#first off. do you get therapy sir

[soupforsoup]

I'm Wesley Crushers biggest fan I give a little cheer everytime he pops up on screen, he gets to do whatever he wants. "But he commited space genocide!" Okay and?? He's just going through a phase leave him alone

[randomshyperson]

Sanctify - Cult Leader!Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Kinktober #06

Summary: After your worst semester at NYU, your Aunt Agatha convinces you to join the Children of Chaos as an alternative, and very expensive form of therapy. Leaving the cult becomes a very difficult task when you develop an unexpected affection for their leader.

Warnings: (+18), dom!wanda and brat!reader, rough smut, face-fucking, power dynamics, brat taming (ish), praising, lots of tension and teasing, definitely blasphemous on some levels, a lot of plot, mentions of past toxic relationship, unspecified age gap.  | Words: 7.900k

A/N-> I’ve been dying to write something about Cult Leader Wanda since I watched the second season of Yellowjackets and became obsessed with Lottie Matthews, so while writing this, I was picturing Lottie’s cult to be fair. I also like how I ended this, as it makes it possible to turn it into a series. Good reading!

General Masterlist | Kinktober Collection | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

Although the movement of the car brought a gentle breeze through the window, the weather was hot enough to actually make thinking painful.  In an attempt to relieve the temperature a little, and perhaps escape Aunt Aggie's provocative reminiscences about the long journey and the events that made this trip necessary in the first place, you put your arm on the door, and propped your chin up, your face on the safety edge outside the window.

New York had been out of sight for hours and had given way to countless trees and a plantation further and further away. You figured it wouldn't take long for the radio signal to stop working, but to your pleasant surprise, the soft melody of cassette tapes hidden in the glove compartment by Nicholas were picked up once that happened.

Your cousin had grown up over the summer - His still youthful appearance now featured neatly cut curly hair and reading glasses that he often hung on the collar of his shirt. When younger, it was common to hear how much he resembled Sir. Scratch, his scumbag father in the words of Agatha and the other adults, not yours - but over time, he looked much more like his mother.

Nick met your gaze through the rearview mirror and gave you an assuring smile. You didn't reciprocate, but not because you were upset. Just because you were distracted by the huge sign coming around the next corner. 

"Oh, boy, I've missed this place." Agatha commented with a nostalgic sigh, as soon as she noticed the entrance plaque. She slowed down enough that the wind wasn't enough anymore, so you returned to your original position with a low snort.

"There's still time to turn around." You muttered, getting a warning look from the older woman.

She leaned over, without answering you, to grab something from the open glove compartment. You pushed your hair back as a pamphlet was dropped into your lap.

"I know you hated the idea, but you need to trust your elders for once in your life, darling." Agatha began, as you grimaced at the crumpled paper. The title Children of Chaos was painted in red, but it was faded in several places. "The 70s were the apex for this place, I had a lot of fun here. It's such a unique experience, connecting with nature and the chaos that is part of us all."

Nick chuckled through his nose. "Mom, don't start your witch thing again, you'll scare her." Mocked your cousin from the passenger seat, but Agatha waved him off.

"She'll thank me when she gets there, I'm sure." 

But you didn't do that. When the car finally came to a stop, and what looked more like a fancy farm merged with the forest took over your vision, all you did was crumple the Immersive Community pamphlet into your pocket and throw your old backpack over your shoulder.

Aunt Aggie and your cousin hugged you tightly, saying they were going to write, but they couldn't get past the reception desk since they weren’t part of the program. You saw Agatha take your mom’s borrowed credit card out of her purse to start your so-called treatment, and the last goodbyes left your tongue before one of the tutors started the tour of the place.

In between presenting a large number of different huts that served as dormitories and classrooms for the most diverse activities - painting, handicrafts or poetry were the ones you memorized - Mr. Emil Blonsky also took the time to welcome you, emphasizing how incredible the community was and how lucky anyone was to be there. You bit your tongue to keep from telling him that only those with money could.

Finally, Blonsky showed you the stables and greenhouses on the edge of the property, and on the way back to the rest of the huts, you noticed the path up the hill.

"And what's up there?" 

The man stopped walking with a small smile. He was wearing clothes very similar to those of the other people you'd seen on the tour, the difference being a golden necklace with a strange symbol that was hidden by the movement of his loosely buttoned shirt.

"We must not go up there without permission." He begins, although he's smiling, there's something in his gaze that says this rule cannot be disrespected. " The Prophetess' Retreat is a sacred place of peace and reflection." 

You look back at the hut at the bottom of the mountain, far enough away that you can't make out the decorations on the balcony, but still beautiful and quiet, high enough to make it look like the prophet had her own little piece of heaven.

"So, no bothering the boss without asking? Got it." You retort, getting a chuckle from the other at the summary. He starts walking again along the path towards the general area, but you can't help the curiosity burning in your chest. "About this prophet, will she be isolated up there or will I get a chance to meet her?"

Blonsky walks up beside you, and looks you in the eye to say; "You'll meet her when it's time to meet her, not early and not late."

You don't know what to say to that, everything here is so theatrical in a way. Mystical, you might say. It suits Aunt Aggie so well, that it's not hard to imagine her here, dancing to the midnight moon and talking to the trees. She already does that in New York, it should have been much simpler in the middle of the forest.

"Come, child. You must start the cleaning process soon." Announces the man as he picks up the pace on the trail. With a sigh, you decide not to contradict him by saying that you bathed before coming, thank you. 

It was soon revealed that the cleansing process really meant a bath - the colleagues around you who helped you laughed when you joked that it was a strange way of saying that someone stinks, before clarifying that it was nothing of the sort. The Cleansing Process was a bath of salts and herbs, in a tub of stones and some kind of botanical baptism, the latter of which only members who had completed thirteen full moons could take part in. You would be invited to the baptism with the prophet's blessing, but there was still a long way to go.

Blonsky handed your uniforms, and explained the last rules before leaving you alone, or almost, since your hut was shared with six other people, and despite this, it seemed very comfortable and organized. There were bunk beds and private bathroom spaces, and at least three spacious shelves for each. The latter wouldn't be of much use to you, since you'd brought almost nothing and the vast majority of your belongings had been left at NYU. Just thinking about that place gave you a terrible stomach ache: You would have skipped dinner, but the mere suggestion of not attending made one of your colleagues frown in concern and repeat the rules, so you ended up giving that up.

The routine that followed was calm: it didn't surprise you that the new members were responsible for the hardest tasks, and it didn't bother you either. You were never afraid of hard work, and keeping your hands busy also helped to calm your mind, so it was a win-win. Besides, even if you didn't get the jobs nobody wanted, all veterans had chores. There was some rule about the amount of service time and dedication being rewarded, so those senior members could choose what they wanted to do first. 

You didn't have to worry about this anyway: you would do what you had to do because, after all, the agreement was to stay here only for the summer. However, with each passing day away from exams, traffic, and New York's typical filth, it became harder to imagine leaving the Children of Chaos and their strange harmony and kindness.

After three weeks in the group, you learned to knit. You also earned the privilege of mail when you showed up for all your appointments without delay and decided to check the items in the privacy of your cabin during the last hour of prayer.

Since you hadn't yet found your faith or received your calling or whatever weird way Blonsky explained this, you barely joined in the prayer sessions. This evening, excited to receive news from home, was no different.

Aunt Aggie wrote about the store doing well and mentioned your mother, who didn't write to you with more than vague words about hoping you'd feel better soon. The best present was hidden in Nicholas' letter about the university being a sack without his favorite cousin. Wrapped in silk and next to a lighter.

You haven't earned the right to write outside yet - something about a month in isolation to accomplish. So you just clutched the items to your chest and wished your cousin knew how grateful you were.

Your initial intention was to save the weed for some more stressful day - which was rare in the leisurely pace of this place - but the last letter made you consider using it all that night.

The recipient's perfect handwriting, and the address you knew by heart. You didn't even open the item, you put it away in your drawer and stood up with the weed hidden in your pants pocket.

The common area was empty, as the vast majority of your colleagues were praying. You stepped up to one of the bonfires and threw the unopened letter into the flames, without hesitation and without caring to see it burn. You turned on your heels and continued along the trail, heading for one of the few more secluded spots you had discovered during the hours of exploring between tasks.

The rules were clear about the prophet's hut but said nothing about the road towards it. And since apparently everyone there was afraid of upsetting the boss, that spot was always empty and the perfect place to smoke in hiding.

You leaned against a tree, curled up and lit the weed, and tried to keep away all the painful memories about last semester that the damn letter had brought up.

You were halfway through a joint when you heard a voice at the end of the trail next to you.

"Good evening, Y/N."

"Jesus fucking Christ." You gasped, jumping with fright and almost dropping the blunt to the ground. You looked sideways abruptly, imagining that you were hallucinating because of the weed, and were almost sure that you were when the words escaped you due to the apparition in front of you. The most beautiful woman you've ever seen in your life. Instead of a uniform, she wore a loose dark wine dress that hugged her curves perfectly; her long red hair cascaded down her shoulders and back and her emerald eyes shone curiously in your direction. The dim light from the fire lamps scattered along the trail and the moon really made the woman look like an angel. 

You coughed awkwardly. "Sorry, you scared me." You clarified, the cigarette hidden behind your back a stupid attempt to mask what you were doing. Sure enough, your pupils were dilated, and it was very easy to see the smoke. So, as soon as you tried to hide it, you gave up, offering the woman an awkward chuckle and gesturing the cigarette gently. "Don't tell on me."

There was a soft pause, which you couldn't tell from the intoxication in your system. The woman watched for a moment as the charming gesture of bringing the cigarette to the smile formed on your lips and blew the smoke into the starry sky with your neck slightly stretched. Your mind seemed to clear, and before the woman could speak, you grimaced. "Wait, didn't you just say my name? How..?"

She smiled, folding her hands in front of her body. "It was premeditated that we met today, of course. I'm Wanda."

You've heard her name before, in conversation circles and in advertisements about her heavenliness hanging around. 

"Shit." It was your natural reaction, which made her laugh softly, and it must have been the weed's fault that the sound echoed in your mind and made your body shudder.

"Don't worry, I won't snitch on you." She assures you with an easy smile playing on her lips, and you swallow dry, completely at a loss.

"Thanks... but I thought you were the boss." You mumble, and Wanda makes a funny expression, like a false realization. 

"Oh, you're right." She murmurs amusedly. "I think I can let this one slide if you'll share it with me." 

"Fuck, of course, here." Your limbs feel strange, almost too heavy to move around her. You awkwardly hand her the cigarette, certain that your face is flushed. Hell, the last time you were this clumsy was last semester, with-

"You swear a lot." Wanda's comment pulls you out of your daze. She takes a long drag before adding: "Especially for a Christian."

You chuckle, shaking your head. "My father's a Christian, not me." You retort, and end up grimacing. "And how do you know-"

"This is a very exclusive program, sweetheart." Wanda cuts you off again, the cigarette between her fingers but her gaze is completely focused on your face. "Having a lot of money or being someone's niece isn't enough to guarantee you a spot, but a good letter of recommendation might. And Agatha wrote me almost everything about you, except the reason for rushing to get you here before the next recruitment period."

The sentence was an invitation for you to speak, but you didn't fall for the bait. On the contrary, you looked away with tense shoulders, and Wanda didn't press. At least, not now. She took another drag before commenting more softly:

"We have general meetings every Wednesday. We encourage members to open up." 

You grimace softly. "Group therapy isn't my thing."

But Wanda smiles lopsidedly, giving you back the joint. " Neither is nice weed." She retorts a little provocatively, attracting your attention. "If you want to try something new, show up next week. And if you want to try something good, you should try the weed from our greenhouse. It won't taste like crushed dirt." Adjusting her hair around her shoulders, she offers you a wink. "Have a good night, darling."

You think about the color of her eyes for the rest of the night.

-&-

Sooner than you'd expect, you'll discover that Wanda isn't the type to let things slide. Far from it, she notices everything, especially those who are being too slack and prone to not following the teachings of the Children of Chaos, possibly ruining their record of total efficiency or something.

She puts an end to your plans for a quiet summer, trying to go unnoticed among the countless other followers just as abruptly as she left her meditation hut. Wanda seems to appear at every moment that you consider escaping from your commitments - it even occurs to you that she has a particular interest in watching you, but the idea sounds so absurd that you push it away while forcing a polite smile before returning to your duties.

Less than two weeks after you met, you finally stopped avoiding Group Therapy and showed up on time to join the session. The presence of Wanda, in a loose dark purple dress and her red hair tied up in a neat braid, makes you almost give up, convinced that you couldn't say anything without stuttering in the presence of such a stunning woman.

But she offers a gentle smile, opening her arms softly. "Come along, darling, you're just in time." She greets and you stumble towards a corner in the background, begging the gods that you can attend in silence this time.

It doesn't seem so difficult when it's other people doing it. A young man with whom you've already shared the task of looking after the stables spoke of the frustrations of returning from enforced service with a missing limb, and how the support he didn't get from the government and family members, he found here. Bucky received a finger-snapping applause - something that was explained to you as a way to avoid triggers on the countless ex-combatants or victims of post-traumatic stress that make up the crowd - before giving his turn to another ex-military woman, Carol Danvers.

More stories were shared until Wanda's gaze fell on your slumped figure and she called your name. All the attention in the room fell on you too, and you chuckled awkwardly.

"Thanks, but I'm not good at public speaking." You retorted, but Wanda, with her hands folded over her stomach, gave you a gentle smile.

"Don't worry about it, dear, this is a no-judgment zone." She says, but you make no mention of getting up, and her gaze becomes more insistent. "It's important that we all make an effort to be present at these exercises. We encourage participation around here. Come along, dear, please." And she smiled so kindly that you could only trust her.

The group offered a small chorus of encouragement, and before you knew it, you were a few steps away from the redhead, who held out her hands for your wrists.

"I want you to take a deep breath and close your eyes." Wanda guided, her melodic voice bringing goose bumps all over your body. "Turn all your attention inward. And tell me, is there anything in there that you'd like to share with the group?"

The memories of last semester hit you full force. But Wanda massages your wrists and it feels as if she can calm down the whole storm inside of you.

You sigh, before opening your eyes. "I... I don't know where to start." Your whisper is met by another chorus of support from the members, who retort that you're safe. Wanda releases your wrists to sit with the others, and you try not to be so self-conscious while you're in the spotlight. "I think I can share with you the reason why I'm here." You declare a moment later, taking another deep breath.

Bucky gives you an encouraging smile, mimicking that of the people around him, and you swallow.

"I don't have a history of fighting and overcoming war or any illnesses, so I'm sorry to disappoint anyone." You mumble, receiving confused looks.

The former sergeant assures you: "No problem competes with another. All our pains have their importance." And it seems to be something that has already been repeated here a few times because everyone shakes their heads in agreement.

You scratch the back of your head awkwardly. "Right... well, I won't beat around the bush. A month ago, when I was first enrolled here, I had just been kicked out of my house. Well, it wasn't exactly my house anymore, because I'd been living on campus for about three years, but I think you get the idea." You say, laughing awkwardly at the anxiety in your chest. You try to clear your throat so that your voice doesn't come out so shaky, but only Wanda's gaze really helps to calm your nerves. "And the reason for this was a relationship that my parents, more specifically my mother, didn't approve of. To be fair, no one really approved, because, well, the person... hm, I don't think there's any other way to put it, was another woman. An older woman, and also my professor. And well, the whole thing would have been a scandal anyway, but I really let myself believe that when the worst was over, we'd be fine. Bad news, we weren't." You laugh sadly. You pause, imagining that you'll get judgmental looks, but everyone listens attentively. "For a while, I thought the worst part was afterward. When everyone knew and judged me, and how my mother freaked out, and I tried... but no. The worst part was not realizing what that love if I can call it that, was doing to me. How ill it was making me. And until I got here, learned things about myself, and managed to take a break from everything that was left behind... For a while, I really hoped to go back and fix everything, but now... damn, sometimes I don't even think about leaving this place."

