to grab his gun out but you go closer to Dean, gun still aimed at him as he lifts his head up. Eyes on yours as you dart between the two men.

"I will shoot him" not to sure which one you're threatening at this point. Sam removes his hands from near his weapon. Placing them up in defeat. His eyes darting to the weapon, aimed right at his brother. Dean also putting his hands up in a slight surrender. Eyes watching you as the gun remains only a few inches from his face. "What did you do to my girls?"

"They're safe. In their bedroom" Sam says. Eyes still darting between you, his brother and the gun. He outstretches his hand slightly. Palm facing upwards as he half points to your gun. "Why don't we just all calm down?". You point the gun at the younger brother.

"You come into my home, both armed. Threatening to kill me and you tell me to calm down"

"Bad use of words on my part" he half smiles "why don't you just put the gun down and we can chat?". Dean moves towards you, grabbing at your hand. You bring your elbow up, hitting him in the face with it. He grunts, grabbing his nose as you re-aim the gun at him.

"Your brother is a demon" the younger brother nods slightly. Looking between the two of you

"Dean isn't a demon" he says quickly before you hurt him anymore. "He was a demon but he's not one anymore". Dean goes forward. Using your distraction by his brother to catch you of guard. He grabs your wrist. Twisting the gun out of your hand as he takes it. Aiming it at you as his deadpan face changes to a more cocky one. You put your hands up in defense. An annoyed huff leaving your lips.

"What do you want?"

"We're here about the fire that happened near here" Sam says.

"The one thats been in the news?" he nods. "So what led you to come to my house?"

"We believe that the fire was started by a witch" the older says "the fact that you are here, alive and breathing, makes me think the witch is you" he goes closer to you. Gun still aimed.

"Why would I be the witch? After years of hunting and killing monsters, why would I decide to become one"

"How else would you explain the fact that you're alive?" you stay silent. Eyes watching his. Your hand grabs the tea towel still on the side. Throwing it at Deans face. He reaches up. Grabbing it. You turn quickly. Grabbing the knife from the dishwasher behind you. Going close to him as you push the knife into his throat. He freezes. Bringing his hands up slowly, showing you his weapon near his head. Finger off the trigger. Sam draws his gun in the same instance. Aiming at you as you meet Deans green eyes.

"Sam. There is a letter on the side behind the knife rack. I want you to read it out allowed". He hesitates. Keeping the gun on you as he reaches to the paper. Struggling to open it with one hand. He reads it. Clenching his jaw as he looks up at you and his brother. Eyes going back to the paper as he begins to read it aloud.

"Miss Rose Marsh. Found unconscious in a hotel room with knife wounds and bruising around her neck. Three knife injuries in total. One to her thigh, two to her stomach. Unsure of what weapon was used to cause these injuries. No leads on who the attacker is". He stops talking. Trailing off as both the Winchester brothers take in what has been said. You confirm to them what they are thinking, moving away from the older but still holding the knife in an intimidating manner.

"My medical bill and police report. Confirming my injuries and recovery from the attack I survived. The one from a few months back. Now, if I was a monster who had taken the identity of a dead woman then I wouldn't have that letter. As I'd be dead"

"How are you alive then?" the younger questions. "The weapon that was used. You should be dead"

"Demons don't tend to check for a pulse once they attack their victims. Who's to say that I didn't pass out from my injuries. That my attacker assumed I had died. Not bothering to check for a pulse because-" you shrug slightly "why would they?"

They stay silent. Looking at each other. Both of them placing their weapons in the back of their jeans. Just as you hear the front door open.

"Oh honey! I bought us chips!" you hear a voice exclaim. Walking into the kitchen, his cheery smile dulling from his eyes as he sees you and the other two. "Who are these guys?"

"Who are you?" Dean says. His stare one of confusion and disgust as he looks at the well kempt and polite mannered man.

"I'm Mike" he says. Smiling still as he looks at the two men. "Rose's boyfriend". He motions to you. The older brother eyes the man up. Sam smiles slightly. Looking downward. "Who are these guys?"

"Detectives. I'm sorry what did you say your names where?" you look at Sam.

"Detective Mercury and Detective Dickinson" he goes into his jacket pocket. Taking out an FBI badge. Dean still giving him the death glare. "We are here about the fire that happened last night" he goes over to the counter top. Placing the two bags of food down.

"They were talking about it on the radio on my way over here. Poor souls" he looks at them again. "Why would the FBI be interested in a fire? Wasn't it just some terrible accident?"

