#and i really hate it when people pity me like i'm so sick of it. i'm so tired of people who keep saying money can't buy happiness

[faiththeunholytrinity]

trying to hold myself back from pointing at a nurse and saying "spot the wealthy" in a very loud voice when she told me she'd rather buy expensive clothes than spotify premium

#i wouldn't pay for spotify premium either! and i dont understand people who do. but also what do you mean by you buy expensive clothes #in the meanwhile i have 2 pairs of pants in my entire wardrobe because i can't afford any new pairs. and they're also falling apart. smiles #and i really hate it when people pity me like i'm so sick of it. i'm so tired of people who keep saying money can't buy happiness

[nicoliine]

The night Lucifer became your god.

☆彡 Your god had abandoned you; the devil stayed by your side.

Whose your devotion is with?

☆ Disclaimer: I'm an atheist myself but was raised Catholic, so I understand that some people may find this disrespectful. Please, if you find the religion subject as a taboo to write about, don't continue reading.

☆ G/N Reader—no pronouns or y/n used.

☆ English isn't my first language and I wrote this drunk, so if there is any mistake please excuse me <3

Religion as a metaphor for love 🛐

 

—"Eli, Eli, lema sabachtani?" Matthäus 27:46.—

In Lucifer's eyes, you were an angel.

There were few things that he considered pure in hell. His daughter, the love he once had for his wife, and the joy he felt when his last rubber duck wasn't a fiasco.

 

You, however, were the purest thing that ever stepped on hell.

 

It made him sick. It was like heaven had taken pity on him and decided to send you to bring love and comfort to his shattered soul.

 

The first time he ever stepped on your room, he almost thought you two weren't in hell, but in a church, your room resembles a presbytery. He was met by a big cross on the wall in front of him and a lot of candles around; the final straw was a bible on the nightstand.

 

Where did you even get that?

It was creepy.

It gave him chills; surely he was uncomfortable at first; he hated sacred places; it made him feel dizzy. But the way you talked to him and how you looked at him in the eyes made him feel as if he were in heaven again.

Except that both of you were in hell.

You were in hell. With him.

Your looks weren't any different; you often had a kind smile on your face. When someone made a gross comment, he never failed to see you putting your hands together in a praying motion. He got a glimpse of your scarred knees one time, and a thought came to his mind: you on your knees, praying to God countless nights instead of going to parties.

 

He felt jealous; oh, to be adored in that way, how would it feel?

 

And you were so sweet; you always knew what to say and how to react. Even when he felt like getting back into his depression hole, kind words came out of your lips as you held him.

He wanted you; he never, in thousands of years in hell, ever prayed to God, but he would do it for you to be his.

 

  ☆◦ •◦☆

 

If you are an angel, then how did you end up here? He often wondered: surely God wouldn't be so cruel as to send you to hell, right?

 

A scoff left his lips; of course he would.

 

It was dark outside, and the pouring rain could be heard from outside your room. In the comfort of your room, he couldn't help but ask. You just finished your prayer, an old but well-conserved rosary on your hands.

You don't really know what to say.

 

"I just guess that I deserved it."

 

Hearing you say that broke him, how could you say that you deserved to be down there? How could you be so cool about it? You even laughed it off. He didn't deserve to have you there; please don't be so mean to you.

You tried to change the subject almost immediately; you don't want to go on about the many nights that you stayed awake calling for your god to take you out of there, just to hear you. You think that Lucifer wouldn't like to hear you say that you don't want to be there.

 

Oh god, my god, why did he forsaken you?

 

Truth be told, you often questioned it yourself; you didn't want to. Guess that's why you're down there; you asked so many questions? how you spent your whole life following his rules, praying until your knees bled, and giving all your life to him, just to be thrown into hell forever.

 

It wasn't your fault.

You were so young and so naive.

Please, how can you leave me here?

How could you let me down even when you said you loved me?

 

  ☆◦ •◦☆

 

When you woke up in hell, you felt your heart shatter. Somehow,  you managed to make it to the Heaven Embassy, looking at the building and hoping for them to come back for you, you stayed there for days. But it never happened.

It should be a mistake. You couldn't have failed; what had you done wrong?

 

When you arrived at the hotel, you wanted to cry. Everything Charlie told you would take for you to be redeemed has been everything you did in life.

Then why are you there?

 

Every passing day, your chest hurts a little more. It was like pieces of your soul were falling apart.

 

"I feel guilty, Lucifer; I know I shouldn't question his actions, that I would never understand," you said as your eyes were fixated on the big cross on your wall, "but he abandoned me; he doesn't love me anymore. I highly doubt he ever did."

 

You later felt guilty for breaking the rosary in your hand. Lucifer, however, felt excited about it.

 

  ☆◦ •◦☆

 

It hurts to see you like this, it made Lucifer feel so bad.

I mean, he understands how you are feeling; he used to have so many dreams that were taken away from him the moment he talked to his creator. He just wanted to be heard.

But he wasn't heard.

He remembers how it happened—the court spat on his face in his trial. They didn't even let him talk. He remembers how he felt the air leaving his lungs, so humiliated and despised by his father. He grabbed a fist of his shirt while they brought his sentence. His chest hurts a lot. He looked at his father, asking for forgiveness that he was never granted.

So he understood your pain; he felt your pain as his while you looked so hurt. You two weren't so different.

Except you were, you are a pure soul who did everything right, no questions asked ever. It makes his blood boil.

 

How could God treat you like this while Lucifer could break hell apart just for you to be on your knees for him?

He wanted to bring you comfort, but what does one say in a moment like this? What could he say that could give your heart rest?

 

You felt guilty; you felt remorse, wrath, pain, sadness—you didn't know what to think or how to react. You felt like your own father had abandoned you, leaving a hollow in your soul that couldn't be filled.

 

Everything left was for you to wait.

Wait to find something else to live for.

Something to pray for.

Someone to believe.

 

"If you were mine, I would never abandon you." Lucifer felt no remorse to say that; he wasn't taking advantage of your state. He just was showing you the right way, by his side you would never feel neglected or hurt. This is how it must have been since the beginning; if you had given him your heart since the beginning, you wouldn't have felt so much pain.

 

He would take care of you forever.

 

To have you on your knees before him was strange. He dreamed about this exact moment for so long, but he never thought it could really happen.

But it was happening.

You were there, with so much devotion in your eyes that it was impossible to look away.

He could see in your eyes that you would do everything he asked for.

How could God let you go when you were so devoted?

 

He wouldn't let you go.

Never.

You are his now.

You are his loyal believer; he's your god.

 

Like it always was supposed to be.

 

About where the inspiration for this came from:

There's a Mary statue in Spain that I absolutely loved the work of the sculptor, it's called: "María Santísima de la Quinta Angustia." —love the name!Her hurt face gave me chills and I thought about this writing. Please take a look at her, she looks like a doll! ✨

 

Likes and reblogs are appreciated. 💞

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader #nicolines

[semperama]

maxiel, hurt/comfort, just a little something I threw together to comfort myself after today.

Somehow, Max ends up following Daniel back to his motorhome. His mouth is still going a mile a minute, but Daniel isn't hearing distinct words anymore, only a low and comforting hum. He's tried to remember to nod every now and then. To smile. Otherwise Max might stop.

"Don't you have a ton of shit to do?" Daniel says when he can find a gap. He digs his phone out of his pocket with his good hand, glances at the absurd number of notifications he has, then tosses it down on the table. He can deal with that later. Or never.

"Huh?" Max says, and when Daniel looks up at him, he seems legitimately perplexed, like he's completely forgotten where--and who--he is.

"It's your home race, mate," Daniel says. "Don't you have a fuckton of press or whatever?"

"Oh." Max looks at his watch, frowns, then shrugs. "I don't really care. They can survive without asking me the exact same questions for the hundredth time, I think."

Daniel snorts. Max is probably right. What are they going to do, fire him? "As long as you don't get me in trouble," he says. He turns and flops down onto the couch, then winces, hisses, when it jostles his hand. "Fuck."

"Careful," Max says, rushing closer, his hands hovering. His voice is so...it's like something he'd use with his nephews, admonishing and gentle, and Daniel feels his throat close up, his eyes burn.

"I'm fine," he says, flapping his free hand at Max. "They have me wrapped up so tight, you could whack me with a hammer and I'd be fine."

Max frowns at him. "Let's not test it, alright?" He sits down next to Daniel, gingerly. It's awkward, sort of. Daniel hates visiting with people in this cramped space--sitting on the miniature sofa, nothing to look at but the kitchenette, the tiny window filled entirely by a rectangle of the wall of the motorhome next door. And now, he's too exhausted and in too much pain to be entertaining.

Still, he doesn't want Max to leave.

"Did they give you good pain meds?" Max asks.

Daniel lets his head tip back, and he closes his eyes. "Yep," he says, "but I'm just on Tylenol right now. The other stuff makes me feel sick." He takes a deep breath in, blows it out slow, focuses on the way his chest rises and falls. He can feel Max next to him, the heat of him. He knows how much he'd have to lean sideways for their bodies to be touching. "I'll take something stronger before bed, maybe." Then, because it's Max and Max is safe, he adds, "I wish I could just go home."

Fingers--warm and gentle--on the side of his face, first, and then on his neck, then gripping his shoulder, squeezing carefully. "I can leave, if you want," Max says.

They aren't like this with each other. They touch each other, sure--fist bumps, shoulder pats, hugs if they haven't seen each other in a while, all carefully platonic--but they don't touch like this. Daniel can feel Max's thumb on the skin just above the collar of his shirt, and it's hard to breathe, suddenly. He keeps his eyes squeezed shut.

"You can stay," he says.

What is this? Pity? He wants to look at Max's face, but he's too fucking scared. Scared he'll burst into tears or--or something even worse than that. Things have been so good. He didn't even realize how much he missed Max until he was seeing him this much again, laughing with him all the time, catching his eyes from across a room or across a table or across Checo's oblivious head and feeling...at home. Feeling like someone understands him and wants him around and--and wants him. Just him. Just as he is.

But Max has his own shit going on. His own life. His own friends. A fame Daniel won't match in his wildest dreams. Sometimes it feels like their roles are reversed from when Max first came to Red Bull. They have a similar rhythm, but Max is slightly out in front.

And now Max is touching him, and Daniel's not sure he can catch up.

"Or you can go," Daniel adds, quieter. "Whatever you want. I might pass out soon anyway."

Max's thumb slides along his collar and dips underneath. Daniel sucks in a sharp breath, anticipating it when Max slides his hand back up to his jaw and tugs it carefully toward him. Daniel's eyes are still shut when Max's mouth presses against his.

It's weird how much it doesn't feel weird. Max's mouth is so familiar against his that, if it weren't for his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest, Daniel could swear they'd done this a hundred times already.

"I don't want to leave you," Max says, his lips soft against Daniel's cheek, then pressing again to the corner of his mouth, like he can't bring himself to put even an inch between them again. And yeah, Daniel gets it. He does.

"Fine by me," he says. If it weren't for his stupid fucking busted hand, he'd have pulled Max closer already. "Just be gentle with me."

It's a joke, kind of. He's not sure why he has to reach up and thumb a tear away from the corner of his own eye.

"Of course," Max says, and kisses him again. Again. "Of course."