The group celebrates quietly, exchanging words of encouragement. Your ears feel warm, and Wanda stands up again. "You can stay as long as you need, darling." She says, massaging your forearm. She calls someone else to speak, but doesn't miss the opportunity to whisper in your ear: "I'm proud, stay a little longer today, I want to talk to you." 

And you think you haven't absorbed anything for the rest of the morning.

Eventually, the session ends, and as soon as the room is empty, Wanda turns her face towards you.

"You were brave today, sweetheart." 

Your hands, busy putting the cushions away, tremble a little. But you offer her an incredulous chuckle.

"Yeah, right." It's your answer, which makes Wanda frown in curiosity. At her inquisitive silence, you sigh before clarifying: "Everyone's nice, but I know it's kind of silly that my big trauma is a break-up and not post-traumatic stress from war or something that actually matters."

Wanda presses her lips together, studying you for a moment, and you take the opportunity to put away the last of the cushions. Suddenly, she says:

"This lack of respect for your own feelings comes from parental negligence, I suppose."  You turn your face away in surprise, but Wanda gives you a small smile: "James wasn't lying when he said that no pain should compete with another. We all have our internal and external battles, and we shouldn't belittle our pain. I believe we should honor it, and wear it. And here, dear, you will learn to do that." Wanda makes her way around to one of the cupboards at the back, and you watch her movements in silence, from reaching into one of the last drawers to returning to you with an item in hand. "I have an invitation for you."

She opens the box she's brought, and inside is a necklace very similar to the one the instructors wear. The main difference is the symbol, the crown that Wanda also carries on the pendant around her neck. You frown in confusion.

"What is it?"

She wraps the item between her fingers, her gaze on you. "The disciple's necklace. The last one from the current solstice." 

You imitate the gesture, touching the item with the tips of your fingers. Wanda doesn't move her hand away as your fingers brush together, and you ignore your own shyness as you watch her bite her lip for a moment. "I don't understand what it means."

She licks her lips, and the movement doesn't go unnoticed by your eyes. "It means that you would be my apprentice. You would accompany me during periods of meditation, you would study my teachings closely, you would be... entirely dedicated to..."

"You?" you add, and Wanda lets out a shuddering breath, warm against your cheek. When did she get so close?

"If you wish." She whispers, and you pull away gently, your face hot but the last thread of sanity in your mind.

"I'm sure there are more experienced members dying for this position. It wouldn't be right-"

Wanda shakes her head, interrupting you. "They weren't chosen. You were." She assures you, pressing the box with the necklace against your chest. "And if it wasn't you, the place would be empty until the next solstice. You don't have to accept it, darling. It's not a summons. It's an invitation."

You sigh, holding the box against your chest. "I just... I've never done anything like this. I don't want to mess things up."

There's a bell in the distance, signaling the start of the next activities. Wanda glances outside briefly before stepping close enough to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth that makes your whole body heat up at once.

"Just listen to your instincts." She whispers, before pulling away with a small smile.

You write to Agatha about it the following evening, but you don't have the courage to seal the letter for sending. The whole conversation with Wanda seems too private to be shared in this way. 

Although the woman said it was just an invitation, you could feel some pressure to make a decision, and it seems that the news had been circulating ever since one of the tutors couldn't find the box of the last chaos disciple pendant, and Wanda ended up mentioning that she had extended another invitation.

In a way, you were stalling. Between your activities and meetings, you hadn't made any decisions and you hoped that the end of the summer would force Wanda to choose someone else. But there was also the question of the new, burning feelings that had appeared since you first laid eyes on her, and which seemed to awaken every time you two were in the same environment. 

The idea of departing, of leaving her behind like a closed chapter in your life, seemed absurd every passing day.

In your second month with the Chaos Children, you received a rather unusual request: take the prophet her morning drink.

The crumpled piece of paper was handed to you by one of your cabin mates: Kate Bishop. A former student, a little younger than you, who, after destroying a bell at the university, was sent here by her millionaire mother. Kate was to stay until she had balanced her irresponsible impulses and could take over the family's security empire.

She seemed a little reluctant to interrupt your concentration on cleaning the garden, but much more determined not to disappoint Wanda.

"Just give it to the kitchen staff, they'll know what to do. And prioritize, she doesn't like to wait." Said the girl, but you gave her hand a gentle tug before taking the paper.

"But why did she ask me?" you asked, but Kate had no idea and just shrugged before leaving the garden.

While the kitchen staff prepared the item, you tried to improve your appearance in the bathroom next to the lounge, wiping all the soil from the plants from under your fingers, and even what had run into your cheeks. 

When you came out, there was another order on the counter and a small group of people who hadn't been there before. They didn't see you. Blonsky, accompanied by two other women you didn't know, were talking to each other.

"I bet it was Carter. She hasn't stopped talking about her private piano lessons with the Prophetess for four whole weeks." Said the first, but the other laughed quietly.

" Sharoon is a simp, that's all. Wanda wouldn't choose her after the episode with Rogers last year, she knows she can't trust her." Rebutted the other. "Besides, I would have assumed it was Bishop, after all, she already acts like a maid. Why train another when you already have one so dedicated?" The women laugh amongst themselves until they finally notice you approaching, and fall silent. Blonsky smiles, but he appears very vicious. 

"Hello, miss. Wouldn't you like to have a say in who our next disciple is?" He asks you, but you shrug, moving forward in the queue in front of the canteen to grab the prophet's items that were clearly being prepared in priority. 

"I don't know anything about it." That's your answer, but the shorter woman gets in your way.

"Come on, dear, it's easy." She begins with a giggle. "Every solstice, the prophetess chooses her disciples. There are 24 of them, 12 of whom will become apostles after their apprenticeship."

You grimace softly. "It's very biblical."

Blonsky chuckles. "Of course, it is, despite the multiculturalism of our group, Wanda was raised in a Jewish Christian home. You're not going to tell me you didn't know that?"

You clear your throat. "Not really. Sorry, I have to run."

But the man puts a hand in your way, only to stretch his body out on the counter and reach for some colored leaves that he crushes and drops into Wanda's glass.

"She likes it this way. I would know, I prepared many when I was her houseboy for the first few weeks here." He says, and you swallow dry, mumbling an awkward thank you before hurrying off.

The path is a little tiring, you think it makes sense of Wanda's physique if she had to climb that trail every day, and you mentally curse yourself for thinking about her body. It's not at all appropriate, honestly.

The door is open, but you knock anyway. The woman inside, wearing her typical long, loose dresses at the edge, is busy finishing a loose fringe in her hair and offers you a smile.

"Come in, dear." 

You do so a little awkwardly, almost overwhelmed by the moment of entering the most private place in the whole camp. It's a beautiful cabin, you let her know, without stopping to admire the perfectly arranged surroundings. You would have thought that the privacy of this place would allow her to make some kind of personal mess, but everything is impeccably in place.

Wanda approaches to pick up the items, and the smile falters on her face at the first sip of her drink.

"Did you put... did you put maca root in this?" She asks, and your natural reaction is a short laugh.

"I didn't prepare it, Wanda."

But she doesn't smile again, her tone of voice remains the same but her attitude changes to one of false kindness. "My morning drink is an ashwagandha. I need my concentration to increase, not my libido." It really sounded like a scolding, and her attitude of handing the cup back to you, accompanied by the memory of the recent events, made your blood boil.

"Well, I'm not your fucking maid, so if it's not good, get another one downstairs, or even better, make it one yourself."

It's the first time you see any kind of fury in her gaze, hot and vibrant, and it makes something in you rouse. Your mention of leaving the cabin is prevented by her hands closing the door and trapping you against the wood.

Wanda takes a deep breath, and the gleam in her eyes changes. "Can I ask... where did this attitude come from?"

You hold the glass tightly against your body, very aware that you'll drop it if Wanda doesn't step away and let you breathe. "I just want to make things clear." You retort with a seriousness that doesn't do justice to the way your heart is racing. "I didn't come to this place to be your personal servant."

Wanda chuckles briefly, letting her gaze drop to your mouth. "Oh, of course not, darling." She whispers. "You're not the type to follow orders willingly. You'd do a terrible job."

Swallowing dryly, you retort: "And why am I here then?"

Wanda smiles innocently. "I asked you to bring my drink." It's her reply, clearly trying to tease you, and you snort impatiently.

"I bet you expected an answer. Well, I haven't made up my mind yet, so if there's nothing else, I'll just go."

Wanda moves to take the glass from you and put it on the table by the door. The next second, her hands are in yours.

"Don't be silly, of course, there's another reason." She retorts, pulling you along as she walks backward into the cabin. "I hear you love painting."

What you had assumed was her personal painting canvas is offered to you. The laugh that escapes you is shy and genuine.

"Wanda, I don't... paint anymore."

But she doesn't flinch, her hands still in yours. "I know you haven't since last semester. It was in the letter. But you've progressed so much, that I thought you could paint for me." When you don't answer, she makes such an adorable expression that your heart skips a beat. "Please?"

Wanda definitely knows how beautiful she is, and how those puppy-dog eyes can take her anywhere. You bite back a smile, agreeing, and almost forget to breathe when she jumps excitedly onto your neck, hugging it for a whole moment before letting go as if she hadn't turned you into a complete mess with one touch.

She doesn't complain about the cocktail again - instead, she drinks it entirely while you get comfortable on the painting stool, doodling for a few moments before starting to paint the only thing you could after so many months without touching a paintbrush.

It's only when the drawing is clearer on the frame that Wanda becomes restless again. Loud sighs take your attention away from the painting and towards her.

"Is something wrong?"

She smiles half-heartedly, and only now do you notice the soft color of her cheeks. "I shouldn't have ignored my own complaints and drunk that juice."

You frown in confusion, letting the brush rest next to the paints. "Was it that bad? If you want, I'll complain to the kitchen-"

Wanda chuckles, shaking her head and you have to shut up because she reaches over to push the canvas out of the way and stops right in front of you, close enough to touch.

"Remember what I said? About focus and about... my libido." She asks, and you can swallow dryly, looking up in the direction of her dilated eyes. She lets her hands rest on your shoulders, pressing the weight of her body gently into yours. "Well, I suppose you'll have to see for yourself. Hold out your hand sweetheart, no, no, down... yes, you can move my dress out of the way." Your trembling fingers brushed against her knee, and immediately obeyed the order. Slowly making your way under her dress, while Wanda bit her lip and watched you draw patterns on her thighs. Finally, your fingers reached the side of her underwear. Instead of pulling it down, you let the inks drop to the ground, and your other hand went under her dress too, repeating the same path as before while you and Wanda panted together. Your face fell forward, flush into her dress, and you pressed your nose against her, inhaling deeply the scent of arousal she exhaled so strongly.

Her hands squeezed your shoulders as yours began to pull down her panties right away. A moment later, gracefully as everything so far, she kicked the item aside and spread her legs gently so that you could slide your fingers between more easily.

You looked up the second your index finger met her warmth, gasping at the mischievous smile of the woman in front of you.

"All this time I've been here..." You started hoarsely, your fingers spreading the wetness between her folds, and enjoying the way Wanda's breath caught in her throat. "Were you this wet?" 

Despite the failure of her own breathing, and the way it's harder to stand up with your intimate stimulation, Wanda gives you a mischievous look and leans her forehead against yours, her red hair making a curtain between your faces. 

"I get like this every time I'm around you." She confesses, giving you a provocative tug on your lower lip that forces you to thrust inside her with more determination. Almost enough for her to lose her pose. Almost. "It's disconcerting, to be honest."

Your thumb presses down firmly on her clit, and Wanda almost buckles into you, the delicious sound that escapes her throat will be in your dreams for sure. "Well, should I apologize, high sanctity?"

She chuckles at the teasing hidden in the nickname, before leaning in completely and capturing your mouth in a fervent kiss that takes you out of orbit for a whole moment, intense enough for you to whimper into her tongue, and force her hips down into yours, practically begging her to grind your lap. Wanda's response to this is a dirty giggle mixed with a moan into your mouth.

Without breaking the kiss that turns into a much hungrier one the next second, you get to your feet, adjusting your hands to grab her thighs to pull her onto your lap and carry her around the room. Between stumbles, you press each other against the various surfaces of the room, tables, and cupboards, exchanging increasingly hot and desperate kisses, and you're pretty sure you're going to have Wanda against the bookshelf if she keeps grinding into your abdomen like that.

In a pause for breath, when she's still wedged between you and the bookcase, your mouth descends on her jaw and Wanda struggles to keep her eyes open. She whimpers shamelessly as your curious hands advance down her body, pulling her dress out of the way and leaving it barely hanging off her body for you to clasp your palms over her now-bare breasts.

Her patience for release is quickly exhausted by the precise stimulation of her breasts, your eager fingers teasing and pinching her nipples until you turn her into a whimpering mess. She gives a determined tug on the hair at the nape of your neck, forcing your face back to hers in a hard, dirty kiss that makes you shudder. She breaks it only to give an order: 

"On your knees." And you groan in obedience, falling to the floor almost at once, desperately pulling her dress aside to force your face into her, now with nothing in the way. Wanda arches her back once your hot mouth finds her drenched cunt; her hands desperate for some kind of support on the shelves behind her, while her chest heaves and her hips are restless against your face. 

Your hungry mouth leisurely devours her, your tongue teasing her folds, spreading her wetness around and making a mess on your face. Your closed eyes show your dedication and surrender to the task, but Wanda tugs at your hair again, trying to gain a little control back and order you to quit the teasing and fuck her the way she needs you to. Fully dilated Irises then confronts her from between her legs, and Wanda loses her breath. 

"Beautiful." She panted, staring back, shamelessly grinding herself into your face. "So beautiful... fuck... on your knees for me... oh, God, detka." She struggles to compliment you, but her native language begins to escape mixed with English shortly afterward, her climax approaching. You moan contentedly at the scene, aware of the state of your own underwear from all this play. Wanda's body begins to betray her, trying to pull away so you grab her thighs with a strong grip, and one of her legs ends up over your shoulder, increasing your reach just the way she needs it to fall over the edge.

Wanda comes on your tongue, spasming against the books, and in a deep moan. You don't let her pull away, keeping her restless hips in place as you lick your way through her previous climax in search of a new one. Soon her whimpering protests at the overstimulation turn into begging, and you fail to hide the smug smile at feeling her so at your mercy for a second time.

She's so close, so close, that the Sokovian comes back to her tongue, but there's a sudden knock on the door, and all the stimulation is interrupted by your fright. Wanda gasps incredulously, losing the time to react in time due to her own lust, and having to watch you stumble away - quickly wiping her cum from your chin with the back of your hand - as she tries not to fall down on her shaking knees.

"Why the fuck did you stop?" she asks in frustration through her teeth, but you, with a very flushed face, look at her with a certain desperation.

"Wanda, there's someone at the door!" You retort as if it were a very justifiable reason to steal an orgasm from her. Wanda huffs angrily, lunging at you and ignoring your confused eyes to pull you upright by the collar of your shirt, hurriedly throwing you onto the mattress. "W-wanda, what?"

"Quiet." She cuts in, pushing your shoulders until you're lying down and following the movement of your body to straddle your lap. The person outside knocks again, and although she's pulling her off, and is still shaking from her last orgasm, Wanda manages to speak in the same tone of voice as she does every morning meeting: "What is it?"

