#how he was left behind. how disposable he was

[moon-ttokki-x]

hellooo, can i request a felix x fem!dating!reader where felix finds a used pregnancy test in the trash can, and freaks because it said positive and thought it was the readers? turns out its not, it was her friends, but he was super stressed and sad the he wasn’t told that ‘he was going to have a child’?(around comeback since that kinda fits in)

this was so cute :( writing sad felix almost broke my heart fr but we pushed through . . . here you goooo~

floral tea - lee felix x reader

pairing: lee felix reader

summary: when felix finds a positive pregnancy test in the bathroom bin, a few misunderstandings follow...

genre: sad confused felix, non-idol!au, mentions of pregnancy, pregnancy tests, piss (i promise it's one word lol i'm not sus like that), mentions of injury, blood, lots of tears from felix aww :(

a/n: divider by @g0ds-f4v-svp3rn0v4

skz masterlist

"Y/n, hey!"

You let out an excited squeal as you open the door, embracing Jiseo. It's been so long since you saw her; the last time you did, she was busy travelling for her career.

Her familiar warmth surrounds you like a fluffy blanket as you hug, and her sweet perfume lingers lightly in the summer air. No greater is the joy of meeting an old friend, and that too, completely on an unexpected whim.

"Come in," you say almost shakily from joy, cheeks flushed from the surprise.

She laughs and steps in. You switch on the kettle and sit down to talk with her as steam fills the kitchen. You sit and talk for what feels like hours, reminiscing and gossiping about almost everything. It's so good to see her again, and as a surprise, too...

You're just about to gratefully verbalize this to her when she places a hand over yours, leaning in a little.

"By the way, um, I kinda have something to tell you," she says, a little nervously, but still smiling.

You grin. "What is it?"

Jiseo laughs, though there's a hint of uncertainty behind it. "I, um- Y/n, I think I might be pregnant."

You spit out a mouthful of tea, spluttering ungracefully and splashing the table in floral essence. "What?!"

She nods, unfazed by your rather disgusting reaction. "Yeah, it- kinda just happened, you know?"

You lean forward, almost knocking over your mug, eyes so wide you're sure you look like an owl. "Do you know for sure?"

She shakes her head a little bashfully. "I don't really know... I just came here to you, because if I was going to find out, I wanted you to be with me... s-something like that anyway..."

You can't help the warm bubble that sits in your chest; Jiseo has always been so direct yet so shy at the same time. Her sentiment makes your cheeks tinge with colour as you squeeze her hand. She's probably terrified, poor thing.

"I have pregnancy tests upstairs, if you want to use one," you say, smiling gently. Her hands are clammy.

She exhales shakily. "W-would that be okay? Like, not an invasion of privacy, or-"

"Jiseo," you interrupt, chuckling. "It's okay. I promise, whether it's positive or not, I'll always be here for you. Now, go piss on that stick."

She laughs and gets up.

.

You carefully brew another cup of tea as a smile ghosts the corners of your mouth. Inhaling the scent of your second cup of goodness, you sit down in your previous spot and let your fingers skate over the smooth wooden table.

You can't believe Jiseo is pregnant. You couldn't be happier for her.

She left around an hour ago, after around two hours of excited screaming, cheering, and tears from the both of you. She had been terrified, but you spent so long reassuring her, and she'd gone home after disposing of the pregnancy test, in order to catch her breath before her lover came home. You wonder how they would react; they're a good person, and you hope that Jiseo feels supported and cared for throughout the whole process. You have no doubt that her and her partner are probably jumping for joy in the comfort of their own little home right now, and it makes you smile further.

You can faintly hear Felix coming through the front door now; there's the familiar, faint thuds as he kicks off his shoes and puts them to the side.

He comes into the kitchen, sunlight spilling across his frame, and you tilt your head to kiss him as he leans down to you in your chair.

"Hey, sunshine," he murmurs, stroking your hair.

"Hi. How was your day, hmm?"

He sighs and tugs off his tie. "Yeah, busy. Not too bad, though. I'm gonna get changed and then we can make dinner together?"

You nod and smile.

There's a brief moment of silence as Felix shuffles upstairs, his footsteps receding as he shuts the bathroom door. You sit and stare placidly out the window, absentmindedly sipping the cooling tea and absorbing the fading warmth of the mug.

All is quiet.

That is, until a blonde-haired tornado falls down the stairs and stumbles over to you, shirt askew and hair ruffled. You jump with a start and turn to him, about to ask what the matter is, but you're caught up short when you notice the tears pooling in his eyes.

"Love," he gasps, a borderline sob almost escaping. "What is this?"

He holds up a short, white stick and you squint, realising what it is.

Jiseo's pregnancy test.

She must have thrown it away afterwards in the bathroom bin.

You get up, holding out your hands, trying to calm Felix down and explain. "Sunshine, I-"

"No," he gasps. "No, you knew and you didn't tell me? You just threw the fucking test away- love, are you serious? Why would you do this? You didn't even think to call me when you found out you were gonna have a child? Our child?"

"Felix-"

The tears actually spill out of his eyes then, and a guilty look sets itself uncomfortably across his face. "But I swear, we were so careful- How could this happen, I didn't even know because you didn't even think to tell me you were going to eventually fucking give birth-"

"Felix!" You cry. "It's not mine, okay? Calm down."

He stops short, stuttering, tears still streaming down his cheeks in shock and distress. "What?"

You almost laugh, but then remember it might upset him further. He's still confused, after all, and he splutters further.

"W-what do you mean, it's not yours? Do you realise how bad that sounds? Wait, do you mean that the child isn't yours, or the test-"

"For goodness' sake, Felix, the test isn't mine," you say, exasperated as you tug him into a chair with some difficulty. His shirt slips off his collarbone, revealing the freckled, sun-kissed skin underneath. "One of my old friends showed up earlier and she took the test, because she had a hunch she might be pregnant. She must have thrown it away before leaving.."

He's silent for a moment, processing, and then he bursts into tears, upon which you just stare at him, utterly confused. Taking him into a hug, you let him rest his head against your stomach.

It's almost like he just got the news that he's pregnant, you think wryly. This is exactly how Jiseo reacted.

"Lix, honey," you say, a little softer. "It's okay."

"No, it's not," his muffled voice comes from your stomach. You can faintly feel tears soaking the fabric of your top. "I was so stressed, I thought we were gonna have a child, and around comeback season too, I was so scared trying to figure out how we were gonna manage it all-"

You shush and coo at him gently, stroking his ruffled hair, askew in all directions. "I'm sorry I scared you."

He shakes his head, his voice sounding faraway from where he's plowed his face into your middle. "I was worried for you too..."

You fight the warm feeling rising in your chest at his sincerity. He's never afraid to tell you how he feels, your Felix. You do feel bad for not realising Jiseo threw her test away and resultingly scaring the shit out of your lover, but you're glad that he cares enough to be upset about it.

Even if he was wrong.

You let your gaze wander down to where his hair is mussed against your shirt, and you can't help but notice the way his arms are wrapped so tightly around your waist, like he's afraid you'll float away if he lets go. You notice a small gash on his arm, the crimson startling against his pale, freckled skin.

You hum as he lifts his face, tear-streaked and swollen. "What'd you do to your arm?"

He sniffs. "I hit it on the doorway when I came down the stairs... I didn't even feel it."

You sigh, stroking the tiny, soft hairs at the back of his neck. "What am I gonna do with you, hmm?"

"Love me."

You chuckle. "Let's get you patched up."

a/n: listening to zero o'clock by bts while writing this and why does it fit so well . . . ttokki is sad now

[ysabelmystic]

Can you elaborate on almost killing a guy?

Yeah sure.

Some of you have heard this story before but this is definitely one of the most unhinged things I've ever done, so I enjoy telling it.

It was my sophomore year of high school. I was living in Florida, and having the time of my life. Both of my parents worked, I had a phone, and I'd made friends with a boy in my neighborhood, and therefore found a suitable chaperone to protect my weak, innocent, girl-self (a depressed egg with messy hair who alternated between oversized hoodies with converse and a trench coat with combat boots) from any potential dangers. This meant that I finally had actual proper freedom to do whatever I wanted as long as I was home by 9pm and kept in touch with my mom. My friend was in a similar situation, having helicopter parents that had been forced to roll back their micromanaging in order to pay the bills. So naturally, when a suspicious car with tinted windows started hanging around outside the bus stop after school and never picked anyone up, my friend and I did not tell our parents. Instead, we would stand outside at the bus stop, chatting and watching the car, until the driver got bored and left.

This went on for a couple of months, almost every day. Unfortunately, my friend and I also had unmedicated ADHD. One day I was carrying home this giant art project -a candy sculpture of St Basil's Cathedral. This break in routine and the fact that the sculpture was edible, melting, and fucking heavy, caused us to completely forget about the car. We went straight back to his place, and the driver did what we'd always feared he would do, and followed us.

We were just digging into the cathedral when my friend's dogs went ballistic. We walked into the entry way to see what they were freaking out about, and saw a sunburnt man with a scraggly beard, blue t-shirt, and cargo shorts walking up the sidewalk, and behind him, was the car with tinted windows.

We made eye contact. We both froze, and then the intruder took off around the side of the house, where the garage entrance was. My friend and I ran to the garage entrance as well because we hadn't locked it when we came inside. A moment after we locked it, the doorknob jiggled violently, and the man began pounding on the door.

This is the point where we should've called the police. But this is Florida. In the garage was my friend's dad's hunting gear, which included several guns, a hatchet, various knives, and a bow, and some arrows. And like an American does in a stand-your-ground state when a man tries to break into your house, we devised a plan to kill him.

This was a relatively calm discussion. We considered using the guns, but we weren't experienced with anything stronger than a BB gun, so in the name of gun safety, we went for the weapons we were experienced with. My friend chose a hatchet and a baseball bat. I took the bow and arrow, which I knew how to use because another friend of mine lived in a rural area, and we liked to climb trees and shoot rubber turkeys like we were Katniss Everdeen or something. The idea was to go outside with our weapons and act super excited to commit our very first murder. Ideally we'd scare him off, but if he continued his attempted assault, then we would kill him. What about his screams? The neighborhood was almost empty because the snowbirds had gone north, and everyone else was at work. The blood on the concrete? Nothing a little peroxide and elbow grease can't fix. To dispose of the body? Our neighborhood didn't have real blocks. Most houses were built around ponds. Where there's water, there are gators, which two burglars had learned a few months prior when they jumped in the water to escape the cops. All the police recovered was a shirt, an arm, and a chunk of a torso. We figured the gators would take care of what we assumed would be the hardest part of this crime. And as for the car? We'd just say how strange it was. We'd never seen it before.

All in all, it was a perfect plan. We'd finally be able to walk home without possibly being followed, we wouldn't go to jail, and most importantly, our parents would never, ever know the danger we were in without their suffocating supervision, and we would be free to roam wherever we pleased.

We took our weapons, went back to the front door, and I prepared a performance worthy of Creepypasta. We ran out onto the sidewalk, smiling, giggling, "Come out, come out wherever you are. I have a bow and arrow. I haven't gotten to use it on a real person before! I want to see what color your blood is when it dries on the sidewalk." Good and proper evil villain serial killer shit. I went all out for this.

We did that for a few minutes, and the man never appeared, so we circled the house, and then went back inside through the back door. When we went back to the entry way, through the window, we saw the man run out onto the front lawn, jump in his car, and speed away.

We never did see that car again, but a few weeks later, my homeroom teacher had the local news playing on the TV. They were covering a story about a man who had kidnapped a woman for ransom. He was caught on the same day, and his mugshot looked very, very, very familiar...

I honestly believe that if the man had decided to confront us, he would not have left the house alive. I also learned a very important lesson; if you act giddy and violent (and make unnecessary eye contact), men will usually leave you the fuck alone. This method has never failed me.