#maxiel #f1 #my writing

[allkindfangirl]

jealousy jealousy I lando norris

pairing: lando norris x reader

disclaimer: this is fiction, no hate for anyone, english isn't my first language

summary: in which your boyfriend Lando is liked by everyone and that sometimes makes things hard

It wasn't your first time visiting a race, but just like every time you were nervous. There were thousands of people, cameras, and the race itself had always been thrilling.

Lando looked at you, with a reassuring face, knowing how you didn't like so many people around you, still he was happy you were here with him. He needed you by his side on raceday, kind of as his lucky charm. And even when the races weren't going good, he always knew that you'd be there afterwards.

It was lunch time when you and Lando decided to grab something to eat and then find a spot to spend the remaining couple of hours before the race together. It didn't bother you when Pierre and Kika joined your lunch break. But their accompany bothered you. You weren't an unfriendly person, always very polite and everyone who met you immediately liked you. But it was different with people who didn't show you any respect. She was a friend of Pierre and Kika and you'd seen her at a couple of races now. It was normal for the drivers to bring friends but it seemed like she wasn't interested in the sport at all. Much more, she was interested in your boyfriend. It was obvious for everyone, though, the others only brushed it off with a laughter when the girl would place her hand on Landos shoulder while telling him something to make him laugh.

You didn't mind people wanting to meet your boyfriend. You had always been proud of him, of how good he was, how polite and funny he was and how everyone liked to have him around. But it wasn't like she respected your presence or your existence. It felt like you were always invisible for her and she was just waiting to shoot her shot with your boyfriend.

"So, are you going to show me around?", the girl in the white, short dress asked Lando. He scoffed about her bluntness, knowing that she wasn't really interested, but only interested to have all his attention for herself. Pierre and Kika had already left the conversation, leaving you standing there alone, observing the scene in front of you. "Uhm- yeah sure.", Lando stumpled with a light but unsure grin on his face. He was polite, as always. He wasn't someone to turn down peoples favors. He had manners and you respected that even though you were feeling sick in your stomach. Lando gave you a last look. A look of apologies and pity as the two of them walked off so he could show the girl around.

It took Lando about 20 minutes to find you in the paddock. You were fuming, not because of him but because of her. It wasn't the first time she had tried to get him alone. But you were also angry about yourself, about letting it get to you. You couldn't admit being jealous. Well, you weren't afraid of anything happening between them. You were just simply not okay with her flirting so uninhibited with your boyfriend.

"I'm sorry.", Lando said quietly, rolling his eyes. He leaned down to you, as you were sitting in front of the hospitality, sipping on your iced coffee. His lips pecked yours, making sure everything was okay between the two of you.

"It's fine.", you said. He sat down next to you, his eyes speaking to you without him saying a word. He gave into your touch on his cheek, caressing his skin. You knew he was the best man you could ever ask for, not wanting to harm anyone's feelings but you knew he would always come back to you.

-

don't know where this came from but i just couldn't stop thinking about it. hope you like it. also FIRST TIME WRITING FOR LANDO. he is driving me crazy rn.

requests are open

my masterlist

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #formula 1 #f1 #f1 x reader #blurb #imagine #masterlist #formula 1 x reader #f1 imagine

[detachedminxsfics]

Spit

Read Part II

Characters: Negan x Alexandrian F!Reader, Maggie, Gabriel, Elijah

Summary: Negan and you were split from the rest of the group, and when he decides the mission is a lost cause, a fight ensues. Set in the events of S11 E5.

Word Count: 3.5K+

Warnings: NSFW - Rough vaginal sex, spitting, mild choking, very mild blood play, hate fuck, dom Negan, mortal enemies, humiliation, xtra DILFy S11 Negan, filthiest shit I've ever written tbh

A/N: I really enjoyed writing this, I needed to write some Negan angst. And I'm tempted to write a part two? 😫

Negan trailed behind you as you pushed open the door to the place you knew the group would attempt to regroup at, your gun raised vigilantly in order to scan your surroundings. When you saw nothing of concern you slipped your pistol back into your holster, settling down a little knowing you'd have to spend a considerable amount of time here. Until the sound of a familiar voice put tension in the air.

"So, what? We hang around here with our fingers up our asses just hoping that the others are alive, letting those assholes catch up to us?" Negan broke the silence, and you already hoped he had never said anything in the first place.

You, Negan, Maggie, Alden, Gabriel, Daryl and whoever else may be left had been split, and unfortunately, you ended up with Negan. You'd ended up taking the same cover in a fire fight, and he pulled you with him when the two of you made a run for it.

"I'm not abandoning my friends, but I wouldn't expect you to understand that." You bit back, glaring at him with cold narrowed eyes.

Alike Maggie, you'd never really forgiven Negan for what he did that one dark night, taking two of your family like that. Abraham and Glenn were good men, more than that, and they didn't deserve to be put down in that way. It made you sick to have to visually reflect upon it, so much of that night was a blur, yet vivid in the worst of parts.

"You know what, yeah, I don't. We've got some supplies, and we don't even know if the others are alive, why not take the win now? Get ahead of those shitdicks, and not wait around here to die like sitting ducks for people that are probably already dead."

What was left of your patience thinned out and crumbled, for it was never really all that durable when it came to Negan anyway.

"Just shut up! Fuck you, Negan. They're alive, and they'll be coming here, and we're gonna wait for them whether you like it or not. So sit, down." The venom in your words couldn't be anymore potent, clear as day as you snapped and raised your voice at him.

You caught him clenching his jaw, suppressing the urge to turn this into a screaming match, and it fell silent again. Having figured the matter had been resolved or somewhat stifled you headed over to your bag and sifted through your things, making sure you still had all of your belongings, until you heard shuffling. When you looked up to investigate the source of the sound Negan was packing, gathering his bags and some of the supplies that we'd scavenged. Things people had risked and lost their lives for.

"What do you think you're doing?" You began to interrogate him, approaching him to stand with your arms crossed against your chest completely stand-offish.

"I'm leaving." He answered bluntly, a short response meant to minimise your frustration, but it only worsened.

"Not with those supplies." You reaffirmed just as bluntly, leading Negan to sigh in response.

"I'm taking 'em back to Alexandria." Negan replied plainly, every offhanded response from him fuelling the fire of your rage more and more.

"You don't just get to cop out like this, there are responsibilities. This mission isn't over."

There was no guarantee that those supplies would make it back to Alexandria in his hands, and you wouldn't let his self-pitiful attitude go unnoticed.

"It is for me."

For him, for him? It was always about what Negan needed, what Negan wanted. What about what your people wanted, what Alexandria needs? His selfish tendencies were the final step in urging you over breaking point, and so you succumbed to your irritation, albeit in a very high school way. You snatched the handle of the bag he was holding from his hand and tossed it aside, giving him a hard shove that sent him stumbling back a few steps. He responded rather hastily by seizing your forearms, attempting to dissuade you from attacking him any further. You only thrashed against his grip, grunting your frustration inbetween your attempts to pull your arms from his hold. With all the momentum the two of you began to turn, heading in an entirely different direction as Negan furrowed his brows and attempted to snap you of it.

"Stop it!" Negan belted out, his gravelly voice booming from having raised his voice at you.

It didn't deter you though, and you continued to struggle until you eventually freed yourself, slamming your hands hard against his chest and leaving him attempting to find balanced footing again. With the force of that final push a space had formed between the two of you, both of you cautious as to whether one or the other would be the first to close it, to continue fighting one another. But you did neither, just stared at one another. That dark look in his eye was swirling again, a murderous stare that you knew all too well, and you were sure you were doing the same. You were panting from loss of breath due to how much energy you had just expended, but Negan stood untempered. Negan was the first to move, beginning a slow approach that had you stepping back from him further and further. Though he moved in small steps distance was closing fast, and you felt the internal panic when you felt a hard solid wall press up against your back, having backed yourself into the hypothetical corner.

"Shit." You muttered quietly, Negan taking his final few steps until he was directly opposite you, your chest practically pressed against his. He said nothing, and his stare remained unintelligible, simply looming over you without one word.

"Fuck you." Unashamed you made one last dig at him, and alarmingly enough, Negan smiled at you.

"If it'd shut you up for good, happily." He spoke lowly, his husky words right by your ear.

The response from him so sincere and unabashed you could feel your blood boiling, and you settled with the first thing that came to mind. Gathering some of the saliva in your mouth you parted your lips slightly and then quickly closed them, spitting right in his face. He groaned as he felt the wetness hit his cheek, reaching up and wiping his face dry with the back of his fingerless gloves, never once breaking eye contact with you. To your misfortune the saliva you'd kindly deposited onto his face was not enough to humiliate him entirely, but had some of the desired effect you had wanted. Negan looked riled, though he had tried to remain complacent the faint squint of his eyes gave him away, and the subtle clench to his jaw as he stared you down. Wordlessly, he flattened his palms against the wall either side of your head, entrapping you in the position you'd incidentally put yourself in.

"Open your mouth." Negan demanded bitterly, and you felt your cheeks fill with heat, utterly stupefied by what he had just asked you to do.

"Hell no." You bit back, earning a dangerous warning stare from Negan.

"Open your damn mouth."

You stared at him firm in your decision not to, and he waited a few moments before realising you wouldn't budge, and decided to handle you accordingly. With unanticipated rapid movements one of the palms Negan had flattened against the wall he'd snatched back and used to grip your jaw, applying pressure at the sides so hard and in such a way it began to force your mouth open. Forcibly Negan parted your lips, and you whined against his pressurised touch, restrained into anticipating his next move. Gathering the fluids best he could Negan brought all of his spit to the front of his tongue and leaned in enough to the point where he knew it would land on your tongue, spitting hard into your open mouth. You coughed a little from the shock of Negan's spit flying into your mouth, some of it escaping down your throat, only earning an approving chuckle from him.

"You liked that, didn't you, me spitting in your pretty little mouth? Be honest with me, I'll know if you're not."

The fact that Negan had recognised the shift in your expression before you even knew yourself startled you, like he could see through any deception or emotions you may have. Disturbingly enough, you'd enjoyed it to some extent. Maybe it was just the adrenaline from having taken out some of your frustrations on him, and spitting in his face after telling him to go fuck himself, but other feelings had began to surface. Urges that you couldn't quite distinguish.

"In your dreams." You remonstrated, not quite as firmly as you had hoped when you sounded it out in your head.

Negan grinned in response to your obvious dismay of the way that being manhandled by him made you feel, coming to terms with his own enjoyment of treating you like this.

"Oh don't worry, you're a goddamn nightmare."

Negan slammed his lips against yours, and it was like a floodgate had been opened, emotions and chemical reactions amongst other things consuming you entirely. You moved your lips back against his, attempting to keep up with the roughness. His stubble skimmed across your skin as you decided to nip his lip a little, drawing blood and causing him to groan into your mouth.

"Shit, should've known you'd be a freaky one." Negan commented as he swiped his thumb across his lip, gathering some of the blood there and smearing it across your own.

You kissed again, a hard and rough movement of one another's mouths, smearing his blood across both of your lips. In hungry movements Negan began to gather the fabric of your shirt in his hands, putting adequate tension on the material before yanking it hard. You gasped as you felt cool air hit your skin, he'd ripped your damn shirt open, the buttons flying onto the ground beneath you and pinging against the wood floor to reveal your tight fitting tank top underneath.

"Negan!" You exasperated, swatting him on the arm from the shock of what he had done.

He only snickered from having exposed you in such a way, closing his hand around the wrist of the hand you'd used to swat him with a firm grip and slamming it back against the wall, your knuckles faintly stinging from the impact of the collision.

