#(let's just ignore that it is a slur for a sec bc all my feelings are affectionate <3)< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[zapsproblems]

cough cough you ahould totally write something about gerards… supposed vomit kink… thats jus me though but like, imagine reader with really bad emetaphobia comforting them while desperately trying to ignore his own hard on💔💔💔😭my shaylaaaaa

OMGGG this one hits hard bc i used to have insanely bad emetophobia for most of my life (like seriously. i haven’t puked in 9 years now i think.) i still def have moments but i’ve gotten a lot better now lol. would it be weird to say that writing this kinda helped?

also sorry for the delayed response to ur ask i rly wanted to make sure i did this justice 🙏

tw: vomit, reader has emetophobia, this is gross, dddne, nsfw under cut

Fuck… fuck…!

This can’t be happening. You shake over the porcelain, silently praying to whatever god that would listen to magically make you feel better. Those prayers go unanswered as your stomach continues to churn with almost painful nausea.

Fuck! That last tequila shot was the worst mistake you had ever made in your life, it felt like. You can still hear the commotion and music downstairs, likely fueled on by that same bottle of liquor.

You had gone through all of your usual rituals and practices to calm yourself down; slowing your breathing, telling yourself that you’ve gotten through this before, even if it does happen that you’re still safe… But it feels different this time. Not like the times before when “it felt different” but it turned out to just be anxiety. It’s actually different this time.

You are going to throw up.

Despite knowing how it would likely be much better to get it over with, your instincts won’t let you go through with it. So, you suffer through the waves of nausea like you always did, holding on for as long as you can.

Reaching for your phone, you decided that some emotional support would help. You hover your shaking finger over your boyfriend Gerard’s phone number before figuring that you would just text him instead. The thought of opening your mouth right now, let alone talking felt like it could open the floodgates at a moment’s notice.

hey babe

i’m upstairs in the bathroom

can u come up for a sec?

Now, to hope that he somehow noticed his phone chiming over the loud album release celebration downstairs…

Gerard, the ever loving man that he was, showed up within a minute of you pressing send. He knew about your phobia and took it seriously, unlike the others you would tell. Most of the time, when you told someone how you had emetophobia, you would get some variation of the same response: “Well, no one likes throwing up!” But they just didn’t understand. They didn’t understand just how crippling it was. How you could barely leave your house some days. This phobia controlled your life. And you were about to face it head on.

Your boyfriend didn’t have to ask what was going on when he spotted you hunched over the toilet. He tightened, but relaxed a bit when he saw that the toilet bowl was clean for now. Gerard found solace in the fact that he had at least gotten to you in time.

Hopefully that makes up for the sin he’s secretly committing.

“Too much to drink, huh?” Gerard whispers softly, leaning over to rub your back. You only nod slightly in response, still too afraid to open your mouth. Your body shakes from the intense waves of anxiety that come along with the waves of nausea. “It’s okay baby… promise that you’re safe. Nothing bad is gonna happen t’ya, alright?”

Gerard tries to hide his slurred speech caused by some tequila shots of his own earlier, but it’s ultimately not too successful considering his focus on hiding something else much more humiliating. Your boyfriend shifts his weight on the balls of his feet where he crouches down beside you in a desperate attempt to relieve the pressure of his tight jeans on his growing hard-on.

You two had prided yourselves on being extremely open with communication as a couple. There was nothing that you hadn’t or wouldn’t share with one another. That was true, except for one thing. Gerard was turned on by puke.

It’s fucking disgusting, and he knew that! He was planning on telling you at some point, but decided that it would be best kept in the locked box of his mind once you had revealed your phobia to him. As much as Gerard had willed for his gross kink to go away for your sake, it always lingered in the back of his mind. And now, it was being forced to the forefront as he watched his beautiful girlfriend, the love of his life, about to be sick before his very eyes.

“D’ya… d’ya want me t’help you?” Gerard asked “Might be better to just get it over with, no?”

He was asking for the sake of both of you. As a relatively frequent puker himself, Gerard had learned it really was better to just stick some fingers down his throat. And selfishly, he really did want to see you be sick. He knew that there would probably never be an opportunity like this again, and that sick part of his mind needed to take it.

You shudder in fear, but you know that he’s right. It would be easier for someone else to help you anyways, since you know that you could never in a million years work up the courage to stick your own fingers down your throat. It felt like asking anyone else to hold a loaded gun up to their head with the safety off.

Squeezing your eyes shut, nearly in tears at this point, you force yourself to nod.

