#the ugliest cry I’ve had in a while

[folkloresthings]

DID NOT KNOW YOU WRITE FOR SEB TOO!!

rbr!seb x reader who is actually so nice and sweet and innocent, but then seb is a little bitch who keeps making fun of her (all in good intentions bcz he has a crush on her) but then one day goes too far and reader starts crying and he freaks out lol (fluff + mild angst)

Sry this is long <3

sorry i LOVE this idea

SWEET OR SOUR. ❨ sebastian vettel x reader ❩

sweet as sugar — that’s what people always said when they talked about you. and since you arrived in the paddock, it was what everyone thought. you never had a bad word to say about anyone, you treated every person you came across with perfect humility and kindness.

and while, yes, you were perhaps a little green and naive, you were eager. red bull liked your enthusiasm, it made you the perfect intern.

however, you faced one problem: sebastian vettel. he was red bull’s primary driver, a very good one, and he found great satisfaction in teasing you. your innocence had attracted him the second he’d met you — a new victim for his fun. besides, you were very pretty.

“nice sweater,” he greeted you, glancing at the woollen sheep along the hem. you’d thought it was quite cute when you bought it, but the embarrassment that sebastian brought made it look like the ugliest thing ever. in truth, sebastian thought you looked adorable in it.

a few days later, you had thrown your hair quickly into two plaits for ease, keeping it out of your face. sebastian tugged on them at least seven times during the day, when you were trying to work or concentrate. it was laughable, the sight of the two of you mirroring children on a playground.

in spain, the weather was hotter than you’d expected and you had to resort to wearing the little summer dresses you had packed. sebastian spotted you the second you entered the garage. your legs on show, the dress showing off your body perfectly, sweat from the hot day beading on your forehead. his chest suddenly felt incredibly tight.

still, he’d found multiple things to tease you on during the day. forgetting a cup of coffee, spilling said coffee, not being able to reach the shelf you needed. if there was something he could make fun of you for, he’d find it.

it, and the heat, had rattled you a little. so much so that, in your briefing with christian, you’d tripped up and made a mistake in the notes. one that, if the team principal hadn’t caught it, would mean disaster for the race. thankfully, he had, and wasn’t too hard on you for it.

sebastian took a different stance.

“close one,” he hissed, when you were alone. your cheeks hadn’t cooled down yet, hurrying to double check absolutely everything before it got taken. “i’m surprised christian didn’t shout at you in front of everyone. he probably will soon, especially when you make more mistakes. you’re bound to, after all.”

his usual teasing had come at a bad time, or maybe his usual teasing had turned mean. but he didn’t go any further, freezing when he heard you sniffle. when he looked at you, spotting the hot tears spilling down your cheeks, he could have punched himself.

“fuck, no. don’t cry,” sebastian panicked, hurrying to grab a nearby napkin and force it into your hand. awkwardly, he rested a hand on your shoulder, which you quickly shoved away.

“why do you hate me?” you whispered, looking up at him. your brows furrowed, eyes wide and wet, and he sighed. “i’ve only ever been nice to you, and you go out of your way to make my life here hell. why?”

“i don’t hate you,” sebastian admits, slumping against the wall beside you. he wants nothing more than to reach out and dry your tears, to hold you close and make it all up to you. “the opposite, actually.”

it takes a moment, but it finally clicks, and your mouth falls open a little. he liked you? you’d always thought he was handsome, but his behaviour hadn’t exactly pointed to romance.

“i know i went about it wrong. like some seven year old boy who thinks being mean gets you the girl,” sebastian rubs at his eyes, straightening up when you walk over to him. “i’m sorry. i really am.”

“you’re an idiot,” you whisper, and sebastian chuckles.

“i think that’s the first mean thing you’ve ever said to me,” he muses. “and i deserve a lot worse.”

he finally touches you then, palms resting on your cheeks and smoothing along your skin. you lean into them, somewhat glad of some affection.

“forgive me?” he pleads, flashing his most charming smile.

“hm. kiss me and i’ll decide.”

#🍾 ﹐ becca hits 1k! #🌙 ﹐ drabbles. #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #sebastian vettel blurb #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel drabble #sebastian vettel #sebastian vettel imagine

[promptful]

Decorating first house/ apartment together prompts? :)

House Decorating/Maintenance Dialogue Prompts

Apologies if this isn't too close to the original, this is all I had inspiration for :')

WARNINGS: NONE.

DIALOGUE:

1) “No, that doesn’t go there.”

2) “...it doesn’t fit through the door.” 

3) “Hold the door, or I’ll hit the walls with this thing.” 

4) “One more box, and then we’ll be all right.”

5) “My back is killing me from these boxes.” 

6) “You’re the furniture designer here.” 

7) “Green or red? Christmas colors… or Easter colors…” 

8) “We should get more plants.” 

9) “I want a welcome mat with a horrible joke. Can we get one?” 

10) “I want to be that obnoxious neighbor that oozes cookie fumes. We need more cookbooks.” 

11) “Can we get a few bookshelves?” 

12) “I need some flannel sheets…” 

13) “We should rip this floor up.” 

14) “Wanna repaint the walls this weekend?” 

15) “The plumbing needs to be redone, dammit.” 

16) “This looks great… you did amazing.” 

17) “I will fight you over this. Couch. Goes. On. The. Right. Side.” 

18) “Why are decorative pillows so expensive when you just throw them off?” 

19) “This looks like graphic design is our passion, but not our gift.” 

20) “Tree? Tree.” 

30) “I’m not going to cry over my failed rose bushes. I’m not going to--” 

31) “Oh God, we’re hosting Thanksgiving this year. We gotta clean. Maybe redo the bathroom.” 

32) “Will you hold me while I hang out the window and paint the shutters?” 

33) “I want to move my bedroom around.” 

34) “IKEA furniture, huh? How about we tackle this?” 

35) “Oh my God, what goes where; how are these even instructions?”

36) “I think my bathroom may be leaking.” 

37) “...This is the ugliest tile… ever.” 

38) “Hey, I know this is a late notice, but can you take care of my plants over the weekend?” 

39) “Sheer or matte?” 

40) “I need another bookshelf.” 

41” “How do I organize this? Biggest to smallest? In order of color?” 

42) “Let’s tear this whole bastard down.” 

43) “What’s your favorite picture of us? I bought a frame.”

44) “Is this the wrong shade of wood for our bedroom?” 

45) “This is the fluffiest blanket I’ve ever put my hands on.” 

#prompt #otp prompts #prompt list #story prompt #writing prompts #creative writing #writeblr #fanfiction prompts #rp starters #dialogue prompt #dialogue prompts #dialogue inspo

[honorarybuckley]

buck tries to not let the dream linger. he carries the revelations in his heart and answers questions when asked but for the most part between tests and visitors he does his best not to remember.

“chimney told me you saw daniel in your dream.”

he should have seen that coming. he hadn’t meant to share that particular detail with chim, only bringing it up in passing, and had thought, hoped, that he wouldn’t notice.

“what was he like? all grown up.” maddie’s breath hitches on the last word.

“he wasn’t real,” he tells her gently. “he was just a figment of my imagination.”

“no, i know. i know.” she goes back to wiping down the counter, the surface already sparkling, and he knows she isn’t going to drop the subject that easily. “i was just wondering how you imagined him, i guess.”

buck could lie. he was perfect. he was kind. he was everything i’ve imagined since i learned he existed. he’s kept a lot of details close to the chest. no one needs to know that the thought of bobby’s death is what sent him into respiratory failure. that maddie’s fear of having doug’s kid was what finally made him realize he was actually in a nightmare. that his subconscious couldn’t even fathom an eddie who didn’t have christopher, leaving him nothing but a memory. but this is maddie and he’s never been any good at lying to her.

“i saved him.” that’s right, his brother. didn’t realize that you people remembered that he had one.

“he was a doctor.” of all the hospitals you had to work here. “worked at first pres with you.”

