#the full layout if he would ever admit it is:

[linddzz]

Harry Lloyd had said he's aiming for specifically a "bad Czech accent" for Viktor (hilariously candid, thank you for your service sir) so I like having Viktor mutter things in Google Translate Czech

And look. Is it in character? Probably not. Or maybe it is but it is pushing it ok I know I am pushing into some syrapy ooc cutesy shit but hold my hand ok?? Hear me out here

Bc I cannot resist the idea of Viktor pre-relationship calling Jayce lásko. and refusing to elaborate further. Not that he needs to elaborate, because Jayce would just roll with this fun nickname that Viktor will call him with such casual ease (like it's the most sensible and obvious nickname there is) because they're buddies and partners yay!

And it's not until they've been fucking for a while that Jayce finally THINKS to ask what lásko means and Viktor shrugs and says "ah that, it means love. Or my love." like it's NO BIG DEAL.

And Jayce is sitting straight up staring at him with an indescribable mix of equal parts fluttery chest feelings and also indignant "are you shitting me rn???" because he is suddenly flipping through how long Viktor's been calling him that (it's been since Jayce said "crank it!!!" that first night at the chalkboards in Jayce's blown up apartment) like it was a totally normal thing to call your new lab partner

With Viktor holding eye contact. Eyebrow raised. His expression 1000% I said what I fucking said

[sourszt]

𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 | somnophilia + captive

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 — homelander x fem!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — nsfw, somnophilia, captive, non-con SLIGHTLY turned dub-con, stalking, reader is part of the boys, fuck or die basically, breaking & entering, fingering, slight pregnancy kink, oral (f!receiving), slight dacryphilia, lmk if i missed anything !

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 — this is very dark please read with caution!! if you don’t think you will like or be able to handle this, PLEASE do not read i will not be upset !! but homelander is an asshole so unfortunately this isn’t really ooc. not proofread!

he should hate you. he knew he should.

staring at your face on the meeting room screen, captured on a shitty blue-tinted doorbell camera. after weeks of searching, he finally found out who you were. working with the very people who had not only killed his indestructible colleague and coworker and trying to damage his image, he had to admit you were a slippery thing.

not anymore.

now he knew what you looked like, it was time to show you hell on earth. he was the fucking homelander and you of all people should know that. you’d seen the side of him that millions couldn’t. he could kill you in a heartbeat for what you’d done. for what you knew.

in a handful of different ways, too. he could let his lasers seep into your eyes and melt your brain into liquid, he could rip you limb from limb with his bare hands, he could tear your heart clean from your chest and have your disembodied head watch it slow to a stop before he drove a hammer into your skull.

but as he stared at your photo, something in his heart told him that he’d be doing none of that to you. at least, not yet.

his bright blue eyes narrowed at the screen he so desperately wanted to shatter with his fist. he tucked his hands underneath his cape behind his back to keep him from doing so — madelyn would have his fucking head.

he instead examined every single one of your visible features, embedding them in his mind so that he would never forget them. and very soon, you would do the same.

—

sleep didn’t come easy for you that night.

your day had been unreasonably long and stressful, and you found you were still processing the events when you clambered into bed hours after you reached home. which was another thing in itself.

the boys were getting too trusting with their secrets and recently they had roped in another supe: mesmer. some washed up d-lister who was still milking his childhood fame at failing conventions full of millennials and up.

that encounter had gone to shit thanks to kimiko, as you learned that girl’s name was. butcher nearly had everybody’s asses when he realized you’d gone behind his back but settled the matter with a few colorful words.

but you were still scared getting into bed. somebody else had information on you that could likely kill you. you didn’t entirely trust that mesmer wasn’t willing to sell all of you guys out for a few extra minutes of stardom. your house felt much bigger lately ever since starting this mission with butcher. every shadowy corner felt like there was a demon lurking within it.

like something was waiting for you to fall asleep.

even after you managed to shake that uneasiness off and drift off into a deep slumber, you failed to notice the two eyes watching you through the window just a few feet away.

honestly, homelander had been watching you since you first got home. he’d remained undetected as you ventured through your house: rest, dinner, shower, — he had to admit that he watched you a little too intently during this step — and finally sleep.

you had to be an idiot. how could you not realize that the homelander was so close to you? that he knew who you were already?

and god, how easy it was to get into your house. all he had to do was melt the fucking lock to your back door and make his way through each room — he already knew the layout quite well — before landing at the foot of your bed.

he must have stood there for half an hour just watching you toss and turn, hum and whimper like you were having an rocky dream. part of him was deciding what to do to you. the other part already knew.

he slipped one of his gloves off, and then the other, gently placing them on your nightstand beside your phone. he pinched the edge of your comforter and threw it off of you and onto the floor. your body reacted to the sudden change in temperature, writhing around a little.

he waited another few minutes before touching you. he wanted to decide where to start. first, he brushed your slightly tangled hair out of your face with precision, wanting to see your face up close. the last time he saw it was earlier that day on the monitor in the meeting room.

this was much better than that.

then he straightened out all of the wrinkles in your oversized pajama top, taking a quick peek at your panties underneath. he watched you slide them on earlier. a delicate pair of lacy wine red ones. his cock twitched in his pants at the thought of taking them off of your unconscious body. not even knowing until you woke up.

he tested you out by grabbing one of your tits through your shirt. you didn’t react. not until he started kneading it, pinching at and circling your nipple until it poked out from under the fabric. then your head rolled to the other side with furrowed brows and a soft, pouty whine left you.

homelander actually fought back a curse when he realized how hard he was. it was getting more and more difficult for him to take his time with you. so he didn’t.

you were still sound asleep when the bed dipped to accommodate his weight, and creaked as he positioned himself right over you. he could smell your shampoo. it smelled like the one that maeve used. probably a cheaper alternative, but still.

his hands came up to the hem of your shirt, this time slowly inching it up until he could see your tits. they looked unbelievably good like this. he toyed with them for a while, restraining himself from latching onto one of your nipples. not yet.

for a fleeting second he thought about getting you pregnant — if he was even able to. what you’d look like with a big belly that carried his child and swollen tits that were full just for him.

homelander had to squeeze his eyes shut or else he would’ve come untouched.

he dragged the tips of his fingers down the curves of your waist, then your hips, noting the way your steady breathing was suddenly distorted. your torso twisted like you were ticklish, but he held you firmly in place. he risked waking you up with the force of his grasp alone, but by some miracle you remained asleep.

you picked such a dangerous profession for a deep sleeper.

he shifted down to the foot of your bed, sliding off of the edge to get a good look at your pussy. the lace hugged you perfectly, and it left nothing to the imagination. he couldn’t resist using them for a little while. his thumb found your clit through the thin layer, humming when your thighs instinctively parted wider for more.

“slut.” he whispered.

a broken whimper pulled from your throat in your slumber, prompting him to pick up his pace. his other hand forced your leg up before he dragged the flat of his tongue up your clothed cunt. you were getting wetter. he could smell it.

his eyes rolled back at your almost sweet scent, the hand that held your leg quickly moving to palm his cock through the pants of his suit. he continued to eat your cunt through your soaked panties until he was nearly about to come in his trousers. then he decided he’d had more than enough fun.

you were a mess in your sleep. constantly moaning and whining, hips gently bucking up into his hand. it was only a matter of time until you woke up.

so he pulled your panties off of you and went to unbutton his pants, wrapping the soiled fabric around his stiff cock. he fought back a particularly loud groan as he returned between your legs. he draped one of your legs over his shoulders and ducked down to taste you.

really taste you.

his tongue dipped past your wet folds and into your cunt, pulling a choked cry from you. even in your sleep your hips rolled up into his face, like you were begging for more.

somehow it was better than he anticipated. how impossibly sweet you were, how your sleeping body reacted to him. and the noises you made for him. because of him. he groaned softly against your pussy, the vibrations making you whine.

it wasn’t long until the stimulation became too much to bare, your eyelids beginning to lift as you woke up. the only thing you could register was the warm, thick tongue violating your cunt at a blinding pace. your senses were instantly forced into overdrive and you weakly tried to shift yourself upright.

but a hand much larger and stronger than yours stopped you. fingers dug into your skin in a bruising grip, and a low voice shattered the silence. “move and i’ll fucking kill you.”

you instantly recognized who it belonged to and your blood ran cold. you heeded his stern warning and lowered your gaze to see homelander’s face tucked between your thighs. the sight alone made tears well in your eyes and frantic pleas begin to tumble from your trembling lips.

“please, don’t.” your body was frozen with shock, only tensing when his deep void-like pupils started to glow red.

he released the side of your waist only to swipe at his chin that you saw was shining with your slick. the sight was horrifyingly obscene and you couldn’t hold back the low, shaky whimper it drew from you. you watched his face subtly twitch with realization and his smile grew, his sharp canines poking out.

he held your gaze as he dragged two of his fingers up your slit, humming when he felt how much more wet you’d gotten. your eyes screwed shut when he slid those fingers inside of you to the knuckles without warning. you struggled to keep your body still, fearing that any sudden movement would set him off.

“if you really wanted me to stop, you wouldn’t be so fucking wet.” he curled his fingers and your head fell back into your pillow. “look at me.” he snapped through clenched teeth. he removed his fingers, leaving you empty and wanting more.

you hardly had a choice. his cold blue eyes brought goosebumps to your skin when you found them again. you felt beyond exposed — beyond violated — but something deep inside of you ached for release. in your sleep, his rather skillful ministrations translated into a sensual dream and you were building to your climax when you woke up. you knew he wasn’t going to kill you.

at least, not until he was finished with you. you had very little to lose at that point. so you slowly parted your legs and draped one more comfortably over his shoulder. the gold plated eagles on his suit dug into the undersides of your thigh but you didn’t mind. you kept your movements slow, well aware that he wouldn’t hesitate to get rid of you if he thought you were stepping out of line.

he understood your silent plea, one that your voice wouldn’t allow. “atta girl.” he murmured before pressing a kiss to the spot just below your belly button. you watched him go lower, his warm breath teasing your cunt.

you weren’t sure if you were allowed to speak yet so you endured his cruel treatment until he finally granted you relief. your back instinctively arched when his mouth finally closed around your core. his tongue lapped at you, observing your responses. now that you were awake, he could see your body really writhe.

your head rolled back with a pitchy, dragged out moan and you grasped at your sheets for some kind of leverage when his warm tongue penetrated you. your hips bucked up into his slow strokes and he groaned against you.

“oh, fuck,” the curse came out strained. you could feel the tip of his nose poking at your sensitive clit.

your body reacted like it typically would and before you could even consider it, your hand flew to his hair. his eyes narrowed at you and his pace faltered for only a split second. the contact was unexpected, but he knew you weren’t making a move to even attempt to hurt him.

your fingers raked through his blond hair and traced down the side of his face. “g—good, feels so good.” you were hardly coherent, but something about your wild urgency made something in homelander’s stomach tighten. “so fuckin’ good, my good boy,” he’d been working his cock with your panties wrapped around it and suddenly he lost his rhythm.

you were visibly mindless by that point, nearly at your breaking point. but he couldn’t deny how much your slurred rambles were working him up. he continued to eat your cunt with a newfound vigor, moaning every time your fingers gently tugged at his hair.

he knew you were nearly there when you clenched around his tongue. you finally came with a strained cry when his lips wrapped around your clit. it was like a brick wall had hit you at full force. he came quickly after, releasing into the lacy fabric of your underwear.

it took you a moment to ride it out, your hand falling from his hair while you tried to steady your spinning head. panic seeped in the moment your heartbeat returned to normal and you looked down at the man still perched between your legs.

he was already staring at you with a blank expression like he was considering his options for you. what felt like forever passed when he started to wipe at his grinning mouth. a grin that gave you chills.

“the fuck am i gonna do with you, huh?” he asked rhetorically, laughing bitterly. he rose to his feet, suddenly towering over your limp form. “i could take you right now. fuck you dry and kill you. i could take you all for myself so i could be the only one who fucks that sweet pussy. nobody would know where to start looking. or i could let you go and let the paranoia do the rest.”

he rounded your bed to stand beside you. you were too overcome with fear to move, let alone really process his words. “i’m the fucking homelander, you stupid slut. don’t forget that.” he reclaimed his gloves that rested on the bedside table and left.

you were left in an eerie silence. you knew he would be back for you. you just didn’t know when.

i dont even have any afterwords ngl 😭

[scaryspears]

Mortal Kombat x Bimbo Reader

Another test run, and these are just bullet points not full blown stories. I've already written another bimbo reader post so I suggest checking that out. Please do requests if this isn't enough.

This one is just Bi Han, Kuai Liang, Hanzo, Shang Tsung and Johnny.

"I need to die looking good."

Bi Han Noob Saibot

He doesn't understand your constant need to dress up and put makeup on, but he won't say anything about it. A lot of women are just like that, so Bi Han just figured it's a female thing. Misogynistic of him, but he doesn't care.

While seeing him training you gladly set up a chair and watched him from afar whilst drinking a cocktail, and you've attached yourself to him ever since. He couldn't take you seriously at first, but he could only admit to himself that your dense personality was a little adorable.

When the blood got too much you would hide your face in his chest, which he didn't mind even though some makeup stains would go on his clothes.

When he returned as Noob Saibot he swore to make you drop dead gorgeous, even if you already were. But you would join him in death as his revenant lover. Quan Chi was sure to give you the best manicures so long as you were loyal to him.

Kuai Liang

As a man that puts Lin Kuei traditions in high regard he could understand your need for the newest fashion and dressing well. He showed you his wardrobe and you decided to copy his style, which he found adorable.

He likes having tea with you, but you're certain he must try a frappe or at least a smoothie.

Kuai isn't one for public affection, Lin Kuei and all, but he lets you climb over him. If he's not disciplining Frost or the other Lin Kuei then he's snogging you in the snow. After you drag him into it at least. He only initiates things first if you guys are alone.

Although you didn't understand a lot of things he could appreciate you being there for him to give comfort on sensitive topics.

Hanzo 'Scorpion' Hasashi

It was like talking to a different Johnny Cage in his opinion. It was a bit jarring to have you flirting with him and not get the slightest hint that he's not interested since revenge was on his mind. It was after he was brought back as Hanzo Hasashi that he appreciated your presence more.

The Shirai Ryu are ninjas, so that meant blending into society when on mission and you had a lot of things to say about clothing choices.

The Shirai Ryu shrine looked better than he remembered, you had given him ideas on the layout and studied a thing or two on Japanese culture to make it legit.

When he caught you teaching the new members cheerleading moves he knew he had to be more welcoming with you, because those were complicated moves. And it showed him you were no stranger to teamwork. Hanzo could see the beauty in that.

Shang Tsung

This villainous man came across you giving Mileena style tips and fixing her hair. He had no clue how you snuck into the private parts of the palace, but he suspected you were partially from the Chaosrealm.

Mileena didn't react well to your absence, and after Kitana's rejection she seemed to have formed an attachment to you so Shang expected you around the palace. Shao Kahn was glad that Mileena had a nice person to look up to, so he was fine with you in the palace.

Shang had you participate in the tournament for a reason, but he underestimated your powers as well as your fighting abilities. Such beauty in combat is rare.

Johnny Cage

Barbie and Ken in the eyes of many Earthrealmers, but you two are the 'it' couple when it comes to vanity, expensive taste, and being drama queens.

He is your husband, your best friend, and your mirror. Your super power was convenience and getting yourself out of serious situations, but how it acted up was at random times. Johnny could relate to that.

In the meantime, you could both bathe in the spotlight, and the cameras. And your friends from home can be jealous and gush about you marrying an actor.

It was a match made in pink and green.

[vixstarria]

Kinktober Day 8 - Stuck in a hole

For every day of the month of October I will be posting a little snippet following prompts listed in this post. Most of these will not be full fics, but rather short snippets, set-ups, and, in a few cases, copied bits and pieces of fics I have already published. But, if there is a lot of interest and feedback on any of the snippets, they might just evolve into full fics, so keep that in mind.

Disclaimer / TW: This is a crackfic and I laughed like a hyena writing parts of it. You have been warned.

Lae’zel was not having a good day. Wound tight as a string that was about to snap, the last dregs of her patience slipping through her fingers, she yearned for the peace that could only be found in her blade’s slashing through the flesh of her foes.

Their k'chakhi ‘leader’ was off investigating or, more likely, robbing a bank with her two pet elves and the harper Jaheira - that woman, at least, could be trusted to keep the istik nonsense to a minimum.

