#oversized putter head

[macrogolf12]

The Benefits of Using an Oversized Putter: A Game-Changer from Macrogolf

The right equipment from Macrogolf can bring a significant change to your golf game. Among the various clubs in your bag, the putter plays a crucial role in determining your performance on the greens. If you’ve been looking for a way to improve your putting accuracy and consistency, consider switching to an oversized putter from Macrogolf. This innovative design offers a range of benefits that can enhance your overall game and help you sink more putts with confidence.

 What is an Oversized Putter?

An oversized putter is a club that features a larger head than traditional putters. The increased size provides a larger sweet spot, making it easier to strike the ball consistently, even when your aim is slightly off. The design of an oversized putter typically includes a wider face, which increases the surface area in contact with the ball, providing more forgiveness on off-center hits. This can be a game-changer for golfers looking to reduce mishits and improve accuracy on short and long putts alike.

 Increased Forgiveness and Consistency

One of the key advantages of using an oversized putter is its ability to increase forgiveness. In golf, forgiveness refers to the club’s ability to minimize the impact of off-center hits, which can result in inaccurate shots or missed putts. With the larger sweet spot of an oversized putter, even when your stroke isn’t perfect, the ball is still likely to travel on the intended line. This consistency is especially valuable for amateur golfers or those who struggle with their putting technique.

An oversized putter allows for more effective weight distribution across the face, which further helps mitigate errors and improve ball control. Whether you’re putting from a short distance or tackling a more challenging long-range putt, the oversized design provides a higher level of confidence with every stroke.

 Enhanced Stability and Control

The design of an oversized putter not only boosts forgiveness but also provides improved stability and control. The larger head creates a more stable base, reducing twisting during the stroke and making it easier to maintain a consistent swing path. This stability can help golfers avoid the common problem of overcompensating for mishits, especially when putting under pressure or during crucial moments in a round.

Additionally, the added weight of an oversized putter offers greater control over the distance and direction of your putts. This feature is particularly beneficial for golfers who struggle with touch or controlling the pace of their putts, as the weight distribution helps to smooth out the stroke and deliver more consistent results on the green.

 Why Choose Macrogolf’s Oversized Putter?

At Macrogolf, we are committed to providing golfers with the highest-quality equipment to enhance their game. Our oversized putters are designed with cutting-edge technology and premium materials to deliver exceptional performance on the greens. With a focus on comfort, stability, and forgiveness, our oversized putters cater to golfers of all skill levels, helping you achieve better results with every round.

[slayfics]

Hitoshi offers to stay.

950 words

You puttered around your new apartment tending to your guests. Having a party with the rest of your pro-hero friends seemed like a good idea to celebrate your new place. However, you failed to remember that the one thing about heroes is they work hard and drink harder.

Getting everyone together to celebrate soon resulted in your apartment being filled with drunk friends. Laughing, dancing, catching up, but also plenty of alcohol spills.

“Oh shit! I’m sorry in your new place too,” Mina apologized, eyes glazed over from the alcohol, she looked around the room for some napkins.

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it! I’ll be right back,” you assured her and quickly took off for the kitchen.

You rounded the corner too fast, in a hurry, and half buzzed. Trying as quickly as possible to clean the spill, you weren’t paying attention and crashed into Hitoshi.

His red solo cup squashed between you both soaking his shirt.

“Shit! I’m so sorry Shinso,” you apologized backing up embarrassed.

“It’s alright,” he replied, glancing down at his drenched shirt.

“I got to clean up a spill in the living room, but then I’ll come back to remake your drink!” You said hurriedly grabbing the napkins.

“You don’t have to,” he replied, but you had already vanished back into the living room.

Mina continued to apologize as she bent down to the floor with you to soak up the spill.

“Don’t worry about it, accidents were bound to happen with all of us together again,” you laughed.

Mina giggled, “Guess we both need another drink, don’t we?” She suggested.

“I actually bulldozed into Shinso so, I’m going back to remake his drink. I’ll bring you back one too,” you offered.

Mina glanced up at you, ready to make a joke but you had already grabbed the soiled napkins and headed back to the kitchen.

When you entered the kitchen, Hitoshi had already remade the drink you spilled.

“I told you I’d remake it for you,” you spoke, alerting his attention.

“It’s fine, seems you got your hands full,” he commented, noticing your out of breath appearance.

“Let me at least get you a shirt and dry that one up,” you offered. “I’ve got a clean oversized t-shirt somewhere.”

Hitoshi smiled; it was sweet you were so persistent. He really didn’t care about his wet shirt, but he didn’t mind you wanting to tend to him.

“Alright, if you feel so inclined,” he agreed.

“Ok come with me,” you motioned for him to follow you to your room.

You poked around the room searching for a shirt that would fit him, while Hitoshi gazed around your room. Most of your things still in boxes. Very few items decorated your room, but on the bed a stuffed animal was laid out neatly. Something about that was cute and innocent. It made him feel as though he was stealing glances into your private life.

“Here you go! I think this one should fit, at least while I throw yours in the dryer,” you declared, holding up a plain black t-shirt that you sometimes used for bed. “I promise it’s clean.”

“Hold this for me for a second?” He asked handing you his drink. You grabbed the solo cup from him, and Hitoshi pulled off his soaked shirt.

“Oh,” you mewled out accidentally. Maybe it was the buzz you had going, but the sight of Hitoshi shirtless made your fingers tighten around the solo cup. The spill from the alcohol caused his toned abs to glisten in the low light of your room. Hitoshi peered up at you, an eyebrow raised at your reaction.

“Sorry!” You blurted out, “You um- must be doing a lot of hero work, you look good.” You said honestly.

“Thank you,” he replied, cheeks turning rosy at your compliment.

“Oh, uh here,” you handed him the dry shirt, hands shaking. It was clear you were nervous.

Hitoshi thought it was amusing. A beautiful woman like you nervous because of him? He couldn’t deny how much he loved it.

Grabbing the shirt from you, your bedroom door suddenly bursts open.

“Ops,” Mina giggled. “Was wondering when you were coming back with my drink. Didn’t realize I was interrupting,” she commented glancing over at Hitoshi who was still shirtless.

Your face darkened with embarrassment, “No! I was just giving him a dry shirt!” You explained.

“Uh hu, sure sure,” Mina laughed, leaving and closing the door behind her.

“I’m sorry!” You said to Hitoshi, face completely scarlet.

“Do you always apologize this much?” he asked, finally grabbing and putting on the dry shirt. “I haven’t seen you relax since I got here. Everyone seems to be letting loose but you.”

You let a sigh, and what felt like the first time since the party took in a breath. “To be honest I thought it would be fun to celebrate my new place with everyone but- it’s turning out to be overwhelming.”

“Mm,” Hitoshi hummed understanding. “It’s definitely a rambunctious group. Hard to keep up with all that energy.”

“Exactly! I’m trying to be a good host but I’m exhausted.” You confessed.

“If you’d like I’ll stay till everyone leaves and help clean up,” Hitoshi offered.

Your eyes flashed to his. Was that an innocent offer, you wondered? If his kindness had an ulterior motive, his lilac eyes gave nothing away. His gaze rested on you lazily, with a calmness that you envied.

You swallowed as your mind raced at the possible implications, deciding to accept his help.

“Yeah… I’d like that,” you smiled, part of you hoping Hitoshi did have another reason for wanting to stay.

sinners: @unofficialmuilover @maddietries @fiannee @derangedmango @reneinii @zanarkandskylines @abadbitchblogs @deluluforcarlos55 @that-one-fangirl69 @pinkpurpledreams

[divine-misfortune]

Mushy May, day 6. "You're blushing"

Rating: M

Pairing: Swiss/Dewdrop

Words: 1,155

Summary: A morning like any other, and Swiss just really loves Dew.

Contains: Nothing explicit - just Dew getting sorta turned on. Swiss being gross and lovely dovey.

As always 1000 smooches to @forlorn-crows for all of this <333

Pay no attention to what date anything is posted on anymore

Behind him the bathroom door creaked. Nudged open by a bleary eyed, disheveled multi ghoul. None of his locs remained contained within the elastic Swiss had drawn them into the night before, all in varying states of untamed with minds of their own. He shuffled his way towards the shower, mouth falling open to reveal oversized fangs as he yawned, idly scratching at his bare stomach. 

Dew watched the way he moved, practically on autopilot in the still foggy edges of the mirror. Still yet to even acknowledge his existence in the room at all, likely because his eyes were barely open enough to see what was in front of him, and Dew didn't have the heart - or the balls to break him from his sleepy stupor. Swiss was, for all intents and purposes, a bear in the morning. Waking him was treacherous. But also he looked kinda cute when he was tired like this. A dangerous teddy bear. 

His eyebrows raised minutely as he caught a glimpse of the deep red welts raked down Swiss’ back when Swiss bent at the waist to fuss with the old stubborn faucet. He winced sympathetically and glanced down at his hand, mentally noting to file down his claws at some point lest he maul another poor unsuspecting victim. Swiss hardly seemed bothered by the battle scars as he braced his hands on his lower back to stretch. Dew tipped his head, morning routine momentarily forgotten when Swiss let out a low half purr-half groan of satisfaction. The sound itself was innocent in nature but still managed to kickstart something hot in his gut but the sway of his tail and the second full bodied yawn of the morning did something far worse to Dew. Warmth deep in the confines of his ribs and an unwilling curl to his lips, Dew exhaled fondly. Endeared and amused by the sheer act of being him. 

The small space grew warmer as the shower began to heat up, trickling water white noise as Swiss puttered back and forth aimlessly gathering his things with a practiced ease. 

Dew remembered a time where Swiss shifted uncomfortably at the prospect of moving some of his things into Dew's bathroom - afraid of intruding, of taking up space in places he claimed weren't his but Dew had laughed at his initial nervousness. Places that weren't his, as if he didn't wake up in Dew's bed most mornings, as if his sheets didn't carry the rich smokey scent of the multi ghoul even in his absence. That bed was Swiss’ as much as it was his. Arguing his point with Dew was a waste of breath, he'd already emptied out the drawer for his things long before the conversation happened. Now Swiss rummaged through the bathroom like it had always been his. 

“Hey cinder…” 

Swiss sagged against him abruptly and Dew braced himself against the counter to keep himself upright, only hissing a little when Swiss laughed. His voice was low and rusted, husked by sleep but tinged sweet. Perching his chin on his shoulder he fixed him a smile in their reflection, lazy but entirely genuine, before slotting himself properly against his back. He'd finally blinked the sleep from his eyes despite his lids sitting heavy, rings of gold peeking out from under dark lashes.

“Hey yourself,” he hummed and continued working his fingers through the ends of his damp hair. “Didn't think you'd be up for a bit - don't tell me I somehow managed to wake you.” 

“Oh nothin’ wakes me darling.” Strong arms snuck around his narrow waist and Swiss turned to tuck his face into his hair. Dew bit his lip, admiring the way his embrace just seemed to envelop him. Sure, he was small but Swiss always managed to make him feel it and it made his stomach do flips. “You smell good.” 

“You're gonna tangle my hair again,” Dew hissed half heartedly and he opted to hold him tighter. A subtle reminder that the multi ghoul could keep him however he liked. Part of Dew hoped he did just that.  

“Oh don't be such a priss, that's Rain's job” he snorted and pressed a chaste kiss to his bare shoulder. Careful to avoid the sore imprints of teeth leading down his neck like a true gentleman. “Just wanna hold my baby a little, can't really deny me that now can you?”

