fatalthrill



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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    Ghost invites Soap to his Manchester flat while they’re both on leave.

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    08 Mar 2026

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    John tucks his nose into the crook of Simon’s neck, cold against the fabric of his mask, and Simon can only hold him tighter, letting his own scent wash away every trace of the other alpha.

    “Johnny.”

    The name comes unbidden to his lips, Simon able to feel the shiver that wracks Soap’s body, the goosebumps that prickle his skin. John’s fingers tighten in his shirt, warm breath against the cloth at Simon’s neck. He’s so close, the scent of him soothing over Simon’s own skin like a balm to the ache that lives buried deep inside of him.

    He knows he should say something, do something, but he’s frozen, rooted to the spot.

    Johnny is his best friend. His best fucking friend in the entire world and while he knows the man won’t speak on what happened tonight, Simon is offering whatever comfort he can.

    But maybe it’s not his to offer. Maybe the reason Johnny went out tonight is because he’s looking for something.

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    24 Feb 2026

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    Johnny’s knee injury forces him to leave the military behind, leading him to a new life in forensic science. His new job introduces him to Ghost–the serial killer who leaves a trail of corpses in his wake, and who seems to have taken quite a liking to Johnny.

    And as much as he knows he shouldn't enjoy it, Johnny can't help but bask in the attention.

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    23 Feb 2026

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    “A sub drop?” Foreman asked, leaning back in his chair. “Really?”

    “I’m being serious,” Chase said.

    “Sometimes people get sad if they don’t cuddle after sex,” Foreman said. “That doesn’t lead to four months of bradycardia, appendicitis, and a failing spleen.”

    “Clearly someone’s never had their heart broken,” House said.

    ***

    Inspired by the sub-drop fics post "we didn't even kiss"

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    23 Feb 2026

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    Shane’s eyes snap open. Wait a second.

    “Ilya,” Shane says, propping himself up on his elbows. “Ilya, wake up.”

    Ilya makes a pained noise, eyes still shut. “I shut curtains already.”

    “It’s not that. Ilya, hey. Don’t go back to sleep.” Ilya tries to bury back into Shane’s chest, but adrenaline knifes through Shane’s hangover long enough for him to peel Ilya off and roll him into his back. Ilya blinks blearily up at him, starfished in the sheets. Beautiful and naked and missing his mother’s cross.

     

    OR: When Ilya’s cross goes missing after the Centaurs celebrate their first Stanley Cup win, Shane is determined to get it back. And so are the Centaurs. And the rest of Ottawa.

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    23 Feb 2026