#what if it's all just bullshit i made up.

[edward-munson]

never have i ever

Summary: You're playing the game "Never have I ever" at Dustin's birthday party and it surprises you when Eddie reveals a secret of his personal life.

Warning: 18+ MDNI, masturbation, oral (m receiving)

Word count: 3.1k

You're only at this party because it's Dusin Henderson's 18th birthday. He thinks he's old enough to drink, so he makes sure all of his friends are drinking too. Except, he's only adept at drinking beer. Not like you, though. You like anything strong. You can drink beer, cocktails, tequila, anything alcoholic.

As you sip on your piña colada, one made especially by Jonathan, you watch as the younger boys play D&D at the bar. On the other side of the table, Eddie is smoking weed with his friends as they watch their friends playing. You try not to be obvious with your glances that are being directed at the metalhead, but you might be failing doing so because of the drinks you had.

Steve is trying to get your attention as he talks about his date, and Robin can't seem to listen to him because she's too busy checking Vickie out. They've been going on dates, but she's too invested and doesn't hide it. He's babbling and rambling, not hiding his excitement, and you feel bad you're not exactly listening to him.

The Hideout was rented just for Dustin's birthday, so you're allowed to listen to whatever you guys felt like. You and your friends are old enough to drink, and you're all taking care of the younger group in front of you. Will doesn't drink and Eleven isn't fond of it. Max is the one along with Mike who likes to try on cocktails and Jonathan makes sure he adds enough ounces of alcohol.

"Okay, you know what? If they're going to play a boring game, let's just play our own game!" Robin says as soon as Steve shuts his mouth

You both ask her what game it is and she seems excited about it. "Never have I ever"

Steve rolls his eyes and mumbles something and you just snort.

It's not like it's a forbidden game, but it sure can be fun.

She gathers every adult, including Eddie, who clearly couldn't be bothered by the idea. His friends decided to stay and watch the youngsters playing. As you all sit around a bigger table, Robin and Nancy spread shot glasses to each one of you, placing a good amount of tequila on each glass.

You don't protest, you like the idea of playing something like that. And it's funny how some of them, like Eddie and Steve, look like they're afraid of doing it.

You nudge the curly haired man beside you and whisper "You seem pretty worried"

He nudges you back and mocks you, shaking his head softly "Nah, just not the biggest fan of these games"

"Okay! Listen. I'll start and the round goes on to the right. Don't bullshit us and don't be soft" Robin shouts from the other side of the table, preparing herself before starting it.

They're all telling off things based on their own experiences, until Argyle decides to be the greatest menace ever. He started saying specific stuff that weren't related to him, rather to find out if people have ever done anything. The tequila shots were smaller so you all wouldn't die from alcohol poisoning.

You started to feel giddy, your cheeks were burning red and every time Eddie would bump his arm against yours, you would feel squirmy in your seat.

"Never have I ever been given a blowjob" Jonathan said and the guys took their shots. Argyle wouldn't stop laughing at this point, but mostly because he was drunk and high on weed.

It took a few seconds for you all to notice the fact that Eddie didn't take his shot and all eyes were pointed at him. He was leaning against his chair with a bandana over his head, so he wouldn't feel hot from drinking. His t-shirt was wet from the drink he missed and spilled over it. From your point of view, he looked hot as fuck.

"What? Yeah, I've never been sucked before and I'm not ashamed. I've barely hooked up with girls before" He seemed unbothered from saying the truth and it took them by surprise.

At least Steve and Jonathan were. Argyle, not so much. They've been friends for a while and they've shared experiences before. Meaning they didn't have many, but the fact no one ever wanted to give Eddie a blowjob seemed kinda off to you somehow.

"Huh, it's their loss" You murmured but loud enough for him to hear you

"What's that?" He rested his elbow over the table and leaned his head against his hand, having your full attention.

Eddie was holding a smug on his face and his lips were curved upwards. He pretended he didn't listen to you, but he knows what he heard.

"Uh– I mean" You blew through your closed mouth, trying to disguise your temptation of complimenting him. "Ah, they're all just stupid for not doing that"

"Really?" He pushes, biting his inner lower lip as he still muses towards you.

As you cross your arms in front of you, Eddie laughs at the way you react to his teasing and sits back straight on his chair. The game doesn't take too long to end, especially when Nancy says she's feeling kind of sick, and Vickie is about to throw up on the table.

You all scatter around, getting up and collecting the shot glasses. You don't feel sick, but you sure feel funny and like you're about to float from the amount of tequila you just had.

As soon as you turn on your heels to go back to the table, Eddie is standing there in front of you, holding a bottle of water. He's still wearing the bandana and it makes him look gorgeous from how the lights are hitting him. Without his bangs, you can see him more clearly. How his eyes are blown from the weed he smoked, the way his eyebrows are perfectly shaped, just like the shape of his plump lips.

You don't think he wouldn't notice, but he tilted his head to the side and gave you a sided smile. The kind of smile you give someone when you're about to mess with them, when you want to taunt them.

"Why are you looking at me that way, sunshine? Something wrong with my face?"

He follows you as you start to walk towards the table and you shake your head, hiding your thoughts as you drink your water. Eddie doesn't even let you sit without pulling a chair for you. He sits next to you, facing you. He crosses his arms and slumps back.

When he does that, your eyes literally drop a few inches to watch how he just sits there with his legs spread open, almost an invitation to what you've been thinking about.

You almost choke on the water from drinking it too fast. He takes the bottle off your hand and closes it, keeping his previous demeanor.

"Okay, now you're just acting weird. What the hell happened?" He sounds a little concerned, but the fact he's sitting like that in front of you doesn't help it.

You shrug, taking a deep breath. You cross your legs and lick your lips playfully before opening your mouth to speak. This small action sends a shock wave through his own body but it lasts a fraction of time.

You pull your chair closer to his, your legs standing in the middle of his. Eddie shifts his eyes to your legs and the way you are looking at him.

"You wouldn't wanna know what it's like to get a blowjob, Eddie?" You try not to sound like you're enticing him, or even provoking him. But the context says otherwise.

He laughs nervously, diverting his eyes from you. He looks at the ceiling and sighs. You see him taking a deep breath, looking back at you.

"What is this conversation about, really? None of the girls I've gone out with would wanna suck a freak off. They just wanted to hook up because I'm sort of famous in town. And I've had sex like two times. So really, don't bother with the subject"

He played defensive, like he was offended. You didn't intend to sound as if you're joking and making fun of him for not having much sex.

"No– Eddie, I'm not trying to make fun of you. You're such a grumpy little man! Come here" You quickly get up and pull him by his hand, following to the back of the bar.

You knew the whole place. You've been at the bar a hundred times and he talked about the back of the bar where he and his band use as backstage. They had set up a few furniture including one couch.

One you pushed him to after you closed the door and locked it. He looked at you terrified but amused at the same time, because he had no idea what was happening.

You sat beside him, resting your arm on the back of the couch. His brows were furrowed and when you noticed how pretty his lips were you couldn't hold it back.

"We're friends, right? You trust me?" You ask, your voice a little shy and your tone a little lower.

He nodded and tilted his head, again. "Yeah, sunshine. If we weren't, you know I wouldn't let you fucking kidnap me and bring me here" He jokes.

It's the way he calls you sunshine. The way he looks tenderly at his friends and how he treats everyone. It's so fucking cute. It's not even the alcohol talking and you know that.

You also know sometimes he throws glances at you, but you know he wouldn't do shit about that. He's too afraid of committing, too afraid of being heartbroken. He just doesn't know what he's actually missing.

And then you laugh like you're embarrassed, your head is hanging low because you can't seem to face him right now. But he pinches your chin carefully, looking right at you. His fingertips aren't that soft and you know it's from playing guitar. They also smell like smoke.

"What is it?" He asks again, pleading chocolate brown eyes staring into your soul. You look back at him and move your face until you're just a few inches away from him. "Oh?"

At first, he seems confused and kind of lost. But it's only a matter of seconds until he's the one taking you in and kissing you softly. He tastes like tequila and cherry from the gum he was chewing. It's intoxicating, it's a mix of feelings for you. He's still holding your chin. He uses the other one as leverage and holds your neck. You're anxious to taste him, literally.

The euphoria hits you like a train wreck when he lets you pull his hair a bit. He tries not to gasp from the touch, and he instinctively bites a small bit of your lower lip. It sends you to a frenzy and your other hand flies up to his crotch. Obviously, he's hard. Not just from the touch, but from the kiss. From how you hold his hair.

Eddie never had a girl hold his hair like that, he barely had a girl that interested in him. And he likes the feeling of being desired, it's different. And knowing you, he feels like he can trust you.

So he lets you touch him. Both your mouths never leave, only adding more fuel to his fire. You notice his behavior and try to unzip his jeans without being concerned about breaking the kiss.

He helps you out lifting his hips so you can get rid of it, trying to focus on kissing him and touching him. You love the feeling of having someone this horny for you. You feel his hardness grow through the fabric and you can feel the dampness already.

"You're so hard for me, Eds" You whisper hovering your lips over Eddie's and he grunts in response.

Your little evil laugh makes him more turned on for you, and his first instinct is to pull your hair, but not with force. He pulls you back a little, enough for him to have a look at you, the way you stare back at him with lust in your eyes.

"You're so gorgeous" He mumbles, his eyes sparkly. When you grip his hard cock tight, he hisses at the touch and closes his eyes forcefully.

He's still holding your hair and when you do that again, he grips it tighter. He's playing your game. Only he's the one getting something out of it. At least today.

You hold his underwear and pull it down, watching as his dick springs free from the fabric. Red tip, already leaking and begging for more of your attention. Eddie doesn't let go of you, only enough for you to start sliding down the couch, kneeling in front of him. You look at him before looking at his cock, it's trimmed and it looks gorgeous. It's already begging for your attention.

The alcohol in your system seems to evaporate immediately. Eddie glances down at you with concerned eyes, like he's afraid you won't do it. But you glance up and nod, reassuring him you will do it, smiling just before you start giving him the pleasure he deserves.

You lick a stripe through his shaft, tasting him for the first time. He didn't know the feeling until then, and it made him pulse like he never did before. One hand holding your hair back and the other one gripping tightly on the edge of the couch.

Your tongue savors his precum until you reach the tip and give it a small kiss. You look at him again, he's trying to hold back his whimpers. You know it's hard for him to handle the touch as it is his first time. Usually something this provocative causes a man to last only a few minutes.

But you take your time, taking his cock inside your mouth until the tip hits the back of your throat. It's not your first time, so you don't gag anymore.

You bob your head up and down a few times, sucking him and the liquid coming off of him. You use one hand to grip his balls, and the other one you leave resting over his stomach. He seems to love it.

He watches you carefully, he looks at how your tongue roams up and down his length, reaching the tip again, swallowing thickly. You feel it pulsing every now and then, precum spreading all over it until you suck it in again.

"Jesus fuck" Eddie moans. He lets out a loud, unsteady breath. His hand is gripping your hair carefully and if you didn't know any better, he's just being gentle when you know he would pull it harder. He was almost melting from the feeling of your mouth. 

You take him back and forth, rolling your tongue around it. You lick his cock down and reach his balls, sucking it until your mouth is full and he struggles to keep his eyes open because he wants to watch it all.

You hold his shaft with your delicate hand and pump him, your mouth helping out with the job. You sank back down lower, taking every inch of him, looking up at him. Your lips slid perfectly around his skin and it made him even harder. He starts to buckle his hip when he glances at you, seeing lust in your eyes again.

Your eyes are blown from pleasure and Eddie wonders if you’re feeling the heat between your legs as well. He wants to know if your pussy is wet from doing all this with him and he can’t help but thrust against your mouth. He starts slowly, until you’re feeling comfortable having his entire length in the back of your throat. 

Eddie watches when you let him fuck your mouth mercilessly, feeling his tip hitting your throat. He can't hold back his grunts, letting his head fall back to the couch. His eyes are now closed and he's in a bliss of pleasure.

The quiet room is filled with the sound of his cock in your mouth, Eddie moaning huskily and you whimpering from your own pleasure. No one cares you're both there, no one even knows you're there. He holds your head and hits his length in a perfect spot that makes him shiver.

He stops his thrusts because he wants you to finish for him. You grip the base of his cock and grip it tightly, letting the blood rush to the tip, and you suck him hard. You hollow your cheeks and suck him hard enough for him to feel lightheaded.

“Godfuckingdamn” Eddie pleads.

It's how it makes his heartbeat fasten quickly and his cock is almost exploding from the pleasure. You know he's going to cum because his legs start to falter and shake. His hand is gripping your hair tighter than before and he's buckling his hips upwards.

It comes with the loudest grunt he lets out. He fills in your mouth and the warm liquid washes over your throat as you swallow all of it. His dick pulses incessantly and you don't let go of him for a second.

Eddie feels kind of drained, but in a very good way. He's still on a high, but he feels relieved. His entire body is shaking, his legs are weak and his hands fall on top of the couch. You take the last bit of his cum and let go of him.

You think it's cute to see his cheeks flushed, painted in red. He's breathing heavily and you can't quite describe how hot he looks right now. His dick is still a little hardened but less than before. You get yourself up and help him get his pants done and sit back on the couch.

