#The Dumpster Bees

[wabblebees]

((please rb if you vote! obv this is just silly but im curious+wanna see ppls opinions<3))

[joi-in-the-tardis]

[tacticaltechs]

Do you ever wonder what animal makes people think of you

[edgarallanpoestan]

cutting my own hair my best friend my worst enemy.....

[alunamoon]

A little Sera as a treat for my Dragon Age friends

(Also minor excitement but I finally recreated my favorite brush to use for freckles and I’m so happy now. Freckles for everyone!)

[radioves]

mr. medical malpractice

hemlockheart was an rp character from wc : ft [arguably the best game btw. fuck ult and fuck the fact they locked the legacy version - but i will not be getting into that] that was a medicine cat apprentice and his entire character was that he would poison people by more or less spiking their herbs with toxic plants. no particular reason why he just felt like it

it started when he was an apprentice when he slipped some yarrow to someone just to see what would happen, which lead to him realizing “haha wait i am in complete control of these peoples lives. surely this discovery won’t have any repercussions on my ego and overall view of the worth of life.” yeah, about that

somehow nobody catches on over the years, and he ends up gaining his full medicine cat name via good ol fashion *~lying~*. it ends with him poisoning the new leader on their way to the moonstone, and when he comes back he attempts to call a meeting on tallrock to announce the leaders death, only to get a lightning bolt to the face and fucking die

also his existence got me mini-modded up the Ass because everyone threw a hissy fit over his name “not being in the prefix list” so i had to change it to hickory during the rp ☠️ i then proceeded to get threatened to be reported because everyone that was part of the rp left [cough* died *cough] and all the new people thought i was just being obtrusive. ahh forest territory my beloved how i miss you terribly

[hoeforcheol]

@hanniebeesworld “why’re your friend standards so high?” CUZ THIS IS MY RIDE OR DIE RIGHT HERE

[babooshkart]

🌧🎥 !!

Bee!!!! An angel has appeared to me!!!! 😇💕✨

🌧️- favorite thing to do on rainy days?

baking, cooking, being a busy little kitchen witch 💕 and doing it all with the windows open so I can hear the rain outside 🥰🥰🥰

🎥- what show are you currently binging on?

okay so 😂😂😂 my job involves a lot of boring spreadsheets so I’ve been blasting through trash tv like nobody’s business 😅😂 currently on season 3 of Love Is Blind (and my face is honestly a caricature of disgust a lot of the time)

[whileyoureinschoolidothisallday]

I’m watching the bee and puppycat remake/sequel and HOW COULD THEY CUT THE BLUE HOUR WHEN IT’S THE BEST SONG IN THE SOUNDTRACK THIS IS BLASPHEMY

[qapsiel]

Name: Sam Winchester

Age: too old

Do you like to cuddle?: Yes

Can we make-out?: Yes

A night in or dinner out?: Night in

Whip cream or chocolate syrup?: Whip cream

Chocolates and roses?: I prefer something a little more personal

What makes you a good Valentine?: I'm devoted and I'll do what you like to do just as much as we do what I like

Would you cook for me?: Yes

Would you let me cook for you?: Can you cook?

Where would you take me on a date?: To the botanical gardens to see the bees

Who’s paying?: Joseph Smith

What did you get me for Valentine’s Day?: A bee necklace

Valentine's Day Application (still accepting)

                               "I DIDN'T KNOW YOU LIKE BEES AS MUCH AS I DO," he says, sounding excited. "You really got me a bee necklace? Is it an Apidae, Megachilidae, Andrenidae, Colletidae, Halictidae, Melittidae, or Stenotritidae? Did you know that only 8 of the 20,000 different species of bees produce honey? None are native to your country, by the way."

[ssspideysense]

˚⋆｡˚ ❀ little white stick

summary: peter finds something in your trash can.

pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader

tags: fluff, established relationship, unplanned pregnancy

wc: 1.8k

He’d never been more intimidated by a piece of plastic.

Peter flipped the white stick in his hand over, and over, and over again. His head was swimming, even after he ripped his mask off to get a better look. A sense of desperation fluttered in his chest. He held the end of the stick and shook it, but this was no magic 8-ball— the message in the window stayed the same, staring back at him.

Pregnant.

He should’ve minded his own business. Probably should’ve pissed behind a dumpster somewhere instead of slipping through your window for his little pit stop, too. And he really should’ve pulled his head out of his ass long enough to realize those were your keys jangling at the front door.

Peter flinched in the abrasive bathroom light once he heard you shut the door behind you. The test leapt from his gloved hands and clattered on the tile, now essentially a live stick of dynamite, spitting sparks that lit a fire under his feet.

He heard you pause in the breezeway, your tired and shuffling footsteps falling silent like he tried to be. He bent to scoop up the stick quickly, shoving it back into the little trash can where he found it.

Peter jumped upright again and smacked his head on the underside of the sink with a loud THUNK.

