#i slurp that shit up like nothing else

[actual-changeling]

yes i am obsessed with touch-starved crowley and aziraphale being touchy and needy and clinging to each other.

yes i am ALSO obsessed with post-divorce era hate sex with as little touching as possible because they have capital I Issues TM and are suffering because they're still touch-starved.

we exist

[bimbobaggins69]

𝟏𝟖+ 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈

Eddie is being driven up the fucking wall and he’s at his wits end. He can’t take it anymore, not when you’re prancing around the apartment with a tiny, see through, white nightie. The material is so thin he can see your nipples and the way they’re peaked, right through the fabric. It’s like you’re doing it to be cruel, although Eddie knows this is your everyday usual sleep attire, he just wishes for the sake of his newly pierced cock that you wouldn’t do all the things that turn him on so fiercely, which is quite literally just you being yourself. He couldn’t help that he thought the mundane shit you did; like the way you slurped up your spaghetti or flipped through the television channels, was so effortlessly sexy. But he’s aching for your touch, so when his good friend/piercer Nate gave him the go ahead to masturbate, he concocted a devious little plan, one that would involve you and him getting off, together.

So that’s how you found yourself laid back on your shared bed, legs spread wide as you plunge your fingers deep inside your creamy cunt, wet squelches reverberate off the walls making Eddie groan as he watches you at the foot of the bed. His hard, leaking cock in his hand; pumping up and down to the image of you pleasuring yourself so beautifully for him. The glint of the jewelry catches your eye, finding Eddie’s big brown orbs before trailing down his tattooed and pierced body, taking in the image of his newest piercing and how you couldn’t wait to see what it felt like buried deep inside your walls, hitting your spot until you eventually squirted all over Eddie and the mattress. That image has you immediately clenching around your fingers and biting your lip as you stave off yet another orgasm, edging yourself to near painful levels.

Eddie immediately gets a better idea and crawls up the bed, now hovering above you as his hair forms a perfect curtain, secluding you both off from everything else around. “Fuck, I need to feel some part of you princess.” He confesses as he begins to glide his lube slick cock over the entirety of your slit. The jewelry rubs against your clit so perfectly, your legs begin to tremble and your back arches off the bed in an almost exorcism like fashion. The way the cold, wet metal rubs over your swollen bundle of nerves; ever so gently, has you closer to the finish line quicker than anything ever has before. Everything is so slippery with perfect friction, making your pale pink polished toes curl as you raise them higher in the air. Trying to open yourself as wide as possible, selfishly taking everything you can as your high hits you like a ton of bricks. Body spasming as your walls clench tightly around nothing and your eyes snap shut, stars dancing across your eyelids. Eddie continues rubbing the underside of his cock over your cunt until he’s shooting spurts of his warm, sticky cum all over your stomach; most of it pooling in your belly button. Eddie eagerly slurps it up, then spits it into your awaiting mouth before his soft, sodden lips find yours as you both swap his cum in a greedy, tongue filled kiss.

Part two

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Okay, so vampire Eddie is a pretty standard trope at this point, but may I offer...Twilight vampire Eddie who is absolutely pissed off about his sparkly existence?

Eddie actually isn't that old, he was turned in the 80s when he was around 20. He lives with his small and not only vampire family. There's patriarch Wayne, his partner Scott who always becomes a teacher no matter where they move, Claudia Henderson and her son that have been with them ever since Scott noticed Dustin being unusually quiet in his class and soon after, Wayne kicked out his abusive father.

The problem with living with a smart man who loves educating people and a man who never received the education he deserved is - they take school really, really seriously. Whenever they move, Eddie usually has to re-join high school, it's all "just so that you have some socialization! Also we need to be able to blend in, so look around and see what's normal with young people! Also I'm pretty sure some of the stuff we know is now obsolete or disproven, so make sure to tell us!". And Eddie loves Wayne and Scott, he really does, but he had trouble blending in even when he was alive, so now? Impossible. As for gathering information, Eddie has been trying for decades to explain to Wayne that even if becoming a vampire healed the wounds from the lynching mob, it didn't do shit for his ADHD, so there. Wayne finds Eddie banging his head into a desk one day and chanting "WHAT-THE-FUCK-IS-TIK-TOK?!"

So yes, Eddie hates being a forever highschooler, but it also means he can run DnD clubs everywhere he joins and he's not even lynched for it like in the 80s, so hey, progress! He gets mostly content with his existence, except that he's fucking sparkly and can't turn into a bat, so what's the point?!

But then a huge group of people moves from the close town of Hawkins, they had a really fucked up earthquake - Wayne told him all about it, he often volunteered in rescue and high risk works, and he's never seen anything like it - and their little town becomes way more crowded. There are high school freshmen just begging to be introduced to his club, Hellfire, although one of them is scary observant and Eddie is really sure that Jane knows he's a vampire.

And then there's Steve Harrington. A young man with the prettiest hair ever who joined Eddie's class, apparently he needs to repeat the last year too because if your school burns down, you can't take final exams. He's stupidly pretty, snarky, bitchy, and even though he could be partying day and night and spending the rest of his time on dates, he prefers to hang around with the freshmen. Lucas tells him one day that Steve got badly hurt when he was digging through the collapsed middle school, finding and rescuing their whole group, and well...Eddie respects that. Dustin absolutely loves Steve and maybe Eddie feels a bit jealous, but he has to admit - the guy is cool.

The problem with Steve Harrington is this - he's seen so much shit that nothing really fazes him. Eddie loves shocking people. Steve is unshockable. It becomes their little game, they get close, Eddie realizes he has an embarrassing crush, all that jazz. He tries dropping hints, he slurps his bloody lunch from a bottle that has a "THIS IS DEFINITELY TOMATO JUICE AND NOTHING ELSE". He wears a cape. He adopts a horrible Dracula accent. Nothing works. Steve always just laughs and tells him that he's weird and that's why he likes him.

Finally, Eddie has enough. They walk in the woods to get high, Eddie decides to break the ice, he scoops up Steve, does his whole dashing-through-the-woods thing, and he hopes that he can finally share his secret with Steve.

Except Steve just pats his back and says "Wow, that was cool, man! You'd be amazing at track. Great core strength too," and Eddie's head implodes.

"Okay, Steve. Don't you think there's something rotten here?" he tries.

"I mean, it's the woods. Of course there's something rotting all the time."

Eddie tries again. "You've noticed something strange, haven't you. I'm inhumanly fast and strong."

"I sure didn't expect that! You must be secretly training. I didn't know this town had a gym."

Again. "My skin is pale white and ice cold."

Steve is watching a nearby squirrel instead of looking horrified. "Yeah, not all people tan great, Robin is like that too. And I told you, man. Your circulation is shit, you need better socks and some gloves too."

"My eyes change color."

"Yeah, I know, I do envy you that you can wear those cool contact lenses. My eyes are too dry for that."

Eddie is growing desperate, he's gesturing at the trees because Steve doesn't listen. "I speak like I'm from a different time."

"80s slashers will do that to you. You basically live on those. But I gotta admit that they're pretty fun. Oh look, she's got an acorn! Clever girl!"

"Very clever. Also I never eat or drink anything."

"Hey, I'm not judging. Some people prefer one or two meals in a day instead of the whole five meal thing."

Eddie feels like howling and he isn't even a werewolf. "I. DON'T. GO. INTO. THE. SUNLIGHT."

Steve's eyes finally leave the squirrel. "Duh. We've already established you can't tan."

And Eddie's had enough. He tears off his t-shirt, marches directly into the sunlight and throws the biggest tantrum of his life. "STEVEN HARRINGTON. PAY ATTENTION. I am 20. I have been 20 for a while now. You know what I am, right? I am a vampire. So ask me the question, what do we eat? That wasn't a fucking tomato juice Steven!!!"

Steve just watches him with quiet amusement, as if he's waiting for something.

Eddie doesn't notice. His monologue is reaching its most dramatic part. "I've killed people before! I'm the world's most dangerous predator!"

Steve snorts. "I saw you trip over your own feet in the cafeteria."

"Not the point!"

"You told a waitress "you too" when she told you to enjoy your meal."

Eddie actually howls now. "THE POINT IS." He spins in the sunlight and sees the reflections of light off his skin. "I wouldn't have minded becoming a vampire, but let me tell you. Being stuck in high school forever? Sucks. Craving chips and throwing them up whenever you try them? SUCKS. And thinking you've become the legendary creature of the night when you're a glorified glitter mascot?! And you can't even fly?! DOUBLE SUCKS."

He points at his bare glittering chest. "THIS THE SKIN OF A FUCKING DISCO BALL, STEVE!"

Steve just laughs and gets up from the tree stump he was sitting on. "Thanks for sharing. I was kinda hoping you'd finally ask me out since this is the first time we've had some privacy, but this was interesting too."

Eddie's sharing mania suddenly stops. He realizes he's shirtless in the middle of the forest, and his yelling has scared off the squirrel. He promptly grabs his shirt and puts in on. "Um. You...you wanted me to ask you out? Because I totally want to do that. Yep. But I thought it would have been unfair to ask you before I told you-"

"That you're a vampire? Dude, I know."

Eddie blinks once. Then again. "Excusemewhat?"

Steve smiles at him and touches his hand. "Look. After what happened in Hawkins, I know the smell of blood. I knew it wasn't tomato juice. Also I've accompanied the kids to enough monster flicks to know."

"Oh." Eddie licks his lips and doesn't really know what to say. "Um. What...does that mean for us?"

Laughing, Steve grabs his other hand too. "Definitely two things. One - you can and should kiss me. Two - you can stop wearing that cape. I got your point."

"Oh okay. Cool. Will do. Both."

And since Eddie Munson is a vampire of his word, he does.

(Wayne is absolutely delighted that Eddie is dating, he watches sports with Steve and discusses the pros and cons of Steve becoming a paramedic. Scott helps Steve with some of the subjects he's struggling with. In return, Steve works with Robin to find a makeup brand that is fully sparkleproof, giving the vampires a chance to walk in the sunlight again. And sometimes, he helps them answer the questions that have been plaguing the Munson-Clarke-Henderson household for years...such as: what is TikTok?)

(oh and also. Turns out Steve really thought Eddie was wearing creepy contact lenses. That one aspect of vampyrism he found very cool)

[tiredcreatur3]

middle aged toji fucking his son’s girlfriend cuz he’s a fucking scumbag of a father and obviously, who wouldn’t wanna fuck a tight lil pussy like that, even the more when you’ve been so so obviously teasing him ever since megumi introduced you to each other.

-

toji’s son, your boyfriend was already asleep on the couch after he decided that he should maybe start visiting his father more often now that he moved away after college and toji lived alone in such a big house.

you couldn’t sleep so you decided to go and get a glass of water in the kitchen, just wearing your boyfriend’s shirt and nothing else because you’ve already visited few times and felt safe enough to do so, panties sticking out as the shirt barely reached the bottom of your ass.

you almost gasped out loud but definitely jumped up a little once you heard your boyfriend’s dad’s deep voice, blushing a little bit as he stood right behind you to get something from the upper cupboard above you.

“ ‘gumi’s asleep?” he asked quietly and you let out a soft ‘yes sir’, taking a sip of your water.

you had to admit that he turned you on, made your panties drenched and tummy all tight. he towered above you, wide shoulders practically hiding you completely and oh, his gaze really did something to you. he was a really attractive guy but from what megumi told you, he was quite the piece of shit yet you couldn’t help but admire him any time you saw him.

obviously, you noticed how he’s been staring at you ever since you and his son become a couple. never touched you, never said anything. just hungry tired eyes staring you up and down whenever you two visited. and maybe, just maybe you enjoyed that and teased him and all, leaving your panties there few times and acting so so surprised when you’d never get them back. or acting like the sweetest little girl ever around him which oh, that was his weak spot.

and honestly, you don’t know how toji’s cock found its way into your cute little mouth few minutes later after a short small talk at 2 am in the morning, kneeling down like the good girl he knew you were, sucking his big fat cock as he rested back against the kitchen counter, his poor dick finally getting some attention, head lolling back few times as oh, you had such a little mouth that he was afraid to even fuck it but god, you knew how to work it so goddamn well.

he stared down at you with those soft hungry eyes of his, always seeming like he hasn’t slept in days, hair quite messy from probably rolling around in bed, sweatpants pooling at his ankles, tank top slightly rolled up as you sucked, bobbing your head and keeping eye contact with the older.

you whined a little bit, slurping at his cock as you used your hands as well, nodding your head after he shushed you, knowing that in the room next to the kitchen was your boyfriend soundly asleep.

he soon pulled you away and lifted you up on the counter no problem, not even realizing how light you were but god, it did something to him definitely. along with your soft hips and tummy, tits resting prettily under your shirt, nipples hard and prominent through the fabric. such a pretty little thing.

you immediately pulled your legs apart, he didn’t even have to say nothing, making him almost wanna chuckle, how dirty a sweet face like yours could be. he hooked two of his fingers under your underwear and pulled it aside, revealing your puffy wet clit, which was so hard not to notice and not to play with, the older rubbing at the little nub with his thumb as you sighed shakily which cause the male to use his other hand to shut you up.

“be a good girl and don’t wake your boyfriend up, yeah?” he rasped out to you in a low voice and you nodded your head, wanting to listen to him and be a good little girl, staying dead silent even though you were shaking, toji’s fingers all sticky and wet with your juices after stuffing that tight cunnie of yours with two of ‘em.

and oh, you couldn’t wait any longer, you just really really needed it, that tight coil in your lower tummy so so annoying, staring at the male the whole time as he rubbed the tip of his cock against your entrance, knowing he was after a vasectomy so there was nothing to worry about.

you inched your hips slowly closer to him, practically melting and falling apart on his cock once he began to fuck you, leaving you practically stunned and dumb founded, starry fucked out eyes watching the older male as he rolled his hips into your wet slimy mess of a cunt.

“that’s a good girl, shit..” he whispered out, abs flexing whenever he pulled out almost all the way and could feel how tight you were around him.

your mouth was still covered which you were glad for, shaky little pants leaving you still, your boyfriend’s father basically destroying you on his dick, making you forget everything and anything you’ve ever known except for pleasure.

he knew you’ve been innocently teasing him, testing the waters, how much he could handle and withstand and oh, he wanted you to learn a lesson not to do that or this would happen.

his other hand caressed your body, resting on your to your thigh and eventually going back to stroking your clit, so so puffy and red like the rest of your messy cunt as he fucked you nice and deep.

maybe even few more times, bending you over against the counter, practically lifting you off the ground whenever he’d hold your hips, watching how hard it’d be for you to keep your mouth shut.

maybe, just maybe, even fucking you for the third time, letting you hug him and hold onto him like a tick as he’d rut his hips into your soapy cunt already filled with two of his loads and you yourself having came a bunch already.

and then letting you waddle back to your boyfriend’s arms, legs all wobbly and cunt full of his seed, all messy and trembly after fucking you nice and good to warn you what happens when you tease him for too long before going out for a quick cig.

not like it was of any help because this was definitely worth the teasing in your opinion.

