#eb research | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starryhologram · 23 days

Text

CCCC Band AU Master Post

AKA I made a crack AU where Heart, Mind, and Soul become famous. But now, it’s a more serious and loved AU.

Disclaimer: Like the SCP AU, the HMS in this AU exist in the “real world” as opposed to a psyche/headspace. When the Whole splits, the three replace him. Also, warnings of canon typical v10l3nc3. These versions of Heart, Mind and Soul have been caricaturized, and are fun house mirror versions of their album/canon counterparts. Hope you like if you read!

Heart takes his g. un, the same one he missed Mind with, and he places it to the back of Soul’s head.

“Soul.” Heart bites the other’s name hard. Spits it out with disgust. Soul feels the cold metal press against his skull. They were truly going to usurp him. He didn’t think it would end like this.

“Heart. Please. Put the gu. n down.” He begs, eyes sliding over to where Mind watches from a distance. His face unreadable, Soul wishes he would help.

“Shut the fuck up.” Heart jams the barrel against Soul, knocking him slightly forward.

Should he fight? Continue to beg?

“You can threaten to kill us all but I can’t return the sentiment?!” Heart shouts.

Should he let it happen?

His blood goes cold as he hears the trigger shake in Heart’s grip.

BANG.

Soul falls to the ground.

Heart steps back, dropping the g. un.

Mind walks over to Soul and puts his hand against his neck. “He’s still alive.” He comments.

“That’s fine, I wasn’t trying to kill him, anyways.”

“You’re a bad liar.”

Heart doesn’t say anything in return.

Mind sighs, shaking his head. Best to let Soul recover, then. He wasn’t going to be the one to put him out of his misery, and he had a feeling Heart wouldn’t either.

Mind picks up Soul’s limp body gingerly, his head dripping blood onto his hands. Seeing his face, the skin had torn around where the bullet had exited. Soul’s eye was completely gone.

It was morbid, but Mind continued to carry the other to his room, laying him down on the bed. A few moments later, Heart shuffled in, shoving first aid supplies into Mind’s hands.

“Like this will help.” Mind says sarcastically. Regardless, he begins bandaging up the side of Soul’s face.

The computer in the corner of the room dings with a notification.

“Ugh. I thought we turned those off.” Heart frowned.

“We did, but I kept them on for emails. Stand with him, I’ll see if it’s important.” Mind moves to the desktop, jiggling the mouse to turn it on.

“No way this is real.” He scoffs after a few moments.

“What? What does it say?” Heart demands impatiently.

Mind reads out the contents of the email for the other.

“You’re kidding. Do some background research! Look it up!” Heart raised his voice frantically.

After a few more moments of key strokes mouse clicking, Mind turns back to Heart. “It’s real. What do we say? Should we decline? Accept? This is a very big decision.” He glances at Soul once again. “And honestly, he should decide too.”

“We could let Whole decide.” Heart offers meekly.

“You shot Soul, Whole is probably out of commission as well. We will have to wait. I will let them know to give us time to make the decision.”

Over the course of the next few days, Soul floated in and out of consciousness, the pain in his head ebbing and flowing. He wished he could have had nice dreams, but it was dark and hazy. Something haunted him about how he had gotten hurt. Mind and Heart refused to tell him, and Soul couldn’t bring himself to remember.

The bright side of his dull situation, however, was that Mind and Heart were being so nice to him. They gave him warm food in bed as he recovered, and even spared him from sarcastic quips. He wishes it could always be like this, getting along.

Eventually, Soul was able to remain conscious for a longer amount of time. And Mind and Heart finally decided to tell him once he proved cognizant enough.

“Soul.” Mind announced as he entered the other’s room, Heart trailing in his shadow.

Soul smiled at the other two. “Good morning.” He said softly, his voice had been nothing but kind to them in return these past few days.

“We have to tell you something. And we need… you to help us decide.” Heart stammers, “On what to do about it.” He walked over to stand at the foot of the bed.

“Yeah, of course. What’s up?” Soul asks.

“While you were… recovering. We received an email.” Mind began, sitting at the desktop once more to pull up the page.

“It reads as follows.

‘Dear Tridential Sovereignty, us at Galaxy Star Records have recently found your music and think you have just the talent we’ve been looking for.

We are pleased to offer to sign you as one of our many talented artists. We would be honored to represent you, and help you reach your full star potential.

Kindly, Galaxy Star Records. LA, California.’ “

Mind turns to look at Soul once more. His mouth is agape in shock. “We’ve been offered a record deal?” He asks in disbelief.

“It would seem so.” Mind replies.

“Of course we should go for it!” He exclaims. Mind and Heart almost seem surprised by his answer.

“Uhm.. are you sure? This is crazy.” Heart digs his toe into the carpet absentmindedly.

“I mean, this can only be good right? As long as its reputable! What could go wrong?” Soul looks like he got everything he could have ever wanted for Christmas.

~~~

A man tears himself apart in the dead of night

Grasping at lyrics that aren't quite right

But you’ve head this before

And I’ll never again

Because the spotlight is blinding

And the audience is screaming my name

Please don’t let me lose myself in the fame

~~~

Private Emails are uploaded. Subject: Sign On Offer From: [email protected] To: [email protected]

Thank you so much for accepting our proposal! We can’t wait to start working with you!

First order of business we do need to get settled is the contract. You can access it here, and we will need all of your E-signatures.

Next you can also take a look at a list of preordained names that you can choose to go by as per our guidelines. Your band will still be called Tridential Sovereignty under us, but your individual names will be pseudonyms (No real popstar doesn’t have a stage name!).

You can view our list below.

Luna

Callisto

Oberon

Nova

Kepler

Aristarchus

Metius

Tycho

Voib

Pulsar

Orion

Asteroid

Comet

Thebit

Nebula

Rigel

Quasar

Antimar (antimatter)

[File attachment contract.pdf]

~~~

Private Emails are uploaded. Subject: RE: Sign On Offer From: [email protected] To: [email protected]

Apologies, there was a misspelling in the list of names.

Voib is meant to be Void.

Thank you.

~~~

BREAKING NEWS! Introducing TRIDENTIAL SOVEREIGNTY! VIX NEWS keeps you updated with up and coming artists that you should be aware of!

Your favorite niche internet micro-celebrities become famous! Who would have thought their covers of cult classic Tally Hall songs would have skyrocketed their stardom?

Meet Comet, Nova, and Pulsar! The ‘Heart, Mind, and Soul’- they call themselves- of Tridential Sovereignty. Sweeping the globe with their new music to rock your socks off!

Recently signed on by Galaxy Star Records, after an interested team heard their individual covers of “The Mind Electric” by ミラクルミュージカル (also known as Miracle Musical). These young artists are rising through the charts, and concerts are selling out fast internationally!