He stumbled back— his foot tipped the can over — he grabbed the towel bar for balance but ripped it right out of the wall instead.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, holding the metal bar in one hand while he scrambled for the pregnancy test kicked beside the toilet.

“Hello? I—I have a gun,” you called out cautiously from down the hall after his chaotic symphony of crashes. You’d always been a terrible liar, really, but he couldn’t blame you for trying.

Groaning, Peter held the loose fixture in one hand, and the test in the other.

He was panicking. But he couldn’t leave you to panic, thinking there was some intruder creeping around your apartment. Swiftly, he shoved the stick underneath his mask on the bathroom counter and yanked the door open.

“Baby, it’s me—“ he paused, looking at you standing there, poised to strike with your elementary spelling bee trophy gripped like a bat in both hands, “—nice form, by the way. Look at those legs.”

And you deflated upon seeing him, letting your arms fall to your sides. “Christ, Pete. A warning would’ve been nice.”

“Were you about to hit me with that?”

“Is that my towel rack?”

You stared at each other for a moment before chuckling quietly in tandem. Both of your hearts raced to their own erratic rhythms in the dark hallway— but for completely different reasons. Peter examined the metal bar in his hand before laying it next to the sink. “I can fix it, I promise.”

“I’m starting to think you’re more trouble than you’re worth, Parker,” you mused with a heavy sigh.

Peter waited until you turned on your heel before snatching up his mask and the little bomb underneath it. He trailed behind you with a forced air of nonchalance. “Oh, c’mon. I’m a real handy guy to have around. I fix towel racks, open jars, uh… water your plants,” he said, eyeing the droopy flowers on your kitchen windowsill. “Alright, there are better examples, but I whacked my head pretty hard in there, so you’ll just have to use your imagination for now.”

You offered a little huff of a laugh over your shoulder and slipped your shoes off by the front door. “Doing what?”

“Huh?”

The doe-eyed bewilderment on his face made you smile once your gaze met his. “In the bathroom. How’d you whack your head?” You asked.

His grip tightened on his mask. That nervous, almost boyish grin of his paired so well with his airy chuckle. “Uh, y’know. I saw a… bug. On the floor. Pretty gnarly stuff,” he cleared his throat and leaned himself against the kitchen archway with arms crossed over his chest.

You shot him an amused grin as you breezed past him, flicking on the lights. He’d looked a bit ruffled in the dark. Now, in the warm kitchen glow, you could see the nerves ticking away behind his eyes.

“A bug, hm?” You peered at him from the fridge. “Well, thank you, baby.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

“Must’ve scared you pretty bad.”

He shrugged his shoulders, “well, y’know, not that bad. I mean, yeah, I was pretty startled at first. Pretty, uh… surprised, since I know we’re— you’re really… careful about stuff like that,” he cleared his throat again.

You pulled a water bottle from the fridge and watched him, pinning him to that spot against the wall with just an arch of your brow. “Careful?”

Peter pretended to be busy reading your whiteboard calendar stuck to the wall. “Yeah. I mean, you’re really responsible, and you take care of yourself and your things. But, y’know, these things happen sometimes. It’s not the end of the world. Maybe it could be a good thing, actually.”

Slowly, you cracked open the bottle and took a long sip. Peter switched his focus to a little photo of the both of you on the fridge door. You were kissing his cheek, he was beaming at the camera — he remembered that day, a handful of months ago. He’d taken you to an art museum and said some corny line about how you were the most breathtaking piece in every room. It didn’t matter how cliché it was when you smiled so brightly in response.

Maybe it could be a good thing…

“So… did you kill it?”

“What?”

The water bottle crinkled in your hand. “The bug, Pete.”

Oh, right. The bug.

“Oh— uh, no,” he admitted, and that automatic flash of horror that flickered on his face went just as fast as it came, “you startled me when you came home, so it… got away, probably.”

A small hum left your lips. You turned to pour a little of your water into the wilting flower beds behind the sink. “I thought you could sense me with your… special tingle thing,” you said.

Peter ran his unoccupied hand through his messy hair. “Well, I usually can. I guess I was just really focused, or… something…” he mumbled. Focused… or really fucking floored. Either way, his reflexes were not showroom quality at the moment, he had to admit.

“Right,” you replied, shooting him another pointed look. The way he seemed to squirm and fidget told you everything in that moment. Peter was a terrible liar, really, but you couldn’t blame him for trying. A falling sort of feeling fluttered in your stomach, knowing what he knew as he stood before you.

The clock hanging on the kitchen wall ticked loudly. The fridge hummed. You both stared at each other, saying a lot without saying anything.

He loved you. He knew he did. And he knew you loved him, too. He just didn’t know why you didn’t tell him about this— and, better yet, he had no idea how to bring it up.

Peter’s hands wrung around his mask and the truth bomb inside of it. You sucked in a long breath through your nose.