[chrollohearttags]

okay, we know musician!eren is a freaky lil’ frog. That he loves doing all the things to please his lady and sometimes, he can’t control himself. But he definitely underestimates the lengths that (y/n) will go to just to see him satisfied. He loves to think he’s corrupting you or teaching you all the nasty shit that transpires in the bedroom. He always takes it to the next level…but one night? You send him into shock like he’s never seen when you take the reigns.

walking into the bedroom in nothing more than a robe, not saying a word..not a single thing underneath as you push him down on the bed and tell him to lay back. “Let me ride that fucking face.” He’s not used to you taking control and being so domineering but once he gets a taste of you dominating him, he wants nothing else. Especially when you cloud his view with nothing but your thick thighs, wrapping them around his head as you straddle from the bridge of his nose to his pouty little lips….smacking your own ass as he carefully devours your cunt. “Put your tongue in it, baby. Right there…” encouraging him as he grunts underneath, loving every second. Whether he can breathe or not is not none of your concern. But you can sense just how much he loves it when you turn around after twerking on his upper half to see his cock standing at attention. With his pretty features coated in your slick, it’s your turn to return the favor. Doing so by gliding your tongue down his chest and abs, something he’s done to you many of times. But not before kissing at his nipples and making this supposed alpha male twitch and shudder like a little bitch. “F-fuck..that’s—“ “feels good, doesn’t it?” Questioning with quite the devious glare on your face. Knowing that he’s about to really lose his mind when you move your mouth to the tip of his dick; making suctioning motions on it which always gets him to shuddering.

he’s so sensitive, it’s an absolute shame…poor thing’s clutching the bed by the time you really get into it. Eating his dick up as if you’ve been starved for it. Let saliva ooze and seep all down the sides as you take it to the back of your throat with no regard for your own breathing. “Princess..s-shit! You gotta slow down…oh my god.” “I’ll stop when I’m ready. This my dick.” You care even less when he busts a nut in the back of your throat and you just keep sucking without a care. Gulping, gagging and slurping noises filling the once quiet room, right along with Eren’s pathetic moans. His chest and stomach are caving so bad that he looks as if he’s hyperventilating. Alternating between his balls and slimy shaft..it’s as sexy as it messy and he doesn’t want you to stop. However, he knows he can’t last if you keep this up.

which is exactly why you waste no time climbing on top and riding him until this man’s eyes are permanently residing in the back of his head. Something that doesn’t take much when he’s already so depleted but once that tight little pussy starts gripping around him, he’s losing it. Stuck even!…

“Wait, baby…I don’t think—“ but you don’t need him to think, move or even speak right now..all you need him to do is lie there and let you fuck him senseless. Bouncing and burrowing that heavy ass down on his dick until it’s swallowed him whole. He’s never had anything like it. Watching your perform tricks he didn’t even think possible. From riding on your top toes to doing splits. The entire time, that slimy mixture drenching his entire pelvis..the pretty pearlescent fluid all a result of how good it felt. You even spread your own cheeks open so he can see firsthand how insane your grip is. Before long, he’s exploding yet again with another mind numbing nut and this time, it’s spilling inside of you. Only because you refused to let up and told him simply: “come in this pussy or you not coming at all..” and he tried not to be so weak..damn, he’s doing the best he can but he’s never had anybody fuck him like this. And after two emptied loads residing in your womb and his legs practically shaking, you decide to let him go..leaving him with nothing more than a kiss on the head as you hold him close to you and let him calm down. “It’s okay, baby..just breathe.”

knowing you just took his soul and set it in a fucking jar. Needless to say though..he’ll need that treatment more often.

[canyourfavesurvivecastledracula]

Hacker

@would-we-be-friends-if-i asked:

Alec Hardison (hacker/tech genius, cinnamon roll, does NOT like heights but can deal with them if he must)

@pomrania writes:

The ones I'm uncertain about are Nate Ford and Hardison. Hardison mostly because there's very little tech for him to use, thus his master-class specialty isn't available and he'd have to be judged on more "normal" factors (although he's also a skilled grifter).

@r0sequarks writes:

Hardison is definitely dead. He is not meant to go into the field alone. His grifting style is notable for getting him dangerously in over his head on multiple occasions. Plus, he’s out of his element with nothing to hack. My boy’s getting eaten. Probably at the shaving incident since I doubt he’d take the crucifix.

@darthlordcommie writes:

Hardison: He's a hacker, he gets a bit too smug, his skill set is useless. Slurp slurp.

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

WRONG! WRONG! YOU'RE ALL WRONG ON THE INTERNET!

(intended lightly I love you all dearly)

I get where you all are coming from but like okay. Let's break this down.

Yes, it is true that Hardison's fatal flaw is overconfidence and getting a bit too impressed with himself. Yes he overcomplicates things. He's a genius and he knows it and that gets him into trouble. But this is not going to be a problem for him in Castle Dracula because:

Hardison is the member of the crew with a healthy respect for the supernatural

(Yes, yes, Parker believes in the supernatural, but that's not quite the same. Parker believes in the supernatural the way she does everything else - idiosyncratically.)

I'm surprised to see doubt that he'd accept the crucifix. Hardison, again uniquely among the Leverage crew, is godfearing. He's the one getting qualms about stealing from a church - not Nate, whose church it is. There is no way he'd refuse a crying old lady bestowing a religious artifact on him for his protection - his Nana raised him better than that. Not only is he a Polite Young Man, but there are some things you don't mess around with, and divinity is one of them.

And vampires are another! Hardison has two features that are going to offer him a lot of protection: he's extremely culturally literate and he's afraid of things that are scary. The others approach Dracula as a Mark; Hardison is the most likely to approach him as a vampire. If he were able to just nope on out of there he would. Hardison does not want to be here, doing this.

The cultural literacy is a bit of a double edged sword, because he might be operating off the wrong set of vampire lore, and if he comes in visibly armed against vampires Dracula will perceive him as a threat and kill him. This is where his tendency to go too far comes in - given the choice he would enter the Castle with like three braids of garlic around his neck and other unsubtle markers, and this would get him immediately killed. But if he only realizes he's in a vampire story after he becomes a prisoner, when he lacks the ability to outfit himself, then his knowledge (and fear) becomes his best weapon of defense. He can't get overcocky because there is nothing in here to inspire him own confidence. He'll be too terrified to be smug. And that's what's going to keep him alive.

One of you speculated that Nathan Ford is the most like Jonathan Harker of the crew. I couldn't disagree more. Hardison is. He's intelligent, assured and proud of his own skills, afraid of things that are scary, inclined to shit-eating when the situation permits it, young and idealistic, madly in love with his autistic wife, [century of your choice] up to date with a vengeance, a polite and sweet-faced young man, godfearing, skilled in encryption and decryption, constantly referencing his favorite media, logical and methodical, researches everything, and is afraid of heights. There's a reason I make Jonathan's catch phrase "Age of the Clerk, baby!" The novel Dracula is a technothriller and to the extent it's applicable in the late Victorian context, Jonathan is the Drac Attack Pack's hacker. And not just because he hacks Dracula's head off. Who presents the Documents and Backstory at the beginning of every Leverage episode? Hardison does.

All this to say, provided it takes him long enough to figure out that Dracula is an actual literal vampire that he can neither nope out nor arrive in full Blade cosplay, I think Hardison's stay in the Castle plays out almost exactly like the novel as written. As I said, I very much don't think he'd refuse the crucifix, so he won't die shaving. He'll absolutely panic like a rat in a trap before calming down. When he doesn't get cocky he does in fact know how to play a Mark quite well, so he can play the game with Dracula well enough for his fear and discomfort to be funny. He'll know he's going to die and act accordingly. He's gonna be real unhappy about that sheer drop but he will brave it as a matter of life and death. He is not going to go out to get devoured by wolves when he has the option of not doing that. There's nothing to hack and a decided lack of orange soda, but you can't have everything.

I seem to be in the minority here, but I actually do think Alec Hardison can survive Castle Dracula

[dinozarr]

brainrot of simply pussywhipped!gojo me thinks..

† part two.

𝐏𝐔𝐒𝐒𝐘𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃!𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 . . . who wants nothing more than to eat you out religiously. he doesn’t do it simply just to pleasure you, but also because he’s just that obsessed with your throbbing sex. he loves the way your kneading thighs wrap around his head so desperately. how every time you try to pull away and lift yourself from his vigorous tongue, he just pulls you right back down to lick every last droplet of juice that spread across your folds.

⠀⠀⠀⠀he will gladly lie down for hours on end, having you hit numerous orgasms with tears practically embedded into your cheeks. even when you’re doing calming activities such as reading a book in bed, or watching your favorite show; gojo is right there between your legs just slurping up all the juices you leak out. it’s obviously consensual because the man will not lay a hand on you until he hears a bold lettered “yes” come from your mouth.

⠀⠀⠀⠀every time you two do missionary his hands are always placed on your waist with his hips curling ever so diligently that has your eyes rolling so far back that you swear you can see the light. your back arches off the bed with ease, satoru’s opposite hand sliding it’s way to your lower back while he hovers over you and watches how you take every inch of him so well. it was like the universe hand crafted you solely for him and his dick alone.

⠀⠀⠀⠀the way he slides in and out of you with ease, each vein that trails down his sides caressing your walls so deliciously. how his throbbing tip pokes your cervix every few moments, causing that spine chilling knot to form in the depths of your stomach. it doesn’t help when he firmly presses a hand down on your lower abdomen to feel himself inside of you, your hands instantly going to grasping at his wrist with a slight chuckle tumbling from his lips. he watches as you whine and cry from the pressure, his bottom lip tugging between his silver lined teeth.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ “atta girl.” he murmurs softly prior to leaning down and catching your lips with his own, his hips picking up the pace just so he can feel your hands press against his chest with your mouth falling open ajar.

NOTEZ : erm !!! hope you guys liked this lil shit cause i have nothing else to post atm and i don’t like how my writing is turning out for the noritoshi drabble so i’m gonna fix it in the morning. anyways ENJOY🫶‼️

ᶻ z Z ! © TAKST4Z — all rights reserved. mature discretion. please do not plagiarize or steal any of my works or graphics.

[cuethediscoandthedrinks]

hi! um idk if you've done it already but please write about brat tamer! jake 🛐 yk he's into the whole thing. you misbehave or tease? you're in for it 🥵

OH ur right

jake sully + brat-taming hcs-

• i canon that he's not a "brat tamer" in its cliche, but more a soft!dom brat-taming, if you get what i mean

• the basis for his sexual life is that he pleases. he pleases, but he pleases for him, and for you, but ultimately for him

• compare him to quaritch, and you'll see what i mean; there's no real sadistic quality to jake, or a need to be 'in control' so much as guide and lead you where he thinks you'll like (and where/how he wants to see u, but i don't think we're all ready for that nasty yet)

• that said, when you act up he'll still take great pleasure in establishing some daddie!boundaries, ngl. it stems more from a place of intrigue and paternalistic care than anything else. if you bat his earnest caresses away, or send a disgruntled glare in his direction, he'll just want to know why

• jake's pretty confident in meeting your needs, and has all the proof necessary via his past experience with other partners in his human life, and the prior intimate moments between him and you; e.g. your moans and squeals, and the sheer amount of pussy juice that he's slurped up since he first met you,

• so it's more that he's interested in pursuing this seemingly left-field bratty development from you. it'll often start with his quirked eyebrow, some squinted eyes and a small amused (yet partially confused) open-mouthed smirk, bc what hasn't he done to make you cum all over him already?

• jake'll then become incredibly hesitant. less so in an insecure, introverted way, but more in a cautious and observant manner; despite the external murk that comes with him figuring out what could make you react as you have, he's internally pretty delighted bc this means you're only getting more comfortable with him,

• more willing to experiment, and express yourself and your feelings to him. even if it's in a snide, uppity, slutty and bratty manner sometimes

• after some particularly sassy backtalk from you one that can't be dealt with later by his tongue, or fingers, or thick cock he'll just falter his movements ever so slightly, watch you a little more intently, and let the amusement settle in

• he's amused, and eager to fix it. that's mostly the energy that develops when you go full bratty on him. some "....everything..ok, babygirl..?", or "hm..now, you know i don't like when you talk to me like that.", or maybe even "...uh-uh, now what did we say about backtalk, huh? *tsk*" often roll off his tongue, accompanied by some extra patronizing and pseudo-sympathetic hums of disapproval, and maybe some shaking of his head if you're in a more public place

• it also depends on the disobedient behavior, bc if it's more on the teasing end; e.g. bending over extra low, exposing your soft, slickened pussy, or slurping on some fresh fruit, letting the warm, sticky juices dribble down your open mouth, he doesn't really give a shit

• behavior that stems from dissatisfaction, on the other hand, gets to him much more. if he's receiving complaints in the form of pouted lips, little lacklustre head-shakes and huffs of lust-tinted boredom, he'll have something to say and do about it

• but he loves to observe and figure out what exactly is wrong before making any moves gotta put that marine expertise to good use. he figures there's little point in jeopardizing his soft!dom position by sexual shots in the dark, if you will

• therefore, he'll just become extra vigilant to look for clues, and eventually figure out what's on your mind. to him, it's usually a finger, cock, mouth or pussy thing though. if you squeeze your thighs together, or squirm and quietly whine apropos of nothing, he'll deem it a pussy problem

• likewise, if you subconsciously start suckling on your fingers, maybe pushing them in ever-deeper until you're silently glucking and choking on them, little moans and gasps escaping you, he'll know it's a cock issue

• or, if he catches a glimpse of your bright-eyed stare in his peripheral vision, raking over his vast, broad blue form, sucking ever so gently on your bottom lip - eyes glazed over, lulled and mesmerized by whatever erotic daydream you're occupied with, he'll know for sure that it's a mouth and finger thing.

• that means he'll begin to make his way over to you, maybe subtly, maybe more obviously, and just try to coax you out of your bratty shell a bit

• some little smirks, doe-eyed looks and sidling up nice and close to you, skin on skin; perhaps snaking his long, toned forearms and biceps around your waist, or intertwining his legs with yours

• all the while planting some light hot-mouthed kisses to your neck or collarbone, brushing his hair against you, or nuzzling into your exposed skin.

