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kitkatscabinet · 1 year ago

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Soap, Suds and the Scouser

John Price x MacTavish! reader

Summary: Due to shitty neglectful parents, Johnny's older sister had been forced to take him in and raise him as her own. As such, she's fiercely protective of him, not that he minds, at least not until she screams at his Captain.

Word count: 4.4k

Johnny doesn’t remember much of his life before you. All he remembers is feeling cold, and not understanding love until you swept into his life. From the moment you had swept into his life the dull greys had morphed into an array of colours, his unrelenting loneliness and misery chased away by the light of your affection.

He doesn’t have a ma and pa like most other kids, and sometimes they tease him for it but he doesn’t mind, because he’s got something better. His big sister is the coolest person in the whole world! You tuck him into bed and read him bedtime stories every night. If he’s been really good he even gets to visit the base where you work sometimes. (He doesn’t understand until he’s older why you suddenly retire from the coolest job ever.)

You never yelled at him and even seemed to get upset when he wouldn’t let you know he was hungry. He cried when you scolded him for that, begged you not to send him back to the house with the angry people who sometimes forgot to feed him. He’d been surprised when instead of getting mad at him you’d started to cry, squeezing him tightly against your chest until he wriggled to be let go.

You hugged him much more after that, pulling him close whenever he was within reach and planting raspberries on his tummy while he shrieked in laughter. You keep it up even as he gets older and tries to escape from the kisses you’d pepper his face with.

He was fourteen the first time he snapped at you for it and the way your face had fallen would forever be burned into his brain. You pull away a little after that and Johnny feels sick with guilt, he hugs you a lot more after that.

Later in his life when asked why he’d joined the military he’d answer without hesitation, that he wanted to be like his idol. He wanted to be like you, wanted to make you proud. In a way, he wants to live up to your legacy. As a child, he hadn’t realised just how much of your life and career you’d had to give up to take care of him.

(You’d been on track for a promotion to lieutenant, and likely would have made captain in record time too.)

As you started to near 40 Johnny was determined to step up and take care of you for once. He makes it through selection easily, but to his surprise, you’d blown up at him. He can’t remember an instance where you’d been so furious at him, not even when he’d crashed his principal's car on a dare.

It’s the first time in his life you end up not being on speaking terms and he doesn’t know what to do. He can’t exactly leave the army, wouldn’t even if he could because finally, it feels like he has a purpose. The men in his unit instantly pick up on his sudden 180 in personality but any inquiries are instantly shut down with a glare.

It’s the worst few months of his life, but he won’t apologise. He’s not a child anymore and he needs you to see that. He almost breaks when it’s time for his first deployment and you still aren’t on speaking terms, he’s been sleeping like shit and he misses you like a phantom limb.

He ends up not needing to when you show up on base, with red-rimmed eyes and hollowed cheeks. Johnny crosses the distance and lets you pull him into a crushing hug, not paying any mind towards the odd stares they receive.

“I’m sorry. Please be safe,” you whisper into the fabric of his uniform and Johnny doesn’t need you to elaborate. He doesn’t respond verbally, because there’s nothing else to be said, and simply squeezes you tighter against him for what will be the last time for a while.

It’s hard to be away from you for so long, he’s never done it before and he’s teased relentlessly for how often he calls you. Johnny just laughs in their faces when they pout and complain when he gets your care packages, he has many emotions about your bond but shame is not one of them.

When the plane lands on his home turf and the dust settles Johnny can’t wait to collapse into one of your hugs and he can practically taste your cooking and he wants to cry when he remembers he’ll have to wait another day. Only, when his boots hit the tarmac he only has to take a few steps before he sees you waiting for him, beaming grin as you open your arms. Dropping his bag, he closes the distance in a flash and he’s not ashamed when he pulls away and notices the wet spot he’s left on your shoulder. The next thing he notices is the uniform, his eyes widening and you laugh.

“Now that I don’t have to look after a brat anymore I figured it was high time I became active duty again.” He can’t seem to reign in his shock, gawping like a fish and you frown in faux anger, “What? Think I’m too old to do the job? I could still put you in the ground Johnny.” The look in your eyes promises retribution if he doesn’t agree so he simply nods rapidly.

He’s twenty-two when he gains the moniker Soap, you laugh when he tells you and his smile drops when you won’t explain what’s so amusing. (No matter how much he asks around the base all he gets is amused laughter.)

It’s not until he’s twenty-three, riding the high of being selected for an elite task force and returning home after the shit show that was Verdansk that Soap starts to learn more about the imposing history of his sister.

He doesn’t even make it to the debriefing room, still covered in grime when he spots you stalking towards him with concerning vigour, thunder on your face that usually indicated an impending ass-whooping.

Preemptively Johnny backs up, mouth opening to apologise for whatever he’s done, only to freeze as you march straight past him and round on his captain. “You John Price?” Soap recognises the tone and decides it’s in his best interests to stay still and silent, Gaz is openly gawking though the mask makes it impossible to gauge Ghost’s reaction.

His captain, in a terrifying show of no self-preservation skills, nods in a ‘who wants to know’ sort of manner, brow raised and arms crossed.

“I dinnae ken who the fuck ye think ye are - ” Oh dear. Instantly Soap’s mind blue-screened, white noise ringing in his ears. Your accent only ever got that heavy when you were truly angry, when he zoned back in you were still yelling, arms flailing to enunciate your point that had very likely become very lost in translation to his starstruck teammates. “ - Irresponsible!”

Your chest was heaving by the time you’d finished, perfect hair even a little dishevelled. “Laswell” you nodded your head in respect towards the woman, before smiling softly when you turned to Soap.

“Johnny, bring your teammates over for dinner when you’re free.” It’s said kindly enough but Soap knows it’s not a suggestion. You pat him lovingly on the cheek before disappearing back down the hallway.

When the shock fades and movement becomes a possible thing again, it takes some extra cajoling to get their captain’s attention and Soap is mortified that whatever his sister said, it had so profoundly shaken the unflappable man.

Unable to hold anyone’s gaze, Soap marches forward, resolutely staring blankly at the floor. If he’d taken more than a few seconds to gauge his Captain’s reaction, it would have been abundantly clear his frozen state wasn’t one of perceived terror but arousal.

From the moment John Price bore witness to the fuming Scotswoman stalking towards him with the grace of an apex predator he knew he was fucked. You were an absolute vision, truth be told he barely registered the venomous words you were screaming at him, in front of his men no less.

His dazed eyes flickering from your perfect pretty lips down to your tits, hips, thighs and back up. His brain was empty of all thoughts except for the stunning goddess and how you’d look sitting astride his lap, squeezing his cock as he mouthed at your -

He clears his suddenly dry throat, dilated pupils darting back up to flicker over your face once more as he desperately attempts to reel his focus back towards what you’re saying, to anything that’s not the aching erection begging to be freed from the confines of his tactical pants.

Shifting his weight uncomfortably he watches as you pat Soap on the cheek lovingly, forlornly wishing that was him instead. Watching your ass sway with your departure, holding back the groan building in his throat.

Vaguely Price was aware of the wide-eyed looks exchanged behind his back as he stomped towards his quarters, little mind was paid towards them however. His focus solely on reaching the privacy he needed, slamming the door shut with far more force than necessary as his other hand fumbled for his belt. He doesn’t bother with his pants beyond freeing his flushed cock, leaning back against the door with eyes closed to help better produce an image of your likeness in his mind to match the voice that still rang in his ears.

Although you weren’t in any capacity attached to the 141, couldn't be due to your conflict of interest, you still shared a base. It was large enough that logistically you should have been able to work without ever seeing any of the 141. Key words being should have, because all of a sudden John Price seemed to be everywhere you turned.

At first you’d simply assumed he was just another man in power, irritated that you’d so thoroughly dressed him down in front of his men but John Price quickly proves you wrong. He brings you tea, hustles to hold doors open and more than once you’d walked into your office to find flowers. You want to think he’s just trying to get into your good graces, trying to smooth things over with one of his teammates siblings, the denial doesn’t last long.

You try not to be so taken by his blatant courting attempts even if you are a little confused. Nobody has ever given you this much blatant effort and it makes you feel like a little girl with her first crush instead of the grown woman you are.

It’s embarrassing, but it’s the most romantic, the most tender that you’ve been treated pretty much since you first took in Johnny. You’d given up on several potential relationships before they could even start over the years, not willing to let him suffer from any potential breakups.

Still, when you arrive to your office at 4am to find a bouquet of sunflowers you can’t help the way your heart hammers relentlessly against your ribcage as if trying to escape, to jump out straight into the arms of John Price.

To Soap’s surprise, it’s his Captain who clears their schedule, getting on his sergeant’s case about the promised dinner he’d nearly forgotten about himself. When Johnny walks apprehensively through the front door of your home the anger is apparently gone and you greet them all eagerly, planting a kiss on his cheek as you ushered them all inside and towards the table.

“Smells heavenly, thanks for having us lass” Price smiles charmingly, moving into the kitchen and swatting your hands away as he finishes setting the table and commanding the boys to help him, insisting that you sit and rest.

Soap, who is still somehow unaware of his captain’s affections, feels like he’s entered a new dimension for a few seconds. The perceived tension he’d expected nowhere to be found, though he quickly decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth, simply happy that everyone was getting along.

(He’ll look back on this moment down the line and wonder how he was so blind.)

The food is great and you’ve even bought Soap’s favourite beer, something you don’t drink and Johnny lets himself relax as he witnesses you joke around with the team and even start to mother Gaz and Ghost.

“How is it you know Laswell?” Price asked, seemingly hanging on your every word as he sat down next to you on the couch. Soap paused his conversation with Gaz to listen in as all ears and eyes were suddenly on you, you’d always been notoriously quiet about anything to do with your career.

“Classified” you smirked, laughing as Johnny groaned dramatically and slumped back down in his seat. “I will say we were both very young,” you look into the bottom of your glass with a nostalgic gaze, but there’s something on your face that looks far too close to the time he’d walked in on you-

“Oh my god! You fucked Laswell!” He shrieked and Soap thought he could be forgiven for the girlish raise in pitch. Price choked on his bear, froth spilling from his nose as you reached for a washcloth to pat his shirt dry, the man having to bite back the groan at the feel of your hands against his chest.

You don’t give a verbal response but you do turn back to Johnny with a mischievous grin whilst wiggling your eyebrows. When the situation calms a little you surprise him by volunteering even more information, “she was the one that started calling me Suds.”

There were a few seconds of silence as the information was processed before Kyle started to laugh, and Johnny frowned a little, “wait…” he trailed off, shooting you a somewhat betrayed look as you started to laugh too.

“What was it you told me? They call you Soap cause you clean house? Na little brother, you’re named after me.” Johnny’s face was hysterical as he pouted, his teammates teasing him as laughter filled the house.

At some point, you’d meandered outside as the boys had started to roughhouse after a game of cards had devolved into a lighthearted screaming match. You sat on the porch with closed eyes, allowing yourself to enjoy the feel of the cool night air on your skin.

A creak behind you alerts you to the presence of another, the wind carries the scent of scotch and cigars and you open one eye to watch as Price sits next to you. “Needed a break from the peanut gallery?” your brows raise in amusement as he huffs at your words, reaching for a smoke and placing the end in his mouth, hands patting down his pockets for a light when you gave silent confirmation that his actions were ok.

You giggled a little as his frustration grew, reaching over with your own lighter, holding the flame out for him. “Cheers love,” his gravelly voice sent a shiver down your spine. His breath hitting the back of your hand and you watched slightly mesmerised as he inhaled the smoke. The conversation dwindled and you sat in comfortable silence, simply enjoying the company as your arm lightly brushed his jacket-clad one.

Silently Price handed you the cigarette, and though you didn’t usually smoke you found yourself accepting, acutely aware of his deep blue eyes boring into the side of your face as your lips clasped around the filter.

“Sorry for going off at ye earlier” you apologised, suddenly realising that you’d failed to do so. Continuing to stare straight ahead as you passed the smoke back his way, knuckles brushing against his slowly.

“S’alright lass, you’re just looking out for what’s yours, it’s admirable really. Sexy too” he growled, voice a whisper on the wind. You’re not sure if the shiver that runs through your body is from his words or the cool night air. Regardless, you lean just a little bit closer into the captain’s warmth, a contented hum escaping your lips when he wraps an arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side.

You’re not ashamed to admit that over the past few weeks you’d been oogling the Captain, it was hard not to when the man flaunted his body so shamelessly in front of you. Looking, it quickly became apparent, was hardly comparable to touching and its impossible to ignore the way your body sings in delight at the feel of him against you.

Up close you can better detect the hints of his cologne, spicy wooden undertones accentuated by the faint whiskey you can smell on his breath as it caresses your forehead. From any other man the scent of cigars and alcohol paired with the scratch of a beard aginst your ear as he leaned his head against yours would have been a turn off, but it was so quintessentially him, so John Price that you couldn’t help but love it.

It’s the rusty squeak of the screen door, alerting you to the presence of another, that forces the two of you to part. Ghost, no, Simon, stands silently at the threshold, watching the scene before him with appraising eyes.

“Johnny’s looking for you.” His words cause you to sigh, throwing an apologetic glance Price’s way before you all head back inside, brown and blue eyes boring into the back of your head.

Your little brother ends up simply wanting to whine to you about how Kyle has to be cheating, it’s the only possible way the man could have won so consecutively. You want to throttle him for that, for so thoroughly cockblocking you, instead you settle for scuffing him over the back of the head and forcing him to help you with the dishes.

You work together in practiced tandem, cooperating with silent ease the result of years attending to each others needs. It’s the first instance during the night that the two of you have a moment alone together and you allow yourself to enjoy the peace and monotony of the task, silence accompanied by the soft spray of water.

“Been meaning to ask, what’s it that got you so barmy with the captain.” His words are lighthearted, teasing, though you can’t help the way your hands still suddenly as you were reminded of that day. You pull yourself together as quickly as possible but Johnny has already undoubtedly picked up on your sudden change in behaviour, the clinking of the ceramic plates in the sink alerting him to the fact your hands were shaking. Although Johnny’s not sure exactly what’s upset you, he’s aware that he has and quickly tries to backtrack but you cut him off,

“He put my baby brother in what was very avoidable danger” you whispered, eyes never leaving the now sparkling clean plate you’d been scrubbing for the past fourty seconds. Johnny doesn’t answer the shaky confession, but he does bump his shoulder against yours, lightly pushing you out of the way and completely taking over the task.

Ever since the dinner at your house, something had shifted between you and Price. It was un unspoken tension, crackling through the air every time you so much as laid eyes upon one another, but one you both felt.

Lingering gazes turned to light touches, fingers brushing against yours, large hands cupping your hips as he passed behind you and the like. It was driving you insane, every night you’d return to the sanctuary of your bed, fingers exploring the expanse of your body as you imagined it was Price touching you instead.

The two of you were a powder keg waiting to explode, waiting for the single spark that would light the whole thing. It was an inevitable reality, and one you both knew was coming. You’re not sure who snaps first, what exactly lights the powder, though you find you care very little in the face of his lips against yours.

You push him against the door of your bedroom, hands tugging at the roots of his hair as he lets out a sinful groan, only for you to swallow it with another open mouthed kiss. With one of your thighs between his legs and pushing against his thick erection, you grind frantically against his own muscled thigh.

The drag of you’re already soaked cunt slowly drenches his pants as well, you’re so focused on planting kisses and bites down the skin of his neck and chest as you rip his top off that you barely notice the way his dilated gaze watches your every move.

“Fuckin hell darlin, that’s it, take what you need baby.” He sounded wrecked, his words of encouragement causing your rhythm to falter as your hands continued to paw at his chest needily. As much as Price wanted to continue watching you use him to chase you’re own pleasure it would have to wait another time, at this moment he needed you now.

A squeal leaves your lips as your back is suddenly on the mattress and Price tugs your pants and underwear down to your ankles in one aggressive move, his hands keeping your thighs spread as he stared intently at his prize.

The groan that leaves his throat at the sight is guttural, the praise he mutters is nearly indistinguishable over the blood pounding in your ears as his tongue swipes over your swollen clit. John Price eats like a man starved, lavishing your thighs in bitemarks when his fingers replace his tongue. He makes you cum like that twice, your juices coating his beard and neck while you tug harshly on his hair.

“Price please, s’too much, need you now” you sobbed, pulling him up into another bruising kiss and wrapping your shaky thighs around his waist to try and coax him to where you wanted him most. Any other day he’d probably tease you for being so needy but Price was just as aching with need as you, cock flushed and dripping as he lined himself up with your fluttering hole.

“I know darlin’” he cooed, dipping his mouth down to place reassuring kisses over your chest as you finally stripped your top half bare. His left hand cups one of your tits, forhead resting against yours as he slid into you with one smooth thrust. The pace he sets is relentless, you’ve both been waiting for this moment for weeks. There’d be a time for tenderness later, but right now it was sheer animalistic need fuelling your movements. Your nails rake down his spine as he grunts, whines reaching a crescendo that lets him know you’re quickly approaching your climax once more.

His own rhythm starts to falter, the sensation of your warm walls squeezing him so tightly nearly too much for him to bare. He refuses to cum first however, thumb swiping over your clit as he grumbles against your collarbone, “come on love, nearly there, be a good girl and cum for me yeah?”

You are so worked up, so desperate to please the man bringing you such pleasure that you obey with a high pitched keen, thighs clamping his waist in a vice as your walls milk his cock. Price swears at the sensation, unable to pull out from how harshly you’’ve locked your ankles over his back and is filling your womb with thick ropes of cum before he can stop himself.

Shaky arms unable to hold his weight up anymore collapse, though you don’t seem to mind, snuggling up to him and wrapping your arms around his houlders to keep him in place. He falls asleep tangled in your arms, face nuzzled into your neck as your fingers play gently with his hair.

When Price wakes the next morning to an empty bed and cooling mattress he frowns, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and lumbering out of your bedroom, still naked from the night before. He quickly finds you in the kitchen, standing at the counter wearing only panties with his shirt.

Immediately the sight stirs something primal in him, chest rumbling with pleasure as he plasters himself to your back. You hum happily, turning your face so he can plant a gentle kiss on your lips. “Morning darlin.” His voice is still hoarse with sleep and you feel the way it rumbles through his bear chest against your back.

“Morning” you let out a moan as he pressed his hard cock against you. Your head falls back to rest on his shoulder as one of his hands dips below the hem of your underwear, both of you sighing happily as his calloused fingers make contact with your still tender pussy.

Any reprimands are banished from your brain at his touch, your worries evaporating into nothingness as the pad of his thumb flicks over your clit. Just as you’re about to cum there’s a screech from behind of “My eyes!” And you whirl around just in time to witness your little brother run face first into the wall behind him in his haste to escape.

Johnny hits the floor with a heavy thud, hands still covering his face as he continues to scream about the atrocity he’s just witnessed. You think he might even be crying, whether from the pain or the visage of his captain’s bare arse you aren’t sure.

You should be beyond mortified, and a large part of you is. Still, you can’t help the belly laugh that escapes you as your brain finally catches onto what’s just happened. Your legs collapse from under you as your own tears of laughter stream down your cheeks. Johnny’s also crying and writhing on the floor whilst Price looks to be contemplating murdering the both of you.