“Are you pregnant?”

“I’m pregnant.”

You both spoke at the same time yet again. You both felt your hearts drop simultaneously.

But Peter’s shoulders fell and a powerful breath escaped him, like releasing a heavy weight. He shifted to lean against the kitchen counter, gripping the edge of it for balance.

“I came in to use your bathroom really quick and while I was peeing I glanced down and saw— saw this—“ he pulled the stick out from his mask, holding it in the air like some magical item as he rambled, “—and I thought it was fake at first, like, some weird prank, but it looks really real— at least I think it does, I haven’t really seen a whole lot of them in person— but then I realized that’d be a weird prank and you weren’t even home and then you came home and I panicked and—“

“And you ripped my towel rack off,” you cut in.

“And I accidentally grabbed your towel rack, and you tried to assault me with a trophy—“

“I thought you were some weirdo waiting to kidnap me!”

“You need to work on your big girl voice, by the way. They’re supposed to actually believe you have a gun.”

Your unamused glare was betrayed by the hint of a smile on your lips. It was gone with a slight shake of your head, though, brought back to the situation at hand. “You snooped through my stuff?”

Peter paused. “I didn’t… I didn’t snoop . I wasn’t looking for anything. I just saw it,” he said, “it was in the trash.” He watched you avert your gaze and gently wrap your arms around yourself, just a few feet away from him in your quiet kitchen. The last thing he wanted was for this to feel like some sort of confrontation. He had a million questions, and a million emotions, but even in his slight panic and shock Peter could recognize this was strange and difficult for you, as well. “When… when did you take this?”

His voice was softer now, and it almost made everything worse. You sighed, fingers smoothing over your own arms in a self-soothing motion. “The other night,” you replied quietly.

“Okay,” he swallowed, trying to think. Be empathetic, Peter. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Clearly stressed, your head rolled back in slight exasperation and a light groan escaped you. “I was going to. I just— do you know how daunting that is? I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.”

The smallest quiver in your words broke his heart.

Peter was fast. He moved forward, discarding the things in his hands and shifting them to sit on your hips. “Hey,” he soothed, his thumbs kneading gently into the soft skin just under your shirt. “It’s okay. I’m not mad, baby. I get it. It’s a lot to deal with.”

Your gaze was fixed forward, stuck on the black spider emblem on his chest. Peter let his hands gently glide up your sides, to sit over your shoulder blades. He pulled you into his chest and pressed his mouth to the top of your head.

There was so much to say and Peter’s brain refused to cooperate— he enjoyed holding you, though, sighing softly once he felt you finally lean in.

There was a lot to talk about. A lot to think about. But despite the strange mix of vulnerability and anxiety making your chest tight, Peter’s air of sweetness softened the raw feeling.

Obviously, something like this wasn’t on your radar, at least not right now. The ‘what about our future’ discussion was nerve-wracking enough without this sort of… push. But, unfortunately, you couldn’t just ignore it. The gears were already turning and nearly spitting smoke out of your ears when Peter broke up your whirlwind of thoughts.

“… I’m just saying, PJ is a cute nickname for Peter Junior.”

He felt you smile against his chest.

[wrestlingwithlife]

Wolf In Sheep’s Clothing Pt. 2

If you’re going to cage a wolf you better put a muzzle on it first.

Ghost X Male!Reader

Warnings : Gore, Blood, Violence, Kidnapping, Attempted SA

—————————————————————————————————————

“I don’t like that you’re going alone.”

Y/n rolled his eyes at Ghost’s moping, looking up from where he was kneeled down lacing his boots.

“I’ll be less than a mile away. The Commander is risky, but he’s not insane.”

Currently, the group of soldiers that Ghost and Wolf had been placed with were stationed about mile from a run down city that had been a home to one of the biggest names in the illegal arms trade.

Vincent Hanson

“But why does it have to be you?”

Wolf had been selected to venture from the temporary camp and into the abandoned city to scout out the situation and see what exactly they were dealing with.

“Please, you know I’m more capable than anyone else when it comes to recon and sneaking around.” Y/n chuckled, standing back up and adjusting his belt.

Wolf knew Ghost was pouting beneath his mask, and he could help but roll his eyes playfully. He hooked his finger through the loop of the lieutenant’s belt and gave the man a teasing tug.

“Come on now, have a little faith in me.” He joked light heartedly, stepping into Simon’s space. “You know, I think I’ll deserve a reward after this tough job I’ve been given~”

Ghost snorted, hand resting on Y/n’s hip. “Why don’t you focus coming back alive and then we’ll talk about that reward, yeah?”

The h/c haired male preened under Ghost’s touch. “Deal.”

Y/n broke away from Ghost’s hold, checking in one last time with the Commander before disappearing into the surrounding terrain.

Maybe Ghost was overthinking it. Truly, how much could go wrong on such a simple mission?

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜

A lot, apparently.