We here at VIX NEWS are excited to see where they go from here! Follow us for more updates on Tridential Sovereignty!

~~~

A video titled ‘Late Nite Show Interview with TRIDENTIAL SOVEREIGHNTY’ is uploaded.

The video opens with a studio audience cheering as the host waves at them thankfully, smiling warmly.

“Good evening ladies, gentlemen and other lovely people! We have a special guest for you tonight- at their first television appearance- Tidential Sovereignty!”

The host gestures to curtains that three figures emerge from, the one in a red jacket is waving and smiling just as much as the host was. The two following him are much less enthused.

The crowd cheers as they walk across the stage to sit at a long couch adjacent to the seat the host had taken.

“Thank you so much for joining us this evening!” The hosts says, “Yeah! Thank you for having us!” The one in red responds.

“Now, you guys have been taking the scene by absolute storm- ahaha, pun not intended.” The hosts pauses for the audience to laugh. “But, I’d love to get to know you guys a bit more. You guys all look very similar, is that intentional? Or are you guys triplets?” He asks.

“Triplets is the closest word.” The one in blue states plainly. “Ah yeah! We’re all kind of like brothers, sure.” The one in red adds.

“What interesting responses!” The host laughs. “Now, Pulsar,” he gestures to the one in red, “You call yourself the Soul? What does that mean?”

Pulsar’s smile doesnt faze, but his eyes scan to his other two counterparts nervously. “Yeah, I’m like the Soul… its just… a way of referring to myself, like Nova is the Mind- eh the brains of it all. And Comet is the Heart, you get it? It’s just… the way we make up the Whole… band. Tridential Sovereignty.” He stammers out quickly.

Comet shoves him.

The host is laughing again. “Well that’s certainly a way of thinking about it!” He says, and it eases Pulsar’s nerves. “You guys were pretty popular on the internet at first, right? How’s the transition from the screen to the stage been?”

“It’s been fine, we still do all the main stuff behind the scenes; the music writing and stuff. But seeing fans in real life? Cheering for us on stage? I… don’t think any of us could have imagined it. We assumed we would be stuck in our mom’s basement doing this for a niche audience for our whole career, honestly.” Comet replies.

“It’s crazy how quick things can change!” The host quips, “Hey! Would you guys like to play a song for us?” He asks, the crowd cheers in enthusiasm.

The three nod in agreement, stand up and make their way over to instruments set up for them. Pulsar stands at the middle mic, holding an electric guitar. Nova stands at an electronic keyboard. A blue bass is propped up next to him. Comet sits down at a drum set.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in between, this is Tridential Sovereignty!” The host announces as the three begin to play.

Pictured: (left) Pulsar with no make up, wig or mask, in casual clothes. (Right) Pulsar within the first few months of rising to stardom, before his outfits became more pink.

~~~

A video titled ‘VIX NEWS: Exclusive interview with TRIDENTIAL SOVEREIGNTY FT. Your questions!’

The video opens with Pulsar, red wig, feathered boa and pink dress in all, sitting on a stool in a white room. He smiles, introducing himself, “Hi, babes! I’m Pulsar, but you know that!” He laughs

The camera cuts to Nova, sitting in the same room, but clearly shot at a different time than Pulsar’s takes. He sits square and upright and says, “Hello. I’m Nova, of Tridential Sovereignty.”

The video cuts again to Comet, slouching on the stool. He waves meekly to the camera. “Hey, I’m Comet.” He says flatly.

A voice from behind the camera calls out, “So, we sent out a form for fans of your’s to ask! And here are the ones we thought would be best to ask you guys!”

“How exciting!” Pulsar claps his hands together. “What’s the first question?”

“Your-claimed- ‘Number one fan’, Pulsar, asks: what is your favorite song?” The voice off screen laughs aloud as she reads it.

“Oh, I have so many favorites, you know! But I think a special one in my heart will always be The Bidding.” He says.

“Nova, an unnamed fan asks ‘if you could go solo, would you?”

“Hm. I do shows on my own often enough. If you mean officially leave Tridential Sovereignty one day? That is yet to be determined.” Nova’s face shows no change in expression as he answers.

“Comet, Rio asks ‘if you could change anything about your life now, what would it be?”

Comet barks out a laugh and then frowns as he collects himself. “Right. Yeah. I mean, is anyone really happy with where they are? I messed up a lot in the past but I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t. Dunno. I don’t think I care anymore anyways.”

“Pulsar, Twine- of course-?” The announcer sounds confused as she says the name. “Do you have a PR team yet?”

“What? Twine? How did… how did you get that question?” Pulsar’s brow furrows in shock and confusion, “That’s a joke… right? I think. Ah, yeah. A joke.” He laughs unconvincingly.

“Nova, what do you do when you encounter writer’s block? From Hayley.”

“I simply don’t. If I don’t feel like writing, I don’t write. Let it come to me. I know what I write is good.”

“Comet, Jedas asks ‘what is your favorite show you’ve performed at?”

“The VMAs were cool. Or the Bubble Dome. I dunno, as long as the crowds are big they’re always great.” He grins.

“Pulsar, Ciddle asks ‘care to show us what’s behind the mask?”

Pulsar puts a hand up to his mask, holding it down to his cheek. “Yeah, no. Not right now. I wear it for a reason.” He looks away.

“Nova, do you guys plan on doing another make-up collaboration? Asks Lori.”

“I think we’ve got some eyeshadow coming out soon. This is better a question for Pulsar.” Nova sighs.

“Pulsar, Faust asks, if you were a cat, what kind would you be?”

“Orange. Definitely.” Pulsar laughs.

“Nova, ‘Bold move straightening your hair, any reason?”

“It’s a wig. And it differentiates me from the other two.”

“Pulsar- or as ‘Smouul’ calls you ‘Pulss,- insert joy emote- te- tec-ah? Muciss? Teach music? Is that what this says?” The announcer struggles through the question.

“Smoul? I know him… too, like Twine. Ah Smoul! I could teach you music! All you gotta do is ask! But I also offer courses on music too! They should be linked in my Instagram bio!”

“And finally, one more for you Pulsar, from another unnamed fan, ‘Are you going to answer for your growing list of controversies?”

Pulsar frowns. “Hey, I apologized for those. And I promised to do better. That’s all I can do.” He huffs. “Are we done now?”

“Yes, I suppose we are! Thanks for joining us-.” The announcer is cut off as Pulsar gets up and walks off screen.

“Cool, thanks bye!”

The video ends.

~~~

List of things Pulsar has done

Been paid to support NFTS {a lot of other celebrities were doing it at the time! It was a cute picture of a chicken! I didnt know it was evil!}

signed a merch deal with a company that runs a sweatshop to produce the merch {Look- I’ve been over this- I even uploaded an apology video! I didnt do my research and I promise to do better!}

uploaded an apology video {Hey! My fans know that it was an honest mistake! Plus I followed the guide on how to make a good apology video! I even made one of my own guides!}

made a guide on how to make apology videos {Only 50$!}

Doesn’t have a PR Team {My PR team is my best friend, Twine, he’s a Soul like me!}

got scammed by someone in another universe than him {Alice is my friend! And he said he needed the money!}

Almost was convinced to join the Church of Scientology {I was not almost convinced it was for the celebrity gossip! But Paladin said I shouldn’t do it}

is there anything else you’ve done? {not yet- I mean, No!}

~~~

Pictured: (Fake) Tweets talking about the perceived decline of Tridential Sovereignty or #TriSov, and how their original fans dislike the way their music sounds nowadays.

~~~

Pictured: The updated outfits of Comet, Pulsar, and Nova! At this point in their career, the three dont perform together as much as they used to. Before this change, Nova would often pick up DJing Gigs around the world. But, now he performs solo songs that sound like theyre meant for Old Navy Advertisements… theres no Heart and Soul to his music, just the melody and baseline lyrics that will appeal to the widest audience.

