#ask sergeant williams

[uss-edsall]

Mark my words, at minimum there is going to be a four year gap in U.S. military scholarship on anything to do with any topic that isn't white men.

I am not allowed to say something that is "an immutable quality of soldiers". What this means is that I can't say if someone was of any race. So I can't say someone was black. I can't say someone was asian. I can't say if they're Japanese-American. I also can't say anything about gender. So I can't say if someone's a woman. I can't say if someone's trans. I can't talk about sexuality, so I can't say if someone's gay.

This goes further than being unable to say "she's a woman" or "he was black." It also addresses any topic including them.

I cannot say "the first woman pilot," so Lieutenant Sally D. Murphy's achievement no longer matters. I cannot say "the first African-American man to be awarded the Medal of Honor," so I can't explain the significance of Sergeant William Harvey Carney's award. I cannot reference when Don't Ask, Don't Tell was enacted, or repealed, because I can't talk about gay people. I can't mention the anti-miscegenation laws that prevented the men of the 1st Filipino Regiment from marrying white women, because I can't mention race. The only reason I can even say Filipino is because that was in the unit's name. I can't write about the racial conflicts during the Vietnam era, because again, I can't mention race.

I wanted to do an article on the U.S. Army's 'ethnic battalions' in World War II, which were five units built around men who were either descendants of immigrants, or foreign aliens who volunteered for the Army, of specific nations. Austrian, Greek, Norwegian, Japanese-American, and Filipino. First strike, it was flagged because of the word 'ethnic' in the name. Second strike, the Japanese and Filipino part. Strangely, nobody had any issue with the European nations. Third, someone With Power saw the name of it and went "get rid of that as quickly as possible we do NOT want a DOGE visit to the museum."

So. You can see where that's heading.

[6fangz]

SOMETHING ON YOUR MIND

⋆ ♰.˚🦇⌗ ˎˊ˗

synopsis: sergeant williams has been on your case since the second you moved to town; the loathing is palpable, and yet something seems to draw you back together

warnings: there is a reference to being sl*pped in this (not ellie, very vague no detail) but pls read at your own risk (!), age gap (reader is 23, ellie is 28) starts kinda angry ig, some fluff, ends w smut, fingering (reader receives), this was my excuse to write southern ellie w a drawl

southern!officer!ellie x rebellious!fem!reader

MDNI 18 +

a/n: alright…hear me out on this one i swear i had a vision. it’s long and i still dk if this came together the way i wanted it to but whatever here it is anyways enjoy and i hope today was #fab ok bye

the sun peeks through your curtains, shining directly in your face as you stir awake. you run a hand over your eyes in annoyance.

the alarm clock on your nightstand lets you know it’s barely nine in the morning, which is still way too early to be conscious in your book. you bury your head back under your pillow.

but then you hear it; a bang on the front door of your beat up single wide. you don’t get up at first, because you don’t know who it could be and therefore you don’t care.

yet whoever it is remains persistent, knocking and knocking until you just can’t take it anymore.

you drag yourself out of your bed begrudgingly and shrug on a sweatshirt, tucking your feet into your beloved dino slippers out of habit.

your shoulders are heavy as you walk down the hall, so you roll them in an attempt to ease the tension. it doesn’t really work, and the pounding is bringing on a headache at this point.

“i’m fucking coming!”

you swing the door open a moment later, finding yourself face to face with none other than sergeant williams herself.

her cowboy hat is tilted low on her head, choppy hair framing her shaded face, but you can still see that she’s angry. the little line between her brows is a dead giveaway.

you smirk instinctively, hand perched on your hip as you squint at her. “ah, sarge. i’d say good morning, but it’s not.”

“nice shoes,” she grumbles in response, eyes sweeping over the rest of your disheveled state, “didn’t realize you’d be sleeping in.”

her comment actually does make you a little self conscious, enough to tug your sorry excuse for shorts down to cover yourself a bit more.

“well i was trying to, but you just woke me up, so how about we get on with whatever this is?”

ellie glares a little harder, thumb hooked in the waistband of her pants. “fine, you happen to slash noah bennett’s tires last night? cuz he’s real certain you did.”

the answer to that question is yes, but she doesn’t have anything on you. if she did, then you’d already be in her handcuffs on the way to the station.

you’re too careful for her regardless, and that makes you smile. “nope, wasn’t me. that’s hysterical, though.”

“i’m sure y’think it’s funny. got an alibi, kid?” she pushes, country drawl on full display.

you don’t shy away. “i was working the closing shift at the bar. ask literally anyone.”

also true; you were bartending last night, just like you normally are, but you had taken an extra long smoke break to visit noah’s most prized possession.

he respects that dumbass truck more than the women in his life, let alone women in general, and he deserved every bit of it after being a dickhead for so long.

you’ve never had a problem personally delivering karma, and nobody gets away with harassing a girl on shift.

at least not while you’re around.

the suspicion is written all over ellie’s face, but she’s grasping at straws and you both know it.

“i already have. but i needed to hear it straight from the accused herself.”

“aw, if you missed me you could’ve just said so.” you tease, placing a hand to your chest like you’re charmed.

she shakes her head in disbelief. “trust me when i say i cherish every moment you’re not makin’ my life more complicated.”

the thing is that you don’t trust her words, especially not when you swear she glances down at your lips as she says them. but it also makes your throat seize in a way you hate.

“great, we’re on the same page. now am i free to go or what?”

ellie has to gnaw on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from saying no. there’s not a logical reason to hold you up any longer, especially without any real evidence.

it was just important to follow up on every lead. right?

“yeah…suppose so. but i have a funny feelin’ i’ll be seeing you again soon.” she straightens and takes a few steps down your front porch.

“can’t wait.” you shoot back, not bothering to stick around for a response before you slam the door shut.

it satisfies you for a moment to let out some of your frustration, but the urge to scream follows you back to bed anyways.

ellie has been on your case since the moment you two met, and never once has she given you a chance.

she made up her mind about you then, that you’re just some burnout loser causing trouble in her jurisdiction. and you can’t say that description is too far off base.

but she doesn’t really know your life, and she never will. you’re not even sure that she experiences enough empathy to try.

so why does her opinion bother you so much?

you squeeze your eyes shut harder, trying to force your brain to be quiet. one of these days she’s going to drive you completely insane.

ellie remembers when you first moved to the area, over five years ago now. you were only eighteen, but already so set in your ways.

she was a few months out of academy, twenty three and very green in terms of her career. in fact, you were the first person she ever pulled over on a solo shift.

it immediately fazed her that she didn’t recognize you, considering everyone had practically known each other since birth. you were so nonchalant, so not threatened, and it made her crazy.

you just snapped your gum as she ran your plates, huffing like a brat when she ended up giving you a speeding ticket.

“seriously? i’m new to town, i didn’t even see the damn signs.”

“all five of ‘em, huh?” she spit back, though she regretted it instantly.

you looked at her with the fire of a thousand suns, and everything changed. the rivalry, the chase, began in that moment.

you slipped your sunglasses back over your face, smiling to yourself like something was funny. “make them a little bigger and maybe i’ll listen.”

ellie had hardly retreated before you sped off, turning the bend and disappearing completely before she had even gotten back to her car.

you’ve always been two steps ahead since. too smart for your own good, in her opinion.

she’d grown in the ranks remarkably fast, becoming the youngest sergeant in town history, and you still don’t take her seriously.

honestly, she doesn’t take herself seriously around you either. not any more at least. you’re a different woman now, somehow even more real and hardened by life.

maybe that’s what truly vexes ellie; she understands you, but you make it so difficult to not retaliate. every second the two of you interact it feels like her whole body is on fire.

she can barely keep herself together and it’s mortifying.

in fact, she’d initially wanted to go home tonight and enjoy a couple glasses of whiskey, forget all about you for a little while.

then she happened to drive by the abandoned strip mall and that plan went to hell.

your car sits alone in the lot, tucked away so it’s barely illuminated in the dying sun. but she’d recognize that model and color combination anywhere, and she can see you walking back to it as she swerves across the street without a second thought.

you’re in the middle of opening your driver's side door when ellie pulls up and flashes her lights briefly.

you roll your eyes on instinct. the last thing you were hoping for tonight was another lecture, but you turn to face her direction anyways.

she steps out of her vehicle and strolls over, readjusting the brim of her worn stetson. you swear she never takes that damn thing off.

“figured it’d be you.” she states plainly.

you tilt your head. “figured what would be me?”

she shoots you a look, genuinely surprised that you’re playing dumb with her about this one.

“the vandalism. noticed it a while back, but i couldn’t be sure i was right until i caught you.”

you cross your arms over your chest defensively. “first of all, it’s not vandalism, it’s art. and second of all, why would you assume it was me? i just went on a walk.”

she huffs out a soft laugh, and to your surprise she reaches her hand toward you.

you manage to stop yourself from flinching as ellie wraps her fingers around your wrist, untangling your arm gently so she can get a better look at the lingering spray paint.

it left a stains despite how hard you had scrubbed at it with wipes when you were done.

“wanna tell me the truth now?” she prompts, and you force yourself to meet her eyes.

her touch is unbelievably tender compared to her harsh exterior and rough hands, and it makes your heart wilt.

but you don’t let yourself think about it for long.

instead, you wrench out of her grasp and get right back to arguing. “fine, maybe it was me. but this building is literally ancient and i’m just making it look nicer, so what’s it to you?”

it kind of wounds her that you pulled away, but she can’t blame you either. she’d probably do the same in your position.

ellie tries not to let her damaged pride show when she finally answers.

“y’know, i actually agree with you for once.”

you don’t think she could’ve stunned you more if she tried. you’re not even sure that she’s ever said anything genuinely nice, at least not to your face.

“very funny.” you snark, because you still can’t believe it.

but she doubles down. “seriously, m’not here to take you in. nobody’s bought the mall in nearly thirty years anyways, and i really do like your paintings.”

her voice is warmer, sincere. she’s telling the truth for once.

you clasp your hands behind your back to keep yourself from fidgeting nervously. it’s unusual for her to catch you so off guard, but she’s enjoying the moment while it lasts.

there’s a flutter in your stomach that’s getting harder to ignore. you’re shoving it away with all of your willpower but it doesn’t help at all.

“oh. i, um…thanks.” you finally stutter it out.

she motions toward the building sheepishly. “show me the latest?”

your eyes widen even further; this interaction is not at all going how you expected it to. it isn’t what ellie had in mind either, but you’re both appreciating it all the same.

she really had been visiting the mall a little too frequently since she discovered your work. you’re the only person nearby with a creative bone in their body, so it was easy to figure you out.

it became a habit to check in and see if you’d added anything. every new piece was so intricate, and she loved each one for different reasons.

she didn’t intend to admit that to your face though, and she’s beginning to regret it until you pivot on your heel, adjusting your tote as you lead the way.

“alright. but this better not be a fucking trap or something.”

ellie is quick to follow suit, matching your pace as you walk. “not a trap, kid, i promise.”

“i have a name, by the way, and i’m sure as hell not a child.” you remind her briskly.

“really? must’ve forgotten.” she deadpans.

you smile slightly despite yourself, turning your head before she can catch a glimpse.

it’s nice interacting with someone equally as sardonic in nature, even if she does piss you off most of the time.

“you definitely didn’t.”

this quiets her immediately. she just shoves her hands in her pockets, twigs snapping under your feet as you trudge through the overgrown grass.

a moment later you round the corner to the back wall and color begins to light up the decaying brick.

you’re running out of room at this point, so the most recent picture is pretty close to the end near you.

a meteor in its blaze of glory, hurtling down to nowhere.

you point it out, though ellie spotted it on her own easily. “this is the one i just finished. tried out some different colors.”

“wow.” she states simply, stopping so close beside you that her shoulder brushes yours.

your brows furrow as you watch her inspect it without further comment.

“wow what?” you pry, trying not to let the edge make its way into your voice.

she pauses briefly before looking over at you. “it’s just impressive. you’ve got an actual vision, i mean you’re…you’re really somethin’.”

its your turn to be silent; you’re trying to read her face, because it suddenly feels like you’re in unfamiliar territory. there’s not a hint of animosity lingering in the air.

instead, ellie is looking at you all starry-eyed, and you feel like you’re being pulled into a current you can’t escape.

“do you mean that?” your voice is faint, almost like you’ve been subdued.

the validation is making you feel fuzzy, especially since it’s coming from the one person you thought would never say it.

she nods, and this time she’s staring at your mouth rather obviously. “meant every word.”

it’s so quiet, only the sound of the birds chirping somewhere above you, and it feels like the oxygen has been sucked out of your lungs.

ellie begins to shift, to inch even closer to you, but then your phone rings and you both jump apart so comically that the trance is broken straight away.

“shit…” you mutter, fishing around in your bag momentarily before yanking it out.

the number makes your stomach bottom out, and every pleasant emotion you just experienced evaporates from your body.

nothing nice can last for long.

ellie clears her throat and you snap to life, muting the ringer because you can’t answer it in front of her.

“sorry, i—um, i have to go.”

you don’t even bother making up an excuse; you just bolt past her, high tailing it back to your car without another word. instinct has taken over, and your body is moving on its own.

she calls after you, but you can barely hear it over the ringing in your ears. only once you’ve successfully made it behind the wheel do you check to see if ellie followed along.

you deflate a little when you realize that she hasn’t, and that she won’t.

it’s been three days. three days and three sleepless nights since ellie saw you last.

she’s been up in her head ever since you ran away, chastising herself for listening to those provocative little voices and wondering what's occupying your own mind.

it’s shameful to admit, but after twenty four hours of silence, she had a compulsion to check in.

a brief stop at the bar let her know that you weren’t working, so she’d cruised through your neighborhood to find out if you were home.

the driveway was empty, and it remained that way when she visited the second time around.

the longer you’re gone, the more uneasy ellie becomes, and you’ve been plaguing her thoughts even more than usual.

had she misread your feelings? taken it too far?

she needs to see you, to talk. and you’re nowhere to be found.

the sound of the resin balls cracking against each other nearby snaps her back into the present. she sniffs, taking a sip of her whiskey.

it’s getting late, nearly midnight now, but ellie can’t bring herself to leave the bar. listening to the chatter of others is comforting.

and though the alcohol isn’t making you reappear, it at least gets her to loosen up a bit.

another swig. this’ll be her third glass of jameson, and that needs to be the limit for now. lord knows how she runs her fucking mouth with a buzz.

she glances around again, and her eyes skip over you thoughtlessly before she does a double take seconds later.

you’re perched in one of the corner seats toward the back of the bar, nursing a beer by yourself. you look exhausted, staring down at the shitty wood below you and picking at your thumbs.

ellie has never seen you here before, since she knows you prefer to get drinks straight from your coworkers.

this is the only other place in town though, usually frequented by the old farmers because they’re allowed to smoke and play pool at the same time.

and through the haze, there you are.

her stomach twists; she’s not sure if she’s angry or hurt, but it’s an awful feeling all the same.

she’s headed your way before she can even take another breath. you’re so out of it that you don’t notice until she’s actually sat down on the stool beside you.

“where the hell have you—” she cuts herself off when you turn to fully look at her, and the air feels like it's been knocked from her lungs.

a bruise paints your right cheek, though it’s clear you attempted to cover it. your eyes are watery and unfocused. she watches the recognition wash over you slowly, and you smile.

“oh, hello there.” you state simply.

her blood is already simmering, and her fingers ache to reach out and brush your face. she barely stops herself, choosing to run them through her hair instead.

“i…you okay, kid?”

her voice is hesitant, because even though she wants to cave someone’s head in, she’s much more worried about approaching you with care.

you laugh a little, a hiccup mixing itself in at the end. “fuckin’ hate when you call me that.”

your hand is unsteady as you take another long sip of beer, and she thanks her lucky stars that you’re almost done with it. that’ll make it easier to get you out of here.

