#no way he has bifocals

[dufferpuffer]

never getting over the time in CoS harry put his glasses ON to read a book while hiding under his covers. boy what the fuck is your prescription if you need those things to see AND to read

[apatheticsunday]

Manifesting Destiny

AKA "Danny knows about Bruce Wayne's little adoption habit, so he actively fights back by making digs at the older man's age. He doesn't realize he essentially adopted himself by calling Bruce 'grandpa'!" prompt idea!!

Okay, so 19-year-old Jazz moves to Gotham because Arkham has an psychiatrist internship that guarantees a job after graduation from Gotham-U. She takes a 12-13 year old Danny with because the "ghost attacks" (i.e., her parents are getting very obsessed with dissecting Phantom and it's genuinely worrying) are getting worse. Now Danny's in Gotham Prep... along with Damian Wayne.

They do not get along.

Damian stabs Danny with a pencil, Danny bites Damian so hard that he needs stitches, and the detentions only increase their bloodthirst because, "He started it!!" It comes to a head when Damian shoves Danny down the stairs (he wasn't really meaning to, he just pushed too hard), and Danny goes down hard. As in not-getting-back-up kind of hard. And Damian realizes he just killed a civilian. He's running through contingency plans, trying to figure out whether he can hide the body or if he should confess to Father, when the Fenton boy's broken neck... becomes un-broken?? And he sits up??

So, 13-year-old Damian makes a logical decision. Daniel Fenton is clearly his Arch Nemesis. He's undeniably a meta (perhaps with super-healing abilities?) so he can withstand Damian's too-enthusiastic violence. And Danny's like, this fucker just killed me. I'm going to beat his ass. Except Damian has a really high pain tolerance and is literally the heir to the League of Assassins. Long story short, Damian and Danny have "play dates" where they spend the entire time trying to kill/beat each other up. Jazz is just happy that Danny seems to have made a friend.

Bruce, on the other hand, takes one look at a scrawny, black-haired, blue-eyed kid who clearly has some childhood trauma, and mentally becomes Bat Dad. He tried to approach the subject once. Bruce carefully, tentatively asked, "Do you have a place to stay, son? We have plenty of rooms." To which Danny replied, "I'm not your son, I have a dad!! Why don't you go sit down before you break a hip, grandpa!!" (Tim choked on his tea, Damian nearly climbed across the table to strangle Danny, and Dick - who doesn't even live at the manor, he was just dropping off a case from Bludhaven PD - laughed so hard he cried.)

Except... Danny keeps coming over to the Wayne Manor (since Damian refuses to 'spar' at Jazz's one bedroom apartment, as it lacks a personal gymnasium). And Bruce is still kind, no matter how many times Danny makes fun of him for wearing bifocals or turtlenecks, or when he just straight up calls Bruce an old man. Plus, Damian's kind of mellowed out, too. He's teaching Danny actual sparring techniques, hand-to-hand combat, and explains different types of weapons/how to use them. Alfred brings the boys snacks. Occasionally Dick and Jason will visit for dinner, ruffling the boy's hair and joking about something or another. He's even introduced to Steph, Cass, and Barbara.

It dawns on Danny one evening, when Alfred is readying the car to take him back to his and Jazz's apartment. Bruce is scraping leftovers into a plastic container for Jazz to re-heat when he gets home and Danny's debating quietly with Damian about whether octopi are smarter than Superman. (Damian says yes, octopi are definitely smarter; he's seen Superman mutter to himself "lefty loosey, righty tighty" when trying to unscrew a water bottle cap.)

Then Bruce is handing Danny the leftovers, and Danny distractedly gives Bruce a side-hug, saying, "Thanks, grandpa."

Totally unironically. Danny's internal monologue is just what the fuck did I just say as Bruce slips him a $20 ("For a treat on the way home.") and escorts him to the front door. He thinks about it as Alfred drives him home. Thinks about it when he and Jazz curl up to watch a movie that night. Danny belatedly realizes that he's been unintentionally thinking of Bruce "Serial Adopter" Wayne as his grandfather??? For months now?? How could this happen??

Back at the Wayne Manor, Bruce is still in the kitchen, listening to Damian continue to debate Superman's intelligence while Tim scrolls on his work tablet. He'll probably take the kids, including the newest edition to the family, to the zoo this weekend.

[baronessvonglitter]

Daddy Can Fix It

handyman!Joel Miller x fem!plus size!Reader | wc: 5.4K

Summary: All the housewives in your neighborhood rave about the local handyman. And with very good reason.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit. Reader is plus-size, wears dress and lingerie, has hair and body hair, and manicure. Reader's age not mentioned so there is only as much or as little of an age gap as you'd like. TW - fat shaming, food shaming, infidelity (by reader, and it's technically warranted) Pet names (daddy for Joel; sugar, darlin', baby, sweetheart for reader). Housewife/trad-wife vibes. Totally a bored housewife fantasy. Mention of female masturbation. Breast/nipple play, oral (f & m receiving). Fingering. Body worship. Pussy pronouns. Unprotected piv (Joel is snipped, but still.. this is fiction). Light spanking. Rough sex. Creampie. Joel's kind of a big ol' slut for the lonely housewives but is also really useful around the house, so you're definitely getting a good deal 🛠️

Author's note: it's been a hot minute since I've written a one-shot for Joel but it was impossible to resist. It all started because of this pic:

so yeah, Pinterest strikes again. How could I not write a Joel fic based on this? I hope y'all enjoy 💖

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

"He can come clean my pipes anytime."

Raucous laughter erupts from the group of ladies huddled near the cupcakes at the latest book club meeting. You listen from the other side of the room where one of the older members is asking you to help her with her Kindle. "I never know how to keep up with all this fancy technology," Marion huffs, adjusting her bifocals.

You're trying to be patient with her, but the conversation across the room is far more intriguing. "It just needs to be charged. Your battery is low," you say three times before Marion can even hear you.

When you've managed to extricate yourself from her, you go up to the ladies and, with a friendly smile, join in. "I couldn't help overhearing."

Some of the women exchange glances, as if deciding to let you in on their convo or not. "Becky's just showing us that she got her kitchen cabinets redone," someone finally pipes up.

"That's not all she got," another starts to crack up.

You look at Becky's phone screen. The before and after shots of her cabinets are nothing short of miraculous. "That's great, Becky! I know you've been asking Gerald for a renovation for awhile," you tell her, hoping she'll be pleased you remember the plight she droned on about for weeks.

"It is great," she says, eyeing you with something like suspicion. "I have a very good handyman."

"He does everything," a nicer girl, Isabelle, chimes in.

"Boy does he," another mutters, hiding her smirk behind her cup of lemonade while the others giggle behind their hands.

Amirah adds, "He varnished my dining room table, power washed my driveway, helped organize my garage," she counts on her fingers. "He's good for little things around the house, and his prices are decent."

"It's like he's just giving it away," Becky says with a smirk and this gets the group laughing again.

"Maybe you can give me his information later," you say politely. "I have a laundry list of things that I need help with now that Wesley's working so much overtime."

The women eye one another, and it's Amirah, the leader of the group, who gives the definite nod. "Of course, sweetie. After the meeting."

"Great!" Smiling, you try to make your way through the group, saliva pooling in your mouth at the tower of red velvet cupcakes on the table spread. You reach for a couple more.

"You've already had three," Becky reminds you, casting a not-so-subtle glance at your body. Her voice sweet as honey but her words carry poison. You know you're not as thin or as glamorous as the other women in this room. You dress the same as them, wear your hair perfectly coiffed and your nails are always manicured, but just because you're not a size zero they deem you unworthy to truly be one of them.

You hold your head high with what little courage you have in the face of Becky's bitchiness, your sinful little cupcake in your hand. "I actually had three. And right now I'm about to make it five," you say sweetly, licking a swipe of cream cheese icing before putting two cupcakes on a china plate and going back to your seat.

That night, Wesley doesn't ask about your book club. He doesn't ask how your day was. He doesn't do much except pour himself a drink when he gets home and sit in front of the TV to watch the news.

You're dressed for bed, a modest robe over a red silk babydoll chemise, a purchase you'd made on a whim in the hopes that you could spice up your sex life with him which, truth be told, has never been more than lukewarm from the start.

"Do you think we should.. go to bed?" you suggest, a naughty tone to your whisper.

"It's early," he grunts, barely giving you a glance.

"I just thought we could spend some time together.." you brush your hand across his knee but he impatiently swipes it away.

"Please, darling, it's a weeknight," he looks at you as if you'd just suggested a threesome with him and the milk man. As he leaves the room he looks back at you, but the hope that rises in your chest is soon shattered when he shakes his head upon seeing your lingerie. "Red is for streetwalkers," he tells you before he goes into his study.

Daddy Can Fix It

You run your finger over the business card Amirah gave you, with all the handy man's information. The card shows his white company van with the logo emblazoned on the side: Joel Miller, Handyman At Your Service so it says in black lettering. There's a phone number and a website as well.

You dial the number, expecting to hear a secretary's voice, but you're greeted with a rich, baritone "Good mornin', thanks for callin' Daddy, what can I fix for ya today?"

Jesus, the voice alone is enough to get you flustered. And Daddy? You weren't expecting that. "Um, hi, I got your number through a friend and I'd like to see if you're available to come mow the lawn today." You peek out your curtains, seeing how the grass has grown taller than you'd like since the last time Wesley has cared enough to cut it.

"You got a lawn mower, sugar?"

"Yes, I do, um.. daddy.."

You hear him chuckle on the other end of the line. "You can call me Joel."

"Joel. Yes, I do. Is there anything else you'll need?" New to the housewife lifestyle, you're still unsure of how to make such appointments. Before you met and married Wesley, you just mowed the lawn yourself, but your husband refuses to hear of his good and proper wife performing a menial act.

"Got any bushes that need trimmin'?"

You aren't sure why that particular sentence makes you feel the blood rush to your face. "I typically keep up with it on my own, when I'm tending to my garden."

Joel gives a small chuckle and it warms your insides. "That ain't no problem. Today around eleven good for ya?"

"Eleven sounds perfect."

"Pricing'll be about fifty, but we can come to an agreement once the job is done."

"Wonderful. I look forward to seeing you." You give him your name and address, hanging up with a sense of accomplishment.

His van appears in your driveway just a minute before eleven. You're impressed with his timeliness. What you don't expect is the gorgeous stranger on your doorstep.

Joel Miller is tall, broad-shouldered, skin bronze from working out in the sun, and his dark brown hair is greying handsomely. If you had to guess his age you'd say fifties. He's in a grey tee shirt and work jeans. What stand out to you the most are his eyes: almost black in color, appraising you as you wait in the doorway, prim and proper housewife, lips parted, eyes wide.

He asks for you by name and you nod, chuckling slightly.

"If you can show me where the lawn mower is I'd be happy to get started," he offers, and the voice you recognize from the phone makes you melt.

You lead him outside to the garage and he takes out the mower, filling it up with some gasoline first. "Is there anything else you need?" you ask politely.

"No ma'am," he looks over his shoulder at you as he pushes the machine to the front yard. "Get inside and get outta this sun. I'll handle it from here," he smiles and it makes you want to giggle like a schoolgirl.

From inside you watch him through the window, deftly maneuvering the lawn mower over, trimming the grass to a neat, short length. It's not yet the hottest hour of the day, but you see him sweating, and when he stops a moment to remove his shirt, you suddenly feel your pulse in the deepest part of your cunt. You wonder what it would be like to lick up every drop of sweat off his chest.

Like a slow motion scene from a movie, you watch the motion of his arms, the rippling of his back as he guides the machine over the lawn. Biting your lip you take in the sight of him, the determination on his face redirecting your thoughts to how he would look above you: hot, sweaty, hard, plunging into your drenched pussy.

How long has it been since you've had a man? Wesley prefers his Saturday nights like clockwork. But you want more. Stupidly thinking marriage was the best way to be treated right and fucked properly, you realized it was not the title but the man, and the particular man you chose was lacking in all area which mattered.

You aren't even sure you love him anymore.

But right now, watching Joel is a treat, and fantasizing about him is a little secret you'll harbor for later in the day when you'll inevitably find yourself using the showerhead attachment.

He finishes the front and back yards, and through the blinds you peep him putting his shirt back on, running a hand through his wavy curls before putting the mower away and coming to your door.

You answer it before he knocks. "Thank you!" is the first thing that comes out of your mouth. "Please come in and we can settle payment."

He cleans the bottoms of his boots on the welcome mat before stepping inside your home and following you to the kitchen. "You have a very nice home, ma'am."

"You're too kind," you're modest about his compliment, but it's thrilling to have someone say something nice about the hard work you put into keeping house. "Would you care for some iced tea? I've just made it fresh."

"I won't say no to that," he chuckles lightly, and you're happy to fill a glass with some of the fresh-brewed tea over ice.

Joel leans back against the sink, pouty pink lips pressed to the glass as he tips it back, opening just enough to take a sweet sip. You watch his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows, and you wish you could lick a stripe up along his the length of his delicious-looking neck to collect all the sweat that's beaded there.

"Is there anythin' else you need help with today?" he asks, his question carrying a hint of something more.

You blank for a moment, getting lost in the depth of his obsidian eyes, still caught up in your little fantasy. "No.. no, I don't think so." Taking a look around your eyes dart to every corner, taking mental stock of the upstairs rooms as well. "No," you finalize with a smile.

"If you're sure.." he says in that same low tone.

You give him fifty dollars and chat a little while he finishes his drink.

"If there's nothin' else I'll get goin'. Feel free to call me again if you need somethin' done, or looked at. Ain't nothin' I can't fix," he winks at you on your doorstep and you feel a waterfall in your panties.

Isabelle calls later in the day. "So? You had Joel over today, right? How'd it go?"

Dinner is in the oven and there's about an hour before your husband gets home. Phone on speaker, you start peeling potatoes. "It was fine. He did a great job. I'm sure I'll use him again."

Over the line you hear Isabelle sigh. "Isn't his dick beautiful? I swear, just thinking about it gets me so wet!"

You nearly slice a finger off, shocked by her words. Even though you're alone in the house, you pick up the phone and take it off speaker. "What are you talking about?"

"I think it's at least eight inches, and the way it curves at the end," Isabelle sounds like she's moaning.

"Okay, I'm lost. I hired the handyman that you and the others referred. That's who came over today."

"Exactly, dear! Did he fuck you? You don't have to give details of course."

Your brain is put on pause as only silence fills your throat.

"Oh dear," Isabelle continues. "You didn't know?"

"Know what?"

She sighs, possibly settling herself on her chaise longue out by her pool she's so proud of. "Joel Miller is a handyman, yes. But we also pay him a little extra for other services."

"Oh." You sink onto the living room settee, the closest thing to you.

"Mm-hmm. Mind you, it's not an all-the-time thing. But we've all had him. It's just something fun. You get some help around the house with your honey-do list, and then a good fucking after. Or whatever pleases you."

"And you.. you've.. slept with him?"

"I wouldn't call it sleeping, honey, but yeah I've been with him. It's all for fun. Nobody really takes it seriously."

"And everyone else at the book club?"

"Pretty much. Do you really think any of our husbands could compare to that god of a man Joel Miller?"

No, no you doubt any man could hold up to the stud who'd just helped you with the lawn.

He's on your mind constantly, but as tightly as Wesley keeps his wallet to himself, you can't validate having Joel's help every day. You make the choice to wait until the following week.

And what a long wait it is. Jealously you wonder whose house he's going to. Jackie down the street? Bitchy Becky with her face like a rat, no tits and no ass?

You consider calling Isabelle to beg for the details (which she'll probably give you without a fuss anyway). But a sordid part of you wants to find out for yourself. You already know he's well-endowed. He's at least twice as big as Wesley, who wouldn't know what to do with a big cock if he was blessed with one overnight.

A week to the day since he made his last visit, Joel comes back to replace the batteries in your smoke alarms. It's a job you've done yourself, perching on a stepladder, but it'll be more fun to have Daddy fix it.

The phone call to schedule him was practically foreplay. That smooth-as-chocolate voice had your panties drenched. When he's finally here, inside your home, inside your needy little cunt.

Your eyes rove over his form as he uses your stepladder, only needing the first rung. It doesn't stop you from staying right there with him, holding it steady on the other side. You hear his little grunts as he gets to work, watch his thick, strong fingers handle the batteries with a delicacy you can imagine he uses in other things.

Licking your lips, you realize you're face-to-face with the faded blue denim crotch of his jeans, those Levis hugging him tight in all the right places.

"I'm 'bout done here," he says, putting the smoke detector back in its place. "Anythin' else you need help with, lil' darlin'?"

Your hand presses to the bulge in his jeans, and you're delighted when you feel him twitch in response. "As a matter of fact, I do need your help with something else.."

"That right?" he murmurs, pressing your hand against him, letting you feel him grow hard under his palm. "Been waitin' to see if you'd ask.."

He steps down, keeps his dark eyes on you. "Pretty lil' thing like yourself don't get enough attention, huh?" he whispers, brushing his thumb across your cheek.

Softly you sigh, unashamed at how needy you've been for a simple touch. "No.. but I'd like you to help with that."

"That's what I'm here for, darlin'," he smiles, his thumb tracing your soft plump lips. "What do you want me to do, baby?"

