#Sleep deprivation tw

[adrift-in-thyme]

Febuwhump Day 6: Forced to Stay Awake (Time)

I spent entirely too long trying to get through the master trials in botw and this was the result

Read on Ao3

CW for hallucinations, sleep deprivation, broken bones, blood and injury

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Two thousand and one. Two thousand and two. Two thousand and three. Two thousand and four…

One by one, the seconds slide by. Time counts them out as his blade carves through monsters by the hundreds, blood pounding in his ears, in his head; faltering feet chasing escape, chasing slumber. He watches them gather and multiply, disperse into minutes and hours and days.

…a week.

One week spent trapped in this space of glancing shadows and leering eyes. One week spent resisting the urge to fall down on aching knees and beg whoever may be listening that just once he be allowed to sleep. One week spent slicing at the same monsters, defeating the same enemies.

Over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

Again, his sword slashes into the soft meat of a moblin’s shoulder. Again, he leaps out of reach of a stalfos’ swinging blades.

Again, he raises his face to the sky and screams.

“Have I not completed the challenge yet?”

Blood runs hot and fast down his side. Pain splinters through his every part. His steps are stumbling. His armor is a weight he can hardly bear to carry, his blade even more so. His head pounds to the beat of his heart. 

Ten levels. One cascading after another in an endless plummet. A nightmare where he loses his grip on the edge of a cliff and falls. 

He has completed them all. And those before them. And those before that. 

How many has it been now?

His mind may be cursed with attention to every hour and minute and second that passes him by. But to add up the countless floors he has eradicated of beasts…that’s something it will not abide.

He stumbles sideways, catches himself on the wall. His eye is so dry he fears he won’t be able to see out of it much longer. His voice is a gravelly, strained thing. It does not sound like his own.

“Is my performance still not fit to allow my release?”

Laughter fills his ears, echoes in his head. A voice rings out.

“You have done well, hero. You have cleared these tasks. Prepare yourself for the next set.”

It is the same taunting tones he has heard for one week, six days, three hours, seven minutes, and nine seconds.

The same that wrapped him in this terrible embrace and has yet to see fit to allow him out. 

A challenge it had claimed this to be, in a voice silken with deception. A test necessary to allow the nine heroes who had been dumped so unceremoniously into the dungeon…to leave. 

“Only one may enter,” it had crooned, echoing about the cavernous space they stood within. “Only one may attempt the battles fought without slumber. But once they have completed all our provided tasks, then every one of you will be given leave to exit this place.”

Time had volunteered before anyone else could. And though they had shouted that they would take his place, though their glances had seared into his back as he stepped forward to meet his fate, he had not cared.

Watching his descendant plummet towards the icy grip of death was enough – is enough. Twilight had risen from that bed alive and well. A part of Time had died that night, all the same. 

He can endure suffering beyond all comparison. But to sit by and watch his boys go to a terrible fate? That is something he lacks the strength to do.

Perhaps, it was a selfish decision, he thinks now as the ground caves beneath his feet and he falls, falls to the depths of this maze of soft and hazy gray; where beady eyes await him and clawed fingers snatch and slumber endlessly escapes his desperate grasp. 

Perhaps, he has doomed his fellow heroes to a far more terrible fate than he. But the dungeon had already proven itself strange long before they had reached that final room. The walls themselves had seemed cunning, the ground conniving, the building…

Cruel. 

Blood had splattered too many of the wizened floorboards. Too many corners harbored piles of guts and bone. Too many corridors whispered of horrors unimaginable. 

The stench of it had crawled beneath his skin like a creeping skulltula, unsettled him almost as much as the Shadow Temple so long ago. Maybe even more. 

So, truly, there had never been a question. Whether self-centered or virtuous, the choice was always him.

He had gone forth with that cursed voice applauding his courage and his brothers demanding that he fight with every ounce of strength he possessed.

Time had walked forward with a promise that he would come back.

Now, however, he is growing unsure that that was ever an option in the first place.

He is accustomed to remaining awake for periods of time longer than are likely healthy. He knows the gradual descent into madness better than he knows his own soul. 

But that does not make this any easier. 

Redeads and gibdos and wallmasters creep through this room. He plummets into the midst of them, scrambles upward as they rear back, readying to let loose a cacophony of screams. 