"We think it might be arson". He brings an arm up and around your waist. Holding you close as concern fills his voice.

"Are we safe?"

"Yes. We're just going around the neighborhood to check up on people. See if anyone saw anything suspicious" he nods.

"Well, we were at home all night. So were the girls. We didn't see or hear anything out of the ordinary". The younger nods. Smiling at you both as he takes out a business card. Handing it to Mike.

"If you do remember anything then please ring us" he smiles back at him, taking the card. "Thank you for your time. We'll leave you to enjoy your food" he looks at Dean. Who has not dropped his stern gaze from the man since he entered the room. "Detective?" he turns to face his brother. Who half smiles at him "We've over stayed our welcome by far to long. Lets go". They walk out the room. Leaving you and your boyfriend with the girls for the night.

"I can't believe she as a boyfriend" Dean says to his brother as they get in Baby.

"She is a grown up. She is allowed to date people"

"But he's so... clean" he laughs at his brother.

"Are you jealous of Mike?" he looks at him. A look of displeasure on his face.

"No" he looks back forward. The younger still watching him, half smile on his face. "Maybe. So what if I am"

"I get it"

"No you dont"

"Yeah I do. Rose is exactly your type"

"Shut up" he starts the car. "Even if she was - which she isn't - I'm still not jealous of Mike" The way he said his name was comical. Almost like he was trying to say a made up word. "I have nothing to be jealous of. He's to prim and proper for me to be jealous of him. Why would I want to be some posh twat?". Sam stays quiet. An amused look on his face as his brother keeps talking. "I just don't understand what she sees in him. He's nothing like what she deserves. She deserves the world. He can't give that to her. He'd be to worried that he'd mess up his perfect hair or his perfect suit"

"Yeah you're right. You're definitely not jealous of him".

"I said shut up" Sam lets out a chuckle. "What other leads do we have on this arson case then?". Sam chats. Going through their evidence as Deans thoughts wonder.

10E16 TIME STAMP 22:37

'What if I said I didnt want to die... yet? That I wasnt ready'

'Are you expecting to?'

'Always. The life I live. The work I do... I pretty much figured that was all there was to me, you know? Tear around and jam the key in the ignition and haul ass until I ran out of gas. I guess I just thought that sooner or later I'd go out the same way I live - pedal to the metal and that would be it'

'But now?'

'Now um... recent... events... make me think I might be closer to that than I really thought. And... I dont know. I mean - theres things. People. Feelings that I want to experience differently than I have before, or maybe even for the first time'

'Go a little deeper, perhaps, than with Gina'

'Yeah... yeah. I'm just starting to think that maybe there's more to it all then I thought'

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TAGS

@sojuxxi

[childotkw]

AhhhhHHH!!!

I’m so happy you’re liking the art, this au has me by the balls, in a frickin chock hold I swear to god. I’m inspired to say the least!

I was looking through the drawing prompts and the little toothless moment was too good to pass up so tada:

I don’t know if I’m quite set on this Lucerys design yet but drawing the clothes has definitely sent me down a armour/historical rabbit hole!

Picturing Luke in his post-cannibal attire has me thinking of all the cool accessories: studded tunics, dragon jewelry and just down right bad-assery that slightly-gone Lucerys is going to have!

In skimming over the last 2 chapters, it’s apparent that Luke will be getting some pretty nasty scarring??? On his leg or maybe his arms in the near future, which is always a fun time to draw, Its also an interesting character foil to Aemond seeing as they’ve both got them from acquiring new dragons 👀

As always thank you for such wonderful material to work from, it’s been so cool seeing the other art and inspiration from ruination!!

It do be like that hey 😂 we can just fall into an endless cycle of screaming in excitement at each other because HOLY SHIT THERES ANOTHER ONE!!!!!

Lucerys, my boy 😭 he’s giving off massive heart-eyes for his murderous dragon and I’m here for it.

Lucerys: he’s baby

Literally everyone else: no he *eats* babies

Lucerys: baby boy, precious son, let’s go commit war crimes :D

Your design for Lucerys is so beautiful as well! Even if this is just one concept, you’ve got such a distinct style! I particularly love the outfit - all the little details are stunning! The chain mail looking a bit like scales, the dragon heads, the braid! He’s so good! 😭😭😭

As for scarring - yeah he’s gonna have one prominent one on his left (from memory) thigh, and a few thinner, less noticeable ones up and down his arms, and a few on his chest. And you’re so right about the parallels of scar = new dragon. It’s a subtle but nice symmetry between Lucerys and Aemond. They’re such great foils to each other!