“he teased me.” still a pretty boneheaded move…he’s just being dramatic.

“he drank beer and watched penn games with me and dad.” let’s just hope evan doesn’t jinx it. “he looked like dad.”

“he wouldn’t help me fix things with you and doug.” i try to butt out. you might want to try it.

“he tried to make me stay.” the real world sucks. that’s the beauty of this place. it can be anything that you want it to be.

“he did?” maddie asks, a tear falling swiftly down her cheek.

“he wasn’t real.” it’s a reminder for them both. buck watches her. watches the disappointment shining in her tear-filled eyes that she tries to hide by looking away from him. she may as well be screaming it.

they don’t care about you. why would they? you’re not good enough, never have been.

“he was, he was a face for all of the worst parts of me. all of my ugliest thoughts and i made him say them.” he doesn’t realize he’s crying as well until maddie reaches out to brush a tear away for him, the move so gentle and familiar that he grabs her hand before she can pull away fully.

“oh buck.” she wraps her arms around him, tucking her head beneath his chin and squeezing him tight three times. i’m alive. i’m alive. i’m alive.

in the end daniel wasn’t much of anything really. a passive player in buck’s mind. a handful of moments that buck thinks could have been memories if life had been different. he meant what he said to daniel at the end. he loves him. the idea of him, because cruelly that’s all buck was left with. but he does have his sister, who is warm and safe and real.

“do you think we could, maybe, talk about him sometimes?” he whispers into her hair. “i know it makes you sad but i, i’d really like to know what he was like. while he was here.”

maddie pulls back and to his surprise she’s smiling. “i’d really like that.”

“yeah?” he smiles too and it feels like the sun has come out from behind a cloud.

“yeah.” and she talks.

#this started off as one thing and then very quicker veered into the other lane #evan buckley #maddie buckley #daniel buckley #buckley siblings #911 #911 fox #fanfic #mine

[dark-elf-writes]

Itachi: ok can you just chill for one second, they’re staring at me.

Sasuke: …my eyes? My famous Uchiha eyes? That are staring at you?

Itachi incapable of saying nipples to his little brother: NO! Your…chest bits

Sasuke: Did you actually call them “chest bits”? Are you 100 years old? Did the life spans of all the Uchiha you killed get added to your age?

Itachi: no, but at least I have a fucking shirt on.

Sasuke: at least I didn’t get age lines when I was seven you grandpa lookin ass. Yeah I saw those family pictures bitch.

Itachi: I got age lines because I had to deal with your bullshit S a s u k e

Sasuke: don’t blame me for getting moms genes while you’re stuck looking like a shriveled prune. She loved me more than you anyway.

Itachi: excuse me? She only knew you for like seven years. She knew me for thirteen. I was obviously the favorite child.

Sasuke: is that what she told you WHEN SHE-

Itachi: -don’t even-

Sasuke: -GOT MURDERED BY YOU? Is that what her corpse told you Itachi? Is it?

Itachi: alright you little fuck, I didn’t want to say it but you left me no choice. I didn’t like your duck hair. I thought it was the ugliest shit I’ve ever seen.

Sasuke: You. Did. Not.

Itachi: it’s true!

Sasuke: you said you loved it!

Itachi: I lied.

Sasuke: I think I might actually hate you more now

Itachi: what are you going to do about it? Cry like a duck haired baby?

Sasuke: I swear to god, you are the worst

Itachi: of course I am sasuke, where have you been?

Sasuke: with Orochimaru learning how to beat you

Itachi: hmm…definitely explains the lack of shirt. I used to respect him but as soon as he abandoned the headband and vest, he abandoned reasonable uniforms with it.

Sasuke: I personally think you shouldn’t be saying shit about the clothing other people are wearing. Not when you’re wearing that ugly ass robe. I mean clouds? Really?

Itachi: bold words for someone wearing a fucking…what even is that? A belt? It looks like a purple anchor rope.

Sasuke: It’s called a statement piece

Itachi: It’s called a disgrace

Sasuke: says the person that murdered our clan and abounded the village

Itachi: that happened one time

Both halves of Zetsu munching on popcorn as these two completely fucking insane Uchiha year each other to shreds without using even a hint of jutsu.

#the elf talks #naruto

[witchsickness]

do you have a favorite billy moment in canon? least favorite? and what about steve?

hope you’re having a nice day !

ohh man. first of all, billy’s the best thing that ever happened to this show so jot that down. i love all his scenes dearly. too bad st got cancelled after s2 and we only got, like, five scenes of him : /

favorite. absolute top tier billy scene for me is the workout in the living room:

he’s smoking. benching a small child οn each arm. the tv’s on. while he’s blasting his music? framed by the ugliest curtains in the history of drapery. it’s just. it’s all so. SO. 

and it’s such a layered scene? the definition of when the cat’s away. neil’s not home, so billy feels safe enough to step out of his room. do the things he loves the most. all at once! maybe try to imagine a life where he doesn’t need to contort himself into impossible shapes to fit into the small box neil’s allotted him. a life where open doors aren’t mandatory, but optional. where his house isn’t a minefield, set to detonate at the slightest misstep. it’s one of those scenes that are funny until you remember all the reasons that make it so. why billy needs all those distractions, a hurricane of white noise all around him while he’s in the eye of it, silent. why he looks so wound up, trained to always expect the worst. why he’s lifting with such determination. set on making himself as strong as possible to -- never use that strength when he needs it the most, as proven later in the show. it’s an exercise in futility. a window in another, easier life. and that uhh breaks my heart <3

fave steve scene. unsurprisingly, if you’ve ever read anything i’ve ever written, is from s1. the fight in the alley. screaming crying climbing on walls etc

look at him. he’s king shit. about to find out ‘no’ exists. first time he’s ever had it directed at him. he’s hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. betrayed, and rejected, and furious about it. being coveted by him is a privilege you simply don’t refuse. it’s inconceivable. and yet. in this moment, everything he’s ever known comes tumbling down. suddenly, the unthinkable happens: he loses at his own game. i just. jesus

i find this scene equally tragic? steve has never known rejection before this moment. he’s the big fish in a small pond, the golden boy everyone wants to shake hands with to see if some of the glitter will rub off on them. a rich kid with an easy life where everything is possible. everything is buyable. a life of never having to fight for anything. never even considering the possibility. but in this second. it’s his record scratch freeze frame moment. his fall from grace. his how-dare-you-do-this-to-ME glare. the slap in the face isn’t just literal. king steve is unvanquished no more. in this moment, he’s starting to realize the true depths of his loneliness. if not for daddy’s allowance, steve has nothing to offer to anyone, and nothing to show for it but mercenary friends. who needs real emotional connections anyway though, right?

#billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #not me using any chance i get to promote the king steve agenda 🤧 #anyway love it when ppl ask me stuff and give me an excuse to talk about Them w/out feeling insanely annoying! #ask #anon

[rosethornewrites]

Over a decade ago, I graduated with an MFA in creative writing focused in fiction. I discovered that graduate school is mentally and psychologically draining and I had a mental health crisis during it.

It wasn’t just the workload, or the fact that they gave me the 7am classes to teach for 2 years (idk who I pissed off) while having grad classes that ended at 9pm. Or the fact that despite teaching I didn’t receive tuition remission.

No, the last year was especially bad because the university lost the professor I had come to work with because they disrespected them, and the other guy I was working with suddenly got a movie deal and his books translated into like 26 languages and he didn’t need to live in that shithole city anymore.

That left the narcissist, who I thought would be a good chair because he’s also part of the lgbtq+ community and I was writing queer lit.

Alas, he was not. He was an abusive jerk who once went on a rant in class because a few students were turning in drafts not ready for feedback, and so he felt the need to tell the entire class that none of us would ever get published. Who was the only fiction writer left to chair my committee, but who outright told me he didn’t “have time” to read my thesis. Who, when I emailed him a week in advance to ask for a letter of support for a grant, also sent me a response that he didn’t “have time.” Who wouldn’t sit down with me and talk about what he expected of my thesis (even length). In my mind I called him Douchebag McWhinypants.