• he could go full strict dom on you, but he's always more partial to playing good cop, so slow and steady encouragement for you to communicate what it is you want, that's his go-to, "...talk to me babygirl..you can do it, tell me what's on your mind..",

• "you remember what i said last time, don't you?...if you wanna feel good, you gotta talk like a big girl...ok, sweetheart?",

• "...now, i don't know what's wrong, but this tantrum of yours isn't gonna get you anywhere, alright?...don't make me do things i don't wanna do now, ok?...'cause i know you can be a good girl for me."

+reqs open as usual <3

[lighteyed]

driving miss mayfield

steve harrington x fem mayfield!reader

[5.8k] steve gives you driving lessons, max gives you heat, you give yourself no time to daydream.

disclaimer- no mention of blood relation to max, no physical descriptors of reader, they are sisters in any way you want them to be.

     “What do you mean you don’t know how to drive?” The disbelief in his words is almost as emphatic as the annoyance in yours, but he seems to be more disbelieving than you are annoyed at him, who could ever really be annoyed at him, so you let Steve gape at you and blink rapidly instead of telling him to mind his business.

   You slurp down the rest of your soda from the general store in his passenger seat, shrugging, fighting to push down that urge to snap. Mayfield girls, you, Max, your mother when she wasn’t bogged down by a soul-sucking man-leech draining her lifeforce from her right before your eyes, had a less than lovely temper most of the time, and you tried very  hard to keep it contained, especially around people who didn’t deserve it. It just felt like a ridiculous question. “I mean, why do you think I’m stuck drivin’ with Billy half the time? You think I get in that car willingly? You think Max gets in that car willingly?”  You shake your head. “No way. If I had a license I would’ve been, like, halfway back to California the second you people started dragging me and Max into your science fiction monster crap.”

    “As if she woulda let you,” Steve scoffs with a similar head shake, a lock of his hair falling nicely into place in the middle of his forehead. He swipes at it quickly. He has this ridiculous urge to never be anything less than perfect in front of you, you, who is perfect without effort, leading him to put even more effort into holding up this front for himself. “Besides, you’d miss this pretty face, right?” He points to himself, smiles, and waits for you to laugh. You do. It makes his heart constrict.

   “Think you’d miss my pretty face, actually,” you snort, shoving your now empty shake in the cupholder.

    “Yeah, I would,” he teases, just a little, just enough to make further attempts at breaking all that ice you’ve got protecting you, and he swears, he sees it crack the slightest amount, even though you don’t answer. You smile and stare down at your hands in your lap, twisting a mood ring around your finger and making sure you don’t look at him. He’ll take what he can get. “Well, anyhow,” he says, dramatically blowing air out of his mouth, the subject change swift and, in his opinion, a flawless execution, “I can’t in good conscience let you keep driving with him.”

    “You already drive me and Max and all her friends everywhere, you don’t have to do anything else.” You don’t like being indebted to anyone. Even if it’s Steve, who insists on picking you up for school in the mornings and dropping you off in the afternoons and, if he’s free, taking you anywhere else you need to go. And he usually is free, because you, and the group of middle schoolers (almost high schoolers, to be fair) he’s adopted since he protected them from Billy and the Demodogs and the whole Mind Flayer debacle (you’re still fuzzy on the details, honestly) a few months ago,  are his only friends nowadays, so it’s not like his schedule is packed and there’s no room to fit you in there. There’s more than enough room. If there wasn’t, he’d make it so. You both knew that.

    “I love driving you,” he insists. “But the thing is, my dad’s cutting me off.”

    “He’s what?”

    “Like, you know, he’s gonna stop paying for my shit. I’m not goin’ to college and he thinks I’m a useless sack of nothing-“

   “You are not a useless sack of nothing-“

   “You tell that to him-“

   “Take me there right now and I will-“

    “Alright, alright, easy.” As much as he’d love to see you go toe to toe with his dad, and you’d be able to, he’s sure, he doesn’t want to talk about it any further than the basic facts of the situation. He’s not going to college therefore his dad has no reason to pay for anything he does anymore. His car insurance is his responsibility now, anything else he needs is up to him to to get, food, clothes, gas, if he has to go to the hospital he’s sure his dad would shove the medical bills onto him, too. He was like that, unfortunately for Steve. But it was one thing he could relate to you on. You had him slightly beat, though. You had two dads to complain about, both terrible in their own ways. Sam Mayfield: emotionally distant, didn’t bother to call, didn’t ask you to visit, too busy when you lived with him to spend any time with you anyway. And then, of course, there was Neil Hargrove: controlling, abusive, cold Neil Hargrove. How he’d charmed your mother into marrying him was a mystery to you and to Max, but you supposed, for as much as you loved her on principle because she was your mother and you pitied her and looked up to her all the same, she was easily charmed by men. It killed you a little more every time it happened, but this was the first time she’d actually brought him into your family, integrating them together in a way she thought would be seamless, but you and Max despised your stepbrother and he despised you both right back. “Point is, I’m gonna have to get a job, probably at that new mall they’re opening up-“

   “Oh the horror-“ you feign a hand over your forehead and slump back in your seat- “Rich pretty boy Steve Harrington doing labor, at the fancy new mall, with those soft delicate hands of yours, whatever will you do-“

   “Shut it,”  he warns, but there’s a grin on his face anyway. “You just admitted I’m pretty, by the way.” He continues before you can dispute his claims. “I’m not gonna be around as much. So you need your license. Unless you wanna be stuck with Billy yelling in your ear all day long.” He pauses, thinking. “Which might make me kill him. So, actually, unless you want me to murder him in cold blood-”

   “Please? I’m begging at this point,” you joke back.

   “Let me get a word in would you?” He laughs and it sounds like music to you. You keep it to yourself. “I want you to be okay on your own. I don’t want him, y’know, hurting you guys, okay? So you need your license.” His words and his eyes go lovely and soft, all rounded ages, nothing jagged about them, just pure, undulated care and affection.

    It makes you soften, too. You spend a lot of time looking after Max, it hits you hard when someone takes the time to look after you, too. “I don’t know, Steve, I wouldn’t be getting a car right after or anything, my job doesn’t pay enough, and we can just take the bus or something. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

   ‘I’m teaching you to drive, and you can take my car wherever you need to go. I’ll come pick you up, we’ll go on over to wherever I’m working, drop me off, and then you go wherever you need to go and come back in time to pick me up.” He says it so easily, as if it’s the most obvious answer to your problems in the world. He doesn’t even fathom how much it means to you.

   “You’d let me drive this?” You brace both your hands on the dashboard, your turn to stare at him in incredulity. His car is nice. It’s beautiful, really, and you don’t know much about cars. It’s classic and shiny and new. And expensive. Expensive being the operative word. Billy’s car is nice, too, and it’s about the only thing he takes care of other than his physique, which he thinks about obsessively, but you don’t think it’s anywhere as nice as Steve’s. Not in your opinion, anyway. The fact that Steve is nicer in personality (and looks, quite frankly) might make you biased, though. “I can’t afford to replace anything if I scratch it or crash it or if it explodes.”

   “You won’t scratch, crash, or explode it, you’re gonna be learning from the best.”

   “And who would that be?”

   “Me, obviously. Welcome to your first driving lesson, I’ll be your instructor, Mr. Harrington, thank you for joining us Miss Mayfield.” He tips an imaginary hat toward you. You’re not sure what driving instructors wear hats but you let him have his fantasy anyway.

   “Right now?” You can barely process what’s happening before he’s popping open his door, lanky legs sliding right out. He raps the hood of the car with his knuckles, ducking his head inside to look at you.

   “Yes, right now, Mayfield, no time like the present.” He comes around to the side you’re on and opens door for you, ushering you out. He holds your hand to help you out of the car, entirely unnecessary but a smooth move nonetheless, and your hands fit together in a way that makes him want to keep them clasped like that forever. He ushers you into the driver’s seat with a quickness that almost gives you whiplash.

    Your hands prop up on the wheel, uneasy. Your palms start to sweat. “I don’t like this,” you tell him. You take your hands off and wipe them on your jeans. They immediately dampen again. You’re afraid of leaving sweat prints all over his wheel and leaving a car-shaped hole in the side of the now abandoned Benny’s Burgers, the parking lot almost empty, save for the car that you are now responsible for. It’s eight o’clock on a school and work night, so naturally no one else was around and Hawkins may as well have been asleep.

   “You haven’t even attempted to drive yet.”

   “My hands keep slipping off the wheel,” you grasp for his hand and press yours against it, raising your eyebrows. “Do you feel the sweat?”

   “Jesus, yeah.” He squeezes your hand with encouragement anyway. “You don’t have to be scared. I’m a much nicer driving teacher than anyone you could hire at the school. You’re in good hands. Great hands. The best ones. Perfect, amazing hands.”

    Your eyes flick down to Steve’s hands. You have to agree. “I don’t even have a permit. You could get in trouble.”

    “By who? Chief Hopper? Officer Callahan?” He nearly cackles at the notion. “You’ll be fine, don’t sweat it.”

    “Bad choice of words.”

    “Enough stalling, let’s get to the lesson.” He claps his hands together. His face retains a serious, focused quality to it. It’s very handsome (he’s always handsome and it kills you a little because you don’t have time to daydream). “Alright, hands here, and here,” he taps the wheel to show you the correct position. He thinks he might die if you connect your hands again. “That’s called the 10 and 2 position.”

    “Why’s it called that?”

    “I don’t know, it just is, doesn’t matter, that’s where they go so you have the best control for making turns and steering.” You do as he says. “Okay, so now, you have to relax.”

    “Girls love hearing that, Steve,” you grind your teeth.

    But your rigidity and discomfort is obvious, especially to you, and you know it can’t be natural to drive all scrunched up and tense like this. “You’ll be fine. You can’t be all stiff if you ever want to get comfortable doing this.”

    “But I’m not comfortable.”

    “Hence why we’re doing this, yeah?’

   “I thought we were doing this so me and Billy don’t strangle each other.”

    “That too. Can’t have my only friend dead. Then I’ll be stuck with all the kids by myself.”

   “Can’t leave Max alone, either,” you say, more to yourself than to him. You think about her most of all. While you spend all this time with Steve, you worry over her all the time. You constantly check in to make sure she doesn’t feel left out. You fret about her being left alone with Billy. She occupies almost all of your thoughts.

   “Never,” he agrees, even if you weren’t talking to him. You give him a thankful smile. His heart almost stops but he clears his throat to snap himself out of it. “Okay, now, let’s turn the key, turn the car back on.”

  “Turning the key,” you nod, licking your lips. You turn the key in the ignition until the engine rumbles to life. The car vibrates in response. You hate it.

   “Clutch pedal down with your left foot,” he says, pointing. You do as he says. “Move this,” he pats the gear stick, “into first gear, right here, left then up.” He watches you carefully, nodding back. “Good, okay, press down on the acceleration with your right foot now, gently,” he adds. He can tell by the furrow in your brow that you hate it. “You’re doing good,” he praises.

  “Yeah, yeah, continue.”

  “Now you gotta lift the clutch until you feel it vibrating, okay, then release the handbrake, keep slowly moving off the clutch until you’re moving with just the acceleration, okay?” He finds the deeply serious expression you’re wearing kind of endearing. “If it stalls we’re gonna start again, but don’t worry about it.”

But you don’t stall. The car moves as it should, with you controlling it, in the empty parking lot by the neighborhood park. “Great, great, almost perfect” he tells you, “we can probably go faster if you wanna try that-“

  “No, we cannot,” you say tightly, your shoulders hunched.

  The laugh he lets out makes your spine tingle. “You have to relax your face, I promise you’ll drive better if you’re not all… scrunched up,” he motions to your shoulder area.

  You try. You roll them back as you keep focusing on the road, trying not to furrow your brows so much. You’ll get a permanent forehead wrinkle at this rate.

   “See, there we go,” Steve reassures. Your let out a little huff, but your face goes placid, still. “Beautiful.” He’s not sure if he means to say it. If he should. He says it anyway.

  You look sideways at him as you drive through the parking lot. You’re driving slow. Slower than slow. You’re practically inching along. “You can’t possibly be flirting with me right now.” It’s not that you don’t like it. You do. It hurts how much you do. If he wasn’t freshly single and you didn’t feel so obligated to focus most of your time on taking care of Max, you’d flirt back. You weren’t new to it or anything. You knew your way around a guy. Even a gorgeous one like Steve. But he was only a few months over Nancy and you saw the grimaces he did when she and Jonathan crossed his path. You weren’t sure if he was over her. Or if Max was comfortable and secure enough here to be a little more independent.

  “I am not,” he scoffs. The blush creeping up his neck onto his cheeks betrays him. You shift your eyes to look at him again but he points, “eyes on the road, by the way.”

  “You were flirting, you just can’t help yourself, can you? King Steve, right?” You snicker, recalling the nickname from when you’d first met him, the one that had been rescinded just as fast. It’s easy to hide the fact that you liked the way he said beautiful, like a caress, like a kiss, behind your banter and snark. Maybe it’s one thing you and Billy could have in common. Everything’s easier when you hide it behind an attitude.

  “I wouldn’t say that stating a fact is… flirting,” he shrugs, flippant. At least, he hopes it appears flippant. You don’t give yourself much time to ponder this.

  “It is when you say it in that voice,” you retort.

  “Huh? What voice?” He balks at that. He does not put on a voice.

  “Like, low and sultry,” you flick some hair away from your eyes. It had been the way he said it, after all.  

     “You think my voice is low and sultry?” His ears practically perk up like a puppy’s. You don’t answer. It’s actually all the answer he needs. “I think you’re the one flirting with me now, Mayfield, not the other way around.”

  You scoff. You are scoffing and he is laughing away. “In your dreams, Harrington.”

  “Every night.” The joke registers with that one but it still makes your stomach clench. Every butterfly in the western hemisphere makes its way into your gut and builds a home there, an uncontrollable influx of new neighbors, fluttering madly, demanding to be seen and known and understood. You understood them, you just didn’t want to. “See, now that, that was flirting,” he says, satisfied at your quiet. “And you sound like your stepbrother when you say my last name like that, by the way. Excellent Billy impression.”

   You’re doing slow, lazy laps around the parking lot at this point, your nerves still present but for entirely different reasons now. “I do not sound like Billy.” You grimace. “And you probably shouldn’t be flirting with anyone when you just got out of a relationship, like, not even four months ago. I don’t think you’re ready to be flirting again.” You, again, are saying it more to yourself than to him. A subtle reminder of the predicament you’re in.  

