#whatever you do don't mess with his family

[bluecollarmcandtf]

M O O N L I G H T ™

Chapter III

It's late, and the last thing I expect to find at my nightly workout is my little bro, dressed up like a personal trainer. He looks ridiculous in that cheesy uniform, not to mention the light pouring out of his skull and the smile stamped into his face! I guess the little idiot signed up for Moonlight™: that was one helluva mistake!

"Good evening, sir," my brother speaks as if we hadn't grown up together, "Is there any way I can aid your fitness journey tonight?"

Hearing Ryan call me 'sir' brings a devious grin to my own face. I've bullied this kid for years, and now he's kissing my ass like well-trained puppy. Thanks to Moonlight™, my annoying little bro is just a mind controlled employee who doesn't realize his brother's here, let alone embarrassing him! I wish I could get my entire family implanted with these little Moonlight™ things. Messing with them would be hilarious!

"Oh yeah," I sneer, "And what's string bean gonna do for a guy like me?"

"Well, sir, as a personal trainer here at Planet Fitness, I'll gladly demonstrate how to use the machines, spot patrons with heavy-lifting, and return equipment when finished."

God, he sounds even more annoying than usual! "You really think a someone like you could spot me?" I scoff and bring my bicep to his face, flexing it inches away from his perpetually open eyes.

"Actually, sir, this body can lift 260 lbs on the bench press without injury. The load you have is well-enough below to ensure that I may be of service. Still sir, the weight you're lifting is a very respectable amount," Ryan's smile beamed at me, but mine fell.

"Whatever, I'll be fine," I retort, "Just stand over there and mop up my sweat when I'm done."

"Yes, sir."

My little brother takes a step back as I get ready to lift. As stupid as he looks, standing there waiting on me to finish, he also looks pretty fit. His company polo might be sweaty and gross, but it's tight against his improving physique. He's clearly been lifting a lot while he's been working here, but his gains should not count if Moonlight™ is the one actually working out that pathetic little body! The only way he could bulk up was by becoming a fucking puppet! Talk about sad!

"Fuck!" I grunt, tossing the barbell back as I finish. I did a few extra sets to prove a point and now my arms are on fire. "Towel!" I snap.

"Yes, sir," Ryan rushes over and wipes the sweat off my brow. I just laugh in his face.

"I think I got some sweat on my sneakers too," I jab, "You can wipe them off and then put twenty more pounds on the bar."

"Of course, sir."

My brother gets on his knees with the towel, giving my sneakers a cursory buff. I don't know what personal trainer has shoe-shining in his job description, but I've heard these Moonlight™ employees can be pretty pliant. Apparently, you can make them do quite a bit with the loopholes in their programming. Maybe I can get Ryan here to do something even more embarrassing than polishing his big bro's shoes!

The next week, I worked out every night.

Turns out, bullying my little bro was great motivation to go to the gym! When I saw him during the day, I never mentioned the fact that I knew; didn't want to scare him off. At night, I had every opportunity to take out my frustrations on him. If he pissed me off during the day, I could boss him around at the gym, ordering him to follow me around and wipe down every piece of equipment. I could call him whatever names I wanted and yell at him as loudly as I pleased; he had to just stand there with the best customer service smile and say "yes, sir."

Playing around with Ryan was fun, but it wasn't until I went out for a drink that I ran into my second brother. I guess he had the same idea to get hired with Moonlight™...

"Can I fix you a drink, sir?" my brother, the middle child, yells over the club's EDM.

"What the hell?" I shout, "Ryan's dumb enough to Moonlight™, but I didn't think you were!"

Sam just stares back with the same flashlight eyes and widely stretched lips. Of course his programming won't let him do anything outside of bartending! He's probably not even conscious in there! Ryan was always a bit of an impulsive twerp, so I wasn't surprised to see him Moonlighting™, but Sam is different. He'd said he'd never put his body to work at night. Something about the behavior of Moonlighters™ always rubbed him the wrong way...I guess he changed his mind.

"A round of beers," I tell him, warily gesturing to the back corner, "For me and our crew."

Sam's glowing stare looks over my shoulder and sees our friends, the guys we both hang out with, "Yes, sir. I'll have it right out for you."

I return to our pals, anxious for my brother to follow. Sam is only a year younger than myself, so we run around with the same crowd, yet he didn't recognize any of our buds. Now he's about to serve them like a fucking waiter. My catatonic brother is about to walk into the most humiliating situation of his life. I just get to sit back and watch!

"Sam?" one of them asks a moment later.

"Here are your beers, sir," my brother plucks the bottles off his tray and sets them out for each of his friends, completely oblivious to their stunned reactions, "Is there anything else I can get any of you?"

"Holy crap, dude!" another pal turns to me, "Since when did your brother start Moonlight? He looks like a total idiot!"

Sam doesn't seem to register the insult.

"I don't know man," I laugh, "Tonight, I guess."

"Fetch us some napkins," one guy quips with an amused flick of his hand.

"Right away, sir." Sam answers a little too promptly, and whisks away.

"Right away, sir, Ha!" the guy repeats with a mock salute, "We've gotta mess with him!"

Sam returns, obediently passing out napkins, but I'm finding it harder to meet his gaze while he's grinning so manically. This situation is starting to feel more awkward than hilarious. These guys will never let him live this down!

"Sam, get over here and give this paying customer a sloppy BJ!"

My brother stiffens, and for a second a jolt of fear runs down my spine, terrified that Moonlight™ will actually make him comply. Pranks are all good and fun, but I do not want to see my brother about to blow another dude!

"I apologize, sir," he finally resumes, "That is not part of my responsibilities as bartender."

Thank God.

"Then get something to clean this up," he laughs wildly, "You spilled my beer!" Our friend then pours half his drink on the crotch of his jeans, staring at Sam with the amused eyes of a drunk fool. This guy always gets weird after a few drinks. I don't know why we still bring him along. Normally, we just ignore him.

"Of course, sir," Sam answers attentively.

For the next ten minutes, I sit in silent horror as my brother returns with a rag, proceeding to get on his knees and wipe down another man's crotch with painful dedication. Of course, our friends are all howling with laughter at this point, taking video evidence that they can embarrass Sam with later.

It feels like a lifetime, but Sam finally stands up, "I hope I cleaned that up well enough for you, sir."

The guy feels at his wet jeans, saying, "I don't know if that's good enough, bitch."

"I'm sorry, sir, let me try ag-"

"No! It's my turn," someone else cuts in, pushing his way to the front, "You spilled some on my ass that needs cleaned up!"

The gang loses it, doubling over with laughter as Sam prepares to spend the next ten minutes wiping down another guy's ass, but I've had enough, "No! We're done here, thank you. Go close our tab," I bark.

"Yes, sir," Sam turns on his heel. His dumb obedience is more disturbing than entertaining at this point.

Our friends all give me a hard time for sending him away, but I'm not having it. Maybe I'm not drunk enough, but they're enjoying this a lot more than I am. At this point, I'm ready to call it a night and go home, so I say my goodbyes and head for the exit.

The walk home isn't a far one, but I pass a few notable places on the way: one being my dad's dark office building. Our old man has been working late nights there lately. In the dimly lit lobby, I recognize someone...

"Dad?" I gasp.

"Good evening, sir," my father says to me without any note of familiarity in his voice.

"Wait, you're moonlighting too?" it comes out as more of an accusation, but at this point I'm fed up with finding family members secretly working random mind-controlled night jobs.

"I am a security guard employed through the Moonlight™ corporation," his gravelly voice sounds foreign, delivering these programmed prompts, "If you'd like, sir, I can help you apply for a Moonlight™ position, and you can start making the most of your sleeping hours too!"

"Why the fuck did you think this was a good idea, dad?" I ask, knowing this stupid security guard persona isn't capable of answering.

"He didn't."

The voice of someone else in the room sends shivers down my spine. I whip around, and see a gangly, middle-aged man stepping forward.

"Jeff?"

"Hi, Jamie," my uncle says, sauntering up to his far taller brother and resting an arm on his shoulder. My dad's attentive posture doesn't waver. He just keeps on acting like the perfect sentry for the building and the perfect armrest for his brother.