So yeah. That's the story of how my friend and I almost killed a guy. And no, I do not feel bad at all.

[potatobugz]

Lucky is he, Who lives unaware

[bloodbathfortwo]

Alex Forbes will never forget how much he yearned to hold Nigel Colbie on their wedding night. He wanted to taste his skin, temptation thumping in his veins, his hands were itching to pin him down, see his whole weight pressure the life off of Nigel's wrists, wanting to see the lines he'd leave on his skin, the way his parched throat is seeking his heavenly waters: He felt like a lecherous teenage boy. But for all he knows, he cannot wait to be one with his beloved Maraclea.

[nighttimealone]

Cw: Nsfw (A bet with Simon about wearing a vibrator secretly and not to come in public)

A bet with Simon brought you to the predicament now. Squeezing through the crowded station’s concourse with his hand around you waist, looking like a normal couple, but no one knows there’s a remote controlled vibrator—designed to stimulate your g spot and have a little curve hooked snuggly against your clit—buzzing freely inside you.

Don’t come in 10 minutes, then you can do anything to him, his words ignited the competitive fire inside you.

The weather is cold, allow you to excuse your flush with it, hide your face in the scarf slightly when your moans sneak their way out.

“Only 3 minutes passed, sweetheart.” He leans down to murmur as he lead you across the concourse, the sultry tone disguised within, only able to get noticed by you. You shoot daggers back at him, try not to drop to your knees whenever someone accidentally bump into you in this packed station, making your thighs shifted in the force and the vibrator digs further into the sweet spot.

You meet his eyes behind his disposal mask and black cap, and you know the bastard is laughing at you from the crinkles at the corner of his eyes.

Your eyes are glossy with the tears from the constant stimulation, trying to threaten him with those bunny eyes but failed adorably. He can tell you’re teetering on the edge, and he’s been enjoying your fluster too much, his trousers straining behind the cover of his long coat. How can he not when you look absolutely cute like this, stopping between of your steps to forbear the orgasm, arms holding with his tighten and press your cheek against his bicep to stifle the whimpers.

You let out a sigh of relief when he dials down the intensity, look up at him with a hint of disbelief. The vibrations keeps sending shivers down your spine, your legs are doing their best to stay straight, but it’s much better than they were seconds before. So you give his hand a squeeze, resume the walk across the massive concourse.

The walk is torturous, every steps is worsening the divine ache between your legs. You didn’t like how the vibrator rutting into your sensitive clit, your panties isn’t soaked with all the juices and you’re not clenching that tight cunny under the onslaught of pleasure. You brainwash yourself repeatedly, the vibrations never cease, and you’re dancing on the edge even after Simon turned it down a few notches earlier. One minute left, just one minute…

Of course it won’t be that easy, he just wants to prolong your pleasure and get the show go on as long as it could, before finally breaking you.

Just as you two almost reach the main entrance of the station, you almost tripped when he abruptly changes the intensity once again. Covering your mouth and fully cling onto him, you’re totally speechless when he leads you to stand aside in the station, pulling you into his arms and coos lowly.

“Come for me, love, let it out.” His hand patting soothingly when you bury your face into his chest, muffling all the cries as you get pushed over the edge, gushing in your panties and you know it’s definitely ruined by now.

A few people spare a glance at your way, curious about what just happened before going on their life. Yet you’re totally unaware of it, trying to quiet your whines and you keep tucking yourself in his arms.

Simon adjusted his coat, enough to engulf you in it, and he keeps crooning sweet nothings into your ears “You’re so beautiful, so gorgeous when you came in my arms, love.” His voice soothing you along with his palm rubbing on your back, hiding you in his coat and shield you from the world, even though he’s the one bringing you the luscious torment.

Supported by his strong hands so you won’t fall to the ground with wobbly feet, you lift your head from his chest after your breaths slows down, and you manage not to punch him in the face when pat your head and remind you the truth.

“9 minutes 47 seconds, you didn’t make it to 10 minutes. what a shame.” Simon’s chest rumbles with the quiet laughters. You see the mischief in his rich brown eyes, and hell, he’s definitely thinking about how he will get you to do from losing the bet.

[saeist]

what people don't know about sae itoshi is that despite being known as the nonchalant final boss, he's actually the most chalant person known to man when it comes to his lover

it's quite hilarious really. people who know about your relationship usually come to you and ask how the soccer super star prodigy has been treating you but you always answer the same— he's treating you well

although people don't really buy it. the way sae acts around you in public is rigid at best. yes, he's your boyfriend and yes, he loves you very much but when you two are out and about, media outlets just can't help but publish articles about how the famed middle fielder is totally "an emotional unavailable partner" (sae reports every single article about this btw)

sae itoshi is a man of few words. letting his actions talk for him is one way to put it

but behind closed doors? it's another story

it might be considered a legend that the sae itoshi is actually a pretty hands on boyfriend. in fact, sometimes it becomes a little too much when he dotes on you so much

one time you texted him that you had a headache for a while now and you almost forgot who you were texting the second he replies that it's because you didn't do this and that today

[3:14 PM] mi corazón: ? [3:14 PM] mi corazón: did you drink water today? i didn't see you drink before i left for training [3:15 PM] mi corazón: have you eaten? fucking hell don't tell me you "forgot" to eat again because you were caught up at work? [3:16 PM] mi corazón: wya? i'll order you food. ask your shitty co workers what they want too so i can treat your department while i'm at it. tsk [3:17 PM] mi corazón: tsk. what will you do without me [3:17 PM] you: sae... it's just a headache.... it's hot out today [3:18 PM] mi corazón: you forgot to bring the fucking umbrella i got you from pasotti? [3:19 PM] you: ykw i don't have a headache anymore [3:20 PM] mi corazón: read 3:20 PM

another time was you had joined him into going on a hike with his friends (shidou and aiku) and you accidentally had spluttered mud all over your legs

aiku and shidou were kind enough to stop so you could clean yourself up but you simply brush it off and say that it's part of the nature experience of hiking but sae thought otherwise

he grabbed a wet wipe from his backpack (another hc: he comes prepared like a boyscout with shit like this like personal hygiene shit💀), kneels down behind you and starts wiping the mud off your legs

much to everyone's surprise

"be careful next time" sae mutters, wiping the last bit of mud on your calf before disposing the now dirty wipes away

when you don't say anything, sae looks up and raises a brow

"what?"

he then watches your eyes motion to the bystanders being aiku and shidou, who both had their jaws dropped to the floor

who knew their little soccer super star friend could be this down bad to their lover?

sae immediately gets up from the ground, brushing his trousers as he clears his throat. as if that could erase that beautiful moment shared with you from aiku and shidou's minds

"tsk. don't make a big deal out of it" sae clicks his tongue in annoyance as he leads the pack back on the trail. consciously ignoring aiku and shidou's loud giggles and teasing

sae knows damn well that they won't ever live this down but who cares. if it's you, he'd do anything in a heartbeat

a few weeks pass by and wow, was sae right. those two idiots did not in fact live it down. so much that they just had to leak it to the media that the nonchalant final boss, sae itoshi isn't the final boss to nonchalance after all

the first thing he sees on his phone was a new article posted by pop base

[EXCLUSIVE] SAE ITOSHI ISN’T EMOTIONALLY CONSTIPATED AFTER ALL? JUICY INSIDERS SCOOP!

when he takes a peek at the article (before he reports it), it was oddly specific and detailed about that one hiking trip you had a few weeks ago. he didn't have to put two and two together to figure out who these "juicy insiders" were

"god damn it" sae clenches his jaw as he continues to skim through the article

suddenly sae hears you burst out laughing from the living room

oh no.

sae trudges to your shared living room with your own cup of kombucha for the day and sees you laughing your ass out while reading the same article

"stop reading that" sae groans, settling down the cup on the coffee table. he takes a seat next to you and leans his head on top of yours

"they're right you know" you giggle, reading the article "for a guy who acts all cold and collected on the outside, you sure are the exact opposite on the inside"

sae rolls his eyes, "gee. i wonder where they got that information from. i'm going to kill both of them" he mutters, pertaining to shidou and aiku

"you're just embarrassed that you've been exposed for the secret lover boy you are"

"they don't need to know what goes on behind closed doors" he points out. true

"okay lover boy. whatever you say" you laugh, holding your hands up in surrender. there was no point with arguing with sae when it comes to shit like this

there's a moment of silence after that. you glance up to catch sae quietly looking at you. like he was all caught up in the moment within your shared humble abode

"jesus. you really are down bad" you gasp quietly, covering your mouth pretending to be shocked. sae snaps out of his little trance hearing your words and flicks your forehead

"am not!"

"are so!"

"no!"

"yes!"

"i love you" you interject, catching sae slightly off guard

you meet sae's eyes as they soften. he simply shrugs and wraps an arm around your shoulders as he pulls you close to his chest

"and i love you more— now stop reading that stupid article before i report you and that damn news media outlet"

"sae!"

[luveline]

hellooo!! im not sure if your requests are open so feel free to ignore this but i was wondering if you could write for tasm!peter where the reader just got her wisdom teeth removed and she’s all loopy on anesthetics and forgets peter is her boyfriend? i saw this video where this girl got her wisdom teeth pulled and forgot she was dating her boyfriend and fell in love with him all over again😭😭

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPR7sGQo5/

thank you for your request! ♡ fem, 1k

"Here she is," the nurse says gently, walking you out with his arm behind your back. "Alright, say hi to Peter." 

"Hi, Peter," you mumble, eyes on the floor. 

Peter grins at you, worry warm at the back of his throat. "Hey. Is that everything?" he asks, nodding at the nurses paper bag of aftercare. 

"Everything you'll need." The nurse helps Peter take over, hoisting your arm over his shoulders before stepping away. "Alright, feel better, okay? And don't hesitate to call if something comes up. We're here to look after you." 

You seem appreciative in your fog, but it's hard to tell. Peter curls his arm around your hip and gives it a soft rub as he leads you to the stairs. Whoever devised the floor plan here had murder on their mind —the second floor is completely inaccessible. Luckily, Peter has a lot of strength at his disposal. 

You can feel it. "Woh, you're strong," you murmur. 

"You know that already." His grip on you tightens, pretty much carrying you down the tight staircase. 

"Do I?" you ask. You make a sound like you're hurting, a squeak. 

"I'd hope so." At the end of the staircase, he sits you down, worried you're not feeling well. "You okay? I can princess carry you if you need me to." 

You look at him with wide eyes. He turns to check there's no one standing behind him, but you're really looking at him. "What?" he asks, touching your knee, imploring. "You look like you've seen a ghost." 

"You're Peter?" you ask. 

Ah, the amnesiac effect of anaesthetic. His touch turns comforting, stroking your thigh with as much care as he can drive into his palm alone. "That's me. Hey, if you're forgetting me, does that mean you're not mad at me for last Friday anymore? 'Cos I know you said you forgive me but I can tell it still pisses you off–" 

Your eyes fall to his hand. "Why would I be mad at you?" you ask. 

"I finished the milk and put the carton back in the fridge, even though I promised I'd stop doing it. You see the jug and think there's milk left. We were gonna have macaroni and cheese..." He nudges your fingers with his. "Are you okay? You don't look like yourself."

"What do I usually look like?" 

"Not so, you know. Daunted." 

"You're really handsome," you whisper, refusing to meet his eye. 

"Oh, you think so?" 

You nod like your head is too heavy. You're embarrassed, you sweetheart, oh my god Peter could cry into your lap. 

"Let's get you to the car, baby." 

"Where are we going?" The gauze gives you the world's most adorable lisp, and it turns your gasp into a hum as Peter stands you up. 

"Home." 

"Together?" 

"Yeah, we live together. It's a nice place, and you're a great decorator, you know? It's cozy." 

"Thank you," you say shyly. 

You're not not shy with him, but it's been a long time since you got so quiet over a practically innocuous comment. He wants to see how you'll react to real compliments, over the top stuff that he one hundred percent means. It's a little mean, but when will you ever be like this again? 