~~~

Pictured: Nebula, the Whole. He acts as the manager and agent of Tridential Sovereignty. He isn’t seen much nowadays, some say it’s because he can’t handle what they’ve created. They took over his life. This isn’t what he wanted. This isn’t what we wanted to become. But, it’s much too late now.

~~~

OOC STUFF

ive reached the ten photo limit on mobile and ive got so much written that my tumblr is lagging. Theres still some more long written posts ill add in reblogs and such. Characters mentioned such as Twine, Smoul, Alice and Paladin belong to @disruptivevoib @shxwrunner @socialc1imb @calamarispider @b0vidine

Feel free to send asks about these guys! Or even my scp au!

All art in this post is mine

#chonnys charming chaos compendium #chonny jash #cccc #cj soul #cj heart #cj mind #cccc band au #cccc au #cjverse chatroom #starryart #art #drawing #writing #cj whole #band au #trisov #LONG POST

156 notes · View notes

scummy-writes · 30 days

Text

One More Round

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Keith/Reader

Words: 2326

Tags: Some Size Kink, Creampies, (light) Overstimulation, Oral (reader receiving), Reader has She/her pronouns and vagina

Summary: It's a pleasure between the two of you to spend each night that you can entangled in each other's arms, but it doesn't always end with just one side of him fulfilling his desires.

For @portrait-ninja! Thank you so much for the support!

In the dark of night, pleasure suffused the air in Keith’s bedroom. Labored breaths left your sore lips as one hand twisted the sheets beneath your fingers, the other tangling in Keith’s messy gray curls as his tongue continued its relentless lapping along your lower folds. Each long lick had you squirming, yet Keith gently held your hips down, keeping you firmly in place as he tasted your juices again and again, his mind too enamored with the flavor.

After hours lost in paperwork, helping others, and research that sapped away time, it was difficult hiding the desires ebbing within the two of you day after day. Playing up a false narrative for the sake of unspoken politeness was exhausting. Once confessing that your needs matched his, longing for blissful nights tangled within each other, Keith had been eager to comply and indulge. Now, leaving yourself at the mercy of his wide tongue and skillful hands had become a nightly routine, leaving you breathless and thankful for voicing your desires.

“A-ah!”

Once more, your back arched as he guided you ever closer to your peak, thighs resting on his broad shoulders and trying desperately not to clench against his head. Yet your writhing form didn’t deter Keith. No, it seemed to only spur him on as he switched to suckling gently on your clit again, using his free hand to tease your entrance, testing just how welcoming you were.

You squirmed at the sensation of his thick index finger easing its way inside, exploring your inner walls with a care you rarely gave yourself.

“Mmmore, please-!”

“Patience,” he murmured, kissing your tender bud.

Slowly, he dragged his thick digit out before pushing it back in, beginning a careful rhythm despite your whines for more. It was only when your nails dug into his scalp that he blessed you with another finger, your walls clenching so tightly around him that he groaned.

“Ready?”

You nodded frantically, but Keith stopped his tongue.

“I want to hear you…”

Gentle, always gentle, so much so that it almost sounded like a desperate plea. This man that could easily tower over you was begging between your legs for mere words.

“I want you,” you gasp out, rolling your hips to meet his fingers faster, “please, I'm ready, I can handle it, please-”

The words died on your tongue, transformed into a moan as Keith ramps up the pace of his fingers, pumping them harder at a tempo that has you seeing stars. This time, your legs do clamp onto either side of his head, nudging his nose deeper into your curls as he suckles your clit with a renowned fervor. His mouth stays firmly against your wet sex as you writhe once more. After the slow build up of ecstasy he walked you through, the pleasure makes your head spin as it hits its peak, orgasm causing your legs to shake- yet Keith presses on, lapping up every drop of your essence that you’re willing to part with and gift to his waiting tongue.

Keith only stops when your whines make it through to him, overstimulation of your swollen clit causing tears to prickle at your eyes. His head lifts then, illuminated by the moonlight pouring in from the window.

It gives your bleary eyes a proper view of your lover, half of his form bathed in the pale light, your juices coating his chin. It’s there, in the dead of night, that you feel as though you see the rare beast in his eyes, looking at you with a renewed hunger.

When he blinks, however, his eyes skip away from yours, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Another easily recognizable trait- his shyness, catching up to him. His worry seeping in, noting how embarrassed you could get over how wet you became with him, over your stamina being less than his own.

Sitting up, you coaxed his gaze back to you with your hands on his cheeks, dragging him into another kiss. It’s with that movement that your gentle giant melts back into you, his concerns ebbing away as you pull him back to the bed. With each meeting of your lips, Keith found himself unable to bear the seconds between them, slipping his hand behind your head to keep you in place as he greedily took your breath away.

His other hand easily grasps your leg, pulling your hips flush against his, wordlessly encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist. You eagerly comply, the stretch to accommodate his sturdy frame feeling comforting. The moment your legs lock around him, Keith rolls his hips against yours, his length rubbing between the folds of your pussy. Each rub has the head of his cock brushing against your clit, and a thrill of excitement buzzes through you at the sensation, lips breaking apart from one another as moans slip out unbidden.

It’s moments like these, where you can see the hunger etched across his features, that you’re thankful for your lover and his attentiveness. He knows how to prep you well, how to give so much focus to your pleasure, so that he can enjoy himself to the fullest as well.

“I’m sorry, I won’t be able to hold back-”

“I can take it, I promise.”

He looks apologetic, but his hand still moves between your bodies, guiding the tip of his cock against your opening.

And…Well, you could take it, but your breath always stilled at the sensation, your legs subconsciously tightening around his hips as his engorged head slowly slipped inside of you, the ridge of his dick making your toes curl as it pushed through. Keith, caring Keith, was losing more of his control as he inched his way inside, his brows furrowing together as he groaned.

“Always…So warm for me…”

His name is a keen on your lips, and it spurred him further, his grip firm on your hips as he sinks the rest of his cock inside of you in one movement.

“Gods-” The groan that leaves his lungs does nothing but spike your arousal, and you’re suddenly aware of just how sensitive you still are from earlier. Even with him giving you time to adjust to his girth, shivers of pleasure run over your skin- you’re not going to last long this time.

It goes unnoticed by Keith, who is sliding his cock out just far enough to where his tip still remains inside of you, then snaps his hips back against yours. Crying out wasn’t enough, no, the second he starts up a steady pace, your nails are at his shoulders, etching in the words you can’t speak into his skin.

“Ah, you’re sucking me in- ngh!”

The pain doesn’t deter Keith in the slightest, too enamored with the way your walls coax him further with each powerful thrust, losing himself to the pleasure you’re blessing him with. Now, his hands slide up your thighs, impulse taking over him as he grasps under your knees, pushing until he’s able to comfortably pin you down like this- knees to your chest, as he uses the leverage to fuck deeper into you.

Fuck words, you’re too busy trying not to scream as Keith continues, the intensity of his thrusts causing the bedframe to shake, rattling against the wall and surely leaving scuffs. Biting your lip, knowing how your mewls were slipping out regardless, you tried desperately to grasp onto any bit of him you could, your next orgasm approaching fast with Keith’s nonstop pounding.

It's a wonder you manage to muffle the sounds of pleasure overtaking you. Your legs strain as he continues to hold you in place, pumping himself into you with near reckless abandon.

Keith, sweet Keith, can't help himself. He's so focused on chasing his pleasure, on losing himself to the feel of your pussy begging to squeeze him dry, that he doesn't fully register that you've cumed and that you're being overstimulated further with each thrust he delivers.

Instead, he murmurs your name fervently, mixed with words of love, of encouragement, of “yes”.

When he cums, it's after he pushes himself as far into your depths as he can manage, pouring his love into you with a groan.

He lingers, breath ragged. It seems to take everything inside of him to pull out of your warm cunt, letting your legs finally hit the mattress. You’re so focused on regaining your clarity that you nearly miss the sensation of his cum seeping out of you. Until you catch a view of his face, and how he’s unable to tear his gaze away from the sight.

Keith was restrained in public, and undoubtedly shy, but after sex he wasn’t as demure as he could be. His confidence was secure in the moment, too full of your love to question himself just yet.

