#little king trash mouth

[laz-kay]

Bob: So, your mother is no longer allowed to take the trash out at night. Tina: Why? Bob: Because I've caught her trying to train the raccoons how to fight five times in a row. Linda, arms crossed and pouting: You'll be thanking me when the third raccoon battalion saves your ass.

[unclefathersantateddy]

Had so much with this screen redraw from the movie! Perspective shots of buildings are a nightmare but always worth the pay off!

[bobsbrainrot]

Never forget the introduction to our raccoon king! I need to find the air date of this episode so I may celebrate him

[nothwell]

is this meme dead yet or...?

[opens-up-4-nobody]

Haven't drawn them since... 2018?

[jackdaw-and-hattrick]

Danny and Jason are the kind of couple who call each other the sweetest pet names when talking to other people but when it's just the two of them it's just things like “dude” or “my guy”.

[summershouto]

doflamingo is like a flamboyantly dressed feral raccoon

[4kadhd]

need to make a dabi model specifically so i can animate sasuke fortnite animations onto him for my own enjoyment

[royalarmyofoz]

it me, good taste anon

I took the capsule about 7pm and felt it hit about halfway into the newest bob's burgers episode and then laughed a bit too hard about a gay man's wife being hit by a car after asking for a divorce.

then slept real good, 10/10 experience.

omg that's awesome. i had another one at work today too😊

[steddie-as-they-come]

everybody talks

i could not tell you what this is. i wrote it all in one sitting. enjoy or whatever

It starts with the graffiti.

Scribbled in thick, permanent marker across the boys' gym lockers.

STEVE HARRINGTON FUCKS EDDIE MUNSON

The custodian tries half-heartedly to scrub it off, but he only manages to get about a letter and a half off the locker before his shift is over. It's back up by the next day anyway.

Half the school is walking on tiptoes around Steve, waiting for him to blow up and demand a manhunt for the culprit.

The other half is snickering and laughing as he walks by in the halls.

Steve doesn't give two shits. He holds his head up high and walks onwards, ignoring the laughs and the kissy noises. He needs to graduate. He needs to not get eaten by a terrifying monster from an alternate reality. More pressing things happen to Steve Harrington than grade school graffiti.

Until he turns the corner and sees Eddie Munson glaring furiously at his closed locker.

He doesn't speak to him. Even if the graffiti isn't a big deal, there's no need to add any fuel to the fire.

Eddie finally steps forward and wrenches open his locker door. The crowd milling in the halls begins to laugh.

Papers spill out, dozens of them, cascading over the floor and burying Eddie's shoes. One slides all the way to Steve's feet.

He looks down automatically.

There's an atrocious drawing of two stick figures bent over each other. The one on the bottom has two lines of curly hair, while the one on the top has a singular swooping line of graphite.

Great.

Steve swiftly scoops it up and crumples it in his fist, shoving it in his pocket. He'll toss it out later.

As he hustles past Eddie, steadfastly not looking in his direction, he thinks he hears Eddie mutter, "Every class period."

Steve turns a corner, and the train wreck that is Eddie's locker is gone.

He slides into his seat, knowing the band girls who sit in the back corner of the classroom are whispering about him, but finding he couldn't care less.

The teacher starts class.

He reaches into his pocket and slides the crumpled paper between his fingers, over and over.

Steve raises his hand. "Can I go to the bathroom?"

The teacher nods and waves him away, and Steve scrambles out the door, rounding the corner.

Eddie's still there, kneeling by his locker, trying to scoop up papers.

Steve kneels next to him. "Hey."

Eddie jumps like an alley cat that's been spooked. Steve could swear his hair starts bristling, puffing up.

"Your majesty," Eddie finally says, glaring back at the pile of paper like Steve'll disappear if he doesn't look at him. "To what do I owe the pleasure."

It's not really a question.

Steve answers it anyway. "Came to help," he says simply, picking up a piece of paper that has EDDIE MUNSON X STEVE HARRINGTON written on it in bold letters, surrounded by stupid little hearts. "After all, my name's on half this stuff."