One time he let an undergrad take our grad-level workshop. When she made an undergraduate mistake of writing outside her culture without enough research, we as her classmates were gentle in discussing why this was problematic in her short story. Unfortunately she was writing into the professor’s culture, and so when we were done he tore this poor little undergrad a new asshole. It ended with her crying in the bathroom and never coming back. One of the ugliest things I’ve ever seen, and certainly cast a pall over the rest of the semester.

At one point I found myself standing on the 4th floor of an open-air building, thinking about jumping, and I immediately went to the counseling center for help.

I figured if he wasn’t going to support me in any way, I didn’t want him on my committee. So I got the paperwork to kick him off and took it to the CW chair after filling it out. She was shocked I already had it filled out, and became my new thesis chair.

During my graduate reading, she introduced me with a lovely letter written by the person I had moved to work with, who was then gone. Meanwhile the narcissist introduced my classmate by talking solely about himself.

As a result, I haven’t picked up my partial novel/thesis, though I want to. It really made me doubt my own fiction writing abilities. Part of why I write fanfiction is an attempt to heal.

I’ve since published a couple of original short stories and a fuckton of poetry—well over 100 poems and a chapbook.

What I learned from this experience was how NOT to treat students. It was sadly not the only experience that taught me this.

Undergraduate and graduate school can be traumatizing experiences, particularly for queer, bipoc, and neurodivergent people.

It’s been over a decade and I’m honesty still dealing with it.

Douchebag McWhinypants is of course still teaching.

#writing #mfa #cn suicide ideation #trauma

[albatris]

Can you tell us about Nat 🥺 I’ve had him for like two minutes but I love him! Happy Blorbo Blursday!

Happy Blorbo Blursday! thank you so much for the ask.....!!

absolutely I can tell you about Nat :D I'm glad you like him!!

Nathaniel Felix Finch! he's a good boy, sweet boy! he's the deeply unfortunate protagonist of our deeply unfortunate horror story, A Rental Car Takes a Left Down Rake Street and Disappears! although the narration swaps pretty evenly between Nat and Quinn, Nat is definitely the main character of this silly little tale, much to his disdain :))

he's 25 years old and currently works night shifts at dodgy petrol station chain Stop 'N' Go, where he is prone to falling asleep on the register and randomly getting pizza delivered mid-shift! he lives in a tiny shitty apartment a few suburbs over with his cat Grub, ugliest cat in the known universe (affectionate) (he will cry if he hears anyone call her that). he's a bit of a hermit at the story's start, prone to intense social anxiety and paranoia...... he doesn't go out if he can avoid it and doesn't really have any friends, though he's on cheerful terms with his two elderly neighbours, Mr and Mrs Larson, who he helps out with errands and often cooks for :3

chapter one kicks off when he wakes up in his rental car on the side of the road covered in dirt with no memory of the past nine days. concerning! after spending the following week in agony and coughing up blood and almost passing out in public and being hungry all the time and having weird new allergic reactions to stuff and existing in constant sensory overload, Nat commits a brutal petrol station murder and eats a guy and is like Ah Fuck Apparently I'm A Vampire Somehow, Also I Just Ripped Someone's Throat Open And Drank Their Blood, I'm Going To Have A Panic Attack Now

he is scooped out of mortal peril by shifty fucking bastard with a mile long list of ulterior motives perfectly ordinary kind selfless human person Quinn Cooper, and a bonkers plot ensues <3

so ye, Nat is a brand new baby vamp trying to figure out the mystery of what happened to him during his nine-day black out that resulted in, uh..... All Of This. and quickly winds up in a plot that has him and a ragtag gang of unhinged bastards, human and vampire alike, plotting to murder the centre of the giant monstrous vampire hivemind all vampires are linked into, known as The Garble

Nat is........ yeah. like I said, good boy, sweet boy. despite the inevitably violent nature of vampirism, he does his best to be kind and fair, with varying degrees of success. though prone to bouts of paranoia and depression and a pessimist through and through, he does believe that people have the capacity to be good and he wants to do good in the world :3 he struggles with figuring out How to do good in the world, when he rarely feels like his actions have an impact and it's easy for him to slide into listlessness and apathy about life. with the added horror of "now you need to straight up eat people to live", he has a doozy of an existential crisis to work through

he's a bit of a doormat sometimes, and though he always pretended to be fine with his solitary lifestyle and loneliness, he desperately wants connection and friendship. he's prone to letting people take advantage of him or manipulate him purely because at least that way he feels "useful", and they're more likely to keep him around...... he improves a lot on this front, though, so don't fret! we get to see the lad's self esteem improve tenfold <3

he initially doesn't really like himself that much, but the story gets to see him come into his own and find his values and worth....! he's an extremely kindhearted, intelligent, loving person, it just takes him a while to realise :D

and hmmm

once he gets past his anxiety towards other people and his awkwardness, he's extremely affectionate! he adores his friends and loves to cuddle with them and compliment them and help them out wherever he can :D he's very loyal, peppy and cheerful towards his loved ones, and whenever anyone expresses that they consider him a friend he gets v excited and bouncy like a happy golden retriever hahaha

but yes, he's anxious and shy at first around people, not so great with social cues.... HOWEVER he's also an excellent cook and particularly likes cooking for other people and sharing meals as a form of connection and bonding :3 so, often the first thing he does when he decides someone is Friend Material is to find an opportunity to cook for them. it's his go-to method of showing affection!!

he can be a bit of a drama queen, especially when it comes to Quinn, because he figures out Quinn has a weak spot called "if Nat looks as sad and pathetic and dejected as possible, Quinn will just melt and do whatever he wants". so yes, he's not above dramatically playing up being so so sad and devastated to guilt trip people lmao. Quinn is not immune to sad puppy dog eyes vampires

other Nat facts...... he loves animals! he regularly donates to wildlife charities despite not having that much money to begin with, and volunteers at various shelters looking after the cats :3 he's been a vegetarian since he was 17, and still considers himself one despite the fact that he's now an entire vampire who preys on humans. so yeah, you get like..... bits in the story where Nat drains some guy like a fuckin capri sun then the next day is like "no I can't come to check out the new Korean BBQ place with you Quinn I'm a vegetarian :((( you'll have to take someone else :((("

his moral compass can be described as like...... the vibe of someone robbing a bank at gunpoint and violently stealing a getaway vehicle..... then following all the road rules and speed limits perfectly and making sure to pay for parking and display the ticket properly when they ditch the car

it becomes clear as the story goes on that he's not exactly an ordinary vampire, and that however he got turned was NOT the usual method.... he's able to access a lot more of the Garble's life force than other vamps, which left unchecked can result in an overload of power affectionately referred to as Monster Mode Nat :P

a big ol' body horror vampire creecher, violent and aggressive and jumpy, out of control. usually it's state of intense fear for him, something that occurs when he's in very dire straits, when he or his friends are threatened, etc etc. a Nat too far in Protector Mode, basically, but that can easily become dangerous even for the people he's meant to be defending. he is still able to recognise Friends, though it takes him more effort, but struggles to make sense of unfamiliar humans or vampires as anything other than resources, food or threats

going Monster Mode and returning to a humanoid state from Monster Mode, both of these are intensely painful experiences as the body kind of snaps back into shapes and your bones readjust and your flesh melds back together. usually a lot of writhing and screaming involved

as far as regular vampire Nat in the day-to-day goes, he's prone to all the usual vampire instincts. so, yes, he's got extra anxiety and paranoia and jumpiness, he's got that usual insatiable insufferable vampire curiosity, he loves to bask and be cosy and snuggle with friends. he can purr and it's extremely cute. he has a moderate to severe allergic reaction to sunlight though it won't kill him immediately, he struggles with garlic much to his despair as a cook, n he has an extremely high prey drive that he has to work very hard to manage

the Garble in the bloodstream is something that tends to "kick in" and trigger vampiric traits like increased strength, heightened senses, fangs and claws When Needed, so there's often a lot of fluctuation between Nat being more visibly and Obviously vampiric, or leaning more towards appearing and acting human. it can depend on level of hunger, level of anxiety, presence of a threat, etc..... or sometimes it just Happens!

a more human Nat is a fairly placid, lazy Nat, a low-energy and easy-going Nat, whereas a more vampire Nat tends to have a lot of energy and excitability, though it may manifest as anxiety. under threat or if he's hunting, it makes him vicious and powerful and intensely alert. if he's just chillin, then it usually just puts him in high-energy silly mode, the vampire equivalent of a pet getting the zoomies lol

anyway. this was a lot of Words. I apologise for so many Words. thank you for coming to my ted talk, I hope you have a lovely day~ :D

#blorbo blursday #a rental car takes a left down rake street and disappears #:3c

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Humiliation

Undeserved

Warnings: Aftermath of amputation, emeto, dehydration, minor death wish, alcohol

This one is fun again! :) Well... not for Damien. (It’s the day after his hand and him parted ways.)