  “Hence why I’m not flirting,” he informs you.

  “Uh huh,” you say, unconvinced.

 “But if I was-“

“Which you’re not-“

“Which I am not,” he agrees, “how would you feel? Just for, y’know, future reference.” He juts his lip out, wondering.

  “Let’s circle back to that when you’re not still reeling from the Nancy incident.”  

  “Well,” he shifts around in his seat. He wouldn’t say he’s still reeling. Still hurt, sure. But hurt sticks around longer than heartbreak does. You can be hurt by something someone did and not still be heartbroken over them. He wouldn’t say he’s still heart broken. Looking at you, his heart feels very much intact. Nothing broken here, no, definitely not. “That’s why it’s for a hypothetical future reference.”

  “Right, of course,” you slow the car to a stop. “Then I wouldn’t be opposed. Hypothetically.”

  “You wouldn’t?”  

  “I wouldn’t.” But, you remember, suddenly, that it’s not just you that you look out for. “Once Max is all settled, of course.”

   “Settled?”

   “Like, y’know, feeling better about being here.”

    “She’s got a massive group of friends she sees all the time.”

   “I know, but-“

   “You worry about her, I get it,” he places a hand on your knee, very light, not asking for anything. “Who worries about you? You should- you should be happy, too, is that crazy to say?”

   You place your hand over his.  “I’m happy. I’m happy, I promise. I don’t need you to worry about me, I’m okay.”

   “You should do more things for yourself.”

   “Like getting my license,” you gesture to the car.

   “Like getting your license, yeah.” Like going on a date with me. Like letting me show you how serious I am about you.

   “I’m okay how I am.”

   “I’m making it my job to look out for you, y’know.”

   You smile again. Very soft, almost embarrassed. You hated the attention being on you but you had to get used to it, being around him. “Yeah, Steve, I know.”

   He’s diligent in his effort to give you driving lessons. He takes you driving almost every day after school, Max in the backseat if she’s not with her friends, both of them encouraging and kind even when you hit the curb more often than not. You were a good driver, for all intents and purposes, even though your palms still sweat every time you got behind the wheel. It was a gradual comfort process. They were less sweaty than the first time, and that had to count for something. You even get comfortable enough to drive through Main Street, which nearly sends you into a panic and leads to a shouting match between the two of you while you furiously honk your horn at the other people of Hawkins on the road, Steve slumped in his seat to avoid eye contact with everyone, but after that, you’re a pro.

    A few weeks of this pass when he says to you, out of the blue as you drive aimlessly, “So, I set up your road test for you.”

   You’re still not used to this whole looking out for you thing he’s got going on. You almost stop the car short. “Did you really?”

    “I think you’re ready. You’re great, you’ll pass easily.”

    “You think?” You’re typically confident, strong-willed, but sometimes he sees those flickers of insecurity crop up and he attempts to smother that right then and there.

   “For sure,” he nods. “They’ll be begging you to be on the road.”

   “You flatter me.”

   “You deserve it.” His eyes, his smile, trained on you, always, is devastating. Maybe you do. Maybe you do.

    At your dinner table that night, you, Max, your mom, Neil, and Billy, Max does what she should never do in front of Neil or Billy, and that’s open her mouth.

   Billy had been going on about how he was sick of being the chauffeur, even though he really wasn’t anymore, and that if he was going to get a job this summer before college like Neil wanted you two would have to learn to get around on your own, because he can’t be responsible for two people if he also had to be responsible for a job.

   “She’s getting her driver’s license tomorrow,” she jerks her head toward you, a proud, beautiful smile on her face, and you want to drag her by the hair into your shared bedroom to ask why in the world she’d ever tell that to everyone and also give her the biggest hug for the evident pride she takes in the fact that you’re independent and doing things on your own and she looks up to you so, so much. You bite your lip as Neil’s fork scrapes noisily across his plate. “And Steve’s been driving us around anyway, so I don’t know what you’re going on about-“

   You interrupt her with a hard, socked foot coming down on her own. Your eyes go wide and your head tilts in her direction,  a please oh please stop talking expression.

    “Who has been driving you, exactly?” Neil asks, eyebrows raised.

   “My friend from school, it’s no big deal,” you answer, staring down at your plate and then back up at him. His cold gaze is fixated on you.

   “What happened to the agreement we had?” Neil turned his sneer to Billy, rendered speechless by Max’s unexpectedly bold statement. Billy then glares at you, and you really don’t want an argument, so you cut in.

  “It’s only sometimes, like once a week, and he doesn’t drive us to school, he drives us home. Rarely. Rare occasions. I promise.” A lie, flowing easily from your lips, and because Neil thinks you’re a smart, good girl, and his son is always up to no good and lying, he relaxes, and so does Billy, though you’ll get no thanks from him, not now, not ever.

  “Well, who’s been teaching you to drive where you feel ready to take your test?” Neil stretches across the table to get another helping of the meal your mother prepared from the middle of the table.

   “Steve, when we’re both free.” Every day.

   And because Billy can’t let you have anything, because he needs to instantly make you regret ever doing anything nice for him, he says, “I’m not a big fan of this Steve guy.”

   “Hm, and why’s that?” Neil continues eating.

   “It’s a petty high school rivalry,” you interrupt, narrowing your eyes at him.

   “He’s got a reputation with girls, you know. I wouldn’t want to see something bad happen to you.” Billy’s stupid grin eats shit. The feigned care makes your skin crawl.

   “What sort of reputation is that? You shouldn’t be hanging out with that sort of person,” Neil frowns. Again, with that feigned care. It’s not about genuine worry for you. It’s about control. Dominance. You won’t fall for it.

  “It’s all rumors. He had a serious girlfriend for a year. And we’re not together, anyway. He’s my friend.”

   “Guys all want the same thing,” Billy says back.

  “How would you know?” You push, nearly slamming your hands on the table.

   “I’m friends with the basketball team, there’s locker room talk, you get the picture.” He continues smiling in that mocking way of his that makes you want to jump across the dining room and put your fork through his eye.

   “You don’t actually know anything, though, do you, considering you’re not friends with him?”

   “I think I know enough to know that this isn’t the type of person my sister should be associating with-“

   That gets you going most of all, which is giving him exactly what he wants, and you can’t help it. “We are not siblings-“ your chair drags across the floor with a loud screech as you remove yourself from the table, just as Neil is telling you both to settle down.

  “C’mon, honey, sit back down, you can hang out with whoever you want, I’m sure this boy is very nice,” Susan coaxes you gently but you don’t even look at her, too caught up with the fact that it’s all her fault you’re here in this place with these people, these strangers, that you hate so deeply it makes your bones ache.

  “’M done eating, going to my room,” and you don’t care how annoyed it makes Neil that you’ve gotten up before he’s finished eating, which has become practice in this house now, you can’t even celebrate the fact that you’re achieving a milestone, getting your license, God damn it, without it turning into the Billy Hargrove one man show. He makes everything, everything, hurt.

   Max comes in a little while later, her footsteps light and hesitant on the floor. She crawls into your bed even though hers is across the room and she hasn’t slept beside you since your first night here.

   “Are you mad at me?” She asks. Her eyes are big and blue, worried.

   “’Course not.” You smooth her hair back. You’re not mad at her, truly. It’s not her fault Billy ruins everything. “I know you were just trying to get back at him for his complaining. S’not your fault, lovie.”

   “I should’ve known it would turn into that,” she frowns, uneasy. “It always turns into that.”

   “You don’t have to know anything. You should be allowed to say whatever you want to our parents, that’s what they’re there for. Don’t worry your pretty head about it.” You boop her nose with the tip of your finger. You’ve been sulking in your room because of him, not her.

  “Can I ask you something?” You’re face to face with each other, both your heads lying on your pile of pillows, hair fanned out behind you. Her expression is earnest and endearing.

  “Always.”

 “I thought you and Steve were dating already.”

 You hesitate. “That’s not a question.”

  “Okay,” she rolls her eyes. There’s no malice behind it. “Why aren’t you dating?”

  You crinkle your nose, dismissive. “Because, I’m- I’m, like, busy, with stuff, and he’s not over Mike’s sister and I just, I don’t wanna get mixed up with some silly boy.”

   She admires your dismissive attitude toward boys, and it might be why she breaks up with Lucas every other week in exasperation with his boyish faults. She just thinks it’s crazy that you have this attitude when a guy like Steve is the one following you around with shiny looks and dreamy smiles. She’s sure that you’d never deny Steve, who, when she observed you both from the backseat, did everything in his power to make you feel comfortable, safe, secure, was kind to her while also maintaining a brotherly banter, something she thought she was getting when Billy had been introduced to her, was funny, and generous. He was always letting you drive his car and buying you both food and making sure you had a ride somewhere if you needed it. And she drove her and her friends around everywhere even if you weren’t there, too. Steve seemed perfect.

   He was easy on the eyes, too, but it brought a hot flush to Max’s cheeks to admit that, so she never would. 

   “He’s not a silly boy, he’s Steve.”

   “A boy is just a boy no matter who he is, you know that.”

   “Yeah, but,” she huffs, indignant, “he really likes you. I bet he’d go out with you if you asked.”

   “I’m not asking him out, and he doesn’t like me like that. He’s a good friend. And I told you, I’m too busy for him.”

   “Busy with what?” She cries, exasperated. “Busy driving with Steve, busy doing homework with Steve, busy getting dinner with Steve, busy-“

   She’s running out of fingers to write her list on. You grab her hand to stop the count. “I get your point.”

   “You can’t be too busy for someone if you already spend so much time with them, is all I’m saying.” She has a point. You scratch your arm absentmindedly. “What’s the real reason?”

   “What real reason? You’re saying that’s not the real reason?”

  “Definitely not the real reason.”

   “Says who?”

   “Says your best friend.”

   You sigh at her, a loving sound. “Oh, yeah, her.” You run a hand through her hair again. The softness of it soothes you. “I don’t wanna leave you alone.”

    She pokes your cheek. “I’m not alone. I have my friends.”

   “Didn’t you hear that we’re best friends? I can’t leave you in the dust.” It’s more playful than you really feel. You don’t want to burden her by unburdening yourself, relaying all your fears about what would happen if you spent more time with Steve, things like her resenting you, something awful happening between her and Billy, her getting hurt, injured, killed, your brain delved into all sorts of dark, terrible places, and these spiraling thoughts led to one conclusion: you would never, ever, let your focus waver from her. “I take care of you, okay? I don’t have the time to think about anything else. Besides, he might not even be over Nance, remember?”

   “He is. He is over her. I promise,” she insists, placing her hands on your arms. “He looks at you like he’s in love, I’ve seen it!”

   “You don’t know what you’re seeing, babe-“

  “I do.” She shoves herself off your bed, your hand, where it was twined in her hair, falling back onto the covers. You sit up, confused, as she stomps off to her own bed.

  “Are you mad at me right now?” You ask.

   “I’d be happy if you were happy.”

    “Max, stop, I am happy-“

   “Not happy enough. He’s nice. You should just go out with him. Stupid to worry about me all the time.” She flicks off her lamp light and turns away from you toward her wall. You sigh. You think. Your stomach twists itself in a knot you don’t want to think about. Eventually, when her stubbornness about it overrides yours, you turn back toward your own wall and turn out your own light. Your eyes strain from trying not to cry, so eventually, you cave in to that, too.

   Your hands shake at your road test the next day. For a multitude of reasons. You look at Steve differently, with your head tilted toward him like the head of a flower tilts toward the sun, waiting and wanting. You’re running over all the ways it could go wrong. You resign yourself to never doing a thing about it.

    He notices your quiet, so unlike yourself, and attributes it to your nerves about the test. He rubs your shoulders, an attempt to hype you up. “You got this, okay? You’re gonna kill it. You’re gonna be the second best driver in Hawkins.”

   “Lemme guess, you’re the first?” It’s the first smile you’ve cracked all day and he takes it as the victory it is.

   “Well it’s certainly not Billy,” he rolls his eyes. “Seriously, how you feelin’?” He spins you around and the gaze he bores into you is too intense to bear. You look away fervently.

   “Fine, ‘m fine, nervous, but fine, should be good, my driving instructor was excellent.” He beams with pride at that, a blinding flash.

   “World renowned, I heard,” he brags.

   “Let’s see if I pass first.”

   “You will,” he says. Confident, assured. It makes you feel assured in turn.  

   And you do. You pass. By a hair, truth be told, but you pass. It thrills you, clutching the paper declaring your triumph in your fist, walking outside to greet Steve who leans against the hood of his car in his devastating way of his, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he taps his foot in wait. When he sees you come out, he brightens, straightening himself out.

   “What’s the verdict?” He asks.

   You wave the paper around. “I passed!” You can’t fake it for a second, your joy at this little bit of freedom absolutely inescapable. He lets out a loud, thrilled whoop for you, and his joy brings you even more of it. He picks you up off the ground and spins you in a circle, and when you’re back on the sidewalk, steady, he envelopes you in a deep, encompassing hug.

  When he hugs, his whole body goes into it, if that makes any sense. He throws his all into it. There’s no hesitancy, no timidity, he’s not ashamed of it in the slightest. He hugs you, hard. He’s that proud. And he likes holding you. You pull away first and he’s not surprised.

  “Proud of you,” he squeezes you arm again.

   “Couldn’t have done it without, Steve, really. You- you’re the best, y’know that?”

   He decides to push his luck. “Good enough to go on a date with?” He can see already that you’ll say no. That you want to say yes but you’re going to say no. He doesn’t care. He’ll wait until you’re sick of him.

  “You don’t wanna go out with me,” you squeeze his arm back.

  “You’re real silly, you know that?” His voice is warm and awfully fond.

  You can’t bring yourself to let him all the way in just yet. You walk with him back to the car and agree with him. Yes, you’re real silly, indeed.

[webslingingslasher]

Oh I just thought about something, (it’s always frat!Peter related when is it not?) what does frat!peter do when trouble faints for some reason in front of him, I feel like situationship or bf he would totallyyy panic right? I can just imagine him standing wide eyed like 😳

i feel like u also sent this..... u ain't slick!

'yesterday me and my friends were hanging out outside and i forgot to eat and drink all day and i passed out in the middle of the sesh 😭 can i get a frat!peter scenario??'

i mean, he does have spidey senses so maybe he feels a little off but can't place it. he'll sit next to you in case shit goes down and he needs to cover your body or get you out of there safely. peter's gone quiet, he's still included in the conversation but the better part of him is trying to place that icky feeling.

it's dialed to nine hundred when you loop your arm around his elbow, he looks right over at you, he thinks you're the reason his senses are going haywire.

