#bob fischer

[razzleberry-lemonade]

happy fathers day!!

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Day 1: Impalement

(Disclaimer: the main character of this story, as well as the concept this story is based on, does not belong to me. That honor goes to the amazing @sammys-magical-au, who wrote an intriguing snippet inspired by Lixian’s latest game, Sinking Iron. I highly recommend you take a look at Sammy’s story before reading this one; not only is Sammy just an awesome writer, but it’ll help the plot elements here make more sense.)

(As for the characters that DO belong to me: while I don’t see them as complete fan-egos, I still took inspiration from what Sammy did with the character that Lixian voiced in the game. They named him Lucas, and seeing how similar that name is to Luis—Lixian’s actual name—it shouldn’t be difficult to figure out who the other characters here are based off of.)

(Trigger Warnings: water/the ocean/thalassophobia, pain/suffering, panic, violence, torture, death, drowning, gore, blood, tentacles, scopophobia, feelings of survivor's guilt, nightmares, flashbacks, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

Day 2 Day 3  Day 4 Day 5 Day 6 Day 7 Day 8 Day 9 Day 10 Day 11 Day 12 Day 13

Could’a, should’a, would’a. . .

Lucas hadn’t been superstitious enough. 

Very ironic, considering the career he’d chosen.

He couldn’t have been blamed for assuming that his crewmates wouldn’t believe him. 

There was a chance that he was right, that mentioning what he’d heard would’ve been answered with laughter, or teasing questions about how much time he’d spent in the sun earlier, or creepy anecdotes and short ghost stories being narrated by sarcastic voices.

But. . .there was no way they couldn’t have heard what he’d heard. 

Which meant there was also a chance that he would’ve been taken somewhat seriously, that his crewmates would’ve glanced at the dark clouds through the sleeping quarter’s windows, that they all might’ve even attempted to convince Fletcher to briefly start the ship’s engine back up and sail at least a little closer to land.

Would any of those routes have made a difference? 

Lucas wasn’t sure—he’d never be sure. 

And that was torture. 

He should’ve talked about what he’d heard in the rain. 

It was impossible for his crewmates to have not heard what he’d heard. 

Life at sea required Morse Code, after all. 

It didn’t matter how one went about living at sea; whether they were heading off to war on a destroyer, bringing scraps of wreckage up to a salvaging ship, or collecting samples for study on a research vessel like this one. . .Morse Code was important and efficient enough to be the thing that all types of ocean work had in common. 

So, Lucas had obviously learned the language during those months of training and studying. It hadn’t been easy, but he’d still managed to become as fluent in it as he was in Portuguese and English. 

He still hadn’t really needed to use it. Much time had passed since he’d officially been welcomed into Nori’s crew, and of course it’d been a bit of a bumpy ride, but there just hadn’t been any emergency situations onboard. 

That didn’t mean Lucas hadn’t found himself subconsciously using Morse Code. Whenever he heard rhythmic tapping or clicking, whenever he saw flashes of light, a little voice in the back of his head would translate. In those cases, what he gleaned was typically just gibberish, considering the language wasn’t actually being used. He’d occasionally decipher a random, coherent word or two, but that was also just a rare, amusing coincidence. 

(Now, Lucas wouldn’t put it past Mars to silently tell Matteo to GO SUCK AN EGG! via drumming his fingernails, but Mars also wasn’t shy about speaking with his whole chest.)

That fateful case had been. . .

Different. Foreboding. Unnatural.

It’d been the very first time Lucas had experienced a storm on the ship. The storm in question hadn’t been strong enough to evolve into a hurricane; even so, oceanic weather was always more violent than weather that occurred on land. He’d watched the sky become dark while the waves grew larger and choppier than usual. He’d felt the wind tugging at his hair as the air got colder and heavier. 

Adrenaline had been charging through Lucas’ brain as he and the rest of the crew raced to secure the ship’s more fragile equipment. They’d been halfway through the last-minute routine when the rain started falling; hell, they’d all been half-soaked by the time they were finally able to retire to the bunks.

But as they all laughed and threw towels at one another. . .sooner or later, Lucas found himself focusing on the way the rain had been pounding against one of Nori’s windows. 

The instinctual translation had almost been automatic. 

Due to the constant noise, the translation was insistent. 

And the rain had been telling Lucas to RUN.

The rain had kept repeating that word.

RUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUN. . .

The fact that he’d eventually managed to drift off, even as the inhuman message kept echoing, had been nothing short of miraculous. 

He should’ve told the others about this.

That would’ve at least been some kind of warning.

It could’ve given them all a better chance.

Could’a, should’a, would’a. . . 

___

Lucas doesn’t remember leaving his bunk. He doesn’t remember glancing around at his crewmates as they rose from their beds, one by one.

He can just barely hear them somewhere behind him, their muffled voices slithering up from the sleeping quarters and into the air. He should remember the morning routine (it definitely would’ve been hard to miss the usual lighthearted squabbling over who got to use the showers first), but he doesn’t. 

Instead, the vast waters surrounding Nori are the first things he sees when he opens his eyes. 

Lucas knows that he couldn’t have sleepwalked. Or, sleepwalking couldn’t have been the entire case. If it was, then he certainly wouldn’t have woken up in a standing position. It doesn’t matter that he’s developed his sea-legs by now: sleepwalking while onboard a ship would be embarrassing at best and outright deadly at worst.

No, something else is responsible for this.

Something else has called him out and onto the deck, all without waking him until now. 

His instincts insist on that, and he isn’t in the mind to look for logic.

His focus is being consumed by the environment around him.

The air isn’t cold, but he still feels a chill race down his spine, as well as goosebumps prickling all over his arms.

There is no wind, but he still feels some kind of force rushing past him, pushing against him. 

Sunlight is obviously trying (and failing) to shine down from above, but the waves are dark; not the deep sapphire hue they usually are, but almost as murky as oil. 

In fact, the only reason the water isn’t completely pitch-black is simply because. . .it’s tinged with red. 

For the few long, slow minutes that have passed since he awoke, Lucas’ hands have been coiled around the railing in a white-knuckled grip. A twitch runs through his fingers, and as he finally releases his hold, Lucas immediately cranes his neck up toward the sky. 

Fog has swallowed up the sky as far as the eye can see. It glows with a grotesque shade of crimson. It resembles the clouds of blood that spill out and spread just below the surface during a feeding-frenzy. 

“Rookie?” Calls a familiar voice, set in a Portuguese accent so similar to the one Lucas speaks with. “Wake-up call isn’t for another hour. What’re you doing out so early?”

Lucas startles badly as he turns his head to face Fletcher, who is leaning through the crack in the door to the Captain’s quarters. 

For a moment, Lucas’ mouth opens and closes with no words coming out. 

And as soon as he’s finally able to stutter, “Captain, we’re in danger. . !” 

THRRRUUM-KRAAAUUGH

Nori’s stern is violently shoved out of the water, only to come crashing right back down with an enormous splash. Both Lucas and Fletcher are thrown off-balance, hitting the deck with dull thuds and twin screams. Neither of them have to see what just happened to know that the ship’s engines and propulsion systems are now beyond repair. More shouts of panic echo up from elsewhere, accompanied by a chorus of frantic, stampeding footsteps. 

As he and Fletcher pick themselves up, Lucas immediately looks over the railing. 

Despite the water’s new darkness, he can see something. 

It’s circular, wider than he is tall, surrounded by layers of scarred, fleshy membrane—

An eye.

Lucas is being stared at by a gigantic eye with a shuddering pinprick pupil adorned by an iris the color of blood. 

Aforementioned pupil slightly dilates as it stares at him, and Lucas feels his stomach start to churn and roil in response. 

This dread isn’t newfound; he’s been feeling it since he woke up. But then, it was only prodding at the back of his mind. Now it’s flooding through each and every one of his veins, coiling around his bones, starting to rip his brain apart from the inside. 

Lucas can’t know what the owner of that hideous eye actually is. 

And yet, somehow, he’s acutely aware that it wants to kill him.

He staggers back, trying to get as far away from it as possible, but it still manages to keep watching him. The eye is only obscured when a blurry shape erupts from the water in a fountain of white spray.

By some miracle, Lucas is able to duck-and-roll off to the side. The shape slams into the lower half of Nori’s funnel with enough force to make the entire ship quake. Had he moved even a second slower, he would’ve been reduced to a splatter on the main deck. 

Lucas crawls further away, trembling violently. As the shape pries itself free from the new chasm it’s just created, he realizes just how sinuous it is, how it’s covered in oily-looking gray flesh, how it comes to an almost whip-thin end. 

The tentacle reels back into the water. Lucas can’t stop gaping at it, not even as he hears a chorus of more splashing and hissing from further below and around Nori. He can only tear his own eyes away from it when the screams all around him suddenly become louder, longer, less-human. Like the sounds are transforming into solid matter as they flow through the air. 

Lucas is suddenly on his feet again, turning around just in time to watch another huge tentacle materialize by the stern. It coils around the ship’s crane—the same one that’s been used countless times to either haul heavier samples onboard or keep live specimens still long enough to be tagged—and wrenches it out of its platform as though it’s a cheap plastic toy.

Wayne and Brom appear. They both lock horrified eyes with Lucas and begin sprinting toward him. 

It’s almost like a magic trick: the two of them disappear as the tentacle hurls the dismantled crane on top of them, leaving it halfway lodged through that section of the main deck. Brom’s howls of pain are abruptly cut off, but Wayne’s screaming, albeit now slower and longer, doesn’t stop. In fact, it’s still loud enough that Lucas doesn’t even realize how he’s finally started shrieking until weight comes down on one of his shoulders. 

Now Mars is beside him, with Matteo right on his heels. Tears are already pouring from both of their eyes, but neither of them collapse or even become sluggish. Rather, they corral Lucas to keep moving with them, trying to push him in front of them before the pilothouse’s door.

Despite their shouts blurring as soon as they reach Lucas’ ears, he still knows what they’re saying. They’re begging him to take cover, to get somewhere further inside the ship, to try and hide so he won’t be targeted next. 

And Lucas obviously wants to comply with those orders. He’s halfway inside the pilothouse when he turns, wanting to grab Mars and Matteo’s arms in order to pull them closer, to ensure that they have shelter alongside him.

He doesn’t even get a chance.

Two more tentacles stretch over the side of the ship: one twists around Matteo’s waist while the other snags Mars by one of his legs. They both writhe as they’re lifted into the air. 

Matteo manages to grab hold of the upper railing, wrapping his arms around it like some kind of tree-dwelling animal on a branch. Even as he shrieks, Matteo still aggressively shakes his head, kicking at his organic bindings. The tentacle tries to tug him off. . .and, miraculously, it fails. Lucas leaps up, trying to snatch one of Matteo’s hands, wanting to pull him back down onto the deck. 

Matteo sees this, and instinctively reaches out to Lucas. 

But that seems to give the tentacle the leeway it needs, as it wrenches Matteo away from the railing just as his fingers brush Lucas’. Then, as if its owner appreciates cruel irony, the tentacle hauls back and bludgeons Matteo against the pilothouse’s outer wall. Not with enough force to drive him though it—just enough to make his body crumple with a chorus of sickening snaps and pops and crunches. Matteo’s eyes bulge from their now bleeding sockets as he goes limp, staring at nothing at all while the tentacle drags him over the side of the ship. 