Y/n’s chest ached for air as he rounded the corner of another building. His e/c eyes desperately searched for a place to take shelter.

His right hand clutched at his left arm, desperately trying to slow the bleeding of the bullet wound in his bicep.

His eyes found a narrow alley, partially blocked by a rusted dumpster. He took off towards the opening, slipping through it just as his pursuers rounded the corner.

He bit down on his lip, back pressed against the dumpster as he listened to the pounding of footsteps and shouting fade away.

The h/c haired male took a couple shaky breaths as he pulled out his walkie-talkie.

“Commander…” Wolf’s voice shook like leaf in a storm and he swallowed, trying again.

“Commander, please come in.” Wolf hauled himself up, moving away from the entrance of the alley.

Ghost had been talking to the Commander when his walkie-talkie crackled to life, Y/n’s desperate voice silencing any soldier that was nearby.

“Commander, they knew we were coming. They were waiting.” Ghost could hear the labored breaths through the static of the coms and he felt his heart sink.

“We’re tracking you now, Wolf.” The commander informed the stranded soldier as the remaining soldiers grew ready to depart. “Are you in a secure location?”

“For now—“ As he spoke there was a loud crash from Wolf’s end, the sound of glass shattering before the line went silent.

“Shit.”

Alarm bells were ringing in Ghost’s mind and he awaited no further instructions, taking off towards the city, his squad hot on his heels.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜

Wolf’s e/c eyes open blearily, the light that was filtering into the room making his headache worsen. The male gave a low groan, his body tied to the rusting metal chair he’d been placed in.

The h/c haired male’s gear had been piled up uselessly in a far corner, leaving him with nothing and feeling vulnerable. Y/n allowed his eyes to trail down in an attempt to check his own state.

The fabric on his bicep was now red and sticky from his bullet wound, but it did seem that the bleeding had at least slowed for the time being. The front of his shirt had been sliced open, a few new cuts and nicks left over his s/c chest. Those certainly had not been there before.

Wolf suddenly felt extremely vulnerable in his place amongst the empty room. The windows were boarded up and while the place was run down it seemed every piece of furniture and rubble had been removed from the room besides the metal chair itself.

Perhaps if he could rub the ropes against the rust to weaken them, or—

His thought process was put to a halt by the sound of approaching footsteps. They were heavy, commanding attention and a clear indication this person was confident and unafraid.

Wolf’s lip curled as the very man he’d come in search for appeared in the door way.

“You sick bastard.” He spat, venom dripping off his every word.

Vincent’s smirk widened, circling Y/n like a predator to its prey.

“You were hard to snare, I’ll give you that.” The oily voice that came from the man’s lips made Y/n’s stomach turn. “Glad they brought you to me alive, you wouldn’t be nearly as fun dead.”

Something dark swam deep in Vincent’s eyes, something Wolf recognized immediately. The trapped male thrashed as best he could as the man’s hand trailed down his bleeding chest and to his belt.

“Seems such a waist to not use such a pretty face like yours.” He cooed, with an oily grin. Pure adrenaline pumped through Y/n’s body, only hearing the thundering of his own heart beat in his ears as Vincent sunk towards him.

Fight or flight had kicked in long ago, but there wasn’t much a fight to be put up and flight was certainly not a choice.

However, there is a fatal flaw when it comes to cornering a wild beast.

Its jaws.

Wolf’s eyes locked on to his only available target and before he could even process he surged forward as much as his restraints would allow, jaws sinking into the exposed neck of his captor.

A strangled scream tore through the room, a symphony of agony echoing off the cold, lifeless walls. The man's grip weakened, his body convulsing in a blend of shock and pain as Wolf’s primal act of defiance struck at the injustice perpetrated upon him.

As his movements stopped Y/n released, watching the man flop down before him in a heap, dying a slow and agonizing death as he chocked on his own blood.

The door to the room suddenly slammed open, Ghost barreling in like a hurricane, his gun drawn and ready. His eyes widened and his stance faltered at the sight before him.

Y/n, bathed in a mix of his own blood and the blood of others, watching him with an almost feral look in his eye. His eyes darted down to the twitching body of Vincent before flicking back.

“Holy shit…”

It was quite clear what had happened, with Vincent’s bloody neck and all, but Ghost couldn’t give less fucks about the dying man as he finally broke his stance and hurried to Y/n’s side.

He mumbled reassurance to Y/n as he flipped open his pocket knife to undo the bindings.

“Just breathe…” He murmured as he cut through the last ropes around Wolf’s ankles. “…I got you now, love.”

Y/n was still in a daze as the other soldiers came into the room. Two collected Vincent’s body, and a few others tried to approach to help, but Ghost shooed them away.

“Come on now, the sooner we get you back the better.” Ghost’s tone was soft, gentle one may even say, as he help Y/n up from the seat and gave him his jacket to cover up his exposed torso.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜

Y/n laid on his bed, staring up at the ceiling blankly.