'you okay, trouble?'

your blink quick, black dots are everywhere. your tongue feels thick, it's work to push the words out. they slur, 'i think i'm gonna.... pass..' your head smacks into his shoulder, you're limp against him. your hand drops, peter pulls you tight so you don't fall backwards.

'oh shit,' he's not sure what to do, his heart rate picks up. peter's a smart guy but when the person he cares for most passes out he feels frozen. does he call for help, slap you awake, pour water on your head?

you answer for him, slowly raising your head with a groan. it was ten seconds but it felt like a lifetime to him.

you smack your lips, you can't remember the last time you had water, it sounded heavenly. your vison is blurry, you went from seeing black to looking around disorented.

'what happened?' your hands slap around the table, you can't find your water bottle. you can't remember if you grabbed it this morning. your throat feels like sandpaper when you swallow spit, peter can't stop looking at your sluggish movements. his brain hasn't caught up.

'water,' that's all it takes for peter to wrap your arm back around his, making a point for you to squeeze him for dear life. he's handing over his personal bottle, heart rate settling when you choke it down.

you're not shy, you gulp every drop through the plastic straw. when nothings left but empty slurping sounds you set the metal down, gasping for air.

'wow, that's good.'

'are you okay?' peter can't think of what else to say.

'yeah, i don't think i had any water today. or food, do you have anything?' peter's busy rooting thorugh his backpack, he has to have something, even if it's a granola bar. 'i feel snacky, you know what i could go for? one of those sandwiches with white bread, the kind that sticks to the roof of your mouth?'

peter breathes out rushed, 'yeah, it's all gummy too.' his shoulders relax when he finds a crushed pack of oreos, at least it's something. he slides it to you, 'eat these and i'll take you home and make you a sandwich.'

you shrug, sounds like a good deal to you.

peter moves to wrap his arm around you, tucking you under his shoulder. he gives several kisses to your temple.

'thank god you're okay.'

you almost teased him, but his relief makes you feel warm. you accept his doting.

'i'd be better with a sticky sandwich.'

peter wipes crumbs from your mouth, 'lets go. you're piggybacking.'

[izzuku]

suck the soul out of me. - 2

summary- on one scary night, your car broke down on the middle of the road. Not being able to contact anyone, you searched for a nearby place to stay for the rest of the night. After discovering an old fashioned, crumbling house you decided to lie down for a bit before waking up some time later. Who would have known that there was a special guest waiting for a prey like you.

characters- luxiem x gn! reader part 2

c/w- biting, mentions of blood, suggestive touching , needy luca (it is shorter on Luca's part but it has more text!) , a little bit of brat tammer mysta (could be considered dub-con since he doesn't ask for consent so skip it if you're uncomfortable please)

a/n: second day lesgoo. I hope it isn't troublesome for you guys to read it in two parts. Please keep in mind these are not their real personalities, all of this is fictional and it shouldn't be taken seriously!

MYSTA RIAS

You shifted under your jacket, trying to get some warmth because the broken window didn't help at all to stop the wind. You could hear animals outside the house and rustling from trees nearby but you tried to pay no mind to it since it could make you stay up all night (and you needed that good rest).

After some time the noises stopped and your mind started its journey to Dreamland. Before you could drift off you felt some weight on top of you and your instincts kicked in.

You couldn't see his face clearly but you knew there was a man on top of you, trying to make you stay still while grabbing your wrists.

“Let go of me you weirdo! Don't touch me!” you shouted out, doing your best to push him off but to no avail. “Stop fucking wriggling I'm not gonna hurt you” he sounded mad, not angry but you moving so much was pushing his buttons.

“I just need some blood, nothing else.” He looked at you and you could see the blue of his eyes, even the grey strands of hair falling on his face as he bent over. “I'm not giving you shit, get off” you spat out, getting more and more angry at the man in front of you.

He chuckled, grabbing your face with one hand so he could move it to the side. “Bad for you, I don't care what you want I just need to drink. ” You fought the gasp that was tempted to leave your lips when his mouth found your neck, biting into the skin to take out the blood he wanted. Your hands instantly grabbed onto his blouse, pulling a bit when instead of pain you were greeted with a warm and tingling sensation.

“See? It isn't that bad. Let me help you warm up faster.” The hand on your face travelled down your body to hold your waist; cold fingertips burned each time they caressed your skin, making patterns then grabbing a little bit tighter.

You could feel the blood dripping down the collarbones to your chest causing you to let out a moan and even to grind onto the man's hips when his hold of your lower half tightened. After some more biting and kissing around, the guy pulled back to clean his messy mouth.

“That's all I needed of you little thing although I think I'll visit you more...”

LUCA KANESHIRO

To find yourself in this position would have been impossible to imagine, or that's what you thought. You couldn't really pinpoint the moment it all started, because sometimes things don't go the right way but they end up being better than what you expected.

The trembling of your thighs accompanied the creaking of burnt wood inside the house. Loud 'slurps' and puffs reverberated the old living room along with your own panting.

“I don't know if I...fuck- please” you mutter, looking down to the man in between your legs. Your soaked pants were drying near the chimney and the look on his face changed your mind. “Please...just a little more, I promise I'll be gentle” his gloved hands caressed the flesh of your thighs. His eyes begged for your sympathy but the way he licked the blood out of the bites sent shivers down your spine.

How could you not let him, you thought to yourself. Yes, you didn't know this man an hour ago but despite his height and big complexion, he made sure you could trust him (even in a creepy house far away from the city). Another sigh ran through your lips but nonetheless you nodded as a form of consent.

He have made a beautiful collage of bites around your inner thighs before he was asking for more blood. In your mind, you justified it as a poor guy who needed to feed on someone and you just happened to be there. Poor you didn't expect it to be an almost slow make out session with a stranger but instead of kissing he was biting and licking.

"Thanks again for letting me...you just taste so good...” his lips kissed some marks before licking over the newest ones. You couldn't care enough for the fact that instead of feeding from the top, he thought it was better to spread your legs, put his head in the middle and bite on the inner side, a very, very, sensitive area.

The heat between your legs came back again when he locked his arms around your thighs to secure you, mouth quivering at the thought of him just ravaging you out. To your luck, vampires could hear a lot of things that the human ear was not capable of.

“Do you...need help down here? I think I heard something”

[basu-shokikita]

Dethentines 2024 Day 7

Will you be my Valentine?

Picture me arriving to the finish line wheezing and dying, 'cause that's me right now. I don't know why I thought that finishing the entries on the very same day of posting was a good idea but that's what ended up happening. Never again, hopefully.

Either way, here's my last entry for Dethentines, aka the one that matters the most because it's for Valentine's Day so I made an extra effort and you get a whooping +2k words for today. It's Skwistok, obviously, but the rest of Dethklok get a pretty decent amount of participation because I wanted to go out with a bang. Or try to.

Also, I'm linking to this song for no reason.

Thank you so much for organizing Dethentines this year! I had lots of fun and I'm happy to have managed to participate in all days ✨ See you around~

“And then we does the things like-” Skwisgaar made a high pitched noise. “Like-” He made an explosion sound. “You gets?”

“Right, like-” Nathan made a deep growling noise. “And then-” A boing-like noise followed. “And then some more…”

“Ja!” Skwisgaar nodded enthusiastically. It was really easy to talk about music with Nathan, it’s like they read each other’s minds somehow. “We has to…”

Suddenly, Toki walked into the living room. He stopped right when he saw the two of them. Skwisgaar raised a hand to wave at him, a reluctant smile on his face. However, Toki only frowned in response and left.

“Uh-oh.” Nathan watched Toki’s silhouette slowly get smaller. “What did you do?”

“Eugh…” Skwisgaar let his arm drop on the couch. “He ams mads abouts Vals and Tines days.”

“Valentine’s Day?” Nathan repeated in confusion.

“Ja, he askeds if I wanteds to spends wif hims. Goes ons a dates togethors…dats stuff…”

Nathan waited a moment and, when Skwisgaar didn’t continue, he asked. “And what did you say?”

Skwisgaar winced a little. “I says it was fuckings stupids and jackoffs things whats we donts needs.”

“Woah!” Nathan sat back in shock. “Woah, Skwisgaar!”

“Whats? We ams alreadies togethers sorts of, okeys?” Skwisgaar shrugged. “And Valentines ams dildos” He mumbled. “ I don’ts gets it.”

“Yeah, but Toki likes that shit, remember? He’s, uh…” Nathan struggled to find a word that wouldn’t be offensive. “...Different.”

“Pfft.” Skwisgaar snorted. “Differents ams rights.”

“Besides…” Nathan’s eyes wandered to the living room. “I don’t think it’s that weird to want to do all romantic shit when you’re in love. Love might not be cool at all, but it is pretty brutal.”

Skwisgaar pouted, unable to refute Nathan on that. Discovering his feelings for Toki had been a pretty brutal experience. “I guess you ams rights.”

“You gotta apologize to him, dude.”

“Eugh.” Skwisgaar looked up to the ceiling, unable to find reasons against. 

–

They were having lunch and Toki was too busy finishing up his mountain of spaghetti to notice Skwisgaar had been staring at him for the past 5 minutes. It was late and there was nobody else in the kitchen but them. Well, besides the Klokateers.

Skwisgaar decided to make an attempt. “Toki?” He called him hesitantly.

Toki kept eating as if nothing had happened, slurping loudly and spreading cheese on the pasta like his life depended on it. Frankly, Skwisgaar wasn’t sure Toki had heard him or not.

“Toki?” He called him a second time.

Still nothing, Toki was gulping from his glass of water. “Mores, please!” He said, after slamming the glass on the table.

“Sire!” One Klokateer immediately appeared with a pitcher of water and filled Toki’s glass to the brim.

“Thank yous.” Toki said before he resumed eating.

“Tok-” Skwisgaar decided to cut the bullshit and sat on the seat next to Toki. There was a subtle acknowledgement, as Toki glanced to his side before returning his attention to his food. “Toki, listens.”  Skwisgaar said, gently placing his hand on Toki’s arm. 

Toki kept eating, completely unbothered.

Truth to be told, Skwisgaar wasn’t used to being this ignored, especially not by Toki, so he felt the discouragement in his gut. He cleared his throat. “Ams sorries about de other deis, okeis? I didn’ts…realize how imporkstants it ams was to yous, soes…”

“Dat was goods.” Toki said and Skwisgaar raised his eyes with expectation, but Toki was staring at his now empty dish and rubbing his belly.

He sighed. “Tokis, please, we can does what you wants. I won’ts complains, justs-”

Abruptly, Toki stood up and walked away without looking back. Skwisgaar buried his face in his hands in frustration.

He really fucked things up this time.

“Ye gotta mehk it up to him, dood.” Pickles suddenly spoke behind him and Skwisgaar almost did a somersault from shock.

“Eugh! Pickle!” He glanced at him, horrified. “Whens dids you get heres?”

Pickles grimaced like he was offended. “Dood, I’ve been here de whole time.”

“Huh…” Skwisgaar could not remember for the life of him seeing him here but , oh well. “Waits, what does you means makes it ups to him?” He squinted. “Whats does you knows?”

Pickles snorted, gesturing dismissively with one hand. “Nethan already told me ‘bout it. You broke Toki’s heart, didn’t ye?”

“Wells…” Skwisgaar winced. “I wouldn’ts…puts it like dats…”

“An apology just wahn’t do.” Pickles leaned into Skwisgaar’s ear. “Ye gotta surprise him yourself.” 

“What?” Skwisgaar turned to him in horror. “You means…?”

Smirking, Pickles nodded slowly at him. 

–

Skwisgaar looked at the door with preemptive regret. He was one second away from leaving and forgetting the whole thing. This was his dignity on the line now, nothing to joke about.

Toki’s face flashed in his mind and Skwisgaar closed his eyes in defeat. His breath hitched and his heart raced as he knocked on the door thrice.

It only took a few seconds for it to open, and behind it, a confused Murderface appeared. “Schkwisgaar? What do you want?”

“Is never thots I woulds says dis, Moidaface.” Skwisgaar was already short of breath. “But I needs yous helps.”

Murderface crossed his arms with a scowl. “Thisch better not be a prank.”

“I don’t has time for pranks.” Skwisgaar said as he made his way into Murderface’s room.

“Hey!”

Uncaring, he slammed the door behind him and Murderface gave him a stunned stare. “I needs yous helps now.”

Murderface looked him up and down, like he wasn’t sure what to make of Skwisgaar’s words. “Thisch ischn’t a gay thing, right?”

“Whats?” Skwisgaar was appalled. “N-well, it ams kinds of gays, actuallies.” He sighed. “You ams goods friends with Tokes, rights?”

“I guesch.” Murderface shrugged noncommittally which honestly irritated Skwisgaar but he decided to let it go.

“Does he, eugh…Does he talkeds about Valskentines with yous?”

“Oh,” Murderface rolled his eyes and turned around. “All the fucking time! Me and Schkwisgaar are going to do thisch! Me and Schkwisgaar are going do that! It’sch my firscht Valentinesch ever, Murderface! I’m scho exschited!” He made a disgusted noise. “Made me schick, really.”

The guilt piled up on the pit of Skwisgaar’s stomach. “Does you…remembers any specificks?”

“Uhh, he schaid it would be the firscht date ever for you guysch so he wanted to do everything…” He rested his back against his deck. “Firscht, have breakfascht in bed. Then, go to the petting szchoo to pet the catch. After that, walk in the park while holding handsch and eating…” He shuddered. “Hot dogsch. Then, planetarium vischit to look at the starchs. Then, go to the theater to watch a movie…and then dinner at a fanschy restaurant. He did schpare me the detailsch for the night after that, thank Chrischt.”

“Eugh…” Skwisgaar was impressed. “You shores remembers de hole thingks.”

“Well, he wouldn’t schut up about it!” Murderface defensively and opened the first drawer of his desk. “Look, he even made drawingsch of it!” At once, Murderface spread a bunch of drawings over the top of the desk.

One of the drawings had them petting cats, in another they were walking in the park with the hot dogs, looking at the stars, at a fancy restaurant…there were even some drawings of things Murderface hadn’t described, probably things Toki couldn’t fit into their schedule.

“Why does you has dese?” He asked.

Murderface blinked a couple of times before looking away. “We like drawing together, okay? And he alwaysch leavesch hisch drawingsch here. Idiot.”

“Rights.” Skwisgaar stood up. “I thinks I gots all I needs now, so I’m goingks-”

“Wait, what do I get in exchange?”

“Eugh…Toki’s unconskditionals loves?”