"Oh c'mon, you can have mine." Negan suggested, not giving you time to respond as you felt his lips again.

Negan's fingers hooked in the hem of your tank top and began to hike the fabric up, pulling back momentarily only to help yank the top over your head. He threw it carelessly onto the floor, and you decided to return the favour. Unlike him, you unbuttoned his wrinkled blue shirt from bottom to top. Meticulously sliding your fingers beneath the material at the top of his shoulders and pushing it down his arms. The moment his shirt had gathered at his wrists you reached around and pulled from the back, tossing it into an area somewhere around yours. The moments to come were spent removing your clothes as fast as you could, a desire brewing deep within your body, a vile way to feel for him. It made you sick. With your panties dangling loosely around one of your ankles, your tank top hiked up your chest just enough to expose your breasts, Negan hoisted you up. He'd discarded the light grey tshirt he wore beneath his blue one, chest now bare to expose his generously hairy chest and the beaded necklace hanging just below his collarbone. With hands gripping the skin beneath your thighs he wedged himself in the space between them, using the way he'd mushed you between the wall and himself to support you whilst he worked at the zipper of his jeans, pushing it down until it came slack at his calves. He was left in nothing but boxers.

"I've always wondered what you looked like beneath those clothes, and your body is smokin'." Negan knew that subtle tease would piss you off, and you responded by glaring at him, wrapping your arms around his neck for support.

"Don't speak, at least not right now, just fuck me. Hopefully you can prove useful for once." You rebuked, and Negan raised his brows to feign offense.

"Ohh is that so? We'll see about that."

During your back and forth snapping he'd pushed his boxers down and lined himself up with you, slamming upward without warning. His hands returned to the underside of your thighs whilst you cried out in pain, him not even bothering to ease you into it. He didn't wait for you to adjust either, moving his hips as he groaned from the feeling of being inside you. The pain eased off rather fluidly, and you were left with the most reprehensible satisfaction. Negan ground into you, totally unbridled thrusts that had you whining so pathetically you were sure you'd attract a horde, or be heard for miles.

"That's what I fucking thought, do you like this baby? You like being used huh?"

Overwhelmed with your conflicting feelings for him you unwrapped one of your arms from his neck and slapped him, a harsh hit that had Negan grumbling from the sharp pain in his cheek. He groaned and took one of his hands from your thigh, placing it on your throat with the faintest pressure, it was more an injunction.

"Keep your hands to yourself or I'll tie 'em, do you want me to stop?"

You were quick to admonish him from stopping, a hint of desperation in your tone that had you realise you were damn near begging him not to.

"No no, Negan don't stop. Please..."

He grinned at your plead, his half lidded eyes haughty with arrogance. He'd leaned forward now, his forehead tipped against yours whilst his hand remained around your throat, noses brushing as you exchanged air panting hot breath into one another's mouths. This was filthy, sinful even. The dirty feeling of being so full, full of him, the pleasure he filled you with subduing you into this breathy mess. You couldn't think about anything other than his hard and fast thrusts, your hips connecting with every unconstrained movement. The group could return at any moment, walk in on Negan bottoming you out against the wall of an abandoned house, but you weren't entirely sure either of you cared. To finally give each other something worth giving, to put all the burning hatred and distaste you had for one another to use was addicting. Intoxicating.

"Holy shit." You fell into a string of curses, your one way of vocalising the feeling of knotting in your abdomen, trembles working their way through your legs.

Fuelled by your approaching release you moved your hands down from the nape of his neck to the back of his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin and clawing your way down his back making Negan grit his teeth. Negan was agonisingly close too, his face buried in the crook of your neck and occasionally sucking marks into the skin there. When he knew he was about to tip you over the edge he moved his head back, his face coming back to lie in front of yours again. Strands of hair had fallen from his impromptu slick, cascading over his sweat beaded skin and leaving him totally disheveled. Knowing that you caused this, made him look like that was a confidence boost to say the least, and it only helped to fuel your impending orgasm. Frantically the hand he'd left resting against your throat moved up to hold your jaw, less harshly than he had before, but firm. He was holding your head to leave you with no choice but to face him directly, meeting his eye with the utmost devout attention.

"That's it baby, I wanna see you, I want to remember how you looked when I gave you the best fucking of your life." He murmured, mesmerised by the look of pleasure etched across your features.

Unsurprisingly you came undone, wholly ruined as one of the most intense orgasms you had ever felt ripped through you. Your mewls filled the room, and you squeezed your eyes shut, head aching to tip back but unable to due to his touch. He watched with unashamed inclination, basking in it as he reached his own release. With appropriate haste he removed himself from you and emptied his release onto the floor, coarse groans joining your own faded whimpers. Subsequently riding out both of your vehement highs you remained holding one another. Your legs wrapped loosely around his waist and your hair messy, the rise and fall of your chest as your breathing stabilised becoming gradually softer. Your head was resting against his chest, and he started running his fingers through your hair, wordlessly sharing this earnest moment with one another. Every part of you still hated him, wanted to hurt him for all the pain he'd caused you and the people you cared for, but you could see through your own blinding hatred for the first time in years. The feeling was only temporary, but you savored it for what you could. To be at peace.

"We need to get dressed, can you help me?" You were faintly embarrassed to ask, but your legs were still too shaky to stand on unsupported, and the adrenaline hadn't subsided much either.

"Alright." He whispered, planting a meek kiss at the top of your head.

Neither of you thought too much of it, and Negan helped you dress presentable again. He rolled your tank top down your body and helped slip his blue shirt on you, buttoning a few of the buttons and practically resembling the way he usually wore it. Then he guided your panties back up your legs and hauled your jeans up past your thighs, your palms resting against his shoulders as he bent down to assist you in order to allow you the support you needed to maintain balance. By time he'd helped you dress you were feeling a little better, doing your best to ignore the sure soreness you'd feel in your crotch soon enough. Negan pulled his pants and boxers up from his ankles, pulling his grey tee over his head and dusting off any dust and residue it'd gathered from the floor. His arms were exposed now, but it'd have to do until you found something else for you to cover up with. He was the one who caused this issue in the first place, so rightly he paid the consequences. Now fully dressed you stood opposite one another, gazing in an untold way that only the two of you would ever know the reason behind, and the door opened. Startled you turned to watch the door and had your hand readied over your pistol, Negan too readily raising his crowbar. Relieved both of you lowered your weapons and wary demeanours when Maggie and Elijah supporting a worse for wear Gabriel walked through the door, and you sighed, a smile spreading across your face. You hurried over and threw your arms around Maggie, which she more than happily returned.

"You made it." Maggie leaned back to get a good look at you, sharing a moment with you whilst Gabriel closed the door behind them.

When she noticed the change of shirt, most noticeably the fact that you were wearing Negan's, she glanced over at him, looking back and forth between the two of you.

"What the hell happened to you two?" Maggie exclaimed, both intrigued and concerned.

You opened your mouth to speak and stumbled over your words a little, causing Negan to chime in.

"One of those reaper assholes got the jump on her, and her shirt got messed up. I gave her mine." Negan explained from the other side of the room, the two of you exchanging glances as you silently thanked him for his excuse.

It wasn't a total lie, but he had bent the truth, that was for sure. There had been a tussle with a reaper in question, but you won it indefinitely, and you took cover as a gunshot flew past your head just afterwards. That's when your paths had crossed. Maggie nodded and held your face in her hands, your eyebrow and cheek had gotten busted, and Negan was worse for wear too. You supposed a rough fuck after the chaos you and Negan had gotten out of wasn't the brightest idea, your bones achy and brittle now.

"Let's rest up a little, gather our strength." She suggested and you nodded in agreement.

Maggie went on to explain to you the both fates and unknown whereabouts of the others scattered in the surrounding area, and how those presumably alive were still out there. And so you spoke simply, a sincere suggestion that you were sure everybody but Negan shared a desire to uphold.

"So we wait."

You briefly turned to look at Negan, and you could see how his eyes were faintly narrowed with his disapproval of the idea, but you could care less. And he knew you did too. You were back at each other's throats again, and you couldn't have loved it more.

#the walking dead negan #negan x y/n #negan x you #twd negan #negan smith #here's negan #negan fic #negan smut #the walking dead #negan twd #twd fanfiction #twd fic #the walking dead fanfiction #jeffrey dean morgan

[benedictscanvas]

omggg in my fluffy needing comfort era and i LOVE how you write jamie tartt x reader- could i make a request for jamie x chronically ill reader where he is just really supportive and loving with someone who is long-term sick? ♥️♥️

of course, my love. thank you for the kind words. i tried to make this as vague as possible so people can relate in their own ways. sending you love! <3 | gn!reader, 1.2k words, tw chronic illness & pain, language

You'd just about managed to get your hair how you wanted it to look for the evening, with minimal swearing for once. Jamie was sat on the bed waiting for you, he'd been ready for a good few minutes now, but you were still reluctant to emerge. There was a wave of pain undulating through you that you were trying to ride out in silence without alerting your boyfriend.

"Y' alright, love? No rush, I wanna be fashionably late anyways," he said from the next room, raising his voice so that it reached you through the closed door. You hardly ever closed doors around each other, so you should have known he'd be worried.

The pain wasn't dissipating, so you took a few deep breaths before stepping out into the bedroom with a smile that you hoped was normal.

"Sorry, my hair wasn't co-operating," you say, tilting your head as you take him in. Navy trousers, white shirt, brown jacket. He looked effortlessly gorgeous, even if he had one more button undone than you would have suggested. Some things didn't change, "You look so good, Jamie."

"Me?" he said incredulously, standing up and huffing out a breath of disbelief, "You look...fuck. I'm not good enough with me words for this."

His hands gesture aimlessly down your outfit and you feel a real smile blossoming under his attention. You take his hands in yours and place them on your waist, stopping his flapping from going further.

"I like your words just fine. And your face," you add with a grin that he returns, curling his fingers into the fabric he's found. A new wave of pain crests and you try your hardest to keep it off your face, but don't think about how your body must tense under his touch. His whole face crumples.

"Ah shit," he murmurs, running his hands down your arms to interlace your fingers together as he takes a step closer, "Why didn't y' say anythin' babe?"

"About what?" you ask pathetically, watching him fix you with a look that said 'cut the shit'.

"Cut the shit," he said, clearly deciding the look wasn't enough, "We agreed, babe, you tell me if it's a bad day so I can help. Or at least try to. Thought we were in a good place with it."

Your heart aches. He really does hate it when you keep your pain to yourself, even though you're not sure he yet understands just how much pain you would be sharing if you shared all of it. You'd been dating for six months, but still wanted to be careful not to scare him off.

"I am. I promise, Jamie, I do tell you it's just..." you struggle for a good explanation that doesn't create any pity in him, "Tonight's big, you know? I want to be a proper girlfriend and I want to burst into tears and kiss you stupid when they call your name for that award."

There is a little bit of pity in his eyes when you've finished, so you can't have done a very good job of it. He squeezes your hands tightly in his.

"Can't say it many more ways," he says softly, "But y' gotta believe that you are me priority, gorgeous. Jus' wanna look after you, y' know. I wanna be a proper boyfriend too."

You'd never thought about it that way. Another wave of pain hits and Jamie's instantly stroking your temple when your eyes clench shut. You feel his lips on the opposite side of your head as he whispers sweet little comforts in your ear.