Still giggling you manage to stand once more, pulling the captain down into another sweet kiss before spinning him around and ordering him to get dressed. You do give him a smack on the ass before he leaves though and the sound sets Soap off into a new cursing fit, one hand shaking an aggressive fist towards where he thinks his captain is while he keeps his eyes covered.

While you’d have liked to have kept whatever it was you had with the Captain a secret for a little longer, liked to have kept him selfishly to yourself, you had to admit that scarring your little brother so badly was worth it. Though given the stink eye he relentlessly stared at Price with you’d probably have to give him a little more time to adjust. Even if unbeknownst to you, the wedding had already been planned out in the Englishman’s mind.

Tags: @innercollectivecomputer @cooliofango @pertinentpostmortem @ghostslillady @domaniquessidehoe2 @ilovehyperfixating @pauphs @Skotchi @juvenillia

#x reader #cod mw x reader #john price x reader #john price #captain john price x reader #cod john price

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 5 months ago

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My Place or Yours? [Joel x f!reader]

Read on Ao3

Ship: Joel Miller x you/f!reader

Tags/warnings: Reader doesn't like weddings, kissing.

Summary: You're being tortured at a wedding, but there is a man there who saves your evening.

Words: 1,550

A/N: This is written for the Summer Lovin' challenge by @pedgito, who also made the moodboard. I picked the theme 'wedding', which was a weird choice for me because I really hate weddings, but I got Joel to help me get through it. Enjoy!

”I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Had those magic words only been the end of your misery, this day would have been easy-peasy. But no, you wouldn’t get off the hook that easily. It was only the beginning of an evening filled with awkward speeches, parental tears, and drunk best men giving dubious toasts.

You just don’t do weddings well. Anyone you ever talked to would tell you that it’s because you’ve been burned, because you’re single, ”once you find Mr Right you’ll start to plan your own wedding!”, et cetera, et cetera. Maybe that’s true, but with your disposition, it doesn’t seem likely that you’ll ever understand the point of paying hundreds of thousands of dollars for one single day during which both your parents get to watch you make out after a minister has sprinkled some magic words over the two of you. It’s just not in your nature. You never dreamed about a fairytale wedding when you were little, and you thought your friends would wise up when you got older, but no. As soon as the question was popped, they all reverted back to their childhood selves, and began planning as if for the event of the millennia.

You’ve been to three weddings these last few years, and it doesn’t get any easier. It’s embarrassing, lavish, awkward, and weird. And as always, you’re there without a partner, and must sit there with a fake smile plastered on your face, with no one to bitch to. At least you’re not the only single one at this wedding; that’s happened before, and even if you didn’t mind being single, you were definitely feeling blue when you got home that night.

At least dinner is good. This particular bride isn’t following any fad diets that she’s forcing on everybody, so you’re enjoying a really delicious three course meal. Still, what would a wedding dinner be without interruptions in the form of long, meandering speeches? You are forced to put down your cutlery one too many times, and by the time you’re finishing your delicious medium rare steak, it’s already cold. Chasing leftover sauce with a piece of bread, you nod encouragingly at the waiter asking you if you want more wine. You want to ask them to leave the bottle, but they probably wouldn’t find it funny.

Too tired to make polite conversation, you start to wait for the unofficial break between main course and dessert, when people get up to stretch their legs. It’s your opportunity to get away for a bit. You even have a modus operandi for it: you bum a cigarette from one of the smokers even though you’ve never smoked, go to the side, and pretend to smoke it for as long as you can. If the venue is nice, you then walk around and inspect it. This wedding offers a lot in that aspect: it’s a big house, almost a mansion, in the countryside, with a park and lots of smaller, old buildings on the premises. Perfect for hiding, and then you can just return back to the dining-hall late and blame getting lost.

When the break finally is announced, you let the smokers leave first. By the time they're greedily sucking on their cigarettes, you show up and ask for one. Cigarette in hand, and nod in agreement with the light conversation: yes, it was a beautiful ceremony, yes, the dinner is delicious, yes, the bride is so pretty and the groom so handsome. Eventually, you make a break for it, saying something about wanting to see the premises. So you walk away, flicking away the pillar of ash on your unsmoked cigarette.

The din of the house grows distant as you walk across the yard, shamelessly dropping the cigarette and crushing it with your foot before heading for the garden, quickly as if to escape the disgusting smoke. Once you reach the first, fragrant rose bushes, you start to relax. You find a bench and sink down on it with a relieved sigh. The light breeze smells of oleander, the birds are chirping, and it's pleasantly warm. Perfect.

You dig into your evening bag and check your phone. No messages, of course: most of your friends are at the wedding. Putting the phone away to instead enjoy the garden, you remain seated for a little longer than you know is considered polite. When you finally rise to go back, you notice someone approaching you. A man, around your age, a friend of the groom's, you think, but you've never talked to him.

"Hi," he calls out. "You okay?"

"Sure," you nod easily, "I just needed some air."

"A lot calmer here, isn't it?" He's standing in front of you now, all broad shoulders and narrow hips. Very handsome, but you're feeling defensive, and when your answer delays a little too long, he clears his throat.

"Sorry. Hi." He extends his right hand. "Joel. I'm a friend of Mark's."

You take his hand and give him your name. He doesn't let go immediately after shaking your hand.

"Nice to meet you." That smile. Goddammit, that's a charming smile. When his warm hand finally unclasps yours, you want to reach for it again.

"Can I help you, Joel?" you ask instead, trying to sound unperturbed.

"I saw you leave and wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Why wouldn't I be okay?"

He shrugs lightly, passing a hand over his hair. A curl bounces back to gently lick his forehead.

"You just looked like you weren't maybe having such a good time."

Well, shit. You thought you had been keeping a straight face, but clearly you had failed. Your gaze flickers, and you clear your throat.

“Don’t tell anyone, but I’m not good at weddings.”

He chuckles low, but not maliciously.

“It shows.”

“Yeah, well, it’s hard to keep a straight face for all these hours,” you snap, a little harsher than intended. Joel holds his hand to his chest.

“Didn’t mean to offend you.”

You shake your head. “Don’t worry. We better get back before they send out a search party.”

“Hey, lemme make it up to you. Can I have the first dance with you?”

Frowning, you eye him, expecting him to be joking. But his gaze is open and honest.

“Sure,” you eventually smile. “Find me when the dancing starts.”

And so it is that after dessert and another couple of meandering speeches, after the bride and groom have danced their first dance, Joel finds you in the crowd. He leads you to the dancefloor with a steady hand, and when he puts his arm around your waist, you don’t mind that his hand comes to a rest a little lower than expected. He keeps eye contact, but not in a creepy way as he makes small talk, asking you about your life more than he talks about his own. He seems genuinely interested in you, and that makes your head swim more than the alcohol.

When the music changes to something more energetic, you pull him to the side.

“Not my cup of tea,” you explain, and he nods, seemingly happy with being off the dancefloor as people begin to shake their asses.

“A drink?”

“Sure.”

He takes you to the bar and you both get drinks. The bride and her bridesmaids are cheering loudly on the dancefloor, and the noise is beginning to wear you down.

“Let’s go out?” you suggest to Joel, who nods.

There are some people scattered around the yard, but the garden is empty. The smell of roses is even stronger now when the hour is late, and you notice that you’re actually enjoying yourself. Joel is so easy to talk to, you’re comfortable in his company, and he makes you laugh.

“Hey,” you finally say. “Thanks for not being weird about me not liking weddings.”

“Why would I be weird about it?” He sounds genuinely surprised.

“Because everybody loves weddings, and I just can’t,” you shrug, but with a hint of desperation in your voice. “And if you don’t like them, then you’re just bitter and probably in need of the right person to have your own wedding with.”

He’s quiet for a moment, sips his drink.

“I know I can keep a secret,” he starts, his voice low, “but can you?”

“I can.”

“I don’t like weddings, either.”

You stare at him for a moment before slapping his arm.

“You could’ve told me earlier!”

He laughs. “I know, I know, I’m sorry!”

“Asshole!” you blurt out, but can’t say more, because Joel’s lips are on yours, and you drop your glass on the gravel where it shatters, splashing liquor over your feet. And you don’t give a single goddamn. Your hands come up to his shoulders, pulling him closer, and you kiss him back, tasting the whiskey on him, a peppery twang from the steak he had earlier, the bristles on his face scratching your skin.

When you finally have to step back to take a breather, he licks his lips and looks at you with heavy-lidded, dreamy eyes.

“Not too soon?”

“No,” you shake your head, “Just perfect.”

He grins. “How soon d’you think it would be polite to leave?”

“I don’t care, we’ve suffered enough. My place or yours?”

#joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #my fic

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bonny-kookoo · 1 year ago

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Heyyy, can we get a drabble of someone older jk and MC baking for Christmas but she started acting like a brat so they get a little distracted👀

Ps. This couple is so cute!! You’re writing for them is absolutely amazing🥹

you're all horny but its fine because same

---

"Noo, Jungkook now it looks all wonky!" you whine, adjusting one of the cut out cookies on the baking tray, fixing it's head. "You need to be gentle." you pout, making sure they're all appropriately spaced so they don't get stuck together later on when they bake.

"I am gentle, what are you talking about?" He laughs, trying to snatch another taste of the sugary sprinkles next to you- but you're faster, smacking his hand off, the sound of another slap echoing in the kitchen, making you gasp and turn to look at him, scandalized.

He'd just slapped your butt. Full palm, consciously aimed.

"I'm gonna have to chase you out the kitchen if you can't behave, mister!" you threaten, pointing a finger at his chest. "You keep eating the dough, or the decoration, or you mutilate the poor gingerbread men!" you scold, while he just stares you down with a smirk on his face, thoroughly amused.

"May I remind you that this is my kitchen?" he asks, arms caging you in as they lean against the kitchen counter behind you, your back pressed into it. "I can do whatever I want in here." he lowly tells you, but you don't back down, instead crossing your arms.

"Well looks like I'll have to bake in my kitchen back home next time then." you talk back.

"But that means you'd leave me all alone again." he playfully acts, showing you his best display of puppydog eyes he can, leaning closer.

"You're a big boy, you can be on your own for a day." you tease back, making his expression change. "I'd even bring you the cookies when I come back." you say, when he presses himself into your front.

"but what if I want a treat right now?" he purrs against your neck.

"then you'll have to wait until the-" you start, getting caught off guard when his leg pushes itself in between your legs, putting pressure on your core.

"but I don't want to wait." he denies. "I want it now." he almost threatens, before he kisses right beneath your ear, making you officially cave in.

Awfully glad that the cookies were never put in the oven- because they would've surely burned before he finally got done with you.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #bts jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook imagines #jungkook imagines #bts jeon jungkook imagine

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romana-after-dark · 1 month ago

Text

Rooms on Fire: Something In The Night

Dark!Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader

Dark!Francisco Morales x Fem!Reader

Dark!William Miller x Fem!Reader

Dark!Benjamin Miller x Fem!Reader

Also: FishBen, and an assortment of other M/M relationships (no Millercest). Everyone is Bisexual

Series Masterlist: Main Masterlist

Spotify playlist

Summery: Ben shows his true colors

Warnings and Content:

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

DUB CON MOSTLY but there WILL BE NON CON. Major character deaths, forced breeding, physical abuse, brainwashing, manipulation, violence, gore, alcoholism/addiction, BIG OLE BLASPHEMY WARNING like this cult appropriates a lot of religious themes and they call reader their Madonna, Santi is called the Pope, like all that stuff. However, this is a cult so I mean. It happens. None of it are my thoughts on religion or meant to make fun of religion or demonize religious people. Disgusting views on virginity. Attempted rape outside the boys. T*m warning. Age gap. Creepy terrible men. Non-reader rape, dub con, violence. Covert incest, massive mommy issues, sexual abuse all around, past grooming by parental figure. no CSA but the victim isn't much older. some Bates Motel type shit. I cannot properly warn you for everything, without just telling the story but consider this a major warning that there are dark dark themes. No one involved here is morally clean, and who you perceive as the good guy cannot be relied on. Don't come to my story and say im romanticizing these things until at least the story ends.

3.9k words

"Well, nothing is forgotten or forgiven When it's your last time around Well, I got stuff running 'round my head That I just can't live down When we found the things we loved Were crushed and dying in the dirt We tried to pick up the pieces And get away without getting hurt But they caught us at the state line Burned our cars in one last fight And left us running, burned and blind Chasing something in the night." ~Something In The Night, Bruce Springsteen.

Jonah lit his third cigarette of the day as he walked into the jail block, stumbling a bit as he turned the corner.

“Drunk already, Jonah?” Marcus was here, bright and early. Realistically, Marcus should have the head of the guard position, and Jonah had said as much but Beatriz said absolutely not. She knew she had Jonah under her thumb. Jonah tried to explain Marcus was trustworthy, that he wouldn’t do anything to endanger his daughter, but nothing.

“In my defense, it’s the same drunk as last night.” He flopped in is chair, pulling his hat over his eyes and crossing his arms as he leaned back. You’d think being Gods special fuck toy and being forced to participate in all night orgies meant not having to work in the morning, but somehow, it didn’t.

Marcus gave a sympathetic hum, but didn’t dwell on it. As much as Marcus knew Jonah hated, fucking hated the orgies, he knew he didn’t want to talk about it. Jonah had seen things he never wanted to, seen the 4 boys he’s known most of their lives having sex, sometimes with each other. It’s disgusting, and he tries not to see it.

Sometimes, as he’s having sex with Beatriz, a woman who forced him into sexual slavery and had his wife killed, who tried to have his daughter killed and hangs her safety over his head every day, he thinks it’d be better if he was dead. If he drank until he couldn’t anymore and fell asleep and never woke up. If he took out his shaving razor and sliced himself open.

But then there was Iris. He couldn’t leave her, Beatriz would almost certainly punish her. Right now, she was doing well. Training to be a house mother, which she liked, compared to other things. Beatriz was talking about marrying her to Frank, which was the last fucking thing Jonah wanted for his girl, to bring her into this house built on burnt carcasses and seal her fate. Jonah survived her for 20 years because he was compliant. Iris’s mouth would lead to her death.

So, for Iris, Jonah trekked on, getting by with obscene amounts of booze and sex. And Marcus. Marcus made the days bearable, long stretches where he could see Iris, longer times where she wouldn’t talk to him. Iris thought he cheated on her mom with Beatriz, that he had some grand roll here, and Jonah couldn't explain the truth. How could he tell his daughter that he’d been so pathetic to let this happen to him for 20 years?

“Jonah.”Marcus’s voice brought him back, a soothing low timber that always calmed Jonah’s nerves. Marcus was a man of few words, but his presence was a comfort. There was something comforting about him, something that put everyone around him at ease. He had a girl he loved too. Marcus’s wife died a few years ago, resulting in the girl being moved to the girls dormitories early, but that was longer than what Jonah had with Iris. All of 2 days alone before his infant was taken away and Jonah moved into the mansion permanently. Marcus adored his daughter, and she adored him in turn. He was a good dad, visiting as often as he was allowed, often finding reasons to go to the girls dormitory so he could “just happen to” run into her. When they did, she’d run up to him squeezing “daddy!!!!” and Marcus would scoop her into his arms. If Jonah saw Iris, many times she’d walk the other way. It depended on her mood.

“Sorry…” Jonah mumbles. “Kinda in my head.”

Marcus hums, sipping his coffee as well. “C’mon. Delilah is moving in in an hour.”

Unfortunately for Jonah, Will’s fiance was the prettiest woman he’d ever seen in his life. When the courtship started and Delilah made a near daily appearance at the mansion, Jonah tried to stamp down the festering feelings in his stomach. She was sweet, a bright patch in the dreary world, and she treated him like an actual person. When her eyes were on him, he felt more than when Beatriz went down on him. Sparks he only felt while… well, while with Marcus, but that was different. Marcus was his friend, of course.

Delilah was someone Decon Tom introduced to Will, or rather, brought to his attention. She was devout, angelic, innocent beauty,

It all began as most bad things did for him, in the kitchen getting a snack. Delilah walked in, a skimpy little night dress and looking so, so pretty.

“Hi.” She smiles at him, making Jonah blush. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

Ever since she moved in, Jonah’s been keeping his distance. It’s safer that way. He blushes and looks down at the bread he’s buttering, shaking his head. “I think it’s best.”

A step closer. “But I miss our late night talks…”

“I don’t… I don’t think those are appropriate…”

Another. She’s next to him now, the heat of her body warming the chill of anxiety through him. This was dangerous. This was bad.

Very fucking bad.

Not bad enough to stop though.

When Delilah’s hand touched his back, it was all over for him.

For months they carried out their affair, sneaking in fuck sessions between wedding planning and Will making her scream loud enough Jonah could hear, forcing jealousy to bubble in his stomach because she always had to stifle her moans with him, hushed orgasmed pressed into pillows, bites marks for something to latch onto to. She was perfect. It started as somewhere to relieve the tension that had been building from- no one in particular, certainly not the bear of a man sitting across from him right now, staring him down.

“You need to get your shit together, Hanson.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Then why did I see Delilah leaving your room at 3 am?”

Jonah blushed, but in his slightly drunken state, he couldn’t help but find it a little funny. Was Marcus jealous?

“Why do you care?”

Marcus slammed his hand down on the table, anger mixed with something a little more… desperate, on his face. “This is serious Jonah! We’re trying to do something here!”

Jonah narrowed his eyes at that, shoes squeaking against the cheap linoleum floors. “What the fuck do you mean?”

With a big sigh, Marcus pinched his brow. “I need you to listen to me very carefully. Things are… going to change. Tom and I are planning something, and we need you to be a part of it. We can’t do this without you.” He looks up, brown eyes connecting directly with Jonah. “We’re killing Beatriz.”

The ensuing conversation devolved into an argument. Jonah didn’t have any loyalty to Beatriz, but there was no part of him that thought they could pull this off. So what if they killed her? Jonah had considered killing her many, many times over the years, but if she was dead, the hydra would grow 4 new heads. If they somehow managed to kill all 4 brothers, there were many still loyal to the Garcia family.

“You have to think of Iris, Jonah!” Marcus called after him as Jonah began to walk away, but this made him whip around to face his friend.

“I am!” He shouts. “Every fucking thing I do is for her! You think I wanna live like this? You think I enjoy those orgies and Breatiz using me every night? You think I like watching all this violence and the boys I’ve known since kids turn into monsters? No! But if I act out, she’ll kill her!” His voice cracks, eyes pleading for understanding. “She can’t suffer because of me, Marcus… Iris… is better than all this.”

Marcus’s shoulders relax, voice softening as he tries to convince him. “Jo, I know you’re scared. You don’t think I’m worried about my girl getting blowback? But, man I just- you gotta see what’s going on here. You really want Iris married to Morales? Is that what you want?”

“No! I- fuck, Marcus. It could be worse. Frank is a good guy-”

“He’s got no backbone, if she marries him she’ll be subjected to everything the others want! She’ll be raped and beat, just like Delilah!”

“SHUT UP!!!” With that, he was gone.

That night, Jonah was called to Beatriz’s room. This wasn’t unusual, but an itch was still in his head that something was overheard. That he was in trouble. That Marcus was. If Beatriz knew anything, she didn’t say. Instead, she had him pressed up against the wall, grinding her body on him.

“Come on, where;s your head at? You aren’t even kissing me, baby.” Beatriz complains, touching and kissing his lean body.