Dumbfounded, Dew once again paused in the motion. Fingers still tangled in his hair, he knit his brow. The action of embracing him, the pet name - not to mention the casual ‘my’ prefixed to it, he felt hit brain skitter to a halt. Swiss laughed again, not necessarily at him though. An amused exhale too close to his skin that makes him shudder. 

“Your baby?” He repeats with reluctance, heart rate picking up speed with each suspicious syllable. The smile he's met with is too much teeth, like Swiss might just eat him alive but not to revel in his agony. Like he might devour him to savor him in entirety, an act of reverence as opposed to violence. 

“My baby.” 

An involuntarily whine rose in his throat, eyes flitting away as to not watch the pink color his cheeks. Swiss was certainly watching.

“What's wrong?” He squeezed his middle and nosed lightly against his pulsepoint, likely feeling the way it stuttered. 

“You're being weird” Dew's voice went soft as little kisses were pressed to the hinge of his jaw. The heat in his belly was undeniable now but he still tried to distract himself, washing his hands in icy water. 

“And you're cute when you're all bashful like this, sweetheart.” Another kiss followed by a playful nip, the faintest catch of teeth against already bruised skin. Dew's eyes nearly fluttered. “You like it, know you do, love when I'm sweet on you like this.” 

Mouth opening to protest, Dew’s brain struggled to provide the words and he was left standing there stammering while Swiss continued to lightly bite and kiss along the column of his throat. He was turning to putty, dick beginning to twitch with interest. Every sappy, tooth-rotting whisper close to his ear aided it in fattening up much to his humiliation. The fire ghoul screwed his eyes shut when Swiss hummed curiously, mortified when his palm pressed to the front of his boxers. Dew whined again, distress and need mixed into one desperate sound. 

“You're blushing, beautiful…Prettiest shade of pink, wonder if it will be just as red when I get my hands on it.” 

“Fucking hells, you're gonna kill me,” he warbled and grabbed his wrist, unsure if he wanted to add to the pressure against him or pull him away. 

“Just love you baby, let me love you.”

Dew swallowed and cracked an eye open to take in the sight of them. He almost wanted to commit it to memory. 

“Y-Yeah, okay…Love you too.” 

[bc17-writes]

The Hand That Feeds - Chapter 1

Uhhh my fic got 10K+ hits on AO3 so I thought I'd post the first chapter here while I'm working on chapter 9 and some drabble like things okay cool thanks (no use of y/n)

(I also haven't used tumblr since college so if anyone has any hints, tips, tricks let me know)

Summary: You're Simon's pregnant new neighbor.

chapter specific c/w: none

Ghost is a creature of habit - most every moment of his life is structured into routines. Missions broken down to the minute, with backup plans upon backup plans. Days on base divided into blocks - trainings, briefings, meal times. Mornings and evenings in his apartment scheduled by the minute. Ghost thrives when he knows what to expect.

What he does not expect is opening the door of his Manchester apartment at zero two hundred hours to leave for his morning run, and seeing you stumble on the uneven carpet in the hallway before him. You’re half his size, dressed not dissimilarly to himself in an oversized black hoodie and joggers. The cardboard box you hold nearly flies out of your hands before he reacts, grabbing the scruff of your hoodie with one hand and steadying the box with the other.

“Christ,” he says, putting you back to rights. His voice is deep and rough with disuse. “Y’alright?”

“Yeah, sorry, thank you” you reply. “Not sure what happened.”

“Carpet’s fucked. ‘Sall uneven.” He watches you set the box down before the door of the recently vacated apartment next to his.

You pull out a lanyard from your pocket, loaded with too many keys and trinkets to keep track of, looking through them for the right one.

“It’s silver. With a square head.”

You find it almost immediately and thank him, again, opening the door and nudging the box in with your foot. You don’t lock it back.

Ghost narrows his eyes at that.

“Looks like we’re neighbors!” You give him your name and hold out a hand with a smile.

To him, it is blinding as the sun. You are resplendent, even with red, sleepy eyes and road-trip hair. You are stunning, in shapeless clothes with a few crumbs on your hoodie.

You smile at him despite his black mask and hood pulled so far over his head he knows his eyes are hidden in shadows.

He takes your hand in one of his gloved ones, and you shake it firmly, unflinchingly, the smile never leaving your face. You don’t divert your eyes, like the anonymous people he passes on his runs, or at the pub. You don’t shy away like the cashier at the little shop where he buys his tea. You don’t cower or flinch, like mothers moving their children from his view when he picks up meat at the butcher’s.

“I’m Simon.”

+

“Who pissed in your tea this morning, Ghost?” Captain Price asks, leaning back on the cool wall next to Ghost. “Really running the recruits through the ringer today.”

“L.T. didn’t get his tea this morning.” Soap interjects slyly from Ghost’s other side, before he can respond.

“Watch it, Johnny,” Ghost growls.

“Rolled up late, right before PT. Didn’t even have time for a ‘cuppa’”

“Soap!” Ghost snaps, not turning from the recruits.

“Late?” Price asks, incredulously.

“Wasn’t late. Got here when I was ‘sposed to.”

“Just later than every single other day.”

Ghost clenches his jaw, crossed arms tightening minutely across his chest. Soap obviously has a death wish.

Price hums in consideration and Ghost can feel the Captain’s eyes boring into him.

-

Simon had ended up helping you move the rest of your things from your ancient van, loading them onto a small flatbed cart so you didn’t have to bring them up the elevator one by one. He didn’t let you lift a finger. He brought them into your apartment, with your permission, and deposited them into their corresponding rooms, each mirrored from his own, just on the other side of the wall.

You’d filled the silence easily, despite the early hour and your obviously sleep-deprived state, not requiring him to speak much, and hardly asking him questions.

You’d puttered about, unboxing a few of your things, and told him a little about your job as a translator as he set up your tiny desk and computer.

You’d interjected multiple times about how he didn’t have to, how he’d helped enough, how he probably had somewhere to be considering he looked like he was on the way out already. Each time he’d say he’d be on his way if you wanted and each time you shook your head.

You’d offered him coffee and compensation, both of which he refused, counter-offering with his number and the offer to call him if you needed help with anything else. You nodded in agreement, texting him immediately with your name and apartment number.

You never asked about the mask.

He’d had enough time afterwards for a smoke and a brief shower, but not much else, abandoning his usual morning run and tea before leaving for the base.

+

Ghost clenches his jaw under his mask, refusing to give Price his attention.

“Come see me after lunch, Ghost.” Price says before walking away, not even waiting for a response.

“Don’t fucking try that again Soap,” Ghost growls under his breath.

Johnny just laughs.

+

Simon makes his way to Price’s office after lunch, closing the door behind him and leaning back on it.

“Take a seat, Simon,” Price says calmly, motioning to the plush leather chair in front of his desk.

“‘m alright, sir.”

Price sighs, shuffling the folders on his desk to the side and folding his hands atop it. “About what Soap said… Son, I don’t want you to think you need to be here any more than you have to. It’s good to have a life at home. Hobbies or- whatever you want. I trust you with my life. Have your tea at home. As long as you are where you’re supposed to be and when, I want you to enjoy your life outside of all this.”

Ghost hardly holds back a scoff at the idea - at having a home that isn’t just walls and a too soft mattress where he lays, unsleeping, glaring at the ceiling, keeping the night terrors at bay. “That all, sir?”

“That’s all. Dismissed.”

+

When Simon finally gets back to his apartment that night, he finds a six-pack of beer in front of his door, with a thank you note in your handwriting.

[thedroneranger]

Inked

Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Synopsis: Mrs. Seresin returns from a bachelorette trip and brings Jake home a souvenir...or two...

Notes: A To-Do List imagine.

Warnings: Suggestive, strong language, disregard for proper tattoo care.

Word count: 0.8k

It was rare Jake was on airport pick-up duty, so it didn’t bother him in the slightest. He was bright-eyed and holding her favorite latte, ready for her to appear at any moment as waves of people sputtered into the luggage pick-up area. 

There she was. Jeans, sneakers and an oversized sweater. Hair piled in a messy bun as she scanned the baggage claim area. They locked eyes, and her face lit up. She bound toward him and carefully curled into him, avoiding the latte. 

After a solid hug, she accepted her drink and took a sip. He loved how happy something as simple as a latte made her. 

She looked at him. “Wanna see something?” Jake was usually more of the morning person of the duo, but she was bushy-tailed this morning. 

He quirked an eyebrow and wrapped an arm around her waist, slotting a couple fingers into her pocket to hold her next to him. She passed her rolling carry-on to him so he could drag it as they walked. 

“Sure.” He didn’t know what to expect—he never did. 

She tilted her head back so she could look at him as he peered down at her. Her fingers formed a V-shape and rolled back her bottom lip to reveal the phrase “Bite me” in black ink. Jake couldn’t help but smile, a reaction she mirrored as she let her lip flip back into place. 

He tightened his slack arm around her to pull her closer. “Don’t have to tell me twice.” He leaned down and nipped her lip. She giggled as he tugged her bottom lip when he pulled away. 

“At least wait until we’re home!” she teased as they parted. Jake smirked as he squeezed her hip, his fingers still in her pocket. Together, they strolled to the parking garage. 

“What possessed you?” Jake was curious. 

“It was the least permanent option for a drunken tattoo during a bachelorette weekend.” She laughed. “I was more surprised that I managed to talk the tattooer into doing it.” 

Jake shook his head and smiled. “You could sell water to a fish.” He paused. “But also, they were willing to tattoo a bunch of drunken women…” Jake trailed off. 

She feigned annoyance with his latter comment, but then addressed the former quip. “Of course, I can—who do you think upsells clients on micro tile and wallpaper accents?” 

He kissed her temple as they continued to the vehicle. 

Once home, Ruck greeted her with endless kisses, and then trailed her upstairs as she went to unpack. Jake puttered around downstairs until she texted him she was going to take a nap.

Chauffeuring her home from her redeye flight, Jake felt he earned one, too. He arrived at their bedroom to find her in the ensuite bathroom, washing her face. Her short silk robe was open with the belt tied behind her back to keep it from falling. 

After Jake stripped to his underwear, ready to cuddle her to sleep, he sat at the end of the bed and watched the fabric grazing her bare thighs as she patted her face dry. 

“Like what you see?” She acknowledged him. 

His smile lines deepened as she walked toward him. He felt his blood pump faster as she turned to reveal the tiny triangle of fabric she called underwear and her pert nipples under a well-worn tank top.

Jake’s palms held him up as he leaned back on the bed. His gaze tracked her as she slipped on the bed beside him, sitting on her calves. Her feet and the tail of her robe hung over the edge as she looked at Jake. 

“Yes?” He waited for her to say something.

She bit her lip before responding. Amused, Jake watched as she filtered her thoughts. “I got you something.”

“Oh?” Jake kept his gaze on her. She scooted toward him, further onto the bed. Her shoulders rolled, allowing her robe to slide down her back and pool behind her. 

She motioned with a head tilt toward her backside. “Why don’t you take a look.” Skeptical, Jake leaned forward. His eyes followed the line of her back until it reached her ass. 

There, following the swell of her buttcheek, in the finest line possible, was the phrase “Good girl.” 

Immediately, Jake felt all the blood in his body rush to his lap. He exhaled and squeezed his eyes shut as he tilted his chin toward the ceiling.

While he collected himself, she seized the opportunity to straddle him. Hands on his knees, she slipped into his lap.  Jake’s eyes shot open to find her pulling her shirt over her head.

Looking down he had the perfect view of her tattoo as her ass pressed against his stomach. “Did I pick the right spot?” She asked as she ground herself into his budding erection. 

“Perfect.” He groaned as his hands traversed her curves until his fingers sank into the hinges of her hips. She leaned forward, her palms still on his knees for support. Her hips rolled in circular motions. She looked over her shoulder to find Jake staring at her. 