"Everything," you answer quickly. "I'm not.. really sure what the usual is.."

His smile is kind as his hand traces down your neck, leaving goosebumps to rise on your skin. "You want me to fuck ya, give ya somethin' nobody else is doin'.. that it?" He places your hand back on his bulge and you respond by rubbing him, your own cunt pulsing around nothing in excited expectation.

"Yes.. I need to get fucked," you agree emphatically, pulling him into your bedroom.

Now he's here, in your room, and you think you're dreaming. He's letting you take the lead, completely at your service. All the women in your book club were probably more open with their desires, knowing immediately what they wanted and how to get it. All the fantasies about Joel you've created and harbored in the deepest part of your heart are now as impalpable as gossamer.

"You tell me what you want, honey," he drawls in that molasses-rich voice of his. His hands gently trace your waist, smoothing down your dress as he moves towards your curvaceous hips. "God damn, I bet you look fuckin' gorgeous outta this dress. Wanna show me?"

Biting your lip, you nod, tugging off your apron and dropping it to the floor. Not gonna be a damn housewife while he's with me..

A tiny smirk on your face, you gently push Joel back onto your bed, and he rights himself with an equally mischievous smile as he watches you. He palms his hard cock through his jeans as you do a little striptease, tantalizing him as you slip your prim flower-print dress off your shoulders.

"There we go, baby," he growls as the dress falls down to your hips, your scarlet satin bra revealed, your breasts practically spilling over the cups, making Joel's mouth water. You turn around for his help in unzipping the bottom part of your dress, finally feeling free as it falls away, pooling at your feet.

Joel lets out a wolf whistle as he takes in the sight of you in your ruby undergarments, the same you'd tried to seduce your husband in. Now they're finally being put to good use. "Red's your color, gorgeous," he mutters, his hands on your hips, mapping out your generous curves and the soft rolls of your belly.

You've almost forgotten what it was like, this power to entrance a man and make him see you as the only woman in the world. Marriage to an uncaring and unfeeling idiot had left you cut off from your sexuality. Now you're reclaiming it.

Joel's hands travel back up to your waist, fingers deftly unclasping your bra. He unwraps you like you're the goddamn Christmas gift he's been begging for for months. His tongue wets his lips as your plump breasts are revealed. With one hand on your lower back, the other palms your tit with a rough hand. Your nipple rises to his touch and he dips down to swirl his tongue around it, gently coaxing it further with his teeth. Your head falls back as the sensation zings straight to your cunt. "Fuck, Joel.."

He smiles against the softness of your skin. "Sensitive here, huh? Bet these ain't been properly played with in awhile. Gonna change that right now." And with that he gives another hard suck, his dick already leaking when he hears your needy moan. He treats the other breast with the same attention. You take one of his hands and lead it to the drenched front side of your panties, but he stops you.

"Not yet, baby. Want you to see yourself before I fuckin' ruin ya."

You lay on your side on the bed as you watch Joel undress. It's a sight you won't soon forget: skin tan from working outdoors, with a smattering of chest hair that's also showing some grey, chiseled arms, and a happy trail that leads from his navel to the front of his boxers, which are tented. He wears a little smirk as he pulls them off and your reaction is priceless.

Joel is fucking hung.

You've taken big cocks before, but his is formed of pure fantasy, like a dildo from your favorite sex shop. Isabelle wasn't exaggerating about his size. And his cock is so beautiful you want to cry. Watching as he gives it a couple strokes, all eight thick uncut inches, the rosy pink tip glistens with precum, the veins and ridges prominent. Even the curve Isabelle mentioned is sexy, bound to hit all the right places inside you. His balls, rounded and heavy, move with his motions.

Thank God I did my yoga this week.

You beckon him to you, pulling the boxers away completely and dipping your head to taste him. Your tongue laves across the salty slit of his tip, and you relish the hitch of his breath. He's not here for you to please him, but it gets you wet wrapping your lips around his cock, suctioning your mouth and stroking upward from his base. When you start to massage his balls he stops you. "Don't wanna shoot too soon, baby," he says breathlessly.

He pulls you up off the bed and into a kiss, his hands playing along the edges of your panties as his tongue tastes yours. His cock, still wet from your mouth, nudges against your soft belly. "You deserve to feel good," he whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his tongue tracing the outline. At last he pulls your panties down, a rumble in his throat when he sees the sweet glaze between your thighs, glistening in your triangle of hair.

"Sit on my lap, baby. With your back to me," he orders in a soft growl.

His flesh is warm beneath yours, and god it feels good just to be touched again, to feel desired by someone. You haven't known it in so long. He sits back against the headboard, moving the pillows on either side. His arm instinctively wraps around your waist as he leaves soft, feathery kisses across your shoulder.

"So soft," he murmurs. "C'mon, baby, look at yourself," he nods to the mirror in front of you.

When you catch your reflection you're exhilarated at the sight: you, naked, with Joel behind you, kissing your neck, fondling your tits, thumb brushing over them and lightly pinching them to hardened peaks. "Spread your legs for me, baby," he whispers, getting started by brushing his hand from your knee to your petal-soft inner thigh.

It's lascivious, watching all this unfurl before you in the mirror. You're spread open, on full display. Your pussy is gushing over with need, and you trace your folds with your fingers.

Behind you, Joel's cock twitches, and he rubs himself lightly against your back. "Lemme do that.." he whispers, gently pulling your hand away, bringing your fingers to his mouth and sucking your juice off them. "So sweet," he murmurs, and your belly is hot with lust.

His touch is soft and careful at first, exploring you and figuring out what you like, what you need. It feels like he's memorizing every inch of you. His thick fingers glide over your lips, circling, teasing you so you'll beg him for more.

"Joel," you whine, lifting yourself to him, trying to get his hand to position itself where you need it most. But he evades you, a dark chuckle emanating from deep in his throat. "You're payin' me to do a job and I wanna do it right. Not fair to rush me."

Your eyes close in frustration. "Joel, please.."

"Nuh-uh. Daddy."

"Fuck," you whimper. "Please, daddy."

"That's more like it." His touch finds your clit, throbbing and needy, and you nearly see stars at the feeling. He presses once again before sliding two fingers into your warm, welcoming cunt. "Christ, she's really suckin' me in there," he grunts, shifting behind you as his dick becomes nearly impossible to ignore.

"Yes," you moan at the sweet intrusion, the easy glide of his fingers in your drenched pussy. "Just like that."

"So fuckin' tight," he says through gritted teeth. And Jesus, his fingers are thick, the calloused thumb swiping over your clit, making you twitch and your hips arch up for more. "She's pulsin' around me," he mutters, his rich voice in your ear, lips brushing against your lobe. His fingers glide in, stretching you as you coat him.

"Ah, she's gettin' all creamy for me," he coos as he pulls them out a moment, licking off one finger and giving the other to you. You taste yourself, salty and sweet, humming in appreciation as you release his digit from your mouth with a pop.

He returns to his work, his hand pistoning against your folds, the squishy sounds of your soaked cunt beautifully obscene to your ears. Your voice trembles as you cry out, a sweet vibrato that resounds throughout the room as Joel's fingers curl in on your g-spot. He adds a bit more pressure to your clit as he tries to get you there. Moaning, he nuzzles his face into your neck.

It feels like you break open under his touch, hips arching up, swallowing his delving fingers deeper inside you as you spasm uncontrollably around him, a string of curses falling from your lips.

You barely have time to recover before he's on you again, moving in front of you as you lay against the pillows, like Venus in a Titian painting. His hands lift your thighs, softly kneading their thickness as he plants kisses on either side, trailing up to your cunt, your scent all around him.

"My husband never goes down on me," you whisper, heart racing as quick as a hummingbird's wings.

"Ain't he a waste of fuckin' space," Joel grunts, a wicked gleam in his eye as he dives in, flattening his tongue to lick a stripe upwards to your needy, throbbing clit. Your hands grab at his hair, pushing him forward as his groan is muffled by your sweet, saturated pussy.

"God.. damn!" you gasp at the delicious feeling of his tongue on you, lapping up every drop, tracing your lips and tickling your clit. He's relentless in his pursuit of making you come, switching up the tempo, adding a finger and then another, praising you when you cry out again. "Squeezin' so hard on me.. she's just about ready, ain't she?" Before he finally suctions his lips around your puffy clit and sucks, humming around it.

It's as if your soul leaves your body for a precious few moments, muttering monosyllables in sweet relief. You've never come so hard before, ever. And when you look up at Joel you wish you could worship him.

"Like the sweetest tea I ever drank," he says, licking his lips.

"Fuck me, Joel," you whine, still not fully come down from your climax.

"C'mere," he growls, putting you on all fours so you're facing the mirror again. You look at your reflection: hair mussed, eyes shining bright, skin glowing from your orgasm. Joel lines himself up behind you, smiling as you watch yourself. "Got every right to look at yourself, darlin'.. someone as fuckin' hot as you, with these hips, this ass?" He grabs one cheek and gives it a slap. You gasp, jolting forward, then wiggle your ass at him, wanting more.

"You a naughty lil' thing," Joel smirks, teasing your folds with his tip. "Wanna get this pretty lil' pussy ruined?"

"Yes, daddy," you moan, pushing back on him.

"Fuck me, I like the way you say that." He bites his lip as he continues teasing you. "Once I fuck you, you'll never let that limp dick husband of yours touch you ever again, I promise you that."

Your reply is cut off when you feel him nudge inside, your walls breached by his thick cock. "Oh god... yes!" you exclaim, clutching the bedsheets. "Fuck.. your cock is so huge.." You can feel the tip just kissing your cervix.

"Yeah, you like it? Like gettin' fucked by this big cock? Gettin' stretched out? Gonna leave a big ol' gapin' hole for your husband to come home to."

He bottoms out, grabbing your ass cheeks with both big hands, watching the smoothness of your skin as your cunt clenches onto him. "God damn what a pretty sight.. you oughta see this. Pussy's barely fittin' me as it is. Only tighter thing would be your little ass.." and he pulls out all the way to slam back in, glorying in the way you scream his name.

"There she goes, gotta get 'er used to me," he grunts, eyes on your swollen pussy lips wrapping his cock in a vise with each steady thrust. "Jesus, sweetheart. So tight I gotta try not to blow my load."

The sound of his name on your lips, the way your body reacts to him, is like gasoline on an already raging fire. "That's it, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. "Say my name, baby. I wanna hear it." He quickens the pace, pressing deeper inside you.

"Daddy! Daddy!" you shout in time with each delicious snap of his hips. "My god, you're so fucking deep.." you moan.

"That's it, take all of me. You like the way I fill you?"

"Yes daddy!" Your fingers clutch the sheets as the bed rocks with your movements. "So full of you.."

He presses a hand to your abdomen. "Feel me there, baby? All up in your guts. No one else is ever gonna fill you the way I do. No one's ever gonna come close. This needy lil' cunt's gonna be cryin' for me every day until I come back and give her what she needs."

His dirty talk is getting you wetter, your juices running down between your thighs, making his cock all sloppy, the sound of it making you feral for more. "Fuck me, Joel.. fuck me fuck me fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckme.." you mumble, face down, ass up, slack jawed as you drool on the sheets.

He speeds up, hips slamming against yours, balls thwacking under you. "Yeah? Want me to fill ya up, blow all this fuckin' load inside ya? Got snipped years ago, baby, 's up to you."

"Fill me up, make me dirty and messy," you groan.

"You want daddy to give you everything he's got, baby?" he repeats. "You want me to fill you til you're all messy and drippin' with me?"

"Yes.. yes please," you're barely able to get out.

"Fuck," he growls, grabbing hold of your hips as he pounds into you ferociously. Once he has control he places one hand on your back, keeping you pressed down as he angles himself to hit that delicious little spot inside and he knows he's hit it when you cry out, cursing and shivering, clamping down on him like a damn vise right before he lets go, streaming jet after jet of his hot come inside you. There's so much it's already leaking out while he's still inside you.

The rest of the week you make a list of things for Joel to do next time: perhaps check out what's going on with the washing machine, or maybe he could regrout your bathroom, or help you rearrange your living room furniture right before he rearranges your guts again.

Even Wesley notices the bright and cheery mood you're in, and how attractive you've become since taking on some of the home improvements. That weekend he does you a huge favor, and sits back in his armchair as he waits for you to discover it.

"Wesley? What were you doing in the garage for so long? I heard a lot of noise," you tell him, arms crossed, a look of suspicion on your face.

He looks pleased with himself. "Well honey, you've been so agreeable these past few days that I thought I'd cross off some little projects on your to-do list."

"Like what?" you ask slowly.

He lists off everything you've had planned for Joel to do in the coming weeks. Small things, of course, but Wesley has done all of them, leaving you with nothing for daddy to fix.

"I thought you'd be happy," he says, his face cloudy now that you're unhappy again.

"Happy? Not quite." You leave a moment and return with a hammer, heading towards your husband.

He cowers, ducking as you completely pass him by and swing the hammer into the drywall of the living room wall, over and over again. When you've let your anger out and Wesley is rightfully afraid of your next move, you simply smile sweetly, holding the hammer pressed to your apron with your well-manicured hands. "Looks like I'll have to call the handyman after all!"

dividers by @thecutestgrotto 👑

tagging those who showed interest when this baby was still just a wip: @itwasntimethatdidit40 @milla-frenchy @604to647 @inept-the-magnificent @clawdeewritesfanfic @manuymesut @bitccchmood @everybodylovedcontractors

[zweiginator]

"Maybe you should respect yourself more"

EM

Gives law student pat energy - maybe you're having angry hate sex after weeks of just hating each other

Thinking about this in the context of oral arguments!!! being paired with patrick and it’s all just an assignment but you’re both competitive and argumentative and now your grade is on the line. and the whole year patrick has been getting on your nerves; he never listens to a word you say, he steals your ideas, he mansplains concepts that you show a clear understanding of.

So as your professor reads off the pairings you’re looking throughout the classroom, realizing that she only has your and patrick’s names left from the roster.

It’s a month of avoiding each other. you don’t want the other to know your arguments, your counter arguments, the cases you meticulously searched for and rifled through for any relevant rule of law.

“Will you give me a hint?” patrick sneaks up behind you at the library.

“we aren’t supposed to work together.” you’re blunt about it, tilting your laptop away from him.

“It’s nine pm. nobody is here.”

“It’s not about that.”

you start to type again. patrick sits down next to you.

“arguments are tomorrow. i think you’ve done enough. don’t you have to, like, memorize it now?”

“can you stop acting like i don’t know what im fucking doing?”

“can you stop being a bitch and tell me what you’re arguing so we can argue it, get a good grade and fucking move on with our lives?”

you slam your laptop shut. “don’t fucking talk to me like that.”

and as you move to shove him away from you, he grabs your wrist.

“don’t fucking shove me.” he pauses before letting go of you. “nobody is here. we have to be at the courthouse at 8:30 tomorrow. it would be a lot easier if you just helped me out.”

you take your glasses off and furrow your eyebrows. “patrick, we are arguing against each other. and anyway, i don’t like you. i think you’re a prick. i think you’re a know-it-all. i think you’re spoiled and rude and entitled.”

he smirks. “anything else? i can go too.”

“i have to go.”

“no you don’t.”

and he grabs your wrist again. this time, he raises his eyebrows like he’s testing you. seeing how far he can take this.

“give me a hint.”

you get closer to him, your eyes flitting from his blown pupils to his pink, bitten lips. “beg me and maybe i’ll budge.”

“i’m not begging for anything.”

you grab your book bag and shove your textbook under your arm, flustered from him.

“i’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

and at 8 am sharp, you’re both at the courthouse. you’re early, you’re surprised he is too. patrick is smoking in the alley, dressed in a grey suit. you tug your pencil skirt down a bit further. and you hate to admit it, but patrick looks so fucking good and your nerves make your hands shake, the stack of notecards tucked inside threatening to fall onto the pavement.

he shakes his head at you as he puts the cigarette out under his shoe. and as he strides past you, he whispers in your ear.

“good luck, sweetheart.”

it’s so condescending, that it fuels your fire. and thirty joint minutes of arguments become heated. neither of you can tell who’s winning because your personal hatred for each other rears its angry head, threatens its way through your speech. the mock judge has to put his foot down when time is up.

“that was very, um—heated.” he straightens his documents , pushing his bifocals up his nose. “but i believe our winner is mister zweig. although id say this was close. i’d work on keeping composed; in practice this will have actual clients and reputation on the case. i’d sort out whatever animosity exists between you two before it interferes with your profession.”

patrick straightens his tie. he doesn’t take his eyes off you.

“yes, your honor. i agree completely.”

and in the hallway, you’re heated. you should’ve won. you knew the fucking rules. you knew the exceptions and the case law and you rebutted his arguments perfectly.

“don’t be mad. maybe next time?”

you grab his tie in your fist. for the first time, patrick looks truly taken aback by you.

“i fucking hate you.” you spit.

patrick doesn’t like that this shoots blood straight to his cock.

“no you don’t.”

your noses are touching. patrick backs you into the stairwell.

“we dont want to ruin our reputation, do we?”

“like you give a fuck about your reputation.”

patrick grabs your hand, pushing it onto his erection.

“right now i’d throw it all away.”

and you should rip your hand away, slap him across the face and walk away. you squeeze him.

he slams his lips against yours. his hand finds your jaw, fingers strong on the back of your head.