“you’re right, m’sorry. hell, you’re sittin’ at the bar and i’m still using that dumb nickname.” she says, scratching her chin awkwardly.

“whatever. been dubbed worse.” you shrug and let your gaze fall back to your knuckles.

ellie clears her throat, nudging her boot against your foot. “how about i take ya home, huh?”

“i’m not that fucked up, and for all i know you could be just as drunk.” you immediately get smart with her, but even you hear the way your words slur just slightly in the wrong places.

she shakes her head but keeps her tone even. “i know my limit, and i don’t go past it. how did you get here?”

“i rode my bike. i’ll be fine, don’t even worry about me.”

but she is worried, and you can tell by the way she rests her arm on the back of your chair that she’s not leaving your side.

three minutes ago you could’ve sworn that all you wanted was to be alone, but it’s actually reassuring to run into her.

“it’s dark and completely unsafe. you’re comin’ with me in the truck, and that’s that.”

you roll your eyes, but you don’t put up much of a fight. you’re tired enough as it is, and your house is over two miles away.

plus ellie smells so delicious, leathery and woodsy even through the smoke, and suddenly you don’t mind letting her assist.

“fine. but i get to pick the music.” you bargain, taking the final swig of your bottle out of spite before standing up.

she chuckles lowly, stretching out as she waits for you to grab your bag. “radio doesn’t work, but i got some CDs you can choose from.”

“you’re the youngest grandma i’ve ever met.”

“i can live with that.”

you follow her out of the bar, focusing on not tripping over your own feet while the breeze rifles through your hair.

ellie approaches the curb where your bike is perched and picks it up easily, carting it over to her old 93’ ford so she can lift it into the back.

you find yourself noticing the way her crewneck rides up to expose her stomach, plaid boxers peeking out from her baggy jeans. they sit low on her waist, low enough that you can see the shadow of her v line.

it makes your mouth dry, and dirty thoughts run through your mind without warning.

she comes around to the passenger side to swing the door open for you. you don’t interject when she goes a step further and helps hoist you up into the seat.

instead, you opt to enjoy her sturdy grip on your elbow.

the worn cloth interior is comforting, and even the car has taken on her scent at this point.

you’re already digging through the glove box by the time she’d made it around the hood and hopped up beside you.

“ellie’s magic mix?” you read off the title of one of the discs, and she can see the humorous glint in your eye.

“hey, be nice. it’s the first one i ever burned.” she explains.

you slide it into the player as she puts the car in reverse, and a few seconds later a brassy voice begins to hum through the speakers.

it’s familiar, which surprises you.

“charley pride?” you ask as ellie peels onto the road, and she looks over at you in wonder.

“and just how’d you know that?”

you shrug, grinning at her all loopy. “i like old records. the happiness of having you is one of my favorites.”

“well color me impressed.” she jokes.

a silence settles as you both listen contently, passing by the rolling hills that are shrouded in darkness. the car rumbles along against the uneven pavement, the only other noise aside from the song.

ellie shamelessly peers over as you stare out your window, chin resting against your arm while you contemplate something she can’t understand.

she doesn’t want to disturb, but she’s been waiting for a decent time to ask. it’ll never feel good, though, so she settles for right now.

“who gave you that shiner?”

you audibly suck in a breath, because you were dreading this inevitable conversation. “is it really important? i’m fine, and it won't happen again.”

“of course it’s important. someone hurt you, and i…i wasn’t there. but i can help, if you let me.” she’s practically begging you to trust her, and it’s obvious in her voice.

but you refuse. you fight against yourself yet again, like you’ve been conditioned into it.

“why would you have been there? i was at home. or my hometown, whatever. either way, it’s not your job to protect me.”

ellie’s eyebrows furrow in exasperation. “why d’you have to be so damn stubborn? can’t you just let someone care?”

“oh, and that someone is you? c’mon, don’t pretend like you suddenly give a fuck about me. you just want the thrill of acting like a savior.” you snap coldly.

the insult pierces through her like a shard of glass. her jaw ticks, fingers tightening against the steering wheel.

she can feel the angry truth welling in her throat. normally she’d choke it all back down, force herself to keep everything routine between the two of you.

but the flood gates are open, and you’ve pushed her beyond her limit this time.

“is that what you think? that i’ve never lost sleep over you, or gotten worked up over you? i was about to put out an APB when i realized you’d skipped town, and you’ve got the nerve to suggest that you don’t matter to me? i mean, fuck, all i can do when you’re not around is wonder where you are.”

this revelation makes you sit upright again, dumbfounded by the things coming out of her mouth.

so much is racing through your head at once, yet you remain eerily quiet. when ellie gains the confidence to glance over, she realizes you’re studying her face like you’re enraptured.

“stop lookin’ at me like and say something.” she grunts and turns her attention back to driving.

but a telling blush creeps up her neck, which you’re rarely lucky enough to see.

she doesn’t usually break a sweat like this, and you feel like you owe her the same candor in return.

even if it’s hard.

“that call that i got when we were together was from the hospital. it was my mom.”

you pause, taking a moment before throwing yourself forward. “so i visited, tried to get her on track again, but she didn’t want my help. she never has. and then things got heated. you can put the rest together.”

ellie can connect the dots, even though she hates what it leads her to.

you’ve always been self sufficient, but you also kept it a mystery as to why you’d moved or why you were all on your own in the first place.

she never pushed, mainly because you wouldn’t let her, but she can appreciate why you have the boundaries that you do.

instead of saying anything, she places a warm hand on your leg. not high enough on your thigh to be suggestive, but not low enough on your knee to be overtly friendly.

it’s not what you expected, but it’s what you were lacking all along; something to ground you, a reminder that she’s still beside you.

“i’m not going back again, y’know? seriously. i’ll be alright.” you reassure her solemnly, like it’s a pact now that you’re voicing it.

ellie nods, thumb brushing against your jeans naturally.

“i know you will. it’s who you are. but i’m sorry that you’ve been goin’ through this alone.”

her subtle movements send tingles of electricity through you, and your body is a little too excited by it.

“it’s mostly my choice anyways. i don’t let people get that far because i want to be alone. or, uh, i used to.” you fumble over it gracelessly.

you’ve never been very good at conveying your feelings when they’re positive, and with ellie it’s even weirder.

it’s easy to read between the lines, but she also wants you to say it. “and now you don’t?”

“no. not anymore.”

her cheeks grow even more red as she turns down your street, rocking slightly as you hit the numerous little potholes.

she slides her palm higher up your leg, whether it’s conscious or not. “interesting.”

your stomach flips in response, and when her eyes run over you again, they’re visibly darker than before.

there is something on your mind plays softly in the background, which is ironic because she’s overwhelming every single one of your senses. it’s been a while since you’ve felt like this, completely engulfed in another person.

maybe you had been mistaking passion for hatred this whole time.

a moment later you come to a screeching halt, and ellie moves her hand to throw the truck into park. it’s quiet; everyone’s lights are off, a sleepy fog crawling through the town.

“well, uh…” she attempts to start a sentence, a goodbye maybe, but there’s nothing coming to mind.

you’re so restless that your body decides to speak for the both of you; you unbuckle your seat belt, inching closer instead of heading for the door.

you grip her right shoulder gently, stabilizing yourself as you throw your leg across her lap to straddle her. a groan slips through her teeth when you readjust yourself on her hips.

you hold her neck, tracing her jawline slowly while she stares up at you.

“you sure you know what you’re doin?” ellie asks, restricting herself to grasping your thighs for now.

you nod, leaning in just enough to leave her aching for more. “i think i can handle it, sarge.”

the sweetness of your shampoo is intoxicating, and all it would take is a tiny move forward for her lips to close in on yours.

maybe it’s the longing on your face, or the way your hair is framing your cheeks, but the boundary of professionalism has completely blurred by now.

how can it be wrong when it feels this right?

so instead of arguing or being sarcastic, she closes the distance and kisses you. it’s soft, almost surprised at first. then she gets a taste of your minty chapstick and it’s hard not to devour you.

you pull her in even closer, tongues and teeth clashing together, and in the heat of the moment she barely notices you biting at her bottom lip.

it only electrifies her more when she does feel it, so much so that goosebumps crawl across her skin.

her palms travel to grope your tits needily and you let out a sigh that gets lost somewhere in the midst of your make out.

ellie had nearly snapped earlier seeing your cleavage on display in the little tank you had on under your jacket. she didn’t think she’d get to do anything about those indecent ideas, though.

“fuck, i’ve been waiting for this.” she breathes against your mouth, effectively working her way to your neck right after.

a moan finally escapes, a sound so goddamn divine she almost forgets how to function.

but she keeps peppering sloppy kisses down past your collarbone, determined to elicit that noise from you again.

“so you’ve always been hot for me, then?” you goad, though it’s hard to banter when you’re being so pleasantly distracted.

“i’d still call it a recent development.” ellie pauses to joke back.

but even after saying that, she’s dying to worship more of you, so she diverts her attention again to slip the straps of your top down.

her knuckles stroke your skin as she goes, and she’s got your bra unhooked in one suave maneuver.

you raise your eyebrows at her as she helps you out of it. “cute trick.”

she just smirks as she tosses the garment to the passenger side. you’re still decently concealed by the worn zip-up resting on your shoulders, but your cami is pulled down to your stomach to reveal your chest.

the sight of you alone makes ellie throb, pupils the size of saucers by now.

“i can do a lot more than that, sweetheart.” she promises, cupping your now exposed breasts so that she can drag the pads of her thumbs across your nipples.

you shiver at the sensation, pushing your torso into her harder without even realizing.

“show me, cowboy.” you whisper, and she can’t help but reclaim your lips before you even finish.

she continues grazing over your sensitive buds, which makes you whimper a little louder into her kiss.

it’s completely illogical to be doing this out in the open, but the homes are spaced out enough and her brain is too immersed in you to care about consequences.

you grind into her a little in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure building in your gut, though that’s not what you really want.

ellie knows it too, so she breaks away enough to speak. “something i can do for you?”

“just wondering what those fingers would feel like inside me.” you hum, and her hands drop to your waist without hesitation.

she wanted you to be in charge of how far this went, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t want show you real pleasure.

and now she’s got the green light.

“filthy girl…can’t even make it into the house.”

there’s admiration in her tone as she frees the metal button to unzip your jeans, tugging them down your hips just enough to access you easier.

“it’s way more fun to live life on the edge.” you preach sarcastically, which she takes as more of a challenge than she should.

her hand dips into your pants and she skims across your clothed heat, enticingly slow to start.

your breath hitches in your throat and she feels your fist shift to grip her hair.

“then i sure hope you can be quiet for once.” ellie tests you right back, applying a bit more pressure as she traces the soft cotton.

you bite down on the inside of your cheek to try and hide your reaction, though every fiber of your body is ablaze.

it doesn’t help that she shifts down in the seat slightly, bringing herself more even with your breasts. she steadies your waist with her free hand as her mouth trails across the supple flesh, nipping at you every once in a while.

your panties are already damp, which rouses her so much that she decides not to boast. instead she pushes them to the side, letting her fingers run along your slick pussy.

the both of you groan, you into the open and her against your skin. she likes that you’re already clinging to her harder.

it makes her feel like you need her just as much.

ellie keeps the pace even but presses her tongue flat against your nipple, taking her time flicking back and forth. you squirm a bit, overwhelmed by the dual stimulation in the best way.

“a—aah…shit.” you whimper, rubbing yourself against her movements rhythmically.

she grins, lazily trailing her tongue across your skin, silently vowing that she won’t neglect an inch. “y’sound pretty when you’re not being a brat.”

“i’m not a—oh, holy fuck.”

without warning, ellie curls her middle finger and lets it slip inside of you, effectively cutting off your defense.

she slides it in and out a few times, giving you half a second to adjust before she adds another. you let out another lament, stunned even though it’s exactly what you want.

you clench around her and she swears under her breath. “so wet, so warm. you little minx.”

the praises go straight to your head, and you’re thirsting for her at this point.

she’s taking it slow, licking and sucking at your chest and neck while you move with the stroke of her arm. heat is building in your stomach, and you’re aching to spur the fire.

“faster ellie, please.” you beg, too far gone to worry about trivial things like dignity.

hearing you say her name while you plead is exhilarating, and all she wants to do is gratify your desires.

so she does just that, speeding up her fingers but ensuring that she buries them fully each time to hit all the right spots. and boy does she.

you tilt your head back slightly, giving her a better angle as you moan a little louder. it’s a sight to behold; your eyes screwed shut, tits bouncing in her face while she goes to work.

“please? didn’t realize i could’a just fucked some manners into you all this time.” ellie teases against your skin, and you give her a faint tug at her roots.

“shut up, i’m totally polite.” you bite back.

the way you’re sinking your hips down to fill yourself with her says otherwise, but it’s also ridiculously hot, so she doesn’t argue.

instead, she hums in agreement. “mhmm, such a lady, takin’ it so well.”

her compliments are leaving you absolutely spellbound, as much as you hate to admit it.

they’re dirty, and yet they sound so heavenly when she says them regardless.

your muscles are beginning to tighten from the pleasure, and ellie can feel it. but she knows she can get you there faster, make it even more intense.

so she continues pounding into you relentlessly, adding her thumb to the mix so that it brushes your clit.

your thighs twitch around her, and an involuntary cry leaves your throat.

“fuck, jesus christ!”

she smiles, completely ignoring the way her boxers are rumpled and sticky at this point. she’s not worried about herself; all she wants is for you to keep making those sweet little noises.

“feels good, huh, angel?” she asks, curving her fingers perfectly inside your cunt.

you nod, muttering something that’s not even coherent. your whole body is ablaze now; no part of your skin feels untouched by her goddamn magic.

ellie can’t believe she’s got you melting in her arms, exposed for anyone to walk up and see, but she loves it.

“right…there.” you gasp, clutching her hair and shoulder for dear life at this point.

she circles your swollen bundle of nerves harder while continuing to hit that sweet spot, and your legs feel like jelly.

you’re tensing around her hand with every stroke, all while she draws your skin between her teeth to leave hickies across the swell of your breasts.

huffs and groans fill the air, and it’s hard to tell where you begin and she ends. ellie doesn’t think she’s ever been this entranced by anyone, at least not in a very long time.

you’re goddamn beautiful, completely wild in this moment, and she adores it.

“i’m—mmm, gonna cum.” you whine, trying and failing to keep the desperate from your tone.

she doesn’t want it to end, but she hangs on to the hope that this is just the beginning and puts the rest of her energy into your satisfaction.

“give me everythin’, baby. let the whole fuckin town hear how dirty we are.”

she’s adjusts her grip to help rock you into her fingers, somehow filling you even more perfectly in the process.

your toes curl in your shoes right before your high crashes around you, mouth agape as you chant her name. your eyes squeeze shut while you finish, shaking lightly from the sheer force of it.

ellie keeps you steady while she gradually slows her tempo, simultaneously shimmying back up in the seat a bit so that she can watch you ride it out until the end.

the feeling of you cumming around her is something she’s not sure she’ll ever be able to forget, and the expression on your face is a close second.

finally, she stills completely, waiting until you’re able to look at her before she retracts her fingers.

they glisten in the nearby streetlights, slick from your orgasm, and your gaze glitters back as you watch her take them into her mouth.

you can see her tongue working, and she groans when she pulls them out fully clean a beat later, chest still heaving from all the activity.

“god, y’taste like heaven too.”

you cover your face with your hands in embarrassment, peeking through them as you shake your head slightly. “stop saying shit like that.”

ellie chuckles and tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear for you. “why, cuz it turns you on?”

“no, because you sound like a dork.” you lie, though the mess in your pants says otherwise.

ellie smacks your ass lightly in response. your arms fly down to wrap around her neck again as you let out a squeak of surprise.