In the meantime, Lae’zel had volunteered to lead the wizard, warlock and cleric on a reconnaissance mission within Wyrm’s Rock Fortress. Alas, through no fault of her own - it was the wizard’s ever-crackling knees that blew their cover - they were caught and placed in a holding cell.

At least their captors shared the usual istik lack of discipline and common sense - they were not even taken to separate cells. And now, with some help from the wizard’s spells, they were making their way back out of the keep.

The warlock guided the group through the halls and passageways of the fortress - he was familiar with the layout. They had reached a wall which contained a gap large enough to crawl through (careless, these city dwellers, allowing such breaches to remain within their structures). Lae’zel allowed the two men to go through ahead of her, with the cleric trailing behind, but just as she was halfway through, an earthquake shook the keep, dislodging yet more of the bricks and stones that lined the wall and ceiling above, and trapping her in place. The stones had collapsed in a way that made it impossible to simply lift them from her. Miraculously, she was unharmed, praise be to Vl- chk! - but she was, undeniably, stuck between the two chambers separated by the crumbling wall.

“Have you any spells that might be of use, in your arsenal?” Wyll directed at Gale, once it was determined that manual extraction methods would not suffice, and once it was confirmed that Shadowheart was also unharmed - no one could see her behind the wall that separated the chambers.

“I’m afraid I’ve exhausted all the cunning tricks I had stashed up my sleeve getting us this far… But perhaps we have a scroll for the occasion?” said Gale.

"There’s got to be a scroll of gaseous form here somewhere,” Wyll said, digging through a bag of supplies. “Animal friendship… Colour spray… Why do we even carry these useless things?”

As the two mages (inept, both of them!) continued to rifle through their inventory of scrolls and trinkets, Lae’zel felt soft touches on the backs of her thighs. Shadowheart ran her fingers over Lae’zel’s bare skin, lightly brushing it with the blunt of her nails.

Lae’zel squirmed at the touch. Tsk’va, why had she ever divulged to the cleric that she was ticklish? It was so unlike her, so unwise to disclose a weakness… And this was not the time for such frivolities!

Lae’zel attempted to kick Shadowheart away, but the cleric easily dodged her without pausing her increasingly ribald caresses.

“Lae’zel?” Wyll asked.

“What?” she said, curtly, as Shadowheart continued to trace her thighs with her fingertips, feather light, making her skin tingle.

“There is a scroll of grease…” he said, hesitantly. “Perhaps if we-”

“No.”

Shadowheart’s hands moved up along the insides of Lae’zel’s thighs, playfully caressing the sensitive skin there, and continued to creep up. Lae’zel had to admit that it felt pleasant, even if the occasion was completely inappropriate for it.

Just as she thought the cleric would finally cease her foolishness, instead, Lae’zel felt the cleric fiddling with the clasps of her under-harness.

No. She wouldn’t dare.

Her mind had barely finished formulating that thought when her harness came undone, exposing her core. Lae’zel’s eyes shot wide open.

She dared.

Shadowheart’s fingers continued on their path along Lae’zel’s sex - gliding along the edges but refusing to slip inside.

Lae’zel knew she should’ve fought or at the very least ignored and refused to succumb to the cleric’s touch, and yet, despite herself, she felt a needful pulsing between her legs, blood rushing to all her most sensitive parts. She knew she would be dripping with slick in no time, if she wasn’t already. There was no use trying to hide it.

She was bested. It was undeniable. At this point there would be more honour, more dignity, in submission. She would accept defeat, this time, and use it as an opportunity to learn from the victor.

Lae’zel spread her legs and lifted her hips higher, presenting herself to the cleric.

Just a few feet away from her, Gale continued digging through his supplies.

“Ah, I have a scroll of goodberry!” he said. “Perchance you would like a snack while we search for solutions?”

Lae’zel all but hissed at the wizard in reply.

The cleric had wasted no time in accepting Lae’zel’s gesture of submission, and slid two fingers inside Lae’zel’s throbbing hole - stroking, but also searching and prying. Tsk’va! She had taught her too well.

Lae’zel sobbed as Shadowheart’s fingers located and curled into her t’rac spot.

Curses, she thought. Another weakness she had thoughtlessly disclosed prior, in a moment of foolhardiness.

“Lae’zel, are you alright?” Wyll said, with worry. The cleric must have heard her outcry, for her fingers continued their relentless assault with renewed, excited vigour.

“It’s nothing!” Lae’zel panted. “I… I do not do well in enclosed spaces.”

The spot within her pulsated with each stroke of the cleric’s fingers - a delicious sting, a palpitating itch that demanded more and more pressure, driving her to the edge of madness.

“It is important that you do not panic,” said Wyll, crouching down by Lae’zel. “We will get you out.”

“I am not panicking,” Lae’zel managed, breathlessly.

“No, of course not,” Wyll said, kindly. “Now… Lae’zel? Can you look at me?”

Assuming that he would not let the matter lie, Lae’zel lifted her gaze to meet the warlock’s, all the while arching her back and spreading her legs wider for Shadowheart.

“I am with you, and I will not leave you,” he said.

Lae’zel swore under her breath.

“Nice, deep breaths now. You are a mighty githyanki warrior, this is nothing you can’t handle.”

Lae’zel breathed deep, trying to keep her breaths level instead of gasping and gulping for air like she wanted to. The cleric’s ministrations had brought her to the very cusp of release. Only a little bit more… Only a little bit- A desperate whine, completely unexpected even by Lae’zel herself, tore from her throat as the cleric landed a sharp slap on her rear, without ceasing the stroking motions.

“Take my hand, Lae’zel!” Wyll urged her.

She cursed again but took his hand, nearly crushing it with the force of her grasp.

The warlock winced, but continued his efforts in uplifting her spirits.

“You are doing so well!”

With a sob, Lae’zel hid her face in the crook of her elbow, lying face down on the ground.

The blasted cleric had reached around her hips with her free hand, and began to rub around her exposed clitoris.

“There is no shame in being claustrophobic.”

As the words left Wyll’s mouth, Lae’zel’s whole world seemed to shake, and she released an animalistic scream from deep within her chest, just as she knew a generous spray of release squirted from between her shaking legs, continuing to be urged on by Shadowheart’s strokes. Somewhere in the back of her mind, spitefully, Lae’zel hoped it landed on the cleric.

It took some moments, but Lae’zel soon realised that her earth-shattering orgasm had, indeed, been accompanied by yet more tremors which shook everything around them.

And then all was still.

Lae’zel still panted when she felt Shadowheart refastening the clasps of her harness. A light, playful smack landed on her rump, before the cleric adjusted the strips of pteruges on her armour back in place, and retreated.

“It seems more of the stones have been dislodged, perhaps we can pull her out now?” said Gale, after he and Wyll had ascertained that Lae’zel remained unharmed.

She thought she would be inclined to murder all three of her companions on regaining her freedom, and yet when they finally pulled her out by her arms, Lae’zel felt oddly at peace. She met Shadowheart’s eyes when she followed her out through the crevice, and only let out a soft ‘chk’ at the sight of the smirking cleric.

She would exact skilful, precise revenge on her, later. On her honour as a warrior, yes she would.

My Kinktober masterlist and prompts post

[bunnyksj]

Heyooo just came across you your pfp and layout is very beautiful you're jin biased aswell? Also I would like to request and yandere yet soft jin fic also let's be friends haha you slay <3

Epiphany - KSJ x Reader

Summary: Seokjin saw you as nothing more than a fun game, but then he became obsessed. 

Author’s Note: OMG YOUR SO CUTE !!! i’d love too omg, and soft yandere jin is so real !!!

TAGS: yandere!jin, hes a little obsessed with you, but its okay, also coworker!jin again because i am obsessed LMAO, soft, he takes care of you when your drunk omg. 

 ┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

Seokjin walked into the office, running his hand back through his hair. He wasn't surprised when you came running over, handing his coffee to him, sitting down next to him, an eager look in your eyes. You eagerly yapped on and on about your day, pestering with questions about his own. He usually just replied with a simple nod of his head and a dry answer. Hoping to get you off his back. 

Seokjin was used to this behavior, of girls fawning and practically tripping over themselves for his attention. But he had to admit, he was impressed by how adamant and determined you were. It had been a full year of you desperately trying to get his attention. He often wondered when you would finally give up. 

“Seokjin!” You called, smiling brightly. “I brought you a coffee, its-” 

“Expresso, my favorite. I know.” He responded, sighing slightly, taking a seat at his office. 

Your crush on him was barely hidden. The flushed hue of your cheeks and you’d stammer and stutter your words when he (rarely) gave you compliments. And the way your lips would curl into a soft smile whenever he spoke to you, attentively listening to every word he said. Even the way you let out small, shy giggles every time he would make a joke, your soft eyes interlocking with his. It was almost intoxicating to him, the way he had so much power over you, you were like a small puppy, desperate and begging for attention. Not like he’d ever reciprocate your feelings though, he found you more entertaining, like a fun game. He wondered when you would finally stop playing. He was strangely drawn to you though.

 He couldn't deny that  your daily interactions often brighten his day. Sometimes he’d go back home, and think about all the things you said, smiling softly. There's no way he actually liked you though, right? 

 ┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　° 

Everyone in the office had a small break for the holidays. As soon as he came back, he saw you, bouncing eagerly to his desk. But, it was different this time, something felt off. He didn't know if it was a gut feeling, or something else entirely, but he didn't like it. The way you looked at him wasn't the same, there was less awe in them. Your cheeks weren’t as flushed as normal, your cute, shy demeanor was gone. 

“Hi Seokjin!” You chirped, smiling kindly. “How was your break?” 

“It was fine.” He responded, in his usual cold tone. “You?” 

The words that left your mouth had him in shock. 

“It was great! Me and my boyfriend-” 

Boyfriend? This couldn't be right. You liked him, right? Why wouldn't you? You were the one all over him not even a week ago. You were supposed to like him. 

“Boyfriend?” He blurted out, his tone giving away more than he would’ve liked. 

“Yeah.” You said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Seokjin, I’ve been dating him for like 3 months now.” You giggled. 

3 months? 3 whole months. You had to be joking. You had flirted with him that whole time, right? There was no way you were just trying to be friendly, you liked him. He was so sure of it. 

“That's nice.” He said, his tone flat and colder than usual. Fuck, why did he care so damn much about your stupid boyfriend? He was a grown man, it's not like he never slept around or anything. Why should he care if you have some guy in your life? 

Those thoughts echoed around his head for the rest of the day, trapped up in a mix of emotions. He was quickly snapped out of it when one of the other coworkers slapped a hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey, Seokjin! Are you coming for drinks tonight?” 

“Yeah, I’m going.” He said flatly. As much as he didnt want to admit it, he was only going to see you, to admire your pretty features and beautiful eyes. You were like a drug, pulling him in, and he couldn't get enough. He needed you, needed you to care again. He needed to see you get all shy for him, looking so cute and sweet just for him. A small smile crept onto his face just thinking about it, you and your perfect features. 

Shit, he really couldn't get enough of you. You were like a drug, keeping him trapped under your influence, coming back for more every time. He began to wonder what your boyfriend is like. If he was as handsome as he is, or if he was as smart and brooding, and if he has as strong of an aura, like he did. Maybe you just got with him to make him feel like this. Knowing you drove him crazy, before even he did. He had to admit, you were smart. 

 ┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　° 

He pulled up to the bar, taking the seat besides you, stealing glances at you every once in a while. 

“Hmm, Seokjin, which drink do you think I should get?”

He smiled at you, watching the way you furrowed your eyebrows in concentration, like this was the most important decision you’ll ever make. 

“You should try this one.” He said, leaning over your shoulder, his deep voice in your ear, pointing at the menu in front of you. He smirked softly when he saw the slight rosiness of your cheeks appear. God, he loved seeing you like that.

As the night went on, more and more drinks were being poured out, he noticed your words becoming more slurred, stumbling slightly. 

“Fuck, Seokjin. Could you take her home? There’s no fucking way she’s driving home like that.” 

“Of course.” He said. Why wouldn't he want to protect you? To keep you safe. He was in strong denial for the longest time, but he couldn't deny it. He was in love with you. And he needed you more than anything. 

He drove you home, gently placing you in his car. He’d go with you to pick up yours tomorrow. He smiled softly, already anticipating the day ahead. As you guys were driving home, he often looked your way, admiring your features under the dim lights, you had curled up against the car seat, exhausted from the night out. 

He carried you inside, slowly creaking open your apartment door. Your boyfriend was passed out on the couch in your living room. He had probably fallen asleep waiting for you. Oh well, Seokjin would deal with him in the morning, as of right now, his attention was mostly on you. 

He walked over to your bedroom, softly laying you down on your bed. He sat beside you, his hand stroking your hair softly, brushing it away from your face, smiling sweetly. His thumb caressed your cheek, feeling your warm skin under his cold hand. 

“Relax, sweet angel.” He said, softly. “Just rest for now, I’ll be here when you wake up, I promise.” 

“O-okay..” You mumbled tiredly, shifting slightly, trying to get comfortable. 

What a sweet girl. He’d help you with your nasty hangover in the morning, and maybe even help you get rid of your little boyfriend. 

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

[areislol]

nsfw hcs | MINORS DNI !

ft— neteyam x fem. human! reader warnings— (^) mdni, praises, aged up characters, neteyam being the soft boy we know, soft sex, consent king!! slight breast/nipple play, as i said before, minors PLEASE do not interact but then again, read what you want, size + breeding kink, vanilla(?) sex, p in v, fingering, marking, riding but no pen. long like reeaaally long, first smut hc ever so if there's any mistake pls ignore them a/n— im just feeling it today i don't know why... image layout ib by @luvsellie also, isn't neteyam so pretty?

he is so, so sweet. so expect many praises when you're being stuffed <3

service soft dom!!!

loves hearing you plead so he can fulfill your wishes, doesn't like the idea of denying your wishes.

he acknowledges how you're much smaller than him but that just fuels his size kink even more..

neteyam is the sweetheart king, so he always resists his animalistic urge to just pound you but can't since his dick is well.. too big, way too big for you and it'd probably hurt you. the idea of hurting you during a special time pains him so he takes it slow.

he asks you if you're okay with just the tip and if you want more he will of course oblige, and when he does he makes sure to put it in (painfully for him) slow.

speaking of asking, he is the consent king!! always asks if you're okay with this and that, making sure that you're not hurting or that you aren't uncomfortable.

so many kisses/open-mouthed kisses, whether it be on your forehead, lips, cheeks, stomach, pussy, thighs, he just loves giving you kisses.

he worships your body... like.. a lot... since you're (obviously) different to him he takes his time to observe every part of your body, your moles, birthmarks, (stretchmarks if you have any), and any "flaw" you say you have he will kiss them and reassure you that you're beautiful <3

foreplay!! he loves it, kissing you while he presses his knee to your sex as you grind against it

he also loves it because you told him that it gets the person more aroused and wet—meaning it would hurt less when entering you and that's the reason why he always does foreplay.

the first time you two had sex he's slow and sensual but after a few times he gets more bolder and confident and might just go slightly quicker than usual.

when he gets jealous you best believe he's going to be fucking you all night long.

he will never admit it to you but he has multiple wet dreams of you, so when his dream comes true, the sight of you naked, laying down on the grass makes him drool and thank eywa.

when you touch his tail or accidentally brush up against it he whimpers.. and groans

he knows all of your sensitive spots, inside and on the outside.

tickles you softly when he sees that you're uncomfortable that you're naked. even though when having sex with you it's special and intimate, he won't hesitate to make you laugh/giggle when he sees that you're uncomfortable.

!! loves giving you oral, hearing your soft moans when he's licking your slit makes him excited and you know it when you see his tail swaying.

talking about oral, he loves the taste of you while he's lapping your folds, when your thighs start to close he lightly pushes your legs away with a firm but not too tight grip on your thighs.

sometimes he wishes you could suck him off but considering the size.. no way. but he doesn't mind, as long as you're (moaning) in pleasure and enjoying it.

he's needy but he can be patient. if he's jealous though.. it's quite the opposite, making up an excuse to why both of you have to leave and once you two are alone he makes sure that you're full of his cum, full of his children so that everybody knows that your his.

loves to mark you with his fangs, leaving little imprints on your shoulder, thighs and neck (if you're comfortable with that)

since he is na'vi and you're human, you two couldn't really bond. he doesn't know any other way of bonding or be intimate with each other, other than tsaheylu, so when you introduce him to sex he doesn't know what to do.. at first anyways

when you had your first orgasm with him he was confused and worried.