So his firm kisses to your jaw, in the warmth provided by the cascading water of the shower the two of you were in, moving to the back of your neck… The crook of your shoulder… They weren’t a shock, but a nice surprise as you let out a pleased sigh, happy to be pampered even more.

However, when teeth came into play- pressed against your skin, nipping enough to leave a mark, that was the first sign you had.

Followed by hands caging you against the shower wall.

No, your timid lover had slipped away again. Lost to another part of his mind, a more impatient one.

His broad chest pressed against your back as he crowded you, the rumble of his low chuckle intoxicating to hear.

“‘Bout time the two of you finished,” his thick length rubbed against your ass as he spoke, excitement causing it to stand erect once more, “are you ready for my turn, little flower?”

Were you?

You didn’t get a chance to speak before he tipped your chin up, leaning over to capture your lips between his. Even though it was the same body stealing kisses, it felt so different from what you had just experienced. Soft lips were rough against your own, demanding your attention with the intensity of each kiss.

It was difficult to break apart, but once he seemed satisfied enough at the taste of you, you managed, “I’m pretty tired, so I won’t last long-”

“Mmm, that’s what the wall is for.”

With a smirk, Keith pinned your hands against the wall in front of you, his hands engulfing yours quite easily. As you readied yourself, head swimming at his tall body flush against yours, you felt the head of his cock rub against your pussy, a breathy laugh slipping out.

“Tired, huh? You’re so wet for me though.”

“Well that’s- mph!”

There was no warning as his length pushed into you, a heady moan escaping you as your inner walls eagerly clenched around him once more.

“Mm, feel that? Feel how your cunt is sucking me in already?”

That tantalizing drawl against your ears alighted your skin once more, but the way the tile walls seemed to carry the sounds had your head spinning. His body still pressed firmly against yours, letting you feel every ridge of his muscles, the way he towered over your figure. You felt so small like this, and Keith knew it.

His hand slipped between your thighs, swiping circles around your swollen nub and chuckling at the way you jolted initially. But the longer he continued, still resting his cock deep inside, you felt that build up of pleasure again, and your legs trembled.

“He really did a number on you this time, huh?” Teeth nibbled at your ear, drawing out whimpers from your sore lips. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep ya steady.”

Finally, his wandering fingers left your clit alone. The small reprieve of delicious torment was pleasant, until his hands moved to your hips, grabbing firmly and keeping your pelvis a step away from the wall.

“Can’t be as nice as he would be, but I’ll make it quick so you can rest,” he murmured, planting a chaste kiss to your shoulder, “tell me if it’s too much.”

At your nod, Keith pulled his hips back to let his cock slide halfway out of you, before driving it back in hard. From that moment, you firmly planted your hands against the wall, a gasp leaving you- until his next thrust was just as powerful, his hips snapping at a pace you weren’t mentally prepared for.

You can’t help it, each time he pounds his cock inside of you, you’re having to lean more of your weight against the wall to keep some lucidity, but the tiles betray you again. Each slap of wet skin seems to reverberate due to the walls, your own lewd mewls and groans echoing in your head, aiding in the bliss overwhelming your body. If it wasn’t for Keith keeping your lower half steady, your trembling legs wouldn’t be able to keep you standing.

“A-ah, you’re clampin’ down real tight. Wanna milk me for all I’m worth, huh?” With his breathy words, Keith begins to trade the speed of his thrusts for depth, slowing down to make each pump of his cock hard enough to shake you, “just a little longer, flower, I’ll give it to ya.”

Another snap of his hips, and you're curling your toes, crying out as he keeps pushing past your own orgasm. And each rough thrust after that, he’s murmuring encouragement to you, commending you for continuing to take him again and again, until finally with one last thrust, his warm seed spills inside of you, taking both of your breath away.

Just as before, he lingers, but remains lucid enough to continue his exhausted praise, peppering it across your shoulders and neck.

And just as before, when he finally pulls his girth out of your tired pussy, you can feel the remnants of your night together, dripping out once more.

As said before, this is a fanfic for @portrait-ninja. She requested what to be included, as well as reviewed it to make sure it was to her liking. I do not want to hear any critisms, as this was completely written for her.

I am happy to have an actual Keith fanfic out now!! I feel guilty, I really do enjoy Keith, but my other favorites occupy my brain and inspo a lot more. This may be because I am always satisfied with the Keef-tent (keith content) that I run into? They've explored everything I wanted to do with him and more, haha!

This was a fun piece to write! I hope everyone enjoys it, thank you for reading!

Taglist (Sign-up form here!): @m-mmiy @ridiculouslly-ridiculous @xbalayage @bubblexly @queengiuliettafirstlady @yarnnerdally @keithsandwich @nightghoul381 @skoetiepoetie @katriniac @redsky-morning (wahh it won't let me tag you!)

Ikepri Masterlist || Ikevamp Masterlist || Ikevamp/Ikepri Server

divider @/saradika-graphics

#ikepri #ikemen prince #ikepri keith #ikemen prince keith #ikepri keith howell #ikemen prince keith howell

153 notes · View notes

sayruq · 3 months

Text

Half of U.S. adults say Israel’s 15-week-old military campaign in Gaza has “gone too far,” a finding driven mainly by growing disapproval among Republicans and political independents, according to a new poll from The Associated Press-NORC Center for Public Affairs Research. Broadly, the poll shows support for Israel and the Biden administration’s handling of the situation ebbing slightly further across the board. The poll shows 31% of U.S. adults approve of Biden’s handling of the conflict, including just 46% of Democrats. That’s as an earlier spike in support for Israel following the Hamas attacks Oct. 7 sags.

#yemen #jerusalem #tel aviv #current events #palestine #free palestine #gaza #free gaza #news on gaza #palestine news #news update #war news #war on gaza #genocide joe #genocide #gaza genocide #joe biden

174 notes · View notes

tennessoui · 2 months

Note

Hey I hope you're having a good day! I'm sure you've already got a handful of prompts but how about *shakes magic 8-ball* number 17, meeting at a party whilst drunk au!

hello thank you for sending this in!! i'm still working down my list of prompts, and this one is: meeting at a party whilst drunk

i took some liberties with the prompt here though, so really this is meeting (again after a long time) at a party whilst drunk

(2.8k) (gffa, anakin leaves the order after the war au)

Usually, Obi-Wan is better about this sort of thing. It is, after all, a matter of utmost importance. It’s a matter of survival.

Usually, when he receives an invitation to an event, he does not commit himself to going until he can complete some reconnaissance about the other guests invited. Until he knows beyond a reasonable doubt that Anakin Skywalker, ex-Jedi and current husband to Senator Amidala, will not be in attendance.

It is much better this way. For everyone involved, really, but especially for Obi-Wan and his poor fool’s heart. It is much better if they keep an entire planet between themselves these days—preferably multiple planets. Preferably half a galaxy.

But this is a retirement party for Bail, and Obi-Wan cannot miss it. His old friend deserves better than that, better than Obi-Wan’s cowardice getting in the way of a celebration of his decades-long career in the Senate.

So he accepts the invitation without researching the guest list. He thinks—he hopes—that in the past nine years, Anakin Skywalker’s intense dislike of Bail Organa has not waned. Anakin, when Obi-Wan knew him, when he was Obi-Wan’s—Obi-Wan’s padawan—had a tendency to make a snap judgement about someone and never change his opinion.

His hatred had been like an impenetrable wall, unchanging and immovable.

His love had ebbed and flowed, drowned out by his anger or his irritation, coming in great waves when he was in a fine mood and resembling a desert’s drought when he was upset.

But his hatred had always been unshakable once assigned. The very first time Obi-Wan saw it in Anakin’s eyes when he looked at him, a year after he left the Order and the last time they'd seen each other, he’d known for a fact that he’d lost him. That the love had dried up and gone and that it would never return. It’d felt like watching Anakin leave the Temple all over again, like a hand clenched around his heart squeezing and squeezing and squeezing.

So he hopes that Anakin has chosen not to attend Bail’s retirement party. Oh, he knows that Anakin’s wife is here, and he has already downed two flutes of sparkling wine to prepare himself for the sight of her looking resplendent across the ballroom, but he hopes that Anakin has chosen to stay home instead of wasting an evening fawning over a man he never liked in the first place.