And thank you, darling, for sending through another amazing piece! You’re so talented, and I’m legit wiggling in my seat at work because I’m so excited! You, and every other artist that’s dropped by to share their incredible creations, are spoiling me and I just love you guys so much 🥰🥰💕💕💕💕💕

[spideronthesun]

Can we see some dialogue, please? 🎥🎥🎥

Hiii!! Of course! Thank you for sending this in!

🎥: Share a sentence of dialogue from your story.

The screech of tires came to a halt on the gravel road. The heavy boots trudged through the leaves on a sidewalk as Nikolas slammed the car door. His long black coat billowed behind him like a cloak. “What are your plans? You gonna keep dodging us, running away, until we're forced to forget about you?” He drummed his fingers on the roof of the convertible Mazda. “Maybe.” Edvardas raised his hand, pushed the cigarette into his mouth and lit it up. He quickly hid the letter in his jacket and raised his head like a cobra ready to bite. A shit-eating grin hid below the surface. “Why are you here?” “We are family, and nobody in the family gets left behind. You like it or not, we are still going to talk.”

“Well, dear, this is a story that I was told when I was young and it always stuck with me,” she remarked benevolently, lost in memory for a moment. “The forest dearly cherished them, as they were deemed to be the protectors of their little world and would let no one harm it. Each boy boasted a unique gift that helped them to defend the ones who needed their aid the most and could not do it for themselves. The forest named them Sons of Oak.” Instead of her boys drifting off to sleep, they kept their attention hanging on to every word that she had said. “Laikas was the oldest.” Before she could resume Adamas, yet again peeped from his spot. “Mama! It sounds a lot like Nikolas!”

Danielius settled into the wooden seat. His backpack straps slid down his shoulders and he placed it on his lap. He rummaged through the contents with a free hand before Danielius grabbed his journal out. “For the first time in a long time, I feel like drawing again.” Medeina clapped her hands. “We need to get out more often. It fuels your inspiration.” “No. It just seems like a great day to do it,” Danielius said, wiggling a pencil in his grip. “But it is you who I want to draw, Medeina. Are you fine with that?” “Me?” Medeina dithered for a moment. Her jaw dropped and she struggled to catch her breath. Her hands jumped to her face, covering her cheeks. “Why would you want that?”

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Ok forgetting moment pt. 20 I left the note where I wrote this open and can’t rmr if I actually sent it or not so if I did please delete this LMAO

FRRR I also really enjoy the panel where he has a lot of dark shadows on his face and he’s telling nagi not to get cocky after he was like “am I really a genius?”

RIN you getting inspiration for Rin is actually kinda crazy LMAOO but omg kiyora??? Your blog is just side character paradise atp but wait I’m kinda curious what else is in line in your inbox (if it’s not a secret you’re trying to keep LOL)

Karasu Shidou new duo coming soon move over Otoya /j but they definitely match each others freak LMAOO I bet Karasu’s like “your freaky but also extraordinary so I can respect you” and shidous just “yahoo!! Karasu chan!!” LOL

Karasu IS dad material he’s just the man of all men >>>> he would totally just lift his kid up and stare at them like “damn this extraordinary kid is MINE???”

I CANT WAIT FOR KARASU ARGUING WITH THE REF LMAOOOO and the stripper king scene is too funny!! Im also very excited for the moment that Barou and Nagi accidentally head butt each other HAHAHA

No because that’s so real I used to be SOOO into jjk and now it’s just kinda…..I am glad that the rollercoaster of a really confusing story is coming to an end so the suffering can stop but oh my…really hoping gege decides to put a bit of effort in for the ending!!!

Also I saw the pictures from your other ask reply and OMGGG THEYRE GORGEOUS!!! Looks like it was sm fun too! Hope you’re feeling better now and that your doctor has a solution for your nausea symptoms!