"are you okay? why are you shaking?" "i didn't hurt you did i?"

it was a bit awkward when you had to explain to him what an "orgasm" was, not before you calmed down though but ever since you explained what an orgasm was he started teasing you.

"so i made you feel good? am i that good?"

after you two had sex he's starved for you a whole lot, he wants your touches and love + obsessed but not obsessed obsessed, but there were times where he wants you out of nowhere.

his favourite places to have sex with you is in his room or somewhere private. he isn't a fan of public sex, rather, a place where it's only you and him—somewhere secluded.

he definenetly encourages you to not cover your noises, when he sees you covering your mouth he grabs onto your hand to take it off "don't be afraid, i want to.. hear you", your moans and whining are like music to his ears, it makes him harder when he hears you moaning, also makes him want to please you even harder.

he loveees it when you moan his name, he (sometimes) whimpers when he hears his name coming from your mouth.

no matter what your kinks are he will NOT hurt you, never. small bites (using his fangs) are okay but nothing where he scratches you, uses a knife or a sharp object on you.

when he's impatient he rips off your clothes, he doesn't break it, but he immediately removes your buttons quickly (he's good with his hands) while hurriedly kissing you, sliding you panties off.

but when he's really impatient and just wants to eat you out or when he's hungry for you he might actually rip your clothes off

he's a boob man, no matter what size he will literally lay on your chest and litter it with kisses, leaving open mouthed kisses on your nipples <3

he nips and sucks your nipples, cupping your breasts as he keeps on suckling on your breasts. your nipples are probably and most likely sensitive from all his licking and sucking.

so now he teases you. for eg. he places his finger on your nipple you shiver to which neteyam chuckles at, "sensitive there, hm?" he continues to circle your nipple before you feel his warm and soft tongue on your nipple, soft moans escaping your mouth.

loves seeing you in a mess while you're a babbling mess, mumbling incoherent words, finds you so adorable <3

when you squirt for the first time he's confused at first but he doesn't mind as it probably meant you were enjoying it.

his fingers are long and slim (his man is literally 9-10ft of course his fingers are gonna be long c'mon), he watches as his fingers slide in and out of your vagina, how your juices slide down from your pussy as he picks up his pace.

your whimpers, cries and whimpering could and can make him cum, your noises make him so horny my lord.

fingers you while licking your bud/his thumbs pressing on it as he traced little circles on it, he KNOWS how to make you feel good even though he has never done it before (until you came)

enjoys the sight of watching you squirm as he slowly pumps in and out of your sex while sucking and licking your now sensitive bud.

he's literally making out with your pussy, his nose hitting his bud which never fails to make you shiver.

when you introduce neteyam to new positions he's all for it

once of his favourite positions is when you sit on his face, he LOVES it and looks forward to you sitting on his face <3 doesn't care if you suffocate him, he will die happy.

^ loves riding without penetration as your wet pussy lubes his dick, it makes him and you moan in pleasure

his aftercare is *chefs kiss*

he loves doing it, he doesn't understand how anyone could not do aftercare!! like you can't just leave your partner in bed after having sex and not do anything.. right? when you tell him that people do do that he's in shock and assures that he is not like them.

gives you massages on the places where you say it hurts, loves it when you return the favor.

he gives you forehead kisses while tracing circles on your thighs, your head on his chest as he's by your side. he mutters small praises to you and gets you cleaned up before dressing you and letting you sleep on his chest as he continues to whisper loving and caring words, running his fingers through your hair.

note: if you would like to be added to the avatar taglist pls just ask me!! dont be shy

taglist: @tomansimp, @howlandhaku, @luciphyls, @vizkiz869, @aonungobsession,

liking + following + reblogs are very much appreciated!!

another note: tumblr and it's 4000+ block limit whatever it's called, i hate it so much because there are so many writers on tumblr and we do tend to write a lot!!! i hope tumblr will fix this problem. i feel like i have many more nsfw hcs for him but i just can't get it out idk why. ALSO I HAD SO MANY PROBLEMS W THIS FIC BC TUMBLR WASN'T WORKIIINNGG

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!

[hoboal87]

Don't Speak, Epilogue

Pairings: Adam x f!Reader, past dark!Winchesters x f!Reader, past!Dean x Claire

Characters: Reader, Adam, Claire, OCs, Special Appearances by Jack and James Novak, mentions of Bobby, Ellen, Jo, John, Sam and Dean

Warnings: aftermath of fire, aftermath of kidnapping/held prisoner, non-graphic descriptions of childbirth, aftermath of non-con, babies, mostly fluff but with some sprinkles of angst, happy ending?

WC: <1500

beta’d by the wonderful, lovely, @writethelifeyouwant

This is a dark!fic that includes potentially triggering content and is intended for mature audiences only. You are responsible for your own media consumption, so please, read the warnings and if you feel that you may be triggered and/or offended please move along. If you have any questions about the warnings/tags please feel free to DM me.

Don’t Speak Masterlist

My Full Masterlist

Part 23

November

As the train jolts to a stop, you shush the baby at your breast, hoping that it won’t jostle him awake. You’re glad to finally be back in Boston, and in only a matter of days you, Adam, and William, will be on a ship heading back to London. Two sets of blue eyes are waiting on the platform– searching the crowds amidst the smog from the train. You gesture to Claire to look out the window and watch as elation fills her, catching a tear falling down her cheek as she lays eyes on her family.

There is a hesitation for a moment before the two of you move from your seats. 

The fire not only claimed the lives of the brothers that night, but also some of the new servants who were still unfamiliar with the layout of the manor. No one was entirely sure how many lives the fire claimed; all of the bodies were too damaged and disfigured by the fire for anyone to be able to tell one from the other.

You and Claire had been confined to the same boarding house that Adam had escaped to for several weeks while Bobby tried to salvage keepsakes from the Manor, and Mr. Finch sorted through John’s will, determining what was to be done with the Winchester Estate. You’d always known that the family were wealthy, but you hadn’t ever fully comprehended exactly how much money they had. John had made plans to ensure that you and Claire and your children were to be taken care of if something had ever happened to the brothers. However, you doubt that he’d expected for his sons to die the way they did.

You and Claire both only wanted one thing: to be reunited with your families. No one in town seemed to mourn the loss of the Winchesters, but there was gossip that made its way through as you and Claire kept up appearances of the heartbroken widows. There was no funeral to speak of, only two caskets filled with charred remains and the conflicted feeling of anguish and joy, knowing that now you and Claire could move on with your lives. 

It took over a month to settle everything. While John had made contingencies for the brothers’ demises, you expect that he never imagined that they would die together, or within only a few months of his own untimely death. Adam could, according to Mr. Finch, lay claim to the Winchester fortune because John had left documentation that Adam was his bastard, but Adam declined, opting to let you and Claire split the money instead. With the estate finally settled, you were free to leave Kansas. Claire had written to her father, and the four of you made your way towards Boston.

You had barely made it out of Kansas when you’d gone into labor. William James Winchester came into the world screaming. A wave of emotions flowed through you as the wailing infant was placed in your arms, tears pressing against your eyes, and you let out a choked laugh as you realized that you’d finally fulfilled the Winchester's plan for you - a legitimate male heir. Dark chocolate eyes and tufts of dark brown hair answered the question that had been in the back of your mind ever since Adam informed you that the baby couldn’t be Sam’s. And though you hated to admit it, you were happy knowing that the father wasn’t your husband or his brother, but their father.

It took longer to recover from the birth than you’d expected, and the mental and physical exhaustion of being held prisoner by the Winchesters and your escape had finally caught up with you and Claire, as well. The decision was made to halt your journey until the end of October, giving you and Claire more time to recover before continuing on to Boston.

As Claire’s eyes lock with her father’s and brother’s, a smile that you haven’t seen in ages grows across her face. You know that she hadn’t explained everything that had happened during the year she’d been gone in her letter, unwilling to let them bear the burden or guilt of knowing that they easily could’ve spared her the trauma. You’d written a similar letter to your family, though you wonder if they would believe the half-truths that you spun. You aren’t even sure you care.

You had early on in your captivity come to terms with the fact that while your parents hadn’t–at least you hoped–known what plans the Winchesters had for you, they had still abandoned you. Part of you wonders exactly what John had said to your father to make him agree to allow you to marry a complete and total stranger. You suspect that he’d offered to pay off their debts, after all that’s why you were at court that evening–to find a prospective husband who could help your family with their debts.

Tears fill your eyes as you watch Claire reunite with her family. Captain Novak’s lip quivers as she shows off baby Amelia, pressing a kiss to Claire’s forehead as she wraps her arms around him. You and Adam stay back, giving the family time to themselves, before Claire calls you over. There’s a flush on Jack’s cheeks as his eyes meet yours, and part of you wants to assure him that you understand that what happened between you was not his fault, but John’s. 

You spend the next few days helping Claire get reacquainted with her family, assuring her that you and she are bonded for life, and that once the children get older, you can visit each other and, when the time comes, explain their parentage. The two of you promise to write at least once a week, and you tell her that no matter what, she’ll always be your sister.

Tears are aplenty as you arrive at the docks. With The Perdition no longer making transatlantic voyages, Adam books you on The Wayward, a much faster ship not much bigger than the Novak's, and promises you will be home in less than a week. When you arrived in Boston, the three of you didn’t have much more in the way of luggage than the clothes on your back, but as you board, you need two extra deckhands to help bring everything to your staterooms.

With a tearfilled final hug, and a last look at Amelia, you and Claire reiterate your promise to see each other again as you're told you must start boarding. You push William’s pram up the walkway, Adam’s arm linked around yours to keep you steady as you say goodbye to America and the horrors that it brought you.

Before stepping onto the deck of the ship, you turn around a final time so that you can give Claire another wave, but instead of finding her, your eyes land on a pair of green ones. You lose your footing, nearly falling off the ramp and into the water, with only Adam’s arms keeping you from doing so.

“Y/N!” he exclaims as he pulls you back to your feet, face filled with concern. 

“I saw–” 

Your breath hitches, heart pounding in your chest. It isn’t possible. He is dead. Buried. There is no way he could’ve survived the fire. And if he had somehow managed to, why would he wait months to come find you and your son? You look back out onto the dock. Maybe your eyes are playing tricks on you. You can’t go back, not when you are so close to escaping for good. 

For a moment, you convince yourself that it was nothing–an illusion–but as you start to turn, he’s there, watching from only a few yards from where Claire is standing. His eyes lock on yours as terror fills you, and you want to scream a warning to Claire. How doesn’t she see him? How can’t Adam? Before you can make any decision, Dean gives you a sad smile and a small nod before disappearing into the crowd.

“What, Kitten?” Adam turns you to face him. “What did you see?”

When you look out onto the dock, Dean has disappeared. The Novaks give another wave, and you decide that what you saw wasn’t him, but a figment of your imagination.

“Nothing,” you shake your head. “I’m just– I’m tired, and ready to go home.”

Adam links his arm in yours and presses a kiss onto your forehead as he leads you up the ramp once again. Stepping onto The Wayward, you decide to leave all memories of the Winchesters behind you, instead, focusing on your new life with Adam and William, and being reunited with your family.

But as you settle into your room that night with Adam, those green eyes still haunt you. You’re mine, sweetheart, echoes in your ear when you finally drift off to sleep.

Feedback is fuel! Please tell me what you think!

[doodle-pops]

Hate You, Love You, It's The Same Thing

Curufin x reader

Warnings: none

Words: 1.3k

Synopsis: Curufin can't tell if he hated or loved you, but all he knew was that he felt some attraction towards you.

[Q]: Nai elen siluva omentielva — may the stars shine upon our meeting.

Curufin can’t stand you at all.

The way you smile, or how your eyes crinkle at the corners to produce an extra sparkle in your eyes, the little dimple at the corner of your lips or the way you toss your head back when the joke escalates, or how you would cover your mouth with your right hand—always your right—to hide your smile you once admitted to being embarrassed about; he couldn’t stand you. The longer he looked on, the more agitated he grew—it was the growth in the audience you attracted. Every time you stepped out into public, there was always a crowd, you simply couldn’t have attention on you at all times.

He rolled his eyes when you grew flustered at his older brother's jokes. Maedhros and Maglor, the famously attractive Noldorin Princes. To think that Curufin, after being labelled as a replica of his father would also be considered one of the most handsome elves, was a laughable joke.

Atarinkë. Call me mini father and I don’t even sport a single portion of his looks. If I did, you’d think I would have also attracted many people like him.

He continued to look on as you lifted the wine glass to your lips and took in a deep swig before sighing at the relief you must have felt from suffering a dry throat. All that laughter you had engaged in during the festival, and it wasn’t even nightfall yet. Teleperion was now coming into full bloom, overshadowing Laurelin. He scoffed again. Even Caranthir approached to offer you another glass of miruvórё when he noticed yours reducing; you had all his brothers wrapped around your fingers, and what did you do, flash a smile. Curufin knew that you knew what you were doing, and he hated it.

In fact, it’s not that he couldn’t stand you, he loathed you. Yes, he did.

Huffing and puffing in the deepest corner of the garden, he observed couples stumbling about the ground with unkept clothes, rumpled in areas that spoke of their activities or attempts. Intoxicated he could tell, others merely frivolous, and in his heart, it stung him. It pained him to know that everyone else, even the ones he mocked and considered unappealing and unapproachable were busy being swooned and courted while he remained untouched and unsuited.

Humiliation was not a pleasant and welcoming emotion in the House of Feanor, his father would be quick to inform him to dismiss such feelings. But as much as Curufin attempted to cast it aside, it came crawling back to him like a leach. The sluggish sensation creeping through his veins and pumping its deprivation through his bloodstream forced him to empty his glass and reach for another as a worker made a quick pass through the layout of the grounds.

“Oi, háno! What are you doing sulking all by yourself in a corner? It’s most certainly not like you!” Tyelko’s booming traversed the area, sending shockwaves from his volume of speech. Only Tyelko would ignore his volume and manners, and annoyingly call out his favourite brother without the thought of being counselled.

If Curufin was aggravated, he became infuriated when not only the rest of his brothers cast their eyes upon his shadowed figure, but you. Your kind, sympathetic eyes held his in an unbreakable trance. He felt himself slowly slipping on the ice, but landing on green, luscious grass. He felt himself being transported into a windy field with small rolling hills in the distance, short-kept grass, flowers in their full bloom and radiant abundance and you standing there with the wind in your hair and a gorgeous smile. He could feel how cool the summer breeze was, dancing across his skin and planting kisses as their travel. It was years since the wind had ever felt so divine. As you smiled, there was nectar pouring into his mouth. He couldn't spit it out, even if he wanted to; he didn't want to, he enjoyed the succulent richness of its taste.

He definitely hated you.

“I think he’s broken.”

“I haven’t seen him this lost since we left him in the forest that one time.”

“Think he’s probably drunk?”

“Have you ever seen him drunk?”

Gapping at you the longer your eyes held each other’s gaze, he silently grounded his teeth. He hated you, he chanted, but the butterflies in his stomach and the warmth spread through his skin, starting from his heart sang a different tale. Sharp silver-grey eyes continued to stare, and even you were sucked in the longer your heart swelled. Curufin didn’t know how long he stood there in silence gawking at you, but it was enough to become unconscious to your figure approaching his. The crowded silence had died in the background and his brother’s voices had been shut out the moment you left their company to join his.

You stood before him, shorter than most but tall enough to equate his height. His eyes were still locked onto your figure, not realising that you had already crossed the grounds and stood before him, a foot apart. Curufin was still lost in your world, your paradise, refusing to believe that you truly possessed what he already knew you did. He didn’t want to leave, but he also wanted to upkeep his notorious attitude of being unbothered and disinterested. That thread was growing thinner by the second and his patience becoming precarious the longer he spent time in your presence.

But it took a smile from you and a simple greeting to make him shut down.

“Hello, my prince. Nai elen siluva omentielva.” You greeted politely with a curt bow of your head and your hand extending outwards. The same smile he claimed to hate was accompanied by the greeting. You were angelic, or some deity that did not exist in his world or any other realm; too perfect for him to reach out and embrace.

While he thought of himself as high and mighty for bearing his father’s name and the status of a prince, he felt humbled. The genuineness you held in your eyes stripped him bare of all fear and worries that you would judge his character; the one he fought to uphold in honour of another and not himself. You deserved to be treated with the utmost care.

