#jonny writes stuff

[icanttalkimhavingacrisis]

explaining the polycule ~ jegupandalily microfic

"So - forgive me for asking, but every time there's a PTA meeting, it seems like someone else shows up as Harry or Luna's legal representative." The headmistress of the local primary school rubbed the base of her nose. "And as such, we, the school, have asked for Harry's parents to come to the office. Is… is this everyone?" James looked around at the group of people sitting at in the office.

"Yup, think so." He nodded. The elderly teacher sighed deeply.

"Ok, who are you all, please? Start from the left, I guess. I do not understand how two toddlers can have six parents."

"Oh, well that's pretty simple." Pandora beamed. "I'm Pandora Lovegood, Luna and Harry's mami. If it helps in any way, I'm also married to their mama."

"That's me." Lily interjected. "Hi, I'm Lily Evans, the kids mama, and I'm married to James, their baba."

"Wait - you're married to their… mami… and their… baba?"

"Yup." James smiled at the lady. "I'm their baba, James Potter - Harry got his surname from me, we decided. I'm their papa's husband."

"Wait… their papa?"

"That's me." Regulus raised his hand. "Regulus Black."

"… ok so from what I understand, everyone here is married to everyone."

"Pretty much, yeah."

"What about you two?" The lady sighed, looking over at Sirius and Remus. "Are you also married to everyone?"

"Ew, no." Sirius shook his head. "Just to each other. I would never marry my brother, despite what my mother might expect of me." The lady blinked confusedly, but seemingly decided not to divulge into the subject.

"And what is your relation to the children?"

"Oh, godparents." Remus replied. "Remus and Sirius Lupin-Black, if you're noting any of this down by any chance."

"Why do I even bother." The lady dropped her pen. "You can all go, I need a moment to process the information I've just recieved." James shrugged, and the six of them made their leave.

[joywritesbutitsactuallymystories]

Jane

Lilith sat at the bar, looking down at her book. She wasn’t reading - she just needed something to hide behind. Something to mask the fact her brain was working double time, mulling over the events of the past week. So she sat, in peaceful silence, until it was brutally interrupted by the characteristic screeching noise of someone pulling back one of the old bar stools.

“Can I get you a drink?” the intruder asked. “Do I look like I need one?” Lilith shot back. The intruder shrugged. She smiled broadly. “You’re at the Fox & Hound pub, dear, everyone who comes here needs a drink.” She tilted her head ever so slightly. “So, what’ll it be? I’m paying.” “I presumed as much, since you are the one who came out with the proposal.” Lilith raised an eyebrow. After a moment, she sighed. “A glass of red wine, then. Please.” “Of course, red wine it is.” The intruder waved over the bartender and ordered two red wines. She then turned to Lilith, regarding her with bright, icy blue eyes. Lilith took that moment to better regard her company as well - bright blue eyes, almost unnaturally so, dark, coiled hair, with silver highlights of sorts, and dark skin. She was of immense beauty - almost dangerous beauty.

“I’m Jane, Jane Clairview.” The intruder introduced herself. “May I have your name?” “I can tell you my name,” Lilith raised her chin, provocatively. “But you may not own it in any way - it is Lilith. Lilith Ardenclove.” “I see you’ve met the fae.” The intruder laughed. “I am not, however, of those who steal names, you can believe me on that one.” “Right.” Lilith turned back to the bar, upon which the barkeep had placed the two wines. She took a deep sip from the glass as Jane chuckled. “Right, I can see that you definitely did not need that drink.” She sipped her own wine silently, still observing Lilith closely, mischief twinkling in her eyes. “Who are you, Lilith Ardenclove?” “I don’t understand your question, Jane Clairview.” “You do.” She grew closer to Lilith - so close in fact, that their faces were divided only by the width of two fingers. Lilith looked into the eyes of her companion - those icy blue eyes - and the flickers of cold fire within them, and those sparks of magic, a sight Lilith was all too accustomed to. “What is there about you Lilith - what makes you immune to my charm?” “Who are you, Jane Clairview?” Lilith tilted her head. “What is it in you that gives you that spark? You are not of the folk of the air, this much is evident.” Jane simply chuckled. “Very well then, Lilith.” She smiled, taking another sip of her wine. “You keep your secrets, I shall keep mine.”

Lilith drained her wine glass and gathered her things into her bag. She took one last look at her companion, Jane Clairview, and bid her goodbye, leaving the pub. She put on her thick red scarf, tied her cloak firmly around her body, and began the trek back to her flat. The Fox & Hound pub was conveniently placed within 20 minutes of where Lilith lived - and within half an hour’s trek to the forest. She often came to the Fox & Hound after her time spent in the forest, as it was the only place in the vicinity that was still open at that time, and it was warm, which was much needed after the neverending autumn of the clearing. Lilith wished to forget that place - but she could not find it in herself, she couldn’t forget. She kept on returning to The Valley in her thoughts, to Caterina, to the Folk, and the life she used to lead. It had taken her much to create a place for herself in this new and alarming world, and remembering was a dangerous thing - it was something that tied her to the world she had chosen to leave.

She never found out who it was she had been before she lived in The Valley. She tried, looking for records of missing children from when she presumed to have been born - but her search was fruitless. So instead, she created a new identity, instead of looking for one that once was. She gave herself a family name, called herself an orphan, and enrolled in music school, and rented out an apartment with the help of one tiny little deception.