What was wrong with him? He’d killed a hundred times before. What was so different about this time? Why was this one lasting so long within his head?

But Y/n knew, of course he did.

This one had been personal, quite literally in Y/n’s face.

A voice in the back of his head tried to reason with him.

‘You had to kill him. You were in danger. He was going to die anyway.’

But it didn’t help ease anything.

There was a soft knock on the door and Ghost ducked into the room, shutting the door behind him. His steps were silent as he approached, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I just finish the debriefing with Price, told him to give you a while before he tried to talk to you about it.”

Y/n appreciated that, he felt like he’d crumple into a heap if he even tried to get out of bed at this point.

“I told him what you told me.” Ghost’s hand approached his head, slow and gentle, before combing through his h/c hair.

“You couldn’t have done it any other way.”

“I know.”

“He was going to die anyways.”

“Yeah.”

Ghost sighed, scooting Y/n over to give himself room to lie beside him. They both just lay there in a heavy silence for a while. Surprisingly, Y/n broke it first.

“Were you scared?”

Ghost quirked a brow at the question, turning his gaze to look at the troubled male.

“Of what?”

“I must have looked down right feral.”

Ghost shook his head. “I wasn’t scared of you. I was terrified for you. When you radioed in I didn’t think I’d make it in time.”

Ghost rolled over onto his side to face Y/n and Wolf moved to meet him. They fit together like puzzle pieces.

Two exhausted, scarred, and worn down puzzle pieces.

“I didn’t even think about it…” Y/n murmured quietly, as if scared to shatter the moment. “…like it was an instinct. Like I was some sort of rabid dog.”

“Hush.” The Brit scolded, grip on Y/n tightening. “You’re not, you did what you did to survive. That’s it. No soldier there judged you for even a second.”

Y/n’s eyes grew heavier, the pain medication taking its toll over him. He gave a heavy sigh, feeling a bit of weight leave his shoulders.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I am.”

Normally, Wolf would had rolled his eyes, and made a comment on the lieutenant’s tone, but not now.

Now, sleep was calling his name.

[artsy-hobbitses]

So I JUST came back from the opening night for Transformers: Rise Of The Beasts (We apparently get it earlier than the US) and:

1. If y’all worried this is gonna be some Michael Bay dumpster fire, breathe easy. He’s a producer but it’s very similar to the Bumblebee movie in heart and soul. These robots FEEL and EMOTE and there’s a scene between Airazor and Primal which crushed me (no pun intended) and really hits at what they’ve had to sacrifice to keep earth safe. It feels human, world-eating eldritch gods and transforming vehicles be damned. It feels like the franchise is in good hands!

2. Mirage is not ‘Mirage’. We know that. I, as an original!Rich Bastard Mirage stan know that, but GIVEN THAT, ROTB!Mirage is genuinely so likable that it doesn’t even matter. He and Noah Diaz have just as profound a relationship as Charlie and Bee do and I am ALL for writers finally understanding how to write Transformers-Human relationships.

3. Peru and its people play a lot more heavily in the narrative than expected/aren’t just locale candy. Which is fantastic.

4. Very interesting parallels between Noah and OP who are veterans suffering from soldier tunnel vision (resulting in Primal going through a bit of a Broken Pedestal moment when he meets with this Proto-Prime he was named after for the first time).

5. Non-annoying human characters my beloved 💖

All in all is it high art? Nah bitch, it’s Transformers, but it’s exactly what I wanted going into Transformers (And it’s not just G1 easter eggs! There’s appearances of Maximals who aren’t even in the animated series/are comic-exclusive!) and is clearly made by people love the material and who give a shit, and I’d definitely recommend it!

[holylulusworld]

His maid

Summary: He wants to get his hands on you.

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Maid(plussized)!Reader

Warnings: Ransom being an asshole, kinda harassment, I’ll label this one dub-con, maid kink, smut, unprotected sex,light spanking, doggy style, sex over/on a kitchen counter, language, whore, slut, cum dumpster, creampie, slut-shaming, Sir kink, daddy kink, plot twist

A/N: Sweater daddy is back…👀👀

Random snaps his fingers, grunting as Fran ignores him. “Help!” Ransom mutters. “Who’s that?” He points at you standing next to Harlan Thrombey, your new employer. “FRANNIE, I’m talking to you.”

“That’s the new maid, Y/N. She will take over my job for a few weeks. I got to take care of my mother,” Fran rolls her eyes as Ransom undresses you with his eyes. “She’s a nice person. Leave her alone, Hugh.”

“Who asked you,” he bites back. “What a nice little bee landing in my spiderweb.” Ransom smirks darkly. His eyes drift toward your plump ass, and he can’t help it. He roughly cups his crotch.

“HUGH!” Fran can’t believe Ransom sometimes. “You know the word sexual harassment, right?”