“G-Greetings,” he stuttered with a slight crack in his voice. His eyes made a rough dart behind you and noticed his brothers all gathered to observe. If you weren’t present, he’d toss his glass of wine on them, but then it would be a waste of good mead.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you…looked lonely and I wanted to ask if you would like a stroll in the garden or nearby the lake?” Why didn’t you say he was staring? He was most obviously staring at you; anyone on the premises could see that he was in fact gawking at you.

His palms grew sweaty, and his throat tightened. He hated you, so why would you with your beautiful wine-stained lips and starry eyes ask to spend time in his company? There was a thump in his heart. His tongue grew slack and spoke what he refused to acknowledge sincerely. “…Yes,” he curtly replied. A rosy blush had spread across his cheeks, and it was not from the wine. The unversed unorthodox feeling flowing through his veins was unlike any other he’d experienced. A whisper or two may have slipped into his ear growing up, but never detailed or spoken about on universal levels such as currently.

Uncoordinated body and trembling limbs reached out for you to take—tales of being a courteous gentleman—and almost accidentally spilling your wine. It was a first step into making a move and rewiring the oxymoron his brain and heart were performing, getting them to be on the same level. But even the prince knew that it was a challenge to accept when he detested and craved you at the same time, and a challenge he adored. You gave him a breath of fresh air and something to look forward to, a love unlike any other he would ever experience.

To hate is to love, they are two sides of the same coin. Ah, yes! He definitely hated you.

Masterlist | Underrated Character Event Masterlist |

Taglist: @eunoiaastralwings @noldorinpainter @ranhanabi777 @lilmelily @someoneinthestars @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @singleteapot @the-phantom-of-arda @rain-on-my-umbrella @wandererindreams @asianbutnotjapanese @ilu-stripes @justellie17 @justjane @bunson-burner @stormchaser819 @wisheduponastar

[captn-trex]

technical devotion, part five: objective

content warnings: elusions to violence

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Kan placed down her bag at the end of the bed she would be staying in for that night. She opened it up and took out the few tools she would be taking with her on the mission, and slipped them into a pouch on her belt, looking up to meet Echo's gaze.

“Ready?” He asked.

“As I'll ever be” She replied with a smile.

The weather on Haidoral Prime left much to be desired. The rain that endlessly poured from the sky smelled distinctly unpleasant, like something acidic, sharp. Kan threw on her waterproof poncho as protection as her and Echo made their way through town and towards the imperial facility.

Up until this point, Kan had never seen Echo in his full armour, and particularly not with his helmet on. She had to admit that the design fascinated her, but realised that it was probably best to ask him about it after the mission was complete.

Echo took the lead, having had the time to study the layout of the small settlement. He made sure to keep close to walls to hide their movements, even if they were under the cover of darkness. They came to a stop at the edge of town, the imperial facility just a short distance away.

“There's a vent up there” Echo pointed, “Just big enough for us to fit in”

“How are we getting up there?”

“I'll give you a boost, and then you can pull me up”

Kan looked up at the vent and back to Echo, “I'm not sure I'm strong enough"

“Sure you are, it's not too high”

“Okay, if you say so”

With that, Echo moved out, Kan close behind him, and they sprinted to the outer wall of the compound. They waited as a patrol passed around the corner and out of their sight, and then Echo locked his hands together, positioning them on his knee. Kan placed her boot into his gloved fingers, finding a good positioning as she looked up at her destination.

“Alright, do it” She spoke quietly.

Echo counted down and then launched Kan upwards, coming to rest under her in case she fell back. Luckily, her fingers found purchase on the vent ledge, and she hung on with one hand as she quietly unscrewed the outer cover. The screws dropped down as they came loose, and Kan cursed quietly as the hood of her poncho fell backwards, exposing her to the unpleasant weather conditions. Shortly after, Kan offered the covering down to Echo, who caught it when she dropped it down to him. He looked back up to her as she curled her arms up, pulling herself inside the vent.

Echo waited patiently, keeping an eye on his surroundings, as Kan manoeuvred herself around and held out her arm down for him to grab. He wasted no time in jumping upwards, his fingers wrapping around her forearm. Kan dug her heels into the edge of the vent, pulling him up with all the effort she could muster. He quickly grabbed onto the edge of the vent, and Kan fell back, taking a deep breath. Echo climbed up into the vent and took his helmet off for a moment to rid it of some of the foul-smelling rain, simultaneously taking in the sight of Kan laid out and breathing heavily.

“See, easy” He said quietly.

Kan looked up to see a mocking smirk on his face, “I'm glad to see one of us is having fun”

Echo then brought a finger to his lips, his smirk still evident as he shushed her. Kan just rolled her eyes, her lazy smile once again making an appearance as she rolled over onto her front and began crawling through the vent. Echo fixed his helmet back onto his head and kept his eyes down as he followed after her.

After a few minutes, Kan came to a stop and turned as much as she could to show Echo that there was a way down below them. He nodded, and Kan brought her datapad from the pouch on her hip, scanning for life forms. When she was satisfied they would not be caught, she carefully opened the hatch and dropped down, Echo following suit.

Kan quickly made her way over to the door panel nearby, taking a cable from her belt and hooking her datapad up to it. Echo stood guard as she did so, making sure no one was coming.

“Got it” She mumbled, taking back her cable, opening the schematics of the building. She looked over the maps, letting out a quiet curse at the information she found.

“What is it?” Echo turned to her and then to her datapad, looking over the plans.

“Comms is on the other side of the building” She pointed to the point on the map of the building.

“Kriff” He said quietly, a hum of agreement coming from Kan.

“We can continue via the vents, though it will take longer”

Echo sighed, “Probably our best bet. We won't be able to come back later if we go in guns a-blazing now”

“I agree sir”

Echo looked to Kan with an utterly confused, yet amused expression.

“Did you just call me sir?” He whispered to her.

Kan's gaze met the visor of Echo's helmet, “Uh- yeah, is that not…?” She trailed off, staying professional though her face felt like it was on fire, “Right, sorry, my bad. Let's get going”

Kan slotted her datapad back into its pouch and jumped up to the vent, grabbing a hold of it and pulling herself up with reasonable ease. Echo just shook his head at the interaction, moving on and hauling himself into the vent behind her, closing it after himself.

It took almost 15 minutes, but the pair of them made it as far as they could in the vents, and Kan had begun sweating profusely at the heated temperature inside. Echo was luckier, his blacks being thermoregulated and allowing him to stay cool aside from the small sliver of skin between the top of his blacks and his helmet.

Kan pulled her datapad and scanned for life forms, the device not reading anything. She motioned to Echo that the coast was clear, and she opened the hatch. This time, the hatch was at the top of a wall rather than in the ceiling, so Kan took extra care not to make any noise as she let the covering hang down against it.

She began to shuffle forwards, but Echo's heart started beating out of his chest as he heard footsteps. It was too late for Kan to slowly shuffle back, so Echo took drastic action, lurching forwards and grabbing her by the waist with his one hand, hauling her back into the vent. He reached ahead of her and hooked his scomp into the vent cover, bringing it back into place as quietly as he could.

Echo’s hand stayed resting on Kan's bare abdomen beneath her poncho, and the two of them held their breaths as a group of imperials passed them by, none the wiser. Echo was so painfully aware of the position that he had put Kan in, he couldn't ignore it even if he tried. He was on top of her, her back pressed flat against his front and breathing right into her ear in shaky breaths. He tried to lift himself off of her as much as he could, but in the confines of the vent, he didn't get far. He kept himself focused, blocking out any unwanted thoughts at the proximity.

Kan, however, was finding it exceedingly difficult to stop her mind from wandering. She already knew she felt somewhat drawn to Echo, but the modulated sound of his breathing in her ear was driving her insane. She was blushing deeply at the intimacy of their position, especially when Echo brushed his thumb gently across her stomach almost imperceptibly. She had to suppress a shiver, fearing moving at all in this position.

“I'm sorry” Echo whispered, slowly edging backwards as the noise of the imperials had passed them by.

“Dont be. Thank you” Kan spoke breathlessly.

She looked back at him, and Echo's heart leapt to his throat at the sight of her. Her hair was stuck to her forehead in a mixture of rain and sweat, her cheeks were a darkened shade of green, and her eyes were blown wide and swimming with something that Echo dared not define, particularly in this position. He was eternally gratefully for his helmet in that moment so that Kan couldn't see his slack jaw and bright red cheeks.

Kan scurried from his grasp and quickly made her way out of the vent. Echo shook his head violently, focusing himself on the task at hand once more, and followed her lead.

The room they were heading towards was undoubtedly going to be guarded, so they closely hugged the walls as they made the short distance there. Kan came to a stop around the corner from the entrance and took a peek, then turned back to Echo.

“Just two guards, I've got this” She spoke assuredly, setting her blaster to stun

Before Echo could even argue, Kan stepped out and fired two rounds, and he heard the guards drop to the floor. He looked at her perfect form, a domineering confidence about her, and had to remind himself to breathe. He laid his back against the wall, still somewhat reeling from their close encounter before, and tried to quiet his mind. When he saw Kan take off her poncho out of the corner of his eye, he gulped. Maker, get ahold of yourself.

“Echo!” Kan hissed from down the hall, and he snapped back into it, quickly rounding the corner and catching up with her.

The communication room was empty, and Kan immediately got to work unscrewing the front panel from the main console. She looked over the inner workings of the machine and mumbled some things to herself. She brought her datapad out from its pouch, took a few photos, and then put the panel back. She then hooked her datapad up to the console and searched for any possibly useful files first of all.

“There's nothing but the transmission” She muttered, then brought her datapad closer to her face, looking over the information, “The signal is definitely going to the prison”

Kan and Echo had managed to retrieve any necessary information for Kan to figure out how to replicate the signal without any issues, and they were now back at their motel. Kan was knelt at the end of her bed, resting her forehead on it and looking down at her datapad, making calculations that Echo had no clue the meaning of. He couldn't help but chuckle at her posture, and he realised that her strange sitting habits were more or less a quirk of hers.

Kan looked up upon hearing Echo's amused huff, “What?”

“You sure sit in some funny positions” He mused, and she let out a small laugh herself and rubbed the back of her neck, sitting back on her heels.

“Yeah I guess I do, I just go with whatever makes me get the work done really”

“I don't think I'd get any work done like that” He said as he sat down on his own bed, beginning to take off his armour.

“Whatever, to each their own” She rolled her eyes and looked back down to her work. It wasn't the first time someone had commented on her less-than-regular sitting habits.

“Indeed” Echo replied.

Kan looked up again to see that Echo had stripped down to his blacks. She chewed her cheek a little, “Are you turning in?”

“Yeah, you should too, you have all of tomorrow to figure that out”

“Yeah, I'll finish up soon” She smiled, and Echo laid down on his bed, turning away.

“Goodnight Echo” Kan offered, and he smiled to himself.

“Night Kan"

Echo awoke and rubbed his hand over his face sleepily. He sat up in his bed and saw that the moon was still spilling through the curtains, not the sun. He sighed. He was a painfully light sleeper nowadays.

Before his brush with the Techno Union, he slept wonderfully. Every night, he was out like a light and relished in a good long sleep after a particularly rough campaign. However now, since being rescued from Skako Minor, he woke up constantly throughout the night. It was frustrating, to know from his own experience how blissful sleep could be, only to never be able to find any peace in the action anymore.

Echo looked over to Kan's bed and saw that it was still made, untouched and clearly having not been used at all. He frowned and looked around the rest of the small room, not finding Kan anywhere. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and rose to his feet, taking the few steps towards the refresher door and knocking firmly. When he got no answer, he opened up the door and she wasn't in there either.

A panic rose in Echo's gut, and he stalked around the room, trying to calm himself and think rationally. There's no way someone could have taken her with me in here, I would have woken up. She's probably just taking a walk or something.

He kept running through his thoughts, but his eyes caught on something, or rather, nothing. Her bag and tools were gone. Has she left? In the middle of a mission? That seemed to be an impossibility to Echo, but the idea bounced around in his head nonetheless.

It was an hour before Kan returned, and Echo was beside himself. When he heard the door zip open, he whirled around, relief seeping into his body as he looked upon Kan’s soaked silhouette.

“Where have you been?” Echo asked urgently, striding over to meet her at the door.

Kan was taken aback, not expecting to find him awake. “Um, I went back. I completed the mission” She let a small smile creep onto her face at the admission.

“What?” He asked, his voice raised slightly in exasperation. He waited for her to say she was joking or anything else, but she stood looking at him in all seriousness. “That was reckless! You shouldn't have gone in without backup!”

Kan said nothing, her high from completing the mission coming crashing down at Echo's accusatory tone. She tried to keep her expression impassive, but the soft crease in her brow was betraying her. Echo noticed it almost immediately, and his own demeanour softened.

“I'm sorry, just- Kriff, when are you going to stop worrying me all the time?” He said, turning away and mumbling under his breath.

“What do you-”

“Nothing, ignore me” He waved a hand to dismiss her prying. He took a seat on his bed and relaxed his posture, feeling like he could relax now, knowing that Kan was safe.

Kan took off her bag and poncho, and approached timidly, sitting opposite him on her own bed, the first time she had touched it.

“I'm sorry if I worried you, Echo. I intended to be back before you woke up” She said quietly.

“Yeah well I dont sleep so well” He replied, a traceable amount of animosity in his tone.

Kan didn't really know what was appropriate to say and just settled on what seemed like the most obvious to her, “Why not?”

Echo looked up and met her eyes, her soft and gentle gaze watching him with no scrutiny, only genuine interest.

“I dont know, I just don't” He lied, something he'd never been good at, and Kan definitely picked up on it, though she didn't press. Echo sat back against the wall, crossing one leg over the other as he lay on his bed.

For a moment, they were both silent, and Echo realised his heart was still beating fast from the unease of Kan being missing. He couldn't quite understand why it had affected him so, but he assured himself that it was just because he felt Kan had a particular innocent friendliness about her that people could take advantage of. Nothing more.

“So… you did it? You doubled the signal?” He asked.

“Yeah, it wasn't too hard, just took a bit of time. I've rigged it so that their signal will break down eventually, so they shouldn't notice anything for a while” Kan laid down on her side and propped herself up on her elbow.

Echo mirrored her, sliding down the bed to meet her gaze, “Have you ever done anything like that before?”

“No” She said quickly, now struggling to hold back how excited she felt about it, “I've gotta say I found it pretty fun”

Echo smirked at the childish wonder in her eyes, “I can tell”

Kan rolled her eyes and flopped onto her back, looking up at the ceiling with a wide smile. She let out a deep breath, the bed was a lot softer than the bunk at base.

“Can I ask you about your armour?” Kan asked out of the blue.

“Uh, yeah” Echo said hesitantly, “What do you want to know?”

“How come it's… different from the rest of the clones?”

Echo was a little apprehensive, but he was beginning to understand that Kan was just inquisitive.

“I was part of a spec ops team” he admitted.

“No way” Kan rolled back over to face him.

Echo's breath hitched as her eyes locked with his again. He couldn't deny that she looked absolutely beautiful, her back illuminated by the light of the moon and dark hair spilling over her shoulders and waist.

“Yeah, I wasn't always, but I joined them towards the end of the war” He spoke before he could dwell on the flurry of feelings in his chest.

“What division was it?” Kan asked eagerly.

“Uh… Clone Force 99” Echo answered, though he wasn't sure it would really mean anything to her.

However, Kan's eyes lit up, “Woah, yeah, I heard about you guys”

“You did?” Echo raised his eyebrows in surprise.

Kan realised her familiarity was showing and pulled back a bit, “Yeah, I mean, you were known by a lot of people before the war ended”

Echo nodded, “I guess yeah”

“Wait, so you're like… genetically enhanced?”

“No. Like I said, I joined them later on” Echo replied, laying down on his back.

“Right, cool”

Kan desperately wanted to ask how he ended up with his cybernetic limbs, and if that's what landed him a place on the team, but she recognised it wasn't her place, and his reaction to her last comment had not been received particularly well. Something about Echo really interested her, and she just wanted to understand him and pick his brains about anything and everything.

She instead stood up and grabbed her sleep clothes from her bag, and went to the refresher to get changed. When she reentered the room, she made her way straight to her bed and slipped under the covers, revelling in the softness that she hadn't felt in so long.

Kan felt sleep gripping her quickly, her mind tired from the day's work, but she heard Echo speak through her hazy state.

“Kan?”

“Yeah?”

“Well done, for completing the mission. It's an impressive feat, you should be proud of yourself"

Kan smiled broadly in the dark, “Thanks Echo”

She only wished that he would've said that he was proud of her. I suppose we're not there yet.