"i want nothing to do with you." you push him away, but his eyes are dark, his tie loosened. his lips are smeared with your lip gloss, mouth ajar. you taste cigarettes and spearmint.

but you go back for more, letting him back you against the wall. your hands yank his shirt from his trousers, feeling up his abdomen, his chest, up to his neck. you squeeze.

he yanks your hair back.

"you're not in control here."

"i'm not?" you yank on his tie.

"no. you're not."

he flips you around, pressing your cheek against exposed brick. it hurts. you don't care.

hooking a finger in your mouth, he smirks at you. "no fucking self respect." he uses his other hand to bunch your skirt up, forcing your panties to the side. "you fucking hate me. you don't want anything to do with me." he pushes another finger in your mouth. you choke. "but look at you." he takes his fingers out with a pop. you try to turn around to face him.

he's stronger than you. he fumbles with his belt.

"do you want me to fuck you?" he asks it lowly, against the shell of your ear.

"no." it's a blatant lie; patrick lets go of you.

but you just don't want to admit it. you don't move an inch. it's you that pulls him back into you. mumbling into his mouth how you don't want him, how you should've won.

he gnaws on your lip, forcing his tongue into your mouth as he hikes your leg up.

"but you didn't win." he wraps a hand around your throat. "i did."

he pulls himself out of his pants, and lines himself up before quickly deciding to turn you back around, so he can fuck you from behind.

"what's--"

"I'm not fucking making love to you." he shoves himself inside you. "i'm using you."

[jscrawls]

Grave mistakes

Gotham City is full of a lot of characters, criminals, creepy clowns, man eating plants, eccentric billionaires. But all that rolled into one household?

Warning: contains mentions of blood, witchcraft, dead people, fire, ghosts, general spooky stuff, it's an Addams reader they're gonna be freaky,

Part 3: best served cold

🔹🔹🔹

Dick is a very busy man, between patrolling bludhaven all by his lonesome, the multiple hero teams he regularly teams up with, and trying to manage a job and just the smallest modicum of a social life. in short, dick doesn’t have free time.

so it was odd to him when bruce called him up one day out of the blue and asked him to come over for a visit, no cases or mysteries, no asking him to fill in for him for whatever reason, just a visit and a chat. dick wondered if the older man had something terminal he was gonna drop on him.

“so what’s this all about, afternoon teatime and a chat?” dick asks sardonically as he leans forward and interlocks his fingers on the island counter, two glasses of lemonade, courtesy of alfred, between them.

“i just felt like chatting, i haven’t seen much of you lately.” bruce leans back in his chair as he regards dick, there’s a tension in his shoulders that dick is painfully familiar with. he wants to sigh, the old mans got something on his mind.

“i’ve been busy, B. is everything alright? lets cut the fluff.” dicks fingers drum the countertop, he doesn’t mean to be so impatient but sometimes he can’t help it with the family, he feels like they’re codependent on him like little kids.

bruce meets his eye, his jaw flexes and for a second dick thinks he’s about to get snappy. bruce sighs and drops his arms, dick feels anxiety prickle in his chest, maybe something is actually wrong with the old man?

“…..there’s a new neighbor next door.” dick blinks dumbly, he called him all the way from bludhaven to gossip about his neighbor? maybe the old man is finally living his grouchy old neighbor best self, he just needs his bifocals and slippers and maybe a crossword in front of him. “you coud’ve just texted me if you wanted to complain about new people, what are the moving trucks too loud? are they trying to start an HOA?”

Bruce looks unamused and Dick rolls his eyes, he won't even fake laugh for him.

“They're strange, really strange.” Bruce mutters as he leans forward to grab his drink, giving Dick a stern look when he looks like he's going to laugh at him.

“how strange we talking? Normal Gotham weird or Eldritch multidimensional horror weird.” “Normal Gotham weird is a little too close to Eldritch multidimensional weird, Dick. That's not a great comparison.” Bruce challenges with a raised brow, scratching at his jaw stubble as they have another stare down.

“…why am I here B.” Dick sighs as he looks away, he knows why, he just wants the old man to ask nicely. That'd be appreciated.

After he looks away Bruce relaxes a little, he feels a little bad to drag Dick all the way here for this, but he's the best man he can picture for when he has in mind. “…I was invited to meet the neighbor later, dinner at their home. I need you to come with me.”

Dick grimaces at that, not even a ‘please?’ rude.

“And…? You want me to snoop through some rich people junk, Honeypot them while you snoop, what's the details here.” Dick wants to bang his head on the counter, of course it's work. He just hopes he doesn't end up in something crazy tonight.

“you're the distraction, hopefully. I don't think they've had time to install cameras in that safety hazard of a house yet, so no tapping unfortunately.” Bruce goes into mission mode, speaking clinically as ever about doing something unhinged. Dick again drums his fingers against the counter as he replies. “You can't spy on your neighbor's private property? How annoying.”

“are you going to do it or not.”

Something between irritation and resignation twists behind dick's ribs, he hates when he pulls rank on him and starts with that particular tone. “…..I didn't bring clothes for a dinner with me.”

“you know I have something somewhere, get ready in an hour and we'll drive over.”

“thank you Dick, you're sooo kind to drop everything to come help me on such short notice” Dick mumbles sarcastically as he pushes away from the island counter, lemonade in hand. He's getting ready in his old room before he snaps at the old man.

🔹🔹🔹

First noticable thing, the place is clearly in need of some major repairs. second thing, someone's been gardening in the front, Though it seems they missed all of the weeds and thorny brambles.

Bruce gives dick a look when he reaches out to pull a leaf off a briar bordering the path up to the porch, he doesn't miss the eye roll he gets in return as they both dodge grabby plants. Dick shoves his hands in the pockets of his borrowed dark jacket to avoid picking at anymore things. Bruce bites his cheek when he notices the irritated tense in the slope of his shoulders.

Stepping up on the stoop, Bruce reaches over to ring the doorbell, it doesn't work. He'd assume the wiring just rusted out if he couldn't blatantly see the freshly cut power cord under the button, how friendly looking.

With no other choice he knocks, silence, he knocks again, more silence. Him and Dick exchange a look.

“you sure they said tonight? Might not be home.” “Obviously I'm sure, let's try-” the door quickly swings open.

“Hello there my new friend, you must be Mr Bruce Wade. Lovely to meet you! Oh and your companion as well!”

They're friendly sounding, but they're dressed like they're about to attend a devil's sacrament. Bruce knows more than anyone that looks can be deceiving but…. Well Alfred said they're quite a lot to take in.

“yes hi, nice to meet you too! Thank you so much for having me over like this, this is my boy Richard, hope you don't mind the extra guest…” he puts on a charming smile as he offers a handshake, one that's gotten him out of a lot of situations before. It's Brucie Wayne time.

Dick also offers a handshake, a big grin on his face as he eyes them up a little, he's already laying some groundwork as he squeezes their hand. “Nice to meet you, please just call me dick. Bruce Wade and everyone else does.”

Bruce's smile twitches but remains in place, he knows dick's in a mood so he'll take anything he throws at him this evening. Hopefully things go well and that's all that'll be tossed.

“Very well Dick, please come in both of you. Dinners on the stove and I've got tea brewing, come now!” The neighbor ushers them in, that seemed weirdly easy considering they just met.

Both men step inside and close the door behind them, the interior of the house is….. Matching the exterior. Water damage everywhere, possibly from a damaged roof or leaking pipes, peeling wallpaper, rotten out carpets, this place doesn't seem suitable for human living. Bruce glances at Dick, who glances back.

The living room is a whole other story.

“Take a seat, make yourselves uncomfortable while I bring out some drink.” The neighbor gestures to the couch and then energetically strolls out of the room, that thing looks like a tetanus trap. The decorations in the room are more concerning in Bruce's mind.

“…good thing we're up to date on our shots.” Bruce hears Dick mutter under his breath, he bumps him with his elbow and steps around the coffin being used as a coffee table, it looks real.

Once they both carefully settle on the threadbare couch they glance around casually, that's definitely an alter across the room, candles and incense burners are lit on a stand, various artifacts are arranged in a strategic pattern and it looks like there's a vial of something dark sitting in the middle? Possibly blood. The hair on the back of Bruce's neck stands up.

“Bruce, on the right…” Dick murmurs quietly, when Bruce glances over he's greeted by the sight of a damn noose hanging from the neck of a taxidermied moose head, an almost impressive entomology taxidermy case hangs below the macabre sight. Bruce isn't sure if he should be worried about the new neighbor or pull a weapon out.

Before they can find more disturbing things to gawk at, the neighbor returns. Silver colored tray in hand while they carry a hot kettle in the other.

“Apologies for the wait, my dear friends, I'm still sorting out my kitchen.” They set the tray down on the coffin and take a seat in an armchair across from them.

Bruce just smiles at them and shrugs a shoulder carelessly. “It's no problem at all.”

Dick pointedly glances around and then gives them a charming smirk, leaning back and spreading his knees just slightly. “No bother to me, you've got an interesting place here, real unique.”

Bruce has to fight off the twitch in his neck, he asked for this but it's still weird to see his boy act like that sometimes. He tries not to think about how many times dick saw him flirting growing up.

The new neighbor smiles and leans forward to pour some tea for everyone, they put a pinch of sugar in theirs and immediately start to drink the still clearly hot liquid seemingly without care.

“Thank you! Many family heirlooms in here, I believe the spirits like my collections.”

Dick picks up his cup and stirs the hot liquid with his finger with only a slight grimace, Bruce is relieved the clear nail polish he's wearing doesn't change color. “Well i do too, big fan of all your dead things.” Dick sounds playful, trying to prompt a back and forth and build a rapport.

“Mm, you're sweet, dear old Dolores has been quiet in there for a few generations, otherwise I'm sure she'd thank you.” They casually bump the coffin with their foot, a very long silence followed that statement.

“……okay. Yeah okay that's a…shame…?” Dick fumbles for words, he quickly sets his teacup down.

Bruce quietly clears his throat and dumps a spoonful of sugar in it before he takes a sip of his tea, trying to get over that casual statement while dread curls it's way down his spine. He nearly spits his drink out and chokes a little at the taste. “Wha-is this salt?” Did they mix containers in the kitchen? It tastes disgusting.

“Yes, do you like? It's my grandmamas favorite way to take it.”

“….. It's very stand out.” Bruce isn't sure if he wants to make himself drink it just to be polite, this person needs an evaluation at Arkham or something.

Dick interjects quickly. “So, can I ask a little about yourself? How'd you wind up in Gotham of all places?”

“I was suddenly on the market after a little fire incident, I saw this little gem was Going to be demolished and I just instantly fell in love with the place, the views out the back are to die for.”

If Bruce remembers correctly there's a graveyard and a swamp in the backyard.

“Can I ask about the fire incident?” Dick leans forward and puts his elbows on his knees, fingers interlocked as he smiles at them.

They sigh wistfully and take a sip of their hot beverage, for a moment both men think it's a sensitive topic before they answer.

“It's a beautifully tragic story, my ancestral home was broken into and defaced by an angry mob. The people in it accused me of witchcraft and thought I'd been mind controlling the mayor. I tried to explain that I hadn't done anything like that since my college days but they weren't satisfied, things took an interesting turn and next thing I know my home went up in a glorious blazing pyre while I watched.”

Bruce isn't sure what part to focus first, judging by dicks expression neither does he. “…. Sorry to hear about your home.” Bruce says carefully, does he even have to sneak off and go through any of their belongings with how openly crazy they are?

“Yeah, sounds rough. You look like you came out on top though, at least you're alive?”

“Please, don't remind me.”

Another silence fills the room, Bruce looks at Dick who's staring at them with a slight furrow in his brow, are they okay?…

“Anywho, we've just talked about me, please tell me about yourselves. Your boy said you were on Jersey shore, Mr Wade?”

Bruce is caught off guard by that, that's such a random thing to ask “I've never been on-” a timer goes off somewhere in the house.

“Oh, suppers ready! Please come with me I'll show you the dining room, there's a very interesting story about the centerpiece…”

They stand up and grab at both Bruce and dick's arms, energetically pulling them up and out of the room. Just what have they walked into?

🔹🔹🔹

M.List | prev | next

A/n: this chapter got away from me a bit, it's longer than I thought 🤔 Bruce and Dick met the reader! They've got thoughts.

Taglist: @lunarapple

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Movie Week [review]

Day 2 - Secret Obsession (2019)

Yandere Score: 9/10

Overall Score: 6/10

I hate to only give this movie a 6/10, because I really enjoyed it.

But it's the kind of fun, turn-your-brain-off flick best enjoyed with ice cream and zero critical thinking skills.

The premise is solid - our heroine Jennifer (Brenda Song) wakes up with amnesia after being chased down by a masked killer. A great set up for tension, and a pretty classic intro to a thriller.

The opening scene yanks us straight into the action. A rainy night. A mysterious, knife wielding stranger. A desperate dash for safety. (If only they could have kept this pace up for the entire movie, sigh).

You can see where I'm going with this. It doesn't go well for our girl.

After she wakes up in the hospital, we're introduced to her husband, Russel (Mike Vogel). His character design had two words on it and those were "buff nerd." Biceps and bifocals.

He's with her through every step of her recovery, sweet and steadfast while she grapples with the guilt of not remembering him, or their life together.

But most importantly, he's here to whisk her away to safety! That safety being a gorgeous house out in the mountains.

With no cell service or nearby neighbours.

I love the cabin chic look Jen, but maybe not the best place to be when there's a killer out for blood.

As you can expect, things go south and they go south fast. Not even half an hour in and we get our first on screen murder. Trust me, this particular yandere is not shy about his intentions.

He works hard to earn his 9/10 rating. He's been obsessed with Jen for years, and her getting married is the final straw. Either she can be his, or she can join his rapidly growing list of victims.

We've got plenty of the classic tropes. Cameras in her bedroom. Isolation. Chaining her to the bed. A total catch, no idea why Jen was never into him.

He's the quintessential "If I can't have you, no one can" sort of guy. Doing whatever he has to to keep his girl. He gets creative with it too. How many yanderes can say they broke out Photoshop as part of their grand plan?

Unfortunately, he's far from perfect. And I don't mean the murders. (Hot guys can do a little murder sometimes, as a treat).

His plan hinges on people just... not checking ID? You're lucky you made it as far as you did, pretty boy. Guess some deranged killers get all the luck.

On top of that, the chemistry between him and Jen is terribly lukewarm. A few tense moments, but nothing simmering hot.

For the most part, he isn't very scary or emotive. Which is a HUGE missed opportunity.

Show us the passion that led him to this point! Show us a man on the end of his tether, desperate to keep his girl! Give us something more than bland acting, and a range beyond straight-faced and slightly-less-straight-faced.

Despite his long list of crimes, he just isn't intimidating.

Maybe the intention was to have this non-threatening guy do all these things as a way to ratchet up the tension, but I don't think the movie had the budget or the time to pull it off.

He gets much better in the third act - more demanding, more handsy. But it never reaches the point where I'm at the edge of my seat wondering if he's about to lose his shit.

Jennifer as a character is moderately likeable. Despite spending quite a bit of time with her, I struggle to think of anything majorly distinctive. Not great. Not terrible. I think it's Brenda Song herself rather than Jennifer who I end up liking.

She's also - how do I say this politely - not always the smartest. And I get it girl, it's hard to think under pressure. But how the hell do you manage to lock your keys inside your car when you're being chased by a killer?

She's lucky she has her golden retriever man to protect her, really.

In terms of technicals, I'd say they're okay. Not very eloquent of me, but that's exactly what they are.

The cinematography is passable. There weren't a lot of shots that made me pause and stare. It has that glossy look that a lot of direct-to-streaming movies have, where you can tell the budget is stretched a bit thin, and the camera guy is antsy to get his cheque.

The score doesn't stick out to me at all. Hate to say it.

Don't go in expecting a blockbuster, high budget film. It's fun but utterly mid-teir in budget, story and characters. The premise has promise, but it fails to deliver as much tension and terror as it could.

Would I recommend? Despite its issues, I'd say it's worth picking up. Not the scariest or prettiest movie on this list, but it's a quick fix of yandere to get you through the day.

Day 1 - Fear (1996)

Day 2 - Secret Obsession (2019)

Day 3 - Hush (2016)

Day 4 - The Perfect Guy (2015)

Day 5 - The Boy Next Door (2015)

Day 6 - The Invisible Man (2020)

Day 7 - Til Death Do Us Part (2017)

Taglist: @jsprien213 @trolleri-trollera @mel-vaz

[pedge-page]

Wait ok hear me out. Bored preggo wife starts reading smut and finds she really enjoys a breeding kink/men getting real nasty and aggressively talking about breeding their woman. So she asks Joel to try it and when he does, she’s like grossed out “uhh… nevermind” and he’s so fuckin frustrated and blue balled 😂

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife: Role Play Me Not

Notes: Thank you for your patience with these requests lately, this one was from March and I've been thinking about it ever since!

warnings: almost smut, lots of dirty talk and degrading language, and usual shennanigans with these two

18+ ONLY

- - - -

It’s pretty late, Joel’s body is wracked, and nothing feels better than the foam mattress bed he’s curled up on. You had a pretty good day, judging by your happy soft hums and scrolling aimlessly on your phone. Hopefully whatever nonsense thing you’re gonna purchase with his card and surprise his doorstep tomorrow morning won’t be too harrowing, but for now, he’ll live with it if it means some rest.