Jonah tries to get into it, to slip away into his head, escape his body and not exist anymore as Beatriz pulled Jonah’s shirt over his head. Her touch was harsh, a burning grip but after 20 years she knew how to make him feel good. It wasn’t the touch he wanted, but it was what he had, so he took it. Beatriz fucked him with a strap on, Jonah’s hands gripping the sheet and feeling out of body.

Some days, he could pretend it was something else. When things were going good, he could almost fool himself into believing he was in love. Beatriz was beautiful, and there was a reason she could build such a massive following. She had a way with people, a charisma Jonah couldn’t deny. Sometimes, he would feel they were a family, that Santiago, Frankie, Will, and Ben were their kids and things were good.

Then he’d be at an orgy, and he can hear the boys he raised having sex.

Then Beatriz would fly off the handle, maybe because of coke or booze or just another manic episode.

Then they’d watch somebody burn alive while members of the cult danced to their screams.

Then Jonah would end up with his arm broken or a knife in his arm.

Then he’d hear Frankie having sex with Santi, or Ben, and he’d have to try and stop then from hearing each other or keep Beatriz away from the rooms. Homosexuality wasn’t frowned upon in the same way it had been before, it wasn’t a sin, but it was considered unnatural. Something that was more or less harmless for fun (the orgies were a bisexual shitshow) but you weren’t supposed to be in love. Sex, marriage, it was intended for procreation.

In post-sex coitus, Jonah could push all this away. He could hold a beautiful woman in his arms and focus on the orgasmic bliss they’d shared. Beatriz hadn’t hurt him, this time.

“I think we should officially announce Iris and Frankie’s engagement tomorrow. Call a special assembly.”

After over 20 years of having to keep calm in these situations, Jonah’s blood pressure remained steady. Beatriz rested her head on his chest, after all. Sometimes Jonah wondered if that was on purpose.

Jonah thought back to everything he’d endured in this house, all the death and people beaten bloody he’s witnessed. A house full of sins and ghosts. Iris, she couldn’t be here. She would be subjected to the orgies that were just gang rape if you weren’t about it. She would have to walk the glass floors Jonah tiptoed on every day trying not to set off Beatriz. She’d be prime real estate for Santi and Ben, those little gremlins who took after their mother.

He couldn’t do that to her. He couldn’t make her live like he had, a sex slve to the powerful.

“Yeah, I think we should.”

Marcus was having a picnic with his daughter in the field. It was his day off, and was spending every single minute with her. She a shy little thing so different from Iris. Iris was born without fear, Screaming to the world and she never stopped, not once. It was a miracle she was alive. Marcus’s kid was different. Subdued much like him, quiet, except for her tantrums. Jonah had never gotten to know her, he never could, much like Marcus had never gotten to know Iris. Outside of work, they didn’t spend much time together, they couldn’t. The less weaknesses to be exploited, the better. Hell, Jonah had even managed to convince Beatriz that he didn’t have much attachment to Iris, that Santi and Frankie, who he’d known since infanthood, were more important to him than his daughter. This was at the expense of Iris believing it too.

Marcus, however, loved the little girl he rescued. His adopted daughter was the entire world to him since his wife died, and he doted on her every chance he got. The child was considered a problem by most people, prone to meltdown and screaming when things didn’t go her way. This had gotten better the older she got, able to control those emotions better, but had resulted in her being very insecure. She was 12 now, and had no friends. The other girls called her weird. Marcus said she was just quiet.

This place would eat her alive.

When Marcus saw him watching, he frowned, telling something to his daughter. She looked at him with curious eyes, but said nothing as MArcus approached, out of earshot.

“What are you doing?” Marcus asked, a mix of annoyance and concern. People weren’t supposed to know they were friends.

Jonah’s eyes never left the girl. “I’ll do it. For her. For Iris.”

A moment of silence. “We’re doing this for you too, Jonah.”

It was Jonah’s job to get her away. The bedroom, of course, was secure, so Jonah was supposed to take her to a room where he was going to have a surprise for her. Tom would kill her, while other guards who’ve turned kill the four boys, framing Santi’s death as a suicide. Jonah tried to argue against Frankie’s death, but Marcus said he was too loyal, too dangerous. Delilah, Will’s fiance, would be announced by Decon Tom as the heir, and she would slowly dissolve the cult into a democracy.

That was the plan, of course.

But when Jonah closed the door the room, leaving Beatriz wide-eyed and scared as Tom approached, he had the sinking feeling it wouldn’t be that easy.

And it wasn’t.

Marcus had underestimated Ben’s insanity on coke, what he’d do to protect his family. Naked and high as a kite, Ben acted as a Berzerker and went feral, tearing a guard apart who’d tried to kill Frankie. He literally tore out his throat with his teeth. Will was more rational, remaining calm in crisis as he fought off others, while Frankie and Santi grabbed the hidden guns, because of course they brought guns to an orgy. Everyone was killed, traitors and guest, not knowing who was there to distract them.

After leaving Beatriz to die, he found Delilah, begging her to run away, that they can find Iris and just fucking run. He’d protect her, he’d finally protect them both.

Then Will and Ben, frantic and anxious, burst in the room to find Will’s fiance kissing Jonah, and it was all over.

Delilah was shot before Jonah could even move, square in the forehead as she gasped. Will wasn’t supposed to be alive. Now she wasn’t either.

Jonah walked into the dark jail room, several cells filled with people found complicit in the attempted uprising, in the death of the Divine Mother, the attempted assasination of the gods. Today was execution day, and first on the docket was Marcus.

The older man opened his eyes as he lay on the bench too small for his large body. In his 50’s, Marcus was a force to be reconned with, and could take Jonah easily in hand to hand. Unfortunately for him, Jonah had a gun.

No one could prove Jonah had anything to do with the uprising, and only Marcus, Tom and Delilah knew. Delilah and Tom were dead, and Marcus, of course, didn’t give anything in. Even under the torture Will delivered, he didn’t incriminate Jonah, even though thats what Will was looking for.

Will Miller wanted him dead, but Santiago was torn. Santi was absolutely batshit insane, but he did care about a few people. His brother, for one, his mom, and to some extent, Jonah. He knew he should have him killed as well, but held onto sentimentality. Jonah was the only dad he’d ever known. Like an angel and a devil, Will and Frankie argued Jonah’s fate until Santi made his decision.

“I’m sorry, Marcus. I’m really fucking sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Marcus grumbled in turn, grunting as he sat up.

But Jonah was desperate, anxiety filling him day after day after day, a stumble to his steps from constantly drunkenness, a pain in his heart he couldn’t handle. He’d lost Delilah. He was losing Marcus. And worst of all now, Iris was going to suffer. “I’m gonna protect her. Your little girl, I’ll keep an eye on her, make sure she’s safe, she’s happy, I’m gonna do right by you-”

“You can’t, Jo.” Marcus stood up, wrapping his large, thick hands around the bars. His eyes were intense on Jonahs. His face held a weariness showing his age. “No one can know you have any connection to her, or it’s gonna backfire, you know this.”

“But-”

“What’s happening to Iris, hm? How’s she being punished? I know she is.”

A tightness filled Jonah’s chest, crushing guilt, a fear there was nothing he could do to fix. He couldn’t even protect his own daughter, nonetheless someone else’s. “She’s… moving into the house. She’s gonna be the maid, cook, all that…”

Marcus nodded. “She’s be used to control you. I can’t have that happen to my girl.”

Tears were rare for Jonah. He’d lost the ability years ago, but there was burning behind his eyes. “I’m sorry… I-I shouldn’t be alive. I should turn myself in-”

A strong grip pushed through the bars, holding his shirt. “You need to fucking get it together, Jonah. I’m going to die, but those girls don’t have to. More innocents don’t have to! You’re gonna be close here, you still have power. That little prick loves you. Use that, find another way to end this!”

But Jonah didn’t want to. Jonah wasn’t a doer, he wasn’t a leader. He was a soldier. He couldn’t plan an uprising, anything he did would leader to his daughter’s death and the death of many more, like it did this week.

“I’m sorry.” Jonah repeated, and Marcus sighed, pressing his face to the bars. Jonah did the same, seeking comfort through a rare touch that wasn’t pain.

“It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s okay.”

After delivering Marcus to the pyre and giving his hand one quick squeeze, Jonah took his place. The close you were to the person being killed, the closer in the circle you went. The boys didn’t know Marcus was his best friend, but Jonah did work with him, as he did majority of those being executed today. This would not be his last dance.

Deep in the circle, Jonah saw her. The young girl Marcus did all this for, a child forced to dance at her fathers death. Marcus tried to stay quiet, trying to make it easier for his girl, but soon he became to scream, and the girl danced harder. She desperately tried to show her loyalty, the only way to keep herself safe, to dilube herself into believing her dad was a traitor to God herself.

And she danced.

And he danced.

And then he avoided her for ten years.

He was going to kill Benjamin Miller.

All rational was gone, all understand of taking it slow or requesting help, making a plan, or escaping with Iris was gone. It didn’t matter, all he saw was red. Ben was raping her. His baby. His daughter. There was no way in this planet that Iris would cheat on Rey, especially not with Ben of all fucking people. She was being forced.

When he burst into the amory, Ben wasn’t there. But Will was.

“WHERE THE GODDAMN FUCK IS YOUR BROTHER!”

This, of course, ended poorly for Jonah. He was bested, considering his gun had been revoked, and Will as always armed, leaving Jonah on the floor staring down the barrel.

“I see you found out, huh?”

“That your brother is a rapist? Yeah. I did, you sick fuck!” Jonah shouts, but Will rolled his eyes.

“Don’t play dumb, old man. You knew what he was.”

“No, I-”

“You knew damn well. Yeah, most women fell on their knees for him, but I think you knew he forced his way through more than a few times. It’s hard to say no to a god. Melody, remember her? The assasination? You know damn well why that happened. You only care now because it’s Iris.”

A pause. “That’s not fucking true.” But it didn’t have the conviction he needed it to have.

“Lets cut the shit.” Will bent down, gun still on his face ready to blow. “I have a deal for you.”

Jonah was going to be sick. He was drunker than belief, as drunk as he could get without blacking out. It was the only way he was going to get through this.

“Make her scream.” Those were his instructions. “Just make her scream, I’ll come in and save her, beat the shit out of you so she thinks you’re dead. Then, you and Iris can leave.”

Will wanted to scare you. To make you distrust the outside world, only trust him and his brothers. He didn’t want to have to worry about you and Reyansh, or any other man. He didn’t want to have to fear you walking down the halls, again and again and again. You weren’t the smartest sometimes, naive, so he wanted you to understand the danger of others. Ironic, considering your skin was mangled from Santiago.

It was for Iris. It had to be for Iris. he had to put is guilt aside and make you think he’s going to rape you.

“Do whatever you need to do. Touch her, hit her. Fuck, if you need to actually get inside her, just do it. Whatever it takes.”

“You’re disgusting. You’re willing to let me rape your wife, a 22 year old girl just to teach her a lesson?”

“It’s for her own good, Hanson. Now, you’re trying to kill my brother, so maybe it’s Iris I really need to scare?”

He wouldn’t rape you. He wouldn’t hit you. He wasn’t even going to touch you anywear untoward. When you refused to scream, he asked why and your response broke his heart. You didn’t want them to kill him. He should have cut a different deal with Will. Iris could leave with Rey, and Will could actually kill him. He’d wanted to for years, Jonah knew. Everyone is happy. Except you, probably, left alone with a house of psychopaths. But he had to think of Iris. She was here because of him. She was being punished because of him. If Jonah didn’t do this, she’d die because of him.

He stumbled in the kitchen, where he knew you’d be, dressed in a skimpy nightgown because everything else bothered your skin. Your belly was full, swelling out far enough it pushed out the fabric of your dress.

“Jonah-oh- I… was gonna take you up on the pancakes…”

we're close to the end!!!!!

Sorry it was so late. I had soooo much riters bloc and ima sayits not my best chapter, which is a shame because I saw it all so clear in my head listening to something in the nigh by bruce back in the spring ;-; I tried my best!!!!!

Well, now that we all see why jonah did what he did, what do we think?

Anyway if yall like tis, you migh like my new series, our gentle sins, which is dark logan howlett!

thank you all so so so so much for reading!!!!! i know im slow at writing sometimes esp if something pulls my focus, but thank you.

LOVE YOU ALL!

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mulders-too-large-shirt · 5 months ago

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s2 episode 24 thoughts

this episode was quite spooky. because cannibalism is real. but something about scully about to get her head chopped off and boiled seemed more outlandish than all the aliens and the guy that kills people with his shadow or even lizard man eugene tooms!

which is strange. because those things are pretty outlandish! maybe its because it was so much scarier than even evil lizard men.

let’s jump in:

so this is an episode involving more meat. did we need more meat, after the earlier meat processing content in s2 episode 10? many are saying no. but not chris carter!

we begin at a dirt road at night. in the state of arkansas. we have an older man and a younger woman named paula in a car, which is not suspicious at all! /s

oh and now the old man choking? is this natural or did she induce it with some poison. i mean maybe he deserved it, if she did. he takes some pills, so I’m guessing it is due to natural causes. now she beckons him out to the woods.

into the woods. she says he has to catch her. is she luring him into a Bigfoot trap? we have yet to really see Bigfoot, and maybe he’s hungry. although Bigfoot is more Pacific Northwest than Arkansas, i think.

author's note: we tested negative for bigfoot in this episode :(

oh! this man tripped and is now surrounded by people with flashlights and very cool masks. get axe murdered, fucker.

back in DC! aforementioned fucker has been gone for 10 weeks and scully thinks the higher ups are sending them on a wild goose chase. “i’m not questioning the legitimacy of the case, just their motives in assigning it to us” <- damn, very well spoken by a rightfully suspicious woman

oh, but at the scene, someone saw a fire. and mulder says the fire is “supposed to be the spirits of massacred Indians” OH...

(mentally i was like, please do not be another scary Indigenous story episode. and we did in fact get that. sighs deeply. we can make things scary without making Indigenous people the scary ones! or using the trauma of genocide as a setting for spooky time! well, i'm sure you, dear reader, know that, so i shall not preach to the choir, but i will point out that these thoughts were going through my mind)

“these are only legends, mulder”, says a dismissive scully. and why is her hair looking excellent today. I mean not that it isn’t usually but damn. shoutout to the hair and makeup team.

the place on the side of the road where he went missing had a big fire! could be a bonfire, both parties thought. until mulder remembered a documentary he saw in college...

(hehehehe mulder spent college watching documentaries <3)

! MULDER LORE REVEAL ! wow it's been a while since i've gotten to format some text like that. he watched a documentary about an insane asylum in college and it gave him nightmares.

(and this may not be super relevant to his character, but to ME, it is, so i shall note it <3)

he's got the VHS from the doc all loaded up, and presses play on a guy rambling about a fire demon!! who was found in the same spot as the fire mark!!! dun dun dunnn

(love the implication that he either purchased his own copy of the documentary that gave him nightmares in college, or had to go rent it from the video store. both are wonderful possibilities)

cut to arkansas. mulder is on the scene holding a plastic fork from the ground. wearing his silly sunglasses. lmaooo idk why they make me laugh. what a serious gentleman.

sheriff arrives at the scene. he says the witch’s peg to ward off spirits is normal there and also that the fire mark comes from illegal trash burning. and, as an American i am aware of how Americans love an illegal trash burn. but still. suspicious.

sheriff says the missing man george was chasing women out of town. lovely sounding fellow /s

wife questioning time!! he left her years ago. oh, but tea: the day before he went missing he was going to cite major health violations in the chicken plant! hmm... a cause for murder?

mulder gives the wife his phone number. also mulder is also looking very good today. but that is an evil voice in my head that ought to be silenced.

noooo, it's chicken plant time. no thank you ma’am, i would be out in the car <3

paula from the woods at work in the plant!!! taking mystery pills. seemingly in pain??

chicken cutting cam. oh, this is not for me!

the agents chat with the manager, who says george was trying to shut them down. and while clocked in, paula is sweating. she just gasped in front of a whole bunch of chickens and some guy with very blue eyes. she sees a human head on the chicken stand and picks it up and throws it off. shoutout to this fake decapitated head and my best friends in the prop department for making such a funny creation.

(but of course, it was a hallucination, and she really just threw a poor chicken on the floor!!! his sacrifice was in vain... gone but not forgotten)

mulder is inspecting the chicken gutting operation and i've said it before and i'll say it again: he is braver than me.

ohh, more chicken drama: george was filing a lawsuit about “line hypnosis” and it was dismissed before he vanished! he deserved to win. is there a meat processing union? there ought to be. but he was the only one citing bad health practices, the other 3 workers said it was fine... sooo what’s the truth…

“what’s that” asks mulder, who then gets shown the feed processor, and asks “chickens feed on chickens?” <- heartbreaking realization. many of us remember where we were when learning this information. i'm sure it will stick with him forever. and i'm frankly surprised he didn't know already.

NAURRR THE SLUDGE AND BLOOD nasty nasty evil

OH plot twist: paula is holding the manager with a knife to his throat… scully telling everyone to calm down. personally i would be not calm. she said “don’t get excited” but me? experiencing an active hostage situation at my place of work? i would be excited

NOOO the sheriff shot her and she fell into the feed conveyor belt processing… thing. sheriff i KNOW you are covering something up. you will not hide from me.

SHE GETS GULPED INTO THE FEED BELT THINGY GAGGG it’s giving the jungle by upton sinclair that caused many american 8th graders to confront the corruption of the meat industry

paula had gone to the doctor about headaches… like george!!! doctor had assumed the condition was stress induced. and they did have similar symptoms.

treated them both with codine… ain’t that a bit strong?? this man doesn't seem to be a very good doctor, tbh. i mean i don't think the guy that works at the chicken plant to sew back on fingers needs to be an expert in everything but like. codine for headaches? umm girl.

mr. chaco of chaco’s chicken was paula’s grandfather… if i was a grandfather rich off of chicken money, my grandkids would not be working the processing line, let me tell u that much!

back to the agents: these two should not be looking as good as they do in a chicken processing plant. they had to really step it up today to compensate for the horrors of the set.

chicken man lives in a mansion. further evidence of corruption. paula, i would not have had you working in such conditions if i was your grandfather. there has been a deep wrong here, i can see already.

and he’s got a big hat and is feeding his chicken corn. not other chickens, like the feed he makes in his plant... seems he is aware of the ethical issues implied in his business. also, mulder with those weird ass glasses.

cacho is going on about the subject of chickens. and how he built this town. he sure is taking an awful lot of credit for creating a town, pretty sure that's a team effort mr. chaco. he's also going on about how he thought george was trying to tear him down.

AUTOPSY TIME!! rare degenerative disorder in da brain of paula. and scully has only seen it one other time back in med school because you can only really find it in an autopsy. nice work, doctor! <- i just typed “nice worm 🪱” so we'll let that stay for the added sense of whimsy it provides

but despite looking like a young girl fresh out of high school, paula was born in '48?! she was 47 years old. allegedly. this is not adding up. so they go on a quest to find her birth certificate and see what the truth is.

debrief in the car. so: odds are not great that she and george had the same very rare disease

during this discussion, our duo are run off the road by a chicken truck!!!! no! oh... he drove them into a river. mulder has shifted into rescue mode as the river is red with chicken gore. i feel someone might be distracting them and trying to get the body… (this was actually not the case i was just overly suspicious)

but more chicken drama: the driver had the same symptoms as george and paula! how can this be?!