“always gotta be a rebel, don’t ya?” she says, smoothing her palm over the place where it had previously landed.

there’s a smile plastered across her face though, probably similar to the fucked out one you’re wearing yourself.

you tangle your fingers in her hair, forcing her attention back to you. “well, someone has to make you do your job.”

“please, i know you’re soft for me under all that armor.”

you narrow your eyes playfully before pressing your forehead against hers. “i’ll deny it in public.”

ellie chuckles, and you feel her breath fan across your face. “we can work on that. how ‘bout we go inside and getcha cleaned up for now?”

“is this an excuse to see me fully naked?” you question as she slips the straps of your tank back over your shoulders gently.

“oh, are we still pretending that you don’t want me just as much?”

you place a chaste kiss to her lips. “yeah, yeah. touché.”

[velvetchrry]

━━━━ IT REMAINS

pairing: johnny “soap” mactavish x psychiatrist!reader

4.3k. after being shot in the head, johnny works with a psychiatrist to get his life back. **contains dark themes - read at your own risk.

It’s a tick.

Nine. That’s how many hash marks make up the upper margin of your notes. That’s how many times Sergeant MacTavish has rubbed the spot on his forehead where he was shot months ago. If you listen closely you can hear the pad of his thumb race along the grown out hairs of his mohawk.

It’s how he gives himself quiet comfort. When you ask him a question that makes him feel squeamish, he absentmindedly runs his finger along it. You’d have more hash marks if you deigned to keep track at the beginning of your session but this is only the first time you’re meeting him. You’ve also gotten farther than any of his other psychiatrists thus far. 32 minutes in.

His first psychiatrist, Dr. Williams is great. Phenomenal, actually. Old school, nearing his late fifties — he showed you the ropes when you started here. You thought for sure his calm demeanor would be just what MacTavish needed. He made it approximately 17 minutes into the session.

You’re not even sure Dr. Williams was able to get an answer out of him that day. You were here; heard the raised voice of Sergeant MacTavish. Watched as one of the Lieutenants who accompanied him dragged him out. Dr. Williams left his office a few minutes after that, pink-faced and flustered. The only time you’ve ever seen him like that.

MacTavish went through two other psychiatrists before landing in your lap. Why me? you couldn’t help but think. What could I possibly have that they don’t? You’re the youngest psychiatrist here by a mile. Fresh meat. A larva who has yet to transform, metamorphose.

He’s been staring at the same speck on your carpet for a few minutes now. You saw this faraway look in his eyes at the beginning of the session. Those piercing blues fogged over, mist on the lake. Pupils pinpricked.

His leg bounces slightly. Sweat glistens on his upper lip. Talking about what happened, bringing up that day is what has set him off in other sessions before. You weren’t ready to breach the subject until a few minutes ago.

“Johnny?” you try again, gingerly. He didn’t like when you called him Sergeant MacTavish earlier.

“Doc?” he says calmly, as if you haven’t been waiting in silence for him to answer your question.

“Would you like me to repeat the question?”

He sucks his teeth. Ponders. You let him. If there’s anything you’ve observed about his behavior thus far is that he does not like to be pushed, likely due to the fact that he simply needs more time than before. With a TBI like his, it’s not shocking. Memory loss and concentration issues are almost a guarantee. Along with the other symptoms he’s been experiencing — mood changes, difficulty sleeping, sensitivity to sound — and that’s only what you’ve been able to gather so far from his own admissions this session and the notes from those very brief prior ones.

“I dinnae want ta talk about it,” he finally says.

“Alright,” you answer simply. Calmly.

His shoulders visibly slacken at that.

You wonder if he expected you to push him. And, had this not been your first session, you may have. But not this time. He’s not ready for that yet.

He does surprise you, however. When Sergeant MacTavish makes it the full hour, you award him with an honest smile.

“This is a great step forward, Johnny. I’m proud of you.”

You look down at your slightly smudged notes, the air still heavy with the scent of fresh ink. Notes on Johnny’s sisters, parents, home. How he imagines his life in the future — back home to the Highlands, maybe a little cottage in the woods, walking distance to his relatives. Surrounded by family — a wife, children. Animals. Fending for himself and his family. Providing.

It’s… sweet. His fantasy of the future. You imagine in different circumstances he might have been an ideal husband. He has a protective instinct that drives him in everything he does. A wolf defending his pack. Maw dripping with the blood of those who would stand to hurt anyone he loves.

“Thanks, Doc.”

He scratches the scar again as he stands up. It’s still raised — pink flesh that draws your eye in. He waits for you, maybe the most awkward you’ve seen him thus far. You stand and offer your hand. His engulfs yours. He holds it tight, like letting go of you will make him slip out of reality again.

“Next week, same time?” You hate the phrase as soon as it comes out, making you sound like every movie shrink ever, but routine is important for him right now.

He swallows thickly and nods his head, finally letting go of your hand. You walk him to the exit, to the waiting Lieutenant. He goes without a fuss.

You don’t run into any problems until a few sessions later.

He’s agitated, but hasn’t told you why yet. You give him time, give him space. Let him work out what he wants to tell you. The Newton’s cradle that usually occupies your desktop is shoved in a drawer. Silence envelops the two of you, other than his ragged breathing as he tries to get ahold of his emotions.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been holding your own breath but you allow some oxygen into your lungs. You feel like you’re standing at the door of an airplane and he’s the one strapping your parachute. Checking for rips and tears. Making sure the deployment handle is secure.

“Johnny?” you murmur. Wait.

He rubs his scar.

“Lonely,” he blurts out.

“That’s to be expected,” you hum as your finger absentmindedly brushes across the large CONFIDENTIAL in red ink that runs across his folder. He hasn’t been allowed to talk to any family or friends. They all think he’s dead until the man who killed him is in custody and — while you have your disagreements on whether or not that is the best course of action for him — you don’t outrank the military men who made this decision.

“Yer the only friend I get ta see.”

You hesitate and realize that was your error as soon as his face drops.

“We’re friends, no?”

You give him a genuine smile. “I’m your psychiatrist, Johnny.”

“Said ya wanted what’s best for me. Said ya cared.” He’s agitated, fist clenched and shaking against his thigh. He strokes his scar in quick succession with his other hand. His usually serene, handsome face is contorted, as if what he’s hearing is causing him physical pain. He is seconds away from another episode.

“That is true and I meant it when I said it.”

He unfurls his fist but his fingertip never leaves his head. “So we’re friends then?”

You shouldn’t placate him with confirmation. If it were any other patient, you wouldn’t. You would stop this in its tracks, before anything has time to bloom. Cut out the dead root before it rots the rest of the plant. But it’s him — and you can’t be another in a long list of people who have failed him.

“Yes Johnny. We’re… friends.”

He beams at you and you think you see a piece of Johnny from before the accident. The golden retriever energy you suspect made up his personality. The finger on the scar stills.

“I knew you were the right one for me, Doc.”

You make it through three months with him.

“Bonnie flowers,” he nods towards the vase on your desk.

Lily of the valley, baby’s breath and red roses encompassed in a simple glass vase with a lilac satin bow. No note, but it was your birthday week and you figured one of your friends or parents just forgot to add one. You’ll figure out who sent it later.

“Mmm, they are.”

You level him with a look.

“You’re avoiding my question, Johnny,” you remark. He’s had enough sessions with you, become comfortable enough for you to be able to challenge him a bit. He sinks further into the couch and you sit up straighter, closer to the edge of your seat, not letting him run away from the question with physical distance. “Can we talk about this?” you ask his permission.

There’s a tick in his jaw as he mulls it over, eyes never leaving the flowers. You wait, unsure what his reaction will be.

“Can I say no?”

You nod. “You can always say no to me, Johnny. Though, it’s easier for me to help you if you say yes.”

He looks down at his lap, hands folded neatly. The hair on his arms escapes from his long sleeve a little bit. He rubs a knuckle.

“Ya ken I trust ya, Doc, it’s just…” he pinches his brow together, eyes shut as he brings a hand to his head. He hunches over slightly.

“Johnny?” his name lingers in the air. The physical distress he shows gives you heartburn, acid creeping up your throat. He groans, and pushes his fingertips so hard against his forehead you’re sure it’ll bruise.

The bottle of water is in your hands before you realize what you’re doing — standing from your seat and sitting next to him on the couch in your office. You offer it and he lets his hand idle on yours for a second before removing the lid and taking a long sip.

He sighs in relief and lets his muscles relax, leaning backwards into the sofa. A warm, massive hand settles on your knee and you startle but don’t recoil. It would set him back if you pulled away.

“I’m not ready, Doc,” he croaks, and the crack in his voice breaks your heart.

“Alright, Johnny,” you soothe. You grab the back of the hand resting on your knee and squeeze before standing up to return to your chair. “That’s alright. Take your time.”

A knock on your office surprises you a few nights later.

It’s late on a Friday night — you should have been home by now, but you had few things to wrap up before your week off. Notes to finish, information to chart. You were only slightly worried about Johnny, hoping one week off wouldn’t regress him any. At the end of his last session, you made sure to spend some time telling him that you wouldn’t see him next week. You emphasized that you’d be back the following week and would resume as normal.

There’s nothing you hate more than disrupting his routine. It’s been paramount to his recovery thus far. Last week his physician requested an MRI to update his brain imaging, since there hasn’t been any since the incident and it set him off. He only calmed down once you were paged and arrived — stripped yourself of any metal, put on two different pairs of ear plugs and sat vigil next to him on the scanner — your hand brushing against his exposed leg in a soothing motion as his head was inside the tube.

You wonder who could possibly be here at this time of night. As far as you know, you were the last one, but someone else could have easily had a late patient that you weren’t aware of.

The doorknob turns before you can reach it.

Johnny stands in the opening to your office. He is visibly distressed, sweat glistening on his brow. His fingers flex and squeeze as he walks in and closes your office door behind him, hard enough that you jump where you stand.

“Hello, Johnny. What brings you here so late? Where’s your escort?”

He’s still looking off in the distance as he approaches you. You hold your ground, tilting your chin up slightly to look at him. Now that he’s in front of you it’s easier to see how ragged his breathing is, how hard he’s fighting for control over his emotions.

“Do you want to sit?” you try again.

He doesn’t respond, simply holds his ground as you talk. His eyes flicker back and forth as he ponders something. Is he trying to use the calming techniques you’ve taught him?

Your fingers twitch, almost reaching out on instinct to grab his wrist. He sucks in a large breath, his chest nearly brushing against yours as he does. The hairs on your scalp tickle as you feel his exhale caress your face. Patiently, you wait for him. You’re used to this. Sometimes he needs a moment.

“Ye cannae just…” he starts then stops, pinching his eyes shut as he gets his thoughts together. He inhales deeply again before continuing, his voice more desperate. “Why’re ye leaving me, Doc?”

“I’m not leaving you, Johnny. I’ll be back the week after next.”

The line of his jaw sharpens as he clenches his teeth. His fingers continue to flex and contract, half moons indenting the skin of his palm as he does. The thin wire holding him together is about to break and you’re standing in the middle of the debris field.

“I’ll tell ye about it,” he pleads. He brings his hand up to cup your jaw and you hold your ground. Johnny has never frightened you, no matter how many times you’ve seen him agitated. You know, down to your core, he would never hurt you — so you stay still, let him make physical contact. “I’ll tell ye everything.” He dangles the bait over you like you’re a starving animal. The thing you’ve been waiting for all these sessions. A thumb traces the slope of your cheek.

“Okay,” you agree, bringing your hand up to lightly hold against the one stroking you. You wrap your fingers around his and pull his hand off your face. “We’ll talk about it when I return, alright?”

Wrong move.

He snaps.

Before you can react, Johnny grips the back of your neck and pulls you firmly to his chest. His other arm locks itself around your waist. You gasp, breathing in the scent of him as your face is pressed tightly to his body. Your hands fly up to push yourself away but it’s no use. Johnny is carved from stone, immovable, statuesque. He doesn’t crush you, only holds you as his arms lock in place. Your stiffened frame moves with his chest, his rapid breathing competing over the sound of your own.

Panic creeps into your throat, tightening the noose. You know Johnny would never harm you, but you’re not quite certain the lengths he would go when he’s feeling threatened — and right now he’s feeling very threatened.

Fingers wrap around the hair at your nape as he pulls your head back. He kisses you hard and it’s a battle of teeth and tongue as you try to back away from it, remove yourself from the situation. You whine in protest and Johnny groans.

Finally his mouth releases yours. Panting, you gasp for air.

“Johnny… this is… highly inappropriate,” you wheeze.

He looks into your eyes lovingly, as if his stare could keep you in place forever.

“Kept the flowers I gave ye,” he breathes.

Your eyes widen in realization. “You? You’re the one who sent those to me?”

A wide grin splits his face. “My girl’s birthday. ‘Course I did.”

You try not to focus on the fact that he knew when your birthday was — something you definitely did not share with him. “Johnny… I’m your psychiatrist.”

“Yer my friend. Said it yerself. Said a lot of things, hen. ‘We’re in this together’, ‘I’ll do whatever it takes to help ye’, ‘Rely on me, even on bad days’,” he leans in, nose pressed to your hair and taking a whiff. “Cannae let you go… no’ now.”

You try pushing yourself off him again to no avail. “Johnny…”

With both arms now wrapped around your middle, he lifts you with ease, setting your ass down gently on top of your desk. He brushes a stray hair out of your face. “Said I can ‘always say no’ to ye. I’m saying it now. Cannae let you go, hen,” he repeats.

“Johnny,” you echo, strained as you attempt to wiggle out of his hold. You try to keep your voice strong and even but it’s becoming more and more difficult the longer you’re stuck in his hold.

He shushes you before you can continue talking, a massive palm covering your mouth. “Know ye want it too, pretty girl.” His large knee forces your legs apart, bumping it against your clothed center. You startle and he chubs up — your jump barely moving you in the strong grip of his arm. “Take such good care of me. Let me return the favor,” he murmurs, pupils blown out wide as he replaces his hand with his mouth.

You try to push him away again as he kisses you, but it’s no use. You’d have better luck tipping over a skyscraper with your bare hands. Defeated, you submit — not by kissing him back but no longer fighting him either.

“Tha’s it,” he coos when he decides to back away. He takes you with him, sliding your bottom across the desk and supporting your body weight until your legs are firmly underneath you. Suddenly you’re turning around and he’s forcing your face down to the cool wood. The action causes you to screech and he lays his body against yours and shushes your cries, smoothing a hand along the exposed skin of your cheek.

“S’alright, pretty girl. S’alright. Nobody’ll ever touch ye again. Safe with me, always.”

A shiver races down your spine. Johnny hums in delight, his hips crushed firmly to your ass. His thick length is pressed against you and he shudders. Impossibly, he pulls you by the waist against him even more and wraps a massive paw around your middle to tear your pants down your body. Your panties come with it and you can’t help the moan that escapes at the sensation and sudden coolness.

“Johnny…” you start again, knowing that kissing him is beyond innappropriate but fucking him on your desk is a different monster entirely.

A few thick digits in your mouth quiet you and you gargle at the sudden intrusion. “Shh, bonnie,” he pacifies you, before wrapping his arm around your front and swiping a long stripe up your core with his spit-moistened fingers.

He braces your squirming body down with his large forearm. You yelp as he continues to swirl around your sensitive nub, the motion getting his fingers wetter and wetter as your body responds to his touch. He continues his ministrations with deft and experienced fingers that have your legs trembling underneath you. Eyes closed, you cry out in pleasure — and then come back to reality when you realize you’re about to be fucked by your vulnerable head trauma patient.

“Johnny! We can’t do this,” you plead.