“Take it for a test drive?” She winked at him. His signature smile appeared.

“I thought you’d never ask.” 

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[steeb-stn]

700 words of Prospect hurt/comfort, enjoy

—- “Ezra!” 

Her anguished voice echoes through the trees. It’s been said that the Green has its own haunting beauty, but all he sees now is cruelty, a maze of greenery and vines and thickets, throwing sound from one vast tree trunk to another, keeping him from his girl. 

“Ezra, help! Help me!” 

He tries to run toward her voice, but his legs are weighed down with lead, his lungs heavy with Dust. Tries to call out to her. “I’m coming, birdy! Where are you?” It comes out barely a whisper.

“Ezra please!” She is begging him now, as if he wouldn’t saw his other arm off if she needed him to, as if he would not give her his very heart. He struggles through the trees, tripping over the brush, continuing forward on hand and knees. 

“Cee, I’m coming, I promise you I’m coming! Tell me where you are, little bird!”

She doesn’t answer him, only screams and sobs, every cry tearing through him like a knife. Finally he falls upon a clearing in the trees.The Queen’s Lair lays before him, and she lies at its edge, her face covered in tears and naked fear. She reaches for him, nails clawing into the dirt. “Ezra, help! Ezra!” Dark figures pull at her limbs and her hair, dragging her back into the pit, first her father, then the Saters, then the mercs. “No! Let me go, no!”

He snarls, ready to tear limb from limb, but however hard he tries he cannot get closer to her, always struggling in the dirt, pulled five steps back with every one he drags himself forward, he can’t get to her.

“Please!” She sobs. He feels  her despair as if its his own, but he’s trying, he’s not leaving her, this isn’t fair. “Please Ezra, you can’t let them take me, you can’t, we had a deal-”

“Hey! Wake up. Ezra.” He comes to with a start. The night is pitch black in front of him. A slight weight on his shoulder causes him to reach out in reflex until a thin arm is firmly in his grasp.

“Birdie?” His voice is harsh and panicked in the stillness of the night.

“I’m right here.”

He sets up with a start, now just able to make out her slight silhouette in the darkness. He reaches for her, able to get his hand on the side of her neck, feel that she is whole and hale. He looks around anxiously, but it’s too dark to see any threat that might be there. He lets go of her just long enough to reach the bedside light. But when the room is finally illuminated, there is no one there. No enemies, no dangers, just the two of them. She squeezes his arm where it is wrapped around her. 

“Ezra, it’s okay.” Her serious expression is somewhat adorably at odds with her oversized Life is better on Lao! t-shirt and her bedhead. He tries to school his expression, calm his rapidly beating heart. She is safe, here with him in their little one bedroom flat, watching him concernedly. “Bad dream?”

“‘Fraid so, little bird.” He runs a hand down his face. “Did I wake you?” 

She shrugs. “Yeah. It’s okay.” 

“What was I saying?”

“I couldn’t really tell. You were just yelling.” 

He hopes he doesn’t look too relieved at that. Besides, it’s nothing he wants to trouble her with. All thoughts of the Green belong far from her mind. 

He looks up at the hand on his shoulder, her thumb rubbing back and forth against his arm. It’s not something she used to do, the touching. The comforting. He taught her that, somehow., though he doesn’t know how that could be. 

They taught each other. 

He gives her a smile. “Thank you for the rescue, little bird. I’m sorry for the interruption to your rest.” He ruffles the hair sticking up at the crown of her head. “Back to bed with you, yes? You’ve got class in the morning.” 

She smiles, squeezes his arm. “Maybe some tea first? It always takes me a while to get sleepy again.” 

That’s how he spends the next half hour, watching her putter around the kitchen, drinking tea side by side, their shoulders brushing together, allowing his heartbeat and his mind to finally settle.

[biohqzards]

𝙽𝙾𝚆 𝙻𝙾𝙰𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶 ... 𝙲://𝚁𝙾𝚂𝙸𝙴𝚂_𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚁.𝙴𝚇𝙴 ( 𝟭𝟮-𝟬𝟲-𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟯 𝟬𝟰:𝟮𝟴 )

the  diner  is  quiet  ,  only  the  subtle  hum  of  the  lights  running  overhead  on  the  back-up  generator’s  power  filling  the  sill  air  ;  witching  hours  always  held  a  fragile  beauty  to  them  despite  the  fact  that  so  few  sane  humans  willingly  chose  to  stay  awake  through  them  –  and  though  sev’s  running  on  three  hours  of  sleep  (  if  he’s  being  generous  )  ,  he  finds  himself  puttering  about  the  empty  diner  with  his  hands  cupping  a  large  mug  of  piping-hot  coffee.  the  oversized-sleeves  of  his  sweaters  cover  his  hands  ,  providing  him  his  palms  with  an  extra  layer  of  protection  from  the  scalding  heat  leaching  through  the  porcelain  of  his  mug.  he  sighs  ,  raising  it  to  his  lips  before  quietly  nestling  himself  into  one  of  the  booths  towards  the  back  ,  head  bowed  and  the  rim  of  his  cup  resting  at  his  lower  lip.  he  takes  a  slow  sip  ,  savoring  the  bitter  flavor  as  it  settles  over  his  tongue.  the  instant  coffee  he  had  managed  to  scrounge  from  the  wexley  wasn’t  necessarily  good  by  any  means  –  but  desperate  times  called  for  desperate  measures.  he’s  lost  in  his  thoughts  ,  brows  pinched  and  lips  twisted  into  a  wobbly  frown  ,  as  he  slowly  nurses  the  watery  ,  overly-caffeinated  beverage.   sev  mumbles  under  his  breath  ,  a  string  of  non-cohesive  figures  and  disjointed  musings  ,  when  the  sensation  of  a  hand  tapping  at  his  shoulder  forces  him  to  jolt.  he  exhales  an  undignified  sound  caught  somewhere  between  a  yelp  and  a  squeak  ,  hands  shaking  enough  that  some  of  the  coffee  in  his  mug  sloshes  past  the  rip.  he  winces  ,  the  hot  liquid  seeping  through  his  sweater-paws  and  burning  the  skin  on  his  spindly  fingers  –  but  he  pays  no  mind  ,  gingerly  setting  the  cup  onto  the  table  with  a  sour  expression.  “  ack  –  sorry  ,  i  didn’t  hear  you  …  i  didn’t  realize  anyone  else  was  awake  at  this  hour  ! "

[morg-among-the-stars]

I’m lying in bed, swimming in the oversized shirt my lover slept it. It has Frog and Toad on it, reading:

“Toad sat and did nothing.”

“Frog sat with him.”

That’s us, that’s how I hope we’ll always be

Able to sit in silence. In peace. Together

I didn’t really understand peaceful silence before she came along, but I’m grateful to know it now

The shirt is soft, though softer when she wears it. It smells better when she wears it, too

That smell has faded as I wear it, but I have her in it etched into my mind

Puttering around my bedroom, changing something on the TV, taking a sip of water from her big pink, sticker covered bottle

I remember sitting on my bed, watching her in the lamplight

Soft and glowy

Tugging the shirt down while it rode up her thighs and I thought of what it might look like when that shirt is old and well-worn and faded

She’ll be older, wandering around our home

I’ll be older, too

We’ll be older, together

I also always hope that we’ll have long hugs

Because resting my head on her shoulder and hugging her, soft fabric against my face, is so simple and small but it’s as close to Heaven and I might get

In sudden, tight hugs, her voice is soft, too: “You okay?”

The answer is typically, “Yes.” but I didn’t have to lie when it wasn’t

I hold her tight to tell her what my mouth sometimes can’t

Indefinitely: “I love you”

There are a million things swarming my mind when my head is on her shoulder and time slows

I get caught up on reflecting

All the wrong turns and bad— awful— downright miserable and good— getting better— wonderful days we’ve had in our respective twenty years of life to get to where we are now

All the hard work on many different fronts

To get to where we are now

Time often goes slow when I’m in her arms

And that’s how I like time to be with her

I like long minutes of silence and aforementioned reflection

Or a softly mumbled quip from me and she laughs so softly but I can hear it, and I tell myself not to grin

Because making her laugh is a great joy in my life

Or smile

Or feel any semblance of peace

She often steals my shirts but I’m not going to complain

They fit her well

I like that we have our shirt

I like our

Our life

Our love

Our shared shows and playlists and things we get excited over

I love it

I love us

I love her

Lord almighty, the closest I’ll ever get to Heaven in her arms, I love her

@strawberryfemmesapphic ❤️‍🩹

[golfruso]

The Ultimate Guide to Golf Headcovers: Styles, Benefits, and Best Choices

Introduction

Golf is not just a game of skill and strategy; it's also a sport that embraces style and individuality. One of the often-overlooked accessories that can enhance both your performance and your personal flair on the golf course is the golf headcover. In this guide, we'll explore the various types of golf headcovers available, their benefits, how to choose the right ones for your golf bag, and some of the best options on the market today.

What Are Golf Headcovers?

Golf headcovers are protective accessories designed to cover the heads of golf clubs, particularly drivers, woods, and putters. They serve multiple purposes, including:

Protection: They protect clubheads from scratches, dents, and damage that can occur during transportation or while resting in the golf bag.

Style: Headcovers allow golfers to express their personality and style, with countless designs available, from classic leather to whimsical characters.

Identification: Many golfers use headcovers as a way to easily identify their clubs, especially in a crowded bag.

Types of Golf Headcovers

Driver Headcovers

These are designed specifically for drivers and are typically larger to accommodate the oversized heads of modern drivers. They often come in various styles and materials, from sleek designs to fun animal shapes.

Fairway Wood Headcovers

Fairway wood headcovers are slightly smaller than driver headcovers and are crafted to fit the heads of 3-wood, 5-wood, and other fairway clubs. They can come with numerical tags or other identifiers for easy club recognition.

Hybrid Headcovers

These headcovers are made for hybrid clubs, which are a cross between woods and irons. They typically have a snug fit and are often similar in size to fairway wood headcovers.

Putter Headcovers

Putter headcovers vary widely in design and style. They come in various shapes and sizes to accommodate different putter styles, from traditional blade putters to modern mallet designs. Many golfers choose unique putter headcovers as a statement piece.

Custom Headcovers

For those looking to make a personal statement, custom headcovers can be designed with your name, logo, or favorite sports team. This option provides an opportunity for personalization that can set you apart on the course.

Benefits of Using Golf Headcovers

Protection of Equipment

One of the primary benefits of using headcovers is the protection they offer to your clubs. Golf clubs are an investment, and headcovers can help prevent damage caused by contact with other clubs or hard surfaces in your golf bag.

Extending Club Life

By reducing wear and tear, headcovers can help extend the life of your golf clubs. Keeping the clubheads scratch-free and protected from the elements can ensure that they perform at their best for a longer period.

Improved Organization

Headcovers can assist in keeping your golf bag organized. With various styles and identifiers, you can quickly locate the club you need without rummaging through your bag, saving valuable time on the course.

Personal Expression

Golf headcovers come in countless designs, allowing you to express your personal style. Whether you prefer classic leather, funky animal shapes, or sleek modern designs, headcovers can add a unique touch to your golfing outfit.

Easier Club Identification

With the variety of styles available, many golfers find it easier to identify their clubs using headcovers, particularly in a crowded bag. This helps prevent mix-ups and allows for a more efficient game.

How to Choose the Right Golf Headcovers

When selecting golf headcovers, consider the following factors:

Material

Headcovers come in various materials, including:

Leather: Offers a classic, elegant look but may require more maintenance.

Synthetic Fabrics: Often more durable and easier to clean.