"Do you mind telling me what's going on!?"

He sniffles and sighs like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar, "Yes, I suppose this charade of mine was doomed to be found out sooner or later. I put your father in the Moonlight™ database. He was just wasting his sleeping hours at home in his bed, and he'd always refuse to let me sign him up, so I did it in secret. He makes a great guard. Right Tom?"

Uncle Jeff claps my dad on the back, prompting him to announce a proud, "Yes, sir!"

"See," my uncle turns back to me, "No harm done. Your old man gets paid to stand around in his sleep. Its harmless!"

"But he doesn't know!" I yell, seething at my uncle's sheer abuse of his place in the company, "This has to be illegal, and are you just pocketing Dad, Ryan, and Sam's salaries?"

He rolls his eyes, "I am right now, but the four of you don't even make that much."

"Did you just say the four of us?" I grunt.

"Oops," he holds a hand to his forehead and curses under his breath.

"AM I FUCKING MOONLIGHTING WHILE I SLEEP TOO?" I am screaming at this point, "You're fucked up!" I bark. Angrily, I stomp towards my uncle, but my father takes a firm step planting himself between me and the man. His steady palm is holding the baton at his belt, making me nervous. Is my dad about to beat me up for this creep?

"Excuse me, sir," my dad smiles at my uncle, "Would you like me to escort this man out of the building?"

"That won't be necessary," my uncle says, "I'll just trigger his Moonlight™ shift to start now. You can go back to standing in the corner"

"Yes, sir," my security guard father answers placidly, returning to his attentive stance.

"You wouldn't," I snarl.

"Oh, trust me, I will. As I understand it, overriding a subject's body while awake means you'll be fully conscious. I'll work on something to make you forget this whole incident later."

He presses a few buttons on an ipad, and suddenly my vision is engulfed in a purple haze. My back straightens, my muscles relax, and I feel my face contorts into a giant smile. Suddenly, my entire body seems to be gone from my grasp, and I'm constrained to a tiny space in my head while something else takes over.

"Enjoy your shift," my uncle snickers with a glare.

"Thank you, sir. I will," I feel my voice pushed out of my throat with an excited tone that isn't mine. Before I know it, my legs are carrying me away from my uncle, leaving him with my father, to march down the dark street...

"Here's your order, sir," my voice has the trademarked Moonlight™ eagerness in it as I reach out the window and hand over the meal.

"Fuck off, sleep-freak!" the teen in the driver's seat flips me off, making his immature friends cackle as they speed off. I can't do anything but smile and watch as they weave away. They have no idea I'm actually conscious in here.

After being forced to leave my uncle, I found myself striding into a fast food restaurant through its backdoor. I could instantly tell the place wasnt anywhere I'd eat at because the dumpster smelled like soggy fries and old meat. The kitchen was a fluorescent-lit pit, with a thick feeling of oil hanging in the air. I could barely take in the surroundings before I was changing out of my clothes by some lockers. I was horrified that Moonlight™ was making me fucking strip, but before long my hands were pulling on new clothes: a uniform. The polo felt like it'd been sitting at the bottom of the locker since the last shift, drying in sweat, and the pants were sticky with something unidentifiable. I was mortified to be pulling on a fucking hairnet and apron, but I had no choice.

"Blondie's here early," a smoker's voice purred from behind me. I had a bad feeling he'd been standing there for a while, watching.

"Hello boss," my voice answers, apparently recognizing the overweight, unshaved creep, "I'm ready to start my shift, sir! Where am I needed today?"

I watched as the man licked his stubbly lips, his beady eyes crawling all over me. Without any shame, his sweaty palm groped the growing bulge in his khakis. He was obviously happy to see me, and he probably thought I couldn't actually see him! I guess, every fucking night that my uncle's made me work in my sleep, I've been under the supervision of THIS pervert!?

"Get to the fryer," his scratchy throat moaned, "You know I want you to get nice and sweaty for later."

"Yes, sir. I'll be sure to work up a sweat for you," I answer, confused and disturbed by my response. The cheer in my voice did not match the overwhelming gloom I felt when the man slapped my ass. His hand lingered on my rear for too long, but I couldn't even frown.

Since then, I've been boiling fries and flipping burgers. Every so often I have to hand an order out the window, but my heart races every time I do. Three orders ago, the customer threw their soda back at my coworker, he's a fairly average guy in his thirties, and he was dowsed in Coca-Cola. It didn't keep Moonlight™'s programming from working: he just kept manning the grill, smiling, eyes glowing, and hair dripping with cherry flavored juice.

"Ouch!" at least, that's what I want to say. The oil sizzles and pops, and a few drops of hot grease splatter onto my arm, but I don’t flinch. The control won’t let me.

Suddenly I feel someone leaning in behind me. My spine shivers as my manager says, "It's closing time, Blondie. I'll send everyone home so you and I can clean up like usual." He whispers it in my ear, with his flabby arms wrapped around me like we're fucking lovers! I wish I could vomit!

"Sounds good, boss," I find myself saying.

One by one, the manager dismisses each of my moonlighting coworkers. I can't help but feel jealous as they strip out of their uniforms by the door. It isn't just that they get to leave; they also have the luxury of not knowing what's going on. They're all asleep. I'd give anything to at least be unaware of whatever this fucking pervert is about to do!

My body is preoccupied with whatever shit needs to be done for closing, wiping down the tables, taking out the trash, and more.

"Mop time," the manager suddenly announces, holding the raggedy thing out expectantly.

"Yes, sir," my voice answers, and I drop what I'm doing to accept the mop. The crotch of his pants is unzipped, but my bodies already turned away from him, turning all my attention to swab the tiles floor.

"You're doing it wrong again, Blondie," he purrs slowly, "I'm gonna have to help you like usual."

"Thank you, sir," my voice sounds grateful, but I am anything but. The pervert presses his rotund body against my back and holds my muscular arms with his own chubby ones. I can feel his penis poking into me below his gut, but my body accepts his touch like he's just a boss helping out an employee.

I guess this asshole found a loophole in Moonlight™'s fucking programming. He's going to touch me all he wants under the guise of demonstrating the right way to mop.

The creep spends the next ten minutes guiding my arms back and forth. "Fuck, you're bubble butt feels even better than usual, Blondie," he breathes in my ear. If I had control of my muscles, he wouldn't stand a chance, but right now, they're putty in my boss's arms. Meanwhile, his waist gets busy dry humping his chode into my rear end. "I'm so glad a jock like you was dumb enough to try Moonlight!" he grunts, his tongue dangerously close to my ear. I can only thank God that he can't take my pants off! After several painful minutes of him spitting more disgusting comments onto my cheek, his arms drop mine and plant themselves on my chest. His hands sloppily grope my pecs and pinch my nipples. I've never felt more pathetic. The man makes one final exclamation, "FUUUCK!" and I can tell he has finally gotten off.

"Thanks for the help, boss," I find myself saying.

With heavy breaths, he staggers back. The sudden open air on my back makes me realize just how hot and sweaty that slob was, and I can feel the slimy remnants of his balls slipping down my back and legs.

"Good job as always, Blondie," he breathes heavily with satisfaction.

"Thank you, sir," I answer. My voice hasn't lost its awful chipper quality, and my face is still stuck in a smile like I hadn't just been taken advantage of.

"Finish mopping up, and then you can lock up and clock out," he winks as if we shared some inside joke. I hate that all he sees is my smile.

"Yes, sir," I answer, but the creep has already waddled out of the building and slammed the door shut.

The sudden silence is unbearable. It makes the monotonous task of mopping the sticky floors all the more unpleasant. What's worse is that I can't pause to wash the manager's cum off my back. It soaks into my pants as I work, trapped in my own body. At least I know why these pants are so sticky. Honestly, I hope Uncle Jeff will wipe my memory...

[queerweewoo]

my hand slipped and i wrote 2K of About To Be Cheating Cheaters buddie (sorry tommy!). here's one half of what i've gotten down so far.

.