“Why no’ hen? We both want it.” You can’t see him with how you’re positioned but you just know he’s doing that little head tilt thing he does when he’s genuinely confused.

“It’s not right, I’ll lose my job,” you whisper.

He huffs. “Don’t need it. I’ll take care of ye.”

A bulky finger slides into you and your knees knock together. “You’re my patient,” you reply, breathless.

“Gonna help me at home from now on,” he responds effortlessly, stretching you with another finger, continuing his slow, lazy pumps.

Home?

“W… what do you mean by ‘home’, Johnny?” your psychiatrist brain asks, waiting for your patient to define his train of thought like you would in any other session. As if you were across the couch from one another — instead of his fingers spreading you wide as your body is splayed on your desk.

“Home,” he replies simply, like the word should explain itself. A third finger enters you and you suck in a breath at the slight burn. You whimper.

“Pretty baby,” he coos, accent thicker than you’ve ever heard it.

Your nipples pebble but you attempt to resist giving him anymore physical responses. “We can’t do this Johnny,” you tremble — from his fingers or the situation you currently find yourself in, you’re not sure.

“This beautiful body is telling me otherwise, Doc,” he practically purrs, his fingers picking up speed.

“Please Johnny… I…” you gasp.

He rips his hand out and you bite down hard on your cheek to prevent yourself from crying at the loss of contact.

“Want more, baby?!” he beams, the sound of his zipper your only warning before his thick, warm cock rubs lengthwise against the entrance to your cunt, hard length massaging your clit as he pumps.

‘No,’ your mind thinks, but your traitorous body says ‘yes, yes, yes,’ as you draw in a sharp breath, legs pushing your ass back without asking your brain.

Johnny makes a pleased grunt as he continues, lubing his cock with your wet, pulsing pussy. You can’t help it — you moan. A sharp slap on your ass pushes you further into the wood and Johnny soothes the sting by hitting your reddening cheek with his sticky cock a few times in a row.

His hand wraps around the back of your neck, keeping you in place but he’s surprisingly gentle. “Meant to be mine,” he declares as he enters you slowly. You suck in a large breath. “Only good thing that came outta this,” and you know he’s tapping the side of his head with his other hand without looking back at him. You whine and he groans when he enters you to the hilt, squeezing the flesh of your hip with the hand not securing your neck.

That’s it.

You’re fucked.

In more ways than one.

Johnny’s fingertips dig into your skin as he picks up the pace slightly. You grip the side of your desk, not bothering to stop him now. It’s too late for that. Arguments die on your tongue as Johnny pounds into you from behind, the bony protuberance of your pelvis hitting bruisingly against the hardwood with every thrust.

You resort to holding on as best you can as Johnny slams against you, like his anger is seeping out of his skin by doing it. The slapping of flesh and your combined pants sucking the air from the room. Johnny bucks into you until his pace gets sloppy and then he stills, pulling himself out with frustrated groan.

His hands leave you and you lay there, boneless, but watch as he drags your chair around the desk, cock bobbing and glistening in the light as he walks. He supports your weight effortlessly as he places you in your chair, like a delicate piece of china. He grunts as he drops to his knees in front of you, and you watch with hooded eyes as his arms come up underneath your knees and pull you to the edge of the seat — right to his waiting mouth.

Johnny swirls and curls his tongue around the sensitive flesh of your pussy, wrapping a strong arm across your lap to keep your bucking hips down. It stings a little, his solid arm pressing into the bruises forming on your hip. You pant and whine, unable to control the noises spilling out of you.

He doesn’t stop, licking and sucking until that little bundle of nerves can’t take it anymore. With all your strength you try to back away from his mouth but the effort is fruitless. Tears stream down your cheek, the sensitivity making you plead with him. “I can’t… Johnny please… please…”

He hums, the vibration sending a shockwave up your spinal column. He slows down but only slightly and you see stars, head floating as you cum on his tongue. He hums again and you shiver violently in reaction. Pulling back now, he smiles drunkenly at you and kisses your pussy before standing and lining himself back up with you.

Your legs are firmly secured and he throws your calves onto his broad shoulders. He teases your entrance before he lets out a sputtered groan. “Bonnie little thing,” he sighs before spearing you on his cock. You're contorted at an impossible angle, one you’re definitely going to feel later, as Johnny relentlessly drives himself into you.

Voice cracking, you can’t stop the sounds of pleasure that escape from between your lips. Sweat drips down Johnny’s brow as he concentrates. One of your hands grips the arm of your chair and the other finds your lower stomach, feeling Johnny’s cock push into you. The thick hair covering his muscular body tickles but it’s barely noticeable over the pleasure coursing through your system.

Your toes curl as another orgasm rips through you, and you bite down hard on the forearm braced beside your head. Johnny whines in pleasure, hips stuttering before resuming their normal brutal rhythm.

“‘M close, bonnie,” he pants. His motions become more flustered as he approaches his climax. The hand gripping onto the arm of your chair now curls around his forearm as you hold tight to him.

He releases, his spend coating your walls in thick spurts and he drops his body on top of yours. You can feel him twitching inside of you as you wrap your arms around his shoulders.

After a few moments, Johnny catches his breath and snakes his arms under you. He lifts you out of the chair and brings you to the couch he’s sat on countless times before, letting your limp form curl against his. He pets your head lovingly as you lay against him, humming softly to himself.

When you fall asleep, Johnny whispers his plans of the future to you. The house he’d purchased in the Highlands a couple of weeks ago is ready to move into. You won’t have to worry your pretty little head about a thing. The plane is chartered, and you’ll both be on it. He’ll be able to last longer next time, and you’re going to give him the most beautiful family — together you’ve already started to.

[tchtokyo]

141's Princess (Someone is flirting with Kyle?)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

There was a spoken rule (yes, very spoken) that none is allowed to flirt with sergeant John Soap Mactavish.

Soap was a lovable person, nominated by popular vote the 141 base sweetheart. He was kind, funny, sociable, easy to talk with, open to everything, helpful and good with the rookies. The 141 always sent Soap to greet newcomers and visiting soldiers because they wanted to spread a positive image, and they always liked Soap the best.

The consequences of being such lovable and social person was the flirting. Soap had at least three cases of flirting per week, either from new rookies or from a visiting sergeant or liutenant or whatever. Soap knew they were flriting he wasn't that oblivious has people deemed him to be. He likes to flirt back to a certain level, but it's fun banter for him, but he also knows when to stop and back down, and also knows when someone starts to be a little obsessed.

However, to those unfortunate souls, the 141 also knows that people flirt with Soap, all the time. But each has their own reactions.

Price lets him be. He has an immense trust in the scott that was earned through life-death situations and many vulnerable moments. He also knows that Soap realizes what he's doing, so Price is confident that Soap will tell him if things get out of hand. That doesn't mean that he won't pull the sergeant closer when that happens.

Gaz acts like a jealous lover in a playful way. He also trusts Soap a lot, he has also seen the way Soap handles this situations and he knows that the scott won't let it go far. But when they are together and that happens (which is most of the times because soap and gaz come in pair) Gaz acts like he's a jealous teenager, pouts and pulls Soap closer until they are in each other's lap.

Now Ghost...that's a whole different story. He's the reason that the spoken rule of not flirting with Soap was established. It's a known fact that Soap is Ghosts favorite in the base, between the 141 Ghost is loving towards all of them but tends to lean towards Soap more and they were okay with it after a long talk. That to say that Ghost has a "Someone is flirting with soap" sensor that tingles when that happens and as fast as he can he's there scaring the shit out of the person. He looms behind soap until the person gets the fuck out. He nominated Soap's guard dog, and one more reason to fear Ghost was added.

There's this spoken rule, but every one still tries their way with soap. But Sergeant Williams, one of the recent visiting sergeants from other base, wasn't looking for sergeant mactavish.

Williams found Soap funny and cute, like every first impression that the sergeant gives. He could see the charm, but wasn't enough to make him chase Soap like most people he saw doing it. No, who he wanted was the dark skin beauty that was quietly smiling behind Soap when they greeted him.

Sergeant Garrick was his name, code name gaz. Yes, he was quiet but cute, all smiles and very polite, in Williams eyes it was his perfect match. Soap was too much for him, but Gaz was just perfect.

Williams approached his liutenant Rogers, who arrived first in the base, in the mess all "So the sergeant-"

"Don't even try it. Sergeant soap is off limits, unless you want to experience Ghost wrath, then go ahead I ain't gonna save you."

"Okay..." damn, Ghost was weird jesus, poor guys that didn't know about this " but I wasn't talking about soap, I was talking about the other sergeant."

"Who? Gaz?" Williams nodded "I don't know...he's quiet, kind and nice. He helps out a lot and teaches well, but not that outstanding like soap."

"So...no weird liutenant at his back chasing people away?"

"No? Wait, you gonna try for him?" Rogers asked curious.

"Yeah! He's exactly my type, and since he doesn't seem to have anyone protecting him like soap, maybe he will accept my advances"

"You can always try, I guess"

Williams was in his lucky day.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Summer in the 305 || LS2

Pairing: Logan Sergeant x fem!reader Summary: Logan comes home to Miami (305) for the summer break and you surprise him by meeting him at the airport. Warnings: fluff, doggo parents, hints of sexual tension. WC: 1.7k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three

No one noticed you as you sat half asleep in an oversized hoodie on a bench, assuming you were just another weary traveler in Miami International Airport. The arrival lounge had been busy when you arrived hours earlier but it had grown quieter and quieter as the night grew so late it could have been considered morning. Logan was meant to have landed at 11pm and he would have expected you to be at home fast asleep but you had wanted to surprise him.

The surprise came fittingly at 3:05 when the frosted glass doors opened with the next disembarkation of passengers, led by Logan as he desperately tried to get home to you sooner. Your eyes were burning from forcing them to remain open for the extra four hours that his flight was delayed and you rubbed them as you rose from the bench. 

Caps and shirts were thrust in his path but he was too polite to decline a fan so he paused to sign his autograph and nearly jumped out of his skin when your fingers wrapped around the handle of his suitcase. The shout to call for security almost passed his lips, thinking he was being robbed, before his sleepy brain recognised you.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing here?” he asked as a grin chased away the exhaustion on his face and he bundled you into his arms.

You kept one hand on his luggage since there was a crowd starting to gather but the other curled around his back and your head tucked into the crook of his neck. “I wanted to surprise you. I missed you.”

Logan pressed his lips to your forehead until you tipped your head back and he captured your lips as cameras flashed. “I missed you too.”

Thankfully it wasn’t always like this and most of the time when he came home to Miami you were left in relative peace. It was a different story when you went with him to the races, those were full-on mobs of Williams fans that demanded almost all his attention. “Go on, babe, finish up signing those so we can go home.”

The pen flew across whatever passed in front of him before he caught you struggling to hide your yawn and made an apology as he handed a boarding pass back with his autograph before waving. “Thanks for the support everyone.”

There was a collective groan from those who had missed out but Logan was focusing on taking back his luggage with one hand and draping the other over your shoulders as you fell into step.

“Looks like the 305 missed you too,” you commented as his hand lifted every now and again to wave at the younger fans until you reached his Range Rover you borrowed for the night. “There’s a treat waiting for you at home.”

His hand found your thigh as he started the engine and sent you a smirk as it drifted higher. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Not that,” you giggled, turning down the music that had played loudly while you drove. Logan enjoyed a quieter atmosphere when he was at the wheel, one where he could hold a conversation. “I wasn’t sure if you had eaten so I picked up some Carbone’s. I will admit I had to name drop, but they wouldn’t make a takeaway order otherwise.”

His warm laugh filled the SUV. “Did they even know who I was?”

“Of course! Everyone knows the hometown hero.” You leaned across the console and kissed his cheek, feeling the short prickles of his blond beard on your lips. “Are you planning on giving me beard burn, Lo?”

“This is all the rage in Europe. You don’t like it?” he asked as he ran his fingers over the three day growth. You weren’t sure if he was playing with you or not before a grin split his face and you sighed with relief. “Don’t worry, honey, I just haven’t had a minute spare to shave it this week.”

By the time 4:00 am arrived you should have been dead on your feet, but having Logan home energised you almost as much as Sooty. The black labrador scarpered all over the polished wooden floor when he saw his daddy walk in the door, his paws struggling to find traction in his excitement.

“There’s my good boy, come to daddy,” Logan cooed as he dropped his suitcase and caught the bounding dog as he jumped up. “Have you been protecting, mommy? Yeah? Of course, you have, you’re such a good boy.”

“He never gives me that kind of welcome home,” you joked as you locked the door and wheeled the suitcase down the hall to the bedroom.

A pair of hands came to rest on your waist as you emptied the entire case into the laundry hamper, knowing he wouldn’t have had the time to do it himself. His lips brushed over your nape before finding their way to your jaw as he turned you in his arms. “But you don’t go missing for weeks at a time.”

Hooking your arms around his neck you nodded in agreement as Sooty padded into the room with his favourite toy, dropping it at Logan’s feet.

“Someone has to be the stay-at-home parent in this relationship,” you chuckled, releasing him so he could pick up the squeaky toy.

“Not tonight, Soot, we’ll play in the morning,” he said, giving you a quick kiss with the promise of more. “Let me put him to bed, leave everything else until morning, sweetheart.”

He disappeared down the hall to the living room where Sooty’s bed was set up, but whenever Logan was away you would let him sneak into bed with you. You always slept better when you could cuddle something warm, but you definitely preferred waking up to Logan’s morning kisses than Sooty’s slobbery ones when he wants to be fed.

“Lay down, buddy,” you heard Logan’s quiet words in the still of the night. “You can take a break from looking after mommy, you did such a good job for me, yes you did.” You heard a smooch followed by a soft whine as Logan turned off the lights, then the pitter patter of paws. “Back to bed, Soot. Good boy.”

You heard the bedroom door close before Logan stepped into the ensuite, leaning against the doorway while you filled the sink with warm water. You returned the smile you found in the mirror and patted the marble vanity top before searching the drawers for his cut throat razor.

“It doesn’t look that bad, does it?” he half joked as he jumped up onto the bench, parting his legs so you could step between them.

“You could have a 70’s porn ‘stache and I would still think you are handsome,” you promised, making him laugh.

He tipped his head back as you soaked a face cloth in the warm water and squeezed the excess out before placing it over his face. “This is my favourite part of coming home.”

“Out of everything we do when you’re home, this is your favourite?”

His laugh made the face cloth fall away but it had probably been there long enough to open his pores so you lathered up the shaving cream next and massaged it over his cheeks and down his neck, feeling the thick cords of muscles beneath your palms.

“Okay, third favourite,” he corrected as his hands shifted from where he leaned back down on them to curl around your waist and rest comfortably on the swell of your ass. “But it’s still up there.”

“You are a strange man, Lo. I don’t think most people enjoy having a blade to their throat,” you murmured as you opened the razor and tilted his head to the side. 

“I trust you.”

“Thank you. Now no more talking.”

He didn’t dare make a sound or even swallow as you angled the blade against his cheekbone and started to glide it carefully down to his jaw before rinsing it off in the sink. He kept perfectly still for you but you were hyper aware of his eyes scanning your face for any little changes he might have missed while he was away, re-committing it all to his memory for the next time he left. 

You closed the blade up after finishing his throat last and placed it on the side before grabbing the face cloth and wiping away the excess shaving cream. Running a palm over his jawline you nodded at the silky smooth skin and took a kiss as payment before handing him the bottle of aftershave. “All done, handsome.”

By the time you had turned down the bed, and changed into one of his shirts, the light leaking in around the edges of the curtains started to turn pink as dawn approached. Your eyelids were heavy but your heart was light as Logan climbed in his side and wrapped his body around your back, the weight of his arm reassuring on your waist and his leg wedged between yours. 

“Come with me,” he murmured sleepily. 