“I didn’t think about you, Frannie,” he snickers but drops his hand from his crotch. He will be damned if he doesn’t feel your sweet cunt wrapped around him. So far he seduced all maids Harlan hired. Well, all maids but Fran.

Ransom’s features darken as you run one hand over your skirt to straighten it. He growls low in his throat, already imagining slapping your cheeks with his large hands. “Oh yeah, my chubby little maid. I’ll fuck the sweetness out of you…”

“Fuck,” you exclaim as you drop the broom in your hands. Ransom scared the shit out of you when he sneaked behind you.

“Help, I need you to clean the mess in the guestroom.”

“Mess?”

“Mess. Now, hop-hop, bunny,” he purrs in your ear. Ransom steps even closer, almost pressing his heated body against your smaller frame. “I hate sleeping on dirty sheets.”

“But I just changed the sheets!” there is still so much to do, and you’ve got no time for Ransom’s nonsense. Fran warned you, and she didn’t exaggerate.

“Well, that was before I fucked that sweet bunny last night,” he breathes into your neck. “I hate sleeping on cum and pussy juices, you know. I can still smell her cum. She came so hard on my fingers.”

“If you can’t use your dick right, you have to use what you got,” you quip. Ransom grunts as you grab the broom and make your way toward the kitchen. “I’ll clean your room later. I need to take care of the mess in the kitchen first.”

“No. You will take care of the guestroom first,” Ransom follows you. “Harlan is not around this week. I’m here to take care of the house, and you will do as I say.”

“Harlan wants me to keep the kitchen and bathrooms sparkling clean,” you turn around to size Ransom up. “I will take care of your room later, Sir.”

He inhales sharply. His dick twitches in his pants as you give him a sweet pout. God, how he wants to break your body and mind. “Fine. Have it your way. Be aware I will not forget your insubordination.”

“We are not in the army, Ransom,” you snicker. “You’re not my boss either. Don’t get your thong in a twist.”

“Damnit, she makes me rock-hard that little minx. For weeks she resists me and my dick. I need to have her…”

“Ransom, it’s two in the morning. Why did you call me to come here?” you rub your still-tired eyes as Ransom lets you inside the mansion. “What’s so important it couldn’t wait till later?”

“You did not clean my room,” he lies.

“I did clean the guestroom. I even disinfected the mattress knowing what you did inside with all these women,” you snap at him. “If you’ll excuse me now, I’ll drive back home and take the day off.”

“I got a new working outfit for you too,” Ransom grins. This can’t be good. “A maid should wear a proper uniform, right? I bought it for you.”

���What? Harlan said it’s fine to wear my normal clothes.”

You follow Ransom inside, already fearing the worst. Ransom buying an outfit for you can’t be good.

“Here it is.” He grins from ear to ear as he holds up two garters. Ransom twirls them around his index finger, smirking darkly. “I got a nice maid uniform for you too.”

“That’s sexual harassment, Ransom!”

“It’s Hugh for the help but,” he steps closer to place the garters in your hands, “I’ll make an acceptation for you, sweetness.”

“I won’t wear this shit,” you drop the garters to the ground. “If you don’t stop, I’ll call Harlan. You know, he won’t be amused hearing you wanted me to wear this!”

You twirl around and stomp toward the door. “I know you will change your mind, bunny. One way or another…”

“Sweetness. My chubby bunny,” Ransom coos as he waltzes into the kitchen. You’re busy scrubbing the kitchen counter and ignore him. “We need to talk about the broken vase in the living room. You know, that was Grandpa’s favorite.”

“What broken vase?” you drop the sponge and turn around to look at Ransom. “Not ten minutes ago there wasn’t a broken vase!”

“I think you forgot you and your plump ass kicked it off the table,” his features darken as you look at him like deer in headlights. “I could tell Harlan it was me, though. If only you give me a reason to do so.”

He holds up the maid outfit and the garters again. “No.”

“It’s only fair, bunny. I’ll give the world to get my hands on you,” he dips his head and looks you up and down. “I want you to wear this and clean the kitchen. Maybe I will help you too.”

“I don’t believe you.”

You make a beeline around Ransom to get to the living room. If he fucked with you again, you’ll call Harlan this time.

“No. Why did you do this?” you cry as the vase lies on the ground. Shattered. Broken. “That was Harlan’s favorite!”

“Let me help you, bunny,” he waves the flimsy outfit in front of your face. “Just give in. I know you touched yourself moaning my name. You get off on the way I treat you. I will give you all you need. A thick cock to make you stop overthinking things.”

“If I wear this, will you tell Harlan it was you?” you grab the outfit and garters, swallowing thickly as Ransom purrs your name.

“I’ll tell him it was me if you do as I say tonight, and for the rest of the week.” You shudder, but nod. “You’re such a sweet bunny for me.”

“Fuck, that’s perfect,” Ransom groans loudly as you bend over the kitchen island to scrub it. “Lift your skirt, show me that perfect ass.”