Murderface buffed. “Big deal.” Skwisgaar was walking to the other when he spoke again. “I know it’sch not any of my buschiness but…” Skwisgaar turned to look at him. “He kind of, really likesch you, scho…yeah.”

Unbelievable, even Murderface was lecturing him now. Skwisgaar couldn’t imagine sinking lower. “Rights. Thanks, Moidaface.”

“Whatever.”

Skwisgaar closed the door, a new determination finding its way inside him. 

–

“Whats ams dis?” Toki asked, upon finding a letter next to his plate during breakfast. It was a bronze envelope with a blood red seal. 

“Hm?” Pickles was stuffing oatmeal down his throat. “No idea, dood.”

Toki was skeptical, looking at Nathan and Murderface eat in silence. “Where ams Skwisgaar?”

Nathan, currently attacking a beef steak, replied. “Uhh, probably sleeping? Who knows. It’s Skwisgaar.”

Still not quite convinced, Toki ripped open the envelope and found a letter inside except there was nothing written in it. Just a red guitar vaguely shaped like a heart. “Alrights, who ams doings this? It amsnt funnies.” He asked with irritation. He wasn’t in the mood to get pranked on Valentine’s Day.

“It’sch probably schomething to do with playing the guitar.” Murderface blurted and the other two glared at him. “Or schomething.” He added to save face.

Toki squinted at his friends. “You guys amsnt collsudings togeders, ams you?”

“No.” All three of them said at the same time, which only made it more suspicious.

“We’re just eatin’ our breakfast here.” Pickles said.

“Yeah, why would we care about anything that ischn’t our breakfascht?”

“It’s not like today is a special day or anything.”

Toki got up from the table, unamused. He wasn’t going to bother with this, he would just get to the root of the problem and cut it off. Simple as that. 

“Skwisgaar.” He knocked on his door. “Ams not in de moods for dis okays? Soes just-” The door opened with a creak, revealing an empty bedroom. Toki looked inside, intrigued and found lit red candles melting on the floor. Upon closer inspection, he realized they were skull shaped. 

On the bed, there was a guitar made of red rose petals and a pile of Deaddy Bears in different brutal outfits laid in place of the pillows. The TV was showing ‘Love and Guts 4’ Toki’s favorite horror movie and, under it, there was a box of sugar-free chocolates with a note on them. 

Meets me wheres we first kiss

Toki’s eyes widened upon reading. Did he mean….?

–

He couldn’t help it, he was supposed to be mad but he couldn’t help running towards the location, excitement drumming inside his chest. What was he expecting? What was going to happen? What had Skwisgaar planned?

When he reached the double-door, he found it only marginally open so he grabbed the knob to reveal the inside. 

Skwisgaar was sitting on a stool inside Murderface’s closet, guitar in his hand. He seemed to have been caught off guard because he made a surprised noise when he saw Toki.

Toki tried to catch his breath. “Skwisga-”

Abruptly, Skwisgaar started playing the guitar. First the E, then the G sharp minor, then the C sharp minor, then the A. Then he played the whole sequence again. 

“Does you wanna be mines girls-boyfriends…” He sang unsurely. “We’lls walks to the cemeteries and alls kiss you agains…And makes ours dead friends blushks…We ams getting marrieds right dere on de seens…” He inhaled shakily. “Does you wants to be mines best friends? Yous can drives me crazies alls over agains…And alls bores you death oooh, doesn’ts matters when we ams in love. Rights?” He smiled at a speechless Toki.

Then the guitar got heavier, but Skwisgaar’s eyes were still on Toki. “Does you wanna be mines boyfriends?” He continued. "Does you wanna be mine boyfriends? Does you wanna be mines- Does you wanna be mines?” He stood up and kept playing, now closing the distance between them as he finished up the song. When it ended, he had essentially backed Toki against the wall.

Skwisgaar’s expression softened, the confidence from playing was fading into reluctance. “Ams sorries about everythings, Toki. I didn’ts realize how impskortants dis was to yous. Lets me makes it up to yous. Is calleds reservations fors a restaurants and bookeds de movies and plansetariums, ands the pettings zoo has spots fors us and-” Impulsively, Toki locked their lips together and Skwisgaar lost the trail of his thoughts.

“It ams okay, Skwisgaar.” He said when he pulled away. “I just thoughts you didnts…” He shook his head, smiling. “Doesn’ts matters.” Giggling, he laced their fingers together. “Soes, boysfriend?”

Skwisgaar felt his face heat up from embarrassment. “Dats- Dats what de songs-” He stopped babbling and his face turned solemn instead. “Eugh, ja.” With a heavy swallow, he asked. “Does you wants to be mines boysfriends, Toki?”

Toki’s smile was like a thousand beams directed at once at Skwisgaar. “Ja, I wants to bes your boyfriend, Skwisgaar.”

Smiling back, Skwisgaar brought Toki closer to him. “Cans I kiss mines boyfriends now?”

“You cans.” Toki said, the happiness leaking from his face.

As they wrapped around each other, Skwisgaar felt only slightly bad for the mess they were about to do in Murderface’s closet.

But only slightly.

–

“Well, it sure sounds like they’re havin’ fun.” Pickles commented, ear to the closet door. 

“Now who’sch gonna clean after them!” Murderface complained. “My closchet isch gonna be dischguschting!”

“Murderface, you don’t even clean your own room.” Nathan countered, already looking tired. 

“Yeah, well, neither do you!”

“Yeah, ‘cause we’re fucking rich. Just call a Klokateer to get it done.”

“I guesch!”

The closet door banged so loudly that all three of them jolted.

“Okei!” Pickles clasped his hands together. “Who wants t' get wasted to feel less miserable on Valentine’s Day!”

“Me!” Nathan and Murderface replied in unison. 

“Let’s leave the lovebirds, then.” Pickles made an example as he walked away from the closet and the two soon followed him.

“Fuck Valentine’sch Day!” Murderface said.

“Yeah, it’s capitalism brutality, and not the kind that benefits us.” Nathan agreed.

“It’s stoopid as hell, like whoa! I’m in love! Big deal!” Pickles threw his hands into the air.

“Yeah.”

“Totally.”

They smiled at each other. Seriously, fuck Valentine’s Day. 

[bellysoupset]

Sick Wendy during the holidays + Caretaker Vince. Fever, stomach bug and some much deserved belly rubs.

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

"Honey," Wendy whispered, shaking Vince's shoulder lightly and he groaned, rolling away from her as much as the passenger seat allowed. She bit down a smile, shaking him harder, "Vince, wake up."

"Are we here?" he groaned, not bothering to open his eyes and Wendy opened a fond smile, rubbing his back. Vince had these terrible dark circles lately that were worrying her, but he swore everything was fine, he just couldn't get a good night of sleep. She decided to let him sleep.

"No," she whispered, leaning in to press a kiss to his curls, "we're at the gas stop, I'll be right back. Do you want anything?"

Nothing but a soft snore answered her.

It wasn't a hole-in-the-wall type of gas station. It was part of a much bigger chain and had a restaurant area, as well as a trinkets store and a coffee shop.

They had had breakfast back home and Wendy was still feeling quite full from it, but that didn't stop her from buying a large caramel latte, as well as a box of cupcakes for Vince, then took her sweet time browsing through the trinkets.

Everything was overpriced, since this was the last store before reaching town and they knew their clients were people who had forgotten to buy gifts, especially during holiday season.

Wendy smiled as she saw a beautiful headband, all bejeweled and with turquoise stones. She put it inside her basket, continuing to go through the products, while slurping on the rest of her coffee. Wendy grimaced as her straw hit the bottom of her plastic cup. She hadn't realized how fast she chugged it.

Her stomach gurgled, complaining, and she felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment, standing up straight and going to pay for the headband, as well as other useless trinkets she thought were cute.

Vince was awake once she got back to the car. He had jumped out and was leaning against the metal, hands shoved in his jacket's pocket, cheeks kissed by the cold and all pink, the tips of his curls poking out from under his black beanie were twirling with the wind.

"What you got there?" he asked, once Wendy moved closer. She handed him the box of cupcakes, the one she had already forgotten about and felt vaguely queasy as he opened it to reveal the icing covered goodies.

"Ooh, they look great... I'm starving," he reached for one, before pausing and frowning, "dairy free? I don't wanna shit my pants during Christmas, honey."

Wendy wrinkled her nose at his crass language, shifting on her feet. Her stomach was starting to throb and continuing to gurgle, "it's just the 20th," she told him with an eyeroll, then before Vince could interrupt, "and yes, they're dairy free."

"Uhm," he didn't need to hear anything else, all but shoving one of the tiny cupcakes whole in his mouth, "eel'goo."

"Ew," Wendy grinned, putting the other bags in the backseat and circling him, "switch with me?"

Vince nodded, still eating as he circled the car and then planting the box on her lap as he fixed the car seat and put them back on the road.

"These are actually great," he said happily, fishing another one from the box, left hand drumming on the steering wheel, "thank you... Aren't you gonna eat, Wen?"

Wendy's stomach squeezed at the thought and she shook her head, fighting to keep a smile on, "not hungry..."

"Are you sure?" Vince glanced at her quickly, before looking back to the road, "they have a red velvet one..."

"No, I'm good," Wendy stressed, fighting the urge to shove the cupcakes off her lap. She could smell them and all that sweetness was making her already unsettled belly even more so.

Vince frowned and seemed like he wanted to argue, but he didn't say anything, only ate another cupcake and kept driving. Wendy was graceful, her stomach was souring quickly and her head started to throb with the sweet scent filling the car.

It was snowing, so it wasn't like she could open a window and she mentally cursed, leaning back on her seat and closing her eyes, breathing through her mouth. Maybe she was just carsick, she could fight through it.

Her mouth felt sticky and she licked at her dry lips, gulping down and bouncing one of her legs anxiously, feeling the latte churn in her belly. In the cramped space of the car, she was sure Vince could hear all the little noises her stomach was making and Wendy felt terribly embarrassed on top of the nausea, trapped like a caged animal and wanting to put as much distance between them.

Vince's freezing hand upon her forehead startled her so much Wendy gasped and coughed, rushing to sit up straight.

"What-"

"You don't look so well, honey," he had slowed down and seemed to be looking for a spot to pull over, much to her dismay. The cupcake box had been closed and Wendy glanced around in search of it, finding it sitting in the backseat.

"I'm fine, I'm just..." there was cold sweat gluing her clothes to her back and Wendy groaned, squirming on her seat, "don't laugh," she said, wrapping an arm around her stomach and pushing his hand away from her face, "I drank a latte back at the stop and it's not sitting well."

"Oh," Vince sounded relieved, which only made her want to curl up more. Wendy pressed herself to the door, rocking her body slightly to keep her mind off the waves of queasiness and the pressure in the back of her throat, "why didn't you just say something, hon? Do you want me to pull over?"

"Nu-uh," Wendy shook her head, then brought up a hand to her mouth and muffled a little sick, airy burp, "no, I just want to get to Doveport as soon as possible..."

"We're fifteen minutes out," Vince planted a hand on the middle of her back, switching his attention back to the road, "think you can handle it?"

"God, stop-" Wendy groaned, leaning further in and breathing through her mouth, "stop babying me, it's my fault I feel like shit, Vince. I shouldn't have drank a freaking gas station caramel mocha."

Just the thought of it made her spine curl and Wendy gulped down as she could taste the sweetness all over again. She shuddered, again, goosebumps covering her skin.

"Don't be silly," Vince reached in the cupholder between them, passing her a water bottle, "it's not your fault, honey."

"Uhm..." the water was refreshing, but it landed on her stomach like a brick, immediately wanting out. Wendy's rushed to cup her mouth as her body betrayed her and yet another little burp rushed out, this one morphing in a gag at the end. She swallowed convulsively the sweet saliva pooling in her mouth, her throat seeming to refuse her.

"...Just a second..." she heard Vince say in the background and then the car came to a stop on the side of the road and he reached over her, pushing her door open when Wendy didn't move. She let out a groan, shaking her head, still in denial.

"Nooo..."

"I don't think you get a say on that, honey," Vin said sympathetically, knuckles brushing her cheeks, "c'mon, better out than in."

Her belly let out a nasty growl, a nauseating string of burbles rolling around and Wendy whimpered, giving in and turning on seat to hang out of the door.

She tugged on the ends of her pink scarf, tugging it off her neck and balling it up in one hand, the one squeezing the doorway. Her stomach turned once more and Wendy spat on the grey snow on the side of the road, knowing there was no chance to swallow it back down and not throw up.

Vince's hand was still in the middle of her back, rubbing soothing circles and she wanted to tell him to stop touching her, not when she was feeling this gross and embarrassed... Wendy let out a sick burp and whined, gulping the acid in the back of her throat.

"Let it up, honey, you'll feel better," Vince thumped her back lightly and she nearly snapped at him, when the motion only made her feel worse. She couldn't swallow it back down like this, as he forced up another belch... And then she puked a gush of beige vomit all over the snow.

Wendy coughed, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to spit the horrible taste in her mouth, without setting off another round. Her nausea didn't lessen, on the contrary, it only seemed to grow and grow... She nearly fell off the car with the strength of the next heave, vomiting a much larger amount as her belly squeezed with a cramp.

Vince had moved on his seat, so he could gently hold the pieces of hair away from her mouth with one hand, the other one planted on her shoulder to stop Wendy from taking a dive at the disgusting side of the road, and she let out a whimper at the realization he could see exactly what she could see, which was quite the gruesome sight.

"Stop- Stop touching me..." Wendy whined, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and falling back against her seat, wrapping one arm around her stomach. She was wearing a graphic sweater, as well as a thick baby blue skirt, with a belt around her middle. When they left home, the belt had been loose, but right now it felt like it was squeezing her in half.

However, just the idea of undoing it was too humiliating. Wendy gulped down nervously, shuddering again and wiping the little tears clinging to her lashes. She avoided Vin's worried gaze and his outstretched hand, holding the plastic bottle of water. Her fingers came back brushed with black and Wendy groaned again, imagining just how gross she looked, with her mascara all smeared.

"I'm so sorry," she sighed, wiping at her mouth and her eyes again, trying to regain a scrap of composure, "I'm sorry, this was disgusting, I just-"

"Oh, can it, Wen," Vince scoffed, cupping her face. His hands were freezing and they felt lovely against her cheeks, even if they made her shiver. Wendy whined, closing her eyes as her stomach continued to flip, not feeling one bit settled, although it was much emptier, "did getting that out of your system help?"

She nodded, lying, and Vince let out a huff, suddenly pressing a kiss to her brow, "I don't know if I believe it, you're the color of the snow."