The tightness in Gerard’s pants only grew in anticipation. “M’just gonna put my fingers in your mouth then, alright baby? Just relax f’me…”

As promised, Gerard slips his index and middle finger between your lips. That act alone makes his cock twitch. “Ready?”

You take a deep, shaking breath. You are about to chicken out and pull away from your boyfriend’s fingers when Gerard suddenly pushes deep into your mouth.

It doesn’t take much.

He’s barely touching your tongue when a gush of liquid comes falling out of your lips and into the porcelain below. Gerard takes in the sight, having to bite his lip to hold back a humiliating groan that threatened to spill from his own lips. A second wave of sick pours out of your mouth and around his fingers. The sensation of the warm liquid on his hand almost has Gerard cumming in his pants untouched.

You’re gripping the toilet seat so hard that Gerard swears you’re gonna break the thing. Your figure is shaking hard, and Gerard takes his vomit-soaked fingers out of your mouth to rub your shoulders.

“Did so good f’me, baby. See? You’re okay… M���sure you feel better now, too.” Gerard coos sweetly into your ear, desperately hoping you can’t hear the heart-pounding lust laced in his words. His cock strains so hard against those damn skin-tight jeans that they feel like they might rip.

A sick voice in Gerard’s head wonders if he can get you to have a couple more drinks before the night is over…

[serotaejin]

i had some mishti doi earlier this evening and thought of you, mayhaps YOU are MY mishti doi?? 💛

T PLEASE THIS HAS TO BE THE CUTEST EDIT 🥺🥺 my mishti doi eating mishti doi <3

[sophia1644]

Downpour

Pairing: Stiles x Reader

Warnings: angst to the damn max, both of you guys crying and being absolutely devastated bc u lost each other ;((((( , but don’t worry it’s a v happy ending aka smutty towards the end

Summary: Y/N loves Stiles Stilinski dearly and can’t believe she let her soulmate slip through her fingers so easily. Luckily, Stiles comes to the same realization, both of them not letting the downpour hinder their love.

Word Count: 1.4k 

A/N: yayayyayayay, I really like this I was listening to this song on repeat. omfg it’s so good idk I love her voice and the vibes. Like I feel like I should be in a quaint coffee shop sipping a latte in a cozy sweater with my boyfriend. Don’t forget to comment if you like this ;) it’s much appreciated bc I love feedback!! It makes my day!!!

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I sit down at the wooden bench to my bay window, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders and snuggling deeper into the crimson flannel that still vaguely smelt of him. I hug my mug full of hot cocoa closer to my chest, warmth radiating to my fingertips as I look out the window. Rain falls down, wetting the pavement and turning everything a darker shade while a peaceful, rhythmic sound taps against the glass pane.

I wish that he was here, but I push that thought aside, knowing that he wasn’t mine anymore. A tear slips down my cheek and I’m quick to brush it away with the heel of my hand, taking in a deep breath and exhaling it through my nose.

“It’s over,” is all that keeps replaying in my head on repeat. The way his face morphed from anger to disbelief to sadness within a second after the brash words fell from my lips, fueled by anger and not truth. The way I slammed the door as I ran out of his house, keys in hand and tears brimming my eyes. And the way I didn’t turn back. And how I haven’t answered anyone’s calls or texts for at least a week now, including his.

“I’m such an idiot,” I mutter, more tears threatening and proceeding to fall down my cheeks. I can’t believe that that is how I ended things with the person I truly believed- still believe, is my soulmate.

One argument that went too far, ending with anger-filled words that we would never use with clear state of mind. Words that we would never use in any circumstance towards each other, but still managed to slip past our lips.

I set the cracked blue mug aside, wrapping my arms around my knees and tugging them closer, placing my chin atop as tears continue streaming down my face with no sign of stopping.

How the hell could I let him go? Just, how?

My phone buzzes. I don’t even bother glancing toward the bright screen, knowing that it’s probably just another pointless text that’ll be ignored.

But, the device buzzes again, and again, and again, countless times, for minutes on end. I pick it up, preparing to go to my settings to turn off all notifications, but my fingers stop moving, my whole body convulsing as I weep harder. I forgot that my lock screen was a picture of Stiles and I laughing together, mid-kiss, not to mention the notification that I have 29 missed calls from him.

I click on one of the voicemails, immediately regretting it as the familiar sound of his voice echoes around my room, but with a noticeable flaw. I can tell he’s been crying as his voice breaks at certain syllables, his state of utter sadness similar to mine.

“Love, please j-just pick up the pho-phone, so tha-that we can tal-lk it out.”