Your protests are muffled when Wanda sits on your face, and in fact, you would have forgotten any guests if Blonsky's voice hadn't sounded in the next second.

"Good morning, Reverend, I've come to join you for today's service." Says the man, but Wanda has to bite her lip hard because you're eating her out again, somehow even better than before. "Reverend?"

Wanda shakes her head, frowning at the difficulty of maintaining a rational thought when she has your tongue inside her. "Hm, I'm not going today, Blonsky... Deliver the service in my place." She fails to sound so breathless and has to close her eyes when your hands grip her thighs tightly, holding her down. 

Blonsky then sounds concerned: "Aren't you feeling well, Reverence?"

Your nose nuzzles into her clit and Wanda reaches for the headboard, a satisfied sigh escaping her. "I feel great." She murmurs back and has to take a deep breath so that the next sound that escapes her isn't a moan. "Just busy. Anything else, Blonsky?"

The man clears his throat, Wanda has to press a hand against her own mouth as you reach another right spot. 

"Hm, yes, Reverend... As you know, the deadline for the selection of the disciple is coming to an end." He begins, luckily unable to hear the muffled sighs inside the room through the closed door. "I have expressed my concerns to Your Reverence about a premature choice of new members-"

Wanda snorts impatiently. "Are you really going to question my choices again, Blonsky?"

"N-no, reverend!" He defends himself quickly. "Never. I just worry that the... affinity, that Your Reverence has acquired for some new members, might affect your judgment about their vocations. The premature choice of a disciple could result in their departure from our community, and we know how the withdrawal of one of our own affects everyone..."

"Don't worry about it." Wanda cuts dry, and now, she's remarkably close to climaxing. She doesn't care about the roughness, she thrusts her hips frantically into your face, muffling your breathless moans. "Y/N is the best choice... she's... so-god... dedicated and-hm... talented-" Wanda's lucky you're quick to react too. She would have screamed to the ceiling, exposing all the inappropriate activities in the room if you hadn't grabbed her thighs and spun her on her back onto the mattress. She didn't have time to lose this orgasm by the brief interruption of your movements - your fingers took the place of your tongue when you hovered above her, and your free hand covered her mouth when you sank inside her again.

Wanda came harder than before, squeezing your fingers and wetting the bed. She clings to your body in a desperate grasp, shocked by the achievement over her body, and grateful for the muffling of her moans. You keep thrusting until she stops squirting on the sheets.

You only remember that Blonsky is still outside because he speaks again. "I'll take your word for it, Your Reverence. And I hope you've made a good choice." He says at last, the sound of his footsteps moving away is ignored by you and Wanda, who meet in a hot kiss in the next second.

Your fingers continue to thrust lightly inside her, even though Wanda shudders from the excessive stimulation. And despite this, she also controls the kiss, which slows down so that she can ask in between: "Tell me, love. Did I do it? A good choice."

You kiss her a little harder. "I still don't know... what I want... or what I should do, Wanda."

She brings one of her hands up to your wrist, stopping your movements. You open your eyes to look at her. Wanda smiles, but her eyes are very mischievous. "You think too hard when the answer is right here." She retorts, giving your hand a gentle tug. You follow her lead, and soon, you have your drenched fingers with her cum inside your mouth. Your hips move instinctively, pressing down on her, and Wanda giggles mischievously, her free hand trailing down your back to encourage the movement. "Don't you want that, baby? You can be all mine."

You suck your fingerprints clean, removing them from your mouth to support yourself on the mattress now that you're so wildly grinding your hips against Wanda's thigh. She doesn't let you indulge in the sensation, grabbing your cheek and stopping your hips with the other at your silence.

Your soft protest is ignored, and your voice is almost a pathetic plea when it comes out. "It's not fair... I was feeling so good."

"Oh, darling, I can make you feel even better, every day if you decide to stay with me." She retorts, her grip softening on your cheek. You look at her, but there is still hesitation in your gaze and Wanda wishes to replace this doubt with something else. She kisses you but pulls away when you go to increase the intensity, ignoring your protest and pushing you gently away by the shoulders. "No playing, until I have an answer."

Wanda flees - because she doesn't think she'll live up to her words if she is under you - and slips out of bed before you can grab her back. Your next long protest is muffled against the mattress because you press your face down.

Wanda giggles half-heartedly as she stands up, reaches for her dress, and tries to adjust her appearance a little. "Thank you for the sex, sweetheart, it was a very pleasant surprise, but I can't let Blonsky lead a communion, he's not good at it. And you have errands, so if you'll excuse me..." Your silence made Wanda, now dressed, look at the bed again. To her surprise, you were sitting on the mattress, hanging something around your neck. 

Your gaze met hers as the disciple chain was secure on your skin. The mischief in your gaze made her swallow. Twirling the symbol between your fingers, you smiled as you asked: "So how does this work? Should I confess my sins so that you can forgive me?"

"God offers forgiveness, not me." Wanda whispers back, brazenly watching you start to unbutton your shirt, the necklace hanging in the valley of your breasts is doing things to her. 

"Hm, since I'm going to be forgiven, maybe I can sin a little more..." Wanda moved on instinct, crawling onto the bed to meet you halfway like a magnet being drawn towards you.

Your foreheads touched, and she sighed against your lips. "I should punish you for this blasphemy." She says, to which you smile naughtily before sticking out your tongue to tease her lips, eliciting a low moan from her.

"Promise?" You challenge, and Wanda gets tired of wasting time.

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Drawn to you | Pt. 1

(A/N) My first Alastor fanfiction. Let me know if you want another part!

Pairing: Alastor x bunny demon!Reader (no Y/N)

Warning: fluff, talk about death, mentions of Alastors human life activities (iykyk)

Synopsis: Alastor had never felt the need for friends, or something even deeper. But now that you're here...what is that feeling in his chest?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Everyone was gathered in the hotel lobby as Charlie was going through a new trust exercise. Angel had tuned out a long time ago and Husk didn’t even come out from behind his bar. The only ones actively listening were Vaggie, Nifty, and Sir Pentious. Alastor, similarly to Angel was physically there but not paying any attention.

Instead, his mind was focused on his radio broadcast comeback. What would he talk about? Who’s screams would he share with the other sinners?

A timid knock brought him back to there and then, as his eyes met Charlie’s. Hers were bright and sparkling, anticipation clear.

“A new guest, a new guest, a new guest.��

The words left her in a sing-song manner as she started to skip towards the front door. But Alastor held out his cane to stop the princess.

“Please, don’t let this interrupt this very important exercise. I will gladly see to whoever is at the door. As is my job, of course.”

His signature smile widened, almost in a desperate way. Anything to get out of this group therapy.

“Ah, of course, Alastor. Thank you.”

With that, Charlie turned back towards the rest of the group and continued to talk, but not without glancing back a few times, to watch what was going on.

As soon as the princess agreed to let Alastor handle the newcomer, he used his shadows to teleport himself over to the door, before energetically swinging it open. His mouth opened to speak his practiced welcome, but no words came out.

His eyes landed on you and he felt his mouth dry up. You were…cute.

“H-Hi. I hope I’m not bothering anyone, I…I heard about the hotel and w-wanted to ask if I-I could help?”

The demon in front of you kept staring without uttering a single word and you started to grow worried. Maybe you shouldn’t have come. Maybe they didn’t need any more people working here. Maybe they didn’t even want anyone else working here. Maybe this is all just a huge front for something really sinister. Maybe…

Alastor blinked, once, twice, three times before something pulled him out of his stupor. His eyes snapped to the top of your head, where your long ears had started to twitch while you were overthinking.

“Ahm…”

Alastor started but was quickly cut off when Charlie appeared beside him.

“Hi! We’d love your help! Come in, come in!”

The princess quickly grabbed your hands and pulled you inside, leaving the stunned overlord at the door. You smiled at her energetic display, but couldn’t help but glance back at the sinner, dressed in red, still standing at the door. By now he was slowly closing it before he turned to look at you.

Being caught staring, you quickly averted your gaze and instead focused on what the demon beside you was saying. She introduced you to the others, before she whisked you away, to show you around. Alastor was left in the lobby, mulling over what had just happened.

“Looks like someone left you speechless, huh Smiles?”

It was almost terrifying how quickly Alastor whipped around to glare at the spider demon.

“Would you like to repeat that, Angel?”

Loud static filled the lobby and Angel shrunk in on himself, muttering a quick apology before running to his room. Alastor sighed and fixed his bowtie, asking himself what had gotten him so worked up. His mind only answered with a single image. You, at the door, looking at him, hope in your eyes.

With a quiet growl, Alastor teleported himself to his radio tower. At least there he would be able to find some peace. Or so he thought. He had barely sat down when he heard a familiar voice outside the door.

“And this is Alastor’s radio tower. Do you see this light? When this is on, he’s in the middle of a broadcast and you really shouldn’t disturb him. Just in general, if he’s in here, only disturb him if really necessary. Honestly, I think that’s something that applies to him in general.”

The last sentence had Alastor up on his feet and in front of the door in a split second. He swung it open, his signature grin wide.

“Ah, the newbie.”

He grinned down at you, his grin faltering slightly as he watched you shrink away. Still, he carried on.

“Would you like a tour of my studio? It’s small, but it is mighty.”

Had Alastor spared Charlie a look, he would’ve noticed how her eyes lit up and she started nodding.

“I think that would be wonderful!”

Charlie gently shoved you towards the door.

“I have to get back to the others. Would you finish the tour after the…tour? Just show her to her room, that’s all that’s left.”

Alastor nodded, before placing his hand on the small of your back and gently ushering you inside.

“Of course, consider it done.”

Charlie thanked him, before hurrying back to the lobby.

Once Charlie was gone, Alastor closed the door and turned to look at you. He was about to say something, but the moment he noticed the amazement in your eyes, he lost the words he was about to speak. Instead, he let you look around, walk up to his console, and trail your fingers over the buttons and levers.

This was his holy space. Somewhere where not even the princess of Hell was allowed to enter. But you being here? That just felt right. He continued to watch you, and for the first time in his life, both on Earth and here, he felt something like…love.

“Do you like it?”

His voice was soft, the static almost completely gone. You turned to look at him and after a moment of hesitation, you nodded.

“When I was alive, I used to work in a radio station. I wasn’t a host, but I wrote scripts and corresponded with listeners. I loved it.”

Alastor’s smile turned genuine as he slowly walked toward you.

“May I ask where you worked? In which city?”

You chuckled and turned back to the controls.

“New Orleans.”

Alastor halted in his movements, staring at you with wide eyes.

“A-And when did you die?”

His hands were shaking. What if…?

“Not too long ago. I think one, maybe two years ago.”

Your response caused him to release a breath of relief. If you had died closer to his lifetime, there would’ve been a good chance you knew of his doings and for some reason…he didn’t want you to know. Didn’t want you to fear him, to think of him with disgust in your heart.”

“Well, it seems we’re connected in some ways. I too worked in a radio station in New Orleans! However, I did pass quite some time before you have.”

You look at him, a soft smile on your face.

“That’s too bad. I would love to have met you on Earth.”

He grinned and stepped closer to you.

“Well, you’ve met me now.”

With practiced grace, he reached for your hand and brought it to his lips, ghosting a kiss onto your knuckles. You could feel your cheeks heat up at the gesture and quickly tried to change the topic.

“So you still have a radio broadcast down here?”

Alastor chuckled at your reaction before straightening to his full height again.

“I sure do. Although I did have to take a break. I’m currently working on my comeback if you’d like to help me.”

You nodded, excited at the prospect of working in radio again.

The two of you sat down together and started working, not noticing how late it was getting. By the time either of you realized what time it was, it was well past midnight and both your bellies were grumbling with hunger.

“My oh my, we truly got a lot done. How about some well-deserved dinner, my dear?”

You nodded and accepted Alastor’s hand, and before you knew it, you were standing in a different room. Half of it looked like a standard hotel room with a couch and table, but the other half looked like a forest. A forest you knew all too well.

“Couturie Forest.”

Alastor chuckled beside you.

“You are right. That forest was one of my favorite places when I was alive. I couldn’t resist the urge to bring it here as well.”

You smile at him.

“It’s beautiful.”

With a genuine grin on his face, Alastor offered you his hand, before leading you to the small dinner table that stood inside the forest. He pulled out your chair, before pushing it back in.

“What are you in the mood for, cher?”

You thought for a while before you named one of your favorite dishes. And with a snap of his fingers, it stood in front of you. Your eyes went wide as the smell invaded your nose.

“How…?”

“Well, let’s just say this is a part of my powers?”

You chuckled, before taking a bite, and an almost pornographic moan left your lips.

“Alastor, this is so good!”

His grin widened as he sat down opposite from you, also taking a bite.

The two of you made small talk while you ate, mostly talking about New Orleans and what had changed since Alastor had died. Even after both of you were done with the food, you continued to talk until you could no longer keep the yawns at bay.

Alastor chuckled and snapped, and the dirty dishes disappeared.

“Let’s get you to bed, shall we?”

He gently helped you to your feet and with his hand on your lower back, he led you out of his room and across the hall, where an empty room waited for a guest.

“There you go, cher. This is your room, to do with as you please.”

He opened the door and gently ushered you inside.

“But for now, you should go to sleep.”

Once again, he captured your hand and pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles, before looking up at you.

“Good night, dear.”

You smile at him sleepily.

“Good night, Alastor.”

Please consider reblogging and following me! It helps a lot!

Hazbin Hotel - Masterlist

Master-Masterlist

[sugurizz]

(SMUT/NSFW +18 - minors DNI !)

𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐭.: Joo Jaekyung x f! reader - 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏 , 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟑

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: world champion Team Black's Joo Jaekyung is the hottest sensation in the MMA universe. His name is not only feared and respected on the streets, but desired in the sheets. Little did physiotherapist Y/n know, she was about to learn it the hard way.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 / 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: dark content ahead! explicit content, dubcon, graphic content, dom/sub dynamics, power dynamics, degradation, nicknames (Doc, slut, whore, etc...)

𝐰.𝐜: 1,1k.

𝐉𝐎𝐎 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐊𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐆 − 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐢 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

And who's this now? What is she doing here?'

'Please welcome y/n. She'd be our substitute physical therapist for now. hope you guys would get along.' Responded team coach Park Namwook as he gently gave your shoulder a pat.

'You keep bringing these goons around! And none of them seems to get the job done right!' He harshly dismissed your presence, looking at the coach, then scoffed as he walked back into the sparring room.

'You'll have to deal with him after the sparring matches. He's quite the hardass at times, but I know I can rely on you.'

The coach gave you a rather awkward smile, brushing off the rude welcoming you suddenly received.

-----

You stepped into the therapy room and hanged your backpack, just as he came in, skin gleaming with sweat and pitch black strands messy. His eyes accidentally met yours as he layed down on the chair.

'I'm taking the shirt off. It's drenched in sweat.'

Your heart sunk. You turned around to see his large torso on full display. He clearly did it for an understandable reason, but your brain went blank and your fingertips froze for a split second, until a deep voice shook you out of it..

'Last week's treatment sucked. The last substitute coach brought here was so incompetent. My muscles remained tense anyway. And the cramps in my left shoulder got even worse.'

'I understand, sir. I'll work on a different treatment routine. I'm sorry for your last week's inconvenience.'

You somehow fancied remaining professional at that moment. Despite his clear attitude, you knew your job as physiotherapist was to provide the team members with effective remedies in the first place.