"How kind," Eddie said. "Keeping me distracted while your buddies key my van or something?"

Steve reels back. "Huh?"

"I'm not dumb, Harrington," Eddie says, crumpling up another sheet of paper. Steve can barely catch EDDIE HARRINGTON on it before it's balled in Eddie's fist. "I get this is a prank or whatever. I just can't understand why you'd involve yourself with me. The King and the Freak."

"'Cause I'm not the King anymore." Steve says, standing to drag a nearby garbage can closer. It's already half-full of papers. "You sure don't listen to gossip, Munson. Billy beat my ass and I lost every friend I had. So. I think it's a prank on both of us."

"Oh."

Eddie, wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, shuts the fuck up. Steve had seen people lose their meals to his impassioned school cafeteria rants, but it only takes Steve Harrington to shut Munson's infamous mouth.

Wait, that sounds wrong.

They keep cleaning in silence - relatively. Steve starts balling up the papers and tossing them at the trash can, unable to stop himself from hissing out a yes! if he makes the throw.

"Impressive," Eddie says dryly. "Can you do this?" He raises one hand in the air like he's about to take a pledge, and in the other he folds and rolls a slip of paper until it's shaped like a joint.

Steve chuckles. "Nope." He takes the fake joint, and it comes undone in his palm, revealing the same crude stick figure couple from earlier.

Right.

Steve had forgotten what they were doing here.

Evidently, Eddie had too. He looks down at the drawing, then snatches the paper from Steve, tossing it in the trash, two spots of pink high on his cheeks.

He scoops the last of the papers into his arms, dumping them in the trash can. "You can go back to class," he tells Steve, settling down with his back against the locker.

"What are you doing?" Steve says, slightly caught off-guard by the dismissal.

"Seeing if those pricks will try to do it again." Eddie says, folding his knees up to his chest. "They do it all the time. I think there's a jungle's worth of trees just being used to make shit for my locker."

"You're just gonna guard it?" Steve asks.

"Sure," Eddie says, picking at a piece of lint on his shirt. "What else have I got to do?"

Steve plops himself down next to Eddie. "I'll guard with you," he says stubbornly.

"Seriously?" Eddie asks, like Steve's particularly slow. Steve's gotten that tone of voice a lot in his life.

"Yeah." Steve says. He parrots, "What else have I got to do?"

"You're just gonna fuel the rumors, dude." Eddie says. "My name's mud around here. You know that damn well."

"Sure," Steve shrugs. "But it hasn't been half-bad hanging out with you, and I don't care what these jackasses think of me anymore. Bigger things to worry about."

They settle into a comfortable silence, watching the students pass by, their whispered comments and curious glances bouncing off the duo. Eddie taps his fingers rhythmically on the ground, humming a tune Steve doesn't recognize but finds oddly comforting.

He reaches into his pocket to feel the small paper, then tugs it out. Is it dumb that a stupid drawing is making him think about himself this much?

"Hey, Eddie," Steve starts, hesitating. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot," Eddie says idly.

"How do you... I mean, when did you know you were gay?" Steve asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie's expression turns to one of suspicion, but he answers anyway. "I guess I always knew, deep down. But I really figured it out in middle school." He looks at Steve out of the corner of his eye. "Why?"

Steve bites his lip, considering his next words carefully. "I think I might be... different too. I mean, I've only ever dated girls, but lately, I don't know. I feel... something."

Something means he worried for weeks when Billy beat the shit out of him because suddenly all these feelings were tugging at his brain. Feelings for people like Eddie Munson.

Eddie's eyes widen slightly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. (What? Steve's not looking at his lips. Huh?) "Steve Harrington, the former King of Hawkins High, might not be straight? Now that's some gossip I'd actually pay attention to."

"Shut up," Steve mutters, but he's smiling too. "I'm serious."

"Well..." Eddie trails off. "We can try it out?"

Steve's heart skips a beat. "Huh?"