[lightwise]

TBB S3 E13 Reaction

- Ooooh, Tantiss has light on it again for the first time since the beginning of the season 👀 that is hopeful. Omega’s presence is bringing light back to this desolate place

- We haven’t seen male scientists before have we?

- Scrunchy nose and scowly eyebrows. Baby girl is in full blown revenge mode 😎

- I have to point out that every time a tv show has characters be given perfectly fitting outfits in a new environment (especially something like a prison) it cracks me up to no end. There’s no way Omega and Bayrn sized prison jumpsuits were just laying around somewhere.

- Omega has grown SO MUCH 😭 physically, emotionally, rationally. At the start of this season she made that doll to keep herself sane and now she knows that she doesn’t even need to mention that fact to Eva. She is so confident and focused in her mission and in showing up as a leader and example for these kids. I’m so freaking proud of her

- And to juxtapose that with Bora Vio, where Omega was captured by Cad Bane and confronted by Fennec about her fears of becoming an experiment in a test tube—AND where she got herself out and where the boys could pick her up. Chefs kiss

- Echo!! I love their brotherly handshakes

- Hunter and Echo are not playing around sassing Rampart around lol.

- This shuttle looks very similar to the one Crosshair and Omega escaped in at the beginning of the season

- Why does Crosshair’s “yes” sound like someone screwed up on the sound mixing side? It’s so weirdly quiet and whispery

- The little tappy taps on the uniform and “I can’t wear this” “you’ve been demoted” I’m DYING 💀

- The grid layout of these prison cells reminds me of the Box episodes in TCW where Obi-Wan becomes Rako Hardeen

- Scalder is definitely trouble

- Yeah Emerie stand up for yourself and the kids!

- These kids voices 😭

- And Omega’s voice 😏 allll her training is paying off

- They stripped their armor 😭😭😭😭 all of their individuality and expressiveness gone. I do not like this

- Alright, I can see why the hair and beard trim is driving everyone wild, but it’s still not for me 😆. The bitchiness is endlessly entertaining though

- Okay this is now infinitely nerve-wracking

- Hunter putting his hand on Rampart’s shoulder and him immediately wiping it off is so hilarious 🤣. I think there is a modicum of respect that is established here though. Hunter is warning him but also giving him the clone sign of respect with the shoulder grasp. Rampart is still fastidious with his uniform but begrudgingly admits that he’s in on this mission even if it’s because he has no other choice, letting them know that he will handle himself properly.

- It’s interesting that many of the imperials this season have had beards. Last season most of them were blond and clean shaven, and now they’re dark haired and bearded. Coincidence? Trying to reuse facial models? An extra cold winter and Tarkin didn’t get his hands on the dress code protocols? 🤷🏻‍♀️

- I LOVE when the Empire is just flaunting one’s rank and bring an asshole to get things done. It works every time

- “I’ve missed this” 🤣 honestly it’s too bad Rampart isn’t willingly on the right side bc he would be steadily becoming hotter if he was

- Surely Echo appreciated the regulation drop 😅

- Ruh roh. Does no imperial ever see the “invite you into the ship and then hit you in the back of the head” thing coming??

- Echo’s always “working on” encryptions

- They’re going to have to go straight there?? 😱

- I have to say, I do feel for Rampart here. He genuinely didn’t sign up for this. Neither did the rest of them really but they don’t have a choice.

- “Wonderful. We’re all going to die” pls no 😭😭

- At no point did I ever worry that Rampart was going to give them up though. He might be pissed but he knows he’ll be sent directly back to prison if anyone in the empire recognizes him. He was sentenced by Palpatine himself. There’s no coming back from that. Whatever he chooses to do going forward, I think he knows it will have to be something he carves out himself, and trying to betray the Batch won’t help him at all in that process. Hopefully this remains true for the rest of the episodes.

- These overhead shots are insanely beautiful

- Bayrn is just a baby 🥺

- The perfect amount of suspense 😱 and Omega knows how to sound perfectly innocent

- Dr. Scalder is feeling like Nurse Ratched right now 👀

- “Our way out” “One way out” aghhhh let’s go!!

- And we get another “Echo is the baddest badass ARC Trooper ever” sequence and I LOVE it

- The droid chute lowers for the little mouse droid 🤣 adorable

- Echo 🤝 Omega doing what they need to do in the nick of time

- Wrecker wearing the tiny hat I can’t 😂😂😂

- Cue the hyperventilating

- This is so nerve-wracking

- Omg if Echo had gone out that way 😭

- “Negative” SIR 🥵 🥵 🥵

- In the last possible second!! The very warranted trust they have in Echo after all they’ve been through! Rampart’s quite reasonable fears and yet their crazy plan working as the Bad Batch does! And Crosshair catching Rampart so he doesn’t fall even though he doesn’t have to!

- I was officially white-knuckled by the end of this episode 😱💀

- Can we take a minute to appreciate Hunter’s leadership and piloting skills here? His choice to make this jump is insanely brave, his ability to fly has been proven to be capable and daring when needed, and his calm, proactive decision making that has largely been missing since their military days is back in full force. He’s on a mission and he’s not stopping until he gets his girl back for good.

[alexanderlightweight]

Wednesday ask - I love your Claimed by Fire and I was wondering how the story would go if Magnus knew that Alec was his soulmate and had to get through the Clave to get to Alec. Just a thought! I adore your writing and have been reading your works on AO3 for a long time, I just got on to tumblr so I’m still trying to figure out how this works! Thank you

okay this was fun to write and i hope you enjoy it! thank you so much for the prompt

--

Magnus stares at the small, still flickering fire message. It’s a shriveled little thing, more char than words but he knows what it says.

It’s his name. 

His demonic name that no one should know but his father and there are words and what looks like blood and tear stains and something in Magnus breaks.

It should never have made it to him. 

Not if what he thinks it means is true. If Magnus’ soulmate is a nephilim, then their fire message should never have reached Magnus, not while he’s in the spiral labyrinth. 

Magnus wonders how many notes were sent. How much desperation his soulmate poured into his messages, for this one to reach him.

The end of the message read Lightwood, no first name, whatever was written the flames ate away. 

Magnus knows this isn’t one of Maryse or Robert’s traps, they wouldn’t ever insinuate or sully their children with even a hint that they were soulmates with a warlock.

Which means that Magnus’ soulmate is being raised by people who hate Magnus. Who hate what Magnus is, who hate his people and his magic and don’t even believe he has a soul.

It’s intolerable. 

Magnus has not waited eight hundred years for this gift to be denied it.

Magnus refuses to let the clave and shadowhunters take one more thing from him, because they will, if they find out, and they’ve already taken so much.

So Magnus plans and he researches and he threatens people and tortures others and he kills until he has a complete if sparse dossier. 

Three Lightwood children and a foster-fourth who bears a different last name.

A babe, Max, too young to send a message. The middle, Isabelle, who is still in training and Alexander, the oldest, the Lightwood heir.

Alexander is his, Magnus knows the moment he reads his full name and his magic surges with hunger.

Cat and Ragnor plan with him, carefully. Ragnor takes them deep into his memory, to show Magnus every secret he can without risking the oaths he once took to teach at Idris.

The clave doesn’t think warlocks can be trusted, so they don’t consider that warlocks trust each other, some of them at least.

But Ragnor loves Magnus more than he loves the sanctity of his own mind and he welcomes both Magnus and Cat in, so that all three can get as much information as possible. 

“You’ll have to be quick, once you're through the wards.” Cat reminds as they look over the layout and the weaknesses. 

“What will you use as a distraction once you’re in? It could take ages to find him.” Ragnor asks, reading glasses perched as his nose as he carefully draws an array.

“I’m going to open a rift to Edom.” Magnus says casually, like he hasn’t been refusing to do so since the start of the war.

“Magnus—” Cat trails off, biting her lip and then nodding solemnly. She understands that to him, the risk is worth it now in a way it wasn’t before.

“Your father is a bloody arsehole.” Ragnor mutters and scowls at the table when Magnus chuckles with relief at Ragnor’s predictable reaction. “At least you’ll get more of your power back, this will break what’s binding him to Edom, won’t it?”

“Yes,” Magnus admits easily. “Even the Council doesn’t know my heritage, only my abilities. If they knew what the risk was, they would never have asked me. However they have, that I chose to go through with it is their own fault.”

Which is true. Magnus has been at the forefront of this war, his magic and blood spilled more than any other as he fights for life and freedom and sometimes for revenge. Because Magnus is owed his pound of flesh and when he storms Edom for the soul born of his soul, he’s going to take it.

—

Magnus opens the rift slowly, carefully. Ragnor used the last of his priceless nephilim artifacts to create a spell that will let Magnus slip past the wards and go to the location Magnus knows from Ragnor’s mind. 

So it’s with shocking ease that he enters Alicante in the early glow of dawn. A pink and orange hue dapples over the sky as the sun peeks up over the great forest and mountains that protect Idris.

And Magnus opens the rift and the sky bleeds red and the air fills with screams. Magnus tucks himself away, up high and in the shadows so he can watch the nephilim run like ants, screaming and shrieking like so many downworlders do in their raids.

Some are killed instantly, unable to get their weapons in time and unprepared for violence in their perfect little city of rotten divinity. Magnus is getting bored, watching the demons trying to crash into the towers and the shadowhunters trying to drive them away. Some get ripped in half and others dropped into the rift for other demons to devour.

It’s gruesome and horrific and possibly the most gory massacre Magnus has ever had the pleasure of watching or instigating and he can’t even enjoy it properly.

He has something more important to concentrate on.

He doesn’t find him for ages. Not until several hours have stretched past, the demons still coming but slower than they once did. Idris may yet survive this, it seems Magnus’ father has finally awoken and is calling some of the more controllable ones to him, the ones who haven’t scented angelic blood and answered Magnus’ call.

It’s a culling the likes of the nephilim have never seen and yet Magnus forgets it all when he sees a demon fall from the sky, a red-fletched arrow through its eye.

Magnus is too slow to track the arrow and another demon crashes into the tower the archer is hiding in.

The tower goes down.

But the demon also falls, a small figure wrapped around its neck with something glinting in the air.

Magnus is in delighted awe.

His soulmate realized he was about to fall — Magnus would have caught him, will always catch him now he’s found him — and instead, jumped on the demon and is now hanging on via some kind of weapon in its body. The demon twists up and up, wings beating powerfully as it tries to dislodge it’s attacker and Magnus holds out his hand and says, “bring him to me.”

The demon comes, ignoring the hunter clinging to it, obeying the master who claimed it.

Magnus lets the demon get above him and then destroys it, his magic wrapping protectively around his soulmate and Magnus steps out, catching his soul in his arm.

“There you are.” Magnus says, his entire being filled with a sense of delighted awe.

His shadowhunter is shocked and bloodied, but he’s whole and he’s in Magnus arms. And then hazel eyes are lighting up with equal awe and weapons are being dropped as arms come up around Magnus neck.

And Magnus is being kissed with the desperate and innocent passion of someone who has been waiting to be found.

“Sayang, my Alexander.” Magnus murmurs, “you clever boy. Getting your messages to me, shall we go home now?” And then because he needs to hear it, he murmurs his own name and Alexander kisses him, more chaste now, shy rather than untold years of agony being soothed.

“Anywhere, as long as it’s with you, Magnus.” 

He’s told and Magnus summons his boy’s weapons and in the middle of carnage and devastation, he opens a portal and takes his soul home.

[jekyll-doodles]

📎 paperclip , ☁️ cloud and 📦 package, for the wakey wakey lords ? ^^

📎 PAPERCLIP - a random fact.

📦 PACKAGE - what are some "most likely to..." that can apply to them?

☁️ CLOUD - a soft headcanon

A Glimpse Into The After:

The palace halls were still a non-euclidean wonder to behold. Only now though, they were reliably navigable.

Well, they were for the most part. However, even if the lords had sorted out the labyrinthine layout, there were still a few unfortunate souls who would end up lost on occasion. After all, when the mind tends to wander, it tends to get lost. That's where Nigredo found himself currently: very lost. Just like his old self those many centuries ago; he had lost himself in thought and ended up somewhere he did not quite recognize. At least this time, wandering through the palace was not as treacherous as it used to be. One could take in the elegant decor without fearing for one's well-being at the hands of the ambassador. Nor having to worry about running the risk of accidentally walking in on a promiscuous scene. 

Certainly, when one is lost as he currently was, observing the scenery was the only thing he could do. And there were many grandeurs to behold: bouquets of lively flowers lined the halls, doors that were elegantly carved and towered above, and  flooring that was a soft carpet reminiscent of a glittering night sky. It would stand to reason then, he thought as he continued his search for the familiar, that this was possibly either Citrinitas's or Rubedo's lodgings. Their forms needed such accommodations: bigger doors and non-slip flooring.

'Perfect,' Nigredo mused as he picked and tucked a flower into his hair, ' I needed to speak with Citrinitas on the time matter, and if I instead found Rubedo, I can at least ask for directions.'

As he peered into the occasional room – knocking first to announce himself, of course – he felt the looming feeling of living in such a grand yet somehow empty place start to sink in. The palace was by no means empty, it was simply not full to the brim of people engaging in an assortment of debauchery and violence anymore. Perhaps it was merely the size difference of these particular halls that was making him uncomfortable. His own lodgings were not as grand– or more so, not as open-spaced. Or perhaps it was his upbringing, having lived with a large family for most of his life. Either way, it hastened his pace to find someone. Anyone.

Luckily, the loneliness did not last long. One room was thankfully occupied. It was a large bedroom set in a deep, sweet maroon and contrasted by orange candles that illuminated just enough to see into its cozy darkness. Its centerpiece: a bed fit for at least fifteen people comfortably. Fifteen average-sized people, that is. Currently, it had only one sole snoozing occupant that quietly napped amongst a mass of blankets and pillows. 

"...Rubedo?" Nigredo called out in a whisper as he stepped into the room, mindful not to let too much light in. He crept closer as his friend mumbled a response. "Rubedo, I need some help." 

The man drowsily blinked open one eye, just enough to gaze over to his worried friend, then propped himself up on his elbows. "...Lovely flower. One of mine?" The smile in his tone was ever present.

"Please focus," Nigredo ran a hand through his hair, absentmindedly fixing the flower. " I need to speak with Citrinitas, but I'm… kind of lost."  Nigredo sheepishly admitted. One or two pairs of his hands wringing themselves. 

Rubedo, ever helpful, hummed in understanding. He then laid himself back down with a yawn and a stretch of his hind legs as he settled back into sleep. 

"... Can you at least give me directions?" Nigredo tapped his foot, but kept a calm tone.  "Or any directions really. I'll take a simple 'North' or 'East'. This way or That." 

"Hmmm… nope." 

"Why not?" 

The dozing man simply beckoned him closer with a finger. Nigredo humored him and crawled closer. He planned that, should his friend fall back asleep without helping him, he would try tapping him awake or possibly stealing one of the blankets to rouse him. Suddenly though, before either plan could be carried out, a pair of tendrils snaked out of the fabrics and wrapped around his waist. The twin tails gently lifted him up onto the soft bed, over Rubedo, and sat him against his back. 

Nigredo huffed, knowing he should have expected as much. "Rubedo, I need to–" 

"I know, I know," he assured him warmly. "We'll go see Citrinitas in a few minutes. There's no rush." 

"It is a bit time-sensitive actually." Nigredo corrected, yet relented to rest against his sleepy friend. 

"Oh? Have you two figured time out yet?" 

Nigredo began to answer that it was complicated: that a plan had been devised but needed revision, and given their normal duties, it was postponed quite a few times – ironically enough, finding time to fix their linear time was more tricky than originally assumed. He proposed they seek guidance from SCP-343, but – and that's about when he realized that the question had been a mere distraction. Rubedo was only half listening, half dozing off again. Seizing the opportunity, he attempted to unwrap the tails from his waist, but they twisted back around him. 

"I have work to do, ya know. Important work." How was it that he had more arms now, yet was being bested by two tails? 

"Mhmmm." Rubedo purred. "I know. I have my important work too. But it's also important to take breaks, yes?" 

It felt shameful that after all this time, he still needed to be reminded to do so. Some things never change apparently. That even after The Everything they had endured, they were still… them. 

"...Yes, very important." Nigredo sighed. "...I'm assuming that the other lords are also taking a break now, then?" He plucked a pillow up and rested it on Rubedo's side. Surrendering to the notion of getting comfortable. 

"Mhm, while the children are out playing in the courtyard." 

Nigredo laid down against the pillow, some arms hanging over and wrapping around Rubedo. Others tucking against himself. "Aaah, A moment of peace, hm?" 