“That's why I'm here, hermano. To make your drunk ass drink lots of water, and to stop all that spiralling shit in its detrimental tracks. If you haven't figured it out by now, I don't much like things that hurt my family.”

Eddie's head is still spinning. 

“Hermano? Really Buck? I've only ever been a brother, never had one. But I'm pretty sure any brother of mine wouldn't look a lick like you.”

Dios, Eddie is so, so drunk, and such a horrible person for being so, so glad that Buck is here, with Eddie, instead of someplace with his boyfriend that Eddie definitely does not want to be thinking about.

Eddie needs Buck like oxygen right now because Eddie is a pathetic mess. What the fuck would some perfect pilot that's built like a brick shithouse know about being a pathetic mess? Screw you, Iceman—Buck and Eddie are the Maverick and Goose of this movie, fuck you very much. Always have been. Always will be. 

Buck's eyebrows are trying to migrate and join up with his hairline. “Oh, really? What, I'm not good-looking enough to be a Diaz? Is that it?” 

That is very much not it. 

Eddie teases, “Aw, guapo, you worried you're not pretty enough for me?” because he clearly left his last bit of sanity in the hook and ladder down on Main. He feels like he's having an out of body experience, looking down on himself from up on the ceiling and can practically see his blood fizzing beneath his skin like someone injected popping candy into his veins while he wasn't looking.

What the fuck is he doing? 

Buck isn't as drunk as Eddie, but he suddenly looks stone cold sober, blinking furiously through whatever emotions are gripping him right now. Eddie can usually tell what Buck is feeling without having to so much as look at him, but there's currently so much candied rum in his system that it's numbing his higher brain function.

“Uh, that's, uh—it's—that's not exactly what I was getting at, Eddie,” Buck stumbles, trying to right himself from the suckerpunch. 

“So what exactly are you getting at, Evan.”

Eddie never uses that name. Not once before telling Buck about changing his will, and never since. He'd only opted back in that hospital room to call Buck by what is printed on his birth certificate to get his full attention, so he understood that what Eddie was telling him was really fucking important. Back when Eddie had very almost told Buck how he feels about him, before bailing on the notion at the last millisecond like the chicken-shit he is and always has been. 

Tommy calls Buck Evan. Only ever calls him Evan. As if he knows the first fucking thing about Eddie's best friend! Eddie thinks that at this exact moment in time, regardless of how the guy is supposed to be his shiny new pal, he might just despise Tommy Kinard with every fibre of his being. Who the hell does he think he is, flying in on his helicopter like every day is leg day, with his stupid, funny fake-mouth-static and those stupid, handsome cheekbones, pissing all over Eddie's territory with his probably Incredible Hulk sized dick and trying to take Eddie's Buck away from him?

You're mine, he thinks. Almost says it, too. And he might say it yet, if Buck keeps on squirming as beautifully as he is right now, the raging heat of his twitchy body searing into Eddie's side like a branding iron that states If Lost Return To Evan Buckley. 

And I'm yours, he thinks, and knows it to be true. Knows he could make it true, that it could maybe be everything, potentially, if only Eddie stopped being such a yellow-belly. 

Fuck Kinard. Fuck all of them that have come before and after Eddie. None of them have loved, or love Buck the way he does. None of them. Eddie knows this because he loves Buck so much it somehow fortifies his heart to make it able to force its way through the spaces between his cracked rib cage and break free to beat wildly in double-time, bleeding, bleeding, bleeding. 

Eddie, feeling drunker by the second, hasn't looked away from Buck in a hot minute—Buck who now looks like he might be having a minor stroke. Stretching across to plop his glass clumsily onto the coffee table and missing the coaster by a Texas mile, Eddie then dries any possibility of lingering water droplets from his moustache with a clunky swipe of his thumb and forefinger, before turning to face Buck with a lot more cock-surety than sense. 

Buck is Eddie's best friend. His partner. The man who loves his kid. The man who Eddie gave his kid to because they both love his kid that much. He's the lunatic who has unofficially moved in with Eddie—because Eddie has driven their kid away with his epic levels of bullshit—even though he currently has a boyfriend.

Buck, Buck, Buck, who Eddie is now positive should be his boyfriend. 

Licking his lips, he feels like he's forgetting something. Like maybe all of the reasons he's steered himself clear of this iceberg for so long—only he's far too drunk, and far too selfish, to try to remember that or care. 

Buck swallows, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, and Eddie wants fervently to get his teeth and tongue around it. Then he's muttering, “Eddie, I just meant—” 

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, begs, demands. 

His fingertips have found the soft fabric of Buck's deep blue waffle-weave shirt, where it's covering the expanse of his chest. He's trying to get to his heart, he realises, feeling blindly for any sign of double-time, wanting to taste the blood in its chambers the way Buck has tasted Eddie's.

“Yeah,” Buck breathes, mirroring Eddie which doesn't make a lick of sense apart from the fact that it makes perfect sense, to Eddie. 

Eddie's cheeks are burning but he thinks fuck it, throwing the both the extinguisher and life ring overboard and going full steam ahead. 

.

[suusoh]

check this post out for context :)!! but anyways— weird cryptid johan, who can't be killed for some reason, but enjoys seeing you endearingly try anyways.

---

You try to bury him alive.

Maybe the trick isn't to kill him, but to keep him contained. Not give him any chance to come back from the dead, or regenerate his injuries. Locked away. In a dark, tight, crummy box like he deserves.

You wipe the sweat off your brow and neck, grease and grime mixing in with your body fluids and staining your shirt. At least the dirt mound is smaller now, an estimate of maybe... maybe 15 more shovels at least, and the bastard would finally leave you alone for a good while.

Maybe you should leave flowers, a nice little sentiment of peace.

Or maybe you should let a dog do it's business all over, you don't really care about what to do afterwards. You're just glad you got the cement part over.

Having to combine all that cement mix, carry heavy buckets to pour all over his casket, and waiting for it to dry was back-breaking. But it was a necessary precaution no less; anything to ensure you never see those god-awful eyes stare at you again.

Hah, rest in peace you son of a bitch.

...or daughter, or something.

Come to think of it: was he— it— even a guy? or even had an existing gender at all? Gender is rather... more of a human thing after all, creating a definition to categorise ourselves. To categorise other humans.

And that thing, obviously, is nowhere near to what can even be considered human. Seeming to switch out of skins as if it were merely switching out shirts for the day. Even morphing itself and contorting its face and body into the image of a dead relative of yours one time.

(It got it wrong. It copied the image from a family picture, but family pictures never contain faces of disappointment, do they? That's where it made a mistake, by copying that camera-ready smile and looking at you warmly.

and that's how you knew something was wrong.)

As confusing as it is by itself, another thing bothers you. See, it could easily copy anyone, at any given moment. Anyone. From a distant childhood friend to the everyday mailman.

Yet it leaves you stunned at times that it chooses a somewhat... "consistent" body, if you can call it that, when it comes it visit you. You'd expect it to come to you wearing your classmates face, or donning the look of an innocent child, or if it really wants, it could do something closer to home again.

But... no. It actually, presents itself with this certain appearance for some reason.

It didn't resemble anyone from your past or of significance to you, so using this look leaves your tormentation out of the list (surprisingly); it doesn't look like your ideal type either, so definitely not seduction. You have no idea who this is.

Perhaps a collage of features the entity chose to mix and match, or is it an entirely copied form of an already existing person? If so, then why him? Who is he?

A young man.

Blonde, tall, and pale; a crisp matching blazer and pants ensemble that never seemed to wrinkle.

Blue eyes.

Blue wretched eyes, you're absolutely sure you've already drove a pen into, or cut out with a knife, numerous times into a bloody squishy mess that leaves you crying after. But no matter what, those eyeballs always seems to come back as good as new the next time you see them again. Untouched in its place and doll-like, a bit too squeaky clean and a bit too perfect.

It makes your skin crawl.

Breathe... you're almost done.

You take a small break, lowering your self to sit on the muddy dirt ground, groaning when your backaches serve as a reminder of being hunched over all day; you toss the shovel aside and take in much needed breaths.