"We can try it out." Eddie repeats. "But, uh," he leans close, his breath ghosting over the shell of Steve's ear. "Just so you know, I prefer to be the one on top."

Weeks later, the school is overtaken by a new kind of graffiti. Papers plastered to every surface, a spiky handwriting (usually used to write setlists and D&D character sheets) adorning each and every one of them.

EDDIE MUNSON FUCKS STEVE HARRINGTON

[unclefathersantateddy]

Had a great birthday with my loved ones! Thank you to everyone who sent me a nice message or engaged in their own way🤍

Please enjoy birthday blorbo!

[eggyrocks]

THE MANEATER CHAPTER ONE: club classics

masterlist

divider credits to roseraris

For fifteen minutes every night, she gets to take off her headphones, sneak out the staff-only exit, and smoke a cigarette on a cracked-up old milk crate. And even though she can still hear her pre-determined, carefully crafted playlist taking over for her pulsing through the brick walls, it's the only moment of quiet she has all night.

So it makes sense that new bouncer showed up to ruin it.

She groans at the sight of him, dramatically, exaggerated. She rolls her head back and kicking her feet. "Oh my god," she whines, "why are you here? Go somewhere else."

He doesn't validate this little outburst of hers. He just leans against the brick wall opposite to her, and blocks the breeze from blowing out his lighter with a cupped hand until the end of his cigarette is cherry red. She watches him with a lip furled in distaste as he straightens out. "Easiest place to get away from a bunch of drunk people for fifteen minutes, so you're just gonna have to put up with me," he tells her, smoke billowing from his mouth as he speaks.

"Well, you're fucked because there's a bachelorette party in there that keeps buying my green tea shots," she says, voice laced with faux sympathy. "So I'm trashed."

He scoffs. Iwaizumi. That's his name. She recalls it in the instance he flicks off ash with the tip of his thumb. She thinks he's pretty, and immediately after that she thinks she'd rather cut off her own tongue than admit that. "You're a fucking peach, you know that right?"

"Truly one of the sweetest out there. So are you going to apologize to me now?"

Iwaizumi flinches. "Apologize for what? Doing my job?"

She gives him a forced smile. "Well if you were doing your job, you'd probably know better than to stop and interrogate one of your new coworkers."

"Okay," Iwaizumi concedes, giving a forceful nod of his head. "You're right. I'm sorry I didn't realize that you're an egomaniac who thinks everyone should know who she is because she hits shuffle on Spotify for a living."

"Oh so that's your bit?" she bites back. "That's like your thing? You think you're better and cooler than everyone around you because you think things like club music are beneath you? Because what? You listen to like Kings of Leon or something?"

Iwaizumi scoffs. "I'm a big Kendrick Lamar fan, actually."

She rolls her eyes, and puts her cigarette out on the pavement beneath her. Her fifteen-minute smoke break has been ruined. "Predictable," she grumbles, standing to her feet. "I gotta get back to my job before Spotify decides to put Smart Shuffle on. I hope a drunk person pukes on you."

extras!

noya is also a bartender at the maneater! there are others who might pop up from time to time

sakusa established a rotating schedule on who's job it is to go do a coffee run since none of them ever wanted to go and get coffee on sunday mornings

yn does not always drink during her sets but sometimes when club goers buy her drinks she indulges

if kiyoko makes them she waters them down

yn drew iwa on the back of her receipt from the coffee shop

iwa was just like "wait who's akaashi"

their hatred for one another was immediate and it's like they've been hating each other their whole lives <3

taglist: @wyrcan @thechaosoflonging @bedeater @deluluforcarlos55 @localgaytrainwreck @cherrypieyourface @eclecticeggknightpsychic @httpakkeiji @does-directions @needtoloveoutloud @causenessus @kawaii-angelanne @thatonecroc @v1oletfury @lonesomedrive @nnnyxie @guitarstringed-scars @nbcvs @garfieldissocool @iheartpinky @mollyrolls @yogurtkags @yuminako @michivrse @19calicos @sunnyskiezzzz @bailey-reeds @staileykout @loverlunaire @iluvaquaphor @lllaw @alpha-mommy69 @acowboykisser @karasyuu @aquariarose @torkorpse @wave2mia @southernfrogprincesd @mfcherry (temporarily opening taglist, complete this form to be added)

[flametrashiraarchive]

No one asked but... I'm trash and it's Muzan Monday!