He helps you out past the desk and onto the street to your car where it's parked a half a block down. "Don't worry about all this, okay? I'm gonna take such good care of you, sweetheart. There's an ice pack and a brand new comforter with your name on it waiting at home." Peter smiles at your starry eyes as they flash to his, amazed at his simple plans. "How does that sound, beautiful? Is there anything you want before we head home? Anything that would make you feel better?" 

"You're gonna take care of me?" you ask breathlessly. 

"That's my job. That's my number one boyfriend duty." 

"You're my boyfriend?" 

"I am!" he says happily, laughing as he speaks. "For a while. I've been trying to take things further but you're always really shy about getting married–" 

"You want to get married? To me?" 

Peter presses a soft kiss to your cheek. "You're the only person I'd ever want to get married to. We already picked the flowers–" 

"We did?" 

He laughs again, all your questions. He loves regular you but loopy you is especially endearing. "Last time I got super drunk, yeah. You never let me forget it." 

"So you love me?" you ask, stopping short.

"I love you so much," he says immediately, hugging you into his side. He dots another kiss against the top of your head. "You should remember that even if you don't remember me." 

"I love you," you say quietly. 

Peter doesn't know if that's your memory returning, or if you've fallen in love with him in the last fifteen minutes. He could easily fall in love with you that quickly, and yet he's still amazed at your confession. 

"That's good. That's great. Thank you, sweetheart," he says, desperate to hold your face in his hands but weary of causing you future pain. "There's your car," —he points, lowering his head to yours to make sure you can see it, hand now protectively held between your shoulder blades— "let's go home now. Yeah?" 

You start walking again at his requests. He can pretty much see the steam rising off of your face, giddy with happiness at these revelations. You're together, you're in love, and you think he's handsome. He wonders what you'll have to say about his biceps in this state of delirium; you go crazy for his arms sober. 

Which reminds him. 

"I totally have another secret to tell you," he says, unlocking the car as you approach and helping you into the passenger seat. 

"What is it?" you ask. 

Peter closes you in and skirts around the door, climbing into the driver's seat. He's glad that New York is as ridiculously loud as ever, because not even the closed doors or your sodden gauze can smother the way you shriek.

"My boyfriend is Spider-Man?!" 

[pricetagged]

Here's a young (maybe 19-early 20s) Simon struggling with his emotions, working as a butcher's apprentice, and fixating on the pretty student waitress at the café next door (':

Content: plus size f-presenting reader; allusions to domestic abuse (Simon's past); fat-shaming (not Simon); little bit of violence, unedited. (Link to Ao3)

He's not sure that it counts as desire. Interest. It crawls over him, makes him feel aggressive, makes him want to dig his teeth in and shake and snarl.

It's hunger.

And he knows hunger. Knows it like he knows the cigarette burns on the back of his hand. Knows it like he knows his old man's a waste of space and that he has to defend his mum and protect Tommy and- and-

He's the man of the house, only the house is rotten. Woodloused frames, crumbling bricks. Gutted. Empty shelves hidden behind broken doors. Chipped plaster, electricity cutting off. Squeaky steps that always clued them in when the old man was on a rager (not that it helped, creaking out a warning but giving no clue where to run. The percussion leading to a gallows' jig; the heavy step before the hit).

But the old man's gone now. And Simon is left trying to fill in the boots he doesn’t know how to wear. All growth spurt and gangly limbs and anger. So much anger at the old bastard. Tear-soaked anger at his mum sometimes (buried deep behind the shame that he feels when he thinks of her black and blue. Anger and shame, bitter roots that he chews at to soothe the clench of in his jaw and the grind of his teeth). And then he sees you through the window. Through the peeling CHRISTMAS SPECIAL sign highlighting ham joints and turkey and pigs in blankets.

You're so soft.

You look like you’ve lived a life well-fed and well-loved. Something round and sweet and helpless, like the puppies he and Tommy had seen dumped in the park while they snuck cigarettes and swigged from cheap supermarket cider.

And that brings him back to the hunger. He's an awkward creature, shuffling to the café where you work part-time. He's more feeling than man, all rage and appetite stuffed into a skin suit. You sense it too, nerves tugging at the tilt of your smile as you approach the scavenger that swept in to sit at the cheap plastic tables in this greasy spoon. He sits awkwardly, too, hunched over the table like his stomach is gnawing at him. Big hands snapping the disposable plastic coffee stirrers and shredding the napkins. That first day, he just stares at you. Sneers a little when you flutter over to take his order.

You slosh the tea a little when you serve it.

He sees the burn bloom, watches as you suck at the sting with plump cheeks and a rosy little mouth, and he just wants to dig in and scratch hard to see you do that again.

It becomes a habit, watching you. He finds out bits and pieces listening as he rends and chops and saws through muscle and bone, stinking of sweat and iron. You're here as a student. You're living in student digs (good, best that you avoid the up-and-downs and rough streets that would fit a student budget), and you're a real sweetheart. Old Sal who has been running the café for the past 30 years leans a heavy elbow on the display counter as he chats with the boss.

"She's lovely, taken to it like a fish to water," his raspy, smoke-charred voice is cheery as he waits for the bacon and sausages to be weighed and wrapped. "Only asked for Thursdays and Fridays off since she has afternoon classes then. Otherwise, I almost have to round her out of the shop, doing more afternoons and weekends than my own kid."

You're hardworking too, then. He wonders if it's because you're hungry too, needing something to do with your time, living on pot noodles and supermarket ready-meals like he'd heard some students do. It's strange how that thought sits uncomfortably, makes him want to hunch over you and bring you his scraps.

That week, he decides to talk to you. Only the words get caught, don't come out quite right as he stares at the way your jumper clings to the soft curves under your faded apron. When you turn around, bustling to other customers, he can't help but stare at the line of your skirt. It's real pretty, decent, sitting just above your knees but Christ, he wishes that it would roll up a little higher. That it would catch on the corner of a table or hitch up as you raise your arms and swish past with a tray full of fry-ups. He almost gets lucky as you bend over to mop up a spill just across the room. Your thighs widen as they press against the table, tights stretching thin and sheer and he just can't tear his eyes away-

(The hunger in his stomach turns hot and biting, makes his cheeks flush and his mouth dry-)

But it's ruined. Fly in the soup, hair in the dish, as you catch him and your eyebrows pinch together as you look away. There's something guarded, bitter, in your lovely eyes, and the dryness in his mouth turns wet and sour. You seem to take pains to avoid him, swapping out with Sal's son so that you can work the counter instead of the floor.

"'m Simon," he grunts as he goes to settle the bill. "Work at the butcher's across the street."

You clearly didn’t expect an introduction, shoulders relaxing and hesitant smile blooming as you give your name in return.

"Yeah, I know. Sal mentioned you a few times. He's tried to give me the rundown of practically everyone on the street, feels like."

"Y'should come in t'the shop," the invitation rushes out in a way that makes him feel clumsy. Perhaps that’s why he did it; to have you in his space, with his head and his footing right. Here, he feels every inch the artificial man. Pieced together, too big and too looming, with no help or guidance on how to talk to soft things and pretty girls.

You grimace a little, eyes focused on the till as you count out his change. "Not really on a butcher-shop budget right now."

"'S'alright. I can keep something aside for ya," he doesn't mention how it would come out of his wages. How it would come out of what he brought home to his mum and Tommy. It didn't matter, though, when he was used to going without.

"That's - that's really nice, actually," Your sweet face is glowing now, and he feels like he could bathe in the warmth of it. "Next time you come by lunch is on me."

He sees the way you tuck your chin and smile as he walks away, and that bottomless pit in his guts feels just a little more full.

(He doesn't quite catch the snickers of the boys at table three, whispering and nudging each other as you come to take their orders. This time.)

He stares more and more through the window of the shop, watching as you come and go. Watching the way you greet the regulars and skirt around the group of lads who like to linger in the evenings. There's something sharp, nasty, to the way they circle around the entrance. The way they cackle and hoot when the one with the eyebrow piercing smirks and whispers to his mates as they force you to brush past. They're a pack of hyenas, shrieking and smug as they toy with the poor little thing that's walked past their watering hole. He's seen this type before, practically grew up with them. His old man was probably one of them, perfecting his cruelty while young, cementing it as part of his nature.

It has Simon sharpening his knives while he grits his teeth. Has the boss tutting at him when he cuts too close to the bone.

He knows there's something violent in him. The old man tried to bring it out then snuff it out, getting scared when the knife that he sharpened was able to cut him in return. He's no stranger to bloodshed. No stranger to the calloused, deprivation-dimmed apathy that breeds like algae in the environment where he was forged. Dripping, slimy, suffocating.

Doesn't mean he likes it, though.

(He'd gone back for those puppies, you know. Felt wrong leaving them. Felt like a rebellion against his old man's sick life lessons as he dumped the box outside the doors of a local veterinary clinic).

So he keeps his eyes peeled, stakes out the café like he owns it. Stares down anyone who looks at you wrong until they look away, muttering under their breath. 'Fucking freaky dead-eyed git.' It seems to work.

And you seem to like it, sparing more smiles for him. Bringing him bigger portions than normal and topping up his cup before he even needs to ask.

"I know you've been working since seven, Simon. Gotta keep your strength up," You seem bashful as you slide the plate across, and he just eats it up.

You've been looking at him, thinking about him. It's not something he's familiar with, having someone care for him. His mum loves him, of course. Tommy too. But it’s not the same, not when it's been his job to take care of them. His job to step up to the mantle and into the shoes that his father should've filled. Watching the sway of your wide hips as he tucks into the steak and kidney pie with gusto, he feels satisfied. The hunger is there, always is, but it's not gouging at him under the skin. It's satiated, pleased. The kind of comfort that leaves his eyes heavy and his belly warm.

It's a routine you fall into, and everything is rosy-

Until it's not.

He's closing up shop, wiping down the counters and getting ready to haul down the shutters when he sees them. Those stupid pricks, travelling in their pack and signaling that their quarry is in sight. Look, there it is alone and limping and- You're in a rush, leaving later than usual and shrugging your coat on carelessly as you shout your goodbyes to Sal. You're in that skirt again, the one that makes his lower belly tighten and mouth feel dry.

"Oi, look! Dirty scrubber has her fat arse hanging out!"

It sets them off, chittering and howling as you freeze wide-eyed and lip-quivering.

"Gonna be sick, mate. Don't want to see your knickers, love. Didn't even know they came in that size."

He doesn't even see red. Doesn't see anything but your pretty, round face crumpling as you try to tug your skirt out from where it got caught under your coat.

The ringing of the bell by the door muffles the sound of the first punch. His fist crunches into that prick's nose, and he wants nothing more than to keep going until his face is little more than meat and pulp and blood. He can taste it, smells the blood in the air like a shark.

But you're watching.

"Bit bored with y'taking the piss out of her," he snarls it as he hauls the man by his jacket, shoving him hard against the wall until his head thwacks against the bricks. Easy as hauling a side of beef. "Why don't ya try me next?"

The man seems dazed, head spinning and nose dripping. His mates, too, look floored. Ready to scatter and abandon their leader to the bigger beast. Only the promise of more blood keeps them watching, feeds their nasty appetites and he's just itching to let them see. Watch what happens; it's coming for you next.

"Speechless now, eh? Had so much to say earlier," he's spitting the words out, teeth snapping as he leans down so close to the man's face that he can see how his pupils constrict. "Apologise."

And he's smarter than he would give him credit for. Smart enough to whimper out his 'sorry, sorry, sorry' as he drops to the filthy, damp pavement when Simon swivels towards the others. Something about the set of his shoulders, the way his hands and apron are splattered with the gore of man and animal, has them scattering.

"That goes for the rest of ya! Don't ever want t'see your ugly fucking mugs around here again," he spits on the ground, itches at his jaw with his wrist as he watches them run.