You roll your eyes but lift the short skirt to show Ransom you are wearing the garters. One on each thigh, and nothing else underneath.

“I want you to scrub this counter sparkling clean, maid,” he tuts as you look over your shoulder. “But spread those legs first and show me your cunt.”

“I hate this,” you mutter under your breath, but do as he says. You spread your legs and bend even further to give him a good look at your soaked cunt.

“You love it, little slut,” he steps toward the counter to slap your ass roughly. Your cheeks jiggle and he does it again. “You’re a whore for my cock, just like every other bitch I fucked.”

Ransom grips your ass and roughly kneads your globes. “A hole to get filled with my cum,” he slaps your ass harder, making you cry out. “You’ll take my cock and thank me later after I screwed your brains out.”

“Yes, Sir…” you mumble.

“You will scrub this counter better, slut. I want to eat from the counter. If you can’t clean it properly, you’ll lick it clean with your tongue.”

You harrumph but scrub the counter even harder. It’s a struggle to focus as Ransom kicks his shoes off. You hear his clothes ruffling and his pants drop to the ground.

“Such a nice maid I have,” he grips your hips to press your ass into his crotch. You can feel his cock against your flesh. Pre-cum smears all over your skin, and you quiver as he moves his hands to your chest to rip the blouse you’re wearing open.

Your breasts spill out of the torn fabric, and he immediately cups your plush flesh.

“I knew you are going to be mine,” he purrs in your ear as he harshly tugs at your nipples. You whine as he rolls the pebbled nubs between his skilled fingers.

You hate to admit it, but slick runs down your thighs for Ransom Drysdale. The worst guy you ever met.

“How will you sing when I’m finally inside of you to ruin this pussy. I bet it will be a symphony if you already moan like a bitch in heat when I touch your tits.”

“I hate you.”

“I know,” he bites your earlobe, tugging at it while groping your tits. He won’t let up. Ransom grinds his painfully hard cock into your ass, groaning as you push back onto him. “It makes this even hotter. You will take my cock and call me anything I want to. You’re such a slut for me.”

Words are lost on you when Ransom movies his hands toward your hips. “Put your hands on the counter and shut your mouth. Daddy is going to fuck you know and you will love it.”

You bite your lower lip as he guides the tip toward your dripping hole. He teases your entrance with the wide head.

“Beg me.”

He pushes the tip in, only to pull back out. “Beg me!” He warns and slaps your cheek this time. “Slut!”

“Please.”

“You can do better.”

Another slap and another hit your cheek. “Please fuck me.”

“That’s much better,” he runs his hand over your stinging cheek and guides the tip back in. “Tell me how much you want my cock.”

“I need it so bad, Sir.”

Ransom pushes into you completely, ignoring that your walls fight the intrusion of his thick length. He immediately starts to give you shallow thrusts, and slowly pumps into you.

“Now you will move that perfect ass and fuck this slicked cunt on my cock. You won’t stop until you came all over me and milked me dry.”

You place your hands flat on the kitchen counter to brace yourself before you slowly start to move back and forth his length. “Such a good girl, fucking her slutty hole on my cock.”

He slaps your ass again, making you yelp. “Faster, bunny. I want you to sweat a little. We are not here to make love.”

“I’m doing my best,” you pant. “I worked all day, and now you want me to work your cock too.”

“Aw, my little bunny is tired, huh? Maybe you are too tired for an orgasm too. Do you want me to pull out and jerk off? I could cum all over your ass and paint it with my cream.”

“Please. No.”

You move a little faster.

“Faster, bunny,” he grunts and slaps your cheeks with both hands. “I want you to fuck me as if your life depends on it. Come on, do your job. I want you to work harder for me.”

“You don’t even know how to work hard.”

You push back harder onto his cock. “You want me to work this cunt, huh? Really? Cause I will ruin it once you let me have control.”

“Show me, Daddy…”

He makes an odd noise. “You asked for it.”

Ransom grips your hips harder, leaving bruises you will feel in the morning. Right now, you couldn’t care less because he starts to drag you onto his thick cock, making your tits bounce at the force of his thrusts.

He grunts, and curses as your cunt feels snug and warm around his length.

Ransom speeds up as you finally give him what he wanted all along. You moan and scream his name while scratching your nails over the kitchen counter.  

“I will cum inside of you and fill you up with my spunk. When I’m done with you, I’ll take a picture and send it to Harlan. He will see you are nothing but my cum dumpster.”

It doesn’t matter Ransom is the worst. Your body ignores he makes you sick as his cock just feels too good inside of you.

He slams into you, shouting your name as his dick twitches deep within you. Ransom grips your shoulders, holding you down on the kitchen counter as he keeps on moving. “Fucking cum, princess. Now.”