But your incessant giggles, matched with the way you’re shrinking under your brightly lit phone reading something so furiously just begs Joel to ask:

“What are you doin’?”

“Nothin!” You quip quickly, rotating best you can so he can’t see the obvious thing you’re hiding on your phone.

“Okay.” He tosses the cover over his shoulder and presses his head back into the pillow again to close his eyes.

Obviously not the answer you wanted, so you loudly snort with your fake ass ‘Tee Hee!’ again because this motherfucker better take the god damn hint.

He sighs. “What.”

“Hmm? Nothin!”

Joel squeezes his eyes shut, gritting his teeth. You can’t see his face from your side, but even if you could, he doesn’t think it would deter you.

You clear your throat before uttering your loudest and most obnoxious giggle.

“JUST—!” Tossing the covers down and rolling to his back, he remembers to take a breath, channeling his calm bear voice. “—just show me already. Please.” He’s exhausted, rubbing his face with both hands before holding out one palm behind him for you to place your phone.

You excitedly shove it in his grasp, and Joel rolls over to see. His eyes take a moment to adjust to the brightness, so he collects his reading-glasses from the tableside and props them upon his nose.

Its quiet for a solid minute, and your heart is racing as he stare at his broad back, the fabric of his shirt all stretched tight to accentuate that massive man of man that is your manly man—

He rolls back over with a questionable uncertainty, fear and paralysis mixed with concern and shock.

You’re giddily nodding your head, lips tucked under your teeth from the excitement. “Can we do that?”

He opens his mouth but no words come out. He doesn’t even know where to begin. 

“This is—uh. you like…this?”

“Well I don’t know, but I wanna give it a try…”

He scratches his skull with two fingers, hoping it’ll dig deep enough to itch the bad feeling he has in his brain. “I don’t know, baby, It’s a bit … much.” 

“But you call me your pretty slutty wife sometimes! It’s not much different!”

He glances back at the vivid words on the screen. It is VERY much different than that. But you put on your famous puppy pout, with those big round gleaming eyes, trembling fishy lips staring up at him, topping it off by squishing your tits together so they’re bursting out of the nightgown and smashing into his chest.

That’ll do it.

He shrugs, chucking his bifocals behind him with renewed energy arousing his body, especially down south. He gets to his knees, pulling your cover off from your lap and tracing his big hands over the soft expanse of your thigh like a new toy. you bite your lips, shouldering off your spaghetti straps so your tits are close to being popped out. He rolls the soft fabric of your gown up your growing belly and presses his lips against the swell. “Shit, that’s what I like to see. Gonna be a little fuck toy whore for Daddy to play with?”

“Ah…time out.” You hold your hands in a T formation. He stops rubbing and looks down towards your face. 

“Uh—yes?”

“I don’t like whore.”

“Ah okay—Daddy’s fuck toy?”

“Ok that’s—mmm.”

“What? No good?”

“It’s just ok. We’ll work on that. You can keep going.”

He shakes his head a little but resumes his gentle ghost of his fingers and lips, cascading lower until the scratchy prickle of his beard is at your naval. “Bred ya nice n’ good huh? Little breedin’ stock just f’me—“

“Oh hold on.”

“What.”

“Breeding ‘stock’? What am I, chicken soup?” You chuckle.

He purses his lips. “I don’t know, it was in the damn fic you made me read!”

“Okay okay, sheesh!” You toss your hands up.

“Can I please keep goin now?”

You nod, and he commences lower. 

“Body was made for breeding. Now spread those petals—“

“Oh what I’m a flower now?”

“Damnit, Baby! Am I doin this or not??” He curses. 

You go quiet and nod again, shrinking in against the headboard.

“Just about had it with ya whinin’, baby. I should tie you up like the naughty cow you are—“

“Farm metaphor again?”

“N BREED YOU—“ he seethes, gripping your thighs and hitching them around his hips so you can feel his bulge press into your core. “Breed you over and over again, like the dumb little cum dump you deserve—“

“Ugh hold up this position isn’t comfortable I need ta—“ you wiggle out of his grasp and begin trying to alleviate the pressure your baby is putting on your spine. Joel all but abandons holding your legs as he sits on his knees in front of you with his thumb and finger pressed tightly into his eye sockets. 

You wiggle and roll, unable to find a good position to sink yourself comfortably. The bed shifts with each turn, and Joel is damn near done role playing with you and about to just fuck you with your face down in the mattress whether you wanted to or not when—

“Okie! I’m ready Daddio!” You announce. 

You’re in the exact same position.

“Are we good to continue?” He asks slowly, his frustration being held at bay along with his hard cock that’s begging for some action finally.

You nod. 

He finally tugs his dick out and positions it at your entrance, spitting onto your slit. “Now shut up, take this fucking cock, and let me fuck my seed into you cuz that’s all ya good for—“

“Ya know what.” You wave your hand over this whole scene. “I’m done. This is … no. Nevermind, I’m done with this. M’ready for bed now.”

You slap his cock away like it’s a needy hand and roll to your side, slinking the cover over your shoulder again and turning off your light with a little grin. 

Joel just falls back on his haunches, his cheeks puffed red, balls swollen blue, fully awake all over, with a grumpy cat-worthy scowl etched into his face staring down at you.

- - - -

Taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow

[rococo-sonata]

i digged up in my notes and guess what

Kunikida HEADCANONS ☆📗 part 2!!! + some other characters at the end!!!

- he absolutly hates having his hair down and having his bangs in front of his face like in the oav so he put heavy amont of hair gel that makes his hair feel kinda like cardboard

- he was a troublemaker as a kid

- he's cisgender in a very transgender way. he considers himself a boy only because he was born as one and never really thought about it or feel any connexion to it despite having a schlong. like he's kinda gender apathetic

- it's not a rat tail!!! it's some sort of weird jellyfish haircut he only ties the lower layer and use way too much hair gel

- during his earlier years at the agency he used to have depressive episodes, where he forgot his ideals and bedrotted for days. now he feels so awful about it that he doesn't allow himself to take such breaks

- he likes poetry, mostly romanticism and naturalism. he sometimes writes some himself and has a notebook for it. Dazai found it and thinks his writing style is cringe and corny (he's kinda right...)

- he has a weird laugh, like an ugly one but it's cute

- once he came up with a schedule for katai and katai didn't even look at it

now just random dump of silly hcs i made up about the cast

- atsushi climbs the stairs on all four (even outside...)

- when someone shows him a silly video of a cat falling he takes it personally and answer something like "IT'S NOT FUNNY!! HE HURT HIMSELF😡"

- the type of guy to bite his nails until it bleed and peel the skin of his lips and kunikida swats his hand when he does

- fukuchi always has a favorite in the hunting dogs, sometimes it's tachihara, sometimes teruko, sometimes jouno but it's never tecchou. they're all kinda his children and tecchou is the least favorite💔

- he got fangs like a cat. he's literally just a big cat

- tachihara saw fukuchi as a father figure. he used to admire him a lot and think he was super cool so he sometimes copied his posture or mannerisms. im saying that bcs of this artwork! like look he's literally copying him they're so cute😭

so imagine how absolutly disappointed he was when he learnt he was kamui.. and when the man he kinda saw like his dad stabbed his eyes... :/ womp womp

- jouno believes he is the most beautiful mesmerizing creature to have ever blessed this planet

- natsume is trans!!! he's a calico cat!!! calico cats are at 99.9% females!!! NATSUME IS AFAB

- he's katai's dad. don't ask me why it's just that scene where he shows up at katai's house they got such a cute dynamic he's his father in my head

- ango got the worst eye correction ever. probably has bifocal glasses for staying on his computer for so long

- kyu does age regression, because this is NOT a 13 years old

- katai is an avid reddit user. he is not the same person online his digital footprint is ass

- he needs to change his glasses but would rather see all blurry than go outside and see an optician

- i feel like he would love shoujo and slice of life anime that are girl lead like k-on, lucky star, nichijou or azumanga daioh. but not in a weird way. he would envy feminity, how in touch with their own feelings they are, and women frienship and intimacy, he wishes he could experience that too

- he loves cats and wishes he could adopt one but he knows that he wouldn't be able to take care of it in his state and would probably forget to feed it

[trashmouth-richie]

masterlist

eddie x fem reader

chapter summary: how sweet it is, to be loved.

series summary: You were desperate for a roommate after Nancy got married and moved out. An ad in the paper goes unanswered until someone comes knocking on the door.

special thanks: to anyone and everyone who read a single chapter or kept up with this series to the end, thank you so much- this story wouldn’t be possible without your support.

author’s note: I can’t believe this is the final chapter for this series, I’m feeling so many emotions right now but mostly just love for Eddie and Tooty and everything in between. Thank you to anyone who has helped me beta ( @sweetsweetjellybean especially!)this story or fan girled with me over upcoming chapters. To any of the very talented artists who have made any art for this series, thank you so very much, each and every piece holds such a special place in my heart. To anyone who is mentioned in this story, thank you so so much, @loveshotzz @chechelia @carolmunson @mopeymopeymouse and everyone else— thank you for allowing me to include you in this series. To everyone who has liked, rb’d left a comment or interacted in any way with this series— THANK YOU. This series has brought such joy & heartache to me, and I’m so lucky to have people enjoy it. 🖤

Cereal

Hotdogs

Bananas

Jelly —grape, not strawberry

Bread

Crackers 

Toothpaste 

Noodles 

Chicken thighs— babe are you making fun of me?

Heartburn medicine

You tap the chewed cap of your pen along the lined paper of a scribble heavy grocery list. Desperately wishing you had x-ray vision to see inside your cabinets and remember what you were in need of, you chew the cap again.

Giggling to yourself every so often at Eddie’s notes on the grocery list. Crossing off items he thought weren’t needed, mostly vegetables he didn’t like. And always making sure you got his favorites. And not, “that healthy bullshit cereal, give me sugar or kill me babe, I will not eat Raisin Bran” 

Peanut butter 

Sunny D

Thyme 

Heavy cream

Basil

Carrots

Onions

Chicken stock

Hey sweetheart can you please get me some candy? I like skittles but you know I love m&ms.. and twizzlers, it’s for the shop. :) 

The lady behind the desk chirps a name again, but you are still racking your brain on what else was needed. The soup you had planned on making tonight would be perfect for the chilly weather rolling in. November was coming in like a lion, ferociously cold and temperatures already dipping below zero. 

Eddie loved your potato soup, so much that he begged you to make it after another long, grisly week at the shop. 

He loved everything you made, even your chili that he doctored up by adding sour cream and Doritos to it. Bon Appetit he would say with a smirk on his lips, a heaping bowl steaming in front of him. 

The clerk behind the desk tutted and huffed, the schedule was getting behind.  

“Tooty Munson! Is there a Tooty Munson here?”

You glance up quickly at the sound of your name, “shit,” you breathe, “here, yes,” you scramble shoving the list and pen into your purse, buried amongst the gum wrappers and a spilled container of tic-tacs. 

The receptionist clicks her papers against the formica counter and holds her nose in the air, as if this job and you were beneath her. 

“He’s ready for you now.”

—-

“…alright, Ed, did ya look o’er those applications yet? ‘Tween you D and Mike I don’t think we are going to be able to keep up everything that we got on the schedule.” 

Wayne’s eyebrows are raised as he looks over the bifocals perched on his nose. He had been scouring over the schedules and the books for the better half of the afternoon since lunch hour—trying to figure out how to swing their overloaded schedule. 

It wasn’t that they couldn’t do the work, they were simply short handed. After Boom closed his doors  in Hawkins, he had recommended to his regulars that they travel to Bridgeport to Master Mechanics to see Eddie and Wayne. Business was booming, and the Munson’s could barely keep up.

Early on, Wayne and Eddie decided they would only be open until noon on Saturday’s but now with the packed schedule, they worked til almost dark every night of the week, including some Sundays.

Wayne rubs his short nails through his scratchy mostly white scruff, “we can’t have these boys workin’ like this, they’ll quit on us before you can slap a tick.”

Eddie was leaning against the doorway, a bottle of Coca Cola held limp in his hand, a greasy rag stuffed in his back pocket. 

“Yeah,” he yawns, stretching out his back, “let’s hire ‘em all, we need the extra hands, or I’m gonna need an extra back.”

Wayne grunts in confirmation. The highlighter squeaks as it’s drug across the phone numbers on the applications, “I’ll call ‘em first thing in the morning,” he straightens up his desk and shoves the papers into a drawer. 

His glasses clink as he folds them up and lays them next to a picture of the newlywed Munson’s. He leans back in his chair, the leather crinkling beneath his worn coveralls, “I’m callin’ it for the day,” he exhaled, staring up at the ceiling, “it’s been one helluva week and I’m shot, tell the boys to go home to their wives.” 

“and you too,” he points, “go take care of your wife, Ed, tell her I hope she starts to feelin’ better.” 

Eddie’s curls bounce as he nods his head, completely drained from the week, shit maybe he was getting sick too? “she went to the doctor today, probably just the flu, Max told her it was going around.” 

“Well then,” Wayne says, standing up and clicking off the table lamp, “take tomorrow off and rest–

both of ya, hear me?” 

“Don’t need to tell me twice.” 

—

Eddie’s tires crunch on the ice and hard packed snow of the driveway, a silent serenity, meaning he is only moments away from holding you in his arms, seconds away from kissing your lips, and if he was lucky, minutes from eating something delicious to fill his grumbling stomach. 

He throws the truck into neutral, killing the engine and tossing the keys around his finger. Tracks from your Jeep tires lead into the garage he had built last spring. A huge project that your friends were paid in beer and a bonfire when it was all finished. 

Thrusting his sore hands into his canvas coat, he ducked his chin into the zipper and braved the asthma inducing gust of wind to the front door as it whipped through his curls. 

The house was oddly quiet, only the hum of the refrigerator making any sort of sound. Usually when he came home you’d be playing the radio, or talking on the phone to Max or Nancy, greeting him with a pop of your head around the wall in the kitchen or from the hallway, the prettiest smile put on your lips. 

“Princess?” he called out in endearment as he untied his boots and put them on the shoe rack. His coatwas already hanging on its hook, usually next to your purse but your purse was thrown onto the arm chair, and your shoes were in the hallway like you had walked right out of them. 

He undid the buttons of his work blues, letting them hang at his waist like a mechanic cape. Socked feet trudge down the carpeted hallway, you must not be feeling any better, probably too exhausted to make it out of bed.

But Eddie was wrong.

You were perched on top of the comforter, coat still on but unzipped staring at the door waiting for his arrival, fuzzy socks on your wiggling toes. 

“Hey, handsome,” you said, trying to keep your pitch even. 

“There’s my girl,” his velvet voice wrapping around you like a hug as he crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching for your left hand and kissing the finger that adorned the prettiest ring he’d ever bought, “how’s my beautiful wife?” 

It had been five months since you said I do. A June wedding in your own backyard, filled with friends who had served as family for years, gathered by your sides. 

“I forgot the potatoes,” you say blankly, a weird little smile on your face. 

Eddie sits down next to you, rubbing your thigh back and forth and letting out an exhausted yawn, “That’s alright, I can make us some grilled cheese if you’re up for—”

“I was looking at my grocery list, and couldn’t remember what I’d forgot.”

Eddie’s confused, but wants to reassure you that its no big deal, he’s a grown man he can certainly make supper for himself and his wife. “Sweetheart it’s okay, don’t beat yours—“

“Can’t make potato soup without potatoes.” And this time you laugh, kind of whimsically and in disbelief. 

His brows turn inward, still he just keeps reassuring you that everything is fine, “It’s okay Tooty, seriously. Let me go make you some—”

And for the third time tonight, you interrupted him, “doctor said that’s normal.”

He’s exhausted and is honestly more confused than he would like to admit, “what? The flu?” 

“No, no. “ you say, a twisted little smirk on your face, “forgetting things, throwing up in the morning, being exhausted… totally normal.” 

“Babe?” He moves to touch the back of his hand to your head, wincing when he realizes that he’s probably freezing.

“I was so scared the last time,” you whisper, teary eyed, “terrified.. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but now—.”

Eddie reaches for your cheeks, holding them softly, his eyes searching yours, desperate to figure out what the hell is going on, “what am I missing here? It’s normal to have… the flu?” 

“No, it’s not the flu,” you finally admit, looking up at him and rubbing the back of his hands with your thumbs, 

“Eddie, I’m pregnant.”

— 

You could fill an empty pool up from the tears that sprung from Eddie’s eyes that night. He was overjoyed, holding you tight while he wept into your hair. Kissing your belly and whispering to the baby. Small streaks of tears flowing down your swollen skin and the faded scar across your lower belly. 

Each month that ticked by, Eddie’s worry only doubled. 

The day after you had found out, he woke early. Watching as your chest rose and fell as you slept soundly in the original mock up of his hellfire shirt.

It was threadbare, cotton worn so thin it was practically see through— but you claimed it as your own back in the early days of your new relationship, hands on your hips and the infamous pout on your lip as you playfully argued with him about how it was now yours. 