He can't hear them anymore. Can't hear anything over the sound of his heavy panting and pounding heartbeat.

It's cold out. He's only realising it now, standing in the December chill with just an apron over his jeans and t-shirt. It has him shaking, flexing his hand as his knuckles start to sting and swell. He welcomes it, welcomes the familiar bite as he pushes down the savage, ragged anger rippling through his chest.

"Simon-"

"Y'alright?" he cuts you off, faces you head-on.

And all the rage saps out. You're not cowering away. There's no disgust on your face. No tears or embarrassment either, no. You've got a crumpled packet of wet wipes in your hand, reaching out for him. Concerned.

"Figure you'd want to get that prick's blood off you soon as possible," you give him a sad little half-smile. "Didn't have to do all that for me, Simon."

"Yeah, didn't have to." He concedes as he steps closer to you. Crowds into your space until you're toe-to-toe and he can feel your warmth. He brushes his fingers against yours, lets them linger on your soft skin as he reaches for the wipes. "I wanted to."

-----------------------

Let's all pretend that this was okay and ignore the fact that I still haven't posted the wips that I keep going on about 🫠💖

Just a little self-indulgent drabble idea that I had today, thinking back to watching 'My Mad Fat Diary' as a teenager, feeling nostalgic ~ (The Finn-defending-Rae scene had 18yo me in a chokehold lol).

[allbark-no-bite]

things friends do.

felix catton x reader (wc: 3.1k)

summary: things friends do include but are not limited to: sleeping in each other’s bed, kissing, sharing beer, fucking each other

warnings: 18+ smut, unprotected sex

author’s note: y’all i have refused to believe that jacob elordi was attractive but saltburn did me in

————————————————————————

You were not in love with Felix Catton.

And Felix Catton was not in love with you.

He was a lover boy, but he was not your lover boy.

The thing about Felix was that he had just about everyone at his disposal. Girls, guys, it didn't matter. Everything belonged to him so long as he wanted it. But it didn't feel that way. You never felt as though you were owned by him. It was just that he was Felix and who didn't want to belong to him?

Of course 'just friends' didn't constantly have their hands all over each other, didn't sleep in each other's bed or see each other inappropriately naked. And 'just friends' definitely didn't kiss each other on the mouth.

But this was Felix.

Not Oliver, or Farleigh, or Veneita. Felix.

—

The party is so electric that you're not sure if it's the music or your own erratic heartbeat thumping in your ears. The place is so packed that at some point the entire bar had become part of the main dance floor in order to accommodate for the dizzying array of overheated, intoxicated bodies moving this way and that. Blue light illuminates the otherwise dark room. Flashes of neon green splash across swaying bodies, highlighting dancers as they navigate the floor.

To no one's surprise, Felix is in the center of it all. He'd gravitated towards the pole in the middle of the room like a magnet and had taken to it to pay his dues, his slender body rolling to the music with all of his typical charisma.

After a few beers, you're pleasantly buzzed, but you'll probably be toeing the line once you finish the fourth in your hand. Felix is well on his way to a monster hangover, one that he'll sleep off on the floor of your dorm room. Farleigh is right behind him, likely just as intoxicated, but with him you could never tell. Farleigh was always the same catty bitch no matter how drunk or sober he was. You loved him, but he was a bitch.

A heavy weight suddenly staggers upon your shoulders, and you groan against the weight, both you and Felix swaying dangerously to the side as he throws his arm around you. Usually this wouldn't work because he's so ridiculously tall but the alcohol had made him a little less coordinated than usual and he's slouched down to closer to your height. Beer sloshes over the rim of his plastic cup and splashes onto the floor at your feet.

"Having fun, darling?" he asks, half shouting in your ear to be heard over the music.

"Always," you laugh, though it's mostly directed at him.

His skin is clammy with sweat and his breath is coated with the familiar, yeasty smell of beer. "Where's Farleigh?" Felix doesn't even wait for your response before he's shouting for him. "Ay! Farleigh!" There's a cigarette pinched between two fingers of the same hand that's holding onto his cup, and he raises it to get his friend's attention.

His arm still around you, you dodge the spilling liquid heading for your feet. "Felix! Felix, careful!" you scold him, still laughing, so the smile doesn't disappear from his face.

In an attempt to solve the problem, he leans forward and starts to swallow back the remainder of the beer in his cup. He must underestimate just how much he had left to go because it starts to escape past the sides of his mouth, dripping past his jaw and down the front of his open shirt.

You shriek again. "Felix!"

Laughing, he pulls the cup away and brings it towards you. Before you can protest, he's tipping it back into your mouth. He leaves you no choice but to swallow it or wear it across the front of your shirt so you do your best to drink the remaining beer, more nursing from the cup than gulping as Felix was.

It leaves your lips and chin wet, and before you can wipe the excess beer away, Felix does it himself, somewhat roughly dragging his thumb under your lip. He then sucks the digit into his mouth, hardly thinking twice about it. It would have been erotic with anyone else. But this was everyday with Felix. It would have been weird if you hadn't chugged the backwash of his beer.

His attention is just as quickly drug from you to Farleigh. You hadn't noticed the other boy approaching. He gives you a wicked smile, a look in his eyes like he wants to say something but refrains. You tilt your head, prepared to ask him what his mischievous look is all about but Felix interrupts you.

"Farleigh, mate," Felix begins still hugging you close. "The girls are looking a bit bored. What do ya think?"

Across the room, India and Annabel are sitting on a couch together. The piece of furniture itself has certainly seen better days, torn and stained with bodily fluids of varying levels of disgusting. There's a guy with his arm slung around India, but for all she's paying attention to him, he might as well not exist. She's drinking from a bottle of champagne and couldn't look less interested in him.

Farleigh's eyes track from you to Felix, as though making some sort of connection, then he smiles cheshire-like. "Oh yeah, mate. You know, I do think India was actually looking for you earlier." His sinister brown eyes lock with yours, as if waiting for you to object. "Why don't you go put her out of her misery. (Y/n) and I will go busy ourselves at the bar."

Felix grins crookedly, nothing but honest fun shining in his blown pupils. "I will see you two later."

He straightens but not before twisting his neck, body still plastered to yours, and he plants a sloppy kiss to the side of your mouth. His lips taste like beer and nicotine. It's not really even a kiss, just a lack of coordination on Felix's part that he didn't catch your cheek. If Farleigh hadn't been trying to start something in the first place, you wouldn't have even thought twice about it.

It's not the first time Felix has kissed you. Hell, he's probably even kissed Farleigh at some point. Maybe not on the mouth because they were cousins, but that's besides the point. Friends kissed each other all the time. This wasn't anything new.

As Felix removes himself from you, his tall figure walking over to grab India's hand and lead her from the couch, the guy who had been flirting with her for the past hour glaring after them, you level your stare with Farleigh's. "What's that look about?"

Farleigh crosses his arms, looking as full of himself as ever, and rolls his eyes. He really was a bitch sometimes. "Fuck the friend code and fuck him already. You know you want to."

It's your turn to roll your eyes. "I don't want to fuck him, Farleigh."

You don't. Things just weren't like that between you and Felix. Sure, maybe there had been a few occasions where you'd sucked him off and he'd done the same for you in return but that was all purely situational. There were no feelings attached. Just two friends who were close enough to do that kind of thing without it being weird.

Farleigh just scoffs at your ignorance, pushing past you with his shoulder to head over to the bar. "Just like sweet little Ollie doesn't want to fuck him? Please, neither of you look at him all that different."

"Everyone looks at him like that," you argue. "He's Felix."

"No, everyone looks at him like they want his dick in their mouth. You look at him like you'd let him do absolutely anything he fucking wants to you. And honestly, (Y/n), it's kinda sad." He says the last part with faux pity, his voice demeaning.

You scowl at him as he turns back around and walks over to the bar.

Fuck Farleigh. You did not want to fuck Felix.

And fuck him for putting the thought in your head.

—

It's nearing two am by the time you remove yourself from the bar. You're no more intoxicated than you were earlier, having cut yourself off after chugging the last of Felix's drink, but you weren't particularly keen on walking in on Felix and India after tonight so you'd resigned yourself to sitting on a barstool for the remainder of the night.

You keep telling yourself that you weren't bothered by him having sex with her, but Farleigh had put the thought in your head and it wouldn't leave.

Of course you liked Felix. Who didn't like Felix? But did you want to sleep with him? No.

Maybe.

It wasn't like he wouldn't do it if you asked. But Felix would have sex with anything that walked. And you weren't India. You were his best friend. And no matter now many times you two had pushed the line of being just friends, having sex with him would completely ruin the line all together. And then what? There nowhere to go after you start dating your best friend. If it crashes and burns it's game over. And with Felix, that was a guarantee.

You pass India going opposite of you down the hall. One of the straps of her dress is hanging off her shoulder, bedazzled high heels in her hands as she struggles to slip them back on. There's a dark purple hickey at the junction of her throat and collarbone and another lighter one above her breast. You don't say anything to her, just push past her into Felix's dorm.

He's sprawled out across the top of the bed that he never makes, shirtless and only a pair of flimsy boxers to cover his bareness. His head rolls towards you, cigarette between his lips.

"Hey," he greets, smoke spilling from his mouth. "You have a good time with Farleigh?"

You pick your way through the disaster of his room, stepping around empty boxes of pizza and abandoned articles of clothing until you find something that looks wearable. You unzip your dress, only half turned away from him as you pull on one of his shirts. He's seen you naked before and so your ass and the side of your boobs is hardly scandalous to him.

"Farleigh is an ass," you retort, crawling onto his mattress to settle into the empty space at his side. It's without a doubt the same space that India had been just a few minutes before.

Felix frowns, the piercing his brow moving downwards with the expression. "What's he said to you?" His tone is concerned because he knows how his cousin can be.

You just sigh in response, shifting into a more comfortable position at his side. Felix takes another drag of his cigarette while he waits for your response. Farleighs words run through your head again.

"Why haven't we had sex?"

He actually laughs at that one, sitting up on one of his elbows so that he can see you better. The shag of his dark brunette hair hangs over his forehead as he looks down at you. "Do you want to have sex?"

While his tone is amused and humorous, you know he's genuinely asking. Felix would never make fun of you for that kind of thing.

You shrug, looking up into his bemused brown eyes. "I don't know. Maybe?"

This conversation shouldn't be as casual as you're making it out to be, and maybe it wouldn't have been with anyone else, but this is Felix. He's your best friend.

Slowly, he leans down and places a kiss on your lips. It's fairly brief, hardly even long enough for you to kiss him back before he's pulling away. "Then let's have sex," he says, and it's as simple as that.

Felix leans down again, connecting your mouths. Without breaking the kiss, he shifts from where he'd been laying beside you to bracket your hips with his knees. His long fingers find the buttons of his shirt that you just put on and begin to unbutton them, his hands sliding down your sides until you're squirming.

"Felix," you whine, already short of breath from his touch.

"Relax, baby. I've got you," he murmurs into your mouth, sliding one of his hands into your hair, the blunt of his nails scraping against your scalp. It gives him enough purchase to tip your head back and expose your neck to his unrelenting mouth. The hot heat of his mouth pants against the underside of your jaw, the wet muscle of his tongue laving along your throat.

His other hand slides down your hip, then your thigh before coming to your panties. You have to force yourself not to squirm away in anticipation. Thankfully, Felix isn't a tease and he uses two of his fingers to pull your panties to the side. You do, however, jump when he slides them into your slick hole without any hesitation.

The bastard snickers against your throat. "Sorry," he apologizes, kissing apologetically at your jaw. "I guess I should have warned you."

All you can do is huff, your fingers tugging at his tangle of brown hair. He grins at your inability to respond before kissing your mouth again. He swallows the noise that escapes you when he curls his fingers and your back arches off of the bed. He does it again, this time scissoring them to stretch your hole. The burn is more pleasurable than uncomfortable, but it leaves you gasping into his open mouth.