Wendy gagged at the thought, "covered in sick and disgusting?"

"White," Vince corrected her with a chuckle, reaching over her to slam the door shut, "white like a bunny," he teased lightly, kissing her temple again, "take a minute, okay? We're not in a rush."

"We sort of are, though," Wendy sighed, but couldn't help but lean back on her seat with relief. Her stomach was still feeling horrible, churning ominously and she felt far from done. To makes matters worse, she was covered in sweat and couldn't seem to stop shaking, "I feel like crap."

"I'm sorry, honey," Vince rubbed her arm, then reached on the side of her seat, lowering it a little bit, "we're really almost home, just try and breathe, okay?"

That wasn't as reassuring as he thought it was. Home for Vince, sure, but to her it meant a much larger audience witnessing as she made a fool of herself, her stomach hellbent on emptying itself from the caramel latte and Wendy was terrified her intestines would join her body's riot against her. She wanted her own apartment, her own bed and bathroom and no audience.

Still, she didn't say it out loud, and true to Vin's words, not even 10 minutes later they were entering his street. Wendy lowered the mirror to get a look at herself, then cringed as she saw the smudged mascara around her eyes, and how pale she was. She quickly wiped the black vestiges away, grabbing the water bottle and taking some sips, swishing the water around to get rid of the horrible taste in her mouth and the puke breath. It was the best she could do.

The water had been a horrible idea, it added to the churning in her tummy, making her feel even more nauseous. She felt overly full and dizzy, but right now was not the time.

The front door opened and Vince's mom rushed out to pull her 6'4 baby into a hug, squealing when he pulled her off her feet. It was a heart warming scene and Wendy would've basked in it, wasn't it for the fact she could feel her belly squeezing again, her mouth watering.

"You too, c'mere," Ma said, tugging Wendy into a hug, "darling, I missed you... What's wrong?"

Wendy wanted to cry. She had hoped she could simply lie her way through and go up to Vin's room to curl up in his bathroom and die, but clearly his mother had other ideas. The woman cupped her cheeks, then touched her forehead, a wrinkle appearing between her brows, a frown forming. Ma looked every little bit like her son when she glared like that.

"I'm fine-"

"Mamma, she's alright," Vince interjected, noticing his girlfriend's pale face and weak, strained voice, "carsickness, that's all."

Carsickness was much less embarrassing than I-drank-a-fucking-side-of-the-road-latte-because-i'm-stupid-and-have-no-self-restraint, Wendy thought sourly, wincing.

Ma let out a little unhappy noise, "you poor thing," she pulled back, patting Wendy's arm, "come inside, lie down for a bit. I'll get you a ginger ale."

She mumbled another string of words, but that Wendy couldn't piece together since it was in italian. She hoped it was just amiable cooing, but Wendy's swirling thoughts couldn't help but feel like she was being judged.

Her parents would be judging the shit out of Vince if it was the other way around, the talking behind his back would simply never stop. It was hard to believe in Ma's genuine affection as she pushed Wendy inside the house and towards the couch, telling her to sit down and lean back her head.

"You'll feel alright in un attimo," the woman cooed, while Vince brought in the bags. He flashed Wendy a smile, crossing the living room to crouch in front of the couch.

"Sorry, mom's a lot," he whispered, pushing a strand of hair away from Wendy's eyes, "how's your belly?"

"I wanna die, Vince," Wendy answered him, her voice hoarse from the previous puking, "I'm sorry, this was so stupid- I don't know where my mind was."

Vince rolled his eyes, leaning in to kiss her forehead, "whatever do you mean, honey?" he cupped her face, thumb on her chin, "you couldn't possibly have guessed you'd get sick."

"It was gas station food, I definitely could have not eaten that," Wendy scoffed, wrapping an arm around her stomach as the thought made her all the more queasy. She hated that she could still just taste it.

Across the room there was a noise and then Livia rushed in, bundled up in a snow coat, grinning the whole way.

"VINNY!" She squealed, throwing herself over her brother with her whole body, causing him to almost fall on his back. He opened a big smile, kissing her cheek and moving his arms to Liv was sitting on his knee, her arms wrapped around his neck.

The little girl finally saw Wendy, still smiling as she said, "Hi principessa," she jumped from Vin's lap to press a kiss to Wendy's cheek, before frowning, "why are you sad?"

"Wendy's sick, bambi, leave her alone," Vince pulled his sister back, grabbing the little kid and throwing her over his shoulder, then turning to Wendy, "I'm gonna get you some water, do you think pepto would help?"

Wendy shrugged, she didn't feel like she could hold the medicine down, but it was worth a try. Vin let out a little sad, sympathetic sigh, before whispering, "be right back."

She let out a groan once he was out of sight, curling up on the couch and trying to figure if she could get away with leaving the living room or if it'd be too rude. Her stomach was sloshing uncomfortably and she still couldn't stop shivering.

"Here," Sophia's voice startled her and Wendy glanced up from her curled up position, in time to see Vince's cranky teenager sister drape a blanket over her.

It made her heart sink and Wendy opened a strained smile, "thank you..." she said, her voice all raspy. Sophia blushed, shrugging.

"Do you need anything else?" she reminded Wendy of Jonah and Wendy smiled at the thought, pulling the blankets tighter around her. She wanted Vince, but he had only been gone for ten minutes, so it was too pathetic to say out loud.

"No, I'm fine. Thank you, Soph."

Still Sophia hung around, uneasily shifting her weight from foot to foot, clearly wanting to do more but unsure of what. She was thankfully interrupted by Vince coming back, a thermos in one of his hands, as well as a ceramic mug held only by his pinky around the handle, the little bottle of pepto bismol sitting inside of it.

"Mamma made some peppermint tea, honey," Vince said, messing Sophia's hair as he circled around her to get to the couch and causing his sister to hiss and shove his back.

Wendy groaned at the prospect of drinking anything, especially something sweet, when her stomach already felt like it was crawling up her throat. She turned on the couch, pressing her lips tightly closed and breathing deeply through her nose, looking at the ceiling.

"I know you don't wanna drink anything right now, but this could help," Vince said, sitting on the ground in front of her. Even sitting down a level lower than her, he was still taller. Wendy sighed, pulling the ends of the blanket and shaking her head.

"I don't... I don't think so, Vin..."

He pouted, then leaned in to push a stray hair away from her eyes and his brows dipped into a frown, "oh Wen, you're really warm..."

She leaned forward, planting her forehead to his hand and still taking measured breaths, as her stomach started to feel more and more uneasy, "that..." her mouth pooled with overly sweet spit and Wendy gulped it down, "that'd-explaininnit..." she slurred, the words barely forming. Her face felt numb.

"Vin..." Wendy heard Sophia saying, but she was far too nauseous to pay any attention. It felt like the couch was swaying... Her throat constricted as if she couldn't breathe and up came another wave of vomit.

This time it was much chunkier and harder to get up and Wendy was left gasping for air and crying when she finished off the first round, her stomach still flipping inside of her, letting out a little acrid burp. She couldn't bring herself to open her eyes, sure she had just thrown up all over her boyfriend's parent's living room, probably ruining his mom's rug.

"I'm-" Wendy hiccupped, her head throbbing in the same rhythm as her belly churned, "fuck, i'm so-sorry..." there were tears streaming down her face and Wendy started to openly cry as she felt Vince shush her, pulling her closer to him. Her forehead met his chest or his tummy, she wasn't sure, she only knew she could smell the fabric softener in his hoodie and that it was soft and inviting... And she was probably ruining it with tears and drool.

"Soph, potresti prendere il...?"

"Sí, sí-"

Whatever Vince said to his sister, suddenly Wendy was no longer half covered by the blanket and his arms were wrapping around her, one under her legs, the other around her back, lifting her up.

"No-" Wendy groaned, as he moved so her head could rest on his shoulder, "no, Vin, I'm-" her belly contracted painfully and Wendy muffled a burp against his chest, gasping for air, "stooop..."

"Sorry, doll," Vince whispered back, his voice rough with concern. Wendy groaned louder at the movement of him carrying her, probably up the stairs judging by the up and down that was making her head spin.

"I'm gonna... Vince, wait-" Wendy complained weakly, trying to warn him she was about to be sick again. He sped up, but didn't show any other sign of having heard her and Wen let out a frustrated noise, trying to pull back from his hold.

"No, hon, don't do that," Vince said softly and then hit a light switch and Wendy realized they had just entered his bathroom. It was just a cramped and messy as she remembered it.

He put her down gently in front of the sink and Wendy let out a sob as she noticed a wet dark patch on his hoodie, already wiped at, "oh no-"

"It's alright," Vince tugged his sweater off, balling it up and throwing it under the sink, closing the distance between them so he could pull her hair into a low ponytail.

"Did I..." She leaned heavily over the sink, squeezing her eyes shut against the mounting nausea, "did I puke on your mom's couch...?"

"No, just my lap," Vince teased her lightly, planting a kiss to her temple, and Wendy groaned, letting out a tiny airy burp.

"It's not funny," she scoffed, voice thick with tears and wanting for the ground to open up. She caught Vin rolling his eyes on the mirror.

"Wendy, you're sick, sweetheart. My family adores you, please don't worry about this..." he rubbed her back, "can you get in the shower? I think your fever is up..."

"Uhm," Wendy folded in half, pressing her forehead to the cold sink and shivering violently, "maybe... Do you- Can you give me some space? Please?"

Her belly was still a mess and she had never felt so mortified before, but she knew she'd feel even worse just stripping in front of him. Vince let out a little unhappy noise, his hand still planted in the middle of her back.

"I can... But I'm gonna be right outside, okay? And please don't lock the door."

"Okay," she sniffled, tearing up, "can you get me some clean clothes, please?" Her belt was still squeezing the hell out of her upset tummy and her sweater and skirt felt like they were glued to her sweat covered body. Vince nodded, kissing the top of her head.

"Of course, doll. I'll get you something comfy. You can use my towel, I'll get another one later."

"Thank you," she waited for him to step out and then Wendy's flimsy hold on her self control all but crumbled. New tears sprung up and she immediately started stripping, despite feeling sluggish and awful. The sensation of the clothes was constricting and she especially hated it rubbing on her belly, reminding her how bloated she was.

The hot water took a second to heat up and Wendy shivered violently hugging herself and sitting on the closed toilet in just her panties. Her belly was sore as fuck and she could still hear it let out all sorts of noises, bubbles shifting under her hand.

The warm shower did wonders to how gross she was feeling and relaxed the muscles of her back, but did absolutely nothing to the woozy feeling, except make it worse. She stumbled slightly, pressing her forehead to the cold tiles and letting the hot water run down her back, trying to find any strength to shut it off and walk out.

Instead, her legs were feeling more and more like jelly. Wendy breathed through her mouth as the bathroom spun around her and slowly slid down to a crouched down position, doing her best to not fall on her ass.

Her stomach flipped and she gagged, barely having to heave for more frothy yellow bile to spill out of her and get washed away by the water. There was a knock on the door, Vince's muffled voice calling out her name.

Wendy let out a groan, washing her mouth with shaky hands and tried to get up, only to find out that she couldn't. Instead she sat on her ass and curled up her knees, hoping Vin would overlook her request for privacy and enter the bathroom, because she was seeing a whole new collection of black dots and stars.

She didn't hear the door opening, but she did hear Vince's loud voice exclaim "WENDY!" and then she felt water hitting her face... And next she woke up she was freezing cold.

Wendy didn't think she had been out for more than a couple minutes, because Vin hadn't moved her. He had shut off the water and she was curled up in his arms, shivering violently and he was talking in rapid fire italian-english with someone...

The thought that she was naked in front of his family was enough to have Wendy waking up from any slumber. She whined and tried to move, only to feel Vince's arms squeeze around her, keeping her put. He let out a relieved sigh, "thank fucking God, Wendy..." and only then did she realize he had wrapped her up in a bathing robe.

Ma Monacelli was standing in the doorway, with a phone pressed to her cheek and Wendy dizzily blinked, trying to get a hold of the situation. She couldn't make sense of what his mom was saying and it took her a minute to realize it wasn't in english.

"What... What's your mom..." Wendy grumbled, squirming again. Vince helped her sit up slightly against him, his hands never leaving her once. She realized his curls were glued to the side of his face and his cheeks were blazing red and he was shivering too, water clinging to his lashes... He had gotten in the shower with her.

"She's talking with the doctor. It's better if you don't move yet or you'll get lightheaded," he rubbed her back quickly, in order to produce warmth and Wendy groaned, curling up further.

"No, don't- I don't need a doctor," she whined, shaking her head, "really, I just need to go to bed... It was just- Just the hot water..."

Ma lowered the phone, looking almost angry, "no, we're calling Dr. Bianchi, she's not well."

Wendy felt a small flare of annoyance. She was right there.

Vince probably sensed it, because he interrupted his mother's next words, by saying in a calm voice that didn't belong him, "mamma, we're crowding her. Let me just get Wendy settled in bed and we can discuss a doctor."

Magda crossed her arms, face all scrunched up as if she wanted to argue, "I'm worried, you can't just-"

"Ma," Vince said in a steady, rougher voice that Wendy had never heard him use with his mom. The woman sighed, before nodding and stepping out of the bathroom. She left the door open, but Wen could clearly hear as she shut the bedroom door, having fully left the suite.

"I'm sorry," Wendy whispered, "I didn't mean to make you fight your mom..."

"She'll live," Vince rolled his eyes, pushing the wet hair away from her face, "how are you? Can we move to the bedroom?"

"Dizzy," she answered him honestly, shuddering from cold, "freezing."

"Figures," Vince snorted and Wendy could hear the wind howling outside, probably it had started to snow again, "and your stomach?"

"Still feels really sick," she admitted, "but empty."

"I'm gonna count that as a win," Vince's shoulders dropped and she could clearly see how worried he was, the deep concern lines all over his face, "I'm gonna get you up, okay?"

Very slowly they made their track back to his room and Vince promptly sprung into action as soon as Wendy was sitting on his bed. He grabbed a matching set of his old hoodies in the wardrobe, instead of the suitcase, and crouched down before her.

"What... Why....?" Wendy frowned, confused and trying to understand what he was doing through the brain fog caused by the fever, the headache and the nausea. Vin tapped her knee lightly, sliding his large pants over her legs.

"It's warmer than your stuff," he explained, "and won't squeeze your tummy. Besides, if you end up being sick on it, it's no big deal, these are super old and don't fit me anymore."