Besides, someone should look after the children. They’re nine now, Obi-Wan knows. If they are anything like Anakin was at that age, they must need constant supervision. And he has already seen Senator Amidala once tonight from afar, knows that she is here amongst the party-goers.

He tightens his grip on his fourth flute of wine and turns his attention back to his conversation partner.

It is rather rude to be so preoccupied in the midst of a conversation with another, but Obi-Wan is an old man now and a war hero. He’s allowed to get away with much more these days than he could in the past.

“Yes, I admit the Jedi Order still has far to go in order to rebuild itself,” he says, mind torn between the small talk and the drink in his hand. These sorts of conversations are easy to have. Yes, the war took a lot out of the Jedi Order. Yes, we are still working through the damages and the trauma. Yes, it’s been ten years since, but sometimes it feels as if it was only yesterday. Yes, sometimes it feels as if I am still fighting.

And then—

Then the woman he is talking to grows bold. She rests her hand on his forearm, the one that is holding the flute of wine, and steps closer.

And in the Force, there is a rumbling of pure, visceral hatred, the sort Obi-Wan has only ever felt in the air a few times.

The sort that is achingly, distressingly familiar.

He turns his head, even though he knows he should not look. He knows looking will take him out at the knees. He knows he may never recover if he looks.

He turns his head and he looks anyway. There, across the room, standing to the left of a load bearing pillar is the drawn and furious face of Anakin Skywalker, ex-Jedi, ex-padawan.

Obi-Wan’s first thought is that he looks older, though he realizes a moment later how absolutely inane that is. Of course he looks older. It has been nine years since he really talked to him, eight years since he last saw him, and he has tried to avoid any news or photos about the man at all. In his mind, he is still as he was in those days and months following the end of the war. But logically, he knows that the time has passed, that not even the Chosen One is immune to aging.

Anakin’s hair is streaked with shoots of silver. It’s short now, cropped close to his head though still curling as much as he lets it. His face is worn, wrinkled in different, unfamiliar places. He is wearing finery befitting that of a senator’s husband, the color of a midnight sky.

It is strangely comforting to see him dressed in the same colors he has worn since he was a youngling in Obi-Wan’s care. If he were wearing white or, or green or pink, then Obi-Wan isn’t sure he’d be able to recognize him at all.

“Are you quite alright, Master Kenobi?” the woman asks, words filtering in through the static noise in Obi-Wan’s head.

No. Of course he is not alright.

Yes. He is better than alright. He feels as if his head has broken the surface of the water he’s been trapped under for the past nine years. He feels as if the sight of Anakin Skywalker is a sip of water when he’s on the brink of dehydration.

“You know actually I am not sure,” he tells her, which is overly personal and not at all what he’d meant to say. But that is what the sight of Anakin Skywalker does these days. It throws him off, makes him loose-tongued and off-centered.

Fuck, he thinks once, viciously.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he tells her, carefully separating himself from her touch and taking a step away. She looks disappointed almost immediately, and Obi-Wan should care about the image he’s making, how impolite he is being, but he has bigger concerns right now.

Anakin Skywalker is here.

“Enjoy your evening,” he adds as he raises his flute of wine to his lips and drains it in one go. “Unfortunately, I’m going to go get incredibly drunk.”

“Uh,” the woman says, but Obi-Wan is already gone. He can’t—he can’t stay. Not in this room, not under the weight of Anakin Skywalker’s stare.

Thank the Force he started the night by giving his congratulations and warm regard to Bail. If things turn sour, he’ll be able to slip away with only minimal rudeness.

And, if he’s being quite honest, things have already soured beyond the point of salvation.

But instead of leaving—instead of slipping out the room and running back to the Temple, tail between his legs, he stays. Inexplicably, he grabs another flute of wine from a passing server and retreats to a balcony.

Fresh air will sober him up, he thinks, even as he downs half the flute.

He should leave, he thinks, even as he stays.

He should leave—but he cannot bring himself to. Anakin is here and it’s Obi-Wan’s worst nightmare and it’s the only thing he’s desired for the past nine years.

Barely a minute passes before the balcony door opens behind him. Obi-Wan keeps his eyes pinned to the city-scape around them.

“Occupied,” he says, even though he knows who it is. Even though he knows the word is useless. Anakin will not leave until he wants to.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin says. Just his name, just three syllables.

Obi-Wan downs the rest of the flute. “Anakin,” he says, closing his eyes for a moment to gather himself before he turns to look at him.

Oh, he wishes he could blame the alcohol for how beautiful he finds him, but he knows that’s just some dark and twisted part of himself, some sinful and perverted aspect of his soul he has never been able to scrub clean.

“How are you?” He says, because he cannot let Anakin speak first. If he lets Anakin speak first, there will be a diplomatic incident, surely. If he lets Anakin speak first, Anakin will control the conversation—Anakin will tear through all of his shields and land on his sorest, most vulnerable spots. “How are the children?” “Do you even know their names?” Anakin spits back, eyebrows drawn dark and heavy over his expression. His face is flushed. He must have been drinking as well. “How old they are? Do not ask after my children as if you care about them at all, Obi-Wan—I know you don’t!”

“Luke,” Obi-Wan says. “Leia.”

Oh, he wishes Anakin were right. He wishes he didn’t know a damn thing about them, about him, about the life he lives now. One completely separate and void of Obi-Wan.

Anakin probably does not notice his absence. After all, he has a wife, two children. A part-time job, if Bail can be believed. He wonders if he still meditates facing the wrong way, back to the sun, and suddenly his heart feels so tight he can hardly breathe through the pain.

Anakin sneers. “Whatever,” he says and reaches into the folds of his robes to pull out a silver flask. He raises it to his lips and takes a swig, rubbing a hand over his mouth when he’s done, capping it and sliding back into his robes.

It is the alcohol that loosens his tongue, Obi-Wan knows it. Obi-Wan understands that he has had too much to drink tonight to be standing before Anakin Skywalker now, that anything that comes out of his mouth will be something he regrets in the morning.

But does it really matter? How could it matter? Anakin Skywalker was his whole life for a decade and a few years, and then he left. And now a decade has passed. In five years, he will have spent longer missing him than he spent loving him. What does a few words matter now?

Obi-Wan has already lost everything. He is already made of regret.

“I don’t know why you insist on acting so hatefully,” he says. “You left.”

He means, of course, that if anyone should hate anyone here, it is Obi-Wan’s right to hate Anakin.

Impossible, as it were, but his right. Anakin left.

Obi-Wan asked him to stay.

“You kissed me,” Anakin spits back.

And yes, alright. He kissed him as well.

His fingers itch for another flute of wine. Perhaps a swallow of the flask in Anakin’s robes. Anything. Anything to dull the white-hot ache of this conversation. Anything to escape these consequences.

“Nine years ago,” he says, quietly. “It’s been nine years, Anakin.”

Let it go.

He hadn’t—he really hadn’t meant to kiss him. It had been—a foolish mistake, something that had happened late at night, a few months after the end of the war, and they had been in Obi-Wan’s quarters, drinking and talking and Anakin had said something about leaving the Order, and Obi-Wan had said something about him staying, and Anakin had said, Padmé is pregnant, and Obi-Wan—Obi-Wan had kissed him.

A foolish mistake, made only survivable by the way that, for a handful of precious seconds, Anakin had kissed him back.

Before the yelling, the hatred, the anger. The leaving. Before all of that, Anakin had kissed him back.

“I have already apologized, Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispers, exhausted, and his eyes cut away from Anakin, turn back to the city. “I have thought of that moment countless times–-and I cannot begin to explain what came over me, what I was thinking at the time.”

He just—he hadn’t wanted Anakin to leave. Had thought that perhaps if he could—if he could give Anakin himself in all the ways one person could devote themselves to another, then maybe it would be enough. Maybe he would stay.

A foolish hope, one that Obi-Wan should have known better than to entertain even for a moment.

“I have thought of it too,” Anakin says. He clears his throat. He lurches forward, unsteady on his feet. His hand comes into contact with Obi-Wan’s arm, glove on sleeve. Thank the Force for the layers still in between them.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan murmurs, and the truth is that he means it as much as he does not. He is sorry for taking the brotherhood and friendship between them and shattering it. He is sorry that he kissed Anakin, that he hastened his leave.

