#it's like that average joe's sign

[1ightcap]

I have little interest in re-entering academia at this point but sometimes you just see a thesis in the wild and like, some one should be doing a paper or video essay on it

[roses-and-revolutions]

After retiring from being a hero, Danny moves to Gotham and opens a little mechanic workshop. He doesn't only fix cars though. Bring anything broken to him and he'll fix it. Upgrade it a bit as well if you're nice.

He's a good guy, much better than your average Joe on the street. But there was something about him that was just... unsettling about him. Maybe it was the way he smiled? It did look a bit weird when you stared at it for too long. Or was it because he was always happy? No one was ever always that happy. No one but...

Anyway, it didn't matter. When people came to him it was to get a job done and to leave. They didn't do much chatting which he didn't seem to mind, he was just happy to do his job. Always happy.

One day Danny closed up shop early. That was unusual. He was open pretty much 24/7. Some people were pretty sure he didn't even sleep. They watched as Danny walked. They noticed that Danny wasn't smiling. He wasn't happy... well fuck.

There's a new psychologist in Arkham Asylum, and apparently, she's very good at her job. Joker has already heard a lot about her. Like how she's tall, very tall. With fiery red hair that falls to her knees, and sparkling blue eyes that speak to your soul. She was a hot commodity around the Asylum. A very pretty doll that he just couldn't wait to break.

He knew that he didn't have to wait long. People like her were cocky. They get bored after figuring out a few crazies and decide that they need a bigger challenge. They think they need to break him.

They never do though. They all either quit the profession after a few weeks or fall into his trap. In the end, they all end back up here and become just like the people they were trying to help.

He couldn't wait to do it. To corrupt her mind and watch her spiral into a web of insanity of their making. What? You didn't think he did it by himself, did you? Both parties were willing participants, he spoke and they wanted to listen. It was an equal exchange. An exchange that never came.

He waited, for days and weeks. He waited for months, and there was no sign of the red-head that plagued his thoughts. He waited for almost a year... she wasn't coming to him, was she? It was a bit strange, insulting really. Was she not intrigued by him? Wasn't his case the least bit interesting? What if it was that... she found him... well... boring? The thought pissed him off a bit. That couldn't be the case, could it? Well, he wasn't going to know like this. She wouldn't come to him so he'd just had to go to her, didn't he?

It was quite easy to find out where she lived. She was with the Robin he killed. And wouldn't it be a cruel twist of fate if your girl were to die the same way you did? Who knows, maybe she'd come back wrong too?

[thoughtfulfiction]

Operation: Den Prep

Author’s note: I feel like Joe is very dramatic about things he can’t control and impending parenthood is definitely chaotic. Hope you enjoy this fluffy piece!

All you wanted to do was take a nap. You weren't asking for much. Just an hour, maybe an hour and a half of uninterrupted sleep.

But no. That would be too easy.

The cars that lined the driveway couldn't be a sign of anything good. Joe wasn't really one to throw parties, and with exactly four weeks before the baby's due date he wasn't exactly the most chill or relaxed man in America. If anything, the cars were a sign that you wouldn't be getting that nap in any time soon.

A gigantic sigh leaves your body when you walk in the door. There are people—strangers— in your home, scrubbing every square inch of the place.

"Joe?" You call out, attempting to scoot past the people dusting the vents.

"He's upstairs in his office," a woman responds kindly, in the midst of scrubbing baseboards. Your friend Nikki, who was with you all day, stares at everyone in shock before helping you up the stairs.

You caught your breath a little while running your hand over your baby bump, feeling like you climbed Everest. Nikki knocks on the door and waits for Joe's voice, telling you two to come in. Your husband was seated at his desk, highlighting sections of The Expectant Father: The Ultimate Guide for Dads-to-Be, surrounded by several other parenting books.

"Joseph..." Nikki begins since you still can't breathe. “What the hell is going on here?"

"Language," Joe says without looking up from his book, "he can hear you."

Nikki turns to look at you and you shake your head, not wanting to get in the middle of it right now. Your eyes were telling her to just focus on one problem at a time, the biggest issue at hand being the cleaning crew taking over the house. She seems to agree. "Okay, let me try that again," he nods, finally looking up, a disinterested look on his face. “Don't know if you know this but, there are people downstairs treating your home like it's a warzone on germs."

"I know. I hired them to do exactly that. Because it is." He says in a matter of fact tone. “I want everything to be perfect when the baby comes home. The house needs to be as clean as possible so he has a safe environment.”

“Joe, this isn’t prepping for the end of days. You realize babies don’t come out demanding hospital-grade cleanliness, right?” Nikki jokes, leaning against the doorframe.

Joe doesn't find it funny. “Do you even know how many germs are in the average house? I read it’s millions. Millions, Nicole. I’m not risking it.”

You sigh, walking over to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. He was adorable when he got like this—focused, determined, and completely over the top. It was endearing, but you could already tell you'd have to reel him in before he booked a hazmat team to inspect the nursery. “Joe, I appreciate what you’re doing. I really do. But we’re supposed to be relaxing these last few weeks, not running ourselves into the ground.”

“You’re the one who should be relaxing,” Joe said, standing and gently guiding you to sit in his chair. “You’re growing a human being. That’s a full-time job. I can handle everything else.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Joe, I don’t need you to handle everything. We’re a team, remember? And besides, I don’t want you burning yourself out before he even gets here.”

“I’m fine,” Joe insisted, his tone firm but caring. "I promise. I just...want everything to be right for him. He’s going to depend on us for everything, you know?”

Nikki sat down on the couch in the corner of the office, still grinning. “I’m not gonna lie, this is kind of impressive. Most dads just install the car seat and call it a day. But you? You’re basically turning this place into a baby-friendly, germ-free utopia."

Joe shot her a look but didn’t argue as you let out a yawn. "Are you tired?" He rushes out, "they should be done in our room, you can go take a nap if you need it. I was serious about you getting some rest."

"And so was I about you getting some rest. We won't be sleeping as much when he gets here so getting a head start on sleepless nights isn't the wisest business decision."

"Okay," Joe folds the corner of the page that he's on and stands up, kissing you on the side of the head. "What if...we kick Nikki and the cleaners out and we go take a nap?"

"Um hello?" Nikki waves her hand in the air, "still here, in the room, with both of you. I can hear everything you're saying."

Joe doesn’t bother acknowledging her, his eyes focused on you as you nod with a laugh. “I love you, Nik, but he’s right. I need to lie down before I collapse.”

Nikki smirks, standing and brushing imaginary dust off her jeans. “You’re so lucky you’re carrying my baby, Y/N. Go take your little nap, I’ll see myself out.” She pokes Joe in the chest as she passes. “Joe, co-parenting with you is going to suck, but I gotta admit—you’re going to be a killer dad. You just don’t need to stress yourself into a heart attack to prove it.”

Joe rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. "For the last time, it's OUR baby. Not yours. There is no co-parenting."

"Sure," Nikki smiles, patting him on the back, "sure buddy. Whatever helps you sleep at night. By the way, good luck kicking out the cleaners. I'm pretty sure one of them is power-washing your oven.”

She’s gone before Joe can reply, leaving you shaking with laughter as he mutters, “I’m changing the locks tomorrow.”

When you woke up from your nap, Joe was gone. You found him downstairs, scrolling through the notes on his iPad, intense focus that you'd really only seen when he was going over film. It was heartwarming to see that he was taking impending fatherhood as seriously as he took his job. In a way, being a dad was like taking on another job. With endless hours, no days off and no pay. But the rewards? They were going to be worth everything.

Sinking into the spot next to him, you leaned your head against his shoulder. “What are you up to?”

"Going over the checklist," he replied, his hand automatically resting on your belly, absentmindedly tracing small circles with his thumb. "We've got a bunch of deliveries coming tomorrow to get the nursery done which will probably take a couple days. Then we need to start getting the fridge stocked and pack our hospital bags. I was also thinking we do a trial run to the birth center."

"A trial run? Why?"

“I need to time it,” he said, his fingers still drumming softly against your bump. “Traffic could be bad, you’ll be in pain, and I’d rather not have to deliver a baby in the car. I mean, I can learn how to, but I’d rather not.”

You couldn’t help but smile as his focus shifted momentarily, his hand now lightly tapping your belly like he was sending a secret code. “Joe, we’ll be fine. We’ll get there when we get there. Not everything is gonna go to plan so let’s not waste time but trying to plan out every detail.”

“I hear you and I get what you’re saying but I’d rather be overprepared than caught off guard,” he muttered, flipping to a new note with his free hand. His other stayed firmly planted on your stomach, as though he could steady the world by keeping a connection to the little life inside. “Oh, and dinner with our parents tomorrow…that’s going to be something.”

"Be nice. They mean well," you reminded him, nudging his arm.

“Sure, but last week my dad said something about bourbon on baby gums helping with teething. I had to pretend to choke so I wouldn’t laugh in his face,” Joe said with a soft laugh of his own. Then, without thinking, he leaned down and whispered against your belly, “Just ignore your grandpa, buddy. We’ll do teething the right way.”

Your heart swelled at the gesture, and you reached out to thread your fingers through his hair. “Joe, you’re already such a good dad, you know that?”

His eyes softened as he looked up at you, his hand still cradling your bump. “I just want to get it right, for him… and for you.”

"You will. And you know how I know?" He shakes his head, his eyes locked in on you, searching for your answer. "Because once you put your mind to something, you don't let anything or anyone stop you."

For a moment, he’s quiet, his gaze softening before he speaks. “You’re gonna be a great mom, you know that?” He reiterates your words, his voice is barely above a whisper as he leans in, sneaking a kiss.

Your laugh is light, but your heart swells as he places his lips on yours one more time. “Kid’s pretty lucky,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours as he pulls back. “And he doesn’t even know it yet.”

The rest of the evening is spent ironing out some minor details of Joe's fool proof baby plans.

Your husband is not the handiest person in the world. He's more of a "I'll hire someone who's more qualified" kind of guy. Exhibit A? Full time chef so he doesn't have to cook. Exhibit B? Full time cleaning staff. To be honest, he probably doesn't know how to change a tire. But he also probably has access to triple A and one phone call from Joe Burrow might actually have everyone working that day rushing out to answer the call. With all that being said, you assumed that putting together furniture would not be something he'd be inclined to do. And then a few weeks ago he, Jimmy and your dad spent three hours building a custom Bellini crib. Now that he had a taste of satisfaction in knowing that he put it together with his own hands, he wanted to build everything in the baby's nursery.

Today's project consisted of your dad, Jimmy and Joe putting together a bunch of things that were delivered while you, your mom and Robin sorted through baby clothes and collected freshly washed laundry to place in his closet. Every tiny sock and little hat sent butterflies in your stomach at the thought of your own tiny person wearing these clothes in just a few short weeks. It was both daunting and exciting.

Throughout the day, more people were walking into the house, Ja'Marr came in first since he pretty much lived next door. Sam showed up 30 minutes later, a tool-kit in hand. A few high school friends even drove from Athens to help.

"Guess Joe called in the calvary." Robin says with a laugh, putting the onesies she just pulled out of the dryer in neat stacks to count and fold.

A few hours later, the three of you took a look at the inventory laid out before you. Your son probably had enough clothes to last him through four outfit changes a day for the next few months. You mentally reminded yourself to cut everyone off from buying any more articles of clothing until further notice.

The doorbell rang and Joe magically appeared downstairs to answer it, his Jeff Ruby's catering order had arrived. A few staff members carried in all the food and Joe thanked them on their way out. Before you could even ask, he said "you don't think they're all working for free do you? Had to give them a few incentives." You simply shook your head, a smile forming on your lips as he disappeared upstairs again.

When the guys were finally done, everyone gathered downstairs to eat dinner, casually chatting about life, Ja'Marr giving a recap of his offseason so far and what trips he had planned. Everything was actually normal until your mom spoke up.

"So, who are you guys gonna have in the delivery room with you?"

Joe nudged you under the table with his knee, giving you a look like "here we go."

"Um...we're still finalizing details of the birth plan. I was just thinking me and Joe for now, the less people seeing me at my worst, the better," you joke, trying to keep it light.

"Well what about visitors?" Robin chimes in. “How soon after are we going to be able to meet the little one?"

"We were thinking the next day. Gives us time to settle in, get some sleep and then have you guys meet him," Joe says casually. That seems to satisfy all parties, your parents nod in understanding and you breathe out a sigh of relief that the conversation doesn't go any further.

Pretty soon after dinner, most of the guests are gone and Joe asks if you want to see the nursery. You immediately hold out your arms and let him lift you to your feet, keeping a hand on the small of your back until you reach the room. Before he opens the door he covers your eyes with his other hand. "You ready?"

"Yes," you let out a small laugh, the anticipation eating away at you, "you've been hyping up these packages for weeks let's see what you’ve done."

"Alright," you hear him open the door and he guides you inside by the hand, still keeping your eyes covered. "3...2...1."