Knitted Fabrics: Provide a snug fit and can come in various colors and patterns.

Fit

Ensure the headcover fits snugly on your clubs. A loose fit may result in the cover falling off during transport, while a tight fit may be difficult to put on and take off.

Design and Style

Choose a design that resonates with your personal style. From simple to whimsical, your headcovers can reflect your personality and add a fun element to your golf gear.

Functionality

Consider how easy the headcovers are to put on and take off. You want a balance between protection and accessibility, especially during a round of golf.

Budget

Golf headcovers are available at various price points. Determine your budget and find options that fit within it while still meeting your style and functionality preferences.

Popular Golf Headcovers on the Market

McArthur Sports NCAA Golf Headcovers

These headcovers come in team colors and logos, perfect for fans who want to show their school pride on the course. They offer a snug fit and great protection for your clubs.

Taylormade Headcovers

Taylormade offers a range of stylish headcovers for drivers, fairways, and putters. Their quality construction ensures durability and protection for your valuable equipment.

Teezy Golf Headcovers

Teezy headcovers feature fun and quirky designs, from animal shapes to playful characters. These headcovers not only protect your clubs but also add a humorous touch to your golfing ensemble.

Pinnacle Golf Headcovers

Pinnacle is known for its stylish yet functional headcovers. They come in various colors and materials, offering a good balance of protection and aesthetic appeal.

Cobra Golf Headcovers

Cobra offers a variety of headcovers designed for their line of clubs. These headcovers are known for their vibrant colors and innovative designs, making them a popular choice among golfers.

FAQs about Golf Headcovers

Do I need headcovers for all my clubs?

While it's not mandatory, using headcovers for your drivers, woods, and putters is highly recommended to protect your investment and extend their life.

How do I clean my golf headcovers?

Cleaning methods vary depending on the material. Leather headcovers may require specialized cleaners, while synthetic and knitted headcovers can often be machine washed or hand washed with mild detergent.

Can I use the same headcover for different clubs?

It's not advisable, as headcovers are designed to fit specific club types. Using the correct headcover ensures optimal protection and fit.

Are custom headcovers worth the investment?

Custom headcovers can be a great way to express your personality and make your gear unique. They can be more expensive than standard options, but many golfers find the investment worthwhile for the added personalization.

How do I store my headcovers when not in use?

Store headcovers in a cool, dry place, ideally in your golf bag or a dedicated accessory pouch. Avoid exposing them to extreme temperatures or direct sunlight for extended periods.

Conclusion

Golf headcovers are more than just a protective accessory; they are a way to express your individuality, organize your equipment, and safeguard your valuable clubs. With a wide array of styles, materials, and designs available, you can find the perfect headcovers that meet your needs and align with your personal aesthetic. By investing in quality headcovers, you're not just protecting your clubs; you're also enhancing your overall golfing experience. Whether you're a casual golfer or a seasoned pro, the right headcovers can add that extra touch of style and protection to your game.

[golfgearamenity]

What Golf Clubs to Use for Each Shot

You're keen to improve your golf game, aren't you? Knowing which club to use for each shot is key.

This guide will help you comprehend the optimal use of each club, from the driver for teeing off, to irons for closer shots, to woods for distance.

You'll grasp when to use different wedges and the role of the putter.

Whether you're a novice or seasoned player, you'll gain confidence to make strategic choices on the course.

Let's get started!

What Golf Club Do I Need?

You'll need to choose the right golf club based on the shot you're aiming for, the terrain, and the distance to the hole. It's not just a matter of picking any club from your bag. The type of club you select can greatly impact your performance and game progression.

If you're teeing off and aiming for the longest distance, the driver should be your go-to club. It's designed to hit the ball as far as possible, covering distances of about 180 to 305 yards.

On the other hand, if you're dealing with special terrains like sandy areas, a wedge would be most suitable.

Irons are versatile tools in your golf arsenal. You'll find a range of long, mid, and short irons, each designed for different distances. Long irons are perfect for high shots covering longer distances, while short irons provide a larger loft ideal for shorter distances.

Woods and hybrids have their unique uses too. Woods, with their larger club heads, are your allies for long-distance shots. Hybrids, as the name suggests, combine the benefits of irons and woods. They're especially handy for easier maneuverability, thanks to their oversized heads and shorter shafts compared to fairway woods.

Lastly, don't forget the putter. This club is specifically designed to help you direct the ball into the hole, especially on the green. It requires precision, so make sure you've got your control and accuracy in check.

Now, armed with this knowledge, you're ready to select the right club for every shot.

What Golf Clubs to Use for Each Shot

Understanding which golf club to use for each shot is crucial for improving your game. Check the best equipment for golf at https://golfgearamenity.com/. You'll need to consider factors such as distance, terrain, and your personal skill level when selecting from your driver, pitching wedge, sand wedge, putter, or fairway woods.

Let's start examining how and when to effectively use these clubs to optimize your performance on the golf course.

Driver

While it's typically the first club you'd reach for on the course, it's important to know that a driver is specifically designed for teeing off and achieving the longest possible distance on your shots.

The shape and design of these clubs help to 'drive' the ball towards the pin, covering distances of about 180 to 305 yards. The low loft angle of a driver aids in distance attainment but demands a perfect swing for accuracy.

Contrary to popular belief, a driver isn't always the best choice for beginners due to its length and low loft. Mastering the use of a driver can significantly enhance your game, enabling you to cover large distances with fewer strokes.

Ultimately, understanding when and how to use your driver is crucial for your golfing efficiency.

Pitching Wedge

Often, you'll find yourself using a pitching wedge when you're within 50-120 yards of the green. This club is a real game-changer, designed to help you hit the ball onto the green and close to the pin. It's your ideal choice for shorter, more accurate shots, especially when you're aiming to get the ball high up in the air.

Unlike drivers and irons, pitching wedges offer a higher degree of control and precision. Remember, the secret to mastering the pitching wedge lies in understanding its loft and distance capabilities. So, practice your swing, perfect your stance, and you'll soon be nailing those short-range shots.

When you're in the right range, don't hesitate to use your pitching wedge, it's the club that can make the difference.

Sand Wedge

You're likely to reach for your sand wedge when your ball's stuck in a bunker, as this club's design helps master those tricky sand shots. The sand wedge has a loft between 54 and 58 degrees and is designed with a wider sole to prevent the club from digging too deep into the sand.

Here are some key points about the sand wedge:

It has a heavier head which provides you with more control and stability.

The bounce on the sole helps the club glide through the sand rather than digging in.

It's also handy for lob shots, where you need the ball to fly high and land softly.

Regular practice with your sand wedge can improve your bunker play significantly.

It's not just for sand, the sand wedge can be used for shots from the rough or even from the fairway.

Putter

In nearly every round of golf you play, you'll use your putter more times than any other club in your bag. The putter is pivotal as it's the club you'll wield once you're on the green, where precision and control are paramount.

Equipped with a flat face, the putter is designed to roll the ball along the ground and into the hole. It's typically shorter in length compared to other clubs, facilitating control and accuracy. This club is your ticket to avoid adding strokes to your score.

You aim to put the ball into the hole in as few shots as possible. Learning how to use the putter skillfully is likely the most crucial part of improving your game. So, take time to understand and practice using your putter. It can make a significant difference to your final score.

Fairway Woods

When you're on the fairway and need a long-distance shot, or you're in the rough, fairway woods are what you'll want to reach for in your golf bag. They're designed for distance and loft, making them ideal for those tricky shots.

Here's what you need to know about fairway woods:

The larger the number on the club, the shorter the distance it covers.

A 3-wood typically gives you a distance of 125-240 yards.

A 7-wood will usually allow for a range of 90-170 yards.

These clubs can also be used effectively off the tee.

They're particularly handy when you're in the rough and need a strong, lofted shot to get you back onto the fairway.

Understanding when to use your fairway woods can significantly improve your golf game.

Irons

Understanding the role and range of irons in your golf game is crucial, and it'll greatly influence the precision of your progress towards the green. Irons vary significantly in design and the distance they cover. They're typically differentiated by numbers, with higher numbers indicating shorter distances.

Long irons are perfect for high shots covering longer distances, while mid irons aid in your game's progression with average distances. Short irons, with their larger loft, are ideal for shorter distances. Irons with longer shafts may be challenging to master but offer greater distance.

It's important to remember that irons are used to drive the ball closer to the green. Choosing the right iron for each shot can dramatically improve your game, so take the time to understand each one's capabilities.

Hybrids

You'll find that a good number of golfers are now swapping out their long irons and fairway woods for the more versatile hybrid clubs. These hybrids provide the best of both worlds, combining the distance capabilities of woods with the precision of irons. They're especially useful for those tricky mid-range shots where you need control and distance.

Hybrids are perfect for delivering distance without sacrificing control. These clubs are great for mid-range shots that require both power and precision. Hybrids have the loft of an iron for high shots and the power of a wood for long distances. They're easier to hit compared to long irons and fairway woods. Hybrids offer a versatile solution, adaptable to a wide range of golfing situations.

Invest in a hybrid club and elevate your game with this all-around performer.

Golf Clubs and Their Uses

In the game of golf, it's essential to know that each club in your bag has a specific purpose and use. You're allowed a maximum of 14 clubs, and it's up to you to choose the combination that best suits your game.

The driver, with its design for distance, is your best friend for tee off. It's meant to give you the longest shot, usually covering between 180 to 305 yards. Woods, numbered from 1 to 9, also cover long distances but with different loft angles. The lower the number, the lower the loft, and the further the ball can travel.

Irons, divided into long, mid, and short, are used based on the distance to the green. Long irons are perfect for longer distances, while short irons, with their larger loft, give you accuracy over shorter distances. Mid irons, as the name suggests, cover the distances in between.

If you're stuck in the sand or need a high shot over a short distance, a wedge is your go-to club. Different types of wedges, like the pitching wedge or sand wedge, offer unique benefits for various scenarios.

Lastly, your putter is there for the final shot. Its flat face is designed to roll the ball along the green into the hole. It's all about precision and control with the putter.

Hybrids, combining the benefits of irons and woods, can be a game-changer. They offer easier maneuverability, making them a great addition to your golf set.

Summary of When to Use Each Golf Club

Let's break down the 14 clubs you might carry in your golf bag, detailing when to use each one. Understanding the functions of these clubs can significantly enhance your game, allowing you to make the right choice at the right time.

Driver: Use this club when you're teeing off, as its low loft helps achieve the longest distance possible.

Irons: These clubs come in handy when you need to propel the ball towards the green. Different irons are used for varying distances.

Woods: Reach for a wood when you need to make long-distance shots. The larger club heads and numbered classification help you choose the right one.

Wedges: These are your go-to clubs for high shots near the green or off the sand. They come in different types like pitching and sand wedges.

Putter: The putter is your best friend when you're on the green. It's designed to roll the ball into the hole with precision.

Remember, the driver is perfect for those initial long-distance shots, while the irons and woods are your allies in progressing the game towards the green. Wedges help you tackle tricky terrains and get the ball high up in the air. Lastly, the putter is crucial for those final precise shots to complete a hole.

Mastering when to use each club is a skill that takes time and practice. But with this summary, you're well on your way to becoming a more informed and strategic golfer. Keep practicing, and watch your game improve over time.

What are the Best Golf Clubs for Me?

While it's important to know when to use each type of golf club, it's equally crucial to understand which clubs are the best fit for you and your unique playing style. Identifying the best clubs can be challenging due to the variety of products on the market and the uniqueness of every golfer's skill level, stance, swing, and strength.