But he is not sorry for knowing how his lips felt against his own. How he tasted.

Obi-Wan is a lonely old man, despite the family he has surrounded himself with at the Temple. Despite his new padawan that he has been training for the past eight years. Despite the trips he takes to see his retired men, Cody and the 212th scattered across the galaxy. Despite all the ways he fills his days, all the people he meets and talks to and trains with, he is still lonely. There is still a hole in his heart, a space that Anakin used to occupy.

“I have thought of it every day since,” Anakin says, repeating himself in that way drunkards do when they have forgotten they already started the same sentence a moment before.

“I’m—”

“It has haunted me,” Anakin says. His voice is sharp and angry and Obi-Wan wants to close his eyes and shy away from it. Obi-Wan, who has faced down Separatists and sith lords and blaster fire, wants to turn tail and hide. Retreat. Retreat.

Anakin’s voice turns—darker, wilder. His hand tightens and he tugs, just hard enough that it overbalances Obi-Wan. “I am haunted by the kiss you never should have given me.”

“Had I known you were married, I never would have—”

“You ruined it,” Anakin snaps. “You ruined my marriage!”

“I…” Obi-Wan’s throat clicks, words drying out. “What?”

“We filed for separation months ago,” Anakin says. His eyes are dark; he is holding his arm so tightly that it hurts. “Joint custody of the children, but a formal divorce. Amicable.”

Obi-Wan…Obi-Wan doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know if he can speak at all.

“It wouldn’t have been amicable if she knew though,” Anakin says. He takes a step forward. Obi-Wan gives ground. He does not know how else to fight Anakin. “If she knew what I thought about when I retreated from her touch. If she knew what—who—drove me from our bed every night to walk through our house like a ghost wandering the halls.”

“If your marriage ended over a kiss I gave you nine years ago, then it is hardly my fault,” Obi-Wan says, putting his hand on Anakin’s chest to keep distance between them. When did they become so close? This is much too close. Obi-Wan can smell Anakin’s soap, his sweat. The alcohol on his breath.

“But it is,” Anakin insists, unable still it seems to take his share of the blame and make his peace with it. “It is, because I spent half my life in love with you, then I finally commit to someone else—allow myself to look and love and appreciate someone else’s beauty—and then you kiss me, as if I have not already sworn loyalty to another! As if I could be yours to kiss! As if I still was!”

Obi-Wan shakes his head, unable to do more. “It was a kiss, Anakin, it was—I assure you, I am not such a good kisser that I can be blamed for your failed marriage when it was nine years ago!”

“Then you do not remember it as well as I do,” Anakin murmurs, and now—now the rage has turned darker, heady. His eyes catch and hold onto Obi-Wan’s lips. His eyes are more black than blue. His face is flushed. He is—so handsome. So beautiful still, after all of these years. “Let me refresh your memory,” he says, and Obi-Wan—

Obi-Wan is weak when it comes to Anakin. He always has been. He is so weak. And he needs—he needs so much. He makes a sound, something embarrassingly small and desperate, and then Anakin is kissing him and it feels like being sliced open and like coming home, all at the same time.

Like how it felt when he returned to the quarters he shared with Qui-Gon after his master had died—a homecoming, but at what cost? A death and a birth, all at the same time. He had lingered in the doorway that first time, unable to push himself across and into quarters that felt both strange and familiar.

It had been Anakin, a small boy still, who had grabbed him by the hand and pulled him inside.

Still now, even all these years later, Obi-Wan closes his eyes and allows himself to follow Anakin’s lead.

#asks #prompt fill #obikin #angstyyyyy #in my mind they kissed nine years ago and anakin left the order like basically the next day #and then they saw each other rouhgly a year later #and it was tense but not like quite so hatefilled #and then anakin finds out obi-wan got a new padawan and that steps on like ten thousand issues #aided by the distance theyre both trying to put between them then #and so anakin falls back on hatred and obi-wan falls back on trying his best to ignore the problem #by ignoring anakin #because after all #anakin left. obi-wan asked him to stay. and anakin made his decision #obi-wan is just respecting it

107 notes · View notes

letsquestjess · 8 months

Text

My Symphony - Part 1 (Tech x GN!Reader)

Summary: After Tech hears you playing music, he can't help but listen, slowly falling for the musician tugging on his heartstrings.

Word count: 2.7K

Warnings: Putting an 18+ / MDNI on this one since there is a slightly heated bit in the middle. Mentions of injury and death. Set pre-order 66.

A/N: This one has been quite long in the making but I finally got it finished. Enjoy!

Part 2

-- -- -- -- --

Mumbling quietly to himself as he reviewed his daily schedule, Tech made his way down the blinding white corridor, scratching absently at the itch on his chin. His brothers had already fallen behind on their duties, so he reorganised the items to accommodate any contingencies.

Wrecker usually spends an extra twenty minutes in the mess hall around this time of week, he contemplated, analysing the pattern of delays from previous weeks. And Crosshair and Hunter are still occupied by their disagreement over the bunk situation. Deep ridges settled between his brows and he clicked his tongue.

The end room emitted a delicate melody, tender notes muffled by the room’s sound insulation. He paused by the partially open door and stole a glimpse of what was inside. Rooms in this section of the city were mostly abandoned, but a staff member sat at the Pantoran spinet, pressing at the instrument and mollifying a lullaby in a tempered arrangement of tones and pitches.

Music ebbed and flowed in perfect rhythm, and Tech lowered his datapad. As you focused your attention on creating that blissful sound, your eyes danced from key to key, and a serene smile formed on your lips. Mellow harmonies merged to create a soothing theme that eased his worries and allayed his brilliant, yet always racing, mind.

A set of footsteps approached, and springing into motion, he darted away from the soft sounds and headed for the simulation centre to wait for his brothers.

But the harmony never left him. In the weeks that followed, he still felt the vibrations in his chest and often found himself humming your tune as he tinkered with his latest project. Your music had built a home in his mind, haunting him in the most welcomed way possible, and he purposely began taking the same route to linger outside whenever you played. At first, he wondered if the instrument’s frequency had hypnotic qualities, but after conducting some thorough research into the matter, he concluded that it simply had a pacifying effect on him.

Finding some free time after lunch, he made his usual trek to the training facility and slowed at the euphoric vibration filling the vacant corridor. Rather than checking through the door as he normally did, he opted to sit on the floor outside and let the music wash over him, eyes fluttering shut as he tilted his head against the wall. Every shift and lull caressed him, whispering sweet words and-

“Tech?”

He bolted upright as soon as he saw Hunter looming over him with folded arms and a lifted eyebrow.

“What are you doing?” his brother asked, amused.

“I was… I was merely…” Tech prepared to fire his excuses, but the rich melody behind him continued to play, continued to turn every rational thought to mush. As it stopped and the door slid open, he was saved from one embarrassing situation and launched into another, whirling round and coming face to face with the musician he’d been admiring for weeks. He shoved his goggles up to the bridge of his nose and cleared his throat.

You smiled apologetically at the two clones and scanned the deserted corridor outside. “I wasn’t playing too loud, was I? Didn’t think many people came this way.”

“No, of course not, we were…” Seeking to ignore the knowing smirk his brother aimed at him, Tech stood up straight. “I overheard you several weeks ago. You are exceptionally skilled.”

A breath snagged at the compliment, and ignoring the flush of heat rising, you stepped aside, inviting them into the hushed hum. “If you have some time, you’re both more than welcome to come in and listen.”

“I have places to be,” Hunter stated, “but I’m sure Tech would love to take you up on that offer.”

The clone in question nodded, his jaw clenching against the urge to reprimand his brother for his behaviour. He made a mental note to have a stern conversation with him about it later.

As Hunter strolled away with a tickled grin plastered on his face, you prompted Tech into the room and encouraged him towards the array of chairs. Introducing yourself, you slid onto the cushioned bench behind the spinet. “I didn’t realise anybody came here anymore,” you said. “I thought this part of the city was mostly used for storage.”

“It is, but I discovered a route that gets me to the training facility three minutes quicker,” Tech replied.

“And it leads you right past here?”

“Precisely.” He chose the seat closest to you and scanned over the assortment of badges on your left sleeve. “You work in the data department.”