Some of the big things had already been put together. The walls had been painted, the closet space was set up, Joe had brought an LED starry-night ceiling projector (on top of the chandelier that was already in the room) and a sleek, modern changing table with a with several gadgets you weren’t ready to mess with. Yes it was too much. No, he wasn't going to return any of it.

Your eyes scanned the room: a plush, white rug that looked too soft to step on without socks, a glider that seemed to have more tech features than your car, and a Dyson purifier glowing faintly in the corner. You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of all the hands that had come together to make it perfect. “He’s not even here yet, and he’s already so loved,” you said, your voice catching slightly.

"He definitely is," Joe says happily, knowing he and his team nailed it. "Come on, I'll give you a tour." He gestures toward the window, "blackout curtains. I read that they can help babies and toddlers sleep better. They can also help regulate the temperature and reduce noise. For temperature though, I got a Dyson obviously, it's supposed to be the best.” He walks you over to the next spot. “Over here we have the changing table."

"Does this...have a built in warming pad for wipes?"

"Yeah isn't it great?” He beams, “so his little butt is warm when we change him in the middle of the night."

You let out a soft laugh at how much of a softie he already is for someone he hasn’t met yet. "He's gonna be mad we're changing him either way, warm wipes or not. But I know you’ll be using it so it’s fine.”

He opens the top drawer of the changing table, "I put some miscellaneous stuff in here. All organic. Silk-blend crib sheets, swaddles, and burp cloths that I washed yesterday so they're ready to use. Over here is the feeding station and the mini fridge, which I'm really excited about."

"Why do we need a mini fridge in the nursery?"

"Think about this. I'm on overnight baby duty and you're catching up on sleep. Our baby is sobbing because he's hungry. Instead of making him wait while I go downstairs and grab a bottle, we just have the bottles in here. And then this little compartment on this side is a freezer so we can have milk storage bags in here too since the bottle warmer is right there. And watch this,” Joe said, pressing a button on the bottle warmer. “It’s like a Formula 1 pit stop but for babies. Two minutes tops, and he’s good to go.” You raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh at his comparison.

"You know what? I'm not mad at it. Keep going."

"Right next to the fridge is the actual feeding station so we've got a couple pillows here next to the chair, burp clothes and then a little table in case whoever is in here needs water or to set something down. White noise machine is over here. You gotta play with the setting there's like 100 sound options and custom settings. The baby monitor is cool too, it has HD video, two-way audio, sleep analytics, the whole nine.” Joe pick up the expensive contraption. “Here, let me show you some of the noise machine settings."

He was too excited for you to decline, so you motioned for him to go ahead. "This one is ocean waves," he said, hitting a button. A soft crash of waves echoed through the room. "And this is rainforest sounds. Oh, and this one—"

"OW!" you yelped, clutching your belly and bending forward slightly.

Joe froze mid-button press, the sound of chirping birds now filling the nursery. "What? What happened? Is it happening?" His voice rose an octave as he practically leapt across the room to you.

You couldn’t help but laugh through the sharp jolt of pain, waving him off with one hand. "Relax, Joe. It’s not labor. It’s uh...lightning crotch."

"Lightning what?" His panicked expression turned to utter confusion, and he blinked at you like you’d just spoken a foreign language.

"It’s this sharp, sudden pain down there," you explained, gesturing vaguely toward your lower half. "Totally normal. Just your kid punching my nerves like one of those UFC fighters you're obsessed with."

Joe stared at you, wide-eyed. "That’s a thing? That’s allowed? Why does no one tell dads about this stuff?"

You shrugged, still giggling as you slowly straightened up. "Welcome to pregnancy. Every day’s a surprise," you reassure him, patting him on the back.

Joe ran a hand through his hair, looking genuinely rattled. "Okay, so let me get this straight. So far, there’s morning sickness, swollen ankles, back pain, weird cravings, and now lightning crotch? What’s next? Spontaneous combustion?"

"Would you calm down?" you teased, reaching for his hand to give it a reassuring squeeze. "It’s not that bad. Just part of the process."

Joe let out a dramatic sigh, muttering, "You’re making a whole person, and I can’t even keep up with the symptoms."

"You’re doing great, babe," you said with a smirk. "Now, are you gonna show me what’s in the next drawer, or should I add 'Joe having a meltdown' to my list of pregnancy side effects?"

That earned a laugh from him, and he shook his head, pulling himself together. "Fine. But I’m looking this lightning crotch thing up later," he said, giving you a playful glare before opening the next drawer.

Joe is going through the various assortment of baby blankets but what catches your eye is the bookcase. You step closer to it, running your fingers over the leather-bound spines. "Are these…first editions of Goodnight Moon and Oh the Places You’ll Go?"

"Collector's editions," Joe corrected with a sheepish shrug. "My mom used to read these to me,” Joe explained, his voice soft. “I figured…maybe I could do the same for him. Only with the fanciest versions, of course.”

"Of course,” you affirm. “You're adorable. This place is...a lot. But it's genuinely perfect Joe, you guys did an amazing job, thank you."

"You don't have to thank me, I should be thanking you. You're making us parents soon."

"I know. Being in here and seeing it finished makes it feel more real. There's gonna be an actual person using this stuff. That's insane."

He grabs your hand and leads you out of the room, "it is insane. And I can't wait. I wonder what he's gonna look like."

"I hope he looks like you, that would be so adorable. Having a tiny version of you would be a dream."

Joe chuckled, a soft, boyish sound that made your heart flutter. "You’re setting the bar pretty high for this kid," he teased, then paused, his expression turning serious for a moment. "But really, no matter what he looks like I know he'll be perfect."

The two of you stood there in the quiet of the hallway, the soft hum of the mini fridge in the nursery the only sound. For a moment, everything felt perfectly still—just the two of you, on the edge of an adventure that would change your lives forever.

You said goodbye to the last of your visitors and you turned around to Joe standing in the middle of the living room holding a notepad and a pen. "Where did you even get that, weren’t you just hugging your mom?"

"I had it on the coffee table. We’re supposed to watch the video for our prenatal class, remember?"

"Right now?" You ask, looking at your phone. It was only 9pm but it felt like at least one in the morning. You felt like Joe with his strict bedtime during the season.

He nods, already reaching for the remote. "I have big plans for us tomorrow so yeah, now is the perfect time."

"Alright, put it on." You relax into him, grabbing your blanket. "You're really gonna take notes?"

"Yeah. This is for educational purposes, I need any helpful tips I can get."

"You're sure you're gonna be able to watch and write things down? I don't want to scare you but, it might be intense."

"Babe, I get chased by grown men who want to take my head off for a living. Intense is my middle name," he places the notebook on the table and ditches the writing utensil, lazily placing his arm around you before starting the video. "You know what? I might not even take notes this time, I'll probably watch it again in my office in a few weeks when we get closer to the due date and take notes then."

You shrug, letting him do his thing. "Whatever you say, babe."

Joe's relaxed posture slowly turned a bit more tense as the video went on, the graphic image of the baby crowning was unfortunately going to be engrained in his memory for a long time. You had to stifle a laugh as his usual cool, calm, and collected demeanor cracked like a fine china plate dropped onto tile.

"Is...is that what we're gonna go through? What you're gonna go through?" His voice was shaky, as though he’d seen a ghost.

"Yup," you emphasized the ‘p’ sound. "That right there is the beauty of childbirth Joseph." You could practically feel his discomfort radiating off him.

"Oh my god." Joe muttered, his eyes wide in disbelief as he tried to mentally recover.

You couldn’t help but laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder. "You know, it’s not all that bad. It's just...well, it’s a lot. And it’s very messy.”

He blinked at the screen, still not sure how to process what he’d just witnessed. "Right, sure, a lot. Just—" He exhaled dramatically, trying to find words. "I need a drink. I don't even like alcohol. Or we should maybe just call it a night and go to sleep. I need maybe a small...break from the miracle of life."

You chuckled, wrapping yourself up in the blanket and snuggling into his side. "Welcome to parenthood, Joe. Just wait until you're actually in the room. This was just the trailer."

Joe leaned back, a hand on his forehead as he processed the visual overload. "Little man needs to stay in there a little longer. I'm not ready to watch that horror film."

After declaring that the two of you needed a break from baby stuff, you and Joe took it easy the next day, diving into a true crime marathon after he came home from his morning workout. It was the perfect distraction from all the overwhelming baby prep. But today, he was back at it—better than ever.

"Did you know that newborns don’t have kneecaps? They have cartilage where they should be. They don’t get kneecaps until later."

"Wait what?" you ask, clearly confused.

"Yeah, I read it this morning, it's crazy. He isn't gonna have knees for weeks. I could've used that trick in 2020," Joe adds nonchalantly, his tone as casual as ever as he brushes off his knee injury from years ago. The way he brings it up so easily makes you laugh.

"What else did you learn?" you ask, your curiosity piqued.

Joe glances over at you, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "I read that dads who are involved early on in caregiving—like diaper changes and feedings—bond with their babies faster and more strongly. So I’m all in on that."

"Baby?" you ask, tilting your head to the side as you look over at him.

Joe pipes up, looking away from his hospital bag, still gathering his things. "Yeah?"

"You didn't have a choice on that one. You were gonna feed him and change his diapers whether you liked it or not," you laugh and easily catch the t-shirt he tosses at you. It just happened to be your favorite one you liked to steal and it smelled just like him. That was definitely coming with you to the hospital.

You stand up from your spot on the floor, checking everything off your list. You had comfy clothes, fuzzy socks, four outfits (just in case), a phone charger, a portable charger, a water bottle and a robe which you'd never worn before but Joe insisted you bring it because what if this was the one time that you actually needed it. "What's in your bag?"

Joe opened the Nike duffel and let you take a look. "Why do you have your backup iPad in here?" you ask, a little puzzled.

"OTAs start two weeks after he's born. I need to glance through stuff and make sure I'm ready," he explains, glancing at you with a shrug.

You roll your eyes playfully. "Fine, but what are these doing in here?" You pull out his Bose noise-canceling headphones. "Are you gonna tune me out while I'm in labor?"

Joe looks at you with wide eyes, practically dropping the headphones in surprise. "What? No!" He quickly pulls out another pair, a sheepish smile on his face. "I brought some for you too, just in case you want to listen to music and, you know, maybe tune me out a little."

"You're really thinking ahead, huh?" you tease, a grin tugging at your lips.

Joe shrugs, his smile growing. "I try."

You nod, crossing your arms. "I mean, I guess we’ll see if those headphones get a workout during the labor part."

Joe gives you a playful look, his tone still light-hearted but his eyes full of genuine excitement. "I’m just saying, if you need a little escape from my endless rambling during contractions, at least you have options."

"Oh Joey, I love you."

“I love you,” he sighs, pulling you into a tight hug, feeling steady kicks against his stomach. "And I love you too, baby boy. Kid can't stand not having the attention on him," he smiles, his voice soft but filled with affection.

"Taking after his dad already?" you tease, the corners of your mouth lifting into a grin.

Joe pulls back slightly, raising an eyebrow with a mock-serious expression. "Now you know that’s just not true."

You chuckle softly, resting your head against his chest. "I guess we’ll see, huh?"

He lets you go and the two of you go through all three bags one more time before Joe announces the next task. "Are you ready for our hospital trial run?"

"I still think it's ridiculous but if it'll make you feel more comfortable then I'm in."

Joe carries all the bags down the stairs, tossing them by the door and has the stopwatch open on his phone. "Okay, here we go." He presses 'start' and grabs the keys and the bags while you stand in the kitchen, taking a sip of water as you waddle to the car.

"Babe, why are you going so slow? We're on a time crunch here."

"Well if you must know, your son is crushing all of my internal organs and grinding my hip bones together. If I walk too fast I’ll pee. And then you'll have to get me new clothes and I'll have to change. That'd be really bad for your time crunch."

He drops it immediately. "Okay you're right, take your time."

Once he helps you in the car he rushes around to the driver's side and buckles in, opening the garage door and pulling out of the driveway. You're holding the phone, watching his time as he drives carefully but efficiently, weaving through the streets like a man on a mission. "What if there's traffic that day?" You ask.

"Then I'll figure it out. I just need ballpark range how long it'll take us to get there." He checks the stopwatch again, the third time in the last five minutes.

"Joe, you don't have to treat this like you’re at the two-minute warning during the Super Bowl when you’re down one score."

His grip tightens on the steering wheel despite your words, his jaw clenching as he glances at you, "better to be safe than sorry."

You shrug, reclining in your seat to take some pressure off your back.

"You good?" He asks gently, his hand finding its way to your leg. "How’s the baby doing?" Joe asks, glancing at you between turns, a hint of concern in his voice. "Should we pull over so you can stretch?"

"No, I'm fine," you sigh, a smile tugging at your lips as you settle in more comfortably. "I could really go for some ice cream right now though."

"We'll get some on the way home," he laughs, a relieved chuckle escaping him. "Call it a reward for a successful trial run."

He pulls into the parking lot of the birth center with a sigh of relief, glancing at his phone in your hand. "13 minutes, not bad at all," he says with a sense of accomplishment.