From the last dregs of magic within him, Time brings forth fire. He sends it soaring, ravenous and roaring, from the tip of his blade. 

Still, it is not enough. A wallmaster falls soundlessly from above. With harsh, bony claws it grasps him, lifts him as high as it is allowed to fly. There isn’t time to grasp in his pouch for something to use against it. Fast as lightning, it reels back and hurls him against the far wall.

Bones crack. Blood fills his mouth. He hits the ground with stars in his vision and beyond that, darkness.

He will not be allowed to give into it. He knows that with a certainty that strikes through to his very soul. 

So, Time shoves himself up and slaps a mask onto his face. Dizzy and weightless, feverish and heavy, he stumbles forward. Dragging his right foot behind him, he notches an arrow in his bow and aims for the beasts that can no longer see him.

…

One week becomes two. Two becomes three.

Still, the ground caves beneath him. Still, he stumbles, lurching drunkenly, through crowds of beasts who seek his demise. 

His attacks grow weaker, more desperate. There are no strategies now, no tactics. Mistakes compound one upon another, each more excruciating than the last. 

His wounds multiply. He drags himself more than walks. Sometimes, he is forced to crawl. Shattered bones shift nauseatingly with every movement. Bruises ache. Gashes weep. Blood is everywhere. He tastes it, smells it, feels it caked and clinging to his flesh. 

The echoes of screams fill his ears always. They cannot be his own. They sound too shrill, too desperate, too much like a plea. 

His surroundings are indistinct, smeared like ink blots on paper. Light bursts randomly at the edges of his vision. He sees people sometimes — Twilight fighting beside him; Warriors reaching to catch him as he falls; Malon shouting his name, racing towards him as weapons and flame, lightning and ice, toss him about. A puppet jerking on taut strings. 

He tries to speak to them, tries to touch them. Yet, they dissipate, early morning fog beneath the assault of the sun’s burning light. 

He begs, then. He rages at the sky he cannot see. Screams requests that will never be met. 

A trap. That is what this place is. A prison. He can no longer recall entering it, or when he did, or why. Reason has left him. The clock ticking endlessly within him has ground to a halt. 

Sanity slips through trembling fingers slick with crimson. He laughs to see it go.

“It was only a matter of time,” he murmurs to Navi. “I have always been doomed. Perhaps now, like you, I will simply disappear.”

(He is deprived of that method of flight. He remains. But she does not. She disappears without a sound.)

To lament so long…

What a terrible fate. 

Time fetches his ocarina. He brings it to his lips. He plays and plays and plays.

The day does not restart. The sun does not come out. Time neither slows nor speeds up.

“It is hopeless,” he tells Twilight. The sobs come then, haggard and choked and manic. “I’m sorry. I cannot save you all.”

His pup looks at him sorrowfully. He says nothing. He leaves Time behind. 

Time crumples and waits for the end.

The moon will fall, though it is invisible. Clock Town dances with the fervor of madmen, though the music does not reach his ringing ears. Flames fill his vision and he does not feel their heat.

And when he plummets again, when he hits a bed of water and ice…he does not feel it either. Not truly. For, to him the burn in his lungs is the heat of a fiery moon, the sensation of suffocation that of the guilt holding his chest in a vice. 

To him, the terrified shouts of familiar voices are the dying wails of loved ones he has failed.

[gamegem92]

Hana: If you don’t sleep, how will you function?

Cula: I run on three fuels: spite, anxiety, and of course, tomato juice.

[avastar-thelastfirebender]

[REBLOGS > LIKES]

I really, really REALLY wanted to put this scenario down on paper for a while.

Character Warnings: Timekeeper Cookie, Roguefort Cookie (Pursuit of Lost Time)

TW: Early Stages of memory loss, gaslighting(?) and manipulation, severe sleep deprivation, nightmares

Other notes: In my fanon, Cinnamon is Roguefort's little brother. Remember this. (Also it's literally 1 AM so no beta we die like goombas)

It wasn't often that Roguefort would remain awake for days on end for anything but a heist. Well, this was a heist, just not one for gems. No, no, the target this time...it was far more precious.

"You're twitching. Perhaps you should get some rest." Timekeeper's voice snapped Roguefort out of their thoughts. Truth be told, Roguefort hadn't slept in days, weeks...actually...what day was it? Something that started with an F? It didn't matter.