She had found something unusual within her little violin - it was not from the material world, as she had presumed before. The violin had grown with her, it had taught her how to play, without notes and without a teacher. The little violin was a gift for her - a gift from the Folk. Her first interaction with the Folk happened within the first week of her leaving The Valley. A faery had walked up to her at school, asking for her name. She saw beyond its veil - the magic that swirled within its soul. She refused, later deciding to research magical creatures in the lore of the islands she had found herself upon. She learned of the fae, of their legendary kings, of the Túatha Dé Danann, of their legends and mythologies. Armed with this knowledge, she felt safer, and moved onward through life, utilising the power within the little violin when she truly needed it. She considered herself safe. Until she met Jane.

Jane haunted her mind - for what reason, she was unsure. True, she represented a race Lilith had never met before. But was that truly reason to worry so much? She wasn’t sure. Still, she grew convinced as the weeks passed by - she needed to understand. So, she left the safety of the apartment she had found refuge in, to search for Jane Clairview, armed only with her convictions. And, of course, the little violin.

“I knew you’d be back here.” Jane smiled, as Lilith slid back into that bar chair, in the pub they had first met. “Are you ready to exchange information, Lilith Ardenclove?” Lilith nodded. “Yes, Jane Clairview.” She said. “I will tell you my secrets, if you promise to tell me yours.” Jane spread out her arms in a welcoming gesture. “Of course, a fair trade, Lilith Ardenclove.” “Please, call me not by my full name.” “Very well. You too, Lilith, call me Jane.” “As you wish.” Lilith got up from the stool. “I shall go first with my secrets. This, however, is not the place to share them. Are you willing to go on a short walk?” “Of course,” Jane smiled. “Whatever suits you.”

The two left the pub, and Lilith led Jane towards the forest. They barely shared a word on that walk, the silence only occasionally broken by the sound of Lilith correcting the straps on her violin case. They walked swiftly - something within Lilith was eager to show a person from the outside that clearing that held such value to her and Caterina. At long last, after a good half an hour, they made it to the clearing.

The clearing was beautiful. It was new - neither the way Lilith remembered it to be the past seven years, nor the way it had been long ago, in the days of Lilith’s girlhood. The hawthorn stood proudly, the River of Sorrow was filled with joy, the fog was nowhere to be seen, and the grasses were, every so often, broken by beautiful, young flowers. It was breathtaking - a beautiful spring amidst the grey of November. “I grew up in this place.” Lilith smiled. “I had a sister - a friend. Her name was Caterina.” Jane tilted her head, puzzled. “She called this place The Valley.” Lilith undid her scarf. “Don’t worry about the cold, this place is governed by its own rules.” “How is it that you grew up here, if you belong to the mortal realm?” “I do not know.” Lilith replied. “I do not know many things - and am not good at telling stories.” She opened her violin case. “I shall, instead, let my instrument tell the story for me.” She tuned the little violin and began playing.

And she played - and the little violin told the story of a beautiful, pure, childhood love. It told the tale of two girls, belonging to the clearing, of Lilith and Caterina, of how they grew. It told of the day it was found by Lilith, of how the girl fell for its music and how she devoted herself entirely to it. It told of how it grounded Lilith in her reality - and of how Caterina grew distant. It told of that acheronian day - the one upon which Lilith lost her first love. It told of the guilt Lilith felt - of how she would visit The Valley every day for seven years, to keep it company. It told of how Lilith played for The Valley, and of how that act cleared her of her fault, and freed the clearing from her guilt and sorrow. It told of how this was the first time Lilith had visited the clearing since she had played for it. And as she played, and the little violin told that story, The Valley listened, and many spirits came and listened too - pulled forth by the peculiar vision of a mortal playing one of their instruments.

“Not many mortals would be able to play the way you do,” Jane spoke once the music was finished. “Not any, I believe. Do you understand what this means, Lilith? I do not believe you are fully of the mortal world. I think you may belong to mine.” “Then show me your world, Jane.” Lilith placed the little violin gently in its case, fastening the clasps and placing it on her back. “Keep your end of the promise.” “I will.” Jane smiled. “Follow me.”

The two companions left the forest behind, and Lilith felt lighter than air. She was deeply relieved that she showed the clearing to someone from the outside - she had proof now, that it had all happened, that she was not mad. She had proof now, that it was over - that she was free to come and go, to do as she wished. It was a dangerous thought - complete and utter freedom to do as one wished. She found it exhilarating.

Jane led Lilith further into the wilder parts of the country. They pressed further and further away from the little town Lilith lived in, and towards the cliffs that marked the seashore. The closer they grew to the cliffs, the more alive Jane appeared, the more colour appeared in her cheeks. Her hair grew more and more silvery, glittering in the lowering sunlight. Soon enough, it became twilight - but Lilith found that she saw everything just as clearly as in the harsh light of midday. They approached the cliffs rapidly, stopping just before them. Jane took a deep breath, reveling in the salt air. She turned to Lilith, smiling.

“You showed me your world,” she started. “This is mine. You were right in saying I am not of the Folk of the Air - but I am of the Folk.” She stepped forward. “Can you guess of which?” “The Folk of the Sea.” Lilith breathed in awe. Jane smiled, nodding. “Not entirely, of course - I am part Folk.” She stepped closer still to Lilith, making the space between them once more that of two finger widths. She studied Lilith’s eyes carefully. “No, you are not of the Sea. Nor are you of the Air. Who are you then, Lilith?”

They stood on that cliffside, pondering the question - and Lilith felt her world, that she so carefully crafted, making a place for herself amongst mortals, collapse slowly but surely with each unspoken question that hung in the salt air between them.