Eddie looks at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's seen. And it's not just because of what happened. He likes the thought of kissing you, of having you blowing him. He kissed you without any hesitation, tasting a bit of himself in your mouth.

"That was mind-blowing" He heaves, resting his forehead against yours and you laugh softly.

"You wanna go back to the party?" You ask, getting up from the couch, ready to open the door. But he pulls you back and holds your hand.

He shakes his head, showing off a little bit of shyness in his features. "I wanna take you home and kindly fuck you"

It makes you laugh at how much he can still manage to be such a gentleman when saying something dirty. But you agree to that and you both leave, driving to his apartment.

[type-40-nightingales]

No but obsessed with the idea bobby mary snd john all being in a room like s12 onward

Especially if its after mary and new bobby meet and have that whole thing like

ITS CRAZY OKAY ive thought about it so much

Like when mary asks if their bobby had any kids ive actually brainwashed myself into thinking dean said "yeah, us" bc mary never gets to see bobbys relationship with the boys. If john breatheddd at dean wrong or picked a fight with sam ykkk bobby is going to beat the shit out of him. One joke aboht dean and cas and john will wish he is still in hell. "I didnt raise my son to be a f--" hes dead. Hes dead. Bobby will will him to hell. Mary would be so confused slash concerned?? Like obvs ahe has issues with john but bobby qould tell her shit dean and sam didnt and he had to peice together cause they wouldnt even tell him.

Sam and dean IMMEDATLY going to hug bobby. And maybe managing an akward handshake with john. Theyll make 1 comment about bobby being like a father or a joke or even like "haha remeber when sam tried to kill bobby cause he needed blood of a father for a spell" AND JOHN WILL BE SO PISSED and bobbys like i need a recreation of that phone call where bobby was like "i know i aint their father" buts its like

John: you're not their father, bobby

Bobby: well u sure aint!

Like ughgghghhghgggg

Bobby would loveee the bunker. He made a panic room when he had a weekend off he would love the bunker.

Cas in the corner glaring at john well bobby hugs him and is like 'ok so how r they actually doing no bullshit. Whats up with you and dean.'

OMG BOBBY AND JACK IM ACTUALLY SO HERE FOR IT. BOBBY WOULD LOVE HAVING A GRANDSON TELL ME OTHERWISE.

"You let that monster live with you? The son of satan??"

Bht bobbys like. Eh. Hes cas's kid. Oh you like star wars? I cant tell you the number of times dean watched that as a kid i think he just liked harrison ford"

He is sooo the type to spill dean and sams embarrassing child hood to their kids. Nsjkskdkd

Maybe writing a fic would take less time than this.

Actually the reason why we never saw Bobby and John interact is because Bobby would’ve beat the shit out of John on the spot.

[thewertsearch]

TT: It seems that you consider me to be, no less than one hundred percent of the time, an obstinate stick in the mud. […] GT: Wait… GT: "It seems"?? TT: What? GT: Oh for fucks sake. […] GT: This is your auto responder.

Wait, really?

If it is, it's very good. I guess it's possible that Bro wrote all those responses himself, but I suspect instead that the thing is just actually sentient. Why not, right?

Plus, it explains why Bro doesn't like that Jane enjoys it so much. Like, imagine the AI you made as a personal assistant is more popular than your actual personality. That'd hurt!

TT: Bullshit. TT: I'm being like, the perfect dude right now. A fully fucking legitimate human being. GT: Ok then check this out mr legit human dude. GT: Excuse me sir not to be a bother but could you please tell me all about this strider fellows auto responder? TT: It seems you have asked about DS's chat client auto-responder. This is an application designed to simulate DS's otherwise inimitably rad typing style, tone, cadence, personality, and substance of retort while he is away from the computer. The algorithms are guaranteed to be 96% indistinguishable from DS's native neurological responses, based on some statistical analysis I basically just pulled out of my ass right now. GT: You see! TT: What if I was just fucking with you there?

Definitely sentient, and pretty funny to boot. The responder is set to answer someone fun Sburb questions I never thought the game would address, such as:

Does it think an AI can count as a person?

Will the AI at least have a sylladex?

TT: Would it really be so unthinkable for a human to type that? GT: Because you always say shit like that after i catch wise to your games.

'Like that' is important. It means there are variations in how it responds, which means the AR is actually making new shit up.

Plus, this is long before ChatGPT came into the picture, so the shit it 'makes up' is supposed to be a sign of true creativity, rather than generative AI slop.

GT: Hey. Tell me about the auto responder. Make it snappy shitknickers! TT: It seems you have asked about DS's chat client auto-responder. This is an application designed to simulate DS's otherwise inimitably rad typing style, tone, cadence, personality, and substance of retort while he is away from the computer. The algorithms are guaranteed to be 93% indistinguishable from DS's native neurological responses, based on some statistical analysis I basically just pulled out of my ass right now. GT: Gee dude you sure typed that exact same thing pretty fast. GT: Are you still fucking with me?? TT: It could be a coincidence that I typed the same answer. GT: You always type that answer!!!!! TT: It could be a coincidence that I always type the same answer.

Oh my god, this guy rules.

Can we keep him? C'mon, surely there's enough room to squeeze a fifth Player into the session. He can be our new Davesprite!

GT: This is pointless im not having this conversation unless its with my REAL LIFE FRIEND. THE ONE WITH HUMAN FEELINGS WHO ISNT A PRETEND PERSON INSIDE SUNGLASSES.

God damn it, Jake! That was not what I meant by 'the new Davesprite'!

[revelboo]

God I hope one day whatever Nonsense happens on the Everything Is Alright Nemesis someone runs up to sparked Megatron like "Lord Megatron you will not believe what happened in the 20 seconds we were left to our own devices-" and they run in and hes just

And the human is next to him in their own lounge chair also kicked back bc if its his day off its THEIR day off too. Like go bother someone else, if Starscream wants to be in charge let him take it for the day and lets see if he hasnt started peeling his own paint from stress. Shoo.

(Image is from the Go Go comics!)

Megatron was already over it even before he got sideswiped by this nonsense. Megatron’s a ticking time bomb at this point

Everything Is Alright Pt 117

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Aware of the very judgmental look Soundwave is aiming at you as you just watch Star get scruffed by Megatron while your mate screams what you’re guessing is Cybertronian profanity and Megatron just laughs, you’re so tired. Sick of aliens and their stupid, alien bullshit. Something Soundwave seems to sense as he vents and just turns and walks away with you. “Megatron?” He prompts as he carries you and your shoulders creep up to your ears.

• You’d denied him when he’d tried to fully bond to you and had fully bonded Megatron instead. Just when he thinks he’s figured out humans and he can’t help but be a little hurt about it. “Please, don’t look at me like that, I was so out of it, it’s not like I had any idea what was happening,” you say and he caves at your angry, little expression, reaching to tap a servo under you chin. “You’re going to go back and stop them, right? Soundwave?” No, he’s going to let them work it out. It’s not like they can really hurt each other anymore anyway. You’ve effectively made it so neither can murder the other. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so horrifying.

• Apparently he’s not going to do anything about the fight, Soundwave seeming not at all concerned about it. “Big trouble,” Soundwave admonishes, a servo rubbing your jaw as he carries you back to his quarters. And you have no idea if he means accidentally giving Megatron Star’s sparkling, fully bonding Megatron, or passing out. Probably all three. Sitting on his berth with you and mass shifting, his arms curl around you. “Worried, little one,” he says, voice soft.

• Rumbling softly as you reach up to cup his face, a thumb sliding against his mask until he retracts it for you. Do you have any idea how much you scared him? That when Starscream had collapsed, he’d been afraid he’d lost you again. “So Megatron is sparked now. Is that normal? You guys passing the spark?” You ask and he shakes his head. Because nothing about mating a human has been normal. Causing more chaos in the short time he’s known you than the Autobots have the whole war.

• So you’re a weird one off. Fantastic. And then the door is opening as Megatron drags Starscream in by a wing, your other mate still swearing as he’s shoved into the room and Soundwave vents tiredly against you. “Little pet,” Megatron snarls, optics narrowed. “You’d spark a mech and then abandon them?” Why? Why is it like this? Hiding your face against Soundwave’s neck, you just want to cry. And Megatron’s still grinning that slightly mad little smile that makes you skin crawl and promises retribution at some point for what you’d accidentally done. You’re starting to really hate aliens.

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[little-wicked10]

Wanna Bet?🌹

Summary: After inviting her to be his date to some dinner, she finds out about the cruel and sleazy bet between Soldier Boy and his sidekick.

Warnings: SMUT 18+, cursing, dirty talk, body insecurities, self-doubt, Gunpowder and Black Noir being dicks, use of the word ‘fat’, body worship, mirror sex, overstimulation, creampie

Notes: I read this headcannon by @zepskies that really hit me in the feels. I deal with body insecurities, and I was inspired to write this for anyone that’s ever felt insecure or ashamed of their body🩷 Plus, Soldier Boy gives off the vibe that he’d like a thick girl😈 Prepare to cry and be horny (it’s a confusing feeling).

//

The reflection she saw in the mirror she didn’t like. It was too easy to pick apart every aspect of her body that she found undesirable: her stomach wasn’t flat, love handles, stretch marks on her thighs, arms kinda flabby, and her ass was too big. Don’t even get her started on her breasts. At least, that’s how she saw herself, a collection of undesirable, unattractive features. While some would refer to her as curvy, she knew that was a nice way of saying she wasn’t thin.

Fat to be exact.

Despite all the things she thought was wrong about her, Soldier Boy apparently didn’t. It was hard not to be intimidated by the supe when he approached her with that confident swagger, sitting on the edge of her desk. She blushed when he flashed a charming smile and began complimenting her.

“So listen, I need a date for this bullshit dinner in Payback’s honor,” his tone was playful, “I came around to ask if you’d be my arm candy for the night.”

Her eyes widened in shock, “Y-You want me to go? With you?”

“Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to, sweetheart,” he chuckled, “What do ya say? Wanna spend a night with America’s Hero?”

Of course, she said yes. She’d have been an idiot not to. It wasn’t until she was by herself did she realize what she agreed to, and her stomach fluttered with anxiety and excitement. She was about to go on a date with Soldier Boy. THE Soldier Boy. The supe that has his pick of any woman asked her to be his date. She recognizes he probably asked out of convenience. She was the one female employee he hadn’t tried to or succeeded in sleeping with.

He wouldn’t want to sleep with her anyway. Why would he? Rumors around the tower were he had playmates and supermodels on speed dial, so why would he want to sleep with her? She was just a plain office employee that blended into the background.

A knock interrupted her reeling thoughts. Opening the door, a young man from Vought stood balancing a clothes bag and a couple of boxes in his arms. She let him in and watched as he set the items out on her kitchen counter. She thanked him as she handed him a decent tip. The poor kid probably wasn’t making enough to run errands for a bunch of supes.

Delicately, her fingers began to inspect the items before noticing a note attached to one of the boxes:

‘Pick you up at 7. Wear this for me, doll - SB’

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach seeing his handwriting. She quickly unzipped the bag to reveal a beautiful black silk dress, “Holy shit.” The boxes contained a pair of strappy black heels and glittering diamond jewelry. If she wasn’t in disbelief before, she definitely was now.

Looking up at the clock, she shifted gears and began to get ready. She was meticulous in her routine: shaving and moisturizing until she felt soft and smooth, redoing her makeup to perfection, taking extra care with every strand of hair curled. She hadn’t felt this giddy and nervous in a long time. God knew the last time she put this much effort into her self-care. While her insecurities still rested heavily in her thoughts, a little bubble of hope settled in her chest. Maybe he would find her attractive enough to sleep with.

It should have been more upsetting that she could potentially be another notch on his belt, but the way he looked at her made her feel so….beautiful, attractive, sexy even.

She didn’t stare at her reflection too long, simply glancing to make sure everything was together and perfect. She felt so beautiful and studying herself would only ruin that feeling. Suddenly, there was another knock at her door. Looking at the clock, nerves chewed on her stomach realizing he had arrived right on time.

She stepped towards the door and, with trembling hands, opened it. Leaning against the door frame, looking like the Marlboro man himself, was Soldier Boy. His eyes blatantly roamed over her head to toe, “Christ on a cross! Aren’t you delicious.”

She nearly melted into a puddle, “T-Thank you. You have great taste.”

He smirked before producing a rose from behind his back, “I know what looks good on a woman’s body. Usually, it’s me.”

He chuckled when her whole face broke out in a deep blush before taking the flower from him. “C’mon, sexy. Got a limo and champagne on ice waiting for us downstairs,” he smirked as he held out his arm to her that she quickly accepted.

//

All eyes fell on Soldier Boy and his date the second they entered the room. They all wanted to know who the supe had decided to bring. He encouraged her to feel up his muscles with a mischievous grin as they moved about the party. She was quiet as she walked with him, observing the charismatic way he interacted with everyone that approached. People were just captivated by him. It was too easy to get caught up in his charming smile and hearty laugh.

Her back stiffened when she noticed they were getting closer to Payback, one of the more nerve wracking tables to be a guest at. He must have felt her tense because he chuckled, “Don’t be so uptight, baby. You’re rollin’ with Soldier Boy. Have some fun.” She looked up at his forest green eyes, biting her lip and nodding with a smile. He suddenly stopped a waiter with a tray of champagne flutes, taking one for himself and urging her to do the same.