He shrugs and looks away, closing his eyes in annoyance as he muttered,

'And better make it quick. I don't have all night ahead.'

You nodded as you approached his frame. Took a deep breath as your palms landed on his skin. It was a mix of heat and cold, a marble-like texture that you didn't expect a UFC fighter -notably the best of the best- to have.

the session went rather smoothly, no words were spoken. but at least you could tell the silence was a rather relieving sign.

'S-Sir...c-could you point to me the spot where your shoulder feels most painful, please?'

He placed his hand on the back of his shoulder, eyes still closed. And you complied as you started massaging it. His features flinched for a while, and your heart skipped a beat as you slowly neared the end of the session.

'I'll have to say that your shoulder might need a few more sessions, sir. It seems that the tendons on your upper left arm are the reason you're struggling with pain in your shoulder.'

'I'm not spending any extra time on nonsense! You figure out how to heal it. And you'll do it during the normal sessions.'

He glanced at you sternly as he stood up and straightened himself. Not acknowleging you a second further...

-----

The next day's session was just about to start, an unspoken tension grew inside your chest. The uncertainty of what could happen every time your hands stroked against his rock hard abs, toned arms, and god-like v lined pelvis had your face heating up.

He walked in as usual. you greeted him with a pale smile and performed your service as good as you could...

...'Hey, do you work extra hours? I'll pay you.'

He opened a half-lidded eye, voice deeper than you recognized.

you turned around, puzzled ..

'I...can do that. It would buy me some extra time to focus on your upper arm's tendons.'

'Good. I'm only open for extra sessions in my apartment, though.'

'B-but sir! I'm not sure if I can commute to your place at such a late hour...' You jolted immediately, almost panicking at the sudden request.

'I can tell you're not good with directions. Meet me at the entrance in 15 minutes. I'm driving there anyway.'

He muttered nonchalently as he got up and left the room, leaving you standing up there, mind foggy and racing trying to process what just happened...

...the ride home was silent. The flashing lights of the city were the only way you could ignore the heavy weight upon your heart. You got off as you arrived and made your way behind him to the apartment.

'There. You can place your stuff anywhere. And follow me quick.'

He laid down on a king-sized bed, eyeing you up and down as you set foot into the room.

'I'll make it short and quick.

I fuck before matches. For a reasonable price. Choice is yours.'

You somehow managed to stay cool and collected, but the silence that followed crushed your soul. He was still waiting for your response. Not that you were aware of his fiery eyes almost piercing a burning hole through your chest.

'W-why?...sir..' a broken protest left your throat. But he seemed so unfazed by it all.

'If it's a no you can leave now. No more words needed.'

He looked away, turning around to face the huge bay window, shining through the city lights. you felt unjustifiably intoxicated. was it his huge frame? the unforgettable scent of his room? or just the nasty desire that you kept suppressing since your eyes met his dark ones? You didn't know for sure. But the way he felt like he could crush you evertime he randomly stood next to you had you picturing all kinds of the filthiest things he could do to you...

...

'W-what would it be.... if I...agreed, s-sir?...'

'Oh. playing sly are we?'

He walked up to you with a mishievious grin on his face, then leaned down enough for his lips to meet your ears.

'If you agree, you get fucked to my heart's content. No playing around. No lovey-dovey shit.'

The brutal tone was supposed to distaste you, but for whatever messed up reason made you feel the throb straight down your womb, and between your legs.

'So?'

You snapped out. His warm breath was still ghosting over your neck, just enough to tease your senses, without ever touching you.

You looked into his eyes like a frightened deer, tho your fear merged with the heat in your belly.

'N-No one...can hear about this! sir'

'Not that anyone else can see me balls deep in you, can they?'

He raised an eyebrow, shit-eating grin still over his lips as his monster-like frame invaded your space. Your brain shut down, heart hammering as you looked back into his eyes...

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟑?...

𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒.

[zilabee]

Tony Bramwell, on Yoko

- gradually, inch by inch she intruded into our lives

- It was hardly surprising that John felt some kind of electricity; but it was probably the air crackling with Yoko’s desperation

- If I were standing about with him, Yoko would come up to me and say something in her high little girl’s voice, perhaps hoping to get John to notice her [...]. John would walk off to talk to someone else, while she stared after him. In those days, Yoko was always staring after John.

- She wanted to possess John and she was the one who was exceptionally jealous. She could not cope with the fact that John could love three other guys.

- her piece de resistance, the much-reprised performance of “Cut Piece.”  The scissors were wired for sound, so every cut had a horrific, almost animal sound, like a beast crunching into its human prey.

- did Yoko do her hypnotism thing, as some of John’s friends thought she had, or did she have a powerful new drug in her arsenal? Nobody really believed that John fell in love overnight, because why hadn’t he done so before? He’d been kicking Yoko in and out of his life for over a year. Mostly, he had given the impression that he resented and despised her. [...] Perhaps it was that he really was mentally ill and like many schizoid personalities, got religious mania.

- Overnight, he no longer had a will of his own.

- ...an attempt to use Primal Scream Therapy under Arthur Janov by telephone, to free him from his heroin addiction...

- Sir Joe said he didn’t think the pictures were obscene, he had seen much worse, an opinion which confused John and Yoko. They wanted to be seen as avant-garde and enfants terribles.

- Yoko had no sense of humour at all and she loathed Phil as much as Phil hated her. Each of them was implacable and paranoid.

- I used to dread taking John and Yoko’s arty stuff into radio stations and asking them to play it. For me, it was a bad experience because it was unplayable and unlistenable. [...] The reaction was a bored, “Why are you bringing this crap to us?” At first I argued with radio producers about it, though not on a very artistic level. I even heard myself saying, “Because he pays my wages. That’s why!” It was so embarrassing.

- As far as Yoko was concerned, if you spout all this magical, healing, antiwar, be kind to everybody, all-seeing, all-caring, all-macrobiotic stuff, being pregnant on heroin would seem to be the last thing she would need. And how does all that stuff equate with shooting up smack? How does all that spiritual pontificating gel with the teaspoon and the needle, unless you’re a fraud?

- According to John, Yoko snorted [heroin], but I had no doubt that if she had used a needle, she would probably have said it was acupuncture.

- John used to like life. He used to like to get on a roll. Laugh, eat and drink. [...] proper breakfasts, an old-fashioned fry-up, pie and chips, fish and chips, fried chicken, a roast dinner on a Sunday, Chinese food, curry, spaghetti Bolognese. Everything. Then he met Yoko, grew his beard, and [...] from Irish navvy’s food, he went to heroin and macrobiotics. I think if Yoko had said it was spiritual to snort bean curd instead of eat it John would have done it.

- She and John used to whisper away in their corner, with a completely different, us-against-the-world perspective to everyone. I know they did, because filming quietly on the sidelines, I heard.

- Having discussed life and its ins and outs and meanings, and worked out that it all means nothing, John and Yoko didn’t want to, couldn’t possibly, give the edifice of the Beatles any credit, or indeed any respect.

- doubt set in because some critics and reviewers gave her favourable reviews in the press and on TV. You’d find yourself wondering if you were an intellectual failure, unable to spot the hidden value in Yoko’s art and music. [...] somehow it became important to judge Yoko as impartially as possible, mostly out of regard for John. The problem was we couldn’t accept that he could be so blinded.

- [Dan Richter] was a close confidant of [Yoko and Tony Cox]. He said he heard all their hopes and schemes to hook John, at first as a financial “angel,” then, with dawning excitement, as a lover.

- According to Dan, Tony Cox actively encouraged the affair between John and Yoko as a means of survival. He said that Cox would tell Yoko to “go get Lennon.” When John proved elusive, as he was at first, Cox told Yoko she wasn’t trying hard enough. For her part, when she saw how close she was to capturing their prey, Yoko told Dan that they’d soon be rich beyond their wildest dreams.

- Cox began to feel fragile, thinking he might get cut out. In all seriousness, he drew up an agreement that he insisted Yoko sign. This single-page document—which was drawn up and signed at Dan’s kitchen table—stated that when Yoko hooked John, they would split any cash she got from the endeavour.

[carmyberzattosjournal]

S2 Entry 4: Gleeful Harassment

Image credit: Pinterest

Summary: Carmy’s girlfriend (who he calls Darling) tempts him with pink lace again while he’s attending a conference, and it makes him feral. (2094 Words) SMUT.

Warnings: Swearing, fem reader/lass who is a trauma surgeon, she/her pronouns, oral sex (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), Darling is a brat, sugar mama!Darling (sort of?), dword use, sir kink, feral Carmy, this man is pathetic

Notes: Thank you for reading and sharing! This is a work in CB Journals Season 2 and will be tagged with #cb journals s2.

Sideblog for commentary and social stuff: @m-z-shoroi

Prompt: Fireplace

Darling sometimes scares me.

New York again. Chef conference. Again. This time, Darling scheduled some time off at work to come with, which was nice, because when our hotel (different one, never trusted the first again) fucked up our booking again, it meant that instead of cramming Syd and me into a room together and telling us to figure it out, the staff had to listen to Nat and a pissed off Darling read them the Riot Act. I had to admit, it was wildly entertaining—not to watch the poor desk clerk scramble around with all the grace of a gazelle that’d been shot in the leg; that was uncomfortable—but watching Syd and Richie back away from the desk inch by inch as Darling’s voice got friendlier and friendlier, as she cracked jokes at the sweating clerk? As she then giggled at the manager on site who looked much too concerned about nothing to be bothered by some rando Chicagoan fucks who also, to be fair to him, looked like they’d rather be anywhere else?

Cinema.

Half an hour of gleeful harassment later, it was sorted. Three rooms, two suites so Nat’s snoring didn’t keep Syd awake.

“The fuck is a Presidential Suite?” I asked Darling after Richie had shuffled off the elevator onto his floor.

She smiled. Stroked my cheek as the elevator door closed. “Consider it a treat for starting therapy.”

A presidential suite, it turns out, is an entire fucking penthouse. Living room, fireplace, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom with a big tub, balcony (which was useless in December). For once on these stupid fucking conferences, I slept well.

Having Darling to snuggle up with probably helped.

Anyway.

I’m an hour into a panel of some asshat full-of-themselves chefs on day one, right—and I’m so ready to leave, okay? Like I’m ready to just get up and walk because I fucking can’t with this bullshit anymore. I’m tired, my head is killing me, my eyes are stinging, my back might as well have fucking knives in it from under my shoulder blades all the way to my tailbone, I’m boiling in my fucking suit. You don’t understand; I’m going to be cooked to death if I need to be here another ten minutes. I’m gonna fucking hurl or something. This day has been a million years long, and Darling had to leave in a rush because one of her patients had an emergency and she needed to get on a conference call right that second or the poor man was gonna die or explode or melt or whatever the fuck. Fuck me, I just need to get out of this room. There are too many people, I’m sardine canned in a corner between Richie and Nat, the doors are clear on the other side of the hall, and I can’t get out without walking across the front, and I’m Carmen fucking Berzatto—people are gonna notice if I get up and walk out. That’ll bite me in the ass.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I reached for it, but Sug nudged me in the elbow. Don’t get distracted.

It buzzed again.

I grabbed it anyway. Two text messages from Darling.

Darling: Patient is stable.

Darling: You okay?

Me: I’m dying.

Darling: Can you step out and take a break?

Nat nudged me again.

Fuck you, everyone here understands that sometimes you have important shit come up. Besides, how much of a fuck should I be giving to a bunch of self-centered sons of bitches big on social media who think their Cajun-inspired take of a Biryani even needs to exist, let alone is some revolutionary new frontier in food? Do your fucking fundamentals well. Do something actually inspiring.

Wait, that actually sounds pretty good.

Fuck.

Photo from Darling. Selfie. She’s lying on her stomach in the bed and has her lip caught between her teeth. She’d been pulling shit like that since yesterday; lip bite, lipstick print on my neck that I had to wipe off before the wider public saw it (turns out I’m still a shy bitch, who would’ve guessed), ghosting her fingers up the inside of my forearm, hugging my arm, wearing those fucking pink fucking heels and that fucking short pink dress, this bright, cheerful color exactly the hue of a split ripe guava, that I didn’t even know I liked until she dared to send me the one photo of her in the pink lacy panties on the one night I got compulsively stuck at the restaurant.

I went back to pretending to pay attention to the panel. Something about leadership in a kitchen. It would’ve been useful for me to hear if I wasn’t getting distracted repeatedly by my phone buzzing.

Darling: You look so good in a suit, Carm.

Darling: I want to bite you.

Darling: I need to buy you nice jewelry, Carm. You’d look like a daydream and a half with a couple more necklaces and a bracelet.

My face flooded hot. Fuck. Fuck me. Shit. How the shit was I supposed to focus now? And since when did Darling want to buy me jewelry?

Me: You’re acting like a brat again.

Darling: You said the panel wasn’t important!

That was true. I did say that. I’m an asshole, though, so I suppose we should keep that in mind.

Darling: Sweetheart?

Darling: Baby, I can’t stop thinking about you.

Me: You keep acting like a fucking brat, and I’m gonna fuck your day up, you understand me?

And I didn’t want to be there at all. But like half the people here know who the fuck I am, and I need to at least keep up the appearance of giving a shit if I’m gonna not be a minnow in this fucking shark tank, okay? My career was hanging on by a thread, my restaurant failed to get a star, my reviews were mostly good but had some glaring bad ones thrown in, my relationship with the kitchen staff was in some perilous fucking limbo, it was damn-near 5 pm on a random fucking Tuesday in Fuck-Off, New York, and my head was fucking killing me and I was being cooked to death.

Another photo from her, this one showing off a pink lace bra that matched those panties I almost tore off her the last time. Even more heat pooled in the pit of my stomach, flooded my face. She doesn’t know when to fucking quit, does she? Is she trying to kill me?

Darling: Well, maybe you should fuck my day up then, sir.

…..

“Carmy, please,” she whined, wriggled, tugged my hair. “Please, sir…”

I tightened my grip on her thighs to stop her squirming and spoke into her cunt. “You did this to yourself, baby girl.”

“But you-you’re being mean, Daddy.” She didn’t even have teeth behind that one.

She was a gorgeous mess. Unruly hair, smudged lipstick, swollen lips, red and purple blooms all over her neck and chest, teeth marks on her breast, just under her nipple. Fuck me, she was stunning. She was fucking delicious lying under me, whimpering as I worked her over, begging for release.

She could wait until I got my fill.

I found her after the panel (which I survived by biting the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper) lounging in front of the fireplace in nothing but that pink lingerie and her fuzzy night robe, glass of champagne in hand, pager and laptop discarded on the coffee table nearby. Orange-yellow glow lit up her legs and the curve of her breasts like ethereal things. I should’ve taken a photo of her. I don’t think about this kind of shit; I don’t think through the screen, I wrap myself around them (or maybe I wrap them around me?), absorb them, fight through the fog to plant them in my memory, take in every little detail with my own eyeballs in real time. Maybe it made me a better cook, made me better at picking up details.

At least it made me better at picking up her details.

Her eyeliner was smudged, and she looked exhausted. She looked the kind of exhausted that I did when I had a long day of fighting Richie or Syd at the restaurant. The kind of tired that can’t find words or form coherent thoughts, that responds to everything with “I’m tired” because that’s the truth of all matters. It’s this fucking exhaustion that drapes over you like a wet blanket, that makes a coma seem like it might be a vacation. I know I should’ve asked her how she was doing. Having a patient take a downturn like that usually fucks her up pretty bad, but I was screaming in my head to get at her. I needed to sink my teeth into her skin, lick the bite better, suck a hickey onto her pulse, delve my tongue into the wet heat of her mouth, the soft, wet sweetness of her cunt.