[writergeekrhw]

If youre still in touch with jonny lee miller can u tell him hes fucking insane and broke my heart 8 times over while i watched elementary? Thanks!

Honestly, since Elementary shot in New York, and the writers worked in Los Angeles and we didn't work on set much, I never really knew Jonny all that well and I'm not in touch with him now. But I'm sure, deep down, he knows and feels your gratitude.

When he's not busy fighting fires like a boss.

[driedlillies]

I love how you can make certain characters avatars of X entity and it instantly sets the vibe. Slaughter Jon? Chance is it’s a mechanisms collage band fic. End Gerry? The Beholding can suck my dick let’s go canon divergent after his death. Web Martin? Shit is going DOWN

[dgoul]

"gender bent au" what if I hit you with a metal chair.

"gender bent mag" what if I take your internet away and make you think. for once

I see people headcanoning Tim as trans femme. I'm in the crowd cheering for them screeming at the top of my lungs. someone yells GENDER BEND AU? i approach from behind, crouched down.

EDIT I'm not sorry for going insane in the tags. enjoy the rant because I think it's important. 🏳️‍⚧️

[dumbasswithapen]

Mechtober day 24 - hijacking

@mechtober-2024

I just feel like Jonny and the aurora deserve a sibling rivalry

[lucifer-kane]

I think it's interesting (from a mostly outsider perspective) watching people discuss the writing of Magnus Protocol and putting a lot of the heavy lifting onto Jonny, when (even he's brought it up already) yes, he's been writing some and doing some minor stuff as well, there are other writers in this vs Archives. It's just wild to see most people put that credit onto him when I would think that the other people also writing these have a certain level of input and are going with what's been planned

[patzweigz]

randomly hit with just how. strange. it really is that general discussion of fictional characters treats them as like... people, who's actions have consequences in the real world or who's writers put them through real situations

[icanttalkimhavingacrisis]

The story (Title TBD) in order!!!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

"From The Archive" - a prequel short story

Since you're still here, you can help me out!! The FUCK do we name this monstrosity???

[joywritesbutitsactuallymystories]

how fleeting the life of memory - how fleeting indeed

No matter how hard I try to commit the events of the past few months to memory, I cannot find the events within me - I cannot find them in the dark and damp corners of my mind. I’ve been struggling recently with memory - it seems forever just out of my reach, inaccessible to me from within my mind. Perhaps then, it would do to retrace my footsteps, the footprints my soul has left upon the earth this past year.

I wed in the early morrows of January - of this I am certain. I have been told much of white dresses and pink roses and of churches and of much merriment and of frivolous dancing. Here is the first discrepancy I find in my memory - for I remember not such events. No matter how hard I search my memory, I still come across the same images that match not the description I have heard - I see images of black velvet dresses, of red asphodels, of dark, moonlight forests, of cries of dismay and of a slow, funeral march. I remember a sickly husband, an even sicklier wife, and a promise of life everlasting in each other’s company, sealed with a kiss like death. All this was out in the January cold, the snow still firmly present on the ground.

My husband - what was his name? I do not remember. Regardless, I do not believe we were a happy marriage - if we were, would he die quite so soon? I remember burying him in early April - mere months having passed from our wedding. I stood over his urn - he had stressed many times that he was to be cremated, so as to minimise the possibility of his returning as a phantom. I stood alone over his tomb. No-one else showed at the funeral - this did not surprise me in any way, he did not have much in the way of friends. We were alike in that sense - both alone in a cruel world that did not love us, in a world that never accepted us the way we were. I remember distinctly - yes, now I recall it - It was one of those days you could feel the air growing warmer as it passed, upon a light spring breeze. His grave was unnamed - or was it? I do not perceive that in my memories. I stood over the grave, waiting for something, what? I cannot recall. I looked forward into the forest - the same forest we wed in those few months ago - I was looking for something. What was I looking for? Whom was I missing? I felt a gentle breeze upon my face - and between the trees I saw what I must’ve been looking for. I waved at him, tentatively. He waved back. I smiled, drying the rogue tears from my cheeks with my sleeve, content. He was free - he had returned to his world. I turned on my heel and left.

It was later that month that I discovered I was with child - his child. Son or daughter - I was not sure. It did not matter to me - I loved that child above all that I had known. I gave birth to a healthy babe mid-September. Something about that was peculiar - though I cannot recall what it was at this time. They were all for me - all my life, my love. I devoted myself to that child, with a devotion feverful and unending, but something took them from me - I do not recall what. Oh, my dear child! Where are you now? Why did you leave me? Would you forgive me for what happened? I did not mean to forget you, no - I meant not any of this.

September is the last I truly remember of this year. I cannot recall how I spent October, save that it was cold, and I was miserable. I was alone - I must have been miserable. Oh, who am I without my memories? Who am I without anyone to tell me who to be? Memory is fickle - flighty, like a feather on a breeze, like a seed of a dandelion, like a leaf that falls and dies in the autumn. Where was I going with this? I had a point in mind - I just cannot recall what that point was.

No, I remember something. I believe I do. November - the greyest and most dismal of months. I was alone - not only in emotion, but in all physicality as well. I was alone in the forest - that beautiful forest, that forsaken forest, in which I was wed those many months ago. It was not, actually, that long ago. Merely ten months - and yet it felt to me as though many, many years had passed. I felt old, tired. I was in much pain - not all the physical kind. I was alone - in a small cabin in the forest. I do not know whom the cabin belonged to before that time - I did not care. I spoke not - there was none to speak to. I ate little, I slept much. I had fallen into an acheronian mood, so to speak. I cared not for the world - that cruel world, that had never loved - nay, never even cared - for me. I excluded myself from it, vowing to never return to it.