This is part of a series. If you haven’t, I suggest starting at Day 1.

This one is also a fill for my BTHB.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

When Damien came to, his cheeks were wet from tears. For a moment, the overwhelming sadness and sense of loss from his dream were all he could feel. Then the pain came back, turning his quiet sob into a pained moan. Fuck, his hand was on fire. He tried to curl up, to wrap himself around it, shifting against the bars until he could pull his arm closer. He froze when the realization hit him. Not his hand. It wasn’t there anymore. There was nothing; nothing pressing against his chest where his arm ended, nothing happening as he tried to move his fingers. Only the pain in his arm flared up, throbbing above where his wrist was. Had been. Damien’s desperate sob was cut short as nausea washed over him.

He turned to the side, pressing his face in the space between two metal bars. They rubbed against the bruises on his face as his stomach convulsed, failing to bring anything up. He remembered the taste of blood and the smell of burned flesh, and fuck, why couldn’t they have just killed him instead. But they hadn’t. They had only cut off his hand, and by Duriath, the memory of his bone splintering was enough to make him sob as his stomach cramped again.

He guessed there really had been no other way. Knowing that didn’t make it remotely better. It hurt less now, in a way, but he felt so much worse than before. It wasn’t only the pain in what was left of his arm. He was burning in the sun, shining mercilessly down on his cage. At the same time, he was freezing, shaking from the cold that had settled so deeply in his limbs. It took a conscious effort to not let every single breath escape with a quiet whimper. Never before had he felt this weak and hopeless. Merely keeping his eyes open took most of his strength, so he didn’t. Drifting between the waves of nausea and the shivers running through his body, Damien could feel the cool traces his tears left on his burning cheeks.

“Hey, look at that. The baby is crying.” Someone laughed. “That’s the second ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Fuck, he knew that voice. How could he have forgotten it? Telling him how he’d die while the son of a mok it belonged to had almost killed him. This piece of shit was exactly what he needed now. The short flash of anger was quickly replaced by dread as steps came closer; steps of more than one person. 

“Aw, he’s scared.” Another voice. Someone kicked the cage. It could have been the person who spoke; all Damien could see were two pairs of legs. “Good.”

“You know,” the first one said. Damien remembered his name now. It was this fucking Ambrose. “Yesterday was almost as entertaining as I imagined your execution to be. Seeing you screaming and writhing on the ground, almost choking on your own blood and vomit. We should do that again sometime.”

Damien tried to focus on his breaths, on keeping his sobs down, on not showing them how much these words terrified him. He wanted to hide, but there was nowhere for him to go.

“Such a nice, sunny day. I’m sure you are terribly thirsty, aren’t you?” the one who wasn’t Ambrose asked. Damien didn't reply.

“Aren’t you?”

The repeated question was accompanied by yet another kick to the cage, making him flinch. Fuck, the tiniest bit of movement was agony in his arm. “Yes,” Damien forced himself to reply. Not because he believed they would do anything to help him, but because he hoped it would stop them from kicking the bars again.

“Don’t you want something to drink?”

“... yes.” There was no hope behind Damien’s word, other than the hope that they wouldn’t hurt him if he played along. Being teased with what he couldn’t get was at least slightly better than being actively hurt.

“Perhaps you want to beg us for it.” This time it was Ambrose speaking.

“Please.” The word left Damien’s lips automatically. Please don’t hurt me. “Please.” Please, I’m so thirsty.

“That’s not very convincing.” Ambrose was walking as he spoke, circling the cage, stopping behind Damien. “Why don’t you get on your knees and try again?”

He couldn’t move. No matter how thirsty he was, the false promise of water wasn’t enough to make him try. Instead he closed his eyes, failing to suppress a desperate sob.

“I said kneel.”

This time the kick went between the bars and the tip of a boot dug between the ribs on his back. Damien screamed, then heaved as he had tried to catch himself with both arms. Hunched over, his right arm pressed close to his chest, he closed the fingers of his left hand around the bars of the cage. Desperately trying to drag himself up, away from where Ambrose was standing behind him, he couldn’t stop himself from crying out as the movement sent fire through his right arm. Clinging to the bars, he was almost sitting, but his legs were to his side. There was no way for him to move them like this.

“Please. P-please.” He wasn’t even begging for water anymore, just for them to leave him alone, to not hurt him when he’d inevitably crumble. “Please.” He couldn’t kneel, couldn’t get his legs under him. He collapsed as he tried, catching himself at the last moment, his trembling hand pressed against the floor. Dark spots were dancing in front of his eyes. He almost wished he’d pass out, but that would also leave him completely at their mercy, so he fought against the darkness, trying to drag him down.

“Aw, look, he’s trying. I think that deserves a little reward. What do you think?” 

Whatever Ambrose’s reply, it was either nonverbal or Damien couldn't hear it over the pounding in his head. 

“Here.” Damien saw the movement from the corner of his eye, but had no time to react. The one who wasn’t Ambrose chucked the contents of a mug in his direction. The disgusting smell of cheap alcohol hit him at the same time as most of it splashed against his face. It tasted foul on his lips and burned in the scratches on his skin. Some drops clung to his eyelashes, and he kept his eyes shut, afraid it would burn in his eyes, too.

Only when the beer soaked his clothes did he realize that he wasn’t wearing his thin leather armor or boots any longer. Someone must have removed them, leaving him with nothing but a plain shirt and pants that barely reached his ankles. He shivered from the cold, while the smell of beer made him feel sick. It was almost as bad as wine. 

“Robert!” Another voice joined. This one was familiar, too, but in a slightly less terrifying way. “I could have sworn I told you to take the supply tent down. And if my eyes don’t deceive me, it’s still up. So why the fuck are you over here?”

Damien was too weak to do anything but listen to the voices surrounding him. The new one, the one shouting, sounded commanding. It was probably Fancy Boots. Damien didn’t have the strength to lift his head and find out.

One of his attackers — most likely this Robert — started to say something, but was quickly interrupted.

“I don’t wanna hear it. Get your ass over there and get to work, or you’ll take down the other two tents on your own.”

Someone walked away. It wasn’t enough for Damien to be truly relieved, but he found himself breathing a bit easier. Some of his tension left him as he allowed himself to lean against the cage once more, slumping to the side.

“Ambrose.” Just this name, nothing else. Perhaps a gesture followed, one Damien couldn’t see.

“Whatever you say. Boss.”

Another person left. Then steps approached, making Damien tremble in helpless anticipation. Please just leave me alone.

“Hey.” The word sounded gentle. A nice illusion. “Hey, Nightmare. That’s probably not your name, is it?” The voice paused, waiting for a reply. 

Damien didn’t bother. As much as he hated that fucking nickname, he didn’t want to hear his real name; not from those people, ripping apart the last shred of self he still had. The last reminder of a time before his life had fallen apart.