"I don't think I've ever recalled you caring for my wellbeing." Rogueforf wouldn't make eye contact. Something in the back of their mind was telling them not to, but they just couldn't place their finger on why, exactly.

"Your moms weren't the ones who said they could help you find the watch, were they?" Timekeeper's tone had an edge of sugary malice to it as she continued to operate the aircraft. She didn't even need to look to know that Roguefort had flinched at the mention of their mothers.

"You and I both know damn well why they didn't." Usually, Roguefort would've done everything in their power to hode their anger. But a lack of sleep, grief, timeline jumping, and a misguided attempt at closure (for lack of a better term) all did a number on their mind. "You said yourself that I'd be able to fix the family if I went with you, so don't even go there."

"I did say that, didn't I? I'm sure Cinnamon is in total agreement with your decision. After all, he looked up to you the most, so I bet he trusted you to make the right choice."

Okay, that was the last straw.

"You know what? I'm going to bed." Roguefort sounded angrier than they woumd've liked, but at the same time they sounded exasperated. Understandably so.

"Yes, yes, goodnight to you, too." Timekeeper feigned a yawn as she heard Roguefort storm off in annoyance. And as such, they would totally miss the little smirk growing on her face as they left.

Roguefort wasn't sure how an entire guest room could fit in an aircraft, but they had learned to not question Timekeeper's bs a while ago. They wouldn't feel themself flopping down on the mattress, they wouldn't feel their eyes closing. All they'd be able to hear before drifting off was the sound of their own voice humming Für Elise. They knew it made Cinnamon happy...they just wished they could remember why...

~

When Roguefort opened their eyes, they were in a dark, empty void. It wasn't cool or echo-y like voids in sci-fi movies, just one where Roguefort was truly alone.

That was when their eyes landed on Cinnamon.

"Cinnamon...hermanito....is that really you?" Roguefort's voice was shaky with tears and desperation, but Cinnamon wouldn't say a word, only continuing to stare at his big brother.

"Cinnamon...it's me!" Roguefort was met with more silence.

"Hermanito...please..." Silence. The silence made Roguefort feel something they couldn't describe. They just knew they didn't like it.

"Cinnamon...Cinnamon, come on! S-Say something, damn it!" But Cinnamon wouldn't say a word.

"CINNAMON!"

~

Roguefort sat up in the bed with the speed of a rocket, breathing heabily as they tried to regain their bearings. They had definitely had nightmares in the past, but this one felt different. Roguefort sighed, knowing there was no way in hell they'd be able to go back to sleep now. With a sigh, they left the guest room and returned to the main control panel, unsurprised to see Timekeeper still there.

"I thought you were going to bed?"

Roguefort hesitated.

"I'm not tired." They sat in the passenger side of the control panel, seeming determined and bored at the same time.

"We need to find that damn watch."

[all-the-gory-details]

Whumptober Day 11/12

Animal Trap / Captivity / “No one will find you.”

Red / Insomnia / “I’m up, I’m up!”

Sorry, life has been shitty, combining these two days cause I couldn't bring myself to write last night.

TW: Non-con touch (Not sexual), stress position, sleep deprivation, blood, broken nose, restraints, torture

Georgia sat curled up in the corner, trying not to think. Casey still hadn’t come back from his ‘client’, and she couldn’t help being worried about him. She hardly knew him, but it didn’t matter. He was kind to her, and that was enough at the moment.

It didn’t help that Felix was pacing the room, back and forth at a slow pace, fists and jaw clenched tightly. Georgia had a feeling that if they were acting nervous, there was reason to worry.

When the door opened again, both heads snapped up, anxious to see Casey and his condition, but when Alexei walked in, he was alone.

He smiled at the way Felix froze, tense like a spring forced to stay coiled, and at Georgia’s wide eyed, deer-in-the-headlights stare. Whatever had been causing his bad mood earlier, it was gone.

There was nothing but delight and curiosity in his face when he walked over to Georgia, crouching in front of her. He reached out to brush a strand of hair out of her face, but she flinched back, hands flying up to her chest in an attempt at protection.

“Ah ah ah,” Alexei chided, “stay still.”