Lucas cries out as he watches Matteo vanish. And he keeps screaming, seemingly not needing to pause for breath, as the tentacle holding Mars forcibly takes his attention.

For a brief, horrible second, Lucas is sure that the monster is going to give Mars the same treatment as Matteo.

That’s not the case.

Mars is manhandled away from Nori, being dangled over the waves. The tentacle ever-so-slightly dips closer to the water, but it doesn’t pull him down. Instead, it lunges upward in one swift, fluid movement, catapulting Mars so high that for a brief second or two, Lucas can’t even see him anymore. Of course, that doesn’t stop Mars from careening back down, hitting the ocean with a deafening CRACK. 

Mars automatically floats up to the surface. Lucas can see that he’s still alive, that he’s trying to swim. But he can also see the awful twitches that are now wracking Mars’ body, that the pain he’s feeling is almost paralyzing. And he can see the tentacle ensnare Mars again, hoist him up again, toss him into the air again. . .

When Mars lands and resurfaces for a second time, even with the distance, Lucas can still see blood streaming along his skin. That blood smears on the tip of the tentacle as it sends him flying. . .over. . .and over. . .and over. . .and over. . .

It reminds Lucas of the few days he’d spent studying orcas. Primarily the tactic orcas used when hunting seals, to ensure that the blubbery skin would be rendered loose enough to give better access to the seal’s internal organs. 

Yet another tentacle jettisons out of the water, aiming for Lucas once again. 

And once again, Lucas is able to sprint away from it by the skin of his teeth. 

He runs to the other side of the pilothouse to collide with Evan, who immediately takes hold of Lucas’ wrist. Just like the others, he’s trying to help Lucas hide, to lead him to some other area of the ship where they might be better protected. 

To his never-ending credit, as a tentacle appears to coil around his neck, Evan is somehow still logical enough to release Lucas and shove him back. He screws his eyes shut as he’s lifted off of the ship. Four more tentacles emerge from the water beneath him: two snake along his arms, and two give his legs the same treatment. 

Then, they each start tugging this way and that, all moving in unison, gradually pulling harder and harder and harder. . .until. . .

Lucas ducks his head and resumes running in the nick of time. He can barely hear himself wailing over the sound of Evan’s skin being torn, of Evan’s bones breaking away from their sockets, of Evan’s intestines spilling out. 

Brom is dead, Wayne is dead, Matteo is dead, Mars is dead, Evan is dead. 

The entire crew is dead.

The entire crew has been tortured in various horrific ways.

Lucas watched the crew die.

Lucas is going to die; he’s going to be maimed and mauled in a manner that will somehow be even more gruesome than what he’s already watched.

This is all Lucas’ fault. 

If he’d actually thought to raise the alarm when he’d woken up. . .if he’d taken control of Nori himself and tried steering her away from the eye. . .then his crewmates—his friends—might still be alive.

Lucas is halfway across Nori’s bow when he finally discovers Fletcher again. It’s all Lucas can do to keep from collapsing at his Captain’s feet. 

Fletcher reaches toward Lucas, the fear in his eyes struggling against his instincts as a leader.  Lucas flinches away, shaking his head as he sobs and screams and tries to explain everything as though Fletcher might have an answer. 

His head is swimming: The Captain can’t be near me—everyone who’s come close to me has been killed! How is the Captain still alive? Where has he been all this time? The Captain might know something about the monster! Maybe he knows why it’s attacking us! 

Lucas can’t even register the sound of splashing, or the shadow that is growing longer and darker behind him. 

But even if he could, it wouldn’t have mattered.

Time seems to slow down as Fletcher surges forward and pushes Lucas down onto the deck.

A yelp dashes Lucas’ cries, but it’s short-lived. For the first time this morning, Lucas goes completely silent as he listens to the sound of his Captain’s agonized shriek. 

Lucas feels his heart actively stop as he looks up at Fletcher, at the bloodsoaked tip of the tentacle now protruding through his chest. 

That could’ve been Lucas. It should’ve been Lucas.

But it seems Fletcher hadn’t wanted to allow that. 

Lucas can’t scream anymore. There’s barely any air left in his lungs. 

Even as he watches Fletcher’s expression turn blank, watches Fletcher’s eyes drift shut, watches Fletcher being carried off into the water. . .Lucas can’t scream. 

Lucas wants to scream.

Lucas NEEDS to scream.

But he can’t. 

___

A wave of vertigo came crashing down on Lucas’ skull as he nearly threw himself out of his bed. His breathing was desperate, raspy. The sensation of cold sweat on his skin had never felt so awful. The scar that ran along his left cheek almost felt like it was burning. 

Lucas’ movement elicited a small chirp from the foot of his bed, where a bundle of white-and-gray fur rolled over to face him, bright blue eyes drilling into his dark brown ones. 

At first, Crumbs seemed aggravated at being woken up. But it took no time at all for him to seemingly register the distraught on his owner’s face. After a second of sprawling, the cat got to his paws and practically pounced into Lucas’ lap. 

Lucas hunched over as he wrapped his arms around his pet. Crumbs sat up on his haunches to rub his head against Lucas’ jaw, not seeming to care how tears were actively cascading onto his little face. 

Even as Crumbs’ purring reverberated through his chest, slowly but surely easing the tension, Lucas still had to bite his tongue hard enough to draw blood. It wouldn’t do for his apprentice to be drawn to his quarters and see him like this, let alone be woken up at this horrible hour. 

There would be no more sleep tonight. 

@sammys-magical-au @mostlyghostly42

[nofatclips]

Following The River by The Rolling Stones from the deluxe edition of Exile on Main St. - Directors: Julian Gibbs and Julian House

[bob-the-movie-man-film-reviews]

Mean Girls (12A): Noisy Remake Strikes of Trying Too Hard to be Fetch.

#OneMannsMovies #filmreview of "Mean Girls" (2024). #MeanGirls. Uneven and frenetic remake that doesn't bear comparison with the classic original. 3/5.

A One Mann’s Movies Film Review of “Mean Girls” (2024). Mark Water’s “Mean Girls” is 20 years old and was a classic of its time. That starred Lindsay Lohan and Rachel McAdams in the roles of Cady Heron and Regina George. It became a firm teen favourite that a generation (my daughters included) fondly look back on. Despite all its frantic efforts to please, I really can’t see this Mean Girls…

[whiskeyswriting]

Diaper Zone (Chaos Squad Top Gun AU)

The Flyboys and Girls were at the top of their class back when they were in Top Gun. Now that time has passed and their lives changed, they find themselves as parents to a very chaotic group of little ones.

The chaos and love increase when they are all assigned to the same military base daycare teacher. The poor teacher is unaware of the chaos and fun that she will have in her class throughout her time with them.

--

The Usual Suspects: @bayisdying @gracespicybradshaw @dragon-kazansky @askmarinaandothers @chipperxbaby @callmemana @starlit-epiphany @ladylanera @callsignthirsty @callsignscupcake

[callmemana]

Show Me How You Burlesque: Part 5- Bottoms Up

Mickey Fanboy Garcia x Baylie Lucky Steele (OC)

Summary: Lucky’s never been one to back out of doing things. So when one of the new co-owners of the bar just down the street starts to flirt with her, she’s all in.

He better be willing to go just as far as she is if he wants to win this competition. Lucky learns a valuable lesson on love; good guys get the girls.

🚨warnings: deadbeat dads, adoptive dads (who stepped up), cursing, cancer/dying, inaccurate dancing descriptions, allusions to smut no actual smut, chaos.🚨

A/N:

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Dragon’s Angels📻: @dragon-kazansky @mrsjaderogers @gracespicybradshaw @bayisdying @starlit-epiphany

🏷️ list:

[davedyecom]

ROY GRACE SITE. With Allen Richardson

Roy Grace may well be the best ad guy you’ve never heard of. But you’ll recognise some of his Volkswagen ads below, created at DDB between 1965 and 1986. Whereas most creatives will lean towards a particular medium – Roy was as good in print as he was in tv. Many creatives make their names on one, great account, like a Nike or Volkswagen, Roy did great work across everything; from J&B Rare whisky…

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

TOEING THE LINE ─── robert fischer ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “Love him. Love him and let him love you. Do you think anything else under heaven really matters?” — ‘Giovanni’s Room’, James Baldwin.

pairing. robert fischer x secretary!reader

summary. being robert’s secretary means doing everything for him. everything.

warnings. swearing, oral sex (m), creampie, p in v, mention of handjob, sex as stress relief, intimacy issues, quickies, crying, fluff, SMUT UNDER THE CUT! 

word count. 6.8k

a/n. honestly this is just downright filth. robert & reader’s relationship/the way they treat each other is also a little confusing so i apologize LOL

i. 

Being Robert’s secretary means doing everything for him: sending congratulatory gifts to his clients, picking up his drycleaning, answering his emails, and even booking his dentist appointments.

It means doing everything he asks, and everything you think he needs; he trusts your judgment, he said, because you know more about him than anyone in the entire world — even himself. 

It means doing everything for him. Everything.

Robert had heaved a large sigh as he sat down in the backseat of his car; undone his tie; ran a veiny hand through his gelled hair. From that much, you could tell he was stressed. You knew him like the back of your hand, and, after being his secretary for three years, you also knew what relieved him best.

Your lips are wrapped around his cock the moment he gets home. 

You were kneeling between his legs, hands curling around the base of his cock and stroking whatever you couldn’t fit - which wasn’t much, your throat having long since been trained to take his length all the way. 

Grunts and groans spilled out of his mouth above you, but you didn’t look at him; you never looked at him - he’d been adamant about that, when you first sucked him off. Robert never told you why, just that your gaze should never reach his; you thought it had something to do with his vulnerability, his parental issues rearing its ugly head in every part of his life, even his sexual one. 

Robert’s hands wrapped around your wispy locks, giving you a makeshift ponytail, and you flicked small licks on his tip before descending back down on him. His grip on your hair tightened, and as you curled your warm tongue along his shaft, he began to bob your head up and down on him, faster, harder, hard enough tears formed in your eyes. 

He was stressed, so he was rough. But you took it in stride: he was your boss, after all, paying you the big bucks for your service, be it actual secretarial duties or requests just a step away from prostitution. 

You gag, once or twice, on account of how brutally the head of his cock is bruising the back of your throat, and Robert slows down; stills like he’s nervous you’ll break, but you continue expertly, focussing on lapping up the beads of precome spilling from his slit. You breathed in and out shakily, ignoring the ache in your jaw. 

His hands then left your hair, instead fumbling for the armrests of the leather chair and squeezing down on them as his back arched and his head threw back: he was close.

When one of your hands left his length and reached down to fondle his balls, Robert let go, a stuttered moan leaving him, and he released his load straight down your throat. You felt it spurt and coat your mouth, wet and thick. The only thing left in the room was your breathing, his high and tinny, yours haggard and desperate for oxygen. 

After a moment, you got up, noting how tight your legs felt while wiping a drop of come from the side of your mouth with your thumb. “Rest up, Mr. Fischer,” you insisted gently, resuming immediate professionalism, “you have a nine-o-clock with the head of Proclus Global tomorrow.”