“Mostly archives,” you sighed, arranging the sheet music and selecting one from the middle. “It can get pretty boring in there but occasionally something interesting shows up.”

With a slight shrug, you began to play, hands floating up and down, and back again to inspire the instrument to sing. The song started peacefully, affectionately, like a friendly explorer coaxing a frightened animal out of hiding. An impassioned lilt of treble notes soared and Tech hung onto every alteration in sound, eyebrows lifting of their own volition as though to follow the stirring rise.

You suppressed a grin at the reverie in his gaze. It had been a while since you’d had an audience, and never one as enraptured as this.

* * *

After your initial meeting, Tech became a regular visitor, often finding reasons to stop by and listen while you played. He conducted his research while in your melodious company, and you quickly found a sense of ease in his presence, admiring his directness and his curiosity.

“Would you like to sit with me?” you asked one rainy afternoon, the elements battering on the ceiling. His eyes flicked up from his datapad and the amber speckles glistened at the proposition.

“I assumed you would need adequate space in order to play comfortably,” he said.

“There’s plenty of room for you, me and the music,” you jested, tapping the vacant spot next to you on the bench.

He approached with a hint of hesitation, but seeing that you could still perform unhindered by his closeness, he relaxed and observed in fascination. Up close, he distinguished each keystroke and the length of the notes as you held them in place, assisting them to shine just a little longer. He was accustomed to the cacophony of war, to blaster fire and the shrieks of the fleeing and dying, but your music sounded like pure starlight and the notion warmed him.

“If you want, I can teach you a few basics,” you said, pausing your pleasing tune. He responded with a keen nod, and you helped him position his gloved digits over the lower level of keys, encouraging him to apply a gentle pressure. “Now, go up a set. That’s it. And up again.” Step by step, you instructed him from one end of the spinet to the other in a series of precise scales and the odd false note. “Okay, keep that going.”

A graceful composition sparked from your fingertips as they glided effortlessly across the top level to harmonise with his rhythm. Concentration occupied his expression, but you picked up on the hint of a grin at your united effort.

As you finished your song on the lower set of keys, his thumb grazed yours, light and controlled. No longer focused on the music, his reverent gaze fixed onto you.

Instinct drove his movements, shaky hands abandoning the musical instrument to find the curve of your waist and cradle your cheek. Seconds ticked by endlessly in a palpable silence. As though a switch had flipped, he abruptly retreated. Alarmed, his demeanour coiled in on itself and his leg bounced.

“I apologise, I am not sure what came over me,” he said, embarrassment blossoming pink on the tips of his ears.

“It’s okay, Tech.” You guided him to your waist and your cheek again, and he melted into your touch. “I’ve been thinking the same. Wanting the same.” His guard slowly eased, but you sensed the vulnerability in his movement. “You can tell me what you want.” Noting him struggling to form a sound, you leaned a little closer to whisper in his ear, “Or you could show me if that’s easier.”

An endearing furrow scrunched at his eyebrows, and you almost saw the thoughts circulating, calculating his next step. He gradually raised his eyes and held them steady, determined not to look away this time. The scent of standard issue shampoo welcomed you into his space and you set a tender kiss on his cheek, letting him adapt to the experience. Like a tightly wound coil snapping, he was on you.

Hesitancy vanished as he surrendered wholeheartedly to his desire to feel you. Eyes squeezed shut, he studied every fluctuation of your lips as though it was his only purpose, to chart the gradual developments, the tender, the passionate, the clambering, urgent need to be part of each other.

The datapad on the sheet music stand beeped and Tech detangled himself from your comforting embrace with a grumble, shooting the infernal device a cursory glance. “A briefing has been called.”

From the way he pursed his lips, you gathered he wasn’t thrilled about going, but you didn’t want to risk him getting into trouble. Certainly not on your behalf. “Go,” you told him. “I will meet you here after dinner. Might even play you some more songs, if you’re lucky.”

“Already am lucky,” he said in his love-drunk haze, squeezing you close to him and only releasing his grip once you insisted he get going. Gathering his belongings, he gave you one last kiss and headed out into the silent corridor.

Tech didn’t meet you after dinner. You paced between the instruments and listened to the persistent click of your steps until exhaustion finally led you to your quarters. After sending him a quick message, you tried to settle down for the night, but the quiet was deafening and sleep only came when you were too drained to do anything but rest.

You woke with a start to the sound of your shrieking alarm, and your heart raced as you fumbled for your datapad, searching for any messages. Inbox empty, you got yourself up and prepared for the day ahead.

The weeks seemed to blend together in a monotonous blur of loneliness and worry until you received news of Clone Force 99’s disappearance during a covert mission. Upon discovering the reports, you made a beeline for the music room and settled at the spinet in silence. Unable to touch a single key, to hear a note without your fear boiling over, you clamped a hand over your mouth and bawled. Your tears dribbled through your fingers and onto the old instrument, salty droplets mixing with the dust on the peeling redwood.

After a while, it all became a distant memory, and you stopped visiting altogether. The kiss was vivid in your mind, and you couldn’t help but think about what might have been if you had asked him to stay with you. But wondering about it now would accomplish nothing. What was done was done, and all you could do was wait.

Bleary-eyed and still half-asleep after another restless night, you traipsed towards the archives and passed a group of clones congregated outside the mess hall, deep in discussion.

“Yeah, it was definitely Clone Force 99,” a clone said to his brothers. “By the sounds of it, they almost got caught by Seppies. Nasty stuff. Couple were brought back on stretchers. Don’t think they’ll be out of the med bay soon.”

Your thumping heart drowned out the rest. Everything you had endured over the past month shattered, crashed, burned, hurt more than you could handle, and you hurried along inconspicuously.

It couldn’t be true. Tipoca city was always abuzz with rumours, and this was merely another. But in the recesses of your mind, in the house of all your dread, you saw Tech lying lifeless on a stretcher, transported home through blankets of rain and howling winds.

You took a diligent breath and straightened your clothes, forcing yourself to slow your flurried steps as you made your way to the medical facility. Beyond the doors, the clone on duty signalled for you to retreat.

“We have active surgeries going on here,” he said. “Unless you’re hurt or there is an emergency, I can’t help.”

“No, I…” You could tell he wasn’t going to let you see Tech, and you glimpsed the badges on your sleeve reflecting in the mirror behind his desk. “I work with data management,” you told the medic. “There were some reports about Clone Force 99, but they were scrambled. I was sent to talk to one of them to clarify a few things.”

“Afraid not,” the clone replied. “Two are in surgery and the other two are getting checked over. I’ll send someone to your department as soon as I can.”

You refrained from asking for more information about who was in the operating theatre. Instead, you nodded your thanks and departed to the one place you knew held some solace. Darkness hid the instruments and the benches until you switched the lights on. It seemed odd returning after weeks of avoiding it.

The spinet, untouched since you’d last played it, beckoned you, promised sanctuary and shelter from your pain. As you wriggled to get relaxed on the bench, the smooth discoloured keys tickled your fingertips, cold and forgotten.

You ran through the practice scales and drove headstrong into the melody that had been haunting you: the tune you’d played almost six months ago when you had found Tech in the hallway and invited him in. Fateful notes mounted and swelled like a gushing river, tearing out of you to expand in the current of song placed earnestly by your hands. Every atom of your soul poured into the music as you rocked forward and your fingers ached from the obstinate pressure.

“If you keep pressing the keys in that manner, it will wear them down considerably.”

Abruptly halting mid-press, the reverberations deteriorated, and you shot from your seat. Tech’s weary eyes met yours as he braced himself on the door frame. The blotchy red and violet smudges beneath his lower lashes crinkled, and he grappled to keep himself upright.

Without a word, you offered him your arms to lean on and he stumbled into you. You noted the bruises and cuts, the bandage wrapped around his bicep, and the way he limped and leaned to the left.

In measured movements, you eased him onto the bench and let out a surprised yelp when he tugged you down. “You had me worried,” you said, mindful of his injuries as you nestled into his lap. “I thought… I didn’t know if…”