Something ice-cold and wet touches the back of your neck.

You jolt forward. shocked. disgusted. Quickly using your hand to cover your nape. Eyes shooting open and twisting around to whatever the hell just did that.

A singular bottle of water is held in front of you. You freeze.

"Tired?"

He asks, gentle expression resting on his face, still holding out the cold bottle with his hand to you.

A hand without even a single trace of blood, dirt, or cement on it, not even a single speck hiding under the fingernails.

No.

No No No No.

He's here.

He's not 8 feet underground stuffed in a dark wooden box, with a sheet of cement weighing on top of it to prevent him from crawling out, and layers and layers of dirt ensuring to push him down with added pressure.

He. Is. Here.

And he is smiling at you, whilst handing you a drink. In his neatly pressed clothes that look picked straight from the dry cleaners. And now everything you did, for the past 39 hours of sheer labor and desperation, is reduced to absolutely— nothing.

"I apologise for not telling you sooner to save you the trouble."

You don't need his comfort; the emotions he invokes in you will never come close to resembling comfort.

"But at the very least, it's not all for naught: you've found another method that doesn't quite do the job yet."

He’s still holding out the water for you, but it’s the way he extends his hand that makes you stare at the synthetically still limb in front of you, nothing about it human or natural—more akin to a statue covered by a thin layer of skin.

After lingering in a still state of suspended animation— his hand moves. The action so sudden, you flinch a bit. This elicits... something from him. You're not sure what reaction he's supposed to be portraying right now, was he supposed to be... chuckling? Or gasping in some weird way? The sound never making it past his throat as he just continues staring and making that noise. You don't like it.

He brings the bottle closer to your lips, wordlessly encouraging you to drink. A twitch in his fingers suggests he’s trying to recalibrate the functions of his human body, retrying to hold the bottle correctly; more naturally. More... gentle. Fluid.

He smiles again; it doesn’t make you feel good. The tug of his lips is a mimicry; you're sure he's borrowing someone else’s mouth right now, still trying to appear as "comforting".

"We'll just have to try again, won't we? I’m sure you’ll find plenty of ways to keep disappointing yourself."

[travispilledmartinezcel]

You Hit Travis with a Plate and He Dies

Summary: You and Travis have a rare moment of peace, and then he fucks it up. Your reaction is definitely proportionate and reasonable.

600~ words. Second person. Gender neutral reader.

A dog bark. Uneven breathing. A leaky faucet. Fingers drumming on wood. Electricity buzzes in unsteady waves in the Martinez house.

Two people sit at a table, hunched over and whispering amongst themselves. You lift your head a little and see Travis staring back. You can feel the electricity under your feet.

It's become ritual to sit in the living room whenever the rest of his family is gone, a nebulous event that happens 'whenever.' When it happens, he's... less. Sometimes he cuts off his usual bullshit. He decides to count the gouges in the wood instead of holding eye contact. He's just calmer.

Right now, 'whenever' is an hour or two after lunchtime. It's a rare weekday where you don't have school and everyone else has work. The two of you are grazing, taking a bit of this and that out of the cupboards and eating whatever is appealing to you. 'Whatever,' if you're curious, is grapes– and a sandwich, but mostly grapes.

Travis reaches his hand across the table and swipes one of the grapes off your plate. It's green, just barely overripe, and you can see the way it squishes between his fingers.

"You want it?" He asks the question while still pressing down on it. You see its flesh begin to herniate.

"Not... Really." Is he really going to mess around with it and then pop it in his mouth?

Travis looks between it, and you, and back at it again. You can sense a thought brewing between his ears. He's squinting as he stares at the thing, calculating some variable you can't deduce, before drawing his arm back and tossing it right at you. It bounces off your forehead and lands back on the table. "Seriously?" The grape's blood drips down towards your eyebrows, drying out as it goes.

What a waste of a perfectly mediocre grape.

You pick it up off the table and throw it right back, only for it to whizz past his ear and fall to the ground behind him. He starts smiling.

Embarrassment burns hot in your chest and on your cheeks, and Travis's shit-eating grin does nothing to help you. It nearly splits his face in two. You want to say it's unnatural.

(He just doesn't usually smile... it's a good smile, otherwise. It's pretty.)

If you give him enough time to respond, he's going to say something as obtuse as it is grating. Something about him being, objectively, better. He starts laughing. Your mind whites out. You need to prove yourself. You need to do better than him.

He starts doing something else, maybe grabbing another grape, but you can't see. Your heart is hammering against your ribcage.

Panic does strange things to people.

You grab the plate in front of you, still full of grapes and a half-eaten sandwich. The grapes start rolling off the edge. The sandwich slides but doesn't fall. The weight of the plate is solid on your fingers. Some unnamed neurons or ancient reptilian instinct tells your arm to draw back and feel the potential energy coursing through your muscle. Another instinct tells you to push forward and let go.

You throw the plate right at him. It's sloppy, but the shot rings true. His laughter cuts off right before impact, and his jaw drops at the sight of his mother's (probably, maybe) expensive plate soaring in the air. It shatters, and Travis falls to the floor with a thud.

It's a perfect throw.

You killed him.

His body hits the floor at an uncomfortable angle, surrounded by a halo of ceramic, grapes, and a half eaten sandwich. Your blood freezes at the sight.

Upon closer inspection, you can see the faintest trail of blood on his cheek. His chest doesn't seem to move. Or, maybe the whole room is moving with him.

"Fuck."

You threw a plate at him.

"Fuck."

You threw a plate at his miserable head and he's gone and died.

"Shit!"

Travis's body doesn't respond. Not a squeak. It continues to lay on the floor with you hunched over it.

[ghostlyarchaeologist]

Eliot protecting his crew.

Leverage S02E09 The Lost Heir Job.

[tumblweeds-omegaverse]

random omegaverse thought:

There must be people who experience specific instinct things with indifference or boredom.

Procreative cycle coming up? "Crap, I've got plans this weekend...stupid skip weeks."

Caught an intriguing scent while walking? "But I need to get to work! Shut up brain."

Had a snap response to a distressed sound? "Who was it?! ...right, it's my day off, I can go back to sleep."

Somebody growled at them? "Kid, I'm not a rival, that's my sibling."

Super cozy cuddle session happening nearby? "I'm gonna pass tonight guys, no social battery left, maybe next time."

Group of friends heading out to flirt and check out other singles? "I'm coming with you but only to make sure you all get home safe."

Setting where fated mates or soul bonds or permanent marks are a thing? "Meh. I don't really want one or care if I ever get one."

People in the actual omegaverse would get as bored of their stuff, as we do of ours, you know? It could be interesting to see that kind of vibe in fics. Biological demands faced with all the excitement of paying bills or doing laundry or tying your shoes.

Even if that kind of energy might not drive a plot, it could be interesting to have as a contrast to the people who do have big feelings about them - good or bad.

There's the friends who can't wait til they have a pack of their own, and the one friend who isn't against it but couldn't care less. There's the group in the office who are all about scent compatibility tests and figuring out one's best match and what sprays most highlight it, and the coworker who has no intentions on putting that much effort in. There are parents who hover and protect their offspring by scenting them multiple times a day, and others who don't see what the fuss is as long as it's done in the morning.

...also: packs with introverts who show care by giving each other space. So often, closeness is depicted through physical touch and tactile affection, but comfortable silence is meaningful too. Knowing people are near, but not having to interact until you're ready. Sitting in the same room doing different things, knowing that all it takes is a "hey, look at this" to share what you're up to. People understanding and accepting each other's differing or fluctuating needs for how and when to recharge. Seeing somebody reaching out or sharing space, beyond what's their norm, as a signal of the fact that they care.

[my-current-obsession]

My hyper-specific type when it comes to otome guys:

- Absolutely pathetic - Cannot speak to a girl normally to save his life - Tries to be calm/aloof, but turns tsundere when flustered enough - A good and pure man at heart, yet does some questionable things - ...Little Red Riding Hood???