If it wasn't so painful, maybe you'd be more willing to argue the point with him. It would have to be a battle saved for later, because lying down was the only option for the moment. You could feel the sting of tears; it couldn't have been a worse time for a flare up.

"I'll be there for every other award you win," you say forcefully, but you can't bring yourself to promise. Sometimes you worry you can't promise him enough, but then you see the way he looks at you as he leans backwards again and a lot of that worry falls away.

"You're way too sure that I'm winnin' this award, by the way," he says, a little bashful. It was one of your favourite versions of him, "I'm up against quality."

"None of that. The most creative player in the league this season was you. Hands down. I think you know that really."

He nods, but doesn't look sure still. Then he's stepping away from you as he shrugs off his jacket, throwing it onto the back of a chair and flopping down on the bed.

"Come on then, love. We can fit in a quick episode of whatever you want before the ceremony's on TV."

You stare at him.

"What?"

"Well I'm not fuckin' going without you," he laughs, like that was never an option, "Duh. I'd be bored shitless. I know you need to lie down, babe, come on."

He holds out a hand to you. You take it, still dazed by the sudden turn of events, let him pull you onto the bed and into his arms on top of the covers.

"There we are," he breathes, pressing kisses into the top of your head, "Perfect. We'll have a much better evening bein' able to laugh at Roy makin' a fool of himself for the cameras from 'ere, right?"

Coming back to your senses, you pull yourself out of his arms for a moment so you can look at him properly. He's been acting normal up until now, but when he sees the tears in your eyes, his whole face softens.

"Let's not argue right now, love, please," he begs, "Wanna take care of you, so jus' let me. We can talk about it tomorrow."

"Your award..." you choke out, but he shushes you.

"Will be waitin' for me at the club tomorrow. Me speech would have been fucked anyway, so there's nothin' to miss out on."

There's no room for argument in his voice. It's as firm as it is comforting. Relenting as the pain hits once again, you snuggle back into his arms, kissing whatever parts of him you can reach.

"Like my guardian angel," you say, trying not to sound so teary, "So grateful for you, Jamie. Love you so so much."

"Yeah, yeah, love you too," he says, brushing you off as you expected but with fondness in his tone as he pulls you even closer.

"Hey...you just said the award would be waiting. You're finally admitting that you're definitely getting it?"

He chuckles.

"Course I'm getting it. That award's mine, babe," he says, cocky smirk firmly on his face that you can only see in the reflection of the TV. Then he gasps, comically, "Do y' think they'll make Roy do me speech?"

You gasp right back, already feeling better.

"Yes! If you put it on now, we might be able to see him flip people off on the red carpet beforehand."

Jamie grins as he struggles to reach the remote and turns the TV on.

"Fuckin' genius, you are."

---

please see this post if you would like to request your own roy/jamie drabble!! closing soon <3

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt #ted lasso x reader #ted lasso #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt fluff #jamie tartt oneshot #busy week drabbles!

[munsster]

gold-skinned eager baby

A/N: touch tank was written for billy and i'll die on that hill

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

Summary: “He tells me he’s gentle when he wants to be/So I think he wants to be gentle with me.” 3.3k.

Warnings: this song is a riot, billy hargrove, enemies to lovers, pet names (sweetheart, babe, peach[es]), cursing, bullying(?), an accidental clueless reference 🫣

"You're an asshole."

You'd done a lot of shoving in your lifetime: other kids down the slide, cackling friends' shoulders, handsy creeps. But you haven't done nearly as much shoving as Billy has. So when you shove him—two fingertips to the chest—he takes a step back and scoffs.

"You wanna try that again, sweetheart?"

It was supposed to be a birthday party. It was supposed to be your birthday party, but Billy found you crying over him in the backyard and immediately made it known how drunk and horny he was. You poured the rest of your glass of red out onto his leg—albeit on accident, but that didn’t make him feel any better.

"Get the fuck away from me," you spit, shoulder-checking him on your way inside. But he grabs your wrist and stops you for a second. And the cold air seeps in, a sheen of frost creeping over your bones when he really grips your arm. "Let go of me—"

"You ungrateful little bitch, I'm here for you, the least you could do is say something fuckin’ nice.”

"Oh, I'm sorry you took time off your busy panty-dropping schedule to be here, but I'm not in the mood to suck you off, alright? Let me go."

There’s a huff of dissatisfaction and rejection on the tip of his tongue. It turns stale in the cold, bubbling up into a fog and through the cloud he sees the glimmer of heartbreak gracing your waterline. When his stomach turns, he can’t tell if it’s the ambrosia in the punch bowl or the vomit-inducing heartache you leave him with. Either way, he feels like dying.

—

He watches you from the driver’s side of his car. The dark red stain on his thigh turning his jeans into a watercolor of self-loathing.

Then you look at him. With something like disgust and pity, though you can’t exactly bring yourself to look away when he stamps out the butt of his cigarette and whips his car door open. He glances at you just before he ducks in and peels out of the lot. He’s exasperated, and he can’t put his finger on why.

“What are you looking at?” the girl on your right chirps.

And the girl next to her says, “Not a what, a who.”

“Nobody,” you huff.

“It’s Billy—!”

“Nobody.”

—

“I lost Max. Can’t fuckin’ find her.” He’s panicked over the phone. You’ve never heard him so sick. Shaky, that’s what you’d say. He sounds nervous and cold, and he called you, of all people, to find his little sister.

“So what? She’s not with me.”

“I—” he sighs, “I know. That’s obviously not why I called.”

“You asking me for help?”

He can tell you’re tugging on your sleeve by now. You used to do it when you got too cocky. Manicured nails picking at the hem. A compulsion. It’s compulsive. But it takes the weight off, and he takes a deep breath.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

He’s nursing a deep regret in the pit of his stomach, but he’ll call it resentment. That’s it; he hates you. And you hate him. And that won’t change tonight, and it certainly won’t make him any less stubborn. Not even when you get into his car with a casserole dish in your hands.

“Leftovers,” you mumble, “She forced me out here with the tupperware, couldn’t stop her.”

“‘S fine. Shut the door.”

And you do. “Real nice, Billy.”

“Compared to you, I’m a ray-of-fucking sunshine.”

“Are you implying that you’re nice?”

“When I want to be.”

“Yeah, okay,” you scoff.

“I can be nice.” He nearly whines, but he’s not that desperate. He doesn’t want your approval that bad. He doesn’t want it, and he’s not getting it. But despite everything—the loathing, the foaming at the mouth—it makes him feverishly starving for it

“I’d like to see you try.”

—

Billy’s been stewing over you for weeks. It’s become a mantra, and his friends spare each other glances every time he utters your name.

And honestly, he forgot you worked here. It was an accident, and it wasn’t even his suggestion. Some shitty diner, that was the criteria. Cheap food, low lighting, and the hostess making eyes at him. It’s just what he needed until he saw you in that sorry excuse for a uniform. As if a miniskirt could ever be company policy.

“Look, Hargrove, it’s your girl.”

“Not my fuckin’ girl, dumbass.” Oh, but does his heart flutter at the idea. Somersaults when you smile at a customer. When you could be his girl. He could brand you his and keep you safe from the old guys at the bar and sneak through your window on Friday nights. But that’s where it begins and ends: an idea. It would never happen. He’d die before letting it happen.

“Well, in that case, don’t mind if I do—Ay, sweetheart, grab me a coke, would’ya?”

Your head whips around, and you smirk at the sight of his freckles. Almost old friends. Just a familiar face, really.

“Hi, Tommy,” you coo, and Billy puts his cigarette out on the white vinyl table with a grunt. “Billy.”

“Actually, how ‘bout one for my friend, too, huh, babe?”

“No problem. Anything else? How ‘bout you, Billy? Want a side of fries with all that brooding?”

“Atta girl,” Tommy howls, “lay one on me before you go, sweetheart.” Billy watches you dip down and plant a soft kiss on Tommy’s cheek, and it gets him green. Zaps the color from his face until he’s clenching his jaw into a frown.

“You’re a fuckin’ asshole, Hagan.” He pushes off from the table and storms out without another word. You watch him from the kitchen, his soft curls ruffled at the back of his neck. In a way, it made you happy to see him leave. Though, it also made you impossibly frustrated. You felt thwarted—defeated and you couldn’t pinpoint why. Neither could he.

—

“Max, where’d you put my lighter?”

“I didn’t take it, I don’t know,” she hollers, winding up to shut the door to her room. His palm stops it before it can slam, and when it creaks back open, the air is punched from his lungs.

You’re perched at the foot of Max’s bed, peering up at him sweetly and yet devoid of care. All friendly. He licks at the corner of his mouth, eyes flicking back to Max with a half-sneer.

“Well,” he sighs, “if you find it, would you let me know?”

She cocks her head back like she’s confused. This is usually the part where they toss threats back and forth until it turns into a screaming match. So why was he being so calm about this? He had just accused her of stealing and then took it back in the blink if an eye.

“I… yeah, sure.”

“Thanks”—he’s about to leave when he taps on the door frame and glances at you over her shoulder. You take her headphones off and set them around your neck, doe-eyed and demure so much so that it takes him off-guard. Cranks up the elevator music and makes him feel dislocated in a way that makes him thrilled—“How long is she staying?”

You butt in, “we were gonna watch a scary movie. You’re welcome to join if you’d like.” God, does he want that. Like his life depends on it. Like he can feel your head on his shoulder and his palm on your knee and his nerves alight at the sound of your breathing. But Max puckers her lips at the sour taste in her mouth, and it makes him shake his head.

“I think I’ll stick to Neil’s six pack of pale ales,” he says.

You chuckle. The soft sound makes him nervous beyond belief, so he backs into the hallway and slumps to his room.

—

Billy had raced up to your porch, and for once in his life he didn’t know what to say. His mouth felt glued shut. He felt weighed down. Yet here he was, cemented to your welcome mat, knuckles rapping hard against your door.

And you open it groggy, in your pajamas, and glowing nonetheless. Beautiful, but he’d never say it. He shoves his hands into his pockets, mouth hanging open like he’s a flytrap. He feels sticky like one, at least. There’s a faint orange glow haloed around you, and maybe he’s dead. No.

He’s standing on your porch drinking you in just to spew you out. Days have gone by, weeks, months, and not a minute has passed. You squint at him when he shuffles around in his big boots. He makes a lotta noise and it makes him cringe.

“Earth to Billy?” you coo, waving your soft palm in front of his face, tilting your head to the side when he puffs up his chest. He put on a new shirt for this. And it makes him feel like a child. He drove to the store for a brand new goddamn shirt just to impress you. Just in case you noticed and thought a little sweeter of him. It’s futile, and yet it makes him feel better when you peer at the flat-ironed collar in stunned silence.

“I just…” he grumbles, shrugging. The words escape him like his fingers are covered in oil and he’s grasping at straws. He has so much to say, so why can’t he. “I was just stopping by.”

“Okay,” you nod, glancing behind you at the clock. He’s just stopping by at eleven o’clock on a Wednesday. When you turn to look at him, he’s got these puppy dog eyes that catch you by surprise. Wide and blue and pleading. Like he’s got something sick to hope for. “D’you wanna… come inside?”

“Oh—no. I, uh… I gotta go,” he says, scratching at the back of his neck, not taking his eyes off you. His stomach churns, and there’s a lump in his throat when he turns and treads back to his idling car. He hears your door click shut, and he exhales from so deep in his chest it aches.