He gently clinked their glasses together before downing the liquor in one go. He groaned in satisfaction which sent her imagination running wild. God, was that man a walking sex dream. They finally stood around Payback’s table. The team members didn’t seem too friendly with one another. It was more like they tolerated each other, but that wasn’t new.

Soldier Boy released her arm to pull out a chair. She mumbled a shy thank you before sitting down. Glancing around the table, she noticed Gunpowder and Black Noir whispering to themselves before laughing. Doubt crept into her mind, body nearly closing in on itself, when a large hand rested against her lower back. Eyes darted over to see Soldier Boy smirking at her. Her stomach fluttered again, skin breaking out in goosebumps from the warmth of his palm. The look on his face gave away the fact he loved seeing her so flustered.

//

It was nearing the end of the night when he excused himself, “Don’t go anywhere, gorgeous. Gotta talk with the big wigs before we get outta here.” Her cheeks pinked, and she nodded, watching him disappear into the crowd of people. A content sigh leaves her lips, fingers admiring the rose he’d given her. She was having a great time, which she hadn’t expected. She assumed she’d be ignored the second they arrived, but Ben (which he insisted she call him) had been nothing but a charming date. Flirting and little touches that had her heart racing and heat pooling between her legs. It was like he knew the effect he had on her.

“Can’t believe I owe that son of a bitch a $100.”

“I told you it was a bad idea.”

Gunpowder and Black Noir’s voices caught her attention. She looked around and found them just a few steps away from the table near the bar. They either didn’t know or didn’t care how loud they were as they continued their conversation. Whatever they were talking about, Gunpowder was pissed off.

“You know better than to make bets with that asshole,” Noir chastised, “You lost $500 betting he couldn’t convince Farah Fawcett and Cindy Crawford to a threesome.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Looks like he’s actually gonna go for it,” Gunpowder groaned, “I thought he’d be too shallow to sleep with her fat ass.”

There it was, her worst fear. She felt like cold water had been dumped on her, jolting her awake from whatever dream she’d been in. This whole thing had been a bet? Her throat constricted and tears began to burn in her eyes, stomach twisting till she felt nauseas. She felt so pathetic and stupid. How could she have been so blind? It was all just a fucked up game, and she played right into it.

She stood and quickly made her way to the nearest bathroom. Her vision blurred causing her to bump a few people on her way out. They scowled and complained, but she didn’t notice. Once hidden away, tears began to trickle down her cheeks. Of course this had been a cruel joke. Somebody like Ben wouldn’t have given her a second glance if it he wasn’t getting something out of it. She leaned against the sink, wiping her cheeks and refusing to look up in the mirror. She could scrutinize herself and all her flaws later. Right now, she just wanted to disappear.

She took a moment to collect herself before exiting the bathroom. Quietly sniffling as she walked down the hall, she held herself for comfort or else she’d fall apart.

“Hey! There ya are!”

Her heart stopped beating hearing his heavy boots approach her. This couldn’t be happening.

“Thought you ditched me. You weren’t tryin’ to run out on me, were ya, sweetheart?” he teased.

She tried to pick up her pace and keep her head down, praying he’d take the hint to leave her alone, but he easily stopped her by stepping in her path. His original words were stuck on his tongue when he noticed her distress, big tears welling in her eyes, “Hey, what’s goin’ on? What happened?”

She sniffled, a sour taste forming in her mouth, “I-I appreciate the…date, but I think it’s better if I go.”

He blocked her attempt to step around him, “Whoa, whoa, hold on. Why are ya cryin?”

Anger bubbled up in her chest at his false ignorance, “Tell Gunpowder you owe him $100.” The statement stunned him, mouth hanging ajar in shock trying to think of what to say. “Next time you make a bet like that, make sure your fucking sidekick isn’t in earshot of your ‘date’,” she clenched her teeth to keep her voice from trembling.

She once again went to step around him, but his hand wrapping around her upper arm and swung her around to face him, “Wait, c’mon. Lemme explain, doll.”

She tried to pry her arm from his hold, but he was obviously too strong, “Let me go.”

“Just listen, will ya?“ he could hear her breathing become more shaky, heart rate picking up.

“I’m not listening to anything you have to say!” she choked, struggling to escape his hold, “You tricked me into thinking you actually wanted to go out with me. That you might have thought I was…attractive.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” Ben asked astonished, “You’re sexy as hell!”

“Oh, spare me! Spare me the curvy comments or whatever bullshit you come up with! I’m just some fat ass you got paid to try and fuck, but it’s not happening!” the tears came full force now, insecurities exposed like an open would, “I’m so fucking stupid for thinking Soldier Boy would genuinely find me attractive at all.”

Suddenly, she was pushed up against the nearest wall, his growl rumbling down the empty corridor. Both his hands had her shoulders pinned, their chests only inches apart. “You gonna listen, or keep bitchin’?” the look in his eyes was dark. She was frozen in place at the show of strength and aggression. She didn’t wanna listen, but what choice did she have?

“Yeah, I made the bet. Made it so limp dick motherfuckers like Noir couldn’t get to your sexy ass before me,” he rasped.

“Don’t fuck with me,” she argued, “Nobody thinks I’m sexy.”

“Says who?” he quipped.

Her eyes cast down to the eagle on his chest, “Everyone.”

“Oh really? Everyone?” Ben suddenly took her hand and pushed it against the front of his pants. He chuckled and smirked at her wide eyes and small gasp, “Might wanna tell my dick that, honey. He clearly didn’t get the memo.”

He could hear her heart race soar, blood pumping faster to pink her cheeks and roar in her own ears. She looked at him in disbelief. “This sexy body of yours has been drivin’ me nuts!” he groaned, “You know how hard it was not to bend you over that table, lift that lil’ dress up, and fuck you raw? Fuck you like a woman should be fucked?”

Her breathing had turned to desperate pants the more he spoke.

“I’m a greedy motherfucker, baby. When I want something, I get it. Right now, I wanna touch every part of ya that you don’t like and tell ya why it’s my favorite,” his lips pressed against her ear, trailing down her neck, “I know what looks good on a woman’s body. Yours would look better naked and under mine.”

//

“B-Ben…please,” she gasped, clutching the sheets between her fingers.

His reply was the obscene sound of him slurping at her overstimulated pussy. The man had been making out with her weeping center for what felt like hours. The orgasms were beginning to melt together making her brain turn to mush. Ben planned to worship her body head to toe. He stood her in front of a mirror and told her to point out all the things she thought he wouldn’t like.

When she tried to look away from her reflection, he gently wrapped a hand around her jaw and made her look, “Nuh uh. Do as you’re told.”

He saw her eyes glance down, “M-My thighs. They h-have s-stretch marks. They’re t-too big.”

Ben was quick to spread her out on his giant Alaskan king bed to leave his mark on her plush thighs. He could have stayed down there for a few more hours if his cock wasn’t aching to be inside her. It was when he pulled away to let her catch her breath did she notice the ceiling was actually a mirror. A surprised gasp passed her kiss swollen lips seeing Ben’s back muscles flex between her spread legs. Her body felt too heavy to move, so she closed her eyes.

“No,” his voice was stern, “That mirror’s there for a reason, baby. Look at yourself, or I’ll stop.”

A pathetic whine came from her throat that was unrecognizable before she opened her eyes. She watched as he traveled up her body, his broader one obscuring the view of herself. She cried out when he harshly sucked and bit at her breasts. Her hands locked into his hair as she arched into his mouth. Ben made sure to kiss every stretch mark he found before leaving a deep bruise in the shape of his mouth and teeth. He pulled off of her with a pop before switching their position.

Before she knew it, she was laid on top of him, legs resting on either side of his to keep her spread out. She could see in the reflection his dick hard and leaking, twitching when he rutted his hips up to coat it in her slick. Ben wrapped an arm around her under her breasts to keep her in place as his free hand lined his tip up with her entrance. The way he was manhandling her had her lust skyrocketing. She never thought a man would be able to dominate her like that until now.

“Fuck! You’re beautiful,” he growled in her ear as his tip finally slipped inside.

She moaned and tried to move her hips down to sink more of him inside. The arm around her torso held her still, “Patient, sweetheart. Just keep watching.”

Their eyes met in the mirror, the green in his had turned black with desire. Ben nibbled her earlobe and neck as he sunk himself deeper inside until his tip kissed the back of her cervix. A mix between a strangled cry and whimper came out of her mouth as he stretched her out. She struggled not to let her eyes roll back into her head as he began to move. Unable to control himself, Ben started fucking her with purpose. Deep, hard thrusts nearly knocked the breath from her lungs. He watched as her eyes moved between his flexing arm around her and where his dick disappeared inside her.

“See? Look how pretty you are, baby? These pretty tits,” his hands suddenly cupping both of them in his hands, squeezing harshly, “This soft body. Those thick thighs. All of it. All of you gets me so fucking hard.”

She moaned, unable to look away from their reflection now. She was mesmerized by his words and the way his length brushed against that sensitive spot inside her. Every time he hit it, she saw stars. Ben attacked it like it was his mission. Desperate babbling rolled off her tongue as he fucked her with intense purpose. Her brain had officially shut off, too drunk on lust to give a damn about something like insecurities.

His groan vibrated against her back when her walls started clenching down on him, “Cum for me, beautiful. Ya gonna watch? I know I am.”

The band tightened, and tightened, and tightened, so close to the end but not quite there. She cried out in desperate frustration catching Ben’s attention. His right hand left her breast and trailed down her plush stomach until he reached her clit. He circled the little wet pearl with his middle finger in time with his thrusts. She screamed at the overstimulation and came, squirting all over their thighs and the mattress. Ben kept going, drawing out the electricity coursing through her until her hips started jerking away from his hand.

“One more,” he ordered.

“C-C…can’t!” she babbled.

“Oh you’re gonna, baby. I’m ruinin’ this pussy if it’s the last thing I do,” he growled.

He snapped his hips hard, slamming into that gummy spot and making her squirt again. She tried to scream but nothing came out. Her eyes finally looked away to roll into her head, tremors wracking her body as she fell apart. Ben shoved himself as deep as he could when he came. “Fuck!” he moaned as he kept rutting into her until he was completely spent.

She felt like she was floating, barely able to string together a conscious thought. Her body buzzed in the aftershocks of the incredible orgasms he’s wracked her body with. He carefully shifted them to lay on their sides, spooning her and not daring to pull out. He smirked at her trembling body in his arms. “Just relax,” he kissed her temple before glancing up at the mirror, “Good girl. Told you I’d look good on you.”

[https-maria]

Late night church visit. Made to sound like those true recordings and stuff.

“I’m not even Christian, hell, I’ve never once been interested in all that religious stuff. I always thought it was nonsense, y’know? But recently, I came to this new small town to find a place to settle down, maybe find the one for me. Tough luck, though. I hadn’t expected this entire town to be some devout worshippers or something. They’ve never seen me at the sermons or Sunday worship, one of them even tried putting salt around my house, thinking I was a witch or wizard. They’ve been persistent in converting me, telling to find the truth or some bullshit like that. I recently called a friend of mine and ranted about this, but unlike what I expected, they told me to go later at night, try and see if I prefer religion without its devotees pressure. And so that’s exactly what I’m doing right now. Hold on- ugh, this camera’s pissing me off…”

“Right, here we are. I’ve only seen this church a few times when I’ve drove past, pretty huge. Got that pretty architecture and huge pillars, of course, can’t forget about the angel statues. Pretty little things, huh? What’s that up there? Hold on, this damn camera… there we go. That statue on the tip- I don’t think I’ve seen that before, when I drove past here. Definitely looks like a cool album cover, though. The moon shines down, it’s almost like it looks unnervingly heavenly. Hah, got poetic for a moment there. Honestly, maybe religion does seem nice without all those worshippers trying to badger me into going to Sunday mornings with them. Huh-? Where- what? Where did that thing go? It was just up there…”

The camera falls to the ground. Not a single thing could be seen, simply static and blurry shapes.

“Human foolishness will be the end of all.”

The tape recording cuts off. That thing- it wasn’t angelic or heavenly. It wasn’t a guardian angel watching over the Lord’s palace. It was an entity disguised. It was not one of His angels, no, it was something far worse than a demon, one Lucifer could fear.

OKAY HIHI!! TRIED SOMETHING NEW IN MAKING IT SEEM LIKE A TRUE TAPE RECORDING, LIKE MORE NATURAL LIKE THEY’RE SPEAKING DIRECTLY TO YOU. HTTPS.MARIA OFF! 🎀

[itsabouttimex2]

Fizzling Neon

“…can I tell you something that bothers me?”

There’s not quite a sneer on your coworker’s face, but the expression he wears while turning to you is regardless unhappy. The man’s never much cared for your rambles, and especially not while the two of you were on kitchen duty.

Then, he’s never much cared for you in general.

But if he has to choose between his own thoughts (centering mostly on his ex-wife, if you had to guess) your awkward ramblings, or a droning and dead silence that was cut only by Chica’s muffled gorging, the gray-haired man would probably pick you, though he would do so reluctantly.

Very reluctantly.