But, isn’t he better without me? It’s clear that I’m a fuck up from losing him in the first place and I’m also the reason that this preciously perfect boy is crying. So, how could he not be better off without me?

The harsh truth was that Mieczyslaw Stilisnki didn’t need me, and that hurt. More than I’d like to admit honestly.

“Y/N, I’m be-begging you. Pl-lease, I ne-eed you to pick up.”

“You haven’t and-answered anyone. Not even Ly-Lydia. At this point, I jus-just need to make sure you’re ok-okay. Bec-cause if you’re not, god, love, pl-please I can’t do this. Pi-ick up.”

“Fuck it, Y/N, I’m co-coming over. I can’t t-take this anymore.”

By some act of the gods, I glance out the window again and there he is. Roscoe is parked on the street, Stiles sitting in the drivers seat, tapping his fingers against the wheel, one of his nervous ticks.

His warm brown eyes dart up to my window, an expression of relief flooding his features. He raised his phone in my vision, pointing frantically at it. I look down at my own to see his profile picture fill my screen, a phone call coming from him.

I tentatively grasp my phone in my hands, the button to answer tempting me. I look back out the window to see Stiles looking back at me with desperation, biting his bottom lip.

The sight of him pushes me over the edge, my instincts picking up the call and raising the phone to my ear.

“Thank god,” he says exasperatedly. “I’m sorry. Okay? I’m so so-sorry for everythi-thing it’s all my fa-fault. I take it all bac-ck. Just pl-please come back to me, Y/N. I can’t, I can’t do this with-without you, love.”

Teardrops that were previously balancing on my bottom lash line fall with Stiles’ rushed slur of words. 

“Y/N? Please say som-something, any-nything,” he sighs breathlessly, resting his head against the steering wheel to his blue jeep, lines creasing his forehead as his brows pull down, looking up at me still.

“I’ll be down in a sec, a second,” I manage to say in coherent words, standing up and walking down the hall, slipping on a pair of shoes and braving the downpour outside.

I run to the passenger’s side door, tugging open the door and quickly sitting down, already feeling drenched from head to toe.

The vehicle stays silent for multiple seconds as we both stare dead ahead, neither of us sure where to begin. Stiles ends up breaking the silence, both of us turning towards each other at the same time as he takes in a sharp breath. He reaches out to latch his hand into mine, and I allow him, feeling at home in his touch.

“I shouldn’t have let that fight gone that far,” he apologizes, reaching up and tucking a strand of my unruly hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my cheek. He looks down, mumbling a profanity under his breath.

“No, don’t blame yo-yourself,” I counter, grasping his chin and guiding his eyes back up to my own. “It’s my fault more than yours, Stiles.”

“No, no, it’s not your fa-ault. You’re not all-allowed to say that either,” he hurriedly argues, shaking his head, his nose bumping into mine due to how close we managed to get.

“Then, it’s neither of our faults,” I conclude, my hand traveling to the back of his neck and playing with the short hairs there. He nods, parting his lips and his eyes darting to mine.

“Can we make a vow to never fight again?” He murmurs softly, wiping away the tears littered across my cheeks.

“Please. I hated being away from you,” I reply, my other hand resting on his black sweatshirt-clad chest.

“Why didn’t you answer any of my calls?” Stiles asks, his brows furrowing. 

“I thought you were better off without me,” I confess, pulling my lip in between my teeth.

His eyes widen and he kisses me suddenly, with no warning, our lips pressing with an intensity that neither of us were prepared for. I pull back in surprise and he quickly explains himself. “Y/N, I’m literally nothing without you. How could I be better off without my other half?”

I smile fondly at him, the remnants of tears on both of our faces not reflecting the immense happiness between us at the moment. I swiftly throw my leg over his, straddling him carefully as to not hit the ceiling or the wheel.

I laugh as he smirks cheekily at me, feeling the curve of his smile still as I kiss him. The kisses become more intense, the eagerness from both of us growing. He feverishly pulls me by the waist closer to minimize any distance between his body and mine.

His mouth starts trailing hot kisses down my jawline, then my neck, blowing cool air over it, making me squirm slightly. Stiles starts unbuttoning his flannel currently worn by me, a small smile forming now that the realization that I’m wearing his clothes hits him.

He peers out the window for a moment, tossing the flannel behind his shoulder to the back seat. “It sure is raining out there, huh?” He jokes, trying to annoy me.

“Stiles, we’re kind of in the middle of something here.”

“Oh, yeah, that. The fact that my beautiful as hell girlfriend is making out with me in my jeep didn’t slip my mind whatsoever.”

“Just kiss me, dork.”