Between breaths, Robert finally looked at you with heavy-lidded eyes, buttoning his dress pants back up. “Saito?” he wondered aloud. 

You nodded silently in response. It was certainly odd to inform Robert about his schedule and meetings like you didn’t just have his hard cock in your mouth, but after three years it became part of the job. You reckon you could ride him and still arrange his doctors appointments by phone. 

“I’ll see you in the morning, Mr. Fischer.” You addressed him with that title, ‘Mr. Fischer’, to keep a distance. Despite what you often did for him, you still considered yourself just his subordinate; just his secretary. 

You then turned, kitten heels clacking quietly on his hardwood floor, primly and properly leaving his condo with the taste of his salty come still imprinted on your tongue. 

ii. 

By eight am sharp, you’ve returned to his condo. Robert would need a little more than what he got last night, especially since he’d be meeting Saito, like you said. 

You mapped out his habits and what he was like a long, long time ago. He’s got a higher-than-average sex drive, but no time to be in a relationship with anyone — thus, your duties. Blowjobs after a long day and a quickie at least five times a week are a must, and never, ever, kiss him. 

Robert’s… well, a slight sex addict, having to regularly fuck or get pleasured just to keep sane, but intimacy’s got him hiding under the covers like he’s just seen a ghost. You, on the other hand, can’t discern the difference between if you have sex and kiss or just have sex - it's both sex. 

It’s just a thing that needs to be done in the end, and in Robert’s case, it’s like eating or sleeping: he needs it to live, so he gets it and lives. Simple as that. There are no feelings between you two, and it’s been that way for as long as you’ve been his secretary. 

You entered Robert’s condo easily, having a key and all, where you then found him pacing in his large walk-in closet, fiddling with his rings. 

You knocked lightly on the wall to alert him, stepping in when he noticed you and visibly relaxed. “Good morning, Mr. Fischer.” you stated, setting his drycleaning down on one of the velvet settee benches in the middle of the room. 

“Morning,” Robert said absently. Without warning nor another word, he stepped closer to you, hands immediately pressing into your waist. His palms were sweaty, a feverish need radiating off him as he kneaded at you, pressing you against one of the many closet doors. 

He was nervous, no doubt the result of the impending meeting with Saito, which equated a frenzied mood sexually. So, you wasted no time, quickly unbuckling his trousers and unzipping his fly, letting your stockings pool at your ankles, hiking your skirt up to your hips. 

Robert’s hands grasped at your soft thighs, lifting a leg around him as one of your hands slipped down the waistband of his underwear, pulling his cock out. You pumped his length slowly, before spitting into your other hand, pushing your panties to the side and coating your cunt in the slick. You decorated your lips with the wetness, then carefully lined up his thick head with your entrance. 

You bit your lip, wincing as he pushed in; no matter how many times you’d fucked — which was plenty — you always felt that stinging stretch when he first entered you. 

From then on, Robert focussed solely on his own pleasure; on ridding himself of that anxious need, trying to fuck his insecure feelings deep into your cunt prior to seeing Saito. He grunted, a string of breathless curses leaving his mouth with every harsh thrust, just snapping his hips against yours repeatedly and chasing his high. 

Your face was pressed flat against the shoulder of his cashmere suit jacket, and you shut your eyes, letting Robert use you - use your hole, specifically. You’d asked him once why he didn’t just masturbate or use a sextoy, and he told you that nothing beats a hot, wet cunt. 

It didn’t matter to him what the girl looked like or what she cost, as long as her pussy felt good. That’s how he hired you: you’d spent an entire month by his side, and before returning to America from his vacation in Sydney, he confessed he’d never taken a cunt as delicious as yours. He didn’t have time to date, but he did have time for a secretary. 

That was the most vulnerable you’d ever seen him, pleading for you to work under him, just so he could feel your plush pussy clenching around his cock once more. You’d never been a secretary before, but he promised you’d be taught, that the pay would be good, and that once he got married you could be whatever you wanted in the company - as long as, while you were still his secretary, you’d fuck him when he asked.

“Fuck,” Robert growled out near your ear, pounding mercilessly into your sopping cunt. Despite the selfishness of this quickie, him paying absolutely no mind to you, you couldn’t help how your mouth went ajar and your hips rutted into his. 

Robert had the best dick you’d ever fucking felt, average length but girthy, stretching you wide open. That first time you’d fucked, the one night stand, he kept telling you how tight your cunt was around his thick cock, and the next time after that, he remarked how you were just as tight as before. He was impressed, it seemed, how after each round of splitting you open with his dick, you always seemed to tighten back up.

You bit your lip, fighting back any moans from leaving your mouth, and focussed on gripping your arms around Robert’s neck. You noted how one of his hands dug into you soft thighs, pulling you toward him and sliding in and out of you desperately, like he’d never fuck again, while his other hand came up to the crown of your head, petting you softly. 

Though your mind was foggy with pleasure, you knew it was an out-of-character gesture: being gentle with you, acknowledging your presence rather than just your cunt. Robert wasn’t a romantic man - you didn’t think he knew how to romance someone, especially since his parents' marriage certainly wasn’t winning any awards for perfection.

So, just doing that had the gears in your mind turning. You’d fucked him for three years straight, and not for a moment did he ever do something like that. 

But then, as you were building toward an orgasm, that familiar pull in your stomach sending heat over your body, begging to go faster, Robert came, jetting his creamy load deep within you — and you forgot all about his odd actions. 

“Feel s’good,” he mumbled, fucking you still. You were unsure whether he meant his high or your cunt, but nonetheless, he came down from his orgasm by shoving his come deeper in your cunt with his length. 

Then, “What - time is it?” he said breathlessly, quickly pulling his softening cock out of your pussy and turning away so as not to face you. 

You blinked rapidly, leaning against the wall and trying to regain your composure, ignoring the grief swelling in your insides at the incompletion of your orgasm. “8– 8:10, sir.” 

Robert hummed in acknowledgment, still not looking at you as he redressed himself. You took in your boss’s form, how quickly his attitude changed from desperate to stone cold after sex; after receiving what he needed, like a fucking transaction, and you suddenly felt shameful: this here was one of the most powerful men in the world, owner of Fischer Morrow, and there you were, his secretary and fucktoy he could replace at any time. 

You weren’t special - you weren’t anything, especially not to him. If - no, when, he meets someone who pleasures him better, you’re out of a job. He said he’d help you when he got married, but you don’t think that’s happening anytime soon… and you know Robert: he’ll get tired of you, like the spoiled little kid he probably was, and will just find some other toy to play with. 

“I’ll be waiting in the lobby, Mr. Fischer.” you informed him numbly after pulling up your panties and stockings, shakily stepping out of the walk-in closet. It wasn’t often you felt like this - this being pathetic and used, because on the surface, this job was perfection. Good pay, good reputation, a boss who fucks you - and fucks you good. 

Sure, you could probably count on one hand how many times he made you come in these past three years, but it still felt nice, even if he never drove you past the edge. But, these days… you started wondering if this was the rest of your life. 

You couldn’t get a boyfriend, no, not without lying to him about what you did for a living, and there was still that uncertainty in the stability of this job. Robert had deep parental and intimacy issues - as stated by his therapist, in which, after eight weeks of seeing him Robert left in a fitful, teary, suffocating rage - and, beneath his cold exterior, was a hotpot of bubbling emotions he never deigned to reveal until he was seconds away from blowing up. 

In short: Robert was the most moody, unpredictable person you’d ever met, and working under him was like balancing on a tightrope. Because he never said what irritated him, always emotionlessly telling you to stop if he preferred you didn’t do something, you could never tell what was actually pushing all the wrong buttons. 

Before waiting in his condo’s front lobby like you said, you ducked into one of his many bathrooms and wiped the warm come dripping down your leg, flushing as you saw the ruined state of your panties and stockings: his white load had smeared all over the fabric, and, while you could get most of it off your dark stockings, it stayed on your underwear. 

You had to wear his come on your panties for the entire day, and in a way, it felt like Robert owned you. 

That’s why… you had decided to quit. You wrote your two weeks three months ago and have been holding onto it ever since — because you didn’t know how to tell him you wanted to quit, especially since your heart didn’t want to. 

Your head knew you were meant for more than secretarial duties and a quick fuck, but your heart ached for the lonely being that was Robert Fischer. That young CEO whose grievous relationship with his father was aired out in the newspaper, the man who went through succeeding the company as well as any young person could: fumbling, being crushed by the weight of his late father’s suffocating legacy, and the boy who didn’t know why he could never get his fathers love or approval. 

The heart wants what it wants, but the head knows best. You resolved to hand him your resignation by the end of the day, listening to your head, and got ready to leave this part of your life behind; to leave Robert Fischer behind. 

iii.

“What's this?” Robert asked in his office without looking up at you, gaze still trained on the papers he was signing. You had entered his office to deliver his mail and ask questions about various appointments - when best to schedule that lunch with his godfather, that kind of stuff. 

And… to hand him your 2-weeks. 

“It’s my 2-weeks, Mr. Fischer.” 

“…What?” Robert set his weighted fountain pen down, looking up in disbelief.

“I’m resigning, sir.” You said gingerly, gaze trailing away from his own, ignoring how his expression went from neutral to crestfallen.

“I pay you well enough, I’m sure?” He said, sounding frantic and not doing the best job of hiding it with the shaky smile on his face. 

“It’s not - about the pay. I’m just… I’m ready to do other things.” 

There it was: you didn’t want to wait until he got tired of you and kicked you to the curb. This job was fucking comfortable, and that unnerved you. Working diligently, fucking him diligently, saving up money your younger self would’ve never thought could ever come your way - it was comfortable and you were used to it, but you just… couldn’t take it anymore. 

You weren’t going anywhere like this. Not with Robert, not with your life, not with yourself. When you first took this job, you wanted to help him. Call it naive pity, but you thought the terribly mournful Robert Fischer could be fixed by getting fucked. God, your younger self had been out of her mind. 

So, here you were, three years later and resigning from one of the wealthiest men in the world, heart begging you not to, head wanting to leave immediately. 

Robert sighed, but nodded slightly. “Okay. Okay. I’ll send you your wages as soon as possible, and I can write a recommendation for your next—“

“There’s no need, Mr. Fischer,” you protested quietly. “My duties here weren’t exactly… just secretarial.”

Robert blanched, but agreed quietly. As you were about to leave, he spoke up. “Are you… free tonight?”

You tilted your head slightly, processing the topic change. “I have no plans for the evening, if that’s what you’re asking. I can come over after work—“

“No— no, not…” Robert grimaced, pressing two fingers between his eyes. “Proclus Global’s holding a charity gala. Tonight. Come with me; it’ll be your last event as my secretary.”

Your face warmed at your previous assumption he just wanted to fuck. “…Certainly, Mr. Fischer. There’s no need to ask, I’m obligated to agree.”

“I don’t… I don’t want to ruin any plans you have.” Robert’s lips pressed into a thin white line at your words. “If it - you don’t—“ He sighed, unable to say what he wanted properly, “You don’t have to say yes to everything I ask of you.”

“Work takes precedent, sir. You’re my boss - it’s only natural I follow orders.”

Then: “If that’s all,” you said, before promptly exiting his office, turning away and ignoring how crestfallen he looked. 