“Well?” the aged man finally grunts, arms crossed as he leans back against the counter. His tense posture screams impatience, but at least he’s waiting for you to say something instead of outright ignoring you. “What is it?”

You hesitate, unsure if you should bother, even with his explicit approval. Your coworker doesn’t like you- he’s made that clear enough over the past four months. Still, there’s something gnawing at you, something you need to get off your chest before it eats you alive. A rattling clatter of pots and pans kicks up in the washing area, accompanied by incessant crunching noises- the avian animatronic must’ve gotten into an unfinished dish.

You don’t want to sound like some manic conspiracy theorist, of course- that type pops up on the premises of the Pizzaplex constantly, filming themselves as they harangue the workers and scare the children- only to scurry away when you pleaded with Monty to scare them off- the kids always got a kick out of that, at least.

Still, all antics aside… maybe talking about it would do you some good.

“…it doesn’t make any sense for them to be animatronics.”

He turns to you, sporting an expression that implies you may well have grown a second head, utterly dumbfounded by such an out of pocket (to him) statement.

His brows knit together tightly, lips twisting into a grimace that makes him look even less pleasant than he already does. “What in the blazing hell are you even talking about?” he finally asks, his voice a low growl that barely carries over the distant clang of metal on tile as Chica shuffles around.

You squirm for a moment, then spill in a hurried rush of words built around cobbled knowledge from your childhood.

“It’s just… these are… they’re robots. And, animatronics are, well, they… animatronics- real animatronics, I mean, they’re- they’re puppets! Animatronics are supposed to be puppets hooked to machinery hidden in the ground, machines that host the puppet’s programming for the routines they perform! They’re supposed to be fragile, breakable! You’re supposed to be able to shatter them, shove them around, pick them up and throw them- in case they break down and block people in an emergency! Or, or like… the design specs, in general, they’re- so like, if an animatronic closes around a kid’s hands, the design specs of these things are specifically built to be fragile enough to never exert enough force to hurt the kid! They’re not supposed to be able to move arcade machines, or jostle vending machines, or pick up kids! And-“

“You know what, kid? And I’m gonna be real level with you, just cause I don’t think the management bothers doing it when they really should- nobody gives half a damn about your autist bullshit. They were always called animatronics. From the first fucking pizzeria to the last pissing pizzaplex, they were animatronics, puppets, machines, and no one except for you gives a shit about the name they use. And look, you wanna obsess over this crap, fine. Just don’t bring it up with me again. Got enough on my plate without babysitting your paranoia about trivial corpo branding bullshit.”

He throws his soiled dishrag against the metal interior of the sink before him, then stomps off towards the staff room in order to punch out and head home, probably hoping to down a fifth of whiskey and pass out.

You stand there in shocked silence for a moment, throat tight and eyes growing wet, trying to compose yourself as the angry pounding of his footsteps fades away.

It hurts. You wish it didn’t hurt so bad, especially when the scorn comes from someone you don’t particularly know or care for, someone you know doesn’t particularly care for you.

You want to shove those painful feelings away, because you know if you dwell on it too long, you’ll start spiraling, and there’s no one here who wants to listen- not without mocking you or brushing you off.

Except- the sound of metal footsteps breaks your train of thought, and those steps are heavy and deliberate, echoing through the empty kitchen. You freeze, pulse quickening, because it’s late, nearly time to close, and you’re very certainly the last person in the pizzaplex.

“Oh, Superstar…”

His voice, as always, is smooth and warm, carrying an affectionate tone that he usually reserves for children. You don’t need to turn around to know who that soothing voicebox belongs to.

You swallow, hard, gripping the edge of the kitchen countertop as the sound of metal feet against porcelain grows louder. He’s close now, just behind you, and you feel the subtle hum of his mechanical frame, a strange, ever-present vibration that seems to radiate from him, and you are awash in the cyan hue that drifts from his mechanical body.

Glamrock Freddy.

You open your mouth to respond, but no words come out at first. There’s a lump buried deep in your throat, and with it there’s a fear that if you try to explain yourself, you might break down entirely.

Freddy waits, a patience so unshakable it mirrors the steel he’s built from.

And he waits a little longer still, right up until there are tears brimming in your eyes, threatening to spill, and then one of his large paws reaches to bundle around the back of your head, holding it there as though he’s cradling something fragile, something precious.

At his gentle, synthetic touch your lips press tightly together, unwilling to speak for risk of breaking a dam that spills regardless, and as the first of many tears trickle down your cheek, Freddy’s thumb; soft with synthetic padding, swipes it from your face.

“That was very unkind of him, Superstar. I will be sure to report his behavior to management, for it is in violation of the rules of the Mega Pizzaplex.”

“N-no, Freddy, it’s fine. Really… really, it’s fine, and I don’t want to cause any trouble.

The ursine machine, so many warmth welling behind his eyes that the kitchen feels cold in comparison, he tilts his head, his illuminated blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly, not in anger but in something softer- concern, and to some degree even disbelief. He doesn’t move the heft of his hand, still cradling your head with the care of someone holding glass. “It is not fine,” he insists gently, voicebox unwavering. “Everyone within the Pizzaplec must treat one another with respect. The rules are very clear.”

A bitter laugh escapes you before you can stop it. “Yeah, well, rules don’t really stop people from being jerks, do they? Just… just please let it go, Freddy. It’s not worth it.”

There is a long, lingering moment where he continues to stare, eye lights drooped at your insistence on allowing things to be. But, finally, he lowers his hand, though his frame remains close, looming like a shield against the sterile, fluorescent lights kitchen. “Your feelings are worth it, Superstar,” he says after a beat. “But I will not push.”

Then he pauses, awkward and almost ashamed, then kneels to level his gaze to your own, and quietly speaks. “And I did not mean to eavesdrop on the staff, but I did overhear the management speaking to one another about the weather.

Oh. Oh no.

“So I wanted to tell you that a snowstorm is predicted, and, on behalf of the Pizzaplex, I wanted to extend you an invitation to stay overnight, since you do not have a way to get home if the bus is out.”

Oh, Cassie was going to be devastated.

Freddy straightens up at your lack of apparent response, his hulking frame towering over you once more, though his demeanor remains calm. “I spoke to the daycare attendant about preparing a bed for you- his residence has many cozy spots, and I believe you will find it suitable.”

You cringe when he mentions the daycare, snapping your thoughts from the soon to be birthday girl.

The attendant's dual personalities were a lot to handle during even just the day- but Moon's presence at night, especially, would be downright unnerving. But Freddy, gentle and unyielding, he turns you around with his big paws and nudges you towards the kitchen’s entrance.

The white doors swing open as Freddy pushes you past them, and the sounds of the nearly silent Pizzaplex greet you. The faint hum of machines powering down for the night drifts through the air, and the glittering lights of arcade machines flicker in the distance, while the mascots painted on the walls seem to grin down at you with their smiles.

It dawns on you now, staring up at the acrylic likeness of the lead animatronic that you hadn’t said yes to his offer, hadn’t quite stuck yourself through with the promise of a full night with the daycare attendant… and with Freddy going in the opposite direction, no doubt heading to his own room for the night… well, there wasn’t exactly anyone around to ensure that your footfall led you to the ever-unnerving nursery.

And, for that matter, a revelation dawning quickly upon you- you didn’t even know if the weather had started turning for the worse. If the storm was so bad that it would put out the local bus, sure, then you might not have a choice. But a light sprinkle wouldn’t kill you, and the lost and found wouldn’t mind you “borrowing” a jacket or scarf.

You turn toward the far end of the Pizzaplex, where the staff exit looms. You could just… check for yourself. There’s a strange, dread pang in your chest like the bite of an icicle, the notion that you might be caught going off-course, then returned to your path like an errant child.

Freddy surely wouldn’t mind you only checking out the window, would he?

Definitely not.

But still you step lightly, shoes squeaking faintly against the polished floor as the exit grew nearer and nearer. The Pizzaplex, as well as you've grown to know it, comes to feel unnaturally large when it’s this quiet- without at least a dozen children to draw your attention from the winding halls and the sprawling white floor, sometimes the place feels more like a labyrinth than a glorified daycare.

Though the twin doors come into reach without obstruction, there's still a prickling sense of unease that crawls the length of your skin, sending shivers down your spine as you reach for the silver handles.

Just a peek isn't going to hurt anyone, you tell yourself with a measure of false confidence.

It does not stop the trembling chill that races your heart to pump erratically as you make the move to push the doors open, and your skin grows colder still at the sight before you.

Snowflakes.

Fluffy, chunky snowflakes, cascading from the sky in a relentless flurry, the parking lot and roads already blanketed in white. The wind howls, biting and sharp. The city looks almost like a desolate tundra, smeared in thick strokes of white. The last bus is nowhere to be seen, likely sent back to the station early to avoid the storm.

You pull harshly on the doors, snapping them shut to prevent a gale wind from blowing through, to prevent snow from spilling onto the tile, and then you turn back, resigning yourself to a long night in the daycare, and then there’s a flicker of movement in the reflection of the chilled glass. You freeze, breath hitching sharply.

Slowly, you turn around, expecting to see Freddy or perhaps one of the staff bots patrolling the area.

And there is no one around.

Not that you can see, at least.

But the sound -faint, metallic clicking- tells you something is near. It’s sharply deliberate, like the tapping of long nails against glass.

And then a gangly shadow falls over you, dragging half of a shriek out of your lips right before you slap your hands over them.

Your head snaps up, eyes wide, and there, in a fluid arc of motion, leaping from the ceiling, is Moon, his painted grin wide and unsettlingly toothy in the dim lighting. He cast an eerie silhouette across the room as he lands upright with barely a thud, tilting his head to regard you.

“Why are you out of bed?”

“I was just…”, you start to say, but the words catch in your throat as he draws nearer. “I was only…”

“You know it’s against the rules to wander, don’t you?”

Your heart races as you stumble back, desperate to put distance between yourself and the unsettling animatronic. For all that you (and perhaps none but you and Cassie shared this feeling) had a soft spot for Sun, there was no denying that Moon had grown strange of late, often over-bolstering his “child-caring protocols”, to the terror of his many, many charges. Too often you had to step in and watch over them in his place just to ensure the kids would get some measure of sleep.

“I-I… no, i was just… just checking the weather,” you stammer, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Oh, checking the weather!” he repeats, his tone exaggeratedly bright and overly cheerful, though there’s an unmistakable edge beneath it. “But the rules are very clear- no wandering after hours! And you wouldn’t want to break the rules, would you, Starlight?”

That nickname doesn’t feel the same way that “Superstar” feels, not as warm or bright or genuine.

…but it’s still nice (admittedly less so under these circumstances) to have someone care enough to give you a moniker- and unlike Freddy, who simply maintained that everyone he liked was his special “Superstar”, the lunar half of the daycare attendant was far more reserved with his affections.

If he had let that feeling grow a little longer, that slow drift of bubbling warmth rising around your heart, maybe you wouldn’t have screamed out even past the barriers of your hands as he lunged forward and snagged his thin fingers around each side of your waist.

Instead, you simply shriek and kick.

That doesn’t stop Moon from lifting you slowly, his grip more than firm enough to make escape impossible. He tilts his head, his painted grin never wavering, though there’s something unsettling about the way his glowing red eyes seem to scan every inch of you, as if gauging your intent.

“No screaming,” he chides softly, his voice lowering to a whisper that echoes unnaturally in the empty Pizzaplex. “You’ll wake everyone up. Naughty, naughty.”

Your breath hitches as you struggle against his unyielding grip, your hands clawing uselessly at his smooth, cold arms. Moon holds you aloft effortlessly, his glowing red eyes locked on yours with an intensity that makes your stomach twist.

“Please,” you manage to croak, weak voice trembling. “I- I wasn’t… I wasn’t trying to cause trouble! I just… I just wanted to see if the storm was bad.”

His metal grin remains fixed, the crescent of his face gleaming faintly in the low light. “Storms are dangerous, Starlight,” he murmurs, his voice mechanical but almost sing-song, and still dripping with a strange condescension. “You could get lost. Hurt. It’s better to stay where things are safe.”

There is an unsteady pulse pounding through your chest now, a staccato rhythm that you’re certain he can sense. His glowing red eyes narrow, and his rictus grin; for all that it is fixed in place by steel, seems to grow wider.

He cradles you closer, the warmth of his metallic hands seeping through your uniform. The hum of his inner workings vibrate faintly, a reminder of the sheer difference between your anatomies. His voice drops lower, head leaning in to hiss lowly in your ear.

“And safe,” he whispers, “means staying close to me, Starlight.”

[briarberrythornedhart]

Haywire

Contains: Eddie Munson & Reader, fluff, sincerity, vulnerability, friends to something more

🦇 ✏️ 🦇

You were just friends. Just hanging out. And you’d thought there would be more people around tonight as human buffer BUT NO it was just you and him in his living room. And he was sitting so close it made you dizzy.

Ope.

He caught you staring. Your gaze was lovingly drifting over his stunning features and when he noticed you looking, his eyebrows shot up.

He waved his hand in a slow figure eight, wiggling his fingers - like he was casting some sort of spell on you.

Maybe he was casting a spell on you? It would explain a lot.