“i just came up with a sick theory, mulder” (grabs her shoulder) “ooh, I’m listening” LMAOOOO this is sososo funny to me. yeah tell me ur sick theories scully you have my full attention.

GAG!! because it is both gross and shocking. her theory: what if someone put george’s body in the feed grinder, and then since it’s a prion disease, a chicken ate it, and someone ate a chicken, and it spread to the humans!!!! AHHHH! well that would be an epidemic, because they ship chickens out across the country… she glances knowingly, implying things could be very bad

the river is filled with bird gore from the plant BLECH... who allows this??!! please say there are some modern regulations in place to prevent this being done irl.

mulder says he wants it dragged, thinking that maybe george is in there. and the sheriff is hesitant to do this. once again, i’m onto you, sheriff. i mean, a river full of chicken gore: it would be a good place to put a dead body.

and bam! a body is found. or rather. many many many bones. many bodies. and they are still going. damn.

so, we have a ton of bones. scully can put them into 9 distinct skeletons, one of which is in fact george. i love that she can do that, put the bones into distinct skeletons. she knows it's geroge from a pin in his femur!

“all of them share one, strange detail though” “well, they seem to have lost their heads” “… well, besides that” <- LMAOOOO idk why this was so funny to me... he really thought he picked up on something but he did Not.

here's the linking detail: all the bones are smooth and buffed like they have been polished. ??? who is polishing bones? it sure isn't me, i'll tell you that much.

george’s wife is at the scene, learning her husband's body has been found, and she is sobbing. and the sheriff says “we’ll take care of you” now what does THAT mean? because it's not really sounding like the welcoming words of a man who is going to guide his neighbor through tragedy, and instead like there is something bigger at play here...

back at the plant, the doctor is mentioning another guy coming down “with the symptoms”…. omg. so this IS a known thing from the inside. mr. chaco knows but he isn’t doing anything about it!!!!! chicken dramaaaa goes crazy

scully at the scene of all the bones, carrying a bucket of chicken. lmao. she is braver than me, for i would have gone vegan the first moment i set foot in chicken processing land.

mulder does some digging: 87 people have disappeared in the area in 50 years! that seems... a lot? and he thinks the same person or persons were responsible. he thinks they were EATEN!! boiled in a pot.

“they used similar evidence to prove cannibalism among on the Anasazi tribe of New Mexico” okay: 1. why do you know that 2. need to look into these allegations for myself and 3. Anasazi… that is the title of the next episode!!! what could this mean!! another cannibalism episode?!

scully is very sad to say that paula could have gotten sick from eating george :( girl I’m not convinced the chicken is clean put it down NOW

cannibalism = eternal life? follow for more crazy mulder theories!

she puts aside the chicken……. good!

mr. chaco says “he’ll handle it” and george's wife doris arrives, saying she “can’t keep lying”… she says “she did it” (!!)

OH????? she... killed her husband? that is a bold thing to admit to.

“we’re gonna take good care of you”, says mr. chaco, which raises the question: are they a cannibal cult???? is that what he means when he mentions that he “built this town”???

now what the hell is going on. <- an interjection i stand by

mulder and scully are going to the courthouse to look at the papers and all the birth records are burnt!! doris calls mulder and says he’s afraid mr. chaco will kill her… they split up…. nooooo i hate splitting up!!! i watched so much scooby doo as a kid!

GASP! a guy in a mask like we saw at the very beginning of the episode is in doris' home!!! drumbeat playing while she screams…. overall, this is very not good, i wrote, referring to the use of Indigenous imagery for this murder, and also doris being murdered in the first place

scully at the scene of the murder ft. big ass flashlight. she gets in through the side door. gun: out. trench coat: open. looks: served. diagnosis: baby girl that could kill me, and i am respectful of the fact that she has this power yet refrains from using it on me.

mulder at mr. chaco’s house. mr. chaco has some… stuff in his home. including photos with Indigenous people and also bones. having human bones in your house, and especially on display, is not a good sign of ethics in play. and a skull. Oh! it says the skull is from a tribe in New Guinea... why tf does he have that. put it back???

at the back of chaco's parlor, we see a mysterious door. mulder is busting it open.

LORD ALMIGHTY, I DID NOT THINK THERE WOULD BE HEADS INSIDE??? HELLO???

so that must be where all of the heads that mulder noticed were missing have gone. they're sewn up sort of like shrunken heads. very spooky. once again, pour one out for the props department for such a creation.

noooo chaco is in the house with scully, who was investigating the call of doris. NOOOO HE KNOCKED HER OUT!!! this seriously needs to stop happening like i'm worried about the brain damage she is experiencing.

back to mulder cam. goodness. all of these heads.

in a field now. doctor is serving some soup. to a bunch of people. who are eating around a big bonfire. do NOT tell me scully is in that meal....

she is not. YET! but he is bringing her over to be roasted. and they ate doris! chaco is yelling about turning on each other and how they were only supposed to eat outsiders. girl you shouldn't be eating anybody last time i checked.

man in the mask shows up with an axe. and chaco is decapitated in front of scully. who is put into the decapitation thingy next. GIRL THIS IS FUCKED UP!!!

mulder on the scene, just in time. he shoots the dude in the mask.

“you alright?” he asks, brushing her hair back after lifting her out of the decapitation machine. my good friend, i would venture to guess that she is not quite alright at the moment!!! this will take an awful lot of unpacking!!!

sigh. but the tenderness of the near death experience. coming back to life in someone's arms. yeah i'll romanticize that.

TEA!!! the sheriff was the one under the mask!!!!!! i knew he was up to no good.

wrap up: chicken place shut down. unclear how many citizens of the town ate people. 27 have become ill with prion disease. chaco’s plane was shot down in 1947, and he spent 7 months with a cannibalistic tribe, and also he was born in 1902, so he was 93 at his death- so the cannibalism really WAS extending life. and we see some more feed being scooped to the chickens as scully says his remains have yet to be found. end scene.

HUH???? what in da hell. so what are we thinking kids…?

well, i'll tell you something: turns out i am afraid of cannibal cults, no matter how outlandish they seem! i guess when you get a villain or evil situation of the week show like this, you WILL learn exactly what kind of fear pushes your buttons. i can imagine almost nothing scarier than being led to the slaughter like scully was. seems a purposeful commentary on the meat industry, especially when taken in with the other meat episode this season.

so, if i were scully, i do think i would need to take a week or so off. but she is just built different than i am.

some things bugged me here. first of all, like i mentioned, you don't need to throw in Indigenous people to make a scary story. like is the thought of a bunch of arkansas cannibals not horrific enough? the scary was there!

second, i have not been doing a kidnapping count, but i feel that scully is getting the rough of the deal here. i believe in gender equality when it comes to characters being kidnapped. like, an even 1:1 ratio. why are we denying mulder his damsel in distress arc? does anyone think about how he would feel? how nice it would be to see scully burst in with a gun and shoot the fellow that was about to cannibalize him?

still, it is rare an episode actually spooks me, so i must give credit where it is due. even if it felt a little outlandish, your girl was frightened! scully needs a vacation now. i also thoroughly laughed at the sick theories line and his funny sunglasses.

it's funny to note, but i like the episodes that are either very silly and light hearted, or incredibly angsty the best. and that may seem contradictory, but you cannot tell me that one breath and humbug may be on opposite ends of the tone spectrum, but they are both objectively Perfect. i'll have to think more on why they are the best in my opinion, but i think honestly i would watch these two read the dictionary.

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blueraineshadows · 1 year ago

Text

Not Just Any Other Girl

Oscar Weasley (OC) x F!MC

NSFW 🔞 alcohol, sexual tension, smut

Sexy one shot for original character, Oscar (Garreth's brother), created by @eternalremorse and used with her permission. This is stand-alone and not connected to my Brothers fic series. Long fic.

Every year, at the start of summer, Garreth Weasley would host a campout party on his family's farmland for all his friends. A tradition that was started after their 6th year at Hogwarts and was continuing on despite the friends having long since left school.

This year, MC was attending with Poppy. Their charmed overnight bags were packed along with their tent and plenty of supplies as per Garreth's 'Bring a Bottle' stipulation. Poppy placed a wide brimmed straw hat on her head and picked up the pot of Floo Powder, holding it out to MC.

"Are you ready?"

MC took a breath as she looked at the pot, trying to muster up a smile. Poppy gave her a sympathetic look. "You can't mope around forever, MC. It's time to move on."

MC nodded. Poppy was right. Her failed relationship with her Ministry man boyfriend had been the latest disastrous chapter in her love life. After only a few short months, he had presented her with a ring, and MC had run like a Graphorn had been chasing her. Not because of the proposal as such, but more the reason behind it.

Men liked her for the power that flowed in her veins. Her ancient magic was both a blessing and a curse. Why couldn't they want her for her and not her magic?

Poppy's lips lifted a little, her eyes playful. "You never know. You might get lucky at the camp out. You did sneak into the hay barn with Sebastian the summer after graduation after all. Maybe you can make a revisit."

MC blushed. "Poppy! We promised we wouldn't talk about that again."

"No, you said that. I never made any promises."

MC rolled her eyes and moved towards the Floo point. "That was three years ago, and he is in a relationship now. There will be no sneaking into the hay barn with Sebastian Sallow."

Poppy smirked. "Who said it had to be with him?"

MC threw Poppy a stern look before pinching up some Floo Powder. "The Weasley Farm!"

MC disappeared in a flicker and flash of green light, Poppy's chuckle echoing in her ears.

....*....

The cook fires were working over time, the smell of burning wood and sizzling meat filling the air as the party guests helped themselves from kegs of Butterbeer and a table laden with various other alcoholic treats. Some of those bottles were lethal, concoctions of Garreth's own design that were sure to see you crawling on your knees into your tent if you went hard, and that was if you made it there at all.

As the sun was sinking into the horizon, the fiddles and drums had come out, and there would be dancing. Enchanted fire lanterns bobbed around the secluded patch of land, logs laid out around the campfire for guests to sit on, and the various tents were set up along the tree line. It was a festive air with much laughter and chatter.

MC refilled her glass with a rather lovely fruity cocktail that was going down nicely and took a generous mouthful. Poppy stumbled up to her, a garland of flowers on her head. She pointed to it. "Look what Garreth made me," she giggled. "Isn't it lovely?"

MC nodded. "It is," she replied. "Don't tell me you're going to abandon our tent for the hay barn with Garreth tonight?"

Poppy giggled again at MC's quirked eyebrow and shook her head. "I have no immediate plans, but that may change. What about you? Have you got your eye on anyone?"

MC shook her head and took another sip of drink. "I think we are getting to that age where all the good ones are getting snapped up."

Poppy sighed, and then her eyes widened, and she grabbed MC's arm. "Merlin's beard! Look who just showed up!"

A loud cheer sounded, and MC turned to see the superstar Beater from the Montrose Magpies Quidditch team being greeted by enthusiastic party guests. Oscar Weasley, the older brother of Garreth, was not only famous, he was incredibly charming and handsome to go with it. His charms had been directed towards MC ever since Garreth had introduced them, but she had always resisted. A couple of times, she had come close to falling for it, but somehow, she had managed to hold back. She had not been one to engrave her name inside a heart with his on the back of the toilet door in the girls' bathroom at Hogwarts. There were far too many of them there already.

"Still lapping up the attention I see," MC frowned. She watched as a girl practically tripped over her own skirts, trying to get to Oscar, her cheeks pink and her eyes shining with adoration. "His photographs on the sports pages of the Prophet have him with a different girl on his arm every week."

"Take notes do you?" Poppy asked.

MC's frown deepened. "Of course not. It's just that obvious."

Poppy gave her a knowing look and poured herself another drink. "Well, don't look now, but I think Mr Popular is heading this way. Turn your lips into a smile, MC. Maybe you'll be the next pretty girl to get her photograph in the paper."

MC gaped at Poppy's audacity and just got a giggle in response as Oscar arrived at the drinks table.

His lovely red hair tumbled across his forehead, and his face was covered in freckles just like Garreth. Tall with broad shoulders, he had the perfect physique for a Beater, his shirt the perfect fit for highlighting the muscle in his arms and chest. He held himself with confidence, and in his gaze, he had that cheeky Weasley twinkle that was most irresistible.

"Good evening ladies," he greeted. "Don't you look lovely."

Poppy immediately held out her hand and was rewarded with a kiss on the back of it. MC folded her arms and merely smiled, aloof and definitely not impressed. At least, that was the look she was going for. "Hello, Oscar."

His smile lit up his face, his blue eyes twinkling as he turned them on her. MC ignored the little flutter of her pulse as he did so. There was just something so alluring about the way his eyes seemed to caress you, drawing you in until everything else seemed to fade out.

"MC, I swear you grow prettier every time I see you," he said.

He didn't mind that she hadn't offered him her hand. He merely stepped up and pressed a kiss to her cheek instead, the alluring spice of his cologne filling her nose, the soft brush of his lips against her skin making the alcohol in her blood sing with fire.

His face lingered close after the kiss, his eyes blazing into hers, and she fought against the need to gulp down air into her lungs. His gaze dropped to her lips, and his own twitched ever so slightly before he straightened, his look almost predatory, and MC fought against the way it made her insides squirm with heat.

"I'm sure every girl you meet has the pleasure of hearing you say that," she said, tightening her folded arms. "You don't need to flatter me, however. I've known you too long for that."

He smirked, eyes devouring her. "Five years in fact, and yet you still manage to astound me with those beautiful eyes of yours."

Poppy was behind him, her face one of mischief as she stuck her thumb up, nodding her head enthusiastically before she scampered away, her flower crown jostling as she joined the dancers. MC would definitely be having words with her later for abandoning her like this, leaving her to the dangerous charms of Oscar Weasley.

In an attempt to distract him from staring at her the way he was, she turned to the drinks table. "What are you drinking? Or are you on a health drive being an athlete now and all that."

Oscar stepped up beside her, leaning over to glance at the varied bottles on the table, his shoulder brushing against hers. MC tensed and almost stepped back as he picked up a bottle of vivid blue. "I take it these are Garreth's monstrosities."

MC laughed, the sound slipping automatically from her lips. "Actually, these are pretty good," she said. "He deserves more credit for his talents."

Oscar grinned and put down the bottle, selecting another and taking a sniff. "You have always been Garreth's biggest supporter, MC. I'm surprised he hasn't pulled you into bed by now."

"Who says he hasn't?" She quipped.

He looked taken aback for a moment but recovered quickly. "And has he?"

MC laughed, holding her fingers to her mouth as she did so. "Oh, the look on your face," she chuckled. She shook her head. "No, he hasn't. I'm one of his best friends, Oscar. And that means something to us."

He gave her a long, heated look. "Well, I would say that's Garreth's loss."

"Of course you would," she said. She picked up her drink. "You're hardly short of simpering females to warm your bed though, Oscar. So I doubt it bothers you all that much. Oh, and I can recommend the fruity pink tipple. It's rather lovely."

She raised her glass and gave him a big smile before she sauntered off into the crowd, leaving him to shake his head in amusement.

....*....

The sun had finally slipped below the horizon, the sky a blanket of emerging stars as the music thumped and people danced. MC was dancing with a drink in her hand, Garreth beside her. He grabbed her free hand and twirled her around, laughing when she nearly spilt her drink.

"Down it," he said into her ear. She grinned and did just that, lifting her cup up when she was done with a cheer. Garreth grabbed her about the waist, lifting her off the ground and spinning around.

MC squealed, the scene around her blurring as she spun. She tilted her head back to look up at the starry sky, laughter pealing from her lips. Poppy was right. Coming here was the best medicine to pull her out of her slump. Then she was falling, both her and Garreth tumbling to the grass in a heap. She rolled, Garreth scrambling to check that she was alright.

"Bloody hell, I'm so sorry," he said. She looked up at him and burst out laughing again. He looked alarmed, and then he started laughing, too.

"I'm glad you two find it so funny," Oscar said, appearing above them. He held out his hand, and MC looked at him, her laughter fading as she reached up to clasp it. He pulled her up, and she staggered into his arms.

He held her steady, pressed up against his solid frame, his eyes blazing with amusement and something else. Something dangerous that stroked at her deep inside. MC couldn't seem to break the eye contact, and she thought she should before she did something stupid, like let him kiss her.

Because she didn't want that, did she? Oscar would warm her bed for the night, and then he would be gone the next day. She didn't really see herself as a conquest, but then she ran from any man who tried to put a ring on her finger, too. Maybe a warm bed for the night wouldn't be so bad.

"Watch those hands of his, MC," Garreth said from behind her. "Merlin knows where they have been."

Oscar flicked his gaze towards Garreth with narrowed eyes that were more impish than anything else. He murmured close to MC's ear, his words low and soft. "I know where I want them to be."

MC felt her body tighten, heat searing through her as an image materialised behind her eyes. Oscar, naked against bed sheets, his hands on her skin. She swallowed and felt the heat flare even more. His gaze moved to hers, and what he saw there pulled a smirk onto his lips.

She realised she was still pressed against him, his hands on her lower back. She stepped away, and his hands grazed her waist, reluctantly releasing her with the softest of touches. She tucked her hair behind her ear and forced herself to look away from the allure of his blue eyes.

"I'm rather thirsty after all that dancing," she said. "I'm going to grab another drink."

Garreth's eyes brightened. "I know what you need," he said. He grabbed her hand. "Come on, I've been saving the best till last. You're going to love it."

MC let him tug her through the dancers, glancing back over her shoulder as she followed, her eyes meeting immediately with Oscar's. He gave her a smile that sent a shiver along her spine, the warmth of his body still lingering from where he had held her. Her resistance was slipping.

....*....

It was late. The sky was at its darkest before the dawn. Some had retreated to their tents already, others were still drinking and making the most of things. There was still music and dancing, but somehow it had turned into couples, and she didn't know how it had happened, but MC was pressed up against Oscar. His arms were around her waist, her arms were around his neck, and the movement of their hips made her ache in ways that had her biting her lip.

His mouth was so close to her ear that she could feel the heat of his breath against her skin. It was borderline sinful how it made her feel. Her resistance slipped further, and her head tilted, just enough to be inviting, and she felt the slow scrape of teeth along the shell of her ear. A pulse of heat rolled upwards from her core, and a moan slipped from her mouth.

His grip on her tightened, his fingers curled into the soft fabric of her blouse. "Now that was a delicious moan," he said. His thumb traced circles through her blouse against her lower back. "I want to make you do that again."

Her breaths came quick and shallow, her fingertips delicately toying with his hair at his neck. His hand slid to her hip, and he held her against him, rolling his hips with the music and her mind spun. "Oscar..." She whispered.

"Hmm?" His low hum was close to her ear, the deep resonance of it sliding along her flesh. She shivered.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered. His lips were soft and delicate against her ear, almost like a kiss and her skin tingled for more. "I want to hear you say it."

The rocking of their hips was hypnotic. She relaxed into it, moving against him as the need for friction pierced her. His whispered words filtered through the haze of lust that clouded her mind.

Oh, she wanted him.

It was like a craving, a need that tugged at the deepest places, and she wanted relief. For years, she had held him back, and tonight, he had found a crack in her resolve. He had her held against him, dancing in ways that should be considered scandalous.

But, oh, did it feel good.

She turned her head slightly so that she could look at him, intense blue eyes framed with thick copper lashes offered her the fulfilment of deep desires, and she felt her weakening resistance slip a little more.