It was normal for you to accompany him to various events, seeing as he was single, and you were his hot, young secretary — and it was an expected duty of yours after the first time you went with him. 

You couldn’t figure out why his behavior had suddenly changed, why he’d become considerate— but perhaps it was because you were quitting. Although Robert’s emotional state was generally unpredictable, you supposed the professional part of him wanted to send you off nicely; have these last two weeks of yours not be soured. 

Anyway, it seemed inviting Robert to the gala was what Saito was here for - and, presumably, to add some pressure onto Robert, since their companies were rivals. Robert was always… bothered, you could say, prior to seeing Saito. 

The man made it a habit, consciously or unconsciously, to set Robert off, either by not-so-innocently referencing the late Maurice Fischer in their conversations, or by down right comparing Robert to him. It certainly wasn’t motivated by a personal grudge, no, Saito just wanted to see Fischer Morrow suffer, and for Proclus Global to rise. It was business politics, something you couldn’t - and didn’t want to - wrap your head around. 

The only thing you had in mind now was if you’d dressed up well enough: you had a small collection of gowns that you’d gathered over the years attending events with Robert, but every time, he gave you his card and told you to pick out something nice. You guessed that he was the kind of man who preferred to always show up in something new, something better — and that translated to whoever was perched on his arm.

That, being you, who’d bought a black satin and lace dress with a slit on the left thigh. You knew what Robert usually wore to these occasions, so you dressed accordingly - and it was an accurate foretelling, to say the least. When you’d entered Robert’s condo, he was standing in the lobby, strapping a Tudor onto his left wrist. He was head to toe in black satin, just as you were, hair neatly coiffed against his forehead. 

Your heels clacked loudly on the lobby tile, and he noticed your presence. “Black satin,” he scanned you up and down, “good.”

“Of course, Mr. Fischer.” You said politely, taking his arm when he lifted it up. The two of you headed to the car, and you didn’t miss how Robert opened the door for you first, like you really were his date for that night. 

His behavior throughout that entire day had been downright weird, and even more so now, because if you really pressed Robert, he’d tell you you were just a piece of eye candy for his clients to ogle over, so they’d lower their guards; get distracted and forget to pry him for information regarding the company. 

When you got to the event — which was taking place in a grand banquet hall in one of the many buildings Saito and his wife owned — a flock of people amassed, all greeting Robert and not-so-subtly alluding for him to head over to their table and discuss business matters. 

There were also various clients and colleagues of Robert’s who’d come over to catch up with the young CEO, and many of them commented, as usual, about the plus-one by his side. 

“And who’s this beautiful young lady?” One of the older men asked, raking his gaze all over you. It was clear as day: all of the men there were undressing you with their eyes. 

You didn’t shy away, however, instead smiling thinly. “I’m Mr. Fischer’s secretary,” you told the group, tilting your head slightly and baring your canines. They could stare at you all they liked, but you weren’t interested in letting them know much more about you than your position. 

It didn’t matter, anyway - finding out you were just his secretary made them see you differently. In whispered tones, they’d tell Robert they’d give anything to see you squirming beneath them, and he’d laugh a hollow laugh that didn’t reach his eyes and certainly didn’t come from the heart. To keep up appearances, buttering up his clients and letting them believe he was an easygoing guy, Robert would agree good-naturedly, but not without looking abashed, like he was too professional to actually ever breach that line. 

Like his hand hadn’t disappeared from your arm, trailing across your backside and groping the soft fat of your ass, digging into you. Like you hadn’t stroked his cock in the car, gently pumping him with your spit-slicked hand.  

You then broke away from Robert and the large group of businessmen to chase after a waiter who was holding a tray of champagne. In doing so you found out that Saito’s wife was, really, the main host of this charity ball when she, and several other women and wives of said business men, crowded around you, not unlike their husbands did to Robert. 

You greeted them kindly, blandly replying to their invasive questions: no, I’m just Mr. Fischer’s secretary, no, he is not accepting marriage proposals, sure, I can set up a meeting between you and one of our energy advisors if you give Fischer Morrow a call tomorrow. 

You let them talk circles over themselves, silently nodding, for Robert always reminded you to speak as little as possible. It would do no good for them to assume you and Robert were together —  they’d tear you apart. 

When the conversation drew its focus away from you entirely, you skittered away to find the waiter from earlier. An hour or two had passed since you’d arrived at the gala, and you indulged, letting yourself down a couple more glasses of that addictive drink. You were just about to grab one more, when you conveniently reunited with your boss and date for the night. 

Robert looked peeved, perhaps something to do with how boisterously Saito was laughing across the hall, and in a moment of quick thinking, you pulled him closer to you. “Mr. Fischer,” you whispered, voice tranquil, “if all has been accomplished for the night, I suggest we take our leave.”

He looked up at you, oddly, like he was seeing you for the first time. “Yes,” he agreed quietly, “yes… you’re quite right.” 

Without any goodbyes, the two of you swiftly hooked arms once more, and exited the building. The cool night air bristled around you, nipping at your skin, and Robert’s hands dropped from your arm, instead slipping into your own and keeping you close to him. 

At the car, he opened the door for you again, helping you in gently, before sliding in on the opposite side. When you turned to face him, he absently brushed something out of your hair with his long, nimble fingers. “Dust,” he said simply, peering deep into your eyes. 

You stared back at him, but your thoughts were elsewhere. He’d never toed the line like this before; 

he’d never looked you in the eyes so much, held your hand, plucked something out of your hair or pet you or held you so close — out of the context of sex —  that you could smell his cologne. He had never been so compassionate, so romantic, like this relationship of yours was organic and authentic, not transactional and emotionless. 

The car ride back to his condo was quiet. His hand did not find yours again, not even to hungrily snake up your thigh and under your skirt — Robert was frozen, staring out the window and nowhere at all meeting your gaze. 

Finally, when you got back to his place, you trailed after him — he trusted you to do what he asked and to do what you thought he needed, and that look of vexation he’d had before leaving only meant one thing to you: he was bothered, and a bothered boss does not mean good business. 

When you’d both entered his bedroom, Robert stopped, and turned to face you. His hands found yours, tenderly slipping his fingers into your own and pulling you close to him, and you backtracked. 

“Mr. Fischer?” You murmured, feeling how his rough skin brushed against you. “What are you… doing?” you questioned, your mind filled to the brim with the same question: what was Robert feeling right now? About you? For you?

He called your name out softly, like it was the only word he knew, shining blue eyes examining you intensely and flicking down to your lips every so often. “Don’t quit. I - I… need you.” 

Your brows knitted - so it was about your resignation. “Mr. Fischer, you don’t need me, you… you need sex, you need someone to - to fuck you—“ You protested, wrenching yourself away from his grip.

“No! No. I don’t need you like that. I need you, not - not your fucking cunt, I - can’t live without you.” Robert’s hands pulled you back to him, holding you close like you’d crumble into ash if he didn’t. 

Then, he kissed you, soft lips benevolently pressing into your own, long and deep like he was trying to melt into your touch. He was slow and chaste but there was a hint of desperation in his saliva, like he wanted to consume you, and you him. 

You pulled back, alarmed, your chests rising and falling in sync. Robert had kissed you; he had crossed the line he vehemently set, the line he commanded be kept in place. You blinked, mouth opening and closing, unable to form words. 

“Robert,” You said at last. Robert, not Mr. Fischer. Not Mr. Fischer, not now, not with how quickly his face had fallen from feverish to devastated. “you don’t think you love me, do you?”

Robert’s brows furrowed. “Think?” He repeated incredulously. “Do I think I love you— god, I… I do love you. I don’t think I love you, I know I’m in love with you.”

You looked at him dolefully, willing your heart not to beat out of your chest. “But why? I am certain you can’t answer that, Robert, because you don’t love me, you are - are merely feeling abandoned—“

“I love you because you know more about me than anyone in the entire world—“

“That is my job, Robert—“

“No, it’s not, and you fucking know it. You did more than I’ve ever asked of you: you know me, Robert, not Mr. Fischer, CEO of Fischer Morrow. You know me.” His finger dug into his chest, enunciating each point, and you couldn’t help the way his words swayed you - consciously or not. 

In your silence, Robert continued. “And - and, I adore the way you think, how you laugh and how you see the world, how - how you understand people, people who’ve never had someone take the time to ever fucking do that. How you care. So - so… stay. Stay by my side.”

In the kiss, you two had found yourselves perched on his bed, and he looked at you, lips bitten between his teeth nervously. “Please,” he murmured, hand coming up to your cheek and meekly tracing shapes on your skin.

“…I can’t do this. Not with you. Robert, you - you don’t fuck a woman you say you love then pretend you didn’t.” You replied, shying away from his touch like he’d burnt you. 

“I - I didn’t want to push that on you, not when - when we were…” he trailed off, hands leaving you and instead scrubbing his grimacing face. 

“What, when I was your personal prostitute?”

“Don’t say it like that,” he said weakly, but didn’t protest. “I just… I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want you to think it was just another part of the job.”

“Is it not?” You questioned, watching his expression change and flit through several emotions. “You’re telling me you love me, and you’re asking me to keep being your secretary. Robert, is this not just part of my job?”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he pleaded. “It - you, can be more than that. You are the woman I worship and adore and - and will listen to, no matter what. So don’t leave.”

The words “me behind” did not come out of his mouth, but you felt it, like he etched it on your heart. Your eyes searched his own for even a semblance of fallacy — but it was so terribly real, truthful, that you felt a lump in the back of your throat form. 

You pressed your forehead to his own, trying to digest this information: the reveal of his feelings… and the remembrance of your own. 

His idealistic talk, his professions of love, his raw, long-suffering pleading made you remember the deep seated, stirring warmth in your heart that you’d beat to death all those years ago. 

You remembered the fondness you’d felt for a melancholy man back in Sydney, the man with the demure demeanor, the charming words; the man who you spent a month with, the man who took you on sweet dates, who wormed his way into your life like he belonged there; the man who fucked you slowly and graciously and cherishingly; the man who, at the end, had to go back to America, to the life he never talked about; the man who you wanted to explore a forever relationship with, but had offered you a job instead. 

“You love me?” you asked, vulnerability apparent in your tone. 

“More than anything in the entire world.”

“Then kiss me.” 

And Robert did, his hands sliding down your back to your waist, bringing you closed to him. This kiss was passionate, but patient and sheepish like you’d never kissed one another before. It was a sweet dance, all tongue and no teeth; curling around each other tenderly, desperately, like there was never going to be enough time in the world to express how you felt about each other, because you felt so infinitely. 

Your fingers carded through his hair, tugging lightly on his feather-soft locks, and his movements grew eager, gripping your thighs and pulling you onto his lap. “I’ve never wanted anything so badly as I did you,” he mumbled against your neck, pressing hungry kisses on the delicate skin. 

“I dreamed of this, in Sydney,” you told him, slipping off his suit jacket and unbuttoning his shirt and dress pants, “I dreamed of forever together.”

He shrugged off the many articles of clothing, then began unzipping the back of your dress without looking, “I dream of us and forever without an end: you are my ever-present thought.” 

You paused your movements, looking at him squarely - though not without allowing your dress to fall off your shoulders - and pulling him into another kiss. “How could I ever have been content with just fucking you,” you murmured, more to yourself than him, “when these are the things you say to me?”