When he grabbed her chin and forced her to look him in the face, she couldn’t help pulling away.

Alexei sighed. “Still so much work ahead of us,” he remarked, shaking his head. “Don’t you worry, though, we’ll get started today.”

Without another word, he grabbed Georgia’s forearm and pulled her to her feet, before grabbing her by the shoulders and steering her towards the door.

Felix stayed frozen in the middle of the room, as much as they wanted to protect Georgia. Finally, when the pair had reached the door, they took a step toward Alexei. “W-wait, don’t do th-”

“Shut your mouth,” Alexei ordered. He paused, not bothering to turn around. “Another word, and things will be much worse for your new friend.”

Felix took in a deep breath and let it out, slowly. They didn’t say anything else.

“Come on, darling,” Alexei said with a smile, once he was sure of Felix’s obedience. “Let’s get started on your training, shall we?”

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Georgia wasn’t sure how long it had been. Hours, definitely. Days, improbable. But maybe.

It felt like days. Alexei hadn’t come to visit since he had chained her wrists behind her back and to the floor. Since he gave the order.

No sleeping, love, he had said. Don’t fall asleep.

She hadn’t slept well the night before, and the room was dark, and she couldn’t keep… her eyes… open… any longer.

She opened her eyes to a sharp pain in her stomach, right below her ribs. “I’m up!” she gasped, vision blurry and heart pounding.

Alexei was standing a foot away from her, smiling, as usual. “You are now. The problem is that you were asleep a moment ago. And I told you to stay awake.”

Georgia didnt know what to say to this, so she said nothing at all.

Alexei disconnected her handcuffs from the ground and stepped back. “On your knees, Georgie. Now.”

Her heart was pounding as she slowly pushed herself to her knees in front of Alexei. She didn’t know what was happening, only that it wasn’t good, it was really really not good-

Alexei bent down in a moment, grabbing her by her hair and, before she could even register what was happening, slammed her face into the stone floor.

Her nose exploded with pain, blowing up like a balloon animal. A red one. There was red everywhere, on the floor, on her face, in her mouth. Red tasted like copper and salt and pain, and she spit but it would not leave.

Alexei pulled her up by her hair, and she could hardly see through all the red.

His words were warbled by the blood pumping through her ears. She heard comfortable. And disobedient. And sleep.

Sleep sounded wonderful. A soft pillow to match the painful one sitting in her head, a nice dark room with no lights to hurt her eyes, and deep, comfortable oblivion.

When Alexei hooked the cable to her wrists and adjusted the length, Georgia was forced out of her daydreaming as her arms were pulled back and up and tight, forcing her to stand, to bend over, anything to lessen the pressure in her shoulders.

Alexei smiled at his handiwork for a moment before leaving and locking the door behind him.

And Georgia was left alone to bleed, to cry, to tremble with exertion and exhaustion.

Anything but sleep.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

Whumptober Day 2: Insomnia and Crying to Sleep.

Canon compliant. In exile, Tommy's insomnia is bad enough to the point he’s severely sleep deprived. Initially angry at Tommy's inability to do much, Dream softens when Tommy starts crying. Warnings for sleep deprivation, delusions and hallucinations (both from insomnia and a long lasting psychotic disorder), religious delusions/hallucinations, religious guilt, some graphic (hallucinated) violence, abuse, self hatred, self victim blaming, and some internalised ableism.

ao3 link

—— The sun rose from outside the Tnret, painfully bright even with the canvas dulling the overwhelming light. Birds chirped a cheerful warning, a cue that Dream would arrive soon.

Dream, who would blow up everything Tommy had made the past day. Dream, who’d expect him to put in the hard effort to get it back and would, undoubtedly, punish him for failure.

Tommy wasn’t being lazy- that wasn’t the issue. If he was being a fucking leech, Dream would have every right to beat him half to death and tell him how much of a fuck-up and a failure he was, who no one would ever tolerate. And Tommy had accepted the truth now- that he was such a horrible brat that even Tubbo hated him, and Dream, saintly as he was, was the only person who’d ever want to be his friend ever again if he didn’t shape up.