To get started, consider your stance and swing. Are you a power swinger or more of a finesse player? Power swingers often benefit from less lofted clubs like drivers and long irons, while finesse players might find more utility in higher lofted clubs like wedges and short irons.

Next, consider your skill level. Beginners often find hybrids and fairway woods easier to handle than long irons, while advanced players might favor the versatility and control of a full set of irons.

Then, there's the matter of strength. Powerful players can often handle heavier clubs, allowing them to get more distance on their shots. Conversely, those with less strength might benefit from lighter clubs that are easier to swing.

Visit your local pro shop and consult an expert. They'll analyze your swing, stance, and strength to recommend the ideal clubs for your unique needs. It's not just about finding the best club on the market, but the best club for you.

With the right set of clubs, you'll be better equipped to make each shot count and improve your game.

Conclusion

Understanding which golf club to use for each shot can truly elevate your game. From drivers for teeing off, irons for mid-range shots, woods for long-distances, to wedges for precision and putters for that final, satisfying roll into the hole. Knowing their unique uses empowers you to make strategic choices on the course.

So, grab your clubs and put this knowledge into practice. Here's to lower scores and a more enjoyable golfing experience.

Remember, the right club can make all the difference!

[macrogolf12]

The Oversized Putter: Why It’s Gaining Popularity in Golf

Golf, often regarded as a sport that combines skill, precision, and technique, is continually evolving with new technology and innovations aimed at improving players' performance. One such innovation is the oversized putter, a type of golf club that has garnered increasing attention among both amateur and professional golfers. While the traditional putter has remained a staple in the game for decades, the oversized putter has become a noteworthy option for players seeking greater control, stability, and comfort on the greens.

Enhanced Stability and Forgiveness

One of the primary advantages of an Oversized Putter is the enhanced stability it provides during the stroke. The larger head of the putter adds mass and improves the overall balance of the club. This added weight makes it easier for golfers to keep the putter on the intended path and maintain a consistent stroke, particularly during those critical moments when putting accuracy is essential.

Comfort and Confidence for All Skill Levels

Golf is a mental game, and confidence plays a massive role in a player’s ability to perform well. Many golfers, especially beginners and mid-handicappers, can feel a lack of confidence when lining up for a putt, especially when faced with long or tricky distances. The oversized putter can help ease this anxiety by providing a feeling of increased control and stability.

Ideal for Players with Physical Limitations

As the game of golf is played by individuals of all ages and physical abilities, one of the overlooked benefits of an oversized putter is its suitability for golfers with physical limitations. Players who may experience joint pain, hand tremors, or other conditions that affect their ability to maintain a smooth and stable putting stroke often find that an oversized putter offers a more comfortable experience.

Technological Innovations in Oversized Putters

The oversized putter is not simply a larger version of the traditional putter—it is a product of advanced design and technology. Many manufacturers of oversized putters have incorporated cutting-edge technologies to enhance their performance even further. For instance, some oversized putters feature high-tech materials such as titanium or carbon fiber, which help reduce the weight of the club while maintaining strength and durability.

The oversized putter represents an exciting innovation in the world of golf, offering a host of benefits for players of all skill levels. From increased stability and forgiveness to enhanced comfort and confidence, the oversized putter provides a unique advantage that many golfers are embracing. However, it’s important to keep in mind that not every player may find the oversized putter to be the right fit for their game. As with any piece of golf equipment, the best choice is one that aligns with the player’s individual needs and playing style. For those looking to improve their putting game, the Oversized Putter might just be the perfect tool to help them sink more putts and lower their scores.

[topreviewin]

Are you looking to up your game on the green? Are you not throwing the ball very far distances? Are you struggling to make good contact? If you answered yes to any of these questions, then you should consider investing in a good golf club set. One of the best golf club sets you can invest in is the MAZEL Chipper Club Pitching Wedge for Men & Women, 36 Degree. This club will open up your distance on the green, while also taking away the need for a lot of power. Additionally, the MAZEL Chipper Club Pitching Wedge for Men & Women, 36 Degree is a great option for those who rely on their short game. This club will take the stress out of making good contact, while also saving you from a lot ofstrokes. If you're looking to take your game to the next level, then the MAZEL Chipper Club Pitching Wedge for Men & Women, 36 Degree is a great option to consider.Table of ContentsMAZEL Chipper Club Pitching Wedge for Men & Women,36 Degree - Save Stroke from Short Game,Right HandStrata Men’s Complete Golf SetRAM Golf EZ3 Mens Golf Clubs Set with Stand Bag - Graphite/Steel ShaftsFrequently Asked QuestionsMAZEL Chipper Club Pitching Wedge for Men & Women,36 Degree - Save Stroke from Short Game,Right HandPros: Alignment line for accuracy, putter-like length for easy swing, high performance rubber grip for better control, improved short game. Cons: May be too light for some users. The MAZEL Chipper Club Pitching Wedge is a great choice for those looking to improve their short game. The alignment line and putter-like length make it easy to use, and the high performance rubber grip gives you better control. The improved short game is a great benefit, and the price is just $69.80.Strata Men’s Complete Golf SetThe Strata Men's Complete Golf Set is designed to give you maximum performance and confidence from tee-to-green. The set includes a driver, fairway wood, hybrid, irons, putter, and stand bag. The driver features a lightweight 460cc forged head with a large sweet spot and titanium construction for more forgiveness and distance. The fairway wood is oversized and designed for forgiveness and high flying shots. The hybrid is a great alternative to difficult long irons and provides more confidence on a variety of shots. The irons are stainless steel and offer a great combination of forgiveness and control. The putter is a mallet style with alignment features to help with accuracy. The stand bag is lightweight and includes five pockets, an additional cooler pocket, a rain hood, and a backpack strap system.RAM Golf EZ3 Mens Golf Clubs Set with Stand Bag - Graphite/Steel ShaftsThe Ram Golf EZ3 is a great choice for golfers who are serious about improving their game. The set includes all the clubs you need to get out on the course and play better golf. The driver is oversized with a 460cc head and a lightweight graphite shaft that will help you generate more club head speed. The 3 wood is smaller than the driver, but still has a large sweetspot and is perfect for long approaches. It also comes with a lightweight graphite shaft. The hybrid is a great choice for accuracy and control, and replaces the longer irons in your bag. The irons are deep cavity back and fitted with steel shafts for more precision. The putter is a mallet design that helps put more weight to the extremities of the club, making it less likely to twist if you make an off-center ball strike. The stand bag is of great quality with auto-pop out legs, dual shoulder straps, and a rain hood. This golf set was built to be easy to use and forgiving, with technologies to help golfers who are serious about improving their game. Frequently Asked QuestionsGreat clubs can help you up your game on the green. In this Q&A, we'll compare three golf clubs that can help you improve your game: the MAZEL Chipper Club Pitching Wedge for Men & Women, the Strata Men’s Complete Golf Set, and the RAM Golf EZ3 Mens Golf Clubs Set with Stand Bag. Which club is best for you? To find the best golf club for you, first decide what you need it for.

If you're looking for a pitching wedge to help you improve your short game, the MAZEL Chipper Club Pitching Wedge may be a good fit. If you're looking for a complete golf set, the Strata Men’s Complete Golf Set may be a good choice. If you're only looking for a golf club stand, the RAM Golf EZ3 Mens Golf Clubs Set with Stand Bag may be a good option. Each golf club has its own advantages and disadvantages. The MAZEL Chipper Club Pitching Wedge is a good option if you're looking for a pitching wedge that can help you improve your short game. The MAZEL Chipper Club Pitching Wedge has a 36-degree loft, which is perfect for pitching golf balls into tight spots. The MAZEL Chipper Club Pitching Wedge also has a smooth, polished surface. This makes it easy to chip the ball towards the green. The Strata Men’s Complete Golf Set is a good choice if you're looking for a complete golf set. The Strata Men’s Complete Golf Set has a variety of club options, including a drivers, a woods, and a putter. The Strata Men’s Complete Golf Set is also easy to carry around. The Strata Men’s Complete Golf Set has a steel shaft, which makes it durable. The RAM Golf EZ3 Mens Golf Clubs Set with Stand Bag is a good option if you're looking for a golf club stand. The RAM Golf EZ3 Mens Golf Clubs Set with Stand Bag is easy to set up and take down. The RAM Golf EZ3 Mens Golf Clubs Set with Stand Bag is also easy to store. The RAM Golf EZ3 Mens Golf Clubs Set with Stand Bag is a good option if you're looking for a golf club stand that can hold a lot of golf clubs.

[seaphoam-writes]

A Father's Duty (5/?)

A Father's Duty on AO3

Summary: An encounter with a quantum fissure leaves Picard with more responsibility than he asked for, but he'll do what he always does—his duty.

Chapter 5

Before leaving for Ten Forward, they clean themselves up.

Curiously, Louis chooses the bath over the sonic shower. Picard’s never used the—in his opinion—ostentatiously oversized tub before himself, so it takes some trial and error to get it going. He sees Louis safely into the bath and then retreats into the other room to discreetly check with Beverly that it’s okay to let the boy bathe by himself.

Beverly’s reply is an amused, “Of course it is, Jean-Luc.”

Before Picard can retort that he has no experience and should not be expected to know the capabilities of an 8-year-old versus a toddler, she suggests that he replicate Louis a new set of clothes.

That also takes some experimentation—and a bit of imagination. The result is an outfit very similar to something his nephew René wore, but in slate and shades of blue that Picard knows from personal experience will complement the boy’s eyes. He changes his own outfit as well. Out of uniform, he’s less identifiable, and he wants to make it clear to anyone in Ten Forward that does recognize him that he’s off-duty.

While he waits for Louis to finish, he wanders his quarters. The headache from earlier receded, but he’s afraid that if he sits, his exhaustion will creep back up on him, and if he closes his eyes he’ll be helpless against the pull of sleep, so he putters about, straightening the chairs at his dining table, adjusting the angle of the objects that adorn his shelves.

Eventually, he finds himself back at his desk, standing before Louis’s bag. It’s still open, and Picard can see that it did not, in fact, contain only the photograph; it’s filled, and what catches his eye first is a stuffed animal.  

Gently, he pulls it out.

It’s a fox, more stylized than realistic, and it strums of chord of memory in his mind. He had one very much like it as a child. His mother gave it to him, and he used to drag it all over the vineyard on his adventures, until his father decided he was too old to be carrying a stuffed animal about in such a way and made it disappear.

The Picard from Louis’s reality must have had one as a boy as well, and he must have given this one to Louis.

No, he thinks. It’s unlikely that the original escaped the Enterprise with Louis and Data, so Data must have replicated this one later. He wonders if the original was also replicated, or if it somehow survived the other Picard’s childhood and was passed down.

He strokes the fur before replacing the toy inside the bag. He wants to know what else the bag contains, but he thinks perhaps he should wait and ask Louis’s permission first; he believes Data intended for him to see the photograph, but he’s not certain if the remaining contents are meant for him or not.

“Père?”

Picard’s pulled towards that word as if by a string.

Louis is standing in the tub, wrapped in a towel but still submerged knee-deep in water. Picard realizes his dilemma immediately.

“Ah. Right. Well…”

He places another towel on the floor so Louis can step out, then rolls up his sleeves and rummages around for the plug—only to discover that there is none, and the drain stopper is released via a lever beneath the faucet.

With a sigh, he laments in French, “I guess I need to start taking baths so I can learn how a tub works.”

Louis grins, the expression half-hidden by the towel swaddling him nearly to his ears.

It’s another small encouragement, and Picard feels peculiarly light on his feet as he stands. He moves to leave so Louis can have privacy to dress, but as he does he has the sudden urge to press his nose to the top of Louis’s head.