You could hardly coordinate a reply as your lips quivered with a suppressed yawn until it finally passed. “Where?”

“Everywhere: Zandvoort, Monza, Singapore, all of them.” You felt his small shrug before his arm tightened around you and he kissed your shoulder. “I hate being away from you.”

Your immediate reply was to admit how much you hated the distance too but that would only make him feel worse if you couldn’t join him. “What about Sooty?”

“Hamilton brings Roscoe to some races, or maybe Mom can look after him…you don’t have to give me an answer now, sweetheart. We have three weeks to think about it.”

“I want to,” you said as you laced your fingers with his and drew his hand up your body so it was tucked into the valley of your breasts where your heart beat steadily in your relaxed state, “but we can talk about more in the morning.”

He nodded and pressed another kiss to your skin, the touch smooth and soothing thanks to the close shave. “Sweet dreams, honey.”

“Hmm, you too,” you said as your muscles relaxed even further and your tongue barely moved. “Love you, Lo.”

His voice followed you into your dreams and you smiled as it took hold in a future you couldn’t wait to see come to life, “I love you too.”

Click here for part two.

Taglist {1}: @moonvr @copper-boom @yunnie-f1 @ophcelia @lightsoutletsgo @alwaysclassyeagle @neiich @omgsuperstarg @starwarssavy23 @fdl305 @faeb1tch42069 @sweetestrose569 @pleasantducktimetravel @dr3lover @writerscurse @christianpulisic10 @alexisquinnlee-bc @purplephantomwolf @belennasif @ryiamarie @mickslover @tyna-19  @destourtereaux @sunf1ower16 @octaviareina @laneyspaulding19 @booknerd2004-blog @mimimarvelingmarvel @chonkybonky @jpg3  @bangtanxberm @ohthemisssery @eviethetheatrefreak @kimi240302 @andydrysdalerogers @formula1mount @storyteller-le @dakotali @daddyslittlevillain @elijahslover @darleneslane @alex0808 @dhhdhsiavdhaj @glow-ish @hollie911 @lazybot @blueflorals @styles-sunflower @charlesswife

[renegade0897]

Max Emillian Verstappen

Charles Marc Herve Perceval Leclerc

Carlos Sainz Vasquez De Castro

Alexander Albon Ansusinha

Sergio Michel Perez Mendoza

Sir Lewis Carl Davidson Hamilton

Fernando Alonso Diaz

George William Russell

Valterri Viktor Bottas

Zhou Guanyu

Yuki Tsunoda

Daniel Joseph Ricciardo

Franco Alejandro Colapinto

Andrea Kimi Antonelli

Oliver James Bearman

Pierre Jean-Jacques Gasly

Esteban Jose Jean-Pierre Ocon Khelfane

Kevin Jan Magnussen

Liam Lawson

Jack Doohan

Lance Strulovitch

Logan Hunter Sergeant

Nicolas Hulkenberg

Oscar Jack Leclerc-Verstappen-Webber-Alonso Piastri.

These drivers I will defend until the day I die.

Notice anyone missing? 🤣🤣🤣

No one right? Because all of these drivers don't fucking choke women in clubs and ask fans for nudes to fucking get off on and say offensive remarks on a fucking Twitch stream sexualizing women to the point he says "if you listen to a woman, expect sex as a reward."

[extremelyblackandwhite]

pairing: dad!bucky barnes x au pair!reader

warnings: age gap (reader is 10 years younger than bucky), smut (18+, dni if under 18)

author’s note: sorry for the delay folks xx

masterlist

now i wish we’d never met ‘cause you’re too hard to forget while i’m cleaning up your mess i know he’s taking off your dress and i know that you don’t but if i ask you if you love me i hope you lie to me

Bucky Barnes was a great many things, a paradox in a single man, many opposite things to different people. For some he was an angel, charity driven and ready to sacrifice himself for everything and everyone. For others, he was a demon, someone who was power driven, filled with the need for success and stepping on anyone he needed to be the first and the best. No matter what both thought, all agreed on one thing - Bucky Barnes was one hell of a charmer. He’d gotten that from his mother - old high class British charm, his father used to say. That combined with his looks made him irresistible to most people. Everyone flocked to him, everyone except for Y/N. She’d vanished from his side a bit later into the night and he hadn’t seen her since. Each time he thought to look for her, someone would need him or catch his attention.

Even with all that, he couldn’t find her. Y/N was an eye catching woman, she was beautiful and if she were anywhere near he would’ve found her. Instead, she was nowhere to be found and he was starting to get annoyed. He wanted to spend the evening with her, or at least he had intended to spend the evening with her, introducing her to the right people who could help her. He continued listening to whoever was talking to him right now - truth was, he wasn’t even sure who that person was. He just usually smiled and kept up simple talks, that was what was required of him so he would gladly keep doing it as long as it yielded results.

As for Y/N, she had almost forgotten who she was here with. Christopher Davis was someone who she always could picture herself with. He was smart, well spoken, well mannered and seemed to have an interest on her. Besides, he had gone through the same thing as her back at Columbia.

      - I’m just saying Professor Williams is a pain. - Chris laughed as Y/N explained what her supervisor had said. - If Professor Anderson likes you then you must be a bright student.  

      - Or maybe I’m just really daft. 

      - I don’t think so. - he smiled. - Sergeant Barnes doesn’t employ someone who doesn’t have promise. 

      - Except I don’t work for him ... I mean, not like you work for him, I’m just an au pair. I reckon the only criteria was are you a threat and are you good with children. 

      - How is it working with Sergeant Barnes if you don’t mind me asking?

Chris looked at her and then back at James whom he didn’t notice had been staring them down until now. He sighed, putting on his best smile, after all, he was trying to impress this girl. 

     - He’s uptight and a bit controlling but I guess you have to be if you want things to run smoothly. Specially when you work in advertising. 

     - That’s most CEOs isn’t it?

     - Yes but James Barnes is .. different. Sorry, I don’t mean to sound like a disgruntled employee. 

     - That is fine. Sergeant Barnes has got me on my nerves every once and again?

     - Is that so? - Y/N felt the blood drain from her face as she turned around to face her boss. She wasn’t afraid of him per say, but she also knew, she just knew he would probably be pissy for the rest of the evening. - Good evening Y/N, Mr. Davis. 

     - I will see you tomorrow, Y/N. - Chris smiled at the au pair.

To say Y/N was over the moon was a massive understatement. He liked her, at least she thought he liked her enough to invite her out. She didn’t think she still had it within her, she was usually busy looking over Sadie or with her postgraduate studies - that didn’t give her enough time to think about her sex and love life. That being said, maybe that explained why she was having the weird dreams and fantasies about James; familiarity. Right? It had to be that.

Bucky on the other hand felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. Chris was ... well, he didn’t know that much about Chris other than he came from money yet he couldn’t even blame him from that since he had come from money as well. He was just boring, Bucky found him boring. He didn’t take risks, at least not enough risks for someone who worked at advertising. He played it safe. It worked, but it wasn’t revolutionary. Still, Bucky didn’t like him. He definitely didn’t like him for Y/N either. Y/N was smart, innovative, caring and another bunch of positive adjectives which were too long to list. Chris was just boring.

     - So how’s that lady? - Y/N broke the silence between the two of them, a bit tipsy on the champagne which she wasn’t used to drinking.

     - What lady?

     - Delilah? - she looked up through her dizzy, tipsy mind, before snapping her fingers. - Delia. Yeah, that’s her name. How is Delia?

     - You would know if you weren’t busy flirting with my employees. 

     - Oh so you can flirt but I can’t?

     - Not when you’re with me. You’re embarrassing yourself and humiliating me.

     - But I’m not here with you, am I, sergeant? I am not your date, am I?

     - No. - he smiled forcefully. - However if I were going to flirt with someone I would pick someone less boring. 

     - You work in advertising, Sergeant. Everyone is boring. 

(...)

Bucky had never spent a whole night alone with Sadie, not when she was awake. Yet, here he was, left behind by his au pair so she could go and date boring Chris while he had to deal with a very hyper Sadie who was running around as if it wasn’t 8 o’clock yet. He usually had a babysitter or he had Y/N, or Steve yet right now he was by his lonesome. He thought she would’ve settled down if he played princesses, yet, she did not. Instead Bucky now had knotted hair, glitter on his face and probably some on his eye and permanent marker on his neck. He had finally given up and done the worse thing in the eyes of every parenting book - he’d given her a tablet loaded with all the Bluey seasons. Meanwhile he’d taken to watching re-runs of Mad Men. 

     - Bed? - he asked the curly haired ginger who looked up at him, her hair in front of her face. - I’ll give you 10 dollars?

     - No. - she replied before looking back at her tablet. Bucky sighed, looking up at the ceiling. Soon the terrible twos would be done and he’d have the terrifying threes. 

    - 20 dollars? - he said once again but she ignored him. He sighed, how come Y/N managed to do this? - Sadie, you can either go to bed or you can be tired tomorrow and not go to the park with Y/N. Choose. 

She looked at him with the death stare which she had inherited from him, but eventually got up, grabbing his hand. Bucky smiled, picking her up and walking to her bedroom. He pushed the sheets from her bed, carefully rolling her to her mattress before tucking her in, handing her a Bingo plushie. 

    - You want a story, babe? - he asked her, brushing her curls away from her forehead. - No?

    - Light?

    - I’ll turn your little moonlight on. - he kissed her forehead. - I love you, Sisi bug. 

She smiled at him and it was enough for him to know she meant she loved him too. He tucked her once more before turning off the main light, leaving the room softly lit by the nightlight. Slowly and softly he went up the stairs, grabbing a wick basket and started collecting toys onto it. She had too many toys, still he wouldn’t stop buying them. As he finished it, Bucky sat back down on the couch. He was annoyed. Why did she even go out with that prick? The only thing they had in common was an alma matter and god knows Chris was a legacy student so it wasn’t like he tried as hard to get into university like Y/N had. God, he hated him. Hated how bland and boring he was. 

He toyed around with the remote, trying to find something that would get his head out of the idea of goddamn Christopher Davis trying to get her out of the practically translucent dress she had been wearing. Bucky could swear she did it on purpose, just to show off to him in those strap heels and short sheer black dress like a temptress. He changed channels once more, hoping he’d find something ... maybe a pay per view porn channel or something. Yet nothing took his mind of his au pair, his employee who he should have some professionalism with, and that stupid lacy bra he could make out under that dress. Dressing up like that for goddamn Davis. 

He stared at his phone, watching as hours passed yet nothing fulfilled. Eventually, Bucky made a mistake, a huge, massive mistake. A mistake which fulfilled itself as he opened the door to show Delia. He handled things badly but right now he needed his fill. 

His lips attacked hers as they stumbled towards the bedroom, Bucky locking the door behind him. This was a bad habit, a terrible habit but her lips felt good, her taste was tempting and Bucky wasn’t the one to have good habits. However, today, things were ... different. Her lips leaving lipstick marks on his neck didn’t feel the same. Maybe this was a mistake. He shouldn’t really have a woman in the house when his daughter was asleep upstairs. 

   - Are you alright? - Delia pulled away from him.

Bucky blinked, he had to be going ... stir crazy. Maybe he’d drank a bit too much whiskey but her features morphed and he could swear that in place of the woman he usually called whenever he needed release, stood the woman he wanted to be here now. The sheer dress a vivid memory in the back of his mind. He ignored her question, moving to kiss her neck and putting his hand over her mouth. His fantasies took full front stage as his mind drew a different reality.

All he could see was her, red lips open wide with soft, high pitched moaned as he kissed down her body, doing away with her dress and her underwear. He wanted to mark her, he wanted to mark this vision of a woman he craved. His hands found the top of his joggers, pushing it down as if he were a horny mess. His cock was painfully hard, slapping against his stomach as he stood over her, this vision of Y/N. All he could think of were all the times she saw her, the outline of her breasts, her collarbones. He didn't pace himself, instead lining up with the woman's entrance before he gripped her hips and slide himself in, without much a second of though. The feeling made him grown, he was insane he reckoned, insane because he knew this wasn't her but all he could see is her. The soft moans, the contracted muscles. He fucked her hard and rough until he felt his release approach. Once he did, he slide himself off, jerking off and coming on her stomach, rolling to the side of the bed. He stared at the ceiling fan of the guest bedroom, his mind lulling him back to reality ... all he could think when that moment was once simple thing - Fuck Chris Davis. 

(...)

Y/N didn’t spend the night. He noticed that in the morning as he was getting prepared from work and saw her walk in, with her dress crimped and hair barely brushed. His blood bubbled. If she wanted to fuck old money, she could’ve fucked him. 

    - Had your release? - he knew he was being mean now, just looking to stir the pot. - Fun night?

    - Why? Need some new jerking off material? - she crossed her arms, speaking in a manner and language that almost made him spit his coffee. - Who’s taking Sadie to school?

    - Well, if you can still walk I’d say he did a pretty shit job, huh?

    - I guess I’m taking Sadie to school. - she rolled her eyes. - And it’s none of your business.

    - Well my employee is fucking another one of my employees. Maybe you should go to HR. 

    - Maybe I should and tell them that the boss is acting like an ass. Are you seriously still upset at me that I flirted with someone at your weird benefit? I’m single, I���m allowed to flirt!

    - Not with Chris Davis. Seriously, Y/N, get a better taste in men. 

    - Because you have such a great taste in women. - she poured herself a cup of coffee. - Since you’re dressed, maybe you should take Sadie to school and see your favourite ego boosting group the PTA mums. 

    - Maybe I will.

    - Picking Sadie up from school or do you want me to?

    - Steve’s picking her up.

    - Steve?

Steve. 

////////////////////////////////////

taglist : @talesofadragon @themermaidscales82​ @winters1917​ @vladsgirlxx​

[blu3-ja3]

Price is going through a box at his home when he finds it, it's in a dusty little black frame with the glass cracked that makes it impossible to see the picture. He handed it to Gaz asking him to remove the picture while he continued going through the box. Price forgets about the photo as he finishes going through the box.

It isn't until Price walks into the rec room a week later hearing everyone snickering around each other does he remember what the picture could be. He moves towards the table and sees the rest of his team sitting around O'Connor.

"So he didn't have the mustache until after going to Urzikstan?"

"He got sunburned constantly but because of his bucket hat it was just the lower half of his face. Then he noticed our captain, a big German lad with a massive beard, he didn't get sun burn when he wore his hat..." Price could hear the smile on O'Connor's face, she always enjoyed regaling the boys with stories of Price when a lieutenant and she a fresh faced sergeant.

"When John started growing his out it was nowhere near as glorious as it is now, it was all patchy and inconsistent. The only thing he could grow was a mustache, theirs a picture somewhere of mustache John. It's one of the last pictures of my old squad..." There's a sullen sadness in O'Conner's irish voice. John remembers taking the picture she's talking about it was the last one before O'Connor had to change squads. After she became a lieutenant... Transferred to a less active duty job so Will was better taken care of. It wasn't until he was in his early teens did O'Connor join back for active duty.

"WAIT! I'll be right back I think I know what picture you're talking about!" Gaz's voice came closer towards Price, he walks into the room as Gaz is about to leave.

"Going somewhere Lieutenant?"

"Yes sir, I've got something to show Captain O'Connor!"

Price steps to the side to allow Gaz to pass before moving to sit at the table. Ghost sat quietly reading, Soap had his newest sketch book and was filling pages, Roach was chatting away with O'Connor as she was writing. Price sat down next to his second captain and looked over her shoulder to see her filling out some paperwork.

There are rapid approaching footsteps as Gaz appears panting holding a familiar black picture frame. There's a glint of new glass in the frame, Gaz moves towards Price and sits down next to him placing the picture frame down on the table.

"Captain Price found this while we were going though some boxes at his house. Handed me this, got new glass for the frame."