"I know what you want," she whispered.

He smirked. "I've been waiting years for you to admit you want it too. You're the one who always gets away, MC."

"So, what happens if I give in?"

His eyes darkened, and he moved his mouth back towards her ear. "I get to hear you moan for me, MC. I promise you, if you let me, you will have plenty of reasons to fall apart in my hands."

Her thoughts drifted to all the girls who had ever been on his arm. Had he whispered the same words to them, luring them into his bed with promises of pleasure. The temptation was real, and she could understand how easy it would be to give in.

"I don't want to be just another girl in a photograph on the back page of the Daily Prophet," she said quietly.

He held her jaw with his finger tips, his gaze travelling over her face. "You could never be just another girl, MC. Does the fact I've been trying to impress you for 5 years not tell you anything?"

She narrowed her gaze. "I hope you're not trying to convince me of your undying love for me here, Weasley."

He chuckled, his thumb grazing gently along her cheek. "I wouldn't go that far. But, I do like you, MC. There is something about you that always pulls me back every time I see you. You can tell me no, I won't hold it against you. But I do want you in my bed."

MC looked into his eyes. He stared back, unflinching and open, their bodies still moving to the music as the party carried on around them. For a moment, it had felt like they had dipped into a little bubble of their own.

No games, no promises he could break, just the offer of his bed and company. MC felt the last of her resistance crumble, and she admitted to herself that she very much liked the idea of being in Oscar Weasley's bed.

Her eyes dropped to his mouth, the curve and dip of his top lip sat so satisfyingly against the plumpness of his lower, and she wondered how soft it would be between her teeth. Her head moved closer as she considered it. She could just give it a little tug, a teasing test to satisfy a burning curiosity.

Her eyes hazed as she vaguely noticed his lips part, her eyelids fluttering fully closed as her teeth caught that plump, pink flesh. Her top lip brushed against his, soft and warm, before she pushed her teeth in harder and tugged. She heard his intake of breath. She savoured the sound as she rolled his lip, her tongue flicking forward to soothe her bite.

His hands slid down to cup her arse, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pressed her firmly against him, the unmistakable bulge of his arousal pressed near her hip. She rubbed herself against it, and his soft, breathy groan sounded against her lips. Hearing him like that made her need twist sharp and hot. She turned his words back to him.

"That was a delicious moan, Oscar," she said. She stared into his eyes with intent. "Let me make you do that again."

He didn’t need to be told twice. Holding her hand, he led her away from the party, past the line of pitched tents and towards the gate that led back towards the farm. The music dwindled into the night, and she wondered idly if he was taking her to the hay barn.

However, they made a turn, cutting down the side of the barn and across the yard towards another outbuilding.

"Where are we going?" She asked.

As they walked out of the shadow of the barn, low, pale moonlight lit them both. He turned to give her a smirk, pausing in his step a moment to look at her. He looked carved from marble in this light, so utterly beautiful, and it stole her breath. He cupped her face, bending his head slowly until his lips brushed against hers.

"I'm taking you to my bed," he said.

He began to lead her again, around the back of a red brick building with a pitched roof, some kind of storage shed by the looks of it. At the rear was a flight of steps that led to a wooden door. Oscar unlocked it and pulled her inside. With a flick of his wand, a lamp was lit on a table to reveal a loft space that had been transformed into a bedroom.

There was a large bed and a dresser, a desk and chair and woven rugs scattered on the floor for warmth and colour. Quidditch posters adorned the low walls, and a Gryffindor flag hung from a beam in the ceiling. MC stared around the room, walking towards the centre as she gazed at his belongings. It was a glimpse into the real Oscar.

"You live here?"

He nodded, discarding his wand on the desktop. "When I am not touring the country with the Magpies, I live here. I don't take up room in the main house, and I get my privacy, but I still benefit from the perks of home cooked food and free laundry."

MC grinned. "Sneaky."

He chuckled and removed his waistcoat, draping it over the chair, before moving closer towards her. He cupped her face with both hands. "Finally, I've got you alone."

She toyed with the top button on his shirt, the collar of which was already open. "I fully expect you to have your wicked way with me," she whispered.

"Believe me, I intend to."

His kiss was no mere brush of his lips this time. This kiss was pure dominance, a claiming of her mouth that had her fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt and a moan sounding in her throat. He tasted like firewhiskey, the scent of fire smoke clung to them both, and MC welcomed the deep swirl of his tongue against hers.

As dominant as his kiss was, he did not rush. If anything, Oscar took his time exploring the warmth of her mouth, his hands sliding down her back and over her hips at a leisurely pace. She had half expected him to tear her clothes free of her body and ravish her, but he didn't.

His mouth moved to her neck, fingers sliding into the hair at the back of her head as he titled her backwards, lips and tongue exploring from ear to collar bone. Deft fingers plucked at the buttons of her blouse, one at a time with gentle slowness, the fabric slipping from her shoulders in a graceful slide that made her shiver.

MC began to unbutton his shirt, her fingers fumbling with her eagerness as she tugged them free to expose the expanse of his chest. Her hands greedily smoothed across the firm muscle, her teeth sinking into her lower lip at the sculpted flesh before reaching for his trouser fastening. He chuckled before grasping her wrists, halting her movements.

"Easy now, MC," he said quietly. He kissed her cheek, the corner of her mouth, and then a slow, teasing kiss to her lips. "Slow down. I want to savour every moment of this now that I have you at my mercy."

He lifted her with ease, wrapping her legs around his waist as he kissed her, walking her slowly towards his bed before laying her down. His mouth found skin and kissed, sliding her chemise upwards over ribs, again with aching slowness, as he explored every inch of her.

As the soft cotton rumpled up to expose her breasts, his sigh fanned against her skin, goose bumps spreading as the tip of his tongue swirled over a hardening peak, his mouth claiming it to nip and suck until she was arching up from the bed. His free hand took care of her other breast, gently moulding it against his palm before he tugged her chemise clear of her head. He leant back on his knees to look down at her, his eyes hungry and dark, and he licked his lips.

"So beautiful," he murmured.

MC drew quick, deep breaths, her own eyes staring hungrily at his open shirt. She reached up to continue removing it, but again, he held her wrists, pinning her arms to the bed. He shook his head. "Not yet. I'm not done," he said.

He rolled her, MC gasping in surprise as he slid his palm up her back, sliding her hair to the side so that it fell over her shoulder onto the bed. She closed her eyes, a small whimper leaving her mouth as he pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. His lips moved with aching slowness, soft and teasing as he kissed across her shoulders, worshipping every piece of skin over shoulder blades and along her spine.

MC twitched, her hips flexing as the need for friction began to build to almost unbearable levels. His hands shaped her hips, moulded the curve of her backside, fingers dragging up the sides of her thighs as his tongue swirled in the small of her back.

Never before had a man taken so much time over her, worshipping her body in a way that made her feel almost shy. The edge had softened on the alcohol she had consumed, her senses on high alert as Oscar discovered inch after inch of her body with lips, tongue, and softly caressing fingers.

She groaned, leaning on her elbows, head pressed against the bed as she ached for more. As he undid her trousers and slid them down, exposing the delicate cotton and lace of her underwear, MC was almost panting with anticipation as he slightly parted her thighs. She felt his lips on the backs of them, moving slowly upwards as fingers slid under the edge of her knickers to grasp peachy flesh. He moaned, dragging her knickers down to sink his teeth into a cheek, biting gently before drawing the flesh into a sinful suck.

"You've got a delicious arse, MC," he moaned. He kissed all over it, tongue swirling, and MC squirmed, his hands gripping her hips to hold her steady as his tongue slid seductively at the top of her crack.

"Oscar..." She whined. The touch of his mouth there sent tingles over her skin, the flesh sensitive.

Teasing fingers tickled downwards, brushing through the crack of her backside before just glancing against her heat, the gentle probe of a finger sliding far too swiftly against the slick gathering there. She moaned, head lifting, thighs twitching open at that brief touch, hungry for more.

Oscar chuckled deeply, sliding her underwear completely free before rolling her back over. He began his slow, torturous kisses again, this time starting at her ankle and working up to her knee, parting her legs so he could suck at her inner thighs.

MC was quivering by now, so desperate for him that she pushed her fingers into his hair, trying to urge him higher. Again, he took her wrists, pinning them to the bed. "Patience, MC," he teased, his smirk sinful. "You are a greedy little thing."

"You're killing me here," she whined.

"All in good time, MC. I told you, I am going to savour every last inch of you. Don't make me tie your hands, because I will."

MC whimpered, hips flexing, her thighs desperate to squeeze together. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Weasley," she groaned through gritted teeth.

He crawled up her body, kissing as he went, claiming her mouth in a deep, probing kiss. He pressed his hips against her, and she wrapped her legs about him as he began to grind against her.

"Is this what you want?" He spoke into her mouth, breath hot as it mingled with hers, hips rolling and his arousal a firm tease against her heat.

"Yes," she panted.

Her fingers were seeking out his waistband, sliding around to try and get to his fastenings, and this time, he let her. She wasted no time with the freedom he allowed her, tugging them open and sliding a hand inside to seek out the silken, heated flesh of his arousal.

She made a delighted sound of triumph as she wrapped a hand around him and slid upwards. He moaned and thrust into her hold. "Fuck..."

She pumped twice, savouring his noises of approval before he pulled back away from her, grinning smugly as he grabbed her hands and pinned them above her head.

"Enough playtime for you," he said.

MC huffed, almost pouting up at him, bucking her hips upwards. He chuckled and bent to kiss at her neck, nipping at her ear. "How badly do you want it, MC? Are you at the point of begging yet?"

She gasped, eyes wide. "Is that what you want?"

"I'm going to taste you first," he whispered. He slid his tongue across her lower lip, sucking at it softly before sliding downwards, kissing down the valley of her breasts. He explored her ribs and stomach, tongue dipping into her navel before he paid close attention to her hips and then lower.

MC immediately widened her thighs, his hands pressing them even wider so he could slide his tongue at the junction of her leg. He kissed downwards, always avoiding where she desperately needed him, his mouth sucking at the flesh where her backside curved under into leg.

Her hands were in his hair, soft pleas spilling from her lips as he parted her open with his thumbs, the pads sliding along her folds and gathering up the juice that was already gathered in anticipation. He moaned, circling her entrance slowly before pushing upwards to press against her nub. She arched, mouth parting. "Please..." She whined. "Oh, fuck, please!"

"Gods, you're so perfect," he whispered.

His mouth claimed her, tongue sliding hungrily as he positioned his lips around her clit and slowly sucked, little flicks of his tongue adding to mix. MC's hands left his head to reach up and grab the sheet as her back arched, fire spreading with shocking speed through her veins at the bliss of him doing what she needed at long last. Moans of pleasure and relief left her mouth as he worked, his hands having to pin her hips down as she bucked upwards.

Almost immediately, her thighs began to tremble, her abdomen beginning to tighten, and she gasped, fingers flexing and gripping as she soared towards climax. With a wet sucking sound, Oscar removed his mouth, and MC whimpered in shock, her climax stuttering to a pause, and she pushed herself up onto her elbows.

"What are you doing?!" She cried. "Don't stop!"

"Oh, I'm not stopping, sweetheart," he said. "Trust me."

Oscar's eyes blazed as he looked up at her, his finger sliding slowly across her entrance before pushing inside, stretching her before sliding a second finger in to join it. MC stared, her cheeks flushed and mouth parted as he kept her gaze locked with his, his fingers sliding and curling up to press firmly against her sweet spot.

She had the urge to bear down, hips rolling as he pumped slowly, still looking up at her as he swirled his tongue against her again. Picking up where she left off, MC moaned, the pressure building swiftly until she felt the first flutter, toes curling, Oscar's fingers sinking deeper as her walls contracted around them.

MC gasped at the intensity, the tight heat that gripped her as she hit the peak. He urged her through her climax with lips and tongue, MC finally breaking their searing eye contact to sink back onto the bed, breathing hard.

She stared up at the rafters trying to regather her thoughts, her mind still reeling as her body twitched and pulsed with aftershocks. After such a slow and teasing build-up, her climax had shattered through her, the heat and throb almost overwhelming.

She felt the slow brush of fingers, Oscar stroking her again, gentle flicks against her that made her squirm from over stimulation. His tongue slid slowly upwards, joining his finger tip in the tease and she tried to scoot up the bed away from him, but strong hands gripped her hips and pulled her back, mouth claiming her again in a torturous slow suck that made her cry out.

"Oscar, please..." Her fingers grappled for purchase on the twisted sheets. His chuckle reverberated against her, and she gasped before he finally released her and sat up, wiping his mouth.

"Did you want me to stop?" He asked playfully.

MC pushed up, eyeing him, noticing that he had shed the rest of his clothing at some point and his cock was solid, pink and inviting with a gleam of precum at the tip. He smirked at the direction of her gaze, taking a hold of himself and sliding his hand along the shaft with deliberate strokes. "I know what you want," he teased.

He crawled up the bed towards her, his eyes like a predator coming to claim his kill, and MC shivered with anticipation, dropping back down onto the bed and reaching for him. His hands scooped under her back, pulling her up to sit facing him, his mouth claiming hers in a deep kiss, tilting her head back with the force of it. Her hands smoothed over his firm muscles, soft moans leaving her as she reached down to squeeze his backside. It was so peachy but firm.

He rolled them both, laying back on the bed with her on top of him, his hands adjusting her so that she straddled him. She immediately began to grind against him, his soft sounds of approval making him grip her hips. His gaze travelled over her as he urged her to sit up.

"I want to watch you," he said. His hands cupped her breasts, thumbs teasing at the peaks as he bit his lip. "I want to see everything as you fuck me."

MC squeezed her thighs around him, arousal waking up deep inside her again, stoked by the fire in his gaze. She brushed her fingertips over his abs, nails scraping slowly through the hair below his navel. Oscar gritted his teeth, muscles tensing under her touch and then groaning as she wrapped her hand around his length.

MC wasted no time settling over him, lining him up and pressing down, his hand splayed across her stomach as she did so. He whispered soft words of appreciation at the feel of her, gently rocking his hips upwards as MC sat firmly against him. Such a full feeling, she closed her eyes and gently swivelled her hips, savouring the deep penetrative feel of their joined bodies.

"You look so good sitting on my cock," he moaned. He grasped her hips, holding her down as he thrust upwards. "Fuck, yes..."

MC began to move, rolling and swivelling her hips at a slow pace, teasing him as much as he had teased her. His open-mouthed groan was filthy, his own hips rolling to her rhythm as he squeezed at her hips and thighs. His cheeks were flushing pink, red lines now blooming on his stomach where she had dragged her fingers across it.

The way they moved together seemed to mimic the dance they had shared in the field, slow, rthymic, sensual. MC let her head fall back, hair trailing down her back, eyes closed and biting her lip as she felt the heat gathering. It felt so good to fuck him, to hear his moans and feel his hands on her skin, she was lost in the sensations of it all.

When she looked back down at him, his eyes were all over her, drinking in the sight, hands roaming from her hips to her breasts to her thighs. She picked up the speed a bit, his face shifting with his pleasure as he gripped her hip, urging her. "That's it, sweetheart, faster..."

MC bounced harder and faster, knees and thighs beginning to burn with the effort, but gods did it feel good. She braced her hands on his chest, cries leaving her lips as the pressure began to tighten inside of her, rolling her hips to make him rub against her sweet spot just right.

"Fuck, I'm sorry, but I've got to do it," he gasped. He sat up, wrapping an arm about her waist and flipping them. MC hit the bed with a thump, hair splayed out behind her as Oscar pressed her legs wide and slid deep, bracing his hands against the bed as he began to thrust hard and fast.

His breaths were harsh through parted lips, his brow creased and sweat forming on his brow as he pounded into her. MC barely had time to catch her breath, hands clinging to the bed sheets, cries falling from her lips.

"Arch your back for me," he gasped.

The swift build of pressure made her lift her hips, Oscar holding on to them as he braced himself with his knees.

"Such a good girl," he groaned. "I can feel you clenching... so tight... fuck."

MC hit the peak for the second time with a keening sound that sent Oscar over the edge, he held her pelvis tightly against him, grinding deep as he came, heat pulsing deep within her as he filled her up, before easing them both gently back down to the bed.

Both of them breathing fairly hard, Oscar took hold of her chin, gently angling her face so that he could kiss her. Such a soft, gentle kiss after the heated finish before he moved to lay beside her, his arm circling her waist to tug her close against him.

MC closed her eyes, face buried against his sweat slicked chest, breathing in their combined scent and just existing in their bubble of heat.

....*....

The sun was quite high in the sky when MC blinked sleepily against the golden glow shining through the window at the far end of the loft room. A heavy warmth was pressed up against her back, a freckled arm wrapped snugly about her waist and steady even breaths near her ear of a sleeping Oscar.

MC lay there, slowly waking up, muscles aching pleasantly after their exertions in the early hours. Her head was a bit fuzzy from the alcohol, but she felt okay, her thoughts more geared towards wondering how things would play out this morning.

No doubt, Poppy was probably wondering where she was, although someone must have seen her leave with Oscar last night. She had finally given in, and she couldn't help the small smirk that lifted her lips. It had been worth it.

Shifting a little, feeling rather warm with Oscar wrapped around her, MC tried to be careful as she moved. Oscar's arm tightened, tucking her in even closer as he bent to nuzzle at her neck, mouth pressing a soft kiss there.

"Don't even think about escaping, MC," he murmured, voice husky with sleep. "I'm not done with you yet."

Her eyes widened. "Is that so?"

He hummed, his hand cupping her breast as he kissed her neck. "It took me so long to get you in my bed, I am not going to let you out of it."

"You will have to let me go at some point," she pointed out.

He turned her, pressing down on her, trapping her beneath him. His eyes were adorable, sleepy but lit with mischief, red indents from the creased pillow marking his cheek. He pressed kisses over her face, hands roaming freely along her body.

"And what if I don't want to?" He teased. "What will it take to keep you with me?"

MC felt her heart skip a little, her eyes searching his. "You don't mean that," she said, shaking her head. "... do you?"

He brushed her hair back from her face, fingers trailing down her cheek. "I do. I told you last night, you are not just any girl, MC."

She stared at him. Speechless.

He smiled, blue eyes twinkling, and he patted the bed beside her. "There is a space right here for you if you want it. And this isn't something I offer lightly. This room is my private space. I hardly ever bring anyone else here."

"So, why me?" She asked, stunned.

He studied her, hand gentle against her face. "You deserve so much more than a quick romp in a barn or against a tree," he said. "I wanted to enjoy you properly. I just hoped you would feel the same. I still can't believe you're actually here, to be honest."

She smiled, warmth spreading through her as she took hold of his wrist, thumb caressing his skin. "Well, I am here," she said softly. "And I'm not leaving, not just yet anyway."

His grin spread slowly across his face as bent down to kiss her.

....*....

The trees were turning, reds and golds eliminating the green of the leaves against a sky of blue, the breeze feeling just chilly enough to warn that winter would follow swiftly after the glory of autumn. MC tugged her black and white Montrose Magpie scarf tighter around her neck as she stood in the VIP stand at the Magpie's Quidditch stadium.

It was match day, and she was here to support Oscar alongside Garreth and Poppy. They, too, were wearing Magpie scarves, their cheeks pink as they giggled over their whispered secrets, Garreth sneaking kisses against her neck as he held her. MC smiled as she watched them. She wasn't the only one to have started something new the night of the camp out.