Just when you think that's all he has to offer with his fingers, they somehow slip even further, hitting some part deep inside of you that you didn't even know existed. He curls them and you actually cry out, your knees knocking at his hips to push him away.

"I know, I know," he soothes, using the broadness of his shoulders to keep your legs in place. Felix curls his fingers into your smooth walls a few more times, his thumb circling your clit until you swear you can't take anymore. It's torture, the length of his two fingers inside of you.

Finally, he pulls them away before you can actually start crying. Your arousal coats his long fingers and drips down his wrist, glistening in the darkness of his room. Felix's brown eyes hold yours as he sticks them into his mouth, refusing to look away even as his tongue dips between them. You can barley swallow the spit in your mouth.

Felix grins, leaning down to kiss you. Even if you hadn't wanted to taste yourself on his lips, he doesn't give you much of a choice, his tongue dipping into your mouth. He moans, and it's quite possibly the hottest thing you've ever heard.

Then he's disconnecting your mouths to slide down his boxers. His hard cock bobs free, brushing against the lean planes of his stomach. You've seen Felix's dick before. It's no surprise to you how large he is— incredibly long with a perfectly mushroomed tip— but you've never had to think about it actually going inside of you.

His hand catches your jaw, forcing you to look at his face. There must have been flash of fear in your eyes because he murmurs sweetly, "Look at my face, okay? I want to see you."

You nod as best you can in his hold.

You're not sure if it's on purpose or not but he misses the first try, his cock sliding through your slick and nudging at your clit. Your whole body jolts but his hand at your throat holds you in place.

The second time, his mushroomed head catches at your hole and he slips in, meeting little resistance. He slides in only another inch or so before stopping, his cock already snug inside of you. You whine when he tries to push in further.

Felix kind of laughs, his hand reaching down to circle his thumb at your clit. "M'sorry, baby. You're so tight. Just give me a second."

You swallow, willing back tears. It's not that it hurts, not really, just the fact that he feels so good and you want him inside of you.

Without warning, his hand splays across your stomach and he uses the leverage to push further inside of you. This time your muscles relax enough around him and he slides all the way in.

You moan at the feel of him entirely inside of you.

“There we go,” he groans, the muscles of his abdomen contracting as he holds himself up. Now fully inside of you, he begins rocking his hips, his dick hitting that spongey spot inside of you with every thrust. Felix is breathing heavily into your ear, the squelching of him sliding in and out of you the only other sound in the room.

Soon Felix hits a spot inside of you that makes your toes curl and almost immediately you’re coming, clenching around him as you do so.

“Fuck,” he whispers. Felix thrusts into you a few more times before pulling out just before he can come inside of you. He spills partially onto the bed and partially onto your stomach. When he’s finished, he holds himself up over you avoiding his own release leaking onto you stomach.

When his eyes find yours, he grins, that signature crooked smile appearing onto his face. You can’t help but laugh, your head falling back into the pillow. Felix laughs too. Not because he particularly knows what’s so funny but because you’re laughing.

You’re laughing and he loves you.

He leans over grabbing a tissue from the box beside his bed and wipes you off as best as he can before tossing it onto the floor and laying back down beside you, an arm behind his head You rest your head on his other arm, scooting in closer to his side.

“Are we going to talk about this?” he asks, looking down at you.

You smile to yourself, watching his toes nudge yours instead of looking back at him. “About what?”

“(Y/n), we’ve been friends since grade school and probably kissed a million times.”

Eventually you look up at him, doing your best to not look so sheepish. “Farleigh told me I was worse than Oliver. Can you believe that?”

Felix scoff, his fingers scratching through your hair. “I wouldn’t fuck Oliver.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes playfully at him. “Yeah you would.”

Felix barks out a laugh. “Yeah, I would,” he agrees.

[kayesfanfics]

Hi there! May I request an Adrian x reader where he's in need of comfort, so he asks (maybe shyly) if he can sit in her lap, even though she's smaller? She holds him gently, soothing him in any way she can?

Thank you for your consideration ❤️

A/N: YESSSS MY BABY BOY NEEDS COMFORT SO BADLY AND THIS IS SUCH A CUTE PROMPT<3

You and Adrian had been spending days on end cleaning up the castle, disposing of bodies after the battle and mopping up the blood, mending torn drapery and broken artifacts. The work was tiring, both physically and emotionally for Adrian. Having to go through his destroyed childhood home where he had killed his own father hurt him like nothing before, feeling the melancholic feeling of nostalgia waving over him as he wandered the halls of his childhood home, avoiding his old bedroom like the plague. You didn’t clean that room up yet, not wanting to overstep any boundaries before Adrian was ready. He was very quiet and solemn, as expected from someone going through his situation, but you made sure he wasn’t alone for it. You made sure he ate, would hold him as the both of you slept, would offer him a shoulder to cry on when he needed it.

On a day like the past few weeks, you were at the table sorting through dried herbs in the kitchen while Adrian was working elsewhere in the castle. It was so empty and silent and dreary in the castle, even being alone for a little bit made you feel uneasy, knowing it once housed a loving family. In the dreaded silence, you heard Adrian’s shows against the floor from the doorway behind you, and saw his shadow loom from the torches in the hallway.

“What’s on your mind, my love?” You asked without turning around, hearing his footstep get closer to you before a pair of thin, pale arms wrapped around your shoulders and a chin rested on your head.

“I’m not sure. My mind is just wandering right now.” He replied with little emotion, compelling you to set down everything you were sorting and turn to face him. His beautiful face was solemn and stern, his eyes puffy as if he had been crying, and his sweet lips in a tight frown. He looked as if he were about to cry right there in front of you, his eyes not meeting yours and looking down, as if he were ashamed to cry in front of you.

“My love?” You repeated, a hand moving to hold one of his, causing him to snap out of his thoughts and finally look you in the eyes with his own teary ones.

“May I…may I sit in your lap?” He asked with a trembling voice and a blush across his face. You told him ‘of course’ and moved so he could, wrapping your arms around his waist as he kept his around your shoulders. He took a deep breath of relief before letting out a shaky breath, slowly dissolving into tears as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. You immediately held him tighter, moving one of your hands to rub his back as you buried your own face in his hair. You felt his body tremble against your own, his tears already soaking your blouse as he held onto you tightly, as if you’d disappear into thin air at any moment.

“Shhhhh, I know, darling.” You cooed, kissing his clothes shoulder as you yourself began to tear up. It hurt so much seeing the man you loved be so distraught and lost, stuck in a mourning phase he couldn’t escape. The two of you sat like that for what felt like forever until his sobs melted into sniffles, finally out of tears to cry.

“Adrian?”

“Y-Yes?”

“I love you. So much. You know that, right?”

“O-Of course.” He pulled away from the crook of your neck and you wiped any tears left away from his pretty face, holding it in your hands as he leaned into your touch. “I love you, too, Y/N.”

“How about we go to bed early tonight? I just want to hold you.”

“I would like that very much.”

[keferon]

Part 2 of Jazz and Prowl in space!

Gonna start calling it Odds of Survival.

Prowl loves entrusting his life to reckless strangers.

———————————————————————

Prowl pulled the release to the airlock and the music was swallowed by the vacuum of space.

Bursting forward, Jazz launched outwards riding the pop of escaping air. The first quintesson had its eye socket repurposed as an ankle bracelet before the second measure even began.

Ah.

Prowl probably should have specified he wanted to try speeding past rather than confront their opponents directly.

Jazz's improvised footwear writhed sluggishly before the mech twisted his ped inside its brain case, finishing it off and turning to face the next nearest opponent.

Odds of survival 26%

The white and blue mech launched himself upwards as the nearest quintesson went for a dive bomb. It's teeth breaking on impact with the sky bridge. Jazz twisted in midair.

They fell in slow motion, back arching against a starlit backdrop. An upside down visor met blue optics. Jazz nodded his head to the side, flicking one horn up and one horn down.

Did he just wink? (#^%)

The falling mech unsheathed a blade from his wrist, driving it through the sputtering quintesson.

Oh Primus has he been flirting the entire time?

Jazz spun, slicing into the next quint to close the distance.

I can not. I can not assume that was intentional. It has to be a cultural miscommunication.

The last two quintessons pounced. Swinging hard, Jazz caught one's jaws with a forearm while he kicked the downed another in the side of the head. The third was attempting to bite into his back but the teeth couldn't get a full purchase on the rounded compact plating.

Odds of survival 22%.

Prowl snapped out of his social etiquette downward spiral. Sprinting from the safety of the airlock door, he knelt behind a large section of external piping, lining up his shots.

Tacnet spun to work.

It was designed to calculate hundreds of possible variations of large scale engagements, including the number of soldiers, type of weaponry available and could even determine the approximate number of ammunitions that would be left over, provided Prowl had enough data at his disposal.

Calculating the marksmanship needed to dispatch three hostiles at medium range while distracted by a highly competent ally?

Odds of Survival 32%

Laughable.

Three shots burst through the thin atmosphere.

Quintesson wreckers were built thick skulled and stubborn. Luckily they came with easily identifiable gaps in their organic construction.

The Quints fell from Jazz, each with a smoking hole where and eye used to be. Jazz looked at Prowl, then the smoking quintessons and back up to Prowl before doing finger guns again.

Speaking of thick skulled and stubborn.

Prowl put on his best Commanders Scowl and pointed in the direction they needed to be currently running in.

Doorwing sensors hiked as he picked up on movement from behind. The incoming hostiles was palpable even in the moons thin atmosphere. Quintessons rarely favored stealth.

Prowl began running.

Jazz kept pace, half turned around to keep track of the incoming troop. Prowl kept his optics locked forward, not remotely willing to risk tripping on the torn apart path.

Tacnet locked on to a large silvery pillow that'd been exposed to the atmosphere.

Expanding LLX Lithium battery. Explosion on contact 90%

Prowl shouted a warning but the air was too thin to carry beyond his own audials.

Jazz will step on the lithium battery in 1.5 clicks (88%) and will be critically injured in at least one leg (76%).

Prowl grabbed Jazz's servo and yanked.

Music erupted in the moment of connection.

Vibrations ran up his arm and across his frame. Inside his audials, Prowl could make out the song Jazz had begun in the airlock. Looking at his visor, mouth agape, only one thought could form in Prowls mind.

How fragging loud is he playing that music?!?

Jazz perked up, and pulled Prowl around in an arc. Multiple sharp impacts thudded into the ground behind him. Prowl turned and almost wished he hadn’t.

Three heavily armored Quintesson bombers equipped with bio-mechanical ballista.

The javelin like spikes were as long as Prowls arm and designed to pin targets in place while the slow moving blimp-like body of the bomber got into position to blow them all to the Pit.

Prowl tugged Jazz in the direction of their objective, refusing to let go in case he tried to launch himself at the bombers. Prowl wasn't sure how Jazz would manage to do so, but Prowl felt an overwhelming nagging sensation in his tanks that he'd fragging try.

Jazz was evidently fine with this arrangement.

As the music pulsed between their palms, Jazz leapt at a diagonal, pulling Prowl along for the ride. The low gravity was so damn floaty. It continually forced Prowl to readjust his footing so he wasn't frantically treading air every time his peds left the ground.

Jazz was evidently fine with that too.

Another round of ammunitions impacted where the two of them had been running.

Their egress began to take on a pattern Prowl was quick to pick up on. It took the bombers 8 clicks to reload, launching at the same time, half a click after musical flair in Jazz's song. At the moment of the flair, the mech would launch them in a nearly unpredictable pattern. After the first two times of nearly getting his arm dislocated, Prowl began catching onto these moments and moved his momentum in sync with Jazz.

They'd started dancing.