"Yes this is it, Jaesus, that haircut!"

"Never understood why you kept it so short, you constantly complained about not being able to put it up."

"Old habit, it was one less thing for Oliver to grab when I was trying to get away. I started growing it out after I got the desk job and kept it long because I liked it."

Price remembers those times. When she'd come back from leave with fresh bruises, flinching every time someone raised a hand or a voice. It was relieving to watch her slowly come out of her shell, 8 years of watching her raise William and become more of herself.

"So who's all in the photo, that's Price and you but who else?" Gaz pointed to the 4 others in the picture.

"Well the tall gentleman with the glorious beard is Captain Müller, the lad in the sunglasses is Kinsley..."

"The muppet next to me is Evans and the bloke in the truck is Bernard."

"You look weird without your beard Cap."

"So when do we get to see clean shaven Captain Price?"

"Never, I worked too hard to get this beard to where it is."

"I think I'd leave you if you shaved it, I like the scruff!"

"Should I grow my beard out LT?"

"Your already pretty scruffy as is Suds"

"If you grow it out I'll shave it in your sleep Johnny!"

Everyone continues chattering away, doing nothing while waiting for their next mission.

COD Master List

[aziraphales-library]

Hi lovelies! I was wondering if y’all had any fics set in the Old West?

I saw some fanart with this concept and now I feel like I desperately need it in my bookmarks if there are some out there lol

Hello. We have some fics here, and here are more to add...

Seduction Accomplished by cassieoh_draws, HolyCatsAndRabbits (E)

In all the presentations Crowley had seen of Aziraphale in the last 6000 years, she’d never looked quite like this. Aziraphale wore a little makeup on her face, a corset around her waist, lace above her bust and on her arms— and on her legs there was practically nothing at all. Her blond curls were piled high on her head, with a few light wisps dancing around her face. Aziraphale’s corporation always had soft, generous curves. Crowley wasn’t sure he’d ever been able to view every single one of them on display all at once. Crowley managed to say, “Hello.” He was rather proud of that.

Tumbleweeds and a Spot of Strip Poker by ElysiumLeo (M)

Anthony "Snake Eyes Tony" Crowley is an ex-criminal who has found his calling as a bounty hunter. Working with the man that saved him from the hangman's noose, the two have carved out a pretty comfortable existence for themselves, roaming the desert of the Old West and bringing in criminals for justice. It's a solid gig that both are happy to share with each other, but a man does have needs after all. When it comes to the end of a hard day's work, what are two men to do to unwind and pass the time? Play strip poker, of course.

Yeehaws and Yearning by sapphicshigeo (G)

...The setting sun behind them left their face in shadow, and Aziraphale pushed down her rising nerves. She spared a glance to her revolver, and exhaled. However, when the figure finally was close enough, dark spectacles and typical scowl coming into focus, Aziraphale groaned. “CROWLEY!” She yelled, out of exasperation and also to compensate for the distance, “Please tell me you are not this dastardly Marigold Marauder!”

Hell's Half Acre by Lurlur (E)

Of all the saloons that existed in Hell's Half Acre, Deputy U.S. Marshal Anthony Crowley had a strong preference for the establishment operated by old Sergeant Shadwell. He could be found propping up the bar at the Witch's Tit most afternoons, and at one of its gaming tables almost every night. Being a man of reliable habits was part of his service to the town; people could always find him when they needed him.

Be Still, My Foolish Heart by stinkybarnacles (G)

He took a breath and opened the door. It creaked just enough to get her attention. She glanced up - haloed by moonlight on one side of her face, and bleeding lamplight on the other. She smiled from where she was leaning on the banister as he let the door fall shut and joined her. "I was just thinking of you," She said. Crowley felt his throat close. He could only manage a curious hum in response. He was grateful for how much of his face was shadowed and covered in his fashions. "I'm glad you're here," She said simply. Her sentiment was lost on him. Was she glad he was in America? In this town, in this saloon? Or just here, on the secluded balcony with her? Or In 1898, the Wild West is already nearing its end, so Crowley ventures to America to soak it up while he still can. And, as has become a theme in his existence, bumps into a familiar angel in the process. A.K.A. Cowboy Crowley and Saloon Girl Aziraphale.

Oklahomens! by ranguvar82 (T)

ALL SINGING! SOME DANCING! The fic fusion that nobody asked for! Anthony Crowley is the best cowhand in the Oklahoma territory. Everyone loves him. Everyone, that is, except for Aziraphale Williams, the nephew of Mrs. Tracy. Crowley really wants to change that. But how? Well, through song, of course. Aziraphale doesn't know it, but he's about to be wooed.

- Mod D

[dear-ao3]

Can I ask for a translation on what happened in Vegas?

what didnt happen in vegas!

-carlos sainz ran over a drain cover that was not welded down 9 minutes into the first practice session. it ripped a hole through his car basically (he narrowly avoided getting royally and permanently fucked up by it) and he got a 10 place grid penalty for fixing said car

-toto wolff, the mercedes team principle, said very emphatically that carlos deserved this penalty. carlos did not in fact deserve this penalty because it was not remotely his fault.

-probably out of spite, carlos managed to finish the race above both mercedes cars

-back to practice 1, it was redflagged 9 minutes in after he crashed and it took nearly 7.5 hours for them to fix the track because they had to check all the other drain covers

-practice was already late to begin with and reportedly at 1am ish they kicked all the fans out who had bought tickets because it was "too late"

-tickets btw were over 1k USD

-practice two started sometime around 2am and didnt finish until nearly 4am

-yes, people were driving cars at over 200mph at 2 in the morning, jetlagged to hell and back. idc if you're a professional, that sounds dangerous

-the announcers were descending into madness the whole time and during practice two i think tried to talk about oceans 11 but fucked it up

-there was also the sphere. the sphere was relatively unhinged.

-the drivers didnt get back to their hotels until after the sun rose that day. and they had to race again that night

-oh also it was fucking freezing and when its freezing the cars don't work cause the tires don't warm up and the brakes don't warm up

-tires also warm up best on corners, high speed ones. the vegas track had mostly all low speed corners and really long straights. not ideal

-the pit lane exit was also smack in the middle of a really tight turn. which they would be exiting onto on cold tires with cold brakes.

-also the track looked like an upside down pig

-practice three was normal until the very end when alex albon crashed into the wall. no one was allowed to do practice starts because the session was red flagged and not resumed.

-the most notable thing to happen at qualifying was that both williams cars (which are basically tractors) managed to place p5 and p6 on the grid. especially interesting considering that logan sergeant has placed dead last in qualifying for the last several races.

-also both mclarens were at the bottom. this is not super relevant or particularly interesting but i was upset about it.

-ferrari went p1 (charles leclerc) and p2 (carlos sainz), but sainz had a 10 place grid penalty for fixing his car that had a literal hole through the bottom, so he started p12.

-weirdly, sir lewis hamilton and checo perez also started pretty far down the grid.

-anyway onto the race.

-there were so many safety cars. literally on the first lap the whole back half of the grid rammed into each other.

-then! terrifyingly! lando norris ran over a bump in the track on lap 3 or 4 i don't remember and spun several times before ramming into the wall. he sounded not ok on his radio but he got out of the car. eventually they ended up taking him to the hospital, he is quite fine but it was still a terrible crash

-his teammate, oscar piastri, seemly got possessed by someone or something, possibly lando himself, because he had a very impressive race until mclaren decided to use the worst tire strategy possible (as in, pit him in the last 10 laps to change his tires when this was largely avoidable by all accounts). he could have ended on the podium potentially if they hadn't fucked him up. still, he ended 10th and got the fastest lap and as a result the track record.

-there was also another episode of French Civil War at alpine when they told esteban ocon to stay behind his teammate, pierre gasley, and he said no !! and passed him for funzies

-charles leclerc also got possessed by something, possibly his own bad luck, because he managed to finish p2 after overtaking checo perez on the last lap.

-the same checo perez whos f1 career has been basically dead for half the season

-also lance stroll weirdly slayed

-despite starting high on the grid, both williams managed to finish out of the points

-surprisingly there were only 3 DNFs and 0 red flags

-this is surprising because of all the tire and brake issues that people thought there would be

-unsurprisingly max verstappen won. what was surprising was that he sang viva las vegas over his radio afterwards, especially surprising considering that he spent the whole weekend shitting on the race, saying that the track was terrible, he hated it, and that the fans should burn the place down for getting kicked out on practice 1 day and only getting a voucher in response

-related to that, the fans sued f1 over getting kicked out

-someone thought it was a good idea to put max charles and checo in the back of a rolls and film them driving to the podium. it was incredibly memey.

-there was definitely more that happened but this is all i can remember right now

[thehutpoint]

17 March 1880, Putney, posh district of London. William Edward Oates and his wife Caroline Anne (de domo Buckton) just welcomed their second bundle of joy and first son, Lawrence Edward Grace Oates.

The bundle grew into sickly, yet unexpectedly energetic boy, who loved to ride donkeys ("Rent a donkey for Laurie, we are coming for summer" wrote Caroline to her relative in southwestern England), and then horses. Wrestling heavily with education due to learning disabilities, little boy grew to be a sport-loving teenager, who voraciously read adventure books, then into young man who dreamed about becoming a soldier.

And he did became one, sent to war almost immediately, got wounded while protecting his injured men. The childhood was gone for good.

A fine man he was. Unpretentious, silent, maybe due to atypical, slow speech pattern that got also described as drawl. He had zero penchant for elegance, prefering comfort above all in his clothing and suffering greatly from the demands of fashion of his times (these stiff collars, ick!), he had low tolerance for snobs, assholes and dumbasses, was very known though from getting close friendships with men from social classes lower than his own, as he did not seem to care much about the social divides and stratas.

A man of great, dry wit, he did not have much of social life, out of his own choice. The other officers couldn't remember him going ever once to the town for an usual round of military entertainment, involving booze, ladies of the night and gambling, and every medical checkup confirmed Oates being squeaky clean, without a single trace of any venereal disease that were a plague among the soldiers, officers very much included. He was a frequent guest in the officers club, usually sitting quietly with a beer, which seems to be his favourite beverage, sometimes with his nose burrowed in a book.

Obviously, the life of a peacetime officer, forced him to attend some social events. Dinners, parties, picnics (he hated these fiercely, complaining to his mom about tepid tea and aching back), he seemed to go through these with his teeth clenched and no pleasure at all. He limited his social ventures though, so much he veered into the rude territory, refusing, for instance to drop his visit card in the letter boxes of the newcomer officer families as was the custom. The constant source of frustration for Oates was that during the peacetime, an officer could make a career easier in the drawing rooms, charming the wives of senior officers, than by actual work in the field. As you might expect Titus did not have much of social skills himself, and no gift of the gob whatsoever, despite being an excellent leader material.

Cool headed while facing danger, courageous, resillient, intelligent, avidly learning new skills when they caught his interest, be it woodworking, harness repair or gardening, loving horses, he seemed cut for a cavalry officer, yet he was deeply unhappy in the army. Having low tolerance for idiots certainly did not help, because every army since the beginning of humanity have had it fair share of idiot officers, petrified in their positions.

Oates had his sensitive side though. He was a compassionate big hearted man, who lectured his mother that a servant girl who got pregnant out of wedlock deserved compassion, not judgment, asked said mom to employ his fellow soldier who got kicked out of the army after injuring his spine in a work accident. When ill with smallpox in India, Titus made ruckus in the hospital until his sergeant, who, also ill with smallpox and not being an officer, did not get the nurse care, was brought into Oates's isolation tent where one nurse could tend to them both.

Let's remember and love this fine man today, on his birthday. Let's get a skinful of beer to celebrate this fine unique man!

Happy birthday, Titus Oates!

[claradesvoeux]

MUSTER LIST UNDER THE CUT Note that a) there are likely others I have not accounted for moving outside Clara's circle who have yet to be added, but also b) it looks like a long list but by no means are all spots taken. If you want to join in just make a blog/sideblog and start interacting and I'll add you no questions asked. If you want a list of who all *isn't* taken, dm me and I'll forward you a guide to the AMC Cold Boys. Also c) some links might not work as blog names occasionally change. Please let me know if one is broken and I'll update it. Enjoy!

This is not a terribly recent thing but I realize I forgot to include it: there are also DUPLICATE CHARACTERS so if you want to be someone that we already have that’s fine too!

Admirer, E. Secret - Officer (Terror)

Anon, Peach - Peaches

Armitage, Thomas - Gunroom Steward (Terror)

Armitage, Thomas - Gunroom Steward (Terror)

Asleepmottley, Ash - Surgery Apprentice (Terror)

Best, Charles - AB (Erebus)

Blanky, Thomas - Ice Master (Terror)

Bridgens, John - Officer's Steward, Captain's Steward (Erebus)

Cracroft, Sophia - Fumbler (England)

Collins, Henry Foster - Second Master (Erebus)

Crozier, Francis Rawdon Moira - Captain (Terror)

Des Voeux, Charles Frederick (You Are Here) - Third Lieutenant, 12 Year-Old Father (Erebus)

Diggle, John - Cook (Terror)

Fairholme, James Walter "Walt" - Third Lieutenant (Erebus)

Filler, James - AB (Terror)

Fitzjames, James - Commander, Captain (Erebus)

Franklin, Jane - Widow (England)

Franklin, John - Former Captain (Erebus)

Gibson, Billie - Officer's Steward (Terror)

Goodsir, Harry - Surgeon's Assistant, Anatomist (Erebus, Terror)

Gore, Graham - First Lieutenant (Erebus)

Gore, Graham - First Lieutenant (Erebus)

Hartnell, Thomas - AB (Terror)

Hartnell, Thomas - AB (Terror)

Helpman, EJ - Clerk (Terror)

Hickey, Cornelius - Caulker's Mate (Terror)

Hickey, Cornelius - Caulker’s Mate (Terror)

Hoar, Edmund - Captain's Steward (Erebus)

Hodgson, George Henry - Second Lieutenant (Terror)

Ice, The - Ice (Nunavut)

Irving, John - Third Lieutenant, Holy Ghost Boy (Terror)

Jopson, Mary - Former Mother (Marylebone)

Jopson, Thomas - Captain's Steward, Third Lieutenant (Terror)

Le Vesconte, Henry Thomas Dundas "Dundy" - Second Lieutenant (Erebus)

Little, Edward - First Lieutenant (Terror)

MacDonald, Alexander - Surgeon's Assistant (Erebus)

Peglar, Henry "Harry" - Captain of the Foretop (Terror)

Pilkington, William "Pilk" - Private (Erebus)

Ross, Lady Ann Coulman - Wife (England?)

Ross, James Clark - Rear Admiral (Enterprise)

Ross, John - Admiral, Unc (England)

Silna "Lady Silence" - Strongest Soldier (Nunavut)

Stanley, Stephen - Surgeon (Erebus)

Tozer, Solomon "Sol" - Marine Sergeant (Terror)

Terror (Terror)

Fagin (Erebus)

Jacko (Erebus)

Rats, The (Erebus, Terror)

Tuunbaq (Nunavut)

Will be updated as new members join the club, let me know if links don't work!

[tchtokyo]

141's Princess (Someone is flirting with Kyle?)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Soap can vouche for the following information, as someone that befriended Gaz the moment he laid eyes on him and who knows almost every deep secret.

Kyle Gaz Garrick doesn't know when people are flirting with him.

Soap knows that this is a fact, an historical one at that, because the scott was victim of such condition. It took soap saying directly that he was flriting with Gaz for 1) the man understand the situation 2) for gaz to flirt back. After that, he found out that Gaz is very good at flirting and amazing at dirty talking.