MC looked up as the players shot across the sky on their brooms, racing around the stadium before the start of the match. Oscar slowed to give her a wave as he passed, blowing her a kiss before zooming off.

All over the summer the back pages of the Daily Prophet had been charting the success of the Magpie team, the photographs of the players being somewhat more consistent, because the only girl ever photographed with Oscar now was MC.

She had taken up his offer of a spot in his bed, and he had kept his word about keeping her there. Not that she ever wanted to leave it, of course. With lips that kissed the way he did and hands that knew her every curve by now, there was nowhere else she would rather be.

#hogwarts legacy fanfic #oscar weasley x mc #oscar weasley #blueraineshadows

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magebastard · 2 months ago

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one more or one less

wc: 586

relationship: local nerd best friends rome lavellan and dorian pavus

rating: t for injury

notes: dorian and rome are best friends and found family and I have a lot to say about them. also rome uses they/she pronouns! i should reiterate that more when i post abt them

He is her brother in all but blood.

They are sleepless creatures. In the dead of night, she wanders the grounds like a spirit. He stews in his cups and spins the equations of magic and time and life all together. Eventually, they find each other. They burn midnight oil like hearth kindling.

Dorian wields magic with a mathematical, precise and cool clarity. Death and un-death, he calibrates and adjusts and notates in neat margins.

Rome wields magic with writhing chemistry. Hot and shocking, they bruise the veil and compound their spell make-up with something stark and incongruous. If they remember to take notes, they’re on the back of a missive from some dignitary or another.

They are a team. Handing coffee and suggestions back and forth, muttering theories to each other in the throes of their weird work. They spend hours upon hours this way, when they are not saving a world that will never thank them.

In the soft quiet before dawn breaks, when they’ve whittled their enthusiasm into dredges, one or the other of them will pose a question to break the rhythm they’ve found.

“What did you want to be when you were younger?”

“What awoke your interest in the arithmetic of the physiological density of the veil?”

“What do you want to be, now?”

“Where is your favorite place in the world—so far?”

“Do you think Tevinter can be changed?”

“Do you think anything can be changed?”

“What makes a home?”

It makes sense, eventually.

In the Western Approach, after they’ve tarried with the Abyssal High Dragon, Dorian lies unconscious after several sloppy bouts of urgent healing.

They travel together often and not once in that time has camp ever been so silent. Humorless. Rome worries. They pace the length of their campsite, muttering. Blackwall and Bull offer their patience in place of their platitudes. Dorian’s wounds are mended and the worst of the danger has passed. The warriors leave Rome to their fretting and set off to extract the most valuable pieces from the fallen beast. Before they get too far Rome calls out, weakly, “please remember to collect the blood. There was a rune Dorian wanted.”

The two men look back for a long moment.

“You got it, boss.”

And she’s alone again.

It hits her just then. Her eyes won’t wander for too long, she won’t go too far from his tent. If he calls, they will be there. It makes sense.

When Rome was a child, her older brother and her youngest sister fell through the frozen surface of a lake.

They were playing. Skating, giving chase. Loud, jovial and there and then gone.

To this day, Rome tries not to think about the biting cold of the lake as they dove in after them. They remember Deshanna throwing furs over their heads, tutting and Hahren Shidan calling them brave.

It didn’t feel very brave.

It felt like the hand moving as the mind tells it to. Reflex. Blood doesn’t run bravely from the heart to the brain. It just does.

So Rome jumped.

A dragon flung her massive fist out, throwing Dorian into a stone pillar.

So Rome fried its heart.

They would get along, she thought. Dorian, her two younger sisters and her older brother. They’d adore him and his wit. They’d adore his rebellious spirit. They’d adore that he took care of her like one of them.

Gods, but she missed them.

“Ah, elfroot. And something tells me this splitting headache isn’t a hangover at all. I’m far too coherent.”

Rome releases a heavy breath. Allows herself to breathe fully and deeply back in.

#dragon age #dragon age: inquisition #dorian pavus #lavellan #c: rome #myfic #da:i #miiiught start just writing abt all companion relationships I want to FUCK AROUND

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dragoneyes618 · 6 months ago

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On May 6, Ben, a Jewish New Yorker who was raised Orthodox, counter-protested a pro-Palestinian rally that was part of the “Citywide Day of Rage for Gaza,” outside of CUNY Hunter College on Manhattan’s Upper East Side.

The “Day of Rage” coincided with Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day.

The event was promoted by Within Our Lifetime (WOL), an anti-Zionist organization spearheaded by Nerdeen Kiswani, a 2022 CUNY law commencement speaker who was caught on video telling a man, while she was holding a lit lighter, that she wanted to light his IDF sweatshirt on fire.

WOL announced the “Day of Rage” rally with an incendiary image of someone covered in a keffiyeh holding a fiery torch, which student groups, Palestine Solidarity Alliance (PSA) and CUNY for Palestine, posted onto their social media. Ben, who said he’d prefer to use only his first name, told The Jewish Press, “This was an angry mob and Within Our Lifetime was inciting a riot with obvious warlike imagery.”

He asked, “Inciting a riot – is that a crime anymore?”

Three months ago, The New York Jewish Week reported that a spokesperson for Meta, which owns Instagram and WhatsApp, told them that WOL accounts has been removed for violating its “Dangerous Organizations & Individuals policy.”

Ben said a high percentage of the protestors “seemed to be Arab,” and that he believed “a lot of them were definitely not Hunter students…they were much older.”

He was aware of a police presence, and didn’t see violent eruptions at that time.

To counter the pro-Palestinian slogans, Ben chanted back, “Down with Hamas! Victory for Israel!”

Ben said the protestors marched out of Hunter and around the Upper East Side in “a snaky path…probably trying to avoid the police.” He believes they could have been heading towards the Met Gala, where The New York Post reported over 1,000 protestors were being blocked by police. Ben explained, “They got filmed by half the city beating and harassing people, blocking traffic and swarming the Met Gala.”

As Ben followed them along Madison Ave. up toward 86th street, he described the crowd as “all over the place…arguing with people… exchanging insults with pro-Israel people.”

In a video posted on X, two masked men harassed a man with a dog in the street, and one of them threatened to slap the woman he was with.

Ben said a middle aged woman yelled “Heil Hitler!” at him, and a girl whose face was covered in a hijab shouted, “Hitler would burn you all!”

Ben relayed how he “let passion take over. I took out my Israeli flag. I just started shouting, “Nazis, out of the East Side! Nazis, out of the East Side!’” He said he called them Nazis because the “Day of Rage” was on Holocaust Remembrance Day, and the protestors reminded him of “the pro-Nazi German American Bund that used to march on the Upper East Side back in the 30s.”

Jewish World War I veterans and gangsters like Benjamin “Bugsy” Siegel took to the streets to battle them, believing it was their civic duty to fight back.

On 74th and Park Ave., Ben said there were no police in sight and he was assaulted – punched in the body and face, and kicked multiple times by different assailants. When one of them snatched his sudra decorated with the Star of David off his head, he dove into the violent crowd and retrieved it, waving it triumphantly. “I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of taking away my symbol,” he explained.

Someone threw a stone at Ben, injuring his right peck. A few people chased him down the street afterwards, but Ben said he walked and didn’t run because he “didn’t want to look like a coward.” Ben noticed that the glasses he was wearing weren’t even broken.

The Jewish Press has confirmed Ben’s account via the video that has been posted on social media.

Ben said that only after he viewed the video online did he see two New York intelligence offices restraining protestors who shoved and cursed at them on 74th street between Lexington and Park avenues.

Ben lost his beloved Chai necklace, which he believes someone could have grabbed off of his neck. He commented, “My uncle who gave who gave me that necklace would be proud that I lost it doing that.”

You can see the video here: https://x.com/nicksortor/status/1787671509051298154?s=46.

#antisemitism

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alidravana · 2 years ago

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Finally thought of another Ghost x Gender Neutral Reader drabble (although perhaps it's closer to a one shot), so please enjoy!

Reference to PTSD, drinking (but not intoxicated), and swearing. Suggestive themes, bordering on mature content.

Starting snippet below, rest of the fic below the cut!

Your friend was the one to notice him first, standing back in the shadows. She made some inappropriate joke about how ugly he must be to hide his face like that, one that you might normally take her to task about, but you weren’t feeling it tonight.

No, you thought as you glanced towards the masked man, sometimes you wished you could wear one too.

You took a sip of your drink, wincing at the burn. Frowning down at your drink, you wondered why you had ordered it straight, and then remembered. Good looking gentleman at the bar, touch on the older side, had one sent to you. Too old for your personal preferences, but nothing said you had to turn down the drink.

You snuck a peak out of the corner of your eye back in the direction of the masked man. He appeared to be with a couple friends, the men sitting too close to be anything less than friends. Your eyes lingered on the broadness of his shoulders, the curve of his muscles which were barely being covered by the thin sweatshirt he had on. Definitely had the strength to lift you, that’s for sure.

You bit your lip, debating whether or not to go over and introduce yourself. Your friends had dragged you out for the night, and considering you were normally one to party, you said yes, even though you had felt like saying no. You couldn’t quite put it into words, but something felt off about the night.

Standing up, you straightened your shirt, chugging the last bit of your drink for extra courage. Taking a deep breath, you waved a goodbye to your friends, and headed in the direction of dark and handsome. If he said yes, you could leave and if he said no, you could leave. It was a win/win situation.

As you got closer, you felt as though someone was watching you and when you glanced back up, you realized that the masked man’s eyes had been tracking your progression across the dance floor. A predator then, not the prey you were expecting.

You almost turned around right then, not used to being the one being chased. But then you saw the slight slump in his shoulders, the way he was curled in at the table, and how everyone else had migrated away, and you couldn’t stop yourself from continuing to walk over. Not a predator either.

“Haven’t seen you here before…” you said softly, flicking a piece of hair back behind your ear. “Mind if I sit?”

He shrugged, nodding towards the seat next to him. While not a glowing welcome, you didn’t really expect anything more, but something made you keep talking.

“Or would you rather go someplace quieter?” You said even softer, not really wanting the other men to overhear, looking directly at the masked man. Up close, he was even taller and more built than you had thought. Combined with the positioning, the stare, the eyes that you had felt, you drew the conclusion that he was likely military, perhaps even special forces. It wasn’t a crazy guess, considering the bar’s proximity to the base.

Your question startled him, his head turning around to meet your gaze quicker than expected. He was surprised. Definitely not on his game.

“You don’t even know my name,” he said, a thick and deep accent underlining his words. British perhaps.

“I very much doubt I would get your real name anyhow,” you replied, letting your own accent sink back in. “You’re too…mysterious for that, with the mask and all,” you quipped, motioning towards his face.

The masked man let out a chuckle. This time it was the other men turning their heads in surprise, something which you noted silently. Tapping the table with his finger, the man polished off his drink, and rose to stand.

“Why not?”

The masked man, who asked to be called Riley, led you down a nearby street, towards a series of apartments generally used by military members who worked on the base. You still weren’t entirely sure about the name, but the way he had said it, made it feel like it was partially the truth anyways. So Riley it was.

As he jingled his key in the lock, you wondered not for the first time what you were doing. The man, no Riley, had barely said more than two sentences since you left the bar. You weren’t even sure what he wanted, let alone what you wanted. Was he going to pounce once you got through the door? Does he take off his mask or have sex with it on? Was he even attracted to you?

With all of these thoughts running through your head, you were caught off guard when instead he turned around and offered you a cup of tea. A. Cup. Of. Tea. Which, like, tea is great. Fantastic, particularly with a piece of biscotti in the morning. But your intentions were definitely not tea.

You reached out, planning to hook your finger into his jeans, but instead found yourself pinned against the wall, his forearm tightly across your chest. This was more the action you had hoped for, but the look in Riley’s eyes made you close yours, and take a shaky breath. Maybe you did bite off more than you can chew.

“I-I was hoping for a bit more,” you wheezed, the pressure on your chest not changing at all. “But, perhaps you weren’t?”

You could see the moment it clicked for Riley, the man instantly letting go of his grip. You stumbled but remained upright, pressed up against the wall, but of your own will this time.

“Fuck me….sorry, sorry,” Riley muttered as he took another step back. “I just…no, sorry.” He added, staring down at his shoes.

Your gut clenched at his reaction, and your own too. Military, you reminded yourself. You know how jumpy they could be, especially when coming back to a safer environment. “No, I’m sorry too,” you said loudly, making sure Riley could hear you. “I had a relative who served. I should have known better.”

Riley’s head snapped up at your most recent comment, but his eyes softened, his head nodding in response.

“So how about that cup of tea?”

It should have felt awkward, but it didn’t, the two of you drinking tea at 2am and laughing at some of your stories. But your tea cup was empty, and it was time to find out how the rest of the night was going to go.

“Can I kiss you?” You blurted out, your hand falling to rest slowly onto his thigh, the two of you having shifted closer and closer on the couch.

Riley nodded, but that wasn’t enough for you. He still seemed stiff, nervous.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to, too. You know that, right? You can send me on my way…” you said with a smile, hoping he wouldn’t, but wanting to make sure he knew that he could.

Riley cleared his throat before speaking again. “No, I-I’d like you to.”

Reaching up, you carefully pushed Riley’s mask past his lips, his hands moving to rest lightly around your wrists, but they weren’t stopping your movement either. You leaned in, your lips touching his gently as you started to press into a kiss. Normally you would push into it, take the lead, take the plunge, but you could feel Riley’s tension, and instead, you let him control it.

Pulling back to take a breath, you leaned your forehead against his. “Was that okay?” you whispered, feeling like anything louder would break the moment.

“That was perfect,” Riley added, just as softly, before leaning in to kiss you again, but only briefly, pausing to reveal another piece of the puzzle. “And my name is Simon.”

#call of duty #modern warfare #ghost x gn reader #simon ghost riley #gender neutral reader #consent is sexy #flirting #tw: PTSD #Price makes a small cameo #soft #fluff

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ofsupernovcs · 6 months ago

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Okay ho boi this is a lot

Novas family is fragmented as ever, it seems though her older siblings have decided to break away from her father. Leaving Nova as the possible favorite and as an actual contender for the possible heir. The extra attention is very suffocating at times

Thinking about what Briggs said about her priveledge made her wonder if he father was one of those ethical rich guys- she currently is looking for someone to find that out

Education and Occupation Wise

Nova is continuing medical school as a surgical student on their fast track. Unsurprisingly Nova got Deans List in Medical Statisistics and Hemotologic Studies

During this time Nova wrote a paper on the advancements of artificial blood and its benefits and downfalls. Unknown to Nova it was published without her permission and caught the eyes of the oea

Read the creation of the paper here

Magic:

With some help from Eve and her grandmother's notes she slowly got better control of her magic

The magic Nova has the hang of includes Algorithmic Magic, Geokinesis, Chi Reading and Redirecting (Through her throwing needles)

Her emotions still influence her but shes a bit better

And didnt hurt anyone Hooray *streamers*

Personality Growth:

There's still some keeping her emotions in but shes slighly better

More willing to say whats on her mind

Trying to be a better listener and hear people out

La Romance:

Her relationship with TJ is going strong. Their love and resilence shining through. Much to the entire Abe household's chagrin

With the help of Eve was able to break the compulsion. Though she did have to kick TJ's butt. Helped TJ get back to himself rather than worry about the Mikaelsons who did it. But if it comes up shes not mincing words...

The burning question is probably did Nagisa Abe get her fairy tale proposal.....

The answer is the closest they got was a brief walk in the cherry blossom path and TJ kneeled down on one knee but before Nova could say anything the family lawyer "choked" on a corn dog to prevent the conversation

Later that day the family lawyer said some very polite *read gave TJ a dressing down* about the fake proposal and tells him to do better. And also to get shit together if he wants full approval from the Abes.

Nova in return gave the family lawyer a very polite conversation *read with her twirling her throwing needles* saying to never speak to TJ like that again.

Friendships: I will add to this dont at me

Mavi's flourished even getting her a job at the hospital

Lorelai- kept in touch and stood by her side throughtout the coma with Brooks

Aaliyah- friend

Arty- friend despite believing her taste in men

Briggs- Chasing a Mirage of Friendship, doesnt know the degree shes a stranger

Marn- friends but hasnt kept in touch

Phee- a sweetheart that helped her navigate the guilt (tm)

Tdlr; Still Nova, Still an unwitting instagator of doom a la Openheimer, Little less baby witch more growing into the young woman shes meant to be

#updates #im publishing and posting before this becomes a novella

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alicewonderao3 · 2 years ago

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Confessions and Fictional Boyfriends

Pairing: Dean Winchester and reader

Warnings: No warnings, just a bit of angst and some fluff.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Bucky Barnes (Mentioned).

Summary: Another relationship has crashed and burned like all the others before, and feeling tired of chasing real men who just don't seem to appreciate her, she gets lost in her favorite movie, dreaming about the fictional boys who wouldn't ever break her heart, but what happens when in a conversation with Dean, feelings are revealed that change everything.

Authors note: I wrote this for @the-slumberparty's May Challenge. My prompt was: "I'm going to be alone forever. No, you're not. You have me." I was inspired by that song that is making its rounds on Tiktok, "Fictional by Khloe Rose" I don't own any part of it,. I think we can all relate to this, yearning for those fictional boys who love us no matter what, and who wouldn't dare to break our hearts. I don't own anything and all spelling and grammar mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

I'd been working with Sam and Dean for years now. I wasn't a good hunter in the field, so I stayed home and did research. I also kept the bunker clean and cooked for them. I'd been nursing a heavy crush on the older Winchester for a few years now, but I knew how Dean felt about relationships. He often said that this life was too dangerous to form attachments. It was why he often had one-night stands with women.

Sam was different. He didn't date as much as you might figure, but he did have a few girlfriends. I didn't date much either, my crush on Dean always lingering in the back of my mind. I'd been seeing this guy when they left on their latest case, but things had ended badly. Michael was my third boyfriend and now I was single again. I'd spent the last few days wallowing in my heartbreak, losing myself in my favorite books and movies.

I lost myself in my head, thinking about my favorite book 'boyfriends'. I was sitting in the library, my gaze focused on the tv while I watched a Marvel movie. Sebastian Stan's face appeared on the screen as Bucky Barnes and I couldn't help but sigh dreamily as I stared at him. "I wonder what it would be like if you were real," I whispered.

I'd tried hard in my relationship with Micheal. He gave me no real reason for our breakup, except that he was looking for someone prettier, someone better. I was tired of giving more in these relationships than I ever received from them. I'd switched to love stories, alternating between swooning over the male love interest, and then sobbing when I realized that I would never experience that kind of love in real life.

I got so lost in my feelings and the movies, I didn't notice when Dean and Sam returned. Slumped on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, my eyes were full of tears and my lips trembling as I watched another ending scene. The one where they meet halfway in the rain, and he kisses her with passion as the credits roll. I didn't realize they were there until I felt the couch dip on either side of me.

I turned to my left and found myself staring into Dean's eyes. My lips trembled again and I saw him sigh as he said, "Are you crying over another chick flick?" I shook my head, wanting to tell him but too emotional to do. I saw his expression change, his eyes softening as Sam piped up from my other side, "Did Micheal break up with you?"