For a moment, time halts and he’s drowning in a memory—the sights, sounds, and sensations of a quiet night in his home on Kataan. He’s tucking Meribor and Batai into their beds, kissing their hair, damp from the bath, and smelling that soap his wife said was, “Only for the children, Kamin.”

And then he’s back in his quarters, and Louis is watching him.

With effort, Picard gathers himself and smiles. “I’ll be in the other room. Come out when you’re ready.”

Alone, he takes slow, deep breaths and tries to convince himself that he’s Jean-Luc Picard and he’s aboard the Enterprise.

He hasn’t had such a vivid flashback in months, and the intensity of it surprised him. He’s still trying to recover his sense of self when he feels a touch against his back. He turns, and the sight of Louis, dressed in the clothes Picard replicated, snaps him back to reality.

Scrubbed clean, he appears younger, somehow. There’s still a bruise marring one of his cheeks, but the scrape on his chin is now only the faintest pink smudge, hardly noticeable.

Picard was correct about the outfit: the color accentuates the gray of Louis’s eyes.

“Are you ready?” he asks, switching back to English.

Louis nods. Picard wonders if he’s naturally reticent, or if it’s purely situational. He supposes only time will tell.

(Or he could ask Data.)

(He intends to ask Data a great many things about Louis, once he has the opportunity.)

As they head for the doors, Picard says, “We’re going to Ten Forward. Do you remember it?”

Louis scrunches his face. “I think so.”

-/-

For the most part, no one notices them when they enter, and those that do swiftly redirect their attention. Picard’s certain they’re all still watching despite outward appearances; he’s used to ignoring such behavior—he’s a private man and that naturally breeds curiosity—but he watches Louis for signs that he’s uncomfortable.

And it’s apparent immediately that he is.

They find an open table near the center of the room. Louis sits lightly on the edge of his chair, as though ready to bolt. Warily, his gaze sweeps the room.

Picard imagines that he and Data must have eaten in a mess hall or two aboard all those ships and starbases they spent time on; what sort of attention would the son of Jean-Luc Picard—of Locutus—have garnered in that reality? Likely many people they encountered had loved ones that died at Wolf 359. Would they have blamed Louis for his father’s crimes? Blame Data for escaping when nearly everyone else lost their lives?

Once more Picard considers that he made an error, that he should have waited to bring Louis into such a public place—but then an ensign at a nearby table—a young woman that looks hardly old enough to have graduated the academy—notices Louis looking around and offers him a friendly smile and a wave.

Picard sees Louis’s small jolt, the hesitation…then he lifts his hand and waves back.

The ensign turns back to her companion, and with another, less guarded glance at the room, Louis’s shoulders relax.

In French, Picard tells him, “This is where my crew comes to socialize during their mealtimes or when they’re off-duty.”

“Do you come here?” Louis asks.

He hovers on the verge of a lie, thinks better of it, and admits, “Not often, no. I usually eat my meals in my quarters.” He purposefully refrains from revealing that he typically dines alone on these occasions. “But I enjoy coming to Ten Forward for events,” he continues. “They have games tournaments here, poetry readings, concerts—”

Louis blinks and looks towards the wall of windows, where the floor is raised and often used as a stage. “Mom used to play here.”

Picard tries very hard not to react. He hated that, after his mother died, no one talked about her. It was as if she never existed.

He doesn’t want Louis to feel that way.

“Your mother played the piano, correct?” he murmurs.

“Oui.”

“I understand that she was very good.”

“She practiced every day. She used to take me somewhere.” He frowns. “A…a tunnel.”

“A Jefferies tube?”

“Oui, a Jefferies tube. She said the…” He pauses, switches to English. “Koo…sticks. Koo-sticks?”

“Acoustics,” Picard supplies. “Acoustique.”

“Acoustique?”

“It means the qualities of a room that determine how sound’s transmitted.” At Louis’s blank look, he amends his definition. “It means how the shape of a room can make singing or a musical instrument sound good or bad.”

“Oh. Mom said the acoustique were good.”

Picard grins at the mix of French and English.

They’re briefly interrupted by a waiter, who takes their order. Guinan has her staff well-trained. The man addresses him respectfully as “Captain” and fretfully apologizes for the delay—Picard reassures him that it’s fine, and orders croissants and a coffee for himself.

“And for you, sir?” The man’s smile flickers only slightly when he turns to Picard’s companion and comprehends that it’s a child.

“Can I have some milk, please?”

Picard notices it now, Louis’s slight French accent. Picard’s French is rusty, but Louis speaks it flawlessly; his English, however, is a touch off.

Perhaps that’s why he appeared taciturn earlier, because he struggles to express himself in English.

Picard’s still turning over this information in his mind when their order arrives. They set to eating, and he momentarily becomes a creature comprised solely of hunger. He devours an entire croissant and downs half his coffee before remembering that he’s in public, and that he’s not dining alone.

Louis is still on his first croissant, and Picard notes with amusement that he’s eating it with a knife and fork. It must be Data’s influence. He imagines Louis dining under Data’s supervision—even imagines Data going through the motions of eating himself for Louis’s sake.

Abruptly, another thought strikes him.

“When you were alone with Data, did you speak French, or English?” he asks.

Louis looks up from the chocolate he’s dipping a forkful of his croissant into. “French.”

Something shutters behind the boy’s eyes, that withdrawing again, his entire being attempting to close itself off from that which might harm it, so Picard backs off the subject of Data and instead spends several minutes chattering about the mission of the Enterprise and her crew, but his attempt at distraction fails, he inadvertently set something in motion, for after several glances at Ten Forward’s windows—beyond the windows—Louis asks, “Are the Borg here too?”

Icy tendrils wrap themselves around his heart. What can he do, except tell the truth?

“Yes.”

Louis’s face drains of color. Setting his knife and fork down, he slides to the edge of his chair and tenses, once again ready to bolt.

How many times were he and Data forced to drop everything and run because of Borg attacks?

No more.

“Louis.”

He’s only pronounced Louis’s name in English thus far, but this time he says it in French and the boy’s gaze snaps to his, stunned. Did his father call him Louis? Did Data?

Picard reaches across the table and lays both of his hands over both of Louis’s. “Things are not the same here as they were in your reality. The Borg exist, yes, but they’ve neither conquered the Federation nor assimilated Earth—nor will we allow them to.”

He doesn’t know if he can promise that, but he recognizes the terror in Louis’s eyes—that pure animal panic—and he refuses to allow this boy, his son, to live in fear any longer.

“They’re very far away. You don’t have to run anymore.”

Louis lets out a breath, shoulders sagging. Slowly, he nods, and says, “Okay, Père.”

Picard squeezes his hands. “Now, I have it on good authority that chocolate sundaes are very good here. Would you like one?”

-/-

The food and the coffee revived Picard, but after several bites of his chocolate sundae, Louis appears suddenly exhausted, so Picard takes him back to quarters.

Once there, he replicates Louis a pair of pajamas and shuffles him towards the bedroom, plucking the stuffed fox from the bag as they pass his desk. In the bedroom, Louis changes, folds his discarded clothes and arranges them in a neat pile—more of Data’s influence, Picard assumes—then collapses onto the bed as if there’s no strength left in his body, clutching the fox to his chest, and Picard’s left to move his legs aside to free the covers.

He pulls the covers up over Louis and is turning to leave when Louis asks, “Will you stay?”

“Of course.”

Picard sits on the bed and strokes Louis’s hair, watches his eyes slowly drift closed. When he’s certain Louis is asleep, he leans in and kisses his forehead. He’s not dragged into a flashback, it doesn’t trigger any memories, it grounds him.

“Bonne nuit, mon petit.”

[smurphyse]

Bunny in the Kitchen

Smurph's Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 2 of Bunny and the Beast

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Wordcount: 2554

Warnings: Extremely dubious consent, rough sex, dirty talk, emotional manipulation, spanking, vaginal spanking, unexpected punishments, free use elements

Summary: Bunny is a little angry at Spencer as he sleeps with other people and ignores her, but when he shows up at her place she finds he has no patience for her poor attitude.

*gif does not indicate what Bunny looks like!*

You woke up alone the next day. Spencer never came by, and you never left your house. 

Working from home had its perks. You did your work at your desk in the living room, talked to your coworkers mainly over email, happily limiting your contact with the outside world. It made going grocery shopping a fun trip, made going to a clothing store an experience you actually looked forward to. 

You enjoyed the little world you’d created for yourself. Your one bedroom house in the duplex you shared with Spencer was your safe haven. 

It was anyways.

Since your sexcapade in the yard, you hadn’t seen Spencer… you’d heard him enough. The night after your seemingly meaningless fuck, you were lounging in bed and thinking about him when you heard the moans through the wall.

Yeah, fuck me. Oh, fuck, Spencer!

And the night after, a different voice.

Mmm, please baby don’t stop, God please don’t stop.

Then last night, a high pitched woman’s voice followed by Spencer’s.

Yes, daddy, yes!

That’s right, princess, call me daddy. I wanna hear you say it.

That had been the last straw. After the first round of moans you’d moved to the couch, and by the third day in a row of listening to him fuck other people, you were pissed off to say the least.

You tried to not let it hurt your feelings, instead focusing on work or listening to music when you had a free minute. He told you he wanted to use you, and he had… it was as simple as that. No need to get upset by it.

You put on Taylor’s Evermore album and puttered about the kitchen. You were sad and you decided to wallow a bit before going to bed… or the couch, anyways. 

Wearing an oversized t-shirt, you had on a pair of black panties underneath it. They were a comfortable pair, plain and boring, a fuck you to Spencer and his faux interest in you. 

Your kitchen was pretty open, and the front door to your little duplex apartment was at one end. It led directly into the living room, the open floor plan making it basically one big room where the tile met the carpet, the sliding glass doors to the backyard at the other side. 

You had a nice little window over your sink that looked out into the side part of the fenced in yard, and you liked to hand wash the dishes even though you had a dishwasher just to stare at your garden while you did so. It was therapeutic. 

Your lease was up in a month, and you had the opportunity to go month to month after that. You could finally afford a bigger place, but you weren't sure yet what you wanted to do, although each night you had to listen to Spencer fucking someone else through the walls you were closer to moving out. 

Shaking your head, you thought to yourself, you fucking idiot, getting involved with the neighbor. 

You grabbed the coffee pot from the maker and headed for the sink. As you were filling it with water, you glanced up at the window, and what you saw nearly made you drop the carafe. 

"Fuck!" you yelped as you spotted Spencer's reflection in the glass. 

He leaned against the opposite counter, watching you with a little smirk with his arms crossed over his chest. 

"Good evening, bunny," he said sweetly, and you snapped off the faucet, turning to give him a glare.

"You scared the shit out of me!" you nearly yelled, your heart thumping wildly in your chest as to set the pot down on the counter. 

Spencer chuckled, "I told you I was going to take what I want when I want it. I want you now."

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, "Couldn't find yourself a date for the night?"

Spencer's eyes turned dark and he quickly closed the space between you, his hand snapping out and gripping your jaw. You gasped as he pushed you against the counter, watching him with wide eyes as your thighs clenched without permission. 

"What happened to my sweet bunny?" he asked quietly, a dangerous gleam in his gaze. "Where'd this mouth come from?"

Your chest heaved, and you gulped heavily underneath his strong fingers. His palm pressed against your throat as he held your jaw tightly. 

"You can have anyone you want, and you have them all the time," you whispered nervously, "Why are you even here?"

Spencer's lip curled into a twisted smile, and he leaned in close to brush your nose with his. "I want that tight twenty-something pussy wrapped around my cock."