Anyways, it's more like Gaz thinks that people won't flirt with him from the start, like he knows he's not like soap, funny and sociable, he's quieter likes alone time and prefers to be in the background. Gaz became a source of quiet for soap when he needed, a silent support for Price in anxious times, and a sleep partner for Ghost when his insomnia was at it's worse. Gaz was a pillar in their little relationship and someone they treasure any time they can.

No one flirts with Gaz, and so the 141 didn't even phantom that such thing would happen, they were secure - not only because of Gaz lack of flirt detector, but because gaz was their little treasure - that no kind of that action was needed.

On this day, soap was baffled. He was siting next to price in the mess hall, food eaten just waiting for the older man to finish, they were with gaz but the man had something to do so he left early. He looked towards the entrance of the mess, squinted his eyes and-

Was that someone flirting with Gaz?

Soap was the person with the most knowledge of flirting, so he was not mistaken in his hypothesis. No, that was a man ready to use all his cards on the oblivious and polite sergeant that was his Gaz.

"Hey, Cap" Soap nudge the olders arm, making him almost choke on his food, that earned him a glare from Price, but that wasn't important "sorry! But someone is flirting with your baby" Soap said while pointing to the entrance.

"Wha-" Price looked at the entrance and there, lo and behold, a visiting sergeant that price should really know the name but doesn't remember, is standing way too close to his baby (yes, Kyle is always gonna be his baby) with a smirk, dark eyes and hands way too touchy, trying to flirt with Gaz the best he could. However, Gaz was just standing there, hands to himself polite smile that did not reach his eyes "he doesn't even realize that he's flirting with him."

"Cap, please, I told him his ass was a dessert that I wanted to taste and he said thank you, I had to tell him I was trying to flirt with him."

Price shrugs "that settles it. GAZ, COME HERE." Price called out to the sergeant, who politely excused himself from the other man to the table.

"Yes, sir?" Gaz asked sitting on the chair next to the captain, who then pulled him flush against his side.

"I was just saving you from the excessive flirting over there."

Gaz made a confused sound "flirting? Sergeant Williams wasn't flirting with me."

Both Price and Soap blinked once, twice at him, disbelief written all over their faces "aye, Gaz, kitty, you telling me that you think he was being nice out of his own violation and not chasing that ass?"

"Jesus Soap not everyone is as horny as you. And yes he was being nice, he was asking some questions about our training method and how we teach the rookies."

Price raised a brow "and the smirk, lip licking, lidded eyes, hands on your arms didn't give it away?"

"What? Soap was and is like that too! He might have been a very touchy person!"

"Gaz I was trying to get into your pants, and I'm still actively doing that"

Gaz huff and stood "you are being ridiculous! He's just being friendly! Besides he probably wants Soap and not me! Anyways, I have to go, see you on movie night in Price's room."

"We gonna have a movie night?"

"NOW WE WILL!" Gaz answered back already out of the mess hall.

Price and Soap sat there for a while, reliving that interaction that left them hopeless and amazed. Sometimes, it didn't settle on them that Gaz was oblivious to an unreachable level, but when this kind of things happened they realized all over again and celebrate their milestones because how did they snatched such oblvious prick as their boyfriend?

"That was interesting."

"Ye know what's gonna be interesting?" Soap asked, standing from his chair. Price tilted his head in answer and the scott continued "when Ghost sees that dude flirting with Gaz."

Ah. That. They forgot about that.

[sleepyfan-blog]

Injuries and Boundaries

Author's note: this is the next fic in Cedric's adventures in the husbandry AU! Thanks to @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan for letting me borrow Hura! first. previous. next

tagged:  @egrets-not-regrets @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @i-am-a-dragon34

warnings: corporal punishment, wound treatment, blood

Summary: More injured Black Templars show up at the clinic causing trouble. Cedric's asked to help wrangle and treat them.

"Cedric... We've got more feral injured Black Templars who refused to be treated by anyone but another Son of Dorn. Do you mind taking them? Normally we'd have them wait, but all five of them are actively bleeding, and their sergeant is really twitchy." Misty, one of the human aides who worked in the Astartes-run medical clinic that Cedric worked in asked. "We've managed to herd them into one of the larger exam rooms, but they're still very tightly wound up. "

Cedric heaved a sigh, shaking his head a little. This was the second group of badly injured Black Templars who've shown up in the clinic within a month. This did not bode well, especially as it seems as though multiple Black Templar warbands seem to be gathering near or in this city for... Throne knew what reason. "I'll tend to them. Just let me finish my lunch real quick. It shouldn't take more than a minute or two."

"Thank you, Cedric." The medical assistant answered, sagging gratefully in relief before leaving. 

The young apothecary glanced around the room, double checking that no one else was around before vox-calling Ramiel "There are more injured Feral Black Templars in the clinic. Please warn our older Bruders and encourage our fellow Primaris marines to keep away from the base until this city is clear."

"... Sure, but what about you, Cedric? You should either hunker down with one of our older brothers, or ask Apothecary Hura if he has a mission out of the city that he'd like you to complete as a favor or something." Ramiel responded, a frown on his face "I'm still on the chaplains' retreat, but I know that you're not safe right now. You're going to get yourself to safety, right?"

"I'll be careful, and if I can't be careful, I will be smart, You don't need to worry, Rami. I'll be fine. Remember, we figured out that I survived the longest Back There, of the five of us. I didn't even get killed to be sent back to Ancient Terra." Which was a damn sight better than his fellow Primaris marines. "But I've got antsy patients to deal with. Be sure to message bruders Roland and Arnault they need to know, if they don't know already." He suspected that Roland and Arnault were exiled from many of the Black Templar Crusades because of them embracing their bonds with their mortals... And despite the fact that the bonds were warp-creations, those bonds and their humans made them so happy, brought out the best in both of them. Why shun them for it? It made no sense to Cedric.

"I will... but I will also tell them that you're treating feral templars who might hurt you if they take a notion! So they will make sure that you are safe too!" Ramiel growled out, and he could hear the stubborn glare on the other's face.

"Honestly, I am fairly safe within the clinic. I am one shout away from dozens of well-trained first-born cousins who won't hesitate to sedate and restrain a rampaging Cousin." Cedric sighed before ending the vox-call with Ramiel. He really hoped that the stubborn Justicar didn't rile up their older brothers. Roland and Arnault could get very protective when the mood struck. 

Cedric knocked on the closed door to the exam room that the older Black Templars had been brought into, waiting for a moment before entering the room, closing the door behind himself as he took in the sight before him. 

Three of the firstborn Black Templars were pacing around the examination room in a standard patrol cycle, while the other two were sitting on the exam room table, leaning into each other with their eyes closed, breathing shallowly.

Cedric could smell the coppery tang of blood in the air, saw the tense, tight ways that these older brothers were holding themselves and knew that each of them was in a tremendous amount of pain. He asked "Would any of you like something for the pain you are in? I will need to treat your wounds, which is going to hurt more. I have both spray-on pain reducers which may be applied to the wounds you have directly, depending on what kind of wounds you have, injectable pain killers, or a pill to take orally. Do you have preferences, if any?"

The five firstborn templars stopped what they were doing and looked him over silently for several long, and awkward feeling eternities (which was probably closer to a minute, perhaps two, but it felt as if they dragged their silent appraisal of him for so very long). The Sergeant stepped forward and slightly to the right, blocking Cedric's view of the two sitting on the medical table. "I am Sergeant Alois Zimmer of the Sprechembriech Crusade. Identify yourself, Apothecary." His well-muscled arms were crossed defensively over his chest. He had a large blade sheathed on his left hip, a bolter on the right. 

"I am Cedric, an Apothecary of the Black Templars." The Primaris marine stated. Technically he was also supposed to identify that he was both an apprentice and a Primaris Marine during this formal declaration but these firstborn brothers were wound very tightly. He didn't recognize these older brothers, and there was a high likelihood that they would have no idea what a Primaris was. They would, however, recognize that he was an apprentice and might start asking all sorts of obnoxious questions, which would delay their treatments and getting out of Cedric's hair before Arnault showed up, blade in hand and glaring at everyone who moved because Ramiel had wound up the Emperor's Champion. Again.

"Which Crusade are you part of?" Zimmer asked, looking him over closely "And where is your armor? Also... We aren't soft enough to need pain meds. Start patching up the two on the table."

"Came to Ancient Terra without any, as I was brought here in my sleeping clothes. I'm not part of an established Crusade. I haven't been on Ancient Terra long enough." Cedric answered, grabbing a wound repair kit from the cabinet and slowly approaching the two injured brothers on the exam table, not wanting to startle anyone. He opened the kit. It was unlikely that he was going to be part of one of the roving warbands of feral Black Templars. He liked having regular contact with his fellow Primaris Marines, and he sincerely doubted that he would be allowed to interact with two probable-outcasts. Even if one of them is an Emperor's Champion. "I got found by an Ultramarine and brought to the nearby Imperial Fist base and have been in this city ever since."

"That is some Lamenters level luck there, Brother." One of the other firstborn brothers calls out, before dodging the sergeant's reprimanding swat from Zimmer. 

Cedric very carefully did not react as he pulled up one of the older Black Templar's shirts, revealing that his back was a mess of bleeding flogging markings, and the characteristic bruising and claw-marks of a mark 9 power fist.

"Quiet, Illus. No need to wind up the lad." Zimmer looked at him steadily for a couple of seconds before asking "From the look on your face, I am guessing you know the kinds of wounds all of us are suffering from. It was not our Chaplain who inflicted these wounds, and our Crusade Leader ordered us to get treatment. Are you willing to patch us up, or should we wait for the Fist Apothecary they've summoned from the base?"

"I'll treat your wounds. I do have a question, though. If this wasn't ordered by your chaplain, nor the leader of your crusade, how did you come by these wounds?" Cedric asked, biting back panic and nausea, his hands rock-steady as he treated their wounds one at a time, and step by step. Check, clean, bandage. Rinse and repeat, until every injury on each of the five marines was properly treated to.

"Miles here ran afoul of a different Crusade's chaplain when he swiped one of the little sweet treats that the bastard had a whole bag of. He was about to eat it when the chaplain appeared out of fucking nowhere and started screaming his bloody head off. Miles gave back the treat and tried to apologize, but Petras wasn't having any of it and started beating the shite out of him. Jamison and Illus tried to step in and got beat for their trouble. Neval voxxed me before distracting the furious fucker to keep the others from beaten until they couldn't move. By Him on Terra I've never seen a chaplain that furious before that fast. Ever."

Cedric couldn't help the full-body flinch that Petras in a temper provoked from him as an automatic reaction. Nor the momentary cringe as his body wanted to curl around itself defensively. He shook off the response and continued treating the injured. "He is... Very possessive of his food and gets highly aggressive, from what I remember of him. Especially of fast carbs like sugary sweets. That was before we were both brought to Ancient and Holy Terra... not that I think he is aware I am here."

"Ah. So you're from the same time period he is? If I had Brothers from the same time here on Ancient Terra, I'd seek them out. No offense to you lads, but it'd be nice to have Brothers like that with me, as a grounding force." Illus piped up, his eyes wide.

"Chaplain Petras is... Not someone whom I would call grounding or reassuring." Cedric's mouth said before he could stop himself. "Besides there's a good chance the he'd-" Nope, shutting that line of thought down right now. "Let's just say that he and I don't get along very well."

"Given that he's a heavy hand with punishment and your entire life's purpose is to keep us patched up and in fighting shape, I can imagine." The sergeant sighed, shaking his head a little. 

"That's not the primary reason we don't get along, although that's part of it. Do you have any neophytes or aspirants in your warband?" Cedric asked, trying to project a sense of calm that he did not at all feel.

Hura and Zariel had talked with him, and near him about patterns of behavior in certain kinds of older brothers and cousins. And how these behaviors, for good or ill, could, and often did, spill over to how they reacted on Ancient Terra. Just because Petras favored killing- or nearly killing Primaris Marines that are between Neophyte to Battle Brother age, doesn’t mean he wouldn’t go after First Borns of the same age range. Or- so that thought suddenly seized Cedric with a cold, terrifying clarity.’Is that what they had been hinting at?’

"... Why are you asking that? We're looking for a couple of Apprentice-aged Black Templars, as a matter of fact. From what we've heard, they're being held hostage somewhere. Probably in one of the chaos bases, those foul bastards. We do have a couple, why do you ask?" Illus asked, eyes narrowing a little.

"Because he killed a dozen of Apprentices who were not found in need of culling due to disobedience, chaos-taint or xenos-worship. But merely because he was in a foul mood and they happened to be in his furious path." Cedric warned him "Do not allow him access to your youngest members without supervision with the ability and will to intervene on their behalf."

"That... That's... That's a hell of a thing to accuse any brother of, much less a chaplain, boy. Do you have proof?" Alois spluttered, staggering back a half step, his dark eyes widening in horror.

"... Four of the apprentices he beat to death in the 41st millennium ended up on Holy Terra, mostly dead. I was able to respond in time and get them to treatment for two of them so that they survived the experience. The other two died in my arms. Again. I brought them to the base so that their bodies could be properly processed and their geneseed and intact organs stored, for later use." Cedric answered, fighting back the tears and the bitter taste of failure in his mouth. "Between the three of us, we have enough physical scars left from his heavy-handed punishments to get him censured at least, should we come forward. If he were to be prosecuted."

"What do you mean, if? What, do you think because his alleged crimes were committed Before, that he wouldn't be punished for it? Or because he technically was punished by it - leading to him being sent to Ancient and Holy Terra - he wouldn't be punished here? And how do I know that he wasn't culling unworthy-" The Sergeant started to speak.

"So you and the five brothers you brought into this clinic to be treated fully deserved the punishment that Chaplain Petras handed to you, did you?" Cedric asked. "In the 41st millennium, it is standard post-punishment procedure for those with the injuries to tend to their own wounds, without medical aid or intervention. To heal on their own, or fester if they are deemed unworthy in the eyes of the Emperor Himself to heal properly. So which is it, sergeant? Are you seeking treatment for wounds you received after being justly punished and thus are seeking to undo it? Or were you punished excessively by a chaplain with a heavy hand?"

"What happened to us, versus what happened to your fellow Apprentices could be two completely different situations" Zimmer protested, his eyes narrowing a little at Cedric as he spoke. 

Cedric resisted the temptation to growl at the older Black Templar, righteous indignation and fury making it really difficult for him to think. He crossed his arms over his chest and took a step back "So you say. You have given me no proof that you and your squad were punished unjustly. The only thing I have to go on is your word. Per the traditions of our Chapter, I should kick you out of this examination room and report you to not just the captain you obey, but the chaplain whose punishment you are trying to circumvent by coming here for wound treatment."

“Sarge… Just… Call the captain. I’d rather you not piss off the only known Black Templar Apothecary within a hundred miles of this place. He can refuse to treat us, you do know that, right?” Miles groaned from where he was laying face down on the examination bed, his back a mess of bloody wounds, some of them still bleeding.

“He… You wouldn’t, would you?” Zimmer growled, taking a half-step towards Cedric before pausing. Even with the older Templar in the bottom half of his armor and Cedric fully unarmored, the young Apothecary was still a good foot and a half taller than the Sergeant.

“You come into this clinic, demanding to be seen by a Black Templar Apothecary or another Son Of Dorn, causing a huge scene and disrupting the schedule that some of our Ultramarine allies have carefully made. You inform me of who did this to you, and when I give you a warning about his likely temper and behaviors you disregard them out of hand. So whyever would you trust my medical opinions and suggestions?” Cedric hissed, doing his best to keep the fury and frustration out of his voice. “I have half a mind to leave the five of you here and get an older apothecary to handle you all, since clearly you won’t listen to a single thing I say if it’s not what you want to hear!”

“Fine then. I don’t want a brat who’s throwing a temper tantrum to treat me or my Brothers, anyways! You sure you aren’t an Emperor’s Child with short hair and blue eyes?” Zimmer hissed, glaring up at him “Because you sure tantrum like one!”