“Who was that, honey?”

“Billy.”

“What did he want?”

“Dunno. Looked like he’d seen a ghost.”

—

The next time you saw Billy, it was summer. Indiana’s hottest and grossest. But he looked cute in those swim trunks, and the whistle dangling from between his teeth had all the pool moms swooning. You couldn’t care less, of course. He’s just another lifeguard. But you have to admit his hair looks softer now. Taken care of. And when his eyes sweep over you, you have to look away for fear of grinning about it.

“Hey, stranger.”

It comes up from behind you and sweeps your feet out from under you. Suddenly, you’re smiling at him and you guess he’s right. Stranger. You’ve been to his house, been to your shared classes, been to Tommy’s parties, but Billy always found a way to avoid you. And maybe you missed it. The way he used to hang around. Even the scowl on his face was better than nothing.

“Been a while, huh?”

You nod, and it feels a little silly to be so casual. But you can’t stop your jackhammering heart and the way he shuffles closer.

“You look good,” you huff, raking over his damp skin and drowning in it. Forcing your mouth shut when you catch how sun-kissed he’s gotten. Freckled softly across the nose, evenly tan head to toe, though the tan line peeking out at his hips would imply otherwise

“Thanks, peach. I like your suit. Strappy” Oh, and the way his brow cocks upward is unfair. He’s all supple and dewy under the sun and slathered in tanning oil. He smells sweet like warm vanilla or toasted coconut. And he compliments you like nothing. Like it’s not heart-stopping and world-ending and fire-starting.

“You’re making me sick,” Max groans, pushing her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose.

“Oh, boo-hoo,” he teases, “I shut my mouth when you bring Sinclair around.”

You freeze. You know Max and Lucas are dating. She brings him up every possible moment, so why on Earth would Billy compare them to now. It gets you honeyed and melting, but that could be the solar radiation. Billy puts his hands on his hips when Max shrugs.

“Yeah, well, at least we’re not gross about our flirting.”

Flirting. She thinks you’re flirting. She thinks you’re both flirting. But Billy flirts with everyone, so it would be silly to leave you out, right? And that look on his face is probably from heat exhaustion anyway. But he grins, and you feel yourself growing fonder when sweat pricks across his chest and he winks at you.

—

Max had passed out sprawled across the couch cushions, popcorn bowl tucked under her arm, snoring into her other hand. And you sat at her feet, pressing the power button on the remote. You sigh and pat her calf before standing.

“Hey,” Billy whispers, softly reaching into the crook of your elbow when you stumble across the carpet in the dark and into his chest. And his fingers go pliant where skin meets skin and his heart-rate verges on heart attack.

“Sorry, can’t see shit,” you mumble, nose still hovering mere inches from the warmth of his body. You never noticed how warm he ran until now. Breathing this close, his palm sliding to your wrist, his lips parted in a smile.

“I noticed,” he teases, “C’mon, I’m thirsty.” You follow him close to the kitchen, the cold tile and the moonlight and the breeze against the old window plaguing you with goosebumps. You rub at your eye when he reaches for two glasses from the cabinet.

“Time is it?” you coo, staying close though you can see where you’re going. It’s just easy warmth, and you’re a heat-seeking missile.

“‘Bout one in the morning. Want ice?”

“Mmh.”

He turns the tap handle, and the water splashes out into the cup and sloshes around the bottom until it’s filled to the brim. He holds it out for you, and you take it in your cupped hands.

“How was the movie?”

You swallow a mouthful of the liquid, and it cools the pit of your stomach and makes you feel real in your socks in his kitchen.

“Alright. Probably wouldn’t go out of my way to watch it again.”

“Alright,” he says, peppering a chuckle in behind it, and when he lifts the glass to his lips, you feel giddy at the sight of his bare arms. You realize that he’s in a wife beater and plaid boxer shorts and the conversation falters under your tongue. You snap your mouth shut and take a long sip of water.

“I gotta admit something. And you gotta hold me to it or I’ll back down.”

You take a soft breath in when he turns to face you, hip leaned against the counter. “Deal.”

“I’ve been…” he sighs, “an idiot.”

You scoff, “Yeah, to say the least—”

“Hey, I’m trying to be serious over here.”

“Sorry, sorry. Continue.”

“Alright—”

“But you did kinda disappear without warning—”

“Listen, I was dealing with something. Didn’t feel like sticking around.” He sets his glass down, and even in the dark you know he’s glaring at you.

“Yeah, well, seemed all too willing to completely cut yourself off from everyone. I mean, from your own sister, Billy. From me.”

“But I’m here now—”

“Not even a goodbye, Billy, we were all confused and hurt—”

“God, don’t you get it? I couldn’t stay away from you,” he huffs, hands on the edge of the sink and facing the window. His head is slightly tilted back, enough to bare his neck to the night. To drench himself in gentle moonlight and take a deep breath. He barely gives you time to process, and you’re stuck still, head and heart rolling over and desperate.

“I can’t stay away from you. Believe me, I tried. All it did was give me fuckin’ withdrawals”—he chuckles heavily, all hot air and panic when he blinks at you—“I missed you. I missed your voice and your laugh and the way you’d look at me like I meant nothing and everything at the same time. I felt so fucking pathetic listening to you and Max talk about random shit from the other room. Tommy used to call and tell me every time you asked where I was. And it used to happen everyday. I got so sick of hearing about you. But then week after week passed and it wasn’t everyday anymore. And then he stopped reaching out, and I felt like a piece of shit.”

You feel small. Collapsed when you rest your glass in the sink.

“It was kind of a dick move,” you whisper.

“I know!” he huffs, “I know.”

He’s watching you like a hawk when you finally look up at him. And there’s that look. You bite your cheek to stop yourself from frowning. He’s embarrassed. If the lights were on he’d look sunburnt and out of breath. But it’s dark, and it makes you nervous to look at him for too long.

“You know I missed you, too,” you say, “Felt so stupid looking everywhere for you. Even went to parties just to see you. Never did, of course, but I wanted to. God, I wanted to see you. You’re such an asshole.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I fucked up, I know it.”

“Good.”

Billy’s fired up enough to bury his face in his hands. When you shuffle closer, he thinks you might deck him for your troubles. But you poke his side, and wait for him to lift his head. You smile.

The sweetest thing he’s seen in months. Your eyes twinkle when you tilt your head, fingers slinking up to tug the curled piece of hair drooping at his brow-bone. He swears your hip presses against his just then, but maybe it’s wishful and a waste. You’re still smiling, though, and it makes him giddy.

“Don’t go feeling all sorry for yourself over it. I’d hate to have to take pity on you,” you tease, swiping an innocent thumb across his cheek but the pull away can’t come soon enough. You’re just stepping back when his eyes go wide, and he catches you like fireflies in the late spring. Oh, if only he could keep you in a jar. If only it were that easy.

“Well, I’d hate to cause you that kind of suffering, peach.” You tuck your chin—demure enough to get a rise out of him. With his big hand on your hip, you’re feeling shy, but he’d call you coy for fun. He’s never seen you so reduced.

“Guess I better put you out of your misery then, huh?”

“Guess so.”

“Got any ideas? I’m at a loss unless steak knives will suffice.”

“Here, I’ve got a better idea,” he hums, “C’mere, it’s a secret.”

“Were the only ones—”

“Just play nice. It’s my misery, isn’t it?”

“Touché, Hargrove,” you say, and you lean in to where he beckons you, where he brings you close with the palm of his hand. You’ve never been near enough to smell his cologne until now, and you’re glad it lingers on his skin the way it does. The way it seeps in until the scent is so purely Billy you don’t know the difference.

When you lean in, cheek-to-cheek, he can’t hold back any longer. His index finger swoops under your chin, and he catches your bottom lip between his. Sure, he ducks a little, but he doesn’t mind. And the way you purr and melt under his touch is delightful.

His stubble scratches your mouth softly until you’re giggling about it, and he pulls away drooling and dizzy.

“What’s so funny? Taste weird or somethin’?”

“No way—just… glad you got tired of waiting ‘s all.”

masterlist

the coveted:

#touch tank #quinnie #billy hargrove #stranger things #fluff #enemies to lovers #billy #billy hargove imagine #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x fem!reader #fanfic #stranger things x fem!reader #stranger things fic #x fem!reader #x female reader #Spotify

[cienie-isengardu]

I'm kinda weirded out that Bi-Han scars his brother and people act like him being a little mean to Tomas is his worst deed and he deserves to die for it or something. Bi-Han doesn't owe Tomas any love or respect. You don't have to like someone just because daddy said so.

I totally agree that hating Bi-Han for not liking or loving Tomas as a brother is pretty wild take on his character, because he did not ask for such a bond, the same as Tomas did not ask to be orphaned and adopted into Grandmaster’s family. Both were forced into a situation created by adults that apparently couldn’t act appropriately to the situation (e.g. killing Tomas’ mother and sister when the family accidentally trespassed on Lin Kuei territory and Grandmaster adopting Tomas out of shame / to save his honor rather than out of love/care for the boy). 

What is even weirder to me, Kitana and Mileena had in previous timeline(s) bitter relationship yet I don’t see fandom to hate original/alternative MK9!Kitana for rejecting Mileena ("You are not my family... you are a monstrosity!") and looking down on her because of Tarkatan blood (“[Shang Tsung] has created horrid replicas of me crossbred with Tarkatan blood!”). People apparently can acknowledge that Kitana was thrown into “sisterhood” she did not ask and the creation of “twin sister” happened out of her control and knowledge while also understanding it was no Mileena’s fault for acting and looking the way she was because it was how she was specifically created. If fandom can accept and support Kitana’s choice of rejecting “sister” on the spot without any empathy to look at the situation from her perspective AND AT THE SAME TIME can feel sorry for Mileena, then the similar treatment should be given to Bi-Han and Tomas, as they were presumably children who adapted to the unfamiliar situation in their own ways. However the main difference between those two scenarios is that Mileena is the “psycho” (so Kitana is excused for not wanting her as a sister) while MK1!Smoke is the personality-wise castrated version of MK9!Tomas who for whatever reason is now the fandom’s Cinnamon Roll that never did anything wrong and anyone who doesn’t melt at the sight of this cutie IS BIG MEANIE, boo!

A character not loving fans’ favorite does not commit a crime however fandom wants to present it as unquestionable proof of said character’s evilness. Fictional or real life, people are allowed to not like each other as the definition of family will vary from culture to culture, and from one person to another - it does not however allow anyone to abuse other people, but that should go without saying.

Bi-Han said mean things to Tomas, and Kuai Liang for that matter. He in general treated others in a similar, cold fashion. But objectively speaking he did much more questionable things over the course of the story, yet people are fixated on Smoke’s feelings alone - and to be honest, I'm not even surprised anymore by that.

But you know what frustrates me the most about fandom’s perception of Bi-Han and Tomas relationship? The amount of fanwork presenting Bi-Han as always mean, always abusive to the poor poor little Tomas which is not just the best proof the fandom is set to demonize kid Bi-Han for his adult self’s choices. It is the whole implication that Grandmaster and the Mother and like everyone involved in raising the brothers, all the masters and teachers did not act to prevent it from happening nor cared to correct Bi-Han’s action. And the most sick thing about that? Children imitate the behavior of adults. Do people really think that kid Bi-Han started saying "Lin Kuei blood only" bullshit out of his mind just to spit in the pitiful orphan's face? Like, really?