I nodded, tears sliding down my face unchecked now. Dean didn't say anything, but his eyes said volumes. I could see he was torn between anger at my ex-boyfriend and sadness for me. He held out his arms and I fell forward into his embrace, tucking my head into his chest as I sobbed. The sound of my crying was the only thing you could hear in the library as Dean held me, his hands rubbing soft circles on my back.

I heard him murmur as he rested his head on top of mine, "You were too good for him anyway, kitten." I heard Sam's voice behind me, murmuring in agreement. I held onto him and sobbed, getting all my emotions out. I breathed in Dean's scent, that soft woody scent of cedar and orange that seemed to be his natural scent. As I breathed in his scent, I calmed down, my sobs lessening.

When I pulled away from him, Sam tugged me back into him for a hug. Sam held me tight against his chest, dropping a kiss on my head. "It'll be okay. This will pass." I nodded. I knew it would, but the pain didn't hurt any less from realizing that. Sam left me and Dean alone together to go shower, and I got up, changing the movie. I turned to Dean, "Are you gonna stay?" Dean's eyes stayed locked on mine, his voice was soft. "Do you want me to stay with you?"

I nodded. Dean smiled. "Then I'll stay." He patted the spot next to him, and I walked over as he started the movie, his groan making me giggle as he realized which movie I put on. "Are we watching this because Sebastian Stan is in it?" I nodded, sitting next to him as he tucked me under his arm. I heard him grumble something under his breath as he let me rest my head on his chest.

Dean was silent for most of the movie, except for the moments where he rolled his eyes and scoffed when I seemed to melt when Sebastian looked at the camera. Dean's voice made me look at him, as the movie played on. "What is it that you like about this pretty boy anyway?" He asked, gesturing to the TV. I sighed, my face turning wistful. "He's so pretty, and those eyes just make my heart stop. He's also just so perfect. Perfect as can be." I paused, my voice turning serious as I turned to look at Dean. "He-" I stopped, tears forming in my eyes. "Bucky Barnes wouldn't hurt me, Dean."

Dean was silent, watching me. His expression turned serious and he said, "But he's not real, darlin." I nodded, my voice breaking as I responded, "I know he's not real. I'd rather keep on dreaming of someone I'll never have the chance to meet than give my love to someone who wouldn't even think of choosing me." I couldn't help but start sobbing again, my voice halting as I said, "I'm going to be alone forever, Dean."

I could see he felt for me, and he scooted closer, his voice soft. "You're not alone anymore. You have me. And Sam." He continued to stare at me, his eyes soft. It was as if he was trying to communicate something to me without words. I couldn't help but feel drawn to him, his presence calming me in a way that I couldn't explain. As he continued to look at me, I realized that I had been holding my breath. I let out a shaky exhale and closed my eyes, feeling his warmth and the soft touch of his fingers on my skin.

I opened my eyes to see that Dean was still looking at me, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. His touch was gentle and comforting, and I found myself leaning into him. He wrapped his arms around me, and I buried my face in his chest, feeling safe and protected. As we sat there in silence, I couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking. We had been friends for years, but I had never seen this side of him before. It was as if he was opening up to me in a way that he never had before.

Eventually, Dean spoke, his voice soft and gentle. "I'm here for you," he said. "Whatever you need, I'm here." His words were like a balm to my soul, and I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes once again. I looked up at him and saw that his eyes were still soft and gentle, but there was something else there now. Something that I couldn't quite put my finger on. It was almost as if he was trying to tell me something, but he didn't know how to say it.

I took a deep breath and leaned back slightly, looking up at him. "What is it?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. Dean hesitated for a moment before speaking. "I don't know," he said finally. "There's just something about you, something that draws me to you." He paused for a moment as if searching for the right words. "I care about you, more than I should." I felt my heart skip a beat as I looked at him, wondering if I had heard him correctly. "What do you mean?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Dean took a deep breath and looked down at me, his eyes locking with mine. "I mean that I love you," he said simply. "I've loved you for a long time, and I just couldn't keep it hidden anymore." I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes once again as I looked at him, feeling overwhelmed by his words. I had never expected him to say something like this, and I wasn't quite sure how to respond.

For as long as I'd known him, despite my crush on him, I assumed he saw me as a friend. So I buried myself in my books and movies, trying to find the perfect love story with the perfect man. I stared up at him, my voice barely above a whisper. "I love you too." Dean's eyes seemed to light up and he pulled me close to him, his lips touching mine in a soft kiss.

The movie reached its peak on the screen, and he pulled back from me, tucking me back into his arms as we went back to watching the movie, my small hand tucked into his. I realized something. I realized that I didn't have to lose myself in my books anymore. I had found my own love story. One that would be messy and sometimes complicated, but also beautiful and real. As I settled back into Dean's embrace I knew that finding your happily ever after wasn't something that just happened in books and movies. It also happened in real life.

#navy and roo sleepover #dean winchester #fluff

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rainyfunction · 8 months ago

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A Story from Another World PT 3

(PART 1) (PART 2)

"Don't open it," Camellia's voice cracked.

Meshire took a few steps towards the door.

"I SAID DON'T!"

Meshire hurried to the door, opening it to find one of the older Forest girls standing on the porch. "I'm sorry to come to you so late but-" Camellia ran out the door, grabbing the girl by the arm.

"You don't talk to MYSHIRE," she hissed.

"Camellia, what are you-" Meshire began, but froze when he saw what happened next. In seconds, starting from where Camellia had grabbed her, the girl had leaves and flowers grow all along her skin till she herself had become a topiary shrub. After it was done, Camellia let go and looked up at Meshire with her shadowed eyes.

"You won't leave me alone, will you?" When he did not respond, she reached out for him. As her fingers grazed his skin, he backed away, feeling that he, too, would turn into a shrub. She reached again, this time to grab hold of him, and he ran. He ran from Camellia and from the place they used to call home. But Meshire never left the Forget-Me-Not Forest.

A dark dome soon after encased the Forest, shutting out all sunlight and allowing the mirage moss to grow wherever it pleased. The land surrounding their house became known as Camellia's Garden, because many who were unaware got too close and were turned into shrubs of burning camellias.

Ever so often, Meshire would sneak by the house in a disguise (for if she knew it was him, she would run after him and grab him without hesitation) and leave her a basket of food. It was all he could do to take care of her, till she could be cured of the corruption of the moss.

Many years later, the dome was destroyed, and sunlight flooded the Forest again. But the moss was afraid of the sun, so it kept Camellia indoors. If only she would stand in the sunlight long enough, the moss' corruption would blossom and be gone.

Meshire had tried many things to get her to come outside long enough, but none of them worked. So finally he knew what he had to do. Meshire stood outside the house and took off his disguise. Now he had tried this many times before, and she would chase him into the sun, but never long enough. This time would be different.

As he stood, she came running. She grabbed him by the arm and tried to pull him into the shadows, but he took her in a strong embrace so that she could not move. As he blossomed with camellias, she blossomed with forget-me-nots.

In her right mind once again, Camellia cried over all that she had done. She cried that the one who loved her all this time was holding her in his arms, and could not let go. But though she had turned him into a shrub, with the release of the moss' corruption came the release of the curse. Meshire was changed back, and every other person who had been turned into a shrub. He kissed Camellia, looked into her eyes, and said, "I promise I love you. I promise I will never leave you. Do you believe me?"

"Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ also loved the church and gave Himself for her" -Ephesians 5:25

"For when we were in the flesh, the sinful passions which were aroused by the law were at work in our members to bear fruit to death." -Romans 7:5

"Jesus answered and said to him, “Most assuredly, I say to you, unless one is born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God. ... For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life. For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through Him might be saved.

“He who believes in Him is not condemned; but he who does not believe is condemned already, because he has not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God. And this is the condemnation, that the light has come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil. For everyone practicing evil hates the light and does not come to the light, lest his deeds should be exposed. But he who does the truth comes to the light, that his deeds may be clearly seen, that they have been done in God." -John 3:3, 16-21

"... the Lord Jesus on the same night in which He was betrayed took bread; and when He had given thanks, He broke it and said, “Take, eat; this is My body which is broken for you; do this in remembrance of Me.” In the same manner He also took the cup after supper, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in My blood. This do, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of Me.”" -1 Corinthians 11:23b-25

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mischievouslittlecreature · 2 years ago

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WIP Whenever

Thank you for the tag @eclecticwildflowers!

Tagging @areyenotfondofmelobster @scaryscarecrows @roofgeese @confidentandgood @emilynightshade89 @shelbydelrey @moral-terpitude and anyone else interested!

Until Time Stops Chapter 2: Keep Time

(Raymond Leon x OC)

“Ray. They’ve got something.”

He jumped lightly as her fingers curled around his shoulder, head snapping up from where he’d been sitting with his hands clasped in front of him, pressed to his lips in contemplation as he stared at his computer screen. In a flash he was locking his computer and standing, following her over to where Kors and Jaeger were.

“This was tonight.”

They crowded around the monitor, watching the video of a car, the features of the driver clear and familiar.

“He’s only an hour ahead of us,” Raymond took off at nearly a jog towards the front doors, with Rose, Jaeger, and Kors trailing behind him.

“Follow us,” she ordered a few other Timekeepers, and they rose swiftly from their desks, all of them headed out to the parking lot to their cars. Taking her usual seat in the passenger side, she fiddled with her braid.

“You okay?” Raymond asked, throwing the car into drive and turning onto the road to New Greenwich.

“Hm? Oh. Yeah. I just hate going to those big houses that the rich people own, yanno? Makes me feel…” she searched for the correct word. “...Icky.”

Raymond hummed in agreement. “I’ll do the talking, don’t worry. We’ll be in and out. All we’ve got to do is grab Salas and get him back to base.”

“I hope that he doesn’t resist. Rich people get so pissy when their dumb fancy vases get broken.”

He huffed out a laugh. “We’ve got backup.”

“Ah yes. Jaeger and Kors can shield the vases while the rest of us chase Salas around the house. Perfect plan.”

“Actually I was thinking that we’d just blame any damaged property on Kors.”

She almost choked on her gum with her laugh. “I like your plan better.”

He chuckled, reaching one hand across, carefully entwining her fingers with his.

A Remedy for Sorrow Chapter 1: Guilt

Shivering Soldier x OC

The ladder creaked precariously under Daisy’s feet as she pulled herself up it, one hand gripping firmly to the wood while the other firmly clutched a stack of books to her chest. Getting to the top of the ladder, she ran her fingers along the spines of the books lining the shelf, carefully sliding each book she was holding into its proper place. Clamoring back down slowly, she scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, fighting off the weary heaviness that pulled at them.

She hadn’t slept well the night before. Hadn’t been sleeping well at all, as a matter of fact. No since Dunkirk.

Whenever she closed her eyes, it was to dream of planes diving down towards her from the sky, or the flash of fire as oil in the water caught ablaze. The screams of men burning alive all around her.

Heaving exhaustedly, she shook her head, wandering back to the front desk to collect another stack of books that needed to be returned to their proper place in the stacks.

“Daisy,” mumbled old Beryl Wilkins, standing at the front desk, her purse clutched in her hands and coat already half shrugged on. “Are you sure that you’re alright closing on your own, dear?” the older woman asked, blinking at her from behind a pair of thick, round glasses.

“Yes, Mrs. Wilkins, I’m sure,” Daisy said kindly.

“You have your keys?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you’ll remember to shut off all the lights?”

“Of course,” honestly. It wasn’t like she’d never closed before. Though it had admittedly been a little while. But still. She would have thought she’d been working at the library long enough for her to be trusted enough to not burn the place down.

“And you’re sure that you’ll be alright, here all on your own? Oh, goodness…maybe I should just stay…”

“No, no, ma’am, please, it’s fine. I’ll be alright. It’s just for another hour, and you know that almost no one comes in here at this time of day anyway. Go enjoy your evening.”

Beryl eyed her for a minute before nodding. “Yes, yes. Alright. Just be careful dear. Are you sure that you don’t want me to have one of the local boys walk you home?”

“I think that I can manage, Mrs. Wilkins,” Daisy said gently. “Have a good dinner with your husband.”

The little old lady looked down, suddenly bashful. Almost giddy. “Oh, I will. It’s our anniversary, you know.”

“Yes, ma’am, I remember,” she began to steer Beryl towards the door.

“Why aren’t you married yet, dear? Such a pretty young woman as you are?”

Oh, not this again. Daisy forced a smile onto her lips. “Just haven’t found the right guy, I suppose.”

“It’s too bad that you never got to meet my Harold,” Beryl said mournfully, shaking her head back and forth. “You two would have hit it off right away, I think.”

“I’m sure we would have,” Daisy said kindly, patting Beryl’s shoulder. Harold had died a few weeks into the war. She remembered. Beryl had been out for over a month, too distraught with grief to even be able to get out of bed. “You go have fun, now, okay?”

“Good-night, dear.”

“Good-night, ma’am,” she blew out a breath of quiet relief as the old woman finally hobbled out the door. She tried her best not to be too put off by Beryl’s insistent mothering. She knew that it came from a place of concern. But still, it was hard to get fully comfortable under it, having grown up with a woman who had been quite the opposite in her demeanor towards her children. Daisy prided herself on her independence and self sufficiency, and any challenges towards that just put her on edge.

Not to mention that the old woman was insistent on playing matchmaker to her younger, unmarried librarians. It had been lucky for her that Beryl had been so busy trying to find suitable matches for Ruth and Cora that she’d left her relatively alone during the time she’d been working at the library.

Apparently not anymore. Great. She would have to nip that one in the bud before it could get too far. The last thing she was interested in at the moment was Beryl shoving every last available man in town–which wasn’t actually that many anymore–at her.

It didn’t help that she was still a bit raw from Henry having never turned up.

Really, she shouldn’t have been all that surprised. The circumstances that they’d met under hadn’t exactly been the best, and it wasn’t like he owed her anything. But still, it stung.

#wip whenever #my ocs

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remyfire · 1 year ago

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❛ i’ll take care of you. ❜ WHAT IF. BEEJSID

(okay so what if I DID write 5K for this single sentence what ABOUT it— psst thank you I love you!!!)

"You don't have to worry about it," BJ breathes as he loops a finger through the edge of Sidney's belt, gives him the tiniest tug forward—one that, notably, Sidney resists. "I'll take care of you."

The older, smaller man sways forward slightly, but his arms stay crossed over his chest, and when BJ relaxes his pull, Sidney simply comes back down off the balls of his feet. It's as though he was a strong tree rocking with the force of a hurricane, but ultimately unmoved. "That's an interesting suggestion," he points out. "Though I think you might be missing the preceding question."

Instinctively BJ flicks his gaze over Sidney's eyes, his expression, even the tendons in his neck, overanalyzing him as deeply as he can to get an answer to a question he doesn't yet feel like he can safely ask. This is uncertain. Unconfirmed. There's gin on their breath and a lock on the door of the VIP tent. He shouldn't be here, and Sidney shouldn't let him be.

But the longer he stares, the more certain he is that there's nothing warning him off.

This is part of the fascination he has with Sidney. In regards to himself, BJ knows who he is, how he looks. He's an attractive man. He catches as many nurses mooning over him as those who simply watch from a distance, similar to Peg's fellow cheerleaders while they were going steady in high school. And while BJ's more than a little familiar with the way men will orbit him with a careful rhythm when they're assessing how dangerous he might be to chase, there's none of that from Sidney.

There's a simple watchfulness. Perhaps not even a true interest. He's a man who's made a study of being perfectly neutral when he needs to be.

In a lot of ways, it's a massive fucking shame given how handsome he is when he smiles.

He's different. He's interesting. He doesn't shy away from how BJ towers half a foot over him, but he doesn't lean into him or buckle from a nudge or a companionable graze.

Maybe it's because he's older. As many men as BJ's fucked around with in his lifetime—when he's been long-distance from Peg, when she's fucked around with just as many women—they've all been in his age bracket, tucked so safely in that same four-year span that he found so plentifully at Stanford. But Sidney's got a decade on him, maybe even closer to two, and he clearly knows exactly what role he intends to play during propositions like this.

But Sidney hasn't broken the silence either. If he intends to rush BJ away, he's not showing it.

Charmed, fascinated enough for the both of them, BJ's lips quirk. He keeps his fingers tucked right there against his belt, the heat of Sidney's slim belly burning through his fatigues. "Penny for your thoughts about that," BJ finally says under his breath.

Sidney's dark eyes narrow ever so slightly, so faint that it wouldn't be noticed if BJ hadn't been so accustomed to watching every nuance of an older man's expression to see how much trouble he might be about to be in. "Well." Sidney holds his gaze, doesn't blink. "For instance, most men would typically lead with asking if someone wants to be taken care of."

"Now, I find that interesting." BJ comes one step closer, suddenly fascinated by the gleam of the light on Sidney's eyes, by how he tips his head back to maintain this steady stare. "I don't know. Maybe I'm letting my mind wander a little too far off the path—"

"No, by all means." Sidney waves one elegant hand through the air.

"Think about it. Think about who we are, where we are." BJ taps his chest first. "See, if someone needs me to take care of them, they're gonna find their way into the 4077th and end up on my table, right? They come to me. Whereas you..." This time when he lifts his hand, he hesitates. With two fingers still caught in his belt, it feels almost too much to touch him anywhere else. So perhaps that's precisely why he does. BJ rests just his fingertips on Sidney's undershirt, above his buttons, right below his bare throat, and this time he gets to watch those dark pupils swell ever so slightly. "Well, you pretty much have to go to them, don't you?"

Sidney tips his head slightly in acknowledgment. "An anticipated twist of the trade. It's far easier to see you need help when your intestines are spilling out of your gut than when your skull's full of bees."

He's not sure how he feels about the way that Sidney still hasn't looked away, especially when he makes that kind of statement. Dr. Freedman's visits to the 4077th are few and far between, considering how often they could really use somebody like him around, but every time he arrives, he sinks into the camp culture so seamlessly that it's as if he's always been there. And maybe BJ's got an edge of paranoia—maybe they all do, when it comes to Sidney, to the power he actively holds by nature of what miracles he could make happen or take away—but he does sometimes feel as though Sidney can read beneath the surface in a way that no one else can.

What he sees when he looks at BJ is anybody's guess, but not one he's ready to ask about. He learned a hell of a long time ago that you don't ever bring up questions when you know you couldn't handle the answers.

Instead, he hard pivots, throwing on a grin. "This probably isn't what you were expecting when I was trying to find a pretty veiled way of saying I'll make sure I get you off—"

"No, on the contrary, I knew you'd be a talker." Finally there's a little spark in his unfathomably lovely eyes, that twist of amusement like orange peel in a cosmo. "You wouldn't be able to keep up with Hawkeye, if you weren't."

As the relief floods him, he lets it take over, bubbling up in a laugh that burns off these nerves and uncertainties all at once. Now it's just the delicate edge of adrenaline, something that drugs him but stirs him in such a delicious way. It has to. Otherwise, their kind of men would've never risked cruising in the first place.

Maybe it's because they've summoned the influence of Hawkeye Pierce into the tent with them both. Maybe he can't keep his hands to himself. Hell, maybe he's simply sick and tired of pretending he doesn't want the things he craves. But whatever the reason, BJ lightly toys with one of the pins on Sidney's collar, rolling it between his fingers while his other hand slowly, slowly, slowly creeps over the leather of his belt all the way to the buckle. "Well. Since I'm not paying to sprawl out on your couch and talk completely in metaphors, why don't we get down to the brass tacks of the situation?"