“Alright.” There was a quiet sigh. “Here, you need to drink.”

The voice was annoyingly persistent. Damien couldn’t resist the small hope of getting some water. He turned his head, forcing his eyes to open. Someone was crouching next to his cage, holding something out to him. He squinted until he could make out a cup. Too bad he couldn’t reach for it. As he tried to lift his arm, it didn’t obey him. Damien wasn’t sure if it was because of his weakness and exhaustion, or if his body merely refused to move, after the pain had just started to become bearable.

“Hey, can you hear me?”

He could. He couldn’t figure out how to reply to this question, though. Not with his thoughts as sticky as his tongue, clinging to the roof of his mouth. With glassy eyes, he watched the cup withdraw and the person come closer. Damien hated that he involuntarily winced as a hand reached for him; not nearly as much as he hated the look of pity on Fancy Boot’s face as he pressed the back of his hand against his forehead. It rested there for a moment, feeling almost cool against his sun-warmed skin.

“Well, how the fuck am I supposed to figure out if you have a fever like this.” 

The words were quiet, muttered, probably not directed at him. Their tone still made him flinch and squeeze his eyes shut. The expected blow didn’t come. Instead a shadow fell over him, and Damien opened his eyes again. Something was lying on the cage, blocking out most of the direct sunlight, leaving his head and shoulders in the shadow. It was a blessing; one that left him utterly confused.

Even more confusing was the cup returning, being placed against his lips. A hand held his head as the cup was tilted, allowing him to drink. He emptied it, then a second one, all while the man waited patiently for him to catch his breath between sips. When the cup was empty, it was taken away and Fancy Boots pushed something through the bars of the cage.

“Here. I filled it and there’s… this thing now,” he said, wriggling something in front of Damien’s eyes. A kind of strip, attached to the cork of the waterskin. “Might be easier to pull out. Doesn’t do you much good if you can’t open it.” The waterskin was placed in front of Damien, resting against his thighs, and the man stood up.

“Why?” Damien couldn’t… why was this man kind to him? Kinder than he deserved, that much was for sure.

“We gonna have to bring you all the way to Caldeia.” Fancy Boots’ words were slightly fuzzy due to him having his back towards Damien. “Do you have any idea how quickly a corpse starts to smell in this weather?” 

Then he walked away, leaving Damien in the half-shade of the cage. Damien pressed his head against the bars with a desperate laugh. Yeah, that would be a shame. Causing them more trouble than he already did. Though, he mused, with everything that had soaked his clothes in those last days, it was questionable if a corpse could smell that much worse.

So it didn’t seem like they would allow him to die. Perhaps he was lucky and Fancy Boots would also not allow the others to hurt him, to not test the limits of his battered condition. It might be a bit much to ask for, but one could certainly hope. In fact, hoping was all Damien could do, so he closed his eyes, trying to ignore the shivers still running through his body, hoping he’d manage to fall asleep somehow.

Tagging: @villainsvictim​ @dont-touch-my-soup​ @whump-in-the-moonlight​ @teamwhump​ @badthingshappenbingo​

#Undeserved #whump #emeto tw #dehydration tw #alcohol tw #badthingshappenbingo #prompt: Humiliation #fandom: original work #See Riordan isn't such a bad guy :) #my writing

[sourstiless]

They didn't kill Steve but they sure have him the ugliest fucking writing. NO ONE FUCKING CARES OR WANTS STANCY NO ONE. he's literally their most beloved character and the biggest reasons for that are his relationships with Robin and Dustin and they gave us NOTHING. Like what they fuck are they doing, she's going to choose Jonathan why are they doing this to him she treated him SO HORRIBLY. He deserves to get an actual character arc like they don't explore any of his trauma or pain fuck them truly

yeah i was super disappointed with steve’s writing in volume 2. he just kinda stood and looked pretty for most of it, and after seeing volume 1, and seeing him in previous seasons doing a lot of really cool shit, it was kind of a bummer to watch him do virtually nothing of significance. that goes for all three of them, robin, nancy and steve. i expected more. i think him wanting a family is super cute, and it could’ve worked if they used that as a stepping stone to show that he is moving on. like, him talking about growing and crawling forward slowly, and that growth being him finally getting over her or acknowledging that she still has a boyfriend and didn’t want to ruin that, but they didn’t do that. and i just didn’t like it at the expense of all his other relationships. robin and steve are really close, and aside from that one talk they had together while making molotov cocktails, we got virtually nothing from them. i expected steve and dustin have a much more heartfelt goodbye too, but he just kinda…left ??? no real hug, nothing. it was so anticlimactic.

and i also hated how they brought eddie in, who had basically the same relationship as steve with dustin, just to kill him off for a town that doesn’t deserve him. i feel like it was such a cop out so they didn’t actually have to kill steve off, which is almost worse than killing steve off. as much as i don’t want main characters to die, the cast is getting way too big, and it’s starting to become way too predictable in terms of character survival. the stakes have never been high enough for main characters where i actually felt like i was losing them. eddie’s death was treated like he was unimportant. dustin was the only character who seems to care, and it just felt so lazy. did i cry ?? absolutely but now that i’ve had time to think about it, i just feel kind of disappointed.

#stranger things 4 spoilers #stranger things spoilers #steve harrington #eddie munson

[dawnistired]

“He, Thanatos and I, Calypso”

“The past which we long for does not coincide especially if one holds the world above one’s shoulders”

Charms are Calypso’s weapons and armour. I love with such passion and care for those I deem to be part of my circle; I protect with my entire being as a symbol of my loyalty even if it means losing every bit of rationality; and I listen with genuine concern with whatever grief and problems you wish to release to the point wherein I cry tears for when you have this inability. What makes me the proudest would be when I present you bits of my heart, my strength and my soul. I offer these pieces of me with such sincerity, that people have said, they’re lucky to have someone reliable and worthy to depend on. These are the charms bestowed upon me, some deem it respectable while others see it filthy. 

Calypso's longing for Thanatos. But, I too, have shortcomings in everything. Like the goddess that remains trapped in a solitary island with nothing else but the past to ponder. I blame and hold grudges from the past, I carry them like scars to serve as a reminder of any sin I’ve made and any sin committed against me. I have blamed death for turning me into a grieving soul, filled with anger, hate and a gaping hole of loss. I have implicated all that surrounds me, only because death took away people I loved with my entire being. Like the goddess that screams to the messenger but never to those who imprisoned her. I vent inwardly, for a child to experience so much and never properly understand what they did wrong. I thought it was normal to vent inwardly and never say a thing back, because when the bubble bursts, it only creates damage for either side. Outspoken, I may be, but that is only the surface of what I wish to say, because mean is an understatement. My emotions take on the ugliest form that causes pain, like a chimaera. Like the goddess that forces herself to not have any expectations, because a loss will remain a loss and it does not change. And I easily detach emotions of ambition, I disdain it, it causes one to not care of an outcome. It is easy to put on a mask without needing to show your truth to the world. And these become a shortcoming in order for one to experience life fully.

Calypso escaping Ogygia. One day, a raft will appear, no longer for the past but for the current me. When that day comes, I will no longer be the same as that vengeful, hating and grieving mirage of the goddess who remains stuck to the past. I will no longer blame the past for what it had changed and took from me, I will come to remember them as lessons for what people will become. I will no longer let words remain unexpressed, I will prioritise in communicating with others for them and for myself. And I will no longer fear emotions because having a weakness does not make me weak, it means I am strong for allowing myself to have them. 

Calypso may believe that Thanatos is her only escape, but the Fates spin the thread of life differently and she will be allowed to break free from her solidarity.

#greek mythology #greek posts #greek gods #original work

[noelenjaycee]

Ugly Cries Are Healthy, Right?