Stupid beliefs like that come from somewhere and children are taught by their parents and adult people around what “values” and traditions they should respect and follow. We literally know just three Lin Kuei characters and the fact that only Kuai Liang and Tomas rejected Sub-Zero’s leadership while the clan followed their Grandmaster implies Bi-Han’s beliefs are accepted and shared by the clan. So maybe instead of being so set on demonizing kid!Bi-Han - who so far was only said to be “always cold” to Tomas what is not equal to being abusive and cruel on purpose - maybe it is time for fandom to examine previous Grandmaster and the whole clan’s beliefs that A) were passed to Bi-Han to mold him into man he is today and B) apparently fucked up Tomas’ childhood so much.

#mortal kombat #tomas vrbada #sub zero #bi han #my replies #do i sound bitter? good because i'm so tired of this weird new trend to present kid bi han as some sort of bastard #always tormenting poor tomas while everyone apparently don't give a shit maybe beside kuai liang #like do you really think that grandmaster's son in a clan set to turn children into warriors to serve earthrealms #would be spoiled instead of taught the warrior discipline from childhood like everyone else? #and it may be just me but when i hear someone is cold it means he does not want to bond with you not being an asshole with sadistic impulse #but sure let's blame a kid bi-han and not the way he was raised by adults WHO SHOULD make sure kid Tomas was safe in unfamiliar environment #sorry rant over

[vastill]

I'm sorry, I love you too

Melissa Schemmenti/fem!reader

warnings: hurt/comfort

words: 1300+

My requests are open!!

English is not my first language!!

A/N: you wanted more hurt/comfort and you shall receive... tbh it was hard for me to finish this WIP so it's a little rushed at the end but i hope you enjoy it! let me know what you think!!💚

You were sitting in the restaurant for at least 20 minutes, waiting for her to show up. The restaurant was nice and cozy, you were sipping on a glass of wine, not ordering anything, maybe she will be late.

Maybe she didn’t forget this time.

The waitress came to your table, her eyes full of pity. You hated that, but you had some hope in your girlfriend.

“Can I get you something to eat? Or are we waiting for a little longer?” The waitress asked.

“Yeah, we wait but can I have some more wine?” You smiled at her and she quickly nodded. And you were left to your thoughts.

That was the third date in two weeks that you had planned. And the third one that she forgot about. Did she have so much work at school? Maybe another late meeting with Barbara?

Did she not want to be seen in public with you?

You two were dating for more than a year but everything was in secret. Melissa didn't want to go public, you understood her. You both were working at the school, she wanted to remain professional. Also, you were younger. She always assured you that wasn’t a problem and that she doesn’t care about what people think. But did she really?

Behind the closed door, she was the sweetest person you could ever imagine but as soon as you were out everything changed. She wasn't your girlfriend anymore.

Was that too much to ask for? For her to show up? You were only asking for one evening. One dinner at that place you two were talking about for ages. Only one night.

You shook your head, trying to get rid of the negative thoughts. You didn't want to jump to conclusions, but you couldn't help feeling hurt and frustrated.

You drank your glass of wine and decided to call it a night. You paid for everything and left the restaurant and drove to your house, not wanting to see Melissa tonight.

As you walked into your house, you couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. You had been looking forward to that dinner with Melissa, and it seemed like she couldn't even be bothered to show up. You decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and wait for her to call or text, but after a few hours of silence, you realized that she wasn't going to.

You only send her a text that you can’t go with her to the Farmer’s Market tomorrow. You didn’t want to stand her up, even when she deserved it. You weren’t that petty.

You spent the rest of the night trying to distract yourself, but your mind kept wandering back to Melissa and what could be going on. You knew that you needed to talk to her about everything, but you didn't know if you were ready to hear what she had to say.

The next day you spend at home, slouching on the couch with ice cream, and your comfort show to make your mood better. To forget about yesterday's failure.

At lunchtime, you heard a knock on the door. Was your delivery guy that quick? You went to open the door.

Melissa stood there with a bag full of containers of food she cooked.

You were surprised to see her at your doorstep, but you couldn't help but feel a little relieved. Maybe there was a good explanation for her absence.

“Hiya hon, I wanted to make sure everything is okay and brought you some food, made your favorite. It’s all fresh bought it today.” She said with a smile on her face.

“Hey, oh thanks. Come in.” You let her in. A little confused that she didn’t bring up yesterday's dinner right away.

“So what’s up with you? Why didn’t you want to go today? Felling sick?” She asked as she was unpacking the food she brought.

“Are you really asking me that?” You said. You didn’t want to believe that she forgot. She couldn’t.

“What?” She asked clearly confused.

You let out a sigh. She forgot. It was clear now.

“We planned a date yesterday Melissa. I was waiting for you in that restaurant, hoping you show up. Hoping you didn’t forget the third time. Hoping I was important enough for you to remember.” You said looking at her. Your eyes held all the hurt and frustration you were feeling.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize...” Melissa trailed off, looking guilty. “Work has just been so busy lately, and I’ve been really scatterbrained.”

“It isn’t an excuse Melissa. It was the third time. The third time I had to sit and wait for my girlfriend to show up.” You said, your voice raising. You took a breath in to calm yourself. “I mean the first one, okay, I can understand. The second one was just a mistake. But the third time? Melissa, I feel like I’m not important to you. I understand that you're busy with work and everything, but that doesn't excuse repeatedly forgetting about our plans. I just want to know where I stand with you because I feel like you are avoiding being seen with me.” You sighed, your hands rubbing your face, waiting for her response.

Melissa looked at you with a pained expression on her face. “I'm so sorry,” she said softly. “I never wanted to make you feel that way. I’m so sorry. You are important to me, and I don't want you to feel like I'm avoiding being seen with you. I just don't want to make a big deal out of our relationship, especially at school, you know how it is.” She reached out to take your hand, hoping to convey her sincerity.

“Yes, I understand this. But it’s so hard when you are shutting me out as soon as we are in the open. We are in a year long relationship, don’t you think it’s serious enough to make us public?” You ask, nervous about what her answer could be.

Melissa looked down at her feet, clearly struggling with what to say. “I...I don't know,” she finally admitted. “It's just...it's complicated. I care about you so much, but I also don't want to risk our jobs. I know it's not fair to you, and I'm sorry. I just don't know what to do.” She looked back up at you.

“The staff at our job has the most understanding people that I have ever known. I really don’t think that will be a problem, especially when they find out that we were hiding this for that long.” You said looking at her with a soft smile. “And you know I don't care about reputation, I care about you more Melissa. I just want to show everyone how much I love you, how much I care about you.” Your eyes filled with a plea for understanding.

Melissa looked at you with tears in her eyes. “I'm sorry, I love you too.” She said, her voice shaking. “I didn't realize how much this was hurting you.” She leaned in to hug you, and you felt a weight lift off your shoulders. “I think we should go public. Taking slow steps, I don’t want them to have a heart attack if we show up on Monday all lovey-dovey.” She said laughing softly.

Relief washed over you, you couldn’t help yourself and just grabbed her for a hug. You felt so happy hearing that she understood your point of view. Backing away a little you took her face in your hands. “I love you so much, Mel.” You kissed her hard and she quickly reciprocated.

You parted when your lungs needed air. You linked your foreheads.

“I love you more hon.” She said stealing another kiss from you. “We need to eat that food I made. We don’t want to waste it.” And you smiled, food. The best love language.

A/N: i'm working on other requests now and on some drabbles with Mel and Lila. i think some of it will be posted somewhere this week!💚

#melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x reader #abbott elementary #lisa ann walter #lisa ann walter x reader #vastill

[frogoru]

i think i've been able to stay relatively calm about my faith as of recently (i had a small freak out period a little while back about homosexuality but i've mostly gotten over it) but i keep finding myself wondering about what's going to happen to me if everything i'm continuing to indulge in is like... actually a sin. i like to cherry pick the bible and i know that's frowned upon but i don't think i could live under those kind of restrictions, and i've been doing well and content in doing so but what if?? what if.

i keep finding it difficult to call myself a christian since whenever i do it, i feel ashamed because the whole point of being one is that you're supposed to base your life around christ's teachings... which i am clearly not doing!! homosexuality is the main thing i struggle with stressing out about but lust in general is a huge one and all the other temptations that people deal with on the daily and although i limit myself a healthy amount i don't really acknowledge it as me sinning usually because i have a "this is normal" mindset but what if this is all going to contribute to me being turned away and eternally damned.

i don't think i can fully grasp the concept of being damned to hell. when i was little i was scared of going there but for a majority of my life i've been in a state of spiritual decline and now that i'm catching up on everything again i feel like the time i spent not worrying about it is all pouring onto me now and it's so!! man!! so many things in scripture don't make sense to me and i hate that they don't make sense because if i want to be a believer, then i need to... like... BELIEVE, but it's so hard. i'm so jealous of people who are easily accepting of it because I WANT THAT i want that unwavering faith. i want that sense of security. i want to be able to believe that God loves and wants what's best for me but i don't and i hate it.

i liked to imagine that the things that bother me about the bible were added in by people wanting to corrupt it but if each translation basically gets at the same thing then i'm pretty sure i'm wrong about that. i try to dance around how a large part of myself is seen as immoral and an abomination to the religion i try to put my faith in but i keep encountering instances where it's hammered into my mind and i hate it so much. i hate that something so beautiful can be seen as wrong in the eyes of an all-loving god. i don't understand how god is all-loving when he's allowed so much pain and suffering to overtake the world and i don't understand why he can't just change things himself if he's the creator of everything. that's so blasphemous to say but that belief is so hard to go by with just your faith as your guide.

it makes me so upset to know that no matter how good of a person i try to be, it just isn't enough to gain salvation on my own. i love jesus as anyone else would but the notion of having to submit and obey a set of rules in order to have eternal life and not go through an eternity of suffering after i die makes me feel odd and i wish it didn't. it feels so constraining in a bad way and i wish it didn't!! i had to read an article a while ago about how god's love is supposed to feel constraining and i was like wow this is so sick and awesome what a cool way to put it but when i actually think about how i would apply that to my life it feels... CONSTRAINING OBVIOUSLY!! because so many of my interests and things that make me human are based around sin

i'm going out of my way to continue sinning and i probably won't stop anytime soon. it's so hard. i used to be so proud and happy in my attraction to women but now it feels like such a sensitive topic that i need to keep secret or else the people i know and admire in my personal life will judge and pity me. i'm so anxious about them finding my online presence and realizing how fucking weird i am because a handful of people i know in real life regard me very positively and i'm so terrified of having that image shattered.

i'm going to continue acknowledging that god loves me despite the things i surround myself with and indulge in. i feel so pathetic talking about this kind of thing because on one hand i don't want my religious friends to know because ermmm jazzy why are you rebelling against god knowingly?? not good not good. i hate the thought of being judged for this

#cw christianity #yeah #vent thingy

[dresden-syndrome]

Whumpers of the state:

1) How did you acquire your whumpee? How hard it was?

14) Your favorite torture method?

Whumpees (class IV):

8) How would you describe your whumper?

36) What does your whumper usually force you to do? Which of these things do you hate the most?

1) How did you acquire your whumpee? How hard it was?

14) Your favorite torture method?