The Tactician had an iron fisted focus on matching Jazz’s frankly eradicate lead. The longer the duet continued, the more data he had to work with. Prowl steadily progressed from Reacting to Anticipating. Feeling a core deep satisfaction that came from sinking into mastering a new skill.

By the time they’d escaped the bombers range, they’d made it too the base of the first hurdle.

Their reprieve would only be brief. The bombers would catch up in approximately 50 clicks (88%), giving the mechs a small window of precious semi-safety in which they needed to scale the wall before them.

Prowl craned his helm back at the barrier.

He would not be able to scale it on his own in time (95%).

Could Jazz? (65%)

While carrying him? (19%)

Jazz rapidly tapped his side.

The alien was crouched low, impossible legs bent with potential energy. He tapped his own back, gesturing for Prowl to grab on already.

Prowl threw himself over the mechs broad back. His digits frantically searched for a hand hold, flinching away from nearly digging into fragile vents.

I can’t-

Jazz leapt.

“You’re really grab-able - Isn’t that kinda stupid?”

Stupid stupid stupid.

Prowl skated off of Jazz’s rounded compact plating, that he specifically SAID was supposed to make him hard to hold on to.

He landed hard on his aft, denta clanking together painfully.

47 clicks remaining.

Jazz hit the ground beside him before Prowl had fully gotten back up. Now facing him, Jazz grabbed Prowl by both wrists and pulled him chassis to chassis. Jazz positioned his arms to link Prowls servos behind his helm, then set his own servos tightly onto Prowls waist.

Jazz nodded once, like he was satisfied with what he’d just done.

Prowl made a facial expression that a psychiatrist would find concerning.

42 Clicks.

Jazz nodded again, like expected Prowl to respond in any coherent manner, and lifted.

Prowls legs swung forward on instinct. Following the motion, Jazz wrapped them around his waist. Through the screaming haze of his processor, Prowl had the presence of mind to lock his ankles together as he realized Jazz’s true intentions, and manually aborted the logic cascade that had nearly crashed over him.

Package secured, Jazz let go and started their ascension.

Legs bent at an impossible angle to slam multi segmented peds flat against the metal walls. Despite Prowl’s body blocking most of his view, the alien mech was unfettered by the lack of vision. Jazz hardly bothered with proper hand holds, instead opting for incredibly strong magnetic grip built into his servos.

The magnetic backwash splashed over Prowls doors wings, forcing him to temporarily offline them or risk crippling vertigo. The structure they were scaling shook violently like something large had just irrevocably broken.

This is fine this is fine this is fine this is fine.

At 35 click’s remaining, Prowl centered himself enough to search for their pursuers.

Damn it!

The bombers were a fraction faster than he initially calculated. Six clicks before we’re in range (87%). Luckily, Jazz was more than a fraction faster than initially calculated as well. At this rate, they’d reach the top simultaneously.

No reason not to be proactive.

Prowl found that if he tightly cupped one servo around the back of Jazz’s helm, he had just enough leverage to bring out a side arm. After all, the bombers were already in range of him.

Steadying his elbow over the other mechs shoulder, Prowl took aim.

Five clicks.

The bombers flew in V formation.

Four clicks.

Too heavily armored for a standard sidearm to pierce.

Three clicks.

The lead bomber opened up its front in preparation for combat.

Got you.

Prowl threaded the gap, his shot skirting over the ballista in favor of impacting the bombers prodigious cargo. He watched something spark inside a split second before it succumbed to total annihilation.

The shockwave felt like a single soft papft of a breeze in the starlit air.

Jazz hefted them over the top of the wall, not dropping Prowl in favor of sprinting with him at full speed across the top of the hurdle.

One of his arms curled around to support Prowls back, allowing the Praxian to release his death grip on their helm. Prowl leaned back into the hold, allowing Jazz freedom to see again.

Jazz turned his helm around 180 degrees-

Did not know he could do that did not know he could do that.

- to look at the fire works behind them.

Jazz whistled appreciatively at the sight. He turned back to Prowl, visor locked onto his face as they carried him across the roof.

Reverberating music, nearly crashing, numbed doorwings, and a deeply satisfying kill all followed by a display of casual body horror was making Prowl just a little bit delirious. As a result, Prowl wasn’t entirely sure what expression he was making, just that Jazz was inordinately fascinated with it.

Without looking away, Jazz leapt off the end of the roof.

Prowl watched as Jazz glanced over his shoulder and back to him.

Do a double take.

And then crush Prowl to his chassis.

Jazz’s visor was over bright, both horns snapped completely forward and from somewhere inside his chassis, Prowl could feel some internal component spinning into overdrive, sounding for all the world like teeny tiny screaming.

Why are we still falling.

Prowl turned as far as possible in Jazz’s iron grip.

The sky bridge was collapsing.

Odds of Survival 4%

———————————————————————

Jazz, everytime Prowl one-shots an enemy: I need to get his number.

If you’re curious, the song Jazz is playing can be whatever you like. Personally I kept switching between listening to “I Was Made For Lovin’ You” by Kiss and “I Feel Love” 12” version by Donna Summer while writing.

- SSTP

OH GOD AHAHJFKFK THIS IS SO FUCKING GREAT HELP

And the concept of music playing between them??? I'm s o l d. "I was made for lovin' you baby" is basically JP OST for me at this point ehehhmgmgm

Jazz: Hookay I need to transport the machinery from the point A to point B. Focus! Let's go!

Prowl: One of those tiktok videos where you can see some Reddit post and hear AI narrating it while Minecraft parkour is playing on the background. Except it's gay panic instead of reddit post and internal screaming instead of narration and even more gay panic instead of minecraft. ......and everything is overheating probably lmao

Also can you really call it a JP fic if their odds of survival never dropped lower than 10% according to Prowls brain? Ahahjgkgk all amazing JP fics have to do this. It's inevitable and I love it so much~~

[wonderjanga]

One of my favourite Headcanons about Billy is that as Captain Marvel, what ever he eats literally is just gone.

Like, Batman’s doing X-rays on Cap after he saw the man swallow Kryptonite to dispose of it, and he discovers that what ever Cap eats is just gone

Anyway, that’s my prompt for you if you want it

Thank you! I wanna add onto it though.

When Bruce first saw Captain Marvel eat a rock, he was concerned. People didn’t eat rocks as far as he knew.

Batman: “Captain, spit that out right now.”

Marvel: *chewing* “Why?

Batman: “Because that could severely damage your throat and teeth?”

Marvel: “What?” *swallows and holds his nose before steam comes out of his ears* “ ‘scuse me. Anyways, what?

The fact Marvel was so unbothered was a worry in itself but Bruce forced himself to think. He, nor anyone else on the league, knew what Marvel exactly was. For all they knew, Cap was some type of alien and that was normal for him. Either that or it was just tasty to him. After all, Clark used to eat metal also because it was tasty. (The Kryptonian says he grew out of it, but Bruce still catches him sneaking bullets) Maybe his species are like those birds that eat rocks to digest food without choking. Though, that might not be it, considering Cap just sounded like he was eating rock candy. There’s also his durability which probably meant his throat and teeth wouldn’t be damaged. And then there’s the fact that even if it did clog up the Captain’s airways, Bruce is 67 percent sure he’d be fine because he’s also 67 percent sure Marvel breathes just for show. Bruce has observed the other man stop breathing mid meeting for exactly fifteen minutes and thirteen seconds so maybe he absorbs oxygen through his skin? Also what was the steam that came out of his ears? Was it even steam? Is that how he digests food- oh no Marvel’s trying to eat another rock.

Batman: “Captain, put the rock down.”

Marvel: “But I’m hungry!”

Batman: “I’ll buy you food if you stop.”

Bruce was able to get him to stop. For a bit. He went right back to eating rocks when he left Bruce’s sight. After many instances of him catching Marvel doing this, he just gave up.

Robin!Jason: “B?”

Batman: “Yes, Robin?”

Robin!Jason: “What’s Cap, doing?”

Marvel: *squatting down and picking up pebbles to shove in his mouth*

Batman: “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” *stares at Billy for like a hot second* “Go play with Speedy.”

Marvel: *He holds his nose and lets steam come out again*

Robin!Jason: *sound amazing and concerned* “What was that??”

Batman: “I… don’t know.”

This all came to a head when Marvel’s rock eating tendencies expanded past normal human earth rocks.

Supes: “Get rid of it!”

Marvel: “AH!” *panics and eats it*

*loud silence*

Supes: “OH MY RAO??? SPIT THAT OUT???” *absolutely horrified*

Marvel: “I can’t!”

Supes: “WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT CAN’T??” *uses x-ray vision to see it* “WHERE DID IT GO???”

Batman: “What do you mean?”

Supes: “I mean it’s just gone! It’s not in his stomach!”

Batman: “How?”

Supes: “I don’t KNOW!”

Marvel: *pinches nose and does the steam ear thing only the steam is now green*

Batman and Supes: *stares*

Marvel: *grabs their shoulders and drags them away from the steam cloud*

Supes: *looking back at the steam cloud* “What was that??”

Marvel: “Highly irradiated Kryptonite steam.”

Supes: “WHAT?”

Marvel: “We might have to evacuate the area.”

Later…

Batman: “Alright so eat this.” *hands him a rock*

Marvel: *eats it*

Batman: “Now stand behind the X-ray machine.”

Marvel: *stands behind it*

Batman: “Wow. It really is gone.” *there’s literally only Billy’s silhouette on the thing*

Wheres the rest of him?

Batman: “Captain, do you have bones?”

Marvel: “I should!”

[corkinavoid]

For @mysterious-messages, to 'Bless the child' by Nightwish

DPxDC Long Time No See

The crow was incredibly persistent. Which, of course, made it ten times more annoying in John's opinion, because he was trying very, very hard not to pay attention to the pitch-black bird with blood red eyes that was perched right outside the window.

Can't he have one single night where no impossibly powerful force of nature interrupts his attempt to drown himself in liquor? Honestly.

The crow knocks on the window again. Three perfectly timed knocks; this bloody bird sure knows how to draw attention, but it also definitely knows Constantine is avoiding it. Which is why it's insisting on making itself a nuisance, no doubt.

To be fair, John is not even entirely sure who's crow is it. Morpheus has a crow at his disposal, but his crow is a bitch. He wouldn't have simply sat on the windowsill and enjoyed annoying Constantine for the sheer spite of it. Death has her crows as well - very thematic, if you ask John - and then there was that one asshole raven that claimed itself belonging to Apollo.

And then, of course, there was-

Actually, maybe he should see what the crow wants. Might be important, after all.

Constantine sighs and puts his whiskey back on the bar before standing up. The world tilts to the side a bit - he might have had a few too many drinks, yeah. But then maybe it's just the side effect of the messenger crow being here, who knows. Constantine would rather put his money on the latter for the sake of his dignity. Not that he has much of that left.

He makes his way to the window, looks at the crow for a long moment, making his last internal debate obvious, and then opens the window.

"The hell do you want?" He asks, but quickly realises it was in vain.

He is not at the bar anymore.

Instead, he is standing in the middle of a graveyard, surrounded by tombstones, fog, and eerie silence. 4/10 on the creepy effect, John has definitely seen this shit done better.

The cloaked figure sitting on the nearest tombstone stays silent, watching him with unblinking, blood red eyes. John sighs again, pinches the bridge of his nose, and reaches into the pocket of his trenchcoat for cigarettes. If he ended up out of the bar anyway, he might as well use it for a smoke break.

"I'd rather you not," the cloaked being says, not a demand but a request by the sound of it. Constantine grimaces, but puts the pack back in the pocket. Arguing with this one will get him exactly nowhere.

"What's this all about, then?" He vaguely gestures around himself, at all the death, decay, and other things that start with the letter 'D'. "I never knew you're into this kind of thing. Very Mary Shelley of you," he raises an eyebrow.