"Yeah, that's great," you smile, a playful glint in your eyes. "I want a scoop of rocky road and a scoop of raspberry sorbet. In a bowl."

"Together?" he asks, his eyebrows raised in mock disbelief.

"Yes," you reply, grinning.

Joe pulls out of the parking lot, a proud smile on his face as if he just completed an Olympic event. "Mission accomplished. Ice cream in five minutes."

A week later, Joe was going over a food list with his chef Morgan. "For quick snacks, I was thinking Greek yogurt with granola and fruit, hard-boiled eggs—she'll need the protein. Maybe some string cheese or cheese cubes, peanut butter with apples or bananas. We’ll definitely need to stock up on protein bars," he lists off items, looking through the fridge and cabinets.

"What’s going on in here?" You walk into the kitchen and spot Morgan jotting down every word Joe is saying.

Joe looks up and smiles at you but then pauses for a moment, his eyes tracking your every movement as you waddle over to the counter. He raises an eyebrow. "You alright? You're walking like you just got off a horse."

You roll your eyes playfully but feel a grin spread across your face. "Nice to see you’re paying attention."

"Seriously," Joe says, now focused on you with concern. He steps closer, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders as he watches you shuffle around. "That’s a pretty pronounced waddle. You okay?"

"Yup, just one of the perks of carrying a tiny human in there." You shrug, trying to act casual about it, but it's hard to ignore how much effort it takes to move these days.

Morgan, glancing between the two of you, stifles a laugh. "It’s the baby," he explains with a knowing look. "The weight shifts, and her body’s getting ready for the big day."

Joe doesn’t look entirely convinced. "I don’t know, babe," he says, lightly tapping your belly. "Maybe we need to get you some support or something. You shouldn’t have to waddle all over the place. Like one of those belly belt things to help take the weight off your hips.”

You smirk. "Trust me, I’ve got it covered. But thanks for noticing."

Joe looks at you, giving you a soft smile that says he’s both amused and a little concerned. "Yeah, no problem. I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable."

"Thanks, Joe," you tease, giving him a playful nudge before you turn to Morgan, who’s still scribbling on his notepad as Joe turns his away again. "So, what do you have so far?"

Morgan lists off everything he’s written, "Trail mix, chia pudding, pumpkin or sunflower seeds—"

"We never have those in the house," you note, crossing your arms. "Why now?"

"They're high in zinc and other nutrients that support lactation," Joe says simply, not looking up from the fridge.

"That's helpful but I really will probably need fruit, veggie sticks and hummus since you're interesting in me increasing my protein intake, maybe some avocado toast and smoothies too? Keep it simple, Morgan. I’ll also need the lactation cookies I sent you."

"Noted." Morgan says, catching Joe’s shake of his head as you laugh.

"Just get her whatever she wants," Joe sighs, exasperated, but with a fond smile. "I’m actually glad you brought up the cookies, Y/N, because I wanted to run something by you. Both of you, actually."

You sigh, already dreading the conversation, and the chef looks up from his list. "What’s up?"

Joe pulls out a folder from one of the kitchen drawers, showing Morgan the list of the “best” lactation cookie and energy bite recipes he could find.

"Babe," you groan, "I told you that you're overthinking the cookies. They’re just cookies."

“Lactation cookies,” he corrected, already flipping to another recipe. “These are important. They’re, like, your fuel.”

"My apologies your honor," you laugh again, "carry on."

Morgan laughs too and Joe playfully glares at him. "Yeah—yeah, laugh it up guys." He gestures toward the folder, "I highlighted the key ingredients on each recipe.”

The chef raised an eyebrow at the sheer number of recipes. “You want me to make all of these?”

You stand up and take a peak at the extensive list, "you don't have to do that Morgan, just make a few batches of chocolate chip and call it a day," you sense Joe tensing next to you and you rub his back a little, "you're doing that thing again. Where you're freaking out instead of relaxing. You need to relax," you say with a small smile, guiding him back to calm.

You take your eyes off of Joe and focus your attention back on Morgan. "Thank you for never flinching at his insane requests, but if these cookies don’t work out, you can just order some. As long as they have oats, flaxseed, and brewer’s yeast to support milk production, then I should be fine."

Morgan nods, jotting a few more things down before he leaves to head to the grocery store. Joe looks at you, his expression softening. You nod at him, offering a reassuring smile.

"Yeah, you’re not the only one who’s done their research,” you say, nodding your head as his lips twitch into a smile.

"I’m impressed.” He gives you tiny claps, the playful gesture breaking the moment of seriousness. “Speaking of research...I may have one more surprise for you."

"I don't think I can handle anymore surprises," you groan, "can you just tell me what it is?"

"I don't think you know what a surprise is," he laughs rubbing your back, "let me just show you and then I'll leave you alone for the rest of the day."

"That's a lie,” you reply flatly, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Okay, fine. It’s definitely a lie," he admits with a sheepish grin, shrugging like he’s caught red-handed.

Joe takes you to the most unlikely place to reveal a surprise. "Joe...why are we in the bathroom?"

"This is the surprise. Do you see anything different?"

You look around, not sensing anything extremely out of place. Until you see it and tears start pooling in your eyes. "How did you—when did you do this?"

"It's just a little something I put together to make things easier for you when we're home. There's another one in the closet downstairs. I'll move it out so you have easy access when it's time." He pauses, taking a second to collect his thoughts. "I just want to make sure you’re as comfortable as you can be. I know this is going to be tough on you, and I...I want to feel like I’m helping, even if it’s in a small way."

A postpartum station, not the most glamorous gift in the world, but it was one of the most meaningful things he'd ever done for you. Imagining him sitting in his office or sitting up in bed at night doing all this research to ensure you were comfortable made you want to cry. You never thought the sight of adult diapers, nipple cream, and a portable stool could bring you to tears, but here you were, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness behind it all.

Joe gently wipes at a tear that slips down your cheek, his expression softening as he says, ‘hey, don’t cry. I want you to have everything you need. You deserve it."

You blink back the new tears threatening to spill over, shaking your head in disbelief. ‘I can’t believe you thought of all this. Thank you, Joe.

"Pretty much," he shrugs, giving you kiss on the side of the head. "Just one more thing to check off the list."

"And what's that?"

"Bringing him home and having him here, physically with us."

You laugh, resting a hand on your lower belly, on top of Joe's hand. "Oh yeah...that one minor detail."

“Minor detail?!” Joe grins, his eyes bright with amusement. “I think that’s the main event, babe. Let’s hope I don’t need a stopwatch for that one.”

His thumb brushes over your knuckles, grounding you in the moment, “Thank you, Joe. For this…for thinking of everything. If you’re this amazing now, I can’t wait to see you as a dad.”

His expression softens, his gaze dropping to your belly as if imagining the tiny life inside. “I just want to make sure you both have everything you need,” he says quietly. He spoke with such quiet certainty that it left no room for doubt—this wasn’t just a job to him; it was everything.

The lump in your throat returns, but this time you let it linger, because this—his quiet devotion, his unwavering effort—is why you fell in love with him. “You’re already doing it,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “And you’re doing it perfectly.”

Joe smiles, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Good. Now let’s get through the rest of this list before he gets here and turns everything upside down.”

Your laugh echoes through the bathroom, the two of you standing there in the glow of anticipation, knowing your lives were about to change in the most beautiful way.

[ruesol]

Push & Pull | inbox (1)

(SUKUNA X READER)

PLOT:

You often find yourself complaining to your pen pal about the annoying IT tech at your soul-sucking corporate job. If only you knew that they shared the same identity beyond the screen.

or: the “You’ve Got Mail” au

MASTERLIST

You’re a mess when you tumble out of the elevator, your feet wobbling because of the forsaken dress code for women that requires them to wear heels. The umbrella that you accidentally ripped a hole in is dripping water everywhere, because by some misfortune, you had unknowingly thrown out its cover along with the rest of your ex’s stuff that was rotting in the back of your closet. 

The price you had to pay for deep cleaning your house on a weekday was that you had to look like a complete trainwreck in front of your coworkers the next day.

Nothing seems to be going your way lately. You had accidentally added salt instead of sugar to your coffee earlier this week, had to stay past five by yourself twice in a row, and had ripped your stocking in the middle of an important meeting.

“Looking sharp,” Sukuna remarks as he walks past you with the rest of your department in tow. Shoko and Suguru throw sorry looks your way as they continue conversing with him about some show they all like. Scoffing at his attitude, you pull yourself together, throwing your broken umbrella away in a nearby trash can. You could simply buy another one at a nearby convenience store after work.

Sukuna’s attitude towards you, though? Not something that can be replaced easily. It’s been foul since you started working at the company, and you have no idea why. It’s a shame, though, if his personality were as good as his looks, you would’ve asked him out despite your lack of confidence. A man too strapping to look twice in your direction.

Your coworkers aren’t seen anywhere when you make it to your desk. You don’t blame them. There were still ten minutes till the clock struck nine, so most of them usually hung out by the IT office, which happens to be on the same floor, and right by the break room. After graduating and getting your first real job, you realized there wasn’t much difference between high school and an average corporate office. There was still a hierarchy and a system of popular kids and average Joes. A frustrating but true fact. Being a corporate slave wasn’t much different than being a loner. Well, save for the days on when you’d hang out with your coworkers after overtime.

The moment you sit, your chair lets out an odd squeak like it’s already exhausted when the day has just begun, much like you. A few heads turn, and you look down at your desk to not garner any more attention than you already have. 

You slowly blink at the email login screen, but instead of entering your password, you open an incognito window and enter an archaic website’s name.

www.anonpal.com

And instead of your company’s domain login page, your computer loads an old-fashioned website. Something like Windows XP or a government services website where the icons for options like ‘log in’ and ‘forgot password’ still had a sheen designed on them.

You enter your corny little username (orchid27–named after the first thing your eyes landed on while you were signing up) and password. You don’t realize it until your joints ache, but you were crossing your fingers, hoping that he was online for a chat, all with giddy knees bouncing with your shitty faux leather heels.

But the little grey dot next to his name lets you draw a sigh instead. So you leave him a short letter venting about the little things that make your life shittier than it already is.

———

Dear ceos4unions,

I know it’s been a week, and I’m sorry for leaving you hanging. I should’ve given you some kind of warning, but honestly, life has just been incredibly shitty to me lately. It’s not even lunchtime, and I’ve embarrassed myself in front of my coworkers.

Today was just another one of those days where everything that could go wrong did go wrong. It’s the little things that tip the scale, you know? (like accidentally mixing salt instead of sugar in your coffee)

Hoping that your week isn’t soggy and is going way better than mine,

–Orchid27.

———

You had no idea who you were sending these emails to. It could be a chatbot on the site whose sole purpose was to keep it alive for all you knew, but it was cathartic to just word vomit to him. He claimed to be a man living in the same city as you. You answered your part, but refrained from going further, stating that the anonymity was comforting, to which he agreed with no protest, doing the same himself.

It felt like throwing words out into the void, knowing that nothing was going to come back to bite you over them. A sense of safety in the unknown.

You had found the website on some shady forum after your ex had left you feeling absolutely debilitated after cheating on you. Nothing gave you the same comfort you’d get when you’d see the little green dot blinking on the screen or receive a notification with a cheerful ‘You’ve got mail’ jingle. Friends had recommended different shrinks, workout classes, and whatnot, but for some strange reason, the only thing that had finally brought you out of the pits of depression was exchanging letters with a stranger.

You had a hard time trusting people. Talking about your feelings just didn’t come as easily to you anymore (not unless it was with ceos4unions). The mystery helped you cope with the fact that there wouldn’t be any consequences.

Before you know it, lunch hour rolls around. You roll your chair a few inches away from your desk, and it makes that loud creaking sound again. This time, all eyes are on you. To escape the weird stares, you trudge to the break room, where unsurprisingly, Sukuna is already slacking off.

You instantly notice his sharp gaze on you, which already makes you want to shrink into a sad little puddle on the ground. But alas, you can only feel sorry for yourself for so long, so you walk to the coffee pot for some much-needed caffeine.

“Sorry, got the last cup,” Sukuna snarked when you noticed the empty pot.

“You could’ve at least made a new one,” you say with an exasperated sigh as you open the cabinet. However, seeing that the coffee beans hadn’t been restocked was just your luck. “Are you kidding me?”

You glare at Sukuna, and he simply stares out the window. “I hope you know this breakroom is meant for the accounts department.” You know your attempt at confronting him with facts is useless. Everyone loves him too much. He makes Shoko and Suguru laugh as they share the same humor, he lends Kento his car occasionally so they get along just fine, and Choso is his best friend from college.

“Yeah, but unfortunately for you, I’m an honorary member.” He shrugs. The red coffee cup with the Zenin group logo looks comically small in his hands. All he needs is to take one big gulp, and the drink would finish.

Shoko walks in with Suguru, and they frown when they notice the empty pot. “Ugh, not now. I’m going through serious withdrawals. Feel like I could fall asleep any second,” Shoko groans as she leans on Suguru’s bicep.