Roughly 2 months ago, I texted 2 of my closest friends if they are free for a video call because I badly want to let all my emotions out with a super ugly cry session. I have been exhausted by all the stresses that my responsibilities brought at that time and I had a feeling that before I can come up with sensible solutions to all of them, I just need to vent. While the video call happened, the ugly cry did not, not until the next morning when I encountered a particularly challenging conversation about one of my stressors. And for the first time ever, my mother witnessed me cry the ugliest. I was really thankful for the advise she gave me that morning.  From that point, I think I’ve tried to safely waddled through my responsibilities, sometimes going through the toughest conversations with ease. Man, that abovementioned challenging conversation really taught me things.  But right now, just fresh from a second 24-hr chaos within a week, I am tempted to ask my friends again to listen to my frustrations. I don’t know if I am just really physically exhausted or mentally overloaded and today of all days, my usually compliant niece was trying to push all my buttons by being difficult, I just want to just cry again.

Is this healthy?

Am I allowed to do so?

And more importantly,

will this help clear my mind?

[emilemily]

My mother just FaceTimed me and told me that her old Flickr account that she created in 2004 has to be deleted because they’re moving to a paid platform, and she can’t afford to pay to store all her beautiful photography there month by month.

For some reason, when she told me that I just lost it. Immediately broke down into the ugliest cry of the century. Just nonstop tears with the worst, from the soul sort of sounds. I told her I had to go and hung up and just fell apart for the first time in a long while.

I hyperventilated, I shook, and I let myself feel that raw pain for about 15 minutes before it passed. I haven’t allowed myself to cry that hard in a very long time. I don’t think I’ve really been capable of allowing myself to feel such raw emotion in a long time. Usually I would talk myself down, wipe a couple of tears and say “be strong”

But instead, I let my inner child take over. She misses her family so much, despite how dysfunctional we were. She misses the good times, the laughs, the big beautiful house we had for 4 years before my dad’s cancer came back and he couldn’t work and make the payments anymore. She misses the life we had there before the house was foreclosed.

My inner child is scared and lost, and she feels abandoned. She is out of her element, unprepared, and sad. She longs for those simpler times.

My mother was a photographer. Not the sort who charges for work and conducts photo shoots, but a hobby photographer. She had this expensive camera with all the equipment and she caught on camera so many moments. When I was younger, I’d get annoyed at how often she’d take my picture. How she had to stop and take photos of this, that, everything.

She documented my growth from 10 years old until I was about 17. She documented the happiest moments my family experienced, and she even documented the sorrow that my family went through multiple times. My father’s cancer battles, changes in scenery brought about by the need to move due to finances. My sister’s first homecoming and later prom.

That Flickr account contained so many little doorways I could walk through and remember the way my life once was. The ways I looked and acted at different ages, the hobbies I had, my orchestra concerts, my weird little boyfriends, and she even photographed me mid-fight with my sister. In the photograph, I was staring angrily into the camera and she captured such genuine emotion. I hated her for it in that moment, but even looking back at that is something important to me.

At one time in my life I lived in a beautiful house in Kennesaw, Georgia with my mother, father and sister. We had a big black and white dog named Belle, and two west highland white terriers named Trevor and Katie. My father was alive and healthy, we had a big backyard to run around in, and despite the occasional blowout fight and plenty of dysfunction to go around, we smiled more than we cried.

This Flickr account allowed me the opportunity to go back in time and look at what my life once was before my father succumbed to his leukemia. Before my sister and my mother permanently stopped talking with no hope of ever rekindling. Before the stress of getting a job and working to support myself became my main objective. Before I was defined by my network and what skills I offer the world. Before I saw and experienced watching my family slowly tear itself apart.

As time has passed I have lost nearly every tangible thing that reminds me of what I miss the most. My mother got into a car accident late last year and her little white Honda my dad bought her in 2007 was totaled. All the road-trips taken in that car, the laughs, the way that it still, after all that time, smelled like my father’s leather jacket… all gone because someone wasn’t paying attention and hit my mother while texting.

The loss of the ability to visit her and drive around in that car was devastating, but this for some reason is even worse. This was my little oasis that I could visit occasionally whenever I was having a bad night and couldn’t sleep. My little portal through time to a place I felt safe. And now it’s gone because the greed of this world has made it so.

I struggle very hard with my sentimental attachments to things, to periods of my life, to certain people. The truth is that deeply within me is a heart that has been broken to a degree that it may never fully heal. No matter how much time passes or how far I evolve, there is this wound inside my soul that festers even now.

My father will never walk me down the isle, he will never know my children, he will never see me be successful after worrying for so long that I would struggle forever. I will never see or hear my parents laughing together again. I’ll never again be that 12 year old girl with headphones in playing “She Will Be Loved” by Maroon 5 on repeat for the 12th time, staring out the window imagining myself holding hands with that boy from math class, all while my father drives us to the Apple orchard for our yearly visit in the fall.

So many vivid memories of my childhood, and not all of them are great, but I yearn for them so fiercely deep within. I want a family of my own, I want to once again feel like I belong, like I’m amongst people who love me and who are fiercely loyal to me. I want to feel protected and safe, like I was back then. So effortlessly calm because I knew I was in good hands.

I have this small little box of treasures that I believe I wrote about recently. A little collection of mementos from my childhood. This truly is the last thing I have that links me to my childhood, aside from my own memories, of course.

I’ve struggled with religion my entire life because there is no tangible proof that I can hold in my hands. Maybe this is similar. Without something to see, feel, or hear, how will I ever remember everything forever? I don’t want to forget these memories.

I often think about how my life has ended up and I can’t help but be underwhelmed. How could it have all gone this way? How has this much tragedy struck my family, and why did it have to be me? Us?

Random selection, I suppose. No matter how hard I cling to the past, I will never get it back. This I know. But I swear, sometimes those memories keep me sane. It’s almost like the reassurance that if my life was ever that good before, then I just need to hang in there because it’ll come back around.

I long for a family of my own, to be a mother. To make my own traditions and see my children’s faces light up. To care for them, support them, make them happy, work hard to be able to afford that which would bring them joy. I suppose that, subconsciously, is why I work so hard to develop my career.

If ever I am stricken with cancer or some other illness, I want to work hard enough that my family will recover, that they won’t lose everything. I want my children to have a good life, and I want to provide that for them. One day I will.

That’s it for today.

[kaeyaseeds]

i am only on here today to write a hateful letter of condemnation to my enemy so that it’s off my chest once and for all <3

you are a bitch. yes, you. first let me get my petty feelings out of the way: you are one of the ugliest people i have seen; your collection of features would look nice on anyone else but knowing that your personality is so rotten and vile at its core i can only view you with disdain. you have no lips and yet you think you are permitted to speak… the audacity you have! you look like a little twig. i could and would break you in half over my knee. our height difference is not that drastic and i’m the one who pursues combat sports. i do not even enjoy violence but your existence has made me intensely bitter toward you.

your personality, now. tut, tut! you are such a disgraceful thing. a layer of scum floating atop a forgotten pond. have you not learnt, in your twenty three years of life, the importance of honesty? you have no integrity. the lies which you so happily weave are easily disproven but it brings me great ire to learn of them because they are directed at people i care about. they harm others— and you do not seem to care about anyone except yourself. claiming to be mixed native american while you guzzle from the cup of white privilege because you’re extremely white passing and no one looking at you on the street would mistake you for anything other than that. and the fact that you only bring it up when it is convenient for you… i am asian every day, even when it gets me physically assaulted because i am mistaken for a carrier of disease. maddening, how you pick and choose what parts of yourself you must play up to be more vulnerable.

it’s also disgusting how you can make such disturbing jokes with that face. as previously mentioned, you look white. it’s not really your place to joke to a group of visibly asian people that you’re going to kill them and their entire bloodlines just because of small and petty things. <3

and oh, the lies you tell about my friends and significant other… to my face, too. now that you’ve been found out, you twist the truth so he looks like the bad one and she sounds like she abandoned you, yes? when in reality you put everyone around you on edge with your repeated cries for attention - which, wanting attention is hardly bad, but the way you did it… let’s just say people don’t enjoy being suicide baited every damn day after they finish up at a stressful job or are dealing with almost being deported. i’ve had to comfort her after the times you called her screaming and crying about your alleged hospitalizations while she was at risk of being homeless and her family was dying around her because you made her feel as if she were responsible for your life.