Not that she complained.

Well, now she was complaining.

“Yeah? Whose fault is that, hm?”

She whined again.

“You had to go acting like a fuckin’ brat, baby girl.”

“’m sorry. Please, Carmy. Please, Daddy, I’ll be good for the rest of the trip...”

“You better be,” I murmured, tossed her leg over my shoulder, “because I haven’t even started with you.”

“Lemme cum, please…”

“You can wait,” I growled.

She huffed and arched her back, tried to rock against my mouth to get any more friction, but I tightened my grip on her to hold her still. You got yourself into this situation, pretty thing, you’re gonna have to deal with the consequences. I’m going to eat you out, I’m going to make a fucking meal out of you, and you’re gonna lay there and take it. You’re gonna take it and beg me for more, do you understand? Do you understand what you do to me? Do you even know how bad you fuck me up? Do you know how hard you make it to think under normal circumstances? And you had to tempt me with pink lace? Again? Play stupid games, win stupid prizes; is that how the phrase goes?

Her fingertips ghosted along my neck, curled down to pet a line up my throat, hook under my chain.

“Let-let me buy you something nice, Daddy.”

I glanced up at her from between her legs and gave her clit a particularly aggressive suck. She swore and bucked against me. We really doing this? You want to try throwing me off? You want to challenge me? I’ll admit, it almost got me. I don’t get things from people. Gift-giving was something of an artifice in my family, it was a thinly veiled assertion of favors, alignments of loyalties, negotiation tactics. Gifts were weapons of war. Some bitchy part of me that I wanted to crush under my boot-heel wanted to fire back with “why?” Why do you want to get something nice for me? What do you want from me? What are your ulterior motives?

She swept that hand through my hair. Wicked twinkle in her eye. Maybe it was reflections from the fireplace. Maybe I’m getting better at figuring her out. When did she turn into a brat? When did I start to like it?

I responded by pressing two fingers into her cunt, and she rewarded me with the prettiest moan I’ve ever heard. Fuck, it went straight to the pit of my stomach, coiled this sweltering heat into an unforgiving pressure that threatened to turn me inside out. Her cunt was so wet and hot, offered no resistance, welcomed my fingers. One hand seized my hair in a vice grip; the other shot up and kneaded her breast, afforded me a glorious sight of her in the throes of pleasure, back arched, nipple pinched between her fingers, firelight bathing half her form in flickering yellows and oranges, while the other half of her form receded under the ink of winter nightfall, twinkles around her neck from her gold necklace catching the light, and flashes of white, pink, blue, and green from her mother of pearl necklace shifting through its hues. She’s not human, I swear to you. She’s a mythological creature. Not of this realm. A fairy, a spirit, an angel—something distant from the grit and grime that is humanity, another plane of beautiful that escapes the grips of this disastrous world.

I revise my statement on God.

Sometimes he gets it right.

Tags: @carmenberzattosgf @jess248 @catharticconsolation @persymons @morgthemagpie @glitch0o0 @nox-is-thename @forgechildofheph @leminjelly @fridavacado @lumoslemon @cyarskj1899

[anonymous-existences]

Chapter 2 : Gotham Shenanigans

Summary:

Interview with Gothamites, Dan and John talking subtly about that DEEP PAST?? What's with their past?? First loves?? Crazy.

Danny gets kidnapped— and now where is he??

WHY DOES THE ROOM LOOK SO FANCY???

_ — _ — _ — _ — _ — _

Dan was acting odd, he's been on his phone for hours with a smile whilst blushing, "What's he on about?" Danny plops in the hotel bed staring judgingly at Dan on the couch in the balcony. "Apparently he's reconnecting with his Ex lover — someone named John Constantine?" Jazz speculates and Danny just looks at him dumbfounded. "The Hellblazer?" Danny just deadpan and narrowing his eyes at his older sister.

"Yes, the cause of some of your problematic paper work that clockwork is handling for you until you're old enough!" Jazz chuckled and ruffles Danny's hair endearingly. "Oh cut Dan some slack Danny, Earlier we noticed he was desperate to change more because of that man, although I can totally understood that him and Clockwork truly have the same type in men, tired and old looking but what they refer to as a sexy? Mm. Just matches Dan's ex!" Jazz giggled and laid down beside Danny.

"Besides you can't talk, you're dating Dash of all people." Jazz rolled her eyes and Dan became flustered, "Well I'm sorry you put us both in therapy and slowly we got closer until he found out I'm also Phantom but that's just how it goes!.. we've both changed, sure we both have scars from our past but we're still working through that yk." Dash just spreads his arms on the bed and sighed. Jazz just smiles and pats his head again, "you're both doing great Danny. Even the rest of the class somehow is getting better at being less bully and more... Closer for the sake of protecting each other instead of discriminating against each other." She smiled softly combing her hand softly through his hair.

Danny hums and nods, "I Understand...." Danny yawned and fell asleep with his head on his dear sister's lap, Ellie climbed the bed and laid beside Danny also falling asleep. Jazz giggled softly and tucked them both into bed gently and put the blanket over them before heading to Dan by the balcony, "Aren't you very calm today?" Jazz perks through the sliding door and Dan jumped, his guard being down and not expecting jazz. He chuckled and smiled, "Yeah... Vlad told me to just go with the flow if I still love this someone... He knows our complicated past stuff. I could say that this timeline's Vlad wasn't as evil as in mine which is quite relieving." Dan scoffs and Lit another ecto-cigarette. Jazz sat beside him in the other couch and finally rested her body calmly, letting her guard drop.

"I think I'm gonna meet him tonight... Can I Jazz?" Dan tilts his head and looks over to Jazz who laughed softly whilst reading her bought psychiatric books, "Ask Sir Lancer About that, It's lucky we're with a devoted teacher like him... But yeah he'd reconsider and understand your situation much better and let you off leash for a while, just don't cause trouble." Jazz waves her hand shooing him off so he'd go on and go to Lancer. Dan chuckled and nodded before walking out the room with a soft smile and flushed cheeks. Jazz sighed in relief as the night felt peaceful unlike Amity Park with it's Annoying Ghosts.

Dan was walking around the streets of Gotham heading to John's Location, He's thinking of this like a little Date, "John..." Dante looked softly at John who actually fixed his hair and clothes for the day, "Dante.. it's been long—" John was interrupted by Dan immediately pulling him in with a hug, "I'm sorry... For the past things I've done..." Dan muttered and John reluctantly pats his back and hugged him back gently, "Yeah... You uhm... I can see you've changed love." John mutters, Dan hummed and both stayed in the hug.

Zatanna and DeadMan or Boston Brand was watching them in a nearby alley, observing... Stalking is the right word but that sounds illegal so Observing is the word they'll use, they've been curious as to why John Constantine wasn't drinking, was borrowing someone's perfume and fixing his look and hair, even going as far as the leave behind his cigarettes and lighter behind and being on his phone for most of the time ever since he went out to a bar. He refused to tell them anything but now they know it was because of someone. "Any ideas on who's the man Johnny is Hugging and looks like not wanting to let go of Zee?" Boston looked over to Zatanna who also had a puzzled expression.

"No he's not very open about past relationships... Nor any at all is he open about, this is the first time I've actually seen him drop his guard and fix himself for someone. Very strange and rare occurrences!" Zatanna exclaims, very bemused about the whole ordeal with John and the Strange Red Eyed possible Albino(?) Large Man who emitted this strong energy that can be related to death. "Something about him makes me tremble, Fear? No— uhm it's more like... How do I pinpoint this.. Respect?" Boston shrugged and zee was looking at him as that raised many more questions on who the man is.

Both were suddenly stunned when the two kissed and pressed foreheads before walking away from each other. "I'll meet you again John..." Dan says softly with a pleased hum and flustered face. John nodded just also flustered and with a sigh, "Ofcourse Love, I'll be waiting." He says softly. He feels like an idiot for letting Dan kiss him of all things, he's supposed to be this serious dead pan occult detective but right now especially he's acting like a teenager in love again! Bloody Hell, John facepalmed and dragged his hand on his face as he watched Dan walk away without any trace of footsteps to be heard.

Dan was pleased that he and John managed to meet, after a Messy past breakup because of Dan's blowup... It was Dan's fault for hurting the Man so he'd rather change for him, Seriously. Ghostly Bonds can be truly unbreakable especially with first true loves. He finally picked up on Zatanna's and Boston's Presence, "Why are you two of all people be following me, I thought you'd know better Zee." John scoffed walking past the two in the alley, "It's that you were acting strange John, Strange in a way that you went out of your way to look presentable! Ofcourse we'd be worried that something is wrong!" Zatanna says.

John scoffed, "Ah Please, I am not that bad of a bloody person Zee." He glances at Zatanna who just looked at him with a puzzled expression and a dead serious mixed in it. John waved his hand dismissively, "He's my Ex. He was bad now he's good, told me he wanted to reconnect again.... I didn't wanna leave him behind, he broke up with me to protect me because he's something that's supposed to be out my league." John scoffed and Boston and Zatanna we're both shocked and confused that he even told them who and what he was to John, truly is John changing? What's Happening to this man?

[DAY]

"HEY GUYS! Welcome Back to Tucker Foleeeeey's Videoooooo!" Tucker, Sam and Danny were posing and doing a Vlog Stream. Dash walked over to Danny and gave the shorter boy a small peck on the lips. "Oh come on! Not on camera! Why are you making us jealous DASHY!" Tucker glared at Dash who smirked and hugged Danny closer to him. "Hands off my brother DASH BAXTER!" Jazz smacked the back of Dash's head and Dash just backed off a bit, Danny chuckled amused.

"Welcome again Guys! Don't mind my friends, we're a big fam! We have a special guest! IT'S DAN!! HE CURRENT got back with his ex apparently and he couldn't stop smiling so feast on the eye candy my ant brethren." Tucker laughed and pointed the camera at Dan who was texting someone, Dan waved and smiled at the Camera.

"Today we're in Gotham, this is actually our second day here. We just didn't have the time to record yesterday! Because we ran out of battery which sucked by the way. We got to meet Red Hood. Wes got to meet Riddler. Somehow no chaos ensued too much. Valeria met Signal and Even took a selfie with the hero. Jazz , Dan and Little Badger Ellie met Catwoman in the alleys. They're too curious for their own sakes— Dan met his ex! As previously stated and he's been lovey dovey with em since! Sam as always is planning to find PoisonIvy. Today will not be a uh— stream about Technology, it'll be about OUR ADVENTURE through Gotham City!" Tucker exclaimed in the camera.

Tucker for now turned off the recording and looked to his friends who were fighting over who get to team with Danny. "Alright Students! We will be Seperate again, as suggested last night as long as not any of you cause any trouble you'll be free to do anything." The Class roared in approval, "Lancer, I'll be going again!" Dan says before walking away and Lancer waved him off with a chuckle. The class immediately teamed up into 4 groups.

Group 1:

Danny, Sam, Tucker, Dash

Group 2:

Kwan, Star, Paulina

Group 3 :

Valerie, Wes, Ellie , Jazz

Group 4 :

Lancer and the rest of the more introverted students.

"I'd stay with Danny's group for today." Dash says and walks behind Danny, "That's no Fun! You better come with us tommorow Dash!" Paulina yells and Dash nodded slowly burying his face on Danny's Neck. "I will I will.." Dash hummed as Danny pats his head gently. "Remember to always keep your Comms On! So?" Lancer asks them to continue the sentence, "So we don't do feral shit!" They all said in unison, "Close enough." Lancer says and let's them go and split up finally.

[Danny POV]

Danny was happy, They were eating at a burger joint they found which was BatBurger, "it's not as good as Nasty Burger..." Dash says beside Danny, "Mmm it's decent!" Danny puts a fry in Dash's mouth, "Please stop doing that, I feel very single INFRONT of you two." Sam complained and glared at them as she ate a BatBurger. "I'm gonna order more for us still the same?" Tucker stood up and asked the three who all nodded in unison, Sam continued her Chat with Danny about Best Rouges and Tucker went behind the Three Costume— is that Red Hood, Robin and Nightwing? Tucker was excited but decided not to bother them for now as they ordered food.

"Hey Tuck! Dan said he's coming with his Boyfriend! I think his name was John? John Constantine or something! Forgot." Danny waved his hand dismissively and Tucker nodded, "They're paying for our food? Cuz if so I'm down for it." Tucker asked for clarification and Danny just thumbs up. Danny and Tucker were chatting along behind the Three vigilantes, "Dude if you use your powers isn't the GIW gonna come and kill us all? That's no good for any of us—" tucker stated which got Robin to Turn around out of curiosity. "Can I ask?" Robin started and the two teens look at him almost in surprise, "What's the GIW?" He asks curiously.

"Uhm— game government stuff!" Danny states nervously with a small chuckle, "Nothing Serious— haha—" Danny waves it off dismissively, Robin narrows his eyes at them and Danny can't help but eye Tucker for speaking out loud with that information. "I see..." Robin stopped paying attention to them, maybe. 'I'll kill ya tuck! I'm gonna actually turn you into a ghost—' Danny whisper yelled at Tucker who looked like his soul almost left his body due to fear. Dan soon appeared behind them and patted their back which made the two jump and yelp in surprise, "Heya there kiddos! What's up? Why the ghastly expression?" Dan chuckled and the two sighed in relief looking up at him.

"So these are your blokes?" John acknowledged the two and then froze when he made eye contact with the Vigilantes, the three immediately eyed him holding hands with Dan. John narrowed his eyes as if saying 'We're not discussing anything here.' type of glare, Nightwing just took a sneak picture without John noticing and looked away trying to ignore them and Letting Robin order their usual food. Dan was chatting with Danny and Tucker whilst holding John's hand softly but firmly.

[At Night]

The group was back together again with a bonus John Constantine following along casually due to Dan's 'Adorable' pleads. "Dan why do you have a man in tow...?" Lancer asked and Dan just laughed nervously, "Ah I see. It's your lover, alright. I won't judge. Just please warn me next time." Lancer just dismisses John's Bonus Existence which isn't much of a bother for the Man and Dan just nodded in compliance with a chuckle.

As they were heading to Gotham's Astral Museum for a bonus 'lesson' which everyone complied to fairly easily. As they were heading to the Museum they were confronted by what seems to be an Interviewer with a Cameraman— Lancer immediately steps between the stranger and his students. Dan's face suddenly getting serious by the sudden Camera and slowly composing himself back as John squeezes his hand.

"Hello! Good evening! Are you the Amity Park Visitors?" The Journalist Asked and Lancer composed himself, he put on what Danny called the Plastic Smile and Nodded, "Yes! Yes we are— do you need anything?" Lancer tilted his head and The Journalist perked up excitedly, "Can we Interview you about your thoughts on gotham?" She asked and Lancer looked at his students who all nodded approvingly.

The cameraman turned on their camera, "Here we are Back at Gotham City! With our special Guests The Amity Park Tourists! Sir How do you think of Gotham City so far?" She asked Lancer First, "I worry for the rouges...." Lancer sighed and the Journalist was Confused until she turned to the kids and asked them the same question. "The internet here is fucking amazing! It's so fast despite the various crimes. Like yesterday a building we were in got raided and blew up by some goons and I could still continue writing my research paper without problem!" Tucker exclaimed happily.

"I got to realize being Gay was a Decent Thing because most people here are homosexual as shit and I finally get to have the confidence to ask my crush out." Dash says bluntly to the Mike. "How bout you sir?" The journalist turned to Dan, "Met My Ex, now we're back together." Dan raises his hand that's still holding John's.