Dusk painted the diamond covered ground from the fresh snow over night. Falling as delicately as his lips allover your skin. Soaking up the dainty noises from your throat when he carefully slid into you, tears spilling from both of your eyelashes, love filling the room more sweetly than it ever had before. 

The soft cotton of the blankets hugged your curves, and he exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he gazed down at his beautiful— now pregnant— wife. 

His sweet Tooty, carrying a gift more precious than gold. 

Kissing your cheek—he dressed quietly, scribbling a note on the bedside table about going into town for a bit, but to just relax in bed until he got home. 

-

You were having a dreamless sleep, not even sugarplums could dance in your head with the overwhelming exhaustion that your body was trying desperately to catch up from. 

Something cold then silky smooth brushed against your cheek, and a velvet voice sang a little good morning greeting into your ear. Your loving husband. Pressing sweet angel kisses behind your ear and on your eyelids. 

Your bedroom was lit with the glow of a warm sun in the afternoon light. Playing a yellowed hue of warmth across your comforter, pulling the caramel color from Eddie’s curls and making his eyes look like a dreamy cup of coffee swirling with creamer. 

His lips hug yours, both smiling into one another. Heart swelling more than your toes would in the months to come. 

C’mon, got a surprise for you, princess. 

The spare bedroom that was once a room for band equipment, then Max’s bedroom for almost a year before she eventually moved in with Gareth and Will, now held storage, was completely organized, and held a wide array of items. 

A crib, brand new and still in the box, a pack n play, a swing, every box of diapers ranging from size 1 - 5, baby gates, outlet covers, fancy locks for cabinets and drawers, rubber bumpers for sharp corners and edges of tables. 

A bookshelf full of baby books, how to’s for new parents, nursery rhymes by mother goose, books suggesting baby names and their meanings, and a guide on how to quit smoking. 

Tucked into the corner of the room by the bookshelf and near the window, was a rocking chair. 

 “Eddie,” you gasp, running sleep from your eyes, “wh-what is all of this?” 

He’s smiling ear to ear, trying to curb his enthusiasm a tiny bit. “I might have gotten a little carried away.” 

Turning towards the shelf you see a plastic sack, full of candy and bubble gum, and mints. “Edward Joseph Munson.” 

“Don’t scold me, mama,” he jokes, grabbing onto your hips and kissing your hairline, “I’m just spoiling our baby.”

God you loved this man, he’d break his neck to give you the world. He was the most loving husband, and now you got to see him step into a new role. One completely foreign to you both, only have shared the idea for a few moments before it was ripped away. 

You lean into him, holding him tight and working your nose into the crook of his neck. “You’re gonna be the best dad, Eddie.”

He doesn’t hide the tear that slips down his cheek, just lets it slide and collect under his chin, his voice is quiet when he asks, “you really think so?”

“I know it.”

—

Wayne and Karen followed behind the new family in his pickup all the way home from the hospital. They were going to stay for a few days, help you both get adjusted to life as parents.

Karen and Nancy had filled your freezer with casseroles, soups and fresh bread. It was a hot July day when you were scheduled for the c section, and when it was all said and done four days in the hospital was more than enough and you were ready to be at home, snuggled up with your new family. 

It was a battle of which Munson man could shed the most tears. Eddie and Wayne were both wiping away tears for hours. Overjoyed with emotions that everyone was healthy. 

“No you don’t,” Wayne said as you reached for the back door to grab the diaper bag, “you go right inside and get comfy, get them legs up!”

You do as your told, leaving Wayne, Eddie and Karen to carry the load in. The hospital stay was overwhelmingly sweet, but you knew Eddie was itching to get back to normalcy, still not liking the way he felt cooped up in the hospital even though it had been years since you both had the horrifying visit. 

Bags and suitcases are carried in and set into your master bedroom to be unpacked later, bottles and diapers are stacked and put into their respectable places. Karen starts warming up the chicken casserole she had prepared earlier that day. Wayne fussed around with the new dishwasher that he and Eddie had installed the month prior. 

Throughout the commotion you had fallen asleep, legs propped up in the recliner, but you woke to the sound of the front door closing, and there he was.

Eddie was holding them both, large hands cocooned around their swaddled little bodies, crooked into each of his arms. Something he was nervous about but slowly getting the hang of, the nurses told him he was a natural, and Wayne wept into Karen’s shoulder when Eddie introduced the twins to their grandpa. 

His normal obnoxious voice was murmuring low and quiet like a soft lullaby so as not to stir awake the sleeping little babies. 

He looked at them both, adoration and tears springing into his eyes. He had never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life. How he could have helped make something so small and delicate, he wouldn’t understand. But, he didn’t need to. 

A boy, born first— with his dark eyes and brown hair, and later the little girl, almost identical to his Tooty, and just as stubborn, both already wrapped around his fingers.

He murmured their names, and caught your eye as he said it, a smile so wide on his face that you were sure new dimples would bust through his cheeks, and you only heard the end of what he was saying. 

If you would have told yourself five years ago that you would one day own a home, get married to and have twins with Eddie Munson, you would have laughed on the spot. That loud mouth jackass of a guy you had once regretted letting move into your home, had moved right into your heart and never left. 

The demons inside you both were finally at bay, finding solace in one another in more ways than you had thought possible. Being loved by Eddie was everything you had thought love should be like. 

And you pinch yourself to make sure it's real, and each and every time, it is. 

“…babies,” he says, a smile on his lips and tears in his eyes as he looks over at you, his family, “we’re home.” 

The end

♡tag list: @dashingdeb16 @emxxblog @pretendthisnameisclever @mommybaby-witch @eddies-acousticguitar @tlclick73 @figmentofquinn @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @whenshelanded @micheledawn1975 @3rd-conchord * @leelei1980 @browneyes8288 @emilyslutface @mmunson86 @josephquinnsfreckles @eddiesxangel @elegantkoalapaper * @str4ngergirlw0rld * @corrodedcoffincumslut @nailbatanddungeon @crybabyddl @zenathebeautiful @astela17 @taintedcigs @bettyfrommars @munsonsuccubus @munson-blurbs @hollandweather @serasvictoria @steviesgrl @curiositydooropened @ashyyboyy @urlbitchin @sllooney @lame0o @ali-r3n @bangaveragewhitewine @b-irock @enam3l @luxaeterna13 @manda-panda-monium @elthreetimes @joejoequinnquinn

[robogalaxies]

☎️ - The Unneeded But Happily Researched Crumbs Of Everything We Know About The Commissioner

“If anything happens… I’ll deny I ever knew you.”

The Commissioner is, as we all know, a mystery, and I hope it stays that way, but I put it upon myself to wrangle every little tidbit of information we have on him outside of giving cases! I do this solely because of three things:

I have nothing better to do

I find myself strangely endeared to his character (i.e. I do a gay little "favorite character" clap every time I hear him mentioned)

I want to share all my random knowledge with you all because I go digging for it in every S&M media there is

I'll be dividing this up into 4 sections for ease of access: comics lore, games lore (HtR, Telltale, TTIV), cartoon lore, and misc. lore. Some things MAY be assumptions based on other characters' reactions to what he MIGHT be saying or say about him, sure, but I will source all information on where to find it & provide images when they can be easily provided!~ If anything new comes up or I have forgotten something, I'll update. Until then... hope you love both hyperlinks and "at least I laughed at it" style commentary! ☎️

Comics Lore

The introduction of The Commissioner, as with everyone else! Small tidbits of his quite understated character outside of being The Phone are here, obviously, including:

the Commissioner's one and only speech bubble! (Bad Day on The Moon)

the beginnings of the implied "I love you" statements towards Sam & Max with an "XOXO" on a postcard (Bad Day on The Moon)

he shows SOME disdain towards Sam & Max's attitudes towards achieving their goals, being the one specifically to tell them to go on a road trip (On the Road #1, "Prisoners of The Casbah")

Games Lore

Hit the Road

The Commissioner is barely a character in this game (big surprise, right?) and you do not get much information on him minus the bare minimum of "he is Sam & Max's boss," so there's not much to be said here. In fact, I don't know why I mentioned it. Great game, though, go play it! Now! I'll wait until you get back :)

Save The World

Welcome back! There're only minor silly tidbits here, but they're needed for this comprehensive list. Everything is worth mentioning about a character with nothing to his name but "The Commissioner." I mean, you're reading this post, right?

wears bifocals! 👓 ("The Mole, The Mob, and The Meatball")

was once in contact with & worked with Harry Moleman, as he sent him to be the mole for the Toy Mafia. Crossover of the century... I wonder if he knows how far poor Harry has fallen ("The Mole, The Mob, and The Meatball")

Takes Sam & Max out for dinner sometimes, apparently, if they do well enough on their cases! Squirrel Garden sounds disgusting, but I'd be jazzed too if they also had the free breadsticks ("The Mole, The Mob, and The Meatball")

likely just a quick jab, so I don't really know why I'm putting it here other than humor, but Max apparently doesn't trust him! I hope that gets solved; Commissioner is sorta signing his meager paychecks ("Bright Side of The Moon")

Beyond Time and Space

The middle child of the Telltale trilogy, this game has barely anything in terms of tidbits given that he really only assigns the beginning cases in 1 out of 5 episodes, and even then, that doesn't give a single thing away. Despite this, there's gotta be one or two tidbits we should learn, right? Sure!

is aware of Sam's insistence on answering the phone & seemingly asks straight up why he didn't answer (What's Up, Beelzebub?)

Can confirm an "I love you" towards Max... d'aww! (What's Up, Beelzebub?)

The Devil's Playhouse

The Commissioner barely shows up or is referenced in this game, mainly due to the story existing outside of the common framing of "assigning cases," but we learn two small yet revealing tidbits:

British Columbian! 🇨🇦 (The City That Dares Not Sleep)

Has provided books on cultural and racial sensitivity for Sam & Max because they kept "reducing people to obvious stereotypes." (The City That Dares Not Sleep)

This Time, It's Virtual!

The phone exists yet again... but in your VR HEADSET! Some fairly funny Commissioner lore in this one even if you, like almost everyone I've seen in this fandom, dislike or even hate this game:

His family is in hiding, and I'm assuming Witness Protection?! Must come with the territory (phone call after completing first three Freelance Training segments in-game)

Can confirm an "I love you" of some sort said to Sam ... d'aww! (phone call after completing first three Freelance Training segments in-game)

Signs off even official, legal wanted posters with "The Commissioner," asking people to seek the help of Freelance Police & associates himself as PART of the Freelance Police!

signs your certificate at the end of the game, which mentions the Illuminati in conjunction with his name for some reason! What kind of policing are we running here....??

Cartoon Lore

Truly, the 90s cartoon is where most Commissioner lore lies if we take into consideration all of these happen within the same universe, which we likely shouldn't. This being said, the cartoon provides us with the only picture we have of the guy (see post photo above the cut). Alongside this, we also get a LOT more information than any other media:

before we even start the information in the ACTUAL cartoon, Sam & Max say within the show's initial Bible believe he's out to kill them, in some way, saying they're the "troubled, ungrateful sons he never had." That's so sweet ... in a way. As well, there's a very small section dedicated to the Commissioner as a character, though not much is said that we don't already know (Sam & Max Cartoon Series Bible)

has Geek's number, or at least a number to the Sub-Basment of Solitude, as he calls it more than once over the course of the series, which makes me wonder how well he may or may not know Geek! Like a grandniece or something (episodes 1, "The Thing That Wouldn't Stop It" & 3b, "They Came from Down There")

cried over the story of Sam & Max having to get rid of John, their beloved alligator son... must be a shared parental instinct (episode 6a, "That Darn Gator")

apparently sends sticker books in case briefings on a semi-regular basis, as Sam comments that he "loves when the Commissioner does that" as if it has happened before - how whimsical! (episode 6b, "We Drop at Dawn")

confirms the Commissioner as a legitimate police commissioner alongside being Sam & Max's boss (episode 6b, "We Drop at Dawn")

seemingly very fussy if not given his private bathroom and honor bar. Fancy stuff, Commissioner, & he apparently allows Sam and Max up there! Or not, they just sorta bust in. Whatever! Sharing is caring (episode 6b, "We Drop at Dawn")

the Commissioner has a DAUGHTER! and somehow, Sam & Max got invited to her WEDDING! I think she's beautiful and I hope she doesn't resent her special day getting ruined (episode 11a, "Kiss Kiss Bang Bang")

that iconic, signed, chest only photo given with the solemn, loving, promise of "If anything ever happens, I'll deny I ever knew you," followed by Max crying that it's "It's just... so him." - what a loving, tender and slightly bordering on oddly familial relationship he has with Sam and Max... stop, I'll start crying! (episode 13, "The Final Episode")

Misc. Lore

These are lore tidbits that are present in mediums either outside of the media itself, belong in a game that is not technically part of the larger S&M canon, or has to do with out of media context, but should be included anyway because why not!

gifts Sam & Max a new floaty pen from a different United State every Christmas ... but not really anything else! (Poker Night 2)

Sam & Max discuss the Commissioner's power in response to doubt about his existence, claiming "Don’t you know he’s everywhere? He knows we’re talking about him right now!" - which is sort of scary, but I'll let it slide because it implies that the Commissioner's surveillance is of a much higher caliber than we initially thought and that is BANGER (in-character interview for Telltale, found here on Steve Purcell's Sam & Max FB page)

He's affectionate yet surly & I'm sure all those "I love you" statements contribute to that! D'aww... (Skunkape Origin Video)

Voiced by a member of Bay Area Sound, Julian Kwasneski, in the Telltale trilogy! Talked about and even has a LINE recited in this specific developer commentary! We love a mysterious boss who sounds like an adult in Peanuts.

God bless the guy, he had a rash! Does this matter? No. Will it ever matter? Likely not, as it was from the sadly cancelled Sam & Max: Freelance Police trailer. Sighs. At this point, you can tell I'm just adding whatever mentions we get of the guy. Makes me giggle, though.

Conclusion...?

In the end, the Commissioner is a mystery, and always WILL be a mystery. Hell, I sort of never want to know as it will ruin every single thing I have worked so hard to archive, but it is fun to comb through the different canons! Of course, it is likely any of this can be tossed out or considered non-canon in the blink of an eye because Sam & Max always loves to give a middle finger to character details if they don't affect the main plot & likely a lot of these are mere gags. The Commissioner is phone, and always will be only phone. However, it's always in my best interest to try to find ANYTHING to push back the curtain even the tiniest inch, and I hope my efforts were worth it. Now, to sign off, just press that phone! You got it, you got it! ☎️

[mdmraz]

« chapter two. menu. chapter four. »

UNEDITED.

"This is really fucking stupid, you know." Y/N voiced her concerns as she and Megumi ran through the Innate Domain, the ravenette, sending his Divine Dog to seek out Kugisaki.

"It's better than you taking that thing by yourself. Itadori has some control over Sukuna, I have faith in him."

The girl grumbled under her breath at the sorcerer's condemnation and lack of faith in her. She was the grade one here, not Itadori, "I can handle myself, thank you."

Fushiguro scoffed before he outstretched his arm, grabbing Y/Ns wrist and pulling her back against him, catching the clan member off guard as she looked back at him, startled, "Nue!"

A large bird erupted from his shadow, scooping the ravenette by his collar. Y/N let out a surprised squeak as Fushiguro hoisted her up by her torso, her arms unconsciously wrapped around his neck as she stared down with wide eyes, "I'm afraid of heights!"

"I know your face now. I swear I'll curse you!" Nobara exclaimed as she hung upside down in the grasp of a large curse, her finger pointed accusingly at it.

Her neat brows furrowed as the curse lowered her into its mouth, she was seconds away from getting eaten alive. A noisy yelp left her lips when a slimy, long tongue wrapped around her, pulling her from the curses grasp right before a harsh punch made it stumble back right into the upcoming attack of a large white snake.

"Ugh, Fushiguro! You said you'd let me kill them!" The ginger found herself inside the mouth of a frog, a fatigued expression finding its way onto her face as she peered out the shikigamis mouth. A slightly bloodied Y/N pouted, arms crossing over her chest as she looked over the slim worn-out face of the other sorceress.

"We don't have time. We're escaping."

"I hate frogs, you know..." An irk mark had formed on the man's forehead as he pondered on what exactly he did to get paired up with two unbelievable individuals...and not to forget Itadori, "Yeah, well, sorry!"

"Y/N, lets go. You're both injured—"

"Give me 15 seconds." Said girl stated, tone unwaivering, making it clear there was absolutely no room for interjections. It wasn't like she had even given the poor shikigami user a chance to even blink before appearing in front of the curses with immense speed, so fast the two other first years could hardly register her change in position.

He watched in awe for those full 15 seconds as the Tsukuyomi gracefully obliterated the four curses with swift and quick motions, not a drop of blood had gotten on her uniform, further spoiling it, and not a single scratch or mark had found itself on her delicate, [S/C] skin.

Not even a bead of sweat dripped down her forehead with each powerful punch and kick, further empowered by the moons lunar energy she sent the curses way. Her breathing never labored, footing never faltered, and she never hasitated. She made it seem...so easy.

"If I wasn't on the brink of passing out, I'd fangirl." Nobara weakly muttered, earning a chuckle from her classmate as she turned around, "I've got you." Were the last words the brown eyed girl heard before her consciousness finally slipped, alarming Megumi who was standing next to her, "Don't fret. I'm making it easier for her and me."