" There's nothing complex in getting a class 4 traitor for personal use. If your position is high enough and you want to take a more... personal approach to breaking the enemy, you choose a subject, file a request and he's yours; he will be stated in the list of your State-supplied personal belongings along with your home, car and radio. And unlike a house or a radio, the State grants you the right to use him however you want. Those traitor boys can be obtained either at a facility using class 4 subjects or a class 4 detention unit - in that case you'll need to wait before the detention time ends. I've picked mine at detention; I needed exactly him so the wait was worth it." "Favorite method of torture? First, I appreciate your language, comrade. You don't seem like one of those humanists pitying the most vicious enemies of our socialist order; those have no place in State Security. Their barbaric actions are a torture to our peace and prosperity, torture is what they rightfully deserve. Ever since the old days of firing squads and bourgeoise vermin left from the past and battles for West Berlin, I've done my help at bringing the counter-revolution to my knees. One of my favorite ways was exactly that: bringing to their knees. Then lay them down and press my boot over their head. Step at them. Make them kiss it. They need to know for sure who's in power. They need to know their place." "Now I don't interrogate at our detention prison that much; I have my own pathetic traitor boy struggling to learn who he belongs to. Same method with him. He knows how our new military boots feel like, even when he acts like he doesn't. Wait there, comrade. I can bring him for you to see." -Erhardt Wilhelm Günther, Minister of State Security 28/X-1963.

8) How would you describe your whumper?

36) What does your whumper usually force you to do? Which of these things do you hate the most?

"Scumbag. War criminal scumbag. Look, if anyone, except our allies, saw what he's doing it's gonna be a new war crime trial for all Europe to see. Can't wait for that. Can't wait for that sicko tyrant in cuffs for crimes against humanity, like they did in Nuremberg back when I was in my momma's stroller. This fucking country needs it again, really. Look what he's done to me. It's so... I'm sick of it. Look at that dog collar, look at that fucking branding tag like on a cow... I'm trapped with him and everyone's fucking glad he's torturing me here. Honestly for now it's the worst, he's the worst..." "You know what he forces me to do? Ok, ok, I know I'm a piece of garbage, I'm helping those sadists and making them happier when I should fight for our people to be independent and make them free... No? Just because I'm forced to? You're kidding me. They wouldn't have anyone to fall on his knees and sitting on anyone's lap at parties if I wasn't there. Can I not tell what's the worst they've been doing to me please? Just beat me up for being a fucking collaborator if you want. Next time that sicko demands something - whatever, lay under the table, get on the knees, sit still when he pets and kisses me, wear those disgusting kiddie pants, talk in German, read "The State and Revolution" or something - I won't do that, I'll run, I'll bite if anyone touches me. It won't end well, I'll have to do that. But I need to try again. Maybe I'm a collaborator but not the easy one to break." -Class 4 subject SB-7067 (Radím Štušek) 28/X-1963.

#whump #whump community #whumpblr #historical whump #military whump #totalitarian whump #pet whump #whumpee #whumper #defiant whumpee #whump oc #whump ideas #captive whumpee #correspondence #whump ask

[danmei-confessions]

Adding my two cents as a survivor of multiple forms of abuse (including CSA): I *really hate* how this fandom acts about abuse narratives-- demonizing one abuse survivor vs another, when in reality both of them have done fucked up things as a result of their trauma (it's what makes both LBG and SJ so compelling to me personally!!). I *especially* hate how people seem to basically "tier" abuse, with SA being the "worst trauma" over any other kind and acting as though SJ is more worthy of... pity? idk because of implied CSA (which... that in itself is fanon and up for interpretation... I personally think so, but in a somewhat different way than the usual interpretation but that isn't important) than LBG is... that might not be peoples' intent, but physical vs sexual abuse shouldn't be a "this is worse than that" sort of thing since different traumas affect different people differently, and it's really really uncomfortable to see people make that kind of assumption and talk about very real traumas that very real people face the way they do.

Anyway, I feel like a lot of the debates are due to piss-poor reading comprehension across the fandom. People point out that SJ abused LBH because *a lot of times people will actually act like he didn't.* Things like saying there was medicine in the tea, or that he didn't know/approve of the fake manual... even claims that "that was just the way things were and corporal punishment was normal." Which... is pretty gross tbh.

I like SJ's character as a person who was hurt who then turned around and took that out on others. He's one of my favorite characters because he shows that less inspiration-porn, poor-meow-meow side of a trauma survivor. It's realistic in a very gritty, bitter sort of way. That shit can fuck people up! I relate to him for so many reasons, but that doesn't mean I'm going to deny what he ended up doing by his own agency later. The cycle of abuse is a real danger, and SVSSS actually portrays that really well, which is why I like the book so much!

Idk. SJ stans claim they "don't excuse his abuse" but that's absolutely not true bc I've had people come on my posts and fics doing just that. It's like they miss the point of the character-- not completely scum, but both scum and pitiful... Some people seem to go too far in the defense.

Also, if you're someone who doesn't deny that SJ abused LBH, then *this isn't about you.* It's about the people who do. People in this fandom need to realize that both SJ and LBG are abusers, and that that's the POINT OF THE WHOLE THING, and that neither of them should be excused for it!! But the source of it should still be recognized in both cases!! And I feel that a lot of people don't like to admit that SJ, despite his trauma, *was* the cause of a lot of LBH's trauma. And me saying this ABSOLUTELY DOES NOT ERASE HIS OWN TRAUMA OMG but like... those SJ fans are already well aware of SJ's trauma and LBH's crimes so it doesn't really need to be mentioned??

LBG and SJ were BOTH TRAUMA SURVIVORS. Neither "Worse" than the other because uhhh clearly they were both incredibly traumatized because of the way they ended up turning out. Stop ranking trauma, that's disgusting.

But BOTH OF THEM WERE ALSO ABUSERS.

That. Is. The. POINT. OF. THEIR. STORY!!!!

This is at ANYONE who denies either the victim or the abuser status of either of these characters: fucking stop it. You might not like to hear it, but no matter how traumatized SJ was, the way he treated LBH was still abusive and if you excuse him for it then you're participating in abuse apologism. The same goes for LBG (and any other character whose actions are abusive).

I know we get attached to our favorite characters for various reasons, but when it actually starts veering into abuse apologism IN ANY FORM, that makes me feel really sick and uncomfortable with the way people talk about things that *actually happen to people irl.*

SVSSS fandom, you need to fucking stop.

.

#danmei confessions #svsss #shen jiu #luo bingge #discourse #salty pickle jar

[qa-senpai]

[You comfort Scaramouche] 🫶🏻

Warnings: Mention of toxic behavior, stressful day, self loath, comfort, Fluff.

Character: Scaramouche/Kunikuzushi-(soft¡Dom) x Reader(Y/N)

Note: I'm still learning to write better, so I'm very sorry if this isn't in character or maybe not as you hoped for.

"what the hell are you sayin-" his expression change completely after seeing you like this. moments ago who had been grinning with ego, now only pitiful spreads around his face. He hate to see you like this but he can't seem to find a word to express how he's feeling.

"I'M DONE! I'm so sick and tired! Trying to put everything on the line and always try to be perfect around other people! Especially you!" You snapped at him, leaving him speechless.

"I tried so hard and yet here you're always keeping your ego above your feelings! What about me? Don't you think you're being too cruel...?" Tears began to fall down on your face. Your tone become more and more low, it sounded more like a whimper. Trying to not make a sound but you just can't. You had enough with his shit, always blaming you, always want you to behave like a good doll and never break any of his rules while he just didn't even get to manage his schedule for you and leave you all alone in the house for almost a week without any news about him. You were planning on going to the fatui to see him, telling him how much you missed him and needed his affection but this? This is all you get from him. "Like I told you I came here because I missed you!... You never even!-" before you could finish your sentence he started to move forward towards your direction, "Y/N i-im...sorry i-"

Your eyes widen and quickly began to shield yourself from him by covering yourself with your hand. "G-get away from me! Don't come anymore close!" He stopped his movements, seeing you trembling and the thought of you hate him from now on, made his heart shattered to pieces. Did he really break you till you acted this way to him? Did he really been treating you badly all this time, thinking he hasn't done anything wrong but now...

You had enough as you wiped the tears from your eyes and glared at him with disappointment. You plan on leaving as you made your way through the door. "Seems like a scum like me must be getting in a way of your work. then I shall leave before I waste anymore of your time." As you were about to leave you heard shouts and fear in his voice. He soon grab your clothes and now is kneeling infront of you with tears and terror in his eyes. "P-Please! I-im sorry! P-Please I'm begging you! I know, I'm nowhere in the position of hoping for you to forgive me after the way I treated you. I always thought of keeping you on my sight, keeping my distance was the right thing to keep you protected but now I see I was wrong. So please...!...hic...P-p...p-please... don't leave me...!" His voice was rusty. The state of him remind you of how Kunikuzushi, his old self. Surely he did hurt you but you can't be mad at him too long. You began to soften and kneel down infront of him as you hugged him. " Shh, there, there. I won't go anywhere. So please stop crying."

His hands were shaking against you, his breathing was heavy. Tears keeping falling down. "do you hate me...?"

"what? No! Kuni... Listen... I may sometimes can be mad at you but I could never hate you. I love you to much but please... Next time don't let your ego get the way of your feelings for you, even for me." He only nod and began to rest his head against your chest, eyes closed. You soon felt his body was getting warmer, you began to put your hand on his forehead and that's when you know he had a fever. Your eyes widen. 'Shit! No wonder he..'

(⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

Soon he began to open his eyes as he found himself resting on a bed. He quickly sit up as he look around.

"c-calm down, we're in our bedroom. I carried you here while you were unconscious."

He look at you finding you just got here while you were holding a soup in your hands.

"I..! Ugh... I'm sorry I caused you trouble and now this... "

"hey! don't say that. We look at each other so please don't sweat it!" You smiled sweetly to him began to move the spoon forward to his lips.

"want me to feed you?" His face was red by your words, he look away and took the spoon from your hand.

"I can eat by myself." (//////)

You roll your eyes and give him the soup bowl. "Same old scara." He glare at you and just continue eating.

"so Kuni, I want to ask you a question. Were you hiding your fever from me?"

"hah?"

"is that the reason why you didn't give me any news this week and forbidden me to see you?" Your face went dark as he sweat. He ignore your question, pretend he didn't hear anything from you as you cross your arms. "As expected. You always wanted to look tough even at your limits. I wish you could just be honest with me. If you just tell me, I wouldn't judge you as others Kuni."

"..."

#genshin scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x female reader #scaramouche headcanons #scaramouche #scaramouche headcanon #scaramouche smut #scaranation #kunikuzushi x reader #kunikuzushi x y/n #kunikuzushi #scaramouche x s/o #scaramouche x y/n #Spotify

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

august 17, 2021 1:30 a.m. paradise hotel

[grant] it drove päivi insane and i just try to be considerate. like i've been dealing with this for years, but i'm very well aware it's not pleasant that i wake up sometimes because i'm pain and that when i do, i get up out of bed for a bit so i don't end up so stiff that i can't stand up at all in the morning.

[henry] shit, i didn't think about that. i'm sorry.

[grant] why are you apologizing? you didn't do anything wrong.

[henry] i don't know. because i feel great 24/7 and i'm privileged enough to forget that others don't?

[grant] well, that's not really your fault. it's not like i'm good at acknowledging being chronically ill in any overly serious way. honestly, it's just easier when people forget anyway!

[grant] talking about it is never not a little bit awkward.