[bylertruther]

the brainrot is so bad that i'm sitting here trying to watch the godfather just thinking to myself "damn..... how can i make a byIer au outta dis... 🤔📝"

[idiosyncraticrednebula]

Why the hell is Al Pacino paying child support at EIGHTY-THREE years old???? His old a$$ should be playing bingo, drinking syrup and dancing to old tunes. What his baby mama did to him is really f*cked up. She deliberately got involved with a man who is on a very delicate age and probably manipulated him in some way so the moment she would get pregnant, she could benefit from his wealth. Al Pacino won't probably live long enough to complete his child support payment because by the time his child turns 18, he will either be 6 ft underground or his ashes will be inside an urn. Let this be a lesson to the men who are fooling around with these chicks at older age and who refuse to get married young because "I still got time as a man". I'm sorry, but age still has an effect on you no matter what, and there is no way a mofo in his damn 80's should be paying CHILD SUPPORT. This whole situation is messy and shady.

[wordsgood]

on a whim listened to "rescue me" by daughtry for the first time in yeeeeears and i can't believe how well some of it neatly encapsulates the thing i was trying to say about lev and the twins rescuing chance despite him doing nothing to deserve getting rescued. like..... "some say it's hard to make the changes / rescue me, and i'll never be the same"? "rescue me in the middle of my darkest hour / time will tell, i never really had the power"??? the idea that at that point chance has been beaten down so thoroughly that it's unreasonable, even unthinkable, to expect him to try rescuing himself, or to make the sacrifice play for lev and the twins to "earn" redemption in death, but when lev and the twins still try to rescue him anyway, that's when he finds the courage to change? he was functionally powerless, systematically stripped of every good instinct and kind impulse he could ever have developed, until he begs for help that he doesn't "deserve"?????

THAT'S what the whole damn book is about. unearned unconditional love. this is a love story.

[shotmrmiller]

another thing i had in mind for ex husband simon was that this time you're more resistant. no touching, no nicknames that make you weak-kneed, nothing. divorce means divorce, and the wedge that split the two of you up would probably still be there.

fine by simon, he follows the rules to a T. hands to himself, polite greetings and only talks about the children. maybe for a birthday for the boys, he takes the family shopping for gifts since it's a tuesday and there won't be any party or whatever and when y'all come back home, the lights are on.

they'd been off when y'all left. simon quickly opens the middle console and pulls out his weapon and tells you to get in the drivers seat. should anything come running out, pedal to the metal.

a little bit of time passes, you're about to be driven crazy with anxiety but simon finally comes out, except he's empty handed.

comes to the side and opens the driver door. "whoever was in there is gone. probably hopped the back fence. i've already called the guys."

you're a sobbing mess because how dare someone come into your home? your sanctuary? what if-

and you come to a startling realization. what if you and the boys had been here? alone?

simon's looking down at his phone, and furrows his brows. "i gotta go get-" but you don't let him finish, trembling fingers grabbing the front of his shirt. "you cant leave us here. don't leave me alone. don't- just please. stay."

you're too upset to resist his embrace or correct him when he calls you sweetheart. the guys get there eventually, price and gaz waste no time in sweeping the area and you, accompanied by simon, tuck the kids to bed.

price calls it later, that the place seems to be clear. nothing really taken nor left behind. they all leave, johnny and kyle deciding to stay overnight across the street their car and simon also turns to bid you goodnight, except you don't let him.

you practically beg him to stay, that you won't feel safe without him here. the couch won't do because he's too far away, what if whoever that was comes in through the bedroom windows.

you seek comfort in him and in the dead of night, he whispers promises into your ear as he slides home. promises to keep you safe, to keep the kids safe. that he'd let nothing ever happened to you, not while he still lived and breathed.

when you're finally dozing, with his spend drying in between your legs, he grabs his phone and texts johnny that it's done, they can go home now.

johnny responds in seconds, telling him that he tore his very nice jeans jumping that rough hewn fence of theirs and that simon owes him a new pair.

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

the handyman

pairing: neighbor! joel miller x f! reader

cws/tags: pure smut, DADDY KINK, oral m & f receiving, p in v (unprotected), an abundance of pet names, reader is under 21 but over 18 (for the plot), reader is kinda stupid, big dick joel, not beta read

summary: pwp honestly. basically a porn plot? idk joel comes over to reader's grandma's house to fix the smoke detector (which she broke) and he teaches her how to be a good girl.

a/n: don't ask why reader lives with her grandma, originally this was going to be longer and it was going to be more relevant

join my taglist!

wc: 2k

You open the front door to and see an unfamiliar man standing at your doorstep – 40 something, jeans and a t-shirt, progressively more handsome the longer you look at him. You size him up, trying to decide what his intentions are.

“Whatever it is you’re selling – I don’t wanna buy it," you say.

He opens his mouth, but you continue before he can say anything. “I don’t even live here anyway, and before you ask she’s not home, so you can’t talk to her.”

“I ain’t here to sell you shit.”

“Well, I don’t wanna sign anything either.”

“Good. ‘Cause I don’t want you to.”

“Then why are you here? I don’t have a lot of time before One Tree Hill comes back on, so make it quick.”

“I’m Joel. I live down the street. I’m here to fix your smoke detector.”

“Oh, in that case, come on in,” you say, changing your demeanor entirely as you realize that you really need to get in this man’s good graces.

“So, you’re ‘handyman’ grandma’s been talking about?” you ask, as you lead him to the kitchen.

“She’s been talking about me?”

“Yeah. She talks about you like you’re her boyfriend.”

“Oh yeah? What’d she say?”

“I dunno. I wasn’t really listening. I thought it might just be some dementia-induced delusion.”

“Well, she’s told me quite a bit about you.”

“Good things?”

“Better than the things she says about all of your other family members.”

“You know what they say, ‘if you don’t want people to talk badly about you, then you shouldn’t ruin Christmas.’”

“Uh-huh,” he says, only half-listening as he approaches the scene of the crime - a broken smoke detector, now just wires and plastic, lays on the kitchen counter. He studies it for a minute, furrowing his brows. “Jesus Christ. What happened?”

“It just fell off the wall.” You shrug, acting nonchalant and hoping he doesn't notice your shifty eyes from across the kitchen.

“No way,” he says – not with curious incredulity, but knowing disapproval.

He turns to you and crosses his arms over his chest, and engages you in a short staring contest.

“What?” you ask, feigning innocence.

Joel swipes the dish rag from the countertop and reveals the evidence you’d hidden under it like he's performing a magic trick.

He holds up the hammer, displaying it to you. He looks mostly disappointed in you - in an oddly paternal way, but also slightly amused, likely by how poorly you’d conducted this whole covert operation of yours. “Why’d you break it?”

“I didn’t break it.”

“Kid, I’m not an idiot. Just fess up, so we can fix it and move on.”

“Are you gonna tell on me?”

“You afraid of your meemaw’s wrath?” he teases.

“I don’t want her to be disappointed in me.”

“Should she be?”

“I didn’t mean to break it. I just wanted it to stop beeping.”

“It’s supposed to beep.”

You give him a pathetic pout that you hope works. It doesn’t. It only makes his gaze harden.

“I’m sorry. It was just one cigarette, and I really, really didn’t want to get in trouble… so when it went off, I panicked and hit it with the hammer.”

He shakes his head and sighs. “You’re a piece of work, kid. Making me come out here on my lunch break-”

“-I’m sorry," you interrupt, "I won’t do it again, so just please, please don’t tell on me.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“I could offer you something… something to show my infinite remorse for my actions and my infinite gratitude to you for fixing the mess I made.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Okay. What’s your offer?”

His smirk makes you think you’re on the same page so you get down on your knees in front of him, but when you look up into his eyes, what stares back at you is complete bewilderment.

“Get up,” he says, offering you his hand.

“I thought…”

“I don’t think you were thinking,” he says condescendingly.

“You’ve gotta learn to listen to the thoughts up here,” he says, tapping you on your temple. “Not the ones down here.” His finger brushes against your clit.

The way he speaks to you only makes it worse, the throbbing, aching feeling between your legs. You can’t find a single thing to say that isn’t ‘please’ followed by some utterly depraved suggestion.

Joel turns back to his work, somehow unfazed by the interaction.