NSFW Muzan headcanons

NSFW beneath the cut obviously.

Now I know you're thinking "demon daddy is the ultimate top"

And you'd be right 99% of the time.

"I permit your continued existence solely for the purpose of my pleasure."

He fucks you when he's angry, stressed, disappointed...

So, multiple times per day.

The thing is, he can change the shape and size of his body

And that includes his dick.

So some days he's just a normal level of stressed out and just want a nice easy ride, listening to the symphony of your moans.

Wants you nice and wet so he can hear it slapping.

Other days he's beyond pissed and will make his dick huge, cramming it into you and pounding you until you scream.

And let me tell ya, that thing is not always smooth and human-looking.

Ridges... bumps... mouths

Making you cum is a point of pride. Knowing he can elicit a reaction from you with the simplest touch gets him off.

Sometimes he likes to experiment with new ways of bringing about your ruin.

And Muzan has a lot of tricks up his sleeve.

He can exert pressure on objects at will and manipulate vibrations in the air

Which is an ability he'll sometimes use on you.

You'll just be going about your day and feel a sort of tingly pressure down there

And notice Muzan is staring at you with a faint menacing smile

He loves to watch you try to keep your composure as he makes you cum with his mind.

Degrades AND praises.

"Oh, my pretty little slut is such a pathetic, whimpering mess."

"Mm, yes you're pleasing your king well. Such an obedient harlot."

"There isn't a single hole in your in your body I haven't defiled, is there? You belong to me, don't you? Say it."

But sometimes... sometimes...

The burden of command is too much

Muzan will, on occasion, permit you to top him.

"Speak a word of this and it will be the last thing you utter."

There isn't a restraint in the universe that can truly contain him, but he likes when you tie him up

Surrendering control makes him feel vulnerable and that's something he isn't used to feeling anymore. It's a thrill he only allows himself to feel with you.

Expects zero mercy.

Bares his teeth and growls as you fuck him.

Leaves claw marks in the floorboards.

and just milk his cock.

Moo-zan

But he absolutely cannot keep his composure when you go down on him.

Your mouth is his ruin.

The only time you will ever see his face flush is when you lick his tip and maintain eye contact.

Put the tip of your tongue in his slit.

The man's a mess.

His back fully arches and he starts to pant

His voice cracks when he's close

"Nggghhh damn you... m-more... I'm cu-ohhhh fuck fuck ffffuck..."

Likes to read to you afterward while you lay your head in his lap.

Acting all dignified and calm as if he didn't just whimper so loudly he alerted Kokushibo.

Gently twists your hair around his fingertips as you start to fall asleep.

"You belong to me," he says.

He means "I love you."

[lyneylover]

Yandere! Lyney royalty Au♡

Synopsis: lyney is a street magician that you seen 3 weeks before your birthday. After your dad sees you mesmerized by his magic show he decides to buy lyney and his siblings to be your personal magicians. Little did your dad know that this would be the biggest mistake he ever made.

Word count: 569

So picture this!

Originally lyney was just a street performer with his twin sister and sometimes his little brother as well.

But that all changed as soon as you came to one of his magic shows.

You were amazed by his tricks and enjoyed watching them. Genuinely having a good time watching his show.

It wasn't everyday that the princess of the l/n family actually seemed extremely impressed by magicians. Many have tried but failed since you were always able to tell what illusion they used.

But there was something about lyney and his sister lynette's magic that made you hypnotized.

By the time the show was officially over you seemed disappointed.

Noticing your disappointment your dad has the brilliant idea to buy the 3 magicians for your upcoming birthday as a surprise.

After that magic show everything seemed so boring but 3 weeks later you got the biggest surprise of your life.

The day of your 18th birthday arrived.