"What- What do you mean?"

"It's easier to use revere cursed technique on someone who's unconscious, they don't interrupt anything."

"Please expand the evacuation area to ten kilometers." Ijichi nodded at the 'Zenins' order, his hand shifting to start the car as Y/N got out of it, carefully laying Nobaras bandaged head on the makeshift cushion from the Tsukuyomis uniform jacket, "What about you two?"

"We'll wait here for Itadori to return." Dark eyes, covered by the thick glass of his bifocals scanned the two sorcerers, one payed him full attention as the other stared up into the sky, watching with interest as the veil Ijichi had put up shift. The elder man sighed, "After I take Kugisaki to the hospital, I'll return as quickly as possible."

"No, there wouldn't be much point in you staying here," Fushiguro countered, making his superior grimace at his brute bluntness, "If you want to do something, ask them to send over a sorcerer grade one or higher. Though I imagine none are around." He crossed his arms, green eyes glancing at the female next to him, Is she really a grade one sorcerer? I was too shocked to register her powers back then.

After Ijichi agreed to the first year's request he quickly drove off. The shikigami user turned around in the direction of the detention center, his gaze hard as it bore into the old building. If the worst happens...then it's my responsibility to end him.

A quiet, bored hum escaped Y/N, "Send a grade one or higher over? I'm hurt, Zenin." The girl feigned offense as a smug look graced her features.

"If you're a grade one then why didn't you excorsise it?" Fushiguro countered, his arms crossing over his chest as he sent a scowl her way.

"Like you and Itadori gave me the chance?" With the roll of his eyes, Megumi quickly dismissed the petty banter, already fed up with his classmates attitude. They really couldn't get along for even a second?

The girl shook her head with a bored sigh, gaze shifted upwards toward the moon, clouds and raindrops hiding its gleam. Green eyes found themselves on said girl, his gaze skimmed up and down before it landed on her side profile. He absolutely hated to admit that he admired the sight. The way her eyes reflected the lunar light, the way the drops of rain pattered onto her face before they slid down her jaw while some clung to her long, full lashes. The tip of her nose was rosy and lips puckered in a thoughtful way.

"You always stare at the moon." Fushiguro had to hold back from slapping himself when he realized he unconsciously commented.

"It's pretty, no?" The temptress answered, eyelashes bat softly as she turned to look at the man, "Yeah...it is..." He replied, almost sounding out of breath, a brow raised when Tsukuyomi acknowledged his uncharacteristic demeanour.

"You good—" The feeling of a weight being lifted off their shoulders graced the two, stopping Y/N mid sentence, both sorcerers returned their gazes to the building far away, "Oh? The Innate Domains out." Megumi nodded, "Seems the special grade's dead. Now we just need Itadori to return safely—"

A familiar feeling of fear quickly paralyzed the two, the moment they could finally relax had gotten spoiled by an unknown deep voice from behind them, "Sorry, but he's not coming back."

The Tsukuyomi was first to turn around, brows furrowed at the sigh of Yujis marked body. A feeling of familiarity washed over her, her heart stopping in her chest as crimson eyes met with hers, thick brows quirked upwards as Sukuna took notice of Y/Ns presence.

"Oh, don't be so frightened. I'm in a good mood right now. Let's chat for a bit." He nonchalantly stated, walking around from Megumis back as he stuffed his hands in his pockets, "This is what he gets for trying to use me without any of if pact. Feels like he's having some trouble switching back."

Sukuna's hands emerged from his pockets to grip onto Yujis school uniform, "Still though...it's only a matter of time." He stated before the sound of fabric ripping blended into the pattering of raindrops hitting the ground.

"So...I thought about what I can do right now." The pinkette lifted his marked hand, placing it near his chest. Audible gasps left the two sorcerers, Y/N had outstretched her hand to stop him but his long fingers had already collided within his chest, blood splurged out of the wound and escaping the smug smile on his lips.

"Wh-What are you..."

The crimson liquid puddled at the curses feet before he finally ripped his hand out of his chest to reveal the vital organ in his grasp, still pumping desperately, "Im taking this brat hostage."

The Tsukuyomi cringed in horror at the unpleasant sight, her trembling hand clasped over her mouth to suppress the gags that so desperately wanted to escape her.

"I can live without this, but that ain't true for the brat," Sukuna states, crimson irises met with green ones before they landed on a pair of [E/C] filled with disgust and terror, his smirk widened at the lovely sight he missed so much; it brought him back to the days of his reigning terror on Japan. He quickly threw the fragile heart to the side, "Switching out with me mean ge dies. Also...for good measures." Sukuna opened his fist to reveal the familiar pruny dark purple cursed object, he carefully placed it onto his tongue before eagerly swallowing, relishing in the taste and surge of power.

"With that, I'm free as a bird. You can be frightened now. I'll kill you!" He chimed in mocking excitement as the two high schoolers shifted their feet, widening their stances to prepare for any attack. Sukuna skimmed over the clan members, intrigued, his gaze finally stilled when he met the usual [E/C] irises, now glinting with an angry red.

"Interesting." He moved behind her in the blink of an eye, his bloodied hand had moved her hair out of the back of her neck to reveal exactly what he had expected, a red moon shaped marking.

[E/C] eyes went wide before quickly covering the sight of her neck with her hand, the other wrapping around Sukunas wrist, "The fuck do you think you're doing?" her voice was a breathy mutter, too many feelings and emotions stirred inside her to actually comprehend the overwhelming and sudden attachment she felt towards the curse.

Her eyes shone with an unfamiliar glint, almost as if they weren't her own, it seemed as though the moon had found its way to her large irises for a quick second, before vanishing, further confirming The King of Curses suspicion.

"So you were worthy..." his dark, velvety voice sent shivers through the two sorcerers. Sukuna changed his position at the same speed as last time, now fully facing the confused girl, with his wrist out of her grasp. He extended a long finger, its sharp nail traced the jaw that clenched with tension, "I'd be delighted to see what's so special about you."

The two sorcerers stood alarmed at his absurd way of speaking to Y/N, making absolutely no sense to them.

Megumi's hands slowly formed the sign of a shadow puppet, his stance widened as he was just about to unleash his shikigami until squinted red eyes met with his green ones.

"Too bad I won't be able to retrieve you, Kaguya. This vessel will die soon." Something stirred inside the [H/C]-nette at Sukunas odd words, why was be spewing nonsense upon nonsense, specifically directed toward her. Her gaze hardened as she slipped away from the curse with almost the equivalent speed as Sukunas. Y/N now stood right next to her defensive classmate.

"You just don't get it. Itadoris coming back. Even if it means he'll die. Thats just who he is."

Sukunas chest rumbled with a dark chuckle before taunting the ravenette about how he gave his friend too much credit; just a moment ago he had been scared out if his mind, on the verge of death, and prattling on about his regrets.

Narrowed eyes focused on the well built and marked man, he noted his wrist had been restored fully. Sukuna was incarnated — even if he can live without a heart, it should still be damaging. If Megumi wanted to somehow convince the cursed spirit to heal the organ before Yuji returned; he'd have to make Ryomen Sukuna believe he can't beat him without a heart in his body.

Can I do that...? The memory of freezing at the mere sight of the special grade replayed in his mind, if he couldn't move in its presence how could he possibly fight The King?

A dried, bloody  hand was placed reassuringly on his bicep, giving it a small squeeze as if to remind him that he, first; is not alone, and second; it's not a matter of whether he can do it, he has to do it! And since the warm gesture had come from someone that had despised him and he had despised, it gave him a bit of confidence.

His shaking hands form into the sign of a bird, a large gingery-brown feathered creature emerged from his shadow. Y/N followed with her own, the girl whispered under her breath, barely audible — to the point even Megumi couldn't hear, "Special Cursed Technique: Copy: "Infinity.""

TO BE CONTINUED...

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taglist: @loveforlauf , @vicurious28 ‹𝟹

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A/N: two chapters till the end of the week just like promised!!

[backmuscles21]

Nighttime Visits

Lyle x Reader

Summary: You and Lyle are now recom soldiers, the problem is, you aren't supposed to be together. Doesn't keep you apart for long, you and him still find ways to sneak around.

Slight Lyle X Reader X Quaritch at the end, maybe going to do a part 2 of this and explore more of that dynamic.

Warnings: Smut, cuddle fucking, naked cuddling, humiliation, quiet sex, riding, caught, abs - we're riding this mans abs (I can't stress that enough.)

You were lying in bed after a long day, it was such a tiring day and you barely saw your boyfriend all day. You had put your phone down and rolled onto your side to fall asleep, that’s when you heard the door creaking. You sat up a little and saw the dim light from the hallway and Lyle’s head peeking through, you sat up more. “Baby, it’s me,” Lyle said as he walked in further.

He closed the door and moved some of the covers to get into the bed next to you.

“What are you doing here, if we get caught.”

“I had to come see you. I didn’t know if you’d be up or not but you are and now, I get to hug you all night.”

Lyle pulled you closer into his body, his chin rested on your head. You kissed Lyle’s chest a few times as Lyle’s hand went down your side to rest on your hip and inevitably end up under your shorts to rest on your butt cheek.

Now that you and him were recoms, there were strict rules you both had to follow. Not to mention you were both military, you had to do everything according to what General Ardmore wanted. You weren’t allowed to be in each other’s rooms, you weren’t allowed to really interact outside of friendly soldier-like conduct. Being in a relationship was a big no-no, Ardmore would never allow it, not to mention Quaritch barely allowed it.

You found yourselves sneaking around, most days you didn’t see each other, but occasionally you’d find time for each other. You were together before you became recoms, even then it wasn’t really allowed but you both didn’t care. You found time for each other and you made it work, you were probably the cuddliest of the bunch. Lyle was a hard ass, strict, rude, tough, mean, and strong but also very sweet, loving, shy, caring, and loved cuddling with one of his hands on either your butt or your boobs.

Cuddling together became a big thing for the two of you, you could visit each other at night with nobody around.

You went into Lyle’s room, he was sitting up in bed on his holopad, you couldn’t help but laugh. He looked like if you gave your grandfather an iPad, he looked like he didn’t know what was going on. You opened the door slowly and once you saw him up, you ran to him and into his bed. You were giggling, he looked up from the holopad to see you coming at him. You snuggled into his side and under the covers, he chuckled as he wrapped an arm around you. His hand rubbed up and down your bare arm, as you wrapped your arm over his bare toned abdomen.

He was reading different reports on his holopad his hand kept rubbing soothingly at your arm, your nails were raking over the ridges of his abs. Your head was resting on his pec and as he read through so many reports, you were getting bored, let’s be real, you wanted to fuck. It has been a while and you just wanted him to give you some attention and then you’d initiate, or you could just take his cock out and start jerking him off.

“I feel like I should hand you glasses with how you’re looking at that holopad. You look like a grandpa.”

He smirked down at you, “that would make you old too, ya know.”

“I’m still 10 years younger than you.”

“You’re still almost 50 though.”

“Not anymore. My brain might be but I’m actually like 20 now.”

“We all are, buttercup.”

“Then stop squinting at the screen like you need bifocals,” you grabbed the holopad from his hand and straddled his hips. You placed the holopad on the nightstand next to you both, you rested your hands on his pecs and looked at him with a smile.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Lyle said pushing his leg up to hit your butt making you lean forward to kiss him.

His hands stayed on your hips as you ground yourself on his abs as you made out.

“That good baby? You getting off rubbing yourself on my abs like that?”

You whimper and nodded as Lyle helped you move on his abs faster and harder.

“Let’s take these shorts off, it will feel better,” Layle said as he laid you back and pulled your sleep shorts off.

He placed you back on his toned abs and grabbed your hips and helped you grind on his abs. Your eyes squeezed shut and you whimpered, your slick spreading all over his stomach.

“There we go, see, so much better. Baby, you’re making a mess on me,” Lyle smirked as he leaned you down enough to kiss at your neck.

You ground yourself deeper, desperate for more friction and more stimulation. You moaned out, you sucked on Lyle’s skin by his neck, and occasionally your teeth would scrape against his blue skin. You moaned out as your saliva spread on his collarbone and pec, Lyle’s hands gripped your hips hard and moved you deeper. He liked your noises, he liked that he had access to grip your butt cheeks and still keep you grinding on him.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to cum like this. It’s not enough, I need more. I need your cock, please.”

“You want my cock? Baby that’s all you had to do and I’ll give it to ya. Shame though, I liked watching you get off like this.”

“I’ll ride you and it will basically be the same thing. I just need you deep inside me.”

You knew he was desperately hard; you could feel it growing on your legs as you ground into him. Looking behind you, you could see the giant tent in his sweatpants where his cock was. You moved back to pull his sweatpants down and his cock was now resting on his abdomen.

“Fuck, I can’t not go down on this now,” you said taking his cock into your mouth.

Lyle’s hand brushed over his forehead and onto his scalp, his eyes closed and he moaned lowly. When he felt your nose touch his pelvis, his eyes opened and he gripped your hair, you moaned out which caused him to moan. His hips thrusted up involuntarily, it hit the back of your throat and Lyle grabbed your hair and pulled you off him.

“Baby, that’s hot but I’m gonna hurt you and you’re gonna make me cum. Lemme fuck you first.”

You nodded and moved up to straddle him, Lyle helped you line up his cock to push inside. You moved down slowly at first, letting yourself adjust before you moved faster and sunk down completely. Lyle’s hands gripped your hips, his thumb rubbed at the soft skin of your hips as you took a moment to let yourself get used to him filling you up. You started to move your hips a little, his fingers gripped at your hip bones.

You used your leg muscles to lift yourself up and drop yourself back down, Lyle groaned out as you moved your body on his. You bent your back over to rest your head on his pecs as you continued to move, your body was already stimulated from earlier, it was getting to be too much. Both of you had been stimulated beforehand, Lyle could tell you were dropping off just in terms of you not being as fast anymore. It was hard work to ride someone, it was exhausting and you were already tired. Lyle’s arms wrapped around your torso, keeping you close to him as he rolled you both onto your sides.

“I’ll take care of you baby, don’t worry.”

Lyle brought your leg up to rest on his hip as your other went between his legs, he started to thrust up into you. He loved this position, he loved lazy rough sex, that’s pretty much exactly what this was. He did, however, know that you had to be careful since you were in his room and all the other soldiers were down this hall. You guys had to be quiet but you were almost the exact opposite when it came to having sex with Lyle.

“Keep it down, baby, unless, you wanna get caught.”

“Fuck, Lyle, I can’t. I’m gonna cum.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Cum all over me, baby.”

You came, you squeezed him so hard as your back arched, pushing you away from Lyle’s chest. Lyle still held you close, you didn’t get far, Lyle held you as your body spasmed. Lyle wouldn’t last long now, not after watching and feeling you cum, he couldn’t help it. A few more hard and deep thrusts had him cumming deep inside you with a grunt and tight grip on your hip.

He moved you to lay on top of him, but he didn’t pull out, he liked to stay buried deep in you as he softened. You knew you were going to fall asleep, you were exhausted, you both were.

You woke up in the morning on Lyle’s chest with his dick still deep inside you and his arms wrapped around your waist. You looked up to see Lyle still sleeping soundly, you had to admit he was adorable while sleeping.

Then you noticed it was morning.

“Shit,” you whispered.

“Lyle?”

“Lyle, wake up.”

“Fuck, Lyle. Wake up.”

He stirred lightly and only because you started to move in his arms.

He slowly opened his eyes and looked down at you, he smiled and kissed the top of your head.

“Lyle it’s the fucking morning. Quaritch is gonna skin us alive if he finds out we’re here together.”

“Too late. Somebody wanna explain?” Quaritch said from the corner of Lyle’s room.

You and Lyle both looked at his desk where the desk chair had been pulled out and there sat their colonel.

“Sleepover?” Lyle said questioningly.

You would laugh if you weren’t fucking terrified.

“I knew my two best were fucking each other’s brains out but now they are just playing risky,” Quaritch explained.

“It won’t happen again,” you said.

“Damn right, it won’t. Unless... unless I’m there.”

[nekrosdolly]

older wesker hcs!

i fucking love old men...

cw; major age gap (15-35 years), reader is at least mid-twenties or early thirties, silly old man things, wesker is a SENIOR CITIZEN, current-day au, gn!reader

a/n; very much inspired by a silly conversation in the comments under one of my posts with @thatgirlgames

old!wesker, who's pissed off half the time because being in the pit of lava burned the Uroboros right out of his system so now, for the last fourteen years, he's been living like a normal person.

old!wesker, who's constantly remembering and recanting the past like it'll actually change something (it won't, he's just crabby)

old!wesker, whose joints pop and crack every five seconds due to old age.

old!wesker, who can't wear sunglasses inside anymore because they hurt his eyes too much, so he sticks to very thick, prescription bifocals in a similar style.

old!wesker, who's shocked that you even wanted to be with a dude in his sixties. he appreciates the company.

old!wesker, who's aged fairly well, given that the aging process was staved off by Uroboros for some time.

old!wesker, whose energy supply has depleted thanks to being older. can't do as much as he wants to, not without his back threatening to throw itself out.

old!wesker, who wakes up at the crack of dawn to start his day. he takes multivitamins to remain at least a little healthy for his retirement years. if his developing arthritis gets too bad he uses a cane here and there, but you're always by his side to help him out.

old!wesker, who feels a little bit weak every time you have to help him with something. maybe it's the way he was raised, but he can't just let you do everything for him. he's supposed to be a man- a strong and smart one at that, mind you- and it irks him when he can't be that for you.

old!wesker, who despises how he's slowly started to settle into more age-appropriate hobbies, such as watching birds or doing the daily crossword in the newspaper (New York Times only, thank you very much.) although he finds it sweet how you don't tease him about it.

old!wesker, who adores how you snuggle up to him in the morning, putting a temporary pause to his grumpiness. he is happy to be alive and with you, even if life hasn't been the most kind to him (nor him to it, either.)