[The Interview:

Jazz Fenton : I got to meet Harleen Quinzel and Talk with her about her books! Please why is her psychiatric books not being sold online?!

Sam Manson : I GOT TO MEET POISON IVY AND I FUCKING LOVE HER DUDE—

Danny Fenton : My Crush Confessed to me, Is it too late to call Gotham City the City for the Unexpected Love?? Also this city is fucking Fire. It's never boring around here, sure it can be traumatizing for some but like if you have a gun and the guts you can defend yourself.

Wes : I have every right to believe The WAYNES AND THE BATS ARE THE SAME FUCKING PEOP—

Star : Ignore him he's a Conspiracy Theorist kind off, anyways Gotham is beautiful. In my eyes that is. IT IS ABSOLUTELY FASCINATING. It's better than Amity.

Paulina : I Agree with Star, there's a lot of hot guys here~ Hehehe

Valerie Gray : I got to beat up a group of criminals with my Krav Maga Skills and No one told me I was too violent so it's amazing.

Ellie : I Pranked the Police and the Robbers High Fived Me, but I got grounded and put on a leash for even interacting with the Popo and Robbers.

Danny Fenton : Oh right! I saw a crazy clown yesterday and I knocked him out, he had like goons with him which my sister beat up with her bat and we got fucking told we were amazing people for having the guts to go face the joker?? Who's the Joker?? He was not funny.

Dash : Personally I want to stay in this city with my extended family because this city is so amazing, like everyone has guns but it's rare that someone points it at you, not to mention the Vigilantes that occasionally crash through your windows? Last night we met Nightwing because he crashed in our room and we got to have autographs of him! It's fucking awesome.

Paulina : Not to mention our friend Wes going Viral for Introducing his Nana's Tea to Riddler— it's crazy!

Wes : Oh Please! Nana's Tea is the calmest best thing.]

The interview went on for another Hour with more question but eventually it concluded and the students had fun with answering the questions, "And that concludes it for the night Folks— we'll see you again soon." The journalist said to the camera before it turns off and she waved a much more amused and polite goodbye to the Amity Parkers. "Students, I dont think we'll get to Uhm go to the Museum because of how long we stayed in the interview thing? So let's go back to the hotel alright?" Lancer said and the Students especially Danny groaned.

"Aww...." Danny whined as they headed back to the hotel through a bus again, Dan and John decided to stay behind and have some alone time to catch up with each other. Danny watched them walk away almost lovey-dovey. "can I meet your allies?" Dan asks as they walked to somewhere. "Maybe, maybe not." John merely answers as Dan pulled him closer, he didn't push him away neither did he act negatively to it, rather he felt calm especially with Dan.

It was an odd change, maybe this time they'd have an actual chance for each other. Besides they were each other's firsts and everything else—. "I want to stay here... With you, I can't bring you to Amity Park yet because of those stupid... Government Officials..." Mutters and kissing the back of John's palm, (Princess Treatment) "They'll hurt you if they find out you're related to me..." Dan kept his hand clasped to John's and places it gently on his chest. "I don't want them to hurt you too." Dan's eyes were filled with desperation, John hasn't seen that pained face in so long. It's taking him back to that stupid young love phase they had in their early 20s.

"You make feel stupid again..." John muttered and Dan looked over to him, "with you I don't understand if it's good or bad—" Dan chuckled and John just scoffed with a smile, "Ofcourse it's good. Cuz you're affecting me with your stupidness ya big bloke." he poked Dan's forehead and both laughed endearingly. "Fuck, I feel young again—" Right now John Constantine didn't feel like just occult detective magician, hellblazer or whatever name they have for him. He felt like Johnny, Johnny Boy Constantine. Dan's first 'love' perse, and he can't deny that the man is also his first love.

"I love you Johnny...." Dan muttered and rested his head in John's Neck and pulling him in for a hug, "Hmm..." John hums and nods and pats Dan's Back before hesitantly responding... "yeah.. I uhm.. love you too..." He stutters, Feeling Dan's core Vibrating? purring? he never quite understood what it is called but he knew it was a good thing.

[Danny POV]

"You know I'm not Damian Wayne right?" Danny was scowling in his seat being tied up to a chair which is surprisingly enough, unphasable through. "This is stupid." Danny groaned throwing his head back as the goons? whatever, clowns. he fucking hates it. he hates that he's seeing them right now. AND WHY IS THE JOKER GUY?? BACK?? what the fuck. They ignored his groans and complaints which sucked even more. One of the goons forced him asleep, "Fuck..." Danny reflexively says and curses himself even more on his mind Finally remembering he really didn't need to breathe.

Hours Later Danny was fluttering his eyes open, he was on a bed in an unfamiliar room, Jazz was sleeping beside him in a chair resting her head beside him, Dash was also sleeping beside him in the bed itself whilst holding a bat tightly in his arms. Danny slowly sat up from his seat, "Good Morning Sir Danny, It's great to finally see that you're Awake." A butler who made Danny almost jump enter the room. "Oh— uhm... Where... exactly am I?" Danny tilts his head curiously but also cautiously.

WHERE in the fancy fucking place is he?!

[thezombieprostitute]

Tech Tuesdays: Syverson

Summary: With Syverson finally out of the army, the two of you are looking at creating a stable life for yourselves.

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, Mild/Implied smut. Please let me know if I missed any!

A/N: Established relationship. Reader is plus sized female. No other descriptors used.

A/N2: Many thanks to @wunder-blunder for the idea!

Part 1

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Syverson loves the two days a week he gets to work from home. You joke that they're your least productive days but neither of you really cares. The two of you are just so happy to spend the day together. They're definitely Lily's favorite days, too. Your desks are right next to each other so she gets to lay between the two of you and get pets and scritches whenever one of you needs to think.

You also enjoy having Sy with you on your walks with Lily. People always make you nervous and too many strangers feel entitled to pet Lily without asking. Sy gives them pause or becomes a physical barrier between you and them which helps you out. Neither Lily nor Sy may have therapy certifications but they both do wonders for your well being.

You also enjoy when Sy can take Lily without you because you have to focus but she needs to be walked. Sy doesn't even have to ask, he can always tell when you're in the zone. Seeing you in your element always makes him smile. He loves when you get on a roll and shut down parts of your brain that overthink. You always look so confident, so determined and he loves it.

He silently indicates to Lily it's time to walk and quietly heads out so as not to disturb you.

Translating old English to modern isn't easy. There's often a lot of starting and stopping. But sometimes you get on a roll. You get the flow the of the story or you know the names from the region and it really helps. You lose track of time and end up finishing the first rough translation of the entire page!

When you get to that natural stopping point your brain finally registers the signals from your body that you need to stretch. You start by stretching your arms to the side, slightly pushing your chest forward. Then you raise your arms, making your back arch and you moan from the pleasure before dropping your arms. You look at your water bottle and decide to go to the kitchen for a refill.

Turning in your chair you see Syverson staring at you with a look you recognize very well. You bat your eyelashes in a way that you know gets him going. Using your cutesiest tone you ask, "everything okay, sweetheart?"

"Clock out," Sy growls.

"Yes, Captain," you grin before doing as he tells you. You know he loves when you call him Captain in bed.

As you're clocking out he stands very close behind you and starts fondling your breasts. "You gonna be a good girl for your Captain?"

"Yes, Captain, Sir. I'll be your good girl."

"Then lets get those clothes off you and you show me how good of a girl you can be."

Part 1

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory;

@kingliam2019; @late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @ozwriterchick; @ronearoundblindly

[baneonono]

watch house for the first time with me

we’ve made it through season 2 and through the first five episodes of season 3 and there was lots to scream about. I have a sneaking suspicion that I am going to hate the whole house gets arrested plot. like I’m gonna furious typing out whole essays type mad but we’ll see.

21

GUYS I WANT HOUSE TO WEAR THE SUIT. I UNDERSTAND THAT HE DOESNT THINK IT MATTERS BUT IM LOSING MY MIND. I KNOW EVERYTHINGS GOING TO BE OKAY BUT IM STRESSED AND CAN HOUSE JUST WEAR A SUIT

Can everyone just be fixed please I don’t want to deal with this anymore

22

If that baby died, I’m crying

Are we starting Wilson Cuddy stuff because boring

Chase working at the nicu😭😭😭😭

HE CHOSE NICU😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Chase working with kids😭😭😭😭😭😭

Honestly house is real for wanting foreman to fight with him. Like it’s just his way of wanting original thoughts and that is relatable

Wilson checking cuddy for cancer-

NO THE BABY DIED

Chase my baby boy I adore you it’s okay

Cuddy wanted Wilson to be the father of her child😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 I’m gonna break down if we get a scene of Wilson hearing this

23

House being a piano player is actually one of my favorite things about him

Dude I trust House but like I wouldn’t trust him that much @ cuddy

IS WILSON JEALOUS THAT HOUSE HAS ANOTHER FRIEND

I would do so much for James Wilson. I don’t think yall understand. I love him dearly

The entire diagnosis department pacing is so funny

24

SOMEONE SHOT HOUSE. BABE THAT IS MY EMOTIONAL SUPPORT JERK

“I wanted to see you suffer” girl he suffers every day you just had to come into the hospital and watch

“She killed herself” still not House’s fault bro

Wilson doing houses physical therapy is hilarious

I need house back 

This episode is weird

What in the world did I just watch

Season threeeeeeee

1

Okay I am so grateful we got the scene of Cuddy and Wilson trying to come up with cases to give house. Like😭😭😭😭😭 I love them

Chases haircut😭 he looks amazing

House lost his leg pain and got 10x the whimsy

“I’m not going away” please never go away Wilson 

Wilson. House was right. What do you mean you can’t tell him. 

2

Wilson maybe you should tell house that he was right. Listen to Cuddy. Wilson I adore you why are you doing this to me. 

Chase winking at the parents🥰

Whaaaattttt lying to house has consequences. Telling him that he’s bad at his job affects him. That’s so craaaazzzzy

Oh Wilson comparing house to Icarus, you’re so iconic. I love my toxic old men yaoi with Greek mythology references. That’s actually the only way I’ll tolerate it

3

Everyone is going through so many radical position shifts this episode. Guys can we have some consistency (@ cameron)

People just go running to Wilson when they want house to do something huh. 

I love when house operates on patients. Just love him entirely in his element

Awww house is proud of Cameron for killing a dude, it’s always nice to hear from our dad that he’s proud of us

4

House you do not need your carpet back. Why are you like this. Iconic but why

I need this girl to leave. House isn’t that attractive

I’m glad Cuddy is standing her ground on this one

Love how Wilson walked in on them in his office and just was like “weird typo”

Can Cameron stop psychoanalysing house 

Need this girl to stop 

Foreman you pawning that off in Wilson was not slick

HOUSE BEING GOOD WITH KIDS I LOVE TO SEE IT(also just taking drugs)

Wilson don’t let house out of your sight while he’s drugged, he’s got a girl really into him and I don’t think we should let him alone

House😭😭😭😭😭 please stop throwing away Wilson’s gifts

Cameron did not need to sit next to house

WILSON JUST WALKING OUT OF HIS OFFICE 

Thinking about the triplets going all over the hospital looking for house this episode

😭😭😭😭😭😭house got a gift😭😭😭😭😭😭oh my little neurodivergent bonding

5

This husband being so ride or die. I love to see it. Yes sir saw an opportunity to step in and took it. 

Oh she’s sick, okay well, we’ll get to see more of him?

House leaving to go break up Wilson flirting with a girl. Bro just say you’re jealous and go

THE LOOK ON CHASES FACE AT FOREMAN WHEN CAMERON SAID SHES HITTING THAT  WAS SO FUNNY. BABY BOY WHAT WAS THAT

“Great I haven’t committed a felony yet today” -Chase

Guys the pill only stops pregnancy, not STDs, maybe they wear conforms to prevent STDs

Why does Wilson just do things for house. I mean beyond being in love with him. 

I hate this apologzie to the patient thing today. I don’t care about this stupid jerk. I prefer my smart jerks

Really was not expecting an incest plot from this show but I should’ve. 

House getting arrested is insane

[captain-lessship]

Dad! L Headcannons

a/n: I tried to write this as gender ambiguous as possible but it definitely leans more AFAB reader but I just wanted to say that families come in all shapes and ranges. And L would want to raise a kid with you regardless of your gender orientation.

Pre-Children:

Was the one to bring it up.

wanted two but would be totally supportive if you only wanted one

Would help you plan everything for getting yourself ready for kids (Doctors visits, family therapy if you wanted, looked into every option if you couldn’t carry a child on your own.)

when you actually became pregnant, he was over the moon.

Pregnancy:

Was very supportive and caring.

Never made you feel guilty for your cravings and such.

went to every appointment he could with you

Wanted this to be stress free as possible so he eliminated a lot of your struggles

He legit took notes on pregnancy books

Could be a little much with all the information he now knows but will back off slightly if you told him that he was being a hovering husband

He only trusted certain people around you: Watari, Your family, your friends and the doctors. Would definitely try to keep you in the house if he could but would accept it if you had a problem with it.

when you found out you were having twins, he nearly fainted of happiness. (But do to his lack of expression, you thought it was shock)

Infant: 

very gentle with the babies but isn’t very good at holding them. 

Prefers to give the affection by means of letting their tiny fingers wrap around his or giving them tiny kisses til they giggle

Thankfully he is up to take care of the babies throughout the night. With the aid of Watari. (Who is pretty much their grandpa)

Keeps a keen eye on the baby monitors. The monitors themselves have microphones and thermometers to keep the nursery at a comfortable and consistent temperature.

Was a little shaky when changing the first diaper but is now a pro and surprisingly quick at it. 

Throws up if they throw up.

Calls the babies “it” 

Pities them when you dress them up.

“Do they really need to be that… frilly?” “They’re adorable.” “Our baby is currently 86% frill.” 

Family photos litter the house. He is extremely proud of you and his children

Toddler: 

he falls victim to the puppy dog eyes too easily. 

The children are spoiled rotten. 

Has been wrapped around his kids fingers since the day they were born and the kiddos are just now realizing this. And using it to their advantage 

Doesn’t want his kids to be like him and only eat sweets.

If his kids didn’t like a certain food, he would have it cooked a different way. Only after several attempts at getting the kids to at least tolerate it, would he give up and drop the matter entirely. Almost

“Taste buds change every seven years” “They hate all things that resemble a carrot.” “For now.”

Would be the one to check in the kids during the night, either on the hallway camera (after they don’t need a baby monitor, he takes cameras out of their room because he respects your child (and honestly, can a toddler do anything maliciously?)or by carefully peering through the door. 

Would be extremely proud if his children took on his seating position.

he was built to be a girl dad. He just was. 

He would let his baby girl do his makeup and paint his nails. 

Surprisingly good at doing her hair. 

“Look! Papa made these!” She’d said, pointing at her pigtails. 

Has been known to forget that he was playing dress up and go on video calls with a fake tiara in his hair. 

“Please, refrain from snickering. There is nothing funny about this case.” “Uh… Sir, there’s something in your hair?” “Ah..” 

is *somehow* surprised when his son reflects him: Quiet.

Loves doing anything with his kids because it gives him a chance to have a childhood again.

Nearly came to tears when he saw his kids drawing of him as a superhero. (He later laid his head in your lap and cried happy tears.) 

He loves his kids more than anything in the world and would do anything for them. 

[strlingsav]

Yo…your last fic was brutal. I had to stop and back up coz immediately after the smut was pain! No prefaces or even a segue on what’s about to happen. It choked me up with the suddenness of it all.