“Normally, I’d think this sounds a bit too chauvinistic to ask, but since you owe me, can you get me a beer from the garage?”

Oh fuck. Three strikes, you’re out.

“We don’t have any beer.”

“You sure about that? I just put a six pack in there last week.”

“Maybe my grandma drank them already…”

“Your grandmother said that Budweiser tastes like cat piss.”

“It does.”

“Yeah? And how would you know that? I thought you weren’t 21 yet. Who’s buying you alcohol?”

“I didn’t know they were yours.”

“Uh-huh, but I bet your grandma would’ve told you they were if you’d asked her. But she doesn’t know about your ‘habits’, does she?”

“No,” you admit weakly.

“Come here.”

You step towards him, and wait for him to give you an earful or to threaten to reveal your secrets.

“I’m reconsidering your little offer.”

Your face lights up at the opportunity to make things right, to expunge this from your record.

“So if I did that, we’d be cool, right?”

“Depends on how good you are, darlin’.”

For a second time that afternoon, you sink to your knees, but this time, Joel gives you the go-ahead. You try to balance the coyness you’ve seen women in the movies demonstrate with the eagerness you feel inside as you undo his belt.

With his jeans halfway down his legs, you place your palm over the bulge in his boxers and feel him twitch at your touch. When his cock is finally released from its confines, you try not to be too intimidated. Your confidence is falling but your arousal only rises.

You begin by wrapping your hand around him and stroking his length, setting a steady pace. Then, you tease the tip with kitten licks and hear his breath hitch when you flick your tongue across his slit.

There’s no way you can take him all the way down your throat – you’d probably bruise your esophagus. Still, you try, sputtering and letting saliva drip down your chin. You can’t help but feel a bit proud of yourself when he has to put his hand on the counter to steady himself.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” he says through heavy breaths.

You pull away, upset at what you perceive to be a failure. “You didn’t cum…”

“I almost did, baby girl, but I don’t want to yet.”

You feel a bit pathetic imagining how you must look from his perspective, with your teary eyes, begging him to let you go on.

“You wanna give me a good apology, right?” He nods slowly, looking into your eyes, prompting you to do the same.

“Then, I want you to come sit on the couch with me.”

He takes your hand and walks you to the living room, patronizing since the two rooms are connected. When Joel sits down on the couch, he pulls you into his lap.

“I was thinkin’ about what I said before – how you’re not using your head. You could be such a smart girl – a good girl - if only you could think with your brain. You just need a little bit of help.”

You can feel his hard cock poking through his boxers and rubbing against your pussy. It’s hard to resist the urge to roll your hips, just to get a bit of friction, a bit of relief.

His hand finds its way between your legs and he asks, “What’s gonna happen if I put my hand in your panties right now, baby? Are you gonna be wet?”

While you try to form a response that doesn’t make you sound too desperate, his fingers toy with your waistband. “Remember, baby, good girls are honest,” he whispers into the shell of your ear.

“Yeah, I am… wet.”

“For me?” His hand meets your bare skin and finds that you are, indeed, dripping wet. “Did I do this to you?”

“Uh-huh.” You arch into his touch, shamelessly using his fingers for your own pleasure.

“If you want more, you have to be a good girl.”

With the promise of a reward, you follow his implied instructions and still your hips.

“I’ll be good. I promise.”

He takes your word for it and begins rubbing circles on your clit. You could cum from that alone but he slips a finger inside you, curling it upward to meet that special spot.

Joel expects a response from you, but not the one he gets.

A single word: “Daddy…”

“Oh, baby. I get it now. Been needin’ daddy to take care of you.”

He’s right. You do need this. He can take care of you, you can be good for him. When he fucks you with his fingers, you swear you could fall in love with him.

But when he takes them away, you cry.

“Shh… It’s okay,” he says, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I wanna do something else. It’s gonna make you feel even better.”

Before you have a chance to think, your panties are on the floor and his head is between your thighs. You can feel his breath on your clit when he speaks. “I want you to be a good girl and cum on my face – can you do that?”

“Yes, daddy.” The word leaves your mouth more naturally than it probably should, it's almost instinctual.

Joel wastes no more time talking, knowing his tongue can convey much more when it runs along your folds, and his lips can elicit a better response when they suck lightly on your clit.

The only thing you have for him is moans accompanied by breathless chanting of “daddy, daddy, daddy.”

He hums into your core, an affirmative, a reminder that you are a good girl. You can do this.

You can cum for him. You will cum for him – there is nothing that can stop the euphoria that rushes through you. It’s the kind that makes your legs shake and your eyes roll back into your head.

Joel was right – the orgasm clears your mind. But the realization that the situation you’ve ended up in – naked on your grandmother’s couch with her middle-aged neighbor who is supposed to be fixing your mistake, not helping you make another - is a precarious one. Being a smart girl seems to be a double edged sword.

Euphemistically, speaking.

In truth, it’s Joel’s cock that’s fully-sheathed inside you. Pain and pleasure mix as he thrusts in and out of you. You swear he might split you open, but even if he quite literally tore you to pieces, you'd die happily.

“You’re takin’ it so well,” he tells you, “knew you’d be a good girl.”

And maybe it’s the praise, or maybe it’s his thumb on your clit, but you’re rapidly approaching a second orgasm. All you can do is hold onto Joel, dragging your nails down his back. He bites your neck in response, and hopefully he doesn’t intend for it be a deterrent, because it only serves to heighten your pleasure.

He slows his pace, but his hips slam into yours harder, filling the air with the sound of skin slapping against skin in a steady rhythm.

“Whose pussy is this?”

You can’t breathe when the weight of his cock knocks the wind out of you, so he stops, allowing you to answer.

“Yours, daddy!”

His lips on yours are your cue to cum – or so you hope because it happens regardless of your will.

He has the sense to pull out and let his release spill onto your stomach.

You sigh, relaxing into the couch. “I need a cigarette,” you say.

“Did you not learn anything from today?”

“Mm-mm,” you say grinning dumbly.

Caught up in a daze – absolutely enraptured by his need to have you – he made the mistake of fucking you stupid.

[gothhabiba]

do you know where are the the best places or mosteffective to donate to help palestinians atm? like charities ect

In terms of direct aid it is better to give money directly to families in Ghazza than to a charity. Charities, governmental and nongovernmental organisations &c., are seldom able to use funds to distribute aid right now, as few trucks are getting through, and none to the north of Ghazza.

ETA on Charities in Ghazza:

Taawon Association (in partnership with the Bank of Palestine) are distributing hot meals in Ghazza.

The World Food Programme (WFP) is getting food parcels into Ghazza, though I can't find them sharing a more specific location anywhere. Donate here.

The Palestinian Children's Relief Fund (PCRF) is providing medicine, food, and water. Their website specifically mentions food relief in north, central, and south Ghazza, and water delivered to north and south Ghazza.

Direct aid to Ghazza:

Money given directly to families in Ghazza is used to help them cross the Rafah crossing into Egypt, and/or to purchase plane tickets and apply for visas so they have somewhere to go after arriving in Egypt.

Help Christians in Ghazza get visas to leave

Help Hala Abu Ramadan's family of six leave Ghazza (organized by Mohammed Samhouri, vouched for by @psychoticgerard)

Help Dr. Intimaa AbuHelou's family of 22 leave Ghazza (organized by professer Steve Tamari)

Help Shayma and her family of 16 leave Ghazza (organised by Fardowsa. You may remember a link to a paypal going around to help Shayma; however, paypal has frozen those funds)

Help Shaymaa's family of 13 leave Ghazza (organised by Shaymaa herself, who is in Canada)

Help Sanaa and her family of 5 leave Ghazza and establish themselves in Belgium (organised by Eyad M, vouched for by Motaz Azaiza)

Help sisters Duaa and Deena leave Ghazza and get medical treatment in Cairo (organised by Shereen Alhayek, @.littlestpersimmon's friend's acquaintance)

Help Ahmed (@90-ghost) and his family leave Ghazza via ko-fi, paypal, or gofundme (@unionfish is offering stickers and prints in exchange for donations)

Help a family of Ghazzan refugees in Egypt get medical care and relocate

Buy an e-sim for use in Ghazza

Interruption of arms sent to Israel:

Palestine Action targets arms manufacturers in the US and UK

Palestine Legal offers legal defense for those who get arrested &c. in the course of protest or sabotage on behalf of Palestine

If you have some barrier to donating or to buying e-sims yourself (someone looking through your transactions, no room on your phone for new apps, don't want to mess up the instructions, don't have time to keep up with what's being called for at the moment, literally whatever), I can buy e-sims and move funds on your behalf. My venmo is @gothhabiba; paypal paypal.me/Najia; squarecash $NajiaK; DM me for Zelle information. Feel free to leave a note about where you want it to go (specifically for e-sims; aid to people in Ghazza; &c.)