The being - the Dead God, the Ghost of Time, Clockwork, Chronos, and any other name he likes calling himself - huffs a deep, low and breathy laugh. Then, he stands up, his feet firmly planted on the ground for once. He looks different to how John is used to seeing him, all sharp edges and monochrome colors, shiny leather oxfords and loose sleeves with tight cuffs.

Honestly, he kind of reminds Constantine of vampires. He really hopes this is not actually some kind of a new kink of his because John so didn't count on that kind of night. Despite what he's said before.

"No," Chronos shakes his head, his appearance shifting from young to middle-aged. Constantine blinks; if there's anything he learned about the Dead God through their various get-togethers, it's that his age usually reflects his level of seriousness.

But he doesn't have time to ask, nor does he get a moment to prepare, when a child, a literal goddamn child no older than ten steps out from behind Clockwork.

It looks like a boy, dressed in jeans and a blue hoodie with a NASA logo on it, and- He does look like Clockwork. Same pale skin, same eerie, unblinking eyes, same unearthly air around him.

Only, his eyes are a faint blue, like ice and winter skies. Like Constantine's eyes.

The unholy fuck. And he means it literally.

"Is that-" he starts, his throat suddenly dry, pointing his finger at the boy before he even thinks about it, but the Ghost of Time laughs again, a dirty grin on his lips.

"Yours? No, thank the Ancients," he says, making sure to sound just a tad bit offended even if John can see the mirth on his face. Bloody wanker. Constantine lets out a slow, loud breath through his nose.

"Amen to that," he agrees and looks at the kid again. And, as soon as the initial shock wears off, a sneaking suspicion starts to form in his mind. He narrows his eyes. "I don't want to ask, I really don't, but I'm going to anyway. Why?"

Clockwork's face looks distant for a moment, his features shifting into old.

"A child blessed by time has no home in his own life. A child blessed by death has no place among others," he says, and John hates when they speak in riddles, but he thinks he might be getting this one right. "I am only loved when I'm gone, the moments being held dear in memory. But a child does not deserve that," Clockwork's voice sounds almost sad, and, while John does understand it's supposed to be a metaphor, it doesn't feel like one.

But then, he is the Time itself. Maybe for him it's not really a metaphor.

He looks back to the kid, and catches the boy looking away with a grimace. Seems like they have at least one thing in common - they both hold a great distaste to Cronos' solemn way of talking.

Constantine is so going to regret this, but he knows where the Dead God is leading.

"Yeah, okay," he rubs his face with one hand, and, before he has time to ask or say another word, the whole graveyard is gone, and he is standing back in the bar, the low murmur of nightly crowd and warm light around him. Just like before he opened the window to the blood-eyed crow.

The only difference between then and now is the kid standing by his side, looking at him like John is the stupidest man he'd ever seen. Oh, he is already regretting this.

Constantine drops his hand down and goes back to the bar, where he left his drink.

"Want a beer?" He asks, and the kid rolls his eyes, trailing after him.

"I'm twelve," he deadpans, and, yeah, okay, he's got a point.

Fuck it, he is calling in a favor from Bats. That man has, like, twenty kids, he should have some parenting advice.

~•~•~•~

Yeah, the song really reminded me of Clockwork for some reason. Why am I loved only when I'm gone? is really stricking me as a line written for him because you only cherish the time after it's gone, you smile at your memories and pictures, but you rarely ever pay attention to it in the moment.

Also, I did my best with the Gothic aesthetic there, and here's the additional vibe.

Clockwork, just dropping a random ass kid on his occasional one night stand and vanishing into the night, knowing that John Constantine has a soft spot for kids and won't just fuck off to who knows where: it's for the greater good the better timeline

Danny, left alone with a clearly too drunk to think magician whose soul looks like a jigsaw puzzle: the fuck it's not

[skzdelf]

Recording | Bangchan

⭑PAIRING: Bangchan x f!reader

⭑SYNOPSIS: After a long and exhausting day of work for Chan, you decide to accompany him, offering the possibility of helping him unwind.

⭑WARNING: Suggestive content (neck/breast kissing; hickeys)

⭑WORDCOUNT: 2k (2015)

2:47am

The car’s screen displayed the time alongside the radio station number, which was fortunately playing music at such a late hour. The music wasn’t the best or the latest since there aren’t many listeners at this time of night, but anything was better than an endless silence.

The city streets were deserted, except for a few teenagers heading to a nightclub and the occasional taxi.

The lights from apartment buildings and traffic signals reflected off puddles left behind by the rainstorm earlier that evening.

You were driving comfortably with two disposable cups of coffee sitting on the passenger seat. Thin white tendrils of steam rose from the lids, signaling that the liquid inside was still hot.

Chan hadn’t returned from the recording studio, so you decided to go and keep him company. You knew he was too polite to ask any of the guys to stay and help him during his frustrating late-night sessions of writing songs and creating new beats.

The recording studio wasn’t far from the apartment you both shared, but considering how late it was and the unpredictable weather, you didn’t want to take any chances.

You slid the copy of the studio key into the lock, the heart-shaped keychain Chan had gifted you for your anniversary a few months ago tapping softly against the door.

You stepped into the studio’s foyer, a spacious and tidy area where the guys usually hung out while one—or a few—of them worked behind the recording booth’s closed door.

On the coffee table in front of the couch sat a few open packets of chopsticks and a half-eaten cup of ramen, which you assumed belonged to Chan. Spending so much time here must’ve made him hungry.

As you entered the recording room, you found him there. Chan was seated at the desk in front of his multiple monitors and recording equipment. His back was to you, but you could see how he hunched over the desk, scribbling something onto a notebook or piece of paper. The sound of pencil against paper filled the otherwise silent space.

You set the coffees down on a spot far enough from Chan’s equipment to avoid any accidents, then quietly approached him from behind, wrapping your arms over his shoulders.

“Hi, Channie” you murmured to the dark-haired man, nuzzling your cheek against his before planting a soft kiss on it.

Chris let the pencil slip from his hand to clasp yours, the warmth of his touch both comforting and familiar.

“Hi, darling” he replied in his low, slightly raspy voice—likely strained from overuse.

You leaned in slightly, tightening your embrace as you rested your chin on his shoulder, sneaking a glance at the papers in front of him.

“How long have you been working, Channie?” you asked softly, letting a note of concern seep into your tone.

He sighed, his warm breath brushing against your cheek. “Since the morning… but I wanted to finish this before more work piles up” he admitted, a hint of exhaustion lacing his voice.

You shook your head with a faint smile but kept your hands resting in his. “You should take a break, even if it’s just to clear your head a little.”

Straightening up, you gently pulled your hands from his and placed them on his tense shoulders, starting to massage them lightly. A few muffled groans escaped Chan’s soft lips as he melted under your touch.

His eyelids fluttered closed as he gave in to the sensation of your hands easing the built-up tension in his shoulders. You felt his muscles gradually relax beneath your fingers, and a small smile tugged at your lips, satisfied to see him finally surrender to the comfort you offered.

“That feels amazing,” he murmured, his voice low and still tinged with raspiness. He tilted his head forward slightly, giving you better access. You took the opportunity to lean in closer, letting your lips lightly graze the skin of his neck in a barely-there gesture.

“Maybe you should take more breaks if this makes you feel so good” you whispered near his ear, your warm breath sending a shiver down his spine.

Chan tensed for a brief moment before relaxing again, turning his head just enough to glance at you out of the corner of his eye, his gaze shimmering with both surprise and something deeper. “What if I always needed your help to unwind?” he asked, raising one brow, his tone light but thick with intent.

Your smile widened as your hands moved to his neck, massaging it gently. “That sounds like a lot of work for me. What do I get in return?” you teased, leaning close enough for your lips to brush against the edge of his ear.

“I can think of a few ways to make it up to you” he replied, his voice dropping an octave as he spun in his chair to face you. His hands found their way to your hips, firm yet delicate, as if afraid you might pull away, positioning you between his open legs.

“Then show me” you challenged, your hands now resting on his chest, feeling the quick rhythm of his heartbeat under your palms.

Chan didn’t need any more encouragement. His gaze lingered on your lips for a moment before leaning forward to close the distance, capturing them in a slow yet desire-filled kiss. His fingers tightened on your hips as he pulled you closer, determined to leave no space between you.

His hands left your hips, tracing the curve of your body before settling on your thighs, which he gripped gently to pull you onto his lap.

The kiss deepened, becoming messier and more urgent, your tongues moving together in an almost rhythmic dance.

Your hands buried themselves in Chan’s curly hair, tugging lightly every now and then, making his lips break from yours momentarily as soft sighs escaped him.

“Lemme take this off” Chan murmured between ragged breaths, his hands already tugging at the hem of your shirt. You raised your arms to make it easier for him, leaving you in nothing but a black bra.

His hands roamed your skin as if tracing an infinite path, leaving invisible marks behind, claiming you.

Chan took a moment to admire you, his dark eyes trailing over your figure with an intensity that seemed to ignite the air between you. His hands found your waist again, his fingers pressing into your skin with a mix of gentleness and firmness that sent shivers through your body.

“You’re absolutely stunning” he murmured, his voice rough with sincerity as his lips began trailing kisses from your neck to your collarbone.

The warmth of his breath against your skin left you breathless, and before you realized it, your legs moved to wrap around him, pulling yourself even closer. Chan let out a soft growl of approval, his hands sliding down your sides to your rear, holding you as if you were the only thing that mattered at that moment.

His kisses continued their descent, stopping at the curve of your breasts, where he sucked lightly, leaving behind reddish marks that made soft moans escape your lips.

The closeness of your bodies made it impossible to ignore how hard Chan was, and the sounds he let out left no room for doubt.

You started moving your hips in a slow rhythm that drove him wild, making him throw his head back with a few low groans, his neck fully exposed to you.

Chan’s hands, now settled on your hips, guided your movements, making them slightly faster, drawing soft moans from you and curses from him.

“I don’t know… if I can last much longer” the taller man admitted, his raspy voice filled with raw honesty as his dark eyes locked onto yours.

His gaze reflected nothing but carnal desperation, a need that seemed to consume him. It was as if every part of him screamed that he needed you—that you were his release after endless hours of work.

Chan easily lifted you, placing you on the desk, sweeping papers and objects to the floor in one swift motion.

“This is exactly what I needed after such a long day” he confessed with a mischievous smile before lowering his head to leave a trail of kisses along your jawline and neck.

Your hands gripped his shoulders, feeling each muscle tense beneath your fingers as he explored every inch of your skin with almost reverent dedication.

“Chan…” you whispered, your voice barely audible between shallow breaths, but it was enough to make him pause for a second, looking at you with an expression that mixed devotion and pure desire.

“I’m going to make sure you never forget this night” he promised before leaning in to claim your lips again with unrestrained hunger.

His lips moved fervently over yours, his large hands firmly planted on the desk on either side of your body, keeping you slightly arched backward.

Your fingers tangled in his soft curls, tugging him closer as though you could somehow eliminate the space between your bodies, no matter how impossible it seemed.

The friction of your bodies pressing together sent sparks flying between you, and the low, guttural sounds escaping Chan’s lips were nothing short of intoxicating. You could feel how hard he was—completely and undeniably for you.

Your hands wandered down his body, trailing over his strong arms and broad chest before settling at his hips. Your fingers found his belt, fumbling slightly as you tried to undo it without breaking away from the feverish kiss.

A deep growl rumbled from his throat when he felt your touch there. In response, his hands moved to your hips, pulling you even closer to the edge of the desk, the heat between your bodies now almost unbearable.

“I know you can feel how good you are to me” he whispered in a husky tone against your ear, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there before planting a warm kiss. His mouth began a slow descent, leaving a trail of kisses and soft bites along your neck and down to your collarbones.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you finally managed to unbuckle his belt, and he noticed. A sly grin spread across his lips as he cupped your face in his hands, tilting your head up to lock eyes with you.

“You’re trembling, love. Am I making you nervous?” he teased, his voice dripping with amusement and raw desire.