it’s very interesting to me that everyone who didn’t give you what you wanted is branded as an abusive manipulator who kicks puppies and burns and salts fields for a living. it’s very interesting to me that you are terrified of the screenshots coming out. let’s not forget that you gleefully bragged about trying to ruin the friendships my significant other did have because of more petty game things. you’re some anarcho-communist if you can’t grasp that ‘theft’ and ‘borrowing’ common resources is a staple of our minecraft worlds. so what, you had a vault? everyone needed a piece of the diamond hoard you had. (i’m partially joking. i know this isn’t communism, but god. it’s very obvious that you grew up raised in a white household and never learned to share. you nasty, horrible, terrible little individualist…)

lastly, i can’t believe that you lied about dating him and called him ugly and worth less than shit. i mean, i understand vilifying people who have hurt you — or rather, people who wouldn’t allow you to manipulate them. but it’s very amusing to me! you drew that horrible little picture of him and made him look… so bad. he does not look like that. it’s laughable how talentless you are, really. even my dog could do better and she lacks opposable thumbs and is colorblind.

in conclusion, you are less than dirt beneath my feet. you are vomit, you are a craven little cockroach, you are a pustule in the crack of the devil’s smelly armpit. i sincerely hope you have the worst lot in life.

[theriversarebroken]

Me, driving to Mike Flanagan’s house at 3am to discuss how he pulled me in with terrifying ghosts and ended with giving me the best wlw love story and had me sobbing on my couch like a hot mess:

#the ugliest cry I’ve had in a while #it just hurt extra good because it was wlws #the haunting of bly manor #bly manor #Dani Clayton #Jamie #Danielle Clayton #Wingrave #flora wingrave #miles wingrave #Dani x Jamie #Jamie x Dani #the haunting of hill house #the crain family #mike flanagan #netflix #Haunting series

[sugawarassoulmate]

was such a bad idea, i'm totally fucked

he thinks it over. four hours isn’t that long and it would be nice to take the train home with you. it’ll almost feel like you’re actually living together. plus, with his manager gone, there’s no real harm done, right?

“i hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into,” he grumbles, kissing you softly. his blue eyes glance over at the empty store, linoleum lighting giving it the ugliest look. “i’ve literally tried everything, there’s nothing to do.”

takemichi’s body freezes when he feels your hands moving lower, gently placing one of them at the crotch of his pants. he tries to ask what you’re doing but his voice gets caught in his throat when you start massaging his clothed cock. he stares down at you, trying to remove your hand but you’re looking up at him with those eyes—the ones he hopes to see every time you’re together.

it’s sultry, passionate, inviting, and everything he doesn’t need right now.

happy april fool's day, here's that takemichi fic some of y'all have asked for 🥴 based it around this ask from a few months ago! kinda nervous about this one since i don't really write for tokrev but i think it's cute 🥺

words: 1.6k

cw: fem!reader, present timeline!takemichi, handjob, unprotected sex, minors dni

He lost track of how long he had been staring at the wall about an hour into his shift. It was the slowest day at the store, Takemichi could count all the customers he had today on one hand but his manager insisted on having him close at the usual time.

The only solace he had as the hours ticked by was that you were staying over this weekend. He even stayed up all night getting rid of all the trash in the apartment, making sure everything would be perfect. With how busy he gets, you don’t get to stay over very often so he takes advantage of it every chance he gets.

He kept trying to find things to occupy his time. Stocking and restocking the shelves, wiping the counters down, or mopping the floors. Passing the time is hard when you’re alone—the whole day his manager went off running errands, leaving him to run the place alone.

Takemichi had his back turned from the door when he heard the bell ringing, signaling that someone had actually bothered to come in the store. He keeps his back turned, placing the heavy box he was carrying on the shelf. If the customer needs something, they won’t hesitate to ask.

He’s not really in the mood to be a model employee at the moment.

“So that’s how you treat your customers, Mitchy?” He nearly fell off the ladder at the sound of your beautiful voice. It must have looked cute, though, since he could hear your small giggles once he caught his balance.

Takemichi finally turns and there you are, smiling up at him with a bag in your hands. Scrambling off the ladder, he’s quick to close the distance and pull you into a hug, his mood already a thousand times better than before.

“Oh, baby! What’re you doing here? I told you I was gonna pick you up,” he definitely wasn’t complaining about your presence but he feels bad that you had to make the trip to go see him. Takemichi doesn’t pull away from the embrace, even after your arms drop to your sides.

Chuckling, you pepper small kisses in between your explanation. “I know, baby, but I figured you haven’t had lunch yet so I made food,” you gesture to the bag, still in your hand.

He could cry, actually, his eyes are probably tearing up this very second. As a thank you, Takemichi returns your kisses, deepening them when his tongue enters your mouth. “You’re amazing, you know that? I really don’t deserve you…”

“You’re plenty amazing yourself, Mitchy,” you answer back, finally wrangling out of his hold. “But if you don’t eat your food before it gets cold, I’m kicking your ass.” It’s an empty threat, of course, but it still tugs at his stupid heartstrings.

You stay at the store while Takemichi eats his food, stealing a bit for yourself every so often. In that time, nobody comes into the store and Takemichi complains that it’s been like this for most of the day.

“I can hang around here and keep you company,” you offer, playing with your boyfriend's messy locks. And the thought sounds so nice but there are still four more hours at least in his shift and he can’t ask you to do that for him. “Oh come on, baby, it’s so boring here. It’ll be fun with the both of us.”

Takemichi tries to refuse you, to spare you the absolute, mind-numbing boredom that comes with his shitty minimum wage job. But you’re looking at him with the sweetest eyes and circling your arms around his waist. “Baaaaabe,” he whines but you shoot back with an equally pouty “Mitchyyyyyy” in return.

He thinks it over. Four hours isn’t that long and it would be nice to take the train home with you. It’ll almost feel like you’re actually living together. Plus, with his manager gone, there’s no real harm done, right?

“I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into,” he grumbles, kissing you softly. His blue eyes glance over at the empty store, linoleum lighting giving it the ugliest look. “I’ve literally tried everything, there’s nothing to do.”

Takemichi’s body freezes when he feels your hands moving lower, gently placing one of them at the crotch of his pants. He tries to ask what you’re doing but his voice gets caught in his throat when you start massaging his clothed cock. He stares down at you, trying to remove your hand but you’re looking up at him with those eyes—the ones he hopes to see every time you’re together.

It’s sultry, passionate, inviting, and everything he doesn’t need right now.

“We can’t, not here,” he tries, sucking in a breath when your hand slips past his pants. Of course, he’s already getting hard from the slightest touches. He needs to get you off of him or he’ll fall under your spell. “I can take care of you at home, baby. Not here, please.”

But you’re not listening, free hand undoing his belt and tugging his pants down just enough to free his cock, already drooling at the tip. He can’t help himself when his hips start moving, fucking your small hand while he holds onto the counter. You two are standing behind it, thank God, making the view obstructed from anyone walking outside.

“Look how hard you’re getting, Mitchy,” you coo, kissing along his jawline. Your hand squeezes around his cock with every thrust. It’s so embarrassing, his face is beet red and the tears are already running down his cheeks. ”I can get on my knees and take care of you, or…”

The tone of your voice piques Takemichi’s interest, eyes flicking over to you while he rubs his tears away. “Or?” You cock your head over to the closed door on the other side of the room, the one that leads to his manager’s small office. Takemichi can feel his heart drop to the pit of his stomach. “Baby, no, no, no. That’s too far, we can’t.” he cries.