[mariacallous]

Stories about AI-generated political content are like stories about people drunkenly setting off fireworks: There’s a good chance they’ll end in disaster. WIRED is tracking AI usage in political campaigns across the world, and so far examples include pornographic deepfakes and misinformation-spewing chatbots. It’s gotten to the point where the US Federal Communications Commission has proposed mandatory disclosures for AI use in television and radio ads.

Despite concerns, some US political campaigns are embracing generative AI tools. There’s a growing category of AI-generated political content flying under the radar this election cycle, developed by startups including Denver-based BattlegroundAI, which uses generative AI to come up with digital advertising copy at a rapid clip. “Hundreds of ads in minutes,” its website proclaims.

BattlegroundAI positions itself as a tool specifically for progressive campaigns—no MAGA types allowed. And it is moving fast: It launched a private beta only six weeks ago and a public beta just last week. Cofounder and CEO Maya Hutchinson is currently at the Democratic National Convention trying to attract more clients. So far, the company has around 60, she says. (The service has a freemium model, with an upgraded option for $19 a month.)

“It’s kind of like having an extra intern on your team,” Hutchinson, a marketer who got her start on the digital team for President Obama’s reelection campaign, tells WIRED. We’re sitting at a picnic table inside the McCormick Place Convention Center in Chicago, and she’s raising her voice to be heard over music blasting from a nearby speaker. “If you’re running ads on Facebook or Google, or developing YouTube scripts, we help you do that in a very structured fashion.”

BattlegroundAI’s interface asks users to select from five different popular large language models—including ChatGPT, Claude, and Anthropic—to generate answers; it then asks users to further customize their results by selecting for tone and “creativity level,” as well as how many variations on a single prompt they might want. It also offers guidance on whom to target and helps craft messages geared toward specialized audiences for a variety of preselected issues, including infrastructure, women’s health, and public safety.

BattlegroundAI declined to provide any examples of actual political ads created using its services. However, WIRED tested the product by creating a campaign aimed at extremely left-leaning adults aged 88 to 99 on the issue of media freedom. “Don't let fake news pull the wool over your bifocals!” one of the suggested ads began.

BattlegroundAI offers only text generation—no AI images or audio. The company adheres to various regulations around the use of AI in political ads.

“What makes Battleground so well suited for politics is it’s very much built with those rules in mind,” says Andy Barr, managing director for Uplift, a Democratic digital ad agency. Barr says Uplift has been testing the BattlegroundAI beta for a few weeks. “It’s helpful with idea generation,” he says. The agency hasn’t yet released any ads using Battleground copy yet, but it has already used it to develop concepts, Barr adds.

I confess to Hutchinson that if I were a politician, I would be scared to use BattlegroundAI. Generative AI tools are known to “hallucinate,” a polite way of saying that they sometimes make things up out of whole cloth. (They bullshit, to use academic parlance.) I ask how she’s ensuring that the political content BattlegroundAI generates is accurate.

“Nothing is automated,” she replies. Hutchinson notes that BattlegroundAI’s copy is a starting-off point, and that humans from campaigns are meant to review and approve it before it goes out. “You might not have a lot of time, or a huge team, but you’re definitely reviewing it.”

Of course, there’s a rising movement opposing how AI companies train their products on art, writing, and other creative work without asking for permission. I ask Hutchinson what she’d say to people who might oppose how tools like ChatGPT are trained. “Those are incredibly valid concerns,” she says. “We need to talk to Congress. We need to talk to our elected officials.”

I ask whether BattlegroundAI is looking at offering language models that train on only public domain or licensed data. “Always open to that,” she says. “We also need to give folks, especially those who are under time constraints, in resource-constrained environments, the best tools that are available to them, too. We want to have consistent results for users and high-quality information—so the more models that are available, I think the better for everybody.”

And how would Hutchinson respond to people in the progressive movement—who generally align themselves with the labor movement—objecting to automating ad copywriting? “Obviously valid concerns,” she says. “Fears that come with the advent of any new technology—we’re afraid of the computer, of the light bulb.”

Hutchinson lays out her stance: She doesn’t see this as a replacement for human labor so much as a way to reduce grunt work. “I worked in advertising for a very long time, and there's so many elements of it that are repetitive, that are honestly draining of creativity,” she says. “AI takes away the boring elements.” She sees BattlegroundAI as a helpmeet for overstretched and underfunded teams.

Taylor Coots, a Kentucky-based political strategist who recently began using the service, describes it as “very sophisticated,” and says it helps identify groups of target voters and ways to tailor messaging to reach them in a way that would otherwise be difficult for small campaigns. In battleground races in gerrymandered districts, where progressive candidates are major underdogs, budgets are tight. “We don’t have millions of dollars,” he says. “Any opportunities we have for efficiencies, we’re looking for those.”

Will voters care if the writing in digital political ads they see is generated with the help of AI? “I'm not sure there is anything more unethical about having AI generate content than there is having unnamed staff or interns generate content,” says Peter Loge, an associate professor and program director at George Washington University who founded a project on ethics in political communication.

“If one could mandate that all political writing done with the help of AI be disclosed, then logically you would have to mandate that all political writing”—such as emails, ads, and op-eds—“not done by the candidate be disclosed,” he adds.

Still, Loge has concerns about what AI does to public trust on a macro level, and how it might impact the way people respond to political messaging going forward. “One risk of AI is less what the technology does, and more how people feel about what it does,” he says. “People have been faking images and making stuff up for as long as we've had politics. The recent attention on generative AI has increased peoples' already incredibly high levels of cynicism and distrust. If everything can be fake, then maybe nothing is true.”

Hutchinson, meanwhile, is focused on her company’s shorter-term impact. “We really want to help people now,” she says. “We’re trying to move as fast as we can.”

[feralwritings]

dissonance

part four

words: 5.7k

It’s so perfect it's stupid, so perfectly tailored to Nancy and Robin as a couple that it's true serendipity that they ended up here, tonight, walking around Vegas together and finding this hidden gem, and there’s a part of it all, something that sticks in Reader’s mind as she runs to them once the ceremony is over, throwing herself into their arms, that despite her hesitancy about this tour, her reservations, her anxiety, that no matter what has happened, or what will, it was worth it to be here, now, with them.

masterpost

taglist: @cam-peggio @mewchiili

Las Vegas

When Eddie sees her and Chrissy power walking through the casino, obviously having come from their rooms, looking perturbed, clad in only their pajamas, he’s immediately worried. They’ve only been here for a few days, the show is this weekend, there is no possible way that something went wrong already. 

“Fold,” he says to the dealer at the poker table, and without a second thought to his chips or what may happen to them, he gets up to follow them.

Once he catches up to them, Reader’s bent over her phone, thumbs typing rapidly across the screen as Chrissy watches anxiously. It’s clear that she was interrupted during her skincare routine, with a fluffy headband still on her head and a few streaks of a face mask on her jaw. 

“What’s going on?” He asks, and they startle so bad that they nearly jump out of their slippers.

“Jesus Christ!” Reader squeaks, hand flying to press against her chest, “Fuck, warn me next time.”

“Sorry,” He amends quickly, searching her face, “What’s going on, though? You look worried.”

She fixes him with a long look before extricating her phone, showing it to him, “Robin and Nance dropped a pin and told me to come get them, which is, like, really terrifying considering they stopped responding ten minutes ago. So, we’re heading out now.”

Eddie nods, “I’ll go with you-”

Chrissy stiffens, “Oh, you don’t have to do that, I’m sure everything’s fine-”

Eddie looks at her, “I’m not letting you go alone.”

Reader rolls her eyes, “We don’t have time to argue about this. I’ve already called the Uber, it's out front.”

Together, the three of them march out of the casino doors, searching wildly for a black sedan driven by a guy named Tony. The problem is, there’s nothing but black sedans in front of the casino, and so they jog to several in turn before finding Tony, a white guy in his 80s whose car smells like lemons.

One after another, they pile in, Reader squished between Eddie and Chrissy, leaning forward to talk to Tony.

“Hi,” She holds out her phone, “Do you know where this is?”

Tony leans back from the phone, looking at it through the bottom of his bifocals, before having to pull out his readers.

“Oh, yes, I know where that is. Just send the address to the app, I’ll get ya there, Sugar, no problem.”

Reader sighs in relief, typing the info into the app and resting back against the seat, “Okay, thank you so much.”

She’s texting Robin again, all caps lock WHERE ARE YOU ARE YOU OKAY WHAT’S GOING ON and her leg is bouncing so rapidly that the entire car shakes with it. Chrissy’s in conversation with Tony, and Eddie’s looking out of the window, hoping to ascertain any sort of information based solely on landmarks. 

They’re about a mile off the strip when the ride comes to an end, Tony stopping the car near some nondescript curb.

Eddie sees it first, and the knot in his chest dissipates entirely.

“Oh, my God,” He laughs, the neon lights from the building reflecting off of his face, bathing it in hues of rainbow.

“What?” Reader asks, leaning across him to look out of the window. She sees it too, she lets her head fall against the window, closing her eyes and shaking with relief.

It’s a chapel.

Robin and Nancy are standing in the ornate walkway, holding hands and giggling madly as everyone disembarks the car.

“Surprise!” Robin giggles, “Sorry, but we wanted it to be a surprise so we couldn’t give you much information-”

“You bitches,” Reader sighs, throwing her arms around them both, “I thought you guys were being kidnapped or trafficked or held hostage or something.”

Chrissy has joined the hug, and all four girls have descended into giggles and conversation, while Eddie stands awkwardly off to the side, waiting to be noticed. Tony hasn’t even left yet, his window is rolled down and he’s watching the entire exchange rather warmly.

Robin finally spots Eddie, and raises an eyebrow, “Oh, hi.”

Eddie waves, and Reader glances over her shoulder, “It’s cool, he came with us to be the macho protective man of the situation in case shit was going south.”

Nancy snorts, “The more the merrier. The rest of the guys can come, if you want. We should probably get our money’s worth, since we…spent a lot of it.”

“How much?” Chrissy asks, glancing at the chapel. It’s not huge but isn’t too little, a nice little area for outdoor weddings off to the side of the building, several rows of chairs on either side of the aisle. The building itself is decked out in pride decor, various gay icons etched in colorful chalk on the brick that faces towards the street.

“Well, we sprung for the deluxe package,” Robin says, whipping out a little pamphlet and explaining the various amenities to everyone.

Eddie’s already texted the rest of the boys and Steve, but soon enough Chrissy’s got him by the hand and is tugging him inside with everyone else.

He’s really the only guest that’s dressed appropriately, black blazer over top of a black mesh top, his black nice jeans and his nicest pair of boots, the Panaroot Dunes that he spent several pretty pennies on when he last went shopping with the band’s stylist.

This fact becomes obvious in a second when Chrissy and Reader look at each other, horrorstruck.

Chrissy could pass - she’s in a silk nighty that flares out prettily around her thighs, but it’s white, and despite Robin and Nancy’s repeated assurances that Chrissy can indeed wear white to their wedding, she emphatically disagrees.

Reader, however, is really in the shit, flannel pajama shorts and an old band tee, fluffy slippers, hair a complete mess.

Hearing this commotion, several drag queens descend upon them.

“Come on, baby,” Tina Turner says to Reader, taking her hand and leading her to somewhere in the back, “We’ll get ya fixed up.”

Cher takes Chrissy’s hand and whisks her away as well, leaving Eddie standing with Robin and Nancy.

“So,” Eddie tries hesitantly, “Getting hitched, huh?”

Things are still a touch awkward. Eddie’s going to have to earn their trust and respect, something that he’s been needing more and more, not really sure as to why.

Nancy smiles at Robin affectionately, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, “Yeah, we’ve been together forever, figured that now was as good a time as any.”

Robin nods, “Plus, we were just walking and saw this place and it just…felt right?”

Nancy nods, waving the rest of Corroded Coffin over as they walk into the chapel.

They’ve cleaned up reasonably well on such short notice, though Eddie cringes to think about the state of their hotel rooms when they return, knowing that the ‘nice clothes’ were at the bottom of everyone’s suitcases. Joey’s gone all out, dressed in his tux, complete with his bowtie, taking Eddie’s instruction of ‘meet us here and dress nice’ a little too seriously. Gareth’s shed his usual flannel for a white button up and his dress pants, and Jeff’s tying his tie as he walks in.

“So,” Gareth glances all around the room, vague interest on his face, “What’s happening?”

Eddie jerks a thumb over his shoulder at Nancy and Robin, who are in the process of doing some paperwork, pom-poms swaying to and fro on top of their pens, “They’re getting married.”

“Oh shit!” Joey exclaims, before clapping a hand over his mouth, “Wait, am I allowed to swear? Is this holy ground?”

“I don’t think they care, dude. If it was truly holy ground each one of us would’ve burst into flames the second we crossed the threshold, on account of our various sins.”

Joey nods, “Gay,” he points to himself, “Whore,” he points at Eddie, “Crypto-bro,” he points at Jeff, “Short.” He points at Gareth, who smacks him on the back of the head, even if he has to stand on tiptoe to do it.

Just as Eddie’s about to retort, he feels a gentle tap on his shoulder, and turns.

At first, he’s face to face with a pair of huge fake breasts - actual fake breasts - he can just barely see the seam of the chest piece where it’s blended into the queen’s skin, and he adjusts his gaze, tilting his head back to look into her face.

Dolly Parton stares down at him, “Excuse me, darlin’,” She says, in what is a very close impression of Dolly’s voice, though the accent drops away for a half second when the queen’s eyes widen underneath her lashes, and a distinctly New Jersey accent slips out as she says “Jesus Christ, you’re gorgeous-” She clears her throat, adopting Dolly’s twang once more, “I need your jacket.”

“Why?” Eddie asks, but he’s already shucking it off and handing it to her.

“I just need it,” She says again, dropping Dolly’s accent again. She takes it and scurries away, heels clicking against the floor as she does, muttering something about oh my god he’s so hot I’m going to die.

Eddie smiles to himself, glancing towards where Nancy and Robin were, but they’re gone too, so he supposes that they went to change as well.

A few more minutes pass in comfortable silence, the buzz of the chapel around them, music playing from somewhere.

Then, Eddie hears a smattering of female voices, and turns.

Chrissy’s coming down the hallway to the left, hair in loose waves, all remnants of the face mask gone. She’s in a pink baby doll dress, sleeves puffing out around her shoulders. She looks incredibly adorable, and a quick glance in Gareth’s direction tells Eddie all he needs to know about what he’d been suspecting since San Diego.

Reader is not far behind, and it’s Eddie’s turn to blush.

She’s got his blazer on, unbuttoned, with nothing underneath, a wide strip of her chest and tummy exposed. She’s wearing a pair of tight black leather slacks that cling to her like a second skin, smoothing along the contours of her body in a way that makes his mouth water. 

He can’t speak. Can’t think. 

There’s a delicate silver body chain glittering between the insides of her breasts, which are tucked apart underneath the blazer. Her hair is in a low, slicked back ponytail, and it makes the angles of her face all sharp and with the smoky wings of black eyeliner, she looks almost cat-like, regal, her eyes shining beneath her lashes as she looks up at him.

“This okay? Dolly came back with this and they all thought that it looked pretty good?”

Eddie just stares, because that’s all he can do, and she cocks an eyebrow at him, “I mean, I can find something else if you want your jacket back-”

“No,” Eddie squeaks, clearing his throat to rid his voice of that noise that just came out of it, “No, don’t, it’s fine. You look good.”

She nods slowly, still looking confused, and seems as though she’s about to say something, but as she opens her mouth, they’re beckoned by a drag queen in front of a pair of double doors, and they all hurry to take their seats. By sheer coincidence, Eddie and Reader end up next to one another.

Robin’s standing at the altar, decked out in a poorly fitted imitation of an old mobster suit. It’s too big in certain ways, and the very tips of her fingers poke out from the sleeves of the jacket. The dress shirt underneath fits, the tie is a bit too loose and the slacks lead down to a set of shiny Doc Martens, which is the only part of the ensemble that actually belongs to her. Regardless of the fit, she looks good, radiant in a way that brides usually are, all anxiety wiping from her face the moment the music starts, the lights dim, and the guests (all seven of them, including Tony) are instructed to stand. 

They turn their attention towards the back of the aisle, where Nancy is standing, clad in a white flapper dress. 

Reader giggles a little, the last minute outfit coordination has done the job and everyone starts to laugh along with her, at the sweetness of it all, and at the speed and accuracy of which Robin and Nancy were able to pull this all together.

Eddie can’t quite place the song that Nancy’s walking down the aisle to, too busy watching the adoring, tearful expression on Reader’s face as she watches Nancy. She’s got her hands clasped in front of her mouth, covering her trembling lips, and as Eddie stares, a single, glistening tear courses its way down her cheek.