"Uhm..." Wendy felt boneless as he removed the bathrobe and slide the hoodie over her head, "can you cuddle me...? I don't want you to get this, but I-"

"Honey," Vince chuckled slightly, pressing a kiss on the corner of her mouth, then over her lips, "we're so past that, don't worry about it. Besides, I never get sick."

"That's a lie," Wendy scoffed, but she couldn't fight the warm sensation that spread all over her as Vince pushed her against the pillows and tugged on the blankets so it was draped over her.

"Just let me change," he whispered, the moved around again. Wendy was too tired to follow him with her eyes, she felt weak and still disgusting, so instead she closed her eyes and hoped Vince would be back soon enough.

She woke up with the bed moving. Now she was warm, for the first time in hours, so warm she was sweating. Wendy could tell she was lying against Vince, because while his tummy was soft, it was much sturdier than the pillow that had been under her head previously. His fingers were running through her hair and he was speaking in a soft voice.

Too soft.

"You can't be here, bambi, you'll get sick too," he was whispering and Wendy forced her eyes open, noticing Livia was sitting on the foot of the bed, looking terribly worried. She was clad in a footie pajama, holding a stuffed bear to her lap, her little hand tracing over Wendy's.

"I don't care," Liv pouted, "is Wendy dying?"

"No," Vince scoffed, stroking Wendy's cheek, still unaware she was awake, "it's just a tummy bug, she'll be fine in a couple of days."

"Are you sure?" Liv squinted at him, then studied Wendy's face. Wen was thankful for the dark room, she wasn't ready to be awake just yet.

"Yes, Liv," Vince smiled, then moved slightly on the bed, so he could slide out from under Wen, "c'mon, let's go to bed, okay?"

He picked up Livia and she whined, but threw her arms around his neck, complaining as he carried her out of the room.

Once more alone, Wendy rolled on the bed, so she was flat on her back. Her muscles were all aching and her belly specifically was hurting, as if she had done a bunch of crunches, as well as if it was still stuffed with food, which she knew it wasn't.

She pushed herself up against the pillows, letting out a sigh of relief as she realized Vince had left the thermos and a bottle of water sitting on the bedside table, as well as there was a trashcan on the ground, within her reach.

Wendy took a tentative gulp of water and when that didn't immediately upset her belly, she took a larger one. It sat like a brick in her belly and she still felt terribly queasy, but at least it didn't immediately want out.

"Hey," Vince whispered, entering the room again, "you're awake."

"Just barely," Wendy smiled, kicking the blankets so he could join her. Vince didn't come cuddle her, instead he grabbed a thermometer sitting right next to the water bottle and handed it to her.

"Just for my peace of mind," Vince said, planting a hand on her forehead, "but you're not that warm anymore, I think it broke while you slept."

"Uhm," Wendy leaned on his touch, "is your mom pissed at me....?"

"Pissed at you? She was so worried she was considering calling 911, doll, she is not pissed at you. She made dad go to the store, did you know they sell gatorade in six packs?"

Wendy's cheeks caught on fire, "oh no... I really didn't mean to-"

"Wen," Vince rolled his eyes, pushing her mouth shut so the thermometer could get a good reading, "we all love you, you're not a bother. We're just worried."

"Uhm," Wendy sighed, waiting until the little device beeped. A low grade fever, but not that high. Vince's shoulders dropped in visible relief and he leaned forward, his forehead meeting her lap.

"You worried the shit out of me, Wendy."

"I'm so-"

"No, stop, stop," he glared at her, pushing her back against the pillows, "stop apologizing, okay? Just let me take care of you."

"You really shouldn't have to, it's Christmas..."

"You don't even celebrate Christmas," he chuckled, kissing her cheek and then moving on the bed, kicking off hsi flip flops so he could get closer to her, "can I rub your belly?"

Wendy's cheeks caught on fire and she awkwardly bit her lip, unsure if she wanted him to touch it or not. The idea of a soothing belly rub sounded amazing, but she still felt so gross and so... So disgusting. She didn't want Vin to come to this realization too...

"You think too much," he whispered, pushing her hoodie up slightly. His hands were really warm and he rubbed them together before planting them on Wendy's bloated, upset tummy.

The organ let out a growl and Wendy pressed her hands to her face, her cheeks aflame, but still she didn't push him back and Vince kept at it. He rubbed it in steady, slow circles and caused her to let out a little burp.

Vin glanced up, worried, but Wendy only shook her head as if to say she was fine. He smiled, then leaned in and planted a kiss on her belly, "I'm glad you're feeling better."

"Not that much better," Wendy said, her heart stuttering as she felt him plant a bunch of little, fluttery kisses all over her tummy. Vince chuckled, his laugh vibrating against her skin.

"No? How can I help?"

Wendy pressed her knuckles to her mouth, biting down a delighted smile at his teasing tone, "don't stop."

"Not planning on it, honey."

[chrollohearttags]

Eren is definitely the type to come mess with his girl while she’s at work. Like if she works at Starbucks or a Sephora he’ll come visit and play like he doesn’t know her and flirt like he’s trying to bag her

I’m screaming cause this is so like him shekgsjs! I just know he is so aggravating but cute all the same.

like imagine you’re on your feet all day, checking out customers, helping people with products and doing makeup. Mid way through your shift, you hear the sound of loud slurping, slides shuffling across the floor and a super familiar voice. “Welcome to Sephora! All Nars is on sale—“ doing your whole little spiel, right? You turn around and see your boyfriend walking up in the store like he owns the place! And before you can even ask him why the hell he’s there, this fool starts pretending like he don’t know you. “Excuse me, ma’am. I need your help with something. Can you come here, please?” you know he don’t want shit but to be aggravating but you do it anyways and when you get to him and ask what he wanted, all you get is some super corny pickup line and suddenly, you just wanna kick this nigga’s ass because it’s already been a long day. “Eren, please go home! I’m too tired for this.” You say in between laughter because it’s all you can do at this point. “Since you know my name, what’s yours then? Cause I can just call you mine if you prefer it.” (annoying as hell 😭) you got about another hour left so he just follows you around, being entertainment if nothing else. He asks you a bunch of questions about the different makeup products, (which he’s really just filling his cart for you and ends up spending a bunch of money). “Is there anything else I can help with, sir?” And of course, it’s some more foolishness. “Yeah, you got a man?” this shift cannot be over soon enough so you can go spend time with this boy because he obviously has no sense when you’re away.

[unique-high]

In between the pages of you | YOONGI X BLK FEM READER

summary: Yoongi fell in love with you. A girl he had never even met before. Knew everything that you were made up of within 96 pages of a worn red journal with a nirvana sticker on front, with coffee and tea-stained pages that also smelled of lilacs and summer.

genre: fluff, angst, humor, and romance.

a/n: I made a playlist for this fic if you want to check it out :). sorry for any mistakes in the fics.

Chapter One: The Red Journal

It's only 2:15 in the morning. Yoongi sat in his usual spot in the back of the ramen shop eating his usual order of creamy pork belly shin. The crispy pork had a nice crunch, and the broth warmed his chest and stomach in the cold winter month of December.

The little ramen shop wasn't busy, just the same faces Yoongi had seen when he came here when he hit a mental creative block in his music writing. Oftentimes times Yoongi would people-watch, taking in insignificant details of the other customers he could somehow use in his music.

Like the old man with ink-stained fingers, Yoongi wonders if the old man is a kind of comic creator.

Then there was the young man slurping down his noodles as he studied for some kind of test.

Yoongi noticed a red journal sitting in the center of a table a few feet away from him. He looked around to see if the owner of it was anywhere. No one was at the serving counter or at the tea machine. The little ramen shop didn't have restrooms, so you had to use the restroom at the 7-Eleven across the street. So he thought maybe the owner could be there.

By the time Yoongi was done eating, he paid for his meal at the serving counter and bought a strawberry mochi ice cream. He walked by the table with the red Journal; he stood there for a moment staring at it. The owner never came for it.

So Yoongi took it to the serving counter.

“Someone left their journal here,” Yoongi said to the cook.

The middle-aged man looked at the journal and then at Yoongi.

“Okay?”

“Do you have a lost and found?”

“Does it look like I have one?”

“Can I leave it here in case the owner returns?”

“It'll get thrown out with the trash.”

Yoongi put the red journal in his messenger bag. He gave a tight lip smile to the cook and left.

The red Journal sat in front of him on his desk. He stared at the Nirvana sticker on the cover. He opened the journal to see if there was information so he could return it to the owner.

Yoongi reads the pretty handwriting, and the name written inside Y/N with hearts drawn around your name. There was no other information, so he flipped to the first page.

There's a faint hint of coffee that hits his nose and a coffee ring in the upper corner of the page with a movie ticket taped down from some French movie you saw back in July.

Yoongi read the first page of your journal. At first, he thought it would be crossing into someone else private life: what if there's some really deep personal shit here?

But Yoongi was a little nosey about who you, Y/n, might be.

June 1, 2023

I and my friend Namjoon ate at this Chinese restaurant above my apartment building. It's a small little one run by a husband and wife. I had sweet and sour pork with steaming white rice and Namjoon had Wonton soup. Namjoon thinks it's a little childish that I made a wish on my rice. I never told Namjoon this was something I always did with my grandma. She'll cook some rice for us on my birthdays, sprinkling a little sugar and adding some butter, before digging in we made a wish on the rice. I know it's nothing special to some people, but for me, brief memories like that with my grandma felt like hot chicken noodle soup on a bitter winter day warming your insides. So yeah, I'll continue wishing on bowls of rice, just to keep that memory of my grandma alive when she wasn't.

Yoongi's fingers trailed over each sentence until he was at the end where he saw a little chibi drawing at the bottom of the page with two people, a younger girl and an elderly woman with bowls of rice in front of them and scribbled above their heads read: Granny and Me.

His chest tightened a bit, and he batted his eyes to keep the tears away. It reminds him of him and his grandpa when Yoongi was a small boy, they would always go fishing, and Yoongi and his grandpa would wish on dragonflies so they could catch the biggest fish. They never did though and it never disappointed Yoongi when he caught something even smaller, it was the moments he spent with his grandpa that made these little memories special.

So Yoongi could understand you, wanting to keep that part of your grandma alive.

All he can do is try to imagine what your smile must have been like when a bowl of hot rice was placed in front of you, did you close your eyes? Or did you thank whatever God you believed in, if you even believed in one?

He was curious about how many wishes you made over the years, what you wished for, and did any of them ever come true?

Only from the first page of your journal Yoongi could tell you were someone with a pure heart.

Maybe you saw the world a little differently, like a child did when they first become curious about the world around them.

Maybe you were nice. Maybe you weren't nice enough. Maybe you smiled too much. Maybe you smiled too little. Maybe you cried easily when someone slightly raised their voice to you. Maybe you didn't cry at all.

A lot of maybes Yoongi thought about. Just a couple hundred words that Yoongi read he wanted to know who you were as a person. That all the maybes he had could be answered.

He flipped through the pages of your journal, just scanning over the pages. Some pages were torn out, with scraps of paper left behind from where you ripped them out.

Yoongi counted 96 pages with pieces of you scattered throughout the stained pages, folded corners, pretty handwriting, and every page smelled of lilacs.

a/n: the idea for this was random because I wanted to buy a journal and I'm like, what if there was a story about a journal and two people? I asked my friend who it should be about. It was either between Namjoon and Yoongi. And Yoongi made it. I may or may not do a Namjoon version. 😭

For a good portion of the story, we only will see Y/n through her journal and how Yoongi may see her.

Taglist: @kingofbodyrolls @illnevertrustmyselfagain @lachibolalasstuff @tarahardcore @itsshaydeekaydee @iluvkyo

If you would like to be added to the taglist for future chapters, let me know :)

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#333

“Look I ain’t interested in conversation with you.  I answered your ad because you promised to eat ass for a long period of time.  Nothing else is going to happen.  I’m not looking for a finger, or worse, a dick to go in my shithole.  I have no desire to stick my dick in a fag’s asshole or in its mouth.  It’s just going to be me sitting on your face for a few hours.  You got that?...  Good!...

“Your ad said that you have a portable rim seat on legs for me to sit on.  You better have brought it.  Good.  Go ahead and set it up down below.  I have a spot for you to set up.  I want to look out while I enjoy my scotch, a cigar, and an eager tongue slurping my shithole.

“You are the first fag I have ever been with.  Two years after I had a whore from Amsterdam eat my shithole right, I have been searching for any woman to do it with such enthusiasm.  I even dumped my girlfriend because she wouldn’t spend more than one minute total back there.  I’ve seen pornos, lots of pornos.  So I know that those bitches exist.

“Right here.  Set up the seat right here on the edge of the step.  You are going to lie behind me; I don’t want to see any part of you.  I only want to feel your moist tongue going in deep.  Put the seat right up against the edge.  From what I have seen in porn with these seats is that the men sitting on them have to stoop down low to sit and it looks totally uncomfortable. 

“Here’s a bandana.  Put it on as a blindfold.  I saw this done in a porno ‘Cuck Husband 3: Eating My Wife’s Lover’s Ass’.  That’s where I first watched a fag eat a man’s shithole.  This is where I got the idea to use queers.  Yeah, that husband was a total fag actor.  He hardly ever did anything with the women.  I’ve seen him in other cuck videos.  He’s always slurping on some big brute’s shithole.

“Get under the seat.  Keep that bandana covering your eyes.  You don’t get to see my cock and balls resting on your forehead.  Hell, you won’t even get to see my shithole you will be tongue fucking.

“Fuck you look like you were made to be under that seat, that your life is to lick other men’s shitholes.  Open your fucking mouth….  Now the other thing that brute did to that cuck in the porno was this….  A piss-soaked bandana will make sure your eyes remain closed.  And I don’t care that some goes into your mouth.

“…And it appears that you don’t either.  Well damn faggot.  You really are nasty.  Doesn’t surprise me considering your tongue is going to spend a lot of time inside the hole I shit out of.

“Get ready, this is the moment you have been waiting for.  In your e-mail from the other day, you asked me not to clean up after work today.  You wanted to eat me out ripe.  Well, I stopped cleaning it up from that moment on.  Here’s my three day ripe ass.  Get that tongue in there.

“Fuuuuck.  Jesus fuck!  Oh hell yes….  Mmmmm….  Oh that fart slipped out….  Damn, none of this phases you.  That Dutch whore has nothing on you….  And you can do this for hours at a time?  Faggot, the job is yours.  When I say we are done, we’ll work out a schedule.  And we’ll get a more permanent chair installed, one that is more comfortable for me to sit on for hours.

“Until then, I’m going to enjoy this cigar, my scotch, and watch the sun set listening to the sounds of you slurping and sucking on my shithole.”