No, Tommy wasn’t being a self-pitying, obnoxious nuisance. The thing was, he hadn’t slept properly in a week. He’d had a handful of minutes, a blissful hour, maybe, of course. You couldn’t stay up that long without a few grasps at unconsciousness without dying, and the universe wasn’t merciful enough to allow Tommy that. And he’d- he’d tried so hard to be good despite seeing shit and feeling like he was gonna vomit and his head being all hurty as fuck. He did everything Dream said like a good kid would.

But he’d just crashed completely once Dream had gone last night. Woozily, he’d managed to limp back to his bed before collapsing straight onto the floor, but after that, he just… couldn’t move an inch. The bed suffocated him, but when he closed his eyes to sleep, he felt phantom hands nipping at his skin, heard voices indistinguishable but loud, saw colours dancing in front of him with such a bright intensity he couldn’t keep his eyes shut. What little sleep he’d been able to snatch from Life’s cruel grasp had been awoken by horrific visages, loud screams that came from nowhere, agony like a sword through the chest.

And it wasn’t like he wasn’t used to seeing shit. It was normal, he reckoned- he’d been dealing with it since he was little, and no one told him you weren’t meant to do it, so everyone must do it- and so it was his responsibility to deal with. But his exhausted state made it so hard to tell what was real and what wasn’t anymore.

Prime, he would be in so much trouble. He wasn’t sure of much, but that he was sure of. Dream would have his hide if he just flopped around all day and could barely recall his own fucking name.

He was barely even startled when he heard a “Tommy?”. Usually, he didn’t hear shit; that was fucking weird, but he’d started doing so about a day into his insomnia nightmare experience, and it was strange how quick you got used to that shit. He just buried his head deeper into the pillow, the scratchy, dried blood feeling like ants digging into his cheeks and through his bones. He could have sworn he heard them digging into him, too, puncturing flesh.

That was as real, and as fake, as the sound of Dream calling his name.

The canvas sliding open made a kaleidoscope of painfully bright colours cover Tommy’s vision: blue-yellow and pink-green, and other shades that didn’t exist. He groaned, the words straining against his throat- he couldn’t remember the last time he drank, and he felt like devils were poking at his tongue when he tried to make even the tiniest of noises. Dimly, he thought it might have been a punishment from the Gods, for not honouring the Primes enough.

The figure that entered he vaguely recognised as Dream, yet seemed more like a divine servant, sent to punish him for his sins, the way the light refracted on him leaving a halo, the air humming around him with the faintest sound of church bells. Tommy couldn’t help but stare, unable to focus on the words out of his mouth and instead on the shifting lights obscuring Dream’s mask from view. Like it was too sacred for Tommy to see, censored from a sinner’s eyes.

Prayers formed in Tommy’s throat, malformed and scratchy. The holy words came out distorted in his mouth, the energy it took to say them enough he couldn’t keep his eyes open. It took such an effort to try he didn’t even see the slap coming.

His cheek stung, as if impacted by holy flame, and Tommy yelped, his own voice sounding harsh and heretical. He could barely tell the location of the impact, his whole body aching, as he tried to listen. He was a good follower, and he’d do as Dream taught, or as much of it as he could remember through the confusing hazy fog of his mind.

“Tommy.” Dream’s voice was a low growl. “Are you trying to hide from me?”

Tommy took a slow blink, unsure of what Dream was even talking about. “I- I, the Primes, didn’t I pray? Did- was it wrong? What was the- what? I’m sorry.”

“Tommy, what the fuck are you talking about?” Dream shook his head, iridescent shine through his hair making him harder and harder to look at. “I- are you screwing around? Tommy, do you want a punishment?”

“I- it’s been, there’s been, it’s all been digging in, y’know?” Tommy could not communicate the depths of his damnation, and it became clear to him as he spoke that that was the cause. “I’m sorry, the light, the- the things in my skin and shit, it’s been- I haven’t prayed, haven’t slept, it’s been- are you here to send me away? I don’t…” He trailed off a frustrated huff, tears pricking at his eyes.

Tommy wasn’t sure if the noise following was an amused chuckle or the bells of the Primes. “Tommy, how much sleep have you gotten?”

“Um, like, two hours over the past week, I think? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have- I’m just so, I’m just so tired, I can’t even- I’m sorry, I’m-“Tommy cut himself off with a sob, one he wasn’t sure if it came from frustration, sadness, or fear. Maybe it was all of them. Maybe it was love.