BDS (Boycott, Divest, Sanctions)

You asked specifically about donations, but if you haven't looked into the boycotts being called for by the Palestinian Campaign for Academic and Cultural Boycott of Israel (PACBI) and the Palestinian BDS National Committee (BNC), I urge you to do so.

BDS chapters in your locality may be calling for their own boycotts, so look into that as well. Think creatively about how to minimise purchase of boycotted goods (e.g., getting your union to refuse to shelve Israeli groceries).

Monday strikes

The Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP) has called for weekly strikes on Mondays. Talk to your union or coworkers about strikes or work stoppages on Mondays, if you can. At least avoid making any purchases (goods, recreation, entertainment, food, &c.) on Mondays.

[dahliakbs]

Damian Wayne x Child! Reader (Part 1) - This won't do —⁠☆

Synopsis: after seeing the state of your apartment Damian pulls some strings and changes your life on step at a time.

Masterlist , Pillager Of Art

"Are your parents attending the pta meeting?" Damian asks.

After seeing the wretched state your house was in Damian chose to stand at the door.

The moldy yellow floor of your apart was covered in dirt and whatever substances you managed track back into the house. The walls in the same sorry state with a moldy yellow wallpaper that was covered in nasty cracks and stains that could never be removed.

The tiles of your flooring were covered in a bottomless pit of clothes and whatever else was in that pile. Your window didn't show some immaculate view of Gotham City instead it was closed off with would. Glass shards left on the floor in front of the window after a stray bullet was shot through your window.

"Oh my Dad, he's not coming" you say as you make your way towards your kitchen.

Damian couldn't bare looking into the kitchen to see what mess was made in their so he chose to stair the ceiling instead.

"Why not?" He tilts his head to the side, he was told by Alfred that events like these were the only way to see how your child was progressing and apparently it was mandatory for parents to attend so why weren't your coming?

"Oh, my parents are dead" you said as if It didn't bother you and it didn't.

Your mother had sadly passed away during child birth.

Your dad tho...

He was a piece of work, never cared for your well-being AT ALL. You basically raised yourself in this house. The only reason you hadn't starved yet was because your father left food in the cupboard for you to use (mostly unhealthy cheap food).

You barely ever saw your dad and when he died you hadn't even noticed, not like he ever came home anyway. The only way you knew was when the news broadcast came on and you saw a blurred out image of a man that vaguely resembled your father.

There were several gunshot holes scattered around the figures body and by the looks of it he was probably just getting off of work before the death occurred.

The situation never bothered you, having no adults around was a blessing if anything.

"My parents can't come but I'll wait with you until your dad does" you replied and gasped when you found what you were looking for.

"Dami you have to try one" you turned to him with a cup of ramen noodles in hand.

"No thank you, aren't there other options?" he asked as he began to list off foods he'd already eaten before.

Safe to say, you hadn't even know those foods existed or eaten anything that wasn't microwavable.

This wouldn't do.

When he left your house that evening he made it his mission to find a way to get you out of that situation.

And that he did, when the day of the PTA meeting arrives Damian is oddly quiet. Not as if he talked much anyway.

While you both waited for his dad to finish speaking with the teachers he'd a held a tight grip on your hand as if to silently tell you not to run off anywhere.

"Dami I still don't know why you told me to bring all my stuff with me, are we having a sleepover?" You asked, you were told to bring all necessities which means that you needed your tooth brush and whatever you could salvage from that mess of a house.

"You'll know when we get there" he said calmly which only made your excitement grown even more. He was already pretty used to your energetic behavior so this was nothing.

At last the meeting had finished and you were all exiting he building.

"Is this the friend you told me about Damian" his father spoke up only to receive a nod in return.

You had never noticed how eerily similar they look but now that you were stood right before him you realized noticed the shared features.

"(Reader) right" Bruce got down in one knee so he could speak to you at eye level. Now, extending invitations to join the family weren't an everyday occurrence but if his son was so hard pressed on your living conditions and even brought up good points as to why you can't live there.

Plus he knew you were a good kid.

"A little Birdy informed me of your living conditions and they wanted me to extend an exciting offer to you" he spoke to you in a way that made your excitement peak.

You were so excited that you hadn't even noticed when you got in the car or when you arrived at the manor or when you arrived at Damian's bedroom door.

For you everything went by quickly, so quickly that when you woke up the next morning you couldn't even remember why you were in Damian's house or why you were currently bundled up across from his sleeping face.

He must've bundled you up while you were asleep. He was always considerate but rarely ever showed you that side of him.

"Dami, I need to go home" you said groggily.

"Your not going anywhere" he instantly replied.

"But I can't stay here forever, I need to go home" you said in a worried tone but he only raised a brow.

"I knew you weren't listening" he sighed.

"Just go back to sleep" he waved his hand in front if your face which seemed to do the trick because you were knocked out within seconds.

And just like that you were silently adopted into the family.

[luvyeni]

THEY PUNISH YOU 𖹭 엔하이픈 ( reaction ) !

genre yandere 𖹭 warning — parings enhypen x fem reader | back to library .

request. hear me out.. enhypen!yandere punishments could you make them lowkey crazy.

「 authors note 𖹭 」 this is probably the darkest thing i've written , if this isn't something that makes you uncomfortable please don't read.

﹙ 𐙚 : heeseung﹚ .ᐟ

heeseung will punish you by fucking with you mentally , you try to leave? go ahead, he'll let you leave , but not without consequences. see on the outside to everyone else heeseung is very influential , he gets around, and I mean to everyone , your friends , family hell even your teachers or employers , he completely isolates you from everyone , so with no friends, family or work , no where to go— you come back to him basically on your knees begging for him to take you back , which he does with a smirk on his face.

"everyone hates you now , so you come back to me, that's okay baby I'm all you have , remember that next time you leave."

﹙ 𐙚 : jay﹚ .ᐟ

jay doesn't have time for your bullshit; he'll tie you up and leave you in your room and go about his day , you're there to make him look perfect and if you aren't perfect, then he really doesn't have any use for you. he won't be bothered with you at all , he'd make sure the maid fed you and gave you water , but that's it , he wanted nothing to do with you until he felt like it was necessary , when he needed you to look perfect. he'd come back with a pretty dress in his arms , throwing it on the bed , telling you to get dressed.

"you're to clean up this act for tonight , if you don't embarrass me then I'll consider letting you out of your room."

﹙ 𐙚 : jake﹚ .ᐟ

jake would never hit you; no he would never hurt you , he'd hurt himself and force you to listen because he knew that would mess you up more than anything he could ever do to you. "jake open the door!" you slammed on the bathroom door , you tried to leave and jake caught you , grabbing a knife from the kitchen , running into the bathroom before you could even do anything. "get away , this is your fault." he screamed back. "you have to learn once you go i go , you hate me anyway just leave let me do it." you begged the boy to get out. "please come out , please." you tugged at your head. "please im sorry i won't leave." as soon as he heard that he opened the door , blood dripping down his arms. "jake." you held his arms in tears. "you won't leave right?"

"if you leave i'll do it again and it will all be your fault."

﹙ 𐙚 : sunghoon﹚ .ᐟ

sunghoon scares you, so normally all he has to do is give you a look and you're apologizing to him , begging him to forgive you. but let's say it's in the early stages , before he broke you in , you try and leave and the look on his face send shivers down your spine , before you could apologize , his hand was already going across your face , dragging you by your hair to your room , your screaming doesn't phase him as he tosses you around on the bed locking you up.