Finally, the two of you were reverently tossing and turning on the bed, completely naked and completely feverish, not just in lust, but in dizzying adoration and love for the other. Then, he was on top of you, holding himself up by the arms. His leg slotted between your thighs, your soaking wetness practically dripping onto him, and he could’ve fallen apart right then and there if not for your arm digging into his left bicep kept him grounded in reality.

His hard cock rested against your thigh, and after a moment longer of watching eachother intently, memorizing each and every feature you both had, he spread your legs wide and pressed his fat tip plush against your clit, introducing himself slowly. 

“Is this okay?” Robert asked, biting his lip and reveling in how good you took him, even if it was just the head. 

You looked at him blearily, barely registering his question, mind already losing itself to the pleasure he was inflicting on your cunt; how, the slower he was with you, the easier it was to completely succumb. 

“Yes, fuck,” you ground out, squeezing your eyes shut and sucking him in, his groans growing louder as he pushed the rest of his length in. 

“Oh my god, oh my god,” you blurted simultaneously to his various noises of pleasure, your fingernails digging deep crescent moon shapes into his back. 

“Best cunt I ever fucking had,” he grunted, hands gripping the sheets beside your head for dear life. He stilled for a few moments, letting you get used to his whole length in you — yes, when he’d fucked you all those times before, he was so desperate to come he hadn’t bottomed out his entire length in you, which… had already filled you to the brim. 

“M’gonna,” he shuddered, feeling your walls bear down on him suddenly, “gonna move now.” 

You nodded breathlessly, arching into his touch as he set a steady pace. He would drive into you slowly, teasingly, almost torturously, before suddenly pulling out, then thrusting into you regularly for a few moments, and finally starting all over again. It would’ve made you mad, if not for how sweetly he was handling you: his hand stroking your forehead shyly, gaze flitting over you like you were the only thing left in the entire world. 

Robert leaned down to your bare tits, brushing his wet tongue over your nipples, which had grown sensitive and erect. At his touch, you let out a small squeak, “Oh, Robert,” you keened, rutting your hips up into his own on instinct.

You could feel him smile against your skin, and then, he slipped one of your nipples into his warm mouth, suckling loudly and making you tremble. His tongue devouring your tits, his hips snapping into you, his hands caressing you gently; fuck, you realized, it was all too much, but still just enough. 

The way Robert fucked you was absolute perfection, the way he ravished and pleasured your body was heavenly; divine. Sweet moans left your mouth as Robert’s pace grew more frenzied, your sticky cunt making a sick squelching noise whenever he pulled out. You were like a fucking suction; even your pussy knew how delicious Robert’s veiny cock was, and held onto him desperately. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Robert sighed, pressing his face into the nook of your neck, inhaling your scent. “Your are the only one for me— fuck— its you, and only you.”

Though your thoughts were growing foggier, only focussing on feeling pleasure, you still had it in you to beam at his words, your arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him into a close embrace.

“Faster, please, god, I adore you,” you said after letting go, a string of words barely coherent. Still, you thought that even if you’d not said anything at all, Robert would have understood, for he began sliding his cock in and out of you rapidly. His hands found themselves at your hips, and he began pushing you up into him as he slammed down into your cunt. 

His thrusts drew breathy moans from your lips, and you could tell how swiftly it affected him, knowing his cock made you shudder and whine like that, writhing beneath him, because he commanded gently for you to: “Look at me,” he said, and you obliged, taking in those sweet, wet blue eyes, lashes fluttering as he blinked. He wanted to look at you, and he wanted you to look at him. 

“I’m looking,” you responded, barely able to speak. 

“Good,” he said breathily, “I wanna know what you look like when you come.” Then, his cock began pounding into you, not cautiously and delicately, like he had been earlier, but insatiably, unable to think of much else but making the woman he loves orgasm. You could count on one hand how many times Robert made you come, but it seemed that’d be the only thing he’d be thinking about for the foreseeable future: devoting his time to making the odds even. 

His words made your insides twist, the knot in your abdomen growing larger; it turned you on much more than you thought it would, for the notion of him coming in you because he wanted to, because he wanted to fill you with his seed and mark you as his, not just because he wanted to release and didn’t have time to clean it up elsewhere. Suddenly, you found yourself knowing the difference between sex with kissing, and just sex.

You hadn’t realized how close you were, steadily building toward an orgasm when your brain has turned off thinking and let you melt completely into the ecstacy, and only really comprehended it when Robert mumbled, “Jesus, you’re so wet, taking me so well,” and his praise sent you off the deep end.

Honestly, you couldn’t describe how it felt. You could, however, do so in comparison to your previous orgasms with Robert. Usually, it would feel good, but like it ended too fast. You’d conveniently orgasm when Robert came in you, and he’d drive out his high in your cunt, then pull out immediately. If you’d had your way, you’d keep him thrusting until you couldn’t take it anymore, wanting to drag out your blissful orgasm as long as possible.

That’s what happened here. The heat that encompassed your body was unfamiliar, but damn well fucking delectable, making your body buck up uncontrollably into his cock. You were high on the pleasure, drunk on his length, and he knew this, still gliding in and out of you. Your climax was like entering a deep pool: it took you over completely, and was a little hard to come out of. 

“S’good,” Robert mumbled, not unlike he did earlier that day, but you knew it was different. “Your face look s’fucking gorgeous,” he commented, mind growing fuzzy as he saw your expression change throughout your high. 

Your hands found themselves back in his hair, and you tugged him slightly so you could whisper in his ear. “Thank you, Robert,” you spoke warmly, though still panting, “for loving me. For letting me love you.”

You swore you saw light tears well in his eyes, but you couldn’t be sure, because he cocked his head back, neck clenching and his mouth falling open as he released his cream deep into your cunt, flush against your cervix. He let out a low moan as he climaxed, thrusts still coming but considerably slower. It felt like he’d been coming forever when his arms gave out and he finally went limp, falling down beside you. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” is what he said first, peering up at you and brushing an eyelash off your cheek. “I’d have loved you no matter what you did.”

Now you felt the waterworks coming. How was it, that through such a strained relationship and broken examples of intimacy, did Robert know how to be so sweet? Or was that just him, just how his thoughts came to him; was it just his instinct and nature that made him so darling?

Weakly, you slip your arms under his, combining the two of you in a sweaty embrace. The room smelt like come and sex, the lights impossibly bright and beaming down on the two of you uncomfortably, but you could deal with it— and everything, so long as you were with Robert. 

“If only I knew sooner how cheesy you were, Mr. Fischer.”

“Well, you’ll have the rest of your life to keep finding out… Mrs. Fischer.”

[pinguwrites]

Kinktober 2023 | Day Nine — Robert Fischer + facefucking, office sex

Pairing -> sub!robert fischer x wife!reader

Warnings -> smut (minors dni), sub!robert, dom!reader, robert and reader are married, office sex, sex while on call, hold the moan

KINKTOBER 2023 MLIST

Disclaimer: Inception characters, plots, quotes, etc. do not belong to me and belong to the rightful owner(s). This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

You pressed Robert up against the wall, hands sliding underneath his shirt and up his chest, making him shiver at the feeling of your cold touch. You were both in his office, the one in his luxurious tower. When you first started dating, you actually didn’t like being in his office, or for that matter, most places he owned. Never in your whole life had you seen such expensive things in one single room, such quality, and honestly? you were afraid you were going to ruin it. Break something, spill coffee on his suits . . . but now it was different. You didn’t care, especially not when you were all riled up.

You would push him onto chairs, ruin his ties by shoving it in his mouth, toss aside important documents just so you could ride him on his desk. Like now, you two were engaging in a hot and heavy make-out session. His fingers were rubbing your clit, your juices getting on the cuff of his sleeve. 

You moaned, running your fingers through his hair and tugging on the strands. 

“Mmph,” he let out against your lips, when you gave a particularly hard tug. Before you could continue, however, Robert’s work phone rang.

Robert sighed, resting his forehead against yours. He thought for a moment, before deciding to just kiss you again, but you stopped him.

“Pick up the phone, Rob,” you said, your hand on his chest. “I don’t wanna get in the way of your work.”

He shook his head pushed a finger into your pussy. “I’ll just say I was busy  . . . I am busy, pleasing my girl.”

“Answer the call, Rob.” You stopped his hand.

He looked at you, pale blue eyes in frustration. “Don’t—”

“Pick up the phone.”

He did, only for you to drop on your knees and pull out his cock. He had already answered the call and was trying to push you away, nervous that he was going to moan to loudly, but you didn’t budge.

You couldn’t hear what Robert’s coworker was saying on the phone, but you could hear his responses, and the way he was struggling made you more than happy.

“I-I’m fine,” Robert managed to say. You took his length in your mouth, bobbing your head up and down, all the while looking up at him through thick eyelashes. 

He grabbed your hair, trying to halt your movements, but you swatted his hand away, and he didn’t try doing that again. That was the thing about Robert. He was dominant in the workplace, and even in his personal life, but he always listened to you, especially when it came to sex. He was just the desperate and submissive type, even when he was on top. 

You deepthroated him and he groaned slightly.

“Sorry, I’m just — just not feeling well,” Robert said, cringing at how pathetic that sounded. “I’ll call you back—”

You pinched his balls. 

He whined, ignoring your warning. “I have to go.”

He gasped and ended the call, much to your dismay, but he made up for your disappointment when he started to thrust into your mouth, using your throat like it was your pussy.

“Ah, fuck. Don’t move, okay? Let me use you.”

He did just as he wanted, eventually coming in your mouth with a soft whimper. You swallowed it, you knew he loved it when you did that, and then caught your breath. He took a moment to relax too, pulling you off your knees and into his arms. 

“I think he knew what you were doing,” Robert said, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. “Dirty wife.”

Taglist:

@rainyforest777

@thatwitchybitch420 

@madeinuk

@gentyleman

@henrywintersdearestgirl

[mynameismckenziemae]

can you do a bob x reader? anything w protective bob? i’m a sucker for a “who did this to you?” trope🤭 i trust your creativity and writing, take any liberties!!

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! A-hole ex boyfriends, talks of previous domestic abuse, violence, blood, (non consensual) derogatory language, a little smutty-smut at the end.

This is a bonus scene from Ain’t No Sunshine When She’s Gone (first chapter here)

________________________________________

“We’re meeting the caterers at the venue at 5 but otherwise we don’t have anything planned for today,” you tell Bob as you brush mascara on your lashes.

You were back home in Minnesota with Bob for a long weekend to see family and do some wedding planning.

“What would you do on a cold rainy day growing up?” Bob asks, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Roller skating, but the rink closed shortly after I graduated high school, otherwise we’d go to the mall or the movies. That’s actually where I had my first kiss with Andrew Fischer,” you sigh dreamily just to tease him.

He’s on to you though and pinches your butt. “Can I take you to the movies?”

“I’d love that. Maybe you’ll get a kiss too, if you’re lucky.”

________________________________________

“I’ll drop you by the door and meet you inside after I park,” Bob says as he pulls into the lot.

“Thanks, not sure you’d want to be seen with me if my hair were to get wet,” you laugh as you check it in the mirror. Your hair was a curly mess on a good day; the humidity was making it borderline out of control.