Here - my memory is cut short, brutally and finally. I remember not of December - save that today is its last day. I remember not how I found myself here, lying peacefully in the bed of someone who’s name I do not remember. Bah, I remember not even my own name. My mind is blanker than it has ever been - my memories, already depleted, are fleeting beyond my grasp as I say this. Oh, how easy it would be to simply fall into that comfortable dark that beckons to me so! But no, I will not succumb to it just yet. I feel my chest - I am bleeding. What happened to me, for the blood to flow out so strongly? I try desperately to remember - I cannot. I give in. Good, then. At least I shall be reunited with my husband and child - since I could not have them close in life, I shall have them close in death. Cursed be the strings of fate - that cut my life short. Cursed be the strings of fate - that gave me no happiness in my lifetime. I succumbed to that gentle night. At very least I may say I did not go gently into it - I feel upon my fingers the sparks of fight. I fell into the dark, confident I was not going easily to it. I died, slowly, alone, in the same moment as the clock hit midnight.

[murderandcoffee]

Going feral for Jonathan sims rn

ME FUCKING TOO, ANON. ME FUCKING TOO

[42kat]

Jonny has previously stated, that there will be no canon information about the original Jon & Martins ultimate fate.

tbh if jonny and alex return as jon and martin in protocol, i do hope it'll be their alternate universe counterparts or something like that, not the original versions of them. much as i'd love to see them again, it would kind of ruin the deliberately ambiguous ending of tma if we got definite proof of jon and martin being alive in another universe. either way, i will try to keep an open mind and see how the story unfolds, but confirming they're alive would be really hard to pull off in a narratively satisfying way, imo.

[rqbossman]

Mr Bossman, how do you feel about the fact that Michael D. Stortion is such a popular and beloved character in the Magnus Archives fandom? Was that the intention when he was being created? Because I certainly do love the Hand Man

Honestly? It was 100% intentional. I told Jonny that we needed a semi-sympathetic monster for the structure of the story and referenced Greed from the original FullMetal Alchemist anime as an example. Someone that people would like as an edgy friend only to be confronted with the reality of their station and flaws and ultimately doubt if they were ever friendly at all. Jonny took that brief and then took Michael (who was already on the cards) and then added the extra elements needed to fit that role for the narrative. I'd love to claim ownership of such a fun character to write and direct for but that's definitely Jonny. it's actually a really good example of how we used to write together. Often I would just deal with stuff at a big-picture base principals kind of way spotting patterns and that and then I would trust Jonny to come up with the most captivating and upsetting way to meet that brief. I find he works best within specific bounds rather than just given a tabula rasa to work with.

[nerdygirlramblings]

Hear me out:

Romantic evening with our boys. Making pizza, watching a romantic movie, just cuddling all evening long.

Jonny, all the ever horny guy, starts and it ends with smut. Lots of smut but reader started her period without knowing. They're shocked and first but when reader starts crying, they quick to comfort her.

(I need comfort too. And I'm literally this close 🤏 to rip my uterus out my body)

Thank you for the ask, anon! I had to dig deep for this one because while I enjoy reading the spicy I don't usually write the spicy. I hope this is what you were looking for.

cw: bad accents, vaginal fingering, unprotected PIV, menstruation, rainbow kisses (iykyk)

Ever since you started dating the 141, Friday nights were date nights for you and whomever of your boys were home. Whichever soldier isn't out on a mission gets to pick the event, and if more than one of the boys is around, they each plan something for the group. Their thought was they are so often gone they want to woo you right when they're here.

But the Fridays you love best are when all of your boys are home because that's when you get to plan the date. Tonight happens to be one of those Fridays.

The boys are on base while you make preparations for tonight. You planned to finally use the pizza oven on John's grill. You spend the morning making dough, setting aside double portions for your soldiers and their appetites.

As the day wears on, you head to Sainsbury's for the rest of your ingredients. You get the supplies to make red sauce from scratch and a small jar of pesto for Kyle who sometimes likes to experiment. You know if he doesn't use it tonight, you'll simply make pesto pasta another time. A fresh block of soft mozzarella lands in the trolley. You know Johnny will enjoy happily shredding it for you when he gets home. A jar of olives, some green peppers, and a red onion from produce all go in next. Then you're off to find rashers, gammon, bangers, and pepperoni. You know at least one pizza will end up being more meat than anything else.

When you get back to the car park, you don't bother putting the bags in the boot. You lean over and drop them onto the floor of the passenger side as you slide behind the wheel. A quick stop at the florist for a small bouquet, and you're home again.

The house is tidy, but you freshen things up anyway. You need something to keep you busy as you wait for your men to come home. You set out some Yorkshire pudding and kilted soldiers as a pre-dinner snack, but not too much. You're cognizant of how quickly Johnny will stuff his face with whatever's nearby and not save room for supper. You pull down the large popcorn tubs and set aside the oil and kernels to make popcorn after dinner. You slide Love, Rosie into the Blu-Ray player and cue up the main title.

You have just enough time before your men come home to get yourself cleaned up. You'd showered in the morning, so you focus on fixing your hair and makeup. A pink and blue floral skater dress has been hanging the back of your wardrobe for weeks, and tonight's the perfect night to throw it on and show it off. As you're screwing the cap back into your lip gloss, you hear Simon's voice call out for you.