Like any other birthday you had there were lots of gifts.

But something was different this time. This time your dad presented you with something you'd never expect.

There stood the three magicians.

Standing right in front of you was lyney, lynette, and freminet.

In that moment you were frozen and bubbling with excitement. You quickly ran over to your dad hugging him and thanking.

But little did you know that lyney was smitten by you.

The second he saw you at his magic show he felt you stole his heart away. The twinkle in your eyes when he made something disappear and reappear or how he drew the exact same card that a person showed the crowd.

Usually lyney wouldn't let anyone buy him and his siblings so when your dad asked him he was going to say no but then realized that the same man he was going to decline was your father.

Lyney uses this as a way to get closer to you knowing that he's only a mere magician and you're a princess. So he automatically yes not wanting to leave his siblings he told the king that he would only go if he bought all three of them for $100 a piece.

When lyney saw you he felt giddy inside. He was mesmerized by your beautiful features your pretty eyes, your soft looking hair, your plump lips everything about you made him blush.

This didn't go unnoticed by Lynette and freminet though.

After a month of being your personal magician he finally tells his siblings about his feelings for you hoping that they would help him with the master plan he thought up.

When Lynette and freminet finally agree lyney is ecstatic.

A week later they put Lyney's plan in motion.

At dinner lynette slips something in everyone's drink that'll make them tired.

When everyone is finally asleep lyney sneaks into your room covering your mouth before waiting for freminet to appear.

When freminet gets there they all quietly bring you to the escape carriage they had prepared earlier.

They all quickly run back inside to trash your room and their rooms to make it look like a kidnapping. With the money they had gotten from the king they took you far across fontaine where he would never find you.

The next day the king was furious. He thought someone kidnapped his magicians and his precious only daughter.

The king looked for them for months but not a trace of them was ever found.

Lyney could finally be with the love of his life.

I hope you guys enjoyed this! Sorry I haven't been posting I've had writers block but I'm finally back on track! And I'm currently completing my first hotaru haganezuka request but I thought I would post my little brainrot for you guys<3 Also should i post a part two with yan! personal detective Heizou looking for reader?

[trashmouth-richie]

the way that steve and eddie fuck you, are not the same

bf!steve is an all missionary man.

threading your fingers with his as he lays chest to chest with you, kissing you sweet and delicate along the column of your throat, even though his monster cock is splitting you open, he nearly comes when your eyebrows pull together and your breathing is hot. when you cry out for him? He’s a total mess.

His breeding kink taking over fully as he hikes one of your legs up into the crook of his elbow, “mm shit, doing so good for me honey,”

“you’d look so fuckin’ pretty with my baby in your belly,” he’d moan, the infamous lock of hair hanging rogue in his face as he bites his lip, “that’s what you want, huh?”

he was obsessed with the idea of it. a family of his own to love and dote on. he knew you’d be the perfect wife and mother some day.

so what if that day came sooner rather than later?

bf!eddie is all mouth

all mouth in a way that you could barely catch your breath between kisses and heated gasps. it didn’t matter what position you were pretzeled into— his mouth never left your skin.

he devoured you in a way that left prominent wine colored hickeys all over your skin, love bites allover your thighs. he’d moan into your neck , drunk on the fact that you chose him, the freak of Hawkins high.

he’d spill I love you baby each time your body bent further into him.

he loved you in a way that stung your spine and buzzed your brain.

he’d eat you out for hours having you come again and again, lapping at your puffy clit and slick cunt whispering how perfect your body was how you were his girl, his angel, his everything.

finishing the love making by washing your hair in the shower, ordering take out and brushing your hair.

king!steve fucked for him not you.

he never called you a whore, he never called you anything. you were an empty hole for him— and you praised him, loved the feeling of him splitting you wide open. he’d mutter under his breath about how tight your little pussy is and how it was his, right?

of course it was.

you mewled for him and it only stretched his ego wider, threatening to burst with such cockiness you were sure he’d combust.

he came before you did, not really caring if you would or not, no effort put into it on his part.