He shifts into park and grips your knee before you get out. “I love your hair, and there’s nothing about you that would make me embarrassed to be seen with you, Sun.”

You’d been kidding but the reassurance was always nice.

“Love you,” you smile and press a kiss to his lips. “Meet you in there.”

________________________________________

You wait in the quiet lobby, humming to yourself while you watch for Bob.

“Sunny?”

A cold chill runs down your spine at that voice.

“Hi Di-Derek,” you say, almost calling him dickhead (Bradley’s fitting nickname for your ex-boyfriend).

You haven’t seen him since you caught him in bed with another woman and were happy to see he looks awful

“I thought that was you, I thought I’d say hi since I was walking past. What are you doing here? Last I heard you were still in Cali, fucking some guy in the army,” he says casually, like what he just said isn’t extremely offensive.

“I-I’m not…we’re-,” you stutter but trail off as he keeps talking, stepping closer as your back hits the wall.

“You know, you could lose a few pounds, and fix this god-awful hair,” he says, tugging none too gently on a strand, smiling at your wince. “Otherwise you look good. I’d still fuck you.”

“I suggest you back away from my fiancé,” Bob says lowly from behind you both.

“Fiancé? Why didn’t you say so?” Derek laughs in your face before pushing away from you and turning to Bob. “I’m Derek, Sunny’s-“

“Pathetic ex who cheated on her,” Bob finishes for him.

Derek’s fuming as he laughs cruelly. “Can you blame me? I know she was cheating on me too. Always gone, always begging for other guys' attention like the slut-“

You flinch at the sickening crack of his nose when Bob’s fist meets his nose.

“What the fuck?! You’re gonna regret that. I’m calling the cops,” he sputters as he reaches for his phone, blood pouring from his obvious broken nose.

“I wouldn’t do that, Derek,” you say, finding your voice. “Unless you want to be sitting in jail too.”

“Why?! He hit me?!” He says, shaking with rage as he tries to stem the flow of blood with his coat sleeve.

“Remember that night at the Hard Deck? When you grabbed my arms and slammed my head against the wall? Not only do I have pictures of the bruises you left but Penny has the video of it too,” you say, proud that your voice isn’t trembling.

“I barely touched your arms! And I didn’t slam your head against-whatthefuckever, it doesn’t matter anyway—that was months ago! It wouldn’t hold up in court,” he argues.

“Maybe, maybe not. But Bob here is one of those ‘top 1% naval aviators’ along with Bradley and Jake-who haven’t gone after you only because I said not to. You have no idea what lengths the Navy would go to protect them and how easily things can get swept under the rug,” you saw lowly.

His face pales when he realizes your implication and scrambles to his feet, muttering a half-assed apology before running outside.

Bob checks you over before wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

You shake your head, “I’m okay. I never cheated on him, you know that, right?” You murmur against his chest.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I know you didn’t. Do you want to get out of here?”

You take a deep breath. “No, I’m not going to let him ruin our day.”

________________________________________

“Is your hand okay?” You ask as you take your assigned seats.

“Yeah it’s fine, I didn’t hit him that hard.”

“Hard enough to break his nose,” you laugh. “It’s gonna hurt like a bitch when they set it.”

“Good,” he says darkly.

“Was that the first time you’ve punched someone?”

“Besides when I was a kid fighting with my brother? Yeah.”

The previews start but you can’t seem to forget how hot it was when Bob didn’t hesitate to defend you. It reminded you of something.

“Do you remember the night we met and you scared of that jackass who called me a whore at the Hard Deck?” You whisper.

“Yeah, I remember everything from that night,” he responds, brushing hair off your forehead.

You smile. “Then you remember what I said after?”

His eyes darken as he recalls. “You said too bad we’d just met because you wanted to get on your knees to show your gratitude.”

You nod as you sink to your knees in front of him.

“Right now? Here?” He whispers as he looks around. But it’s just the two of you in the empty theater.

He’s already hard when pull him out of his gray sweatpants. You waste no time and use your hands with your mouth to work him over.

His head falls back with a low groan as he cums, filling your mouth as the opening credits come across the screen.

Just as you sit back down, an elderly couple enters the theater, sitting just a few seats over.

You can’t help but giggle when Bob shakes his head with a chuckle of his own.

________________________________________

Later you send a message to the group chat as Bob drives to the caterer.

Sunny: Guess who we saw today?

Rowan: Please don’t say Derek.

Sunny: It was Derek.

Bradley: *dickhead.

Sunny: Yeah…I almost called him that 😬

Bradley: Why didn’t you?

Sunny: I was waiting for Bob to park and he kinda had against the wall.

Bob parks and checks his phone.

Bob: He literally had her against the wall when I walked in.

Nat: OMG Sunny! Are you okay? Did he hurt you?

Rowan: Holy shit! Are you alright?!

Jake: What the fuck?! I’m gonna fucking kill him. I should’ve that night.

Bradley: ^Agreed.

Sunny: It’s okay. I was a little shaken up but I’m okay too.

Rowan: Thank God. How’d you get him to leave you alone?

Sunny: Bob rearranged his face with his fist ☺️

Jake: HELL YEAH!

Bradley: That’s my boy!

Nat: Just when I thought I couldn’t love you more Bob. 😍

Jake: Hey!

Nat: 😘

Rowan: Hahaha that’s awesome! Did he call the cops though? I could definitely see him calling the cops

Bob: He was going to until Sunny put him in his place.

Sunny: I brought up the pictures I took of the bruises and the video Penny sent me. I also told him how Jake and Bradley would have no problem going after him. I might’ve also said that the Navy wouldn’t hesitate to cover for them too 🤫

Jake: Fuckin ‘a right!

Bradley: I’d gladly sit in prison for that.

Rowan: ^That’s fine, but only if there are conjugal visits

Bradley: Duh 🙄

Rowan: Watch it Bradley…

Bradley: Yes ma’am 🫡

Jake: Gross…

Jake: Kidding, please go on. I wanna see how this plays out.

Nat: ^Agreed🍿

Sunny: Lolol I love you guys.

You silence your phone with a smile as Bob opens your door and offers his hand.

________________________________________

A/N: I hope I did it justice @lexixstewart

Tagging (please lmk if I’m annoying you by tagging you! I’ll take you off my taglist!):

@its-the-pilot

@dizzybee03

@sweetwhispersofchaos

@shanimallina87

@blindedbythelightt

@getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth

@phoenix-rising-starbird-one

@mrsrobertfloyd5

@charmedkim

@k-k0129

@bellaireland1981

@ingoaliesitrust

@hookslove1592

@amiets2

@nero4te

@eli2447

@atarmychick007

@vixenobrian

[disneytva]

20th Television Animation Brings Animation To San Diego Comic-Con 2024

Animation fans will have a lot to keep them busy and entertained at this year’s Comic-Con. Disney just announced its plans for its Hulu and 20th Television Animation festivities and panels set for the San Diego.

Friday, July 26

Solar Opposites, 2:00-2:45 p.m., Indigo Room. The popular animated series returns to San Diego Comic-Con ahead of a new season packed with new family values, mayhem in the Wall and some all-new Silvercops adventures. Join executive producers Mike McMahan and Josh Bycel, and cast Thomas Middleditch (Terry), Mary Mack (Jesse) and Sean Giambrone (Yumyulack) for an advance screening of a never-before-seen episode, and a discussion of the hilarious and out-of-this-world upcoming fifth season premiering Aug. 12 on Hulu.

The Great North, 3:00- 3:45 p.m., Indigo Room. Embark on an exhilarating journey to Lone Moose at Comic-Con. Catch an exclusive look behind the scenes of this animated comedy series that follows the quirky Tobin family as they navigate life together. Get to know the creative minds behind the series including creators and executive producers Wendy Molyneaux, Lizzie Molyneaux-Logelin, Loren Bouchard and the voices behind the Tobin family including Jenny Slate, Dulcé Sloan, Paul Rust and Aparna Nancherla to gain fascinating insights into the production of the show, its unique setting, and the colorful characters that inhabit the world of the Tobin family.

Bob’s Burgers,  4:00-4:45 p.m., Indigo Room. Join the Belcher family and the creative minds behind Bob’s Burgers for a can’t-miss panel. Creator and executive producer Loren Bouchard, executive producers Nora Smith, Holly Schlesinger and supervising director Bernard Derriman will break news about the upcoming season. The cast including H. Jon Benjamin, John Roberts, Kristen Schaal, Eugene Mirman, Dan Mintz and Larry Murphy will have the audience howling with laughter through exclusive sneak peeks, a lively panel discussion and Q&A.

Saturday, July 27

Futurama, 11:00-11:45 a.m., Ballroom 20. Neither snow nor rain nor cancellations nor pandemics nor Hollywood strikes can keep Futurama from blasting back into existence. Please join Matt Groening, David X. Cohen, Claudia Katz and “Futurama” superstars Billy West, John DiMaggio, Lauren Tom, Phil LaMarr, David Herman and Maurice LaMarche for a live sneak preview of the all-new season premiering July 29 on Hulu. They promise to spill the maximum legal dose of spoilers. Plus, there is the chance to walk away with debatably precious door prizes!

The Simpsons, 12:00-12:45 p.m., Ballroom 20. Show creators give an exclusive spooky sneak preview of “Treehouse of Horror 35” – the scariest 35th Halloween Special ever. Join panelists Matt Groening, Matt Selman, Rob LaZebnik, Tim Bailey, along with special guest moderator Kevin Smith and surprise terrifying guests for original drawings, prizes and more.

American Dad! 1:00-1:45 p.m., Ballroom 20.  Celebrate the enduring success of the show at Comic-Con with hilarity, hijinks and heartfelt moments. Dive into the quirky world of the Smith family and their eccentric friends and foes as this beloved animated series celebrates its ongoing success with stars Wendy Schaal, Scott Grimes, Rachael MacFarlane, Dee Bradley Baker, Jeff Fischer, and executive producers Matt Weitzman, Kara Vallow and Nic Wegener.

Family Guy 2:00-2:45 p.m., Ballroom 20.  It’s time to look back at 25 years of laughter, satire and iconic moments with the long-running show at this must-attend Comic-Con panel. This milestone event will bring together fans, the iconic cast including Alex Borstein, Seth Green, Jennifer Tilly, Gary Cole and Mike Henry, and executive producers Rich Appel, Alec Sulkin, Steve Callaghan and Kara Vallow to honor a quarter-century of hilarity, irreverence and unforgettable moments in Quahog. Whether a long-time fan or new to the Griffin family’s antics, this is the ultimate event to honor one of television’s most beloved and enduring animated series.

[angelicsoka]

THE ABOUT PAGE!

everything you need to know about in between!

( angelicsoka, 2024 )

ADA "BUBBA" EVANS

✴ BUBBA'S BASICS!

NAME ada sylvie evans

NICK NAMES bubba, bubs, & A

BIRTHDAY 25th of january

ZODIAC aquarius

FACECLAIM mikey madison

CURRENT AGE 19 years old

PRONOUNS & SEXUALITY she/her & bisexual

HOMETOWN des moines, iowa

EDUCATION high school diploma

PIERCING & TATTOOS conch, lobes, helix & a cluster of sparkles on her right thigh

✴ BUBBA'S PERSONALITY!