Smut..fluff..more smut..more fluff..MOTHERFUCKING PAIN!!! 🤯😱🫢😭😭😭

Please, please, please…bring him back. Give us fluff and butterflies. Maybe he can survive, just a damaged but is able to come home to reader, he can heal and with those injuries, maybe retire and live in peace with reader? Maybe even have a bun in the oven waiting for him? Just heal us pleaseeeee! Anything will do, please!! 😭😭😭

(But only if you’re willing, of course.)

Thank you for the love, the smut, and the shared pain (coz I’m sure that also hurt you too). Just..thanks. 💕

Ugh of course I'll indulge this bc one I love you for being so sweet and two because I'm an absolute whore for happy endings. 🥺🤍 The first is here.

Endings: Two

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Explicit/gory content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

"L.T.," A voice was hazy and distant in Simon's ear- miles away, but he could see the outline of a figure before him.

He didn't have the energy to respond. He wanted nothing more than to give in to his body's demand to sleep, to rest. The dopamine firing in his brain, coursing through his veins, kept him subdued, peaceful, even.

"Up you get, Sir." There was a short pause, followed by radio static, "We're on our way out, evac standby."

Simon grunted as he was lifted from the ground, the shift in his weight caused a growl to come from his swollen lips.

"Steamin' bloody Jesus. You look like hell."

Simon could register the voice, now. It was Johnny. The Sergeant had found him in the wreckage, he'd survived.

Simon could hardly muster a 'fuck off', settling for a haphazard groan of displeasure.

Simon carried on, regardless of the pain in his chest, in his thigh, the throbbing in his skull now making him fully aware of the injuries to his person.

"Need a medic down here!"

Simon felt his body transfer to a spineboard, not without a loud yowl of pain, watching his feet as he was carried toward another helicopter prepped for evac.

Soap jogged beside him, his hand helping carry Simon's weight. The fog hadn't yet lifted, still blurry and half-awake, Simon could hardly comprehend where he was headed.

"You'll be alright, Sir. We'll take care of ya. Hang on, wouldya?"

He was relieved and devastated at the same time. He'd already made his peace with dying, he'd agreed to the terms his body set, the serenity that had almost cradled him to his grave- but you, damn you, forced him to hold on. Damn you, for settling into his mind and making it your home. For being the only thing he could think of, rely on to keep him hopeful, as he was carried onto the helo.

—

You received the call while at home, nearly dropping the plate in your hands when you heard the Doctor on the other end tell you Simon had been admitted with traumatic injuries.

You drove to the hospital, disregarding every speed limit and stop sign, thrumming your fingers against the steering wheel impatiently at every red light, watching the road through blurry, swollen eyes.

When you'd made it through the maze of hallways, finally finding Simon, he was asleep. He was on a ventilator, his skull bandaged where they'd pieced it back together once the swelling had gone down.

His eyes had been taped shut after surgery to aid in the repair of the severed retina, a white cast over the broken femur he'd endured.

You hardly recognized him through the swelling on his face. He wasn't the same- not the strong, solid man you'd said goodbye to a month ago.

You were sure it was a joke, a prank he'd pulled to keep you on your toes, but that wasn't like him, and a month in, you knew it was your new reality. He was lucky to be alive- so the doctor said.

The extent of his injuries meant physical therapy, a lot of it. The idea made you cringe, if he ever woke up, he'd fight like hell against it.

Despite feeling so completely overjoyed that he'd made it this far, survived this much, there was a part of you that knew there was a long journey ahead. A journey that would mean sleepless nights, emotional support, physical support.

You were dreading it. It seeped into you, like a bird of prey, it dug its claws into you. It only got worse.

A cycle of grief and anger, missing him- his voice, his eyes- so badly your breath caught in your throat every time you looked at him, looked at the broken man lying helplessly in the hospital bed- but also resenting him for putting you in that position.

Turning you into a caretaker, the solid foundation for the both of you while you almost lost the most important man in your life.

You couldn't help but feel the guilt eating away at you- how fucked up it was to think of yourself during a time when Simon might never wake up.

But you persevered, pushed past the dread in the pit of your stomach, and waited at his bedside with sharp eyes.

Day and night, you'd settle in, sleeping with a thin throw-blanket you stole off the couch and an old pillow. You'd wear his T-shirts and sweaters, just for a hint of familiarity, a semblance of your old life, his smell.

You'd hold his hand, even when you knew he couldn't feel a damn thing. You'd talk to him, tell him about your day- regardless of the fact that he didn't hear you at all.

Most nights, you'd sob under the disguise of the heart monitor and thrum of the ventilator. You'd grieve the man you loved. Whether he was dead or not, he would never truly be Simon Riley again. You'd learn to love the new man he'd be, you were sure of it, but your heart had been caged in, trapped under the weight of his unrecognizable form.

He had woken up after a few months, to which you celebrated with vibrating happiness. You tried not to smother him with affection. Instead, you gave him his space as he took in his surroundings, began to somewhat understand what exactly had happened.

You sat down, reaching for Simon's hand, and you felt him squeeze down. For the first time in months, he'd responded to your touch.

You stared up at him, your eyes welling with tears, your heart racing in your chest, pounding against your rib cage. A tidal wave of relief washed over you.

"Baby," You whispered, moving closer, kneeling next to him. "Simon."

His voice was muffled, panic filling his eyes as he realized he had an E.T. tube down his throat. You kept him calm, calling for the nurses immediately, watching with worried eyes as they extubated him.

He coughed, settling back into bed as he turned his head to look at you. Then, he whispered your name. Strangled and hoarse, rough with phlegm.

You could feel a shiver down your spine. You took a deep breath in, bowing your head to rest on his arm as your chest was racked with sobs. It was nearly impossible to control.

"God, Simon," You sniffled, your face tilting to look up at him. "Thank God," You cried, burying your face in his shoulder.

His doctor didn't want you to get your hopes up- he didn't want you clinging to the idea of Simon's recovery.

"We're not entirely certain what his brain function is like at this point, he'll need a CT. He may not ever remember his accident, and might even have trouble recognizing his surroundings." His doctor was resolute- harsh, not wanting to lead you on with false promises and hopeful ideations.

Your eyes had been swollen for months, and after finally coming to terms with his situation, they were dry and irritated.

You pursed your lips, entirely unsatisfied with the answer but defeated.

"Thank you," You forced a polite smile, turning on your heel, back to Simon's bed.

—

His physical therapy had been going well.

The cast had come off, and you finally recognized your boyfriend after the swelling went down. He was there, real, whole again- mostly.

You'd been woken up by his terrifying shouts and screams for help multiple times a night. It didn't subside, not until you wrapped your arms around him and quieted him down. You weren't sure if he knew, or if he wanted to hide behind the facade of sleep to save himself from embarrassment.

He had difficulty remembering the accident in its entirety, only remembering how difficult it was to move, to get up. He recalled the pain well, regardless of just how hard his body worked to keep him sedate. On the rare occasions he spoke about it, he'd never forget Soap. Never forget the voice he heard, urging him to stay awake, to get up.

You knew you couldn't thank Johnny enough, couldn't make it up to him in anyway that would equate to what he did for you and Simon. Anytime you brought it up, he'd shut you down, and Simon didn't speak about it either. Not unless provoked.

It was a memory he pushed down, as deep as he could, locking it away in the same vault where he kept every other long-living secret.

You knew better than to push him on it. You wanted to be there for him so badly, to tell him how happy you were that he was okay, alive, but you didn't. You gave him his space until he asked otherwise, which usually came in the form of a simple kiss, a hand on your waist, a quiet 'love you' when he passed by you.

You could never figure out why he'd suddenly started telling you he loved you more often, but you didn't question it.

—

When you missed your period, missed the cramps starting a few days before, the blinding headache at the start of the week, you realized your intimate exchange before his deployment may have had an unintended effect. Despite contraception, you had a feeling something was different- wrong.

You were pregnant. Two solid, indisputable red lines, staring you in the face. A happy face, on another, with a plus sign. It was real, concrete. Part of you didn't want to tell Simon- you wanted it to go away. But, against your judgment, you did.

It was late, finishing the day with a shower together as usual.

You were starting to show- not enough that he'd notice, especially not with the turmoil in his head. Though, while he scrubbed across the flesh of your stomach, a soapy loofa leaving bubbles and foam behind, the grin on his face when you stood on your toes to kiss him; it was the right time.

"I'm pregnant," You blurted out, your hands falling to your sides.

You avoided his gaze and silence fell between you, the running shower louder than ever, accompanied by your jugular pounding in your throat.

He looked shocked, confused, terrified- all in a series of minutes.

"Trust me, I know it's not ideal. It's not good timing. I know you're still healing and we're just getting things back together. I'm sorry."

He took a moment, his rough hand pressing against the small bulge in your stomach.

"How long have you known?" He asked.

"A few weeks." You swallowed.

"How far along?"

"Three months."

The tension was undeniable, holding your breath for the moment he told you he couldn't do it, didn't want it.

Instead, his arms snaked around your waist, pulling you into his chest.

"My kid's in there," He breathed, his arms squeezing you gently. "You're havin' a kid. We're havin' a kid."

You smiled softly against his shoulder. Now, you could be excited. You didn't have to feel guilty for holding it back, or for carrying another 'burden' inside you. You could celebrate. The baby, another milestone in your life with Simon, normalcy returning.

"We are," You breathed, leaning back to hold his face in your hands. "I love you," You said gently- a fact, a statement with every ounce of truth to it.

"I love you too, sweetheart."

He'd tell you one day that during his accident, all he could think about was you- that he wanted to fight to be alive for you. But for now, he settled for telling you he loved you, every chance he got.

[cinamun]

Ooou sis! I'm working backwards yet again. I was trying to scroll/pick up where I last left off at but I got distracted at SPOILER ALERT...I REPEAT SPOILER ALERT (for those that are catching up too...please swiftly scroll...because Imma need to park here for a moment...

CAUSE NOT MY MR. BABY DADDY DOCTOR SIR...Nuh uh, her deflecting ass CANNOT be! I was trying to be a law obiding citizen, in theses here tumblr streets but I saw baby boo and got distracted (cause lawd knows his fine "I can fix that" ass is damn fine...you understand meeeee!). Standin in that office looking *bites knuckle* 😩Had to flip it in reverse cause Mercy's yellin ass is here *holds hand above head* and Imma need her to be here *holds hand at knee level*. NOT TODAY!

But also, while we're here...It never ceases to amaze me the way some think that therapy/healing is an overnight fix. GIRL HOW TF CAN YOU HEAL IF YOU CAN'T EVEN TELL YOURSELF THE DAMN TRUTH! Mercy, Ma'am, it took you all that damn time to pack this shit up (go through/deal with/live with/suppress/ignore it), it's gonna take you a good while to unpack. Girlie, that bag is so damn heavy, it's gonna take some years just to flip that MF over on it's back, so you can even begin to unzip it. Out here tryna read every MF body else but when it comes to yourself, it's *crickets*. Mercy, girl, I love you down (and Im giving you grace as I pack my ski mask and book my flight to San Sequoia...because WHOOOOOOO SHE THINK SHE TALKING TOOOOOOOO!?...

No but for real, all jokes aside, I'm looking forward to the day that she is ready and willing to do the work (and I'm looking forward to the twist & turns that you take us on to get there...because if we know anything we know the roads get topsy turvy round here!). Ya'll fasten your seatbelts and prepare for turbulence Lol. Switching gears a bit, I am glad that HoJay decided to put the babies in Daycare. That's a good choice (1) for the kids to be able to mix & mingle with more kiddos (2) for Hope to get reacquainted with "Hope" again & (3) so Mercy can finally give herself the time to serve herself for once too!

I may circle back at a later time when I've had enough rest to process other thoughts that's running in my mind. Til then, Imma be in the back corner pondering how many more lemon peps I can fit on my plate. BECAUSE THIS IS GOOOODT!

As is always the case sis I AM HOLLERIN!!! You said NOT MY DOCTOR GYATDAMMIT

I meannnnnnnnnnnn and I'm glad you brought up daycare. Did you see that flawless pivot Jay did because wtf you mean we don't need you? HOW IS THERAPY GOING MOM!?? Because she really thinks she can just bottle that shit back up like some tabasco sauce (or crystal) and start babysitting grandbabies again. NAWL SIS we got WORK to do first. The babies need social and emotional learning which is definitely not happening in Grandma Mercy's lil playroom.

She done been THROUGH some shit and thinks she can just forget it and hope she doesn't get thrown into a wall again and remember it. One thing the Good Doc™ is not, is stupid. Whether them awards of excellence on the wall are old or not, the brotha knows what he's doing and can probably see right through all that yelling in his expensive black and gold office.

Now the question is, will she take her ass back. Y'all stay tuned pls...

[anarchyrpbook]

LIGHTS OUT a roleplay sentence meme with various quotes and sentences taken from navessa allen's lights out. feel free to tweak as needed. content warning: foul language

shit, i just accidentally deleted the text.

sir, i’m at work, how dare you?

i would like to thank the algorithm for bringing me here.

i’m on season six of this video.

well, this has me feeling feral far too early in the morning.

sorry if i fuck this up.

you’re looking pretty pasty lately.

quit now while you’re ahead.

how do i find someone from social media?

what would you do if i said yes?

i need so much more therapy than i’m currently getting.

i know you’re reading these messages, you bastard. i can see the read receipts.

who hurt you like this? give me a name and address, and i’ll take care of it.

when i say i would forgive this man for literally anything.

forgive him, you monster.

so this is what jealous rage feels like.

how’s it feel to be the most hated woman on the internet right now?

if you don’t want him, i’ll take him.

insomnia is kicking my ass this week.

no touchy. still angry.

don’t misconstrue this. this isn’t for you.

it feels a little like it’s for me.

aww, our first official fight.

bad boys don’t get rewarded.

gee, i wonder who could have done such a dastardly thing?

you do snore real cute - like a chipmunk with a cold. wheeze, wheeze, siiiigh.

you shouldn’t have. i mean that literally, but i’m grateful anyway.

it’s… i don’t know exactly how to describe it. good isn’t the right word. rewarding might be better.

i see you’ve been reading my comments.

what was it you said yesterday? this isn’t for you?

i brought it in here to eat in front of you while mocking your hunger.

our baby angel did absolutely nothing wrong, and i resent the insinuation that he ever could.

you are so presumptuous!

i noticed how you look at me and decided not to fight your inevitable claiming.

me? what the fuck did i do?

you better be joking, or we are about to have our second fight.

we are 100% about to have our second fight.

death is nothing new to me, i see it on a weekly basis.

i’m more fucked up over not being fucked up, if that makes sense.

pull over, we’re breaking up. let me out.

thank fucking god there’s someone in your life to take some of your weirdness off my hands.

finally, someone to take some of the burden of his love off my shoulders.

turn me towards him so i can kick him.

your face is about to have a misunderstanding with my fist.

bet you twenty bucks i can get one of them to laugh before the end of the night.

we are not going to tear out of anywhere. we’ll leave at a non-suspicious speed.

our fearless leader just face-planted into a rhododendron.

you should have gone with them, even if it put me at risk.

that isn’t how this works, you don’t get to sacrifice yourself for me.

i’ll find a place with low lighting and a table in the back where no one but our server will see us.

i knew i shouldn’t have said anything. you’re going to be insufferable now, aren’t you?

either way, get in. it’s as cold as a nun’s twat out here.

next time, try saying something about what a nice arse i have.

stop trying to infantilize him because he makes you feel weird in the tummy.

picture me holding a toddler in one arm, and a baby in the other.