Light feet and a joyful heart carry you down the hall to the foyer. You step into Simon's open arms, cleaving yourself tightly to him. He's only just back from a mission that lasted almost a month. You kiss him softly, and he pulls away far too soon for your liking. If it were anyone else, you'd be embarrassed by the whine that escapes when he pulls back and rests his forehead against yours. Instead, he looks at you and says, "Missed you, luv."

You move from man to man greeting each in turn. From John, who's been back and forth between Hereford and bases in places he can't tell you about, to Johnny, who was on the first part of Simon's mission but came home when Simon was sent elsewhere, to Kyle, who's been behind a desk for the last few weeks as he recovers from nearly falling out of the helicopter. Each gets a hug and a kiss and a whispered welcome home.

You're sure when Kyle is better, Laswell will send them all out somewhere. As it is, you've heard John fielding her calls late in the evening when he tries to hide it from you. For now, you plan to simply savor having your men home.

"Go on, wash up," you chide, shooing them from the foyer to the cloakroom. "Meet me in the kitchen when you're done."

It only takes a few quick strides until you're in the room in question, making sure that all the toppings are ready, that the sauce is cool enough to use, and that each dough ball has its own pizza pan. Each of the men join you in the kitchen mere moments later.

You don't miss the gleam in Johnny's eye as he looks at the flour. He cuts a glance at Kyle, and you clear your throat, crossing your arms as menacingly as you can. "We will not be intentionally making a mess of my kitchen," you state, looking between Johnny and Kyle. "Are we clear sergeants?"

Shock flits across Johnny's face and he looks back at Kyle who simply shrugs. The two men glance at John who, like you, has crossed his arms in front of him and is ready to glare them into submission. "I'm waiting, boys," you remind them.

Kyle responds quickly. "No mess. We heard you'd, doll." To which Johnny adds, "Aye, ma'am. Keeping the kitchen spick and span."

"Excellent," you say. Then you pass out aprons and tell your men, "I'd rather not scrub flower out of anyone's clothes, either, so put these on." There's a chorus of "Yes, ma'am." You can tell at a glance the only one happy about the apron is John, who's got his usual 'License to Kill Grill' apron on. However, the others don't fight you, and soon everyone's ready to make their meal.

You show them all how to turn the dough balls into flat crust and head out into the garden to turn the grill on. The pizza oven is set up according to the directions, and you want to ensure it's ready to go once all the pizzas are prepared.

When you come back into the kitchen, all four men have at least one crust ready, and Simon and Kyle are working on their seconds. You quickly put Johnny to work shredding the cheese into a large bowl and show everyone where the sauces are. Much to your delight, Kyle smiles widely at the jar of pesto on the counter. The cheese is ready once everyone has sauce on their dough, so everyone grabs a heaping handful. You point out where the other toppings are and let the boys design their dinners as you take your pizza out to the oven.

Each man brings you their pan when it's ready and they stand around chatting with you while the food cooks. You pull the first round of pizzas out and send John in to put everything out on plates and slice them. You put Kyle's and Simon's and Johnny's second pizzas in, then head into the kitchen to eat.

You slide into the open seat next to Simon and join the pleasant chatter. John pulls three tumblers and the bottle of Scotch Mrs. MacTavish sent at the holidays out of the cupboard. He pours two fingers for himself, Simon, and Johnny. Kyle pulls the top off a bottle of Carlsbad lager, pulling a long draught before setting it in front of him. Johnny places a glass of rose at your place.

Between bites of pizza, you fill the boys in on the gossip from work and hear some edited stories of Simon and Johnny's ops and John's base visits. Kyle chimes in with complaints about base staff.

You pop out to the grill for the second round of pizzas, bringing everyone but John their food. You and John both opted for one pizza and are both enjoying the meal and the company.

When everyone is full, Simon and Kyle pack up the unused toppings, John clears the table, and Johnny puts the large cast iron skillet on the hob. You stay in the kitchen with Johnny while the others head into the den. He pours a generous helping of oil in the pan and tosses the kernels on when it warms. It doesn't take long for the kernels to pop, and despite knowing what will happen, it still startles you.

Johnny chuckles at you, wrapping an arm around your waist. "Ah got ye," he says, nuzzling your neck. He reaches over, snags a kernel and holds it out. When you lean forward to take it from him, he pulls it back. "Uh-huh," he teased. "Close your eyes."

You obey, but instead of the warm, salty, buttery crunch of popcorn, Johnny's tongue invades your mouth. He swallows your moans, whispering, "Could a laid yerself on the table an' we would'a feasted, lass." He pulls away, an obscene sucking accompanying the motion. Your heart jackhammers in your chest. You're about to suggest skipping the movie when several voices call from the other room.

"Let's... let's, er, go join the others," you pant, quickly dumping the popcorn into tubs to carry in.

By the time you and Johnny make it to the den, Kyle and John are sprawled together on the sofa, and Simon's taking up the recliner. You and Johnny head to the loveseat, and he pulls you down into his lap.

Before the open credits finish, Johnny's nuzzling your neck and whispering more filth in your ear. "Ah cannae wait to fuck ye tonight, hen." "Gonna split ye open on mah cock 'til ye scream." "Yer cunt is the sweetest dessert. When can Ah have a taste?" The longer the film goes on, the wetter you get until you're squirming on Johnny's lap, hoping you aren't obvious to the others.

The heavy weight of Johnny's hand slips from your waist to your hips, and eventually, under your skirt. His fingers slip under the gusset of your panties and you gasp. "Shh," he coos. "Dinnae want to interrupt the film."