The two chuckled, and drifted off into a light sleep together.

[sequinsmile-x]

Stained Glass Windows - Chapter Thirty Two

Life was complicated, but they wouldn't have it any other way.

-x-

Hi friends!!

As always, thank you so much for your love for this fic <3 It means the absolute world.

This has kind of unintentionally become a fic I update twice a week...and I'm not mad about it haha

Please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 2.6k

A full list of warnings for the fic can be found on the Series Master List and will be updated as we go along.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily has just settled onto the couch, ready to relax after a long day at work, when the doorbell rings. She leans her head back, dropping it against the couch cushions as she groans. 

“Why can’t anyone ever leave the pregnant lady in peace?” She grumbles to herself, shifting forward on the couch and pushing herself up, ignoring how it makes her grunt. She places her hand on her bump and rubs where she can feel the baby moving, “There’s still 11 weeks of this to go, Nugget. Soon enough we’re going to get stuck on that couch.” 

She’s only a few paces from the door when the doorbell rings again, and she rolls her eyes, “Just a minute.” 

She refused to admit she’d started waddling, despite the fact it was taking her longer to get around, that the simplest thing made her breathless as her belly seemingly getting bigger by the day. Dave had commented that she was waddling before the team had left for a case just two days ago, and her reaction, barely disguised threats and an expression on her face Aaron had called scary, made sure he would likely never do it again. 

She looks through the peephole and smiles as she shakes her head, pulling the door open to reveal Penelope standing on the porch. She has a wide grin on her face, and her arms are laden down with bags that Emily assumes are either full of food or things for the baby. 

“Pen, what are you doing here is everything ok?”

Penelope nods, “I finished for the day and thought I’d bring you dinner,” she says, her eyes falling to Emily’s stomach, “Oh my god you look so adorable.”

Emily looks down at herself, her outfit of leggings and an old t-shirt of Aarons far from the nicest thing her friend had ever seen her in.

“You saw me 2 hours ago,” she replies, raising her eyebrow as she steps back to let her friend into her house. 

“Yes but your work clothes hide how pregnant you are,” Penelope explains as she walks towards the kitchen, already familiar with the layout of Emily and Aaron’s new home despite the fact they’d only officially lived here for a couple of weeks. “Seeing you here, in your home, wearing a shirt that’s clearly Hotch’s? Adorable.” 

Emily scrunches her nose up at the descriptor, something she had never been called before, and she narrows her eyes at the amount of food her friend was unloading onto the kitchen counter. She had a suspicion that Penelope and Aaron had some kind of arrangement to look after her when he was out of town.

This wasn’t the first time Penelope had ‘dropped by’ with food since Emily had stopped going on cases. 

“So, what Aaron-approved meal have you brought this evening?” She asks, finding no small amount of joy in how Penelope’s eyes go wide and she almost drops a side dish onto the kitchen counter. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Penelope replies, clearing her throat, “I just happened to be driving past your favourite Chinese restaurant near your old apartment and thought I’d bring some by.”

Emily hums in disbelief as she walks past her friend to grab some plates from the cabinet, “I’ll believe you,” she says, making it clear she absolutely did not, “Shall we eat in the living room? My back is too sore for the dining room chairs.” 

Penelope nods and they serve up their dinner and walk towards the living room. They talk about the case they were currently working on as they eat, Penelope occasionally checking her phone to make sure she hadn’t missed a call from the team. 

“Do you miss going away with them?” Penelope asks as she leans forward and puts her empty plate next to Emily’s on the coffee table. 

“Yes,” she replies honestly, “But it’s worth it.” 

It had been over a month now since the scare in Alaska that had led her to stop going away on cases. She missed it. The job that had changed her life in more ways than she could have ever expected when she moved back to DC, determined to get some of her life back after she’d spent years living in the mid-west trying to pull herself back together after she’d given a literal piece of herself to her mother. She missed the job that had brought her so much, but she knew she had different, better, things ahead. 

“Just think about how many mini Hotchs you can have once you’re here more often,” Penelope replies, her eyes full of excitement at just the thought of more babies to spoil. Emily laughs and places her hand on her bump as she tries to get more comfortable on the couch.

“God, you sound like Aaron,” she says, chuckling as her friend looks at her curiously. She knows Aaron wouldn’t thank her for what she’s about to say if it got back to him, but she thinks it would serve him right for conspiring with their friend to coddle her, “He likes it when I’m pregnant.” 

She watches as her words register, and she only laughs harder as Penelope screws her face up in disgust, “Ew, Em. I didn’t need to know that.” 

‘It’s true,” she says, and it was. Aaron was almost desperate for her these days. He always had been, but the changes to her body over the last few months only seemed to make it more intense, the way he looked at her enough to make any insecurities that the pregnancy may have caused seem inconsequential, “If it was up to him we’d have our own soccer team.”

“How many do you want?” Pen asks, turning on the couch to look at her properly, and Emily shrugs. 

“Definitely at least a couple,” she replies, feeling the baby kick inside of her, “But let me have this one before I commit to anything,” she smiles wryly, “I’d also like to actually get married at some point.” 

It wouldn’t be too long until it had been a year since they’d got engaged. She always knew it wouldn’t be a short engagement, but she was starting to feel desperate to simply get married. She wanted to be Aaron’s wife.

“Have you got anything planned?”

Emily groans, shaking her head, “No, nothing.”

Penelope frowns, her eyebrows pinching together curiously, “I would have thought your mom would be driving you crazy with trying to get it planned.”

The mention of her mother makes her momentarily freeze. It had been months since she’d heard from her and whilst Emily was grateful she was respecting her wishes, she knew it only meant one thing. Elizabeth was drinking. She had chosen alcohol over her relationship with her daughter and it both made terrified Emily and made her sad.  Last time, it had taken her mother years to realise she had a problem and it had severely damaged her health. 

She couldn’t give her part of her liver again, it medically wouldn’t be possible. And even if she could it wasn’t as simple of a decision as it was all those years ago. It wasn’t just her anymore. She had Aaron, Jack and the baby. Having major surgery had more risks now that more people were affected by her decisions. 

“She’s been less involved than you’d think,” she replies carefully, not wanting to give too much away. No one else knew about the radio silence from her mother and she wanted to keep it that way, well aware that it was a slippery slope into family history she’d rather not get into. 

“What about your Dad?”

Emily tenses at the mention of her father and clears her throat, “What about him?”

“I just realised I’ve never heard you talk about him,” Penelope says, her eyebrow creasing as she thinks about it, “Would he be there to give you away?”

She chuckles dryly, “No.”

Penelope frowns, “No? Why?” 

“Two reasons. One - I am not a piece of property that needs to be handed from one man to another,” she says, taking a deep breath and blowing it out before she says the next bit, well aware that it would likely lead to more questions, “Two - I haven’t seen my father since I was 14.” 

Penelope gasps and reaches out for Emily’s hand, grasping it tightly, “I’m so sorry, Peaches. I didn’t know. I never would have-”

“It’s ok, Pen, seriously,” she says, cutting off an apology she doesn’t need. Whilst there were times when she thought about her father and wondered what his life was like, or why he had never tried to contact her again, she didn’t feel like she was missing out on anything. She didn’t need a man who had walked out on her when she needed him the most, “You didn’t know.” 

“Does Hotch know?”

Emily laughs and squeezes her friend’s hand, “Yes, the father of my child and the man I’m engaged to knows. It’s honestly ok.” 

“But-”

“Hey, before Aaron went away we got a 4D scan of the baby,” she says, cutting her friend off again, not wanting to get into this conversation any further, “Want to see it? Nugget has my nose.” 

It has the desired effect, any thoughts Penelope may have been having about Emily’s father gone as her eyes go wide with excitement, “Of course,” she says, her joy clear as Emily stands up to retrieve the scan photo, “For future reference, I expect to be presented with anything like that the second I arrive.”

“Noted.” Emily smiles and nods as she sits back down, her heart swelling at the sight of her baby’s sweet face before she hands the photo over to Penelope. 

“Oh my God.” 

Emily sits and listens as her friend talks about how cute the baby is, pointing out all of the features Emily had stared at herself over the last several days. She knew that whilst her baby might not end up having a relationship with their grandparents, there were plenty of people that loved them. 

__

Aaron feels relief as he walks into his home, the several days he had spent away from Emily far too long for his liking.

“Sweetheart?” He calls into the house and closes the door, well aware that Emily would still be awake even though he’d tried to suggest she went to bed. 

“In the living room,” she calls back and it makes him smile, causing him to shake his head at her predictability. There was a time when he couldn’t figure her out, when he was unsure of her intentions. It felt like a lifetime ago now. 

He makes quick work of making sure the door is locked and dropping his bag in the foyer and walking to the living room. He smiles as soon as he sees her. She’s on the couch and the tv is on but muted. 

“Hi honey,” she says as he leans down over the couch and drops a kiss on her forehead before he sits next to her. 

“Hi sweetheart,” he says, stamping a kiss against her lips. He then leans down and kisses her bump, “Hi Nugget.” 

Emily smiles and runs her fingers through his hair, keeping her hand on the back of his head as he sits back up straight. She leans in and kisses him again. 

“I missed you,” she says, kissing him once more before she leans against his side, settling into his embrace for the first time in days. 

“I missed you too,” he replies, turning his head to kiss her temple. 

“Penelope brought dinner over last night,” she says, raising her an eyebrow at him as he feigns surprise, “Your little ‘look after Emily’ club isn’t as secret as you think it is.”

Aaron winces, aware that he’d been caught out. He had asked Penelope to check in on Emily occasionally, but it seemed she’d taken that a little too literally. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tries, smiling as she pulls back to look at him, her eyebrow raised. 

“Please,” she exclaims as she laughs, “Neither one of you is particularly subtle.” 

He reaches out for her hand and squeezes it in a silent apology, frowning when he realises something is missing. 

“Where’s your ring?” He asks, running his thumb over the slightly paler patch of skin on her left ring finger.

She groans, “My fingers are too fat.” 

“Your fingers are not fat.” 

She rolls her eyes, “Ok fine, I’m retaining so much water because of how pregnant I am that when I wear the ring it feels like it’s going to squeeze my finger off.” 

He smothers a laugh by clearing his throat, “Well we can’t have that,” he says, raising her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles, “I’ll buy you a chain to keep it on this weekend.” 

It makes her smile, but he sees it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. The kind of smile she used on other people when she wanted them to think she was fine.

“Are you ok, sweetheart?”

She sighs, briefly annoyed that he could see right through her, but she shakes her head, well aware there was no point in hiding anything from him. She didn’t want to hide anything from him.

“I don’t know. When Pen was here she brought up the wedding,” she says, “She asked about my mom.”

He feels a familiar ache in his chest at the mention of it. He knew she was upset over the radio silence from Elizabeth. The already fractured relationship well and truly crumbling around her as months of no contact went on. He pulls her in closer and tucks her into his side. He doesn’t say anything, simply waiting her out.

“I always thought that arguing with my mother would always be part of planning my wedding. That we’d bicker over the venue, the cake, the dress,” she smiles, a flash of a thing across her face as their eyes meet, “The groom,” her smile slips away and she sighs, “It’s not typical. It isn’t what everyone expects of their mom when they get married but it would have been normal for us,” she looks up at him, and shakes her head slightly, “But she’s yet again chosen something else over me and now…” she laughs humourlessly, “I can’t just wait to see if she decides I’m more important than alcohol. I want to be your wife.” 

He sighs and pulls her closer, his arm tight around her shoulder, “Em.”

“I wish it was simple,” she says, shrugging nonchalantly, “But I guess nothing ever is.” 

An idea starts to form, a thought flashing across his mind, and he’s about to say it could be that simple if they wanted it to be. That just this once, they could do something just for them but she stops him, pulling back to look at him with a wry smile on her face that lets him know he’s going to do whatever she’s about to ask of him.  

“I know you only just got home, but how would you feel about going to get Nugget and me some nuggets?”

-x-

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[commonguttersnipe]

Baggy Trousers Down Python Road

Chapter 1: Get ‘em while they're young, eh?

Summary: Mr Chapman, MacNaughton's new Maths teacher, is introduced to the faculty... with varying reactions.

Warnings: One swear word. That's all.

(Quick note: Eileen Gibbet is the fictional counterpart of Helen Gibbins, who sadly passed away in early May, 2023. I've renamed her out of respect)

Sunlight dripped through the windows of MacNaughton boarding school, filling each deserted corridor in an orange glow which rippled its way throughout the classrooms. Rhythmic footsteps echoed off the walls, as Headmaster Milligan paced the floors of his kingdom, humming an unfamiliar tune to himself. He wasn’t going to be alone for too much longer. Soon the blue and yellow buses slowly slunk their way through the gates, each carrying its own litter of youth.

The class of September, 1969.

As the morning went on, the Elizabethan building slowly became more and more full, becoming busy with the head-splitting shrieks and shouts from both students and faculty. In the middle of this chaos stood Mr Graham Chapman. A good-looking young man, dressed in a russet brown suit, blowing steadily through his pipe, absorbing the chaos surrounding him. Surfing through the jam-packed hall, Headmaster Milligan approached the thin man, quietly swearing under his breath.

“Ah Chapman. Welcome to MacNaughton School! I do apologize for the raucous introduction. First day and all that”

Graham said nothing. Instead, he just glanced over the bubbling bedlam that was slowly dispersing into separate rooms.

“Your reputation precedes you” Milligan continued “It’s an honour to have you here”

Graham grunted. Did the man ever speak?

“Here, I’ll give you a walk around the grounds, let you get to know the faculty and layout?” Milligan offered, though it was phrased more like a question.

“That would be nice. Thank you.” The blond man politely said, finally breaking what seemed to have been his unannounced vow of silence. With a warm smile, Milligan guided the new teacher up the pine staircase for his own private tour…

“Bloody hell Drydant! You’ve literally just stepped into the lab and you have already broken a vital health and safety rule!”

“I just had some water, sir…”

“Do you know what has been spilt on these desks? Acid, boy! Your jaw could be rotting away as we speak!” An angry yell rang throughout the science department, and much to Graham’s dislike, they were heading straight for the room it had come from. Milligan knocked gently upon the door, and opened it, revealing a group of around 30 students all looking to the front of the class with the fear of death in their eyes. Towering over a snotty nosed little boy, was a tall, dark-haired man who could almost be considered handsome. From the intrusion, the man looked up, his hazel eyes widening. Graham just stood there, scared to break eye contact, for the threat that he might be screamed at too.

“Hello Class 6M!” Milligan welcomed.

“Hello Mr Milliga…” the students' voices had faded by the end of his name.

“Hello Mr Cleese!”

This Cleese fellow’s demeanor changed almost immediately, his harsh, rigid posture almost melting away, as he held out his hand for Graham to shake.

“Right Drydant, back to your seat.” He commanded in his loud voice, the poor boy scuttling back to his assigned bench, while Milligan closed the door.

“That’s John. He’s quite… Intense. For lack of a better word…”

“He’s a prick.”

“Yes.” Milligan admitted “But he’s actually quite endearing”

Graham raised an eyebrow.

“Sometimes.”

Soon, they had reached the Humanities classrooms, each door covered with art which seemed to have been drawn by a six-year-old with a blindfold on. In the brimming History classroom, a dark-haired man sat upon his desk, hastily shuffling paper into many binders and throwing stray ones to the floor. Sensing that Mr Chapman was a shy fellow, Milligan decided on not introducing him to each and every one of the teachers and decided upon giving him the run-down of the school instead. He would meet them all in the faculty lounge anyway.

“We really do have an incredible Humanities department Mr Chapman. Our members of staff are very knowledgeable and quite popular with the students.”

He then mumbled a sentence that started with ‘especially’ but Graham didn’t catch the end of it and assumed he wasn’t supposed to.

Milligan indicated to the History classroom they had just passed.

“That’s Mr Jones’ terrain. Wonderful man, Terry. He isn’t a fan of the syllabus though. In fact, sometimes he outright refuses to teach it, stating that it's quote-on-quote boring! I think we’ve just come across him deciding what he thought was worth was teaching this year...”

Graham smiled to himself. He and Terry were going to get on. A little further up the corridor, they came past the Geography classroom. Inside, there were no students, but two teachers; One was gently puffing on a cigarette while seeming to be in deep thought and the other was flicking through a tattered book, leaning her slender frame on the chalkboard. Milligan had got distracted by two truant students coming out of toilets, so while he went to reprimand them, Graham took the opportunity to eavesdrop on the teachers’ conversation.