QUALITIES bubba is pretty introverted when you first meet her. she tends to blossom into her extrovert-like personality over time. due to this, bubba is more of a loner. she'd rather keep to herself, spending her time reading and watching movies. she grew up an only child, so she is pretty use to the quiet life she is living. she yearns to be more confident and not care so much about pleasing people or having them like her.

LIKES & HOBBIES reading, watching movies and shows, listening to music, swimming, horseback riding, collecting funko pops & figurines, building legos, & traveling

DISLIKES spiders & wasps!!, loud places, driving in unfamiliar places, going somewhere unfamiliar, harassment

MENTAL HEALTH diagnosed with major depression disorder & generalized anxiety

✴ BUBBA'S FAVORITES & COMFORTS!

HER FAVORITES !

MOVIE revenge of the sith

TV SHOW psych

DISNEY PRINCESS elsa

FICTIONAL CHARACTERS louise belcher, ahsoka tano, & padmé amidala

SONG view between villages by noah kahan

VIDEO GAME resident evil 6 & red dead redemption 2

BOOK bird box by josh malerman

ARTISTS noah kahan & radio company

ANIMALS horses & deer

FOODS & DRINKS steak, red velvet cupcakes, & water, powerade, fruit punch

PEOPLE luke hughes, cole caufield, & her mother

HER COMFORTS !

MOVIE live action little mermaid & bambi II

TV SHOW bob's burgers

DISNEY PRINCESS ariel

FICTIONAL CHARACTERS ahsoka tano, okoye, & shawn spencer

SONG call your mom by noah kahan

VIDEO GAME red dead redemption 2

BOOK carrie by stephen king

ARTISTS we three & hozier

ANIMALS horses

FOODS & DRINKS ice cream & chocolate milk

PEOPLE quinn hughes and her father <3

✴ BUBBA'S FUN FACTS!

bubba's father helps open casinos all over the united states, her mother is best selling author.

luke coins her the nickname "bubba" as she chews hubba bubba gum all. the. time.

she lived in des moines, iowa until she was ten, because her father was promoted to the position he is in now.

she has lived in new york, san diego, tampa, and most recently, las vegas.

her mother is a stay at home mom, spending her free time writing mystery & horror novels.

although bubba is loved dearly by her parents, they weren't always around and when they were, they were busy with work or stressed out.

bubba took to horseback riding in her free time, which she had a lot of.

bubba wasn't the happiest about moving to michigan, but her mind quickly changed when she saw the house and the view.

bubba has one ex boyfriend named sebastian nicks.

bubba hates taking her antidepressants because they make her feel numb. she'd rather feel sad and hopeless than numb.

bubba's anxiety makes it hard for her to talk to people or do the things she really wants to do ( ie. concerts, dating, going to the movies )

bubba is OBSESSED with star wars because when she was little, her dad would sit with her to watch the movies

she has met ewan mcgregor, hayden christensen, mark hamill, and carrie fischer (rip 🕊️)

padmé amidala and leia organa have been her role models since she was kid. she even wrote a paper on them for her fifth grade english class.

whenever she is feeling down, bubba's father will try his best to find time to watch the movies with her. he will go buy all her favorite foods and they will stay up all night having movie marathons.

if her father can't, luke will step up and do it for him <3

IN BETWEEN INFORMATION

takes place in the summer of '23

people who will stay at the hughes' lake house during the duration of this fic will include: the hughes bros ( duh. ), trevor zegras, cole caufield, ethan edwards, mark estapa, luca & adam fantilli, elias pettersson, brock boeser, and possibly more!

other people to appear include: nico hischier, sebastian nicks ( oc ), curtis lazar, john marino, and possibly more!

luke honestly sucks at talking to girls in this fic... especially bubba.

more info set to come at a later date!

[acheronist]

can you make sparknotes for the Red Wings players they are all the same person to me (sorry)

dw my darling i got you 🫡 here's the regular 23 man roster we've been skating this szn

forwards (+ this is going to be the number they wear on their jerseys, not their age)

jt compher (37) - won a cup whilst he was on the colorado avalanche (red wings long time beloathed nemesis rivals team), attended umich hockey with larkin and copp. deadpan dry asf tenderhearted weirdo. very good at hockey i like him

andrew copp (18) - 🎶get up and g-get down, 911 is a joke in your town🎶, local michigander boy playing for his hometown team, attended umich with compher and larkin, kind of fuck ugly but he's gritty and has a lot of love in his heart so we like him

alex debrincat (93) - another local michigander boy playing for his hometown team, really good at hockey, we rescued him from the ottawa senators (red wings short term/very recent beloathed nemesis rival team) and he likes it here more, haha lol lmao even. good at hockey!! kind of a sniper. also kind of fighty which is hilarious because he's about 9 inches shorter than the average nhl player. new dad and really loves it, brings his family to games all of the time. and he was our all star games representative this year !

robby fabbri (14) - how are you going to be a short italian-canadian kind of bisexual professional hockey player who mixes metals and has a standing eyebrow appointment. please pick a struggle. won the stanley cup w/ st louis and then got abandoned for being 'injury prone' and was sent to detroit in a 1 for 1 trade (the most humiliating of all nhl player trades imo). he and larkin and rasmussen are the only men left standing from the red wing's historic worst-ever season in 2019 where every game they looked like they were going to kill themselves.

christian fischer (36) - new bestie alert! huge locker room guy. okay at hockey (more of a playmaker than a goalscorer) but he's so fucking sillygoofy and funny i love to see this guy on my team. spent most of his career in arizona iirc, and basically he and gostisbehere came from the coyotes directly to the red wings as a buy one get one free deal.

patrick kane (88) - narcissict. arrogant. flop. old man who can't score anymore. history of assault and violent misdemeanors he never was punished for because he was the nhl's boytoy a decade ago. i hope he contracts sepsis from an unforeseen complication with his hip surgery and takes a long walk off of the rencen's roof and lands in the detroit river where he is frozen and then chopped up by an industrial ship's propeller. fuck this guy.

klim kostin (24) - beloved enforcer. used to skate for the edmonton oilers. his entire game is based around slotting in on the third/fourth line when necessary and whenever someone gets hurt he comes out swinging to establish the fact that the red wings are not to be fucked with. he doesn't start fights but he does finish them. notoriously big hearted and silly with his teammates. coincidentally wearing the same number as the red wings most famous enforcer from the 1980s, bob probert. my guard dog boy i love u

dylan larkin (71) - michigan native, umich grad, was the previous captain's rookie, the beating heart and soul of the team, carrying the weight of a century year old hockey team's legacy and all the ghosts that come along with that, never been to playoffs and hasn't won the cup yet. literally the miserable boyking of metro detroit. he's had to suffer a lot for absolutely no reason, but still manages to come and be our best and most important player every single night.

david perron (57) - he's old by nhl standards i.e. he's in his late thirties and has been playing for like a decade, so he knows his way around an nhl rink. french canadian enough that he's got an accent. big heart and soul guy, which i really wasn't expecting tbh! he's always standing up for teammates and has gotten in a few noteworthy fights (dylan got hurt so badly this szn that dp went rage-blind and ended up getting suspended for six games after fighting the opponents who hurt dylan)

michael rasmussen (27) - big fuck off scary intimidating canadian hockey lad. kind of awkward and bizarre. also kind of a doll if i can b honest. he's very shy and quiet in interviews but always has an insane serial killer look in his eyes whenever he's on the ice. was drafted high and then i suspect he had a lot of mental struggles about not being the player he was advertised/told to be? but the last few years he's stepped away from that role he thought he should be and started being himself and playing in a way that was obviously more comfortable, and he's taken huge huge productive strides and improved a lot. moose ily

lucas raymond (23) - our youngest babiest player!! he was our highest draft pick in a looooooooong time, and immediately went from prospect training camp -> regular nhl player, which is fucking crazy. he's exceptionally good at hockey, and has a reputation for coming in clutch with goals we need to win games. besties with moritz seider + jake walman + joe veleno.

daniel sprong (17) - i had no idea what to think of this guy at first but now i can't believe he's only been here for one season. it feels like he's been a wing for ages. he's one of our sniper goalscorers, except he shoots the puck with a lil too much sauce + with a feral desperation of a man afraid he was never going to score a goal again, every single time, which i love. also he stalks twitter and runs a team GC to forward memes that the fandom makes to the guys

joe veleno (90) - if bambi was a closeted italian canadian hockey player. wears an evil eye bracelet and also a crucifix? very meek and easy to bully, tbh, not our most productive goalscorer but also somehow he's very crucial to the emotional well being of the younger half of the roster? hes sillygoofy and a sweetheart and does his best every night which is all we can ask tbh. besties with lucas raymond + moritz seider + jake walman.

defensemen

ben chiarot (8) - resident manwhore dilf fashionista who knows he's sexy and loves to be a bitch on the ice. loves to be annoying and distracting @ the opponents during plays so the red wings can have space to move.

shayne gostisbehere (41) - escaped florida man turned into an nhler, sleeper agent defensive weapon that people tend to forget about. always busting his ass up and down the blue line. always looks sopping wet and really sad though? loves to shoot the puck and sometimes it even makes it to the net!

justin holl (3) - i'm hesistant to describe him as "good at hockey" but the boys seem to love him + he's silly enough to engage in the locker room antics + i've noticed him dealing out more hits lately which is always good.

olli maatta (2) - very very very steady in the most boring way possible. does his job and not an ounce more than necessary LOL but it's fine because he's good at what he does? a classic defensive defenseman.

jeff petry (46) - not… good? at hockey? but he is also a michigan native playing for the hometown team, and he's a veteran nhler, and he's a gritty sort of guy, so i like having him. he grew up in detroit proper, as well, because his dad played on the detroit tigers baseball team, so there's a lot of michigan sports lore going on in that household. also his kids are silly + love to come to games

moritz seider (53) - my sweet perfect darling defenseman prodigy. won the calder trophy because he was the most special and talented rookie in his first year in the nhl. breaking team records for defensemen at an alarming rate. was dylan's rookie, and is also frequently mentored by red wings defense legends. he's not a rookie anymore but you can still see how much responsibility he's shouldering and how much he takes after dylan's role modeled behavior/team legacy standards. good at handling tough responsibility vs staying silly anyways. hes my shining star and i luv him. generally he's paired up with jake walman on defense and they're a little bit married because of it. besties with lucas raymond + jake walman + joe veleno.

jake walman (96) - another guy who st louis abandoned and then ended up on the red wings and said "i want to spend my entire life and career in this city" . extremely silly. known for hitting the griddy whenever he scores important goals. big on video games + making tiktoks. tremendous locker room vibes guy, and very emotional and serious about proving his place on detroit's blue line. generally he's paired up with moritz seider on defense and they're a little bit married because of it. besties with moritz seider + lucas raymond + joe veleno.

goalies

ville husso (35) - looks like a haunted little porcelain doll. always sopping wet for some reason. very softspoken and european. mid-good level goalie, kind of needs to prove himself a bit now that alex lyon's gone completely off the shits and taken over starter goalie privileges, but i feel like there's no sense of animosity or competition between them? ville just strikes me as genuinely someone who's delighted and proud of his tandem partners for their successes, even if it comes at his expense / losing some of his chances to get ahead

james reimer (47) - idc about this man lol. he's either a very good goalie or an atrociously horrible goalie and you dont know what it'll be until the games already happening. passively homophobic christian behavior as well which i do not like to see. but he's also a veteran nhl player so in the beginning of the szn he was getting more opportunity than alex or ville.

alex lyon (34) - spent his entire career in the minor league/being traded between franchises where there wasn't really a space or need for him. got on the radar after keeping the florida panthers in their playoff race before losing, and then FL traded him to us. we've had goaltending agonies for years and then he's rolled up to detroit with something to fucking PROVE because he thought his hockey career was about to be over so he's skating every night like its do or die. after reimer and husso both were injured tho he finally got his chance to shine and oh baby he's been shining. unbelievably good at goaltending. big heart, very genuine, very funny, basically a male model as well, been to therapy and actually got something out of it, i would go to war for this man if he needed me to

[bob-the-movie-man-film-reviews]

Strays (15): The teenage scatological humour gets tiresome.