He slides one finger along your slit, teasing you before breaching your core. You groan low, and Johnny rumbles, "Yer so wet," into the skin beneath your ear. "Watch the movie, lass. Ye picked it special."

With one long finger in your pussy, Johnny's thumb presses hard on your clit, and you see stars. "Would rather," you pant, "focus on," another panted breath, "those talented fingers."

Johnny lightly bites down on your neck and shoves another finger into your pussy. You clamp down at the unexpected intrusion, and Johnny's thumb rubs little circles on your clit. Between the sucking on your neck, the fingers in your cunt, and the pressure on your clit, you climax quickly, biting your lip to keep from letting the rest of the room know what happened.

But when you glance at your other lovers, they're staring avariciously at you and where Johnny's hand disappears under your dress. Johnny shifts behind you, clearly turning to see the others. "Who wan's a taste?"

Kyle's off the sofa in a shot, kneeling on the floor next to Johnny. Johnny pulls his hand out from under your dress to press his slick-coated fingers into Kyle's waiting mouth. You glance down to watch and notice Johnny's fingers are covered in blood. You suck in a breath and grab his wrist. It hits you immediately what's happened.

"Johnny! Stop!" You look down and see Kyle's gaze land on the blood. He leans back and nearly falls down.

"Doll, wha'..." John and Simon are watching intently, and you want the ground to open under you.

You take a deep breath and cover your face with your hands. You can't bring yourself to look at any of them. "I think I got my period early." You spring off Johnny's lap and hurry down to your bedroom, trying not to cry. In your room, you strip out of your dress and see a small red spot on the seat of the skirt.

Before you can spiral into embarrassment, there's a knock behind you. You're standing stark naked, but there's no heat in his gaze when John looks at you. You bite your lip to stifle a cry, but the tears are welling up. "Aww, shh," John says. "'c'mere." He comes over to you and wraps his arms around your bare middle. "Dove, we're soldiers. We're not scared of a little blood." You don't think he realizes he's gently swaying you as he talks. It's soothing.

"But that's different, John," you whine. "This blood, this is dirty."

"Hush," he snaps. "Nothin' 'bout ya is dirty." He tucks your head under his chin and kisses your hair. "Ya think this makes us wan' ya any less?" He pulls back and taps your chin until you meet his solid blues. "Say the word an' all a' them'd be linin' up to fuck ya." He moans a little. "Can only imagine how good it would feel, yer cunt coated in somethin' even hotter than regular slick. Ya should hear Johnny out their praisin' yer pussy."

You feel heat rush up your neck and into your cheeks. "You really," you take a deep breath, "you don't think it's gross?"

The answer doesn't come from above you but from behind. "Nothin' you do is gross, luv," you hear Simon say. Now you know he's there, he isn't quiet about crossing the room. His large, calloused hands dwarf your hips when he pulls you tight against him. "I'd let ya ride my face for the pleasure of gettin' ya off, blood an' piss an' all."

It should disgust you, but you swoon a bit instead. You turn in his hands. "I can't believe you're okay with this."

"What's there not to be okay with?" Kyle's voice asks from the doorway. You look over Simon's shoulder and see him leaning against the jamb with smudge of blood on his lip.

"Kyle, what happened?" You know you sound panicked, but you can't reign it in. "You have..." You motion to your own mouth.

Kyle ducks his head and rubs his hand over the shorn back of his hair. "I, er, maybe still sucked your slick off Johnny's fingers." He catches your eye. "Any taste of you is worth it."

You're shocked at his admission. Before you can say anything, you hear Johnny's voice in the hallway. "Ye cannae start without me!" He barrels into the room and you notice a sheen of red on his lips.

"What?"

He flushes and admits, "Ah kissed Gaz ta see how ye tasted, since Ah couldnae taste from the source."

You're dumbfounded. Nothing in their demeanor tracks with what you've been told. When you were thirteen, Mum said your period was "a necessary evil." In school, the teachers spoke of biology and creating a space for new life, and while it wasn't disgusting, it wasn't appealing either. All your previous partners found other things to do with other friends when you had your period. But looking around at the faces of your lovers, all you can see is love and desire. There is no disgust, no revulsion, no recoiling.

"Dove?" John's voice breaks you from your reverie. He stands beside you and Simon still again, but now he's discarded his shirt. The top button of his trousers is undone, and you can see his cloth-covered erection straining the zipper. You understand immediately what he's asking, and you dip your head once.

Arms scoop you up and deposit you in the bed. You're surprised by the scratchy feeling beneath you. You run your hand over it and realize it's a bath towel. A bark of laughter escapes you. "You boys pivoted quick, huh?"

John leans over you, growling in your ear. "We wan' ta enjoy ya. And even more, we wan' ya ta enjoy yerself." His hands ghost up and down your sides, the touch featherlight. "I'm gunna kiss ya now, dove."

"Okay," you reply breathlessly. John's kiss is possessive, tongue sweeping into your mouth to claim you as one beefy hand strokes over your curves. His lips start against yours and slowly drift to your neck, your collarbone, your sternum, your stomach, and finally right above your bush. He looks up and meets your gaze, holding it as he dips further down to like a stripe up your slit.

When he pulls back, you see the bright burst of red on the top of his tongue. Then he plants his face in your cunt, tonguing your hole and sucking on your clit. You start thrashing only to feel the bed dip at your hip. Simon and his big hands are back, one heavy on your hip to keep your bucking down, the other running softly along John's head as he slurps obscenely at your sopping, bloody pussy.