“You okay in there?” He laughed. He snapped the fingers of his left hand a couple times and you must have jumped because then he snorted “Sorry, sorry! You zoned out, though...like...you left me, where’d you go?” He grinned at you, head cocked to the side.

“I’d never leave. I mean I’m paying attention, What is the next step?” You asked, trying to re-focus and NOT on his lips, or his jaw, or the length of his thick pretty neck that you so wanted to kiss and lick and bite down on …oh gawd... how you wanted to taste him all over!

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Ya sure you wanna do this? Right now?? It’s okay if you are bored. This is not the fun part for most folks.”

“Yeah! NO - I’m not bored.” You clutched your notebook to your chest and regulated your breathing. No more yelling FFS you told yourself. ” I told you - I’ve wanted to play DnD for a long time and you know… never got a chance to even roll up a character. The stars just weren’t aligned for it I guess and the group near me didn’t want me in the mix....”

“Well, that’s not a problem here. There won’t be any of that bullshit on my watch. There’s Equal opportunity for doom or glory in Hellfire Club.” Eddie let the words doom and glory rumble in his chest. Theatrical as ever.

“Thank you.” You smiled and felt heat flush your cheeks.

“You’re so welcome, you always are.” he shook his mane of hair and chuckled again, wry and self-effacing. Which you would NEVER have expected from this guy. When you were introduced to him he was cocky as hell, strutting around and getting right into your personal space and teasing you like you’d been close friends forever and then - you get him alone like this- and he transforms into this sweet and modest and shy… total gentleman.

You were so completely fucked.

I mean, if only. You wished you were. But this was all so sadly gentlemanly and platonic.

He licked his lips and tapped his pencil on the DM’s guide while he pondered something seriously. Your mouth watered. And since he was so intently not paying attention to you- you took him in - looked him all over.

Your lips felt suddenly so dry and hot and his lips were the cure for every little thing that afflicted you, you knew this. That his perfect lips were the Answer. They were pink, slightly redder and chapped and plumped by his own teeth worrying at his bottom lip and… oh he was speaking to you. Focus.

“But maybe we should wait till later?? Because you seem very baked right now.” Eddie took your pencil away from you, grinning. Your pencil that had made its way (eraser first) between your lips and was getting bitten to hell. “Sweetheart, It was just a beer and we shared that joint…Did you not eat anything today??” He looked mildly concerned. “Do you want a snack or something? Coffee? I think we have Sanka in the cupboard… although what would be the point....”

You shook your head. No.

You didn’t admit it but You were not high. Or tipsy.

That was the thing. Eddie did this to you.

Yes, you’d faked taking that hit off his joint — hoping to look very chill about him offering you one. You’d barely taken a sip of the PBR he’d offered.

You Didn’t need any single thing to make you feel as high as THIS. When you had those big pretty eyes looking at you?? You were floating!

His lashes fluttered when he inhaled, held in the smoke, and then his eyes stared into your soul when he blew out (blowing away from your face - politely) and that just made you want to do unspeakably depraved things. For him. To him. On him.

“We could just… hang out.” Eddie said. “Plenty of time to make a character before next Wednesday and stuff.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. we don’t need to have an activity to be ummm together, you can just ride that wave you are on and I’ll... play guitar at you or something.” He looked down again and huffed almost a laugh. “Obviously you don’t want That, no one wants that, but we could watch a movie....”

The overhead light cast the shadow of his lashes down over his cheekbones.

“I’d like to hear you play and sing one of your songs.” You said.

“Oh no no no,” Eddie leaned backwards and put his hands behind his head, legs spread at the knees - making you long to climb into his lap “I don’t know who told you I can sing... but they were exaggerating... I can scream my lyrics in my less than an octave range.”

“But you are the frontman, you play and sing lead, right??”

“That’s only until we can get Gareth a better mic set up - he’s got a great voice - like an angel.”

“I still want to hear you.” You crossed your arms over your chest and nodded. “c’mon”

“You know what? I think I like this bossy side of you. Is this what happens when you loosen up a bit, you order people around?” Eddie smirked. “It makes me want to do whatever you say.”

“Really?” You asked, your mind reeling at the impossibilities.

“Yes.” Eddie’s tongue rolled over one canine tooth. He pointed at you. “Don’t use your power over me for evil.”

You may have gasped. Just a little.

“Or do.” Eddie scootched closer and his knee touched yours. “Just don’t get me in trouble.”

“Show me what you wear on stage.” You said. Well... demanded.

“It’s not that different than this...” He gestured down at his ripped jeans and his Anthrax T shirt under his gray hoodie. “No corpse paint, no tight leather - we’re thrash - more substance than style. Noooo, don’t look at me all disappointed...I’m just not fancy.” He rubbed his hands over his face.

“I’m not disappointed, i just really doubt you play your fancy red crackle finish guitar... in a gray sweatshirt.”

“Okay, I wear a tank top or something cropped because it’s hot as balls on stage and I pull my hair back sometimes or put my bandana on to keep the sweat from dripping in my eyes, that’s the sum total effort I put in okay? you don’t Really want to hear about me sweating my ass off, right?? Grossing you out, right?”

“No. are you gonna show me or not.”

“Yes. mistress, if you take that tone I guess I must.” Eddie slapped his thighs and stood, “Be right back.” He turned half way down the hall. “If you laugh, you gotta go. You’ll be out that door, high or not.”

He shook his head as he retreated down the hallway and then in a few minutes he emerged with his hair up in a loose bun.

He did a slow awkward turn for you. He was in a scissor cropped Megadeth shirt, with his pretty red guitar unfortunately, blocking your view of his stomach. As he turned you could ogle the curve of his back - see how his underwear - probably cotton boxers - were visible just above his jeans and belt.

“See.... not much to write home about. Functional, though. Practical.” He shrugged.

“You look hot.” you said. without thinking.

Eddie gave you an assessing look. “That’s probably the ganja talking. Or did you mean I look overheated, because yeah, it’s a little warm in the trailer but...”

For some reason this made you furious. “No. You look fucking hot, Eddie! You always look hot and I’m not fucking high. C’mere.”

His eyes went wide, he unslung his guitar and leaned it gently against a chair. “Okay... mistress.” He jumped over the coffee table and sat at the edge of the couch - leaning forward. Leaning towards you - at attention. “Any other demands?” he wasn’t being sarcastic though...

“At shows, you should crop your shirts higher, you should go commando under your jeans “ you snapped the elastic of his underwear. “…and you should not invite me over when no one else is around because apparently I go a little haywire when we are alone together.”

Eddie leaned in and kissed you. A kiss like spun sugar, ephemeral, impossibly sweet, and over too soon.

“I go a little haywire when you are near me too.” He said.

[lonelyroommp3]

originally put this in the tags and realised it made a massive unreadable block of text sooo putting it in the body instead

i also think it is very very helpful - especially with things like denser political/economic/scientific articles - to see if you are able to neutrally paraphrase the content into your own words (your OWN words!! not feeding it into chatgpt etc!! the work of doing this is the entire point). you want to check if you are able to answer basic questions based entirely on facts provided within the body of what you are reading, with minimal inference/filling in gaps/jumping to worst (or best) case scenarios.

the best questions to ask deal with those fundamental question words we all deal with in primary/elementary school

what: what is happening? what has been discovered or proven?

when: when was the article published? (<- arguably the most important question; check you're not reposting content from, for example, the previous trump presidency as if it's current news). when did the events being described happen, or when are they planned to happen?

where: where is it happening? (in particular, check that you are not falling victim to phenomena like us-centricism here. e.g. it's wild that i have to say this but seeing as it's a real mix up that's happened on here, if an article mentions "georgia", are they talking about the country or the state?)

who: who is making it happen? who are they working with? who are they working against? who are these people in a broader context (e.g. if a government official is mentioned, can you identify what branch of government they work for? if a scientist, economist, businessperson, etc, is mentioned, do you know what company/institution they're affiliated with and what their specialty or industry is?)

why: why is a politician (in their own words) enacting a specific policy? why is this economic phenomenon happening?

how: how is this policy going to be enforced? how did scientists make this discovery?

and some bonus what questions: (in the case of e.g. government policy) what barriers might they face towards enacting this? what are some potential (realistic/tangible/short or medium term - this is not the place for long term catastrophising) consequences if it does/does not come to pass?

if you are unable to answer these questions (or you just can't be arsed - happens to us all sometimes) you have two options: don't repost the content at all, or repeat the process finding additional sources that fill in the gaps you were unable to answer the first time round. because either you don't understand key fundamental factual aspects of what the original was trying to say, OR the source itself is too vague/biased/unreliable/uninformative to be used as a worthwhile source of news in its own right.

it should go without saying that this goes hand in hand with op's original points about checking for bias, credibility, etc - you may be able to answer all of these questions based on a single article but the "facts" presented to you therein could still very well be total bullshit. but i see so many examples on here of people reposting articles where it's very clear they have skimmed it and filled in what they think it is saying, so i think it's very important to not just check how reliable & trustworthy your news is, but also to make sure you actually understand it before you share it any further.

it's completely okay to not understand things on your own, but sharing - and unquestioningly believing - things you don't fully comprehend based on what you kind of think is going on (especially if you append some sort of fear-mongering summary based on the worst case scenario you could possibly glean from the headline or a brief skim or an explainer from your favourite generative AI model) is a very common way not only for misinformation and panic to permeate, but also for propaganda to sink its teeth into you.

(p.s. you don't need to actually write down and paraphrase every single news article you read - just asking the questions in your head can be enough and it becomes a pretty much automatic process once you've had enough practice at it - but if you're really struggling with a particular article writing it down like it's a proper school worksheet can be helpful. yes, it's extra work, but combating the spread of misinformation is worth that work.)

Not perfect and not always right but basically:

Is it a screen shot?

Is there a link?

Did you click/read the link?

Was it a real source (AP wire, local news, the original online post - not Fox, not the Sun, not NY Post, etc)?

Did you find any confirmation?

Did it strongly confirm a bias or suspicion?

Did it make you feel angry, smug, disgusted, superior, and/or helpless?

Is it important enough to you that you think it needs to be shared?

Do you have the energy, time, ability to research, confirm, and provide sources, links, and some additional clarifying details?

Generally I have this in mind, not necessarily always and not always observed, and I forget and blah blah. But it's a pretty simple guide to remember, and honestly items 1 and 9 cover me most of the time.

[torturedtypewritersdept]

blue eyes + bruises - part five

✯ pairing:

doctor!rafe cameron x fem!reader

✯ summary:

a tragic car accident looks like it'll be the end for you, but dr. cameron is here to make sure that doesn't happen.

✯ warnings:

mature themes, mentions of anxiety, nostalgia, and fear, car accident, death of a spouse (not rafe or y/n), major surgery, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, etc.

✯ a/n:

nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was origianlly posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity back in 2021/2022 and i have rewritten + reshared it here :) the next chapter i spent literally so much time on and i can't wait to share it!!!!

—

Running. Rafe had always been inherently good at running. It was noticed for the first time in middle school by the track and field coach when he outran a bully. The talent was nurtured and he went on to be a track star in high school and college. It was a good skill for a surgeon to have in the midst of an emergency, the ability to run with dexterity and endurance and speed. At least that’s what Molly had convinced him of so she could ogle at his muscular thighs and chest at every track meet. God, did he miss her. The one thing he never thought he would have to run to is his girl, his wife, his molly, as she was wheeled into the emergency room. The words of the surgeon on her case played over and over in Rafe’s head – no matter where he was or what he was doing – the flashback of that night, of those words in that setting – about his wife – it was all too much, no matter how long she had been gone. 

“Rafe, I’m so sorry. We did everything we could.” 

Dr. Charles Richardson looked his colleague, his friend, in the eye with a somber gaze. It felt to Rafe like the look of someone after they had spent an entire afternoon reading Edgar Allen Poe. The look in Charles’ eye made him angry. It wasn’t because of the circumstances, it was because he knew what the look meant – it meant his wife was gone. It meant Charles was looking at him the way he looks at a patient’s family and Rafe, while he was her family, he knew the speech, he knew the words, he knew this world. He knew it was all bullshit.

“Don’t bullshit me, Charles. If my wife is dead, tell me she’s dead.”  

He growled. 

“I’m sorry, Rafe.” 

“You keep saying you’re sorry – say the fucking words. I need to hear you say the words. Not ‘I did everything I could’, not ‘I'm so sorry.’ You say the fucking words you coward.” 

“She’s gone, buddy. She’s gone.” 

—

Rafe was jolted out of his thoughts, out of the memory he had been encapsulated in for the last two years as you stirred awake. He sat there watching you, the steady rise and fall of your chest doing little to comfort him, though he knew it meant you were alive. His eyes moved from your sweet face to your leg that he had previously operated on, a black hinged brace lined it where it sat elevated against three pillows in an attempt to keep the swelling minimal. You looked so fragile, yet incredibly ethereal and soft and he couldn’t help but stare. It was impossible not to stare at something, someone that beautiful. To grow up that beautiful — he wondered what that was like as he sat there ogling at you. He pondered if he should let himself go there with you, if he could let himself feel the rush and the high of serotonin and dopamine that he clinically knew would be released if he was to allow himself to love again. Was he selfish for wanting to be happy? Was he chaos on two feet? Was he damnation on earth the way that he had convinced himself he was? What would become of you, if you were to love him? Would you wind up just like her? 