“Well, then. No wonder you’re like this.” There was a softness to Dream’s voice like an aura of light, and being unworthy in that presence made Tommy cry harder, so confused and feeling sick with himself. “Aww, you don’t have to cry. You’re not in trouble for being unable to sleep or whatever. You should have just told me.”

A gentle hand ran through his hair, lifting him into sitting as the other wiped away his tears as much as possible- a fruitless task, since Tommy was still wailing, but wasn’t that what toiling for the Gods and the Primes was, really? The touch felt like it was draining Tommy’s sin away, taking away the weight that left him awake and leaving him floating in his own brain, finally able to sleep after the tears broke through.

As Tommy drifted off in the arms of the Primes, he vaguely heard a soft “I should do this more often, really.” The words only sounded like hymns in his head, a promise that his holy status had been restored and he was once again in the Primes light.

What was he without that, after all?

[strawbrryrush]

closed starter for jake & ben !! @nightwhispcrs

"imma be so real- I didn't hear a thing you said- but I also haven't slept for-.. what is it 72 hours now? -i am seeing things a man shouldn't be seeing-which was kind of fun at first- now it's scary.. "

[sinkfood]

a round and unthreatening face

[another-whump-sideblog]

do you think you can do 9 from the scared whumpee prompts for anyone? :3

I sure can! @whump-in-the-closet mentioned wanting to see more stuff with Ray, so I’m going to knock out two birds with one stone, but let me know if you want this prompt for one of out main trio and I’ll write that as well.😁

9) “No more. Please… just for today.”

Ray reminds themself over and over that this is for their sister’s sake. This is worth it. No matter how exhausting, how painful, how frustrating, it is worth it because their sister will survive and live a full life. They chose this. They agreed to this. This is worth it.

Orchard is not someone they would ever want to be a servant to under normal circumstances. At first, it wasn’t so bad. They’re familiar with cleaning and cooking and the other stuff Orchard has them do, and they’d found that once they’d gotten stuff down to muscle memory, it was meditative and relaxing so long as Orchard wasn’t around. They were even starting to get quick and efficient enough that they had free time to do other things, until Orchard noticed.

“We must find something else for you to work on.” She said. “Our deal didn’t include free time. You are to be my servant until the end of our agreement, and you will only be allowed breaks for essential functions of keeping you alive. It’s a waste of a deal, otherwise.”

Orchard had Ray rearrange her small library alphabetically by title. It was monotonous, but not so bad.

The next day, when Ray finished their assigned chores, she had them arrange the books by color.

The day after, Orchard had them organize the books by subject. This… is just busy work. Orchard just wants to make sure they don’t have any time to themself. Because that would be ‘a waste of a deal.’

When they finish, they start getting ready to go to bed, but Orchard interupts them. “I didn’t say you were done for the day. I changed my mind. I want the books in alphabetical order by author.”

“Yes, Orchard.”

It takes forever. Ray’s exhausted and their back hurts and their fingers ache. Still, there’s a small thrill of accomplishment when they finish and know they could finally get some sleep.

“Servant.” Orchard stops them before they even leave the library. “I liked it better when the books were ordered alphabetically by title. Fix it.”

It’s been too long since they last ate, and they can’t stop their hands from shaking. It feels nothing like when their hands shake from happiness.

They smile wide. “No more. Please… just for today. I have to sleep, I’ll be so slow and perform poorly without sleep.”

“Are you making excuses?”

“No, Orchard. I’m asking to be allowed to sleep, so that I can be a better servant to you.”

Orchard looks them up and down, eyes cold. “Once you finish reorganizing them, I want you to check every page of every book for rips or other damage.”

Ray’s vision blurs. This is for their sister. This is worth it. They chose this. This is for their sister’s sake, no matter how exhausting, how painful, how frustrating.

“Oh, and Servant? Don’t get any of your tears on the pages, or you’ll be punished.”

[sleep-0-deprived]

What would it be like yandere bully vs yandere jock fighting over the nerd reader?