Don’t attack your patients, no matter how much they upset you unless they physically attack you first.

Is one of the rules that he had been told over and over again. Cedric had thought that this would be difficult to keep to when dealing with Chaos Astartes. Right now, all he wanted to do was to launch Zimmer through the window and wash his hands of the smug bastard Sargeant. Instead he stated “Fine then. I’ll get the senior-most Apothecary who is working at the clinic today. He isn’t a Son of Dorn, but he is very, very good at what he does.” His lips twitch a little in vicious mirth as he voxxed “Apothecary Hura, would you please come to Group Examination room Two please? I am having difficulties with a squad of injured Astartes and require your insight and expertise.”

The door opened without a sound, slowly revealing the oversized and clearly Chaos-aligned Death Guard Apothecary. Hura’s helmet was off and he smiled pleasantly at Cedric “I just so happened to be passing by this room when you called me, young Cedric. Dealing with unruly patients is a difficult skill to master, especially since they are in a group like this.”

“You’re joking. This is a threat. Look, kid I get that we may have -” Zimmer started, going very pale as he stared up at Hura, a look of slow-dawning horror on his face.

Hura interrupted the sergeant, saying “Ah-ah-ah! Bad and naughty patients don’t get to be treated by adorable young apothecaries doing their best to patch up ungrateful bastards. They get to deal with me.” This is said with a serene smile that sent terrified shivers through all five of the injured Templars simultaneously. 

“Hey… Uhm… Some… Some of us didn’t actively antagonize the younger medic and are hoping to maybe get patched up by him instead?” Miles asked, having slowly and painfully gotten up to his feet.

“I’ll deal with these five. You go on, and have your lunch. Shoo! You should be on-break anyways.” Hura instructed Cedric, having entirely ignored what the Black Templar had said. “Shoo! Taking appropriate breaks is important.”

Cedric nodded, smiling gratefully at Hura “Thank you, Apothecary Hura…Though are you sure I shouldn’t stay and assist you? I won’t be able to learn how to deal with difficult patients if I avoid them altogether.”

“A different time, young Cedric. They have already been quite bothersome and entitled by the way they burst into the waiting room and demanded immediate treatment by a specific set of chapters. They also need to learn that sometimes, there are consequences to their words and actions. And trying to treat patients while hungry is difficult. Go on, young one.”

“You… You’re not going to abandon us to him, are you? He’s a heretic! A Chaotic Traitor!” Illus called out, eyes wide and pleading as he looked at Cedric.

“Apothecary Hura has over ten-thousand years of medical experience, and is more than qualified to treat your injuries. You won’t listen to the warnings I gave you about the one who injured you like this, so why would you listen to me about how to care for your injuries?” Cedric answered, his voice an icy approximation of calm. “Thank you for taking over their care, Apothecary Hura, I leave them in your capable hands.” With that he turned on his heel and left the exam room, closing the door behind him.

[rebelliousstories]

Ruined Friendship

Relationship: Nick Burkhardt x Reader

Fandom: Grimm

Request: No

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Happy Ending

Word Count: 2,367

Main Masterlist: Here

Grimm Masterlist: Here

Summary: The past few days has put a strain on a very special friendship for a certain detective.

My love for her is so great, that if all the leaves on all the trees were tongues, they could not declare it.

Getting the call to come in for a case was not how Nick imagined his night going. He was looking forward to hanging out with his best female friend, gorging himself on carbs, and settling in for a movie with a beer to end the night. But instead he was here. On the side of the road, looking at a homicide scene. Meeting Hank on the sidewalk, the man chuckled at the irritated look on Nick’s face.

“Someone isn’t happy. I sure hope your Friday night plans weren’t ruined.” Griffin teased, looking over the scene.

“We had just finished dinner. Gonna finish the current season of our show, and then, I get the call.” He groaned, checking over the scene with his partner.

“Ooo, my man. Getting some action finally!” Hank cheered, but Nick shot him down.

“Not that kind of night. I was with my friend.” He tried to distract from the current conversation but it was not working. Griffin slapped his partner on the shoulder and Burkhardt turned to face him.

“The cutie that you’ve know since school?” He inquired,a puzzled look on his face. Nick floundered for a few moments, before he shut his mouth with a tight lipped smile.

“Yeah. Her.” Thankfully he was saved by sergeant Wu walking up to the duo.

“We’ve got a normal and easy one.” The two detectives breathed a sigh of relief.

“Really?” Nick asked, face full of hope for once.

“No,” they deflated, “but, hopefully this will be resolved soon. Two perps, William Deveraux and Taisie Reynolds. It appears they shot and killed each other right here.” Both detectives were confused.

“So why are we being called in?” Hank inquired, raising one eyebrow in a quirk.

“We think there was a third person here. It looks like they shot each other, but no gun has been found. Guns don’t just get up and walk away on their own two legs.” Wu explained, before being called away by one of his officers on the scene.

“Well, lets try and find out who associated with our vics. I think that’s the only shot we got here.” Nick went back to his car, and sighed deeply behind the driver’s seat. Pulling out his phone, he dialed a number, pressed it to his ear and waited.

“Hello?” A melodic voice answered.

“Hey, it’s me.” Nick did not know how to start this phone call.

“Hey! Are you okay? You left in kind of a hurry?” Her questions made Nick smile as he relaxed ever so slightly in his seat.

“Yeah. I’m fine. We just got a case and I don’t know when we’re going to be able to continue movie night.” He was starting to hate how demanding his job was.

“Nick, don’t apologize for something you can’t control. It’s fine. Your job is important. Listen, once you solve the case, which you always do, let me know. We’ll have a celebratory movie night. Okay?” She offered the detective.

“I’d appreciate that. I’m just glad you’re not mad at me for running out like that.” Burkhardt breathed a sigh of relief, and scrubbed his free hand over his face.

“Of course. Now, go be a superhero and save the day.” They said they’re goodbyes, but the man did not pull away from the scene just yet. He sat there and let his feelings wash over him in an attempt to understand them. Something tugged at his heart when he had been unable to finish their night together. Whatever it was, it scared Nick a little bit.

The drive to the precinct was full of thoughts that ran too fast for him to catch. Having been out of the dating game for a while now, it concerned him to even be having thoughts of that. After Juliette, Nick vowed to throw himself into his work, and to stay away from romantic entanglements till further notice. Stopping the car in a spot, he made his way to his desk and did just that. Hoping that he could drown out al thoughts and feelings not related to work for at least a little bit.

It took five days to wrap up the case. However, for Nick, it may as well have been five weeks. In that time frame, he had gotten less than five hours of sleep per night and had barely spoken to his friend, let alone seen her. Being able to slap the cuffs on the third man in connection to the double homicide felt amazing. Finally, he was able to go home and get some rest, but there was one more thing that he needed to do first.

Answering the call with her name, Nick let a grin stretch across his face. Grabbing his jacket as he left his desk behind, he did not even care if Hank was teasing him behind his back.

“Hey. Is that celebratory movie night offer still standing?” The door to his truck was opened, but the engine was left alone for now.

“Of course it is! You solved the case already?” There was something moving around on her end as she was speaking.

“Yeah. We did. What are you doing over there?” He questioned.

“Oh I was just starting dinner prep. Gotta let stuff soak, and cook, and whatnot. Well, you let me know when you want to do movie night and we’ll plan around it.” There was more noise on her end as she, presumably, fixed herself a plate of food.

“Can we do tonight? I’ll pick up some takeout on the way home. I just-” Nick sighed again and breathed deeply.

“You just what, Nick?” Her voice washed over him once more.

“I just really want to get away from the world for a while.” He admitted, and allowed his head to drop forwards.

“Listen, why don’t you pick up some dessert and I’ll make you a home cooked meal. Maybe those enchiladas you like so much?” She teased, as the detective chuckled a bit.

“Yeah,” his head picked up, “that sounds wonderful. See you at seven?” With her conformation, they said their goodbyes, and Nick still sat there. He wondered how he got into this position. How was he this excited about seeing a girl? He had not been like this since Juliette, and refused to be this way after her. Yet, here he was.

The drive home never felt so long. Nick stopped by a twenty-four hour diner that they occasionally went to and got their favorite cake slices. The older woman behind the counter sent him an impish wink that the detective laughed off, and made a speedy escape. He had a little over an hour now until he needed to leave his house and make his way to her home.

Over the past few months, that has been the distinction that he has made between their living spaces. His apartment felt cold and distant most days. There was nothing wrong per se, but it lacked something. He had knickknacks and photos strewn about, but he would much rather spend his time with her at her place. She was warm, and glowing like the sun, with a smile that could brighten up the- what was happening to him?

The shower was a welcome distraction. For a moment. But once he stepped under the running stream, they returned with a vengeance. Nick was bombarded with thoughts of his friend who just so happened to be a girl. He was fine. There was nothing weird about their friendship not matter what Hank says.

His shower was extra long, but eventually he had to step out so that he could still arrive on time. Before he could catch himself, he was fussing over which shirt he should wear, and threw down both shirts in his bed with a sigh. It was just movie night with a friend. Trying not to think too hard about it, Nick grabbed a shirt and a set of jeans, and changed before he dried his hair. Would it be too much to put some product in? She had seen him without it, but it made his hair fall nicely. This was starting to annoy the Grimm.

His watch informed him that it was time to leave, and he grabbed the cake slices with a sigh. Making sure they were secure in the passenger seat, Nick scrubbed his face for what seemed the thousandth time that day. The closer he got to the home of his friend, the faster his heart raced. His palms sweated against the steering wheel.

The home in question pulled in his view soon enough, and he hastily made his way into the driveway. Getting out with two piece of cake in his hand, he knocked on the heavy wooden door before him. What greeted him when the door was pushed aside was worth the wait. Her hair was messily tied back and her face held a barely noticeable amount of makeup. Her smile grew when she saw the man in front of her, and he barely managed to pull the cakes out of the line of fire before she launched herself at him.

“Nick, it’s so good to see you again!��� Came her muffled shout in his chest. Said man chuckled and wrapped his arms around her while letting her name roll over his tongue in a familiar pattern.

“Good to be here.” They pulled apart and hung there for a moment. Neither one could explain why they stayed, but neither wanted to move just yet. However, a timer dinged and she pulled herself out of the embrace of the man before her with a blush and shy smile.

“Set the desert on the counter. Enchiladas are done.” Nick did as she asked and helped her set out the stuff for dinner. They made light small talk as they ate, and even though he hung on every word that she said without complaint, too soon had he found them sitting next to each other on the couch. He flung his arm across the back of the couch, and stiffened up as she settle into the vacant spot that was now there. They sat there in that position for a while, and while she had relaxed a little bit, Nick had not. It was fine, but she could not help feeling like there was something going on with her best friend.

“Is there something wrong, Nick?” She asked, sitting up and staring at the man next to her.

“No. I’m fine. Why do you ask?” He tried to play it off, but even he did not believe his own words. Grabbing the remote, she paused the movie so they were not going to be interrupted.

“Come on, Nick I’ve known you for years. You may be able to lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me.” She had him there; she was one of the few people he would never be able to lie to. “So out with it. What’s going on with you?”

Nick sighed deeply, and once more, scrubbed his hands over his face. He tried to find the right words to say, but nothing would come out. Nothing sounded quite like what he wished to say, and what he actually said was not better.

“I don’t wanna be friends anymore.” He blurted out. A shocked gasp was released from her lungs, and she jumped away from the couch as if burned. Realizing what he just said, he tried to call her name as he reached for her but she was faster.

“So what is this then? Do you have fun playing with my feelings like this?” Her voice broke as tears welled up in her eyes and her throat knotted.

“No! No, I- that didn’t come out how I wanted it to. Please, listen to me.” Burkhardt tried once more to grab her hands as he stood, but she just kept backing up to get away.

“Listen, I get it if you don’t like me like I like you, but I don’t think it’s bad enough to stop being friends with me over.” She cried, and it broke his heart. To know that he put those tears in her eyes was almost too much for him.

“No, please listen.” Her back thudded against the wall, and he finally grabbed her hands in his as he closed in on her.

“I don’t want to be just friends anymore.” He whispered, getting closer and closer to her.

“What are you saying?” Her tone was confused, and it matched the adorable furrow in her brows.

“I’m trying to ask you out on a date, and doing a horrible job.” Nick laughed a little bit, and tried to diffuse the situation.

“But you said-” he cut her off, “I don’t want to be just your friend anymore. I want to try and be your boyfriend. If you’ll let me.” Burkhardt watched the tears slow, until they disappeared completely from her eyes. Once she was no longer crying, she began laughing; quietly at first, but it soon grew louder as Nick joined in.

He slipped his arms around her waist and drew her into his chest, while her hands trailed up his arms to wrap around his neck. They stayed there for a while, just breathing and being in that moment together. She started laughing again, which prompted Nick to laugh with her.

“What?” He asked, pulling back, just enough to see her face.

“I just find it funny that you were trying to ask me out on a date and I thought you were legitimately done with me.” She replied, burrowing her face back into his chest.

“I guess I need better communication skills, huh?” Nick pressed a kiss to her head,and pulled further away this time.

“Can we finish the movie now? Before we plan a date after this?” Chuckling, the couple made their way back to the couch, and snuggled up closer to each other. She rested comfortably on his chest, while his arms kept her close.

[lauralot89]

so it turns out there's a story in which Dracula plays the Pirate King in Gilbert and Sullivan's The Pirates of Penzance and how am I supposed to be normal about this

"Very well, then I suggest you leave Liam in the role for which he is prepared and put me in the role of the Pirate King."

There was utter silence in the Green Room. Everyone of the actors had heard Dracula's words, none were more surprised than Liam.

"You, Count?" said Liam.

"Yes."

"You're an actor?" said Bunberry, a tone of disbelief in his voice. "In university, I suppose."

"There and in other places. I was in fact considered very good," said Dracula.

"You never mentioned that you were an actor," said Liam.

"It was a long time ago. Besides, you never asked," said the Count. His eyes locked with Bunberry's, as they had the previous night. The company manager didn't appear to breathe for several minutes.

"You know the libretto? The songs, the dialogue?" said Liam.

"Every word."

"Only two days ago you hadn't even heard of Gilbert & Sullivan, let alone the 'Pirates of Penzance'," said Liam.

"Meeting you and seeing this company made me curious. Shall we say I borrowed a copy of the libretto someone had left on a chair, read it over, and was amused by it. I even slipped in last night and watched the rehearsal."

"That would help with you knowing the blocking. But you say you read the libretto just once?" asked Liam.

"That's right. Anything I read I remember, every word of it."

"Your voice, sir?"

Liam, Burberry and the others looked toward the door. A man, dressed in evening clothes, with a neatly waxed mustache stood there.

"Mr. Gilbert!" said Effie.

"Your voice, sir? What do you sing?" said William Schwenchk Gilbert. The fifty-seven year old lyricist spoke with the manner of a Sergeant-Major demanding something from one of his troops.

"Baritone."

"And you say you know my words?"

"Indeed, " Dracula began to sing, "'Oh , better to live and die, under the brave black flag I fly. Then play a sanctimonious part, with a pirate head and a pirate heart.'"

Gilbert stood silent, his face unmoving and emotionless.

"Effie!" said Gilbert. "Can you alter Everett's costume quick enough to fit the Count? I can have them hold the curtain an extra ten minutes, but not a second longer."

"I'll have him looking like those clothes were made for him."

"Do it."

—from Bradley H. Sinor's "Places for Act Two" which is collected in the 2001 anthology Dracula in London edited by P.N. Elrod. This particular short story is also available online.

If you haven't seen the opera, here you go:

now my life will be unfulfilled unless I see a Dracula wear those boots