“Well, Sukuna took the last cup, so what can we do?” You roll your eyes as you walk to the pantry, surprised to find that there’s only one snack left, and it just happens to be your favorite. “We’re out of snacks, too,” you point out as you tear open the packet. You feel Sukuna’s gaze flit to you, but as soon as you catch it, he looks back at Shoko.

“Well, I guess we know who we’re sending for a coffee run today,” Suguru announces with a firm tone. All three of you look at Sukuna, and he rolls his eyes.

“Fine, but I’m taking her with me,” he says as he points to you. Your eyes widen as you scoff at his condition. “And why would I join you?”

“Because I can’t carry all those drinks alone,” he says in a ‘as-a-matter-of-fact’ tone.

“Really? You have all those muscles and can’t carry a few twelve-ounce cups?”

“It’s because I don’t wanna spill them, but thanks for noticing my muscles.” You want to roll your eyes back into your head as your cheeks burn with a temperature that could rival the Sun’s. “You’re paying,” you grumble.

“Of course I am. I make more than you,” he smirks as he walks out the door. You look at your phone, hoping that time has gone the least bit faster since you entered the room.

It had only been ten minutes. Down to the company cafe you go.

—

It was hard not to be the center of attention when you were standing next to Sukuna. The man was the definition of the perfect bachelor: handsome, smart, has a great income, and towering height. He had everything most men sought to achieve. You were pretty sure you’d heard a rumor going around that Sukuna owned an Aston Martin. It wouldn’t seem that hard to believe it. He looked perfectly suited to have one.

When you finally state your order to the barista, Sukuna scoffs with amusement. “Make that one 16 ounces,” he says as he hands over his card.

“What was that about?” you asked as you both walked out of the line and towards the pick-up station. You’re finally noticing a lot of things about Sukuna that you otherwise wouldn’t have cared about because you had a boyfriend before.

Like the way his glasses have an expensive brand’s monogram engraved on the temples, or how his chest slightly strains against his navy blue shirt. Unlike you, he wears a smart watch which shows that he’s already burned off a few hundred calories today. He leads a life different from yours. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t like you as much as the other coworkers.

“I mean, if you’re gonna die, why not go all out?”

“I’m not as smart as you, so you’re gonna have to be a little more clear,” you sarcastically reply.

“Four pumps of syrup? Really? Does the idea of having clogged arteries turn you on or something?”

You chew the inside of your cheek before you dig your phone out of your pocket.

“What are you doing?” Sukuna asks, an amused smile on his face as he watches you closely. His gaze feels like a spotlight, making your fingers tremble as you unlock your phone.

“I’m not gonna die by your hands. I’m gonna return what I owe for the coffee.”

“I’ll just return the money to you. I can’t let the golden opportunity go,” he teases, and for a second, you feel like you see his canines grow, turning his smile into a wolfish grin. His eyes habitually fixate on you like you’re his prey. You don’t need your anxiety adding on to it by staring at him continuously, so you turn away, choosing to stare at the barista who was now making your drink. One pump, two pumps, three pumps, four pumps. All the syrup dripping down the walls of the plastic cup had quickly pooled at the bottom.

“Whatever. I’ve had a shitty week so I deserve at least one good thing,” you mumble, more to yourself than to him.

It was not like making conversation with him had any real direction at all. For him, it was always about running in circles or catching you at dead ends. For you, it was all about getting him off your tail, like holding your pigtails together so the bully wouldn’t tug on them during recess.

When you both go upstairs, all your coworkers are overjoyed to see the drinks in his hand (turns out the fucker can hold the drinks by himself). You quietly grab your drink as you shuffle away to your desk, the ache in your back decreasing by an increment when you get back into your bubble.

When Sukuna gets together with your coworkers, the group is bound to get loud. You look over your shoulder and notice just how much he preens when he gets attention. You think of him as a pompous peacock, trying to do odd mating dances to attract his mate, and snicker to yourself.

And once again, you notice that he is the complete opposite of you. No wonder you both butt heads so much.

–

Your superior had dumped a few last-minute reports on your head right when you were finally looking forward to getting out of your tight work clothes. When the files hit your desk, you wish to hurl them at his head instead, but instead, you smile because the extra overtime pay would really help you.

Also, because you’re still new at the company, you couldn’t get too comfortable with refusing extra work when you were just a rookie.

You go to the washroom to freshen up before leaving. The veins in your eyes were getting more prominent by the hour, and you needed a splash of cold water to give you that last bit of energy to put yourself through the gruesome hour-long train ride back home. You want to shriek at the sight in the mirror��unkempt hair, eye bags, and dry skin. It’s hard to be kind to yourself when life keeps kicking you in the gut with different problems like student loans, high rent, and the indignation of taking public transport. Add a shitty coworker to the mix and you’ve hit the jackpot for modern day struggles.

You think the day cannot get worse when you see heavy rain blurring the view outside, but when you walk to your desk, you’re surprised to find an umbrella sitting on your desk. There’s not a drop of water on it, like it had been drying since the morning. You assume that possibly one of your coworkers might have left it, but the thought is diminished when you remember that Nanami and Choso carpool, and Suguru and Shoko have their own cars.

Maybe it’s the universe’s way of saying that life can be kind after all. So you silence all doubts and click the ground-level button in the elevator, with a new umbrella in hand.

TAGLIST : @numblytemporary @sttaejoon-blog @gojoscumsluttt @lik0 @sukubusss @cherryredkissez @fushiguroooozzz @curlsnchxos @toffeebrat @lazypostfandomer @ttrinity @abbyy54 @poopooindamouf @veluoriaaa

[luveline]

could you please write something where maybe bombshell!reader hears one of the team members teasing about how she’s torturing spencer and she kinda backs off with the flirting and maybe it’s his turn to hold her hand and call her cute names because even though he always says he doesn’t mind, maybe he does and he just doesn’t want to tell her

tysm for requesting, 1k

Spencer's hair is brown silk in the sun. You bite your tongue to hold in a compliment rearing to come out, saccharine and completely true. Looking sweet, Spence. 

You love to compliment him and especially while Hotch is out of earshot. He and Derek play pairs against two agents from a different unit, their tennis racquets a shiny FBI navy. You start to speak and bite it back —a memory flashes, a shouting stop sign. 

You'd been teasing Spencer as he left the room, something about his indecisive hair. He's cut it shorter but left his curls without product, and you love it. 

Poor guy, Emily'd murmured, lips set against the rim of her coffee cup. 

What's the matter with him? you asked, perplexed. 

Nothing, just that he spins into a total meltdown every time you guys are within ten feet of each other. He must be exhausted.

She was joking and you know that, but something deep down worries she's right. It's not fair for you to keep winding him up… Especially when Spencer might be going along with you because he isn't sure how to say no. 

What if you're forcing yourself on him? 

You're sitting together on a small blanket in the grass with Anderson and a few of the other less competitive BAU agents. You bring your bottled iced tea to your forehead to cool down, condensation wetting your hot skin. The top of your head feels as though it has the full concentration of the sun beating against it. 

Spencer looks up at your movement. He's been reading a book for pleasure, or so he says, so he isn't going a mile a minute but he's still way faster than the average Joe. "Do you want to go find some shade?" he asks. 

"You look comfortable," you say, putting your iced tea aside.

Which is to say, I don't want you to come with me, it would disrupt you. Spencer nods and turns to the brown leather of his familiar satchel, popping the buckle open to dig around inside. 

"Do you think this would be okay?" he asks, bringing out his baseball cap. 

The fabric is starchy and the brim stiff as you accept it and wedge it over your head. You don't immediately cool, but your heart spins strange loops. "Thank you," you say. Thank you, handsome, gorgeous, baby, all beg to be said. 

Spencer stays looking at you for longer than normal. 

"Do I have something on my face?" you ask, swatting self consciously at your cheeks. 

"Nothing. You look really pretty," he says. 

"Thank you." Another loop. You point at his book, fingertip hitting a creamy page with a small thud. "Is this any good?" 

"I think you'd really like it, it feels like that last book I borrowed from you, and you loved that. They're very similar. I can lend it to you when I'm done." 

"Don't rush it for my sake."

Spencer gives you a private smile. "I won't. Just because you could watch a movie at two times speed doesn't mean you should." 

Your returning smile isn't half as nice. No shared lightness, no bright eyes. You're feeling awkward and unhappy —you really like Spencer. Like, you think you could be happy together for a long long time sort of like. He's charming and sweet and no one is ever as kind to him as he deserves, which is why you're trying to be kind now by putting distance between you.

You'll be brash forever. You can't change that, and Spencer doesn't need the stress of dealing with you, not on top of everything else. 

His smile fades as yours does. Quiet, without fuss, he scoots back on the picnic blanket, putting you knee to knee. The subtle muscle of his arm presses to yours and his hand wraps gently around your wrist as he dips his head down, his cheek touching briefly to your shoulder. 

"I know it's nice, but if the heat is getting to you we should go inside," he says, his fingers sliding across your palm to slot between your own. He squeezes your hand. "Heat stroke isn't obvious at first. Do you feel woozy?"

You stare at your twined fingers. He surprises you again, being this soft with you, and being uncharacteristically forward. Or maybe not uncharacteristic at all; Spencer won't let something like timidity stop him from comforting someone that needs it. 

"Spence," you murmur, closing your eyes, face angled down. 

"What?" 

"I'm sorry if I… If I've been messing you around. But I don't think this is a good idea." 

"What's not a good idea?" 

You can't make yourself say it. Instead, you rub the back of his hand, more for your own comfort than his, your tongue like a useless lump in your mouth. 

"You're sorry? Are you sure you're okay?" Spencer asks, no heed to the people sitting with you as he lets go of your hand to put his arm behind your shoulder like a shield. 

"I don't want to torture you," you say. 

Your friends love that word. You torture Spencer with your flirting and your easy affection. 

Spencer makes a face, eyes squinting and nose wrinkled. "They're just kidding when they say that. Emily, Morgan, they like making fun of me, it's like, sibling bonding or something. They don't say it because there's actually something to feel sorry about." He lowers his voice, bashful but sincere at once, "If you're torturing me, I guess I'm a masochist." 

You laugh without thinking, a breathless, girlish sound you'd regret if you had the wherewithal. "You're a masochist?" you ask. 

He takes the brim of your borrowed hat and pushes it up to unobstruct the view of your eyes. 

"If that's what it takes," he says. A hint of wryness creeps into his otherwise smooth tone. 

Despite his brave talk and his steady eye contact, his face has started to blush. A rosy hue kisses the tops of his cheeks and his nose, a dusting of pink splodges stark against his paleness. The curve of his lips seems extra tantalising now. He's very, very pretty. 

And he doesn't mind stepping in to take the reins when you're unsure of things. 

"We really should sit in the shade for a bit," he says. "Let's get drinks from the gazebo. Yeah?" 

You're halfway through a nod when he kisses your cheek too quickly for you to respond. You follow him to the gazebo without any more reluctance, weaselling your hand back into his, and attempt to pull another kiss from him.

[naffeclipse]

Following SotM, would you ever be interested in writing a DCA x Reader story based in the SotM factory/story? There's so much detail and worldbuilding to the game, I think your writing would really shine working with the setting :D

I love the setting of SotM factory and just how tragic and lonely it all becomes with the Murray family, and I had a thought about a Y/N hired as a sort of secretary/investigator.

Technically, you're only here for the secretary part of the job. Edwin Murray has also instructed that you dig through all employee records, emails, and messages to find out who betrayed him. Sure. Why not. You're getting paid either way, and Edwin seems satisfied that you're not working for "them".

(You feel bad for the guy. He seems stressed and paranoid, and maybe he's dealing with a few things that more qualified professionals should broach than you.)

So, you get to work, day after day, on the slow and high-pitched droning computers before you notice a program on one of the security room monitors. Moon.exe. You boot it up, confused, before you understand that it's some kind of game. At least, that's what it must be, right?

It doesn't stay so. At least, you thought it was a game. The Moon character is no longer confined to the borders of the program but is now right there, popping up in your daily work schedule. You're very nervous about a possible virus that you accidentally downloaded, but the character doesn't seem to do much. His text boxes will bubble up every now and then, and his haunting gaze will occasionally pop over the files you're combing over in all of his low pixilated glory. (Who gave this computer figure sculpted pectorals?)

He has some odd lines, random script you assume, mindlessly being triggered by... you don't know what. None of it ever makes sense, but you like to read it, just for one moment's break from the mundane and often drivel work you've signed up for. Sometimes it's funny. He tells you to go to bed when the clock runs late, and that must be due to time-based triggers, or so you figure.

You think he's just here for... you don't know, moral support? A fun little distraction that someone must have worked on between big projects due at the factory. Who's to say.

One evening, vision blurry from reading a screen in a too dark room after hours of rehashing lines after lines, trying to decide if a disgruntled employee is suspicious or the average working joe for complaining about the boss to a coworker, when you drag the mouse onto The Moon's face and start clicking, and clicking. Out of dire boredom and need for something, anything new, you click and click as if to magically fix that clock and send you straight out of here. Click. Click. Click.