John's pursuit of your pleasure is relentless. There is no edging tonight, no long drawn-out teasing. He is a Captain through and through, and tonight's mission is your orgasm. Before long your muscles clench, and the tension in your core snaps. You're twitching on the bed, breathing slowly to bring your heart rate down, when you look down to see John's beard covered in a milky red mixture of blood and cum.

He rubs a hand down his beard, collecting some of the mixture, then holds his hand to Simon. With his eyes holding yours, Simon leans over and licks the mess on John's hand before Johnny shoves him back to get another, more potent taste of you.

You're so distracted by Simon and Johnny fighting over the remains of your taste on John's skin, John has moved nearer to your hip, and Kyle's slotted himself into the space between your thighs. His long, lithe fingers smooth themselves across your thighs, hips, and stomach. "Can I?" he whispers.

Despite the other men sitting at your hip, you respond with a whispered, "Yes."

Kyle pushes himself to the hilt in one fell swoop. He doesn't hold back how he feels. "Fuck, doll, didn't know you could feel better," he grinds out. He waits a moment for you to adjust until he, like John, chases your pleasure. Each of Kyle's thrusts is a long slow retreat before slamming home. He has one hand resting on your mons, thumb just lightly over your overstimulated clit. Every time his hips slam home, Kyle puts a lot more pressure against your clit. Soon he loses his rhythm, thrusts becoming erratic, fingers pulsing against your clit. You climax as he does, and when he pulls out you aren't sure if the liquid that follows is blood or cum, and if the latter, whose.

He flops beside you and throws an arm over his face as you disassociate. You hear Johnny whine and Kyle chuckle, and when you look over, Johnny's on his knees, Kyle's cock in his mouth. There's a lurid ring of red at Kyle's base that Johnny's spit makes messier.

Your eyes slip closed, and you feel the bed continue moving under you. Glancing on your other side you see Simon on his knees, John slamming into him. You catch Simon's eye and shift on the bed to kiss him. John pauses his movements enough to keep Simon from accidentally collapsing on you. After a moment, John grunts. You know he can't keep holding back, so you slide away from Simon to let John continue. Several thrusts later and John's sweaty form is draped against Simon's back.

You hear Kyle's choked moan and know he's close. Johnny has one arm perpendicular to Kyle's hips, pinning him in place while his other is below the edge of the bed. You're sure he's stripping his cock to match his mouth's movements on Kyle. When Kyle cums, Johnny swallows everything down, only a drop beading on his lip. He sees you looking, and instead of licking it away, he leans over to let you lick it off. When you sweep your tongue into his mouth, searching out the taste of him under the flood of Kyle, Johnny slips his cock into your warm, wet cunt. He thrusts half a dozen times before cumming, shouting your name. He's careful not to drop his weight on you, instead falling into the space next to you and tucking you against his larger frame.

You know you need to clean yourself up, especially if you don't want too much blood on the towels or sheets, but you're too blissed out to worry.

Date nights with all your boys are the ones you like best.

main masterlist

[cillianhead]

Sitting Pretty || Jonathan Crane x Reader

summary: Needy and so incredibly horny, you seek out your boyfriend to treat your ailments.

Here's a little short thing for y'all <3

Warnings: Smut, cockwarming, graphic language, swearing, unprotected P in V, slight degradation, praising, there's a bit of slapping but nothing too serious, adult content.

18+ Minors DNI.

Seeking out Jonathan was pretty easy, he finally had a day off of work for once but he was in his study anyway, reading over medical documents, prescriptions, legal forms, and all that boring stuff you didn't particularly care for. He hadn't paid any attention to you all day, a small peck in the morning before he slipped out of bed and went into his home office to work was all he had given you today.

"Jonny?" You asked meekly, creaking the door of his study open. You were in one of his button up shirts, though none of the buttons were done up, leaving your bare chest and stomach on display. He looked up from his work, quirking an eyebrow at you. Just the sight of him, his glasses sitting on his pretty nose and still in his pyjamas as he worked. He looked so handsome, it made you squeeze your bare thighs together.

"What is it, bunny?" Jonathan tilted his head at you, waving you over with a curl of his finger. Your feet padded over to him and you could feel his hungry eyes on your tits, nipples hard from the cold air.

"Need you..." Was all you could get out as you sat on his warm lap, an arm of his slipped around your waist. "Please... you've barely... given me any attention at all today, Jonny..."

Jonathan just smirked as he signed off another bit of paperwork, humming, not giving his full attention to you. You frowned grumpily. "Is that so?" He knew you were all worked up, he knew it from the second you walked into the room with that sad little look on your face. "Well too bad, too busy with work, my love. Maybe later." He mumbled dismissively.

"Please!" You cried, leaning your head into the crook of his neck, squeezing your eyes shut. Whining like a needy brat. "I'll take anything you can give me please... please... just need you inside of me, I'll be good, Jonny..."

Jonathan sighed, knowing how you were when you were horny. You wouldn't leave him alone until you got what you want, got what you needed. "I'll tell you what, you can sit on my cock but you're not allowed to move, do you hear me?" He grabbed you by your chin sternly, pen still slotted between his fingers. "No playing around, sweetheart." You just nodded feverishly, you quickly pulled down his pyjama pants, his cock was already hard and red for you. Biting your lip, you slipped down your underwear, letting it fall onto the floor as you ground your wet cunt against his head until you sank down on him, back pressed against his clothed chest. You let out a low moan, squeezing around him, you could hear him take in a deep breath through his nose as he kept writing, knowing your pussy had an intoxicating effect over him.