“Yes. Daddy,” you whine as your walls quiver around his softening cock. His cum along with your juices run down your thighs when he pulls out to slap your pussy lips. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, bunny. Now spread those legs and let me take a picture…”

“I loved it when you cleaned the kitchen counter in the costume,” Ransom snickers darkly. “What do we want to try next, bunny? I could be your boss and you are my naughty secretary, or how about I’m a plumper and clean your pipes?”

“If you explain to Harlan why I quit, and that I never was his maid in the first place, I consider doing another roleplay.”

Ransom gently kneads the knots out of your shoulders and hums. Your boyfriend is obsessed with roleplays and you are more than eager to encourage his kink.

“I got it! You are a waitress and drop food into my lap. You will ride my dick for punishment…”

Tags in reblog.

[raisa-drawz]

Sleepy Boiz

just a silly traumatized man and his silly traumatized cat friend @pinktrashgoblin 's Blixer

did some whiteboard doodles and we thought they would be besties i didn't screenshot the doodle where Bee took him from the dumpster as his cat friend sadly :/ so have this doodle instead, ft. @soulofzurvan Blix who also loaf on top of people to suffocate them

[screwsfall0ut]

Tim Drake Befriends a Bee Minific

When Tim was young and very lonely, he befriended a bumblebee. 

Back then, he was curious in a way that teased wonder on every rusted fire escape. At 9 years old, even Gotham’s grimiest streets sparkled under the right light and perfect Summer days were for adventure, not dread. 

It had been one of those perfect days - balmy, sunny, fresh, and crisp - when Tim almost stepped on a bee. He paused, one leg raised, light up sneakers still flashing, and hopped to the side. 

He carefully picked it up. The poor thing didn't have wings. It was so delicate. Its tiny legs tickled Tim's palms.

Tim was stricken with fear that it would die on the hot pavement, alone and scared. It needed to be protected. It needed a chance.

An eyedropper of sugar water and 30 minutes later, the bee was moving - crawling all over the table and, eventually, over Tim's hands. He brought the bee out into the garden, letting it examine the roses, the lavender, the yarrow.

Tim couldn’t leave it out there, defenseless, with no one to watch over it, to make sure it wasn't eaten or crushed or lonely. 

He named the bee Sisko, after his favorite Star Trek character, and because it was an onomatopoeia of the strange buzzing sound Sisko would make while traveling up and down Tim’s arms.

Day after day, Sisko and Tim would make new sugar water, then go explore every flower and bush and stone on the Drake property. Sisko’s favorites were the yellow roses, which had bloomed brighter and taller than anything else that season. Sisko would always crawl back to Tim’s hands in the end, or his arms, sometimes even up Tim's neck and into his bushy hair to keep Tim company while heating up chicken nuggets or peeling open protein bars or chowing down cold pizza. 

At night, Sisko slept in the ratty, soft stomach of Tim’s favorite stuffed animal, a bunny his Mom had given him when he was too young to remember. Tim moved the stuffy from his bed to his dresser (he was nervous about rolling onto Sisko in his sleep) and every night checked that Sisko was safe and sound before turning out the lights. 

They were friends - best friends. 

With Sisko, Tim lost the urge to wander off in Gotham proper for batwatching. Instead, he’d re-learned every step of Drake property, fell in love again with the flowers and trails, the old, old trees, and the pond out near the property line. 

Tim knew Sisko was on borrowed time (of course he did) but against all logic, Tim was certain that Sisko wasn’t any normal bumblebee. How could he be? Not when he’d chosen Tim, not when they'd made a home together. Anyway, why should it be so ridiculous to think that Sisko might be a witch's familiar or a companion like Jiminy Cricket. Magic was real, and there were stranger things on Gotham's streets every day.

Tim started to believe, actually believe, that one day he and Sisko might slip into Narnia or Wonderland or Middle Earth. Every day was an adventure.

Eventually the cold began to creep back, hardening the ground, taking the flowers, and turning the leaves. It was a chilly Sunday afternoon when Sisko crawled into Tim’s palm, fell asleep, and never woke up again. No matter how much Tim begged and begged and begged.  

He'd died so quietly. So unceremoniously. Tim wasn't ready. It wasn't fair.

Sisko was just a bee, and Tim was just a boy, and there were no magic wardrobes waiting for them.

Tim buried Sisko under the yellow rose bush, long gone spindly and brown. He cried so much that he'd thrown up in the dirt. 

Later that week, Scarecrow broke out of Arkham. For the first time since June, Tim pulled out his black clothes and his camera bag to watch Batman and Robin save the day. 

The click click of his camera shutter, the smoggy sky, the sweet rot smell of the dumpsters: that was familiar. Tim was a shadow again. He could lose himself: in the dark, in the night. 

Tim tucked his bunny stuffy into the back of his closet. He stopped waiting for magic to find him, at least, not the kind you'd read about in storybooks. Magic may have been real, but it was for people like Robin, people who swung from rooftops and laughed loud and made the world brighter. It was never meant for someone like Tim.