A new dialogue box pops up.

Stop.

You lift your finger off of the left click.

That's new.

So, you click again, and again.

What do you want?

The Moon's face almost seems annoyed in its half-eclipsed expression. You chuckle to yourself.

"Just pressing your buttons," you snicker. "What else can you do?"

Then you immediately look around the messy, file-filled room, as if you would somehow be caught dorkily chatting to yourself, well, a computer program. Good thing it's only you in the building. Occasionally Edwin will burst into the security office as if he might catch you red handed in something you shouldn't be, but you let your work speak for yourself, and that usually calms the man down.

You need to get out and enjoy your weekend, don't you?

You slump back into your chair and stare at the screen. Just you and The Moon.

You click on The Moon's face again. The satisfying sharpness of the mouse click fills you with bubbling amusement at the childish prodding.

The next dialogue box flips into view.

I can press your buttons too.

A loud slam falls behind you, pushing you out of your seat as you whirl back to find the heavy door locked into place. Heart in your throat, you blink as the lights cut out. You're plunged into tar-black blindness, save for the green glow of the computer screen.

Silenced by terror, you crank your head slowly back to your work desk. The computer hums quietly.

The green glow intensifies as The Moon stares at you. He fills the pixels, one eye piercing you like the end of a knife.

Your eyes snap to the next line of dialogue.

Boop!

For several, terrifying heartbeats, you stand and listen to the frantic scarping of your breath. Like prey spotted by a hunter, you dare not move. The darkness is absolute, and the only light is before you; a lighthouse or the last flicker you see before it all plunges into eternal night.

Who did that?

Then the flick of lights buzzing back on spares your half-suspected heart, and you unlock your limbs when the security door slides back open.

You hardly skim the next box of text as the computer returns to where you left off, files and emails crowding the screen side by side, and The Moon's head set in one corner.

You snatch your backpack and book it through the door. That's it. You're off the clock. You don't care if Edwin loses his marbles about you ducking out a few minutes early. You will not stay a moment longer.

It is only on your drive home, twisting your sweaty palms around the steering wheel, that your brain unscrambles enough to recall the final words on the screen.

Nighty night.

[thethronezone]

(I am rolling with that idea of the old co-worker who still remembers the Emperor AJJFKGKSKA)

An (unknowingly) naive Perpetual from the 21 century suddenly wakes up in the 30k.

The whiplash of everything that's happening is enough to give them a migraine but what puts them off the most is the amount of pampering they are getting. Nice clothes, nice food and a big ass room that could easily be a house on its own by just size alone.

They are confused yes, but after going through the existencial hell that it was living in the decadent 21 century, this nothing but some welcoming vacations.

Sometime later, you are told that the Emperor of Mankind is waiting to see you and the novelty of that whole title has you reeling back because wtf, humanity now has one single emperor??? What the hell happened to democracy?? You accept anyway because everyone has been nothing but nice and respectful to you so fuck it, we balling.

Once inside the throne room, you are welcomed by an array of faces from giants and as if that wasn't strange enough you are welcomed by the one who is called the Emperor only TO COME FACE TO FACE WITH MOTHERFUCKING JERRY?!

JERRY FROM THE ACCOUNTING DEPARTMENT?!! THE ACCOUNTANT THAT NO ONE WANTED TO INVITE OVER TO THE OUTINGS BECAUSE EVERYONE FELT CREEPED OUT BY HIM???

You remember the guy simply because he had this unnerving aura around him that gave you some strong heebie-jeebies despite looking just like your average joe.

After a long while, you had started to feel kind of bad for how isolated he seemed to be and made a half-assed attempt to socialize with him. You even went to the lengths of inviting him to one concert and it surprised you how much he ended up liking country music.

He even gave you some flowers as a thank you from that... Oh... OH...

You feel horribly mortified and exposed with all those fuckers looking at you

"Welcome back, my friend" he says as if you aren't going through both a mental breakdown and existencial crisis like some kind of fucked up combo.

-Toto🌵

Suddenly a bunch of memories come flooding back. All the times he held the door open for you and pulled out your chair for you. Him walking you back home and offering you his (huge) jacket when you seemed cold. Showing up at your and taking care of you when you got the flu, making you soup and covering your forehead with his cold hand and oh god-

All the signs were there. You were just too blind to see them.

Also, the thing with them getting the flu is the last thing they remember before making up in the 30th millennium. Like, they were lowkey delirious with fever, feeling like they were about to burn up and then BAM, they open their eyes and they are in this damn sarcophagus. Bed? Incubator? It had a lid but the bedding was nice and soft.

Turns out, that flu was actually your body shedding its mortality and the shock of it caused you to go into a an almost 30 thousand year long coma. And Jerry- sorry, the Emperor took care of your body during all that time, making sure that it was kept safe. Which was honestly real sweet of him, even though it kinda creeps you that he made the coffin(?) out of glass. That's, uh, a bit weird.

But hey! Who are you to judge? Besides, as you remember it, the guy always had a bit of an acquired taste. You can't mock him for it anymore though, since the whole palace reeks of it.

[savage-daughter-of-nikitie]

D. Earl Stephens, retired managing editor of the military's daily newspaper, Stars and Stripes, issues a warning, not only to the average citizen of the U.S. but, I believe, to rank and file military personnel at home and around the world.

He's exhorting them to consider if they will follow the orders of a madman hell bent on destroying the U.S. or follow the U.S. Constitution. I suspect tens of thousands of troops will disobey orders rather than invade Canada (less so with Greenland or Panama, I suspect). Those will be the first shots of the civil war.

I'm posting the entire text of his piece here and will link to the article in comments.

@followers @highlight

---

“It would be helpful if we stopped pretending this terrible chapter in American history won’t close without bloodshed …

It would be helpful if Americans, and our feeble Democratic politicians in particular, stopped implying by their comatose actions that Democracy is some damn American right and has no end date.

America very well might be arriving at hers, because, yes, it really is that bad right now.

Rather than bringing Ping-Pong paddles and groovy, little signs to a fascist hate-fest disguised as a State of the Union speech, it would be helpful if our meek, out-of-touch Democratic politicians at least pretended they understood the perilous moment we are standing in right now.

We are in deep, deep trouble, and now would be a wonderful, necessary time to step in front of your favorite mirror and honestly ask yourself what you are willing to do to fight for our country’s survival.

We are but six-plus weeks into the repulsive, wannabe-king’s second term and the damage he and his party are causing are already at catastrophic levels.

Our air, water, earned benefits, peace, public safety, civil rights, and human rights are all under immediate threat. Worse? This is only the first course of many that will be served by the vindictive, orange madman, and his pathetic party of supplicants.

The insults, the attacks, endless provocations, and thrashing of our Constitution will continue daily. All this carefully planned evil will be aimed at exactly one thing: breaking us.

Everything he is doing is designed to pound us into submission, and he’s having a grand damn doing it.

This was entirely his aim when he and his pet mutt, JD Vance, double-teamed Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy at the behest of Boss Putin in the Oval Office on Friday. The idea was to publicly humiliate the man who has done more to defend America’s interests across the globe than any Republican in memory.

Because Zelenskyy has tasted gun powder and breathed the odious smell of death on the battlefield, he wasn't about to be pushed around by some morbidly obese, 78-year-old yacht club bully and his toady, who think swinging a sand wedge to free a golf ball from some bunker is dangerous business.

Zelenskyy punched back and wasn't having it. He told the truth, and didn't back down. The future of his country is on the line right now, and he acted like it.

And therein lies the playbook for dealing with this sadistic bastard — if only the cautious, too-clever Democratic Party and their weak leaders, Chuck Schumer and Hakeem Jeffries, bothered paying attention.

While Rome burns, they dither.

They act as if we have all the time in the world, when time is something that is not guaranteed right now. They seem to somehow have no idea how bad things are about to get, or most certainly will be when elections they seem to be pinning their hopes on roll around next year.

Everything changed on November 5th, but by the looks of it, very little has changed in the Democratic Party.

This country will never be the same, and the sooner we come to grips with that, and start acting accordingly the better.

What would you do if everything you had and everyone you loved was threatened? Would you act like Zelenskyy or Schumer?

One of the big mistakes of Joe Biden’s presidency was this notion that everything was going to be OK, and that his idea of America matched the actual circumstances of America.

If I had a dollar for every time he said this, I’d fold up shop and move to Tahiti:

“We are the United States of America – there's nothing we can't do if we do it together. We just have to remember who we are.”

It was a noble statement and magical thinking that would have worked great pre-2016, when we could still believe without being laughed at that our two parties could work together in a crisis to protect America.

When we were attacked by the terrible human being who is now somehow leading us January 6, 2021, that magical thinking needed to go out the nearest window.

Instead, our Justice Department twiddled its thumbs and allowed the America-attacker to build himself back up, so that WE would have to deal with him AGAIN.

I seethe just thinking about this, but it is where we are right now, and the sooner we all understand this the better.

The clock is ticking. The bomb is in place.

Which brings me back around to my original premise: At some point, he will do something so heinous … so anti-America … so dangerous … that the people who truly love our country will be forced into the streets to take a life-or-death stand. Sadly, this is actually the best-case scenario, because the worst case is we just go quietly into the dark, gloomy night and become an authoritarian country, where we have zero rights or say in how we are governed.

Yesterday under the cover of his blankets, the America-attacker shared this with us:

Now read the First Amendment: "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; OR THE RIGHT OF THE PEOPLE PEACEABLY TO ASSEMBLE, AND TO PETITION THE GOVERNMENT FOR A REDRESS OF GRIEVANCES."

He is telling us what he thinks of America and silly things like the Constitution. Kings don’t pay attention to that kind worthless drivel.

And, really, end of the day, it not him who we have most to fear. It’s the stupid, goddam Republicans who are stubbornly in all of our lives. These are the people who have illustrated there is no known pain or sacrifice to our civil liberties or pocketbooks that they won’t absorb just for the satisfaction of watching some poor kid of color going without something they didn’t think she should have.

So the choice is yours: You can continue thinking there is some magical way out of this, or you can begin to take the threat to everything you hold dear seriously, and ACT accordingly.”

— D. Earl Stephens, author of “Toxic Tales: A Caustic Collection of Donald J. Trump’s Very Important Letters” and finished up a 30-year career in journalism as the Managing Editor of Stars and Stripes.

[issdisgrace]

Hi!! For the request thing I hope it isn't too much of a hassle but could you do Bruce Wayne x Just Some Guy Reader

Like Bruce is obviously like the guy ever, Rich, Handsome what have you. But he falls for this Average Joe kind of guy, there's nothing special about him other than being compassionate and kind Ig?? He isn't some rich or famous person, just a guy working a normal job.

And maybe can you put a little bit of Alfred being happy for Bruce?? Idk if it isn't too much of a bother sorry 😭

WOULD LIKE YOU TO MEET

WARNINGS: None, written during writers block

“Alfred, I would like for you to meet my boyfriend.”

“Finally, I thought you would never ask me to meet him.”

“Wait, how did you know I was seeing someone?”

“Well, the fact that your mood has improved, you’re more talkative, not that it’s a bad thing. You’re also spending a little less time as Batman, along with a couple other small things first tipped me off that you were seeing someone. Then my suspicion was confirmed when I found a sweatshirt that wasn’t one of yours that smelt of cigarettes, whiskey, and pine. And unless you had recently taken up smoking and drinking cheap whiskey, the sweatshirt did not belong to you Master Bruce.”

“I did that bad of a job at hiding it?”

“Yes, Master Bruce, yes you did. Anyhow, I want to know about boyfriend of yours.”

“His name is Y/n. He’s tall, nice, handsome and the owner of Bucky’s bar and grill.”

“Interesting. How did you meet him?”

“Met him through Selina. He’s a friend of hers.”

“Why am I not surprised? Anything else I should know about him?”

“No, not really.”

“Ok, when am I supposed to meet him?”

“Saturday at 7pm. We’re going to meet him at the bar and then go have dinner somewhere.”

“Alright, sounds good, Master Bruce.”

A couple of nights later, like Bruce said, he and Alfred were on the way to Bucky’s. Alfred took note of the fact that the bar was located in the East End of Gotham as Bruce drove. It felt odd to be the one sitting in the passenger seat. Alfred was so used to being the one driving, but Bruce insisted on driving since they had taken the ‘63 Chevrolet Corvette Stingray. They were about a couple of minutes outside of Crime Alley when Bruce pulled off to the side of the road in front of a place that had a glowing sign that read Bucky’s bar and grill. 

“We’re here.”

“Thank you for pointing that out Master Bruce. I couldn’t tell.”

“Just making sure you’re not getting senile on me.”

“You don’t have to worry about that anytime soon. Now shall we go in?”

“Yeah, he’s probably wondering where we are.”

The two then get out of the car and headed inside. As they entered the bar, the smell of beer and food hit their nose. Alfred scrunched his nose in displeasure at the scent as he looked around. The bar was large and surprisingly nice especially for the place in which it was located. The two made their way to an open spot at the bar. Bruce leaned over the bar and got the bartender’s attention. The bartender made he’s way over and Alfred thought that this must be Bruce’s boyfriend. Until Bruce said.