"F-Feels so good, Jonathan... thank you," You mumbled, trying your best to keep your aching hips still. Your clit throbbed with need as the head of his dick pressed snugly against your cervix in the most deliciously painful way.

"Now you've got what you want you can just sit there and look pretty for me, darling." Jonathan pinched your sensitive nipple, you gasped at this, clenching around him causing him to let out a throaty groan. "You've gotta stop doing that, baby, or you won't be allowed to sit here anymore." You squeezed his cock again at the nickname which earned you a hard slap on your clit, making you cry.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry... you just feel too good..." You whined, throwing your head back to rest on his shoulder. He could tell you were struggling to sit still, could tell you still needed more.

You sat there for a little while longer, being good, being obedient while he did his work and his dick sat inside you, cunt hugging it tightly and needily. But you were growing more and more restless by the second.

"Touch your clit f'me," Jonathan whispered deep into your ear. "Want you to cum while sitting on my cock."

"C-Can't..."

"Don't tell me you want me to do it for you too?" He grunted, clearly displeased with your answer. You shook your head with embarrassment. "Pathetic slut, can't even touch yourself, takin' my cock but you also need my fingers too? Greedy bitch." He gave you a smack on your cheek, face stinging, as he slipped his fingers between your sticky folds and rubbed perfect circles on your swollen clit. He was so hot when he was mean.

"Thank you... thank you so much..." You were a stupid mess, wanting to bounce on his cock so bad. He was touching you so perfectly and you hated how it turned you on even further how he continued to do his work even with you sitting on him, his cock fully sheathed inside you and his fingers working your clit, working you closer to your oncoming orgasm. You were thankful for whatever he gave you. Shifting your hips, trying to readjust, to get more friction of some kind, as you felt yourself on the brink of cumming, you got another hard slap on your clit before he continued touching you. "Ow!"

"Remember what I fucking said about no moving." Jonathan grumbled, you felt his dick twitch inside you, you knew he was close too, getting off in the way your pussy perfectly squeezed him.

You were dripping all over him, so wet for him. He twitched inside of you again and suddenly before you could really process what was going on he slammed his pen down and pushed you down over the desk, pushing your face down into the expensive mahogany as he pulled his hips out before slamming right back in. Jonathan couldn't take it anymore, couldn't take the way your pussy squeezed him, he was holding back bucking into you that entire time, so he finally gave in and started fucking you.

"Oh!" You felt yourself unraveling, creaming around him. "Yes!" Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as he fucked into you roughly.

"Fuckin' take it, that's it, little girl, take my big cock," Jonathan groaned, slamming in and out of you, his cock hitting your cervix perfectly and heavy balls hitting your clit with a perfect rhythm. "That's a good girl, so fucking good for me, gonna fill you with my cum." You were writhing on the desk, your pussy gushing for him. "So wet, so wet for me, gonna cum... fuck... gonna cum...!" He groaned, spilling his seed into you, filling you with his sweet cum. Stilling his hips completely as he let out his own whiny sounds of pleasure, despite his rough treatment of you, his whines were high pitched and a bit pathetic, it only turned you on further the way his rough exterior melted as he came. You squeezed him further, your own orgasm still going on, milking him of all he's got and smiling to yourself, knowing you got what you want. "Fucking hell." He whispered.

"Thank you... thank you!" You moaned and you could feel his nails digging into your hips as he breathed deeply, coming down from his high. Your clit throbbing and your head spinning, you gasped for air. "Thank you so much... Jonny... love you..."

"So grateful for my cum aren't you?" He hummed, pulling you down with him, down onto his office chair again, softening cock still inside you. Cum dripping out of you slowly. "What a sweet thing you are..." He sniffed your hair, burying his nose in your neck. You just leaned back on him, fucked out and all dumb. Your mind was blank with pure contentment. "Such a dumb pretty little girl... gonna make you my wife." He praised, placing a sloppy kiss on your lips before he slid the chair over to his desk and continued his work.

-

I hope you enjoyed!! <3

[shepcdr]

oh yeah. it's all coming together

(not really because it's a mix of a dacnis-centric board and dax's thoughts @ shep, but also shep's internal thoughts about dax so we just never know what the fuck is going on, but that's kind of the way his experience with dax was anyway)

a.lain d.elon is less of a faceclaim — i do not want a real person faceclaim for d!!! — rather than a general sort of an esthetic vibe and reference, but honestly he is not far off ... dax definitely looks a lot like finch in me1 but prettier, sharper features. he oozes cleverness and charm that masks the cruelty, and he's got all the unhinged vibes of j/d from the h.eathers film; but dax is completely narcissistic and has a true and complete lack of human empathy. he looked at a child and saw a weapon (<- link is to ic thread with flashbacks to sheps gang days).

and he is SO so fucking intelligent. he was able to formulate red sand + he developed the prototype for minagen x3 (the stuff that pitne for was selling to the eclipse sisters in me2), and that alone pushed the tenth street reds international, then intergalactic.

he is not the best at fighting amongst the reds, but he is intensely violent and volatile (remind u of anyone...... looks at shep. filth teaches filth, or whatnot) and will not hesitate to beat someone down. an enforcer mainly within the reds as one of the founding members, but he has certainly intimidated outside of them and he has most certainly killed. he just prefers to delegate and to scheme.

When you're trying to track down the collectors but some weird fucker keeps messaging your private terminal