Said traitorous pussy clenched again, your panties rubbing against your lips as you tried to convince yourself you didn't want this. He was so much bigger than you, though, so much stronger, and you weren't sure you could say no to a man like that… not after the other day, not after the way he made you fall apart with just a few words. 

But you were feeling brave, a little ornery, and after all, you were mad at him no matter how pretty he was or how wet he made you. 

"Go out and find one, then."

Spencer's smile only widened, his pupils dilating, and suddenly his hand left your jaw to grip the hair at the nape of your neck. You cried out in shock as he dragged you to the ground, forcing you to your knees and pressing your face into the cold tile. 

His fingers dug bruises into the back of your neck, making the old ones blossom once more from yellow to purple. His other hand tugged at his belt, and you heard it slide from his pants and clatter onto the floor. 

Spencer leaned over you, his breath hot against the shell of your ear as you panted, "Why would I waste my time finding a little piece of ass when I've got one right next door?"

"My point exactly," you growled back, and he laughed. 

"The mouth on you tonight, bunny…" he whispered sternly, "I'm gonna fuck you until you can't use it anymore."

You whimpered in response, your body coiling in anticipation as he pushed your shirt up over your hips. He gasped in shock, and heat rose to your cheeks as he ran his fingers over the waistband of your underwear. 

"What the hell is this?"

"You wanted to fuck other people," you whined in frustration, wiggling your hips back toward him. "I had to listen-."

Spencer's hand came down sharply, suddenly, and you squeaked in pain as the force of his palm hit your clothed ass. 

"Yet you kept your door unlocked, you pathetic whore," he snarled, smacking you again and forcing you harder against the tile. Tears welled in your eyes as he did it a third time, and your chest burst with a choked and surprised sob. 

"I'm, I'm sorry," you cried, your hot tears flowing over the bridge of your nose, over your cheek and onto the floor. "I won't do it again, daddy!"

"Oh, don't cry, bunny," he cooed mockingly, and you whimpered anyway. "I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed."

Spencer pulled your panties down to your knees, trapping your thighs together as he settled his knees on either side. His hand slid over your back as he pushed your shirt up to your shoulders, making it arch. He dragged his palm back down your spine and over the curve of your ass, cupping it roughly before shoving it between your thighs. 

He palmed your pussy, and from the angle he had you at your belly pressed against the tops of your thighs, bent like a table on your knees. Your cunt and ass, everything was exposed for him to inspect. 

"I'm gonna make sure you never disobey me again," he said, and without warning his hand pulled back as he slapped your bare cunt with the flats of his fingers. 

You yelped painfully, your hands scraping the tile in an attempt to grab something, anything to brace yourself. Unlike the other day you didn't have a picnic blanket to hold onto, and the only thing that had any purchase on the floor was your sweaty palms dragging along the surface. 

"Count," he commanded roughly, slapping you again and making you cry out. 

"T-two," you hiccuped, your tears smearing across your cheek as your face slid across the flooring, only to be dragged back by Spencer's hand on your neck. 

He came down again, the flat of his palm hitting the sensitive skin of your butt with his wide hand, the stinging blossoming out across your cheeks as the blood rushed to them. 

"Three!" you sobbed, your chest shaking and shuddering as you wracked with tears. 

"Good girl, bunny," he soothed you, rubbing his hand along your ass and pussy. "You feel how wet you are? You liked it, didn't you?"

You sniffled as you realized he was right. Your slick spread with his probing fingers as he spread your lips and rubbed circles with his fingertip. 

"It's okay, daddy wants to know how much of a slut you really are. Tell daddy you liked it," he murmured softly, and he pressed his lips to your temple.

You sighed in relief, nodding as well as you could with your face shoved down into the tile, "I loved it, daddy."

"Loved it, huh?" he asked, and you could hear the smirk on his cheeks. He slapped your ass again, nowhere near as hard, delighting in the squeak of shock that came from you. 

A dark chuckle grumbled from his chest, and he took away his finger. You heard his zipper and his pants being pushed down, the ruffling of his slacks around his thighs. 

The head of his cock pushed against your entrance, and you wiggled to get away from him, terrified of him pushing inside with no prep. 

"I'm not gonna hurt you," he told you,  but his voice had a command to it that made you still. "I'm not gonna break my toy just yet."

You whined as the blunt thickness of his dick pushed inside, stretching you painfully and beautifully as he eased his way in. Your cunt fluttered around his tip as he pulled out and pushed back in, slowly rolling his hips.

Spencer groaned as he breached you with his shaft, his nails digging into your neck as his movements picked up. Moaning softly, you braced yourself as best you could on the floor, your tears drying on your cheeks. 

"This tight little hole," he grunted, splitting you open with his heavy length. His thighs trapped yours together as he bottomed out, holding onto your hip tightly and grinding against you. 

You clenched around him, your dripping juices soaking the insides of your legs and making them rub together. The sensitive skin ignited you further, that coiling heat tightening deep inside you and he hadn't even started thrusting yet. 

"Need you, daddy," you mewled pitifully, rocking your hips back in an attempt to feel some friction. 

Spencer pulled almost all the way out, leaving your cunt empty and gaping before shoving back into you roughly. The force of his hips hitting yours pushed you forward, your nipples brushing the cool tile and making your entire body tingle from the sensation. 

And then he was pounding into you, the slick sounds of your cunt clenching and sucking in his dick echoing off the walls and floor and making you moan in pleasure. 

"You have no idea how often I think about this sweet pussy, bunny," Spencer groaned breathily, his strong fingers bruising you with each thrust as he pulled you off and on his cock over and over. 

"I'm always open for you, daddy!" you whined, your nipples roughly brushing the ground. They were starting to hurt, but the pain was pleasure, and your body only wanted to live in each ebb and flow of ache and satisfaction. "Come use me any day, any time!"

"You say the most tantalizing things, little girl," he growled dangerously, leaning over you and biting down on your earlobe. 

You groaned as the twinge of pain rocketed down your neck, going straight to your filled and sopping hole, and you began to rock back on him without him needing to pull you down on his cock.

"I'm your little fleshlight, right daddy?" you cried, and he agreed, moaning in your ear. "I'm just a little toy for you to cum in and use, use me daddy, use me all day and all night please!"

Spencer pummeled your sore pussy, his hips slapping against yours with each thrust. The backs of your thighs began to ache with each hit of his skin, but it only spurred you on. 

"I need to be filled, I need to be put in my place," you gasped excitedly, the anticipation of your impending orgasm wildly approaching with each dirty word that came out of your mouth. "Just wanna be your little cumdump, wanna be yourlittlewhoredaddy!"

Spencer's animalistic groans made your eyes roll into the back of your head, your body going limp and your knees and Spencer's hand the only thing keeping you upright. Your thighs trembled under the force of his hips hitting your ass, and suddenly you were screaming, your breath hitching in time. 

"Cum on my cock, you free-use slut," he snarled, the cruel names making your entire body shake and your chest turn airy and light as sweat poured from you both. "I wanna feel you cum like the whore you are."

Everything went blurry, and your eyes fluttered closed as you did as you were told. Warmth and slick flooded between your thighs as your pussy trembled and wept around his length, a cry of relief escaping your lips. 

Heat rocketed across your face, ripping up your back and chest and flowing over your shoulders as a near painful orgasm tore through you. You felt Spencer's thrusts pick up, becoming harsh and sloppy, and then he buried himself deep inside you. 

A choked groan erupted from his chest as hot sticky cum was pumped into your cervix, your orgasm opening up places you didn't know you had. He whimpered as he shoved himself deeper, your body growing heavy with the ropes of spend as he flooded you with his seed. 

You slumped on the ground, your body shaking and shuddering as Spencer collapsed on top of you. Cum dripped down your legs, warming the cooled slick as they mingled together on your skin. His hands wrapped around you as he kissed between your shoulder blades. 

You moaned weakly, your body beginning to ache as the adrenaline ebbed. Spencer's hands started to wander, rolling your sore nipples between his fingers and swiping over the sore buds. 

Your pussy clenched around his soft cock, the squelching sound of your filled hole making you wince even though it turned you on again. Spencer pulled out of you and released his hold on your legs, turning you on your back.

He licked his lips as he stared at your exposed body. Your shirt was still rucked up under your armpits, and he pulled your panties the rest of the way off and tossed them behind him. 

You gazed up at him through bleary eyes, smiling weakly, and he smiled back. 

"Look how pretty my bunny is," he marveled as he saw your body for the first time. Spencer ran his hands up your sides before cupping your breasts, rubbing his thumbs over your aching nipples. 

Your body twitched with each swipe, and you whimpered with overstimulation. Spencer clicked his teeth, and suddenly you were being picked up. 

Your arms wrapped around his neck as he hoisted you up on his hip, cradling you close. He carried you toward the bedroom, stopping as he passed the couch. 

"Do you sleep out here?"

You shook your head and buried your face in his neck, "I couldn't listen to you anymore."

Spencer ran a protective hand up your back, clutching you tightly to his side but carried on and brought you to your room. He set you on the bed and settled on the edge, covering you up and tucking you in. 

It seemed he didn't really want to leave you, as he patted the blanket and smoothed it out far more than necessary. You reached over and covered his hand with yours, "Will you stay?"

Spencer smiled softly down at you, and with his messy hair and wrinkled clothes, you couldn't help but smile back. Those crinkles in the corners of his eyes were too beautiful for words, igniting something within you again, and you knew if he stayed you'd probably mount him and kiss him fiercely. 

"I'll stay," he said, and he went to unlace his shoes but his phone rang in his pocket. Spencer groaned and pulled it out, putting it up to his ear, "This is Reid."

His free hand ran across the back of yours, featherlight touching along your skin while he listened. He seemed to age with that call, frowning slightly and nodding. 

"I'll be right there."

He hung up the phone and sighed down at his lap, staring at the blank screen. You couldn't stand to see him like that, so you got to your knees and let the blanket fall away. 

Digging your thumbs into his shoulder, you massaged his knotted tense muscles, a shock of delight running through you as he melted under your hands. Spencer's body relaxed, and he moaned lightly with each working of your fingers. 

"You have to go," you said quietly, trying not to sound too disappointed. 

Spencer reached a hand back to cover one of yours, squeezing your fingers and sighing again, "Yeah."

He turned in your arms, wrapping his hands around your waist. Burying his face in your chest, Spencer kissed your sternum through your shirt, and it sent tingles throughout your ribcage.  

Spencer pushed you down onto the mattress and covered you back up, tucking you in tightly. He pressed his lips to your forehead, and you closed your eyes to burn the sensation into your memory. 

He held out a finger like he was scolding you, but a smirk played across his cheeks, "No more panties, okay? Not when you're at home."

"Okay," you said shyly, your cheeks turning red. Spencer poked the tip of your nose as his eyes darkened deliciously. 

"Okay, what?"

"Okay, daddy," you mewled embarrassedly now that you weren't on your knees for him and calling that name out in pleasure. "No panties when I'm at home."

"Good girl," he praised you, and you couldn't help but preen from it. He kissed your forehead again, his lips lingering for a moment before pulling away. "I'll see you in a few days, bunny. I won't be gone long."

He walked out without a backward glance, and a moment later you heard the sliding door click shut. Nuzzling under the blankets, you blushed furiously as the exhaustion began to flood over you. 

He still hasn't kissed you, but maybe he would have if he'd stayed the night. You wondered how soft his lips would be against yours, if they'd slot together as perfectly as you hoped they would. 

As sleep washed over you, you reveled in the lingering scent of Spencer on your sheets. Happy and content, you forgot about how he didn't say he'd stop sleeping around, and at the moment you didn't care. 