he’d toss the condom into the trash and zip up his jeans, fixing his hair in the mirror and calling you by the wrong name before he’d slink back to the party

kissing another girl on the mouth and squeezing her ass, another easy target.

mean!eddie fucked with anger

the rumors were true, he was hung like a horse and knew how to use it. he pulled noises from you that would shake his trailer walls, screaming his name as he pounded into you deeper and deeper.

he didn’t use pet names, you were simply his whore, a bitch a slut.

you’d leave with finger shaped bruises on your hips from him driving you down onto his cock when you rode him in reverse, his thick veiny cock bruising your g spot.

your head ached from his fist in your hair as he took you from behind with your ass in the air and your knees carpet burned from the shitty couch.

hand prints on each ass cheek, lips bit and swollen after choking on his length til you nearly passed out, and he mistakenly awarded you with a kiss but bit your lip to show he didn’t mean it.

you’d be covered in sweat when he was done, your legs shaky with the sweet high of too many orgasms.

He didn’t wear condoms, just tossed you the morning after pill he kept in bulk in his dresser and made you take in front of him.

“don’t want you tryin’ to trap me.” he’d goad and when you giggled and rolled your eyes, his would turn black as he shoved the water bottle into your hand, making you stick out your tongue and show him that the small white pill was gone.

“Good girl”

[itsabouttimex2]

Well I just woke up terrible after being drunk last night.so since I expect reader to probably be a teen and what

do we teens do,we party and drink.what about reader before being kiddnapped show up to a hangout with a headache,they causally say it’s because they were drunk.Wukong and Macaque reactions

Drunk Teen Reactions:

Ol’ Sun Wukong is not stupid, kiddo. This simian picks up on your “shitfaced” status the moment he eyes you wobbling through the front door, lurched forward and clutching at your forehead.

He’s not stupid. But stupidly well can this old pilgrim can act the part.

“Hey, kiddo! Bump your head, huh?” He casually asks, eyeing the redness of your eyes, whiffing the vomit on your breath.

Already, something in him is stirring, a protective rumbling emanating from deep inside his chest.

(How dare your parents let you do this to yourself? How could they let you drink, let you leave the house in this condition?)

Sun Wukong spits out a chuckle and comes over to swing an arm over your shoulders, a motion that he forces to be casual when something inside starts to scream at him to take your neck between his hands and start throttling a home address out of your mouth.

Instead, he leads the way back to his cozy little couch and nudges you down, grabbing a thin blanket and wrapping it around you.

“Why don’t you sit here and let me get you a drink? Something tells me you need lots of water, bud!”

“Hmmm,” you mumble, stirring the sounds on your tongue like a cocktail. “Kay. M’really tired, Monkey King. Headache, y’know,” you lie, smiling weakly up at the blur of ginger fur.

“I know it, bud!” The king lies back, your falsehoods exchanging easily. ‘You’re a kid’, he reminds himself. ‘No need to get angry.’

“So, buddy, why’d ya wanna hang out today, if you weren’t feeling so hot?

“Just wanted to,” is your next lie, lazy and relaxed. The discontent it inspires in him motivates the crushing of a little white pill in his hand, then a subtle palm tip that spills grainy powder into your coming-up cup of water.

He circles the counter twice, giving you a moment to laugh at his “pointless” pacing.

Giving the pill particles a moment to dissolve.

Then he’s right beside you, one hand squeezing your shoulder as he nudged the glass rim to your lips.

“Here,” Wukong softly offers, tilting the cup.

Too drunken to sniff out the still-melting grains of white at the bottom, you eagerly down as much water as possible.

And a sudden surge of drowsiness hits you, knocking you clean off of feet that you aren’t even standing on.

Then a sharp swell of delayed nausea blooms in your stomach and ripples to the back of your throat, a few moments after Wukong scoops you up.

Shifting and shuffling about until he’s got you comfortably nestled to his chest, Wukong finally smiles, leaning in to nuzzle your cheek:

“C’mon, bud- I’m gonna take you home.”