[zilabee]

Tony Bramwell on Brian:

- Brian dropped in at the Cavern and, spoiled for choice, fell in love at first sight with each of the Beatles in turn

- Brian almost promised to love, honour and obey them.

- He never publicly showed his embarrassment with poor deals, but one could tell something wasn’t right because inside, he anguished. Chewed his knuckles and grew pale.

- He was a fiercely loyal and honourable friend to those he loved, and ruthless toward those he despised

- He was shy to the point of blushing and stammering, and theatrical to the point of ranting and frothing at the mouth

- His biggest problem, perhaps his only real problem, was that he was homosexual in a still very unenlightened era. It kept getting in the way. Whenever he sat down for a meeting with heavyweights like Sir Joseph Lockwood at EMI, or whoever, he felt they all knew. “They’re talking behind my back, Tony,” Brian said. “They don’t respect me.”

- Paul was fond of Brian and thought he was the best possible manager: one who was courteous, who didn’t interfere with their private lives, but achieved all he said he would do. He never criticized him—none of us did. Brian was a god.  (It was only later that the façade cracked a bit, but even then we loved him. He was like family, and you accept your family for what they are and forgive them most anything.)

- his wonderfully fertile mind continuously thinking up innovative ideas and then worrying about them

- Brian was so different when around his beloved protégés. He became one of them. He was a friend, a chum, charming, trustworthy and kind. He set out to do what he promised and they all said it would never have happened without him.

- Brian bought an off-the-shelf company named Suba Films, which I virtually ran. It was way ahead of its time, the only independent company in England making music videos

- Whenever things got raunchy and out of hand around us, he would make his excuses and leave. At times, he almost ran.

- [on writing his biography]: “You don’t think John will think I’m raining on his parade, do you?” he asked hesitantly.

- I believe that Brian’s paranoia over the Beatles’ contract and his heavy use of drugs led him to think that it was only a matter of time before everything came tumbling down and he would be left standing in the ruins, with people pointing their fingers like kids in a playground.

- He was seriously ill and desperately sought to escape from the circus of his own creation.

- He was tormented by the idea of letting down his beloved Cilla and the Beatles, particularly John.

- He underwent deep sleep therapies at the Priory, being put under for days at a time with heavy drugs.

- Whether he managed the Beatles or not, he would still get 25 percent of their earnings from record sales for nine years. This subtlety had somehow escaped the Beatles, but it bothered Brian. It gnawed at his conscience because in his heart he knew he had conned them.

- [He] was abnormally distressed, convincing himself that they weren’t going to sign up again because they loathed him. Going through months of paranoia, he looked for reasons and forlornly asked the question, “Don’t they like me anymore?”

- It was so silly because it wasn’t like that at all. At different times, all of them commented to me that they would never have signed another contract as “Beatles” but they would have signed individually with Brian.

- “No, I think John hates me now. I don’t know what I’ll do if they don’t sign. What will people think? I can see the headlines now: EPSTEIN DUMPED BY BEATLES.”

- He was now seriously unhappy, not just troubled. His personality had radically changed.

- Brian had resident nurses, doctors who stayed, psychiatrists who lived in, all crowded into that little doll’s house, getting on each other’s nerves. At times he’d make an effort. He would sweet-talk everyone and then escape when they weren’t looking.

- [after Brian's death] Joanne was in shock. She had seen him first. The doors had been broken down and there he was, curled up on his side in bed with Saturday’s mail lying next to him. “We all knew at once that he was dead, but I heard myself say, ‘It’s all right, he’s just asleep. He’s fine,’ ” she said.

- It was unbelievable that the man who had got all this going—the vast money-making machine and the culture shock that had changed the world—was gone.

- The Summer of Love was over and autumn coming.

- I have been asked many times why it was that the Beatles didn’t just hire an office manager to handle their business affairs and pay him or her a salary. It would have made sense. But it never occurred to them. They just went blindly on, trying to find someone to replace Brian, like it was some kind of law. They seemed to think that they had to have a manager, to whom they had to give 25 percent of their gross income, or they’d be arrested or drummed out of the Brownies.

[melancholyshadow]

Hello! I couldn’t help but see your post about writing for COD men! If so, could you please do one that’s Price x reader where she takes a bullet for him? Angst and Fluff. Typical scenario I know, but there’s never enough Price. If that doesn’t work that’s okay too! Thank you!!

Desk Duty

pairing: john price x female!reader

word count: around 2.1k

content warnings: canon-level violence, injured!reader, mentions of someone getting shot, mentions of gun-shot wound, medical talk, kissing an authority figure.

an: hello! first off, thank you anon for this lovely request, hopefully you enjoy it, i am a bit rusty bc i have not written in forever. second off, to address the elephant in the room, i know this isn't marvel related, but i'm really into call of duty right now, and wanted to write for them instead. third of all, if you liked this piece, and want to request your own, my request are open! i am really only writing for cod men right now and maybe some select marvel people. thanks guys!!!!

You never understood the saying “It happened in slow motion.” 

This was real life, nothing happened in slow motion, that was physically impossible. 

Or so you thought. 

All five of you were pinned down, trapped in a warehouse, taking massive amounts of fire. The enemy was closing in fast, and you were vastly outnumbered. It was the five of you, and a couple Marines, that’s it. This was supposed to be a run-of-the-mill mission, no one expected it to go sideways. Especially not this bad. 

“Low on ammo, Captain!” Gaz yelled, tossing an empty magazine behind him. “Conserve. Wait till they get closer!” Price barked back. “Where is air support, sir?” You asked, as the both of you crouched down to reload. “Five minutes out, we just need to make it till then.” He explained, popping back up and firing towards the building across the way. Five minutes was a long time in combat, almost too long. 

When you had this much adrenaline pumping through your body, it was natural to get tunnel vision. Only able to focus on the thing standing right in front of you, and at the moment that was about twenty enemy soldiers. Except, they weren’t all in front of you. They were obviously more well-versed in the area than you guys were, so they knew about a door to the warehouse you didn’t.

Out of your peripheral vision, you saw the sudden flood of light come from the door being ripped open. That’s when everything slowed way down. Three of them rushed inside, you were able to drop the first two, but the third one was too quick. And when his eyes landed on Price who was still facing towards the opposing building, you panicked. So, you did the first thing you could think of. 

Grabbing your Captain’s ‘oh shit’ strap on the back of his plate carrier, you pulled him to the ground and out of the line of fire. As you kneeled beside Price, the enemy’s gun repositioned on you and before you had time to raise your own weapon again, he fired. The bullet connected, causing you to fall back against the cold concrete. Just as quickly as you fell, you watched the enemy’s body fall to the same concrete. Price let two bullets rip, one into his leg and the other into his skull. You stared up at the ceiling, clutching your wound, trying to apply pressure. 

“Monarch is down!”

You woke up in the hospital two days later. 

Apparently you passed out from blood loss. 

It had been a tricky wound to treat in the field, so you had to wait for the air support to show up. 

It was difficult for you to remember everything leading up to you being injured. You don’t remember the actual impact or being carried to the helo. It was all hazy. Gaz, Soap, and Ghost had gone over the incident with you many times, but it just never really came back to you. Not that you were complaining. No one wants to remember getting shot.

After a week and a half in the hospital, a month of physical therapy, and another month of training and sparring with your teammates to get you back in shape, you were finally cleared for the field. It was a miracle that you were able to bounce back this fast, it usually took many months to recover fully from an injury like that, but you liked to think it was solely because of how stubborn you were. 

Everyone was super happy to have you back. Well, almost. There was only one more step you had to do: submit your medical release form to Price and have him approve it. You had only seen the Captain a few times, in passing, since the incident. It felt like he was avoiding you entirely, but you chalked it up to all the paperwork he was probably buried under right now, especially when a mission went that far south. 

You walked down the familiar hallway, Price's office was at the very end. Nervousness flooded your body with every step you took. What could you possibly be nervous about? Was it because you were afraid to face him for the first time in over two months? Of course not, he was the same Price he was during that mission. Were you nervous he wasn’t going to approve you for medical release? No, he had to approve it, hell, you saved his damn life. 

As you approached the door, you took a deep breath. You noticed a shake in your hand as you brought it up to knock on the door. Three loud racks echoed down the hallway. “Come in.” He called from the otherside of the door. You gripped the doorknob, turning it and pushed the door open with your shoulder. Price, as you suspected, was looking over a mountain of paperwork. His signature cap was discarded, and he was dressed in civilian clothes. He was in on his day off. 

“Hello.” You greeted him, closing the door behind you. “Sergeant.” A man of few words, as always, but his tone seemed different. “I hate to do this, but I have some more paperwork for you.” You said with an awkward chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s my medical release form.” You added.

“Set it there.” He pointed to the only clear space on his desk. His words sounded cold. After placing down the documents, you stood there for a few more seconds, seeing if he would say anything else. You know, ask how you were doing, or something, literally anything. But to no avail. 

So, you turned on your heels to walk out without another word. As you touched the doorknob, Price cleared his throat to speak, spiking some hope into your heart. “I’m putting you on desk duty.” Almost instantly, your stomach dropped past your toes. He said it so monotoned, no ounce of emotion in his voice.

For a few moments you were stunned, left speechless. But once that initial shock wore off, anger began to bubble up in your chest. You could feel the warmth overtaking every inch of your body and your chest began rising and falling irregularly.

“W-What? But I’ve been cleared for the field.” You tried to keep your tone even, unwavering as you slowly turned around to face him. He had finally looked up, head propped up on his palm. Like his tone, there was no legible emotion on his face. No anger, sadness, or guilt. “Desk duty until further notice.” This time it sounded dismissive, like the conversation was over. What is said is done. Clicking his pen twice, his eyes landed back on the report in front of him. 

“This is bullshit!” The words climbed up your throat before you could stop them. You could feel your fists clenching and unclenching at your sides. Your words caught the Captain off guard, but he only showed it for a moment. Not once had you ever questioned Price, or his intentions. But this time was different, if he thought you were gonna take this lying down,  he was dead wrong. 

“I’d watch your tone, Sergeant.” He spoke at you more sternly than before, clearly agitated by your outburst. And what he said next only added insult to injury, literally, “After that stunt you pulled, you’re lucky I don’t reassign you.” He used his pen to point at you, reaffirming his statement. That’s when all the logic and camaraderie flew out the window.

“You mean the one where I saved your life?” You spoke with malice, like venom was dripping off your tongue. “God forbid, I interfere with you taking a bullet to the skull.” You scoffed. “Is that the stunt you’re referring to?” You mocked him, echoing the term ‘stunt,.' You were trying to get under his skin, whether you knew that at the moment or not.

The Captain was boiling, you could practically see the steam coming from his ears. As you open your mouth to further instigate the situation, he slams his fists down on his desk. He stands up quickly, his chair tumbled to the ground behind him. “Exactly that stunt!” He barks. You’re the one caught off guard this time. It was rare for the Captain to raise his voice outside the field. Especially to you. 

“You could have got yourself killed, soldier!” It only takes him a few steps to be in your face. You hold your ground even though you're terrified, you had never seen Price like this. “It’s in the job description, sir.” You rebutted between your teeth, adding the ‘sir’ to irk him more. It worked. “You were careless and clearly have no regard for your own life. You are a risk.” He spat. 

“I’d die for you, Captain. No if, ands, or buts, about it.” You said with a straight face. “ So, if that categorizes me as a ‘risk,’ so be it.” He opened his mouth to speak again, but quickly closed it, and you noticed. “Say it, Captain. You never have been one to hold his words back.” You pushed him, feeding on his anger. 

But all that anger seemed to be disintegrating. One moment it was there, and the next it was gone. Like your words flipped a switch inside him. He had this look on his face, like he was truly debating on his next words. “Say. It.” You demanded, necking craning upwards to look him in the eyes. His eyes fell closed, and a defeated huff passed his lips. 

“Having your blood on my hands is something I can’t handle…” His voice was hushed, and now his eyes refused to meet yours. That was the last thing you expected him to say. He has always kind of coddled you, he was very protective. You always thought maybe it was because you were the newest member of the Task Force, but now you’re thinking it’s for another reason. 

“W-What do you mean?” You asked, your mind went blank. All that anger was now mixed with a good dose of confusion. He didn’t speak, just ran his fingers through his hair, still avoiding eye contact. “Captain, look at me.” You uttered softly, and he didn’t listen. You’re not sure what overtook you in the moment, but your shaky hand reached towards his face.

“Please.” You begged, gripping his chin and forcing him to face you. When he didn’t pull away, you brought his face closer, your noses only inches apart. His eyes did finally flutter open, and you were greeted with a stoic, immersive shade of blue, you couldn’t look away. 

“Captain, I–” He didn’t let you finish your thought, cutting you off by leaning in closer, pressing his lips against yours. They were soft, softer than you ever imagined. Especially compared to the coarse hair of his mustache and beard against your face. You even picked up on the taste of smoke, he had smoked one of his cigars recently. 

All you could focus on at that moment was him. The way he placed your hands against his chest, you could feel his heartbeat through the soft fabric of his t-shirt. It was racing, ramming against the inside of his chest.

How his rough, calloused hands cupped the sides of your face, further melding your lips together. The way he handled you said a lot. He kissed you like he was in distress, barely giving you time to breathe between the last and next kiss, not that you were doing much breathing anyways. He made your body feel like jelly, your knees barely able to carry your body weight, so you gripped his t-shirt, tight, trying to steady yourself. 

When he finally pulled away, he kept his forehead against yours. There was no talking, just heavy pants coming from the both of you. Did that really just happen? Was this a joke? You wanted to pinch yourself, wake yourself up from this dream. That’s when he spoke, breaking the silence, “‘m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” He apologized, trying to create more distance between the two of you. 

Luckily, you still had a hold of his shirt, stopping him. “Respectfully, Captain, shut up.” You chuckled, which earned a small smile from him as well. “Is this why you avoided me for two and a half months?” You asked, snaking your arms around his neck. “If you think I’ve only had these feelings for you for two and a half months, you're more delusional than I thought, Sergeant.” He chuckled this time, placing his hands on your hips.

“So, the real question is, am I still on desk duty?”

[landofadonises]

The Construction Zone - Hired Help, I

"ARE YOU SERIOUS?!? AGAIN?!?!"

The construction foreman barrels toward the two new hires who were stuck with supervising and coordinating what the construction world liked to call the "hired help". These genetically modified brutes generated from the incredibly faulty first wave of hormone amplification and gene therapy were taken care of and tended to in warehouses across the nation, and when heavy lifting needed to be done, there was no better or faster tool--that is, if you could keep them focused long enough to lift a single steel beam.

"Sir, we're really sorry, we were tryin' our best, but Davis dropped his huge fuckin' cock on accident 'cus the sweat made him lose his grip, and we think with it slammin' against the ground like that and him keepin' walkin' forward with it draggin' behind him started gettin' him riled up. He just stopped and landed on his knees, and his damn mammoth dick's stuck underneath his huge legs, so we can't even get it out to get it taken care of! We don't know what to do!

The construction foreman had a look that demons would fear. "Davis, you fuckin' know about SOP with wranglin' the hired help! Why the hell did you take the gloves off, boy? And Andrews, why the hell are you throwin' Davis under the bus like that? You're the one watchin' the hired help's ass bounce with every step--I fuckin' watched ya! You were droolin', boy!"

The two new hires hung their head in dejected shame, continuing to be berated by their foreman. However, the foreman was suddenly interrupted by slight tremors near them, and they realised the hired help was adjusting his weight... and suddenly grabbed his battering ram's worth of junk out from under him, pulsing, throbbing.

"BOYS! WE'LL TALK ABOUT THIS LATER! RUN!"