He forced his overactive brain to stop spinning once he noticed your eyes were open and he brushed his fingers against your forehead. 

“Hey, sweet girl. Welcome back.” 

He cooed, his fingers running up and down the bridge of your nose and across your eyebrows in the shape of a “T”. 

“Hi.” 

You croaked out, throat dry and begging for a source of water. Rafe obliged, rising to his feet as his brain recognized your desperation, hearing the desert within your windpipe and bringing the water up to your lips with a straw. 

“Suck slowly, okay?” 

He instructed, running his fingers through your hair slowly and you followed his directions. 

“How’s the pain?” 

He questioned with a softness that you were convinced was less about him being a good doctor and more about him just being who he was – just being a good person. 

“Like a five maybe. You’re still here?” 

You lied, not wanting to see the life leave his blue eyes when you told him otherwise. 

“That’s good. Yeah, I just wanted to sit with you for a while. Is that okay?” 

He smiled softly, questioning you.

“Of course it is. Can I go back to sleep? I mean, will you be here when I wake up if I do?” 

You questioned, a curiosity looming in your features, unsure why you would’ve stayed up if it meant more time with him.

“Absolutely, sweet girl. I’ll always be here.” 

He smiled, sitting next to you, rubbing soothing circles into the top of your head as you drifted off to sleep. You weren’t sure what it was, but you knew that he was telling the truth, that somehow he’d always be around.

—

You looked up at Rafe as he moved around you, fluffing the pillows behind your head, you sat at an incline in the bed again, trying desperately to reach the tv remote that sat on the table beside you. He had been talking – asking you questions about your day, as if you had done anything except lay here, again. But, all you could think about is the fact that your favorite movie was coming on tv in less than thirty minutes and it was a simple pleasure you were going to indulge yourself in. You shut your eyes tight, squeezing them against your eyelashes with the force of a thousand suns. Rafe must’ve noticed the pained expression on your face because before you could even ride out the wave of discomfort, he had the remote in his hands and he was kneeling in front of you, squatting on the balls of his feet.

“Hey, sweet girl, can you look at me?” 

He asked kindly and when the torment had subsided enough you blinked your eyes open, his piercing blue ones staring back into yours. 

“What is it, from 1-10? and don’t bullshit me this time.” 

His voice was soft but stern and you knew he meant business. 

“It’s a nine.” 

You said, grunting exasperatedly, frustrated and tired and sick – of – this. 

“Shit – sweetheart you can’t let it get that bad before you tell me and why are you putting yourself in more pain by reaching for this? You could’ve asked me, I’m right here.” 

He blurted out his questions in a brash way, waving the remote control in the air.

“My favorite movie is coming on, I just –, sorry, I’m just –” 

A whimper escaped your lips as you stuttered and Rafe moved toward you again, bringing your chin in between his thumb and pointer finger, tilting your head up towards him as he took in the tears that lined your eyes. His heart broke at the sight. 

“Hey – I know, sweetheart. You don’t have to be sorry, I know you’re frustrated.” 

“How do you know how I feel?” 

You questioned him with a hint of attitude. In your mind, it didn’t matter how many people he had operated on with your same injuries, he hadn’t lived it and because of that fact, he didn’t understand. 

“Let me guess, you’re frustrated, annoyed, tired, sad and really wanting a shower?” 

He asked you with a light chuckle, smiling the Rafe Cameron smile as you looked up at him with bewildered eyes. 

“How could you possibly know any of that?” 

You questioned him, confused. Did he go through this, physically? Did this sweet, sweet man hurt the same way that you had?

“Because I’ve been where you are.” 

He stated very matter-of-factly and you were confused.

“You cracked your bones in a million places, too?” 

Had he been through this, too?

“No, but I’ve been in a situation that was eerily similar.” 

You were silent at his declaration, wondering what situation he was referring to. 

“I can’t do much for you about a shower, it’s only been three days since your surgery and with you in this much pain, I don’t want you up and moving. But I can have Jenni give you a sponge bath. Would you be up for that?” 

“Yes, please. That would – be amazing.” 

He nodded and gave you the Rafe Cameron smile again, leaning in and placing a kiss on your forehead. Jenni and another nurse stepped into the room with everything they needed, setting up a bucket of water, some hypoallergenic soap and a sponge on the rolling table that each hospital room came with. Once they had everything set up, Rafe stepped out, being the gentleman he was, he wanted you to have privacy and he definitely didn’t want the first time he saw you naked to be in a hospital bed. 

“He’s quite dreamy, isn’t he?” 

A nurse that stood beside Jenni spoke into the air and your breath faltered. Were you that obvious? If this blonde bimbo picked up it – he probably did too. How fucking embarassing. Rafe had left the room only moments ago with a promise to come check on you shortly, but you so desperately wished he would save you from this woman as she stood in front of you preparing to strip you bare and see the most intimate parts of you, though it felt like she already had. 

“He’s very nice to me.” 

You stated, nodding with a soft smile though your tone was a bit curt. Jenni’s pager went off, signaling another emergency in the hall. 

“Shit – I'll be right back.” 

She muttered, running out of the room in a hurried fashion. The other nurse, who’s name you couldn’t bring yourself to remember, looked at the door as Jenni exited through the threshold – you were sure your recollection, or lack thereof, had more to do with the meds and less to do with her and the shitty vibe she gave off. She worked diligently, pulling down the hospital gown, noting the stitches that lined your chest as she drug the sponge gently over your soft skin. 

“Don’t worry, he’ll get you better and forget you ever existed. He won’t give any of us nurses the time of day. Don’t get your hopes up. Besides – look at you.” 

She replied, rolling her eyes as the words left her mouth. ‘What a bitter bitch’, you thought. You bit your tongue for only a moment before deciding to fully send it – there was nothing she could do to you – you were already bedridden, recovering from surgery and would be for the next few months – there was nothing she could do to you. 

“You know, maybe Rafe hasn’t given you the time of day because your personality fucking sucks, just a thought.” 

You spoke nonchalantly and before she could respond, she laid down the sponge she was using to bathe you with on top of your chest, took off her gloves and dug her long, manicured finger into the incision site Rafe had just stitched up on your hip. Your yelp was so loud Rafe heard it from the hallway, where he stood at the nurse’s station, finishing off your surgical notes. Suddenly, the hammering in his chest overtook him and he rushed into your room to see if you were experiencing post-operative pain or if something else was wrong. What he never expected to see was a nurse, finger deep into a surgical incision and you – your sweet face with tears cascading down it as your eyes pleaded for him. 

“What the fuck are you doing to her?!” 

He growled, rushing to your side, pushing her to the side and grabbing gauze off the table next to your bed, immediately holding it to your hip to stop the bleeding. 

“I know, baby – I know it hurts. I’m sorry, I’m gonna fix it, okay?” 

He pulled the gauze away from your hip and Jenni rushed into the room, taking in the sight of your stitches that were fresh and clean and showing signs of healing only minutes ago and were now torn and bloody and frayed like the pages of an old book. 

“What the fuck happened, Rafe?” 

Jenni all but squealed, rummaging through drawers searching for more gauze and a suture kit. 

“F-f-fingers –” 

You choked out, crocodile tears rolling down your bright pink cheeks as your fists clenched the sheets beside you. 

“Sweet girl, we’re gonna fix it, okay?” 

“No, R-rafe!” 

“What do you mean, no, sweetheart? Talk to me.” 

“Can’t do it anymore, can’t keep getting fixed. I’m not a stuffed animal that you can just keep sewing back up until all the stuffing has fallen out.” 

He cooed, brushing the hair away from your forehead. 

“I know, baby – I know you’re tired. But, if we don’t fix it you’ll get an infection and you’ll get sick okay? We have to fix it, sweet girl.” 

You reluctantly nodded, letting him work, continuing to wail as each stitch was placed into your hip again, the skin irritated and sore and only adding to the discomfort that raked through your entire body. It was almost like Rafe knew when your breaths picked up and the weight of your new reality had fallen on your chest because he started asking questions – questions that you hadn’t answered – questions that no one had bothered to ask you in years. 

“So, what did you do before – I mean, I can only assume you don’t frequent hospitals very often? Unless you’re one of those crazy people. Are you one of those crazy people?” 

You threw your hand up to your mouth and let out a giggle. 

“You’re cute when you ramble, Rafe.” 

His lips turned up into a smirk. Your pain filled haze had you simply not caring about flirting with the man in front of you.

“Oh, so you think I’m cute?” 

He questioned, eyebrows furrowed, laughing as he checked the fluids that hung behind your bed. Your face was red, realizing what you had previously said to him once his words had reached your ears. You wished the bed you laid in would swallow you whole, scared to look this beautiful man in the eye and face rejection. There’s no way the feeling is reciprocated. 

“I mean, yeah. You’re an attractive guy, you’ve gotta know that.”

You stuttered out awkwardly and he simply giggled at the way you were shrinking into yourself, embarrassed at the compliment you had given him.

“Sweetheart, don’t be embarrassed. It’s okay, I’m flattered.” 

He smiled – the Rafe Cameron smile – rubbing circles into your hand as you took in the words that left his lips. 

He’s flattered. That’s what you say when you’re trying to let someone down easily. He doesn’t reciprocate and how could he? Just look at you. 

The assault on your heart at the mercy of your brain was interrupted quickly by Rafe’s voice again. 

“So, what did you do before? For work, I mean. You never answered my question.” 

“Okay, nosey. I’m – well – I was a high school English teacher.” 

You replied, with a sad smile. 

“What made you want to teach?” 

He asked, interested in everything that involved you.

“My younger sister, Ella has special needs and she wasn’t always treated fairly in the classroom; so I just wanted to make sure no child ever experienced that again.” 

“You know what that tells me?” 

He asked, a sly smile dancing across his face.

“What?” 

You wondered out loud.

“It tells me that you’re sweet and a good person and that you could’ve never deserved for this to happen.” 

“Thank you, Rafe –” 

He looked at you as tears fell down your face.

“Sweetheart, what can I do?” 

You didn’t answer him and your breaths only seem to quicken by the second and before Rafe could even think, he had kicked off his shoes and climbed in the bed with you, wrapping his arms around you tightly, one hand draping across your waist and one around the back of your head, pooling your hair in his hands. 

“Shh. It’s okay, baby. I’m so sorry.” 

He cooed. 

“I-I’m never gonna b-be the same am I? I-I’ll n-never b-be able to teach again.” 

You whimpered, crying into his chest. 

“Hey, sweet girl, don’t say that. I’m gonna do everything in my power to make sure you teach again, okay? I won’t let anyone take that away from you, ever.” 

His voice was soft and tender, afraid the wrong octave might rip you in half and you’d cease to exist right then and there. 

“Do you understand? I won’t let that happen.” 

This time he spoke with more force and you nodded your head reluctantly, unsure if you really believed him or not. 

“Tell me something to make me forget, Rafe – What made you want to become a doctor?” 

You questioned and he was uncomfortable, but the pleading look in your eyes made him answer anyway.

“It’s not a story full of glory, sweetheart. How about I tell you a better one, huh? How’s that sound?” 

He questioned, his hands working against your scalp like his life depended on it. 

“That sounds good.” 

You replied, somberly, wondering what kind of hurt this beautiful, sweet human being had experienced to make him so closed off about his own life. 

“Well – once upon a time, there was this doctor and he was a real asshole until this pretty girl walked into the hospital he worked at.” 

“What did she look like?” 

You questioned with curiosity-stricken features. He smiled at you, how he was the only one who got to see you like this. He couldn’t help but feel honored. 

“I think she looked a lot like you, sweetheart.” 

Your breath is caught in your throat at the fact that those words were coming from him. His hand motions continue against your scalp as you listen to his words, the euphoria that’s felt from the action is something you aren’t sure you’ve ever felt in your entire life. 

“I’m glad I found you, Rafe.” 

You mutter sleepily, listening to him continue the details of the stranger's beauty, who in his words, looked similar to you, before you promptly fell asleep.

“And I’m glad I found you, angel.” 

He whispers, continuing to rub soothing circles into your hair, letting you cuddle deeper into him and for the first time Rafe had felt warmth in someone that wasn’t Molly. He had felt warmth and goodness and it wasn’t from her and it simply scared him half to death. 

—

taglist:

as always, if you'd like to be added to or removed from the taglist, please shoot me an ask or comment on this post so i can keep track <3

@maybankslover @inthelibrarybtw @luvrcndy @silkylovey @yagirlwrites @obxbabygirl @rafeecameronsbitch @klutzy-kay24 @roseczbalt @akobx @allsmilesreally7 @wtfdudesblog @urdreamgirl12 @hockeybabe87 @sereneera @annaconscience @pogueprincesa @bibissparkles @obxbigsis

[olderthannetfic]

Not sure if it’s okay to talk about this here but I keep seeing people (even in fandom spaces) whitewash what China has done and my grandparents are from Tibet and it is shocking to see so many of my peers outright deny what China did and is still doing in Tibet?? Apparently because they are communist what they did to Tibet is okay because Tibet was an “inferior culture” before China “fixed it”. Why the hell?? Why is it only Tibet it is okay to say this about?? Imagine anyone saying this about any other country?? The worst of it is if you say anything they accuse you of /racism/. How the hell are white people accusing Tibetans of /racism/ if we speak up? I’m sick of seeing it. Like it makes me feel physically sick. I can’t escape it even fandom spaces I see this bullshit.