Notes:

Bunny & the Beast Taglist: @elhotchner 

CM Forever Tag: @simplyparker @spencerreidsmommy @hotchandspencearedilfs @gspenc @kbakery @nomajdetective @givemeth @hoshihiime @halloween-is-my-nationality @reidselle @thisiscalmanditsdoctorreid @dreatine @thebloomingeagle @fortheloveofwonderland @theforgottenwinter @parkerreidnorth 

[t-horn-n]

— he who wears the crown of thorns

PAIRING: peter ballard/henry creel x reader (female) 

GENRE: angst, h.end

WARNINGS: canon-level violence, allusions to substance (mis)use 

Stranger Things S4 spoilers.

SUMMARY: when you are injured in the lab, peter must finally admit what your relationship is.

NOTE: I have exhausted the well of Peter Ballard fanfiction, so I decided to write my own.

If you were one for poetics, you would craft the story of Hawkin’s Lab into a drama, or more likely, a tragedy.  Peter Ballard Henry Creel the hero, a fallen king who wears a crown of thorns around his neck.  And Martin Brenner, the arrogant mortal who tries to wield a god’s power.  

What does that make you?  Once, you may have simply been the narrator.  An outsider who felt obliged to tell the story of those who could not tell it themselves.  But now?  As time has passed, are you the fallen king’s guardian angel?  His pawn, a subject made to be ruled?  His friend?  Or his lover?  

It is not yet clear. 

What is certain is that you are entangled with him as though you have been ensnared by invisible threads, as unnoticeable as fishermen’s line, but as strong as spiders’ silk.  To Henry your presence in the lab has been as permanent as the white-tiled walls.  Though you are his age, you have been there since the beginning—to lend some normalcy into his life, Brenner had claimed.  Though, surely, you are not so ignorant as to believe anything about Henry is normal.  

Nonetheless, you are a constant in Peter Ballard’s life.  A rock that has stood even as Martin Brenner’s forest grew.  Peter became taller, older, more deceitful.  Together you raised the doctor’s saplings, fostered them with sunlight in the form of smiles.  

And now, your relationship?

Well, it’s simple in its complexity.  It’s peculiar in its secretiveness.  Your private grins and unspoken jokes and the strange way you store a piece of your weird, mangled souls in each other.  

But Brenner gets high off control.  If not, what need does he have for the collars?  The cameras?  The rules?  And when he loses his grip he suffers from withdrawal.  And he can be so very cruel when he does not get his fix.  

For a while, he pretended that that attraction did not exist.  He chose not to see the proximity because with all of the power Brenner tells himself he possesses comes laziness.  

“Don’t you think that if we all lined up on a checkerboard we would look like oversized chess pieces?” you murmur to Peter one afternoon—or at least that is what the clock claims—in the Rainbow Room.  

The two of you stand against the wall with the twin doors, facing the mirror with its reflection of your white uniforms and a dozen shaved heads.  

He chuckles quietly in amusement, the kind only you can earn.  “If that’s the case, that would make us the King and Queen.” 

You smile and your hands inch together.  A fingernail brushes against a fingernail, but a pinprick of red light bores into your forehead and you do not dare to do anything more than whisper.  

Brenner may be lazy, but he can also be sly and sneaky.

Two of the younger children colour on pristine sheets of paper.  Flowers and suns, things they have never seen for themselves, are conjured from the coloured wax of the crayons they hold.  Eleven drops a red disk into a numbered peg board, again and again.  Two, Three, and Four toss a bean bag between them.  Anything to cure their boredom. 

Suddenly, the door is pushed open.  It is not Martin Brenner, so the children do not rise.  They continue their puttering and only the oldest look to see who caused the disturbance.  Another Orderly addresses Peter.  

“Your shift is over.  I am here to take your place.”   

Peter smiles, his beautiful lips stretched thin.  

“I’ve been assigned a double shift today.  Don’t worry about me, Ballard,” you say to his hesitance.  

He smiles again and now his eyes crinkle too.  Then he leaves and you are left to stand with this Orderly on opposite sides of the steel door as though the lab is the prison Brenner tries so hard to deny.  You avoid staring at your own reflection because you have found that if you look at yourself for too long your reflection will become unrecognisable.  And then the person across from you is alien, and will certainly drive you mad.

Before your thoughts can run around your head in dizzying loops, the children start yelling.  Two and Three have stalked over to where Ten kneels surrounded by a fortress of blocks.  Wooden walls will not protect him from entitlement.  

“Move,” Two demands.  

For a moment, Ten does not reply and you think he will ignore Two—that he will weather this onslaught.  The silence permeates and is only broken by a soft whirring as the camera stationed in the corner of the room angles to watch the performance unfold.  

For that same moment, you do not know what to do.  Brenner has never liked Orderly interference in his children’s matters, always eager to see the extent of their capabilities, and of their rage.  But then again, he will be undoubtedly upset if one of his assets is damaged.

“No,” Ten says.

In a swift movement Two kicks his block towers and they go sprawling on the floor.  You and the other Orderly rush forward as Two takes Ten by his collar, yanking him up so quickly that he is not allowed time to yell, and his toes barely brush the tile.  

“Say again?” Two snarls.

“Two, your behaviour is—” you start.  

Two thrusts an arm outwards and the other Orderly flies backwards and into several chairs.  You do not move.  A rock. 

Perhaps Two would have been surprised if he were not so busy spitting in the other boy’s face.  “When I tell you to do something, you do it.” 

Ten’s face hardens defiantly and you are almost envious.  Where was this courage when you were a child?  Did you lack Ten’s bravery or the fodder of the other children?  

Two swings hard and his fist meets Ten’s cheek because in a deranged rage he must have forgotten that he is always being watched—or is the true reason more sinister?—and Ten is on the floor.  Blood runs down his face and stains his teeth.  Two appears drunk from adrenaline. 

A grin is spreading across his face, arrogant and smug.  But from the ground Ten throws a wooden block at his face.  It cuts his eyebrow, its point digging into his skin and now he too is bleeding.  Again, Two lunges forward like he is about to commit murder, but you are there, holding his shoulders and trying to push him against the wall.  His hands fly up, your face stings as Two drags his fingernails across your skin.  

Your fellow Orderly has since recovered and is holding Ten’s arms behind his back as though in the past three minutes the child has been traded for a criminal.  

“Let go of me!” Two yells.  

Your lips press together. 

Startlingly, the doors fling open, Martin Brenner has arrived.  Now, the children all jolt and stand in their lines.  

“Hello, Papa,” they greet. 

Even Two’s anger has waned in the presence of the doctor.

He speaks to the other Orderly first.  “Please escort Two and Ten to the infirmary.  I will have a chat with them later.”  

Then he looks directly at you and juvenile fear seizes you, the kind you should have grown out of.  “Come.” 

You release Two.  Approaching Brenner you do not look at the children, you try to relax your shoulders and raise your chin.  Peter would not be afraid, you remind yourself.  Brenner grasps your wrist in a handcuff not made of metal but flesh.  Roughly, he pulls you from the Rainbow Room and down the hallway.  

“You are here to protect them, Y/N, and today, you have failed to do that.” 

There is no point in protesting nor is there a reason to sputter apologies.  Simply, you allow him to drag you through the corridors of Hawkin’s Lab. 

A collar of metal and wires is fixed around your neck, a bite guard in your mouth.  You sit in a chair and an electrical shock races through your veins.  Your nerves alight and already perspiration beads at your hairline.  

Humiliation as you slide from the chair because your muscles spasm and you see Peter watching behind glass with an expression that discloses nothing.  But in his eyes, you see horror.  You tell yourself that you are not crying, and that the water that turns your vision bleary is the natural reaction to your situation.  

Pain as your legs commit treason and kick in odd directions.  

You count to yourself the seconds that pass.  It is all manageable if the time you suffer is compartmentalised.  When it is over and Brenner has left and Orderlies have taken the collar from your neck, Peter gathers you into his arms.  He tucks his head into your neck and whispers into your ear.  He does not tell you that you are okay because obviously you are not.  

“I’m sorry.” 

Still, your fingers twitch.  Your head jerks periodically while your feet tingle. 

He does not apologise again.  He does not need to.  Now it is certain that what you are extends past labels.

“They will not control us forever,” he promises.  “Soon we will rule them all.” 

Perhaps Henry Creel still wears barbs like a necklace, but his pledges to you are like a crown of thorns placed over your brow.  Those who wear the crown of thorns will not be caged for long.

— m. list

[batfam-slash]

Damian hasn’t returned to Wayne Manor in over six months.

He tells Jon that he has no reason to go back now that his father is dead. That’s not true, of course - it’s technically his house now, but he’s gifted it to the Todd family, and Damian desperately misses his brothers and his nephews.

It’s just too painful to go back.

Too painful to return to the place where he was once happiest. The place that transformed his childhood and made him the man he is today.

The children ask him constantly when they can go and visit Grandpa again. Damian can never bring himself to answer; Jon is normally the one who gently explains to the children that Grandpa isn’t around anymore, before giving Damian a comforting kiss and cuddle.

Damian can only bring himself to go back when Jason phones to invite them all over, explaining that Dick is unwell and wants to see him.

“What do you mean unwell?” Damian demands, his heart sinking. He’s getting flashbacks from just before his father died.

“Depression,” Jason tells him glumly. “It’s been getting worse over the last few months. He’s desperate to see you.”

That’s enough to make Damian go back.

He doesn’t take Jon or the children, deciding that it would be far better to do this alone the first time. He doesn’t want his family to see him break down in tears.

Chris, Jason and Dick’s oldest son, is there to greet him.

“Missed you, Uncle D,” the younger man says, pulling Damian into a hug.

“I missed you too,” Damian replies, hugging his nephew back. “Are your parents around?”

He feels ashamed for shutting himself away from the family for so long.

Chris’ younger brother is away at college, but Jason is around; Damian can hear him puttering around in the kitchen. Chris leads the way, and Damian immediately feels better when he sees Jason’s familiar smile.

Jason’s hairline is receding and there are wrinkles around his eyes, but he’s still impossibly handsome, and even at this age he works hard to maintain his muscle mass.

“Boy, am I glad to see you,” Jason says with a grin, pulling Damian into a hug. “Welcome home.”

Damian hasn’t thought of this place as home for a while now.

They exchange pleasantries, and Jason makes some tea, which is when Dick appears.

Damian can immediately tell that Dick is unwell. He’s smiling, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Normally when Dick enters a room, the whole room brightens with him, but today he doesn’t have his normal radiant glow.

“Little D,” Dick says softly, opening his arms.

Damian goes to him immediately, hugging Dick just like he used to do when he was a child. He’s taller than Dick now though; Damian is the one who tucks Dick’s head beneath his chin.

Dick’s hair is peppered with grey, and the sharp planes of his body are more soft curves now, but he’s the kind of person who will never not be beautiful.

“You look old,” Damian says softly.

It’s not intended as an insult; it’s a running joke between them.

Dick chuckles as he fiddles with the oversized sleeves of his sweater. “I feel old. No Jon or kids today?”

“I’ll bring them next time,” Damian promises. “I just wanted to come and spend some time with you.” He kisses Dick’s cheek. “How are you feeling?”

Dick shrugs. “Tired. I’m tired all the time these days. I don’t have the energy to do much. Sometimes I feel like I’m too tired to even think.”

Jason wraps a large arm around Dick’s shoulders. “It’s okay, honey. Wanna have some tea with us?”

They sit and drink tea, and they deliberately avoid talking about Damian’s father.

It only makes Damian more worried. He can tell that Dick is not in a good place; none of them are. But seeing Dick like this is scary.

Damian decides that maybe he does need to spend more time here.

He’s the head of the family now. He’s got more people than just his husband and children to look after.