"By all means," Sidney drawls. His arms might still be crossed, but BJ catches the slight flex of his digits, and it emboldens him further.

"So when I said I was gonna take care of you, I was suggesting you bottom." Bluntness isn't something BJ often goes in for, but as he meets Sidney's gaze again, he knows it's the only thing that the other man's going to respect from him right now. "I'm getting the sense you don't do that."

"Not with someone new, no, typically not." Sidney quirks one dark brow, tipping his chin back a little further to make sure the stare stays strong. "And I'm getting a similar read on you."

"No, typically not," BJ parrots with a small smile he hopes reads as self-deprecating as he wants it to. He could be honest—say that he took cock for a year straight as a freshman at Stanford, that once he successfully flipped the script that first time he knew he wasn't ever going back to naively trusting his fraternity brothers to handle him and sometimes finding out otherwise—but if there's a chance nothing's gonna even happen here tonight, he really doesn't see a point in sharing.

He's curious enough that he still hedges, one more step forward, so close that their bodies are almost touching. "And furthermore, I don't suppose you're seduceable."

That charms a full blown grin out of Sidney. "Well, never let it be said that man won't stop trying to achieve the impossible. They sometimes even manage to succeed."

BJ lets out another chuckle, but this one is more demure, tinged with wistfulness and understanding. "Uh-huh. I hear that."

What's really interesting right now is how oddly crestfallen BJ actually is to know this...won't be happening tonight. Maybe when he was younger, he was easier at dealing with the rejection, but for years past, he had the love of his life—his soulmate—right there by his side, as ravenous for him as he is for her. He's gotten worse, it seems, at not having that ready source of pleasure, at having an invitation turned down.

The other implication would be that it's less curiosity that he has toward Sidney Freedman and more a puppy dog crush, and that's something he's really not happy to entertain, so...unfamiliar rejection it is. Forgetting how to laugh it off and move on.

It's time to get back in practice. Who knows how long he'll be here? Who knows when he'll next feel bold enough to make a move on a man who won't immediately shatter BJ Hunnicutt's carefully constructed temporary world if he isn't interested?

Reluctantly, he finally lets Sidney go and backs up two steps. He lets his gaze settle somewhere on Sidney's forehead. "Well, I can't say I didn't give it my best shot, huh?" BJ asks in bright humor.

"Are you sure about that?" Sidney's words are shaped by a half-laugh.

"Eh!" With a flick of the wrist, BJ waves him off. "It's no big deal, seriously. Sometimes two guys just aren't compatible, right?" He even manages to chuckle himself as he turns, heads for the door, gets ready to go lick his wounds somewhere in private, maybe drink himself to silence and return to his longings for his Peggy.

"Oh, you are young, aren't you?" Sidney asks softly.

BJ stops in his tracks and blinks. That's an interesting thing to say, he finds himself thinking in an incredibly familiar cadence that's more akin to honey than anything else. He'd been expecting a good night, maybe. But not that. He slowly rotates back around. "And why do you say that?"

Sidney's eyes burn with good humor and that beautiful, curious hunger. "Your best shot? Come on. Open up your mind a little more, BJ. There's still a few ways we could play."

The first urge is to snap out a quick, I know that, make it plenty clear that he's not that same college kid fumbling in somebody else's pants, but he learned to bite back a smart mouth a long time ago—and for the first time tonight, he wonders at how many times he's made this instinctive connection to little him, to an older man, and he's sure Freud would have a million and a half things to say about that if only BJ was willing to hear them.

But listening means not acting, and if he has a choice between the two, then...

"I thought you were turning me down, full stop," BJ points out, not making a move to close the gap.

As though Sidney can read his mind, he comes forward instead. "Saying no to one thing doesn't mean the whole affair's called off."

"Uh-huh." BJ's lips begin to quirk once more. "If you're not gonna give me a yes, and, at least give me a no, but."

"And what if I do?" He's still not reaching out, but at least he's closer. At least he chose to approach this time. "Are you open to it, even if it means you're not the one who's completely in control?"

After a beat, BJ replies. "Would you be?"

"Not at all. We'd share it." Sidney straightens up a little taller, his voice dropping to a delectable level. "Let's bring each other off. Together."

BJ takes a long, slow, deep breath through his nose, keeping his expression under control even as fire licks through his veins. "How so? Hands?"

Sidney shrugs as though he could care less, but he seems to have given up on hiding secrets in his gaze. "Sure. Your hand on me. My hand on you."

BJ carefully nods, full of thought, like they're consulting over a patient together rather than their own pleasure. "I could be amenable to that." He even catches himself speaking in that careful way that he did sometimes in residency, before it was interrupted with barely a year to go by this damn war. God. The things Sidney brings out in him really are curious. He falters in his realization of it and clears his throat, pulling on another smile where this time, he doesn't have to play at the self-deprecation. "I mean, if you're sure it works for you."

Sidney's laugh is so unexpected that BJ's lips part in surprise. "Honey," he murmurs. "I'd keep you awake all night in my bed, if you were keen on it. Believe me, what I'm suggesting right now isn't a consolation prize. Not by a long shot."

Sidney punctuates his sentence by resting his hand right against BJ's waist, his thumb drawing a dizzying pattern at the curve of a rib, and for some reason the contact is utterly unexpected. There was a part of BJ that was so fucking sure that they'd keep doing this bizarre dance, in and out, back and forth, before finally laughing it off in the end and calling it a night. Heat actually rushes to his cheeks in a way that it hasn't in years.

This isn't the rhythm he's used to. God, Sidney almost makes it easy to give that whole offering-him-control thing a try again. This isn't a kid who sees BJ as a hole and a way to take out the frustration of his day. No, it's a man who is watching BJ like he's worth more than gold, and like he'd love to have the opportunity to show him.

Next time. Fuck, he hopes there's a next time.

He wants to pivot. Wants to shift his weight into something that makes more goddamn sense than this, because the longer he stays here, the less certain he is that he's gonna be able to put himself back together again the second he leaves this tent. And that's the trouble with Sidney, isn't it? That he's so good at making you feel safe. And the safer you feel, the more you're going to drop your shield and risk an arrow right to the chest.

So he's going to pivot, because he has no other option, but that doesn't mean he can't be honest first, just so Sidney knows to play soft. BJ speaks slowly, breathily, every word chosen with care. "You are doing things to me tonight that I haven't felt in a decade."

Sidney nods in silence at first, and BJ half-thinks he'll leave it at that, but he doesn't. "You're making me bolder than I've been since I set foot in Korea. There's something so..." As he furrows his brow, BJ rediscovers a taste of what drove him in here in the first place, and he lightly wraps his hand around the back of Sidney's neck with an experimental squeeze. That's all it takes to make Sidney tighten his grip on BJ's shirt, then begin leading him slowly back toward the center of the tent. "You can let yourself be whatever you want to be right now. I won't take advantage of it."

Safe. So fucking safe. So monumentally in danger.

"Noted," BJ simply murmurs with a slow smile as he slips an arm around Sidney's waist. "Do you kiss, Sidney?"

"Sometimes," he fires back right away.

"Where?"

"Where do I kiss?"

"Yeah." BJ finds himself wondering at the texture of his curls, remembers a second later that he can find out. They're tight, but so soft between his knuckles.

Sidney goes on amiably. "Oh, in bars, in my living room, on the fire escape. But I find my favorite is somewhere out under the night sky, far from the city."

"Where you can give your lover a kiss for every star you can name overhead?" BJ teases, utterly charmed by the meandering journey Sidney's taking him on.

"You know, that's a good line," Sidney murmurs. "I'll have to remember that."

BJ laughs as he leans in, then second guesses right at the end, brushes his mouth over his cheek instead. "Do you kiss here?"

"Mm, that's a lovely place." Sidney sinks his fingers into BJ's hair just as carefully, and it makes his eyelashes flutter.

"Where else?" BJ whispers.

"You really want to tease yourself like this?" he replies in amusement.

"Yeah, why not?" Little by little, BJ eases back to the front, trying to leave the vulnerability behind him. "Tell me. Get me hard."

Sidney chuckles. "I enjoy taking a long, winding path." As he speaks, BJ hunches over further, craning himself to wander leisurely along Sidney's neck. "The scenic route, so to speak. If I'm having an experience, I want to savor it."

BJ's eyelashes flutter as he catches Sidney's earlobe between his teeth, feels a surge of arousal when he makes the older man gasp.

"So I might start at the cheek, yes," Sidney goes on, his voice becoming more raw as BJ sucks and tongues at his lobe, the shell of his ear. "But I think I'd wander down your jaw. Your neck. The lift of your collarbone. You know, I have the strong suspicion that by the time I reached your chest, I might need to settle in for a while."

Without thought, BJ grabs one of Sidney's hands, puts it right on his left pectoral over his heart.

Sidney hums, first simply fondling the shape of him there, but starting to work to a more purposeful knead. "This is one of the few places on you that's soft, isn't it? You're a powerful man. Strong. But here..." Sidney thumbs along slowly until he rolls over BJ's nipple, and the moment that BJ gasps, he brings the edges of two fingers around it and gives a more purposeful squeeze. "No, you'd be hard-pressed to get me to move on."

Starting to be driven slowly mad by the shocks shooting through him with each tiny tweak, BJ rolls his forehead against the top of Sidney's head with a weak groan. He pants, unashamed, against his hair, grabbing a fistful of Sidney's shirt.

"But eventually, I think I would have to. I'd see everything else waiting for me, and I wouldn't be able to resist." His other hand runs up BJ's stomach, pressing in here, then there, as though mapping out the exact topography of his rectus abdominus. "I imagine I'd tongue my way over these."

"Fuck," BJ whispers, barely audible.

"Every one of them. Find the lines that separate them. Maybe leave a little mark."

He's coming so dangerously close to letting Sidney have him, and there's a trickle of fear there like a drop of water through a breaking dam. It's enough to make BJ chuckle through the heady lust as he sets his hands on both of Sidney's slim hips. He's so much smaller than BJ that he half-thinks he could probably just pick him up by them right now, drive Sidney straight back into his cot without so much as breaking a sweat. "I thought these were kisses," he points out.

"Oh, man is always evolving, BJ."

It's unfair for him to sound so goddamn erotic no matter what he says. Almost out of self-preservation, BJ lets his touch wander around the sharp cut of Sidney's iliac crest, all the way to his pelvis, and the ragged relief at feeling how hard Sidney is brings him vividly into clarity. It's not only BJ going out of his mind. They're twirling around each other together, like Sidney promised. Maybe he's the one charming BJ deeper and deeper into aching need with his words, but it appears that just thinking about it is enough to get this man right there with him.

It's been too long. Too fucking long. As BJ rocks the heel of his palm slowly down Sidney's hardness, he fights to remember how to do it from this angle, how it's been half a decade since he had the right to try. But the quiet hiss against his throat tells BJ that he's doing a hell of a job recalling, and that emboldens him to really focus, to map out exactly how massive the cock under his hand is.

It takes a grand total of two seconds before he is practically frothing at the mouth to see, because surely not...

Sidney chuckles. "Are you that bored of hearing about my mouth already, BJ?"

"On the contrary, if I imagine it anywhere near my dick, this isn't going to last as long as I..." As he fumbles with Sidney's belt, a shock of humiliation shoots through him. He needs to be good. Needs to be perfect. He looks like he's a fucking kid on his prom night in the back seat of his car right now.

"Hey. Slow down," Sidney suggests quietly.

BJ jerks his gaze up to meet Sidney's, almost wants to tell him not to say another word—this is embarrassing enough—but in this moment of eye contact, Sidney seems to read enough behind his stare yet again.

"Come here, sweetheart." As Sidney lifts slightly, closing the distance between them, it has the effect of bringing BJ's mind to a very slow, gradual halt. "I kiss here too."

As their lips meet, BJ's fingers go loose against the metal, and he shivers as his eyes fall shut. Kissing isn't...something he does with everybody. Really. Back at Stanford, his dalliances with men were ways to expand his experiences, to chase away the loneliness of not having Peggy there. It wasn't meant to form long-lasting relationships. In the end, it was always safer to keep his lips far, far away from their own, and the few times he let himself have the simple pleasure of making out, it always made it hurt that much harder when he knew he had to break off from them for good.

He shouldn't be doing it here. What happens when he leaves Korea and goes home and returns to a life of perfect monogamy and never sees anybody he met here ever, ever again? Is he going to remember how Sidney Freedman tastes?

He's practically a stranger, his mind reminds him. Whatever this is isn't gonna matter at all.

But also, it means everything. Against all odds and logic, this is a brilliant gleaming gem in the middle of a burning garbage heap. Because of course BJ couldn't do something like this with Hawkeye—not when he needs him so fucking badly just to stay alive, not when the world would self-destruct if they fell out after BJ gave too much of himself there. So this peek into intimacy, vulnerability, and sensuality, something that makes him feel more tethered in his skin and sanity than anything else could, is all at once the most vital thing he's experienced since he got here.

And he's kissing him.

And it's going to be brutal when it's over.

And that means he should leave. Right now.

Instead, his buttery fingers work almost languidly at the belt, taking their time so that it opens without any more immature fumbling. And he doesn't even feel that bite of frustration when Sidney works his open in one smooth, effortless motion.

I have a lot to learn from him, BJ finds himself thinking, tipping over the edge into utter recklessness with absolutely no more thought for what will come after it all ends.

He manages to break the kiss once he's eased Sidney's pants and boxers down, and a glance at his cock has BJ taking in a deep breath. God. BJ got used to apologizing for the size of his cock over the years, of all things, but seeing the length and curve of Sidney's makes him suddenly understand one reason among many why he's so calm, so self-assured in moments like this. "Wow."

"Speak for yourself," Sidney teases. He runs the tip of a finger up BJ's length, and that alone is enough to draw a faint growl out of BJ's chest. "Gorgeous."

"I-I'm glad you approve." Fighting again to push forward, BJ grabs Sidney by the wrist, then holds his gaze as he lifts the palm to his mouth. After one filthy spit, he lets the arm go, then brings his own hand to Sidney's lips. There's a searing heat in those dark eyes as he does the same.

After steadying himself on Sidney's shoulder, BJ cups the older man's cock, and he doesn't so much as blink as he begins to tease him.

Sidney takes in a deep breath. He settles just his palm over the head of BJ's hardness, slowly applying gentle circles of pressure that coaxes slick precum to rush to his tip. "You have beautiful hands. Do you know that?"

"I try not to notice," BJ murmurs roughly. "Makes surgery that much harder when you keep falling in love with your own fingers."

Sidney smirks, something lovely and toothy that gives BJ the intense desire to bare his throat. "Have you ever read the tale of Narcissus?"

"Haven't found the time. There's a mirror right by my bookshelf and—"

"Oh, you are too cute, aren't you?"

"I try to be. Is it working?"

"I can still talk, so it doesn't look like it," Sidney murmurs in amusement.

Fair point. BJ tightens his grasp around Sidney's shaft, then gets assaulted by a rush of goosebumps as Sidney reciprocates. All right, so maybe he is a talker, but there's value too in silence. But only when there's such an insistent physical component that it makes the thoughts stay quiet.

BJ's not the only one with perfect hands. He watches almost with desperation how Sidney's smaller grip fits around him, how his sensitive skin gleams in the lamplight around Sidney's capable fingers, how the touch was so necessary that he's twitching every few seconds. Before he realizes they're there, soft and aching sounds of pleasure rush out of BJ with every other breath.

He's so caught up in Sidney's care that BJ almost forgets to ask, until it slips out, "Is this good?"

"Perfect," Sidney murmurs without hesitation. He steals another kiss, nothing but a quick peck, but before he can go on, BJ crashes down like he needs to eat him whole.

The physical feedback of Sidney leaning into the kiss with all his might is everything BJ needs, and his mind finally shuts off completely as he moans. BJ squeezes Sidney's shoulder hard enough to bruise, and Sidney holds him perfectly still by the hip, and there's not a single hurricane that could make BJ move away from that grip. He stands as stock still as he can, even through the ravenous liplock, even through the feverish rush to jerk Sidney off to utter perfection.

It's actually laughable that BJ thought he could've taken any measure of control over Sidney, he realizes now, because in the span of barely minutes, he's right goddamn here at the edge, and no matter how much he fights, his body screams its need to let go. He breaks the kiss with a gasp. "Sorry. Sorry, I'm close, I—"

"Give it to me, BJ," Sidney commands so gently, the heat in his tone a potent aphrodisiac. All at once, his grip seems to refine itself, and he overwhelms BJ with such an easy skill that it's as if he saved something for this exact moment just to make sure he gave BJ a taste of heaven itself. "That's it, be good and come for me."

"Ohh—" It's like rocketing to the top of a rollercoaster in seconds when he thought he'd already reached its peak. All at once, he's scraping the cosmos, dragging stardust in waves behind him as he comes with a groan he can't be bothered to silence. Sidney works him through it, the hot slick of BJ's own cum making it all the more easier, and only when he's at the point of whimpering does Sidney loosen his fist.

There's something to be said, at least, for getting your own overwhelming rush out of the way. In the moment before he might've tipped into exhaustion, BJ harnesses the emptiness of his mind and leans into Sidney. "Now it's your turn," he murmurs, the words slurring as they drip from his lips. "I bet you're gorgeous when you come."

"Oh, you've thought about it?" Though it sounds like Sidney's trying to drawl at him, he can't convincingly pull it off. The man's back to kneading BJ's hip, his knees beginning to wobble.

"Mm-hmm." There's still a growl on BJ's tone from his satisfaction, and he leans into it, playing it up for show as he grins crookedly down at Sidney. "I jerked off to you last week in the shower. Hope you don't mind."

Sidney shudders, his jaw dropping. "Not... Fuck, not at all. Fuck, don't stop. Keep doing that."

Everything in the entire camp goes silent at that quiet bit of direction. As though this is his final exam, BJ locks his gaze on Sidney's stunning face, refusing to blink so he won't miss a moment of this. That hyperawareness comes right back into play. Suddenly it's the easiest thing in the world to keep this perfect rhythm, this tight grip. Brilliant, incredible, powerful man, one who slips so constantly into the background, the only person keeping half of this country tethered in their skulls. He deserves this. He deserves everything BJ can give.

BJ has one second to think, oh, I need to walk that back fast, don't I? But then Sidney seizes up, and a glorious, strangled cry breaks from him as he comes in heated waves, wiping the thought away so succinctly that it's like it never existed in the first place. There's a vivid moment of perfection where Sidney actually looks beautiful, he's gone so soft in the face, and BJ completely forgets to breathe.

And then Sidney catches his wrist, a silent command, and BJ lets him go.

If there is anything BJ knows about hookups like this, it's how quickly they can go awkward, if one lets them. And sure, maybe he could let Sidney lead with his age and experience, but in all honesty, he'd rather not risk it. So BJ steals one last quick kiss before he can second guess it, and then as the two of them sway slightly in place and watch each other, he speaks softly. "See? I told you I'd take care of you."

Sidney's still catching his breath, but he looks at their filthy hands, their ruined shirts, and barks out a stunned sort of laugh as he shakes his head. "That was quite an astute prediction of yours, Hunnicutt."

Easy, relaxed as anything, completely fine and in control, BJ smirks.

#my writing #ask meme answers #sidbeej #beejsid #bj hunnicutt #sidney freedman #m*a*s*h

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