Yandere jock, bully fighting over nerd male reader head cannons~. ૮ ྀི◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ ྀིა

For the sake of this post I’ll call Yandere bully(Damian) and Yandere jock(Jake) <33

When Damian first started bullying you it was out of the obsession he had built on you over the summer. Jake first noticed you when he was in study hall and was assigned you as his tutor, the two of you became really close during the tutoring sessions so much that he’d invite you to his place just wanting to be around you as much as he could. Dumping his cheerleader girlfriend asking you to come to his games even trying to get you to wear his jacket insisting it was just him “wanting you to show team spirit for him”.

Damian hating how close you got with Jake turning into pure hatred for the jock, it starts with Damian being a little meaner to you trying to get your attention nearly tormenting you daily in hopes you’d just focus on him. Jake always pushing Damian away or making him go away whenever he’s around. The two ending up going at it figuring daily, the cameras Jake had installed in your bedroom whenever he was over suddenly getting hacked by Damian.

Jake who asks you out getting you to some how say he’s taking a video of him having you in the backseat of his truck with your legs held spread wide getting stretched out with your lips making an “O” shape whimpering out “J-ake~!” Over and over when he hits your bundle of nerves penetrating you. Jake showing the video to Damian whispering “think he likes me more Mr bully?” In a mocking tone just to rile him up into a fury nearly having a tantrum only making his obsession over you grow.

Damian who pulls you out of lunch just to fuck you bent over in the back of the library, his hand over your mouth huffing degrading words in your ear “if I knew you were such’a damn slut I woulda given you a good fucking so long ago” his hands harshly punching your hips “did that dumb jock fuck you like this hm? Did he thrusts like this pretty boy?” Jerking your hair wanting to be the only man to ruin your hole—to touch and grip your skin, not that jock.

Jake stalking you after school making sure Damian doesn’t get any free chances with you. Jake giving you rides having your head between his thighs sucking him off behind school in the back of his truck just taking pictures without you knowing bragging and mocking Damian saying “clearly he likes my cock more? Don’t ya think Damian?” He’d caption the photo he sent Damian just to further fight wanting it known you chose Jake.

You finally snapping at the two of them arguing you weren’t in the middle threatening to never speak to either of them, they didn’t seem to like that, them ending teamed up on you for the greater good of keeping you. Damian In front of you in the janitors closet face in your chest knocking your books aside with his cock deep inside your ass having Jake behind you his cock rubbing against Damian’s with his hands on your hips holding you up in place murmuring “he’s being so good for us ain’t he Damian” only earning grunts and a “yeah he is” from Damian. Both them deciding then and there you were theirs, no choice needed you’d be passed and shared by only them.

[cupcakeslushie]

Finished up some Kendratello AU sketches. Just because I killed off Kendra, doesn’t mean I’m done torturing Donnie.

I figure for the first week of his capture, Donnie could still differentiate between the VR world and the real world, but it got worse, the longer he’d go without a break. Then once he started getting less violent towards her, Kendra would start to play nice. Also imagine that helmet would have to cause some serious bruising and irritation.

[meltedmush]

Is skinzun homophobic or has he accepted his parents (qijiu)?

LMAO??? I’m not sure where the idea that Skinzun is homophobic came from, but he’s accepting of QiJiu! It’s just startling to see them show PDA.

[unrelatedsideblog]

mhm, love the angle

[bjs-dumb-hat]

They eated too much

[signanothername]

[hoglinz]

extra company

[checkeredflagggs]

Febuwhump Day 5: Not Trusting Reality

pairings: gen

summary: a story about y/n, Redbull’s new second driver, told in non-sequential order

a/n: I love febuwhump and have participated before for other fandoms but this is a first for me — attempting to compete it via smau only. Hopefully I can write a complete story eventually and I will be posting it on its own masterlist in the correct order to read but it’ll be written based on the febuwhump prompt list! @febuwhump

a/n2: based on the 2024 year; sorry checo but you got replaced earlier!

a/n3: this one is a direct sequel to day 6, so it will make more sense after tomorrow’s piece

Private Messages

The Grid, Professional

y/n and Charles

y/n and Oscar

y/n and Fernando

y/n and George

Bluesky

Taglist

@anamiad00msday @suns3treading @daniskywalkersolo @awritingtree @justheretoreadthxxs @coral7161 @lost4lyrics @mastermindbaby @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @nichmeddar @mxm47max @voidvannie @justaf1girl @a-beaverhausen @yawn-zi @tallrock35 @elizamoe133