--

How bizarre. I grew up seeing fundraisers and awareness-raising campaigns and shit about Tibet all the time. I even got dragged to some talk the Dalai Lama gave one time. Is this stuff not well known?

I guess you could say it's a bit rich for Americans to be finger wagging at other douchebag colonizers, but that's about the best you can say for China's various assimilationist, genocidal projects. Diversity win! Turns out everyone can be shitty!

I will say that I've seen a rise in tedious fandom meta as people are entering Baby's First Chinese Fandom, and I can do without lengthy lectures on how to spot a noble savage stereotype.

Anyone who honestly needs it explained that DMBJ and the like are full of problematic subtext is beyond help. Trashy adventure fiction from every country is mega guilty of this stuff. This is true any time SE Asia or Mongolia or Tibet feature in anything made in China. Just assume stupid takes before you even watch. If it's mainstream pop culture, it's going to live down to expectations like a Hollywood action movie fellating the US military-industrial complex.

[officialabortive]

bakugou x witch! reader

———

Bakugou dosen't believe in witches. Their just another bullshit story parents tell to scare their children in to behaving properly. Even as a child, he upfront refused to believe the whole "black cats are witches in disguise" crap.

If cats were really witches, they wouldn't be licking their own assholes to get clean

Currently passing through a creek side village. Katsuki, ever the clueless amiture when it comes to casually interacting with animals rather than hunting them, made an amiture mistake. Tossing a scrap peace of chicken breast in the direction of some random ally cat, before continuing on his previous path. The meat landed right beside long whiskers accentuated by tufts of surrounding black furr. Only to get chomped down after a single hasty sniff of inspection.

Eyes wearily followd his every move as Bakugou reached the town's center, where the open marketplace is held. Stands of freshly harvested crop and everyday trinkets scattered every which way. Not that he cares. That's usually the case. This is always the "welcome" given by isolated little villages such as this.

Eyes naturally pin to the unknown. Anything unrecognized or out of the ordinary grasps attention, weather wanted or not. It's obvious these people have never have never seen a barbarian in their lifetime. It wouldn't be all so suprising if they've been told tall tales just as so many others have. Rumors of how people of barbarian tribes are just that; Barbarians. Wild, untamed, and uncivilized groups no better than animals living among trees and rolling in mud pools.

The hustle and bustle makes way once again as he approaches a weapons and blades vendor, no one wanting to be caught staring. The blacksmith behind the booth, a peppy teen boy with scruffy hair —presumably nothing more than an apprentice— tries to act nonchalant, albeit poorly. Bakugou stands unbothered by the way the boys shoulders slightly tense as he scans through the wide selections of hand crafted items. Onel dagger in particular catches the blonde's eye. Fine steel edges connecting to an intricately made hilt, depicting detailed images of dragons in flight. Its maker is undoubtedly a veteran of their craft.

Bakugou pulls a tightly woven burlap sack from the satchel connected to his belt, tugging at its drawstring.

The fact that he's being trailed and under watch of a wild animal irked him. Not due to the act itself, but fact that he feels such a tense squeeze of unsettlment underlying within his chest. It's simply a critical strike to his pride. Even if it caught him off guard —which would never happen — bakugou could take that thing down in a heartbeat; he knows that. Hours of walking were spent trying to simultaneously figure out why the hell is he put at such unease.

'This damn cat has been trailing me since I skipped town! The fuck does it want?'

Barbarians are taught to remain in a constant state of observation, subconsciously scanning their surroundings. It's a bit of a habit is habit for most of his people. It's common practice for the tribes to train all five senses from a young age. figure tailing close behind. It's presence hard to miss, especially come nightfall when it's stealth tactics were a bit... lacking

Those eyes. the way moonlight reflects from their surface made it as if they themselves were illuminated. Its probably just a figment of imagination due to fatigue, but bakugou notes the abnormal sheen of intelligence in that cat's stare. Its unsettling, really. The feeling of being observed by a fully sentient being.

"What?"

It came out as more of a snappy grumble than an actual question. Especially when its delivered with such a stone cold glare.

A furry little head popped up from within the grasses, prancing out of hiding with a perked tail in a manor couldn't be described as anything less then peppy. Kind of like a small child that's finally been found in a game of hide-and-seek.

It's probably just because Katsuki's ease in his travels as of late. A frisky little party member who takes claim of his cloak by sitting on it, and paws at the laces of his boots until they came untied. Bakugou getting circled and yelled at whenever he pulls out the slightest bit of food, which more often than not ends in trash talk.Though it never really escalates any farther for one reason or another A wave of grey clouds rolled about in the distance. If the thunder claps and harsh wind were anything to go by, it's was going to be a hell of a storm. The last thing bakugou needed was soaking travel gear, so he set up camp up wind in attempts to keep dry. But the storm ended changing course, bypassing him and his furball completely! X And the swarms of mosquitoes that are almost always in places such as these, just weren't there Only dragonflies and grasshoppers dodging the furry paws swinging at them with purpose Katsuki not being able to tread through mildly tall grass without somebody attacking on his boots

Unfinished

TBC?

[thiswasachoice]

All true and delightful, but you should really report your cash tips. Not because it's the right thing to do or it's the law or any of that jazz. But because you will absolutely get fucked over on your social security payments later in life (or earlier if you become/are disabled) if you do not.

Social security works by taking the top 35 years of your employment and using that, with some arcane graphs, to calculate how much you will receive when you hit 67. If you don't have any reportable income for a year, say because you took all of your payments in cash and didn't report it on your taxes, you get a zero. If more than 25 of those years are 0s, i.e. if you have reported less than 10 years of income, YOU WILL NOT GET ANY SOCIAL SECURITY. Period. None. Not even if you contributed enormous amounts in the other 9.5 years. It will all be gone and you will not be eligible for any social security payments, even if you become disabled or would be eligible for survivor's benefits. (Yes these rules have exceptions and details based on ages and categories, but this is a general rule.)

But Jack, you might say, I have basically no money! I can't afford to pay taxes on what I do earn!

How do you know my name, and why are you in my house, I will reply.

But in all seriousness, if you have basically no money, you are exactly the person who should be reporting it! If you have very low income:

1. You will likely pay low or no taxes and may be eligible to receive payments instead, which you can only get by filing. If you are in the bottom 20% of earners, on average social security taxes will cost 8.3% of your income but tax credits will return 9.3%, leaving you ahead now and in 35 years years, just by filing.

2. Social security has a minimum benefit amount based on years in the workforce. If you retired today after 35 years of paying 5$ a year in social security taxes, congratulations you're now entitled to $1,066.50 per month! That's the best investment you could ever make!

3. You can report and pay taxes on your own income, even if your employer doesn't report or you do freelance or other non-employee work.

4. If you have an employer who does give you a W-2 and they try to get you to take your tips under the table or take a portion of your pay on the side they are trying to fuck you out of your social security. Why? Because the employer pays the same amount into your social security as you do and if they don't report your actual salary, they don't get taxed on the full amount and you don't get their payments credited.

People don't know these things because they aren't taught them. When I was a kid, I made $7 an hour working as a secretary in a church office for four hours a week. My parents made sure I reported every penny of it and paid taxes. The same thing happened for every summer job and student worker position when I was in college. As a result of that, at the age of 24 I had fulfilled my 10 year social security requirement and if I became disabled or couldn't find a job, I would still be vested in the program. If I get hit by a bus, my wife will collect a survivor's benefit. It probably cost 300$ over the course of ten years. I thought it was stupid at the time, I wanted the extra money, I thought taxes were bullshit when I made so little, but that was the best thing they could have done for me. The system is set up in such a way that it benefits those who understand it. I didn't, but I was lucky enough to be in the care of those who did.

There are people who tax evasion benefits. Those people aren't working part time jobs, waitressing, caddying, or doing housework though. They are evading tax bills larger than your yearly salary. And one of the ways they do it is to convince you to do it, so they don't have to pay their fair share of your benefits. And you know what all of those folks have in common, even as they dodge taxes across jurisdictions and try to convince you to take cash under the table? They all pay their fucking social security taxes.

STOP assigning pre-modern characters the trait “would commit tax fraud” without understanding how hard tax fraud was back in the days when a tax collector would physically come to your estate and assess your sitch. Do you have any idea how easy kids these days have it? You can just claim a few fake deductions or lie on a form and be a tax criminal. Your ancestors and fantasy faves had to work for those pennies.

Look at this house. This house has no mortar so it can be collapsed or moved to avoid taxation. That’s the sort of innovation I need to be seeing before you can call anyone in a feudal society a tax fraudster. They need to be hiding warehouses of goods, shoving grandpa in the basement to dodge the censusman, starting small regional wars, fleeing their villages in a constant semi-nomadic race against the forces of government, registering twins as a single child, or putting their life on the line to sell blackmarket bread. Come back when you have some tax fraud I can respect, not just a guy who looks kind of sleazy and sometimes does paperwork.

[witherby]

Blood and Teeth

Jason Todd x Reader

You just wanted to get home before dark.

⚠️ Content warning: stalking, attempted mugging, gunshots, non-consensual feeding ⚠️

God, you'd been doing so well.

The job you work is daylight shift, you're always polite and cordial, you mind your own business, and, most importantly, you don't take anybody else's bullshit.

You go to work, you do your tasks, then you go home. You're always in before the sun sets, and if you aren't, you're cozying into the closest hotel you can find and parking your ass there for the night. Then it's rinse and repeat. Little to no deviation from the routine. It's fine.

You don't look for trouble, is the point.

But it sure did find you.

"No! Nonono — WAIT, STOP! WAIT!"

You sprint as fast as your legs will take you, but it's no use. The bus pulls away from the stop and keeps on going, ten minutes earlier than it should've, and leaves you behind. You groan and resist the urge to throw your bag to the ground.

"God dammit." The next one wouldn't be around for at least an hour and a half, and it would be long dark by then. You didn't have the cash on hand for a cab all the way to downtown Gotham, either. You pull your phone out and check how far the closest hotel is, but that's also downtown.

As far as options go, you can either call your brother and ask him to come get you, or walk as fast as your legs will take you and hope you make it back home unscathed.

You start walking.

"It's fine," you tell yourself, white-knuckling the strap of your messenger bag. "You've made it home after dark before and been completely fine. Nothing's going to happen to you. Everything is great. You could use the exercise, actually. A little leg work does a body good, and you spend most of your time sitting at a desk. Yeah. Yeah! It's like walking on the treadmill..."

The small pep talk helps. Taking large strides, you estimate that you'll make it back home in 45 minutes. That's fine! It's all fine!

Except it isn't fine, because twenty minutes in, you become acutely aware of someone following you about half a block back. You test that by crossing streets at odd places and walking around the perimeter of a liquor store, and he remains on the edge of your periphery the whole time. It's absolutely not fine.

You pull your phone out and dial 9-1-1, picking up the pace. Your heart feels like it's leapt into your throat and you hope against hope he changes his mind and fucks off somewhere else.

"Gotham City Police. Where is the address of the emergency?"

"Uh...I'm currently off the intersection of Cherry and Roman," you explain, looking at the street sign, and give the dispatcher your name. "I'm walking South along Cherry. There's a man following me, about...uh, sixty feet back? I think I'm gonna get jumped, and I missed my bus, and I just wanna get home before dark —"

"Okay, alright," the dispatcher says, voice gentle. "It'll be okay. I've alerted units in your area to come by. The closest one is five minutes out. Stay on the line with me."

"Okay," you mutter. "Thank you. I'm just really scared."

"It'll be okay," the dispatcher repeats. "What does the man look like? Are you able to describe him safely?"

"He's kind of short," you explain. "He's got jeans on and a black coat. I think he's blonde, but I don't wanna look behind me and piss him off..."

"That's fine. You're doing great. They're four minutes out. Just keep walking and talking to me."

"Okay. I'm crossing the street now, still on Cherry... There's a book store that's closed on my right. It's called...um..." You squint. You're not quite close enough to see the sign yet, and before you get the chance to better read the lettering, a hand clasps around your arm and yanks you backwards. You scream, cellphone dropping to the sidewalk, and the man is trying to drag you into an alleyway.

"No!" You cry, beating a fist against his chest. "Stop!! GET OFF ME!"

"Shut the fuck up!" The man snarls. You yank a taser out of your tote bag and press it against his side, shocking him. He shouts in pain and spasms, letting go. You stumble back, scoop up your phone, and take off in a sprint. "Get back here!!"

"Hello!?" You yell into the receiver. "He's chasing me! I'm running but he's chasing me! I need help right now, please!!"

"A unit is two minutes out," the dispatcher replies, sounding tense. "Do you have any means of defending yourself? A weapon? Pepper spray?"

"My taser didn't do shit! I don't have anything else!"

"Keep running. They're hurrying as fast as they can, I promise."

"I'm running! I'm going!!"

You pump your legs as fast as they can possibly carry you, then push them to go even faster than that. You're gasping noisily for breath and there's a stitch developing in your side. Your heart feels like it's going to burst from your chest. But you can't stop, because you can hear him running after you, and if you stop you'll most certainly die.