Before you could respond, his lips claimed yours again, this time more deliberate, more consuming. His hands resumed their exploration, sliding down your sides until they reached your thighs. He gripped them firmly, coaxing a soft gasp from you.

“Chan…” you whispered, your voice breathless as his lips trailed down to the valley of your chest, leaving wet kisses and reddened marks on your skin.

Your hands gripped the waistband of his pants, pulling him impossibly closer, and you began to roll your hips against him again, creating delicious friction that drew groans from both of you.

Finally, his fingers found the button of your jeans. With practiced ease, he unfastened it, his dark, intense eyes meeting yours once again, silently asking for permission. You nodded faintly, as if you could ever deny him.

A satisfied smirk played on his lips as he slid the fabric down your hips, discarding it carelessly onto the floor. The cool air of the studio brushed against your exposed legs.

Chan’s lips returned to yours, devouring them with a desperate hunger. His hands found the edge of your black underwear, his fingers teasing the delicate fabric as his breathing grew heavier.

“Tell me to stop” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and laced with restraint, though his actions made it clear he hoped you wouldn’t. And you wouldn’t

And there, in the recording studio, the coffees sat untouched where you’d left them, their surfaces now cold and void of the steam that once danced above them.

What a surprise Chan would get when he realized that everything that happened that night had accidentally been recorded.

⭑A/N: Este humilde fic va dedicado a mi Omega bri, espero te guste corazón. Se que lo pediste más hot pero me da wiwi escribirlo (tal vez más adelante)

[miirohs]

all yours, all mine [c.l.c]

pairing: Mob Boss!Charles Leclerc x Wife!Reader wc: 1.3k cw: again, slight yandere/possesive tendencies, allusion to abuse an: guys i am feeling uninspired lately,,,, needed to pull everything in me for this one. sigh. its 2 in the morning what am i doing with my life i need to sleep not be up to this bs GODDDDDDD strike me down.

Charles knew you weren’t truly his wife.

He himself had shot his bride to be, too loud and too lecherous to realize how she’d met her end, bragging about killing him for his money in his club.

He thought that’d be the last of it, that their family wouldn’t be brave enough to show face again.

Yet, they became audacious, sending him a woman, a woman who was nothing like the bride he had seen. 

Hell, you didn’t even look the same as the other.

There was no way their family didn’t know by now that he was the one who killed their only daughter, yet he could only imagine this was their attempt at faking normalcy because he’d never seen his bride before, right?

He laughed, in all honesty. 

He could’ve played along, see what would’ve happened, and have been done with you by dinner if he wanted to. But part of him wanted you to show your true colors, to be able to kill the venomous woman hiding behind the veil.

That day never came though.

He was too baffled by the sight of you clinging to their sides, eyes down as you could barely keep up in the shoes slightly too big to be yours.

He pretended not to notice. 

At dinner he questioned you, much to your visible discomfort. He could see the glances you gave the other members of your supposed family, meekly responding back as they glared sharply at your head, only smiling when they noticed his stares. It didn’t take long for him to connect two and two.

It was there and then he’d made the awfully irrational decision to go forward with the marriage. He wanted to pull you out of your shell, see who you really were under the supposed mask you had on in front of everyone.

Your marriage was a grand affair, bosses from all around the globe visiting just to see the ceremony. He had refused to give in to their demands for a smaller wedding, going all out just for you.

And true to his word, he treated you with more respect than he’d ever cared to show anyone else. For him, hours turned into days, and days turned into weeks as he tried to pull you out of your shell.

It was a while before he got the first laugh out of you. He felt like he’d won everything when you gave him small smiles. He did everything to get them out of you. Showering you in lavish gifts, surprising you with expensive dates, it made him feel like he was finally doing something right. 

Seeing your full smile was what truly made it worth it, easing the pain of your time with your former family, if he could even call them that. 

He’d made sure to cut all contact with them, and he knew you were contacting them against his wishes, so he took it into his own hands to make sure they couldn’t bother you for a single cent again. He plotted behind your back and as sorry as he felt for lying to you, he paid for his guilt in consuming you with his neediness, wrapping you tightly from your waking moments almost as if you’d disappear forever if you left his field of vision.

You didn’t question it, but you couldn’t lie and say it didn’t startle you a bit.

He hummed as you gently ran your fingers through his hair, pit forming in your stomach as you heard him mutter in Italian on the phone, pen scratching against the paper of his notepad.

You heard the bare sentences of his conversation, too fast for you to understand, but you thought you had a good idea of what he was planning.

“Dovremo metterli a tacere (We'll have to silence them)-”

A couple heartbeats passed as he listened, your heart clenching almost painfully as you held the cuff of his suit jacket between your thumb and index finger. Maybe he had figured it out, maybe he was already plotting ways to dispose of you for tricking him in such a grievous manner. You hadn’t heard from the family in weeks, and it made you anxious.

“Non sono d'accordo? Bene, uccideteli (they won’t agree? fine, kill them).”

For a moment there, you didn’t see your husband, but the Devil of Monte Carlo.

He didn’t say anything, and you couldn’t bring yourself to, letting your hand slip away from his crown.

“Y/n? What happened?” He frowned, hand rubbing against the small of your back.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say it, words lying on the tip of your tongue as he cocked his head at you.

“It’s nothing.” You moved your hands away from his neck, balling into little fists in your lap.

“It’s not nothing,” He pressed, staring you down firmly despite the gentle tone of his voice. He knew you, almost too well.

“I… i don’t know how to tell you. You’re going to hate me if I do.” Your voice warbled out as he kissed you on the neck, too light and breezy to mean anything serious.

“Try me. You’d be surprised at how well I take things, and I'm not unreasonable.” Another kiss, leading up the column of your neck as you squealed at the feeling of his warm lips on cooled skin.

“Well, uh, i-” He bit down lightly, earning a soft smack from you in the back of the head, “-Char, what are you doing?”

“Trying to cheer you up.” He said, kissing on the spot he’d bit with an incomparable amount of gentleness.

“I just have something to tell you and i-”

“Is it important in any way that actively harms our lives?” He butt in, giving you a curious look.

“No, but-”

“Then I don't care.” He shrugged, placing a kiss on the corner of your mouth. You didn’t even know you could’ve gotten that loud, when you finally spit it out.

“I’m not your real wife, Char. I never was.”

He didn’t say anything, humming against the crown of your head as his hand snuck up your back and held you closer to him.

“Char, please.”

“I knew that, this isn’t new news.”

You held on, mouth gaping slightly.

“You… you knew this whole time, and you-”

“I deliberately didn’t tell you.” He scoffed, pulling your chin down to look at him. “I knew you’d run back to that so-called family that I did if I had told you. You barely trusted me, and it was their fault. So that’s why I'm going to make sure all of them take a nice long vacation.”

You couldn’t really feel the abject horror anymore, melting into sheer relief as you finally looked at him once more.

There was something about the way he looked at you, tantalizing and hypnotized almost.

‘But, aren’t you mad about me…?”

“Oh I was, I was furious.”

His lips ghosted over yours, the hint of a smile somewhere there.

“But they ended up giving me something all the more precious, something I couldn't replace. You know what that is, mon amour?”

You didn’t even have to say it, as he kissed you, lips smooth against your slightly chapped ones. The expensive perfume grew stronger, closer and closer to you as the space between you closed.

“I’ve done some unspeakable things.” He panted quietly against your lips, landing another soft kiss on the other corner. “But nothing as unspeakable as killing your so-called “family” this late in the game. Some part of me wishes i had done it earlier to spare you that grief.”

You didn’t respond but he continued nonetheless, hands wrapped around your waist to bring you closer to him .”Remember that you're mine and I'm all yours. I would do anything for you.”

And the worst part is, somewhere deep down, you knew it to be true. He was always yours, and you were always his. He'd made sure of it, and you weren't entirely complaining.

[johnbrand]

(βΓΦ)'s Improper Disposal

Chase grunted as the cooler once again hit the back of his leg. “Dude, why does this thing have to be so heavy?”

“What, all those hours in the gym not paying off?” Tony chuckled. Then the offender in question hit his own knee. “Ow! Dang you weren’t kidding.”

“I told you, bro.” Chase and Tony continued down the dock. “What is in this thing anyway?”

“It’s what’s left of the Beta Gamma Phi Sex Drive,” Tony answered. They carefully navigated down the steps onto the private beach north of the city. 

“Why do they call it a ‘Sex Drive’ anyway?” Chase frowned, but after a moment the pun clicked. Then he continued, “But those initiates were guzzling those drinks like it was their last party ever. How is it still this heavy?”

“This is just the leftovers, bro.” Tony responded. “It’s not like we had them drinking straight jizz, it was just the catalyst in the formula. And we collected for almost a month–Chris had us producing every day, he even measured who contributed the most.”

“You’re kidding,” Chase guffawed, most of the intellectual words soaring over his head.

The two frat boys dropped the cooler as they approached the shore, the cold water lapping at their bare feet. Without further ado, they flipped the container open, watching as the thick white splooge was emptied into the ocean. The waves softly accepted the gift, washing away the mixed jock juices and integrating them into their southbound current.

“So that’s it, huh?” Chase broke the silence once the inside of the cooler was clean. "Is it ok for us to just be dumping it out like this?"

“Yup,” Tony replied, closing the lid. “The water is supposed to dilute it or something, so we won’t have to worry about ‘improper disposal of hazardous waste,’ or whatever βΓΦ’s lawyer said.”

A rancid fart escaped Chase’s back end. “Huhuhuh, speaking of hazardous waste…”

———

“Stop!” Eli could not stop himself from laughing as Simon continually splashed him with water. Of course, he delivered defensive waves back to his best friend, meaning both were struggling to catch their breaths under the onslaught.

“You first!” Simon countered, unbothered as the salty sea stung his eyes, went up his nose, and slipped into his mouth.

Eli licked his lips, “Never!” Although there were plenty of other people of all shapes, ages, colors, and sizes at the beach, the two were not making enough of a scene for anyone to care.

They continued like this for another minute before agreeing to a truce. Once they had finally stopped to take a breath, the pair did nothing but wade in the open water. About a foot taller than his best friend, Eli’s feet could barely scrape the bottom almost six and a half feet below them. But unlike Eli, Simon's skinny, shrimpy body meant he could float with little effort.

“Should we head in?” Eli finally asked, his heart rate having returned to a normal pace.

Simon nodded, “Sure.”

The best friends turned towards the shore and began to paddle in. Neither noticed that within the first few moments, their legs began to twitch. Simon’s shot out within the water, while Eli’s already long tendons shortened slightly. Each stroke brought additional changes. Simon’s abdominals became more pronounced, Eli’s biceps and triceps inflated with muscle. Eli’s hands restructured into fleshy mitts, Simon’s feet widened out into massive flippers. 

But these changes were not unique to just one or the other; they happened simultaneously to both of the men. Each was becoming more muscular and more masculine. Their bodies had ingested the combined DNA of many βΓΦ brothers, every individual strand rewriting the former base and taking control of the resulting figure. This meant they both gained smooth, Ken doll-like tanned skin. They both gained fluffier hair that coiffed naturally at the front (even if Eli’s was hidden behind a white cap, which rotated 180 degrees as if it too was part of a genetic code). And they both gained longer, girthier cocks that would reroute their blood flow, which in turn would reroute their objectives and priorities.

Once they had made it to shore, Eli and Simon had become fraternal twins, and not only in their new dedication to Beta Gamma Phi. The superior DNA bonded them at a molecular level, their brothers’ musculature and masculinity recreating them as Ethan and Shawn. They both accepted their new destinies: to become a βΓΦ brother, with a duty to uphold traditional masculinity and a responsibility to keep the fraternities alive.

And luckily for Ethan and Shawn, they were not alone, for the shore was soon swarmed with many other young, strapping men ready to dedicate their lives to the βΓΦ brotherhood.