"you'll fucking learn , unless you want to end up like this again."

﹙ 𐙚 : sunoo﹚ .ᐟ

sunoo isn't another one who wouldn't hit you . the thing about sunoo is he is able to easily manipulate you, your brain is already screwed up into thinking what he's doing to you is okay , like you're his girlfriend and he loves you— so that's what he uses as punishment , he gets you by withholding it from you; his love. he ignores you, pretends like you're not even there , it hurts him but it drives you mad , until you're sobbing for him. "pl-please sunoo." you sobbed as he walked past him , completely ignoring you. "whatever i did i'm sorry please forgive me." he smiles , leaning down to where you were on your knees. "does that hurt baby?" he asked.

"good now you know how it feels when you hurt me."

﹙ 𐙚 : jungwon﹚ .ᐟ

whatever you did; he'll let it go, he'd pretend like it never happened, until he doesn't. the thing about jungwon is he loves psychological torture much like heeseung, so he'll continue on like normal , like hasn't already planned for this , boarding up the windows , soundproofing the walls so no noise came in and no noise came out , and when he feels like the time is right , he'll snatch you from whatever you're doing and throw you into the dark soundless room with nothing but padding for a bed. you'll beg and plead with him to explain what did — but he just doesn't , he'll leave you like that until he sees fit. the only time you see him or the light is when he slides food through the little door he made, and when you beg him he just laughs and mutters one thing before shutting it.

"you don't remember baby , that's too bad I was gonna let you out had you acknowledged what you did."

﹙ 𐙚 : ni-ki﹚ .ᐟ

ni-ki is all of them combined; but unlike sunghoon or jay , ni-ki enjoys inflicting pain on you; twisting your arm , making you scream in pain , that makes him smile a bit , so he's looking for anything you do that he hates so that he can punish you. you talk back? that's a tug on your hair. you don't reciprocate his love? that's a twist of your wrist. god forbid you try to leave , the last time that happened you were left with a broken arm and a smiling ni-ki every time you whimpered in pain , he'd just laugh at you telling you to do something else , maybe lift something, he'll know you'll drop it , it gives him another reason to hit you.

"you just don't listen do you? come here."

[arkhammaid]

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ RED BULL GIVES YOU WINGS.

fandom. formula one

pairing. max verstappen x snowboarder fem!reader (fc: zoi sadowski-synnott)

about. y/n l/n, olympic gold medalist, goes viral after her unusal win. her boyfriend silently cheers from the sidelines

content warnings. social media au, not edited/proofread

notes. i vaguely remember seeing the headlines (years ago) of a teen snowboarder oversleeping because he was watching netflix the night before the race LMAO. so this is kinda the inspiration for that

SKYSPORTS

liked by maxverstappen1, yourusername, redbull and 3'370'884 others

skysports Gold Medalist @/yourusername had a rough morning during the Winter Olympics, she overslept thanks to a late game night binge with her boyfriend. Yet despite also forgetting her coat, she takes the win by storm, all while flueled by three Red Bull's she had as breakfast.

"When me and my boyfriend sim race, we totally forget the time. It's his passion and I like to challenge him in something he thinks he's best in. I think it was 3am when I finally went to bed, luckily I found a some cans of Red Bull. You can also thank my boyfriend for that, he drinks that sh*t as if it's water."

Y/n takes the whole incident with stride, jokingly saying that she will have to repeat this routine if she wants to win gold the next time.

user SIM RACING WITH HER BOYFRIEND???

⤷ user don't know if we should thank him or not

⤷ user you'll probably never be able to thank him, y/n and her bf have been together for years now but she never revealed who it is

⤷ user does she even have a boyfriend??

⤷ user check her insta, she's been posting the same man for a long time now

user SHE'S SO FUCKING UNSERIOUS I LOVE THAT

user she's literally the definition of genz

user i don't care what anyone else says, this right here is queen shit behavior

⤷ user i crown thee, y/n l/n, to the queen of whatever this whole mess is

redbull See! Red Bull gives you wings, we take no longer any criticsm

⤷ user you better sign her up

⤷ user imagine she actually lands a red bull sponsorship just because of this

yourusername lol, that was fun

⤷ user LOL???

⤷ user i can't do this anymore 😭😭

maxverstappen1 👏👏

⤷ user MAX?!

⤷ user game recognizes game fr

user i don't know what's better. the camera catching her downing her third red bull right before the race or her cursing after she won

⤷ user meme of the year fr

YOURUSERNAME

liked by maxverstappen1, redbull and 1'552'082 others

yourusername happy to announce that i'm flying with @/redbull now! if one red bull doesn't work, try three. i won gold with it 😉

user SHE DID IT!!! Y/N NATION WE WON!!!

⤷ user now only the x games left

user can't wait for the insane promo shots

⤷ user bet she will do tricks from a cliff, right after drinking four red bulls

⤷ user straight from the skilift is my bet

redbull Proof that Red Bull gives you wings! Welcome to the family y/n ❤️💙

⤷ yourusername ❤️💙

user ahh the bigs smile makes me so happy, she deserves it

maxverstappen1 Welcome to the winners

⤷ yourusername thank you champ, i'll enjoy my stay!

user MAX LIKED AND COMMENTED

⤷ user MAXY/N NATION WE WON TODAY‼️‼️

⤷ user can we not pls... she has a bf

mathilde_gremaud welcome to the team y/n, so happy to see you here!!

⤷ yourusername thank you 😚

user i love red bull athletes welcoming newcomers

⤷ user a big family fr

⤷ user big and batshit crazy

⤷ user never said they're not lol

YOURUSERNAME

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 2'003'863 others

yourusername the moment this trophy comes in our home i will throw it off the balcony. how dare you not kiss ME when you won your fourth world championship?!

all jokes aside, maxie, i'm so fucking proud of you, my #1 racer, my favorite dutchman and cat dad 🫶 to many more years of red bull domination (max and y/n version) love you sm!!

maxverstappen1 You will not touch my trophy.

maxverstappen1 Don't worry, I'll kiss you until you're sick of me

⤷ yourusername impossible!!!

⤷ user STOP THIS

⤷ user ew, that's sickening sweet (pls don't stop you guys are the sweetest)

maxverstappen1 I love you too, schatje

⤷ yourusername i love you more

⤷ maxverstappen1 Not possible? 🤨

⤷ landonorris okay we got it, you both love each other stop this shit

⤷ yourusername @/landonorris get out of my comments if you don't like it norizz

⤷ user WHEN IS IT MY TURN??

⤷ user not lando catching strays 😭

user IT HAS BEEN MAX ALL ALONG???

⤷ user five years of softlaunching... only for us to be hit by the biggest hard launch of the decade

redbull The Red Bull Powercouple™️

⤷ user simply lovely!

landonorris fucking finally! now max can bother someone else with his yapping

⤷ yourusername max doesn't do yapping, he just loves talking about me🫶

⤷ landonorris well, i got sick of it!! i literally should've ruined your softlaunch and tell the press about you guys

⤷ maxverstappen1 That's not what a friend would do

⤷ user HOW DID LANDO KEEP THIS SECRET FOR SO LONG??

⤷ user i bet y/n threatened him with violence

⤷ landonorris she did.

⤷ user HELP?!

user if max can comment on his girlfriend's post like a sap WHY CAN'T OTHER MEN AS WELL??

⤷ user they will never be max verstappen...

user brb, the highway is calling me

user con 😭 gra 😭 tu 😭 la 😭 tions 😭😭😭

⤷ user the bf was real... i fear i'm not strong enough to fight him for mother y/n...

⤷ user at least she's happy!!! (i'm actually crying my parasocial relationship is officially over)

taglist. @keyz-writes , @obsidianjewel , @aimixx , @themercyverse , @lem-hhn , @lupicalbestwolf , @akiraquote , @lilypadlover , @adorablezhui , @peqch-pie

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ARKHAM MAID 2024