[henry] yeah, i wasn't aware it was bad enough to interrupt your sleep.

[henry] i knew it was bad, you know? bad enough some doctor finally cared to figure out the mystery suffering and that it need surgical intervention, and i remember the exact day something first changed in you when we were kids, but that's about the end of my awareness.

[henry] man, you are also a chronic hider of information.

[grant] that's me! your hopefully favorite secret-keeper.

[grant] i don't mean to, like, keep you in the dark about this. it's not personal. especially not these days. i'm trying my best to be open. it's just...it's just awkward.

[grant] i've had enough bad responses to being sick in my lifetime that i just feel inclined to never mention it, you know?

[grant] have you tried yoga? have you tried CBD and essential oils? but you're young and look fine, you can't be sick, you're making this up! have you tried religion and cutting out all the ingredients like gluten and sugar that make food actually fun to consume? no, no, those things are poisoning you - haven't you read that gut health is the #1 cause of autoimmune disease? it's definitely not chronic stress plus your long family history of busted immune systems! check out this carnivore diet website, you totally won't get fatal heart disease from all that red meat and butter instead, bud!

[grant] or i get pity. or assumptions of what i can or cannot do.

[grant] you want to bash your head against the wall after a while. no one really gets it but they think they do.

[grant] not that you've ever done those things! or that i think you would! or that i think you don't get it! sorry, that was a lot. it just came out all at once. i think i have some insane pent up rage about this whole thing. but no, really, you're the same as my family; they don't respond badly either. i just, well, you know. again, forgetting unless it's relevant is probably preferable. i like it that way.

[grant] i don't want the awkwardness. or anyone to worry about me.

[henry] i wish you weren't afraid of telling me about all this.

[henry] you know everything about me. even the not very good parts. you're one of the only people i talk about having depression with and that's excruciating to bring up. people don't respond well to that either. maybe not with pity or assumptions but definitely obnoxious suggestions. sunshine and exercise do not fix me. lexapro and therapy sessions kind of.

[grant] and i'm glad you do! i do personally understand mental health issues, but even if i didn't, still, i'm glad you feel safe opening up to me about it. and i always want you to. and i'm always thinking about you and hoping you're doing well enough and if i can do anything–

[henry] oh, grant. you scramble my brains sometimes. that self-hating demon is still trapped inside you.

#ts4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 #sims 4 story #sims 4 storytelling #simblr #hlcn: everything the stars promised #I PROMISE THEY'RE NOT ARGUING THEY ARE REALLY JUST CHILLING AND WATCHING TV #but it kind of reads like an argument jfdksjfkds they just have very different styles of communicating #like that one line from another post 'grant selectively speaks his mind and henry rarely minces words' #holocene.docx #holocene.png #hlcn: grant #hlcn: henry

[noirvette]

WE NEVER EXISTED

[band smau]

[TEN - EXTRA]

masterlist.

prev. main part | next. main part

Note: Song used for Cartman's phone call is Sk8 Head by City Morgue

Eric Cartman was a character of greed, of manipulation, of exploiting those he believed inferior to him. Unfortunately for everyone else, Eric Cartman believed EVERYONE to be inferior.

He did not care for ethics nor did he care about morals, if a friend of his needed help he wouldn't even bat an eye in their general direction. Cartman was a firm believer in that everything happens for a reason. As stupid as that may sound, it's why Cartman got into the show business, into the world of entertainment, of fame.

It's why he created the podcast with his on and off again girlfriend, Heidi Turner. He wanted to cause karma. He wanted to show the world that when he exposes people for the whole internet to see, it's because they deserved it. Sure, he likes hating on people and sure he likes shit talking about people he knows, but all in all, for Cartman, his podcast is a way to bring shitty people down a notch, to show the world, "Hey, your favorite, is problematic." Why? It creates fame, it gives Cartman status.

And there is nothing more in the world that Cartman loves more that status.

It isn't rare for Cartman to get dms or business emails from people, influencers, fans, the works, trying to give him some gossip about their lives and who to expose next. What he doesn't often get? Phone calls.

For the past half hour, Cartman has received 14 missed calls and 3 voice messages from an unknown number claiming to have some of the world's most gossipiest information. Part of him would like to listen to the voicemails, but the voice changer that obviously masks the actual pitiful voice of the caller gives Cartman major cringe vibes.

"Who cares who you with? Are you scared? You scared! Who car--" Cartman groans and presses the end call for the umpteenth time that night, "Jesus fuck, give it a rest already, if I ain't answerin' then it's for a god damn good reason."

"Hmm..maybe you should answer it? Or at the very least just block it, Eric." Heidi hums out, spinning back and forth in her chair.

"I like the attention," Cartman answers back simply, Heidi scoffs at that with a "Of course you do."

"Just, all I'm saying is give the phone call a shot! You really never know if it's something good or not, and hey, if it turns out to be worthless information, you can at least slander the phone caller next podcast episode!" Heidi inwardly cringes at the idea she gave Cartman, but in her defense, she's sick and tired of hearing Cartman's phone ring for the hundreth time that night.

Cartman thinks for a moment, before turning around to face Heidi, "Heidi, I love you so much. You're right, I could just slander them next podcast! And expose their phone number if their information is worthless!"

Heidi offers a tight lipped awkward smile before working more on some details for the next podcast episode.

Cartman puts his feet up, now eager for the next phone call to come in, "Any minute now." Cartman thinks.

As soon as the thought leaves his mind, sure enough his phone starts ringing, "Hello?" Cartman picks up the phone and answers.

"Eric Cartman. You just now decide to pick up?" The changed voice questions.

"Hey! I'm a very busy man, do you know how many fake phone calls I get? I had to make sure you had some legit information, run a little test. You passed, of course." Cartman sneers out and Heidi glances up at him in fake amusement.

"I have a test of my own for you, Eric."

"Don't call me that--"

"The test is simple, answer a few questions, and you get your information." The voice on the phone sings out.

"The fuck? What kind of bullshit is this?"

Instead of responding to Cartman's last sentence, the man continues on, "How important are your friends?"

"What?"

"How. Important. Are. Your. Friends. Eric Cartman."

"Dude what the fuck? Are you some psycho? Like are you the next Ghostface? The fuck is this?" Cartman asks, bewildered. At this point Heidi has stopped working on her scripts and details and is fully engrossed into the one sided conversation she hears Cartman having on the phone.

"Answer, Eric."

"Jesus christ, I said not to call me that.." Cartman sighs heavily, "I guess they're somewhat important, I mean compared to other things they might not be but--"

"What about comparing them to your podcast?" The voice cuts him off.

"Okay, you're acting like a dick, do NOT cut me off dude. I don't care how juicy this information is, you're acting like a dick. SECOND, in comparison to that, whatever gets me the most views is what's important to me, so how does my friends fit into THAT, huh?" Cartman spits out venomously.

Silence takes over the phone call.

Cartman is about to hang up when he hears a faint, "You passed. Expect an email soon." And the phone is hung up.

TAGLIST: @captivq @kimiesstuff @bwljules @the-cooler-kira @1one1person1 @kenny-the-ken @neenieweenie @n0tangeliccc @revzxn @mirophobic @gonefiishiing @musiclovebot @bootsieboo @bonez4brainz @4xbei77 @1996kj @sweetadonisbutbetter @scinclaitnoir @okarigold

#we never existed series #kyle broflovski x reader #south park x reader #kenny mccormick x reader

[deusexmachinawitch]

How I revised my abusive mother

[TW: Child abuse, eating disorders]

I recently began my Law of Assumption journey, to be precise, maybe around a month ago when something really hard hit me and I was looking for a sense of direction besides witchcraft.

From there on, I manifested many things but I wasn't expecting to end up revising my mother of all people.

For a context, I'm the oldest child in my family with only a younger brother. Before my brother's birth, I was the apple of my mother's eye and we had a really good relationship with each other even if there wasn't any father in the picture since the relationship between my parents was really strange. While I was mostly by myself as a child, knowing that my Mom was fighting for me every day was enough. I took care of the house, learned how to cook at a very young age and kept my grades pretty well. But as soon as my younger brother was born, things began to shift.

In many Asian countries, having a son is like the best thing that could happen to you. My Mom was no exception to this and began doting on my brother in a ridiculous amount. I didn't feel jealous about it but I admit that I did feel bitterness because I was pushed to parent my younger brother and treat him like gold while my Mom worked. Still, then again, my brother was younger than me and was born sickly but eventually recovered. I worked on my issues by myself and just thought that I had to do the right thing because my brother was not at fault for my Mom's behavior.

Still, as years passed, many things happened. Because my Mom received a lot of attention when my brother was sick, she began lacing my food with rotten food to make me sick and get sympathy and even at one point she went "doctor shopping" to try to make me diagnosed with things I didn't have to get sympathy and feel like she was a good mother by taking care of me. Things escalated with the years to physical and verbal abuse, my food was rationed because she didn't want to have "a fat child" and I was the target of this behavior for years until I left.

She got diagnosed later with BPD and schizophrenia and our relationship was pretty much strained because every time I had any conversation with her ended up with insults or fights. I didn't hate her though, I just saw her as a pitiful woman with an obsession with her son. My brother did a lot of bad things and even took advantage of her mental illness to steal money from her or other things I don't want to mention. Still, my Mom enabled him so much that he was out of control. My Mom allowed him to do whatever as long he was studying to get a diploma because that's how many Asian parents are obsessed with education.

When I started LoA, I was expecting to get some things and I was happy that my self-concept was getting better. One of the things I did was to do a list of the things I wanted to manifest and one was a nice shiny tarot deck that I really liked (I use a list method, I'll mention it in another post). Then, I decided to revise all of the people that hurt me, one of them was my Mom. I thought... What could go wrong? If she changes, it would be a miracle.

And like 48 hours after I did the list with the tarot deck and revised my Mom, my Mom contacted me and she was behaving like a normal person. She wasn't angry or harassing me like she always did. She asked how my health was doing and such. Then she told me that she got her dream come true, that she was going to move out from the bad area she was in and moving to an apartment in front of the beach. She also mentioned me that she kicked out my brother from her house because apparently he was lying about going to university when in reality he wasn't and leeching from my Mom. She also said that a cousin of hers was moving next to her to help her with remembering taking her medication and that she was really happy and wanting to have a fresh start.

But the freakiest thing was that my Mom said that she dreamed about gifting me a tarot deck because she remembered how much I loved Cardcaptor Sakura as a child and she loved how I played with my toy cards like I was doing a future reading to her as a child and she wanted to gift me a tarot deck to do readings for her. I showed her the deck I wanted, said it was beautiful and that she was going to buy it for me in her next paycheck.

One of the things I revised was for her to get into her old hobbies before she had my brother like writing and she told me that she was going to get back to writing and other things like gardening and such, things that made her relax a lot.

Since that happened, I talk to my Mom every single day and she has been a lovely person to be around. She doesn't cuss or come up as angry anymore. I came into LoA without expecting much change but this one was really a pleasant surprise. I am so happy to have come across LoA and I'm glad I revised my Mom even if I didn't persist much on it, just said things inside like "I miss my old Mom, it would be nice to have her again" and things like that.

Never think that something is impossible, to me this was the most impossible thing to happen and it happened. I'll continue persisting and affirming how good my Mom is to keep her this way.

I'm so grateful right now.

#success story #law of assumption #loassumption #neville goddard #loa success #manifestation #loa tumblr