“Hey Clay, where’s Y/n?”

“He’s in the office. He’s waiting for you and your dad.” 

“Alright, thanks Clay.”

Bruce pushed off the bar and lead the pair to the back of the bar where two swinging door where. The doors lead into the kitchen as they made their way through the kitchen. There was choir of hi and hellos followed by Bruce’s name.

“It seems you’re quite popular here.”

“I guess.” Bruce shrugs as he stops in front of a red door labeled office. Alfred gives a nod of acknowledgement as Bruce goes to open the door. 

As the door open it reveals a decent sized room with a dark oak desk in the middle of the room where a man sits, two chair sitting in front of the desk facing it, a filing cabinet and snack/drink bar off to one side of the room, and to the other side a black couch with a matching armchair and coffee table. The man at the desk looked up from his paperwork a smile spreading on his face as he saw Bruce. Alfred quietly closed the door behind himself as Bruce stepped further in. 

“You’re finally here. I was beginning to think you bailed on me.” You said as you got up. 

“Sorry about that. But l brought Alfred like I said I was going to,” Bruce says, gesturing to the man beside.

“Yes, sorry didn’t mean to be rude. I’m Y/n, Y/n L/n. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.” You say as you walk closer to give Alfred a handshake. Alfred gives it a shake before saying, 

“Alfred Pennyworth, it’s nice to finally meet the man that has captured Master Bruce’s heart. Also, I must say this is a lovely place you have.”  

“Thank you. I put a lot into this bar. It has been my whole life, grew up here and I’m still here so.” 

“You grew up here?” Alfred asked.

“Yep this was grandpa’s place. He was the one who raised me, so I’ve spent basically every day here since I was a baby.”

“This must have been an interesting place to grow up.” 

“It was, it definitely was.”

You guy stood around chatting for a little, so you and Alfred could get to know each other a bit more before heading out for dinner. As you three chatted away, Bruce felt his heat warm. He was happy to see that you guys were getting along. You two were the most important people in his life, so it would have sucked if you two didn’t get along. Anyway, after 30/45 minutes of chatting with you.

asked,

“So, where are we going to go for dinner?”

“Romero’s.” Bruce responds.

“Alright, sounds good. I got to wrap up here quickly, so why don’t you guys head out and I’ll meet you out there in a couple of minutes, then we can head over to Romero’s together.” 

“Ok, don’t take too long.”

“I would never Brucie.” You say, giving him a quick kiss. 

With that, Alfred and Bruce head outside to wait for you to finish up. As they step into the outdoors, Bruce asks,

“What do you think of him?”

“He seems nice, genuine, kind. Doesn’t seem like he’s after your money or your status either, which is good. But if I’m being honest with you Master Bruce, I don’t think my opinion matters all that much. I think what matters is yours and what you think of him. So what do you think of him, Master Bruce?”

“I think he’s the best thing to happen to me, Alfred.”

“See that matters, Master Bruce.”

[eyes-above--the-waves]

Honestly, every time I read mainstream chatter about Mitch and his upcoming negotiations, I truly feel like I'm living in a different reality.

Like, how is my perception of him SO much different than the average Joe? How am I seeing this passionate guy who loves hockey and just wants to win and who has friends on literally every single team in the league and has coaches and other staff who talk about how amazing he is, and everybody else is seeing this money-hungry, selfish asshole who can't play for shit and is jealous of how much money Auston Matthews is making so he's going to go somewhere else? How are we talking about the same dude??

ALSO...how are they so fixated on "he just wants to go where he'll make the most money" and - at the same time - continue to spew "we don't want/need him on the leafs anymore". Okay....so WHAT IS HE SUPPOSED TO DO?!? You don't want him to sign with the Leafs, but you don't want him to go somewhere else and make more money? Is he supposed to retire? What do you want from this man?

[ivan-fyodorovich-k]

The One Big Beautiful Bill Act, Donald Trump’s signature second-term domestic legislative package, is winding its way through Congress. Republicans in the Senate and House are working on their versions, and the president hopes to sign the act into law by Independence Day.

If enacted, the OBBBA would be among the most consequential pieces of legislation in recent memory. It would cost more than Trump’s COVID-rescue bill, Joe Biden’s COVID-rescue bill, Trump’s first-term tax cut, George W. Bush’s tax cut, or Barack Obama’s stimulus package; it would dwarf the Affordable Care Act in its budget impact. Still, two in three Americans say they have heard little or nothing about it.

I cannot definitively say what will end up in the legislation; no one can at this point. Elected Republicans are actively negotiating, and the Senate parliamentarian—a nonpartisan official who determines whether individual precepts are permissible, according to Congress’s technical rules—is scrutinizing the proposal. Still, the OBBBA’s broad strokes are clear.

The legislation is, first and foremost, a tax cut. The proposal extends the temporary tax breaks Trump enacted in his first term and creates new ones, meaning the federal government would raise roughly $4 trillion less in revenue over the coming decade. The proposal would permanently fix the top income-tax rate at 37 percent and make a number of other fiddly changes, including giving a tax break to high-income households in high-tax states and exempting mammoth inheritances from taxation. If you’re looking to give $29,999,999 to your heirs, this bill is for you.

The tax code would become more regressive. By one estimate, households in the top 0.1 percent of the income distribution would get a $296,160 annual tax break. Families in the top 1 percent would retain $78,650 a year. The average family in the bottom fifth of the income distribution would get a tax cut of $160.

On the campaign trail, Trump promised to get rid of taxes on Social Security benefits. The bill does not do that. Trump also promised “no taxes on tips.” The bill creates a profession-specific, fine-print loophole for tipped income. But many hairdressers and barbacks do not earn enough to pay federal income taxes anyway, and tax professionals figure that rich people will exploit the provision by making their earnings look like tips. As the OBBBA makes the tax code more regressive, it also makes it more complicated, a boon for multinational corporations employing creative accountants and a blow for American business dynamism.

To pay for these tax cuts for rich people, the bill destabilizes the American medical system, guts anti-hunger programs, hikes utility costs, and makes education more expensive.

The bill is likely to cut billions of dollars in Medicare funding, though Trump swore he would not touch the program. It strips coverage from authorized immigrants and might trim Medicare’s savings programs, which help poor seniors afford care. An older couple earning $21,000 a year could spend $8,340 more a year on premiums and out-of-pocket costs, according to one projection.

The legislation eviscerates Medicaid, stripping it of $1 trillion in financing and shrinking it by more than 10 million enrollees. The proposal would require 19 million childless adults to demonstrate that they were working or volunteering in order to qualify, and would force them to reenroll twice as often as they do now. Studies have shown that Medicaid work requirements do not raise the employment rate, because most adults on Medicaid already work if they can. They just don’t have fancy white-collar jobs that come with health coverage, such as senator or president.

The proposal would limit states’ ability to tax health-care providers to pay for Medicaid. The hospitals that actually pay such taxes say this is a bad idea, because it would put coverage at risk. The OBBBA would prevent states from distributing extra money to hospitals and doctors to achieve public-health goals, such as keeping remote clinics open or reducing the infant mortality rate. Republicans are currently debating a financing change that would lead to the Medicaid program more or less collapsing in nine states.

As a result of the legislation, millions of Americans will forgo medical care. A new study published in Annals of Internal Medicine estimates that 1.9 million people would lose their primary-care doctor, 1.3 million would not receive necessary medication, and 380,270 women would miss out on a mammogram, thanks to the bill. Hundreds of health clinics, hospitals, nursing homes, and long-term-care facilities would close. Republicans are scrambling to create a $25 billion fund to support rural clinics and prevent the formation of care deserts. Common sense suggests that $25 billion won’t do much to offset $1 trillion in health spending cuts.

Each year, the legislation would kill 51,000 Americans, researchers at Yale have estimated.

The bill raids the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program. The legislation forces veterans, homeless people, and former foster youths to comply with a work requirement, and forces the states to shoulder more of the program’s cost. It is likely to slash benefits for every single SNAP recipient, including 16 million children and 8 million seniors. As many as 16 million kids could lose access to free school meals too.

Similarly, the OBBBA gets rid of billions of dollars in federal financing for Americans attending college and graduate school. The Senate version of the legislation would require typical borrowers with college degrees to pay $2,929 more a year for their loans. Students who anticipated their debt being forgiven in a decade might end up having to make payments for 30 years. The legislation trashes the public-service loan-forgiveness program, which encourages nurses, doctors, and dentists to work in underserved areas.

Finally, the bill quashes the production of green energy, ripping back billions in financing Congress approved just a few years ago. Money for home-energy audits, green renovations, advanced manufacturing plants, heat pumps, electric vehicles: all gone. The bill penalizes firms constructing new solar and wind farms unless they use parts from non-Chinese manufacturers—an impossibility given China’s role in the supply chain. Even a tax program for bicycle commuters gets the axe.

The bill would spur “extraordinary economic growth,” Speaker Mike Johnson argues. “That’s reality.” It is not reality. The bill would have a muted effect on GDP, forecasters estimate.

The bill would pay for itself, the White House argues. It would not. The Congressional Budget Office finds that the legislation would increase the deficit by $2.8 trillion over a decade. Americans would pay billions more a year in borrowing costs.

The “big, beautiful bill” finances largesse for the rich with austerity for the poor. It will kill tens of thousands of Americans and impoverish millions more to grant million-dollar tax cuts to Trump and other billionaires. It will gut the Affordable Care Act to enrich corporations that move jobs overseas. And it will do nothing to solve the cost-of-living crisis that propelled Trump into office.

Is this guy a dream or what? If only it didn't increase the deficit this would be everything Republicans have wanted for longer than I've been alive. The rich get richer AND poor people are punished, it just doesn't get better than that.

[joeybsversion]

Contract

Joe Burrow x Reader

Joe and reader sign a dating contract

“Should I even ask how you got in here?” You sigh, crossing your arms across your chest.

“Did you read this yet?” Joe hands a stack of papers to you.

“I saw it in my dressing room.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” He forces the papers towards you again.

“What is this?” You look up at him.

“Our dating contract.”

“Why is it pink?”

He rolls his eyes, “Someone left it in the copy machine and I didn’t know how to change it.”

Your contagious laughter fills the room. “Remind me why we’re doing this again?” You take the paper from his hands.

“Publicity.” He says, almost as if he’s asking a question. “Both of our managers agreed. It’ll be a good story line for the NFL, especially as I head into the play offs.”

“And I’ll benefit how?” You ask, flipping through the pages.

“Don’t you have a movie coming out or something?” He furrows his brows.

“No I live on this set full time.” You roll your eyes at his stupidity.

“They said it’ll bring more attention to you and the movie I guess.” He nervously paces across the room. “Can you just sign it so I can get out of here?”

“I’ll think about it.” You say with a smirk.

A few hours later your cuddled up on the couch with a glass of wine after a long day on set. The constant buzz from your phone pulls your attention ration away from the TV screen in front of you.

“What do you need?” Your voice is rough as you answer the phone.

“Did you check your schedule? We have another fake date planned for tonight.”

“A fake date.” Your lips curl at the idea.

“Correct. Party to celebrate making it to the play offs.” The line is quiet for a minute. “I’ll be there in 20 minutes to get you.”

“See you soon, babe.” You tease. If you’re going to be a fake couple, you better act like it.

“Wow.” Joe says as you climb into his car.

For the first time, you don’t sense a tone of disgust in his voice. “Not so bad yourself.” You pull your seatbelt across your lap and admire Joes outfit.

After a silent card ride to the private downtown party, you climb out of the car, cameras flashing and paparazzi yelling in your direction. Joe comes around to your side of the car and wraps an arm around your waste to pull you close. You feel your heart skip a beat and butterflies fill your stomach with a warm sensation. Joe leads you into the restaurant and towards his group of friends.

“You can let go now.” You try to pull away from his grip.

“We have to act like a couple.” He reminds you and pulls you back to him.

“Right.” You flash a fake smile.

Joe makes his rounds, introducing you to the rest of the team. For the first time, you felt like a normal person. People weren’t asking for pictures, or hounding you with questions about your next big role and security wasn’t needed. For the first time in a long time, you forgot you were a celebrity.

Drinks were flowing, the music was loud, and sweaty bodies continued to crash into each other. Taking advantage of the fact that you felt like an average person, you continued to let people bring you drinks.

You could feel Joe’s eyes on you all night. Everyone once in a while he’d come over and check in on you, his hands would find your hips and his eyes would lock on your. “Doing ok?” He brushed his sweaty hair off of his forehead, the curls falling back into place perfectly.

“Yeah. I hate to admit it but I’m having fun. I think I could get use to this.” You press your drink to your lips. “I feel free here.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” He smiled.

Joe really was a good guy. While you weren’t fond of the whole contract situation, you were glad it was him. It could be so much worse.

“Burrow!!” One of Joes teammates calls from across the bar before the handsome quarterback disappears back into the crowd.