“God, I hate doing Romeo & Juliet” The short haired woman proclaimed, staring at the book in her hand

“Why is that darling?” The man asked, focusing on the puffs of smoke he was creating.

“The students don’t appreciate the meaning and complexity. All they get from it is that ‘teen sex is bad’ and 'love at first sight is foolish and ill-conceived'”

“It worked for us, darling.”

“Yes, I know that Michael.” She smiled softly to whom Graham assumed was her husband. Michael looked up in a lovesick haze at his wife, his smile widening as she kissed him on his forehead.

“But anyway” She continued “They don’t perceive that it’s a tragedy. By the time the play was finished, my last class was a Juliet Hate Club. Say, what are you thinking about?”

“Hmm, oh nothing Eileen. Just wondering how this new year is going to go, that’s all”

His voice had an oddly calming effect on Graham, who was broken out of his eavesdropping by Headmaster Milligan, keen to continue the tour. He looked back at the two lovers, Eileen now playing with Michael's hair, and smiled to himself.

"Music has a very important place in MacNaughton's. Our choir is known for miles around!"

What he didn't mention that it wasn't necessarily for the right reasons...

The music department consisted of a large room with a wood piano in the nearest corner, with a jumble of instruments leaning against the walls. The students sat in front of a large window which spilled early autumn sunlight onto their desks. The teacher did not look like the other ones he had seen. He had longer hair, was dressed in a t-shirt and denim jeans and had this immature giddiness which made him strangely approachable. Upon noticing the headmaster outside the door, he invited him inside, his large smile making Graham feel even more awkward than he already did.

"Hello Headmaster! The class are just settling down. I'm going through the rules and school policies at the moment"

"Ah good. May i introduce you to Graham Chapman, our new maths teacher? Graham, this is Eric Idle. He's our head music teacher and is not responsible for our choir"

The clumsy introduction was met by a confused glance from Eric. Ah, so he was responsible for the choir. Was it really so bad, that the headmaster had to lie about the identity of the choral director? Apparently so.

"Hey Graham! How's it going? Going to have to have a proper chat over tea and custard creams! I love your tie by the way!"

The man was so bubbly, Graham felt personally threatened.

"Thanks. We must." He blurted back, trying to smile.

"Well it's been a pleasure meeting you but unfortunately, i'm half way through the rules of drug and alcohol possession and judging by some of these lot, they need a reminder!" Eric joked, which earnt him a couple of giggles from the class. Graham nodded and turned to leave, before running into two blonde women.

After several sorries had been exchanged, the slightly taller lady peeped into the classroom

"Hey, Eric. You still going to be covering my class period 4?" She asked, with a hopeful shimmer in her eyes.

"Sure thing Connie!"

She thanked him and turned to her friend, who seemed to be almost bursting with glee, as they both shot down the corridor.

"That was Miss Booth and Miss Cleveland, heads of PE and Drama respectably. I think they have a talk later but i'm not entirely sure." Milligan explained as they approached the Art department "They are very nice women...and single" he winked.

Graham hummed in response. He wasn't really interested.

The art department was ironically grey and institutional with the only colour being the blue overalls splattered with paint hanging up outside the door. A thin, sweet-looking man was flicking through a large box of pencils, tossing the broken ones aside. He noticed the pair and paced towards them, making x signs with his arms.

"Don't come in. Gilliam is going through the rules while also displaying his art. If you throw him off, he might lose it and destroy everything and everybody in his path." Noticing the new face, he added "He has a vision."

The Maths classrooms now beckoned Graham forward, welcoming the traveller to his new home. He entered his empty form room, the desks empty with ghosts and sat at his chair. After a while, he realised that Milligan hadn't followed him in. Perhaps he had become distracted. Confident in the fact that he was alone, Graham spun round and round on his office chair, each spin becoming more childishly delightful. After perhaps his 8th spin, he noticed a tall figure in the doorway. He stopped hastily, making his brain briefly fuzzy.

"Ah... you spin on your chair too" The man spoke. Graham recognized the voice as belonging to the cranky science teacher he had met earlier.

"Just came to introduce myself properly. You kind of caught me in an unfortunate position."

Graham stood up, his head spinning.

"It's fine. I'm Graham"

"John."

The two stood in a silence which both of the men wanted to break but neither had the courage to do so.

"Hey, Chapman I-" Miss Booth strode into the room, her large smile faltering when she saw Mr Cleese. Taking the opportunity, he shuffled out of the room and out of sight.

After glaring at the door for a few seconds, Connie turned to Graham with a huge grin.

"Are you ready for your speech?" Her american accent clear and determined.

"I'm, i'm sorry?"

"Assembly at 12:05. You're giving a speech to introduce yourself to the school!"

He was silent.

"What time is it now?"

"11:58"

"Fuck."

The school hall was around a hundred years old, the ceiling engraved with saints and sinners from years past. Graham particularly enjoyed these details as they distracted him from the agonizing embarrassment he was about to endure. When the hall had become full, Milligan began to welcome everyone to the new school year. He quoted some book no one had read (apart from himself and Mr Jones), and stated the blatantly obvious tips to success. Graham wasn't focusing on details. The headmaster was then followed by head boy, Enid Gumby, who grunted the majority of his speech, and head of houses, Tallulah Blanc and Jocasta Mange, who spent the majority of their talk promoting the lunchtime tennis club. The four new house captains were announced and then it was Graham's turn.

How was he even more nervous than the students before him? 28 and sweating over talking to teenagers. Pitiful.

He stood up and took center-stage as scattered claps greeted him.

"Hello. My name is Chapman, Mr Chapman and i'll be a Maths teacher to many of you during umm this year-"

He was wondering why the earth wasn't swallowing him up yet. Give it a minute.

"I hope that all of the aspiring mathematicians in here will find my lessons helpful and the less keen students will at least find them...entertaining?"

He was making this up as he went along. Everyone could tell. He stared at the row of teachers, the majority of which were nodding their heads in encouragement. Without any other finish, he blurted out a bye and left to go back to his seat and work out the least painful way to jump off the nearest building. The rest of the assembly was pretty forgettable, with the exception of Michael (Mr Palin to everyone else), excitedly going through all the clubs. Graham was due to be hosting the medicine society on Thursday lunchtimes and he was looking forward to it.

Afterwards, the crowd dispersed, apart from Graham, Miss Booth and Mr Idle. The latter two teachers began to stack up the chairs which Graham later helped with. 20 minutes later, the columns of chairs were piled against the wall and Connie had to leave for her talk (which was apparently about women and their roles in classic novels).

"You want a pint?" Eric asked.

"I'm sorry?"

"You want a pint? There's a pub nearby. Just off Python Lane"

"Aren't you covering for Connie's lesson?"

"No. Eileen is. I lied."

"Oh."

"So?"

"Yeah sure. I don't have any classes today."

"Great! So where were you before this place?"

"Well..." Graham began, as the pair left the hall and strolled off campus.

The year at MacNaughton School had officially begun.

[whispermask]

gasoline in your heart ch.9/10 | soap/ghost/könig

read on ao3 | first ~ next | ch wc: 4.5k, total 34k | completed

tags: smut, eventual ot3, fwbs to lovers, porn with feelings, jealous!ghost

dead dove time*: this fic as a whole features a brief mention of a past suicide attempt, briefly graphic past child abuse (not CSA), past abuse of alcohol and present alcohol use, and at times dubious consent (consuming alcohol and engaging in sexual activities; dubcon voyeurism; dubcon sexting)

*this chapter features a detailed description of a panic attack and dubcon for drunk sex, proceed with care

summary: soap and ghost start hooking up; soap and könig have apparently been hooking up; ghost doesn't know how to deal with it (eventual polycule)

preview: He’s unsure if König would want to be touched during something like this, but the panic attack shows no signs of abating, König’s breaths coming harsher as he begins to choke and sputter. In a desperate attempt to de-escalate the situation, Simon places a hand flat on König’s chest under the flap of the vest and over his heart, which he can feel racing under his palm through the thin fabric of his shirt.

-

Simon smokes his second cigarette of the night alone on the terrace, off to the side and obscured from view of the flat where the party rages inside and has started to spill out onto the patio. 

He’s not as pissed as he had been with Bam on Christmas, but he’s getting there. He’d downed two bourbons before Soap had even introduced them to Leo, the host of the party, a friend Soap had met in Basic. 

The flat is more of a penthouse really, taking up the entirety of the topmost floor, easily the size of an aircraft hangar. It’s a traditional open concept layout decked out in shimmering gold tinsel and bursting with hanging wisteria. Leo’s even placed a stage and hired a DJ, the vastness of the space making for a perfect venue, especially with all the furniture cleared from the living area. A catering staff work frantically in the large kitchen with smartly dressed servers carrying trays of hors d'oeuvres and crystal flutes of champagne to glitzy and increasingly sloppy partygoers. 

Soap’s generous estimate of at most twenty guests had been laughably wrong. At least seventy people are in attendance, with more still filing in through the ornate french doors that lead into Leo’s penthouse. The flat is full to bursting as guests are forced onto the terrace to accommodate the press of bodies, all of whom are dressed to the nines in floor length gowns and designer suits. It’s more sequins, rhinestones, and feathers than Simon has ever seen in one place in his life. As the evening’s progressed, he’s come to realize the whole affair is less of a party, more like an exclusive event, the scope of which was severely albeit unintentionally downplayed when Soap had presented the plans that morning. 

Soap had apologized profusely when they’d driven past the building of flats in search of parking, where flapper girls and their sheiks lined the pavement waiting to be admitted by the doorman who was checking names from a clipboard. König’s demeanor had shuttered upon the realization that this was far from an intimate gathering, but he’d insisted on toughing it out. They were already dressed and here after all, and said as long as Soap didn’t leave his side he’d be fine. Simon had felt a pang of sympathy for König, a tenuous thread of solidarity. König probably longed for the veil in the same way Simon longed for his mask, for different reasons perhaps but each finding the same solace in facelessness. 

They–Soap and König–are somewhere inside, Simon having ditched them when he’d reached his limit of making nice. Soap had acquainted both König and Simon to Leo and his various other friends, artsy types from Edinburgh Soap knows through some of the local galleries he’d done art shows at. Simon had wanted to run for the terrace at the first introduction of König as Soap’s boyfriend and Simon as Soap’s friend-slash-coworker. Simon knows it’s a foolish thing to be upset over, knows that Soap knows they’re so much more than that, but they haven’t really talked about labels. In that moment, it’s like he backslid from all the progress he’d made earlier in the day, feeling out of place all over again. 

Two hours had dragged painfully, Simon attempting to socialize, answering questions about their line of work as vaguely as possible as he downed drink after drink, hoping to quell the nervous buzz under his skin. It had come to a head when Leo had commented privately to Simon on Soap and König’s relationship, how Leo had been hearing about this boyfriend for some time but had yet to meet him, how delighted he is to see Soap finally settling down with someone. Simon had excused himself from the conversation and made a hasty escape, as stealthy as could be despite his drunken state and figuring no one would notice his absence anyway. In all honesty, he’s rather content to sit this one out. 

The city lights twinkle before him like ships breaking apart in a dark sea. He’s long since ditched his suit jacket and removed his tie to unbutton his collar, doesn’t recall where he left them, and he’s sipping his seventh bourbon between puffs of his cigarette. From inside, he can hear the speedy bass-thump of some electroswing song. They’ve got a little under an hour until midnight, and Simon has no intention of seeking out Soap and König before they do what they’ve come here to accomplish, which is ring in the New Year together. 

As he mopes and drinks away his solitude, he hears the approaching sound of footsteps, dress shoes tapping out a rapid beat as they grow louder on the approach. Suddenly, König rounds the corner where Simon’s been hiding. Simon can hear his ragged breaths, his chest stuttering as he fights to inhale, loud even over the music from inside. König’s lost his suit jacket and his glasses, and he’s got both hands pressed over his face, covering his eyes. He doesn’t notice Simon as he comes into view. 

“Oi,” Simon says, abandoning his glass and cig on the ledge to brace his feet and square his shoulders in time to catch König before he barrels into him. 

“Öha,” König gasps, grabbing Simon’s forearms to steady himself. He can barely force the word out, throat constricted. Without his hands covering his face, his eyes are huge and wet, and he can’t quite meet Simon’s gaze. 

“You alright?”

König barks out a deranged laugh, answer clear as he moves out of Simon’s grip to slam his back against the brick façade and sink to the ground, knees pulled up tight to his chest, looking impossibly small as he brings his hands up to cover his face again. Simon crouches in front of him, concern creasing his brow as König hyperventilates. 

“Here,” Simon says, already reaching for König’s tie. “Can I loosen this?” König nods and Simon grips the knot, slips it lower and pulls the ring of it out from under König’s collar, which he undoes the first two buttons on as well. The vest he unbuttons entirely, pushing the flaps of it open to give König more room to breathe. 

He’s unsure if König would want to be touched during something like this, but the panic attack shows no signs of abating, König’s breaths coming harsher as he begins to choke and sputter. In a desperate attempt to de-escalate the situation, Simon places a hand flat on König’s chest under the flap of the vest and over his heart, which he can feel racing under his palm through the thin fabric of his shirt.

König grabs onto his wrist, squeezing hard enough that the bones in his wrist crunch. Simon thinks he’s about to be shoved away, but König instead holds him more firmly in place, clinging onto him like a lifeline. 

They sit like that while König tries to even out his breathing. He eventually pulls his other hand away from his face, eyes scrunched, and reaches for Simon’s free hand where it’s braced on the ground. When he finds it, Simon brings their joined hands up to his own chest, laying König’s palm flat over his heart, a perfect mirror of one another. König catches on as Simon slows his own breathing, inhaling deeply through his nose and out through his mouth, exhales ruffling the loose strands of hair that frame König’s face. König tries to match the rhythm of his breaths, fighting himself at first as his eyes finally meet Simon’s. They pull him back from the edge together one breath at a time. 

“Give me a sit-rep when you’re ready, soldier,” Simon whispers. 

König’s breathing evens out enough for him to say, “Too many people.” 

“That bad, eh?” Simon asks. König drops his hand from Simon’s chest first, Simon following suit so they’re no longer touching. 

“I was managing,” König replies. “Then some of Johnny’s friends pulled him away to dance and some of his other friends made me do Jager shots with them and then I got very intoxicated very quickly and I couldn’t find Johnny and there were just so many people.”

“So you got the hell out of dodge?”

König nods. “That’s when you found me.” 

“You found me, actually,” Simon quips. 

“Oida , always with the semantics,” König says and rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile in his voice. Simon doesn’t need a translation, König’s been calling him Oida for what feels like ages despite it only being a handful of times when their paths happened to cross.

“I’ve been hiding out here,” Simon admits. “Not really my thing.” He gestures in the direction of the party. 

“How long do you think before Johnny notices we’re both missing?” König asks.

“I give him ten minutes at most,” Simon says. He moves from where he’s crouching to retrieve his camels and bourbon, coming to sit beside König with his back against the brick which is frigid even through his clothes. He lights a cigarette and offers the carton to König who takes it without a word. They smoke side by side while he finishes his drink, sharing body heat where their shoulders are pressed together. 

König breaks the silence when he asks, “You and Johnny… when did you know?” 

The bourbon’s loosened his tongue, and he’s answering before he’s even really thought about it. “I wasn’t keen on him at first, but he’s got this way of getting under your skin, doesn’t he? Like, I couldn’t stop thinking about him once I started. Maybe from the first day we met.”  

König flicks his cigarette before saying, “It doesn’t take much, does it?”

“And what we do, all of us. We cheat death, and have to make do with living in between the moments we’re not cheating death,” he continues, surprising even himself with his conviction. “Fuck, even the synergy when we’re out in the field together, like we’re of one mind. The line starts to blur between admiration and desire. After Graves, I wanted to protect him, but it wasn’t long before I just wanted him, pure and simple.”

“Johnny and I, we were friends first, just kids when we met. The wanting came later, once we knew how to name it,” König says. 

“How did you do it, and for ten years no less?” Simon asks.

König shrugs. “It’s not that hard when you love someone.”

“You never stopped wanting him,” Simon states as he finishes his cigarette and drops the butt in his empty glass where it sizzles against the melting ice. 

“Nein .” 

“Johnny says you were seeing other people, but tell me honestly. Have you been with anyone else? This whole time?”

“Not once,” König answers, a decade of longing causing his normally clear voice to shake. “But I know what you mean about blurred lines, because I felt that way about you once.” The admission renders Simon speechless. “I never would have acted on it, you have this sort of intangibility about you, like you really were untouchable. I was surprised when Johnny told me you two had fooled around. But you really care about him, ja ?”