- Karasu anon

LMAO okay so you did send this in HOWEVER tumblr didn’t notify me?? which is why i took so long to respond despite now being at home and back to my chronically online ways (albeit jet lagged and still suffering from a migraine but we up) so it’s all good that you resent it HAHAAH

that panel is so villainous but so good HDJFLSKS like he looks EVILLLL but in such a cunty way!! i love how they’ve been juxtaposing karasu and nagi as of late…not just in personality but even in looks/drawing style they’re truly such opposites that their panels together slap SO hard 😮‍💨 definitely not biased because those two are my favs nope not at all

NO THAT’S WHAT I’M SAYING like if an idea for NAGI (my number one my baby the loml) can give me RIN inspiration it can truly happen to anyone 😬 imagine i try writing for karasu and then all of a sudden isagi is there?? like bro fuck off why are you wiggling your way into a plot that is NOT for you 😓 AND YES KIYORA I’M SO EXCITED tbh there’s lowkey no info abt kiyora even on the wiki so it’s time for me to take mad liberties with his character 😏 which i do love doing hehehe so i’m hype!! i’m so glad to be a safe space for side character enjoyers 🙏🏻 the more obscure the better…lowkey it’s so fun to write for characters like kiyora because i can truly write whatever and it’s so hard to make him ooc because what character does he even have to be in yk 😭 any “oocness” is just me giving him depth etc etc it may make the fic outdated once more comes out on him but me personally idc + i’m always spot on so 🥱 (mostly /j although in doing one of my current requests i realized that the reader calls kaiser a dog in the instrument and now it’s been revealed that his fav animals are stray dogs so maybe i’m onto smth fr 🫣)

LMAO no secrets here!! i have a note with my current requests so i’ll just paste that here 😄 they’re in chronological order of when the req was made but i fear i am NOT completing/posting them in that order 😟

[Secret gaming buddies — hiori

Prodigies — hiori

Singing reader — karasu

Karasu anon requests (any)

Classmates/friends to lovers — nagi

Karasu anon requests pt 2 (any)

Vague prompt — karasu or zantetsu

Cherry tree pt 2 — rin

The instrument pt 2 — kaiser (abt to post this one after i respond to some asks and take a post-riding lesson shower FJSKSK)

Vague prompt — kiyora]

vague prompt just means the person requested a character and literally nothing else HAHA but also yeah…as you can see karasu nation has been busy…although there are a couple of popular characters thrown in there!! i think once i post pt2 of the instrument i’ll probably get more reqs because atm i haven’t done a req since the last part of fwtkac and since that wasn’t answering an ask (since it was multiparts) lowkey people have probably forgotten i opened reqs back up again for bllk 😭 anyways hoping to get some more of these out of the way now that i have more free time and am not busily vacationing/writing karasu’s version of bfb (still cannot believe that’s the longest bllk fic i’ve written so far 😩)

HAHAAH EXACTLY like karasu acknowledges shidou’s freak but he’s undeniably talented/not mediocre so karasu has no choice but to be gang with him…meanwhile shidou is in it for the vibes + he thinks the bullshit karasu says abt erotic left legs and whatnot is super funny so they get along very well 😭 rip tabieita but i fear i am now a ryutabi TRUTHER 🤩 jkjk but no actually i’m going to make them besties at some point even if it’s just in a smau (although the otoya + shidou duo is also hilarious so dare i say trio?? and then yukimiya can get actually normal somewhat mature friends like reo and barou 😰)

THAT’S WHAT I’M SAYING like bro is starstruck that he somehow managed to create something so perfect 🥹 honestly he already has parenting experience (dealing with pxg) i just know he’s prepared and ready for it

OMG YES literally any and all nagi + barou interactions i’m so excited because i miss them being together so much 😭 BEST bllk duo no question i cannot wait for them to be reunited post nel (because despite what the haters say nagi is NOT going anywhere and barou is eating it up atm so safe to say he’s staying)

i agree completely…i think it’s a mix of the pacing just not being enjoyable to me weekly + everyone dying + me getting busy with irl and then becoming super into bllk as soon as i had free time that just really made me so lukewarm!! i think it’s impressive what gege has managed to create and for sure what he does well he does EXCELLENTLY so i’m not here to hate as some people have been doing however i do think the writing is not always as good as it’s hyped up to be either (cough female characters cough) and there’s def spots that make me go “hm” 😔 i’m hoping the ending is satisfying and wraps up any loose ends but we’ll see…anyways leaks tn for jjk i think so ig we can get a pretty good idea of what’s going to happen based on the chapter!!

IT WAS SO BEAUTIFUL OVER THERE FR like sometimes i’d just stand there and be like “wow this feels like the set of a movie” it literally just didn’t even seem real at times 😭 probably going to call the doctor at some point this week and hopefully they offer good solutions because i’m still dizzy even lying in bed at home 😓