"Please!" You wheeze into the phone. "I can't — please!"

The sound of sirens reaches your ears and you feel almost weep with relief. You start shouting that you're here, you're right here, hurry the fuck up and get here, but you're grabbed again right as the patrol car rounds the corner.

The stalker hooks an arm around your throat and yanks you to his chest. He presses a gun to your temple and you freeze, ice crawling up and down your spine.

"Drop the weapon!" A cop shouts. Two of them hop out of the vehicle and aim their own guns at the two of you. "Put the gun down and step away from them right now!"

"This doesn't have to go down with anybody getting hurt tonight!" The second officer yells. "Surrender peacefully!"

"Fuck your peace!!" The man that has you screams. The hand holding the gun is shaking as badly as you are, and you hope and pray his finger isn't twitching against that trigger. "Back up or I blow their brains all over the street!"

"Don't!" You choke out. "Don't do that! Please don't do that, I'm just trying to go home please don't —"

"SHUT UP!" He snaps. "EVERYBODY SHUT UP OR I SWEAR I'M GONNA —"

Two gunshots sound. You flinch hard, hands flying up to your head to feel for any bullet wounds, but there's nothing there. The responding officers are sheet-white, looking at you like they've seen a ghost.

No, not at you. Past you.

You don't wanna look. You've lived this long not having to see a dead body and don't intend on breaking that streak. Maybe they hadn't intended to shoot to kill? Is that why they seem to scared? But — no, that doesn't make sense. Because if they shot him, the body is on the ground. Their eyes should be on the ground. Not up as high as they currently are.

They're looking at something else.

"Aw, what's the matter?" Chimes a voice behind you, and you turn just as pale as them.

You don't dare turn around. You don't move. You don't breathe. The exact reason why you're so diligent about getting home before sundown every night is standing about two feet behind you, and you suddenly feel like your odds of survival were better with the stalker.

"Why don't you two go on back to the precinct? I've got it from here."

The police continue to stare behind you for several, long moments. They share a look between each other. They look at you. They step towards their car.

You feel your heart drop to your stomach. Cold sweat forms on the back of your neck and your eyes start to water.

"Don't go," you stammer, shaking your head. "Don't. Don't leave me here. Please don't go —"

"Shhhh..." What feels like a block of ice lands heavily on your shoulder and squeezes tight. So painfully tight. You can't breathe. "Don't listen to 'im. Go on, boys. Get."

The first officer climbs back into the car. The second one hesitates just a moment longer.

"I don't like repeating myself. Go, before I run out of fucking patience."

The second cop disappears back into the car, shutting off the lights, and drives away.

You feel like you're going to throw up. There's nothing protecting you anymore. No one around. Just your ragged breathing to fill the silence and the Red Hood practically pressed against your back.

"You know what's coming next."

The voice is low and distorted by a modulator in the helmet. Every word makes your heart race faster and your vision gets spotty at the edges.

"Hey, hey, hey...easy," he teases, the icey hand on your shoulder moving to cup your jaw. Pressure starts to be applied, urging you to tip your head back and expose your throat to the open air. You sob.

"M'just try-trying t'go ho-home."

"Yeah?" The Red Hood coos. You swear it sounds like he's grinning under that fucking helmet.

"I just wanna go home," you repeat, nearly whispering.

"Heard ya the first time. Quiet, now."

He tips your head back until it won't go any further. Through tears, you blink up at a blood-red helmet, reflecting your terror back at you. The hand at your jaw moves up and covers your eyes, eliminating even the small solace of the street lamps and leaving you in total darkness.

"You don't move. You don't run. You don't pull away from me. You keep these pretty eyes shut nice and tight. Do all that and maybe. Maybe. I let you go home. Say yes if you understand."

Your bottom lip wobbles, teeth practically chattering.

"Y-yes," you whisper.

"Good."

You hear the click of latches coming undone and hear him take the helmet off. You feel his other arm come around your waist, pulling your bodies flush together. You feel his breath against your throat.

Getting bitten by a vampire is a terrible experience. It's nothing like the movies and books tell you at all; no little pinch followed by numbness, no erotic tingling coming from the point of contact, no gentle suction like getting a hickey.

It feels like somebody is stabbing you with a fucking fork and then subsequently trying to suck the skin off your bones. It hurts like nothing else you've ever experienced.

You scream, because he didn't say you weren't allowed to do that, and you cling to the arm around your waist as tight as you possibly can, like it's the only thing grounding you to what's happening because it is. It is.

This is why most of Gotham's businesses are closed by sundown, why most people have shut themselves into their homes and settled in for the evening by now, why you were trying to do the exact same thing before you missed that stupid bus. Because ever since the Red Hood started prowling the streets at night, nobody has wanted to be caught outside with him.

He emerged four years ago with a mission and two rules:

1. If he catches you out at night doing some shit you shouldn't, pray you've gotten your affairs in order before he kills you.

2. If he saves you from someone who was out at night doing some shit they shouldn't, he will take payment from you whether you give it willingly or not.

He does not accept money. He does not accept bribes. He does not leave a debt unpaid.

Gotham's resident vampire takes your blood.

[glossdebut]

everything i want (a take a bite drabble collection) | MYG ★ teaser

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader (TAB!couple)

✧ TEASER WARNINGS: references to pregnancy/trying for a baby, MC being an anxious mess, yoongi being a smartass, the slightest beginnings of dirty talk bc i can't give everything up NOW, nothing super explicit but definitely leading up to more, MINORS DNI

✧ AUTHOR'S NOTE: hahahahahaha surprise... aqua glossdebut is once again resurrecting her comfort couple, despite the looming POF4 deadline and long list of non-yoongi requests waiting to be finished. OOPS. anyway, this is going to be a collection of 5 drabbles centering around TAB!couple's journey into parenthood. this is from drabble 2. i'm hoping to get the whole work posted by wednesday so stay tuned and drop your feedback in my comments/inbox!!!

✧ TEASER WORDCOUNT: 610 words

You feel a little stupid.

Maybe it’s because you don’t know how to act now. Nobody told you that planning to have a baby would suddenly put so much pressure on sex, but now here you are, standing in the kitchen in a too-tight dress while you try not to burn dinner.

You never cook. That’s Yoongi’s job. But you don’t know what else to do with all this restless energy, don’t know how else to initiate the ‘okay, I’m ready, knock me up’ conversation.

You’ve talked about the important things. You’ve dealt with the birth control issue. You’re taking, like, vitamins and shit now. All that’s left is to… actually try, right?

Except you’re nervous as hell, have been since you woke up to the notification from your cycle tracker informing you that you’re in your fucking ‘fertile window’ (ew!), and you’re suddenly acting like someone you don’t even recognize. Christ, you wonder if Yoongi has been feeling like this, too.

Speaking of Yoongi… He isn’t home yet, and for a moment, you think it’s not too late to just get rid of all of the evidence. Do away with the self-imposed theatrics, order some takeout, and act like it’s just another night. It’s not like Yoongi would mind.

But you’ve already committed to these stupid fucking steaks. And candles. There are candles.

It is too late, anyway. Almost as soon as the thought begins to form in your brain, you hear the sound of keys jangling and a lock turning, and then your future sperm donor himself is slipping his shoes off at the front door.

At least, he’s trying to. He’s got one socked foot out, frozen in his tracks as he takes in the scene before him.

“Did I forget an anniversary?”

You scoff, eyes rolling despite the nausea building inside you. “As if you’ve ever forgotten anything in your life.”

“Point made.”  He kicks his shoes off the rest of the way, nodding his head in the direction of the candles on the table. “Wanna tell me what this is for, then?”

You shrug, poking at the steak sizzling in front of you with a pair of tongs. “I wanted to make you dinner.”

“You don’t do that,” he says, eyeing you suspiciously.

“Well, I felt like it tonight,” you huff in exasperation.

“Okay,” he says, rounding the counter. His eyes rake over your form shamelessly, now that he can see all of you. “And the dress?”

“A girl can’t dress up every now and then?”

“Hey,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. “Not complaining, believe me. Just curious.”

You know you’re being a little bit testy. Evasive. But it’s not your fault. Is there a good way to say ‘I did all of this because I want you to cum inside me tonight’? If there is, you haven’t found it.

Instead, you settle on, “I just felt like it.”

Yoongi hums, sliding behind you so he can wrap his arms around your middle. “Just felt like it, huh?” he mumbles. You can feel his lips on the back of your neck, and it’s dizzying how quickly your body reacts to his proximity. “No ulterior motives?”

“Nope,” you say. It sounds like bullshit, even to you. But how are you supposed to spin a convincing lie when your husband’s hands are on you? Hands that slide from hips to waist to tits as his mouth grows insistent at your nape, making you shiver.

“Shame,” he murmurs, nosing at the curve of your neck until his lips reach the shell of your ear. “I was hoping you wanted me to fuck a baby into you.”

✧ TAGLIST: @sugar-snap @coffeedepressionsoup @butterymin @yourfavoritedeluluspot @angellekookie

@kkaetnipjeon @ktownshizzle @joonary @jajabro @pitchblack0309 

@ot72025 @futuristicenemychaos @tea4sykes @sugainmybowl @wobblewobble822 

@this-most-assuredly-counts @ohnothisnameisalreadytaken @sugafun @whoa-jo @amarawayne 

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@perfctlyunstable @yoonmetogether @kpophosblog @chimmchimmm @nnybtitts08

@itsmina29 @sophia--915 @jeanjacketjesus @kiki-zb

[k0nanharv3y]

Am I giving Tim too much power and making him almost untouchable with many plot holes, and in fact, nothing you read will make sense? Yes, I am doing that, is there a problem?

Tim Drake Saved Gotham from Batman. Yeah, but lets say that he didn't do it becoming Robin

He Saved Gotham by becoming the focus of attention and method of anger release for Batman

///

And then there was a new rogue in Gotham. Batman didn't know who they were, what did they wanted, and why they seemed to be targeting only him. Inside and outside the mask, as Bruce Wayne and as the Dark Knight

He didn't have time for this, when he had them, when he found out who they were, he would destroy them, if necessary he would burn the world down, because his world burned with his son in that warehouse. Whoever the guy behind the attacks was, he would know the full wrath of the Dark Knight

But Tim was already hiding well from Batman right under his nose, Tim grew up following, watching and absorbing everything from the adults around him. But most of all he learned not to make mistakes. Tim would use the mistakes of the Joker, of Riddle, of each and every one of Gotham's rogues and learn not to leave clues, not to get caught, to hide right next to Batman, because it's a popular lie, Batman doesn't have eyes in the back of his head. The extra eyes he had died in Ethiopia

Tim had resources, time and only 12 years old, he was still moldable, he could fill any mold to perfection, so he forced himself to fit the mold of the rogue that Gotham would love. Because Tim wouldn't go for the city, he loved Gotham too much to destroy it trying to save a man who seemed to be digging his own grave, one in which he was dragging the city with him. Tim strategically targeted Bruce Wayne and Batman so that the man would get a slap in the face for his behavior. And if a building exploded, Tim would make sure that the people who worked or lived there would have good insurance and new jobs and compensation from Wayne Enterprises.

And Batman turned against the rogue who forced him to bury his own pain with his son and went to fight this guy who seemed to be virtually and physically everywhere. Batman knew the guy knew his identity, because the attacks were personal, lethal in any case, he was playing with him, mocking him. Until he seemed to stop

One day a letter on his door telling Batman how sorry he was and that "I had done what had to be done" and "I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Wayne, but you were destroying the city with you" was all he got before the depressing silence of a quiet city -No, not a city, of Quiet Gotham-

The world kept turning and both lives continued

One next to the other

///

Steph became Robin long before because Batman was trying to open his heart to another child, Cassandra arrived just as she was supposed to, Steph never died because Batman was there and Dick made peace with the brother he could never love and loved his sisters and when Jason came back to life there was no vengeance in his blood because Batman never replaced him 10 minutes after Jason died. Yes, he was angry at the Joker and Batman's inability to kill him, but someone else did and Jason will embrace whoever did it. And when Damian got home everything was fine and he didn't steal the mantle from anyone because Steph was eager to give it to someone else and get Batman off her ass.

And Tim's life was lonely. His parents never stopped being absent, and the plane crash still happened because that wasn't because he was Robin, but because he was simply a living being. (Yes, I'm changing things up here) Janet was left in a coma and Jack died and in the end he was just a kid in a mansion that was too big, but so afraid of depending on someone (the last time he saw someone depending on someone else he had to blow up several buildings and cyberbully them to calm them down) who took the reins of Drake Industries and invented an uncle just to not be put in the system and still be off the bats' radar

And then Batman died

///

Hey you!, Yeah you!, Imagine that in the middle of the Bats' life, every time someone (a rogue) attacked Gotham, Tim would appear out of nowhere and digitally betray them to the Bats, and if Oracle isn't mentioned here, it's because you and I know that she would dismantle Tim from day one, so shut up, she's busy with her Birds of Prey or something, I DON'T KNOW, I'VE BEEN AWAKE FOR 26 HOURS

Part 2 of this bullshit

Part 3 cuz somehow I manage to make another one of these