“Yeah,” Simon agrees.

“To be honest with you, I’m not sure where I fit,” König confesses as he stubs out the remainder of his cigarette on the wall behind him. 

“You’re taking the piss,” Simon says, scoffing with incredulity after the day he’s had. 

“Not at all,” König says. “Seeing you two together, it made me realize how much I want you both, and how much I want you to want me. It feels like Johnny was never mine but he could be ours.”

“Earlier tonight, in the loo–” Simon starts, but doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. He tries again, “This is all new to me, but I liked it. A lot.” 

König doesn’t respond, and to Simon it feels like there’s not much left to say. Their mutual confessions hang heavy in the air between them. 

“You know,” König says, breaking the silence yet again, something Simon is learning he tends to do when it becomes too awkward, like a nervous habit. “It’s traditional in Vienna to dance the waltz at the very start of the New Year,” he continues. He rises and offers his hand to Simon. “You enjoy dancing?”

“I’m absolutely mad for it,” Simon deadpans, but he takes König’s offered hand anyway and lets himself be pulled to his feet, the bourbon making his limbs feel loose and heavy. Blissed out and head fuzzy, he’s not overthinking like he normally would, pleased to go with the spirit of the newness of it all as König directs his arms and legs with his own. 

“The music is all wrong, but here,” König says, and takes Simon’s hand and places it on his narrow waist, places his own hand on Simon’s shoulder, takes Simon’s other hand in his, lifting it so that Simon’s holding König’s arm up. König’s palm is warm where it rests on his. 

“You lead, but I’ll instruct you,” König says. “Let’s try a basic forward-backward half box step.”

Simon says, “The way you say basic makes it seem like I should know what any of that means.”

“Hüft’s nix schodt’s nix. I think you’ll be surprised at how well combat training translates.”

“We’re both pissed, so keep your expectations low.”

König taps Simon’s left foot with his to start, indicating for him to step forward as König steps back. Then he repeats the same action but with a side-step, leading in reverse. After the first box, Simon begins to understand, and as König whispers “Eins, drei, zwei. Eins, drei, zwei,” under his breath, Simon counts along in his head, watching where his feet land. He glances up at König, chuffed that he’s managed to retain some level of coordination in this state, but as soon as he looks away from his feet, he steps on König’s toe, who yelps in response.

“Sorry,” Simon says, already pulling away. 

“Na, na, it was bound to happen,” König responds, not letting Simon get far. König initiates the waltz again, but Simon takes the lead from the first step, starts to rotate them in a half circle as they dance in the narrow space, out of view from the main party, to music that makes no sense for a waltz. 

Simon inevitably steps on König’s foot again, and then somehow manages to step on his other toe too, which sends König toppling back into the brick wall, pulling Simon down with him. Their dancing devolves into drunken laughter and a struggle to keep themselves upright. Simon glances up at König’s smiling face, sees his blue, blue eyes which glint in the moonlight. Without meaning to, he looks down at the pout of König’s lips, glances back up to find König looking at his lips too. 

The fire that had been burning low in his gut after their encounter back at Soap’s studio blazes to life, supernova hot and spurred by the alcohol which turns his blood molten in his veins. He uses his body weight to pin König to the wall, who allows it without protest, even slides down a bit to bring them eye to eye. Simon takes both of König’s shoulders in each of his hands, keeping him in place as he brings his lips just an inch away from König’s, so that he can feel the puff of König’s breaths. Weeks of frustrated jealousy bloom into maddening lust, a desire deep in his bones to claim ownership over this man who has challenged him beyond all measure of his own humanity. 

A low groan starts in the back of König’s throat as he tries to shove their mouths together in a kiss, but Simon shakes him once, hard, knocking him back against the brick wall and he goes lax under Simon’s touch, letting Simon support his weight. Simon gets a hand around his jaw first, then moves it to cover his neck and pins him against the wall so that König’s held in place by the threat of it. He feels immensely powerful, having finally tamed this challenger that had previously been undefeated, and the primal surge at the conquest has his prick hard and aching in his slacks in seconds. Something akin to victory unfurls in his chest as he moves to close the remaining space between their lips. 

At the barest press of König’s lips, he hears a sharp gasp to his left. He turns his head towards the sound and sees Soap watching them, mouth agape and eyes wide. He doesn’t look angry, but aroused, curious, Simon realizes. Jealous, even. Without a word Soap turns on his heel and saunters back in the direction of the penthouse, swaying on his feet, seemingly just as intoxicated as Simon feels. When Simon backs away from König, they lock eyes, an understanding passing between them as they move to follow Soap inside. 

Guests have overtaken the terrace, and Simon has to press his way through, trying to clear space for König to pass behind him. Glitzy partygoers grind on the dancefloor inside where the music plays at full volume, and Simon feels the vibrations of the bass through the soles of his shoes. He can barely hear the shouted conversations of the people around him, their chatter no more than an ambient hum. He scans the sea of bodies, searching for Soap’s tweed cap, which he spots as Soap disappears down a dark hallway adjacent to the entryway. 

As he and König pass a server carrying a tray of champagne flutes, he grabs two and downs them consecutively, craving more liquid courage. He abandons the empty glasses on a nearby table and catches König sideeyes him, but he withholds his judgment as they follow Soap down the hall. Drinking like this is an old vice, not one he partakes in to excess as often as he did when he was a younger man, but these last few weeks–this whole day really–have activated that raw, vulnerable part of him that hides in his chest, that he carries with him everywhere he goes, that thing with a voice like his father’s and all the anxieties of a scared little boy. He refuses to let it control him tonight. 

Soap disappears through an open door at the end of the hall into a dark room, Simon and König only a few steps behind. As Simon closes and locks the door behind them, Soap flicks on an antique glass lamp. They’re in what Simon can only assume is Leo’s bedroom, with its huge plush bed and ornate furniture. 

Soap stands across from Simon and König next to the bed. He pulls his cap off and tosses it away, crosses his arms over his chest. “You can kiss him now,” he instructs, a tremble in his voice. 

Simon’s not sure if it’s an order for him or König, but König makes the decision for him when he presses Simon into the bedroom door and lowers his mouth to Simon’s, the first soft press of him growing firmer as spit slicks the way and their lips slide together. Simon braces his palms against König’s chest as König grabs Simon’s waist, a reversal of their earlier positions when König had tried to teach him the waltz. 

He doesn’t hear Soap approaching but is startled when he feels hands fumbling with the clasp and zipper of his slacks. He opens his eyes just enough to look down to see Soap on his knees between his and König’s legs, already grabbing at Simon’s prick through his briefs, mouthing along the shaft of it and turning the fabric dark with saliva. His erection had flagged between the terrace and the bedroom, but it’s back with a vengeance when Soap pulls his cock through the hole in his briefs and suckles at the sensitive head. 

Simon moans into König’s mouth as Soap licks his way down to suck on his balls, licks back up the underside to take him into his mouth fully. He grips the base, clever boy, and sucks him so slowly, bobbing his head as drool drips down the shaft. Simon reaches for Soap’s hair, intending to fuck into his mouth and make Soap take him harder, faster, something, but König stops him with a hand around his wrist. 

In the next moment, König’s got both of his wrists gripped tight, and he’s raising Simon’s arms to pin them against the bedroom door above his head. The dominance in the display König makes of him has his knees buckling, but he’s being held up by König’s sheer strength and Soap’s fingernails digging into the meat of his hips as he sucks Simon deeper, deeper. 

König breaks the kiss to mouth at Simon’s cheek, chin, jaw, gets down to his neck and bites hard, sucking a bruise into the skin there, in the same place Soap loves to leave his mark. Simon’s held in place by König’s teeth, by his large, strong hands, while Soap works his cock at a torturous pace, drawing it out to the point of ecstasy, painful and pleasurable in equal measure. 

“Fucking hell, Johnny,” Simon growls as he tries to thrust his hips up, to force himself deeper down Soap’s throat. Soap grips Simon’s hips and pushes him back into the door with all his strength, and Simon can feel the fine shiver in his biceps as he fights to push against Soap’s hold. König grips both of Simon’s wrists above his head in one hand and uses his other hand to wrap around the base of Simon’s cock, jerking what Soap can’t swallow down, a sensation that never fails to get him off. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he chants, and his orgasm crests without preamble, squeezed out of him by König’s fist onto Soap’s tongue as he swallows around Simon’s prick. Some of it dribbles out the corner of his mouth as he lets Simon’s wet cock slip from between his lips to dribble the last spurt of spunk onto the wood floors. 

König releases him at once and he crumbles to the floor without the support, boneless, blood roaring in his ears. Distantly, he hears a loud knock on the door behind him. Leo shouts through the door, “Midnight’s in five!” Simon couldn’t care less. 

On the floor in front of him, Soap’s got his trousers undone and a hand fisting his cock furiously inside of them. Simon reaches for him, gets on his hands and knees to crawl forward enough to kiss Soap. He can taste the salt of his come on Soap’s tongue, smell himself on Soap’s lips and chin. He brings a hand up to pinch Soap’s nipple through his shirt, feeling the hard barbell and tugging it gently as Soap groans into his mouth. He knocks the suspenders from Soap’s shoulders and works the buttons of his shirt open, exposing his lightly furred chest and his hardening nipples, the glint of the piercings catching in the lamplight. 

Above them, König looks down on the scene the two of them make, lazily palming the massive bulge of his prick through his pants. Simon breaks the kiss and reaches for König’s belt loop and hooks his forefinger in it, using it to tug König closer as he fumbles the button and zipper open. König pulls himself out for Simon to see, jerks himself in earnest. He’s fucking huge because of course he is, but Simon doesn’t feel emasculated, if anything the swollen heft of him makes his mouth water, remembering how Soap had moaned while König fucked him. 

Simon turns back to Soap, gets a hand around the nape of his neck and brings their mouths together again in an open, sloppy kiss that’s all tongue. He bites and licks his way down Soap’s throat and chest, sucking on his pretty nipples, getting them wet and pink and putting on a good show for König. 

Soap’s moans grow louder and Simon can tell he’s close. He kisses his way back up Soap’s body to catch his mouth in another sloppy kiss, cups each of Soap’s pecs in his hands, thumbs his nipples, drives Soap crazy with gentle touches and flicks, making him shout when he gives them both a sharp tug. He’s shooting off in his pants within seconds, catching his come in his other palm so as to not ruin his slacks. He brings his soiled hand up to grip König’s cock which is inches from his face, slicks König’s skin as they jack him together, Simon watching their fists move together, transfixed. 

“On his tits,” Simon says, moving behind Soap to give König better access, all the while pinching Soap’s nipples.  He basks in the dirtiness of it, a voyeuristic delight that has his prick twitching, a desperate attempt to get hard again. 

“That’s it big guy, come on me, fuck yes,” Soap babbles, staring up at König who grunts his pleasure, hips thrusting into his and Soap’s combined grip. König’s back bows when he comes, jizz splattering across Soap’s chest in long, wet stripes. He drops to his knees, cock still dribbling out the last few pulses into his hand. Soap looks down at the mess, brings a hand up to swipe through the spunk on his pecs and brings it to his mouth as he looks back up at König, glancing between him and Simon, an unspoken offering behind his eyes. 

Without a second thought, Simon leans forward to lick up the mess from his right tit, sucking Soap’s pierced nipple into his mouth on each pass. König follows suit, cleaning the other side, and Soap moans, covers his face with one hand and eventually pushes them both away with the other, overstimulated and skin as sensitive as a live wire. They lie on the hard floor together, catching their breath. Simon stares dazedly at the ceiling, piss drunk and high on endorphins, residual waves of pleasure still pulsing in his gut and groin. 

From outside the bedroom, the music has stopped and they hear the chant of the guests as they begin to count down from ten, nine, eight, so on. A thunderous cheer erupts to the tune of “Happy New Year!” as the music starts up again. 

Over the din, König whispers, “Happy birthday.” 

Simon rolls onto his side and props himself up on his elbow to look down at Soap and König, who stare back at him, a feeling of wonderment passing between the three of them. He leans down to kiss Johnny first, and feels König move in closer on Soap’s other side to kiss along Simon’s cheek and eventually capture his lips from Soap. Simon breaks the kiss to catch his breath, and König bends his neck down to kiss Soap as well. 

Simon holds them both while König presses sweet pecks to Soap’s lips with loud, obnoxious smacks, making Soap laugh. The tenderness of the moment coupled with his drunkenness makes his eyes water. König and Soap break apart when they hear him sniffle, to see the wetness on his face. When they lean in together to kiss the tears away, the soft press of their lips against his scarred skin is like something akin to sacrament, holy in the way they drink this exquisite pain wrought by their touch. In that moment he feels protected, invincible. He cries harder, overcome.  

Soap whispers against his cheek, “Let’s go home.”

*******

Öha: sorry Oida: literally old man, but the connotation is more like mate/dude as I've come to understand it Hüft’s nix schodt’s nix: doesn't help, doesn't hurt, used when someone is hesitant to try something new

[h-hae]

pov: it's our first apartment, a quaint 20 minute drive from home to work for the both of you. at the front, you'll see a typical door wreath which is always swapped out to be in tune for the season from a bright flower display for spring to a tacky santa claus with his reindeer for christmas. don't forget the door mat, which you bought at a discount store. no need to be fancy, it'll be the bearer of whatever is lingering on the bottom of your shoe.

walk inside to an open floor space. right in front of you, a couch and loveseat lovingly given to you by your parents with a coffee table he insisted on buying. you're not a fan, but the table rises up so you two can eat while enjoying whatever show or streamer is popping on the algorithm at the time. next to the couch, a constellation map of the night you two got together with polaroids squeezed into the corners to show who the two lovebirds are in this nest of an apartment. to the corner, a kingdom hearts memorabilia shelf. a collection you two have been working on, even though the only thing you contributed was a small Chirithy plush. walk on over to the right and there is the dining room set he was so happy to buy and assemble, the wood matching the dining room table. again, dark wood isn't your vibe but he bought it so who cares. turn to the left and there's your kitchen. awaiting you are memories from learning how to use a dishwasher for the first time to hearing him tell you he's slowly falling out of love with you.

there's a hallway connecting all the living spaces together. let's go the right, there's the master bedroom. many intimate moments are shared here, secrets shared, tears shed while under and in front of him. after an intense argument, this will be the last space where you two will share your last meaningful kiss. he was off to work, you pretended to be asleep, and he kissed your head like he always did. however, it lasted longer and felt more.. emotional. it felt like it was a final goodbye of the him that loved you to be replaced by one who resented you. once he left, you burst into tears. in this room marked the beginning of the end.

to your left we have the bathroom and closet! so modern and clean, complete with the signature air wick refresher you two love, his and her bath towels, candles and bath bombs you two will use up countlessly on your shared bath days. also here, is where you saw your pregnancy test come back positive. running down the hall, you collapsed in front of him sobbing and stating you wanted an abortion. neither of you were ready. it was over a year since you felt a meaningful kiss from him, over a year since you two had a nice bath bomb and candlelit bath, over a year since you two cooked together. what kind of a life would this child have in an apartment now just a shell of what it used to be?

down the hallway, did i forget to mention, is a guest bedroom? you two will use it moreso as a storage space but here is where all the realizations come to light. him suffering through his quarter life crisis, you realizing this isn't the relationship you deserved, countless phone calls to respective friends crying and moaning about what used to be. in this room also, are the countless gifts and crafts you two made for each other stored away rather than be on full display. eventually too, you'll find the constellation map and photos here hidden away once you leave when the break commenced. he won't admit it to you, but he brought someone here. did he feel any guilt? any remorse?

there's also a second bathroom by the way, this is his bathroom to get ready for work as not to disturb you. his khaks, ID, whatever military intel and clearance he needed was here for quick access. a room only he used, a room whose layout changed like he did but it only held one constant, your sticky notes. "i love you! good luck on your exam!" "you're doing great!" "you'll be the best SSgt ever!" it used to be in the mirror for full display. when you come back to help pack, it's no longer there. but once you open that medicine cabinet, there it was, neatly aligned. in that cabinet was all he used daily so he saw those notes, those drawings everyday. it gives you a sliver of hope, optimism, but when you step outside to take a breather you see the community pool. he promised he'd teach you how to swim but he never did. he promised many things but either never gave them to you or fell extremely short.

welcome to your first apartment though and congratulations! remember to use the pool, you two will never get the chance to despite the promises of teaching you how to swim.