You find yourself at the bar again, ordering another drink and slowly swaying to the music before you feel a hand pressed to the small of your back. You turn to meet a handsome, tall man.

“Hi.” You smile, the same butterflies you felt with Joe explode in your stomach again.

“Hey. I’m Sam. One of Burrows teammates.” He places his large hand out and shakes yours.

“Nice to meet you, Sam.” You smile, leaving your hand locked in his.

“So, how’d Joe get so lucky?”

You blush, looking down nervously. “You’re not so bad yourself.” You smile back at Sam.

Sam, much like Joe and the rest of the team, was very easy to talk to. You felt yourself getting lost in his eyes and laughing at all of his jokes.

Across the room, you can feel Joe staring at you. His eyes burning a hole in the back of Sam’s head. His jaw tightened when another silvery pearl of laughter over from the bar. You had been talking to Sam for the past several minutes. Not just talking, you were laughing and giggling like he was a comedian when Joe knew for a fact he wasn’t that damn funny. Irritation raged through his body as Sam leaned closer to you, causing you to laugh again. You’d never laughed that much with him. And he was your fake boyfriend.

Joe tried to pull your attention away from Sam multiple times. Now that you were finally able to relax and feel ‘free’ as you had told him before, you were flirting with Sam Hubbard.

Joe stormed over to you and Sam and practically ran Sam over. Up until this point, Sam had been one of his best friends but now he wanted to rip his hands off for touching you like that. Like you could possibly belong to Sam when you so clearly were dating Joe. Or fake dating that is, Joe thought to himself.

Sam’s eyebrows shot up as Joe stepped in front of him. “Excuse me.” Joe rudely interrupted, “I need a second with her.” He took you by the hand and led you to a quiet corner.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Joe stammered.

“I’m having fun.” You smiled back in Sam’s direction, his eyes were still locked on you. “I’m leaving with a guy at the end of the night.”

“Have you lost your mind?” His eyes go wide. “Do you remember what we’re doing here? You can’t leave with him!”

“You can’t stop me.”

Joe smiles suspiciously, “You’re right, you are leaving with a guy tonight. Me.”

You laughed. “No I’m not!” You slurred.

Joe leaned in close enough that you could taste the alcohol on his breath. “You have two options.” He whispered. “You can walk out of hand in hand with me, like an adult.” His leaned in closer if that was even possible, you could feel his lips as they whispered against yours. “Or I can carry you out of here over my shoulder. What will it be babe?” Your eyes meet his as he finally closes the gap between both of you.

Complying with his order, you take Joe by the hand, say your goodbyes, and leave the party. Outside you’re met by another crowd of rowdy photographers and fans.

“Stay close.” Joe leads you through the crowd.

As both of you had been drinking and were unable to drive, Joe ordered a car to pick you up. You climbed in quickly behind him, climbing into his lap and clinging to him as if he was your only sense of security.

“I know this is supposed to be fake, but I’ve been having a lot of fun with you. And it makes me so jealous to see having fun with other guys.” Joe slurs, his grip tightening around you. “I’ll give you anything you want if you give me the chance to make you happy. No more of this fake dating shit. I want you to be my girlfriend. I want to give it a shot with you. Take it or leave it because I’m not open to negotiations. You’re mine.” Joe crashes your lips together again.

“Only you could make asking me to be your girlfriend sound like a business deal.” You giggle.

“Please be my girlfriend.” He whispers, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I am.”

“My real girlfriend. No more contract. No more fake dates. No expectation.” He kisses you again. “Be mine.”

[plusvanity]

What’s your take on Pelle wanting a romantic relationship irl? Do you think it’s something he would’ve wanted? Or was he afraid that he was too odd for someone to accept him? (I don’t know if that sounds harsh). Since you think that he was sensitive.

Btw I love your analysis girl 🫶

I'm not so sure about relationships, but I firmly believe that he wanted to connect to someone, somehow.

In terms of friendships, I think Øystein was the closest friend he had (at least during his time in Norway), but even so, Pelle didn't open up much for various reasons that include the environment in which he was at that time and most probably trust issues. Talking at some point with Old Mayhem, she described an 'invisible wall' between Pelle and his friends/ the world and I couldn't agree more. It feels like Pelle would've wanted this meaningful connection with someone, anyone, but unfortunately, he didn't manage to form it. I genuinely think this had a massive contribution to why he took his own life.

I don't know if he would've wanted a relationship because a relationship comes with a lot of stress and pressure for being in a commitment, attending someone else's needs, etc, but he definitely felt alone and forgotten in this world. After all, he wrote in his last lyrics 'No one will ever miss you'. He longed to be seen, to be given attention and importance. There are a lot of signs of emotional neglect in how he developed, but I will try to keep it short. I consider him as being in the autism spectrum and a relationship would most likely feel overwhelming, especially since he would lack experience, confidence, etc. But if I have to imagine him in a relationship, I can only imagine him being with someone patient and calm.

People with strong trauma responses, PTSD and those who suffer from personality disorders need a partner who is a bit more mentally equipped to manage stressful situations than your average Joe. To see improvement in Pelle's mental health, he would need a very patient and mature partner.

Love can heal a broken heart. I am one of those people who believe that no matter how broken you are, if you find someone to love you for who you are, someone who is willing to accept you with all of your inner demons, with the the good and the ugly, you can start to heal. Currently, I'm following this process myself. The human brain can be programmed and re-programmed. We are very adaptable to our environments and if we make our senses realize we're not in danger anymore, we can finally allow ourselves inner peace. This is why I believe that Pelle could've been saved.

Hypothetically speaking, Pelle would have a hard time adjusting to a relationship. He was quite rigid, stubborn and unwilling to change for others. To make a relationship work, you need to make some compromises. Another aspect that I want to point out is that Pelle had outbursts or 'episodes' of impulsive behavior when he was living. That would be a serious problem. Øystein (and Metalion, if I remember correctly) had to literally hold Pelle down when he suddenly wanted to 'go to Transylvania'. The question is: Would someone be able (and willing) to deal with this again and again? He would definitely need psychiatric treatment, but would he accept that? There are so many factors that would make dating Pelle a real challenge. I also believe that he was suffering some sort of perceptual delusion. I won't call it Cotard's syndrome since it is not recognized in the DSM and since we have very little information about it, but my honest opinion is that he might have had something more that just depression and I'm kind of pointing towards Major Depression with Psychotic Features. If you believe something else, that's fine. Everyone does their own research and reaches their own conclusions.

I do think he was sensitive and there would've been room in him to grow positive feelings towards someone, to form a meaningful connection and learn to trust again. In the end, it doesn't matter if he would've had a romantic partner or a best friend, he would've liked to form a bond with another soul, someone who understands him, respects him and is there to stay.

I imagine him as being very honest, capable of showing tenderness, being mindful, quiet, contemplative and trustworthy in a meaningful relationship.

Sorry for my late response, I had an awful weekend.

[jooba]

wolfman x reader

"Imagine getting the great news that you're one of a million civilians chosen to go to a distant planet, to intermingle with the local aliens. Unfortunately, your online friend doesn't exactly seem to like that idea."

TW: MDNI, reader referred to as 'girl', sexual desires, anxiety, neurodivergent reader, reader big dumb, licking, 'virgin' reader, hand appreciation

wordcount: 2,388

Three words: Civilian Space Program. The most incredible opportunity of a lifetime (for an average Joe like you).

One word: Congratulations! The letter you held in your shaking hands almost didn’t seem real. It was glossy, professional, and signed by someone so important that it was a 100% probability that you would never breathe the same air as them. Congratulations! But it was real, and your life would never be the same. You were going to space. To meet aliens. Your poor little heart almost couldn’t take it. Breath labored, you quickly snapped a picture of the letter before posting it to all of your socials. Quickly, friends and family bombarded you with questions and excitement, just as in disbelief as you are. Several phone calls later, and plenty of assurances to those with concerns, you fell back onto your couch, still clutching the letter. In just a month, you would be boarding a vessel with 14 other civilians, shipped off to the planet Geron 6GI, and left there for 3 years to “create relations” and “cultivate a human lifestyle”. Whatever that means. All you knew was that you… were a monsterfucker… and… well… aliens are sort of like monsters too. 

In your elation, you nearly missed the newest comment on your Instagram post. It was Peter, an online friend whom you had known for years. It simply said, “call me.” Peter knew about the program and how badly you wanted to be in it, but he was pretty adamant that your chances were too low. Smiling, you dialed his number. He answered on the first ring, speaking before you had a chance to.

“This is serious? You’re serious?” 

“Of course! I’m freaking out, Peter. I’m going to SPACE. I’m going to fuck so many aliens, you don't even know. Well, you do know, but-”

“You’re leaving in a month?” He asked. You kicked your legs in glee, squealing. 

“Yep! 3 years in space and depending on how the program goes it might go on for longer. God, should I bring my toys? Do you think they’ll even be allowed on the flight? But what if the aliens have toys that I can buy…” Your breath hitched just at the thought. There was silence on his end for a few moments.

“You’re a virgin.” Cheeks turning red, you scoffed into your phone.

“So what?” 

“So you’re giving yourself away to some random alien?” He hissed the word lowly, talking in a manner you had never heard from him before. You take a second to collect your thoughts, not understanding where his aggression is coming from.

“Peter… we live in the 21st century. Virginity is a stupid construct. Besides, I uh... I’m not really a virgin, you know.” 

“What?” 

“Ugh, can we not talk about this? So embarrassing…” You mumble, turning to a more comfortable position on the couch. There was silence as both of you struggled with what to say next. It wasn’t like you were actually embarrassed talking about sexual things, but Peter had a way of making your stomach flutter. It was awful having a mini crush on someone online, and even worse when he insisted on hearing all the details of your life. All the details. 

“I’m going to come see you.” He said, sighing into the phone. You froze, blinking in surprise. The two of you had never met in real life before, you’ve never even seen a picture of him! Sometimes, you would discuss meeting, but he lived a long flight away and schedules never seemed to work out. Over time, the thought of seeing him in person became too daunting, and you always shot him down. What if he thought you were too ugly to be friends with? What if the two of you couldn’t get along in person, and he lost interest? 

“A-are you sure, Peter?” You could hear the smile in his voice as he responded. 

“Of course.”

You stood nervously in the airport, shifting back and forth. People kept glancing at you, giving you curious glances. Avoiding eyes with an old troll whose beard desperately needed maintenance, you wiped the sweat from your face with your sleeve. Maybe you’d be less nervous if you had brought a friend with you to pick up Peter… Your phone buzzed with a text. 

landing now

You watch as the terminal quickly fills up with tired travelers. Eyes swiping back and forth from person to person, you attempt to pick out a man to match Peter’s description of himself. But his description was so vague, all you really knew was that apparently he was tall and had brown hair. 

Someone bumps into you, and your phone clatters to the ground. They quickly apologize but scurry away too quickly for you to get a good look at them. Grumbling, you bend down to pick up your phone, dusting it off and checking for cracks. When your eyes lift, your heart explodes in surprise at the wolfman standing before you. Hot! Inner you squeals. Standing nearly two heads taller than you, he’s lean and dressed very cleanly. Chestnut-colored fur streaks around his cheeks and neck, speckled with darker colors around his hairline and dipping underneath his shirt. Black eyes peer at you, squinting slightly.

“Oh, um. Hi!” You laugh nervously, tugging at your hair. “Just dropped my phone.” You wave your phone in front of you, but then quickly tuck it away when you realize how dumb you probably looked. The wolfman’s mouth slowly curls up into a predatory smile, top lip slightly gaped to allow for pointy fangs to peek through. 

“You’re cute,” he says quietly, eyes appraising your figure. You have to desperately ignore the urge to cover yourself from his evaluating gaze. You laugh weakly.

“T-thanks.” You give him a small smile. The two of you stare at each other for a moment. He hikes his backpack up over his shoulders, raising one eyebrow at you. Does he want something from you…? Oh god. Despite his good looks, it’s not the best time to be flirting with someone: not when you’re waiting for Peter. 

“I’m sorry. I’m.. uh… picking up a friend. Sorry.” You glance away from him, pretending to search the crowd for Peter. Why is he taking so long?

The wolfman grumbles with quiet laughter, almost a mixture of a purr and low-pitched whine. It's a rather charming sound. Suddenly, his clawed hand is on your scalp, rubbing against your hair to mess it up. He tugs certain strands this way and that, causing an absolute mess. You gasp, pulling away, quickly attempting to fix the mess he just made. 

“You’re even denser in person than I thought you would be,” he says, looking extremely satisfied at your misery. His ears twitch slightly. You pause, squinting up at him in irritation.

“Well, that’s rude. And please don’t touch my hair, I don’t know you.” You take a step back away from him in caution just to be safe. 

The wolfman huffs, rolling his eyes slowly. “That’s the thing. You do know me.” He pulls his phone out, and types onto it quickly, before looking at you expectantly. Your phone buzzes. A message from Peter. 

right in front of you. so dense.

You can’t quiet the gasp that leaves your mouth in time. You gape up at him, astonished.

“You never told me you were a wolfman!?!” 