“Hey, Uncle Mac? S’it getting, uh, I dunno… hot in here…? My head’s dripping sweat. N’ my hand are real clammy. And my ears hurt.”

Yeah, your ass is cooked.

Maybe if you were a little less talkative, a little more alert, a little less unsteady- you might have been able to fool the sable simian.

But Macaque doesn’t need any kind of mystical power to see through your bullshit.

“Uh-huh. Yeah, the room is too hot, too bright, too loud. And you’re the only one complaining about it,” he snaps, poking your stomach with a clawed finger.

“You think you’re fooling me? I’m not one of your idiot friends, Y/N! You aren’t gonna trick me with a half-baked lie, and I’m not-“

“M’gonna puke,” you whimper aloud, cutting the monkey off as he leaps from the couch and goes racing for a trash bin.

Macaque can act villainous all he’d like- and to be fair, he is a pretty awful and unrepentant person (why do the Monkie Kids let him stick around when he hasn’t even apologized?) - but you turn him soft faster than sunlight melts shadows.

The Mystic Monkey rounds the corner with a little round bin, the metal shielded by a plastic bag that lines the rim.

Into your hands is the cylinder shoved, Macaque roughly slapping at your back in an awkward attempt to comfort you.

With an awfully unpleasant sound from the deepest confines of your throat, the contents of your stomach promptly upended into the sack.

No food. Just a puddle of sticky dark liquid.

“You have been drinking,” he hisses, now that you really have no ground to deny him. Really, you didn’t to begin with, but there was always plausible deniability to invoke.

“J-just a few. Tried something-“

Another splatter of rough and thick bile, stained brown with what he’s starting to think is rum.

He sighs and folds up his arms unhappily, tapping a glossy black boot against the floor. “Y/N. That stuff was way too strong for you, no matter what it was.”

“Mh-hm, I know. M’not gonna- eugh. M’not gonna do it again, promise.”

“No, you won’t,” he confirms, grabbing the scruff of your shirt and yanking it upwards. He’s strong enough to boost you free of the floor, stomping to a spare room. His tail snags the trash bin without trouble, hauling the soiled cylinder along with your prone and dangling form.

“In fact,” he tacks on, grimacing at the strong scent your breath carries, “you aren’t going to do anything. I’m grounding you for a week- and I’m taking your phone. tough luck, kiddo.”

He tosses you onto a bed that rises only a few inches off the ground, slinging a few blankets around your shaking form.

“Phone. Now.”

Fishing the little device from your pocket, you quickly it into the Macaque’s hand- he’s never been this stern with you before. Honestly? It kind of scares you.

A beep sounds, catching your attention- already, the ancient demon is initiating a call.

“Listen close- no, you don’t know me, no, Y/N isn’t hurt. They’re tired and sick -shut up and listen- they’re tired and sick and staying at my place tonight. I don’t care. They’re staying until this sickness passes. Don’t call back.”

(Realms above and below, it hurts to play the “no violence” card here, even though he was just saving it for later. What Macaque really wants to do is quietly follow you home and destroy every cubic ounce of alcohol inside. And then maybe grind your irresponsible parents against the floor after he’s coated it in glass shards.)

He hits the “end call” button with a little too much force, dangerously straining the phone’s screen. Thankfully, it leaves no cracks or scratches.

Macaque turns back to you with a frown, shaking his head- only to soften slight when the sight of your nauseated and quivering form fills his eyes.

“Don’t… don’t give me those puppy-dog eyes, Y/N. You can’t… ugh, fine. I’ll get you something to drink.”

He stomps off to the kitchen immediately, fighting back the urge to comfort you. Just water. And some crackers. And then he’ll let you stew in that little bed for a few hours with your filthy trash bin.

Maybe the wretched smell and lack of painkillers will teach you a lesson. Or it’ll leave you vulnerable and quaky, desperate for attention and affection.

Thinking on the possibilities, Macaque pulls the guest-room key from his pocket, twirling it around in one hand.

It was going to be nice, having you all to himself.

It was going to be even nice getting your parents out of the picture.