#onemannsmovies #filmreview of "Strays". #Strays. A funny concept that just gets tiresome even over 93 minutes. 2.5/5.

A One Mann’s Movies review of “Strays” (2023). I seldom find trailers for comedy films very funny. But the trailer for “Strays” did tickle my funny-bone. Unfortunately, that good-will, and a few good gags, was not enough to offset my issues with this one. Bob the Movie Man Rating: Plot Summary: Reggie (voiced by Will Ferrell) lives with his owner Doug (Will Forte). Reggie thinks the world of…

[edutainer2022]

UNREQUITED Ch 7

Co-written with @janetm74

Ch 6

AO3 (1-7)

This installment found a place in the tapestry of a vaster story, thanks to the amazing insight of @janetm74, making the implications so much more exciting to ponder and to explore further!

(Page Six)

Ever since Kat Kavanaugh buried a hatchet and wasn't chasing conspiracy theories about them on Global Holovision anymore, watching the news live was a once in a blue moon activity in Casa Tracy. They followed the major world events through John and Eos (maybe a bit of social media on a relatively quiet morning), and they were likely to be part of those in some capacity at least a third of the times. Sometimes a half.

But it was one of those days. A relative lull in rescues compiled with the exhaustion of the previous fortnight streak of disasters bred mildly numb boredom. Batteries too low to pursue their usual hobbies, they gravitated to the lounge.

Scott was ever at the desk with holo screens full of quarterly budget reports, because their biggest brother did stock market numbers for LEISURE, apparently. Virgil was playing, as usual, but the music was slowly fading to a halt. Alan was gaming, or pretending to be while napping, his VR goggles on. Kayo was going through some specs, half leaning on the couch cushions. Even John was in a quiet lull up in orbit, his hologram just bobbing at the comms unit, hanging out with everybody, but not really a part of any conversation.

That left Gordon scralling lazily through newsreels. The sudden yelp sent Alan tumbling on the floor and Scott at least half an inch closer to a cardiac arrest under thirty. A keen observer would have noticed Kayo reaching for a knife in the ankle holster. The piano music keened on an abrupt note and stopped. Several pairs of VERY unamused eyes stared Gordon down.

The Fish was on his feet already, bursting with excitement, sending the news holo to the center of the lounge.

"Did you guys know Fischler has a brother?!?!"

The assorted grumps and groans across the lounge indicated that they not only didn't know, but weren't in the least thrilled by that information.

Only John and Kayo shared a quiet look, because OF COURSE they would know.

Gordon surveyed the lounge in triumph, setting the stage for a punchline.

"He has a brother and he's getting married!"

"Who, Fischler?"

Alan was still scrambling up from his hardwood landing and making a show of rubbing an ouchie. Scott at least looked ready to switch gears to the full "hurt brother!" mode. Gordon was not deterred.

"No, dummy, not Fischer! His brother is getting married!"

"And that's any of our business how?"

Alan was still not ready to relinquish attention from his boo-boo. Not with so many big brothers in attendance. But John, Kayo and Virgil were already sharing concerned LOOKS.

Any widely publicized event with cameras rolling and hundreds in attendance, involving Fischler, could potentially turn into a showcase of his latest "invention", or ten. Which would mean potential casualties and work for IR. They would need to be on the look-out and on standby. Scott waved at the comm to get the volume up.

The holo displayed a close pic of a younger and significantly more polished version of Langstrom Fischler, hair sleecked back, but a weaselly smile just a tad on the manic side.

The celebrity news anchor was gushing about a "dashing fresh face on the World Senate, a philanthropist and patron of innovation, a devoted brother and a consummate athlete, setting off to be a force of a positive change in the world" and "his drop dead gorgeous fiancée, a once Miss Brazil runner-up, who dedicated herself to the selfless life of service, decorated for honor and courage".

The picture on the screen changed to an official GDF snapshot of a tall young brunette in dress blues. The insignia on the collar indicated the rank of Captain and breastplanks - several high ranking awards for valor. The picture switched to a series of candid paparazzi snaps of the "happy couple".

The show host droned on with one corny cliche after another about the "match made of dreams" and a " high profile dream wedding" scheduled to take place on a cozy remote island.

Gordon interrupted the stream of saccharine platitudes:

"Huh? How come we're not invited? Scott, you know like everyone in the World Senate!"

His voice was drowned out by the deafening snap of the metal stylus, broken in Scott's fingers. The sound of the desk chair hitting the floor, as Scott stood up and all but ran from the lounge, was even louder.

"Huh?!"

Gordon, yet again, surmised the bewilderment of everyone present.

Jade eyes squinted a fraction as Kayo watched Scott's outburst and hasty retreat.

Virgil was half out to follow Scott, when a ping came through on Gordon's comm. The sign flashed pink.

"Yay! Looks like I'm going after all! Penny needs a plus one! John, can I borrow your tax?!"

John half waved his brother off, brows furrowed and hands already flying over invisible files, when another pink ping came through. It was Kayo's turn for a "Huh?" moment.

"Looks like Penny needs a plus two, as well. I'm invited".

That deflated Gordon's initial excitement enough to notice Virgil leaving in the general direction of Dad's office, where Scott had locked himself.

Before Virgil reached the door to try and reason with big brother to talk about... whatever that was, John sent two files to his comm.

One - a picture they all saw a hundred times on Dad's desk back in Kansas, but it didn't compute out of context. Scott's Airgroup Wing after a training flight. All hugging and laughing, still in flightsuits. Scott and the girl from the news today - Fischler Jr.'s fiancée - at the center.

The other Virgil never saw before. It would figure since it was a screenshot from, what he recognized with some dread, was Dad's old phone. There was a picture sent to a private chat with Dad of the same girl, in a sundress, and Scott in a polo shirt, apparently both on leave. An almost ten years younger Scott was smiling like he could power up a sun. The message to Dad read "SHE SAID YES!!!".

The date of the message indicated about a month and a half before Scott's mission to Bereznik.

Virgil sank to the floor, leaning on the wall, never going through with the knock on the locked office door.

***

It was such an unbelievable cliché it felt surreal. The thunderstorm, the lightning, the lash of downpour across his face. Then again, it was fitting, as his world was going crashing down around him. Yet again.

There was nothing surreal about the hard edges of Mom's ring she just gave him back.

For about six weeks he was the happiest man alive. Dad's IR project was well underway, and he was to share that dream not only with Dad and brothers, but with the love of his life. He should have known better...

The words were real too - hard and ruthless. About Dad yanking his leash, and expecting nothing but dutiful following in his footsteps and his vision, concealed by his looming shadow, and giving up what they both dreamed about and worked so hard for - test flights, command ranks, career in service.

The echo came back to him often, in one dark hour or another, after his world shattered to pieces yet another time.

Dad voiced his reservations clearly, but did agree to give him Mom's ring. "When you know, you know". Wasn't it how he and Mom got married?

It WAS too soon, they WERE too young, and frateenization within a unit WAS an issue, but with IR lifting off that wasn't to be a problem, once he told her the full scale of the classified project. He should have known better...

He last remembered the ring yanked off his neck with the dogtags chain by a smirking Berezniki guard.

He put up a hell of a fight for that and was beaten within an inch of his life. The first time.

Next time he found it, inexplicably, in Dad's safe on the island, after the search for Zero-X was called off. He meant to ask Kyrano, as he wasn't conscious or coherent enough for the extraction op, or for months after, but the man never returned his calls anymore, sending in a resignation after half a year of following leads on the Hood.

There wasn't much room in his mind or hours in his days to give it more thought for years after. Or more pieces for his heart to break into. He should have known better.

And now she was getting married. To someone bright and promising, changing the world for the better, who wasn't him. The story of his life!

He should have known better as well.

The sound of glass shattering against the wall and a visceral scream finally sent Virgil in, wild-eyed, breaking past the lock.

***

John lifted an eyebrow in a perfect quizzical arch, putting the tablet down, as the "wedding party" poured, or rather, limped into the lounge.

Gordon's tuxedo sleeve was torn clear off, his bowtie, undone, served as a makeshift tourniquet. Parker sported cuts, bruises and a glorious shiner. Penelope's elaborate updo was in disarray, one heel of a golden pump broken. Kayo's slip dress hem was torn, exposing a garter holster.

As John hurried to the kitchen for the first aid kit, he heard her hiss something to the effect of "You should have seen the other guys".

The villa was quiet. Grandma had Alan on the mainland for the weekend. Virgil chased Scott up the volcano. There was a good chance biggest brother and his stormy mood was best quarantined at the Round House for the rest of the day.

John was waiting in the lounge for the fallout, one way or another. He wasn't quite prepared for the sight on display, handing out ice packs.

Gordon hissed too and bit off a curse, as John set about cleaning the bullet graze on his arm.

"Pen, do all your friends whip out a standard issue gun at the altar and read the groom Miranda rights instead of vows?"

Lady Penelope was busy trying to look poised while breaking the second heel off a designer pump, to make them even.

"It was a deep undercover mission to round up a drug and slave trafficking ring. A destination wedding was a most fortunate venue for the occasion."

Kayo looked up from the kitchen isle at that, not pausing to stop extracting a considerable arsenal of throw-knives from her bodice.

"Looks like the Fischler brothers were bankrolled by mafia. The crazy inventions AND the World Senate election. In exchange for some... perks."

Kayo snorted and went back to her inventory of weapons.

Gordon perked up as the anesthetic cream kicked in and forgot to NOT wave the injured hand around to assist his narrative.

"It was actually kinda cool! The bride barked out "Hands up!" instead of "I do"! The bridesmaids all dropped their bouquets and brandished guns. The bridal party were all Organized Crime and Counterterrorism. Well, and us... A little  heads up wouldn't have hurt, Penny. Then all hell broke loose. Rose petals and confetti everywhere. You should have seen Fischler's face!"

Gordon was nearly flailing with excitement, so John's hands pushed him mildly back into the seat. Turquoise eyes found Penelope's line of sight, studiously avoiding Kayo:

"So... no wedding?"

"No wedding indeed."

Up on the Tracy Volcano Virgil's comm vibrated, switched to silent mode hours ago. John's message read "No wedding."

Virgil exhaled a sigh, but didn't yet know how to break the subject with a brother, seated next to him on the sun-warmed boulder, overlooking the ocean. Blue eyes were fixed on a point far away in the distance, or maybe far away in the past, Scott still wouldn't talk about.