Without thinking, he reaches up to brush it away.

The feeling of love in the air has clearly had an effect on her, all manner of vitriol gone as she looks up at him and smiles, bumping his shoulder with hers when they’re instructed to sit down. 

The music dims, and so do the lights, and a door behind the ornate altar splits open, and everyone watches in fascination (and maybe a little bit of fear) as fog billows through it, backlit by a blue-white light from beyond the door. Then, a shadow steps into the fog, and Eddie thinks he can tell, by the spiky hair, the general silhouette, who it might be. 

There’s a sharp whine of an electric guitar that comes through the speakers, and a drag queen dressed as Joan Jett steps into the light, the fog billowing around her, licking up the curves of her body and twisting around the spikes in her hair.

Everyone starts nudging each other, excited laughter moving through the guests as Robin and Nancy barely keep it together on the altar, Robin is staring up at Joan, starstruck and Nancy is giggling wildly behind her hands.

Joan spreads her arms wide, and begins the ceremony.

It’s so perfect it's stupid, so perfectly tailored to Nancy and Robin as a couple that it's true serendipity that they ended up here, tonight, walking around Vegas together and finding this hidden gem, and there’s a part of it all, something that sticks in Reader’s mind as she runs to them once the ceremony is over, throwing herself into their arms, that despite her hesitancy about this tour, her reservations, her anxiety, that no matter what has happened, or what will, it was worth it to be here, now, with them.

It all dissolves into a party after that, Steve shows up fashionably to congratulate the girls, dances with Chrissy and Reader and Joey, and generally seems happier than he has this whole tour. He doesn’t fold into himself at all, sinking into the shadows like he does these days.

He’s dancing with Reader again, hands wound around her waist as she looks up at him, analytical, “Are you okay?”

He studies her for a moment before shrugging, “Yeah. I’m fine.”

She narrows her eyes at him, not in a knowing way but in a genuinely suspicious way, “You’ve just- you’re not-”

She struggles to find the words for a few moments, “You hear rumors, you hear stories in this industry, and I guess you’re not what I expected.”

He purses his lips, eyebrow cocking, “Oh, I can’t wait to hear the rest of this.”

She laughs, rolling her eyes, “There’s stories about how…involved you are, with the tours. How much you go out and you have fun… I think this is the first time that we’ve all been together on an outing, and I just wonder…is it because of me? Because of what happened between Daisy Chain and Corroded Coffin?”

Steve’s eyes grow wide, and he becomes instantly apologetic, pulling her into a hug, “No! No, it’s not you at all. You or Eddie, you’re both fine, it’s just-”

He pulls back, looking into her face again, “It’s just…I guess some things change over time. People change. I can’t party the way I used to, I guess.”

Reader nods, “I understand. It can get overstimulating.”

Steve nods, and heaves a deep sigh, “You have no idea.”

Robin and Nancy cut in shortly after that, and it’s a blur of laughter, lots of hugging, queens half out of drag as everyone sinks sleepily onto couches and chairs around the three am mark as Dolly hands out Tylenol and mini bottles of water.

They don’t mean to crash out, all arguing about who’s going to order the uber to get them back to the hotel, but one pair of eyes closes, then another, then another, and soon the chapel has a pile of rockstars sleeping on top of each other. Nancy and Robin are curled around each other on a loveseat, Chrissy has dozed off on Gareth’s shoulder as his head lolls onto the back of the couch, Joey and Jeff are spooning, Eddie’s head is in Steve’s lap and Reader has her cheek smushed against Eddie’s chest, with Steve’s hand draped across the whole of her face, so when the sun shines through the window a few hours later and burns into her eyelids, she sputters and flaps wildly at her face until his hand is gone, and tries to sit up but finds that she can’t.

Eddie’s arms are wrapped around her, tightly enough that it would definitely rouse him if she moved. She is able to lift her head to look around, confusion muddling its way to the surface through her gnarly hangover, blinking rapidly to clear her vision, and as her surroundings swim into focus, she becomes aware of many things, all at once.

One, her cheek kinda hurts, and when she raises the hand that’s pinned between hers and Eddie’s chests, she feels the impression of the mesh from his top is pressed into the flesh there. Two, there’s coffee brewing somewhere, and three, she’s not in her hotel room.

The panic dissipates as soon as it starts, as soon as her eyes land on Nancy and Robin and the memories start rushing back like rapidly flipping through a stack of polaroids, a hand at the small of her waist as she dips back, hair slipping past her shoulders and cascading into open air, the hand that holds hers against her chest tightening when she’s pulled back up, her eyes meeting a pair of onyx ones, soft, curly black hair framing them before she’s twirled, back to his chest as he sings softly along with the music against the shell of her ear. 

Aching feet from the high heeled boots that are still strapped to her, peals of laughter and the taste of cheap champagne bubbling across her taste buds, strawberry lip gloss sticky and shiny on her cheek, being tossed over a tall shoulder, feet kicking wildly as laughter burns through her, fingers scraping bluntly across the starchy fabric of a suit jacket that needs to be washed, the glow of a cigarette in the inky blue night before her lips slot around the dent made in the filter made by his lips, the inhale throwing an orange flash across her face that his eyes track with a hunger that sends goosebumps careening across her flesh.

She squeezes her eyes shut against the onslaught of memories, tries and fails to push down the swell of affection in her chest when she remembers whose arms she’s in.

Skillfully, she maneuvers herself off of him, slipping from underneath his arms and crawling off of the couch, stepping over the bodies before her feet hit open floor, looking around the quiet chapel, looking hide or hair or leather or fur of one of the queens that were here last night.

She finds a little kitchen, with a man sitting quietly at a wooden table, sipping green tea and reading a newspaper. He’s bald, small silver earrings hanging delicately from his lobes, remnants of makeup still on his face, black on his waterline and a distinct red stain on his plump lips.

He looks up when she pads in, smiling gently at her, “Hi.”

“Hi,” she croaks, “I’m so sorry we fell asleep here - this is a chapel and not a hotel, and I’m totally willing to pay extra for us and our -”

He holds up a hand, “It’s fine, sweetie, we don’t mind. We’re just glad y’all had fun.”

She nods, arms folding around herself, she’s a bit cold without the warmth of Eddie around her, and she sighs, “Thanks, we’re probably still gonna cut y’all a check, for, ya know, room and board.”

He shrugs noncommittally, a warm smile crossing his face before he stands and pours her a cup of tea, glancing at her over his shoulder, “How do you take it?”

“Couple spoons of sugar. Honey, usually, but I dunno if you have it.”

He produces a jar of it from somewhere, and she watches as it drips into the cup, twirling and melting into the heat.

“Thanks,” She says as she takes a sip, sore throat soothed by the herbs, and she closes her eyes, sighing through her nose.

Everyone stirs soon after that, voices traveling down the hall in search of her, before they’re all crowding around the doorway, eight pairs of eyes looking at her apologetically, and she remembers in an instant that they have a show tonight.

The clock on the microwave reads just past nine, and so they say their goodbyes, a stack of Instax pictures being shoved into their hands, blown out and blurry, Steve and Reader both writing individual checks, and soon, they’re back in the oppressive heat of Las Vegas, squinting against the harsh sunlight as they pile into a couple of Ubers.

On the drive back to the casino, it’s quiet, everyone too sleepy and too nauseous to talk too much, and she becomes aware of the pile of pictures still clutched in one of her hands, and she slowly starts to sort through them, Robin and Nancy in one hand, everyone else in the other, and she finds one that makes her heart stop in her chest, and as she stares a little longer, her throat feels like it's closing.

Eddie’s got her in his arms, chin hooked over her shoulder as his hands rest on top of hers where they cross over her stomach. Their figures are blurry from the motion, but this is concrete evidence that the clearest memory she has from last night actually happened, and it wasn’t some fantasy her sleep-addled brain had concocted while she slept in his arms, breathing in the scent of his cologne, in deep, slow, consuming breaths. She stows it away from the prying eyes of others and tries to justify it in her mind.

She was drunk. He was drunk, they were drunk and so she can sit here, look pretty and pretend it never happened. Unless he remembers it too, which is a looming possibility that casts her into a chilly shadow. It’s not like anything more happened, but the tenderness of it is what gets her, something that she’s not used to, something that is so foreign that her body, once cognisant, completely rejects.

It was the setting, she thinks, the setting. A wedding, a declaration of love between two people that seeped across the floor like water and brushed the toes of everyone there, a contagion that is affecting no one else but maybe Chrissy and Gareth, but that’s for another day.

She rests her forehead against the cool window, the air conditioning blowing directly on her face from a vent above, and she breathes away the feelings until she feels numb again, until her toes are securely on baseline.

***

The arena glitters at her as she laughs into the microphone, “So,” she says, lips brushing against the mesh, “Something pretty cool happened last night.”

She can hear Robin laughing from upstage as a photo flashes across the screens on either side of the stage, poorly taken from an iPhone camera, but nevertheless showing the moment that Nancy and Robin had sealed their union with a kiss, a corny graphic of pink bubble letters announcing their marriage glinting at the bottom of the screen.

“So, in honor of this most special occasion,” Reader grins at Nancy, “I’m going to perform the first song that Nancy ever learned to play, which, well…you’ll see.” 

She switches guitars with Danny, who takes her electric and gives her the acoustic, and as Robin descends from her platform to stand next to Nancy, arms twisting around each other as Gareth takes Robin’s place at the drums, and Eddie is slinging Nancy’s bass around his shoulders, with Joey, Jeff and Steve coming out to spectate, to raucous applause from the crowd.

She tunes the strings a bit, and then is plucking out a tune on the strings that no one seems to recognize at first, but as soon as she’s sidling up to the microphone and crooning out the first few lyrics, Nancy claps a hand over her mouth.

“Please baby, can't you see, my mind’s a burning hell. I’ve got razors a rippin’ and tearin’ and strippin’ my heart apart as well.”

As people start to recognize and sing along, she can feel the vibration of the bass in her feet and takes a glance over at Eddie, teeth worrying into his bottom lip as he plucks out the bassline, shining rings catching the stage lights every so often and blinding her as she watches, and it’s with a great effort that she tears her eyes away, eyes landing back on Nancy and Robin as she moves into the second verse. She’s split in two, hyper aware of Eddie moving on the stage next to her, hyper aware of Nancy and Robin in front of her, glowing, laughing faces and when she focuses solely on them, the ache eases, but it comes right back around when the final chorus comes.

“It’s only fear that makes you run, the demons that you’re hiding from,” She sings, eyes meeting Eddie’s for a half second before she’s turning away again, strumming out a flourish on the acoustic as the song concludes.

She feels a bit breathless as Danny comes back out to give her the electric, and she turns to find Eddie’s eyes on hers as he presses a chaste kiss to both Robin and Nancy’s cheeks, quietly congratulating them before waving to the crowd as he exits stage right.

***

Syrupy air fills her lungs with each breath. She meanders through the crowd, sweating glass in one hand, the other hanging limply at her side. 

Her head feels light on her shoulders, her constantly stiff muscles finally relaxing a little bit. She moves to the music, slowly, allowing herself to move with the ebb and flow of the crowd. 

She’s drunk enough not to care about the way her head is starting to hurt, how her eardrums rattle from the impact of the bass. She closes her eyes against the multicolored lights, tilting her head upward towards the ceiling. 

She doesn’t know where her bandmates are. She doesn’t really know where she is, entirely. She knows she’s in Vegas, she knows she’s at a club, with the pounding music and the many bodies pressed up against her, but the finer details fall away. 

When she opens her eyes, her vision tunnels to a familiar face. Eddie, standing some ten feet away, hands on a girl's hips as she presses her back against his chest, blissed out expression lolling along the contours of his shoulder as he bends to press his face into the sweaty column of her neck. 

There’s a strip of skin exposed just above her belly button, and that’s where Eddie’s hands lay, perilously close to several places where she might want him later. 

Something stirs within Reader. It’s not jealousy, it’s fascination. As she watches, she can’t quite figure out why she can’t look away. There is a tiny tinge of envy, but she doesn’t know who it’s for - Eddie, or the girl. 

She’s beautiful, curvy, dark skin absorbing the lights and turning them rich against her body. Her hair is auburn, a soft curly cloud that haloes the fine contours of her face, her full lips shining with gloss, her slender hand coming up to run through Eddie’s hair as he presses closer. 

The stark contrast of her deep brown skin against his pale, tattooed visage is something that makes the whole scene even harder to look away from, his hands flexing against the flesh of her waist, his nose pressed against her cheek as he says something into her ear. 

Reader would have gladly stood there, swaying a little on her feet as she watched them, but soon, there was another body pressing against hers and she was whisked away, hands on her hips, breasts that brush against hers, strong hands and broad shoulders, a confusing mix of bodies, of people, of skin, until minutes or hours pass and she finds herself face to face, chest to chest, with Eddie. 

It doesn’t immediately register. How could it? She’s spent an indeterminate amount of time with hands that aren’t his holding hers, eyes that aren’t his looking down into her face, lips that aren’t his pressing into the shell of her ear, the side of her neck, against her own, moving clumsily and fervently, in and out of beat with the music, in and out of waves of needless, misplaced desire. 

She sobers a little, taking in his appearance. About three different shades of lipstick are smeared across his mouth, his hair is an absolute mess, half up, half down, curly ringlets dissipating from the sweat, eyes dark, so dark, so- 

The glass in her hand is dripping with condensation, the drink gone and the ice almost gone with it, so there’s no use in her holding it anymore. Yet she clings, the coolness, the smoothness of the glass and the steady weight of it in her palm, because it’s really the only thing she’s sure of. 

Everything else swirls around her. She’s far too drunk, and there’s a distant ping in the back of her head about this, and all at once, under Eddie’s gaze, in the muggy air of the club, she wants to go back to the hotel. 

She mumbles something of the sort, the music too loud, swallowing her words, but Eddie seems to understand anyway, plucking the glass from her hand and setting it who knows where, before replacing it with his cold fingers, and by the hand, he leads her out of the club and back onto the strip. 

September in Vegas doesn’t adhere to typical fall weather, so it’s still oppressively warm, but she sucks in lungfuls of the fresh air as Eddie leads her back to the hotel. The grip on her hand is so gentle, barely there, but for each of his long strides she has to take a couple, so soon enough, she’s tugging him back beside her. 

So, he falls into step next to her, allowing her to wind her arms around his bicep, her head slumping sleepily onto his shoulder. He ignores the heat that rises to his cheeks, looking down at her fondly. To anyone else, they’d look like a normal couple in Vegas, maybe a tad too drunk, but in love all the same. 

Except they’re not in love. The only reason she’s even acting this way is because she’s drunk and overstimulated, both things sapping her of her usual spunk and all of her energy. Even so, Eddie revels in the moment, knowing that it’ll be the last.

When they get back to the casino they’re staying in, she flinches a little from the loud noise in the confined space, so he leads her to the elevators.

“Where’s your room?” He asks her, waiting to press the button on the elevator.

“305,” She tells him through a yawn.

He presses the corresponding button on the elevator. The doors slide to a close, and she suddenly seems to become very aware of her body and what it’s doing. She pulls her arms away from his and stands as straight as she can, though she sways a bit with the movement of the elevator.

Eddie wonders why she keeps doing that. Pulling away from him, constantly. On stage in Phoenix, in the green room in Santa Fe, even on the road, when both buses were at the rest stop and when he’d brush against her accidentally in the aisles of a convenience store, not even trying to be in her space. He’d think it was something else, something he did, something genuinely wrong but he would find her looking at him, the performative distaste falling from her face for a moment, replaced by something he can’t decipher, can’t name.

It’s driving him crazy. How unreadable she is. How she’s okay with him near one moment and then is shrinking away the next, like she’s trying to not exist too much, or too loudly.

The elevator door opens and she starts through it, fishing in her pocket for the room key. He knows that she shares this room with Chrissy, having given the bigger one to the newlyweds, and despite knowing that the journey from the elevator to her room won’t be treacherous, he follows her anyway, bending to catch her when she slumps against the wall.

“‘M fine,” She mutters, standing a little straighter, checking all of her pockets for the key, “Just can’t find this damn key.”

Eventually, she finds it in her bra, holding it triumphantly over her head as she starts towards her room again.

He knows that she’ll be okay, yet he falls into step next to her, until the silver numbers 305 glitter at him from her hotel room door.

She’s halfway inside before she turns, looking up at him. Her eyes are impossibly soft, and somehow he knows it’s not from the liquor. She runs a nervous hand through her hair, a tick that she’s picked up from being around him, before she steps back over the threshold to stand on tiptoe and press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Thanks,” She says, face lingering in front of his for half a second before she disappears behind the door, leaving him leaning into open air, arm braced against the door frame, staring at silver numbers.

[roosterforme]

not even kidding when I say I’d read baby girl and roo until they’re old and wrinkly

Me too, nonny. I'd love to know what Roo and BG are up to in their nursing home. BG runs the book club with her large text novels and bifocals. Roo takes up knitting and has hearing aids. He pops a Viagra every Tuesday to rock his wife's world before dinner at 5:00 and bed at 7:45. Rose stops by on her way home from work on Wednesdays, and then the whole family visits them every Sunday. Old and wrinkly Roo still has it, nonny.