Heart racing, you bring your knuckle up to your mouth and light chew on a finger. All these years, all the calls and long talks and he never thought to mention his species?! Oh god, you have said so many embarrassing things to him: things you would never say to a non-human. Things about giant monster cocks and clawed hands and fluffy sensitive ears and oh my GOD. You swear heat is steaming out of your ears with how embarrassed you are. 

“Didn’t think it mattered,” he shrugs. He reaches up to lightly scratch at one fluffy ear, maintaining eye contact with you. It twitches at his touch, apparently sensitive. You want to coo and squeal at how cute it is, but you restrain, just barely. Gnawing on your finger, you avert your eyes. You must not look at the handsome wolfman. Must resist. Must get Peter home without drowning in your drool…

One car ride home, hours of gentle ribbing and teasing, a desperate call to the nearest fast food joint, and a change into pajamas later, you find yourself sitting on your couch, a bowl of popcorn in hand, waiting patiently for Peter to join you. He’s taking a long time in the bathroom, but you’re not too worried. It seemed your apartment was a bit too small for him, and he was constantly ducking his head and squeezing past your furniture. Admittedly, it was really charming. You can’t help but shovel popcorn into your face as you wait. You can’t wait too long, otherwise the popcorn will get stale! In the middle of licking your fingers free from butter and salt, Peter plops down next to you. You slide down the couch and end up sitting right against you. He wraps an arm around you on the couch, hands already playing with your hair. He’s dressed in loose pajama pants and a t-shirt that says ‘You are fang-tastic!’ in faded letters.

“Really couldn’t wait for me, huh.” You smile in embarrassment, pulling your fingers out of your mouth. His dark eyes quickly zero in on your glistening fingers. Grimacing, you go to wipe them on your pants, but his hand wraps around your wrist before you can. You immediately notice how much bigger his hand is than yours, and how fur wraps around his knuckles but his fingers and palm are bare. 

“Let me,” he purrs, eyes drooping into half lids. He opens his mouth and a long, pink tongue rolls out. It’s rounded at the end and fades into a slight purple the further back it gets. You’re instantly drawn to it and watch in stunned silence as he brings your fingers up to his mouth. He licks a long stripe up your fingers before twisting and turning them to lap at every inch. Quickly, your fingers become drenched in hot saliva. You clench your thighs, wishing he would put that tongue somewhere else… A soft noise leaves you, and he meets your eyes again. You mentally berate yourself for having dirty thoughts about your friend. He nips gently at your pointer finger. You squeak and pull your hand away, face certainly red. You hold your hand to your chest limply, now drenched in saliva. You blink at him, words caught in your throat.

“Mmm… tastes good.” Right. Good popcorn. Ha ha… ha… The TV blares and the two of you startle at the noise. Peter is quick to grab the remote and mute it. He watches the quiet television for a moment, throat bobbing.

“Let’s talk for a moment, space girl.” His voice is almost... uncertain. You grin unabashedly at the nickname, pleased. It immediately calms you down and you find yourself relaxing.

“Sure!” You place the popcorn down and turn on the couch, facing him directly. He turns to face you as well, one leg crossing over the other. The arm around the back of the couch begins to tap on the cushion.

“Just let me talk for a moment, no interruptions, okay?” He raises an eyebrow when you open your mouth to respond, and you huff, but stay quiet.

“Honestly, I thought I was being pretty straightforward with you all this time, but with this space fiasco, I knew you weren’t exactly getting the message. Had to talk to you face-to-face. I’ll make this short and sweet, easy to understand. I don’t want you going to space.” He raises one hand when you look like you are about to object. Breathing deeply, he continues.

“Don’t go to space. Stay here. I’ll give you all the monster cock you want, promise… I’m not usually one to wait so long, but I knew during our first call I would have to take it slow with you. I’ve been biding my time all these years, slowly getting to know you, waiting for my chance. And then I saw your post. When I saw that, it left me ‘peterified’.” He chuffs at his joke, pleased. 

“So yeah, I’ve got feelings for you. And a lot of them revolve around ramming my cock down your throat. Or god, knotting you,” he sighs wistfully as he speaks. He looks like he wants to say more, but stops himself. 

.

.

.

Ho….ly…. SHIT! You’re frozen on the spot, mind racing with a thousand dirty thoughts. You’ve dreamt of this moment, dreamt of a monster desiring you. And now…now you’re presented with an opportunity. 

“F-forget space! Oh my god. Peter? Peter!” You’re squealing now, your body shaking with excitement. You stand up and begin pacing, not even really aware of what you’re doing. Peter relaxes on the couch, mouth tilted up in a sly smile.

“This is crazy. Are you serious? He’s serious. I-I need to shave! And prep! Oh god, I don’t know if I’m ready for this…” You bite at your finger nervously, the beginnings of nausea twisting your stomach. Who knew that aching and wanting something for so long would have you feeling so sick?

Peter tugs at your hand, slowing your pacing. 

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, you nut. Just breathe.” He breathes in deeply, and you copy him instinctually. He guides your breath into something much slower, much more manageable. You smile at him gratefully, falling onto the couch. 

“Sorry, this is just… a lot,” you sigh out. He shakes his head. 

“Not at all. Just take it easy.” He nudges your knee with his. “Just think about it, yeah?” You nudge him back, eyes twinkling.

“So, all this time you’ve…” you question. He simply nods his head.

“But you didn’t even know what I looked like?” You're surprised when his face starts to turn a gentle shade of red. He coughs into his fist, looking away. He speaks, in a cool tone that doesn’t match his cheeks, “Yeah, I knew right from the start. Your looks are just a plus.” 

Aaand now you’re looking away, embarrassed. 

“Oh, okay,” you mumble. 

[legend-the-dumb-jock]

Stephen was the above average joe. Muscular. Huge package. Standing at 6’4”. When he walked into a room people stopped and stared looking a the muscled specimen that heaved the room. And with large size 16 feet you could hear him coming too.

Stephen had a perfect life but where someone is so perfect there has to be a downfall. Stephen’s was that he always took advantage of those close to him. He was able to be so muscular and hot spending all his time in the gym and never once helping his boyfriend, Matt, pay for rent. He was a leach. Every night he would come home dripping sweat. Kick off his massive shoes leaving them where they fell. He would drop his dirty sweat clothes in the hall way and never clean after himself. Then while still dropping sweat, flop down on the couch. Staining even more than what he already has. But it was time. And his boyfriend had had enough.

While Stephen fell asleep like he always did on the couch, his boyfriend still in front of him with a menacing glance. Holding the book he had from his family he began to chant the spell to make Stephen change.

Stephen was dreaming about plowing the hot gym bunny. Bending him over the sink and thrusting himself in. And all the while began to scream while he was having sex …

“….and this vessel must change to meet this new form!” His boy friend finished reading. And then he seen the fine print,,, there had to be an agreement from the one the spell was going to effect. He began to panic. How would he get Stephen to agree to…”YES YES ! FUCK ME !!!” Matt’s mouth dropped. How could this have happened in a more perfect moment. Stepping back slowly he hid the book. Now. Watching as his boyfriend began to change.

Soon Stephen’s well defined abs began to push outwards. His legs began to get fuller and he also began to shrink in height. His pecs quickly lost all definition as they were hidden under a thick layer of fat and his stomach continued to balloon out warden. Hair began to sprout from ever office of his body giving him in a thick coat of fur. His feet got shorter becoming a size of extremely wide and thick size 11s. He had little sausage toes now while his fingers fattened up. His butt began to inflate and sag as it widened and his back began to grow wide to match. A thick unkempt beard began to grow out of his face while he started balding. What was once a hunk before now looked like an out of shape 45 year old man. Matt smiled at his creation. Knowing that there was more to come.

Matt woke up to screams from the living room. Walking in he seen Stephen looking at his phone and trembling. “What the fuck has happened to me !!” Matt asked him. What he was talking about. All a part of his plan to make Stephen lose his mind. He was going to treat Stephen like the fat older man he was now. Even though he was the only other person in the world now that would remember what he is really supposed to be like. “Phen. You need to stop acting weird. It’s time for you to go to work. I wasn’t able to wash your janitor uniform though. “ Stephen just looked at him. Whatever happened seemed to have changed reality he thought. He had to get out of there. And sadly. It seems as though the dirty uniform was the only thing that would fit him. Before he left the apartment Matt handed him some pills “don’t forget your pills Phen. You know you need your heart meds and that cholesterol needs to come down. Try not to eat those 4 double cheeseburger for lunch again” he said as he kissed Stephen’s fatter face.

Work was hard for Stephen. He found that at his new size and short let height he was screed on all aspects of life now. He was the lowly janitor of the gym he worked at ! And people would just throw dirty clothes on him and expect him to always be at their whim for cleaning. During his lunch break he wanted to find a way to fix this. He had to get his old body back ! But then he caught glimpse of it. The burger signs. And drawn by an impossible force he walked over. Walking through the doors he was greeted by the cashier. Working his wallet out of his pocket with his meaty hands he paid for his food. 5 double cheeseburgers. And he ate ever bite. Licking the grease from the wrappers and his fingers. He was forced by some unseen force to be the fat animal he looked like. Walking back home he could help but feel winded. His lunch should have. Been enough to make him feel full for days but his stomach was growling like an angry bear. He felt so tired. As he walked through the apartment door he shuffled his wide feet down the hallway and looking in the mirror began to cry.

Somehow during the day he had gotten older. And much bigger. What little muscle definition he had was completely gone. Now his stomach was rock hard and protruding in an impossible beach ball stomach. Completely bald with white facial hair. Matt came around the corner and Stephen cried. He pleaded for Matt to remember him. “Phen. Are you ok? I know you’re jealous of my youth. But we’ve talked about this. You’re a 61 year old man. You have to come to terms with that!” And he walked off. That number reverberated in Stephen’s head.

Walking around the beach no was no longer fun for Stephen. He was getting looks now but not for his hot young body. It was for the massive beach ball he carried. He had been stuck like this for a whole month at this point. Continuing to try to find a way to change back there just has to be one. Matt came walking up to him with food. “You know one day. I’m going to stop giving into her hunger. We gotta find someway to get you. Lose weight Phen”. Phen aggressively at the multiple cheese burgers, fries and shake that Matt had brought him. Matt watched his creation. Everything from that night with spell had come true. An intense appetite that never went away, old age, massive bloated stomach with no muscle definition, and all the pains that would come with his body being like this. He knew that Phen was trying to find a way back. To get his old body back so he could be happy. But little did he know, that the Matt altered the working of the spell. “And when you agree to this the changes will be permanent”.

[mpbbychoice]

I had always been proud of my thick, flowing hair. It was one of the few things that made me stand out from the crowd, and I liked it that way. But here I was, standing in front of the mirror in my boyfriend Joe's apartment, staring at my balding head with a mix of horror and fascination. Joe was a strong, hirsute, bald man with visible muscles. He liked to wear muscle shirts and had a manly musk that I found strangely intoxicating. I, on the other hand, was an average man who took pride in his hair. But Joe wanted me to become more like him, and as much as I hated to admit it, his constant badgering was starting to get to me. It all started with a simple haircut. Joe hated my long hair and convinced me to get a buzzcut. I hated it at first, but I didn't complain. I figured it was just a small change, and I could always grow it back. But then I found myself in Joe's bathroom, staring at his epilator. For some reason, I felt compelled to use it on my head. The pain was intense, but so was the pleasure. I couldn't stop myself from tearing out my hair. When I went back to bed, Joe looked at me with surprise and admiration. 'I don't know what happened, but you look sexier than ever!' he exclaimed. He grabbed me and fucked me harder than he ever had before. I had the best orgasm of my life, and from that moment on, I was hooked. I began using the epilator regularly, and each time, Joe would join in, using it to thin out my hair even more. I hated the pain of having my hair ripped out, but I loved the attention from Joe. He shaved my head weekly to keep my hair short, and I continued to use the epilator, even as a bald spot formed on my head. Joe loved my baldness, and I have to admit, I did too. There was something strangely empowering about it. I felt stronger, more masculine. I was becoming more like Joe, and it turned me on. But then one day, after a particularly intense epilation session, I realized that I had gone bald. Not just balding, but completely bald. I was horrified. This was not what I had signed up for. I wanted to stop, to go back to the way things were, but I couldn't. I was addicted to the pain, the pleasure, and most of all, the attention from Joe. Joe, however, loved it. He loved my bald head, and he loved the fact that I had become more like him. He told me that I had never looked sexier, and he fucked me with a passion that I had never experienced before. I couldn't deny that it felt good, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I had lost myself in the process. In the end, I realized that I had let Joe's desires consume me. I had destroyed the man I used to be, all in the name of becoming more like the man I loved. And even though I hated what I had become, I couldn't deny the intense arousal I felt every time I looked in the mirror and saw my bald head staring back at me. Joe and I continued our relationship, with him shaving my head regularly to keep it short. I still used the epilator, and the baldness became permanent. I had become a bald man, just like Joe. And even though I had lost myself in the process, I couldn't deny that I loved the man I had become.