“You said she wasn’t here today and, honestly, I can’t think of anything more fun than making you cum on that bitch’s desk,” you say it so easily as if you’re not asking him to do something that’ll absolutely get him fired. It’s time for him to put his foot down, your little game has gone on way too long. He can’t indulge in this kind of behavior anymore. He sucks up his pride and steels himself to face you. Wait until we get home. That’s all he has to say. He can do it, he’s stronger than he gives himself credit for.

A sign on the locked door of the convenience store read: Gone for lunch. Be back in 15. Just steps away in the cramped manager’s office, Takemichi had you splayed out across the desk, your legs dangling over the edge as he slammed into you. All of his manager’s papers were pushed to the floor to allow him more space to take you.

“Ahh, you’re gonna cum for me, yeah, Mitchy? Oh, but we don’t have a condom, you’re gonna have to cum all over me,” you moaned, legs wrapping around his waist to bring him even closer. “We’re gonna make such a mess…”

Even when he has you pinned underneath him, you still managed to be the one in control. Takemichi sobs above you, body overcome with pleasure from your tight cunt constricting around him. Despite the angelic sounds coming from your lips, your body was pure sin, pulling him so much Takemichi was afraid he would drown.

It’s as if his body is moving by itself, its only purpose is to thrust into you. This was so bad, he doesn’t know, but the two of you are definitely going to get caught. But he can’t stop, you’re so warm that he just wants to go deeper—wants to feel every single part of you. “Why do you make me do this?” he cries, snapping his hips.

You smile up at him, hands grabbing onto his forearms. “You wanted to do this, Mitchy. I just want to make you feel good,” one particularly harsh thrust has you gasping. “Ah! Your cock feels so good, baby! Make both of us cum, please, I wanna cum together!” Your moans get higher each time he ruts against you.

Takemichi curses when your thighs squeeze even harder around him, his fingers clumsily find their way to your clit and it seems to be enough as you start thrashing underneath him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, babyyyyy. I can’t last long when you do that,” he rambles, hoping he has enough sense to pull out of you before he blows his load.

You twist the fabric of his shirt between your fingers when you cum, your body tensing up as it’s wracked with pleasure. “Oh my god, oh—fuck,” your voice breaks when you finally reach your peak, walls milking Takemichi’s cock.

The pressure around him is almost too much, but he has enough resolve to pull out, cumming on your stomach. Takemichi hovers over you, trying to collect himself. It’s only after he opens his eyes that he notices how fucked he is. His cum had run down your stomach, pooling on the desk underneath you.

“Fuck, baby, I gotta clean that up,” he groans, tucking his face in the crook of your neck. “You’re killing me, I swear.”

You hum, running your fingers through his hair. “You’re telling me that wasn’t the perfect way to spend your shift?” you counter.

Takemichi whines again, because he knows you’re right.

©sugawarassoulmate 2022 all rights reserved - please do not repost/translate my work on other platforms!

#tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers #takemichi #takemichi x reader #takemichi smut #takemichi hanagaki smut #takemichi hanagaki x reader #hanagaki takemichi smut #hanagaki takemichi x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #✨ #✨takemichi #yes i'm putting this in my tagging system #it's Chaotic™ and i love it #🃏

[venomous--fics]

Anon requested: Okay but imagine this: reader quarantining with Eddie (and venom too ofc)

A/n: Day 2 of the V Weekathon! How many of you guys have seen the movie so far? Inbox is open if anyone wants to request or chat!

Every day seemed to be filled with more and more boredom. You three had run out of things to do, and by the marks on the calendar, it's only been 3 days. With a huff, you slouched back on the couch and dropped the tv remote onto the cushion, "I'm bored."

"Hi, bored." Eddie replied, half heartedly waving his hand, "I'm Eddie."

You whined a little as you laid your head in his lap, looking up at him, "No, really...I think I'm gonna lose my shit if we have to stay inside any longer."

Eddie didn't even flinch, or look at you. He just took a sip of his drink and continued to stare at the tv, "This isn't exactly fun for me either."

"Or me. Don't forget me."

"Or him." Eddie added.

You ran your hands over your face, groaning, "We could take a nap."

"We just woke up from a nap."

"We could play monopoly again."

"We don't say the M-word anymore." Eddie said flatly, still staring at the tv.

"Right. Right." you sighed, racking your brain for literally any other thing to do, "Well, we couldn't play that anyways. Venom tore the board in half."

"We can tape it." Venom chirped, "I promise I won't rip it again."

"That's what you said yesterday about Chutes and Ladder's, you liar." Eddie cut in, setting his cup on the table.

"I am not a liar. I really promise to not rip things anymore."

"We could bake a cake." you interrupted them.

"We already baked two of them." Venom said, drawing your attention to the dirty kitchen where two of the ugliest decorated cakes sat on the counter.

"How about...We clean up our messes?"

You heard two sets of groans as Eddie laid his head on the back of the couch.

"Guys, c'mon, help me." you whined, kicking your feet into the end cushion, "I'm so-"

"Bored. We know."

"Bored. We know."

"There's gotta be something we can do."

There was a really long pause as you looked up at Eddie again, seeing him just stare at the ceiling.

"Anything at all." you said, twiddling your fingers, "Anything that'll pass the time."

"We have movies."

"We've already watched most of them." Eddie said, taking his turn to whine, "This shit sucks."

"We have Netflix." Venom replied, not appreciating Eddie's attitude.

You and Eddie both shared a questioning look. You opened your mouth, but Eddie seemed to speak first, "Who the hell is paying for it? It's not me."

"Who said it was OURS?" Venom spat.

You sat upright, "Venom? Did you steal someone's Netflix account?"

You were expecting an honest answer. Maybe the old lady downstairs didn't get it and gave some sort of info to Eddie. Or, more likely, Venom had overheard someone talking about it in passing.

"We don't steal- Okay, rephrasing that real fast, we don't steal personal accounts...In this household."

A small tendril whipped over to Eddie's jacket and rummaged through it before slinking back over and handing you a small, crumpled card. You took a minute to look it over, realizing that Venom had simply swiped this from some criminal or some poor soul he ate.

"Oh." you said, "Well, I mean..In that case..I guess-"

"What are we watching first?"

"We're gonna have a serious talk about your kleptomania." Eddie sighed.

"That's not a movie. Try again."

While they bickered, you picked a movie that you were certain Venom had never seen. Normally he loves- Surprisingly- Romance movies. You and Eddie would've pegged him to be, of course, the loud action type. But, no. His reasoning is that he just like how quiet and nice they are.

You picked Lilo & Stitch. It wasn't a romance, but you were sure it would check some sort of box with Venom. Eddie didn't protest much outside, "I've seen this a million times."

To which you replied, "Well, what will a million and once more hurt?"

Needless to say, Eddie was the one who wound up crying a little.

"What's wrong?" Venom almost seemed just as upset, "Didn't you like it?"

Eddie wiped his eyes on his sweatshirt, "No, it was good."

You leaned forward a little.

"Why's everyone lookin' at me?" he asked, sniffling, "It's just that the little guy didn't have a family. Leave me alone."

"It's okay, Eddie."

"It's okay, Eddie."

You, with the help of Venom, got cozy in his lap and snatched the remote, "Let's pick a movie that'll sure make you feel better."

Eddie continued to wipe off his face, "I can see you picking The Notebook. Give it here, it's my turn."

You held the remote out of his reach, trying to hit the play button.

"You said feel better, not worse." Eddie was trying to hold you in his lap and yoink the remote all at once.

While you two play fought, Venom was the one who saw his chance and took it. With the remote in his grasp, and you two at his mercy, you and Eddie joined forces in an attempt to get the remote back.

"Stop before he puts on Sweet Home Alabama again." Eddie said, trying to swipe at the tendrils as Venom tossed the remote around.

You were now standing on the couch, frantically waving your hands around, "I'll make you a hot fudge sundae!"

Venom pondered his choices, but he chose violence. You both had to deal with whatever he chose.

#venom imagine #venom x reader #eddie brock imagine #eddie brock x reader #marvel imagine #marvel x reader