Nose nuzzling your neck and arms caging you closer, he gave you a murmured, “I’m sorry.”

Those whispered words wrenched at your heart and you shook your head at him. “Don’t apologise. It wasn’t your fault, and I am just glad you’re okay.” His usually bright eyes stared at you sluggishly and you traced your thumbs along his unscathed jawline. “Are your brothers all right? When I went to the med bay, the medic told me two were in surgery.”

“Hunter sustained multiple shots to the chest and Wrecker got caught in an explosion,” Tech explained. “I have been assured that they will both recover, but it is going to be a slow process.”

“And Crosshair?”

“Minor injuries like mine.”

You wanted to ask more, but all you could think about was his body close to yours, alive and warm. The two of you were together, and that was all that mattered. “You should have gone to your barracks and got some rest.”

“I did not know what to do,” he said, so small and fragile, and unlike him it plucked at your composure. “The medics would not let me stay once they were certain I would be all right, so I came here.” The corners of his lips rose gingerly in a tired but determined smile to be brave for you. “I came here to my symphony.”

As you shifted cautiously and sat down next to him on the bench, you gently guided him to lie down and rest his head in your lap. He adjusted his position until he found a comfortable spot and his breathing evened out.

“Perhaps this will help,” you said, playing a slow lullaby. Sweet notes drifting between you both, you stroked your hand through his hair to soothe him with your touch and the music you hoped would bring him some peace.

TAGLIST (Message if you’d like to be added, 18+ only)

@freesia-writes @the-hexfiles @theeyesofasoldier @savebytheodoresnonjosestuff @skellymom

181 notes · View notes

quill-pen · 11 months

Text

SOOOOO.....

I JUST GOT THE IDEA THAT EBENEZER SLIPS INTO A DIFFERENT DIALECT WHEN HE GETS REALLY HEATED AND POSSESSIVE AND IT'S JUST ABOUT THE SEXIEST THING I'VE EVER IMAGINED WITH HIM--HELP ME.

#i definitely see it as the dialect he would have picked up while spending so much time in Cumbria growing up #time to do some research!#this was just supposed to be a fun sexy little headcanon thing #and like always it's been blown way out of proportion!#😫😫😫#scrooge 2022 #netflix scrooge #ebenezer scrooge #scrooge a christmas carol #scrooge #fanfiction #scrooge x oc #ebenezer x bess #ebeness #bess scrooge

15 notes · View notes

brave-and-gentle · 17 days

Text

Girl dad!Jean Kirstein - Happy Birthday Edition

In celebration of our man's birthday!

Pairings: Jean x afab! reader

Summary: Modern AU - You find out that you and Jean are unexpectedly going to be parents, and the baby is due on Jean's birthday.

Warnings: None, this is a continuation of super wholesome girl dad Jean

EB's Notes: I wish I could've fully fleshed this out, but alas, I'm working on two fics so a bulleted list is the best I can give rn <3 also I don't know what it's like to be pregnant or give birth so?? I did my best?? Plz enjoy and celebrate our Jean boy!

It's September when you find out that you're pregnant. One missed period isn't a big deal, but two? That plus how your stomach swirls every morning. You can't keep anything down until mid-afternoon. You silently blame the Fourth of July rager Eren threw every year. You and Jean had never been the patriotic type, but you two enjoyed the party (maybe a little too much thanks to Connie handing you drinks all night) and got a little careless after the night's festivities.

One night when Jean comes home from work, you decide to tell him. “Um, Jean?” Lacking words, you hold out the pregnancy test. Your hands shake. You had talked about having kids together, but it was always some distant future, certainly not now. He takes the stick and stares at it for what seems like forever. You wonder if you have to explain to him that it's a pregnancy test – is he really that dense? But then he looks up, hazel eyes glowing in the sunset streaking through the windows, and wraps you in his arms. “It's going to be okay, no matter what we do,” he whispers and kisses the top of your head. “I know it's not great timing and I'm not sure I'll ever really feel ready,” you begin, voice trembling, “but I think I want this. A baby. With you.” Jean leans down to press his forehead to yours. “Then I think we're going to have an adventure,” he grins.

Jean is overjoyed when you two find out that the baby is due in early April. “Do you think they'll be born on my birthday?” He asks, excitement rippling through his six-foot-two frame as he stares at the sonogram. You roll your eyes. “I didn't realize you could tolerate sharing a birthday with anyone.” Jean made a big deal about his birthday every year – mostly because he wanted to see what you would come up with for him. “Anything for our little one,” he affirms and caresses your slight bump.

Jean is the perfect partner to have a baby with – almost too perfect. It's almost irritating how much he dotes on you, but you remind yourself that he's doting on the baby too - “Baby K” or “little one,” he calls them interchangeably. He supplies you with all kinds of ginger snacks for morning sickness, researches all the baby stuff you'll need, asks a million questions at every appointment, gives you a massage every night, and takes over the majority of the household chores. Connie and Sasha tease that they never see him anymore because he's “whipped for two.”

You start to feel contractions on the evening of April 6th. Frantic, Jean calls the doctor, who says to wait until they're closer together. Neither of you fall asleep that night – you simply lie in bed, counting the minutes between contractions together. In the wee hours of April 7th, you decide it's time. Jean carries you to the car, packs the hospital bag, and hyperventilates all the way there. “For god's sake Jean, we're not even there yet!”

For all his hyperventilating in the car, Jean manages to calm down once your contractions and labor pains ramp up. It's pain unlike anything you've ever experienced – like someone is twisting all your organs together and rearranging them. All modesty is out the window. With so much sweat sliding down your body, you throw off the hospital gown and are stark naked in front of Jean and the nurses. Jean holds you hand the entire time and rubs your sweat-slicked back as you contort yourself into any position that will get the baby out as fast as possible. “C'mon baby, you're doing great! Almost there, almost there!” He encourages with confidence, but his face is as pale as the hospital bed sheets. You know Jean well enough to know that on the inside, he's border line having a panic attack.

You let out one final scream, one final push, and ear-piercing cries fill the room. “You have a baby girl!” The nurse announces and places your daughter on your chest. She's covered in all kinds of fluid and is screaming so loud your ears ache, but you don't care. You cradle her in awe that she's this little combination of you and Jean that will someday grow into her own. Jean pulls closer and wraps his arm around you and places his hand on your daughter's back. His entire hand is almost bigger than her. “She's so small,” he whispers. His earthy hazel eyes begin misting.

When Jean holds his daughter for the first time, his misty eyes give way to a rainstorm. “I can't believe we have a daughter – we made an entire human,” he blubbers and snuggles her close. “Don't forget who did most of the work,” you groan and roll over on your side to watch the two loves of your life. Jean lowers your daughter from his chest to gaze down at her. His eyes light up. “Hey babe, look, I think she's got my face!” You laugh because sure enough, she does have a longer face than most babies you've seen.

When the nurse takes your daughter to get cleaned up, Jean nibbles your ear. Heat flushes your face. “So when do you think we can -” You bat him away. “Don't even think about, Kirstein.” “C'mon babe, I'm starved!” He pleads. “NO. You don't even want to see my pussy right now, it's wrecked.” Jean crosses his arms. “I'll have you know that I saw everything, probably more than you did, and I still want your pussy. But alright alright, maybe in a month or so. Maybe we could make another one. . .” He trails off and grins. You widen your eyes. “If she's got your attitude? We stop with her,” you counter. “But,” Jean says, “if she's like you? We should have three more.” You groan and throw a pillow at him.

A few hours later, Connie, Sasha, and Marco come parading in with chocolate cupcakes. “When I asked Nicolo to make cupcakes for your birthday, I didn't realize there would be two birthdays,” Sasha laughs and hands a cupcake to Jean, who wolfs it down in one hand while cradling your daughter in the other. “More importantly,” Marco says and hands you a cupcake, “congratulations. I'm glad everything went well.” You grin and take the cupcake. “Thanks Marco.” Jean grabs another cupcake and holds it in the air. “To you,” he says your name, “for giving me the best birthday present I could've ever asked for.” Tears shimmer in his eyes again. Your heart blossoms at the sight of your best friends all here for you. “Who knew Jean boy was such a cry baby,” Connie mutters and munches on his cupcake. “Ouch!” He cries as Sasha hits him on the head. “Happy birthday Jean,” you laugh and roll your eyes because you know for the rest of your life, he's going to be insufferable about how great it is to share a birthday with his daughter. “You're never getting one like this again.”

39 notes · View notes